#(them with no I’m not going to push for more than anything but finding a midpoint that’s comfortable for both of us as friends.

[thelov3lybookworm]

My World

Day 1: Cool quiet.

Summary: Y/n's in labour. Azriel needs to stay calm.

•○●⛦●○•

Word Count: 805

Warnings: labour ig? azzie being scared and sad cus yn is in pain :(

A/n: HAPPY DAY 1 OF @azrielappreciationweek YALL WOOHOOOO 🥳

all fics in the week will be like a series cus theyre all revolving around azzie and his daughter hehe but it isnt a series ig?

ANYWAY ENJOYYYY 🥳

°•°•°•○🌑○•°•°•°

Rhysand did not see the shift in his spymaster. Did not see the way he stiffened, the way his eyes went distant before focusing again, fist clenched.

He said no words, nothing to indicate he knew his mate was going into labour. And if the meeting with Keir had not ended when it had and Azriel hadn’t immediately winnowed away without preamble, Rhys wouldn’t have even known.

Even when Rhysand and Cassian followed their brother to his house on the outskirts of Velaris, welcomed by agonising screams of Azriel’s mate, Rhysand saw him stand quietly in the hallway.

Rhysand could not fathom being that cool, that quiet if he knew Feyre was in labour.

He had to give it to Azriel, the male was great at hiding his weaknesses. And Rhysand would have been convinced he was still composed had he not seen that in the dark corridor, light glinted off of the tears rolling down his cheeks.

Azriel still did not move, standing still against the wall with his hands folded behind his back.

It shook Rhys more than him pacing and losing his mind would have.

°•°•°•○🌑○•°•°•°

Azriel’s pov.

He wanted to scream, he wanted to curse himself out loud. After all, he was the reason his darling mate was going through the pain of birth.

Should’ve resisted when she said she wanted kids.

But alas, it was now too late to do anything but stand here helpless as he heard her loud cries of pain from their bedroom.

"I- Azriel! Az-"

It took all Azriel had in him to stand outside while his mate, his wife went through unbearable pain he knew he could not even fathom of. Having your privates stretched while you had to push out a literal being was something he knew his worst wounds would look like paper cuts in comparison.

It made him respect females more at the moment.

Through the bond, he felt flashes of hot agony and cold pain, but he was aware it was nothing, nothing compared to what his mate was going through.

The door opened the slightest bit, the worried eyes of an apprentice healer peeking out. "Spymaster? Madja said you can come in to soothe your mate."

Instantly, Azriel was hurrying inside the room, his eyes finding his mate lying on the bed.

Keep calm. Keep calm. Keep calm.

But how could he, seeing as the one person he could ruin the world for, was sobbing, tears running down her face in constant streams, aided by the sweat gathering on her skin?

He hurried over to her side, her palm instantly finding his.

"My love, I’m here."

She gasped in pain, nails digging into his palm.

Cool. Stay cool. It will be fine.

"Just one more push dear, then you can rest."

Azriel turned his head to Madja when she said that, relief spreading through his veins. At least the torture Y/n was going through would be over soon.

Y/n nodded, meeting Azriel’s eyes. Even while she was pushing out their baby, she found it in herself to offer him a weak smile.

Be calm.

Not even a moment after Y/n dropped back down on the bed with an exhausted sigh, loud cries filled the room. Azriel leaned down, placing his forehead against his mate’s. She smiled up at him, her eyes tired.

"No more babies. Y/n, I’m telling you, I cannot see you in pain."

Y/n had the audacity to pout. "But what if our baby gets lonely?"

He shook his head, kissing Y/n’s cheek. "I won’t let them get lonely."

He straightened when he heard footsteps approaching, lifting his head to look at Madja, who grinned at them over the baby’s head. "It’s a daughter."

Tears gathered in Azriel’s eyes as Madja leaned down, his daughter’s face coming into view for the first time. Azriel could not look away.

She’s beautiful.

Her eyes are so pretty.

She stared back at him with wide eyes.

Don’t cry. Stay calm. Stay quiet.

Fuck calm. Fuck quiet.

He let the tears fall as Y/n placed a hand on his arm, telling him to take his daughter. And even though he did not want to taint the pure soul made of him and his beloved, he extended his arms. Y/n had had the time of months to scold and train Azriel to not be scared of his own child.

The moment Madja stepped out of their room, Azriel let out an involuntary sob, accompanied by a look in his mate’s direction, who was crying too.

"I love her so much."

She nodded, giggling. "Me too." After a pause, she continued. "Hazel. That’s what we decided."

He nodded, unable to look away as he leaned down to press his lips to her tiny forehead.

"My world."

°•°•°•○🌑○•°•°•°

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[fromthestacks]

I’ve been sitting with this for a couple days because I want to respond (hopefully) thoughtfully. And on the one hand, it’s a really good point and I can see how all the “I hate men” stuff could wear on the guys who AREN’T, you know, raging assholes. But on the other hand, my forty years of lived experience is pushing back on that. Long-winded rant under the cut.

I have a fair amount of men in my life by choice- family, friends, boyfriend. The ones I choose to spend time with are, by and large, really good guys. They’ve also heard more than their fair share of my own “I hate men” rants, and to their credit they’ve never been upset about it. They know I don’t mean them because my words and actions back it up, and they understand where I’m coming from because they hear the stories accompanying said rants and generally agree with my assessment.

All this to say, as much as I sympathize with the good guys who have to listen to the “I hate men” rants, I also very much don’t, because they have arguably more power to help shift that narrative than I do. The shitty men of the world do not care that people think they’re shitty, they are not changed by reason or logic. Men who, for example, sexually harass women don’t (generally) hear the many, many stories from women’s perspectives and have a lightbulb moment where they realize how wrong they’ve been. They will likely never be Ebenezer Scrooge throwing open the windows to wish the town poors a merry Christmas. But maybe, just maybe, if enough of the good guys start speaking up to call them on their behavior, that might have even a small effect on them.

“It shouldn’t be our responsibility” well no shit, grown adults shouldn’t need to be spoon fed basic human decency, but here we are. Women telling men how much we hate being catcalled doesn’t seem to be fucking working, so if the good guys aren’t willing to try telling them, then I’m out of ideas that aren’t along the lines of Goodbye Earl.

One last thing, this is getting away from me. I work a public service job, and it involves a fair amount of face time with people needing help finding things and using stuff like printers. I’m always polite and reasonably friendly, but it’s never anything beyond professionally kind. Even at that, it’s more than half of my interactions with men that leave me feeling uncomfortable. I’ve had men try to take my hand, I’ve had men ask if I’m single thirty seconds into me walking to their computer to help, I’ve had men stand right behind my chair while I’m looking something up. “Why don’t you just say something to them?” Because I’m not trying to get assaulted or shouted at, I’m trying to make it to the end of my shift and go home. It’s extremely well documented that a lot of men don’t handle rejection well, which ends with a lot of women getting assaulted or worse. And the thing about THAT is, you never know which men are gonna be the ones to lose their cool. So you just hedge your bets and tread carefully with everyone in case.

SO. What this very long-winded rant is saying, is that a lot of women encounter a lot of shitty men, and it sucks absolute donkey dick to deal with. If the good guys out there want to stop hearing about how terrible men are, they need to step the fuck up and help, because women are exhausted. The other, smaller, part that they might not like is that it’s not our job to constantly reassure them that I don’t include them when I say “I hate men”. If I’m spending time with you, and trusting you with these stories or complaining or whatever, then go ahead and take it on faith that I don’t mean you.

Maybe I’m alone in feeling this way, I don’t know. Just needed to get this out there.

I couldn't have said it better myself.

[hvnyrt]

Request: Jason is surprisingly affectionate in private

JASON TOOD X GN! READER

SUMMARY: You're tired, Jason takes care of you

WARNINGS: None, enjoy!

WC: 1.4k 

The door to your apartment closed softly behind you as you stepped inside, your body feeling heavy with the weight of the day. Gotham’s chaos had seeped into everything—into your bones, into your mind. You were physically and emotionally drained, barely able to summon the energy to hang your coat or kick off your boots. The city had a way of exhausting you, of leaving you with nothing to give. It had been one of those weeks—long hours, too much stress, too many things left undone.

But when you entered your living room, you didn’t expect to find him here. Jason Todd. You didn’t even know he was coming over.

He was sprawled out on your couch, leaning back with one leg draped over the side, his arms crossed over his chest as he stared at his phone. There was a mug of coffee on the table in front of him, untouched, cooling. The lights were low, casting a soft glow that made the apartment feel more like a refuge than the outside world ever could.

You paused for a moment, not wanting to disturb him—until you noticed the way his posture changed when he heard you enter. His eyes flicked up from his phone, a flicker of surprise crossing his face, quickly replaced by something softer, more concerned.

"Long day?" he asked, his voice quiet, low, the usual edge replaced by a gentler tone.

You nodded, dropping your things in the entryway with a tired sigh. “It’s been a week,” you muttered, rubbing your eyes. “I’m... exhausted.”

Jason didn’t respond right away. He just looked you over, his eyes narrowing slightly as he registered the exhaustion on your face, the way your shoulders sagged in defeat. He was used to seeing people at their worst, but he wasn’t used to seeing you like this. Not like this.

“Come here,” he said, his voice no longer playful but soft, almost commanding in the way he said it.

You glanced at him, too tired to argue, and slowly made your way over to the couch. Jason shifted, sitting up straighter, making space beside him. Without saying anything, he reached out and pulled your legs onto his lap, arranging them carefully like he was afraid you might pull away, like he was trying to be gentle with you in a way he wasn’t always.

“Sit,” he repeated, this time with a soft insistence, as if his only goal was to make sure you found some comfort.

You hesitated for only a moment before sitting down next to him, sinking into the couch. He gave you a small, almost imperceptible smile before grabbing the blanket from the back of the couch and draping it over both of you. The weight of it was comforting, the fabric soft and warm. His arm naturally settled around your shoulders, pulling you closer, a silent invitation to rest against him.

"You’re too stubborn," he muttered, more to himself than to you, but the words were gentle, like a small reprimand for not taking better care of yourself. His fingers rubbed at the back of your neck, slow and soothing. "You push yourself too hard. You need to slow down."

You leaned your head against his chest, letting out a soft breath, feeling the warmth of his body seep into yours. The exhaustion was still there, but now it felt distant. For the first time all day, you didn’t feel like you had to be on alert. With him beside you, the weight of everything seemed lighter.

“I don’t know how to stop sometimes,” you whispered, your voice barely above a murmur. “I just keep going. Even when I’m running on empty.”

Jason didn’t say anything for a while. Instead, his hand moved from your neck to your back, rubbing in slow, comforting circles as if trying to ease away the tension that had built up over the course of the week. You could feel the softness in his touch, the way he wasn’t rushing to do anything—just being present.

“You don’t have to do it alone, you know.” His words were quiet but firm. "Let me take care of you for once. Let me help."

You swallowed, your throat tight at the unexpected vulnerability in his voice. It wasn’t often that Jason opened up like this. He had walls, thick and impenetrable, built from years of hurt. But tonight, he seemed to be letting those walls fall, just a little.

His hand slid down your arm, pulling you even closer to him, until your head was tucked under his chin. The rhythm of his breath steadied yours, and you felt something in your chest—something warm and soft—begin to unfold.

“You’re always the one taking care of everyone else,” Jason said, his voice barely a whisper. “But you deserve to be taken care of too. I’m not going anywhere. Let me help.”

You closed your eyes, trying to push away the tightness that had settled in your chest, the overwhelming feeling that had accompanied the last few days. But his touch, the heat of his body against yours, seemed to make the anxiety fade away, leaving only calm in its wake.

“Thank you,” you murmured, not sure if you were thanking him for the moment of peace, or for his willingness to show up when you least expected it. But the gratitude was there, unspoken but felt all the same.

Jason didn’t respond. Instead, he reached over and grabbed your tea mug from the side table, gently pressing it into your hands. “Drink. It’ll help you relax.”

You took the mug, the warmth of the tea seeping into your cold hands. You sipped it slowly, savoring the way it warmed you from the inside. Jason sat quietly beside you, his fingers still tracing small, comforting patterns on your arm as he watched you. There was no rush, no pressure to talk, to be anything other than what you were in that moment. He was giving you space to breathe, to let go.

As the tea worked its magic, you felt the tension begin to melt away. Your eyelids grew heavy, your body sinking deeper into the couch as Jason adjusted, his body angling closer to yours.

“Lie down,” he said softly, shifting you slightly so you were resting more comfortably on the couch. “You need sleep. You need to rest.”

You didn’t argue. It was too much to argue with him when you felt this good—when his care wrapped around you like a blanket, giving you the comfort you’d been lacking.

He rearranged the pillows behind your head, making sure you were propped up just enough. His hand was never far from you, always resting somewhere on your body, as though he couldn’t quite stop touching you. He wasn’t smothering you, though. It was a subtle, gentle thing—just enough to reassure you that he was there.

You closed your eyes, your body relaxed in a way you hadn’t felt in days. The weight of the world was slowly lifting, and with Jason beside you, you felt safe.

“You don’t have to do anything,” he murmured, his voice low and steady. “I’ll be here. Just sleep.”

You nodded, too tired to say anything more. His hand shifted again, this time moving to your cheek, brushing a stray hair away as he gently cupped your face in his palm. His thumb traced over your skin, soft and slow, and for a moment, it felt like he was taking in every detail of you—every part of you that had been worn down, that needed healing.

And then, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, Jason leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to your forehead. The touch was tender, almost reverent, and when he pulled away, you could feel the gentle brush of his breath against your skin.

“Sleep,” he whispered again, the words a soothing balm.

Your eyelids fluttered closed, and you let yourself drift into sleep, the warmth of Jason’s presence grounding you, keeping you safe in the quiet moments. As you drifted off, you could still feel the steady rhythm of his hand on your back, the softness in his touch, the care he was offering so freely. You didn’t need to say anything more. Tonight, Jason had given you what you needed most: peace, tenderness, and a reminder that you weren’t alone.

[ilovemitsuya]

sylus x reader (fluffy,angsty?)

summary: “During a mission, I sustained serious injuries and was hospitalized. Though Sylus couldn’t visit me, he sent Mephisto in his place. When I was discharged, I wasn’t expecting him to be outside.”

“I’m not going to lie to you two.” Jenna said, folding her arms across her chest as she leaned back against her desk. “This mission isn’t like the others we’ve done. That facility is more unstable than we initially thought. The few teams we’ve sent to investigate before found nothing at all.”

Crossing my arms as I studied Captain Jenna’s face.

“So why send just the two of us, then?” I asked.

“Why not a full squad if it’s that dangerous?”

“Because we don’t know exactly what we’re dealing with. A bigger team could draw too much attention.“

“And if we find something… unexpected?” Tara asked.

“You report back immediately.” Jenna said, her tone firm. “Don’t try to take on anything alone if it’s beyond your capabilities. This isn’t about being heroes.”

There was a beat of silence before Jenna pushed off her desk and took a step closer to me and Tara. “But you’re not going in blind. We’ll have a team on standby if things get too hot. You need to trust your instincts and watch each other’s backs.”

Glancing at Tara, she gave me a reassuring nod.

Tara and I turned to leave, but Jenna’s voice stopped us just before we reached the door. “And remember.” she called out, “If things start to go sideways, you get out. Do you hear me?”

“Loud and clear.” I replied, glancing over my shoulder at her.

With that, Tara and I exited the office, both of us knowing that we were walking into something dangerous. But we had our orders.

———————————————————————

The facility loomed over us, the metal creaking with the weight of its own decay. Tara and I moved cautiously through the halls, weapons at the ready, our footsteps echoing against the cracked concrete.

Dust hung in the air like a fog, making each breath feel heavy. We’d been searching for signs of Wanderers for hours, but aside from a few ominous claw marks on the walls, there was nothing.

Tara walked a few paces ahead, her sharp eyes sweeping the darkened corners as she scanned for any signs of movement.

“This place gives me the creeps.”

“The readings are coming from this sector.” I confirmed. “It’s like there’s a cluster of energy sources in the storage area up ahead. Something’s definitely drawing them here.”

Tara nodded and pushed forward, keeping a steady pace as we approached the large metal door that led to the storage room. She placed a hand on the door’s surface, glancing back at me. “On three?” she whispered.

I tightened my grip on my gun and gave her a quick nod. “On three.”

“One… two… three!”

Tara shoved the door open, and we moved inside in a swift, coordinated motion. The room was just as the rest of the facility, old crates and equipment lay scattered across the floor, and the walls were covered in peeling paint.

I took a step forward, my eyes sweeping the room for any signs of movement. But then, there was a flicker of motion in the shadows, too quick to pinpoint at first.

I turned to Tara, but she had already seen it. Her eyes narrowed, and she raised her weapon in the direction of the disturbance.

“Stay sharp.” she said, voice tense. “I think we’ve got company.”

I reacted on instinct, surging forward to intercept it with a gunshot.

It swiped at me with one of its jagged claws, forcing me to block the strike with my forearm. Pain shot through my body as its claws tore through my sleeve and left deep gashes across my skin.

Before we could even do anything, the wanderer let out a loud roar and smashed its claws against the support beams around us. A low rumble vibrated through the building, and the ground beneath us trembled. Dust rained down from the ceiling, and a series of cracks split the concrete walls, spreading out in every direction.

“Get out of here, now!” Tara shouted, sprinting for the exit.

I turned to follow her, but the ground heaved under my feet, and a section of the ceiling gave way with a deafening crash. I stumbled and fell, barely managing to roll out of the way as a massive metal beam slammed down where I’d been standing. The room shuddered violently, and the walls seemed to cave inward.

“Tara!” I called out, but my voice was drowned out by the roar of collapsing debris. I saw her struggling to keep her footing near the exit, but then another tremor hit, and a cascade of rubble came crashing down, forcing us apart.

I fought to keep moving, dodging falling beams and lunging over shifting pieces of debris. But it was no use. The floor buckled beneath me, and I felt myself falling through the collapsing structure.

The impact knocked the wind from my lungs, and pain exploded through my side as I hit the ground hard. I tried to move, but my legs were pinned beneath a heavy chunk of concrete, and the darkness quickly closed in around me.

The last thing I saw before everything faded was the shattered remnants of the facility above, crumbling like a house of cards. Then, there was nothing.

———————————————————————

The steady beep of a heart monitor was the first thing I became aware of as I drifted back to consciousness.

The world came back in hazy fragments, a faint antiseptic smell, the dull ache radiating through my entire body, the blinding white light overhead. I blinked slowly, the ceiling tiles came into focus. I was in a hospital room, covered in bandages, and every muscle felt like it had been dragged through hell.

A groan escaped my lips as I tried to shift into a more comfortable position. The movement must have caught someone’s attention because I heard a chair scrape back and then footsteps rushing closer.

“Hey, hey, take it easy.” It was Tara’s voice, low and familiar, filled with a relief I hadn’t heard from her often. She came into view, her face creased with worry. Her eyes softened when she saw I was awake, and she let out a breath that sounded like she’d been holding it for a long time. “You’re finally awake. How are you feeling?”

I managed to lift my head just enough to give her a weary look. “Like I got hit by a train.” I rasped, my voice rough from disuse. “What happened to me?”

“You were inside when the building collapsed.” she explained, pulling a chair closer and sitting down beside me. “By the time we got a rescue team in there, you were unconscious and pinned under the debris.” Tara’s voice wavered slightly, and she quickly looked away, as if embarrassed to show how much the whole thing had shaken her.

“You’ve been out for a while.” Her tone was a little lighter now, a hint of humor breaking through. “Can’t believe you’d scare me like that. Do you know how annoying it was waiting around here?”

A faint chuckle escaped me, though it quickly turned into a wince.

“I should let the doctors know you’re awake. They’ll want to check you over.”

I gave a slow nod, already feeling exhaustion pulling at me again, but I didn’t want her to worry. “Go ahead.” I murmured. “I’m not going anywhere.”

As the door clicked shut behind her, the room fell silent again, and I found myself staring at the ceiling, fighting the familiar feeling of emptiness that came whenever I was alone. I closed my eyes and let out a slow breath.

I wished Sylus were here. There was no way he could just walk into a hospital like any normal person.

I was about to close my eyes again when I heard a soft tapping on the window. My eyes snapped open, and my heart skipped a beat as I turned toward the sound. There, perched on the narrow ledge just outside the window, was a black crow. Mephisto.

I struggled to sit up, limping a little as I reached out to unlock the window. It slid open with a creak, and Mephisto hopped inside, a small bundle of wildflowers clutched in his beak. They were ragged and windblown, a little wilted from the journey, but I could tell they’d been picked carefully.

I took the flowers gently from Mephisto’s beak, my hands trembling slightly. There was a small note tied around the stems with a piece of dark string. I untied it and read the familiar handwriting: “Since I can’t be there. Take care of yourself. – S.”

Sylus couldn’t come to see me himself, but he’d sent Mephisto instead. His way of saying he was there, still watching over me.

“Thank you.” I whispered

Mephisto tilted its head and gave a soft caw, as if acknowledging my words. Then, it took off out the window again.

I sank back against the pillows, holding the flowers close. It wasn’t the same as having Sylus here in person, but it was enough to know he was thinking of me.

———————————————————————

As I lay in the hospital bed, I reached for my phone on the side table and unlocked the screen. My fingers trembled slightly as I typed out a message to Sylus.

I hit send and waited, my heart beating a little faster than it should. The minutes dragged on, and I started to wonder if he'd even seen my message. But then, my device buzzed with his reply.

Typical Sylus.

The response came almost instantly, as though he'd been expecting my question.

I glanced back at the window, half expecting to see the crow still there. It made sense. Mephisto had always kept an eye on me, by Sylus’s command.

I stared at the screen, my chest tightening as I read his words.

There was a long pause before his next message arrived.

It was the closest thing to comfort I would get from him, even if he couldn't be here with me.

———————————————————————

The final paperwork was a blur, the nurse’s instructions fading in and out as I focused on keeping steady. I was bandaged up and aching from head to toe, but at least I was getting out of the hospital. They’d wanted to keep me a few days longer, but I’d insisted on leaving.

As soon as they handed me my things, I slipped into my jacket and headed outside.

When I pushed through the front doors, a figure was leaning casually against the side of the building, half hidden in the shadow cast by the streetlamp. Sylus. He looked up when he saw me.

“Sylus…” I said, managing a small smile as I walked over, but his expression was tense as he straightened up, his eyes quickly scanning over my injuries.

“You’re stubborn for a hunter.” he muttered, his tone flat, though I could tell by the way his eyes lingered on my face and my bandaged arm that he was probably worried.

“The hell are you doing out here so soon? You could barely stand a few hours ago.”

“They were going to keep me trapped in there another week,” I said, trying to sound lighter than I felt. “I couldn’t just stay there doing nothing.”

He gave me a sharp look, he slipped his arm around my shoulders, guiding me firmly to his car parked a few feet away.

“You’re barely out, and here you are, thinking you’re ready to run around already.”

I tilted my head, raising an eyebrow.

"Since when do you drive anything other than that death trap of yours?"

"Since I figured you might not be up for riding around on a motorcycle after getting half crushed under a building."

He helped me into the passenger seat, taking extra care to ensure I was settled in before closing the door. He didn���t say anything as he walked around and got in himself, but the silence felt heavy, like he was holding back from saying a thousand things.

We drove through the streets in silence until we reached the edge of the city. I realized where we were going the moment we turned onto a narrow road.

“Your place?” I asked, glancing over at him.

He kept his gaze on the road. “You’re not going home alone in that condition. Not happening.”

I knew better than to argue, so I just nodded.

When we finally arrived, he was already at my side, opening the car door before I could even move. I tried to slide out on my own, but he offered his hand, steady and warm, and before I could argue, he was lifting me out of the seat.

I groaned, shaking my head. “Sylus, I can walk. You don’t need to—”

“Too late, sweetie.” he smirked, his arms sliding under my legs as he pulled me up, holding me effortlessly in a bridal carry. “Just sit back and let me do this.”

I sighed, trying to hide the warmth creeping up my face. “I’m tough, you know.”

“I know you are.” He glanced down, a glint of amusement in his eyes as he carried me toward the door. “But you’re hurt, and besides,” he added, leaning closer, his voice softening, “sometimes, you need someone to take care of you.”

Inside, he led me to his room and gestured for me to sit on the bed. “Wait here. And don’t try moving around.”

I managed a small, sarcastic smile. “What, you think I’m going to run off?”

His gaze darkened. “You have a habit of being reckless.”

Before I could respond, he was already disappearing into the other room, returning moments later with a small first aid kit and a glass of water. He knelt beside me, unwrapping some of the bandages on my arm with practiced precision.

“I already saw the doctors for this.” I said, watching him closely. He ignored me, dabbing disinfectant on a fresh cut and glancing up with a glint of warning in his eyes.

“Clearly, they didn’t do a good enough job if you’re in this condition.” he replied, his tone clipped.

I sighed, not bothering to respond. Instead, I watched his hands move, careful but efficient, his expression focused as he replaced the bandages. He was so quiet, so steady, so… unlike his usual self. His eyes kept flicking up to meet mine, only for a second, before going back to my injuries.

“You don’t have to do this, you know.” I murmured, not sure if I was talking to him or to myself.

He paused, his hands stilling for a moment, before he looked up, his expression unreadable. “And if I don’t, who will?”

I watched him as he worked, watching how he gently wrapped fresh gauze around my arm, tightening it carefully.

His fingers lingered over the bandage, as if making sure it wasn't too tight.

"Is this too tight?" he murmured, his gaze flicking up to meet mine.

"No... it's fine." I whispered, feeling my heart hammering in my chest. My words were barely a breath, and I wasn't sure if he heard me, but he continued anyway, his focus unbreakable.

"You can tell me if it hurts." he said softly, his gaze locking onto mine.

"It doesn't hurt." I replied, trying to keep my voice steady. But the truth was, all I can think about is how his fingers felt against my skin.

“You could have been killed.” he suddenly said, the faintest tremor in his voice. “And you didn’t think to tell me, or anyone, what you were dealing with out there?”

I looked down, feeling that familiar pang of guilt again.

“Tell me next time before you go off on one of these suicide missions.” he snapped, his jaw tight. “Or better yet, stay out of places where buildings collapse on you.”

“I don’t get to pick and choose which missions are dangerous.” I replied.

“And I’m supposed to sit back and just watch you throw yourself into the line of fire?” His voice was low, but I could hear the worry simmering beneath it.

He was silent for a moment, his expression hardening as he reached over to brush a strand of hair from my face.

“And next time, you’re telling me about this kind of mission. I don’t care if you think it’s nothing.”

My expression softened as I looked up at him

“I’m okay now.” I whispered.

He stared at me for a moment before he gave a reluctant nod.

“Try to rest here. I’ll get you some fresh clothes.” he said, guiding her down gently. “I’m guessing you don’t want to stay in those all night.”

I took the bundle of soft, comfortable clothes he offered.

“Thank you, Sylus.”

His lips quirked into a gentle smile, running his fingers lightly through my hair, guiding me to lie back against the bed.

“Enough fighting it, sweetie.” he murmured, his voice low and soothing. “You need to rest.”

I started to protest, but he pressed a finger gently to my lips, shaking his head. “No arguments,” he said softly. “Just close your eyes.”

He pulled a blanket over me, his hands lingering as he tucked it around my shoulders, and as my breathing slowed, I felt his fingers brush my cheek, tracing gentle patterns along my skin. The last thing I saw was him watching me, his expression filled with something I couldn’t quite place, a mix of worry, relief, and maybe… something else, something deeper.

“Sleep.” he whispered, his voice a barely audible murmur. “I’m not going anywhere.”

———————————————————————

The soft rise and fall of her breathing filled the room. Sylus sat beside her, one leg folded over the other, his arms crossed as he watched her sleep. In the dim light, she looked peaceful, a stark contrast to the worry that had been etched into her face earlier. He’d seen her like this before years ago.

He could still remember that night, when she’d slipped through his fingers.

He reached out almost instinctively, brushing his fingers against her cheek. She didn’t stir, but his touch softened, lingering there, feeling the warmth of her skin against his fingertips.

Unable to bear it, he slipped his arms around her, drawing her close, careful not to wake her. She was warm, her head resting against his chest, her body relaxed in his embrace. He pressed his cheek against her hair, letting himself take in her scent, the steady beat of her heart.

“You don’t get to do this to me again.” he whispered, his voice rough, barely audible even to himself. “Not this time. I won’t lose you. Not again.”

if you made it this far thank you sm for reading! I appreciate you feel free to request ♡

[whereianonymouslypostfics]

Remiss

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x reader

Word count: ~2.2k

Summary: Clearing the air

A/N: Filling plot holes?

Warnings: fluff, some angst, alcohol, a trip down memory lane, hurt/comfort

Wanda and the pets were asleep by the time you arrived home. The dogs were where they usually stayed, downstairs, while Fletcher was probably in your spot. Specifically on your pillow. This was only allowed when you weren’t home which for the first time in a while, you weren’t when the time to go to bed rolled around. 

