#COME BACK AO3 WE NEED YOU MORE THAN EVER | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

dvchvnde · 1 month ago

Text

PRAIRIE WOLF | prologue

domestic violence, abuse (not Price). unexpected pregnancy. implied age gap.

MASTERLIST. AO3

He's a regular at the diner you work at.

Sits in the same spot, orders the same thing. Doesn't say much, but—according to Elliot—he never does. English, too. A foreigner. But here longer than you've been. Grown roots. Stretched his legs.

He owns a cabin in the woods that be built with his bare hands, and does odd jobs around town wherever he's needed. Mostly carpentry. Woodwork. Only forty, Elliot says, and already semi-retired. Military grunt, though (and in a terrible, exaggerated cockney accent, he adds) back home.

Running from something, he surmises, and you try not to feel flayed under his heavy, pointed stare, offering little more than a shrug you hope is more blase than you feel and a flat, aren't we all? so what makes his marathon so special?

Comes by at five in the morning, fours hours into a twelve hour shift. Likes, what he calls, an English Breakfast.

He isn't like some of the men who show up after midnight, or in the early hours. Blue collar works hungry for more than rubbery pancakes and coffee. The ones who ignore the split in your lip, hidden under a thick coat of lipstick, the puffiness of your eye. Whispering oil-slick charm at quarter to three in the morning when the pregnancy test you stole from the dollarrama is still buried under bloodied toilet paper in the motel you've converted into a temporary home.

Price—John Price—stares at the mess of your pretty face and meets the ugliness head-on, eyes narrowed into something that might be suspicion. Askance. Wariness. Some amalgamation of what the fuck happened to you and don't bring that mess over to my table.

Quiet. In theory.

You've heard him talk—this low, growling thing; the misfire of an engine, a rumble that reminds you of the old Plymouth Fury your dad had. Dangerous. Men like him usually are.

Little girl fantasies spun into real life. Duct tape. Magnets to girls like you with all the broken pieces, fragile parts. And with the bruises bubbling under your skin—burst blood vessels, fist-sized—and the—

The kid, you suppose. Baby. You can't afford to get wrapped up into something like that no matter how many times you catch him staring.

Watching.

The other server always handles his order when he arrives. Since starting work here four months ago, you maybe had all of a single conversation when you floated through the diner in search of something to do.

more coffee? a glance. a grunt. yeah, love. I'll have some more.

So you ignore it. Him. Keep your head down and pour cup after cup to the other regulars who congregate and pretend you aren't living in a motel to escape a man who seems to prefer you bruised up and bloody. Who—

Knocked you up.

Your hand goes there. To your belly. Nauseous, suddenly, with the thought of it. This.

When you glance up, unease prickling across your nape, you catch him staring at you. At the hand still splayed over your stomach. Something frisson across his expression—whiplike: ripples over a lake—but it's too fast, fleeting, for you to catch. Tucked back inside the folds of his patented frown, the ever present crease between his thick, umbre brows.

John lifts his eyes from your ringless hand, the swollen index finger from when you made the mistake of pointing to the door, trying to stand firm with your luggage hidden in the bushes, and meets your gaze. Stares at you head-on. Implacable as always. Blank.

But—and it's so silly, really—for a moment, you thought it was hunger. Something heavy and dark. Possessive.

Then his head dips. A shallow nod. John looks away, eyes slanting towards the window as if he didn't have to tear his gaze away from your belly. From you.

Your heart is in your throat. This too thick, fragile thing thudding against your jugular. Hard to breathe, hard to swallow around it. In the way—

Outside, tires squeal against the pavement.

John tenses. A shadow falling over his brow, a tug on his lips hidden under thick, wry curls.

You don't know what it is until the familiar gurgle of an engine cuts through the silent diner.

He looks back at you as a door slams. A shout erupts.

Fear is a thick, oily sludge filling your lungs. Tarlike. Sticky molasses. It burns, corrosive, and eats away at your tissue until a hole forms, letting spill out inside of you. To your belly where it hardens into a ferric ball of panic.

You thought you had time. One last shift. Collect your paycheck and then run—

But he found you.

He bellows out your name, angry and a little slurred. Drunk. High. Like the passive, maltreated dog he turned you into, you follow the sound, cowing a little when you see him stumble into the diner, face collapsed into fury.

There's a clatter. The hollow echo of wood hitting linoleum. Screams, his yells. It's all muted in your head. Panic throbbing against your ears, stuffing them full of cotton.

His bruised, marled fist reaches for you—

But John gets there first. His broad stretch of his back filling your vision as he pushes himself into the empty space between you and this man, hands raised, catching his mangled fist in one and grabbing a handful of his shirt, tugging him closer. It's all raw, untameable anger as he huffs into the man's face, grinding the words out on a rough, animalistic snarl—

"Touch her again, and it'll be the last thing you ever fuckin' do."

Stress like this ain't good for the baby, the paramedic tells you, brown eyes dampening with a thick ring of sympathy as she turns over your wrist, and dabs cool, wet cotton over the welts on your skin.

She's pushing for you to press charges. Keeps swiping at your skin to unveil more of your hidden hurts to the police officer that holds an old kodak in his hands and snaps, snaps, snaps at every weakness, each vulnerability she offers up.

It'd be the smart thing to do. He's already being booked on assault, threats. Battery for hitting John on the shoulder, the only place he could reach, with the shovel left by the cooks to scrape the snow away from the spot they usually gather around to smoke. No one brings up the fact that John was choking the life out of him at the time, and the bruises around his neck—ugly red fingerprints—are easily ignored.

Adding domestic violence to the list of charges, she mutters, will keep him locked up. Away from you. Can file for a restraining order, the cop adds, scratching the back of his neck as the camera sits, poised and intrusive, in his other hand.

The problem is that you've been through this before.

Like mother, like daughter.

The knife twists a little deeper. Gouges out another pound of flesh lost to a broken home. Another cog in a ruinous system. Poor kid, below the poverty line, with a dad who sold drugs and mother who did them. Dime a dozen.

And with that comes the knowledge that his sentence will be lighter than they're alluding to—if he has one at all. Upstanding citizen before he got shackled in with the wrong crowd, the runaway. Trouble who breezed through and picked the son of an attorney in the big city some three hours away from this town, this dilapidated diner. Sinking claws in.

My son never drank or did drugs before, your honour—

He'll get off with a slap on the wrist because he's never been in trouble before.

Your dad, too—in jail for the weekend when your mother relented to the impassioned beseeches given to her by rookie cops who just wanted that arrest notch on their belt. Saw a judge on Monday. Prison too crowded for such a paltry offense.

The hurt, after, was always worse than what he went to jail for.

So. No. You won't press charges even though you know you should. It'll take too long and you don't plan on staying much longer. Not with your luggage packed in the trunk. The cheque shoved clumsily into your hands when the manager came out to make a fuss, angling a purpling finger in your direction—nothin' but trouble since the day you were hired—only to be stopped by the wall that is John Price, a snarl pulling up at his lips as he barked call the fuckin' police and, low, as if he didn't want you to hear, adding: you ever point your finger at her again like that, and I'll hang you from the goddamn rafters.

You're not sure why he's still here, standing watch. On guard. His bloodied, bruised hands shoved into his armpits as he paces back and forth like a caged tiger unaware the door has been open the whole time. Stalking. Taking measured, meaningful steps towards anyone who tries to come over—badge or not. Barking out orders. Lancing people with his glare when they tread too closely.

Good fucking samaritan, you think, eyes riveted on the blood drying over the gravel. Your head looping, weaving in arching circles as you try to contend with the fact that it somehow isn't yours, but his.

Maybe that's why he stays. Obligation. Civic duty. It makes you snort, and the paramedic glances at you sharply, assessing in that too thick, too kind, way of hers.

"You doin' okay, mama?"

And you wish she wouldn't call you that. Make it real. Mama. Your idea of motherhood, of mothers and moms and mamas, is a woman slumped on the couch, passed out after staying up all night talking to ghosts. Nails caked with the dust of percocets and restoril and oxycodone (oxycotton, she's always called it). Popping mouthful of pills in the morning, afternoon, evening, and night. An assortment to keep her functional—and asleep.

Nodding off in the middle of conversations. Or fighting it to stay high. Irritated and combative whenever she ran out, supply gone dry.

Toxic.

Neglectful—at best.

You can't think about what you'll end up doing to this kid with her blood in your veins. Her ghosts in your head.

John moves. A shadow in the corner of your eye. "'bout enough of that, don't you think?"

She backs up, startled by the aggression in his voice. "I just—"

You think you hate them both. "I'm fine."

She looks back at you, searching. Wanting that assurance, but whatever she's looking to find, it isn't there. You won't give it, and eventually she nods. Peels back. "Okay. If you feel any soreness at all, if anything changes, come to the hospital."

The nod is for her benefit only, and she takes it with a deep inhale.

It thins out after that. The cop and his camera leave, too, after making you take the paperwork needed to file charges. If you change your mind. His number in smeared blue ink on the back. The paramedics go after another futile round of are you sure you don't want to get checked out at the hospital that's decline with a shake of your head.

It's just you and Price now. Your beatup Saturn three spots away from his truck—an old Ford you hadn't been expecting a man like him to drive, with his thick Levi jacket and his steel-toed boots. Standing there with an armful of paper that's going to go in the trash, you're not sure what to do. How to untangle yourself from the claws of this vicious bear that seems content to loom over you like an unasked for cloud, glaring down at you from the bridge of his nose. Expression pinched, like he's displeased. Mad.

You've had enough of angry men, though, and you turn, offering a hollow smile that works it's way around your mouth like a grimace. "Guess I should head home—"

"Running, mm?"

You blink. "Sorry?"

He leans down, all grit and blunt teeth. "That your plan? Runnin' away from all'a this? Find another town. Another motel."

Another man.

He doesn't say it, but it's there. The implication. The idea. It rankles down your spine, a whitehot ooze of shame. Of anger.

"You don't know me," you spit, all anger and indignation. Embarrassment so sharp, it cuts. "You don't know anything about me."

He rocks back on his heel, mouth flattening into an even line. "No, I don't. But I know your type."

"You—"

The indignity is increased tenfold when he meets your ire with an impassive stare, so firm in his assessment of you that he doesn't even bulk when you glare at him. When you rage in quiet fury, shoulders shaking.

"You'll run," he continues, bulling over the vitriol that stutters out in broken squeals of anger. "You'll find a new place. And it'll be fine for a little while but then you'll end up in the same situation because that's all you know, isn't it? S'why you're not pressing charges. Why you got your bag in your back seat. The slightest pressure and you bolt—straight into the same predicament you're in now."

"It's not my fault—"

"No," he grinds the word, firm and sure, and it snatches you by the throat because no one has ever agreed with you on that. It's not your fault. It's just—

"—all you know."

"What am I supposed to do differently, huh? Stay and press charges that won't stick? Wait for him to get out, frothing at the mouth for revenge? Yeah, right," you scoff, rolling your eyes up towards the stale sky. "End up as another statistic? Or—"

Like your mother. It quiets you. Snuffs the flames. All you feel is scraped raw. Hollowed out. Empty and hitting and—

"So you'll just run your whole life? Until it catches up to you, mm? What happens when someone finds you in a place you can't run? When you're all alone, and cornered?"

It tastes like defeat. Resignation. "You think I haven't thought of that before?"

From the corner of your eye, you see him shrug. "Got yourself into a little mess, but it ain't the end of the world. Jus' got to fix it. Can't do that when you run."

"And what's your solution? Find another job, hope that his charges stick? He—"

Drained you financially. Beat you bloody.

You shake your head. "The best thing to do is to leave. I'll be smarter, I'll—"

He scoffs. You ignore it, hands shaking.

"I can't. I just—I can't."

"Come stay with me," he says. Just like that. Stay with me. The sky is blue. The grass is green. Come stay with me. "Got a spare room."

"I don't even know you—"

"People rent to strangers all the time."

"I don't have a job. Money. I can't pay you—"

"Been needin' a receptionist for some time. Pay is fair. Hourly."

You blink, eyes hot. Wet. You feel the sharp edge of hope digging in, that deadly, terrible thing that only ever falls apart when you finally relax.

"Just like that?"

He nods, sharp and firm. "Jus' like that."

"I have a kid," you blurt out, panicked. This conversation is getting away from you. Slipping through your fingers. And the worst is that it sounds so good. Too good. "I'm—I'm pregnant," you add like he doesn't already know. Hadn't heard you mutter it to the paramedic hours ago.

The look he levels you with is an incendiary thing. You feel it in your chest. Deadcentre. "I know," he rasps, head bending down closer to you. "Doesn't change anythin'."

"How could it not?"

"How should it?" He counters.

"In a few months, when the baby is here—"

"I won't change my mind."

"You say that now," you breathe, pulse thudding in your ears. "But when it's screaming in the middle of the night, and—"

His hand reaches out slowly, like he's trying not to startle a horse. Fingers grazing your arm, warm and rough, before closing around your wrist. The one that's bruised and sore. Swollen in his hand. Its done with measured purpose, confidence, that the panic doesn't have time to surge. Instincts too incipient to keep up with the sure, steady way he winds around you.

With his hand on your wrist, fingers folding over the hurt—hiding them—he leans down, thumb stroking along your skittish, unraveling pulse, and makes you meet his stare. Open, maybe, for the first time since you met him. All raw want, naked truth. The bare, fractured look is enough to steal the air in your lungs, snuffing out the innate protests that spume whenever someone offers any sort of help or charity. The no crushed under his heel.

"m'a man of my word," he low, drawing the words out. "I'll be there for the cryin' and the dirty diapers and the sleepless nights."

"And when I can't work for you?"

His lips quirk. "I offer better MAT leave than most places. Reckon you could even do the bloody job from bed."

"Price, that's—this is insane—"

"John," he grunts, giving another shrug before peeling away from you. "Savin' me the trouble of talking to these idiots. Ain't nothin' crazy about that."

"I could be a horrible person. A murderer. Rob you blind, and leave you with you nothing."

It has the opposite effect of scaring him off. If anything, he looks amused. Squares his shoulders, stands to his full—intimidating, impressive—height. Stares down at you with a brow quirked and strange gleam in his eyes.

"Think I can handle myself, love. And if you wanna rob me, bite the hand, so to speak, then I promise you, you won't like the consequences."

You swallow. His tone sparks against your sense of self-preservation, and you fight the urge to take a step back. To put distance between yourself and this grizzly-like man with blunt teeth and sharp claws.

He senses your hesitation. Must because he quiets, shoulders sinking. Hand warm on your skin, giving a slight squeeze before he lets go. You ignore the urge to chase that heat again, and hide a shiver behind a shift.

"How 'bout a test ride, mm? A trial. Stay for a few weeks and then decide if you still want to leave."

Too good to be true. You know this deep down in your marrow. Every instinct inside of you rebelling against this, screaming trap, it's a trap. But there's a truth to what he says, and maybe if you weren't pregnant, you would have flipped him off and ran because men like him aren't kind to girls like you unless they have a reason to be.

You're just not sure what he has to gain in all of this. Why he put himself between you and harm without so much as a sparing glance. Stayed, too, and barked at everyone who got too close. A thunderous shadow full of teeth.

And maybe it's that. The blood concealing into a thick, pulpy plum over the split of his knuckles, the blood on the gravel that isn't yours, the goosebumps rising over the spot he touched, colder than the rest of your skin, that makes you quieten under his heavy stare. Softening into something agreeable. Unreasonable. Instincts shoved into a box.

So you nod and let him place his hand over the small of your back, guiding you to his truck with a firm nudge. Say anything when he helps you in, hands fastening the seatbelt with a clipped I'll be back when he finishes, keeping his wary eyes on you even as he moves quickly towards your car, grabbing your suitcase from the back. Promises to get your car later, too. Bring it back to his house.

And yours, too, he adds, glancing your way after he tosses the suitcase in the backseat, searching for something you're not sure he'll find. So you look away, staring at the dust on the dashboard as he rounds the truck, and slips into the front seat. It smells like him. Fresh leather and the wild. Cedar and moss. Tobacco. Something heady. Masculine. Soaked sage. Loam. Gasoline.

You lean back on the headrest, breathing it in. Trying not to think.

You'll keep your luggage packed. The keys in the ignition. When whatever it is he's planning comes to the forefront, you'll be ready to run.

But right now—

You just want to sleep. Your jaw aches. Your wrist. There's a knot in your stomach—not good for the baby—and it thickens each time you look at his bloodied knuckles curled loosely over the steering wheel, the other on the stick. Close enough that you can feel the heat bleeding into your knee. All fire and spite, and—

Touch her again, and it'll be the last thing you ever fuckin' do.

"Get some rest," he grunts, eyes slanting towards you in a brief, heavy flick. "I'll stop and get some food soon, too, but it's a two hour drive to mine. And you look dead on your feet, sweetheart."

Love. Sweetheart. I won't change my mind.

You swallow down the protest that swells, the lingering residuum of self-preservation that won't let you bear your neck just yet, and offer a slow nod, blaming the easy submission on fatigue. These aches and pains that weep, tender to the touch.

Your eyes slip shut against your better judgement, the warm interior of the truck, his smell, bleeding a sense of soporific comfort you can't remember the last time you ever felt. Just a quick nap, you think. Long enough to rest your eyes—

It's swallowed under the deluge of exhaustion that rushes through when your shoulders drop, lax. He mutters something, but it's awash under the seafoam that fills your ears, lapping waves dragging you further and further away from shore. Something that sounds like girl good but you can't be sure. Hypnagogia is a terrible a thing that likes to spin dreams, play pretend in the cradle of your subconsciousness until the lines between reality and fantasy blur. Ignoring it is easier than admitting that it floods you with a warmth so deep, sweat gathers along your hairline. Feverish and sickly sweet.

Fingers dance along the edge of your brow, rough and coarse, and it's a devastating thing, isn't it? All this tenderness along the broken edges of yourself, nails grazing the fractures like they can be fixed, pushed back into place, and not as if they're about to shatter. It makes you want to lash out even though you can't feel your body anymore, stuck between worlds of wake and rest. Later, maybe, when the phantom press doesn't feel so sweet you'll snap—broken jaw and brittle teeth—at his hand until he remembers to never touch you again. A risk he won't take.

But with the knot in your belly, a baby there, too, and a body more contusion than flesh, you let it happen. Mewl, maybe, a quiet little slip of a thing, and curve into the palm resting over your cheek. Small and docile, leaching comfort as fast as you can before you remember yourself.

in the moonglade, you murmur thank you and swallow down a rough, painful sound when he scoffs under his breath, and says ain't got nothin' to thank me for, sweetheart.

#this is rough and messy but i woke up with this idea burning in my head and couldn't write it out fast enough #john price x reader #captain john price x reader #wips #fic: prairie wolf

3K notes · View notes

yameoto · 1 month ago

Text

SUPERNOVA CAITLYN KIRAMMAN

kpop idol caitlyn X her insatiably horny junior

"Noona is so cool!" You mimic, voice pitching either higher or lower, depending on which of the plethora of comments you pick, at your leisure. "Caitlyn’s a CF goddess. Her talents are seriously wasted. Wah, her visuals are really otherworldly. Unnie looks so good I’m creaming my pants—" Caitlyn fixes you with a flat, unimpressed look, at that last one. “It doesn't say that.” You grin, like the effervescent angel you are. “Yeah. That was just me.”

tw; dom/sub!caitlyn, brat!reader, idolverse, girlcock, semi-public sex, sex in dance practice rooms, mirror sex, handjobs, handjobs during vlives, voyeurism, mild age-gap, age hierarchy dynamics, use of korean honorifics. idol!caitlyn x idol!reader wc; 5.1k. ao3

notes: set in modern day runeterra. ionia encompasses the entire region of asia in league which i personally find stupid but i dont make the rules. fluff/smut/humour. derivative of korean culture (kpop idol au) + pokes a lil fun at stan culture. no prior kpop knowledge is needed (though it would likely help) the sex is filthy regardless. wrote this after finding caitlyn is only a 1/4 white like hallelujah jesus

CAITLYN looks stupidly good. Like stupid, stupidly good. Her grey sweatpants are slung low on her hips, waistband of her briefs peeking out. Sweat-slickened abs glare back at you, from the floor-to-ceiling mirror. The outline of her bulge is visible. These are all observations that you latch into like an IV-drip hooked-up to your wrist, in order to stay alive—lest you die from the fatigue. And boredom.

“Please,” You grumble, head slumped on your knee as your arm drops to the floor, phone abandoned Candy Crush side, up. “Please, please, please, can we go home?”

“No,” Caitlyn huffs, hands on her hips, looking entirely too good as she takes a momentary (and you mean, momentary) break to swig a sip of water, before she hurls herself right back into it, sweaty and stunning.

The two of you have been trapped in the practice rooms for what feels like eternity. Or, more accurately, Caitlyn has trapped you in the practice rooms for what feels like eternity. You would rather be snuggled up and content in the comfort of your dorms; rather than slogging away in the basement, like you’re still trainees clawing your way up the company ladder inch by inch—rather than the four-time daesang winners, face of Ionia’s girl-groups’, and other innumerable accolades under your belts that seemingly mean nothing to your fearless group leader. At least, at the moment.

You’ve long slunk to the floor, sleepy eyes tracing the way sweat rolls down Caitlyn’s nape as she re-runs the movements for about the zillionth time. Her shoulder-blades flex through the thin fabric of her shirt, sweat dampening into a darkened pool in a way that should be gross, but on her, it just looks sexy. The ache in your muscles has simmered to a low burn, by now. Jeez, your eyelids are slipping. Thank God you have your sweet leader to ogle. The sight of Caitlyn’s bulge peeking through those sweatpants is practically your sole motivator in keeping your eyes open.

“You know,” After what feels like a decade, you pipe up again, because time has begun to melds together. “You’ve got it. Seriously.” The swig of water that sluices down your throat is lukewarm and unsatisfactory. Fuck, you’re thirsty. “The stage is a week away. You’ll be fine.”

Caitlyn’s eyes narrow at you through the mirror, incredulous.

“When in the world has fine ever been good enough?”

Okay, sure. Caitlyn’s right. But she’s more than fine. Almost-perfect, actually—and come seven days—her dance moves will indubitably be heaven-sent and her ending fairy will probably trend #1 on three different social media platforms, and you will most definitely tug her ear endlessly about it, like the benevolent, supportive junior you are.

Seven days prior, however—and all you are is tired, grouchy, and maybe just a little bit horny.

“I crave the sanctity of my blankets.” You lament, hand falling over your forehead as you languish on the floor, because the sun has probably set by now and you are seriously contemplating the possibility of dying of old age in this godforsaken practice room. (Not that that would be so bad, if Caitlyn were with you).

“You can go home, you know,” Caitlyn sighs, twisting around to face you, sneakers squeaking on the glossy wooden floors.

“How am I supposed to sleep without my favourite member as a bolster?” You pout, snatching on the chance to act a brat, immediately. Caitlyn just rolls her eyes, but her lips twitch upwards, so negligible that if you weren't so tuned in to all-things-Caitlyn, you might’ve missed it.

“Clingy.” She mutters, like she doesn't love it. Loves being your favourite. Not that it matters, because the glimmer of hope that flickers in your chest when Caitlyn crouches down in the direction of her bag—is immediately quashed when she only taps her screen, and the speaker rewinds all the way to the start.

You’re really starting to hate this song.

“Are you serious? That’s not enough to rouse your cold, dead, heart?” You whine, because usually Caitlyn would've caved to your grabby-hands and doe-eyes by now (especially with the way you look; lips parted and shining with spit, water trickling down your chin down the column of your throat, from the leftover rivulets of your water-bottle.) Not that Caitlyn doesn't notice. She’s just really, really determined to get this right.

Desperate times call for desperate measures.

“You work yourself too hard.”

You stretch to a stand, elongated and cat-like before you slink over and sling yourself dramatically along Caitlyn’s back. Her expression contorts into exasperation. She attempts to turn her head, to face you—to no avail. Not when you’re pushing her up against the mirror and the pinning her down against glass with the power of aggressive spooning on your side. Her hand shoots out to brace against the mirror, as your fingers hook the hem of her sweats, and Caitlyn stiffens under your thumb, lips falling open against her will.

“Darling,” She inhales, in that addictive, throaty accent of hers. Caitlyn sounds almost pained, as she catches your wrists—though she neither takes them in or wrests them away. The both of you have full view of the rising tent in her groin.

“What?” You smirk, teeth grazing the shell of her ear, like the sneaky little bastard you are. “Don’t tell me you’re planning to practice with a boner, unnie. That must hurt.”

Caitlyn’s breath hitches, and her knees almost buckle, if it weren’t for the way your arms tighten around your waist and squeeze the growing problem at her crotch. Your fingers twine with the string of her trackpants, loosening them under slim, deft fingers.

“Honorifics? Really?” Her voice is tight. She’s screwed. You only ever whip those out when you want something, seeing as how you've been speaking informally to your technical senior since your very first meeting, in trainee days, (an accident she so loves to recount on variety shows. “It’s not my fault you just looked so young and pretty, unnie.” You’d fumble in defense, eyes wide and doling out the extra sparkle for the cameras as they zoomed-in on your frantic apologies, laugh track sure to be edited in. “What was I supposed to think?”

“You’re lucky I was too kind to scold you,” Caitlyn sighs, and—in a dramatic show of theatricality—flips the inky-blue curtains of her hair behind her shoulder, much to the hosts delight. “I can be really mean, baby.”

That had been a hit. Probably because of the way her drawl had lilted playfully and she’d cupped your jaw in the most egregious display of fan service you’d ever seen. Caitlyn’s always known how to wrap the media around her pretty fingers; and your stammer and ensuing blush had mercilessly crowded your feed for at least two weeks, afterwards.)

That’s in public, though. In private?

Caitlyn is a puddle to the graze of your fingers along her hipbone, and the glide of your breath up her neck. Dark eyes meet hers, hooded and intent, reflected in the pane of metal in front of you. It’s certainly a sight to behold. The two of you are both dripping in sweat, Caitlyn’s cheeks flushed, bare-faced and glowing—hair tangled up in that loose ponytail that you've always found so much hotter on her, than any amount of hours in the styling chair could ever produce.

“I really need to..” Caitlyn’s protests sound weak even to her own ears. Especially when heat pools in hot, throbbing waves that rush straight to her dick, and she's cut off by her own gasp when you nuzzle in the nook between her shoulder-blades and your hands—beautiful, cunning hands—ghost over her crotch and squeeze. Her entire world lurches into a haze, body spasming upwards.

“Unnie,” You breathe, sweet and soft, like the devil in her ear, “please fuck me.”

Just like that, Caitlyn can’t take it any longer. A low, strangled noise rips from her throat, eyes fogging over and black eclipsing blue. Lithe hands coil around your wrists, and flips your positions entirely—thrusting you right up against the glass.

Her muscles are throbbing, hours of dance practice flaming up her bones; but she pins you down with the strength of a woman possessed, all the same. As far as Caitlyn’s concerned, she’s like a sleeper agent to your bedroom voice, and the fact could never shine with more clarity, than now (other than the time you’d done a Lola Shark impression in an interview and she’d gotten, to her horror, embarrassingly hard underneath the blanket thrown over her lap. She’d had to call in a bathroom break, to take care of it—much to your smug, haunting amusement).

In the mirror, you watch as Caitlyn’s breathing shallows into pants, tongue licking hot up the stretch of your neck to under your jaw. Neither of you miss the brief, smugly satisfied spark to your eyes and glowing hot between your thighs, even as both squeeze shut when you arch up against Caitlyn’s bulge. She grinds down against your ass, and you moan, so brazen she almost can’t believe it.

“Shit. You're so shameless,” Caitlyn mutters, breaths rushing harsh against your shoulder as she fumbles with the knot at your sweats, rutting hopelessly into the coil of your figure. The moment thread slips free, pants pooling to your ankles as you bend over, head thrown back—Caitlyn’s brand-name briefs soak with a splurge of pre so intense she almost thinks she’s come early.

“You want my fingers?” Caitlyn asks, just to be a bitch. Your eyes squint open to glare at her through blurry vision and through an even blurrier visage.

“Don’t joke,” You spit, voice hoarse with want. It's meant to sound demanding, but all it comes out is whiney, and Caitlyn’s laugh sends shivers down your nape.

There’s a millisecond in which your mind empties completely, and it's almost cruel how you can only see the reflection of Caitlyn’s cock curving upwards from her underwear rather than the real deal.

Caitlyn’s grasp is like steel around your neck. She thrusts you forwards, your flushed cheeks smushing against the cool surface of the mirror as your stuttered breaths puff in grey clouds of condensation. A groan wrangles itself out of your throat from being manhandled like that, knees wobbling the moment you feel something hot, thick and so, so wet press insistently against the backs of your thighs. Arousal has already begun to drip down your legs, running down in rivulets and moistening the floor under your feet. Yours or Caitlyn’s—you don’t have the eyes to know.

“Unnie,” You breathe, shakily, voice raw. Your fingers are slippery against glass, and you whimper when the familiar stretch of two fingers sinks into your cunt. You slide open, just like that, and Caitlyn temporarily wrenches you back so that you can see your fogged-up reflection in all its full, filthy glory.

“S’not enough,” You pant, back arching and ramming urgently against her digits she’s spreading you wide, with—so eye-wateringly slow. Maybe it’s the fact that you've been working yourself up, blatantly eyeing her down, for hours since your head checked out of training and your brain devolved into its most primitive urges in coping with your mind-numbing boredom.

“Not enough?” She grins, sharp-toothed and devastating, adoring the upper-hand. “What? You need a third finger, baby?” The noise that tears out of you is almost like a wounded animal, and you'd be embarrassed if you weren't so overcome with need and prolonging this teasing sounds like torture.

So, you answer with the obvious, “Your cock.” You hiss through gritted teeth, because Caitlyn loves it when you beg for her dick and you’re too hare-brained and empty to do anything more than push back, impossibly deeper into her fingers. They sink to her knuckles of entirely your own volition, without her having to do so much as twitch.

Caitlyn’s laugh is practically a goad in itself. The lush curtain of her lashes are lowered, irises swallowed up by the deep dilation of her pupils. Still, though, she takes her time in playing with you, just a little longer. Revels in the way you thrash around her fingers, fucking yourself back, desperate.

Herself is one thing. Her dick can only take so much, however. The ache becomes too much, too soon, and the second she runs her glossy head against the drenched, hot pulse of your hole—she can’t not shudder, knot in her throat, before her fingers slip out of your pussy and your consequent whimper is interrupted by the plunge of her cock.

“Hah, baby..” Caitlyn whimpers, eyes fluttering back as she fucks you against the mirror, nails dragging up your hips and digging into supple flesh. Never has Caitlyn felt so at home, submerged in the deep, velvet ocean of your cunt.

“Unnie—” You gasp. It’s the one word, echoing over and over, like an all-consuming siren song throughout your head—with each gasp that comes with every thrust of Caitlyn’s hips, motions growing sloppier as the exhaustion of hours of tireless exertion catches up to the both of you. She nips at your ear, then down the curve of your nape, to the unblemished skin of your upper back. Teeth grazing, pads of her fingers leaving scorching trails as she gropes up your body—your mind a jumbled, fuzzy mess. Her cock plunges in and out, still guided, though she never slips out more than mid-way; bodies sticking together like gum. Like she can’t bear to be apart from you for even a moment—even if it is to pummel your cunt until you can hardly take it anymore.

It’s only when the pumps and rolls begin to slow into simple, gentle rocks, to absolutely nothing but a twitch—that your mind clumsily clasps onto a semblance of clarity, hasty and brief, like you know it’ll slip away and out of reach, soon. “Wha..?” You rasp, half-slurred, even if what you really want to whinge is; What’s goin’ on? Why’d you stop? And, please, please, please. Don’t stop. Keep goin’. Fill me up. Please, don’t ever stop— and other half-baked nonsense that you’ll be glad your tongue was too thick and heavy in your mouth to spill.

“I can’t mark you,” Caitlyn grunts, and your eyes sharpen, just a little. Her tongue peeks out from her lips as her expression looks disproportionately distraught, like it’ll be the end of the world if she doesn’t stake some sort of physical claim on you, eyes darting downwards to your unblemished shoulders with a low growl of frustration.

Distantly, that part of you is still clinging onto reality, knows she’s right. That your comeback is in a week’s time and risking a hickey or a bite-mark or worse (because Caitlyn is stronger and sharper and rougher than her delicate figure should ever have been allowed to be), is a bad, bad idea.

But the larger part of you—the part of you that is currently being railed by her unnie’s cock and trying desperately not to squirt cum all over the practice room mirror—rasps out a reckless, ragged, “Who cares?”, and that’s all the permission Caitlyn needs.

Caitlyn pulls out, and slams herself in again, grip on your waist, bruising. Your hands go sliding, uselessly against the steamy surface of the mirror, long fogged-up under the slick tangle of your bodies. She’s mouthing slurred nonsense into your ear, the music speaker knocked over by one of your ankles and emitting distant sounds from where it's rolled, to the other side of the room. Neither of you could give a single fuck.

Not the least, when Caitlyn’s hand is sliding up your throat and thumbing over your gaping lips. It feels as if a pink-hued fuzziness has descended the room and become a thick veil over everything, and when her fingers slip into the hot, wet gasp of your mouth—it's only right for you to take the digits in your tongue and suck.

“Ahnngh—Cait—”

“When did I say you could speak informally to me?” Caitlyn husks, fingers pressing deeper into the roof of your mouth. In your reflection, you can see the razor angle of Caitlyn’s jaw as she nuzzles into your ear. The obscene glisten of your spit, coating her fingers and coasting down your chin as her digits languish between your parted lips. You look every bit like her precious fuckdoll, right now.

“Unnie—”

“Ah-ah.”

“Sunbae.”

“Mm. That’s better.”

Her free hand skims up your shirt, slipping up the taut lines of your body and flicking idly at one nipple. You whine, garbled around the gag of her hand, and Caitlyn lets out a moan of content when your pussy tightens around her shaft.

“Fuck,” She pants, teeth sinking down into your shoulder and you buck, even though the pain barely registers with how Caitlyn barrels her cock in you, deeper, and your eyes roll back into your skull. Your thighs are shaking. “M’gonna—hfgh—”

Her hips draw upwards, and Caitlyn cums like a faucet. All of it, inside you. Outside of you. Dripping from your still-leaking cunt and droplets getting fucked out with each, desperate thrust as she moans, guttural. “Take it—fuck—” Caitlyn groans, harsh and insistent as she pounds, your pussy squelching—so wonderfully wet—as your fingers scramble against the glass, her fingers cramming deep inside your mouth.

“Ah-ah—fuck!”

The two of you go crashing down, sliding down against the mirror and onto the floor with a twinning, indecipherable slew of obscenities, a boneless, panting heap, still moving in tandem.

You both slump, slippery and sticky. The song on the speakers re-starts, yet again, from the other side of the room, though it's the first time it's even pierced your ears in the past forty minutes. Caitlyn groans, pushing her nose into the crook of your neck, arms tightening around your waist. The mirror is splattered in both your cum.

“We’re gonna have to clean this up, aren’t we?”

“..Probably.” You sigh, still leaking around her cock as you angle your head, the two of you slotting together like missing puzzle pieces.

Twenty-four hours and countless Kleenex wipes later (and really, cleaning your own cum from floor-to-ceiling mirrors—with two half-guilty reflections staring right back at you—is an uniquely humbling experience); it was totally worth it to see Caitlyn appropriately red, after the crash of post-nut clarity.

It’s your one, blissfully empty day before comeback promotions launch you all into full-throttle. You intend to enjoy it while it lasts.

“Your latest Lotte CF went viral,” You pop behind her, totally innocously if weren’t for that familiar, impish glint in your eyes. Caitlyn sighs, not even glancing up from the stove, completely nonplussed. Probably because Caitlyn could record herself taking a piss and it would chart #1 on Melon.

“The seonjiguk is simmering.” She ignores you. You ignore her right back.

“Look at those dimples,” You beam like a little shit as you wave the video in her face. “Maybe you should go into acting. The GP would go crazy.”

“No thanks,” Caitlyn snorts, hand lifting upwards to stifle a brief yawn, sleeves coming up all the way to her knuckles. “been there, done that.”

“Oh, right. All your Piltovian film connections.” You hum, idly tracing the underneath of Caitlyn’s elbow as you lean over her shoulder to watch her cook. She’s markably improved from her humble beginnings of blackened, bubbling slag (what was once instant Buldak), or the scotchmarks that still hail the kitchen tiles, to this day.

“Mhm. I was almost poached. My mother wanted me to—what was that? Follow in her footsteps.”

“Well, I’m grateful that you didn't,” You hum, into her shoulder. You poke her side, grinning. “Then you wouldn't have met me, and wouldn't that be tragic?”

Caitlyn scoffs, but you feel her sink a little deeper into your embrace, eyes flitting to settle onto the top of your head, as you nudge into her. You both, really are grateful.

You’re pretty sure Ionia is grateful, too.

Whatever the day, it always feels like Caitlyn’s name has taken up a permanent residence in the nation’s newsites. ICE PRINCESS. AI VISUALS. ATTITUDE PROBLEM. Her quarter Piltovian and subsequent accent injects an ‘attractive exoticism’ (or whatever management had stapled to your files, at the dawn of debut), that had made Caitlyn internationally explosive, too.

The Kiramman surname certainly helped. Caitlyn’s debut was like, the biggest plot-twist in nepotism, ever. It was like if Nicole Kidman’s kid suddenly became Hatsune Miku. Not to mention the fact the Kirammans are the largest benefactor of Hextech, whose global rollout of leading-edge tech has gone unmatched. Of all careers for the Kiramman’s mysterious, devastatingly attractive daughter to take—this is the one that took the entire globe off-guard. Including the great and glamorous, Cassandra Kiramman.

Of course, the initial shock long lapsed underwater, with the constant roil of the media waves. Caitlyn’s fame, however, has not.

“Noona is so cool!” You mimic, voice pitching either higher or lower, depending on which of the plethora of comments you pick, at your leisure. “Caitlyn’s a CF goddess. Ah, her talents are seriously wasted. Is she an angel? Her visuals are really otherworldly—”

“Get that away from me.” Caitlyn swats your phone away with a scowl, pretty pink flush glowing on her features.

“Don’t act all coy,” You prod her so-highly-lauded cheekbones as Caitlyn huffs in annoyance, though begrudgingly leans against the touch anyways. You squish. “We all know you’re preening inside.”

“I am not!”

“Ooh, sexy. I love it when your accent comes out like that.”

Caitlyn groans, because you’re impossible, and just twists so that she’s facing you, back against the kitchen counter. You reach behind her to switch off the stove.

She hooks her fingers into the hem of your pyjama shorts, thumbing over familiar cotton. She sighs outwardly, propping her head up on your shoulder and slumping forwards to rest the cold press of her nose into the crook of your shoulder. Her fingers skim up your shirt, absently rubbing circles into the plane of your stomach.

“You know I hate it when you read those.”

“About how you look like an eepy bunny when you’re sleepy? Or that you have moles in the shape of a giraffe on your nape.” You arch a brow, looking past her as you flick through the blurs of text in various degrees of capitalisation, on your phone. A subtle smirk lifts your lips. “Hey. Is that true? Let me check.”

She scowls, and then almost looks offended that you don’t know that already (You do. Caitlyn also has a darkened, heart-shaped birthmark indented in the crook of her inner thigh—but that’s just for you to know, thank you very much).

Your voice raises a pitch. “Unnie looks so good I’m creaming my pants!”

Caitlyn fixes you with a flat, unimpressed look. “It doesn't say that.”

You grin, like the effervescent angel you are. “Yeah. That was just me.”

Oh, now Caitlyn’s cheeks go red. You push valiantly past the triumphant flutter in your heart, in favour of continuing your teasing. Hey—there’s no schedule today, the dorms are all to yourselves—and you’re on a roll.

“Look. They wanna steal your eyes and put them in a boba drink.”

Thoroughly fed-up with your antics, Caitlyn snatches the phone out of your hand, and you immediately squirm, to lunging for it. Caitlyn’s ridiculous height advantage has the one-up on you, though, and you puff out an aggrieved yelp of protest when she dangles it above your head, like a dickhead.

“Hey, what the fuck?” You complain, like your comeuppance wasn't exactly what you were hoping for. Except you were more aiming for a pin-you-against-the-fridge, fuck-the-insides-out-of-you type of comeuppance. Not a sordid reminder that you need a stool to reach the top of Caitlyn’s head. “Don’t lord your freakish Frankenstein genetics over me!”

Caitlyn laughs, eyes flickering down. “Are you on your tip-toes right now?”

Your eyes narrow, because you do not appreciate having the tables turned on you. Your hand shoots up to cup her jaw, tilting it upwards. Caitlyn softens, putty in your hands, adorable furrow in her brow melting away along with her pride as she sinks into your palm with a soft sigh, arm falling to her side.

There we go.

“It’s not my fault you avoid socials like the plague. I’m just doing my duty to take care of my leader’s PR. Your fans are starving.”

Caitlyn grumbles, “Well, let them starve.” though it comes out pinched between smushed lips, cheeks squishing like a dumpling. So heartless, like she’s not the industry’s princess and probably makes up a total of 50% of the company’s annual income. You know exactly why, as you cradle her face in her palms and watch as she leans upwards because no matter how disgruntled Caitlyn acts, or how shockingly humble she is under that front of aloof, arrogance–she definitely preens under attention.

Just. Only yours.

“Hey, you know what? We should go live right now.”

“What—?” Caitlyn stammers, flabbergasted by the sudden change in direction, “Don’t—“

Too late. Within seconds, you’ve swiped your phone back from her limp hands and flipped the vlive on. Recording. Like, now. Damn, you're speedy.

“Ah..” Caitlyn’s expression smooths over to that charming, impeccably gorgeous grin of hers that shows off the sharp curves of her cheekbones and has won her the hearts of a nation.

You pull her to the couch, and under the scrutiny of the camera—Caitlyn acquises with little more than a subtle elbow to your ribs, when the both of you go thudding into the cushions with a low oomph.

Then, you flop against her chest, and the stream of hearts that ensue are absolutely incredible, comments rolling in faster than you can read them. There’s a reason why the two of you are the most popular pairing in the group.

“Hm. Is it on?” You muse, faux confusion tugging on your pretty features. Knitted brows and a plush little pout always do the job, especially when you add a sneak of tongue. No doubt to be screenshotted and re-uploaded countless times, within the next hour. “Hello? Can you guys hear us?”

Which is, you know, the perfect time to grab Caitlyn’s dick through her pants.

A choked noise resounds beside you, and you don’t glance over, for you’re too busy fiddling with the phone and the settings and all other kinds of bullshit that is really just an excuse for you to focus your attention on snaking a hand down Caitlyn’s waistband, just out of view of the camera. “Oh! It’s working. Did you miss us?” You beam, as Caitlyn struggles not to either sock you in the stomach or throw her head back and moan.

If anybody notices Caitlyn’s pupils are suspiciously blown, it doesn’t come up. What does come up, is her ever traitorous cock that lilts immediately into your touch. Fuck. Fuck, fuck.

“Aw, little Caity’s missed me, too,” You croon, as your sneaky fucking fingers stroke idly along her girth, underneath the veil of her sweatpants and just over the thin fabric of her underwear. Caitlyn visibly bristles, because, 1. You’re jacking her off. 2. She hates that your coo instigates a flood of love-bombing so intense, that the hearts on the screen almost completely obscure the both of you. 3, and the most important one; you just gave her dick a nickname!

“Cait.” You tease out, eyes glittering, not even bothering to conceal your amusement as Caitlyn’s hips buck upwards, her fingers pinching against your sides, lips completely shut mum, for fear she’ll let slip a moan on camera. “C’mon. Say something. You missed them too, right?”

Gods. Caitlyn hates you. She really, really hates you. Just—not enough to not shove your hand away when it starts to peel away the waistband of her underwear. If only because the feeling of precum soaking its seat, sticking to her skin, and not because she’s itching for the sweet relief of your hand around her cock.

