#and so far from the worst after close experience for people

[so-sick-of-17]

Throwback to that time a lady came into my check-line after 10 and I quickly threw everything in one bag because it fit, it’s better for the environment, and it was the quickest thing to do and I wanted to go home. I proceeded to inform her that everything was in one bag and I ask if that’s okay because I was doing my job. I figured she would get the hint as I was handing her the bag and I was speaking quickly and oh yeah, the store was closed . Instead of being a decent person and taking the bag and leaving or at least grabbing another bag and heading out the door to do it herself, she asked me to re-bag everything for her. Get the fuck out! The store closed 10 minutes ago and my shift ended then too. I still have to close down my lane by and then somebody else is going to have to close the register. I got out at a little after 10:30 that night. That’s not a huge deal but I had people waiting for me. And I was tired.

Whoever needs to hear this. Please know.

"Closed at 6pm" does not mean "The entry door locks up at 6, but if you're already inside you can keep on shopping."

It means, "you should be finished and out of the store at 6pm."

This is not up for debate

This is just how things work

[bueckers]

UNFINISHED BUSINESS ━━━ paige bueckers

i don’t wanna fight, but you got the wrong vibes. let me get you right, it’s how i apologize. ✶

synopsis: she broke it off, but has since had a hard time leaving her alone… especially when having to see her in person.

pairing: paige bueckers x fem oc

warnings: smut with plot, p eating ( p is literally EATING ), fingering, thigh riding, and slight angst.

notes: this is ridiculously long. in honor of her fit here, enjoy.. i loved writing this almost as much as i love the song lol. lmk if i should make a part two or maybe a series!

Nervous, excited, and borderline bald from tugging at my hair—these were all the things I had felt the moment I stepped into the WNBA 2024 All-Star Game.

I would be seeing Paige tonight. Paige would be seeing me tonight. Paige knew I knew she would be seeing me tonight, and I knew Paige knew she would be seeing me tonight.

When Paige and I first started hooking up, it was never supposed to be anything serious. She was sidelined with a torn ACL, and I knew she was in a dark place, struggling with everything that came with being forced off the court. I think that’s why it started, honestly. She needed an escape, something to make her forget for a little while, and I was there.

Paige and I have known of each other for years, though. We both came up in the basketball world at the same time, our names being tossed around in the same circles since high school. We’d cross paths at AAU tournaments and national showcases, always on different teams but always aware of each other.

Back then, our support for each other was more from a distance, and it wasn’t until college that things started to shift. We crossed paths more often, whether it was at games, media events. The rivalry between our schools added a new layer to our interactions, but by then, we had leveled up from distant competitors to something more like casual friends.

Those moments were what led us to where we eventually ended up. The more we talked, the more we realized how much we actually had in common—our experiences, our struggles, the pressure to perform, and the constant scrutiny. It felt natural, easy, to let our guard down with each other, which is why when her injury happened and everything else in her life felt like it was falling apart, I wasn’t surprised when we fell into it.

We had an agreement. Not one that was ever talked about soberly, but the way it happened just fell into place so perfectly that we didn’t need to. We’d meet up when it was needed, no commitments, no expectations. Just two people finding comfort in each other, filling a void that we couldn’t fill on our own. It was convenient, effortless, and most importantly, it worked for the both of us. I guess I figured if I kept things casual, I wouldn’t get caught up in something messy. I didn’t want to be the one to complicate her life even more.

We’d cross paths after games, during off-season, or whenever our schedules aligned, slipping into each other’s lives for a few hours at a time. She knew how to keep me at arm’s length, just close enough to keep me coming back but far enough to never let me in too deep. She knew exactly how to make me feel needed without ever giving too much of herself away. It was maddening, really—how she could be so vulnerable one minute, showing me sides of herself that no one else got to see, and then switch off just as quickly.

The more we hooked up, the more I started to realize I was getting too close. I could see it in the way she’d look at me sometimes, like she knew I was starting to care too much. And the worst part was, she didn’t seem to mind pushing me right to that edge. She’d say something that made my heart race, or she’d touch me in a way that felt like it meant something, only to pull back and remind me of our status. She was always in control, always the one with the upper hand, and I hated how easily I let her have it.

And then it was all done. She cut things off with a cold finality that I still can’t even believe. No explanation, no soft letdown—just a sudden, brutal end. It was like she knew exactly when I’d reached that point and she didn’t hesitate to remind me that it was never supposed to mean anything at all.

“I’m gonna go grab some snacks, alright? Try to look a little more happy for the jumbotron,” JuJu teases, getting up from her seat. I gasped, barely having any time to process her insult as she scooted between me to get to the stadium stairs.

“Very funny,” I muttered, watching her walk away.

Alone now, I focused on the game, doing an extremely good job at hiding the gnawing in my chest. I’d say I have a good poker face, but Paige would agree to disagree. My phone buzzed, jolting me from my thoughts. It was her and she’d finally found you. She was on the other side of the arena, clearly getting a kick out of having you in her view.

you mad at me or just deep in thought?

I rolled my eyes back to the deep depths of hell. Another text from her.

you look good tonight

you too. how’s the game?

As soon as I hit send, I regret it. I should have ignored her. I should have said something snarky.

Her reply comes almost immediately.

could be better. thought about coming over

what stopped you?

You watched her text bubble practically stutter, making you quirk an eyebrow.

juju. i didn’t wanna make it awkward.

lol. okay.

actually, scratch that. leave w me.

I shifted in my seat, my hands suddenly clutching my phone a little tighter.

paige, no.

why not?

I shut off my phone just in time for JuJu’s return, watching as she squeezed through mounds of people to get back to me. She handed me a cherry slurpee, which would however be gone in ten minutes.

“Thanks, sugar,” you teased her, wrapping your lips around the straw and taking a nice, long sip. She shook her head at me as she focused on the game again, nachos in hand. Ping.

Tell her don’t get too comfortable 😂

I could even feel her eyes boring into me from the other side. I could picture the stupid smirk or gummy smile she’d have. I turned my ringer off and silenced Paige’s notifications before slipping my phone into my back pocket and reverting my attention back to the game. It’s almost over.

Fast forward to the final buzzer, and Juju and I made our way down to the court, weaving through the crowd of fans and players. I always loved the energy in a room of women’s basketball players and fans— there were always a million things going on at once. As we reached the court, we spotted Caitlin, who was already deep in conversation with a couple of other players.

“Great game, Cait,” I said, pulling her into a light hug. “Guess nobody busts your butt as good as SC, huh?” I pulled back first, resting my hands on my hips. I could say I’ve known Caitlin as long as I have Paige, but Cait doesn’t know me the way Paige does.

Caitlin laughed, rolling her eyes good-naturedly. “Yeah, yeah, Miss Championship. but don’t get too cocky now.”

Juju laughed alongside me, adding a quick comment about how USC would give her a run for her money next time. The conversation flowed easily, a mix of post-game analysis and friendly banter. I scanned the court for a brief moment, knowing exactly who I was looking for.

Sure enough, out of the corner of my eye, I saw Flau’jae and Paige making their way over. I braced myself, knowing the cameras would be all over this reunion, and the media would have a field day with it. Paige looked as confident as ever, her stride always one that grabbed attention.

“Hey, y’all,” Paige said, her voice smooth, effortless. She exchanged hugs and high-fives with everyone, her presence commanding attention as always. When she reached me, she didn’t hesitate to pull me into a hug, her hand resting on my hip before snaking around to my lower back.

And then I felt it—her hand slipping lower, fingers grazing the fabric of my mini skirt. I could hear the smirk in her voice as she leaned in, her breath warm against my ear. “Good to see you.” Just close enough to keep me coming back.

I pulled back slightly, meeting her eyes. There was that smirk. My heart was pounding, a mix of frustration and something else I didn’t want to acknowledge. “You too,” I managed, keeping my tone as neutral as possible, pulling back with a tight-lipped grin that looked friendly enough to anyone who didn’t know what was going on. Which was everyone.

The group continued chatting, oblivious, obviously. You’d found out the one thing you hated about being around Paige was the overwhelming current of being the only ones in the room who knew how each other was feeling. Paige, ever the actor, kept up her usual easygoing demeanor, but I could feel her gaze on me, like she was waiting for something. I tried to focus on the conversation, but it was impossible with her so close, the warmth of her hand still lingering on my skin.

When the small talk finally wound down, and the others started drifting away, Paige moved closer, her eyes locked on mine. She leaned in again, her voice low, almost a whisper. “C’mon. Meet me,” she coaxed, her breath warm against my ear. Her fingers brushed lightly against my side, tracing a path.

I hesitated, the resolve I’d built up over the past hour crumbling under the weight of her presence. She was testing me, pushing every button she knew she could. And damn it, it was working.

I finally nodded, barely audible. “Okay.”

It was all she needed. A single, one-word confirmation that I wanted her as bad as she does. She took my phone out of my pocket for me, placing it my hand as she said her goodbyes to everyone else, leaving me there. I suppose it was smarter for her to do that anyway.

Shortly after Paige’s departure, I made my way out as well. JuJu wasn’t a tough barrier to get past. I told her to finish up her conversations, and that I’d see her back at the hotel. I wasn’t quite show how long my excuse would suffice, but I hoped she’d find her way to the bar or something after.

I don’t know why I listened. Watched my fingers click on her contact and give the driver her hotel’s address. It was like I was compelled from the moment she’d touched me, and to be honest, I don’t think I’d be surprised if that was the case.

The Uber ride felt interminable, each passing moment only heightening the anticipation and anxiety. I could barely focus on the city lights flashing by outside, my mind consumed with the impending confrontation and whatever would follow.

Finally, I was able to make my way to her room, feeling the cool air of the hallway against my skin as I knocked on the door. When Paige answered, her smile was as infuriatingly charming as ever, and she pulled me inside with a warm, yet testing glint in her eye.

The moment the door clicked shut behind us, Paige’s demeanor shifted. Before I could voice any protest, her lips were on mine, kissing me with an urgency that made my heart race. I barely had time to process the sudden change before she deepened the kiss, her hands roaming possessively over my back.

I tried to pull away, my mind still reeling from the fact that I was even here, but her grip tightened, pulling me closer. “Paige,” I murmured against her lips, trying to catch my breath. “We need to talk—” but as much as I tried to voice it, I knew that isn’t what we both really planned to do.

She silenced me with another intense kiss, her fingers tangling in my hair, guiding my head to tilt for better access. Her touch was relentless, her body pressing against mine with all the need in her body. “I don’t wanna fight,” she whispered between kisses, her breath hot and heavy against my skin. “Jus’ wanna be close to you.” She breathed in my scent, and I melted.

The words were almost lost in the heated moment, but I could feel the sincerity. She pulled back just enough to look into my eyes, her gaze smoldering with an intensity that made me rethink actually standing on business. She waited, trying to see if I was really against this. I licked my lips, glancing at hers.

I didn’t stand a chance.

Her lips found mine again, and the world narrowed to the press of our bodies. Our kisses were feverish and desperate, each touch holding some type of meaning. Paige’s hands roamed over my skin like there were so many options in a candy store and she couldn’t pick just one. In this case, one spot to focus on. Her mouth trailed down my collarbone, leaving a path of pinkish marks.

Our bodies were pressed together and refusing to let go. Paige guided me towards the bed, her hands never leaving my body, her lips continuing their assault on my skin. When she finally lowered me onto the bed, I was needy and breathless and finally feeling a little more realistic.

“P, I’m still mad,” I tried to insist, though my voice wavered as I watched her begin to undress. She unzipped her Nike vest slowly, the sound of the fabric sliding down her body making my pulse quicken. It fell to the floor, and she ripped off her shirt with a sudden, breathless intensity, revealing her sports bra. The sight of her, partially unclothed and vulnerable in front of me again left me speechless.

“I know,” she murmurs, her head slightly tilted as she looked at me all-knowingly. “And ima’ make it up to you, I promise. Just let me get you right.” Her fingers trailed up my bare legs, eliciting a small gasp from my lips. She tugged at the hem of my skirt, pulling the fabric down and grabbing my panties in the process. I watched her do it, in utter disbelief that this was how I was spending my night.

Her fingers graze teasingly against my kneecaps, sending shivers through my body, before she gently but firmly peels my legs apart. I look down at her. “You’re just trying to distract me,” I say, but there’s no heat behind the words.

