#And she always says that one day when he’s old enough that he’ll be able to help her with chopping vegetables or other ingredients

[flowersforbucky]

for always and ever is always for you

old man!logan x healer!reader

word count: 15.2k

summary: logan is getting sicker by the day, and charles' seizures are occurring more and more frequently. logan didn't think he'd ever see you again - but desperate times call for desperate measures.

warnings/tags: 18+ only mdni, smut, descriptions of blood and illness, angst, logan's pov, reader is afab, language, slow burn as far as one-shots go, no use of y/n, caliban being sassy, mutual pining, friends to lovers, unprotected p in v, oral (m&f receiving), face sitting, cream pie, some dirty talk and pet names

author's note: thank you @embbarnes for reading this and letting me rant about it and assuring me that it's worth posting 🫶🏻 this took me an embarrassing amount of time and i have to say i am pretty proud of it. flashbacks are in italics

divider by @saradika-graphics!

“This is the third time in the last week, you know.”

Logan stares down at the deep red splatters of blood that creep towards the drain. The skin of his knuckles begin to turn white from how harshly he grips the edges of the sink – he’s surprised the ceramic doesn’t shatter. He turns the faucet on, lowering his lips to the weak stream to collect enough water to rinse the taste of iron from his mouth.

“I know that,” Logan spits the now pink tinged water into the bowl and then wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “You don’t think I fuckin’ know that? I’m the one hacking my lungs up here.” He shoves past Caliban, exiting the small bathroom.

Logan doesn’t want to snap at him – hates that it happens as often as it does. But right now he’s late for work and the last thing he needs is to hear Caliban harping on about this again while he scrambles to find his car keys.

“You know I hate to keep bringing this up,” Caliban continues as he follows Logan into the makeshift kitchen of the abandoned smelting plant.

“I find that hard to believe,” Logan mumbles under his breath. He finds his keys hidden under some junk mail and shoves them in his coat pocket before pouring himself some coffee to take with him to work. It’s day old and not as strong as he’d like for it to be, but he’ll be glad that he has it when midnight rolls around.

“Charles,” Caliban continues. “The medications are doing very little to help him anymore. We’re having to give him twice as much as we were a month ago, which means we are running out twice as fast. He’s getting worse. You both are. We need to find a… specialist that can help with both of our problems.”

Logan snorts in response, practically able to feel Caliban’s eyes burning holes in the back of his head.

“There ain’t a thing that any doctor can do for me and you know it.”

Maybe Logan hasn’t had the flu, or strep throat, or even the common cold in two hundred odd years, but he knows there’s no prescription that any physician can write that would stop his very bones from poisoning him.

“Let me rephrase that, then. Not a doctor. You need to see a healer.”

Logan freezes, his posture going rigid.

“If you’re about to say what I think you’re going to say, I suggest shutting the fuck up.”

“He’s had a record number of seizures so far this week,” Caliban implores. “You’re barely standing upright. There’s a chance that she could help you both.”

“She’s out of the question,” Logan spits before storming past him. He yanks the door open and slams it closed behind him as he steps into the late evening Mexico sun.

How does Caliban even know about you? Some of Charles’ rambling in his rare moments of lucidity, no doubt.

It doesn’t matter if you can help or not.

For a lot of reasons, it doesn’t matter.

The most obvious one being he hasn’t talked to you in over a year and doesn’t know where the fuck you’re at.

••••••

“You don’t have to stay back there, you know. You can come closer. You’re not in my way.”

There’s no hint of condescension in your voice. Only patience, and reassurance. Still, Logan doesn’t budge from his position in the corner of the mansion’s infirmary.

You don’t press him any further.

He had lost track of how long he’d been standing here, just watching in complete silence as you tend to the young mutant’s injuries.

Logan doesn’t even know the kid’s name. He doesn’t know any of their names. But he’d been the one to find all five of them in a locked cell on today’s mission, and he isn’t going to leave this room until he knows that they are all okay.

You’d already taken care of four out of the five. They now rest peacefully in individual beds, no doubt the warmest and safest they’ve been in God knows how long.

Your hands hover a few inches above a young boy’s chest, emitting a pale purple glow as you wave them over his torso, letting your powers radiate from your palms into his body.

Logan notices the color of your power isn’t as vibrant as it was when you’d healed the first child’s injuries, or the second, or third. Originally a bright violet, it’s now a lackluster lavender.

He also doesn't miss the way that you suddenly close your eyes with furrowed brows, but he remains in the corner, watching you carefully. You dig your teeth into the flesh of your bottom lip in concentration, causing Logan to take an involuntary step forward at the pained expression on your face.

Your hands drop down to the railing of the bed that the boy lays in, clutching the bars to keep you from falling over as the energy you’d been emitting fades away.

“Shit,” you huff, out of breath. A thin layer of perspiration glistens on your forehead.

“What’s wrong?” Logan asks as he moves closer to you. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you grunt, nodding as you look up at him. You give him a forced smile that does very little to reassure him. “I’m fine. It’s just been a while since I’ve had to use so much of my powers in such a short amount of time.”

“Maybe you should sit down for a minute, yeah?” Logan looks around the infirmary, walking a few feet away to grab a chair for you. He places it next to the bed that you’re still using for support.

“I’ll be as good as new soon,” you assure him as you take a seat. “This happens occasionally.”

Logan stands beside you, awkwardly leaning against the edge of an empty bed next to the boy’s. He watches as you lean forward, taking the kid’s small hand in your own. There’s no resurgence of purple – you’re simply holding it. The boy is sound asleep, so the act makes Logan wonder if it’s for his comfort or your own.

“If I exert too much energy at once, I feel the effects of it. Not enough to really hurt me, just.. leave me feeling like I need to sleep for a week,” you explain with a weak chuckle. Logan’s eyes are fixated on the way that your thumb soothes over the skin of the boy’s hand.

“A gift that comes with a price,” Logan murmurs. “I know how that feels. Though it sometimes feels more like a curse in my case.” He instinctively glances down at his knuckles, his claws sheathed away.

“I can see how it would feel that way,” you agree, glancing up at him with a soft expression. “But it’s not what your power is that determines whether it’s a curse or a gift. It’s what you do with it. And these kids are alive because of you. A lot of people are, because you choose to use it for good. I’d say that makes it a gift.”

“I guess I should try to look at it that way more often,” he hums.

“Plus, having the ability to heal yourself has gotta be pretty neat. I think you’re the only person here who would never have to ask me for my help.” You glance back up at him, a hint of a smirk ghosting your lips.

They’re pretty, he thinks – your lips. He mentally scolds himself, knowing now isn’t the time or place to be thinking about your lips.

“You can count on that, bub.”

When Logan wakes, he doesn’t have the chance to mourn the memory he’d found himself reliving in his sleep.

He does find himself on the floor by his bed with the breath knocked from his lungs. His hands come to shield his ears, attempting to block out the high-pitched shrieking that makes his ear canals feel as if they are filling with blood.

Judging by the sunlight streaming into his room through the thin, tattered curtains covering his windows, he guesses that it’s mid-afternoon. He couldn’t have been asleep for more than a few hours – meaning it also couldn’t have been more than a few hours since he had given Charles his most recent dose of medicine.

With the world shaking around him, a half empty bottle of liquor and an old coffee mug both shatter as they fall off of his bedside table and hit the ground.

Logan and Caliban had recently cleared off all shelves in the smelting plant, moving anything that could potentially fall and break during one of Charles’ episodes closer to the ground, but after a long night of driving around drunk assholes, it’s easy to forget that even a ceramic cup on a small table is a hazard.

He can tell by the way that the air around him feels as if it weighs ten tons that Charles has to be close by. He musters all of his strength to force himself to his feet. Each movement feels as if he’s in slow motion as he fights against the psionic energy that works to keep him frozen in place.

As slow as if he has hundred pound weights attached to each of his feet, he makes his way from his bedroom and to the common area. When he turns the corner, he first sees Caliban, still as a statue with his facial features contorted in agony and his typically alabaster skin turning redder by the second from the pain. He’s less than a foot away from where Charles sits in his wheelchair, where he appears to have been watching a movie.

Logan frantically looks around the room, searching for where he had placed the bag of injections and pills when he’d forced Charles into swallowing his last dose just a few hours ago.

He finds it on what is used as a dining room table. It’s sheer good luck that Logan had thought to prepare an emergency dose of the injection earlier that day, most likely thanks to Caliban’s lecture from yesterday evening still looming in the back of his mind.

After what feels like hours, Logan finally reaches Charles with the injection and plunges the needle into his chest. The second that the medication enters his system, the seizure ceases.

Caliban and Logan both collapse to the ground in relief. Logan clutches his chest, trying to steady his heartbeat and regulate his breathing.

“You dream of her just as she dreams of you,” Charles whimpers through labored breaths.

“What?” Logan snaps, glaring at Charles from his position on the dirty floor. His ears must still be ringing from the effects of the seizure, because he can’t have heard him right. “Quit reading my mind.”

“Your thoughts are always loud when you think of her,” Charles murmurs, turning his attention back to the movie on the screen in front of him as if nothing had happened.

It's the first time, Logan realizes, that Charles has mentioned you since the day of his first seizure. Even without specifically saying your name, Logan knows exactly who he’s referring to.

“Make that four incidents this week,” Caliban grumbles as he jerks the plastic bag filled with medication out of Logan’s hand. He digs through it, pulling out a pill bottle and dumping two into his palm. “He’s averaging an episode per day, and each one feels stronger than the last. It’s only a matter of time before he kills–”

“Do you know where she’s at? Can you track her?” Logan interrupts him. Caliban pauses to look at him, visibly annoyed.

“Oh, so it’s a good idea now that he–” he jabs a finger in Charles’ direction, “mentions her once, is it?” He stomps over to where Charles watches the television, seemingly oblivious to the conversation happening right beside him.

“Take these. Both of them.” He shoves them into Charles’ palm and then storms past Logan.

“Didn’t say anything about it being a good idea,” Logan grunts, following him into the kitchen. “But you seem to think it is and I don’t know what else to do. So can you find her or not?”

“Of course I can,” Caliban retorts defensively. “As long as you have something with her scent on it.”

Logan throws his hands up in frustration, and then rakes one hand down his face, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers.

“I haven’t seen her in over a year. Why would I have anything that smells like her?”

“It doesn’t have to be dosed in her favorite perfume,” Caliban huffs. “But I can’t track anyone without some amount of their scent to go off of.”

“Goddammit,” Logan groans between gritted teeth. He turns in the opposite direction, heading back to his bedroom.

He thinks back to the last time that he saw you – the last time that his life had any sense of normalcy. The day of Charles’ first seizure, the day that he saw seven of his friends die, you weren’t there. By some miracle, you had been out of town.

But a few days before that – it had been snowing. It was the first snow of winter and you had taken a group of younger students to play outside in the middle of class.

Logan was called over by a few of the kids who begged him to help make a snowman. You kept to the sidelines, watching him with the students, your arms wrapped tightly around yourself to keep your cardigan pulled securely around your chest.

He remembers pausing what he was doing to run over to you and insist that you take his jacket until you were all back inside. He remembers how much he liked seeing you wear it, and how silly he felt when he didn’t like that you remembered to give it back.

He remembers being enveloped in the smell of honey and cream when he shrugged the jacket back onto his own shoulders. Less than a week later, he found himself in Mexico with no need to wear such a heavy leather jacket.

It's now been over a year since he’s so much as touched it.

Logan begins rifling through the drawers of the dresser that looks to be as old as he is, containing all of the clothing that he owns. It doesn’t take but a few seconds until he recognizes the feeling of the worn leather against his fingertips.

He brings the jacket up to his nose, inhaling where your skin and hair had rest against the collar. He breathes in deep, concentrating on the scent that transports him back to before his life was completely uprooted and turned upside down. With his eyes closed, it’s easy for him to let himself believe he’s standing in the kitchen of the mansion with your arms around his neck.

It's faint. If he didn’t have enhanced senses, he may not have been able to detect it at all. But it’s there – familiar and nostalgic and unmistakably you.

••••••

It takes Caliban all of sixty seconds to pinpoint your location.

Logan doesn’t quite know how to feel about learning that there’s only one state in-between the two of you. He wasn’t sure where he expected you to be, really – it doesn’t surprise him that you didn’t stay in the state of New York, and he didn’t think you would return to your hometown, but knowing that you’ve possibly been just a half day’s drive away from him this entire time makes a lot of emotions surface that he’s been trying to push down for the last year.

He begins the drive just after six in the morning. By the time the sun starts to set that evening, he enters the city limits of Silverton, Colorado.

Nestled in the snow-capped Rockies, the small town couldn’t be more polar opposite of where he has resided for the last thirteen months. The stark differences nearly cause him to turn his limousine around and head back to the smelting plant without even bothering you – if you’d chosen somewhere like this to live, there’s no way you’d be content with the brutal, dry heat of northern Mexico.

But this is the closest he’s been to you in nearly four hundred days, and despite the fact that he’s spent the last ten hours of this car ride thinking about what he’s going to say to you and still doesn’t fucking know, he can’t bring himself to go back to Mexico without trying.

Without at least seeing your face. Without at least seeing for himself that you’re doing okay.

He knows it’s selfish. He knows he made his choice when he took Charles to Mexico without even letting you know that they were alive. It doesn’t matter that he had his reasons for doing so, it doesn’t matter how much it killed him inside – he made his choice and he should have to live with it, without disturbing your peace and asking any of this of you.

He justifies it by telling himself that it’s for Charles, and Caliban. Maybe it’s his pride, but he refuses to make his ailing health your responsibility. Asking you to help with Charles is already asking too much.

He turns down a dirt road, following the approximate – not exact – instructions that Caliban had provided. Thankfully, it’s a small town in both size and population, so it doesn’t take him too long to find the neighborhood that Caliban had described.

He knows he has found the right house when he sees your car. He recognizes it instantly due to the cracked rear bumper that you still have yet to have replaced and its unique sage green color that peaks through the light dusting of snow.

He pulls into your driveway, parking his limousine next to your vehicle and turns off the engine. He takes in the appearance of your home – a small, cozy cabin with smoke erupting from the chimney. All of your curtains are pulled closed but there’s enough light peaking through them for him to know that you’re inside.

The thought occurs to him that he might not find you alone. It’s been over a year – you could have found someone to build a life with. They could pull into this very driveway at any moment. Hell, you could have a baby for all he knows. He might be seconds away from learning that you have a whole family of your own–

His thoughts only stop spiraling when he sees your front door swing open, your face peeking around the frame a second later. Confusion is etched across your features as you notice the limousine parked in front of your porch.

You don’t yet know that it’s him due to the limousine’s tinted windows, he realizes.

You exit the house, stepping onto your front porch with your arms crossed over your chest as you wait for the driver of the vehicle to make themselves known.

You haven’t aged a day. Your hair being longer than the last time he saw you is the only physical proof that any time has passed at all.

Logan attempts to clear his face of all of the emotions coursing through him and opens the driver’s side door, stepping out of the vehicle.

Thanks to the adamantium poisoning his body, his eyesight has started to decline over the last few months. But Logan doesn’t need to have his glasses on to know that you look like you’re seeing a ghost.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he greets you in a cautious voice. He stays planted where he’s at, waiting for you to respond before coming any closer to the front porch steps.

He swears he watches you go through all five stages of grief in under a minute. Confusion fades to shock, shock turns to denial, and denial morphs into anger before you’re left with a blank expression.

“I know I’ve got a lotta explaining to do,” Logan starts. “If you’ll let me, I’ll answer every question you have. I’m just asking you to hear me out.”

It takes every ounce of self-restraint that he possesses to not walk up the steps of your porch and wrap you in his arms. He may be standing just a few feet away from you, but it doesn’t feel real. He’s convinced that at any moment, he’ll wake up back in his pathetic excuse of a bedroom in the smelting plant.

You take a few small, tentative steps forward. Your eyes never leave his, an unreadable expression on your face. Logan can’t tell if you’re trying to decide if he’s real, if you’re about to jump into his arms, or if you’re about to yell at him to get the fuck out of here.

You come to a stop on the bottom porch step.

“What’s the deal with the limousine?” You nod towards the vehicle behind him.

“I’m uh – I’m a limousine driver,” he answers lamely.

“A limousine driver,” you repeat with raised brows, though it doesn’t sound like a question. “You know, there have been a lot of nights that I’ve laid awake wondering where you’re at and what you’re doing. Of all the possibilities, I never considered limo driver.”

Logan opens his mouth to respond, but quickly shuts it again when you turn on your heel, walking back up the steps and to the front door. You pause before you cross the entryway, looking back at him over your shoulder.

“Take your shoes off at the door. Don’t be tracking snow into my house.”

Logan watches you retreat into the house, his body frozen in place. As far as initial reactions go, he supposes that could have been significantly worse – but he knows he isn’t out of the woods yet.

He follows you inside, kicking his boots off at the door and closing it behind him.

The inside of your house is warm, thanks to the gentle fire going in the fireplace in your den. It’s cozy – you’ve decorated for the approaching holidays. Garland and twinkling lights adorn your mantle, and in the corner of the living room is an elaborately decorated tree. The whole place smells like a mixture of the candle burning on your coffee table and whatever you have cooking in the kitchen.

It's not just cozy, he thinks. It’s homey. And he’s about to ask you to leave it all for a dirty, grimy, old smelting plant.

He follows you into the small kitchen, where you stir something in a giant pot on your stove.

“Do I even want to know how you found me?”

He can tell that you’re trying to maintain a level tone, but he doesn’t miss the way that your voice shakes and rises an octave on the last word.

He clears his throat, pulling out a chair for himself at your dining room table.

“His name is Caliban. He’s a mutant who can track other mutants. I asked him to find you.”

You hum in response, continuing to tend to the food in the pot with your back turned to him. Logan knows that telling you he asked Caliban to track you down is just the tip of the iceberg here, but he doesn’t want to throw too much at you at once. So he watches as you grab a variety of seasonings from the cabinet above you, and lets you take your time with questioning him further.

“And why did you ask him to find me?”

“For Charles,” Logan answers. “I didn’t want to disturb you after all this time. I know you’re probably angry and you have every right to be but.. his seizures. They’re getting worse. The medications that I give him aren’t helping like they used to.”

You cover the pot with a lid, and turn the dial on the stove down to low before turning to face him. You lean up against the counter, your arms once again crossed over your chest – a telltale sign that you’re on edge, Logan remembers well.

“You mean the seizures that killed a bunch of our friends and have caused the United States government to classify his brain as a weapon of mass destruction?”

Logan gives you a curt nod. “Yeah. Those seizures. We’ve been living in an abandoned smelting plant just south of the border in Mexico. He mostly stays inside an old water tower. The metal it's made from helps keep the seizures contained to the immediate area around us, but.. they’re getting stronger. Happening more frequently.”

You chew on your lower lip, a passive expression on your face as you take in Logan’s words. You don’t meet his gaze, your stare fixated on something on the other side of the room.

“And what about you?”

“What about me?” Logan counters.

You turn away from him again, reaching into a cabinet to grab two bowls. Logan watches as you ladle some kind of soup or stew into the bowls and pull two spoons from a drawer.

You place one bowl in front of him, and the other at a chair across from him before retrieving a bottle of dark colored wine and two glasses.

“It’s only been a year since I last saw you but you look about ten years older,” you finally answer as you uncork the bottle and fill the two glasses. You push one across the small table. “Sorry. I haven’t had much of a reason to keep any whiskey on hand.”

Logan’s not surprised by the observation – you’re not wrong. He knows the adamantium poisoning his body has taken a toll on his physical appearance. His hair and beard have started to gray, his skin appears more leathered, his under eyes more crinkled.

After barely aging a day in decades, the difference between a year ago and today must look drastic to you.

But that isn’t why he’s here. He can handle some aches and pains, some coughing fits, and all of the other ailments that come with typical aging. He can hide it all from you – he won’t make that your burden to bear in addition to asking you to help with Charles.

“Yeah, well,” Logan starts, staring down at the stew in front of him to avoid your gaze. “That’s what working night shifts and taking care of a ninety-seven year old disabled psychic with Alzheimer’s induced mega seizures does to a person.”

“No one asked you to do that, Logan. I would have helped you if you had given me the chance. I would have followed you any–”

“I know,” Logan cuts you off. “I know you would have. But I had just watched almost everyone that I love die. I couldn’t risk it, letting you get hurt too. Staying away from you for the last year, it’s.. it’s been one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. But I did it because I knew it would mean you’re safe.”

You’re silent. Your lips quiver, and Logan loses his appetite at the way your eyes begin to gloss over with unshed tears.

“Did you at least think about reaching out?”

If your watery eyes make Logan lose his appetite, the brokenness in your voice makes him feel sick with himself.

“Every single day.”

He doesn’t tell you that you frequent his dreams, or that he thinks of you every time a Pink Floyd song comes on the radio, or that he hears your voice in the back of his mind telling him to drink more water when all he’s had that day is coffee and bourbon.

He wants to. But he doesn’t.

You give a small nod to his answer, but otherwise say nothing. You pick up your spoon and take a small, unenthusiastic bite of the food in front of you. Logan forces his attention to his own stew, not really wanting to eat but knowing that he needs to – he had only stopped for gas and a bathroom break once during the drive here. He hasn’t eaten anything since he choked down a stale granola bar before leaving Mexico early this morning.

The two of you sit in a loaded silence. Despite how heavy it feels, he can’t help but feel more relaxed in your presence than he has in a long, long time.

Your spoon clinks against the empty bowl when you finish eating. Logan looks up to see you gulping down the last of your wine.

You sigh. A long, exaggerated sigh.

“Why couldn’t you have shown up yesterday, before I put up all of my Christmas decorations?”

••••••

Logan thinks that the interior of his limousine will smell like a Christmas tree threw up in it for the next few months.

Not that he’s complaining. The sickeningly sweet scent of balsam is a small price to pay for you agreeing to come to Mexico.

He knows he probably shouldn’t feel as relieved as he does – he doesn’t even know if your powers will be effective in helping with Charles’ seizures.

But he can't lie to himself. The entire time he spent the better part of the night helping you pack your things into totes to load into your car and his limousine, he was on edge – afraid that you'd change your mind at any moment.

Of course he felt relieved when he watched your car pull out of your driveway after typing the smelting plant’s address into your GPS early this morning.

Approximately eleven hours later, he doesn’t think he’s ever been so glad to be in Mexico. The drive to Colorado, packing for hours into the night and then getting a few hours of shut eye on your couch, and then the drive back to the smelting plant has taken a toll on him.

His hips ache from sitting for so long and he’s experiencing what has to be a pinched nerve in his lower back.

That’s a first for him.

When he arrives back home, he’s relieved to find that he got here before you. Maybe he’ll have enough time to take a long, hot shower and let some max strength ibuprofen go into effect before you can notice the way that he hobbles inside.

“Oh, thank God,” Caliban exhales when he sees the door open and Logan limps inside. “You haven’t answered any of my calls or texts. Did you even think to check if I was alive? He could have had a seiz—”

“Sorry,” Logan grunts, walking past him to retrieve the bottle of painkillers from a cupboard in the kitchen. “I’ve been a bit preoccupied, trying to get back here as soon as possible and what not.”

He tosses back four pills dry and then turns to face him again. “And I knew you weren’t dead. You blew up my phone enough to assure me of that.”

“Well, a reply or two keeping me updated would have been nice. Tracking you only tells me so much.”

Logan rolls his eyes. He doesn’t have the energy for this right now.

“She’s on her way here now. How’s that for an update?” He pushes past Caliban, just wanting to go stand under a painfully hot stream of water.

“You actually managed to get her to agree to come here?”

“I’m as surprised as you are.” Logan grabs a bottle of whiskey from the kitchen counter and starts walking towards his room. “And get the spare room cleaned up for her.”

••••••

“I know it isn’t much, but I’m gonna get you a better mattress tomorrow.”

A few hours later, long after Caliban and Charles have retired to the old water tower for the night, Logan stands in front of where you perch on the edge of the twin sized cot in your bedroom – if it can even be called that right now.

Aside from the sad excuse of a bed, the only other things in the room are a small bedside table with a lamp, and several storage totes containing your belongings that Caliban had brought in from Logan’s limousine.

If he’d had more time to prepare, he would’ve done more, but just forty-eight hours ago he never would have guessed that you would actually be sitting here in front of him.

“It’s okay,” you shrug. “It’ll be better once I have some of my things unpacked.”

“Right,” Logan nods. “Well, I'll leave you to that then. Just.. let me know if you need anything.”

He turns to exit the room, but freezes when he grabs the doorknob. He turns back around, and finds you looking at him expectantly – almost hopeful.

“I appreciate it. You coming here. You don’t owe me anything after the way I just ran off without any explanation. But I'm really glad that you’re here.”

His heart swells when he sees the way that your expression softens. You’re too good, too forgiving and understanding. The fact that you let him into your home, served him dinner, and packed up your entire life into a few boxes and came here after a year of no contact proves it.

He takes a step closer to you, trying his hardest to ignore the sharp burn that radiates from his lower back as he forces his body forward. Despite how hard he tries to hide the discomfort, you seem to notice that something is bothering him – he can tell by the way your brows furrow together and your mouth sets in a harsh line. You scoot back a few inches on the cot mattress, making room for him to take a seat next to you.

“And I just want you to know that I’m sorry,” he continues, cutting you off before you can even ask if he’s okay.

“You don’t have to say anything. I just wanted you to hear me say it. I’m sorry for the way I handled things. It wasn’t fair to you. I was just scared shitless and wanted to do what I could to keep you safe. Getting as far away from you as possible seemed like the best way to do that at the time.”

Logan internally curses his rambling. Typically a man of few words, he can’t help but feel silly at the sentiment. You’d always had a way of drawing a level of vulnerability from him that no one else ever had. He still feels that effect today.

“I understand why you did what you did, Logan,” you start. You look at him with such understanding that he feels himself physically relax at your words.

“It just… hurt.” You give a small shrug, bringing your hands together to dig your nails into your palms. “I lost my friends too, you know? You and Charles included. I know that you and I, we were never…” you trail off, but he knows what you mean without saying it.

Together. Never truly together.

A million almosts that never amounted to what he truly wanted run through his mind. He’d long ago accepted that you and him would never be more than an unspoken thing but the reminder of it still stings, coming from your lips.

“Anyway,” you shake your head. He wonders if you’re thinking of the same memories that he is – the seemingly small ones.

The ones that he wouldn’t have expected to stick with him, but ended up haunting him. Having a drink in the mansion’s courtyard together after particularly exhausting missions – or even just particularly exhausting days of teaching children. Walking into the kitchen to find you making lunch – and you just so happened to have made enough for him, too. You, on the back of his motorcycle with your arms secured around his stomach, your bodies pressed as close together as they ever had been.

“I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t still hurt over it. But the truth is, I was too relieved to find you standing in my driveway to tell you to leave. And I missed you too much to not come back here with you.”

Your voice is barely a whisper by the time you finish speaking. A singular tear leaks from the corner of your eye, which you hastily wipe away.

“Just don't fucking do that again, okay? I definitely wouldn’t be as forgiving if it happened a second time.”

“I wouldn't forgive myself if it happened a second time,” Logan tells you – and he means it. He still doesn’t know if he can forgive himself as is. But you seem to forgive him, and that's enough for him for the time being. “I promise. M’not going anywhere.”

“Good,” you murmur with a small smile, seemingly content with his reassurance. “So, about Charles… I was thinking, if the seizures are as bad as you've told me, I probably won't be much use if he's actively having one. I was thinking that starting tomorrow, I could try to work with him using my powers little bits throughout the day. Not too much at once so he doesn't get frustrated.”

You're right. There’s nothing that anyone can do once one of Charles’ seizures begins, except for Logan. It’s solely due to his healing factor that Logan is able to muster enough strength to administer one of Charles’ injections during a seizure. Humans – as well as mutants like you and Caliban – are rendered incapacitated.

“I’ll let him know that you’re here in the morning,” Logan nods in agreement. “I’m sure he’ll be glad to see you.”

“I hope so,” you sigh. “I’ve missed him.”

As content as he’d be to sit here and talk to you all night, you’ve both had long days of driving and tomorrow brings a lot of uncertainty, so he knows that he should let you get some rest.

“We should probably try to get some sleep,” he says reluctantly. He starts to push himself off of the cot when the nerve in his lower back catches and causes him to hiss in pain. He tries to play it off, hoping you didn’t notice the way he visibly grimaced at the sudden sharp pain.

“Logan? What's wrong?” You ask, concern etched in your voice. He refuses to meet your gaze, knowing it'll be harder to lie to you if he looks you in the eyes. Instead he forces one foot in front of the other, and takes a slow step forward.

“It’s nothin’. Just stiff from driving so much is all.”

He feels your hand wrap around his wrist as he starts to take another step, stopping him in place. He hangs his head, still refusing to look at you. He doesn't think he can handle the concern and worry that is undoubtedly written on your face.

“If you were anyone else on the planet, I might believe that.” You stand up next to him, and your grip on his wrist only tightens. His face heats up; a side effect of your questioning stare and close proximity.

“But I’ve seen you get impaled with a crow bar before. It healed before I even had time to fret over you. So what’s really going on?”

It hits him how naïve he was to ever believe that he’d be able to easily conceal what’s been happening inside his body from you. The effects of the adamantium poisoning have been becoming more physically apparent for a while now, and you of all people – someone so familiar with not only illness and injury, but also him – were bound to pick up on the fact that something is very different than the last time you saw him.

He finally looks at you, your face every bit as concerned as expected.

“My healing factor has started to slow down,” he says delicately, trying to keep his tone even. The last thing he wants to do is freak you out even more.

“Slow down? How?”

“The shit my bones are made of seems to finally be aging me.” He chooses to forgo using the word poison, but still answers as honestly as he can bring himself to.

“But you don’t need to worry yourself with that, ‘kay? That’s not why you’re here. Some back pain isn’t anything that I can’t handle,” he quickly adds when distress distorts your features.

You purse your lips, leaving him wondering how you’re going to respond.

There’s a sudden sensation radiate from where the skin of your palm and fingers are wrapped around his wrist – it’s a soft vibration, soothing and serene. It starts at his hand and travels up his arm before expanding through his chest, back, and eventually down to the soles of his feet.

For a few moments, he feels like he’s floating. The weight of the adamantium bones disappear for the first time in decades, leaving him feeling feather light. The feeling fades away as gradually as it appeared, and with it subsides the pinching in his lower back.

He realizes that he’s looking at you as if you grew a second head. He doesn’t know why he’s so taken off guard – he’s seen your powers first hand before. He just never imagined there would be a time that he’d actually learn how it feels to be on the receiving end of them.

He glances down at where you finally release your hold on his hand. When you pull away, he sees the remnants of a purple glow emanating from your palm.

“I figured you would have said no if I had asked beforehand. Am I wrong?”

“No,” he admits in a gruff tone. “Guess not.”

“Well? How does your back feel now?” You look at him with raised brows, as if you don’t already know the answer.

“Better. But don’t make a habit out of that. I want you saving your energy for Charles.”

Truthfully, he physically feels the best that he has in months. In addition to his back being free of the sharp pinching sensation, the chronic stiffness that has plagued his body is gone. Even his eyesight seems clearer.

But he thinks back to one of his earliest memories of you – the one that had presented itself in his most recent dream. He remembers the vibrancy of your power gradually dimming as you grew more tired and the way that your forehead glistened with sweat when you were worn out from excessive use of your powers.

You roll your eyes and plop back down on the edge of your cot.

“I’m more than capable of helping you and Charles both. Do you think I’d really let you suffer, knowing you’re in discomfort?”

He knows that trying to fight you on this is as about as useful as arguing with a brick wall.

“I don't doubt your capability,” he tells you gently as he eases towards the door to your room. “But I'm not the priority here. Now get some rest, alright?”

Your response is a brief nod that tells him he hasn’t heard the last of this conversation.

“Goodnight, Logan.”

Just down the hallway, he traces the tips of his fingers over where your hand had been wrapped around his until he falls into the most peaceful and comfortable sleep he’s had in over a year.

••••••

“She’s a healer. She worked at the school as a nurse and teacher. You remember her, yeah? She’s here to see if she can help us out some.”

Logan hands Charles a double dose of pills and watches until he’s swallowed them. They are already running low on the seizure suppressants as is, but he makes him double up anyway. He’d rather be on the safe side, since you are going to be working with Charles this morning.

“Of course I remember her,” Charles retorts after he’s taken the pills. “As if I could ever forget with how often I see her face appear in your mind.”

“Could you do me a favor and not mention that, maybe?” Logan grumbles. He doesn’t doubt that it’s true, but he’d prefer Charles to not mention it within the first five minutes of seeing you.

The door to the old water tower creaks open, allowing midday sun to infiltrate the dim space as you come inside. Caliban enters behind you.

“Hi, Charles,” you greet him cheerfully “It's so nice to see you.”

Your voice doesn’t give it away, but Logan notices the nervousness in your gait – in the way that your posture is rigid and your footsteps are shorter and quicker than normal as you walk over to them.

Charles gives you a smile – the first genuine smile that Logan has seen from him in as long as he can remember.

“Hello, my dear,” he beams at you. “We’ve missed you.”

You return his smile with a bashful one of your own, and wring your hands together in front of you.

“I’ve missed you guys, too,” you say, your eyes flickering between him and Logan. “I’m glad to be here. I’m going to be using my powers to try to get your seizures under control. Is that okay with you?”