“..Hi,” Caitlyn forces her winning, boxy grin, and the years of practice make it an admirably unstrained effort. Maybe she really should go into acting. “Mm. Long time no see, hm?”

“Unnie’s being awkward, today.” You snark, all sly, and Caitlyn shoots you a glare. She’s rewarded by the sudden, fervent warmth of your hand wrapping around her dick, and then the harsh tug of your fist that has her knees jerking upwards and her dastard slit spurting out a shiny, hot glob of precum. She swallows back a low, strangled whine, like a dry pill. Oh, Gods. She’s supposed to say something.

“Ah, just..—we’ve—ah—”

In a rare show of mercy (because apparently, you’re not out to throw both your careers to the dogs), you swipe the phone back with the most cherubic, triumphant grin to adorn your face, literally ever. Catilyn lets slip a barely-audible hiss as your fingers coil, just a little tighter, stroking up and down—thumb running back over the swollen, gloatingly shiny cockhead.

“We just had a long time in the practice rooms for our comeback, yeah? So we’re pretty tired. Right, unnie?”

Oh, you're really pushing it, now.

“Mm. We’ve been—working. Really hard.” She has to lean out of the screen to release a silent, desperate gasp, nails digging into the back of the couch as she tries to rut up into your hand in a way that doesn't obviously send the sofa, trembling. You idly thumb over her slit, smearing the thick, embarrassingly copious amounts of pre down her length. It twitches in your palm, as you ramble on about schedules and the comeback and spoilers and other things that have long become white noise in Caitlyn’s ears. Her hips chase your touch, brazenly, now. She barely even realises when you’re calling it quits; early, too. Because obviously, this was all just to fuck with her.

“Caitlyn,” You sing-song—smirking (supremely unsubtly), at the camera. “Say bye-bye.”

She only just registers the comment. Barely. “Bye.” Caitlyn’s voice is a low croak, hips arching upwards off the couch just as you end the live. Just in time, too, because—

“Oh, fuck.” Caitlyn releases the longest moan of her life, cum spilling over your fist, and she collapses back into the couch. Your phone falls from your hand, and you’re practically shaking with laughter.

(“Little Caitey,” Caitlyn grumbles, after the fact, with your head nestled between her thighs in apology, “That’s preposterous. What’s so little about her?” Nothing. But there’s no fun in that, is there? At the slow, sly smile spreading on your face, Caitlyn groans. “What?”

“You referred to her in third-person.”

“..Please just suck me off already.”)

#(っ ‘o’)ﾉ⌒💥my works !#arcane #caitlyn kiramman x reader #caitlyn kiramman #caitlyn kiramman fanfiction #caitlyn kiramman smut #caitlyn kiramman x you #trans!caitlyn #arcane x reader #arcane smut #written solely for me but if u enjoyed it. i adore you #surprisingly not the most self-indulgent thing i’ve penned but close #kpop!caitlyn

1K notes · View notes

plutotheplum · 4 months ago

Text

Take a Chance with Me

zayne x fem!reader

summary: zayne gets called into work, so you bring him dinner.

cw: nsfw (18+) - mdni!!, established relationship, smut, fluff, handjob, oral sex, p in v, office sex

wc: 4.4k

a/n: based on one of zayne's text messages! he's so domestic boyfriend core. this is basically just some soft, fluffy smut before i write a dawnbreaker angst fic :3

also on ao3!

Akso Hospital is quieter at night than it is in the day.

You’d been expecting the bustle of nurses and doctors when Zayne had texted you saying he’d been called in on short notice, preparing yourself for some sort of emergency. Thankfully, it didn’t seem that was the case, most likely a pressing surgery that had come up for Zayne.

Sometimes, you wished he’d take more days off. It was a little selfish to want to be wrapped up in Zayne’s arms all the time, but you couldn’t help yourself, the comfort and warmth his body provided was like no other. It was what you had been doing earlier that night, cozied up next to him on the couch, with a fluffy blanket pulled up over you both as he’d spoken to you about one of his past surgeries.

Zayne’s voice had a certain lull to it, the low murmur of his voice making your eyes droop until you’d curled up into his chest, face pressed into his neck and fallen asleep before the takeout you had ordered even arrived.

Jenna’s missions had kept you on your toes for the entire week, your body exhausted and dazed under the constant stress of fighting Wanderers. Zayne gave you the solace of being able to unwind, although your boyfriend was as stern as ever, he was everything you needed.

That was until you’d woken up and realized he was gone. Zayne had made sure you were tucked in, a pillow placed under your head comfortably, and your hair brushed away from your face. You’d been disappointed, but the moment you were awake, you couldn’t find it in yourself to go back to sleep, no matter how hard you tried.

It’s why you’re here now, the takeout bag clutched in hand with a couple of paper plates and forks stuffed inside, as you wait patiently for the elevator to drop you off at Zayne’s floor of the hospital.

And of course, I can’t wait to see the person delivering it.

Zayne’s text flashes through your mind, and your grip on the bag of takeout tightens. It wasn’t fair how a simple line of text could make your heart race and your mind swirl with emotion, a sense of yearning taking root within you.

You spy Yvonne sitting at the front desk and you give her a small wave before approaching her.

“Hi,” Yvonne greets, smiling up at you, “here to see Doctor Zayne?”

You nod in response, holding up the bag of takeout. “He got called in before we could have dinner, so I figured I’d just bring it to him.”

“That’s nice,” Yvonne says, her fingers tapping against the keyboard, “Doctor Zayne finished up his surgery about an hour ago. He’s probably resting in his office.”

“Thank you, Yvonne,” you chirp, giving her smile and another wave before making your way towards Zayne’s office.

It’s tucked away into the corner, his name engraved on the plaque that sits adhered to the surface of the door. The door’s unlocked, but you’re not surprised, he probably left it open for you. Turning the handle, you poke your head in to find Zayne’s head resting on his outstretched arm against his desk.

His eyes are closed, so you step in quietly, trying not to rustle the bag of takeout too much and let the door lock behind you with a quiet click. Zayne remains motionless and you tiptoe towards him, setting the bag down beside his desk. He looks peaceful like this, his lashes kissing his cheeks, face relaxed as his chest rises and falls with every breath.

You’re not quite sure what you did to deserve someone like him. Zayne is sickeningly gentle and even more sickeningly patient with you. He treats you like you’re precious because to him, you are. You’re more precious to him than any award he could be given, more precious to him than the highest praise he could receive from any senior doctor in Linkon and beyond. You’re the only thing that truly matters to him.

Zayne’s devotion runs deep. It soothes your frayed nerves, and has lodged itself inside of you deep within your viscera. Sometimes, you think about clawing out the protocore-embedded heart in your chest and handing it to him. Zayne would take care of it, you’re sure, as he does now.

He stirs for a moment and you still, slowing your breathing so as to not wake him. Your hand reaches out, brushing his hair out of his eyes, fingers tracing the curve of his cheek. Zayne’s nightmares had gotten less frequent recently and you were thankful for it. He needed the rest. You lean in a little closer, unable to help yourself, letting your lips brush across his cheek in a fleeting kiss.

The hand on your wrist startles you for a moment before you realize Zayne is awake, his head lifting lazily and his eyes blinking open blearily.

“You came,” he murmurs, voice laced with sleep.

“I said I would,” you say softly, cupping his cheek and smoothing your thumb over it. Zayne leans into your touch, letting out a heavy sigh as though some impossible burden were lifted off of his shoulders. You watch as his eyes flutter shut and let him nuzzle into your palm, his lips kissing the inside of your wrist.

Breaking through the relaxed atmosphere, your stomach growls and you flush, cheeks heating up. Zayne lets out a low laugh, his arms wrapping around your waist to pull you onto his lap.

“You should’ve eaten,” Zayne says, brushing his hand over your hair.

“I wanted to eat with you,” you mumble, pouting petulantly.

He hums, reaching for the bag of takeout, taking out the plates and forks along with the food. It’s impossible to stop yourself from nosing into his cheek, lips pressing soft kisses along his jaw and across the expanse of his cheek.

“I missed you.”

“It’s only been a few hours since I last saw you,” he muses, tilting his head up to meet your eyes.

“So? I still missed you,” you reply, arms tightening around his neck.

A smile tugs at his lips, a knowing look in his eyes. He presses the fork of food up to your lips and you open your mouth obediently, letting him feed you. Zayne rubs his hand up and down your back from time to time, his lips pressing against your cheek with every bite he feeds you.

You curl into him when he finishes feeding you, letting your face find its way back home into the crook of his neck, carved out just for you. Zayne tightens his arm around your waist, thumb stroking over the curve of your hip every now and then as he eats.

“I love you,” Zayne says quietly, the fork settling against the plastic takeout container.

“I love you too,” you say, trying to press yourself closer into the heat of his body.

It frustrates you, not being able to be as close to him as you want. The sense of it not being enough, despite being flush against him, gnaws at you. Zayne knows this of course, can see the little downward pull of your lips whenever you get like this and try to meld your body against his as though you’re trying to burrow through his clothes and into him. He’d let you, if it was possible, keep you safe behind the curve of his ribs and close to his heart.

He slides his hand into your hair, cupping the back of your head to tilt it upwards. You smile up at him fondly, eyes fluttering shut when he brushes the tip of his nose against yours.

“I love you,” Zayne repeats, kissing the corner of your mouth.

“I love you t-”

Your voice is muffled when he slots his lips over yours, drawing you into a slow kiss. It’s sweet, the way he presses his lips to yours in a tentative question as though asking for permission even though he knows you’ll give it to him. Your head tilts, your hand sliding into the softness of his hair, nails scraping against his scalp gently. Zayne shivers and leans into you further, his hand squeezing at your waist.

Longing unfurls in your gut, the slow, syrupy sweetness of his kiss sinking through your flesh and encasing your soul in a warm embrace. You’re shifting on his lap, moving your body so that you straddle him, knees bracketing his hips. Zayne chases after you when you break away, not letting you leave him for long, guiding you into another kiss.

His hands have begun to drift, smoothing up over the skin of your thighs, squeezing at the flesh before sliding under to grab at your ass. You smile against his lips, fingers splaying across his throat before dragging down to hook into the knot of his tie. You tug downwards, loosening his tie from around his neck.

“We can’t,” he whispers, glancing towards the door.

“I locked it,” you murmur, kissing him softly, “please, Zayne?” Your fingers go further, beginning to unbutton his shirt all the way. “I need you.”

Zayne stares up at you and sees the neediness in your expression, the haze that comes over your face whenever you ask him for his cock. He finds that he can never deny you.

“Okay,” Zayne says quietly, squeezing your arm, “okay, sweetheart.”

You palm him through his trousers, feel him beginning to grow in the confines of his pants. Zayne tries to bite back the noises you elicit from him, but it’s impossible when you look at him like that, your eyes all starry and cheeks flushed.

“You’re always taking care of me,” you whisper, palming his bulge a little more firmly, “let me take care of you now, Zayne.”

Zayne lets out a shaky breath and you smile, pecking his lips gently. Pulling his belt buckle free, you undo the button to his trousers, dragging the zip down to see his boxers. There’s a dark spot on the fabric and the sight has you licking your lips, grasping his half-hard cock through his boxers.

He lets out a strangled groan, his head falling back against his chair, hips bucking up to chase more of your touch.

“You’re teasing me,” Zayne grits out, his knuckles white with how tightly he’s gripping the armrests of his chair.

“‘m making you feel good,” you correct.

Your hand pulls his boxers down, and his cock slaps against his abdomen, thick and tip flushed prettily. Zayne’s fully hardened now, the tips of his ears reddening as you wrap your hand around his cock.

“Fuck-” he pants, running his hand through his hair, “d-don’t stop.”

“Not going to,” you whisper, hand tightening around his cock.

Zayne groans again, his thighs falling open a little more. Your other hand cups his heavy balls, massaging them gently, lips finding his again as his pre-cum wets your hand. He kisses you desperately, hips bucking up into your hand. Zayne pushes at the straps of your dress impatiently, pulling it down along with your bra to find your breasts.

“So pretty,” Zayne murmurs, hand splaying across your back to make you arch into him.

He mouths across your collarbone, all the way to your sternum before drifting down to try and stuff the entirety of your breast into his mouth. A breathless laugh leaves you, thumb swiping over the sensitive tip of his cock. Zayne’s thighs jump, his grip on you tightening, tongue alternating between flicking over your nipple and swiping over the whole of your areola.

Spit drips from his mouth, a thin strand connecting his glistening lips to your hardened nipple. You catch it with your thumb, feeding it to him, letting him suck your thumb into his mouth. He moans around it and you whine, cunt clenching at the feeling of his warm mouth over your skin. It has you feeling debauched, your own mouth opening to let a glob of spit drip down and onto his cock. Zayne’s cock twitches and he presses himself against you, his face tucking into the crook of your neck as he pants.

“Sweetheart,” he grunts, his cock fucking into your hand, “you feel so good.”

You mewl in agreement, hand slipping into his hair again. Zayne lets out a low whine, his eyes fluttering shut as he curls his own hand around yours, tightening your grip. You move your hand faster, swipe your thumb over his fat, leaking tip more frequently and tug at his hair to tilt his head and kiss him.

“You’re throbbing,” you whisper, lips brushing over his with every word.

“You tend to have that effect on me,” he replies hoarsely.

His cock throbs almost on cue, another glob of pre-cum spilling down the side of his length. You squeeze your hand tighter, dragging it upwards to see more pre-cum spilling out of him the tighter you squeeze. Zayne sounds utterly gone, mouthing at your chest to distract himself, lips wrapping around your other breast this time.

He stares up at you, amber-green eyes shining in the light as his mouth stays enveloped around the fat of your breast. You bite your lip, giving him a dazed smile and lowering your head to nudge your nose against his. Zayne forgets about your breast, tilts his head up to meet your lips in a sloppy kiss.

“Cum for me, Zayne,” you whisper sweetly, kissing the tip of his nose, “wanna see you cum.”

Zayne moans unabashedly, his heart fluttering at your words. His hips buck up one last time before he cums, squeezing at your sides roughly as his forehead falls against your shoulder. Hot, thick cum smears across your hands and you hum happily, giving his cock one last teasing pump. Zayne shudders at the sensation, grunting softly as he catches your wrist to stop you from playing with his sensitive cock.

“You made a mess, Doctor Zayne.”

He huffs out a laugh, leaning back in his chair. You stay perched on his lap, watching as his cock softens. Zayne takes your hand before you can lick his cum off of your palm, his handkerchief swiping over your sullied palm and fingers, cleaning your skin.

Zayne kisses you again, squishes your cheeks to make your lips pucker out for a moment and smiles at the sight. You frown when he moves you off of him only to realize that he’s standing up as well, pushing your shoulders gently to make you sit down on his chair.

He sinks to his knees and you bite your lip, body taut with anticipation. Zayne pulls your socks off, his thumbs pressing into the arch of your right foot. You sigh at the sensation, eyes slipping shut.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispers, placing a reverent kiss to your ankle.

Your heart lurches, lips trembling as he caresses your calf. Zayne kisses up the length of your leg, up your shin and past your knee, his fingers squeezing at your flesh. He drags his lips across your inner thigh, landing soft kisses to your skin. His scarred hands graze over your panties, knuckles pressing against your swollen clit for a moment before he kisses your panty-clad pussy.

Zayne repeats the same sequence of actions for your other leg as though he were worshiping you. A part of you wants to cry at his display of affection. There’s a lump in your throat with how nicely he’s treating you, but you swallow it down, losing yourself in the fond gaze he gives you.

“You’re too good to me,” you whisper, fingers running through his hair.

“I’m not,” he replies, kissing your pussy again, “I just love you.”

You swallow harshly and Zayne smiles, his fingers pulling down your panties. He thumbs apart your folds and lets out a shuddering breath when he realizes how wet you are.

“All for me,” he murmurs, watching the clench of your pussy around nothing, “you’re all mine.”

You whine in agreement, back arching as he licks over your cunt. Zayne kisses your clit and buries his face into your pussy, licking and sucking without abandon. You can barely stay on the chair with how much you’re squirming and writhing under his mouth. Zayne winds his arms around your thighs and holds you in place, his mouth making lewd noises as he makes out with your pussy until your cries grow louder.

You hope his office is soundproof, but when Zayne sucks your sensitive clit into his mouth, you lose any sense of where you are, letting out pitchy, shuddering gasps as your feet press up onto your toes, digging into his back.

“Zayne!” you cry, tugging at his hair roughly. He groans into your pussy, enjoying the sting of pain across his scalp. He buries his face deeper, kissing and licking until your pussy is puffy and slick is pouring out of you uncontrollably. “N-nghhh- no, Zayne. You- you have to fuck me!”

“Okay,” he rasps, pulling back when you tug at his hair, “up, my love, get up.” He taps your thighs and you stand up on shaky legs, pulling him closer by his tie to kiss him.

Zayne kisses you as you paw at his broad shoulders, pushing his shirt off to grasp at his muscled arms and back. He squeezes your waist, kneads the fat at your hips before he’s spinning you and bending you over his desk.

Your dress is flipped up, a squeak escaping your lips when he brings his hand down, slapping your ass. A giggle makes its way out of you and you rise up on the tips of your toes, wiggling your hips and ass for him playfully.

Zayne groans at the sight and slaps your ass again. His fingers spread apart your asscheeks, his eyes feasting on the sight of your glistening, puffy pussy again. You cry out when you feel him shove his face back into your pussy, licking over you messily and without abandon until you reach back and push at his head weakly.

You let your hips sway back and Zayne grasps his cock, pressing it against your greedy cunt. He curses as your pussy sucks him in, his hand balling up the fabric of your dress into one hand, keeping you spread as he watches you take his cock, inch after inch.

You let out a strangled gasp, the air being punched out of your lungs as he fills you up. Zayne is big and thick, his cock splitting you open, forcing your pussy to take him, carving the shape of his length inside of you. Your nails dig into his desk and neither of you seem to care as a few patient files slip off of the edge of the desk, the paper fluttering to the ground.

“Always so tight,” he hisses out, his hand curling over your hip, “such a good girl for me, sweetheart.”

Your head falls against the wood of his desk, teeth sinking into your knuckles as you try to muffle your noises. Zayne notices and lets out a tsk, his arm reaching for yours and bringing it behind your back.

“None of that,” Zayne chastises, “I want to hear you, my love.”

He does hear you when he presses your lower back down, his hips thrusting forward. You cry out, moaning and mewling as his cock sinks into you repeatedly. Zayne drapes himself over your back, kissing up your spine and landing a soft kiss to your shoulder, hips humping into your ass. The squelch of your cunt should be embarrassing, but it happens whenever Zayne fucks you now, you get so horribly wet whenever you see his cock and he touches you.

You turn your head back to kiss him and Zayne groans into your mouth, licking into your mouth before he’s moving back to fuck you properly. Your knees would buckle if you weren’t bent over the desk. His name plate inches closer to the edge of the desk with every thrust Zayne delivers to your pussy.

Zayne pants and grunts; you look back to find his face flushed, his eyes closed and brows drawn together tightly. He looks handsome, face twisted with pleasure and want; unadulterated passion.

“Zayne- o-oh yes-” you whimper when he pins you down, his hands grasping your hips roughly.

He ups his pace, the desk rattling, his belongings hitting the floor. Each snap of his hips leaves you reeling and you’re sure you’re seeing stars in the darkness of your closed eyes.

“Good girl,” he groans, unable to stop himself from landing another slap to your ass, “my good girl- fuck- I love you so, so much, sweetheart.”

You’re practically sobbing, walls clenching around his cock so tightly that he’s cupping your jaw and drawing you up so that your back is flush against his chest. Zayne bends his knees and fucks up into you. Your nails scrape against his arm, head falling against his shoulder as his hand slips down to rub your clit.

“Take it,” Zayne whispers, nipping your earlobe, “take it, baby.”

His calloused fingers on your clit too much and your body is seizing up, the coil of pleasure inside of you snapping until you moan loudly, his hand slapping over your mouth when the beginnings of a squeal make its way out of you with how oversensitive you are.

Your body shudders as you cum, and you try to push his hand away from his clit but he sinks his teeth into your shoulder in warning, rubbing tight circles until he cums, his low grunts filling your ear as his hips slow into a stuttering mess. Zayne bends you over the desk again, shuffles forward until his hips are flush against your ass, balls pressed against your clit, his cock stuffed inside your pussy snugly.

“I love you,” you whine, feeling his hot cum fill you up.

“I- I shit-” Zayne gasps, thrusting his hips forward a few more times as he feels your walls clenching around him tightly, milking every drop of thick cum from him, “Hah- I l-love you too,” he stammers, slumping over you.

You mewl under his weight, his softening cock slipping out of you. Zayne’s cum mixed with your arousal drips down your thighs, smearing against your skin. He lifts himself up after a few moments of panting, using his desk for support. You turn around, rising up on shaky legs and even shakier toes to cup his cheeks and kiss him.

Zayne wraps his arm around your waist, pulling your body flush against his. He deepens the kiss, lowers his head for you so that you can sink down flat onto your feet again. Your tongue tangles with his, hands stroking over his hair soothingly as you give yourself to him, body and soul.

You can feel his smile against your lips, the drag of his lips across your cheek and the side of your head to press several kisses to your forehead.

“I hope your office is soundproof, Doctor Zayne,” you whisper, wrapping your arms around his middle and letting your chin rest on his chest.

“I hope so too,” Zayne says, flushing lightly.

You laugh, kissing the underside of his jaw. You help him pull his shirt on again, buttoning up the front of it and tighten his tie again. Zayne wipes the insides of your thighs with a few tissues, discarding them in the bin beside his desk, helping pull up your panties over your hips.

He fixes the straps of your dress, fingers brushing over your shoulders gently and the place where his teeth had sunk into you.

“Take the day off tomorrow,” you say to him as you help gather the patient files that had fallen off of his desk.

“You know I can’t,” he sighs, shaking his head.

You pout, widening your eyes and batting your eyelashes up at him in an attempt to give him the most pleading look you can muster.

“Please?” you say, sidling up to him again, “you’re overworked, Zayne. Take the day off, hm? We can relax together.”

Zayne stares down at you, his lips pursing for a moment. It never takes much convincing. As soon as the words are out of your mouth, he feels compelled to listen.

“You’re a terrible influence, sweetheart.”

You smile up at him giddily, wrapping your arms around his neck. “‘m just taking care of my lovely, handsome, perfect boyfriend.”

“Fattening up my ego, huh?” Zayne asks, dipping his head to steal a kiss from you.

“No,” you say, shaking your head. Your voice softens slightly. “I- I do mean those things, Zayne.”

Zayne falters at the hint of vulnerability in your voice. He can see that you’re shy about it with the way your eyes dart away from his, you always have been whenever confessing your more heart-felt feelings.

“If you insist,” he says quietly, trapping your chin between his fingers to bring your eyes to meet his again. “But I think you’re the perfect one.”

You flush at his compliment, swatting his chest. He laughs, grabbing your fist to press a firm kiss to your knuckles. Zayne’s laugh fades when he stares at your hand, his brows furrowing for a moment.

“What’s wrong?” you ask, your own brows furrowing as you stare at your bare hand. There’s nothing on it, nothing of concern anyways.

“Ah,” Zayne clears his throat, giving you a smile, “it’s nothing.”

It’s strange. He can’t help but think your left hand looks oddly bereft in the light.

Zayne thinks a ring would fix the problem.

He dips his head, pressing another chaste kiss to your lips as he takes your hand, leading you out of his office, letting Yvonne know that he wouldn’t be available tomorrow.

Zayne drives you home, despite your insistence that you could drive instead, his head shaking sternly as he’d ushered you into the passenger’s side. You’re curled up in bed with him, blankets pulled up over both you, the heat cocooning you in.

“Despite your Evol, you’re so warm,” you mumble drowsily, face pressed into his chest.

“That may be because of the blankets,” Zayne says, amused.

You scoff, but you don’t have it in you to come up with some witty remark, instead letting him play with your hair.

“I’ll make you breakfast tomorrow,” you slur, body relaxing further when he scratches your scalp gently.

“I want to spend the morning in bed with you,” he whispers, watching as your eyelids slip shut.

It’s only half the truth. Zayne does want to spend the morning in bed with you, but he also wants something… more.

“I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

You’re asleep when he whispers the words, his lips brushing your forehead.

It doesn’t matter.

You’ll hear them properly when he gets down on one knee.

#zayne smut #zayne #zayne x reader #love and deepspace zayne #love and deepspace #lnd smut #lnd zayne #lnd #zayne x you

2K notes · View notes

planetallure · 5 months ago

Text

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ dark!fic recs

CW: once again, these works contain dark and explicit themes that may be upsetting or triggering to some. please use your discretion and discernment.

@cherienymphe : when i first seriously got back on tumblr and got into dark!fanfic, cherie's was one of the first blogs i found. her writing was essentially my indoctrination. it was terrifying how much i loved it/her writing. truly phenomenal. i've read quite of few of her stories (mainly for rafe cameron, jj maybank, steve rogers, and peter parker) but i'll list my faves.

"when the party's over" - its something about this series...i think about it often. if you're into forced pregnancy or corruption tropes, tap in.

"wicked games" - i actually first read this one on ao3 before i discovered her tumblr and was absolutely gagged. another one i think of often.

"amnesiac" - the first series of hers that i ever read. absolutely traumatized me and i sobbed reading it. amazing storytelling.

"the hills" - another bangerrr. a one night stand ends in complete and total blackmail and entrapment. he just wanted to give her a better life *clown face emoji*.

"his father's son" - after ward death, rafe takes over the reins in more ways than one.

"teenage dirtbag" - this series single handedly made me a jj girl. the tension??? yup yup mhm.

"the less i know the better" - ironically my favorite part of this story is readers relationship with rafe but seeing jj slowly and then rapidly descend into madness? yeah.

"claimed" - a/b/o dynamics. brought me back to my wattpad days. still eat it up.

"daddy dearest" - steve meets a single mom and decides to be not the stepdad, but the dad who stepped up.

i'll be honest, i was a non believer in dark!peter but: "she's with me", "one last time." "suburbia" and "basic training" made a believer outta me. hands. down.

@lambtotheslaughterr : it absolutely amazes me the things that come from her mind. the level of creativity and originality needs to be studied. oona, you are criminally underrated.

“rise” - the first series of hers that i read. arguably the best series i’ve read on here thus far. this is the first part to her ��the day the world ended” universe and it completely blew me away. i couldn’t believe that something like it had come from some silly little boat show. just brilliant.

“when the bough breaks” - the first work of hers i read. this one for me was a heartbreaking slow burn story, but the smut…makes up for it. yes yes.

“i burn” - sex!addict reader x rafe cameron. need i say more? actually, i will. the smut and tension in this one towards the end? it was shameful how turned on i was.

“one way or another” - buckle up, grab a snack, and prepare for the ride of a lifetime. that’s it.

“something wicked this way comes” - a single mom trying to escape her past, except her past is rafe cameron. this was one very spooky scary la la.

"summit" - the second part to the tdtwe universe. its still brand new but its already feeling like another banger, i mean it's oona. tap in.

@harryspet : rae was also apart of my indoctrination and boy did she do what needed to be done. her perfectly curated moodboards alone did it for me. very mindful, very demure.

"homestead" - what can i say...i'm a sucker for pregnancy stories :( and this series was no exception. absolutely delectable. enjoy.

"well kept" - classic millionaire ceo x reader, my younger wp reading self cheered gleefully. my love language is acts of service and boyy was this one speaking my language. had me at "scheduled braiding appointment."

"bambi eyes" - this one was one of those that made me want to take a good long look in the mirror and ask myself, "is this who we are...is this what we represent?"

@sherrybaby14 : this one is for the mcu girlies. more fics than you could ever ask for. everyone say "thank you, mother!"

"the distraction" - i'm starting to notice a kidnapping/stockholm syndrome pattern here...ANYWAY! work is realllyy stressful for steve and you just happen to be the perfect distraction.

@straywords : she's no longer active but her incredible writings remain so please, peruse. its like a beautiful museum over there.

"a break" - *gasp* another pregnancy story! stucky edition.

@darkficsyouneveraskedfor : an icon, a legend, she is the moment! another infinite library for my mcu girls. roo has all you could ever want or ask for.

@perlelune

"all too well" - yes, yes, another one, its who i am. rafe cameron proving once again that you can't escape him.

"lucky" - best friend!rafe x reader. he didn't know what he had until it was almost gone

"tag, you're it" - never read a scream fanfic before this one but boy did i have fun! chad is so pookie in this too :(

@honestsycrets : back when i was in my miguel era, sy single handedly kept me fed.

"starved | mio" - "mio", in which you babysit mayday and it gives miguel baby fever and "starved", in which he made you a mom...but its left less time for other activities.

"stung" - sex pollen/abo. reader gets bitten by an anomaly causing a reaction that only miguel can cure

"amor y respeto" - he just can't love you the way you need to be. so you and miguel break up...at the worst possible time.

"exclusive" - you and miguel are fuckbuddies. you want more, but miguel can't bring himself to give it to you. so you find company in hobie, who's there for you in all the ways that you need. miguel's not happy about that.

"canary" - you're a singer in the 1920s who's fallen in with the dangerous o'hara brothers.

"grande" - sex!worker miguel x assistant!reader. think...a pepper x tony kinda dynamic. except, miguel doesn't take kindly to certain slights. :)

@starfxkrinc : last but certainly not least! moony is a ridiculously talented writer and a mutal of mine. i found her early on during my resurgence on here. this is her new side blog (rip lovesickbrat and starfxkr!!) luckily she was able to salvage a lot of her past works and is back like she never left. i recommend her "western nights" series (really just the trailer park!jj tag in general) and her "ode to eaters" au. a queen of all things taboo. she does it for the girls who are drawn to the dark and scary. the gross and weird. <3

#lari's fic recs #dark!rafe x reader #dark!rafe cameron #dark!steve rogers #dark!steve rogers x reader #dark!peter parker #dark!peter parker x reader #dark!jj maybank #dark!jj maybank x reader #dark!ethan landry #dark!ethan landry x reader #dark!ransom drysdale #dark!random drysdale x reader #miguel x reader #miguel o'hara x reader #rafe x reader #jj x reader #rafe cameron x reader #jj maybank x reader

2K notes · View notes

letsgoletsgetit08 · 2 months ago

Text

two is better than one

summary: Yunho walks in on you and your boyfriend, Mingi. Where things go next is beyond your wildest dreams.

warnings/tags: MDNI!, 18+, explicit, smut, free use, head pushing, creampie, unprotected sex (it's safe here, but please use protection!), threesome, spanking, light dom/sub, au non-famous, mingi is a pussy king

pairing: dom!song mingi x sub!fem!reader x dom!jeong yunho

author's note: Yungi is living in my brain rent free lately. I want two boyfriends and I want my boyfriends to be boyfriends and

ao3 link: two is better than one

word count: 4.2k

two is better than one

It wasn't the first time Mingi had picked you up and caged you in on the kitchen countertop. Situating himself between your open thighs, tongue quickly finding its way inside your parted lips, sparring with your own, breath coming in heavy. Soup on the stove turned to low, forgotten momentarily - the two of you had become very suddenly hungry for something else entirely during your dance party in the kitchen as dinner was cooking. A slow song had come on and your need had become palpable. A small gasp as he hoisted you up. You're tall, soft curves but athletic and he made you feel light as air.

His mouth moved to your neck as his hand found its way down the front of your satin pajama shorts, fingers swiping up your already wet folds, beginning their familiar dance with your throbbing clit.

You were both so absorbed in the moment that you hadn't heard the front door unlock, and therefore didn't stop when Mingi’s roommate, his best friend, Yunho, started to walk past the kitchen. You gasped when you saw him, his cheeks going red, but his gaze was unmistakable as he watched Mingi’s fingers begin to plunge inside of you, eyelids going heavy, the subconscious flick of his tongue across his bottom lip.

"Oh, sorry-" Yunho said after too long of a pause to be innocent.

Mingi didn't pull his fingers out, but slowed his hand, turning his head ever so slightly so he could see Yunho from behind him, pausing as he assessed the new tension in the room. Yunho turned to go, and a soft whimper escaped your mouth.

"Yunho." Mingi's voice was low, laced with a dark lust, "I don't think she wants you to go." His fingers resumed their ministrations as you watched Yunho's ears turn red, his right hand flexing by his side before he turned around to face you.

"Oh?" He said, still a little shy, but his demeanor was quickly changing in front of you as he began to approach, "And that's okay with you, Mingi?"

"Whatever my girl wants." Mingi growled, his thumb finding your clit as he beckoned his fingers inside of you. "Is that what you want, baby?" Mingi asked, lips ghosting over the tender skin of your neck.

You swallowed, "Is that... okay?"

Mingi laughed, his voice husky, "Angel, if I had been bothered by how I've seen Yunho look at you since we started dating, I would have said something by now." He pulled back, his expression going softer as he checked in with you, "Hey, you can say no, it's okay. If it were anyone else I wouldn't be down, but I trust Yunho." He said it so softly, just for the two of you to hear, that your anxiety quickly eased. He caught on quickly, "But if you want this," His hand started moving slowly again, "I think it would be very hot."

Yunho was devouring you with his eyes as this conversation happened. You would be lying if you said it hadn't crossed your mind. Mingi and Yunho were practically extensions of one another at this point. Nearly twins in height and build. Your hips bucked involuntarily at the thought of it, "Yes," You gasped as Mingi reacted immediately, his fingers resuming their original pace. "Fuck, yes. I want this."

Yunho was there in three long strides, sidling up beside Mingi, your hand coming to his waist in greeting as his hand came up to carress your face.

"Hi there." He breathed, his thumb tracing gently across your bottom lip, "God, you're even more stunning up close."

You tried to respond, the words, "Thank y-" falling into a moan as Mingi added another finger, no longer just trying to get you off for fun in the kitchen, you realized, but prepping you to take him. Or Yunho. Or both.

"Mmh, is Mingi making you feel so good, honey?" Yunho's other hand found its way underneath your shirt, knuckles grazing your nipples through your lace bralette.

You gasped at the sensation, but couldn't quite answer. Mingi pulled off of your neck, "Don't be rude, baby. Answer Yunho like a good girl."

"Y-yes-" You inhaled sharply as Yunho rolled your nipple between his long, deft fingers - fingers attached to beautiful hands you had admired on more than one occasion, clocking them to be the same size as Mingi’s.

"What a good girl." Yunho growled into your ear, "Can I kiss those pretty lips now?"

"God, yes, Yunho, please." You all but begged, barely getting the words out before his lips were on yours. It was a different sensation than you were accustomed to with Mingi, more gentle, taking his time to explore before they became more urgent, is tongue licking across the seam of your lips, moaning in satisfaction as you allowed him inside. You pulled back to warn Mingi, "I'm so close-"

He kissed your cheek, "You can come when Yunho tells you to, cutie."

A look you had never seen before - possessive and domineering - passed over Yunho's face as he smiled, "You think you can be good and do that for me, sweetheart?"

"Yes, sir." You tried the formal title, just testing it out. Mingi didn't care for it, preferring hearing his own name, but based on how Yunho moaned quietly at your words, you surmised it was the right move.

"Such good manners, y/n." Yunho whispered, lips grazing across your jawline as both hands occupied your breasts, kneading them softly as you fucked Mingi’s hand, "You've trained her well, Mingi."

Mingi hummed, "Mmh, barely had to, she has always been so sweet for me." His free hand found the back of your neck, providing stability as you were becoming weak to their touch.

Yunho tweaked your nipples, making you gasp. He was loving this so much, "Well, then I think she deserves a reward, don't you?" He nipped your earlobe lightly with his teeth.

Mingi added more pressure right where you needed it, "Yes, definitely. I wanna see my baby's pretty face when you tell her to come on my hand."

"Please, Yunho." You begged, sweat beading on your forehead, so close to the edge, walls quivering as you threatened to fall apart.

"Very well," Yunho pinched your nipples once more, "Go ahead and come for me, darling."

His words were all you needed, not knowing whose name to say as you clenched around Mingi's fingers, settling on a near-delirious cry of pleasure instead.

"That's my good girl." Mingi praised as he worked you through it before removing his fingers.

"So responsive," Yunho took Mingi’s hand - the one that had just been inside you - into his own, guiding it up to his lips, "Can't wait to hear it again when you're coming on my cock." He didn't let you respond before he was sucking Mingi’s fingers into his mouth, licking them clean of your essence. Mingi moaned at the sensation and heat curled in your abdomen as you watched them. "Mmh," Yunho pulled off, "I don't know how you ever keep your hands off her, Mingi."

"I don't." Mingi laughed. You smiled at how true it was. You found it impossible to keep from touching one another, and most days ended with Mingi’s head between your legs at minimum. He was a bit of a fiend. But you liked it. You had given him free access to you months ago, making your IUD work overtime with his insatiable appetite and propensity for finishing inside.

“I'm lucky.” You preened.

Mingi and Yunho corrected you at the same time, "I'm lucky.” “He's lucky.”

The three of you couldn't help but laugh and you felt yourself feeling extremely fond of your boyfriend and his best friend.

Yunho's eyes turned darker once again as his hands found your waist, looking at Mingi to ask, ��Bedroom?”

Mingi nodded, his gaze taking in every inch of you, “Let's go.”

You were about to hop down off the counter but before you could even move an inch, Yunho was tossing you over his shoulder like a sack of flour, arms wrapped around the backs of your thighs, pinning them to his chest.

“Mmh,” Mingi grabbed a handful of your partially exposed ass cheek as it was now eye level up by Yunho's head, “I could get used to this sight.”

Yunho placed you gently onto the middle of Mingi’s bed. The two of them looked at each other, standing close by the side of the bed, then turning to look at you, Mingi speaking first, “Do you think we should give her a little show?”

Yunho smiled, reaching for the hem of Mingi’s shirt, highlighting what the man had meant, “Whatever your princess wants.”

“Yes, please.” You simpered from your spot on the bed.

You wondered briefly if they had done this before, and judging by the way Yunho grazed his fingers over Mingi’s hip bones, looking like he knew exactly the reaction it would elicit, you assumed they had. Yunho pulled Mingi’s shirt over his head, kissing down his neck as Mingi reached for his shirt in turn. Pants were next, then they finally gave you what you wanted, the thing causing you to soak through your already wet underwear, closing the distance as their mouths fell on one another's. It was almost lewd how they licked at one another, messy and so fucking hot. You whimpered pathetically, wanting to touch yourself so badly at the sight of them making out in only their underwear, which were tented with matching massive erections. You had assumed Yunho was packing but the confirmation had your hands twitching towards your inner thigh instinctively. Mingi caught you from the corner of his eye, pulling back from Yunho's embrace, “Aw, my poor baby.” He removed his boxers and crawled into bed behind you, “Come here, Yunho, our sweet little y/n needs some attention.”

Our. The word made your breath hitch. The implication that this could turn into something more permanent drove you wild with desire. Both of them. Mingi was more than enough, better than you had ever dreamed, all on his own. But if Yunho was interested and Mingi was open… you had to push the thought from your mind as Yunho finally revealed his beautiful flushed cock - maybe slightly longer than Mingi’s, but it was splitting hairs - and crawled into bed, situating himself between your thighs, finally removing your shorts and underwear as Mingi released you of your shirt, laying down beside you so he could kiss you and tend to your pert nipples with his mouth as Yunho's head plunged down between your bent knees, no fanfare needed as he started making out with your slick folds, his tongue lavishing your dripping hole before moving up to suck on your pounding clit. He came up for air, “Fuck, you taste incredible, honey.”

His face was glistening with your arousal and you felt your hips buck absentmindedly at the sight of it, “Thank you, Yuyu.” You smiled coyly, feeling yourself blush at the compliment. His eyelids fluttered at the nickname.

Mingi's mouth popped off of your breast, “Show her what your fingers feel like, Yunho.”

“My pleasure.” He kept his eyes on yours as his graceful fingers began toying with your aching clit before slipping down and diving into your eager cunt.

“Fuck, Yunho-yah!” You cried.

He was already working your clit with his tongue again, humming in amusement to your reaction.

Mingi watched your eyebrows knit together in pleasure, fingers skimming your face to remove the sweaty strands that had fallen onto it, clearly entertained at the knowledge that you weren't far from releasing. “Yunho, I know she tastes amazing, but I think she wants the real thing, don't you, jagi?”

“Yes, god, yes, please Yungi.” You had combined their names on accident in your altered state.

“‘Yungi'” Mingi chuckled, quoting you, fond as ever, “That's cute.” He reached backwards, grabbing the lube (the edible kind, of course) out of his bedside table drawer, “You just got tested, right, Yunho? My baby likes to take it raw.”

“I did, I'm clean. I can pull it up on my phone if you want-” Yunho offered but you cut him off.

“No, I trust you, please just fuck me, Yunho-yah. I need you inside so bad.” You were begging but it didn’t cross your mind at all to feel embarrassed about it, especially given how hungry Yunho looked when he heard you whine his name.

He applied the lube Mingi handed him. Not that you really needed it, but he was quite large, so you wouldn't say no to a little extra help.

“Gonna fuck you so full, sweetie.” He stroked his leaking cock as he positioned it at your entrance, “Can't wait to see it leak out of you.” He started pushing inside, the stretch felt almost overwhelming but you let yourself relax into it.

“Then I'm gonna fuck it right back into you.” Mingi added, lips skimming your jawline, laughing softly as he saw your eyes roll back at the sensation, “Look at you, peach. Taking him so well.”

Yunho finally seated himself fully, buried to the hilt, unable to resist rocking his hips immediately, “Fucking hell, honey. You feel amazing. So goddamn tight.” He glanced up at Mingi, “How do you not cum immediately every time? Jesus Christ.”

Mingi chuckled, “Lots of practice.” His fingers traced down your flank and over to your clit, “Just wait until you feel her come on your cock. You'll never want anyone else again.”

Your back arched off the bed as Yunho's movements gained momentum, gasping as he damn near hit your cervix. “Mmh, what was that, kitten? Does someone like it rough?”

Mingi’s fingers matched Yunho's pace, “I could answer that for you but I think y/n should tell you.” He gave you a look that you read easily as him asking if you were still okay. You answered them both at the same time, “Yes, you can be a little rough with me. Please, Yunho.” Your hips bucked, matching his motion, “Put me in my place. Spank me if you want. Use me.”

Yunho's pace picked up some more, “Fucking hell. Safe word?”

“Rosemary.” You and Mingi answered at the same time.

And without any further ado, Yunho pulled out, flipped you to your stomach, hitched your hips up so you were on your knees, and took you from behind all in one go. Mingi had to readjust slightly, kneeling in front of you instead, so your head wasn’t bumping into his. He pet your hair lovingly, “So lovely like this, baby.”

“Why don’t you say thank you for the compliment by letting Mingi fuck that pretty pout of yours, darling?” Yunho’s cock was filling you so perfectly, dragging along your walls everywhere you needed him. You couldn’t manage anything more than a whimper in response.

Yunho tsked, “I asked you a question, y/n.” His palm came down sharp, leaving a slight sting on your ass cheek. Your ass was nothing to scoff at, one of your best features, especially if you asked Mingi (and he was one to talk), but you couldn’t help but notice just how many square inches of skin were stinging from Yunho’s large hand.

“I’m sorry,” You whined, lost in the sensation, “I’m sorry, sir.” You glanced down at your boyfriend’s delectable cock, a shiny pearl of precum sitting at the tip, begging to be licked up, “Yes, please let me taste you, Mingi.”

Yunho leaned forward, grabbing your hair into his fist and guiding your head down, “Open wide, princess.”

You were glad for all of the throat training Mingi had been doing with you as you began to swallow him down, licking all his sensitive spots as you went. “Mmh, god, your mouth was made for me, wasn’t it, baby?”

You hummed in acknowledgement, gagging slightly as you felt him hit your soft palate.

