#(But it's needed after the past few months)

[guldaastan]

i just hope that no person anywhere in the world at any point in the future has to go through what mothers in gaza went through these past few months.

like it was so insane. women were giving birth without medical aid and having c-sections without anaesthesia while being malnourished and unable to properly provide food and warmth to their newborns. they couldn't produce milk and couldn't afford baby formula. hell, at a certain point finding baby formula was impossible in certain areas of gaza. and there was the constant fear of death hanging over their heads.

there were hopes that after the ceasefire things would improve for these babies and their mothers. that their quality of life would improve. but now that there are chances that israel won't continue with the ceasefire, we need to support these mothers and infants, now more than ever.

please please consider helping my friend suad, who has a little baby boy who suffers from respiratory problems. she just wants to ensure her son's well being. baby khaled is around 8 months old. her fundraiser has been verified (#279).

please help suad and her baby

[brokenbarnes]

Steady Mind

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Separate from Haunted Eyes, after being taken by Hydra, Bucky identifies you as his handler. You teach him that not all handlers inflict pain, bringing him back to the present.

Warnings: mentions of canon level violence

It had been one month, three days and twelve hours since they took Bucky.

A routine mission that turned out to be not so routine. An abandoned HYDRA base awakened like a sleeping giant, putting a bullet in your leg, dragging Bucky away after he had been knocked unconscious by two large goons. You screamed for him, they left you to bleed out in pool of your own blood.

You had to return to the compound without your partner in crime, sobbing until they put you under for surgery. The last thing you remember was Steve holding your arms down as they slid the needle in your arm, his eyes sad as you’ve ever seen them.

Despite the healing hole in your leg, you insisted on sitting in on every meeting about Bucky’s whereabouts, limping onto the Quinjet to accompany the team to scout out any possible locations.

You had barely slept in a month, lying awake in the bed you shared with the missing person. Every time you looked in the mirror, you could see the heartbreak and exhaustion clinging to you like a wet blanket. Shadows under your eyes that looked like bruises, shoulders slumped, your mind fuzzy; spinning a million different directions.

This time Steve didn’t protest as you limped onto the jet, it’s destination a newly discovered hidden HYDRA base. You slumped in the copilot seat, you were past getting your hopes up. At this point, it was just to check it off the list.

Steve steered the jet south, landing in the dense forest, somewhere in the Andes Mountains of South America. You saw on the computer screen, a hidden base carved into the steep mountain side.

The team left the Quinjet, armed with whatever they could think of. There was so much uncertainty, nobody knew what to expect.

You were left behind in the jet, sitting down in front of multiple monitors. Part of your agreement was staying behind was that you could be their eyes and ears on the ground. Your leg was not quite up to speed yet and you didn’t want to hold the team back. You got to work accessing any local cameras, finding those inside and outside the base.

The team worked silently, efficiently. You listened to them over the comms, there were no jokes, no laughing, only efficient communication. This was Bucky, it was different.

You monitored cameras as the team cleared the base, making sure there weren’t any surprises like last time. Surprises get people killed. This must have been an old base, because there were very few cameras inside. You had one of Tony’s robots take a scan of the building, at least you could monitor where the team was inside. An hour went by before Steve addressed you and the tone of his voice gave you chills.

“Y/N.”

“Go ahead, Steve,” you responded, legs going numb.

“We need you.”

You stood up abruptly, your nearly healed stitches screaming in protest. You grabbed your utility belt, clipping it around your waist with your weapons. With your heartbeat pounding in your ears, you hit the button that opened the ramp of the Quinjet.

It was a moderate hike to the base entrance, but you don’t remember much of it. Ignoring the pain in your leg, you stumbled over the rocky cliffs, damp soil catching on the back of your tactical pants as you ran.

Steve met you at the entrance of the base, his face pale and shaken. The intense sun doing little for his ashen complexion.

“Steve! Is he in there?” You gasped for air, slowing to a stop in front of him. “Is he alive?”

He dipped his head, nodding slowly. With his thumbs hooked in his belt loops and his shoulders hunched, he looked as small as he once had.

“What are we waiting for?” You went to push past him, into the entrance of the labyrinth like Theseus but without Ariadne’s string. “Let’s go get him out of there!”

“Y/N, wait,” his voice was hollow, grabbing you by the arm.

“What?”

He took a deep shuddering breath, looking you in the eye. “It’s not our Bucky.”

Realization settled in your chest, the only reason they would want him would be to activate him.

“I want to see him,” your voice was low.

“He’s dangerous.”

“He’s Bucky,” you insisted. “Take me to him.”

Steve became your string, leading you through the dark maze that was the HYDRA compound. The main hallway led you past a variety of rooms, some looked like a war room, some looked like an interrogation center, other’s a sterile doctor’s office.

His gait slowed in front of a heavily locked door, it’s appearance similar to a bank vault. Your stomach twisted.

“He’s in there?” You whispered, disgust lacing your tone.

Steve nodded, “it’s for everyone’s safety.”

“Let me in there,” you reached for the lock.

“Y/N, he could hurt you,” he grabbed your arm but you shook him off.

“I need to see that he’s alive!” Your voice turned raspy, ragged with the thought of being so close to him. “Please, Steve.

His resolve crumbled, he reached for the lock to the cell door. As the door opened, Steve moved in front of you, blocking your view into the cell. You weaved around him, attempting to catch a glimpse of your soldier.

When you did, your stomach dropped.

He stood in the far corner of the cement cell, his posture defensive, eyes empty. You breath caught in your throat, he had fading bruises around his eyes, blood dried down his chin and throat.

“Bucky,” you darted around the captain before he could stop you.

The Asset’s eyes flickered to you, then over to Steve quickly. As you approached, the muscles in his face tightened, as if he was anticipating a beating.

“Bucky,” you whispered, slowing your approach. “Are you hurt, Honey?”

He eyed you apprehensively, as if he was waiting for the other shoe to drop. You knew that this was not the man you last saw, defending you until the cattle prods had knocked him unconscious.

“Soldat?” You willed your voice to carry a different tone.

He nodded curtly, “handler.”

It felt as if all the air had been punched from your lungs, your boyfriend has just uttered the term that haunts his nightmares. The multiple people over the decades he was under the thumb of Hydra that have caused him inexcusable pain.

Now, he’s identified you as his handler. Eying Steve suspiciously, as if he wasn’t sure if he could trust him or not.

You tried against in English, Russian vocabulary lacking considerably. “Yes, I am your handler. And I am going to call you Bucky.”

He tilted his head at you, confused, but nodding eventually to agree with you. You were unsure about your role as his handler, making it up as you go.

“Bucky, are you hurt?” You tried again; your voice devoid of its usual warmth.

He shook his head, eyes focusing on the wall over your left shoulder. When you turned your head to follow his eye sight, you could see a drying brown stain, rolling down the wall and finishing in splatters on the floor.

You looked at Steve, who was trying hard to keep it together. “Cap, let’s get him outside. He could use some fresh air.”

Steve nodded, turning stiffly towards the door and leading you back into the maze. Bucky followed, a few paces behind. You let him follow the two of you, not wanting him to feel as if he was being chased.

He followed like an obedient servant, only a few paces behind you, foot steps completely silent. You had to turn your head over your shoulder to make sure he was still behind you.

Outside in the intense sunlight, Bucky was pale as a ghost. He was watching you with careful eyes, awaiting his next orders.

“Take a seat, Bucky,” you pointed to a downed Polylepis tree. The curled, twisted trunk, half rotted from age and weather.

Apprehension crossed Bucky’s face, but he sat. To you that was evidence your Bucky was still under there, the Winter Soldier had little emotion on his face.

“Do you know who I am?” You asked, squatting down in front of him.

His hands shook, clasped together in his lap. “You are my handler.”

Another stab to the heart, you wiped your face of any devastating emotion and nodded. “Status report for your handler. Are you injured?”

The gears were turning in his mind, his beautiful blue eyes flickered from side to side. He couldn’t come up with an answer.

“That’s alright,” you said gently. “We’ll get you checked out by medical when we get home.”

“Home?”

“Mhm,” you nodded, resisting the urge to reach out and sooth your hand over his arm. “I want you to understand something.”

He nodded obediently.

“When you are with me, nobody will hurt you,” you spoke softly, gesturing back to Steve. “You have to trust me.”

He hesitated, but nodded. “Yes, Handler.”

“Call me, Y/N.”

“Y/N.”

Bucky seemed better under the sunlight, instead of the harsh, florescent lights of the cell he abandoned in. Despite the blood and the bruises, he had some color back in his cheeks but the same hollow look in his eyes.

Back on the Quinjet, he flinched as the others moved around, getting ready to return home. Usually, after a successful mission there was never a silent moment in the jet. It was so quiet, you could hear a pin drop.

You told Bucky to sit on the bench seat as you fetched a first aid kit. He’s eyes flitted around to everyone nervous without you there, assessing them and diagnosing who would be the biggest threat.

The jet lifted off the rocky alpine surface as you returned to Bucky. You clocked the anxiety crawling into his eyes and called his name gently.

“Remember what I said? You’re safe with me, nobody will hurt you.”

He nodded, although you knew this Bucky would find that extremely hard to believe. He flinched as Steve dropped into a seat beside him, running a hand over his tired face.

You flipped open the latch of the first aid kit, trying to steady your mind. “Alright soldier, tell me what you need.”

“The asset is not hurt,” he spoke, almost robotically.

“Hm,” you hummed, tearing open an alcohol pad and turning toward him. “Let me clean you up, then.”

As you reached toward him, you watched him fight a knee-jerk reaction. Every muscle in his body stiffened, expecting a blow. You moved slowly, trying to give his body enough time to catch up with his mind.

Your hand smoothed along his cheek, getting him to turn his head toward you. The alcohol pad probably stung as you wiped around his mouth, down his chin, but Bucky showed no reaction. His piercing blue eyes focused intently on your face as you worked.

Wiping away the blood revealed no open wounds, what was there had probably long healed over with the serum pumping through his veins. Your hand cupped his cheek, the other wiped down his neck and swooping around his hairline.

As the rest of the team started to drop off, laying down across the benches for a much needed nap, curling up in the copilots chair with the jet on autopilot; silence had settled over everything like a coat of dust. Steve tipped his head back and shut his eyes, although you weren’t sure if he was asleep or not.

You took your time, taking his hand into yours and wiping away any evidence of the cruelty he faced. You noted his knuckles were covered in fading bruises, defensive wounds. It made you smile a little bit to know he didn’t go quietly.

Bucky was confused, he had told you many times that he was not injured, he did not need care. And this was definitely not the handlers job.

“Why?” He asked quietly, just heard over Sam’s snoring across the aisle.

“Why, what?” You replied, without looking up from where you were attempting to get grime off his knuckles.

“Why are you doing this?” His voice was fragile, almost scared to use it in fear of what might come next.

You looked up into his eyes, stilling your restless hands. Bucky had a hard time reading the emotion on your face, sadness, guilt, and something else that wasn’t familiar to him. Something warm, something kind.

“I don’t want you sitting in your own blood,” you spoke carefully. “It’ll make it easier for the medics to check you over.”

“I don’t… I don’t want…” his words died off, almost regretting starting to speak.

Your Bucky was also hesitant with doctors, his checkered past involved plenty of awful experiences with medical staff. 70 years of poking and prodding, little anesthesia and dubious consent.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” your thumb was sweeping gently over the inside of his wrist. “But I want to make sure you’re alright, even if you feel fine. You’ve been gone from us for a long time.”

He tilted his head in confusion, “how long have I been gone?”

“About a month,” you could feel how tired you were with that statement. It had been too long and now he was finally here, maybe not all in one piece but he was safe.

He squeezed his eyes shut, wincing in a way that made you sit up straighter. “You… You were hurt.”

“Yes, Bucky.”

“And I… And I…” he shook his head, his hand clenched in yours. “My head-“

“Don’t worry about it, Honey,” you could see the headache forming behind his eyes as he struggled to recall memories. “Why don’t you try and sleep?”

The stubborn man still somewhere inside him shook his head. But he let you tip your head down onto his shoulder and close your eyes for the duration of the flight.

When the Quinjet touched down at the compound, Bucky followed you off the jet and into the building. He refused to go to the infirmary, but agreed to follow you up to the residential floor to shower.

The bedroom you shared with Bucky was a safe haven, soft lighting, comfortable bed, books covering both nightstands; dogeared and annotated by the both of you. So many nights spend together in comfortable silence, sometimes reading aloud a line for the other to hear.

“Recognize this place?” You asked, setting down your duffel bag down beside the dresser. Unclipping your utility belt, setting it on top of the dresser where you usually left it.

You watched as Bucky turned in a slow circle, taking in each and every detail he laid his eyes on.

“Maybe,” his lips moved.

He seemed overwhelmed, frustrated with the unfamiliarity of the bedroom, probably the aches and pains that covered his body. You helped him make a decision.

“Bucky, why don’t you take a shower,” you suggested, heading toward the closet for a clean set of clothes. “I’ll get you something comfortable to wear.”

Not wanting to be away from him, you grabbed a bundle of clothes, tucked it under your arm with a clean towel and returned to lead him to the bathroom.

After setting the clothes and towels on the counter, you reached inside the shower and turned it to a comfortable temperature. Bucky watched you carefully, swaying slightly on his feet. You wondered when was the last time he slept.

“Come feel, does this temperature work for you?” You asked over the noise of the shower, gesturing him closer.

Bucky shuffled forward, sticking his flesh hand under the spray and nodding to approve the temperature.

“I’ll be just outside-“

“No!” Burst from his mouth before he could stop it. “Could you please… Could you please stay?”

“Of course,” your eyes stung with unshed tears. “I’ll stay.”

You turned around while he undressed to give him some much needed privacy. He undressed efficiently, leaving his clothes in a neat pile on the bathmat. The glass door opened and shut before you turned around.

Sitting cross legged on the counter, you thought about how many times you had done this for your Bucky. Showering together was intimate enough, but sharing the space, just knowing you were on the other side of the door was enough.

You let yourself relax for a moment as he showered, exhaustion settling into your aching bones and the healing pain returned to your leg. All you wanted was to shower off the nervous sweat you accumulated from the last 24 hours, pull on your favorite pajamas and curl up next to your Bucky in bed.

Bucky opened the glass door, you handed him a towel and he dried off quickly. He seemed to be relaxing a little now, in his own clothes and no longer smelling like he hadn’t showered in a week.

“This is what you do usually after you shower,” you reached for his hair brush, pressing it into his hands. You laid out his tooth brush, beard trimmer, deodorant and anything else you could think of.

It was probably muscle memory at this point, he brushed the tangles from his hair, brushed his teeth with his left hand and trimmed his unruly scruff short. Using his left hand told you there were still remnants of the Winter Soldier lingering around in his consciousness.

While he cleaned up, you took a quick shower and scrubbed the day’s worries from your body. Per your request, Bucky brought you a fresh towel and a pair of pajamas. His cheeks were pink as you got dressed, rubbing a towel through your hair.

“Your leg,” he murmured, eyes straying to the pink, raised scar on your leg.

“Mhm,” you nodded, hanging both towels up to dry. “I’m okay.”

Guilt crossed his features, you reached out and held out your hand, palm up. “Come on, let’s go to bed.”

Bucky fit his warm hand into yours, letting you lead him back out into the main room. He watched as you flipped open the covers, turning on the lamp beside the bed.

His mind felt fuzzy, watching you pad around the room, hair wet and in soft clothes. A headache like a lightning strike burst behind his eyes, making him press his hands to the bridge of his nose.

“My… my head.”

“I know, Sweetheart,” your voice was soft. Sweetheart, was that him? “Come to bed.”

He laid his aching body on the soft mattress, letting his handler – no, his love, cover him up with heavy blankets. His head felt like it was being squeezed in a vice, but somehow it didn’t matter because he was laying next to you.

He closed his heavy eyes, feeling his body relax for the time in a month. Next to you, sleep came easy.

The next morning, Bucky blinked slowly as the bedroom came into focus. The bedsheets were tangled around your legs, twisted up after a good night’s sleep. A heavy weight on his chest kept him anchored to the present, not reliving the past month, you were asleep on his chest.

He reached out and stroked your hair, enjoying the feeling of the silky tendrils running through his fingers. You stirred your sleep, pressing your face into his soft sleep shirt. You rubbed the fabric against your nose as you woke up, blinking up at him in the soft light.

“Heya Doll,” he murmured.

Your lips curled up in a smile, sliding your hand up the center of his chest. “Bucky,” you breathed.

He pressed his lips together in a way you knew meant he was struggling. “I’m sorry you had to see me as him.”

You sat up, turning around to face him. There were still shadows under your eyes in a way that made his stomach sick. He slid his heel up the mattress, letting you lean against his knee under the covers.

“What do you remember?” You asked.

“I remember thinking you were my handler,” he mumbled.

You nodded, reaching out for his hand. He enjoyed the way your hand felt in his, nothing had ever felt more right.

“Thank you for taking care of him,” he murmured. He had been working on this habit of separating himself from the Winter Soldier, it helped to refer to him like he was completing separate from his body.

“Of course, Honey,” you nodded.

“Nobody has ever taken care of him before,” he whispered, eyes turning wistful. “You are the nicest handler I’ve ever had.”

You tried to smile, lifting the corner of your mouth up but it fell short. He tugged you forward, until you were laying on top of him. He loved the feeling of your weight holding him down, keeping him in the present.

“I’ll always be here for you,” you whispered, pressing your face into his neck. He shivered at the feeling of your breath on his skin. “No matter who you are, no matter what happens.”

Bucky squeezed his eyes shut, feeling tears sting in a way he hadn’t felt in a long time.

If he had to choose anyone to be his handler, he would pick you in a heartbeat. Aside from Steve, you were the only one to never doubt him, to show him unconditional love in a way he hadn’t felt since the 40’s.

“No matter what,” he whispered quietly, letting his eyes close once more.

[no-144444]

different- o.piastri

summary: the differences are starting to show ow that oscar is going to be present in mia's life, and in turn, yours.

pairing: oscar piastri x ex! single mom! fem! reader

part one | part two

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You were terrified. The past few weeks had been… strange, to say the least. You’d seen Oscar every single day of the last month. He moved his entire life to London in the span of a week for Mia. It reminded you of the teenage Oscar who would move mountains for you, and you were glad Mia got that side of him too.

It had been a whirlwind of emotions since Australia, and you’d watched every Grand Prix since then from your London house. Mia adored it. You told your family and friends about Oscar coming into Mia’s life, and there were varying degrees of support, but Teresa, your closest friend, hated Oscar. Every time she saw him it was either a roll of the eyes or a passive aggressive comment, but he took it all in good faith and just smiled and continued talking. It was a lot though, you’d been Oscar-less for 4 years, just seeing him through a screen, and now he was coming to your apartment everyday with a coffee for you, and something for Mia. Now, you two texted daily. Now, he was there again, and it freaked you out. 

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Oscar sat outside in his car, psyching himself up for the conversation that was about to happen. How the fuck dop you tell a 4 year old that you’re her dad and you didn’t know about her for 4 years, and now you want to be in her life every single day? How do you apologise for the missed time? How would he apologise to you if she got mad at you? What if she hated him forever and he lost her and you? How could he prove to both of you that he was serious about you two?

Beth: You’ve been MIA since last week, what’s up Osc? Call me please xxx

He cursed himself and the universe's impeccable timing. Beth was the girl he’d been seeing for a few months, and like all the girls he’d dated since you, bore a striking resemblance. He didn’t know what to tell her, how to explain it, or if he even should. His first thought was to ask you what he should do, what you’d be comfortable with him telling, and then he realised he would then be admitting to ‘moving on’, when he really only wanted you. He was at a stand-still in his brain, and muted her messages before going up to your front door. 

“Hey,” you smiled, opening the door to him, Mia on your hip. The picture in front of him made his heart ache a little bit. He could imagine himself coming home to it every night, after every race, for the past few years. “Come in.”

“Thanks,” he smiled, walking inside and taking Mia out of your arms as she reached for him. She softened the ache a bit. “Hey Mia.”

“Hey Osc!” she bundled into his arms, squirming around. She directed him to her playroom where they spent about 3 hours together, before you came in to set her down for her nap. 

“Do you want to���?” you offered, gesturing to her bedroom. “I can show you, just in case you need to know one day.”

He swallowed the lump in his throat and followed behind you. “Yeah, after you.” 

He watched as you gently tucked her in, a soft smile on your face as she looked at you with all the love in the world. He could’ve sworn his heart was trying to claw itself out of his chest to get to you two, but he swallowed back the tears, and left the room behind you, after kissing Mia on the forehead. 

“She really likes you,” you pointed out as you made him a coffee. 

“Thank you for letting me be part of this,” he nodded. “It means… everything to me. She does.”

You nodded. “You’re a natural.” 

He took the cup you handed him with a grateful nod, and you sat across from him. “How are you doing?” 

You stared at him like a deer in headlights for a moment then looked back down at your own mug. “Can I be honest?”

“Of course,” he assured you. “I want you to be.”

“I’m a bit… overwhelmed? If that’s the right word. This is all just… a lot,” you explained. “It’s just… I was a single mom for like 4 years, and now I have you and I guess I’m just still getting used to it. Not that it’s bad or anything, it’s just… different. But Mia and you get on so well, and you’ve been so kind throughout this whole process, so, thank you for that. It’s just-”

“Weird?” he offered, and you chuckled. 

“Weird,” you confirmed. “What about you?” 

“It’s been weird, obviously. But, I adore her. I knew I had cared about people before, but this is just… different. I didn’t think I could care about someone so much after you-” He cut himself off with a sigh. “I’m sorry-”

“It’s alright,” you shook your head. “I get what you mean.” 

He nodded. “She’s wonderful. She’s so smart. She’s so funny. She’s so… you, honestly,” he chuckled.

“She’s a mini me that looks like a mini you,” you laughed. He’d missed that laugh. He’d missed you. 

He nodded. “Well, yeah.”

“How does it feel to be leading the championship?” you asked, sipping your tea. 

He didn’t even think about F1 unless he was in the car. He just raced, and then rushed home to see you and Mia. He shrugged. “I haven’t really thought about it,” he breathed out a long sigh. “I guess it feels good?”

“You haven’t thought about it?” you gawked. 

“I usually rush home after races,” he admitted. “I like to talk to Mia about it.” 

“Oh,” you looked at him, then back down at your mug. “Well, y’know, we could come to the next one, if you want her there.”

“I’d want you there too,” he took your hand. “Both of you.” 

You nodded. “We could be there.”

“I’d like that,” he smiled, his thumb running over your knuckles. “I’d like that a lot.” 

“Alright,” you smiled flatly, but he could see something in your eye, something that made him think he was doing something right. “We’ll make it happen.” 

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“Oscar… is my dad?” Mia questioned. “How?” 

“Well, Oscar and I used to be in a relationship, and we loved each other very much. And we broke up before I knew I was pregnant with you, and I didn’t have a way to tell him you were on the way, but we saw each other in Australia and I told him then, and that’s why he’s been coming over so much,” you explained calmly and gently. 

She nodded for a moment. “That makes sense. Why did you two break up?” 

Both of you cringed and he turned to look at you. 

“Sometimes people may be the right fit, but it might just not be the right time in their lives for them to be together. That’s what happened with me and Oscar,” you spoke slowly, basically grasping at straws to think of something to explain your very complicated break up. 

Oscar tried not to let himself get excited at the fact that you still thought he was right right person for you, but it did make him fell quite good about himself. Right person, wrong time? He could work with that.

“So do I call Oscar; dad, or Oscar?” she asked, glazing over your explanation. 

“You can call me whatever you want,” he smiled. “Oscar, Osc, dad, anything.”

She nodded, studying him again. “I think I’ll call you dad,” he decided. “I like you a lot dad. Are you going to stick around now?” 

He chuckled. “I’m going to stick around until the end of time Mia,” he promised. “Swear.”

“And you and mom are going to get back together?” she asked sceptically.

“Umm,” he thought about it for a moment. “We don’t know.”

“Well you should. Mommy has been single since I was born, and she needs someone who’ll love her,” she blurted out as you covered your face with your hands. 

“Mia,” you groaned. 

“What?! It’s the truth!” Mia shrieked. 

“Anyway,” you changed the topic. “Do you have any other questions?” 

“Not really,” she admitted. “Am I going to have to go between dad and moms house?”

You looked at each other. “We haven’t really talked about that yet,” Oscar admitted. “Is that something you don’t want?” 

“No. It seems like a lot. I want both of you in the same house with me,” she shook her head. 

You turned to each other again. “Well, we’ll talk about it,” you smiled back at Mia. 

“Can dad stay over tonight?” She asked. “I want to watch a movie with him.”

“Of course he can sweetheart,” you smiled and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I’ll get dinner started.”

“I’ll clean up the playroom!” She called out as she ran in the direction of her room. 

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“That wasn’t bad,” he announced as he chopped up carrots. 

“Not at all,” you nodded, your mind a million miles away. 

“I thought she’d take it worse,” he sighed. “Oh, and I really don’t have to stay over tonight-“

“Nonsense,” you brushed him off. “We have a spare bedroom. It’s all yours.” 

“Thank you, for all of this,” he smiled. “She genuinely means everything to me.” 

“That makes two of us,” you smiled, a genuinely, real smile. The ones he was so used to back in the day.

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navigation for my blog :)

taglist:

@htpssgavi @widow-cevans @anayaverse @1800-love-me

[jaiel]

AU based off this.

(Warning long)

Background info:

Danny and Billy met as heroes. Identity reveal and realizing they’re the same age (16) but have alter egos that are older. They eventually start dating.They get married in their adult forms for tax benefits and to keep them both from being homeless since Billy is bouncing from foster homes and Danny was on the run. Dan and Dani aren’t in the picture to make things easier on them for now.

They fight to handle their problems because Danny comes from a species where fighting is how you say hello and Billy is a magical greek champion and patron of magic. So their language of choice when words aren’t working is fighting. They both have healing factors and hormonal teenage boys so it’s not issues. Until the league takes notice.

Imagine Danny and Billy getting sat down for an intervention. The league is tired of them coming in injured. They think Danny is abusing Billy. They also don’t know about Danny’s real age. They think he’s an immortal posing as a teenage because of his appearances in history. Meanwhile Danny was just time traveling. He also still has unresolved trauma from a lot of things.

Billy snd Danny float in, in their respective hero identities to the whole league staring at them in the meeting room. Before they could fully process it snd turn on their heels and dip. Superman suddenly locked them into the meeting room and blocked the door. Danny and Billy look at each other.

“I think we’re in trouble..” Marvel stage whispers.

“Nooooooo I think they just wanna play Mario kart.” Danny sassily whispers back.

Marvel sighs figuring Danny was annoyed he made them use the tubes instead of flying up to the watch tower. In his defense, Batman had said it was important and he didn’t want Danny getting distracted by space and making them late AGAIN. He was taken out of his thoughts by Dinah and Diana walking towards them and gesturing to seats in the in front of the other leaguers.