Paige smirks, a knowing look in her eyes as she falls to her knees, her hands sliding over my thighs. “Maybe,” she admits, her voice dropping into a low, sultry tone as she tucks her lip between her teeth. “But you can’t say you don’t want this too.”

She’s right, and we both know it. The way she’s touching me, the way her eyes are locked onto mine with that look. The same one that knows she’s getting her way tonight. My worries seem so distant now, nothing more than a whisper of irritation in the back of my mind, easily drowned out by the way Paige’s hands are moving.

I begin to say something, but she easily cuts me off by diving into me with no warning, immediately humming against my cunt in satisfaction. Her eyebrows were furrowed as her tongue made some deliberate strokes, seemingly in disbelief of the way I tasted. She looks up at me as she delves in, a sight beautiful enough for the Louvre but way too sinful.

She says something I can’t hear, but I do catch a, “Can’t leave you alone, ever. Fuck.”

“Yeah?” I muster out, my breath a careless whisper.

Paige smiles against me, loving the cocky tone in my voice as she responds with a fast nod, the movement making me gasp. “Yeah.”

From there, every moan and gasp from me seems to fuel her desire, making her work even harder to drive me wild. Her hands grip my hips firmly, keeping me in place as her mouth and tongue continue their relentless assault. In the haze of ecstasy, all I can focus on is the feeling of her between my legs, making good on her promise to get me right, leaving me utterly consumed by the pleasure she’s giving.

I come, loud enough that the neighbors might know Paige’s name, but she keeps going. It becomes too much, enough for me to whine and pull away, scooting a little bit higher on the bed. She isn’t going for it, though, and immediately brings me back to her mouth, wrapping my legs in her thick arms.

“Where you tryna’ go, princess?” she teases. The sensation of her mouth and fingers on me is so intoxicating that I can barely respond before she pulls back entirely, rising to her feet. She begins to peel off her pants, her movements slow, leaving me breathless and frustrated.

“Seriously?” I complain.

“Chill,” she responds with a husky chuckle, towering over me in the sexiest way explainable. It’s like she contemplates something in her head for a moment, leaving me dripping wet and needy before her.

Finally, Paige steps closer, her hands sliding down to her sports bra. With a teasing glance, she pulls it off, revealing her bare chest. My eyes widen as I take in her form, unable to tear my gaze away. She then sits back down, positioning herself comfortably on the edge of the bed. “Want you to get on my thigh, baby, m’kay?” And there was no room for argument.

I crawl toward her, a mixture of urgency and anticipation in my movements. Once I’m seated on her thigh, I start to ride it slowly, the friction sending waves of pleasure through me. I truly can’t believe we haven’t done this before. The way she flexes, the way I can feel her muscle.. it’s all too much.

I roll my head back, needing more. My hands find Paige’s boxers, slipping into them with ease as she watches, her eyes moving more than her actual head. My fingers find their way to her core, exploring.

Paige’s breath hitches, her fingers gripping my hip as she watches me intently. “You like that, don’t you?” she breathes, her voice filled with a mixture of desire and all things Paige. “You’ve got me exactly where you want me.”

I stare at her. My body and arm moving repeatedly, my hair a bit puffy at this rate, and a panting mess. Paige raises her thumb to my plump and parted lips, slipping it in. I moan out, forced to suck around it as I squeeze my eyes shut.

Paige is in a trance, completely focused on the warmth around her thumb and how your small fingers disappear into her. “So, so, so good. Love seeing you above me, baby. So pretty.” I couldn’t understand how she could say things like these, and happen to not mean them, but it was the last thing on my mind.

“Mfmfmm, I’m gonna come. Again.”

Paige’s response is a series of breathy moans, her hands gripping my hips tightly as she keeps me pressed down, every thrust and touch pushing us both closer to the edge.

As she finally shudders, her release crashes over her like a tidal wave, her body trembling violently. The sensation of her coming around my fingers makes my own climax come shortly after. I cry out, my own pleasure peaking as I grind against her, my fingers thrusting in and out.

Our combined releases feel explosive, a storm of heat and passion that has us both gasping and moaning. I feel her tremors against my fingers as I continue to move, riding out the last waves of ecstasy before finally collapsing against her, both of us spent and tangled together in a sated, sweaty mess.

I think I’ll regret this in the morning. But right now? I’ve never been happier.

[ovaryacted]

WISH YOU KNEW || CH. 1

─ KISS THE GIRL

─ Logan Howlett/Wolverine x fem! reader

SYNOPSIS: Another mundane afternoon rolls around that quickly turns into a new beginning after Logan abruptly meets one of Wade's close friends.

CONTENT/WARNINGS: MDNI/18+. NSFW. NO SMUT. Worst! Logan / Variant! Logan. Friends to lovers vibes. Mutual pining. Sexual tension. Close proximity. Flirting. Playful Banter. Kissing. Alcohol Consumption. Profanity. Logan catching feelings. Wade being an instigator. Age gap implied [Logan is his canon age, reader is mid to late 20s]. Reader has an established friendship w/Wade. Descriptions of reader's clothing. Mentions of other characters.

WC: 7.9K

A/N: Super excited to be posting this today, I hope everyone enjoys it as much as I enjoyed writing it despite it taking me a little while. This whole story and first part is an extensive addition to these headcanons I posted a while back. Huge thank you to @ozarkthedog for the proofread and encouragement to finish this project, and shoutout to my baby @joelsdagger for helping me with the aesthetics and vibes of this post. As always, reblogs, comments, and likes are greatly appreciated! <3

NAVIGATION | SERIES MASTERLIST | NEXT PART | AO3

Leaping into a new reality after everything he’d been through was far from the strangest things Logan had to experience in his incredibly long life. If anything, he was secretly appreciative to be given a second chance, a way to redeem himself from the horrors of his previous timeline and possibly live up to the expectations of his former self.

Though, he imagined things would be much more different. He thought that by now, he’d be living independently with a stable source of income outside of taking odd mercenary jobs alongside Deadpool, of all people. Crashing on the couch of the culprit that brought him into this mess was far from what he wanted, but getting adjusted to this new way of living was taking much longer than he anticipated.

Wade whistled to himself as he stayed busy in the kitchen. Still dressed in his pjs, the pink kiss-the-cook apron was neatly tied around his waist, paired with an obnoxiously crisp chef’s hat. He poured some batter into a flat pan, watching it puff up and sticking his tongue out in concentration as he flipped the pancake, ensuring the edges didn’t burn.

It was a lazy Sunday afternoon, usually full of playing reruns on the TV and sleeping off the previous night of copious whiskey drinking. The alternative was dealing with Wade’s get-togethers, where his friends stopped by for game night. Logan could, in theory, stay behind and beat everyone at the table in a good game of poker, but having so many individuals in the tiny one-bedroom apartment he was already sharing with two other people and a dog could be overstimulating. 

The doorbell ringing disrupted the rarely calm atmosphere, sending the hairs on Logan’s nape to rise. He didn’t think it could be Blind Al coming back home so soon unless her daily walk was cut short. Wade made quick work of the pancakes in the current stack, setting them to the side and striding into the entryway to look through the peephole. Squealing to himself, he gave the grumpy man on the couch one more glance as a warning to behave and swung the door open to let an unknown figure come into view.

In walks a new stranger, someone Logan hasn’t had the pleasure of meeting personally. He was presented to Wade’s inner circle once he was brought into this world, surprised at the diverse group of people who tolerated his behavior longer than he had. Your face was refreshing compared to who he usually saw, and your abrupt entrance captivated him.

He diligently observed how you rummaged through the kitchen, tearing open the overhead cabinets and searching for something he couldn’t quite decipher under your mumbles. You have yet to sense an additional presence in the apartment, and you’re too busy in your quest to take a peek at the couch. 

“Where the hell did you put my wine, Wade? I told you to hold it for me, not pop it open.” Your voice cut through the room, hitting Logan’s discerning ears. As strange as it was, he thought the pitch of your voice suited you, or at least what he suspected would closely resemble it.

“Well, happy Sunday to you too, honey bunches. Are you looking for it? Sorry to burst your bubble, but Blind Al drank all of it,” he joked with a devilish grin. There he was again, jerking someone’s chain when given the chance, and yet Logan found himself curious about your dynamic with his roommate.

“Since when did Althea drink wine? I swear if you opened my rosé without telling me, I’m never bringing you anything again,” you playfully threatened as the corner of your lips curled up in a smirk.

A righteous aha! came from you as the bottle manifested in your hand, smiling widely at your successful find. You turned around, spotting Wade in his apron before your eyes moved further to the right, noticing the aged man for the first time since you barged into the apartment. He could see how your pupils dilated at taking him in, the cogs turning in your head as you tried to figure out who he was and his association with Wade.

“Who’s the big guy?” You jutted your chin toward the mutant, forcing Wade to take the initiative to bridge the introduction between you two. 

“Ah, him. Yeah, that’s Logan, the Wolverine. Kinda resurrected him as Marvel Jesus and brought him from his timeline into ours after saving the world. Now we’re happily married with a kid,” Wade said with full confidence, another one of his meddling tactics. 

“Oh, oh. This is Logan?” You tilted your head to study the man in question, all while he fought the urge to raise an eyebrow. Has Wade mentioned him to you before? “So you two are…”

“No, no we’re not,” Logan finally spoke, quickly rising from the couch to end the dubious dialogue. A pout formed on Wade’s face at his friend’s intrusion, no longer feeding into the delusion that they were somehow more than cohabitants.

“Don’t know what he’s told you, but I’m crashing on the couch since your friend brought me here.” Somehow after the brief explanation of how he got here, it sounded even worse coming from Logan’s mouth.

“Peanut, do not embarrass me right now. I know you’re shy about our true love, but sugarplum here is very much an ally,” Wade lifted a finger at him, more comical than the overall discussion, as Logan sighed in annoyance. He figured he might as well introduce himself properly since he’s gotten this far.

“Logan,” he opened his palm to offer a handshake, catching your name grace your lips as you clasped your hand over his. The squeeze you gave him was reassuring, and he reciprocated in kind, holding your gaze and drawing his hand away. 

“I’m guessing how you got here is a long story?” Your eyes dashed to Logan in interest, sparing him the embarrassment of denying the initial claims your mutual friend made without his knowledge.

“Very long.” Before Logan could smack his hand over Wade’s mouth, he closed his eyes, waiting for the raunchy commentary soon to follow.

“That’s what she said!” Wade clapped his hands, receiving a groan from the older man and a chuckle from you.

“You’ll have to tell me about it some time then. I’ll never understand Wade’s quests, all he talks about is who he kills and how much fun he has doing it.”

“Honey, the complexities of the space-time continuum are way too extreme to explain in one sitting. I’m going to need a podcast and a projector to elaborate on it,” while Wade kept responding to you, Logan observed the exchanges between you two, making mental notes as he read your body language. 

“I think you’re banned from the tech stores within the tri-state area, but maybe you can try Amazon,” you offered him, the same lively smile popping up once again. “The new season of Love Island USA drops this weekend. Are we still on for our watch party?”

“You must be fucking crazy if you think I will miss this premiere,” he beamed at you, mimicking your expression of delight.

“Then I’ll bring some of those sweet ‘n salty pretzels you and Althea like next time I stop by,” you announced, kissing Wade’s wrinkly cheek to honor the words threaded onto his apron. Your hand hovered over the front door handle, meeting hazel eyes to the right. “I hope to see you around Logan.”

One final glimpse at them, and you were out the door, the silhouette of your shadow no longer in the older mutant’s peripheral. Wade returned to the kitchen to continue cooking his late breakfast, putting strawberries and maple syrup on a stack of chocolate pancakes and cutting into the sweetened heap. 

“Is she another one of your friends?” Logan asked, his encounter with a new face birthed a sense of novelty that flickered in his mind.

“Mhm. Met her at a grocery store when I was finding something for Blind Al and kept bumping into her throughout the city. We just became friends, plus Althea loves her, probably because she’s always bringing her sweet treats,” Wade answered casually, his mouth half stuffed with the pancakes he bit into.

“Hmm. So I should be worried about seeing more people entering this apartment?”

“She comes for our religious reality TV and movie nights. It’s no biggy, she’s like everyone else I know. Think of me, but with a brain, and maybe not with the whole ‘immortal’ thing I got going on here,” he clarified, the thought of having to deal with anyone remotely similar to Wade filled Logan with inexplicable anxiety. Yet, all he did was shake his head and cross his arms across his chest.