Another sharp spank, “Sorry, I wasn’t spanking you for gagging, I just couldn’t resist. I don’t think you realize how hot it is when your ass jiggles like that.”

You almost laughed at his words, it was funny, with him having been so calm, collected, and dominant just a minute ago, you were reminded that at the end of the day, he's still just a horny 20-something year old man.

Mingi’s hips bucked, bringing you back into the moment, “Look at you, baby. Taking both of us so well.”

Yunho began fucking you genuinely then, his hand helping guide your head up and down Mingi’s length as the two of them did their best to match each other’s rhythm.

Yunho’s other hand found its way around your front, toying deliberately with your clit. You whined at the sensation and it sent them both reeling.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum. Let go of Mingi so I can hear you scream my name, jagi. He needs to finish inside this pretty pussy anyways.”

Mingi pulled out and Yunho let go of your hair, moving his hand to your throat instead, his fingers loose but still possessive.

“Yunho, I’m so close-” You managed.

“Come with me,” His fingers picked up in speed, matching the pistoning of his hips, “Fuck, y/n-”

His hips stilled, cock quivering inside you as he pumped you so full that the excess spilled out around him. The sensation drove you over the edge, too, your walls clenching around him, milking him absolutely dry, calling out, “Yunho-yah!” Just as promised.

“Oh, that’s my good girl.” Mingi praised you as he watched, halfheartedly stroking himself.

Yunho steeled himself after he worked you through your orgasm, pulling out and falling to the bed beside you rather than collapsing on your back, which you were grateful for as you laid back down, muscles spent from being in that position.

“Holy hell.” Yunho panted, “I might be an addict.”

Mingi chuckled as he moved from behind you, laying on your other side, “Join the club,” He kissed your temple, “You got one more in you, baby? You know I hate to stop before three.” He turned your head towards his face, kissing you sweetly on the mouth, mumbling on your lips, “Wanna clean up Yunho’s mess and then fuck it right back into you, sweetheart.”

You were nearly spent, but you craved your boyfriend so bad you thought you might cry, “Yes, please, Mingi. I want you.”

Mingi maneuvered himself so he was bracing on top of you, kissing down your neck, “Plus, Yunho didn’t get to see your face when you came and he’s really missing out.”

Yunho kissed your cheek, “Can’t wait to see how good Mingi makes you feel.”

Mingi kissed his way down your torso before you finally felt his tongue begin to lap up Yunho’s cum from your drenched core. “Mmh, you taste amazing even mixed with him.” Mingi praised before resuming the task at hand. His tongue was slow, almost lazy. Not focused on bringing you an orgasm so much as it was just exploring you, despite the fact that you knew he had you mapped out very well. Your hips started to rock slowly as his tongue fucked your tight hole, his nose providing the perfect amount of pressure on your clit.

He pulled off and sat up, reaching down to apply lube to his achingly hard cock. You knew he wouldn’t last long, not after practically being edged earlier, but you were glad for the lube anyhow, especially given how hard Yunho had fucked you with his massive dick.

Yunho’s hands traced lazy patterns over your expanse of skin, kissing you anywhere he could reach, almost absentmindedly, clearly just enjoying taking in the view.

Mingi pressed in slowly, not having to do much as your cunt sucked him in with practiced ease. He let out a low moan, “Fuck, yes. There’s my girl. You were made for me. Take me so well.”

“Feel so good, Mingi.” You sighed, your hips matching his pace perfectly, a dance you had danced together many times. He pressed your knees towards your chest, folding you in half to get the exact angle he knew you needed and so he could kiss you while he fucked into your sweet spot.

Yunho’s fingers found your clit once more, helping you along as you and Mingi careened towards your releases. The sound your bodies made due to how wet you were was downright pornographic.

“Mingi,” You moaned, “Gonna come, baby.”

You knew he was close, too, knowing well the look on his face as he watched himself spear you over and over again. He looked up to meet your eyes, “Go ahead, baby. Let me have it.”

This orgasm rolled over you slowly. Warm waves of pleasure rocking through your body. Incomprehensible pleasure, full head-to-toe shivers, your hands grabbing on to whatever they could reach, one on Mingi’s waist, the other on Yunho’s thigh.

“Goddamn.” Yunho was mesmerized as he watched you, “You’re otherworldly.”

“She’s perfect.” Mingi grunted, hips bucking a few more times to ensure you had enough stimulation to give you a nice prolonged peak, finally letting himself go as he felt your aftershocks slow. “Fuck, y/n, baby-”

“Mmh, Mingi-” You loved how he felt when he came inside you. Filling you with warmth as he spilled his seed deep inside. The twitch of his cock against your walls at his release. It was heaven.

“Feel better now that you’ve been bred by both of us, honey?”

You knew you couldn’t get pregnant, but the thought of it - being claimed by both of them in that way, was so goddamn hot to you. “Yes, sir. Thank you. S’ good.” You could barely make words come out of your mouth. Completely spent.

Mingi pulled out, falling back to his spot beside you on the bed, caressing your face with his hand, “That’s our good girl.”

“Mmh,” You hummed happily, “‘Our’ girl.”

Yunho chuckled, “I think she likes that.”

Mingi kissed your cheek, “She can have whatever she wants as long as she’s mine. I wouldn’t share her with anyone else, though.”

“No, only Yuyu.” You sighed, reaching blindly for contact with him.

“Only Yungi for our girl.” Mingi recalled the name you had coined accidentally earlier.

Yunho kissed your temple, “Our girl.”

After lots of cuddling and sweet talking to one another, you remembered the soup from earlier and given that you were all spent and starved, you dressed and filed into the kitchen to eat it.

Somewhat out of the blue, Mingi looked at you and said what was on his mind, “Y/n. Move in with us.”

Yunho perked up, “I love that idea.”

“That wouldn’t be… too much?” Your cheeks flushed, embarrassed by how excited the thought made you.

“No, baby, it would be perfect. Your lease is up next month anyway, right?” Mingi knew he was right.

“It is.” You nodded.

“We’d love to have you. And not just for the sex.” Yunho smiled, “I, for one, really like you as a person. And obviously Mingi does, too.”

“I love my baby as a person.” Mingi corrected him.

“Plus, you practically live here already.” Yunho laughed.

You didn’t have to think about it. Really, you had been hoping Mingi would offer soon as your lease end date approached. “Okay, yeah. If you’re sure, I’d love to.”

“Will we be including Yunho in our… arrangements?” Mingi quirked an eyebrow at you, smile tugging at the corner of his pretty plush lips, “You can think about it, of course.”

“What arrangements?” Yunho looked between the two of you.

You felt your cheeks go red, “Um, we have a free use agreement.”

“Free use?” Yunho wasn’t quite understanding.

Mingi cleared his throat, “There’s finer details we’ve worked out, but basically I’m allowed to take, use, fuck - whatever verbiage you want to use - y/n any time I want her without needing to ask. She of course can stop me any time, it’s not like a rape kink or anything.”

“It’s just kinda hot knowing it could happen any time and it takes the anxiety out of it for me, weirdly enough.” You hid your face in your hands, feeling bashful all of the sudden.

Yunho’s hand reached over and stroked your wrist, “Hey, no, don’t be embarrassed, cutie. I get it. It sounds hot as fuck. We can discuss it after you move in-”

“No.” You looked up at him, knowing already what your answer would be. You found it too hot to be at their mercy as it was, “I want it. If you’re both comfortable.” You swallowed at how aroused you were getting at the mere thought of it, “I want you both to be able to use me any time you want.”

Mingi looked at you with stars in his eyes, “How the hell did I get so lucky.”

“You took the words right out of my mouth.” Yunho gaped at you, practically salivating.

The three of you shared Mingi’s bed that night, not wanting to be away from one another quite yet. You awoke the next morning to Yunho’s face between your legs, pajama shorts pulled down your thighs, already having worked you halfway to an orgasm. Mingi stroking your chest lazily from beside you.

Two boyfriends were definitely better than one.

#ateez #ateez smut #ateez mingi #ateez yunho #ateez yungi #ateez kinky #ateez fanfic #freakteez #song mingi #jeong yunho #yungi #roommates #my best friend's best girl

1K notes · View notes

blindmagdalena · 7 months ago

Text

You Let Me Complicate You

18+ 4k homelander x f!reader. bickering, post-breakup sex, dubcon/coercion, angst, jealousy, emotional manipulation, implied murder, stalking, boundary smashing, breaking and entering, cunnilingus, penetrative sex. read on AO3. written as a follow-up to the breakup, but can be read as a standalone. gif credit.

Breaking up with Homelander is... complicated. After all, it is a god that loves you.

"What do I taste like?" You asked him once, drunk on pleasure and those early honeymoon days of loving him. He’d been slow to answer, thinking it over. "Love," he said at last. "Like you love me." You wonder if that holds true. If he can still taste love in you. If that’s why he’s so eager to devour you, or if the absence of it has made him even hungrier.

Homelander is an aberration.

Stronger than a hundred men, faster than a bullet and sharp as a tack all paired with a teaspoon’s depth of emotional maturity. He’s volatile, twisted, broken in ways no amount of therapy could ever hope to duct tape back together. He’s no better off than a dog that bites to kill. No matter how he got to this point, the best thing for him–for the world–would be to put him down by any means necessary.

Too bad you can’t seem to stop fucking him.

It’s late when you hear the front door open with a distinct crack. You’re sprawled out on the couch in the living room, one leg draped lazily over the armrest. What comes next is no surprise to you–a shock of primary colors filling the narrow doorway, a handsome face made ghoulish by the haunting light of the television in an otherwise dark room.

“You nailed the door shut,” Homelander says, the inflection of his voice somewhere between a question and a statement.

“Because you broke it,” you throw back, a stale Twizzler balanced between your lips. It had tasted good enough when you started eating it, but now–in his presence–the sweetness of it has turned sour.

“You changed the locks,” he says with a light shrug, cape swaying as he meanders towards you. “My key didn’t work.”

“Your key? Stealing a key to my house does not make it your key,” you say tersely, lifting your foot to press it firmly to his thigh, stopping him in his tracks.

He glances down, a mirthless smile tugging at the corner of his mouth before he catches your ankle in his gloved hand, yanking you down the couch so suddenly you lose your Twizzler to the floor with a gasp. It’s one thing to know that Homelander has strength enough to throw cars like frisbees. It’s another to feel it. It sends a rush of adrenaline through you like a jolt, followed swiftly by something hotter low in your naval.

“Y’know, I’ve been thinking,” he begins, dropping your ankle. He lifts his knee and slots it between your legs, his opposite boot on the floor, his hand braced on the back of the couch, pinning you in place.

“Don’t hurt yourself,” you cut in dryly, moving to shift up the couch, away from him. He snatches your shoulder, halting you with ease. His thumb strokes your skin idly, goosebumps erupting beneath his touch.

“And I’ve realized that this whole… thing between you and I, this ‘will they, won’t they,’ ” he says, bobbing his head side to side. “It’s getting stale. Don’t you think it’s about time we progressed the plot?” He asks, leaning in close.

You brace your hand against his chest, holding him in place as ineffectually as you did earlier. You both know it’s all a game. It’s all pretense. There had been fondness between you once–love, even–but you’re done with that now. You have to be done with it, or Homelander will swallow you whole. He’s a black pit, a murderer, and his need knows no end. He’ll destroy you and everything you know and love if he thinks it’ll satiate that need.

You’ve lost enough. You can’t afford to lose any more of yourself to him.

“Jesus Christ, you even think in TV script,” you say, pushing on his chest. He leans back, but not by much. It sends a terrible little chill down your spine. “I’m starting to think the only thing that might actually kill you is an original thought.”

His eyes narrow and his bright white teeth flash predatorily in the darkness. “You’re lucky I haven’t broken your neck,” he says, hand slipping from your shoulder to your throat. The sharp press of his thumb into your windpipe steals your breath, makes your thighs tighten on either side of his leg snug between yours. His lips split into an unkind grin. “Or maybe not. You’d probably like that.”

“You’re disgusting,” you spit, gripping his wrist with your other hand. Your pulse is starting to throb against the leather of his glove. He moves his thumb from your windpipe to your jaw and turns your head away, leaning in with a deep, pointed inhale along your neck.

“Is that why your hormones are going haywire? Because I disgust you?” He asks, grinding his thigh between your legs in a way that makes you gasp. “Y’know, given how full of it you are, I was sure I’d smell the bullshit on you. But all I smell… is how fucking wet you are.”

He grabs your hip and the memories come to you like muscle memory. How good it feels to be gripped and fucked and loved by someone beyond your comprehension. To feel as if you’ve stopped the world turning and called the sun itself to shine on you alone.

You twist your chin out of his grip and level him with a heated stare. “I hate you,” you hiss, grasping for the knife you know will twist the deepest.

It works for a second, his smug expression faltering, but only for an instant. His jaw sets, and his lips curl into that same unkind smile. “C’mon, babe,” he coos, the intimate familiarity woven into that pet name making your skin crawl. “We both know that I can always tell when you’re lying.”

He kisses you like he always has. Like you belong to him. In a way, you suppose you always will. There’s nothing you can do to pry your throat from Homelander’s jaws. Nowhere you can run that he won’t eventually find you. Like quicksand, the more you fight, the tighter he clamps down. Truth be told, though, that isn’t the worst of it. The worst of it is that the tighter he grips you, the less you want to fight him.

His tongue slithers into your mouth like a serpent into the garden and you bite down hard. While pliant between your teeth, the flesh doesn’t yield. It never will. He never will. Instead he moans a little chuckle that fades into a rumble against your lips.

“That how it’s gonna be?” He asks, the words rasped into your mouth. “Y’wanna bite and claw? Play hard to get?” He laughs, the sound of it reedy and light, like it’s all a silly little game of make-believe. “I can do that.”

He reeks of his own desperation for what he says to be true. More than anything, he wants to dress up his desires as yours. He wants to believe he’s giving you what you want. That way, he can trick himself into believing you need him.

He bites the middle tip of his glove and tugs it off with his teeth, tossing it aside. His bare thumb brushes your lip, smearing his spit and yours. “I saw you with that fucking loser,” he says, the airiness suddenly gone from his voice.

Your stomach drops. Two days ago you’d been with a man. You’d been so desperate to forget him that night that anyone would have done the job. You stumbled out with some nobody from the bar who’d been good enough for a sloppy makeout session in the back of his truck, but not good enough to bring home. It hadn’t ended well.

How close of an eye is Homelander keeping on you?

“I’d be angry if it hadn’t been so fuckin’ pathetic,” he says through his teeth.

“Liar,” you say tightly. You feel his fury in the tension of his body. He’s pissed that you’d seek this out anywhere else. As if he still has a claim over your body. Your pleasure.

His eyes flash up to yours. He sneers, pushing his thumb between your lips. “I watched you bite his lip until he bled. I watched him slap you,” he says, dragging the pad of his thumb along the ridges of your bottom teeth. The memories come to you as he speaks them, every moment of it made bleary by alcohol. “You wanted it rough, but he couldn’t handle you, could he? Because you’re used to something better. You’re used to a god.”

You sneer right back at him, yanking your head to the side, his thumb slipping from between your lips. “Could you be any more in love with yourself? Go fuck yours-”

“I still had to kill him, of course,” he continues nonchalantly, grinding your thoughts to a screeching halt. He laughs humorlessly. “For kissing you. And, well–for everything else, obviously. Slapping you,” he says, brushing his knuckles down your cheek. The same one the man had struck. “Humping your leg like a fucking dog.”

“Why are you doing this?” You ask, throat tight. Bile burns at the back of it. All you wanted was to get away from this. The blood, the horror of it. Yet no matter what you do to dissuade him, he brings death to your doorstep. “You have everything. You could have anyone. Why are you–”

“Because I want you,” he hisses, words so sharp his sharp teeth snap together. “Because I love you, and that’s what you do when you love someone,” he says. You can feel the accusation building in his words. “You don’t give up on them. And if that means cleaning up every dirty little mistake you make,” he says softly, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “So be it.”

A cold shiver rolls down your spine. You stare woundedly at him, lips parted, brows pinched together, the misery of it all etched into every line of your face. He stares at you in turn, and after a beat, his own hard expression softens.

“Hey, hey,” he says, the heat of his breath a ghostly kiss on your lips. “It’s okay,” he says, brushing the tip of your nose with his. “I forgive you.”

He kisses you again, more tender now. Your eyes prickle with tears. His gentleness hurts so much more than his violence. It disarms you, carries you to a time when things were simpler between you. Sweeter and warmer.

Homelander makes the world feel wonderful and dangerous, like standing in the middle of an electric storm. Being loved by him is the feeling of having your ribs cracked open, your heart cradled in his bare hands, possessive and bloody. What had been thrilling grew stifling, a feeling you realize now never truly went away.

He’s inescapable, literally and figuratively. Even when he isn’t inviting himself into your home or lurking in the periphery of your vision, Vought’s hero is plastered on every billboard and screen in the city. You haven't been able to breathe without inhaling the thick miasma of him.

Tears roll down to your temples as you kiss him back, both hands fisted in his soft hair, tugging. He makes a pleased little sound against your lips, teeth grazing your bottom lip. He’s always kissed like a man possessed–like every brush of your lips is a drop of salvation–but the hunger he’s developed since you tried to leave him is unparalleled. He kisses you like he means to devour you whole.

You bite back a sob, but the hiccuped noise of it catches his attention nonetheless. He breaks from you, looking down at you with a feverish mix of yearning, impatience and something that almost resembles pity, which might be the closest thing he knows to sympathy.

“Hey,” he coos, dusting your jaw with feather light kisses. “Don’t cry.”

“It’s awful,” you choke out.

“What is?”

“Your love.”

“I know,” he says after a prolonged pause. “It’s all I know.”

You look at him, the image of him bleary through your tears. There’s a morose resignation in his ocean-storm eyes, a distance that makes him seem far, far away from you, even as you taste the heat of his breath on your lips.

Focus returns to his gaze, and suddenly he’s present again. “It’s all I know,” he says again, his tone made of wood, stiff and splintering.

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you lift your palm to his cheek, hovering just shy of touching. He’s pulled to it like a magnet, nuzzling into your palm, eyes closing. His hand slides down the familiar slopes of your body, settling at your hip, where his fingertips sink in like claws, the pressure of them shy. For as vicious as things have gotten between you, he’s never hurt you. A fact he lords over you as if he should be applauded for it.

I love you more than anything. You know that, right? That I would never do anything to hurt you? He’d asked you during that first fight. When everything went wrong.

You’d only been able to nod then, trapped with a man you didn’t recognize wearing the face of the man you loved.

That’s right. Of course you do. Because if I wanted to hurt you, I would have. It would have been easy, huh?

Despite how desperately you’ve tried to fortify yourself against him, it’s still so easy.

Homelander is an aberration, but so too is he a man, and there was a time when the man was all that you saw. When the monster at the core of him reared its head, bloody and unrepentant, that became all you could see in him. Now, the two are so irrevocably tangled in the sinew of the other, you’re never sure which you’re looking at.

“I miss you,” you confess to the man in him, voice so soft only his ears possibly could have discerned the words. As if you can hide the words from the monster lurking behind if you speak them quietly enough.

He looks as confused as your own aching heart. “I’m here,” he says, everything in his tone willing you to believe it. He doesn’t understand that you miss who he was before you knew what he was.

A mournful noise swells in your chest, but he kisses you before it can escape. “I’m here,” he says again, the hand at your hip turning into a fist in the fabric of your clothes, tearing them at the seams. “I’ll make you feel better,” he says between presses of his lips, hungry and rushing, like he can outspeed your miserable grief. “Let me make you feel good.”

Sex has always been an avenue of redemption for Homelander. Whether he’s frustrated, anxious, wounded or a combination of them all, he’s sought to remedy it through a good orgasm. He treats you as though the notion should hold true for you: the fight doesn’t count so long as he makes you come.

Yet again, you’re left stricken by him. As you have a dozen times before, all you can do is nod. Deep in your core, you know he’s right. He can make you forget this horrible ache in yourself, the grief and the fear. He can take you away to the dream you’d lived before you met the beast in his shadow.

Coherent thought turns to water slipping between the cracks of your mind as Homelander’s bare fingers brush your inner thigh. You suck in a sharp breath that leaves you as a shudder and you clutch at his collar, twisting the fabric, unsure if you mean to push him away or pull him closer.

Homelander makes the choice for you, closing the distance and kissing you too gently, too sweetly. You spur him with your teeth, needing it faster, harder. Needing it to hurt just enough to not feel entirely right. He ignores your prompt, focused wholly on tasting you, on sliding his fingers up into the waiting warmth between your thighs. He presses the pad of his middle finger to your clit, deft and familiar.

You sigh, closing your eyes, ready to lose yourself to the feel of something good. He slides serpentine down your body, kissing you through your shirt, nipping at your skin through the fabric for the way it makes you jump. His lips trail down until they pass the hem of your shirt, finding where he’s stripped you. His mouth is unbearably warm, breath hot huffs on your bare skin, goosebumps erupting everywhere.

He mouths at your hip, sucks the skin dark before trailing further down, leaving a constellation with his lips. The scorching wet heat of his tongue feels like a brand on your clit, replacing his hand with his mouth.

You thread your fingers into his hair, widening the spread of your legs to allow for the way he shoulders under and between them, lifting your lower half. He nuzzles into the nectary sweetness of you, moaning unabashedly for your familiar taste.

What do I taste like? You asked him once, drunk on pleasure and those early honeymoon days of loving him. Everything about him fascinated you; did his super smell lend itself to super taste? Could he pick out each note of you, dissect your profile into sections?

He’d been slow to answer, thinking it over.

Love, he said at last. Like you love me.

You wonder if that holds true. If he can still taste love in you, if that’s why he’s so eager to devour you, or if the absence of it has made him even hungrier. If he plunges his tongue to the core of you in the hopes he might discover lingering shreds of what the two of you once had.

A moan escapes you. His fingers bite into your thighs, tongue coaxing more. Restraint dissipating, you tighten your grip on his hair and tug, grinding hard against his mouth. He knows the stepping stones of your pleasure as well as you know yourself, knowing just when to suck, when to lick. He’s more relentless than any other man could hope to be, never needing to stop for breath, never succumbing to aching muscles. He maintains a pace that sends you careening so viciously towards release, you give a choking gasp when it hits you, your head thrown back against the couch as euphoric relief rolls through you in waves.

Homelander shrugs out from under your trembling thighs, his mouth slick and shining, eyes predator wide. You’re both panting, silently gauging the other. You’re first to break the standoff, his hunger infectious. You climb onto your knees and grab his shoulders, pushing his back to the couch, straddling him. He keens when you kiss him, an addictive sound that gives you a deceptive sense of power.

He murmurs your name in fervent repetition, dragging his mouth along your skin, inhaling you like a drug. You unbuckle his belt with the ease of experience, unzip his pants and slip your hand inside. Curling your fingers around his cock, you find it already hard and dripping in anticipation.

“Anything you want,” he breathes, the words coming between the prayer-like recitation of your name. “Money, diamonds, anything, I’ll make you a queen,” he says, eyelids fluttering at your touch. He pledges these things like an act of devotion, but you recognize this Faustian bargain for what it is. It will cost you your heart and soul.

“I’ll make you a god,” he moans at a particularly deft twist of your wrist.

Making you come will have to be enough for now.

“Fuck me,” you tell him breathlessly. “The way I like it.”

Like flipping a switch, the dazed pleasure in his eyes sharpens. The corners of his mouth tug, his upper lip twitches, eager tension slipping into his touch as his hands slide up your thighs, grasping your hips. His fingers sink in tight enough to bruise, despite the gentleness of his touch. The immeasurable power lurking within his unassuming frame is a novelty that never wears off, a thrill that shocks you to your core no matter how many times you experience it.

Like a vicious storm, he’s beautiful and terrible in equal measure. Caught in the eye of his maelstrom, the only thing left for you to do is weather him.

He guides you down onto his cock in one slow, agonizing pull. Even with his spit and your orgasm easing the way, it’s too much all at once. Relishing the aching burn of being split apart by him, you make a noise that gives him pause. You don’t let him stop. You brace your hands on his shoulders and lift off of him almost entirely before sinking back down deeper than you had before, wringing a moan from him in turn.

Homelander’s fingers dig securely into your back as your bodies slot together and find an old, familiar rhythm. By now he knows exactly the angle to take to best pleasure you. You let out a shaky sigh at the warmth that spreads through you, the pressure of your climax building, his heat sinking into you like the light of the sun itself.

You’re used to a god.

You cup his face and kiss him. You bite his lip until you should taste blood. You dig your nails into his skin so hard your knuckles ache. If he notices it, he’s only pleased by it.

“I’d move heaven and hell for you,” he swears between kisses, ripping the shirt from your body. The cool air hits your damp, hot skin like a shock.

“I don’t want them,” you say, voice catching on one of his sharp and sudden thrusts. He’s close. You can feel it in the tightness of his muscles, in the erratic, merciless way he drives into you.

“Doesn’t matter,” he says, voice reedy, tight. He kisses down your chest, scrapes his teeth over the swell of your breasts. “They’re yours. It’s all yours. I’m yours.”

Those words should hit you like a prison sentence, but they don’t.

They make you come.

Homelander holds you tightly as he, too, breaks into pieces, filling you with light and heat. He chokes more promises against your skin, kisses the salt from your skin and licks it greedily from his lips. You spin in place in his arms, dizzy on your own orgasm, riding out the aftershocks with his cock throbbing against the quiver of your cunt.

For a long while there’s nothing but the sound of your breaths and the distant din of the television. The tremors wracking your body gradually fade, and the chill of the open air begins to set in.

Homelander holds you tight as the sweat on your skin cools. He kisses a trail from your neck to your shoulder, nuzzling there before he rests his head down, face tucked into the crook of your neck. You feel wrung dry, eyelids heavy. You card your fingers absently through his hair, body boneless against his. Your eyes ache from crying, but you don’t mind it. Strung out like this, the aches left in the wake of pain and pleasure both feel equally good.

“It’s late,” he says warmly, a smile in his tone. He sounds lovesick, the way you both did once upon a time. Back then, you thought you knew every dark corner of his insatiable heart. “We should sleep.”

“Okay,” you agree, voice frayed. He lifts you gingerly from his lap, adjusting to cradle your naked body to his chest. Despite how Homelander unspools himself before you, you’re always the one left reduced. Bare and vulnerable both physically and emotionally. You slip your arms around his neck as he stands, resting your head on his shoulder.

“I could take you to the tower,” he whispers, sending a chill down your spine. “My bed’s bigger.”

“No,” you say, remembering a door you cannot reach, no matter how many times you grasp for it, and the god’s hands that sent you spinning. He’s already so capable of turning your home into a prison. You’re not sure you’d ever escape his penthouse. “I want mine.”

Perhaps the most terrible fact of all is that Homelander is neither a god nor a monster.

He is simply a man without limitation.

“Sure,” he says, kissing your cheek. The touch lingers, dripping with his adoration. “Anything you want.”

So long as it includes him.

#homelander x reader #homelander x you #homelander fanfiction #x reader #my writing #yandere x reader #dark fic

3K notes · View notes

moonchild1 · 1 year ago

Text

jeon jungkook fic rec list (Ⅸ)

hi everyone wow it's really been a while and i'm on list 9 already damnnn that's alot and list 10 is like half way complete already... soooo you might notice a change in the set up this time around i liked how it looked on my ao3 list so i added it here as well, i absolutely love this list like i've gone over this list a million times it's filled with alot of fics i was absolutely obsessed with, you know how attached i get to the characters and this list holds quite a few of them too so i hope you enjoy reading them as much as i did and you fall for them too... remember to give lots of love to the authors of these fics they are absolute geniuses and deserve all the respect and love in this world for creating these beautiful fics and sharing it with us so be sure to give them a follow, like and reblog or even leave a little comment i'm 100% percent sure it would mean alot to them 🥺🖤 also as these fics contain smut no under minors allowed/interact... if you would like to share some of your favourites or just wanna ramble about fics you love send me an ask i love hearing from you guys and happy reading everyone till next time ✨🖤

a- angst s- smut f-fluff

series

dreamcatchers by @ggukcangetit f a

↬ DI Jeon didn’t need a new partner. Unfortunately, his superiors felt otherwise; especially considering the extremely high-profile murder that had just taken place in the port city. Recent transfer, DI Choi Yuri finds herself confronted with a new cityscape, unfamiliar people, a hostile partner, and a homicide that is certain to bring back unpleasant memories.

block party by @minlucent f s a

↬ moving into your new apartment brings back memories of your biggest mistake. neighbours au e2l

a little bit of your heart by @yoongiofmine f s a ft. myg

↬ you had everything you could ever dream of; the career of your dreams as a music producer, the best friends you could ever wish for, and a exes-turned-friends-turned-fuck-buddies relationship with min yoongi. you knew you and yoongi would never move past that and you were okay with it. Until a friend from your past comes back into your life, offering to give you everything you deserve, everything yoongi couldn’t. Will jungkook show you what you’ve been missing? Or will the new guy threaten yoongi enough to do something about it?

lost stars by @/yoongiofmine f s a

↬ Jungkook was lost. He didn’t know who he was anymore, so he decided to leave and find himself. But he wasn’t expecting to find you along the way, an island girl who has no idea who he is. Jungkook has a secret. But so do you. idol au s2l

secrets we keep by @/yoongiofmine f s a

↬ Being a camgirl was never your main goal in life, but when the pandemic hit and you lost your job, you were desperate. Now, two years later, the world is back to normal and you are one of the top creators of OnlyChingu; the South Korean version of OnlyFans. A website where idols hide behind anonymous profiles in search of that connection they lost during lockdown. Jungkook was never into this type of stuff. Until he ran into you. He knows you’re his perfect girl, his ideal type. Will he be able to put his own insecurities aside when chasing you? Or will you let the secrets you keep ruin you? idol au

i hate you, i love you by @jungblue s a

↬ You hated him at seven, warmed up to him at twelve, and liked him at fifteen. Now the two of you are twenty years old and inseparable best friends… and you’re absolutely in love with him; he’s in love too—just not with you.

fatal attraction by @jungcock s a ft. kth

↬ your dangerous ex-boyfriend comes back to haunt you in more ways than one. exes au serial killer thriller

pub golf by @taleasnewastime f s

↬ One night. One stupidly hot man, who just keeps appearing in every pub you go to. Six friends. Nine pubs. Nine drinks. Ten million stupid rules. Let the chaos begin. s2l

animal by @cutaepatootie f s a

↬ boxer jungkook au ANGST

things you don't know by @btsgotjams27 a

↬ It’s been seven years since you last saw the boy that broke your heart. After moving back home, you try everything you can to avoid seeing him around town, but destiny has a wicked way of doing the opposite.

entangled by @caelesjjk f s a ft. kth

↬ Jeon Jungkook is Spider-Man. He saved your life twice. But he’s also been your sweet lab partner in college for the past two years and now someone who is more than just a friend. You care about him…maybe even love him. But something tells you that you aren’t quite sure what love even is. How could you when you have feelings for someone else as well? Kim Taehyung is the handsome stranger you’ve seen around campus and somehow ended up dancing with at Club Onyx. You were upset that Jungkook had stood you up once again and Taehyung made you feel like you were on top of the world. What you didn’t know that night, is the dark secret Taehyung is trying desperately to hide, but the closer the two of you get the more difficult that becomes.

when the end comes by @oddinary4bts f s a

↬ Seven years after you've started dating Jungkook, long distance creates a wedge in your relationship. When the only solution seems to be breaking up, you go your separate ways even though love still lives in the two of you. Will you find a way back together, or has the end come for you and Jeon Jungkook?

new girl by @jjkeverlast f s a

↬ after finding out your boyfriend of 6 years cheated on you, you find yourself moving in with three guys in a loft. what could possibly go wrong?

horizon by @/sokooks f s a

↬ The way you approached life had started to break down Jungkook's emotional barriers. Jungkook couldn't deny that he was drawn to you in a way that was entirely new and unfamiliar. You had become more than just an assignment; you had become someone he genuinely cared about. It was the way you made him feel. With you, he felt more human than he had in a long time. Despite his best efforts to remain detached, his heart had other plans. angel au

searching for nirvana by @/sokooks f s a

↬ he shouldn't be here. he shouldn't be touching you the way he was- but he was here before him. he was your friend, not him. he knew your body, not him. he wanted to be the only one to touch you the way you liked. he he wanted you to remember that. despite the fact that he already had someone waiting for him. best friends au cheating au.

twelve hours by @whatifyoulivelikethat s a

↬ you have twelve hours to make jeon jungkook fall in love with you. he's about to get married. you're the entertainment at his bachelor party - a burlesque dancer. long ago, he used to be the class representative and you used to be the class delinquent. nothing has changed and, yet, everything has.

when it all... by @7deadlysinsfics f a

↬ what’s there to do when your husband says he thinks he doesn’t love you anymore? you pick up the broken pieces the best you can and try to move on

better than me ? by @/7deadlysinsfics f s a

↬ jungkook is clear on what you both are to each other. still, he doesn’t want you to think anyone else is better than him

our first and our last by @thedefinitionofbts f a ft ot7

↬ The first time you met Jeon Jungkook was on your tenth birthday. On that day, he was nothing more than the strange man who jumped into a dark portal that suddenly opened in the middle of the park. The ten year old you just stood in the grass, strands of hair ruffling from the calm breeze that swooped by; head slightly tilted, bright, innocent eyes wide open and staring at him with wonder and disbelief. There was a certain amount of confusion, but your young mind was too naïve to question his actions or what they entailed. soulmate au

dancer in the dark by @gwoongi f s a

↬ Money can’t buy you happiness. Jeongguk, for the longest time, thinks he’s happy. Truthfully, Jeongguk doesn’t know what happiness is until you find him. rockstar au

together by @httpjeon f s a ft.pjm

↬domestic!au, couple!au, stoner!au, gamer!au

hot bot by @/httpjeon f s

↬ purchasing a Hot Bot wasn’t exactly something you ever really planned on. when you do, however, it sends your life down a path of convoluted government schemes and dark secrets.

stardust by @iamtaekooked f

↬ You didn’t believe in soulmates until you lay your eyes on Jeon Jeongguk, the younger brother of your best friend’s husband. That is when you see the red string beginning encircled around your pinky and ending in his

serendipity by @rohobi f s a

↬ After you reveal your inexperienced sexual status to your best friend, Jungkook grapples with the news, startled by the idea that the girl he always thought could get anyone, is a virgin. After finding his porn at 3AM, you decide that maybe it’s about time to stain the white sheets of your world with the colors of a forbidden fruit Jungkook seems to have in the palm of his hands.

chasing shadows by @colormepurplex2 s a

↬ Your job gets you into trouble sometimes. Who would have thought crime journalism would put so many targets on your back? But, it’s happening again, someone’s threatening you. Only, this time, it’s not just you that’s in the crosshairs. Your best friend, Enola, is out on assignment and can’t help like she usually does. So, what does she do instead? She sends her brother, Jungkook, armed with a magic bag, a charming smile, and deductive reasoning skills that prove his worth as one of the best PI’s around.

I gasp once, and in that breath, I accept you in by @inkofyoonkoo f s a

↬ In which Jungkook arrives to your small town to spend the holidays, and you slowly let go of all the ghosts of your past. s2l fwb au

sweet nothing by @adonis-koo f s a

↬ Being a guest at the Jeon Estate after a mishap of being kidnapped and dragged into your brothers affairs isn’t all that bad. Truth be told it brings you a lot closer to the mobster and owner of the estate Jeon Jungkook himself. His two rules are simple, don’t cause trouble and don’t give him a hard time. Somehow you manage to constantly do both in the most endearing way despite being pregnant and waddling around most of the time.

three's a crowd by @/adonis-koo s a ft. jimin

↬ When your mom’s fairytale life begins to bleed over into your world you’re suddenly caught between two men and one big secret, what was supposed to be a relaxing trip soon begins to spiral out of control. All you wanted was a free vacation… ceo au

sleepwalking by @taexual f s a

↬ due to unfortunate circumstances, you ended up managing your ex-boyfriend’s band. you thought you’ve both made peace with it, but suddenly he’s very eager to prove to you that first love never dies.

empty space by @ahundredtimesover f s a

↬ It started as friendship, turned to a casual fuck, then ended in heartbreak. Turns out, he wasn’t who he said he was, and years later he enters your life again, forcing you to face all the emotions you’d been trying to bury.

OR Officer Jeon looks really hot in his uniform and you wish you didn’t hate him as much as you do.

as the world burns around us by @today-we-will-survive a

↬ You haven’t seen the sun in two years. The Virus wiped out a good three quarters of the world’s population and then the wars that followed wiped out half of that. After everything happened, it was only a matter of time before the different countries started blaming each other and emptied their nuclear arsenals. You’re still surprised Seoul survived – if you can call what it has become “surviving”

hotter than hell by @chateautae f s a

↬ jungkook, lucifer and king of hell, has been cast out of the crimson underworld for a reason he’s unsure of. embarking on his journey for the answer should’ve been easy, if it weren’t for you, the human that nurses his wounded body in her home, and accidentally witnesses the truth of his identity. kickstarting a hellish adventure with the devil himself, you discover lucifer is the most infuriating company ever; and jungkook finds out that maybe his answer to returning home lies within his annoying human confidant.

to turn a bad thing good by @/chateautae f s a

↬ jungkook’s drunken one night stand goes awry when he comes to learn not only is he being forced into an arranged marriage, but it’s to the very girl he abandoned that night—and things get a lot more complicated when you’re the best hookup he’s ever had.

J’aime by @baepop f s a

↬ You’re the newest hire at a local café and head barista Jeon Jungkook takes you under his wing.

Written in the Stars by @/baepop f s a ft. kth

↬ You’re the girl of Jungkook’s dreams, literally. The only problem: you’re taken by his best friend

make me forget by @roseannekook f s a

↬ You are the lead vocalist and main dancer of your company’s first girl group, but on the fourth promotion of your debut song things don’t go as planned. At the brink of an uprising scandal, you seek refuge in the bathroom stalls…and find it in the arms of no one else but BTS’ golden maknae Jeon Jungkook.

one of your girls by @ggukiepie s a ft. pjm

↬ fwb au college au fuck boy au inspired by the song

boy in luv by @/ggukiepie f s a

↬ just two idiot best friends in l*ve college!au, bff!jk, athlete!jk, student council president oc, cheerleader!oc

the boy who left by @/gujoonim a

↬ As your eyes staring deeply into your possible client-to-be’s eyes, something crossed your mind, it was that pair of eyes that you were looking for when you being abandoned at the aisle on your wedding day. ceo au

love sewn by @jvnghxope s a

↬ You’ve never cared about the thin-as-paper walls of your beloved apartment until Jeon Jungkook moved next door. You could hear everything –from his late-night parties on Saturday, to the quality time he spent with his girlfriend in the intimacy of his bedroom. One day, everything ceases. Days turn into weeks, weeks turn into months and you find yourself knocking his door before you can think it twice.

not yet by f s @bratkook f s a

↬ jungkook feels the pang of guilt in his gut when you spot your recent ex out with his new girl, and what better way to make the jerk hurt than to have him believe you were now dating him, the neighbor he had been insecure about your whole relationship.

one shot

blazes of deceit by @periminkle f a

↬ when the opportunity to finally venture past the stone walls you’ve grown up in presents itself, you jump at the chance to discover the origin of those mysterious lights—even if the trip comes with a harsh truth and a suspicious, yet undoubtedly attractive, tour guide. tangled au disney au

southpaw by @starshapedkookie f s a

↬ Knowing Jeon Jungkook for the better part of your life, you thought you knew everything about him. Well, that was before you two disappeared from each other’s lives at least. When Jungkook suddenly finds himself buying you a coffee to rekindle your friendship, it leads to much more than you bargained for.

house of cards by @jeonggukingdom s a

↬ What does safe mean when you are chased by zombies, when every corner you turn could be the last one for you? What do words like home and future mean when you’re always on the run and every moment could be your last? They mean nothing and everything at the same time and Jeongguk is all of the above. He is your safe haven, he is your home and he is your future. But things like that crumble easily in your world.

enouement by @littlemisskookie s a

↬ War is Hell, but it’s what you had to do to take your brother’s place. Of course, between the days of Hell are little slices of Heaven you’d call your Captain, Jeon Jungkook. mulan au disney au

miss taken by @junghelioseok f s

↬you pride yourself on being a professional, but sometimes your students' parents really test your patience. single parent dilfjk jk e2l

the ex text by @shadowkoo f s a

↬ The 2 AM texts have started again. It’s a bittersweet familiarity that you can’t run away from, and despite wishing to forget him: no one will ever measure up to the exceptional standard set by your ex, and you’ll never have anyone as good as him either. Like a permanent mark on your heart, Jungkook’s presence has become an insatiable craving, an addiction you'll never outgrow or cast aside.

the proposal by @hansolmates f s a

↬Jeon’s the editor-in-chief for Big Hit Publishings, a closet romantic with a penchant for antagonizing his assistant on the reg. When his work visa is in the process of being renewed and he takes a trip to Norway, his eligibility to stay in America is on the line. However Jeon Jungkook doesn’t go without a fight, and in order to save his job he offers you a proposal you can't refuse. based on the movie the proposal e2l

red and gold by @/thedefinitionofbts f s

↬It’s no secret that genius, billionaire, international playboy, and philanthropist- Jeon Jungkook, better known as the CEO of Jeon Industries-and even better known as Iron Man, is one of the most intelligent, wealthy, and powerful men in the world. There’s nothing that can get to him or his ego, that is, until you happen to show up and give him a run for his money.

burning bright by @snackhobi s

↬there are no secrets in the drift. if jungkook were to see the mess inside your head and heart, laid utterly bare, he’d turn away from you. based on the movie pacific rim

but we loved young by @jl-micasea-fics s a

↬Jungkook is everything you’re not, the ying to your yang. Your tight knit friendship nurtured from childhood survived the major life events that most don’t, and to that end, you suppose you’re fated to be together, until unrequited longing is eventually noticed, and boundaries are forever crossed.

the shoulder on which you cry by @lemonjoonah f s a ft. knj

↬ after moving away from your hometown five years ago, you’ve struggled on every return. each trip back being made out of haste due to an unfortunate event in your life. namjoon has always been there to help you through those moments. but when he can’t be there to support you during your current trip home, jungkook offers to stay by your side and be the comfort you need.

illusion of choice by @hobibliophile f s a

↬ You’ve grown up with the Jeons, Jungmin and Jungkook, for as long as you can remember, your parents being very close. But little did you know that this is because you are in fact arranged to be married to the Jeon heir, Jungmin. However, a tragedy causes Jungkook to take up his brother’s mantle, and that includes becoming your fiancé.

the blue princess and her red rose by @/cutaepatootie f s a

↬ After all, he was her red rose, while she was just another one of the many blue roses that grew in the dying gardens of Greyria. princess au

rigor mortis by @readyplayerhobi f s a

↬ A night out at a bar results in you going home with a young and attractive police officer. But if you think the night was something to remember, that’s nothing compared to waking up to find a zombie outbreak in the city. A chance encounter with Officer Jeon leads to him helping you escape from the plague infested city.

lowkey by @joonbird s

↬ Jungkook is the nude model for your art school’s life drawing class.

part-time lover by @sketchguk f s a

↬there is no crime more perfect than marrying jeon jeongguk. your relationship is nothing more than a ruse - while your friends pester you for being perpetually single, jeongguk desperately needs a wife to complete the pristine image of a family, fooling his way through the parent interview at the nation’s most prestigious private school. only time will tell how deep your lies will run as you find home in one another’s minds. because untangled in the moonlight, he is but a spy, exposing a secret world of corruption, and you, an assassin, ridding the streets of danger one hit at a time.

sweet apple biscuits by @rosaetae a

↬ a story about someone who receives letters from themselves ten years in the future and asks them to fix all their regrets and save a particular boy. inspired by the anime 'orange'

i'll be home by @wwilloww f s a ft.knj

↬ When your first love, Jungkook, disappeared from your village five years ago, no one thought he would return, let alone on the night of your betrothal to another man.

white lies by @noteguk f s a

↬ in which Jungkook lies his way out of and into trouble. But he can’t tell white lies when it comes to you.

yes coach by @/taleanewastime s

↬ You play in a local netball team and as a new season starts you have a new coach. Enter Jungkook, he may look soft, but he turns out to be a hard taskmaster, one who ruffles your feathers when he makes some changes to the team. Tensions grow between you through the weeks, until they finally reach breaking point.

spf 50 by @gimmeyoon f s

↬ If you have to spend your summer home from college working a job you hate, it might as well include sitting by the pool with Jungkook. Now if only kids could stop vomiting in it.

fifth wish by @jiminrings f a

↬ jeon jungkook, world-class socialite and nepotism baby, should be out every night to celebrate while he’s at his prime. why should he fake-date his bodyguard instead? alternatively, jungkook regularly throws coins to wishing wells with only one desire in mind — to get rid of you.

blacklisted by @/httpjeon s a ft. kth

↬after departing from your dom, you’re assigned to two incredibly powerful men.