“Anything sounds better than these two cramming pills down my throat like clockwork,” he grunts with a glare at Logan and Caliban.

“It’s not exactly fun for us either, you know,” Caliban scoffs.

“Enough, you two,” Logan interjects when Charles opens his mouth to respond. “We—” he motions to himself and Caliban, “are going to give them some privacy.”

He'd be lying if he said the thought of leaving you alone with Charles during what will undoubtedly be a vulnerable time didn’t make him nervous. But he doesn’t want to overcrowd and overwhelm him, either.

Though a large majority of Charles’ seizures are random, many have been brought on by a state of a emotional distress, too.

He knows that he doesn’t exactly possess a natural aura of peace like you do.

A hint of anxiety flashes across your features before you quickly compose yourself. Logan starts to follow Caliban’s lead to the door, but stops when he's directly in front of you.

He reaches out and almost puts a hand on your waist before he thinks twice of it. His fingers linger awkwardly at your hip for a moment before he drops the hand back down to his side.

“I'll be close by, okay? If you need anything,” he says to you lowly. He glances over his shoulder to see Charles now tending to his bonsai tree, not paying attention to anyone around him.

“I know,” you assure him with a smile and nod of your head. “Don’t worry. I won’t push him. If he starts to get agitated, frustrated, bored… I’ll stop immediately.”

Logan gives you one final, short nod before reluctantly following Caliban outside and back into the smelting plant.

“You sure do seem to be getting around well for someone who could barely walk yesterday,” Caliban says in a faux casual voice as he tugs the balaclava style mask off of his head as soon as he is out of the sunlight.

Logan sighs and curses under his breath, already knowing the direction that this conversation is headed.

“Now that I'm thinking about it, I also didn't hear you having any nightmares all the way from the water tower last night. Must have had a good night’s sleep.”

“What's your point?” Logan snaps. He yanks the fridge open, scanning the scarce shelves for something to eat.

He really needs to go to the grocery store once you've finished up with Charles. And buy you an actual bed. And stock back up on Charles’ medications –

“No point,” Caliban continues, “Just glad to see that you changed your mind about telling her about your condition is all. Even if you did threaten me within an inch of my life to not tell her right before you left for Colorado.”

“What can I say,” Logan grunts. “She isn't blind. She clocked it within an hour of being here.”

Logan spends the next hour alternating between pacing the floor of the smelting plant and smoking cigars outside of the water tower. He reminds himself repeatedly that everything must be going okay, because if it wasn't, he would know by now.

He also reminds himself of the intense feeling of tranquility that came over him when he felt the effects of your powers. He can’t imagine anyone not finding it euphoric – even Charles, in all of his stubbornness.

He's finishing up a cigar when you exit the water tower after what feels like an eternity. He immediately stubs it out, remembering how you used to tease him about getting cancer if he didn’t stop smoking.

It wouldn’t surprise him if that was an actual possibility for him these days.

“How’d it go?” he greets you. He tries to keep his voice neutral – doesn’t want to make it obvious how anxious he’s been for the last hour. “Did he do okay?”

“I guess we won’t really know until he either has a seizure or… doesn’t,” you sigh. “He did surprisingly well. But the damage that the Alzheimer’s has done to his brain is widespread. I doubt there’s much reversing it. My goals are to reduce the severity and frequency of the seizures and to stop the damage from progressing any further.”

The two of you walk side by side back to the smelting plant, where Logan opens the door for you.

“So that means that I might be staying here for quite some time.”

You ease past him through the small doorframe, your chest grazing against him ever so slightly. The familiar light scent of vanilla and honey lingers after you’re walking away.

Were you just smirking at him or is he hallucinating?

Scratch that, were you just flirting with him?

“I think I can find a way to be okay with that.”

He didn’t expect you to go back to Colorado anytime too soon, given how much you packed – and the fact that your fucking Christmas tree sits in the common area – but he can't ignore that hearing you imply that you have no intention of leaving in the immediate future brings him more comfort than it probably should.

With your back turned to him as you open the refrigerator, he’s unable to see your expression, but he hears you hum in response – a sound somewhere between amusement and contentment.

“But if I'm going to be staying here for any amount of time, the food situation is going to have to improve. How do you live like this?”

He sighs, remembering the current state of the fridge and cabinets. He ended up settling on an overripe banana for breakfast. He normally reserves grocery shopping for his off days – Mondays or Tuesdays – but those days had been occupied with traveling to and from Colorado this week.

“I’ve got some errands to run today,” he starts, feeling an inkling of nervousness settle in the pit of his stomach. “Get some groceries and refills on Charles’ medications… if you wanted to come with me.”

He tells himself that he invites you because it just makes sense – of course you need to familiarize yourself with the area that you're going to be living in, even if it's just temporary. It's important to know where the closest grocery store, and gas station, and pharmacy is.

And it also just makes sense that he would be the one who to show you around. Charles can't even go to the bathroom by himself and Caliban is allergic to the sun.

That's what he tells himself, anyway.

“I could be persuaded to go with you,” you drawl. “If…” You trail off, leaving Logan to look at you with a cocked brow.

“If you let me ride in the backseat of your limousine?”

••••••

“Well? Was it everything you thought it would be?”

Logan sits directly across from you in a small booth at a mom-and-pop diner. It’s nearly noon and you had yet to eat today, so Logan made the last minute decision to pull into the restaurant’s parking lot after acquiring Charles’ medications.

“What?” you question as you swallow a mouthful of chocolate chip pancakes. It may not be breakfast time anymore, but he knew you would appreciate the fact that this place serves all day breakfast.

“Being chauffeured around in a limousine.”

“For some reason the limo smelled like a Christmas tree farm exploded in it,” you say nonchalantly. “But the driver insisted on taking me out for all you can eat pancakes so I’m still going to leave him a good review.”

“I’m sure he had a perfectly good reason for his limo smelling like that,” he retorts in mock defense. “But he probably should try to take care of that before he goes back to work tonight,” he adds, making a mental note to pick up some air freshener at the store.

A cheeky grin spreads across your face. You look like you’re about give him some kind of smart remark when the waitress walks over to the booth with a steaming pot of coffee.

“Good to see you in here with someone for a change,” the older woman, who Logan knows is named Lucille without having to look at her name tag, remarks as she tops off both of your mugs. “Did you finally take my advice?” She asks Logan.

“Every time he comes in here I tell him that he needs to get on one of those dating apps,” she says to you before he can answer.

You immediately cover your mouth to keep from spewing your coffee across the table.

Logan’s face heats up by ten degrees. He should have known better than to trust Lucille to be able to read the room.

“No,” he snaps. “I have not downloaded Tinder. Or Bumble, or Hinge. Maybe you should give them a try and stop worrying about my love life.”

He shoos her away, but she just cackles and slaps him on the shoulder.

“Honey, I’ve been married for forty-five years.”

“Oh yeah? Where’s your ring?” He asks, nodding towards her naked ring finger.

“We’re not allowed to wear jewelry on the clock, Nosey Nelly,” she jabs back. You sit silently, watching the interaction with pursed lips to keep from laughing.

“Nosey Nelly,” Logan grumbles under his breath as he fishes his wallet out of his pants pocket. He pulls out his debit card and slaps it into her palm.

You finally release a snort of laughter when Lucille waddles away.

“I take it that’s your best friend?”

“Believe it or not, she’s an improvement from Caliban.”

The two of you finish your meal with easy flowing conversation. You tell him what led you to Colorado, and about how you worked part time at a veterinarian’s office and part time at a bookstore. He tells you about some of the drunk, unhinged customers that he's had in his limousine lately.

It’s easy for him to forget that less than forty-eight hours ago, he hadn’t seen you in over a year.

Before your lives were irrevocably altered, you had been one of the closest friends he had ever had. One of the most important people in his life. Sitting across from you now, it’s too easy for him to remember why that was.

••••••

Logan’s reluctant to go to work tonight.

And it’s not just because he fucking hates his job and isn’t in the mood to tolerate the bachelor party currently occupying his backseat.

To an extent, he’s always nervous to go to work. He works night shifts because Charles sleeps at night, and is therefore less likely to be triggered into a seizure during the nighttime hours. It’s the safest time for Logan to be away.

It hasn’t happened before, but that doesn’t mean it couldn’t. And with you now at the smelting plant, he worries about it happening while he’s away even more than he typically would.

He arrives at the strip club that the groom had requested he drive to and parks. They all drunkenly stagger out of the back of the vehicle, leaving Logan to relish in the silence after the door slams shut.

He pulls his phone from his coat pocket and sees that he has no messages.

He’d told you to text him if you needed anything, so it’s a good thing that you haven’t, right?

It’s just before midnight, so you're most likely asleep. The lack of a text is probably not anything as drastic as the conclusions that his brain is jumping to.

Still, he can't stop his fingers as he types out a message and hits send.

How’s the new bed?

After your brunch date – Lucille's words, not his – the two of you bought enough groceries to feed four people for a week and then went to the only furniture store in town to find you an upgrade from the fold out cot that they'd happened to have on hand when you arrived.

His phone dings just a minute later. He releases the breath he’d been holding before even reading your response.

It’s a major improvement. You were right - not too soft, not too firm. Though it feels a whole lot bigger than it did in the store.

He reads over the text at least five times and thinks back to your time in the mattress store earlier that day.

The first couple mattresses you tested out were too soft, the next few too firm. Logan didn’t mind that you were being indecisive – really. He was secretly relieved to have an excuse to spend more time with you, away from Caliban and Charles.

He laid down on a mattress that you hadn’t checked out yet and instantly thought that it was significantly better than his personal mattress at the smelting plant.

“What about this one?” He asks, patting the empty space next to him on the queen sized bed. You walk over to the opposite side of the bed and crawl in beside him. With your arms down at your sides, one rests against his. The mattress is more than big enough for you, but with him next to you, it’s a cozy fit.

He types: Is that a good thing or a bad thing? and presses send before he can overthink it. His screen shows that you read the message right away, and he can’t help but imagine the smirk on your face as you lay tucked beneath the covers.

The words ‘What do you think?’ appear on his screen.

He thinks he feels like a fucking teenager with the way that a few harmless, borderline flirtatious text messages from you has him imagining what it would be like to really share the bed with you.

His jeans begin to feel uncomfortably tight. He clicks the phone off and tosses it in the empty passenger seat beside him, before he says something that crosses a line that he can’t uncross.

••••••

The relief that your powers had provided Logan had been blissful but short-lived.

By the time he gets home from work at around four in the morning, his back pain has returned with a vengeance.

Everyone is asleep when he gets in, of course. He hobbles to his room as quietly as he can. Caliban and Charles are in the water tower, but he doesn’t want to wake you up. He hopes that by the time that you’re both awake later today, the pain will have subsided in his sleep.

Two hours after he lies down, he realizes that sleeping it off is an impossibility with the amount of discomfort he’s in. He’s done nothing but toss and turn in a futile attempt to find a comfortable sleeping position, the extra strength ibuprofen and his heating pad only doing so much to ease the stabbing sensation at the base of his spine.

He knows the answer to his problem is just down the hallway.

But it's early – the sun is just now starting to rise and he has yet to hear you stir from your room. He can't bring himself to wake you up over some back pain, knowing that you'll need to use your powers to help Charles soon.

He sits up with a deep groan, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. If he already can't sleep, he may as well make something to eat and settle the rumbling in his stomach.

Taking slow, short strides, he walks back down the hallway to the kitchen as quietly as he can manage.

He comes to a halt when he sees your door open, your head popping out from around the frame.

“Can’t sleep?” You ask, your voice huskier than normal with sleep.

“How’d you guess?”

You step into the hallway, still in a pair of plaid sleep pants and an oversized crewneck.

“Your bed creaks every time you move.” You cross your arms over your chest, standing less than half a foot away from him. There’s evident concern on your face when you take in his stiff posture. “This place has thin walls.”

“Sorry to keep you awake.” He looks down at the ground, embarrassed. “I’ll stay in the living roo—”

“Don’t be silly,” you stop him. You grab his hand in yours and begin to pull him back in the direction of his bedroom.

He thinks about protesting – part of him wants to tell you that you shouldn’t bother. He thinks he should tell you that he appreciates it, but he’s a lost cause, and the relief will only be temporary.

But your hand is too warm and your skin is too soft and in the end, he isn’t strong enough to deny himself the feeling of your touch, so he let’s you lead the way to his bed.

You drop his hand to position yourself on one side of the bed. You don’t get underneath the comforter, but you do pull it back on his side so that he can crawl beneath it.

His isn’t quite as big as your new bed – it’s only a full size mattress, so it’s even more cramped than when the two of you laid on the mattress in the store yesterday, but he isn’t complaining.

It's unchartered territory for you two, this type of intimacy. He doesn’t remember the last time he shared a bed with anyone, but if there’s one person on the planet that he trusts enough to allow next to him in such a vulnerable state, it’s you.

“Lay however is most comfortable for you,” you instruct him gently.

He maneuvers onto his side, facing you. You copy his position, your faces inches away from each other’s on a shared pillow.

“Now close your eyes,” you whisper.

He does as you ask, and then feels your palm rest against the thick stubble of his jaw. Your thumb grazes across the skin of his cheekbone. He melts into your touch before you’ve even started using your powers.

“Is this okay?” you murmur.

“Mm-hmm,” he sighs against your hand. “Could just lay like this for a while and I’d probably fall asleep. Don’t even need to use your powers.”

You snort and run the tips of your fingers through his beard.

“How about I do both? That okay?”

He nods, too tired to think about stopping you.

He falls asleep to the soft hum of your powers within minutes, and dreams of the color purple.

••••••

Over the next few weeks, everyone falls into a comfortable routine.

You continue to work with Charles for an hour in the mornings and then again in the evenings. Your powers help him more than Logan ever could have hoped for. Not only is this the longest he’s gone without having a seizure in months, but he’s also increasingly lucid and alert, and more like his old, spunky self than ever.

Most weeknights you cook dinner for everyone, and Tuesdays become the day that you join Logan in going to town for a weekly grocery restock and brunch at the same diner that he first took you to a few weeks ago.

He tries not to make it too obvious, but it quickly becomes one of the best parts of his week – even with Lucille’s relentless teasing about how there’s “no way you’re just friends” and Logan would be “the biggest idiot on the planet to not lock you down”.

Neither of you ever put much energy into disagreeing with her.

The other best parts of his week occur early in the mornings, before daylight breaks and Charles and Caliban are still sound asleep. He gets home from work and you move from your bed and into his, relieving him of any physical discomfort he could be experiencing from hours of driving around and lulling him to sleep.

The first few nights, he’d wake hours later to find that you had escaped back to your own room after he’d fallen asleep. Then, one morning, when he woke up, he opened his eyes to find your face resting against his shoulder.

You stopped bothering to go back to your own room after that.

This evening – Christmas eve – Logan sits on his bed and stares at the gift that he’d gotten you while you finish preparing the dinner that you’d been working on for the last few hours.

He feels silly. There hadn’t been any discussion on getting each other gifts and he worries that it’ll make you feel weird.

It’s an espresso machine – nothing too fancy, but it’ll get the job done. You had recently mentioned how much you miss the espresso machine that you had in Colorado. The house you had been renting came furnished, which included an espresso machine that you were unable to bring with you to Mexico.

He stopped by a Target before work a couple nights ago and picked it out. To top off how silly he feels, he’d completely forgotten to buy wrapping paper or even a gift bag, so he’ll just be handing it to you as is.

“Dinner is almost ready!” He hears your voice call from the kitchen.

The smell of honey glazed ham and fresh rolls wafts down the hallway. He places the box containing the espresso machine on the floor beside his bed, planning to give it to you after Charles and Caliban go to bed in a few hours.

When he rejoins everyone in the common area, Charles is watching Home Alone and Caliban is gathering plates and silverware for everyone while you remove a large dish of baked mac and cheese from the oven.

“Smells great,” Logan compliments as he grabs a beer out of the fridge. “Anything I can help with?” he asks, as if you hadn’t all but shooed him out of the kitchen just an hour ago.

You place the casserole dish on a trivet before grabbing one of the plates that Caliban had set out.

“Yes, actually,” you say, surprising him. You hand him the plate with a small smirk. “You can make Charles a plate.”

“Oh, can I?” He takes a step closer to you, taking the plate and grinning down at you. “Are you sure you trust me to do that?”

“Hey, it’s not my fault that you’ve been alive two hundred years and haven’t taken the time to learn to cook.”

“Well, I guess I'll just have to have you teach me-"

“Would you two stop flirting and get me some ham?” Charles voice booms over the television and silences you both.

Logan notices you purse your lips to keep from smiling as you turn your attention back to the spread of food across the dining room table.

Soon, you’re all four sat around the dining room table with plates piled high with traditional holiday dishes. Logan is halfway through clearing his plate when Charles clears his throat to speak.

“This is wonderful,” he directs at you. “Thank you very much. You know, this all feels very familiar to me…” he trails off, glancing between you and Logan from across the table. The smile on his face fades, and in it’s place appears an expression of confusion.

From the corner of his eye, Logan sees your grip on your fork tighten.

“Thank you, Charles,” you tell him. You try to sound cheerful, but Logan doesn’t miss the nervous edge to your voice. He knows that you’re noticing the same thing as him. “I’m glad you’re enjoying it.”

“Yes, these candied sweet potatoes are delicious,” Caliban interjects in an obvious attempt to maintain easy conversation. “You'll have to give me your rec—”

“This feels so familiar,” Charles repeats and all three of you go silent.

In his gut, Logan fears that he knows what is coming. It always starts this way. One minute, everything will be perfect. The next, something triggers a memory, or a feeling, and Charles is hit with the weight of the past – with the weight of the trauma that his brain normally blocks out.

“This feels like… how Christmas used to feel. When we’d have dinner at the.. at the mansion. With all of our friends before I.. before I killed them—”

“Charles,” Logan says firmly, but Charles continues to stare into space. “It wasn't your fault. Okay? Let's enjoy this nice dinner. Do you want some more green beans—”

But he’s unable to finish his sentence before it begins. The exact thing he’s been the most terrified of since you arrived here weeks ago.

Across from him, Caliban's face is frozen in agony. Beside him, your mouth is open as if to scream, but no sound comes out. Every one around him is still, and his body suddenly feels a few hundred pounds heavier.

It's been weeks since Charles’ last seizure, but Logan knew it was too good to be true – knew that it was bound to happen again eventually. He'd planned for this, knowing the effects of the psionic energy would hurt you as they do Caliban.

Logan forces himself into a standing position by pushing off of the dining room table, and then takes as big of steps as he possibly can to get to the opposite side, where Caliban and Charles sit.

He ignores the blinding nerve pain all over his body, he ignores the intense ringing in his ears, he ignores the way it feels as if all of the air has been ripped from his lungs and reaches down to grab the bag of medication from the compartment beneath Charles’ wheelchair – where he's made sure to keep it, in case of this exact scenario.

Despite his shaking hands, he manages to retrieve an injection and uncap it. He jabs the tip of the needle into the flesh of Charles’ shoulder with as much force as he can muster, then collapses to the floor beside him.

Charles releases a grief stricken groan, realizing what had happened. Logan hears both you and Caliban gasping for air.

“I'm sorry,” Charles cries. “I'm so sorry..”

Logan pulls himself off of the ground using the edge of the table and instantly turns his attention to you. Your eyes are wide and your hands are visibly shaking in your lap, but you exhale the breath you'd been holding when your eyes meet Logan's.

You push your chair back, standing and closing the distance between the two of you. Your hands grip the tops of Logan's biceps. He instinctively rests his on the sides of your stomach.

“Are you okay?” You ask, your voice wobbly and several octaves higher than normal.

“I'm fine,” he assures you delicately. “Are you okay?”

You nod, hesitantly at first and then more confidently as you take him in and seem to realize that he really is alright.

“I'm fine too,” Caliban grunts from across the table. “Don’t worry yourselves with me.”

Logan and you both quickly retract your hands, breaking the embrace. You turn your attention to Charles, who seems to be in another world.

“Charles? Are you alright?” You ask him softly.

“Hm?” He hums as he glances up at you. “Oh, yes. I’m alright. I think.. I think I’d like to go to bed now,” he murmurs. Logan, you, and Caliban all exchange glances before Logan tosses the bag of medication to Caliban.

“Give him a double dose of the suppressants and some sleep medicine,” Logan instructs him. Caliban nods wordlessly and wheels Charles away from the dining room table, towards the smelting plant’s door.

Once they’ve left the building, Logan turns to you. You look visibly shaken, and he can’t blame you. He remembers all too well how frightening the effects of the seizure was the first time he experienced it. Even with this one being relatively short lived, he knows it had to have been more painful and scary for you than it was for him.

“I’ll clean all of this up, okay?” He says, gesturing towards the half eaten dinners and the pile of dirty dishes in the sink. “You go relax. Take a shower, lay down for a while—”

“Really, Logan. I'm okay, I prom—”

“Will you do that for me?”

To his surprise, you don't object any further. You give him a small nod, and a comforting squeeze to his hand as you walk past him.

He doesn't release the sigh of both relief and frustration that he’d been holding in until he hears the shower turn on a few moments later.

••••••

As soon as Logan finishes tidying up from dinner, he cuts two small slices of an apple pie you had baked and puts them on a plate for the two of you to share.

Your door is slightly cracked, the soft orange light from your table lamp spilling into the hallway. He knocks quietly and waits for you to tell him to come in.

You’re in your pajamas, tucked under a blanket with a book partially obscuring your face. You do little to acknowledge his presence, so he takes a seat on the edge of your bed and places the plate of pie beside him.

The room looks significantly different than it did just a few weeks ago. In addition to the new bed, you'd also acquired a vintage dresser and an area rug that you’d found for cheap at a thrift store. You have books in piles throughout the room, one of the things that you were most adamant about bringing with you from Colorado.

“Charles is alright,” he tells you gently. “He must have just been really tired. He didn’t nap much today. Caliban said he fell asleep really quickly after taking his medicine.”

“Except that wasn’t why he had a seizure,” you sigh, closing your book. Logan now has a better view of your face, and the first thing he notices is that your eyes look red-rimmed and watery. You sit up straight, and he inches closer to you on the bed.

“Hey, what’s going—”

“It was definitely my fault that he had a seizure,” you sniffle, looking at him with defeat.

“What? No,” Logan shakes his head. You have a blanket draped across your lap, but Logan places his hand on your knee over top of it. “What makes you say that?”

“I always work with Charles for an hour in the mornings and an hour in the afternoons,” you start, frustration evident in your voice. “But this afternoon, I cut our session short because he wasn’t really in the best mood and I wanted to get started on prep for dinner.”

You wipe underneath your eye with the sleeve of your shirt and look away from Logan’s gaze.

“Sweetheart, you can’t blame yourself for this,” he assures you as he rubs slow circles on your knee with his thumb. “He was having seizures almost every single day before you got here. You’re not the reason he had a seizure today. But you are the reason he’s been able to go weeks without having one.”

“Okay?” He prompts when you don’t respond. You finally look him in the eye again, and offer a small nod of agreement.

He hands you the plate of apple pie, earning a small smile from you.

“Wait here. I’ve got something for you,” he tells you as he stands up and begins walking towards your door.

“Something for me?” you question, but he’s already halfway down the hallway.

He grabs the espresso machine from beside his bed and heads back to your room. He still feels nervous to give it to you, but right now he’s just hoping that it will help cheer you up.

When he re-enters your room, you’re forking a bite of pie into your mouth and freeze when you see what he’s carrying. He sits back down on the edge of the bed, still holding the box. You sit the plate of pie on your bedside table and scoot closer to him.

“Logan, you didn’t have to,” you murmur. He hands you the box and you hug it to your chest, but only look at him. He thinks your eyes are starting to look watery again. “I feel so bad. I didn’t get you anything—”

He waves his hand in dismissal, not surprised at all by your reaction.

“I know I didn’t have to. Just wanted to. Is that okay?”

You inspect the espresso machine with a bashful grin. “Thank you. I love it,” you assure him with a gentle squeeze to his hand. “I just wish I had gotten you something, too.”

“That’s not necessary,” he says, staring down at where your hand holds his. “You give me everything I need just by being here.”

You go still at his words with a look he can’t quite read on your face. You pull your hand away from his before placing the espresso box on the floor next to your bed. The hand that previously held his comes to cradle his face, your thumb grazing along his cheekbone. He turns his head ever so slightly to the side so that his lips graze against your palm. He kisses the skin once, then twice, and your eyes flutter closed.

His heightened senses don’t miss the way your heart rate picks up, or the way that you hold your breath as his lips linger on your skin.

“What are you thinking about?” He murmurs into the side of your hand. You open your eyes, your pupils dilated.

“Same thing I’ve been thinking about for years now,” you whisper as you lean forward, pulling his face to you.

You capture his lips in yours, opening up for him without hesitation. He slips his tongue into your mouth, the sensation simultaneously feeling brand new and like you’ve done this dance a hundred times before.

He scoots further back onto the mattress, away from the edge. He pulls you with him, guiding you onto his lap. You straddle him, his hands resting on your lower back. You fist your hands around the fabric of his flannel, pulling him flush against you.

It's years of pent up desire and longing that you pour into each other. You drag your teeth along the swell of his bottom lip and he groans into your mouth, resisting the urge to buck his hips up against your center.

He knew you looked sweet, smelled sweet – but never would he have guessed that you’d taste even sweeter. Even if it weren’t for the faint hint of cinnamon and apples from the pie you’d nibbled on, he’d think you were the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted.

You grind down against the uncomfortable bulge contained by his jeans and whimper – the prettiest sound he’s ever fucking heard and he hasn’t even touched you yet. You pull back, your chest heaving from lack of air.

“Why didn’t we do that years ago?” you ask breathlessly. He reaches up to your face, tucking some stray hairs behind your ear.

“Because I’m a fucking idiot,” he answers quickly. His eyes lock on your kiss swollen lips and he thinks you’ve never looked prettier than you do right now – staring down at him with puffy lips wet with his kiss. “But now that I’ve kissed you, I’m not gonna stop. Gonna kiss you for as long as you’ll let me.”

And to prove his point, he starts trailing wet, open mouth kisses along your jaw and down your throat. You throw your head back, giving him unhindered access to the skin of your neck. He alternates between kissing and nipping the tender flesh, leaving a damp trail across your skin.

You grab at the hem of your shirt and Logan pulls away to allow you to tug it over your head. You’re left naked from the waist up and Logan is left feeling like his cock is going to break through the zipper of his jeans.

With your tits directly in front of his face, he latches his mouth to one nipple and palms the other in his hand. You rock yourself against his erection, chasing the relief that the friction provides you.

“Logan,” you pant from above him. “Please—”

He pulls his mouth away from you with a wet pop, leaving your nipple glistening and taut.

“Tell me what you want, honey.”

You let out a low whimper at the pet name and drag your fingers through his hair. He toys with the waistband of your pajamas pants, popping the elastic band lightly against your skin.

“Your mouth,” you say, the words somewhere between a whine and a plea. “I wanna feel your mouth on me.”

He groans at the bluntness of your words. Hearing you say that you want his mouth on you has his cock throbbing in his pants.

“Yeah?” He taunts as he maneuvers you off of his lap. He quickly tugs his own shirt over his head and tosses it somewhere behind him. Your eyes trail down the expanse of his chest, your mouth slightly agape.

He tilts your head so that you’re looking at his face again and tugs at your bottom lip with the pad of his thumb.

In that moment, he hopes you never stop looking at him like that.

“You gonna sit on my face?”

You nod, eagerly. You push your pajama pants down past your ass and thighs, and Logan helps pull them the rest of the way over your calves and ankles. You lean forward, reaching for the waistline of his jeans and fumbling with the button until it pops open.

He sees you completely naked before him and his brain goes momentarily blank. He can’t believe he actually gets to see you like this – bare for him and more perfect than he ever could have envisioned.

And believe him, he had tried. Nothing could have prepared him for how it actually feels to see you, touch you, taste you after years of yearning for you.

“Lay down for me?” You ask with a small laugh, snapping him out of his trance. He does as you ask, placing his head on one of your pillows.

You straddle his chest, your back to his face. He helps you inch backwards until your pussy hovers directly over his mouth. He pauses for a moment, spreading your thighs apart with his hands to give him a clear view of your already dripping cunt before yanking you the rest of the way down to his mouth.

You moan as soon as his tongue slides through your wet folds, bracing your hands on the defined planes of his chest. The sweet and salty tang of you fills his mouth and he has to resist moaning goddamn, I love you into your cunt.

He could get drunk off of the flavor of you.

You grind yourself against his face, your juices coating his beard and your inner thighs. He’s so focused on working you with his lips and tongue that he doesn’t even notice you pushing his jeans and boxers down until he feels his cock spring back and slap his lower belly.

“Fuck,” you moan at the sight of him. You pump him in your hand, smearing the pre-cum from his slit down his shaft. “You're so big. I don’t know how you’ll fit inside me.”

He hears you spit, then feels it drip across his tip. You smear the warm wetness down his length and press a kiss to the side of his cock before taking him in your mouth. The head nudges against the back of his throat before you pull back, then ease back in, slow and deep.

He’s always loved your lips, but right now he’s doesn’t think he could ever love them more. He wants to watch as you hollow your cheeks and bob your head along his length, but that’s going to have to wait for another time.

Right now, he’s right where he wants to be. He has your swollen clit locked between his lips, sucking on it to the point that your legs quiver around his head. You lean forward, pressing your chest against his stomach as you run your tongue down the entirety of his cock and stroke him in your hand.

“I’ve waited so long to taste you,” he grunts from beneath you. The vibrations of his voice making your pussy clench around the finger that he teases your hole. “This cunt’s so fuckin’ sweet.”

He eases his index finger past your entrance, your walls constricting around the digit. “And so fuckin’ tight,” he adds, pumping in and out of you as you begin to move forwards, then backwards, up, and then down – grinding against his finger.

“Logan, I'm gonna cum,” you cry and it makes his balls tighten. He feels it – the way you gush around his finger and the way your legs clench around his head.

You ride out your orgasm above him, and then collapses against his chest. Your skin is sticky with sweat against his, despite the fact that the current cold front has the smelting plant colder than normal tonight.

You roll off of him, falling onto the mattress next to him. Your slick glistens on your thighs in the soft glow of your lamplight. It's one of the most beautiful things he's ever seen, he thinks. You fucked out and delirious from your climax.

But he thinks he might fucking die if he has to spend one more second of his abnormally long life not knowing how it feels to be buried inside you.

He helps pull you into a sitting position, and then lays you down in his place. Your tits heave as you try to regain control of your breathing. He's on his knees, fisting himself in his hand as he nudges your knees open. Your eyes are locked on his cock, a look of half excitement and half terror.

“You can take it, honey. I know you can,” he coos.

He slaps the tip against your clit, then glides it up and down your wet length. Not entering you quite yet, but coating himself in your slick. He looks down at himself next to your pretty, wet cunt and imagines how it’ll be to see it sliding in and out of you.

“Just been a while, that’s all,” you say, pulling him down to the by the back of the neck. He lines himself up at your entrance, nudging just the tip in. Even that’s a stretch for you, he can tell by the way your mouth forms an O shape.

He goes still for a moment – for your sake, but for his own, as well. He has to adjust to the warm tightness of your pussy before he trusts himself to go any deeper.

“I know, baby. Been a while for me too. Been waiting for you for a long time.”

He slates his lips over yours, kissing you messy and deep as he slowly sheaths himself inside you. He stills again once he’s buried to the hilt, and breaks the kiss to look down at you.

“You okay?” He murmurs. He props himself up on one forearm by your head, and brings his free hand to roll one of your nipples between his thumb and forefinger.

You give him another eager nod, and wrap your legs securely around his hips, hooking your ankles together just below his ass.

“Mm-hmm,” you sigh. “Need you to move now, Logan.”

With his cock throbbing inside you, he doesn’t make you tell him twice. His length drags along the soft, spongy interior of your walls as he pulls out and eases back in. He gives you a few languid, slow strokes to accommodate the newfound stretch before it's hard for him to hold back.

He gets lost in it all – in the wet, tight heat of your cunt, in the sounds that your bodies make as he repeatedly snaps into you, in every expression on your face and every noise that slips past your lips.

You snake your arms around his abdomen, your hands coming to rest on his lower back.

“H-how’s your back?” You stammer out as he continues to piston his hips forward.

“I've never been better,” Logan grunts, resting his sweat slicked forehead against yours.

It's the truth. He’s never felt better than he does right now, between your legs – even if he is feeling this in his back. He'll deal with any and all repercussions later, once he's felt you cum around his cock while you cry his name.

You smile up at him as if to say wanna bet?

You flatten your hands across his skin at the base of his spine, and he doesn’t have to be able to see it to know what you're doing. He's experienced the effects of your powers enough by now to recognize them instantly – the low vibration they emit and the immediate warmth that spreads throughout his body.

“Gonna make me cum, honey,” he warns you. “Feels too good.” He feels your walls constrict around him when he calls you honey.

“Kiss me and I’ll cum with you,” you tell him in a breathy voice that he could listen to talk in all fucking night.

He kisses you again, this time more hurried than anytime before as he chases both of your releases. He spills into you with a deep groan as your cunt spasms around him. You moan his name into his mouth until he stills inside you, the last ropes of his cum filling you up.