“Great, the more the merrier.”

“You know, maybe if you weren’t such an asshole, you could actually have friends in this world, or even get laid. But instead, you’re too hellbent on being a grouch,” Wade replied, voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Maybe I’d have friends and get laid if people didn’t think we were fucking all the time,” Logan reacted defiantly, grabbing hold of Mary Puppins and attaching the leash to her collar, getting ready to take her out on a walk around the neighborhood.

“Live in your truth, Wolvie. Be who you are!” Wade exclaimed again, ignoring Logan’s curses as he stepped through the front door to get some fresh air.

Logan held on to the leash with one hand as he walked down the block with Dogpool, taking in the acquainted streets and ignoring the looks that came his way. Thankfully, after being in Wade’s world for a while, the stares have transitioned from hate to mere tolerance, aiding his adjustment. As he turned the corner, his intrigue spiked as he thought more of his brief interaction with you, another of Wade’s friends who will inevitably return for a visit. 

Who are you?

Sticking to Wade’s words, you stopped by the apartment more than Logan expected. You’d come by and drop off some dinner and pastry dishes bought on your way home from work when you had the chance, and you shared what you got with Wade and Blind Al. For the most part, you made delivery stops to Wade’s place once every other week, walking into the space with a couple of pans of food and placing it on the nearest kitchen counter. You’d stay for a few minutes talking to either Wade or Althea, giving each of them a friendly kiss on the cheek or the top of their head before heading home.

Logan wouldn’t always be around when you visited the other two, missing you by a few minutes when he would be fulfilling a job or out and about. Still, when he was home, he’d be in the background observing you, talking to everyone while keeping himself at arm’s length. You supposed he had the whole grumpy, mysterious vibe that made him tough to approach. So, instead, you’d offer him a cordial wave and a mutter of his name, at least something that acknowledges him when he was in the same space as you.

Week by week, your face became a regular thing for Logan, mainly on Saturdays when you joined Wade in watching whatever current reality TV show was occupying your attention. The brutish man would be on his way to the local bar when you rang the doorbell, dressed in some comfy loungewear and your tote bag full of snacks.

Logan made it a habit not to intrude on your time with Wade. He was already with him for most of the day, the least he could do was respect your time when granted. That didn’t mean he wasn’t wondering what you were like outside of being friends with his companion.

Eventually, he got his moment.

A Thursday afternoon rolled around when Logan came home from the gym to an empty apartment, a rare occurrence he planned to relish. A note on the fridge from Wade mentioned he was out with Big Al and Mary Puppins doing God knows what, not that he wanted to know nor ask. He took a shower to rinse off the grime from his workout, threw on a ribbed tank and sweats, and headed to the kitchen for a cold beer. Popping the bottle cap off, he managed to take one sip before the front doorbell rang, his eyes squinting at the entrance and internally sighing as his moment of tranquility was interrupted.

Leaving the bottle on the counter and opening the door, he was surprised to find you on the other side of the threshold with a covered tin foil pan, no doubt containing something edible. You were still in your work clothes: a pencil skirt and button-down shirt on your body with heels to match, your purse hanging off one of your shoulders.

“Oh, hey, Logan. Came to drop this stuff off for Wade. Do you mind?”

“Nah, ain’t a problem,” Logan shifted to the side to grant you entry, eyeing the back of your head as you wandered past him and into the kitchen.

“I’m guessing Wade and Al are out?” you asked the man as you handled your business, inserting the tin pan into the fridge and closing it with your hip.

“Yeah. Probably doing something I shouldn’t worry about.” You laughed at that, a light sound that he preserved in the imprints of his consciousness.

“Let’s hope they don’t bring back some cocaine. Lord knows the last thing that lady needs is a sniff of powder.” It was Logan’s turn to chuckle, the rumble of a hum you considered equivalent to a laugh.

“So it’s just you in here?” you said as you placed your work bag on the nearest surface, an attempt to rest your arm from lugging the extra weight around.

“Just me,” his broad shoulders lifted and dropped as he leaned against the kitchen wall. “They’ll be back in a bit. You can wait for them if you want, and I can head out.”

“You don’t need to do that. Do I really make you that uncomfortable?” you raised an eyebrow at him as his features softened at your inquiry.

“Uncomfortable isn’t the right word,” he shook his head, crossing his arms over his chest again, the muscles in his biceps tightening as he did so. “You and Wade, you’re close, were close before I got here. Not trying to bother what you two have going on.”  

You hummed then, standing straight on one leg and entering a more relaxed stance. Logan could tell by your body language that you weren’t disturbed or intimidated by him, which he assumed was a good sign.

“Sure, I’ve known Wade and Al for a while, but I don’t mind having you around. You’re a little hard to talk to. Figured you were one of those types who liked to brood in silence, at least from what Wade told me.”

“What exactly did he tell you about me?” Logan contested, looking directly at you when he could.

“Do you want to hear the pg-13 or the explicit version? He had a lot to say. Not sure you’d be too happy about it, though,” Logan’s lips pursed, and his eyebrows furrowed at the thought. Knowing Wade, he probably said more than enough, and everything under the sun that wasn’t true.

“Fucker has a big mouth,” he almost took back what he said until he caught your nod of agreement, easing him a bit.

“He doesn’t know when to stop talking, but I can’t hate him for it. He’s just…honest, maybe a little too honest,” you claimed. “If you’re that worried about what he said, I didn’t take any of it literally. You’ll just have to prove him wrong.”

Logan’s sight bounced to you, curiosity laced in your stare as you glanced at him. For a moment, he was taking another read at you again, debating if you were as trustworthy as Wade makes you seem. He sensed your heartbeat and the steady pulse at your neck, even in pace, without a singular beat missing in rhythm. You were already here, and he reasoned he’d have to get used to all of Wade’s acquaintances sooner or later. Why not add you to the mix?

“Guess so,” his lips slightly turned upwards as his focus remained on you, deeming it acceptable to quit hiding in the background. A beat of silence filled the kitchen, one watching the other and your eyes unmoving from Logan’s face. For a split second, your pulse spiked with an intake of breath and releasing it, shaking you out of the sudden trance.

“I gotta go, but tell the deadly duo that there’s tiramisu in the fridge. You can take a piece too, I know they can be stingy,” you grabbed your work bag and threw it over your shoulder again, heading for the front door and offering Logan one last smile. “Don’t be a stranger.”

There you were, out the door again and off to your place with only the conversation you shared and the tiramisu you brought as proof of your presence. Logan huffed a breath and reached for the beer bottle sitting on the counter, making his way to the couch. He plopped down, sipping away at the lukewarm beverage and throwing his head back along the edge, staring at the ceiling with your words playing on loop in the space between his ears.

Don’t be a stranger.

He tries to deny the slight tug of warmth fluttering in his chest, manifesting into an exhale and a shake of his head, followed by another sip of his drink to wash it down.

He makes sure he won’t be.

Integrating Logan into your established dynamic with Wade and Althea was seemingly effortless. You didn’t make a big fuss about forcing him into joining the weekly TV binging when he was home, but it was nice to hear more of your voice directed at him occasionally. Whenever you stopped by Wade’s place with baked pastries or dishes, Logan hovered in the backdrop, returning your gestures when you threw one his way.

He liked having you around, not to mention the food you dropped off would fill him with a sense of comfort he hadn’t felt in a long time. Once, you handed Wade these red velvet cookies Althea liked from a downtown bakery. Logan side-eyed them munching away at the baked goods, silently judging them for satisfying their sweet tooth to such an extent. His facade was maintained until the middle of the night when Wade and Al were asleep in the bedroom, walking on muted footsteps to finish the rest of the cookies in the pan. He goes back to playing the part of being the nonchalant roommate once the sun rises, pretending to be shocked when Wade starts pointing fingers and gets into a blaming match with the blind woman he shares a bed with.

It was a matter of time before you offered more than just food, keeping the newest member of your friendly circle in mind the next time you decided what to bring to the household. There was a double knock on the door, and Wade was on the other end, waiting for you with girlish excitement.

“Hey, Wadey. Hi Althea,” you wiggled your fingers at the elderly woman. Dropping the pans on the dinner table, everyone gathered around the middle of the apartment, anxiously lingering to see what you had brought. 

“Finally, I’ve been waiting for this all fucking week,” Wade approved happily, nudging you by the shoulder. “Show daddy the goods! Come to papa.”

You giggled and unwrapped two tin containers, unveiling baked lasagna and penne a la vodka. You could practically hear everyone’s stomach rumbling at the collective awe of the food in front of them, still warm to the touch as the scent of the meal wafted through the apartment.

“Thought Italian would be good, so I called this restaurant a while ago to set some dishes aside for pick-up. Got devil’s food cake too, I hope you’re in the mood for chocolate,” you voiced, smacking Wade’s hand away that threatened to dip into the pasta.

“Honestly, I think we should get married. You don’t even have to see me at all. As long as you bring me food like this, I’ll give you one kill a week.” Wade’s proposal made you smirk. Though it was tempting, you knew better than to get associated with the mess of his job.

“Don’t want to be a homewrecker,” you gestured to Logan, who rolled his eyes. “I did bring something for the grump, too. Consider it a very late welcome to this world gift.” 

He watched as you handed him a paper bag, your fingers wrapping around what appeared to be the neck of a bottle. Logan held the familiar weight in his large hands, peeling back the bag to drag out a nicely sized whiskey bottle, Johnnie Walker, to be exact.

He didn’t realize how high his eyebrows raised at receiving a gift, much less something from you. The food containers did get bigger after Wade complained about somebody eating everything after 24 hours. But knowing you were somehow thinking about him revived that pulse in his chest.

“Thank you,” he said genuinely, russet irises focused in your direction. “Really, this is nice.”

“It’s the least I could do since I’m always coming over here,” you said, appreciating Logan’s kindness and mirroring his grateful expression.

There it was again, the beat of silence that entranced the both of you when you entered the same room. The space between Logan’s ribs ached, a strange and unnerving thumping that carried a wave of unfamiliarity.

“Are we going to fucking eat or what?” Blind Al muttered out loud, disrupting the moment you shared with Logan.

“Aht aht, being greedy isn’t nice, Althea. I’m still pissed you ate the corner piece of the brownies I called dibs on last week,” Wade squinted his eyes as he blamed the elderly woman for a crime she didn’t commit. That was, in fact, Logan.

“Motherfucker, if we stand here any longer, the lasagna will get cold,” Althea criticized, the two bickering amongst themselves beside you. You shake your head in disbelief, going to the kitchen to grab some plates, with Logan following behind to help you bring the utensils and cups.

“You want to stay a while?” The suggestion tumbled out of him without thinking, anxious that he had just shot himself in the foot. When your smile reappeared, his worries passed.

“Yeah, I got time,” you held a few plates, heading to the dinner table to join the others in fighting over the pieces of lasagna.

Logan reached other milestones in your bond over the upcoming weeks when you invited them to dinner at your apartment to celebrate your recent job promotion. He didn’t know why he stressed about which shirt to wear or how to style his hair, wanting to put some effort into his appearance this time. Deciding on a red flannel and a leather jacket, he didn’t say a word when Wade was messing around with wigs to wear for the evening.

After a few threats of slicing Wade’s head off if he didn’t hurry the fuck up, they were on their way to your place. An 8-minute walk around the neighborhood and a buzz of the intercom later, you happily greeted the two men at the front door. Stepping aside to let them both pass, you briefly eyed the breadth of Logan’s back flexing under his jacket as he trekked inside, closing the door behind them.

“Al didn’t come along?” you questioned, half expecting the elderly woman to join you.

“Nope, she’s fast asleep. You know how old people are, strict curfews and powdery smells,” Wade quipped, glancing around the table to see what you had prepared.

“Surprised you don’t have a wig on right now,” you lightly jested, straightening the collar of Wade’s polo and approving of his outfit choice.

“I was deciding between a short bob and a tapered fade when Logan threatened to tear me limb from limb. I think that’s his way of flirting.”