It was almost 2 in the morning when you stumble through the front door. You’d left your car with Pietro because you had gotten a lot drunker than you anticipated. He’d called you a cab home and cleared it with security so Wanda wouldn’t be woken up by their call to alert her of your arrival. Still, you worry that she’ll find out pretty quickly because you trip over your feet as you hurry to turn off the alarm that starts to chirp annoyingly.

You curse as you shut the door and flip on the light long enough to punch in the code that’s been most recently committed to memory. Wanda insists on changing it twice a year, and although it’s a pain in the ass, you go along with it. 

You sigh in relief when the chirping stops and you turn around to make sure that you locked the front door. Once you confirm this you go to turn off the light, but the sight of your dogs makes you jump nearly a foot in the air. You curse and fall back against the door in surprise. Your hand goes to your racing heart as the duo shoot you matching expectant looks.

“Shit!” 

They don’t seem to realize that they scared the shit out of you, and they come up to you for their pets with wagging tails. You take a moment to scratch them both before you grab your phone and turn on the flashlight with a sigh. 

“Okay puppies. I’m gonna bed. Goodnight.” 

You make the treacherous journey to the living room and up the stairs to your bedroom in the near darkness. You don’t notice Rogue trailing behind you until you start to push open the door to the bedroom. You turn off the flashlight so you don’t wake up your wife, but now you also can barely see anything. 

You’re too tired to bother changing clothes before falling into bed, and you stifle a yawn as you smile at the sight of your wife. When you realize that she’s not alone you nearly roll your eyes. 

“Fletcher…”

The tabby is unsurprisingly curled up against your wife’s stomach, and you at least take comfort in the fact that she’s not on your side of the bed. You step out of your shoes and drop your bag on the floor with a quiet thud. Neither of them realize you’ve arrived until you fall on top of the bed with a relieved sigh. You groan under your breath, and bury your face into your pillow. You miss Wanda groan as she stirs at the bed sinking under your weight. She opens her eyes and the first thing she sees is her cat stretching in front of her as she purrs furiously. After she’s offered her a quick scratch, her attention moves to where you’re still lying face down on your pillow trying to sleep off your night. 

“Y/n?” 

Wanda had expected you back a bit earlier, but she supposes she can’t be too surprised that you were delayed. You were hanging out with her brother and he was nothing if not unpredictable. She realizes quickly that you must have had a lot to drink because when she sits up slightly to check on you. The smell of booze is enough to wake her up a bit more and she reaches out for you when you only groan in response.

“Rough night?” 

Wanda reminds herself to yell at her brother later for being an enabler, but she’s quickly distracted when you roll over onto your back. You’re frowning but she doesn’t get to ask what’s on your mind before you turn toward her and Fletcher with a sigh. 

“Have I told you…that I love you…a lot?” 

Wanda’s eyes widen as she looks at you, or rather your silhouette with a smile. She sees you reach out, but she’s surprised when you stop short and scratch Fletcher instead. It’s almost as if you knew she would move, and you close the distance between you and your wife as soon as the tabby’s gone. 

Wanda shrugs as she watches her cat jump off the bed and head for the door where she notices Rogue is now lying down.

“On occasion.” 

Wanda feels more than sees you nod before she lowers herself back down to the bed beside you. She ignores the smell of alcohol as she rests her head on your shoulder. She’s glad that you’re back. She’d missed you earlier and it was always easier for her to sleep with you beside her. You breathe out a sigh before muttering into your wife’s hair.

“Good. I’m glad.” 

Wanda frowns at your tone and how even half asleep it’s enough for her to realize that something was bothering you. Its too dark for her to see your expression, so she does the next best thing to try and figure out what’s on your mind. 

“Y/n, is something wrong?” 

She can’t help but run through the possibilities and she pulls back from you to try and get a better read on your mood. You don’t make it easy as you shake your head before reaching out for your wife. You run a hand up her waist to her back and finally to her hair where you start to play with a few strands that have escaped her ponytail. 

“No, no. I..I just wa-wanted you to know is all.” 

This still sounded too ominous for Wanda’s liking and she reaches out for you. She catches your chin and pulls you closer so she can kiss you. She catches you by surprise but you lean into the kiss and hold your wife like you’re afraid that she’ll leave. When Wanda breaks away, she doesn’t go far, and she rests her head on your shoulder as she wraps her arms around you.

“I love you too, you know that right?” 

You don’t hesitate to nod as you turn your head again before you’re lying on your back. You feel your head spin and you briefly regret drinking so much as you think about what you and Pietro talked about tonight. It started off innocent enough with who he was dating and how Wanda was handling staying at home this week. Then it turned to darker thoughts and somehow you’d had a conversation about your least favorite person. 

Wanda watches as you become lost in thought, and she can’t help but worry that something happened tonight. She considers reaching out to her brother, but luckily you don’t leave her hanging for too long. That said, you don’t really clarify much for her with what you say next. 

“I was just talking to Piet, and he reminded me that I didn’t say it enough.” 

Wanda misunderstands and she’s immediately on edge at the idea of her brother saying something like this to you. She is definitely going to yell at him tomorrow.

“He said that? That’s not true, detka. You tell me all the time.” 

Your brow furrows in confusion as you turn to see your wife looks a little ticked. You squeeze her hand before shaking your head with another sigh. You need to drink water, and take a shower, but you have something you need to say first. 

“Not like that. He wasn’t giving me a hard time. I just…”

You trail off as you consider the years you’ve spent with Wanda. All of the struggles and drama that you dealt with as a result of agreeing to be with your wife. You had doubted the decision some. You couldn’t lie and say that the idea of committing to the uncertainty and danger of being with Wanda wasn’t intimidating. That said, you honestly can only think of a handful of instances over the past 5 years that really made you second-guess your decision.

That said, you know that none of this was something that you could have predicted. No matter how much training, how many resources, and friends you have, you can’t be protected from everything. This is something that you and Pietro talked about tonight, and the conversation turned a lot more emotional than you’d been prepared for. 

“Do you remember the day we got married?”

Wanda finally sits all the way up and reaches for the lamp on her bedside table. She can’t stand to continue this conversation in the dark because she can’t tell what you’re feeling. You flinch slightly, but don’t protest as Wanda turns on the light before flopping back down beside you. 

“Yes, of course I do.” 

You seem to accept this answer but are still lost in your jumbled thoughts that you’re currently failing to organize. You shouldn’t have tried to start this conversation while drunk, but now you had no choice. You are sure that Wanda won’t let you just drop it. The look on her face tells you that much. 

You close your eyes before you imagine your wedding day. It was wonderful and you were stressed but in the best kind of way. You’d gotten to marry the love of your life with your closest friends by your side. You’d been so happy and a little naïve if you were being honest. You thought that not much would change, or at least not much that mattered, but it didn’t take you long to figure out how wrong you were.

“I told you I loved you then too, right?” 

Suddenly your wife is hovering over you and you see her concerned look before her question registers. Your arms suddenly feel like lead as you try to reach up and take your wife’s face in your hand.

“You’re worrying me, love. What’s on your mind?” 

You wonder how you can tell Wanda that you love your life with her. You’re so glad that you married her, and you don’t know how to tell her this. You’ve loved the life that you’ve had together, but it hasn’t always been a bed of roses. You have lost count of how many times you’ve been terrified, threatened, or hurt by someone who wanted to get something from your wife. Whether it was money, cooperation, or revenge, you had found yourself on the receiving end of their efforts too many times. You smile as you brush her hair behind her ears and confuse your wife in the same breath.

“Tonight, I just thought about all that we’ve gone through. The struggles, the enemies, all of the challenges we’ve faced.” 

Wanda had not been expecting this, and she can’t hide her surprise as she frowns in confusion. She had expected her brother to be lewd and inappropriate, so this trip down memory lane was a shock. She doesn’t get to ask why you and Pietro talked about this at all before you drop your hands to her shoulders. You push her enough for her to get the hint, and she moves so she can help you sit up. You groan as you lie back against your pillow and reach out for her hand. You play with the ring on her finger for a few seconds before you finally clue Wanda in. 

“It just made me realize that I never told you how it all made me feel. I hate that you probably blamed yourself when it wasn’t your fault. I just…tonight we talked about Vision, and it made me realize that other than bitching about him, I don’t know if I told you that I really didn’t blame anyone but him, Strucker, and Rumlow.” 

Wanda rocks back in surprise at your words and her mouth falls open but she can’t manage any sort of verbal response. She’s not sure how you know that she’s been harboring resentment toward herself for this since it happened. She supposes you just know her really well, but she still doesn’t understand why it came up tonight. Maybe she’s thinking too much into it. Alcohol eliminates most rational thought, doesn’t it?

“So that’s all I really wanted to say, Wands. I don’t love you any less or blame you for anything that happened to me.” 

Wanda feels tears stinging her eyes and she can’t help but lean forward and kiss you again. She ignores the taste of tequila, which explains a lot, as she allows herself to feel relief at your words. She didn’t realize how much guilt she’d been carrying with her, and despite knowing it will never completely leave her, she feels much lighter. 

“Y/n, I—”

“I’d even go through all of it again, if it meant ending up here with you. Sorry—I didn’t mean to. Interrupt.” 

Wanda smiles at your flushed face and kisses your cheek before pulling you into a hug. It’s a little awkward, so she crawls into your lap so she can bring you even closer. Her smile widens when she hears you sigh in relief. 

“I love you, detka. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” 

As you hold your wife in your arms, you’re certain you can say the same. There’s really no telling where you’d be if it wasn’t for Wanda. If you hadn’t met her after your awful physics lecture you likely never would have crossed paths. You tighten your hold on your wife as you try to push this thought from your mind. You don’t want to think about being anywhere but here.

“Me neither, Wands.” 

Masterlist

[zyafics-recs]

reblogging comment review by @zyafics

i’m alive i’m here (i’m fulfilling my duties bc damn a bitch went offline for 9 days and is behind on everything 😭) ⬇️

You drifted to your room, collapsing onto the small bed. The familiar scent of home did little to soothe the ache in your chest. It didn’t feel right. It never did, only when your brother was around, but now, not even that thought gave you faith as you closed your eyes, picturing Rafe’s face. His smile, his touch, his voice – they were all painfully vivid.

ugh i miss ur writing sm i love how this scene felt “slow” like u were navigating this lagged moment with her because nothing felt real

As you both settled in, the familiar warmth of his presence was a small comfort, a reminder that despite everything, you were still here together.

i don’t give a shit the one thing i love more than romance stories is sibling relationships 😭 they’re my heart n soul

"He’s facing several charges, but the severity of his sentence could depend on his cooperation. If he agrees to testify against his father, the authorities might offer him a deal."

i fear he won’t do it 😭😃

“You’re too good, y’know that? Personally, I don’t give a fuck if he dies.”

jj 😭😭😭 leave her alone 😭😭😭

"Complicated? Complicated is being stuck on an island, wondering if your sister is alive or dead. Complicated is dealing with the fact that the guy who put us through hell gets to play hero for a day and suddenly he's got your sympathy."

screaming into my pillow ur dialogues r too good

A carbon copy of your mother, your punishment.

okay pause ✋🏼 not the thematic parallel to abusive and neglectful parental figures i cannot handle this

You were just trying to find a shred of humanity in someone who had shown you a glimpse of it.

THIS LINE EATS SO HARD 😭😭😭

“Is that what you tell yourself to make you feel better?”

my jj would swing at ur jj for the way ur talking to ur sister

“Because I want to!” You screamed even though you hadn’t meant to. Tears of frustration fell as you raised your head, “And as far as I’m concerned, I’m still my own person and I can make my own decisions.”

PERIOD!!!!

 “He was good to me.”

girl *I* held my breath

Sarah never pushed you to talk, never demanded explanations. Instead, she just sat with you, shared a laugh or two, and let the silence speak for itself. It was a strange comfort; one you hadn’t realized you needed until it was there.

i love ur sarah sm mines a bitchhh 🙂‍↕️✋🏼

“No. Uh, a friend, I guess—” You were about to ramble, not too certain of what to say, but settled for, “Can you tell him Maybank’s calling?”

WHY DO I FEEL LIKE HIS PUNK ASS IS GONNA BE LIKE “i don’t know a maybank”

"I’m sorry. Mr. Cameron has requested not to speak with you," she said. "Is there anything else I can assist you with?"

YOU PUNK ASS BITCH

You screamed until your throat was raw, until you had nothing left to give.

no i didn’t (personally cannot scream LOL)

Six months had passed since that day

what the actual fuck

You had spent the afternoon alone, lounging in the living room with a half-read book and a broken fan that did little to ease the stifling heat. 

such good imagery god i love this

Your words caught in your throat as you saw him standing there. 

my heart is pounding omg

“You had six months.”

YIKES 😬

You looked at him, searching for any sign of deceit. His eyes were clear, more focused than you had ever seen them. “Why should I believe you?”

i’m shaking rn pls give a girl some respite

Rafe looked offended, eyes zeroing in on your lips before his gaze met yours. That's when you felt it again, “I never lied to you.”

i’m throwing punches into my pillow rn biting my teeth ohmygod

Rafe’s expression softened, and he reached out tentatively, his hand stopping inches from your arm. “I’m sorry, baby.”

go away demon 👹 @ gigi

It’s only then, when your brain cleared slightly that you noticed he looked different. His hair had been buzzed, his skin looked tanner than the last time you’d seen him, he looked healthier. 

oh we’re in season 3 now ok

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice barely a whisper. “I’m so sorry.”

i’m literally scraping my fingernails against chalkboards rn pls stop this madness 🛑🛑🛑

Rafe paused in the doorway, his back to you. His voice was barely above a whisper, but it carried clearly through the thick air. "I don’t regret it," he repeated, his shoulders tensing as he spoke.

gonna die ok 🪦

You had tried so hard to suppress your feelings, to deny the depth of your connection with him. But this…wasn’t something that could be easily forgotten or ignored. You had been so afraid to admit it, fearing that acknowledging would destroy you. 

You were in love with Rafe Cameron. 

oh my fucking god u did it again

final thoughts — ohmygod. i dont know why i kept putting off reading this? i think a part of me was scared because the literal content warning was “aka angst” and i said no. anyways, first and foremost u done it again gigi. what i was so impressed about this chapter was ur ability to create such flowing, strong and long dialogues. the one between jj and reader i read twice because i can’t believe how naturally-paced this story goes through that u don’t even realized it’s chunks on chunks of dialogues. that’s such an incredible feat and knowing now that ur from europe and english is probably a second language? the way u select the right words at the right time is an talent i strive to have. i’m like re-editing in my head being like “would i come up with that?” and being like “yeah i would’ve ended it there (bc i don’t know how to elongate a scene) but gigi knew how to keep it going.” gigi, when i tell u that’s one of the most impressive skills i’ve ever seen in my life i’m so serious. also, the way you structure and keep a consistent flow of emotions. the beginning of the story is stretched out in a way that i cinematically imagined a lagged moment. yk how in euphoria where it drags a scene from one part to the next? like that. and then the ending, when i said i was shaking, i was truly shaking. u had my heart clutched in ur hand and u just SQUEEZED IT 😭 💔 the way i felt everything and was so scared and panicking and my eyes wanted to read ahead because i wanted to know what happens but i also wanted to enjoy the writing 😭 u got me doing mental gymnastics trying to figure out how to read 😃 i thoroughly enjoyed this to the very end and ngl, i am so scared to read the next chapter i think imma hold off for a min…

THE OTHER SIDE OF PARADISE - rafe cameron (+18) - five

request: "a rafe enemies to lovers 🫣 the reader is jjs sister the whole drama before but then she gets left behind on the ship and rafe ends up comforting her and then yea that’s all I got you can do whatever else the rest 😛"

warnings: angst <3333333 for everyone <33; might need some editing bc im too tired to check everything but yeah

word count: 7.7k

The ride back to home was a blur. The plane ride, the ferry.

Everything. 

Every mile that took you further from Rafe felt like a wound being reopened. The police officers tried to engage you in conversation, but your responses were monosyllabic at best. They eventually gave up, letting you stare out the window in silence.

When you finally arrived, the sight of the familiar streets of The Cut did little to comfort you. Your house felt alien, a place you barely recognized. The officers escorted you inside, their presence a reminder of the reality you were returning to. 

“Your brother and your friends were rescued from a remote island a while ago. He was informed of your whereabouts an hour ago, he’ll be here soon.”

Their words barely registered.

You nodded numbly; your mind still stuck between the events that had unfolded just two days ago.

What kind of sister had you turned into? Barely phased over the fact your little brother was thankfully alive and well? You were supposed to protect him. 

Sensing your detachment, they exchanged a look before retreating to the porch, giving you some semblance of privacy.

You wandered through the house, your steps heavy. Each room felt like a snapshot from another life. The couch where you and your brother used to bicker over TV shows when Luke spent days doing God knows what, the kitchen table where meals were shared and stories were told, only between you two– they all seemed like relics of a past you could no longer touch.

Things would never be the same, you knew that.

You drifted to your room, collapsing onto the small bed. The familiar scent of home did little to soothe the ache in your chest. It didn’t feel right. It never did, only when your brother was around, but now, not even that thought gave you faith as you closed your eyes, picturing Rafe’s face. His smile, his touch, his voice – they were all painfully vivid.

That must be your punishment. 

A soft knock on the door jolted you from your thoughts. You sat up, heart racing. Your body was still on high alert, every little noise sent shivers down your skin. The blasting of the gunshots was still deeply rooted in your brain. It hadn’t even been three days. 

The old wooden door creaked open, and your brother's face appeared, bright blue eyes wide with concern. He rushed to your side, pulling you into a tight embrace nearly knocking the air out of your lungs.

"Holy shit,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion, “Holy shit.”

You clung to him, the dam breaking as tears streamed down your face. The sobs wracked your body as JJ held you like you used to hold him. It devastated you. It felt so disappointing. He was never supposed to be the one carrying the family burden, you were. After what felt like an eternity, you pulled back, wiping your tears. Your brother sat beside you, his eyes searching your face.

“You’re not hurt?”

You took a shaky breath, trying to find the words, but all you managed to blurt out was a small “No. You?”

“No,” JJ nodded, lips pursed into a tight line as if he was figuring out what to say next, “They told me about the shooting.”

Your heart sank further at his words. You had hoped to avoid talking about it, at least for a little while. But he was watching you like he used to when you would act as a human shield for him, you couldn't brush it aside.

“I’m fine, I promise.” You reached out and squeezed his hand. "What about you? How did you get off that island?"

JJ let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head.

“It was a mess. We were stuck there for weeks, trying to find a way out. Pope and Kie kept us sane, but it was rough. We finally managed to signal a passing boat, and they rescued us. But the whole time, I couldn't stop thinking about you."

You squeezed his hand tighter, guilt and gratitude warring within you.

"I'm sorry I wasn't there. I'm so sorry, JJ."

He shook his head vehemently. "No, don't apologize. None of this is your fault. I—I should’ve saved you on that ship, okay? It’s on me, not you.”

You’d cry again if you didn’t feel like your body was about to collapse, “You did everything you could. We both did. It's not your fault."

“The one time we changed places, and I couldn’t do it.”

"Jay—"

"I should have been there for you," He insisted, "I hated it."

It was your fault, not his. You pulled him into another hug, trying to convey with your touch what words couldn't express. The weight of your shared guilt and pain was almost suffocating, but at least you were together. You felt his body shaking, whether, from exhaustion or emotion, you couldn't tell.

When you finally let go, you took a deep breath, hoping to find some semblance of strength.

"We’re gonna be okay.”

JJ nodded, though you could see the doubt lingering in his eyes. "I know. It's just... hard."

"I get it. But we're both here, we're alive.”

A small, sad smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. "Yeah, I guess you're right."

The two of you sat in silence for a while, it was a fragile peace, but it was something. The familiar sound of the waves crashing against the shore outside the window was a reminder that life continued, even when it felt like your world had stopped.

"Do you think things will ever go back to normal?" JJ's voice was quiet, almost hesitant.

If he only knew. The one time you managed to close your eyes and sleep you were plagued by nightmares of JJ finding out what you’d done. About you and Rafe. It made you want to scratch your skin raw. 

“Yeah.”

You could see the exhaustion in his eyes, a mirror of your own fatigue. You knew you both needed rest, but the thought of sleep was daunting. The nightmares felt too close, the darkness too suffocating.

"Let's try to get some sleep," You suggested softly, though you weren't sure you could follow your own advice. "We both need it, ‘kay?”

JJ nodded, but you could see the wariness in his eyes. He laid down next to you, the bed barely accommodating the both of you.

As you both settled in, the familiar warmth of his presence was a small comfort, a reminder that despite everything, you were still here together.

The minutes ticked by in silence, the only sound being the rhythmic crashing of the waves outside. You focused on that, letting it be your anchor. Slowly, the tension in your body started to ease, the weight of the day’s events beginning to lift, even if just a little.

"Do you remember the first time we went out on the boat alone?" JJ's voice was a whisper in the darkness, a fragile thread connecting the past to the present.

A small smile tugged at your lips. "Yeah. You insisted you knew how to steer, and we almost ended up crashing into that sandbank."

He chuckled softly. "We were so scared. But you figured it out. You always did."

The memory was a bittersweet reminder of simpler times, a time when your biggest worry was navigating the boat, not navigating the chaos your lives had become. When you weren’t a complete fuck up.

Exhaustion finally began to overtake you, your eyes growing heavy. JJ's breathing evened out beside you, a comforting rhythm that lulled you closer to sleep. You wanted to tell him everything, but you couldn’t. Not without losing him in the process. 

Sleep came slowly, but when it did, it was deep and dreamless. Completely void, much like yourself these days. 

Morning came too soon, sunlight filtering through the curtains and casting a warm glow over the room.

You blinked awake, disoriented for a moment before the events of the past days came rushing back. JJ was still asleep beside you, his face peaceful in repose.

Carefully, you slipped out of bed, not wanting to wake him. The officer who comforted you after the shooting promised to call as soon as he got an update on Rafe’s condition. And so far? No call.

You wondered if the hospital or the police had contacted Sarah. She was Rafe’s closest family, aside from Wheezie who was still a kid, and Ward who was a sought-out criminal. It made sense that they would reach out to her.

If you rang the hospital, they wouldn’t disclose a thing, you weren’t family, and it wasn’t like you could ask Sarah. She would know something was wrong the moment you asked about Rafe. It was risky. 

The kitchen felt eerily quiet, the early morning light casting long shadows on the walls. You made yourself a cup of coffee, the warmth a small comfort against the chill that had settled in your bones.

Sitting at the table, you sipped slowly, trying to come up with some sort of tangible plan. You wanted to know if he was okay, needed to know, but every option seemed fraught with risk.

Your new phone buzzed on the table, jolting you from your thoughts.

You picked it up, heart pounding as you saw an unknown number flashing on the screen. You hesitated for a moment before answering.

“Hello?”

“This is Officer Thompson. I promised I’d keep you updated on Rafe Cameron’s condition.”

You closed your eyes, thanking God for finally giving you some piece of mind, “Yes, thank you.”

“He’s stable,” Officer Thompson continued. “The surgery went well, and he’s in recovery. It’ll be a while before he’s fully back on his feet, but he’s out of immediate danger.”

The knot in your stomach loosened slightly. “Thank you for letting me know.”

There was a pause on the other end.

“I know this is difficult, but you should focus on your own recovery too. There’s a chance the feds will contact you, they’re building their case on Ward. What happened to you is, unfortunately, considered a minor crime compared to everything he’s done, so maybe you’ll get some peace. If not, you might have to testify against him.”

The idea of having to testify against Ward made you uncomfortable to no end. Reliving those moments in front of a courtroom full of strangers seemed unbearable. 

“And Rafe? What are his charges?”

"He’s facing several charges, but the severity of his sentence could depend on his cooperation. If he agrees to testify against his father, the authorities might offer him a deal."

A deal. It was a slim chance, but it was something. You hated yourself for the weight that left your shoulders. He should be locked up, you knew that, back then you prayed for the day he paid for what he did and yet here you were, holding on to any possibility of freedom.

You thanked Officer Thompson again and ended the call, setting your phone down with a shaky hand. The coffee had grown cold, but you didn't have the energy to make another cup. You sat there for a long moment, staring into space, trying to gather your thoughts.

The sound of footsteps drew your attention, and you turned to see JJ standing in the doorway, his hair tousled and eyes still heavy with sleep.

“Who was that?” He asked, his voice still groggy.

“Uh—Officer Thompson. He was at the scene the other day and told me he’d keep me updated.”

JJ tilted his head, his messy bed hair following suit, “Updated on what?”

“Rafe’s condition,” You replied, the words feeling heavy on your tongue. It was a half-lie. At least you were giving him something. 

JJ stopped in his tracks, “And you care because…?”

“For closure, I guess.”

JJ’s gaze softened slightly as he walked over to the table, pulling out a chair and sitting across from you.

“You’re too good, y’know that? Personally, I don’t give a fuck if he dies.”

You winced inwardly. "JJ, you can't just say stuff like that.”

He leaned back in his chair, brows furrowed. "Why not? After everything he’s done, he deserves whatever he gets."

You couldn't argue with that, but part of you still felt the need to defend Rafe. He saved your life.

“He’s still a human being, okay?”

JJ scoffed, shaking his head. "Barely.”

You didn’t know why you suddenly felt so angry, so defensive. But it made its way up your body until your lips were moving again, practically spitting the words out.

“He saved my life.”

Your brother stared at you like you were speaking another language, “Saved your life? Are you serious? It’s his fault you were there in the first place!”

“He chose to help me. And I can't just forget that."

JJ ran a hand through his hair, clearly agitated.

"This is insane. One good deed doesn't erase all the bad he's done."

You reached for his back, “I know that.”

He pulled away from your touch, your fingers only brushing against his shirt, “Do you?”

His retreat felt like a knife to your heart. JJ had always been your rock, the one person you could count on. Seeing him look at you with such disbelief and anger made you feel more isolated than ever. He looked at you like you’d imagined in your nightmares, but the real thing felt ten times worse. 

"I’m not saying he’s a good person. I’m just saying… it’s complicated."

He paced around the kitchen table.

"Complicated? Complicated is being stuck on an island, wondering if your sister is alive or dead. Complicated is dealing with the fact that the guy who put us through hell gets to play hero for a day and suddenly he's got your sympathy."

"It's not sympathy," You insisted, your voice rising despite your best efforts to stay collected. You never raised your voice at him. "It's just... I don't know. I saw a different side of him. Maybe he can change. Or at least help put Ward away."

JJ stopped and spun around to face you, his eyes blazing. "And what if he doesn't? What if this is all part of some twisted game for him? People like Rafe don't just change, okay? They manipulate, they hurt, they destroy."

“JJ—"

“You sound exactly like her.”

You didn’t have to ask to know what he meant. Suddenly your entire soul felt like it was being drained out and slashed into pieces.

You spent a lifetime hearing it, from Luke.

A carbon copy of your mother, your punishment.

“Don’t say that.”

“That’s exactly the type of bullshit she would spit out about dad, wasn’t it? And look where it got her.”

Memories of your mother flooded back. The excuses, the false hope, and the endless cycle of pain and disappointment. You weren’t her, were you? Holding out for a man who was never going to change, who would only inflict pain upon your life? It couldn’t be. You spent your entire life making sure you were nothing like her.

It wasn’t fair.

You weren’t making excuses for Rafe as your mother did for Luke. You were just trying to find a shred of humanity in someone who had shown you a glimpse of it. You stood there, feeling the weight of his accusation like a leaden cloak.

How could he think you were blind to Rafe’s faults? You knew them all too well. Standing there in the kitchen, under the harsh morning light, you felt exposed, vulnerable, and fiercely defensive.

“I’m not her,” You finally managed to say, your voice cracking, “I’m not defending him like she did.”

“Is that what you tell yourself to make you feel better?”

Your eyes narrow into slits, “I’m not doing this with you, not right now.” 

You turned away, your fists clenched at your sides as you fought to regain your composure.

He followed you hot on your trail, "Don't walk away from me.”

"I'm not defending him," You insisted, your back still to him, “I’m just trying to understand, okay?”

“Understand what? Jesus, Rafe is who he is.”

"And maybe he can change," You shot back, the words spilling out despite the tightening knot in your chest. "Maybe he saved my life because he wants to change."

"He's manipulating you," JJ retorted, his jaw clenched. "Just like he always does. You went through some traumatic shit together, but that doesn't mean you owe him anything."

You stopped dead in your tracks, turning to face him again. Your head was tingling, the headache already forming itself, and you felt hot all-over. 

“Some traumatic shit?” You repeated, “Are you fucking serious?”

JJ raised both his hands, tangling them in his hair in frustration, “You almost died, and now you're here defending the guy who put you in that position?"

The accusation stung. You felt the heat rise in your chest. You hated fighting with your brother. You were letting your feelings for Rafe get between the two of you.

He shook his head, disappointment oozing from him in waves, "Good luck with that. Just don't expect me to sit here and act like everything's okay."

