#also he’d himself like to keep breathing

[buckleydiaz]

“I’m not gonna disappear, you know,” Eddie says, lowering his mug to meet Buck’s eyes.

“W-what?” Buck stammers, blinking away like he got caught doing something wrong.

“You keep staring,” Eddie says, carefully, “like I'm gonna vanish. Or go back to Texas without telling you or something. I'm not.”

It’s been hours since Buck met him at the airport, drove him home, made him tea. And Eddie’s felt the weight of his gaze the entire time. Buck hasn’t said much, which Eddie isn’t surprised by, honestly. He’s not really in the mood to talk himself. But there’s something quietly devastating about the way Buck is looking at him. Eddie’s not sure what to do with that.

“Sorry,” Buck says.

Eddie sighs. “Don't apologize, it’s not…I don't mind that you’re looking. Just—you know you can talk to me, right?“

“I know,” Buck says. He’s trying to sound casual but his voice comes out just a little unsteady. Enough for Eddie to catch it.

“It’s, uh, it’s not that,” Buck adds, after a beat.

“What?”

“I don't—I don't think you’re gonna vanish. It's just… you look different.”

“You mean this?” Eddie rubs at his chin self consciously.

Buck’s eyes flicker momentarily to Eddie’s face before his gaze drops again. He nods.

After Eddie got the call, he couldn’t help but blame himself. He should have been there. Maybe if he was, Bobby would still be here—with his team, with his family. Not for the first time, Eddie felt like he couldn’t bear the sight of his own reflection. He felt small, useless. He thought maybe it would get easier with time. It didn’t. And with each day, as the guilt grew, so did the stubble on his face—thicker, darker. An awful reminder of the time that passed since Bobby—

Eddie sets the mug down, afraid it’s gonna shatter in his grip.

“You don’t like it?” he asks, and the words taste like ash in his mouth.

“No it, uh, it looks good. You always look good. It’s just—god, it’s stupid.”

“Hey,” Eddie bumps Buck’s foot under the table, keeps it there. “Whatever you’re feeling, it’s not stupid.”

“I’m…” Buck exhales, “I’m not sure if you’re real.”

Eddie opens his mouth, then closes it.

Buck shrugs. “Told you it’s stupid.”

“No! No, um, I—what do you mean I’m not real?”

There’s a moment where Buck doesn’t say anything, just stares at his own hands on the table, fidgets with his fingers. Eddie waits. Doesn’t push.

Eventually Buck speaks.

“After the lightning strikes, after the uh—“ Buck clears his throat, “the coma. I had this thing I used to do every morning. A-a checklist. To make sure I wasn’t dreaming. That I was still me.” Buck’s eyes stay locked on his hands, and Eddie desperately wishes he’d look at him again. “Ever since he—“ Buck stops, swallows, sniffs. “I wake up and I pray for this to be a dream. An awful, terrible nightmare. I pray, Eddie. And it’s—“

Buck’s hands are shaking. Eddie reaches out, takes them in his own.

Buck finally looks up. His eyes are impossibly sad and impossibly blue, and Eddie is struck by how beautiful he is. It’s a weird thought to have at that moment, but it’s true nonetheless.

“Sorry, this is so embarrassing,” Buck says, a little wetly.

“Hey, it’s not embarrassing, okay? You’re dealing with it. We all are.”

“Look, I know you’re real. I know that. But also just—everything is so different, you know? Nothing makes sense anymore and you look different. And it’s like—like, how do I know I’m not dreaming?” Buck says. “Does that make sense?”

It doesn’t. But Eddie gets it anyway.

He wraps a hand around Buck’s wrist, lifts his hand up to his face.

“You feel that?”

Buck doesn’t say anything, just looks at him.

Eddie closes his eyes, presses his face into Buck’s hand a little more.

“I’m here, Buck.”

Buck’s hand starts moving on his face, careful fingers trace his cheeks, his jaw, his chin. Eddie’s breath catches when a thumb ghosts over his bottom lip.

“You’re here,” Buck says, voice barely a whisper.

Eddie nods.

“He’s really—“ Buck's voice cracks. “He's really gone.”

“I know,” Eddie says, because what else is there to say?

Eddie’s eyes sting. He lets go of Buck’s wrist and places his hand on Buck’s shoulder, thumb gently grazing the base of his neck. He wishes he could press his lips to his temple, like he does with Christopher. He doesn’t. Instead, he pulls him in, presses their foreheads together.

They stay like that, breathing together, until their eyes are red and their cheeks are wet. Eventually Buck pulls away, wiping his eyes with the sleeve of his cardigan.

“Thanks,” Buck says.

“For what?”

“I don’t know. For—for being here, I guess.”

Eddie wants to tell him that he’s always going to be here. But that’s not true. He's leaving in a few days. He’s always leaving.

“Hey, you have a razor here somewhere, right?” is what he says instead.

“Come on, you don’t have to do that,” Buck protests, and Eddie is pretty sure he catches a small hint of a smile on his face.

“Yeah,” Eddie says. ”I think I do.”

[jaesvelvet]

reconnection

SUMMARY ➤ You've been longing for Robert Reynolds for seven years now. No matter how hard you try to let him go, your heart refuse to do so but after a weird moment of being trapped in your own nightmare, you finally found Robert. On a local news along side with the new Avengers.

PAIRING ➤ Robert (Bob) Reynolds x fem! reader

GENRES ➤ Angsty with happy ending

WARNINGS ➤ THUNDERBOLTS* spoiler ahead A tiny part of suicidal scene, reader is in deression but no one's helping, and mention of drugs

WORDS COUNT ➤ 4k words

NOTES ➤ it took so long for one fic and i'm sorry about it!!! i thought i was ready to be back but i was so insecure of my writing to the point i've had to disregard my two enha's fic )): also it's so obvious that i already watched thunderbolts* ^^ the movie was so good i had to write for bob's character.

Soon after Robert announced that he is going somewhere to get himself on a track– nobody would even guess he would volunteer himself to an untrusted medical research. Presumming the naive man would surrender himself as soon as the doctor said it would turn him into a better man– he must have signed whatever papers given without having second thoughts.

While the blip was happening at the moment of his disappearance didn’t help much for your emotional strength. You always knew he was struggling. He tries to be better but at the end of the day, he cannot escape the household he’d been living in. You’re the only one who can truly see how hard it is to avoid all the drugs, leaning into a healthy life, to live a life without any disturbing surroundings. But he keeps coming back to square one. 

He always asked you to leave him once he relapsed, but you stood there, firmly. He was so sure you’re here because of sympathy and not because of him. He wants to believe in you but it’s not that easy because at the end of the day, he always ended up alone.

In late 2020– three years before The Avengers found a way to bring back half of the population, he had enough of this shit. He slowly began to realize that you’re here because you want to. The hopeful feeling slowly began to rise inside of him after so long. With his parents having been blipped, he finally can breathe. No more fights, screaming and sounds of hitting. He is lowkey on Thanos’s side in this war but keeps his mouth shut, you lost half of your family in the blip and he simply does not want to hurt you; the person whom he cares most about. 

He landed in Malaysia after hours on the air, his smiles wide, thinking of how he can be a better person after this project and how he can finally prove to everyone that he isn’t just a useless human being. Ah. the thoughts of your ‘I’m so proud of you, Robert” lingers in his mind. He would text you if his phone wasn't confiscated by the researcher, he assumes it would be hours of research and everything will change after that.

Robert soon curses at himself as soon as he hears that he is not the only volunteer they had, they all died during the trial but it is too late for him. He is trapped in the metal coffin that they put him in. He tried to scream and punch everything but it was all useless. Soon he feels the temperature slowly rising up and his body feels tense all of sudden scares him. At this moment he thought that staying alive would be the ideal prayer he can utter right now. He couldn’t die now, not with your face still haunting his thoughts.

His whole body started to ache, his energy slowed down and his scream got slower. His body can’t take whatever they gave him right now, but it looks like the thing is being forced down inside of his body. He cannot even wriggle in pain due to limited space, the only words he could utter at that moment was “Stop…” 

It's been seven years since Tony Stark sacrificed himself for the universe, and while you are grateful for him and the other Avengers, the void left by Robert’s absence weighs heavily on you as you grapple with uncertainty of his fate.

“You’re wasting yourself waiting for him” 

You try your best to move on. Your friends told you that a meth addict was better off without you anyway, you tried to ignore them but the pain of longing is much worse than you think. For seven years you couldn’t meet anyone to replace Robert, you can’t understand the exact reasons why your heart still longing for him, the probability of him died in some foreign country is high and you are ready to accept the fact that Robert is gone but your heart still couldn't fathom this ‘statement’.

“Maybe he was there somewhere…” is the only excuse you can give to your friends although deep down, you don’t even know what to expect anymore.

Your high hope of Robert make you all alone, your friends start to keep of their distances on you, your siblings seems to give up to support your stance of ‘Robert is there somewhere’ and your parents seems to accept that their daughter might suffers from some mental health problem but do nothing to help– they thought paying for psychiatrist and medications are waste of money if you still hoping for the man. 

And that’s when you decided you are better alone anyways. Starting your day in your rented apartment with leftover food from last night, settling into the couch that your sister handed down to you when she’s decided to move from New York and suddenly your surroundings turning black all of sudden. 

Your breathing unsteady at first, thinking that this is a dream– or did you depress enough to start hallucinating things? You gulped down your saliva, nonetheless you start walking– very slowly, searching for a starting point but all of the sudden the black scenery quickly turns into an airport. The day was sunny and there’s a lot of cars parked at the waiting area; it felt like a deja vu for a moment before you spotted two familiar figures hugging outside of your parents car. 

It was you and Robert. 

You walk closely with the two of you hugging. You tried to hold your tears but failed when you saw Robert’s face when he broke the hug.

“I’ll be back better than before, then we can talk about us. I promise you this time” Robert said with a gentle touch to your cheek before you both parted ways.

“Please don’t go…” you sobbed. Your voice trembling with desperation. But it was clear– you were invisible to them. As Robert’s figure grew smaller and smaller in the distance, the scene suddenly reset. Again, he turned to leave and once again your tears went unheard. You shook your head, whatever this was, it seems like you’re trapped in your own nightmare.

The repeated scene in front of you causes you to feel light headed, you walk away from the scene, hoping for a way out and suddenly you’re in your own bedroom. You sigh in relief, your heart still pounding fast from the strange experience you felt. You’re about to land on your bed before a sound of cries could be heard. You brows furrowed, searching for the source of the sound around the bedroom.

You gasped in silence when you saw yourself on the floor, on the other side of the bed. Staring blankly at the pills on your palm. 

You remember this moment, it was months after everyone returns from being a dust but not your Robert. It was tough for a few weeks, you can’t accept fate. There’s no news or phone call from him. You are tired of waiting for him after years of praying for him to come back in one piece. The pills on your palm was the answer, your soul is nowhere to be found, and maybe taking your own life would be ideal. 

“This is not the way…” you sobbed. 

The old version of yourself slowly turned to face you. A faint, almost bittersweet smile played on her lips as she raised the pills to her mouth and swallowed them in one gulp

“We are always alone” she whispered, the words echoing through the room like a curse carved into time. 

You stood frozen, powerless. Watching yourself spiral, watching the weight of silent suffering crush someone who was—still is—you. It was unbearable. The isolation, the desperation, the quiet resignation etched in her face—it made you feel small, fragile. Pathetic.

You screamed every name you could think of, mom, dad, your sister and even Robert. Hoping if anyone could hear your desperate hoarse voice even if it is a faint sound but to your dismay, there’s no answer. You ran through the endless corridors, searching, pleading for a way out just to find every door you opened led to another nightmares of your past. 

All of the painful memories greet you at every turn– echoes of moments you tried so hard to bury deep down in your head. It felt like you’d been running for hours, maybe even longer, your legs seemed to give out but you can’t give up just yet. The last thing you want is to die in the maze of your own sorrow and regret. 

Then without warning,  the darkness began to dissolve, the screams faded, the air lightened and the oppressive weight lifted.

And suddenly– you were back. Sitting on your couch, in your living room. Silence. 

Everything looks the same… but you weren’t.

It wasn’t long enough for the news of the New Avengers broke, soon after the chaos of ‘the Void’ (according to the news) ended, Valentina Allegra de Fontaine; the director of CIA immediately announce of the new Avengers including Bucky Barnes, the former Winter Soldier and John Walker, the second Captain America that killed a civilian in public eyes. You don’t even trust the new group she formed, hell you couldn't care less at this point. You almost choked on your water as your eyes glued on the man on the right side of the group. A man who wears a blue crewneck sweater with light brown corduroy pants with curly hair that goes unnoticed. 

The glass slipped from your hand and shattered the moment it hit the floor. You instinctively covered your mouth, eyes wide. Your breathing grew unsteady again. You froze in front of the television for a moment before a sudden phone call jolted you into reality. 

Still shaken from the shock, you answered the call from your sister. A shaky hello is all you could manage at the moment. 

“Am I seeing this right? Bob is on the television? Bob joining the Avengers?” she asked. Her voice was laced with impatience and disbelief. 

“I- I don’t know… You see him too?” you asked her. It’s hard to confirm what you’ve been seeing after the ‘episode’ you had earlier.

“Duh! Everyone can see it! He disappeared for seven years just to be an Avengers? He looks so uncool with that ordinary outfit. Maybe I can help with his out–”

You ended the call, her ranting was more than enough to prove that you’re not hallucinating. The person on the television was Robert. Your Robert. 

If you followed your instincts you'd drive to the Watchtower right now to confront him. But you stopped yourself. You need to be ready. If you’re going to face Robert, you have to be prepared– both physically and mentally. At the very least, you needed to look presentable to meet him after so long. 

Your outfit wasn’t terrible and the makeup you’d applied to make you look presentable wasn’t bad either. Everything seemed fine– on the surface. But you couldn’t bring yourself to step out of the car. Your grip on the steering wheel was so tight to the point your knuckle turned white. It has been so long waiting for Robert. You should at least be excited to meet him right?

But in this case, you couldn't pinpoint exactly what you’re currently feeling right at the moment. Anger, Sadness, Anxious, Happy. It’s all blended into one. 

A knock on your window pulled you out of your thoughts. A police officer stood outside, gesturing for you to roll it down. You did so without hesitation, your fingers still trembling slightly.

“Ma’am, I’m sorry, but you can’t park here,” he said politely but firmly. At that moment you realized that your car stopped near the building– which is crowded with cranes and construction workers. 

“Oh... right. I’m sorry,” you murmured, trying to gather yourself. “I didn’t mean to stay long.”

He nodded, not pressing further. “Alright. Just be sure to move along soon.”

As he walked away, the pressure in your chest returned. You looked back at the looming Watchtower building for a few seconds. You decided to park a little further away from the building. A big sigh escapes from your mouth. You’re here. You waited seven years for him. This is the moment you’ve been waiting for.

This is it, you thought. No more stalling.

Your hand reached for the door handle, it is now or never. 

“Where’s Bob?” Alexei asked, both of his hands carrying four bags of heavy grocery as if it's nothing. 

“In his new room I guess” a man with blonde hair answered lazily, he was about to leave the pantry, his eyes glued on a foreign person behind Alexei. 

“Ah, great. Does Valentina send us a new PR manager so her reputation is untouchable? Cause let me tell you, we owner her now, one bad decision she ended up with President Ross in the raft” the blond whinged.

“Ah no no… Valentina does not send her here. I am” Alexei clarified.

“You want us to have a PR Manager?” he asked, one brow lifted in confusion.

“No, fool. This is our number one fan!” Alexei chirped. A huge and wide smile could be seen from his face. He put the groceries down, and gently pushed you forward to properly introduce you to the man. 

You recognized the man standing in front of you—he was the second Captain America after Steve Rogers. You were sure of it; the day he was announced, his face had been everywhere.

Walker’s confused expression quickly shifted to one of disapproval. He shook his head as he looked between you and Alexei.

“No… no… Alexei you can’t bring some random people in here! She could be some secret agent or something or just some creep!” he grumbled. 

You’re about to open your mouth to defend yourself but Alexei cuts you off immediately.

“She is harmless. We’re going through security seven times, no guns and knives on her, I guarantee that” 

Walker rolls his eyes back, first day as the new Avengers, Alexei already does so much work in marketing their team. The blonde let out a small sigh while the older male still trying to reassure him. Seeing the tense in the room, you clear your throats to gain their attention which is a success. 

“I’m not a secret agent or some creep, I just want to meet Robert. I’m his friend” you speak up

“Bob got another friend?” Walker asked 

You nodded your head slowly. Seems like Robert still uses the nickname ‘Bob’ to introduce himself to others. You dropped the nickname a long time ago, you thought the name Robert sounds too good not to use, besides he also likes being called Robert by you.

“I met her in the lobby. She begging to meet Bob, I thought she is a fan” 

“Fans or friends. She cannot be in here. I’ll call the security–” 

“Please! I’m begging you, I need to meet him, even for a minute.” you pleaded, the sound of desperation in your voice is noticeable which makes the stern Walker having second thoughts.

“Okay sure. But under one condition” 

You expect the usual would be; having almost thirty guards surrounding you, security check for the nth time and you need to talk to him in the visiting area but your assumptions went straight out of the window when they ask a girl with platinum blonde hair or they called her as Yelena to accompany you to meet Robert. 

You trailed along behind her silently to Robert’s room, the walk from the pantry isn’t that far,  but on each step, your hand grew colder. You glance at Yelena, you’ve seen her once– on the news yesterday but even from that brief impression, she seemed confident, brave and a kind of person who genuinely cares for others. You could tell by how cautious she is before allowing you to meet Robert. 

You didn’t even know what kind of relationship she had with him but you can’t help but feel slightly insecure. You used to be Robert’s safe place. You were always there for him, through every hell he endured. But now, it was Yelena the others trusted with him.

Was she really trustworthy?

You knew how naive Robert could be. That’s what worries you most—that this “new Avengers” crew might be filling his head with promises, just to turn him into their next lab rat.

“Well, Bob doesn’t mention he has a friend” Yelena spoke up, breaking the silence between the two of you. 

You frowned slightly, a sharp pang tightening in your chest.

“He hasn’t?” Seven years—seven long years—you waited for him like a fool, and he hadn’t even mentioned you to his new friends?