“Phantom, Captain Marvel. We would appreciate if you sit and hear us out.” Diana said firmly. Giving little room for wiggle room.

“I told you we should’ve went to the moon first.” Danny grumbled already moving to the seats to sit and marvel followed suit.

“Good. We gathered you today because we are concerned about you two. We as a team….as a family have noticed some concerning behaviors over the past few months. We would like to share them with you. After we share we will allow you to respond. We are here to help.” Dinah said in her typical calm voice that she used for therapy.

In the corner of his eyes he could see Danny cross his arms and float ever so slightly above the chair. His deathly slow heart rate picking up ever so slightly.

“I’ve noticed since you’ve been married. Both of you have came to meetings and incidents already injured. Just last week Phantom had various bruising on his neck, a black eye and a broken leg when he came in to finish his reports. However there had been no incidents of crime on that day or reports.” Batman remarked squinting his eyes at Shazam.

“Marvel, you yourself have come in with broken ribs and other bones on multiple occasions. Even needing to sit out of missions a few times in the last couple of months.” Wonder Woman added shifting her gaze from Marvel to Danny. Oh so that’s what this is about. It should be an easy fix. Hopefully he could keep Danny calm enough for it to happen. He began to reach for the others hand when-

Screeching of a chair scrapping against the floor made everyone’s head turnt to Green Lantern.

“Ight since everyone’s to scared to say it. We know you’ve been beating on Marvel, PHANTOM! We know about your brawls at point Nemo and you both do a horrible job hiding your injuries. It’s outrageous that you claim to be a hero but beat on YOUR OWN HUSBAND!” Green lantern yelled accusingly floating into the air. There was a mixture of agreements and muttering. Some of the senior league members glaring daggers at GL. Clearly this wasn’t how it was supposed to go.

“Isn’t Marvel a little too young for you anyways?” The Flash muttered.

Before Marvel could say anything. There was an ice spike shot directly where the Flash had been sitting. Upon impact the spike had covered the chair. The Flash himself having dodged and stood staring at them offendedly. The air around them dropped until everyone’s breath began to show like vapor. He looked at Danny whose hands were shaking as ice formed around his chair.

“Phantom, my spookie, spook it’s okay. They’re just concerned. They don’t know.” Marvel said grabbing onto one of Danny’s hands snd wincing at how cold it was. He refused to let go until Danny met his eyes.

His head had been down as he hadn’t been making eye contact since the conversation started. Marvel should’ve known something was up when there wasn’t any banter or sass coming from him. Danny’s glowing green eyes had a white reflective slit in the middle. Like the reflective eyes of a cat and his face seemed to shift or glitch ever so slightly.

“I can’t do this again.” He whispered. Small tears could be seen. Evaporating off his pale skin. “I’m not a monster.”

“I know. You’re not a monster.” He said cupping Danny’s face in his hands.

Smiling as Danny leaned into his touch. A good sign that he wouldn’t try to impale anyone else. He could hear speaking in the background but he tried to ignore it and focus on Danny.

“Now if you could stop giving us all the cold shoulder I would appreciate it.”

His attempted at a joke worked when he got a small snort out of Danny. His eyes dimming slightly as the ice began to vaporize into the air.

“I know it’s a big step but I would appreciate if you follow my lead. I’ll do your chores for the next 3 months.” He prompted looking Danny in the eyes. Danny looked back at him searching his face. He knew that Danny had found what he was looking for when the other frowned deeply.

“The rest of the year.” Danny said with a straight face that left absolutely no room for arguments. Marvel signed.

“Fine.”

“Swear it!” Danny demanded as his voice reverberated as if multiple people were talking. He hated when he did that.

“Fine! I swear on the river Styx that I will do your chores for the rest of the year.” Marvel proclaimed loudly. He could hear Wonder Woman gasp at the mention of the river. He took Danny’s waiting hand as green fire enveloped them as they shook.

He then turned to the alarmed members of the league. Some shocked, some in battle stances, some in confusion but all staring at Phantom and Marvel.

Danny watched as Marvel said the magic words. “Shazam” and transformed back into Billy with the strike of mysterious lightning. Wearing his classic red hoodie, jeans and sneakers. He snickered silently kneeling they were wearing the same thing since Danny had just taken Billy’s clothes. Billy cleared his throat.

“Some of you know. Others don’t. I’m Billy Batson. I am Captain Mavrel. It seems we have a few misunderstandings we need to clear up.” He said trying to stand up straighter like when he’s trying to sound more mature.

“You have the floor Billy.” Batman states. Raising a hand to stop all sounds of objections and shock from other members.

“Thank you. I’ll state the facts clearly. Me and a Phantom are in a healthy relationship. Phantom is an appropriate age to be dating me. We appreciate your concern but your this intervention is unwarranted. I won’t speak for Danny but I take offense at you accusing him of mistreating me and accusations against his character.” He said becoming very sharp towards then end.

Where he glared at Green Lantern and The Flash. His fist clenched but he took a breath and calmed himself. He then turned to Phantom. Danny could see that it was his time to be included. Billy’s blue eyes were soft but the unspoken question of ‘do you trust me?’ Was all but spoken. Danny sighed and mustered his courage as he let the white rings envelop him and he got up to stand next to Billy. Quickly taking his hand.

“Would you like to introduce yourself? I can do it for you.” Billy turned his head to whisper in his ear. Danny shook his head and instead clenched Billy’s hand a little harder.

“My name is Daniel Fenton. Call me Danny but you know me as Phantom. I’m 16 snd a half ghost of the Infinite Realms.” Danny said as he let himself look over the shocked faces of the League.

“You expect us to believe you’re telling the truth? We have seen evidence of you throughout history.” Aquaman countered. “Some of us even have ran into you in our youth.”

“Aquaman I don’t sense any lies come from either of them. This meeting also wasn’t supposed to be accusatory.” Martian Manhunter spoke up. “We gathered to check on the well fare of both of our members.”

“Manhunter is right. We shouldn’t be throwing accusations. The league is founded on mutual trust and understanding.” Superman stood in.

Wonder Woman stood from where she had been sitting and walked towards the two boys. Billy moved forward to put space between her and Danny. She stopped in front of them and took the lasso off her hip. She held it out.

“Would you consent to the lasso of Truth? Simply to ease the minds of some of our more stubborn members.” She said mainly looking at Danny.

In a relationship, even a fake one, there will always be fights. Billy and Danny know this from experience. But they are only teenagers and sometimes can’t have calm conversations, although they try. Then they get the idea to fight in Point Nemo, where they can’t hurt anyone. After all, the fights take place in the forms of Captain Marvel and Phantom. Their fights are of very different nature. Who will take out the trash? Let’s fly to Point Nemo. Who will get Dan out of Gotham again? Point Nemo. Is someone offended? They will sort everything out in Point Nemo!

Aquaman senses that sometimes the ocean is not calm and the sea creatures are worried and scared. And when he arrives at the scene of the disturbance, he sees Marvel and Phantom fighting, figuring out who will wash the dishes today. Arthur does not know the reason and thinks that there is a fight between them, a pretty brutal fight, with blood, screams and all that. Let's just say he did not like it. And he told the rest of the League about it.

The League already doesn't like Phantom, and this is a great opportunity to throw even more stones at him.

[zlut4rina]

Imy♡

Storyline: Working overnight at a busy office job wasn't everyone's cup of tea, especially not your clingy girlfriends.

Pairings: Student!Ning x Businesswoman!reader

Warnings: public sex, phone sex, dirty talk (ithink)

Note: Both are 18+, obviously, ik I said I was making ning fluff, which I am obviously, but i wanted to make it two parts, and this just came to mind for part 1. Sorre

Word count: 2k (pretty short, idk how you could make 5k+ with just phone sex 😭)

___________________________________________

You hated your job. It was one of the most insufferable places on earth. But the money was good, you needed the money. You weren’t struggling to pay rent or for food. You were actually quite ahead on your bills. The reason being was because of this job, also with the help of your pretty roommate. After the fallout between you guys and a mutual friend, she was kicked out of their house. So you decided to take her in, of course. Unlike you, she was tight on money but somehow still managed to stay in her uni without problem. Ever since then, you two have been living together, then long after you bloomed a relationship with her. She was now your girlfriend of one year and three months, and you couldn’t be happier.

Present time

While finishing up a few papers left by your boss, you noticed some unopened emails on your screen. When opening them, you see at least 5 different request sent to you by a few employers and your boss. You sigh in annoyance, having a feeling you’re going to be here a bit longer than planned. Scrolling through your inbox, skimming through everything, you finally click one and start working. That’s when a coworker walks up to you, leaning on your wall divider. “How long you plan on being here, I thought only six of us had the night shift.” His question sounded genuine with concern in his voice, looking around the office as if scanning to make sure his count was right. “Seven is an odd number y’know” he lets out a stupid chuckle, one you’ve hated for so long. Looking up at him, taking you from your concentration, you spoke. “I have extra work I need to get done. Maybe I’ll be promoted, who knows. Doubt you would.” The last remark was snarky. You gave him a sarcastic smile, turning back to your work. The man left with a scoff, not before whipping a few papers off your desk, scrambling them in the process. You clicked your teeth at this. It wasn’t anything new. It wasn’t something you weren’t used to by now.

Continuing your work, already done with three of the assignments listed to you, your phone rang. Feeling the buzz on your thigh, you take it out, to your realization it was your girlfriend. You turn your head to the bottom corner of your computer screen to check the time. Seeing it was two hours past when you’d usually be home, a bit of sadness washed over you. Picking up the phone, you put it to your ear. “Hey baby, sorry I’m not home yet. I’ve got extra work I’ve gotta get done.” You spoke quietly into the speaker of your phone. Not to draw attention to yourself, your coworkers were all across the room, some just a row behind you. “It’s fine. I was just worried, is all” your girlfriend said, shuffling in bed, to get comfortable. “How long till you can come home, I miss you” she said in a whiny tone, her voice a bit hoarse due to being tired. She must’ve just woken up, you thought to yourself before answering her. “A while, baby, not too long, though. Don’t miss me too much, cutie.” You chuckled a bit as you spoke, earning a playful whine from the other side of the phone. “Hey I’m gonna connect my headphones so I can finish this work, okay, cutie?” The other girl responded in a hum as you pulled out your airpods and connected them to your phone. I'm sitting right next to your keyboard as you get back to work.

Half an hour had passed with you giggling and snickering at your phone. Finishing some more work, the other end of the call was a bit silent sometimes. She didn’t answer you with words mostly with hums or a few “uh huh’s” there wasn’t a problem in that at all, she was probably sleepy I mean its way passed 10 so of course she’s a bit less talkative. “I miss you” suddenly the other side of the phone spoke. Your eyes widened a bit, taking you out of your trance, and the corner of your lips formed a small grin. “I wish you were here right now” your girlfriend spoke in a soft tone. Barley able to hear her. “Me too, baby. I hope you're keeping the bed warm for me when I get home.” You let out a soft chuckle as she giggled quietly. Once again, you heard shuffling through the phone her sighs we slightly audible too. “Are you sleepy?” You asked after the other end went silent. It took a while to gain a response from her. “No, I can’t sleep, not yet” You laughed a bit at her words. Between the two of you, Ning was very clingy she held onto you like a lost puppy. You two were always together. She would even follow you to the bathroom sometimes. She loved being your little spoon, too, anytime you two cuddled. “You should sleep, love, I won’t be home till maybe around one in the morning” saying this caused you to frown. You really wanted to be in bed right now. Holding your favorite girl, planting sweet, soft kisses on her. But no, you just HAD to notice those emails. “I tried, I need you here, holding me. Your arms wrapped around me, I need you.” Hearing her voice, she sounded so needy, desperate. She really did need you, especially at this very moment.

“I miss you too. I can’t stand being away from you for this long. I haven’t kissed you in forever.” You whined out quietly. It really has been long, seeing as two of your coworkers have already left and headed home. “There’s a lot you haven’t done to me in a while …” the other side spoke, catching you off guard. You froze. Ruffling and strange movements were heard from your phone. It lasted a while, too. Coming to your senses, you finally connected a few dots “Like what baby” you asked in a mocking tone, smiling to yourself as well. “I think you know” her voice was husky, yet her words flew out smoothly. “Hmm I’m not sure. Maybe you could refresh my memory?” You teasingly asked her, your smiling becoming a bit bigger. “Fuck why can’t you just get here already ..” She let out a sharp sigh as she spoke. You giggled at her words, she really does miss you huh “So impatient baby, hmm I wonder what would I be greeted with if I were there right now.” You leaned back in your chair, you felt a bit cocky in this moment crossing your arms behind your head. “Your very needy, wet, horny and spread girlfriend that’s what” you could hear her soft sighs and whines through your headphones. It was a bit too quiet for your liking so you turned your volume up. “That’s a sight to see y’know, fuck I’d love to be there right now and ruin you. I bet that’s what you want huh, my fingers deep inside your aching pussy” a few moans were heard along with a few wet sounds from her fingering her pussy. “Your so disgusting, touching yourself at this hour, begging to be fucked senseless”

Giggling to yourself in the moment you check your surroundings, seeing nobody is paying you any mind you continue to focus in your desperate lover. “I bet you can’t wait for me to get home. Can’t wait for me to fucking ruin that pretty body of yours.” You bit your lip at the thought of it, sighing to yourself. Your girlfriends’ moans were getting louder, you heard a soft thud as your girlfriend placed her phone down beside her. “Fuck, I need you so bad right now!” Ning wasn’t really the time to vocalize her needs like this, she was quieter and let her body do most the talking when it came to sex between you two. Seeing this side if her changed something in you. You had to get this side out of her more often. “I can’t really hear you that well though baby, doesn’t sound like you miss me that much.” You tease her tilting your head placing your chin in your hands, staring at your computer screen. Imagining what she looks like right now. “You wanna hear how bad I need you, yea?” She took her phone in hand and turned her camera on. The camera facing the ceiling, before she slowly brought it down to her milky fingers going in and out of her drenched pussy. You could only stare at your screen, has she lost her mind ? This isn’t the same girl a few hours ago. This isn’t the same girl you gave breakfast in bed to earlier. Snapping you out of your thought, she moved her camera in all angles giving you the greatest views of her soaking wet body. “Fuck baby, see? See how bad I need you right now, you’re telling me work is more important than pleasing this?” her voice became higher in pitch the more she went on, bucking her hips into her hand. So desperate for more, so desperate for you.

The sound of her moans and the way her body moved into her hand was driving you crazy. That should be you. You should be the one pleasing her right now. Except you're stuck here watching your pretty girl work for her orgasm. Licking you’re lips at the sight, your hand slowly went down to your pants, unbutton them swiftly. Looking around the office for any wandering eyes. Your hands slipped down to your soaking panties circling your clit slowly. A soft sigh left your lips as you closed your eyes gently. Your motion on yourself fastening, closing your legs ever so slightly due to the feeling rushing inside you. “Baby ..” you whispered head falling down, biting your lip a little. Roughly enough to leave a mark. Moving from your panties you put your hand inside playing with your wet fold. Slowly teasing your entrance, moving your fingers in and out, but not the full length of them. Your girlfriends’ moans were louder than before the camera shaking, hips bucking up and down. Her tiny whines and quiet curses driving you nuts. “You close baby?” you asked working your fingers in yourself. “mhm …” She answered her voice whiney and needy. Flipping the camera she faced it to her exposed chest, cupping one breast and playing with her nipple. Of course taking her hand away from her heat upset her a bit, but she knew you loved seeing her touch herself. Just for you and nobody else. “So pretty baby, you look so good. Fuck I wish I was there to taste you” your words making her whine and bite her lip, putting her fingers back into her soaking wet pussy. “I wanna feel your tongue deep inside me, taste how good you make me feel.” You couldn’t help the moan that escaped your lips, and honestly you didn’t care if anyone heard. Your too focused on the beautiful piece of art in front of you to care.

Your pace with your fingers quickened inside you, spreading your legs a little wider for easier access. Biting your lip to conceal your moans, you threw your head back against the head of your chair. Phone in one hand and the other in your pants. You could feel your climax reaching near. You could tell she was close too with the way her body was moving and how fast her hand had gotten. “You better cum baby, just for me, ruin those sheets” you gritted your teeth together and you felt closer and closer to the edge having forgotten all about your work, the time, and if the people around you were aware of your little situation. “Fuck baby I’m so close, I wanna cum in your mouth all over your face.” Her words sent you over the edge cumming all over your hands and in your pants. You wanted to close your eyes but you couldn’t look away from her perfect body and how it reacted to finally releasing all that built up tension in her code. She let out high pitched moans and cute whines as she came, not stopping after wetting her fingers she played with her clit a little more. The fast circles she was rubbing on herself made her squirt all over the bed her camera catching all of it. Her body squirmed at the pleasure and release. The call was almost quiet, all that could be heard was the heavy breaths your girlfriend was taking. Her small gasp and her little whimpers. You watched all this go down, finally growing tired of waiting you buttoned your pants up and packed your things to head out and head home to your girlfriend. “Fuck, hurry home, okay? I miss you” your girlfriend said before ending the call.

___________________________________________

[viviwah]

CHOI SU-BONG (THANOS) - BEST FRIEND

warnings: f!reader, unprotected sex (creampie), slight oral (m receiving), smut + fluff, smau (takes place outside of the games), mentions of drugs, friends to lovers??

a/n: i’ve been seeing so many smau’s and now i’m obsessed ^^

sum: after finding out your boyfriend was nothing but an unfaithful piece of sh*t, your best friend comes over to comfort you.

You sat on your living room couch, legs crossed and mind wandering. You contemplated on whether or not you should call your boyfriend, Nam-Gyu, for the 3rd time tonight. Yeah, he worked late some nights since he was a promoter at Club Pentagon, but you had a feeling that tonight he was busy doing something other than work. You let out a deep sigh and reached for your phone, clicking on his contact, and calling him. You waited patiently and anxiously as the phone rang. It only took a few seconds before someone picked up. Your heart raced.

“Hello?”

The voice of a woman could be heard from the other side of the phone. Your brows furrowed as you pulled your phone away from your ear, double checking to see if you clicked onto the right contact and you did.

“Uh, who’s this?”

“Who are you? You’re the one who’s calling MY boyfriend.”

“Your boyfriend?” you scoffed.

“I guess he’s been lying to both of us.”

“Wh-”

With a swift click, you ended the call, leaving whoever that girl was, dumbfounded. You couldn’t believe what you had just heard. Her boyfriend? Your heart sank and it felt like the world around you began to close in on you. Your breath hitched as tears started to fill your eyes, you shut them, allowing the warm, salty, tears to rush down your cheeks. You knew something was off with Nam-Gyu, especially since for the past month he’d been coming home late, not responding to your texts, and not returning any of your calls. Honestly speaking, it was gonna happen sooner or later. He was a club promoter after all, meaning that he was always surrounded by loads of half naked women and nine times out of ten, he and the women he encountered were under the influence. Being on drugs is no excuse for cheating though, you knew that and you weren’t trying to justify his actions, you just wanted to come to a conclusion.

Why would he ever cheat on you?

You’ve been nothing but good to him for the entirety of your relationship. When he needed a shoulder to cry on, you were there. When he didn’t feel seen or heard, you were there to make him feel both of those things. You weren’t able to come to a conclusion just now and you didn’t want to spend your night crying over spilled milk so you just decided to forget about it for now. You wiped away your tears with the ends of your sweatshirt and grabbed your phone again, this time to text your best friend, Su-Bong, since he always knew how to cheer you up.

You laughed to yourself before shutting your phone off. Su-Bong was a pro at making light out of the darkest situations and that’s why you loved him. You decided to freshen up a bit before he came, changing into some cozy pj’s and just as you made your way back into the living room, the sound of knocking could be heard at your front door. You made your way over to the front door and opened it, revealing your best friend, Su-Bong, who quickly made his way into your home.

“Hi, Señorita.” he flashed a smile and raised his hands that held two bags. “Got your favorites.”

“Thanks, you’re the sweetest.” you smiled to him, watching as he placed the bags onto the table in your kitchen.

“So, what happened?” he questioned, opening a bag of gummy worms and stuffing his face.

You let out a sigh before going into full detail to explain the events that took place about an hour ago.

“Wow, he’s worse than I thought.” his face that was once full of excitement, was now blank and his eyes were full of hatred.

“Tell me about it.” you scoffed as you made your way over to the couch, throwing yourself onto it.

Su-Bong followed behind you, taking a seat on the couch as well.

“I always thought he was too ugly for you anyway.” he let out a light chuckle and you quickly slapped him on the shoulder.

“What?!”, he pouted.

“That’s mean.” you rolled your eyes.

“He’s mean for cheating on you!” he argued.

It had been exactly three hours since Su-Bong came over and most of that time was spent watching movies, making jokes, and trolling your ex. You were having the time of your life with your best friend, almost forgetting that you were going through a breakup. You look over to him, watching as his eyes were glued onto the TV. Su-Bong was so effortlessly attractive and he always made you feel heard which was something that Nam-Gyu failed to do. You wondered what a relationship with him would be like.

STOP.

Why were you thinking like that about your best friend?

Were you starting to catch feelings for him? Were you just now realizing that the love of your life had been in front of your face this entire time?

“What you thinking about, Señorita?”

The sound of his voice rang throughout your ears, ripping you away from your inappropriate thoughts.

“Nothing.” you replied calmly.

“If you’re still thinking about that manwhore, I can help you take your mind off of him. Only if you’ll let me.” he spoke softly as he trailed his hand over your shoulder.

Your eyes met his and in that moment, you realized you could no longer hold back the feelings you had for him. Your arms wrapped around him and you pulled him in for a kiss and as your lips touched his, your eyes widened, and you suddenly pulled away. You realized that what you’d just done was wrong and you attempted to apologize.

“I’m s—”

Your apology was cut short as you were interrupted by Su-Bong’s lips clashing against yours. I guess the feelings you had for him were mutual. At first you were hesitant but soon, you gave in, melting underneath his touch. His hands trailed up and down your body as he kissed you passionately. The kiss that started off so innocently was quickly turned into an aggressive make out session and as the two of you shared sloppy kisses, Su-Bong began playing with the buttons of your pajama top. He pulled away from your lips before speaking.

“Can I take this off for you?”

You nodded in response and he wasted no time, immediately unbuttoning your shirt and throwing it onto your bedroom floor. He eyed your boobs, admiring them, even though they were still confined within your bra. You made your way onto his lap and began trailing your lips along his neck, leaving behind a few faint hickeys. Su-Bong’s hands trailed up your bare back and in one swift movement, he unclasped your bra, throwing it onto to floor alongside your shirt. His hands then rested on your now bare boobs, giving them a light squeeze. You let out a light moan into his ear and trailed your hands down to the waistband of his sweatpants, you pulled lightly before being stopped.

“Are you sure you wanna do this?” his eyes met yours, softening as he questioned you.

“Yes, I’m sure.” you gave a light nod as you spoke.

He then slid his sweatpants and underwear off, encouraging you to do the same. You watched as his thick cock sprang up, almost touching his bellybutton. You wrapped your hand around it and then began moving your hand up and down, drawing light groans from Su-Bong.

“Fuck.” he cursed under his breath.

You smirked, fastening your movements and watching as pre-cum started to leak from the tip of his cock. Your warm tongue licked up his shaft before reaching his tip and once your tongue reached his tip, it moved swiftly, licking up all of his pre-cum. You then opened your mouth, wrapping it around the tip of his cock as you moved your head down slowly, attempting to take every inch of him down your throat. Su-Bong felt like he was in heaven, he groaned loudly as he felt your warm mouth wrap tightly around his thick cock, it was enough to make his eyes roll into the back of his head. His hands soon became tangled in your hair as he forced himself further down your throat.

“Enough of this, I want to be inside you already. Let me make you feel better than he ever did.”

Su-Bong instructed you to lay on your back so you did just that and watched as he teased your wet pussy with his fingers, running circles around your clit and sliding one finger in, just to take it out immediately. Your back arched up slightly as you moaned and he loved this, he loved seeing you so weak under his touch. After teasing you for what felt like hours, he finally slid his thick cock inside of your warm and plump pussy, stretching you out. Your lips parted immediately, forcing your moans to flow out like a waterfall. Su-Bong eyed your entire body as he began thrusting into you, slowly, before picking up the pace and thrusting into you quickly and roughly. Your moans grew louder as he thrusted into you faster by the second, resting one of his hands against your right boob and squeezing your nipple as his free hand rubbed circles around your clit, forcing your eyes to roll back into your head.

Who knew he’d be this good in bed?

“Does it feel good?” he questioned in a whisper before leaning into you and kissing onto your neck.

“Y-Yes, it feels so good.” you responded.

“Even better than the way he made you feel?” Su-Bong questioned again, still thrusting into your tight pussy roughly.

You nodded, unable to speak to due to the overwhelming pleasure.

“Let me hear you say it.” his fingers moved faster around your clit as his thrusts slowed.

“You make me feel way better than he ever did.” you admitted, locking eyes with him.

He pulled you in for a kiss and started thrusting into you deeper than he did before and a familiar feeling began to wash over you, one that you haven’t felt in a while. Your pussy gushed, tightening around Su-Bong’s cock as a tight coil began to form in your lower abdomen, signaling that your orgasm was near.

“I’m gonna cum.” you whispered, moaning lightly.

Hearing this only encouraged Su-Bong to fasten his pace and deepen his strokes, his number one priority right now was making you feel good and he was doing a damn good job. Your walls tightened around him once again and he groaned loudly as his cock began to twitch inside of you, he was close too. He tried pulling away but you stopped him.

“Cum inside of me, please.”

He nodded and thrusted into you once again, forcing that coil that had built in your lower abdomen to unravel. Your pussy tightened around him again before you coated his cock in your juices. His cock twitched one last time before pumping you full of his cum. He slid his cock out of your pussy and watched as his cum began to drip out of you slowly.

“I love you, (yourname).” he breathed out, giving you a soft smile.

“I love you more, Su-Bong.” you smiled.

[logaenhowlett]

Hey... so, that hurt.

IN THE BEST FUCKING WAY.

When it comes to Old Man Logan, I love when writers touch on just how weary and exhausted he's become. Makes me wanna wrap him in a blanket and comfort him so bad.

I simply adore the recurring imagery with the porch light. Not sure if this was intended, but I thought the way they saw each other, for the first time, even past the blinding headlights of his car was great foreshadowing of their bond.

The dialogue. Wow, that was very well done! She's incredibly forward (good for her lol), and Logan was perfect, I could imagine him saying all that so vividly.

“Think about it,” you offer as you open the door and slip out of the limo. “Door’ll be open.” 

Like, I'm sorry? That's flirty as fuck, I love it! And the fact that she knows he can't resist. Even that whiskey bit was cheeky as hell.

“I ain’t human.” Your eyes flick to his as you drop his right hand and reach for his left. “You’re human where it counts,” you say, beginning to massage his hand.  Logan scoffs. “Yeah? And where’s that?” You release his hand and place your palm in the center of his chest, your fingers splayed over his heart. “In here.”