You blinked away the dryness in your eyes, "I'm not asking you to. Can't you see that maybe things aren't as black and white as they seem?"

“All I know is what he's done to us, to you."

"And what about what he did for me?" You shot back, the words bitter on your tongue.

“And what did he do exactly?" Your lips parted to speak, but words continued to spill from his mouth, “What did you do?”

You gave no reply, unblinking, short breaths escaping you. His accusation lingered in the air, challenging you to defend the indefensible. The truth was there, clawing at your mind, but you couldn't bring yourself to voice it. 

Not to JJ, not yet.

"I don't expect you to understand," You finally said, voice strained, "But I’m not turning my back on him.”

JJ's eyes narrowed; frustration etched on his face. "Why?”

“Because I want to!” You screamed even though you hadn’t meant to. Tears of frustration fell as you raised your head, “And as far as I’m concerned, I’m still my own person and I can make my own decisions.”

He opened his mouth to respond, but the words seemed to evaporate. For a moment, the kitchen was filled with nothing but the sound of your heavy breathing and the instant regret that filled your bones.

Finally, JJ spoke, his voice low and strained. "Fine. Do what you want."

You watched as he turned away, his shoulders tense with anger or disappointment – perhaps both. His footsteps echoed loudly in the quiet kitchen as he stormed out, leaving you standing there, feeling raw and exposed. It was the first time you had ever raised your voice at him, and the aftermath left a bitter taste in your mouth. 

Alone in the kitchen, you sank into your chair again, your energy completely drained. Part of you wanted to run after him, to explain, to make him understand. But he never would. None of them would.

Because unlike you, they weren’t stupid enough to sympathize with Rafe Cameron.

Sitting there, you couldn't shake the feeling that you'd crossed a line, one you might not be able to uncross. You stared at your hands, still trembling from the argument, and let out a long, shaky breath. What was it about Rafe that had such a grip on you? 

You heard the front door open and close, a clear sign that JJ had left the house. Maybe it was for the best, giving you both time to cool down. You got up to pour the coffee down the sink, the sound of the liquid swirling away a tiny comfort.

You spent the entire day locked away in your room, avoiding any kind of social interaction, or the sun. Your phone buzzed again, and for a moment, you considered ignoring it.

You picked it up, expecting another call from Officer Thompson, but the name on the screen made your heart skip a beat.

Sarah.

With a deep breath, you answered. “Hey sweets.”

“Hi,” Sarah’s voice was almost unsure. “JJ and the police called earlier, told us what happened. Are you okay? I’m on the mainland with John B, we’re taking the next ferry back home.” 

You closed your eyes, somewhat relieved that you wouldn’t have to face them yet.

“Yeah, I’m…Managing. I'm okay.”

“Good, that’s good,” There was a pause, and then she asked, “Have you heard anything about...Rafe?”

Had the hospital not called her? The question hung in the air. You had, but you didn’t know how much to share. 

“He’s stable. The surgery went well.”

Sarah sighed, “Good. That’s good to hear I guess.”

“Sarah,” You began, hesitating. “Did the hospital call you?”

There was a long silence on the other end before she replied, “Yeah. But I…I don’t know. I just couldn’t bring myself to answer. I knew it was coming after the police called. But—Yeah, it’s just, it’s really hard.”

You didn’t know what to say, “I’m so sorry.”

“You’re the only one not giving me shit about still…caring? I guess. He’s my brother, you know? And I want to hate him, so bad, but I can’t.”

"I get it, Sarah. He's your brother. It's okay to feel conflicted."

"Yeah," She exhaled heavily, "But I don't know how to deal with it. He's done so much harm, and yet. I keep hoping there's still some good left in him. I know there's no hope for my dad, but Rafe..."

She had seen him before Ward turned him into this. She still carried the guilt of reveling in their father’s approval, the clear favoritism that she never stood against for her brother, even though she could see her father’s fingers printed on Rafe’s cheeks. 

Her words echoed your inner struggle. You understood her—how love and hate could coexist in such a tangled mess when it came to family. 

 “He was good to me.”

There was a long pause.

You expected her to hang up on you, to call you a list of degrading names, all of which you felt you deserved. She had suffered deeply at the hands of her brother— the same brother you had come to care for, despite knowing the full extent of what he’d done. 

But you underestimated her.

Caught between your own anxiety and the dread of truth being exposed, you momentarily forgot just how compassionate and noble Sarah was. She possessed a goodness that mirrored your own—loyal, forgiving, and endlessly understanding.

Both lovers and fighters.

 "I know, the feds told me about the shooting," Sarah finally said, "And I think that's what makes it so hard. Picturing him as the same monster from before was a lot easier.”

You nodded even though she couldn't see you, feeling a deep ache in your chest. "Yeah."

"I don't know what to do," She confessed, her vulnerability cutting through the distance between you. "Part of me wants to see him, to talk to him. And part of me wants to never look at him again."

"I think... whatever you decide, it's okay," You offered tentatively, not entirely sure if your words were comforting or just empty platitudes.

“John B disagrees.”

“Yeah, so does JJ.”

"I appreciate you telling me about Rafe," Sarah continued, her voice softer now, more vulnerable. "I... I don't think I could have handled hearing it from anyone else."

You felt a pang of guilt. "I'm sorry you had to hear it like this, sweetheart. I wish things were different."

"We all do," she replied softly. "Thank you.”

“Of course," You said, "Take care of yourself.”

"You too. We'll see you soon, okay?"

"Yeah. See you soon."

The call ended, and you stared at your phone for a long moment, the screen dark and lifeless, much like yourself lately. 

You spent the next few days in a haze, avoiding JJ and the rest of your friends as much as possible. You’d only seen Sarah. Somehow her presence didn’t make you feel as nervous as you thought. It weirdly calmed you down. You’d always been close, ever since she joined the group, but now you felt like she was the only one who understood your point of view. 

You knew Pope and Kie wouldn’t, and you couldn’t blame them.

Sarah never pushed you to talk, never demanded explanations. Instead, she just sat with you, shared a laugh or two, and let the silence speak for itself. It was a strange comfort; one you hadn’t realized you needed until it was there.

The small house felt like a prison. It wasn’t until a week later, as you sat on the beach watching the waves crash against the shore, that your phone buzzed with a message. It was the officer: "Rafe’s awake."

Your heart leaped into your throat. You still hadn’t told anyone the full extent of what had happened between you and him, and you weren’t sure you ever could. They knew he was in the hospital, that you two had gotten caught in a shooting, that he’d somehow saved your life. That was it. But now, with him awake…You didn’t know what to do.

With trembling hands, you dialed the number the officer had provided. After a few rings, someone answered.

"Hello, this is St. Michael Hospital. How can I help you?"

You snap out of your daze, "Hi, I'm calling to check on a patient, Rafe Cameron. I was told he’s awake."

There was a pause, the sound of keyboard keys clicking. "Yes, Mr. Cameron is awake. Are you a family member?"

“No. Uh, a friend, I guess—” You were about to ramble, not too certain of what to say, but settled for, “Can you tell him Maybank’s calling?”

“Okay, just a minute please.”

The hold music was the only thing keeping you centered on the moment, each note heightening your anxiety. When the nurse returned, her tone was pitiful, and you knew then that you weren’t going to like her answer.

"I’m sorry. Mr. Cameron has requested not to speak with you," she said. "Is there anything else I can assist you with?"

You wanted to hurl the phone into the ocean, plunge your head underwater, and only resurface when the ringing in your ears ceased.

 What the hell? 

You had spent weeks on edge, consumed by thoughts of him, hoping he would survive, praying for him despite not believing in that sort of thing. You didn't have it in you to put up a fight.

"No, that's all. Thank you." You ended the call and stared at your phone. 

Rafe didn’t want to speak with you.

You felt foolish, as if you were just now glimpsing the bigger picture and recognizing that maybe he didn’t care after all. Perhaps, on the island, you were the one thing keeping him grounded, but now? Now you were back to being a nobody, just a pogue.

It felt like everything you had shared was for nothing.

Had you imagined it? No, you knew you hadn’t.

Rafe had kissed you and touched you with the tenderness of a lover, as if you were precious and any rough movement might break you.

The moments you had shared, the way he had saved your life—maybe they didn’t mean as much to him as they did to you. The bond you thought you had formed with Rafe was, perhaps, a desperate attempt to find something good in the chaos.

The waves crashed against the shore, the sound a distant roar as you sat on the sand, a storm brewing inside. You tried to hold it together, to keep the facade of normalcy for a little longer, but it was getting harder with each passing day. This felt like it was the final straw.

Without warning, a scream ripped from your throat, raw and unfiltered. It echoed across the empty beach, a primal release of everything you had been bottling up.

The anger, the confusion, the hurt—it all came pouring out in that one moment. Tears streamed down your face, mixing with the salty sea breeze.

You hadn’t cried properly in weeks. 

You screamed until your throat was raw, until you had nothing left to give. The sun cast long shadows on the sand, the beach deserted except for you. Collapsing back onto the sand, you let the tears flow freely. 

There was no one to judge you, no one to see you fall apart. You’d spent a lifetime pulling yourself together, it was only fair you finally got to breathe properly. When the tears subsided, you wiped your face with the back of your hand and took a shuddering breath. The tightness in your chest began to ease, replaced by a hollow ache.

You were many things, but none of them were weak and yet...It was almost unbearable, the way your mind replayed every interaction, every look, every word, searching for signs you might have missed, clues that would have warned you not to get attached.

The sound of footsteps in the sand pulled you from your thoughts.

You turned to see JJ approaching. Your heart sank; you weren’t ready to face him after the argument. He sat down next to you, silent for a moment as he followed your gaze out to the horizon.

When he finally spoke, his voice was softer than you expected.

“I’ve been thinking about what you said.”

You nodded, unsure of what to say.

“I’m sorry for what I said about Mom,” he continued, his tone filled with regret. “I shouldn’t have compared you to her. That wasn’t fair.”

You swallowed hard, the tension easing slightly from your shoulders. “It’s okay, JJ. I know you didn’t mean it.”

“I did, and I didn’t,” he admitted. “I just... I don’t want to see you get hurt. I don’t trust him, and I hate that you’ve been caught up in all this.”

“He doesn’t want to talk to me.”

He glanced at you, eyebrow raised. “What do you mean?”

“I called the hospital. They said he’s awake, but he doesn’t want to speak with me.”

Your brother frowned, his protective instincts flaring up. “That fucking asshole. After everything—”

You shook your head, cutting him off gently. “Maybe it’s for the best. Maybe he’s right.”

JJ’s expression softened, and he reached out, placing a hand on your shoulder.

“Hey, don’t do that. Don’t blame yourself. You did nothing wrong.”

A lump formed in your throat, but you nodded, trying to believe his words. “I just... I thought there was more to it. That maybe he could change.”

“People like Rafe... it’s hard to change.”

“Yeah.”

 “But that doesn’t mean you’re wrong for wanting to see the good in him.”

He spoke with such gentleness and wisdom. You forgot he wasn’t a kid anymore. That he’d also done his fair share of growing up way too fast. 

You leaned into his touch, “I know.”

“We’ll get through this,” JJ said firmly. “Together. You and me, like always.”

 “Love you.”

“Love you too.”

As the sun began to set, casting a warm glow over the beach, you and JJ sat there in silence. The waves continued to crash against the shore, a reminder that life moved forward, even when it felt like everything was falling apart.

Maybe things would never go back to the way they were, but you had your brother, your friends, and a resilience you hadn’t known you possessed. 

⋆ ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ⋆ ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ⋆ ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ⋆ ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ⋆ ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ⋆ ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

Six months had passed since that day.

Life had settled into a fragile semblance of normalcy. The days were longer now, summer heat pressing down on The Cut, making the air thick and heavy. You had spent the afternoon alone, lounging in the living room with a half-read book and a broken fan that did little to ease the stifling heat. 

You were lost in your book when a loud, insistent banging on the door jolted you from your reverie. Few people would knock with such urgency.

The forceful banging on the door didn’t stop and you jolted upright.

Without thinking, you got up and flung the door open, irritation flaring. "What the f—"

Your words caught in your throat as you saw him standing there. 

"Rafe?" You blurted out. You immediately tried to close the door in his face, but he was quick. His hand shot out, holding it open, "Are you kidding me?" You hissed, pushing harder against the door.

"Maybank—"

"If you don't get off my property, I swear to fucking God—"

"Wait!" Rafe's voice was strained, his hand trembling as he held the door open. "Just listen for a second."

You glared at him, every instinct telling you to push harder, to shut him out. But something in his eyes—fear, desperation, a flicker of the Rafe you once knew—gave you pause.

The last time you saw him, he was bleeding out and terrifyingly pale.

The last update you had on him was from Sarah, months ago. He had left the hospital and kept sporadic contact, reaching out to her only every few weeks.

You never asked her about his well-being or what he was doing; despite guessing that he was cooperating with the police. At least you hoped he was. 

You were determined not to care anymore.

He leaned his weight against the doorframe, “You look good.”

You were going to slap the lack of common sense out of him. 

You scoffed, not letting your guard down. “What are you doing here?”

He looked down, struggling to find the words as he scratched the back of his head, “I... I needed to see you. To talk.”

“And I need you to crawl back to whatever hole you just creeped out of, have a good day.”

You tried to push the door shut again, but his grip tightened. “Please, just give me a minute.”

“You had six months.”

“I know, and I’m sorry. I was— It’s messed up, okay? I’m still working with the feds. I was losing it. Still am, probably. But I need to explain. Please, Maybank, just a minute.”

You hesitated the anger and hurt battling against the small, lingering part of you that still cared.

Finally, you stepped back, letting the door open just enough for him to enter.

“Talk,” you said, your voice icy.

Rafe stepped inside, looking around your small living room as if seeing it for the first time, which you now realized he'd never been in your house.

He turned to face you, his expression earnest. “I didn’t know what to say. I felt—“, He took a deep breath, cheeks puffing, “Ashamed. I don’t know.”

You crossed your arms over your chest, keeping a safe distance between you.

“Ashamed? You’ve done a lot of things to be ashamed of. You can’t just show up after six months and expect everything to be fine.”

“I know,” He admitted, taking a deliberate small step closer to you, “I wasn’t expecting that. I just... I wanted to tell you that I’m trying. I’m in therapy and rehab, trying to get clean. I’ve been going to meetings. It’s been hell, but I’m trying.”

You looked at him, searching for any sign of deceit. His eyes were clear, more focused than you had ever seen them. “Why should I believe you?”

He took a deep breath, visibly struggling to find the right words.

“Because you’re the only person who ever saw anything good in me. And I can’t forget that. I don’t deserve it, but I need you to know that your faith in me wasn’t for nothing.”

The vulnerability in his voice took you by surprise. You had expected anger, arrogance, manipulation—but this was different. Genuine. It felt like you were back in that motel room, in his arms.

You let out a scoff, focusing your gaze on the couch you were just resting on, as you shifted your weight on your feet. “Is that all?”

Rafe's eyes darted to the floor, “No, it’s not all. I just—Shit. I need to make things right. With you. I don’t know how, but I need to try.”

You took a deep breath.

Part of you wanted to believe him, to give him another chance, but the other part of you—the part that had been hurt and abandoned—was screaming not to fall for it again.

“You didn’t even want to talk to me when you woke up.”

He looked up, guilt etched across his features. “I didn’t know how to face you after everything that happened. I was a mess.”

“So you shut me out?” You snapped, “You made me feel like I meant nothing.”

“That’s not true,” He snapped back, head whipping up, then immediately softened his tone, taking another step closer. “That’s not true. You mean more to me than you’ll ever know. I was getting better for you."

“Don’t lie to me.”

Rafe looked offended, eyes zeroing in on your lips before his gaze met yours. That's when you felt it again, “I never lied to you.”

“Cameron.”

Another step closer. His eyes pleading with you to understand. 

You were staring up at him now, the look on your face completely unreadable. You were waiting for an answer, but he had a feeling that no matter what answer he gave, it wouldn't make a difference.

"I never lied to you," He repeated, his voice shaking slightly. "I was scared and confused, but I never lied.”

You felt your anger rising again, every muscle in your body tensing as you tried to keep control. “Scared and confused? That’s your excuse?”

Rafe flinched at your words, but he didn't back down. “I know how it sounds. I handled it all wrong. I’m trying to fix it.”

“You think saying sorry and showing up out of the blue makes it better? It doesn't erase the months of silence.”

His hands reached out, his palms open as if he was dealing with a wounded animal. “I’m not asking for forgiveness right away. I just want a chance to make things right.”

“You don’t get it, do you?” You spat, your voice trembling with emotion, “How it felt, watching you almost die. I spent days wondering if you were going to be—” 

You stopped yourself, knowing that if you continued your voice would crack and the tears would start pouring down your cheeks.

You already cried enough for him. 

Rafe’s expression softened, and he reached out tentatively, his hand stopping inches from your arm. “I’m sorry, baby.”

You took a step back, putting more distance between you, needing the space to think clearly. “I needed you to be sorry six months ago.”

It’s only then, when your brain cleared slightly that you noticed he looked different. His hair had been buzzed, his skin looked tanner than the last time you’d seen him, he looked healthier. 

Rafe noticed your eyes wandering to his head and ran a hand through his short hair, a hint of a self-conscious smile flickering across his lips. “Yeah, I uh, made some changes. Trying to start over, I guess.”

You nodded slightly, not quite trusting yourself to speak. Finally, you broke the silence, your voice steadier now.

“I’m happy for you, but I can’t do this.”

“Pretty—"

You sighed, rubbing your temples as you cut him off, “I feel guilty enough as it is around everyone else.”

“I told Sarah.”

His words hit you like a punch to your gut. 

“What?”

“About us.”

You felt your stomach drop and your vision narrow, the world tilting sideways as the reality of what he just said sank in. “You what?”

“I told her.” 

“You absolute fucking—” You hissed, your voice rising without warning, “Are you serious?!”

“I thought it was the right thing to do,” His tone faltered to one that could’ve fallen on deaf ears if not attentive enough. “I needed someone to talk to, and she’s…my sister.”

“You thought it was the right thing to do?” You were shouting now, unable to contain your anger. “You think spilling everything to Sarah was the right thing to do? Did you ever consider how that might affect me? Or her?”

Rafe flinched, taking a step back. “I didn’t think it would be this bad.”

“Of course you didn’t,” You nearly growled, pacing the small living room. “You never think about anyone but yourself, do you?”

“Listen— “ He opened his mouth undoubtedly to fire back with another half-assed apology - but you barreled forward, letting the months of bottled resentment continue to burst open.

“You’re so selfish.”

“She promised she wouldn’t tell anyone,” His throat bobbed in an audible gulp, “It’s okay.”

“You really believe that?” You stopped pacing and turned to face him, your hands clenched into fists at your sides. “This is too much for her to keep to herself. It’ll eat away at her until she tells someone. And when that happens, my life here is over.”

Rafe looked stricken, his face pale. “I just—I needed someone to understand what I’m going through.”

For the first time, he took the time to explain what was going on in his head instead of letting his frustrations take over and kissing you.

“And what about what I’m going through?” You demanded. “Did you ever stop to think about that? I’ve been trying to move on, to rebuild my life, and you just waltz back in and blow everything up.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice barely a whisper. “I’m so sorry.”

You spotted his sun-kissed freckles. They wouldn’t be noticeable if you hadn’t looked at him so closely before.

“Sorry doesn’t fix this,” Bitterness began to overpower the pit of your heaving chest, “Sorry doesn’t make it go away. You can’t just undo what you’ve done.”

“I know,” One shaky hand scrubbed over his face, refusing to meet your wide-eyed stare., “But I’ll do whatever it takes to make it right. I swear.”

“Make it right? You can’t make this right, Rafe.”

“I don’t know what else to do,” he said, his voice breaking. “I’m trying, pretty. I really am.”

You felt a smidge of sympathy despite your anger. You could see the pain and desperation in his eyes, the same pain and desperation you had felt for the past six months. But that didn’t change the fact that he left you hanging for so long.

“I need you to leave,” you said finally, your voice cold and distant.

You expected him to put up a fight, to lash out, hide his emotions with empty threats and petty names. But he didn’t.

Instead, he nodded, his shoulders slumping slightly as he turned to leave. You watched him go in silence.

Part of you wanted to run after him, to give him another chance, to believe that he could change. But another part—the part that had been wounded and left to heal on its own—knew that it wasn’t that simple.

You had to protect yourself, even if it meant shutting him out for good.

Rafe paused in the doorway, his back to you. His voice was barely above a whisper, but it carried clearly through the thick air. "I don’t regret it," he repeated, his shoulders tensing as he spoke.

You blinked, taken aback. "What?"

He turned slightly, just enough for you to see the raw honesty in his eyes. "I don’t regret what happened. Between us. I regret how I handled it, how I hurt you, but I don’t regret feeling something real for once."

The words hung in the air, and for a moment, the suffocating heat seemed to dissipate, replaced by a cold clarity. You crossed your arms tighter around yourself, trying to hold onto your anger, your resolve. But his words had hit a nerve, bringing back memories you’d tried so hard to bury.

You looked away, unable to look at him, "It doesn’t change anything."

"I know.”

With that, he turned and walked out the door, the door clicking shut behind him, leaving you standing there. The room felt emptier than it hand in months as you leaned your forehead against the cool wood over the door.

You pushed away from the door, needing something to distract yourself. 

You picked up your book, but the words blurred on the page. You tossed it aside, your thoughts too chaotic to focus. Instead, you paced the small living room, replaying the conversation in your mind.

You eventually collapsed onto the couch, staring blankly at the ceiling. You did the right thing, so why did it hurt so bad? 

You felt like a wound had been reopened, and you hated him for it.

But you hated yourself more for letting him get to you. The hours dragged on, the sun dipping below the horizon and casting long shadows through the windows. You tried to lose yourself in anything—TV, reading, cleaning—but nothing could shake the gnawing feeling of unresolved problems that clung to you.

You only saw Rafe's face, his desperate eyes, his trembling hands.

You remembered the feel of his skin, the sound of his voice when he was vulnerable. The memories were too real, too persistent. You couldn't bring yourself to explain it to yourself. Your eyes begin to itch, warning you to think of something else.

Anything else but Rafe.

Was this heartbreak? No—it couldn't be. 

You weren't in love with Rafe Cameron.

 At least, you didn't think you were.

You had never allowed yourself to consider it, to dwell on what you felt for him. But now, in the stillness of your small living room…it was different. You never had a good parental figure to teach you these things.

All you knew was destruction, violence, and heartbreak. And although you’d done pretty well for yourself, all things considered, this was new to you.

The thought hit you like a tidal wave, overwhelming and inescapable.

You had tried so hard to suppress your feelings, to deny the depth of your connection with him. But this…wasn’t something that could be easily forgotten or ignored. You had been so afraid to admit it, fearing that acknowledging would destroy you. 

You were in love with Rafe Cameron. 

[pepperonijem]

iii. tell me your favorite love song || to.you

"i wanna sing it with you."

summary: Council meeting! It's time for you to reminisce on failed dates and first confessions with Eren, Mikasa, Armin, and Jean! pairing: Levi Ackerman x gn!reader content: cursing, floch slander lol songs mentioned: completely - jaehyun

A/N: this chapter is definitely more filler, but I had to split it up because it was hitting well over 10k words for one chapter lol.

let me know if you'd like to be tagged! comments and rb's are appreciated :)

previous chapter || masterlist || next chapter

“Did you… Did you write that yourself?”

The last note from the piano seemed to echo through the room for a while before Levi finally turned to look at you.

“Yeah,” he answered quietly. “Just finished it last night actually.” Levi looked down at the piano keys as his fingers ghosted over them, touching them with enough pressure to push down but not make a sound. “What did you think of it?” he asked. He seemed more vulnerable than you had seen him before, like you were seeing him in a way he wasn’t even used to seeing himself.

“It’s really good,” you answered. You weren’t really sure what else to say. It was good, it felt personal, like something more than just a catchy song. He had used your words, that had to mean something, but you weren’t sure what. “Was that part about the coffee–”

“From you?” Levi interrupted. Although he was looking away from you, you could see his ears turn pink. “Yeah, it was. I’m glad you noticed.”

You felt something flutter away at your chest. “I’m glad I could help you out,” you replied. If he wasn’t going to say anything more than that, then you would just take it for what it was. Levi nodded but didn’t reply. “I’m really flattered that I got to hear it first.”

Levi finally looked up at you. “Of course,” his head tilted. “Who else would I play it for?” As if it was the most obvious thing.

You’re sure your eyes widened in surprise and your cheeks definitely went pink, because almost immediately, Levi coughed and added, “You helped me write it so obviously you’d hear it first.” Right. That’s all. He was just offering something in return.

“Oh,” you began. Not sure if the sigh that escaped your lips was relief or disappointment. “Well if you ever need to write another song, you know where to find me. Though maybe I should start charging.” You hoped your tone was as light and playful as you intended it to be.

Levi let out a soft chuckle as he shook his head. Good. “Name your price.” 

Before you could add on, his phone buzzed against the wood of the piano before he reached out to check it.

“It’s Hange,” he explained. “Apparently we have band practice in 20.” He pocketed his phone before turning back to you with an apologetic smile. “I’ll see you around?”

His eyes seemed to twinkle under the fluorescents of the practice room and you felt your heart thud against your chest. He smiled. “See you around.”

Levi left right after that, and you found yourself stuck in the room thinking about his song. Your fingers pressed against some of the keys that you remember him playing, as if looking for a code to see what he was thinking. It felt… electric, to have something, not quite a secret, between the two of you. You couldn’t help but imagine him singing it on stage, no one else knowing that a little bit of you existed in the lyrics of his song. 

You found yourself wishing that you could hear him sing your song — the song about yo– the song he wrote that just so happened to include your words and seemed to describe exactly how you were feeling about him – again. Maybe he’d say it was for you.

Maybe he’d say it was how he felt about you too.

Later that night, you found yourself at Eren and Mikasa’s place, laying on their sofa with your head in Mikasa’s lap. You had sent out a text to your group chat, in desperate need of more minds on the case. A knock sounded on the door and Eren stood up to answer the door. You heard him groan immediately as it swung open.

“Why the hell are you here?” Eren spoke. It was immediately obvious from his lack of enthusiasm that he was not speaking to Armin.

You heard Armin’s voice reply. “I heard this was a council meeting,” he explained nonchalantly as he walked in with two boxes of pizza and a smug looking Jean behind him. “I saw Jean on my way here and figured he could be helpful.” The two of them smiled and waved as they walked into the living room and set the pizzas down on the coffee table.

“I don’t let strays into my place, Armin,” Eren huffed as he shut the door behind him, letting Jean into his place anyway.

Mikasa rolled her eyes and you chuckled as she chastised Eren. “Whatever, babe,” you felt her chuckle. “Just last week you pulled over in the parking garage and caused a 15 minute traffic jam because you stopped to pick up a lost cat.”

Eren’s cheeks reddened as he relented. Pouty as he was, he could never say no to Mikasa. Walking over, he lifted your legs as he sat down next to her before letting you rest them in his lap. “You didn’t need to announce it,” he whined as Mikasa leaned over to kiss his cheek.

“Anyway,” Armin chuckled, moving to sit beside Jean against the coffee table and facing the three of you. “We haven’t called a council meeting like this since Eren went through his emo phase.” Armin looked over at Jean as he explained.

“You would have an emo phase,” Jean sneered at Eren.

“You probably had one too, dickhead.” Eren countered.

“Yeah, if you count Justin Bieber as emo,” Jean rolled his eyes.

“Jean…” Armin began softly. “That’s… that’s not any better.” Armin patted his back as Jean looked away in embarrassment. Everyone laughed lightheartedly at that, even Jean… eventually.

“Okay,” you began, drawing out the last syllable. “Now that we’ve determined that Eren and Jean are both dorks, we can get to the problem at hand.”

“Hey!” Eren and Jean both shouted in offense. 

You sat up and reached for a slice of pizza before you continued. You weren’t particularly sure of how to approach the subject, but you also knew that after five seconds of silence, Eren would begin prodding at you. Maybe it was like ripping off a bandaid?

“I think Levi likes me.”

The silence was deafening. You weren’t really sure what to expect, but silence from everyone, especially Eren, was not it. Mikasa, definitely. Armin, maybe, he liked to think before he responded. Jean, from what you’d come to know, tended to hold off on offering advice until he heard others’ perspectives. Eren, however, was always one to speak whatever was in his mind, to refine his thoughts aloud.

“Did you all hear me? I said–”

“No, we heard you the first time,” Eren said, still staring at you with wide eyes. “Levi? Like 5’3” lead singer of No Name that looks like he wants to beat my ass every 10 minutes, Levi?”

You nodded back. Looking around the room, everyone seemed to be in a similar state of shock. Mikasa was resting her chin on a closed fist and her eyes were full of intrigue. Armin had a brow raised quizzingly, and Jean’s mouth was wide open until something settled in his brain and his lips pressed together in a smirk.