A slow wave of regret crept over you. Maybe coming here was a mistake.

“Well, it’s only fair. We just met 48 hours ago and his memory is still hazy after the incident” Yelena answered. 

You stop in your tracks and so does Yelena, the blonde girl turned around to face you with a confused face.

“I– is he okay?” you asked, the news hasn’t covered much about him, they only talk about the other superheroes hence you don’t even know why they took Robert as well. Does the medical research he went to seven years ago link into this chaos?

“Yeah, he’s fine. But just don’t pressure him into remembering things, he can’t control it yet” Yelena said. 

“It?” you asked in confusion. What exactly happened to him?

“Uh, the thing yesterday, it was him– not entirely him but his dark side I would say” 

You fell silent, a chill spreading through you. Had they already made him into their lab rat? For seven years, he has been suffering alone all these years?

Your steps grew heavier as you followed her through the quiet corridor. The sterile lights overhead flickered slightly, casting shadows that seemed to dance with your thoughts. Every footstep echoed your anxiety.

“Bob?” Yelena knocks on his door once before Robert opens it up, with a wide smile plastered on his face. 

“They gave me a good bed!” he exclaims

“Uh yeah, good for you…” Yelena smiles at him, she hasn’t checked her room yet, too busy dealing with the superiors with Bucky. She took a look at Robert's room, it was huge and comfortable, much better than her old room. 

“I think I want to request some books, vinyl records and oh! Maybe a huge TV–”

“Uh, Bob?” Yelena cut him off gently.

Robert turned, eyebrows raised—until Yelena stepped slightly to the side, revealing the girl who had been standing quietly behind her.

Robert froze, stunned into silence. It took him a few seconds to fully register the woman standing in front of him. But when recognition finally clicked into place, his eyes welled with tears, and his breath caught in his throat.

“Y/N” 

Without another words you ran towards him and he caught you in a warm hug. It was surreal, almost unbelievable to feel Robert’s arms around your waist again. You had dreamt of this moment for so long and now it was all real, the realization broke you into tears as you clung tightly to him.

On the other side of the room, Yelena let a small smile form on her lips. It felt good to see people reunited, wrapped in each other’s arms, finding happiness again. She dreamed of that too—especially on the days that felt heavier than most.

Her found family meant everything to her. And now, with her sister Natasha gone, all she could do was keep moving forward. Still, deeply inside she longed for the same kind of peace the two of you had just found in each other.

“Seven years… I’ve waited for you for seven years, Robert” you speak up after a moment being in each other's embrace.

Robert wipes the tears off from your cheek while nodding his head.

“I’m sorry– everything happened so fast, one moment I was in a metal coffin and the next thing I knew I was in a vault and met them” he explained. From the moment Robert regained his consciousness inside the OXE Vault, everything felt like a blur to him. The sight of four strangers in cool suits locked in a deadly battle made him nauseous.

He can’t remember the details but he remembered the tension in his body and when he turned into the Sentry, it felt good. For the first time in forever, everything felt right. He wanted to fly straight to you and show how powerful he became but then again he suddenly collapsed after feeling a buzzing from his new costume and waking up once again not remembering anything. 

He got a little too excited with the news of the new Avengers and the fact that he had a room of his own again. It was a lot to take in after everything. He hated that it distracted him, even for a second.

“I’m sorry” he added

You shook your head, this time it is your turn to wipe the tears off his cheek. 

“I’m just glad that you’re okay. Everyday I pray for you to come back to me.” you snivelled. 

“I’m here now, I will not leave you again. No more volunteer to any medical researchers shit” he slightly chuckle

You scoff at his banter, slowly removing your arms from his waist. 

“You have a lot to tell me, Robert. I can’t wait for us to go back home and–”

“Um, not trying to ruin the moment here but he cannot go back home” Yelena cuts your word. You turn your face to her with a confused expression. 

“What? Why? He is just civilian like me” 

“Uh no… Apparently Bob is one of us now, the thing about medical research make him powerful” Yelena explained

You glance at Robert for a moment, then shift your gaze back to Yelena.

“So about the ‘It’ thing you said earlier–”

“Yup” Yelena Yelena answered before you could even finish your question—already anticipating it. She was worried Robert might try to force the memories back too soon.

“So, can I stay?” you asked her

Yelena seems caught off guard with your question, it tooks a second for her to make a decision. 

“Just don’t let Bucky see you,” she said and left the room.

You turn to Robert again, now his face mirroring your facial just now– the confused look. You let out a small laugh and held both of his warm hands. 

“She cares for you a lot, I can tell. I need to beat her in this one-sided competition” you joked. Robert smiles at you and caresses your cheek– the things that he always does to you, it was more like a habit when the two of you are close like this.

“She feels like a sister to me. A sister that I never had, I don’t know why though, but you… You’re the most special person ever in my heart. The person who trusts me the most. Thank you for waiting for me, I really appreciate you. I really do” 

“I think I love you a little too much to the point that no one in earth can replace you” 

“My girl, I love you too. So much! Gonna spend all of this moment with you forever!” He pulled you into a tight hug and spun you around, making you let out a small shriek in protest, laughing as you begged him to stop.

“I’m glad you found friends that truly care for you, Robert. Me and your other friends are always on your side, through thick and thin” 

Robert’s heart is getting warm hearing your words. He grew so used to the word alone, he nearly forgot what it felt like to be surrounded by people who truly cared. His memories are still foggy, but after meeting the others yesterday, he knew one thing for sure. He is not alone anymore. 

​​For the first time in forever, the void is finally filled with something beautiful.

[you-little-arsonist]

ok so if anyone wants them, here are some buddie fics that have mutual masturbation and/or phone sex in them (don't look at me), idk these are probably pretty well known but i'm still making my way through all of them. they are all complete and they're all rated E because well. also CHECK THE TAGS because i didn't write them all out here!

Your place is where I'd rather be instead by mickeysmyheart/ @mickeysmyheart (3.5k)

The next thing Eddie does, short circuits Buck's brain. Eddie takes his shirt by the bottom and pulls it up and over his head, keeping it bunched up and putting it to the side on the counter. Eddie is now shirtless. He’s shirtless in his kitchen. Oh. OR Buck teaches Eddie how to make lasagna over FaceTime when Eddie gets his shirt dirty and has to take it off and it alters Buck's brain chemistry.

Last night, you called on accident by mickeysmyheart/ @mickeysmyheart (8.3k)

Buck goes back to his bag and pulls out Eddie’s black tank top. He brings it up to his nose and inhales— he can tell himself it means nothing later. He moans on his exhale. Holy fuck. OR The one where Buck finds one of Eddie's tank tops in their locker and takes it home & in El Paso, Eddie brought one of Buck's LAFD shirts with him. You know the GIF.

Kiss me through the phone by mickeysmyheart/ @mickeysmyheart (2.6k)

Buck finds himself sitting up in bed— his back against his pillows— phone close to his ear. His heart is beating like crazy— both of theirs are. “That something you want, Eddie?” Buck says in a low, deep voice. “Want me to tell you how often I’ve thought about getting down on my knees for you?” Eddie’s breath hitches. That’s all it took for Eddie’s dick to get hard as fuck— twitching with the need to be touched. “Jesus, Buck,” Eddie moans out as he reaches his free hand into his briefs, touching himself. OR Buck is bored and Eddie can't sleep so the two end up having phone/video sex

to have and to hold (platonically and heterosexually) by teenytinytomlinson/ @littlefreakbuckley (21.2k)

So in the middle of Eddie’s dining room, with his brain to mouth filter non-existent (as per usual), Buck blurts out, “Marry me.” Eddie sits straight up, looking at him with eyes wide as saucers. “Excuse me?” “W-well, just think about it. If we get married I can add you and Chris to my insurance policy and that solves your problem.” Eddie’s mouth forms a perfect little ‘o’. Buck waits patiently for the floor to open up and swallow him whole. When the ground doesn’t do as he’d hoped he realizes he has to say something else. “Obviously, w-we don’t have to,” he’s quick to assure. “But if we did it would be platonic, of course, because you’re straight and–” he pauses, praying for another rogue stroke of lightning. Anything to put him out of his misery right now. “-and like I know that I’m bi now, but this wouldn’t be like that y’know? It would just be two friends helping each other out.” He’s rambling, the words won’t stop tumbling out. “Like a friends with benefits type situation! E-except you know not those kinds of benefits! Like actual benefits! Health and dental.” or, Eddie is moving to Texas, losing his insurance, and marrying Buck all very heterosexually and platonically.

A Phone Call Away by Ironkissedfanfics/ @ironkissedmage (5.7k)

Buck had his apartment to himself for the first time in months, so of course he had to take advantage of such a lovely opportunity to get off without fear of anyone hearing him. It's just his luck that he butt dials someone while he's fingers deep in himself. And he's just not sure if it's a blessing or a curse that it's Eddie he called.

while i think of you by markofalover/ @markofalover (4.2k)

Just Buck speaking, apparently, is enough to get him hard. His brain starts hurting. Like he’s guzzled down a Big Gulp sized Icee in the summertime. …or, Eddie slowly loses his mind and has phone sex about it.

anyway those are some of the best ones, please tag me if you guys know of more like this! and thank you to all these authors, you are truly doing the lord's work

[fandoms-in-law]

Wrong Twice Over

Summary: Eddie adopts Dustin immediately because he's mentioned in his soulmate words.Once he hears them though, he just wishes he hadn't discounted someones likelihood of being his soulmate and needs to make it right.

~

Eddie had never told Dustin but from the time the kid had introduced himself, he’d had a place in Eddie’s life. He was mostly thankful that the brat liked DnD so keeping him around wasn’t a hardship at all.

The reason for that were the six words on his knee, the first words Eddie’s soulmate would ever say to him, that mentioned Dustin specifically. Somehow the kid was a connection to them and he didn’t intend to let that pass.

With Lucas and Mike, he’d breathed a sigh of a relief when neither of them said the words, though he definitely hadn’t given them the chance to do so and make sense. It was just better that whomever his soulmate was wasn’t a child.

So far only a week into the new school year had passed, and while Dustin had pointed out a couple of other seniors as people who’d help him, neither of them seemed likely to care if the kid said something right or wrong.

The last person in what Eddie thought was a reasonable age range to be his soulmate was too absurd to even consider as being it: King Steve Harrington himself.

There was no chance that someone like that could be anything to him at all, even if Dustin spoke as if he was a hero.

With those thoughts in mind, Eddie had no worries when greeting his unexpected visitor with, “Well if it isn’t the king coming with threats over something.”

Steve had looked like he actually could have threats given he was holding a few pages of notes out and had gotten out of his car looking like he was on a mission.

Once the words were said though he froze, staring at Eddie and dropping the pages on the ground before seeming heartbroken and turning away. “Well that’s Dustin wrong twice over.” Was all that was said as he vanished back to his car and sped away again.

Now Eddie was frozen, knowing the sentence too well and stunned. He’d expected it to be a joke, or to be something shared flirtatiously, but instead the soulmate words he’d cherished had been hurt and upset. It broke something in him to know he’d somehow been around his soulmate in school for so long yet their first actual interaction had been so negative in the end.

Resolving to figure out how to apologise he picked the pages up and looking them over only felt worse. There were lists and lists on them, things that the new members of Hellfire would struggle with facing in a campaign as well as vague or scribbled out reasons why he should avoid them.

It looked like Steve might’ve even asked someone for help with the list since there were three handwriting styles on the page, some giving ideas for what could be done instead of the things listed, others changing his explanations for why they needed avoiding.

He didn’t know what Dustin had been wrong about, but Eddie definitely felt like he’d been wrong multiple times over about Steve and anything he’d been doing.

At least he knew for certain that he had to make it right again.

~

“Dustin! Need your help!” Eddie called, late to get to the Hellfire table for lunch and focused on the first thing he hoped could be done.

“Better find someone else to help then.” Dustin replied, turning and glaring at him venomously.

Mike also glared, while the rest of the table looked between them in confusion. “Yeah, you don’t do that shit and then ask for favours.”

Eddie looked between them, glancing around to see Lucas staring, expression controlled, where he sat with the basketball team and hopefuls wanting to try out. “I want to apologise. That’s what I’m asking for your help with.” He pulled out the letter he’d written, holding it towards the younger students.

“Why? Because you realised that high school isn’t everything even though you were preaching that all last week?” Dustin snapped. “He literally wanted me to be right. Said he’d try to help when Mike worried at movie night and believed that you’d be cool. We all did. So fuck you, whatever apology you’ve got I’m checking first.”

A throat was cleared behind him before Eddie could reply. “As will I, and all of you better hope it’s good enough.” A band student stood there, arms crossed and eyes hard as she looked over Corroded Coffin. “You spend your life making big statements and gestures so maybe try that this time. I’m taking this now.” She plucked the pages from his hands

“Robin! I need to check that!” Dustin protested, standing to follow her.

Mike rolled his eyes as they both walked away. “She means it. If there’s someone going to raise hell for Steve it’s Buckley and then Dustin. But if that was a letter for him then it’ll get to him.”

“An apology and a thank you. He dropped a list I think he wanted to talk to me about when he came round. I’m glad I have it and wish I hadn’t spoken as I did, though I thought it was just teasing.” Eddie explained, sitting down at the table as he didn’t feel the need for a speech that day.

“What do we have to do with whatever happened?” Gareth asked, looking at the freshman curiously.

Mike sighed as if it was obvious. “Band students sometimes work with the drama kids, so if she talks to the drama teacher where are we going to play? Though I think Nancy might have to get involved to manage that so I will try to avoid it happening.”

“She’d go after a club you’re part of?” Jeff asked, sceptical.

“The party sticks together. We’d accept it if Dustin decides not enough is done.” Lucas says coming over to the table, now looking amused and a glance back to the basketball group showed Robin and Dustin reading over the pages and debating just behind them. “But it sounds like you’ve made a good enough start. Just need to put some actions behind whatever you’ve written.”

The older students exchanged looks, “What party? You mean like in a campaign?”

“Close enough.” The younger pair agreed.

For the rest of lunch conversation moved back to various classes and goals for the year, but Eddie was watching where Dustin and Robin had seemingly come to a conclusion, his apology getting folded into Robin’s pocket.

~

Steve didn’t make an attempt to reach out to Eddie after getting the letter. Dustin calmed down now his initial annoyance had passed, but it was clear not everything had been forgiven.

Soulmates were meant to be perfect for each other, so despite all the ideas based on what Eddie had known of Steve that meant he acted differently, he tried to focus on things he wanted to do to apologise.

Making a character in a campaign would only work if it was one where they got Steve into the school to play, so that couldn’t happen immediately. Writing a song would also only work if Steve allowed it too, and accepted an invitation to the Hideout to see it performed, since Eddie was never going to risk arrest by playing it outside the mansion in Loch Nora.

“Time’s ticking, Munson. Are you going to make a move?” Buckley asked, waiting at his locker when a couple of weeks had passed since he’d sent the apology.

He turned, smiling at her, “Wish I could. Don’t know where to find him and am a little concerned over getting the wrath of his parents if I just turned up on his doorstep to beg forgiveness.”

“We work at Family Video. He gets the early shift during the week so either skip school to see him or come in on the weekend.” She huffed as if this was something he should’ve know. “And those assholes are never in town. I could move in and they’d never realise.”

“Lonely life.” He commented before thinking about it and looking shrewdly at her, “How often do you hang out at his and would you mind if I crashed an evening?”

Robin smirked at him, “Now you’re getting it. Talk to us instead of stewing in that head of yours. This week I’ll be there Tuesday night and Thursday. Entire party will be there on Friday so avoid it unless you know you’re a hundred percent serious over Steve, not just your soulmate.”

“Tuesday night, then. I’ll bring pizza and something sugary.” He decided.

She nodded in allowance of that but, as she turned to leave, added “And something in case he has a migraine. I heard weed can help.”

~

Steve held the door open but didn’t move out of the way of it as he stared at Eddie. “Hi, Munson, erm, are you okay?”

“Fantastic. A birdie told me you’re hanging out tonight and I offered to bring pizza so I could hopefully apologise in person?” Eddie grinned hopefully, but knew his eyes showed the internal wince when he mentioned their last interaction.

“Okay, um, come in. I did get your letter, you know. You don’t need to do anything more.” He replied, stepping back, still looking uncomfortable.

Eddie clicked his tongue, “I have to argue with you there, Harrington. I definitely need to do more, not because we’re soulmates but because you’re apparently the sweetest guy around who keeps lists of things a bunch of kids I can’t figure out your connection to need to avoid in a game it sounds like you never play. I judged you for someone I should have seen you no longer were and that need plenty of pizza apologies.”

“We, basically all of us have similar things we need to avoid.” Steve muttered, but led the way through to his living room where Robin was stretched out over one sofa.

“Munson, come in! Tell us about your day.” She called, gesturing around the room as if it was her own.

He laughed, collapsing onto the other sofa, “What do you want to know?”

“What the shitheads got up to and if they’re planning any chaos for us.” She answered easily.

Steve shook his head, moving to sit on Robin’s sofa, easily accepting it when her feet were placed in his lap. “They’re always planning chaos, if they’re not in deadly situations.”

With that the conversation flowed easily between them and Eddie began to hope that even if he’d messed up meeting his soulmate they could become something wonderful with time, and apparently, with Robin there too. He didn’t need to see Steve with her for long to know there wouldn’t be any separating those friends.

A rocky beginning can still become a great story.

[mocchiixxx]

Words in Ruin Series # | 07 : Lee Jihoon (Woozi) 🍚

Genre: Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Breakdown, Reconciliation, Slow Realization

Warnings: Emotional yelling, miscommunication, insecurities, guilt, self-blame, heavy crying

Summary: To the world, Woozi is the quiet genius; the producer, the perfectionist, the heart of SEVENTEEN’s sound. But that brilliance comes at a cost. The sleepless nights, the endless revisions, the self-inflicted pressure to outdo himself, again and again, bleeds into every part of his life, even the part where he’s supposed to feel safe: with you. One night, when words snap and tears fall, he realizes music isn’t the only thing that needs harmony. And this time, he might have composed the most painful silence of all.

It was nearing 2:00 a.m. when you heard it, the unmistakable slam of a door echoing through the thin walls of the studio.

That wasn’t like him.