↬looking for other jjk fics or the other members check out my library

5K notes · View notes

mountainsandmayhem · 1 month ago

Text

BDSMaid - Chapter 7

Series Summary: After recently graduating you take what is supposed to be a job to save money before you go back to university to get your law degree. Your best friend offers you a job cleaning luxury homes for clients you’ll never know. Easy. Simple. Mundane. Until one of your clients is home and everything you felt was missing in your life starts to fall into place. This goes against the NDA you signed and you could get fired. Or worse, you could fall in love.

CW: 18+ MDNI. In order to avoid spoilers, all tags are under the cut in small red lettering. Reader does have some body descriptions so more of an oc than female reader.

AN: I am not the least bit sorry for the ending 😉

Word Count: 8k

Series Masterlist | My Masterlist | AO3

TW: open door smut scenes, unprotected P in V. Cream pie. Squirting. Use of nipple clamps. Oral (female receiving). Fingering (anal and vaginal). Ass play. Use of nicknames (good girl, sweet girl). Pussy and dick pronouns. Joel having a filthy mouth.

You

Holy shit, I just fucked Joel Miller.

The thought rattles around your brain over and over, as if the more you say the more real it will feel, but you’re still floating, still up in the clouds even though you’re firmly tucked against Joel's side. Your head rests in his chest, rising and falling with the quick rhythm of this breathing. Your eyes flick down to his beautiful cock; it’s standing straight up, ready whenever you are, as you both try to slow your heartbeats and breathing. You nestle your body tighter to the warm, solid wall of a man beside you, wrapping a leg around his. He slides his fingers up and down your spine. As you lay in silence your mind races.

“Just call me Joel”.

There are almost too many things bouncing around your head, making it hard to focus on only one. Does he love me? When I tell him what I've decided with college, will he think I’m staying in Austin because of this? Aren’t I staying in Austin because of this? How else do I explain it? What about my friends? I don’t want to keep this a secret anymore; is this worth losing my job over? What if this is all part of his plan? Sleep with me and then use it as a reason to end our dom/sub relationship? Is this even a dom/sub relationship anymore?

Anxiety and worry start to buzz through your veins. The sight of soft belly and rock hard cock blurs. You slam your eyes shut, the unknown starting to overwhelm you. Sucking in a big breath, you try to break the vice grip that’s starting to tighten around on your lungs and throat.

“Are you ok?” Joel says softly.

“Ya,” you nod as his free hand that's been tucked under his head comes to your chin and tilts it up. The moment you’re engulfed by his soft chocolate brown eyes, your brain stops. Quiet washes over you. You’re safe here, you’ve always been safe here. Rolling over, you perch yourself on his leg and hip, chin resting on the tops of your hands as they lay on his chest. You can feel his heart beating strong and steady under your hands. That’s what you need: consistent stability. No, not need, deserve.

Joel removes the golden clip from your hair. “Freckles, I probably should have said this before, but this isn’t what I normally do with my subs, and I’m…”

His eyes dance around yours as he pauses. You can see a million emotions happening at once, all of them mirrored in yours. Fear. Happiness. Confusion. Anxiety. Vulnerability. But mostly, love. You finish the sentence for him.

“I’m pretty sure we aren’t just a dom and a sub, Joel. I don’t know if we ever have been.”

I love you.

With that, he pulls himself up, stuffing some pillows so he can lean comfortably against the headboard. You follow, and he guides you to straddle his lap, his cock pressed between your bodies. The air between you feels thick with emotion. Both of you look at the other, your shallow breaths in sync before both of you snap and dive in. The kiss is hungry and desperate. There’s probably a million things you both could say, but in this moment, the kiss is enough.

“I’m never going to get enough of you,” he moans as your lips trail his jawline.

“Good,” you hum, sliding your hips up to drag your pussy along his length. You’ve slept with a handful of men before Joel, but it’s never been this passionate with anyone else. You just had each other, yet here you both are, acting like it’s been years since you’ve touched. His head falls back, a sigh passing his parted lips as you kiss down his neck.

“Fuck that feels good, sweet girl.” His hands tighten along your hips. Joel is always so concerned with your pleasure and needs, so for now, or for as long as he’ll let you, you spend time focusing on him. You kiss every inch of him that you can reach: his neck and shoulders, his collarbone and ear lobes, all while softly grinding against his cock. Every moan and gasp from his lips has you growing wetter.

You drag your slippery pussy up his cock, both of you completely coated in your arousal. Joel lifts you to hover above his cock. “Need to feel you wrapped around me again. Please, sweet girl.”

You capture the sound of him begging with your lips, snake a hand in between your bodies, and guide the tip of his bare cock inside of yourself. You shudder and whimper at the delicious stretch of him. “Oh god.”

“This pussy,” he coos, and the sound of his weakness at the feel of you has the muscles behind your navel tightening. Your lips find his again as you slowly work yourself down his cock. “That’s my girl, nice and slow.”

You rock and grind, sliding him in further, your body writhing as you take inch by tortuous inch. As your hips finally come into contact with his, you still your movements and relax into the feeling of him at this new angle. Joel is definitely big, not in a scary romance novel kind of way, but bigger and thicker than you’ve been with. “Joel,” you mew, the vowels of his name lasting longer than they should and you tuck your head into his neck.

“It’s all you, baby girl. Just sit on him if you need to, fuck.” He kisses your shoulder, hands moving to the globes of your ass. “Tell me how it feels.”

“F-full,” you whine into his skin.

“What else, my sweet girl?”

“You’re so big, J-Joel. I can feel you everywhere. I - I need, oh my god.” You grind your hips forward slightly, the cool metal of his piercing sending a shockwave through your clit and up your spine. “More. I need more.”

“Just take it, baby. I’m yours.” He rasps between kisses along your shoulder and neck.

You pull back, your face mere inches from him. He’s everywhere all at once and the painful stretch of your cunt around his cock starts to become an intense burning pleasure with each flick of your hips.

“Suck on my nipples,” you gasp, leaning back slightly. The shiny silver ring in his pelvis presses harder against your clit, and now, not only are you madly in love with Joel Miller, you’re also so fucking addicted that not even a twelve step program could fix you.

He obeys your wishes, sucking your right nipple into his warm mouth roughly and swirling his tongue as your hips grind back and forth once, twice, three times. He moans against your skin, moving his hands up your body to cup both your breasts. “Harder, please Joel, harder.”

Your movements become less fluid; your clit aches with every brush against his piercing. The muscles behind your navel start to feel like they’re going to snap. He moves to the other nipple, meeting it with his teeth, but it’s still not enough.

“Harder,” you beg.

“Do you need clamps, baby?” Of course this man would know what you need; he’s never not known what you need.

“Yes, god yes. I need more.”

“Can you reach the top drawer of the nightstand?” You nod, then push his sweaty curls away from his forehead. He raises an eyebrow and you reach into the drawer, pulling out a small set of gold nipple clamps. “Good girl. Now, can you reach my hat at the end of the bed?”

You press your lips into a thin line to stop your smile and nod excitedly. He winks and you turn your upper body the other way and stretch to reach his hat. As soon as you place it on his head you feel the sharp pressure of the clamp on your left nipple. The pain heightens the feeling of him inside of you and a high pitched whine leaves your throat.

“Fuck, please, Joel. Please.”

As he places the second clamp he says, “You don’t even know what you’re begging for, do you?”

A mix between a whimper and a whine passes your lips in response and your lashes flutter shut. “That’s what I thought. Just as long as I keep myself deep in this tight little pussy, you’ll be happy. Won’t you?”

The second clamp evens out the pain and sends a wave of adrenaline through your system. You pick up the speed of your hips. His piercing bumps against your clit, the pleasure coursing through your veins mixed with the burning pinch on your nipples is almost all the ingredients you need to fall over the edge.

“You’re doing so well for me, sweet girl. Wish you could see how good you look right now.” Joel moves his hands back to your ass, pulling you forward in time with the pace you’ve set.

“I love - Joel, oh my god.” You want to tell him how much you love the feeling of him inside of you, how much you love the words he says and the praise he gives, but you aren’t capable of forming sentences with the way his piercing teases at your clit. All you can do is let your forehead fall to his shoulder, your eyes squeezing tighter.

“Love what, huh?” He whispers deeply into your ear. “The feeling of my bare cock so deep inside of you that you can feel it in your stomach? Or the way my piercing feels against your swollen clit? Or maybe you love the pain of the clamps on your nipples as you ride me? Huh? Is that what you love, baby?” You make a gasping whining sound of agreement.

“Look at me,” he adds. It takes all of your strength to sit back up and open your eyes. When he comes into focus you’re overcome with desire. He’s so much more than you could ever imagine in his new black cowboy hat, pupils blown wide with passion, and cheeks flushed a light pink. “Good girl, keep your eyes on me. I want to see it in your eyes when you come on my cock.”

Your hips slow, but you push your clit harder against his pelvis, and you blurt the first thought you have. “You’re so fucking beautiful, Joel.”

A smile tug of his cheek reveals the boyish dimple you love so much. You slide your hands from his shoulders to the short hair at the nape of his neck. You’re close, so very close. “Come with me, I’m so close,” you whimper.

“I know, Freckles. Fuck, I can feel it.” He doesn’t take his eyes off yours, but the flex of his jaw tells you he’s holding back for you. “Squeezin’ me so tight. Fuck, can feel her fluttering, listen to how wet you are.”��

You reach back and grab his wrist, squeezing it gently, “Spank me.”

“Christ, sweet girl.”

You release his wrist, and without looking away he spanks you hard and you are launched into your orgasm. His face lights up with admiration as you chant a mixture of his name and ‘oh god’. You grind frantically into his piercing, your clit practically vibrating at the attention.

“That’s it baby. Good, fuck, I’m gonna, good girl. Don’t stop, fuck, don’t stop.” He slaps your ass again and that same familiar pooling of liquid starts to build.

“More,” you cry and he spanks you again.

You feel the gush of your cum, and Joel takes over as you’re consumed by pleasure. His strong hands grip your hips, moving you at a slower pace. “There she goes, such a messy little pussy.”

You peel your eyes away from him, looking down at the way his piercing presses against your clit when your bodies meet. “Fill me,” you moan.

“Fuck - oh fuck, sweet girl.” Your orgasm starts to fade and you tug at the hair you can reach.

“Fill me, Joel. I want to feel you leaking out of me for days.�� You aren’t sure where this version of yourself has come from. Just weeks ago you wandered around JMKink all wide-eyed and nervous, and now you’re saying words that you never thought you could.

Joel lets out a mix between a growl and a moan and you feel his cock harden before it jerks inside of you, hot ropes of his cum filling you like you asked. He moans your name, stilling your hips in his hands as his orgasm washes over him. “God, you feel so good.”

The two of you gasp for breath, your head falls back and you close your eyes, trying to slow your heart beat. Joel removes the nipple clamps and you cry out just as he places light kisses along them. “Ouch,” you whimper.

“I know,” he says, moving to kiss the other one. “Taking them off is the worst part. I’m sorry, sweet girl.”

When he pulls back to look at you again your body goes limp and you fall into his chest, head tucked into the crook of his neck. “Need a minute,” you murmur.

He pulls the blanket from the other side of the bed and wraps it around the two of you. “Good, because I’m not ready to let you go yet.” His lips caress your hairline softly, one hand on your back under the blanket, the other playing with your hair.

I love you.

After a few moments of blissfully content silence you wince at the pinch in your hip. “I gotta get up, I’m sorry.”

He laughs gently into your hair, and pulls back the blanket before helping you slide off his softened cock. You both look at the mess you’ve made on his lap and you let out a mischievous giggle.

“Don’t even think about it, Freckles. I need nourishment before you take advantage of me again.” He says jokingly.

“Well, I guess this is what I get for fucking around with an old man,” you laugh, flopping down on the bed beside him.

Joel moves quickly, slipping two thick fingers inside of you easily and you squirm at the feeling. You suck in a huge breath, like you’re about to swim to the bottom of a deep pool. Tears start to burn behind your eyes as overstimulation makes it almost impossible to breathe, nevermind being able to tell him to stop.

His voice is a gravel filled growl, “That right, little girl? Because from what I can tell, you’re about to beg me to stop, so be careful who you call old.”

Heat flushes your skin, pleasure building, yet when your tired pussy flutters around his strong digits a loud, pained cry fills the room. You’re not willing to admit defeat as you force your lungs to suck in a breath.

“I’m not.”

“No?” He pumps his fingers harder against your sensitive g-spot. “Don’t wanna use that safe word?”

Can’t. Fuck, I might actually die if I come again again. You never imagined yourself debating if you wanted another orgasm. A cold sweat coats your lower back as you arch off the bed, a sob leaving your throat.

“How’s that feel? Wanna come again?”

You shake your head and moan in disagreement.

“You sure? She wants to, I can feel it.” He pumps his fingers forward again.

“M-mister Miller. No.” As you swallow down the scream that’s inching its way up from your lungs he watches your throat like a starved wolf.

“Safeword,” he commands.

“Steg-“ you don’t even say the full word and he’s slipping his fingers out of you with a lewd squelching sound. “Thank you.”

“Are you okay?” He says softly, his dom mask gone as his eyebrows knit in concern.

“Yes,” you say with a quiet laugh. “I was close to coming again, but….”

He gives you a thigh lipped smile, “Sore?”

You nod as he continues, “Food, then shower, then we can come back here,” he says deeply before he slips his two fingers in his mouth, cleaning off the mixture of the two of you.

I fucking love you, Joel Miller.

Joel

The small crack of light in the curtains wakes him. His alarm clock shows 7:18 am; he can’t remember the last time he slept past six am, but he also can’t remember the last time he stayed up until two in the morning. He rolls slowly, careful not to disturb you in the cocoon of blankets you’ve created in the night. The top of your head and one foot is the only thing visible, your slow, quiet breathing filling the room.

So fucking cute.

He pulls on a pair of black pajama pants and adjusts the curtains to keep the room dark before slipping downstairs. The morning sun reflects off the gold in the marble, basking his kitchen in warm fire light. His eyes glance around the kitchen, a dirty frying pan sits in the sink from the grilled cheese sandwiches he made you both last night, the kitchen stool still pulled out from where you sat. A smile pulls at his cheeks, his cock stirring as he remembers the rest of the evening.

The two of you ate your sandwiches; all you had on was one of his t-shirts, and he was wearing the pants he’s in now. After you both finished eating, he grunted as he came over to help you off the stool. You made another joke about him being old. Slipping in and out of dom mode is almost too easy around you. Without missing a beat, he made you clean the cum that had leaked out of you off the stool with your tongue, then spanked you until more cum dripped down your legs and onto the floor. He didn’t even have to tell you what to do, all he did was glance at the floor then at you with a raised brow. His sweet girl got down on her hands and knees and cleaned up. He praised you the entire time and then took you upstairs to shower; not that it did much good, because he fucked you from behind the moment the two of you got back into his bed. Joel hasn’t fucked someone back-to-back like that in years, but you have him feeling like he’s in his twenties again.

He pulls the jar of imported coffee beans from the cupboard and grinds them, reflecting upon how easy it was to just sit with you. As you ate, you both laughed and joked about whatever came to mind. He made fun of you for asking for ketchup to dip your sandwich in, then you poked fun back by eating the sandwich with one pinky up once you realized it wasn’t just processed bread and cheese.

As he tamps the freshly ground beans into the basket he realizes just how lonely he has been. He’s always been surrounded by people and enjoyed coming home to his quiet solitude of a house, but now? He smiles sadly to himself. This is really going to hurt.

He places the basket in the machine and as it brews he gets your beans in the grinder and then grabs the milk to steam and froth. He adds the milk to his cup and then starts on yours just as he hears a very soft ‘Good Morning’ from behind him.

He looks over his shoulder as you wrap your arms around his middle, placing a kiss on his bare spine. It shoots right to his heart and he holds it there, desperate to keep this love he’s feeling, love he knows is on a timeline.

“Good morning, sweet girl. Coffee?”

“Mmm, yes please.”

He rubs at your arms around his stomach. “How does bacon and eggs sound?”

The soft warmth of your cheek rests on his back as he steams your milk, your espresso almost done. “You actually use the kitchen?”

“Used it last night, didn’t I?”

“Yea,” you reply, “but I’ve never seen you have actual food in your fridge. Cleaning it is always on your list, but aside from milk there’s never been anything in it.”

“That’s not entirely true,” he says.

“You’re right, once there was just a single long stemmed red rose.” The rose he got you for your birthday.

“So you’re saying you don’t want surprise long stemmed roses?”

You gasp dramatically behind him and then wiggle under his arm. He laughs, adjusting his grip on the milk and coffee cup to pour the milk just right, creating a heart on the top of your latte and then holding it in front of you. He watches the little smile that curves your lips. “Thank you, Joel.”

He kisses your forehead before you both part. His eyes trail from your face, down your body that’s draped in one of his black t-shirts brushing the top of your bare thighs. “Breakfast?”

You nod, wrapping both your hands around your coffee cup and inhaling. “What can I do to help?”

“Nothing. Get that cute little ass on one of those stools,” he spins you and pats at your butt gently, a giggle escaping your throat as you wander around the island to sit.

Joel gathers what he needs for breakfast, and after a few heartbeats you break the silence. “Can I ask you a question?”

He glances over at you, “We’ve been through this. You don’t need to ask permission, just ask.”

“Well, it’s about the hat.”

“Ah,” he says softly, starting one of the gas burners to heat the cast iron pan for the bacon. “You can ask anything you’d like, baby.”

“I just wasn’t expecting that sort of reaction.”

“That’s not a question,” he says jokingly.

You let out an amused sound that’s part giggle, part snort. “What’s the history behind the black cowboy hat?”

He clears his throat, moving around the kitchen the entire time he speaks. “I grew up on a small ranch outside of Austin. My grandparents’ ranch. Me and Tommy lived there with our mom. My grandma gave us both our first cowboy hats; mine was a black Stetson with a black satin liner. I wore that hat all the time. It brought me comfort for whatever reason, or maybe it was confidence in those awkward adolescent years. Whatever it was, it sort of became a part of who I was as a teenager. One night, in my senior year, after winning our baseball state championship I went to a party, with my hat on, of course…that’s, umm, that’s where I met her.”

He watches you take a sip of your coffee, eyes soft. “Tiffany, my…my wife. That’s where I met her. My grandpa always said that I’d feel a tug, like a pull behind my belly button, and it did. When I went to talk to her she took my hat and put it on her head and…I just knew. That hat, well, I wore it for her from then on.”

“Where’s the hat now?” You say, looking shyly up at him.

He turns back the stove, swallowing the dry lump in his throat and flips the bacon before cracking the eggs in the second pan. His voice is low. “When she passed away it just felt right to send the hat with her. I couldn’t let her go alone.”

The eggs sizzle as he flips them. “How old were you when that happened?”

“Young,” he says, then looks back over at you. “About twenty three or twenty four.”

He scoops two eggs and a few pieces of bacon on each plate and then walks around to the stool beside you. “I’m sorry that happened, Joel.”

He places a light kiss on your forehead, sliding the plate in front of you. “Me too, baby. Thank you.”

Joel sits on the stool next to yours but that still isn’t close enough for him. He grabs the leg of your stool and pulls you tight to his side. The moment your shoulder makes contact with his arm he feels more at ease. Talking about Tiffany isn’t so painful anymore.

“So it’s just been you and your daughter since then? You didn’t want to remarry?” He watched the way your lips purse to blow on your fork full of eggs before he answers.

“I wasn’t opposed to remarrying. Sarah used to try to set me up with her friends' moms when she was kid. But, I never felt that pull like I did with Tiff. I focused all of my time on Sarah and building my construction firm.“

It feels almost too comfortable to talk to you as he continues between bites. “I just kept waiting for that pull again. Then my career took off; I went from building homes to mansions, and then eventually apartment complexes. I didn’t have time to even look for a partner.”

“Is that when you got into BDSM?” You ask, nibbling on your bacon.

“Ya, I met Cap…”

“Cap?” You interrupt, looking at him with wide eyes. “Like the sweet man with the grey hair and kind blue eyes who drives me around?”

“Yes, same Cap. He taught me almost everything about being a Dom.”

You shake your head in disbelief. “He’s so soft and kind.”

“Am I not soft and kind?” He says, placing a hand on his chest. You press a kiss to his cheek and he raises an eyebrow at you. “As I was saying, I met Cap through one of the trades we hired to run cable through a large apartment building. Spent a lot of hours with him and he eventually brought up how being a dom might be a good option for me and wouldn’t risk Sarah getting hurt through a break up.”

“Sarah is older than me, isn’t she?” You put your fork down and look up at him with concern.

He nods, “She is. Not by much, but she is. However, I recently learned that I was the campus DILF while she was in university.”

You snort a laugh beside him.

“She just wants me to be happy. I don’t know what I did right with that kid. She’s a doctor and just got accepted to a surgery fellowship in New York.”

As he finishes his last few bites, your soft, warm palm traces up and down his bare back slowly. “I’m sure you were, or are, an amazing dad.”

He smiles over at you as reality slams into him. You’re younger than his daughter. You’re going to want things that he’s already done and is too old to do again. And quite frankly, he doesn’t want to do it again. Biologically he cannot have any more kids, and he’s not looking to adopt. He’s done that part of his life.

One of his hands wraps around the back of your neck and his mind races as he lowers his face to yours. He’s sure you’re going to go to Berkeley, which will break his heart, but also means he can keep that pesky little secret he’s been keeping from you hidden. You finding out about that will ruin him.

You

Something shifts in Joel’s eyes before he kisses you, his tongue swiping against your lips, asking to let him in. You tilt your head, deepening the kiss, as the urge to show him just how much you need him takes over. You spin your body towards him, kissing him back at the pace he’s set. You could sit like this for hours, your lips fused to his, his tongue flicking sweetly against yours. Your hands roam along the muscle-lined skin of his arms, pressing your lips happily to his without any plans to break the kiss first.

After a few minutes, Joel pulls back, cupping your chin, his thumb caressing your bottom lip. “Speaking of university,” he prompts.

You take a slow deep breath in through your nose, trying to keep your face a neutral mask as all of your thoughts around school and Joel scream in your mind. He squeezes your hand reassuringly, “Come with me.”

As he leads you towards the stairs to the basement you say, “We should clean up.”

“Nah,” he starts leading you down the stairs, his voice light, “I have a cleaner coming this week.”

You jokingly hit his shoulder with a laugh as he walks down the stairs in front of you. The two of you settle into the plush couch. You cozy up into the corner of the sectional, him beside you. He pulls your feet onto his lap and then flips a blanket from the back of the couch over you.

“It’s gonna be Berkeley, right?” Joel’s voice is excited and curious, not disappointed. For a second you think he might not care in the way you think he does, until your eyes meet his. His eyes tell a whole damn story right now, more honey flecks than onyx shine your direction. They seem sad almost, or longing.

“Maybe. That was sort of my dream school but I don’t know anymore.”

His thumbs press into the arches of your feet and after wearing those ridiculous heels last night it feels delicious. “Your phone screen, which, by the way, I’m getting you a new phone. That screen is a hazard, and don’t bother arguing with me. But your Lock Screen is the beach.”

“I know,” you look down at your hands, picking at the pearly white polish.

“I want you to follow your dreams, sweet girl.”

“But that’s the thing, Joel. Becoming a lawyer is the dream. Either way, I will graduate as a lawyer, so…” The words die on your tongue and hang heavy between the two of you.

“Don’t pick based on me.” He says softly.

You scoff, immediately annoyed by his ego. Is that really what he thinks of you? That some man would come along and change everything you had planned. Didn’t he though?

You pull your feet from his lap, bending your knees up as if you’re building a wall between the two of you. “I’m not. I’m a grown woman who can, and does, make decisions for herself.”

“So then what’s the reason for giving up what was always your dream school for a law school here?”

You feel sick to your stomach. His singing last night, that wasn’t a proclamation of love to you. He was just singing a song that he knows and you almost changed your entire life’s trajectory for him.

No, you remind yourself, these are valid points. Joel or not, it makes sense to stay.

It doesn’t matter how you justify it to yourself in your mind, the annoyance that anyone would think you’d make a decision this huge for anyone but yourself doesn’t ease. You didn’t even consider your parents when you left for university, so why would he think you’d consider him when you’ve only known him a few weeks?

You try to keep the edge of frustration out of your voice as you respond. “It’s cheaper, for one. I also have a job that I could do once or twice a week if I stay here. I have a chosen family of friends who support and love me. There’s lots of reasons. And at the end of it all, I come out with a law degree.”

“Sweetheart,” he says softly, his fingers toying with the hem of the blanket. “I didn’t mean to make you feel like you had to defend yourself or your decisions.”

“You assumed I’d choose my future based on you.” You say, and it comes out a lot angrier than you intend. You rush an apology, “Sorry, I didn’t mean for that to sound so harsh.”

“You don’t have to be sorry,” his voice stays soft as he moves to rub the top of your foot under the blanket. You let him pull it back onto his lap, shortly followed by the other foot. “You’re making a big decision and I could see you working through your thoughts in the car last night. I just don’t want you to think you have to figure this out on your own. I’m here for you. I’m sorry, sweet girl. I was trying to let you know I’m here. I should have worded that differently to begin with.”

“Sorry,” you murmur, looking back down at your hands. You feel about two feet tall all of a sudden.

“Hey,” he squeezes at your calves and you look back up at him. “You have nothing to be sorry for. C’mere.”

You slide across the couch and he pulls you close, draping your legs over his and wrapping you in his arms. “I know Berkeley is more expensive, but you’d have more opportunities there, wouldn’t you?”

You shrug and lean into his touch. “Maybe, but I’d finish top of the class here, I don’t know where I’ll fit there. Plus, my friends. It’s weird, I’ve never been scared to leave somewhere before; not even when I was freshly eighteen and left my parents, but now I am.”

His strong hands rub along skin, desire beginning to flicker at your core. It’s only further ignited when he speaks again.

“Those are all very valid reasons and fears, sweet girl. We all feel that way about big change. Your friends will always be there for you, regardless of what state you decide to go to school in. I’ve only known you for a short time, and I can see how much this means to you. They’ve known you a lot longer, I can only imagine how proud of you they must be. You’re an amazing person and an incredibly hard worker. If anyone can do this, it’s you.”

“I’ll be in debt forever,” you say with a sigh, leaning back so you can see his face.

“You don’t have to be…”

“No, I’ll accept the phone, albeit begrudgingly, but I will not accept that.”

“We’ll see about that,” he says with a wink and a laugh as you roll your eyes.

Joel

The rest of the morning was spent laughing and talking. He asked about your first kiss, your favourite song, what you were most proud of so far. He filed away every single answer.

As the two of you cleaned up from breakfast he said, “So you never saw yourself having kids?”

“No. I saw myself fighting for others. I think based on my past that I’d be a great mother, just do the opposite of what my parents did, but that never interested me.”

His fears from earlier started to ease knowing that you didn’t want kids, and your views on marriage were so mature compared to what he usually heard.

He oiled the cast iron as you spoke. “I just need a partner. Someone who is on my side. I’ve been alone almost my entire life, and I can be happy alone. It’s not the company I need - it’s the support. Someone who can shut the world off. You know?”

He knew the moment he saw you that he could turn you into the perfect little submissive, his perfect submissive.

“Sounds like you need a partner who knows how to be a Dom,” he says with a wink, eyes roaming over your body in just that thin black t-shirt he gave you. He sees the switch in your eyes, desire blows your pupils wide, darkening your usually sparkling orbs. “Does my sweet girl need something?”

He watches your thighs squeeze together as you stand beside him. You hum a yes and nod your head.

“Are you sore?”

“Yes, Mister Miller. But I still need it.”

He leans in closely, tracking the shiver that runs up your body as his lips ghost along the shell of your ear. In a deep whispered command he says, “Give me that shirt, and then go wait upstairs for me.”

He pulls back and watches as your arms cross in front of your body and grab the hem of the soft cotton shirt. Time slows as you reveal your naked body to him, his heart catching in his throat along with his breath. So utterly perfect.

“Good girl,” he hums, extending his hand for the shirt. “Upstairs, on your hands and knees at the foot of the bed.”

He watches you the entire way up the stairs. You only glance over your shoulder once, and he knows the wink he sends you is the reassurance you need. Granted, the little smile and the slight skip in your step afterwards were a dead giveaway that you’re excited for whatever he has planned.

He waits in the kitchen, forcing himself to keep his eye on the digital clock of the microwave. Three minutes, he tells himself. His dick has other plans, throbbing behind his loose, low hanging pajama pants. Wait three minutes, you weak and pathetic little man.

He palms himself through the fabric to relieve some of the ache, picturing your ass up in the air on the end of his bed. When the three minutes pass, he practically sprints up the stairs until he reaches his bedroom. He takes a breath to compose himself before stepping over the threshold. Looking to his left, you’re exactly how he wanted you. Knees on the edge of the bed, hands planted on the mattress, eyes glued to the fluffy sheets below you.

“Remind me, sweet girl,” he fights the smile as you startle at his voice, wide eyes looking over your shoulder. He leans against the doorframe and crosses his arms. “Did you mark off that you’re interested in exploring aspects of anal sex?”

“Yes, Mister Miller.” You say shyly.

“Here’s what we are going to do,” he starts to walk towards you, eyes roaming along every inch of you. “Look at the mattress, please.”

He smiles as you obey, always his good girl.

“You’re going to stay very still. I am going to tease your beautiful pussy and ass with my tongue and fingers.” He stops right behind you, running his fingertips along the back of your thighs. “I’m going to go slow. I want you to close your eyes and just breathe. Focus on my tongue. Can you do that?”

“Yes, Mister Miller.”

“Good girl. Before we start, grab a pillow and put your chest on the bed. I need you to arch your back for me.” He slips his pajama pants off as you crawl forward to grab the pillow and licks his lips as your ass scoots back down the bed before you get into his desired position.

“So beautiful,” he coos, kneeling on the small bench at the foot of his bed. “I’m going to start by drawing long lines of my tongue from here,” his finger lightly presses on your clit, he collects your arousal as he runs it up the soft folds of your cunt, stopping when he reaches your asshole, “To here”.

“I’m going to do that a few times, and then start applying more and more pressure. Once you start to shake, and you will start, sweet girl, so please, don’t hold back. But once you start to shake, I’m going to swirl my thumb along that tight little ring of muscle while I eat your pussy.”

You let out a moan, he hasn’t even touched you yet and he can see you growing wetter. “Think you like the idea of that. Already so wet for me.”

“What else?” You ask with a moan.

“I’m going to tease your ass with my tongue and fingers until you let me in. And then fuck you with my fingers, all while continuing to suck on your clit until you come for me. Do I have your consent?”

He can hear the smile on your face as you say, “Yes, Mister Miller.”

“No, no, baby. I want you to say ‘Yes, Mister Miller, you have my consent to play with my ass’.”

He sees your cheeks flush crimson, he brings his hands to your waist, holding you firmly as his cock rubs against your thighs. “Y-yes, Mister Miller. You have my consent….”

“You can say it, sweet girl. Come on.”

“To….”

He leans over you, placing a kiss on your shoulder. “Good girl, keep going.”

“To play with my ass.”

He sinks his teeth into the meat of one of your cheeks and then runs his tongue over the sharp pain before he does exactly as he said he was going to.

You

Your whimpers of pleasure fill the room as two of Joel’s thick fingers slide easily into your ass. You have no concept of how long he’s been teasing you. Since he took the lube out, you’ve been nothing but a vibrating ball of pleasure. His tongue flicks your clit with perfect precision, his fingers stretching and caressing you at the same time.

“I wanna come, Mister Miller,” you whine.

He pulls his face away from your centre. “That right?”

“Please. It feels so good.”

“You know you don’t have to ask, sweet girl. You can come as many times as you want.”

“Need more,” you manage to gasp as he curls his fingers slightly inside of you.

“What do you need?”

“Fuck me - fuck me while you do that with your fingers.”

“‘Manners!” He growls.

“Please, Mister Miller,” you half whine, half cry. “I need to come. Please.”

He slips his fingers from you and you whimper in protest. “I know, sweet girl.”

He urges you to move forward and then you feel the mattress dip as he kneels behind you. The click of the cap of the lube sounds behind you, the cool liquid hitting your ass. The warm tip of his cock slides from your ass to clit, back and forth, spreading your slick along with the lube. You push back into the soft top of his cock every time it teases your ass.

“Needy little thing, aren’t you?”

“It’s been hours, please, Mister Miller.”

“That’s a bit dramatic, baby,” he says, focusing his attention on that tight ring of muscle that you’ve never explored before. “It hasn’t even been an hour.“

You push back again, feeling intense pressure. You hiss as the sensation but don’t pull away. “Easy, sweet girl. I don’t want to hurt you.”

The slippery tip of his cock slides towards your entrance. He pauses, and then as he finally pushes inside of you, his thumb enters you at the same time. You cry out, “Oh my god.”

The usual pinch of the stretch of him filling you isn’t there this time. You don’t need to adjust to his size, you just need him to fuck you.

“Harder, Mister Miller.”

He obliges, keeping his thumb firmly inside of you as he slides his hips back and thrusts forward. He repeats this motion, setting a quick pace, his hips slamming against your ass over and over. You bury your face into the pillow and scream; deja vu washes over you. The darkness, the way his cock kisses your g-spot, the heat of his body behind you. This is the recurring dream you used to have about Joel, and it’s so much better in real life.

“Play with your pretty clit, sweet girl. Wanna feel you.”

You bring your hand to your clit. You’re so wet that your fingers easily slip along your most sensitive part. You rub fast, tight circles, moaning and somehow arching your back even further. “Atta girl. Make yourself come for me.”

Your orgasm slams through you and you scream his preferred dom name into the pillow. Your entire body is vibrating, your pussy clenches hard around his cock. You feel him growing harder before he’s calling your name along with praise and then spills inside of you.

His forehead meets your back, the sweat of his forehead mixing with your own as you both try to catch your breath. Your heart races. I love you.

Joel

When his alarm goes off Monday morning, it’s the first time in a long time that he’s not looking forward to work. He spent the better part of his weekend with you. The rest of your Saturday was spent in a bubble bath before ordering take out and watching movies. He reluctantly dropped you off at home on Sunday morning in a pair of his sweatpants, a hoodie and wool socks. Even while carrying your dress and heels and doing a proverbial walk of shame, you were undeniably gorgeous.

Now, he sits in his office, the heat of the afternoon spring sun causing the air conditioner to whirl. In the past few weeks, his feelings towards being in a relationship has mirrored the weather. When he met you in February, he was cold and isolated towards the idea, but now just weeks later as March turns to April, he’s warm and soft towards it, opening up to someone when he didn’t think he ever would. He opens a brown folder, a proposal for a new building that JMConstriction is going to take on. Tommy has already done the real work; at this point, Joel is just the figurehead for the construction side. He grabs his pen, looping a J and an M neatly.

He places his glass on the table and pinches the bridge of his nose. He knows he should have read that before signing, if only he could focus on the words. Somehow the letters on the page transformed into you. Smiling as the movie played, laughing as the two of you tried to toss popcorn across the couch and into the other person's mouth.

He’s all in, for as long as you’ll let him. He woke up Sunday morning to his cock in your mouth. You whispered asking if it was ok and after his hum of approval he watched your lips slide up and down his shaft. Simply put, he is mesmerized by you. He stopped you before he came, pulling you onto your side, your back against his front and slipped inside of you. He made you come three times before he let himself fall over the edge.

As he held you, you confirmed that you were staying here for law school.

“Are you sure that’s what you want?”

“Yes. For lots of reasons. But yes, I’m happy. I don’t think I’ve ever been happy. I’m staying here.”

Guilt and excitement swirled in his stomach at your decision. He has to tell you what he did. He should tell you regardless of your decision, but it’s going to be so much harder now. He picks up his phone and texts you.

Joel: Hi, sweet girl. Before we celebrate at the club on Tuesday, can I take you out for dinner?

You: I would love that, Mister Miller. But this super rich man has me scheduled to clean his house from 12-4, so what time are you thinking?

Joel: Get ready at my place, Freckles. We’ll have a drink and then go for dinner, then I’m going to teach you all about the St. Andrew’s Cross.

He wants you to stay. More than wants, he needs you to stay. The thought of you leaving now makes him feel like his lungs are in a vice grip. Wrong, Joel. That vice grip is actually that thing you did. You know this is going to hurt her, he scolds himself loudly. The imaginary iron fist squeezes tighter and he fights to suck in a full breath.

He has to tell you. He will tell you. At dinner tomorrow night, he will explain everything from the beginning. You can’t find out any other way or you’ll likely never forgive him. His heart starts to deflate at the thought of not being able to wake up beside you again; seeing you in a cocoon of down-filled sheets, just the top of your head and one foot giving away your identity.

He stands from his desk and walks towards his office door, clicking the lock and resting his forehead against the wood. He closes his eyes, resting one hand on his chest. I can’t lose her.

588 notes · View notes

frostimochi · 1 month ago

Text

second best

(logan howlett x reader)

summary: You and Logan are both in love with people completely out of reach. After a seemingly innocent joke made for you and him to get together, the two of you brush it off. But as days pass, the idea seems less ridiculous. Then one night, Logan approaches you, finally agreeing to the idea--and what starts as a fake relationship soon takes an unexpected turn.

word count: 17.6k chapter count: 10/10 (finished!) author’s note: ok this is my very first time posting any media i've made on tumblr...i can't guarantee i'll do it again, but i will def be writing more on my ao3 account if you wish to see more! this is also a mix of the x-men films and x-men ‘97 for context. it's a bit rushed but i hope you all enjoy! :)

chapter 1 - what we carry

The night was tense. Clouds of smoke, smoldering debris choked the air, and the distant sound of sirens echoed through the city. It was another X-Men mission coming to an end. You crouched low behind the crumbling remnants of an abandoned building, your heart hammering in your chest as you peeked around the corner. Flames flickered in the distance, casting shadows across the deserted street.

But you weren’t alone; Logan crouched beside you, eyes sharp and focused, his senses tuned into the slightest movement in the darkness. He grunted softly, the usual gruff in his voice present, even when he whispered. "They’re circling around. We need to move."

You nodded, adrenaline still coursing through your veins after the battle that had nearly gone sideways. The mission had been simple enough on paper, but nothing ever went as planned in the field. What was supposed to be a routine infiltration turned into an all-out firefight when the enemy showed up in greater numbers than anticipated.

"Stick close," Logan added, his eyes flicking to yours for just a moment, a brief concern crossing his usually impassive face. "You good, bub?"

"Yeah, I’m fine," you lied, already feeling the dull ache in your side from where you’d taken a glancing blow. You could push through it, just like you always did. This wasn’t your first mission, and it certainly wouldn’t be your last. But the fatigue was beginning to weigh on you, not just from the fight, but from everything else—specifically, your own personal endeavors from a few days back.

You and Remy have gotten awfully close. Closer than you probably should have allowed. But he was still wrapped up with someone else, and that reality gnawed at you. The thought lingered as you and Logan crept forward. It wasn’t just the mission weighing on you tonight.

As the two of you moved through the shadows, working your way toward the extraction point, your thoughts only continued stranding to Remy. The way he’d effortlessly deflected attacks earlier, how his movements were always so fluid and confident. You couldn’t help but admire him, desire him. A familiar pang hit your chest, knowing the truth deep down; he only had eyes for Marie.

Just like Logan only seemed to have eyes for Jean.

The thought made you glance at Logan, who was scanning the area ahead. Even now, you knew he was thinking about her, about Jean. The woman who could never be his, no matter how much he wanted her. In the end, you were both stuck in this endless cycle of wanting someone who was just out of reach.

The extraction point wasn’t far, but just as you neared it, a gunshot cracked through the air. You flinched, instinctively ducking as Logan pushed you back against the wall, his body shielding yours.

"Stay down," he growled, his claws extending with a sharp snikt. He didn’t hesitate, charging toward the threat before you could react. The sound of a struggle echoed through the alleyway as you pressed a hand to your side, wincing.

By the time you caught up, Logan had already taken care of the attacker, standing over him with a dark look in his eyes. His claws retracted as he wiped the blood off his knuckles with a grimace.

"Let’s get the hell out of here," he muttered, his voice low.

You didn’t argue, following him in silence as you both slipped into the shadows, heading for the jet. You were the last few to escape, as the night felt colder, with the exhaustion hitting you full force as the adrenaline began to fade.

. . .

Later, as the two of you sat in the dimly lit jet, silence stretched between you and Logan. The mission was over, but the weight of everything else from your physical pain, to personal life still stuck at the back of your mind. You leaned back in your seat, staring out the window as the city disappeared beneath the clouds.

"You alright, Y/N?" Logan’s voice broke the silence, his gaze still on you, seeing you still holding onto your side.

"Yeah," you replied, though the aching pain had gotten worse, and your thoughts still scattered. But you knew he wasn’t asking about the mission.

"Doesn’t seem like it," he remarked, a knowing edge to his tone. “You’re awfully quiet.”

You looked over at him, unsure if you wanted to brush it off or actually talk about what was on your mind.

"I don’t know, Logan," you admitted quietly. "Everything just feels... off lately.”

His eyebrows furrowed in questioning, as you continued. You didn’t feel any reason in hiding it anymore, since there wasn't anything left you could do at this point. The fatigue didn’t help either. Processing a single thought was a different pain on its own.

“Just wishin’ Remy looked at me the same way as Rogue.” you replied in a soft-spoken whisper.

He didn’t respond right away, just leaned back and closed his eyes for a moment.

"You’re not the only one," Logan finally said, his voice low and rough. "Sometimes it feels like I’m just also going through the motions, you know?”

He paused.

“Jean... she’s never gonna look at me the way I want her to. Not while she’s with Scott."

"You ever get tired of it?" you asked suddenly, the words spilling out before you could stop them. Logan looked over at you, one eyebrow raised.

“Of what?”

“Wanting someone you know you’ll never have?”

Logan let out a low, almost bitter laugh, leaning back in his seat. "More than you know. But it’s not exactly something I can just turn off, you know? Not in my nature."

"Yeah, well, easier said than done," you muttered, trying to shrug it off. "I have bad luck with these things.”

Logan didn’t respond right away, just watched you with that quiet intensity of his, noticing what others overlooked. You could feel his eyes on you, the weight of his presence grounding you, in a way that Remy’s never had.

"Luck’s overrated," Logan said finally, his voice low and steady. "We make our own way without it."

Another beat of silence passed, the air thick with everything left unsaid. But something about the quiet was comfortable now. You weren’t alone in your hurt anymore, and neither was he.

"We’re a real messed up bunch, huh?" you said, forcing a small laugh, though it didn’t quite reach your eyes.

Logan smirked, but there was no humor in it. "Yeah. A real bunch of idiots.”