“I totally called it,” Jean beamed. “Didn’t I tell you he was singing right at you that one night?” 

You recalled Jean’s words from the first Halloween party you saw Levi at and you nodded. Levi did seem to have his eye on you that time.

“Nope, no, no,” Eren stood up. There was the Eren you knew. You sat up as well.“Levi doesn’t sing to people, he just sings and then glares from the stage. He glares at everyone.”

Eren also had a point. You’d known Levi to be exceptionally grouchy, and to make no exceptions for who he glares at. Maybe he was glaring at you for dancing with Jean, who he didn’t seem too fond of.

“What makes you think he likes you?” Armin asked curiously.

“I… He wrote a song about me?” you offered sheepishly as Eren’s eyes somehow got wider.

“He what?” Everyone asked in unison.

“I–” you stammered. “Well he never said it was about me, but he did use my line.”

Eren was pacing around the room now. “What was the line he used?”

“Something about the first coffee shop run in autumn.”

Recognition lit up in his eyes as you mentioned the lyric and he paused his movements. “He also used a line from Erwin in that song,” Eren thought aloud. “And I think he had a line about the drums that Hange had said about Miche.”

Oh, you thought to yourself. You couldn’t help but feel… disappointed. Eren’s words were sobering, and you felt yourself shrink. It was true, you had only met him a handful of times. Why would he write about you? Mikasa seemed to sense your deflating mood because she leaned over to wrap an arm around you. You smiled at her in return. 

Upon noticing your mood, Eren let out a sigh. He sat back down beside you and when he spoke again, his voice was softer. “Look, it’s not that I don’t want him to like you,” he began. “It’s just that… well, Levi’s the most emotionally unavailable guy I know. I’ve never so much as heard him say the word ‘happy’ outside of a song. I just don’t want you to build him up in your head just to get hurt by reality.” He looked at you knowingly.

Armin nodded along. “Eren’s right,” he agreed. “Being in love with the idea of someone is as good as handing your heart over to be broken. You shouldn’t have to put yourself through that again.” 

Again.

You remember that night freshman year that you were supposed to go on a date with a guy named Floch.

Floch had come up to where you and Eren were sitting and having lunch out on the quad. It was a breezy spring morning and you recall the way Floch’s red hair blew across his face as he approached the two of you with an easy smile. You gave Eren a ‘do you know this guy?’ look as he shook his head no.

“Hey,” he had said to you, pointedly ignoring Eren. 

“Hey…” you answered politely but cautiously as you looked over at Eren. Eren was eyeing him suspiciously.

“I just wanted to let you know how good you look in this light,” he spoke again with a charming smile and his hand extended out for a handshake. “I’m Floch.” You blushed at him and slipped your hand in his as you introduced yourself. Eren’s eyes sharpened into a dangerous glare when Floch twisted your hand in his and brushed his lips against your knuckles. He coughed and finally drew the redhead’s attention to him. 

“I’m Eren,” he said and reached his hand out, knuckles up, to mock Floch.

Floch simply laughed and nodded his head. His eyes fixed into a cold stare that contrasted his smile. “Hey man.” 

Floch reached over for one of the napkins that sat between you and Eren and pulled out of a pen and wrote down his number. “Text me?” And when you nodded, he walked away, back to his group of friends who jovially patted him on the back at his return.

“That guy is an absolute creep,” Eren breathed out, not bothering to wait for him to be completely out of earshot.

“Eren…” you warned. “He seemed nice, and he was kind of cute.” You pulled out your phone.

“He looks like half the guys on this campus,” Eren rolled his eyes as he looked at the number written on your napkin. “Don’t text him.”

“Too late,” you replied, as you hit send on a message.

Once Mikasa and Armin found out about it, they were on his side. 

Floch had asked you out on a date immediately upon seeing your message and that Friday night, Armin and Eren had come over to the dorm room that you and Mikasa shared. You were in the middle of getting ready, still trying to settle on an outfit and the two of them were sitting on Mikasa’s twin bed watching you with interest. 

Mikasa stood by you at your wardrobe, helping you pick and choose tops for your outfit while Armin deeply sighed.

“Are you sure we can’t convince you to not go?” Mikasa prodded even as she handed you another piece. You held it against your body to check it in your reflection before shaking your head and handing it to her.

“Guys,” you pleaded. “I really like him. I don’t see what the issue is.”

You watched Eren scoff and make eye contact with you in the mirror. His bright eyes watching yours carefully. “I can give you a list. Alphabetized even.”

You turned to glare at him. “Bite me, Yaeger.” Floch had joined you and Eren and Armin for lunch the next afternoon with a fully cooked meal for you and a bouquet of flowers, and since then, you and Eren had been arguing about him since then. Even Armin was skeptical of him and how he seemed to love-bomb you, as he called it, right after meeting you. “It’s nice to be with a guy that’s so direct about how he feels about me.”

“That’s the problem,” Armin spoke up. “Isn’t he a little too interested? The flowers, coming to your classes with breakfast, like that’s nice, but you’ve known him for all of two days. He hasn’t even asked about your major.”

You chewed your lip. You could argue with Eren all day long, but Armin had always been able to get you to see reason, even if you chose to ignore it. Which you did. There was only 15 minutes left before the time Floch said he’d pick you up, and you decided you were too far in to text him now.

“Armin’s right,” Mikasa said. “And he’s been a shit texter, hasn’t he?”

“Okay, but not everyone is a good texter,” you argued. You grabbed one last outfit option and walked into the bathroom to change. “Misa, you barely send five words in a single text on a good day.” You walked back out after changing and watched as Armin and Eren and Mikasa gave you a reluctant thumbs up.

You settled onto your own bed and Mikasa sat beside you and fussed with the collar of your top. “Shouldn’t that jackass be here soon?” Eren sighed.

“Yeah,” you replied. “He said 7, so five more minutes.”

At 7 p.m., Floch was nowhere to be found.

At 7:15 p.m. he hadn’t answered any of your texts.

At 7:38 p.m. you got a call from Floch. Who butt-dialed you. From the club. With his friends who congratulated him on getting a girl to fall for him in a record-breaking five days.

At 7:45 you were crying into Mikasa’s arms.

At 8 p.m. Eren said, “A guy who likes you isn’t going to see you as a challenge to be won.”

“Woah woah woah,” Jean chimed in. “How do you know that he’s emotionally unavailable?”

Jean’s voice brought you back to the situation at hand.

You’re not quite sure why you were suddenly feeling defensive. Armin and Eren had only ever looked out for your best interests, especially after that incident with Floch. But when you remember how shy Levi got after he finished playing, and how open he was with you the night before, a part of you desperately wanted them to be wrong.

“Have you met him?” Mikasa chuckled. “That man is the definition of ‘if looks could kill.’ He only looks nice when he’s on stage.”

“Well he can’t be all bad if he can write songs that are so… personal” Jean continued to ask. Armin was right to bring him. His presence was refreshing. 

“You somehow manage to be passing psych when you’re an absolute dumbass,” Eren countered. Mikasa swatted at him and he immediately folded. “Sorry. Instinct. What I meant to say was that Levi holds his cards close to his chest, not necessarily that he doesn’t have feelings.”

“My question still stands,” Jean replied. “How can you write songs like that and be emotionally unavailable?”

Eren looked at him with frustration. “It’s not that hard,” he retorted.

Again, Mikasa swatted at his arm and shot him a glare.

“I mean I imagine it’s not that hard.”

Jean rolled his eyes before continuing. “No offense dude,” he began as Eren scowled at him. “But you are the biggest loverboy I’ve ever met. It’s pretty obvious which songs you had a hand in writing because they’re so very clearly about Mikasa and so very clearly written by a simp.” 

“First of all, how would you know?” Eren accused. “And second of all… which songs?” he blushed as Jean smirked. He was a lot more perceptive than he let on.

Jean cleared his throat as he began to sing… croak, more like. 

“Oh, show me a map of your soul Every second from now I’m gonna love you completely.”

Jean only stopped when Eren lobbed a pillow at his face, but it didn’t stop him from laughing. That was the song you’d danced with Jean to the first night. 

He was right. 

Eren wrote that song when the four of you were still in high school, when he and Mikasa had first started dating. It was the night of the winter formal and you, him, and Armin had spent weeks coming up with the perfect plan for him to confess to her and Eren was more nervous than you’d ever seen him.

“Are you guys sure I have to tell her?” Eren had sweat dripping down his forehead even as you stood on the balcony of the ballroom in the middle of December. He had already pulled his coat off, left only in his white button up and red tie, both of which he’d undone a bit to try to cool himself off.

“Yes!” you and Armin both cried out.

“But what if she hates me after this?”

“Do you know how stupid you sound right now?” you scoffed at him, your breath coming out in puffs in front of you.

“But–”

“No buts, Eren,” Armin chastised. “Mikasa deserves to know.”

“And you both deserve to be happy,” you added. “She’s going to love this.”

Eren, with a nod of determination, reached for his guitar case and shook his fingers out, trying to warm them up. Armin gave you a quick nod and you were thankful to be able to get out of the cold.

You walked back into the ballroom to find Mikasa already wearing a coat. The dancing was still in full swing and the band that the school had hired was playing some slow jazz standards. Under the glow of the warm lights, you could see your hands regaining color after having to hype your nervous friend up for over 20 minutes in the cold. She smiled when she saw you approach. “Headed somewhere?” you had asked her.

“Yeah,” she sighed. “I couldn’t find you guys, so I thought I’d go out to the balcony for a breather.”

Perfect. You smiled sweetly at her as she raised an eyebrow. She knew something was up, but Mikasa in all her kindness was never one to fight against one of your schemes. “Oh? I’ll walk you out.”

You slipped your arm into hers and reached for your phone with your other hand, shooting Armin a text, telling him to clear out. He found the two of you just as you reached the french doors. His cheeks were pale with a bright spot of red that stretched across his cheeks and his blonde hair was disheveled from the wind.

“Oh hey,” Armin said casually. He pulled you away from Mikasa as she looked at the two of you with confusion. “Sorry, we just have to, uh, discuss some things. But the balcony’s free.”

“Thanks…” Mikasa said skeptically. The two of you watched as she finally walked out of eyesight before Armin grabbed you by the wrist and dragged you upstairs to another balcony. 

“Armin, you suck at bluffing,” you chuckled at him as he rolled his eyes.

Once you were both settled, you and Armin headed towards the railing. You could hear Eren’s voice crack as he spoke to Mikasa, “I wrote a song for you.” Armin looked at you curiously as you reached for the tie of your coat and began to wrap it around your phone.

“What the hell are you doing?” Armin whisper-shouted to you. He made no moves to stop you. 

“They’ll want a video of this,” you explained matter-of-factly. “Now hand me your tie, it’s not long enough.”

With a roll of his eyes, he obeyed and you knotted the two ties together. Armin made sure the phone was secure and hit record before leaning over the balcony to dangle your phone over the edge. You and Armin both listened in awe as you listened to Eren sing. 

It wasn’t the first time you’d heard him play the guitar, but it was the first time you’d heard his voice. You didn’t think he had it in him to carry a tune, honestly, but he did surprisingly well.

Jean’s voice snapped you out of your memories. “Was I right?” he questioned smugly.

Mikasa smiled as she looked over at a blushing Eren. “Yeah, you were.”

“See?” he raised an eyebrow at you as he continued. “All I’m saying is that maybe that song was about you, and maybe he only knows how to express his feelings through music. I don’t think it’s a reach.” Jean put his hands up in defense as he finished his statement.

“Well look,” Armin conceded. “Jean has a point. Some people are better at expressing themselves in other ways, like some people are acts of service people.” He pointed over at you. “Like how you make sure Eren and Jean always have class notes when they need it.”

He pointed at Mikasa. “Physical touch,” he explained. “You don’t say much, but you know when to put an arm around someone who’s sad.” 

Finally at Jean. “Quality time.” Jean scoffed as he wondered how Armin read him so easily. “You don’t have to hang out with us if you don’t want to, but you’re here.”

“Whatever,” Jean mumbled, but his cheeks turned pink anyway. Jean was perceptive, but Armin could read any person and a situation upside down and backwards.

“Well how does that help me?” you asked. “We can speculate about Levi’s feelings all day long… but I’d like to have a concrete answer.”

Armin’s eyes lit up as he devised a plan.

“Eren, what did you say your psych project was again?”

“To spend time with… oh no,” Eren trailed off as he watched the all too familiar mischievous glint in Armin’s eyes. He sat up straighter. “Armin, don’t include me in your plans.” “What?” Jean asked. “What are you planning, blondie?”

“Well, if you and Levi just so happen to do things together, and Jean and Eren just so happen to be there too,” Armin explained with a smug smile. “Then you can have them keep track of whether or not there are signs that Levi’s actually into you.”

Eren groaned as Jean laughed heartily. “That sounds so fun, actually,” Jean said. Armin returned his grin.

“It really doesn’t,” Eren countered. “Why can’t you and Mikasa go?” he asked Armin.

“I’m busy working on my own projects,” Mikasa shrugged. She smiled smugly as she continued. “Armin has his capstone.” If Mikasa was on board, so was Eren, however reluctant he may be.

“So it has to be you and Jean,” Armin confirmed to Eren. “Plus you guys will keep each other balanced, since Eren is a skeptic and Jean is a believer. And you guys get a good grade on your project.”

“C’mon, jackass,” Jean rolled his eyes at Eren. “It’s only a few more weeks till the end of the semester.”

Usually, you and Armin were the schemers of the group. One of you would come up with a plan, and the other would be ready to make it happen. This time however, you had a weird feeling. Anticipation? Excitement? You didn’t have time to decide, because soon, all eyes were on you.

“What do you think?” Armin asked. You scanned their faces. Jean and Armin looked at you with excitement. Mikasa also seemed interested in this plan. Eren, though he tried to hide it, also raised an eyebrow in interest.

“Ah,” you sighed. “What the hell? Why not?”

a/n: originally, i was gonna make floch a guy who tried to date you to convince you to join a cult (bc surprisingly, when i was in university, cult recruitment was a big thing?) but decided to make him a jack-ass instead. also the idea of Eren being a "can i sing for u" type of guy is so funny to me and you can't convince me that if he had a little sibling he wouldn't be a protective overbearing little shit.

[missfrustration]

thirty-six pushups (serirei mp100 nsfw fic)

rating: explicit 18+, minors do not interact!

pairing: serizawa katsuya x reigen arataka

tags: pwp, smut, anal sex, fingering, top serizawa, bottom reigen, sweet/hot, hand jobs, boss/employee, office sex, desk sex, first time, loss of virginity, spit as lube, whimpering, old men yaoi, and yes pushups.

A/n: as soon as the pushup challenge on tiktok started popping off, I knew I had to make this. guys IFKYK. on ao3 here!

word count: 4.9k

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

“I’m telling you, Serizawa! If Mob can do it, I can too!” 

Reigen stands before Serizawa in the Spirits and Such Consultation Office, looking childishly proud.

This conversation sparked after Serizawa and Reigen finished up with their last job of the day. A gym owner claimed their dumbbells would randomly fall on the toes of guests. After briefly searching the facility, they exorcised the spirit of a washed-out bodybuilder who was spiteful of anyone more buff than him. The owner promptly thanked them with a lifetime membership, even inviting them to compete in a push-up challenge. 

Although caring, Reigen decided to turn them down. Serizawa asked why Reigen didn’t participate. 

“Ah, you see, Serizawa. I have been creating my secret training regime where I have reaped better benefits than going to some sweaty gym.”

On the way back to the office, Reigen revealed the details of his secret training regime: the Remote Psychic Muscle Activation Technique. Reigen uses his psychic powers to target each muscle in his body, producing his "current muscular physique." Thus, he was confident he would win that competition and didn’t want to hurt those gym bros' egos. However, the more Serizawa asked questions, the more Reigen shifted around to find answers. 

Once arriving at the office, Reigen had beads of sweat dripping down him, which he immediately wiped off with a towel when he reached his desk. Serizawa enjoyed hearing about his boss’s stories; it was another side of Reigen he didn’t experience in the office. It was refreshing to Serizawa to hear Reigen talk about whatever he wanted just for him to listen. 

After Reigen wiped himself off, he continued with the discussion on push-ups. They mentioned Mob’s recent accomplishment of doing 35 push-ups in a row, which both men were amazed by. 

Thus comes the current conversation. Serizawa stands in awe of Reigen, smiling back at his boss, “I think you can too, Reigen. You could do anything if you put your mind to it.”

Reigen face warms up, swatting his hand as to dismiss him. He bashfully shakes his head, saying, “Come, Serizawa, that is too nice of you. Alright, I have made up my mind. Watch me as I perform the most pushups humanity has known!” 

Serizawa is pleasantly surprised that his boss would want to demonstrate something like this in front of him, “Oh, I believe in you. You can do it!” He quietly claps as he sits down. 

In a flash, Reigen swiftly slips off his suit jacket and undoes the buttons on his dress shirt before tossing it, revealing the white T-shirt hiding underneath. Reigen hits the floor and gets in position.

In reality, Reigen doesn’t have a plan. Hell, the last time he worked out was the last time he jogged with Mob for his marathon, and even then, he tapped out after 10 minutes! 

He looks back at Serizawa, debating if he should smooth talk his way out of this or not. Serizawa looks back with awe and determination in his eyes, ready to see his boss ace this challenge. The twinkle of excitement in the hues of his pupils strikes a chord in Reigen. How could he possibly turn down a face like Serizawa’s?! 

He sighs in self-defeat, now knowing he has to do it. He can’t flake right now, not after all that talking up! He probably could pull it off if he did those modified pushups… no, but girls usually do that.

“Okay, here goes,” Reigen is unprepared for what the next few minutes will bring him. Nevertheless, he inhales deeply and starts.

“One! Two! Three! Hey, this is easier than I thought!” Reigen says pleasantly. “Piece of cake already.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less from you, sir.” Serizawa says, “Keep going!”

Reigen feels warmth on his cheeks from the compliment Serizawa gives him. A boost of motivation hits him immediately, and he keeps his arms pushing like a hot knife on butter.

“Six. Seven. Eight. Nine-”

Reigen immediately recognizes that his mouth feels dryer. His arms are starting to shake. There's a slight tremble in his voice after counting each rep. 

This is not a good sign for Reigen. 

“Ten.” He stammers. Reigen feels weak already. “Hahaha, man. Eleven.” Maintaining his previous swagger in front of Serizawa is getting more challenging now. Screw it. He will just have to keep going until he can’t anymore. 

“Twelve. Hahh.” A now-winded Reigen pauses to catch his breath before continuing to push out more in hurried intervals rather than the past cadence he started. He manages to push out 3 or 4 reps each time before needing a few moments to recuperate. Slowly, though, Reigen finds it more challenging to keep a strong voice. 

“Twenty-two. T-twenty-three.” Reigen accidentally whimpers but doesn’t give up hope. Sure, he sounds like a total weakling, but as long as he shows he can do enough, maybe Reigen can squeeze away with all the panting by his ad-libbing. He can’t bear to see Serizawa’s face in the middle of this; he is way too embarrassed.

Serizawa quickly notices this but doesn’t think much about it.

“Twenty-four.”

Of course, that is the best way for Serizawa to help his boss create a positive work environment! Supporting others is always necessary.

“Twenty-f-five.”

There is nothing more than professional work going on, after all.

“Hahh. Hah, twenty-six.”

A disciple should support their boss just as much as Reigen helps him.

“Twenty-seven.”

So why does Serizawa feel weird? Why is his face so hot and his chest tight?

“Twenty-eight.” Reigen whimpers again as his arms begin to shake.

Serizawa can’t believe what he’s feeling. It’s an overwhelming feeling he hasn’t ever had to this degree. Not with anyone but… 

“Twenty-nine.”

Serizawa knows. He’s felt this way about Reigen dozens of times since they met. Whether it was the first act of kindness when Reigen offered to hire him, the times they would eat lunch on break together, or how much it meant to him when he smiled. He’s felt this way about Reigen before, but not to this degree.

Thirty.

Serizawa knows what this is now. Reigen’s noises are starting to make him feel very unforgiving thoughts.

Thirty-one.

Serizawa can’t help but imagine Reigen moans like that for different reasons. He can’t help but think of Reigen moaning because of him . He’s been holding it back since he first realized what he was thinking, but the need got increasingly hungry.

Thirty-two.

Serizawa can’t keep his erection down. He has never needed to handle himself this hard in public, much less in the office--only in his private time. He feels the pulse in his groin, straining increasingly against his tight suit pants. He has an animalistic desire to touch it, palm it, do anything to take care of it. But Serizawa is in the worst position for this. 

Thirty-three.

Serizawa looks at Reigen, panic in his eyes. He can tell Reigen might stop any moment. Oh god, Serizawa can’t stop thinking about the most degenerate things. The thought of Reigen’s face of pleasure, his body, the feel of his skin, the panic of how fast he needs to get together, the sound of Reigen’s whimpers right now. 

Thirty-four.

This is too much pressure. Reigen’s pushups are starting to slow down between each repetition. Serizawa is panicking about what to do next. He rips his eyes off Reigen, trying to curl his body in on himself. If he could do anything else– think of anything else–then there has to be a way he can come back from this.

Thirty-five.

Anything will help right now. Anything!

“Thirty, thirty-six. Uf!” Reigen stops, panting and falling back onto the ground to collect his breath. “Hah. Hahahahhh, see?! I’m not just a smooth talker, after all. Heh, alright!”

Reigen catches his breath, feeling very confident in himself. He overlooks Serizawa’s minor life crisis as he kneels on the floor.

“Well then, Serizawa, I showed you how it’s done, didn’t I?” Reigen fixated his eyes on the carpet, focusing on evening his breath. “Hey, hah, hand me a towel from the cabinet over there, will ya?”

Silence fills the room, save for Reigen’s pants. “Serizawa?” Reigen raises his head to see if Serizawa heard him. 

He pauses to see Serizawa’s body practically curled into the chair, purposefully avoiding eye contact with Reigen. 

Immediately, insecurity washed over Reigen at why Serizawa was acting like this. Oh crap, is he disgusted by my struggle to do pushups? Did I need to do more to impress him? Is he trying not to laugh? 

Reigen swallows his insecurities and adjusts his tie.

“Hey, Serizawa? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing is wrong, sir,” Serizawa whispers. Though, it’s obvious to both men that this is a lie. Around the two, things start to float up and down in the office. Reigen is the first to see it, however. 

“Hey, now. I can tell when you are not like yourself. More than anyone. Especially with this,” Reigen gestures around, which Serizawa notices and immediately places down all the objects, “Please, Serizawa. What can I do to help you?” Reigen asks.

“I'm sorry, but,” Serizawa uncurls himself, now turning away from Reigen by swiveling around the chair. “You can’t help with this.”

“Of course, I can. What kind of boss would I be if I didn’t come to the aid of my employees?” 

Reigen steps in front of Serizawa before he can curl himself up again. Serizawa is too late to cover up the large tent in his pants that Reigen just saw.

“Ah, Reigen! It’s not, ah, well, it is, but- wait, no!” Serizawa stammers, scrambling for anything to save this. Under all this pressure, he cannot lie anymore. “I’m so sorry! I have been thinking… horrible thoughts about you. When you were pushing up, you were making noises. I turned to dirty thoughts, and I–” Serizawa eyes wide, realizing how quickly the words slipped from his mouth. In times like these, lying is impossible for him. This is it for him. He’s going to get fired for sure!

“Serizawa…” Reigen is stunned, but things are now starting to click for him. His hand goes to his tie to try to fidget with it, immediately adjusting it until it rests flush with his collar. He clears his throat from any frog before opening his mouth.

“I can… take care of that too, you know.” The statement and his voice cracking at the end sounded like it didn’t even come out of the always-confident conman’s mouth. What escaped him was more meek, as quiet as a church mouse that Serizawa almost didn’t hear.

Serizawa sits straight up and meets Reigen’s eyes with his bewildered expression. Reigen looks back at him with a pink blush blooming across his face. The eye contact between the two men is electric when they realize what is slowly unraveling.

The air goes silent before Serizawa breaks it. “Reigen, what do you mean? Did… did I hear you right?” Serizawa’s Adam's Apple bobbed up and down in disbelief. It feels unreal. He needs to snap out of it, but Serizawa wants this to be real. It's so bad he needs proof that he is dreaming or living in this moment.

“Ahem. Well, as your boss, I- no… it’s more than that now. I want to help you with this because I,” Reigen leans forward, gently placing his hand on his shoulder before looking down at Serizawa, “We’ve been working together so well, and I’ve started to feel things. Unprofessional things.”

Reigens hand softly sweeps off the tall man's shoulder, now moving to the middle of his thigh. He softly laughs, “And this? Seems right up my alley.” 

Serizawa can’t believe what he’s hearing. Something in him snaps. All the days of suppression, all the days he’s cared for Reigen, all the days after work that he couldn’t stop thinking about him. It was enough to spring him up and unintentionally jump Reigen, causing his back to push against the wall in surprise.

“Woah, big guy! Hah~,” Before Reigen can speak, Serizawa’s arms slam on either side of Reigen, caging him between the wall and the tall man. 

“Reigen, I can’t hold these feelings back anymore.” Serizawa leans forward and rests his head against the wall right above Reigen. His eyes knit together, trying desperately not to go any farther or even say anymore. But it’s too late. 

Reigen raises his head high enough to see the agony on Serizawa’s face, fully understanding what is happening. His hand reaches up to caress Serizawa’s cheek. “I get what you mean. Please, just for me, you don’t have to hold back anymore.” 

God, I hope I can do this right. Serizawa thinks.

Immediately, he raises his head from the wall and smashes his lips onto Reigen’s in a hungry lust. Serizawa can’t control himself, pressing himself intensely into Reigen, practically smushing the shorter man into the wall. 

The passion is unleashed on Reigen, making him groan on the lips of Serizawa. They part lips and dance their tongues together in a rather clunky manner. It feels right before them, though, even with the minor teeth clashes. 

Reigen meets the man’s face with his hands, deepening the kiss. Serizawa awkwardly grabs Reigen’s shoulders with an immense grip, making him grunt. The noise Reigen makes goes straight to Serizawa’s pants, making him want the kiss even harder. He can’t control his wants any longer. 

Breaking the kiss, Reigen and Serizawa’s saliva connects to each other’s lips in a thick line. Both men gasp for air as they look at each other.

“How do we… what do we do with this then?” Serizawa's mind is dizzying, having no clue how to handle the peak in his suit pants.

“Well, the best way we can.” Reigen handed Serizawa’s pants, earning a long sigh and twitch from his member. 

“Reigen, I-I can’t stop holding back if you do that.”

“You don’t have to anymore. Plus, it feels good, right?” Reigen addresses Serizawa’s uneasiness, “Tell me how you feel. Should I keep going?��

“You don’t understand. I want you to sound like earlier when you were doing those pushups. I want that to be because of me . I don’t know what I’ll do if you keep going.”

“I think we can find something to help that.” Reigen sighs, trying to figure out exactly how he wants to take this. He looks at Serizawa, who seems seconds away from bursting, then at the desk just inches away from the two, and an idea creeps into the forefront of his mind. If he wants to do it, though, Reigen must prepare both.

“Let me show you.”

Per Reigen’s instructions, Serizawa flushes as he helps Reigen against the desk. Reigen sighs when his backside reaches the chill wood of the desk. They quickly use their nimble fingers to remove his suit pants and boxers gingerly. Serizawa thinks he’s going to pass out on cloud nine. His hand grips the small of Reigen’s back, making him instinctively arch himself, giving Serizawa a generous view of Reigen’s erect penis twitching against his stomach.

 “Hah… Do you like what you see?” Reigen neck leans forward to meet gaze with the man over him, entirely in awe of the sight.

“Absolutely.” 

“Go ahead then. I’ll be patient.” Reigen gasps when Serizawa places his shaking hand on the exposed skin, palming his ass with rough desperation.

The only time Serizawa has touched someone in any sexual way is himself. He seldom has watched porn, much less gay porn. His head spirals in confusion, but Reigen sees this quickly; he knows what to do next. 

“I know what to do. I can help lead you.”

“Okay. W-what should I do now?”

“You can use your finger to start. Put it in your mouth–make sure you coat it, and,” Reigen paused, looking away to hide his face from Serizawa’s gaze. “It will warm me up for the next steps.”

Serizawa does what he’s told. He looks at Reigen inquisitively with his digit still in his mouth, “What do fingers have to do with this?”

Reigen grunts, “...You know,” Serizawa’s face tells him he doesn’t know. Reigen continues, “You need to warm me up with fingers before that . I think…” He nods to Serizawa’s hard tent, “I need you to put your fingers in my ass. It has to be wet first for it to work.”

“R-right. I can do that.” He turns around and watches Serizawa coat his forefinger and middle with his saliva. His finger comes out with a string connecting him to his mouth. He awkwardly holds his fingers out, looking almost innocent as he waits for Reigen’s following instructions.

