#Water Softener Alternative

[wr-n]

GOD i love dustard,,,,, GOD,,,,, yeah,,, yeag,,,,

they're just,,, SO GOOD i cant even,,,,

[lubdubology]

Til The Sun Turns Black

SYNOPSIS: Your soul is bound to his and you're destined to follow him across the multiverse. When the TVA finds you and sends you to the Void, you feel your chance of finding him has slipped through your fingers. But what you find there is more than you bargained for.

PAIRING: Worst!Wolverine x fem!reader

WC: 13.1 k I apologize for nothing

WARNINGS: smut 18+, mdni, mentions of drinking, angst, peril, some fluff, implied age gap (I guess?), mental trauma, miscommunication, Wade being Wade, dirty talk, oral (m and f receiving), fingering, cowgirl, missionary, cock warming, sex with feelings, unprotected p in v

A/N: Thank you so much for all the love on Soft Edges! I was not expecting that kind of response when I posted that story, so thank you <3. I had the idea for this story in my head since after I first saw the movie. I had no idea my one random runaway thought would turn into this. Also, this story would not have been finished if it weren't for @joelsgoldrush. She let me tease her for WEEKS with this and act as the ultimate sounding board. And she's overall just a delightful human being and I'm so glad I've found her.

The TVA agent sits staring at you, an odd and uncomfortable smile on his face. Like he isn’t quite sure he knows how to smile but had seen it once on TV.  You also don’t think he’s blinked in the past several minutes. It makes your eyes water just thinking about it. 

“I don’t understand why I’m here.”

“Ah, yes, well—“ the agent clears his throat and smoothes a hand down his chest. “You’re a threat to the multiverse.”

You squint your eyes at him and wonder if you’re lucid dreaming. Or trapped in some bizarre fever dream, but you can’t remember being sick. “The…multiverse? As in, more than one universe?”

He nods once. “Precisely.”

It’s your turn to stare as absolutely none of this is making sense. The morning had started off normal—wake up, shower, coffee at your favorite local corner store. You had barely finished your latte when you were apprehended and taken to this bland room by a man who must own insane stock in eyedrops. 

“You see, we’ve been watching you for quite some time,” he continues, oblivious of your growing confusion. “A handful of reincarnations, actually. And we believe we’ve finally pinned it down.”

His words sound insane. 

You were a low level mutant at best. You’ve been able to deeply sense and influence emotions in others since you were six—a standard empath if there ever was one. But reincarnation?

“Reincarnations? I’m sorry but—”

You feel it coming then, that all too familiar prickle of deja vu creeping up your spine and setting deep in your brain. The room begins to soften, the corners blurring and you feel disjointed, separate from the you sitting in the chair.

“Ah, see. We’ve pinned it down.”

The world tilts on its axis and your mind explodes into brilliance, the memories of hundreds of alternate versions of yourself firing down your synapses, leaving you as raw and exposed as a fresh wound. The pain is all consuming as you gasp for air and desperately try to quell the throbbing in your skull. 

Your hands grip the edge of the table, desperate to clutch at something solid to root you in reality as the kaleidoscope of memories swirl before your eyes, colliding and merging with one another. All the timelines converging down to a single point of existence within your mind. It doesn’t matter how many times you’ve experienced this process, the return of your memories—the return of your consciousness—was always accompanied by a torturous sensory overload. 

“You see? You have extensive knowledge of the multiverse. And that kind of knowledge is coveted and dangerous.”

Your vision blurs as the memories keep slamming into you and you can’t help the primal scream that rips from your lungs, the pain in your throat a welcome distraction from the torture in your head. And then, amid the chaos, a single figure emerges in crisp focus, a face you’ve seen thousands of times.

“Logan.” His name comes out in a whisper, your voice trembling.

You know he’s not actually in front of you and instead a mirage, a figment of your overloaded neurons, but his presence calms you. 

“Yes, Logan. You two are quite fond of each other.” The agent stands and you squint up at him, wanting to be anywhere else as you regain your memories. “But never mind him. We can’t have you traipsing around with all that knowledge in your head.”

“No, no, no, please. Please just let me find him,” you beg, hating the desperation laced in your voice. 

The last thing you see before being sent out of existence is his creepy, uncanny smile. 

+++

The Void was bullshit. 

It had been a month since you were unceremoniously dumped here. 

Maybe. 

You weren’t really sure.  

Time had no meaning, each day seeming to stretch on for eons and simultaneously in the blink of an eye. And for every single one of those moments you’d been focused on one of two things: finding a way out and not dying. 

You quickly learned you had a better chance at survival if you stuck to the outskirts and avoided others. So you squirreled yourself away, sheltering in an abandoned cabin and hoping beyond hope you could figure out a way out of the desolate cesspool you found yourself in. 

Figure out a way back to him. 

Back home. 

+++

You don’t venture out unless you have to. 

The Void is full of phantom emotions left behind by its previous inhabitants and the cacophony overwhelms you. Rage, terror and despair so thickly envelope every surface you feel like you’re choking. It’s beginning to wear so harshly on your nerves you wonder if you might actually go insane here.

There was a tension growing in the Void. You’d heard whispers of unrest within the factions, Cassandra hungry for something to sink her teeth into. The undercurrent of rage has increased in the last couple of days and it’s enough to set your teeth on edge.

Stuffing a backpack with a few essentials in case you get stranded, you ready yourself for a supply run. The thought of leaving the perceived safety of your cabin has little appeal, but you’ve been putting it off for far too long. There was a small cache only a few miles from your cabin that other survivors kept stocked with extra provincials. You were hoping for something good, anything other can canned food or cereal. Or Spam. 

Tightening the straps on your backpack, you take one last glance around before stepping out into the forest. It’s eerily quiet, no birds or animals chattering to fill the silence, just the crunch of your shoes against fallen leaves. The Void has always felt oppressive to you, the air just a little too heavy, but there’s something lingering today that makes you feel on edge. Your skin prickles with anticipation and you pat your belt for the knife you’ve stashed there. 

Just in case. 

You’re half a mile away from the cache when you feel it—the inky slick of anger. It catches on the air and wafts towards you in waves. You slow your steps as you approach the road and come to a halt when the battered van comes into view. 

Your breath hitches in your throat. 

You’d recognize those claw marks anywhere. 

Your heart races as your eyes trace the deep, jagged cuts gouged into the metal and the large swathes of blood coating the ground and what you can see of the interior of the van. Instinctively your hand tightens around the hilt of your knife and you crouch down low behind a fallen log. You scan the area for any signs of movement and find none, but you know Logan is stealthier than you and wouldn’t give up his location willingly. 

The van door creaks open on its battered hinges and you inhale sharply as Logan stumbles out of the vehicle covered in dried blood and sweat and more knife wounds and bullet holes than you can count. 

The sight of him ignites a spark of longing that blooms in your chest and makes you physically ache. You can feel him. Your lips remember the hungered warmth of his mouth against yours, the way he’d nip at your bottom lip so you’d open up for him. Your skin remembers the calloused rasp of his hands and not just the greedy grabs when he needed to claim you, but the light brushes of his fingertips against your palm as he held your hand, just to remind himself that you were real. Your nose remembers his scent, woodsy and clean, like the earth after rain. 

Shaking your head, you push down the memories and peer back over the log. A slight breeze wafts through the air and you watch as he sniffs, his head turning in your direction. 

“Fuck,” you curse lowly, trying to crouch further out of eyesight. 

You hear the metallic snikt of his claws and your pulse quickens. There’s no point in hiding—he knows you’re there. You take a slow, steady breath before attempting to focus waves of calm in his direction, hoping to ease some of the anger wound around him. 

His eyes lock onto yours, sharp and predatory and he shakes his head, trying to keep you out. “Who the fuck’re you?” 

You draw back your power and raise your hands in surrender as you slowly rise to your feet. You toss out your name and silently hope for a spark of recognition. But he doesn’t know you. Not yet. 

“It’s not safe out here alone,” you start, moving out of your hiding place. You walk towards him, his eyes following your every move. “There’s a cache just up ahead—” 

The atmosphere shifts without warning, the anger you’d felt previously now melting into thick, cloying fear and desperation. You can taste the ozone and the hairs at the back of your neck stand on end as electricity sizzles across the sky. Glancing up, you see the dark, swirling mass of Alioth just beginning to form. 

You look at Logan, panic racing along your nerves. “I promise I’ll explain everything to you later, but I know you, Logan, and right now I need you to trust me.” 

Alioth’s presence is getting stronger and drawing closer, and every drop of tension and rage swirling within is beginning to weigh down on you, threatening to suffocate you. 

Logan’s eyes narrow, but there’s a slight twitch in his jaw and you know he’s considering your words. His claws retract, but his muscles remain tense, coiled and ready to attack. You grab for his arm, feeling the warmth of his skin and the hard muscle beneath your fingers. “We have to go. Now.”

For a moment, you think he might resist. But then with a low curse, he follows you, his stride matching yours as you lead him towards the cache. The trees blur by, the wind picking up and beginning to toss leaves and loose branches into the air. 

You’re operating on pure adrenaline and your heart pounds in your chest as you run, Alioth gaining speed and distance faster than either of you can move. Each gasp of air burns your lungs and your muscles ache with the effort of your sprint. 

Still a quarter of a mile away from the cache, you know you won’t be able to outrun Alioth. The storm has consumed the sky, the sun diminished to twilight, as the thunder and groans loom ever closer. You turn towards Logan and yell, “It’s too close, we’re not gonna make it!”

Logan’s eyes flash with anger as you stop and turn towards the oncoming destruction. He grabs for your wrist, pulling you almost nose to nose. “What the fuck are you talking about?” he growls, chest heaving with the effort to breathe. “We can’t stop!”

His proximity briefly disarms you, his fierce gaze igniting something deep within you, but you don’t have time to dwell on those emotions. You take a deep breath in an attempt to steady your nerves. “I’m gonna try and calm it down.”

“What are you going to do, think happy thoughts at it?” he asks, his tone biting and sarcastic. 

You know every cell in his body is begging to fight, aching to release his claws and tear Alioth apart with his bare hands. But this isn’t something brute strength can subdue. 

“Just trust me,” you plead, your eyes searching his for some indication that he believes you. “Please.”

His stare is hard, but eventually his eyes soften and he loosens his grip on your wrist. “Fine.”

Tearing your gaze from him, you turn back towards the storm, now a full blown maelstrom of anger and destruction hellbent on consuming you both whole. You exhale slowly, pushing your own emotions of fear and panic as far down as you can. Instead, you turn inward and concentrate on every feeling of peace, calm and stillness you’ve ever experienced and project it outwards. Waves of soothing energy pour from you, an almost ghostly aura emanating from you as your power continues to grow. Alioth continues to surge towards you, the wind now flattening trees to the ground and lifting debris high into the air. 

The fight is excruciating, every cell in your body shaking with effort as you continue to project outwards, the sphere of your influence growing. When the two opposing masses collide, you’re almost knocked off your feet by the force. You’re vaguely aware of Logan beside you, claws unsheathing as he steps closer into your protective shield. 

For a brief moment, you feel the power of the storm ebb before it seems to press into you harder. Your knees begin to buckle and your stance slips. “I…I don’t know if I can hold it!” you gasp. 

Logan doesn’t run but instead moves closer, giving you one solitary nod. You can feel Logan’s eyes on you, feel the doubt swirling behind them and yet he stays besides you, ready to fight. 

His silent encouragement is enough. 

You are not dying in the fucking Void. 

Gritting your teeth, you continue to push. A guttural scream rips from your throat as black spots dot your vision and blood drips from your nose. You dig down, channeling every last drop of your energy into a final wave, extending yourself deep within the core of the storm. 

The black of the storm begins to retreat and the wind begins to calm. As the first few beams of sunlight filter in through the treetops, your vision fades completely and the world goes black. 

The last thing you feel is a pair of strong arms wrapping around you before your mind goes blissfully blank and unconsciousness claims you. 

+++

You wake up in the cache. 

Dust motes dance in the sunlight streaming in through the broken windows. The light is soft, definitely not the early morning glow from before you left the comfort of your cabin and you wonder how long you were out. With a groan, you try to sit up. Your body is stiff, every muscle in your body aching with the effort you took to banish Alioth. Wincing, you swing your legs out of the makeshift bed, the effort taking your breath away and you can feel the sickly creep of nausea climb up your throat. 

A low voice cuts through the haze. “Take it easy.”

Logan. 

You blink, trying to adjust your eyes to the light and find him sitting on the floor, one leg pulled up to his chest as a bottle of whiskey hangs between his fingers. He takes a long pull and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. 

“How long was I out?” you ask, your voice hoarse. 

Logan doesn’t answer immediately. He reaches over at a box beside him and then rolls a water bottle towards your feet before he finally mutters, “A day.” 

You accept the bottle with a nod of thanks. Taking a slow sip, you close your eyes as the liquid soothes your throat even as your body protests the movement. You’ve never used your powers to that degree before. Fuck, you didn’t even know you could. A perverse sense of pride licks at the edge of your exhaustion. 

Lowering the bottle, you breathe deeply in an attempt to settle the nausea rolling in the pit of your stomach. You glance at Logan and find him watching you, his eyes sharp, calculating. 

“You owe me some answers. You said you knew me.”

You meet his gaze, the weight of his words pressing down on you. After hundreds of encounters with different Logans, it was never easy explaining to him what you were. For a long time, you didn’t even have a name for it. All you knew was that your consciousness, all your memories, everything that you are moves across different universes and inevitably crosses paths with Logan. It always felt like an invisible string, guiding your soul to his. 

“I’m a temporal nomad.”

Logan’s eyes narrow as he glares at you. “A temporal what?” His tone is laced with skepticism. 

You take another sip of water, giving yourself time to gather your thoughts and push away the throbbing at your temples. “A temporal nomad. I don’t die, not in the way you think, anyway.”

Logan doesn’t move, but you see his grip tighten on the bottle in his hand, his knuckles going white. “You tellin’ me you’re immortal?”

“No, not immortal,” you reply, exhaling slowly. “When I die, my consciousness moves. I reincarnate in a different universe. Eventually I regain everything—my experiences, my memories, my feelings. It’s why—” you pause and take a deep, steadying breath. “It’s why I always find you.”

Your words hit their mark and Logan’s eyes flash with something you can’t quite decipher—shock, disbelief, maybe some anger. He sits up straighter, tipping the whiskey bottle to his lips without breaking eye contact. “You always find me?” he asks, his voice a low rumble. “We’ve met before?”

“I’ve lost count of how many time, actually,” you admit softly. “But in every reality, every universe, I find you. And we’re not just friends, Logan.”

Your words linger in the air between you and your heart pounds loudly in your chest. Logan stands suddenly, the now empty whiskey bottle clattering to the ground. He runs a hand through his hair before scrubbing it down his face, his jaw clenched as he paces within the small space. A mirthless chuckle escapes his lips. “This smells like bullshit, sweetheart.”

Your heart aches at his use of the word sweetheart. It’s one he’s always preferred for you, usually spoken with reverence, like a prayer falling from his lips. Except now it’s casual and cold, something with a sharp edge instead of softness. 

“I know how crazy it sounds. Believe me, Logan, it took me several lifetimes to wrap my mind around it.” You stand, your legs wobbly with the effort and you wince against the pull in your spent muscles. “But I know you.”

His expression hardens. “Yeah? Well, I don’t know you. And if you really knew me, you’d know to stay the fuck away from people like me.” Logan’s pacing grows more hurried, his hands clenching into fists. 

“I can’t,” you say softly, taking a tentative step closer towards him. “And I don’t want to. While I might not know the Logan in front of me or the nuances that make you different from the others, I know you.”

His nostrils flare and he lets out a low growl. “Stop.”

“I know the way you fight,” you continue, ignoring his warning. “I know the way you carry your pain as if no one else can possibly shoulder that weight. I know—”

“Stop!”

“—how you push people away to protect them, but that deep down you hope someone will push back. You may carry a lot of self loathing, Logan, but even you know you’re not heartless.” 

Logan’s fist slams into the wall behind him, the sound reverberating in the small room. He stands there, chest heaving, his knuckles bleeding from where they made contact with the rough wooden planks. You watch as the raw skin knits itself back together, his head hanging low. 

His jaw clenches as he wipes the blood from his hands, his breathing still ragged and posture rigid, itching for a fight. He glances over at you, his expression softer but still rough. 

“We’re done here,” he growls, but his voice soft, more broken than angry. 

Logan turns without another word and all you can do is watch him leave.

+++

You spend the rest of the morning dozing in bursts of fitful sleep, your confrontation with Logan taking its emotional toll. Your eyes burn with unshed tears and for the first time in your life, you feel as if you’re destined to wander this universe alone. 

But you can’t think about it. 

Not now. 

Ignoring the ache in your limbs, you pack up what supplies you can and ready yourself for the walk back to your cabin. The sun is a couple of hours from setting, the world bathed in golden light, when you set out. Walking down the steps, you pause at the distant crunch of boots on the gravel. You feel your pulse thrum in your chest as the sound gets closer and then he steps into view, his eyes locking onto yours. 

Logan. 

The sight of him standing there fills you with a rush of conflicting emotions. Relief, angry, anxiety and you’re not sure if you trust yourself to speak first. He looks the same—tired, disheveled, but steady and strong all the same. Neither of you moves, unspoken words hanging between you.

“I shouldn’t’ve left,” he says finally. 

For a moment you say nothing. Because it’s exactly what you want to hear from him. Except, because you’re beyond exhausted, mentally, physically and emotionally, you say, “No, you fucking shouldn’t have.” 

There’s definitely more bite in your tone than you intended, but the release of some of your pent up anger feels so good you can’t bring yourself to care. 

Logan’s eyes narrow as you move past him and keep walking. “Wait, so I come back here to apologize,” he begins, following close behind you, “and now you’re gonna just walk away?”

“You know, you never even thanked me for saving your ass,” you say, side stepping a downed log. “Just started demanding answers and then tucked tail and ran when you didn’t like what I had to say.”

He grabs your wrist and you stumble into his grasp, your breath hitching in your throat as you stand almost chest to chest. “I didn’t fucking ask for any of this!”

His anger bleeds into you, curling around your skin where his fingers press into your pulse point. You feel your nostrils flare and you’re itching for something to hit as you stare up at him, his jaw clenched. Your heart pounds wildly in your chest and you know you need to reign in your emotions or you’ll ignite the fuse between you. 

“You think I did?” you ask, pulling your arm from his grasp. Your voice is calmer, but just as sharp. “You think I want to relive the grief of mourning you over and over while also finding something new to love about you? You think I wanted to be banished to the Void all because my soul just can’t die when I do?”

Logan’s expression softens and he scrubs a hand down his face, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Look. I’ve had a shitty coupla days here. And you’re saying a lot of shit I don’t understand.”

He seems weary, then, and any remaining anger you harbor towards him dies in your veins. You take a deep breath in and blow it out slowly. “You don’t have to understand right now. Just—just trust me. Please?”

You hate how your voice breaks just a little.

Logan nods then, the barest tilt of his head, but it’s enough.

He continues to follow you through the woods back towards the cabin and for a while neither of you speak. It should feel awkward, especially now, but it doesn’t. You’re so used to his brand of stubbornness and reluctance to see what’s right in his face that this is the most at home you’ve felt since you got here. 

“So,” you start after a few minutes of silence, “how did you end up here?”

Logan huffs. “Some asshole in red spandex dragged me here and I said I need to help save his universe.”

“And can you?”

His step falters and you pause to look a him, his gaze fixed somewhere beyond the trees. “I couldn’t save mine.” The weight of his words linger, heavy with a burden only he alone has been shouldering. He doesn’t meet your eyes as he brushes past you and keeps walking. 

“Wanna talk about it?” you ask, catching up with him.

Logan growls. “No.”

“Alright, maybe later then,” you reply and he simply ignores you and keeps on walking. “Where’s this asshole friend of yours?”

“I left him tied up in the van.”

You had long passed the spot where you found Logan by the beat up van and the road was deserted. Based on the subtle smirk on his face, you figure Logan already knows that. Whatever his relationship is with the stranger, he seems somewhat happy to be rid of him and you don’t push him further. Although, you can’t help but wonder what happened to the van and whose hands it fell into. 

Logan’s gait slows as the cabin comes into view through the trees. He follows behind you as you clear the space, checking for any stragglers that may have come along while you were gone. Pushing open the door, you watch as he looks around, taking in the small space. 

“You’ve been living here?”

“I wouldn’t exactly call it living, but sure,” you comment, throwing your backpack on the table as you sit down. You can’t help the groan that escapes your lips as your muscles relax. “You can stay here if you want. I didn’t just let you follow me for your sparkling personality, you know.”

Logan actually laughs at that as he sits down on the small couch. His face lightens up, eyes crinkling just a bit at the corners, and for the first time since you found him, he seems unburdened. A blossom of hope grows in your chest and you grasp onto it, holding tight to the one bit of light you’ve had in this month of darkness. 

“Thank you,” he says softly. 

You know he means for more than the offer to stay and you return his smile with one of your own. “You’re welcome.”

As the sun starts to dip below the horizon, you bring out some extra blankets and a couple of pillows and help Logan turn the couch into a makeshift bed. You turn to leave when you hear him ask, “You really find me in every universe?”

“Yes.”

“That sounds terrible.”

You give him a small smile as you lean against the doorframe to the bedroom. “Oh, it’s not all that bad. I get to fall in love with you all over again.”

+++

You wake in the middle of the night to the sound of low, panicked growls coming from across the room.

You quietly slip from the bed and tiptoe towards the couch. Logan writhes beneath the sheets, pain etched across his face as he wrestles the demons in his sleeping mind. Taking a deep breath, you center yourself and focus every fiber of your power in his direction, hoping the waves of calm can break through whatever battle he’s fighting deep in the recesses of his mind.

Logan growls deep in his throat, the sound guttural and raw, his claws unsheathing and tearing at the sheets beneath him in agitation. A fine sheen of sweat beads along his brow and pieces of hair are plastered against his damp forehead.

“Logan,” you say softly, trying to break through the fog of his nightmare. “You’re safe, Logan.”

Your powers are waning, the stress of fighting off Alioth having left you depleted. You push down the ache, the tug in your brain demanding that you draw back, and instead kneel down in front of him, trailing your fingers across his palm and over the pulse point in his wrist. He jerks at your touch, his claws coming close to your skin, but the contact is enough and you feel his pulse slow beneath your fingertips.