At the mention of the other male, your gaze landed on him as he surveyed his surroundings. Your apartment was nice, small yes, but homey, just enough for one person. The living room consisted of your TV and a plush couch, a colorful blanket thrown over its edge, and a leather armchair beside the windows draped in sheer curtains. Two sets of bookshelves rested on the walls closest to the entryway, a collection of books and knick-knacks filled the shelves, a mix of genres from thrillers to romance to fantasy. He took in the setting of your space one last time before pivoting to face you.

“Sorry, Wilson, but you’re not my type,” Logan replied, his hands digging into the pocket of his jeans.

“He’s in denial and emotionally constipated. Don’t worry, Wolvie. I will wait for you forever, as long as you return home to me.” Logan ignored him, mumbling a quiet shut the fuck up under his breath.

The rest of the night went by smoothly, and Logan used it as an opportunity to learn more about you. Through conversing with Wade, he discovered you work at a media studio further downtown. Initially, you were just a journalist pitching stories that would sometimes be published or given the spotlight. Your promotion now makes you the head of your department, giving you more creative control over the stories you want to be told, something you’ve worked hard to get. In your own words, you were happy that bitch Janice at your office didn’t get the role, and now she will have to deal with you being her superior.

Logan liked how you smiled from ear to ear after being so accomplished, and when he mentioned he was glad it worked out, the way your face lit up wasn’t overlooked.

Munching into the lamb chop you cooked for tonight, Wade retells the stories of the recent mercenary jobs he’s completed with Logan by his side, throwing innuendos and graphic details of his missions between every couple of sentences. You listened to him talk, drinking your wine and resting your chin on your hand, nodding and providing commentary when needed.

At some points in the conversation, Logan would jump in when Wade allowed him to, roping him in to tell you about the cool shit he can do with his claws. Your eyes sparkled at Logan’s words, hanging on to whatever came out of him and holding it close as if it would be the last time you’d hear him speak. He couldn’t bring himself to deny that having your attention on him felt good, and when he let Wade control the dialogue again, his eyes would stay on you for a second longer, sipping on the beer you saved for him.

He hopes you didn’t notice.

Other times, Logan joined you and Wade on the couch for reality TV and movie nights, something he figured would help him become more of a social butterfly. Though he didn’t always understand the current events of 90 Day Fiancé or Love Island USA, you didn’t mind catching him up on the episode that played despite Wade itching to give out spoiler warnings.

You’d be situated between them on the small couch, the popcorn bowl on your lap, and sharing it with Wade, who wore his patterned PJs. Although Logan was relatively quiet while you watched the TV screen, you’d let him take a handful of popcorn, washing it down with a drink to enjoy a somewhat tasteful combination.

What he didn’t expect from you was how welcoming you were of his touch. Of course, given that the couch wasn’t that large, you’d be hip to hip with Logan and Wade on either side of you. The larger man did his best to stay in his corner of the couch and to manspread less to give you space, but you stayed close to him.

Maybe too close.

One night, his arm slipped from its perch on the edge of the couch, dropping on your shoulder and causing you to jolt from the sudden contact.

“Shit, my bad,” he was fast to mutter an apology, but you were just as quick to shake your head, quelling his worries.

“It’s fine. I don’t mind, really.” You were permitting him to leave his arm on your shoulders, and he wasn’t going to say no to that, the heavy bulk of muscle making a new home over the width of your back.

The fleeting touches persisted when you watched Australia for Wade’s sake, suddenly growing fascinated with the main male character and proclaiming Logan somehow favored him. He grumbled, zoning out of the movie and not realizing Wade had fallen asleep within the first hour. It was just you and him for a while until you also dozed off near the two-hour mark, still with 45 minutes left.

Logan had lost track of the plot within the first 30 minutes, so he no longer cared for the film. He focused on your torso, slowly leaning into his body on the couch, gravitating toward his warmth. Instinctively, he moved his arm on your shoulder, bringing you closer so you were flush with his chest, snuggling against the stability of his figure.

Logan swears he could hear a happy hum fall from your lips in the form of a sigh, getting more than comfortable against the man who had become a new addition to your life. If you were awake, he was sure you could hear how hard his heart was beating inside of him, providing a comforting squeeze to your arm to signal he was still here with you.

For the next little while, he’ll enjoy his current position without qualms, and he can imagine just for a second that this was a part of your usual interactions. This is as close as he’s going to get anyway.

“You like her.” Wade’s voice filtered through the static noise of Logan’s channel surfing, settling on a Tom and Jerry episode that played in the background, his head twisting to scrutinize the pain in the ass he called a roommate. 

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Oh, you know,” he grinned mischievously, “Honey bunches, you have the hots for her.”

The neurons in Logan’s brain fired at rapid speed as he comprehended what his friend was insinuating. Sure, he liked having you around and looked forward to when you stopped by every week to sit on the couch. He ignores how you smell or breathe next to him or how you don’t mind when his arm is on your shoulder. He doesn’t care that you inch the slightest bit closer to him, hip to hip, eyes still on the screen during movie nights. He dismisses how you look at him, how you smile when he’s in your space, and how his heart skips a beat when it happens.

“No, I don’t." He knew he was lying.

“Really?” Wade’s Cheshire smile broadened, dissecting Logan by the minute. “You sure, Logan? Are you sure your stone-cold skeleton doesn’t melt when you graze your fingers together?”

“What is this? Couple’s therapy? Shut the fuck up and drop it.” Logan’s mask was cracking the more Wade badgered him about his suppressed emotions, and frankly, he wasn’t sure how long he could keep the truth from his friend or himself. 

“Oh shit…Wolvie, you’re in denial. Are you scared of rejection?” Wade covered his mouth in faux shock, taking Logan’s deep scowl with pride as he hit a nerve. “It’s alright, Casanova, no need to be worried about your unrequited love life. I’ve watched enough episodes of The Bachelor and The Bachelorette to put romancers to shame. I will make this happen.”

“Wade. Drop it.” The threat came out with a paired growl, the mutant’s fingers curling into a tight fist as the skin of his knuckles split to unsheath the blades embedded between them.

“This is now a telenovela baby. Just imagine how much we’d make with you two as the leads. ‘Loving the Wolverine.’ The title is a work in progress, but we’ll revisit that later.”

“Wilson.” Logan’s nostrils flared, the metal claws fully out with a sharp schling. The vein in his forehead bulged as his blood pressure skyrocketed from his anger, ready to slice the man any second now.

“You can be angry all you want, but feelings are feelings. And if you don’t say something soon, I fucking will!” The apartment filled with a loud squeal as Logan pierced Wade’s thigh with one hand, the other aiming for his torso, puncturing him through his hoodie.

As pissed as Logan wanted to be towards Wade, he knew he was right. Whatever sentiments had developed between you and him were undefined, and he hated himself for believing there was a chance it could be anything beyond friendly. You were younger than him, a given anyway, with an established life he didn’t want to ruin or get too involved with. Why would you choose him when you could have anyone else?

It wouldn’t work, not in his book. As Logan continued to puncture Wade’s body like a voodoo doll in the name of stress relief, he still had a hard time ignoring how he felt. He doesn’t think he will anytime soon.

His inner turmoil peaked when Wade hosted another get-together at the apartment, and of course, he invited you. He mentioned this would be a chance to set you guys up, and Logan tried his hardest not to shove his claws into his head or ruin the vibe before the party started.

The people closest to the host bustled into the apartment the following Friday night, along with the few new additions brought back from the void. Logan was entertained by talking to Laura and watched the entryway every few minutes to see when you’d walk through it. The time couldn’t come soon enough, the familiar notes of your scent hit his nose the second Wade opened the front door to let you inside, showing the assortment of alcohol bottles you brought to make cosmopolitans.

From where he sat on the couch, he studied your appearance. He raked his eyes over the casual jeans that hugged your thighs and the low neckline of your top, the jewelry adorning your neck brought more than enough attention to the dip of your collarbones.

Logan must’ve been starting too hard when you caught him in the act, your mouth bending up when you noticed him. Without a word, he only smiled at you, drinking his beer to wash down the incessant pounding in his body.

You busied yourself with making drinks in the kitchen, periodically darting to watch Logan while he mingled as much as his social battery allowed. You chatted with the other partygoers, catching up with Vanessa to ask how things were going with Wade and talking to the bubbly Yukio, who stood beside her girlfriend as you joined in teasing the host for the party hat on his head.

Everyone eventually had a red solo cup in their hand, uttering their thanks to you as the influx of a new alcoholic thirst quencher streamed through their bodies. The space to the right of Logan was empty after Laura rose to steal more chips from the dinner table. You took your chance, having a plastic cup in one hand as you strolled over to the gentleman sitting comfortably on the couch.

“That seat taken?” you asked, the bister eyes you’ve come to adore ran over your features, glinting slightly under the hanging light above.

“It’s free now,” Logan jerked his head to gesture you to sit beside him, the smell of your perfume hitting his senses when you walked past him. He swallowed his beer again, hoping it would help curb his growing urges.

“Avoiding me, huh?” The lively tone of your voice conveyed something he couldn’t precisely define despite it making him nervous. “Didn’t get up to say hi or anything…”

“You were busy making drinks for everybody, wanted to have you focused. Don’t want anyone to get alcohol poisoning from fucked up proportions.” You chuckled at his words, rolling your eyes and spinning the ice in your cup.

“Surprised you’re even here. Did Wade force you to stay around this time?”

Yes, he did. That was what he wanted to say, but one glance at your face, and he couldn’t be mad that he listened to the bastard for once.

“Decided to be a little social,” he answered calmly, the tip of his bottle lined up with his lips.

“You? Social? That’s a first.”

“Are you complaining, bub?” he remarked, turning to you with a raised eyebrow and a teasing attitude.

“No, not at all,” you shook your head, giddy in anticipation of what qualified as “social” for the man next to you. “Nothing wrong with trying new things.”

The world tuned out as you conversed with the older mutant, taking every word in stride. Believe it or not, Logan could talk for a while if you ignore the curse words he adds every other sentence. Still, it was nice to just talk to him, even if your sight wandered. On your second cosmo and probably Logan’s fourth beer, the distance between you on the couch closed with each shift of your hips, leaning into the back of the couch and facing him while he rested against the length of it.

With each passing word from Logan, you watched his jaw flex and his lips part as he spoke—counting the wrinkles of skin beside the slight hints of gray at his temples. You took another sip of your mixed drink, discreetly running your eyes down the column of his throat and his collarbone, peering at the coarse hair that peeked from his flannel’s first two undone buttons.

You didn’t know if he could read the signs of your desires or sense the palpable tension brewing in the air, but you remained willfully ignorant. Oblivious to you, the notion was reciprocated when you spoke, rambling about stuff with your job to bits and pieces of your childhood. Logan’s eyes never left your face, landing on the shimmer of your glossy lips or the pendant that dangled on your chest when you weren’t looking.

In the next breath, the topic changed to something concerning Wade’s most embarrassing instances and jokes that would only come from him. Logan must’ve said something right when you broke out in a fit of laughter, deep and hearty, as it came straight from your stomach and emitted through your chest. He didn’t say anything to disturb your moment, commemorating your eyes scrunching up and your mouth opening wide to laugh harder. He didn’t jolt when you smacked his sternum a few times, the warmth of your touch radiating through the layers of his clothes.

He craved more of it.

“I think you’re spending too much time with Wade. He’s rubbing off on you,” you calmed down from your laughing fit and wiped the tears that threatened to spill.

“Maybe. Gotta tolerate the guy,” Logan was carefree as he spoke despite the stirring emotions.

Your hand was still on his chest, resting comfortably on his body. You didn’t move it as quickly as you should, nor would Logan tell you to take it away. Grazing your thumb over the fabric of his shirt, you whizzed lowly to yourself, the alcohol pumping through your body, loosening your inhibitions as you continued to touch him.

Much to Logan’s disappointment, you pulled your hand away, looking over his shoulder to see Peter showing off the chain that connected his nipples to whatever was underneath his pants. Downing the rest of your beverage, you placed the cup on the coffee table, sitting up straighter.

“I think that’s my cue to leave. It’s getting late anyway.” The nagging voice in your head pressed a question you wanted to admit, an invitation you knew wouldn’t work if asked incorrectly. Thankfully, you didn’t need to speak out loud.

“Let me walk you home,” Logan suggested through the racket, firm and determined in his proposition. “Could use the fresh air if I’m being honest.”

You didn’t need much effort to say yes.