“Just know, I’ve never done this before. So just go easy on me.” Reigen says, looking away. Serizawa nods before not so subtly pulling into Reigen’s desperate lips with his tie. Reigen's face tells of nothing but timidness, yet still with needy lust. His body shivers with want as he reaches to find the hands of his employee, still covered with spit. He moves Serizawa’s fingers down, and down, and down. Serizawa can feel Reigen’s hands tremble when he touches something warm. 

Reigen guides Serizawa’s fingers to his hole. At first, it takes Serizawa a moment to process what he’s being guided to while he gently kisses Reigen’s face, still held close to him by his tie. Reigen’s other hand fumbles Serizawa’s hand around, trying to find the spot he needs Serizawa to fill while also hiding his face during their kisses. 

When Serizawa feels his fingertips protrude Reigen’s entrance, he knows what to do. 

As soon as he feels pressure on his asshole, Reigen’s death grip on Serizawa's tie pulls him closer into the kiss. He can’t bear to look at Serizawa’s face, who he’s adored so long. He can’t bear to see those eyes like it will wake him up from his remarkable dream. 

Serizawa’s hand presses gently inside, and soon, the pads of his two fingers are warmed by the inside of his boss. He can feel Reigen shift into the kiss.

Reigen grabs his arm, slowly pulling him into one knuckle deep, then two, to the fullest extent. Reigen completely freezes his mouth on Serizawa’s tongue, breathing quickly through his nose.

Reigen pushes Serizawa’s arm, awkwardly stopping at his fingertips before Reigen guides him back. Serizawa feels extreme pressure around his fingers when they are thrust inside. Reigen makes a slight squeak against his lips before hastily making Serizawa thrust into him again.

Reigen fully guides each thrust of Serizawa’s fingers as they continue, slowly loosening himself up in the process. Soon, however, the gentle pace changes. 

Reigen’s hands are gripping Serizawa’s arm and tie, giving him erratic and fast pushes into himself. Reigen’s voice fails on him, slowly humming into each sharp exhale he provides. He tries desperately to keep himself from sounding like a dog, but when he feels Serizawa’s fingers take the lead without his guidance, he can’t help but pant. 

Serizawa knows what to do for now. As Reigen showed him, he pulled his fingers out before sloppily pushing back in. He feels the walls of Reigen slowly lower themselves.

“Okay, Serizawa. You can curl y-your fingers now.” Reigen meekly whispers against his lips. 

Serizawa isn’t confident about what he means but tries to enact what Reigen asks in a wordless agreement. He slowly bends his fingers. 

Reigen let go of his tie, leaning against the table with his palms as the sensation felt too much. 

“You can’t do this to me, Serizawa. The way you’re looking at me, I– Ah!” Reigen arches into the desk when Serizawa’s fingers reach a delicious spot in him. 

Serizawa twitching cock is reaching its limit. There’s only so much the man can take before he crumbles under pressure. 

Suddenly, Reigen feels two firm hands placed at both sides of his face that causes him to snap out of his twitches. 

“Reigen, please let me push this further.” Serizawa’s face is stone; besides the sweat on his face, you would think he is back in his first job interview with Reigen.

“Idiot, I was gonna say yes to that.” Reigen scoffs, grabbing Serizawa’s tie. He solidifies his want by kissing Serizawa deeply. Their tongues touch again, causing Serizawa to huff and press his hard tent against the conman. 

“Please, for the love of god, take it out, Serizawa.” Reigen whimpers against his mouth. 

Serizawa didn’t need to think twice. It's a surprise to him when he knew exactly what Reigen was referring to in the first place. In a flash, his cock was free from his clothes, pinkened and twitching. Nobody had ever seen this part of him before, but Reigen looked at it like it was the sexiest thing he’d laid eyes on. The way his eyes lingered, the way he bit his lip, and the way he seemed to sweat a little more made Serizawa groan. 

Maybe Reigen let his eyes stay on Serizawa a little too long out of anxiety because, damn , his employee was fucking packing. This entire time Serizawa was carrying a fucking package on him? Reigen swallowed. Even if he’s never seen another man's dick in real life, he wouldn't have known they could have that many veins on them, even in porn. 

“I need you to go slow, okay?” Reigen says, now shifting his legs apart, gingerly holding them against the desk as he leans back. 

Reigen doesn’t know if his words reach Serizawa at this point. Serizawa practically jumps at him like he’s never seen a tastier meal. Serizawa’s thick cock presses down Reigen’s crack, making him tremble on standby. 

He can feel his breath quicken when he helps Serizawa line him up to the hole. 

“P-please, go-ah!” Reigen gags out as Serizawa begins to push in unceremoniously and can already feel pain searing into his asshole. 

“Sorry, I will go slow, but it just, you feel so,” Serizawa’s cockhead slips into Reigen’s body, now pausing to adjust Reigen before inching in more. “So good.” 

Reigen practically whimpers in Serizawa’s hold, but tries to play it off as a clearing of his throat. He grips onto the hands that hold his small hips, letting himself relax for the man who keeps sinking deeper. 

It takes a hot minute until Serizawa’s girth is fully inside, many times Reigen needed to stop and pause to take a breather, whimpering like a dog in heat. Once it was in, Reigen felt his cock twitch up in excitement. The pain subsided as the pleasure started to rear its head.

“Please, Serizawa, start moving your hips,” Reigen pleads, tapping his foot against Serizawa for some friction. 

Serizawa breaks loose, immediately thrusting out before putting his whole cock back inside. Reigen can’t keep the noise he makes down as his voice chokes from the pressure. He sputters on Serizawa’s cock as it keeps moving, slowly making his rational spiral into something unintelligible. 

“Reigen,” Serizawa groans out. “God, I’ve never felt anything like this. You’re so warm.”

He continues his tirade, practically thrusting his hips into Reigen as fast as his heartbeat. 

Reigen tries to collect himself to complain to Serizawa, to say that he can’t possibly keep up that pace if he has anything to say about it. The neighboring offices can only ignore so much noise before they file complaints, even worse, Reigen’s moaning louder than a train station. But he can’t get himself to spit the words out. His tight ass starts to loosen in Serizawa’s rugged strokes, now replacing the searing pain with white, hot pleasure. It’s a feeling he cannot help but ride. He pants out, only mumbling small obscenities and panting like a dog. 

Serizawa sees Reigen huff into the air, practically growing hearts in his pupils from the sight. 

This is the exact picture he wants to frame. Reigen’s legs hang in the air, constantly thumping to and fro from each jerk of Serizawa’s hips. His hands do little in gripping onto his legs, and his face is so blissed it’s driving Serizawa crazy. His eyes are dilated, Reigen rolls his eyes into the back of his skull every few seconds before trying to focus on the man in front of him, only to be hit into a particularly delicious spot, hypnotizing his sight and causing his vision to blur. Again. His pretty tongue that once led the kiss now peaked out of his mouth, lips plumped from kissing and agape, huffing and moaning every single octave his voice could possibly ring out. This same kind of face was what Serizawa wanted to give Reigen. It’s what he wanted to recreate. 

He wanted to ruin that pretty little face of his boss, and he was going to do more of just that. 

“Reigen, please look at me.”

Reigen's pretty legs dangled in the air as he tried to come to his senses, now trying to fully focus on Serizawa but blurring out every now and then. It wasn’t until Serizawa grabbed his chin and leaned in close that Reigen sharply looked at him. 

Serizawa was closer, angling his thrusts into Reigen just right that he practically yelps into the taller mans mouth when he was pulled in a sloppy kiss. God, it felt so satisfying, Serizawa almost drools at the way Reigens face deliciously contorts. And it’s all because of him . 

“Please, don’t stop,” Reigen whimpers.

“Never, darling.” Despite his sweet words, Serizawa continues his impossibly fast pace inside Reigen’s tight ass. 

Reigen’s pretty cock was rock fucking solid, and it gave Serizawa the perfect idea. He wraps his big hand around Reigen’s shaft and begins to stroke it languidly.

Reigen’s eyes practically bulged; the sensation was so delirious that he couldn’t speak. He tries to hold the same contact with Serizawa, but the stimulation causes his eyelids to flutter each time.

He unintentionally jerks his hips anywhere near Serizawa, and his teeth are gritting together. His weak hands grab into the hands that grip his ass, pulsing his hold the way his asshole puckered. 

“That feels so good, and please don't stop. Please don’t stop.” The constant whimpering from Reigen now turns into moans, until moans become begging that Serizawa keep going, over and over and over again, until Reigen is an uncontrollable, overstimulated mess. Serizawa keeps a relentless pace of pumps on his cock, as well as in his ass. It’s all so much that Reigen’s overbearing core is starting to bubble over. 

In between Reigen’s range of noises, he squeezes out, “Seri, I’m gonna, I’m gonna cum for you.” He rasps. 

“Please, Reigen. Let everyone know how I make you feel.” Serizawa grunts. He relinquished his grip on Reigen’s hips before latching onto his trim waist. Reigen’s delicate waist could perfectly fit inside Serizawa's large hands, practically made to fit like puzzle pieces. Serizawa hunches over and starts to thrust into Reigen like never before. The thick girth that Reigen was once nervous about now makes his frame convulse in pleasure.

Reigen screamed out, tightening his asshole so much that Serizawa’s cock completely halted inside of him. The tightness clamps down on Serizawa, and he can only watch Reigen orgasm, spouting white, warm cum all over Serizawa’s suit and his skin. His dick just bobbed up and down, his pretty pink cockhead looking so inviting to Serizawa. 

What Serizawa needed to do now was so clear to him. Before Reigen could finish his ecstasy, Serizawa hungrily took his twitching cock in his lips, sucking out the rest of the cum from his head. The warm, salty, thick cum massages down his throat while Reigen’s finger clamored to Serizawa's soft brown hair, practically drumming his hands all over his head and shoulders, seizing any sort of bodily function. 

Serizawa’s desperate mouth milks out any more seed he possibly could out of Reigen until his writhing ceases. He only needed to thrust in Reigen’s sodden hole a little bit more before he released himself in Reigen’s ass, pulling out to reveal a mouthwatering cream pie. 

Reigen’s face relaxed from his orgasm, relaxing his spread legs, giving a generous view of his chest, nipples still hard and face still red. 

“Jesus, Serizawa, I didn’t know you were packing a fucking snake in your pants,” Reigen said, throwing his head back. “If I had known this would happen, I would’ve stretched myself better. You… liked that, right?”

“Reigen, that was wonderful. I didn’t know that something would feel that good,” Serizawa’s blush was the cutest thing, but what Seri said was more concerning. 

“Hold on, was that…?” Reigen couldn’t believe it when Serizawa confirmed his suspicions, internally freaking out, but calmly sighed. “Well, I'm glad you feel that way.”

Serizawa couldn’t keep his love in any longer; he grabbed the face he always thought was beautiful, one that he saw every day as his boss, and now one that he could call…

“Reigen, would you do me the honor of calling me yours?”

“You think you need to ask that at this point? Jeez…” Reigen could barely contain his excitement, grabbing his hand and kissing it gently. “Of course I will.”

The two men embraced in a way they never thought would be possible. If this wasn’t the best outcome of a set of pushups, they didn’t know what would be.

[void-tiger]

Maybe I’m doing pretty well at containing this, actually. Or at least not the WORST about it…

[joelsgoldrush]

“never is a promise” | 12.4k

old man!logan x f!reader

SUMMARY: You are everything Logan isn’t: sweet, trouble-free, much younger—and, to top it off, Charles' caregiver.

WARNINGS/TAGS: mdni smut 18+ mentions of drinking. angst. some fluff. old man!logan x caregiver!reader. implied age gap (reader’s in her twenties). miscommunication. slow burn. pining. reader is shorter than logan and has long hair. charles in his cupid era. petnames. minor injuries. wound tending. mentions of blood. virgin!reader. dirty talk. cum shots. fingering. handjobs. oral sex (m receiving). loving sex. sex with a lot of feelings (is that a tag?). unprotected p in v.

A/N: i just want to fall in love with him. that’s it. that’s the reason why i wrote this long ass fic 😭 while doing so, i had “never is a promise” by fiona apple and “cool about it” by boygenius on repeat. give them a try if you haven’t listened to them (your lives will be CHANGED) (also, thank you for reading <3)

No matter how often you play chess with Charles, you never manage to beat him. 

“You’ve been staring at that knight for five minutes. It’s not going anywhere, I promise.”

Chuckling at his sarcasm, you fold your hands in your lap, lifting your eyebrows in mock surrender. “Okay, I get it. You’re the master of chess,” leaning back in the chair, you cross one leg over the other. “Can we play something else?”

“I’m quite entertained, thank you,” Charles says, sliding the board closer to you across the table. “Your turn.”

“How is it that you don’t get tired of this game?” you mutter under your breath, eyes fixed on the board as you weigh your options, hovering your hand indecisively over the chess pieces. 

“Please do something before I’m forced to make a dash for the toilet.” He hangs his head, pinching the bridge of his nose—a telltale sign of one of his irritable days.

His words spur you into action, encouraging you to finally slide the knight into position. You glance up, meeting his gaze with a hint of challenge. “You go now.”

Charles doesn’t hesitate, and he moves a bishop. “Check.”

Fuck. You hadn’t seen that coming. “I’d prefer to walk away with my pride,” you joke, pushing your chair back and pretending to lose interest in the board.

That makes him smirk, a barely there grin dangling on the corners of his wrinkled lips. The truth is, you wouldn’t stop playing for anything in the world—not even if this old man kicks your ass every single time he suggests playing chess. “You’re not out of the game yet.”

Quietness settles over the tank while you allow yourself some time to come up with a new strategy. After a moment, you decide to go for a pawn, using it to block his bishop.

He doesn’t stop grinning, studying your move with an amused glint in his blue eyes. “Not bad, but you’ve left your king exposed.”

You gape at the board, your fragile confidence faltering for a split second. "I still have some pieces in play."

Charles nods, his brows drawing together in thoughtful consideration. "True. But sometimes, it’s not about how many pieces you have left—” He reaches out, carefully sliding his queen across the board. "It’s about where you place them.” He relaxes, hunching over, his eyes searching for yours. A smile that’s all teeth welcomes you. “Checkmate."

“Damn.” You blow out your cheeks, your gaze tracing the path of his queen. Somehow, he’s trapped your king with no easy way out.

He leans back with a satisfied grin. “That’s three games in a row. My suggestion is that you start rethinking your strategy.”

“Or maybe you’re just a better player,” you admit, a mix of frustration and admiration palpable in your tone. “No more chess for today, though.” You stand up from your seat, gathering the board and chess pieces. As usual, they find their place under Charles’ bed, and you turn back to him, beaming with delight. “I think you owe me one after all this.”

“You’re a terrible loser, my dear,” he says, his eyes twinkling as they take you in. “Reminds me of someone I know.”

At that exact moment, you hear the familiar creak of the tank’s door opening, followed by a cough you immediately recognize.

Without thinking, you straighten your back as Logan steps into the room. Charles notices it, but says nothing in return.

It was an infatuation—or at least, that’s what you try to convince yourself of. Logan is a very good-looking man, probably the most handsome you’ve ever laid eyes on.

The fact that you live with him doesn’t help at all. You think that if you only saw him occasionally, this—this anxiety that grips you whenever he’s around or when you hear his voice—wouldn’t happen in the first place.

Whether it’s good or bad luck, you’ve been sleeping under the same roof as him for over a year, and the crush you’ve had since the first time you exchanged words with him only seems to grow stronger with each passing day.

What you figure out over time is that men like Logan aren’t the dating type. He’s never brought anyone home, and for that, you’re secretly grateful. The last thing you need is to see him with another woman—thank you very much. Still, the thought gnaws at you: he could easily be meeting someone elsewhere.

In fact, it’s more than likely that he’s hooking up with other people. It doesn’t have to be at—

Alright. You don’t need this either.

Logan’s heavy footsteps resonate even louder, his presence more imposing, and he seems especially pissed off. Then again, he always has that demeanor—angry, grumpy, locked in a constant battle with life.

But today… today, you haven’t seen him this troubled in weeks.

“Look who’s joined us,” Charles mumbles, steering his motorized chair to meet him halfway. The chair bumps against Logan’s legs with a thud that sounds almost cartoonish, and Charles scrunches up his nose, his nostrils flaring in disgust. “You smell like shit.”

“Yeah, I missed you too, Pop,” Logan grunts, shoving his hand into the pocket of his suit, searching for something. That’s when you notice the bloodstains on his shirt, smeared across his chest, and the missing buttons at the top. Your breath catches in your throat, and you bite your tongue to keep from asking any foolish questions. “They gave me new ones,” he mutters, looking you in the eye as he tosses the pill bottle at you.

You leap forward to catch it mid-air, your heart skipping a beat. Logan holds your gaze for a moment longer, his expression unreadable, before giving a slight nod and turning on his heel to storm out of the tank.

When your attention goes back to Charles, you see how his eyes remain locked on the pills you’re holding, his head lowering in defeat. “He’s waiting for me to die.”

“Don’t say that.” You squat to be at his eye level, momentarily hiding the meds from his view. Still, you struggle to make him shift his gaze. “He’s taking care of you, which is something completely different.” You place your hand on top of his knee, giving it a reassuring squeeze. You’ve had this same conversation innumerable times, yet each time feels like the first. He offers you a melancholic but knowing look as you softly say: “You have to take them, Charles. I’m sorry.”

He raises a hand, his trembling fingers curling around your wrist, examining you, trying to find an answer in the lines. “Don’t be. At least you’re here.”

“I’m sure Logan’s tired; that’s why he doesn’t stay any longer. Haven’t you seen him?” You rise to your feet, moving behind him to guide his chair. The tank sort of has a chill in the air, metallic walls that seem to press in around you both. “Besides, you wouldn’t want to play chess with him. Rest assured I’ll always let you win,” you murmur next to his ear, succeeding in eliciting a chuckle from him.

After that, you help him with his daily routine. Charles isn’t heavy, and you manage to get him onto the bed, his frail body yielding to your gentle support.

You slip the rest of his body beneath the blankets, tucking him in carefully before handing him two pills and a glass of water. “All the way down, okay? And I wanna see that tongue after you swallow them.”

If looks could kill, you’d be six feet under, covered in dust and dirt. Charles sticks his tongue out, putting the glass down on his nightstand. “Happy?”

“You’ve got no idea how much,” you say, adjusting the covers. The silence of the tank surrounds you both, and you can sense his gaze lingering on you. You flick your eyes up, furrowing your brows as you sit in the small space beside him on the mattress. “What is it?”

“You fancy him, don’t you?”

Freezing on the spot, your eyes narrow. “I—I don’t—” you trail off, pushing the words out with some effort. “Are you trying to read my mind?”

His whole chest rumbles with laughter under your touch. He finds your hand once again, intertwining your fingers with his. “Don’t be so naïve. I don’t need my abilities to see the way you get all flustered when he passes by. Why do you think they say older people are wiser?” he inquires, his lips forming a straight line. “We’ve lived too much not to notice the most common things, my dear—and let me tell you that you do a horrible job at pretending.”

“Of course I like him. Logan’s a good man, he keeps us safe.” You glance down at your hands—his, weak and delicate, in evident contrast to your own. “I’m not in love with him, Cupid.”

“Oh, you should’ve seen him years ago,” Charles says, his eyes glazing over as he drifts back into the past. His body remains here, within the confines of the room, but his mind is elsewhere, somewhere far away. You give his hand a gentle tug, trying to bring him back. “When we took him in, he was pursuing a career as a cage fighter. I had never seen anyone like him in all my years of educating mutants. He was so… different from the rest. Reserved, didn’t talk much at first. But I gave him a family, I—” His voice falters, overcome by his own emotions. 

That’s when you realize he’s no longer with you, his gaze unfocused, looking around the tank as if seeing it for the first time. It pains you to see him like this, completely disoriented and disconnected from reality.

“Why are we here? What has happened to the rest? Has he told you anything?”

These are the questions he asks every day without fail—questions that you can’t, nor want, to answer. Since you’re not exactly sure the explanation would soothe his troubled mind, you feel forced to play dumb.

“I don’t know, Charles. We don’t really talk that much, Logan and I.” You stand from the bed, not without pressing a chaste kiss to his forehead before. You smile at him, hoping he doesn’t realize the gesture lacks authenticity. “Why don’t you get some rest? I’ll let you know if I hear anything worth sharing.”

Once you close the door behind you, you settle back into it, releasing a shaky breath. Being Charles’ caregiver was a challenging task, especially in moments like these, which required immense internal strength not to crumble in front of him.

You squeeze your eyes shut as you adjust to the harsh sunlight, fighting to regain your composure. When you finally scan the area, the only thing that meets your eye is the deserted smelting plant you now call home.

You open the sliding door, the noise breaking the stillness and forcing Logan to look up from his plate. He’s eating like a starved man, casually drinking from a small bottle of whisky on the table, already half of it gone. After those long drives through the nights and the early hours, he always returns hungry.

You pour yourself a cup of coffee, setting it on the stove to heat. Neither of you says anything for a few minutes: he eats, and you sip your hot coffee in silence, not wishing to disturb the breakable peace that hangs by a thread.

Thinking this is how the noon will continue, you begin to walk toward your room until he clears his throat, stopping you in your tracks. That simple gesture makes you whirl around, anticipating something.

“This is delicious,” he acknowledges, pointing to his plate with his fork, the rice with veggies and meat you cooked last night nearly gone. Dipping his chin, he adds in a low voice: “Thank you.”

You’re taken aback by his unexpected willingness to engage in conversation. Moments like these are as rare as seeing Halley’s Comet, so you proceed with caution, as if you’re approaching a skittish animal—one wrong move, and the opportunity is lost.

Setting your mug down on the table, you sit on the chair opposite him. Deep down, the hammering of your heart echoes in your ears, and you hope his sharp senses don’t pick up on it.

“I’m glad you liked it. Charles ate two bowls of it,” you explain, unable to suppress a smile. Logan hums, tilting his head to the side as he keeps devouring his meal. You take another sip of your coffee, blowing on it in a futile attempt to cool it down. “He wants to talk to you.”

“Huh?”

“Charles. He—he asks to see you a lot,” you begin, carefully choosing your words. “I know it’s none of my business, but I think it would make him feel better if you spent more time with him.”

The sound of a distant train rumbles through the walls, amplifying the silence between you. Logan doesn’t utter a word; instead, he puts down his fork, the clinking noise making you jump slightly, the intensity of his stare becoming overwhelming.

“You’re right about one thing—what I do or don’t do is none of your goddamn business.”

Just like that, the buildup dissolves in a matter of seconds. You bite down on the inside of your cheek, nodding absentmindedly. “I’m sorry,” you murmur, feeling a wave of shame wash over you. How stupid were you to think he might want to talk to you?  “I just—I want to be of help.”

“Just take care of Charles. That’s all you gotta worry about, all I’ve ever asked you to do,” he barks, clenching his jaw, and you can tell he means each word.

When he talks to you in this tone, it makes you think more rationally—it reminds you that you don’t really know him, and yet you agreed to work for him in exchange for a roof over your head and food on your plate. He’s not your friend, and he’s excellent at making that crystal clear every time you cross the line.

Logan pushes you away like you’re nothing, like you’re just another of the many burdens he has to deal with.

It should be enough to send you running to your room, but despite the knot tightening in your belly, you somehow remain rooted in place, your eyes sharp like daggers.

As another train echoes in the silence, you come to terms with the knowledge that one more question will drive him away.

And sometimes, you speak before you think, as you do now: “Whose blood is that on your shirt?” you ask, voice steady and cold. Perhaps it’s you who wants him to leave this time.

He shakes his head with offense, frustration crinkling his eyes. “I don’t need this shit,” he groans, his gruff voice loud enough for you to hear it. He gets up from the table, placing his plate in the sink without much delicacy. At last, he heads to his room, slamming the door with a deafening thud that reverberates through the entire place.

It’s not a crush, that voice deep inside you insists as you’re left alone in the kitchen. And it’s valid: a mere crush wouldn't cause this kind of pain, wouldn’t make your chest feel this heavy and your limbs numb.

Whenever he leaves, he takes a part of you with him, never to be returned. By now, you’re certain he’s stolen all those missing pieces from you, and you’ve got no idea how much longer you can endure before you shatter completely.

You seem to have won this battle, but what you end up losing is far greater than any fleeting gratification.

Loving Logan is maddening, to say the least.

To this day, you still recall every detail of the night that altered the course of your life—the night you met Logan.

The memories are rather vivid in your mind, and you revisit that moment on nights like these, when you can’t sleep and the past appears to be much more appealing than your present.

Pressing your cheek against the cold pillow, you let your eyelids drop, reconstructing the full scene behind your sealed eyes.

It was your third week working at that restaurant, and you were still getting used to its daily rhythm. Waitressing was working wonders for you—you had a good memory, and people often gave you generous tips.

Everything was going well: you were the only waitress on shift, and your boss had left for a brief errand, promising he would be back soon.

During this lull, a group of men entered the restaurant, already drunk or high—probably both. They sat at one of the empty tables, immediately calling for you.

One of them, a tall blonde, was the loudest. “Come here, baby.” He pointed his finger at you, gesturing for you to approach him. The nickname felt wrong rolling off his tongue, and as you obliged, he shoved a handful of bills into the front pocket of your apron. He clutched your waist, dragging you nearer. “I’m getting married tomorrow. Think you can do something special for me?”

His friends cheered him on, laughing and pounding their fists on the table. You managed to slip from his grasp and asked them what they wanted to order.

While they took their time deciding, you noticed a limousine parked in the distance, probably the vehicle that had brought these morons here. The driver rolled down his window, hanging his arm from the armrest.

Though you couldn’t see his features, the interaction alone was enough to make you look away.

An hour went by, and the men refused to take off. They’d eaten, drunk, and danced—and driven you crazy in the process. The rest of the customers had decided to leave once they realized the night was far from finishing for the noisy group of friends. You apologized, feeling incapable of doing anything to change the situation.

Your sanity felt threatened as you turned off the TV, ending the sixth round of karaoke, their shouts and hoots ringing in your ears.

“We’re closing in ten minutes,” you informed them, starting to collect their dirty plates and glasses. Out of the corner of your eye, you spotted the blonde man standing right beside you, his piercing blue eyes burning holes through your skin. He attempted to graze your shoulder, but you quickly stepped back, keeping a safe distance between you. “How do you plan to pay? Cash or credit?”

“How about with a kiss, huh?” He inched forward, his face dangerously close to yours. Unaccustomed to being approached in this manner, you ducked your head, unsure of your next move. His breath reeked of beer and vodka, a horrendous combination that had you nearly gagging on the spot.

As he backed you against the counter, one of his large hands cradled your face, urging you to make eye contact with him. “I swear I can be very, very nice. You haven’t given me the chance to show it yet.”

“Hey, pal. You said one hour.”

The first time you heard his voice—low and husky, the kind that could send shivers down your spine.

Your eyes locked with Logan’s, your pleading gaze seemingly stirring something in him as he got a grip on the situation. His brows bumped together in a scowl, and you didn’t miss how he limped as he made his way into the restaurant.

There was something about him—how he moved, his stance—that felt strangely familiar.

“We’re busy in here, chauffeur,” the blue-eyed man protested, slightly losing his balance while still holding your cheek.

Your rescuer squared off against him, their noses practically brushing. He worked his jaw, his half-lidded, tired eyes taking in the sight of you. “I’m no fortune-teller, but I don’t think she’s into you, bub.”

“Come again?” the blonde guy released you, much more concerned with defending his bruised pride. “What’s the matter, Grandpa? Is it past your bedtime?”

“I want you to pay me for the ride, and for waiting a fucking hour and a half for you and your friends,” the older man spat, jerking his thumb toward the limousine. “I’m not taking you back to the hotel. You might want to start looking’ for another driver.”

The group of men closed in around him, their anger bubbling. “That’s not cool, dude. We had a deal,” another voice snapped, but Logan couldn’t seem to care less.

“Well, the deal’s off. And leave the girl alone, will you?” he retorted, his tone dripping with disdain. “So, where’s my money?”

He couldn’t have predicted it. One of the men behind him swung a plate, striking him in the nape and catching him off guard. Logan collapsed to the floor, clutching his head in pain. The others took the opportunity and began to pummel him, kicks and punches landing wherever they could.

You screamed at the top of your lungs, desperately trying to intervene. You grabbed at their clothes, digging your fingernails into every patch of exposed skin you could find, but they shoved you aside with brutal force. Your back slammed against the nearest wall, a jolt of sudden pain making you wince.

The blood in your veins turned to ice as you watched, paralyzed with fear that they might kill him. But then—

Three metallic claws emerged from his knuckles, and he used them to push himself upright. Despite the blood smeared across his nose and mouth, he managed to stand, his quickened breathing coming out in short puffs.

The men backed away in shock, leaving him alone amidst the chaos. 

You stared at him, your hands trembling as recognition dawned: it was The Wolverine.

The familiarity, the sense of having seen him before, all made sense now. It all flooded back in a rush—the comics, the news, the rumors.

