#I’m not sure if the timeline would actually work

[hivemuthur]

To Be Known - Ch.8.

viktorxfemale!reader explicit! (and I can't stress this enough, kids shoo!) Modern AU, set in London, current era but not very specific. It's just a love story.

<- previous chapter MASTERLIST next chapter ->

word count: 6,2K

warnings, or rather this chapter contains: safe word use mentioned from Viktor's POV, subdrop & domspace (Viktor's), mentions of asphyxiation via throat fucking, light slapping and crying from Viktor's POV, some good ol' sex and you wouldn't believe it, actual fluff.

author’s note: Viktor's POV of what happened so we take a step back in timeline! Dinner next week. And as usual, playlist here and artist is @petitesieste ♡ translations from Czech at the bottom! @rennethen beta read, thank you ♡

Cross-posted on AO3

—

He wakes to the smell of coffee—not the acrid, burnt kind that Jayce swears by, but something softer. Sweeter. Something you made.

The light in the flat is watery, the clouds outside dragging slow shadows across the walls. He blinks blearily at the bedroom ceiling and shifts, noticing first the ache in his leg, then the heaviness in his chest.

You’re not in bed. But your warmth is still in the sheets, curled faintly into the pillow beside him.

Viktor forces himself upright, limbs slow. His body doesn’t feel wrong, just... unfamiliar. Like someone else’s skin laid gently over his own. The memory of your hands—so sure, so careful—makes his mouth go dry.

He finds you in the kitchen in an oversized hoodie, hair tied back loosely, humming under your breath as you pour hot water into the press. You don’t startle when he appears. You just glance over your shoulder, smiling, as if you’ve always known exactly where he is.

“Hi,” you say, setting a mug down for him.

He hesitates before taking it. “You didn’t have to,” he murmurs.

“I wanted to,” you reply, simply, like it’s obvious and it disarms him.

The morning passes like that—quiet, your fingers brushing his side when you walk past, his eyes following the curve of your smile like it’s something sacred. You don’t tease him. Don’t press. You just move around him like you know the weight of what you shared, and refuse to treat it lightly.

It should soothe him, but it doesn’t. The secret spilled last night—wordless but scratched open—lingers in the silence between you like a held breath. Even though he’s absolutely certain that you know what it feels like, it remains unspoken. And it seems as if touching it would be asking too much of you. So Viktor grits his teeth and tries to survive it on his own.

Until you’re dressed and ready to go, arms draped loosely over his shoulders, sat on the edge of the kitchen table like you belong there.

“I have to get going,” you murmur, nose brushing against the rough plane of his cheek, warm and certain in a way he can barely bring himself to match. You pull his hair back from his face with one hand—a loving gesture—and then trace your thumbs down the hollows of his cheeks.

“I can’t convince you to take a day off, can I?” he asks, the words raw with something too close to need. He tells himself he means it as a joke, but there’s no dignity in the way his fingers wrap around your wrist, desperate to keep you just a moment longer.

“I’m so sorry,” you say, smiling with that soft guilt. “Young Vic needs me.”

“Old Vik needs you more today,” he tries again, thinner now, an attempt at levity that collapses when the line leaves his mouth. The moment it does, he has to turn away from you—because the recoil twists something awful in his face, and he doesn’t want you to see it.

You hesitate, then offer gently, “I could call you in the evening? Or come over?”

“Eh, I’m… joking,” he says quickly, waving his hand. “Go to work. I’ll be alright.”

There’s a pause, and then: “Viktor?” His name sounds different when you say it like that. Soft. Careful. “I—” You bite your lip, then exhale. “I know how… this feels,” you say, smoothing a hand over his chest.

“I know you do. And I know how this feels,” he replies, reaching for you and placing a flat palm over your heart. “Go and use it for something good. I have an easy day today.”

You wait until he’s looking away to rise up, hovering over his lap before kissing him. There’s no rush in it, just something tender and attentive. His hands come to your waist, hesitant at first—then firmer as he pulls you in and gives the kiss back. But not for long. He breaks it, pressing his face to yours with a tired sound in his throat.

“You’re making it worse,” he murmurs, his voice barely audible against your lips. It isn’t accusation—just truth, hushed and heavy.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. Your forehead rests against his, your breath warm between you. “But leaving you doesn’t feel right today.”

He huffs a soft sound that might have been a laugh if it didn’t sound so pained. “Does it ever feel right?”

“No,” you admit quietly. “But it feels less wrong when you’re perked up.”

That earns you a faint smile, crooked and tired. “Well, you will be back, won’t you? I need a day.”

“Of course,” you say, brushing your knuckles down the sharp line of his jaw. The gesture is soft, familiar, meant to soothe. “Call me though?”

His eyes meet yours—something tender flickering behind them. He doesn’t answer right away, but the nod that follows is slow and sure. Then his eyes grow distant, as if he’s trying not to grab blindly for what you’re taking with you. 

By the time he arrives at the Institute, he’s already chasing the part of himself that slipped out of reach last night. The one you pulled into your hands and held so reverently it scared him. He spends the day half-there, sketching absent lines into his notebook, one ear tuned vaguely to Jayce’s humming.

He tells himself it’s because he misses you, and not because he’s trying to claw back the version of himself you once begged to submit to.

The workbench doesn’t help. The lab work under his fingertips feels alien in a way it never has before—he assembles, disassembles, calibrates again, but none of it lands. His hands move, but they don’t belong to him today. 

At lunch, Jayce tries to corner him about a supply delay, but the words slide past like water on glass. Viktor nods where appropriate, gives a half-hum of agreement, and then stares at a small flaw in a solder point for twelve minutes, unable to remember what made it wrong. When Jayce circles back later, brows lifted and lips curled with mock concern, Viktor doesn’t rise to the bait.

“You sick or something?” Jayce finally says, nudging him with a wrench. “Is your leg bad?”

Viktor shrugs, without irony. “No. Just tired.” Which isn’t a lie. He is tired. But it’s the sort that sleep doesn’t touch.

He manages through it—just barely—riding a vague cloud of undefined sadness and borrowed momentum until the sky turns the soft blue of dusk. It’s a day in which nothing really happens, and yet, getting through it feels like wading through wet wool. Every hour stretches like taffy. Every question aimed at him demands a version of himself he can’t quite locate.

It’s very late when you call, but your pseudonym on the little black screen does serve as a lifeboat. At first Viktor wonders if just the sheer act of you calling him would be enough—and whether he should actually pick up. He does, in the end.

Your voice balms over him, the sound of it wrapping like gauze around an open wound. He exhales, head tipping back against the wall behind him as you sigh—relieved, clearly—that he picked up.

“I’m sorry, it’s so late. How are you doing?”

“I—” His throat tightens. “I actually don’t know.”

A pause. Then: “Would you like to… elaborate?”

He runs a hand through his hair, fingers catching. “It’s just… It’s been a long time since I’ve done this.”

“Is there anything I can do?”

“You calling is nice.”

There’s a breath on the line. Then: “Look, I… I wouldn’t be opposed to coming back to the initial… setup.”

“Wouldn’t be opposed?” he echoes, mouth twitching faintly.

“I would love to come back to it.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” he murmurs, quieter now. “How are you feeling?”

“Uh, I’m good, but, hmm… irritable?”

That earns a small smile from him. “Oh?”

“It’s hard to explain,” you say, voice lilting in that way that always means you’re hedging. “Suddenly it’s very hard for me to understand when people just don’t do what I ask of them perfectly… Charlie called me Idi Amin today, so, uh, you know, I fear it might’ve turned me into a villain.”

“Ah, that.” Viktor chuckles softly, the sound hollow. “I can imagine it’s harder when you actually are in charge of something.”

“Yeah, I might not be the best person to wield such power.”

He lets his head fall back again, the ceiling above him blurred in the low light. “It’s something you can learn, should you wish to.”

“I—maybe.” A shift in your voice, tentative. “But Viktor, I don’t want you to think that something changes now.”

His chest tightens with that dull pressure he’s come to associate with wanting too much. “Well, something has changed,” he says, slowly, carefully. “In the spirit of honesty, which should be a pillar of this arrangement, I can tell you... that it perhaps was a little bit too soon for me.”

His own admission tastes strange in his mouth, too open and bare, but it’s true, nevertheless. “But I offered,” he adds, swallowing. “So the consequences are on me. I just don’t feel like myself today. But it will pass.”

“What can I do?”

He smiles, brief and tired, the expression hidden in shadow. “Hold back your control freak tendencies until we meet again? For the sake of theatre industry and possibly humanity?”

A soft exhale from the other end of the line. “It seems that we are on the opposite poles of control freakiness.”

“Yes,” he says, leaning forward, his elbow braced on his knee. “Two halves of one giant freakiness.”

“Viktor?”

He hums, eyelids lowering.

“I never said thank you. So thank you, for trusting me.”

The silence stretches for a beat before he answers, voice soft. “You are welcome.” He presses a thumb to his temple, almost without thinking. “You’ve earned it.”

“You are such a sap, I swear.”

“And you are romance repellent.”

That pulls a laugh from you—quick, bright, and it lingers in his ear even after the words fade. “Goodnight, Viktor.”

“Goodnight,” he murmurs, holding the phone just a second longer than needed before finally ending the call.

Truthfully what Viktor needs is you, right here with him in no particular setup, just being. He chuckles at his own contemplation on how strong or utterly stubborn you must be for not crawling back to him night after night, only every two or three nights, and still manage to tease him. Were you to walk through his door right now, he would fold like a napkin.

And Viktor would never call himself a person with a bleeding heart, yet for you he seems to be haemorrhaging slowly, from a small vein where the blood is airless, thick and lazy, so it can remain unnoticed for the longest time.

He stands under the scalding stream in the shower for ages, trying to purge the tension away from his body. The water pelts his shoulders in rhythmic bursts, but it does little to dissolve the tightness lodged deep beneath his skin. His mind is too loud for that—replaying your voice, dissecting its tone for layers of guilt, affection, detachment, something he can hold onto.

Eventually he turns the tap off, but lingers, head bowed. The air steams around him like a fog he doesn’t step out of.

When he finally makes it to bed, his leg is restless enough that he has to fumble for the crutch to keep it tucked against the nightstand—just in case. He hates using it at night, hates the metallic echo it taps across the floor, but tonight the ache is sharper than usual, aggravated by the weight of a day spent dragging emotions behind him like a second body.

He lies down without much ceremony. Gets his injection. Shifts once. Then again. He flips the pillow over, though it’s still warm on both sides. The silence hums in his ears. Sleep doesn’t come—not for a long time. When it finally does, it’s light and hollow, and Viktor wakes cold in his own bed.

The next day drags unbearably. He’s irritable and impatient, self-loathing rocketing sky-high as every weak spot crawls to the surface. There’s a monstrous, near-comical need welling up inside him, and it leaves him deeming himself utterly useless. He’s pliant with the investors. Jayce notices—worries—and eventually makes him go home, despite Viktor’s scoffs and brittle protests.

By the third day, he breaks. His good leg jumps up and down as he sits hunched on the stool in the lab, clutching his phone. The sass has long evaporated. He deletes a message three times before settling on something tolerable.

First attempt: Can I see you tonight? Utterly outrageous. No. Second: Come over in the evening. It feels presumptuous. He has no right. Third: How are you? Pathetic. Eventually, he settles on: What are you wearing?

You reply almost immediately, and he exhales—relieved. He’s certain your ass is perfectly fine, and you’re just indulging him. He snorts when you say you can afford his begging. Jayce raises an eyebrow, the question already forming, so Viktor simply mutters, “Cat videos.”

And when you text back I can’t wait, the giddiness rushes in—like a teenager. He can't wait either. When you buzz in and stumble out of the elevator, eyes distressed and posture tight, practically falling into his arms, Viktor has a single, foolish dream: That he could lift you, toss you onto the bed, and love you so gently the world would fall away. That maybe, just maybe, it would fix everything.

It’s the first time Viktor sees you like this—begging from the very threshold of his apartment. Pressing against him as if he offers some kind of relief. The sheer demand in your body for him to fall back into a role scrapes at the edges of his restraint, tipping him toward something darker when you won’t say what happened. He wants to know so badly who hurt you like this—so he can burn their house down and salt the ashes, tear their family apart, ruin them beyond repair.

You feel like an answered prayer in his arms, desperate and pliant. He takes you to the living room, watching the way you move—shaky, flushed, undone—as if his presence alone steadies you. He gestures to the cushions beside the couch. You kneel without protest.

It’s the image that splits him open.

Your mouth on him is so familiar, so obedient. Like a script returning to its first draft. He doesn’t speak much, just watches—eyes dragging down your face, your hair, the subtle tremor in your shoulders. He doesn’t ask what you need. Doesn’t outright ask what happened anymore, just scolds you playfully for not telling him. Not because he doesn’t care—God, he does—but because it feels too dangerous. Because if he asks, you might tell him, and he’s not sure he’ll survive it.

So he rewrites it all into performance. He slaps his cock against your cheek. The noise is louder than he anticipates in the quiet of the flat, and you flinch. That should have been the moment, but it isn’t.

Something in your expression falters—uncertainty where there should be surrender. But you stay with that tear prickling your eye. It’s such a gorgeous sight Viktor can’t help himself. He cups your face, and slaps you once. Again, he doesn’t stop. It crosses his mind he should ask if you want to.

But he presses back in, and then the second slap lands and he knows already that you are gone. He hears in the way you plea with his name. Then in the way you say, “Stop.” And then, red lands sharp and awful and your voice alone shatters him. The way it lands in the room, like a gunshot through fog. He blinks, as though just now returning to his body. You’re trembling. Not aroused. Not soft. Just… splintered.

And he realises, he’s panicked, trying to stitch together the version of himself that you looked at like a prayer answered, like you trusted it. Trying to make something static out of something inherently alive.

What he’d seen on your knees—open, vulnerable—wasn’t a call to power. It was a call to care. And he missed it. Because the sight of you there made something inside him settle. For the first time in days, his skin had fit again, like the shape of him had returned. He'd felt whole. Drunk on it. And he’d mistaken that relief for balance.

His reaction is instant, yet it feels far too slow. Every movement is thick, underwater. He guides you up gently, though all he wants is to lift you and carry you to bed. The fact that he can’t—because of the crutch, because of the day, because of his body—makes him feel small. What makes him feel worse is when you ask if he’s angry.

You cry so beautifully on his lap, he nearly slips again. Torn between crying with you and soothing you, Viktor settles on a compliment: You are wonderful. Many times already he’s fought back what keeps trying to breach the border of his lips, and he manages to hold it again—barely. Still stunned and ashamed by what happened, he makes a quiet vow: he will never corrode love into something cruel. Not with you. Never with you.

When you're finally in his bed, he leaves only for a moment. To get a towel for you. To steal a breath for himself. He brings back Jayce’s t-shirt and notices sombrely that the marking on your belly is nearly gone.

He’s ready to call it a night. To cradle you through the shame and the silence. But then your hands ghost over his stomach, pleading. And it takes every last ounce of his willpower—and some borrowed from whatever extraterrestrial entity set this whole cruel universe in motion—to refuse you.

But you keep begging. Frustrated, you throw your hands up, and he wishes he could read your mind. And then suddenly—he can.

And Viktor cannot exactly put a pin in the moment it finds him—or rather, the moment he catches up with it. The love that has kind hands, the love that snores, the love that cracks her bones ten thousand times a day, the love that finds shelter in the crease of his thigh and gives, gives, gives—and takes. What he has to shed, she wants. What she gives, he takes and says thank you. When he caught up with it eludes him. But where it found him—he is convinced—it was at the world’s end.

By the time he shakes off the weight of that realisation, you’re already asleep. Curled over him. Breathing warm air against his cock like it’s nothing, like it’s everything. His hand rests on your head, the other clutched to his chest. He says your name, softly, just to be sure. When you don’t stir, he gathers every shard of nerve he has and whispers: “I think I love you.”

Soon after that sleep takes him too. He wakes to the pressing throb of his leg and the weight of your head nestled into the plane of his stomach. One of your arms is draped across his waist, fingers curled possessively into his hip like you’d grown roots there in your sleep. It’s still dark out. His phone buzzes once—4:43 AM—and he grimaces as sensation starts returning in a slow, mean wave down his thigh.

He hates moving you. Every instinct he has screams to let you stay as you are, peaceful and slack-jawed against him, hair tickling his skin with each breath. But he needs to get up. The pressure is unbearable, the stiff ache turning sharp.

Carefully, he shifts—easing your hand from his waist, brushing your cheek. You murmur something into the warmth, not quite words, but when he brushes your shoulder again, your eyes blink open, bleary and unfocused.

“Sorry,” he murmurs, voice hoarse. “Need the bathroom.”

You nod, half-asleep, and roll away just enough to let him move. He reaches for his crutch, standing slowly with a tight breath, and pads toward the door. When he returns, you're sitting up, barely upright, blanket wrapped loosely around your chest.

“I pinned you,” you say, voice raspy, eyes dragging over the crutch.

“You were warm.” He pauses, settling in beside you again. “I didn’t mind.”

You make a noncommittal sound and tug the blanket tighter. Your eyes are clearer now, more awake, still a bit puffy, watching him as he eases himself back onto the bed. The mood is subdued, but not strained.

You yawn into your sleeve. “Do you think people will notice?”

Viktor blinks. “That you pinned me?”

You give him a look. “At dinner.”

He exhales, amused but wary. “Ah.” It hangs between you for a second. The Soho dinner. Mel’s big revival of her hosting streak. You were both invited—separately—as this is of course still, a very casual secret.

“I mean, we haven’t exactly rehearsed public performances,” you add.

He rubs a hand across his face. “Yes, and I imagine ‘friends of friends’ won’t suffice if I accidentally lick your neck.”

You snort, surprised. “Jesus, Viktor.”

He shrugs, mouth twitching. “I’m not especially discreet.”

“No, you're not.” You draw your knees tighter. “Do we… act normal? Or pretend we don’t know each other?”

“I’d prefer not to pretend,” he says. “But if it makes you more comfortable, I’ll behave.”

There’s a pause, then you ask: “Will it be weird for you?”

He shakes his head. “Not unless you flirt with someone else.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Which you’re free to do,” he adds quickly. “I just… reserve the right to have an internal crisis about it.”

That draws a real laugh out of you. And he’s grateful for it. The air in the room lightens, just enough. “I guess we’ll play it by ear,” you say, softer now. “See how it feels.”

He nods. “We’ll be fine.”

But still, after you settle back beside him, your head near his shoulder, he finds his thoughts wandering—through the dining room in Soho, the faces of your friends, the chance proximity of your knees under the table. The idea of being in a room full of people who don’t know what you are, who assume they know. The ache of not touching. The unbearable sweetness of being near you, and pretending it doesn’t mean anything.

He lets out a long breath and closes his eyes. You’re here. And oh, under Viktor’s lids you are there too, crying into his sleeve. He rolls to his side to face you, brushes hair off your neck, and kisses your forehead, then the tip of your nose. You giggle, shoulders squirming up.

When he leans in to kiss your mouth, you twist away with a playful groan. “That’s cheating, you cleaned your teeth!”

“I don’t mind,” he mutters, mouth already grazing your jaw. “You can go and brush yours if you wish.”

You narrow your eyes at him, suspicious. “What do you have in mind?”

“It’s very early,” he murmurs, planting a kiss at the curve of your neck, “so we have time for this—” His hands slide down to cup your ass, squeezing firmly. “—and maybe some of this.��� Then, shifting closer, Viktor grinds the weight of his cock into the soft apex of your thighs. “And possibly also this,” he purrs, voice dipping low.

You hold back your breath in the hollow of your palm, eyes fluttering shut. Then a beat. You wriggle away. “Wait here.”

“Hurry up,” he groans, flopping dramatically onto his back. “I’ve got places to be.”

“Impossible man,” you mutter from the bathroom, grabbing your toothbrush.

When you come back, he’s splayed on his side, head propped in his hand. You drop onto the bed with theatrical exhaustion and lean over him, exhaling sharply into his face. “See how nice?” you ask, breath fresh and smug.

He chuckles, grinning as he slaps your thigh. “Very nice indeed. Now come here.”

You shift over, kneeling beside him, and Viktor’s hand finds the small of your back. But before things slip further, his gaze lifts to yours, steady and searching. “How are you?” he asks softly. “After last night.”

You hesitate—just for a second—but your fingers trace his sternum with deliberate calm. “I’ll tell you,” you say, voice barely above a whisper. “Just not now.”

His eyes stay on yours for a moment longer. Reading. Weighing. He nods, and the quiet is warm again. “Alright,” he says.

You bend forward to kiss the corner of his mouth. “How’s your leg?”

He scoffs, a little theatrical himself now, trying to dismiss it. “Uncooperative, as always. But I’ll manage.”

You arch a brow. “Well, I want you to last me a long time, so you better not strain yourself.”

That earns you a pleased hum and the faintest flush at his ears. He rolls onto his back with a smirk and props his good leg slightly, one arm behind his head. “Well then,” he says, voice rich with suggestion, “you better get to work, no?”

Your grin flashes bright as you crawl over him, your reply low and teasing: “Yes, sir,” your hands already sliding down his underwear.

He groans as you free him, his cock twitching against his hip. You peel off your t-shirt next, then your knickers, tossing them somewhere off the edge of the bed. Straddling his lap, you settle your hands on his chest, lean down, and kiss him—his mouth, his cheek, the edge of his jaw. You press slow kisses along his neck, over the yellowing bruise your mouth left nights ago. Viktor watches you, breath catching when your lips drift down the plane of his torso.

You take your time. His collarbones, his sternum. The raised edge of a scar. You kiss each wrist, the fingers that gripped your waist last night. When your mouth finds the V of his hips, he jolts—half a gasp, half a plea. You guide your tongue there gently, purposely, and feel him pulse against your cheek.

He’s hard now, fully, his breath uneven as he stares down at you with something like awe and confusion. “What is all this for?” he asks, voice ragged.

You lift your gaze, your lips swollen with affection. “It wasn’t so bad last night,” you say. “I actually feel better today. I want you to know this.”

His brow furrows, mouth parting, but no words come. Then, slowly, he exhales and murmurs, “My girl. Come here.”

You crawl back over him, hips bracketing his, and Viktor wraps one arm around your back, pulling you to his chest. The other hand comes to your face, brushing your temple. “You don’t apologise to me now or make it up in any way, do you understand?” he says, voice low and tender. “I pushed too hard. But I will make it up to you.”

You nod against him, your breath soft where it hits his skin. Viktor exhales through his nose, cradling your jaw with his hand. You are warm under his fingers, pliant, trusting. The weight of you straddling him feels steadying, like gravity remembering its job. He runs his hand down your spine, all the way to your tailbone, and presses you closer.

“You feel so good like this,” he murmurs, lips brushing your hairline.

You hum softly, shifting your hips against his, and Viktor’s cock nudges the slick heat of you. His breath stutters—just a little. He cups your hips, stills you with firm hands. Not yet.

“Lift for me,” he says, voice low.

You rise up on your knees, and he lines himself up with one hand. When you sink down onto him, both of you moan—a sound drawn from the deepest parts. You’re slow with it, careful, and he can feel your thighs trembling already, but today he’s patient. Anchored. One hand slips to your belly, pressing you gently down until he’s fully sheathed inside. Your walls clench around him, and Viktor has to close his eyes for a moment.

“There you are,” he says quietly. “That’s it.” He exhales, relieved. His mind quiets again. He’s home again.

He entwines your fingers in his and stretches his arms over his head, pulling you with him. Your chests touch—Viktor’s ribs pressing gently into the soft parts of your body—and he stretches until his stomach hollows.

You kiss him, first softly—barely a brush. Then again, deeper, as your mouths part and your breaths spill together. He tilts his head, angling into you, and when your tongues meet, it’s with a hum low in his throat. His fingers tighten instinctively in yours.

You taste like mint and heat, like morning and want. His lips part to welcome more of you. The slide of your tongue against his makes his chest flutter, his pulse knocking unevenly beneath your joined hands. When your teeth click softly against his, he huffs a laugh into your mouth, but doesn't pull back.

You kiss like you need him. Like you missed him. He melts into it, into you, mouth open and pliant now, his tongue sweeping yours slowly. The heat of you around him, the weight of you above him—it all swells into something dizzying. He’s not sure what’s better: the lazy rhythm of your hips or the wet, drugging pace of your kiss.

You moan softly against his mouth and Viktor’s hips twitch beneath you. He groans in return, the sound swallowed into your mouth as his hands squeeze yours tighter. You’re both breathless when you pull back just a little—lips red and swollen, a string of saliva connecting you for a heartbeat before it breaks.

He whispers your name, bewildered. His eyes are half-lidded, his body strung taut with pleasure. “You kiss me like you mean it.”

You smile against his mouth. “I do,” you say, and the words go straight through him. Viktor swallows, chest rising beneath yours.

His hand slips free from yours and rises to cradle your face. His thumb brushes your cheekbone, then traces the soft curve of your lower lip. “Good,” he murmurs, “me too.”

You roll your hips, slow and sure, and the breath leaves him. His grip tightens—not to stop you, just to feel it all more.

The rhythm you set is unhurried. Measured. He falls into it like something practiced, like the steps of a dance his body never forgot. It’s you that brings him back—your weight, your warmth, your breath on his face. You ground him. Remind him that he’s not chasing anything now. He’s already here. He doesn’t need to reach or grasp or force. He can just be.

He exhales long and slow, letting himself dissolve into the motion of your bodies meeting, again and again.

There is no urgency in you today, only that devastating tenderness he finds hardest to survive. You ride him like you’re trying to memorise something, to mark it, to hold it without breaking it. And he lets you. No—he offers himself up to be held like this.

“I’ve missed you,” he whispers suddenly, surprising himself. His hands find your hips and he steadies you, pushes up into you just a little, guiding the angle. “It wasn’t long, and I’ve still missed you.”

You lean forward and kiss him—slow and deep again—and he arches into it, gasping softly when your cunt flutters around him.

Everything else falls away. The shame. The mistake. The panic from the night before that had clawed inside his ribs and refused to let go—it's quiet now. Gone, mostly. Or caged well enough that he can breathe again.

“You feel good,” he tells you between kisses, hand sliding from your hip to your thigh. “You always do. But now—” he pauses, groans as your cunt clenches again, “Now it feels—” He doesn’t finish.

You nod against his forehead, your body rocking into his like you understand something too. Like this, slow and deep and raw, is the only thing either of you really knows how to speak in.

And still, Viktor guides you. His hands adjust the angle again, murmuring soft instructions against your skin—“There, like that—yes. Just like that, good girl.”

You whimper as you find a new depth, and Viktor feels your fingers slide through his hair, anchor against his scalp. The next time you grind down, a helpless noise breaks in his throat. He grabs your ass, helps you move, then presses a kiss to your sternum, your throat, your collarbone.

His voice is rough now, soaked in need. “I want to stay like this. Inside you. Under you. Watching your face when you come.”

Your eyes flutter closed, overwhelmed, and he catches your cheek in his palm again. “Don’t hide,” he whispers. “Let me see you.”

You slip your hands to cradle the base of his skull, thumbs pressing into the hinges of his jaw. “Viktor, you feel so good, oh God,” you whisper into his mouth, lips catching. Your brows scrunch above his and Viktor breathes you in deeply through his nose, through his mouth.

"Talk to me, please," you ask him.

Viktor cups your jaw, reverent. His hips lift in time with yours, steady, deep. “You’re beautiful like this,” he murmurs, voice roughened with restraint. “So strong. So soft, taking me so well.”

You whimper, and he kisses you again, slower now. Tongue brushing yours, careful, coaxing. “Děvče moje,” he breathes against your lips. “Podívej se na mě. Look at me.”

Your gaze finds his—eyes glassy, wide—and he almost breaks there. “That’s it,” he whispers. “Show me how good it feels.”

You clench around him—tight, fluttering—and Viktor sees it ripple through you, the way your thighs begin shake, how your rhythm stutters. “That’s it,” he says again, encouraging, barely holding himself back. “You’re close. Come for me, my girl. Just like this. Let me feel you.”

Your whole body tightens and then unravels all at once. Your breath is gone, your mouth opens, but there are no words, only a sound—guttural, cracked, full of something big and raw. Your hands twist into his hair. Your cunt clamps hard around him, again and again.

And Viktor—oh, Viktor is gone.

The wave of your orgasm rolls through him, not just in the way you clench around him, not just in the rhythm of your breath—but in the ache in his chest. The swell behind his ribs. The unbearable beauty of you coming apart on top of him.

His vision blurs as his own climax hits, deep and low in his spine. His hands grab at your hips, hold you still, and he grinds up into you once, twice—moaning through his teeth as he spills inside you.