You continue to speak in hushed tones, your voice barely above a whisper. “There you go, Logan. I’m right here. I’ve got you.”

Logan’s breathing is ragged, his eyes squeezed shut. You can feel the tension in his body, his muscles rigid with the need for release. You keep your fingers against his wrist, your touch steady and calming, as you bring up your other hand to smooth the lines along his brow.

“There you go,” you continue to murmur, “Focus on my voice. Focus on my calm.”

Gradually, his growls subside and his breathing begins to even out as the nightmare loses its grip over him. His muscles lose their tension and relax and the frantic movements of his limbs subsides. With one final deep breath, he stills, his claws retracting and he settles back into a peaceful sleep.

You sit and watch him for a minute, taking in all of his features and simply admiring him for the first time since your last life with him. This Logan is different—they all are in their own way—but this one a little more than the others. He seems wearier, more worn down, his usual scowl lines etched deep. There’s an exhaustion in his eyes, too, you haven’t seen before and you wonder if this Logan actually ever rests. 

As you stand, you feel his fingers circle loosely around your wrist and give a small tug. You look down to where he’s touching you, his skin hot against yours, and you glance up to find him staring at you through half lidded eyes. 

“Stay.” It comes out in a low whisper and as you open your mouth to protest, he adds, “Please.”

You could never deny him in any universe.

The couch is barely wider than he is, yet he shifts to make a sliver of space for you to slot yourself into. It should be awkward, the way you press yourself between the couch and the solid warmth of his frame, but it’s not. You hitch your leg over his hip, forcing your legs to tangle, as you rest your head against his chest. His heartbeat is strong and comforting beneath your ear and you find yourself quickly relaxing into his touch.

As you fall asleep, you feel his arm curl around you, tucking protectively against your ribs.

+++

When morning breaks, you’re alone. The warmth of his body is gone and you find yourself shivering. Pushing to sit, you wrap a blanket around yourself before standing up. 

The cabin is empty.

You try and ignore the sliver of panic that threatens to slip its way down your spine. 

Opening the front door, you pause when you find him sitting on the dilapidated porch, staring absently out at the trees. He glances up at you and watches as you sit down beside him. You hug the blanket closer around your shoulders and sit with him in silence.

You don’t mention last night.

“So,” you start, “what’s the plan?”

Logan raises his eyebrow. “You planning on stickin’ with me?”

“If you let me,” you reply with a smile.

You listen as Logan explains the events of the past couple of days, including Wade’s abduction of him from his own universe and how they both became to be bloodied and battered in the van. Your ears perk up when he mentions Paradox and returning to Wade’s universe. 

“You think he can actually get back?” you ask, willing yourself to not hold onto too much hope. 

Logan huffs. “Probably not.” 

“And yet you’re out here trying to think of a way to find him,” you say. “Why?”

A frown tugs at Logan’s mouth and he looks down at his hands. Eventually, he reaches into the pocket of his suit and pulls out a crumpled Polaroid. He tilts it towards you and you look down at the group or smiling people. “He’s got something to go home to,” he says, thumbing the edge of the photo. “I got nothin’.”

There’s something soft in his gaze as he looks down at the photo, some lingering hope he’s too afraid to put words to. 

“I’m sure you have something, Logan,” you say quietly. 

His expression hardens then, jaw tightening, as he slips the photo back in his pocket. “Had. Past tense.” Logan stands then and looks down at you. “Get ready. We’re leaving in five.” 

+++

You get ready quickly, changing your clothes and splashing water on your face before making sure your pack was sufficiently stocked. You were hoping you wouldn’t be needing it for much longer, but you didn’t want to express that thought out loud. Despite Logan wishing to go back to find Wade, you knew he wasn’t convinced this would end well.

Logan’s already started down the path as you jog down the cabin steps, swinging your pack up onto your shoulders. Catching up with him, you hand him the Pop-Tart you pulled out earlier. “Breakfast? They’re unfrosted, because this is the Void, but it’s something.”

He looks down at you, a strange expression on his face, but he accepts your offer. “Thanks,” he says, taking a bite.

“So, where exactly were you headed when you both decided to maul each other silly?” you ask, keeping pace with him as you walk through the woods.

“Johnny had mentioned a resistance out in the Borderlands,” Logan answers, swallowing the bite of Pop-Tart. “Figured we might find some people who could help us get control over Cassandra.” 

You nod. “You’re not far from the Borderlands. Maybe four or so miles from he cache. I haven’t ventured out that far, but I’ve heard there’s a few outposts where others have hunkered down.”

“Then that’s where we go.”

You walk in comfortable silence, leaving Logan to his thoughts as you travel further away from safety and into the unknown. You stop at the cache briefly, pausing only snag a few water bottles before moving on. 

A couple of miles past the cache, Logan suddenly stops, sniffing the air. His posture goes rigid, on alert as he slowly moves forward, beckoning you to follow him. A few yards away, the beat up van comes into view, parked alongside a lodging that looks as if it was built into the very earth itself. 

Logan’s arm darts out, stopping you. “Stay close,” he commands quietly, stepping cautiously closer towards the structure.

You follow behind him, every sense on alert as you step inside. The place is quiet, but then you hear it—the soft rustle of snoring. And then Logan’s soft, “Ah, fuck me.”

Peering over his shoulder, you find a sleeping Wade spread eagle on the bed. Logan side steps the bed, ignoring the sleeping man, and begins rummaging through the place. Finding a bottle of whiskey, he groans in delight, twisting the cap off and taking a long pull. 

“Really Logan?”

He quirks an eyebrow at you, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand. “What else would you like me to be doing?” he asks, biting. 

“You came all this way to find him and now you’re gonna just drink?” you ask in disbelief. It gnaws at you, his indifference. You can feel little frissons of indignation licking at your skin and you have to tamp down your emotions before they bleed into him. 

Logan shrugs. “He’s asleep. I ain’t draggin’ him anywhere.”

You cross your arms, glaring at Logan in frustration. “I didn’t follow you here to watch you stand around and get drunk. Wake him up.”

He gives you a sidelong glance, his brow furrowing. You don’t relent, your stare pointed as he takes another long pull from the bottle. Muttering to himself, Logan makes his way over to the bed and gives it one swift, forceful kick. 

Wade jolts awake with a loud, exaggerated snort. He looks between you and Logan, his eyes finally settling on you. “Who’re you?” he asks, looking around as if expecting an answer. “When did the script get rewritten?”

You look at him quizzically, your eyebrow raised. “Who are you talking to?”

Wade huffs. “The audience,“ he says, gesturing towards the wall.

“Does he do this often?” you ask Logan in a whisper.

“Hasn’t stopped since he fucking dragged me here,” Logan replies. 

Your attention is diverted as Wade suddenly rolls from he bed, crossing the room and two large strides. He unsheathes one of his katanas, pressing himself against the wall and then he’s pinned on the ground as a woman pulls a blade of her own. After a moment, she lets Wade up and two more people follow into the room behind her. 

Logan eyes each one with suspicion as introductions are made and you can feel the tension growing within him as he continues to drink.

You jump as Gambit uses one of his playing cards to burst the bottle of whiskey in Logan’s hands. Logan ignores your pleading look and Wade’s admonishment as he grabs another bottle with a soft, “Boo boo boo.”

When Laura enters, you feel Logan’s interest pique, something heavy weighing on him. They both look towards one another, taking each other in and you don’t miss the recognition in Laura’s eyes.

“Do you know her?” you ask Logan, sliding closer to him.

Logan shakes his head. “No. But Wade’s Logan does.” He takes another long drink from the bottle, eyes still trained on her.

Wade continues to talk with the group, recapping their time in the Void and how they managed to escape Cassandra’s lair. Logan punctuates the conversation with vitriolic quips of his own, drinking more as Wade tries to get the group to form a team.

You try to send your power Logan’s way, trying to bleed into him some calm, but he shakes his shoulders and brushes you off. “Don’t fucking bother, sweetheart.”

“I can help you, Logan.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t ask for it.”

As Wade rallies the group into a cohesive unit, gaining their support in taking down Cassandra, Logan huffs a bitter laugh. “You’re all fucking dead.”

“Oh, my god, read the room,” Wade chides. 

+++

Logan storms off, one bottle of whiskey fisted in each hand. You want to follow after him, but Wade stops you. “Let him go, cupcake. Peanut’s in a fragile state and you’re too pretty to become mincemeat.”

You shoot a glare at him and brush his hand away from your shoulder. “No, he only seems to sink his claws into you,” you bite back, but the anger leeches from your voice. 

“Spicy,” Wade comments, “I like you. The script editor worked overtime on you, I can tell.”

“Yeah, well the jury’s still out over here,” you say, but you can’t help the twitch of a smile tugging at your lips. 

You glance over at the door and feel Wade sidle up beside you. “Seriously, cupcake. Chasing after him is like trying to catch a raccoon with rabies. Might be fun, but it’s not worth the bite.”

“Oh yeah?” you ask, peering over at him, “And how long have you known him?”

Wade pretends to look down at his wrist and taps a non-existent watch. “Four days, six hours and thirty-two minutes,” he says with a smirk, “but I don’t really like to put a timestamp on friendship."

With a groan, you plop down on the bed and rub at your temples. “Is everything a joke with you?”

“Mostly,” he chirps with a grin. He leans back against the wall and crosses his arms as he watches you. “But I have been known to press pause occasionally.” Wade regards you for a moment, a slight tilt to his head. “Honey badger does it for you, huh?”

Sighing, you lay back on the bed and stare up at the ceiling. “I have followed Logan through millennia, Wade. I can’t remember a time anymore where I haven’t loved him.”

“His mutant dick that good, huh?”

You half laugh, half snort and shoot him a pointed look. “Not everything is about sex, Wade.”

“Agree to disagree,” he says with a shrug. “We’ve all got emotional baggage, mine is definitely over the free to fly limit, but that guy? Literal mountains. Centuries worth, even.”

“Exactly,” you say, sitting up. “I’ve helped him carry more than you can imagine. Logan may push people away, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t need someone to stay.”

Wade cocks his head, considering your words and his expression softens. “You know running after him isn’t going to fix him.”

“I’m not trying to fix him,” you reply. “He just needs to know someone is there for him.” 

“Well, it’s your funeral, cupcake,” he says with a sigh. “I promise I’ll give a really moving eulogy. But, I do think if anyone is gonna convince tall, dark and brooding out there to join us, it’s you.”

You give him a soft smile as you stand. “Thanks, Wade.”

“And just so you know,” he calls after you, “I’m open and willing to being your mutant dick rebound.”

You roll your eyes and walk out the door.

+++

You step outside and see Logan sitting by himself in front of a fire not too far from the lodging. Walking quietly, you stop when you see Laura approach him and sit along side him. You’re close enough that you can hear their words—hear Logan tell her about the suit, about how he found the X-Men, his friends, dead. 

The anger, the loathing, this Logan carries comes into focus and you can’t help but wonder how long he’s lived with this weight upon his shoulders. Suffering alone with only the bottom of a bottle to quiet the thoughts that scream in his mind.

As Laura eventually leaves, she catches your eye and gives you a small nod.

You feel a strange kinship with her. She too has memories of a Logan who no longer exists and who is radically different from the one she has now. You wonder what she’s thinking and have half a mind to follow after her when you hear Logan call out, “I know you’re there.”

You turn back towards where he remains sitting in front of the fire, the whiskey bottle now more than half gone. Closing the gap between you, you sit down alongside him and watch as he continues to stare down into the fading fire.

“How much did you hear?” he asks, taking a large swig from the bottle. 

“Enough,” you answer simply.

Logan grunts and takes a long pull from the bottle, his lips glistening as his swallows get sloppy. “Well, now you know. I’m the worst Logan,” he almost spits, his tone dark and bitter. “You drew the short straw with me, sweetheart.”

“You know I don’t think that,” you say softly. 

Logan doesn’t respond and instead finishes the rest of the whiskey, tossing the bottle somewhere behind him. Scrubbing a hand down his face, he looks over at you. “You actually gonna join them tomorrow?”

“Are you?”

“It’s a fucking suicide mission,” he answers. “You want to walk up to your death, be my guest.”

“If you’re so convinced this is a suicide mission, why don’t you want to go?” you counter, his ire beginning to bleed into the space between you and creep uncomfortably along your skin. “You afraid you might come face to face with actual death and realize that’s not really what you want?” 

Logan’s gaze flicks up to your face, his eyes dark, dangerous. “You’re fucking pushin’ it.”

“Good! Someone fucking should be!” you exclaim, standing from the fallen log. Maybe Wade was right—maybe this was futile. In every universe Logan could be a stubborn ass, but this one was particularly obstinate. “Do you really believe you’re so unredeemable, Logan? That you’re just a vile mutant who doesn’t deserve sympathy after his friends were brutally murdered?”

You can feel his rage boiling just under the surface of the thin veneer of calm. His eyes pierce into you, pinning you in place as he stands to his full height, his fists clenched tightly. 

“You don’t know shit about me, sweetheart,” he growls. 

Anger simmers in your veins, threatening to burn you from the inside out. “Oh fuck you, Logan.”

He takes a step closer, his eyes narrowing as his lips curl into a cruel smile. “Yeah, you’d like that wouldn’t you? Me sinking into your cunt while you picture whatever version of me you think I am.” His voice is a low rumble, adding to the tension threatening to suffocate you. 

Your breath catches in your throat at his words, and it isn’t desire that courses through you, but rage. Your skin prickles and his vitriol ignites something deep within you, something hotter and brighter than you’ve ever felt before. 

“After all this time and everything I’ve told you, you honestly believe that’s all I want from you? You’re a fucking pathetic asshole,” you snap, your voice sharp and laced with venom. 

Logan’s expression darkens, the smirk slipping from his face as his jaw clenches. “You got some balls sayin’ that shit to me,” he spits. 

A small part of you is terrified of him, afraid that he might actually snap. Might actually unsheathe his claws and send you onto your next life without ever having truly lived this one. But you know him, you know him. His pain and rage isn’t towards you, but himself. 

You risk a step closer to him, narrowing the space between you and you can feel the heat radiating off of him, mingling with your own fury. “Yeah, well at least one of us has a pair.”

Logan doesn’t have time to react before you channel your powers towards him, unleashing an explosive burst of energy that sends him staggering back. And then you smother him, smother him in thousands of years of memories, thousands of years of every single feeling you had ever felt for him in every universe you’ve known him. 

The weight of your emotional onslaught brings him to his knees, but you keep pushing, switching from your feelings for him to his feelings for you. All the affection, all the love, all the comfort the two of you shared in every version of your coupling across space and time floods his mind. 

You watch as his expression melts from anger into one of overwhelming vulnerability and pain. His hands, still clenched into fists, tremble beneath the weight of your power surging through him. He looks up at you then, his eyes pleading and your resolve breaks. Tears burn in your eyes and trail down your cheeks, wetting your lips as a scream rips from your lungs.  

Your hold on Logan dissipates as you reign your emotions back under control. You stagger on your feet as your power diminishes, your chest heaving with ragged breaths and broken sobs. You can’t look at him, not yet. If you do, you might actually break. So you do something that you never thought you would do—you leave.

+++

Night in the Void is cool, almost bordering on uncomfortable like everything else in this godforsaken place, but for once it doesn’t bother you. You gaze up at the sky, the haze of distant stars and planets blurring together the more you try and focus on just one. 

You’ve always loved looking at the stars. There was a comfort in knowing you could look up at the sky and see the same constellations in every universe, that there was always one constant among all the variables. 

You don’t know how long you’ve been sitting before you hear the crunch of his boots on the earth, dried leaves and twigs snapping under his heel. Logan joins you on the ground, sitting with a heavy sigh. The maelstrom of emotions swirling within him bleeds into the space between you and you can feel it, thick and heavy and suffocating. 

You risk a glance at him and he looks…defeated. His eyes are red-rimmed and raw and you see something in those hazel eyes you rarely see—fear. Not fear at you, although your guilt would rather have you believe that, but fear of himself, fear of feeling what you’ve shown him. Logan’s breath is slow, controlled, but you can hear the slight tremor in it. 

“I promised myself I would never use my powers on you” you start, your voice barely above a whisper. “I know what it feels like to experience that onslaught. It feels like drowning.” Your voice cracks and you fight to keep the guilt burning in your chest from consuming you whole. “And that was just a fraction of what we’ve felt across lifetimes, Logan.” 

Logan stays silent but gazes at your face, eyes flicking across your features, drinking you in. The scrutiny makes you shiver. Before you isn’t The Wolverine, the X-Man people in his universe loathe, but a man left raw and vulnerable. 

“You shouldn’t have done that,” he says slowly, his voice rough as the words are pulled from him. “You shouldn’t have shown me that.”

You flinch, the weight of his words are a punch to your gut. “I know,” you whisper, wiping tears from your eyes. “I know and I’m sorry, I—”

Logan cuts you off with a shake of his head, his eyes now locked onto yours. “I already knew, sweetheart,”he murmurs, his voice low. “You feel like—you feel like home.” 

Your heart stutters in your chest and for a moment you can’t breathe. The words hang between you, heavy and raw, the sound of them something you’ve been craving to hear. 

“I am your home,” you reply softly. 

Logan shifts beside you, closing the space between you as he slips his hand behind your neck and pulls you in. His mouth crashes to yours, his kiss urgent, rough and desperate. 

You reach for him, gripping his shoulders as you kiss him back, the Void slipping away. There’s only the heat of his mouth, the rough scrape of his beard against your skin, the way his other hand tugs at your waist in an attempt to pull you closer. 

It’s messy and intense and you don’t want it to end. Logan kisses you like a man starved, like you’re his last breath of air. 

A whimper falls from your lips as he finally breaks the kiss, resting his forehead against yours. You’re both breathless, his nose softly nudging yours. 

“Please come with us tomorrow,” you whisper against his skin. “Let me take you home.”

He nods once and that’s all you need. 

+++

The morning comes quicker than anyone would like. 

Nervous energy bleeds through the group, everyone knowing they’re on the precipice of life or death, that this may be the last day they ever inhale air into their lungs or feel the warmth of the sun on their skin.

Logan’s quiet, already tucking into Gambit’s liquor, as you sit down beside him. He looks down at you briefly, taking a long long pull before offering you the bottle. You take it from him and take a swig of your own, the amber liquid burning a path down your throat. 

“What are you thinking?” you ask, handing him back the bottle.

He stares down at his feet, swirling the liquid around in the glass. “I honestly don’t even fuckin’ know.”

You reach for his hand and give him a comforting squeeze. He stares down at you for a moment and then drags his gaze up to your face. “Whatever happens Logan, I’ll be right there with you.”

Final preparations complete, everyone piles into the van, you tucking alongside Logan in the hatchback. The ride is mostly quiet, punctuated only with the few occasional quips by Wade just to ease the tension. You brace yourself, gripping Logan’s calf as Blade sends a rocket launcher through Cassandra’s front gate and Elektra floors it through the explosion. 

The others leave the van first, forming a line of defense. You look up at Logan and lean forward to press the faintest of kisses against his lips. His fingers curl around your neck and pull you closer, deepening it just enough to taste your mouth. 

“Let’s go,” he murmurs, pulling back. “Stay by me.”

You swallow hard, loathe to let him go, wanting to stay in the perceived safety of the van, but you simply nod and follow him to join the others.

Fighting erupts all around you and you stick as close to Logan’s back as you can. It’s a symphony of chaos—rage, fear and determination all swirling heavily in the air. You feel your power thrum underneath your fingertips as you channel those emotions back towards whoever Logan is fighting, hoping to disarm them—even if temporarily—with their own vitriol in an attempt to give him an advantage. 

The air burns in your lungs as you move through the fight, your mind spinning as you gain distance towards Cassandra’s lair. You can see the others move around you—Elektra and Blade slicing down enemies with their blades; Gambit disarming others with his explosively charged playing cards; Laura fighting in a style all her own, yet so much like Logan’s; and Wade cutting down others like he’s having fun.

A clear path opens up to the ramp leading up to Cassandra and the others swarm behind you, allowing yourself, Wade and Logan to break free from the melee. Logan looks back at you just long enough for you to see the fear in his eyes. You try and remain stoic, even though your mind is racing with all he the ways this could go wrong, and give him a small nod of encouragement. 

You stop short in front of Cassandra as she sits sipping tea, seemingly disinterested in the battle happening just outside her stronghold. “You two escaping I could live with, but coming back willingly…” she trails off, “Boys are so silly.” Her eyes dart towards you. “And you brought a friend!”

“I just need to get home,” Wade says, his tone serious. 

“I’m afraid that’s not an option.”

Cassandra flicks Wade aside effortlessly and Logan’s instantly on alert, claws extended at his side. You attempt to direct your powers at her, trying to defuse the anger simmering below her surface. She rolls her neck and glances at you, intrigue in her eyes. 

“Oh, aren’t you interesting,” she says, effortlessly flicking your powers aside. “I wonder what treats you have hiding in that mind of yours.”

Cassandra steps closer to you, her calculating stare flicking over your face. She lifts one hand up to you and from behind her, Logan growls and moves to attack. You watch, powerless, as she pins Logan to the ground with his own claws. 

She tsks and looks down at him, “That’s enough out of you.”

And then, she’s in your mind, every nerve ending in your body on fire, ready to consume you whole. 

You’re standing in a library, Cassandra at your side. Shelves extend as far as the eye can see, fading into an infinite distance. You walk aimlessly along the shelves, pausing at the entrance of a room simply titled “Logan”. 

“Oh, now this is something,” you hear Cassandra say from beside you. “This is quite the collection you have.”

Your fingers reach out and touch the spines, the briefest flickers of memories emanating from their covers. “I’ve known him for so long,” you murmur. “Been with him through so much.”

You pause in front of one book, the urge to open it nearly overwhelming. Pulling it from the shelf, the pages flutter open and you gasp, the memories of that life flooding your brain. 

You and Logan were married in this life. He worked a simple job, construction. There were no X-men, no missions, no danger. He kept his mutation a secret, showing only you when the memories got too rough, too unmanageable. You were his anchor. You had two kids—girls. And oh, how he loved them. Both of them wrapped effortlessly around his heart from before they were even born.

Tears spring to your eyes as the warmth of those memories flood through you. “I loved that life,” you whisper, putting the book back on the shelf.