That made me tear up. It was so heartfelt and honest, that poor man needs to hear all this from time to time (or all the time). And that entire breakup scene tore my soul to shreds. But it was totally justified for her to react that way and not put up with his behaviour. Also, Charles hitting Logan with a much-needed life lesson (and water) was great lmao

Oh, and the smut? Yeah, I re-read that twice cause that was quite simply exquisite.

As he drives away, he catches one last look at you in the rearview mirror and he’ll spend the next few months wishing he told you—he feels you too. 

The way my smile slowly disappeared after that line. Genuinely, I was like: Oh no, what the fuck is happening.

“You kept the light on,” he husks, unable to keep the break out of his voice.” Your lips quirk into a soft smile. “I always will, Logan.”

The ending was so beautiful! Tying in the plot from the movie, and introducing Laura? Oh. My. Heart!!! I just know they'll be perfect for each other.

Lub, this was definitely your best work. I'm so content right now, and I'll be dreaming of this gorgeous little world you've created. Thank you so much for cooking up this treat <3

Come A Long, Long Way

SYNOPSIS: His days are long and his nights are longer. He comes to you during those hours when the rest of the world stills, lured in by something almost like fate. 

PAIRING: Old Man Logan x fem!reader 

WC: 12.2k

WARNINGS: smut 18+, mdni; angst; swearing; non-explicit mentions of wounds, scars and healing; gratuitous sexual tension; mentions of alcohol/alcohol consumption; dirty talk; frottage; nipple play; surprise appearance by Charles; oral (f receiving); fingering; unprotected p in v; sex with feelings; cowgirl; mating press; creampie; brief mentions of Laura; happy ending because I said so

A/N: The idea for this story came to me through a song--My Fair Lady by Kaleo. I was struck by this verse: I'm weary from my travels // I've come a long, long way // I haven't felt a woman // Since last that I was here // Oh, won't you bring me whisky // And run your fingers through my hair? // Oh, won't you whisper sweet words // Oh, so softly in my ear? I thought, "Wow, that's so Old Man Logan" and this is what I birthed from that. This may be one of my favorite things I've ever written, and I sincerely hope you think so too. Huge, huge thank you to @yxtkiwiyxt for betaing this for me and making the final draft what it is; you helped end this in such a beautiful way. Thank you to @saradika for the use of her graphics. And as always, I hope you enjoy this and any likes, comments and reblogs are always appreciated!

He shouldn’t care about the car pulled over on the side of the road, hazard lights blinking as the rain pours down. 

For three days, Logan’s entertained a rowdy bachelorette party, chauffeuring them from bar to bar, dinner to dinner. The scent of cheap perfume and desperation still linger inside the limo, the drunken, whispered advances still burn against his skin. 

He’s tired. Exhausted down to his very marrow and he wants nothing more than to crawl onto his sagging mattress and steal whatever amount of sleep his shattered mind will give him. 

So, no. He shouldn’t care about the car. 

But he finds himself easing off the gas, the limo starting to slow as he nears. He feels drawn, like a month to a flame, as if some unseen force has wound itself around his sternum and is pulling him forward. 

Pulling him to you. 

As the limo approaches, he spots you crouched down by the front left tire, struggling with a lug wrench, the tool slipping in your rain-soaked fingers. He can almost hear the curses spilling from your lips as you glance up and look towards where he’s sitting. 

Logan knows you can’t see him, not well anyway with the headlights shining directly upon you and the rain pouring down in sheets, but he swears you find his gaze, your eyes seeming to pierce down directly to his soul. He feels the flutter of something deep in his chest and he feels exposed, like a raw wound that hasn’t quite healed. 

For a moment, he hesitates, and wonders if you’re a siren, out here in your element to lure him to his death. Then your gaze drops and the thought dissolves but only just. Before he can talk himself out of it, Logan’s throwing the car in park and opening the door. 

The rain is frigid, the cold biting at his skin as the downpour soaks him down to the bone. You glance up at him as he approaches, your fingers loosening around the wench but still keeping it firmly in your grasp. Straightening up, you push wet strands of hair out of your face, your fingers trembling from the cold. 

“Need a lift?”

He doesn’t know why he asks. What he should do is swap out the old tire for the spare and let you go on your way. But those eyes of yours are piercing him again, the hook you’ve sunk deep in his sinew pulling taut once more and Logan feels compelled to take you home. 

For a few moments, you continue to silently assess him, your gaze flitting between your car, the limo behind him and back to his now soaked frame. Then, you stand and open the driver’s side door, tossing in the wrench and pulling your purse close to your chest. You follow him to the limo and climb into the backseat as Logan slips back in behind the wheel. 

He glances back at you through the rearview mirror, watching as you lean back into the seat, your wet clothes clinging to every curve of your body. Which is another thing he shouldn’t care about and yet…

Clearing his throat, he turns up the heat. “Where you headed?”

“North. About twenty miles or so.”

Logan nods and shifts the car into drive, heading back down the road as the rain continues to come down. Several minutes pass in silence, save for the rhythmic thump of the windshield wipers. Finally, your voice breaks through the silence, soft and lilting. 

“Got a name?”

“Who’s asking?”

A half smile tugs at your lips as you slide from the seat and slip into the row directly behind the partition. Logan can feel the damp of your skin as you lean into his space, the scent of rain flooding his nostrils almost intoxicating. You say your name and wait for him to respond in kind.

“Logan,” he answers, eyes fixed on the road ahead.

“Life hasn’t been kind to you, has it, Logan?” you ask, his name dripping from your lips like honey and just as sweet.

Logan stiffens, his grip tightening on the wheel as your words cut through the night. There’s no pity in your tone, which he’s silently grateful for, but an unsettling mixture of curiosity and understanding.

At the best of times, he doesn’t like anyone trying to scratch below the surface, to worm themselves into all the soft and vulnerable bits he tries so desperately to hide away. Now that he’s older and feeling every bit of his age, the weight of his bones threatening to drag him down with each step, he likes it even less.

“It’s not kind to anyone,” he answers, turning his head just enough to glance sideways at you. 

You tilt your head slightly, a wordless noise humming in your throat. “Maybe,” you concede, voice soft, like you’re mulling over his words. “Except your life has carved itself into you a little more than most.”

He wants to be annoyed, to slam his foot on the brake and send the limo careening into reverse back towards your broken down car. But something stirs in him, thrumming in time with the pulse beating in his veins—a spark of irritation mixed with that pull that’s been gnawing at him since he first saw you. 

“You a therapist or somethin’?”

You chuckle softly, the sound low and intimate, as you lean back into the seat, finally putting some space between you. “No. Just intuitive.”

“Yeah?” He looks up at you through the rearview mirror with a scowl. “Intuit less. Just tell me where I’m goin’.”

A soft, chiding “tsk” falls from your lips and you shake your head, but Logan doesn’t miss the smile playing on your lips. You give him directions to your house and for moment you both sit in silence but the air remains heavy with unspoken tension. 

Logan pulls off the highway, beginning to wind through the smaller streets of the town as he gets closer to your place. The thought of this ride ending, of you leaving this car, both thrill and disappoint him. 

“You believe in fate?”

The question cuts through the silence, pulling Logan’s focus back to you. He glances at you briefly, your expression thoughtful as you wait for him to answer. 

“No,” he finally says, voice flat. 

A soft hum escapes your throat. “Unsurprising. But don’t you think, Logan,” you begin, leaning back into his space, “that maybe fate is what brought us together?”

You have that knowing look in your eye again, a sly smile tugging at your lips. As if you’re in on some cosmic secret he’s not privy to. It unnerves him. 

But it intrigues him, too. 

“I think a broken down car brought us together.”

“Or maybe life decided to be kind to you,” you challenge. “To bring me to you.”

Logan turns into a quiet subdivision as your words rattle around in his brain. The rain has mostly subsided, but is still falling in a gentle drizzle as he pulls up in front of your house, a single porch light illuminated in welcome. It looks small, yet homey, the kind of place he could have seen himself in once if life had been kinder to him. 

“You should come in,” you say as you gather your belongings. “Get out of those wet clothes.”

Your eyes meet his again through the review mirror, a mischievous glint in your gaze and an even more sinful smile on your lips. 

It’s been a while since he’s been with anyone. The thrill of finding a partner for the night having lost its luster around the time his bones started to ache. More often than not, his sexual escapades involve his own calloused hands and memories from when he was a younger man. 

“Think about it,” you offer as you open the door and slip out of the limo. “Door’ll be open.” 

Logan sits, hands gripping the steering wheel, contemplating whether or not to follow you into the house.

Your offer is tantalizing, ripe for the picking, and the baser part of himself wants to accept—follow you into sin. You’ve already injected yourself into his veins, he might as well see the high through. 

The rational part of his brain knows he should leave, throw the limo in reverse and tail it back to the life he’s carved out for himself in the desert. Experience has hardened him, left him unable to, or maybe unwilling to, open himself to others. He doesn’t need whatever it is you think you can offer him, no matter how alluring and sweet your words may be. 

The weight of his wet clothes against his skin begins to feel almost suffocating and with a low curse under his breath, Logan steps from the limo and follows the path you took up the porch and into the house.

A trail of water leads from the front door to a small laundry room just off the foyer and then damp footprints lead deeper into the house. He can hear the low rumble of a dryer as he steps further into the space, the squeak of his shoes against the hardwood doing nothing to hide his approach. 

Logan finds you in the kitchen, lights dimmed low, standing in only a pair of mismatched underwear, the damp fabric barely concealing what’s underneath as you gently swirl a glass of whiskey. A second, untouched glass sits next to your hip on the counter. 

“You seem like a whiskey man,” you say, your smile curving around the glass as you take a slow sip. “Did I get it right?”

Stopping in the doorway, he flexes his hands at his sides, and wills himself to move—forward, backward, he’s not quite sure. The muted light catches along your curves, the damp sheen of your skin enticing, the dark outline of your nipples and curls between your thighs acting like a beacon. Logan can feel himself hardening against his slacks. 

He can smell you—bright and earthy and wholly intoxicating. Your heartbeat echoes in his ears, quick, but steady, betraying no fear. 

“If you wanted to hurt me, you would have done it by now,” you say and he has half a thought to wonder if you can read his mind. 

A sly smile spreads across your face as his eyes finally meet yours, a knowing edge to your expression that further sets him off balance. 

“What’s happenin’ here?” Logan finally rasps, his voice low and rough. 

You give a nonchalant shrug of your shoulders as you grab the glass next to you and take a step towards him, your movements slow yet deliberate. He doesn’t move, rooted to the spot as you approach him. 

“That’s up to you,” you reply, handing him the glass. “You can get out of those wet clothes and enjoy this whiskey with me, or,” you pause to step closer, “you can walk back out that door and pretend like you weren’t curious about what’s waiting for you here.”

Logan’s fingers grip the glass in his hands just a little too tight as you stare up at him, holding his gaze a beat longer than necessary. You’re challenging him, daring him to act, and he knows the minute he breaks, he’s done for. He won’t be able to stop. 

You risk another step closer, leaving barely a breadth of space between you. He can feel the heat radiating off your body, can smell the rain on your skin, as your closeness overwhelms his senses. He wants to drown in you. 

“What’s it gonna be?” you ask in a whisper, your fingers trailing along the edge of his belt buckle. 

Your touch and proximity ignites something primal in him, something he thought long extinguished. Logan can feel pure want, need, surge through his veins and lick flames along his skin. His free hand moves on instinct, wrapping around your wrist, halting your teasing fingers before they venture any further. His restraint is hanging by a thread, fraying and threatening to snap.

“You sure this is what you want?” His voice is low, all gravel and grit as he stares down at you, his eyes darkened by a hunger begging to be fed.

Your lips curve into a slow, knowing smile as you press yourself fully against him, soft and warm. Rising up onto the balls of your feet, you drop your gaze to his lips before flicking your eyes back up to his and ghosting your mouth along his jawline. “Stay with me,” you whisper, sliding your hand up his chest. “Just this once.”

Logan’s restraint snaps. The glass tumbles from his hand, shattering against the floor, but neither of you seem to notice. His hand moves to the small of your back, wanting to press you impossibly closer as his lips crash into yours, hot and demanding. 

You respond in kind, a whimper dying in your throat as your fingers tangle in his damp hair, urging him closer. A growl tumbles from his lips as he trails his mouth down your neck, nipping and tasting as he goes, his tongue finding your pulse point and sucking. His hands roam freely, his calloused fingers sliding over your smooth flesh, palming your hips and gripping you as if you’re the only thing grounding him to earth.

He feels alive. Every cell in his body hums beneath your touch, the constant aches and pains temporarily erased. You’re a balm to his very soul, smoothing the ever deepening cracks and making him feel whole. 

You gasp as he nips at a spot just below your ear and he smirks against your skin, the sound spurring him on. “Tell me where your room is, or I’m fuckin’ you right here on the table,” he husks, his voice thick with desire, breath fanning over the shell of your ear.

Pulling back just enough to meet his gaze, your lips swollen and eyes dark, you reach for his hand and wordlessly lead him past the living room and down the small hallway to your room. Once inside, he pulls you back towards him, mouth slanting back over yours, stealing the very air from your lungs. 

His cock is almost painfully hard as he walks you towards the bed, only pulling his mouth away from yours as your knees hit the edge of the mattress. Instead of sitting back on the bed, you reach for the buttons on his shirt, easing them open before sliding the fabric from his shoulders. There’s an eagerness to your movements, your fingers fumbling with his belt buckle as he sheds his undershirt and tosses it somewhere behind him. 

Logan watches with a hooded gaze, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths, as you shove his pants down his legs, barely getting them past his knees before you’re reaching for the waistband of his boxers.

His fingers curl around your wrist, halting your movements and you gaze up at him, licking your lips. “Slow down, sweetheart,” he murmurs, a smirk tugging at his lips. “We have all night.”

A shiver runs through you and then his mouth is on you again, hungry and all-consuming. He drinks you in like a man parched, lips and teeth mapping the curve of your jaw, the solid edge of your collarbone as your pretty little moans and gasps fill the air. You tilt your head back and offer yourself to him, your hands grasping at his shoulders, fingers digging into the muscle to keep him close.

His hands are rough against your skin as he slides them up your sides, tracing the soft, damp skin below the band of your bra. Unfastening the clasps, he trails the fabric down your arms, his eyes darkening as he finally takes in your bare breasts.

“Fuck,” he breathes, his voice dripping with raw want.

Any final restraint he has evaporates and he kicks the last of his clothes off before tightening his hands around your waist and setting you down on the bed. Logan steals the gasp from your mouth as his body covers yours, easing himself between your thighs and thrusting once against your clothed cunt.

He cups your jaw, thumb stroking over your bottom lip, pulling it down just enough to wet the skin. “Last chance,” he husks, his breath fanning across your lips. “Last chance to stop before I ruin you.” 

Your fingers tangle in his hair, tugging just hard enough to elicit a growl, his teeth bared. A sinful smile spreads across your face. “Oh, Logan,” you coo, “who says I’m not going to ruin you?”

Logan lets out a deep, guttural sound, something between a growl and a groan before he slots his mouth back over yours and follows you into temptation.  

“Figured you’d try and sneak out.”

Logan whirls around at the sound of your voice, claws slowly unsheathing from between his knuckles. Blood wells up from the wounds, dripping between his fingers as he finds you dressed in an oversized shirt, the hem just concealing the edge of your panties. Your expression belies no fear as you take in the metal jutting out between his skin, your eyes alight with an acceptance he’s not use to. 

Fear, disgust, repulsion, but rarely acceptance. 

Slowly, he retracts his claws as you move further into the kitchen, stopping at the sink to grab and moisten a washcloth before coming to stand in front of him. Logan instinctively pulls away from your touch, but you’re undeterred, taking his hands in yours and wiping the blood away from his skin. Your movements are gentle, taking care to avoid the still healing slits.

Washed of blood, you finally glance up at him. “You can stay, you know.”

“I’m not the stayin’ kind, sweetheart,” he mutters.

One of those slow, knowing smiles tugs at your lips as you release his hands and Logan actually mourns the loss. “We’ll see,” you say with a shrug, stepping back just enough to put space between you. “I don’t think fate is done with us yet.”

Your words hang in the air like smoke, curling around him and pressing into his skin. He wants to argue, the words burning on his tongue, but he doesn’t. Because despite his earlier claims that he didn’t believe in fate, he can’t deny the unnatural pull you have on him. A pull Logan doesn’t necessarily dislike.

At his silence, you lean up and press the faintest of kisses to the corner of his jaw. “I’ll leave the light on for you,” you whisper into his skin.

It’s then he knows—he won’t be able to stay away. 

Logan shows up at your door again two weeks later. 

He’s been driving around some bigwig CEO, chauffeuring him from conference to conference during the day and dropping him off at random hotels during the night. When he gives Logan the address to tonight’s hotel, Logan knows instantly he’s in trouble. Just his luck the hotel is in your town. 

Pulling off the freeway, he feels that familiar tug behind his ribs. His hands itch with the want, the need, to turn the wheel towards you instead of the address on his GPS. Since that night, you’ve haunted him, your face showing up in his dreams, waking with the sensation of your softness burning into his skin. 

Logan knows he could stay at the hotel or sleep in the back of the limo like he’s done so many times before. But as he slowly inhales at his cigar and waits for Mr. CEO to stop fingering his mistress in the back seat and get the fuck out, the need to be near you only grows stronger. 

And damned if he knows why. 

He doesn’t need a relationship, or whatever the hell this is. Enough of him has been spread to others, for better or worse, and he’s already worn thin. The last remnants of any family he has are hanging off a very precarious ledge and he can’t bear the heartache of more loss if he opens himself to you. 

But as much as Logan keeps telling himself he’s closed off, fortified against anything new, he can feel himself bleeding through the cracks. 

By the time he finally turns down your street, it’s well past a respectable visiting hour. Most houses are dark for the night, but not yours. The front porch light illuminates just like it did two weeks ago and the dim lights of the kitchen shine through the pulled blinds. You’re up and a frisson of anticipation shoots through him. 

He parks the limo and stamps out the cigar before walking up your driveway. As he approaches the door, he hesitates. He doesn’t know what the fuck he’s doing. While your final words to him were open ended, did that give him the right to just show up in the middle of the night? 

You open the door as he contemplates and when his gaze finally focuses on you, he relaxes. A well worn robe is tied around your waist, your hair tied up in a messy bun, your face cleaned of makeup and yet you’re more alluring to him than you were that night in the rain. 

“I don’t know why I’m here,” he confesses, stepping just a bit closer towards you. 

A slow, soft smile spreads across your face. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out eventually,” you reply. You open the door to allow him entrance and he steps in after you. 

Logan follows you into the kitchen, where you already have a glass of whiskey ready for him. Handing him the glass, you nod your head towards the living room. “Come. Relax for a bit.”

He follows you into he living room, the single lamp casting a soft glow within the space. You settle onto the sectional, tucking your legs beneath you and turning yourself towards him as he joins you. For a moment, neither of you speak, but the silence isn’t awkward—it’s comfortable, like it always is around you. 

“You look tired,” you say, finally breaking the quiet. Your voice is soft, a sense of familiarity laced in with your words, as if you understand the magnitude of his fatigue.

Logan huffs as he swirls the whiskey in his glass, watching the amber liquid catch the light. “Honey, I’m always tired,” he replies. “Comes with the territory.”

You give a small hum, your head tilting to the side as you assess him. “You’re in pain, too.”

Logan freezes at your words, his eyes flicking up to your face. His gaze locks with yours, sharp and guarded, like you’ve peeled back a layer he wasn’t ready to expose. And yet, you’ve been doing this since the beginning. Finding the cracks in his facade and wedging yourself in until the gap widens, uncovering the raw nerves underneath.

“What makes you say that?” he asks, his tone challenging.

You gaze remains steady and calm, holding a softness that unnerves him more than the question itself. “Because it’s written all over you,” you say simply. “I see it in your scars, in the way your hands are always clenched, as if steeling yourself against a blow that’ll never come.”

Logan exhales a low, humorless laugh before taking a long sip of whiskey, relishing the burn as it slides down his throat. “Don’t even notice it anymore,” he lies, shifting in his seat. 

Your mouth tugs into a gentle frown as you shift, crawling closer to where he sits. You pluck the glass from his fingers, swallowing down the rest of the whiskey before setting it on the coffee table. Logan watches as you swing your legs over his lap, your robe riding up to reveal the smooth expanse of your thighs. 

The weight of you against his lap sends a rush of arousal down his spine and he can feel his cock stir in his slacks. If you notice, you ignore it, instead reaching for a small bottle of lotion on the end table and squeezing a dollop into your palm. You rub your hands together twice before reaching for his right hand. 

Your thumbs dig into the meat of his palm, a low groan slipping from his throat before he can stop himself. You bite your lip, but Logan can see the sly smile beneath. 

“You help take care of everyone else,” you begin, rubbing the lotion further into his calloused palms. “Who helps care for you?”

Logan feels flayed open, that pull that spins him into your orbit only growing stronger as you see down to his very soul. Caliban swore you weren’t a mutant but Logan still couldn’t shake the idea that you were something more. 

“What are you?” he asks, his eyes tracing the lines of your face, watching you concentrate on his hand. 

You slide your fingers along the pink, puffy lines between his knuckles, a slow hiss escaping between his teeth as you massage the tender flesh. He wonders if you know how sensitive his skin is now, how each time his claws come out it hurts just a little bit more than the last time. 

“I’m human,” you reply, positioning his hand to focus on the back, tracing the fine scars there. “Same as you.”

“I ain’t human.”

Your eyes flick to his as you drop his right hand and reach for his left. “You’re human where it counts,” you say, beginning to massage his hand. 

Logan scoffs. “Yeah? And where’s that?”

You release his hand and place your palm in the center of his chest, your fingers splayed over his heart. “In here.”

He swallows hard, his gaze dropping to where your fingers are resting against him. You touch him like you’re unafraid, undeterred by the metal in his bones and the sometimes primal rage that courses through his blood. His killed—for the sake of war, self preservation, and for reasons not so innocent—but you can somehow still see past that, to some soft part of him that still lingers. 

Logan itches to touch you, to pull you closer and—

“You can touch me,” you say, as if pulling the thought from his head. “I like when you touch me.”

Logan slides his palms up your thighs and around your hips, pulling you flush against his lap, your clothed center pressing against the fly of his slacks. He doesn’t miss the gasp that falls from your lips or the shift of your hips as you try and press closer. 

That thrum of aliveness begins to churn in his veins as he slowly unties the sash of your robe, allowing the fabric to fall to the side. You’re bare underneath and Logan can’t help but lean forward and press a kiss to the center of your chest. 

“You dress like this jus’ for me?” he asks, dragging his lips towards your breast and pulling a nipple into his mouth, working into a taut peak beneath his tongue.

Your fingers wind themselves into his hair, holding him close. “Yes,” you breathe, a whimper falling from your lips as he moves to your other breast. “Only for you.”

A surge of possessiveness rushes through his veins and Logan can feel the prickle between his knuckles, his claws threatening to unsheathe at the thought of you with another man. Instead, he doubles his focus onto you, his beard scraping against your skin as he licks a hot stripe across your nipple. “Damn right, only for me,” he growls. 

You shift your hips in response, seeking more friction against the hard length of his cock pressing against you. Logan groans, his fingers digging deeper into the flesh of your hips, urging you to move against him. The soft, wet heat of your cunt through the thin fabric of your panties and his slacks sets his control on a razors edge. 

Logan leans back slightly to lock eyes with you, your pupils blown wide with want, your skin flushed with desire. You find his gaze, hazy with pleasure, but focused and then you smile at him, bottom lip pinned between your teeth. 

“And you, Logan,” you whisper, your hands sliding down the column of his neck, “you’re only for me.” 

That hook you’ve lodged in him sinks deeper and he’s too far gone to care. The mystery behind your presence in his life is one he’s willing to spend the rest of his days unraveling so long as you stay right here, continuing to bewitch him with the beauty of your soul. 

Your allure was more potent than any pheromone, more intoxicating than any aphrodisiac. In his waking moments, Logan found his thoughts drifting to you more often than not and the frequency between his visits grew shorter and shorter until he found himself lured into your embrace almost every night. 

He was good at lying to himself, writing off these visits as nothing more than comfort—the need to find warmth in a world that so seldom offered him that luxury. But that lie grew bitter, warped in the liminal space between midnight and dawn where you stripped him down to his very bones, saw through the gruff and grit he wrapped himself in. Saw him as something more than the sum of his sins. 

Logan couldn’t hide from you and he didn’t know if he wanted to. Those carefully crafted walls that surrounded him cracked and crumbled, turning to dust at his feet. In that mysterious way of yours, you always knew what he needed—a warm meal; your tender, healing touch as you helped him stitch the worst of his wounds; the soft, pliant feel of your skin on his as you kissed him deep, the kind of kiss that burned like wildfire and whiskey.

God help him as your gravity pulled him in closer, your orbits circling tighter and tighter, destined for an inevitable crash. 

“What am I to you?”

Those five words root him where he stands, flaying him down to his very marrow. Logan should have expected this question, should have known that eventually you’d ask. 

He wants to tell you the truth, speak those words that burn against his tongue, begging to be said.

He wants to tell you of his need to find you when the days are long and the nights are longer. When the weariness he feels in his bones aches more than usual and seems to bleed into his very soul. 

When he needs to feel something more than the hollowness that seems to grow inside his chest. The slow carving away of his humanity that’s been scraping closer and closer to emptiness for years. 

When he needs to be wrapped in warmth and set afire by something almost like love. Like home. 

But he says none of this as he gazes over at you sitting at the kitchen table, one knee pulled up to your chest. You look small sitting there, vulnerable in a way he hasn’t seen before. 

And instead, he remains silent, praying you’ll let the conversation slide. But he knows better. 

You glance up at him, your gaze piercing straight through the heart of him and then you devastate him with three simple words. 

“I love you.”

The air punches from his lungs and for a moment it feels like he’s forgotten how to breathe. Your words tear through him, cutting deeper than any knife, and his hands curl into fists as you slice him open. 

“Don’t,” Logan rasps, his voice rough, barely more than whisper. He avoids your eyes, knowing that if he looks and sees the sincerity in your gaze, it’ll be his undoing. “Don’t say that.”

“Why not?” Your voice cracks with emotion as you push away from the table, your arms wrapping around yourself. “What about those words can’t you hear?”

His jaw clenches and for every step you take closer him, he takes a half step back, as if he’s trying to distance himself from the truth beginning to swirl between you. You can’t love him. Loving someone has brought him nothing but misery and pain, loss and suffering and he’ll be damned if he drags you down that road. 

So, instead he lies, the words bitter in his mouth. 

“This ain’t love, sweatheart,” he says, gesturing between the two of you, “This is fuckin’.”

You inhale sharply between your teeth and your expression twists into disbelief, the beginning of tears welling in your eyes. “Fucking?” you bite back, your voice trembling but still firm. “You think after all these months that this is just fucking?”