Lee Jihoon didn’t slam things. He didn’t raise his voice. He internalized. Drowned himself in arrangements and demo revisions until even time gave up trying to keep track of him. But tonight, something was unraveling.

You stood from the tiny studio couch you’d been quietly curled up on for the past two hours, watching him mix, waiting for a moment to speak, hoping he’d pause long enough to breathe. You carried over the still-warm cup of coffee you'd made for him earlier and cautiously opened the door.

“Jihoon?” you called gently.

He didn’t answer. He was hunched in front of the monitor, fingers clenched into fists, knuckles white.

“Ji…?” you stepped in slowly.

He finally spoke, but not to you— more to the air, to himself. “Why can’t I get this right?”

You placed the cup on the table beside him. “You’ve been working non-stop. Maybe you just need to step away for a bit to clear your head.”

“I can’t,” he said sharply. Then, quieter: “I don’t have time to rest.”

You blinked. “Jihoon, you haven’t eaten since lunch. You’ve barely spoken to me in days. You’re pushing yourself too hard.”

He finally turned to face you, and the look in his eyes caught you off guard.

Frustration, yes, but also exhaustion… and something worse: fear.

“Don’t start this again,” he muttered. “Not tonight.”

Your chest tightened. “Start what?”

“This.” He gestured vaguely between you. “The lectures. The concern. Like I’m a child who doesn’t know his limits.”

Your lips parted in disbelief. “I’m not lecturing you. I’m loving you.”

“I didn’t ask you to,” he snapped.

Silence...

Pain bloomed in your chest, sharp and fast.

Jihoon realized too late what he’d said. His mouth opened slightly, but no apology came out. Just silence.

You took a step back, eyes stinging. “You didn’t ask me to… But I did. I chose to stay. To wait. To be here. Because I care. And you’re throwing that back in my face?”

His jaw clenched. “You don’t understand. You’ve never had millions of people waiting for your next track. You don’t know what it’s like to feel like everything you produce is never good enough.”

“I don’t have to be a producer to know when someone is breaking,” you whispered. “You’re not a machine, Jihoon. You’re human. You can’t keep living like this, treating sleep like a privilege and love like a distraction.”

He stood now, face stormy. “So what? are you giving me an ultimatum now? You or the music?”

You shook your head slowly, tears finally slipping free. “No. I would never make you choose between me and the thing you love most. I just… I just wish I was somewhere on the list.”

His expression faltered.

You turned to leave. “I’ll go. Since being here is just getting in your way.”

He didn’t stop you.

Not immediately.

Because Jihoon didn’t know how to fix things that weren’t broken chords or off-beat rhythms. He could mend audio clips and rearrange harmonies, but heartbreak? Human emotion? You?

That scared him more than any production deadline ever could.

3:47 a.m.

The studio was quiet now.

The track sat on the screen, unfinished, unbalanced, and hollow.

Just like him.

The untouched cup of coffee still sat by the console. The one you made with tired hands and a hopeful heart.

He reached for it and finally felt the cold.

His fingers curled around the mug, and he swore he could still feel the warmth of you in it. That’s when the guilt hit him, fast, consuming, brutal.

He left the studio without saving the track.

He didn’t care anymore.

Back at the apartment, he pushed open the door gently, afraid of what he might find. Or worse— what he wouldn’t.

But you were there.

Curled up on the edge of the bed, hugging a pillow, your back to him. Small, quiet, still.

“Y/N…” he said, voice hoarse from more than just overuse.

You didn’t answer.

He moved closer, sitting carefully at the foot of the bed.

“I was wrong,” he whispered. “So, so wrong.”

Still, you said nothing. And somehow, that was worse than yelling.

“I took everything out on you when all you did was love me,” he continued, voice shaking. “I let the pressure get so loud that I stopped hearing the most important person in the room.”

You shifted slightly, but didn’t look at him.

“I told you I didn’t ask for your help,” he said softly. “But that wasn’t true. I needed it. I just didn’t know how to say it. I thought… if I let you see how messy I really am, you'd think less of me.”

Finally, your voice came... fragile and raw.

“Do you really think love only survives perfection?”

His head dropped.

“No,” he admitted. “But maybe… I thought I had to deserve you first. Like if I failed, if I cracked even a little… you’d see I wasn’t worth staying for.”

You turned to face him now, eyes swollen and cheeks damp. “I’ve already seen you crack, Jihoon. I stayed. Not because you’re perfect. But because you’re you.”

He closed his eyes tightly. “I said such awful things tonight.”

“You did,” you said honestly. “And they hurt.”

A beat of silence.

“But… I also saw the man behind those words. The one drowning in expectations. The one who forgot that love isn’t supposed to be another performance.”

He reached for your hand, slowly and really carefully, like he was asking permission.

“I want to be better,” he said. “Not just for the fans. Not just for the group. For us. For you.”

You let him take your hand.

“I don’t need perfect tracks,” you said. “I need my Jihoon to come home. Even if he's tired. Even if he’s broken. Just… come home.”

Tears finally slipped from his eyes then.

Real, vulnerable tears.

He pulled you into him, burying his face in your neck like a child seeking shelter. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to push you away. I was just… so lost.”

You stroked his back gently, feeling his shoulders tremble. “I know. But next time, don’t wait until we’re both falling apart.”

He pulled back, cupping your cheek. “Next time, I won’t. Next time, I’ll write us a better ending.”

You leaned into his touch, eyes glassy but steady.

“Or maybe,” you whispered, “we’ll compose one together.”

He smiled through the tears.

For the first time in weeks… he felt like breathing again.

Taglist: @babycaratdeul @viacb97 @christinewithluv

[porters-fangs]

i got some speaker headcanons. so listen up.

tw: my opinion ❤️

also probably not canon-compliant but see if i care

> morgan is almost entirely blind

he was born with cataracts, and the world has always looked to him like a watercolour painting that never dries, colour and light bleeding across his vision

seer obscura never commented when he squinted through the lenses of his glasses as they sat opposite him, or when he fumbled for the handle of his mug.

he can see. just… in a different way.

pry the blind seer trope from my cold dead hands i dare you

> sam has chronic migraines

he’s struggled with them ever since he was a kid. the throbbing pain behind his temples that never ceases, the burn of light creeping under his lashes and searing his nerves, the nausea that rises in his throat and the ringing in his ears whenever he moves his head too far in one direction.

he’s tried everything there is.

painkillers. herbal tea. lying in a dark room for hours on end. eventually, he has to grin and bear it when the responsibilities of life come knocking once more.

it’s only when darlin shifts and and curls up on his chest, every breath rumbling through his bones that he finds himself relaxing. the pain dulls. the sickness fades. he even falls asleep for the first time in days.

a furry tail thumps happily against the bedsheets.

> asher uses he/they pronouns

he started exploring his identity in college, when he kissed a guy for the first time and really didn’t hate it.

they discovered the label “demi boy” in the middle of a lecture when he was really supposed to be taking notes. it stuck.

they haven’t told anyone other than david and babe. not because he’s ashamed - he really doesn’t mind just “he” - but it’s something that feels personal to him.

a discovery that he keeps as his own.

> asher has six toes on one foot

yeah i can’t elaborate on this one

he just does

wiggles them in babe’s face sometimes

> milo used to have anxiety attacks - still does

they were bad when he was a kid. he used to collapse in his bedroom, slamming the door behind him as his throat closed up and his lungs failed every breath.

he had a childhood cat who would only ever come home through milo’s window and never explored the rest of his house. really, his parents never knew they did have a cat. it was his.

he’d keep pieces of chicken from his school lunch to leave on the windowsill. when he was having an anxiety attack, the cat ignored the food. it leaped down, prowling over to him and nudging his leg insistently, purring like an engine.

aggro does the same thing.

> milo still gets growing pains

and it pisses him off

because where is the GROWING

no growth. just an ache deep in his bones.

> vincent had epilepsy

he was never supposed to be at the theme park that night. they were a catalyst for disaster, the flashing lights and stress of the crowds the perfect breeding ground for his condition.

his friend had begged him to come - and then bailed last minute. something about a project deadline? whatever. vincent was going. he’d already convinced himself.

he’d taken his medication. avoided alcohol all night. he was very proud of himself as he stood in the queue for the “surge” rollercoaster. although, he felt himself getting fidgety at the prospect of getting on it.

the stranger next to him seemed just as nervous. so he grabbed their hand. it grounded them both.

> david lost his ring finger

he had an accident as a kid. it was stupid, really. he’d wanted to help his dad build the treehouse in their backyard. begged him to please let him cut the wood - he was strong too, wasn’t he?

reluctantly, gabe handed over the powersaw, holding his son’s hands in his own to keep them steady.

a noise from beyond the backyard. too close to the wards gabe had put up to protect what was left of his family, he glanced up for a second, loosening his hold. david was giddy with excitement.

very poor hand placement led to the crunch of bone and a very vulgar exclamation from his dad.

they had to take it at the hospital. david had never minded. he thought it looked badass - it was proof of the trust his dad had in him, the trust he’d fight to earn again. after all - he was strong too, wasn’t he?

around the time of his and angel’s wedding, he grew to hate the loss of his finger. what kind of husband would he be? unable to properly wear his ring, to let his mate stake their claim over him. they kissed his chest, and told him to go back to sleep.

david got a tattoo the next week. a wedding ring, on the knuckle of his missing finger.

and the real ring would always be threaded on the leather cord around his neck, pressed close to his heart.

> damien has a hip implant

he developed osteoarthritis in his hip at a very young age. even walking around became a chore.

his mother picked up on it very quickly, signing him up for the implant as soon as it was offered.

damien was terrified. he hated the idea of surgery - being unconscious while someone with a scalpel looms over you.

he couldn’t deny that it helped, though. finally, he didn’t wake up in pain, and he could stretch without being in agony.

when he told huxley, he made it part of his routine to drop to his knees and press loving kisses to the scar there while damien blushes and expresses his embarrassment.

he loves it really.

> gavin has a chipped horn

he coalesced with it.

now, gavin knows he looks good.

he’s never felt the need to change his appearance for people - if someone desires him, he’s all theirs

however, that small imperfection always draws his eyes when he admires himself in the mirror, and he feels his mouth tilt down, clicking his tongue

it’s just so… obvious

freelancer spent months working on their contra earth elemental abilities, struggling over each and every detail

until one day, they presented him with a small, gold cap, encrusted with little jewels, about the size of a thimble to sit atop his broken horn

they didn’t leave their room allll dayyyyy

> avior is nonbinary

yeah.

he uses he/they pronouns but the concept of gender has always baffled him.

boy? girl? uhhh… no thank you

demons have no need for such trivial things as “gender”

hilarious

also he has knee length hair and it’s long and silky and never tangles ever??

> guy has a prosthetic hand

it’s his right hand and he lost it a few years ago in a motorcycle accident.

lucky for him, he’s always been left handed.

still, he’s absolutely insufferable with the puns

“hey, honey… need a hand? ;)”

“oh my god guy.”

> camelopardalis has tremors

he’s just shaky. he doesn’t know where they come from.

maybe the memories he relieves from his clients and is haunted by every night .

maybe the coffee he can’t stop drinking.

maybe the fact that he’s somehow always cold, even in the height of summer.

they’ve never stopped him.

> porter used to have a hearing aid

he was only impaired in one ear, but still found comfort in turning his aid all the way down just to tune out the noise from one half of the world.

after he was turned, he no longer needed it, and there was a strange sense of melancholy in shutting the aid away in his bedside drawer.

his ear still rings sometimes.

> vega’s tail was clipped

when he was sent to prison, the tip of his tail was severed. not a catastrophic injury - just enough to make a statement.

i was caught.

he hides it under a cloak when he can, only sparing the blunt end a distasteful glance when he wraps it around the waist of his warden.

[benispunk]

Safety Net

logan howlett x reader

Logan experiences a rage episode.

A/N: hello everyone!!!! am I back??? well...I guess we can kinda say that? So, life hasn't been good, like, at all, and a whileeee ago I saw a post about mental health and Logan and I saw the "rage episodes" part and I cannot find this post anymore which is killing me ughhhh but ANYWAY, this is my rendition of a rage episode. this was very therapeutic to write because of the things I went through recently and over the past few years as I have witnessed someone in my family have a rage episode like the one depicted in this fic. I really hope I do not offend anyone with this??? cause this is based on personal memory and also I've done a lot of research on it and as I said, I felt lots of different emotions while writing this....anyway...I hope you have a good time?? reading this or like...you didn't choke on your tears or whatever. my exams are ALMOST over which means....more fics soon?? see you!!

Masterlist

Logan never thought he’d make it this far.

He wasn’t the type for relationships—not real ones, not the kind that lasted. The ones he’d had before were brief, messy, and built on things that never stuck. But Y/N was different. She didn’t just put up with him; she understood him in ways that no one ever had. And somehow, despite everything, she was still here.

He didn’t say it much—not in words, anyway—but he cared about her. More than he should. More than he knew how to handle. He’d show it in other ways instead. Walking her home when she worked late. Holding her a little tighter in his sleep when he thought she wouldn’t notice. Memorizing the way she took her coffee, the songs she hummed under her breath, the way her nose scrunched up when she was thinking.

She saw through all of it.

"You’re not as grumpy as you think you are," she’d teased him once, her fingers lazily tracing patterns on his forearm.

He’d just snorted, shaking his head. "You sure about that?"

"Mhm. You just pretend to be."

And maybe she was right. Maybe, with her, he didn’t feel the need to pretend so much.

Which is why, one night, tangled up together in her apartment, she had said something that stuck with him.

"I was thinking… maybe one day, we could live together."

It wasn’t a question, not really. Just an idea, something she had tossed out so casually, like it was the most natural thing in the world. But Logan had frozen for just a second too long, and she must have noticed because she quickly added, "Not now, obviously. Just, you know… one day. If you’d want that."

He forced himself to relax, to keep his voice even. "Yeah… someday."

That had been enough for her. She had smiled, kissed him, and let it go.

But he didn’t.

It stayed with him, gnawed at him from the inside out. Someday. What did that even mean? A month? A year? What if she asked again? What if she expected something from him?

What if he said yes and fucked everything up?

At first, he managed to push the thought aside.

Days passed, and nothing changed. They still met up when they could, still spent nights tangled in each other’s arms, still fell into that easy rhythm that had become so natural.

But then, the idea started sticking.

It crept up in quiet moments—when he was alone in his apartment, staring at the ceiling. When Y/N texted him goodnight, and he imagined what it would be like if she was just… there.

And that’s when it started. The overthinking. The doubts. The realization of everything that could go wrong.

Logan had never had anything that lasted. Not a home. Not a real future. Not someone who stayed. And if he let himself believe—even for a second—that this could work, that he could have something good, then he’d just be setting himself up for the inevitable.

Because eventually, he would hurt her.

Not on purpose. Never on purpose. But he knew himself. He knew what he was.

His nightmares alone were enough proof of that.

The thought of waking up next to her after one of those nights—claws unsheathed, sheets shredded, breath ragged—made his stomach twist. What if he lashed out? What if she got caught in it?

What if one of his rage episodes got out of hand?

No.

He couldn’t let that happen.

So when months later she asked about it again—actually asked—he hesitated.

They were sitting on her couch, her legs thrown over his lap, a movie playing in the background. It was the kind of easy, quiet moment that usually put him at ease. But this time, he could feel her looking at him, like she was weighing her words before speaking.

"You never really answered me before," she said finally. "Do you actually want us to live together?"

Logan’s jaw tightened. He could hear the uncertainty in her voice, like she was scared of his answer.

He should have told her the truth. That it had been eating him alive for months. That he wanted to say yes, but his fear screamed louder than anything else.

Instead, he said, "I just need some time to think about it."

Y/N’s expression didn’t change. She just nodded slowly, studying him in that way that made his skin itch.

"Okay," she said, like she didn’t believe him.

And then she squeezed his hand. Just briefly. A small, warm reassurance.

But to Logan, it didn’t change anything.

He could only see what he thought was disappointment behind her understanding. He convinced himself she was just trying to be strong about it, pretending it didn’t hurt her when really, she was just waiting for him to figure himself out.

The guilt settled in his chest, heavy and suffocating.

That’s how it started.

The beginning is always subtle. He stayed out later, made excuses when she asked to meet up. His texts became shorter, more infrequent. He spent more time alone in his apartment, staring at the walls, trapped inside his own head.

And the longer it went on, the worse it got.

Logan convinced himself it was nothing. He was just thinking. That’s all.

But the thoughts never stopped.

Every time Y/N messaged him, guilt curled in his stomach like a sickness. He’d stare at his phone for minutes at a time, fingers hovering over the keyboard, before locking the screen and tossing it onto the couch.

He didn’t want to ignore her. But if he answered, he’d have to talk, and if he talked, she’d hear it in his voice—how torn he was, how he could barely keep himself together. And he couldn’t let that happen.

So he let the distance grow.

He told himself it was for her own good. That he was doing her a favor.

That lie worked for about a week.

Then came the restlessness.

The apartment, always too small, started feeling like a cage. Logan found himself pacing the length of it, muscles coiled so tight they ached. He tried training to burn it off—push-ups until his arms gave out, running until he couldn't feel his legs—but it didn’t help.

The frustration built like pressure under his skin, like a ticking bomb he couldn’t disarm.

And worst of all, he felt it creeping up—an old, familiar feeling, something he’d kept at bay for months.

The anger.

It started small. A twitch in his fingers. A tightness in his jaw. A heat in his chest that never fully went away.

The second week, it got worse.

His hands trembled when he wasn’t paying attention. His breathing came too fast, too shallow, like something was crawling under his skin. He felt his temper snap quicker, his patience wear thinner.

And then, one morning, he caught his reflection in the bathroom mirror and barely recognized himself.

Dark circles burned under his eyes. His face was drawn, sharp, his shoulders tense. He looked haunted.

It was getting bad. Too bad.

He needed to see Y/N.

The thought hit him like a slap. His first instinct was to shove it down, bury it under everything else, but it wouldn’t leave.

He missed her. But worse than that—he needed her.

And that terrified him more than anything.

Because what if he showed up, and she looked at him the way he looked at himself?

What if she finally saw him for what he really was?

A monster. A wreck. A lost cause.

The fear made his blood run cold.

The first punch isn’t planned.