You collapse forward, gasping against his neck, and Viktor just holds you. Hands on your back, one curled protectively at the nape of your neck. His thoughts scatter. All distant now—like fog that’s lifted. There’s only this: you with him, the feel of your heartbeat pounding where your chest meets his.

Viktor closes his eyes, presses a kiss into your hair, and lets his body soften under yours. “Děkuju,” he whispers, and doesn’t realise until after that he’s said it aloud.

“Viktor?” you murmur into his neck after a moment. He hums in response, brushing your hair from your face. “I’m hungry.”

His mouth falls open, incredulous. Then he laughs—an outright undignified cackle. “Impossible. That’s it. From now on, we fuck in the mornings.”

You snort. “Bite me.”

“Gladly.” He shifts, rolling you onto your back, pinning your wrists gently to the mattress before dipping to your throat. His teeth find your skin and nip, just hard enough to make you squeak. He licks over the spot, smug as anything. “There. Breakfast in bed.”

You pinch his side and wriggle free, both of you still warm with the afterglow. He grumbles but lets you go.

You help him up, fingers brushing his ribs as he stretches. He tips his head toward the bathroom, and you go on tiptoe. On the way to the kitchen, you snag the blanket off the bed and wrap yourself in it like a makeshift cloak, your feet and legs bare, hair tousled and glowing.

You interrupt him while he’s cooking—eating pieces of fruit and slices of cheese before they make it into the plate. Viktor swats at you with one hand, then jabs at your hip with the end of his crutch, scolding in half-hearted Czech. You only grin and steal more. And then you have your first real breakfast together.

—

Děvče moje - My girl Podívej se na mě - Look at me Děkuju - Thank you

[howlsofbloodhounds]

I want more people to talk about the brief partnership between Killer and XChara like how did that go I’m sure it didn’t go smoothly did they talk at all do anything during the brief time Nightmare had them working together. I don’t know I kinda just want Killer to know XChara better then he does Cross. When you think about it XChara and Killer situations are more similar then Cross and Killer. I just want them to sit and talk at night while everyone’s asleep cause neither of those two are sleeping. I feel like XChara just never sleeps they slept enough when for most of the last timeline they were simply a ghost attached to XFrisk and then Cross. I don’t know I think Killer and XChara both deserve more actual friends. People always talk about what Cross went through but never what XChara suffered through. Killer and XChara both just wanting things to stop or move forward and stop going back redoing things always searching for something new or something perfect how it will never be enough.

~Musical Anon

Yeah, people always seem to misremember Cross and Killer in Underverse as partners but like..I’m pretty sure the only interactions those two had before like 6.0 or something was killer tryna go for dreams throat and cross stabbing bro which killer seemed surprised by 💀

I find it funny how killer seems to almost always ignore or pay no attention to cross’ presence until he does something that pisses cross off enough for bro to get violent with him

Anyway, i definitely do think xchara and killer would a very interesting partnership—given how similar their history is.

And I honestly have no clue if Underverse Killer talked to XChara much beyond their first meeting, he hardly seemed to verbally engage with many characters if he wasn’t fighting or killing them. I don’t recall if he ever actually talked to or interacted with Nightmare outside that moment when Nightmare neglected his safety and health and just let bro hit the floor with some broken limbs.

[teecupangel]

I've been seeing a bunch of 'Desmond reborn as someone' posts here, and I also saw that fanfiction where Desmond was reborn as Anne Bonny's son and I thought I might as well suggest one as well, with Desmond being reborn as Mary Read's child? Whether Mary lives or dies, I'm not sure.

Okay, confession time!

My initial idea for A Pirate's Son was for Desmond to be reborn as Mary Read’s child instead of Anne Bonny’s but I changed it because Mary had a daughter and I was only ‘starting out’ writing Desmond so I was a bit hesitant to write Desmond being reborn as a woman (not anymore though XD).

So, for this one, let’s set up the background.

All we know is that Mary had a daughter but we don’t know what happened to the child so we’re going to assume that the child was sent to an orphanage.

So in this one, Desmond would be born not knowing who his mother was. All he’d know was that his mother had been a ‘wicked woman who deserved her fate’. (Historically, Mary’s child most probably died together with her when she died from fever as there are no records of an infant’s death)

We’re killing Mary (sorry, Mary TTATT) because we want Desmond to have an isolated childhood, wondering who his mother was.

Also, this would give Desmond motivation to seek out the Brotherhood as soon as he could because… well, there was no way he was going to stay in this orphanage that was obviously out to paint him as the son of a sinner and all that good stuff.

So he leaves as soon as he could and lives in the street, using Desmond Miles’ skills and what remains of his Bleed, pretending to be a boy.

No.

He was a boy.

Even if he was born as…

He was still a boy.

And Desmond would make his way to London as its the nearest city he knows has a Brotherhood (or, if it didn’t have one, he was planning on moving to the colonies and just annoying Achilles until he agrees to train him, Ratonhnhaké:ton-style) and the Brotherhood sees potential in him so they take him in.

It doesn’t take long for him to be initiated and soon, he’s climbing the ranks of the British Brotherhood (maybe we’ll have him be friends with a Frye who would later become the Frye’s twins ancestors?) and he’ll get Miko’s attention who takes him in as his successor, hoping he and Edward’s son would take over as the mentors after them.

This leads to him meeting Edward Kenway who freezes because…

‘Desmond’ (no last name) looks a lot like Mary Read.

Unorganized Notes:

Edward introduced Desmond as the son of a business associate (Miko) that he’s teaching to the Kenway family. Desmond is actually in the Kenway Mansion because they heard Templar activities around the area and Desmond has been ordered to find more.

Haytham thinks he’s super cool and likes it when Desmond teaches him swordsmanship. Desmond can’t say no because Haytham is so cute as a kid.

No one, not even Miko, know that Desmond was born a woman.

Until… Jenny asked him blankly because she felt like there was something ‘strange’ about Desmond and Desmond tells her the truth.

The fact that Edward believes Desmond is a man is the only reason why he keeps questioning if Desmond is Mary’s child since he heard she gave birth to a girl.

Desmond is the main reason why Jenny began to push Edward to let her be an Assassin, threatening to run away with Desmond if he doesn’t.

Edward mistakes this as Jenny and Desmond having a secret affair and he’s torn because (1) Jenny is his little girl and he wants to protect her, (2) he doesn’t want to lose her like he lost Caroline, and (3) Desmond is an Assassin so she’d never be completely safe.

But at the same time… if he could trust his daughter with anyone, it would be with Desmond.

Desmond and Jenny are not in any kind of relationship. They’re more like… older bullying sister (Jenny) and tired younger brother (Desmond).

That’s as far as I got.

The Kenway Tragedy doesn’t happen because Desmond was staying in the mansion when the attack happened but… well… Jenny’s definitely going to run away and go to the colonies to get trained by this Achilles person that Desmond had talked about once if her father does not approve of her choice and she’ll drag Desmond with her because she knows how much her father favors Desmond. The plan is to use Desmond as sorta like “you like the dog so I’m taking the dog when I leave” kind of scorched earth plan.

[musclesandhammering]

There’s zero chance Loki and Hela having so many similarities is just a coincidence. And even though we’re most definitely never getting a full explanation for it, I’m so curious as to what you guys believe the reason is. Do you think:

a.) Loki’s a shapeshifter who can see people’s memories when he touches them. So when Odin picked him up as a baby, he saw Hela in Odin’s mind and shifted himself to resemble her.

b.) Loki and Hela have the same biological mother.

c.) Hela is Loki’s biological mother.

d.) Odin changed Loki to look like Hela when he first held him, because he missed her.

e.) Hela’s biological mother is jotun, and she and Loki both have black hair/pale skin/green aesthetic/etc because that’s just what frost giants look like when they take an asgardian form.

f.) Hela and Loki are both adopted, both children of Laufey. Odin took Hela centuries earlier, then when he realised Laufey’d had another child, he took Loki too.

**I’ve listed these in order from the ones I find most likely to least likely, if you’re curious. Tell me which headcanon you prefer, I wanna see.

[frankmillerturnonyourlocation]

Em Farrow (tentative last name for dhsab si…..) makes a point of attending a book club at a college they don’t attend, for at least the first part of the storyline. It’s how they established and maintain a small civ friendgroup while living in the city and working under the ELE.

It’s just generally assumed by the other members that Em is a student, but when asked directly (hey, what year are you, anyway? you’re not graduating, are you?) they’ll admit to being a dropout. (nah, I failed out, haha. But Samantha said it would be alright if I kept showing up to our meetings, everybody say thank you Sam) (pan, over a chorus of thaaank you Saaaams, to the quiet club treasurer everybody loves who is a little embarrassed by being singled out and certainly isn’t going to make a fuss and REVOKE an invitation even if she’s pretty sure she never offered one because that would be RUDE and make everything worse)

[ohmybueckers]

𝘢𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴: 𝘱.𝘣 𝘹 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

summary: you and paige make a bet to see who can go the longest without initiating sex. much to both of your displeasure, neither one of you are willing to go down without a fight themes/warnings: smut with very little plot, fingering (r receiving), oral (p receiving), strap-on use, exhibitionism if your squint (not really though just adding it to be safe), sexting, breeding kink (sort of) word count: 5.6k note: yes i wrote and proofread this in less than 24 hours. no, the timeline of this story does not make much sense with actual UCONN schedules. please suspend ur disbelief there, this is basically just filth xoxoxo enjoy

It all started on a Friday night in Paige’s apartment. The two of you laid on top of her comforter browsing places for a potential upcoming weekend trip. Dating one of the most prominent players in women’s college basketball was not for the weak, with the two of you often having to piece your busy schedules together like a puzzle to find enough time for a simple dinner or even time to coexist together. But occasionally, the universe (or Geno) granted you a gift in the form of time off for Paige. This meant you were able to disappear off to a romantic getaway with your girl for a bit. If you two could pick a place, that is.

“We could go to Miami?” You suggested, reading off a list on your phone. Paige leaned in to look, lightly tapping the side of your head with hers. Her arm rested around your shoulders, her hand drawing circles on your arm every once in a while. Her limb had fallen asleep about 10 minutes prior, but she would never tell you that.

“Don’t we wanna go somewhere a little more romantic?” Paige questioned, a point you failed to consider. “Plus you know I’m gonna get sunburnt on the first day.”

“But you’re so cute when you’re sunburnt.” You giggled in response, remembering the various vacation photos you’ve received over the years with Paige’s skin in ranging shades of red. Apparently, she didn’t seem to think so, as she looked at you pointedly with an eyebrow raised. You huffed, “Fine, what are your ideas.”

As Paige moves to unlock her phone, the two of you are interrupted by a sharp soundcoming from outside of her room. Paige’s face shifted to confusion at the same time as yours, the two of you sitting up on the bed as if that would help you detect the sound faster. Just as you were about to ask if Allie or Jana had decided to rearrange the furniture, you heard a clearer sound: high pitched moans, followed by a series of bang, bang, bang. You watched your girlfriend realize at the same time that these sounds were most certainly coming from the apartment above hers, sending you both into a fit of roaring laughter.

“Oh my God.” Paige chokes, throwing her head back and grabbing your arm to stabilize herself.

“I really hope we’re not that loud.” You cracked a joke, not expecting anything of it. That is until Paige looks at you in a way that screams “you can’t be serious” and you can feel your heart drop. “Paige, why are you looking at me like that?”

Paige bit her lip, nodding a few times for courage before saying, “Jana said she’s definitely heard us a few times.”

You groan loudly, flopping on the bed once more. “Kill me,” you plead, voice muffled by the pillows.

“I like the noises you make.” Your girlfriend comforts you between her laughs, rubbing your back. You stand, feeling as though pacing in her room will help work off some of the complete and utter embarrassment you were feeling right now. Sure, you knew you and Paige weren’t exactly the quietest. But receiving confirmation that others had heard you in your most vulnerable state was humbling to say the least.

“It’s not my fault I’m dating the horniest girl on the planet,” you quipped in an effort to make yourself feel better. You watch as your girlfriends jaw drops, her head cocking to the side.

“Woah,” she all but yells, her head shaking. “I’m the horny one?”

Her expression is so comical, with her eyes practically bulging out of her head, you can’t hep but crack a smile as you defend your position. “You initiate constantly.”

“You initiate just as much as I do! Plus all those photos you send me on away games.”

You blush, remembering all the nights alone where the bed seems just a little too cold without your tall blonde girlfriend by your side. Nights where you open the drawer of various lingerie you and/or Paige had picked out throughout the years. It was a winning move all around: you got to feel sexy with every snap you sent to Paige, both of you got off to it, and it usually meant that your sex after she returned was even better. “Yeah, because I know you like them.”

“There’s no way I’m hornier than you, bro.” She throws her hands up. To be fair, as you watch her sit on her bed legs spread apart, donning a grey Nike hoodie and black sweats, you think she may have a point. This doesn’t stop an idea from popping in your head.

You sauntered over to her, legs straddling one of hers as she looked at you curiously. You sat yourself down, hands reaching under the hoodie and lightly tracing at bare skin. “Okay, prove it.”

“Huh?” She asked, her voice gravelly. I got the advantage already, you think to yourself mischievously.

“First person to initiate sex loses.” You propose, expecting an absolutely not from her. To your surprise, she seems even more intrigued.

“Ok, what does the winner get?”

You think for a moment. “Bragging rights,” you decide, adding. “and the choice of movie on movie night for the next month.” Though you both cherish your movie nights when you’re able to sneak them into the week, trying to agree on a movie is a battle.

“Deal,” Paige sticks her hand out, acting like some sort of businessman. You play along, accepting her firm grip, which she used to pull you in closer, her gaze still roaming your body. “and Y/N?”

“Yeah?”

Her head moved closer and closer. You could feel her breath on your skin, sending goosebumps up your arm. She peppered a few light kisses on the back of your ear before whispering, “I think we both know who’s going to win this, baby.”

Two days after the bet

This may be the worst idea you’ve ever had.

In the hours after you first proposed this little competition, the rules as to what counted as initiating became more explicit. Kissing, grinding, and the like were all okay as long as third base was not crossed. Should be easy enough, you thought, recognizing that you could do a majority of your favorite acts of intimacy without forfeiting.

What you failed to consider is just how much more appealing sex was when you knew you couldn’t have it. Little things from seeing a sliver of Paige’s toned torso as her shirt rode up reaching for the top shelf to how her hair got wavy after she had taken a post-practice shower got a reaction out of you these days . You were going insane, and yet your girlfriend appeared to be cool and collected. You truly should have expected this. There was no universe where Paige Bueckers wouldn’t be competitive, even over some dumb shit like this.

So when you woke up in her bed, approximately 30 minutes before her alarm to get ready for the bus taking her to a game in New York, you planned to change that. Gently loosening the grip she had around you, you reach you head up to pepper kisses on her cheeks, watching her stir before blinking her eyes open. Once they are able to somewhat focus on you, she offers a tired smile. “Mmmm, good morning to you too.”

Her hand cups your face, connecting you in a sweet kiss. You got her exactly where you want her. You let yourself melt into the kiss for just a moment before swinging a leg around to straddle her. Though the blonde was never much of a morning person, she suddenly seemed a lot more awake. Reaching for the bottom of Paige’s crewneck that you borrowed (stole), you pulled it over your head before throwing it to the ground with the rest of Paige’s clothes. This action sent Paige’s line of vision straight to your breasts, which you kneaded in your hands as you lightly ground down on her pajama covered crotch.

“Shit, Y/N,” She was seemingly mesmerized, unable to resist and you lean down and capture her lips once more, both of you a lot needier than before. Her tongue slips in, and it takes everything in you to pull away long enough to nibble at her ear.

“We got time before you have to make your bus.”

Her hands reach around to feel your waist, before coming back around to cup your tits. “Oh really?”

You nod, humming as you feel your victory is imminent. “You gonna give in, Bueckers?”

“Oh hell no,” her eyes widen, her movement in her hands stopping abruptly before removing contact entirely, a move you were less than pleased by. Still on top of her, you raise your eyebrows, an action which she returns. “What, you seriously thought I was gonna lose from that?”

Damn, she really didn’t have to be that harsh. “Ouch.”

Her laughter comes to a halt, her expression softening as she brushes your hair out of your face. “You were so sexy, you always are.” She gushes. “But I told you; if anyone here is losing this challenge, it’s you.”

You whip your leg back around, moving to a standing position and grabbing the discarded crewneck before throwing it back on. “Whatever,” you sulk.

“It’s a shame, too.” Paige follows your lead, moving to a standing position and grabbing your waist, making it abundantly clear just how much taller she is. She puts a finger under your chin, lifting so you’re forced to make eye contact. “I was getting real excited about being inside you.”

You have to physically hold yourself back from shivering at the comment, not wanting to show Paige just how much pressure was between your legs. “Go pack,” you crack a small smile, gesturing to her almost empty duffle.

Six days after the bet

Paige was off at an away game, this time much farther than just a state away. This required her to spend two nights away from Storrs, making the challenge just a little bit easier. Sure, you missed your girlfriend. But considering the circumstances it was nice to not have such a close reminder of how much you wanted to jump her bones.

You kept yourself busy the days she was gone with classes, extracurriculars, and time spent with friends at the student union. By the time you got back to your apartment the second night she was gone, you were completely wiped out, midterm week beginning to take a toll on you. Upon checking your notifications waiting for you while your phone was on do not disturb, you spot a snapchat notification from Paige. Sitting on your bed, you open it.

She’s sat in what appears to be her hotel room, snapback hat covering the top of her head. Her tongue is all the way out, paired with the caption “Miss you my sweet girl. Can’t wait for munch madness.”

While on any other day you would only be hyper focused on the pure absurdity of the photo, her tongue and the implications in the message had a downright embarrassing effect on you. Preparing to send back a more normal photo, your eyes make contact with the top drawer of your dresser, reserved for very specific articles of clothing. Two could play at that game.

Your red set had always been her favorite. You bought it at a smaller boutique towards the beginning of your relationship. Paige went so feral over how it hugged and accentuated every curve of yours the first night you wore it. You brought this set out on rare occasions, but figured this was enough of a reason to dust it off.

You knew exactly what angles she liked, showing off your body while disguising your face just enough to feel comfortable sending it. So when Paige sent back a chat which read "You’re gonna be the death of me,” you relished in the small victory you reached over her.

What are you thinking about? You send back, which Paige reads immediately.

How good you’d look sucking my cock in that, pretty girl.

The message nearly makes you choke on your own spit. It wasn’t every day that Paige brought out the strap. Many days, the two of you preferred intimacy just before bed, with Paige trailing her fingers under your pajama pants and you eating her out under the covers. But in some occasions, whether it be moments after a win or other times Paige was feeling particularly cocky, best believe she was ready to have you bent over seven different ways.

Want it so bad. You almost cringe at just how desperate you sound, but who could blame you?

Paige’s bitmoji popped up and down a few times, pondering before sending; Going to bed soon. See you tomorrow ;)

You’ve got to be fucking kidding me, you groan as your head hits your pillow. If you couldn’t have the real thing right now, you would at least settle for Paige talking (texting?) you through an orgasm. More frustrated than when you started, you reach a hand into your lace underwear, seemingly gone to waste.

And when Paige returns the next day and is able to stray from touching you outside of a quick makeout session, you wonder whether or not this bet was even worth it - you would be perfectly fine sitting through Disney movies for the next month if it meant your girlfriend could at least fuck you afterwards. But more than anything, you were still playing for your pride. After all, you knew this was the kind of shit that Paige would never let you forget.

Two weeks after the bet

After your failed seduction via Snapchat, you ruled it wasn’t worth it to try to get Paige to fold, and that your energy was much better used in not getting yourself to give in. Thankfully, your girlfriend had been booked and busy with two more games, one of which was a home game you attended. When it got to the point where Paige’s arguments with the refs were beginning to turn you on instead of simply make you laugh, you knew you were in deep, deep shit.

There were very, very few times you were forced to resort to masturbation typically, Not that there was any shame in it, its just that you always had Paige to help you out. Even if her schedule forced you to wait a few extra hours or even a day to get your release, it was a negotiation you were willing to take. Even though you knew your own body and what you liked, Paige seemed to have your body memorized, knowing just how much pressure to put on your clit and the precise second to speed up. Masturbation was essentially reserved for when Paige was physically not in the same state, and even then she helped where she could (as was to your detriment last week).

However with Paige gone at a practice on a Friday night and your friends all refusing to go out in the pouring rain, you were left alone in your one bedroom apartment and bored. That combined with the arousal that had been pooling inside you for weeks now was a lethal combination.

You tried to starve it off, you really did. You left the door unlocked for Paige later, just in case practice got off on time (it nearly never did) and she had time to swing by your place. A little part of you hoped she would break tonight, give you exactly what you needed. But at this point, the chances of that happening were sounding less and less likely, even to the most delusional section of your mind.

So you spent your night eating leftovers and binge watching your current Netflix fixation, trying to ignore how you would much rather be spending your night. Your legs rub together in your bed, soft and smooth from your nighttime shower routine. Pressing your thighs together, you sigh, unable to resist. Fuck it.

After shutting your laptop and placing it on your bedside table, you remove your pajama pants, tossing them to the floor. You could feel yourself dripping even from outside your underwear, breaking any last reservations you had on indulging in self pleasure. Reaching in, you put pressure on your clit, immediately melting into the touch.

Unknown to you, practice for UConn didn’t get out on time this night - it got out early, an uncharacteristic move for Geno who felt that the players would be better off resting their bodies before their upcoming games after a long week of practice than another hour of running the same drills. Though normally Paige would use this extra time to go to Ted’s with the rest of the team, she was more than happy to return home to you - even if this stupid bet was still going on.

The truth is, Paige had been just as wound up all week. If the two of you weren’t equally as competitive, she likely would have forfeited in the first three days. Honestly, its not like she would necessarily disagree that she was the hornier one out of the two of you - I mean, anyone who saw you would be. It was the definitiveness in your voice that got to her. She always loved proving people wrong.

She knew your door was unlocked, but gave it a light tap just to notify you of her presence. Normally this would prompt a “come in” or “it’s open”, but this time she was met with nothing except for the muffled sounds of your neighbors pregaming. Curious, she opened the door, walking into your living room with a call, “babe?”

Though you heard her, your brain was slow to process, too focused on the sweet relief you were getting. As you heard footsteps pad towards your room, you finally developed enough sense to slow your breathing, about to will yourself to remove your hand when the door swung open, all six feet of your sweaty, rain soaked girlfriend standing in the arch.

For a beat, the two of you looked at each other like deer in headlights, your hand still in your panties and her jaw on the floor She noticed the same moment you did, her eyes trailing as you quickly removed the digits.

Paige slowly set her backpack on the floor, blue eyes still never leaving you. Her gaze was filled with something you couldn’t quite detect - was it anger? She made a slow stride over to you, her hands shoved in her pockets, and you realize just how dilated her pupils had become. Nope, definitely not anger. More like pure arousal, mixed with admiration.

“Keep going,” Her voice is low, accent thick. You want to question it, but she adds on a,“Please.”

Shocked yet intrigued, you slowly trail your hand back down, tracing your nipple and lightly kneading the soft tissue of your breast. Paige licked her lips, watching the show you were putting on intently. Her pupils dilated as you finally make your way to your cotton panties, hooking your fingers under the sides and pulling them down just enough to give yourself more mobility and add more visual appeal for Paige. Paige hardly had time to be embarrassed by how much of an effect your wet pussy had on her after a two week drought, not when you immediately sunk a finger in while maintaining your hungry stare on her.

There was a beat of silence, the only sound in the room being the faint suction of your core gratefully accepting the relief from your middle finger. You don’t know whether it was the fact that you hadn’t cum with your girlfriend in weeks, or the fact that she was staring at you hungrily, but you couldn’t hold back the moan that raged through you, ending in a sharp whine. Paige inhaled, her eyes shutting as if she couldn’t bare to look. Exhale. Then, the silence was broken.

“Fuck it.”

You hardly had time to blink before she was on you, a hand reaching down and borderline yanking your hand away from your clit, replacing it with hers. The other hand reached for your face, connecting your lips as her fingers began making messy circles.

You melted into the kiss, thankful for the way it muffled your moans as Paige slipped a finger in, still paying good attention to your puffy clit. Your legs began to tighten, and you could almost cry because of how overwhelming it all was. You never thought just fourteen days without sex would do such a number on you, as you and Paige has certainly gone longer, but the fact that it was forbidden combined with the knowledge that you got her to snap like she did caused a rush of warmth to your core.

“You feel so good.” Paige’s voice comes out muffled by your lips, her breath labored. You love when she does this, riling herself up just by getting you off. “Missed this pussy so much.”

“Paige, please,” you don’t quite know what you are begging for, but the pure desperation in Paige’s voice has done a number on you. After over a week of feeling like the needy one, the way Paige is fucking you now is nothing short of satisfying and you need more. “Need you so bad.”

“I know, I know.” She whines, her face hiding in the crook of your neck. She was convinced if she took one look at you while you were asking (no, begging) her for more, she wouldn’t be able to hold back from cumming in her pants. Between sloppy kisses to soft skin, she babbles, “I’m gonna make you feel good, I promise. Gonna make you cum.”

That was Paige in a nutshell. No matter how tired she was, or how much the ache between her legs begged for her attention, she put your orgasm before hers always. She paid attention to the way your breath quickened, your legs becoming impossibly stiff, and she whispered, “You close?”

All you could do was nod, so focused on your release that forming coherent sentences was not in the cards for you at the moment. “Go ahead, wanna feel it.”

Your release rushed through you, warm and all encompassing, and it took all your strength to remain somewhat quiet as you exhaled through it, your moans coming out more as whines if anything. As your breath steadied, Paige’s mouth returned to yours, this time more sweet as she brought you back down.

In your post-orgasm glow, you widen your eyes just enough to look at your girlfriend, the front tendrils of her hair damp from both sweat and the storm outside. A blush floods her face as she grins at you, prompting you to pull her down for a kiss.

“Wanna use my mouth on you, that okay?”

Paige nods, her eyes wide and breath labored from the performance she just gave to you. The two of you switch positions, her laying down on your pillows while you crawled over her, moving down her body. Though you wanted nothing more that for her to just sit back and relax as you showed her just how grateful you were for her, she did aid you in removing her drenched hoodie, the two of you laughing as it momentarily got stuck on her head (in any other circumstance you would scold her for laying in your bed with wet clothes, but you really couldn’t bring yourself to care at the moment).

You kiss down her torso, watching her toned core flex in reaction as she inhales sharply. Her hands reach down to your shoulders, and you know exactly what she wants - she would just never outright ask. Looking up, eyes wide, you smile sweetly. “Grab my hair, baby.”

She sighs, fingers interwoven in your hair as you make work on her pants, pulling them down along with the boxers you love so much. You press gentle kisses to her inner thighs, ignoring the area begging for your attention until Paige huffs, “please, waited long enough. Want you so bad. Need you so bad.”

You bite back a grin, loving just how vocal your girlfriend gets. Giving in, you press a gentle lick to your girlfriends core, feeling her thighs tense in reaction, before giving her all of you and finding her waiting clit.

“There you go, good girl. Oh fuck,” She melts into your bed, eyes rolling into the back of her head as she’s overwhelmed by the sensation. Unlike you, who at least got the opportunity to indulge in self-pleasure, she never had the time, either spending her nights with you, in a hotel room with her teammates, or too tired after a long day of practice. Wanting to make the most of your handiwork, she moved one hand to the side of your face. “Look at me”

Still sucking at her clit, you lift your head slightly, and she cries out as she sees just how drunk off of her you look, doe eyes watering as you lap her up. It’s all just too much for the blonde as she struggles to maintain her breathing, feeling familiar sensations way quicker than she normally should.

“I’m close… I’m gonna cum… fuck.” The words tumbled out of Paige’s mouth in quick succession, as if she severely underestimated just how quick she was to tipping over the edge. With a groan, her grip on the back of your head tightened as she met her release, your tongue lapping it up like it was your last meal.

You wait until she rides out her orgasm before crawling back up, her hands meeting your waist to help. You collapse next to her, head raising just in time to meet her waiting lips.

“Love the way you taste,” you hum in satisfaction, prompting a smile from your girlfriend. You lived for the come down after sex, where it felt like it was just you and Paige alone on this earth, nothing and nobody else to worry about. She rubbed at your back, and you get so wrapped up in the domesticity of it all you almost miss the next words out of her mouth.

“You got one more in you, baby?”

“What?” You croak, looking at her as if you must have misheard. You thought the two of you were on the same page, having cum so hard you couldn’t imagine having space for anything more than passing out next to her.

That is until Paige finds enough energy and strength in her legs to stand, backing up towards your dresser while still facing you with a smirk on her face. “You didn’t think I was joking when I was telling you how bad I want you to suck me off, did you?”