Logan doesn’t answer. And he doesn’t move. He simply stands there, jaw clenched so tightly he could shatter bones. He can’t say yes. If he does that, if he voices that lie into existence, he’ll have to spend the rest of his days remembering the look in your eyes right now—destroyed. 

Your breath starts to shudder as you continue to step closer towards him. And he can feel you, warm and comforting, even though you shake with barely contained anger. “Look me in the eye and tell me that’s all this is,” you demand, your voice thick with emotion. “Tell me that when you come to me in the middle of the night, broken down, bloody and bruised, it’s just fucking. Tell me that when I touch you, hold you, love you, that it means nothing.” 

He remain silent. 

You let out a sharp, bitter laugh. “God, for someone with heightened senses, you’re blind to what’s right in front of you.” Your trembling voice matches the shake to your hands, your fury pouring off you in waves. “You really are a coward, aren’t you?”

Logan nostrils flare at the insult and he can feel the prickle of his claws between his knuckles. He knows his rage isn’t with you, but himself. And yet he can still feel his lips curl into a snarl. “You don’t know what you’re talkin’ about,” he growls. 

“Oh, fuck you, Logan,” you seethe, your voice now raw, pain bleeding through every syllable. “You can’t even look me in the eye when you lie.”

His jaw clenches impossibly harder and he swears he can taste bone. Then, he finally meets your gaze head on, eyes flashing. “You think this ends well between us? You think I get to have somethin’ like this? Like you?” Logan’s voice cracks in a way that he loathes. “I can’t—”

The crack of your palm against his face is deafening. He barely moves from the impact, but emotionally you’ve landed him on his ass. Your eyes are wide as you stare up at him, unblinking.

Logan stands there, immobile, as he processes the sting of your slap. It doesn’t hurt, not physically. It’s the fact that you did it, the fact that you’re standing in front of him, chest heaving from the effort of your breathing as if you just ripped yourself open for him.

“Get out of my house,” you seethe, your voice softer than before, deflated.

Your words shouldn’t sting as much as they do. They shouldn’t wreck him and make him feel like he’s been ripped apart limb from limb. He should relish them, the push, the shove. He should revel in the confirmation that you’re finally seeing him for what he truly is—something undeserving of all the warmth and love you’ve given him. A stray animal that never should have been fed.

Logan swallows, his throat tight as he gives you a small nod. And then he does the only thing he knows how to do. 

He turns. And he walks.

His legs feel like lead, each step a feat and his brain is screaming at him to turn around. To fight. To beg. To plead. To say something, anything. 

But he doesn’t.

Logan exits the house, the front door slamming shut behind him. As he steps off the front step, the porch light above him clicks off, plunging the house into darkness. Your guiding light is gone, lost in the storm of his destruction.

Of all the wounds he’s ever taken, of all the scars that mar his skin, nothing has ever bled quite like this.

Charles watches with sharp eyes as Logan enters the old water tank and shuts the door behind him. The older man is in his wheelchair, tending to his plants as Logan walks around the place, picking up random bits of trash and the tray from breakfast. 

A soft “tsk” falls from Charles’ lips and echos in the small space. “Will you ever learn, Logan?” Charles’ voice seems tired, weary. 

Logan pauses and looks over at him, irritation already prickling along his skin. “Stay outta my head,” he snaps, slamming the tray down on a nearby table. 

He doesn’t need this, doesn’t want Charles sifting through his mind, seeing those pieces of you he so deeply cherishes. Pieces he doesn’t deserve. Pieces he doesn’t know if he’ll ever have within his grasp again. 

“She loves you,” Charles continues, seeming to ignore his request. 

Logan strides over to where Charles is sitting, unable to keep the ire from boiling over. He wants to sweep all the plants to the floor, destroy the one creative outlet Charles has, retaliate for the way he presses into the fresh bruises on his mind. “I’m begging you, just—”

Charles lifts the spray bottle beside him and directs the spray in Logan’s face, showering him in a fine mist of water. Logan freezes, water dripping from his face as his lips tighten in a thin line. He grits his teeth, an ache already blooming in his jaw. 

“What the fuck was that for?” he growls. 

“Are you a cat?” Charles asks, lowering the bottle. “No? Then stop being such a pussy.”

Logan stares at Charles, the vulgarity of the of man’s words leaving him temporarily speechless. He scrubs a hand down his face, wiping the rest of the water off with the sleeve of his shirt, scowl deepening. 

“You’re pushin’ it,” Logan warns. 

Charles simply smirks, finally setting the bottle down on the table. “Someone should. God knows you won’t push yourself. Not when it comes to matters of the heart.”

Logan sucks in a sharp breath and steps back from Charles, sitting down on the bed across from him. The old metal springs groan beneath his weight. He wants a bottle of whiskey, to quiet the thoughts in his head, at least temporarily, and fall into a drunken stupor. Anything but flaying open his feelings, especially his feelings about you. 

“What are you so afraid of?” Charles asks gently. “That she’ll see all your broken pieces?”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Charles raises his eyebrow. “No? Logan, she’s already seen them. She knows what you are and she’s still here.”

“That’s not the point!” Logan roars, his voice echoing off the metal walls. His breathing comes out in short gasps and he knows he needs to rein himself in. Not only for himself but for Charles. It doesn’t take much to trigger a seizure these days and he doesn’t need the stress of this conversation to become a catalyst. 

Charles remains quiet, expression calm and Logan hangs his head, his voice softening into something raw. “It’s not about what she knows. It’s about who, about what, I am. I don’t deserve her.”

Bracing his elbows on his legs, Charles leans forward, a sympathetic smile tugging at his lips. “She knows all that, Logan. And she chooses you. Every night you come to her, she chooses you. How can you not see that?”

Logan doesn’t respond, but the weight of Charles’ words hang heavy against his shoulders. He looks down at his hands, seeing the callouses and crisscrossing scars. His body is a physical map of violence, each faded pink line a story of pain, regret and death. 

But you’ve never seen them that way. You’ve only ever looked at them with reverence, traced your fingertips along each one and wondered about their stories. Made him feel whole instead of broken and used. 

“You have a choice to make, Logan,” Charles says, interrupting the silence. “Let her in…or keep running. Don’t make her choose for you.” 

For days, Logan’s mind is plagued by replays of his last moments with you and his conversation with Charles. His already sleepless nights are further tormented by dreams of you, the devastated expression on your face haunting him.

The memory of your face, the crack in your usually steadfast voice, the tremor in your hand after you struck him. They all play in a nauseating loop in his brain, punishing him in a way he’s never felt before.

His life reverts to autopilot—drink, fight, drive, but nothing quells the gnawing ache in his chest. He couldn’t stay in the smelting plant with both Caliban and Charles staring at him, watching his every move as if he were a ticking time bomb waiting to explode. Charles was running out of medications, a few days supply left at most, and Logan knew he was better off leaving Charles in Caliban’s care than his own.

Now, he sits on the edge of a dingy motel bed, the scent of cheap whiskey and cigar smoke clinging to his clothes. His eyes are dry and heavy with exhaustion and his skin is itching with that familiar want to be near you. It started as an annoying tug, but has now grown into a maddening want.

He knows he should ignore it. But he was never that strong.

Before he can talk himself out of it, convince himself that this is an astronomically stupid fucking idea, he’s on his feet, keys in hand and driving down those lonely roads towards you.

It’s late when he reaches your house, like it usually is, and he half expects the porch light to remain dark, a cold, bleak reminder of how badly he’s fucked up. Instead, he finds that single porch light illuminated, shining like a beacon of hope. Logan walks up onto the porch, but you don’t open the door like you’ve done so many times before. 

He contemplates leaving, turning around and getting back in the car and drinking himself into a semblance of sleep. But then he hears you, your heartbeat echoing beyond the wooden frame, as steady and as comforting as it’s always been. Logan pauses, wondering if he should try the knob and come inside—if you’ll even let him.

If you even should.

With a sigh, he lowers himself to the ground, his joints aching in protest as he rests his back against the door. “I’m not good at this,” he finally says, hoping you’re listening. “I’ve been alive for too long. Seen too much shit.” Logan pauses, his words burning in his throat. “I’ve lost too many people.”

He hears you shift behind him, your head thudding softly against the door as you listen. His relief is almost palpable knowing you’re there, that you’re at least willing to listen to him. Leaning back, Logan closes his eyes and exhales a heavy breath. “The only way I know how to keep people safe is to push ‘em away. And I need to keep you safe.”

The words feel foreign leaving his mouth, as if they’re uncovering a truth he’s long kept secret. He feels exposed in a way he’s not used to, raw and honest, and the truth of his words burns. Logan can still hear you on the other side of the door, your breathing slow and steady, yet laced with something—hesitation, maybe, or hurt. It makes his chest ache in a new and unfamiliar way. 

“I’m tired,” he continues, his voice softer. “I’m so fuckin’ tired, sweetheart. Tired of fightin’ when all I want—” Logan swallows hard. “All I want is you.”

The porch light hums above him, the night is alive with the chirping of crickets, but the silence that follows is almost deafening. 

Logan doesn’t deserve you, he knows that. You should turn him away, tell him to leave, to kick him back to the desert to lick his wounds alone. He doesn’t know how to be someone’s partner, their lover. He’s not sure if he ever has, really, too hung up on all the ways he paints himself as a bad man. Someone unworthy. 

Except with you, he finds himself wanting to fight. To prove he’s not as hard and unyielding as the metal bones inside him. That somewhere deep inside him there still lingers warmth and affection and the capacity to love. 

He��s bracing himself for the worst when he hears the faint sounds of the lock turning. The door creaks open and he shifts to look up at you. One of your well used blankets is wrapped around your shoulders, your hair tousled from sleep and your eyes are red and wet with unshed tears. Logan’s heart thuds heavily in his chest as you stand there and he turns to face you, pushing up onto his knees. Your expression is carefully masked, betraying little of your underlying emotions, and he carefully crawls forward, testing the waters of how close you’ll let him get.

His knees ache as he kneels on the hard concrete, but he’d crawl through glass if you asked him to. Slowly, he wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you to him as he nuzzles his face into the softness and warmth of your belly. Your comforting scent floods his senses as he waits for your anger, your rejection.

Instead, you sigh, a long pent up breath released in a steady exhale and your fingers sink into the disheveled hair at the nape of his neck, holding him close to you. “You’re an asshole,” you finally say, though your tone lacks any venom or spite.

Logan feels it then, the tension slowly easing from your body as you allow him to sink further into your frame. His heart lurches his chest, the faintest flicker of hope fluttering against his ribs.

“Yes,” he mumbles into your shirt.

“You hurt me.”

He pulls back as you gently push at his shoulders and sink down to the ground in front of him. But you don’t push him away any further and instead, lace your fingers through his. “I should tell you to fuck off,” you continue, your eyes focused on where you’re touching him. “But I can’t.”

His voice comes out in a whisper. “Why?”

Your eyes meet his and your gaze pierces straight through his soul. “You know why.”

And he does. In truth, he thinks he’s always known, long before you ever spoke those three little words out loud. Words so simple, yet so profound. Words he rarely speaks, while others casually toss them around. Words he has rarely felt, but with you feel as natural as breathing, as the sun rising in east.

Words he’s still afraid to say, despite everything, despite every cell in his body screaming at him.

You look at him like you know, because of course you do. You’ve always known him, in that uncanny way of yours since he first saw you standing in the rain. So instead of ire or disappointment at his lack of response, you simply squeeze his hand, grounding him to your reality. 

“You don’t have to say it,” you whisper, your voice soft and steady. “Not yet.”

Logan looks at you, his brows furrowed. He can’t fathom what he’s done in this life to deserve you, your patience, your unwavering belief in him. “You make it hard not to,” he finally rasps, his voice rough and uneven. “Love you, I mean.”

The admission hangs heavy in the air, raw and jagged, much like him. It’s close to what you want to hear, but not quite. And yet he sees something warm and bright blossom on your face. 

You lean in, raising your free hand to lightly trace the curve of his jaw, scratching at the scruff there. “You’re a man of action, Logan,” you say, pressing in closer, your breath mingling with his. “Wanna show me instead?”

This—this is a language he’s fluent in. 

Using his lips, tongue, hands and cock to write on your body all the words he cannot say. He’s mastered your shape, the way your hips curve beneath his palm, the softness of your belly and breasts, the heat between your thighs stoked hotter only by him. He knows exactly where to press, where to nip and suck and tease to elicit all those pretty little moans and gasps of pleasure. 

Logan’s already drawn one orgasm out of you, his fingers still thrusting against you as you ride out your high, your thighs shuddering against his forearm. You’re flushed and breathy as you reach for him, urging him up from between your thighs.  

You pull him close, fingers sinking into his hair as you lick into his mouth, not caring that your slick still stains his beard and lingers against his tongue. He swallows your gasp as he knocks your knees apart and slots himself between your legs, his cock heavy against your belly. 

He wants you. In all the ways he can think of and not just like this, naked and pliant beneath him. He wants your sleepily whispered hellos each morning and your softly murmured goodnights each evening. He wants the warm, weighty press of your body against his as you sit on the couch beside him sipping whiskey. 

He wants, he wants, he wants. 

As his kisses grow more fervent, you grow impatient and push at his chest, urging him back. “Lie back,” you command softly, your breath damp against his lips, “Let me take care of you.”

He wants to protest, deny you this request. This is supposed to be about you, about using his body to show you all the things his words can’t say. He’d spend the whole night between your thighs, using his mouth, tongue and fingers to worship if you’d let him. But there’s something in your gaze that forces him to comply and he gives in, rolling onto his back. 

You straddle his thighs, your slick cunt sliding along the length of his cock. Logan groans and his hands reach for your hips, fingertips digging into your flesh as he encourages you to move. “This is s’pose to be about you,” he husks as you slowly begin to rock your hips back and forth. 

“Oh, it is,” you answer, licking your lips as you brace your hands on his chest. “Who else can get you hard and needy beneath them?”

A low growl escapes from his throat. “No one.”

A wicked smile curls at your lips as you drag your heat along him, the blunt head of his cock nudging your clit with every slow, deliberate rock of your hips. The sensation has his control unraveling and he slides his hands along your thighs to palm the curve of your ass. 

You press into his touch, continuing to roll your hips as you lean forward to press an open mouthed kiss to the corner of his jaw. “You see,” you murmur, “this is for me.”

Reaching between your bodies, you grasp him in your hand and line him up. Slowly, almost tortuously slow, you sink down on his cock, taking him inch by inch until he’s fully sheathed inside of you. A sharp inhale escapes him as your warm, tight walls surround him and Logan knows this feels different. 

This isn’t merely fucking anymore, the melding of flesh for the pure sake of pleasure, of briefly escaping the nightmare of his life, of finding solace in sin. You’ve somehow managed to bleed yourself into him, to wrap yourself around his heart. 

You feel as if you’re a part of him, lodged deep between his ribs and that if he were to try to remove you, he’d kill himself in the process. A part of him knows this feeling has always been there, back when you first entered his limo. The feeling threatens to choke him, to fill his love soaked lungs until all he can breathe is you. 

He loves you. 

Pure and unfiltered and it terrifies him. 

“I—fuck, I,” he chokes out, the words caught in his throat. “I feel—”

Your hands run over his chest, up along his collarbones, your fingers blazing a trail over his skin. “I know, Logan,” you whisper, your hips rocking languidly against his. 

He grips your thighs, almost tight enough to bruise, helping guide your movements, but also prove to himself you’re real. Logan’s chest heaves as he watches you ride him, your hips rocking harder, faster, dragging moans out of both of you. You lean back just enough to change the angle, driving him deeper and he bucks his hips, meeting your thrusts with a force that has you crying out his name.

And yet it’s not enough. He needs to wrap himself around you, twine his fingers through your hair and hold your mouth to his until he’s completely consumed you. His hands slide up your back towards your waist and he pulls you down against him, mouth hot and insistent against your neck as he continues to fuck up into you. 

In one fluid motion, Logan grips your thighs and flips you onto your back, pinning you beneath him, cock still sheathed deep within your cunt. You arch beneath him as he sets a brutal, devastating pace, the raw intensity of his movements stealing short, gasps breaths from your lips with each thrust. A shiver ripples through you as he draws a nipple into his mouth, his name tumbling from you like a prayer.

“Fuck, there it is,” he growls. “I love all those little sounds you make.”

His choice of word isn’t lost on either of you and your eyes meet his as your nails dig into his shoulders, leaving faint red crescents as you cling to him. “Logan,” you gasp, your voice trembling as he hits that soft spot deep inside you. “More.”

“You want more?” he rasps, gripping your thighs and pulling them higher around his waist. The new angle has you crying out, the sound echoing in the room as he continues to slam into you with a force that has the bed creaking beneath you.

“Ah, fuck, yes,” you moan, your head tipping back. 

Logan takes advantage of your offering, his lips and teeth marking a path down your neck, his beard scraping against your skin in a way that’s sure to leave a burn come the morning. There’s a possessiveness to his touch, a need to claim you, to prove to you that this is all he needs—your embrace, your warmth, your love.

“You’re so fuckin’ good to me,” he growls against your skin, his hand sliding down between your bodies and finding where you’re joined. He can feel himself pounding into you, your combined arousal coating his fingers as he finds your clit and begins to rub in tight circles. “So goddamn perfect. You were made for me, sweetheart, you know that?”

Your cunt flutters around him and he knows you’re close, your thrusts against him growing erratic. He feels his own impending release, but he needs you to come first, needs to feel you shatter against him. His fingers press more firmly against your clit and with a breathy moan, your body tenses, back arching off the bed as your orgasm crashes into you.

“That’s it,” Logan groans, his own thrusts faltering as he feels you tighten around him, pulling him in deeper. “Look at you, comin’ so pretty for me.” He slows just enough to prolong your release, his thrusts deliberate as he draws out every ounces of pleasure until you’re trembling beneath him. 

It’s overwhelming—the sensation of you beneath him, around him; the cling of your fingers to his shoulders; the warm, damp breath against his neck; the absolute perfection of this moment right now. In all his years on this earth, he’s never experienced anything like this. The desire to completely consume someone, body and soul, and be consumed return. He wants his dying breath to be your name.

Something inside of Logan snaps, and as you try and catch your breath as you come down from your high, he presses your legs higher, folding you beneath him in a way that has his cock pressing deeper than before. The change has you whimpering and he looks down to find your expression as wrecked as he feels. He pauses his thrusts just long enough to grasp both your wrists and pin them above your head before he picks up his pace again, fucking into you with an almost ruthless intensity.

“I love you,” he growls, his thrusts growing erratic, his control quickly unraveling with every whimper and cry of his name. “God, I fucking love you.”

For a few moments, he doesn’t even realized what he’s said. Then he looks down at you, your gaze trained on his face and that soft, knowing smile of yours on your lips. “Logan,” you gasp, “I know. I’ve always known.”

Logan lets out a rough, shuddering breath, his entire body trembling with the weight of his confession. Any response he has dies in his throat as he presses his forehead to yours, his entire body wound tight. He’s so fucking close, can feel his orgasm coiling hot and tight in his gut, but it’s more than your warm heat drawing him in—it’s everything. 

“Tell me,” he grits out, his hips chasing, chasing, chasing that release.

You lean up as much as you can with your hands still pinned above you and lick an open mouthed kiss against his lips. “I love you, Logan.”

And that’s all it takes. He groans into your mouth as he finally lets go, his body tensing as his release crashes into him. He spills himself deep inside you, shallowly thrusting into your cunt as his rhythm slows.

Logan releases your hands, and for a long moment, there’s only the sound of heavy breathing, of heartbeats slowing, the two of you tangled in the aftermath.

Logan’s restless and unable to sleep despite your smaller frame tucked alongside him, the weight of your head resting against his chest. From his periphery, he can see his phone illuminating with unread texts, no doubt from Caliban urging his return. Charles has been deteriorating faster than Logan cares to admit, his mind gone more often than not, raving about new mutants. He needs drugs faster than Logan can procure them.

His mind churns, the reality of the outside world looming closer and he contemplates slipping from your grasp when you shift, curling yourself further into him. You don’t speak, not yet, but he can tell you’re alert, floating somewhere in that space between sleep and full wakefulness. Your fingers start to move of their own accord, the gentle pressure of your fingertips tracing over an old scar along his ribs, mapping out an old battle he no longer remembers. 

Beside him, his phone buzzes again and Logan sighs.

“Sounds important,” you murmur, voice thick with sleep.

He wants to keep ignoring it, stay wrapped in the quiet cocoon you’ve thrown around him, but Logan knows he can’t. It’s a cruel reminder of the chaos that plagues him beyond the sanctuary of your embrace. 

“You can go to him, Logan,” you continue, fingers never stopping their slow path along his skin. “I know you’ll be back.”

“How,” he starts, licking his dry lips, “how do you always know?”

Logan’s asked versions of this question before. You’ve always brushed him off, given a coy answer and steered the conversation towards something else. For a moment, he thinks tonight will be the same.

But then you answer.

“I can feel you,” you answer softly, your breath warm and damp against his skin. “I just—” You pause and turn to look up at him and then disentangle yourself from his embrace. “Stand up,” you urge, nudging at his side until he complies.

He blinks at you in confusion, but you just smile at him, soft and sleepy, and gently cup the side of his face. “Now, close your eyes.”

Logan does as he’s told, chasing after your touch as you step back from him, settling somewhere beyond him on the bed. “I’m going to move and you tell me where I am.”

The soft rustle of bedsheets follows and then, stillness. You’re quiet, but he can sense you, just off to his right, but too far away to touch. “My right, but farther back in the room.”

You move again, keeping your movements light. Again, he pinpoints you, this time towards his left, closer, but still too far away to grasp. “Left.”

A final movement, this time even closer, your proximity flooding his senses, sending a rush of warmth down his spine. Logan reaches out, finding the curve of your hips, hands tucking underneath the shirt you had slipped on earlier in the night, splaying his palms against your back. He opens his eyes and meets your gaze, alive in the predawn glow.

“How did you know?” you ask, looping your arms around his neck.

Understanding dawns on him, the answer so simple, yet so profound. Pinpointing where you were had nothing to do with his heightened senses and everything to do with just you—the way you’ve molded yourself to him like a second skin. “I could feel you,” he answers. “I could—I just knew.”

You lean forward, pressing the lightest of kisses against the corner of his mouth. Logan sighs into your mouth, his eyes fluttering close as you press your forehead to his. “It’s like that,” you whisper. “This undeniable pull, an invisible string that connects me to you and it tug, tug, tugs, until…there you are.”

His phone continues to buzz, growing more insistent as the soft blues and grays of the morning bleed into more golden hues. With a reluctance you both feel, Logan peels himself away, finally answering the phone with an irritation he doesn’t bother hiding. 

You watch him go, standing on the porch with the light casting a halo around your head. Your smile is gentle, but stained with worry and yet you remain stoic, the steady pillar holding up the fractured remains of his life.

As he drives away, he catches one last look at you in the rearview mirror and he’ll spend the next few months wishing he told you—he feels you too. 

The last one hundred miles have dragged on for eons, the road before him stretching into an almost infinite distance. Logan finds himself darting his eyes towards the dashboard clock, growing increasingly frustrated when the numbers move only a few minutes at a time, the slow passage of time seeming to taunt him. 

It’s been months since he saw you last, though no fault of his own. His memories are hazy—a swirling fog of confusion, pain and burning fever. He’s not even sure how he survived, whether it was modern medicine or sheer stubbornness. Or something more. 

You believe in fate?

Your words echo in his mind, soft and sweet, and he feels a familiar pang of longing in his chest. 

Fate or not, something kept a spark alive in him, pulsing through his veins with each sluggish beat as he slowly and painfully healed. His wounds are still pink and tender to the touch, more of his skin marred by death and destruction. 

As he turns into your subdivision, the night quiet, a cold, creeping anxiety snakes along his spine. What if you’ve given up on him? Figured this last absence was the real deal, all his idle promises of staying away finally coming to fruition. 

But as Logan drives down your street, he sees it—the single porch light illuminating in the night. Acting like the beacon it’s always been, leading him safely to land. 

To you. 

Logan pulls into the driveway and shifts the truck into park. Turning in his seat, he glances back towards the young girl curled up on the backseat. Laura’s face is relaxed in sleep, her hands tucked protectively under her chin. She fell asleep several hours ago, the soft rhythm of the tires against pavement lulling her to sleep. 

Logan’s been many things in his life. Son, brother, fighter, friend. Lover. He never thought he’d add father to that list. While he can’t quite find it in him to call himself that just yet—even though Laura readily and easily calls him dad—he no longer denies the protectiveness he feels towards her.

Easing the door to the truck open, Logan steps out and gently shuts it behind him, loathe to disturb her just yet. 

Here he is showing up at your door like he always has—late, quiet, and carrying a heavy weight he feels only he can shoulder. His hand is poised to knock, knuckles clenched, but he pauses, unsure if he even has the right to be here. 

But then there you are, the front door opening to reveal your tired but relieved face, months of worry etched into your skin, your eyes already brimming with unshed tears. 

“Logan,” you breathe, pulling him gently by the wrist and leading him inside. You don’t ask why he’s there. He suspects you already know. 

The air inside the house is just as he remembers. Warm and inviting and laced with the faint, comforting smell of you. Logan inhales deeply, letting the scent settle somewhere in the parts of him that still feel alive, that thrum with the memory of your touch. 

Your fingers still linger against his wrist and he can feel the heat radiating from your body, but you’re not close enough. And yet, he’s afraid to reach out, pull you into his arms. Afraid of the pity or obligation you’ll feel to comfort him, to allay all his fears.

As if reading his thoughts, you gently cup the side of his face, your nails scratching along his jaw. Logan flinches slightly, his body so used to pain these past months he’s almost forgotten the tenderness of your touch. But he doesn’t pull away. Instead, he closes his eyes, a ragged breath falling from his lips and his head dips forward. 

“C’mere,” you whisper, wrapping your arms around his waist. 

For a moment, he doesn’t move, but then he slides his arms along your back, pulling you against him. You feel real and solid and alive pressed this close. Never one for overt physical touch, Logan’s surprised by how much he missed this—the simple act of just holding you. Burying his face in the crook of your neck, he inhales deeply, his breath warm and damp against your skin. 

He doesn’t say anything, unsure where to even begin. The weight of his grief, his weariness, feels heavier than any burden he’s ever shouldered before and it’s almost desperate the way he clings to you. Like you’re the only thing tethering him to the earth. If you were to let go, he’d fall apart. 

Logan doesn’t even realize he’s crying until he feels the hot trail of tears against his cheeks. You run your fingers through his hair, murmuring soft reassurances as you hold him. 

“I couldn’t feel you, Logan,” you whisper into his neck. “Several days of just…nothing. I thought that—”

The words lodge themselves in your throat, but he knows what they are just the same. 

He pulls back just enough to look at you, your eyes glistening with tears that match the ones rolling down his weathered face. Your expression is marred with pain, raw and unfiltered, but also with a bright flicker of relief. 

“I’m sorry,” he rasps, voice rough with emotion. “I got dragged into some bad fuckin’ shit. I almost…we—”

You quiet him with a soft brush of your fingers against his lips. “It’s okay, Logan,” you whisper. “Tell me about it later. I’m just happy you’re home.”