“Sure.” You rose from the couch to say goodbye to everyone, giving kisses on the cheek and hugs when warranted, your last stop being Wade. He looked between you and Logan, throwing the older man a thumbs up as he grabbed his jacket and headed for the door.

Side by side, you walked down the block, Logan keeping you on the opposite side of the street and serving as a barrier between you and the road. He didn’t reach out for your hand despite the urge to hold you steady, nor did you hold on to his bicep as you strode beside him. But you both talked on your joint stroll, confessing things amongst yourselves that would otherwise be omitted by all the noise.

He followed you through the lobby of your apartment complex, up the flights of stairs that dropped you off on the second floor to your front door. He remained vigilant, standing behind your figure as you inserted your key into the lock, guarding you until your door opened and looming as you spun to face him again.

“Thank you for walking me. It was nice,” you expressed, the cosmopolitans you consumed earlier heightened the glassiness in your eyes.

“Ain’t a problem. It was good to get off the couch,” his hands went to his pockets. “You gonna be alright by yourself?”

“Yeah, I’m a big girl. I can handle a little alcohol,” you snorted, the sound bringing a grin to his face.

As your hazy vision landed on him, he felt the pull in his chest again, the one that comes when time and space stop moving in that beat of silence shared only between you two. He sensed the change in your demeanor, the increased pumping of your heart, and the rush of your blood flowing faster.

Logan halted his breathing when you stepped forward. You preemptively set a hand on his chest and tipped upwards to kiss his stubbled cheek.

“Really, thank you, Logan.” Your serene voice was muted when you said his name, sweet on your tongue that drew him in like a siren’s song. He’d do anything to hear you say it like that again, and again, and again.

“Any time,” you held his gaze, eyes going from his tawny pupils to the tip of his nose and plush lips. He was right there, right in front of you, and the only thing you had in mind was to get a proper feel of him.

There was a jolt of hesitation, taking a step back to get more space between you until you felt the heavy weight of Logan’s palm reaching for your hip. He kept you in place, squeezing your frame and curling his hand to your lower back. Your heart hammered in your ribcage, glimpsing up at him one more time as his head tilted towards you, the only signal you needed to get what you both yearned for.

Your lips landed on his, soft and gentle, testing his reaction. Logan didn’t let you venture too far from him, holding you close and kissing you more fervently, opening his mouth to make room for your tongue as it traced his bottom lip. The groan that reverberated deep within him grew louder when your hands went up to drive through his hair, changing your position to have your back against the entryway of your apartment.

You whimpered when he squeezed your waist, a sound that would haunt his dreams for the next upcoming nights, causing him to push further against you. Your fingers tugged at the collar of his flannel, seeking more of him than you could reach. The metal of his belt buckle pressed into your lower stomach, a faint moan tumbling out of your mouth that Logan hungrily swallowed.

“Do you want to come inside?” you breathlessly invited him as you pulled away, face heated to the touch and body thrumming with a need you didn’t expect. He could read your reactions, almost smell your arousal in the air, but the last thing he wanted to do was fall into the pattern he was familiar with when it came to partners. You deserved better than that, better than just a fun night, even if that’s what you wanted.

“I want to, I do,” Logan tried to say, already noticing your look of disappointment at his upcoming rejection. “But, maybe we can try this again when you don’t taste like fucking vodka and cranberries?” You laughed a bit, teeth sinking into your bottom lip, relishing the tingling sensation left behind from his kisses.

“Thought you didn’t mind alcohol?”

“Vodka isn’t my favorite. More of a dark liquor kind of guy.” Even as he spoke to you, his hands stayed on your body, a reassuring weight you didn’t want to leave your midriff.

“Then you can make it up to me with dinner. That sounds good?” You were cheeky in your response, refusing to let the prospect pass you by, and Logan wasn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth.

“Yeah, that sounds good,” he warmed at your proposal and accepted one more kiss as he let you part from him.

“I’ll see you around, Logan.”

It was the last thing you said to him before you closed your front door, leaving him in the hallway to deal with the feelings washing over him. He could still discern your heart beating on the other side of the door, probably grounding your breathing and walking further into your apartment. His eyes fell to his feet, mind running a mile a minute and exhaling, deciding to take the longer way home back to Wade and Blind Al.

The apartment was empty when he came back. Althea had fallen asleep in bed, and Wade was busy cleaning up the leftover mess in the dining room. The lopsided party hat was still on his head, brown eyes scanning Logan’s features and analyzing him.

“Well, that was fast. Thought you’d last a bit longer, peanut,” Wade mocked with a grin, detecting the leftover gloss on Logan’s lips and a spot on his face. “I’m guessing Cupid was successful tonight?”

“Not another word,” Logan was back to his prickly mood, murmuring under his breath that he was going to the bathroom to take a piss, locking the door behind him.

He looked in the mirror and noticed the faint shimmer of your lip gloss still on his features, leaving your mark on him without realizing it. He chuckled, smirked wide to himself, and privately enjoyed the remnants of your touch.

He’ll make a note to pick places to take you out in the morning. For now, he’ll appreciate this feeling for as long as possible.

©️ ovaryacted 2024. Please don’t repost, copy, translate, or feed into any AI. Support your fellow creators by reblogging, commenting, and liking!

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

[hannieehaee]

NEED TO KNOW (teaser)

18+ / mdi

summary: with jungkook's lifelong crush also came an aversion to dating anyone who wasn't you. but what would happen when the poor lovesick boy came crying into your arms after finally giving a chance to what turned to be a disastrous date?

content: virgin!jungkook, f2l!jungkook, loser!jk, sub!jk, college au, jk is insanely socially awkward and shy, kook is touch starved, afab reader, smut, dry humping, fingering, penetrative sex, etc.

(^ no actual content warnings in the teaser)

wc: 612 (teaser); 10k (full fic)

RELEASE DATE: november 26th

or you can check it out on my patreon today by subscribing!

a/n: picture 21 year old jungkook for this hehe<3

masterlist | patreon

Jungkook often found himself feeling like his life was one of those very shitty romcoms.

Except he had never really felt like the heartthrob, or even like he was the one getting swept off his feet.

No, his experience was more closely aligned with the loser virgin who was tossed aside so the star-crossed lovers could find their way to each other. This was just how it had always been.

Jungkook had watched most of his friends find love with a person he could easily consider their soulmate. He was a romantic at heart, after all. These things were not difficult for him to spot.

He often wondered when his turn would come, except it just never did.

Being one for romance was seemingly not for the weak, as Jungkook found himself passing yet another year as a lovesick fool hoping to find that perfect someone to finally look his way.

Scratch that. Many people looked his way. Even as a self-proclaimed loser, Jungkook received plenty of attention from boys and girls alike. Looks were often thrown his way, but they were never the looks he wanted to receive.

Sure, he could easily reciprocate the appreciation he received for his looks. He could smile back, maybe even ask for their number and then see where it all led afterwards.

Except that Jungkook needed the romance. He needed to be swept off his feet (or maybe the reverse, it depended on his mood). Jungkook needed a soulmate.

It all just became eternally more complicated when Jungkook insisted on having that person be you.

That and the fact that Jungkook was slightly, how to put it, socially inept. He was shy, anxious, unable to read social cues, and basically just an overall mess. But the worst of all was his undying crush on you, this he knew.

It was a tale as old as time. Falling for your best friend, pining after them for years, hoping one day they'd turn around and realize you'd been here all along. And now on year nine of knowing you, it still hadn't happened. Jungkook remained a sad, lonely virgin awaiting for you to grant his romcom wish and make him into the love interest.

It didn't really help how painfully socially awkward Jungkook was. Truly, he was surprised you'd stuck by his side for this long despite that. There was no way Jungkook would ever want to risk ruining your current relationship in favor of something he knew would never work out. You did not like him back, these past nine years made him very well aware of that.

And so, as a result, his friends had the grand idea of setting him up.

Not once, not twice, but countless times.

However, Jungkook being Jungkook, never agreed to it. Not once had his friends been able to reel him out of his dorm long enough to entrap him into a date.

Jungkook simply saw no point in it. Blind dates were the complete antithesis of Jungkook's beliefs about romance. He needed a connection before even considering entering a romantic relationship. The thought of going on a date with someone he'd never met before unnerved him to no end.

Plus, he was convinced no one would ever actually like him past his looks. There had been far too many instances of him being on the receiving end of insults to his personality or not-so-subtle stink eyes thrown his way. To have that happen to him whilst on a blind date was just a huge no.

Jungkook found himself stuck in an endless limbo. A loveless, endless limbo as he pined after the one person he could never have.

...

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[rosenclaws]

Hi! 👋

I saw your requests were open and I was wondering if I could submit a request?

The reader is a shy artist who is a friend of Wades. She carries a sketchbook with her everywhere to sketch new pieces, but she doesn't show her work to people unless it's to Wade.

She and Worst!Logan become friends and slowly develop feelings for one another, but they won't say anything to each other because they think that the other wouldn't want them. Until Worst!Logan finds her sketchbook by accident and finds the book is filled with sketches of him. Worst!Logan confronts her about it, but she's a stuttering mess, and they end up confessing to each other. And please make it extra fluffy. Maybe throw in a kiss or a makeout session. Your choice lol.

Thank you and have a good day! 😊

Hidden Feelings and Hidden Sketches || Worst!Logan Howlett x Reader

warnings: drinking, swearing, wade making suggestive comments, make out sesh towards the end, reader gets drunk and logan helps her out. Logan also calls the reader sketch. It got kinda suggestive at the end I apologize sldfjka

a/n: Hi!! This idea is adorable omg I love it, I hope it was fluffy enough for you I have to admit I'm not great at writing pure fluff. I also hope wade is funny because I am not funny so its hard to write his dialogue sometimes. I also altered the plot a little so i hope its okay

You never quite understood how you and Wade became friends. He was possibly the biggest extrovert you have ever met and you were the exact opposite. He saw you once at his favorite diner with your sketchbook and he jumped into the seat across from you.

Yapping on about your art and if you drew often and that he once tried to paint but the class didn't appreciate his art and asking if you'd paint him naked as a present for his girlfriend. Which you declined very quickly.

He wouldn't leave you alone, talking and asking you all sorts of things. You getting a few words in and him covering the other 98% of the conversation. He left with the promise of seeing you again and disappeared before you could say anything else.

It was an odd experience that's for sure but you liked Wade. Sure enough he kept coming back and a friendship had blossomed. He invited you over to dinner multiple times but you always declined, choosing to meet at the diner instead.

Slowly he got you out of your shell around him. Cracking jokes and sometimes putting him in his place when he went a little too far. You showed him your sketchbook after a while and he gushed over your drawings. Begging you to draw him at his best angles and you would sometimes give in.

When he disappeared for a while you got worried, that is until he showed up with a new dog and a very handsome new friend. You couldn't take your eyes off of him. Wade spotted you and waved but you didn't even notice.

"I know right, he's like a tall glass of rage filled water." Wade sighs as he sits across from you.

"I uh what?" You hug your sketchbook close to your chest as you rip your eyes away from Wade's new friend.

"Oh don't pretend like you weren't eye fucking him the second he walked in here, not that I blame you." Your eyes widen as you start to stutter. Your face heating up as you stare at the pancakes in front of you instead. A loud grunt catches your attention. You can barely meet his eyes as your brain is too busy being embarrassed by what Wade had said.

"You can sit on my lap angel cakes." Wade pats his leg but gets shoved to the side as his new friend sits down across from you.

"Logan this is my friend, be a good kitty and play nice." Logan rolls his eyes and chooses to ignore Wade. He does look at you though, burning a whole through your skull.

"Hi Logan," You say shyly.

"Hi." A few beats of silence pass until Wade breaks it as usual.

"Well aren't you two the life of the party, if you excuse me I have to go relieve myself." Wade stands up and instead of asking Logan to move, starts to climb over the man.

"What the fuck?!" Logan hisses as he grabs Wades shirt and tosses him to the ground. You can't help the laugh that escapes your mouth as your friend flops to the ground.

"So rude." Wade shakes his head and heads off to the bathroom. Silence falls once again as you awkwardly push around the pancakes on your plate.

"What's that?" Logan asks, nodding towards your sketchbook. You grab your book and shove it into your bag.

"Nothing! It's uh, just a sketchbook it's nothing don't worry about it." Logan raises an eyebrow as you panic in front of him.