Fuck. Though you were tired before (and still are), you can’t deny the way warmth floods south, already wound up again after hearing the sounds Paige made as she released. You nod, and Paige opens the top drawer.

In this moment especially, you’re grateful for Paige’s idea to get two straps, one for each of your apartments. “More convenient that way,” she had said with a wink. Paige adjusted the harness to herself, her movements only faltering for a moment when she noticed you drop to your knees, Calvin Klein bralette still on.

“You know what to do if you need me to stop, right sweet girl?” Her thumb traces your cheek sweetly. You nodded, having done this just enough times to establish a gesture (three taps on Paige’s inner thigh) to indicate you needed a rest. You’ve never had to use it - Paige just absolutely refused to put herself in a position where she could hurt her sweet girl without safety measures.

You inch closer, offering gentle kitten licks to the tip of the dildo before opening your mouth to let it rest on your tongue. Paige, gentle yet firm, pushes you down a little further, and you inhale through your nose praying that you don’t gag so early on. Your thumb is caught in a fist on your non dominant hand, the other one wrapping around the remainder of the strap as you bob up and down.

“Fuck, thats it.” Paige groans as the back of your throat betrays you, resulting in a choking sound and a pool of saliva on the toy. When your eyes meet hers, watery yet determined, she sighs. “You look so beautiful like this.”

You remove your lips with a pop, gaze never wavering. “Need to be inside you, please.”

Paige, never one to deny your request, aided you in a standing position, hands at your waist as she backed you towards your bed, until the two of you were forced to crawl on top. Biting her bottom lip, she circles your core a few times before allowing herself to sink in, and both of you gasp at the intrusion as if the dick was truly a part of her.

“So big… you’re so big.” You whimpered as she began plowing into you, lifting one of your legs to where your knee was nearly to your chest. The sounds your pussy made as it gripped Paige’s cock were sinful, prompting a smirk from the girl above you.

“So scared of people hearing huh? Why’s this pussy screaming for me then?” Paige taunted, watching the purple dildo slip in and out. The room filled with slapping of skin and Paige’s cock genuinely swimming inside you - you can’t remember the last time you felt (or sounded) like this.

“Such a fucking tease all week, winding me up so bad.” Paige continued, her voice gravelly as she watched your tits bounce up and down with each thrust. Licking her lips, she added, “Just needed a good fuck, didn’t you?”

Your eyes were screwed shut, focusing on the feeling of the strap stretching you out. She was consuming all of you, from your pussy to your mind, and you forgot to respond until her hand grabbed your waist, not hard enough to hurt, but just enough pressure to snap your attention back towards her. “Words, sweet girl. I know you know how to use them.”

“Paige, please. Wanna feel you in me,” Your words come out as broken sobs as she stilled herself, reaching down to play with your overstimulated clit just to feel something. You feel Paige offer a shallow thrust, but it isn’t good enough, you want more. Observing the way her brows furrowed in a last attempt to maintain control, you pout. “Wanna feel you cum inside me.”

You didn’t fully understand the grip those six words would have on her, not until in what felt like one movement she flipped you around, your knees planted on the bed and back arched as she entered you once more, both of you moaning at the contact as she drove into you like it was her mission. All of your senses were overwhelmed; your ears filled with the sound of your ass pushing back against the strap only to bounce back, mixed with Paige’s stuttering breath. Your head pressed close to the pillow, giving easy access to smell your freshly washed sheets. Turning your head to the side to breath, you could see your full length mirror capture the point where you and Paige met, the sight bringing you to the edge.

You’re sure two weeks ago you would have been utterly humiliated at the cry that leaves your mouth as your orgasm washes over you, but when mixed with Paige’s groans of “fuck”, you couldn’t give less of a shit if your neighbors heard. By now, they definitely knew Paige’s name.

Paige collapsed on you, strap still inside your spent core until she musters enough strength to roll over to her side. The two of you took a moment to catch your breath, unsure of the last time you had gone that hard. Finally, still covering the top of her face with her arms, Paige breaks into a chuckle, which I catch.

“Holy shit.”

“Don’t say it.” She says, her voice deadpan. I take one look at her flushed cheeks, hair a messy collection of blonde tresses, and consider sparing her from my gloating. But after two long weeks, I feel passing up on the opportunity would be a waste.

“you lost the…”

“I know.” Paige groans, though her smile reveals she’s not being serious. “You try hearing your pretty little moans and not fucking you. It’s physically impossible.”

You laugh, moving to cuddle next to her as she haphazardly disposes of the strap, tossing it along with the various articles of clothing (you made a mental note to wash it later). “If it’s any consolation, I don’t think any of my actions the past week have proven I’m any less horny than you.”

Paige shrugged, arms wrapping around you and pulling your head into her chest, her lashes fluttering in a failing attempt to stay awake. “It’s why we work so well together, I guess.”

The two of you lay there, your breath matching hers, ready to put this stupid bet to rest along with yourselves. Reaching for the remote for your fairy lights to turn them off, you turn to her. “Just so you know, we’re watching a horror movie on Friday.”

“Worth it.”

[caffeinewitchcraft]

AITA for being proud of my job as a regional Nightmare?

My sister told me she’s making her own post and that if I was so sure I wasn’t TA then I should make my own so here I am.

I’m a regional Nightmare. I’m very proud of how hard I worked to get here. Not many terrors in their 20s get this high up and it’s because I do the work. I get up at 8pm and I’m out in the woods grinding out those quotas until dawn. Sometimes I sleep out there in my uniform just so I can be the first on scene for the multi-part jobs. I’m efficient, I’m punctual, and I’m committed. My goal is to be a Cyptid by the time I’m 30 and, to do that, I have to stay on at all times.

As a result, I work a lot. I’m often not home for days at a time. I have a very strict training regimen and my time for friends and family is virtually nonexistent. That’s why when I do get the time to hang out, I prefer to spend my time intentionally. What I mean by that is that I don’t want to sit on a couch when I could be lifting weights. I don’t want to chill in the pool when I could be volunteering for new scares. I especially don’t want to gossip over tea when I could be getting overtime.

Last Saturday, my sister invited a bunch of family over to her house. My job in the Virginia woods fell through, so I decided to go. Silly (her childhood nickname) said she had something important to tell the family so I thought it wouldn’t be a waste of my time.

Key word: thought.

When I got to Silly’s house, I was surprised to see so many cars out front. Our parents were there and our older brother. The house was packed. There were cousins, aunts, uncles and a ton of people I didn’t know.

At first the event was fine. Silly’s always been a good cook (see, I know you’re reading this, Silly, and see? I do compliment you when do something actually good) and everyone was really enjoying the flank steak (though I did have to save it before she cooked it medium well). But as the day wore on, I could tell people were getting bored. Silly and Mom were focused on cleaning up and said that dessert would have to wait until her fiance got home. Which was kind of rude to be late and I felt really bad for Silly. It seems like my soon to be brother-in-law (BIL for short) is never around when she needs him.

In an effort to help, I engaged some of the people I didn’t know in conversation because the party was getting a little dead and I didn’t want one of my sister’s parties to fail. I was trying hard not to think about the time I was wasting waiting for my future BIL so it also served as a distraction.

It turns out one of the guys was a fellow terror. He worked a corporate job and we talked for a while about the pros of being freelance like me. He asked me a lot of questions and I was happy to mentor another terror.  Corporate can suck the art out of what we do. My clients only care if the quota for their mission is met and don’t enforce such strict timelines. They come to me for quality. Poor guy barely had time to mend his uniform between scares (his cloak was tattered and his hook hand was rusty) so I recommended my tailor and blacksmith.

The guy and I exchanged information. I gave him my business card and he looked for one of his. While he looked, I felt nature calling so I headed upstairs to use my sister’s bathroom (like hell I was going to use the same one as my Uncle Joe). From up there, I saw my future BIL pull into the driveway.

 Being a regional Nightmare is a tough job. Like I said, I have to train a lot to keep my certification. So I thought it’d be a good idea to get a scare on my BIL both to punish him for being late and to make up for all the time I’d already wasted at the party.

So I waited for him to come upstairs to change and, when he did, I pulled out the works. I darkened the room and fell back into the shadows. Then, while he groped for the light switch, I stretched out my leg (I have an extra joint in them) and tried to nudge him. I honestly didn’t expect for him to trip and I DEFINITELY didn’t expect for him to fall backwards. I’ve been practicing this skill on my family since I was sixteen and got the leg extension mod and none of them ever fell like that.

My future BIL fell down the stairs. I panicked and raced over to look over the banister. He was fine! He wasn’t bleeding or anything and, when I saw that, I started to laugh.

Everyone freaked out though. They all said I was being immature and bullying my BIL. I told them it wasn’t bullying, it was my actual job. I said that I was just joking and didn’t know my BIL, a former “Cryptid”, would take it so hard.

My mom jumped in and backed me up, but my sister has always been the Queen of the castle. Silly and Dad kicked me out ( I mean, I let them, I’ve got enhanced strength and I didn’t want to hurt them). Dad called me a disgrace and to not come back home.

I asked him if he was really kicking me out just because I wanted to show off my skills a little? And he said yes. And Silly said I had it coming to me for a long time.

I don’t even know what went wrong.

 So AITA for taking pride in my work?

---.

SillyCreeper says: Oh my god, you actually made this post? You’re an actual idiot. For anyone who believes this story, read mine before you vote. My brother left out a few details like how the party was my GENDER REVEAL PARTY and that he’s not a regional Nightmare, he’s a  Slasher for hire.

OP replies: I am TRAINED to operate as a regional Nightmare. That makes me an independent regional Nightmare.

SillyCreeper replies: Regional Nightmares don’t steal failed missions from corporate Slashers

OP replies: Get your own post, Silly

SillyCreeper: Oh, I already did. Have fun being torn apart on yours, dumbass.

-----

Thanks for reading! If you'd like to read Silly's AITA post a week early, please consider becoming a patron (X)!

Aita for going no contact with my brother after he pulled a Scare on my husband?

I'm working on this anthology during November and I'm having a blast with this story in particular! The family drama keeps going on and on

[2kiran]

BOYYYYY THE MILKMAN SMUT WAS SO GOOD. care for another one? i NEED to fuck the real francis mosses now…i’m imagining the doppelgänger being jealous asf of him too ouuujhhhh

FRANCIS MOSSES 交易 ── `` DARK CONTENT﹕nonconsensual voyeurism. top amab reader. doppelgänger francis is watching, real one doesn’t know it. dry humping. clothed sex. different timeline from prev fic. ✶ IN WHICH francis wants to be more than just a neighbor.

for who to blame, you don’t permit yourself to think. francis, the lovely neighbor, is propped on your lap. poor man was flustered, sweat gathering on his skin like a coat. gullible; and so unaware. entirely dumb of the fact that his doppelgänger was gazing upon the scene through the crack of your bedroom door. you could almost imagine the creature’s expression, twisted in envy.

your palms cupping his hips, which are erratically pressing themselves against you. chasing after the friction he craved during the in-between’s of his working hours, pent up frustrations translating into insatiable sexual desire.

“gosh, ‘m sorry... hnngh, needed to feel you against me.” his teeth grit with a whine, tucking his head to your shoulder. effectively obscuring his ever burning pit of shame which laid heavily in his gut.

supposedly, you were to help him of deliveries as a noble—not only a doorman but as well a—citizen. however, you were not put in a situation to complain whilst he clutched onto you as he switched to tantalizing grinds. “couldn’t wait anymore, hm?”

words a tease, he could feel himself losing track of the rhythm. sloppy and unexperienced; though not enough to be labeled as someone so pure from filth. “please,” the doppelgänger’s eyebrows wrinkled with disgust at the actual francis’ plea.

“please, i, mm,” and the milkman is at a loss for words.

the creature, despite his apparent hatred, palmed his cock within the confines of his pants. fuck, his tip was leaking with pre-cum that without a doubt painted his length in a creamy tone.

he was ablaze with jealousy while you got your dick wet with the one whose identity he attempted to steal. “say it.” the commanding quality of your voice left no room for objections that even he felt the obligation to speak his thoughts.

“can- can i take off your pants? i want you inside me..” what a darling francis mosses was.

a humming released from your sealed lips; he waits. “not completely,” he’s confused until you pull the zipper, freeing your cock from the side and his shyness returns. “better?”

francis nods, cheeks warmed at the scenery. the doppelgänger despised that. “i’m ready, did it myself this morning.” he sheepishly mumbles, releasing himself of his lower garments. “did you plan this?”

it’s taken as an accusation. “no!” could’ve been an exclaim if he wasn’t so breathless in effort of aligning his hole to your tip, “but i’ve... imagined it, you know. keep myself awake to— oh fuck.”

an inch, then a second, and now you’re void of a clue. rewarding yourself with the relief of triumph of the theory that he would feel a lot better than the copy; he is.

if you were to say that aloud, you’re sure the targeted one would be angry enough to keep you from finding your release.

francis’ thighs lay atop of yours, warming your cock with his sensitive walls. he tries to lift himself up, only to realize he was incapable. energy spent due to the earlier attempts. you are met with a whimper, a look in his eye, and the trembling of his lips.

the other tenants are certain to file a complaint.

masterlist﹒divider﹒artist kaworinx

[stillnotyourmusebitch]

Young at Heart - Alternate!Silco x GN!Reader

This all came about from a 'Late Night Thought' I had last week and i didn't think it would have any traction and it seemed to take off. So, I wrote the fic. (The poll wanted it the Alternate timeline Silco. This is my first time writing this version of him)

((Fluff, humour and established relationship) with a suggestive ending)

When Silco asked me to drop everything and meet him in the upstairs office ASAP. You know I threw my bar rag a little too hard in the direction of my co-worker, hitting him square in the face, declaring I was taking my break early. I couldn’t even hear their disgruntled profanity ridden response. As I was already hopping up the staircase, taking some of the steps two at a time. When I burst through the door, my excitement instantly vanished.  

“When did a bomb go off in here?” I chuckle dryly as I try to edge my way into the office to get a better look. Papers were strewn about all over the floor, boxes overflowing with files and receipts that surround a rather dishevelled looking SIlco who was sat in the center of the explosion.  

“Ah, you’re finally here. You can start over that side of the room.” Not even looking up from his mismatched pile of papers, he waved off in the general direction he wanted me to be. 

“Ya knooooow. When you told me to drop everything, this was not what I had in mind.” I sighed as I slowly manoeuvre my way, without slipping, through piles of documents and files to the far corner where he wanted me to begin. “Why are you needing my help exactly?” I ask flicking the lid off a box stuffed with all sorts of crap I couldn’t care less about. 

“I’m trying to find certain set of files that I need to update the agreement we have on the bar but as you can see from the mess around you that the filing system I had perfectly in place was not up to standard and I'm needing to go through everything again because ‘some’ people did not see fit to follow my system.” 

I can hear the exasperation laced in his voice.  

“Where is Vander and why isn’t he helping you with this?” I turn to face Silco, he meets my eye. 

“He is out trying to buy me the time to find said files. It’s the least he can do after this.” He gestured to the mess around the room. “He thought he knew exactly where the files were and . . .” He imitates an explosion sound throwing some of the papers he held to get his point across. I wince at the realisation of it all. 

“How long have you been going at this? I feel like I haven’t seen you in ages” I lean gently against the bookshelf as to not upset any boxes nearby. 

“Hours have become days and I'll be damned if it becomes weeks.” He throws the last of the papers in his hand down onto a makeshift pile that collapses under its own weight. “Urgh, fuck me!” he rubs at the bridge of his nose.  

“If I'm honest I thought that’s why you called for me.” I smirk at his gently reddening cheeks. Choosing to change the subject matter I ask. “What do these files actually look like? I might be able to help you better knowing what I'm trying to find.” 

Silco realising his basic error, begins to explain what I needed to assist him in recovering before we settle back into the search again. 

----- 

The task carries on for a few more hours in a comfortable silence. I had to ask if someone could talk to my coworker about my elongated break. When SIlco requires my presence most of the time he calls me away from work it's for a brief yet hot and handsy make out session that leaves me flustered when I go back to my post. Our relationship was known only to a few close friends and family. But I’m pretty sure everyone knows now because he and I aren’t quiet by any means. Yet nobody says anything about it to protect his professional image. 

“AHA!” Silco exclaims aloud as he stands up from the desk chair, a few precious papers clutched in hand. 

“Found them I see.” I glance over my shoulder briefly at his gleeful face. 

“Yes, finally.” He lets out a sigh in relief, looking over to where I was preoccupied with a box that he didn’t realise was accessible to me. “Please stay out of that one. It's labelled private for a reason.” His voice catches when he saw what I held. 

“Daaaaamn, so it is true.” I turn waltzing over to him, being careful of the still very messy floor, I flip the photo over in my fingers so he can see better. 

“Give me that.” When I get close enough, he reaches out for worn item in my hand. I lift it just out of reach above my head, playing a little game of keep away with his beloved memory. He steps nearer to me, so our chests are touching. 

“Oooo, so close.” I change hands quickly keeping the photograph away from his long fingers. “Come on you can do better than that sweetheart.” I smirk booping his nose quickly with the corner of the photograph before pulling my hand away again. His left arm snakes around my waist turning us around enough so he can push me backwards onto the desk with him almost straddling my right thigh. 

“Well now” I wiggle my brows suggestively, making sure the photograph is still too far away to grab in our new position. 

“Get your mind out of the gutter.” He rolls his eyes at me as he leans closer for the photograph. 

“Funny you say that as it’s normally you dragging me down with you.” I lift my knee grazing his inner thigh causing him pause. 

He says my name in a warning way. 

“Okay Mr Serious pants.” I reply in a mocking tone. 

He manages to finally grab the photo from me, checking it for rips or tears before pulling away and walking back to place it safely back into the box of memories. I follow behind him, wrapping my arms around his waist, resting my chin on his shoulder. 

“Next time you see a something marked private. I expect you to respect my privacy.” He places a one hand on top of the box of memories and the other rests atop my crossed arms. He sighs again.  

“Maybe you can grow it out again.” I let my inner thoughts be known. 

“What are you talking about?” He turns his head to the side to look at me. I pull one arm away so I can thread my fingers through his much shorter hair, scratching lazily at his scalp. Pulling a low moan from his throat. 

“Your hair darling, that picture proved you can rock the style, plus we know how much of a whore you can be when I do this.” I pull lightly on his hair making him gasp. 

“Don’t you think I’m too old for that style.” His breathing was ragged as he tries to remain calm. I chuckle darkly at my flustered partner, with practiced ease I spin him so I loom above him, lifting his chin with a single finger. 

“Of course, darling.” I lean down our lips graze with my words. “You’re just proof that men get finer with age.” He smiles at my words as I steal his response away with a soft kiss.  

-----

I really enjoyed writing this. I hope you enjoy reading it

[areyouwell]

Nyctophobia

Noun: An extreme fear of the dark. Children or adults may have Nyctophobia if they are afraid to be left alone in darkness

Ch.1

Pairing: Logan Howlett x F!Mutant!Reader

Warnings: None as of yet, but we'll get there ;)

Word count: 9.2k

A/N: RIGHT FUCKERS ITS TIME. i don't think i've written a fic this long in goddamn years but here we are. DEFO ooc Logan and also timeline what timeline? Kitty is older than the rest of the students cuz i love her and i said so. reader's mutation is currently shadow-walking but that'll develop as we go on so slay boots. also I have no concept of word limits sooooo 9k chapter let's fucking go

How long had it been? Six months? A year? Two years? Honestly, you couldn’t recall. It felt like it had been forever since ol’ Charlie had sent you travelling the continent. Sure, it had been your idea to try and find mutants before they experience the most traumatic event of their lives, but you didn’t think he’d send you, and certainly not immediately. Though you were glad he did, you didn’t think Scott would make as good an impression as you could.

But, now you were back. Thank fuck. You could finally rest your weary legs and put down your heavy-as-shit bag. And at least now you could work on developing your mutation. Shadow walking. Or at least, it is now. You thought that was the extent of what you could do, just disappear and reappear whenever and wherever there happened to be a shadow cast on the ground. Or on a wall. Or anywhere really. But, Xavier had gently suggested that, perhaps, those shadows could be manipulated one way or another. You wished to fuck you knew how because your bag was all but cutting right through your shoulder.

Your boots crunched against the gravel as you took a deep breath, making your way inside. It was nice to notice nothing had changed. The lawn was still neatly mowed, brickwork hadn’t aged a day. It smelt like comfort. It smelt like home. But before you could even knock on the door, at least being courteous enough not to slip through the shadows, the oak burst open and two unidentified arms had wrapped themselves around your neck in one of the most warming hugs you’d ever received, accompanied by a high pitch squeal.

You knew instantly who that would be. Brown hair spilled across her shoulders, smelling faintly of lavender. “Hey Kitty,” you grinned, dropping your bag to return her tight embrace. It truly did feel like forever.

“I’m so happy to see you it’s been years! We thought you were never coming back! Scott thought you’d died and Charles wasn’t telling us, Logan didn’t think you even existed and that we were all lying, Jean thought you’d just got sick of this place and dipped, it was carnage!” She rambled, her deep brown eyes sparkling slightly. You had to take a minute to actually comprehend what the fuck she was saying before your lips split into a broad smile.

“Well, I can tell you that I’m not dead, at least not yet, and I do very much exist and I am not sick of this place despite what Jean may think. And– wait who’s Logan?” Your brain had only just caught up with the fact that Kit had mentioned a name completely unfamiliar to you. Just how long had you been gone?

“Oh, right yeah. A new teacher,” Kitty kept one arm around your shoulder as she guided you back inside, stopping only when you realised your bag was still left discarded by the front door. “He uh, sorta took your position as PE and combat professor… sorry.” She looked genuinely apologetic, whilst internally, you couldn’t be more grateful. You always thought you weren’t ever cut out to teach, and whilst you sometimes enjoyed it, you were always too worried about the kids being hurt. 

“I’m hurt, a girl’s gone for a year or two and you replace her? What kind of school is this?” you cracked a smile, Kitty’s face morphing from remorse to relief. She really thought you’d be upset? You were touched. “Anyway, what time is it? Where is everyone? I thought classes stopped at–” You were cut off abruptly upon entering the lounge.

“Welcome back!” you covered your face at the chorus of voices, laughing behind your hands before clutching your heart dramatically. 

“Christ! You’ve all just knocked five years off my life!” you grinned, faces both familiar and unfamiliar laughing and smiling just to see you.

“They’ve been looking forward to this for days. Ever since rumour of your return started circulating, they’ve been pestering us nonstop for a date. Eventually, someone caved,” You didn’t need to see Scott’s eyes in order to know he was giving Kitty a pointed look behind his glasses. You looked back to see her looking sheepish.

“Yeah well… they can be really persuasive.” She shrugged, taking your bag off your shoulder and placing it out of the way. You sighed at the loss of weight, rolling your joint slightly. 

“It’s good to see you,” Scott pulled you in for a brief hug, clapping your back once before pulling back, letting the rest of your friends and pupils make their way over. You were consumed by various arms of embraces, questions about your travels, introductions to new students, reminiscing with old students. It was quite possibly the best moment you’d had since you left. But a face caught your eye at the back of the crowd. A young girl, with the same dark brown hair you remember, only now a streak of brilliant white framed her face.

You made your way over, shuffling through the crowd, clasping hands and shoulders with people you knew before finally getting to her.

“Hey you,” you smiled gently, remembering how timid and easy to scare she used to be. You were caught off guard completely by her sudden bright smile. 

“Hey.”

“How long’ve you been here? I didn’t actually think you’d listen to me to be brutally honest with you, thought you’d just shrug it off and continue your own path,” you were relieved to see she had listened to what you’d said two years ago. You’d urged her down this path, to find the school. You’d already known Charles would take her, it was just a matter of her taking herself here.

“Uh… about that…” you’d only seen a smile that sheepish on Kitty. You cocked a brow, head tilting to the side slightly before a hand on your shoulder caused you to whirl. But it was just Ororo. Clearly, your travels had affected you more than you originally thought. 

But Storm wasn’t looking at you, you could only see the back of her white hair as she frantically waved at someone through the crowd, beckoning them over.

“Logan!”

Ah, you guess that made sense now.

Whoever you’d expected to walk through the crowd, you threw that image out your mental window the moment you saw him. 

Now you understood why he taught combat and PE… he was fucking ripped. White t-shirt leaving nothing to the imagination. The facial hair was an interesting choice, but you couldn’t say it didn’t suit him. He was very… rugged lumberjack looking.

You placed a hand on your hip, brows raised in intrigue as he made his way over. You don’t think you’d ever seen a grumpier-looking man. 

“Logan, this is Phantom,” your eyes slid to Ororo as she used your mutant name. 

“Ah, so you do exist,” his voice seemed a perfect match for the rest of him, just as rough and rugged as the worn jeans he was wearing. You nodded, mouth quirking into a small smirk.

“Heard there was some debate over that, glad I could put it to rest,” you outstretched your hand for him to shake, something you were surprised he actually did, calloused palm encasing your own.

“Can ya blame me?” He asked with a raised brow, dropping your hand after a beat too long. Clearly unaccustomed to civility, judging from his appearance. 

“Guess not. You’re also the son-of-a-bitch that stole my position, right?” You asked, wanting to be a lot more serious than you actually were being, but for some reason, you couldn’t help grinning slightly. 

“Language!” Storm elbowed you slightly. Guess you’d forgotten how to behave around the kids too.

Logan held his hands up in surrender. “In my defense, I didn’t think you existed,” though he also seemed serious, you thought you could detect something that could be perceived as humour in his hazel eyes. You couldn’t keep up your poorly constructed façade anymore, waving your hand as if to physically clear the air between the two of you.

“I’m kidding, you can keep it. In all honesty, I was never really cut out for it.” You shrugged. “Besides, I’m–”

“She’s being super modest by the way, she rocked as that professor!” Kitty called from the other side of the room, somehow managing to listen to your conversation. You didn’t know how, since the entire welcome party was still chatting way, but you cast her a withering look nonetheless. 

“So I’ve heard,” Logan’s eyes slid from Kitty back to you as you scoffed.

“Though, of course, it was purely hypothetical, since I didn’t exist and all.” You teased, gesturing to your very much existing self. You silently triumphed over the fact you managed to drag a small smile out of him, realising that making this man pull any other expression other than irritation was something to be proud of. 

You hadn’t realised how completely caught up in the introduction you’d been before you noticed the girl still standing next to you, eyes flicking between you and Logan with a small smile pulling at the corners of her lips. 

“Anyway,” you continued pointedly, “you were saying? So you didn’t come to find this place?” your head tilted again slightly in confusion. “How did you end up here?”

Rogue looked from you to Logan, who’s eyes were still trained on you. You looked between them. “Nope, still confused. How did…?” 

“Well, after you found me, I did carry on my own path, which led me to some shady bar where Logan found me,” she explained quietly.

“More you found me but sure.” He shrugged. You could tell there was some kind of bond between them, one you could recognise was only built through trauma. You’d heard a little of what happened with Eric through Charles’ telepathic link, but he always reassured you to continue what you were doing. But you often wondered what could have happened if you’d returned. 

“So, you brought her here?” You asked, trying to prompt the story forward. Honestly, you wanted to know how he’d succeeded where you’d failed. You could be incredibly persuasive when you wanted to be, but Rogue was stubborn on another level. 

“Me? Nah, didn’t know this place existed at that point.”

“Seems to be a common theme with you,” you couldn’t help the subtle teasing grin spreading across your face, nor your laugh as he rolled his eyes skyward.

“Never gonna live that down, am I?”

“Not whilst I’m still breathing,” you winked, before turning your attention back to Rogue and completely missing the way his features shuddered slightly. “So how’d you get here if tall, dark, and broody over here didn’t know about this?” 

“Tall, dark, and– what?” He asked, bewildered.

Ororo snorted in amusement, before stepping in. “That would be us. We’d been tracking another mutant, Sabretooth, and he just so happened to be tracking Logan, or so we thought at the time. We found Sabretooth, and these two at the same time. Brought them both back.” 

You nodded in understanding, now finally having got through the whole story. Well, maybe not the whole story, you knew there were details you definitely were missing, but at least you got the jist.

“I see. Glad it wasn’t my lack of persuasive skills then. Though I guess a life or death situation isn’t much better. How’s your mutation coming along?” you asked, only now noticing the black, elbow-length gloves she was wearing. Ah.

“Still hard to control, but I’m getting better at it!” She looked genuinely enthusiastic about her mutation, so much so that it almost brought a tear to your eye. When you’d met her two years ago, you didn’t know if she even wanted help. She’d been so lost in her despair and self-loathing that you didn’t think she had long left with the way her mental health was going. So to see her so happy, your throat closed up slightly.