“Get the hell outta my sight,” he growled, pressing his claws against the fabric of the blue-eyed man’s jacket, making him flinch.

You couldn’t make out what you were feeling. It wasn’t fear, but intrigue. Even as the group of men fled the restaurant, you couldn’t tear your eyes away from him. At first, he avoided your gaze, focusing on his shoes as he retracted his claws.

Once the immediate danger had passed, he slumped forward, groaning. You gently draped one of his arms around your shoulders and helped him into a nearby chair. His weight felt like a thousand bricks, but you accomplished to get him seated.

He rubbed a shaky hand over his graying beard, his face twisting in pain as you pressed a makeshift towel of napkins against his lower lip, where blood continued to flow.

Taking the towel from you, he continued tending to himself. You scanned his features, scrutinizing him.

“You are…” you began, the words feeling inadequate at the moment.

Logan nodded hesitantly, his silence confirming your suspicion. “Yeah, that’s me,” he tugged at his shirt collar, exposing some of his chest hair, fresh blood staining his work clothes. Your gaze fell there, and you quickly chided yourself.

The poor guy was bleeding, and you were checking him out. Jeez.

Kneeling by his side, you introduced yourself. “Thank you for stepping up for me,” you said afterward, and he shook his head dismissively. “They were a pain in the ass. I don’t know how you even managed to drive them here.”

“Money’s money, darlin’. Doesn’t matter where it comes from, as long as—” he was interrupted by a coughing fit, and your concern deepened as you continued to spot more of his injuries. “I’ll heal,” he reassured you, his expression softening in an attempt to calm your anxiety.

Your eyes pierced his with an intensity that seemed to unsettle him. Warmth crept into your cheeks as a question surfaced in your mind: “Is there anything I can do for you?”

“You don’t owe me anything, kid,” he replied, a hint of gruffness in his voice.

“But I could help you,” you persisted, your voice betraying a touch of eagerness. Stifling a cough, you tried to mask your enthusiasm, and sighed. “Are you hungry? I could cook you something, or pour you a drink. We’ve got plenty of liquor—”

Logan interrupted you, placing the towel down on the table. “Have you ever taken care of an old person?” 

Tilting your head, you considered his question. “How old?”

“Ninety-somethin’.”

You nodded, memories of the events from years ago surfacing. “I lived with my grandparents for most of my life. When they fell ill, I spent a lot of time with them. My mom had to work long hours, and I—well, the point is, I did take care of them,” you paused for an instant, his expression unreadable, though you perceived a slight relaxation in his posture, as if your answer had put him at ease. “I like being around old people. They have stories to tell,” you added, a genuine smile breaking through, “and I’m a good listener.”

“Then I suppose there is somethin’ you can help me with.”

And so began a new chapter in your life.

The very next day, you were moving in with him and Charles. It took several weeks for the latter to warm up to you and get used to your presence.

Initially, he was hopeful that you might also be a mutant, but his disappointment was palpable when he discovered you lacked any supernatural gifts. Leaving that aside, he valued your company.

“The shots mellow the seizures. The pills keep them from happening,” Logan had once explained, detailing the medications Charles needed. You recalled the psychic attack from a year ago and its consequences, but that wasn’t a topic to be discussed with Logan, and you understood why.

“Where do you get these?” you asked, examining the bottle of pills with a curious glance. “Without a prescription, I mean.”

“Oh, you don’t wanna know.”

Soon, you got adapted to the whole package: his unpredictable temperament, his mood swings, and his nightmares. Logan Howlett was a puzzle box of surprises, one you could never quite unlock.

Fast forward to the present day, you realize it must be already late, because Logan’s heading to work. You stand on your tiptoes, peering out of your bedroom window. Your humid breath fogs the glass as his eyes find yours, and then he slips into the vehicle, blending into the shadows of the night.

The distant rumble of his limousine signals his departure, your forehead pressed against the glass, as if somehow that could take you with him.

There goes another piece of you.

You find yourself shaving Charles the moment worry takes over your senses.

He’s retelling a familiar story: that one time Logan, Scott, Jean, and Storm saved Rogue from Magneto.

On any other day, you wouldn’t mind listening to his stories, despite having heard them countless times. This one in particular is your favorite.

But today, it’s hard to focus on it, even more when one of its main characters is missing in action.

Logan hasn’t come back home yet.

It’s been an entire day, and he’s usually back by morning to rest. Now, after having cooked dinner and helping Charles shower, you’ve run out of distractions. There’s nothing left to occupy your thoughts, nothing to ease the building anxiety gnawing at you.

You texted him multiple times—no answer. You even called—also nothing. Every time Charles asks if Logan’s at work or sleeping, the knot in your chest tightens. That’s when your mind starts to spiral, and you’re convinced you’ll burst any moment.

After putting him to bed, you pace the kitchen, picking at your nails and biting the raw skin around them. The sting of pain is there, but it’s faint, not enough to overshadow the real fear clawing at your insides.

All these what-ifs that storm through your mind make you feel nauseous: what if he’s dead? What would you do with Charles? How would you provide for both of you without a salary?

Just as you’re about to dial his number again, Logan materializes out of thin air through the sliding door.

He’s got a dark bruise under his right eye, and his once-white shirt is littered with bloodstains. You stare at him—he’s limping harder than usual, each of his movements slower.

Walking towards him, your hands cup his face. His skin feels rough beneath your fingers, and he lets out a grunt as you graze his split lip. “What happened?”

“They were followin’ me. Had been doin’ so for a few days now,” he says, making no effort to pull away.

“Did you kill them?” you wonder out loud, still inspecting his injuries. The pad of your thumb hovers inches away from his bruised mouth.

Covering your hands with his, Logan ducks his head, closing his eyes for a brief second and swallowing thickly. “Somebody had to do it, sweetheart.”

You limit yourself to a nod, because you know there’s nothing you can reproach him for. You were no stranger to the idea of him killing. It was an implicit truth between you.

“I thought—I was so scared, and I—” your voice wavers, and you feel your eyes watering, the tears prickling at the corners. “I thought you—”

He doesn’t let you finish, already knowing how it would end. “Hey, look at me,” he’s the one touching you now, tilting your chin up. Your eyes keep flickering over the cuts and old scars you spot on his cheeks, his neck. Logan forces a pained smile, unable to hide his discomfort. “It’s fine, I’m alright. Just a bit fucked up, but nothin’ you haven’t seen before,” he jokes, trying to lighten the mood, and it works. You bite your lower lip, suppressing your grin. “I always come back, don’t I?”

“But you can barely stand,” you whisper, not sure why you’re speaking so softly. You make him turn his back to you, helping him shrug off his coat. As expected, remnants of dried blood decorate his shirt like highlights. “Let me help you.” 

“I don’t—”

”There are cuts all over your back. And your chest—you’re not healing properly,” you say, turning him to face you again. The look on his face suggests only one thing: he’s about to throw in the towel. “You don’t have to do everything on your own.” You think you’ve never been this close before, his proximity both intoxicating and comforting at the same time. “Please.”

He ends up giving in to your persuasion, allowing you to guide him to the bathroom. Logan sits down on the toilet, watching you gather supplies to clean his wounds. When you come back, he’s still staring at you, his eyelashes fluttering together each time he blinks.

Starting with his cheek, you press a damp towel to his skin, and he hisses. It takes everything in you not to flinch in sympathy.

“How’s Charles?” he asks, probably trying to distract himself as you continue to clean his wounds, the towel darkening with his blood over time. 

“He’s doing great. Asked for you a lot, actually,” you take a look at his jaw, where one shallow cut is already starting to fade away thanks to his healing ability, something that never fails to amaze you.

Logan hums, tilting his head. ”I’ll check on him in the morning,” he murmurs, and you flash him a quick smile, finishing with his face. He’s now free of dirt and blood, his brows furrowing as he pauses to collect his thoughts. “The other day, when we talked—”

You cut him off, turning to the sink as you rinse the towel, watching the water get red. “Forget it.”

“No, it wasn’t okay—how I acted,” he stands up from the toilet, and you feel his presence behind you, the alarm inside your head going off as the space between you shrinks. “I know you just want what’s best for him. For us. I’m sorry I was a jerk,” his voice comes out even huskier at this time of the night, sounding afraid of waking someone, even though it’s just the two of you here.

“Apology accepted,” you swirl around to meet his gaze, only to find yourself nose-to-nose with him, and you lean back against the sink, your spine pressed into the cool surface.

Logan places his hands on both sides of the vanity, caging you with his body. Like the most beautiful tree, he stands tall in front of you, and you take a deep breath, getting drunk on his distinctive scent. “Are you… okay?”

You watch as he lowers his head, pursing his lips before muttering: “Imma need you to do something more for me,” he says, almost pleading, and you can’t avoid the amount of thoughts that rush into your mind.

Gone was your decency when you had to deal with him.

That’s when he looks up to find your eyes, his harsh expression evolving into a more vulnerable one. “Have you ever removed a bullet?”

If you thought listening to Logan’s nightmares was painful, nothing could have prepared you for the sounds he makes while you pull several bullets from his wounds. 

He sits shirtless in front of you, grunting at each of your careful movements. As you remove one bullet lodged near his ribs, Logan practically yells, and you rest your cheek against his, desperate to ease his suffering.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Almost done,” you whisper into his ear, hoping your words might bring him some relief. He lets his head fall forward, resting it on your shoulder, trusting you enough to tend to his injuries, his thoughts drifting elsewhere.

It takes you half an hour to clean both his chest and back, but Logan doesn’t complain. When you’re finished, he goes straight to his room, flopping onto his bed, the mattress creaking under his weight. You see the way his chest rises and falls rapidly, his breathing still labored.

You wish you could lie beside him, even just for a few minutes, but your last shred of self-control stops you from doing such a thing.

“Get some sleep,” you say leaning against the doorframe, your advice sounding more like a plea. He looks exhausted, dark circles sunken beneath his eyes. 

Logan lets out a bitter laugh. “Do I look that bad?”

You roll your eyes at that, your fingers curling around the doorknob. Glancing back at him over your shoulder, you catch something in his look—a glimmer of something you struggle to put into words, but you decide not to look further into it. “Good night, Logan.”

“Good night, darlin’—and thank you,” he murmurs, holding your gaze until the door shuts between you.

Then you sprint to your room, gently closing the door before biting back a smile, replaying the last hour in your mind. How close to you he had been, how comfortable he seemed around you.

You hadn’t just crossed lines—you’d broken them. You almost pinch yourself to make sure you weren’t dreaming.

Somehow, your racing mind calms down, and you fall asleep, one hand tucked beneath the pillow, the other resting against your chest.

You’re a light sleeper. The sound of something shattering wakes you, leaving you startled and disoriented.

Dawn is just breaking, the first rays of sunlight slipping through your window. You sit up, pricking up your ears as you scratch the back of your head, listening attentively.

Logan’s voice filters into your room—he lets out a string of profanities, and you stifle a giggle, throwing off your covers and putting on a sweatshirt that matches your pajamas.

Barefoot, you walk down the hall, stopping at the kitchen’s entrance. Logan is kneeling beside the table, gathering the shards of a broken mug. It seems like he’s just gotten out of the shower, tiny droplets of water trailing down his neck.

“That was my favorite one,” you say in a low voice, teasing him. His back muscles flex under the material of his shirt, and he turns to look at you, his expression a silent apology. “I take it you’re not using your glasses?”

“I’m gonna stop you right there.” Rising to his feet, he grunts, digging his fingers into his lower back with a grimace. “They’re called readers for a reason.”

You decide to let him have that one, grabbing a new mug from the shelf and handing it to him. He accepts it, thanking you, and fills it with freshly brewed coffee.

“Was it a nightmare?” you ask, watching as he sinks into the couch, spreading his thighs apart with a sigh while you take a seat at the table instead.

Logan gives a nod, sipping some of his coffee. “At least I slept for a few hours.” 

“Are you really going to stay up? It’s pretty early.” You stretch your arms over your head, a yawn escaping you before you can hold it back.

“Wouldn’t be the first time.”

You hesitate for a moment, but then comes your question: “Can I join you?” You prop your elbows on your knees, any trace of sleepiness now gone with the wind.

He squints his eyes, his unrelenting stare boring into you. “Feel free.”

So here you are, studying him as he drinks his coffee, his fingers wrapped tightly around the ceramic. There are so many things you want to ask him—about how he’s feeling, if his wounds have healed—but it seems you’ve entered a silent staring contest without even knowing it.

Not that you mind him looking at you—you just want to know the reason why.

You snort, and he arches a brow. “Do I have something on my face?” You decide to ask him, straightening your back.

“I guess I can’t help but wonder why you agreed to all of this,” he says, setting the mug down with a soft clink. By this, you understand he’s referring to being Charles’ caregiver and leaving your old job behind. “I mean—you could be doing better things with your life. Why would you choose to do this?”

“I told you before: I wanted to help you,” you shrug, trying to keep your tone light even as your stomach tightens with nerves. You watch as Logan folds his arms, the muscles of his biceps becoming more visible. “Plus, I love being around Charles.

“I don’t think people your age would be that interested in spending their days like this,” he says, and you toy with a lock of your hair, wrapping it around your finger.

“Well, good thing I’m not like most people my age then.”

His silence hangs heavy in the air until he speaks again. “What do you mean by that?”

“You know that feeling when life seems like a race? And you just have to keep up with certain things that everybody else is doing, or you’ll be left behind?” You pause, the words falling more naturally than you’d expected.

Logan nods, making it seem like he understands what you’re trying to say. Whether he truly does it or not, you don’t know.

“When my friends started going to parties, getting boyfriends… I couldn’t. My family wouldn’t let me. And even when I could, it felt like it wasn’t really what I wanted.”

Inhaling sharply, you stop yourself. The conversation suddenly feels far too personal.

“You never had a boyfriend?” He gets more comfortable on the couch, his voice gruff as he rubs his chin, waiting for a reply.

A familiar heat settles between your legs. “I went out with some guys, but it never led to anything serious,” you say, your cheeks getting warmer the more details you share with him. “I guess I wasn’t the kind of girl they were looking for,” you add, not missing the way his lips twitch momentarily.

“How could they not want you?”

“They didn’t think like you do.”

“That’s because they were boys, not men,” he mutters, his gaze dropping to your hands before returning to your face. “Did they treat you right, those boys?”

Swallowing hard, you can hardly register the uncertainty in your own voice. “I mean… yes, I think they did. They were nice to me.”

There it is—the faintest hint of a smirk dancing on his lips. “Nice doesn’t mean good, though.”

You dig your nails onto the table, your pulse quickening, trying to hide how affected you are by his words. “What is it that you want to know?”

“Come sit with me, doll.”

Doll. Doll. Doll. Inside your chest, your heart gallops, your legs trembling as you get off the table, moving closer to him.

Feeling lighter with every step you take, you plop down beside him, and Logan sits straighter, his knees almost bumping into yours.

You can’t bring yourself to look at him—this is happening, just like in your filthiest dreams.

His hand slides up to yours, not applying any sort of pressure. He scrutinizes your skin, bringing your hand to his lips, and he presses a kiss to the inside of your wrist.

It tickles, it burns—it ignites a fire inside you, one you know you can’t ignore. A gasp attempts to escape you, but you suppress it.

“Did you let them touch you?” he whispers, attaching his mouth to your neck, brushing the sensitive spot where your jaw and ear meet.

This time, you moan, any possible rational thoughts turning into putty, melting with the way he’s touching you. “Logan,” you purr his name, begging for something, anything he’s willing to give you. Your thighs, once shoved together, spread of their own accord, and you hear him click his tongue.

“I asked you something.” His teeth graze your pulse point, forcing you to close your eyes.

“I didn’t. They wanted to, but I—I wouldn’t let them,” you answer, and as if he’s rewarding you, his fingers begin to tug on the hem of your sweatshirt, rolling it up your body and over your head. He tosses it to the floor, admiring you.

“Why?”

Goddamn.

“Because I was waiting for the right guy,” you manage to get out, grasping his hand and positioning it on top of your right breast, encouraging him to go on with what he had started. His pupils widen further, and he squeezes your tit roughly, eliciting a moan from you. “I think I’ve found him.”

Logan scans your face, searching for any sign of repentance in your expression. “I’m going to hell for this,” he murmurs under his breath, his hard-on noticeable through his tented sweatpants. “Lay down.” You obey his command, easing yourself onto the couch, and sinking into the cushions as he presses himself to your side.

He peppers your neck with kisses, playing with the waistband of your shorts. “I’m not gonna kiss you, but I’ll make you feel good. Just this time, ‘kay? And we don’t talk about it.”

You accept his offer, knowing that you’ll probably regret it in a couple of hours. Right now, it doesn’t matter. You need his electrifying touch, his fingers, his—

With a swift motion, your shorts are yanked down your legs, and his calloused hands part your thighs even wider. A damp spot on your underwear sells you out, and his thumb rubs gentle circles over that area, causing you to lift your hips.

“So this is what you look like when you touch yourself, huh?” He edges his fingers closer to your clit, his breath tickling your ear, and he dips his tongue into your collarbone. “I hear you all the fuckin’ time. You’re not as quiet as you think.”

It should embarrass you, the fact that he has listened to you pleasuring yourself. But in a moment like this, it only succeeds in fuelling your desire. “Please. You said you’d make me feel good.”

“And I will, but you’re greedy as hell,” he says, his movements more deliberate now. You feel hot all over as he pulls your panties to the side, exposing your glistening cunt.

Logan’s on the verge of drooling all over you, reaching for your folds and spreading your wetness. “Men aren’t strong creatures, honey. You’ve got no idea how hard it is to hold back.”

“D-don’t hold back,” you stutter, losing your composure when he returns to your clit, his fingers coated in your arousal while they flick your swollen bud. “Oh, Logan…”

“You make the prettiest sounds,” he rasps, mouthing at your jaw, though as you try to kiss him, he slows his pace. “What’s wrong? Am I not giving you enough?”

“Sorry. I’m sorry,” you whisper, fascinated by how big his fingers look in comparison to your pussy. “I’m just—”

“Needy, I know,” he finishes for you, and he picks up his merciless rhythm again. Heat pools in your lower abdomen, and you can’t help but arch your back every time he teases you, grazing your entrance with his middle finger. “Don’t get ahead of yourself.”

You dig your nails into his arm, relishing the way his body responds to your touch. He grinds his cock against your hip, his teeth nipping at the column of your neck. “I want to come. Please, make me come,” you sob, letting out a shaky breath.

A thin sheen of sweat covers your forehead, and Logan locks eyes with you after what feels like an eternity. “Please, Lo.”

The nickname snaps something inside of him. His fingers circle your clit with a fervency you hadn’t experienced before, your pleasure seemingly being his primary focus. “The shit I’d do for you.”

You warn him, telling him you’re close—so so so close—until the fire in your belly flares, and blood rushes to your ears. You collapse against him, holding his hand firmly against your core, hips jerking as you ride your orgasm.

The world narrows down to this—this moment, your most desired fantasy.

Logan holds you as you go limp in his arms, rubbing your clit ever so slightly, murmuring soft praises. “Y’did so good, sweetheart,” he whispers, planting a kiss on your temple, burying his nose in your hair. You’re still out of breath, the pulsing between your parted legs persisting long after your release. “Told you you weren’t quiet.”

A giggle bubbles up from your chest, his beard tickling you as he slides his hands up under your shirt, finding your nipples.

“It was n-nice,” you tell him, your voice faltering the more he toys with your hardened peaks. Your skin heats up again, heart racing at the thought that he isn’t done with you yet.

“Just nice?” One of his hands makes its way back into your pussy, ghosting his fingers over your hole, and he smirks when he feels you squirm. “You surely know how to hurt a man’s pride.”

“I wasn’t—I didn’t mean to—” You can’t structure a proper sentence, not when he’s playing with you like this.

Logan rubs your arousal between his fingers, as though he wants you to see how slick you still are, even after coming. “Are you going to touch me again?”

He hums, feigning uncertainty. “What do you think, baby? Should I make you come with my fingers now?”

It’s like a switch flips in your mind. He knows exactly how to make you beg and which buttons to push, using that power to his advantage. “Yes, please. I want it,” you plead, intending to buck your hips into his touch, impatient for more.

“Do you fuck yourself with your fingers?” 

“Sometimes, but I can never finish—Oh my God.” He slips one finger inside you, causing you to curse, your voice barely above a whisper. You clench around the intrusion, your head falling back onto the cushions. “Fuck me.”

“In a minute.” He begins to thrust his finger in and out, gathering your juices every time he goes back to hammering that sweet spot in your interior. Soon, one finger becomes two, and he reduces you to a panting mess.

Tears threaten to swell in your eyes, and you whine as he involves his other hand in the matter, furiously rubbing your clit. “Your fingers feel much better than m-mine, Lo.”

“I can tell.” He curls them just right, and you push back against his thrusts, tilting your pelvis to meet him halfway. “There you go. Take what you need, sweetheart. I’m right here, I’ve got you.”

Everything feels frenzied, fast, the way your inner walls spam and contract around his fingers as you chase your second climax.

Once you come down from your high, your blurred vision catches him tugging the waistband of his sweatpants down. His cock springs free, and he fists himself, stroking his length angrily.

You watch as some pre-cum dribbles from the head, and you lean forward, watching it closely.

“You look goddamn beautiful when you come, darlin’,” he murmurs through gritted teeth, his jaw clenched tight. Hovering over you, he rucks your shirt up until he can see your tits from above. He alternates between your breasts, squeezing them while he continues to stroke his girth. “Want to see these all dirty.”

Logan truly loses it when your hand reaches out to him, tracing a bulging vein near the head of his cock. You meet his lustful gaze, batting your lashes, and then you feel his come splashing against your bare chest, a choked moan escaping Logan’s throat, spurts of his hot seed landing on your skin.

“Fuckin’ hell… fuck,” he grunts, still tugging at his cock, enamored with the masterpiece he’s created. When it’s finally over, he lies beside you, hiding his face in the crook of your neck. You run your fingers through his hair, and he nuzzles further into your touch with a groan. “I’m too old for this.”

Minutes pass as both of you seem to grasp the gravity of what has just happened. Eventually, Logan rises to his feet, disappearing for a brief moment before coming back with a towel to wipe his come off your stomach and chest.

He’s gentle with you, his gaze trained on his task until his eyes flick up to meet yours. 

“Don’t look at me like that,” he says, pulling your shorts back up.

“Like what?” 

“Like you want to see right through me.” He adjusts your shirt to cover your body again, but the towel remains in his hand, a reminder of the previous events.

I’m not gonna kiss you, but I’ll make you feel good. Just this time, ‘kay? And we don’t talk about it.

You don’t have to talk about it. You definitely don’t. 

Two days later, he’s the one who comes looking for you.

You’re nearly asleep when he knocks on your door. “Come in,” you mumble, a bit of drool having dampened your pillow. You dry your mouth with the back of your hand, your back turned to the door.

He steps into your room cautiously, as if navigating a minefield. The mattress dips under his weight. “Were you sleeping?” he asks, caressing your leg over the covers. 

You shift onto your back, your body responding before your mind. There’s no blood on his clothes—that makes you feel a bit better, and you shake your head.

“Good.” He looms closer, fumbling with his belt. His thumb applies little pressure to your lower lip, and your mouth parts to let him in, salivating.

This is just like Pavlov’s dog experiment—except that Logan isn’t an experimenter, and you aren’t a dog.

Yet, when he approaches you like this, you can’t help but respond, settling into a routine where you both take take take from each other.

Logan doesn’t fuck you, even when you beg him to. He gets you off with his fingers, his thigh, his mouth—but his cock remains out of the equation. 

“Just the tip,” you plead, voice laced with pure need, when he’s got his face nestled between your legs. 

As he stops eating you out, his beard shiny with your arousal, he’s still got that angry look on his face. Your cries don’t get to him.

“That lie’s older than me.” He slips his fingers back inside you, aiming to make you drop the subject. “Come on, baby. Gotta get ready for work, but you need to come first.”

Nor does he stay the night after telling you you’re the most gorgeous girl he’s ever seen in his life. Just when you think he’s fallen asleep, his legs intertwined with yours and one of his large hands under your head, you drift off.

By the time morning comes, he’s gone. You just know that when night falls, he’ll be back for more, drawn to you like a moth to a flame.

Despite all that, Logan won’t kiss you. He keeps his promise, and you hate how determined he is. 

“Not even once?” you ask him one night while going over the scars on his back. You’re in his bed this time, and he has his nose buried in his pillow, moments away from dozing off. 

“No,” he answers, squirming slightly under your touch. “I’m tired. Stop doing that.”

“How did you get this one?” You trace one scar that’s close to his shoulder, resting your chin just inches from it.

He turns his face to see your eyes. “Well, I was doing Pilates, and I—Hey!” He laughs when you pinch the skin near his ribs, tickling him. “I don’t even remember. Must’ve got it a long time ago.”

“Did it hurt?” It’s a dumb question, but he doesn’t mention it.

His index finger grazes your cheek, and he chuckles at the way your eyelids flutter. “In the past, they all did. But not anymore,” he replies, though you wish you could believe him.

You know he’s in pain most days. That when he goes down on you, and he’s on his knees for too long, he has trouble standing up without cursing. That no amount of alcohol, or his healing ability, helps him with it.

You kiss each of his scars before curling against his side, brushing your nose against his. “And now?” Your eyes fall to his lips, silently hoping he’ll say Yes.

Instead, he sighs. “I think we should go to sleep.”

So despite the lack of kisses, the miscommunication, and the fact that he won’t fuck you even though you know—you feel—he wants to, things are good between you.

Charles notices it, openly expressing his recent realization. “He looks happier, doesn’t he?” he asks says after winning two games of chess in a row, startling you. 

“Logan, you mean?”

“Yes, my dear.”

You glance down at the board, fidgeting with the pieces. “I guess so.”

“You guess so?” he parrots your previous words, raising an eyebrow in doubt. “Look at me,” he says, and as you do it, he points a shaky finger toward your neck. “I assume mosquitos have taken a liking to you.”

Heat rises to your cheeks, your hand flying up to cover the hickey you had completely forgotten about in the first place. “Charles, I’m—“

“Are you happy?” he interrupts you, and you nod, because you are. 

A nagging thought lingers at the back of your mind. You don’t know if you’re asking for too much, but it still feels like something’s missing.

One morning, you accidentally overhear a conversation between them. The door of the tank is ajar, and right before you step inside, you recognize Logan’s voice in the distance.

“Charles, I’m fine, alright? I don’t need your advice.”

There’s a pause before Charles responds. “You know, Logan… this is what life looks like. You should take a moment and feel it. You still have time.”

Logan doesn’t say anything in response to that. And if he does, you don’t stick around long enough find out, because you’re already turning on your heel.

A poet once said: “Blowjobs are fucking amazing.”

Actually, you might be wrong. Those may not have been a poet’s words, but your best friend Keira’s from high school.

You remember the sleepovers at her place—she had a boyfriend at the time, a boy she had met at a party you hadn’t been invited to. 

“Welcome to blowjobs 101,” she had declared one night, holding a hairbrush like a microphone. “Don’t worry, sweetie. I’ll tell you everything you need to know when the moment comes.”

Luckily, many years later, that moment arrived.

Just ten minutes ago, you were cooking dinner, sniffling back tears while chopping onions, so lost in thought that you didn’t realize Logan was already home.

He tossed his keys onto the table, hugging you from behind seconds later. You leaned back against his chest, enjoying the scratch of his beard against your sensitive skin, his lips planting soft kisses wherever they could.

“How was work?” you dropped the knife, wiping your tears as you turned to face him, throwing your arms around his neck. Logan pulled you in tighter by the waist, giving your ass a firm squeeze.

“Hell, as usual,” he looked into your eyes, finding them all glossy. “You miss me so much you started crying?”

Of course, you didn’t talk about it—but words aren’t the only ones who can convey meaning.

You’re not sure how, but one thing led to another, and now you’re on your knees, Logan’s cock filling your mouth. Your lips, swollen and red, suck hard at his tip, pulling the foreskin back, and his hips jerk deeper into your throat. “That’s it, fuck. Doin’ so good.”

Your movements are far from graceful. As a matter of fact, it’s all too sloppy and desperate. Saliva drips down your chin, some of it coating his balls, and you fondle them at the same time you bob your head.

Keira’s advice plays on repeat in your mind, and you pull out every trick you know to make Logan roll his eyes.

So far, you think you’re doing pretty great, judging by the way he’s gripping the back of your head.

“H-how is this your first time suckin’ cock?” he slurs, more to himself, his voice strangled as you make eye contact with him. He brushes your hair out of your face, bewitched by the sight of him disappearing into your wet mouth. “God, I fuckin’ love you.”

Taken aback by his sudden confession. you involuntarily gag around him. He pulls you off his cock, not even sparing you a glance, tucking himself back into his briefs. “Wait, Logan—”

“Not now,” he mutters abruptly, withdrawing into his bedroom and shutting the door behind him.

God, I fuckin’ love you.

God, I fuckin’ love you.