As if you couldn't feel more embarrassed. You debate on waiting for wade or just leaving to save yourself but Logan makes the choice for you.

"You don't have to stay, not holding you hostage." He sips his coffee as you let out a shaky laugh.

"Not much of a talker." You play with your fork as you look up at Logan. He's much more handsome up close.

"Neither am I." He offers a small half smile and you return it. He's still incredibly intimidating but maybe you can stick it out a little longer. Logan's food comes and the two of you eat in a comfortable silence and when you're done you work up the courage if he'll be here tomorrow. He holds the door open for you as you step outside.

You clutch tightly onto the strap of your bag as you wait for his answer. He lights a cigar and you try and suppress your smile when he says he will be. As you part ways you realize that Wade never did come back from the bathroom.

That sneaky bastard.

-on

The diner uh, meetings as you called them, with Logan were amazing. His grumpy exterior was hard to crack but eventually the two of you started to become friends. Being with Logan started to become your favorite parts of the week. He was more than the tough guy persona he put on. What surprised you the most is that he seemed interested in you too. Well you know as friends.

Logan could appreciate someone who liked the quiet. He never pushed you out of your comfort zone, never made you feel uncomfortable. He was just Logan. Call it what you want but it was only a matter of time before you fell head over heels for that man. Not that you'd ever tell him.

How could you?

He's a superhero. He's gorgeous and grumpy and funny and so much more. All you do is draw silly pictures. So for now you settle on friends. Even if he makes your stomach turn with ever smile. Even if his laugh is the best thing you've ever heard. Friends. That's good enough for now.

-

"Wade Wilson I am going to kill you!" You say angrily.

He had texted you asking you to meet him for coffee and you had agreed solely because you never got the chance to scold him for his little dine and dash.

"Leaving me alone with a stranger!" You slap his hand as he tries to reach for your pastry.

"Ow! That was so five months ago! Anyways I was just trying to help. You know, relieve the sexual tension." You gasp as he makes a very lewd gesture with his hands.

"Besides, you and Logi bear are spending a lot of time together for just being friends huh Boo-Boo." Before you can stop him he reaches for your sketchbook. Keeping it just out of reach as he flips through the pages.

"Give it back!" You plead as you reach across the table.

"Oh. My. God. How come you never draw me this sexy?" He shows you the pages and you fall back into your seat in defeat.

You know what's in there and now Wade does too. Pages and pages of sketches of Logan. You feel like a stalker. It's not your fault! Ever since you met him he's all you can think about. All you can draw.

"Please give it back." You beg but he refuses.

"You'll get it back after you admit to Logan how you feel."

"What!" Your jaw drops as you make another lunge for your book.

"I am a very impatient man and I'm not about to wait another thousand words for the two of you to fuck." He stands up and tucks the book down his pants.

"Ew really?" You groan as you let your face fall into your hands.

"I'm having a get together and you're invited. Logan will be there it's the perfect opportunity." You feel like throwing up at the idea of talking to Logan about any of this.

Maybe you could just steal it back tonight. Or maybe you could never show your face to anyone ever again. Yah the second option sounds better. If only it was that simple. You waited for many anxiety filled hours, the only thing on your mind is getting your damn book back. You knock on the door and it swings open with Wade standing there, a stupid smile on his face.

"Honey badger at 4 o'clock." He hands you a drink and pushes you right towards him. You shoo him away, taking a deep breath and head towards Logan.

"Hi Logan," You say nervously.

"Didn't think these were really your thing." He says with a smile. You laugh nervously and nod your head.

"Yeah well...I thought he'd finally stop asking if I came to one of these things." You joke. Logan snorts and offers you the seat next to him.

"Good luck with that." You sit next to him and swirl around the ice in your drink.

If you're going to tell him then you're going to need a lot of help. Logan's eyes widen as you down your drink in one go, making a face before asking for another one. He's never seen you at a party, let alone drink.

"Why don't you take it easy there sketch."

"It's a party right, why not have a little fun." Logan keeps an eye on you as you drink and drink. As the night passes on he realizes that you might have had a little too much. You can barely get a sentence out by the time the party's over.

"Hi Logii!" Your arms slink around his neck as you stumble into him.

"Come on, let me take you home." He chuckles as he helps you to the door.

"Nooo, I needa get my uh..." You stop and think for a moment.

"My uhhh" Logan hums as he helps you to your apartment. You stay close to Logan as you walk through the night. He's just so warm and he smells so good.

"Got your keys?" You pat around for them and frown. Logan reaches into your bag and pulls them out.

"Right here." He unlocks your door and helps you to your bed. You sigh as your head hits your pillow.

"Oh! my sketchbook. Wade has my sketchbook." You say with a yawn.

"I'll get it back tomorrow, now sleep well." Logan takes off his jacket and lays it on you. He brushes your cheek gently. A soft smile on his face as he leaves you to sleep peacefully.

"Good night."

-

God your head hurt and the sun was way too bright. You crack your eyes open groan as you head pounds. What were you even thinking last night? You wanted your damn book back that's what you were thinking. A loud knock on your door makes you moan in pain. Getting up you swing open your door only to be met with Logan holding your book. Your face pales as you see a smirk on his face.

"Wade gave me back your book." You reach out for it but he holds it back.

"You're a real good artist sketch." To your horror he opens up your book and flips to one of its pages.

Right in front of you was a side profile sketch of Logan. It had been while you were at the park or something. The sun was hitting him perfectly, he had this content look on his face. You couldn't help but draw it when you got back home. To capture him in a moment where everything felt okay.

"I uh..I.." You don't know what to say. He caught you red handed. Your face is on fire from shame and embarrassment as he finally hands over your book. You can't even look at him.

"I'm sorry." You whisper. Shutting your eyes you hope he gets the hint and leaves, leaves you to wallow in pity.

"Sorry? Why are you sorry." He grabs your chin and tilts your head up.

"I'm flattered sketch. I think you really captured me pretty good." You still can't bring yourself to say anything as you hug your book tightly. You can't tell if he's making fun of you or what.

"This isn't funny Logan." You try and push his hand off you but his grip is strong.

"Not trying to be funny." He brushes his thumb over your lips.

"Logan..." Your eyes flick down to his lips and you know he catches you.

"Say it, come on don't be shy. Not with me." Sighing you dig your fingernails into your book.

"I love you." Your voice is barely above a whisper, eyes squeezing shut. You almost hope he doesn't hear it but of course he does.

He presses his lips to yours roughly. You drop your book in shock as you melt deep into his kiss. Wasting no time in kissing him back, hands wrapping around his neck to pull him closer. He deepens the kiss as his hands fall to your sides. You pull away much to his disappointment, his lips chasing after yours for a moment.

"I love you too." He kisses your jaw lightly making you sigh.

"You know, those drawings were good but I think you got my lips wrong." You furrow you eyebrows, you thought you got his lips pretty good. After all you stared at them long enough to memorize them.

"Yeah sweetheart, think you need a lesson." He walks you back until you hit your couch.

"Get up close and personal." He winks as you bite your lip. How flustered can he make you?

"Then maybe you can show me more of those drawings."

Well, If it would help make your drawings more, accurate. Then who are you to say no?

"Okay." You run your hands along his arm as you look back up at him. Nerves and excitement swirling around your eyes.

"Don't worry sketch, I'm a pretty good teacher."

[ilguna]

☼ whisper of the beast (Finnick Odair) ☼

summary; on your own, you try to find your boyfriend in the arena. instead, you run across something much, much worse.

warnings; swearing, death, weapon usage, ehhh gore, blood mention.

wc; 2.5k

prompt; 11. "Just keep breathing. In and out. You're doing great."

—

There is something seriously horrifying going on with this arena, and each time you think you get close to figuring it out—it changes.

The only consistent factor in each of your theories is the jungle, and that’s because it’s the root of the fear. When you travel through the greenery for long periods of time, a creeping feeling grows on you, one that you can’t shake unless you make your way back to the beach.

Which is far from safe, itself. Especially since there are nine other tributes alive here, roaming around, hunting for lone victors. For it only being the second day of the Games, it’s remarkable that so many are dead, already. With six of them dying today, alone.

It makes you think that you’re being overly paranoid, because you’re out here by yourself. It’s a completely new experience to you. The first time around, during your Games, the Career alliance lasted up until the very last second. You never had to keep an eye out for yourself, because you had others with you that were doing the same thing.

You were under the impression that you’d be doing that for these Games, too, but nothing has gone according to plan. You and Finnick had a long discussion the night of the interviews on what to expect regarding corralling Katniss and Peeta into the alliance. Neither of you thought it would be easy. Worst case scenario, you’d grab one and he’d get the other, and the two of you would meet up somewhere in the middle. 

The Gamemakers really must have it out for you this year, determined to keep you and Finnick apart. That’s why they decided to put you on the opposite side of the Cornucopia, keeping you from seeing Finnick. While also putting Brutus in your water wedge, to ensure that you wouldn’t be able to reach him.

By the time you fought off Brutus and got to the Cornucopia, all three of them were gone. The only option you had left was to wait for Johanna and Blight, but with them still in the water and the Careers coming to take over, you had to leave. There wasn’t a choice in the matter.

Since, you’ve spent your time traveling through the jungle and taking the occasional rest on the beach, in the hopes that you’ll run across your boyfriend. The search was casual yesterday, as you were more worried about finding drinking water than the rebel alliance. Now that the numbers are spiraling, you know that the rescue plan is right around the corner.

You’re confident enough to say that they won’t do it today, but it’s got to be tomorrow or the day after. They won’t have Katniss and Peeta openly in danger like this for longer than they have to. You likely have less than forty-eight hours to find them, or else you’ll get trapped in here and taken by the Capitol.

You would say that you wish you had a general idea on which direction they went in yesterday, but it probably won’t make much of a difference. With the amount of people dying in these trees, you’re sure Finnick is directing them the opposite way, just in case. 

It’s another reason why you can’t stand to be in the jungle for long periods of time. From what you’ve gathered, at least half of the tributes that have died today so far, have come from somewhere in the trees. It makes you think that something is out here, and it’s more than just a rogue tribute.

In fact, it would make more sense for it to be a mutt of some kind. In the last Quarter Quell, they were everywhere. There was not a single animal that a tribute could trust to be friendly. On top of that, there were aspects of the arena that took them by surprise. 

It appeared to be the most breathtaking place imaginable. The Cornucopia was in the middle of a vibrantly green meadow, the sky a perfect blue, with fluffy white clouds. In the distance, there was a snow capped mountain, one that looked straight out of a picture book. On the other side, a healthy forest with plants you couldn’t name.

Of course, it was all too good to be true. The mountain was revealed to be a deadly volcano, the plants were poisonous, the water was infected with a disease, the insects stung and the flowers could kill when inhaled too closely. Everything that was placed in that arena was working against them.

Who’s to say it’s not the same for this one?

You pause next to a nearby tree to rest your feet, because they’re throbbing in your shoes. You lift one, stretching your thigh, feeling the immediate relief that comes with being off the foot. After a minute, you switch, but it doesn’t feel as good this time around.

When you reach up to run a hand through your hair to smooth it back, you find that your scalp is wet, soaked from sweating so much. It feels much hotter today than it was yesterday, like the Gamemakers are trying to boil you alive. It’s brutal enough being in here, do they really need to make it any worse?

You dip your head, eyes closed while you take a deep breath, sighing it out. You return to walking, paying attention to where you place your feet.

It might make more sense for you to go down to the beach and wait for Finnick, Katniss and Peeta to show up. The issue is that you’re not willing to take the risk of the Careers spotting you while you’re down there. The four of them could easily get you pinned down. You’ll be dead before you can call for help.

A branch rustling behind you makes your next step stutter. Your eyes widen, as you slowly look across the fern in front of you, to the left of your vision. With sensitive ears, you adjust the spear in your hand, turning your body halfway to look behind you, at the tree you were just standing at.

There’s nothing.

You take a minute to search the trees around you, backtracking to get a better look. Even if it’s just a critter, you want to know. If there’s living animals out here, that means there’s a water source—and you won’t have to depend on your sponsors to keep you hydrated.

There’s not a trace. At least, that’s what you think, until your eyes catch the hoof print in the mud. Your face contorts, you drop into a crouch to get closer, curious on what could’ve made a mark like this. As far as your knowledge on the jungle goes, there shouldn’t be anything that could leave this behind.