“I’m glad, I really am. You deserve this, Rogue. All of this,” you gestured to the room around, to the friends she’d made, to the haven she’d found.

“Oh, my name’s Marie. Guess I didn’t tell you before.” She shrugged, and you had to laugh to stop yourself from crying. 

“Marie it is.” Her story touched your heart, and to see she managed to get her happy ending… fuck you were so close to crying. You had to change the subject before you broke down in front of these people. “Oh hey, is my room still the same? Wouldn’t mind freshening up a little, been a long journey.” Two birds with one stone. You could leave the situation and cry in your bathroom whilst taking a shower so you didn’t smell like the wrong end of a skunk. Perfect!

“Uh…” Storm started.

“About that…” Kitty continued, coming over to stand alongside Storm. You looked between them, before shooting a glance to Logan who seemed to be showing absolutely no remorse.

“Your bed’s real comfy, bub” he smirked, and you gaped.

“You’re fucking kidding me?”

“Language!” both Ororo and Kitty said at the same time, and you winced.

“Fuck, sorry. Shit! Argh!” you gave up, throwing your hands in the air. “I’m not letting any of you off the hook. This is betrayal at its finest! Giving him my position I can handle, but my damn room? That’s shocking behaviour from the both of you!” You pointed at them accusingly, shooting a glare to the man next to you who was doing nothing but lowly chuckling. You breathe out a sigh. You had the best room in the whole mansion. Or at least you did, before Muscles McGee stole it from you.

“Don’t blame those two” Jean placed a calming hand on your shoulder. “we didn’t have another room made up when these two arrived. It was supposed to be temporary, but–”

“The view was too nice to pass up on,” Logan interjected. You realised he probably thought it was his turn to tease you. You knew that view was nice, it was overlooking the entire grounds behind the school. And whilst you were going to sorely miss it, you weren’t so heartless that you’d take it back from him. Besides, in a weird way, you felt like you owed him. He found Marie, and whatever transpired between them, she seemed happier now. You guessed you maybe had him to thank for that.

“Yeah yeah, alright fine. I concede. Where am I then?” you asked Jean, who broke into a broad smile.

“You’re in the one above, still got the same view, don’t worry,” she elbowed you slightly. That wasn’t so bad actually. Same view, same side of the mansion, just one story up? You breathed a sigh of relief. Yeah, you could do that.

“Good enough, I’m still mad about it though.” Your eyes narrowed at four of them, Logan included, before cracking your neck in preparation to take your bag all the way up the stairs.

Kitty clapped her hands excitedly, and you raised a brow in suspicion. “What’s got you so giddy?” you asked as she once again slid her arm across your shoulders, guiding you back towards the door. 

“Oh nothing, just glad you're home. It’s been kinda boring without you.” You laughed at that. With everything that’s been going on, you didn’t think any of them had time to be bored. But you appreciated the thought nonetheless. 

Eyeing your bag on the ground, there were times when you really wished your mutation involved some kind of super strength, because as happy as you were to be home and have a room just above your old one, you really didn’t want to lug that thing all the way up. And all the damn lights were on, so slipping up through the shadows was a no-go. You blew out a breath in preparation, rolling your shoulder once again, before you were stopped by a broad hand landing on your arm.

“I got it,” Logan’s voice weaved butterflies through your stomach. You hadn’t realised he was behind you before he was leaning down next to you and effortlessly slinging the bag over his own shoulder.

For the second time that afternoon, you gaped up at him, left almost speechless. 

“Super strength?” Was all you could say, hoping to Jesus he knew what you were asking. You watched his features morph from confusion to amusement as he shook his head slightly. 

“Nah, not quite.”

“Then how the fu–” you were reminded of the children present by a sharp elbow to the ribs from Kitty. “–uuun. How fun.” you gave up on your question, much to his mirth. The sight had your brain short-circuiting. You wouldn’t deny he was good-looking. You’d be fucking crazy to deny that. But there was something else hidden under all those knowing smirks and sharp glances. Something that you wouldn’t mind uncovering. 

Deciding that was a quest for another day, you turned abruptly on your heel, making your way to the staircase before once again stopping in your tracks. This was starting to get on your nerves a little. However, any irritation soon died as you finally saw Professor Xavier.

“Ah, I wondered whether the commotion was your return.”

You snorted a laugh. “No, you didn’t. You absolutely knew it was my return.” You quipped back, earning yourself a laugh from the man.

“As quick as ever. And I see you’ve met our Wolverine.” Charles nodded to Logan next to you, and you turned to him in bemusement. 

“Wolverine? Seriously?” you asked, laughing at his shrug. “Can’t think why…” your sarcastic jab paired with your pointed looks from his hair to his body brought another amused smirk from the man. 

“I thought you two would get along. Get yourself settled back in and meet me in my office and your earliest convenience.” You nodded back to Xavier, unable to take a moment to process what he meant when he said he thought you and Logan would get along before Kitty began dragging you towards the stairs.

“C’mon! You’re gonna love it!”You were slightly worried about what it was but followed her nonetheless.

Logan had to admit, he didn’t mind carrying your bag up four flights of stairs. It wasn’t the worst way to spend his afternoon. And as much as he wasn’t the kind of guy to stare at a woman’s ass, he wasn’t mad that he was behind you. 

Everything he’d been told about you had been proven correct. At least, everything he’d seen so far. Whether or not you could hold yourself in a fight was up for debate, but everything else, your wit, your charm, heartbreaking kindness, humour… it was all right there in front of him. 

Literally.

He’d lost count of how many times he’d had to bite back a smile or a laugh, stunned by the fact that you actually managed to break through and pull both from him. Even now, as you paused before the landing that lead to your old room and sighed wistfully, had had to stop himself grinning. And he was glad you turned back around quickly after throwing him a pointed glare over your shoulder because that was another smile he was struggling to rein in. Fuck, how did you do it? He’d only known you for half an hour and he’d displayed more expression than he had in his whole two years of being here. 

He was in huge trouble. 

The stairs finally flattened out to the top floor landing, Kitty still leading the way down the corridor until the final room. It was isolated, like his one floor below, and he guessed you must like it that way. Which he thought strange. The way you were with others, he hadn’t exactly pegged you for being someone who liked her space. But then again, he’d only known you for thirty minutes.

He had to remind himself of that. 

“Here we are!” Kitty grinned excitedly, stepping to the side to let you open the door yourself. Logan knew what you’d find behind the wood. He’d helped set it up after all. Some twisted guilt forced him into helping. At least, that’s what he told himself. 

You eyed Kitty suspiciously, before twisting the handle on the door, pushing slightly to reveal what she was so excited about. 

If Logan was being honest, your expression was worth all the consuming guilt he’d felt by taking your room. A smile of pure, unadulterated awe wiped all thought from his mind, your eyes were practically glowing.

“You… Kitty, you didn’t need to do this,” You looked back to the giddy girl and pulled her into a tight hug. Everything you remembered was here. Your posters, fairy lights, and every single plant you’d nourished and grown made your room look like a rainforest. The light in the ceiling had been covered by patterns to ensure there was always shadows cast somewhere, whether it be floor, wall, or ceiling. 

“It wasn’t just me! I employed help,” Kitty smiled, taking the liberties she knew she had to sit cross-legged on your bed. “And others offered to help.”

Logan held his breath as he felt your attention shift from Kitty to him, meeting your gaze of sheer wonder. 

“You helped?” you asked, taking your bag from his shoulder, though he was almost too caught up in your gaze to notice.

“Here an’ there…” he muttered, trying to calm himself by leaning against the doorframe, folding his arms across his chest, attempting to escape your eyes by looking around your room. 

“Here and there? That’s such a lie! He’d heard about your mutation, the shadow-casting thing was his idea!” Kitty grinned excitedly, and you all but choked on the realisation. He did this for you. He didn’t even know you, and he did this for you. 

“Kitty, that’s en–oof!” Logan barely had time to react before your arms were around his neck, your chin resting on his shoulder. Your scent hit him like a truck, and it was nothing like how he’d imagine it. Not that he had imagined it…

“Thank you,” you whispered earnestly, and any guard he’d put up previously melted away. He didn’t exactly return your embrace, but his hands somehow found your waist as you pulled back, keeping your arms across his shoulders. “Maybe I can forgive you for stealing my old room now. Oh! And my job. And not believing I exist,” your grin held more mischief than he ever thought possible, but now you were back to teasing, he felt his thoughts return. 

“Anythin’ else?” He asked, mirroring your expression.

“Not yet, but I’m sure I’ll think of something,” was it Logan’s sudden and overactive imagination, or did your eyes just flicker to his lips?

Was it the sudden physical contact that made your body hum this way, or was it just the fact that he could bench-press three of you? You didn’t care, and somehow, you didn’t think he did either. 

Until very suddenly and very abruptly, you did care. You stepped out of his hands far too quickly for his liking, your arms falling back by your sides. Though you didn’t look like you regretted anything. 

“I really appreciate this, from both of you. And whoever else helped. This is… well it’s better than what I was imagining,” you gestured to the room around you. It truly was perfect for you. They’d really outdone themselves. He’d really outdone himself. And you couldn’t help the warmth that spread from the centre of your chest to your limbs. You wanted to know more about him. “What’s your mutation, by the way? You never said,” you asked before you could stop yourself, and Logan blinked in surprise.

Holding his fist up, he flexed the tendons holding his claws. He no longer winced when his knuckles split. No longer grimaced as he sliced through his own flesh, though watching your face did cause him to worry just a little. 

You held your silence for a moment, not really knowing what to say. That looked painful as fuck, but you felt that asking might make it worse. “I see…” was all you said, before it hit you. “Wolverine! I get it now. It made sense before but now it actually fits!” You exclaimed, chuckling at his confusion. 

“Whaddya mean it made sense before?” 

“Don’t think too much into it,” you winked again, and Logan swore his heart stopped. 

“Yeah, alright Phantom.” He cocked a brow at the playful narrow of your eyes before you melted into the shadows right in front of him. He’d been made aware of your mutation, having overheard Jean using both you and Kitty as examples of phasing mutants, but to actually see it for himself? He couldn’t say he wasn’t impressed. He glanced around the room, retracting his claws as he looked for where you could have gone. 

“Get it now?”

Logan whipped around to see you standing behind him, arms folded across your chest, a mischievous grin plastered across your features. 

You always felt a sense of freedom when you released yourself into the shadows, like holding yourself in this corporeal state was somewhat of an effort. But letting yourself be free, to move like liquid amongst the darkness, it was like refueling a beaten truck. 

Logan’s lips quirked into a smile as he nodded once. “Got it,” the silence lingered once again, some kind of charge energy crackled in the space between the two of you before he cleared his throat. “Kitty, we should– the fuck?” 

You popped your head to the side, peering around Logan to see the space on your bed Kitty used to be sitting in was now completely empty. “Guess she left,” you shrugged. “Or she never existed.” That earned you a flick to the forehead from Logan, and you laughed, batting away his hand. How long had it been since you’d felt this comfortable with someone this quickly? Either it had been years, or never. 

“I’ll leave you to it,” he smiled, this time completely unrestrained. And fuck was he gorgeous. But you had to remember this was a man you’d just met. 

He had to remember this was a woman he’d just met.

“Yeah, thanks. I’ll uh, see you later?” You didn’t mean for your voice to sound so hopeful at the end, but honestly? It was worth seeing him turn back to you with that same smirk you’d seen countless times already.

“Sure.” He said, before closing the door. 

You sat heavily on your bed, your head in your hands. “What the fuck?” 

Little did you know, Logan was having a similar reaction right outside your door, his back against the wood as he pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. “What. The. Fuck?”

Having almost drowned yourself in the shower, using that shampoo you’d missed so dearly on your travels, you’d changed clothes into something a lot more comfortable, a loose pair of sweats and a spaghetti strap tank top, before heading down to Xavier’s office where he’d just spent the last ten minutes explaining his plans to further your mutation. And to be completely honest with yourself, you hadn’t listened to half of it. 

“So, in short, your ability, whilst appearing similar to Kitty’s, is actually entirely different. Where Kitty phases through objects, you become those shadows. Your molecules break down completely, unlike Miss Pryde.” He finished his explanation slowly, and you didn’t have the heart to tell him you had no idea what he’d just said. Luckily, when conversing with a telepath, you didn’t have to.

Charles sighed, rubbing his forehead slightly. “You’ve always said you felt a strain on yourself whilst corporeal, yes?” He asked, and you breathed in relief. Finally, a question you could answer.

“Yeah, it’s like I’m holding water with my bare hands. Or something like that,” you nodded, looking at yourself slightly curiously. “So, I’m not like Kitty?” you clarified, looking back up the the professor, who shook his head. 

“I’m afraid not. We were mistaken before, simply assuming you were just another phasing mutant. But Jean ran some tests on your blood, and it was quite remarkable.” You’d almost forgotten the woman was in the room until she cleared her throat, her red hair pulled up in a tight ponytail. 

“I think you describe it perfectly. Your molecules are being held together, more or less, by string, or so to speak. Not real string, but I think you understand.” You nodded. You actually did understand, because that’s how you constantly felt. It was, however, incredibly unnerving. What would happen if that string frayed? Or worse, fucking snapped altogether? Sensing your distress, Charles covered your hand with his own.

“My dear, that’s why we brought you back. We’ve been incredibly lucky so far, and clearly, you have an innate ability to control the string. It’s led us to believe that your abilities don’t stop at shadow walking.” He looked at you with understanding as you took this all in. He’d mentioned to you previously that he thinks you could do more. 

“Shadow manipulation, right?” You asked though the question was rhetorical. You knew that’s where they were going with this. Charles glanced at Jean who nodded in confirmation. 

“Essentially, yes. We think you could pull shadows from an already existing cast and wield them to your heart’s content. In… theory.” She hesitated, and you blew out a breath.

“But in practice?”

“In practice… honestly we don’t know. It will be a learning curve for all of us, to be blunt.” You nodded a little numbly. You’d only just returned and already you were being bombarded with hard truths. 

Once again sensing your distress, Charles cleared his throat. “Well, I think we should continue this discussion tomorrow. You’ve had a long day and perhaps right now isn’t the best time to be entertaining new ideas.” He threw another look to Jean and she nodded again, standing from her seat.

You couldn’t agree more. This was a lot to take in. Especially since you’d become so comfortable with your mutation, believing that you were just another phaser like Kitty. But now, you were something else completely, something unknown. Even to yourself. It… scared you. And you didn’t scare easily. Worry? Sure. Impending sense of dread? Absolutely. Fear? Never.

“Right. Thanks, Professor. I’ll uh, see you tomorrow then.” You dipped your head goodbye, before leaving his office and closing the door behind you. Tea. You needed tea. Fuck you needed something stronger than tea, but since this was a goddamn school, alcohol was strictly prohibited. 

Fuck’s sake. 

Dragging a hand down the side of your face, you absently made your way to the kitchen and flicked on the kettle. Muscle memory guided you to the drinks cupboard, moving aside the jar of decaff coffee to reveal your personal stash of teabags. Whilst primarily you were a coffee drinker, when it was this late in the evening, you tended to steer clear of the caffeine. You weren’t the best at sleeping to begin with, let alone when your mind and body were buzzing. 

You didn’t turn when you heard footsteps behind you, and the scrape of one of the chairs against the wooden floor, too focussed on rifling through the cupboard adjacent to the drinks one for our favourite mug. A gift from Kitty, she’d had custom-made for the print on the side to say ‘Phasers Forever!’. It made you a little sad to think about now. But, thankfully you found it, nestled right at the back next to the mug you’d gifted her. Also custom-made, but this just had the image of two hands with their little fingers linked. You’d made sure the gloves matched the ones you both wore in your suits. 

Dropping the teabag into the mug, you instantly savoured the scented steam as you poured the hot water, even the aroma calming your slightly frayed nerves. Wow, that meeting had seriously rattled you. Looping the string and tag over the lip of the mug, you turned back to the room, only to almost drop your freshly made drink in surprise.

Logan. Hair slightly damp, in a white v-neck tank, sat at the far end of the table, leaning back in the chair with a bottle of what you could have sworn was larger in his bear paw of a hand. That same fucking smirk pulled at his lips. 

“Phantom.” He raised his bottle in greeting. You wished you could match his energy, but honestly, you were drained from the day and the meeting. But you tried nonetheless.

“Wolvie.” You smiled back, though you could feel it didn’t reach your eyes. And clearly, he noticed too, expression shifting from self-assured confidence to slight concern.

“You alright?” Logan had only known you for less than a day, and he already knew he really didn’t like seeing you despondent. 

“Yeah, fine.” It almost pained him physically seeing your eyes remain dull with your liar’s smile. That was something else he realised in that split second. 

He really didn’t like you lying to him.

“Uh huh?” Fuck, he definitely knew you were hiding everything. How the fuck could he possibly tell that? He didn’t even know you! You sighed heavily, hoping it would help your next half-truth.

“I’m just tired. Long day, lots of emotions. Are you hungry? I’m starved and was gonna make pasta if you wanted some,” You tried your best to steer the conversation away from how you were feeling. Once again it wasn’t exactly a lie. You were starving, having not eaten since this morning, and it was now ten in the evening. 

Logan knew you turned away quickly so you didn’t have to see his suspicion. If you weren’t ready to talk about whatever was bothering you, he knew he shouldn’t push. But, to his surprise, he found himself wanting to know. He wanted to know what was up, and maybe, just maybe, he could make you feel better. It seemed doubtful, but it was worth a shot. “How was your meeting with Charles?”

Your shoulders tensed, spine straightening. Gotcha.

“Yeah, fine. Just easing me back into life here basically. Nothing earthshattering.” Now that was a flat out lie, and once again you refused to turn around as you brought the kettle over to the tap, filling it to the max line before placing it back on the stand and flicking the switch. You found it easier to lie when you were busy doing something else and making pasta seemed perfect. Crouching to one of the lower cupboards, you pulled out the pack of wholewheat, refusing to eat any of the sugary white bullshit. Unfortunately, the one downside of busying yourself so remarkably well was that you weren’t always paying attention to what was going on around you.

For example, Logan walking up behind you to take the packet from your hand and place it on the counter. You turned, realising he’d given you minimal space to move. He was so close you could smell the gel he used in the shower. Woodsy and smoky, like a forest cabin. He smelt fucking great, but to be honest, you were too busy trying to avoid eye contact to care.

“S’that why you look like your pet just died?” You knew he was trying to be teasing, trying to lighten the mood, trying to create a comfortable environment for you to open up in, but you didn’t know him, and he didn’t know you. With a deep breath, you stepped to the side and out of his reach, opening the fridge to look for something to make a nice creamy sauce with.

“Look, Logan. I appreciate it, and what you’re trying to do, but at the same time, I don’t know you. And you don’t know me. So, and I mean this with the utmost respect, fucking drop it. I’m tired and I have genuinely had a long day, what more do you want me to say?”

Logan blinked. And blinked again for good measure. He wasn’t expecting you to be so sharp. He didn’t know why he wasn’t expecting it, but you really took him by surprise. That seemed to be all you were doing since the moment he met you. Though this one stung a little more than he cared to admit. “That might’ve been the nicest fuck off I’ve ever heard. But it was still a fuck off.” He shrugged. He knew deep down you were right. You didn’t know each other, and maybe was was expecting a little too much from a three-hour friendship. If he could even call it that. 

“I didn’t mean–” You turned back from the fridge just in time to watch his disappearing form leave through the door, hearing his footsteps recede back up the stairs. You cursed inwardly, hating yourself for how you handled the situation. Though, looking at the pasta on the counter, you had an idea as to how to fix some of this. 

It had been roughly half an hour since he’d left you in the kitchen, recognising you needed space, and in all honesty? Retreating to lick his own wounds. He didn’t know why he wanted you to open up so badly. It wasn’t like he had a long-lasting friendship with you. He met you today, for fuck’s sake. Only hours ago. Shit, this morning he still didn’t think you existed! Logan groaned at the memory of you shutting him down, wishing he’d handled the situation differently, and stopped prodding when he knew he should have. Fuck!

He’d just managed to resolve to come and talk to you, before there was a thump at his bedroom door, followed by another. That wasn’t any kind of fist knocking… 

With deliberate caution, Logan stood from his bed, shining claws sliding through his knuckles as he approached the door, only for his nerves to be calmed when a familiar scent wafted through the cracks in the door. He didn’t dare get his hopes up until he turned the handle, pulling the door open to reveal you, stood before him, two steaming plates of pasta held impressively in one hand, and two bottles of larger in the other, your foot raised to kick the door a third time. 

“Before you slam the door, I brought peace pesto pasta, homemade so you know it’s good.” You were honestly surprised he opened the door, though you eyed his claws cautiously. Who did he think it was?

Logan noticed your line of sight, retracting his claws to cross his arms, a brow raised. “Peace pesto pasta?”

You nodded. “Homemade, don’t forget.” Logan smiled slightly at the hope in your eyes. “And also beer so you physically can’t turn me down.” You raised the two bottles in your hand, and he sighed as if you were a nuisance. Unfortunately for him, that couldn’t be further from the truth. 

“Homemade peace pesto, beer, and…?” 

You stuck your tongue in your cheek. “An apology.” You reluctantly admitted, looking anywhere but his face. “Can I come in or are you gonna stare at me all evening? These aren’t the most balanced plates, been a while since I was a waitress so…” you mumbled in explanation, earning yourself a quizzical look.

“You were a waitress?”

“Yes and it was a long time ago but we can talk all about it if I can set these down somewhere they won’t fall on your feet,” you said hurriedly, borderline pleading with your eyes for him to let you in. It wasn’t as if he was about to say no, there was just something comical about the way you were managing to hold everything in your hands. 

With a click of his tongue, he gestured for you to enter with his head, closing the door behind you as you set one of the plates down on the window seat, rubbing the red skin of your arm where the hot plate had ever so slightly burned you. He instantly felt bad, crossing the room with the intention to take your arm to look at it before you stuck it into the shadow on the wall, removing it again to reveal your skin pristine again.

“It wasn’t that bad, just uncomfortable,” you shrugged, handing a plate and bottle to him. Logan shook his head at what he’d just seen, giving you a look of ‘fair enough’ before taking the plate and beer gratefully. How long had it been since someone cooked for him? Though you’d done it as a peace offering, it still warmed his heart slightly. That and the fact it smelt fucking divine. 

“I’m sorry…” you started, mindlessly poking your pasta around your plate with your fork after making yourself comfortable on his window seat. He guessed it used to be your window seat, but it still made him happy how comfortable you looked. “The Professor told me something in the meeting and… rattled me, that’s all,” you shrugged, popping a few pieces of green pasta into your mouth and chewing thoughtfully. 

Logan decided to wait for you to continue, cracking open the bottle top of his beer with his teeth. Raising a brow as you looked over at him in slightly disturbed awe. 

“How did you not just break your jaw?” you asked, flabbergasted at his seemingly endless pool of abilities. 

“Not much can break it, considering my skeleton’s adamantium.” Logan was starting to like when you gaped at him in shock, admiring the way you jaw went completely slack, eyes wide. 

“Wait, how don't you– ohhhhh…” It had taken you a while to notice just how much the bed dipped when he sat down. No wonder he was so ripped, he had to be that strong in order to fucking walk around. “Any other secrets you're hiding?” You asked, before instantly regretting the question when his eyes met yours.

“You wanna talk about keeping secrets now?” He asked curtly.

“Walked into that one…”

“Yeah, you kinda did.” 

You sighed, fiddling with the bottle cap of your beer. Not to remove it, just to feel the sensation of the almost serrated edges helped to ground yourself. 

“You know about my mutation, the whole shadow-walking thing?” You asked, to which Logan responded with a nod, finally taking a bite of the pasta you’d made. Your heart swelled with pride as he paused, looking from the food to you with an impressed smile. “So, turns out, it’s nothing like Kitty’s. It’s not phasing like we originally thought, but something totally different.” You started to explain to an intensely listening Logan. “Kitty phases through things. I actually become the shadows I enter. Like, it’s not still my body but just in the shadow, my molecules break down to literally be the shadow,” you could tell he was trying to understand, his head tilting slightly to the side in a way you genuinely found cute. “It’s like, I’m holding water in my bare hands,” you started to demonstrate, placing your plate and bottle down beside you to cup your hands in front of you. “And this, this is my body. My corporeal body. But, when I dive into shadows, that body breaks down,” your cupped hands splayed apart, fingers spread to simulate a liquid splash. Logan nodded thoughtfully through mouthfuls of pasta. “How Jean explained it was that my molecules are held together with some kind of thread, and I control that thread, but it’s a constant strain… Like, I can feel my body being held together. And it just… I don’t know. It scared me I guess.”

The room fell into silence as you finished your explanation, Logan setting his somehow clean plate to the side, leaning his elbows against his spread knees, beer bottle clasped in both hands. “I uh, don’t really understand what’s scary bubs, sounds like this is an opportunity to develop it, right?” he asked, eyes searching your face for any sign you were reassured.

You sighed, the back of your head softly hitting the wall behind you. “Well apparently we’ve been lucky so far, and my control over this string or thread or whatever the fuck is stronger than they thought but… I don’t know, I guess what first went through my mind was what would happen if the thread snapped. Would I just stop being able to shadow walk or–”

“Would you stop altogether, and be able to do nothing but shadow walk,” Logan finished, realisation dawning on his gruff features. You nodded slightly, not wanting to speak anything into existence. 

“Exactly.” You whispered, staring into your borderline untouched pasta. You honestly didn’t know what to do, and you didn’t know what could be done. Surely, at this point, it was just a matter of time, right? The thought hit you like a lightning bolt. If it was just a matter of time, you just burdened this poor man, who you’d only met hours ago, with the knowledge that, eventually, you were likely just simply dissolve into nothing, cursed to live forever in the shadows of others. “Anyway, yeah, that’s why I had a face like, how did you put it? Like my pet just died,” You did your best to imitate his voice, hoping to shit it would lighten the mood of the room, but it only earned you a look of sympathy.

Fucking sympathy. You hated sympathy.

You’d come in here in the hopes to make things right with him and apologise for how you were earlier, but the one thing you really didn’t want, and never fucking wanted, was sympathy. You sighed heavily, preparing yourself for whatever ‘I’m so sorry this is happening speech’ he was clearly getting ready to spill. 

But for the umpteenth time in the short while you’d known him, Logan surprised you. Taking your bottle of beer from your side, he cracked the lid off with his teeth, the same as before, before handing it back to you. You, as stunned as you were, managed to take it from his hand, the soft skin of your fingertips brushing the backs of his own. You smiled in resignation, raising your bottle in some tragic excuse of a toast. ‘To the inevitable’ you wanted to say, but you physically bit your tongue before taking a long sip of the slightly bitter liquid.

“It won’t come to that,” you’d forgotten, in the period of silence, that you were waiting for him to say something. You tilted your head in confusion, and it honestly took all of Logan’s willpower not to launch into you and wrap you up in his arms. He really needed to pull himself together. “Look, I was pretty fuckin’ helpless when I came here. And I know you remember the state Marie was in. Neither of us thought we were worth savin’, but look at us now,” in complete honesty, Logan still didn’t think he was worth saving, but that was neither here nor there. “He’ll help ya. You’ll get this under control. And it ain’t all bad. He already said you had more control than he thought,” You could feel his eyes search your face as you closed yours. Maybe he was right. Charles had said you had more control over these strings than he thought. 

Logan was right. That was a good thing.

“Well, we’ll see tomorrow. That’s when we really start everything. We have another meeting before we’re straight into training, seeing if we can really develop this mutation before I cease to exist. No pressure right?” You half-joked, your lips quirking up into what you hoped was a smile. Or, at least, a lopsided one. 

Fuck he wanted to kiss you. Kiss you. When the hell was the last time he’d felt like this toward anyone? He hadn’t wanted to kiss anyone in goddamn years, and here you were, a woman he didn’t even believe existed a few hours ago, waltzing into his life and making him feel things like wanting to fucking kiss you. 

“I uh… ya know I wanted to apologise too.”

Well, that caught you off guard. “Wh– wait what? Why? What for?” you couldn’t help firing off questions at speeds you didn’t know you were capable of, utter bafflement contorting your features. 

“You were right. I don’t know you. And you don’t know me.” Logan watched as your face transformed from confusion, to hurt, to acceptance. 

“Yeah…. I did say that didn’t I? I–”

“But,” he interrupted, stopping you mid-sentence. “That doesn’t mean I don’t wanna know ya…” Logan almost laughed aloud at how your eyes went comically wide. Did you know how cute you were? When you weren’t telling him to fuck off, that is.

“I– Uh, okay, sure… what d’ya wanna know?” you asked, hoping to fuck you didn’t sound ridiculous. If you didn’t, Logan didn’t seem to mind or care. 