He isn’t sure how long the two of you stay like that – with him still tucked inside you, laying pressed against you with his face nuzzling the crook of your neck. You trail your fingers up and down his spine, the sensation the only thing grounding him to reality in his post orgasm haze.

Finally, he pulls back enough to look down at you.

“Stay here,” he says earnestly. “Stay with me. Don't go back to Colorado. One day, we’ll go anywhere you want to. Just the two of us. But right now, please stay—”

“Logan,” you shush him gently. “I wasn’t planning on going back to Colorado. Or anywhere without you.”

He exhales, and kisses you on the forehead before finally pulling out of you and plopping down beside you. He tucks you between his chest and his arm, your head resting just above his heart.

“You know, this new bed of yours is a whole lot comfier than mine,” he comments casually.

“Hmm,” you hum and tilt your head to look up at him. “You should probably sleep here tonight. For your back, of course.”

He laughs, sleep threatening to overtake him at any second. He presses a lazy kiss to your forehead.

“I'm not going anywhere without you, honey.”

••••••

some of my other logan works

diet pepsi - old man logan x reader limousine sex

by the end of the night - worst variant logan has nightmares and mutant reader with emotional regulation abilities helps him sleep better

claw kink drabble

thank you so much for reading 🫶🏻

[whoreforsexymen]

Vander 🫗 | SMUT Headcanons

Pairings: Vander x Reader, Dom!Vander x Reader

Rating: NSFW!! 18+, MDNI ! You WILL be blocked.

Pronouns: She/Her + Female Anatomy Descriptions

Word Count: 898

Tags: DaddyDom!Vander, Spit play, Finger Sucking, Fingering, Crawling, Thigh Riding, Rough Sex, Dacryphilia, Size Difference, Etc.

Notes: Just some spicy Headcanons for our big, old, husky, bearded barman 🤍 as well as some for a darker version of our big teddy bear dad 🤍

- Vander is completely enchanted by your lips. Every chance he gets, especially when he cradles your face in his hands, he can’t resist the urge to brush his thumb over them, savoring their softness. It’s also no wonder how primal it makes him feel considering how your own natural instinct is to suck the skin of his thumb gently. Every. Single. Time.

- He can’t help but prod at them until you let him breach the surface. You’re always so hungry for a taste of him, no matter if it’s his cock or his fingers. Always so insatiable, and deeply unsatisfied until moments like these when you’re greedily swirling your tongue around his finger.

- He never wastes time in hooking his thumb into your mouth, toying with making you and your tongue slave to find it. The slickness of your saliva and the sounds that follow are nothing short of immaculate, a perfect blend of neediness and yearning that leave him desperately smitten.

- The way you whimper, and the way your thighs grind together to ease the tension and aching in your clit drives him to the brink—the sounds unraveling him, each one igniting the flames of his own aches.

- He wants nothing more than to switch his fingers out for his cock— but unfortunately, he wouldn’t be able to hear you as well. His fingers are slim enough to let the noise pass over them, but his cock would be a different story.

- Vander is a gentle lover by nature, but— like any part of nature, he has his more unpredictable moments. His ‘natural disasters’ or sorts. Though—you wouldn’t necessarily call them ‘disasters’.

- Just as easily as it is for him to spend hours tenderly ramming his cock into you, during more ferocious, needy moments, he’ll waste no time in fucking you senseless. Despite it mainly happening every blue moon, he knew when you needed it like this, and he knew that you’d be willing to take it on the days he needed it like this.

- You both have happily accepted that he’s a man with a wild side to be nurtured every now and then. And you’re so good at nurturing it for him. When laying in bed, he’s started fucking you from behind, quickly losing his patience for tenderness. He’s sat upright against the headboard, and pulled you on top of him, all without ever disconnecting from you for even a moment.

- With your back pressed to his chest, he cups under your knees, almost folding you in half from the way he gripped and pulled them back- as he started slamming his hips at a merciless pace. The angle had you practically foaming at the mouth, considering—with his given strength—he uses minimal effort to bounce you up and down to meet the way he was snapping his hips up into you. The way your ass bounced on his legs is a sight that constantly makes his dick twitch when he thinks back to it.

- The screams you could never bother to try stifling almost kept him up at night sometimes. Too many times have the recollections made him overfill a pint or two behind the bar counter, earning questioning glances from bar patrons. He can’t always help the way his mind wanders when he has you to ravish every night.

- Vander often says things like:

“C’mon Angel— Look at me while you suck my cock dry. I wanna see those pretty little eyes of yours.”

“That’s it— Attagirl. Atta-fuckin’-girl.”

Dom!Vander HC’s

- Will make you kneel on the ground, mouth wide open, pussy dripping, and leave you like that. He’d tell you that you weren’t allowed to swallow your spit. He’d then pull up a chair and sit in front of you, despicably far, and just watch you. He’d wait until your shirt became transparent from how much drool had fallen on it. Then—only then, would he speak.

- “Crawl…” he commands.

- You obey. You crawl to him, almost desperately quick, until you stop at his boots. He’d be tempted to make you grind on them, but he prefers his thighs for that.

- You crawl onto him, straddling one of his massive thighs.

- Just a few minutes into him making you grind yourself down on it, his blue jeans are just as soaked as your shirt.

- “Attagirl.” He’d coo as he’d start guiding your hips for you with his hands. It’s your fault if you think he’s going to let you cum anytime soon, though.

- When he halts all movement once you’re practically falling off the edge of your orgasm, he’d tut at you when you keep trying to desperately find the friction again.

- “Don’t you fight me.” He’d snap as you greedily tried to chase your orgasm, thrashing your hips around against his grip.

- He’d pull your hair and make you look at him, his other hand holding your jaw with contempt.

- Denial was his virtue. He won’t let you cum until you’re crying and begging for mercy.

- “Cry for me, Angel.” He’d command, needing to see the tears in your eyes while you begged for release.

- When you’d get too embarrassed to do so, he’d grip your face tighter.

- “Let. Me. Hear. You.” So you do. You let it out.

- And then—only then, will he slip his thick fingers in you.

- “Excellent. Such a good girl. Now. Get yourself off on daddy’s fingers, yeah?” He’d purr.

[emmyrosee]

His foot taps anxiously against the floor of the flower shop, eyes glazing over the beautiful bouquets and vibrant colors that splash under the fluorescent lights that crackle above his head. The smell of so many flowers is getting into his head, powdery and sweet, but the nausea brewing inside of him is not budging.

He messed up. He knows that.

He also knows he relies on the bet that you’ll accept flowers every time he messes up, which while seldom, happens more than he still would like.

You deserve the utmost love and respect. And he can’t stand that sometimes, he feels like he can’t give it to you and has to hope flowers will be enough for your trust again, like a bandaid on a scraped knee.

After this, he’ll run to the bakery for a pastry, wrapped in a little box, waiting for you to enjoy it-

What is he thinking, countless gifts won’t make up for it, for all he’s done. You’ll never forgive him, each bouquet and each slice of cake when he messes up surely is only driving you away, and he cards a hand through his blonde hair as he has a small, teeny freak out in front of the display.

He looks to the old man next to him who easily picks out a bouquet of assorted flowers with a predominantly purple color story. The old man sniffs them, and smiles, before sighing happily. He turns to Atsumu with small nod, “think she’ll like ‘em?”

Atsumu tenses up before offering the old man a small chuckle, “sure is one of the prettiest bouquets in here,” he encourages, and the man hums as he looks around the boquete for any imperfections in the petals. “She’ll be lucky to have them from ya, yessir.”

The man smiles, “no, son; I’m lucky to have her.” He sighs dreamily, “there isn’t enough bouquets in the world to show her how much she means to me.”

Atsumu freezes. For some reason, unbeknownst to him, a lump forms into his throat at the man’s words. He tries to swallow it thickly, keep his emotions at bay before he wails to this strange man about all the ways he’s hurt you over the years and how always, he’s never been able to fully forgive himself despite you assuring that you do.

This argument would be no different.

Atsumu nods his head in understanding, “I think you might be in the same boat as me,” he says, wondering if this man too, is making up for a mistake he made. If this man is trying to repent, and the first way to do it is to bring her flowers, a symbol of a love he’s determined to keep blooming, keep alive, keep beautiful.

But maybe, just maybe, he’s not relying on the fact that flowers are an apology, perhaps they’re being purchased just because, just to make you smile.

Perhaps Atsumu should start doing that for you. Just something nice.

Something to look forward to.

The man chuckles once more; it’s raspy, like perchance he’s one to indulge in a cigarette when the craving arises, but it’s comforting, and for the first time in hours, Atsumu feels a little more at ease.

“At least we’re in the boat, my friend,” the man says. Atsumu swallows thickly once more, but he flashes the man a comforted smile.

“You’re right. We sure are, sir.”

The man bows at the blonde, “you take care of yourself,” he says simply, before coolly turning to make his way to the registers. Atsumu looks back at the boquetes and grabs one that reminds him of you; bright and pristine, like bubbles on a warm day, a warm blanket at night. Like the movie you can repeat by heart by now, but he’ll still watch with you like it’s the first time.

He smiles, sniffles and blinks the sting in his waterline, thrilled to be in the boat with you.

[nativegirltapes]

angel and drew while on a ......."break"......

notes: ask and you shall receive! angel lowkey look like a bitch in this + this is kind of long for hcs, but i think u guys like the drama so i really wanted to try and cover most bases. if you want me to clarify or maybe even make a part 2 lmk ! <3

𐙚˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩

honestly, they’re on “breaks” quite frequently due to angel’s impulsive nature. in the spur of the moment when she’s upset she’ll tell drew “don’t contact me! don’t talk to me! i need time!” and storm off in the car he’s literally paying for. sometimes he’ll try to follow after her, but sometimes if it’s something stupid she’s upset about, he usually just gives her time because he knows she’ll come around.

but when it’s an actual break from one another (because of all the odessa drama), they’re both going through it. angel is sad but is also taking more time to focus on school because she thinks it’s all she really has aside from drew. she isolates herself from almost everyone, besides frat guys she invites over to hopefully fill some void? which void? she’s not sure. she never actually does anything with them, kind of just trying to prove to herself that she can have anyone she wants and she doesn’t need drew. but how is that benefitting literally anyone? again, she’s not sure.

drew doesn’t really isolate when you’re on a break because he does enough of that on normal days. drew tries to spend more time with his friends, specifically his guy friends. he’ll invite them over or go over to their houses. his friends will ask how you guys are doing and drew never ever wants to paint you as a bad person, even when you are on a break for a “pointless” reason, he’ll just lie and say “she’s going through some stuff right now so we’re just kinda taking a break right now, you know?” he’s the sweetest to you, even when you’re not exactly together :((

they both have nights where they really miss each other so they’ll just call each other and ask if they want to see each other, they never say no. it’s kind of an unspoken rule for the both of them; if one calls saying they want to see the other, you can’t say no (but it’s not like they want to say no anyways). it’s so silly because whenever they do this it’s kind of awkward. they’re making small talk because they’re both too stubborn to make it seem like they “care” again. but eventually they both give in and it usually ends in a heavy makeout sesh. “this doesn’t mean we’re back together you know?”

angel is so petty so sometimes she’ll post pictures of her out and about (partying) on her instagram stories and purposefully have guys in her pics because she knows drew will see it. when she realizes that drew seen it but didn’t say anything she’s throwing a fit. but in all honesty, drew doesn’t even care that much. he knows angel’s tactics and knows that she wouldn’t dare do anything.

there’s a lot of late night phone calls where they usually get pretty deep, asking each other if they should just break up for good/a longer period of time. angel is always like “i want this to work drew.” and drew is like “i’m giving you the space you want. what more do you need?” he’s too sweet. angel is so messy though because she knows she has no intentions to break up with drew ever, she just loves causing a scene.

i feel like the worse drew would do when they’re on a break is hang out with one of his girl friends one on one. and while no, there’s no romantic intentions, he still would never tell angel that. he’s just able to decipher platonic and romantic whereas angel’s insane ass is not ………. kind of.

angel is shitposting on every platform she has, especially her finsta and tiktok. sometimes when she’s feeling extra fiesty she’ll even remove drew as a follower just so she can make him “overthink”, but because he’s an old man, he literally do not gaf! half the time it’s just her ranting or talking about her day since she’s used to sharing everything about her day with drew :(

[ma1dita]

asking for trouble

a 'partners in crime' installment - luke castellan x dionysus!reader words:  7.8k prev -> when the curtains close | next -> as above so below summary: (post-TLT, compliant to TLO) The one where Luke's final wish is to see you. (He's himself again, and all he wants is to find out if the trouble was worth it all) a/n: non-descriptive mentions of blood and war, main character death. angst. a boyfriend that yall may or may not agree with. one chapter left after this!! i imagined the last scene to play out with luke in a room where they have the immersive exhibits at a museum

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[august 15th; camp half-blood kitchens, long island, new york — 9:49 pm]

Everything begins and ends with love if we are fortunate enough.

There’s a stillness that fills the air the night before what historians and future demigods alike will deem the Battle of Manhattan. It’s stifling—suffocating in the silence of the camp kitchens as you cover a sheet cake with blue frosting, piping the edges with a steady hand as you check the clock, time always ticking over your shoulder.

Almost lights out.

The circumstances are different now though, and surely no one will be able to sleep soundly tonight. Fate is hard at work unraveling the future, the gods and their spawn alike are preparing for war, yet you’re here putting sprinkles on Percy Jackson’s birthday cake.

It’s the most nonsensical thing you’ve done all week amidst the war preparations, taming the whirlwind of mixed emotions that shook camp in the days before. Perhaps it comes with the knowing that everything will change, and the only way out is through. Only the lucky ones get to go home after this.

“Are you really not coming with us tomorrow?”

Clarisse chuckles at your question from her position against the doorway, crossing her arms and watching you stick candles on the top of the sweet dessert. Her hands flex over her sleeves, tugging at the fabric like she needs to hide away from the rest of the world, “You make it sound like it’s a walk in the park instead of what it really is.”

“Is that why then?” You look up from your piping bag raising an eyebrow at her, “We need all the help we can get, Risse.”

“It’s a death wish. I don’t know how you do it grandma, but the world will keep spinning no matter if 5 shows up or not,” Clarisse mutters, rolling the words around in her mouth, “How do you do it? Knowing that he’ll be there…I-I don’t want Chris to put himself through that again. We’re going to lose anyway—something, if not everything.” 

You know that too.

There’s something ironic about how the children of war won’t be joining the fight of their lives, but Clarisse La Rue is as stubborn as a mule when she doesn’t get her way. Only something truly special would send her running to the battlefield at this point.

“A part of me feels obligated to be there and help fix it, Risse. This is the path I chose.”

She scoffs, her sneakers knocking against the side of the kitchen island. The daughter of Ares is wistful, hesitant… and nothing like herself tonight. You suppose conflict shapes someone like her like how insanity lines the essence of your being. Intangible, but the base of every choice—the driving reason connecting you to your godrents. 

“Yeah, I know that, but I still don’t get it. You don’t have to be here anymore,” she says thoughtfully, moving the cylinders of sprinkles around on the counter by height order, then by colors of the rainbow, “you could’ve chosen the easy life without all of this…I mean, if I ever got out of here alive, I wouldn’t look back.” The statement is sharp in the silence as if she’d attacked you with Maimer. Your eyes meet hers as if there’s a big secret she’s missing out on. You always look at them like that now, with a faraway gaze of a place none of them can reach.

“Who’s to say? Getting old and aging out of here is harder than you think, you know… College, rent, taxes…” you list off with every squeeze of the piping bag, spelling out Percy’s name with white frosting. Clarisse bites her lip, resting her chin against the palm of her hand as she watches you.

When she closes her eyes at night, she often dreams of being home in Arizona, dry heat prickling at her cheeks and dust swirling at her ankles. That’s what her future will look like, she thinks—and she’ll let herself be selfish if it means she gets what she wants. What do you dream of? Do you think about a future for yourself if you’re so worried about saving everyone else’s?

“But you still came back. Is this easier than that?”

Not easier, but familiar. Nothing you ever want comes easy after all. There is a comfort in walking the grounds of a camp counselor job you used to dread instead of filling out job applications; easier to you means fighting with the gods and slaying creatures of old instead of paying student loans and making rent. 

“I think you’ll find out that you do stupid things for love, Clarisse La Rue.”

She’ll never tell you this, but you’re the strongest person she knows. You’ve shown her that strength doesn’t always mean brain or brawn. Sometimes strength is loving someone without expecting anything in return, and the gnawing feeling in her stomach eats at her in an unsatisfying way—like Tantalus reaching for the grapevine, fingertips grazing the leaves for eternity.

Instead, Clarisse wipes down the counter with a Clorox wipe as you make your way towards the door, cake in hand. Tonight, she and her siblings will sleep with the knowledge that they’ll get to see another day. Call her selfish, sure—but that’s how she loves them. Alive.

“I still stand ten toes behind the fact that Michael Yew can be knocked down a fucking peg,” she mutters. There’s a small smile on her face and when she looks up at you, she sees your face is illuminated by moonlight. Clarisse hopes this won’t be the last time—silently praying to her father to extend his hand onto you.

“I’ll see you when I see you, La Rue.”

Whenever that is, she thinks. This is easier than a goodbye. What matters is showing up. What matters is that they try. That’s what she reminds herself as she turns off the big light and heads toward Cabin 5. 

Does any of that still matter in the end if they aren’t alive?

Her siblings are already asleep when she tucks herself into bed despite the music and laughter coming from 12. Light from across the way filters through her window, a warm glow cast across her face leaking through even when she shuts her eyes. It warms her, reminds her of the orange of the stupid shirts they wear, sunsets on Fireworks Beach, and the molten lava that drips down the climbing wall. 

Home might not be what she remembered it to be after all these years. Clarisse decides to sleep on it, hoping that when they wake, there’ll be something worth fighting for.

[august 15th; cabin 12, long island, new york — 10:08pm]

Camp Half-Blood is quiet as you walk through the dark forest, minding your step over the brambles and checking off your mental list of responsibilities before day breaks. The air is especially cool for a summer night, melancholy being your only jacket as you move on auto-pilot. Your fingers tighten around the tray you hold, pushing the door open to Cabin 12 which currently houses most of your campers. It’s lively and bright in here—you would think they’re all celebrating a Capture the Flag win instead of being sent off to their deaths for the greater good.

Tomorrow, they’ll wake up soldiers.

The wood creaks beneath your boots and it’s drowned out by the sound of soft chattering and laughter, a few of them still scuffling over sleep spots, and then—”HAPPY BIRTHDAY PERCY!”

There are only enough people in here to comfortably fit in a few of the strawberry trucks tomorrow—some went home to their parents to avoid the chaos and some chose not to fight at all. And the ones that remain— all 40 of them, that is, are spread out on the floor in sleeping bags writhing like worms. All the whooping and cheering is accompanied by Michael leading his siblings in song (and Connor and Travis ruining it by chanting CHA CHA CHA!). 

Percy is just shy of sixteen now, but the sheen in his blue eyes still reflects the tranquility of open water and something tender that you saw in him when he came to camp at twelve years old. Later, through mouthfuls of cake and smears of blue buttercream on his cheek, the son of Poseidon looks up at you thoughtfully, “Is this a pity cake?” He tries to make light of the situation by acting like the fate of the world doesn’t depend on his life or death, and you take a deep breath. 

Even demigods fall victim to fate, and the gods still push on. But what of their children that fight for change in the world they set the rules for; their children that fight their battles for them and lose their lives for immortal beings that live forever?

“This is a birthday party, not a pity party, Percy Jackson. There's no pity for the damned,” you chuckle. Damned if we do, damned if we don’t. All of the world’s problems seem so permanent when you’re 15 years old. It’s just fucked up that his will actually alter the course of humanity.

“And if this is the end of the world, I just wanted to make sure we’ve told you happy birthday first.”

“Well thanks,” Percy mumbles over a spoonful of buttercream, face reddening when Annie throws a paper towel roll at his face, “Hey!” It reminds you a lot of when you and Luke would fight in the dining pavilion, chicken tenders and mac n’ cheese flying through the air, and apples cut just the way you like.

You blink. 

It all boils down to him or Luke.

“Wipe your face, Seaweed Brain!”

Percy rolls his eyes, smiling down at his plate regardless of the weight he carries upon his shoulders. The more you want to live the more you have to lose, you think as you brush your knuckles against a spot of frosting he missed. You don’t look at the blonde boy and see a hero of the Great Prophecy—still, you see him as the little boy who was mesmerized by you conjuring strawberries on his plate on his first day at camp, innocent and honest. 

Looking around the room wistfully at that thought, you start to see the memories of their childhood blanket all of themlike ill-fitting clothes; it’s all you can notice. The feeling is so big it swallows you whole. Annabeth is still the little girl who’d rattle off obscure facts from Snapple bottle caps from her time on the road, drawing pictures of buildings with your eyeliner after sneaking into your room. Silena still makes blush out of berry juice and would call you about boy problems as if she’s not a child of the goddess of love herself. Will is still the boy who sings as he lights up fireflies and draws smiley faces on bandages. Katie, the girl who makes flower crowns for your birthday and eats strawberries with you soaked in morning dew. You look around and see scraped knees that you’ve kissed better, sleepy eyes you’ve sung to, and hearts you’ve kept warm—this is your glory, your greatest achievement being the family you’ve found in the woods of the Long Island Sound.

“You see it too?” Grover mumbles, nudging you and you sigh, squeezing his shoulder. Sometimes you forget the satyr is older than you; he stands tall as your pillar of support, unwavering in his promise to protect these kids. 

“We’re getting old, man.”

“You’re only 23. There’s so much left of you,” he deadpans. Laughter comes out of you in waves as you shake your head smiling.

“And what a pleasure it’s been to grow up with you.” 

Grover bids you a good night as you walk up the stairs to your old room, phone in hand while you dial a familiar number. Your boyfriend answers before the end of the first ring.

“Hey, I didn’t think you’d still be up!”

Settling against the windowpane near your bed, a soft smile graces your features and you realize he’s not there to see it. It’s always been easy with him—Dex was unbelievably kind, and he had a heart that he’d share without you having to ask. He was unlike any man you’d ever encountered before, and over the past year and a half you found it easy to love him. 

Worst of all, he’s utterly devoted to you. At least every part of you that you were willing to give him, even if it wasn’t all of you per se. Plus, you saw the ring in his desk drawer last week.

It was too…good to be true.

You recognize that this was your way out like Clarisse said, your escape from the turbulence that was your life as a demigod. But it was hard to believe that you were deserving of it. He’d never know of the ichor that runs through your veins, and the life you’d have to leave behind to truly be with him. You suppose every love you’ve ever had was sacrificial. You just wonder if because of that, easy makes it hard to feel real.

Maybe if you survive this one you’d tell him the truth. But for now, he’s rambling in your ear about his sudden work trip upstate. Morpheus and Hypnos are already at work then, redirecting the city dwellers out of Manhattan. It must be later than you thought already and in a few short hours, Apollo will be shining his rays across the Island for what you hope won’t be the last time.

“I wish I was with you right now,” you mutter in a hushed tone, and you hear him laugh breathily through the static sound of the phone. It’s easy to imagine him twirling the telephone cord between his fingers, flopped over the tiny loveseat you went halfsies on with your first big paychecks. The apartment you both moved into after graduation is more accurately a shoebox—but it’s yours, and the love you have for it is immeasurable in comparison to the square footage. You hum, listening to the sound of his voice, “Maybe I can catch you before I go—stop by and say hi before I drive up.” 

He won’t. By morning, you’re not even sure if he’ll remember you—all traces of Greek gods and their counterparts wiped clean from memory until it’s all over, whenever that is. You’re mindlessly walking in circles around your room, bare feet padding against the floorboards. He repeats your name and you realize you haven’t been paying attention, the tail end catching your ear, “Hmm?”

“Or you could come to me. I’m sure your dad won’t mind. It’s time I meet him, don’t you think?” 

And out of anything happening tomorrow, that especially sounds like a nightmare so you make a noise of disagreement, “I can’t. You know I can’t, honey. I’ve got…” your voice trails off as your lilac eyes land on a faded photo strip thumbtacked to your wall, “unfinished business to deal with.” There’s nothing left but inky silhouettes on the sun-damaged paper, two past lovers huddled together. But you know what it’s a picture of. Rye Playland, you and Luke at fifteen, cheek to cheek and covered in wisps of cotton candy.

“Mm. Sounds important. Does your unfinished business have a name?” 

Dex sounds playful now, teasing despite the silence on your end of the line. A beat passes, and then another, and he can hear the sound of your hands rifling through the things in your desk drawer. The dragon scale necklace is cold in your palm. 

For good luck, you think. 

It’s been a while since you’ve worn it—keeping it safe in the only home you and Luke shared, and as soon as it touches your neck, you feel a little less empty inside. It feels like a safety blanket, protecting you from whatever might come next. You almost feel guilty to be relieved.

Thumbing the cord absentmindedly, you mutter, “You don’t even know the half of it, Dex.” 

“Maybe one day you’ll tell me.” Sometimes, it’s like he knows— Dex must be the ivy that grows over the walls you’ve built up around yourself, and he can see glimpses of who you try to hide behind your stone-cold resolve. He wonders if you’ll ever tell him about the names you call out at night— an indistinguishable language he’ll never fully understand. He wonders where you’ve gotten your constellation of scars and where your mind goes when you sit next to the window and stare at the skyline.

Oh, he wonders.

The glow-in-the-dark stars are faded now on the ceiling when you look up at them, fighting to give their last bits of light. You wonder too, if there’s any fight left in you; a bit of Luke always remains—he’s everywhere you look. You can feel him as night falls upon New York, bidding you goodnight before it crumbles tomorrow. 

“Maybe. Good night, honey.”

Dex yawns into the receiver. You know his feet are kicked up onto the coffee table even though you always tell him he shouldn’t, and that his glasses are already off for the night. You really think he could be a nice guy to end up with, all things considered. Dex was the epitome of normal, and after almost two and a half decades of existence, it’s quite evident that you are anything but. 

Normal might be quite nice.

He yawns again. Hypnos must have reached his window, “I love you, you know that?”

“I do. Me too. Good night.”

It’s the truth. 

You love this man and the spaces he’s filled within the chaos of your life. You love all of him, from the perfectly normal way he makes breakfast for you every morning (and laughs when he burns the toast), and takes the train to work at a middle school in Harlem (“6th grade ELA takes a lot out of a man,” he jokes). He picks you up from your job at the therapist’s office downtown if you get out too late, as a gentleman would (though you’ve fought monsters that he’d scream at the sight of). Once upon a time, normal was exactly what you used to wish for.

There’s a moment where your breath hitches and you sink against your pillow and you wonder if he would love all of you—demigod and all. Could he get used to this— summers at Camp Half-Blood with chariot races and gladiator-style fighting, pegasi and harpies roaming the grounds, and watersports with woodland nymphs? Dex never even questions your green thumb or how Pollux made him hallucinate your dead brother when he came to visit (“It’s what Castor would’ve wanted! The full twin-terrogation!” he insists. You convinced your boyfriend he got food poisoning that night). Could you come clean about knowing how to slay a chimera, or why you never get drunk, and have the stamina of an Olympian (the athletic kind, but not too far off from the truth)? 

But it shouldn’t be called coming clean. That makes it sound like you’re ashamed of who you are—which you’re not. You’ve just been hiding this part of you from a normal human that you love very much.

Gods, is this how your dad felt when he was seeing your mom? 

Somehow insanity has always felt bearable—love, however, has always been such an ordeal.

The phone bounces onto your bedspread once you hang up the call. There is no more time to worry about playing a part. Tomorrow, everyone comes as they are—whatever happens after will be a problem if you reach another day. Fate has its way of making itself known, you know that by now. Blinking, you take a deep breath, and very intentionally, with your feet criss-cross applesauce, you pray—for what, you still try to figure out as the minutes tick by. 

Better late than never.

Here at camp, you were always the last one up after lights out, anyway. Tonight of all nights shouldn't be any different.

[august 16th; 34th street and herald square, manhattan, new york — 9:17 am]

“Where do you think you’re going, mister!”

Your little brother flinches, immediately turning tail and walking across the deserted street to meet you in the middle. He’s taller than you now, craning his neck down to look at your angry glower as you thrust a finger into his face, “You’re sticking with me.”

“Jake said he’s taking 9 and 12 to the Holland Tunnel,” Pollux calls out, shuffling his feet and you punch his arm hard, “OW! —It’s what Percy wants.” He swats your hand away for good measure, his arm guards clanking against yours when he dodges another swing at his head.

“We are Cabin 12, you shithead. I’m not letting you out of my sight for a second.” Your staff is heavy against his shoulder and Pollux can’t help but let his gaze wander to where Jake Mason and the other children of Hephaestus are waiting for him a block over. Manhattan is a warzone, and the difference between fighting empousai and fighting his older sister right now is very similar in theory—hard to do alone. The tunnel is halfway across the city from the Empire State Building—if something were to happen to either of you…

"M’not here to fight,” he sighs, “with you at least. I need to do my part, sissy.” The old nickname is an arrow through your heart and you grab Pollux’s hand, “I just want to make sure you’ll be okay. I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself if I couldn’t get to you in time.”

“HEY 12! You coming, or what?”

The two of you look towards the small army down the block, both of your hands intertwined like grapes from the same vine. You’re not sure if you can let go; you’re not sure if your father could lose another child. But Pollux’s face is almost set in stone—he’s never been more sure of himself. Your lip wavers, forcing itself into a stiff smile and he softens at the sight, “I’ll be okay.”

“And if you’re not? Then what?”

He shrugs, “Then… then I’ll get to see Castor.”

You nod, breathing shakily, and flinching when Jake calls for Pollux again, “Well. If you are okay…You come find me. After this is over, you come straight back home to me. You got it?”

Pollux hugs you, hard—the force of all of him sending you sprawling into his arms and it knocks the wind out of you. As the twins have grown, it’s been rare for them to show you any affection. They’d usually recoil or whine about how mushy their older sister is, and each time it makes you laugh. But right now, you stand there gripping onto his t-shirt, breathless; the ringing in your ears gives way to words he mumbles into your hair, “I love you,” he says, in case you didn’t already know. 

Just in case this is goodbye. You take it in for a moment longer, running a hand through his blond hair and cupping his cheeks as you finally step away, “I love you. I’m so proud of you, P. We all are.”

“Haven’t done anything yet,” he grins, backing away slowly, a skip in his step as he nears the small troop of Hephaestus kids. You wave them off, blowing a kiss as they band together and turn in the other direction.

Why is it that you can only be proud of someone if there’s something to prove it?

You think about all 40 of your campers fighting for their lives in the greatest city in the world. The sound of hellfire, roaring monsters, and screams that could only come from your kids. Fatigue wears you down with each swipe of magic towards enemy forces, monsters writhing in pain at your feet, demigods reduced to insanity and blood-curdling screams. It disgusts you even more so that no one can witness the weapon you've been forced to become.

After all, no one knows any of you were there. Life continues on outside of the bubble containing the Battle of Manhattan. And only the ones fighting will be able to remember this. Only you will remember the blood you spilled to wrestle for your destiny.

The rest of the city continues to sleep, safe from the people who swore to protect it.

[august 17th; empire state building, manhattan, new york mount olympus, in the sky above new york??? — 11:22 pm]

Running up 492 flights of stairs was another type of hell you didn’t expect to put yourself through, but it was faster than waiting for the elevator to Olympus. It’s quiet besides the steady rush of blood pumping in your ears, your boots slapping against the tile to reach your friends who might be in danger at the hands of someone you know well. But it’s too late to give up when you’re so close—you realize you’re praying to anyone who’ll listen as you push through the pain of always being a little too late. 

“Ugh!”

Air pierces through your lungs painfully as you trip up a landing, hands clawing against the banister. Have you been running in place this whole time, quick to start but hard to follow? Your lip quivers, eyes trailing up the stairwell faster than your legs can take you. 

Whatever the outcome, you’ll be better for it, you hope.

It’d be easier to give up. To stay away and not watch Percy fight for his life against him. You dry heave as you press your head against the wall, wondering if it’s worth not seeing what will become of this wretched prophecy. It’s hard to survive loving the villain when the rest of the world is dying because of it. Your legs feel like jelly underneath you, and not a single soul in Manhattan knows you’re here—until you feel the strength of an old traveler lift you up and revitalize your soul. Looking down to see your boots retie themselves tightly, the feeling in your chest reminds you of him. Everything leads back to Luke, and you think wherever he is now—Hermes knows that too. 

“Thank you,” you mutter. He’s handpicked your prayer through the tempest that hangs over Manhattan so that maybe your hands will be gentler in smiting his lost son. You find yourself with the nerve to run up the last dozen flights of stairs, pushing past the entryway to see Thalia Grace under a statue of her stepmother, “THALIA!” You barely make it to her fallen form before her free arm tries to push you away from the rubble.

“Get out of here! I mean it—” Thalia spits out your name through gnarled teeth and bones crunching under the heavy hands of Hera. The statue lays over the bottom half of her body, holding her legs down like how one forms a fist, and the daughter of Zeus pushes through pain and millennia worth of her dad’s karmic debt in giving her life—the essence of being a forbidden child still has a hold on her, even now. 

“I’m not gonna…leave you…”

With everything in you, both demigod strength and sheer desperation, you push at the unmoving stone and your fingernails begin to splinter from the pressure. 