You silently nodded in agreement, the heaviness in your chest finally settling. You both sat there, the weight of your unspoken heartaches still lingering in the room. It was strange how easy it was to talk to Logan about it, but you knew he understood it quite well. To want someone so badly, yet know you could never have them.

Maybe that's why, despite the exhaustion, despite the pain and confusion, you could finally let yourself close your eyes, knowing that even though you couldn’t have everything you wanted, at least you had this moment. This understanding. And maybe that was something worth holding onto. For now.

chapter 2 - what we seek

Back at the mansion, things had settled back into a familiar routine. The mission was behind you, but it didn’t stop the heartache for Gambit slipping back in. The lingering feeling always felt like a stab in the chest, a constant reminder of what you couldn’t have.

The truth is, it was supposed to happen. You and Remy had planned it out several nights ago: a quiet, simple evening away from the team, just the two of you. There had been moments; rare, unguarded looks from him that had felt like a promise, a hint of something more. You’d felt it, that same, exhilarating thrill that always seemed just within reach, and for once, you’d let yourself believe in the possibility of something more. But in the end, the odds never seemed to work out in your favor. He stood you up, and was later found reconnecting, rekindling his love with another woman from his past.

Rogue. Marie.

You had nothing against her—hell, you admired her deeply, and spoke with her several times outside of missions and training. You were sure she didn’t know about what had been happening between you and Remy. You couldn’t deny they were both drawn together in a way that was undeniable, magnetic. Whatever was between you and him had been put aside. You knew it would never compare.

In the end, it was easier to keep to yourself, easier to pretend nothing had changed, but the pain of wanting something just out of reach, kept you from finding any real peace. And in those moments, you found yourself drifting, walking the halls of the X-Mansion at odd hours, going places where you knew no one else would be.

One of those nights, you stumbled to grab any kind of sustenance. The kitchen was quiet, as you poured yourself a late-night drink. A few footsteps from behind broke the chaos of thoughts bursting in your mind, and you turned to see Morph entering with their usual grin. They slid onto a stool, giving you a once-over with exaggerated curiosity.

“So... heard you and Wolverine had a heart-to-heart last night,” they said, a smirk forming.

You rolled your eyes, setting the bottle down, visually annoyed. “Does anyone around here not know everyone else’s business?”

Morph shrugged, leaning back in their seat. “Hey, it's not my fault the walls are thin.”

You let out a sigh, swirling your drink absentmindedly. "And what does everyone think they know, exactly?"

Morph grinned wider, clearly enjoying himself. "Not much... just that two lonely souls found a little solace in each other’s company after a rough mission." They paused, quivering an eyebrow. "Did I miss anything?"

You shook your head, smiling despite yourself. "Sometimes, Morph, you’re worse than the tabloids."

"All I'm saying," they continued, "is that sometimes we get so caught up in what we can’t have, that we miss what’s right there."

Raising an eyebrow, you took a sip of your drink. It burned through your throat as you slammed it back down on the table. You took a heavy breath before responding. “Oh? Enlighten me.”

“You and Logan should get together. Problem solved.” Morph crossed their arms, looking far too pleased with himself.

“Right,” you snorted, but his comment gnawed at you. “And how exactly would that solve anything?”

Morph just grinned, tilting their head thoughtfully. “Well, think about it. You two already get each other. You're both in love with people who are already taken. So why not take some of that stress off? Might as well team up and have a pity party together.”

“Funny,” you replied dryly. “But Logan and I both know where we stand. We don’t need to complicate things further.”

Morph leaned in, their playful smirk never wavering. “Oh, come on, Y/N. You’re telling me you’d rather mope around with this crush on a guy who can’t even remember your name when Rogue’s in the room? That’s some next level torture.”

You shot them a glare, trying to ignore how his words cut a little too close to home. “I’m not moping. I’m just—”

“Just what?” they interrupted, leaning back with feigned innocence. “Waiting for Gambit to realize he made a mistake? Please. At this point, he probably thinks you’re just his backup plan.”

“That’s not fair,” you snapped, your voice sharp. “You don’t know what it’s like.”

“Sure I do,” Morph replied, raising an eyebrow. “You’ve got the whole tragic love story going on. It’s like a soap opera, only less exciting. So why not shake things up? You and Logan could make quite the team. Brooding heartthrob meets the queen of unrequited love? It’s practically a rom-com waiting to happen.”

They chuckled, and before you knew it, he morphed into the Wolverine himself. They adopted his brooding, eyebrow furrowing expression, capturing his essence flawlessly. “So, Y/N,” They said in a low, gravelly voice, “still hung up on Gambit? You know he’s not exactly waiting around for you, right?”

You crossed your arms, trying to maintain your composure. “You’re really going to keep this up, aren’t you?”

“Absolutely,” they replied, their expression a mix of seriousness and playfulness. “Why settle for someone who’s already got his eyes on Rogue when you could be with someone who actually sees you? Like me.”

“If only the real Logan could see you now. You wouldn’t last a second if he was here,” you quipped.

“He’d probably give me a high five for finally getting you to lighten up.”

“Sure, right before he throws you out the window,” you shot back, crossing your arms defiantly. “Even if Logan and I bothered to give each other a chance, it's just another excuse for some love-hexagoned drama for the students to feign on.”

“Hexagon? I thought this was more of a straight line,” Morph said, shrugging playfully, returning back to their form. “How much longer are you going to let Gambit’s rejection keep you down?”

You sighed, feeling the weight of their words. “I don’t know, Morph. I’m still trying to figure out my feelings for Remy, and you know how complicated things are with Marie in the picture.”

Morph leaned in closer, their expression softening a bit. “Look, I get it. It’s a mess, but you can’t just let it stop you from exploring something new. What’s the harm in talking to the wolverine? You might be surprised.”

“Talking to Logan?” you repeated, rolling your eyes. “What’s that going to do? I’m not looking for a rebound or a distraction. I’m not that kind of gal.”

“Just a chat,” they insisted, his voice lightening again. “You never know. Maybe you’ll find out that you have more in common with him, more than just a mutual crush on unavailable people.”

You shook your head, rolling your eyes, getting up from your seat. “I appreciate the pep talk, but I’m not ready for that right now. I need to deal with my own stuff first.”

Morph crossed their arms, the grin returning. “Fair enough, but just know I’m here, waiting, when you’re ready to make your move.”

“Thanks, but really, let’s just drop it for now,” you said, feeling a bit lighter in thought as you made your way out of the kitchen.

As you walked through the familiar halls of the X-Mansion up to your room, Morph’s words were still in your head. They had a point, no matter how much you denied it. Maybe this was something you needed, no matter how ridiculous it sounded.

What could possibly go wrong?

chapter 3 - what we plan

The X-Mansion had another afternoon buzzed with its usual energy, the sounds of training and laughter echoing through the halls. You found comfort in your routine, but your thoughts often drifted back to Morph’s words from a few days back. Yet, every time you found yourself lost in those thoughts, a rush of uncertainty would follow.

After an intense training session, you retreated to the common room, seeking solace in the company of your teammates. As you entered, you spotted Logan across the room, leaning against the wall, arms crossed as he talked to Jean. Even bothering to talk about what Morph said to you with him was pointless. He had his own things to deal with, if it wasn’t clear enough.

You grabbed a nearby magazine, your eyes skimming the pages, but your mind wandered elsewhere. You recalled Morph’s words, their constant suggestion that you should pursue something with Logan. It felt too foolish to consider now. He had his own problems, and his own, personal interests.

As you tried to concentrate on the text, you caught snippets of their conversation. Jean laughed at something Logan said, and your heart sank a little. You shifted in your seat, pretending to be engrossed in the magazine while you tried to make sense of your feelings. Was it even worth pursuing something with Logan, or was it just a fleeting thought sparked by Morph's teasing?

Lost in thought, you barely noticed the hours pass, and the only person left in the room was you. It was late. You threw the magazine back on the couch, and decided to head back to your room, making your way up the stairs. As you walked down the hall, you suddenly bumped into Logan, who was on his way back down.

“Hey,” he said, his voice low and steady. “You okay, bub?”

“Yeah, just didn’t see you coming,” you replied, trying to mask your heart pounding out of your chest.

He offered a small smirk, his expression softening. “You’re awfully lost in thought lately. What’s on your mind?”

You hesitated, searching for the right words. Should you mention Morph’s suggestion? Or the nagging feeling that there could be something more between you two? Instead, you shrugged lightly. “Just the usual stuff...training, missions, you know how it is.”

Logan raised an eyebrow, clearly not convinced. “You sure–?”

“Yeah, well,” you interrupted, fiddling with the hem of your shirt, “there's a lot on my mind.”

He studied you for a moment, those intense hazel eyes piercing right through. “You wanna talk about it?”

The weight of his gaze continued to send your heart racing.

This was it. You could either keep running from your thoughts or just finally spit it out.

“I was thinking about what Morph said to me a few nights ago.”

A flicker of curiosity crossed Logan's face. “Morph? What’d that hellspawn say this time?”

You bit your lip, gathering your thoughts. “He mentioned us. Getting together. It’s ridiculous, I know.” The words tumbled out before you could stop yourself, leaving you feeling quite awkward. You tried presenting yourself enamored by crossing your arms and looking casual, but anyone could see right through that it was taking a toll on you.

Logan’s eyebrows furrowed, and paused for a moment, taking it into thought. He then let out a soft chuckle.

“Y/N, don’t let Morph’s nonsense mess with your head. They're just trying to stir the pot, like always.”

You bit your lip, still unconvinced. It took him that long to form his sentence? You assumed the both of you were just not in the mood to discuss it, which was partially true. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. It just had me thinking it over so much, that I–”

He cut you off with a wave of his hand, his expression shifting to one of playful exasperation. “Seriously, don’t overthink it. We’ve got enough to deal with without getting tangled up in that kind of drama.”

And that was that. In the end, maybe it was a stupid idea after all. He placed a hand on your shoulder, giving you a nod of reassurance as he walked back off.

You took a deep breath, attempting to collect yourself as you reached the top floor when you stopped dead in your tracks. There he was. Remy, standing there, hands in pockets just right in your way, with his usual playful smirk softened by something unreadable in his expression. He straightened up when he saw you, his eyes flickering that made your heart clench.

"Chère," he greeted, voice low and smooth, but you couldn’t bring yourself to respond with the same warmth you usually did.

“Remy,” you replied, trying to keep your tone even, standing still. Though, your emotions stirred uneasily beneath the surface. After everything that had happened, after he’d stood you up and had made the decision to be with someone else, you couldn’t ignore the pang of frustration gnawing at you.

Taking a deep breath, you attempted to steady yourself, but the words you’d been rehearsing came spilling out faster than you expected. "Have you figured out what I mean to you yet?”

His easy smile faltered, and he looked away for a second before meeting your gaze again, regret shadowing his eyes. “Y/N, it ain't like that. I never wanted to hurt ya...”

“But you did, didn’t you?” The question hung between you, heavy and thick with the nights he’d promised and didn’t show, the times you’d let yourself believe he might actually feel the same way.

His hand reached out, but you pulled back before he could touch you. "I waited for you, Remy. I thought—” You trailed off, hating the vulnerability in your voice, but there was no point hiding it now. “I thought we had something.”

He looked down, rubbing the back of his neck, frustration clear in his stance. “Y/N, you mean a lot t’ me, but Marie... she’s somethin’ I just can’t let go of. She’s always been there in a way I can’t explain.”

You swallowed hard, nodding slowly, the ache in your chest settling as a numbness began to take its place. “I see.”

“No, chère,” he protested softly, stepping closer, his expression earnest. “I care for ya, but Rogue... she’s part o’ me.” He shook his head, struggling to find the right words, but they felt like nothing more than just empty echoes.

In the silence that followed, you took a step back, pressing your arms around yourself to hold together the pieces of your heart that felt like they were splintering apart.

"Fine. Let’s just pretend it never happened."

With that, you turned and left him standing there, resisting the urge to look back. If you stayed, you’d only keep finding yourself hoping for something that would never be. Remy reached out as if to stop you, but you turned, stepping away before he could say anything more, with your footsteps echoing against the quiet walls of the mansion. You were done letting yourself be second place.

As you reached for your door, you took a shaky breath, attempting to swallow the wave of emotions that had been threatening to burst free. You’d tried for so long to keep those feelings buried, to push them aside and pretend that things didn’t affect you as much as they did. But tonight, it felt impossible. You would do anything to get back at him, just as he did to you.

Just as you were about to turn the doorknob and enter your room, a voice behind you broke the silence. “You sure you’re alright?”

Startled by his voice, you turned, finding Logan standing there.

He’d seen it, hadn’t he? The hurt, the anger, what had just happened a few moments earlier...he couldn’t have just let it go unnoticed.

As you stood there, still reeling from your conversation with Remy, Logan’s voice broke through your thoughts. His tone was unusually gentle, his gaze fixed on you.

“I, uh, heard some of that back there,” he admitted, his voice low. “...Kinda hard not to.”

You nodded, letting out a sigh of defeat. “Yeah...”

Logan took a moment to steady himself, his expression shifting as he gathered himself before speaking again. “So, you’re done waiting around for him to make up his mind?”

“Completely done,” you replied, crossing your arms. “I’m tired of this backup shit.”

He chuckled. “Sounds like Gambit and Jean could use a wakeup call...” His tone turned mischievous, and you could almost see the thoughts racing behind his eyes. “You up for causing a little trouble?”

“What do you have in mind?” you asked, intrigued.

Was he actually reconsidering what you told him?

“You know... I thought about what Morph said to you, after hearing all that earlier,” he admitted, looking a bit conflicted. “At first, I figured it really was just them stirring the pot, trying to rile us up. But then...” He trailed off, rubbing a hand over his jaw, clearly gathering his thoughts. “Then I started thinking that maybe they were onto something.”

You blinked, surprised by the unexpected confession. Logan, of all people, wasn’t one open to change, let alone do something like this.

“If they want to ignore what’s right in front of them, maybe they need a reason to think twice. We show up, give ‘em a taste of what it feels like to be on the outside looking in. You and me... pretending we’re hitting it off.”

Your eyes widened.

It was simple, maybe a bit petty, but the thought of flipping the tables felt too satisfying. And this was an opportunity that might never come again.

“So, you’re saying... we should act like we’re into each other?”

“Exactly,” he replied. “A few meaningful looks and some well timed moments. It’ll have them second guessing everything they thought they knew about us.”

��Tempting,” you admitted, still in thought about wanting to go with this crazy idea, but still hesitant on what could happen from it. You took a deep breath, feeling a mix of excitement and nerves.

“Okay, I’m in. But we need to set some ground rules; no crossing lines, and we keep it strictly for show.”

“Deal.” Logan extended his hand, and you shook it, sealing the agreement with a firm grip.

. . .

As you settled into bed that night, you stared up at the ceiling, replaying the day’s events in your mind. The idea sounded nice at first, and maybe it was originally Morph playing along, trying to play matchmaker. But now it was official.

And you had no idea what you were about to get yourself into.

chapter 4 - what we act

You woke up to the muted light of morning, filtering through the curtains. Your mind was already racing with thoughts of the day ahead. Today, you’d be putting the plan into action with Logan, and the uncertainty tormented you. How would it feel to pretend to be something you weren't? Taking a deep breath, you got out of bed, bracing yourself for whatever might unfold.

Making your way to the kitchen for a quick breakfast, you hoped to dodge any awkward encounters, but there he was. Logan stood at the counter, stirring coffee with an unreadable expression as he leaned against the counter, lost in thought.

As soon as he noticed you, a small smirk played on his lips, something almost conspiratorial. “Mornin’,” he said casually, but there was a spark in his eye that hadn’t been there before.

He definitely had something in mind.

“Morning,” you replied, trying to play it cool as you grabbed a glass of water. The room felt heavy with unspoken tension, and despite your best efforts, you couldn’t help but feel a bit self conscious under his stare.

Logan set down his mug, his expression shifting to something slightly more serious. “You still up for this?” he asked, voice low, and quiet enough that no one else would overhear.

You took a deep breath, giving a decisive nod.

A moment later, you heard footsteps in the hallway, followed by the unmistakable sound of Jean’s laughter. Logan gave you a subtle nod, the silent signal that it was time to begin. You took a step closer to him, glancing up through your lashes just enough to catch his eye.

He responded immediately, slipping his arm around your waist and pulling you in, his hands lingering beneath the hem of your pants, just enough for the warmth of his touch to spread over you like a shockwave. “Play along,” he murmured, his breath warm against your ear.

You tried to settle your heartbeat as the footsteps grew closer. Jean and Scott rounded the corner, stopping abruptly when they saw the two of you standing so close, Logan’s arm around you, that spoke of something far more than friendship. You saw the flicker of surprise on Jean’s face, quickly masked with a forced smile, and a hint of something else in Scott’s usual stoic expression.

“Oh,” Jean said, voice a touch higher than usual, “Good morning, you two.”

Logan just nodded, that small, mischievous smile barely hidden. “Mornin’, Jean. Scott.”

Jean’s gaze flicked between you two, as though trying to piece together how she’d missed this...development. Her eyes lingered on you, a flash of something unreadable crossing her face, and you had to resist the urge to smirk. You were definitely giving them both something to think about.

Scott cleared his throat, trying to break the strange silence. “Didn’t realize... you two were so close.”

Logan’s arm tightened around you just a bit. “Well, there’s a lot people don’t realize,” he replied smoothly. The double meaning wasn’t lost on you, and the flicker of jealousy in Jean’s eyes told you it wasn’t lost on her either. You were tensed up in his embrace, and it didn’t help that your body was heating up right at that moment. Your throat was suddenly dry, struggling to utter a single word.

Scott's eyes shifted between you and Logan, his normally composed expression giving way to slight discomfort. Jean, on the other hand, tried to maintain her composure, but you could see the question in her eyes, the slight arch of her brow as if she was piecing things together.

“Well,” Jean said, attempting a breezy tone, “it’s... nice to see everyone getting along.” But her gaze had more to elaborate, the forced smile not quite reaching her eyes.

“Yeah, who knew?” Logan replied, his smirk turning just a little more smug as he pulled you closer. He was playing it up perfectly, and the look of surprise on both their faces was strangely satisfying.

Scott gave a polite nod, his eyes narrowing slightly as he processed the scene. “Right. Well, don’t let us interrupt.”

With that, he turned, gesturing for Jean to follow him down the hall. As they walked away, she cast one last glance over her shoulder, her expression unreadable but unmistakably intrigued.

When they were out of your vision, you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. Logan finally released you, a satisfied look in his eyes.

“See? That wasn’t so hard,” he said, his tone teasing, still laced with an undercurrent of seriousness.

“Yeah, but this was just a warm up,” you replied, a smile creeping onto your face despite the nerves churning in your stomach. “We’re going to have to keep going with this...show of ours.”

“Just keep it casual, and we’ll be fine.” Logan replied, getting up from his chair. He didn’t step away immediately, though; the space between you felt more charged than it had any right to be. His hand lingered again. This time, near yours on the counter, close enough that you could feel the warmth, and for a fleeting moment, it was quite easy to forget that this was all just for show.

You cleared your throat, shifting back slightly, giving yourself some breathing room. “Right, casual,” you replied, trying to sound nonchalant.

The silence stretched, comfortable but weighted, almost feeling the unspoken change in his gaze.

“You’re overthinking it,” he murmured, his eyes glinting with a familiar spark. “If you keep acting like it’s a big deal, they’ll notice.”

You felt a slight heat creep up your neck, but shrugged it off. “I’m not overthinking,” you shot back, attempting to keep your tone light. “Just making sure I’m... convincing.”

He stepped a little closer, eyebrows raised in amusement. “Convincing? More like being stiff.”

You scoffed, crossing your arms. “Not true.”

“Y/N, you looked like you had a stick up your ass.”

“I’m doing my best, okay? It doesn’t just happen overnight.”

Logan’s expression stayed steady. “Good,” he said, his voice softer but still direct. “That’s all we need.”

You took a breath, nodding slowly, feeling the weight of his words. “It’s just... a lot to think about.”

“Then don’t overthink it,” he replied with a slight grin. “We’re just giving them a show. Keep it simple, don’t force anything. They’ll see what they want to see.”

You nodded, only then remembering that once again, you had to continue this show of yours. You and Logan would be heading out on a mission tonight, with you alongside him. Together. They hadn’t told you who else would be joining, which left a gash of uncertainty in the pit of your stomach.

“Right, the mission,” you replied, trying to shake off any leftover tension. “No pressure, right?”

Logan chuckled softly, “No pressure at all. Just another night making sure no one dies.”

“Yeah,” you took a small breath, a smile breaking through your nerves. “And pretending to be in a relationship.”

“Remember to keep it simple,” he reminded you, a tease in his tone, while on your gaze before he walked off. “And maybe, if you’re lucky, I’ll let you take the lead.”

A knot of anxiety formed in your stomach as he left you alone in the kitchen. The mission ahead felt daunting enough, and the thought of maintaining the pretense of a relationship with him sent your mind racing.

This wasn’t going to be so easy.

chapter 5 - what we suppress

The evening air was cool and crisp as you made your way to the X-jet with Logan, Scott, and Marie, who was adjusting her gloves in silence. Scott’s gaze was steady, his expression all business, but you caught the slight hesitation as his eyes passed over you and Logan. Logan noticed too, throwing a quick, almost smug grin Scott’s way as he placed a casual hand on your shoulder. The warmth of his touch caught you off guard, but you willed yourself to keep a neutral expression, feeling the cool, easy role settling over you.

Marie, catching the gesture out of the corner of her eye, raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment. If anything, the faintest hint of a smile tugged at her lips, like she knew something Scott didn’t. Scott, meanwhile, looked at Logan and then back at you with an expression somewhere between surprise and doubt, but he stayed quiet.

“Alright, listen up,” Scott began, folding his arms as he launched into the mission brief. “Intel indicates there’s a cache of prototype weapons and possibly experimental compounds stashed in the warehouse. Marie and I will sweep the perimeter. Logan, you will take the inner corridor. Y/N, secure the samples if you find any. We need evidence, so keep it quiet, keep it subtle, and stay on comms.”

“Understood,” Logan replied, the lazy smirk still lingering as he squeezed your shoulder for effect. You fought back the urge to shove him off, partly because his touch felt oddly...reassuring, but mostly because Scott’s slight frown felt like its own kind of victory. And seeing it any longer would make you cry of laughter.

The X-jet lifted off, slicing through the night sky. You shifted your attention to watching your surroundings, taking a seat besides Logan, glancing at Scott who began to outline the plan once more.

“Alright, everyone. We’ll be approaching the warehouse in ten minutes. Rogue and I will cover the perimeter while you two head inside. Stay alert,” Scott instructed.

“Roger that,” Logan replied. “You just make sure to keep those laser eyes to yourself.”

“Very funny,” Scott shot back, his tone dry. “Focus on the mission, Logan.”

As the jet soared through the clouds, you glanced at Logan, who wore a smirk that could only be described as infuriatingly charming. “So,” he said, leaning closer. “You ready?”

“Yeah. Guess I'm being your emotional support tonight,” you uttered in a sarcastic manner. It happened almost naturally; turning your mind off to focus on what was ahead, you couldn’t deny it helped your case. “Someone has to keep you in check.”

“Good luck with that,” he retorted with a chuckle. “But I have to admit, having you by my side makes this whole mission a lot more interesting.”

“Glad to hear I can spice up your life, Logan,” you replied, trying to match his nonchalance. “Just don’t get too distracted by my presence.”

“Ah, you must be talking about your ability to look cute while doing nothing.”

You couldn’t help yourself but have a big smirk plastered on your face. “I can assure you, I’ll be doing plenty of ‘nothing’ while you’re busy kicking ass.”

Scott’s voice cracked through, his tone annoyed. “Are you two done flirting? We’re almost at the drop zone.”

“He’s right,” Marie chimed in with a sly grin, glancing over her shoulder at the two of you. “Save the romance for after we’re done.”

Logan’s smirk only grew as he leaned back, crossing his arms. “Don’t worry, Anne. It’s just mission talk. Mostly.”

The jet began its descent, and you felt the subtle shift in atmosphere as everyone went into mission mode. As soon as you touched down, the team moved quickly. Rogue and Scott split off to cover the perimeter as planned, disappearing into the shadows around the warehouse. Logan gave you a quick nod before signaling toward the side entrance, both of you slipping quietly inside.

The place was dark and still, the distant hum of machinery faint in the air. Logan took the lead, moving with a quiet precision that belied his usual rough demeanor. You stayed close, eyes scanning every corner, trying to ignore the fact that he was keeping just a little closer than necessary.

The comms crackled in your ear. “Y/N, Logan, we’re in position,” Scott’s voice came through, steady and calm. “Any movement?”

“Negative,” you whispered back. “Place is dead quiet so far.”

As you moved further into the building, a tense silence settled between you and Logan. He slowed, gesturing for you to check a nearby door while he kept watch. You edged forward, opening it just wide enough to peer inside. The room was packed. Crates, steel tables, shelves lined with sleek weapons and unknown tech. Jackpot.

“Found something,” you whispered into the comm. “Looks like prototype weapons, maybe more.”

“Copy that,” Marie replied. “Get what you can. Scott and I are still clear.”

You quickly snapped photos of the equipment, putting smaller prototypes in your pockets while Logan kept his gaze fixed on the corridor. But as you finished, footsteps echoed down the hallway, breaking the stillness. You froze, eyes darting to Logan, who signaled for you to keep low. You quickly ducked behind one of the tables, as he slid beside you.

“Company.” you murmured.

Logan gave a subtle nod, resting a steady hand over your lips as a signal to keep calm. His fingers lingered for a beat, sparking a warmth you tried to ignore, forcing your attention back to the sounds approaching.

Scott’s voice crackled in your ear. “Status?”

Logan cast you a sideways glance. “Just a little activity. We’re fine.”

The shadow of a guard passed just outside the doorway, pausing for a tense moment. You held your breath, clutching the edge of the table to keep from shifting, as Logan’s hand brushed yours in silent reassurance. The faint metallic clink of the guard’s gear sent a shiver up your spine.

The sound of boots hitting concrete grew louder. Guards. Too many to take head-on, especially in such a confined space. Logan’s sharp eyes darted around before locking onto a supply closet a few feet away. Without hesitation, he pulled you toward it, tugging the door open just wide enough for the both of you to slip inside.

The space was cramped, barely large enough to hold the two of you. Logan’s body pressed against yours as he adjusted his position, his arm braced against the wall to keep from crushing you entirely. You could feel the steady rise and fall of his chest, his warmth seeping through the tension of the moment.

“Really?” you whispered, your tone dry despite the situation. “This is your big plan?”

“Unless you’ve got a better idea, quiet down,” Logan replied, his voice barely above a murmur. His tone was clipped, but there was a flicker of amusement in his eyes.

The voices of the guards grew closer, and the beam of a flashlight passed just outside the slats of the door. Your breath hitched, and Logan caught the sound, his gaze flicking to yours. He shook his head slightly, silently telling you to stay calm.

The guards paused right outside, their conversation muffled but tense. Logan’s jaw tightened, and his hand instinctively rested near his hip, ready to unsheathe his claws if necessary. But the seconds stretched on, and the guards eventually moved on, their voices fading into the distance.

Logan let out a quiet breath, his eyes flicking to yours. “Told you it’d work.”

You raised an eyebrow, trying to ignore the tight space and the way his confidence somehow made the situation feel less suffocating. “Sure, if by ‘work’ you mean nearly giving me a heart attack.”

He shrugged, the movement almost brushing against you. “Heart’s still beating, isn’t it?”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop the corner of your mouth from twitching upward. “You’re impossible.”

The two of you stepped out, looking back and forth around the room to ensure no one else was around. But the momentary quietness didn’t last for long.

Shouts from the guards grew louder, their heavy boots pounding against the concrete floors. Logan’s grip on your hand tightened as he tugged you forward, weaving through the maze of corridors.

“This way,” he urged, his voice low but urgent.

You followed close behind, heart hammering in your chest. The narrow hallway gave way to an open loading dock, the cool night air brushing your face like a lifeline. But the guards weren’t far behind.

“There!” one shouted, raising a weapon.

Logan didn’t slow, yanking you behind a stack of crates as bullets ricocheted off the walls. He growled low in frustration, eyes scanning for a way out. Spotting a gap between two trailers, he pointed. “Through there. Go!”

You didn’t hesitate, ducking through the opening and sprinting toward the perimeter fence. The sound of Logan’s claws slicing through the chain link sent a jolt through you. He gestured for you to crawl through first, covering your back before slipping out himself.

The two of you bolted into the cover of the nearby woods, the sounds of pursuit fading into the distance. You quickly turned on your comms for a moment.

“Scott, Rogue—they found us. We’re heading back to the rendezvous point.”

Marie’s voice crackled in response. “Got it. We’re still clear on our end. Stay low, and we’ll meet you there.”

Scott’s voice followed in. “What happened?”

“Guards,” Logan growled, keeping his pace brisk as he scanned the woods for any sign of pursuit. “Too many for subtlety. But we’ve got what we came for.”

“Just make it back in one piece,” Scott replied, an underlying tension in his voice.

“Always do,” Logan said with a smirk, cutting the comm connection before Scott could fire back.

The night pressed in around you, the sound of your breaths and the faint rustle of leaves filling the silence. After a few minutes, you slowed your pace, leaning against a tree to catch your breath. Logan stopped beside you, his sharp eyes still scanning the dark forest.

“You good?” he asked, his voice low but softer than before.

“Yeah,” you managed, your heartbeat finally beginning to settle. “Thanks for the assist back there.”

Logan shrugged, but his smirk didn’t quite reach his eyes this time. “Wouldn’t have let you face that mess alone.”

You gave a small smile, feeling the weight of the moment settle. “Still, you didn’t have to...you know, drag me into that closet.”

The corner of his mouth twitched, and for once, he didn’t have a witty comeback. Instead, he locked eyes with you, something unspoken flickering in his eyes before he finally looked away.

“Come on,” he said, breaking the silence. “We’re not out of the woods yet—literally.”

You rolled your eyes but followed as he led the way through the trees, the faint sounds of the team waiting in the distance.

The treeline opened up to reveal the sleek silhouette of the X-jet, its ramp lowered like a beacon in the darkness. The faint hum of its systems was a welcome sound, promising safety and a chance to catch your breath.

You and Logan dashed through the trees, the X-jet’s ramp now fully lowered, and you kept close, adrenaline propelling you forward. Breathing hard, the two of you made your way to walk inside.

Scott was already at the base of the ramp, his arms crossed and a scowl firmly in place. Marie stood beside him, leaning casually against the side of the jet, her sharp eyes flicking between you and Logan as you approached.

“You cut it close,” Scott said, his voice tight with barely restrained irritation.

“Yeah, well, we ran into a little welcoming party,” Logan shot back, his tone deliberately nonchalant as he marched up the ramp. He didn’t spare Scott a second glance, leaving you to catch up.

You hesitated, brushing a stray leaf from your sleeve as you met Scott’s gaze. “We’re fine. The mission’s intact. That’s what matters, right?”

Scott’s expression didn’t soften, but he gave a curt nod. “Get on board. We’ll debrief on the way back.”

You moved up the ramp, feeling Marie’s amused eyes on you as she followed. “What’s his problem?” you muttered under your breath.

Marie smirked. “Oh, you know Scott. He hates it when things don’t go perfectly. But between you and me...” She glanced toward Logan, who was already settling into his seat. “I think it’s something else that’s got him all twisted.”

Before you could respond, the hatch sealed shut, and the jet hummed to life. Scott took his place at the controls, his movements stiff, while Marie slid into the co-pilot’s seat. You dropped into the seat across from Logan, who leaned back with a sigh, his usual smirk creeping back onto his face.

“Something on your mind?” you asked, keeping your voice low.

“Nah,” he replied, though his tone didn’t match the word. After a beat, he added, “You did good out there.”

The simplicity of the compliment caught you off guard. You nodded, hiding a small smile as you turned your gaze to the window. The X-jet’s engines hummed steadily, the familiar sound almost lulling you into a sense of comfort after the chaos of the mission. You were both finally in the air, the tension of the night starting to dissolve with each mile that passed.

You shifted in your seat, feeling the exhaustion catch up with you. The adrenaline was wearing off, and fatigue hit harder than you expected. Logan, sitting beside you, seemed just as tired but still alert, his eyes scanning the cabin like he was always prepared for the next move.

You leaned slightly toward him, your head subconsciously moving toward his shoulder. At first, you told yourself it was just to ease the aching muscles in your neck, but as you settled against him, something else tugged at your chest. His shoulder was warm, a solid presence that somehow made everything feel a little less chaotic.

“Don’t get used to it,” you murmured, trying to push down the warmth flooding your cheeks.

Logan’s voice was low, teasing, but there was an edge of something softer to it. “Wasn’t planning on it.” He shifted, adjusting his posture to make you more comfortable, but you could tell he wasn’t going to make a joke out of it this time.

You let the quiet settle between you, eyes half-closed as your thoughts wandered. This isn’t supposed to feel this way, you thought, the weight of the moment suddenly heavy in your mind. It’s just supposed to be a game, a distraction. But the more time you spent with him, the more you realized that it was starting to feel like something else. Something real.

As the jet continued its steady flight, you let the thought drift to the back of your mind, pretending it wasn’t there. For now, you’d let yourself stay in this bubble, pretending this whole “fake dating” thing was still just that.

But deep down, you weren’t so sure anymore.

chapter 6 - what we hide

When the X-jet finally touched down at the X-Mansion, you felt a quiet relief. The doors opened with a hiss, and you stepped out first, walking briskly to the conference room where the debrief was set to take place. Scott, Marie, and Jean were already inside, sitting at the long table, their expressions unreadable.

Jean, ever the perceptive one, was the first to look up as you and Logan entered. Her gaze lingered on you both, a quiet smile tugging at her lips, but there was something behind it. A glimmer of knowing that made you feel suddenly exposed.

“Mission accomplished?” Jean asked, her voice warm but with that trademark sharpness that suggested she’d already read through the comms logs.

“Yeah,” Logan replied with his usual gruffness, dropping into a seat beside you. His knee brushed against yours, the contact so subtle it could’ve been an accident. You fought the urge to look at him, to acknowledge the sudden shift in the air.

Scott didn’t waste time getting down to business. He slid a tablet toward you, showing the photos of the prototypes and weapons you’d collected. “Is this all of it?” he asked, his voice more controlled than before, but the underlying tension between him and Logan was still palpable.

“Yeah,” you replied, your eyes still on the tablet. “Everything’s documented. No casualties on our end.” You searched through the pockets of your uniform, putting the mini prototypes down on the table. “And...these too.”

Jean nodded, tapping her fingers lightly on the table. “Good work,” she said, her tone still warm, but there was an edge to it now as her gaze shifted between you and Logan. She seemed to linger on you for a moment longer than necessary, her eyes narrowing just slightly in that knowing way.

“Everything went smoothly?” Jean asked, her voice casual but with a hint of something deeper. “No... surprises?”

You swallowed, not sure if she was referring to the mission or to something else entirely. You glanced at Logan, who was leaning back in his chair, arms crossed. His expression was unreadable, but there was something about the way his jaw tightened that gave you the feeling he was just as aware of Jean’s subtle probing as you were.

“Yeah, no surprises,” you said quickly, forcing a smile. “Everything went as planned.”

Scott slid the tablet back toward the center of the table, his gaze lingering on it for a moment before he looked up. “Alright, I think that covers everything. You’ve done good work,” he said, his tone indifferent, but not unappreciative. “Get some rest. I’m sure we’ll have more to discuss soon.”

You nodded, ready to leave the debrief behind you. The tension had been thick in the room, and now that the mission was officially over, you couldn’t wait to take a breath without everyone’s eyes on you.

Logan, however, didn’t move immediately. He turned his head toward you, that familiar, unreadable expression on his face. “You coming?” he asked, his voice low and casual.

You nodded again, standing up. The two of you started toward the door when Jean’s voice stopped you.

“Hold up, Y/N,” she called. “I need to talk to you for a second.”

Marie, who had been standing by the door, gave you a knowing look. Logan glanced at you, his expression unreadable, before shrugging. “I’ll be outside.” He gave you space to handle this, but the shift in the air was undeniable. You felt a wave of unease wash over you.

You hadn’t expected Jean and Marie to corner you after the debrief, but here you were, sitting across from them in the hallway just outside the conference room. You felt the weight of their gaze, the silent question hanging between you.

Jean, always the more subtle one, folded her arms, her smile just a little too knowing. "So," she started, her voice smooth and casual. "How’s everything going? You and Logan, I mean."

You stiffened, caught off guard. Your heart thudded in your chest, and for a moment, you found yourself lost for words. “Uh, it’s good,” you said, your tone a little too light, betraying the nervous flutter in your stomach. “You know, the mission’s over, so...”

Marie raised an eyebrow, her lips curving into a teasing smirk. “Yeah, sure,” she said, her tone dripping with that playful sarcasm you’d come to recognize. "It’s just... y’all seem real comfortable around each other, huh? A bit more than just teammates, wouldn’t you say?”

I guess they were really buying it now. This is good.

You blinked, caught off guard. “Uh, what do you mean?”

Marie’s eyes glinted mischievously as she crossed her arms, leaning in just a bit. “Oh, come on, sugar. You two were pretty cozy back there. I’m just sayin’.” She tilted her head in a way that made it clear she was teasing, but there was an edge to her tone that made your heart race, a sudden panic crawling up your spine.

Jean smirked, sensing the discomfort in your response. "I was reviewing the comms from the last mission— must be something going on between you two.” Her voice was lighthearted, but there was something about the way she said it—acting like a couple, that made your chest tighten. You knew she wanted to get something out of you.

You laughed nervously, brushing it off. “It's nothing like that, really. We're just—just getting the job done, you know?” Your voice was a little too fast, a little too defensive.

Marie raised an eyebrow, the corner of her mouth quaking upward. “Mhm, I bet. But you can’t deny the vibes, sugar.” She shot a glance at Jean before continuing, her tone more teasing. “Just like how Scott’s been all mopey over Jean lately... though, we all got our own little dynamics going on.”

Jean nodded, the smile never quite fading. “You and Logan, Scott and I, and—” she paused, glancing at Marie, “Remy...and Marie. It’s funny how these things just...happen, huh?” Her words had a casual air, but you could tell she was trying to gauge your reaction.

You felt your throat tighten at the mention of Remy.

Gambit.

Right.

You knew you were technically pretending to be with Logan, but hearing it brought you back to reality. You weren't a real couple. You just had to keep reminding yourself of that. But... the way they were talking about their relationships so casually, it felt so much more real.

Marie’s smile softened a bit as she leaned in closer. “It’s okay, sugar. You don’t have to have it all figured out with him right away. Just take your time. I mean, things with Logan can be... complicated.”

Jean nodded, her expression thoughtful. “Logan’s not the easiest to figure out, I know. But he’s got a good heart under all that stubbornness. Just... don’t be afraid to let him in when you’re ready.”

You forced a smile, nodding in agreement even though your thoughts were racing. Pretend. Right. You had to keep it together, keep up the act, even though it was becoming harder to distinguish the lines between reality and the mission.

“Thanks,” you said, clearing your throat. “But it’s really nothing. Just... keeping things professional.”

Marie winked, still teasing. “Alright, sugar. But if you do decide to make it more than just a mission thing, you know where to find me.” Her tone was playful, but there was a softness in it too, a subtle kindness you appreciated.

As you, Jean, and Marie finally parted ways, heading off in different directions, you took a breath, trying to shake the awkwardness that had settled in the pit of your stomach, and made your way to the door.

As you stepped out into the hallway, you spotted Logan just a few paces ahead, his back to you as he walked toward the staircase. He must have been waiting for you, or maybe just lingering after the meeting, but either way, you appreciated his presence to stick around.

“Hey,” you called out, your voice slightly strained as you reached him.

He turned slightly, the hint of a grin tugging at his lips. “How’d it go?” His eyes flicked toward you, searching your face with an intensity that made your heart beat a little faster.

You paused, exhaling a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding. “It went... fine.” You tried to keep your tone casual, but something in the way you spoke betrayed the uncertainty you felt. “They’re just curious about us.” You couldn't help but add the last part with a slight edge, as if the mere mention of it made your insides twist.

Logan’s brow furrowed, his usual unreadable expression faltering just a bit. “Curious?” His voice was low, like he was still trying to process exactly what that meant.

You nodded, rubbing the back of your neck. “Yeah, well... they think we’re actually a thing. Jean was all smiles, and Marie...” You trailed off, shaking your head as if it would help shake away the unease. “It was just a lot of teasing, I guess.”

A slight chuckle escaped Logan’s lips, and he glanced over at you, his expression unreadable but laced with something... almost like amusement. “You didn’t say anything, did you?”

You shook your head. “No, of course not,” you said, perhaps a little too quickly, but you quickly recovered. “Just enough to keep them satisfied.”

Logan’s expression softened, and he pushed himself off the wall, taking a step closer to you. “Yeah, well, it’s working, I guess,” he said, his voice just a little quieter now, a little less casual. He paused, watching you with a look you couldn’t quite decipher. “But maybe we should kick it up a notch, huh?”

You blinked, unsure if you’d heard him correctly. “Kick it up a notch?”

Maybe it was a joke, or maybe it wasn’t. You couldn’t tell.

You swallowed, trying to keep your cool, but something about the way he looked at you stirred something beneath the surface. “Well, I wouldn’t mind,” you said, your voice a little quieter than you intended, as your faces grew uncomfortably close.

Logan’s smirk faltered just for a moment, and you could feel the shift in the air around you. He didn’t immediately respond, the space between you both suddenly charged with something you weren’t sure you were ready for. He blinked, almost surprised, but then leaned back with a casual shrug as if to shake it off.

“Yeah, well,” he muttered, eyes narrowed, “I guess it wouldn't hurt.”

His tone wasn’t as teasing as it would have been, which was a bit unexpected in your eyes. You tried not to think much of it. This was a fake relationship, after all.

For a moment, neither of you moved. Your faces were so close now that you could feel the heat of his breath, your pulse racing in your ears. Logan held your gaze, and you saw that flicker of something deeper. Something that didn’t quite match the playful tone of his words.

But, just as quickly as it appeared, he brushed it aside with a half-hearted wink and a shrug. "Guess we’ll figure it out as we go along, huh?"

You nodded, a quiet tension still hanging in the air. As he turned and walked toward the stairs, you lingered, fighting the urge to follow him, the strange weight of the moment heavy on your chest.

One thing was for sure; things were definitely not as simple as they seemed anymore.

And though you couldn’t pinpoint what specifically, it was there.

chapter 7 - what we share

You watched Logan retreat upstairs until he disappeared around the corner, the faint scent of cigars along with it. The rest of the team had either gone to bed, or disappeared into their own corners of the mansion, leaving you alone with your thoughts. It was strange, how a place so full of people could feel so empty. You didn’t want to sleep just yet, your mind wide awake from the teasing Jean and Rogue had done just minutes ago. Lost in thought, you heard your stomach grumble.

A snack sounded better than staring at the ceiling for hours.

The mansion was quiet, save for the occasional creak of old wood settling. You reached to open the fridge, it's cold light spilling over shelves of leftovers and mismatched condiments. You grabbed a soda and some crackers, shutting the door with a quiet thud.

The voice startled you, making you jump slightly. You turned to find Logan leaning against the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest, that unreadable look still firmly planted in his eyes. The surprise faded into a familiar calm.

“You always raid the kitchen this late?”

The voice startled you, and you turned to find Logan leaning against the doorway, arms crossed, that same unreadable look in his eyes.

“I thought you just went upstairs?” you replied, keeping your tone light. “What’s your excuse?”

He smirked faintly, stepping inside. “I don’t really sleep. Figured I’d hang with you instead.”

You raised an eyebrow, popping open the soda. “That your way of saying you’re hungry?”

Logan shrugged, grabbing an apple from the counter. “Maybe. The girls kept you wide awake, huh?”