“You can start of by tellin’ me how or where you learned to cook so well,” you scoffed loudly, rolling you eyes. “Nah I’m serious kid, that was fuckin’ great,” Logan leaned against the headboard, an arm positioned behind his head as you too made yourself comfortable again on the window seat, resting your elbow on your raised knee.

“Kid? Do you know how old I am?” you asked, smirking slightly. Though you were a little embarrassed, there was no way you’d show it. Kid? Did he seriously think you were that young? 

“Do you know how old I am?” he retorted, that same self-assured glint dancing in his eye. You peered at him in scrutiny, emphasising how hard you were looking at him by squinting intensely.

“I’d put you at around like, early thirties? Maybe mid? Am I hot or cold?” you asked, kinda hoping he was in the same sort of age bracket as you were. Not for any specific reason of course… just for… science.

Yeah. For science.

Though your heart deflated slightly at his bark of a laugh. “Not quite. Try mid to late hundred and thirties. Give or take a few years.” Once again you gaped at him, mouth wide open, jaw completely slack. He could get used to that sight. Dangerously used to it. “Take a picture bubs, it’ll last longer.”

“B-but… how–? Y–? Hundred and– what the fuck?” You couldn’t get over it. Though your mind was still reeling, you managed to recover quickly. “Why you don’t look a day over ninety. You’re in good shape for a fossil, though I was wondering why I was getting a lot of calls from museums recently… probably looking for their exhibit back,” you smirked wildly whilst Logan just stared at you, trying his fucking damnest not to let his disobedient lips quirk anywhere other than down. 

“Ya done?”

“I’ll probably think of some more. But, in all seriousness, how?” You asked, and Logan couldn’t detect anything other than genuine curiosity.

“Regenerative. I heal real quick, but that also keeps my body in good condition. Dunno exactly how old I am, but it’s around hundred and thirty,” he shrugged, and you whistled lowly. “So?” he prompted, and you looked up.

“So what?”

“How’dya make the pasta?” 

You snorted in amusement, before launching into an explanation about your brother and how he always had an interest in cooking and had taught you to cook simple things, like how to make a béchamel sauce, or how to make pesto from scratch. And if you weren’t so caught up in your storytelling, you would have noticed Logan drinking in every damn word like he was parched for conversation. Listening to you talk, the cadence of your voice, the way you pronounce every letter and the way you occasionally drop a letter, it was hypnotic. You didn’t have an abundance of energy, and whether that was simply because you were exhausted after the day you’d had, or if that was just who you were, he didn’t know. But honestly? He didn’t really care. 

As long as you kept talking, that was all that mattered. If he could take your mind off tomorrow, or your situation by letting you ramble about the smallest of things, he would. And he would pretend the whole time like he was doing this for you. And not because, at the end of everything, he liked listening to you. 

“Anyway, that’s how you tell the difference between a Thoroughbred and a Quarter Horse. And I will not make that mistake again.” You’d somehow weaved from topic to topic, the conversation ebbing and flowing for hours, you both taking turns in sharing random stories from your pasts, little anecdotes that gave context to who you both were as people now. And it was only thanks to the brief silence and the conveniently timed chime of the clock did you realise how late it was. Or rather, how early.

It was one in the fucking morning. How the hell did that happen? Your eyes slid back to Logan, who at some point had made himself comfortable on the opposite side of the window seat, and you watched as he had the same realisation. Holy shit.

“I should probably–”

“Look, you should–”

You both started to speak at the same time, before pausing to let the other talk first. It was gross and awkward and cringey but, for the life of you, you couldn’t find it in you to care. 

You stood, gathering your long abandoned, though now empty plate, and crossed the room to grab his from the bedside table. You heard Logan sigh heavily behind you in what you assumed was exhaustion. You couldn’t blame the man. You’d been talking for hours. 

Logan followed you to the door, holding it open for you as you stepped out into the hallway. You placed the crockery onto the floor, freeing your hands to wrap your arms around his neck in a similar embrace to the one before. Only this time, you felt his strong arms return your hug, wrapping you up tightly against his chest.

“Thank you. For letting me talk for hours. You don’t need to pretend you enjoyed it, by the way. But thank you all the same.” You stepped back, and Logan leaned against the door frame, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Yeah well, you brought peace pesto and beer. How could I say no?” He quipped, and you chuckled lightly. He wasn’t about to admit he enjoyed your company far more than he should have done, and he sure as shit wasn’t about to admit he wasn’t pretending to like it. His eyes softened at your laugh in a way he’d stopped them from doing all evening. “I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?”

You peered up at him, a knowing spark dancing in your iris. You noticed. Of course, you’d noticed. That was almost exactly what you’d said to him earlier. The same hopeful lilt and all. 

“Sure.” Was all you said in return, before picking up the empty plates and bottles off the floor, and turning away to head back down the hallway. You refused to look back, worried that if you did, you’d run straight back to his room and never fucking leave.

But if you had. If you had just turned to look over your shoulder, you would have seen him leaning against the doorway still, eyes following you down the stairs, and lingering still, long after you’d disappeared.

Yeah… he was definitely in trouble.

[ladycaramelswirl]

definitely not old

Aaron Hotchner x Reader

A/N: Did I create an extremely improbable scenario just to suit my need to create another highly improbable scenario? Yes. Do I care that it’s unrealistic? No. Please forgive any typos/ grammatical errors. 

CW: suggestive content, but not explicit (like 15+?). Use of y/n one time. (Technically this would probably warrant one of those hostile workplace environment seminars like they had for Derek and Penelope. But it’s funny? Idk this isn’t serious.) Sassy Hotch. Crack plot tbh. 

Also I know the timeline doesn’t really make sense, because JJ is a profiler and Emily and Rossi exist, but I imagined Season 1 Spencer while writing this! I guess it’s 2005? Btw I do not know how tapes work, so just pretend it makes sense please. This is so unserious. 

Summary: reader wife and Hotch are private people; the BAU team is nosy. Spencer is just constantly in the right place at the wrong time. 

Enjoy!

——————

The screen in front of you depicted horror - just not the kind the BAU was used to. The UnSub had confessed to leaving a message in an old tape. He had already been arrested, but you were all hoping it might contain something that might help the conviction stick. Only he was extremely paranoid, so not only had he left the message in a code, but he had spliced it into a tape he thought people were least likely to watch. His p***. It was the last thing to do for the case and everyone was trying to help. You all sit at the round table, and Spencer shifts in his seat, clearly uncomfortable. Derek laughs at his shyness and Emily laughs at the very unrealistic movements. She and JJ tilt their heads at the shape the two on the screen have put themselves into. 

“That does not look comfortable”, JJ mocks. 

The words are out of your mouth before you think. “Trust me it’s not”. 

Everyone at the table snaps their heads to look at you. 

“Damn Mama”, Derek laughs. “Who are you doing these moves with?”

You try to hold back a laugh. You were not ready to share about your sex life with your colleagues, no matter how close you were. Plus you’re pretty sure Aaron would not appreciate it. 

“That is inappropriate workplace conversation”, you say, pausing the video. “And you’re going to miss the next series of code”, you tell him, trying to get him to revert his attention back to the video. Emily grins at your attempted evasion.

“We already got all the code. She just doesn’t want us to tell Hotch she’s capable of all that. Doesn’t want to make the old man feel bad”.

“He’s not old. He’s only 5 years older than you”, you remind her. She puts a hand on her chest in mock offense like you’ve stabbed her. You roll your eyes. “And this is still inappropriate”.

“So it wasn’t Hotch”, Derek laughs. 

“You’re just annoyed because you haven’t tried it yourself”, you deflect, moving to sit next to Spencer who seems to actually be doing his job. 

“I’ve seen her do yoga and she’s very flexible, so if she couldn’t do it I don’t think you can”, JJ tells Morgan. 

“Oh you have no idea what I’m capable of”, he teases, which earns laughs from around the table. “I’m better than the old man for sure”. They all start laughing and talking about you and Hotch. 

You roll your eyes. “Wasn’t old in bed last night”, you mutter under your breath. You startle at the sound of a book hitting the floor and see Spencer’s bright red face. JJ, Derek and Emily look over in curiosity at what they might have missed, but you ignore them, attempting to give Spencer an apology for making him uncomfortable. He moves to drink his coffee in an attempt to avoid more of the conversation. Only he chokes on it because Hotch enters the room. 

“Have you finished working out the code?”

Everyone’s heads snap to him - JJ, Emily and Derek wearing matching grins. Hotch eyes you patting a coughing Spencer’s back.

“Are you alright?”, he asks. 

“Yes! Good! I’m good!”, Spencer squeaks, afraid Hotch is going to ask him why he’s so nervous. Aaron looks to you for some answers but before you can tell him it’s nothing, Spencer suddenly stands up.

“Got the code! Going to call the local PD. DA is waiting”, he warbles before you all watch him run out of the room. Hotch turns back to the rest of you. 

“Well then that wraps it up. Go home now, get some rest”, he instructs. Everyone starts packing up. You and Hotch walk towards the door when he realises there’s only 6 of you in the room. 

“Where’s Dave?”, he asks.

You’re about to tell him Rossi went to the bathroom when the Italian walks back in. Rossi immediately notes the paused video.

“Wow that looks uncomfortable”, he remarks. Everyone smirks in your direction. Hotch snakes an arm around your waist and looks at the screen. Then at you. 

“It was, wasn’t it?”

He smiles at the jaws dropping to the floor. 

“Good night everyone”.

—————————

A little bonus scene:

In his office later:

“You heard us talking before you came in the room didn’t you”, you question your husband. He was so private, he wouldn’t have said something like that otherwise. 

“They called me old”, Aaron grumbles, but his tone is amused. “Just wanted to shock them a little”.

You make your way over to his side of the desk, pulling him to stand up beside you. 

“Well Agent Hotchner, I have to tell you, there’s been some speculation about your performance”, you taunt. “Care to prove them wrong?”

“Last night wasn’t enough proof?”, he laughs raising an eyebrow. You run your hands up his chest and behind his neck, pulling him close. 

“The results were inconclusive”, you tease. He grabs your hips and traps you between himself and his desk, his mouth trailing kisses down your jaw. 

“Well I can’t have that kind of speculation going around”, he murmurs into your skin. Your breath hitches from the sensation of his lips on the sensitive spot on your neck. But instead of continuing, he pulls away and meets your eyes in a conspiratorial grin. “We should do an in house evaluation as soon as possible”.

You open your mouth to reply when the door swings open, Spencer finding you sandwiched between Hotch’s thighs and your blouse rumpled. His mouth drops open and suddenly all 187 iq points mean nothing when his brain loses function.

“Oh- I- um- sorry!”, he manages before running away. You stare at the slammed door then back at Aaron and burst into giggles. He drops his head to your shoulders and sighs. 

“I feel like a teenager”, he groans.

“At least you don’t feel old.”

—————————

Bonus bonus: 

Still in the conference room: 

“I want to go back to 10 minutes ago when I didn’t know this information”, Emily moans. 

“I think I need 5 more minutes before I can form a coherent thought”, JJ laughs in disbelief. Spencer walks back in.

“I finished my report. Where’s Hotch and y/n? Can we go home?”

“Probably doing it in his office for all we know”, Derek mutters.

Spencer’s brows furrow in confusion. “Doing what in his office?”

Rossi raises an eyebrow at Emily. “Is this kid serious?”

She shrugs back at him. 

“Spence, Hotch says we can go home. But you should probably report about what local PD told you before you go”, JJ tells him.

Spencer nods and makes his way to Hotch’s office. The rest of the team watch him walk away.

“You think we should have told him to knock before going in?”

“Probably.”

The sound of a high pitch yelp and the slam of an office door echo down the hallway. 

“Oops.”

——————

thank you for reading :)

masterlist

[lilylushes]

Luigi Mangione - NSFW Alphabet

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex): I already did h/c’s for this, but he’s amazing. He cuddles with you, praising you and leaving you kisses. Things like, “you were so good for me,” “you’re so pretty,” “I love you so much, baby.” He would get you water, put on a bath or shower and join you. He would be reading up on how to make you feel good after sex too and why it’s important for you and your relationship.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s): his PhD I think his abs or shoulders. He said himself that he got his six pack because he had to change his workout routine due to an injury. He adapted and worked through his hardships. And I think he probably likes his shoulders as well. On you, I think he would love your eyes. This is a soulful man, imo. He knows that eyes are the windows to the soul and I think he would get lost in them all the time, sometimes even zoning out haha. Even when you’re just cuddling, he asks you to look at him, just so he can look into your eyes and tell you you’re beautiful. But when you’re intimate, he loves eye contact. LOVES it. It cannot be understated. He wants to see you come undone for him while he stares into your soul and you stare into his.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically): We all knew this but he has a BREEDING KINK. He didn’t talk about low birth rates for nothing, and he comes from a big family. He loves the idea of cumming inside of you to make you his. When you first said, “fill my pussy up, please,” something in him changed. He almost went feral, finishing right after the words came out of your month. His dirty talk will always include things like, “gonna breed this pretty little pussy,” “want me to fill up this tight pussy of yours,” “wanna fill you up with my babies, hm.” And speaking of, when you guys start trying for kids, you’re fucking like rabbits, even though you did before as well. You’re going at it multiple times a day in every room.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs): Before you talked about having kids and before you got off the pill, he told himself he wouldn’t be mad if you did get pregnant. He knew he wanted to be with you forever and believed in divine timing. The two of you wanted to settle down, but weren’t fussed about getting married and then having kids or having a certain timeline. He often thought of what they would look like and sometimes he would mention to you a name that he liked just to see your reaction.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?): This is a tough one because I think he could be experienced but maybe not. I’m actually leaning towards him not being that experienced due to his injury and seemingly not being that into dating casually and being a nerd. I would say body count under 10 for sure, potentially less than 5. Still, he DEFINITELY knows what he’s doing. He had a book about female pleasure on his GoodReads for god’s sake. He gets off on you feeling good and finishing. He knows all the female anatomy and is always reading about new ways to please you whether it be a new pussy eating technique or a way to please your erogenous zones. 

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying): MISSIONARY. In this sense, he’s a traditional kind of guy. He loves all sex and all positions, but missionary is his favourite because he’s dominant and can see you coming undone beneath him. He has access to your clit, boobs, hips, neck, mouth, everywhere. He can also look deeply into your eyes the entire time which he loves doing. Eye contact is CRITICAL to this man. Oh, and he can lower himself down to whisper dirty shit into your ear. His favourite things about missionary overall are seeing the effect he has on you and being able to look into your eyes.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.): He can be goofy sometimes, but not all the time. I think goofiness would mostly happen in bed, rather than any quickies, where he’s rougher and more serious. He’ll laugh if you’re fucking at his or your parents’ place and you can’t keep quiet, or if something falls over. It puts you both at ease and make you feel safe and connected. You love when he laughs right against your lips or face.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.): We’ve seen how fast the hair on his head grows, so I’d imagine down there is similar. I’m thinking that he keeps things neat and trimmed, but not fully bare. As for you, I don’t think he’d have a preference at all.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect): I think that Luigi really sees all intimacy as something that is almost spiritual for your connection. It’s an important part of the relationship, but he doesn’t think that in a selfish way. He knows it’s so important for your partnership and relationship. Luckily, you’re both horny freaks so there have never been any issues there. I think sexually, he’s pretty traditional in the way that he loves missionary, eye contact, etc. He wants to feel as close to you as possible physically, emotionally, spiritually. But not in such a serious or intense way. He watches you closely, knows what makes you get closer to your release, and is always praising you and dirty talking.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon):

He doesn’t masturbate often because, as I said, you’re both horny freaks

If he does, it’s because you’re away or maybe after you had a baby (and he probably asked permission before lol)

For him, jacking off could NEVER beat having sex with you, EVER, so he almost never wants to do it because it’s just not that arousing

You have tried both touching yourselves in bed together, but your hands quickly wander to the other person

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks): Like I said, breeding and praise kink!!! He wants to give you his babies like yesterday. To him, making a baby together is the most intimate thing he can think of. It’s really the two of you committing to one another forever and going through something incredibly special together. I’m just also going to add that while he enjoys MAKING the baby, he’d really have that attitude throughout your pregnancy and postpartum. And yes, praise kink. Since day 1, he’s been calling you a good girl and saying how beautiful you were taking his cock. Oh, and size kink! He loves the thought of his PhD hitting your cervix and stomach. He gets hard just thinking about how you have to adjust for a second after he enters you.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do): I think he likes the bed. It’s your safe place where you can try new things and be as close as possible. The bed also makes missionary more comfortable as there’s ample space for the two of you. He would like the couch too. Many of your makeout sessions during movie night turn to more and you don’t feel the need to go to the bedroom. Sometimes when you have a bath together, you’ll ride him nice and slow, which he loves. That being said, it’s not like your kitchen countertop, car, and several public places haven’t been sites for your sexcapades.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going): He loves seeing you get turned on. He is all about giving you pleasure. If you even moan during a perfectly innocent kiss, the blood rushes downward. Seeing and hearing you beg for him, eye contact, and dirty talk work on him too. Even if he’s not in the mood himself, if you are, he’ll get in the mood. He knows he’s the only one who can make you feel that good, and he loves nothing more than seeing you taking his cock and talking you through your orgasm.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs): Scat and piss for sure. I also think he would never be down for a threesome, like, ever. You’re his and he’s yours, in this life, and the rest. He’s not going to do anything super violent. He’ll slap your ass of course (and maybe your face idk on this one), but he’s not going to be violent with you. 

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.): Like I’ve said, he gets off on getting you off. Watching you come undone on his fingers or his mouth could make him cum in his pants. Our little bookworm is always reading about new ways and techniques to make you cum. That being said, he loves the sight of you on your knees, taking him in your mouth, licking the tip, or sucking his balls while pumping his length. He will ask you for BJs on occasion. You two communicate all of your needs well, including sexually. If either of you asked for or received oral, you always reciprocate, or at least offer.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.): A mix! There are times when he’s slow and gentle, and times when he’s rough and fast. You both enjoy both A LOT. And you seem to be able to read each other’s mind on what you want or need on that day. Slower, gentler sex makes you both feel incredibly connected to one another emotionally, while rougher sex brings out your primal sides. Both are essential for a good relationship, so you VERY happily take part in both often. 

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.): You two usually have sex at home because you like to be free to make noise and let your guards down, not worrying about someone hearing or walking in. Being at home lets you really focus on the other person and how they’re feeling. But you do engage in quickies. And because you’re both perpetually horny, it’s decently often. Typically, it’ll be in your car, on a secluded beach, or in a bathroom. 

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.): He will if you demonstrate to him that you’re comfortable and feel safe. A lot of things are your suggestion and he’s happy to try. You’ll try things like sensation play, some light BDSM, but overall you keep things pretty tame.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?): With his back, he can’t go for as many rounds as he’d like, but the ones you do have pack a punch. Two or three rounds and you’re both exhausted, opting for a cuddle session or a bath to rest up before you’re ready for more. As for how long he lasts, it depends I think. Sometimes he will be fighting for his life not to cum in his pants while you’re grinding on him, and other times, he lasts quite a long time.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?): You’ll occasionally use a vibrator, restraints, blindfolds, butt plugs, and whips or ticklers, but it’s not often. You both prefer to focus on getting the other off all on your own. You like to bring in toys sometimes to change things up and heighten sensations.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease): He loves to tease. LOVES it. And he wears a big grin on his face while doing it, saying, “how bad do you need my cock, baby,” “beg for it,” “patience,” “good girls wait,” or “you want me to give it to you.” Sometimes he’ll really make you work for it. Your begging gets him off. He knows it’s a bit cruel, but it makes your orgasm even more powerful, so it’s a win-win. He’ll also tease you in public. You’ve had to leave a few family dinners early.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.): He’s LOUD. A moaner, groaner, whiner, occasional whimperer, and ALWAYS dirty talking and praising. When he comes, he groans and moans your name. When you tease him and grind on him, he whines and whimpers. He’s a vocal guy and sees making noise as a part of being intimate and letting your guard down with the other person.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character): Luigi has asked you a few times to suck him off from under his desk while he’s in meetings. Once he heard whimpering and saw you rubbing your clit while you were sucking him off. He looked under his desk for one second and had to mute his mic and go off camera for a second because it made him cum right then and there.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes): He said he has a PhD and I believe it. Also in one of his pics where he’s painted at Penn during his freshman year, his bulge is very visible and looks pretty big.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?): It’s always there. Luigi is in touch with his body, including his sex drive. It’s increased so much with you, and luckily for him, you’ve got a high sex drive to match.

 Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards): He couldn’t fall asleep without making sure you’ve been taken care of. Cuddling is essential for both of you. He praises you after as well, and if you’re in the mood to talk, he will listen or talk with you. Sex involves aftercare for him, and he needs to make sure you’re satisfied and ready to rest before he can think of sleeping.

[professional-rat-eater]

I think my favourite part of IWTV is how often Rolin Jones and the cast bring up Anne in interviews.

Whatever your personal view is of her aside, it is incredibly rare for the people behind an adaptation to speak with such reverence for the source material and for them to actually follow through too. I think it’s easy to look at IWTV from the outside and think “oh, I’m not watching that. They changed (x,y,z.)” and yeah, they did, but did they change as much as you think?

Sure, some characters look different and are different ages and the timeline is a little different but, at least in my opinion, everything they’ve done feels like a natural extension or a logical next step for those characters and the story. If Daniel was allowed to age, that is how he would act. Claudia being a little older only highlights the justified anger she had regarding her age in the books. Louis’s blackness being woven into the story is far more poignant and sympathetic than him staying a mopey, whiny slave-owner (in fact the race changes of all the characters only adds to what their overall arcs were already about.) Armand’s youth was coveted as it was supposed to be but he also aged out of it, making his story somehow even sadder because he had to watch as time took away the only aspect of him he had been taught had value, and now his face is frozen forever as a reminder of that.

And they always bring it back to Anne. If an interviewer tries to ask about the creativity of their plots, they say it’s all Anne. They certainly deserve the praise but no matter what, they mention the source material. Rolin carried that beaten up copy of The Vampire Lestat in every interview he’s in just so he can show the interviewer where season 3 really is. It’s in his hands. It’s all Anne’s work. They’re just building on it.

And I feel like half the time I watch an adaptation, the creatives behind it don’t really get what it’s about. Maybe they keep the basic elements, but the soul of the piece is usually lost (looking at you, every Dracula adaptation ever made) but with IWTV, they’ve shown that the spirit of the piece actually might be the only thing that truly matters. You can change so very much and have it still be the same story with the same point to it.

And I think it hits a little different too because she’s a female writer and so often the work of women is downplayed and trivialised, yet here this group of deeply talented, creative people are, refusing to let you forget that this woman is, was and always will be a pillar of the horror genre, and that has to be the ultimate honour as a writer. To have people care so very much about what you made. To be understood so deeply.

[xechu]

Better Than Your Ex, Hotter Than Your Next - C. Kamo (One-shot)

pairing: mechanic!choso kamo x fem!reader

wc: 7.3k

cw/tags: please read my blog rules before interacting. 18+ mdni, swearing, mature themes, explicit sexual content, smut, brief mention of crime, fluff, crack, slice of life

summary: who would have known that your meet cute all began with slashing the wrong guy's tires.

a/n: An unexpected spin-off, but I had a lot of fun with it! This is based off of my cmh au but focused on Choso instead. Definitely tried something new with this one-shot here, going for a chaotic-awkward-unhinged-sprinkle of soft vibe. I highly recommend reading what I currently have for that au for some additional context, but this works as a standalone as well. Timeline-wise, this happens two weeks before Warm on a Cold Night. You can also check out some of my character notes on Choso here. Thank you for reading! x

The garage has always been pure chaos, and in the most rowdy testosterone-filled way possible. But Choso wouldn't have it any other way. The only touch of feminine energy in this establishment was when Jin's wife, Kaori, would come by. Otherwise, it would have been Sukuna’s girlfriend. Well, ex-girlfriend—his ass got dumped last year (completely his fault, by the way), and he’s still in mourning.

At this point, Choso is pretty sure Sukuna has gone full monk, enduring the trials of dry spell. He'd even quit smoking and drinking—definitely onto the path of nirvana.

The break-up was particularly nasty from what he remembered, but he still keeps a picture of her at his workbench to this day. And he's heard Baby Come Back by Player blasting from Sukuna's earbuds more times than he can remember.

It’s…sad, to see his mentor fall so far from grace. Choso is pretty confident that the man has gone off to the deep end. At this rate, if she doesn’t come back, he’s actually going to shave his head and move to a monastery in the mountains.

"Cho!” Jin called out from upstairs, peeking his head out from the office, "Think you can man the front desk for a bit? I got a business call."

Choso waved him off and made his way to the front desk.

Things have been laid-back lately. There's two more weeks before Christmas, and that's usually when garages see a dip in activities. Summer, on the other hand, was around the clock hell.

Choso leaned into the chair and took out his phone, which, quite frankly, needed to be replaced—a shattered-beyond-recognition iPhone 7. But it still made calls and sent texts, so it was good enough. Yeah, he knows—he's long overdue for an upgrade. But it’s like how some girls procrastinate on getting their oil changed. Same thing.

Ah. This was a nice break.

He could hear Sukuna tinkering with a car at the back, followed by a loud snap, and a few choice words. Man was definitely having the worst day of his life...for the past 368 days.

“Everything good—?”

The front door swings open and a frosty chill rushes in.

Oh, great—it’s Nancy. A long-time customer.

“Hey, Nance,” Choso greeted. He wasn’t much of a talker by nature, but after a few years at the garage he’s picked up more social skills. He's become quite fluent in customer service banter.

“Hiiii Cho!! How are ya?” Nancy was practically squealing, as she dusted off the light snow on her jacket.

“I’m good, I’m good. How are you? How are the kids?”

“Good! Brandon is coming back from college for the holidays, and Jeremy's at home already. The boys and I are going to have such a great time this year. Better than being with their father—”

“Oh, that’s nice—whatcha got there?” Choso smoothly interjected, it completely flew over her head that he cut her off intentionally. He wasn’t going to let her talk his ears off about her ex-husband again, he’s already made that mistake five times, and the story was always the exact same. It’s quite frankly a talent—how she doesn’t miss a beat.

“Ah! Just a small Christmas gift for my favorite group of boys! I’m a boy mom after all!” Nancy laughs a little too loud.

Right. Everyone knew it was really for Jin.

For a while now, Nancy has a not-so-lowkey crush on him. Thankfully, Kaori hasn’t crossed paths with her yet. And thankfully, Jin was in that business call, but Choso also wouldn’t put it past him that he saw her on the surveillance cams upstairs and decided to lay low.

“Aw, you’re sweet—thanks, Nance.” Nailed the fake sincerity.

Choso takes the box of chocolates from her hands.

Yep. Definitely for Jin. Nobody else ate 90% dark chocolate with orange flavored filling.

Nancy wasn’t the only one who’s got the hots for Jin, there were a few of them fangirls. Word has it that Jin's a “total DILF”. Choso doesn’t see the vision, but he supposes the vision isn’t for him to see. If anything, he thought Sukuna’s ex-friend Toji was more of a DILF. He’s only seen the guy once before, but it was enough to know that the man has a plethora of issues…and probably diseases. So he would advise anyone against actually fucking Toji.

"Awfully quiet today, just you here?" Nancy's eyes scanned around the shop.

More like was Jin here.

"Mhm, just me. Jin's dealing with stuff, gonna take a while. And well, Sukuna is..."

"Still hung up, huh?" She quietly whispers with a look of sympathy in her eyes.

Choso slowly nods. Apart from her weird crush on Jin, making her kids her entire personality, and throwing shade at her ex-husband every chance she gets, Choso believes she's still a nice lady deep down…though she probably would benefit from seeing a therapist.

"I understand what he's going through. You know, when Edward and I divorced—"

"You're fucking shitting me!" Sukuna yells from the garage.

Poor Nancy looked like she was about to have a heart attack. But for Choso, this was a typical Thursday afternoon.

Sukuna storms out from the garage and towards the front desk as he grabs his jacket.

"Oh, hey Nance," Sukuna muttered, and marched out the door before she could even say a word.

Choso looks at her and gives an awkward shrug, "Sorry about that. He's...you know."

Nancy nods, but it was clear she was a bit shaken up. She has a bit of a frail heart.

"G-Guess I should get going now," she nervously chuckled, "I should get the house ready before Brandon comes back."

"Yeah, I'll tell Jin you dropped by," Choso said, feeling a bit apologetic that she had to witness Sukuna's outburst.

"Thanks, Choso," her usual smile slowly returning.

"See ya."

---

Finally, peace was restored.