Home. 

Logan gaze softens at your words, but guilt gnaws at him. He doesn’t deserve this—your unwavering faith in him, the patience you’ve shown him, the light you’ve been in his dark, endless nights. But here you are, giving him everything he’s never asked for but so desperately craved. 

“C’mon,” you murmur, dragging him from his thoughts, “Let’s get you settled.”

It’s well past two in the morning by the time Logan finally carries Laura into the house, tucking her comfortably into the guest bedroom. Turning from the bed, he finds you there, leaning against the doorframe. You reach for him, in that soft, gentle way you always do, and lead him into your bedroom. 

He doesn’t protest when you sit him down at the edge of the bed and begin undressing him. Kneeling before him, you unlace his boots and peel off his socks, setting them aside. With a slight press to his knees, you force his legs wider, slotting yourself between them. 

Despite the late hour, the weariness and fatigue tugging at his bones, Logan feels his cock twitch as your fingers brush underneath the hem of his shirt. 

It’s been so long since he’s felt you. 

He dreamt of you, in those fevered moments where he didn’t know where one part of his body began or ended. When his entire existence had been boiled down to raw nerves and sluggishly knitting flesh. Through the haze of pain, he wondered if he’d ever feel your kiss again, feel the frantic press of your fingers into his shoulders, feel the warm, wet heat of your cunt stretching around him. 

You toss the shirt aside and he can feel your gaze lingering over the new scars, the pink, raised lines of flesh that are still healing. With a reverence he’s not worthy of, you trace your fingertips along the three jagged scars from where X-24 had ripped into him. 

“What happened to you?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper as you move to trace more of his scars. 

Logan tells you then about Pierce and the Reavers, about Laura and the other mutant children. His throat grows tight as he continues, relaying the loss of Caliban, Charles and the Munsons, and the final confrontation between himself and his clone. 

He tells you how Laura saved him. How her and the other children brought him to safety over the Canadian border. How he spent the next months fighting with every fiber of his being to knit himself whole. 

For you. 

You lean into him as he looks away, jaw tightening as he tries to shove down the memories of everything he’s lost. Your touch is light against his face as you trace the angle of his jaw, and reach up to press the lightest of kisses against his lips. 

Logan exhales into your mouth as you kiss him again, soft and tender and warm. You seem to breathe him in, imbue life into his weary flesh and reignite the spark he’s kept alive for you. 

He wants to do more—to pull you into his arms, to taste you, to fuck into you until he can’t breathe. But exhaustion pulls heavily on his bones, threatening to sink him. 

Logan knows you can feel his hesitancy because you keep kissing him softly, punctuating each press of your lips with whispered reassurance. Your fingers card through his hair as you lean back. “Just let me hold you?” 

Your voice cracks at your request and Logan can only nod, unable to deny you. You help him shuffle out of his pants before coaxing him further into the bed. He moves slowly and he knows you don’t miss the creaking of his joints, the soft groan of discomfort. 

Coming to rest on his side, you tuck into him, throwing a leg over his hips and pulling him close. He sighs into your touch, the weight of the last few months pressing just a little bit less as you press a kiss to the hollow of his throat. 

“Don’t leave me,” you whisper into his skin, soft and damp. 

Logan feels his heart clench at your words. He’s hurt you. He knows that. Not just inadvertently with his most recent disappearance, but all the other times, too. Those times when he ran, afraid of what your words and touch meant. Afraid to accept what you’ve always so freely given. 

His hand slips under the hem of your shirt, fingers splaying across your back. “You kept the light on,” he husks, unable to keep the break out of his voice.”

Your lips quirk into a soft smile. “I always will, Logan.”

[confessioncassette]

𝐒𝐞𝐞 𝐌𝐞 - 𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐬 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝟏𝟖+. 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭.

Part 1

“you and me alone in the dark, forever i stay, with you”

summary : after having a drug fueled revelation on his life, Thanos decided to create a private account. For weeks, this account was his sanctuary where he could “unplug” from the normalities of his life of partying. With no one to watch him, no one to make fun of what his interests were, he posted snippets of his daily life and created an algorithm that suited his secret interests. And one day, he had stumbled upon you.

tw : taking drugs, pinning, not proof read, reader knows little Korean

words : 5.7k

notes : this is a longer version of my drabble. In this specific AU (without the games), I wrote Thanos as someone who longs for a bond and needs someone to understand him on a deeper level. This maybe out of character juuuust a tad from him in the games, but this is what I feel like he would be as Choi Subong rather than Thanos.

“I tried this shit a while back and it’s wild, bro.”

Nam-Gyu sits cross legged on the floor before his friend, an outstretched hand pedestals two little colorful tablets in his palm. Thanos eyes widen, lips curling downward as he shifts over his tailbone.

“Don’t give me that shit,” the black haired man pushed the other playfully, “trust me, I wouldn’t give you this if I didn’t already know what it felt like. It was eye-opening, bro.”

Thanos shakes his head, “I don't know bro, I’ve never taken something like that before.”

Nam-Gyu clicks his tongue, “just trust me. I’m taking it with you.” His eyes shift to look at the ceiling, trying to find the right words. “It's similar to shrooms,” he muses, “Plus, I’m a good trip guide. I won’t let you do any crazy shit.”

Thanos stares at the colorful tablets laid before him, contemplating if this was a good idea. It’s not like he hasn’t tried this stuff before, or worse, but this was newer on the market and Nam-Gyu’s past of harder drugs doesn’t set his mind at ease.

“For real, you won’t end up in the street naked or anything. When I tried this a few months back, it literally saved me, bro. It was like, like uh, like I saw all the beauty in the world…” He paused sheepishly before adding, “or some shit.”

Nam-Gyu smiles, “look, I don’t do hard shit anymore, you know this.”

Which was true, Thanos thought. They’ve tried almost everything under the sun when it came to experimenting when they first met, with the exception of needles when it came to Thanos. When it came to trying newer drugs, Su-bong was extra cautious about them being laced. But, his friend is trying it with him, and he’s done it before… what could go wrong?

”This was the same batch you tried before?”

”Yeah, I saved these last two for just us.”

”I take just one?”

”Just one.”

The purple haired man takes a tablet with confidence and pops it in his mouth.

“Now let it dissolve over your tongue,” Nam-Gyu follows his friend by taking the tablet, which eases the other.

“How long will it take?” Thanos lets out a breath, sinking his back to the floor. His friend follows suit, flopping his body to the floor beside him to stare at the ceiling in Thanos’s high rise apartment.

“Won’t be long, bro. Just enjoy the ride.”

The lights in the apartment were already dim. The faint glow of purple LED lights and the twinkle of the night sky of Seoul made a soft atmosphere. The high was gradual but overwhelmingly apparent. Thanos’s body flooded with an initial rush of adrenaline, causing his body to buzz. Time felt all-being, fast as light but slow as molasses, and his body was just an anomaly between it all.

The emotions inside his mind bursted at the seams, exploding with undescribable love and admiration for life. The fleeting thought deep within his mind made him realize that he’s never truly felt appreciative of life before, but he chose to ignore it. How could he ignore the overwhelming excitement for living? This is beautiful. His friend was beautiful, his apartment was beautiful, these lights were mesmerizing.

He stared at Seoul’s skyline for what felt like hours, completely entranced in the way they sparkled. Neon lights flashing on billboards, the barely-there stars peeking through the city’s light pollution. Maybe one day he’ll see the night sky for real and count every star up there. How come he had never realized how beautiful the city was? The people in the street enjoying food, groups sticking together on a night out, a couple hugging each other in an intimate moment and forgetting the world around them.

He wanted to find love like this. Could this feeling be love? Is this what it felt like to appreciate everything he had been through? He had never felt this love with another human being before, but he can remember the last time he had felt love.

When he was a child, he loved to create. This mostly came through rapping and making music, but he also adored creating through drawing and painting. He loved to dance, he loved to express himself in any way possible through a form of art.

Maybe he had lacked this as he got older. With tough times and life experiences, he began to revert inside himself. In school, he got in with the wrong crowd, tried drugs and got hooked at a young age. He became rebellious, ultimately becoming the leader of the pack. He still created music, though, but it was the only mask he had. Rapping got him exclusive invitations to more popular crowds. He had spiraled and partied regularly before it became a lifestyle.

A new girl every night and waking up with regret, on a vicious cycle of drugs and alcohol, partying way past sunrise and waking up just when the sun began to set.

Was he proud of it? He’s lived this life for too long to remember, so he couldn’t tell.

Did he even have his own conscious? Did his lifestyle dull his senses to what really matters? He can’t tell.

All he could feel was right now, this moment in the lick of time. And time was fleeting.

-

Choi Su-bong woke up the next night alone on his couch. He blinked, once, twice before reaching for his phone on the floor beside him. Cringing at the bright screen and scrolling through notifications, Nam-Gyu had left a text a few hours ago.

남규 🙈 (4:14 pm) : I left earlier to make an appointment. I checked on u before i left to make sure ur alive lol i also locked the door. Txt me when you wake

Sighing and rolling on his back, Su-bong sent a response to notify that he was okay before switching apps.

Instagram was his first choice, per usual, and he was immediately flooded with his fellow idols and influencer ‘friends’' posts. Flashy cars, luxurious dinners, lavish outfits that cost hundreds of dollars… it was always the same. He swallowed, noticing his mouth withered before discarding his phone once again over the fur carpet.

It was Friday night, the start to a weekend, where he would usually get up to shower and head out to the high scale clubs to meet with friends. But tonight he only hopped in the shower to cleanse himself and threw on a hoodie and sweats, because he cringed at the thought of doing anything else.

Sitting alone on his plush couch, tv faintly glowing in the back, he racked his brain on his experience from yesterday. It’s actually surprising that he didn’t feel the effects still. It must have been a short term high.

Though short term, it had lasting effects on his system. His thought process tonight was completely different from normal. No doom scrolling, waking up craving immediate numbness or even hungover. Maybe it was time for a wake up call, and this was what he needed. And to think that he was hesitant at first to take them.

He was tired of the surface level relationships and everything that came with that. His entire adult life had been a blur, a ticking time bomb with fleeting memories. Sure, times were fun, but waking up each day feeling like his body got pummeled by a train wasn’t…fun.

He missed art. He missed making music that came from his heart. He missed creating. Not this senselessness that made him fit in.

Pulling out his phone, Su-bong’s slender fingers tapped along the screen.

Create a new account

The blue letters stared back at him, and he was eager to press. Pursing his lips, he contemplates a new name. And why was thinking of anything original so hard right now? It felt like a ghostly pressure, but this was his first choice he’s consciously made in years. Was it really that hard?

He lets out an airy laugh, “shibal.”

Pattering his colorful fingernails along the screen, he came up with Mystic_Legend.

Was it original to his persona? No. But he liked it that way. It was a little ode to himself, but honoring his attachment.

He kept the profile blank for now, not opting to add a profile picture.

This was a clean slate. The explore page filled with vacation pictures of palm trees next to private pools, someone cooking a healthy meal for their family, a few memes - but what caught his attention was a beautiful art piece hung along a blank wall.

What he could perceive as a skinless torso without the flesh, unmasked and slimy twisting up like a tornado. Brilliant hues of blue and dusty grey explode through the top like a cloud exploding and expanding. Thanos was mesmerized by the painting. He’d never seen anything like this before.

His whole body stalled as his eyes scan every detail of the picture for a while. His mind races with thoughts of what could this be? What was the artist interpreting?

But maybe it wasn’t up for interpretation, maybe it was to feel.

What he felt was a tainted soul blossoming into something new.

This was a deep connection, a coincidence to a new path of life.

A beginning.

-

Su-bong spent less time on social media in the following weeks. From what used to be entertaining fans through comments, responding to DM’s, collaborating with other big artists and liking videos of his appearances and shows to spending most of his time on his burner account.

He had grown an algorithm catered to interests long forgotten and had followed things that genuinely interested him. From thousands of followers to zero, from following a few hundred to 13. It was refreshing, to Su-bong. Something he had needed.

No followers didn’t stop him from posting his daily routine. It was rather fun, actually. Posting things that he was doing without having thousands of people watching his every move. It felt more invigorating to post things that were out of his online persona.

An americano from the cafe down the street, his weights at the gym, his record collection, his at-home studio setup, a new pair of shoes he just bought, a colorful sunset from his apartment, a video of him filming the Han River as he went on a run.

He found a new love in posting things that caught his eye, a new love for things he didn’t really see before.

Nam-Gyu was always around, too. Like usual, he’d stop by the apartment to share a drink or smoke a blunt. The two would watch movies and order take out every few days, leaving Nam-Gyu to pass out on the couch for the night. The bond they shared was always special in regards to the fakeness of the crowd Thanos hung around, so it was natural and comfortable keeping him close.

Though, he’d never share the burner account. That was solely his.

Thanos would still keep a presence online through his main account, but not as much. Fans would ask if things were okay on his posts, but he never responded to those. He did his tasks led by management and kept his social life relatively strong to cause any other suspicion.

However, he did loosen the reins on making appearances. In a span of 2 weeks, he didn’t show up to any night clubs or perform at any shows, much to his managers' dislike. However, he continued to make music, music like he’s never created before.

His new routine would be spending hours in his guest bedroom/home studio making music from his soul. Raps about love and heartbreak, about a life he feels like he’d never lived. Raps about living vicariously through movies, how he longs for companionship but can’t seem to allow himself. Raw emotions would flow, allowing himself to set in a new territory of his mind and heart.

It was like therapy. Years of burden lifted off his shoulder poured into his music. Sometimes angry and intense, spitting painful memories and emotions through the mic - and others loving and soft, thoughtful for genuine affection.

Choi Su-bong felt at ease for the first time since he was a child.

Nestled in his king bed, damp hair draping over his brow, he scrolled through his explore page.

A beautiful face he had scrolled past.

Scrolling back up, he tapped on your picture with lightning speed.

A simple photo, but unremarkable. You posed in a simple dress that accentuated your body modestly, holding the phone up to take a selfie in a park.

Officially 1 month in Seoul!

Seoul? You’re here?

Swiping to your profile, he noticed that you didn’t have much. With only following barely over a hundred people and less than 40 followers, you were an anomaly.

You didn’t even have a caption, just a simple text heart emoji under your name.

Your profile had only 12 photos and 2 of which were you. The rest had been photos of your adventures. A photo of a record store, good food you had tried here in Korea, and pictures of landscapes.

Thanos eagerly tapped on the second photo of you.

You were in bed, phone angled high to capture your beauty with flash, holding a plush animal.

I rewarded myself with a friend today

Su-bong swelled, grinning to himself. The plushie you had looked soft, tuffs of its fur touching your cheek as you smiled sweetly back at him. Scrolling down, he found your first post of an airplane illuminated under airport lights.

Today, I start fresh. I’m nervous. #movingtokorea

Checking the date, you had posted this 2 months ago. You must have moved here recently and are living in the same city as him.

Running slender fingers through his hair, Su-Bong considered interacting with you or not. He had scrolled up to see your face at least a dozen times, practically stalking your entire page. Unable to control his emotions, Thanos buzzed with adrenaline.

He’s made the first move countless of times, but not in a… specific way like this. He never had a problem getting the girl he desired for the night, and he never had to try hard at that. This was a completely different situation.

He didn’t want that type of relationship with you. He felt it reverberating deep within his bones. He wanted more than that. Looking through the screen into your eyes marked him in a way he could never describe in words. It was a pulling, a chain that linked and locked with a click deep in his soul.

One message couldn’t hurt? Right? You didn’t even know who he was, or what society had written about him. You didn’t know his past, his current or even his name.

Would it be weird sending you a message? He doesn’t think he could even cope with being left on read by you.

This was fate, this was more than limerence - it was affinity.

-

You sigh, plopping yourself over your couch and covering yourself with a blanket.

Your apartment was small and barren. It was nothing to look at, but it was home. Little trinkets line your bookshelf in the corner of your living room glow under the tv’s light. Scrolling through your apps, you select a comfort show from your childhood and unwind.

Starting a new life in Seoul wasn’t on your bingo card a year ago, but you had made the rash decision for a job with decent pay. You had never left home, so why not take an adventure to see if you could do it? The best part of all of this was that you always had the decision to move back, or move somewhere else completely.

It was beginning to feel like home, though. It was the perfect amount of space you needed and the environment was a perfect mix of introverted activities and extroverted. You had the freedom to become a hermit, but also had the option to go out if you so please. You lived in a part of the city where you could walk to work, dine and drink down the street. You also lived in an area close to bars if you ever felt the need to socialize.

It was beginning to feel like home after 2 months. Your job was easy to follow, despite you not being an expert in Korean. The people were nice, though they were curious and stared. You stuck out like a sore thumb with your demeanor, but you were becoming accustomed quickly, better than you thought you would.

You should be going out tonight, but you don’t feel ready yet. You should be getting dolled up to enjoy a night of fun, but… this was fun for now. Cuddled up in your cozy apartment after a long week at work.

The tv muffled in the background as you stared out your window, appreciating the skyline.

Your phone buzzes against your tight, drawing you from your thoughts.

Mystic_Legend wants to send you a message

Your brow furrows at the notification, but you’re anxious to see the message. You had little to no lies from your home country, and no one knew you here in Korea. Must be a bot.

Mystic_Legend (9:56 pm) : 나는 당신의 사진을 좋아합니다

You blink, staring at the message in curiosity. Pulling up google on your phone you translate the sentence.

I like your photo

“Weird,” you mumble.

Another instagram notification pops up on your screen and you tap it.

Mystic_Legend (9:57 pm) : 최근에 한국에 도착 했나요? 당신은 그것을 좋아합니까?

Have you arrived in Korea recently? Do you like it?

Uneasiness bubbles within your gut. Wasn’t your profile private? You tap around your screen to double check - and it wasn’t. Curiosity got the best of you and you tap the users profile.

20 posts, 13 following and… zero followers.

An anomaly.

Scrolling through the users posts, you find random things. A pair of new shoes, a video of a hooded figure with his back turned to the camera playing on a soundboard, a picture of the person’s outfit, hat covered with a beanie and phone conveniently covering his face in the mirror. Filtering through more posts, you find the Seoul skyline at night, a deck of cards littering a coffee table, gym equipment and landscape photos.

“What the,” you sigh under your breath before another notification pops over the top of your screen.

Mystic_Legend (10:01 pm) : I’m sorry. I should have written in English.

Mystic_Legend (10:01 pm) : I like your photos. Did you recently move to Korea?

Your fingers hesitate before swiping across the screen to accept the messages.

You (10:02 pm) : Do I know you?

A typing bubble appears before disappearing for a few moments.

Mystic_Legend (10:03 pm) : No, I found you on explore page

Ahh, it clicked. But you won’t tell a stranger sensitive information, the whole situation is weird in the first place. You were hesitant to even respond, leaving the message on read while you stared at the screen.

Mystic_Legend (10:04 pm) : I’m Su-bong. Not a creep, I promise.

You (10:04 pm) : Nice to meet you. Thank you for liking my pictures.

Keeping it short and sweet, you lock your phone, hoping to leave the conversation at that, but your phone vibrates not once, but twice.

Mystic_Legend has followed you

Mystic_Legend (10:06 pm) : I could help you speak Korean, if you don’t know

You contemplate the message, looking at it on your Home Screen. You could use the help with your job and navigating the city. It wouldn’t hurt, right? You could have a native speaker help and just keep it at that. Just for the knowledge, of course. Keep it surface level.

You (10:07 pm) : That helps me, actually.

Mystic_Legend (10:07 pm) : Cool. 😎

Mystic_Legend (10:07 pm) : Maybe we could call?

You (10:08 pm) : Not tonight, it’s pretty late.

Mystic_Legend (10:09 pm) : That is okay, get your rest. We can speak tomorrow?

You (10:10 pm) : Sure.

Seen 10:10pm

You left it at that, and the stranger does too. You get ready for bed shortly after that, confused as to how anyone would even find you on the explore page. You weren’t a big account at all and hardly interacted with content on the app, so what had led to the discovery of your profile?

You did have similar interests, but that couldn’t be the only reason for him to message you.

Before closing your eyes, you tap the instagram application and go to the strangers profile and press follow.

-

It caused Su-bong physical pain to let you go to bed. He wanted to message you more, all night if he could. But you had agreed to a call tomorrow, and he was reeling with adrenaline.

Scanning over your photos in his darkened room overlooking the city lights, he couldn’t keep his gaze off the picture of you in the park. Turning over to lay on his side, a strangeness swells within his chest. It must have been stupid, only a virgin could react so strongly just by pictures and dry messages.

But something had told him this was everything he had been missing. Not ever had he looked at a girl with such a sweetness. He’d hooked up with models, influencers and everything in between, although not remembering most of the nights. He’d share hot kisses with wet tongues in night clubs, inviting high class women to his place to experiment something new, had intense sex fueled by molly, and even bent women over in grimy bathrooms.

This was not new to him, picking up women and getting what he wanted.

But the purity was.

Something swam in your eyes, mesmerizing him in a daze. Something fueled him to keep pushing, to dig deeper as to where this stems from.

You are beautiful, elegant and ethereal actually.

He’d hate himself forever if he didn’t try.

The buzz of a notification almost sends his heart leaping out of his chest to find that you had followed him back.

-

You didn’t hear from the stranger, or Su-bong overnight. To your conflicting disappointment, he wasn’t in the pile of notifications when you woke.

Something pulled you in. Men now-a-days have a large following, or a large number of who they follow. You didn’t mull this over to its extent last night, but when you checked his following, it was all art, photography and music accounts… all 13 of them. He didn’t have a profile picture, but the same silhouette showed continuously through his posts.

He didn’t have any followers, and this led you to think this was a secret account. Maybe he had a girlfriend to hide… but honestly that wouldn’t make sense, because if he were to hide an account, wouldn’t he be following girls? At least one? But the only one was you.

And you were now his only follower.

It seemed like a simple account, purely made for enjoyment. Social media is used for that sort of thing anyways, right? You shake your head, reminding yourself that not every man is out to get you. Not every stranger is here to hurt you.

It’s not that big of a deal, and you shouldn’t even be bothering yourself with it.

So you opt to forget about it and carry on with your day.

Saturday - a day to catch up after the work week and do whatever you want to do. So, you do. You work out, shower and make your way to the little cafe down the street to catch a light breakfast and coffee.

Sitting down at an empty table near the window to people watch, your phone buzzes over the table.

Mystic_Legend (10:01 am) : Good morning

Bzzzzt

Mystic_Legend sent a photo

You practically leap from your seat to snatch your phone, a rush of adrenaline courses through your veins. You pray to god that this doesn’t go south, please for the love of god do not be an unsolicited dick pic.

Preparing yourself with a breath, you go to his message embarrassingly fast and tap on the photo.

You squint before opening, as if to allow yourself to be a victim of a terrible sight, but to your delight, the picture opened to a pair of pristine white sneakers next to some weights.

Mystic_Legend (10:03 am) : I am hitting the gym this morning. I hope you slept well.

You (10:04 am) : I beat you to it, I already worked out today. I am getting breakfast.

Sending a picture back can’t do any harm, right? Angling your phone over your food and coffee, you snap a picture and send it.

Mystic_Legend (10:06 am) : Looks good

Mystic_Legend (10:06 am) : What are your plans today?

Mystic_Legend (10:07 am) : I am excited to call, let me know when you are ready.

You purse your lips, blushing at the thought of having a phone call with a stranger. This was unhinged right? No one in their right mind would be doing this… right? Why did your heart flutter with every message he sent?

It’s literally a blank profile.

You tap on his account and scroll down to the photo of him in a mirror. The purple beanie covers his hair and the phone covers most of his face. The hoodie he wears is black with neon coloring and you can’t see past his waist. The one eye you do see, gives a glimpse, a sliver, that who you are talking to is a real person.

You (10:10 am) : I have to run errands today, but I will text you when I am home

The chat bubble lifts above the keyboard, then disappears. You await his response in silence.

Mystic_Legend (10:11 am) : I will wait for you.

An… odd message, you blink. Maybe even sweet… but you don’t know the customs and courtesies of Korean culture enough to have a real judgement. All you need to worry about is finishing your errands and chores before a phone call with a stranger.

-

Flicking the light to your apartment on and dumping your grocery bags on the counter, you stretch.

A day out was just what you needed, and the weather was perfect to walk around in, but damn do your feet ache. Slipping off your shoes by the door, you begin doing your final task of the day.

You barely put the egg carton in your fridge before you hear your phone buzz from the counter. Padding your feet over to your phone, sits another photo message from mystic_legend.

Tilting your head, you open the photo.

An outstretched hand gingerly caresses a wine glass halfway filled with a deep red in front of a kitchen counter.

Mystic_Legend (8:00 pm) : I hope you had a good day.

You (8:00 pm) : Sorry it is so late, I met up with a coworker for dinner.

You cringe at your apology, it’s not like he deserved one. But it was true. Your coworker saw you shopping at a local store and asked if you’d be down to have drinks and food. You couldn’t say no, especially since you have no friends. And this coworker is also a foreigner, so it works out in terms of no language barriers. But you did have plans to call with him, so maybe you felt the need to mention that?

You (8:01 pm) : Is that red wine?

Mystic_Legend (8:01 pm) : Yes. I like this one.

Mystic_Legend sent a photo

You open the photo to see an exquisite bottle of red with the label in French.

You (8:03 pm) : Looks expensive, are you rich?

Mystic_Legend (8:04 pm) : It was a gift.

You (8:05 pm) : I will call soon, I need to finish cleaning up and shower

Mystic_Legend hearted your message but said nothing else.

You freshen up after a long day, letting the hot water cascade down your back. Rubbing your shoulders to ease the tension, your mind wanders.

Was this a trick? Was he a creep? How could you be so naive in trusting a complete stranger? It was weird, what you were doing.

But in reality, you are lonely. Making this move was huge for you and your confidence. You’ve never ventured out like this before. You are a big girl, you don’t need to explain your reasons for making friends. You are completely on your own, working in a completely new country, and doing good at it.

You’re not tied down by anything but yourself, so why was it hard to accept the fact that this was a little unconventional?

You’ve tried dating apps in the past- you physically cringe forcing yourself to stop your thought process. Shrugging your shoulders against the water in a visceral reaction, you shake off the thought. This guy is not an interest, why were you thinking it was? Instagram is not an app to date.

Even so, he had never asked anything other than to talk to you. You’ve had guys in the past ask for nudes almost immediately. You’ve had guys thirsting over you in such an icky way that it completely turned you off.

But…

You lean your head back into the waterfall and puff your cheeks.

He hasn’t done that.

You couldn’t help by think of all the reason why. Why he had messaged. Was it a cover? He could be a complete fuck-boy underneath it all and he’s just grabbing your attention.

What if he isn’t even real. What if he’s some mama’s boy living in a dingy basement?

You groan, anticipation swelling deep in your belly. You feel like you might be sick at the thought of a measly voice call.

You can’t help that it excites you.