“And who wouldn’t?” Cassandra agrees, placing her hand on your shoulder. “So effortless his love for you. So different from now.”

You glance over at her, confusion drawn on your face. False empathy tugs at Cassandra’s sympathetic smile. “Are you even sure he cares for you now? This Logan is so broken, more broken and unloveable than all these other Logans, hm?”

Shaking your head, you try to resist her efforts to batter you, to convince you your soul’s purpose is not worth it. Not worth him. “That’s not true. They’re all worthy. All capable and deserving of love,” you say, your fingers trailing along another spine. “Even this one. Especially this one.”

Cassandra’s face contorts then and…

She’s wrenched from your mind and you fall to your knees, blinking up as you see Wade holding Cassandra from behind, one hand holding Jaggernaut’s helmet to her head. 

Your mind still spins as Logan and Wade confront her, their conversation a jumble in your mind. But you don’t miss her saying either they kill her, or she kills them. Finding the strength to stand, you rise and place your hand on Wade’s arm.

“If I stay,” you start, focusing only on Cassandra and ignoring the press of Logan’s gaze into your skin, “Will you let them go?”

Logan reaches for you and you pull your gaze from Cassandra long enough to press your palm against this chest. You meet his eyes, silently pleading with him to let you continue. 

“Will you?” you repeat, unable to keep the pleading out of your tone.

Cassandra laughs bitterly. “You love him that much? To sacrifice yourself to save him? That Logan, out of all of them?”

You nod, feeling the tears burn in your eyes. “I love him that much,” you reply softly.

Logan grabs your hand then, forcing you to look at him. “Don’t,” he chokes out, voice thick with unspoken emotion, “Don’t do this.”

You smile softly as you reach up and cup his cheek, his beard rough against your palm. You don’t miss the way he briefly nuzzles into your touch, eyes fluttering shut as he sighs. “I love you, Logan. In all my lives, in this one and in the next one, too.” The first tear slips down your cheek as you look up at him. “I promise I’ll find you again, Logan. I always do.”

You press a kiss to his mouth, soft and gentle. It lingers for a moment, a desperate, bittersweet exchange as Logan tries to memorize the feel of you. His hands grip your waist, clutching almost hard enough to bruise, but you relish the pain. 

Wade stands beside you both, uncharacteristically silent, his hands still holding Cassandra in place. His usual banter is gone, the weight of the moment not lost on him. “This is the worst fucking idea anyone has ever had,” he mutters, but his tone is soft. “And I’ve had some pretty terrible ideas.”

Cassandra regards you with a mixture of amusement and curiosity. “If I let them go, you’ll stay here with me in the Void. Be my ally.”

You nod, “Yes.”

Cassandra’s eyes narrow, calculating, weighing her options. Finally she sighs, “Fine. But you know…no one will remember this little sacrifice of yours. The next Logan won’t even know you.”

Logan growls and you squeeze his hand in gentle reassurance. “It’s okay,” you whisper, your voice finally breaking. “I’ll remember enough for the both of us.”

You step away from Logan, your heart shattering with every step. Wade lets go of Cassandra and you feel the weight of your decision settle heavily against your shoulders. 

Cassandra pulls something from her pocket, slipping it onto her fingers. Before you, a portal opens up, just outside the boundaries of the room. Outside, the raging storm that is Alioth grows near and in that moment, you realize Cassandra was playing a game of her own.

“I figure,” she says, straightening the lapels of her jacket, “that they have approximately four seconds before they’re through.”

Your eyes flick to Logan and you memorize every detail, every emotion written across his face. With one final nod, he tears his gaze from you and he runs towards the portal, Wade alongside him.

And then, darkness consumes all.

+++

You’re unsure how long you’ve been out. The last thing you remember was Alioth screaming towards you, giving you barely enough time to cocoon yourself from his rage.

Cassandra is gone.

Wade is gone.

And Logan—Logan is gone.

You open your eyes and find Remy standing above you. He offers you his hand and helps you to stand. “C’mon, chère,” he says, nodding towards the open portal behind him, “Let’s go home.”

You’re not sure where home is any more, not without Logan, but you don’t have the strength to argue. From the moment you wound up here in the Void, you’ve been looking for a way out. Now that you have one, you know you need to take it. 

Accepting Remy’s hand, you join him through the portal.

You stumble into a familiar room and are greeted warmly by a smiling TVA agent. She’s unlike the first TVA agent you met, her presence comforting as she says your name. “We heard you’ve had quite the adventure.” She looks over towards Remy. “Mr. LeBeau, if you’ll follow this agent here.”

Remy leaves with he other agent, turning towards you with a wink. “Enjoy your man for me, yeah?”

Your heart flutters in your chest and you look towards the agent, trying to suppress the hope you feel in your chest. She smiles and rests a comforting hand on your shoulder. From her pocket she pulls out a small device, pressing a few buttons on the pad. Before you a different portal opens and she gestures towards it.

“Welcome home.”

+++

You stand in front of the apartment door and hesitate before knocking. Your nerves flutter uncomfortably in your belly even though it’s been less than two days since you last saw Logan in the Void. But you’re out now—you both are—and the fear nags at you that maybe this isn’t what he wants. That you aren’t what he wants. 

You stuff that thought down with a shake of your head. Raising your hand, you rap against the door three times and let out a shaky breath. When he opens the door, you feel as if the air has left your lungs and you forget to breathe. Your heart aches at the sight of him. 

Logan stops short, his face falling into one of pure disbelief and all he can do is stare at you.

“Is that my stripper?” you hear Wade call from farther into the apartment. Logan continues to stare at you as Wade pops up behind him, his face lighting up in surprise. “Oh, hey cupcake! Didn’t expect to—“

“Get out,” Logan growls, turning his head slightly in Wade’s direction, his eyes never leaving yours. 

From over Logan’s shoulder, Wade wiggles his eyebrows. “Ah, looking for some afternoon delight?” he coos, slinging his arm over Logan’s shoulder and patting his chest. “This guy has been jerkin’ it constan—“

You hear the sknit of Logan’s claws as they unsheathe into Wade’s thighs. “Ah, fuck! Fuck!” Wade curses. “You’re supposed to be penetrating her, not me!”

“Get. Out,” Logan repeats, retracting his claws. 

“Fine.” Wade pushes past Logan’s frame, limping slightly as his wounds heal themselves. “You’re lucky Blind Al’s already out playing Bingo. Or selling herself for blow. I don’t actually know her schedule,” he comments as he walks down the hallway. “Glad you’re home, cupcake.”

Logan barely waits until Wade is out of sight before tugging at the hem of your shirt and pulling you towards him. Your gasp dies on your lips as he drags you inside, shutting the door with his foot and pushing you up against the rough wood. Then his mouth is on yours and it’s warm and wet and wonderful. 

His hands cup your face, fingers moving to tangle in your hair and you feel him everywhere. You whine as he nips lightly at your chin before trailing his lips back up your jaw, licking into your mouth as he kisses you deep. 

Your fingers scramble for purchase, fisting themselves into the fabric of his button-down flannel. 

There’s a desperation and urgency bleeding from him, as if he can’t drink you in fast enough, or hard enough, or long enough to satiate the longing that’s within him. And you’re feeling it too, an ache growing deeper in your belly, a need to be consumed by him fully and you whine into his mouth because he’s not nearly close enough to you.

A thigh slips between your legs as he kisses along your jaw and down the column of your throat, a moan falling from your lips as you greedily seek friction. 

“I can’t believe you’re here,” Logan husks against your shoulder, pulling your hips harder against his clothed thigh. 

Your hands cup the sides of his face, your fingers scratching lightly against his beard. You force him to look at you, his pupils blown wide. “I always come to you,” you say softly. “I always come home.”

He kisses you softly then, his mouth slow over yours and he drops his thigh from between your leg. You whine at the loss and he pulls back. “C’mere,” he says, grabbing your hand and leading you further into he apartment. “I’m not fucking you for the first time against a door.”

You follow him to the bedroom, your chest heaving with ragged breaths and you can feel the prickle of anticipation along your spine as he turns back to look at you. His eyes never leave yours as he shrugs off the flannel and pulls his t-shirt over his head. Your eyes trace the lines of his chest, the strong definition of his muscles, following the line of hair that leads to the top of his jeans. As you bite your lip, you hear his chuckle, “My eyes are up here.”

“Mmm, yeah they are,” you start, tugging your shirt off and shimmying your pants over your hips, “but the view down there is nice, too.”

Logan reaches for you, his large hands skimming over your hips, over the flesh of your ass and under your thighs, lifting you up and forcing your to wrap your legs around his waist. With an easy flick of his fingers, he’s unclasped your bra and you toss it aside with the rest of your clothes. 

Kneeling on the bed, he lays you down, kissing his way down your stomach, his nose nuzzling along the top of your panties. “Do you have any fucking idea how sweet you smell?” His mouth is hot against your skin and he laughs as you tilt your hips up towards him. “You want me to fuck you with my tongue? Lap at you until you’re seeing stars?”

Molten desire shoots down your spine and you can feel the slick between your thighs. God, the mouth on him was going to be the death of you. 

You prop yourself up onto your elbows and look down at him. “Just fucking touch me already,” you whine, and you hate how desperate you sound. “Haven’t we waited long enough?”

He presses a wet, open mouthed kiss to your inner thigh before dragging his nose along the center of your clothed cunt. You inhale sharply as he kisses over your clit before trailing his fingers along your hip bones and pulling the fabric down. His warm hands palm along your thighs and he opens you up, staring down at you with hunger in his eyes. And then his mouth is on you, his tongue licking a hot stripe through your folds before sucking your clit into his mouth. 

“Oh, fuck,” you moan as his mouth continues to lap at you, pleasure tingling low in your belly and spreading through your limbs.

Logan hums. “Sweetest pussy I’ve ever tasted, sweetheart.” His tongue dips down, collecting the arousal at your entrance. “I could die happy between these thighs.”

You trail your hands down over your chest, briefly palming each breast before you continue down and sink your fingers into Logan’s hair. His groan rumbles through you and you don’t miss the way his hips start to rut against the mattress, seeking friction. 

His mouth and tongue continue to move over you, long, slow licks punctuated by gentle sucks and flicks over your clit and you can’t stop the grind of your hips against his face. You feel his smirk against you as one thick finger finally sinks inside your walls, nudging that spot deep inside that makes you squirm.

Another finger slips inside you and a low whine spills from your lips. 

“You’re beautiful like this, you know that,” he says, voice rough, thumb replacing his tongue against your clit as his fingers continue pumping. “All blissed out and needy and desperate to come on my fingers.”

His words zip through you as he fuck you with his hand and you bite your lip. “C’mon,” he purrs, “let me hear all those pretty sounds you make.”

Soft whimpers spill from your throat as he continues to work you, that pull in your lower belly growing stronger and stronger. His hand never stilling, he kisses his way up your body, pulling a nipple into his mouth and then you’re coming, cunt clenching around his fingers. 

Logan licks into your mouth to steal your cries as he continues to work you through your orgasm. Your thighs clamp around his forearm, the pleasure overwhelming. 

He finally stills, pulling his fingers from you and you whimper at the loss. You watch through half lidded eyes as he licks his fingers clean of your slick and you feel that flame reignite in your belly. 

“Take your pants off,” you demand, breathless, pushing at his chest. 

Logan laughs, but allows you to push him onto his back. “You always so bossy after you come?”

You fumble at his belt, undoing his buckle and unzipping his jeans before shoving them down his hips. “Make me do it again and find out,” you taunt as his cock springs free.

He kicks his pants the rest of the way off and you sit back on your heels and admire him for a moment. Your eyes trail from his broad shoulders, down the contours of his chest and follow that line of hair down his stomach to between his thighs, where his cock stands, thick and ready. 

“I will never get tired of looking at you,” you sigh, raking your nails down his thighs, deliberately not touching him where you know he wants it the most. “You’re so beautiful, Logan.”

Whatever response he has, dies in his throat as you finally wrap your hand around his cock, giving him one long, firm stroke. He’s hot and heavy and you’re aching to feel him inside you. But not yet. Leaning down, your eyes meet his and you trace your tongue along the underside of his cock, tasting the salt on his skin.

“Fuckin’ hell,” Logan curses, unable to stop the thrust of his hips, chasing your mouth. 

You wrap your lips around the head, swirling your tongue over the slit and collecting the precum there before taking as much of him in your mouth as you can. Logan hisses through his teeth, fingers winding their way into your hair to help guide your movements. 

“You’re so warm and wet, sweetheart,” he groans. “But I don’t want to come in your mouth.”

You give him one last stroke as you release him from your mouth and climb up to sit on his thighs. Logan pulls you forward by your hips and you gasp as your cunt slides across his cock. 

“Line me up,” he instructs and you obey without hesitation. 

Gripping him in your hand, you guide him to your entrance, notching him inside before slowly sinking down atop him. A sob chokes in your throat at the thick feel of him inside you, stretching you, making you feel complete. Your entire existence boils down to where he’s joined with you and you relish the burn.

His hands are everywhere as you start to move, caressing your thighs, your hips, up to your breasts and back down, tracing a map on your skin only his fingers can read. Praise falls from his lips in an almost nonstop litany, telling you how wet you are, how tight, how warm, how good you’re making him feel.

“Do you want to know how you make me feel?” you ask, breathless. You look down at him through half lidded eyes and find him just as flushed and wanton as you. “How you’ve always made me feel?”

You continue to rock back and forth on his cock, slow, deliberate movements that leave you wanting, needing more. Logan shifts his hips and finds the leverage to fuck up into you, the deep drag of his cock against your walls making you throw your head back and moan. 

“Fuck,” he growls, his fingers sinking deeper into the flesh of your hips, pulling you somehow impossibly closer. “Show me, sweetheart.” 

You brace your hands against his chest, raking your fingers through the damp hair there, feeling his heart beat beneath your palms. Leaning down, you capture his mouth with yours, the kiss sloppy as he continues to thrust up into you. You move your hands up his neck, your fingers collecting the sweat along his jaw and then, “Feel, Logan.”

It starts slow, an almost faint heat spreading from your fingertips as they ghost over his skin, your power beginning to pulse in time with your heartbeat. Logan gasps and his rhythm falters as the first wave of emotion hits him. You slow, too, your hips barely moving as you run your fingers down from his jaw, over the column of his throat and back to his chest. 

Your palms rest against his ribs as you continue to pour into him all the love and passion he’s ever shown you over centuries. Logan stares up at you in reverence, his face soft as he runs his hands up your sides, over your breasts. He tugs you down towards him, his mouth hovering over yours.

“Do you feel, Logan,” you ask, your breath hot against his lips. “Do you feel how much you love you have in you?”

He draws your bottom lip into his mouth, biting softly once, before capturing your mouth fully, kissing you deep. You hum as his tongue swipes against yours and his fingers tangle in your hair. 

A gasp pulls from your throat as Logan wraps his arms around you and flips your position, forcing your legs around his waist as he begins to thrust into you again in earnest. You feel him deep in this position, each thrust of his cock against your walls hitting that perfect spot inside of you. 

“It’s too much,” he groans into your skin. “Never…never felt like this.”

You rake your nails along his back, relishing in the growl that falls from this throat. “It always feels like this,” you gasp, drawing your power back. 

His arms slide under your shoulders, anchoring you in place as his hips continue to thrust into you. It’s lewd almost, the slapping of skin against skin and the wet noises from where you’re joined. His breath is hot and damp against your skin where his mouth hovers over the pulse point in your neck. 

Your fingers snake into the short strands of hair at the back of his neck and your other hand slips in between your bodies, reaching for your clit. 

“That’s it,” he moans, “use those fingers to get yourself off on my cock.”

You can feel where he’s sliding thickly into your cunt, the wiry hairs at the base of his cock damp with your arousal, and you begin to rub in time with his thrusts. Pleasure zips along your spine, every cell in your body afire at his touch. You feel that telltale tug low in your belly and you know you’re not going to last much longer. 

He slides his hands down from your shoulders, following the curve of your spine, forcing you to arch your back. Taking the opportunity before him, he swirls his tongue over one nipple, then the other as he palms the flesh of your hips in his hands, angling your hips further up into his. A keening whine falls from your lips as he somehow thrusts deeper into you, making your legs shake. 

Logan nudges your hand away from your clit, replacing your fingers with his own as he pushes you closer and closer to the edge. His eyes are focused on the sight of his cock thrusting into you and the slick smeared across your thighs. 

“Logan,” you gasp, “I’m so close.”

“I know, sweetheart,” he rasps, dragging his gaze up to your face, “I got you. Takin’ me so well, so tight. Gonna spend the rest of my life tellin’ you how fucking good you are.”

His words tip you over the edge, your orgasm rolling through you as you spasm down on his cock, his name falling from your lips. He fucks you through your orgasm, each thrust of his hips sending aftershocks of pleasure along your limbs as he chases his own release. Logan’s thrusts grow erratic and you reach for him, grasping at his forearms, pulling him down to you. 

“Come for me, Logan,” you murmur in his ear. “I wanna feel you come.”

With one final thrust, he comes with a groan, forehead pressed against yours as he spills himself deep within you. You can feel cock spasm as he lazily thrusts through his orgasm, using your body to wring out the last of his pleasure. You hold him close, pressing open mouthed kisses to his jaw as he finally stills within you. 

Careful not to crush you, Logan pulls you to him as he rolls onto his side. He doesn’t pull out, tugging your leg over his hip to keep you close and full. 

You smile up at him, brushing the damp hair away from his forehead. He sighs at your touch, a content sound that tugs at your heart. 

“You really love me in every universe?” he asks softly, brushing his nose against yours. 

“Yes.”

“Even this one?”

“Especially this one.” 

You don’t know what the rest of this life holds, but you do know one thing—wherever he goes, you’ll be right there with him. 

[ssahotchnerr]

i rlly wanna see how aaron would react to reader accidentally starting her period and leaking on his white sheets. i just know he would be so caring and conforming !!

stains

he soooo would cw; fem!reader, period talk, blood mentions, language, fluff <33

Even on the weekends, Aaron doesn't tend to stray from routine.

Apart from setting an alarm - he presses a kiss to the first patch of your skin he can find, rolls out of bed, and then opens the blinds so the morning light can naturally assist in waking you. Trailing into the en-suite bathroom, he hears you let out a gentle squeak, stretching from your laid position in bed.

He preps his toothbrush, blinking once, twice, in attempt to rid the heavy sleep from his eyes. Brushing his teeth is number one on his morning agenda; not only because it was the hygienic thing to do, he simply could not stand having horrid breath.

Despite the brushing sounds echoing in his head, he doesn't miss your low,

"Shit."

"Honey?" His attempt to speak was muffled, as his toothbrush was in his mouth. He tilted back from the sink, just enough to allow him to peer into the room, to see you.

You were sat upright, a handful of sheets in hand, meeting his eyes guilt-stricken. "I'm sorry. It wasn't due for another three days and you know I'm typically always on schedule and always prepared-"

"Hm?" Freeing his mouth from the toothpaste, quickly flicking the water on/off to rid the residue and wiping his mouth with a washcloth, he re-entered his room.

As he came closer, your flushed cheeks were vividly noticeable, the remorse in your eyes even more intense. You clarified, "My period."

"Oh," his expression softened, before alternating to deep concern. "Are you alright?"

"Am I alright? Aaron your bed-"

"What about it?"

"It's stained - the sheets. Fuck," you scrambled up, not wanting to ruin them further, wincing in pain as you did so. You quickly padded past him to the bathroom, the plush carpet soft under your bare feet. He followed behind.

"And? Sweetheart if you think I care about that," he chuckled, sweetly shaking his head. "Do you have...?"

"In my bag."

Feminine products - Aaron redirected himself, finding your overnight duffle tossed hastily near the foot of his dresser. As he rummaged through it, he mentally cursed himself for not already having a supply waiting under his sink, and mentally added such to his future shopping list.

He grabbed the other necessities - an extra pair of underwear, t-shirt, opting to grab your favorite pair of shorts from his drawer. One he hadn't worn in quite a while as you had claimed sole ownership.

You sheepishly accepted the items from him, refraining from lifting your gaze. "Thank you."

"Hey," With a finger he lifted your chin, causing you to meet his soft, brown eyes. "It's okay."

You shook your head in shame, prompting his hand to fall.

"It's your body. It's natural. It's- this is not an inconvenience to me, it is for you. Plus, this is exactly what they invented stain remover for."

Despite yourself you laughed, wrapping your arms around your middle. "I suppose."

The ends of Aaron's lips itched upwards, successful in his goal to crack a smile. Although, his amusement sobered back to concern, "You never answered my question from before. Are you alright?"

You grimaced. "Crampy."

"Advil then?" Aaron asked and you nodded. He placed his hand on your lower abdomen soothingly, the warmth of it calming your tensed muscle. That was the thing about his touch, it never failed to relieve any aches or discomfort, physical and emotional. "And a bath? I recall you saying that helps, with easing the pain."

"Please."

He quickly obtained the pain reliever, started the bath. "Don't worry about the sheets, I'll strip and get 'em in the wash. Hand me your clothes too." He ran his hand under the stream of water, regulating the temperature as you immediately began to protest, claiming, 'it was your mess, your doing,' but Aaron kindly shut you down, "Nope. Let me handle it, I insist."

"And if the stain doesn't come out?"

"I've been meaning to dispose of them anyway. They're getting old, they've fulfilled their job well." After flashing you a sympathetic smile Aaron stood, his age vaguely showing when his knees cracked as his legs straightened. He placed a kiss on your forehead, hoping to dissolve your current, growing pout. "Just relax."

You willingly met his eyes this time. You tousled his hair, still disheveled from sleep, paying extra attention to the short hairs behind his ears. Your nails scratched at his scalp, expressing your gratitude silently.

"And if it makes you feel any better, this isn't the first time I've had to soak blood from linens."

"It doesn't," you rolled your eyes at his injury-prone occupation, but he did however manage to pull yet another smile from you. A gentle laugh came from deep within his chest at your response. "But thank you."

[bigfatbimbo]

Silly request but imagine helping Bill "groom" his triangle self. Gently wipe him with a cloth. Carefully dip it in the little space between the bricks, can't leave that zone unclean! Alternatively, a classic soapy bubble bath. Silly straws included, what the hell, he's probably drinking the bath water and listing the chemical ingredients back at you while you gently rub him clean. Fun times

The Bug Collector

1.1k words,, Bill Cipher x reader

a/n — Procrastination killed my soul during this, I think it turned out okay, though! Sorry for typos, your girl is tired.

warnings — SFW, post!weirdmaggedon, as ‘fluffy’ as you can get with Bill cipher, he is his own warning, kinda toxic relationships, fluff and bill being pathetic

summary — Reader assists a recently fallen Bill Cipher in self care, despite his general all-mighty asshole-ness.