Choso guesses that he has about thirty minutes of relaxation.

Perhaps it was because the holiday spirit is making him a tad sentimental. Or maybe because he's finally found a steady footing in his life with his career. But he caught himself thinking lately: when would he find a girl that sweeps him off his feet?

Sure, he's gone on a few Tinder dates and had his share of casual hookups, but it wasn't satisfying.

As he’s scrolling, numerous ads of hot single women in your area pop up on his feed. Tempting, but he’s pretty sure that it was a greasy man on the other side of the screen, or some swindler trying to get you to buy crypto for them.

Choso wasn't much of a conspiracist, but he does believe that the phones are listening in on you—and not just your voice, but your thoughts via wavelengths and shit. Don’t ask him to get into specifics though, he’s not a science guy. It’s just a theory that hasn’t been proven yet. But how else do the ads always seem to know when he was feeling lonely?

Sigh. This sucked.

Jin found his dream girl. Sukuna fumbled his—but at least he got a taste of what it was like to be with someone who you were head over heels about.

When was it his turn? Sans the fumbling, of course.

Then suddenly, the front door bursts open. And that was when you came rolling through those doors like a storm, dressed in black from head to toe.

At that moment, Choso's breath hitched, his heart raced, and heat rose to his ears. He was absolutely certain that cupid didn't just shoot an arrow, he shot a whole fucking bullet through his chest.

---

"Hi," you said, as you dusted off the snow on your coat and removed your ski mask.

"H-Hey," Choso stammered. Where was his customer service fluency when he needed it?

"Can I...help you?"

"Yes, I'm here to turn myself in—oh, crap," you noticed you were still holding the pocket knife in your hand, and quickly tucked it away in your jacket pocket. You wouldn't want there to be a misunderstanding now, but you were pretty sure it was a little too late for that.

"Um, this isn't the police station."

"Oh, I know," you said as you awkwardly walked towards the front desk.

Holy shit, you were the cutest girl he had ever seen.

"I..." you cleared your throat, "...accidentally slashed someone's tires outside."

Okay, so you were maybe a little off the rails. But a touch of crazy was totally his guilty pleasure.

"You what?"

"Yeah, I accidentally slashed someone's tires. But I'm here to pay for it, I swear!" You smiled nervously, but he could see the guilt in your eyes.

Choso didn't even know how to respond to that.

He was pretty sure that slashing tires were illegal. Does he call the cops? It should be fine if you're willing to pay for it, right? What do they call that in legal terms? A settlement, right. No need to give the love of his life cute girl a criminal record.

But before Choso could figure out what to do, you start sobbing hysterically.

So much for a slow Thursday afternoon.

"H-Hey! There's no need to cry over it, you said you were gonna pay, right?"

"Y-Yeah, I want to pay, h-honest!" You choked.

Clearly, this was your first rodeo in crime committing.

"Why don't we go out and you show me which car you, er, slashed. And I'll get you a quote." Choso rubbed the back of his neck, while handing you a tissue.

"Okay," you nodded, still barely able to contain your hysteria.

Choso grabbed his jacket and followed you outside. And of course, the victim of this supposed accidental tire slashing was a black Nissan 240SX—a car he was all too familiar with.

"That's...my car," he sighed in disbelief.

"I-I'm so sorry. I promise, I really didn't mean to. I—"

"It's fine," he says. To be honest, he wasn't even mad. The situation was just too unreal.

Choso slowly surveyed his car, making his round. You stood there, watching him intently, your brows knitted together—nervous with anticipation.

"You really slashed all four of them," he remarked.

"Yeah..."

"Do we know each other from somewhere?"

You shook your head.

You weren't sure if he cared for it or not, but an explanation seemed like the right thing to do.

"I mistook your car for my ex's," you cringed, realizing how stupid and farfetched that sounded, "His and your license plates are almost identical. Exact same make and all. I didn’t realize it was the wrong car until it was too late."

"Ah, what a coincidence."

"I know it’s unbelievable, but I’ll pay for everything! I promise. I just wasn’t thinking straight, and thinking about that asshole just makes me—"

"Hey, I said it’s fine," Choso tried to calm you down, "you don’t owe me your personal story."

"God, I’m just so embarrassed."

"Yeah, I’d be too," he gave a small smile.

There was a brief silence, and then you couldn’t help but let out a light laugh at the absurdity of the situation.

Choso wasn't sure why his heart did flips. Actually, he was lying, he knew why, that's because you're confirmed single. Not so sure about the mingling part, but at least he wasn’t pulling a Nancy.

"Well, I’ll get you the quote," he said, as the two of you walked back to the shop, "we can do a settlement."

"Thank you for being so understanding," you quietly said, blush dusting your cheeks.

"Don't mention it," he casually waved you off, "At least it was my car and not a customer's."

---

This was, without a doubt, the most decisive moment of Choso’s life. As he stood behind the front desk and watched you punch in the PIN of your credit card. It was only a matter of time before it went through, he printed the receipt, and then you'll be on your merry way. After that, your paths will never cross again.

Does he ask you? Is it completely strange and unhinged? But then again, after what had just transpired, he doesn't even know the meaning of unhinged anymore. You literally came in ski mask and all, with a knife, and his first reaction was to fall in love and help you get away with a crime.

Settlement. It's a settlement.

Choso is quite convinced you're no criminal, and you had your crocodile tears and anxiety-fueled word vomit to prove it. Just a temporary lapse in judgment, happens to the best of everyone.

Mustering the courage he had, he takes a deep breath, "Go out with—"

"What the fuck happened to your car, Cho?!" Sukuna busted through the door.

Of course. Because why not have the front door blast open again today.

"Um—" you were about to confess to your crime again and relive the shame.

"I know," Choso said calmly to Sukuna, "taking care of it."

"Who the hell did you piss off?"

"No one. It was an accident."

"Accident? They were four tires in deep," Sukuna scowled.

Choso clears his throat, and makes a tiny gesture with his head—nudging to your direction. Sukuna momentarily froze, just as the card machine let out a loud skrrr-rr-rrr and printed the receipt. Clocking the situation—and the sheer awkwardness he had just created—he cleared his throat and excused himself back to the garage.

"...Anyway, I’ll put on new tires for you. I'm sure we got fresh ones laying around."

"Thanks," Choso nodded, and turns to you, "Don't worry. We've settled it. I won't call the cops or anything."

"I appreciate it, and again, I'm sor—"

"Go out with me?"

He did it. He actually did it. Albeit, not the smooth operator he wanted to be, but there's no turning back now.

---

They say to forgive and to forget, but that's the dumbest thing you've ever heard. Forgiveness, sometimes—sure. But forget? Absolutely not. Unless you get hit by a truck and end up getting amnesia.

In the case of your sorry excuse of an ex-boyfriend, he deserved neither your forgiveness nor your...forgetfulness. How does one even forget the image of your ex wedged between the legs of your best friend and rabidly dicking her down? You can't. No one can forget that imagery.

Every day you pray for his downfall, and quite frankly, for his dick to fall.

And it was like your prayer was somewhat answered when you saw his car sitting out at a garage.

He was about to get his comeuppance.

There was always a part of you that was a bit reckless, and going through the motions of this break-up really brought that side out of you. You were done playing nice, and now, you were going to lay it down on that asshole.

You park your car to the side of a road across from the garage, and flip off the engine. Sitting in the driver seat, you carefully assess the area. It was rather empty except for two other cars, but then again, most garages were quiet during this time of year.

This was it. You were going to go through with it. You take out your ski mask and switch knife from the passenger's compartment. Yes, you weren’t oblivious to how suspicious that looked, but you had your reasoning. The knife was for your protection, and the ski mask—well, your ex-boyfriend was going to bring you to a ski resort this year but clearly that was no longer happening. You were going to return it, the price tag was still on there—but screw it, the sports store could keep the forty-dollars.

This was by all accounts completely illegal, and it would be your first time committing a crime, but he deserved it. If anything, cheating should be illegal. What's a little tire slashing going to do? At least you could compensate for that. How does one compensate for a broken heart, after they slash it all up? Exactly.

You rip the price tag off and put on the ski mask, checking to see how you looked in the rearview mirror: ridiculous.

Oh, right. Your nearly forgot to put on some lip gloss. It was one of those things that gave you confidence, and surely, you needed it to commit your first illegal activity.

With a deep breath you get out of your car and stealthily crouch-speed-walk towards his car. Kneeling beside a tire, your heart began to race, and hands began sweating.

Maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all. Something didn't feel quite...right.

You give yourself a few slaps. It's too late to turn back now, you were literally right here—crouched beside his car. It's not like he was thinking with his head either when he decided to cheat.

Ironically, it was your ex-boyfriend that told you that slashing tires was an art form. You have to puncture it a certain way, and make sure you're not standing right in front of the puncture hole, or you could get hurt from the air pressure.

You brace yourself, and with your full might you sunk the knife into the tire.

God, it felt so damn good.

Watching the car slowly sink as the tires deflate, a thought came into your mind: you could absolutely do this for a living. Maybe start a side gig and get people to hire you to slash up scummy ex's tires. Consider it a service to the community—a voice for the voiceless.

As you stood up to revel in your masterpiece, your euphoria quickly turned to sheer horror.

In your fit of rage, you’d mistaken the 'U' on this person's license plate for a 'V'.

This was not your ex’s car.

The realization hit you like a brick. You felt dizzy. You might actually throw up and pass out all at the same time. Not only had you just violated the hell out of an innocent person’s tires, but your ex? He got away again. You could practically hear him snickering. Whoever said God didn't play favorites was an absolute liar. Because your ex was clearly a favored child, bestowed upon a divine gift of cosmic plot armor.

You were screwed. Royally screwed.

…Or so you thought.

Because in a shocking plot twist—you’re now being asked on a date.

By the very man whose tires you just stabbed.

"Go out with me?" Choso asked.

You blinked a few times, standing by the front desk completely stupefied.

Did you mishear? No, he said it quite clearly. He asked you to go out with him.

Was he desperate or completely unhinged? Perhaps both?

"But I literally just slashed your tires."

"But it was an accident."

Maybe a little suggestible too.

"Um, you don't think that's kind of—I don't know—red flag of me?"

"So...is that a yes, or no?"

"Yes," you replied without missing a beat.

Fuck it. He was ridiculously hot anyway.

You had noticed it the moment you saw him, there was an aura of dark mystery that surrounded him, which quite frankly, would have made you ache under normal circumstances.

And the way he defended your honor was the cherry on top. Whether he did it intentionally or not—it was super sexy.

So yes, a thousand times, fucking yes.

---

Is this what cloud nine feels like?

Because Choso couldn't believe that you actually said yes. He watched as you left the shop and stared at his phone for a good minute, letting reality sink in.

He's pretty sure this felt more surreal than finding out what happened to his car. And he knew you were special when you weren't deterred by the state of his phone, they way you plucked it out of his hand and typed in your number:

Y/N 🖤🔪 (XXX)-XXX-XXXX

Yeah, you were definitely the one.

"I can't believe you asked out your tire slasher," Sukuna said casually, as he leaned by the door frame that connected the garage to the front desk.

"She's cute," Choso murmured.

"And kinda crazy."

"I'm sure you could relate."

Sukuna lets out a small 'tch', but Choso could see the corner of his mentor's lips ever so slightly lift.

Atta big guy, at least he didn't forget how to smile.

"Thanks, Cho. The call went on longer than I expected—" Jin let out a deep sigh, as he made his way down the stairs, "Did I miss something?"

Ok, so he wasn't hiding from Nancy after all.

"A whole lot. Cho got himself a date," Sukuna said. There was a slight underlayer of pride in his voice that didn't go unnoticed.

"Oh?" Jin grinned, "When did that happen?"

…

Men, too, enjoyed their share of gossip and tea, they’re just better at hiding their eagerness and enthusiasm about it. But if given the chance to partake in such discovery and sharing of 'information', they will certainly indulge. Which is how Choso found himself sandwiched between Sukuna and Jin. The three of them were upstairs in the office, huddled in front of a tiny Dell monitor from the early 2000’s, which was solely used for the garage's surveillance.

"Can you zoom in on her car?" Jin asked.

"Can't. Anymore and she'll look like a Minecraft character," Choso shook his head, he was the one in charge of manning the computer.

"What is she even doing?" Sukuna squinted, he had to put on his glasses for this—that's how you know he means business.

"Is she putting on...lipstick?" Sukuna asked, squinting closer.

"I think so," Jin said, adjusting his glasses. "Kaori does that too before we leave the car."

"Except she’s not leaving the car to go have brunch with the girls. She’s committing a felony."

The three of them focused intently on the surveillance recording like studious first row college students. Witnessing how you left the car, then not-so-stealthily fumbling your way to Choso's car, slapping yourself, plunging your knife into the wheels, rewinding, plunging your knife into the wheels, the exact moment of your horrific realization, and then turning yourself in immediately after.

By the end of the surveillance review, Sukuna was practically howling. At least this whole debacle seemed to lift his spirits up, even if it’ll only be temporarily.

"How were you not even alarmed when she came in with a ski mask and knife in hand?" Jin leaned back in his office chair, clearly amused.

Choso shrugged, "Gut feeling."

"Impressive,” Sukuna lets out a content groan as he got up and stretched, getting ready to head back downstairs, “Maybe you should stick to being a mechanic though."

"We'll save a recording for you, Cho. In case—you know, the two of you ever get married. It'll be a nice trip down memory lane," Jin sipped from his coffee, as if he wasn't lowkey egging him on.

"We'll see how the date goes first," Choso muttered, but the slight heat in his face was enough for anyone to tell that he's already down bad.

---

According to many, flowers on the first date was basic etiquette, but in Choso’s mind flowers were kind of…dumb. They cost a fortune only to wither in a week, and pollen allergies were also quite common—so it seems a little risky. He wasn’t even sure what to believe. Some girls love it, while others would roll their eyes and say that it’s presumptuous for men to think that all girls would be swooned by flowers. Uncreative. Unimaginative. Thoughtless. Basic.

So he compromised and got you a succulent.

Still a plant, still pretty (he thinks), and could actually last. He took it a step further and even picked out a pot for you—though he wasn’t sure if it was your style. It was a pastel green pot, in a shape of a cute cartoonish frog. He thought the green matched with the, well, green. Color coordination was a bit of a learning curve for Choso, he was an all-black and chrome kind of guy. Some call it goth, or emo, but he prefers no labels. Still, E for effort—or maybe endgame?

Surprisingly, you said yes to him picking you up. Which is how he found himself waiting in his car, at the front of your apartment. As he stared into the beady eyes of his cartoon friend aka ‘Phrog’, he was starting to have second thoughts. Because why did he kinda want this for himself? Him and Phrog had developed a nice rapport while driving over to your place.

Maybe he could just put it in the trunk, and then pay for dinner. Just dinner is good, right?

Wrong. He had principles.

You were supposed to get both Phrog and dinner, so it’d be utterly wrong for him to scam you out of your plant.

Lost in his own thoughts of first date ethics, he doesn’t notice you coming out of the building until the passenger door opens.

"Hi," you smiled as you dipped your head in, "thank you for picking me up."

The man was too stunned to speak.

Thankfully, you could not hear the obscene thoughts in Choso’s head. Because how do you manage to look both so sexy and cute at the same time?

"Any time," he clears his throat.

You slid into the passenger seat and buckled your seatbelt, completely oblivious to the fact that your date was on the verge of malfunctioning. The car filling up with the sweet scent of your perfume was driving him insane.

"What’s this?"

"Oh, yeah," Choso hands over Phrog to you (time to say goodbye he guesses), "it’s for you. I just kinda thought you know—"

"It’s adorable! I love it. You’re so thoughtful, Choso," you gushed, "We should name it Phrog—with a PH!"

Definitely soulmates, twin flame, or whatever they called it. The two of you practically share the same brain cell.

As the two of you head to a fancy restaurant, you engage in small but comfortable banter with Choso. It was expected that the initial hour of a first date was always going to be a bit awkward and restrained.

The way he drove with one hand on the stirring wheel, and the other rested on the gear shift was so incredibly hot. You nearly forgot what it was like to be a passenger princess, which was why when he offered to come pick you up, you immediately jumped on it.

What’s so wrong about a girl wanting to be spoiled every so often?

And by spoiled, it wasn’t just material things, it was acts of services. Wanting to be understood without having to spell everything out. Wanting for someone to just offer their help, not because you’re incapable but because they want to.

So far, Choso has made all the right moves in your book. The way he was so calm and collected when you slashed his tires, the way he dealt with Sukuna without putting you on the spot, and the way he initiated asking you out. You were practically going feral over him.

It was true what they say, pick a man that was obsessed with you—and everything else will come after.

But was he really obsessed? You could only pray to the universe that he was.

...

It was a horrible mistake to have come here.

Fine dining was anything but fine, and Choso should have known better. But still, he wanted to impress you and it completely backfired.

How could the two of you get to know each other, if you could hardly even see each other under these dim lights? They mean to tell you that they charge an upwards of four-hundred dollars per meal, and they still need to cut back on the electricity?

And to top it all off, he could barely make a conversation with you, without Karen and Kevin sitting at the next table giving the stink eye like the two of you were uncouth animals.

They say the world of fine dining laid in the experience, but the only experience the both of you had was ‘what the actual fuck was this?’

He definitely does not recommend this restaurant as a first date, and probably not for any dates. Unless, you fall into the category of couples who perpetually hate each other but still need to keep up with appearances. You know, the ones that are always on the verge of divorce, but also, never going to actually divorce. It's oddly specific, he knows, because of...personal experience. Dark enough to not see each other's brooding faces. Quiet enough to avoid the things that need to be said. And enough wine to get through the night.

"What did you think of it?" You asked, as the two of you walked out of the restaurant.

"If I'm being honest, completely awful," he smirked, tossing the crumpled receipt into the nearest trash bin, "What did we have? A leaf and two meatballs?"

You let out a sigh of relief and laughed, "Two might be a bit generous for fine dining."

"It should be illegal, because what do you mean we came to a restaurant for an experience and not for food?" Choso chuckled softly, shaking his head.

"Well, I have a place in mind since we're both...unsatisfied," there was a flirty and mischievous twinkle in your eye.

Choso swallowed the lump in his throat. Are you suggesting what he thinks you're suggesting?

You hook your hand under his arm. Bold. Exactly what he expected, and exactly what he liked.

You are a gentleman. A gentleman. The gentlest of man. Choso repeated in his head like a mantra.

"Mel's Diner is just down the street!" You pointed enthusiastically, "Have you ever been? Their burgers and milkshakes are to die for."

Of course, you were talking about food. What else could you have possibly meant?

"Good call, I'm starved."

"It'll be my treat," you grinned, already dragging him in the direction of the glowing neon sign.

---

Marry me. Choso proposed to you in his head as he watched you bring the tray of milkshakes and burgers.

He wouldn't mind an 80's diner wedding, underneath the fluorescent lights and all. It was perfect. The two of you were already somewhat dressed for the occasion. Heaven is a Place on Earth was playing softly in the background. The cashier could be the officiant, and the three other customers in the diner could be the witnesses.

You slide into the seat beside Choso, completely oblivious to the fantasy 80's diner wedding he was rehearsing in his head.

"Dig in!" Your mouth was practically salivating from the smell.

Your fingers brushed against his as you handed him the burger. His calloused fingertips were the kind that belonged to a man who worked with his hands.

Now, you weren’t so sure anymore if you were salivating because of the burger… or because of this man.

"Do you play the guitar?" you asked absentmindedly, taking another bite of your burger.

"I play the bass," Choso replied. "Sometimes I jam out with Jin and Sukuna."

"Sukuna is… the one who came through the door, right?"

"Mhm. He plays the drums. And Jin—his twin brother—is on guitar. The two look nothing alike, though."

You could only imagine. One big, brooding man who looked like he could absolutely send you to the shadow realm with a single punch was already enough. Two would be catastrophic.

"It could get chaotic sometimes," Choso smiled, "But they're like brothers to me."

"Are you an only child?"

"Oh, no. I have a few siblings, but I don't talk to my family anymore. I was never really close with them."

"Family dynamics can get complicated," you said with a quiet nod. "Are you... happy with how things turned out? Is there anything you would do differently?"

"Happier than ever. I wouldn't change a thing," he smiled thoughtfully.

His honesty and vulnerability only made him all the more attractive. Your heart was practically doing flips.

You stirred your milkshake mindlessly, unable to shake the heat radiating off of him. Your arms were practically touching given the cramped booth, and somehow, that felt more intimate than holding hands.

"So your ex, huh?" he broke the silence, a sly edge to his voice. "Must’ve really been something for you to want to commit your first felony."

"Ugh, don't mention it," you groaned, "I should have known something was off when he didn't even have a driver’s license. That scum cheated on me with my best friend."

"I hope his dick falls off." Choso rolled his eyes.

You laughed, "Trust me. I pray for that everyday."

"His loss though," he shrugged, "Thanks to him, I have a chance."

The both of you blushed as your eyes locked on each other.

“You got a little bit of…” Choso murmured, reaching up to wipe the mayo from the corner of your lips with his thumb.

You looked at him with your mouth slightly agape, while he casually glanced around for a tissue. It was insane how this man had you in a chokehold without even trying. Something took hold of you—some primal need to taste him, to start something you couldn't walk away from. You grabbed his hand and brought his thumb to your mouth, sucking it clean without a second thought.

"I want you to fuck me, Choso."

Was this a dream?

He blinked a few times.

Oh.

---

"My place or yours—"

"I don't care," you hissed, "Start driving. Or we'll do it here."

You suppose his physique wasn't just for show. You could tell how well-built he was even under the greasy coveralls at the garage. And the way he had his black shirt sleeves rolled up this entire evening, to reveal his veiny forearms was definitely a seduction tactic—which obviously worked, and you are not ashamed to admit that.

As the two of you stumble through your apartment door, he swings you over his shoulder.

"C-Cho! Lock the door." You giggled.

The lock of the door clicks, and he impatiently walks over to your room and throws you onto the bed. The way he looked down at you alone was enough to send a shiver down your spine, like a predator with his gaze fixated only on his prey, and nothing else. His eyes alone were enough to tell you how much he wanted you.

Now, the issue was: he didn't have protection. Choso, although lowkey had hopes that tonight would end with a bang, genuinely did not anticipate that you'd actually want to have sex with him. So he didn't bring anything with him.

A gentleman. He was trying to be a gentleman. Though he knew it'd be difficult the moment he saw you.

"Just fuck me raw then," you said as if it was the most obvious answer in the world.

Choso muttered a few swear words under his breath. But who was he to deny you?

Your wish was his command.

A cocky smile tugged at his lips, as he unbuttoned his shirt. Revealing his ripped physique and upper arm tattoos. You could see the way his back muscles flexed in the mirror—which was enough to already make you wet.

You didn’t expect this at all. Then again… it was always the quiet ones.

The way his cock strained against his boxers made it clear just how much he ached for you.

But as he hovered closer, something else hit you: for the first time ever… why did you feel so flustered? Where had all that confidence and boldness from ten seconds ago gone?

You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him a little closer.

“I want you to kiss me,” you said, quieter than you expected. A blush crept up your cheeks, hidden under the dim lights.

Without another word, his lips crashed into yours. It was hungry and intense, igniting a warmth within you. His hands eagerly roamed your body, tracing every line and curve, like he’d been dying to touch you all night. Your scent, the softness of your body, it was everything he had been imagining but even better.

He guided you down gently on the bed. The sight of you laid out before him was enough to make him let go of all his restraint, but no, he wanted to savor this moment and take his time with you. His lips wandered, leaving trails of hot kisses along your jawline and neck, while deftly removing the layers of clothing that stood between him and your bare skin.

“Show me how you like it,” he murmured, as he slid down your panties, “I’m good with my hands.”

His words gave you chills.

Maybe you saved an entire country in a past life—whatever it was, you weren’t complaining. You'd hit the jackpot.

You took his hand, placing it right where you wanted it. Guiding his fingers, showing him the pace and pressure that drove you wild. His thumb found your sweet spot, and he gently circled it while his middle finger teased your entrance, making your breath hitch.

"Mm—right there, Choso!" You cried, as your hips bucked up for more. His mouth latched onto your breasts, suckling gently while his free hand continued to explore your body. Every touch, every breath on your skin, was enough to unravel you—and he wasn’t even inside yet.

Pleasure built steadily—warmth tingling through your limbs, wrapping you in heat. True to his words, Choso was indeed good with his hands. His fingers steadily moved in and out, stretching you as he prepped you for what's to come. The sheets twisted in your fists as you writhed beneath him, panting and gasping with each delicious stroke.

"Don't you dare stop," you panted, your body tensing up with the closeness of your climax. "Y-Yes, Choso, right there!"

He applies more pressure to your clit, and quickens the pace of his fingers. "Cum, sweetheart. Let go for me," his voice hoarse with lust and desire.

The tension within you snap. Your back arching off the bed as you cried his name, the release crashing over you like a wave. Your body trembled as you relished the aftershock. Your head spun, like you were on some kind of high.

If there’s one thing you learned from the last twenty minutes, it’s that you could get off on words alone.

When you finally came back to your senses, Choso was hovered over you. A cocky smile plastered on his face.

"That was amazing," he breathed, clearly a little more satisfied with himself.

"Mhm. But now..." you said playfully, your usual boldness returning, "It's your turn to feel good."

You push him flat on the bed and swing your leg over, straddling his hips. His face flushed an even deeper red. You could feel how hard he was beneath you, and the thought of having him inside was driving you insane. Peeling off his boxer, your eyes widen as his cock springs up to reveal a silver piercing.

"You like it?" He raised an eyebrow. Clearly proud of his hidden accessory.

The duality of this man. Who taught him to be so sinfully deceptive?

It was your first time seeing this in person. Your fingers curiously trace from the base of his cock and up to his piercing, touching the piece of metal and the pierced skin.

“Ngh—sweetheart,” he groaned, grabbing your wrist, “if you keep playing with it, I’m gonna cum.”

You hummed and gave him a sly look, grinding your wet core against his cock, coating it with your juices. His tip already beginning to leak with pre-cum.

It felt nice. To feel so desired and understood by someone.

"I want you to cum inside me," you blurted.

Both of you stared at each other, eyes wide. Choso swallowed hard—he swore he was losing his mind. Scratch that. He had already lost it in the car.

He nodded.

His hands found your hips, firm but gentle, as you guided his cock to your entrance—and slowly began to sink down onto him.

"Hah—Choso, you're…" you gasped, struggling to breathe through the stretch.

Choso was pretty sure he had already ascended. Seeing how you were determined to take him, and also focused on his pleasure was the sexiest thing he's ever experienced. Not to mention, he wasn't even fully in yet and he's already about to blow.

"Relax. Take it slow," he cooed, his thumbs gently rubbing circles into your hips. "Just let me know if you want to switch."

You sank down onto him with a moan; the fullness was dizzying, your breath catching as your walls pulsed around him. After adjusting to the fullness, you begin to slowly move, savoring the feeling of how he stretched you deliciously, and the extra sensation of the piercing.

"Fuck, you feel like heaven," Choso sucked his breath in, his grip tightening around your hips.

The bed creaked as you picked up the pace, riding him with enthusiasm. The room was thick and heavy with heady musk, breathy moans, and the skin on skin contact were the only sounds that filled the air.

"T-That's right, sweetheart. Shit—you're perfect. You're doing so good," he was a babbling mess.

"R-Ruin me, Choso! F-Fuck me."

He let out a deep groan, gripping your hips so hard you knew you’d bruise. In one smooth motion, he flipped you onto your back and caged you beneath him. His hands slid beneath your thighs, spreading them apart before hooking one leg over his shoulder, angling you perfectly beneath him. Each thrust sent shockwaves through your entire body.

"Harder, I want it all," you begged. Tears pricked your eyes. Your nails dug into his shoulders.

He gave it to you on command—relentless and deep, eliciting cries of pleasure from you like it was his mission. The friction was incredible, and the piercing only added to the sensation, nudging just the right spots inside, until your whole body tightened, your orgasm approaching fast and brutal.

"Fuck, Choso—!" You shattered beneath him, release washing over you in waves, your vision going white as your body trembled from the intensity.

He followed, stuttering inside you with a low, strangled moan. His hips stilled, buried deep as his warmth filled you. His body trembled against yours, forehead pressing into your shoulder as he tried to catch his breath.

...

You lay snuggled under Choso's arm, neither of you fully having come down from the high—but everything felt… right. The moment was perfect.

Maybe you were the one with the cosmic plot armor. Because how else do you go from slashing the wrong guy’s tires, to finding someone you genuinely connect with, and then also getting the best dick of your life?

This man was almost too good to be true. Surely, he must’ve been written by a woman.

“Be my girlfriend?” Choso suddenly asked.