You hesitated, the soda can cooling your hand. “More like the mission from today,” you admitted, leaning back against the counter. “Feels like I’m still out there, you know? Like my body made it back, but my head didn’t.”

Logan nodded, grabbing an apple from a nearby bowl of fruits, biting it hard. “It’s normal. First few times, it messes with you. Then it just...sticks with you differently.”

“Comforting,” you said dryly, and he chuckled.

Before either of you could say more, another voice broke the moment.

“You two always this chatty at midnight, or am I just lucky?”

You turned to see Scott standing in the doorway, his arms crossed, a disapproving tilt to his head.

Logan rolled his eyes. “Relax, Summers. We’re not plannin’ a coup.”

Scott gave a slight smirk but didn’t lighten much. “So are you two... a thing now?” he asked, his tone playful but still searching. "Or just the late-night hangout type?"

You felt a sudden awkwardness settle in the room, and Logan’s posture stiffened for a moment before he smirked, looking back at you to respond.

“A bit of both.” you replied, your voice a little quieter than you intended. You glanced at Logan, unsure of how much to say, or if you even wanted to say anything at all. The last thing you wanted was to dive into an explanation that neither you nor Logan had figured out yet.

Logan’s eyes flickered to yours. "Yeah, something like that."

“Right. Well, if you’re both done with your midnight snack, and well...cracking your little situation, the danger room isn't going to run itself tomorrow.” He looked at you, his expression softening just a fraction. “Take care of yourself, alright?”

He left without another word, his footsteps echoing down the hall.

Logan finished his apple, tossing the core into the trash. “He means well,” he said, almost grudgingly.

“Yeah,” you said, setting your soda down, taking a bite of some crackers. “Doesn’t make it any less annoying sometimes.”

Logan smirked, pushing off the counter. “Well, you heard the man. Get some sleep. Big day tomorrow.”

“I will.” you replied, taking a small sip of your soda once again. You noticed Logan’s expression, lost in thought about something in particular. He stood near the hallway door, contemplating going on with his own endeavors, or staying with you. Either way, it was obvious the two of you weren’t planning to go sleep anytime soon. Not yet.

“So, speaking of cracks,” you began, the words coming out slower than you expected. “You ever had anyone, you know, break through yours?”

Logan’s eyebrow twitched. “What, you mean, like, past loves?” His tone was neutral, almost shaking his head back to reality.

You nodded, curious but not pushing. “Yeah. It doesn’t have to be deep or anything. Just... someone who actually made you feel like you were seen, I guess.”

Logan glanced down at his feet, chewing on the inside of his cheek for a moment. He didn’t respond immediately, but you didn’t expect him to. Logan wasn’t exactly one for talking about his past.

Eventually, he let out a breath, his voice quiet. “Yeah, a few. Doesn’t last long, though. When you’ve lived through what I have, it’s hard to let anyone in too close.”

You gave him a sidelong glance, your lips curling into a small grin. “Yeah, I get that. But it’s funny, still willing to fake date someone, even with all that baggage.”

Logan’s eyes flickered toward you, the corners of his mouth twitching in what might have been a smile if he wasn’t so stubborn. “Don’t read too much into that,” he muttered.

“I’m just saying,” you teased, leaning against the counter with a raised eyebrow. “If you can pull that off, maybe letting someone in isn’t as impossible as you make it sound.”

Logan rolled his eyes, but there was a hint of amusement there, just barely. “Fake dating is a hell of a lot easier than the real thing,” he grumbled, clearly trying to avoid admitting anything deeper.

“Sure, but it’s still a step,” you shot back with a shrug. “Maybe next time you won’t need a cover story.”

Logan paused at the cabinet door, hand on the handle, probably to get another snack, but he didn’t open it right away. He looked over his shoulder, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "You seem pretty sure about all this relationship stuff now," he said, voice low and teasing. "Didn't know you were such an expert."

You chuckled, leaning back against the counter with your arms crossed. "Oh, I'm not," you replied, giving a small shrug. "Just trying to figure it out. I mean, we all have our baggage, right?"

Logan’s eyes darkened slightly, and he stepped closer again, almost instinctively closing the distance between you two. There was a shift in his gaze, a flicker of something else, something a little more raw. "Yeah. Baggage," he muttered.

“I’ve got enough to fill a warehouse,” he added, for a short moment; his voice still rough, but edged with a dark humor. "Doesn't mean I’m looking for someone to help carry it."

“I understand,” you said quietly, your eyes lowering as you reached for your soda again. You took a small sip, gathering your thoughts. “I’ve got my own baggage too. Probably more than I’d like to admit.”

Logan didn’t say anything, but you could feel his attention on you, steady and unwavering. He let go of the cabinet door, walking slowly to where you were seated.

“I get why you’d rather keep your distance,” you continued, your voice quieter now, your fingers lingering close to your soda can. “I think... I think I’ve been doing the same thing, just in my own way. Maybe I’ve been keeping people at arm’s length, too.” You met his gaze then, your eyes a little hesitant. “Maybe because I’m scared. Scared of getting hurt again, or worse, scared of realizing I was never really enough in the first place.”

Logan’s gaze softened, just a little, and his lips parted to say something. He hesitantly placed a hand on your shoulder.

“You’re more than enough,” he said, his voice quieter than before, a hint of sincerity lacing his words. The way he looked at you, like he was trying to convey something else without saying it directly— it made your heart skip a beat.

You didn’t respond immediately. Instead, you just stood there, feeling the weight of his hand, and the moment. There was something about Logan that made you want to let your guard down, to let him see parts of you you refused to show anyone else. Something about the way he didn’t push, didn’t demand anything from you, he just let you be you. Authentically you.

It was never like that was Remy. No, not even. You wished.

“So, fake dating aside,” you replied, eyes darting away, interrupting the silence. “Do you ever think about what you’d want... if you actually did date someone? For real, I mean.”

"For romance..." he muttered, as if the word tasted foreign on his tongue. His gaze drifted, not quite meeting yours, as if searching for something in the air between you. He sat beside you now, arms on the table counter.

"I guess it’s easier when someone’s already... taken, you know?" He finally met your eyes, an expression of something you couldn’t quite place in them. "It’s, well, you care about someone but you don’t have to act on it. Don’t have to figure out all the mess of... well, actually being with them. You can care from a distance, and that feels safer. That’s all." His voice was low, a little rough, but there was no bitterness in it, just a resigned honesty.

You didn’t say anything at first, processing what he’d said. It was a strange admission, and yet it made a twisted kind of sense. Logan had always kept his emotions buried so deeply, so well-hidden, that hearing him open up almost caught you off guard.

He cleared his throat, breaking the quiet. "I’m not saying I’m some kind of martyr or anything. I mean, Scott and Jean have their thing. I’ve got my... Well, whatever the hell this is." He waved his hand vaguely in the space between you jokingly, but his eyes didn’t leave yours. "But yeah, it’s easier that way. You don’t have to deal with the what-ifs, the risks. You just... live in the moment and let it go."

“Sounds like you’ve got it figured out,” you said, chuckling, trying to keep the mood light, but even you could feel the pain of his words. “The whole ‘keep it at a distance’ thing.”

Logan’s lips curled into a small, humorless smile, but there was a hint of sadness in it, too. “Figured out? Nah.” He leaned forward slightly, his elbows on his knees, still looking at you with that same unguarded look. “It’s just... easier to not feel too much. You know?” His voice was quieter now, and for a moment, you thought he might say more.

You didn’t push. You didn’t need to. You understood. You both had your own ways of coping, your own defenses, and the idea of letting anyone in too close felt dangerous. Too uncertain.

"Yeah," you said softly, a smile tugging at your lips despite the heaviness of the moment. "I get that. It’s easier to... not care too much, right?"

“If I care too much, they’ll get hurt in some way. Ain’t easy, letting someone in."

"Well,” you paused. “I still think the right person would help with the mess. Maybe it doesn’t have to be so...scary. More of just being there when things get messy."

For a moment, there was silence, and you both sat there. Logan’s eyes softened, just a fraction, and you saw the smallest shift in his expression. It wasn’t much, but it was there, something opening up, if only for a moment.

"Maybe," he said quietly, looking down at his hands. "But for now, I think I’m good with the fake dating thing."

“Yeah,” you said, your voice soft with a quiet understanding. “For now, we’re good.”

Logan stood up slowly, stretching his shoulders with a quiet grunt. "Well, we’ll see what the future holds," he said, his smirk returning, though it was lighter this time. "Get some sleep. Don’t forget about tomorrow.”

You nodded, your smile faint but genuine. "Yeah, I won’t, don’t worry. Thanks, Logan."

He gave you a small nod before turning toward the door. As his footsteps echoed down the hall, you stayed in the kitchen for a while longer. You never realized how easy everything was with Logan. You understood each other a bit too well.

At least, that’s what you told yourself.

chapter 8 - what we break

The early morning silence greeted you as you pulled yourself out of bed. You stifled a yawn, stretching as the cool air nipped at your skin. Training day. No missions, no more disasters, just time in the danger room, blowing off some steam without needing to worry about anything else.

You moved through your routine, pulling on your workout gear and splashing cold water on your face to wake up properly. Training days weren’t always your favorite, but they offered a sense of normalcy in an otherwise chaotic life. At least, that's what you said, confronted by anyone who didn’t understand.

That optimism is what carried you all the way to the Danger Room. Standing in thought with your earphones in. As the doors hissed open, your steps faltered when you caught sight of who was already there.

Logan.

And Remy.

They were sparring in the center of the room, their movements fluid yet calculated, each step and strike of power and precision. Logan's growls punctuated the sharp clash of their practice weapons, while Remy’s easy smirk didn’t falter, even as he narrowly dodged an incoming blow.

Your stomach dropped.

Before you could run off before they noticed, Remy caught sight of you out of the corner of his eye and called out, “Morning, chère. You here to watch or join in the fun?”

You held out one of your earphones and froze, like a deer caught in headlights. Words failed you as your brain scrambled to come up with something, anything—that wouldn’t make you seem out of place.

Logan’s head turned at Remy’s greeting, his sharp gaze locking on you. His expression was neutral, but something about the slight tilt of his head made it feel like he was sizing you up.

“Oh, uh—yeah,” you stammered, stepping further inside before you could talk yourself into running the other way. “Thought I’d... get some training in.”

Remy straightened, tossing the staff he’d been holding to his other hand with a cocky flourish. “Perfect timing, non? We could use a fresh pair of eyes. Logan’s got his claws out today.”

You laughed awkwardly, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. “Yeah, I can see that.”

Logan grunted, brushing past Remy and heading to the weapons rack. “You just gonna stand there or jump in, bub?”

Before you could respond, another voice chimed in.

“Well, this is going to be good,” Morph’s familiar voice drawled from the corner. They were leaning against the wall, arms crossed, their mischievous grin on full display. Clearly, they've been watching the whole thing, and from the look on their face, they weren't planning on missing a second of what was about to unfold.

You threw Morph a glare, but it only made them grin wider. Great. An audience.

“Uh, I’m good for now,” you said quickly, waving a hand. “Just warming up.”

You moved to the farthest available spot on the mat, your face heating under the weight of Logan’s and Remy’s lingering gazes. As you stretched, you could feel Morph’s eyes on you, too, like they were silently narrating every awkward twitch and stumble in your movements.

Trying to ignore them, you dropped into a stretch, but your limbs felt stiff, and your balance was off. Every now and then, you caught snippets of the sparring behind you. Remy’s smooth banter clashed with Logan’s gruff responses, the sound of their training weapons striking echoing through the room.

“Keep up, old man,” Remy quipped, his voice light as he sidestepped one of Logan’s swipes with infuriating ease.

Logan snorted, stepping forward with a calculated swing that nearly clipped Remy’s side. “Watch yourself. I’m just warmin’ up.”

You winced, fumbling mid-stretch. Morph’s muffled laugh caught your ear, and you shot them another look over your shoulder.

“What?” they asked innocently, though his smirk said otherwise.

“You’re distracting,” you muttered, focusing on your stretches again.

They chuckled, leaning casually against the wall. “I’m not the one completely flushed out.”

“I’m not flushed,” you snapped under your breath, though the evidence was plainly there.

Morph snickered, their ability to make you squirm practically a superpower in itself. “Sure, sure. And I’m not morphing into Gambit to test your poker face next.”

You groaned internally, pretending to ignore them as you tried to focus on the stretches. The sharp clang of Logan’s claws retracting pulled your attention for a brief second, and you couldn’t help but glance over.

Logan, as ever, was no-nonsense, brushing off one of Remy’s quips as he grabbed a towel from the bench. But when his gaze flicked toward you, sharp and assessing, your heart stumbled. Did he know how awkward and embarrassing this felt? Being forced to be with the guy you maybe still liked, along with your fake boyfriend?

He probably smelled it.

“Looks like she’s gonna warm up all morning,” Logan remarked gruffly, the corners of his mouth twitching upward just slightly. “You plan on actually doin’ anything, princess? Or you gonna keep flailin’ over there?”

Your head snapped toward Logan at the jab, and your hands dropped to your sides, clearly annoyed.

"I’m stretching. It’s called preparation. Maybe you should try it sometime."

Remy’s laugh rang out before Logan could reply, a smooth, teasing chuckle that grated on your already frayed nerves. "You keep talkin’ like that, you’ll rile him up more than me."

You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest as you glanced between the two of them. "You’re both impossible."

“Aw, don’t be like that," Remy said, stepping closer, his ever-present smirk softening just a touch. "We’re just havin’ a little fun. No harm, non?"

You forced yourself to stay still, but every inch of your body wanted to react. Remy’s words felt like a mockery. Your stomach twisted from all of it. There was something in the way his tone lingered, in the flicker of his red eyes towards Logan, that made your blood simmer.

You then turned towards Logan, of why you’d roped him into this in the first place. Gambit, Remy, the one who had broken your heart, had stood you up weeks prior, leaving you feeling small and humiliated. The worst part? He didn’t even seem to remember. But you did.

Meanwhile, Logan's expression was as unreadable as ever. Carved from stone, he gave away nothing, and yet you couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something else. Was he irritated? Amused? Or was it something else entirely? Whatever it was, it only bothered you more.

You gritted your teeth, stretching through the awkwardness while Logan and Gambit lingered too close for comfort.Remy was still smirking like he was in on some private joke, and Logan, for all his gruffness, didn’t seem to mind the tension he’d stirred up. You stole a glance at Morph, who, to his credit, had the decency to mime zipping his lips after Logan’s warning, but his eyes still sparkled with mischief.

With a sharp inhale, you pushed yourself up from your stretch and took a step toward Logan. “You’re right,” you said loud enough to catch both of their attention. “I should stop warming up and actually do something.”

Logan raised a brow, the faintest hint of amusement flickering in his expression. His arms were crossed, his posture relaxed, but there was a tension in his gaze, like he was waiting to see just what you were up to.

With deliberate steps, you closed the space between yourself and Logan. His expression shifted slightly, confusion mixed with curiosity, his body stiffening just enough for you to notice. When you stopped in front of him, his brow furrowed further.

Despite the rapid pounding of your heart, you reached up, cupping the edge of his jaw lightly with one hand, and pressed your lips to his.

The world seemed to still for that brief moment. His lips were firm but warm, slightly chapped, with a roughness that was distinctly Logan. The kiss was soft, unhurried, and intentional. You allowed yourself to linger just long enough to make it convincing, feeling the way his breath hitched almost imperceptibly, the slight tension in his shoulders as though he wasn’t quite sure how to respond.

When you pulled away, his eyes were on you, sharper than ever, and his lips parted just enough to give you the satisfaction of having caught him off guard. His expression was unreadable, a mixture of surprise, intrigue, and something else you couldn’t quite place.

“I’ve changed my mind about joining you two. I’m going for a run.”

You didn’t dare glance back at Logan as you strode toward Gambit, who looked as though someone had just yanked the rug out from under him. His smirk faltered for a split second, just long enough for you to savor the moment. But he recovered quickly, twirling his staff and tilting his head at you as you walked out.

Behind you, Morph let out a low whistle, clearly delighted by the sudden shift in the room’s energy. Logan said nothing, but you could feel his gaze burning into the back of your neck. If you focused hard enough, you might’ve been able to hear the faintest scoff.

As you headed to the outer yard of the X-Mansion, you couldn’t bring yourself to just run just yet. Your mind was still stuck on what happened in the Danger Room. The moment with Logan. The kiss. It felt like an impulsive decision, one that hadn't really been thought through, but in a way, it had felt right.

Mind racing, you were still standing outside the mansion, the weight of what you’d done sinking in. The morning air did nothing to settle your thoughts, only sharpening the confusion swirling in your head. What the hell had you been thinking? You didn’t even have a chance to understand it before your body had already moved. Shaking your head, you walked back inside, your footsteps heavy on the floor.

You’d barely made it to the hallway when you heard the unmistakable heavy footfalls behind you. The sound of Logan’s boots on the floor echoed loudly, and you could feel his presence long before he spoke.

“Thought you were goin’ for a run,” Logan’s voice cut through the silence, low and tinged. He was obviously pissed.

You didn’t turn around. You couldn’t.

“Changed my mind,” you muttered, your pace never slowing as you reached for your keys. Your mind raced, but you kept your gaze straight ahead, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other.

His footsteps quickened, cutting the distance between you in two long strides until you reached the door to your room. You didn’t stop, but the sound of Logan’s voice, low and tense, made your heart stutter.

“Why the hell’d you do that?” he demanded.

You finally stopped, but only to face him with your back against the door, your body tensing at the proximity. He stood there, eyes narrowed, like he was waiting for you to crack. His jaw was clenched, and there was an almost predatory tension in his stance.

“You were the one who wanted to kick things up a notch,” you replied. No matter how sarcastic you may have sounded, it was honest.

Logan’s expression flickered, something close to frustration flashing in his eyes. He ran a hand through his hair, barely retracting as he crossed his arms. “That was never what I had in mind.”

You raised an eyebrow, and despite everything, a slight smirk tugged at your lips. “I’m not the one who started sparring with Remy. The last person I want to see. You didn’t exactly make it easy to just sit back and watch.”

He stepped closer, just enough that you could feel the heat radiating off him. His gaze flickered down to your lips for a fraction of a second before locking back onto your eyes. It was intimidating, and you held yourself back from trying to look away.

“I didn't need you to make me look like an idiot,” he muttered, voice low, almost rougher than usual.

You stood there, back pressed against the door, heart pounding in your chest as Logan’s presence loomed just inches away. The room felt smaller with every second that passed in silence.

You heard his voice, low and rough as he leaned in to repeat himself. “Why’d you kiss me?”

Taking a deep breath, you finally spoke. “I didn’t kiss you to mess with your head, Logan.” Your voice was steady now, no sarcasm, no defensiveness; just raw honesty. “But you’re the one who... made me think something else was going on.”

Logan scoffed, that almost sounded like a laugh, while shaking his head taking a step back. “Oh really? The same way you thought you had something else with Gambit?”

“What the fuck, Logan?”

The words caught in your throat, your breath quickening as the sting of his accusation hit harder than you expected. You pushed yourself off the door, taking a step toward him, your voice tight with disbelief. “Don’t you put that on me,” you snapped, pointing a finger to his chest. “You agreed to this.”

“You’re right, I did,” he replied, his eyes burning with something between anger and confusion, maybe even a hint of jealousy. “But you’re the one stuck in some damn fantasy of what could’ve been with that...cajun."

“I’m not the one pretending like something’s going to happen with Jean.” The words were out before you could stop it.

Logan’s expression hardened in an instant, and the room seemed to freeze. His jaw clenched, muscles tensing under the strain of what you just said. You could feel the air crackling with tension, the unspoken words hanging heavy between you both.

He stepped back, looking at you as if you’d just struck him with something harder than your words. “You think that’s what this is about?” he spat, voice low and dangerous. “You think it’s about her?”

You didn’t back down, your own frustration burning. “Isn’t it?” you shot back, your voice cutting through the thick silence. “You’re stuck in some fantasy about her, too. Hell, everyone can see it. But don’t act like I’m the only one holding onto something that isn’t real.”

Logan let out a sharp exhale, his fingers gripping the edge of his coat, fighting to keep his cool. His eyes, though, were wild now, full of something you couldn’t quite define. “I’m not you,” he growled, the words coming out rough. “I don’t make mistakes like you. I don’t...” He trailed off, running a hand through his hair in frustration.

You took a step toward him, your eyes never leaving his. “And what? You think you’re the only one capable of making mistakes?” you shot back, your voice bitter. “Maybe we’re just not meant to have what we want. Because they could care less, to even bother giving a shit about us.”

The silence that followed was deafening. You could feel the anger, the disappointment of what you’d just thrown into the air. Logan stood there, his chest heaving, and for a moment, neither of you knew what to say.

He finally broke the silence, his voice quieter but no less intense. “I never said I wanted her,” he muttered, staring at the floor for a moment before looking back at you. His expression was as callous as ever, but the way he stared you down; he couldn’t say it himself, but his eyes could.

Your eyes softened from his answer, but the lump in your throat practically stopped you from giving a response. It didn’t help that your head was pounding from how chaotic your nerves had been turned over. Logan let out a frustrated sigh as you had nothing left to say, from his subtleness, and took a step back. His eyes were still on you, but there was a certain finality to his gaze now, something cold and resolute that you weren’t ready to face.

“Forget it,” he muttered, voice clipped, his face unreadable. “Whatever this is—whatever we are—it's done. I’m done.”

Before you could say another word, he turned and walked toward the door, his heavy footsteps echoing in the quiet hallway. You stood there for what felt like an eternity, the weight of the argument crashing down, the finality of it all, and the overwhelming ache in your chest settled deep into your bones.

And god, you hated it.

chapter 9 - what we mend

The days had dragged on like an unending weight. Each glance between you and Logan felt like a punch to the gut, both of you stiffening the moment the other entered the room. You didn’t even need to look at him to know he was avoiding you; his silence was louder than any words could have been. The same could be said for you. It was easier this way. Or so you told yourself.

Since that morning in the danger room, when your lips had lingered a fraction too long on his, everything had become... complicated. What had been a simple, calculated arrangement of a fake relationship, the harmless flirtation, was now tangled in a mess of confusing emotions. Neither of you had addressed it, but the tension between you had only grown thicker.

At dinner, you had barely looked up from your plate. Every time you did, you’d catch Logan glancing in your direction only to quickly look away. His eyes were stormy, unreadable, and it frustrated you more than anything. You couldn’t even remember the last time you’d actually spoken to him, at least not without a stilted awkwardness between you.

The team noticed, of course. Marie, with her usual sharp eyes, had raised an eyebrow at the silent distance between you two. "You two been fightin’ or something?" she’d asked, but you’d merely shrugged, offering a vague response that did little to explain the situation.

Now, as the evening wore on and the mansion fell quiet, the tension was unbearable. The silence in your room felt suffocating, tossing and turning in your bed; and no matter how much you tried to focus on something—anything—to distract yourself, your thoughts kept wandering back to Logan. The way his lips had felt on yours.

But the line had already been crossed. And you didn’t want to cross any others.

With a decisive moment, you stood from your bed, slipping on your socks with a swift motion. You had to see him. You just had to know if this feeling—this damnable, undeniable feeling was mutual, or if you were completely losing your mind.

Your steps were quiet as you walked down the hall, your heart pounding louder than the sound of your footsteps. You reached Logan’s door, hesitating for only a moment before you knocked. The sound echoed in the silence.

"Who’s there?" His voice came through, rough and thick with the weight of the day.

"It's me," you said, and before you could second-guess yourself, you turned the handle, pushing the door open.

Logan was sitting on the edge of his bed, dressed in his iconic white tank top and bootcut jeans. His posture was rigid, as though he were waiting for something. When his gaze met yours, his eyes darkened, but he didn’t say anything. He took another puff from his cigar, which didn’t help how thick the air was between you both. It was almost as if the room itself was holding its breath.

“What do you want?” he asked in slight annoyance.

“I don’t know,” you muttered, the words coming out harsher than you intended.

Logan didn’t move, his eyes never leaving yours. There was a tension in the air, something thick and unspoken. The silence stretched between you both like a taut wire, neither of you wanting to touch it, but neither able to ignore it either.

“You could’ve stayed away,” he said, his voice rough, like he was holding back something he didn’t want to admit.

“I know.” you whispered, a pang of guilt in your tone. “Look, I didn’t mean to— I didn’t mean to push you.”

Logan’s jaw clenched, and for a moment, you thought he might just brush it off, but then he spoke again, softer now. “It’s not just you.” His eyes flickered, as though searching for something in you, something he wasn’t ready to admit either. “I didn’t mean to snap at you either. It’s just... it’s easier if we both just pretend it didn’t happen.”

You swallowed, the weight of his words pressing against you, making your chest tighten. “It’s not easier,” you whispered, your voice barely audible in the thick air between you. "It’s not easier for me."

Logan didn’t respond immediately. His eyes dropped to his cigar for a moment, a slight frown tugging at the corner of his lips. He exhaled, letting the smoke curl into the air, his gaze returning to you, but this time there was something different in his eyes. Something that softened the hardness you’d seen earlier.

“Then why the hell are we still doing this?” he asked, his voice low, rough with something that almost sounded like frustration. “Why are we still pretending if it’s this complicated?”

You took a step closer, your pulse quickening with the proximity. It wasn’t supposed to be this way.

“I don’t know," you muttered, your voice barely a whisper. "But I can't stop thinking about it—about you. I can’t keep pretending it was just nothing." You looked up, your gaze meeting his, finding him waiting for something, something you couldn’t name.

For a long beat, neither of you moved. Logan’s gaze flickered between your eyes and your lips, his jaw tight, as though fighting something inside him. Then, almost imperceptibly, he shifted forward on the bed, a breath escaping him as if he were finally deciding to let go of whatever restraint he’d been holding onto.

“You’re not the only one,” he muttered, his voice rougher now, barely above a whisper. “I’ve been tryin’ to ignore it, but... hell, you make it hard to forget.”

You took a breath, stepping closer, your body drawn toward him against your better judgment. You could feel the heat between you, the crackling tension that had been building for days now, impossible to ignore any longer.

“I’m sorry,” you said softly, your voice cracking slightly. “I didn’t mean to make things so damn complicated.

Logan’s eyes softened, just slightly, and his hand reached out, brushing the back of your fingers with his. The contact sent a shock through you, like electricity, and you didn’t pull away. Instead, you let him close the gap between you.

“Not your fault,” he said, his voice thick, his hand gently cupping your cheek. “It’s me too. I’m... I’m not good at this shit. But I—” His words faltered, his eyes searching yours for something, anything. “I can’t pretend either.”

You didn’t give him the chance to say anything else. You pulled him toward you, crashing your lips against his. The kiss was hungry, desperate, full of all the unspoken feelings you’d been trying to ignore for so long. Logan’s hands moved to your waist, pulling you closer, as if afraid to let you slip away.

You didn’t think, didn’t hesitate. All the confusion, the frustration, the longing—it boiled over in a wave of heat that left you breathless. His lips were firm against yours, and for a moment, it felt like the world outside didn’t matter. The only thing that existed was the storm between you both, the undeniable pull that had always been there, buried beneath layers of doubt and distance.

When you finally broke away, you were both gasping for air. Logan’s forehead rested against yours, his hands still holding you close as if he needed to keep you tethered to him.

"Shit, I...that didn’t help, did it..." you whispered, your voice shaky, but a faint smile tugged at your lips. You didn’t know if it was a question or a statement, but it didn’t matter.

Logan’s laugh was low and rough, the sound a mixture of frustration and amusement. "No, but I figured as much." he said, but his eyes were still on you, intense, searching for something.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” you admitted softly, the words slipping out before you could stop them, your hands lingering on his chest to keep a certain distance. "I—"

Before you could finish, Logan’s lips were on yours again, cutting off any further words. This time, there was no hesitation, no second-guessing. Just need.

“Shut up.”

His hands moved from your waist to your thighs, gripping you with a possessiveness that made your heart race. The way he touched you felt urgent, almost frantic, like he was afraid you’d slip away if he didn’t hold on tight enough.

Your hands found their way to his chest, feeling the firm muscle beneath the fabric of his tank top, and you pushed yourself closer, needing more of him. His lips were rough against yours, parting briefly for a breath, but you didn’t give him the chance to pull away. You kissed him harder, deeper, as if trying to erase all the space that had ever existed between you.

Logan’s fingers dug into your thighs, lifting you slightly as he pulled you closer, his body pressing against yours with an intensity that left you breathless. You could feel the heat of him through the fabric, and it made every nerve in your body hum with need. His grip on your thighs was firm, possessive, as if he was claiming you in a way that was both comforting and maddening. The way his hands moved, pulling you closer and closer, left you feeling dizzy, lost in the feel of him.

His lips traveled down to your jaw, and you gasped, a shiver running through your body at the feel of his breath on your skin. You couldn’t stop the way your hands wandered, exploring the hard planes of his chest and shoulders, wanting to touch every part of him. His scent, the warmth of his skin, the feel of his rough hands—it was all too much, and yet it wasn’t enough.

You let him take off your shirt, urging him to do the same, and one thing led onto the next.

Logan's hands slid up your sides, his touch firm but gentle, as if he were memorizing every curve of your body. You felt the steady rhythm of his breath against your skin, his lips trailing soft kisses along your collarbone. Each kiss ignited something deep within you, a rush of warmth that spread through every part of you. You moved closer, your hands instinctively reaching for his back, your fingertips grazing the muscles beneath his jeans.

His breath hitched slightly as your fingers brushed the waistband of his jeans, his body tensing at the touch. You could feel the intensity rising between you, the need in his movements, in the way his lips ghosted over yours before finally capturing them again. The kiss was deeper this time, more urgent, as though everything in the world had narrowed down to this single moment.

You pulled back just slightly, your chest rising and falling rapidly, trying to steady yourself. “Logan...” you breathed, your voice shaky as you searched his eyes, trying to read the same urgency, the same longing that mirrored your own. But there was still hesitation there, just beneath the surface. Still, neither of you moved, too tangled in the heat of the moment to do anything but breathe each other in.

His hand slid down your back, resting against the curve of your hip, fingers lightly gripping the fabric of your pants. He pulled you closer again, the intensity of his touch making your pulse quicken. “I know,” he murmured against your lips, his voice thick with desire. “Me too.”

And the rest? It could only be described as bliss.

chapter 10 - what we confess

The first thing you noticed when you woke up was the warmth. Strong, steady, and unfamiliar in the best possible way. It wasn’t just the weight of the blanket cocooning you or the soft glow of morning light spilling through the curtains. It was him.

And you were in his bed.

Logan’s arm draped across your waist, his fingers loosely splayed over your stomach as though even in sleep, he refused to let you go. His chest pressed against your back, the soft rhythm of his breathing stirring the fine hairs at the nape of your neck.

For a moment, you didn’t move. You didn’t even breathe, afraid that the slightest shift would shatter the fragile peace of the morning. You let yourself sink into it, let yourself feel safe, for once, in the quiet intimacy of it all.

Then his voice, low in a whisper, broke the silence. “You awake?”

You turned your head slightly, catching his sleepy gaze. His hair was a mess, sticking up in all directions, and there was a faint crease on his cheek from the pillow. It was so endearingly Logan, so unlike the composed version everyone else saw, that it made your chest ache.

“Yeah,” you whispered, a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips.

Logan’s lips twitched into a lazy grin. “Good. Thought I might’ve crushed you in my sleep.”

You snorted softly, your fingers reaching up to brush a strand of hair from his forehead. “Not even close. Though you do snore.”

“Snore?” he repeated, raising an eyebrow. “Princess, you’re hearing things.”

“Sure,” you teased. “You sounded like a chainsaw. A grumpy one.”

A chuckle rumbled low in his chest, and he tightened his arm around your waist slightly. “Guess I was too comfortable. Not used to sleeping next to someone who doesn’t wake me up kickin’ in their sleep.”

“Don’t test me,” you said with a mock glare, but your smile betrayed you.

His grin widened as he propped himself up on his elbow. “Noted.”

It was a strange kind of comfort, lying tangled together without the unspoken words or half-faked plans hanging over you. But the comfort didn’t last. The two of you had hardly gotten any words out last night, and reality, as always, had a way of creeping back in.

Logan shifted, propping himself up on one elbow to look down at you. His gaze softened, the usual storminess of his eyes replaced with something warmer, something gentler. “We gotta talk.”

You swallowed hard, nodding. “Yeah. We do.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the words you both needed to say hanging heavy in the air. Finally, Logan broke the silence.

“This whole fake-dating thing,” he started, his voice measured, “I didn’t think much of it at first. Figured it’d be a pain in the ass, but... I don’t know. Somewhere along the way, it stopped feeling fake.” He paused, his hand brushing yours lightly. “At least for me.”

Your breath hitched, and you looked away, the weight of his words settling in your chest. “Logan...”

“I know,” he said, cutting you off gently. “I know you were hung up on Remy. And hell, I thought I was hung up on Jean. But the truth is…”

Logan hesitated, his jaw tightening as he searched for the right words.

“She was someone I thought I wanted,” he said, his voice quieter now, like he was speaking more to himself than to you. He glanced away for a beat, exhaling softly, before meeting your gaze again. “But... it was never real. Not like this.”

“This?” you asked softly, your heart thudding in your chest.

“This,” he confirmed, his hand finding yours and curling around it. “You. Us.”

A lump formed in your throat, and you found yourself struggling to speak.

“Do you know how long I’ve been waiting for you to figure it out?” he added, his voice softer now. “How hard it was to just... stand by while you kept lookin’ at him like he was everything?”

Your chest tightened, his words stirring something deep inside you. “I—”

“Don’t,” he said softly, his thumb brushing over your cheekbone. “Don’t say anything you’re not ready to say. Just... be honest with yourself. With me.”

You bit your lip, your eyes dropping to where his hand rested against your cheek. “I don’t think I love him anymore,” you admitted quietly, your voice trembling with the weight of the words. “I thought I did. For so long, I thought I’d never get over him. But now...” You looked back up at Logan, your eyes meeting his. “I can’t imagine myself without you.”

Logan’s lips quivered into a small, almost disbelieving smile. “Good,” he said, his voice rough with emotion. “’Cause you’ve been driving me crazy, darlin’. Watching you smile, hearing you laugh... it’s all I’ve wanted for a while now.”

A small laugh escaped you, and before you could stop yourself, you leaned forward, pressing your forehead against his. “We’re a mess, aren’t we?”

“Maybe,” he admitted, his lips brushing yours lightly. “But I don’t mind. Not with you.”

The kiss that followed was slow and deliberate, a stark contrast to the desperation of the night before. This wasn’t about drowning in the moment. It was about finding something real, something worth holding onto. When it finally broke, your foreheads stayed pressed together, both of you breathing in the shared space.

“So, what now?” you asked softly.

Logan smirked. “Guess we stop pretending.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that,” he said, brushing his nose against yours. “You in?”

You smiled, your heart feeling lighter than it had in years. “Yeah. I’m in.”

And as his arms tightened around you, pulling you closer, you realized that maybe, just maybe, you’d already found it.

533 notes · View notes

itsgrimeytime · 9 months ago

Text

i know i got him || Rick Grimes (TWD) x gn! reader

rick grimes taglist: @golden-hoax @mgparker @zomb-1-egutzz

AVAILABLE ON AO3

Inspiration: Espresso by Sabrina Carpenter

Summary: Ever since you showed up, you've had an effect on Rick. At least, that's what everyone said. Initially, you hadn't recognized it. But after one too many coincidences, it's starting to become a little impossible to ignore.

TWs: flirting, simp behavior, cursing, and all things TWD.

[[A/N: Was listening to this song nonstop (so good btw) and my brain went... hmm. Rick is terribly down bad in this. Like eager to do things for you, following you around like a puppy dog, the works. Also this gif????? girl... Enjoy :)))) ]]

You had never really thought about how you affected him. Or how they thought you did, anyway.

"You're being ridiculous," you stated -plainly.

Maggie was trying desperately to convince you that you had one Rick Grimes wrapped around your finger. Rick Grimes? Wrapped around your finger? No way.

"Do you remember yesterday? When he went on a run to find you a pair of shoes?"

"That was not why he went out on a run," you laughed a little, mindlessly bouncing Judith against your side, "-we need more as a community than just-"

"Then, why-" she interjected, "-did he only come back with shoes?"

"He didn't," you countered, "-He had some cans of food, I remember."

"Two," she relented, looking at you with a raised eyebrow, "-he went out on a run for two cans of food?"

"Sometimes you can't find much-"

"Oh my god," Maggie rolled her eyes, "-you are unbelievable. Let me just show ya-"

You pursed your lips, as she walked ahead of you -beelining to Rick. She had quite the pep in her step, pregnant and all, "Show me?"

Before you could call out to her, she was at Rick's side. He seemed to be talking to Deanna, actually, and if he was talking to Deanna, it was probably important. He smiled at her, in a Rick sort of way, until she started motioning to you. You had no idea what she was saying, but his eyes flicked to you instinctively.

Now, you'd never thought about if he smiled differently at you, but it was kind of hard to ignore right now.

Eyes dipping over you and Judith, the bright grin on his face was very different than the one for Maggie previously. And it wasn't even like that one wasn't genuine, you could tell it was, this one was just different.

It was crinkly eyes and shining white teeth. It surprised you that it didn't even seem unfamiliar to you; how long had he been smiling at you like this? And you had just normalized it?

You guessed you didn't have a direct comparison but still-

You smiled back (maybe just as bright, you weren't sure) and gently waved.

Watching him laugh a little and shake his head (like he couldn't believe you were waving at him?), your eyes darted to the ever-so-slight pinks of his ears.

Before you could think about it, Maggie said something to grab his attention (eyes stuck to you before snapping to her), and they were both on the way to your side. Something worried in Rick's eyes, you felt some guilt coil into your stomach; what had Maggie said?

You couldn't ask about it before he was already at your side, hands itching to fuss over you -you could tell. He seemed to let them win.

"Maggie said ya got a headache?"

Right, it was a sort of offhand remark to Maggie. And it was hurting, the sun even stung your eyes a bit. But he left that conversation (obviously very important) because you had a headache?

The gears in your head were turning, and Maggie seemed to watch them -eyes stuck to your face. You couldn't believe it yet, there had to be a reason.

"Rick," you started, "-it's fine. It's minor, had it since I woke up this morning, I can-"

His eyebrows furrowed and his eyes gleamed with concern, hands coming to rest on your arm, "Ya had it since 'is mornin'?"

Shit.

"Yeah," you answered, still trying to fight your case, "-but really, Rick, it's nothing. I can manage-"

"Ya should go rest," he interrupted, taking Judith from your arms, "-least til' it gets a lil' better. 'S hurtin' your eyes, I can tell."

How did he know that?

"Rick, seriously-"

"I'll take ya home," he hummed, carefully, "-and I'll come back in an hour to check on ya-"

"Rick," you tried again.

"-Get some medicine from the doc', and bring it to ya myself," he finished, something in him decided.

You pursed your lips, trying a different angle, "Shouldn't you be getting back to Deanna?"

"She can wait," he responded, simply.

"Well," you frowned, "-it has to be important, I don't want to-"

"'S not as important as you."

The words faltered in your throat, and Maggie looked at you in a way that you could hardly grasp. Mouthing 'I told ya so', you thought on it. Maybe he was just concerned, I mean one thing-

And then, his hand came to rest on your lower back, guiding you home, and your brain promptly turned off.

Ever since that conversation, you'd been trying to reason. Keeping watch on your interactions with Rick (he did always smile at you like that, fyi), you were trying to rationalize it. Give it a reason. Other than what Maggie, and others, said, but it started stacking up.

It was a dreaded day, laundry day. And out of the cycle, it was your turn.

Sometimes, the people of Alexandria would just air dry their clothes for conservation reasons, really. And every time, there was someone assigned the duty. A little like how the meals were made, and someone had to help Carol -not that she'd ask for it. She was a little stubborn like that.

That being said, no one, and you mean no one, liked to do laundry. Specifically, because you had to get up early (to make sure you got all the sun power you could), and it took hours. Especially on your own.

You basically crawled out of bed at 4, maybe 5, in the morning. Still in your pajamas, you stalked through the streets of Alexandria -dragging your feet a little, you won't lie. Making your way over to the air drying area, you pulled out all the baskets and placed them along the ground -organized. It was probably the only time you ever really were these days.

Putting your hands on your hips, you let out a big, long sigh.

"Well," you tried to smile, still so asleep that your voice was cracking, "-the sooner I start, the sooner the hell ends."

Before you could even grab a single piece of clothing, a voice interrupted you -low in drawl like maybe he had just woken up.

"Ya need some help?"

Your eyes shot to him and something in your chest fluttered, stirring in your stomach. Rick was still in his pajamas (plaid pants low, and a plain t-shirt), eyes still heavy with sleep like maybe he'd just woken up too, and his hair probably the messiest you'd ever seen. There was a curl hanging in front of his head, you got the urge to fix it.

And maybe it was because you were half awake, but you did. The smile he got on his face after made warmth shoot to your toes -all dopey and sleepy. You kind of just wanted to gather him up in your arms, and maybe fall asleep on his chest (woodsy smell and body warmth). Luckily, that urge didn't come to fruition.

You furrowed your eyebrows, "What the hell are you doing up this early?"

Not only was it odd that he was up this early, but like you said no one likes laundry duty. So why was he offering to help at all? If he had duties this early, shouldn't he be going and doing them? Why-

"'Eard it was your turn," he spoke, low and gravelly (you had no idea how to handle that), "- an' wanted to help ya."

You pressed your lips together, mind chiming 'wrapped around your finger'.

No one likes laundry duty.

"Thank you, Rick, but-" you started, "-I can tell you're still tired and I know for a fact you have a lot to do later today, so-"

"Nothin' to do," he hummed, wiping at his eye. Cute.

That had to be a lie.

"Asked Deanna for a break," he clarified, looking at you a certain type of way, "-Needed one anyway, thought I'd help ya."

"You're," you sputtered, a little in disbelief, "-You're taking a break day to help me with laundry? It is so much work-"

"Won't feel like work if I'm wit' ya."

Good god. Was he always this sweet? You couldn't have been that oblivious. Seriously.

"Guess I could use some company," you muttered, a little flattered but you tried to hide it. Rick just smiled at you in a way that made your breath hitch in your chest, you wavered on your feet.

"But, seriously," you added, "-if you need to take a break, on your break day, let me know, I'll-"

"'S long as you're workin'," he smiled, big and bright, "-I'm workin'."

"Is that," you laughed a little, "-Is that your way of making me take a break?"

He smiled differently then, mischievous, "Maybe."

You bit your lip and decidedly turned to the baskets, "Let's get to work then, Grimes, the faster we start, the faster we're done."

He joined your side, close enough to touch, it made your head spin a little. Before speaking, low like maybe a mutter, and maybe even nervous-

"Ya mind if I stick by ya for the day? 'Ve got nothin' else to do, figured I'd just be wit' ya. If 'at's alright?"

Good god.

You swallowed, blinking, but not quite turning to him, "Of course, you... Yeah, of course. I mean, I might have more chores-"

"I don't mind," he hummed, gentle, already hanging up something -not looking at you, "-'s long as it's wit' ya."

You blinked, damp shirt in your hands, just staring at him. Watching as he carefully clipped up the clothes, big hands ever-so-gentle like he didn't just drop probably the sweetest thing you'd ever heard. Genuinely too.

Shit, maybe they're onto something.

You decided to ask around.

"Honest question, Carol," you hummed, thumbing through a few of the ingredients. It was your day to help her, it's probably one of your favorite chores. You really enjoyed her presence, she was a close friend. Long story short, you trusted her judgment.

She hummed, gently grabbing one of the ingredients.

"This may sound so stupid, just know that I'm acknowledging that," you clarified, now looking at her, "-but do you think Rick is into me?"

Carol paused a moment, trying to decide how to react maybe, and you could already see her reaction. She was just a little too polite to say it instantly.

"Shit," you muttered, "-really?"