God, I fuckin’ love you.

But still, he doesn’t want to talk about it.

How bad is it to tell somebody you love them and then avoid them?

Yeah, it’s absolutely terrible, right? Tell that to the idiot himself—Logan Howlett.

It’s been over a week, and no matter how many times you press him for an explanation, he keeps dodging it.

Things go back to how they were before you two started fooling around, and Charles’ questions don’t take long to come: “I thought you two were getting somewhere.”

“Me too,” you admit, your voice quieter as you try to appear indifferent.

You have no answer for him. Not that you don’t want to discuss your relationship problems—it’s just that you don’t know what went wrong.

When evading you isn’t enough, he works longer hours, which only adds to how little you see him. At least he lets you know if he’s going to be late, sparing you from waiting up.

But apart from that, your interactions have dwindled to nothing, and it’s eating you alive.

You’re madly in love with him. You thought you knew that already, but now that he’s distant, the depth of your feelings has become clearer than ever.

He’s everywhere you go, just not physically—he has conquered your mind.

And it should be funny, loving someone who used to be no more than a myth for you. Though Logan is real—maybe too real for your own good—and he hasn’t been the mutant you once read about for quite some time.

This morning, he’s having breakfast at the table when you walk into the kitchen. You hold your breath as your shoulders brush for a microsecond, his gaze following your steps.

You’re no longer accustomed to sharing the same space with him, so it makes sense that you stay as far away as possible.

After an awkward silence, he stands up and mutters something about checking on Charles and giving him his meds, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

It’s infuriating, how collected he seems. Why isn’t he miserable like you? Doesn’t he miss you? Didn’t you two have something… special?

I’m not gonna kiss you, but I’ll make you feel good. Just this time, ‘kay? And we don’t talk about it.

The shit I’d for you.

God, I fuckin’ love you.

Not now.

The memory of his words lingers, seared into your unconscious, though the sound of his phone jolts you out of your thoughts.

It’s ringing beside the coffee machine, and you try to ignore it, determined to be the bigger person.

But after five minutes of the relentless ringtone echoing in the empty kitchen, you’ve had enough.

Unknown caller—interesting. What could he possibly be hiding?

Charles, you better keep that asshole busy, you think to yourself, swiping right to answer the call.

Before you can say anything, a woman’s voice fills the line.

“James! Thank God. It’s Gillian. You didn’t reply to any of my texts, and I was starting to get worried,” she lets out a giggle, the sound grating against your nerves.

As your grip on the phone tightens, your knuckles start to go white.

“Look, I know you said you weren’t available, but I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since that ride. I didn’t see any ring on your finger, so what do you say, huh? Will you let me take you out?”

Red. You’re seeing red.

“James? Hello? Cat got your tongue?”

At last, you clear your throat. “Hey,” you greet her, pacing around the kitchen. “I’m deeply sorry, but James can’t talk right now.”

“Excuse me?” she snaps, her high-pitched voice echoing through the speakers, and you pull the device away from your ear. “This is James’ number. Who the fuck are you?”

“Oh, I’ll tell you who the fuck I am, you intolerant piece of—”

Before you can finish, the phone is yanked out of your hand, the call hastily ending.

There is no use in playing dumb, not when Logan’s standing right in front of you, observing you like you’re a child who’s made a severe mistake.

His deep, brown eyes pierce your soul, shattering any chance you had of coming up with an excuse.

“What where you doing with my phone?” It’s the first thing he asks you, his voice still steady, the calm before the storm.

Perhaps you’re not as mature as you thought you were—your forehead furrows, unwilling to back down, and you fall silent. He takes a step forward, as if he can’t believe your attitude. “Think I asked you somethin’. Why did you answer?”

“Gillian sounds like a lovely lady. Tell her I said ‘Hi’ the next time you see her,” you croak, attempting to walk past him, but he doesn’t budge, his solid frame blocking your path. You collide with his chest, and it feels like trying to move a brick wall without success.

“We’re talking. You can’t just leave.”

The nerve of this man.

“You can’t be serious,” you retort, staring at him, wishing the emotion in your tone could capture even a fraction of what you’re truly feeling. “Weren’t you the one who walked away first? After telling me you loved me?”

You search for any sign of the man who once held you close, but he feels miles away, hidden under all these layers that smell like cheap whiskey and gasoline. “You didn’t mean it.”

“I did. I meant every word,” he growls, his fists clenching at his sides, and you don’t miss the exhaustion in his eyes, the dark circles that expose the fragile façade of control he’s so desperate to maintain. “Goddamit! You’re doing that thing again!”

“What thing?” you exclaim, your mouth hanging open in frustration. “What the fuck are you talking about? I’m not doing anything.”

“Yes, you are! You’re trying to see through me, like you can read my mind.”

“Well, sorry to disappoint, but I’m not a fucking mutant. I just have eyes, Logan.” You throw your arms up, exasperated. “People actually look at each other when they have a conversation, in case you haven’t noticed.”

“You’re testing my patience,” he mutters, rubbing a hand over his face.

“And you are testing mine.” You rest your back against the table, raising your chin. “So, who is she?”

Logan drops his shoulders, slamming his eyes shut. “I drove her once, last week. It was a long ride and she… wouldn’t stop talking. Didn’t shut up for a single second. She hit on me, but I told her I’m off the market.”

“Why? ‘Cause she talked too much?”

“No. Because I love you,” he says, pure awe transforming his expression, like he doesn’t believe he has said it out loud. “I don’t know when I started feeling like this, or if I’ve always felt it, but—I do. I love you.”

Oh.

You had heard those words slip through his lips before, but now they sound different. It might be that keeping him at arm's length has felt like death by a thousand cuts, or perhaps it’s the realization that this is the first time someone’s declaring their love for you.

Fuck. He loves you. As in, he’s in love with you?

“Then why do you keep running?” You edge closer to him, your eyes trained on his. “I’m done with the chase, Logan. It’s tiring—I am tired. I’ve been sleeping like shit, trying to figure out what—”

His arms surround your body, cutting you off and pulling you close. The hammering of his heart matches yours, and you return the hug, nuzzling your nose against his neck.

You fear that this might be all you’ve ever needed, feeling as if the pieces he took from you in the past are finally falling back into place.

Logan holds you as if in a past life he lost you, but now, he’s decided to never let you go.

This profound sense of completeness, of being where you’re meant to be, makes you realize you’ve found home in the warmth of his embrace.

“I’m sorry. This… this scares me, alright?” he murmurs next to your ear, raking his fingers through your hair. “You make me feel things I didn’t think I could feel anymore. That’s what I’m running from—the part of me I thought was gone. But you… you brought it back.”

You feel a deep urge to curl up and cry, wondering why on earth he would ever think he was unworthy of being cared for. “Logan, I…”

“I sound pathetic, I know. It sounded way better in my head.”

“Don’t you dare say that.” You retreat a bit, looking him in the eye. He stares down at you with a tenderness you’ve never seen before. “It’s not pathetic to voice how you feel. I want to know it all, want to know everything about you.”

“Everything?”

“Yes, everything. But I need you to promise me that you won’t run away anymore. I know it’s difficult, but it’s not fair to any of us.”

His eyes peer directly into yours, and he gives a nod. “I promise to do my best.” He presses your foreheads together, and that’s when his mouth turns into a grin. “You’re not going to say it back?” he teases, gripping your waist. “Come on, I said it first. Twice, for the record.”

Lifting your shoulders in a half-shrug, you find it hard to conceal your smile. “I may need a bit more convincing.”

Kiss me. Kiss me. Kiss me.

Before you know it, his lips are on yours, almost making you lose your balance. You whimper into his mouth, tightening your arms around his neck as his tongue wastes no time in finding yours, stroking it sensually.

The wait had been definitely worth it—you’d do everything all over again if it meant having him kiss you like this at the end of the day.

He tilts your face so that he can deepen the kiss, and a whine gets caught in your throat when his fingers pull gently at the hair at your nape, nibbling at your bottom lip. 

“I love you, too. Very much, to be honest,” you blurt out against his mouth, pleased with the way he laughs at your reaction, squeezing your hips. “But I still have some ideas in mind.”

“I’m all ears.”

Here goes nothing. “Fuck me like I’ve been asking you to.” You cup his cheek, guiding his lips into yours one more time. “Please,” you mewl, standing on your tiptoes. “Want you to be my first.”

If it were up to you, you would’ve begged him to take you right there on the kitchen floor. But Logan, ever the gentleman, insists on moving things to his room.

Each of his movements is slow, igniting your skin with a burning heat, leaving his name imprinted where his teeth sink into your soft flesh.

You’re left in nothing but your underwear by the time he murmurs: “Let me take my time with you.” He trails his lips down your chest, your stomach, until he’s planting several kisses along your ankle. “I don’t know how I got so lucky, baby. Look at you.”

Under his gaze, you feel shy, your eyes snapping to the ceiling instead. “Shut up,” you say, tugging at his shirt to undress him, your fingers tracing the lines of his abdomen before you pull him into a bruising kiss, sucking on his tongue.

He strips out of his black slacks and hovers over you, his clothed cock grinding against your throbbing core, eliciting a moan from both of you. “So goddamn beautiful. Can’t believe you’re mine.” His tip grazes your entrance through the fabric, making your toes curl in ectasy. “I’m gonna make you feel good, I swear.”

At first, he’s extremely careful, making sure to stretch you out with his fingers while you stroke him, pumping your fist to match his rhythm. “Keep that up and this’ll be over sooner than expected,” he warns, taking one of your nipples into his mouth.

It doesn’t happen like it does in the books or movies. No foreplay could’ve prepared you for the moment he enters you.

You move clumsily beneath him, your nose bumping into his forehead as he eases the first inch of his length inside.

For a moment, you’re not certain which hurts most: the dull ache in your nose or the way he’s splitting you open. 

Logan freezes, his eyes wide in concern. “Shit. I’m sorry, sweetheart. Are you okay?” His hand cradles your face as he props himself up on one forearm, pushing your hair back while you adjust to his size. You laugh despite the sting, and he wipes away your tears with his thumb. “You’re laughin’?”

“I’m just happy,” you manage to get through the lump in your throat, raking your nails down his back, feeling the rough texture of the scars beneath your fingers. “I love you. Since that day at the bar, I—” you pause for a second, gasping at the sudden wave of pleasure when he twitches inside you. “I’ll always l-love you. Forever.”

As you wrap your legs around his waist and tell him you’re ready, something inside him shifts.

He feels like a madman, his eyes fixed on your face the whole time, searching for any hint of discomfort, though he occasionally glances down at the place where your bodies meet and become one, entranced by the sight of you taking him in, slick coating his length. 

Your heels dig into his lower back, pulling him back to the present—back to you, with your pretty tits bouncing each time he pistols his hips, the intensity of his thrusts increasing.

“All those times you took care of me, when you—Fuck,” he groans, nipping at your jaw to regain some of his composure, his humid breath dampening your skin. Your scent drives him wild, and he reaches for your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours. “You made me feel loved when no one else did. My girl, love you so f-fucking much.”

His pace is nothing more than a voiceless testament to everything he feels but can’t find words to express.

With each minute that passes, your dripping cunt grips him tighter and tighter, his thrusts losing finesse. He needs you to come first—why does he feel like a virgin?

When you tell him you’re close, the world around him turns into a musical. You cling to the sheets, the mattress creaking noisily as he clutches the headboard, determined to find that angle that will push you over the edge.

“That’s it, sing for me,” Logan mutters from above, hypnotized by the crease forming between your brows. “Come on, let go.”

Time seems to slow down as your muscles tense and you clamp around him, your body sagging against him. His name spills from your lips in breathy whimpers, like an endless prayer, and your mouth engulfs his, tongues and teeth clashing in a fevered kiss.

Soon after that, he surrenders to the coiling tension deep within him, pulling out just in time to stroke himself once, twice, before emptying his hot load across your mound.

You gently thumb the head of his cock, coaxing out every last drop of his hot seed. He’s panting as he comes down from his high, his brain foggy and blissfully blank for a while. 

Logan loses track of how many times he tells you he loves you—he does it when he pulls you into his chest, when his lips press against your temple, and when you crack that smile, the one that resembles the very purpose of his existence.

“So this is what it feels like.” His voice sounds low like a murmur near your ear, and you stir, half-asleep.

“Hmm?”

“Nothing, baby. Just thinkin’ aloud.”

You don’t have to talk about it, at least not now. Deep down, he knows that whatever thoughts run through his mind will somehow find their way into yours.

This is what life looks like. You should take a moment and feel it. You still have time.

And God, is he feeling it.

dividers by: @cafekitsune thank you!!! :)

[loonylupinblack3]

Go Slow

Pairing: Logan Howlett x Reader

Warnings: SMUT! p in v, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), riding, (brief) dry humping

Summary: it's your first time and Logan tries to go slow, he really does, but some things just can't be helped

Word count: 1.6k

A/N: i'm not too practiced in smut so sorry if it's shit 😭

Logan knew you were on the shy side of things. During the start of your relationship he’d had to coax words from you, feelings and opinions you held until you felt comfortable enough to share them without being asked. You’d be nervous and fidgety when asking to see him, acting like he was an attractive stranger when he was your boyfriend. 

In all honesty though Logan didn’t mind. He enjoyed your shy, almost naive personality, and was more than happy to wait for you to be comfortable with him before suggesting going any further. 

Sure, it was difficult for him to wait, but not impossible. If his pants tightened slightly when you walked in the room with ridiculously short shorts and practically sat in his lap with them, you didn’t notice. When you were sleeping in bed together and would unconsciously rub yourself against him, causing him to have to leave the bed for a bit lest he did something he'd regret, you remained blissfully unaware. And if he was putting away your laundry and came across a pair of lacy black panties with bows adorning it, you wouldn’t even notice they went missing.

Logan was more than okay to wait.

You, on the other hand, were not.

It started with small changes in you and your actions, though Logan couldn’t quite place his finger on what it was. You were more flustered around him than usual, jumpier and shier than you’d been before. You were quieter too, staring at him with more intensity than before, as if trying to read his mind. Yet it wasn’t as if you were pulling away from him, because you were much more touchy and clingy than usual, always needing to hold him and often being the initiator of any make out session you two might have- which is as far as you’d gone.

It was during one of these sessions, having started when you both grew bored of the movie playing on the screen, that you started straddling Logan, kissing him with more fevor than you usually did. Surprised, though certainly not disappointed, Logan kissed you back, hands resting on your thighs and occasionally running up and down them when his control slipped.

When he felt you rock against him slightly he knew something was up. You were never this forward with him, and was always the one to stop Logan when he got a bit carried away. Yet there you were, gently rocking against him while you kissed, moving against his jeans almost desperately, rubbing against him until there was a rock hard bulge for you to move against and Logan had to gently push you off him.

Immediately you started apologising, looking at your hands nervously fidgeting with your t-shirt, refusing to so much as glance at Logan.

“Hey, hey, you’re alright Bub,” Logan said gently. “I just don’t want to do anything before talking about it first.”

You risked a glance at him, trying to find any lie in his face. “You’re not angry at me?”

Logan would have laughed if he wasn’t worried about upsetting you further. “‘Course not. I fucking loved that, actually, but we can’t do it, or anything like that, without talking about it first. I gotta make sure you’re okay with it.”

You nodded your head with such eagerness Logan’s cock twitched in his pants. “I’m okay with it.”

He smiled at your needy demeanour and had to hold himself back from gladly going along with it. “What exactly do you want, Sweetheart? I gotta know that.”

You bit your lips shyly, glancing up at him from your lashes in such a way Logan was tempted to be fucked with all of this and just take you. He’d been waiting for months, however, so he could certainly wait a few more minutes, and restrained himself as such.

“I want to feel good,” you mumbled quietly. “Want you to make me feel good.”

Oh fuck.

Logan wasn’t sure he could handle this. Desire was coursing through his veins, his cock was throbbing almost painfully against his pants as he watched you, shy and naive but so wanting for him.

“Alright Bub, we can do that,” he eventually said, because fuck he wanted to make you feel good too. He wanted you moaning and whimpering his name, whining and panting underneath him because of him.

Yet as soon as he had you undressed and under him he could tell it wasn’t what you wanted. You looked petrified, eyes squeezed shut as you waited for Logan to enter you, and that just wouldn’t do.

“I’m not doing this Sweetheart,” he said, moving away.

You opened your eyes, seeming both relieved and disappointed at the same time. “What? Why?”

Logan sighed, wrapping you up in his arms and kissing your neck. Even with both of you naked it was surprisingly not desire filled and simply comforting. “Because you obviously don’t want it.”

You shook your head and turned around to face him, straddling him in a similar position as before. “I do want it. Just… it felt a bit scary like that.”

Logan thought about her words for a moment before inspiration struck him. “Do you want to ride me instead?”

You actually gasped, your eyes widening at the suggestion, yet he could also see the desire radiating off of you- he could smell it too- and feel the slick coming from your cunt at the thought. He smirked, taking that as a yes.

“I’m going to lift you up and slowly place you down on me. You can stop me at any moment, okay?” he asked you, wanting to make sure you were comfortable with this.

You nodded your head, looking apprehensive but also excited, as you glanced down at his hard on, licking your lips slightly. “I don’t know if it will fit.”

Logan nearly groaned then and there. “It will.”

Hesitant but sure, you let Logan’s hands wrap around your waist and lift you up, positioning his cock at your entrance. He gave you a few seconds to back out, and when you didn’t, staring at him confidently, Logan sunk you down on his cock.

Fuck even just his tip inside you felt like heaven, your cunt squeezing against him. You let out a gasp and he hesitated, waiting, and you slowly nodded your head, giving him the go ahead to continue. He did so gently, making you take him inch by inch, stopping every so often for you to get used to the feeling of him until you’d finally taken all of him inside you.

The feeling of your walls squeezing his cock was heavenly. He could barely think, and all he wanted to do was fuck you hard and fast, chase the release he so desperately wanted. Yet he waited for it to feel comfortable for you, waiting for the pain to ease before he did anything.

“Okay… what now?” you asked in a timid voice.

Logan had to muffle the sound threatening to escape him at the sight of you blinking bashfully at him while he was inside you. It was too good to be true.

“Now you move,” Logan said roughly, because he didn’t trust himself to move and not fuck you viciously like he wanted to.

You thought for a moment before giving an experimental rock, gasping at the pleasure accompanying the action. You repeated the rock again, then again, creating a slow but sure movement that was slowly killing Logan.

Every sway of your hips, the way you rode his cock eagerly if not skillfully, was pushing him closer and closer to the edge.

“That’s it baby,” he rasped. “Just like that, you’re doing so good for me baby.”

You rolled your hips, whining at the praise and closing your eyes but only increasing your motions, one hand moving up to cup your breast. You grounded onto him, gasping when he hit that perfect spot, whispering Logan’s name like a prayer

He swore at the sight, and couldn’t help the jerk his hips made, a small gasp escaping you. It felt so good, the spike of pleasure overwhelming and your readily response too much, and he did it again.

You moaned this time, a dirty, high pitched sound that was ringing in Logan’s ears, urging him on as he took your hips in his hand and lifted you up, only to slam you down on his cock again. Your moan was delicious, and you placed both your hands on his chest, moving forward to make him go deeper.

Logan did groan this time, and used your hips to continue moving you on his dick, his large hands squeezing the soft flesh of your hips. You were a whining mess, eyes glazed and body limp above him.

“Feel so good,” Logan grunted, thrusting into you. “So fucking good for me.”

You whimpered, gasping as your eyes fluttered closed again. Logan grinned.

“You like that baby? You like me telling you what a good girl you’re being, riding my cock so prettily.”

Your moans came more frequent, panting every second, and Logan could tell you were close. He increased his pace, wanting to see you fall apart in front of him, and wasn’t disappointed by the result.

“Come on baby, cum for me.”

With a cry you threw your head back, ecstasy painting your face as you came, your walls tightening. The feeling of them squeezing Logan’s dick, your cunt milking it for all its worth was too much and he felt himself fall after you, his load of cum shooting into your already stuffed hole.

“Fuck baby,” he cursed, helping you ride out both your highs, moving your hips over him.

You were still panting as you slowly came down from your high, boneless as you laid against Logan’s chest.

“You did so good for me darling,” he murmured, kissing the top of your head.

You let out a sound, nuzzling his neck, and he happily held you against him, pressing kisses to your face and neck till you were ready to move.

[kolsmikaelson]

AND THEN THERE WERE THREE…

NOTES — just saw challengers today and absolutely needed to write smth for these two! only used a gif of art because theres none of the two of them and almost none for patrick </3, i’m a little rusty with smut so bare with me

WARNINGS — 18+ content mdni, slight challengers 2024 spoilers, fem!reader, kinda dom!art, pure smut/little plot, art/patrick interactions, talk of previous art/patrick sexual encounters, spit play, oral (m receiving), tit sucking, dirty talk, mentions of anal, little bit of aftercare, not proofread, lmk if i forgot anything!

REQUEST — Pls write a smut fic with reader and Art fucking in the hotel room (with Patrick watching) and reader asking if Patrick can join them and ofc Art can’t say no because he finds the idea of this super hot. Maybe reader makes Art and Patrick make out like in the movie 👀

WORD COUNT — 1.6k

join my taglist or follow @rodrickhefley to see when i post

None of you were too sure how exactly this had started. You, Art, and Patrick had stumbled back into their hotel room after leaving the beach, each of you finding your own place to sit after Patrick opened up a beer, took a swig, and passed the can to you. You’d taken a seat closer to Art, having naturally gravitated towards him more so than Patrick. And quickly, you and Art were making out, leaving Patrick to watch. 

You blamed the beer. And the fact that you found both Art and Patrick incredibly hot. One minute you’re at a party, dedicated to your best friend, Tashi Duncan, and the next you’re sitting on the beach being invited back to the guys’ hotel room, and the next after that, Art is stripping you of your clothes while Patrick takes a seat leaned up against the wall opposite the foot of the bed. 

“Can I-” He begins, fingers fiddling with the hem of your shirt, desperation clear in his eyes. At your nod, Art quickly yanks your shirt over your head and immediately pulls your body flush against his. He’s planting soft, wet kisses up and down your neck as his fingers work the back of your bra. His eyes widen the moment it drops to the ground. 

Giving you a moment's glance he quickly sucks one nipple into his mouth, licking and sucking and biting. Feeling as though he’s neglected the other one, he pinches and tugs on the opposite nipple, smiling around the one in his mouth at the moans you let out. 

“Yeah, baby? You like this? Me with your tits in my mouth and my best friend jerking off while watching us?”

For a moment, you’d forgotten about Patrick. Your eyes shoot open, landing on him instantly. The sight of him, slouched against the wall, his hand already wrapped around his cock, with his eyes fixated on both you and Art. He looked so hot, you weren’t sure how you’d forgotten that he was even there. 

“Mhm, ‘s hot.” you admitted, turning Arts face back to you, tugging his bottom lip back into your mouth. The blond pushes you back onto the beds that were pushed together - Patrick’s idea if anyone were to ask - and begins kissing up your stomach only stopping long enough to kiss each of your nipples. He grabs your face, pushing his fingers into your cheeks, making you open your mouth, before letting a large glob of spit fall from his mouth into yours. 

“Swallow.” He smiles when you do so without complaint, even going as far as to look as if you wanted him to do it again. 

Patrick moans at that, louder than before. Sure he and Art had messed around before, when they were both single and bored and needed a good fuck, that wasn’t new, but hearing that commanding tone in the blonds voice sent a shiver down his spine. 

“God, that was hot.” Patrick sighs, laughing when Art gives him the finger. 

“Fuck off, Patrick.” Both of them know he doesn’t mean it, if he wasn’t wanted there, you or Art would’ve said something, but you didn’t. whether Art knew it or not, both you and he wanted him to stay, and keep watching.

At some point during that interaction, you weren’t sure when exactly, Art had shed his pants and underwear. He was dragging the tip up and down your slit, up and down, stopping every few seconds to slap your clit with it. When your eyes finally landed on his length, it made your jaw drop. He was big, bigger than you’d seen before, he was long and girthy with veins running along the bottom of it. 

He slowly slides into you, admiring the look of pure bliss on your face. He’d never seen anyone look so angelic. The closest comparison he could make was how Patrick looked when he’d first given him a blow job. He wouldn’t call the look on Patrick's face angelic perse, but it was hot, really hot. The reminder of that, and the way you’ve begun clenching around him, spurs him into you. His hips snapping into yours, his heavy balls hitting your ass with each thrust. It was unlike anything either of you had felt before. 

I want him to join.

You weren’t sure that the words had actually left your mouth until the blond on top of you stopped his thrusts, looking into your eyes for a moment. 

“That what you want, baby?” He murmurs, kissing sloppily up and down your neck, shivers running through your entire body at his touch. His fingers falling to your clit, flicking at it. The pleasure was almost enough to make you forget that he’d even asked a question. 

Almost. 

“Please,” Even in your fucked out state, you couldn’t help but want more. 

“Come on, Zweig. You heard her.” Patrick grins, hopping to his feet, although slightly hesitant. He wasn’t sure where to go, or what to do. But his nerves dissolved the moment Art turned around, and gave him that look, one that he knew meant that everything would be okay. It meant that he just needed to get over himself and have a good time, everything would work out. After that he’s on the move towards you, giving Art a harsh slap to the ass as he goes past him, laughing when Art swats back at him. 

Patrick all but flies onto the bed, having kicked his underwear off the moment he stood up, and his shirt is long gone, a mix of yours, his, and Arts clothes are scattered around the hotel room, sure to have lost at least one thing. But none of you had it in you to care, too overwhelmed with pleasure. Your mouth opens before he’s even fully on the bed, but he gets the message, quickly positioning his tip in front of your mouth, thrusting a few times before losing control and fucking your throat. 

The three of you move in tandem for minutes, or maybe it was hours, Art would thrust into you, rubbing your clit with his fingers, while Patrick would be pulling himself out of your mouth at the same time. It felt as though this was a regular occurrence, as though it were normal. And god did you hope it would become a normal thing. The three of you, together, making each other feel good. 

Tapping Patricks thigh lightly, you hum happily when he pulls out of your mouth, giggling at how quickly he begins to check and make sure you’re okay. 

“What? What’s wrong? Are you okay? I didn’t hurt you, did I?” The words come out of his mouth at lightning speed and it’s difficult for you to understand, but Art had and his thrusts slowed to a stop, hands leaving your body, giving you a questioning look as if repeating everything his friend had just said. 

“I’m fine baby,” And then you say something neither of them could quite hear. 

“Gotta speak up for us, sweetheart. Can’t do what you want us to do otherwise.” That comes from Patrick, Art nodding along with him. 

“Want you two to kiss.” The words fly out of your lips and you’re suddenly shy, pressing your face into Patricks thigh, nipping at it softly. 

Both men smirk at you before making eye contact with each other, giving a subtle nod. 

“Well c’mon man, you know how I like it.”

The combination of Arts words, his sudden thrusts and Patrick taking it upon himself to flick at your clit, push you over the edge. The power of your orgasm makes your legs shake, your mind empty of anything this isn’t you, Patrick, or Art. 

They’re still kissing, it’s all teeth and tongue and spit. It’s messy, and it only stops long enough for Arts mouth to fall open, moans spilling out as he comes inside of you, hot spurts of his come flooding your insides, leaving a white ring around the base of his cock as he fucks you through both of your orgasms. 

At this point, Patrick has taken a step back, and is watching again. He’s stroking himself with one hand, squeezing just right and out of nowhere, Art reaches out, cupping the dark haired man's balls, tugging and rubbing on them just the way Patrick likes. The added pleasure sends him crashing over the edge, he barely has the time to move and aim his cum to where you and Art are connected, spilling himself all over your cunt and Arts cock. 

Art pulls out and the three of you fall into a pile of heavy breathing, sweat, spit, and cum on the beds pushed into the middle of the room. Once you all catch your breath, Patrick is the first to speak. 

“Wow.” It was simple, but it made you all burst out laughing. 

“Wow, indeed.” you murmur, pressing a kiss to his pec, turning to do the same to Art. 

“That was fucking hot.” Arts words make you all giggle yet again. 

“Okay,” Patrick leans you into Art and pushes himself off of the bed, “‘m gonna get you two cleaned up, be right back.” He reassures you, hearing you whine at losing his presence. He comes back with a warm washcloth in hand, and a small cup of water in his other. He hands the water to Art motioning for him to take a drink and then give you some as well, while he bends at the waist, resting his knees on the floor and taking the cloth to your core, cleaning you as gently as he could before moving onto Art. Tossing the cloth to the corner of the room he pulls both you and Art into his embrace, enjoying the quiet for a moment before you break the silence. 

“Round two? Whoever makes me cum harder gets to fuck me here first.” You smile slyly, placing your hand on your ass, giggling when Patrick snatches you from Arts hold, muttering something about how he ‘got you first last time and that it’s his turn now.’