You were definitely the one wearing the plot armor.

“Yes,” you smiled, looking up at him—and leaned in for a kiss.

---

"So, how did the date go?" Sukuna asked.

"Better than I expected. I'll be seeing her again," Choso smiled.

He was a liar, it was not just better. It was an enlightenment. He might not devote himself to the monastic lifestyle, but you are without a doubt his newfound religion.

Also, he's not about to let his mentor know how he ended up having the most mind-blowing sex on his first date. He highly doubt Sukuna would want to know about his sex life, it'd feel like a coercion more than anything.

By some stroke of luck, you had also agreed to become his girlfriend. Perhaps he saved a country or something in his past life—not that he really believes in those stuff.

"Well, I'm glad it went well, because I have something for you," Jin said, walking in on the conversation with a shit-eating grin.

He held up a small USB stick and handed it over to Choso.

"What's this?" Choso blinked.

"A copy of How I Met Your Mother: Choso Edition. We even added music," Jin said proudly.

"...You're kidding." Choso stared at it.

"We debated putting it on DVD," Sukuna added, leaning against the doorframe, "but figured you'd want portability."

Choso groaned and shoved the USB into his pocket.

Yeah. Life was good.

Writing © xechu - please do not redistribute, translate, or repost any of my works.

I do not own any of the photos used in this banner

a/n #2: would any of you be interested in a playlist for the Cross My Heart au? Let me know in the comments! I appreciate you all. x

[stylespresleyhearted]

THE MAJOR’S WIFE

warnings: mentions of miscarriage, adultery, nsfw, marital problems, oral (m! receiving), spanking, being turned on even when your brain isn’t in it, bucky in 1x04, bucky married pre-war, slight age gap bc reader can come off slightly immature (i think?) angst, historical inaccuracies, new mediocre writer be nice

summary: John Egan gets to know his wife again

word count: 9.7k

notes: i’m not sure where this came from i wrote it all today and got no part of my research paper done. there’s really no point to it and also irl john egan was actually really close to his mother so i emphasized that here. he wrote to her so much. no disrespect to any of the real people, this is based on the show/show timeline as well.

Lila gets the call on the 2nd of October and her dreams come true.

Not entirely, no. The real dream would be having him home safe and the tragic war being over but she knows how fortunate she is to have the next best thing happen. Her husband’s been granted a few days leave and Colonel Harding believed it would do Major Egan some good to have his sweet, young wife join him during those days overseas. For the good of John’s mental health the Colonel or the President - or whoever was in charge, Lila really had no idea - had agreed to pay for her ticket and their hotel. There was only one thing they asked for in return and although it wasn’t explicitly said, Lila caught their drift: sort your husband out.

Lila knows it would do her no good to sit and wonder how horribly John must be doing in order for them to declare an all expenses paid trip for his spouse. All she does is worry for him anyhow so she forces herself to focus on the one good thing of the entire ordeal - she’s going to see her man.

There’d been letters, although not as many as she liked and she tried not to let it show how it hurt as every other wife received more than one letter at a time. Her John wasn’t the sort, she knew that when she married him. He was the kind of person who needed endless skies and land to maintain his sense of stability. Having him cooped up would do him no good and she partly wondered how much of what he was struggling with was the trauma he witnessed in the air and how much of it was feeling caged on base. At least his plane, good ol’ Mugwump (he wrote about her quite often) offered him the opportunity to head anywhere he wanted.

The only person he wrote consistently and readily to was his mother. It was rare if a week went by and she received no letter. During these instances it was more times than not an issue with the postal service.

Be that as it may, Lila knew who she married and it made her love him no less so she tried not to let it get to her. His mother was a saint. Firm and strong and loving all the same. Lila would have never survived sending John off if his mother wasn’t who and how she was. She held Lila at night when her cries woke her and she let Lila sleep in his old childhood bed. She kept food on their table and ensured everyone got their work done through the worry.

When John first left and Lila was sick to her stomach and vomiting multiple times of the day it was his mother who consoled her through the night when her sheets turned a crimson red and any ideals of having their baby through the war was lost.

Frances Egan was the glue holding them together. All of them, even her son who was an entire ocean way - so no. Lila would not be angry that she was John’s preferred pen-pal.

“You fix him right up,” Mama Egan had said in lieu of goodbye when leaving her at the airport, “you give him the loving he needs as his wife and the smacks he needs from me to get on the straight and narrow before sending him off to continue saving the world. You do it for him, not for any of them war bastards. You hear me?”

All Lila could do was nod. Dropping her bags on the floor and clutching her pseudo mother tightly. She was excited as she was frightened.

They had only gotten two months together before he had been pulled away. She didn’t want to complain, loads of women had gotten less time at all while others had only ever been left with the promise.

But her two months as Mrs. Egan? They’d been a dream. Her man was a romancer. He hadn’t hesitated in introducing her as the newly (and younger) Mrs. Egan, always resulting in an arm slap from his mother, he held open doors and he never stopped courting her; however she thinks the best times were when he was teaching her how to act married.

In their bed, at a home he had spent a year building for them. Using any extra pennies he had to pay off younger boys to help him hurry it along. Giving her the wrap-around porch she had always envisioned.

He showed her how to kiss. How to undress him. He had laid her underneath him, using his large frame to cover her completely, protecting her from the cold as he threw the sheets off them and making her feel tiny compared to him. She had never felt safer.

It had hurt the first time but he had held her through it. Never allowing any inches of space between their bodies; as if telling her they were in it together. She’d always known he was large, everything about him was large in general, but she never thought how much it would hurt to have all of him fit inside her. Lila hadn't wanted to disappoint him so she tried to muffle her tears and whimpers but he had swallowed her cries and gone slow, soft.

“If this is it, it’ll be enough,” he had promised, only about half way inside her and wiping away her tears with his thumbs. As a thank you she had taken that calloused thumb into her mouth and sucked. He allowed her; hiding his face in her neck and pressing wet kisses along there.

And for the first few times that had been it. She couldn’t take all of him and his thrusts couldn’t get too deep so he would only slip inside until her tight hole resisted and pulsed and he’d hump against that spot until reaching his pleasure.

“Do other girls take all of it?” She had asked a couple days later, trying to wrap her head around it.

She was no idiot. John Egan was no virgin.

“Yes.” Lila could always count on him to be honest. At least there was that. Meanwhile she couldn’t even fully pleasure him. She was failing as a wife. “Hey,” he lay facing her and she lay on her back. He tapped her cheek until she turned her face. “You’re my wife. That’s what makes this feel better.”

And she had beamed at his reassurance even though she didn’t feel much better. She knew John would never push her, and he couldn’t stand to see her cry, so if she ever wanted to learn to be a good wife she would have to take it upon herself.

So that’s what she did.

He was always on top and she was always on her back. That’s the first thing she had to change. From her understanding of it, from her talks with friends that always ended in giggles and blushing cheeks and from what she learned from John, it could be done in many different ways.

“I prefer to be in charge,” her school friend, Linda, had admitted to her. “Not like that -” she clarified, cheeks pink, “Just - if I’m gonna take it, I’d rather do it at my pace. Be on top. Some husbands are good like that. They’ll allow it.”

And knowing her husband wasn’t just good, he was great, she knew he would hold no qualms about it. The next time they lay in bed kissing it was easy to turn him over and straddle him. Move her wetness against his belly to let him know there was still more she just needed him to accept it.

Except he thought she was asking him to do it so he flipped her on her back again. And without breaking their kiss, she turned him over again.

It was more like they were wrestling.

Lila pulls away from his mouth, reluctantly, noticing his lips were wet and red and swollen and wondering if hers were much the same. They had been kissing for so long her mouth felt raw.

She loved it.

Straddling him, she reached behind her, feeling him standing straight and hard against her backside in between her cheeks. Sticky.

He gasped, bucking into her fist with a loud, guttural groan. It was so manly she rocked against his stomach again in need.

“Fuck, baby,” he grunted, “what’re you doing?”

“I want to try it like this,” she breathed, leaning over to whisper in his mouth, her tiny hand still wrapped around him and lining her up to her hole. “I want it all.” Lila clarified.

And John allowed it, like she knew he would. Let her take control and go at her pace. Let her swivel her hips on the way down to help with the tightness of being stretched so wide and thick.

Nothing but curses and promises of love leaving his lips. Gasping mine, mine, mine and my perfect fucking wife and I’m gonna fuck you forever.

He felt large inside of her, like if she was being split in two but it felt so good as the tip of him repeatedly hit a spongy part inside that had her coming with no contact to her clit for the first time.

She was beautiful, red splotches appearing on her body from the heat of their love-making, her hair tangled in his fists, her mouth falling open as she threw her head back - all of it was too much. He was flipping her over and pounding into her trying to chase his peak and a second one from her, their headboard banging against the wall in rhythm with his thrusts.

Things changed from then on. Sexually, that is. Becoming aware of how badly she needed to feel like she was pleasing him, John was not above using it against her. Like letting him lick at her.

“Good wives allow their husbands everything,” he would say, lips wide in a smile and eyes bright at the prospect of getting his way but Lila always knew the choice was really hers. He would respect what she wanted.

He was just too damn addicting. She couldn’t stand to tell him no.

His favorite times were when she allowed him to sit her over his face and let him feast. It drowned the outside world for him and he kept at it even after she had reached multiple orgasms and was pulling on his hair and the only thing keeping her up was his forearms locking around her thighs.

Her favorite was when he allowed her to taste him at the same time he was licking her. It was a tie between those times and when he held her down until all of him was in her mouth and she was spluttering, choking, gagging. Knowing she made a filthy vision and he adored it did something to her.

Now she was in London, closer to him than she had been in years, and all their intimacies were within reach. She could almost taste him, feel him petting back her hair and settling a hand at the low of her back. She still remembers the smell of his after shave and sweat, how he’d come into the kitchen asking for some of her homemade lemonade to help with the heat.

Jack Kidd was tasked with picking up Mrs. Egan from the airport and having her arrive at base with him. She remembers meeting him a couple of times before John shipped out early. Originally she was meant to wait for John at their hotel but there had been an issue when planning her flight and she arrived sooner than intended.

“Ma’am,” he greeted, placing a friendly kiss on her cheeks and taking her bags from her. “Bucky’s gonna be happy as hell to see your face.”

The tone in his voice - relief? alleviation? - had some of her happy wife's facade crumbling. How badly was her Johnny hurting that everyone was looking at her at his only chance to remain sane or alive?

Stop it. Maybe everyone’s just aware Johnny misses you. You’re his wife.

“Not as happy as me, I wager,” she returned with a smile. “I’m glad to see you’re doing okay, Jack. Glad to see you still kicking.”

His shrug didn’t soothe her worry but she saw him try to mask it with a smile.

“All we boys can do is pray.”

She placed a hand on his shoulder, gathering his attention. “You boys have got the prayers of our entire country protecting you.”

Jack simply nodded in response.

For the most part the ride to base was quiet. Her bags would be kept in the trunk until her and John were ready to drive out to London in a couple of hours and until then, she’d be his surprise at the officer’s club. Silver Wings, Jack called it. Where all the boys gathered and had drinks and celebrated accomplishments. And where some chose to mourn, too.

Her stomach was turning as she neared the hut, following Jack’s footsteps. There was so much that could go wrong and although this was meant to be a surprise, the U.S Army showing their gratitude towards a brave Major, she suddenly wished she would have called John and told him. She wished he knew so that she wouldn’t have to walk in feeling alone and unwanted.

Not that Lila thought John would turn her away, she simply wanted to have him hold her hand as she walked through the threshold.

“Stick close by,” Jack murmured, being respectful of where he touched her before deciding to lead her by her shoulder. “It gets crowded but I’ll take ya to him.”

As she walked through different groups, she felt the offending eyes of men and women alike. Wondering who she was. With a pang in her heart she realized she had met John’s squadrons before but all these crews were new. The boys she met, most of them at least from what she could tell, hadn’t made it. John never wrote about who passed away (except to inform her of Curt) ; most of their letters were him expressing his love and how he missed her so and asking what she got up to.

Having walked around the roundabout bar in the center of the room, her stomach in knots and fingers tangled in front of her - she caught sight of her husband smack middle in the dance floor. Pressed against a beautiful brunette.

Lila caught sight of him before even Jack did. That’s how connected she was to her husband. Jack whistled from beside her to gain Gale’s attention who was resting against the bar holding his signature ginger ale, also watching John Egan chat up the woman he was swaying with with something like disapproval in his eyes.

His large hands were occupying most of the space of her waist, keeping her body tethered to his as she laughed.

“Lila,” he gasped, eyes wide. He was smart enough to not turn and look at his buddy. To act as if nothing was amiss and she expected nothing less from Gale Cleven, “damn it all to hell. You’re a sight for sore eyes, Mrs. Egan.”

Because he was close to John, he didn’t hesitate in wrapping her up in a tight hug and pressing a kiss to her tinted cheeks. He knew John wouldn’t mind.

When he pulled back she patted his chubby cheek in return, “You still shame the rest of us with your good looks, Gale,” she laughed. “I’ll let Marge know when I see her next.”

Lila also knew she would share with Marge that while Gale was being loyal, standing off to the side her husband was exchanging oxygen with a woman on the dance floor.

His cheeks tinted at the mention of his girl. Buck and Bucky were both aware Lila and Marge wrote to one another and visited each other whenever time made it possible.

“Colonel Harding said Major Egan was in need of something from home,” she said, studying his reaction to see what she could read but Gale had always been aloof, cold. He wasn’t close to her like he was with Marge and John.

Gale thought back to a few moments earlier when John had disrespected their Colonel and all his actions before that too - disrespecting superiors, drinking more consistently, becoming angry - hopelessness in his eyes.

“He’s in need of you Lila,” Gale clarified and it wasn’t lost on either one of them that he they were referring to was currently on the floor wooing another woman.

“Holy shit! It’s Mrs. Egan!” Hambone animatedly announced and suddenly it felt like the eyes of everyone in there were on her. Her cheeks tinted pink, never having been one for the spotlight like her husband.

She was greeted with welcoming cheers and hugs.

John, for his part, disentangled from the woman he was holding at the mention of his missus. He was sober enough to appear sheepish and guilty, but in the next second it was gone as he stalked towards her. Determined. Quick. His smile growing the more he neared like he was becoming more aware she was really there and it wasn’t a fucked up scenario in his head.

“God, Lila,” she managed to hear him say before she was elevated in the air, his arms tight around her waist and lifting her high so they were at face level and he could kiss her. Channeling his love and exuberance and aggression into kissing his wife. “It’s you, it’s you, it’s really you,” he was saying in between smooches, “I missed you. So fucking much, doll.”

Basking in his love she didn’t feel the need to mention the woman that was so kindly keeping him preoccupied before she entered.

She couldn’t help the first tear from falling or the rest from following. It was like the tightness in her chest unlocked as she finally got to hold him and feel his heat surround her. He still smelled of after shave and the same hair gel that was kept in their bathroom at home but he tasted strongly of whiskey and cigarettes and strawberry lipstick.

John tucked his face into her neck, setting her down and bending to her level. Sniffling in there as he continued to hold her.

“None of that,” she did her best to stop her voice from wobbling or breaking, “we’re together. That’s all that matters.” She drew his face out from where he had hidden to pepper him with a few more kisses.

None of it was enough.

The rest of the guys were kind enough to return to the dance floor and act like they couldn’t see them.

“Who? What - why? How?” He was obviously having trouble forming coherent thoughts in between the kisses he continued stealing from her.

She was crying and laughing and trying to return all his touches. It was a terribly difficult ordeal but she had never been happier.

“Colonel Harding called and said you had a weekend leave. He said he talked to some of the higher ups but they couldn’t allow you a leave home so this was the next best thing,” she explained, cupping his cheek as she rubbed her thumb over his cheekbone. He had minor scars that weren’t there before.

She wanted to kiss every single one of them.

He was still bent towards her height, taking her in as she was taking him in.

She forgot how blue his eyes were.

He was whole. Complete. Hers.

“You’re here for the entire weekend?” He asked to confirm and she nodded, laughing when he lifted her again with a loud whoop to celebrate. That got a few of the guys to join in although they had no idea what their Major was celebrating.

“I need you,” his voice suddenly dropped, setting her down as he turned to the door. “Let’s go.” He was buckling up her coat to make sure she was protected from the freezing London air. She was lucky he was too far gone to scold her for arriving with it unbuckled in the first place - she could get sick.

“John, John - relax, my sweet man,” she laughed, cupping his cheek to get his attention. “We can stay for a while. We don’t have to go yet.”

It’s why she was at the officer’s club in the first place. She had arrived early.

John turned stiff in her hold, straightening to his full height as he suddenly loomed over her. “I’ve got you in my arms for the first time and you want to stay here?” His voice was tight. His face stern.

“Yes - no, I -” she was unsure of where she went wrong or how to fix it. She clasped his hands in hers but he didn’t allow her to thread their fingers together so it was just her holding on. “I just meant we’ve got time, John.”

The way he was looking at her made her want to cry. She felt her lower lip quivering.

She felt ashamed, whispering, trying to get him to keep his cool.

“Time? Time?” He laughed loudly. She was mildly aware of Gale breaking away from a group of guys to near them, worried but she was mostly focused on John. The tense lines on his face even as he laughed and the quirked eyebrow even though she found no amusement in their situation. “You think I’ve got time? You have no idea what it’s like up there.”

She shook her head but didn’t try to verbally explain herself. She wasn’t sure she could manage a few words before breaking into tears.

“Come on, Bucky,” that was Gale stepping in to save the day. Perhaps the only person who could get John to listen. “When have you ever left before dancing with your girl? You gotta show these rookies how it’s properly done right?”

With Gale slapping a hand to John’s shoulders, he seemed to snap out of it. Releasing a deep breath and seemingly all the tightness in body with it.

He leaned down again, pressing his forehead against hers. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, clasping a hand around her neck so she wouldn’t pull her head back. As their eyes locked she felt a tear fall again and this one wasn’t happy. “I’m so fucking sorry, baby. It’s this place. It’s fucking with my head.”

And she chose to believe him, nodding her head in understanding and trying not to think about how she wasn’t his preferred person to write letters to or the one who could clear his head.

Maybe the Colonel should have allowed a weekend pass for Gale and John.

Lila swallowed the thought, allowing John to pull her to the dance floor as he lost all anger and aggression and became charming and loving all over again.

“Everyone, this is my wife!” He bellowed and everyone cheered in response. “She’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen and -” he hiccuped and she realized he was drunker than she thought, “and I bet we can out dance any couples here tonight!”

So for the next hour she found herself being twirled around the dance floor by her husband. She almost forgot their prior negative interaction; his love and energy was so infectious. For the slow songs he would hold her close and she would rest her head against his chest, letting it lull her to a relaxing state. He was alive and she was with him. That had to be enough. For the more upbeat songs, he was challenging any couple beside them. Asking those sitting who were better dancers? Who could perform certain dance moves better?

And all throughout, he was like he used to be back home. Loud and happy and the center of attention, keeping everyone entertained. He kept announcing to his boys that his beautiful wife was there and then he’d place a wet kiss on her mouth that had their cheeks (and hers) turning red but all he would do is smile and continue on.

She was finally able to disentangle herself from him when Crosby pulled him in for a conversation. Lila wonders if her state of disheveled hair and panting breaths made him want to aid her in allowing her to sit and grab a refresher.

Once she accepts Crosby’s hug and cheek kiss, she excuses herself to go grab a drink. John only pulls her back once to steal a kiss before she gets too far.

Her lips might be bruised by the time they leave if he kept it up.

She orders a cup of ice water from the man tending the bar, looking back out at her husband as she waits. He’d always been tall and strong, but she notices the change in his posture. The bulges in his arms as he twirled her around and lifted her in the air. His eyes were only bright when he forced it. They had lost their shine and she wishes she brought the picture from back home. Where he looks young and full of life and joyful. Even when he smiles he seems hollow; hopeless.

She’s there but he doesn’t really care because in his head he’s already thinking of when she leaves again.

She wasn’t used to that. Her John only lived in the moment.

“He keepin’ you busy?”

Gale settles up behind her and pushes the glass water towards her. She didn’t even notice when it was put down.

“Dizzy, more like,” she jokes and gets him to crack a smile. She thinks to when she walked in and seen Gale, how he’d been watching the scene unfold but with a disapproving look in his eyes. How he didn’t try to hide the scene from her or excuse it. He let it be. And she knows John has never shied away from attention. He’s always been handsome and charming and girls always swarmed but Lila wasn’t aware she had to be around to keep him loyal. She thought he just was. And she knows it’s not too long before they leave now so she decides to be direct with him. “So, does that happen often?”

She sees Gale’s expression split for a second, like he debates playing dumb before deciding against it and she respects him even more for it.

“I think you should talk to John about it.” He decides on.

“Is it something that needs to be mentioned?” She doesn’t like playing this game with him but she knows at the first words of cheating and adultery Gale is going to excuse himself and her chance will be lost.

She can’t be simple and ask: Does my husband cheat on me?

“Another ginger ale, Marty,” Gale raises two fingers to grab the man’s attention and mutters a thanks as his drink is immediately refilled. He turns his attention back to Lila. “He still loves you, Lila. It’s just - hard. Being out here.”

“You seem to be coping fine.”

She feels bitter. Crazy. There’s a sob she has to choke back.

Lila’s too embarrassed to meet Gale’s gaze. Ashamed that everyone knows what’s been going on and she was the ditzy woman being twirled on the dance floor.

“I think I was used to loneliness. He isn’t.”

And he says nothing else as he leaves her behind heading back to his boys. It’s just Lila and her shattering heart and her husband calling to beckon her back to the dance floor.

Luckily they didn’t stay much longer. She walked over to Bucky but he wasn’t able to pull her back out for a dance - it’s my song, Lila! - because Jack Kidd was approaching, letting them know it was time to leave them at the train station.

Lila waited in the car while Bucky ran into his quarters to pack his bag. He didn’t have many things to take, he would be stuck wearing his uniform anyway. Gale walks him back out to the car and despite the earlier conversation Lila exits the safety of the interior to say her goodbyes.

“Take care of yourself, Major,” she squeezes him, “I need you to stick around after this weekend to look after my man.”

“It’s a hard job but I try,” he replies, both of them ignoring Bucky’s protests.

Besides that, Bucky’s quiet on the ride to the train station. He carries her bag on board but he’s quiet for the duration of the train ride. Lila doesn’t disturb him; he might be tired or hungover or both.

And if she’s honest she’s scared of him snapping at her like the night before.

Instead she takes the time to take him in. He’s handsome in his suit. Tall and big and strong, his sharp jaw and powerful mouth, his eyes blue like a sunny day and his curls coming undone from the gel after all the dancing he did.

Lila doesn’t allow her mind to wander down this path too often but suddenly she can’t help it. Would their baby have looked like him or like her? She wishes more than anything they would have had his ears. She wishes they would have had his heart and his strength - but her loyalty. Her faith in them.

It’s crazy when she stops to think she was nineteen when she married him and now she’s twenty-one. She’s loved him for more than she’s been allowed to have him. She has changed without him like he has without her and it’s frightening to think neither of them could be accepting of those changes. Whatever they may be.

Lila shuts those thoughts out, closing the distance between them to sit on his lap. Passerby’s and his horrible mood and what scares her could be damned to hell - all she wants is her man.

John doesn’t deny her; she admits she was a little scared he would.

“I love you,” she tells him, catching his eyes.

“I know.”

He doesn’t return the words as they continue staring at one another but she refuses to let it get her down. This is her husband. She has the rest of her life to get to know him; new or old habits, she doesn’t care.

So instead, Lila plasters a smile onto her face. “What’re you gonna show me first in London, Major?”

“Well I really wanna show you our hotel room,” he plays along, allowing her to trace the edges of his mustache. She lets out a knowing chortle. “And I really want to show you -” he cuts himself off to look around, making sure no one was near them as he leans in to whisper, “- my cock, Mrs. Egan.”

She turns a bright red, trying to sputter out a proper response for that but all she can do is indignantly scold him. “John Clarence! If your mom were here -” and they both break out in loud laughter at the many possibilities of what his mother would exactly do to him if she heard his wicked mouth.

“Wanna grab some grub first?” He asks instead, knowing she hadn’t eaten at the officers club and before then she had been stuck on a plane. “I know a few places.”

Lila nods happily, pressing a kiss to his mouth. His lips are warm and as plump as she remembers them. His mustache tickles her.

“Let me feed you first, woman!” He groans, trying to be a gentleman. “When’s the last time you ate?”

She puckers her lips to think about it and that’s the only answer he needs: food is definitely first.

When they arrive at the hotel John enters to check them in but he slips a few bills into the bell boy’s hand with strict instructions to leave the bags in their room before pulling her back out to the London streets.

Lila felt underdressed surrounded by women in diamonds and fancy hats, and it didn’t help that John was beside her in his uniform looking dapper and catching the eye of many. They were stopped multiple times on the way to the diner; men wanting to shake his hand and show their gratitude while the women introduced themselves, uncaring of Lila under his right arm.

As long as he wasn’t ignoring or dismissing her she realized she didn’t really care. It wasn’t much different back home; everyone knew and loved John Egan.

The diner he chose was small and cozy and his legs were too long to fit under their table so his boot and his knee kept bumping into her own and she adored it. She wanted to feel close to him and since sitting on his lap currently wasn’t an option she figured this would have to do.

He tells her many stories but none of them are sad or tragic. He only shares the happy ones. He talks about how he convinced the Colonel to allow Buck, Curt, and himself a London weekend pass one time and they had shoved Gale into a haberdashery where he tried on a multitude of top hats worth more money any of them would ever see combined. But because they were soldiers and majors at that, the owner allowed it. There’s a museum nearby he talks about wanting to take her too, it showcases art from as early as the 1400s and he says he’s gotten lost in there plenty of times and it was lovely.

All the while, she listens without hearing him. Choosing to take him in and letting her mind wander to how it would be if things were different. It pains her to think how much older he looks since she last saw him. Looking more like it was ten years instead of the measly two. John’s always been one to smile freely but the wrinkles by his mouth, eyes, and forehead aren’t from smiling or laughing too much.

Lila knows they’re from worrying and stressing and being scared and she hates that she can’t understand him or be there for him. No matter how hard he tries.

“I’m sorry,” she apologizes when a sob breaks free. She curls in over the table and John’s reaching over to rub her shoulders. She grabs a hold of her hand in his. “I just missed you so much.” She presses a kiss to his knuckles. “I don’t think I know how to not miss you.”

John doesn’t say anything but he motions a server over to settle the bill and once that’s done, he’s taking her hand and pulling her out the chair.

“You got enough food in you?”

All she can do is nod.

Her body feels electric on the short walk back to the hotel. He doesn’t do more than hold her hand and she thinks that is what has her nerves jittery, his palm in her hand sets her alight. She can feel his rough skin and the calluses on his fingers and the fingertips he runs over her skin and she bites back a moan.

Moaning in the middle of a bustling London street? She’d be thrown into an asylum she’s sure.

Beside her he’s quiet but his steps are quick. She has to lightly jog to keep up with long strides. He pulls on her hand to help her keep pace. It makes her think he’s as impatient for it as she is so she was surprised when upon closing the hotel room behind him he stays by the door. Not nearing or touching or kissing.

Just - nothing.

Her throat becomes tight again as she remembers the girl from the night before and her conversation with Gale. Is that the reason why?

“You’re so fucking gorgeous,” he says before she can spiral any further. Approaching her and bringing their lips together in a searing kiss, wasting no time in sliding his tongue alongside hers.

“I love you,” she responds and once again he doesn’t say it back. She figured he wouldn’t but she wanted to try. He takes her mouth in his again.

She gets irrationally angry, suddenly feeling the need to claim him so she bites at his bottom lip. He pulls back to press a finger to his lip, wiping the blood there.

Lila pulls on his belt, dropping to her knees right there in the middle of the room.

Mine. He’s mine.

“Make me your wife again,” she’s not sure but it sounds like she’s begging as she manages to unbuckle his belt and pull them around his strong thighs.

“God,” he breathed, “fuck. Look at you.”

Swollen lips parted for him to put to use. John wrapped his fist around her long hair to maintain a good grip, allowing the tip of his cock to hit the back of her throat. There was no resistance, no gag, her body remembering how it was taught to take all of him even though time had passed. John loved that fucking mouth and he found himself angry as thoughts entered his mind - if anyone had fucked her mouth while he’d been away - and he jerks his hips more forcefully. Rough.

This time Lila does gag. Her hand goes to push against his hip but he doesn’t allow her to pull away.

“Did anyone else do this?”

She splutters, eyes on him and confused with a mouthful of cock, unable to talk.