One second, he’s gripping the sink, breath ragged, jaw locked so tight it aches. The next, his fist slams into the mirror with a force that shatters it instantly.

Glass rains down like ice. Tiny shards bite into his knuckles, but he barely feels it.

His chest heaves. His heartbeat pounds against his ribs. He stares at his own fractured reflection—his face split into a dozen broken pieces, each one warped, wrong.

It’s not enough.

The rage claws higher, burning his veins, crushing his ribs. He steps back, breathing sharp and uneven. He moves away from the bathroom, into his small living room. And then he snaps.

The lamp goes flying first. It crashes against the far wall, exploding into pieces. The chair follows. He barely registers the sound it makes as it shatters.

His claws threaten to unsheathe, but he fights it—barely.

Instead, he tears through the apartment with nothing but his hands.

The table gets overturned. Books get ripped from shelves. His dresser—too heavy, too solid—takes three violent attempts before it topples over with a thunderous crack.

Still, it’s not enough.

He needs to break something. To hurt something. To feel it.

His breathing is ragged, his vision tunneling. His hands tangle in his own hair, yanking, as if he could pull himself out of his own skin.

The storm inside him is suffocating.

It doesn’t stop until there’s nothing left standing.

And then, silence.

His shoulders tremble. His hands curl into fists at his sides, still shaking.

He looks around, blinking through the haze, and finally sees it—

The wreckage.

His apartment is destroyed.

He stares, breath coming too fast, too shallow. His head is spinning. His chest aches.

What have I done?

The thought slams into him, knocking the air from his lungs.

He wants to scream. To punch something again. To disappear.

And then—

A soft knock.

His stomach drops.

He goes rigid, pulse hammering in his ears. He barely has time to process before her voice follows—gentle, uncertain.

"Logan?"

No. No, no, no.

She can’t be here. Not now. Not when the air still vibrates with rage. Not when his body still hums with it.

He staggers back, breath shaking, trying to make sense of anything.

She knocks again. "I know you’re here."

Panic surges through him.

He grips the edge of the still standing counter, heart hammering. Think. Think.

But his mind is blank.

She can’t see this. She can’t see him.

But she’s already here.

And it’s too late.

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t breathe. If he stays completely still, maybe she’ll leave. Maybe she’ll assume he’s out and walk away.

But then—

His phone rings.

The sound shatters the silence like a gunshot.

His stomach drops.

Shit.

His body jolts into motion, eyes darting wildly through the wreckage. Where the hell is it? He moves without thinking, shoving aside broken furniture, tossing clothes and debris out of the way. His hands are unsteady, frantic, as he digs through the mess.

The ringing continues.

Come on, come on—

His fingers finally close around the device, and he scrambles to turn it off, but—

The damage is done.

Outside, Y/N goes silent.

A few seconds pass, then—

"...Logan?" Her voice is softer now. Knowing.

His chest tightens.

He grips the phone so hard it creaks in his hand. His breathing is too loud, his pulse a hammer against his skull.

She knows.

"Logan, open the door."

No. No, no, she can’t.

"You can’t come in," he blurts out, his voice hoarse. He clears his throat, tries to steady himself, but it’s useless. His hands are still shaking. His entire body is.

"Please." Her voice is so gentle it cuts through him like a blade.

"Just—just go home, alright?" He forces the words out, presses his back against the door like he can physically hold her out. "I’m fine."

He knows how it sounds. Knows she doesn’t believe it.

"Logan…"

There’s something in her tone—something aching—that makes his stomach twist.

"You’re not fine," she says, quiet but firm. "Please. Just let me in."

He squeezes his eyes shut. His head is spinning.

She shouldn’t be here. She shouldn’t see this.

But she is.

And deep down, he knows. She’s the better option. She always has been. And with a sharp breath, his fingers fumble with the lock.

The second it clicks, the door opens.

And Y/N steps inside.

The air was thick with dust and the sharp scent of splintered wood.

The apartment—once messy in a charming, lived-in way—was destroyed. Furniture overturned, glass shattered across the floor.

In the middle of it all stood Logan. Frozen. Shaking. Like an animal cornered after ripping itself apart.

Y/N didn’t hesitate. Her heart ached so violently in her chest it almost knocked the air from her lungs, but she didn’t hesitate.

Carefully stepping over the broken glass, she made her way to him. Her hands reached out—gentle, slow—like approaching something fragile.

“Logan,” she breathed.

He flinched at her voice. His hands, bloody and trembling, curled into fists at his sides, as if trying to hold himself together. He wouldn’t look at her. Couldn’t.

But Y/N wasn't afraid. Not of him. Never of him.

She checked his hands first, ghosting her fingers over his knuckles, over shallow cuts that were already starting to heal. It didn’t matter—they could have hurt. She still touched him with the same care she would have used on something broken beyond repair.

“Come here,” she whispered, finding a chair that hadn’t been completely wrecked. She kicked aside some debris, made enough space, then turned back to him.

He didn’t move. Didn’t even seem to breathe.

So she went to him and she led him by the hand—gently, so gently—until he sat down with a heavy, defeated thud.

Y/N disappeared into the kitchen for a second, somehow finding a clean cloth and wetting it with cold water. When she came back, Logan hadn't moved. His eyes were empty, far away, like he wasn’t really there.

Kneeling in front of him, she pressed the damp cloth to his face, wiping away the blood, the dirt, the sweat.

He flinched again at first—then, slowly, surrendered to her touch. His head bowed forward, his whole body trembling under her hands. Tears fell down his cheeks. Silent. Endless. He didn’t even seem to notice them.

Y/N caught every tear with the cloth, and when that wasn’t enough, with the soft brush of her thumb against his skin. She kissed the corner of his mouth so lightly he barely felt it, her hands cradling his face like he was something precious.

“It’s okay,” she murmured, over and over again. “I’m here. You’re okay.”

Logan let out a breath that sounded like it hurt to release. His shoulders collapsed inward, and for a moment, he leaned into her, desperate and broken. But even then, even shattered, a part of him tried to pull away. He didn’t deserve this. Didn’t deserve her.

“You shouldn’t be,” he rasped, voice thick with guilt and misery.

Y/N’s heart twisted, but she didn’t loosen her hold. She shook her head and pressed her forehead gently to his. Her hands threaded through his hair, slow and steady, grounding him.

"I’ll always be here," she whispered.

And that—That broke him all over again.

Logan choked on a sob, rough and ugly, and Y/N gathered him close. She guided him toward the bedroom, somehow navigating the wreckage without letting go of him, like if she let go, he might fall apart completely.

They reached the bed—half wrecked but still standing—and she urged him to sit.

He obeyed, dazed and exhausted.

She climbed behind him, pulling him against her chest, holding him the way you would hold someone drowning. Her hands never stopped moving—through his hair, over his face, down his chest—silent promises written into every touch.

Logan tried to speak—tried to tell her he was sorry, that he was dangerous, that he should be alone—but the words tangled in his throat.

Instead, he cried.

For everything he was.

For everything he wasn’t.

For everything he was terrified to lose.

And she listened. Patient. Endless.

Her tears fell into his hair as she presses soft kisses there and whispered, “I’ve got you, Logan. I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

For the first time in days—maybe longer—he believed her.

He stayed there, trembling in her arms, every breath a struggle. He was exhausted—but he couldn’t close his eyes. Couldn’t let himself fall into sleep, not yet. Not when every part of him screamed that he didn’t deserve this. Didn’t deserve her.

Y/N must have sensed it—the way he was still locked in the fight, even as his body sagged against her. Because after a long moment, she leaned back just enough to look at him, her fingers brushing through his hair again, slow and soothing.

"Logan," she said softly, "let’s go to my place, okay?"

Her voice was a balm, warm and certain, like she was offering him a lifeline he didn’t think he deserved.

"We’ll come back here when you're ready," she promised. "We'll clean up together. But right now, you need a place that feels safe."

Safe.

The word hit him like a punch.

Logan stiffened, guilt flaring so hard it made his stomach churn. He shook his head, tearing away from her touch even though it hurt to do it.

"I can’t," he rasped, his voice cracking. "I’ll... I'll just wreck that too."

Y/N’s chest squeezed painfully. Logan’s fists curled again, self-hatred bleeding out of every line of his body.

"I could—" he swallowed hard, his throat burning, "I could hurt you."

He didn’t say again. But it was there, unspoken.

He was a monster. A ticking bomb. Someone who could tear everything good apart without even meaning to.

But Y/N. She just reached for him again, steady and unwavering, like a lighthouse cutting through the storm.

"You won’t," she said, firm but gentle. "You won't because you're not alone. Because you don’t have to fight this alone anymore."

She squeezed his hand, grounding him back into her.

"And even if you still don’t believe it," she whispered, "even if you push me away, even if you try to shut me out... I’m not leaving you, Logan. Not now. Not ever."

Logan’s breathing hitched. He shook his head again, broken. "You don’t get it," he choked out. "I’m not... I'm not worth it. You should walk away. You should've walked away the second you saw—" He gestured weakly at the wreckage, at the wreck of himself.

But Y/N only moved closer. Closer until he couldn't look anywhere without seeing her. Feeling her.

"I saw you," she said, voice thick with emotion. "Not the mess. You."

That shattered something deep in him. Not in a violent way. In a way that stripped him down to the raw truth beneath all the pain: He needed her. He wanted her. He loved her more than he even knew how to say.

And she loved him right back, with a kind of love so fierce it scared him more than anything else in the world. But it also saved him.

Slowly, hesitantly, Logan reached for her again. His hand fisted in the back of her shirt like he was terrified she might vanish if he didn’t hold on tight enough. And when she leaned into him, wrapping him up in her arms again, he buried his face in her neck, letting himself finally, finally fall into her.

Maybe he didn’t deserve her. Maybe he never would.

But she was here. And for tonight, at least, that was enough.

She kept her arms around him for a long moment, just breathing with him. When she finally pulled back, it was only to cup his face in both hands, her thumb brushing gently across his cheek.

"Stay here," she whispered. "Don’t move, okay? I’ll be right back."

Logan didn’t argue. Couldn’t. He just nodded faintly, like a man barely clinging to the surface.

Y/N kissed his forehead so softly it made his chest ache, then she stood up, stepping carefully over the wreckage as she made her way back into the main room. He watched her go, guilt gnawing at him.

In the living room, Y/N moved quickly but carefully. She picked up the sharp shards of the broken mirror first, wrapping them in a towel before tossing them safely into the trash. She pushed splintered wood and broken glass out of the pathways, clearing a narrow, safe space from the bedroom to the front door. She closed the shattered shutters as best she could, dimming the room so that when Logan would come back here later, it wouldn't feel so raw. So exposed.

She worked with quiet determination, her heart breaking a little more every time she caught sight of the destruction. Not because she cared about the mess, but because she could feel how much pain Logan must've been in to cause it.

When she was satisfied that nothing dangerous remained, she made her way back to the bedroom.

Logan was still sitting exactly where she left him, on the edge of the bed, his shoulders slumped and hands loosely clenched in his lap.

Y/N’s heart squeezed.

She didn’t say anything at first. Instead, she moved around the room, finding a worn duffel bag tucked under the bed. She gently packed what she could: clothes that weren’t destroyed, a couple of small things she knew mattered to him.

In the bathroom, it was harder—cracked tiles, broken shelves—but she found his toothbrush, some of his toiletries, a couple of personal items, and tucked them into the bag too.

The whole time, Logan stayed silent, waiting on the edge of the bed.

It felt unreal. Like he wasn’t sure any of this was happening. Like any second now, she’d realize who he really was and walk out that door forever.

But she didn’t. She zipped the bag closed, slinging it over her shoulder and when she turned to him, her expression was still soft. Still his.

"Alright," she said gently. "Let’s go."

Logan hesitated, his body locked between guilt and the pull of her voice. But then she held out her hand to him and after a long, trembling second, Logan reached out and took it.

Her fingers wrapped tightly around his, like a promise.

She led him out of the bedroom, guiding him carefully around the worst of the wreckage she’d cleared, never letting go of his hand. Out the door. Out of the prison his fear had made.

The walk to Y/N’s apartment was quiet.

She kept a steady hand on Logan the whole time, whether it was gripping his hand, brushing his arm, or gently guiding him through doors and up steps.

Logan didn’t speak. He felt hollowed out and brittle, like if she let go of him even for a second, he might just blow away with the night wind.

When they finally reached her door, she unlocked it quickly, ushering him inside with a tenderness that made his throat ache.

The apartment smelled like her. Warm. Safe.

Home.

She kicked off her shoes by the entrance but didn’t ask him to do the same. Instead, she led him straight to the couch, easing him down carefully like he might break if she moved him too fast.

"Stay right here," she said softly, brushing his hair back from his forehead. "I'll be back in a second."

He nodded numbly, watching her flit around the small space. She pulled out a fresh blanket, fluffed a pillow behind him, checked the thermostat to make sure the place was warm enough. Every move was made with him in mind—with the kind of care he didn’t think he deserved.

And maybe he didn't. Maybe he was fooling himself to think he could have this. Have her.

As she moved into her bedroom to grab some extra clothes he could borrow, Logan’s eyes wandered without meaning to.

Her apartment was small but filled with life—books, photos, cozy little touches everywhere. He caught sight of something pinned to the fridge and frowned. He pushed himself up a little and squinted.

It was a photo. Worn and creased from being touched so often.

It was him. Him and her.

A candid photo from some random night he barely remembered, probably taken when they'd gone out for drinks with some of her friends. In it, he was looking off to the side, a rare, unguarded smile on his face. And she was laughing, leaning into him like she belonged there. Like she'd always belonged there. Someone had drawn a little heart under the picture.

Logan's chest tightened so hard it hurt. He hadn't even known she had that picture.

Y/N came back just then, carrying some sweatpants and a soft hoodie, but paused when she saw him up, looking at the fridge.

"Logan?" she said gently, setting the clothes down.

He shook his head, trying to swallow the lump in his throat. Trying to breathe past the crushing guilt and the unbearable love that wrapped around him like chains. He sat back down on the couch.

"I..." he started hoarsely. He dragged a hand down his face, then gritted out, "I don't deserve this. I don't deserve you."

Y/N didn’t hesitate. She dropped to her knees in front of him, cupping his face in her hands again, forcing him to look at her.

"Listen to me," she whispered, voice trembling but sure. "You’re not a monster. You’re not broken beyond saving. You are good, Logan. And you don’t have to do this alone anymore."

He squeezed his eyes shut, a broken sound escaping him—part sob, part plea.

"I could hurt you," he rasped. "I could—"

"You won't," she said fiercely. "I trust you. I know you."

Her thumbs brushed away the tears he didn't even realize were falling again.

For a long, trembling moment, Logan didn’t move. Didn't even breathe.

And then, like a man surrendering a battle he never wanted to fight in the first place, he leaned into her touch. Collapsed against her.

And for the first time in what felt like forever, he let himself believe he wasn't beyond saving.

Not as long as she was here. Not as long as she was holding him like this.

Logan’s body was heavy against hers, all tense lines and shuddering breaths. For a moment, he let himself rest there, forehead pressed to her shoulder, letting her hands ground him—gentle strokes along his back, soothing circles at the nape of his neck.

But then, as always, the guilt clawed its way back up his throat.

He shifted, starting to pull away.

"I—I should go," he muttered roughly, not even knowing where he thought he could go in this state. "I’ll just—I’ll sleep on the floor. Or— or the couch."

Y/N immediately tightened her hold.

"What are you talking about..." she said, firm but gentle, her hands sliding up to cradle his face again. "You're not going anywhere."

He shook his head, a pained sound escaping him, "You don’t—You shouldn't have to—" His voice cracked under the weight of it. "Look at me, Y/N."

"I am," she whispered, her thumb stroking just beneath his eye, brushing away a tear. "And all I see is the man I love."

He squeezed his eyes shut, breathing ragged.

She didn’t let him turn away. Didn’t let him fall back into that pit.

"You're staying right here," she said again, softer this time, like a promise. "With me."

For a second, he was frozen.

Then Y/N pressed a soft kiss to his forehead, lingering there.

"Come on," she murmured against his skin. "Let’s get you comfortable, alright?"

He nodded weakly, too exhausted to resist anymore.

She helped him out of his ruined jacket, guiding him with slow, careful movements like he was made of glass. He let her pull the sleeves down his arms, let her tug the hoodie over his head. Every touch was tender, every glance full of nothing but care and patience.

She handed him the fresh sweatpants and shirt she'd found earlier, giving him the dignity of changing in the bathroom if he wanted— but he just stood there, trembling, needing her near.

So she stayed. Helping him change, steadying his shaking hands when they fumbled with the fabric.

Once he was in clean clothes, Y/N led him to her bed.

The second he sat down, the mattress dipping under his weight, he seemed to lose what little strength he had left. He dropped his head into his hands, shoulders heaving with silent breaths.

Y/N knelt down again in front of him, brushing her fingers through his hair with infinite gentleness.

"You’re safe now," she whispered. "You’re safe. I’ve got you."

Logan swallowed hard, blinking back another wave of tears. He was so fucking tired. Of fighting. Of hurting.

Tired of believing he didn’t deserve this.

Slowly—so slowly—he lifted his head.

And she was there. Still there. Still looking at him like he was worth staying for.

"I’ll stay," he rasped, voice breaking.

Her smile trembled, but it was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

"Good," she breathed, wiping another tear from his cheek. "That's all I want."

She climbed into bed beside him, pulling the blankets over them, never once letting go of his hand.

And for the first time in what felt like a lifetime, Logan let himself believe that maybe—just maybe—he didn’t have to be alone anymore.

XXX

feel free to comment if you want a part 2 or any other request!!

[celestialgallaghers]

White Mustang: Wednesday [18+]

this one cost me a new laptop so I hope it was worth it...jk jk this part is my favorite so far and it's part of what sparked this whole idea so i wanted to get it right which is why it took me longer im #sorry.

also thank you for 200 followers!!!!💖

Prelude | Saturday | Sunday | Monday | Tuesday | Wednesday | Thursday | Friday

Summary: You were younger then, and it was only a crush. Something harmless born in the long hours of a studio summer. But now Noel’s here, newly divorced and quieter then you remember, sharing a house on your family’s holiday. He’s more distant, harder to read, and somehow even more gorgeous with age. Suddenly the feelings you thought had faded are back in full force. But he’s still off limits… isn’t he?