But you know what it feels like to get left behind. 

Desolation slowly sets in your bones, a hollow feeling that spreads through your core as sweat rolls down your cheeks, and when you sniff to wipe it away, Thalia’s lip quivers. She’s writhing in pain and everything is coming to an end down the hall from where you stand. 

“We’re so close, Grace. I’m not giving up on you when we’re this close. I need you in there with me so you just hold on, okay?”

The marble is cool to the touch under your moist hands, and her face is fixed in a grimace as she looks up at you and sees you for who you are—another demigod who was never given a fair chance at fate but with a spirit of a hero waiting for the right chance. Thalia coughs before slapping your hand away, “LISTEN TO ME! I’ll be okay. He needs you to be there. We’re almost out of time!” 

You barely register your body moving as you get up and start to run, looking back at Thalia by the time you’re at the top of the landing. There are no words that you could imagine to string together when your eyes meet hers in the distance that separates you two—the feeling of grief bearing down as you both know the end is near and inside those doors.

As you turn back around, you take a moment to wonder if you might’ve had different people in mind for who’s up there waiting for you.

[august 17th; the hall of gods, mount olympus, the sky above new york— 11:48 pm]

Finally pushing through the heavy doors of the Hall of Gods, your eyes burn like salt in a wound as you travel toward the center to see three figures laid out on the marble mezzanine. There’s a cramp in your calf by the time you reach them, your legs giving way as you skid to a stop in front of Luke’s corroded body. The pain doesn’t register for you, split skin going numb as you stare into the eyes of a storm you fell in love with almost ten years ago. 

A stranger is no longer wearing your love’s skin. Percy and Annie’s eyes feel heavy against your back as they watch you sigh in relief, a landslide of emotion rolling off of you when you see he’s still breathing, even faintly, as if he waited for you to make it back to him.

“It’s Luke,” Annabeth chokes out, “the scythe transformed into Backbiter and I knew it was him. He was fighting for us.” Her voice makes you flinch, makes this more real—it echoes as the wind carries it through the hall. Without a doubt in your mind, you know it’s him by the way he looks at you with tired eyes, soft and amber—the light pushing away the shadows and he reaches out for you. His skin is paled by the River Styx, face weathered by the Titan as you gently guide his head onto your lap. A pathetic cry slips from your mouth when you realize there’s more pressure in the fingers he brushes against your cheekbone versus the one holding the blade embedded in his chest. 

Fuck, what do you even say? 

He’s dying right in front of you and you can’t think of a single word to say.

The clock is ticking and every breath of his comes out weaker––he speaks before you can find the words, breathing out, “I missed you,” like it was a relief to say it. And it all comes spilling out like a secret you’ve been safeguarding since the day he left— a mix of your tears and his blood smearing across your cheek as he reaches out to wipe them ever so gently. You find yourself smiling in the face of death itself—smile even if the both of you can feel death’s hand on him saying that time is finally up because the act of meeting each other here in the middle makes the years you’ve gone without him worthwhile. 

The reunion is also the loss; a nasty habit you’ve both fallen into over the years. But this time, Luke’s finally able to give you the world he wanted to see just before he leaves it.

You clutch him close without intending to let go, purple eyes scavenging for confirmation that this is your Luke, the one who pushed you through the brambles of the North Woods, wind in his hair and mischief in his smile. He’s citrus and musk, cunning smiles, something sacred kept within cabin 11, calloused fingers pulling at your t-shirt, and the voice out of tune at nightly sing-a-longs—and he loves you still. 

Loving you was the only thing that never changed.

“Shhhh, don’t waste your energy. The gods will…” you swallow a sob despite yourself, “I…my dad’s going to be here soon. He’ll help us.” There’s a lump in your throat that carries the weight of everything unsaid. Who would help you now that everyone else is getting what they wanted—a brighter tomorrow without the villain? But the prophecy unveils itself so cruelly, and the one who hurt you is the hero in this story, just as he’s always dreamed. It so happens to be at the cost of loving you.

Luke’s eyelids flutter like butterfly wings descending softly. You press a kiss onto his forehead like you used to while waiting for him to fall asleep. The chuckle that rumbles his ribcage is faint against the hand of yours that’s holding him together and the war is finally over and no one even knows that besides the four of you in this room.

“I'm running on borrowed time,” Luke wheezes, “I think my life ended the day I left you.” His thumb weakly traces the tear tracks cascading down your face, and he’s reacquainting himself with every feature of yours while he can touch it—to hold and be held by you after so long feels like drinking up ambrosia, his last bits of strength telling you what you’ve always known. 

Is there a word stronger than love?

One that would explain how close and how far you feel to him at this moment and you don’t want to say the wrong thing but there are no wrong words when it comes to the right person. Hoarsely, through wavering lips, you chuckle, “Then it's time to stop running, baby. I’m here now.”

It’s exhausting to carry the weight of tomorrow in your arms and to know it’ll be made possible only by letting him go. You’re holding him too tightly, claws sinking in to feel—to ground yourself and keep him tethered to this reality, just in case a different answer falls out of the sky. 

But falling with Luke Castellan, falling for him, has been nothing like you wanted. You've said your goodbyes more often than you can count. 

This part is just about letting him go.

“I think I’m doomed,” he laughs, coughing harshly. Blood soaks his airways, retribution for the lives he took. It drips out of his mouth and you still look at Luke like he’s asked you to marry him. What a soft, funny thought. 

Love must be more violent than war, to feel like this—to know he’s wrecked your world and still come out the other side smiling at him like he put the stars in the sky. His fingers are slipping out of yours as you hold onto the knife that keeps him here and Luke mutters, “I’m so s-sorry. You deserved better in this life.” You hear Annabeth sob from somewhere behind you but you can’t look at anything else but his eyes, not daring to miss another moment of him.

“Can’t be all that bad,” you say with a watery chuckle, wiping his mouth with your thumb. There’s more of a mess now with your feeble efforts but the action comforts you more than him; caring for Luke is something you cannot unlearn. 

“This life gave me you. I don’t want to know anything else. Do you hear me?” 

You want Luke to know this—to understand that even if this is how fate has handled the both of you, there is no other hand you would hold but his.

“You’re my whole life, Trouble.”

“I know, angel. I know. It’s always been me and you.”

You and me, he mouths, an echo of himself left to relay the message as his eyes lose their warmth, empty now and unseeing. And then he's home in your arms again as you hold every broken and bloodied piece of him together until he's no more. The parts of him he leaves behind blur into you, rivulets of his lifeforce weaving through your fingertips even when you put pressure against the knife you both hold, hands cradling the spot under his armpit, and to Percy and Annabeth it looks like you're holding his heart, clutching it between your fingers.

Protecting it until his last beat—when he finally gives it over to you. 

It was always yours, anyway. 

Before, in the in-between, and now after, his heart is yours.

Time stops for Luke Castellan, the man born to die, in the Hall of Gods that day— in the arms of his partner and in the presence of his little sister and truest friend. 

Lips against his ear, no one tries to pull you away, even when the gods of Olympus march in expecting a battle to only find a dead hero and a story that needs to be told.

You’ve never seen him so still before. 

Luke’s always been the one with something to say, hands fidgeting to hold yours. Still, you hold his hand even if he can't feel it, still smile even if he can't see you, still whisper words of devotion even if he can't hear it. By the time you feel your father’s hands on your back and hear Percy say, “We need a shroud. A shroud for the son of Hermes,” you imagine that he’s miles away from where he lays motionless, dead weight in your grasp. Nothing can pull you away from the mantra you set to remind him that he’s yours even when he leaves again. Luke’s soul will soon journey where you cannot follow, and you whisper to him in the stillness amidst the noise, “I love you, I love you, I love you…” 

When the Fates come to collect the body, their ancient hands spin around the two of you as they unweave your hold on him. You weren’t given a choice—his material body dissipates in front of your eyes and you swear you feel the tug from deep within your core as you watch them float Luke away. It’s so much different now from when he used to fly around your room with his stupid winged Converse—even the gods avert their eyes when you let out a sob that shakes the ornate hall. Hopelessly you watch, sat down on the marble and unable to move or follow—as if maybe he’d still answer to your sweet nothings, and not leave you hanging once more. You slump against your father’s side, catatonic and at a loss for words—they leave with him, floating away into the distance.

Humanity’s biggest problem and resolution has always been love—this was never a story about the lack thereof.

[august 18th; 12:00 am, death, pre-judgement? — the seven minutes after]

The path that Luke Castellan takes after he dies is most peculiar and unlike any path he’s traveled before. And yes, there have been several times that he’s come close to death—under Ladon’s claws in the Garden of Hesperides, and when he relinquished his physical self by bathing in the River Styx, but neither of those times where he’s cheated his way out can compare to the real thing. 

He once read in one of Annabeth’s textbooks that there are seven minutes of brain activity that wanes in your consciousness before you die. There’s a distinct thrumming in his ears when he comes to, and Luke discovers he’s completely in the dark with no sense of direction and most importantly, no visible way out. The old him, were he still alive—would be panicking by now, short terse breaths and sweat upon his brow. Old Luke would have fidgeting hands and eyes that rocket around for an exit. But this Luke, whoever he is—whatever he is now, finds himself eerily calm. Everything glows in a vignette, and familiar scenes materialize before his vision, a kaleidoscope of color and your shrieking laughter surrounding him in the familiarity of your happiness with him—it feels like lifetimes ago. He realizes he’s smiling. 

Versions of you swirl in the space he stands in, taking up space wherever he can look, wherever he turns—you’re there. 

And he remembers.  

Memory is a choice after all, much like love is. And no one can take that away from Luke Castellan except death itself.

The scene flickers for a moment, eyelashes fluttering against morning light peeking through the windows of Cabin 11.

It’s Luke’s first morning at Camp Half-Blood after the storm that brought him and Annabeth there. You’re standing over him with a half-beaten pillow and a menacing grin that grows as he spits out feathers. It’s his first impression of you, Kool-aid tipped hair and hands shaking with a crushed Redbull can in your other fist.

“Good. You’re still breathing. Wasn’t sure for a sec.”

A voice yells out your name and you make a run for it, barefoot and giggling and looking back at him every few steps—his breath catches in his throat again like how it did on the first day you both met.

The scenery changes and he’s sitting next to you on the dock of Canoe Lake.

“I dare you.”

“No way,” he hears himself say, and then he sees you fling algae at him in ropes, cold and slimy that it makes his voice crack, “He—ey! You’re gonna get us fired and it hasn’t even been a full day since we got the job,” he says, clearing his throat as you bite your lip.

“What’s one last hurrah?”

“You’re always gonna be Trouble, aren’t you?” he says, getting annoyed by the orange fabric that temporarily blinds him. Chuckling, you pull your shorts off and look back at him, eyes glinting in the moonlight and he can’t help but ogle at the rest of you, gulping hard. You catch him staring and he averts his eyes, looking back at the treeline to see if anyone’s come to find you both. A resounding splash echoes in the silence between you and Luke turns back to find your head bobbing visible above the water and not much else.

“I double-dog dare you, Castellan.”

He jumps in.

The dark blue of the water turns into light reflecting the pinks and purples of the sky above Montauk Point at sunset.

“We’re alive! Told you we’d be fine,” you yell, clicking your seatbelt off and jumping out of the car before Luke can even put the hatchback in park. It was his first drive anywhere—you’ve finally graduated from looping around Farm Road.

“Hey wait up!”

He calls out your name, but you’re already kicking up sand as the distance between you grows until he locks up the car and chases after you. You didn’t stand a chance, slipping and sliding in the sand as the son of Hermes quickly grabs you around the waist and throws you over his shoulder as you scream bloody murder. When he sets you down, your arms are looped around his neck and you’re smiling against the pink and tender scar on his cheek.

“Think we can break into the lighthouse before the guards come, angelface?”

The sound of crashing waves turns into chattering cabin counselors and when Luke looks around again, he’s at the Big House, with everyone else pushing their chairs in and walking towards the door. He holds his hand out and you grab it with no words or instruction—like a key nestled within its lock, exactly where it’s meant to be. 

“Last order of business, kind of…” Your dad drones from his spot near the windows. Luke tries to let go of your hand but you don’t let him, “Don’t panic,” you mutter.

“This… fraternization won't become an issue for all of us, will it?”

Everyone’s frozen near the doorway, staring at your intertwined hands. Luke clears his throat and turns toward Mr. D, “I’ll see to it that it doesn’t. Sir.”

You could almost hear a pin drop, and no one knows what to say next—not even Mr. D.

“Yeah, I’ll keep Castellan in line.”

That’s the confirmation everyone was waiting for; a mixture of groans and the clinking of drachma fill the air as Chris holds his hands out and takes his spoils of victory with a charming smirk on his face. Clarisse throws the coins at his head.

“I feel like I should take a bow or something,” Luke snickers into your ear, before placing a kiss against your temple.

You’re still in his arms and still look good in orange, but when he pulls back to look at you again, you’re both hovering above the ground near the dining pavilion. His knees are shaking when his winged Converse flap madly underneath you—a flurry of uncoordinated movement that makes you want to piss yourself.

“You’re lucky I have a strong core, babe,” he grins—and he’s thrilled at the fear on your face as you clutch onto him for dear life, one arm around his abdomen and the other around his neck, both legs latched around his waist.

“I swear to the fucking gods if you drop me, Castellan…”

His right foot jerks in a slightly different direction, making him laugh as you squeak.

“Castellan, huh? That scared, Trouble? Not gonna drop my baby.”

The wind around you whirls like a tornado as Luke tries to show off, getting higher and higher until, “LUKE!”

He catches you by the fingertips again and now there’s sand beneath your feet. You’re still spinning in his arms and his mom is singing along to a song playing on the radio you brought to Westport Beach. May claps lightly and you tug her up with a soft smile, “Come on Miss May! Take your son out for a spin.” Tugging at the damp white t-shirt you wear over your underwear, you take a seat on the picnic blanket and watch them with a smile you haven’t given Luke in years.

“Mother-son dance,” May whispers in his ear, humming a few notes of the wedding march.

He closes his eyes and soaks it all in, slightly swaying.

That thrumming is in his ears again, a steady beat against his chest and he feels it everywhere—a pounding rhythm that cannot be ignored. He opens his eyes and you’re snuggled against each other, tangled beneath the sheets. You’re still asleep and Luke just…watches you before the morning starts (whenever this is) and it all has to end. You’re breathing against his neck, lips slightly agape as warm air brushes his pulse. He moves hair out of your face and you pull him in unconsciously, skin to skin with no atom of space left between you. 

Luke blinks. 

You’re in your college apartment.

He blinks again.

His childhood bedroom.

Again, please.

In Cabin 12.

Please, just one last time.

You’re drooling against his neck in his tiny bunk in Cabin 11 and the noise is getting louder now—a static sound that morphs into the sound of your voice throbbing like a heartbeat, “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

It’s the last thing he can hear before he has to go.

_ 

“I wanna see your eyes / Is it a crime to say I still need you?” - Adrienne Lenker

[niningtori]

cruel intentions | part two

part one

pairing: choi beomgyu x you

summary: in the wake following the revelation that your boyfriend, beomgyu, only dated you for a bet in order to get his rent paid, you're actually doing pretty well. on beomgyu's end? he can't say the same.

genre: romance, angst, melodrama, fluff

warnings: clichés everywhere

word count: 3.8k

notes: she's here! i fear that this might be super corny and somewhat abrupt but that's fine i think!

beomgyu is not okay. he really, really isn’t. how could anyone expect anything other than that? it’s been a year since he saw you last, but he’s starting to believe that whoever said time heals all wounds was just blowing smoke up his ass. if anything, the longer he’s spent away from you, the worse his heart aches. that’s natural, he supposes, because you’re definitely the one that got away, and the fact that he drove you to leave only twists the knife. he wishes he could go back to the day he agreed to that stupid fucking bet and wring his own neck — maybe that'd talk some sense into his old self. but like you said all that time ago, he can’t. he even wishes he could go back to the first day of freshman year just so he could meet you sooner. that way, he could have been in your life and alleviated some of the stress and pain you always felt. but, and he cannot stress this enough, he can’t.

you may have blocked him on everything he can think of, but that doesn’t stop him from asking about you. luckily, taehyun made good on his intentions to get to know you better before realizing that you were the girl beomgyu had secretly been dating for months. as a good friend, taehyun declared you as totally off-limits, but that didn’t stop your all’s friendship from blossoming. as it is, your friendship with taehyun is only rivaled by your friendship with chaeyoung — a fact that she is all too aware of.

“when are you gonna stop beating around the bush and just get with him already?” she pouts.

“never,” you snort. “i told you, we’re friends and nothing else.”

“i know, i know, but i think he’d be good for you,” she insists.

“you’re only saying that ‘cause you’re worried he’ll replace you as my best friend, which he won’t, by the way,” you tease.

“you caught me,” she says playfully. 

truthfully, your friendship with chaeyoung has only strengthened after graduation. with the help of your therapist and a certain someone whose name you can’t bear to speak these days, you finally grew enough courage to tell her how you’ve felt like you were nothing more than her shadow since you were a preteen. you even told her about all of the times men (and women alike) only talked to you to get to her. to say she was horrified is the understatement of the century. after endless reassurances that you bore no ill will towards her and didn’t fault her for anything, she finally stopped apologizing. now, you two are closer than ever. 

“it’s just… i want to see you happy with someone,” she adds. she doesn’t have to end her sentence with  “again”, since you already know what she means: she wants to see you as happy as you were with beomgyu, again. except, for real this time. not for a bet or for fun.

“it’s okay, chae,” you say with a smile. “i’m happy as i am, i mean it.” and you do. working in your desired career field has helped you tremendously with income, and you’re actually able to provide for yourself and for your family without killing yourself with working overtime. you have so much free time, you're even able to date around a little bit. it never amounts to anything particularly serious, but it’s enough as it is. gone is the permanent storm cloud looming over your head and you’re finally able to breathe for the first time since, well, your relationship with beomgyu.

“i know,” she replies. “i just want my best friend to be even happier; is that so bad?” you roll your eyes good naturedly and she grins. 

“who knows? maybe i’ll meet someone tonight,” you muse, but you don’t really mean it. taehyun, or “tyun” as you affectionately call him, is having a get together at his place. he hinted at bringing some of his single friends, but you don’t expect anything to come of it. while it’s true that with the help of therapy and being completely honest about the nature of your inferiority complex with your best friend has helped boost your confidence, you never expect much from prospective romantic partners. you’ll never say it, but everyone knows it’s because of beomgyu.

“maybe. y’know, soobin is pretty cute,” she says with a nod, taking everything you say way too seriously. 

“yeah. he is.” 

-

while you have been to many, many events taehyun has invited you to, there has always been an unspoken rule that beomgyu would not be there. it seems that taehyun is able to perfectly juggle you two without having you all appear at the same place at the same time. that is, until you arrive at his apartment with a big smile and a 12-pack of beer and see the man who haunts you religiously sitting listlessly on taehyun’s couch. he doesn’t usually care enough to look up from his drink when new arrivals step foot through the door, but for some odd reason, he does when you walk in. it’s almost as if his truly supernatural intuition tells him to. unfortunately for you, his intuition is a pain in your fucking ass. 

when you meet eyes (lock eyes, really) you feel a pit of dread bloom in your stomach, threatening to swallow you whole. still, there’s a light fluttering of your heart that you wish to god you could deny, but it’s there, nonetheless.

you all stay in a deadlock for what feels like a lifetime before taehyun pulls you from it with a smile and hug.

“i’m glad you made it,” he says lightly. 

“of course, tyun,” you smile, successfully pulled out from your daze and back into the real world. it’s okay. you can do this. you’re a different person now that a year has passed. you’re mature enough to be in the same place as beomgyu. what you’re not mature enough for, though, is actually having to speak to him. luckily, you have no plans to do so now (or ever). 

beomgyu thinks… differently. 

when you’re standing in a quiet corner nursing a drink and wondering what the hell you’re still doing here, you almost miss the sound of feet shuffling towards you. your eyes lazily glance up and see beomgyu himself unsurely leaning against the wall next to you. 

“h-hey,” he says softly, cautiously. you look confused for a second, almost like you’re unsure if he’s addressing you, but his eyes look so earnest, there's no way he’s not. 

“hey?” you reply before fussing with your cup and watching the alcohol swirl around, threatening to spill over the rim of your solo cup.

“uh, how… how have you been?” he asks so nervously that it sounds like he’s surprised that you even responded. and he is. if he were you, he wouldn’t give himself the time of day. why would he? he doesn't deserve it.

“good,” you say with a ghost of a genuine smile. if he knew you less, he wouldn’t even be able to catch it. thankfully, he does know you, for better or for worse. his heart sings at the thought that you’re able to smile at him like you did before.

he waits for you to ask him how he is — that’d be the perfect segue into his apology — but you don’t. it’s like you don’t care to know, and any tune his heart was previously singing is strangled in an instant.

well, he supposes that he’s lucky that you’ve even said two words to him (two words in the literal sense that you’ve only actually said two words in total, but that's not the point). he’s even luckier that you actually seem to mean that you’re doing well. taehyun had told him as much, but it’s not nearly as effective as seeing you glowing the way you do with his own eyes. you look normal. you look happy. there was a point in his life where he thought that’s all he wanted, but he realizes he was wrong. he shamelessly wants to be happy, too, and he knows the only way he can do that is if he’s with you.

the air is awkward and heavy for a few minutes, but neither of you make a move to break it until you decide enough is enough. you purse your lips and are about to bid him goodbye so you can get home and ruminate on your very, very brief interaction, but he notices your movement and reaches out to grab your arm before he can stop himself. instinctively, you smack his hand away. not hard at all, more like a swipe than a smack, really, but he recoils as if you’ve just backhanded him.

“s-sorry,” you stammer. “it was just a gut reaction.” 

somehow, that makes him feel even worse. there was a time where his touch soothed you like nothing else, but now all it does is put you on your guard. 

“it’s fine,” he says with a forced smile, and your heart aches. “i was just gonna see if you wanted a ride home. i haven’t drank anything, so i just thought that… maybe…”

“oh, it’s okay,” you politely decline. “chae is going to pick me up.” he flinches at the name and as much as he wishes you couldn’t tell, you definitely do. 

“but i can take you!” he insists a little too desperately. “i just thought, you know, that we could talk or something,” he mumbles. 

“talk? about what?” you ask sharply. you begin feeling like you’re going to lose your temper. why is he making this so hard? it’s starting to piss you off.

“i—”

“if you’re going to apologize to me again, i don't want to hear it,” you sneer. you said you weren't mad at him and that you forgave him, which felt true at the time, but the more you started respecting yourself, the less patience you had for him. as you look at him, looking like he's every part like a victim in this ordeal, you realize that you’re angrier than you previously let on. “you know, i’ve thought more about what you did.” he looks like he’s just been kicked in the stomach, but you don't stop.

“and i’ve thought about what i would do for rent. i thought, ‘well, maybe if i were desperate enough for the money, i could do that, too’, and you know how desperate i was.” his lips tremble because he does know. he knows it all too well. “but i realized i couldn’t, and even if i could, i never would. the shame? the humiliation? i would never put someone through that, and i thought you would never, either, but i was wrong. i was wrong about you and the kind of person you are, or were, or whatever. and i thought, at the very least, you had enough decency to at least leave me the fuck alone, but i guess i was wrong about you again, as always.” you don’t mean for your voice to get so loud, but it does. each syllable is ripping through beomgyu like a punch to his gut, but he can’t find it within himself to defend his actions. all he can do is sit there and take it. 

devastated doesn’t even begin to encapsulate how beomgyu looks and feels, but you don’t really give a shit. you’re absolutely fuming right now, nearly shaking from releasing the anger you’ve felt for months, and he has the nerve to look like the one who’s hurt? what about you? what about how you felt when your boyfriend admitted he only dated you because he needed (more like wanted) the cash?

“babe…” you hear a familiar voice say. chaeyoung. she must be here to pick you up. your attention snaps from her to the rest of the room and you finally register that everyone has gone silent, all their stares directed towards you. embarrassed isn’t even the word. mortified is more like it. you awkwardly clear your throat and take one last scathing glance at beomgyu before grabbing chaeyoung’s arm and storming outside of taehyun’s place.

the ride home is silent — unsettlingly silent — until chaeyoung pipes up after a few minutes of driving.

“why don’t you just talk to him?” chaeyoung asks tentatively.

“what?!” you exclaim, whipping your head around to meet her gaze. 

“it’s just — i mean, i don’t think it would hurt anything if you tried,” she says cautiously, which is very, very much unlike her. 

“why? i thought you, of all people, would understand. you know what he did to me.”

“i’m not defending him, honey,” she coos, as if she’s soothing a child during a tantrum. “i’m always on your side. always.”

“then why are you saying i should hear him out? i thought you hated him!” you don't really know why, but you’re becoming more and more defensive as you speak to her. 

“i did hate him. i just think there’s more to it than that. why don't you talk me through how you’re feeling?” she suggests.

“i… i just don’t understand. i’m not who i used to be — i’m not some spineless doormat who lets people treat me like shit. don’t you think so?” you ask, sounding increasingly unsure about that sentiment to the point where it’s nearly laughable. 

“what does that have to do with hearing somebody out when you clearly want to?” she argues patiently.

“it’s just… it’s just not fair!” you exclaim. “it’s not fair how he used me. i had to try so fucking hard to rebuild myself after him.”

“as much as i love you, you and i both know you weren’t rebuilding yourself; you never had that foundation in the first place, and that’s not your fault, but it’s not beomgyu’s, either. it’s true that he treated you like shit, and you don’t have to forgive him for that, but how you felt about yourself was always so much bigger than him.”

you find yourself recoiling with each point she makes.

you hate how much she makes sense. 

“b-but still, i’m different now,” you argue, more like you’re convincing yourself instead of her. “i won’t let myself fall back into him like that.” 

“don't you trust yourself to make the right decisions? people change — you know that better than anyone. look, i’m not saying you have to or should do anything, but i think it’d be good for you to at least listen to him. you’re not doing yourself any favors by torturing yourself with ‘what if’s’ instead of just, well, talking to him.”

-

you think about it, and think about it, then think about it some more. you wonder what beomgyu could say to change anything he's done before realizing that it's impossible. but maybe chaeyoung's right, maybe he did change. does that matter, though? probably not, but you still find yourself wanting to know what he has to say. maybe you'll find it within yourself to finally let him go.

you unblock his number and, before you can think too much about it, you’re calling him. it doesn’t ring more than once before you hear the line connect.

“h-hello?”

“i’ve thought about it, and i'd like to talk.” 

“s-sure. uh, when?” he stammers.

“whenever.”

“i'll be there in 15,” he hurriedly says, as if wasting a single second will lead you to change your mind.

“okay,” you reply with a soft smile on your face, hanging up shortly thereafter.

12 minutes later, you hear a frantic knocking on your door. you open it to find beomgyu out of breath and looking incredibly disheveled. your lips almost curl up at his sorry state, but they don’t quite make it there.

“hey,” he says between pants.

you don’t respond, but you crack your door open further to let him in. he takes your cue and stands awkwardly in your living room, almost as if he’s afraid to actually touch anything. you don’t miss the way he takes everything in. some of the interior is different, but the bones of it are still the same. he doesn't know why, but the thought relieves him.

“so?” you ask after clearing your throat, effectively breaking the silence. he looks at you confusedly before seeming to remember what he’s doing here.

“r-right. i’m— i mean, i just wanted to explain,” he says meekly. 

“explain what?” 

“explain why i, uh, why i d-d—”

“dated me for a bet?” you finish, and mercifully so, because the words feel like nails when they try to leave his own throat.

“yeah. that,” he says, taking his hand and nervously scratching the back of his neck.

“mm,” you hum.

“i just want you to know that i’m sorry,” he blurts out before he has half a mind to stop himself. he knows it’s the wrong thing to say when he sees impatience flash across your features.

“we’ve established that.”

“oh. right,” he croaks, looking more and more crestfallen and lost by the second. 

“listen, beomgyu,” you sigh. “if you don’t have anything to say, i think you should just l—” 

“i do! i do have something to say!” he exclaims. you still seem agitated, but against all odds, you nod.

“back when heeseung and i, you know, made the b-bet, i knew it was wrong,” he says. “i knew it was wrong, but i still did it. i guess i just saw you as, like, a challenge or something.” you flinch at his words and cross your arms as if your insides will spill out if you don’t. he winces, but continues, anyway.

“but then i got to know you,” he quickly adds. “really know you. and i realized that you’re so much more to me than that. every day i spent with you taught me more about myself, and i didn’t like what i learned; but  i think even just being around you made me into a better person. i don’t know how to ever thank you for that, but i guess it’s worth a shot, so thank you. really.” you can’t help but feel your eyes water. you were that important to him? “and every day, i want to fucking strangle myself when i think about how much i hurt you,” he says, voice cracking at the end of his sentence. you take him all in, finally noticing the fatigue in his gaze, in his entire being. reminiscent of the way you looked nearly a year ago. instead of satisfaction at the thought that he finally knows how you felt, all you can feel is sympathy. you know how it feels to be the kind of tired even sleep can't pacify.

“i want you to know that you are the most important person in my life, a-and even if you don’t forgive me, it’s… well, i understand. but you are not a joke to me, or a challenge, or whatever. i guess i just want to tell you that i meant it when i said that i loved you, and i mean it when i say it now. because i do. i really, really do.” you are silent, trying to scan his eyes for any signs of deception or ill intent, but you can’t find any. his teary eyes and quivering lips tell you that he really means what he says. is that enough, though? can it ever be enough? maybe not, probably not, but as you stare at the tears that threaten to leave his eyes, you decide you’d like to try.

“okay,” you say. 

“o-okay? does that mean—” 

“it means we can try again. as friends. for real this time. but i’m not the same person i was. is that okay?” the tears that were once on the precipice of leaving his waterline have now begun to flow freely. fuck his stupid pride, you can have all of it if you just let him give it to you.

“y-yeah. me neither. i mean, i’m not the same person, either,” he babbles. 

“okay,” you say with a nod, ever-so-graciously wiping his tears with the pads of your thumbs, smile floating on your lips. and he just can’t help himself. 

“can i kiss you?” he asks. 

“that’s not what friends do,” you chastise playfully, “but alright. just this once.” and you’re still as kind and merciful as ever. he lets out a shaky breath.

slowly, he takes his trembling hands and pushes your hair behind your ear before leaning down and planting his lips against yours. you melt into the feeling, just like you always did when he kissed you, and you feel your heart fluttering in your chest. on beomgyu’s part, he feels like he’s in a dream. to be perfectly honest, he’s had many dreams like this since you left, but nothing compares to how sweet his present reality is. 

when he deepens the kiss, you let him. you want to say you’re unsure why, but you know it’s because you don’t want this moment to end. you two stay in each other’s arms for longer than you’d like to admit. who can blame you for it when nothing in your life has felt this right in such a long, long time? 

for beomgyu, when you two finally part, he thinks it wasn’t long enough, at all. but then, no amount of time could really satisfy him, anyway. still, when he looks into your eyes, he can’t help the unconscious pout that adorns his face when he realizes the moment is over. you can’t control the way you let out a soft laugh at it.

-

being friends with you is very, very hard. not because you're hard to be around or because there's anything wrong with you, but because, to beomgyu, you're so easy and comforting to be with. it’s all too familiar to beomgyu and he finds himself slipping into old habits such as holding your hand and tucking your hair behind your ear when you let it fall into your face. surprisingly, you let him do whatever he wants. whether that's because you missed his touch or because you just don’t want him to stop, you don’t care to figure out. when taehyun brings up the unnecessary intimacy between you two, you can’t help but blush and deny anything crooked going on, which beomgyu takes to heart every time.

he’ll wait for you to accept him, though. he’ll always wait. 

and one night when you’re watching cheesy movies on your couch with him and you look down at your intertwined hands, his thumb unconsciously rubbing against your smaller one, you realize you don’t want to deny him. 

“beomgyu?” you whisper, drawing his gaze from the screen.

“yes?” he asks, attention fully on you like a puppy ready to listen to whatever you say.

“you don’t have to wait anymore.”

-

notes pt. 2: yeah sorry if this is the corniest thing u have ever read... my fault!

permanent (sfw only): @zzhyuu @defnotleee

permanent taglist (sfw/[n]sfw): @my313 @superbbananananana @lonelybutterflytae @cherrycolaberry @midwinterblizzard @everythingvirgoes @sooberryworld @20-cms @inkigayocamman @hyueika @boba-beom @vicurious28 @blossommi @lickingan0rchid @katsukis1wife @binniebakery @notevenheretbh1

series taglist: @vixensss @dejavu-jun @gyuchubss @missychief1404 @hihello-pinky @dojdcmidcmkmfekdvmkrkmvvrm

*bold names could not be tagged

[t-tomuras]

⛏ ─── • 𝐇𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐏𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐬

Pairing: Gyuutaro Shabana x F!reader 

Warnings: Modern au, mostly gyuutaro pov, self-depricating thoughts (gyuutaro), use of petnames (baby, pretty thing, pretty girl), 'brat' mention, male masturbation (non descript), mild dry humping, fingering, oral (m+f receiving), messy blowjob / face / throat fucking, panty stealing, praise, mention of breeding, biting, idk lotta plot with some porn

Wordcount: 16.6k

Notes: Please don’t look too hard this is just a giant self-indulgent love letter to this man. Not thoroughly beta read, be gentle 🥹

He hates this job, he really does. The flood of faces day in and day out, the monotony of the same insipid meaningless pleasantries exchanged against his will lest his plucky little barely twenty one year old party animal manager tries to scold him for being ‘unfriendly’. It’s infuriating, to say the least, and he simply isn’t paid enough for it despite the obscene amount of hours he takes up because his boss (that never even sets foot into the independently owned store) refuses to hire anyone extra. 