[monstersflashlight]

Lizard brain (Day 4/8 of 10k followers event)

Lizard-man x fem!reader || dub-con (heavy), hemi-peens, double penetration, (light) choking, (accidental) exhibitionism

You found yourself trapped between a flat rock and a big lizard-man. And all because all your questionable choices and love for non-human specimens.

You were warned not to get too close to the specimens, you were warned more than once. But you didn’t listen. Because, above all, you were a little bit stupid when the situation implied monsters. A little bit more than stupid if you asked any of the other workers at the facility. Specially the big lizard-people monsters at the lab you researched.

His big body was surrounding you, hot and big and scary. You knew he was sentient but also didn’t know how much he knew about you. The specimens interacted between them, but never with the humans. You all made sure they didn’t. You made sure it was all about studying them in their (recreated) natural habitat. But he kept smelling you and making a sound similar to purring.

You felt the heat of his breathing against your back, his hot breath over your lab coat as he inspected you, more intrigued than dangerous, but that didn’t make you less nervous. The spike of fear inside of you made him growl, a low sound that made your adrenaline run high and your heartbeat skyrocket. You realized he could not only hear every intake of breath you took, but also he could smell every tiny change in your mood. That meant he probably could smell the start of arousal pooling down in your lower abdomen.

“Can- Can you understand me?” You asked, confused about his reaction to your presence. You knew he was intelligent, but not really how much he could comprehend.

To your shook, he answered. “Yesssss.” The long sound of his forked tongue against your ear made you shiver.

“Are you going to release me?” You asked, a hint of amusement in your voice.

He chuckled in that serpent-like manner that made butterflies flutter inside your stomach. “No,” was his short answer.

“Why not?” You asked, involuntarily pushing back against his exploring hands. You were conflicted about it, but your body had no doubt that you wanted everything and anything he offered you.

“Mate,” he growled. You whined at the sound, so hot. Your heartbeat was loud in your ears as he groped your body. Some part of your brain registered the word he just said, but you couldn’t process it as he rubbed your hips, your tummy...

“I’m not lizard,” you tried to say, but he wasn’t worried about that.

He started taking your clothes off and you didn’t fight him, your mind occupied thinking about all the stuff that just discovered. He could talk. You were his mate. He was probably going to fuck you against that rock… And you were fine about it. You were more than fine, you were anticipating whatever he was going to do. Craving it. The fear was easily replaced with arousal as he touched your body.

“I can ssssssmell your arousal, your wetnessssss… Mate,” he growled. His claws massaging your breasts over and over, the scales felt amazing against your hard nipples. “Mine. Claim.” He pushed your body against the rock more insistently, and you felt his hardness against your lower back. He pushed you over the rock, positioning your ass and pussy in the perfect position for him to rub against your heated center.

And that’s how you found yourself trapped between a flat rock and a big lizard-man. His hemipenis rubbing against your ass as he grinded his hips against you. It was exhilarating and maddening all the same. Your brain was swimming between the need to be fucked and the confusion of him talking. Of him wanting you. Of being… his mate. You knew it was rare for them to find a mate, and now humans could also be mates? Made no sense but at the same time… You weren’t complaining. His big body against your back was a reminder of how much you thought about it, how much you always desired to know if it was even possible… And apparently it was.

But then you remembered. You remembered the mating videos of the lizard-people. You remembered he had hemipenis and not only that, but the lower one was huge. It was too big, there was no way…

Your thoughts were lost when you felt something drip into your pussy as he pressed against your entrance. “What? What is that?” It was like a cool balm against your heated center.

“Ssssssh, little mate, it will fit. My seed will make it fit.” As he said that you felt your muscles relaxing, his precum like a balm against your stretching muscles as he pushed inside little by little.

Your mind was running a thousand times per minute. “How is that possible?” You asked in a broken moan as he pressed a bit further.

“I’ve adapted to your needs. I will make it good for you.” His words made no sense to you, as a researcher you had a thousand other questions, but as a participant… You couldn’t focus on any thought apart from his lower dick entering you. “Such a good pussssssssy,” the rolled S only made you get wetter, something about it, about his otherness making you hotter and hotter. You were almost dripping, and his magical precum was only adding to it, making you relaxed and pliant as he slowly entered you.

When he was fully inside, he started to breathe hard over your head, you could hear his tail thrashing behind him. His claws were grabbing your hips almost painfully, but it was so good. The soft scales of his dick were making it hard for you to think as he pulled back and in in a short thrust. It was insanely good, better than any human, better than any toy.

“Are you ready, mate? Are you going to be a good little mate?” He asked as you nodded frantically. His big hand found your neck and he pushed you back, arching your back and starting fucking into you. You screamed, but the hand around your throat constricted in the exact moment, making your head dizzy. He was choking you, and you were enjoying it. A part of your brain wanted to fight the pleasure, but it was rapidly shut down by the immense pleasure he was giving you.

He fucked you like a piston, his dick hitting deep inside and making you lose your mind over and over. His smaller dick was pressing against your asshole insistently, and he wasn’t doing anything about it, but with every thrust inside your pussy, it hit your rim and made you shiver. You wanted it. You wanted it inside of you.

“Mo- More,” you told him as he thrusted deep once again.

He made a confused sound, and you reached behind you to guide his small cock to your asshole. His precum started doing it’s thing and you felt it loosen as you cried out. He growled deep behind you, stopping his movements and making you whimper.

He grunted when his tip slipped inside without any effort. “Are you sure?” He asked, his voice tender and worried.

“Yes. Yes. Yes,” you chanted, more than ready to be claimed in every way possible.

“My perfect mate…” He whispered as he thrusted both dicks inside at the same time.

You screamed and your eyes rolled back into your head, the pleasure so high and so intense you didn’t know if you wanted him to continue or to stop all together. The overwhelming sensation made you lose track of time and space, you were floating into oblivion. It was the best experience of your life and the pleasure felt like it was going to break you into a million pieces.

The combination of both dicks plus his hand against your neck was too much, too hard, too fast. You broke down into the most intense orgasm you’ve ever felt, and the contractions of your muscles pulled him along with you. You felt him filling your holes over and over, twitching intensely as he came.

When he pulled out, you felt your holes twitching at the same time a mechanical voice said from the speakers: “You did well, researcher, very interesting data was recorded.”

Shit, you forgot there were people watching and probably saw you get fucked within an inch of your life. All your coworkers just watched you getting double creampied by a giant lizard-man. Great.

Part 2 here.

[nachojaehyun]

like a part 2 where the reader just keeps on acting nonchalant like nothing happened and wonwoo gets more and more riled up. cause “why am i the only one going insane here” type of feelings. and he just ends up taking here in a dressing room or something cause damn they need to fuck

she’ll ride the dick like a carnival

pairing. idol! wonwoo + new staff! fem reader!

summary. since that one fateful night at his apartment, jeon wonwoo realizes that he is fucked. but not really, since he can’t seem to get you in his bed.

warnings. [PLEASE READ] dom/sub dynamics, slight dom wonwoo, dirty talk, use of nicknames, THICK dick and lowkey desperate wonu, reader is VERY nonchalant, implied mirror sex, riding, wonu almost cries… AGAIN, sloppy kisses on the tits, subtle jizz play — 18+ MINORS DNI!

note. desperate sex that turns steamy and passionate is my favorite genre holy shit 😭 first time answering an ask! hope you like it :)

find part 1 here

jeon wonwoo could only watch you from across the waiting room as you pranced around in a midi skirt, chatting happily with the staff.

he wanted to cuss you out.

shifting in his chair, he pushed his glasses further up his nose, angrily sniffing.

how could you act like this?

how were you so nonchalant? so unbothered about the fact that you had him seeing stars merely 72 hours ago?

it had been 3 days since you had sucked the soul out of his body. 3 days since he couldn’t stop rutting his cock into his fist to the thoughts of you. 3 days since he had become insane.

he tried to get your attention, he really did. the poor boy would keep trying to pry anything out of your mouth that gave him a hint about your feelings.

but you were unpredictable, just as he had thought.

your face was like a wall — completely emotionless. any thought that passed through your head could barely be understood and wonwoo wanted to smash his head into the concrete at that realization.

“jeez, what’s got you this tense?” mingyu sits down next to him, adjusting his costume as he stared at his best friend. “i’m just… worried about the performance, nothing else.”

mingyu knew that wonwoo was lying.

hell, even wonwoo knew he was lying.

but none of them seemed to question each other as they sat in silence, each immersed in their own thoughts.

“wonwoo-ssi?” your voice called out to him. the boy singled out you and your sound amid nearly 50 people in the room, surprisingly springing to his feet as he walked towards you.

“your outfit is ready, follow me.”

the man silently walked behind you, striding toward the secluded attached room in the corner.

he pulled the curtain and stepped inside, and he was immediately handed his clothes. the outfit was simple— a sleeveless shirt and some baggy white jeans.

“i’ll be outside,” you nodded, bidding him farewell as you pulled the curtain.

sighing, wonwoo turned to look at himself in the mirror. his hardened cock stared at him in the face— a haunting image of the effect you had on him.

how am i the only one who is this riled up? he wondered. i can’t be the only one… right?

he wasn’t.

you would be lying if you said your panties weren’t glued to your core since you walked in. the sight of him had your head spinning, wanting nothing more than to strip him down and pull his dick into your throat.

but of course, you were not some depraved whore.

you set boundaries after that night. he was your client, and you were his stylist. of course you weren’t supposed to suck him off!

the fitting next morning after the incident had made you lose your self control. you recall how you had to get yourself off in the bathroom, relishing in the thoughts of seeing wonwoo in a tight fitted suit.

but of course, you would never voice these thoughts out loud. being in the same room as him was punishment enough to remind you of your sins. you wondered if applying for a styling job for a different member would work—

“uh?” wonwoo’s deep voice cut off your lewd thoughts, making you shake your head to clear them out. “a little help?”

“you good?" you sighed. “i’m coming in,” sucking in a breath as you stepped inside the small box.

wonwoo was leaning against one of the mirrored walls, one leg up on a stool in the corner. “what’s wrong?” you searched for a solution in his face.

“i seem to be stuck in a seemingly hard situation.”

one look down to his hands, you immediately realized the problem.

wonwoo’s dick was hard, the bulge over his boxers made that evident. the problem? the sheer size of his chub was not allowing the zipper of his jeans to zip up.

the man had a small waist but also had weirdly broad hips. his pants always had to be altered so that they suited his body type.

however, this was a problem that no other stylist had ever had to deal with.

“what do i do?” wonwoo whined, pouting his lips as he pushed up his glasses.

“wonwoo-ssi,” you spoke. your voice remained surprisingly stable, despite the fact that you could feel your pussy pulsating.

“i think you need to solve this problem on your own,” you looked into his eyes, almost feeling bad at how he panted.

however, before you could turn around and leave, wonwoo pushed his glasses up his nose and caged you between his arms.

your back hit one of the mirrored walls, as a surprised gasp fumbled from your mouth.

“wonw—”

“for the love of god woman, do you not see what you do to me?”

the desperation in his voice made your knees buckle as you stared into his eyes, gaze alternating to his lips as he bit them.

wonwoo heaved as he inched closer towards your face. “give me one good reason why you shouldn’t take care of my problem. you’re the one that caused it after all.”

hearing him voice out his thoughts, you turned your head to the side, embarrassed by the effect his voice had on you. how was this even your fault—

but with a harsh grip, jeon wonwoo grabbed your chin with his fingers, forcing to you look at him.

“can’t think of anything can you?” his head dipped down, tracing his teeth along your neck. the sensation made you hiss silently. “help me, please. what would carat think if i went out on stage looking like this?”

“sit,” is all you managed to say, voice enamoured with need.

you all but pushed wonwoo onto the iron stool in the corner, hauling yourself onto his lap as you crashed your lips into his.

fuck, your lips were way better than he had ever imagined. they were soft and pillowy as they engulfed his mouth, tongue grazing against his own as you ground down on his crotch.

wonwoo’s free hand pushed your head impossibly close as he licked into your mouth, wanting to memorize every crevice.

spit dribbles from your connected mouths, sloppy and wet kisses sounding obscenely loud in the secluded area. the man does not care that drool is now staining his tank top. he could never get enough of this.

his other hand gripped tightly onto your ass, groping and fondling the fat. after a second, he pulled away from you, glasses foggy and lips swollen as he tried to catch his breath.

“shit baby, i can’t take it anymore,” he whisper-screamed, tears coating his lashes. you wished you could burn this image into your head for the rest of your life.

you could only nod, ready to sink to your knees before wonwoo stopped you, tutting. “pull your panties to the side, doll,” he commanded, chest heaving.

the change in his tone had your thighs tingling. you pulled your midi skirt up, tucking the ends into the hem as you exposed yourself.

at the sight of your baby blue cotton panties, jeon wonwoo nearly growled.

the material was thoroughly soaked and ruined, a deep blue patch staining the cloth. as you pulled them to the side, he noticed how slicked up your heat was, a string of arousal connected your folds to the cotton.

you gripped onto his shoulders for support in your half-sitting position as he glided two fingers against your folds.

“so wet for me already, huh? don’t even need to work you up for my cock,” he smacked his lips. “filthy girl.”

wonwoo strained his ears to listen for any footsteps near the area as he sucked his dampened fingers into his mouth. your taste was making him dizzy, breath faltering as he rolled his eyes to the back of his head.

without wasting any more time, you pulled his cock out of its confines, sliding his boxers down just enough to free his length.

the sight of him always made you salivate. however, it was clear that he didn’t want that happening today.

steadily, you positioned yourself over him, hovering before you finally pushed his fat tip in.

the sensation had you moaning out loud— before he slapped his hand over your mouth. “shh! don’t be so loud baby, they will hear us,” he cooed.

you nodded frantically, slowly inching downwards as his dick began to fill you up. once he was bottomed out, you couldn’t help but sob into his palm.

“i know baby, i know. feels good yeah?” he smirked, shushing you with sweet words as he let you adjust to his size.

wonwoo’s thick dick was buried up to your hilt, and you felt so incredibly full. your poor walls clenched around his cock, nearly making him bust.

without a word, the man beneath you grabbed at your waist, moving you up and down on his length, slowly. with him pistoning in and out of you, you could feel your senses going into overdrive.

wonwoo tugged your top down with his teeth, suckling along the valley of your breasts to keep himself quiet. your pussy felt incredibly tight, creaming him for all he was worth.

his strong arms continued to guide you, until your legs automatically adjusted to the pace. your body began to move on its own accord— tits jiggling in wonwoo's mouth with each bounce.

"f-fuck!" you whimpered, beginning to lose your mind. for a moment, he looks up at you through his glasses, smiling widely from between your breasts.

the bastard's cheeky grin has you forgetting your own name as he lapped his tongue around your skin like he fucking owned it.

"already going dumb on my cock? shi— you ride so well baby."

your bounces show him just how stretched you were, making wonwoo's stomach clench as he split you apart. you tease him a little by slowing down, grinding down on him as he bites his lips and throws his head back.

as his hands grab onto your cheeks to spread them, he accidentally catches a glimpse of your back in the mirror opposite to you two.

god, you looked so fucking hot.

without knowing why, you felt him twitch inside. "not gonna— oh shit! — last very long now baby."

at the sound of his confession, you bring a hand down to rub at your clit. taking the hint, he begins to rut back into you, using all his strength to fuck into your heat.

"p—please wonwoo hah! cum inside, please please please,"

you're not sure why you beg, but you're too cock drunk to process anything but the fact that you want him filling you up, stuffing your cunt full with his release.

"you su— fuck fuck fuck—" wonwoo whispers, biting down on your right tit to subdue the moan that was about to leave his throat.

with that and a grunt, he cums inside your pussy, filling you up to the brim. his length twitches inside you, shooting out excess spurts. feeling himself soften, wonwoo pulls out of you. you whine at the sudden sensation of feeling so empty.

the boy stays mesmerized at the way your cum mixes together, escaping your spent hole in small globs.

as a pathetic attempt, he uses two fingers to plug the release back inside you, making you whimper again at the sudden intrusion. "sorry," he apologizes, before placing your panties back where they belonged.

with a fluid motion, jeon wonwoo tucks himself back into his calvin klein boxers and then zipping his pants up, meeting your dazed eyes with another cute smile. "see? it fits now."

you can’t help but smile back at him, panting to catch your breath.

your thighs hurt from the awkward position, but you were sure that you would never have it any other way.

so, that's how you end up walking around the rest of the working day— wonwoo's cum safely filled up inside you, as you and him exchanged comically wide-eyed looks every few minutes, a shade of pink grazing your cheeks.

© nachojaehyun, 2024.

[sttoru]

·.⌇ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. you leave megumi with your husband so you can make them breakfast. you quickly realise that that might have backfired.

wc. around 1.3k

tags. dad!toji x wife!female reader. fluff. reader gets called ‘mama’ by both toji & megumi. half beta read.

“ow, careful there, brat.”

your husband’s deep voice echoes from within the bathroom. you’ve left megumi in his care this morning so you’d be able to make breakfast in peace. toji was all grumpy about it, since he had to wake up early when he had no work, but eventually agreed to your proposal.

you hum your favorite song while frying eggs. the sizzling in the pan did help avert your attention from toji’s grunts of annoyance somewhere in the distance, though only for a couple seconds. your hear your child’s laughter slip between the noises of aggravation. it piques your interest.

“one more time and i’m putting y’r ass in time out,” toji’s deep voice sounds muffled. he sounds rather serious about whatever is bothering him.

you turn the stove off and walk towards the hallway, standing at the doorframe as you look in the direction of the bathroom. you tilt your head and try your best to pick up on snippets of the conversation between your husband and son.

the sound of bottles dropping on the floor is the first thing that allows you to guess that megumi’s acting up. you know how mischievous your little toddler can get, especially at his age. toji isn’t one to gentle parent his kid—he tries to, of course, but sometimes he can’t help but be a bit rough.

“megumi fushiguro.”

you raise your eyebrows as toji uses your child’s full name. he rarely does, only when he’s really upset or about to lose his marbles. you decide to see what was going on for yourself. you walk towards the bathroom, cleaning your hands against the material of your apron. you knock once before pushing the door open.

you stick your head through the little gap, ready to identify the cause of the commotion. the first thing you notice is the chaos on the floor; bottles, tubes, toothbrushes, and all other kinds of products lay cluttered on the bathroom tiles.

your eyes then land on your husband’s broad and scarred back, “hey, honey. did something hap—”

your voice trails off once toji turns around, revealing the jaw dropping scene. nearly his entire face is covered in loads of shaving cream and even his black hair hasn’t escaped the soft foam.

the bathroom counter is completely wet, and the water runs down the edges in small drops. the culprit of this entire scene is sitting right on that same counter, clapping his dirty hands together that were smeared with toji’s shaving cream.

you blink and walk towards the two. you can’t possibly be mad at the sight, finding toji’s situation more funny than worrisome. You try to act serious and clear your throat, “uh, yeah. so what’s happened here?”

your husband rolls his eyes and nods his head at the little boy in front of him, who’s giggling and kicking his legs. toji tries to wipe the shaving cream from his nose, attempting to get it out of his hair as well, “i tried to be a good dad and include him in my morning routine, that’s what.”

the man clicks his tongue as he now realises how dumb of a mistake that was, “gave him the opportunity to put some shaving foam on my jaw ‘n the brat totally blew it. started attackin’ me with the stuff.”

toji grumbles. he wipes away the foam that got on the mirror afterwards. it’s nearly gotten everywhere. he lightly nudges megumi’s forehead with a scoff, “never again, y’hear? the little shit can’t sit still for even one second.”

that explains the stuff on the floor. you know that megumi could grow bored easily if he isn’t the centre of attention. he’d start doing anything to be the focus of his parents. toji probably didn’t pay him much mind, wanting to get his morning routine over with.

“language, honey.” you sigh and look down at megumi who’s still reaching his messy hands up to his dad.

toji huffs and leans back, not giving the little boy a chance to put more shaving cream on his face. he’s learnt his lesson; kids do not understand it when you tell them to ‘only put a little bit’.

megumi whines and threatens to throw a tantrum. you notice that immediately and try to keep his mind off things by picking him up. you turn on the faucet and try to wash his little hands, “c’mon. give mama your hands.”

the little boy shakes his head furiously, squirming in your embrace in attempt to get away. you sigh and grab his little wrists gently. you lower him to the sink, trying your best to wash away the shaving cream as the first step of solving this grande mess.

“no, mama!” megumi is stubborn as he voices his complains. toji watches from a distance whilst he struggles to clean the overload of shaving cream from his face.

you make the mistake of letting go of your child’s wrists to grab a washcloth. megumi takes his chance and pats his messy hands against your face, leaving you no space to process what he’s doing.

your mind takes a second before you realise what’s happening, “hey! quit it, ‘gumi.”

you try to grab ahold of megumi’s tiny hands again, but they move too fast for you. plus, he’s pretty skilled at avoiding yours. you can feel the foam slowly cover your entire face; from your jaw and cheeks, to your nose and forehead.

it was inevitable at this point.

“toji, do something,” you grunt and struggle to contain the energetic toddler in your arms. you take a peek at your husband and find him grinning at the predicament you’ve gotten yourself in.

toji simply shrugs and enjoys the fact that you’re experiencing exactly what he had experienced just moments ago. seeing you struggle to contain your disobedient child only proves that his parenting skills are not the problem in this situation, your toddler is.

“ye did that to y’rself, mama.” toji hums in amusement. he leans against the wall, the blue towel now loosely hanging off head after he’s given up on getting the foam out of his hair, “now y’know what i’m talkin’ about. he’s a lil’ monster.”

megumi squeals in victory after he’s gotten both his parents covered in shaving cream. you want to say something to your child, but you’re at a loss for words. even now, you cannot bring yourself to be mad at him. he’s just a kid who’s having fun with his parents.

“i made mama pretty! hehe.” megumi grins and encourages you to look in the mirror. he points at your reflection and awaits the words of confirmation. his blue eyes look up at you, nearly sparkling with joy, admiring how pretty he’s made you look with that white foam all over your face.

toji joins in on the fun. he comes to stand behind you, looking at you through the mirror. he snickers, already forgotten about his irritations that occurred in the first place. he nods in approval at megumi’s words, “gotta agree, son. y’r mama looks much prettier like this.”

your husband’s teasing comment adds fuel to the fire. though again, you cannot bring yourself to be upset at the situation.

you look at the reflection in the dirty mirror. you all may appear disheveled due to the foamy mess on your bodies—and yet even at that moment—the only thing you actually manage to see is a happy family of three.

[writersdrug]

Heyyyyyy!!! So I’m absolutely freaking OBSESSED with your bartender AU… like I’m just eating up everything that’s coming out with itttttt!!! I love your writing so much and I’m honestly so hooked whenever I read your stuff!

I was wondering if I could request something with bartender Simon Riley and it’s where he finds reader crying in the backroom/pantry/stock area of the pub cause it’s been one of *THOSE* days. So he finds her there and sits with her and she just absolutely melts onto him and it’s all very sweet… sorry if this too much info for a request! Again, I absolutely love your work! 🤭🫶

Combining this with a few other asks about reader and Simon having a tender moment + reader having monetary issues

You're rather quiet today - you'd come in and spoken your hello's to everyone, then promptly got to work. Starting on rolling silverware in the far booth, then fifo-ing the pantry and fridge upstairs, then cleaning the bathrooms (you hated cleaning them, which is how Simon first figured out something was wrong). Didn't even reach for the French toast sticks Soap had put under the warmer for everyone. You have an expression plastered to your face as you work. Something between frustration and worry, and it has Price, Johnny, and Simon all on edge. Still, they let you be; it was well-known by now that personal space is sacred to them, and Simon trusts that you'll speak up if you need a shoulder.

Gaz couldn't stay to help drag the kegs upstairs today - something about the Brewmaster being on a trip to Austria, so he was left to watch the brewery. Simon doesn't mind that much. He can easily lift two kegs onto his shoulders and trudge them upstairs to the fridge. He grunts as he moves past the office, careful not to bang the kegs on any corners. Adjusting his grip, he pushes his way into the walk-in fridge-

He sees you, facing the boxes of fruits. "Oh- sorry, luv-" he sets the first keg down, then the second. "Y' need me to reach somethin'?"

You shake your head. Simon furrows his brow, noticing how tense your shoulders are. You're just... standing there. Not reaching for anything, not even looking at the shelves. Just staring at your feet.

You're crying.

All of his duties as a bartender fall to the side. He lets the door fall shut behind him. "Hey, hey... what's goin' on?" he places a hand on your upper back, rubbing his thumb back and forth as he waits for you to turn around. His mind is racing a million miles a minute, trying to imagine what could possibly have you this upset - and what he can do to fix it.

You shake your head, sniffling and trying to control your breaths. "It's nothing, I'm just - just a weird day, y'know? Not sure why I'm crying." You turn to look up at him and muster a smile, though your teary eyes say something else entirely.

He sighs. "C'mon, what's wrong?" He kneels down so that he's looking up at you - something his mom used to do when he felt too overwhelmed to tell her why he was crying. He can't explain it, but it made it easier to let go of whatever was troubling him.

Your lip wobbles, and you cave. Simon holds himself steady as you hug him, his burly arms wrapping around the small of your back. You sob, chest shaking with sharp inhales and sniffles, and Simon closes his eyes and sighs. This is what he wants: to be the lighthouse in your storm, to hold you steady while you began to slip. More than anything, though, he doesn't want you to cry.

He does what he remembers his mother doing. He gently shushes you, heart aching as you fist the back of his shirt and try to compose yourself. He uses one hand to drag an upturned crate behind you, slowly lowering you to sit down. The last thing he wants to do is let go of you, but he needs you to talk. He grabs a bucket and pulls it under him, planting himself in front of you and looking into your eyes.

"Talk to me. What's on your mind, hmm?"

You explain it all through sniffles and sobs: you're mom's recently called and said she wants to visit you. You're embarrassed with yourself, still living in that shitty apartment with your shitty roommate, a marketing degree hanging on your wall that you've never used (believe me, you've tried, but places really aren't hiring). Money isn't tight, but you're not saving - just making enough to exist and occasionally buy the name brand instead of the generic. One thing spirals into another, and you find yourself despairing about how you're never going to be anyone important, you're never going to make a difference - you're not even a cog in the machine. You're just the space between it.

God knows Simon's felt it, too.

"See?" you laugh at yourself, wiping a tear away with your fingers. "It's stupid. I do this every once in a while, right before my period."

Simon grunts. Good to know he can start buying chocolate and leaving it stuffed in the server cabinet. "It's not stupid, luv. You're worried - it's alright."

You cover your eyes, fighting the urge to start sobbing again. "I just... I feel like I'm not doing what I should be doing. I'm not getting anywhere. I thought I was going to be in a corporate office by now, living in a penthouse apartment and travelling wherever I want."

Simon scoffs. "Well, that's just unrealistic."

You huff. "I know. But that's success, isn't it?"

"Is that what you want?"

"Success? I mean... doesn't everyone?"

"Lemme put it this way." Simo leans his elbows on his knees, and you find yourself being drawn in to meet him, arms folded over your stomach.

"I assume you're happy 'ere." he says, looking you in the eyes. "What, with making your silly li'l drinks and swappin' all my shit for somethin' pink, 'n whatnot."

You giggle. "Yeah, I am..."

"Do you want to be happy?"

"I..." you pause. "Yeah, I do. Of course."

"Then aren't you already successful?" he asks. "You're not drownin' in bills - I hope you'd tell me if ya were - and you're happy. Is workin' a stupid corporate job n' livin' above the clouds gonna make it better?"

You looked at his hands, turning over the words in your head. It was stupid. It was the stupidest thing you've ever been worried about - he was completely right. You're happy here. You've never been happier - not in college, not at your data entry job, and definitely not in high school. You laugh, looking down at your own hands. "Yeah, you're... you're right. God, that was stupid-"

"Oi." he says sternly, slapping your knee - you froze, attention fully directed to him now.

"'S not stupid." he says, pointing a finger at you. "Just have to work through this sort of shit."

You watch as he stands and stretches his arms over his head, joints popping and cracking. "Should leave, 'fore we start heating up the fridge." he opens the door, and you quickly stand and follow him on the way out.

"What about the kegs?" you ask, following him down the stairs. "Do you need help bringing those up?"

"Give it time. Let it cool back down in there." He pauses at the bottom of the stairs, hand on the doorknob as he watches you quickly smear away the mascara under your eyes. "You eat anything today?"

You shake your head, fixing the knot on your server apron.

Simon forces his eyes away from your waist. "There's French Toast on the warmer - Soap made it for you. Go take a fifteen."

"But I haven't fini-"

"'M not askin'." he grunts out, pushing through the stairwell door and into the restaurant. He leaves you there to finish collecting yourself, staring after him with a small smile.

If this was you when you had first started working here, you would have thought he was frustrated with you for being so emotional. Now, that's just how you've come to know him. You quickly fix your hair and wipe your face once more, stepping out into the pub. The smell of cinnamon sugar wafts through the air as you make your way towards the kitchen, sparing one last sentimental glance to Simon as he begins setting up his bar.