Word count: 6.3k

Wednesday

The next morning, Noel was different. 

Not in a way anyone else would have noticed, but you saw it instantly. He was lighter somehow. Like an invisible weight had slipped from his shoulders. It tugged at something deep and warm in your chest.

You didn’t know how he was going to act today. You barely knew how to act yourself. Now that you’d touched him. Tasted him. Knew what sounds he made when he was falling apart. It made whatever it was between you feel heavier. Potent and impossible to ignore now that you’d stepped over that line.

Your skin itched for him. The ache had settled into you so deeply you didn’t know how you were supposed to sit still and have breakfast across from him like none of it happened.

You wanted to push him more. Test him. See what other kinds of reactions you could pull from him.

But would he let you? 

Would he look at you differently and let those heavy stares linger instead of disguising them? Or would he slip back behind the wall? 

The uncertainty was making you feel entirely out of your depth.

“Sleep well?” you asked casually, keeping your tone light, your eyes fixed down as you nudged a fork through your eggs.

Across the table, Noel’s lips tugged into a crooked smirk that barely surfaced before it slipped away.

“Better than I have in a long time,” he said, voice low and almost private, like it wasn’t meant to be heard by anyone but you.

The words curled warm and tight in your stomach. You could feel yourself softening instantly, helpless against it.

“Oh? And why’s that?” you asked, risking a glance at him from under your lashes. “Sun wear you out, old man?”

He huffed a quiet laugh under his breath, the crinkles around his eyes deepening with amusement. 

“Something like that,” he murmured, lifting his tea to his mouth.

You dropped your head quickly, a smile breaking loose before you could stop it. You smothered it against your coffee cup. You prayed it looked casual. 

Across from you, your dad flipped the page of his newspaper, blissfully unaware.

But you were not unaware. You kept your gaze steady and tried hard not to remember the sounds Noel had made last night. The way he’d come hot down your throat. The way his body had shuddered under your touch, surrendering for the first time. The way he’d finally let himself show his need…you wanted more. God, you wanted more. 

And he’d promised it. Promised to make it up to you. Whatever that meant, it was already burning a hole through you just waiting for it.

You set your utensils down a touch too neatly and rose from your chair. “Thinking of heading back down to the beach today. Anyone have plans?”

Your dad folded up the newspaper, setting it aside with a shrug. “Not really. Might go for a walk later on.”

Noel leaned back, his chair creaking as he pushed away from the table. “Dunno yet.”

You shrugged one shoulder, aiming for nonchalance. "Join me if you want."

His lips curled. The barest flicker of a smile sparked in his eyes more than on his mouth. “Sure.”

He stood, stretching his arms above his head with a slow yawn. Your gaze flickered before you could stop it, drawn to the thin strip of skin revealed just above his waistband. The faint line of hair disappearing lower…

Heat flared across your cheeks and your mind betrayed you, feeding vivid, uninvited memories of exactly what followed that trail. You could almost feel the weight of him on your tongue again, your throat tightening at the phantom sensation. You turned away quickly, before your blush gave you away.

Noel stepped beside you to help clear the dishes. You moved together in an easy rhythm, elbows brushing as you reached past each other. To anyone else, it would’ve seemed casual. But every graze made your skin tingle.

You wanted to touch him properly. To hook your ankles behind his back and feel him sink deep inside you. To bury your face in the warm curve of his neck and breathe him in. 

But not here. Not with your dad still at the table.

You swallowed it down hard, masking it under a neutral expression. Still, you let your fingertips linger just a fraction longer every time they brushed his.

And the quiet thrill that bloomed in your chest when he didn’t flinch, didn’t pull away, made you giddy.

You really had gotten through to him last night. He was letting himself touch you. Wasn’t pulling back. Wasn’t hiding it anymore. No hesitation. No second guessing. It was everything you’d hoped for and more.

Neither of you worked quickly. You dragged out the motions under the thin excuse of being thorough, prolonging the chance to stay near him.

His knuckles grazed the small of your back as he set a glass aside and your stomach dropped sharply. It was ridiculous how something so small could affect you so much.

You heard the scrape of your dad’s chair, his muttered words about getting ready, and then his footsteps faded down the hall.

The second he was gone, Noel leaned in. Close enough that his breath stirred the hair at your temple, warm against your skin.

“You have no idea what I want to do to you right now,” he murmured, voice barely audible.

The words landed like a punch low in your gut. Heat was unfurling in a hot, spiraling rush deep inside you.

You hadn’t expected him to say it aloud. Not like that. Not so blunt and raw. Quiet confessions like that…it sent your mind reeling.

Fuck he really wanted you then. And not in the distant, guarded way he had before. The realization was you making you lightheaded.

You didn’t even get the chance to answer. Footsteps echoed from the hall again and you forced yourself into motion, hurriedly rinsing the last dish with trembling hands. 

When you risked a glance at Noel, his eyes were locked on yours. The corner of his mouth was tipped up. Like he could see straight through you and knew exactly how hard you were trying to hide the want in your eyes. 

Emily’s voice broke the charged quiet as she bounded into the kitchen, bright and unaware. 

You cleared your throat fast, snapping the mask back into place.

“Morning,” you greeted, voice mercifully steady. “You up for the beach later?”

She grinned. “Yeah, sounds good.”

You exhaled slowly, steadying yourself. “Alright, I’m just about to get ready to head down. Noel, you coming?”

His gaze didn’t leave yours. Slowly, that private smile spread across his lips.

“Yeah,” he said softly.

You changed quickly, slipping into a soft blue bikini and pulling a light cover-up on. When you returned to the kitchen, Noel was leaning against the counter, reading something from his phone. 

You watched him for a minute. Everything between you felt sharper now. More electric. The air seemed to hum with it. 

There was no more pretending. No more wondering. The ground had shifted under your feet and now neither of you could ignore it. You both knew exactly how far this had gone. Exactly what you wanted.

Even though his sunglasses were already perched low on his face, you felt the flick of his gaze skimming over you. “Ready?”

“Yup, let’s go,” Emily chimed, coming up behind you and looping her arm through yours. You let her pull you outside, but you could feel it. Noel’s stare was burning heavy on your back as you walked ahead.

The beach was quiet this morning. You laid out a towel, smoothing it over the sand. Emily dropped onto your left. Noel settled on your right.

Slowly, you slipped the cover-up over your head and tossed it aside. The instant the fabric left your skin, you felt the full weight of Noel’s gaze dragging over you. Your skin burned everywhere his eyes touched.

This time, you didn’t shy away. You met it head on. Let him look. Let him know you felt it.

You bent to rummage through your bag, feeling around for a bottle of sunscreen. As you did, your chest shifted forward, breasts spilling over the curve of your bikini top. You kept your eyes steady on him, right over the top of your sunglasses. 

You caught the way his throat bobbed. His breath drew in shallow, nostrils flaring for the smallest second.

Heat licked up your spine. You had him now. You could be bolder. Ruthless.

You squeezed a slow line of sunscreen into your palm and smoothed it over your skin with more care than necessary. Your hands glided over the slope of your collarbones, the tops of your arms, moving deliberately slow.

You turned to Emily, handing her the bottle. "Would you mind getting my back?"

“Sure!” she chirped, still oblivious.

As she worked the lotion over your shoulder blades, you faced Noel fully and tilted your chest slightly toward him. The smirk tugging at your lips was devious. Meant for him alone.

Finally, you eased back onto your towel, stretching out languidly before settling back, book in hand.

You didn’t even pretend to read at first. You just soaked in the thrill of his full attention, watching him out of the corner of your eye.

Each glance he cast was heavier than the last. Like he was trying to speak all the things he couldn't say aloud with just his eyes.

A small, knowing smile tugged at the corner of your mouth when you caught the subtle shift of his hips. The way he had to roll onto his stomach for his own self preservation. 

A fresh wave of heat bloomed low in your belly. A dull throb pulsed between your thighs, sharp and insistent. You shifted slightly on the towel, already slick with arousal. Your bikini was light enough to betray you it if you weren’t careful. Somehow, that only made you burn hotter.

You sat up under the guise of rummaging through your bag again, parting your knees just enough to catch his eye. And catch it you did. His inhale was quiet, but sharp. Unmistakable.

The way his eyes dragged between your thighs set your skin aflame all over again. You swallowed and eased back down, crossing your ankles, squeezing your thighs together with a small roll of your hips.

Noel cleared his throat roughly. You smiled into your book. Triumphant even as you trembled slightly underneath it.

Eventually, the heat of the sun grew too much and you and Emily headed down to the water. The cool waves were a relief against your flushed skin. You tried to let them wash away the film of filth clinging to your brain, but it was no use. 

Even far away on the shore, you were acutely aware of Noel in your peripheral vision. 

On your way back to your towel, you passed him. As you did, you let a trail of cold water drip from your fingertips onto his back and shoulders.

A sharp gasp escaped him as the drops hit his bare skin.

You watched, biting your lip, as he shivered slightly, muscles tensing under the sudden chill. But it wasn’t just the water that rattled him. It was you. His stare was equal parts murderous and ravenous. Like he’d just about had enough of your teasing.

You loved it. 

You stretched back out under the sun, letting your skin dry slowly. Conversation drifted lazily between the three of you. Dinner plans. Possible restaurants. Menial bullshit. It helped keep your mind off of your dirty thoughts about the man sitting beside you.

Almost.

By late afternoon, you and Emily packed up and wandered back to the house. Your skin was tight from the sun, but it wasn’t just that. Your entire body still hummed from the unspoken exchange Noel had laced through every glance.

As soon as you reached the house, you slipped away toward the outdoor shower tucked behind it, eager to rinse the salt and sand from your body. The space was small and private, wrapped in sun bleached wooden slats, the flagstone floor warm beneath your bare feet.

You were just finishing up when the door rattled. Before you could react, Noel slipped inside, shutting it quietly behind him, sealing you both inside.

“Noel, what are you—”

He didn’t let you finish. His finger pressed to his lips, eyes dark. The look alone silenced you. Made your stomach flip.

Wordlessly, he stepped behind you and tugged you flush against his chest. His body was searing hot. You could feel the hard line of him through his swim shorts, nestled against the curve of your ass. Your breath faltered helplessly.

One hand slid low, fingertips ghosting over the front of your bikini bottoms. The other splayed wide across your stomach, pinning you tight against him. His lips brushed the shell of your ear, and you felt him exhale hard as his fingers pulled the scrap of fabric aside and found you. Still wet and needy for him.

A groan reverberated low in his chest, vibrating into your back. His fingers dragged through you slowly, maddeningly, and a strangled sound tore from your throat.

Noel’s palm clamped over your mouth instantly, smothering it.

“Shhh,” he breathed against your ear. “Told you I’d make it up to you, didn’t I?”

You barely managed a nod before he pushed a finger inside, curling it so perfectly you nearly collapsed. Your back arched against him, thighs already trembling. His breathing faltered, hot and unsteady as his nose dragged along the slope of your neck.

He slid another finger in beside the first, stretching you just right, stroking deep and unhurried as you clamped around him. The slick sound of it was swallowed by the patter of the water, but it echoed loud in your ears.

You whimpered behind his hand, your entire body trembling. You’d been so on edge the whole trip that your orgasm was already hurtling toward you. 

His cock pulsed hard behind you as his fingers pressed into that devastating spot over and over again.

Your hips bucked. His grip around you tightened, pulling you back. You could feel him grinding subtly against you, desperate for relief but holding back, the control making you ache even more. 

His thumb brushed over your clit and your knees buckled. You couldn’t stop the breathy moans that spilled from you. He clamped his hand tighter over your mouth. His fingers inside you worked relentlessly now, the pad of his thumb circling until you were shaking. You could feel yourself tightening around his fingers, right on the edge.

Noel’s breath was ragged against your shoulder. He increased the pressure of his thumb and you pressed back hard against him. You could feel his teeth scraping lightly before he bit down hard to stifle his own moan.

It shattered you.

Your orgasm crashed into you fast and brutal, ripping through you. Your body spasmed against him, muscles locking down around his fingers as his arm cinched you tighter. You gasped raggedly into his palm, trembling as he coaxed you through every last wave.

He didn’t stop until the last tremor subsided, until you went limp in his arms. Only then did he slowly ease his fingers out. His free hand steadied you as your legs nearly gave way beneath you. Carefully, he turned you to face him. Your chest heaved, lips parted, still dazed as you watched him bring his slick fingers to his mouth and suck them clean, his eyes never leaving yours. He smirked around his fingers, clearly pleased with himself at how he’d absolutely wrecked you.

You sagged against the cool wooden slats, shivering from the comedown. It took a few moments before you registered the ache blooming in your shoulder. Your fingers rose to brush over the faint indent of his teeth.

“Noel,” you hissed under your breath, somewhere between scandalized and breathless. “I’m gonna have to hide that for the rest of the trip.”

“Whoops.” His voice was unapologetic.

You swatted at his chest, a reluctant smile tugging at your lips. You were leaning in, about to kiss him, when—

Your father’s voice rang sharp from outside the shower, footsteps drawing closer.

Your blood ran cold.

“Have you seen Noel? We’re leaving for dinner soon and I can’t find him.”

Panic shot through you. Your eyes snapped wide, meeting Noel’s gaze.

“No!” you called out quickly, forcing your voice to sound even. “Maybe he’s still down at the beach.”

You were both frozen until his footsteps passed and slowly faded away.

Noel exhaled hard, dragging a hand down his face. “Jesus. That was too fucking close. We’ve gotta be smarter.”

“You mean you have to be smarter,” you hissed, though your voice came out more breathless than stern. “You’re the one who came in here in the first place.”

That’s when your eyes dropped down and caught the unmistakable bulge straining hard against his swim shorts. The outline was obscene. Clear enough so that you could distinctly make out the head of his cock.

You clenched again and your hand moved toward him, desperate to give him the same relief he'd just given you. 

But he caught your wrist in his grip, gently swatting it away with a shake of his head. His jaw was tight. “Not now. You should go before he starts wondering.”

His tone left no room for argument, even as his cock twitched visibly against the thin fabric. You bit your lip, flicking your gaze down, up, down again. You didn’t want to leave. 

“Go,” Noel said with a soft, warning laugh, though his voice was strained. “I’ll take care of it.”

Reluctantly, you turned to slip out but couldn’t help glancing back. Noel stood under the spray, flipping the water handle to cold with a grimace.

You wanted to stay so badly, feel him heavy in your grip again, but knew that he was right. You had to be more careful.

You forced your legs to carry you back into the house, into your room, though they trembled with every step. You could feel him on you. Still. The ghost of his touch sinking deep into you.

Jesus christ his fingers. He was good. Way too good. You already ached for more.

You exhaled a shaky breath and tried to focus on getting ready, though your hands wouldn’t stop trembling.

You managed to pull yourself together just in time. By the time you emerged from your room, the sun had sunk low on the horizon. Your skin still thrummed faintly, hypersensitive from the release you’d so badly needed.

Every shift of your dress over your shoulder grazed the spot where Noel had sunk his teeth into you. You’d checked it earlier. It was unmistakably a bite mark. With luck, it’d fade by tomorrow. You prayed it would.

Everyone was gathered in the front hall, relaxed and tinged pink from the sun. Noel appeared last. Freshly showered, hair damp at the ends. He was calm. Effortless as always. 

But you saw through it. The way his expression was just slightly tighter than usual. He was still on edge, his body angry at him for the release he hadn’t taken.

His gaze flicked to you once. Barely a glance. 

It landed like a gut punch. Your core clenched hard at the memory of his fingers buried deep inside you. Goosebumps prickled over your skin. You had to swallow thickly and tear your eyes away.

You all piled into a car and headed into town, winding through narrow roads. You forced your eyes on the landscape outside the window, trying to take a moment to steady yourself.

The restaurant your father had chosen sat at the edge of a cove, tucked beneath a canopy of string lights and fig trees. The air was balmy, waves rolling gently beyond the terrace. It was almost beautiful enough to pull you out of the lust clouding your mind.

This time fate, or something crueler, landed Noel beside you. Both a blessing and a curse. You were hyper aware of him. Every quiet shift. Every slight brush of his arm against yours. Each contact sent sparks through you.

Throughout the meal, the conversation meandered easily—music, the day’s beach antics, plans for the rest of the week—but beneath the table, a second conversation unfolded in silence. 

He was mid-story, voice smooth and low. The others listened, but you didn’t hear a word. You were too focused on the curve of his neck. The clean, intoxicating scent of him. Faint soap layered with something sharper. It was like an aphrodisiac.

His knee knocked into yours. Barely there. He backed off instinctively, but stayed close. Just centimeters away. Like he was daring you to bridge the gap.

You caved instantly, pressing your leg into his. 

Noel’s fingers tapped idly on the stem of his wine glass as he continued talking, but his knee pressed just a touch harder into yours.

It was like the shower had never ended. You could still feel his hand clamped over your mouth, his fingers stroking deep inside you. You shifted in your seat, thighs angling together beneath the table.

His lips twitched. He’d noticed. Of course he had.

And then, so subtly you might’ve imagined it, his tongue flicked out, dragging slowly across his bottom lip. Like he was still savoring the taste of you.

The wine was making your head fuzzy. You had to remind yourself to look away. Not to let your gaze linger too long on the sharp arch of his nose or the open collar of his shirt. Don’t make it obvious. Don’t get caught.

Toward the end of the meal, your father flagged down the waitress for a photo. Noel’s arm slipped easily around the back of your chair. You leaned in without thinking. His body radiated heat. 

After the camera flashed, his fingers ghosted along the nape of your neck. It was barely a touch, but it shot straight down your spine and pooled between your legs

By the time you all climbed back into the car for the ride home, you felt wrung out. Overheated.

The car was quiet with that sleepy, satisfied kind of silence that followed a heavy meal and a long day in the sun. Emily sat beside you, scrolling idly through her phone. Up front, your father and Noel talked lowly. The windows were cracked open, letting the salty breeze curl through the car.

It was one of those rare moments you knew you’d think about long after it passed. 

By the time you arrived back at the house, the sky had deepened into navy, stars starting to emerge. Your father stifled a yawn as he unlocked the door.

“Think I’m calling it a night,” he said through a stretch. “Long day.”