Gyuutaro barely makes rent either, he’s thankful his roommate covers it without complaint when he can’t even though he hardly ever expresses any gratitude for it; he’s hardly ever home with how much shit he has to take care of. At this point the apartment was just proof of address because good luck getting a job when you’re homeless; he should know. 

Plus, why should he thank the striped asshole anyway? The room dedicated to him was only a fulfilled favor from the man’s brattle girlfriend and self-proclaimed sister of sorts but Gyuutaro didn’t refute the statement either. Hakuji wasn’t exactly a welcoming man but he’d do anything for his little ‘princess’ so his headache is Gyuutaro’s gain, for what it was worth anyway. 

He’d probably save more money if he didn’t send nearly every dime he had to his biological sister to ensure she never went without. A weekly ritual of scraping together what he can to give Ume as an allowance for whatever she so desired, things her scholarship doesn’t cover because he’ll be damned if his pride and joy would ever go without.

Even if that meant pinching pennies and skipping meals often to do so. It’s worth it to him, knowing she’ll be able to pursue her dream in clothing design and not have to take up a part time job to split her attention between. It’d be such a shame for her flawless face to bear the same dark circles that decorate his under eyes.

Thoughts like those are what get him through the doubles he pulls and minimal days off without killing anyone. Though, Gyuutaro swears he’ll hear the shrill ringing of cooler alarms along with the wretched chime of the convenience store doors opening and closing constantly in his sleep. He’ll probably hear it long after he quits, if he ever does. 

Maybe the job wouldn’t be so bad if he didn’t have to perform so much customer service; chatty elderly, rude and entitled soccer moms with their unruly little brats at six in the morning, burnouts that think they’re slick when they’re asking for cash back the second they walk inside and buy ninety-nine cent rolling paper. He hates it all, hates never being able to reach his boss and being expected to make judgement calls that are well above his pay grade like he gives more than a singular shit. Vendors and sales representatives coming and going with information on ads that he forgets the second they leave. 

All but one; one rep that comes in never dressed in any uniform the company surely provides. 

You always come in dressed casually where nobody would think you were working unless they’d seen you regularly. Black jeans because you “hate the work pants” with a plain black tee and a snapback hat that has your company’s logo embroidered professionally on the front with your hair pulled through the hole in the back while the fringe too short for the ponytail hangs from the sides, framing your face that you try and hide. You shake it up sometimes by wearing a company-provided jacket but only when it’s cold out or wearing your hair down entirely so it forces your hair to frame your face a little more than usual but he definitely prefers it like that. You always come in with a smile too, a sort of cheery that Gyuutaro would usually sneer at and waving to him behind the counter while making a beeline to the storeroom, grabbing a clipboard to sign in as proof that you even showed up in the first place even though he tells you often it didn’t matter. Gyuutaro was the only one ever here and if the teenager worked she’d call him a million times for questions she could figure out for herself but you flash him a playful little smile and tell him, “me signing in give her one less reason to call you on your day off.”

It didn’t though, the airhead would ask him where the sheet was despite it never moving from the same spot it’s always been in but he keeps that to himself.

You’re nice, that’s what he would say about you and probably the first and only kind word he’d used for anyone besides his sister for the first time in his entire life.

And it’s an objective truth, you’re incredibly friendly in a professional sense, he guessed anyway. Overly considerate as well. You asked about his day each time you spoke to one another but not in the obligatory way of menial conversation. You’re probably the only rep he even bothered to remember the name of, you’re the only one he’s ever taken the time to say more than two words to. Pretty too, objectively speaking of course, nice to look at so maybe that’s why he didn’t mind interacting with you more than the average person he was forced to deal with.

That’s the reasoning he gives himself anyway as Gyuutaro takes a second to look around the parking lot from the window, seeing if anyone else would come in before hopping over the counter and wandering over to the store room. It’s just to help you with whatever you’re doing, he’ll just see if you have any questions about inventory and then get back around to count the cigarettes or something; nothing more, nothing less.

You’re tapping something into your phone whenever he rounds the corner to the backroom, leaning against the doorframe with his hands shoved into the pouch at the front of his hoodie, the weight of them dragging the baggy material downward and giving him more space around his throat before clearing it ‘innocuously’’ to let you know he was there, sparing you from a fright. You look up for a second, face scrunched into a concentrated scowl that quickly melts into your usual soft look as you flash him a quick smile then get back to whatever you were doing on your phone. 

“Yer kinda early today, huh?” kicking off from his perch as he ventures further into the room as you glance over all the inventory. 

You’re scowling again whenever he gets closer, a short silence falling between you before you turn to him; nodding after heaving a bereft sigh after tucking your phone into your back pocket, “Yeah, reset guy called out so I’ve gotta do it instead because corporates breathing down our necks about the completion rate being so low. Boss told me he’ll cover anything else I have today but hey, I’ll get to bother you for a while.” 

He can’t help but chuckle at the way you stick your tongue out at him as if you lingering for an extended amount of time could ever be a bad thing, continuing to babble about what you’ll have to do and what’s happening with all the products in the store. It sounds like a lot, obviously it is since your schedule was essentially cleared for it. 

“You gonna’ need any help?” The question falls from his lips reflexively, surprising himself because he was never one to offer assistance to anyone, much more likely to make their lives harder and enjoy their suffering in the meantime.

The chime to the store's entrance doors rings when you open your mouth to answer, closing it quickly as you wave him goodbye with an apologetic smile as Gyuutaro rolls his eyes with a snarl to his lips. Pulling one hand from his front pocket and putting two fingers together at his temple paired with an exaggerated but muted explosion sound as he backs away from you to tend to the customer but he earns a cute, tinkling giggle from you over the semantics. He leaves you to your work while he helps the customer with whatever it is he’s needed to do. Put x amount on pump whatever, buying a ridiculous amount of junk food, vape stuff; whatever it is he’s not really paying attention while they’re talking to him and he pushes buttons on the register as that melodic sound plays on repeat in his head until you emerge from the back, his eyes on you instantly. 

It’s obvious he’s staring at you, too, watching while you walk back and forth from the storeroom and between the aisles and displays of different products. Pushing standees around as kicking stacks to certain spots and bending over every so often to rotate perishable stock with a few choice words over the delivery drivers performances but it drains out quickly as Gyuutaro drinks you in. 

And your shirt that usually drapes down to your ass rides up to reveal just a peek of lacy panties, making a pervert out of Gyuutaro quickly. Warming his chest with wandering thoughts that stray too far and end up carrying the heat in his veins until he has to shed the oversized hoodie. 

Customers come in sporadically after that, keeping him tied to the register as he yells responses across the way to you the few times you poked your head around to ask him something. It’s about three hours whenever he’s finally able to actually move away from the counter and meet you in the storeroom where you’re tidying up, bent over yet again and his eyes instantly drag downward to enjoy the view but you sense his presence quickly enough. 

Standing up just as quickly as crystalline hues flit to meet your gaze, saliva gathering on his tongue with the way you greet him so warmly like he weren’t just ogling you for the umpteenth time today.

“Hey!” chirped as you toed at the neat stack you were tending to when he’d appeared, “I’m just about done, I’m sending back all this junk in these boxes.” You could’ve told him the sky was green and he wouldn’t have questioned you, let alone the shit to do with this building he prays burns down. You’re typing away at your phone again at a system he never bothered to learn after explaining all the changes he may actually retain simply because it was you who said it. 

Gyuutaro rubs at the back of his neck while you finish your professional spiel, biting at the skin on the inside of his cheek, “sorry I didn’t get t’help ya any, shit timing I guess,” but you smile at him nonetheless, waving your hand and dismissing his apology. 

“It’s not a big deal at all, promise. You looked like you were ready to jump over the counter and throttle someone anyway,” he likes the way you giggle at your own comment, how it lights up your whole face and makes him need to swallow a little more. Thinks it’s cute, thinks you’re cute and he’s actually pretty annoyed he didn’t get to speak to you more the one day you’re at his store longer than an hour. Scowl marring his perfectly imperfect features as he slouches and scoffs as he recalls the faceless nobodies that kept him away from you.

“Everyone’s pretty fuckin’ annoyin, like they don’t have a shred of sense. We were busier than normal today too, should’ve just traded you jobs for the day,” to which you only gave him a sympathetic pat to his forearm in response. 

It makes him feel warm, a comfortable heat in his chest, with how you always laugh at whatever he says or are just so genuinely enthused to speak to him and that you feel inclined to be near him or touch him. He scratches at the slope of his throat in a subconscious bid to fight the unfamiliar feeling you evoke, flicking the scythe earring that dangles from the tunnel in his stretched lobes while he thinks of what else to say; never one to actually desire for conversation to carry on.

“Uh, so, you gotta order more overpriced shit or?” Was all he could come up with, his cheeks heating rapidly when you look up from the small handheld clutched in your hands and nod before returning to whatever it is you do. Thankful for the dark marks he’s had since birth that spreads from his right cheek to just below the center of his left eye for once in his life as it disguises the blush that probably tints his pale skin. Sighing as he gives up on finding something to say and leaning against the doorframe again while peeking over your shoulder as you add and subtract god knows what to the store owners bill. Jarring him from his stupor when you shift from one foot to the other on your feet before you exhale heavily.

“Alrighty, ’m all done here now, you got much longer today?“ 

He groans long and low before he nods, scowl deepening  and scratching noisily along his sharp jawline, “yeah, Imma be here pretty late, gotta’ work a twelve today because my boss is a dick and the brat he made manager has an important college party she can’t miss. Ya can only tell me yer dyin to have a train ran on ya in so many ways.” 

That makes you frown, genuinely disheartened for a reason Gyuutaro can’t really understand yet, eyebrows scrunching as you chew at your plush lower lip for a second. The next moment you’re whipping your phone out of your back pocket and clicking several different apps before you turn it towards him and he sees the add contact screen, “Put your number in, I get off after I head back to our office to clock out and wouldn’t mind coming by to help.” 

“To bother me, you mean?” quipped in jest as he takes your device with a raised eyebrow and crooked smile that makes you squirm minutely under his gaze, tapping in his contact information and sending himself a text with a playful little middle finger and scythe emoji in it to save yours before handing it back to you. You laugh at the text, rolling your eyes with a nod while tucking your phone away and moving toward the door with Gyuutaro hot on your heels, “Bothering you is an obvious given, you should know that.” 

Playfully shooing you out the door in mock annoyance in response, hanging in the doorway as he sees you out to your car and for once the blaring chime doesn’t annoy him as it screeches in his ears.

The days don’t drag on like they used to after that, probably due to the fact that he spends all day on his phone now texting you. He’s in a better mood too, smiling more (at his screen but smiling nonetheless) because the conversation doesn’t feel forced or stagnant and you’re always engaging in one way or another and if you can’t think of anything to say you you send a meme or a picture of another location that you’re at for the day. 

‘You’d never do this’, your text bubble highlights, which makes him roll his eyes, tapping at his screen in between mindless tasks he can’t focus on. 

‘Probably would if it made you have to be here awhile longer,’ Gyuutaro smirks while he types it, lopsided grin splitting his face as he wonders if you’ll fluster over it or at the very least read it in his tone. He’s gotten a little more bold with you in the weeks you’ve been texting; mostly not so subtle hints of his attraction, telling you you’re cute for simple things and complimenting you in ways that couldn’t be considered platonic. You’re animated in the ways you respond too, displaying how what he says makes you feel with caps lock and unintelligible key smashes and Gyuutaro takes it as a good sign. The awkwardness of flirting with you had long since gone away because of it and he's learned you’re the incredibly nurturing type.

Displaying it overtly and subtly all at once with questions like, ‘Did you sleep alright? Have you eaten today? I’ll be in the area today do you want me to pick up lunch? Have a good day!

The more receptive you are to him the more he does it, always toeing the line of borderline sexting without plunging into it just yet.  

For now he’ll just enjoy the mutually casual flirting, he thinks it’s flirting anyway, that’s what his roommate's stray of a girlfriend (and his bonus sister, he guesses) says when she snatches his phone from his hands or reads the screen from over his shoulder. Taunting teasingly ‘serial killers got a girlfriend’ before they end up rough housing as he wrestles for his phone back until her man came to separate them and toss her over his shoulder.

Gyuutaro couldn’t say he was opposed to the notion, however, you’d creeped your way into his personal life instead of lingering at the doorway of his professional life only. You both text one another as often as you can, but he feels the times where he has to wait, keenly aware of every agonizing minute as he drums his fingers along the counter and clicks through apps on his phone; he even hears a phantom chirp of your text notification every so often and cringes at himself if he dwells on that feeling of desperation too long. 

Lets his mind wander in fleeting distraction when there aren’t customers to busy himself with. Gyuutaro thinks of how his roommate has made fun of him for checking his phone so often just yesterday, recalling the scene vividly in his mind's eye. 

Hakuji watching the lanky man waking his screen or unlocking and locking it back more times than he can count. His legs growing restless as he did so, bouncing on the balls of his feet as he lounges in the living room of their apartment. 

Pots and pans clatter as the bulkier of the two searched for the correct cookware as he commented from the kitchen, “y’know Shabana, it's pretty refreshing seein you this hung up on someone that isn’t your sister.” 

The heavily tattooed man doesn’t realize the connotations of his phrasing, or maybe he does, Gyuutaro could never tell when Hakuji tried his hand at banter. The response was the same regardless “fuck off, stripes.” 

His roommate puts his hands up in front of his torso in mock surrender, “just saying, seems like yer really into her, princess said the girl sounds into you and could be a good thing going.”

Gyuutaro didn’t respond further, simply sneered before retreating to his sparsely decorated room with his brows furrowed in thought over how the both of you interact and if the chemistry was really that palpable that people on the outside looking in could notice it too. 

Returning to that line of consideration now as he waits, ruminating on it and if there were different attempts Gyuutaro should make but it’s abandoned quickly when an eagerly anticipated response wakes his screen and your name graces the notification bar on display.

‘Miss me?’ He reads it in your voice, a sweet sound that rattles around in his head more than he’d willingly admit to anyone aloud. Lips curling up around jagged teeth as he goes to tap out a reply before the door swings open dramatically enough that it agitates Gyuutaro. Growl rumbling from his chest only to die in his throat when he sees you standing with a beaming smile before you hold up a plastic bag with two containers of takeout while you laugh at him. 

“Gotcha!” Exclaimed between your erupting giggle fit as you place the food on the chipping countertop as you make your way around the counter to him, “you should’ve seen your face you were about to lose your shit.”

The snarl he wears is significantly less menacing and off putting than any other that he’s adorned but only because it’s directed at you, “didn’ tell me you were stopping by pretty thing, didn’t even get time to make myself look all nice.”

You scoff as you lift yourself onto the adjacent counter facing the window, your back to it after you’ve laid out your respective meals, “always look nice, now eat, I know you haven’t since I came by yesterday.”

Gyuutaro doesn’t miss how you quickly slip in the compliment but you give him no time to refute it, chuckling himself as he shakes his head while grabbing his plate of food and the utensils that came with it. An upwards quirk lingers on his lips even as he takes a bite and lets his lids slip shut to savor the moment rather than the food itself, a pleasant heat pulsing softly behind his sternum as he realizes you’ve been subtly learning about him too. That you’re at least well versed enough to know how quickly he’d refute your genuine response to his sarcastic jab at himself. 

Instead he lets you have this win, enjoys the fact that you genuinely find him appealing instead of the nagging urge to mock you for it before you could mock him because there simply isn't a singular instance where that would transpire. You were too good for that, too good for him he knows but Gyuutaro is a selfish man that takes what he wants and unfortunately (but oh so fortunately despite how unaware of the fact he was) for you, you and your affection was what he had his sights on. 

‘I’m on vacation starting tomorrow,’ you break the rare silence that had blanketed the space after swallowing your own bite of food. Gyuutaro pulled from his musings with a confused sound muffled by his mouthful as he urges you to continue, “I’m not doing anything special. Staying home all week.” 

You want to squirm over his expression, still clueless with a thin brow quirked high on his forehead hidden behind long fringe that hangs in his face. Waiting a moment in case he just needed the time to process what you were saying but once he continues to miss the point you finally sigh and ask him outright, “Do you want to hang out with me sometime during the week?“

Only for an impish grin to spread on his devilishly handsome face that makes your throat, ears and cheeks burn with heat, “thought ya’d never ask. Just lemme know when ya want me.”

Illıllııllıllııllıllııllıllııllıllı

You’re relatively busy the rest of the week after you inform him of your time off, tying up loose ends so you don’t run the risk of being contacted during your vacation and leaving notes for whoever will be filling in for you. Too dutiful in Gyuutaro’s opinion considering all the times you’ve ranted to him about your coworkers screwing you over as he thumbs away frustrated tears when you’ve reached your breaking point over the added workload. Always telling him that it’s easier for you in the long run if you just take care of things ahead of time but you ignore him when he reminds you of how you pick up everyone else’s slack but they don’t allow you the opportunity to do the same. 

It doesn’t sit right on his tongue and weighs heavy in the pit of his stomach but he lets it go when you ask him to; offering him placating words as if he were the one that felt overwhelmed. 

So he just opts to make you laugh because apparently Gyuutaro’s ‘so good at cheering me up’ and he ‘always knows just how to put a smile on my face’.

But your relief come the end of the week is palpable even without the several texts to him in all caps about how you’d completed all your tasks and written out all your emails for the ‘team’ so you’re ‘home free.’ You’re so ridiculously cute Gyuutaro can’t even stand it, embarrassed about how his heart skips a beat when you ask him his schedule and if he’ll want to come by this Sunday before he could even respond to your joy. He takes a moment to calm himself, exhaling slowly as you coordinate a short back and forth and commit to a plan.

Excitement making his stomach twist with a different sort of hunger than he’s ever suffered from before. Fuck, was he in love with you?

He wished he’d never asked himself that question, at least not before he was going to spend time with you outside of work. The first time he comes over is somewhat awkward, being alone with you in private, nevermind the fact that it’s in the sanctity of your home at that, surely would’ve been. 

The space is tidy, he notes, like you like to keep things neat and orderly the same way you do at work and he honestly isn’t surprised; demonstrating his assumption by holding out your hand for his keys as you toss them into the little bowl on the entryway table that houses your own set. Busying yourself as you move around the space before disappearing into the kitchen that wafts the smell of dinner throughout your home and makes him salivate.

“Dinner’s almost ready,” you call from the other room but Gyuutaro only coo’s a cool ‘kay’ as he seizes the opportunity to explore his surroundings as he meanders to your modest dining room table that doesn’t look like it can seat more than two people at any given moment.

There are only a few scattered pictures on the wall, family he presumes, mostly you and who he guesses is your mother as well as a few that are of people that bear no resemblance to you at all that Gyuutaro gathers must be your friends. Closest to the archway that leads into your kitchen is a singular ornately designed analog clock and some painted canvas’ on the opposite side that lead down the extended hallway that make him smirk to himself, a little pleased to learn on his own that you like to paint and you aren’t half bad at it either. 

Your home is dimly lit as well, curtains drawn for privacy and it blocks out a significant amount of natural light but it's rectified with lamps that cast a softer yellowish glow to illuminate the area. Overall you decorate pretty simply, modestly, keeping mostly essentials with the occasional knick-knacks placed sporadically so the space doesn’t feel so empty or bland. 

Pulled from his reverie when he catches sight of you preparing the plates for both of you, snarling his lip because like fucking hell you were going to do more than you needed to especially on your vacation, especially over something like this.

Broad palm and lithe digits with knobby knuckles take the ladle from your hands with ease, sucking his teeth at you when you go to protest with a cute whine but he stands firm. Taking your dish and holding it higher so you couldn’t try and snatch it from his hands as he spoons the steaming food onto the ceramic. You relent easily enough though, but not without any complaint as your shoulders slumping animatedly in exaggeration as you let him finish up making both plates instead, “I could’ve done it ‘taro.”

“Ya cooked,” short and to the point as he hands you your food, jerking his head backwards because if he acknowledges the cute nickname for him he doubts he could contain he already barely concealed desire for you, “I’ll serve it. How it works.”

Nevermind he’s never served another soul in his life that wasn’t blood related to him. What had you done to him? Will you keep doing it?

He hopes so as you retreat from him, exhaling slowly to calm himself before he follows you into the next room to find you already comfortably sat at your table; waiting for him to join you before you start eating. Something Gyuutaro never let Ume do while they were growing up, always wanting to make sure she’d had her fill before he’d even consider eating.

But food was plenty when it came to you, he knows how to pick his battles as well, Gyuutaro didn’t think he could get away with strong arming you with something simple like this again. Sliding into the cushioned seat next to you as he digs his spoon into the hearty stew after only a moment's pause. Puffing out a disbelieved chuckle when you make no move to start eating yourself as you stare expectantly at him. 

He rolls his eyes but take a decent spoonful and shovels the meat and potatoes into his mouth without even blowing on it to cool it off with little reaction besides a hum of satisfaction. Pointing the dirtied utensil at you when he swallows and lets the taste warm his belly, “s’great, now eat lil brat.”

The deliverance was a little curt but not insultingly so as you beam at him, rolling your lower lip between your teeth as you nod before finally tucking into your own plate with a playfully flippant, “was gonna, just needed to let it cool down.”

You do love your technicalities, Gyuutaro’s learned, “lucky yer cute, liars never are.”

Nudging at you with his elbow before the meal continues in amicable silence, interrupted with light conversation and Gyuutaro getting up to make himself a second bowl halfway through while you sit with him as he polished that one off as well.

This was probably the longest either of you had taken to eat any meal before, Gyuutaro never one to eat very often which was apparently in the way his skin clung to the bonier areas of his body; you because you bite off more than you could chew in other areas of your life and used the excuse of ‘never having the time to stop and eat.’

But this meal was enjoyable, one you both wanted to savor that didn't pertain to the food at all. Lingering at the table as you both idly chat a little bit more than you would when you see him at work or over text. You’d known about his sister of course but it’s more enjoyable getting to watch him talk at length about her more, have him detail to you about her personality quirks and cherished memories from their childhood that you’re sure she would be utterly mortified to know that he’d regaled them someone she hadn’t even met yet.

He was more like a proud dad than a loving older brother but you admire that about him, adored it rather. There weren’t many men like Gyuutaro that would accept that sort of responsibility over their sibling at such a young age, it shows you how good of a father he’d be one day before you nip that train of thought in the bud. 

You hadn’t even met the most important person in his life yet, nevermind that you weren’t even dating or discussing the prospect of it, what did you think you were doing with mental images of him cradling a precious little swaddle of a newborn that looks like a healthy mix of you and–

“Ya feelin alright?” his voice has you careening back to the present from a future you imagine a little more than you should, looking somewhat stupified then shocking at the cool feel of the back of his palm on your heated cheek, “feel warm.”

Your fingers wrap around his wrist thoughtfully before pulling it away gently, patting it assuringly only to chirp out tightly, ““m great! Soups n’stews just warm me up a little too much.”

You’re aware that that sounds less than convincing but you breathe a sigh of relief when he shrugs his shoulders with a smirk before figuring now was as good a time as any to start clearing the table. It makes you frown though, reaching for him quickly and grasping onto his baggy shirt, “you don’t have to do that, I’ll get it.”

Gyuutaro casts a glance over his shoulder to scold you lightly over this as well but his words die in his throat when he sees your crestfallen expression. His cleaning up feels like their time together was already coming to an end and you’d be lying if you said that wasn't more than disappointing. 

So he stops, stands less slouched than normal as he turns to you and lets his index finger hook beneath your chin to earn your gaze, “we’re gonna watch a movie yeah? What kinda asshole would I be if I dined n’ditched?”

His tone is so low and gentle paired with his touch as well as that soft expression on his face that he pulls off flustering and pacifying you in one fell swoop but you do the same to him in turn. Facilitating that pleasantly uncomfortable heat in his chest like a flickering flame that has smothering ash kicked from it’s core the moment your crestfallen expression melts from the warmth of your relieved smile.

This much of a change in mood so quickly, all because he said he’d be staying with you for a little while longer? If you’d told him weeks ago Gyuutaro alone was capable of that he’d have cackled maniacally in your face. 

Well, maybe not your face specifically, but still the sentiment stands, the notion would’ve been unfathomable to him. Gyuutaro favored souring people's moods and leaving a bitter taste in their mouths but the thought of doing that to you in any capacity makes his stomach twist in familiar discomfort.

He doesn’t realize you’re still within his grasp until you reluctantly pull yourself from him, reaching for the stacked dishes in his other hand only for him to shift it further out of your reach, “What did I say earlier?”

Your arm flails slightly, trying in vain to take the bowls from him before you huff in momentary defeat and fix him with a defiant pout, “that I cooked so you made the plates, not a thing was said about cleanin up.”

“It was implied.”

“Implied where, in your imagination?” Wrestling with him playfully as he gives you his back before your arms slip between his own but still only come up short thanks to his lanky limbs, “I can clean up two plates, seriously.”

“Didn’t ask,” purred with his back to you as long legs carry him into your kitchen with three easy strides, maneuvering about the area like he belonged there as he crouched to the cabinet below to grab a new sponge on assumption alone. You protest a bit more, knocking your hip into his in a weak attempt to bump him out of the way only to be quietly humbled over how he doesn’t even budge. Averting your gaze and pouting with warm cheeks when he glances at you with that shit-eating grin of his before leaning against your counter with your arms crossed in an exaggerated huff. 

Tapping your foot quietly against the hardwood floor as the sound of running water and the gentle clink of ceramics and metal fills the tranquil moment; simply watching Gyuutaro work comfortably in your kitchen and enjoying the delusion of domesticity until your heart races. Inhaling audibly and collating his curiosity as you scoot slightly away from him, patting your thighs because you’ve been too idle for too long.

“Actually.. Since you insist on not letting me clean in my own house, do you mind if I grab a shower? I don’t like taking one super late,” a habit even when you’re on vacation, trying to give yourself as much relaxation time before you finally decide to wind down for bed far too late in the night for how early you always seem to wake up. 

Gyuutaro gives a simple nod, resuming his self-assigned task but not without an internal scoff to himself and a smirk that fights it’s way onto his lips with the passing thought of his roommate being wholly aghast at Gyuutaro in this moment considering he never even so much as looked at the sinkful of dirty dishes back home.

Glancing over his shoulder again when he catches the motion of you awkwardly shifting your weight on the balls of your feet as he quirks his brow. Tilting his head for the dip dyed ends of his mop of wavy locks to shift out of his eyes, “Need somethin else? Or was that an invitation?”

You stiffen and he almost thinks he’s overstepped and completely misread everything between the two of you up to this point before he watches you press your palms to your cheeks the same way his sister does when she’s trying to calm herself down. Attempting to stammer out a response but you can’t even meet his gaze and as relief washes over him he taps his foot near yours and shoots you a damning wink, “m kiddin, take yer shower or I’ll start the movie without ya.”

“Don’t you dare,” scowling exuberantly, recovering from your momentary malfunction in a way that has Gyuutaro grinning, “make yourself comfortable when you’re done, swear I won’t take long.” 

He only responds with another nod, giving you an easy smile as he returns to the task at hand, grabbing a few of the stray tableware and cups while he was at it. He can feel you lingering though, feels your gaze on his back and it fleetingly makes the nape of his neck burn but he doesn’t resent the feeling. Another sensation only you stoke in him, one he doesn’t question because subconsciously he knows the cause even if he teeters between delusion and denial. 

You almost look in a daze from what he can glean from his peripheral everytime he sets a dish into your drying rack, snapping you from it as he flicks soaked digits in your direction, “doubt this is an efficient way to shower pretty thing.”

The way you squeal and giggle louder as he flicks more water at you before you race off down the hall to your bathroom makes his (now full) shrunken stomach do a flip, fluttering in another of many foreign yet familiar sensations he continues to amass from your presence. Drying his hands as he smirks over the dull thuds of your feet and the door at the end of the hall shutting hastily as Gyuutaro calls out, “can’t blame me for using all the hot water either yaknow.”

Surprisingly satisfied with what he accomplished he moves to linger in your living room idly with nothing to do, glancing about and opting to occupy his time by familiarizing himself with the dwelling after shedding his hoodie when he rounds the couch. Picking up your scattered candles and appreciating the sweet smells that recognized the times they clung to your skin or clothes before wandering further into your home. Hoping to gain more than a shallow glimpse into your life and how you live it outside of the small window he knows you from on a week to week basis or walls of text messages exchanged for hours on end could ever offer him.

Returning to the kitchen first, concocting a flippant excuse of having a sudden sweet tooth should you emerge from the corner without him noticing, not that he’d really need one for some innocent perusing. 

Starting off simple as he rummages through the fridge to see what you like only to find a random assortment of ingredients and a case of water. Frown marring his features with a slight growl, sucking his teeth because why the hell were you worrying about his eating habits when your fridge looked this barren? He’s a hypocrite for certain as he tells himself to get on your case about it later while straightening his spine and shutting the heavy door with an indignant scoff. Unsatisfied with his snooping yet as he opens and closes every cabinet in the room and stares into the pantry, growing bored before long and settling to just lounge in the living room.

Resolving to actually behave and respect your privacy.. That is, until he hones in on the sound of the running water of your shower trying and failing to muffle the sound of a melody sung in an impossibly sweeter tone than he already thought you’d had. Stalling mid stride, staring blankly down the hallway and at the simple door your voice emanates from.

A siren song for certain the way it draws him to you, craving to hear it more clearly as he closes the gap; allowing only the inch thick distance of the particle board and the few feet between it and your shower to separate you both. Leaning against the structure carefully with his ear pressed to the surface, almost holding his breath as he enjoys the sound of you. Arms folded over his chest with a ghost of a smile on his lips as his lids slip shut as if you were serenading him explicitly. Jarring when you a loud clattering of several things follows your cute little yelp, and he pauses to see if you’ll whine in pain, untensing when the sound never comes nor does the captivating cantical. 

But that’s fine for now, something else has stolen his attention anyway as he carefully pushes away from the bathroom door to push open another. Knobby knuckle nudging open the already already ajar entryway to the room across the hall.

Your room.

And he shouldn’t slink in, knows he shouldn’t slither through the marginally larger gap he created but, the lamp on your bedside table casts such a warm and, like everything else about you, inviting glow. Call Gyuutaro a moth to a flame if you wanted, vying for just a little bit more of you in any way he could get his greedy little hands on. 

Even for something so insignificant and inconsequential as the areas you dwell in, but there was an aspect of intimacy associated within the sanctity of where you seek solace and Gyuutaro has always been a man starved of many things. and since he’s met you you’ve only ever fed him more and more. He’s thankful you’d never taken the lesson to never feed a stray to heart. 

Because he wants to invade every fiber of your very being, infect your life slowly like the plague he saw himself as. Praying to any god that only ignored his pleas until Gyuutaro finally stopped asking and dolled out misery that he’d be terminal for you but in a softer, more affectionate way. 

The feeling festering in the space between his ribs as he stands in your sanctuary. Your room is as simply decorated as the rest of the house aside from a marked amount more pictures and tchotchkes that tell him more than idle chit chat ever could. 

Even silence is a conversation, easy to glean desired information so long as you were willing to look for it. 

Like that you loved deeply and cherish the moments you get to spend with those so fortunate enough you afford the affection if the candid moments immortalized in photos and preserved in protective frames are any indication. Friends mostly, some from your childhood, most from recent years alongside a lone photo of you with a woman you bare a vague resemblance to. Parental problems maybe? May you and Gyuutaro be kindred spirits. 

Perhaps that alone validates his next assessment. Where he grew callous and cold you chose to be kind and warm, obvious enough, to him, that you crave comfort as his eyes rove over the abundance of plush creatures of all varieties, stuffed foxes, cats, a pink fawn as well as a rotund bat plush that looked specifically tailored to cuddle artfully arranged around strawberry shaped pillows. 

Your bed itself reminds him more of a little nest with how it’s tucked into the corner of your room to accommodate the comforts artfully arranged around strawberry and heart shaped pillows along with the fluffiest comforter Gyuutaro has ever seen with another blanket folded at the foot of the bed. He wants to lie in it on the worst of days with you in his arms, curling around you protectively. Burns to bury his nose into your hair after kissing your crown as the smell of your shampoo, the sound of your breathing and the feel of your skin against his lulls him into the most restful sleep he’s ever gotten in his rotten life. 

Gyuutaro has to take a few steps back, berating himself over the faithless fantasies from his wicked and treacherous heart while staring at your empty bed. The longer he lingered the more likely he felt he’d be inclined to stay and for once he didn’t want to intrude or invade, not without your explicit invitation. 

Though he bumps into another piece of furniture on his exit, the rounded edge of the sturdy wood stabbing just below his shoulder blade causes him to hiss in pain. Pivoting on his heel with a snarl that quickly fades into benign curiosity as his hand strokes along the lip of your dresser.  