The goosebumps that crawl up your arms are involuntary, stomach dropping. The safety blanket that the jungle had been providing seconds ago, is gone now. There’s something in here with you, and it was smart enough to run when it made noise.

You raise your head, thinking about the best way to handle this situation, when your heart seizes in your chest.

What the fuck is that.

In one fluid movement, you jump to your feet, turning in the direction of the beach, and beginning to sprint down the slope. A screech cuts through the previously quiet air, piercing your ears enough to make you wince at the pitch.

And then you can hear it galloping behind you, hands and feet pounding against the spongy jungle ground. A scream rises in your throat, terrified to look behind you to see how fast this thing actually is.

You take the chance when you swing around a tree, stealing a glance over your shoulder. 

Whatever it is, it’s demonic.

You’ve never seen anything like it. It’s coming at you on all fours, there’s hooves where its feet should be, with long and pointed nails on its fingers. Its fur is so black that you can’t make out where its eyes are, or if it has any skin exposed at all. It’s a beast straight out of one of your nightmares.

It isn’t fast by any means, but it’s not slow, either.

You can hear it tearing up a path behind you, trampling through the bushes, ripping bark off trees. As the path between the trees narrows, the jungle becomes more condensed. You hear less of it coming in contact with the ground, thumping replacing the noise.

Until it stops altogether.

Your instincts take over, jerking to the right, shoulder slamming into the tree. You watch in silence as the beast flies by where you were a second ago, claws out and ready to latch on. It comes into contact with the ground about ten feet away, head whipping unnaturally to see over its shoulder.

“No, no!” You let out, beginning to weave through the trees.

A snarl rips through its throat at the idea of you outsmarting it. It’s coming for you, and there’s nothing you can do besides run for your life and dodge it each time it tries to attack. 

You play this game for what feels like an hour, but it can’t be more than twenty minutes. You make it half a mile down the slope, knowing that the beach can’t be that far away from where you are, when you realize that it’s gone. The monster that has been chasing you has given up.

You lean over your knees, mouth watering, throat beginning to close. As you gasp for air, your body tries to expel some of the heat by making you sweat, but all that’s doing is making you sick. You think you might throw up. 

Right as you’ve come to terms with losing all the water and food in your body, spit falling from your mouth in long strings, a shadow on the ground grows larger. Your face twists, thinking that something must be falling, like a leaf.

It hits you, literally, flattening you against the ground, head hitting the dirt. It digs in, nails cutting through skin as it tears through your back and arms, shredding your jumpsuit. A scream leaves your lips, a white hot and blinding pain smothering you all at once.

Your hand tightens around the spear, cheek against Earth as the beast presses into your shoulders, keeping you from moving. Still, with the small amount of mobility you have, you swing the head of the spear up, toward yourself, narrowly missing your left  shoulder.

It lodges into the beast, causing it to roar in pain. You shove the pole further back, hoping that it pushes into its body deeper. The weight on your shoulders disappears, you can hear it stumbling away.

In the window you have, you get back to your feet, ignoring the screaming pain your entire backside is in. You just need to make it to the beach, it’s not that far away, you’ve covered this distance in your sleep before. It’s harder to do, though, when every hard step you take makes you grit your teeth to keep from crying out. 

The beast is catching up with you, recovering from its wound. It’s faster than you are, and it’s completely disregarding everything in its path. Nothing can slow it down. You can see the golden sand through the trees, you’re almost there.

A body jumps out from behind a bush, making you run into it. For a moment, you’re sure that it’s an exact replica of the monster behind you, but once you realize that you’re staring at another tribute jumpsuit, the panic subsides. But only for a second.

“Move!” You shriek, trying to get around him. He grabs the sides of your arms, holding you there.

You look up, finding that you’re standing face to face with the male tribute from Ten—someone who is not part of the rebel alliance, and doesn’t care whether or not you make it out alive. When you glance over your shoulder, you can see that the beast is getting closer. It’s not going to stop until it gets its hands on somebody.

And it won’t be you.

The only choice you have is to sacrifice him, so that’s exactly what you do. You jerk him around, switching places with him, forcing his back to the beast. His eyes widen, mouth opening to say something, when you pull back from him, lifting your leg to kick him in the chest.

The beast takes him gratefully, landing on his back. He stumbles forward, struggling under the weight of the beast. You watch in horror as its jaws unhinge, revealing razor sharp teeth. It throws its head back, before whipping forward, mouth securing around the tribute’s neck.

And with no resistance, he rips out a chunk of the flesh. A spray of blood hits you in the face, and it coats the jungle floor. You back away with wide eyes, watching as Ten’s legs can’t hold him up anymore, body collapsing in the dirt beneath the beast.

A cannon fires.

You turn, making the final push for the beach before it can come after you, too. 

The moment your feet hit the sand, it begins to drag you down, keeping you from running as far away as your mind is screaming for you to go. You make it a few feet before landing on your hands and knees, sucking in sharp breaths and letting them out aggressively. 

That was almost you. That could’ve been you.

You try to crawl, hands forming in fists in the sand, tears falling from your eyes.

“(Y/n)?” You hear. There’s a headache forming, black spots coming to eat away at the corners of your vision. “(Y/n), hey.”

A hand touching your lower back makes you swing a hand up to get them off. Your wrist is caught, eyes meeting Finnick’s, finding him worried. 

“You’re okay, honey. I’m right here.” He pulls at your elbow to make you sit up on your knees. 

You grab onto his shoulder, struggling to breathe, “It—it… The—” 

Finnick takes your hand placing it against his chest. “Follow me.” He takes a deep breath, you try to follow, stuttering. He blows it out, you sob. “Come on, (Y/n). Just keep breathing. In and out.” You mimic his breaths, allowing them to even out. “You’re doing great.”

“Finnick.” You cry, head falling forward.

He cups your face with both hands, lifting your head. He’s only a couple inches away from you. “You’re safe with me, I’m not going to let anything happen to you.” He wipes your tears away with his thumbs. “Do you want to tell me what’s in there?”

You look away, eyes too intense to stare into. “A monster.”

--

this was part of my 3k celebration!!

[apdreadful]

I’ve decided that from here forward I’m writing Tommy and Buck/Evan as long term canon. In the words of Buck himself “Who cares?!”

I get the feeling that Tommy is difficult to get really angry. Mostly based on his past. And his general roll with the punches attitude thus far. So I don’t foresee a lot of strife or fighting in his future with Buck. Except the first time Tommy experiences the after of that big marshmallow Evan Buckley doing something really dangerous and reckless..again.

And Tommy who never gets angry, who never shouts at Buck, who flew a helicopter into a goddamn hurricane in the middle of the ocean, really loses his shit this time because Buck cannot understand why Tommy is so upset that he dropped into a dangerous situation against orders AGAIN.

Tommy pinches the bridge of his nose to keep from shouting “Bobby told you not to go in. He told you not to risk it. That the floors were too unstable”

“There could have been someone left” Buck replies “Someone needed to check. It had to be me”

“Why? Because you’re fucking super human? The great Buck Buckley from the 118 who scoffs at danger, has survived a tsunami, getting trapped beneath a fire truck, throwing a blood clot, and was officially dead for three minutes after getting struck by FUCKING LIGHTNING!”

“How do you know about all of that?”

“That isn’t what matters”

“I think it is” Buck takes a step toward Tommy “Have you been stalking me babe?”

Noticing the mischievous smile Tommy shakes his head “Oh no no no. You are not going to adorable your way out of this”

Bucks shoulders sag and he sighs “I’m ok Tommy. Not even a scratch”

“I can see that” Tommy lets out a deep exhale “I understand the risks of the job. I’m not like your exes who would get all distraught over you removing a cat from a tree. But for fucks sake, you are worse than the EOD guys when I was in Afghanistan with the walking - or in your case running or jumping- right into the worst case scenario with no thought of your own safety” Rubbing his forehead he continues “Evan. You’ve got a savior complex and it’s noble and selfless..”

Buck cuts him off “It’s not a savior complex. I’m not stupid. I understand that sometimes no matter what you do you can’t save them. But sometimes maybe you can, and in those cases, I just make the most sense”

Tommy crosses his arms to keep from strangling him or kissing him stupid again to shut him up “How is that? How does you possibly dying make any sense?”

“They all have people that need them. They all have someone they belong to and..” he trails off with a small shrug

And Tommy hears the words he doesn’t say. He is…expendable. And just like that all of the anger drains out of Tommy to be replaced by a something else. “Evan” he says softly.

“I know” Buck interjects “I know that people love me and they would be sad, especially Maddie. And I don’t want to die. But I don’t want someone who has someone they need, and that needs them, to die either. I couldn’t live with that”

Tommy closes his eyes. This man..How can he be so adorable and selfless, yet so completely stubborn and a pain in the ass about his own safety?

Once he calms his thoughts and finds the words he wants to say, he opens his eyes to see Evan looking at him calmly. Like he expects Tommy to see the sense in what he said.

“Evan. I know we haven’t really put a label on this. On us. But that’s because I don’t want to pressure you. I’m the first man you’ve been with and you’re still figuring out who you are, and I understand that. But let me clarify something for you. I need you to come back to me. Ok?”

Buck blinks “Huh”

“I need you to come back to me” he repeats “Like Bobby needs Athena, and Karen needs Hen, and yes like Maddie needs Chimney.

“And Jee-un. Jee-yun needs her dad”

“Yes, and in that same vein, Christopher needs Eddie” he agrees, trying not to give in to his exasperation. “I need you. I am that person who needs you to come home Evan”

Evan stops whatever he was about to say. Startled awareness creeping into his eyes..Tommy sees a mix of emotions flit across his face. Surprise, joy, fear, everything just races across that expressive face and then Evan sinks onto the barstool at his kitchen island. His hands coming up to cover his face.

Tommy’s stomach clench’s. He pushed too hard, too soon “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I do care and want you to come home but..”

Buck looks up at him “Don’t you dare take that back”

“I’m not taking it back. I just don’t want to push you”

Something else crosses Evans face at that..but he tugged at his bottom lip with his teeth. “You aren’t pushing. You aren’t pressuring me. I am in this just as much as you. I just don’t know how to say what I want to say without it sounding lame and emo as shit”

“Did you just hear me? You can say anything to me Evan. Whatever it is”

Buck rolls his bottom lip between his teeth again. “I’ve never questioned why I do this…I mean it’s the whole reason I was born. To save my brother. To save Daniel. That’s what I do, that’s who I am. It’s why I became a firefighter. To be the one who saves people. The 118 is my family. And I would do anything to protect them from harm”

“I’m not asking you to stop. I would never ask that. I just want to remind you that you matter to a lot of people, and you also have someone who is waiting for you”

Bucks voice is thick “I know that. I get that. But…Nobody has ever. I have never belonged to anyone, like that”

In a sense of deja vu Tommy closes the short distance to Buck. Tipping his face up, he kisses him. Not soft and gentle like their first kiss in this kitchen. But bold and deep. Branding Evan with his mouth. Pulling back he says fiercely “You belong to me like that. For as long as you want..you belong to me and I belong to you, like that”

“I will ALWAYS need you to come back to me Evan”

ao3 like per request

[luviwon]

PHONE SEX | k.sn

kinktober day 12! back to the masterlist here!