The exoskeleton of a bug was practical, a water-tight barrier most commonly known for muscle attachments, and its use to shelter and protect the insects gushy insides from its harsh environment. 

The exoskeleton of a triangle was for mostly for aesthetics, as the underneath was far more horrifying than anything in the harsh environment around it. Or so the triangle claims.

You dipped a soapy sponge into the bucket in front of you, as bill propped his feet up on the bathtub. 

“You conquer worlds and destroy planets, but yeah, why not draw the line at cleaning yourself.”

“Please, what better way to make use out of my new human pet— partner, than this?” He corrected loudly and purposefully. Then looking to the side, he mumbled, “And besides, kid, you have no idea how hard it is to clean between the bricks. Euck— So many blind spots.”

The first part was a throwaway reminder that he had far more power than you in this dynamic, something you’d picked up on Bill casually doing in his time with you. 

Being roommates with a butt-hurt demon, given the ending of weirdmaggedon, allowed you the privilege of being more cautious than previous humans were with Bill. For example, you’ve taken to keeping track of his repeated habits and patterns. 

On of which, just so happened to be reminding you how small you were compared to him. 

You jabbed the sponge in-between on of the bricks, “Ow!” He narrowed his eye at you, “Watch it, pal. I’m starting to think you’ve never cleaned a triangle before.”

“I’d hate to give that impression.” You softened your hold on him, “Delicate work, I always say.”

And it was delicate work. After his defeat, he’d been roughed up a surprising bit, powers even weakened. 

Weakened.

“Not too delicate,” he shot you glance. Guess he’d heard that thought process. 

Although, most days he’d seemed to be in a thought process of his own. Weird.

You cleared your throat, “How often does this even need to be done?”

He blinked, “Well, let’s see. Once every—“ he waved his hand around “—few hundred years. Very high maintenance, do not recommend it.”

High maintenance, yeah. At this point, Bill had taken to talking about some other topic, you hadn’t been really listening, something about intergalactic food joints.

Every once and a while he’d bring up something that happened with one of his ‘henchmaniacs’ before getting slightly irritated at the lack of presence in his life now, and changing the subject. 

Bill was interesting to study, you couldn’t lie. His eyelashes curled away from each other, like the mangled legs of a recently dead spider. His hands were very present when he talked, like most people of business. His body flicked side to side slightly at certain moments. 

You became more gentle naturally, taking care of every crevice, and for some reason Bill becomes gradually quieter.

“Something wrong?” You asked, not stopping.

Bill blinked, “Eh, been a minute since i’ve had a human servant. Maybe, I was thinking of other things you can help with!”

You sigh, “Yeah, because i’m your servant. As if.” In your mind, your thinking do the fact he was your roommate, in your house, eating your food. 

“Hey, don’t get all butt-hurt. You’re all ants to me, buddy, nothing to be ashamed of!” His eye flicked back and forth between you and the room.

Then you stop scrubbing, “Bill, I might as well be your landlord.” You know he can read your thoughts, so you make a point to justify yourself. Already weakened from his failed apocalypse, anything other than vague respect for you would land him homeless. Most likely, his response to this would be killing you, but there’s only so much he can do afterwards. 

He’d have a place to stay, but with no electricity or heating, and in his damaged physical form he actively does need those things. And trying to get a new human would be a hassle, and unlike you, no guarantee they’d let him stay there without calling the authorities.

“Yeesh,” Bill remarks, “Buzzkill… You are still a bug compared to me, though—“

You drop the sponge in the bucket, “I think you’re done.”

He looks taken aback when you pull away, “What? Come on, over the bug comment? Jeez, buddy—“

“No I mean you’re actually done,” you gesture to his body, now shining and slick with soap suds. “I got everything, there’s nothing else to do.”

You go to turn around before you feel a small hand grabbing for the back of your shirt. 

“Wait, wait!” He breathes, eye farting from side to side, “… You have to dry me off first.”

He looked slightly panicked, like if you stopped taking care of him now, you’d leave and never come back. Your thought process earlier couldn’t have helped. 

The way he scurried and gasped for you was reminiscent of panicked earwig and a rock is lifted up. The comparison should have grossed you out, but it kinda just made you feel a little bad.

If he was paying attention to your thoughts, he didn’t show it. This would have usually given you the impression he’d wanted you to be thinking the way you were, but he seemed a little wrapped up in his own head. 

“Come on, kid. Don’t tell me you’re gonna kick me out because I asked you to dry me off. One last thing and then you don’t even have to talk to me the rest of the night! Sounds like a good deal, right?” 

His slightly desperate looking sales pitch was met with a sigh, you picked up a dry towel and began to pat the soap suds off of him. His body slowly breathed in, making it look like he was sighing, but no noise came out.

You wondered then if he was actually touch-starved, but cut your thoughts there because this time he had nothing better to do then pay attention to what you were thinking. 

“Ouch, i’m not that desperate, pal.” But he was.

His exoskeleton was dry, but you didn’t stop patting him down. His eyelid shut slowly, and the spider-legs on them curled into each other once more. 

The exoskeleton of a bug was practical, but one of a triangle seemed to simply be for aesthetics. 

However, on some rare occasions, it possesses the same desire for love as human bodies. Only, when very desperate, of course. 

[ktownshizzle]

Terms & Conditions | Chapter 5

Pairing: Min Yoongi x female reader

Summary: Managing Min Yoongi as one of your encoders during his alternative military service should’ve been simple. He is quiet, punctual—and can apparently type as fast as he can rap! Not to mention the fact that he is easy on the eyes and keeps wanting to help you. You’ve signed an iron-clad NDA, detailing the full terms and conditions of his temporary employment, so you’re supposed to keep things professional, but what happens if neither of you wants to?

Genre: Fluff, eventual smut, co-workers to lovers, office romance, idol!au

Warnings: Purely speculative regarding Yoongi’s alternative military service and how this is really done in SK, I might include scootergate in a future chapter but please know it will be written sensibly imo and with so much love for our Yoongi (I just wanna protecc him at all costs even thru this silly story!), some cursing, boss/employee relationship sorta but there's no power play involved, reader and Yoongi are within the same age range

Chapter warnings: so this is probably 60-70% smut or leading up to smut 😅, am I crazy?, maybe?, idk man T&C yoongi just has a bunch of tricks up his sleeve, i’m literally just a girl, tongue technology but it may not be what u expect, oral, protected sex, breast worship, nip stim, fingering, spanking, lil bit of exhibitionism, petting, office sex almost getting caught but they still finish yay, trampy Danbi and her weak-ass lines, overuse of jagi and baby because that's how I roll, if i missed anything lmk. MINORS DNI!

Word count: 7.3k (approx. 35 mins to read)

Posting date: November 2, 2024

Notes: Idk what else to say. Hope you think the wait is worth it. ☺️ Enjoy~

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Masterlist

You didn’t quite expect the night to end like this, but maybe part of you did. Spending intimate one-on-one time with Yoongi was a risk—one you knew would soften your heart even more. Despite every logical reason to pull back, to brace yourself for the shitstorm this would inevitably bring, you already made the choice. You were going to give this a try.

Yoongi offers you his hand, and you take it without hesitation. His grip is firm but gentle as he leads you from the cozy warmth of the living room to a quieter part of his apartment. 

You don’t know what to expect when you see his bedroom. But when he opens it to usher you in, you’re hit with a strange sense of familiarity and intimacy. Like the space is so him. Minimalist but warm, with soft neutral tones that you find soothing. The bed, a king-sized obviously for the king of naps, a spread of taupe gray sheets and a matching duvet dominates the center. The dim lighting casts a golden glow over the earthy walls, but what caught your attention was the view from his huge floor to ceiling windows.

Somehow during the time it took from the living room to his bedroom, the Hangang Rainbow Bridge decided to impress you a bit more. Technicolor lights mingle with swirls of water that shoot from jets along the bridge’s edge, setting the night alight.

It’s… wow. You can’t explain the onslaught of emotions you’re feeling at the moment. You just know that there’s no place else you’d rather be.

Yoongi stands behind you, his hand still resting lightly on yours, like he’s giving you space to take it all in. But the silence doesn’t last long. You turn to face him, your hands find his chest, fingers looping the strings of his hoodie as you pull him closer.

He doesn’t resist but there’s a lazy smirk playing on his lips as he leans into you, his breath warm against your skin. His lips find yours again and all the worries and doubts you carried with you slip away. You’re in it now, fully, and there’s no going back.

Hands slide up your back, under your top and something inside you snaps. You’re impatient now, hands slipping under his sweater, tugging it upward. Your fingers graze the warm skin underneath, and he lets out a soft chuckle, amused by your urgency.

"Easy, jagi," Yoongi whispers against your lips, pulling back just enough to look at you, eyes glinting with amusement. "We’ve got all night."

The audacity of this man. Looks like a fuckin snacc, seduces you with his cooking and a slow dance, decides to call you jagi—then tells you to put on the brakes? 

You roll your eyes, but your fingers don’t stop. "You’re moving too slow," you complain, pulling the fabric up higher, desperate to get it off him. He laughs again, but this time, it’s softer, more affectionate. He’s clearly endeared by your impatience.

With a low chuckle, he helps you lift the hoodie off, tossing it carelessly to the floor, leaving him in a simple black tee that fits nicely across his strong shoulders. But he’s not done yet. He steps closer, hands finding the zipper of your hoodie, eyes darkening with intent. He takes his time, his fingers gliding over the metal. You can feel your breath hitch as he slowly pulls the zipper down, teasing you, dragging this out just to make you squirm.

"Let’s not rush this," he chides, as the zipper falls open, exposing your skin to the cool air. "I wanna take my time with you."

“Okay,” you mutter, lids fluttering shut as his hands push the garment from your shoulders, falling in a heap where his own lies.

One strap from your top sags with the motion, his plush lips quickly taking its place. He trails soft, velvety kisses towards your collarbone, then licks the tops of your breast, blows on it, cool air tickling the trail of wetness. A sigh escapes your mouth at the mix of sensations. 

“May I?” He asks, finger hooked on the other strap of your top.

“Yes,” you respond, engrossed at the way his eyes are drinking the slow reveal of your breasts as the fabric pools at your waist. 

“So perfect,” he muses, moving to sit on the edge of his bed, pulling you to stand in between his legs.

The angle is perfect for his mouth to connect with your chest effortlessly and you’re rewarded by the mesmerizing view of his pouty lips as they push and pull against your puffy nipples.

A name you’ve never used for any lover ever seems to spill seamlessly from your lips, only for the man responsible for your current state of disarray. “Baby… you’re so good at that.”

Yoongi nips your tits playfully, approvingly, and you can’t help but moan at the sudden jolt of pleasure.

“Fuck—your tits,” he purrs, face pressed against your sternum while his hands push your mounds inwards to squish his cheeks. “They’re so soft, jagi. Mmm.”

Yoongi stays there for a while feeling the plush flesh against his face, and when you scratch his scalp with your long fingernails, he lets out a needy little whimper that almost sounds like a cat’s purr.

He moves to lavish your other breast, tongue darting out to coax it to peak. His eyes are transfixed on you and you can’t bring yourself to look away. He starts with kitten licks, before rolling it around your areola, and when it starts to pebble, his tongue moves faster and faster to flick at the tip and holy shit how is he so good at that?!

Lost in the feeling, you suddenly feel a tap on the side of your lips. It’s his fingers, the pointer and the middle, seeking entry. “Suck them for me,” he instructs and you do not have to be told twice.

You suck and lick around the digits and before you can even get into it he retrieves it and coats your free nipple with your own spit. The slick pinches of his fingers feel wonderful against your bud and with his mouth alternating sucks and rapid licks on the other, you start to feel a familiar yet wholly unfamiliar feeling igniting in your belly.

Yoongi’s so good and so, so fuckin’ sexy… And god his tongue. He really knows what he’s doing. You’ve never been with anyone who has made you crumble like this.

Soon enough you are panting and moaning haplessly. Your hands find purchase on the back of his neck, body tingling with a newfound sensation. When his teeth and blunt nails clamp down your nipples in unison, the stimulation becomes—fuck—too much to bear and

Wait—did you just??? 

Heat bursts inside your chest and your body surges forward as a sweet, subtle high, erupts within you in unexpected waves. The orgasm catches you off guard like a thief in the night. It feels like a gentle rumble, more like a preamble, and you’re already needy to feel the next. 

Yoongi steadies you as your knees give way, easing you into the cushions until you’re lying beside him.

“Yoongi…” you’re suddenly as shy as a mouse.

“Mm?” he asks, amusement apparent, ‘cause of course he knows. He knows you came just from nipple play.

“I uh I’ve… never—” you stammer, crossing your arms across your chest, a little embarrassed from what they’ve just made you do. “…that’s never happened before.”

“Did it feel good?” Yoongi asks, cupping the side of your jaw to make you look at him.

“So good,” you sigh. You can’t even fault him if his ego inflates after this.

“Then stop pouting and give me back those lips,” he pulls you towards him with a smirk. You crash your lips on his, swinging one leg across his waist as you hoist yourself atop him without breaking your contact.

Your weight settles against his center and you can feel the semi under his jeans rumbling to life as you do some experimental rolls of your hips. His hands fly to your ass, squeezing them as you grind against his stiffness.

“Take this off,” you instruct, although your hands are already hoisting his tee up and off his body. 

Once gone, you rake your greedy nails across his toned chest earning a tut from him as red marks immediately bloomed on the milky surface. You drag your tongue across the indents, capturing a nipple along the way, before ending on his neck and sucking softly. You enjoy the low rumbles in his throat for a bit before you push yourself out of bed, coming to stand by the edge where his legs dangle over.

Yoongi props himself up on his elbows, abs flexing to your quiet delight as he waits for your next move.

“Gonna give me a show?” he waggles his eyebrows suggestively.

You smile cheekily, pushing your blouse down and it falls on the ground by your ankles. Belt loops are pulled and released and the button of your jeans goes next.

Yoongi’s eyes devour you as you shimmy the jeans down leaving you in a thin scrap of lace that barely covers your pussy.

Alright, so you did prepare in the eventuality that this would happen.

Newly bought and newly washed, it was something you had picked up in a boutique yesterday with Chae. White (or coconut white, as the sales associate said), it has delicate scallop trims around the leg openings and a thin waistband that criss-crosses at the back connecting to the thong. It was out of your usual price range, but you let your credit card take the hit, thinking his reaction will be priceless.

You’re right.

A pink tongue swoops outside of his gaping mouth. He shakes his head at you as if you did him dirty, but you both know that’s a look of appreciation.

He shifts to sit fully, sweaty palms immediately sliding up your legs to cradle the meat of your ass as he continues to ogle at the sight in front of him.

“This is pretty.” 

“I picked it for you,” you admit bashfully.

“I know you did, jagi,” he smirks. Sniffs. And there’s something wildly erotic in the way his nose nudges the lace where you know a patch of wetness has already formed.

He pokes the fabric in the middle, exactly where your clit is hiding and that brief contact sends sparks to your limbs. Fingers pinch the lace together, gathering it towards the slit of your pussy, then he does something that makes you gasp. He tugs the fabric up and down, the rough texture of the lace rocking against your puffed up clit, arousing you in a way you haven’t felt before.

“Shit,” you steady yourself against his shoulder, as you feel his mouth take one side of your pussy lips to suck. The friction feels phenomenal. More wetness gushes out of you and you decide to put a stop to things before it escalates again.

“Wanna see the back?” Needing reprieve, you turn around before he can answer.

You hear his sharp inhale. “Shit, your body is insane.”

Something akin to pride blossoms in your chest. You admit wondering how you might compare to other people who he’s been with. Probably gorgeous people sculpted by the gods just like him. But the way he looks at you—devastating, almost devoted—you’d be a fool to think he doesn’t view you as a descendant of Aphrodite, herself.

But then he bites the waistband and lets it ping against your skin, bringing you back to the present.

“Yoongi!” You gasp, pushing him towards the cushions and the bastard just giggles as he falls.

But the playful moment leaves after a beat, and soon enough, his pants disappear from his body, leaving him in black boxers, which you quickly get rid of as well.

Oh.

Okay.

You gulp.

He got that big dick energy and now you have the proof. 

Your knees sink on the mattress, between his open thighs, the perfect spot for you to worship his cock. Heavy against his stomach, veins run up towards the head—red and swollen and angry. A bead of cum pools at the tiny slit at the very tip. Cute.

“Is this for me?”

“All for you.”

You hum, delighted. “All mine,” you say and you feel him throb against your hand as you reward him with a few pumps. After a while, you let your mouth take over, first cleaning up the salty precum on the tip with swipes of your tongue, noisily licking it for his audible enjoyment. 

The sheets move beneath you as Yoongi grips them, face already a picture of impatience. “Don’t tease,” he says.

You suck him with gusto, letting your spit dribble down his hard length. You fist the base of his cock, timing your strokes with each bob of your head. The breathless moans coming from his lips only spurs you to keep at this smooth cadence.

A hand threads through the side of your hair before it is gathered in a loose grip. He doesn’t guide your movements, but anchors himself on you as if he’s at the edge of his life—he sure does sound like it. Groans and grunts huff out of his throat, sound bytes you need to mentally record for use when you're alone.

“Ahh, hol’ up…” he gently tugs your hair, cock falling from your lips and slapping against his tummy.

You look up at him, wiping your bottom lip with the back of your hand.

“I need to be inside you.”

“How do you want me, baby?”

“I need that perfect ass up in the air,” he replies, lips curling up, “Don’t remove your panties.”

You both shift around the bed, and you end up face down by his pillows. You can smell the comforting scent of his fabric conditioner and maybe his shampoo, rooting you in the present.

His hands grip your waist, tracing the contours of your body, sweat lubricating the path towards

“This ass…” he says, more to himself than you. You feel him lick one of your cheeks before he bites down, making you squeal.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

“For what?”

He rips your lace panties in half, the poor fabric sent sailing to the other side of the room. You somehow knew it was coming when he asked that it stays on.

“Kinda cliche,” you tease and he chuckles. “You left me with no choice.”

“Well, you could’ve not ripped it actually. Those are new,” you scold him with no real bite.

His chest connects with your back, and you feel a smooch or two being deposited to your shoulder blades. “I’ll replace it.”

He hitches your hips back so you can feel the ridge of his cock between your ass, hand reaching forward towards your mound. “Let me prep you real quick…”

“NO.”

“No?”

Your patience has worn thin. “I can’t wait anymore, just fuck me.”

You hear the crinkle of foil, the adjustment of rubber, then you feel it. The tip of his dick teases your folds, coating it with the juices seeping from your cunt. Gentle in the way he plants one of his hands on your waist, Yoongi reminds you, “Tell me to stop if it hurts.”

His cock finally breaches your entrance, your swollen walls accommodating his girth slowly but spectacularly. You love the burn inside. A loud moan launches itself from your throat as he bottoms out, the feeling full, stuffed, complete.

“Mmh, Yoongi, you’re so big…” you couldn’t help but clench at the delicious stretch.

“So tight, shit. W-wait, don’t do that—” Yoongi already sounds wrecked. 

“Please move,” you beg, throwing your ass back once, and you hear Yoongi grunt, hands gripping your waist tighter.

He starts rocking his hips, pushing his length earnestly into you that you’re sure you will feel him if you press on your lower stomach. Your cunt is on fire, but your clit is aching for some relief.

Mind read, Yoongi tells you to touch yourself so you do, plunging your middle finger on your nub. The pleasure increases tenfold. 

Yoongi groans as he continues to fuck himself into you. He doesn’t say anything else but his labored breaths are signifying his forthcoming demise.

He slips out of you and you almost scream at the loss.

Quickly you’re flipped to your back and you are hit with the sight of Yoongi’s crumbling composure, a lone drop of sweat trailing from his jaw to his chin.

He lines himself up on you again and this time the glide is smooth, your slippery cunt offering little to no resistance as he ruts against you, fast and fuckin’ furious.

“You’re fucking me so well, baby,” you praise in stuttered phrasing, and his forehead drops to rest on yours, the rhythm of this thrusts unchanging.

You frame his face with your hands and pull him towards you. You kiss him. Lick the back of his teeth. Tug at his bottom lip. And the neediest whine slips from his mouth onto yours.

“Are you close, jagi? Cause I fuckin am…” his voice is almost drowned by the sounds of skin slapping on skin, and the feral noises you’re involuntarily making.

“Y-yes…” you say as you play with one of your nipples, shuddering slightly from over sensitivity.

His pace increases even more with a sudden, breathless urgency. Every nerve in your body is buzzing to life, every part of you aware of how your bodies are connected. Maybe it’s the intensity in his eyes, or the way his tongue moistens his lips, but it’s enough to push you careening off the cliff, as your walls clamp down on his cock, body vibrating in a surge of electricity.

The way he pushes himself on to you is desperate. He looks so fucked out but he doesn’t stop fucking you. Not until the movement of his hips becomes erratic and he pulses inside of you with one prolonged moan, and the condom inside of you fills up with the proof of his pleasure.

You wish you started taking those damn birth control pills earlier.

“You good?” you ask, raking your nails against the clammy skin of his back. His head rests on the crook of your neck.

He lifts his head to level with yours, a lopsided grin on his lips. “Better. Bestest.” He looks positively drunk.

You shove a hand across his face, “you’re stupid.”

He shakes his head, rolling out of bed to dispose of the condom and to get a warm washcloth for you. He helps you clean up and you steal his tee from the floor, pulling it over your head before he can even protest. 

“I can get you a fresh one,” he offers.

“I want this, smells like you,” you say.

His nose crinkles like he couldn’t stand your cheesiness, but of course he pulls you towards his body and under the duvet.

You share a brief kiss, but you’re too spent to do anything else, and soon enough, sleep claims you both.

The morning light filters softly through Yoongi’s curtains and you can see the dustmites floating in the air like glitter. You blink yourself awake, the memories of last night still wrapping around you like a comforting blanket. The actual blankets are tangled around your waist, and the faint sound of movement in the kitchen catches your attention.