She pursed her lips, looking at you with a little pity almost, "'Fraid so. It's..."

She fell silent for a second, you just watched -patiently.

"-Everyone knows," she continued, hesitantly (like maybe she didn't want to embarrass you), "-Rick... I think he's been into you since the prison."

"The prison?" you nearly exclaimed, stalling in place. No way, "-what did he-"

"Remember the week 'at you were sick?"

Right, you'd been a little delirious from something. Maybe a little more than a cold? Nothing super serious, you remember Hershel telling you that but you had to rest. He was pretty sturdy on that. Turned out you couldn't have been doing anything, it made you feverish and nearly sleeping all the time-

"Ya ever wondered who took care of you?" she questioned, directly.

"No," you laughed, "-it was Hershel, he was the medic-"

"You sure?" Carol countered, eyes peeking at you -leveling a stare, "-He was feeding you, gettin' ya water? Stayed by your bedside?"

You faltered, something in you twisting, "Carol."

You'd remembered something like Rick feeding you, bites extended forward, and maybe the low timber of his voice. You'd just thought it was you being delirious; you had a thing for him, so you just-

"Carol," you repeated.

"He was there every day," she clarified, turning to the other side of the kitchen, "-as far as I know, he only left to do farmin' and see Carl or Judith. If you seemed to get worse, he got Hershel. But... otherwise..."

"Carol."

"None of us said anythin'," she added, busying her hands, "-because he didn't. 'At was his thing, it wasn't our place."

"For all this time?" you scurried to her side -hanging on to every word she said.

"Well," she sighed, turning to you fully now, "-we kinda figured he'd say something by now."

"God," you groaned, throwing your head into your hands, "-I have to be the dumbest person on the planet."

"To be fair," Carol soothed, "-ya didn't know."

You couldn't look Rick in the eyes for the rest of the day, or maybe you stared at him a lot more. It was all so confusing.

You decided then and there, that you'd try the most trustworthy person. The one who wouldn't lie to you, a little because he respected you too much. It did help that he was most definitely Rick's best friend.

"Hey, Daryl?"

You'd arranged a run with a few newcomers, and frankly made Daryl come because you wanted to have this conversation.

He didn't speak, just sort of grunted. It tracked.

"You're probably the most honest person I know," you cleared your throat, "-and I am pretty desperate at this point for just... honesty."

He turned to you fully then, something like concern in his eyes. The guy was truly a softie at his very core, you probably treasured your friendship the most out of everyone but it was a close call.

"Everythin' alright?"

You pursed your lips, "Yeah, yeah, don't worry. It's a... probably stupid thing actually."

He kept walking forward through the aisles of the store you were in, stashing away some essentials. You were doing the same, well, you were trying to.

"Stupid thin'?" he asked, not looking at you.

"Yes, it's dumb as hell, frankly," you laughed a little, "-but I just... I guess I want to know the extent of it."

Daryl turned to you, eyebrows furrowed together, "What the hell are ya talkin' 'bout?"

"Rick," you answered, and he seemed to take a second at the name, "-Is he really into me? Like everyone seems to believe?"

He didn't answer at first, just simply turned back to the canned foods, "Carol tell ya 'bout the prison? When ya were sick?"

"Yes," you swallowed.

"Ya should know the answer to 'at then," he spoke -gruff and straightforward.

"Well," you tried to argue, "-it's hard to understand it. I just... I don't know."

Daryl said nothing, walking forward through the aisle. You followed him, keeping your eye out for more that he hadn't grabbed. And for a moment, you thought he wasn't going to say anything else.

Suddenly, he spoke up, "He can't focus when you're on runs. Deanna 'ates it."

You opened your mouth to ask just how he knew that, but he interrupted you.

"She complains," he clarified, before asking, "-Ya ever wonder why ya barely get put on runs? When everyone else is goin' in a cycle?"

"I..." you paused, mulling it over. When was the last time you were organically on a run? You'd arranged this one-

"Deanna don't put ya on 'em," Daryl explained, turning to you with some canned food in his hand, "-'cause she kno's Rick'll be useless. He'd be waitin' at the damn gate if he could."

You tried to speak, but he continued.

"He always asks someone ya were out wit' to keep an eye on ya. And 'en, when ya come back, asks 'at same person if ya got hurt at all. Scratches, cuts, if ya tripped probably-"

You didn't say a word.

"-I kno' 'cause I've been 'em," he clarified, and you were wordless.

You took a deep breath in, good god.

"So yea'," he answered finally, "-he's into ya."

And then, he moved forward and didn't say another word. He didn't really have to though.

You'd even watched this time, keeping an eye on Daryl and where he went after coming back from the run. And sure enough, Rick waltzed up to him like it was the most normal thing in the world. You imagined you knew the conversation.

Yeah okay, your mind chimed, he has a thing for me.

The thing was, he might've been hesitant but you sure as hell weren't going to be. You might warm him up a little bit though, maybe just for a little fun.

He was wearing a new shirt. Kind of weird for you to notice, but it was the apocalypse, everyone wore the same thing so often that it melded with them in your mind. You could still vividly picture what Rick looked like at the prison and sure, maybe that was for more reason than just that, but still.

You went a little on autopilot. Call it confirming what you already knew, basically. Or, at least, that's what you'd tell yourself.

Upon closer inspection, you noticed the collar of his (new) flannel was askew -just a little. Bingo.

You waltzed up to him and Deanna with no particular air of anything. Just normal, you wanted to see it for yourself really (the laundry thing was very telling, but you wanted to see the little things). Rick stuttered to a stop, words halting in his throat when you showed up, and your heart flipped in your chest. Stay focused.

"Hey, sorry," you apologized, genuinely (well, kind of), "-I just gotta-"

Carefully, you straightened out his collar.

You felt his eyes on you the whole time (just staring), it made your heartbeat pick up a little bit but, luckily, he couldn't quite see that.

"-There," you cheered, just a tiny one, and you saw a dopey sort of smile spread across his lips (it made you feel warm down to your toes).

You pat his chest once, feeling his body heat thrum against your hand -eyes connecting to his, "Like the new shirt, by the way."

He looked at you in a way that somehow seemed familiar but you'd never really noticed. You'd been noticing a lot more recently, to be fair.

With one last apology (eyes dashing to Deanna, who in retrospect looked a little annoyed), you politely made your exit.

Finding anywhere to go, you spotted Maggie -who was already looking at you.

Shit.

She approached you before you could go anywhere else, and you readied yourself for the onslaught.

"What was that?" she asked, carefully.

You resumed your step, maybe with a little too much pep, "His collar was messed up. I fixed it."

"No, no," she followed your lead, perfectly in time, "-you... you're doin' somethin', what are you doin'?"

"I'm not," you answered -plainly.

Maggie, frankly, didn't believe you (obviously).

You weren't sure what you were waiting for, maybe for him to realize? You knew you could've just told him yourself, and you really were going to... but every time you tried to walk up to him, your throat just clogged up. He would look at you that way (all dopey and sweet and affectionate) and you just-

God, you were useless.

It was late, way too late for you to be up (you should clarify), but you just couldn't sleep. You weren't entirely sure what it was, but at the same time, you knew exactly what it was.

Every day that you didn't tell him was another day wasted. It was the apocalypse. Every day was numbered, and you could be gone at any moment and there was no time to waste. But, you tried and tried and tried. It just wouldn't come out. You weren't sure why.

You groaned, pulling your pillow over your face for a moment. You had things to do tomorrow, couldn't you just have this crisis later-

And then, there was a knock.

Pausing, you waited a moment just to see if it was even real.

Knock.

It was a strong one too, maybe a little desperate, and fear shot through your spine. Before you could think too hard, you scrambled out of your bed -the chill of the night seeping into your skin. Your mind was in one lane, survival. Someone was probably hurt, something was happening-

With shaky hands, you pulled open your door, words on the edge of your tongue-

"Rick?"

He was standing at your door, hair mussed and in his pajamas (still the low-hanging plaid pants, you noted). You let yourself look at him a moment, taking in the domestic view of Rick you'd only seen once before. Seeing him like this almost made you forget your worry, but it still struck a cord in your chest.

You frantically searched over him (looking for wounds or blood), "Shit, are you alright? Did you g-"

"I'm okay, I'm okay-" he moved his hands to your shoulders, and your mouth snapped shut, "-Everythin's fine, darlin', relax."

"God," you let out a breath, centering yourself, "-you scared the shit out of me."

Rick smiled at you a certain type of way then, sleepy and still with that little glint, and let out a low sort of chuckle. Hair all mussed and eyes half closed, it might've been the cutest thing you'd ever seen.

"Sorry," he smiled at you, something twinkling in his eye, "-didn't mean to scare ya."

You waved it off, before falling a little more serious, "If there's nothing wrong, why are you here, Rick?"

He seemed to take a pause. Eyes flickering all over you, a bit in reverence. It made you either what to throw up or faint, you weren't totally sure which one.

"Are you-" you spoke, carefully, "-Are you emotionally okay? Do you need me to-"

"I need ya."

You faltered, barely digesting, "Need me to what? Whatever-"

"No," he clarified, something in his eyes, "-I just need ya."

"What?" you asked -half awake, and unsure if he was saying what you thought he was.

"Y/N," he started, eyeing your now connected hands, "-I want... Shit, I need ya wit' me."

"Rick," you spoke, softly, "-what are you talking about?"

"I'm tired of not bein' wit' ya-" he spoke, like it took everything in his body to say it -a little like he was pleading with you.

It felt like your breath was knocked out of your lungs, and your heart was coughing up your throat. You felt totally and completely numb, all you could do was look at him.

He continued, eyes turning to match yours and grabbing your hands, "-I'm tired of missin' ya like a limb when you're standin' two feet away, I'm tired of always wishin' ya were closer, I'm tired of not tellin' ya 'at I think you are everythin' to me, I'm... I'm tired of it."

"Rick," your eyes were getting foggy.

"Darlin', I-" he let out a long breath, "-I can't do it anymore. I feel like I can't breathe without ya near me-"

"Rick."

"-Ya gotta understand 'at I-" he looked down (a little like the words were stuck in his throat), "-I... I can't function without ya. 'S like you're a piece of me 'at's just constantly missin' and it don't 'ave to be."

"Rick," you tried again.

"Y/N, I've-" he stuttered a second just looking at you, "-I've never felt 'is way 'bout anybody. An' I don't... I'm not even sure what to do 'bout it- I can't even think straight when you're gone, it... it stops everythin'-"

"Rick," you repeated, but there wasn't a lot of will behind it.

"Because 'ow am I supposed to be me without ya?"

You swallowed, heavily, eyes flickering all over him -maybe a little in reverence too. It felt like this was all a dream, and maybe this was exactly what you wanted him to say. Only one thought was rattling through your head, and you couldn't shake it, you're not sure you wanted to-

You spoke, breathless and maybe a little teary, "Rick, I love you."

Rick smiled at you so brightly that your knees felt a little weak, and your heart stuttered in your chest. God-

"You-" you laughed a little then, hands coming up to brush along his face (touching what you had longed to for so long)"-you're unbelievable. I couldn't even wrap my head around the thought that you could be into me-"

He just watched you, something shiny in his eyes (you couldn't tell if it was feelings or tears).

"-God you should've seen me. I asked like everyone in Alexandria," he laughed a little, and you gleamed, "-And... And I found out about so much that you've done for me. And you took a day off to do laundry with me-"

He laughed again, "Guess 'at made it pretty obvious, huh?"

"That, and-" you smiled at him, pushing some of his curls back out of his face, "-caring for me in the prison-"

He pursed his lips at that, maybe expecting you to never know. It didn't seem like he could stop looking at you though.

"-and you know what, not being able to focus when I'm gone on runs is pretty incriminating-"

He leveled the same look, and you could see his ears go pink. Cute.

"-or maybe," you continued, looking at him in a way that you hoped he understood (you were desperate for him to), "-when you dropped an obviously important conversation because I had a headache."

He just smiled at you, all dopey and affectionate. It made warmth bloom through your chest. Love, love, love-

"If it ain't obvious," he started, just staring, "-I love ya too. More than what I kno' what to do wit'."

You grinned at him, teasing, "Really? 'Couldn't tell."

He rolled his eyes at you, but was smiling so bright you couldn't take it seriously, "Ya gonna be like 'is now?"

"Oh, yeah," you answered, "-now I know just what you've done for me, and for how long. You're toast."

"Ya act like 'at's all I 'ave done," he countered, maybe smirking a little.

"It's not?" you asked, genuinely curious.

"No," he laughed, "-I was desperate for ya. For a long time. I did a lot to just be by your side, not countin' what I did for ya."

"Well," you smiled, moving your hands to curl into his hair, "-you'll just have to tell me sometime."

"Maybe," he hummed at the motion, and grinned at you, "-but the list is only bound to get longer. Might take forever."

"You know what, Grimes," you laughed, but you were genuinely, "-I think I can do forever."

"Me too," he grinned even brighter, eyes dashing along your face, "-as long as it's with ya."

Yeah, you thought to yourself (and maybe kissed the life out of him), I can definitely do forever.

#its griming time #rick grimes #stuff n' thangs #rick grimes x reader #rick grimes x y/n #rick grimes x you #rick grimes x y/n fanfiction #twd #rick grimes fanfiction #rick grimes twd #i know i got him

1K notes · View notes

georges-left-ear · 6 days ago

Text

I want to talk about Neil Gaiman from the perspective of a survivor of SA.

I am a trans/ gender fluid person, a survivor of R*pe, and a diehard Good Omens fan. And I have been struggling to cope with and process the horrific things that Neil Gaiman has done. I don’t get a lot of engagement from the Good Omens fandom. I’m mostly a lurker here, TikTok, Twitter, and BlueSky and AO3. But I feel like I need to say something, and Im saying it here so I can share without a character limit. And then I’m going to take a break for a while because my mental health can’t handle the chaos anymore.

I read the Vulture article and I was of course horrified and disgusted and repulsed. The things he did to those women made me absolutely sick. But I’ll tell you what, as a survivor, I have been way more triggered by the online reaction to these allegations than I ever expected to be.

I am struggling, because while I unquestioningly stand with his victims and hope they get the full weight of justice they deserve, I am grieving. I am not reacting the way I would have expected myself to react to this news, and I haven’t since July when the story first broke. I would have expected to react the same way I did when JK Rowling exposed her horrific transphobia. I took a pretty hardline stance that any engagement with Harry Potter, even through fandom and etsy purchases, kept her relevant and sent the message that you too were transphobic. As a gender queer person, I now have an extremely hard time enjoying Harry Potter anymore even thought it was overwhelmingly influential on my life. I would not have met my husband without HP!

So why don’t I feel the same way about Good Omens? I am a victim of R*pe, myself, so why haven’t these allegations made it difficult to enjoy this story? In fact, all I want to do right now is actually watch the show! Or read the book, or fanfiction, or watch my favorite fan edits. I’m actually reaching out to it more. My instinct ever since July has been to clutch the story to my chest, white knuckled, and crying to myself in the shower, “No, no, no, no. Please, please, please. Not this. Not this too. Please don’t go.”

The answer is I don’t know. I… I don’t know why I’m reacting this way. It is something I will have to work through with my therapist for sure. And I feel absolutely horrible for it. But I do know that folks on Twitter and TikTok telling me that nobody cares about my feeling and saying that nothing matters at all except his victims has been extremely triggering - more so than any discussion of his acts. And I know that I will need a long time to work through it, and that I may never get over it.

I also know that two things can be true at once. We can be supportive of his victims and understand that what Neil Gaiman’s fans are going through is ALSO a collective trauma that deserves time and space to process. Because he violated us too. He violated our trust and our perceptions of reality, and that is much more traumatic than people give it credit for. Demanding that his fans just give up the stories and communities that may have been the only thing keeping some of these people alive at one point completely cold turkey is cruel and heartless. Some people may be able to do that. They may be able to not care for a while and may even need that. People deserve time and grace to grieve and come to terms with what is going on in their own ways.

I know that some of these folks mean well, but the argument that nobody cares about fans feelings is not looking at the whole picture and feels like just a way to discredit and belittle fandoms in a new way. Because this is NOT breaking news! This story originally broke back in July, and the fandom rallied behind his victims en mass! They have recently raised thousands of dollars to donate to Take Back The Night, which is amazing! This most recent article and fandom meltdown is just rehashing everything that we said last summer. So my then questions are:

When CAN we grieve? When CAN we talk about how we are feeling? When CAN we reach out to our community and collectively heal from the trauma that we are facing as well? And not fear that some self righteous ass hole on the internet is going to bully them for not being a good enough feminist. And do NOT sit there on your performative high horse and tell us that what we are going through is not as bad as R*pe. We fucking know that. I certainly fucking know that. But it is still bad, and it does deserve recognition too. It is extremely unhealthy to pretend that this news is not also a noteworthy trauma to his fans. And gaslighting them by telling them that their heartbreak and grief is problematic is just fucking mean.

Neil’s fans deserve grace and compassion too.

EDIT: here is the link to the GoFundMe mentioned above! You can still donate!

#neil gaiman #Good Omens #the sandman #coraline #good omens fandom #neil gaiman allegations #cw: sa mention #cw: transphobia mentioned

344 notes · View notes

liv2post · 3 months ago

Note

Hello!!! I have another request if you have time, but I was wondering if you could do something with Severus and reader where they're super close and in love with each other but they're the only ones who can't see it 😭

Hi! I hope this is to your liking! I've never really written an oblivious pairing before, so I hope this works with your request '3'

Word Count: ~1.4k Pairing: Severus Snape/Professor!Reader Read on ao3!

Baffled

It was appalling how long you and Severus had managed to thwart her, Filius, and Dumbledore’s bet. Minerva sat in the staff lounge, grumbling at the seeming lack of progress. They had made the bet nearly a year ago and it didn’t seem like it would ever officially meet its crescendo. The bet was about you and a certain Potion’s professor. She had seen the way the two of you had looked at one another when you both met for the first time, the way intrigue shined in both of your eyes despite initially remaining to yourselves. Filius had to practically orchestrate your first interaction, “accidentally” requesting both of your help to control a room whose furniture had “mysteriously come to life” and couldn’t be controlled with just the wizard’s magic alone.

Since then, your interactions have blossomed from collegial to friendly to…whatever the hell was going on between you.

Love.

Or at least that’s what the Transfiguration teacher could hope for. It was an understatement to say that the two of you were arguably closer to one another than anyone else. However, the way you were closer to Severus made her think that it was love more than it was friendship.

Severus didn’t let anyone touch him. Anyone. The man could barely stand casual touch; a hand on the shoulder, a nudge with the elbow, and yet, the liberty had been granted to you. And the man didn’t shy away from it either. But it went beyond such little touches unbeknownst to Minerva. There had been a few instances where you had given him scalp massages. Imagine, the Potion’s master let someone touch his hair.

Outside of touches, the two of you could also be seen at each other’s side; sitting at meals, walking through Hogsmeade, the castle corridors, and lounging in the staff room. Just talking. Or reading in silence. And when the two of you talked, he would smile.

He would smile for Merlin’s sake!

And then there was that one time when she had walked down to the Potion’s classroom in need of a sleeping draught from Severus.

She had pushed open the door only to be met with the sight of you and Severus hovering over a boiling cauldron, the both of you shifting your weight unsteadily and gripping the edge of the table, both smelling of firewhiskey.

“Are you two quite well?” she questioned urgently.

Severus and had pressed his lips together, while you had burst into a fit of snorting giggles. “Mhm! Yep, we're alllllll good heeeeere,” you smiled, stumbling back onto a stool and patting your legs happily. “We maybe had a bit to drink.”

She raised an inquisitive eyebrow at Severus. “Really, drinking and brewing?”

“I’m no less smart drunk than I am sober, Minerva. I have all my facilities, though I can’t say the same for Y/N,” he sneered teasingly at you.

You blew a raspberry at him, prompting him to grab the nearby potions textbook and bopping you on the head. In response, you had made an attempt to shove him, but the force of the push moved you back on the stool rather than having an impact on the man. The stool began to fall backward and as you tried to steady yourself, Severus shot a hand out and grabbed your arm, tugging you back to him and holding you against his side.

“Quit messing around, you insufferable girl.”

She was baffled to no end.

“Ravenclaw.”

“Slytherin.”

“Ravenclaw.”

“Slytherin.”

Both of your bickering interrupted Minerva’s reminiscing as the door to the teachers’ lounge opened.

“What are you arguing about now?” she quipped.

“We’re debating on what house me and Severus’s hypothetical child would be.”

Filius, who had been drinking tea on the chair opposite of Minerva began to choke as Minerva herself stumbled over her words in nonpluss. “Wh- I beg your pardon?!”

“Hypothetical child, Minerva,” Severus emphasized with a roll of his eyes, following you to the cabinet to grab his preferred flavored tea. Filius and Minerva met each other’s gaze, both thinking the same thing: Are these two really that oblivious?

Finally, the annual Yule Ball had come and Dumbledore decided to take matters into his own hands. The conniving man had arranged for both of you to have chaperoning duties at the same time. In accordance with the rules, both of you had dressed up in formal attire, but neither of you had any intention of actually dancing with the other, especially in front of the students.

No matter how much the both of you had wanted.

“But that was ridiculous, wasn’t it?” you thought to yourself, inches from your partner in crime, who kept his hands clasped behind his back, surveying the students on the dance floor. He was your best friend. He probably didn’t see you as anything else. Surely if he did, he’d have made a move or dropped hints, right?

Severus was enduring the same turmoil, resisting the urge to place a hand on your waist and guide you to somewhere more private. You looked exceptionally beautiful, more beautiful than you did every day you saw each other. You were his closest friend and he didn’t want to ruin anything on the off chance that he was wrong. He thought he had given you enough indication about his feelings towards you, though they were rather indirect. Or maybe you just didn’t see him that way, and therefore didn’t consider them to be hints…

“Severus. Y/N,” the Headmaster greeted. “I don’t mean to interrupt, but I believe I saw some students taking to carousing in the courtyard. Could you two handle that? I can watch those dancing in your place.”

“Of course, Headmaster,” Severus nodded and you followed after the professor in black who swept out the Great Hall.

But there were no students out there. It was an outright lie. He just wanted to get the two of you alone without any students’ eyes on you. The man counted down from two minutes in his head before quietly slipping out of the Great Hall himself. He paused outside of the doorway to the courtyard, casually peering out toward the stone fountain. The two of you were talking, the quietude of your conversation deaf on his ears as he watched the both of you trying to calm your nerves, Severus gripping his wrist hard behind his back, you playing with your fingers in front of your stomach.

But both your thoughts were loud, and Dumbledore could hear you and Severus cursing the headmaster for setting up a situation where the both of you were alone, bathed in moonlight with music drifting out through the windows of the Great Hall, neither of you wanting to take the plunge.

“Ask her to dance, Severus,” Dumbledore mentally sent to Severus.

Severus stiffened, refusing to whip his head toward the doorway of the courtyard.

“Go. Away,” Severus thought back harshly.

“I will when you ask her to dance. She obviously wants to.”

Dumbledore felt Severus block their mental connection as a few seconds later the Potions professor slowly brought his hands down to his side, one curling nervously into a fist, the other he offered hesitantly to you, mouthing something at the same time. Dumbledore watched as a soft smile grew on your lips and you nodded fervently.

Dumbledore stepped back out of sight, smiling to himself in satisfaction as he went to converse with a nearby painting as he waited. Some minutes passed before the two of you reentered the castle, your lipstick lightly stamped on one of Severus’s cheeks and slightly smeared on his own mouth.

“Well, it’s about time,” Dumbledore remarked, not just referring to the amount of time you both spent outside.

The both of you blushed the same shade of your lipstick. “Shut up,” you both muttered, as Severus grabbed your hand and tugged you close to him, the both of you sweeping away to the dungeons. Dumbledore just chuckled, turning on his heel and returning to his colleagues in the Great Hall.

He had winnings to collect.

#severus snape #severus snape x reader #pro severus snape #severus snape fanfiction #severus x y/n #snape x reader #harry potter #ask #ask me anything #ask blog

615 notes · View notes

theorist-fox · 4 months ago

Text

Fair trade

John Price x Reader

Cross posted from AO3.

This one shot deals with heavy topics such as emotional manipulation, emotional abuse from family, and self-objectification.

I'm begging you to read the tags before pursuing the story. Thank you so much for taking care of yourself first. 🦊

If you're looking for some aftersex comfort, recommending this by @/karlachismylife. 🧡

Summary: John helps you out of the toxic pattern your family has woven around you, and finds how utterly gorgeous you are behind it. He cuts your strings, and loves you the way you deserve.

18+

Word count: 10k CW: smut (cunnilingus, blow jobs, sex seen as a form of self-harm, sex seen as a way to feel useful), heavy angst, hurt/comfort, dubcon if you squint.

Masterlist 🦊

“No, we can’t come over, darling.”

To have a life planned out must be a dream. No worries nor fears, because everything is already outlined—a step-by-step guide, given to you at birth. A path, a purpose.

To give is your purpose.

It’s been ever since before you hit the eighteen mark; the birthday being only a threshold that signed your legal independence.

But you’ve always been, haven’t you? Shadowed by bigger problems ever since you were a small thing because there wasn't trouble that mattered less than you did.

The difference being that before you were shielded by your naïveté, by the bleeding heart they’ve carefully built for you, so you’d bend and break pliantly, even willingly at times, without ever realizing.

Now you're an adult, they'd implied.

Now they can use you at your full potential, and you won’t even put up a fight. You won’t set boundaries, because this is all you’ve ever learned. This is all they’ve ever taught you. Their perfect mold, kneeling in perfect obedience.

But how much can one take in a lifetime?

“Thanks for the help, love. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“Will you?”

“Of course.”

But staring at the phone won’t make it ring.

When you’ve never had a moment for yourself but plenty of time to dedicate to others—where do you draw the line of this so-called purpose, then?

“Happy birthday sweetheart.”

“It’s next week, mum.”

“Oh. I must have mixed it up.”

This goal—this agonized prize, towering at the finish line you’re desperately running to, the one defined by your family the moment your first cry pierced the air—what is it, exactly?

It’s a cascade of praises. It’s a shower of love that reawakens you from your torpor like a bucket of ice-cold water. It's abrupt but somewhat needed until it slowly becomes fresh instead of freezing, and it hydrates your skin and soothes the thirst. You feel rejuvenated, coming out of your lethargy, and alive and thriving and—

It stops.

Your fifteen minutes of unbridled, limitless love just snatched away in spare seconds.

And you’re parched again. Sometimes, they leave you wanting until you’re on your knees. Sometimes, they never give it back.

And so, the questions arise—what happens when you’re not needed anymore?

What happens when the calls plummet?

When the visits diminish until there are none?

When you're a ghost haunting your own life because your purpose is slowly vanishing. When that prize stands in the distance as a rushing fountain of praises and kindness, but you've already given a hand, an arm, your legs, your voice, your heart. What then?

How do you move, exactly, if there are no limbs to which attach the strings? How will you speak, if they’re not shaping your voice?

How does your puppeteer lift you from the floor? Your ventriloquist—how will it force you to agree to every demand?

“You... met without me?”

“Sweetheart, we thought you were busy.”

“You could’ve asked.”

“You would’ve said no.”

But you wouldn’t have. You’re not even sure you can say ‘no’ to them.

Is there someone who will hoist you up, when you’re nothing more than a torso, and take you to the finish line?

“Uh, darling, mind calling later?”

“I’m not feeling fine, I was hoping—“

“I’m busy, love.”

A therapist for your mum.

A crutch for your dad.

An advocate for your brother, but you’re no one to them.

A child, once. A person, now.

A notification on their phone. A Google reminder of a birthday.

A missed call. An excuse.

A vacant shape in a family photo. A memory, then nothing.

Raised to serve. But what happens when there’s no one to serve?

“What you’re doing to me is not fair.”

“I don’t like that attitude. Don’t forget how much we did for you.”

Your hands are tight around the steering wheel. White knuckled fists and creaking leather. The car smells of stale tobacco, cigarettes you’ve smoked with your offhand limp out of the car window, then stubbed in the portable ashtray.

"We love you, of course we do. How could you ask that?"

It's raining but your window's rolled down, a ciggie snug between two fingers. Elbow propped on the car door, arm hanging out. The sleeve of your sweater is soaked, and the cigarette is sodden. You don't even notice it when you bring it to your lips and take a drag. Nothing fills your lungs.

It’s fine.

It's a habit. It's autopilot. You go. You exist.

“It really doesn’t feel like it. You haven’t called in weeks.”

“It’s just—we’re people too. We’re busy.”

“You’re not busy for my brother.”

“He’s—you’re different, darling.” You’re used. We’ve consumed you.

It’s a feeling of emptiness that spills out of every hole like heavy smoke, clouding your senses. A husk that billows dark tendrils from its eyes, moves mechanically like an alien imitating a human being.

It's fake. You're a dummy. Unhuman. A thing.

“I just need your help. I—I’m not fine. I’m not asking for much. Just an evening toge—”

"So much is happening right now. You can deal with it on your own, love.”

You close the car door once you've parked it in the garage. Up the stairs you go, dragging your feet on every step.

“Like you’ve always done.”

Would this world exist even if you weren’t in it? Would these stairs lead to your apartment, if you didn’t inhabit it?

Is your flat even yours? Sure, you’ve paid for it. The party you threw after your signature was placed on the contract is still a cherished memory.

But what were you even celebrating? Four walls. A roof over your head. A bed to kip.

It’s a lot, you’re aware. Not everyone can say they own all that. But do you?

They’re things. Can you own things?

Surely, you are owned. By them.

But you’re not even sure you need things. You can’t need, because things don’t need. And what are you, if not a thing? Because things are used, not humans. Humans fight back, eventually. Humans hold their pride dear, it's the only character that separates them from animals, from meat. You never bit back, not once. So what does that make you, if not theirthing?

Your purpose is not a choice you made, it’s theirs. You have to give—that is why they made you.

You own, so you can give them.

You earn, so you can give back.

Because who’s given you a roof when you couldn’t afford it yourself? And the food in your belly?

Darling, it wasn’t for free. You were expensive to raise. You were costly to craft, to mold, to perfect.

But they haven’t called. No one has. No one will.

The master left the strings—and what of you, now? Do you just lie limply on the floor, waiting for the next hand that'll hoist you up?

And if they don’t call to ask from you, how do you know you’re doing fine? How do you know if the finish line is close when they took your eyes already? How do you ask for help, if you don’t have a voice?

But that was the point. Their goal. They own you, and without them, you’re nothing but a heap of wood, infested with termites. Wooden rods on the floor, nylon strings cut short. You’ll grovel and beg, they’ll croon at you in mockery, bleeding you dry, but it will be enough for you—anything would be enough for you.

You unlock the door. John hears and his head peeks from the kitchen.

“Hi love,” he rumbles, and you feel it shaking your heart.

Does he need you?

John Price is a captain of the special forces who has gone through hell and back. He's witnessed things you've only heard from the mouths of journalists or read in black-and-white papers, and he came out of each one of them unscathed. Strong. Resilient.

He doesn’t need you.

“Sortin’ out dinner,” he adds, and returns behind the wall that separates the living room from the cooking area. “You’re gonna love this pasta, I’m telling you.”

Of course, he doesn't need you.

The house is pristine. He takes care of it while you’re at work since he’s off deployment. He’s going to be home for a while now, a handful of months. That’s a good thing, you miss him when he leaves.

It’s you who needs him. But you can’t need, so how does this work, exactly?

How do you explain that hole in your stomach that relentlessly craves to be filled? That makes you want to curl on the floor. Turn into dust and seep through the cracks of the hardwood.

Disappear. Invisible. Paper-thin.

Because maybe you're tired of being needed. Perhaps you want to break through that mindset and start needing something.

You chastise yourself for even concocting the thought.

You stand stock still at the door. You hear nothing but the blood rushing in your ears and John moving pans around the kitchen.

You see his head at the doorway again.

“Love?”

Your eye twitches, but you don’t answer.

He doesn’t need you. Then why is he here?

There are plenty of people out there who’d love to bend for him. Mouths he can kiss. Holes he can fill.

That’s what people are, no?

No. That's what you are.

You’ll make him need you. You’ll show him that you’re fundamental, not just another hole. That you cannot be replaced, because you can't afford to lose him. You can't.

It’s selfish, it is.

You cannot be selfish, it’s not what you were taught. But you will. Just today, just now. The first apparent tear into the careful pattern threaded by your family.

But it's not really a hole, is it? If you're carving it to escape a trap, only to fall back into another one of your own making.

You hurriedly toe off your wet shoes and walk with purpose to the kitchen, dropping your bag on the floor as you do. He quirks a brow at you and your silence, but his face soon morphs into sudden confusion when you come to stand in front of him and drop to your knees.

You know how to do it—how to make people smile.

Your empathy is unmatched. You read people's tics, their quirks. Gauge them from the way they move their lips, the words they use, the way they look at you.

And John—oh, he loves how you work with your mouth.

And if he needs your mouth, then by extension, he needs you.

Your hands palm his thighs as you flutter your lashes up to him. He's forced to lean back against the kitchen counter, but he's not looking at you the way he usually does—not with his lidded blue eyes, heavy and wanton.

John looks dubious instead. Even flinches when you press your cheek to the crotch of his jeans, stroking the fabric to your skin. Denim’s rough, and it especially hurts when the plump of your cheek catches the zipper’s teeth.

Good.

Let him take. And let it hurt.

“What’s goin’ on." He states, doesn't ask.

Please, take.

You’re already working through the button and the zipper when you answer, fingers shaking as you do. “I wanna suck your cock.”

Now, John wouldn’t normally complain, but you sound much different from the other times in which you actually do want to suck his cock.

He hums, allowing you to palm him through his briefs, gently but firmly pressing your hand where he’s still soft. You nose him through the cotton, flattening your tongue against his dick—you can feel it twitch under the muscle. Good, means his body is responding how you want him to.

His hands curl painfully tight around the lip of the counter.

It’s so silent except for your heaving breaths warming up his length and the buzzing fire on the stove.

You place tender kisses as you feel him harden under your lips.

He's looking at you to try and gauge the reason behind all this. It's clear to him that you're not being your usual self, there is something in your eyes that tickles him in the wrong place. You know he knows—you know he's gathered something's wrong. He’s ever so attentive, capturing every minimal change in the wrinkles of your face.

You're so akin to him when it comes to that.

You don't give him time to ponder for long, though. You take his cock out of his briefs and force it into your mouth.

John knocks his head back against the cupboard and fixes his eyes to the ceiling, wide open. A heavy breath leaves him languidly. His cock chubs up as it sits heavy on your tongue, and you can feel it fill up your mouth.

“Christ.”

Yes. It’s what you want, to hear him lose himself in you.

You start slowly, pumping your hand at the base along with the movements of your lips, mindful of keeping your teeth out of the way. Tilting your head sideways, you let the tip of his cock push against your cheek while your tongue lavishes the malleable skin around its length.

Your eyes swivel upward, and you're met with the view of his corded neck, tight and straining as he refuses to look at you.

No.

He needs to know it’s you.

He needs to understand that you can give this whenever he wants, that you're not just another mouth. That no one else is as versed as you are when you eat him up. Your tongue knows how to follow the vein along the velvet of his skin, all the way to the slit on the tip. Your hand knows how to cup his balls and brush the seam in the middle—how he shudders, each time you do.

He needs to know that.

He can’t let you go. Not him too.

He has to hoist the limbless torso that you are towards the finish line, where you’ll get your caresses and your praises and your prize: the crumbs of love you’ll lap until your famished heart stops rumbling.

So, you drift your free hand upward and thread your fingers through the curls on his pelvis, gently grazing the skin with your nails. Then, you drum the pads on his soft belly, feeling them dip into the flesh and hit the harder muscles underneath. You splay your palm in the middle of his stomach, where you can feel the blood rushing madly as his heart pumps all the same.

It’s enough for you, the bodily reaction to the softness of your mouth.

But why isn’t he looking at you?

Recognize that is me. That I can make you feel good. That you need me, that you still do.

In the desperation of the moment, you opt for the best you can do: you take him deeper. The hand at the base of his cock moves to flatten on his thigh, and you carelessly widen your jaw to take more, and more, and more.

You flatten your tongue against the underside of his shaft and then twirl it around, all the while hollowing your cheeks without ever daring to take your eyes off him. That way, if he decides to look down at you, he'll find you teary-eyed and wanting—perfectly on your knees, like a devotee, no matter how artificially placed.

Your lips slide so easily up and down his cock, coating it with saliva, teardrops and precum. They swell so beautifully around it like a plump peach being ravaged; he always flatters you for it. Calls you beautiful when you suck him off so fervently, eliciting choked moans from you as you drink up the praise.

You dive in and the head tips at the back of your throat, causing you to gag around it. The muscles of your neck clench and he curses under his breath. Your eyes water in joy and overexertion when he looks down at you at the sudden change in pace. You don’t care if it hurts, let him bruise your throat.

You can give him more. You can give him everything.

You push even further until you're nuzzling against the coarse hair on his pelvis. You choke around his cock, a weak and wet cough that causes drool to dribble at the corners of your mouth. You pull back then, to take a wet gasp around his length, and then push forward to flush your nose to his crotch once more.

The tips of your knees hurt; the tiled floor in the kitchen is hard and merciless against the bone. It'll leave your joints aching and rough. They'll pop when you stand up, they'll hurt tomorrow when you go to work.

Good.

The knot in your stomach is ever so tight, seeking to be released and let go. It contorts in wantonness and, you’ll realize later, mortification. Just because you’re used to giving yourself so freely in exchange for crumbs, it doesn't mean it gets easier every time—to watch yourself bend on a whim, to see your pride shatter into even tinier pieces.

You feel his hand thread through your hair and tears fall down your cheek because yes, now he’s going to fuck your face like you want him to.

Use me. Treat me for what I am. Become the fucking puppet master. Take my fucking strings now that they’ve dropped them and guide me through this fucking shit I was left in.

But instead, he pulls you back, his cock escaping your mouth with the same ease you got it in.

A ragged breath, thick and wet, leaves your lips as soon as they’re free. Your coughs turn into a hack, as you stare at the glisten of your spit coating his shaft. A string of thick saliva tethers your mouth to it. Tears roll down your cheeks as you recollect your breath, nostrils flaring in the attempt to take in the air you’ve deprived yourself of.

“What’s this.”

You swallow down the liquid pooling in your throat, salty precum and viscous saliva like tar, gluing your tongue to the roof of your mouth.

“Let me.” You croak. The thought that you might sound pathetic doesn’t even cross your mind.

His brows twitch, but he keeps his voice even. “No. What’s going on? Spill it.”

Your pleading look morphs into a glare. Bloodshot eyes, tears, and snot. Spit and cum. Clumped lashes and runny mascara.

Whore.

Your chest heaves, not from the strain, but from being caught red-handed, and you don't know how to behave.

No one ever asks why you do it, they’re simply glad you do.

You’re helping, aren’t you? It’s what you were crafted for, brick by brick, bone by bone. Made to change like a chameleon based on other’s necessities.

It’s what you are—so let me do it.

“I want to suck your cock.” You say as crudely as you can manage. “I want you to come down my throat and then I want you to bend me over the table and fuck me until you’re empty.”

He runs his tongue over his teeth, still holding your head by a handful of hair. His fingers aren’t tight, but your scalp stings nonetheless.

“Can do.” He shrugs. “Need to know why, first.”

You’re a heap of wood once again, piled up at his feet. Your limbs are jointless, just lying there, waiting to be thrown in the fire to rekindle its flame, so everyone else can be warm at your expense.

A broken puppet can still be used for other purposes until it's ash.

There's nothing in you, if not how wonderfully soft your mouth would be if only he'd let you wrap it around him again.

“Because I want to.”

He curls his nose, mustache following the stretch. “Hardly.”

“I do.”

He tugs at your hair and says your name in such a commanding manner that you can’t help but deflate. The glare in his eyes snuffs the defiant flame in yours.

"Please let me," you plead, and the way you sound is nothing short of degrading.

You don't care. You don't care if you reduce yourself to a puddle of pleas. You know you're not supposed to need anything, but you need this.

Your hands are sticky with dried spit and precum when they grab his cock again. You start pumping it fiercely, trying to make his orgasm hit earlier than what you had planned. He holds your head out of reach, meaning you can't wrap your lips around it—you'll have to make do with your hands.

Slut.

But it’s okay, you’ll be a slut, if it helps him realize that you can make him feel good with everything you have to offer. That he won’t find another as pliant and willing as you are. That if he wants to be served, you will be his thrall.

Everything you own, it’s so you can give him.

Everything you earn, it’s so you can give back.

He can mold you. He can break you and put you back together the way he likes. He can craft a new puppet out of you, you’ll hand him the strings. He’ll take you to the finish line and love you, then.

Only then.

You see his mouth curl, bile on his tongue, as he reins in his own lust. There’s something wrong about you tonight, and he’s starting to understand what it is.

And so, he leaves your hair, favoring the softness of your cheek. He thumbs the plump of your cheekbone and then rubs a line along your lower lip.

It's then that you take your chance and rush forward, planting a kiss on the tip of his cock. Tongue out to leave kitten licks at the drops of precum you are squeezing out of him with your hands, knowing he likes those tiny shocks it sends up his spine.

And just when you think he’s relented to your pleas, just when you have your lips plump and shiny, ready to wrap around the flushed head of his cock, he takes ahold of your chin and tips your head back.

“I love you,” he croaks.

Words he’s said already, but not as often as he should’ve. It’s his fault, he grievously considers, if you think you have to be on your knees to receive them.

He realizes it when you shock into a stop. When your eyes widen a tick too much.

Blind idiot he is.

"I love you," he says again, more firmly this time.

Your face screws up as if you're trying to wrap your head around this language you don't know. You haven't done much to reach that prize—if anything, you’ve done the opposite. You’ve edged him until the head of his cock has turned an angry red that must be aggravating to handle, impossible to quench without the welcoming warmth of your mouth or that of your cunt.

You blink up at him. Tears fall down your cheeks. “But you need to come.”

If you’d have shot him, he would’ve handled the ache much better than this.

"I need nothing." He supplies gently, tracing the corner of your lips with his thumb, getting rid of the mess he's inadvertently made of your mouth.

His statement hangs in the air, stale and musty and threatening, not as sweet as he thinks. It clogs your nose and tightens your chest, curdling your blood into frozen lumps. The noises around suddenly feel deafening: the bubbles popping on the surface of the boiling water, the wet sound of your skin unsticking from his cock as your hands leave it, their thud as they fall in your lap.

If you’re not needed, then what are you?

Carefully, he tucks himself back into his briefs as he kneels to your level.

He whispers your name and cups your cheek as he does. "I love you.”

You know he does, but stuck in the web woven by your family, you always thought it was a purely transactional sentiment. A fair trade.

He loves you because you kneel prettily in front of the sofa.

He loves you because you let him stuff you up and fill you to the brim with his come at the snap of his fingers.

He loves you because you're a lovely addition to his arm when you doll up for his work ceremonies or other functions.

He loves you because you cook a mean Sunday roast when he comes back from deployment.

And you love him because he's John, because what's there not to love.

With gentle blue eyes framed by bushy eyebrows, and droopy eyelids that give his often scowling look a gentler feel to it. The honey smatter of freckles on his nose, and the sharply trimmed beard on his jaw. Plump rosy lips, how soft they feel when he places them on yours, juxtaposing with the prickly ends of his mustache.

His encompassing heart and the way he's enlarged it for you to fit better, so you're all comfortable and warm in his life.

John gently presses his lips on your forehead as he speaks softly, "I love you."

Your eyes flutter closed. A heaving breath again, one that stutters as you try to inhale it. Fat tears fill the cracks in your lips and flow down your tongue.

John brushes the back of his knuckles across your cheeks. “Don’t need all this to love you.” And then he looks in your eyes, searching for any sign of skepticism, and regrettably finds a considerable amount of it. “You knowthat. Right, love?”