Drumming his fingers against the material as he purses his lips and quirks a thin brow. Weird place to put something like this, in his opinion, rocking on his heel and as he does he can catch a glimpse of the bathroom just outside of your own room. Easy access, it must be here for when you forget your clothes to spare yourself the shameful shuffle in the starke nude despite living alone. 

The thought makes him laugh, the scene a domestic one he’d never imagined of anyone as his hand rests over the top. Drumming his fingers against the hardwood as serenity turns salacious in his ever working mind. 

It’s shameful, he knows this already, but what wasn’t when it came to Gyuutaro? If he were a kinder, more compassionate man, the kind of man you deserved, the wherewithal to not violate your privacy like this would be a nonissue.

But he wasn’t, never even considered to be and doubts heavily he ever would; in this life or the next. 

So the drawers are already quietly opened with a practiced ease. 

And of course they’re all organized. Jeans, skirts, shorts, leggings and sleepwear in the bottom two drawers. The one above those holds all your shirts, long and short sleeves alike with some camis and tank tops and he chortles over the realization that you’ve sorted the storage's contents by the placement on your own body for the most part. 

Gyuutaro opens the top drawer last, he can hear how heavily he swallows as it creaks open, pausing with a scowl at the shrill sound. Is there any real reason for him to open the final drawer? No, not really, but there wasn’t any valid justification for coming to your room in general either; so, why should he stop now? Guilty is guilty, is it not, he’s always been punished severely regardless of his transgression anyway. It’s why he selfishly prioritized his own pleasure where he could and you being his currently coveted prize was enough justification to slide the drawer open further. 

Just enough to revel at the assortment of bundled silky and lacy underwear alternatively. He should be ashamed of himself, feel disgusting for how he cards through the variety of styles with a lidded gaze and lazy smile, but he doesn’t. 

Doesn’t still as he conjures images of you clad only in the pretty black, lacy pair with a precious little pink bow on the front while you stand between his spread legs with your hands on his shoulders before you climb to straddle him. Lashes fluttering over the daydream as he fists the fabric with a white knuckled grip before he forces himself from his reverie. 

Heaving a bereft sigh as his cock twitched and threatens to throb if he doesn’t leave now, quickly but carefully closing the drawer after he’s pocketed the lingerie before finally fucking leaving your room and just in time for him to hear the steady stream of water to stop. 

He’s in the living room again when the bathroom door opens and the humidity accumulated billows out. You're toweling your hair dry as you pad towards him, wearing a satin red camisole and dark dolphin shorts but you might as well be dressed to kill.

“Sorry I took a little bit, I just know after the movie I’ll want to go to sleep as soon as it's over,” there’s a ringing in his ears that almost drowns out everything you’d said to him. The sound blaring as crystalline hues quickly give you a once over as you cross in front of him  

Gyuutaro croaks out a tight ‘s fine’ as he sits sprawled on your sofa, one arm draped over the back of the couch as he slouches lower. Cursing inwardly as he folds his leg in a way that keeps his swelling cock from tenting the material of his jeans. Gritting his teeth and subtly tensing every muscle in his body to will blood flow anywhere else but you (always unintentionally and jn the best of ways) make his life harder. Plopping down into the plush cushions with a saccharine suspire that will fuel his fantasies later before leaning your head on his shoulder while clicking through several apps before settling on Hulu. 

So sweetly handing him the remote with a chirped ‘you pick’ like he wasn’t fighting for his life right now. He couldn’t be fucked to actually choose a movie so he chose some suggested horror flick and hoped for the best.  

It takes about fifteen minutes into the movie before he’s finally calmed enough to let his arm fall from its perch and drape around your shoulder and tuck you into his side properly. It’s criminal how easily you adjust into him too, shifting your weight more into your hip as your head tucks into the crook of his throat and your hand splays just over his diaphragm after you’ve pulled the throw blanket over you both. 

He doesn’t absorb anything from the movie, not that he’d really been attempting to anyway. Mentally occupied by how well you fit against him, how warm you are as well as committing the fragrant notes of your shampoo and body wash to memory. Mind wandering to anything else, though any and all thoughts still pertained to you, to stave off the dread of the movie ending because the last thing he wanted to do was to go home alone tonight. 

Until he notices how you grip onto him for dear life, whole body tensing before you flinch and fist the material of his hoodie tighter; all normal reactions to a horror film. Gyuutaro almost wants to chuckle over your reactions until you whimper and hide your face, trembling over the gory and frightening scene that has him hastily fumbling for the remote to pause it. 

You opt to hide in his throat when he does until his broad palm cups your cheek after a long moment and coaxes you to look at him, nose nudging against your own when he rests his forehead on yours. Cooing at you in the softest tone he could manage when you apologize for no reason while trembling in his hold, thumb swiping over the apple of your cheek as his fingers caress the hinge of your jaw. 

Your eyes are pretty when they’re glassy with tears but he doesn’t think he wants to see them this way ever again, not from this circumstance anyway. There were probably less selfish ways to comfort you but he tells himself he isn’t a selfless man as Gyuutaro closes minimal gap between you, sealing his lips over yours. Chaste and tentative at first, testing until you whine approvingly and press closer. 

It’s all the permission he needs to do what he does best; take. 

His hand slides to the curve of your skull to press you closer to him, leaning into the contact as he tilts his head with a hum. Your lips are as soft as he thought they’d be, softer maybe but he won’t get too lost in those details. Not when you return his fervor by weaving your fingers into his loose locks, blunt nails scraping deliciously at his scalp and how you barely break the contact to take a breath. 

It’s more than encouraging to him, slightly emboldening Gyuutaro as his tongue swipes along your plush bottom lip before you grant him entry. Your muted moan swallowed by him as he shifts you into his lap for you both to be more comfortable. 

He figures it to be a safer bet than pressing you into the cushions and climbing on top of you. ‘Easier to hold back this way,’ Gyuutaro inwardly assures himself while staring directly at pure temptation with a lustful gaze. Chest heaving as you lean back just enough to adjust and sit comfortably in his lap before chasing his lips once more. 

Broad palms finding your natural waist as your thick thighs frame his narrow hips and you cradle his jaw as if he was your personal treasure. Nipping at and gently pulling his own kiss swollen lower lip before you tug the hair at the base of his skull for him to tilt his head. 

Eyes glinting with mirth paired with a mischievous little smile that he mirrors as he palms the nape of your neck, “feelin better?” 

“Maybe,” giggling as your thumb swipes at the corner of his lips, “not sure yet.” 

Dipping for another kiss as a chuckle vibrates his chest, reverberating against your own as your tongue swirls around his. Gasping in pleasant surprise when your clothed slit brushes over his throbbing cock, chasing the sensation by grinding down after he slouches lower in his seat. 

It feels good, you feel good, even through the layers of clothes like this; it still makes Gyuutaro groan. His hands slipping lower and palm the fat of your ass to pull you closer as he presses further into the plush couch. Whimpering in turn when you repeat the motion with more confidence, rolling your pelvis into his only for him to rut upwards somewhat awkwardly until he falls into a comfortable unspoken rhythm.  

Gyuutaro’s in trouble, mind racing with the desire to pull the thin, flimsy material of your shorts and panties to the side to glide his cockhead through your sticky folds. Gripping your hips with a bruising force that you seem to more than enjoy if how they jerk in his hold was any indication before tap your fingers on his wrist. It gives him pause, swallowing thickly thinking he’d done something wrong when you lift your ass and reach between your bodies to fumble with his button and zipper before he grabs both of your hands in one. 

‘Wait, fuck, don’t wanna—“ he can already see you start to deflate at perceived rejection whenever he grabs your chin gently. Carefully cradling your jaw when you try and shy away from him to force eye contact, “nah don’t do that, believe me pretty girl, I fuckin wanna, but not on the first date. You’ll think I’m easy.” 

He winks with a Cheshire grin that makes you giggle, relaxing against him as your thumb swipes affectionately over the marks he thinks are ghastly. 

“Movie was shit anyway,” shifting you to sit in his lap with your back against the arm of the couch and your head tucked into his throat, “I’ll head home a little later. Put something on ya like.”  

You nod but don’t detangle from him, only adjust enough to where your legs are kicked over one side to sit comfortably in his lap. Spending the next hour letting YouTube autoplay comfort videos with one another’s hands laced together in your lap and even still, when it’s time for him to head home, it feels too soon. Lingering in your doorway after he grasps at his discarded hoodie and helps you into it to see him off after demanding he text you he’s made it home safely with a petulant pout he wouldn’t dream of denying. 

And true to his word he sends a concise ‘home’ after you’ve tucked yourself away in a bed that now feels too big with just you in it’s confines. Breathing a sigh of relief as you reply with a heart and telling him goodnight before you shimmy lower into your thick comforter. 

On the cusp of slipping into a dreamless sleep when your screen wakes that does the same for you in turn when you groan to see what disturbed you. 

A text from Gyuutaro that read “how bad I wanted to, btw” after resorting to fucking his fist with your pilfered panties pressed to his nose. A picture attached of him that’s cut just above his toothy, satisfied grin to just below his toned abdomen where you can see sticky white stain pale skin.

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It’s safe to say the proverbial ice had finally been broken, the shift in your relationship with one another unspoken and the nature of it is still undefined but you’re both certain (at the very least) that you're on the same page. 

From the time he wakes up to the time you fall asleep you’re in constant contact with one another, texting between chores around your households or having extended phone calls during his shifts at work. Conversation feels impossibly easier than before, lighter, uninhibited and lacking any gnawing desire to fill any silences that fall between you often.

The week carries on doing simple activities, seizing any opportunity to see each other again any chance either of you get. Gyuutaro doesn’t collect nearly half as many of his usual hours because of it and he already knows his paycheck will suffer dearly for it but he can’t say it was any real loss. The lack of monetary gain is more than accommodated for with your loving laughter and welcoming warmth; tipped a gratuitous amount of unmitigated tenderness and unconditional care.

Paid in your panoply of both subtle and unsubtle displays of affection like sending him to work with a home cooked meal every day, for instance. Packed up nice and neatly in glass containers tucked away into a branded lunch box he’s never once seen you carry around. Always placed into his hands when he reluctantly kisses you goodbye for the night though it does hold an endearingly innocent ulterior motive on your part, hinted at with your ‘firm’ demand for the containers return the next day. Creating an excuse (besides the desire to keep his belly full consistently for the first time in his life) he doesn’t realize is just so he’ll have a built in reason to come over again, not that he ever needed one but it felt easier than outright asking him to come see you every day of the week.

Until the weekend before the end of your holiday arrives and Gyuutaro can see the telltale signs of trepidation that threatens to ruin one of the best weeks you’ve had in a long while. 

The shift in you has Gyuutaro the slightest bit clingier, more doting in his own unique ways and subconsciously caring for you in the way you like to be loved despite having never been told how. He asks if you need groceries just to volunteer to drive you there, adding to it by insisting, “n’ if yer a good passenger princess I’ll take ya on that bike ride you’ve been beggin me for, maybe we’ll get that too sweet coffee ya like too.”

Treating the chore like an exciting excursion, playing dirty by sweetening the deal plus that damning lopsided grin of his is infectious and it only splits wider when you pout bleeds into a tentative smirk. Agreeing to his terms but with an added stipulation, “passenger princess needs her gas pumped and control of the radio.”

He slouches with a quirked brow and faux scowl before hooking his index finger beneath your chin, tipping it upwards to seal his lips over yours in a fleeting press. Muttering a graveled ‘deal,’ acquiescing to ‘staunch’ demands as if the exchange didn’t go exactly in his desired direction, heart warming as you giggle gleefully in victory before gathering your things to leave.

You hated shopping alone but with Gyuutaro it wasn’t nearly as nerve wracking and hard to focus. Wandering down the emptier aisles at a leisurely pace with him at your side and comfortingly placing his hand at the small of your back to guide you through the more crowded ones. Your basket gets filled with far more items and ingredients than it ever has for either of you separately, discussing dinner options and planning meals for certain days so he’ll have leftovers for lunch. Neither of you comment over how domestic the entire process is for the nature of your still undefined relationship, just enjoy the feeling and ease of it all.

Though if you asked Gyuutaro, regardless of if you were around or not, he’d proudly and possessively proclaim that you were his and he was yours. 

He knows you better than most anyone else at this point too, bagging the groceries how you liked to have them sorted without even needing to be told. Gently kneeing your thigh when you try and carry a single bag out to your car and again when you try to do the same whenever you get back home.

“Don’t piss me off brat,” sniped with a notable lack of malice as he shifted his loaded down arms out of your reach, giving you his back as he crossed the threshold of the front door. 

“Or what?” You taunt daringly only to give him little trouble, though not for a lack of serious trying. Looping your arms around his tapered waist and dragging your feet to slow him down to no avail before resorting to swiping uselessly at the bags before they’re all placed onto your countertop. 

He only sucks his teeth at you in response for now, rolling his eyes when you snatch at a bag he reaches for to unpack and stick your tongue out at him for good measure. Repeating that process for each bag as it devolves into a harmless game, tricking one another with twitching hands and sudden jerks when reaching for what’s laid out on the countertop until there’s nothing left. The whole process of the menial task breezed through with your antics, simpering as you bump your refrigerator door closed with your hip. Turning to gather the discarded bags while Gyuutaro faces your pantry, humming as you flatten and fold the plastics before a startled yelp rips from your throat. 

Broad palms placed onto the countertop cage you in as Gyuutaro’s chest presses against your back, the surprise makes you shrink lower but he grabs at you when you squirm, “where’re ya goin?”

His voice still playful but a silky pitch lower than what you’ve heard before, almost purring in your ear as Gyuutaro cups at your jaw, pads of his index finger and thumb pressing into hollows of your cheeks when you whine. He chuckles at you, the sound vibrating against his ribcage as he nips at your ear to elicit more of the enticing sounds from you; breathing you in as he lets his hands rove over your body. 

Periodically pawing at the parts of you he knows are sensitive just to watch you try and drop to your knees to writhe from his hold fruitlessly until you giggle and gasp, “alright alright, let go of me taro.”

Just the response he was hoping for as he handles you with absolute ease, brushing his lips over the slope of your throat as his arms tighten around your natural waist. Hoisting you up just enough so your toes just barely graze the flooring as you flail in the short distance he walks from your kitchen to your living room. Stopping at the furniture placed in the center of the room before he corals you once again, growing bolder by pinning your hips to the frame on the back of your sofa. Lips to the shell of your ear as he shudders out a breathy exhale when you arch your back and the swell of your ass brushes against his crotch, “or what?”

He takes a sick delight in how your eyes widen but leaves no time to dwell on the notion before deft digits make quick work of your button and zipper. He works both of his hands into your pants, massaging at your hips and palming the sides of your thighs as he shimmies the dark denim lower until it pools at your knees. Taking the time to knead appreciatively at the exposed flesh as they crawl higher, cupping your mound and pressing the pads of his middle and ring fingers over your clit as Gyuutaro slouches around you. 

Your breath hitches at the contact but the lack of tension in your body tells him enough that it isn’t unwanted. Encouraging Gyuutaro further by turning your toes inward as he pulls the lacy material to the side to feel you uninhibited, eyes rolling when you twitch in anticipation but he won’t leave you wanting. Parting your folds to play in the quickly gathering slick and he can’t help but think about how much warmer you are than he thought you’d be; warmer than what he’s fantasized about since the end of the week previous. 

He moves almost reflexively, swirling his fingers around your pert bud in firm circles, growing in confidence when your head lolls forward and you brace your forearms on the back of the couch. Ass brushing against his crotch as you go slack in his hold, dipping lower as you spread your legs just a bit more for him, rewarding Gyuutaro with a throaty sigh as he tests out what makes you feel good. A learning experience for the both of you as the sound of slick clicking and shushed suspires mingle in the space between you. 

Working you up after a few testing pressures and motions, guiding you to your climax while his breath dampens the skin of your throat and the sound of him warms the blood in your veins. The coil in your lower belly tightening with intensity as your thoughts race, all of them about him and how he makes you feel, how you think he feels about you. Focusing on how he praises you, encourages you, the feel of his cock prodding at the curve of your ass and the more he coos at you the warmer you feel. 

Clutching at the cushions of the couch for dear life and finally, finally tipping over the edge when he nips at the lobe of your ear and husks, “cum for me baby, show me how good I make ya feel.” 

Shuddering in his hold and your voice breaks on the syllables of his name as you reach rapture, arching your back and he supports you with his free hand as he overstimulates you with the other. Cupping your throat while you moan his name so sinfully while his fingers swirl in lazy circles over your puffy clit, hips twitching and bucking uncontrollably into his hand until you have to grip desperately at his wrist for some reprieve. Heaving a heavy sigh of relief when he relents and occupies himself with littering the slope of your shoulder up to the hinge of your jaw in gentle nips and caste kisses. 

Slowing his affectionate assault, Gyuutaro takes a moment to bask in the afterglow of your orgasm, marveling slightly over the pleasure he provided for you. Drinks in how you slack in his hold, leaning into him because the tremble in your legs betray you. He didn’t think it possible for you to look any more beautiful but your blissed out, satisfied expression and the softness to your features that follows proves him wrong.

Letting the moment linger until you regain your bearing before he helps you straighten up by fixing your hair and step completely from your pants after voicing you’d wanted to change. Lovingly kissing your temple with a soft apology for getting carried away but not without a swift smack to your ass and a wink, repeating coyly, “told ya not to piss me off pretty girl.”

He starts dinner while you get comfortable before coming to help cook and you equally split cleanup duty afterwards. Gyuutaro all but corrals you into the living room as soon as he’s done with the dishes, drying his hands on the decorative towels before quickly grabbing at your waist before you had time to notice. 

Eager to get situated on the plush furniture and fluff one of your many throw blankets over you both. Cuddling on the couch soon after, again, with you in his lap and his chin resting on your crown as time ticks by watching all the updates to the shows you’ve taken to enjoying with one another until he checks the time and sucks his teeth.

“Gettin late,” he grumbles as he all but tosses his phone onto the couch cushion beside you, “should probably head home so I can drag my ass outta bed for work tomorrow.” 

You almost visibly deflate, relaxed features devolving with dejection as you reluctantly move from his lap for him to stand. You watch as he rises to full height and takes the time to stretch but you grab at his wrist reflexively before he can move to put on his shoes, releasing him when he turns to you with a quizzical look. Turning fully and squatting down to your eye level when you pull your feet up onto the couch and bring your knees to your chest while you fidget with your fingers the way you always do when you’re working up the nerve for something.

Glancing away quickly when he brings his palm to cup the side of your head, stroking along it soothingly before you groan dramatically. You surprise him with the sound, making his brow quirk and he leans back slightly when you drag your hands down your face before resting your forehead on your knees with another groan. Mumbling something that’s too quiet to be understood but too loud for you to be talking to yourself so he leans closer to you, comically cupping his ear with one eye open wider than the other. 

“Hah?” Scoffed slightly and though he can’t see it you roll your eyes, “that a mouse I hear squeakin at me?”

“I said,” you shoot up with a scowl on pretty features, “why don’t you just stay the night instead.” Rushed out in one breath, like you’d lose the nerve if you’d attempted to deliver the sentence in any other way. 

Your shoulders slack again, tilting your head to lean your cheek on your knee as you fix him with this unintentionally hopeful look, “If you wanted to anyway, you don’t gotta of course. It’s just that it is kinda’ late and I can just bring you to work tomorrow but, you absolutely don’t have to. It's just that you live across town—“ you stumble through your sentence for him to, thankfully, cut off your rambling. 

“Ya had me at ‘I said’ pretty thing, why the hell wouldn’t I wanna stay?” Gyuutaro teases as he leans forward on his haunches, pressing a kiss to your forehead before he flops back onto your sofa, pressing his back into the arm of it. He reaches for you, hand encircling your wrist with ease as he pulls you between his legs and into his arms, “plus ‘m not gonna say no to a night away from my roommate and his girl bein’ loud as shit.” 

“You could’ve just said yes,” you scoff as you reach for his phone and the remote previously tossed to the wayside, handing both to him after you’ve woken the screen to check the time, “one more episode? Then we should head to bed.”

You’re telling rather than asking him, batting long lashes up at him as your chin rests on his sternum as if Gyuutaro could ever really deny you anything you desired but that doesn’t mean he won’t put on his own theatrics. Pulling a giddy little giggle from you when his head lolls back and he heaves an exaggerated sigh but powers on the tv anyway.

But ‘one more episode’ turns to two then four because ‘they can’t just leave it on a cliffhanger like that!’ Until Gyuutaro inevitably has to be firm when he tells you at nearly midnight that, “ much as I’d love to pull an all-nighter with ya, I do have the early mornin shift baby.”

Halfheartedly you pour at him, certain he won’t relent this time but you’re beginning to grow accustomed to asking just the slightest but more of him. He’d say he’s rubbing off on you, secretly he’s happy to notice it even as his thumb and index grab at your plush lower lip as he tuts. The sound of your petulant whine is music to his ears as he cackles before tapping suspiciously closely to your ass. 

“Fine, fine, I guess you win this time,” you groan playfully as you detangle yourself from. Standing and stretching as you hold out your hand to guide him to the bathroom as if he hadn’t spent every day of the week in your home. 

Gyuutaro’s brow quirks high and a ghost of a smile tugs at the corners of his lips when you push into your bathroom with him in tow. Blood ready to thrum in his veins simultaneously with elated and nervous energy as you yank open the shower curtains.  

Though he deflates quickly with a burning heat stinging the nape of his neck that forces him to grip it to abate the burn when he realizes you’re just preparing the shower for him. He clears his throat as you slip past him in the small space with a cute, “oh one sec,” as you all but scurry into your room. 

The lanky man tails you like the stray he calls Hakuji’s girlfriend and the one he always has been. Standing and yawning as he slouches in your doorway, debating minutely if he should just crawl beneath your cozy looking comforter and force you into his arms with the excuse that he could just shower in the morning. Swaying forward with intent when he’s pulled from his reverie by the sound of your searching. He leans like he’s going to help you in rifling through your drawers before gasping in satisfaction. 

You produce clothes from your dresser that he doesn't remember seeing whenever he snooped through their contents last week, heart skipping a beat and his fists clenching, hidden away by his pockets before you explain without prompt.

“They’re my brothers,” you add quickly, like you couldn’t bear the misunderstanding, “he’s nowhere near as tall as you, though. They’ll probably look like capris but I doubt you’ll want to sleep in jeans. Turning the nozzle up on the shower makes it hotter, down is colder and in is off kay?”

He showers quickly, he has to, as much as he’d like to stand under the spray and let the warm water soothe tight muscles he’s ready to lay down with you in bed. The thought is lame to him, but it’s been on his mind since he’d come over the first night; since he stood in your room and familiarized himself with it just in case he didn’t get the chance to. Groaning to himself as he slouches forward and the water streams from his wet mop of unruly locks and into his face, off his nose and blurring his eyes before he snarls. 

It was too good of a day to let his self-deprecating tendencies ruin it, finishing up what should’ve been a relaxing experience by using a modest amount of your body wash, shampoo, and conditioner. Thinking idly as he steps into just the pair of joggers alone that you liked the same sort of scents his sister liked to use, maybe just a bit sweeter where her preferences are more floral. 

He’ll have to introduce you soon, if you were up for that anyway. It was a miracle he hadn’t mentioned you to her yet with how much time he was spending with you; cautious in case this (like everything else in his life) blew up in his face when whatever deity harbored a grudge against him in particular decided they needed some entertainment.

Gyuutaro finally emerges from the bathroom as he tugs the spacious hoodie on over his head and discards his worn clothes into the hamper with your own. Brow quirking in confusion when he sees the bed still made, no you sized lump beneath the thick comforter. 

“Babe?” Called as he spins on his heel but you scurry hastily from the hall. Tucking your hair behind your ear as you step into the room and close the door behind you.

“Sorry, sorry,” huffed as you cross the room hurriedly as tug your covers back, “thought I heard something. Then I saw I forgot to turn off the oven and then I was making sure the front and the back doors were locked.”

Gyuutaro should be more than alarmed at the mention of forgetting to turn off the oven. Should question if you do that often and if he’s going to need to remind you or check himself before he can rest. 

He should be, he likely will the following day but for now he’s far too captivated by you. Adam’s Apple bobbing as he swallows thickly when sky blues rove over your body. Drinking in how you don nothing but one of the hoodies he’d left here with only panties underneath. Overtly ogling you, letting his eyes linger on your pillowy thighs before they’re hidden from view when you crawl beneath the covers. 

“Gonna sleep standin up taro?” Cooed cutely as you tap the empty space next to you, “pretty sure this is more comfortable though.” 

You’re so cute to him, every positive descriptor he could use for a person comes to mind when he looks at you. Alluring without trying to be, or maybe you were with the way you pose yourself even beneath the thick comforter. Adorable with the way you smile at him, however impish the expression may be at times. You make Gyuutaro’s mind race but externally he looks calm as he crosses the room to join you even as he retorts, “maybe not with yer popsicle feet.” 

Proving him right instantly as you cling to the warmth of his body, blade of your foot working up his joggers up just enough for your skin to touch his and earn a hiss. A curse from his lips hangs in the air but he resents none of what transpires as you squeal and giggle while Gyuutaro wrestles to return the favor. Gripping at his hoodie to let his cold hands rest at your waist before you offer a truth he’d rather label a concession. 

Finally settling down with your back to him, scooting back into him until you’re contoured to the curve of his body. Finding an acceptable position to cuddle and be cuddled when his leg settles between yours with Gyuutaro’s arm thrown around your torso to keep you close. 

Not that you’d dream of moving away, shimmying lower with an excited energy moments after you’ve both quietly settled together. And you were tired, honestly you were, whenever you’d initially got ready for bed. 

Until Gyuutaro came out of the shower and you fully registered he’d be staying the night. 

You’d cuddled plenty before, all during the week you’ve crawled in his lap or curled comfortably on his chest. You weren’t particularly that shy about anything with him either, not entirely anyway; more bold than you’d certainly ever been with all the times you’ve straddled him and held his face in your hands to kiss him as much as you pleased. 

Going to sleep together was comparatively one of the more innocent, albeit just as intimate, moments with Gyuutaro. 

Heaving a heavy exhale as you scoot ever closer into him, curling into yourself and writhing slightly as you adjust the position of your bodies. Wrapping your arm around Gyuutaro’s as it coils tighter around you, satisfied with the slight change before the sound of his voice sends a pleasant shiver down your spine. 

“Too much energy,” husked almost groggily from the gravel in his tone against the shell of your ear. 

You shift slightly, kissing his knobby knuckles in silent apology as you twist your body once again, “m tryin to get comfy, just a little restless.” 

“Ya sure it’s just that? Don’t really look like yer tryin to go to sleep baby,” voice a low tease as his other arm snakes between the mattress and your waist. Rough pads of fingers pressing into the soft flesh of your stomach as he slides lower, slipping beneath your panties to cup your mound with a sigh and, “need some help?”

You cast a glance in mock innocence over your shoulder at him, a pleading gleam in your eye as you slowly nod your head. 

Not that he was entirely waiting on a definitive answer, having received an explicit enough response when you’d spread your legs wider for him, but; he still had no intention to deny you as he slowly rolls his fingers over your clit until your hips. Testingly at first, varying pressure and motions while he watches what you respond best to until your hips are bucking into his hand and you sigh out his name so sweetly, breathily. 

He builds you slowly at first, basking in the way you respond to him but just when you’re on the cusp of euphoria he pulls his hand away, halting your high so abruptly you voice your frustrations just as Gyuutaro turns you onto your back. 

“Don’t whine,” as he lays you on your back, fingers looped into the band of your panties on either side of your hips before tugging them lower to slip them off your supple thighs to position himself between them. Wasting no time in burying his face in your cunt like a man starved.

You don’t get time to protest, gasping with a roll of your eyes as you arch from the mattress with his first languid stripe up your soaking slit. Gyuutaro lets out a low, rumbling groan at the taste of you that sends pleasant vibrations and shocks of pleasure shooting up your spine. Lost in you as he laps lazily as your lips, harding whetting his appetite like this before his fingers join the fray, calloused pads playing in the gathering slick before adding just a modicum of pressure to spread your sticky folds as he ducks his head lower. Lids fluttering and he relishes in how your hips twitch just before the tense with each lazy lap until his lips purse around the pert little pearl at the apex of your pussy for a kiss. 

Sweetly, affectionaly before sensually suckling at it in an adoring assault, alternating between rapid lateral flicks of his wet muscle and circling around it until your fingers thread through wavy locks.

Arching slightly from the mattress as your hips twitch minutely into his face, earning a rumbling chuckle from Gyuutaro and another kiss to your puffy clit. Softly sighing his name, broken by a muted moan and choked by a gasp when he resumes the motions he’d found you’d liked the most. 

Humming your approval to him as your thighs tremble around his skull and your nails gently rake along his scalp as he works you over generously. Fueled by every sound and reaction you reward him with, never liking the sound of his name more than how you gasp it as thick digits sink into your greedy cunt gradually.  

Gyuutaro’s middle finger first as he tests the motions and finds a rhythm. His ring finger follows second and it has you spasming without control, biting your lip to stifle the first debauched moan. Surely stoking his ego as you helpless rut into his face with babbled, witless whines of his name as you gripped the sheets beneath you like a lifeline. 

He enjoys watching what he does to you, delights in how helpless you are to the pleasure he provides as the taste of you turns saccharine on his tongue when the coil finally snaps. Exhaling a breathy, “fuuuck, oh ‘taro ‘m cumming,” as the tension bleeds from your body and the roll of your hips falls out of sync with him. 

Left reeling after he’s pulled his fingers from your convulsing cunt and climbing up your body, given no time to consider lamenting the loss as Gyuutaro cups your face for an impassioned kiss. Long tongue swiping over yours as he coos praises at you throatily between dizzying kisses but you’re too focused on the rigid length that pokes into the fat of your inner thigh. Leaky tip steadily staining his borrowed sleep pants as it soaks through his underwear, throbbing and left neglected while he enthusiastically tended to your own pleasure. 

Humming as your fingers thread into his unruly locks and your leg hooks on his hip before moving in one swift motion, flipping your positions to straddle him instead. Arching into Gyuutaro and giggling at the muted sound of surprise that you swallow in chasing kisses, resting your weight on the tops of your thighs. Hovering slightly as your hands splay out over his chest, body alight and still thrumming with the aftershocks of euphoria as you arch into him, hands sliding from his pectorals to his trapezius. 

Your thumbs swipe along the columns of his throat as your lips seal over his with a hum before reaching higher to thread into his hair. Blunt nails scratching soothingly at the curve of his skull as his arms wrap around you to pull you closer. 

His lips seal over yours with a sigh as his hands roam your body, groping intermittently with appreciative groans that grow in volume. 

“Fuck, I want you,” husked against your skin as his head dips to litter your throat with open mouthed kisses. Jagged teeth nipping pleasantly at sensitive flesh as you tilt your head to the side to grant him more access. Whining encouraging when Gyuutaro’s teeth testingly sink into the slope of your throat, moaning unabashedly when he adds more pressure. Not enough to break skin but enough to mark you as his, lovingly marr the unblemished space with the structure of his jaw. 

Every reaction to him fuels him, goads him further and fans the flames of desire even more so as you soak through the lacy garment you wear and his borrowed joggers. Finally reaching between your bodies to grip at the elastic band and pull it down just below his sac to run his leaking tip between your folds. 

“Wait, wait, ‘taro” muttered between hungry kisses, gently pressing your fingers into the planes of his chest, “do you have a condom?” 

There’s a glaze over Gyuutaro’s eyes, lidded gaze “never had a reason to carry one pretty girl,” nosing at your pulse point, lips brushing over the thrumming artery affectionately as he kneads at the juntures of your thighs, “do you?” 

“Um.. no? Was I supposed to?” 

“Nah, m’ glad ya don’t, jealous guy after all” winking as he squeezes at the fat of your ass again and gives you a fleeting kiss, “but if I sink you on my cock I ain’t gonna wanna pull out.” 

It is a little early on for him to even consider breeding you even though, in his shriveled little heart you’ve made room in, he’s certain you’re the one; he doesn’t want to risk scaring you off. Missing how your lips part in a soundless sigh at his comment, if he hadn’t you likely would’ve been pinned to the mattress with the entire length bullied into you in one stroke to feel that delicious burn of the sudden stretch.

Instead you give him a parting kiss that leaves him momentarily confused, subtly shimmying as you litter a trail chaste but loving brushes of your lips over every part of him that you adore. 

First to the corners of his lips that curl up with his devious grins, impish smirks and gentle smiles. Then to the inky black birthmark that decorates both edges of his mouth, dipping lower to his adams apple that always bobs distractingly and sometimes holds your gaze in the times there’s a lull in conversation.  

Your hands glide down his body to dip beneath the material of his hoodie as you straddle his knees. Hem of his borrowed hoodie pooling at your wrists as the pads of your fingers press into the toned flesh of his abdomen, firmer as your push upwards when Gyuutaro stops you. Broad palm and long digits resting on both of your hands to halt your ascent, jarring you slightly, ready to recoil in embarrassment thinking you’d misunderstood and were too forward when his free hand grasps at your chin to keep you in place.

“It’s not that baby, god it ain’t that,” he whispers, moving some loose hairs away from your face and running his thumb over your cheek, “just.. You don’t have to, ‘m not.” His voice softens and the sentence trails as his confidence wanes drastically with no intention to finish it, unsure of how he wanted to explain to you.