You stretch, feeling the pull of muscles you didn’t realize would be sore. Everything about this moment feels surreal—like you’re hovering between reality and some alternate version of it.

Yoongi pads into the room, dressed in a loose white t-shirt and dark gray sweatpants. He looks cozy. When he sees you, his lips curve into a soft smile.

“Good morning, jagi.” His voice is a smooth melody, the last word warming you instantly. You really can get used to him calling you that.

You bite your lip, smiling back. “Morning.”

He crosses the room in a few steps and hands you a warm mug.

His cheeks are adorably puffy, and his eyes still look a bit more squinty than usual. All you want to do is reach out and squish that face.

“Didn’t think you’d be up this early,” you say, before taking a quick sip from your cup. “Thought you weren’t a morning person.”

“Had to make sure you didn’t disappear on me.” He sits on the edge of the bed, but his eyes stay locked on yours, watching you closely.

You pout. “Why would I leave?” 

Yoongi shrugs, setting his mug down on the nightstand before turning back to you. “Just wanted to make sure you don’t regret last night.” The vulnerability hidden in his tone catches you off guard, his casual words heavy with meaning.

Your heart skips, but you cover it with a grin. “Regret? Not a chance. I mean, the bed was comfortable, and you didn’t snore, so…” You throw in a teasing smile, watching for his reaction.

Yoongi raises an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. There’s something behind his eyes, something uncertain. He’s usually so composed, always knowing where he stands. But right now, he seems like he’s choosing his next words carefully.

Before you can dwell on it, he leans forward, bracing his hands on either side of you. You are caught off-guard by the sudden proximity and you’re not ready for the tsunami of emotions roaring in your chest. He says your name, before carefully stating the next few words.

“I’m all in. You know that, right?”

The vulnerability in his voice is palpable, like he’s still waiting for you to pull away, to tell him this was a mistake. That this was a bad idea, like you said last night. The importance of his words hits you, your heartbeat quickening under his gaze. 

All in. Wow. He really said that.

The way Yoongi’s looking at you right now, like he’s handing you his heart—fuck, it’s overwhelming. It’s exactly what you want, and you can’t explain the emotions that fill you up.

But you’re not about to let him off easy. You tilt your head, sipping your coffee slowly as you let the silence stretch just a little longer than necessary. “All in, huh? That’s a big commitment. You sure you can handle me?”

He lets out a soft chuckle, his breath warm against your cheek. “I think I can handle you. The real question is… can you handle me?”

You set the mug down, leaning back into the pillows, a small grin on your lips, but your next words are as honest as can be. “Yoongi, you’re a lot to handle. You’ve got way too many strings attached. Might be more than I can take on.”

You may have said it as a joke, but you know what they say about jokes being half-meant. He knows it, too. His hand finds yours, fingers lacing together effortlessly, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“We can take it slow,” he murmurs, “I’m gonna take care of you, you’ll see,” voice gentler now. “And if you’re in, I’m in—completely.”

You can see the sincerity in the way he looks at you, the way he’s offering more than just casual affection.

If you would be totally honest, you still had some doubts. There were too many variables that you both still need to discuss. But for now, there is only one appropriate response and you are willing to give it to him. 

“Okay,” you finally whisper. “I’m in, too.”

The gummy smile that breaks across his face is blinding, and there’s something like relief in it that makes your heart flip. He leans down, pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles, and you can’t help but grin.

But the sweet gesture turns into something else as his hands slip under the hem of the shirt you’re wearing—his shirt—his touch slow, deliberate. His fingertips graze the bare skin of your waist, sending a ripple of heat through you.

You lean into him, coffee forgotten, tugging him down into a kiss that’s lazy like Sunday morning. He tastes like his Americano, and the way his lips move against yours makes your head spin.

Yoongi’s lips trail down your neck, pressing soft pecks to your skin. His hands slide up your back, pulling you closer.

You move back just slightly, a teasing smirk on your lips. “Aren’t we having breakfast first?”

His eyes darken with a lazy grin, the hand from your back now moving to grasp one of your tits. “That's exactly what I’m having right now.”

You’re utterly screwed.

Yoongi wastes no time diving in your cunt, especially since your underwear is MIA. Tongue flat, he licks your slit once, does it again, and earns a desperate whine from you. It doesn’t take long for him to start making out with your clit, gamely exploring this part of your body in a way he wasn’t able to do last night. He spreads you apart, tongue moving faster and faster like it’s his only setting.

“Just like that…” you say, already feeling embarrassingly close.

He pushes two fingers inside you, gets you plugged nice and tight for him. “You there, jagi?” He lifts his head slightly, to see your reaction.

You curse, gripping the short hair on his neck only to push him back towards his unfinished business.

You feel the smirk against your folds before he resumes his messy work against your pussy, wet muscle dancing in delicious figure eights.

“I–shit, I’m cumming…”

Your legs shake, your moans get louder, and your ears are filled with static as you come, hard, his fingers almost darting out of your hole from the strength of your release.

Yoongi hums and the vibration from his lips coaxes you down from your high.

“That was…” your words trail off as you stare at the white ceiling, lungs needing to be filled with oxygen.

Yoongi dutifully cleans his own mess between your thighs. With his tongue.

When he’s done, your world tilts back to normal (ish) and before you can offer to reciprocate, Yoongi is already slinking out the room, calling after you, “Come, jagi, I cooked haemul pajeon and, don’t bring your coffee, I’ll make you a fresh one.”

If this is how he vows to take care of you, damn, you’re one lucky bitch.

You’re back to work the next day. He insisted on picking you up from your apartment, though you tell him it was not necessary as it may raise some suspicion. You both keep things professional once clocked in but you cannot deny there’s a magnetic pull that is making it difficult to keep your paws away from each other. Once in a while Yoongi catches your eye and you’re brought back to your weekend of debauchery. When he nudges his head towards the door in the back of your office, you already know what he’s asking.

You don't say no. You say, 'later.'

The office has that late afternoon hush, when most people are too buried in their work to notice anything else. It’s just you and Yoongi, tucked away in the back office closet, a space that smells like old paper and dust. You’ve been here before of course—sorting files, you know, actual work—but today, when you enter, you only have one task: you and Yoongi are set to defile the file closet.

Yoongi stands so close you can feel his breath on your neck, his hands resting just above your hips, pressing you lightly against the Ikea file cabinet you both put together weeks ago. 

“Alone at fuckin’ last,” he murmurs.

“C’mere baby,” you whisper, arms slipping around his neck. His gaze darkens, and for a moment, everything else fades.

He leans in, kissing you slow—so slow you think you might combust. You push your tongue against the seam of his lips, a little insistent, because you really can’t take your sweet time in this ancient closet.

Yoongi’s fingers start working the buttons of your blouse, one by one. The way his eyes trace your skin makes every hair on your body stand to attention.

But just as his hand slips inside, the door rattles.

You both freeze. Heart in your fuckin’ throat.

“Yoongi, you in here?” Hyun-woo’s voice pierces through the thick air. The panic kicks in fast, adrenaline flooding your veins.

Yoongi pulls back, completely nonplussed, adjusting his glasses on the bridge of his nose. How the fuck is he always so calm? He reaches out, smoothing your hair as if he’s done this a hundred times before. The tenderness in the gesture only makes your heart pound harder.

“Yeah, I’m here,” he calls out, voice steady, like he isn’t seconds away from getting caught with his hand halfway inside your blouse. “Just organizing files.”

Hyun-woo opens the door, peering in, eyes narrowing slightly.

You flash a too-bright smile. “Hi, Hyun-woo! Just teaching Yoongi with the filing. Total disaster in here.”

Hyun-woo doesn’t buy it, not completely, but the suspicion in his eyes fades as quickly as it appeared. “Right. Well, don’t take too long. That room always triggers my claustrophobia.” He pulls the neck of his shirt forward.

Yoongi replies, giving him that practiced, unbothered nod. “Just finishing up.”

As the main door to your office clicks shut, you let out a breath you’ve been holding for far too long.

“That was way too close,” you whisper, your pulse still racing.

Yoongi grins, closing the door again with a nudge of his foot. “Too close,” he agrees, voice low and teasing, as he leans in to steal a quick kiss. “But I’m not done yet.”

“Wha—” The question barely leaves your mouth before Yoongi’s hands are on your shoulders, turning you smoothly so that you’re facing the file cabinet.

“Remember when we were building this very cabinet?” His voice has dropped even lower now, sending a shiver down your spine.

You blink, thrown by the sudden shift. “Yeah?” Your hands are guided to grip the top corners of the cabinet, and your breath catches. What is he doing?

Yoongi doesn’t give you time to process. His voice slides closer, warm against the back of your neck. “What were you doing then?”

You frown slightly, the question catching you off guard. “Nothing…” you say, but it comes out uncertain, more like a question than an answer.

Without warning, his palm connects with your ass—firm, but playful. You gasp, more out of surprise than pain, and turn your head to find him wearing that lopsided grin that drives you crazy. “Ddaeng,” he chimes, the word rolling off his tongue with a playful edge. “Try again.”

“I was—I was helping you,” you say, though your voice is wavering.

“Ddaeng,” he says again, the second slap sharper this time. “You did jack shit. C’mon, jagi, use your pretty little brain…”

“Fuck,” you mutter, feeling your face flush. “I was… I was looking at your hands.”

Yoongi nods approvingly, his grin deepening. “And why were you doing that, hmm?”

You hesitate, your heart thumping harder, not from nerves, but from the way he’s pushing you. You know the answer. 

“Because…” You swallow the admission heavy on your tongue, deciding to go the other way instead. “You were taking too long to build it.”

SLAP! “Ddaeng,” the third is much more deliciously painful now, your bum soothed by his large palms. “Huh, I think my jagi enjoys being spanked.” He licks the shell of your ear, making your knees buckle, and his voice comes through in a suspiciously calm tone, “Lie to me again and I’m going to step out this door and leave you here dripping. I bet you’re already wet.”

“Drier than the air in Daegu.” You jest, even as your lips tremble.

You squirm as he pins you against the cabinet, his hand making quick work of the top button of your linen pants. Things are happening so fast. His hand disappears inside, hooks your panties to the side and dips one finger shallowly at your entrance. God you wanna scream.

You squirm some more, but he’s got you pressed up, not enough to hurt you, but enough to limit your movements.

“Liar,” he chuckles darkly. In one quick motion his hand flies out of your pants and goes into his mouth, tasting you. You can literally smell the heady scent of your arousal filling the tiny space, making you needy for some relief.

“Yoongi,” you whine, trying to throw your ass back against his crotch. “Baby, please…”

“Why were you looking at my hands…” he jerks back, not giving you any relief, and asks again. “What do you want me to do with them?”

“I want you to put them inside me.”

“Hmm, what else…” he starts to unbutton your blouse again, not all the way, but so he can yank one of the cups of your bra to tease a nipple.

A flick from his moist finger and you’re already writhing in desperation.

“I want them stuffed in my mouth, and—shit—my pussy. I want them… choking me.”

“Naughty girl,” he tsks, pinching your nipple between his deft fingers, eliciting a moan from you. You feel his warm breath against your ear, teasing you. “Shhh…. I thought we were gonna keep things professional.”

Christ. He knows how sensitive your nipples are and he’s getting you so worked up again you might go criminally insane. You somehow manage to reply.

“I need you…” you whimper. “To fuck me with your fingers.” another whine. “Like a goddamn professional.”

“So bossy,” he chuckles, as his other hand dips under the waistband of your panties, past your fine hairs, and into your waiting folds. His middle finger immediately finds your clit and starts rubbing it in circles. “How’s this?”

You nod, and you gulp, and you stutter, “Good, s-so good.”

Because fuck, everything just feels so damn good. Bones softening, you are merely putty in his hands. Those sinful hands that are coated with your juices, moving in sync to bring you to your demise.

He envelops your ear with his mouth, hot breath further fanning the flames in your core. The way you can hear the sounds of his licks and soft grunts in fuckin’ Dolby atmos–oh my god.

Without any warning, he plunges two fingers in your entrance, your walls immediately sucking them in. 

“You’re soaked, jagi,” he husks, large hands pushing your breasts together under your bra, to give you another sensation to enjoy.

His knee nudges yours to close the gap between your feet, and, when you do, everything in your pussy feels even more wonderfully snug. His thumb provides the perfect pressure against your clit, while his fingers move in and out of your cunt with noisy squelches that are bouncing off the walls of the tiny room.

“Am I completing the task to your liking?” he asks teasingly, even though he can feel every proof of his job well done with the way your body is vibrating against him.

“Shit, y-yeah,” you breathe out, turning your head to the side, so you can try to capture his lips. He lets you have it, twirling his tongue against yours.

Mouths still connected, he thrusts against your ass, and his fingers go in much, much deeper. Yoongi swallows your moans as you grip the edge of the cabinet, holding on to your life.

“M close,” you plead. “Don’t stop.”

He sets a staggering pace with his fingers inside your clenching walls, thumb repeatedly bumping your bundle of nerves.

His other hand creeps up your neck towards your chin and your mouth immediately chases it, taking his thumb inside your mouth like a goddamn fiend as the rest of his fingers cradle your jaw.

Salt on your tongue, sweat on your back, slick against your core, a cacophony of pleasure keeps building in record speed until you can’t take it anymore.

“Take it, jagi.” Yoongi says. “Take it like a good fuckin’ girl.”

Finally, the threads keeping your sanity intact finally snaps and a rush of euphoria overcomes you. Yoongi attaches his mouth on the sensitive part under your ear, sucking softly while you come undone against him. An arm circles your waist as he lets you ride the wave, murmuring praise against your skin.

“Remind me to keep wet wipes here,” Yoongi says jokingly as he helps you button up your blouse.

“I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

So much for keeping things professional.

Wait—it’s not like you’ve started fucking on the reg at work. Sure there was that time in the file closet (Monday), but that was it. You still pride yourself as a dutiful professional and want to ensure your blossoming relationship is not going to get in the way of your productivity.

But since that closet tryst, you haven’t really done much inside or outside the office. He hasn’t invited you again to his apartment and you haven’t asked him to come to yours. Granted it’s only been a few days, and you did say you were going to take it slow, but tbh, you were already feeling kinda needy.

The problem is, it’s early enough in your sex life that you still know your tally and it’s 4:1. That’s the ratio of orgasms–yours to his. You are lucky he is such a generous lover, but you need to tip the scale in his favor, and fast.

It’s thirsty Thursday. For you, at least. The moment he invites you to the breakroom for your usual shit afternoon coffee, your horny brain immediately concocts a little plan of action.

See that area behind the counter, that’s a CCTV blind spot. It’s quiet, it’s not secluded but the counter is high enough and if you open the bottom cabinet door, you get some extra shield.

“You know you’re asking for trouble, right?” he shakes his head at you, before running his hand through his hair.

You are already palming him against his trousers, biting your lip as you feel his erection grow with each pass.

“Trouble’s my specialty, remember?,” you reply, your tone light, playful.

“Mmh, jagi, fuck–” he slaps his palm on the countertop, bowing his head to watch your hand hasten its strokes. But just as you’re about to kneel, the door swings open. Fuck. You both pull back like teenagers caught sneaking out, your heart dropping into your stomach as Danbi walks in. Her eyes widen at the sight of the two of you—close, too close.

“Oh. I didn’t realize anyone was in here,” she says what is so obviously an outright lie. You can feel her gaze flick between you and Yoongi, curiosity practically radiating off her.

You walk towards the fridge on the other side of the room, forcing a neutral smile. “Just grabbing some snacks,” you say, even though your stomach’s in knots.

Danbi raises an eyebrow, but then her attention shifts fully to Yoongi. “I don’t think we’ve met,” she says, all sweet smiles as she extends a hand. “I’m Choi Danbi from Accounting.”

Yoongi takes her hand, but his expression doesn’t shift—polite, but distant. “Min Yoongi,” he says, his tone cool, relaxed, as if he is not sporting a semi from behind the counter.

And then, Danbi does the thing that makes you cringe to your core.

“So, Yoongi, do you believe in love at first sight, or should I walk by again?”

You fight the urge to roll your eyes so hard they’d never come back. Yoongi, though, doesn’t flinch. He releases her hand and his guarded expression unchanged.

“Not really,” he says flatly. “I’m more of a ‘get to know someone’ kind of guy.”

Danbi’s eyes brighten, completely missing the hint because she is a daft cow. “Well, then—why don’t we? You know, get to know each other. Could be fun.”

Oh, for fuck’s sake! 

You grit your teeth, trying not to let your irritation show as you slam the fridge door, glass bottles inside saluting each other. But Yoongi doesn’t miss a beat, his expression still calm, still unreadable.

“I appreciate the offer,” he says smoothly, keeping his tone light, “but I’m not interested in doing that. Sorry.” His eyes flick to you for just a second—quick, but deliberate.

Danbi’s smile falters. Her eyes follow Yoongi’s glance to you, and something odd flickers across her face. She forces out a laugh, backing up toward the door. “Right. Well, can’t blame a girl for trying.”

Yoongi nods politely, but his attention is already drifting back to you.

The moment the door clicks shut behind her, you let out a frustrated sigh. “What the hell was that?”

Yoongi shrugs, clearly unfazed. “People shoot their shot. No big deal.”

“No big deal?” You raise your eyebrows, crossing your arms as you glare at him. “That was straight-up workplace harassment.”

He chuckles, amused by your frustration. “Are you jealous?”

“Jealous? No. Annoyed? Hell yes.”

He smirks, pulling you by the wrist back to your shared office. People walking down the hallway may see you, but at the moment you are a raging bull. You’re still fuming, muttering about Danbi’s persistence and her complete lack of subtlety, but Yoongi stays quiet, listening as you rant. By the time you step into the office, your nerves are on edge, and you can feel the heat of your frustration bubbling over.

But the second you’re both inside, Yoongi pulls you into his arms. No warning, no hesitation. His grip is firm, grounding, and despite yourself, your body softens against him.

“Jagiya,” he murmurs sweetly against your hair. “Relax.”

You try to stay annoyed, but Yoongi’s tone, his steady heartbeat under your cheek, makes it difficult. He leans back slightly, his hands slipping to your waist as he looks down at you, a soft smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “You know I’m all yours, right?”

You look up at him, biting back the last of your frustration. “I know. It’s just… she was so pushy.”

He nods, his thumbs brushing your sides in a calming rhythm. “She was. But it didn’t change anything.” His voice drops lower, more serious now. “It’s still you.”

You look into his eyes, seeing the sincerity there, the quiet confidence in his voice. You’ve known this for a while now, but hearing him say it—feeling him say it—it hits different.

Something shifts inside you. That underlying fear you’ve been holding onto, the doubt that maybe you’re just a phase for him, gone. 

You’re all in.

Before you can say anything, Yoongi presses his lips to your forehead, his arms tightening around you, his touch both protective and possessive in the best way. “You good?” 

You nod against his chest, smiling to yourself. “Yeah. I’m good.” And for the first time, you really believe it.

As you pull back to meet his gaze, a smirk tugs at your lips. “You know, you could’ve shut her down sooner.”

Yoongi grins, thumb tracing the edge of your jaw. “Thought you might like to watch me handle it.”

You laugh, swatting his arm. “Next time, I’ll just handle it myself.”

He chuckles, shoulders bobbing as he pulls you back into his arms. “Can’t wait to see that.”

You lean into his embrace, letting the last of your frustration fade. In this moment, it’s just you and him. Everything else? Background noise.

Because you’re in it. All the way.

Notes: Phew! So… how are we? Gosh, this was honestly a beast to write for me. Did you like the chapter? Hate it? I’d love your feedback. Let's have fun in the comments!!! :)

Taglist:

@glossdebut @kam9404 @mar-lo-pap @nnybtitts08 @granataepfelchen

@perfectiondazesworld @wobblewobble822 @yoongznme @caressesurloceanlove @rinkud

@kayleefriedchicken @jajabro @tinytan-gerine @xxbibin1208 @forevercarpediem227

@yoongicatagenda @someshinesomedont @marnz1990 @iheartshopping @confidentjus

@queenbloody @whydoeyecare @sadroses98 @curlyquennn

@sexytholland @kiki-zb @hiddlestandom @babyarmybabbles @medicinemybish

[httpswritings]

When you know, you know

alexia putellas x reader

The air crackled with unspoken words as you sat across from Alexia. The day had been heavy with the weight of the inevitable. Breaking up, even when mutually agreed upon, felt like a gut punch. You both knew it was the right decision, a path divergence that would lead each of you towards a better fit, yet the finality of it all stung.

The conversation, initially civil, had frayed at the edges. Emotions flared, accusations flew – a desperate attempt to make sense of the ending, to assign blame where none existed. In the heat of the moment, harsh words were exchanged, leaving a bitter taste in your mouth. Now, a tense silence hung heavy between you, punctuated only by the rhythmic ticking of the clock.

An awkward cohabitation loomed large. You'd agreed to remain under the same roof for the time being, a practicality born of messy leases and intertwined lives. But how would you navigate this new normal, sharing a space yet existing in separate emotional universes? The once familiar living room felt alien, a minefield of memories and unspoken tension. The air itself seemed thick with the weight of what had been and the uncertainty of what lay ahead.

The weight of the fight hung heavy in the air long after Alexia stormed from the living room. Despite the bitter words exchanged, neither of you made a move to leave. The break-up conversation, intended to be amicable, had spiraled into a heated exchange.

Though you weren't from Barcelona and navigating a new apartment search would be stressful, you'd offered to stay somewhere else to ease the burden on Alexia. Those past months had been particularly challenging for her, and the last thing you wanted was to add to them.

Perhaps it was the comfort of familiarity, the unspoken language built during your time together. Maybe it was the strange security of knowing if the other started seeing someone new. Whatever the reason, a silent agreement hung in the air. Living under the same roof felt absurd, yet the alternative felt even more daunting. So, amidst the wreckage of your relationship, you settled into an awkward cohabitation, two souls existing in separate emotional universes within the confines of a single home.

The initial days were a tightrope walk of tension. You'd retreated to the guest room, leaving the once-shared haven to Alexia. Seeing you pack your belongings was like watching a slow tear through the tapestry of your relationship. Her eyes welled up as she caught a glimpse of the nightstand – the lonely space where your teddy bear, a gift from her at the very beginning, no longer resided. Its oversized red heart, emblazoned with "I Love You," now felt like a cruel taunt.