Emily agreed, her words slightly slurred from the wine she’d sipped all evening. “Me too, I’m knackered.”

You nodded, murmuring something about needing sleep as well. But the second their footsteps faded up the stairs, your eyes snapped to Noel’s.

It hit you like a physical thing. All the restrained desire simmering under the surface at dinner was now uncontained. His expression darkened, the facade of calm dropping completely now that you were alone.

Neither of you said a word. You just moved.

Your steps were silent on the cool tile as you crossed through the kitchen and slipped outside onto the patio.

It was still. Warm. The faint sound of the sea drifted up from below.

Noel backed you into a hidden corner and finally, finally, he spoke.

“You’re such a fucking tease, you know that?” he said. “Didn’t expect that from you.”

You swallowed hard, mouth dry. But you held your ground.

“Yeah? What did you expect me to be? Well behaved? Shy?” you whispered back, leaning into his space.

“Maybe.” His gaze flicked over your face. “That’s how I remember you.”

A slow smirk curled at your lips. Your stomach flipped hard at the admission. That part of you lived in his memory.

“Well, I’m not that girl anymore,” you whispered. “But I can be. If you want me to.”

His hand snapped up, fingers curling tight at the back of your neck as he dragged you in, mouth crashing to yours. It was messy, consuming, exactly what you’d craved all damn day. You met him with equal force, nails curling into the front of his shirt as you pressed close.

“Fuck, you’d do anything if I asked, wouldn’t you?” His breath skated hot over your lips, ragged like he already knew the answer.

“In a heartbeat,” you whispered, lips brushing his as you spoke.

A half-laughed breath punched out of him before his mouth slammed back to yours. The heat of it made you shiver. His hand slid to your hip, fingers digging through the thin fabric of your dress as he pinned you to the cool wall of the house. You gasped softly against his lips, the contrast sparking sharp through your nerves.

The kiss broke long enough for him to mutter against your lips, “Can’t stop thinking about earlier…the way you fell apart just from my fingers…god—”

Your teeth sank into his bottom lip, dragging a groan deep from his chest. You fisted his shirt tighter and pulled him closer. He tasted like expensive wine and something singularly his—rich and addictive. You licked into his mouth, chasing every last bit of it.

He finally tore back, resting his forehead to yours, breath unsteady.

“Hasn’t been like this for me in years,” he murmured against your skin. “Feels like I’m twenty-five again.”

You smiled against his lips, fingers threading into his hair. “But you’re not,” you whispered. “Men my age couldn’t make me come that fast. No one could.”

The words tumbled out before you could catch them. Maybe you shouldn’t have said it but it was true. He was twice your age, with twice as much experience. You bet there were things he could do to you you hadn’t even dreamed of. You shivered at the thought.

“You’re still wet, aren’t you?” he asked, reverent, like he couldn’t believe it.

“Why don’t you find out for yourself?” you whispered, breath catching.

Noel cursed under his breath, hand sliding down to gather the hem of your dress, skimming maddeningly slow up your thigh. You twitched beneath his touch, aching—

And then a door creaked open inside the house. Footsteps padded softly over tile. Voices carried faintly.

Your body locked up, rigid in an instant. Noel froze too, chest heaving against yours. His head snapped up, hand dropping from your leg, your dress falling swiftly back into place. He exhaled hard through his nose, jaw clenched, visibly reeling himself back in.

You both stood perfectly still, straining to listen.

After a long, tense moment, the footsteps retreated. A door clicked shut.

Noel let out a breath slow and shaky, his forehead dropping back to yours. 

“Fuckin’ hell…” he muttered under his breath. His thumb swept a slow, soothing stroke along your jaw. “Wish we had this place to ourselves.”

You let out a breathless laugh, pulse still hammering. The fact that he wanted you all to himself made your stomach twist.

“Tomorrow,” he rasped, lips brushing yours. His teeth caught your bottom lip gently before letting go. “I’ll make time. I swear it.”

You nodded, thighs clenching involuntarily at the promise laced in his voice.

Reluctantly, he eased back. His eyes dragged down your body with a long, hungry sweep before he exhaled sharply and raked a hand through his hair.

“Get some sleep, yeah?” he murmured. “You’ll need it.” His smirk made your stomach bottom out.

And with that, he slipped quietly back inside, leaving you trembling against the house, body buzzing and mind spinning with everything tomorrow might bring.

2:38 am

It was useless. Sleep wasn’t coming.

You’d tossed and turned for hours, sheets tangled around your legs. Your skin was too warm despite the ocean breeze that slipped through the cracked window. Every time you closed your eyes, all you could see was Noel’s face inches from yours. The trail of his hand up your thigh. The shower…

You stared up at the ceiling, trying to force your mind to think of something, anything, else.

And then—

A soft knock.

Your heart leapt into your throat. You bolted upright as it came again, barely audible, as if whoever stood there was praying not to wake anyone else.

You didn’t need to wonder who it was.

Your feet hit the floor before you could think. You cracked the door open and yanked him inside, your mouth colliding with his, frantic and hungry. Noel kissed you like he’d been starving for it. His hands gripped your waist, hauling you flush against him. His tongue slid deep into your mouth as he walked you backwards toward the bed.

Your legs hit the edge and you tumbled down together, his weight blanketing you. You barely caught your breath before his mouth claimed yours again, urgent and bruising.

“Tried to sleep. Couldn't,” he muttered between kisses.

You let out a shaky breath. “Me either.”

Then his mouth crashed into yours again, so deep you forgot how to breathe at all.

He ground his hips against you and you gasped sharply, the thick press of him against your thigh making your pulse stutter wildly. Your head tipped back and his lips instantly dragged down your throat, biting and mouthing at your skin. His hands roamed hungrily, sliding beneath your shirt to trace over the soft curves of your stomach and ribs.

There was something different in him tonight. His touch was bolder. Last night had been about breaking down his walls. Getting used to your touch. But now that he’d allowed himself to feel, he wasn’t holding back.

He shoved your shirt higher, mouth dragging lower until his lips closed around your nipple. You gasped, arching into the wet, hot pull of his tongue. His other hand pinched at your opposite nipple, sending sharp sparks racing across your skin until you were a panting mess beneath him.

He pushed one of your knees up toward your chest and ground into you, breath ghosting against your ear.

“Can I?”

Your body shivered, too worked up to speak. You just nodded frantically.

He kissed you once more before pulling back to drag his shirt off, and you hastily kicked off your bottoms. Your breath caught in your throat, hardly able to believe this was about to happen.

He returned to your mouth, slower this time, as his hand slid lower. His fingers slipped easily through your slick folds and he hissed under his breath.

“Jesus christ…”

You reached for his sweats, but he gently batted your hand aside, shoving them down just enough to free himself. The thick, velvety heat of him dragged across you and you whimpered, arms winding tight around his neck.

“I know,” he whispered, calming and coaxing all at once. “Just a second, love.”

He slicked himself up, both with you and his own arousal, then lined himself up and nudged at your entrance. Slowly, he pressed into you, stretching you open inch by inch.

You shivered violently, mouth falling open in a silent moan. God, he was thick. Even as wet as you were, there was a faint burn as he stretched you to take him.

“Fuck… so tight…” His voice cracked, wrecked.

He bottomed out and stilled, chest heaving above you. You felt every inch of him buried deep, the fullness almost overwhelming. You clenched helplessly around him and he choked out a broken noise.

Your arms clung tighter around his neck, breath ragged as you tried to adjust. After a few shaky breaths, you shifted your hips in silent permission.

“Noel,” you gasped, pleading.

He let out a shuddering breath and finally began to move in long, slow strokes that knocked the breath right out of you.

Slowly, the ache blurred into pleasure. And then he angled his hips just right and hit something so perfect inside you that your whole body jolted, a shocked gasp ripping from your throat.

“Yeah?” he ground out.

Instead of answering, you dragged him down into a kiss, need spiking sharp and fast. His grip on your hips tightened and he found his rhythm, thrusts snapping harder. The new angle had you crying out against his mouth, the pleasure deep and shattering.

 “Shh,” Noel breathed. “Gotta be quiet, love.”

You nodded frantically, burying your face against his throat as he drove into you faster. Your orgasm was coiling hot, barreling toward the edge.

He gripped your thigh and pushed it higher against your chest, opening you wider to him. Christ, you could feel him so deep. 

You shuddered, breathy little sounds punching out of you with each thrust as you tried to muffle them against his shoulder.

A choked whine slipped from him when you clenched tighter around him. His hand slid between you and found your clit, circling it tight and fast. Your orgasm hit hard, your entire body arching, muscles locking tight.

Pleasure detonated through you. You shattered around him with a muffled sob, clenching hard and trembling violently as waves of heat rolled through every inch of you.

Noel let out a strangled groan, dropping his head into the pillow beside yours. His hips snapped into you with shallow, frantic thrusts as he buried himself to the hilt and came hard, pulsing deep inside you. You wrapped your arms around him, holding him close as he muffled his throaty moans into the pillow.

Your bodies clung together, slick with sweat, clothes still half on like neither of you had been able to wait. You felt the thick throb of him still pulsing inside you, aftershocks rippling through your own spent body. Neither of you moved. The air between you was heavy and damp, the room thick with the smell of sex.

Finally, he slid out of you and you shivered at the sudden absence of heat. His hand slipped from your thigh, your leg falling lazily to the bed. Your eyes fluttered shut, chest rising and falling hard as you tried to steady your breath.

You were wrecked. Completely undone. You couldn’t remember the last time anyone had fucked you like that. With that kind of intent, that kind of certainty. Noel knew a woman’s body and he wielded that knowledge with devastating precision. Your thighs still trembled faintly as you felt the mattress shift beside you.

You blinked your eyes open to find him sitting on the edge of the bed.

“Here,” he said quietly, holding out a damp towel.

When you didn’t move, too dazed, he simply leaned in and wiped between your thighs himself. Careful and gentle. The tenderness of it made something sharp twist in your chest. It felt too intimate.

You didn’t know why it got to you like this. You’d done the same for him the night before. But somehow, this felt heavier. Like it meant something you weren’t ready to name.

The mattress dipped again as he lay down beside you, his breathing still rough and unsteady.

You turned to face him, catching his face in the silver wash of moonlight. It made him look younger somehow. Or maybe that was just the softness that came after sex. 

His lips curled in a small, easy smile as he reached out and brushed your hair gently back from your face.

You couldn’t help the shy smile that tugged at your lips in return.

“What was it you said this morning about me being an old man?” he teased, voice hushed and warm.

You let out a breathless laugh. “That they really know how to wear a girl out.”

He broke into a laugh that echoed too loud in the stillness of the house. Quickly, you clamped a hand over his mouth.

When his laughter faded, you pulled your hand back.

“Do you think we were too loud?” you whispered, suddenly anxious.

He smirked lazily. “I think you might’ve been.”

You swatted at his chest, but the grin broke through anyway.

“I’m serious,” you murmured, your heart thudding harder now.

His expression softened, grin easing into something calmer. “Nah. It's late. They’re dead asleep.”

You let out a shaky breath as silence settled between you again, heavier this time. When you glanced back over, you noticed his eyes had drifted shut.

“Oh no you don’t,” you whispered, nudging his shoulder. “You cannot fall asleep in here.”

His lashes fluttered as he cracked one eye open, voice thick and drowsy. “Don’t make me go back to that couch. It’s miserable.”

You huffed a soft laugh, your chest tugging at the sight of him—disheveled, flushed, and reluctant to leave. But you both knew he had to. If Emily or your dad came downstairs and saw him missing from the couch, it’d be over.

With a quiet sigh, Noel finally sat up, tugging his clothes back into place. You almost told him to forget it, to stay, but it was too risky. You stayed quiet, just watching him as he dressed.

Once he’d pulled his shirt over his head, he turned and let his eyes drag slowly down the length of your body one last time. Then he leaned in and kissed you softly. Too soft.

“Night,” he murmured against your lips, a ghost of a smirk playing there, before slipping out into the dark.

You were left sprawled across the bed, skin bare and still faintly trembling. You stared up at the ceiling, breath short and head spinning, completely unable to wrap your mind around the fact that he had just been inside you.

You knew then that no one would ever come close to him. But what the fuck were you supposed to do with that?

[literatooru]

𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐧 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭

pairing: villain f!reader x pro-hero bakugo katsuki warnings: 18+ (NSFW) (MDNI), mutual masturbation, unprotected sex, creampie, he calls reader brat, sort of public sex but there's really no one around lol

Bakugō Katsuki, most commonly known as pro-hero Dynamight. If you haven’t heard his name, it means you’ve probably been living under a rock. He’s one of the most famous heroes, loved —and hated— by many. Nobody knows just how many cell’s he’s filled with villains (except him, he keeps count of them… you know, just to prove he’s the best—, and he’s never failed to catch anyone he’s in pursuit of. That is, until you came around.

It’s not that Katsuki hasn’t caught you. In fact, he has. Multiple times, actually, which makes it even more ironic. It’s something he could never forgive himself for — but he’d hate himself even more if he gave you away. Sometimes, the simple thought of you is the only thing that gets him through the day.

And, once again, here you are after successfully robbing a jewelry store, you flee the scene with a bag full of shiny, gorgeous goods, easily dodging the local cops chasing you. Losing them is not difficult — you’ve done it on countless occasions, you know the way they think. You let out a gleeful laugh as you run, exhilaration fueling your body as you dart into the alleyway. That is, until you’re yanked by the arm and slammed against the wall. 

A groan escapes you when the impact almost knocks the air out of you, your right hand flying up to curl your fingers around your attacker’s wrist. And you recognize him before you even actually see him, because you’ve been in that exact position before, albeit in different circumstances.

“I know I usually like it rough, Kats, but you should hold back a little,” you chuckle, wincing when his fingers flex around your throat.

“I don’t believe it,” he growls, his lips pulled back in a snarl.

You roll your eyes, taking a deep breath when he finally lets go, rubbing your sore neck.

“Sorry, I meant Dynamight. My bad.”

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“I think it’s quite obvious.” You give the bag still clutched in your grip a shake, the jewels inside jingle. The sound alone makes his scowl deepen.

He forces himself to take a step back before your scent takes over his senses. Every single muscle in his body is tense, and you notice a vein pop out on his temple when he huffs in annoyance.

“I thought I told you last time would be the last time,” he mutters, glancing furtively around before pulling you even deeper into the alleyway after making sure there’s no one around.

“Yeah, you also said it the time before that. And, like, a week before that. And—” you break off, your face mere inches apart from his. You can feel his hot breath fanning your cheek as he glowers at you, his hand fisting the collar of your shirt.

“Listen here, brat. Drop the attitude or I’m going to fuck it out of you.”

You smirk, your eyes falling on his lips.

“Don’t threaten me with a good time, Kats.”

He steps forward until you’re against the wall once more.

“I’m not letting you go,” he warns.

You pop your lips and trace them with the tip of your tongue. Bakugo follows the motion, eyes hazy.

“Really?” you ask, brushing your lips against his. You can hear him gulp, his grip faltering a little. “It would put an end to our fun little game. I’m not sure you’re ready for that.”

And you’re right — he’s not. He fucking hates how addicted to you he’s become. There’s not a single day he doesn’t think about you; the way your lips devour his, your taste on his tongue, the sweet sounds you let out reverberating inside his skull for days on end. No, he’s not ready to let you go just yet, and if the smile on your face is any indicator, you’re unfortunately aware of it. He dreams of you, lives waiting for the day he’ll see you again — get to fuck you again. What he had told himself was a one time thing turned out to become one of his biggest problems, and he doesn’t know what to do about it.

“Oh, bite me,” he spits out.

You chuckle with a mischievous glint in your eyes that makes his entire body tingle with anticipation. He knows that means danger, but the way you cloud his senses always make him just a teeny tiny slower than usual, and that’s enough for you.

“If you insist.”

And your lips are on his. His grip on your shirt loosens completely and it is frankly embarrassing how quick he is to reciprocate, almost like it’s the one thing he wished for and has been waiting for it to happen his entire life. He cages you between his arms, pressing his body flush against yours — Katsuki wants to feel every part of you against him, wants you all to himself. He’s planning to let out all of his frustrations on you tonight, and it’s not like you mind.

His lips trace your jaw with unusual kindness, nipping gently on the skin and exploring the area almost as if he's doing it for the first time. When he lowers his head to kiss your neck, he inhales deeply, and his mind becomes fuzzy and he feels as though he’s been drugged. You’re intoxicating.

He cups your jaw to hold your head in place, attacking your neck with his teeth, his actions growing rougher with each passing second.

“You’re a fucking menace, you know that?”

“Shut up and kiss me,” you breathe out, pulling on his hair to meet his lips again in another kiss. It’s careless and messy, just how it’s always been with him.

You hook your fingers in the waist of his pants to pull his hips closer to you, his growing erection pressing against you. The light friction makes him groan softly against your skin, wide hands traveling down to grope your breasts over your shirt. You slide a hand under the elastic of his pants and wrap your fingers around him. Bakugo hisses. Your hands are a little cold, but it feels good. He’s grateful that it’s so dark, because then you won’t notice how flushed his face actually is. All he can think about is tearing your clothes off and burying himself so deep inside you, he doesn't know where he ends and you start.

You stroke him slowly, thumbing his cockhead to smear the pre-cum along his shaft, twisting your wrist as you tighten your grip around him. Bakugo’s hips automatically thrust into your touch, soft groans and pants hitting your collarbone. You’re having the time of your life. Big pro hero Dynamight, completely at your mercy. The thought of leaving him like that, needy, wanting and desperate for your touch crosses your mind, but you ultimately decide against it. That’d be going too far, and he’d probably blow you up for it.

“Ngh, you damn tease,” he growls. “Faster.”

And you comply.

You can feel your underwear dampening against your skin. It’s uncomfortable, and squeezing your thighs together is accomplishing nothing. Once you’ve had the best, it’s hard to find anything to replace it, and nothing can quite fulfill your needs the way Bakugo does.

As if reading your mind, he pulls your leggings down —you decidedly choose to ignore the sound of fabric ripping, only hoping the damage isn’t bad enough to have you walking back to your place in your underwear—, hastily sliding your panties down your legs and sliding his entire hand between your folds to lubricate his fingers before sinking them inside your sopping cunt.