If he wanted to explain at all; especially something he thought he’d resolved and absolved himself of at a young age from cruel lessons hard learned. 

You cup his face as lovingly, as you always do, comforting him with touch alone in ways even he didn’t know he needed and Gyuutaro is ever grateful for it as he leans into your palm with fluttering lashes. He’s certain of one thing as you blindly offer him consolation, he’s that same sniveling coward he was as a child. 

He fears rejection but only from you, that it’ll take seeing him laid bare before you for you to finally feel the repulsion someone like you should’ve always felt towards a man like him. 

You’ve proved yourself gentle with his jagged edges though, a sanctuary for him to find solace, time and time again. 

“I want to, please?” your voice is barely a whisper, hand resting gently over his clothed cock, your index finger tracing the outline of his heady length. 

Gyuutaro swallows thickly, the hushed plea and how you palm him making him throb with a need that overshadows his cowardice. He concedes to you once again as he nods, untrusting of his voice to not embarrass or fail him should he try to respond. You flash him a dazzling smile, the same one that had him fisting himself in the shower or in his bed with a pair of your underwear balled to his nose the nights following his days filled with you. 

Would you laugh if he told you that all the simple things you did made him ache for you down to his bones? Probably not, because you’re kind like that, because you’re here with him right now, eager to please. 

His blood roars in his ears and rushes in his veins over the way your fingers dance along his abdomen, pushing up his oversized hoodie to expose the years of his neglect the months of your care could only dream of reversing. 

You can see some of his ribs but they’re far less pronounced than before he’d met you, though much less drastically and the crests of his hips still protrude a little too sharply for either of your liking. 

And even though you’ve never judged him once in the time he’s known you, Gyuutaro still can’t help but hold his breath when the fabric is completely tugged over his head and you run your hands back down his body with such caring adoration. 

You lean forward to kiss him then, a reassuring peck to his lips where your taste still lingers, another to his jaw, mapping a trail down his body to finally press another just below his navel as you untie the drawstring of his bottoms. You can feel his abdomen tense beneath plush lips when you hook your fingers into the material, urging you to press another kiss directly above the elastic band. 

“Lift your hips,” your voice is sweet, gently commanding as he complies with little delay and shimmies from the cotton blend. Your fingers tap up his lithe but densely corded muscled thighs, sliding over his rigid cock that tents the fabric of his underwear before you let soft hand linger over the straining material. His jaw clenches tightly, molars gnawing at the inside of his cheek while you rub your palm over the bulge, kneading coyly and swiping your thumb over the darkened fabric dampened by his leaky tip. 

Finally tugging his boxers down after a few agonizing minutes with a mischievously cute giggle but only just enough to free it of its confines and no lower. His engorged tip taps against his pelvis with a soft pap, saliva pooling on your tongue at just the sight of it, flushed and leaky. 

You ogle him for a long moment and his lips part after his tongue nervously darts out to wet the flesh when your fingers wrap around the base of him. Your palm feels cool compared to the heated skin throbbing beneath it, it makes him hiss reflexively and you flinch slightly but thankfully your confidence doesn’t wane. 

Moderately emboldened as you place your thumb and index fingers on his mons so the underside of his shaft rests in the web of your palm. Keeping his hard cock directly upright as you adjust closer to him, lying on your stomach between his legs. 

His heart could almost skip a beat at the sight of you, how focused you look, he can’t tear his gaze away from how you stare at him. As if Gyuutaro and the pleasure you’ll provide him is the only thing that’s going through that meticulous little mind of yours that he’s come to adore.

Leaning closer as you purse your lips around the mushroomed tip with unwavering eye contact just to tease Gyuutaro as he had earlier. Humming coyly as you pull back with a mischievous quirk to your lips as you take a moment more to appreciate the view. 

Memorizing the was his fingers fist the sheets and his pretty face dusts with a hint of red while his cock twitches in your hold. 

It’s long, just like you thought it would be, thick too with a slight curve and a prominent vein in the underside. The muscles of his abdomen tighten when you test different pressures until you think you’ve found one he appreciates, thumb tracing over the slit of his mushroomed tip to spread the pre that leaks from the tip next.

He lets out a hiss, chest rising and falling a little faster when you give him experimental kitten licks to the head down the underside of his shaft. Tip of your tongue tracing over the vein all the way down only to let the flat of the wet muscle caress his girth as you drag upwards again. 

Ending your teasing as you wrap your lips around the head of his cock, taking him in slowly, sensually.  Stretching your lips around it to form a tight ‘o’ before suckling gingerly in a way that earns you a beautiful sigh that has your lashes fluttering open to drink in just what you do to him. 

Only to meet the gaze eyes of clear blue skies now darkened into a stormy cobalt before his hips jerk upwards slightly into your pursed lips with a curse, “fuck baby don’t do that, I could cum just lookin at ya like this.”

You take more of him, hum giddily when he huffs a light “fuck”, threading his fingers into your hair to push the lose strands that fall into your face. It’s tender, the way he tucks some behind your ear and gently holds the back of your head as you bob on his length.

“You’re so pretty,” Gyuutaro whispers, hips thrusting slowly, albeit jerkily, into your mouth. Emitting an involuntary rumbling groan when you hollow your cheeks, taking him in to the base of his cock in tandem with his thrusts. 

You make him more vocal than you’d imagined he’d be, clenching your thighs to abate the throb to your clit from the sound of him. 

Gyuutaro can’t help the noises that escape him before long, jaw falling slack as his head lolls back onto your headboard while he rewards you with his pleasure. He apologizes each time you gag on him, each time he thrusts to the back of your throat that makes your eyes water but you can’t say you hate it, far from. You thoroughly enjoy the way he chases his climax helplessly, using you for his pleasure while still being so loving. 

His hands scratch lightly at your scalp, winding your hair carefully around his fingers, “Yer perfect, shit, yer amazin’— d-don’t stop baby please.” 

You bring your hand down from where you caress his hips, fondling his sac to aid him toward his climax. Humming as you watch his jaw set tightly and Gyuutaro can no longer manage the rut of his hips, fucking up into your face with abandon when the coil finally snap. He lets out a long, relieved moan whenever he finally cums down your throat with a stuttered curse and throaty growl as your only warning. 

He rides his high, fucking your slowly until he’s calmed down and you pull away with an audible pop. Swiping away the drool that dribbled down your chin, smiling to yourself as you appreciate the state you’ve left him in. 

Gyuutaro’s managed to regulate his bresthing when you crawl up his body, tucking into his side with a leg kicked over his own. He presses his lips to your temple after he runs his thumb over the corner of your lips to wipe away the bit of saliva you’d missed. You nuzzle into him, arms wrapping tightly around his torso, warmth radiating between you both, “feelin’ good?” 

“Yeah, feeling great. I think I’m gonna call out today,” he says after a long minute, lacing his fingers with yours over his chest, “it’ll be fine for one day.”

You hum tiredly in response, lifting your head slightly to rest your chin on his chest as a single digit twirls a lock of your hair mindlessly. Simply basking in the afterglow of everything and not just what Gyuutaro has done with you tonight.

He pulls your face to his in a tender kiss, one where you can’t help but smile at the affection, rolling your lip between your teeth when he cups the curve of your skull. 

 “Would ya wanna have lunch with me later? Want ya to meet my sister.”

[fancyfeathers]

Always Prey But Never A Bird

Based on the Yandere Batfam w/ Wife/Mother!Darling & Daughter/Sister!Darling series

Previous Chapter <- Chapter Four -> Next Chapter

You woke up with a groan, your chest feeling so much heavier than before, your head felt as if you had just slammed it against a brick wall. It felt hard to breathe and your right arm and leg felt numb. You shifted on the bed you laid on, opening your eyes and you were blinded by the light above you which drew another grown from you.

“No, no, no, don’t move.” You heard a voice that you could not fully process as a hand came onto your upper chest, pushing you back onto your back, it was probably Dick’s voice you think, or maybe it was Tim. “You’re pretty badly injured from the crash, the old man is pretty upset right now, probably best to not to push anymore buttons tonight.”

You slowly came to, your vision clearing up and you would have felt sick if you did not feel terrible already. You laid on a very comfortable bed, your old bed, your current bed was rough, something you could just barely afford after saving expenses for other things. There was an IV in your left arm and bandages on your right arm, leg as well if you had to guess but your lower body was covered with a blanket. Your clothes had been changed, a pair of pajamas you remember having just got a day before you left. You turned your head to see Dick sitting there, a chair pulled up to your bedside, he had changed his clothing, black sweatpants and a dark blue shirt.

“What happened-“

“You skinned the right side of your body on one of the bridge wires, tore right through your suit, along with a bruised lung.” Another voice added on, Tim Drake, he was sitting on the other side of your bed, opposite side of Dick. “You could have died if it wasn’t for Dick.”

“At least I wouldn’t be here.”

“Someone tried to kill you and that’s what you have to say? God…” You heard Tim sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You can’t even be grateful for having your life saved.”

“They weren’t trying to kill her, someone who was trying to kill her like that would have just tried to take a shot at her.” Dick spoke to Tim, speaking as if you were not even lying between them. “They wanted her alive, but they failed their mission cause she went flying off the bridge and would have died.”

“Can you two just shut the hell up, I already have a headache.” You threw your head back on your pillow, closing your eyes, but you were certainly aware enough to grab Tim by the wrist when he tried to brush the hair out of your face. “Don’t talk to me… just get out.”

“Nah, Bruce said not to leave you alone.” Dick responded, his fingers prying yours off of Tim’s wrist. You groaned at hearing his words, keeping your eyes screwed shut while trying to drown out the throbbing pain in your limbs. “You should try to eat or drink something, I think Alfred made you something in-“

“I’m not hungry, pass.” You felt a creak in your bones as you turned your body around onto your non injured side. The moment the side of your body shifted onto the bed you felt Tim’s hands on your skin, shifting your body and his body to bring your head to rest on his lap as if you were some small kitten who needed to be held. “Where are my things?”

“Why do you need them?” You heard Tim ask from above you, his fingers coming to run through your hair, scratching at your scalp. “You’re not going back out there like this.”

“My friends… they could be in danger-“

“They don’t matter right now-“

“They matter to me, Dick!” You cut your oldest brother off when he cut off your answer to Tim’s question. “If anything happened to them I would never be able to forgive myself.”

There was a thick silence in the room after your words, you heard the chair Dick sat in shift against the wooden floor of your room as he stood up.

“Bruce has your gear right now, he’s reviewing the footage from it to see who did this to you. I’ll see if he’ll let you use it.” You heard the door to your bedroom open and close after Dick’s words in response to your shout.

“…What happened to you?” You heard Tim ask, his fingers pausing in your hair. “You used to be so sweet.”

“I was only like that because if I acted up I would be punished.” You sat up, pushing his hands off of you and your right hand pulled out the IV out of your left arm, and you could hear the sharp intake of breath from Tim beside you. “Don’t think I never knew you put cameras in this room or that I never realized that when I misbehaved at all or pushed any of you away that you would spike my meals with a sedative and call my teachers at school and just tell them I was sick.”

“You never listened to us!”

“I shouldn’t have to! I should have grown up with just my mom because that is what she wanted to do!” You stood up, slipping out from the bed, you glanced at Tim and he had shifted as if to catch you as if you were going to fall. You were in slight discomfort but you had built an extremely good pain tolerance over the years so you were fine, but clearly they would never recognize your current strength. You scoffed at Tim’s worried reaction to you standing up on your own, shaking your head. “You still think I am weak… oh my god fuck you.”

“You know you’re not supposed to say things like that.” Tim scolded you at your usage of foul language. He stood up from your bed, reaching out for you, his hands coming to grip both of your shoulders. “Just stop-“

You leaned back, shifting your weight so you fell back, dragging Tim back with you. You extended your left leg up so it kicked him right in the gut, knocking the air from his lungs and sending him flying and crashing into your bedroom mirror, shattering it and digging into his skin.

“I will say the good thing about being seen as weak by you all is that I am always able to take you all by surprise, especially now, like I said that to Dick to get him out of the room.” You spoke simply before grabbing the chair Dick was sitting in just moments ago and hurling it at your bedroom window, breaking it with an extremely loud shattering sound that echoed through the room, probably the manor. You saw out of the corner of your eye, Tim slowly getting up so you did not waste a second, you went running to the window, jumping out.

You heard Tim shout your name, your birth name as you landed on the ground, but you did not stop running. You ran straight to the back of the garden, you knew that behind a bush, against the tall iron fence that surrounded the manor, there was a divot under the fence that you dug when you were bored as a child. It was perfectly hidden from view so that no one else could see it or find it, even now it was still there, water and rainfall over the years only making it deeper so you could crawl out of it still.

By the time you were on the other side of the fender you could hear shouting from back at the manor, at least Tim told Dick by now if not the whole house if they did not hear the shattering of the mirror and window. You did not look back, just kept running and running…

_______________________

“Hey, stop squirming so much!” Nettle scolded you as he pressed a disinfectant covered cloth against one of your broken window induced wounds on your arm. You had made it back to the warehouse in one piece due to running into Clove by chance when she was looking for you as her civilian self. “I’m almost done, ‘kay?”

“…fine…”

You sat on the dining room table while Nettle cleaned your wounds from the jump from the window, the others were all near, Foxglove digging into a pear for her breakfast as she leaned against the kitchen counter, Clove laying across one of the couches and Henbane’s lap as the two of the scrolled on their phones. Nettle snipped off a bit of bandage after he wrapped it over your wound on your arm before setting the roll of bandages and scissors down in the medical kit.

“There, all done, that wasn’t so bad was it?” Nettle asked you as he held his hand out to you to help you down from the table, you just mumbled out a response in thanks, far too tired to form actual words. “Let’s get you to bed-“

“My room is too far.” You whined, glancing up at the metal staircase on the back wall that led to the rooms which were old storage rooms that you renovated into your bedrooms. You let Nettle lead you to one of the couches instead, helping you lay down on it and pulling a thick weighted blanket over your shivering body. Your whole body was in pain now, you were barefoot when you slipped away from Wayne Manor which resulted in your feet ending up being fifty shades of messed up, bruised and bloodied. “Thanks, Nettle.”

“Anytime.” Nettle sat down on the ground next to your couch. He glanced up at you with a smile. “You’re off patrol for the next week.”

“You’re fucking kidding me.” You groaned, throwing your head back which drew laughs from Clove and Henbane on the opposite couch.

“Look Mr. Austen needs to make a new suit for you and the tech is custom made because your old one is back… ya you get my point.” Foxglove chimed in, her voice trailing off. “But hey, you could take some time off for yourself, go get drinks, maybe have that boyfriend of yours over that you visited the other night.”

“H-how… how do you know about that?” You shot up, groaning in slight pain as you moved too quickly and your response drew laughter from everyone. “H-how- I turned off my comm line…”

“No you didn’t.” Foxglove spoke, her voice full of laughter. “No, you see you turned your camera in your mask on, looks like the rush of the moment got to you both.”

“…you… you all heard us have sex…” You lay there on the couch, wide eyed in the realization.

“Heard it… and saw some of it.” Clove answered and your face turned the brightest shade of red. “But hey he is really cute, definitely a keeper.”

“…my best friends saw me have sex with my boyfriend I haven't seen in four years.” You stared up at the ceiling and buried your face in your hands. “I wish I fell off that bridge.”

“Hmm well if you want you can have him over tonight, show him around while everyone else is on patrol and Foxglove is working the comm lines, have a nice stay at home date.” Clove suggested as she sat up from Henbane’s lap. “I think I picked up a really good red wine if you two want to split that.”

“Clove, thank you for your idea, but his idea of a stay at home date is getting food from a five star restaurant and watching a movie in his home theater. Or sometimes he’d order chocolate covered strawberries and we would hide in his mother’s office when one of my siblings, normally Tim, came looking for me.” You explained and there was a long silence from your friends as the reality of your old life set in. “And that red wine you bought cost fifteen dollars, the stuff his family bought cost five hundred dollars at the very least. I just- look I don’t know about him coming here, I mean we live in a warehouse, a nice warehouse but still, he is rich, like one of the oldest families in Gotham rich.”

“Well then… I’m sorry for what’s about to happen.” Clove said in an awkward silence taking hold of the room. “I messaged him on one of his social media accounts and asked him to come over and surprise you since you are sort of stuck here… I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine… he probably never saw it anyway, he’s busy-“

“Not too busy for you.” You made the mistake of looking away from Foxglove, not seeing her get up to go get the door with her crutches and letting in the guest that came knocking. You all turned your heads to see the familiar blond boy you spent that night with just the other day. Gabriel was let in through the back door, carrying something that you assumed to be a gift basket, all dressed up in his thick wool coat and scarf along with those Italian leather gloves he always wore. He smiled at the sight of you laying down on the couch, he set the gift basket down beside the couch and bent down to press a kiss to your lips as you opened your arms to him in your tired state. “Hi angel.”

“Hi love.” You responded, before gesturing to Gabriel and looking at all of your friends. “His is my boyfriend, Gabriel Christel. We met back in middle school when I first moved to Gotham after my mom married my father and then we started dating in high school and well you all know the rest.”

“It’s lovely to meet you all, thank you for looking after her.” He looked around at all of them before his eyes fell over to Clove and a look of recognition came across her face at the sight of her. “You’re Clove, right? Thank you for reaching out to me, I think we are going to be very good friends.”

“I hope so.” Clove smiled as she stood up from the couch, glancing around at everyone else in the room. “We… we should go, we got patrol and… ya… you two have fun.”

“We will.” You replied to Clove as she pulled Henbane up from the couch and Nettle quickly followed behind her as well, going to get changed and prepared before patrol. You looked back up to Gabriel who was standing over you and as soon as he saw your eyes were on him, he kneeled down onto the carpet, on eye level with you so you could press a kiss to his cheek, just under his eye. “Hello handsome.”

“Hello beautiful-“

Gabriel was cut off by the sound of someone clearing their throat and you both turned your heads to look at Foxglove standing just a few feet away with her crutches due to her injury on her foot that she was recovering from. She smiles at Gabriel, looking him dead in the eye.

“I like you a lot, but hurt her at all and we will destroy you.” She spoke those words with a smile, but there was a certain chill about them that would probably even make your father shudder. “Do you understand?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Good boy.”

_______________________

“My bedroom is the last one on the left.” You spoke as your boyfriend carried you on his back, one hand reaching back and holding your thigh and the other carrying that gift basket, your arms wrapped around his neck. He pushed open the door and stopped for a moment, before walking forward and setting you down on the bed. “Thank you, lovey.”

He looked around your bedroom as he came to sit down beside you. Old floorboards creaked beneath his weight, the walls were brick with white pants covering them, slowly chipping away from the top down. The ceiling was high with all sorts of pvc pipes and air vents, the windows were tall but the glass was thin. The bed was an iron bed frame, polished and then painted over black and then the dressers and nightstand were all sorts of different pieces you found and painted over the years.

“Foxglove is downstairs on the comm lines tonight.” You said as you laid down on the right side of the bed, propping yourself to sit up against your pillows. “So it’s just me and you until patrol is over.”

“Ya… I suppose it is.” He set the basket at the foot of the bed and reached in and pulled out a bottle of red wine and a glass, you watched as he filled up the glass halfway and handed it to you. “Here you go, dove.”

“I love you.”

“Mmm, are you saying that to me or the wine?”

“Both.” Small laughs escaped from both your lips and he wrapped his arm around you as you took a sip of the red wine from the glass. You sighed and leaned your head on his shoulder. “I missed this… I missed this a lot.”

“So did I.” He replied to you, there was a palpitate pause in the air and he took a deep breath in and out. “Angel… how long are you going to be doing this?”

“Doing this?”

“Living in a warehouse, being a vigilante, hiding away from everything? I mean look at you, your body is so fucked up and I don’t even know what caused most of it.” His voice took on a heavy tone of concern which felt like a large weight on both of your shoulders. “I want to settle down and have a life with you, I don’t want to worry about where you are.”

“I… what are you saying?” The air left your lungs as you watched Gabriel stand up from the bed and walked over to your side of the bed, reaching into his coat pocket and pulling over a small navy blue velvet box and getting down on his knee.

“Marry me.” You just stared down at him and a bit of a bashful smile came across his face as a small chuckle slipped from his lips, shaking his head slightly. “It was my great grandmother’s ring and I know I couldn’t ask your mother or father for their blessing but no one hardly sees your mother anymore and your father… well he doesn’t like me and well I don’t know if they know you’re around anymore and-“

“I… I don’t know…”

[gi4hao]

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི₊ ⊹ ˎˊ- comforting you after a bad day (vocal unit)

— pure fluff (mentions of food)

— CLICK HERE FOR THE HHU VERSION

— joshua

• all it takes is one text about how much your day sucks. one text and joshua comes to pick you up from work himself

• and you’re so surprised to find him waiting in front of the building (with a small bouquet of flowers in hand) that you instantly tear up

• “day’s finally over, beautiful. let it all out”, he tells you as you hug him tight. and no he won’t let you apologize for being so emotional (he never does)

• once you’re back home, he gets to properly cuddle your bad mood away, which obviously makes you feel better in a matter of seconds

• there’s something about the way he strokes your cheek and interlaces his fingers with yours that makes you completely relax to his touch

• he just wants you to feel safe with him; safe from every single worry that this day has brought you. and you absolutely do, knowing that at the end of the day, he’ll always be there for you to rely on

— jeonghan

• lots and lots of communication: if you’re facing a problem, he’ll take some time to figure out a solution with you

• but also lots and lots of affection because he knows that’s what you crave

• i feel like he would offer to take you to your favorite restaurant, so that you can enjoy your favorite food without worrying about cooking or cleaning the dishes

• he’s also big on compliments. no matter what you do or say, jeonghan will have something nice to say to you. and he always makes sure not to only compliment your looks, because that’s not what makes him so smitten about you

• i also think he’d be the type to run you a nice bath when you get home, which may or may not include a shoulder rub because he knows (too well) that stress is never easy on your back

— seungkwan

• your problems are his problems.

• “she said what?!! ugh, i can not stand her, you’re such an angel for putting up with her bullshit everyday”

• so yes, he’ll be angry with you if you’re angry. but it’s a whole other story if you’re feeling sad (cue cuddles)

• he’d do this thing where he leaves so many tiny kisses on your temples that his lips practically never break contact with your skin

• would definitely hum a slow song to help you relax, and hearing the vibrations of his voice in his chest greatly contributes to the relief of any tension

• i think at some point he’d offer to tell you about his day, not to make the conversation about him but because he wants you to try and think about something else

• he’d pull out his phone while still keeping you close to him to show you the pictures he’s taken during the day; but you’d end up scrolling back to some old pictures of the two of you, which is probably the best remedy to any kind of sadness

— dk

• definitely an entertainer. making you feel better is a good start, but making you smile and laugh is the real goal here

• that being said, he’ll never dismiss your feelings. this man will dry your tears and kiss your salty cheeks before even attempting to take your mind off of what’s bothering you

• but once you start to feel better, he’ll make it its priority to entertain you for the rest of the evening

• so yes, he’ll blast your favorite songs in the kitchen and invite you to dance with him, in a way that’s way too formal for you to take him seriously

• he’ll grab your hand and spin you around until you’re so dizzy he needs to wrap his arms around your waist to keep you from falling (how convenient right?)

• and just the sound of him giggling as he kisses the tip of your nose is enough to make you forget every upsetting thing about your day

— woozi

• jihoon usually comes homes pretty late. and sure, he might not be able to immediately come home after you tell him about your awful day, but he’ll definitely tell you to join him in his studio

• there’s something inherently comforting about being in his studio. everything’s calm, organized and just so woozi-like, it’s automatically working its magic on you

• “wanna keep me company?” he asks with a smile, and you know this is just him asking if you want to sit on his lap while he works (and YES YOU DO)

• he’ll probably do some basic things on his to-do list while you’re here, that way he can focus on you too, listening to whatever it is you have to say and leaving a couple of kisses on your shoulders and cheeks if he feels you tensing up again

• i feel like he’d come up with some sort of date activity that you guys could do together on the weekend, like a day trip to the beach or dinner at a fancy restaurant

• you know he prefers to stay in during the weekends but as long as you’re with him, he’s home <3

[letternotekisses]

ok but saucy thoughts aside im talkin bout talon assistant reader genuinely being cute and silly with her agents:

Moira more often than not lets you eat your lunch in her lab provided that none of it comes in contact with her projects. She was hyper focused - her perfectly manicured nails holding still a tawny brown ball of fur, adorned with a baby pink button nose that sniffled the air hesitantly. You’d practically squealed when she raised a needle to the poor thing, and she quirked a brow when you hurried over to clutch the animal to your chest.

Moira appeared unimpressed with you. Her angular chin upturned as she peered down at you, baby talking the rabbit she had planned to test on. You looked up at her with eyes big and watery enough to rival the little creatures, and she sighed dramatically. The geneticist had a feeling that wrangling the critter out of your arms wouldn’t be so easy now that you’d seen what plans she had for it.

So that is how Lucky came to be. Despite Moira’s cold disposition, she enjoyed your company, and would like you to continue body doubling with her whilst she worked. The only way not to send you fleeing from her lab in tears, clutching the rabbit to your chest, was to keep it around. It has its own little space laden with toys and plush surfaces - a rather spoiled little animal.

Moira allowed the rabbit to stay, under the one condition that she name it. She’ll never tell you why, but she named the little guy Lucky because not only was he ‘lucky’ to avoid her experiments that day - he also gives you more excuses to come into her lab - and she feels ever so lucky for it.

Sombra finds unique methods to get your attention. She lurks around the base almost as well as Gabe does, but she’s not necessarily doing it to be broody. She can get greedy with your attention, so she finds ways to lure you off base so that she can have you all to herself for a little bit.

Sombra often hacks into Akande’s email to send you on faux errand runs, just for little things like coffee where she can swoop in for some quality time. And don’t worry, she pays for the dates and ensures you’re back on base by the time your break is finished.

Sombra also leaves little gifts where she thinks you might find them. Although, they’re never really that little. You’re always taken aback by new, expensive top-range electronics laden in purple ribbon on your desk. You know who leaves them, because they’re backed up with the best firewalls around and the display has a tiny purple skull on it.

Sometimes she just straight deposits thousands into your account. As a treat. Sombra only rolls her eyes when you try to decline the amount, flustered and telling her that it’s ’way too much’ but she honestly couldn’t care less. She’s perfectly able to spoil you and that’s exactly what she’ll do.

Reaper likes to play off that he doesn’t enjoy your company (he’s coping) but he’s also always skulking wherever you’ve been. You’re a bit of a yapper, especially when it’s early mornings in the Talon communal area, so he likes to sit and listen to you. If you stagger whilst talking because you think he isn’t listening, he’ll give you a stare so hard that you swear you can feel it through his mask. So you keep talking and his shoulders sag with contentment once more. (He now knows every single type of coffee you like, and you should expect a mysterious package of literally all of them in the kitchen next week.)

He’s a grump, and sulked for an entire week when you once changed your perfume. Reaper even went to lengths to shadow-step into your room to throw the new one out and replace it with a fresh bottle of your old one. It wasn’t cheap, but as long as you keep using it, he’s happy to buy them for you.

He’s also happy to scare off any of the overconfident Talon grunts who think you’re easy pickings. In fact, I’d say he takes great pleasure in showing those idiots who the pretty secretary belongs to. (He’s been doing this behind your back because he’s too edgy and emo to approach you directly and would rather trail you in the corridors like some sort of creep, but he means well.)

Reaper gets a little jealous over your attention from time to time, but with help from his unorthodox teammates (and you) he learns to share.

Amelie is slower to approach, but she’s all the more meaningful when she does. She may not be able to feel, but she more than just tolerates your company. She finds herself inviting you over for bottles of wine more often, showing you her manor and her dear guard hounds who’ve come to be much too gentle under your affections. Yet, she can’t find it in herself to blame you.

You show her simplicity in a blank and cold world - and soon enough her manor grows less full of cobwebs and vines, instead beaming with sunlight and the tiny succulents you’d gifted her with. You won’t replace Gerard, but Amelie still lets you dust off the weathered picture frames as if you’d been married together in this old house for years.

You help manage her hair, winding long and silky strands between your fingers, brushing against the elegant slope of her back. She welcomes your touch, despite the warm and cold contrast of your skin on hers.

Amelie craves the casual and domestic intimacy you provide her. She introduces you to self defence and gun wielding so you can take care of yourself without her, and you introduce her to reality tv and an absurd collection of coffee mugs. She would not take it any other way.

Sigma’s musings start small when he hears you humming a certain tune one day. It’s catchy, likely a pop song you’d heard on the radio whilst on your way to work, or maybe it was a song you’d been blasting in your bedroom the night before? He’d found himself picking up on it, unable to shake it until he’s humming it himself.

Eventually when you sit down with him for tea, he questions you about it, yet when you tell him the name of the song and he listens to it, he doesn’t necessarily feel the same pull.

The next week, when you’re passing by his lab in a hurry, heels clacking against the glossy wooden floor and papers flying in a trail behind you, he catches you humming another song. Another tune. He smiles softly to himself, picking up the documents you’d left behind.

Sigma realises then that the song wasn’t necessarily catchy enough to stick with him. He’d only picked them up because they reminded him of you.

Mauga is always excited to have you around. Sometimes he can be a bit much, but with two hearts he’s bound to have twice your energy. So that’s why he absolutely insists that you sit on his back whilst he does pushups. No matter what you weigh he’s not gonna break a sweat, so you might as-well relax on his back while he works out, instead of wasting precious quality time you could have together.

He’d suggested that you sit on other things too, but you’d smacked his bicep hard enough that the muscle rippled and he got the message to behave. You were still sore from the last time he said that.

Mauga also is a big cuddler, meaning, if you’re doing something he doesn’t deem as important, you’re being quite literally swept off your feet and dumped onto a soft surface like a wet kitten. Where he then hauls you onto his chest and squishes your face into his bicep, unfortunately for you, two hearts means he runs WARM. And you’re out like a light in less than 10. Smug bastard.

Big dude loves to show you off, too. Takes you back to some of his old haunts (pays for all of your drinks) and puts a song he knows you like on the jukebox. Sure, the night ends in a bar fight, a back-alley fuck and the worst take out you’ve had in your life, but would you have it any other way? Absolutely-fuckin-not.

And finally, the big boss of them all, Akande. Who’s satisfied with the knowledge that each of his subordinates treat you well and good, but knows he holds the ultimate claim. He holds the golden chain of your leash.

He treats you softly, like a well pampered pet all trussed up in the finest materials around. But it’s not always money with him. Sure, Akande has it, and he’s gonna flaunt it, maybe stuff a few bills in your panties when you least expect it but he also knows you’re not just a pretty face. Both he and his top agents have become adjusted to you in their lives, morale is high, people have improved.

You’re here to stay, and it’s only locked into place when he awakes one morning, your legs are tangled underneath satin sheets, and you’re drooling on his bare chest. He laughs - a deep rumble that shakes his chest and has you groaning at him to stop moving in a sweet, sleep addled mumble. You even give him a little kick under the covers.

Akande makes sure you’ll never want nor need again, and he’s sure that his team feel the same way about this odd, sweet assistant that stumbled into their lives.