-

Silk pajamas caress your skin and the plush comforter of your bed warms your senses as you whip out your phone and settle yourself in a comfortable position.

Your finger lingers over the phone symbol next to the strangers name… and you can’t do it.

You (11:01 pm) : I’m ready

WIthin seconds, like he really was awaiting your message, your phone screen illuminates with a voice call.

Your body tenses at the mere sight and you suck in a breath, hitting accept.

“Hello?”

“Annyeonghaseyo,” he calls, his voice low and smooth like honey. You melt at the slow infliction of his tone.

“Oh- annyeong-“ You stutter, but he doesn’t react. “How are you?” You try to hold it together to keep your voice from shaking, praying that he doesn’t notice. Your poor Korean could be embarrassing to him.

“That was good,” he comments before proceeding, “I am good now. I told you I would wait for you.”

The more he spoke, the more you caught on to his thick accent. It wasn’t perfect. But you didn’t care, you understood him just fine.

You give an airy laugh, “you did.”

”What did you do today?”

You hum. “I worked out, went to lunch… I went shopping and met up with a coworker of mine for dinner. It was nice. What did you do today?”

He hums in response.

“One second-“ he says, followed by quick tapping on his screen. After a moment, he begins to speak again.

“I worked out too. I had chest day. Then I made music.”

“Music?”

“Yes,” he pauses, “I like to make music.”

”Is that why you post pictures of you in a studio?”

“Yes,” the tapping on his phone is rapid now, “I have my own studio in my house.”

”That’s so cool! I’d like to hear your music…”

The stranger was silent on the other line.

”Maybe.”

“Okay, well no pressure. I don’t like to show anyone my personal stuff either.” You opt to keep the conversation light.

He hums in agreement.

“Why did you come to Korea?”

You shift under your covers, thinking of a response.

“I… just needed a new start. I wanted to see what I could accomplish.” Is what you ended up with.

He hums again, slow and low, taking a moment to respond.

“I understand. I have lived here my entire life. I always wanted to travel, that is good that you did.”

You laugh, “it was scary at first, moving to a new country and all…”

”I could tell you all the best spots around here.”

”I’d like that, I’m still getting used to it.” You turn your head to look at the moon outside your window.

”Do you remember my name?” He questions.

”Su-Bong.” You respond quietly.

”Yes, I’d like to know yours.”

You swallow, internally battling yourself with how to respond. You don’t want to give him your real name in the means of safety. But he did give you his.

“Is that actually your name?”

“Of course, why would I lie?” His accent was thick and questioning, low in bass. It rang so nicely through your ears. His infliction doesn’t waver, and it draws you in.

You slowly said your own name, giving him the benefit of the doubt. It was just a name after all, and he had already known what you looked like.

He repeated your name quietly, like he savored it on his tongue. His deep voice electrified your nerves in a way you’ve never experienced, triggering your body to grow hot in embarrassment.

“Beautiful name,” was all he said.

You sheepishly give thanks before yawning.

“Are you tired?”

Your eyelids grow heavy to the sound of his voice. “I am.”

”I will let you go to sleep, can we talk tomorrow?”

You wait a moment to respond as your heart flutters in response to him.

“Yes, I’d like that.”

”Okay,” he whispers, “an nyeong hi ju mu se yo.”

”Goodnight, Su-Bong.”

-

Thanos hung up the phone almost too quickly, but not because he wanted to leave the conversation, but because he needed to let out a breath he had been holding.

Your voice was sweet and calming. It had lulled his system like waves of the ocean.

Running his fingers through his hair his eyes dart around the room and curses under his breath.

You’d definitely be the death of him.

[aheathen-conceivably]

Three rhythmic knocks rang out across the desert. Jo let out a breath as she heard footsteps sound from inside the house. She had no reason to believe that Val would act any differently than she had every other time they'd met since things had grown awkward between them. Short, impersonal pleasantries. Quick, false smiles.

The door opened and Jo tried to maintain the indifference that she had worked so hard on these last few months. It’s fine. You’re friends. That’s all. “Keys are in the car. Just don’t do anything stupid. Get her back in one piece. Same as usual.” Terse. Already impatient. Seemingly the same annoyance that had been on her face the first time they had met.

“Wait, I -“ You’re friends. Don���t you miss that? Having someone more like you to talk to. Laughing with someone who doesn’t know every detail of your past and your ire. Where’s the harm in that? You’re in control. Just keep yourself in control. “Actually I was wondering if that drink was still on the table?”

Val leaned sideways, her eyebrows shooting up in an expression Jo could actually read. Amusement. “Oh, really?”

The finely woven threads holding up Jo’s principles loosened at that one simple question. Val’s eyebrow stayed raised, her posture infuriatingly relaxed, and Jo’s neck grew warm with the reminder that she could never simply smile and get her way with Val. Instead she had to grit her teeth and swallow her conviction that she should never be the one to implore someone else. “Yes, really. If you still want to, of course.”

In response Val simply stepped backward, a satisfied look on her face as she held open the door and gestured for Jo to step inside.

Val didn’t show off her living room the way that most people would have. She barely looked back as her long strides took her toward an open door across the room. Trailing behind her, Jo tried to take in every detail. She had seen much of it from the window, of course, but she realized now that had been like looking at it as the set of a play. Now, it seemed like a place where someone actually breathed. She couldn’t help but appreciate the fact that the walls didn’t need newspaper to keep out the red dirt, or that it smelled slightly of dried chilis rather than chickens and failed hope.

Lost in the simple comfort of it all, she didn’t even realize that she had lost track of Val, or the tightly wound control she had been so sure of moments before. Instead she was looking at the only other doors in the small house. They were shut tight, their contents hidden and their windows facing away from the porch. This is it, isn’t it? The room I tried not to think about when I would leave you in the bar all those nights ago. Did you close the door just for me, just so that I couldn’t see? Because we went too far and ruined whatever friendship we had…

“Are you coming, or what?” Jo turned back to see Val staring at her from the kitchen, her face set more with calm curiosity than the annoyance that had been there mere minutes ago. 

“I - what?” Heat rose up Jo’s spine as she tried to recenter herself in her heels rather than the imaginings she had already begun to conjure. You idiot. Don’t do this. Almost imperceptibly, she shook out the agitation gripping the back of her neck and regained control of her mind. “Yes. Of course I am. Lead the way.”

Jo took off her gloves and hat as Val rummaged through a cupboard. After a minute, she pulled out a dusty bottle and a cup, stepping nearer to Jo at the table as she poured liquor into a glass. “You’ll have to forgive me if it’s a bit old. Doesn’t get much use other than when there’s folk over, and we both know that’s not often.”

Jo looked up at her, trying not to wrinkle her nose at the strong smell of whiskey that had sat unopened for years. “Why don’t you drink, anyway? I mean all night at the bar, here all alone. That bottle wouldn’t have lasted a week in my house.”

Val shrugged her shoulders and pulled back the chair across from Jo. “Seems an awful way to deal with your problems if you ask me. Even worse than running away, just numbing yourself and turning the other cheek.” As she finished speaking, Jo’s hand hovered around the glass. Val noticed it and laughed. “That sounded mighty judgmental, didn’t it? I didn’t mean it that way. Only for myself, really, and maybe for all of those louses without a dime drinking away their children’s meals.”

Still, Jo’s whiskey stayed untouched as she looked into Val’s eyes, “Can I ask you something, honest?” With a nod of her head Jo continued, “Why are you still here? You know - in this town. I mean you’ve got a car, the road goes both ways right through the center, and I’ve been to your father’s courts; you could be anywhere in the country in a week.”

Val looked at the table between them and stayed quiet for a moment. Then she answered without looking up. “Honest, maybe I’m too loyal for my own good. I like it here, true. I like knowing everyone’s names and where they came from, but it hasn’t been easy, being on my own and unwilling to marry at that…”

For a moment she looked up at Jo knowingly, as though to test her on the subject or see if she’d judge her in some way. Then she glanced down at Jo’s left hand, holding the cup delicately and notably, without a ring. Jo brought the drink to her lips and she noticed that just before Val kept talking, she smiled. 

“Well, there’s some mixed feelings about the Groves. My father in particular. They found oil on our tract back when I was a girl. Most of the tribe fought him on it, but father got the government’s blessing to drill it. We were still under trust quota, of course, so the money wasn’t really his. He had to get permission to use the fraction of profits they gave him to buy anything else. Permission to use the profits off his own land. The same land sold to him by the government after they had stolen it in the first place.”

For a moment she stopped, a crack in her facade finally showing as they looked at each other and the room went silent. There was a charged beat of shared anger, some sense of knowing the past without needing to speak it that passed between them both. Then she signed heavily and resigned herself to the rest of the story.

“But once they did he took the cash and bought land lining the railroads first, and eventually, the route. If they wanted to play the game of land ownership, well I figure he thought he was going to win. So one by one he developed them, and once the money came out of there, it was his. I know why he did it now, why he drives up and down the route without any real sense of home; but some old timers still spit at the mention of his name. Call him a sell-out or a crow. Maybe I stayed here to make up for him. Or, I don't know, maybe it’s just as simple as there's nowhere else I wanna go.”

Jo put her glass back on the table lightly, unsure of what to say.

“I suppose that’s a bit more of an answer than you wanted, isn’t it?”

“No. It’s - I’ve just always wondered. Ever since I saw the car, really. Do you know how strange it was? Seeing you standing astride it like you owned the damn sand itself? It was formidable, I’ll tell you that.”

“Quite the compliment coming from you.” She had said it with only the smallest trace of sarcasm, so Jo tipped the glass in her direction, the crooked smile on her face still there even as she brought the glass to her lips. Val reached in front of her, rolling a cigarette that was to be far from her last. Then the sun got lower, their brows less concerned, and the lingering stiffness between them melted away.

It was dark by the time Jo moved to stand. Her legs were admittedly more wobbly than she would have liked them to be, and the memory of why she had been so stressed about coming here now harder to find. But as she found herself unwilling to move away from the table, a sort of charged silence fell over them. She kept her eyes off of Val’s as though she had something to hide, and without even really knowing why, offered up an embarrassed apology for her departure.

Val simply looked up at her from her chair, her posture slouched and the brief flash of disappointment that had been on her face now cloaked in wry amusement. Everything about her countenance told Jo that the expectation to stay was coming from within herself; and suddenly, she remembered exactly why she had to leave. So she straightened her skirt and made her leaden feet head toward the door. 

As she walked through the room, Jo’s steps slowed, seemingly having forgotten something that she couldn’t quite name. Val was watching her from the doorway, her shoulder against the wood and her voice low. “Keys are still in the car, as promised.”

Her hands were neatly folded across her body, and as she said it, she had nodded behind Jo as though directing her out. Instead Jo turned further; her mind was both sharp and cloudy with anticipation, just like it is when you hold your hand over a fire and wonder just how close you can get before you get burned. “Will you save the bottle for me? For next time?”

A smile slowly spread across Val’s face, laced with something more genuine than had been there hours before. “Sure, Jo. Next time.”

In response Josephine simply nodded and turned to leave, keeping control over the next question that she really wanted to ask. And next time, would you leave the door open for me too?

Previous / Next

[inawickedlittletown]

Decided to rewatch S8 and I made it to 8x06.

Ugh. This episode.

This is the first time I'm rewatching it since it aired and I couldn't make myself rewatch it before, but I'm watching it now and gah the writing.

Under a cut because this got long...

I'm not even too bothered by the anniversary dinner. The woman approaching them is whatever in the long run...Buck is awkward but it's very Buck to be like that so that doesn't bother me. Tommy's reaction to it also not a problem. Buck acting like he doesn't know his boyfriend is gay? Writers WTF. This is the type of conversation that would be normal a few dates in not 6 months in. It's actually very reminiscent of stuff from their first date.

It's the way they didn't know how to bring up Abby and so gave us this convoluted way to bring it about and it's very clear to me on a rewatch that they're trying to make sure the casual heterosexual audience understands things. Like they want to reestablish that we know for sure that Tommy is gay and Buck is still attracted to women but also lets not use the word bisexual. And oh the shock value of it because take out the Abby of it all and the break up still works the same way...they did the Abby thing just for the hell of it.

It's bad writing.

The next thing that makes me cringe is Buck's scene with Maddie and Josh. In the past we've seen Maddie listen to Buck and maybe poke fun at him a little but always in a kind way and then she gives him advice.

Maddie in this scene is acting so strange (actually Maddie this whole episode is not acting quite herself). I know some people have an issue with Josh's speech about Glee but tbh I don't think it's that bad and I didn't the first time I watched it. I think he has good motives in saying it. My issue is with Maddie.

Her joke about Abby turning men gay, the way she explains to Josh that Buck slept with Tommy's fiance changing the facts entirely just to mess with Buck, the way that she just very clearly thinks Buck is being dramatic and ridiculous. She just doesn't take Buck seriously at all and when Buck calls her out on it she turns it around on him because as she says she doesn't think there's a problem. But it's not about if there is a problem with them having both dated Abby, it's how Buck feels about it that he needs advice on.

Josh for all that I do think he is helpful, he also does not know Tommy and shouldn't speak to what Tommy experienced. Buck voices his concerns that he thought he knew who Tommy was but now he's finding out that Tommy lied and hurt Abby and it's thrown him because he's having to meld those two versions of Tommy.

Buck doesn't think that Tommy will do the same to him and Tommy doesn't. He doesn't lie to Buck or string him along. He's actually very honest with him and that honesty contributes to the break up. Yet another way in which we see that Tommy has changed from who he used to be.

The thing is that Josh doesn't know Tommy and admits as much but he gives Buck some broad thing about glee and what the world was like before it and after but he's basing it on his own experiences and the queer experience is not a shared trauma...and he puts in Buck's mind that he can't judge Tommy and also that he should thank him. Buck clearly internalizes this. He also I think it suddenly forced to think about what he wants from a future with Tommy and he jumps at wanting to live with him.

Now onto the actual break up.

The whole scene is actually good. They're cute together and silly and flirty and even after the Abby thing is revealed to Tommy nothing has fallen apart. It's all kinda good and their conversation is actually great. When Buck says he admires him, Tommy seems to like that...or at least he takes it how Buck intends it.

This is where it falls apart. And considering I refused to watch this again until now I didn't really think about it like this until now.

Yes I think Tommy had his eyes opened a little bit with everything Buck said...but Tommy also could have ended the conversation at the point where Buck tells him he admires him and they could have gone to the movies and just continued their date night. Why? Because Tommy already sorta knows this and it's what's he's expected from it...he already knows this is Buck's first relationship with a man and that as such Buck must feel some gratitude for what Tommy has given him and he's clearly in his mind already decided that it will end eventually because as he tells Buck first is not last (Tommy, who hurt you?).

But then Buck asks Tommy to move in. And Tommy can't.

It's one thing for him to date the baby bi guy...for him to get feelings for him that maybe go deep but that are manageable. He can handle that...but moving in together? For Buck to dangle that to him and offer him a future when Tommy doesn't expect that Buck will be able to deliver it? That's where Tommy just can't because he knows it will hurt when they break up...but if they live together and form deeper attachments and routines and they become intrinsically a part of each other's lives in a home they share then that's not heartbreak he's prepared to face. It's heartbreak he knows he won't survive.

I actually don't see the break up as bad writing. Everything else surrounding it absolutely is, but that scene is heartbreaking because they both want the same exact thing but Buck couldn't reassure Tommy that he really did want for them to be together...he didn't even tell him he loved him...and Tommy needs more from Buck to be secure in thinking that in this instance first could also be the last.

I think we learn so much about Tommy in this episode and I wish we had been able to dive in deeper.

This episode still hurts. Tommy's face when he says "Buck" hurts. The way Buck is left behind hurts.

The writing is a mixed bag of bad with some alright moments. It also leaves so much open. I remember that night being optimistic because it is so clearly a storyline left open to be continued. Some interviews turned that optimism right around but without that there is no real reason for any of us to think that this is finished.

Do I think it was a bad idea to break them up? Absolutely. Do I think there are other forms of tension for them to explore? Yes. Do I think they will manage to give this story and Buck and Tommy a happier ending? I have no idea, but I hope so.

Buck himself calls his relationship with Tommy the most transformative since Abby. He misses Tommy so much he spends the next couple of episodes baking and wanting to reach out. We also know that Tommy wants to reach back out too. These are indications that it isn't over and I just hope that they stick to being a little cliche and following the romcom trope right through to the end where they get back together.

I guess that's where I am going into 8b. Hopeful, but not holding my breath and well aware that fanfic exists and so much of the scenarios we want for our blorbos will only ever be possible there. Oh, and I'll be shipping Buck with Tommy because that is definitely not changing no matter what the show does.

[finchyclarkemd]

Between Us

~Angst/Smut~

You had known George since university. He had been your anchor—your best friend through years of exams, late-night study sessions, and questionable life choices. You had been through everything together, no one knew you better than he did. When he introduced you to his friend group after graduation, you didn’t think much of it at first. But then you met Chris.

Chris was the kind of guy who walked into a room and made it feel smaller, like gravity bent toward him. He was confident, always teasing, always flashing that easy smile. You liked him immediately—which was exactly why you had spent the last few months doing everything possible to bury those feelings. There was no way he’d ever feel the same. George, on the other hand, had always been by your side. He was warm, steady, dependable. It never once crossed your mind that he might look at you differently than you looked at him—until lately.  

Lately, there had been a shift. A weight in his glances, a hesitation in his words. You couldn’t quite place it, and honestly, you didn’t want to. Not when every time Chris so much as brushed past you, your heart went into cardiac arrest.  

It was supposed to be a casual night out—a group hangout at a bar, nothing unusual. But something in the air felt off. George was quieter than usual, and Chris… well, Chris had been watching you. Not in an obvious way, but in a way that made your skin prickle with awareness.  

At some point, you slipped away from the group, stepping outside for fresh air. The cool night breeze helped steady your heartbeat. That was, until you heard footsteps behind you.  

Chris.  

"You okay?" His voice was softer than usual, lacking the teasing edge he so often carried.  

You swallowed. "Yeah. Just needed some air."  

He nodded, but he didn’t leave. He leaned against the wall next to you, hands in his pockets, his body close.  

"You’ve been quiet tonight," he observed.  

You laughed nervously. "So have you."  

"Yeah, well…" He exhaled, tilting his head slightly. "Maybe I was waiting for you to say something first."  

Your breath hitched. "Say what?"  

Chris studied you for a long moment. It was the kind of look that made you feel like he could read everything—every hidden thought, every unspoken feeling. And maybe he could. Before he could say anything else, the door swung open behind you.  

George.  

His eyes flicked between the two of you, and suddenly, the tension thickened into something unbearable.  

"Hey," George said, voice carefully even. "You okay?"  

You nodded quickly, stepping back from Chris. You weren’t sure why.  

Chris let out a low chuckle. "You sent George to come check on me?" you teased, trying to lighten the mood.  

George’s lips pressed into a thin line. "I sent myself."  

Chris’s jaw twitched, something unreadable passing between them. Oh.

You weren’t imagining it, were you? The way George was standing, the way Chris’s shoulders squared ever so slightly—like two opponents stepping into a ring.  

"You should come back inside," George said, but his gaze wasn’t on you. It was on Chris.

And that’s when it hit you. George wasn’t just being protective. Chris wasn’t just acting strange.  

They both—  

Oh, God.

You felt your stomach drop, realisation slamming into you like a freight train. They both had feelings for you. And you… you only had feelings for one of them.  

Chris.  

But you had never imagined it would be this complicated.  

Chris let out a breath, pushing off the wall. "Yeah, we should go back," he said, but his voice was tight.

George lingered for a second before he reached for your hand—just a small touch on your wrist, the kind that might have gone unnoticed if you weren’t already drowning in the weight of everything unsaid. When you looked at him, there was something in his eyes. Please choose me.

But when you glanced back at Chris, his gaze burned just as fiercely. Please tell me you feel the same. And suddenly, you weren’t sure if you could breathe at all. You could still feel George’s touch on your wrist. Gentle, hesitant. A silent plea. But your heart wasn’t hesitating. It was already pulling in one direction.  

Chris.  

It always had been. The moment stretched between the three of you, unbearably tense. The unspoken words, the lingering looks, the unacknowledged feelings that had been brewing for months—it was all coming to a head now, whether you were ready for it or not.  Chris’s jaw was clenched, his hands stuffed into his pockets like he was restraining himself from doing something reckless. His eyes burned into yours, searching, waiting.  

George exhaled sharply. "Let’s go back inside," he repeated, but his voice had lost its steadiness. It was raw now. Vulnerable.   

Your chest tightened. You knew what he wasn’t saying. Please don’t do this. Chris must have sensed it too, because he took a step forward—closer to you. Close enough that you could feel the heat of his body, close enough that the air between you felt electric.

"Or," Chris said, voice low, dangerous, "she doesn’t have to."  

You swallowed hard.  

George stiffened. "What the hell does that mean?"  

Chris’s gaze never left yours. "It means if she wants to stay, she stays."  

The weight of the moment crushed down on you. This was it. The moment you had to choose. And maybe, deep down, you had already made your decision a long time ago. You took a slow breath, gathering every ounce of courage you had. Then, with your heart pounding, you stepped toward Chris. Not George.  

Chris’s eyes widened slightly, like he hadn’t actually expected you to choose him. And George—oh God, George—his breath hitched, pain flickering across his face for the briefest moment before he masked it. But you saw it. You felt it. Chris must have felt it too, because his jaw clenched, his body tensed. But then you reached for his hand. And that was all it took. Chris’s hand tightened around yours—possessive, certain. Like he had been waiting for this. For you.

George let out a soft, bitter laugh, running a hand through his hair. "Right," he murmured. "Got it." His voice was calm, but his eyes—his eyes—were full of something that made your stomach twist.  

He nodded, once, then turned and walked away. You almost called out to him. Almost. But then Chris pulled you back to reality. He tugged you closer, until you were right there—his forehead nearly resting against yours, his breath warm against your lips.  

"You sure about this?" he murmured. His voice was different now. No teasing. No playfulness. Just real.

You let out a shaky breath. "Yeah."  

And then he kissed you. It wasn’t slow, or careful, or hesitant. It was intense. Like he had been holding back for months and just couldn’t anymore. Like he didn’t care that you were standing in the dim glow of a streetlamp outside the bar, or that anyone could walk out and see. Like he was claiming you. And when you kissed him back, you poured every ounce of feeling you had into it. Because finally, finally, you had stopped running from what you wanted. And Chris wasn’t about to let you go.  

It wasn’t regret. No, you knew deep down you had made the right choice. But the moment George walked away that night, something inside you fractured. And it hadn’t healed since.  

For the next few days, George didn’t answer your texts. Calls went straight to voicemail. It was as if he had vanished. Avoiding you. Avoiding this. Chris, on the other hand, was different.  He didn’t talk about what happened. He didn’t say George’s name. But he was there—calling, texting, making sure you were okay. And when you were together, he kissed you like he wanted to erase everything else. Like he wanted you to focus on him, not the pieces of your friendship that were shattering.  

But it didn’t work. Because every time you kissed him, you thought of George. Not because you wanted him instead, but because you had hurt him. And the worst part? He hadn’t even fought for you. He had just… walked away.  

You finally saw him again two weeks later. It wasn’t planned. You had just left Chris’s place—his scent still lingering on your skin, your lips still swollen from his kiss—when you ran into George at the coffee shop near your apartment. The moment your eyes met, he froze. For a second, you thought he might turn and walk out. But then, with a sigh, he stepped forward and pulled out the chair across from you, sitting down like it was a chore.

You swallowed hard. "George—"  

"Don’t." His voice was flat.  

The barista set a coffee down in front of him. He didn’t touch it. He just stared at you, eyes unreadable.

"You’ve been ignoring me," you said softly.  

His lips twitched into something that wasn’t quite a smile. "Yeah. Funny how that happens."  

You winced. "I didn’t mean to hurt you."  

"You didn’t mean to choose him either?" He let out a short laugh, shaking his head. "No, wait—don’t answer that. I don’t want to hear it."  

Your stomach twisted. "George…"  

He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "Look, I get it. It was never me. It was always Chris."  

You flinched. Not because he was wrong, but because hearing it like that, so definite, made it feel worse.  

"And you know what?" He exhaled sharply, finally meeting your eyes. "That’s fine. I can deal with that. But you could’ve at least told me."  

Your breath caught. "What?"  

"You knew," he said bitterly. "You had to have known. Maybe not at first, but eventually. You felt it, right?" His voice was quieter now. "You felt the way I looked at you, the way I…" He trailed off, shaking his head. "And if you didn’t, then I was a fucking idiot."  

Your throat tightened. "George, I—"  

He let out another sharp laugh. "God, I must’ve looked so stupid standing there that night, watching you pick him. Watching you look at him the way I wanted you to look at me."  

The words hit like a slap. You had spent so long drowning in your own feelings that you had never stopped to think about what it must have been like for him. Watching you choose someone else. Watching you slip away. You reached out, fingers brushing his hand. He pulled away. That hurt more than anything.  

"I don’t hate you," George said after a moment. "I just… I can’t be around you right now." His voice cracked slightly. "Not when you’re with him."  

Your stomach dropped. "George, please—"  

"Don’t," he said again, shaking his head. "You made your choice. And I’m making mine."  

He stood up, coffee untouched, hands shoved deep in his pockets. And then, with one last glance—one final, unreadable look—he walked away.  Again. And this time. You weren’t sure if he was ever coming back.  You should’ve been happy. You were happy, right?

Chris was everything you had wanted—everything you had spent months trying to deny. And now that he was yours, he made sure you knew it. Every kiss, every touch, every look—he didn’t hold back anymore. But no matter how many times he kissed you breathless, no matter how tightly he held you at night, there was a weight pressing against your chest.  

George. 

The last time you saw him replayed in your mind like a broken record. The sharpness in his voice. The way he pulled his hand away. The way he left. And the worst part? You hadn’t heard from him since. Until now.  

Chris was asleep, his arm slung over your waist, his breaths slow and steady against your neck. The warmth of his body wrapped around you, grounding you. And yet, when your phone buzzed in the darkness, a shiver ran down your spine.  

George.

You stared at the screen, your heart hammering. For a second, you thought about ignoring it. But then—you slipped out of bed, careful not to wake Chris, and stepped into the hallway before answering.  

“…George?”  

A long silence. Then, his voice—low, rough, like he hadn’t slept.  

“I need to see you.”  

Your stomach twisted. “George, I—”  

“Please.”  

You closed your eyes. The way he said it—like he was breaking.

“…Where?”  

You found him at the park, sitting on the same bench where you used to meet after long days. But this time, there was distance. He barely looked at you when you sat down, staring ahead like he was afraid to face you.  

“I wasn’t going to call,” he admitted.  

You swallowed. “So why did you?”  

George exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “Because I thought I could let you go.” His voice was raw. “I tried. I really fucking tried.”  

Your breath hitched.  

He turned to you then, eyes dark with something unreadable. “But every time I see you with him, it feels like I’m suffocating.”  