“Shit, you’re soaked,” he says, feeling everything with his digits. Your lips part open, and your moan is swallowed by his hungry lips. “Dirty girl. Turns you on, doesn’t it? Knowing we could get caught at any moment.” And the way you clench around his fingers only confirms what he already knows. “Oh, you do. You fucking love it, don’t you?”

“Not any more than you do,” you say with a breathy chuckle, tugging on his blond locks. “Think I didn’t notice? I bet you almost came in your pants just by thinking of it. Like a damn hormonal teenager.”

His free hand goes up to curl his fingers around your throat, squeezing lightly, and his cock throbs in your hand. It’s not the general scenario that has him in that state — it’s you. You, with your pretty lips, and your nice hair, and your fluttery lashes. You, the one person that has doomed him to an oddly specific failure.

“I’m going to make you eat your words.”

You’re about to reply, instead letting out a loud moan when he curls his fingers, rubbing that spongey spot inside you, and he has you squirming in no time. He spreads your legs open, lining himself up with your entrance and teasing you with the tip of his cock until you’re begging him to put it in.

“So impatient,” he says, pushing his hips forward. You can feel every single inch of him sliding in, both of you groaning when he bottoms out. He stays still for a moment, but it’s more for him than it is for you, although he doesn’t let it show. He refuses to prove you right by cumming in record time. His breathing is heavy and ragged, and he pulls out ever so slowly, choking out a moan with the way you’re clamping down on him, trying to suck him right back in. “Oh, fuck.”

“Katsuki,” you mewl in his ear, and he curses under his breath again, his cock twitching inside you. You gasp when he plunges back inside you, setting a ruthless pace that has you clawing at his back and crying out his name. The wet sound of your pussy sucking him in and the slapping of skin on skin is so loud that you wonder how no one’s found you out. “Shit, Kats!”

Your sweet, sweet moans fill his ears, and he does everything in his power to keep hearing them. His hands touch and apply pressure on all the right places, choking you, fondling your breasts, tweaking your nipples — his mouth bites, licks and sucks on your skin, marking it. He just can’t get enough of you. He considers to know your body well enough, but he can’t help but wish he had time to discover even more.

The way you gasp his name and tug on his hair tells him you’re close, and he is too. All it takes is a couple more thrusts before you’re crying out in ecstasy and creaming around his cock, everything growing wetter, louder and messier. Your spasming walls are what drive him over the edge, and he shoots thick ropes of cum deep inside you, painting your insides white. He rides it out with a series of grunts and moans escaping his lips, a thin layer of sweat making his body glisten under the moonlight.

Bakugo pulls out, struggling to catch his breath. He blinks a couple times to clear his head (an impossible task when you're looking utterly fucked out and breathtaking right in front of him, all thanks to his doing), sharpening his vision as his gaze falls on your thighs, his cum slowly dripping down them. He lets out a low chuckle, snatching your chin to make you look him in the eyes.

“You ungrateful little brat. You’re not supposed to waste it,” he whispers against your lips, a menacing smirk on his lips. His scarlet eyes darken, pupils dilated. “Guess I’ll just have to fill you up again.”

Bakugo takes a long, good look at you. There you are, the one villain he’s never been able to throw in jail, and most likely never will, because that’d mean letting you. You’re the one who floods his brain, invades his dreams and owns his body, because, like the thief you are, you’ve stolen everything — from his sanity to his heart.

[kxsagi]

a little rant then a smol request in the end bcs i wanna let it out and i have no one to talk about it with and this is kinda my safe place (and ik you can make me better with your great writing 😚😚)

~

so, i had this classmate that also liked blue lock and this classmate of mine liked nagi sm. he also acted like nagi (as in like both gamers, lazy but genius and vv tall and shi)

had confessed to him exactly 2 years and 5 months ago and got rejected because he wanted to focus on himself for now and i respected that because I totally understand when things get rough in life you want to distance yourself with others

and everytime i move on from him i keep coming back. the first time was after i got rejected, moved on and it came back just right before our Christmas break because he said to me "Merry Christmas and enjoy your break" (i know I'm a simp) and the second one was after our high school graduation and it only came back when i saw him after summer because we attend the same university (and in the same class too)

it's literally so hard to move on from him, like one of his friends had a crush on me that i had spoken to but cut him off (he was a red flag, and luckily i avoided it) because i was still crushing on this guy 😭

and months later (literally just this april) i noticed he keeps talking to all of our classmates, even my own group friends but when I'm in the picture he starts to avoid me and ignore me as if I wasn't even there?

so here i am, moving on and trying to get the closure i want but can't because he keeps running away from me and i guess that's a good thing (??)

so the request was to make a better ending than my life because oml i can't with this (yes it's a nagi x reader so i can just associate him with Nagi since they're the same) during their student night (prom) where Nagi realizes he just kept running away because he didn't want to fall in love but he knew he'd be better off with reader and confessed that night and they become lovers (yay)

(ps. sorry for the long message and sudden lovestory lore drop, i couldn't talk abt this to my friends because i know if i did, they'll just question my feelings because they know it's nigh impossible for me to move on and let on my efforts go to waste 😔😔)

– 🪻

“𝐢 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐫”

a/n: hey pretty! honestly, your feelings are totally okay, normal, and valid. us as girls tend to have crushes on people for a long time, and if he’s still single, then that’s okay! it’s nothing to be embarrassed about it and if he’s a green flag, if you think he’s good for you as a partner, i PRAY that you two get together someday! 

him avoiding you isn’t a bad thing, don’t overthink about it + i’m always here if you wanna talk about anything as well :)

side note: where i’m from, we have high school prom in hotel ballrooms. i’m not sure if it’s like that for other schools

side note #2: i chose i was all over her by salvia path as the title because i think the song is fitting for this scenario. nagi’s known to be lonely and he definitely finds comfort in others’ presence

the music is loud, the lights are spinning, and the ballroom smells like too much cologne and cheap perfume. your heels are already starting to hurt, your mascara’s a little smudged, and your best friend ditched you for their date ten minutes ago. 

and then there's nagi. 

leaning against the back wall like he always does. hands in his pockets. slouched posture. tie half undone. phone in hand like he’d rather be anywhere else. you catch his eye across the room and flash him a look that says really? you promised you'd try tonight. 

he shrugs. lazy as ever. but his gaze lingers longer than usual, like maybe there’s something on his mind. something heavy. 

“this is kinda lame,” he says when you walk over to him, voice low and bored like always. 

“you’re the one who didn’t wanna go in the first place,” you tease, nudging his arm. “but you still came.” 

“’cause you asked.” 

your breath catches a little. he says it so simply. like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. 

nagi seishiro doesn’t do effort. he doesn’t move unless it’s convenient. he doesn’t stay unless it’s worth it. but he’s here. in a suit he didn’t wanna wear. at a dance he didn’t care about. standing next to you like it’s the only place that makes sense. 

“did you eat?” you ask, trying to change the subject before your heart betrays you and starts beating out of your chest. 

he shakes his head. 

you pull him toward the snack table. he doesn’t complain. he lets you drag him through the crowd, fingers brushing together until he just... holds your hand. casually. no warning. 

your brain short circuits. 

he pops a cookie in his mouth like nothing happened. 

you try not to explode. 

“you’re acting weird,” you mumble. 

“am i?” he says, chewing. 

you look at him. really look. something’s different tonight. not in his appearance, he still looks effortlessly good, like some model who wandered into a school dance, but in his eyes. they’re softer. warmer. watching you like you’re something rare and precious. 

“i’ve been thinking,” he says, voice quiet. 

that alone is shocking. nagi? thinking? willingly? unheard of. 

“about what?” 

he glances at the ceiling like the words are stuck there. “about you.” 

oh. 

your stomach flips. 

“i always thought love sounded like a pain,” he continues. “too much work. too many feelings. not worth the effort.” 

you nod slowly. “and now?” 

he meets your gaze. “and now i think i’ve been running away. ‘cause maybe i didn’t wanna fall.” 

you don’t say anything. you can’t. the music fades into the background. it’s just the two of you. the lazy genius who always kept things at arm’s length, now looking at you like he’s finally ready to let go of his fears. 

“but then there’s you,” he murmurs. “you make everything easy. even when it’s hard. and i don’t wanna keep running.” 

your breath hitches. 

“so... can we be something? like, for real?” he says, cheeks slightly red. “you and me?” 

you blink. once. twice. and then you smile so big it hurts. 

“took you long enough.” 

he lets out a soft chuckle. it’s rare. boyish. genuine. 

you pull him onto the dance floor, ignoring his halfhearted grumbles. he puts his arms around your waist, lets you sway with him, lets the world blur. 

and in that moment, nagi seishiro realizes love isn’t something to avoid. 

not when it feels like this. 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[kuhciao]

quality qualifying

strollconso . 750 words

𝜗𝜚 a/n: this is old and has been sitting in my notes for a while. i want it gone but it’s not worthy of ao3

(brainstormed with @isacksteban)

lance has had a great kickstart to the season, esteban and fernando can’t help but get jealous. they decide to punish lance with an.. interesting vibrating object after both being knocked out q1 while lance fights to get into q3.

lance had mentioned it once. it was said drunkly between him and fernando over a year ago after fernando’s podium in brazil. lance had completely forgotten about it, and he’d assumed that fernando had too, given how wasted the spaniard had really been that night (so drunk that he had confused lance for a woman). lance also would have never thought that esteban had any clue about any of this. but somehow, he did. and now lance is figuring it out that they both know all these months later. in any other situation, it would’ve been a pleasant surprise, but not in this one.

taking the final few turns of his lap during free practice three slowly, testing the grip of the tires as he made his way around the suzuka circuit, lance was confident in his abilities. the last two races had been in his favor, he’d finished pretty well for the cars ability. fernando hadn’t even finished either race and esteban had been struggling with the car. everyone, but lance, was frustrated with their results and there had been obvious tension between the three of them.

so fernando and esteban decide to get lance back.

between turns 13 and 14, the spoon curve, lance is on a high lap. he’s found the perfect racing line to follow and his lap time is speedy. that is, until something scares the shit out of him. was it the car? there’s a vibrating right in his lap now. lance’s eyes widen under the helmet as he grips the steering wheel harder. he loses his line and nearly goes into the grass.

he reaches for the radio button, not having connected the dots yet. “something is vibrating by the seat. i can’t figure out what it is.” lance says over the radio, voice horse. he quickly releases the button because a lewd sound is creeping up his throat.

the first noise is panicked. the vibration near his lap is intense for a second, but then it disappears. lance feels a small twitch in his pants, his cock slowly stirring to life. lance’s brain churns, faster than the car is moving, as he tries to think of some reason for this. and then it hits him—this isn’t the car, there are no issues. fernando has really found a pair of remote controlled vibrating panties like lance mentioned all those years ago, and lance didn’t notice that they were not just like the normal panties that fernando had usually bought him.

lance takes a moment to collect himself and takes a deep breath as he drives now the straight. his heart is beating rapidly, rattling against his ribcage. “lance? are you good?” his engineer asked over the radio, voice scaring lance once more, since he’s already on edge.

lance lets out a breath. “yes, just the seat coming loose, but i fixed it.” he lies right through his teeth, something he’s become all too good at.

the engineer comes over the radio again just as the vibrating starts once more. lance jolts and hits the curb, but countersteers to stay on the track. “your heart rate keeps spiking and you keep doing whatever that was.” the engineer presses. lance doesn’t respond to the message right away, and he contemplates even doing it at all. he lets out a short whine as the panties vibrate against the underside of his cock, making his whole body tingle.

from the pitlane, esteban and fernando laugh loudly, slapping each others backs as they hand a little remote back and forth, taking turns toying with their sweet little lance. they’d both been knocked out in q1 and had been messing with lance the entire time since then.

“he’s probably crying!” esteban laughs, knowing how easy it is to overstimulate lance, grabbing the remote from fernando without asking this time. he turns it the highest setting, his fingers finding the button on autopilot. fernando looks up to watch the race on the screen hanging from the ceiling of the garage. lance nearly goes off track, loses 0.4 seconds and curses over the radio.

“lance stroll knocked out in q2!” says crofty. a very angry lance rolls into the pitlane a minute or two later.

“excited?” esteban asks, waving his hands at lance in a wild gesture.

lance glances down, then groans. the suit is doing little to nothing to hide his erection.

“hi, little lance.” fernando laughs, crossing his feet and leaning back in his chair as he steals a glance at lance’s clothed, standing cock.

this would be nothing short of a fun night.

property of kuhciao on tumblr. do not repost outside of tumblr or plagiarize.

[ashthewaterghoul]

Mushy May Day 5: Love At First Sight - Dew/Aether

Prompt list by @forlorn-crows can be found here All my Mushy May will be slightly shorter stories and can also be found on ao3 :) Words - 950 This came out more soulmate coded than planned but they're soulmates to me anyway lol

    Quints were usually an element that kept to themselves. They were the 5th element, they never fit in. Water and Fire opposed one another as did Earth and Air. Water Ghouls commonly found relations with Earth Ghouls as their elements aided one another in a cycle of life and thanks. And a similar relationship can be seen with Fire and Air too. Quints didn’t have a place in those ties and usually resigned to merely be observers. Some of the other elements that had never met or bartered with Quints may even say that they were simply urban myths and folklore – like this supposed “Topside” some Ghouls were selected to be summoned to.

    So when Dewdrop felt that tug in his chest – a calling from Satan and a farewell from Leviathan – he had no idea that the first thing he’d see Topside was the other half to his soul he didn’t know he’d been missing.

    Aether stood next to Mountain as they waited in the Chapel for those first signs of life to come through. Mountain was there to welcome the Water Ghoul Topside with a likely familiar element and Aether was there as his magic could aid the spell should anything go awry. He had also been there for Zephyr and Ifrit’s summonings – each element bearing their own energies – and yet this one felt different in a way he couldn’t quite place.

    He saw those first signs of scales and fins come through the portal and on an instinct he didn’t know he possessed, he went to pull the Ghoul through, his soul screaming to have this new summon in his arms and no where else.

    Dew screeched as he was pulled onto dry land, the air so thick and musty it was as if he could feel it clogging up his gills. His eyes struggled to adjust and he could only see blurs. Yet he felt arms around him, so big and strong, and hear a voice so calming it helped his breathing level out.

    “It’s okay. You’ve just been summoned. I know it’s a little disorienting but it’s okay.” This voice said softly in Infernal. Another Ghoul?

    Dew swallowed and shut his eyes as he adjusted to everything that had just happened and when he opened his eyes again, he thought he was in Heaven with the ethereal sight of astral beauty before him.

    Skin with a pale lavender tint across a square and friendly face with the most gorgeous eyes Dew had ever seen – full of stars and supernovas flaring with the energy that the summoning spell brings – sitting just below stunning horns hosting dozens of galaxies and constellations.

    Aether found himself entranced by the Syren that sat in his arms. His skin a pale blue with equally calm eyes, as peaceful as the ocean and yet able to produce just as much chaos at a moment’s notice. His horns were clear like shards of sea glass and his cheeks must have been sculpted by Leviathan himself. His slender neck had a set of gills that ruffled softly with each breath and flared slightly as their seafoam shade grew a red tint.

    Dew cleared his throat as he realised he was blushing, unabashedly staring at this Ghoul he didn’t know and who didn’t know him.

    “I- I’m Dewdrop.” He said in his native language; some other lexicon was being used by the others in the room that weren’t Ghouls and he had no clue what it was.

    “I’m Aether. I’m a Quintessence Ghoul.” He said as if it shouldn’t have been obvious from his appearance.

    “Where am I? How did I get here?” Dew asked, holding onto Aether as if it was the only thing keeping him with this Quint.

    Aether explained everything he could, stumbling over his words as he was completely breath taken by not just Dewdrop’s outward beauty, but the beauty of his soul too. Aether saw the potent energy of the Water Ghoul's life swirling around him like an aura. Dewdrop's soul could be the last thing Aether saw and he would thank Aion as he died for the magnificent sight.

    After some human with weird face paint (apparently called Terzo) performed the spells to keep Dew’s soul tethered Topside, he gave the pack free-reign to help Dew start to settle in, though the little Water Ghoul only had one request.

    “Is there a lake I can go to?” Dew asked, really feeling the effect of the summoning on his gills, scales and fins.

    Aether nodded and took Dew’s hand without even thinking, lacing their fingers as they walked the halls. Dew didn’t mind one bit though, feeling as though he could follow Aether anywhere whether lead by the stars or the tides.

    Aether sat on the pier as Dew swam and cleaned himself off from the grime of the spells. Somehow he got even more beautiful, and once again Aether couldn’t stop himself staring. Blue scales that shone like crystals under the water with a soft hue of bioluminescence around him. His fins looked as if they were one with the current as they flowed through the depths and Dew's perfectly agile body did some incredible feats of what could only be called acrobatics as he turned and flipped and twisted.

    Dewdrop didn't even need his syren song to get Aether in the water to join him, and they spent the night floating on the surface of the water and holding each other like it was the only thing their bodies were made to do. 

    The stars reflecting in the surface of the lake only concurred how their souls would fuse as one, someday. Their elements meeting in a perfect harmony that could whether any storm.

[trstalks]

mmmm your virgin remus post…delicious. what are ur thoughts on virgin/inexperienced remus giving oral for the first time 👀

or oh my god trans virgin rem who also has such a hard time getting himself off bc he’s scared to put anything inside him, even a finger, so he just touches his clit but it takes so long that his wrist gets sore before he can cum…and he’s scared to buy sex toys so he just ends up struggling sooo hard to cum and then the orgasm isn’t even satisfying bc he had to keep pausing to give his wrist a break

anyways YES PLS MORE VIRGIN REMUS THOUGHTS 👀👀👀

Oh my lord I love you actually this scratched my brain so good

Virgin Remus giving head for the first time HOLY- because you already know he’s done his research. Depending on what universe we’re living in he’s read books, looked online, asked Lily for advice (he would rather die than ask anybody else).

I think he’d be really tentative at first, if he’s sucking somebody’s cock he’s giving it tiny kitten licks, barely wrapping his lips around the tip and lightly sucking. If he’s with somebody patient then they’re holding his head gently and letting him go at his own pace (Regulus would 🙇)

I also think though that he would really like it if his partner took control, grabbed his head and gently fucked into his mouth while he works on relaxing his throat. He’d take it so good :(( he’d get very into it, too, going into subspace and letting them fuck his throat.