Doubt gnawed at Alexia. Had you truly discarded the bear, a symbol of your budding love? One evening, curiosity, laced with a sliver of hope, propelled her towards your new room. Her heart did a little skip when she saw it – the bear, nestled on the right side of the bed just like before. A bittersweet smile touched her lips. It was a small gesture, a silent whisper in the storm of their broken relationship, but it spoke volumes. Perhaps, amidst the hurt, a sliver of affection still lingered.

The initial hostility was suffocating. Forced proximity turned the once comfortable apartment into a minefield of unspoken words and stolen glances. Mornings in the kitchen were a ballet of averted eyes and slammed cabinets, hallway encounters reduced to a curt nod and a dip in the gaze. Pride, that stubborn wall, held strong, fueled by the embers of anger.

Weeks bled into one another, and the sharp edges of your resentment softened. A tentative peace settled between you two, punctuated only by the quiet hum of your separate lives. Alexia, consumed by a silent curiosity, decided to test the waters as she saw you getting ready to leave for a girl's' night.

"You know," she began, her voice surprisingly steady, “I'm okay with you bringing someone home. Just so you know.”

The words hung in the air, a challenge cloaked in nonchalance. You stared at her, processing the implications. Anger? Disappointment? A bewildering cocktail of emotions bubbled within you.

“Alexia. Do you really think the feelings I have for your have gone away this fast?

Her reply was a pregnant silence, but a flicker of something – was it hope? – danced in her eyes. Unable to bear the weight of her unspoken words, you stormed out, slamming the door behind you.

The night deepened. Alexia finished dinner and drifted off to sleep. Waking up to sunlight filtering through her window, she noticed your room was still open. A pang of curiosity hit her. Had you stayed out late? Maybe you met someone interesting last night. It was completely fine, you were free to do what you wanted. Still, a tiny part of her couldn't help but wonder. Could you still have feelings for her, yet be drawn to someone new?

Jealousy radiated from her. The thought of someone else touching you, holding you, kissing you, and making love to you as she once did made her uneasy. Alexia wanted you to be hers, unaware that you still were, even though you didn’t need to be. Knowing you were a woman, she grew anxious, worried that something might have happened to you on your way home.

The floorboards creaked a soft rhythm as Alexia paced the house. Her worry lines smoothed as she peeked into the living room. There you were, sprawled on the sofa, a picture of peaceful slumber. Relief washed over her. You were okay.

Tentatively, she approached. With gentle hands, she nudged your shoulder. Still clinging to the last threads of sleep, you mumbled a request to be carried to bed. A small smile played on Alexia's lips as she complied, glad you were safe and sound.

The memory flickered – a familiar warmth, the feel of you nestled against her. Back when you were together, nights ended like this. Gently, she cradled you, the weight a bittersweet echo of those shared moments. In your room, now tinged with a different kind of warmth, she placed you on your side of the bed. A sleepy murmur escaped your lips, a protest about your usual spot.

Half-conscious, the words faded before fully forming. A ghost of a smile played on Alexia's lips. With the reverence one offers a precious artifact, she tucked the covers around you. Her gaze lingered, tracing the contours of your face, a soft smile blooming on her own. "Sweet dreams, princesa," she whispered, the endearment carrying the weight of what they once were. A faint echo of your voice filled the space, a sleepy response, "...my love..."

Stifling a sob that threatened to shatter the quiet night, Alexia fled to the sanctuary of the bathroom. Tears welled up, silent and stinging, as she grappled with the hollowness of your absence.

A primal yearning gnawed at her. The warmth of your body pressed against hers, the whisper of your kisses, the way your fingers would graze her hip in a silent conversation as you made breakfast together – all of it felt like a phantom limb, aching for a touch that wasn't there.

Giving gifts, showering you with tangible expressions of her affection, used to be her way of speaking. It was a frustration that echoed the silence in her heart. How could mere words ever capture the sunrise glow on your face or the depth of her longing?

Hours bled into one another as she battled the storm within. Emerging from the bathroom, a ghost of her usual self, she ventured towards the kitchen, bracing for the emptiness. Instead, the sight of you, already making breakfast, stole her breath away. The ache in her chest intensified, a bittersweet cocktail of relief and a renewed pang of what she'd almost lost.

Alarmed by the sight of Alexia's puffy eyes, you rushed to her side. “What happened?“ you asked, concern etching lines on your forehead.

Caught off guard by your early presence, she mumbled, “Just some frustration with these injuries.“ Her voice trembled, on the brink of breaking. But before a single tear could fall, you were there, enveloping her in a warm embrace.

"Shhh, it's okay, Ale," you whispered, your voice a soothing balm. "Cry it out. I've got you." Alexia rarely cried, and when she did, it meant the hurt ran deep. Witnessing her vulnerability only intensified your worry.

She clung to you desperately, as if fearing you might vanish. "Don't let go..." The raw emotion in her cracked voice sent a pang through your heart.

"I won't," you vowed, tightening your hold. "Never. I'm here, and I'll always be here, no matter what."

Her grip on you intensified. "Bebé..." she murmured, your endearing nickname a silent plea.

Your gentle nature, her greatest weakness, began to melt her defenses. "I missed you..." she confessed, her voice barely above a whisper.

A smile tugged at your lips. The dam had broken, and now it was your turn to hold on tight. "I missed you too, more than you know."

Just as Alexia, with a sigh, started to pull away, your phone shattered the quiet moment. You held up a hand, silencing the insistent ring.

A watery smile graced her lips as she met your gaze. "They can wait, right?" she said, her voice thick with emotion.

There was a vulnerability in her glistening eyes, a depth that took your breath away. "I hate seeing you cry," you began, leaning in close. "But these eyes..." you trailed off, searching for the right words.

Alexia wouldn't let you finish. Her lips met yours in a kiss, a desperate yearning conveyed in the press of her mouth. The insistent ringing faded into the background as she deepened the kiss, a silent plea for comfort and connection.

With a playful laugh, she swatted at your ringing phone as you led her towards the bedroom. "A few hours can't hurt," she teased, her voice husky with emotion.

"A few hours?" you countered, a grin spreading across your face. "Try forever. You have no idea how much I've missed you."

Hours melted away as you and Alexia surrendered to each other. Exhaustion tugged at both of you, a pleasant languor that whispered of sleep. Yet, neither of you was ready to let go just yet.

You shifted, hovering above her, your hand tracing a gentle path across her skin. A soft sigh escaped her lips, "Amor..." she murmured, the word a caress in the quiet room.

A smile tugged at the corner of your mouth. "Yes," you breathed, leaning down, "keep calling me that." Your voice was a low rumble, sending shivers down her spine.

The night stretched before you, filled not just with physical intimacy, but with the quiet comfort of being together again.

[eatmyheartoutjpg]

𓇻 𝗚𝗘𝗡𝗘𝗥𝗔𝗟 𝗛𝗖'𝘀 ᵃᵐᵇᵉˢˢᵃ ᵐᵉᵈᵃʳᵈᵃ ˣ ᵍⁿ ʳᵉᵃᵈᵉʳ

𝙎𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮 ;; Headcanon. Romantic/Wholesome. SFW. Overall just Ambessa Medarda with you and your relationship dynamic. 𝘼/𝙉 ;; First Arcane fic here! I hope you guys enjoy! Might add onto this if it's really liked.

11.21.24 Masterlist

— Ambessa never outright claimed to be with you, but everyone knew. It was impossible to ignore the way she looked at you, how her piercing, commanding gaze always softened in your presence. The unspoken bond between you was clear, even to the most casual observer. — She was undeniably fond of you.

— Though you weren’t dating, engaged, or married, the connection between you two was undeniable. You spent an absurd amount of time together, always by her side, offering her your company whether it was necessary or not.

— You weren’t a servant or a subordinate—don’t get it twisted. You were much more than that. A close, trusted companion and perhaps something more—though Ambessa would never admit to loving you.

— Ambessa valued you too deeply to treat you as anything less than an equal, refusing to order you around or regard you as just another soldier under her command. — She called it “fondness,” never putting a more specific label on her emotions. For her, it was simpler that way. It wasn’t a romantic love, nor was it sexual desire. What she desired was your presence alone. You were her calm. — For example, during her rare moments of downtime, such as lounging on a couch and indulging in fresh grapes, she’d still ask for your company. To her, it didn’t matter what she was doing—whether doing paperwork, working out, indulging in wine, or doing absolutely nothing—you needed to be there. Your presence was as essential to her.

— This respect and value she placed on you extended far beyond what others might have expected. Ambessa, known for her formidable strength and unshakable pride, showed refusal in indulgence. She avoided the temptations of foreign escorts or other offered pleasures, choosing instead to keep her dignity intact when you were around. She wouldn’t dare lower herself in your eyes. — Instead, when on expeditions in foreign lands, she turned her attention to things she thought you might enjoy.

— During a visit to Piltover, for instance, to see her daughter, Mel Medarda, Ambessa chose not to indulge in distractions. She dismissed her guards and subordinates, deciding instead to explore the city with only you by her side. It was a quiet, intimate moment—just the two of you walking through the bustling streets. — Mel was unsurprised to see you. She had grown accustomed to your constant presence in her mother’s life, even before her exile. In truth, Mel recognized the subtle influence you had on Ambessa—a thread of reason tying her to humanity. If you weren’t there, Mel believed, a few more heads might have rolled over the years.

— And yet, you didn’t seem disturbed by Ambessa’s brutality. At most, you were slightly unsettled, but you understood her. You saw the reasons behind her actions. That was enough for you.

— You accepted her for who she was, flaws and all, offering her something she rarely allowed herself: unconditional companionship — You’ve become her moral compass in a way she’d never admit. She catches herself pausing before making decisions, wondering how you’d react or whether you’d approve. — You’ve introduced her to softer moments in life. For example, you’ve convinced her to take small breaks to watch sunsets, sit by the waters, or enjoy simpler meals without grand banquets. She doesn’t say it, but these are some of her favorite moments. — Because of you, she has developed a subtle patience. Where she once might have resorted to immediate, bloody solutions, she now considers alternatives—though she’ll always default to force if her hand is forced.

— Ambessa doesn’t openly show affection, but her actions speak volumes. She remembers every small detail about you—your favorite foods, your preferred wine, the exact temperature you like your tea—and ensures they're always available wherever you go.

— She doesn’t say it outright, but she makes sure you're warm in cold climates by draping her signature red cloak over your shoulders.

— Ambessa always positions herself between you and potential threats, even in mundane situations like crowded markets or political meetings. Her protective nature is subtle but unyielding, her large figure easily covering you. — Whenever she returns from a journey without you, she always brings back a small token—a beautifully carved trinket, a rare flower, or a piece of jewelry she claims “caught her eye”

ˢᵉᵛᵉⁿ

[valkyrieromanoff]

God bless your dad's genetics… Dilf! Anakin x son’s girlfriend!reader

NEXT

CHAPTER ONE: CRUISE

synopsis: when your best friend Luke asks you to pose as his girlfriend during his parents' 25th wedding anniversary cruise, you reluctantly agree. After all, you're single, he's desperate, and who can say no to an all-expenses-paid getaway? But what starts as a simple favor spirals into a tangled web of awkward introductions, suspicious relatives, and one undeniable complication: your growing, utterly inappropriate crush on Luke’s father, Anakin. Surrounded by the charming and chaotic Skywalker family, you’re forced to navigate the tricky waters of pretense, loyalty, and a passion you never saw coming.

warning: age gap (Anakin is 44 years old and the reader is in her early 20s), cheating, alternate universe, that's it for now, I'll add more warnings when the next chapters come out.

words: 1.1k

a/n: I confess that I've had this idea marinating for a while, and now seeing the latest photos of Hayden at comic-con, he's so dad coded. So, I decided to take a chance and start a story, I don't know how many chapters there will be yet, but I'm excited to see where it will take us... Slightly inspired by Fuck your boyfriend('s dad) by forcemeanakin, I'm obsessed with her writing… Anyway, that's it, I hope you like it ;)

CHAPTER ONE: CRUISE

you were meant for me to find

it's out of my hands

there's nothing left to do but

cruise and just enjoy the ride

“Wait a second, let me get this straight…” you interrupted Luke, raising your hands to halt his rapid-fire explanation. He’d been talking non-stop for nearly five minutes, and you were still struggling to piece it all together. “You want me to pretend to be your girlfriend at your parents’ 25th wedding anniversary? Why on earth do you even need a fake girlfriend?” You adjusted yourself on the bed, pulling a pillow against your chest for comfort, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

Luke let out a long, dramatic sigh, raking a hand through his messy blond hair. “You know how my parents are… always in my business. And now with Leia bringing her boyfriend, I just don’t want to be the only one showing up alone.” He looked at you with those pleading puppy-dog eyes, his voice softening. “Come on, just this once. Please? Didn’t you say you wanted to go on a cruise someday? Here’s your chance.”

You arched an amused eyebrow. “So, what—you’re trying to bribe me now?”

Luke shifted uncomfortably, fiddling with a loose thread on his jacket. “Well, when you put it like that…” he muttered sheepishly. “Look, I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important. I—I trust you, okay? You’re the only person I can count on for this.”

His desperation was hard to ignore. You exhaled slowly, shaking your head. “Fine, I’ll do it,” you said, a reluctant smile tugging at your lips. “But only because of the all-inclusive package. Don’t think this means I approve of your ridiculous plan.”

A grin split across Luke’s face as he lunged forward to hug you. “Thank you! Seriously, you’re saving my life here.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you muttered, pushing him back playfully. “But if this backfires, you owe me big time.”

Luke hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck. “Right, um… about that. I might have already put your name on the guest list.” 

Your eyes narrowed as you shoved his shoulder. “You what? Idiot.”

---

Now, a few days later, you found yourself standing on the pier, the midday sun beating down mercilessly. You checked your phone for the third time, scrolling through messages with a faint scowl. Still no word from Luke. If he left you waiting much longer, you were seriously going to kill him.

“Hey!” His voice cut through the buzz of the crowded dock. You turned to see him jogging toward you, a backpack slung casually over one shoulder. He looked a little too cheerful for someone who had left you baking in the sun.

“You’re late,” you called, crossing your arms as he approached. 

“Fashionably,” he quipped with a smirk, completely unbothered by your glare.

“thought you’d forgotten about me,” you teased, elbowing Luke lightly in the chest as he finally reached you.

Luke shrugged, offering a sheepish grin. “Blame my parents. They were running late because my dad accidentally packed the wrong suitcase for my mom. Total chaos—everyone was scrambling to fix it.”

You chuckled, imagining the scene. Though you hadn’t met Luke’s family yet, you’d heard plenty about them over the years. His parents were something of a legend in his stories: the perfect, if sometimes chaotic, couple who’d married young and raised twins.  

Padmé Amidala, Luke’s mother, was a force of nature. A federal deputy and professor of International Relations, she somehow juggled her demanding career with being a devoted wife and mother. Strong, brilliant, and endlessly busy, yet always managing to prioritize her family.

Anakin Skywalker, Luke’s father, was no less impressive. A retired army general, he’d left his military career after the twins were born to focus on raising them. Luke often spoke of how his dad spent hours tinkering in their garage, restoring vintage cars and building gadgets—a far cry from his days in uniform.

“Come on, let’s get moving,” Luke said, snapping you out of your thoughts. He grabbed the handle of his own suitcase and motioned toward the massive cruise ship docked ahead. 

You followed, letting him lead the way. The pier was packed with elegantly dressed guests, most of whom were likely Padmé’s colleagues—senators, representatives, and a mix of politicians from all corners. The line to board snaked back farther than you could see. 

“Do we really have to wait through all this?” you asked, eyeing the crowd and clutching the handle of your wheeled suitcase. 

Luke shot you a sly grin. “We don’t wait in lines.”

Before you could ask what he meant, he veered off toward the front of the queue, guiding you toward a set of stairs reserved for VIPs. You followed, struggling a little as your suitcase bumped against the steps. 

"Luke, get your girlfriend's suitcase," a strong, masculine voice called out from behind you, deep and commanding yet tinged with warmth. "Otherwise, she'll think I didn’t teach you how to be a gentleman."

Startled, you turned toward the source of the voice just as Luke, already at the top of the stairs, groaned in exasperation. He glanced back with a tired expression but made no move to help. 

“It’s okay, really, it’s not heavy,” you mumbled shyly, gripping the handle of your suitcase a little tighter. But as your eyes met the man addressing Luke, the words caught in your throat. 

Your lips parted slightly in disbelief. Gods… what a man. 

Standing before you was, without a doubt, the most stunning man you’d ever seen. Anakin Skywalker. His angular face was framed by sandy blond hair, slightly tousled with subtle waves that gave him a rugged charm. His piercing blue eyes—so vivid and expressive they seemed to pull you into a storm—were framed by faint lines that hinted at years of experience and a life well-lived. His presence was magnetic, his confident stance and the faint smirk on his lips radiating an almost effortless allure.  

“Come on, I insist,” Anakin said, his voice softening as he stepped closer. He reached out and gently took the suitcase from your hand before you could protest. His touch lingered just briefly, and the warmth of his hand sent a flicker of heat up your arm. “Not heavy, huh?” he teased with a wink, his tone laced with amusement.  

You managed a weak nod, your heart racing as you watched him carry your suitcase up the stairs with ease. Every movement was graceful, effortless, as though he hadn’t spent years off the battlefield but still carried himself like he could command a room—or a galaxy. 

Luke rolled his eyes at his father’s display, muttering under his breath. “Show off.”

Ignoring him, Anakin reached the top of the stairs and set your suitcase down carefully before glancing back at you with an easy smile. “Welcome aboard,” he said, his voice warm and inviting.  

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to keep your expression neutral, but your mind was racing. What the hell have you just gotten yourself into?

[nanamiscocksleeve]

Can I be the Snoflake emoji? :D Requesting a 15...of Zayne AND Dawnbreaker Zayne somehow?

Hello! Yes you can be my snowflake anon! I'll update the emoji list. Now, I almost said no to this because I have a Dawnbreaker and Zayne threesome fic I'm working on with a very similar concept but I can't help myself, I'd religiously be taking cock everyday from these 2 if I could.

So if there are some similarities spotted between this and my other fic, pardon. I just really like both of them.

DVP

--------

Sex had always been a two person act according to you. You'd never wanted anyone else, not with Zayne satisfying your every need so thoroughly, not to mention his possessive streak.

So what the fuck were you doing, allowing Zayne's doppleganger to pull off your shirt as he gently traces your smooth skin reverently. This alternate dimension with Zayne's future self was mindboggling. You can see the differences between him and Dawnbreaker as plain as day and night.

Zayne's eyes hold tenderness for you, his girlfriend of many years, while Dawnbreaker's look at you with longing, like a man finding an oasis after wandering the desert. And both of them wanted you equally. Zayne had been thrown off when you both saw him at first but after hearing his story, it appeared that his mind had softened for his alter ego.

"I love her too, and I never thought I'd have her in my life," Dawnbreaker had whispered, gazing at you with those haunted eyes that made your heart ache for him. And somehow, Zayne had yielded, perhaps because in his mind, he was giving you to himself. You doubted he would have gone through with this if it was someone else.

And now you're having your first threesome, except it was with the same man you'd been sleeping with, copied, and feeling the same way Zayne did. It was so arousing, having two of him, with none of the awkwardness of a threesome because you knew him and what to expect.

Still, your body shivers as both Dawnbreaker and Zayne take one of your nipples into their mouths, their lips and tongue feeling similar but flicking different patterns onto the heardened peaks. You whine against the dual stimulation. One Zayne left you satisfied and warm. Two was going to break you, you were certain, in the most delicious way possible.

They suckle and pull, two pairs of hands roaming over your skin, squeezing and stroking every inch of you. Dawnbreaker is under a spell, marveling at the softness of your skin and the taste of your breast as he leaves a mark on the swell of flesh before kissing his way down to your navel, dipping his hot tongue into the little depression, making your squirm with need. Zayne reassuringly pets your hair before pulls you back against his chest, and he grips your thighs, spreading them apart for Dawnbreaker.

A flush erupts over your skin as he completely exposes you to Dawnbreaker's attentive eyes which widen at the sight, seeing the glistening membranes, and the proud little pearl peaking out of your folds at the apex.

"Suck it, like you did her nipple." Zayne issues the advice softly and Dawnbreaker, feeling his mouth water at the sight, obliges, running his tongue between your folds, making you sigh before sealing his lips over your clit. Your body is sensitized and your arousal keeps mounting, the knowledge that these two men were so utterly consumed with you and eager to bring ecstasy into your veins.

You moan and your hips buck but your legs are firmly held apart by Zayne as he helps Dawnbreaker bring you to your peak. "Does it feel good?" He whispers teasingly in your ear and you nod breathlessly.

"It's just like you," you admit then bite your lip as Dawnbreaker slips his fingers into your fluttering hole. His fingers work up a tantalizing rhythm inside you and your eyes squeeze closed and you let out a broken mewl as you cum so satifyingly on his fingers. Dawbreaker crawls up to kiss you and you're sandwiched between the two men.

"I think you can take both of us," Zayne purrs seductively and you're shifted so that you're laying on top of Dawnbreaker. As primal instinct takes over, you raise your hips and start taking his cock into you, feeling a rush at the way Dawnbreaker's eyes go wide as your velvety wetness envelopes him, welcoming him into your heat. He seems unsure what to do but you shush him and start to ride, and his head falls back as he lets out a groan.

Zayne embraces you from behind, kissing the back of your neck and fondling your breasts before leaning you onto Dawnbreaker's chard chest. You gasp as you feel him enter you, gently pushing past the muscle and filling your channel alongside Dawnbreaker. The headiness of being so full, so stretched and used draws a shuddering cry from you. Their cocks move in tendem inside you, strokng your walls and pushing you to the brink, caressing your gspot and kissing your cervix with their tips.

Dawnbreaker grunts and Zayne empathizes with his counterpart; of course he didn't know how needy he would become after experiencing you and your delicious cunt. He's barely holding on, teeth gritted from the additional stimulation of having another cock rub against him. He cums first, releasing his load into you as his hands grip your sides. Zayne starts playing with your clit as he thursts and stars form behind your closed eyes as a second orgasm rips through you before Zayne allows himself to climax, his seex mixing with Dawnbreaker's and making a mess in your already sloppy cunt.