You looked away, guilt creeping in. “George—”  

“I’m not saying this to make you feel bad,” he interrupted. “I just… I need you to know”  

Silence stretched between you.  And then—softly, brokenly—  

“I love you.”  

Your heart stopped. You had known. Of course you had known. But hearing him say it out loud? It was different.  Dangerous.  

“I don’t expect anything,” he continued, his voice hoarse. “I just couldn’t keep pretending anymore.”  

Tears burned at the back of your eyes. “George, I—”  

But before you could say anything, a voice cut through the air like a blade. Chris. Standing just a few feet away. Watching. His expression was unreadable, but his fists were clenched. And in that moment, you realised— this wasn’t over. Not even close.  

Chris didn’t say a word. Not when his eyes locked onto yours. Not when his jaw clenched so tight you thought it might snap. Not even when George stood up, ready for a fight. But Chris didn’t fight. He didn’t need to. Instead, he looked at you—just you. His expression unreadable, his shoulders tense, like he was waiting to see if you’d follow. And you did.  

The silence in the car was thick. Charged. Chris gripped the steering wheel so tight his knuckles were white, his jaw locked, his eyes dark. You wanted to say something, but you didn’t know what. Because the way he was acting? The way his whole body radiated tension? You had never seen him like this before. 

The second you walked into his apartment, the door slammed shut behind you. Before you could react, Chris was on you. His hands found your waist, his body pressing you back against the door, his breath hot against your skin.  

“You went to him.” His voice was low, rough—dangerous.

Your breath hitched. “Chris, I—”  

“Tell me,” he demanded, his lips brushing against your jaw. “Tell me you don’t still think about him.”  

Your stomach twisted. “Chris, I chose you.”  

He let out a sharp breath—half a laugh, half frustration. “Yeah? Then say it.”  

Your heart pounded. “Say what?”  

His hands tightened on your waist, pulling you flush against him. “That you’re mine.”  

Your breath stalled. Because it wasn’t just a question. It was a challenge. The air between you was electric, charged with everything unsaid. And then—before you could even think—your lips crashed together. It was nothing like the first time. It was raw. Desperate. Possessive.  

Chris kissed you like he was trying to erase any trace of George from your mind. Like he needed to remind you exactly who you belonged to. And you let him.  You tangled your fingers in his hair, pulling him closer, pressing against him like you’d never get enough. Chris groaned, deep and low, as he lifted you—effortlessly—and carried you straight to his bedroom.  

And when he laid you down, his lips never left yours. Because this wasn’t just about desire. This was about claiming. And tonight, Chris was going to make sure you knew exactly who you had chosen. Chris wasn’t gentle.  

He wasn’t soft, or slow, or careful. Because this wasn’t about romance. This was about possession. About claiming you. About making damn sure that every thought of George was burned from your body, your mind—until the only name you could say, the only person you could think about, was him. And God, you let him. You let him devour you.

His hands were everywhere—gripping, demanding, sliding over your skin like he had something to prove. Like he needed to mark you, brand you, ruin you for anyone else. Your back arched under him as his lips trailed down your neck, teeth scraping, biting—not enough to hurt, but enough to remind you exactly who was in control.  

“You’re mine,” he growled against your skin, his voice thick with need. “Say it.”  

Your breath hitched. “Chris—”  

But that wasn’t enough.  

His hand tightened around your waist, pinning you in place. “Say it.”  

A shiver ran through you, your nails digging into his shoulders as you gasped, “I’m yours.”  

Chris cursed under his breath, his lips crashing back against yours. And from that moment on, there was no going back. No restraint. No hesitation. Just raw, unfiltered want.  

The room was filled with the sound of your ragged breaths, the sharp edge of his name falling from your lips, the deep, guttural sounds he made when you pulled him closer, closer— and when it was over, when you were left wrecked beneath him, he didn’t let you go. He stayed. His arms wrapped around you, his body pressed against yours like he still wasn’t done.  Like he never would be.  

Chris brushed his lips against your ear, voice low and dangerous.  

“If he ever tries to take you from me again…”  

A pause. A slow, dark chuckle.  

“He won’t.”  

You swallowed hard. Because it wasn’t a threat. It was a promise. Without hesitation, Chris takes your hand, his eyes filled with a burning intensity. 

Chris breaks the kiss only to trail his lips down your neck, nuzzling and biting gently. His hands tug at your clothing, desperately trying to remove them. He removes your hoodie and joggers before he eagerly removes his jeans and t-shirt, leaving you both in your underwear. He lifts you up and wraps your legs around your waist. 

“Chris…please.” You plead, as desire runs through your veins. 

Chris can feel your begging whisper and it drives him mad with desire. “Shh… Shh…” He murmurs as he carries you to the bed and tossing you onto it. He crawls between your legs, looking up at you with lust-glazed eyes.

Chris spreads your legs wider, moving the side of your panties and revealing your wetness. He groans at the sight, and he leans down- burying his face between your legs. His tongue laps at your pussy, tasting your juices and savouring the flavour. He sucks on your clit gently, which makes you arch your back and groan in pleasure. 

“Chris…” You moan, as you grab fistfuls of his hair, pulling it tight.

He hears his name leave your lips in a breathy plea, and it sends him over the edge. He pulls back, wiping the wetness from his face as he sits up and stares at you with a fierce desire. “You want my dick inside of you, huh?” He says cockily. 

He doesn’t wait for you to reply. He immediately removes your panties and his boxers then aligns himself with your entrance. With one swift thrust, he enters you- earning a loud moan from both of you. He starts moving slowly at first, savouring the feeling of finally being inside you. His best friend. His lover. “Fuck.” He groans.

Chris picks up the pace, diving into you harder with each thrust, his hips slapping against yours. He leans down to capture your lips, kissing you messily as he continues to fill you- his thick cock hitting depths no one else ever has. 

His hands grip your ass, squeezing and spreading you. His kiss becomes more urgent, more passionate as you both continue to move in sync. Your bodies press together in a desperate need for contact. He pulls back just enough to look into your eyes, his own filled with love and desire. “I love you.” He groans out. 

“I love you too.” You reply between moans. He swallows your reply with another deep kiss, his body covering yours possessively. His movements become uncoordinated and sloppy with love and lust. He pushes your legs higher up, going even deeper and hitting that magical spot inside you that makes you cry out. 

You moan loudly as your high washes over you, moaning Chris’ name repeatedly as if it was a prayer. Your legs shake as Chris continues to thrust into you, riding out your high. He growls in satisfaction at your cries, his own release also building. He pushes into you one last time, holding himself deep inside you as he comes hard, filling you with his hot seed. “Mine.” He pants, collapsing on top of you. “Mine, fucking mine.” 

The room was silent, except for the sound of your still-unsteady breathing.  Chris was lying beside you, his arm draped over your waist, his body still pressed against yours like he couldn’t stand the thought of space between you. But there was no mistaking it—something had shifted. Because even though he had kissed you breathless, even though he had left you wrecked and marked and his, there was something in the air that felt unfinished. Like a storm waiting to break.  

You swallowed hard, fingers tracing along the sheets. "Chris…"  

His grip on you tightened.  

"Don’t," he muttered, his voice rough, still thick with the last remnants of heat.  

Your heart clenched. "Don’t what?"  

"Don’t say his name."  

You froze.  

Chris exhaled sharply, finally pulling back just enough to look at you. His gaze was dark, unreadable. But his jaw was clenched, his fingers still gripping your skin like he was afraid to let go.  

"You went to him," he said, voice low. "You met up with him, you sat with him, and you listened to him."  

You bit your lip, unsure how to respond. Because he wasn’t wrong.  

Chris’s jaw tightened. "What did he say?"  

Your throat was dry. "Chris, it doesn’t—"  

"What did he say?" His voice was sharp now. Demanding.  

You hesitated. And that hesitation was enough. Chris cursed under his breath, sitting up, running a hand through his already-messy hair. He was pissed. And not just because of George. Because of you.  

"He told you he loves you, didn’t he?" Chris scoffed, shaking his head. "And let me guess—you didn’t tell him to fuck off. You just sat there, feeling sorry for him."  

Your chest tightened. "Chris, it’s not that simple—"  

"It is that simple," he snapped, turning to you. His eyes were burning. "You chose me, didn’t you?"  

"Of course I did."  

"Then why the hell are you still thinking about him?"  

Your breath hitched. "I’m not—"  

Chris let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. "Don’t lie to me."  

The room suffocated with silence. Because he was right. You had chosen Chris. You had let him pull you under, let him claim you in every possible way. And yet, George’s voice still echoed in your mind. I love you.

Chris sighed, his frustration visible, but then—he did something unexpected. He softened. His hand came up to your jaw, his thumb tracing over your lips, his touch gentler than it had been all night.  

"You’re mine," he murmured. But this time, it wasn’t a demand. It was a plea.  

A raw, vulnerable thing. And that’s when you realised— Chris was afraid. Afraid that no matter how much he had taken from you tonight, there were still pieces of you that weren’t his. And you had to decide if you were going to fix that, or let the cracks grow wider.  

Chris’s fingers were still against your jaw, his touch softer now—but his eyes? His eyes were dark, burning with something between frustration and fear. You had never seen him like this before. Chris never doubted himself. Never second-guessed. He was cocky, confident, the kind of guy who never let anything shake him. But right now? He was afraid he was losing you. And you couldn’t let him think that.  So you reached up, cupping his face, your thumb brushing against the edge of his jaw. He stilled under your touch, his breath uneven, his muscles still tense.

"It’s you," you murmured, voice softer now. "It’s always been you."  

Chris swallowed hard, his lips parting like he wanted to argue. Like he wanted to remind you of the other man’s words. But you didn’t let him. You leaned in, pressing your forehead against his, forcing him to focus on you.

"I chose you," you whispered. "Not him."  

Chris’s breath hitched. But you weren’t done.  

"I don’t want him," you murmured, each word slow, deliberate. "I want you."  

That’s when he finally exhaled. The tension in his shoulders melted just a little, his fingers tightening against your skin—but not like before. Not with anger. With need. Chris shifted, moving so quickly you barely had time to react before he was on top of you again, his lips crashing against yours, his grip desperate, almost fragile.

"Say it again," he demanded against your lips.  

You gasped. "I want you.”  

His hands slid down your sides, fingers pressing into your skin like he needed to memorise every inch of you.  

"Only me," he rasped.  

You nodded, breathless. "Only you."  

Chris groaned, his grip tightening, his lips trailing down your neck, claiming you all over again. And this time? It wasn’t about possession. It wasn’t about proving something. It was about you and him. Nothing else. No one else. And for once, there was no doubt left between you.  

For a little while, things felt… right. Chris wasn’t holding back anymore—not his touches, not his words, not the way he looked at you like you were the only thing that mattered. And for the first time since everything started, you let yourself believe it was over.  That George had finally let go.  

You should’ve known better.  

It was late when it happened. Chris was in the kitchen, shirtless, barefoot, the glow of the fridge light illuminating his sharp features as he poured himself a drink. You were curled up on the couch, wrapped in the scent of him, wearing his hoodie, content in a way you hadn’t been in a long time. And then—  

BANG. BANG. BANG.  

A sharp, relentless pounding against the door. Chris froze. You sat up, the sudden weight in your chest making it hard to breathe. You knew who it was before you even heard his voice.  

"Open the fucking door, Chris."  

Chris set his glass down slowly. Deliberately. His entire body went rigid, his jaw clenching so tightly it looked painful.  

You swallowed hard. "Chris, maybe we shouldn’t—"  

But he was already moving. And when he yanked the door open, George was standing there, rage simmering beneath the surface. His eyes flicked past Chris—to you. And that’s when you knew. This wasn’t just anger. This was a man on the edge. A man who wasn’t done fighting for you.

"You’re fucking kidding me," George laughed bitterly, shaking his head. His hands curled into fists at his sides, his chest rising and falling too quickly.  

Chris didn’t react. Not at first. He just stood there, body tense, solid, like he was waiting for George to make a move. But George wasn’t looking at him. He was looking at you.

"You just ran straight to him, huh?" George’s voice was sharp, cutting, but you could hear the hurt beneath it. "No hesitation. No second thoughts."  

Your stomach twisted. "George—"  

"Do you even fucking care?" His voice cracked, his hands running through his hair in frustration. "Do you even care what this is doing to me?"  

You stood up. "Of course I do—"  

"Then why are you here?" He stepped forward. Chris immediately blocked his path.

"Back up." Chris’s voice was dangerously low.  

George ignored him. His eyes were locked onto you. "Say it."  

Your breath hitched. "Say what?"  

"That you don’t love me."  

Your chest tightened.  

George let out a shaky breath, his voice dropping. "Say it, and I’ll walk away. Right now. Forever."  

Chris stiffened. You felt the weight of both of them in the room—George, desperate and breaking, and Chris, tense and waiting. And suddenly, you realised— this was the moment. The final line. Whatever you said next would change everything. The room was suffocating. Chris stood between you and George, his entire body coiled like a predator, ready to snap the second George stepped out of line. But George wasn’t looking at him. He was looking at you. And he was waiting.

“Say it, and I’ll walk away. Right now. Forever."

You inhaled sharply, steadying yourself. Because there was no room left for hesitation. No room for second-guessing. So you looked George in the eyes, voice firm—unshakable.

"I don’t love you."  

The words cut through the air like a blade. George’s breath stilled. His jaw clenched. His entire body locked up. But you weren’t done.  

"I never did."  

Chris exhaled. George? George just… froze. Like his brain refused to process what you had just said. Like some part of him had still been holding onto the hope that you’d change your mind. But now? Now, there was nothing left. You watched it happen—the exact moment his hope died. The exact second he realised that no matter how hard he fought, he had already lost. George took a slow step back. Then another. And when he finally spoke, his voice was quiet. Hollow.

"...Right."  

He swallowed hard, nodding to himself, eyes flicking between you and Chris one last time. Then—without another word—he turned around and walked away. And this time? He didn’t look back. The door clicked shut. Silence. Chris’s shoulders stayed tense for a long moment, like he was still waiting for the fight to continue.  

But when nothing happened—when George was really, truly gone—Chris let out a sharp breath, raking a hand through his hair before turning to face you.  

"...You okay?"  

Your throat felt dry. "Yeah."  

Chris studied you for a second, searching your face.  

Then, his hand reached out, his fingers curling around your wrist, his grip steady. Like he was still afraid you might disappear, too.  

"You’re mine now," he murmured. Not a question. Not a demand. Just a fact.

Your chest tightened—but not with fear. With certainty. You leaned in, pressing your lips softly against his, letting your fingers tangle in his hair as you whispered against his skin—  

"I always was."

And for the first time in a long time, there were no doubts left between you. No ghosts of the past. No unfinished business. Just you and Chris. Exactly how it was always meant to be.

——————————————————————————————————

This took me so long to write but I LOVED it! Also feeding you all with another Chris and George fic. This also feeds one of my friends requests for a Chris smut 👀

I am aiming to get a George one out at some point next week too so look out for that!

Tags-

@themdera

[swtt4hk]

Are we still lovers? || ex!Cho Sang-woo x fem!Reader (Oneshot)

requested by: anonymous!

author’s note: this was inspired by the song “Are we still friends?” By Tyler , The Creator! It also contains some curse words…enjoy!

he’s here…again. Cho Sang-woo , your ex , is here to beg you to come back again. Everyday is the same shit. He comes over shouting and wakes up the whole neighbourhood just to beg you to come back. But of course you’re not going back to him , not after what he did to you.

You and Cho Sang-woo had been together for a few years now. You were both really happy with your relationship and were even planning to get married soon. Until one day , everything changed.

Flashback

—I’m breaking up with you.

You freeze. Him wanting to break up with you was the last thing you expected to hear.

—w-what? No , you aren’t.

—yes , I am. I’ve already packed your things.

—what?! But why?! Is there anyone else? What happened? What about our plans? You were just telling me , a few days ago , about where you want us to get married!

You protest with tears in your eyes. The truth is , Sang-woo didn’t want to break up with you either. He loved you a lot. But he had just gotten an offer to go work in America and he couldn’t turn down such offer. Money was tough and he couldn’t take you with you , so he had to make a decision. It was either you or his career. But his ego took over him and he chose to go to America. He thought that if he stayed here , he wouldn’t achieve anything and would make your life harder. But let’s be real. Work was his top priority, you were his second choice.

—do I really need to explain this to you? Don’t make this any harder for me and leave.

—no! Sang-woo , I’m your girlfriend and I have every right to know why you want to break up with me!

His jaw clenched in frustration and sighs.

—you wanna know the truth so badly, huh? Here it is then. I’m leaving you. I’m going to America. I got offered a better position and I’ll make much more money than I do here.

your eyes soften as tears roll down your cheek.

—Sang-woo , that’s amazing…why can’t I come with you?

He can’t tell you. He can’t admit that he doesn’t have any money. He’ll seem weak and miserable , so he lies instead. He has to.

—I don’t need any distractions. Also , the work hours will be long.

Then it hits you. He doesn’t love you anymore? He finds you a distraction? That’s not the Sang-woo you know…there is more to it.

—Cho Sang-woo! Stop lying and tell me why you don’t want me to come with you!

—I can’t sit here and argue about something pointless. Just take your things and go!

You burst into tears , take your things and go. You don’t have any choice.

End of Flashback

Ding dong

Here we go again.

—y/n! I know you’re in there , please just open the door! How many times do I have to apologise?!

you walk to the door

—you think an apology can fix this? You’re such an asshole , you don’t know me at all.

—please , just please open the door…

his voice breaks and cries. You’re tired of this shit. It wouldn’t hurt if you finally opened the door , right?

the door unlocks , revealing Sang-woo on the floor , his shirt half unbuttoned and his cheeks red. He must be drunk.

—you better have a good explanation.

You say coldly , not even offering to help him get up.

—can…can I come in?

He says and looks at you like some desperate puppy. You sigh and gesture him to come in. You both sit on the couch and wait for him to speak.

—y/n…can you please come back? I’m sorry. I need you. I promise I’ll be a better man for you.

You scoff at his words.

—I didn’t let you in for you to tell me the same shit you’ve been telling me for the past month. I need to hear something new.

He looks down at his feet in embarrassment. He is ashamed for what he did. After he moved to America , everything was going well at first. Until everything started going downhill. It turned out that he owners of the company he was working in had committed a bunch of crimes , scammed people , including Sang-woo. He , then , realised how big of a mistake he had made. He had left the love of his life , the person who gave him courage and happiness just for money. He knew it wouldn’t be so easy to come back to you but he was determined to get you back.

—y/n…if I explain…will you accept me back?

sighs

—no promises.

He lets out a small chuckle. He knew that you would react like this and it’s funny how well he knows your reactions.

—alright then…

Sang-woo explains everything to you , detail by detail and you’re left stunned. That’s both stupid and sweet at the same time. You found it cute and sweet that he thought he would seem weak and wanted to provide you with more money but that fact that HE BROKE UP WITH YOU and moved away just for money was stupid asf.

—Sang-woo…

—I know. I’m a dumbass.

You chuckle.

—yes , you are. But , first of all , why did you break up with me to move to America? I have a job , I could work some extra hours to get more money and I could come with you some months later. Second of all , you’re stupid for thinking I would find you ‘weak’ for not having enough money to take me with you. Third , you’re an asshole because you put work first and then me.

Sang-woo nods. He totally agrees with what you’re saying but he’s still surprised that you’re not screaming at him.

—I’m…I’m sorry. Will you forgive me?

—well…no. Not exactly. I’m glad that you finally confessed but I will not be accepting you back. It hurts. What you did hurts a lot and I don’t think I can ever forget what you did to me.

—oh…

—I’d like you to move on. Please don’t contact me anymore. Thank you so much for everything , truly.

You say and get up. You open the door and gesture him to get out.

—goodbye , Sang-woo. I hope you find the right one.

Sang-woo , with tears in his eyes , gets up and leaves. He looks at you one more time before leaving , all the memories fading and a new chapter of both of your lives starting.

This isn’t the end. This is only the beginning of a new and better life.

———————————————————————

Idk why but I think I made y/n a lil bit pick me , so I apologise 😭

Taglist: @sensationallysangwoo

@chosangwooswife

@nanamiscsleeve

@snowgirl12

@vkeyy

@lfegoeson

[bellaxgiornata]

All That I Can Give 1:| Changing Professions

Pairing: Jax Teller x Fem!Reader Word count: 4.1k [Series Masterlist] [Jax Teller Masterlist]

warnings/tags: 18+; ex-prostitute!Reader (Reader has a slight backstory), mentions of physical/sexual abuse, canon typical violence, smut, angst, hurt/comfort

summary: With Lyla moving over to produce films at Redwoody for the Sons, Nero finds himself in need of someone to run the front of Diosa and to help with the administrative aspect. When a few of the girls recommend you–a blunt, vulgar street girl from Stockton trapped working for a heartless pimp by the name of Hades–Nero can't resist hiring you without consulting Jax first. Though Hades isn't willing to let his Persephone–the prized thoroughbred of his whores–just slip through his grasp. But after Jax meets you, not only is he determined to keep you safe, he’s hell-bent on giving you everything you've never had before.

a/n: I couldn't resist writing this fic, the first handful of chapters are already outlined. I personally loved the chemistry he had with Winsome in S7, so she became my inspiration for this Reader. Feedback and reblogs are always appreciated!

tag list: @kmc1989

With an elbow propped up against the bar inside Diosa Norte, Jax raised the cold beer to his lips before taking a deep pull from it as he listened to Nero. For the past fifteen minutes, he’d been running over this previous month's profit margins and the projected income for the coming month, but truthfully Jax was only half-listening to the numbers Nero was rattling off at this point after he'd heard the Sons’ share of the profit. Because how the hell did Nero expect him to just sit here and focus on a goddamn thing with all the girls walking around eyeing him while they cleaned Diosa and prepared to open for the evening? 

Jax sat relaxed at the bar, his legs casually stretched out in front of himself and crossed at the ankles, his eyes darting from the papers Nero was running a finger over to a woman who was bent in half wiping down a table across the main room. He could see straight down the front of her shirt as she cleaned and it was taking all of his willpower to keep switching his attention back to Nero. But as a blonde strode past him and sent a suggestive wink in his direction, Jax found his eyes following her across the foyer next, a lazy grin spreading over his lips as his attention lingered on her ass in those tight jeans. Head tilting to the side, he admired the view with a quiet, appreciative hum.

“Suppose you're not that invested in the business side of things today,” Nero commented, lowering the papers in his hands to the bar counter. 

Jax’s gaze shifted back over to Nero, his lazy grin growing a bit wider at having been caught staring at the girls instead of focusing on business. He shrugged a shoulder in response before gesturing his beer bottle around the room. 

“C'mon man, we're surrounded by pretty women,” he pointed out. “You think I can focus that closely on math right now?”

Nero shook his head at Jax, but the faint smile tugging at his lips betrayed his lack of genuine irritation. “Shoulda figured as much, ese,” he replied. “Next time I won’t schedule our business meetings to coincide with a full house so you don’t get distracted from what’s actually important.”

A low chuckle rumbled out of Jax, his grin still plastered across his lips. “Maybe you should, old man,” he teased back. “Should know by now how easily distracted I am by a pretty face.” His gaze swept around the room again, the corner of his lips still curled upwards. “Especially when there are so many of them.”

Nero gathered up the papers on the bar, stacking them together as Jax’s gaze continued to wander around the room as he watched the women cleaning and running back and forth with laundry from the bedrooms in the back. Beside him, the faint smile gradually fell from Nero’s mouth, his lips thinning out into a straight line as he gathered up the paperwork. As a brief quiet settled between the pair of men, the growing silence and the contemplative look on Nero’s face eventually caught Jax’s attention.

“Something else we need to discuss this afternoon?” Jax questioned, drawing the beer up to his lips again. “You look tense.”

Nero let out a deep sigh, his hands taking far too much care to straighten the stack of papers that held his focus. “Well, there was one other thing I needed to discuss with you today,” he admitted, sounding reluctant. “Kinda time sensitive with Lyla switching over to produce at Redwoody, too. We both know she can’t keep helping me out ‘round here, so I need someone to replace her. Someone that can handle the administrative side but also run the front of house when we're open. Someone we can trust to keep quiet about what's goin' on here, which means I can't exactly just…put up a help wanted sign in the window.”

Sensing the serious switch in topic, Jax straightened up in his chair and leaned forward, his forearms resting on the bar counter as his brows knitted faintly together. He jutted his chin at Nero, his grin no longer present. “What’d you need to discuss then? Hiring a girl to replace her?”

One of Nero’s hands ran across his mouth in hesitation, his focus still on the papers in his hand. Jax instantly caught the way he was stalling, his eyes narrowing marginally in the continued silence. Teeth beginning to gnaw at his bottom lip, Jax had a gut feeling that Nero was holding something back from him. There was something he wasn’t saying.

“Already found a girl, actually,” Nero began slowly, his attention finally shifting from the papers in his hand back to Jax. “She…was sort of brought to my attention by some of the other girls working here when I said I was lookin’ for someone.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Jax asked, still cautiously eyeing Nero. “Brought to your attention by the other girls why? Cause she’s got experience running something like this?”

“No, that’s not why, ese. Let’s just say she’s from a difficult situation, alright?” Nero explained carefully to Jax. “This girl…she needed a safer environment. But she might also need a little…extra protection in return. You feel me?”

Jax’s head tilted a little to the side, one of his blonde brows raising up onto his forehead. “No, not exactly,” he answered. “Sounds more like you’re bringing in someone who’s gonna cause trouble for me and my guys. Extra work which requires time I don’t have. That what you’re getting at?”

Nero’s head shifted back and forth as he made a face, clearly trying to downplay the situation. Jax only straightened up further in his chair as he felt his irritation beginning to grow. He had enough to deal with as the Sons president right now while trying to get these new business ventures set up. He didn’t need extra work being thrown his way–another goddamn task to delegate or another problem to solve. 

“Eh, I mean, maybe a little bit more work,” Nero admitted carefully. “Just at first.”

Jax’s face fell, a scowl spreading across his features. “Spit it out, Nero,” he snapped. “Who the hell do you wanna hire and why the hell is she gonna be a pain in my fucking ass?”

Nero raised both of his hands in a placating gesture at the obvious edge in Jax’s tone before he shifted in his chair further towards him. The severe expression didn’t disappear from Jax’s face as he waited impatiently for Nero to continue, his mouth set in a hard line and his shoulders squared and tensed.

“She’s a working girl from the streets,” Nero told him. “From what the girls here were telling me, she’s been trapped in a situation with this piece of shit pimp out in Stockton for years. Years, Jax,” He shot Jax a pointed look before he continued. “She’s wanted outta that life but she never had the chance and he’s never let her leave–”

“What the hell do you mean she hasn’t been able to get out?” he asked, cutting him off as he leaned closer to Nero along the bar, his brows drawing together in confusion. “You mean to tell me there's some scumbag pimp out in Stockton that wouldn’t let this girl leave? Kept forcing her to work for him?”

Nero nodded firmly at the question, the look on his face grim. “Yeah, ese,” he replied. “That’s exactly what I mean. Calls her his prized thoroughbred according to a few of the girls here that know her. She’s wanted outta that life for years but never had an opportunity. Never had some place to go.”