No, you don’t know.

But you don’t have the gall to tell him. Suddenly, it hits how pathetic you look. On your knees, begging for him to stuff your mouth with his cock so you can feel useful, so he can shower you with love once you give him a reason to keep you.

You kneel there helplessly, deflated.

Useless.

You gesture with your hands at him, feeling how limply they hang from your wrists as if you've never used them on your own in the first place.

There is very little you can do to humiliate yourself further, and yet you manage.

“But you need me.” You cry, as your face scrunches in a pain so deeply settled that John has no clue how to work around it. “I need you to need me.”

However, he tries. He tracks your tears with his thumb, stopping their fall right above your cheekbone.

"Don't need you, love." He says tenderly. "I want you.”

He shifts a little closer and cradles your face in both hands so that you cannot avoid his eyes even if you tried.

“Want you.” He breathes hoarsely, “Ain’t with you ’cause I need someone. I don’t need anyone, and I don’t want just anyone—I want you. ‘Specially when you’re not on your knees.”

Your nose is stuffy, and you can’t breathe right. Suddenly, you feel so unbelievably tired. Your face plops in his hands, and the humiliation feels ten times worse. It's hard, however, to interject with a word that would make him understand how deep this pattern runs.

He doesn’t let you, but only because he knows already.

"Like you when you get all chuffed ‘bout your plants sproutin’." He drawls. "Love it when you hop into bed and shove your cold feet against my thighs ‘cause I'm much warmer. Or when you make love to me. But not when you—when you pull this."

His voice is heavy. Your heart aches because you're so tightly wrapped in deadly silk, stuck in your family's cobweb, that you've never noticed how it must pain him as well, to see you reduce yourself to this.

"Bloody hell, love." He sighs, furrowing his brows. "I love you, yeah? I don't need—whatever this is. I don't want whatever this is.”

John's eyes close, his face screwing up in that way that tells you he's thinking. He shakes his head subtly, and you're afraid you've gone and done it now. He's going to go because he already has so much shit to deal with that your puzzled self would only be another broken case to add to his file.

But alas, dread doesn't even manage to settle on your heavy heart that he locks you in place with his blues.

One of his hands drifts to the back of your head. He leans in, enough for you to smell the tobacco on his breath.

You swallow dryly, lips parted in shaky pants. Eyes lidded and tired, nose scrunching in sniffles.

John presses a gentle kiss on your lips, no more than a peck. And then another one, and another, and another, until you can’t discern whether it’s the salt of your tears or that of his skin.

Your breathing becomes heavier and it mingles with his own when he comes to rest his forehead on yours.

"I love you," he murmurs tirelessly.

The hand on your nape guides you to him, and he kisses you again. Unlike the previous ones, this is bolder, yet tender all the same. He holds you in place while the rest of the world falls into impeccable silence.

The gentle smacking of lips is all you can hear, and even if only for a moment, it manages to silence the voice in your head—a mimicry of your family’s cries, their lying coos, their grating, consuming, plastic love.

You feel yourself uncoil under John’s touch and the deft work of his tongue on yours. Hands in your lap, you abandon yourself to him, but it's a different type of surrender; your eyes close and all your feelings, all your energy, flow into that kiss.

“I-I love you,” you venture, breathy voice brushing his lips.

John inhales sharply, and he realizes this might be the first time you said it because you wanted to and not because you had to.

His hand drifts from your cheek to your shoulder, down to your stomach and he guides you to lie with your back against the kitchen floor. His palms flatten next to your head.

Normally, John would have you on a fort of pillows and blankets and would never compromise about it—constantly making sure you’re as comfortable as they come as he ravages you. Beforehand, you'd get ready in the bathroom, having prepped yourself to a T. Shaved and moisturized and seasoned like a prized pig for him to consume, wearing the prettiest, skimpiest lace to frame the petals of your perfectly waxed pussy.

Because it’s a fair trade; he treats you like a princess, so you can be his pretty whore.

Yet tonight you think he won’t do any of that. There is a gentleness in his kisses that, while not uncommon, certainly feels unique. Your hands hover between your chest and his, unsure of where to place them. You hope he’ll guide you through this too, manhandle you into position like he always does.

But again, he doesn’t.

He barely feels like John at all. His behavior is so different that if you closed your eyes, anyone could be in his place right now. But that is only your perception, isn't it? Because John has always been tender with you, you were just too busy thinking about how to repay his kindness instead of living in the moment.

His lips leave yours only to busy themselves with the skin on your cheek, then down your chin and to your neck. You gasp at the goosebumps, and he stops.

His face comes into view and it is so flushed you think he must be collecting all his blood right in the apples of his cheeks.

“Okay, love?”

You blink. Your mouth tastes more like his cigars than tears and precum. It makes you feel less dirty, even if what you did (and have been doing your whole life) hasn’t changed.

You swallow thickly as he gazes into your eyes.

“Y-yeah, just—” A crease forms between your brows, “I should—I left you like that, and—”

He hushes you.

"No need to bother 'bout me." He reassures you.

He presses a kiss between your brows, smoothing the lines your concern has formed. You close your eyes, focusing on how warm he is in contrast to the tiles pressing against your back.

“Tell me what you want.” He breathes. As if you have an answer for that.

His kisses trail down your face and your neck, turning more open and wet. The rising gooseflesh, however, does nothing to stop your mind from running miles ahead.

What do you want?

You must've been posed that question before because it's such a basic one. You try to think of contests in which one might ask that, such as your birthdays, or celebrations, or a teacher wondering what is it that you desire in the future: a career, a husband or a wife, a family.

But to desire is to choose, and you don’t think you’ve ever been given that possibility.

Hence why you're rattled, aghast. On your back on the floor, with John sucking love bites on your neck.

You give the answer you know will make him content.

“Fuck me.”

You’ll moan like a porn star. You’ll dig your pretty nails into his back so he can show off the marks you left on him with pride. You'll pretend an orgasm if yours is taking too long, so that his ego will be kept fed and full, and he’ll still find you appealing. So that he can go tell his friends and comrades how good you are, in and out of bed. What a gem. Wife material.

He’ll doll you up and tie the strings around your wrists. Make you dance and you will—coy smile, pretty eyes and all. A new puppet out of you, just for his sake.

John stills, and he shifts uncomfortably above you. His mouth is suddenly next to your ear, and he leaves a kiss at your jaw hinge.

“You don’t want me to fuck you.” He murmurs, and you swear there is a hint of guilt in the way he says it.

You feel dizzy at the thought of being caught. It’s scary to have your thoughts so out in the open after having spent an entire lifetime locking them up.

John nips at the shell of your ear. You venture with your hands and place them on his chest, still unsure of whether you want him closer or far, far away.

"Can I make you feel good?" He asks hoarsely. Your body responds naturally and it makes heat pool in your lower stomach.

You suck in a breath, eyes fluttering closed at the idea his words have instilled in you.

You reply the only way you know. “You don’t have to ask.”

“Yes.” He says forcefully, almost as if he wanted the answer to stick to your brain for the days to come. The switch is so abrupt your heart skips a beat. “Yes, I have to ask. Of course, I have to ask.”

He props himself up, hips snug between your thighs. He could roll them against yours and seek the friction his chubbed up cock must physically need after you teased it.

But he doesn’t, and it makes you feel both inadequate and nervous.

“So, answer me, love.” He rumbles, as his pupils dance between your eyes. “Can I make you feel good?”

You’re not sure why, but it makes your eyes water and your heart hurt. Your brows draw together in a frown that rips at John’s chest.

“Y-Yes,” you stutter, voice strangled in your throat. “Yes, please.”

John leans in to kiss your eyelids as you snap them closed.

And then he kisses your cheek, your nose, and your lips. His hand trails over your sweater. A gentle tug at the hem makes tears fall down your temple and into your hair.

You give an imperceptible nod at his silent request and he thanks you by pressing his lips to your jaw. He lifts it above your breasts, sitting atop the plain, skin-colored bra you're wearing. You haven't shaved, there's regrowing hair under your armpits and you're flushed to the bone.

You're not the doll you allow him to see. You haven't prepped yourself for consumption this time, and it almost makes you squirm, as you force your biceps flush to your ribcage.

He can't see that you're not the perfect little puppet you've always shown him. If you aren't perfect, willing, and breakable, then he can find a thousand more like you—better than you.

But he presses a kiss to your sternum, ignoring sweat, squirming, and whatnot.

“Beautiful.” He murmurs, tongue out to trace the line of the bone. “Pretty fucking girl.”

You sob. It doesn't deter him, as he lines the plain fabric of your cup until his fingers meet the clasp conveniently placed to the front. With a quick snap, he undoes it, and your tits spill out to the sides.

He hooks your attention back with a look, and you understand he’s asking, once again.

He’s seen you naked a thousand times but you realize he’s never seen you this raw. Your cheeks are flushed and his eyes have never looked so gentle yet hungry.

You nod again and he dives in, wasting no time.

His hands grab the fat of your tits. Push them together. Thumbs teasing nipples as they pebble under his pads. Lips kissing anywhere they can land, latching on flesh until it darkens. His teeth graze the peaks of your breasts, and your back arches off the floor.

Each grunt that escapes him has your spine vibrate. You can't fathom the thought that he likes this, not when you’re tasting like a long day at work and wet rain, instead of buttercream and mango.

You try to snake your leg between his own, to give back what he’s giving you. Carefully, you stroke the curve of your foot against his hard length, but he pulls back with his hips and gently guides your thigh to rest once more around his waist.

“Don’t need tha’, sunshine.” He grunts, a murmur lost as his lips mouth at your nipples. "This 's more 'n 'nough."

His hands hold you by the waist now, fingers gripping the flesh with tenacity. His beard scrapes at the soft skin of your tits as he travels downward with his mouth, following the path lined by your sternum to the gap between your ribs.

He licks stripes as if your skin were covered with cream. His teeth sink softly where your flesh is plumper, causing you to writhe against him, and he chuckles under his breath as he remembers you’re ticklish.

Such tiny things he knows about you, you almost forgot it’s been years he’s known you.

His bites turn kisses, and they're chastely pressed on the line of your stomach, over your belly button, and to the seam of your jeans.

John looks up at you when his lips reach the zipper, and by doing so you notice his brows arching up, causing lines to wrinkle his forehead. Pretty blue eyes take you in and the mess that you've made of yourself. Runny makeup, bitten lips.

You know he can see how undecided you still are. Brows pinched in both pleasure and discomfort because this is so new to you.

But you nod a little sharply for him to go on, as your mouth curls down in the hopefully non-futile attempt at muffling your sobs.

John unbuttons your pants and shimmies them down your hips to your ankles in such an agonizingly slow manner you can’t help but think he’s doing it to give you time to rebut, in case you change your mind.

You don't.

He takes them off together with your socks and brings your foot next to his face. Places a kiss on the side of it, sending tingles up your legs that tip to the apex of your thighs. He leaves small pecks down your ankle and your calf, closing his eyes and sometimes brushing his beard against your skin.

You look away, cheek flat to the tiles, now wet with your tears and the rain soaking your hair.

It doesn't deter John in the slightest, not even when he slowly comes down to a crawl, chest to the floor and nose on your mound. He tugs with his teeth at the cotton of your panties, nothing more than plain white cheeky underwear. So different from the way you always present yourself to him, with your expensive lace and your silks and your soft skin—painfully waxed so it could mimic the feel of your babydolls.

Gingerly, you reach down with your hand and thread your fingers through his hair, smoothing them back from his forehead. You cup the side of his face and brush your thumb to his flushed cheekbone. He leans into your palm and kisses it, uncaring of the stickiness left by your previous activity.

You feel something inside of you crash and break, then, like a glass vase falling from a height. You’re not sure whether it’s a good thing or not, because it makes more tears collect at the corners of your eyes and those are never predictors of a good ending.

He digs the tip of his nose against your slit, following the wet stripe that inevitably formed the moment you dropped to your knees for him.

“Can I?” He asks, sending little spikes of electricity up to your chest when his lips brush against the sensitive skin covered by flimsy cotton.

You feel your chest get so tight someone might as well be curling rope around it.

You feel so pathetic for crying just because you’re being asked about what makes you comfortable and what doesn’t. You’re such an advocate for your friends to go out there and demand for their needs to be met, that you can’t help but wallow in your hypocrisy when someone asks for yours.

He waits patiently for your consent, even if he's a breath away from your private parts, with his hands caressing the back of your thighs. Even if he's done this to you a thousand times already, with your squirming body giving him a show worthy of the cameras, had they been there.

He makes everything around you look so soft, even the tiles of the floor that are uncomfortably sticking to your skin feel like plush cushions.

You wonder briefly if this is how it should’ve always felt, had you allowed yourself to recognize your needs instead of seeing your body as a means to make others happy.

It comes out of your lips as a breath that’s followed by a wet sniffle, your head nodding softly, contrastingly to how tight you’re biting your own teeth.

“Yes.”

No amount of pressure on your jaw could stop the sob that escapes you afterward.

John closes his eyes and a warm shuddering sigh brushes your skin. You’re starting to realize that maybe you’re not the only one who’s being affected by this sudden change in your and his intimacy.

His fingers hook at your panties and he slides them to your ankles, letting them hang down one foot. You swing it carefully and kick them off as he returns his attention to the apex of your thighs, hooking your knees on his shoulders.

He starts tenderly, pressing kisses on the soft flesh of your vulva, paying attention even to the smallest bits you weren’t even aware could feel good. He latches on your outer lips, feeling how puffy they get at the slight suction.

Your thighs are corded and stiff under his grip, arms hooked around each plush leg, and palms flat on your skin.

John’s eyes are closed, although you wish he’d look at you as he travels with his lips along your slit. A kiss on your hole without probing too much, then one along the middle of your slit, which was getting impressively wetter as time passed, and the one on your hooded clit.

It sent jolts up your spine, causing your hips to buck against his mouth. His fingers tighten around your thighs in response, as if he’s trying to rein it in for you.

You appreciate it more than he thinks. You don’t think you’ve ever been placed on top of the queue so blatantly in your entire life.

The tip of his tongue darts out, but it’s obscured from your eyes by the regrowing hair on your mound and from his thick mustache. So, it takes you by surprise when he all but licks a thin stripe over the protruding part of your clit.

You hiss, and your head goes dizzy. You feel tiny pinpricks tingling in your brain, making you lightheaded and more than a little breathless.

During the whole relationship, you’ve been so focused on appearing like a full meal to his eyes, that you forgot how good it felt to be that meal on his tongue.

He laps at you again, eyes now wide open to gauge more of whatever you were giving him. You feel them as bright spotlights aimed at your face, but you can’t find it in yourself to display the act you’ve always given him.

You're already too different from the woman he's so used to seeing. You wonder if he likes you anyway; or if he likes you less, or more. When your eyes lock with his own, a dark flash tells you to go back to your ways. To flutter your lashes and pout your lips in small pleas, whimpering moans that always make his eyes roll to the back of his head.

And just as you’re about to give in to those old habits, John flattens his tongue against your cunt and licks all the thoughts out of your head. You tilt it back in a groan that has never, not once, left your lips in his presence.

He seems more than excited to hear it and starts eating you out like you’re his first meal in a century. This time, there is no plasticity in the ways you move. You’re not squirming away and acting coy about it, meeting his eyes to make sure he realizes that you're his pretty doll.

This time there’s you and the pleasure he gives you. There’s a hand in his hair that shyly tries to keep him still, as he puckers his lips around your nub and sucks it in his mouth. There’s the subtle canting of your hips to press your cunt closer to him, and the way he makes sure you don’t pull away from his tongue with his thick arms coiled around your thighs.

It’s so strange to allow yourself to feel so much. All this time you’ve been oblivious to all this as it happened in your same body because you were too busy focusing on how you appeared to his eyes. Even as he tongued your hole, your head told you it still had to be about pleasing him—because nothing in this world could ever be exclusively about you.

It hits you sharply that your beliefs about yourself, instilled by the callous teachings of your family, had bled through every aspect of your life. You already knew that, of course, but you never realized they had seeped into your intimacy as well.

Yet now you have proof of it, because you're sure John has not changed his tactics, it's you who's finally allowing your body to feel all this.

He twirls his tongue around your clit and you’re seeing stars. It’s such a strong sensation that you think you might have lost a marble or two in the process. Each grunt he emits from his lips vibrates through you and elicits similar sounds from your own mouth.

You’re not even looking at him, and you don’t care. It’s too good. He feels fucking heavenly and you’ll probably end up apologizing later for not having included him more, for not having paid enough attention to him as you should’ve.

But now—fucking hell, now—there's only how his tongue toys with each and every nerve ending of your sodden cunt.

You let him manhandle you, then, like he did so many times in the past. But now he positions you in an unflattering angle you would've never allowed before. He sits up on his knees, carrying your pelvis with him, close to his face.

To help yourself up, you place your hands on your haunches, propping your elbows on the floor. The tiles press harshly against the bone, much like they did on your knees when you’d knocked them down to suck him off not even twenty minutes prior, but now that pain feels so fickle compared to the pleasure he’s giving you.

He locks his arms around your lower belly, soft thighs pressed to his ears, and he dives in again.

Like this, you’re sure he can see every stupid, unflattering thing about you. But there’s the catch—it’s stupid. You’re sure you’re going to rethink all this eventually, but now everything that isn’t John and his lips on you is so unbelievably, fucking stupid.

“Taste like honey, y’ do.” You think you hear him say, as he nuzzles your cunt for all it’s worth.

He delves his tongue into your hole, plunging as deep as he can until he’s nosing your clit too. Facial hair scrapes the inside of your thigh raw, but that only enhances the opposite bliss happening thanks to his mouth.

You whimper, but not for show; it feels criminally good, and John knows it's real because your thighs shake so fiercely his vision goes wobbly too.

He chuckles, but it’s not derisive. His eyes are incensed, the light blue barely a rim around enlarged pupils. He looks in utter awe as he takes you in; face flushed, hair still wet from the rain and now from the sweat too. With an expression he's never once seen before, not on you. The sheer discomfort of the position but also the complete bliss that makes you forget you could have this on a more comfortable bed.

“Look at you—fucking beautiful." He murmurs with his lips to your cunt. "Criminal to hide this from me, love."

Your lips part into an oval, and your eyelids tremble, fighting the need to close your eyes and just feel. But he looks so unbelievably stunning you refuse, categorically, to take your eyes off of him.

And he apparently thinks the same, because his gaze never falters, not even when you tighten the grip your thighs have around his head. Nor does his tongue, as he plunges it again in your cunt, nose nudging your clit just right.

He might be fucking you with his mouth, but he sure is doing it with his eyes too.

And you’ve never felt so seen in your entire life. You’ve never felt so beautiful, so worthy, as right now. You wonder if he’s always been looking at you this way, but you were too lost in your own ways to notice.

You feel tears trickle down your temples again, mingling with your hair.

Jaw clenched tight, you breathe it out with all the strength you’ve got left in you.

“I love you.”

And John breaks into something different. You must have given him some final blow because his eyes shut closed and his brows knit together. An expression you've never seen, equally as pained as delighted.

He doesn’t answer, using his tongue for other purposes, keeping the stimulation both inside and out of you. Strong arms hold you still to his face, squeezing painfully tight around your hips. Thick palms flat against your lower belly, with his thumb tugging at your mons to unhood your puffy clit.

He goes on until you can’t hold yourself up anymore, arms giving out from under you. But he catches you anyway, hooking your legs better above his shoulders. The fact that your thighs are pressing against his ears gives you some sort of relief, knowing his hearing might have been muffled by your flesh.

So, you let go.

You moan loudly, fuck the neighbors, and whatever the world has to say. Fuck your head for sabotaging you, and taking you away from him.

You feel it build up slowly but suddenly; one moment it’s just fully encompassing pleasure, the next there’s a vine that stems from your ravaged cunt and curls around your belly, up to your neck.

Your throat blocks off, breathing shallow and sharp.

And then everything snaps.

John fights against the bucking of your hips just so he can keep his mouth on you and fuck you through it.

Your groan is so guttural you don't even think that was your voice. You don't even think, period. Your mind blacks out. A scorching heat develops from your sternum and coils around your chest like ivy in bloom.

You’ve had orgasms before thanks to his mouth, or his fingers, or his cock.

This, however, it’s so different you might consider yourself reborn.

It’s liberating. It’s new. It’s free and only, completely yours.

You don't even notice, as his tongue slows down, that your eyes are staring at nothing on the ceiling. That they fill with tears. And that you're crying.

You notice nothing, but just how good your body trembles, from the tips of your toes to the conscience in your head.

You don’t notice the sobs that leave your lips, as John gingerly places your body back down. Nor the way your chest heaves as if you’ve just learned how to use your lungs, while he hooks his arms behind your shoulders, and lifts you up to sit butt naked on the floor.

He holds you to his chest and you painfully sob against it. Not a thought about whether this is the right time to cry crosses your mind.

He cradles your cheek to his heart, while wet lips press against the crown of your head.

“Let go,” he murmurs, voice hoarse. “’M here, love. Let go.”

You cry so hard you think you might crack like porcelain on that floor. Your heaving sobs echo against the walls of the kitchen like the cries of a newborn child.

And John has no intention of letting you go through it alone. He is there with his hands, with his lips, with the strong, steady heartbeat against your ear until your wailing abates. Only then does he cup your cheek to lift your face.

You weep under your breath when you notice the bloodshot whites of his eyes and the clumped lashes. The dampness on his cheeks and the redness of the skin.

He smooths your hair back. Kisses your forehead with such intensity that he just might suck away the self-hatred your family has seeded in your brain with his lips.

He looks at you, then. Lips pursed in a tight line.

“You’ve never looked more beautiful than you do now, love.”

It’s inevitable the way your lips stretch in a smile that quivers and shakes in a breathless, wet chuckle.

You dig the heels of your hands in your eyes, sniffling painfully hard to get some air in your lungs. Your mouth is pasty and God, you must smell like proper shite.

But John leans down anyway and kisses your lips, uncaring of the salt of your tears, the snot, and the taste of you still lingering on his tongue.

And you kiss him back, this time threading your fingers through his hair, arms looped around his neck in an embrace you never want to break.

Noses flush against each other’s cheeks, lips parting only for you to take breaths because your nostrils are currently too stuffy for you to use them properly.

You sniffle and kiss and tug at his hair and hold him until you're both sated, but never enough. It won’t ever be enough.

A few beats of silence reign the kitchen as you sit on the floor, tangled in each other’s arms. The water in the pot must’ve boiled away, forgotten on the fire that still buzzes silently. John’s chest is your tiny alcove as you rest your head against it, and he holds you until your heart’s content.

Everything you’ve ever learned shakes before your eyes. Every thread that knitted the pattern carefully woven around you is slowly unraveling. The fabric wears down the more he shows you love without asking for anything in return.

He's making you regrow your limbs, returning the eyes they stole, allowing you to see that at the finish line, there's nothing but lies.

Nothing but missed calls, skipped appointments, and neglect. Honeyed words, saccharine pet names to render you soft as dough, willing to offer yourself to their exploitation. Sucking on every last drop of your sap, until only a hollow marionette is left.

John hasn't refilled you with energy; he made you realize you were never empty to begin with. Helped you see that they never smothered your fire to ashes, but only dimmed it to a flame, one you can rekindle easily.

One he cannot wait, for the life of him, to see ablaze again.

He’ll fight with you, give you the wood you need to keep yourself warm and your heart safe. Cut your strings once and for all, until you can get back on your feet again.

He thrives at the idea of seeing you glow like you did moments before, in your most raw and real form; a woman he's yet to meet.

However, being human, he does feel a temporary disappointment at the thought that you had put up such a blatant front for so long. Anger that he’d never noticed, thinking you were just this pliant little thing.

But he should've never thought of you as a thing. Never should've seen you as this obliging, pretty doll hanging from his lips. He should've dug deeper, like he always does even on the field, instead of falling for lies.

He’s often asked himself how you’ve never seemed to need anything, often pegging the behavior to self-sufficiency. You always took care of everything by yourself and promptly refused any aid when he tried to give it to you.

His mind reels with memories of the times he’s offered a helping hand, and you’ve politely declined it. It shatters him to think that you did it because you were afraid you had to give something back and maybe were too tired to offer anything.

It’s then that his mind deep dives into a place that sickens him.

How many times did you have sex with him and see it as a bargaining chip? Or as a way to repay him for something he’s done for you just because he loves you?

He shuts his eyes briefly, forcing the bile down his throat and deciding to dwell on the subject later. This moment comes first. You come first. So, he takes you in, blinking his eyes open once more.

He blindly reaches back to turn off the stove, before returning his arms around you. He brushes his lips to your temple, and your muscles soften under the way his breath tickles your skin.

You tilt your head back to lock your eyes with his own, gauging the earnestness swimming in his blues.

“I love you,” he breathes for the umpteenth time, that day.

No ventriloquist forces you to say it back. No strings move your arms to loop around his neck, as you lift yourself on your knees to be level with his eyes.

It's you, who rests your forehead on his own, brushing your nose to his in a butterfly kiss.

You feel like flesh and bone, more than polished wood tied to nylon strings. No voice box if not your vocal cords vibrating when you decide it, asking and giving all the same.

“I love you,” you whisper back.

There is no hunger for love, no finish line to reach. It’s not a race, not today.

And with John, you don’t think it’ll ever be again.

605 notes · View notes

prinvessdior · 3 months ago

Text

Three times you ask Kinich for something and the one time he asks for something.

tags: first person soz, bff! Mualani, I forgot ab Ajaw lol, y/n has a vision, established relationship, first kiss, just cute as hell, ft. me trying to write romantic tension.

wc: 3.6k

a/n: idk,, i think he needs more fics but yes crossposted on ao3 still editing as well

feel free to leave me req or msgs for any charc <3!

◣──•~❉᯽❉~•──◢

I think this was the fifth time I had water up my nose this afternoon. Or maybe it was the sixth, definitely. My nose and throat burned as I gasped for air above the water. My surfboard flung up beside me with another slap of water to my face. I hoisted myself back up to sit over my borrowed board. Mualani let me borrow one of her old ones from childhood. Since I'd never been able to surf. I wrung out my hair over my shoulder. "This is so hard," I whined to Mualani who padded over on her own board over to me.

Mualani only laughed, laying down on her stomach, "You're doing fine for a beginner." I doubted it. "Keep practicing, maybe you could finally convince Kinich to come to swim."

I snorted and rolled my eyes, "Yeah like that'll happen."

Mualani giggled, "He's a lost cause. Maybe if you asked him nicely, he might change his mind," she teased, sending me a look with a knowing smile.

"I don't think a simple 'please' will do the trick," I retorted, paddling my board backward in the shallows. "He'd probably just come up with some excuse like 'I don't want to get my clothes wet' or something, and then go back to what he was doing," I grumbled.

Mualani snickered. "He can be such a diva sometimes. It's like he's scared to have any fun. I don’t know how you can date a guy like that."

She was being dramatic. He wasn’t that bad. I’ve known practically everyone since I was a kid, I know the ins and outs. Kinich just.. more so liked to keep to himself. I didn’t mind it though it really seemed like we had just become really good friends now even after putting a relationship title on us.

"Though I'm sure he'd do anything you asked," Mualani says with a nod

I quickly looked away.

"Don't be ridiculous," I mumbled, "Kinich doesn't listen to anyone, let alone me." I quickly looked away.

Mualani gave me a knowing smile. "Oh come on, don't pretend you haven't noticed the way he looks at you. That boy is absolutely smitten with you."

I tried to feign indifference, though my heart thumped in my chest. "He doesn't look at me any differently than he looks at everyone else."

Mualani raised an eyebrow. "Are you serious? He's practically drooling every time you're around. And he always insists on helping you with anything you need, no matter how menial."

I shifted uncomfortably in my waterlogged swimsuit. "That's just who he is. He's like that with everyone. He's just...a good guy." I don’t think I wanted to spill my guts with my best friend about my relationship just yet.

Mualani rolled her eyes. "You can be so clueless sometimes. Trust me on this."

I huffed, pushing my soaked hair out of my eyes. "Even if you're right, which you're not, I doubt he'd ever actually do anything about it. Kinich is too aloof to make a move."

Mualani smirked. "That's where I think you're wrong. I've seen the way he stares at you when you're not looking. That boy has it bad. If you ask me, he's just been waiting for the right moment.”

I narrowed my eyes with a laugh, "Sure, and dendro slimes will fly someday. Besides, I can't even imagine Kinich acting all romantic. He's too sarcastic and quippy for mushiness."

Mualani shrugged. "Maybe you should try giving him a hint then. See if he responds. I know he'd be all over you in a heartbeat if he thought he had a chance."

"I don't know, Mualani...he's always been so closed off. It wouldn’t feel natural."

Mualani grinned. "Well, you could always try being a bit more... flirtatious. Give him some nonverbal cues to let him know you're interested. A touch on the arm, a smile, a compliment, something like that. See how he responds."

"Yeah, nope," I said with a determined nod, I'd give up my pyro vision back to our archon before doing something as embarrassing as that.

“C'mon! What’s the harm in it?”

I gave Mualani a pointed look, “The harm is we’ve only been together three months.”

Mualani groaned, “But you’ve been friends for years!” She emphasized by splashing me with water.

I splashed her back, “I don’t expect anything from Kinich, Lani, I’m fine with what we have now.”

“Yeah, but, did you ask him that? Maybe he wants to be closer with you.”

Okay, yeah maybe I hadn’t thought about that. I paused mid-splash attack. “Oh.”

Another splash of water to my face, as I tipped sideways losing balance sitting on my surfboard. I tipped straight into the water making another splash for the seventh time.

Mualani was laughing when I arose from the surface. “Just try it. It’s not like he’ll outright reject you.”

I gave Mualani a glare, “I’m going to go change. I’m done learning today.”

“Ouchie, you really know how to burn me.” Mualani sighs with a dramatic expression.

“Insanity.” I mumbled padding back to the shore with my best friend trailing behind me. Still making dramatic plans about how to get my boyfriend to be more open. I was not listening as she rambled all the way back to my house.

◣──•~❉᯽❉~•──◢

I liked living right beside the hot springs. Even the ones that weren’t heated were usually the ones I gravitated towards. Given that Natlan was already hot, I never remembered my normal body temperature being this hot before I received my Pyro vision.

But right now, I think I was jealous of Cyro Vision users. Kachina had requested my help near her tribe. She wanted to collect flowers among herbs, and fruits for the traveler to help her gain enough confidence to enter into the night warden wars.

But it was too hot, and I was craving a bath. Being drenched in sweat was horrible. I didn’t want to complain in front of Kachina so I continued to follow her, we’d strayed far from The Children of The Echo’s tribe.

“Do you think this is enough?” I asked the smaller girl once we’d stopped near a stream.

“Uh-! I-.. I think so!” Kachina reached her arms up to take the fruits nestled in my bag. I happily let her take it as I took a seat near the stream for a much-needed breather.

“Great, I’m just gonna.. sit down for a while.”

Kachina gave me a nod with a bright smile. Which in turn made me smile. I felt like a big sister whenever I was with Kachina. It made it better that she was so smart and easy to talk to. I closed my eyes as a gust of wind helped cool my sweltering face.

Kachina sat down beside me, dipping her toes into the water. “Thank you for helping me today, I really appreciate it.”

I smiled, grateful for the respite. “Of course, Kachina. It’s the least I can do. The Traveler did so much for you.”

She nodded, her expression thoughtful. “Yeah, they really did. I wouldn’t have had the courage to join the Night Warden Wars without their support.”

We sat by the stream, the cool water lapping at my feet, and my mind drifted back to what Mualani had said the day before. Could it really be that simple? Just say please? I found myself lost in a whirlwind of emotions as the cool water of the stream rippled around me.

“Y/n? Y/n!” Kachina’s voice broke through my reverie, pulling me back to the present.

”Huh.” I blinked, realizing she was talking to someone. I turned to see Kinich standing there, looking a bit awkward but smiling warmly.

“Hey, Y/n,” he greeted, his voice a little uncertain. “Are you okay?”

I forced a smile, trying to shake off my embarrassment. “Oh, hey, Kinich. Yeah, I’m fine. Just, you know, dying of the heat,” I joked, fanning myself dramatically.

He chuckled, his eyes softening. “Yeah, it’s pretty brutal today.” He turned to me and narrowed his eyes. “Should you really be out here for much longer? You don’t look so good.”

Before I could respond, Kachina’s face fell, and she quickly apologized. “Oh no, I’m so sorry! I didn’t realize you weren’t feeling well. I shouldn’t have taken you so far.”

I shook my head, giving her a reassuring smile. “It’s okay, Kachina. I wanted to come out and help you. Really.”

She still looked worried, but I could see she was trying to believe me. I took a deep breath, deciding albeit hesitantly that if I were to test Mualani’s theory. Any time would be the best time “Kinich, could you please get me some water from the stream? I think it would help me cool down.”

To my surprise, he didn’t hesitate. Without a single sarcastic comment or playful tease, he nodded and walked over to the stream. The next thing I felt was the cool, wet rag on my forehead, and sighed in relief. Kinich's gentle touch was comforting as he helped me sit back down. My body was still cooling off from Natlan’s scorching heat.

"Thank you, Kinich," I said, looking up at him with a small smile.

He smiled back, though it was more a twitch of lips upwards, his eyes warm. "It was no problem at all. Just take it easy for a bit."

I nodded, leaning back into the grass. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Kachina watching us. She seemed to be trying hard not to look awkward, and I couldn't help but find it endearing.

"Are you okay, Y/n?" Kachina asked, her voice filled with genuine concern.

"Yeah, I think so," I replied, giving her a reassuring smile. "Just a bit... overwhelmed, I guess."

Kachina nodded, her cheeks flushing slightly. "You two are really cute together," she blurted out, then immediately looked like she regretted it.

Kinich chuckled softly, and I felt my own cheeks flush. "Thanks, Kachina," I said, trying to ease her embarrassment.

She smiled, looking a bit more relaxed. "Well, if you need anything, I'm here to help."

"Thanks," I said, appreciating her kindness. "I think I'll be okay now."

Kinich gave my hand a gentle squeeze. "Just rest for a bit. I'll be right here."

I nodded, feeling a little lightheaded. Not from the heat though. As I leaned back, feeling the coolness of the rag on my forehead, my mind wandered to Mualani’s words. Maybe she was right.

◣──•~❉᯽❉~•──◢

A couple of days later, I found myself in Xilonen’s shop, surrounded by shelves filled with various trinkets and artifacts. The air was filled with the scent of herbs and old parchment, a comforting reminder of the past. Xilonen and I were busy organizing her shop, a task that felt both familiar and soothing.

“Thanks for helping out, Y/n,” Xilonen said, her voice warm. “I’ve been meaning to get this place in order for ages.”

“No problem,” I replied, placing a stack of scrolls on a nearby shelf. “It’s nice to catch up. We haven’t had much time together since the war ended.”

She nodded a hint of sadness in her eyes. “Yeah, things have been so hectic. But it’s good to see you. How have you been holding up?”

I shrugged, trying to keep my tone light. “I’ve been okay. Just trying to figure things out, you know?”

Xilonen smiled knowingly. “I get it. It’s been a strange time for all of us. But I’m glad you’re here. It feels like old times.”

We continued to work in comfortable silence for a while, the rhythm of our movements almost meditative. As we sorted through a box of ancient artifacts, Xilonen suddenly looked up, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. “So, I heard a little rumor that you and Kinich are dating now. Is it true?” Probably from Mualani...

I felt my face heat up slightly but nodded. “Yeah, it’s true.”

Xilonen grinned. “I knew it! How’s that going? I mean, considering how Kinich… is.”

I chuckled, understanding what she meant. “It’s going fine, actually. He’s been really sweet and supportive. It’s still new, but we’re figuring it out.”

She nodded, her expression softening. “That’s good to hear. Kinich can be ahh.. how do I put this? Blunt? but he has a good heart.”

“Yeah, he does,” I agreed, feeling a warm glow at the thought of him. “He’s been really great.”

we continued to clean, the door to the shop opened, and Kinich walked in. His eyes immediately found mine, and he smiled warmly Again, just the hint of his lips turning at the corners. “Hey, Y/n,” he greeted, then turned to Xilonen. “Xilonen.”

“Hey, Kinich,” I replied, feeling a flutter of happiness at seeing him.

Xilonen gave him a playful look. “Didn’t expect to see Y/n here, huh?”

Kinich chuckled, scratching the back of his head. “Yeah, I was a bit surprised. What’s going on?”

Xilonen rolled her eyes dramatically. “Oh, so I can’t see my friend for a day? I asked Y/n to help me clean up since it’s been a while.”

Kinich nodded, looking a bit awkward. “Right, of course. Well, it’s good you both are here. I actually came by to let you know that someone from The Children of the Echos commissioned me for a project, so I don’t have much time to chat.”

“That’s great, What kind of project?” genuinely wanting to know

He shrugged, a small smile on his face. “It’s a bit of a mystery for now, but I’ll fill you in later.”

Xilonen smirked. “Always keeping secrets, huh?”

Kinich laughed. “Something like that. Anyway, I just wanted to say hi. I’ll catch up with you both later.”

It was the perfect time to test Mualani's theory further. I spotted an item on a high shelf that I couldn't reach and decided to ask Kinich for help.

"Kinich, could you please help me get that down?" I called out, pointing to a random scroll.

He stopped talking to Xilonen almost instantly and came up behind me. "Sure, what do you need?" he asked, his voice so, so close to my ear.

I pointed at the scroll again. "That one, right up there."

Without hesitation, Kinich reached over my head and grabbed it, his arm brushing against mine. He handed it to me with a smile. "Here you go."

"Thanks," I said, feeling a bit flustered by how quickly he had responded.

"No problem," he replied. "I have to go now, but I'll see you later." He turned to Xilonen and me, giving us both a quick nod. "Goodbye, Xilonen. Bye, Y/n."

"Bye, Kinich," we both said in unison as he left the shop.

As the door closed behind him, Xilonen turned to me with a curious look. "What was that? I've never seen Kinich act like that before."

I shrugged, trying to play it cool. "I don't know. Maybe he's just being extra helpful today."

Xilonen raised an eyebrow. "Extra helpful, huh? Well, whatever it is, it's definitely interesting."

I smiled, Maybe Mualani was onto something after all.

“I should get going too,” I said, giving Xilonen a hug. “Thanks for today. It was really nice to catch up.”

"Oh yeah totally! I can handle the rest here. Also, come by anytime,” she replied, hugging me back. “Don’t be a stranger, okay?”

“I won’t,” I promised, smiling as I headed out the door.

◣──•~❉᯽❉~•──◢

I found myself back at Mualani’s place, surfboard in hand and ready for another lesson. Mualani was determined to teach me how to surf, and I was equally determined to make her proud, even if it meant a few more wipeouts.

“Hey, ‘Lani!” I greeted her, adjusting my swimsuit as I approached. “Ready for another round?”

Mualani grinned, her eyes always sparkling with excitement. “Always! But first, tell me have you been messing with Kinich? He’s been super quiet. More than usual.”

I laughed, setting my surfboard down. “Really? That’s funny. I’ve been testing your theory. It’s been interesting, to say the least. I really don’t think he’s reacting. He’s doing things any normal boyfriend would do.”

She nodded enthusiastically. “You absolutely need to keep it up. Yesterday he looked like he was going to explode.”

I snorted a laugh Mualani clapped her hands together. “Alright, enough talk. Let’s hit the waves!”We headed down to the beach, the sound of the ocean filling the air.

As we paddled out, Mualani and I chatted about everything and nothing, enjoying the easy flow of conversation. Suddenly, someone from the tribe called out to Mualani, needing her assistance with something urgent.

Mualani sighed, giving me an apologetic look. “Duty calls. Just focus on balancing on the board for now, okay? I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“Got it!” I called, watching as she paddled back to the shore.

Left to my own devices, I paddled out to the shallow part of the water. I stood up on the board, feeling the gentle sway of the ocean beneath me. Balancing was tricky, but I was determined to get the hang of it. I took a deep breath, focusing on keeping my stance steady.

The sun was warm on my skin, and the sound of the waves was soothing.

My balance wavered, and I tumbled into the water with a splash. As I surfaced, sputtering and wiping the saltwater from my eyes, I heard a familiar voice.

"Having trouble there?" Kinich asked, a teasing smile on his face.

I felt my cheeks heat up with embarrassment. "Maybe just a little," I admitted, trying to laugh it off.

He chuckled, wading over to me. "Here, let me help you." He reached out, steadying me as I stood up in the water. His hands were firm but gentle, and I felt a bit more stable with his support.

"Thanks," I mumbled reeling from the taste of saltwater, feeling self-consciousness.

"No problem," he replied, still holding my surfboard, "Everyone falls sometimes. It's part of the learning process."

I nodded, appreciating his encouragement. "Yeah, I guess so."

He handed me the board, his eyes warm with amusement. "Just keep at it. You'll get the hang of it."

The sun glinted off the water as I turned towards Kinich, curiosity, and anxiety bubbling with the ripples of the water.

“Kinich,” I called out, voice catching the wind.

“Would you help me with this, please? I mean, with keeping my balance on the board?”

His gaze softened, and without a word, he nodded. With practiced ease, he dropped the surfboard into the water, and it settled with a small splash. Approaching me, he placed his hands gently around my waist, lifting me as if I weighed nothing.

My heart beat wildly, like drums against my chest—not just from the thrill, but from the intimate touch. Kinich’s hands lingered longer than necessary as he steadied me on the board, fingers warm against her skin through the thin fabric of my swimsuit. His grip was firm, yet tender, as though he was acutely aware of his strength and its effect.

“This good?” he asked, voice low, almost a whisper. It sent shivers down my spine, as I nodded, unable to find my voice. So instead I nodded, slowly.

Once Kinich was convinced Ihad found my balance, he slowly let go. For a few moments, I managed to stay upright, it was my triumph. But the waves had other plans. The board wobbled violently beneath my feet, and with a startled yelp, I lost my footing. In the blink of an eye, I grabbed onto Kinich, pulling him down with me. We both plunged into the cool embrace of the ocean. Breaking the surface, I wiped the water from my eyes, only to be met with the sight of a thoroughly drenched and disheveled Kinich. My initial shock dissolved into a fit of giggles.

“I am so sorry!” I gasped between laughs, noticing the way his usually calm demeanor was replaced with a mixture of surprise a cute scowl. “You look... upset.”

Kinich’s expression softened, the corners of his mouth twitching into a smile. “Upset with you? Never.”

His eyes held mine, a glint of mischief playing in their sunsets. “Actually,” he continued, his voice low and sincere, “since you’ve been asking so politely, I thought I might as well ask the same... Can I please kiss you?”

Time seemed to pause as his words settled over. The world faded around us, leaving just the two of us in that perfect, sunlit moment. I barely managed a nod.

Kinich's lips met mine with a tenderness that took my breath away. The kiss was soft, almost hesitant as if he was savoring the moment, afraid it might slip away too soon. His hands, still resting on my hips, tightened slightly, pulling closer but never forcefully.

I felt the warmth of his touch through the cool water, his fingers tracing gentle patterns on my revealed skin. The world around us seemed to fade, leaving only the sensation of his lips on mine and the steady rhythm of our breaths mingling.

As the kiss deepened, Kinich's hand moved to cradle my face, his thumb brushing lightly against my cheekbone. It was a gesture of pure affection, a silent promise of his care and respect. I responded in kind, my own hands finding their way to his shoulders, feeling the strength and warmth beneath my fingertips.

When we finally pulled apart, he rested his forehead against mine, heavy breaths mingling in the space between us. Kinich's eyes searched mine, a soft smile playing on his lips. Before he frowned.

"Now please stop saying please," he whispered, his voice barely audible over the gentle lapping of the waves. "I can't take it anymore."

#lyna’s thots #kinich x reader #kinich #genshin #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #kinich x you #kinich x y/n #Kinich x reader fluff #he's kinda hot and bothered lol #genshin impact #genshin fanfic

540 notes · View notes