[riveroftales]

❦❦❦❦❦❦ 𝐌𝐢𝐤𝐫𝐨𝐤𝐨𝐬𝐦𝐨𝐬 ❦❦❦❦❦❦

"𝖯𝖾𝗋𝗁𝖺𝗉𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗌𝗈𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗇𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝗅𝗈𝗈𝗄𝗌 𝗌𝗈 𝖻𝖾𝖺𝗎𝗍𝗂𝖿𝗎𝗅 𝗂𝗌 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝖻𝖾𝖼𝖺𝗎𝗌𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗌𝖾 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗋𝗌 𝗈𝗋 𝗅𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍, 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗎𝗌"

ғᴇᴍᴀʟᴇ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

“Quit moving so much.” You laughed softly, massaging the shampoo on Sanemi’s scalp.

“You think you can tell me what to do?” He scoffed back.

Sanemi returned home after being away for a mission for almost 3 weeks, and you couldn’t be happier. Being the loving person you were, you instantly drew him a hot bath and was in the process of pampering him.

“You promised me you’d be safe, yet you had the audacity to come back with new scars. I think that speaks for itself.”

Sanemi stayed quiet. He knew it was pointless arguing with you, making a small chuckle leave your lips.

“Is the water still warm?”

“Yeah…”

“That’s good.” You smiled. “Ah! Genya came by earlier.”

Sanemi visibly tensed slightly before he relaxed again under the water.

“He came to deliver a huge basket of ohagi. Poor kid could barely talk to me… I heard he gets really nervous around girls. He looks just like you, actually! His eyes are just a lil’ bigger and his hair’s longer and black, but you two are a splitting image! He said the ohagi was for you.”

“Did he?” The way Sanemi’s voice had dropped didn’t go unnoticed by you.

“Love, he cares, you know?” You leaned closer, placing a small kiss on his shoulder, dipping both your hands in the water to wash the lather off. “He’s been trying for years…”

“‘M just pissed that brat joined the fucking corps… one wrong move, and he could die. That little shit-”

You gently slapped his mouth. “Swear jar.”

A smirk broke out on Sanemi’s perfect features, letting out a scoff.

“You little-”

You smiled before quickly breaking away, trying to make your great escape which failed. He was a hashira. His reflexes were a hundred times better than yours, so he managed to easily grab your wrist before you could get too far and he pulled you closer.

“Hey-!”

You stumbled slightly and fell in the tub as well, but you were still mostly dry since you landed in Sanemi’s arms on top.

“Well hello to you too, Princess.” He snickered playfully before giving you a quick peck.

“Sanemi!” You whined. “‘M all wet!”

“No you’re not.” He suddenly splashed water on you. “This is slightly.” Suddenly tightening his grip on you, he placed one of his hands on the back of your head before flipping you both over, completely drenching you. “Now you’re soaked~”

“You little-” Laughing, you tried to playfully fight him before Sanemi also laughed. He easily pinned both your wrists above your head with one of his hands before the other came up to gently stroke your cheek.

You didn’t bother trying to fight him. Only his favourite sounds — your laughs left your lips. His expression softened into a smile designed by the gods above only for you. His gaze alternated between your adorably perfect lips to your stunning eyes as he slowly leaned in, his lips coming to contact with yours.

“The wisteria trees you planted are pretty.” You smiled, leaning your head on Sanemi’s shoulder.

The moon was at its full glory, shining brightly above you. You two sat next to each other, both in your own nightwear but still sitting on the porch outside because when was the last time you two held hands under the moon light?

“Wanted to make sure you stayed safe when I wasn’t around.” He mumbled, his thumb stroking the back of your hand before he brought your hand up to his lips, kissing each and every one of your knuckles delicately.

Your gaze was so soft he couldn’t believe it. How did someone as harsh as him get a girl who held him every night like he was the most precious thing on earth?

Giving him a smile, you looked back up at the sky.

“Oh! Sanemi! A shooting star!” You excitedly tapped him. “Quickly! Make a wish!”

Sanemi smiled at your adorable childish behaviour, his gaze not leaving you. You tightly shut your eyes, silently making your wish for a few seconds before opening them again.

“Okay! Done!” You smiled. “I wished for you and corps to defeat Muzan and all the demons, while I nurse you back to health!”

“You would do that anyways, dumbass.” His hand ran through your wet hair, ruffling it slightly.

“Yeah, yeah! Whatever. Don’t ruin it for me!” You smacked him slightly with a laugh which only grew louder when he wrapped both his arms around your waist, pulling you to him. “What did you wish for?”

He stayed silent for a bit. “A lifetime.”

“Hm?”

“A lifetime with Genya, where I get enough time to apologise to him and make up for all the times I neglected him… though I doubt that would be possible…”

He looked down to meet your gaze. “And a lifetime with you.”

“A lifetime where no demons exist anymore… I want to give you a life where you’re treated the way you deserve to be, where you never have to go bed hungry or worry financially. I… I want to give you a life where you can…” A small blush rose on his expression. “A life where our kids can look back at and smile at themselves that they had you as a mom, in a world without demons…”

“A world without demons which couldn’t have been achievable without their dad?” You mumbled quietly.

“A world where we don’t have to tell them anything about demons, or the demon slayer corps..”

You looked up at him with nothing but love in your eyes. “What if I love that part? What if I love the fact that my children’s father is a strong man who killed the demon lord?”

“That’d be one hell of a story. He’s still alive.”

Your hand met Sanemi’s chest in a playful slap.

“Hey! Your story is literally the same!”

“Because it’s only okay when I say it, Princess~” He smiled, tilting your head up.

“Meanie.”

“Pretty.”

He leaned down to give you a peck. “Gorgeous… the prettiest girl of My dreams. My one and only lovely girl..”

This time, he kissed you. No peck. His lips lovingly pressed against yours as he gently sucked on your bottom lip.

Your arms wrapped around his neck as you pulled him closer, deepening the kiss.

Sanemi could live with the life he currently had. He didn’t mind it at all. He had you. That was all that mattered.

[moveslikekeithrichards]

making cake for the work potluck it may not be in the bert & ernie cake pan but it is hands down my favorite cake ever

[ID: an old, stained recipe for chocolate sour cream pound cake.

ingredients:

1 1/2 cups butter, softened

3 cups sugar

5 eggs

3 cups all-purpose flour

1/2 cup cocoa

1 teaspoon baking soda

1/4 teaspoon salt

1 (8 ounce) carton commercial sour cream

1 cup boiling water

2 teaspoons vanilla extract

Cream butter; gradually add sugar, beating well. Add eggs, one at a time, beating well after each addition.

Combine flour, cocoa, soda, and salt; add to creamed mixture alternately with sour cream, beginning and ending with flour mixture. Mix well after each addition. Add boiling water, and mix well. Stir in vanilla.

Pour batter into a greased and floured 10-inch tube pan. Bake at 325 degrees for 1 hour and 20 minutes or until cake tests done. Cool cake in pan 10 to 15 minutes; remove from pan, and cool completely. Yield: one 10-inch cake.

the recipe is credited to Mrs. James R. Lineberger from Gastonia, North Carolina, and a handwritten note at the top of the page says "very good."]

[callmedaleelah]

— Pinnacle [ tsukishima kei university au series ]

— i’ve never needed anything more ; you just discovered that you missed his birthday

author’s notes : no mention of (y/n), written in second person pov, semi alternative universe, timeskip!tsukishima, college life, not proofread, english is not my first language

[ masterlist ] | [ ask daleelah go to box box 🐭 ]

It’s a peaceful Sunday morning, around 10 a.m., and after having a quiet breakfast, you pick up your phone to talk to your mom. The conversation begins with updates on your morning until you seize the moment to express something that’s been bothering you.

“I don’t know, Mom. I think I can manage my own meals. I already know the eating schedule, and sometimes I want to cook something for myself too,” you explain, trying to break away from the food deliveries your mom insists on sending three times a day.

“Honey, I just don’t want to bother you with all that. You should focus on your grades,” she replies with her usual reasoning.

You let out a soft huff, dropping onto your bed, staring blankly at the ceiling. Your mom’s words fade into the background as your mind wanders. You feel a small ache in your chest—frustration mixed with guilt.

“I don’t want to burden you either, Mom,” you whisper softly, almost unaware the words slipped out.

There’s a pause on the other end. The silence is weighty, making you regret saying anything at all.

“Alright, honey. Next week, we’ll go visit the nutritionist,” your mom says, breaking the silence with a more thoughtful tone. “If she says you’ve reached your ideal weight and everything looks good, I’ll let you manage your meals. But I’m supervising your groceries.” Her voice softens, showing a small concession.

Relief washes over you, a smile tugging at your lips. “Okay, thanks, Mom.”

After a bit more conversation, your mom finally ends the call, leaving you in a quieter state. You sit up, eyes focused on nothing in particular, thinking about the nutritionist visit. You’ve been working to balance your diet, and you know you’ve been struggling with vitamin deficiencies recently—an issue your mom constantly worries about. The promise of having more control over your meals feels like a small victory.

As you walk to the bathroom, ready to shower and shake off the heaviness of the conversation, your phone buzzes again in your hand. Tsukishima’s name lights up on the screen. You feel a small surge of surprise.

“Hello?” you answer.

“What are you doing right now?” His voice is calm, but there's something playful underneath it.

You smile to yourself. “I was about to take a shower before you called. Why?”

A soft hum comes from his end. “I’m picking you up after. We’re having a movie marathon at my place tonight.”

You blink, slightly taken aback by his straightforwardness. “We are?” you ask, trying to keep your tone light. “That sounds... fun, I guess?”

“Yeah?” He sounds suspicious. “You have other plans?”

“Well, I usually spend Sundays reviewing my notes and preparing for the week,” you admit, feeling awkward about turning him down.

“You’re gonna reject me for studying?” His voice is half-teasing, half-accusing, and you can almost picture him raising an eyebrow.

“Hey, you can’t guilt trip me for prioritizing academic works,” you reply with a whine, though there’s a grin on your face.

He chuckles, the sound low and brief. “Alright, then. I’ll come over, help you with your notes and assignments, and then we’re doing the movie marathon.”

“Why are you so eager for this movie marathon?” you tease. “you’re not busy anymore?”

He sighs at your teasing, his tone turning dry. “Just get in the shower. I’ll be there in ten.”

Before you can say anything else, the line goes dead. You frown, staring at your phone for a second, feeling the familiar mix of confusion and amusement whenever Tsukishima decides things on his own.

Shaking your head, you quickly hop into the shower, the warm water soothing your thoughts. As you step out, towel wrapped around your damp hair, you catch a message from Tsukishima:

I’m here, in front of the gate.

Your heart skips a beat. You quickly towel your hair dry, feeling self-conscious about your appearance. Grabbing your access card, you rush to the gate, still fussing over your damp, messy hair. When you spot Tsukishima, he’s casually scrolling through his phone, looking like he doesn’t have a care in the world.

Without thinking, you grab his hand, dragging him toward the dorm. His eyes widen slightly at the sudden motion, but he follows without protest, his long strides keeping up with your rushed pace.

“What’s wrong with you?” he mumbles as you reach the entrance, his tone a mix of amusement and confusion.

You let out a dramatic sigh, pulling off the towel from your head. “Don’t you see? My hair is a mess. It’s still wet,” you complain, your cheeks warming under his steady gaze.

He glances at your hair and then shrugs, a slight smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “No one cares, though.”

You narrow your eyes at him, crossing your arms in mock annoyance as he casually moves to sit on your bed. There’s a softness in his expression—a faint smile that lingers longer than usual—and something about the way he watches you makes your heart flutter in a way you can’t quite explain.

You sit at the edge of your bed, the early afternoon light filtering through the curtains and casting a soft glow on the room. It feels cozy—quiet, the kind of quiet that makes the space seem intimate and peaceful.

As you dry your hair, your motions are automatic, distracted by the thoughts of the work awaiting you, but Tsukishima, with his typical nonchalant air, interrupts this routine. He catches your hand mid-motion, and for a moment, your eyes meet. His gaze, though masked in his usual cool demeanor, has a playful spark to it. The brief eye contact sends a flutter of confusion through you—why is he playing around like this? Your heart skips slightly as he wraps the towel around your head with a teasing smile, and you groan, twisting away, your cheeks flushing at the sudden closeness.

“What is wrong with you?” you huff, more from embarrassment than frustration. Tsukishima chuckles, and the light sound is warm, like a break in the tension you’ve been carrying. His amusement feels infectious, though you try not to show it, eyes narrowing as you try to hold your ground.

He shifts, changing the atmosphere back to focus. “So, where do we start?” he asks, his tone returning to his usual calm.

You glance toward the desk, still messy from your study sessions. The sight of the scattered papers and open textbooks feels overwhelming, but Tsukishima—always annoyingly unphased—just sighs, opening the first book and flipping through it like it’s second nature to him. You sit down, the chair creaking under your weight, and hand him the list of the week’s syllabus with a soft breath, almost dreading the process.

His fingers graze yours as he takes the list, his touch brief but enough to make you hyper-aware of his presence in this small, cluttered room. You glance at him through the corner of your eye, noting how focused he becomes, eyes narrowing slightly as he begins checking your notes against the topics. The sunlight catches his glasses, making him seem somehow even more distant and aloof. Yet there’s something oddly comforting about it—the way he’s silently helping, the quiet rhythm of the two of you working side by side.

You dive into your own assignment, the tapping of your keyboard filling the air. The room grows warmer as time passes, the afternoon heat creeping in. Despite this, Tsukishima stays focused, the steady flipping of your notes the only indication he’s still there. Occasionally, your eyes dart toward him, wondering how he manages to make even studying seem effortless. His calm presence fills the room, and the usual weight of stress starts to lighten.

“Why do you need to study like this?” he asks suddenly, his voice breaking through the silence. His tone isn’t accusing but genuinely curious.

You glance up at him, blinking in surprise. “Well, since you haven’t realized yet,” you say with a small laugh, trying to ease the vulnerability creeping into your chest, “I’m not naturally smart at this. I have to catch up with everyone else.”

He doesn't respond immediately, but you can feel his gaze on you, thoughtful, like he's contemplating more than just your answer. When he finally speaks, his voice is softer. “No one’s naturally smart at any major. You just have to keep learning.”

It’s a simple statement, but it feels like more than just advice—it’s Tsukishima’s quiet way of telling you that he sees your effort, even if he doesn’t say it outright. His words settle into your chest, making your heart feel just a little lighter. You smile, turning back to your work, but not before catching the way his eyes linger on you for just a second longer, a rare glint of something softer behind his usual aloofness.

You continue typing, the sound filling the room again. The sun has shifted now, the light becoming dimmer, casting longer shadows across the desk. You both sit in comfortable silence, the world outside your window still and quiet. It’s peaceful in a way you hadn’t expected—a shared moment of focus that makes the pressures of your academic struggles feel manageable, even fleeting.

After two hours, Tsukishima closes the notebook and hands you the paper with the syllabus, each point checked off. You murmur a quiet thanks, placing it beside your laptop. But his question hangs in the air, and something about the stillness in the room makes you feel like you need to explain more.

“Well, I didn’t even know this kind of thing existed,” you start, keeping your tone light, though the words feel heavy. “I was never good at math or chemistry in high school. But my mom decided that since I wasn’t good at it, I needed to work harder. She probably wants me to excel at everything,” you laugh, though it doesn’t reach your eyes.

Tsukishima leans back against the headboard, watching you carefully. His eyes, usually so cold and distant, seem softer now, as if he’s seeing through your cheerful front. “And because I’m not naturally good at it, I have to work twice as hard if I want to be decent.”

“Such an academic achiever,” he mumbles, though there’s no bite to his words.

You glance at him, narrowing your eyes suspiciously. “Is that supposed to be a compliment or...?”

He shrugs, his lips quirking into a faint smirk. “Take it however you want.”

Despite yourself, you smile, shaking your head at him. The two of you fall back into silence, but it’s different now—warmer, like the shared weight of your words lingers in the air between you.

Tsukishima glances at your digital clock, noticing it’s midday. He drops your notebook onto the desk, groaning as he stretches behind you. You're so absorbed in your task that you don’t notice him until he wraps his arms playfully around your neck, pulling you out of your chair.

“Hey, stop!” you laugh, squirming, but he drags you up and pushes you onto the bed. Your laugh turns to confusion when you land, sprawled across the mattress.

Before you can get up, Tsukishima jumps onto the bed beside you, ruffling your hair. “You’re so annoying sometimes,” you groan, but the smile on your face betrays your words.

“It’s lunch time, take a break,” he says, shifting comfortably beside you. His arm pulls you closer, and though your heart pounds, the scent of his cologne relaxes you. You look up at him, your fingers unconsciously brushing through his blonde hair. His deep gaze meets yours, soft and unguarded. Your touch is gentle, and Tsukishima closes his eyes, leaning into the sensation.

But the moment is interrupted by the buzz of your phone. You glance at the screen, reading the message from your mom. “I need to get the delivery,” you say, standing up.

“Your mom sent lunch again?” Tsukishima asks, sitting up as you slip on your slippers.

“Yup, and you’re helping me eat it,” you tease before heading out.

When you return with the paper bag, you see Tsukishima organizing your desk, stacking your notes neatly and shutting down your laptop.

“Hey—”

“I saved your work,” he says, glancing over. “Relax.”

You sigh, placing the food on the table. “This is my favorite,” you announce excitedly, opening the containers of chicken popcorn and wings.

The two of you wash your hands at the sink, standing close but quiet, and then sit side by side at the table. Small talk flows easily between bites, the room filling with the warmth of shared conversation and delicious food.

Tsukishima nudges you gently as you finish tying your shoes, his touch more playful than forceful, before pulling you outside your dorm in one swift motion. Before you can react, he’s already grabbing your hand, pulling you toward his car parked nearby.

The ride begins in silence. After a few minutes, you decide to break it, your curiosity getting the best of you. "So… what were you up to yesterday? You said you were busy."

Tsukishima spares a glance at you before answering in his typical nonchalant tone, "Just visiting my family." His answer is short, and for a moment, you’re not sure how to follow up.

You nod, thoughtful. You realize that although you’ve been together for a month, you haven’t really talked about family. The topic feels heavy, almost foreign in the context of your still-growing relationship. For you, discussing your own family is a delicate subject, one you usually avoid. Maybe Tsukishima feels the same?

The car finally comes to a stop, and Tsukishima is quick to unbuckle his seatbelt, getting out and circling to your side. He opens your door, an unexpected gesture that makes your cheeks warm, but you pretend not to notice the effect it has on you.

Inside his apartment, he hands you a pair of slippers, far too big but comfortable nonetheless. You slip them on and can’t help but notice the massive window spanning the wall, offering a breathtaking view of the city, the night sky filled with twinkling lights.

"Make yourself comfortable," he says, gesturing to the couch. "Pick something to watch on Netflix. I’ll make the popcorn."

As you sit down, scrolling aimlessly through titles, you call out to him in the kitchen, “So, do you visit your family often?” You ask, testing the waters.

Tsukishima hums from the kitchen, “Not really. Only when I have time or when they need something.”

You bite your lip, unsure if you should dig deeper. “Are you… close with them?”

He’s quiet for a moment, the sounds of popcorn popping filling the silence. When he finally speaks, his voice is measured. “Close enough.”

Sensing that it might not be the easiest topic for him either, you shift the conversation. “Well, any movie preferences? Or should I surprise you?”

“Surprise me,” he replies, the faint sound of a smile in his voice.

Now, you found yourself flipping through Netflix with a remote in hand, your eyes scanning titles you weren’t even familiar with. Growing up, your mom had strictly limited your screen time, organizing your schedule down to the minute. That habit had stuck with you through high school and into university. So, now that you lived away from home, movies had never really been a priority, and you hadn’t exactly binge-watched anything since. But Tsukishima—he looked like the type to have a curated list of films he enjoyed, and you were sure whatever he picked, you’d end up liking it just because you were watching it with him.

As you scrolled through the selection, you heard a notification ping from Tsukishima’s phone on the table in front of you. “I think someone messaged you,” you said, glancing at the screen.

“Can you read it for me?” came his voice from the kitchen. He was waiting for the popcorn to finish, the sounds of popping kernels filling the background.

You hesitated for a moment, unused to the idea of going through someone else’s phone, but eventually, you picked it up, unlocking the screen. “It’s from… Akiteru? ‘Kei, did you get my present for you? It’s supposed to be delivered this morning to your place,’” you read aloud, frowning slightly.

You didn’t know who this Akiteru person was, but the way they casually called him by his first name made it obvious they were close. Was it a friend? A cousin? Before you could process it further, Tsukishima’s footsteps echoed from behind you.

“Say it again,” he said as he walked into the room, popcorn in hand.

“Huh?” You glanced up at him, confused, and looked back down at his phone. “It’s from Aki—”

“No, my name,” he interrupted, his eyes locked on yours. “Say my name again.”

Your heart skipped a beat, heat rushing to your cheeks as you realized what he was asking. You hadn’t called him by his first name since the two of you started dating. It felt too intimate, too personal—especially when he insisted on keeping things low-key.

You swallowed nervously. “Why?”

“Just say it,” his voice was patient, though you could hear the faint edge of impatience creeping in.

You felt your face grow warmer. Clearing your throat, you finally whispered, “Kei.”

The corners of his mouth lifted into a small, smug smirk. “You can call me that from now on,” he said, sitting beside you, the bowl of popcorn landing on the table. You hastily handed him his phone, still avoiding his gaze.

“Oh, it’s my brother,” he remarked casually, glancing at the screen.

“Your brother?” you asked, feeling a bit more at ease now. “He sent you a present?”

Tsukishima nodded as he typed a reply. “Yeah, apparently.”

You glanced over as he stood up, walking to the front door. When he returned, he carried a small package. Opening it in front of you, he revealed a sleek, personalized pen from an exclusive stationery brand.

Your eyes widened in awe. “That’s so beautiful. My dad has one of these—it’s expensive for a pen,” you said, admiring the elegant engraving of Tsukishima’s name.

“Yeah, my brother works for this company,” he replied nonchalantly, though there was a hint of pride in his voice.

You picked up the small card nestled inside the box and read it aloud. “‘To my salty brother; you’re getting old like a grumpy grandpa. Happy 23rd birthday.’” You paused, blinking in surprise. “Wait, it was your birthday?”

Tsukishima chuckled at your shocked expression. “Two days ago, actually.”

Your mouth fell open. “So your birthday was on the 27th?” He nodded, still amused by your reaction.

“That’s why I couldn’t see you on Friday and Saturday. I had to celebrate with my family.”