Jax’s hand gripped the neck of the beer bottle tight in his fist, his eyes dropping to the dark glass. What disgusting motherfucker forced a woman to keep selling her body against her will? For years? That thought alone had him wanting to get on his bike and go find this prick just to crush the dipshit’s skull in himself with his bare hands.

“The fuck is his name?” The question came out of Jax like a snarl, his eyes still fixed on the beer in his hand. He wished it was the guy’s neck he was squeezing instead of the glass bottle. “The piece of shit forcing a woman to keep selling herself against her will. The fuck is his name?”

“I’ve heard of him before, he’s been in the game for a bit,” Nero told him, cautiously eyeing the anger on Jax’s face. “Goes by Hades on the street. Thinks it makes him seem terrifying and untouchable.” Nero paused to roll his eyes at the notion before he continued. “He’s a jackass, though. Treats his girls like shit. Doesn’t protect them from clients, beats them himself if they piss him off, takes most of their money and leaves them with scraps. I mean, this poor chica has been living on the streets for awhile now, Jax.” 

There was a desperation to his tone and an almost pleading look on his face as he spoke, one that Jax had never seen on Nero before. Clearly he’d been affected by this girl’s story, whatever it was. And if Jax was honest, he was already starting to feel affected by it himself considering the rage currently twisting itself around his insides.

“And I know we’re supposed to discuss business decisions and make them together as partners, but what was I supposed to do, Jax?” Nero asked him desperately. “Just turn my back on helping this girl get away from this shithead? Leave her on the streets to endure this piece of shit's abuse?” 

Shaking his head at the question, Jax’s gaze returned to nearly burning a hole in the beer bottle clutched within his death grip. “No,” his dark voice replied. “You shouldn’t.”

Nero shifted in his chair beside Jax again, still a bit tense. “Good, because I hired her already,” he confessed. “Lyla was out picking her up from Stockton now. They should be back soon.”

A frustrated sigh passed between Jax’s lips as everything Nero said began to gradually settle in his mind. Nero had already hired whoever this girl was from off the streets and she was on her way to Diosa now. He’d have to circle back as to why she might require more work from the Sons, but if she was capable, then maybe he could toss a few prospects at whatever the underlying issue was just to keep Diosa running smoothly and Nero off his ass.

“She trustworthy? Can she handle running things then?” Jax asked after a moment, looking back over at Nero beside him. Jax could still feel the burn of anger in his chest at this girl’s situation, a muscle jumping in his cheek with how hard he was still clenching his jaw, but he tried to brush that away for the moment. “The math and shit that Lyla did? Pouring drinks? Charming the clients or whatever?”

Nero nodded at the questions, the papers in front of him entirely forgotten on the bar now. “Yeah, she’s a smart girl,” he told him. “Met her yesterday myself with Lyla. Bit rough around the edges, but I’m sure she can watch the language for a few hours while she’s working.” Nero chuckled, clearly recalling his encounter with you. “She can be a little, uh…crass and vulgar.” 

That piqued Jax’s curiosity. Rough around the edges? Needed to watch her language? Who the hell was this girl Nero was bringing in from the streets?

“How rough around the edges are we talkin’ here?” he asked curiously. “She even gonna fit in at Diosa with all the other girls?” Jax gestured a hand at all the women still wandering around tidying up the building for the evening.

An amused grin pulled at Nero’s lips in response to his question, something almost mischievous twinkling in the man’s eye. “She may be somewhat of a feral stray, but I think she can learn to adjust to life indoors, if y’know what I mean.”

“You're describing the new girl as a feral stray?” Jax clarified, a skeptical look on his face. “You're hearing yourself, right? You want some feral stray running the front of this place? Greeting all the rich pricks looking for expensive, pretty pussy?”

Nero shrugged lightly, the amused grin still spread across his lips. “Trust me, she'll work out just fine. But what d'ya expect, man? She's a hooker from the streets of Stockton. And I mean from the streets. She was living on them. Of course she’s gonna be a little rough around the edges, ese. But she’s good, and that ain't the sorta thing she's gonna be doing here anyway–sleeping with clients.” Nero’s grin faded, a stern look of warning replacing it as he held Jax’s gaze while pointing a firm finger at his chest. “So you and your guys better not get any ideas about this one. She's strictly “off the menu” here. Alright? She doesn’t wanna do that anymore.”

“Don't think that's gonna be an issue from the way you're talking about her, Nero,” Jax told him with a shake of his head, his anger briefly forgotten at Nero’s absurd assumption that he would try to sleep with you. “A feral, stray, homeless ex-hooker with a mouth on her? Doesn't exactly scream sexy to me. Maybe Tig, but that's probably it, man. Don’t think you really gotta worry about us.”

A laugh fell out of Nero as the grin returned to his face, the amused noise once more piquing Jax’s curiosity. What the hell was so funny about that? It was as if Nero didn't believe that he wasn’t interested in you, but Jax damn well knew no girl off the street was going to make him care how “off the menu” she was. He had standards.

“Yeah, alright, Jax,” Nero replied with a light chuckle. “Just remember you said that in a minute.”

Outside of Diosa’s main room, Jax could hear the sound of car doors closing in the parking lot. Judging by Nero’s comment and the look still on his face, he guessed that was Lyla showing up with this mysterious, tragic stray of his. Admittedly, the more he learned about her, the more he was finding himself curious–but he wasn't about to confess that to Nero. Or the fact that he was wondering what exactly was about to step past those doors in a moment with the way the older man's eyes were glued to his face as if he was waiting specifically for Jax’s reaction.

Though Jax didn't have to wonder long before he heard Lyla's voice coming from just outside the large, black doors. 

“–settled for a night before he was going to show you what you’d be doing–”

Seconds later, the black door swung open to reveal Lyla's familiar figure as she continued speaking to whoever was behind her. Jax didn’t catch the rest of what she’d been saying, though; he’d only just managed to nod a greeting at Lyla before you stepped inside the building. In that moment, time itself felt as if it had stopped moving as Jax's eyes instantly locked onto you.

You were not the girl he expected to see after Nero’s description.

Jax had expected someone rundown and dirty, someone who looked hard and worn from living a rough life on the streets. Maybe some girl who was missing a few front teeth and half her hair tangled or torn out. He expected someone that he’d brush off without a second glance. What he hadn’t expected was the stunning woman who’d appeared in the lobby. 

You looked nothing like a homeless ex-hooker from the streets of Stockton. You looked much more like something that had walked straight out of his goddamn dreams, better than any of the women he’d ever seen hanging around the clubhouse or Diosa or even any of the other charters’ clubhouses. You were…something different entirely. Everything else in the room had completely faded to the background as his eyes ran over you and your body in those revealing clothes.

You looked like a goddamn angel that made a man want to do all sorts of sinning.

But then Jax’s eyes noticed the injuries marring your body and his expression hardened, his fist curling tight in his lap. There was blood dried around your lip, which looked split and a bit swollen–as if you'd been hit in the face recently. The timid, nervous way in which you'd glanced at Nero and sent him a hesitant smile before uncomfortably ducking your head, as if you didn't want the damage to your face to be noticed, seemed out of character from the rough around the edges woman Nero had just been describing. But that wasn't all Jax had caught when he looked at you, and apparently Nero had seen it, too.

“What happened to your arm, chica?” Nero called out, concerned.

“Hades.”

Your response had been simple and quiet, but so full of anger and malice that it made Jax’s skin crawl. The tone of your voice only added to how badly he wanted to kill the son of a bitch that had clearly bitten your arm like that. Like a fucking wild animal tearing into you. The mark looked fresh and irritated–and disturbingly deep for teeth marks. There was a sick feeling roiling inside of Jax’s gut telling him there were probably more marks like that hidden beneath your clothing. The thought caused his lip to curl back in a silent, disgusted snarl. 

“I didn't have anything with me when I picked her up,” Lyla told Nero apologetically before she shot you a quick sympathetic glance. “I was going to bring her to the room she's staying in here and get her cleaned and settled for the night.”

“Yeah,” Nero agreed, nodding back at Lyla. “Yeah, take her back and let her get comfortable.” His attention shifted to you next, his tone softening noticeably. “I'll check in with you later, chica. Don't worry about a thing tonight, alright? You just relax and get settled into your room.”

Jax watched as you nodded, a tight smile briefly passing over your face before it vanished. Something unexpectedly twisted in his chest at the sight before you were following Lyla across the foyer and down the hallway that led to the various rooms in Diosa that were used for entertaining clients. His eyes lingered on you until you were out of sight, his teeth grinding together in rage at the marks on your body–the clear abuse you’d recently endured.

“That would be the new girl,” Nero said quietly, breaking the tense silence that had fallen when you’d disappeared down the hall. He gave Jax your real name before he continued. “That shithead pimp of hers called her Persephone, though. You know why?”

Jax’s fist clenched tighter in his lap when he heard the name. He vaguely recalled the Greek myth from back when he’d been in high school, well before he’d dropped out and joined the Sons. “Cause Hades trapped her in hell, right?”

Nero nodded solemnly, his lips set in a straight line. “Guessing this Hades asshole thought it was smart,” he replied grimly. “His prized whore kept trapped in the hell of his making.”

“Take it he ain’t gonna be too thrilled she left?” Jax questioned between gritted teeth, his gaze finally leaving the hallway and shifting back to Nero at the bar beside him. “That where the extra work from the Sons factors in here? Protection?”

Nero nodded again in response. “Yeah, that’s exactly it,” he answered. “This guy, Hades, he ain’t just gonna let her walk away, y’know? If he finds out she’s staying at Diosa, he’s gonna come with some of his guys and cause problems. She was his favorite girl. Told me herself he ain’t just gonna let her walk away easy.”

Jax’s hand released his death grip on the beer bottle, running his fingers over his lips as he let that sink in, the roughness of his beard scratching at the pads of his fingers. Disgust and fury grew within him at those words–“his favorite girl.” You were some sick bastard’s favorite girl to whore out for profit and abuse to his own liking. Jax felt like fucking vomiting at the idea of how you’d been treated, the way you’d been viewed. Sure, Nero and the Sons made money off of the girls at Diosa, but it wasn’t the same thing. The girls here kept most of their earnings, they were treated with respect, and they were kept safe. And there was absolutely no fucking way Nero or him would ever force one of the girls to stay here if they wanted to leave. What you’d endured–how you’d been treated–was repulsive. 

“What kinda trouble are we talkin’ about?” Jax asked Nero, his jaw set firm.

Nero expelled a rough sigh, his eyes darting towards the hall you’d disappeared down before he focused back on Jax. “She said he’d cut her tongue out if she ever left him,” he answered slowly. “Told her he'd make her a useless whore if she ever tried to run on him. So I’m guessing…something of the violent nature, ese.”

Unbridled rage ignited like a wildfire within Jax’s chest at those words. What disgusting monster would mark a beautiful thing like you in a cruel way like that? Who would hurt you just for wanting your goddamn freedom? 

“She’s got no place to go, so I told her she could stay at Diosa for now until she can afford a place of her own,” Nero continued. “Thing is, once we close, she's gonna be here all by herself at night. I know we got decent security, but I was hoping maybe you could have some prospects watch the place on and off at night. Take turns or some shit. Just for a couple of weeks until we know this jackass isn't coming for her.”

Jax nodded silently at the suggestion, still processing the whole situation. It would add more to the Sons’ plate for a couple of weeks, but he already knew in his gut that he wouldn't be able to live with himself if he'd found out something had happened to you that he could've easily prevented.

“Yeah, I can do that,” he murmured, eyes focusing on the hallway again.

Nero silently observed Jax for a minute, taking in the way he was staring down the hall like he was expecting to catch a glimpse of you again. The ghost of a smile flickered over Nero’s face when Jax glanced back over at him.

“What?” Jax asked, brows furrowing faintly together. “The hell you lookin’ at me like that for?”

Nero shook his head, that hint of a smile still present. “Nothing, ese,” he answered. “But since she’ll be helping with the business side of things and you might have to work with her a bit, maybe you can meet her in a couple of days. Once she’s had a chance to get situated here and settled in. Might be good for her to meet the man in charge of keeping the girls safe, too. That good with you?”

Jax’s eyes dropped back down to his bottle of beer on the bar counter, a handful of thoughts racing through his mind as his index finger traced the line of the label. “Yeah,” he murmured. “That’s good with me. Got some club business I should head out and deal with anyway.”  

“Alright,” Nero agreed, rising up from his chair at the bar. “Then I’ll introduce you to our new girl in a couple of days.”

Jax rose up from his chair as well, bringing his beer up to his lips and downing the rest of it. As he set the empty bottle back down, he focused on Nero one last time.

“I'll figure something out with the prospects later,” Jax informed him. "Have them keep an eye on the place starting tonight. She'll be safe here, man. You can promise her that.”

“I'll pass along the message,” Nero replied. “I'm sure she'll appreciate it.”

Jax gave the man a single nod before he turned, making his way towards the exit of Diosa. But as he pushed one of the large black doors open, the afternoon sunlight pouring inside of the foyer, Jax hesitated in the doorway. Glancing back over his shoulder, his eyes once more lingered on the hallway you’d disappeared down as the image of your face and that split lip flashed through his mind again. 

What the hell was your story, and why the fuck did he suddenly want to hear it?

[oddcatharsis]

love to keep me warm

simon riley x gn!reader

cw fluff, barista!reader, simon's kinda a softie in this, ~1.3k words

The bell chimes, breeze sneaking into the tiny cafe before the door is swiftly closed. 

“Welcome in- oh.” You say, polite smile falling instantly once you see who walked in. You take in his appearance- tall, built, wearing a skull mask. You’re positive that those three things have never combined and had a positive outcome. You’re already reaching for the bat you keep by the register before he speaks.

 “A black tea.” He says bluntly, looking down towards you. “Right- I’m sorry about that.” You say, at least having enough sensibility to look embarrassed at your reaction. “That was rude of me, I’ll cover your drink for you.” You murmur, brewing the tea. 

“It’s fine,” He says, pausing briefly as if deciding whether or not to voice his thought. “Smart to be afraid- distrusting, rather.” He says, eyes watching as you place the lid onto his cup. 

“Still feels rude anyways,” You say, handing him the drink. “Enjoy.” You say, meeting his eyes for the first time. He grunts his thanks and makes his way towards a table towards the corner of the cafe. Some time between then and the lunch rush he makes his way out of the cafe, and that’s that.

He comes in the next week. And the week after. Always on Thursday. 11:40am on the dot. You’ve started to brew the tea just in time for his arrival, handing him his cup once he reaches the register. It’s nice, dependable. One of few familiar faces in a job where they constantly change and blur together.

The first time it happens is around 5 weeks into your new routine. You already have his tea brewed and he just.. doesn’t show up. You throw away the tea, figuring something must have come up. No big deal.

Until it happens again. And again. It’s not until a little over a month later that he shows up again. You glance up at the clock. 11:40am.

His balaclava is pulled over his head as usual, but it’s painfully clear that he’s exhausted. “Missed you here!” You hum. The same thing you’d tell any of your regulars, but this felt like it had more weight to it. “Was getting worried.” You admit sheepishly, wiping down the counter in preparation for the lunch rush.

“No need to worry, sweetheart.” He says, and oh. In the past month he’d been gone, it seems that you’ve forgotten the rough timbre of his voice. “A tea, please.”

You hesitate for a moment, eyes raking over him. He raises an eyebrow, your gaze assessing. “Alright.” You respond a beat later, pulling out Earl Grey instead of his usual. He hums when you hand him a London Fog, looking at you for explanation. “S’not what I ordered.” He says, no trace of irritation in his voice, just quiet curiosity.

“Actually, you asked for a tea.” You say, gesturing towards the cup. “It’s a tea.” You say, nervousness laced in your smile. A moment passes before he huffs out a laugh, shoulders imperceptibly lighter than when he walked in.

“Alright. Fair’s fair.”

“So, turns out I don’t actually know your name.” You say, passing him an iced chai. He hums in acknowledgement, taking a sip of the drink. “S’good.” He mutters, looking at the drink briefly before his eyes meet yours. “S’that a question or a statement?” He asks, rolling his eyes when you just shrug.

“It’s- I’m Simon.” He says, internally cringing at the way he stumbled over his words. “Well, Simon. It’s nice to meet you.” You smile, eyes moving towards the door when you hear its chime. “Lunch rush, shoo.” You say, swatting him away. He grumbles about rude baristas, a private smile finding its way onto his face.

The next week, he opts for a black surgical mask instead of his balaclava.

You’ve learned that Simon has a tendency to disappear sometimes. There’s never any warning, but one week he won’t stop in and that’s all the notice you need. One week always turns into more, and drags on until he comes back. He’s gone a month or two at a time, and you learn to prepare for it. 

“It’d be embarrassing to lean on a regular that heavily,” You reason, wiping down the counter. You chastise yourself under your breath when you catch yourself glancing at the clock, then the door. Embarrassing.

When he comes back, he picks up as if nothing happened. For some reason you can never place, that bothers you more than you know it should. Feels like he should be doing something, should be apologizing. You know he shouldn’t- that he doesn’t have to. He’s a customer, and faces come and go. That’s part of the job. Selfishly, you wish he would apologize anyways. Would stay longer. Existed beyond the four walls of your cafe.

It hurts more than the first time he left. You know him now. You know his name, can catch the way his shoulders shake ever so slightly at one of your jokes. His presence was a comfort in the moments before the lunch rush, someone who wanted to talk to you for more than a brief moment. You found yourself missing it more than you anticipated.

He’s gone long this time. By the fourth month, you’re convinced he’s ghosting you- go as far as to ask friends if that can even happen in real life. Secretly, you’re mad at him. Your prices aren’t even that high- and you thought you were good enough company. You have so much anger that you don’t know what to do with it until it hits you. You’re lonely.

Your routine is all thrown off, it has been for months now. It’s Tuesday, and you’re in the middle of your lunch rush.

“Jesus-” You startle, his imposing frame catching you entirely off guard. “Okay, fuck. Hi. Tea?” You choke out, already reaching for the black tea.

“Not today. Chat later?” He asks, and fuck, does it feel good. The way his voice borders on desperate, like he’d die without it. God, it felt good.

“Yeah, ‘course. Once I’m out of the shit.” You say, head nodding towards the line behind him. He takes the sign and moves, and you have to take a deep breath before pushing through the rest of the line.

It’s nearing 1pm when people start filtering out. Ever observant, Simon takes the cue and heads to the register. “Started to think you’d tired of me.” You say bluntly, words out of your mouth before you could even think them over. Simon at least had the wherewithal to look ashamed.

“I’m sorry.” He blurts out, standing up straighter. “Well- not really.” Before you can even cut him off, he’s rambling on. “Wouldn’t have happened if it was up to me. But I am sorry that I was gone without notice for that long.” He says, the silence heavy. “I know you worry.”

“I just- can I know why?” You ask, looking up at him. And his heart aches, because the look he was expecting was so much more anger. Instead, he finds a lot of hurt- he thinks that it’s worse than anything else.

“I’m military.” He says and- well, you’re not satisfied. You know there’s more there- have a lot of prodding you want to do- but you’re aware enough to acknowledge and accept a clear boundary being set. “Oh. So this is- it’s gonna be regular? Leaving?” You ask, sounding a world more pitiful than you wanted.

“Afraid so. I figured with how much I disappear on you, might as well just give you my number.” He says bashfully, suddenly finding the mop bucket in the corner terribly interesting. “To check in. That okay?” He tacks on, finally daring to meet your eyes.

“Yeah. More than okay.” You nearly whisper, looking entirely too pleased. “Great, yeah.” He stumbled, pulling out his phone. He felt his face heating up, entirely mortified at his demeanor. The way you look at him is dangerously close to tender, and he finds himself stuck staring at you.

In the light of the cafe, he thought you looked beautiful. If he looked a moment longer, he might even say you looked absolutely smitten- God knows he is.

[pleasuresofsohodolls]

⋆.ೃ - Infected!Reader

Infected!Reader who was literally bitten on the first day. Girl can not catch a break. She was trapped in the schools when they all got locked up for 'the time being' and got bitten while on the way to the gym hall. She freaked out and ran away from her friends, locking herself in the classroom. The bite was ugly so she didn't dare look at it, instead letting herself just sit in the room and contemplate life. What about her parents? Siblings? Friends? Teachers? She's had a few of those things try and get in the room but they always got distracted. It was on day seven that she ran out of water that she'd been stealing from the bags people had left in the classroom that she decided she should finally leave the room - she hasn't heard noise in a while so it should be fine, right? Second she opened a door a Geek appeared right in front of her, and all it did was walk past her.

Infected!Reader who just wanders around Virginia in the herds, sleeping in trees and bathing in the rivers or lakes. She's joined a few small camps but they never worked out - they were too dysfunctional. When someone found out about her bite the first thing she did was panic and stab the guy in the chest before running away - into another herd of walkers until she finds another place to rest.

Infected!Reader who's always wearing sleeves. Whether it be the hoodie she snagged after visiting her home once she made her way out of the school (how it still fits she doesn't know), or it be whatever long-sleeved shirts she can find.

Infected!Reader who is basically a living dead girl. After getting bitten on her right wrist and letting it heal over, it's turned into the ugliest, purple and black scar you could ever see. Her flesh is literally rotting there and the veins are dead - how she can still move and use her hand she doesn't know. Her body is tilted to the left so far that she has to physically hold herself up so someone doesn't walk past and try shooting her because they think she's a Geek. She's clumsy too, she falls over a minimum of ten times an hour.

Infected!Reader who found an abandoned neighbourhood - which she later discovered was an old army training base - and now lives there. She's the mayor and the community, and the Geeks are her friends visiting from neighbouring towns. (You go a bit loopy after constant isolation and the only things you're able to trust are literally dead).

Infected!Reader who met Aaron before she met Carl. She ran into him when he was scouting one day, trying to convince her to join Alexandria. She refused despite how insistent he was, and they actually spoke for a bit. Every now and then they meet up, he gives her some food that will go unnoticed from the pantry. And they're genuine friends, he sometimes even complains about the Alexandrians when he can spare it.

Infected!Reader who was entranced the second she saw Carl wandering around the abandoned neighbourhood she's coined as her own. He was just wandering around with a care in the world, but still somehow constantly on guard. Clearly he needs to get better if some girl managed to successfully stalk him for almost three months.

Infected!Reader who's first meeting with Carl was him chasing her down after catching her following him around the run down neighbourhood at gun point. The only reason he even ended up catching her was because she tripped over an invisible brick, or something like that. She was faced down leaning on her arms on the floor when he'd finally caught up, and when he made her turn over and drop her weapons, she almost squealed like some fangirl. She's only slightly obsessed.

Infected!Reader who's honestly a bit loopy. She talks to herself, talks to the Geeks, is so socially awkward that instead of just approaching someone she decides to stalk them. The first words she ever uttered to Carl was "Erm, my bad?" After he asked her why she was following him - at least he doesn't know she's been stalking him (yet).

Infected!Reader who when her and Carl started becoming friends, would refuse to step anywhere close to Alexandria. She doesn't do communities and she doesn't trust people except for Carl and Aaron. It's easier to be alone or with one other person than to be in a community of over fifty where one wrong movement could disclose such a ghastly secret. In the end it takes a year for him to finally convince her to even step fifty feet in front of Alexandria (just a few months after the end of the Saviours war).

˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ 𐙚 ˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖

Technically this couldn't happen but it's okay 💜. Some of this (most of this) is actually inspired by a bot on JanitorAI by Allyluvsu, and the whole Aaron knowing her is inspired by carlsangel "Ghost in the Woods", go read it its really good !!

[astroyongie]

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚ Special March Podcast ˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

➤ Note: Yesterday on my podcast we have covered quite a few things! To celebrate my birthday I decided to share a sum up of what was shared.

➤ All was done live through tarot. Take with a grain of salt. Names censored for obvious reasons.

➤ NCT 127: X has been known in the industry for being quite an opened person when it comes to relationships. Although he has done several age ranges (all legal ones), it seems like X now only go for people around the 20-24. At least, that's his preference of age.

➤ Red Velvet: X back in the day, was super close to another member's partner who was an idol all of you know about. However, despite X not having a crush on this idol or anything, there was some type of attraction here. X became way too close with that idol which made her member break up with the idol.  

➤ Stray Kids: Many people asked why did X finally gave in into a relationship after so long of not accepting one. That's maybe because the people who wanted a relationship with him never made him feel safe enough and probably overwhelmed him. He is dating an idol.

➤ Aespa: X feels like her idol image is unrealistic and she feels really sad and pity when people compliment her looks or when she hears fans telling her that they want to be like her. Because X knows that everything she shows isn't the reality and that her idol image is very different from who she is. Also there's a lot of jealousy and competition between her and the other members for spotlight and opportunities

➤ TXT: X keeps repeating the cycles. Back in 2021-2022 when he was dating that well known idol, she broke up with him because she thought he had cheated on her with her best friend. which wasn't the case. Recently, X went to a private airy with his partner and a few friends. During that party one girl friend got really drunk (passed out). He tried to be a good man, and take her to a private room so she could rest, but the scene might have looked very wrong when his partner got inside the room.

➤ Gidle: X had had such a hard life when it comes to men that it is really good to see her being happy with someone finally. She is making peace with her traumas and getting better

➤ Seventeen: X is married since 2024 (elope). He isn't the only idol who have small "marriages through paper signing". 

➤ Blackpink: X's relationship is a serving one, where she can get what she needs from her partner and he can get his fetishism. X also does not enjoy the fan contact (people bothering her in the street, asking for hugs or pics can often annoy her).

➤ BTS: X's dating rumor was at the beginning nothing but a marketing move. However the more it went the more it had severe consequences in his personal life

➤ Itzy: You can expect some great news for Itzy as a global (this summer from what I gathered). Either a solo (not Yeji's), a tour, a full comeback, a member leaving or a disband. X is also currently dating someone twice her age

➤ Ateez: X has been for the past months having a fling with a woman who wasn't married but she had a kid and was around the baby daddy (he seemed to be quite toxic and not present). This girl didn't wanted to be in a relationship with X for obvious reasons. But it seems that recently they got together, simply because X showed what it meant to be present, to provide and to love.

➤ IVE: X is currently in a. very discreet/secret relationship because she is seeing a political man (who seen to be older and married). Red party from what we gathered int he podcast.

➤ The Boyz: X has been having this fling with someone who was in a relationship. However X must have either been too much, too overwhelming or they might be too scary for this person as they decided to leave Seoul just to get away from X who might have been forcing them to be around.

➤ Le Sserafim: X has been the cause for a recent divorce and also she is currently in a relationship with brown hair male idol. his last performance he was dressed in full white 

➤ Enhypen: X is really conservative when it comes to his values, his morals and his way of leaving. despite being someone extremely loyal to his partners he also expect from the to be the typical traditional Korean house wife. He doesn't get in relationship with women who aren't "pure"

➤Twice: X might be planing either a marriage or moving out together with her idol partner