I think eventually he’d get really into sucking cock. Like his partner walks into a room and he is on his knees ready to serve lmao.

It would be the same if he was eating somebody out (whichever hole lmao he’s equal opportunity) like he’d be very tentative at first but as soon as somebody’s hand is in his hair pushing his face towards their cunt he’s all in. Idk if y’all have ever given sloppy head but he’s SLOPPY. His chin and face is all wet, he can barely breathe, his tongue aches, but his eyes are glazed over and he’s so so happy to be there. His partner has to pull him off to get him to take in a breath.

AGHHH

Trans Remus struggling to orgasm is SOOOO hot to me idk why. Him being too scared to penetrate himself and not able to get himself off with his own fingers. He just needs help, really. I’m seeing him all red n sweaty with one finger between his legs, desperately rubbing at his clit, except he’s so wet that he cant keep a consistent pressure on it so he tries humping a pillow but that just makes him more desperate (he needs somebody to come and HELP!!)

AND NOW !!!! I’m thinking of somebody walking into his room while he’s doing this (Regulus, or maybe Prongsfoot) and he’s so far gone and desperate to cum that he’s begging for their help!!!! :((( (of course they do)

[rivalriotrenegade]

Nikto x Reader

(I accidentally deleted this so I’m reposting it 🥹)

Nikto has a form of D.I.D and often refers to himself as “we” which is why it’s written like that in the story.

About: Nikto x GN reader. This one was written in about 20 minutes and edited in 5 so it’s kind of sloppy, but still sweet. Not my best work lol. The story is just you calling him pretty. Also the use of “Andre” which is going to be his actual name in the story. 

Warnings: CHEEEEEEEESY to the MAX! Also some slightly toxic behaviors. Nikto went through a lot and hurt people hurt people, but basically he tries to use his height to ever so slightly intimidate reader for like .05 seconds. Also descriptions of kissing? Is that a warning? 

Summary: Nikto does not think he’s beautiful, if anything he thinks he’s the exact opposite. It had taken well over a year of dating before he was comfortable enough to show you his face. After seeing him maskless for the first time you began to call him “My pretty boy” He hated it at first. Honestly he thinks you’re trying to be cruel. After a while of bottling it up he finally explodes. 

It was about 10:30 at night and you're just starting to make some late night spaghetti. You knew he had a rough few weeks with KorTac and thought it’d be nice for him to have a home cooked meal. You had just put the hamburger into the sauce and realized you needed something to stir it with. “Hey pretty boy, can you pass me the spatula?” You ask.

You're caught off guard when Nikto, who had been quiet most of the night, suddenly explodes. “Don’t call me that! I am not pretty!” He snarls. You cock your head to the side not sure where all this anger is coming from. “But I think you’re pretty. Are you telling me that my opinion is wrong?” You question. 

“You’re lying! You’re lying! Do NOT lie to us!” He hisses, stepping into your space caging you between him and the counter, purposely looming over you, trying to make you back down. His eyes are wide, wild. He’s looking at you like he doesn’t know you. Your own eyes soften. It’s not the first time something like this has happened. “Oh Andre.” You say slowly reaching up to cup his face. Nikto flinches back slightly before letting you touch him. You gently caress his face. “I’m not lying. Have I ever lied to you?” You ask.

Nikto hesitates for a moment taking deep breaths trying to ground himself before whispering out a hoarse “no.” He pauses before continuing his voice cracking, “But I can’t be pretty.” You cradle his face in your hands and carefully pull him down so you’re almost eye to eye. “But you are.” You say. “You are the most beautiful person I know. You have gone through some horrible things and you survived. To me these scars are proof of how strong you really are. There a reminder that you came back alive, so how could I think that they'd be anything less than beautiful?”

Nikto stares at you, his eyes unreadable. He stares at you until it’s just bordering in to the territory of being uncomfortable and then before you even know what was happening, he’s kissing you. Usually his kisses are rough and dominating, but this one is desperate. He’s kissing you like this is the last time he’ll ever see you. His hands grip at your hips, fingers digging into your flesh, determined to keep you there. 

He sucks on your bottom lip and when you part them he shoves his tongue into your mouth. He’d never admit it, but you swear you hear him whine against you. His movements are frantic, feverish. Like any space between the two of you needs to be all but eradicated. When he pulls back your both left breathless and panting.

He then pulls you into his arms and buries his face in your neck. “I love you.” He breaths. You smile, rubbing his back up and down to sooth him. “And I love you too, my pretty boy.” 

(You swear you feel him cling to you a little tighter)

[lilangelbuds]

Big bro teaching you how he likes his hand jobs under the covers with the rest of your family there on the couch next to you ps I love you and I’m so sorry you got nuked baby girl 🥰😽

Thank you, angel <333

The living room was warm, the kind of warmth that settles into your bones and makes you forget the world outside. The couch was crowded, as usual, with everyone squeezed together, mom on the far end with her knitting, dad flipping through a magazine, and your older brother sitting right next to you, his leg pressed against yours in a way that felt both casual and deliberate. The TV was on, some reality show playing in the background, but no one was really paying attention. There was a silence that came when everyone was too comfortable to speak.

You shifted slightly on the couch, your knee brushing against his, and he glanced over at you, a small smirk playing on his lips. You looked away quickly, pretending to focus on the TV, but your heart was already starting to race. There was something about the way he looked at you sometimes, like he knew something you didn’t, like he was always one step ahead.

The blanket was draped over your laps, a shared defense against the slight chill in the room. His hand moved first, subtle, barely noticeable, as it slid under the blanket and into your space. You froze, your breath catching in your throat. This wasn’t unusual, exactly. He’d always been a little touchy, a little too close, but this felt… different.

His fingers brushed against your thigh, and you felt a shiver run down your spine. Was this really happening? Right here, with everyone else so close? You glanced sideways at him, but he was staring straight ahead, his face calm, unreadable. His hand moved again, and this time, it was unmistakable; he was reaching for your hand.

You hesitated for a moment, then let him take it. His fingers were warm, calloused from work, and they wrapped around yours with a firmness that made your stomach flip. He squeezed once, a silent reassurance, and then gently guided your hand toward his lap.

Your eyes widened, and you could feel the heat rising in your cheeks. Oh god. You tried to pull your hand back, but he held it there, his grip tightening just enough to stop you. His lips curved into that smirk again, and he leaned in slightly, his voice a low whisper.

“Relax,” he murmured, his breath warm against your ear. “Just do what I tell you.”

You swallowed hard, your heart pounding in your chest. This was insane. You were right in the middle of the living room, surrounded by your family, and he wanted this? But there was something in his voice, something commanding, that made it impossible to say no. You nodded slightly, your throat too tight to speak.

His hand moved again, guiding yours further down until your palm was resting against the bulge in his jeans. You could feel the heat of him through the fabric, and it sent a jolt of electricity through you. Your breath hitched, and you glanced around quickly, but no one seemed to notice. They were all too absorbed in their own worlds.

“Good,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “Now, squeeze a little.”

You hesitated, but then did as he said, applying a gentle pressure. He let out a soft exhale, almost like a sigh, and you felt a thrill run through you at the sound. His hand covered yours again, adjusting your grip slightly, showing you how to move.

“Down, then up,” he instructed, his voice low and steady. “Like this.”

You followed his lead, your hand moving in the rhythm he set. It felt… strange, doing this with him, but there was also a thrill to it, a forbidden excitement that made your pulse race. You could feel him getting harder under your touch, and it sent a wave of heat through your body.

His breathing grew heavier, though he was careful to keep it quiet, his chest rising and falling in a slow, controlled rhythm. His thigh pressed harder against yours, and you could feel the tension in his body, the way he was holding himself back.

“Faster,” he murmured, his voice tight with restraint.

You obeyed, your movements quickening, your palm rubbing against him with a firmer pressure. He let out a soft groan, barely audible, but it was enough to make your heart skip a beat. You glanced around again, but still, no one noticed. They were all too caught up in their own little worlds.

His hand tightened around yours, guiding your movements, showing you exactly how he liked it. His breathing grew more ragged, and you could feel the tension building in him, the way his body was coiled tight, ready to snap.

“Keep going,” he whispered, his voice strained. “Don’t stop.”

You didn’t. Your hand kept moving, following his lead, and you could feel him getting closer, his body trembling slightly under your touch. His fingers dug into your hand, and you could tell he was struggling to keep quiet, to hold back the sounds that were threatening to escape.

And then, just as you felt him reaching the edge, he leaned in close again, his lips brushing against your ear.

“That's my good little sis,” he whispered, his voice rough with desire. “Now... come sit on my lap and be quiet."

[cherryyuu]

Pretty Stuff | n.yt

————————————————————————-

genre : smut

cw : sex , unprotected sex , slightly rough sex , creampie , cum play (?) , a couple pet names : baby , pretty

… bf!yuta x gf!reader smut

requested ? : ✔️

You sat in the living room, eyes raking over the endless pages of your textbook. Your back rests against the front of the couch as you keep your books on the table. You had an upcoming final exam, you’ve always hated exams.

To say you are stressed is a an understatement. You’ve always been one to stress about your work especially when it came to finals. Yuta, on the other hand, had gotten home a few hours ago from hanging out with his friends.

It was well past midnight when you finally finished your notes and wandered into Yuta’s room, barefoot, wearing the little plaid skirt you always insisted was “just comfortable.” Yuta, of course, had different opinions about it—none of which he kept to himself.

He was lying back on the bed, one arm behind his head, scrolling through his phone until he looked up and saw you standing there awkwardly in the doorway.

“Finally,” he grinned. “Was starting to think you were gonna ghost me in my own apartment.”

You shrugged, toying with the hem of your skirt. “Sorry, I had to finish my notes. Also, I thought you were tired?”

His eyes moved up and down your body slowly, eyes lingering on her legs. “I was,” he said, voice low, “until you came in here looking like that.”

You rolled yours eyes but still walked across the room toward him, your steps hesitant. You climbed into bed, careful to keep space between both of you, but Yuta just reached over, hooked his arm around your waist, and pulled you into his side.

“You always wear these tiny little skirts and expect me to behave myself,” he teased, lips brushing against your temple. “Can never catch a break from them.”

“I’m not trying to do anything,” you murmured, cheeks burning.

“You always say that, everytime.” His voice dropped a little lower, warm and teasing.

His hand slid over your bare thigh, fingers trailing lightly, just enough to make your skin tingle. You tensed slightly, but didn’t stop him. His touch was slow, careful—not pushing too far, just enough to make you crave more.

“You want me to stop?” he asked, murmuring the words against your neck, just where he knew you were extra sensitive.

You shook your head, barely.

“Why won’t you talk?” he teased, lips brushing your skin. “Y/N, baby, if you want something… you gotta say it.”

You swallowed hard and finally whispered, “Don’t stop please.”

Yuta smiled against her throat, satisfied. “That’s my girl.”

His touch shifted—less teasing now, more focused. He slipped his hand under your skirt like he’d done it a thousand times before, thumb brushing slowly along the inside of your thigh, just shy of where you were aching most.

You squirmed beneath his touch, breath shallow, your fingers curling around the front of his shirt for grounding. He looked down at you, eyes dark and full of lust.

“You’re shaking,” he whispered, brushing his nose against yours. “You sure you want this? Hm?”

You met his gaze, cheeks still flushed, but nodded. “Yes...”

With that, his hand slid higher, past the edge of your panties, fingers finally dipping between your thighs. You gasped softly at the contact, eyes closing gently when he starts to rub your lace covered pussy.

“So sensitive,” he murmured, brushing slow, teasing strokes over your clit. “You know, i’ve been thinking about this all day. Glad you finished your studying because I couldn’t have waited much longer.”

Your voice was barely a whisper. “Yuta…”

“What is it, pretty?” he asked, eyes gleaming. “You like when I touch you like this?”

You nodded, already breathless, and that was all he needed to go further. His fingers moved with more purpose now—steady, confident—his thumb circling just enough to make your hips twitch under him. He quickly pulled your panties to the side and continued his movements against your clit.

He kissed you again—deeper this time, hungrier. Then, he pulled back just enough to tug his shirt over his head and toss it to the side.

Your eyes followed the motion, landing on the chain tattoo wrapped tight around his arm, intricate and dark against his skin. Your breath caught slightly at the sight—he always looked good, but there was something about seeing his tattoos, you loved it, never failed to knock the air from your lungs just from the sight.

He leaned back a little, tugging his sweats down slowly. As the fabric slid lower, your eyes fall on the delicate butterfly inked just above his groin, wings detailed and shaded. And then—on the left—a soft feather trailing up his hip, with birds flying off it like they were leaving his skin behind. His navel piercing sparkled against the dim lights of the room.

Yuta leaned over, lips brushing against yours again, whispering like it was a secret meant only for you. “You always stare at them. You’re the only one who gets to see them that close, baby.”

Before you could answer, he slid your panties down completely and settled between your thighs, your bodies finally skin to skin, heat to heat. He lined himself up with your aching hole, holding your gaze as he pushed in—slowly, deeply—until you both were completely connected. Your breath stuttered out in a soft moan, your hands grabbing onto his shoulders for something to hold.

“God,” he breathed, his forehead resting against yours. “You feel like a fucking dream.”

The chain tattoo on his arm flexed as he wrapped both of his arms around your waist, pulling you closer, grounding you while his hips began to move. His pace was slow but deep, each thrust drawing out a soft, broken sound from your lips that made him groan low in his throat.

“You look even more beautiful to me everytime,” he whispered, brushing a strand of hair away from your face. “Every damn time.”

You tangled your fingers in his hair, legs tightening around him. The feather tattoo pressed lightly against your inner thigh with every roll of his hips, and the butterfly brushed your skin as well as he dipped lower, kissing down your throat.

“Fuck, can you feel that? My sweet girl is taking me so well.” he groaned while thrusting deeper, hitting your g-spot repeatedly. He grabbed your hands and held them above your head against the soft pillow.

You moaned softly, his thrusts sped up more until he was pounding into you. He buried his face in your neck while letting go of one of your hands to squeeze onto your boob through your bra and top.

“So close.” he breathed against your neck, his hand moved from your boob down to between your thighs. His fingers found your clit quickly and started rubbing quick circles against it. Your legs began to shake against his sides, your chest rising and falling with each pant.

He didn’t stop his movements, thrusting his dick steadily and deeply into you all while rubbing your clit. It was too much to handle. You felt a strong tingling sensation in your stomach, signaling you are about to finish.

Your whines and moans got louder, both you and his skin starting to glisten with sweat. he panted heavily and grabbed your leg, putting it over his shoulder, not stopping his thrusts. he started to leave messy, open mouthed kisses along your neck.

he whispered breathlessly as he kissed your neck, “i’m gonna cum.”

“me too.” you barely get your words out due to your heavy breathing.

His hips snapped against yours, loud, wet, sloppy noises filled the room around you two. His thrusts got even faster, the bed rocking and creaking underneath you two.

Suddenly, that tingling feeling in your stomach got stronger. You clenched around his dick, legs shaking intensely. Your whole body trembled and you squirmed, your hips wiggling and shaking.

“Stay still.” he growled softly, his hand finding your neck as he fucks you relentlessly.

Your eyes glistened with unshed tears as he fucked you. Your pussy squeezing around his length tightly as you start to get even closer to cumming. The pleasure and sensations of it all finally crashes onto you, causing you to cum against his dick. Your pussy hugging his dick even tighter now, causing him to curse under his breath repeatedly.

“Where do I cum?.” he panted out, not slowing down despite you just having your orgasm.

You whined softly, voice shaking. “Inside.”

With no hesitation, he slammed his hips against yours one more time before his warm cum spills inside you. He let out a loud groan and pulls himself up off of you, looking down at you as he moved slowly inside you, pushing his load deeper into you.

His hands moved off of your body and down between your thighs, he gently grabbed his length and pulled it out of your pussy. He looked at your pussy before moving your legs up higher, causing his cum to leak out of your hole. The cum leaked out and dripped down all the way to your ass and onto the bed.

“Fuck, so cute.” he said quietly, moving his hand to your pussy again, his thumb gently rubbing your clit. He used his thumb to wipe up the warm cum and push it back into your used hole. You let out a small whine when you feel his finger push inside you.

He pulled his thumb out and grabbed your legs again, pulling them down to rest on the bed. He crawled beside you and laid down, still catching his breath. He bringed his hand to your face and rested his cum-covered thumb against your lips. You looked at him and begin to clean his finger, licking and sucking on it gently.

He pulled his thumb out of your mouth and stroked your cheek gently before pulling you against him so your head is rested on his chest. You both laid tangled in the sheets, skin warm, breaths syncing up. He traced lazy circles on your back, his other arm tucked behind his head, his glistening skin catching in the dim light of the bedside lamp.

“So,” he said after a minute, voice low and smug, “still gonna pretend that skirt wasn’t for me?”

You smiled a bit and pressed your face into his chest. “I liked the skirt.”

“Mhm.” He kissed your hair, smiling. “I like it too.”

He shifts slightly, just enough to pull the blanket up over them both, the sheets still warm from their bodies. You curled closer, your cheeks resting against his chest, fingers tracing absent shapes over the ink of the chain on his arm.

He let out a soft sigh, eyes fluttering shut as he ran his hand up and down your back in slow, lazy strokes. The room was quiet now, except for the occasional creak of the bed frame and the rhythmic sound of their breathing syncing up again.

“You good?” he murmured, voice husky but soft.

You nodded against his skin. “Of course.”

He smiled, barely awake, brushing his lips against the top of her head. “Good. You wore me out.”

You let out a sleepy laugh and yawned into his chest, your fingers still resting lightly near the butterfly tattoo on his hip.

For a long while, neither of you spoke. The silence was comfortable, nice. The kind that only came after nights like this, when nothing else needed to be said.

Eventually, you felt his breathing slow, his hand going still on your back.

“Yuta?” you whispered.

“Mhm?”

“I love you, thank you for everything tonight.”

“I love you too,” he murmured with a sleepy smile. “Of course.”

Sleep overtook both of you, you and Yuta both drifted off to sleep, tangled in each other under the sheets, the glow of the night still lingered in the air, wrapped in warmth, tattoos.