“Did you suck someone else’s cock? This is mine, Lila. Mine.”

He holds her down for a couple of more seconds before allowing her reprieve. She sputters and coughs, looking at him the entire time.

His dick is still hard and long, standing to attention, and he’s not sure whether he should apologize before she’s taking his bobbing dick back into her mouth. To the back of her throat and gulping and fondling his balls. Her nose kissing the coarse hairs on his belly trail and although it feels fucking amazing - he can feel the anger too. Her anger.

How dare he accuse her.

When she pulls off there’s a strand of saliva connecting his prick to her tongue. She has half a mind to go back for more but he’s pulling her back by her hair.

“I’m so lucky to have a wife who’s cock hungry,” he groans, pulling her to her feet by her hair and connecting their mouths in a rough kiss. Their teeths crash and tongues wrestly and he feels fucking crazy that she tastes like him. Simultaneously ripping each other’s clothes off.

Lila didn’t have any warning. One second she was kissing him and ripping open his shirt and the next she was bent over the bed with her ass in the air. John ran a finger over the wet patch on her underwear. The bite on her cheek was also unexpected and she clawed at the sheets, sure she could come from the feeling alone.

“This is mine, Lila,” he leaned in close, burying his face in her underwear. “Mine.”

All she could do was whimper and agree.

John smacked her ass so hard it jiggled. Lila yelled and after the pain ceded, time seemed to stop. Nothing but their rough breathing filling the room. John had never done that before.

She wasn’t sobbing but there were tears escaping. She was sure he didn’t know. He was waiting for a reaction.

Lila wasn’t sure where this side of her husband came from. Had he held back those two months? Did he learn it in Europe? Was that why there was another woman - because she couldn’t satisfy him?

She can’t lose him.

“Please,” she begs, hiding tears in the duvet, “do it again.”

Lies. It was all lies but John believes her and he strikes again. She yelps, fisiting the sheets. He believes it’s in pleasure.

Ten slaps. That’s how many she endures before he begins shushing and petting her again. He runs his fingers through her folds and although she didn’t enjoy the punishment mentally - she did nothing wrong, he was the liar - her body certainly did. She’s sopping wet, she’s gonna have to throw out her underwear because they’re destroyed.

“Did you enjoy that?” He grabs a fistful of her hair to sit her up, her back against his sweaty, matter chest. “You like being spanked, baby?”

“Yes.” It’s only half of a lie.

“Now - now, I’m going to fuck you. Nice and hard, just how you like it,” she wants to scream at him. She wants to hit him. When did she ever like it hard? When was hard ever nice? Who was he thinking about because it wasn’t her.

But at the same time she rocks back against him to feel his cock hard between her cheeks. She can’t say she doesn’t want it. Him. This.

He pushes her back down at her teasing, using his now free hands to spread her cheeks and show her tight asshole. Untouched and pure. He presses the tip of his cock against it but he doesn’t push. He doesn’t move.

She jerks at the pressure. Drools on the mattress as she tries to bite down to temper her screams.

Do it.

No, don’t.

“One day,” he promises, pressing deeper so her hole opens but not deep enough to push. “But today, today I want this.” And without any prepping like she’s used to, without any more warning, he’s sliding down and pushing into her. Hard. Deep.

She screams, can’t help it, claws at the mattress in an attempt to crawl away.

It hurt but it felt so good.

Who was she?

“You think you can go be with other men? Let them use the holes I trained? The ones that belong to me?” He pumps into her deep. Once, twice. She’s so wet the noises filling the room are pornographic, her yelling and his panting and her sopping wet vagina smacking against his thighs and taking his cock so well. “You like it like this, Lila? Like when I fucking own you?”

“Yes, yes,” she swears and this time she isn’t lying. It’s all she can manage; she thinks she’s gone cock dumb. There are no words, no feelings, just the feeling of him filling her.

She clenches tight when he slides out. She wants him inside her forever.

He releases his hold of her hair, stepping away. He’s tired of muffling her moans and words. He’s tired of not being able to see her beautiful face.

John’s favorite face in the entire world.

“Turn around,” he commands.

Lila kneels on wobbly legs as she turns over, having little to no energy and bouncing as her body lands with no grace on the mattress. John grabs one of her jiggling breasts in his large hand, squeezing tightly.

“I fucking missed these.” He takes one in his mouth, biting down on her nipple hard. She shrieks but holds his head to pull him closer.

Her thighs are forced open by his hand and then he’s taking hold of himself and thrusting in deep again. Releasing her breasts from his mouth in order to look at her mouth. Lila’s face when he’s fucking her is as close to heaven as he thinks he’ll ever get. She’s incoherent but she’s begging for more - that much he can make out. She manages to gather the strength to grab hold of him and pull him down, clawing at his back.

He hisses at the pain and bites on her collarbone to reciprocate it.

When she grabs the nape of his neck, the cool touch of her wedding ring against his skin, it gives him pause. This was his wife. His wife.

John has been gone so long he thinks he forgot he was married.

“I love you,” he finally says it, pressing his forehead against hers as he slows down. He sniffles then, leaning down to press a wet open-mouthed kiss against hers and swallow her moans. John can’t believe he forgot he had this; can’t believe he forgot for a minute how lucky he was. She’s gorgeous (and not just externally) and he’s quite sure he somehow managed to dream her up. “I love you,” he swears again.

This time she’s the one who doesn’t say it.

She clutches at neck and pulls him down to take a boob in his mouth. Looking him in the eye hurts too damn much. Why did he have to do this now? She was lost in the pain; she had been taking her punishment.

Lila squeezed her eyes shut, moaning loudly as she thrashed around the bed. Her orgasm taking over her body. She wrapped both legs tighter around John, squeezing and pulsing around him and dragging him to the edge with her.

“Fuck, fuck,” he roared, “so damn tight. Yes, Lila. My perfect wife.”

For a couple of seconds, they lay in the aftermath. Lila could feel the heat of John’s breath against her neck. She counted how many breaths they shared in between one another as they recuperated.

Forty-seven that’s how many breaths they shared as they stayed connected.

Forty-eight that’s when John managed to lift his head and place a peck against her mouth. One she didn’t return.

Forty-nine that’s when John pulled back in concern. Lila was so still.

Fifty. That’s the breath she used to say, “you cheated on me,” looking him right in the eyes as she broke out in uncontrollable sobs.

She cried and cried underneath him. Unable to move because her legs felt like jello and they held no power. Unable to push him off because she didn’t want to let him go. Unable to speak because she was suffocating in her heartbreak.

John watched her until he couldn’t, until he was afraid she was going to choke on her own tears and then he was sitting her up, trying to ignore the way she fought against his touch.

I’m sorry, I’m here, he kept saying.

I hate you, she thought but didn’t say.

Until finally, “don’t touch me!” She yelled when he got too close and made to wrap her up in a hug. “Get away from me, John. Stay away.” She crawled to the edge of the bed and curled herself into a tiny ball. Aware she was fully naked and he was still leaking out of her but she couldn’t find it in herself to do anything except cry.

She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t open her lungs and get any air in. She slapped at the headboard, aware that she was having a panic attack as suddenly everything hit her all at once. It was entirely consuming and she couldn’t do anything to fight against it except cry. All the feelings rushed her at once.

This was going to be it. The weekend of two lovers reunited was the weekend from hell and this was going to be it. She was going to return home in a day and he would stay in Europe and continue to fight the war and seek out other girls and when he returned she wouldn’t be his wife anymore.

Lila would be scornful and full of resentment and miserable and he would leave her. This last time was going to be all she had and she hated him for ruining it.

Why couldn’t he hide his affairs better?

Why did she have to surprise him?

She was perfectly happy not knowing. She was worried and stressed to hell and crying every night missing him but, oh God, all that was better than this.

Lila isn’t sure how long it’s been since she last took a breath but she feels herself fading. She’s shivering and naked in their bed and she can only slightly take in that John’s wrapping her up in the duvet and curling himself around her to warm her up. She’s trying to tell him she can’t breathe, she’s suffocating, at the same time he’s blowing air in her face.

She’s fading when she feels it. A sting on the left side of her face. Hard and sharp and enough to have her gasping for a deep breath.

“Baby, please, wake up,” he’s crying over her, his head on her chest, “wake up. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

Her chest aches. She coughs.

He whips his head up so fast she almost laughs. Almost.

“Lila,” he holds her against his chest, rocking them back and forth on the bed as she takes in her surroundings. She isn’t sure how long she was out or how long she was panicking for. Had the sun been setting while she lost her shit? It was dark outside now. “Don’t leave me, you can’t leave me. Please.”

She taps at his arms to get him to release. She doesn’t think she can talk.

John allows her the space but he doesn’t remove himself from the bed. He stays kneeling, watching her. His hands keep twitching like he wants to reach out and touch her but he’s trying to respect her wishes of not being touched.

She doesn’t lay back down, she stays resting against the headboard. Breathing hurts. She’s scared of suffocating once more. Her left cheek begins burning and she wishes she had the strength to go look in the mirror. Did he mark her? She hopes he did.

Lila’s glad he made it hurt.

“You need to go,” she finally manages to say, ignoring the way he’s already shaking his head in defiance. “Leave me here, John. I want you to go. Get another room.” Find another woman. “I leave in a day.” She wishes she never came to stupid London. She wishes she could forget this entire trip.

“Lila it’s the war,” he starts, shaking in his own tears. “It’s all the shit I see, baby. None of it was because of you okay? None. You don’t fucking know what it’s like up there for us but I stay alive in hopes of coming home to you.” He promises.

She shakes her head, fighting back any more tears. How the hell could she still have any tears left?

“But Gale didn’t cheat,” it bursts out of her before she can stop it and she knows it’s the wrong thing to say entirely.

John stops his apologies, clearing his throat as he gets up and begins dressing into his suit. She doesn’t stop him. She doesn’t take back any of what she said. She gets tired of sitting so she lays on her side, staring out the window and noticing London doesn’t have many stars. Is that why it’s so horrible here? Because there were no stars to wish upon.

She could hear his boots stomping on the ground as he reached the door. “Maybe you should have married Gale fucking Cleven then.” And the door slams shut behind him.

She wonders if he’s angry enough to find a girl and sleep with her. Her eyes blur. The time on the clock is six p.m and London’s already dark. She realizes she hasn’t slept since her plane ride. About 19 hours awake - her and John.

Lila allows her eyes to close, hoping when she wakes everything will be better.

Shadows over her eyelids wake her up. Lila finds she hasn’t moved. She’s in the same position facing the window. Facing London, only now bombs are dropping over it. The prettiest colors burst forward in the window but she knows it's truly only tragedy and loss. Murder.

She recognizes John sitting in the arm chair and she wonders when he got back. He isn’t facing her, he’s watching bomb after bomb drop and land no more than mere miles away from them. He’s holding a whiskey on ice, twirling the ice so it hits against the glass.

Lila wonders then if it was the shadows or the noise that woke her up.

“I must have punched in my card a long time ago,” his voice is strong in the dead of the night, seemingly even louder than when he’s singing in the pub. “It must be the reason for all of this. Karma.” He scoffs.

I deserve this, is what he’s trying to say.

Lila feels her stomach twist and spin and there’s bile sitting in her throat. She closes her eyes to stop herself from imagining John in a plane, dropping a bomb that lands on children. She closes her eyes so she doesn’t have to see the hurt sitting on his shoulders.

She remembers how angry she was when he first signed up. Before they were married. They had been dating for over a month, barely, and she already scribbled ‘Mrs. Egan’ over her notebooks. She’d heard it from his younger sister, Eileen, and she felt her world stop. She hadn’t hesitated to run to the stables he worked at and confront him in front of all the men.

“You’re leaving me,” she had accused him. “You’re gonna leave! I’ll never forgive you, John Egan.”

And in front of everyone he’d knelt down and produced a ring, the one his father had given his mother and said, “Marry me.” He didn’t ask because they both knew it wasn’t a question.

She was already his.

And he was hers.

Lila had forgiven him and promised to love, honor, and obey for the rest of her life.

She doesn’t have the strength to stand so even though her throat burns she speaks. “Lay with me,” she croaks. Her voice is raspy and broken and even clearing it aches.

John shakes his head. “You don’t want me to.”

“Lay with me,” she repeats, firm. “I just want to fall asleep with you.”

He looks at her like he's scared to believe. Trying to figure out whether she’s simply being cruel and going to kick him out in her next breath. Or more likely, he’s scared she’ll lose her shit being near him again.

John, hopeful and never one to look a gift horse in the mouth, sets his drink down and nears the bed. Lila keeps her eyes locked on his and he does the same. Their moves and tension resemble a game of chicken, one of them afraid any sudden change can have the other running off.

“Take off your uniform,” she says when he pushes back the covers while still fully dressed. He jerks his head in confusion and she bites her lip to contain a laugh at his dirty mind. Sex is the last thing on her mind. “I want to feel you, that’s all.”

John does as she asks, setting his cap down and shredding every layer before he’s naked and gorgeous and sliding in beside her. She doesn’t allow herself to think about what it means when she immediately slides closer.

Lila’s the one to wrap her arms around him.

Lila’s the one to intertwine their legs.

John follows her lead, lifting an arm so she can raise her head and use it as a pillow. She scoots her face closer and she nuzzles into her armpit, smelling his deodorant and feeling his hairs poke at her nose. She moves further along, escaping the cocoon of his armpit to press her cheek against his chest. She clutches his dog tags in her palm, tight, so he can’t get up in the middle of the night.

“Can we fall asleep together?” She asks, but when she looks up John’s already there.

The next time Lila wakes up her palm aches. She releases what she’s gripping, remembering how she clung to John’s dog tags when he slid into bed beside her. She lifts her head and finds John already looking at her.

He’s got the saddest eyes she’s ever seen and she hates that she’s partly why.

“We should talk,” her voice is low and cracks from not being used. John nods his head but makes no move to begin.

Lila lays her head back on his chest, lightly picking at his matted, curly chest hair. She presses her lips to a freckle near his nipple and his intake of breath lets her know he felt it,

“I’m not the one you write the most letters too,” she starts, finding it easier to not have to look him in the eye. “You write the most to your mom. And I’m not the one who can calm you down when your anger gets the best of you,” she’s so tired of crying, “that’s Gale. “And I can’t even be here for you at the end of a mission to console you or kiss you or help you forget,” she chokes on a sob. “That’s whoever else.”

I couldn’t even keep our baby healthy, she leaves out.

“What’s your point with all this, Lila?”

Lila lifts her head from his chest, “My point is I’m a horrible wife. I - I don’t know if it was too soon or just not thought out but this - I- ” she can’t get the rest of the words out.

“Don’t say that,” John sits up against the headboard, forcing her up as well. He grabs both her wrists in one of his hands to pull her closer and grab her attention. “Don’t fucking tell me that, Lila.”

“I don’t make you happy,” she shakes her head.

“You do. Everything I do, everything I’m doing - it’s for you Lila.”

“I don’t want to marry Gale. Or someone like him. I love you. Only you. But I’m scared that I don’t make you happy. You deserve better.”

“Oh you dumbass,” John coos, suddenly finding the entire situation amusing. He pulls her in for a hug. “You’re my entire fucking heart, Lila Egan. You don’t think you make me happy? You’re the only thing in my life, in my head, that makes me happy.”

She pulls away to hold his face. “If you’re gonna leave me John you need to tell me now. I don’t care about the girls if all they are is to pass the time. And I don’t care that you write to your mom more than me and I don’t care that Gale is the one you listen to but I just need to be the one you love the most. I need to know I’m making you happy.”

His heart aches at the fact that he made her feel she was ever anything less than the most important person in his life. “Lila,” he presses a kiss to her lips, “Rose,” another kiss, “Egan,” another. “Are my only reason for staying alive.”

[m4iya]

⋆⭒˚.⋆𝜗𝜚 Order up! Matcha green tea, 100% sugar, 100% ice with black pearls and coconut jelly for @frosted-flakes!

Collab? Kenma Kozume (fluff, post high school, mutual pining + forced proximity)

Your phone had been blowing up with notifications all day since last nights stream. Who knew your viewers would get so heated over a couple jokes? Heck, was it even your viewers? It seemed more like the ones that were freaking out weren’t actually watching for the full context.

Well, that’s what you said every time. It kept them watching, right?

Though, being tagged in rants and comments wasn’t the only thing happening this time. You were receiving an absurd amount of messages from viewers as per usual, but also from other streamers and influencers. The most common words present within all of them being:

“Guess who mentioned you in their stream last night!”

This time, it felt a little different from other controversies you’d been wrapped up in, so you couldn’t help wonder who this mystery person was, and what you had done to earn yourself a mention.

One scroll on your timeline told you just about everything you needed to know. A post sat at the top of your feed; a video captioned “@/mc of all people?’

Clicking on it, a clip of someone’s stream began to play; a QnA of sorts.

“Kodzuken, will we be getting a collab with anyone soon? Can you drop any names?” The streamer read aloud before pausing to think.

“Hmm.. there’s a few things in the works, but I don’t know for sure when they’ll be out.” He replied, absentmindedly flicking through the questions on another monitor.

He paused for a few seconds before continuing to speak. “I’m not the best at reaching out to people, but I’d like to see what kind of content I could make with @/mc. She’s pretty funny.”

Proceeding to continue with other questions, he completely ignored the way the comments blew up at him.

Out of every streamer you knew, he had to be the absolute last person you’d have expected to even have any idea of who you were. You'd been watching his content for a while, having seen him at influencer events and such. Though, you'd never been able to approach him at any of them, often using 'I was talking to my viewers, that's why I couldn't approach him' as an excuse to yourself.

Even though it wasn't exactly your objective as an online personality, you figured that controversies and out of pocket statements would be one way to get his peoples attention. It wasn't like you were exaggerating your personality per se, you were always pretty outspoken, so the only extra steps would be recording or streaming your antics.

Even though it looked like it worked, you had no clue where to go from here. Would you send him an email? Or a message? And what would you even collaborate on? What would happen to his view count if he did make content with you?

You tapped onto his profile on Twitter, scrolling through his recent posts as you wondered what to do. Suddenly, a notification popped up on the top of your screen: A message request.. From him!

Kodzuken hey, this is @/mc, right?

You had a pretty large following, and he had mentioned your name in his stream. Staring at the message for a few seconds, you wondered if he was trying to be funny.

MC u really aren't the best at reaching out to people lol and yeah thats me

Your messages maintained an air of nonchalance, hiding the way your eyes were peeled—waiting for his next response, your heart thumping loud enough for it to reverberate through your ears.

Kodzuken thats a little mean anyways i'm assuming you saw my stream in that case so how does a collab sound?

MC I'm not too busy tbh I should be free next week. u sure u wanna collab with me? ur viewers will probably freak out over it

Kodzuken my channel not theirs 🙄 what do you wanna do for the stream?

MC something simple maybe some type of challenge? are u free to call so we can set it up?

Kodzuken give me a sec ill call you

Your hands shook in place, palms sweaty as you waited for him to call you first.

When your phone eventually rang, you let it sound for a few seconds, clearing your throat. Answering the call, you held the phone up to your ear.

"Hello?" He spoke first, his voice being exactly how it sounded on stream.

"Hey!" You internally sobbed over how that might've sounded.

And so the conversation began to flow, the two of you brainstorming ideas and details about the collab. It would be held on his channel, with you editing the stream into a video for your own channel. Before the two of you hung up, he asked for your number so he could send over his address. You wondered why he couldn't just send it over DMs, but your heart was already racing too fast for you to even bother asking.

You got to work immediately, organising your schedule and allocating time to buy the things you needed. He said he had most of the basic things already, but to make things funnier, you suggested a couple ingredients that you'd buy yourself. The idea was to hold a cake baking challenge with odd ingredients. Without telling each other what flavours you were using, you needed to decorate as nicely as you could, and you'd taste each other’s dessert at the end. One of you will guess incorrectly, and the penalty will be to post something on the other's social media account after the stream.

You both agreed not to do anything rash, but also not to plan or rehearse the ending too much. It had a mix of the chaos that was usually in your content, and the viewer interaction that he'd implement in his own. Preparing things behind the scenes, you both kept each other updated until the day arrived, and you nervously made your way to his place.

Standing in front of his home, you took a deep breath before knocking on the door. You heard the shuffling of slippers from the other side, stopping abruptly at the front door.

"Who is it..?" A voice groaned from the other side.

"Um.. me?" You nervously answered.

A faint gasp sounded from the other side before a flurry of steps took off, leaving you wondering what just happened. Could it be that he forgot that you were coming over today?

He returned around a minute later, opening the door immediately. You noted how crinkled his clothes looked, his voice as though he'd just woken up. The skin of his face was dewy—freshly splashed with water, the evidence visible on the hoodie he wore. It wasn't the one he usually had on in his streams.

"Sorry about that." He muttered, attempting a chuckle. His laughter definitely didn't come off as nonchalant, not with his eyes looking everywhere but at you.

Though, you definitely weren’t feeling too confident yourself. Your hands were clammy as you bent over to pick up the bags that you brought with you which contained the things you'd both be using in the stream.

"I'll help." He quickly offered, taking the things in his own hands with a faint smile tugging at his lips.

Butterflies. Your stomach churned in a way that it hadn't done since high school.

Following him inside, you realised how big his home was, surprised that he seemed to live alone. As you walked to his kitchen, he gave you a haphazard tour, which was limited to the rooms you both passed. He steered you away from the direction of his own room, telling you that it was 'just a little messy right now.' Looks like he really was asleep.

Once you reached the kitchen, it surprised you to see his camera and tripod already prepared. He placed the bags down on the counter, walking towards his setup.

"Should I set up my stuff as well?" You asked as you pulled it out of one of the bags, having brought it just in case.

"It's fine, I'll send you the footage." He replied.

With that, you prepared the materials you'd both be using. He provided the bowls, spoons and mixing tools. You handed him an apron and wore your own, giggling at how he struggled to wear it despite it being so simple. You offered to tie it for him and he did the same, even though you were more than able to do so yourself. You lifted your arms as he took the fabric around your waist to tie it, gently weaving one piece over the other.

"Is that too tight?" He asked. "Want me to loosen it?"

"Yeah, just a little."

You could feel your heart beating in your ears as he spoke from behind, helping you with this short, mundane task. Things were all over the place today, and you weren't sure how you'd get yourself under control.

The two of you went through a few more things, and soon began the stream. You greeted the viewers, and introduced yourself to those who didn’t know you.

And so the stream went on, unfolding much more differently than you had initially expected. It seemed that the people who were criticising you had either stuck around to see what would happen, or had simply left.

You cracked jokes with each other while mixing your ingredients, using the mystery flavours that you had poured into separate bottles last night—so tired that you could barely remember what was in them.

At the end, you both decorated the cakes together in an attempt to make them as appealing as they could be. Yours was coated in red frosting, and you used white buttercream in a thin piping tip to write out his name in cursive on the surface of the cake. His was haphazardly covered in pink frosting, purple polka dots shaped from fondant scattered over the surface and the sides. He had decorated the edges with sugar pearls and rainbow sprinkles, running out of time before being able to write your name on it.

Cutting each other a slice, you both took turns tasting it. You could barely contain your laughter as he cut into his—the centre was so moist that the knife he used was coated in batter as he removed it from the cake. You opted to eat a piece of the edges instead.

Exaggerating your reaction, you coughed, walking off camera to grab a drink of water. The ingredient he had used was chilli, and it wasn't settling well with you at all. His laughter echoed through the room as you drank from the cup of water; probably because of the slightly exaggerated reaction that you had rehearsed with him before the stream in the case that he happened to choose something spicy.

As he took a bite of your slice of cake after you had returned to the stream, his face contorted; confusion? He chewed once, then paused, scrunched his eyebrows, and continued chewing.

"Is that—" He coughed. "Is that coffee?"

You could barely contain your laughter at his reaction. Well, he wasn't completely off. It was coffee, alongside a couple different spices such as cinnamon, nutmeg, and.. well, you lost count after the first two.

"Not exactly! Wanna try again?"

He held his nose bridge, 'deep in thought'. You both knew that one of you needed to get it wrong to go through with the penalty. A few obviously wrong guesses later, it was decided that he'd be the loser. After talking to the chat a little, answering some questions and interacting, it was revealed to them that you'd soon upload a video on your channel, which would contain extra content, and that the penalty post would also be up on his account. With that, he concluded the stream, slouching over the table with a sigh as you took a seat on one of the tall stools, picking at the cake he had made.

"At least the frosting tastes good." You laughed, taking a spoon of it.

"Yours wasn't actually too bad," He muttered. "Just.. very flavourful."

The situation suddenly set in; it was now nighttime, and your belongings were scattered everywhere. How were you supposed to just pack up and leave? That same feeling from earlier was now completely overwhelming you as you felt your face warm up. What exactly was going on? Keeping your eyes on the slice of cake, your face began to heat up. In your peripheral, you noticed his head turn.

"You okay?"

“Just a little tired,” You smiled, avoiding his gaze. “I should probably get leaving soon." Reaching behind your back, you fiddled with the knot in an attempt to untie it. The quicker you could pack up, the quicker you'd be out of this mess.

Though, even the apron wouldn’t budge at all no matter how hard you tried to undo it.

"Did you superglue this or something?” You chuckled, exasperated. “It’s so tight!”

"Oh,” His head perked up. “I loosened the first tie, but I double knotted it just in case." He stepped towards you, offering to fix it yet again.

"All done." His hands reached over to the collar, lifting it over your head to which you pulled it down, folding the apron in your lap.

"Guess I'll do yours as well?"

You stood from the chair as he turned his back to face you. This was definitely something he could've done himself. Though as you fiddled with the fabric—in the deafening silence of the room, the way his breath suddenly hitched became overly apparent.

At this point you honestly couldn’t tell whether it was yours or his who’s breathing you were hearing. Your eyes scattered as undoing the fabric of the apron was the last thing you were thinking about right now. It was a little late to be realising this, but he was much taller up close than he seemed online, and given the way the apron wrapped snugly around his body—he was also a little thinner than you imagined. Not to mention the stray hairs at the nape of his neck that had escaped from the bun he’d made.

“..Are you done?”

Shoot. Who knew how long you were standing there with your gaze scattering everywhere? You quickly untied the knot with a single swipe, and he lifted the collar over his head, handing it to you. As you reached out to take it, you noticed how tightly he held it, seemingly not wanting to let go. It did seem a little out character for him to be so forward—having been the one that initially reached out to you first, inviting you over and being completely unlike how you initially perceived him. Not that you had thought he was mean, he just didn’t seem like the type to be so outgoing.

Or maybe it was motivated by something. Maybe the small patches of plush pink painting his cheeks, the way his lips were slightly parted so as to prepare himself to speak, his gaze focused on you for the first time today—maybe things were a little different for him as well. You for one knew yourself, being well aware of what you’d been going through today.

“..Do you have something to say?” You prodded, teasing although your voice was small, shaky, and laced with nerves. You definitely weren’t in any place to be picking on him.

He cleared his throat, gaze leaving yours once more. “..Do you have plans tomorrow?” Your eyes fluttered to his slender hands, their grip loosening as he spoke.

“No,” You replied. “I had nothing planned for this week other than—well, this.” Taking the apron from his hands, you set it on the counter. His hand moved to brush a loose strand of hair out of his face, “Do you live far?”

“A little.” Your car was parked outside, but you weren’t the biggest fan of driving at night, and alone as well? Not happening—not unless it had to. “But I drove here, so i’ll just-”

“You can stay the night.” He interrupted.

“No, I can’t—really-“

“I have space for another person.”

“I don’t even have a change of clothes!”

“I have spares.”

You were surprised that he’d offer something like that, and double down on it as well. Well, his place was huge; but you didn’t i expect him to go around telling random people they can stay over. Especially when he’s only met them once. He was now stacking the dishes in the sink, yawning as he did so.

You couldn’t help tease again, stepping towards him. “So you actually want me to stay over?”

He clicked his tongue, turning on the water. “And if I do?”

That.. wasn’t what you expected to hear. You couldn’t see his face, but the redness glazing the tips of his ears told you that he’d probably been going through the same things as you all day. Well, it was more than just today for you; and you wondered the same for him.

extra:

“Hey, we forgot about the penalty!” You recalled, slipping into one of his spare hoodies.

He sighed, brushing a hand through his hair as he scrolled through his phone, opening the camera. “Sit over there.”

“Here?” You took the seat on a chair in front of his setup, crossing your legs. The two of you giggled as you set up the photo, with him directing you to wear his headphones.

You took the photo of yourself, throwing up a peace sign, and captioned the post ‘get used to this face, ur gonna be seeing it a lot more’.

Watching the replies immediately come rushing in, you laughed together. It definitely wouldn’t be the last time you’d both record something together.

from my 100 followers event ✩ other works