“You didn’t tell me it was your birthday!” you exclaimed, fidgeting with the sleeves of his hoodie. “I would’ve prepared something for you—a gift or a cake, at least!”

He shrugged. “I knew your birthday by accident, so it’s only fair you found out about mine the same way.”

“But still,” you muttered, pouting a little. “You celebrated mine, but I didn’t even get you anything…”

“That’s why I wanted to have a movie night tonight,” he said coolly, leaning back against the couch. “Spending time with you is enough for me. Plus,” he added with a teasing smirk, “I got you as my girlfriend now—that counts as a gift, right?”

Your cheeks flushed a deep red at his words, heart fluttering. Without thinking, you scooted closer to him, wrapping your arms around his torso in a tight hug. You had never initiated physical affection before; it had always been Tsukishima who made the first move.

His body stiffened slightly in surprise before relaxing into your embrace. “Happy birthday, Kei,” you whispered softly into his chest.

Tsukishima couldn’t help the warm smile that spread across his face, his heart swelling at the sound of your voice. It was a simple moment, but to him, it was perfect—the quiet intimacy of your touch, the way you whispered his name, all of it felt right. As he rested his chin atop your head, his fingers gently combed through your hair, and he pressed a soft kiss to the crown of your head, savoring the sweetness of the moment.

i’m sorry i write this so late for tsukishima’s birthday but please enjoy 🥹🫶🏻☺️

tagslist (free to mention) ; @theweirdfloatything @snowthatareblack @ilovemymomscooking @nayiiryun @knightofmidnight @kozumesphone @scxrcherr @thechaosoflonging @monya-febrjack

[moonstruckme]

OOOOO I didn’t realize you wrote for steddie x R!!! Can I request your version of what would happen if reader came down with a nasty stomach bug from work and our boys tried to take care of her only to end up with it themselves? (Totally not projecting my own unfortunate current demise 🫠)

Thanks for requesting lovely! Feel better <3

cw: mentions of nausea, stomach pain, not eating due to illness

poly!Steddie x fem!reader ♡ 759 words

“Poor little lovebug.” You’ve given up on trying to deter Eddie as he sets his lips to your temple, cuddling close, but you and Steve exchange a look. 

The other boy rolls his eyes. “I’m not going to take care of both of you,” he says. You all know it’s an empty threat. “If you get yourself sick, you’re on your own.” 

“I’m helping,” Eddie argues, lips meandering down to your neck. You inhale softly as the muscles in your abdomen spasm painfully, and his hands are there in a second, pressing over the sore spot like it’s a wound he can stopper. “What’re you doing, Harrington? She doesn’t want your lame toast.” 

Steve softens. “She’s gotta eat something, though.” He looks to you, almost apologetic as he says, “It’s toast or cheerios, honey. Unless you think you can stomach something more.” 

You shake your head, snuggling into Eddie. He makes a happy sound, adjusting his position to tuck you under his chin and get you more securely in his arms. You’re sick of being sick. It’s only day one of the stomach flu several of your coworkers have said they didn’t get over for three days, and you’re well and truly fed up with it. Fed up with being nauseous and achy and alternately too hot or too cold. 

Steve had discovered upon his early-morning search that there’s not one thermometer between the three of you and has been debating going to the store to get one, but says he’s reluctant to leave you in the hands of the most inept caretaker possible (your very sweet and loving boyfriend). Eddie is ambivalent; he says you don’t need a thermometer anyway, because his lips are the best gauge there is (he keeps pressing them to your forehead and making sizzling noises, which Steve only found funny the first time but entertains you and Eddie to no end).

Eddie fully gives over to your self-indulgent tendencies in not eating, but Steve is watching you with a dissatisfied little furrow between his brows. He crouches by the bed, feeling your face with one hand and reaching for the nightstand with the other. 

“At least have some gatorade, then,” he capitulates, holding the bottle out toward you. “You’ve gotta stay hydrated.” 

You feel guilty and sit up. Eddie protests at your moving, but Steve gives you a smile as you drink. 

“You’re really a ton of help,” he snarks at Eddie, though he reaches down, carding a hand through his boyfriend’s curls. 

“I’m just succumbing to my fate.” Eddie shrugs. “I’m gonna be sick tomorrow, may as well start acting like it now.” 

“It’s not as fun as it looks,” you say between sips, then regret it. Your face heats as both boys’ expressions turn pitying. 

Eddie wraps a hand around your hip, squeezing lovingly, and Steve says, “I know, honey. You wanna nap for a while? We’ll give your stomach a chance to settle before we try with the toast again.” 

You nod and let Eddie wrestle you back down onto the mattress, pulling you snugly against him. “Think of it this way—at least soon, you’ll have a companion in your misery.” 

And by the next morning, you do. But it’s not Eddie. 

“Toast,” Eddie begs, shoving the piece of bread forward like he’s jousting with it. “C’mon, baby, just a few bites.” 

Steve groans, crossing his arms over his head. “Later,” he bargains. “I can’t do it right now.” 

Eddie looks to you desperately. “Did you finish your water?”

“Mhm.” You give the empty bottle a little shake as proof, and your boyfriend sighs in relief. 

“Good girl.” He bends over you, stamping his lips to your forehead firmly. “Thank you, sweetheart.” 

You hum and reach for his hand, but Steve grabs you, turning you around and hugging you to his chest possessively. You’re more than alright with this, nuzzling his stubble while he splays a hand on your back. 

“You know what? Fuck you, Harrington.” Eddie slaps the piece of toast on Steve’s shoulder and leaves it there. “Can’t believe you’d fucking do this to me. That better be gone when I get back.” 

“Where are you going?” Steve asks, smugness evident in his tone. 

“To get a fucking thermometer!” 

Steve’s chuckle rumbles through the both of you, and you smile against his neck. 

“You’re enjoying this way too much,” you tell him. 

“Yeah, I don’t know what you were talking about.” He kisses your cheek, his lips as warm as your skin. “This is tons of fun.”

[cyyfics]

hi! do you write for evil marcy? hcs about her would be nice :D

————-

Evil Marcy Dating Hc’s

Pairing: Evil! Marcy x reader

Warning(s): NSFW! At end. Kindve toxic?? She’s kinda obsessed w u but also not rly ?? Idk

Note: I totally forgot she existed oh my glob yuh I write for her ^_^

Second Note: I didn’t know wether or not to make the reader a human or a vampire ?? But I ultimately chose human in the end..

Gender stuff: mainly gn, some afab and some amab terms at end. Each bit seperate!

———-

Sfw

- she teases you. Just for a bit of playful fun, maybe she will go and say something just to fluster you, or she will find some other way to turn your cheeks red.

- she loves it when you blush, finds it cute, but sort’ve in a demeaning way. ‘It’s so cute when the blood of a human rushes to their face.’ Marceline thinks to herself often when she teases you.

- she is super duper protective of you, you and her both know that yes she’s super powerful and rules over practically everyone- but she can’t help but be just a tad bit worried that some greedy underling would possibly eat her plaything if she let it out of her sight. (Same thing that happened to her fries. /j)

- she will keep you in her bedroom most of the time, just not wanting you to get hurt out there. Of course she will still let you out though, as long as she’s with you, if you went alone who knows what would happen? You’d probably get eaten.

- she pampers you heaps, maybe like one would do to their pet however. She would find food for you to eat, obviously you can’t eat the same things as her so she has to go out often to find stuff for you. In any other universe you’d find the food she gives you to be disgusting and revolting, but since you were used to the harsh (and alternate) world you were in- it was actually like eating a meal at a five star restaurant.

- In that universe food for everyone is scarce and what food that’s left for humans is normally rotted or doesn’t exist anymore. The food that exists in that universe now is stuff like rats/mice that you were lucky to find, and water which you’d have to manually filter the gross stuff out of. If you didn’t, you’d get sick, and with the universe being the way it was- there’d be no medicine to help if you got sick. And you’d probably die.

- speaking on that- Marceline also forces lowly vampires to get you food as well, she will check that it is not suspicious in any way before letting you eat it though. And if she finds something that looks somewhat off? Like maybe a bruise on some fruit, or a slight discolouration to meat, they will be met with an instant death. A snap to the neck before she rips their head off. No one will harm you.

- the king doesn’t love your relationship all that much, finds that you’re a nuisance. In all honesty he’s very worried that you may soften Marceline too much, but that’s actually not true at all. In fact you’d brought something new out of her, with the way she would instantly kill anyone and anything for you.

- the two of you fell in love one day by accident actually, the two of you were just around the same area at the same time. She was soaring above the skies and spotted you, flying down at you like a hawk and about to quickly eat you.

- somehow she didn’t, you don’t really know for sure why she didn’t but when she finally came down to bite you she just couldn’t. Her eyes met yours, and she hissed right in your face just before she left.

- you saw her again, because this time you just had to. You had to know why she let you go that one time, especially with a reputation of killing every single human she comes into contact with.

- she saw you too, not coming out to talk to you but just letting you stay alive out there. She was getting ready in her mirror, thinking to herself about you as a vein pulsed just above her eyebrow in annoyance. ‘Stupid human, what do they think they’re doing?’

- but again. She found herself letting you live.

- and that’s what kept happening, you’d find ways to run into her and talk with her and she’d actually respond sometimes. Other times she’d hiss and fly away, but the times that she did respond just made your relationship stronger.

- she likes kissing you, everywhere and any time. She likes kissing your lips, your flushed cheeks, your neck- you know you probably shouldn’t let her kiss there. But she adores it. She finds it oh so cute how you’d trust your puny little human life in her hands, oh how easy it’d be to just kill you.. but she doesn’t, she simply pecks the area as she hugs your waist

- most of her minions and just people in general that she just rules over have respect for you, I know I said that a lot would try to eat you but that’s because her people are starving. Some of them can’t help it. But the ones who can show respect to you just as they would for their queen.

- Marceline wishes you were meaner to people, but instead you’re just soft- but whenever you get angry or annoyed at something- oh she’s just fawning over you.

- “you stupid thing! Don’t you ever knock?! Get out before I stake you!” You hiss as a henchman turns the doorknob, catching you together with Marceline. Marceline’s face softens as she looks at you with adoration, right before she gives you a mischievous smirk.

- “didn’t know you had it in you to be so mean.” She giggles to herself “was that mean?” You ask dumbfounded not even realising that you had just chewed out that man- “very. And I loved it.” And she pulls you into a kiss in her arms.

- she likes to dress you up, likes to doll you up in her clothes and have you sit there looking pretty for her. She likes to stare at you when you’re just doing things, her darkened eyes just curious with what you’re doing constantly.

- if you ever try to jump scare her, she will find it cute and laugh at you. If you succeed? She will be so proud of you.

Nsfw

Warning(s): biting, blood, period blood talk AT END so avoid that if ur not into that at all, there’s also talks abt her being into scaring you and u being like scared idk what kinda kink that is

- she teases you. Degrades you.

- she loves degrading you actually, but more in a teasing and humiliating way than a mean way.

- on the other hand though, she also likes to praise you. It depends on how she feels at the time.

- Again. (She likes kissing your lips, your flushed cheeks, your neck- you know you probably shouldn’t let her kiss there. But she adores it. She finds it oh so cute how you’d trust your puny little human life in her hands, oh how easy it’d be to just kill you..) but in a lewd way.

- she plays with your fear, it excites her and it excites you- every time her fangs hover over your neck it makes a shiver go down your spine. She can feel that you’re scared and she loves it.

- has a prey/predator kink, she likes to let you run outside and then she likes to chase after you. Maybe some other vampires will occasionally wanna chase after you too, but she will easily kill them before ‘capturing’ you and returning you to her sweet bed.

- she will ravage you. In a good way.

- she WILL pounce on you.

- she’s the kind of girl to push you on the bed roughly and take you whenever she wishes. (And you too obviously)

- if you don’t wanna have sex and she roughly pushes you onto the bed, you just say so, and she understands and instead just lays there with you then. She will play with your hair, your shirt, just hanging out with you.

- if you let her peg you, she will do it any chance she gets. She loves to have you below her, looking up at her with those pretty glossy eyes as she just takes you on the bed.

- speaking of, she also likes having you ride her. She thinks it’s so cute when you sit on top of her grinding your hips against the strap.

- she will bite you, if you let her. Her teeth will just gently graze at your skin as she’s kissing you, licking up your neck, her fangs just slightly brushing over the most dangerous parts.. one wrong move and you’d be dead, and that fact sends her head spinning- as well as yours.

- she likes to tie you up, having you be so submissive to her is so adorable. She loves having you be so vulnerable to her every move.

- she will happily sit on your face, and not even just a light hover but actually putting a bit of weight down onto you. Her thighs crush the side of your head only a little, the slight asphyxiation from the situation amusing both her and you.

- she likes to nip at your thighs, if she’s down there teasing your sex she will also like to kiss at your soft thighs- before her teeth very gently sink into the skin. Leaving bite marks on the inside of your thighs, leaving cute reminders of what happened later on.

NSFW (if you have a vagina + period, some words are fem leaning in some of the hc’s)

- she likes to eat you out, wether you’re on your back or riding her face. She likes how scared you can get sometimes, knowing how close her very sharp teeth are down there.

- when you get your period, every vampire will know about it. No one will dare come near you nor Marceline when you are though, because if they do they know Marceline will murder them instantly.

- Marceline likes it when you’re on your period, she will eat you out when you are too. “That’s so gross though-“ you protest, and yet she’s there looking at you through her eyelashes as she enjoys this meal. After all, it’s the only time she can actually enjoy enough of your blood without actually harming you.

- she doesn’t care if blood gets onto her clothes or bed or anything, she will just lick it up or wash it later. It’s not uncommon for a vampire to be covered in blood so.

- (she loves degrading you actually, but more in a teasing and humiliating way than a mean way.) saying things like “you’re already so wet.. I barely even did anything” as she slips your panties to the side.

- she loves to praise you too though sometimes. “That’s my good girl, taking the strap so well..” she kisses your cheek. And a “You look real pretty when I touch here.” She says as she’s curling her fingers inside you.

NSFW (if you have a penis, some words are male leaning in some of the hc’s)

- She likes how much you trust her with letting her suck you off, she doesn’t normally put the whole thing in her mouth because the two of you are afraid of her teeth- but when she does do it? It feels so so good.

- she’d probably be into cock and ball torture I’m sorry.

- just like how she likes it when you blush because of the blood rushing to your face- she also likes giving you random boners. She teases you because she loves the way the blood runs to the head of your cock, making an uncomfortable situation in your pants.

- loves degrading… whenever you get hard she pretends she didn’t do anything, “you’re such a pervert.”

- she will (if ur into it) call you a gross little man thing, telling you that you’re very very lucky that a woman like her is even near your filthy cock.

- loves praise too though.

- she- if she feels like it- will worship your cock too. As she’s praising you of course. “So pretty for me, let me help you..”

[mae-gi-writes]

Finders Keepers | Gally [TMR] - Part 2

In which Gally gets soft for one of the boys in the Glade, only…is it a boy? alternatively; In which Mai disguises herself into a boy to fit in the Glade, only to be suspected by the keen eyes of the Builder's Keeper.

Taglist: @edynmeyer1 @ss28

Also available on Wattpad.

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-----

The first time Gally's knowledge about the new Greenie gets challenged, is a few weeks after his first arrival.

Truth to be told, the Builder was surprised at the new boy's tiny stature when he first emerged from the Box. His limbs were frail and looked sickly, his face so tiny, tinier than Newt's, and he was about five feet four, barely reaching above Gally's chest. Needless to say that he was less than impressive. Physically anyway.

He attributed it to thinking that maybe Mai was young, and so brushed it off as part pf the Creator's plan, no matter how twisted and sick they got.

But the first time Gally gets suspicious, is one very specific night.

It's been a few days since his last conversation with the Greenie during dinner and it seems that he's made himself quite comfortable with Frypan in the kitchen. It's currently evening and everyone's slowly falling into bed after a hard day's work. Gally has been speaking quietly to one of his Builders, only to realize that he hasn't showered yet.

"I'll be back." He says, grabbing a fresh pair of clothes from his hut, a towel slinging over his shoulder, before he walks in the direction of the showers.

The stalls are further away in a more hidden part of the forest, far enough that it gives you some semblance of privacy for those who don't feel comfortable bathing in the open. Gally doesn't really mind, it's just a shower after all, and they're all boys.

He walks through a few of the scattered branches along the paved off trail they'd created, before his ears pick up on the sound of running water.

Probably a lone soul, he thinks, before pushing open the wooden door.

"Oh shuck!"

No sooner has he stepped in that a towel is suddenly flung in his face. Gally yells out in shock, stumbling back in surprise as his hands try to find purchase onto the wooden walls of the half-built stall. He's so busy trying to get it off him that he barely register's a voice screaming:

"Don't look!"

"Wh—"

"I said don't look!"

"Okay okay fine!" He yells back, holds out his hands in a semblance of mercy, "I won't look."

Silence. And then, the voice speaks again with hesitation, "you—you promise."

"Yeah," Gally pauses, "yeah I promise."

Why is he even promising such things?! This is ridiculous! Gally has every right to rip this towel off him and yell bloody murder about how rude this is— but something in that person's voice has him hesitating. There's fear and something else, something he can't quite put his finger on.

So he waits, as promised.

And after a few minutes — or what feels like eternity, the voice re-emerges, "alright. I'm done."

Slowly, so as not to scare off the boy, Gally reaches up to pull off the towel from his face.

"Mai?"

His eyebrows rise in surprise, but the said boy seems to be intent on averting his eyes. His hair, freshly washed, falls into his face and for a minute he looks so lost that pity swells in the Builder's chest.

But then, logic breaks through and prompts him to ask, "what are you doing, you slinthead?"

"I--I'm sorry I panicked."

"You panicked? For what?" Gally rolls his eyes but the flush taking over Mai's face is enough to cause him to soften a little. He proceeds to dump his own towel and change of clothes onto the latter's shoulders, "right. Since you're here, might as well prove yourself useful."

"Wha--" Mai stutters out, red in the face, and Gally lets out a sigh of exasperation. He pushes the younger boy out of the shower stall, "stop being such a wuss, Greenie." before slamming the door in Mai's face. -----

For a minute, Mai stands frozen. Not sure what to do.

Here she is, holding Gally's -- yes, Gally -- clothes and towel as if they're casual friends, as if they're more than passing acquaintances. She's not sure what to do with them, not certain whether she should be chucking them over the stall and making a run for it. That idea sounds tempting, but Mai's too much of a coward to face Gally's wrath afterwards.

So she decides to stay, biting her lip upon hearing the faucet twist and Gally's tired sigh. He sounds like he needs that shower, and yet why can't she stop picturing his broad shoulders without his shirt? Is is chest as defined as it looks? He's so tall, Mai wonders whether he gets it from his dad or his mom. And his arms...

Stop it! She snaps herself out of her daze, what is wrong with you?

Her cheeks are burning when she reaches up to touch them, and Mai quickly tries to think of something else to calm down her heart that's suddenly beating like a hummingbird in her chest.

It's not like she's blind either. Gally is attractive, mainly because he's so huge and tall and everything that girls would want in a guy. So can anyone really blame her?

She's so caught up in her own thoughts that she doesn't hear Gally until he shouts out her name two or three more times.

"--Mai! Don't tell me you ran away you shank!"

"Oh--uh--I'm here!" Mai fumbles with the towel, wondering whether she'll be able to chuck it at him. But the shower door swings open a fraction, enough for Gally's hand to pass through.

She swallows, watching as his bare hand grabs onto the towel and disappears behind the wall. Next come his clothes, and she almost sighs in relief when the Builder finally steps out fully clothed, hair damp, and skin glowing red from the shower warmth.

Gally's swiping the towel through his hair upon noticing her staring at him, "what?" he asks gruffly, voice echoing in a lower baritone that has Mai's spine in shivers.

She whips her head away, "nothing."

"You got a problem with naked guys or what?" he can't help but ask, side-eyeing her in the process.

"I--No! It's just--I--" Mai stumbles through words as she tries to rack her brain for a coherent response. Biting her lip, she finally mumbles out, "I'm not used to it, is all."

Gally hums, "Never heard of that one before. You like guys?"

The question comes so out of the blue that it takes the girl a few seconds to realize what he's asking of her. What he thinks she is.

And before she can think twice, she blurts out, "yes."

Gally's eyes widen. He looks at her for a minute as he digests the information. Mai looks back at him, cheeks blazing with red despite realizing that he might bully her for this kind of confession.

Maybe that's why she's quick to add, "don't tell anyone." she pauses, hesitates, "please."

There's a small pause, before Gally dips his head into a nod. Mai lets out a breath of relief. Thankfully, he doesn't seem to be the type of person that gives out useless gossip, nor does he seem like he'd blabber to any of his close friends. Bullying her though, that might be on his list of must-do's now that he's aware of her supposed sexual preference.

They're nearing the Glade now and Mai's readying herself to come up with an excuse when the Builder beats her to it.

"I want extra eggs."

Mai almost stumbles and catches herself. She blinks up at him, "you want—"

"Extra eggs in the morning. You heard me," Gally's eyes are intense on hers and he folds his arms, "or I can spill your dirty little secret—"

"It's not dirty!"

"Should I then?" Challenge glistens in his eyes, amusement dangling from his lips.

"No— ugh— fine. I'll give you extra eggs." Mai's shoulders slump. She just hopes no one will take notice of this sudden preference.

"And extra curry at lunchtime and dinner."

She throws him a glare, "that's too much."

"Then I guess I'll spread the word first thing tomorrow--"

"Okay fine fine! Yes, you'll get extra curry. Just--don't tell anyone." Mai feels like begging might prove useful at this point, the way Gally stands there looking satisfied of how much of a wreck she's being because of him, "please, Gally."

He holds out his hand, grinning, "it's a deal, Greenie." 

"My name is Mai," she mutters while gripping his hand. She can't help but notice how it engulfs hers entirely. Jesus, this guy's a monster.

"Good that," he's already turning to go back to his hut but then stops in mid-action, an amused smile thrown over his shoulder, "goodnight Greenie. And stop staring, you look like you might drool."

"Oh shut up Gally!" 

But the boy is already gone and walking away by then, his laughter echoing through the air. Mai rolls her eyes, grumbling under her breath as she makes it back to her own hammock squeezed in-between one too many. 

Great. She's definitely not looking forward to tomorrow.