[crazylittlejester]

More about Time and Twi in your modern au pleaaaase 👀

ofc ofc!! i love to talk about these guys :3

- Twilight is Time’s sister’s kid, but she and her husband both passed so Twilight fell into Time’s care when he was 13 months old. Time and Malon are the only parents he’s ever known (he’s always known they’re technically his aunt and uncle, that was never hidden from him, but to him they’re mom and dad and he calls them that). Time and Malon couldn’t have had their own children and were going to be adopting anyway and though initially they’d planned on adopting more than one kid, Twi is an only child

- When he was little, Twi was really just Time’s little buddy. He’d follow him EVERYWHERE and get genuinely very upset if Time didn’t take him with him somewhere, though Malon talking quietly to him and just physically being there was always enough to calm him down again. Daycare did not go very well, the other kids stressed him out too much and he missed Time and Malon so badly he’d sit as close to the door as physically possible and he was just so distressed because he’d been ‘left somewhere’ that after like a month of trying, Time and Malon eventually just kept him on the ranch. Kindergarten also failed miserably, but because the ranch is so far away from things and other people they really really didn’t want to homeschool him because they wanted him to get to interact with other kids so they tried again for first grade and Twi DIDNT spend the entire first day crying so they counted it as a success (though he didn’t say a word to anyone all day, not even the teacher). EVENTUALLY he made a friend (Ilia), but it really did take him a few months before he spoke to anyone at school

- The first time he ever saw the goats Twilight just became OBSESSED with them, and he was too little to do a whole lot to ‘help’ take care of them, but Time would hold him and let him gently pet the goats and call it ‘helping’ so Twi could feel like he did something (ofc as he got older Twi started GENUINELY helping out on the ranch, but little baby Twi got to help by petting goats and it made him happy so Time wasn’t about to take that from him alksdkdk). Time also lifted up baby Twi to pet Epona and Twi just adored her so so much, Time will never be able to not smile at the memory of how big Twi’s eyes got with pure wonder and amazement when he put his little hand on Epona’s nose

- Time is the reason why at eleven years old Twilight was terrified of the muppets. They watched Muppets Most Wanted and Twi (bless his heart) was a little bit scared of it, and Time thought it’d be funny to put a bunch of pictures of evil Kermit all over the house as a joke and Twi ran into one in the dark and well, Time paid for his stupidity by staying up all night with his poor child (Twi’s not scared of the muppets anymore, but his heart WILL start beating faster and he does feel a little anxious if he runs into anything kermit related where he isn’t expecting to)

- Time would not call himself an anxious parent and Malon would very much like to disagree with him because he is SO overly worried about something happening to Twilight after Twilight at nine years old hopped off a horse a little carelessly because he was trying to be cool and ended up tripping, falling, and splitting his head open and poor Time just saw his kid go down and go limp and then there was blood just EVERYWHERE, and another time when Twi was 15 he almost died and Time was the one who was with him then too. Twi doesn’t feel like Time hovers over him by any means, he feels loved and like Time really cares about him, but Time’s genuine fear that Twilight is going to die or get seriously injured in some bizarre accident has led him to check his kid’s location at 3 in the morning (now that Twilight at 21 years old has been living in the apartment with Sky and War for 2 years) to make sure he made it home safely, and he’ll also pace and it drives Malon INSANE (she loves her husband and she understands his anxiety and she really wishes there was something she could do to help him calm down, but HE stresses HER out with the pacing and nervous muttering). Twi is well aware Time has his location, he also has Time and Malon’s and he doesn’t care that they can see where he is. He knows it makes Time feel better to be able to check in on him and also it’s very useful for when he texts and says he’s on his way to the ranch because its a decently long ass drive and then Time and Malon can see how far away he is (Twi also has War and Sky’s locations, and they have his)

- Time paid for Twi’s first tattoo after making him save up for it because he wanted to make sure that Twi was both serious and also going to be financially responsible enough to save for something he wanted while also being able to buy the things he needed, and he let Twi keep the money’d saved for something else. He’s paid for a few others too, and a couple piercings

- Twi really looked like a mini Time growing up. He has a much darker skin tone and brown hair and eyes, but his face shape and like his facial structure are identical to Time’s and the resemblance is so strong people have never doubted Time being his dad (even though he’s technically Twilight’s uncle)

- Twi and Time both have a habit of collecting strays, and they’ll bring them home to Malon and take care of them on the ranch until they can find the animal a nice home or release it back into the wild, though about four dogs now have been kept around because Twi and Time got too attached, as well as a couple cats and one person (War) /hj

[yurinaa-world]

Hello! Could I request for Aventurine and Sunday as single parents headcanons?

Characters: Aventurine & Sunday !platonic x Gender-neutral Reader

Synopsis: Aventurine and Sunday as single parents

Warnings fluff, spelling mistakes,

Notes: I just saw that my request the oldest ones date back to the beginning of March. (IM SORRY ill try not to rush them but also just them out quickly so everyone is happy)

𝒜𝓋𝑒𝓃𝓉𝓊𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑒

He's the type of parent to spoil his kids but also sorta strict but like in a fun way y’know. Like giving you a lot of candy but he’ll make sure you brush your teeth. Then if you don’t he’ll tell you a scary story about how the tooth fairy sees that you didn’t brush your teeth and she takes you away and traps you in her basement, taking all your teeth away since you can’t take care of them so you don’t deserve them.

Spoils so much. Whenever he’s gone for a couple of days because of the IPC, he brings so many gifts back for you, it’s not like he wants to do their dirty work so it's more like bringing gifts to both of you since seeing you happy makes him happy.

He got you a jar once filled with candy that you both would share taking two out each—for the both of you—it’s special to you since you both always share two to symbolize another good day for the two of you yet you won't take one unless he’s there with you since how can it be a good day if he’s not there. (stole that from The Male Lead's Little Lion Daughter)

Oh, he's def the type when you ask him to teach you card tricks the first time he messes with you and shows you the most complicated card trick you’ve ever seen then hands you the deck, starting at you as if expects you to do what he just did in your sleep or somethin’

Ugh, he’s also the type to read your bedtime story no matter how old you get. He still reads you Cinderella.

𝒮𝓊𝓃𝒹𝒶𝓎

You’re his perfect child. As everyone looks up to him, the people around your age do the same. You both are a perfect duo to each other. Almost like a spitting image of him with the way you act. 

He’s the type of parent who you don’t like to do something that he would dislike…it’s not an angry expression or frustrated words but disappointment…just that disappointed look on his face without any words to say just staring at you with that look on his face bring shivers down your spine. “I told you many times did I tell you to not do that…sigh, I'm disappointed in you.”

You always accompany him whenever he anywhere to go—you’re sort like his pet bird just waiting for him to give you any kind of command, forget being his assistant you’re more like a pet—you both always look good together maybe you might able to live up to how good of a duo that Sunday and Robin are but that’s far in the future and as if you have a chance.

He’s loving, patting your head whenever you do something good, it makes you so happy to get the slightest of his attention since he’s always working so hard for the small amount of attention is good enough for you.

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[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Don't Speak 52 - Finale

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, obsession, stalking, manipulation, reclusive behaviour, disordered eating, dissociation, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Reader is a reclusive loner who ventures down to the library on a simple mission. Her task is complicated by the man she meets there. (f!short!reader)

Character: librarian!Andy Barber, Steve Kemp

Note: 🕊️

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me 

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you all. Take care. 💖

“Alright, one o’clock,” Amber says as she walks into the room. She sets down her phone and you pull the pillow over the tablet to hide it. “Is that enough time?” 

“Sure,” you answer. You don’t have much choice. It has to be done and the sooner, the better. You want it to be done with. All of it. 

As much as you want everything to go back to how it was, you know that even this can’t make it so. Things will always be different. You will always be different. 

“I’m just going to give Curtis a call and check in.” She explains. 

“Right,” you shrug and smile at her. 

You wait for her to leave before you move the cushion. You’re nervous about the appointment. It’s going to hurt probably. You don’t think anything can hurt as much as everything that’s happened in the last few months. 

You tap the screen to wake it up. The library of videos opens and you scroll through. You spent have the night wavering between the delete button and just smashing the tablet. For whatever reason, you can’t do either. 

You close the cover again, still caught in indecision. Once you’ve dealt with the baby, you’ll be able to think. You get up and take the tablet with you to your room. You dress in your old clothes; a pair of faded jeans and an oversized sweatshirt. 

It’s strange being in that place again. You look around at all those things you almost forgot. Amber didn’t change a single piece of it. Your chest sinks as your eyes cling to the window. What did she think when she found you gone? You feel horrid for hurting her like that. 

You sit and pull on socks then rub together your frigid hands. The world around you is both hazy and vivid. You feel every second roll by and yet the colours and the sounds are all so distant. Today is the day. 

You hide the tablet under your pillow and go back out. Amber is on the couch. Her shoulders are almost to her ears. She’s as anxious as you are. 

“Curtis can’t drive us. He’s caught up helping out his buddy.” She explains. 

“Oh, that’s okay,” you shrug. 

“We’ll take my car. He fixed the heating issue so it should hold out,” she says, flicking her thumb against her phone nervously. 

You go to her and sit, “it’ll be okay.” 

She sniffs and sits forward. You feel her look at you, “are you?” 

“I think?” You clutch your knees. “I don’t know. I just feel... sure. Certain.” 

“That’s good. But you know, it’s entirely your choice.” 

“I know and that’s why I’m sure,” you force a tense smile. 

Her phone buzzes. She squints at the screen as she reads. “He said he’ll bring us some dinner. He should be done with Jake by then.” 

You nod and your eyes explore the room. She’s silent, still watching. 

“So much is different,” you murmur. “You know Jake too?” 

“Sure. He helped us. When you sent that message. He found you.” She says. 

You look at her, “found me?” 

“I know. Sneaky.” 

“No, it’s... good.” You lower your head. 

You linger in the lull. It’s not uncomfortable. It’s calm. Patient. There’s a rattle at the window. A strange tapping. You look over and Amber follows the noise too. 

There’s a dove outside looking in. The frost in the window has warmed to condensation in the last days. You stare at its grey feathers as it coos and quorks its head. 

“Spring is close,” Amber says. “The birds are coming back.” 

You stare, hypnotised by the creature. A second dove lands beside it. You read that they often stay in pairs. 

“Well, about an hour and we’ll head out,” Amber gets up. “You need anything, bub?” 

“No, I’m fine,” you assure her and lean back, “I’m just going to close my eyes.” 

She hums and goes into the kitchen. You listen to her as you relax into the couch. You drag your hands up to your stomach. Almost there. 

🕊️

As Amber drives, your eyes catch in the side mirror. You give a start and sit up against the seat belt. You shake off the fright as the grey car behind you slows with the flow of traffic. No, you’re imagining things. 

You lean your arm on the door and hold your head. Amber idles in the clog of the street and taps her fingers on the steering wheel. She looks ahead and clucks. You’re ahead of schedule. You couldn’t stay still and it’s a good thing you left early. 

She continues on in the slog and flips her blinker. She takes a side street away from the dense main way. Before she can circle around the block, a pair of headlights flash in the mirror. You don’t get more than a glimpse of their glare. She pulls through the back entry beside the dumpsters and curls around the front of the clinic. 

“Oof, finally here,” she shifts into park. “You think with the weather getting nicer, more people would walk.” 

“Yeah,” you agree dully. 

Your ears are buzzing. You look over your shoulder at the clinic then back to the fence ahead of you. You exhale. 

“Bub,” Amber says as she shuts off the engine. 

“It’s okay. I’m ready,” you say. “Just... something...” 

Your voice trails off as another car pulls up from the back of the lot. You turn and your chest knots at the familiar grill and emblem. It can’t be. It’s just a coincidence. 

The SUV pulls in next to you and you look up at their tinted window. His silhouette alone is enough to assure you. You reach over and grab Amber’s wrist as she unlocks the door. 

“No, lock them!” You cry out as Andy open’s his car door. 

“Bubba--” She swallows her protest and the locks thunk. “Shit!” 

Andy’s treads his the ground and he slams the door. He looks around, staring at the clinic, then scowls. He bends to look through the passenger window at you. 

“Open up.” He demands. 

“Fuck off!” Amber shoves her hand across you and flips him the finger. “Don’t make me call the police again.” 

“You fucking liar!” He snarls as he hits the window, his voice muffled by the barrier, “I knew you were hiding her.” 

“I said go the fuck away,” she leans over. 

You watch Andy in horror. You shrink down as you tremble. You’re not ready for this. Not for him. 

“Dove, Dove,” his gaze falls and meets yours, “hey, sweetie, let’s talk. I calmed down. Please--” 

You close your eyes and shake your head. 

“She doesn’t want to talk,” Amber snips. 

“Dove, you can’t--” he pauses. “Whatever you’re doing here, don’t do it. Please. We can figure this out. I know what this place is--” 

You shake your head and drone, “no, no, no, no, no, no...” 

“Go away!” Amber barks again and slaps the window. She pulls back and grabs her phone. “I’m calling Officer Jones. How many reports is that, Andrew?” 

“Wait...” you gulp as you open your eyes and grab her arm. “Wait...”t 

“Bub, please--” 

You squeeze and let her go, “he’s my problem. Let me deal with him.” 

“You can’t. He's dangerous. He’ll hurt you--” 

“I don’t care. He can’t hurt me. Not anymore.” You undo your seat belt and take a breath.  

She says your name as you reach for the lock and slide it up. The door opens from the other side. Amber latches on as you try to get out. You tug and pull away. 

You get out and close the door. Andy crowds you between the cars, his hands on your shoulders at once, sliding up to cradle your face. 

“Sweetie, sweetie, I was so afraid--” 

You grasp his wrists and lean away as he tries to kiss you. 

“Don’t touch me,” you yanks his arms down and shove him. He’s big and strong. You almost forgot that. Still, he does as you tell him. His eyes are bloodshot and his face pale. 

“Honey,” he begs. 

“No.” 

“What-- what are you doing here?” He rasps and looks over again. “You’re-- you’re-- you have to be. It’s mine, isn’t it?” 

You shake your head. 

“It’s mine. It has to be! I’m the only one. The only one!” He grabs your arms again, “Please, honey, I can take care of you. Both of you. You and the baby.” 

“No!” You exclaim and hit his chest.  

Another car door snaps shut and Amber’s shadow comes around the trunk. You look at her and give her a look. She stops, worry woven above her brow. You face Andy again and push until he stops touching you.  

“It’s not yours and even if it was, I wouldn’t want it. Just like I never wanted you,” you sneer. 

“Dove, you don’t mean--” 

“I mean it,” you hiss. “I hate you. I always hated you but I was afraid.” You hit his stomach and he staggers back. “You’re a bully. That’s all you are.” 

“No, I love you--” 

“No, you don’t!” You holler and stomp your foot. You point at him, “you don’t love anyone. You can’t. I’m not the broken one. You are!” 

“Dove--” he stands straight and reaches for you. You slap his hand away. 

“Don’t touch me. I’m done with you. I don’t want anything to do with you!” 

“You don’t have a choice,” he snarls, his eyes darkening as his expression hardens. “That’s my baby, I have rights--” 

He lunges for you and you cry out. He doesn’t get to you as Amber launches herself between you and tackles him against his car. She’s smaller than him but that doesn’t stop her. She bites his hand as he tries to grab her neck and she jabs two fingers into his ribs. He wheezes and recoils. 

She pushes away and stands between you and him. She keeps you behind her as she stands tall. 

“Try it again.” 

“You can’t do this. You can’t keep me away from her. You can’t kill my child--” 

“It’s not yours!” You shout and peek around Amber. You squeeze her arm and step up next to her. “It’s Dr. Kemp’s. Your friend. The one who helped you hurt me.” 

“No, I didn’t--” he begins. 

“You did. I have proof. I have the videos.” 

“What videos?” He spits. 

“I changed the password,” you say. “You can’t get rid of them now.” 

“No, you’re lying. There’s no--” 

“I have them all. Every single one.” Your eyes overflow. “It’s your name on the account, not mine. The police can figure it out, can’t they?” 

He looks as if he’s been hit again. The lines in his forehead deepens and his mouths slits to a thin line. He glares at you. The way that used to make you do whatever he wanted. Not this time. 

“It’s over. I’m done with you. I never even wanted you, Andy,” you breathe. “No one could ever want you, not even me.” 

He winces and his lips part but nothing comes out. 

“And if you ever come near me or my sister again,” you twine your fingers through Amber’s and cling to her. “I will send those videos to the police.” 

He stares, eyes searching, pleading. You won’t fall for it. He can make himself look pathetic but you don’t believe him. Not anymore. 

He waits. You say nothing. He sniffs and pulls his shoulders back. His jaw grits and his eyes flash. 

“You’re just the same as you always were. Fucked in the head,” he grits and goes to turn. Before he can, you swing your foot up. It’s a low blow, cheap, but you don’t care.  

Your toes meet the front of his pants and he grunts. He staggers and falls to his knees, clutching his crotch as he shudders. You get closer as Amber keeps a hold on your hand. You bend and lower your voice as you get close to Andy’s ear. 

“I never came for you,” you whisper. 

He gurgles and you back up. There’s nothing else to say. You turn and tug on Amber. You walk away without looking back. 

As you get to the door of the clinic, the sun comes out from behind the clouds and beams against the white brick. A cheep tweaks in your ear and you turn to see the sparrows bustling in the barren branches of the bushes. They send up a chatter that fills the air. You can hear it all. You can see it all. Feel it all. 

You keep your grip tight on Amber and reach for the door with your other hand, ready to open it and all the other doors that come after it. You don’t want to hide anymore. You want to fly. 

🕊️🕊️🕊️

I just want to thank everyone who has followed along on Dove's journey. It was bumpy and took a while, and it definitely took a lot out of me (in a good way). I hope you enjoyed this.

Until next time 💗

[caninereg]

< waiting up >

pairing - caregiver!van & little!reader & caregiver!nat

summary - you can’t seem to sleep without your papa home

tags - adult timeline, he/him pronouns for nat, she/her pronouns for van, van is called “mama” & nat is called “papa”, pet names, living together

You turn over in bed, sighing when you see the still empty room next to you and Van. Nat should be home by now. He had texted saying he needed to go help Misty because she broke down on the side of the road but that was over two hours ago.

“You okay sweetheart?” Van’s hand delicately rubs up and down your arm as she speaks. Neither of you have been able to sleep tonight.

“I miss papa.” You mutter and quickly feel hot tears well in your eyes, you hide your face in the pillow to will them away, you really don’t want to cry over something as minuscule as Nat being home late.

“He’ll be home soon, auntie Misty just needed some help.” A nod is the only response you give and it must not be very convincing as Van shifts to pull you against her tightly.

“Do you wanna wait up?” She asks next to your ear, letting you spin around until you’re able to tuck your head under her chin with another nod that’s more firm.

“Okay. How about a story while we wait?” Van chuckles when you enthusiastically say yes to the offer. Neither you nor Nat have ever said no to one of Van’s story times, small or not.

-

You aren’t sure how much time goes by but eventually you hear the familiar sound of Nat closing the front door as quietly as possible - it fails every time, the old door needs to be replaced- and his boots being kicked in the general vicinity of the shoe rack before Nat comes tiptoeing down the hallway.

After deciding to move into a house together, it’s become a routine for Nat to be the last one home and to come check on you and Van in your respected bedrooms before he either scampers off to his own room or settles in with one of you. It’s no different tonight, you can hear your bedroom door creak open a room over and Nat let out a small huff of confusion before he retreats.

“He’s almost here!” Van whispers to you and you feel a wide grin break over your face in anticipation. You hate waiting for Nat to return from his mechanic job but you love when he finally walks through the door and you get to jump into his arms.

“Hey Vanny you awa-?”

“Papa! I miss you!” You shout out before Nat can finish his sentence and get fully into the room.

“Bug! I was wondering where you went.” You struggle to untangle yourself from Van’s hold and the blankets to try and get to Nat as quick as possible but thankfully he reaches you first.

“How’s our little one doing?” You’re scooped up into Nat’s arms easily as he flops himself next to Van in bed. You curl up into his chest and hug around his neck, relishing in finally having your papa here.

“They couldn’t sleep without you home.” Van lays her head on Nat’s shoulder with a content sigh. He still has his leather jacket and work shirt on, they reek of car grease and gas, you and Van both secretly love it.

“Sorry bug, I was helping aunt Misty ‘cause she blew two tires out on the highway. Do you know how rare that is! And nobody even messed with her car, I checked everything over and it was fine. Oh and-.” Nat starts to go on about his day and the weird car problems that somehow always end up at his shop.

Nat’s rambling and Van’s half asleep answers lull you to sleep soon enough. You’ll probably wake up with a grease stain on your cheek if Nat doesn’t get up to change but you don’t care. All that matters is that both your mama and papa are here. Nat presses a kiss to both you and Van’s foreheads while Van snuggles in closer to throw an arm around you and hug the three of you as close together as possible.

[lunajay33]

The Teller Girl Part.6

•❤️⛓️💸🌹•

Summary: Being Jax Tellers sister made for a crazy life, being Gemma’s and Clays daughter made it even crazy, but being surrounded by bikers made you feel safe but what’ll happen when you can’t deny your feelings for a certain Scotsman anymore?

Pairing: Chibs Telford x f!reader

Content: Age Gap, bit of angst, smut, violence

Part.5

•Masterlist•

Clay has been kicked out of the crew, happy tattooed over his mark, but he didn’t go without a good beating from Jax and Chibs, and I’ve given birth to my beautiful little girl, we settled on the name Harley, she’s only a month old but she the light of my lift already, she’s as cute as a button, she has Chibs dark eyes and she has light brown hair, I get her dressed in a club onesie with the reaper on it and getting her to go bag, Chibs driving us to the clubhouse

“She hates seeing you go, when you walk to the club house she always squeezes her hands your way babbling” I say as we get out of the truck as he meets me at the back

“Nah don’t say that ta me, if I could strap her ta me all day I would” he said as he wiggled his finger in her face for her to grab onto

“I think she likes you more, maybe it’s your accent” I laugh as she giggles at Chibs

“What can I say the younger ladies like me” he smirks smacking my ass

“Filthy ol man, we’ll be in the office if you need anything” he nods giving us both kisses before we head our separate ways

“Your daddy is a crazy Scotsman Harley, but he’s ours”

•

The day was growing late as I’ve been catching up on lots of work, the sun setting and Harley fast cranky and tired, I pack up our stuff and cradle her against my chest, heading to the club I sit on the couch and start to feed her

“A show just for us” tigs calls out laughing

“Sick freak” I groan, I look around the club and don’t see Chibs

“Where’s Chibs at?”

“Him and Jax are out getting more beer should be back soon” and if right on time Jax walks in Chibs behind him but what I see it breaks my heart, a crow eater hanging off him, everyone notices my mood change looking between us both, I try to keep the tears at bay but it’s no use, I pull Harley off and pull my shirt back up

“How could you?” I cry looking at him, he pushes the girl off him when he sees me

“Lassy it’s no what ye think” he comes to my side but I pull back

“I know I haven’t been able to give you a lot of sex and stuff lately but I didn’t think you’d go off and find a filthy gash” I glare at the girl wiping my eyes

“Y/n listen he’s been with me the whole time, this chick was just at the door wouldn’t get off, as a matter of fact you can get the hell outta here” Jax says pushing her out the door

“He’ll be back, wouldn’t want a fatty like you anyways” she spit before leaving, a trail of cheap perfume in her wake

I look down at myself and pull my hoodie down insecure as the guys look back at me with a sad look

“Baby girl I swear yer the only one I want, ye know I’d never cheat on ye, yer still as beautiful as the day met ye” Chibs says pulling me and Harley to his chest

“I’m sorry it’s these hormones, and I’ve been trying really hard to get rid of this baby weight”

“You look sexy as hell sweetheart, Chibs is a lucky man” Bobby says making the guys laugh

“Ye carried our lil girl I knew it’d change yer body but I still wanna see ye riding me all night lassy” my face heats up at his words

“Bro I’m right here” Jax groans

Harley reached out for Chibs babbling for him, he picks her up and brushes her crazy hair back

“If it helps you should be healed enough to get back to it” Tara states and I can see his eyes light up

“Trust me he hasn’t been going without some loving” the guys cheer out

“Ye haven’t either lassy, remember the other day when Harley wasn’t hungry but ye begged me ta…” I clamp my hand over his mouth totally embarrasing me

“Shut your mouth Filip”

“Filip…..ooooo you’re in trouble” Opie calls out

Tigs throws his arm over Chibs shoulder “so tell me she taste as good as you thought?” Everyone groans

“Dear lord you’re sick” Gemma says

“You guys have fun me and Harley are gonna go to our dorm, she’s tired” I pick up the bag and Chibs kisses us both

“I’ll be there later Angel, ye know I love ye”

“I know, have fun” I walk back to the dorm me and Chibs would crash in, only for us, Gemma always kept it clean for us since we didn’t want Harley getting sick

I change her and lay her in her crib, stripping my own clothes standing in the mirror I feel all those insecurities seep back in, even though the guys reassured me it didn’t stop the words that that gash said to me

I got some stretch marks on my hips and my belly was still puffed out a bit, by boobs weren’t as perky as they were before, all the crow eaters were tight and perky everywhere, smooth skin and pretty, I wouldn’t blame him if he left me I throw on his reaper hoodie and sweatpants curling up into a ball on the bed crying myself to sleep

•

I wake to snoring in my ear, I turn seeing chibs wrapped around me, I trace my fingers gently against his scars, I always thought they made him more sexy

I drag myself out of bed taking Harley with me out to the main room of the club sitting on a stool at the bar

“Hey sweetie want a coffee?” Lyla asks coming out of the kitchen, god she was pretty, she’s had a kid and still looks amazing

“No im okay” I sigh and she leans on the bar infront of me

“What’s going on? You’re not yourself”

“After you had your kid how did you get back to your rocking body?”

“Took some time but I kinda just bounced back, my girl wasn’t that big, why?”

“Just miss my old body, I know chibs and the guys say it’s fine but…..I don’t feel that sexy anymore”

“You’re just getting use to it, your body will bounce back, it’s only been a month and your hormones are still out of wack, you know what you need?” She smirks

“What?”

“You and Chibs need a night to yourself, have Gemma watch little Harley and you and Chibs screw eachothers brains out” I blush at her suggestion

“Oh I don’t know”

“Don’t know about what” I hear Chibs ask coming out of the hallway to sit next to me brushing a finger over a still sleeping Harley’s cheek

“I was just telling y/n here that you should give Harley to Gemma for a night, give you guys so free time to have some fun” I look at him blushing only making him smirk

“Sounds bloody fantastic” he beams

“are you sure? I mean we can wait till I lose the weight and it looks like before or…” he cuts me off pulling me into a kiss, sloppy and hard as he grips the back of my head making me gasp

“Shite lassy, stop talkin like that, yer sexy baby, and imma show ye tonight” meakly I nod as he brushes his thumb over my swollen lip

“Christ maybe I should have another kid if Opie will treat me like that” Lyla laughs before the rest of the guys come into the club

The day goes on guys working on some vechiles and bikes, Gemma had Harley on the office as she was napping, and I sat outside the shop watch Chibs get to work, seeing him get his hand dirty did something to me

“You’re practically eye fucking him” Jax says from beside me

“Oh shut up I can’t help it” I felt like a dog in heat watching him as he looked over with a smirk and I send a little wave

“Aye lassy got yer panties soaked yet” he yelled out catching everyone’s attention, he’s about to get in another car to bring in and I stride over to him about to give him a piece of my mind

Leaning in the hood as he’s inside I shoot him a knowing look

“You sure like embarrassing me don’t you baby”

“It’s my job as yer ol man darlin” his smile drops as we hear beeping, he jumps out of the car running screaming for me to follow, confused but I run when the car explodes behind us, thrown in the air I land on the concrete hard, my ears ringing as I try to ground myself looking around for chibs, when I see him next to me unconscious and blood pulling around his head my world stops

I crawl to him dazed as the others surround us, I take his face in my hands begging and crying for him to wake up but he doesn’t he just lays there as more blood surrounds him

“Please…..please don’t leave me” I whimper resting my head in his chest as I hear distant sirens

Everything was a blur, the paramedics taking chibs into the ambulance, watching as they worked on him as we drove to the hospital, the doctors stopping me at the door from following him into the emergency room, sitting in the waiting room like something was gripping my heart and never letting go

Hours went by and no word from the doctors yet, every minute that went by it felt like he was slipping through my fingers

“Honey he’ll be okay, it’s Chibs he’s a tough son of a bitch” mom says rubbing up and down my back as I held Harley in my arms, looking into the eyes of the man I love, the eyes she had looking right back at me with no clue in the world, no clue that her daddy was in the hospital

“Mrs Telford?” A doctor calls and the name makes my heart bloom

“Yes is he okay?” I stand quickly as does the rest of the crew

“We got him steady but he’s still critical, we’ll have to keep him here for a while and monitor him but you can see him now” she led us to his room where he laid still too still, his head bandaged, I slumped down on the seat next to the bed holding Harley close as she tried to reach for him

“This can’t be happening, I want you guys to find who did this, and you kill them” I cry looking up at the crew in the door way

“We’ll find them sis” Jax states and they leave with a new sense of purpose

“Mom can you take Harley home, watch her for a while, I just need to stay with him”

“Of course baby” she takes Harley leaving a kiss on my check before leaving, the only sound in the room is the constant beep of the monitor and his shallow breathing, I take his hand in mine

“You come back to me Filip, we need you, I need you, you’re my ol man remember”

Silence.

•

Days went by and I never left his side once except when the guys would force me to take a shower, thankfully there was one in the joining bathroom

I could barely eat, too anxious my stomach in knots, the guys would come and check on us occasionally

I hear a knock on the door then Happy comes in coming and pulling a chair up next to me, taking my head gently and pulling it to his chest and a new wave of tears bursts out

“You need to take care of yourself sweetheart, you know he’d want you to”

“I know but I can’t, I can’t breath without him, I can’t sleep without him holding me, I can’t eat knowing he’s just laying here”

Another knock taps on the door and mom comes in with a vase of flowers and a bag of food

“Any update baby?” She asks as she sets the flowers down on the night stand

“Doctors say his brain swelling went down which is good”

“See he’ll be up and teasing you in no time” she smiles making me feel okay for a second

“I love him so much” I sigh and I feel happy rub up and down my back

“He knows that” the door swings open and in comes a woman with dark curly hair and I can see happy is as confused as me

“Oh shit” mom says

“Who are you?” I ask confused and angry

“I’m Filips wife” and just like that my world crumbles all over again, wife? How have I never known this, I have a child with this man and he never once mentioned a wife I felt sick, jumping up I run to the nearest garbage can and throw up the little food I’ve eaten, happy right at my side holding my hair back

“You should go” Gemma says full of anger

“I can see where I’m not wanted but tell him jimmy will be in touch when he wakes” her accent thick, as she leaves

I turn wiping my mouth

“You knew?” I stare at Gemma shocked

“They aren’t together sweetie, it was a long time ago”

“But why wouldn’t he tell me”

“He doesn’t like to talk about it” I sigh sitting back down in the chair, even if he lied I can’t leave him even if I wanted to throttle him

“Can I be alone please” the nod understanding and once again I’m alone

•

Part.7

Oooooooo what’s gonna happen?

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[gatheringbones]

[“When I ask him what he would like his life to be like in five years, he replies, with a hint of irony: “Maybe in five years just get hella white-collar with it, investment properties. Basically just be financially secure enough. In nine years have some kids. Yeah, I want to be a white American male property owner. Really, it’s a dream.”

Darby thinks he’ll be a great dad one day. He’s “such a good teacher,” she says. “He can explain things very well, and I think that is a good trait in a dad. To be able to explain something to your kids and be very knowledgeable. Parker’s just the epitome of a dad. That’s how I see him.”

Parker tells me he can picture himself in the future as an old man—“not as a little old granny.” Of course women’s aging bodies, their sagging thighs and withered cleavage, are a source of derision, even hatred, while men are often seen as more distinguished, more powerful, as they age. Is Parker buying into the misogyny that is pervasive in our culture?

On Facebook Parker reposted “Straight White Male: The Lowest Difficulty Setting There Is,” which offers a partial answer to that question. The post, written by a self-described “white guy who likes women,” is a humorous analysis of how male privilege operates.

Dudes. Imagine life here in the US—or indeed, pretty much anywhere in the Western world—is a massive role playing game, like World of Warcraft except appallingly mundane, where most quests involve the acquisition of money, cell phones and donuts, although not always at the same time. Let’s call it The Real World. You have installed The Real World on your computer and are about to start playing, but first you go to the settings tab to bind your keys, fiddle with your defaults, and choose the difficulty setting for the game. Got it? Okay: In the role playing game known as The Real World, “Straight White Male” is the lowest difficulty setting there is. This means that the default behaviors for almost all the non-player characters in the game are easier on you than they would be otherwise. The default barriers for completions of quests are lower. Your leveling-up thresholds come more quickly. You automatically gain entry to some parts of the map that others have to work for. The game is easier to play, automatically, and when you need help, by default it’s easier to get. All things being equal, and even when they are not, if the computer—or life—assigns you the “Straight White Male” difficulty setting, then brother, you’ve caught a break.

By transitioning, is Parker trying to access male privilege and grab on to the “ ‘straight white male’ difficulty setting”? What happened to the dream of challenging the rules of the game, and leveling the playing field, rather than just trying to win?

In the current context of “neoliberalism,” a term social analysts use to describe our laissez-faire age, collective responsibility is often transferred to individuals, leading us each to try to maximize our own self-interest.

But such explanations tell only part of Parker’s story. I ask Parker: “What’s the worst thing about getting old and becoming a ‘little old granny’?”

He responds: “If I grow old as a woman, I will never be seen by a lover for who I am. When you’re having sex, and you look in their eyes and know that they’re seeing you for who you are.” His voice cracks. “As a granny, no one would have seen me.”

When it comes down to it, Parker simply wants the same things we all do: to be seen and understood by others, and to be desired, and even loved, for being who we are. He spoke of the fear of having a life that was unlived. The quest for male privilege, and securing material and other comforts, plays a role in his decision to transition, to be sure. But it’s much more than that. Transitioning will, he hopes, enable him to put all the pieces of the puzzle together, so that he can see himself as a “whole person,” and others can see that person too.

Yet Parker is also very much a product of his time. Like others of his generation, he has come of age when reality television shows celebrate the makeover of the body, and where entrepreneurship is touted as the solution to economic inequality. Rather than speak of collective solutions, we are more likely to celebrate the possibility of choice and strive to become empowered individuals. Rather than see men as the problem, today’s “postfeminist” generation says: if you can’t beat ’em, join ’em. So if life is like a video game, and it’s possible to change your default setting and make winning easier, then why hold back? Who wouldn’t opt for an easier life?

While his search for male privilege was not Parker’s main reason for transitioning, it was a side benefit, and no one out there was offering him any better choices. Parker may well become a great dad, secure in his white-collar dream one day, walking around in Bermuda shorts and in some retirement community in Southern California, but for now, his fantasies call up Fight Club’s bad-boy protagonist. “Tyler Durden is the man!” Parker says. “Fucking Brad Pitt. He’s such a cool dude. He never gets riled up. He doesn’t talk much. He’s good-looking. He’s got all the answers, but he just doesn’t give a fuck. That’s how I see myself.”]

arlene stein, from unbound: transgender men and the remaking of identity, 2018