☆ dating app stranger!sunoo x dating app user!reader

; “lonely at night? don’t worry, ‘call a lover’ will bring you the company you need in just a couple of seconds”. out of curiosity, you downloaded the dating app mentioned in the ad, just to say goodbye to boredom. i mean, it’s not like you’ll end up moaning a stranger’s name tonight, right?

genre ; smut

taglist ; @blushbunini @moonpri @blackp1nkfan @mitmit01 @pasteltheghost16 @harukayoiiiiiiizzz @mlywon @lhspeachie @seraphira @kaykay11sworld @winuvs @yuniesluv @shhth @rizzki09 @mylettterstoyou @d-dilemma @aanniikkas @hooneyz-luver @laylasbunbunny @nyfwyeonjun @minniesverse

it was a typical friday night, and you had just gotten back from your part-time job, the slight exhaustion from the week settling into your bones. your apartment was quiet, the soft hum of the fridge and the faint sounds of the city outside barely making a dent in the silence. you sat on the couch, scrolling through your phone absentmindedly, looking for something—anything—to keep your mind occupied.

you hadn’t planned on doing much tonight. maybe watch a show, order some takeout, and call it a night. but the familiar feeling of loneliness crept in, as it often did on weekends when the world outside seemed to be buzzing with life, while your space remained still.

a notification popped up on your screen: an ad. “lonely at night? don’t worry, ‘call a lover’ will bring you the company you need in just a couple of seconds.”

you stared at it for a moment, unsure of how to feel. it was kind of absurd, right? a dating app promising to cure loneliness in seconds? still, curiosity tugged at you. it wasn’t like you hadn’t thought about it before—downloading one of those apps. but something always held you back. maybe it was the thought of putting yourself out there, or maybe it was the fear of what you might find.

but tonight, for some reason, the idea didn’t seem so far-fetched. you had nothing to lose, after all. with a sigh, you tapped on the ad, and the app store opened up. call a lover. the name made you roll your eyes a bit, but your fingers moved on their own as you clicked ‘download’.

the app installed in seconds, as promised. you opened it, greeted by a sleek, minimalist interface. it asked for the usual—name, age, a profile picture. you hesitated before uploading one, the weight of the decision pressing on your chest for a moment. but then, you shrugged. what’s the worst that could happen?

as you filled in the details, your mind wandered. was this what you needed? company? or was it just the boredom talking? either way, the app was there now, on your phone, waiting for you to make the next move. maybe it wouldn’t hurt to see what was out there.

you had been scrolling through the app for about half an hour now, and the initial excitement had started to fade. call a lover wasn’t exactly living up to its promise of instant company—it felt more like sifting through a pile of disappointments. most of the profiles were either guys with empty bios or ones that made your skin crawl a little.

there was “jo young, 32, looking for sneaky link,” which made you cringe. another one had no picture but proudly declared, “married, but it’s complicated 😉.” then there was a guy named “hunk4u,” whose profile was just a wall of shirtless selfies, and his bio? “here to make your nights better ;)” as if the wink emoji made it any less sleazy. you swiped left on them all, growing more frustrated by the second.

was this really what dating apps were like? you wondered. was this what people were settling for?

you were about to close the app and chalk the night up to a failed experiment when a small pop-up appeared on your screen.

someone requested a call.

you blinked, staring at the notification for a moment. it took you a second to remember what that meant—someone wanted to talk to you, but the app gave you ten minutes to review their profile and decide whether or not to accept the call.

curious, you clicked on the profile. the username was toxicology. the profile picture wasn’t much to go off—half of his face was visible, just enough to show he was your typical easy-on-the-eyes asian guy, dark hair falling just slightly into view. his expression was neutral, not the usual forced smile or weirdly intense stare you’d seen on other profiles. it was…intriguing.

his bio was short and vague, but there was one detail that caught your attention: “art student.” your heart skipped a beat. he studies art too? you couldn’t help but feel a tiny spark of interest.

you glanced at the timer—five minutes left to decide.

on one hand, it could be just another guy with nothing much to say, or worse, someone pretending to be something he’s not. but on the other, the idea of talking to someone who shared your passion for art was tempting. maybe this wouldn’t be so bad.

you took a deep breath, staring at the profile picture again, trying to imagine what his voice might sound like, what kind of conversation you’d have. something about him made you curious.

with five minutes still on the clock, you clicked the green button to accept the call.

the line clicked, and a soft rush of static filled your ears, followed by a faint sound—maybe wind or the rustling of fabric. you could feel your heart pounding a little harder than it should. it was strange, talking to someone you hadn’t even seen fully, someone who was essentially a stranger. but there was a pull, a curiosity that kept you from hanging up.

you cleared your throat, deciding to break the silence. “hi.”

there was a pause, and then a low chuckle filtered through the phone, smooth but light—not the deep, gravelly type you’d expected. still, it hit differently, like it had weight behind it, making the hair on the back of your neck stand up. it wasn’t harsh or mocking, but something about it unsettled you, as if he knew something you didn’t.

you frowned. “what’s so funny?” you tried to keep your tone steady, but a hint of irritation slipped through.

“you have a cute voice,” he said, his voice almost lazy but with an edge that made it linger in your ears. “unlike your profile picture.”

your breath caught for a second. cute? unlike my picture? that wasn’t exactly what you expected. you were suddenly hyper-aware of how you sounded, how you were presenting yourself. was he already judging you based on the tiny glimpse of you he’d seen online?

“are you saying i don’t look cute?” your voice came out sharper than you meant, defensive. the last thing you wanted was to feel judged by someone you barely knew.

there was a brief silence, followed by that same faint chuckle, softer this time. “no,” he said slowly, letting the word roll off his tongue in a way that made your chest tighten. “i’m saying you look hot.”

the air seemed to shift. your grip on the phone tightened as you processed his words, feeling the heat crawl up your neck. his voice wasn’t deep, but there was an intensity to it that wrapped around you, making it hard to focus on anything else. it was smooth, intoxicating, just like his username—toxicology—something that lingered and got under your skin in the best way possible. it wasn’t over-the-top, but the subtle confidence was enough to throw you off balance.

your mind raced. the compliment was bold, unexpected. he didn’t sound like the type who threw words around carelessly, which made the impact of them even heavier.

“oh,” you managed to say, trying to steady your breathing. hot. it wasn’t the kind of compliment you were used to, especially not from someone who’d only seen a tiny part of you, but something about the way he said it made it feel more personal, like he meant it. it left you wanting to know more about him, this guy who managed to throw you off guard with just a few words.

“didn’t expect that, did you?” his voice cut through your thoughts, soft but teasing, as if he could read the way you were processing everything.

you shook your head slightly, even though he couldn’t see it. “not really,” you admitted, feeling your pulse race a little faster, the conversation already taking a turn you hadn’t prepared for.

you took a breath, trying to regain your composure after his bold compliment. his voice was still lingering in your head, like the subtle warmth that came from a low flame, and you were torn between wanting to know more and not wanting to show that he had rattled you so quickly.

“so,” you began, attempting to sound casual, “what’s an art student doing on an app like this?”

there was a brief pause on the other end, and then you heard something—a faint click followed by a soft inhale, like the distant sound of someone taking a drag from a cigarette. it mixed with the soft rustling of wind in the background, adding an edge to the quietness between you. you weren’t sure, but the thought crossed your mind: was he smoking?

he didn’t answer right away. instead, he let out a slow exhale, and you swore you could almost hear the faint curl of smoke escaping his lips. “what’s anyone doing on here?” he responded lightly, the flirtatious undertone unmistakable. “same reason as you, maybe… curiosity?”

you narrowed your eyes slightly, feeling like he had turned your question right back at you without really answering it. “curiosity, huh? so you’re just here… what, to talk?”

his laugh was quiet, almost too soft to catch. “maybe. or maybe i’m just waiting to meet someone interesting.”

you could feel his words sink in, another layer of subtle flirtation in his tone. he had a way of answering without giving anything away, always leaving you wanting more. it was frustrating in a way, but also part of what was drawing you in.

“you’re avoiding the question,” you pointed out, feeling the need to steer the conversation back into your control. “how often do you do this? talk to strangers like this?”

there was a beat of silence, the wind picking up a little on his end. “not often,” he finally said, his voice quieter, almost thoughtful this time. “but something about you felt… different.”

you weren’t sure if it was the words themselves or the way he said them, but it made your stomach flip. the mix of flirtation and something almost genuine was disarming. “is that right?” you asked, trying to sound skeptical, but your voice came out softer than you intended.

“mm-hmm,” he hummed, another soft inhale following. “so what about you?” he asked, effortlessly flipping the conversation again. “why’d you accept the call?”

you hesitated, feeling the tables turn. “i don’t know,” you admitted, your fingers playing with the edge of your phone. “maybe i just wanted to talk to someone different too.”

another low chuckle, then the wind shifted slightly again. you could almost picture him outside, leaning against a wall or standing somewhere with that easy confidence. the sound of his cigarette briefly filled the silence again, making the moment feel more personal, as if he was just letting you into his space a little more.

“okay, fine,” you said, deciding to take a different approach. “i’ll keep it simple. what’s your name?”

he paused, and you wondered if he’d avoid this question too. but this time, after a brief second, he answered. “sunoo,” he said, his voice carrying just the slightest edge of softness, as if sharing his name was more personal than all the other words he’d said so far.

sunoo. you repeated it in your head, trying to match it to the voice on the other end of the line. it felt like something had shifted between you, like the conversation had just gotten a little more real.

“sunoo,” you echoed quietly, letting the name settle between you, wondering what else he was hiding behind that voice.

sunoo let the silence hang for a moment, his name still lingering between you. then, with that same teasing edge, he added, “better remember this name for later tonight.”

you frowned slightly, unsure of what he meant. “later tonight?”

he chuckled again, the sound low and smooth, and you could almost hear the grin in his voice. “you’ll figure it out,” he said softly. there was a faint crunch through the phone, like he’d just stepped on something. you realized it was probably the sound of him extinguishing his cigarette on the pavement.

you blinked, still unsure if you were supposed to understand whatever he was hinting at, but decided to brush it off for now. “so, what’s your major?” you asked, trying to shift the conversation back to something more neutral, though the curiosity in your voice was still clear.

“sculpture,” he replied casually, as if it was nothing. but there was a subtle pride in the way he said it, and you could tell it was something that mattered to him.

your eyes widened a little, surprised. “really? i’m a ceramics major,” you said, feeling a small sense of connection bloom. “we’re in kind of the same world.”

sunoo hummed thoughtfully, clearly catching onto that connection too. “see? we’re meant for each other,” he said, his voice dipping just enough to make the line sound half serious, half playful.

you let out a short laugh, shaking your head even though he couldn’t see it. “meant for each other, huh? you sound pretty confident.”

“i just call it like i see it,” he replied, the smirk still evident in his tone.

the more he spoke, the more you found yourself intrigued, not just by the flirtation, but by the easiness of it all—like he knew exactly how to keep you on your toes without being too much. there was a magnetism about him, something about the way he could switch between casual and intense so effortlessly that left you wanting to know more.

“how about we switch this to a video call?” sunoo suggested casually, his voice smooth and confident, like he was just offering to grab coffee or something equally simple.

you froze for a second, the words taking a moment to sink in. a video call? already? your heart skipped a beat, the idea of showing your face to him—this guy you barely knew—feeling a bit too real, too fast. “a video call?” you repeated, a slight edge of surprise in your voice.

“yeah,” he responded, completely unfazed. “unless you’re not ready for me to see how cute you really are.” his tone was teasing but confident, like he already knew you’d say yes.

your breath caught at the boldness of his words, and you felt heat rise to your cheeks. you’d been fine with a voice call, but video? that was something else. your mind raced. you hadn’t exactly prepared for this—you looked fine, but not video-call ready. still, a part of you was curious. maybe this isn’t such a bad idea, you thought, biting your lip.

“give me five minutes,” you finally said, hoping your voice didn’t give away your nervousness.

“take your time,” sunoo replied smoothly, but then, with his usual flirty tone, added, “don’t worry, i’m sure you’ll look just as good as your picture—if not better.”

you rolled your eyes, even though your heart was racing a little faster now. “we’ll see about that,” you muttered, trying to sound more relaxed than you felt.

you hung up quickly, rushing to the bathroom mirror. your reflection stared back at you, and you sighed, grabbing some makeup and fixing your hair as fast as possible. why am i so nervous? you wondered, even though you knew the answer. there was something about sunoo—his voice, his confidence—that made you want to impress him, even if you barely knew him.

after a few minutes of quick touch-ups, you took a step back, giving yourself a once-over. not bad. you smoothed your hair, took a deep breath, and returned to the couch, grabbing your phone. your fingers hovered over the video call icon, the nervous energy building up in your chest.

okay, you told yourself, closing your eyes and taking one more calming breath. just be yourself.

with one last deep inhale, you pressed the video call button. the screen went dark for a moment, and you waited, heart pounding as you prepared to see the face behind the voice.

the screen flickered for a second before it stabilized, and then you saw him—sunoo.

he was indeed outside, just like you had imagined, standing in front of what looked like his apartment building. the soft glow of a streetlight illuminated the scene, and there he was, leaning against the wall in a black jacket that hugged his frame perfectly. His hair was messy, slightly tousled from the wind, just like in his profile picture. but now, you could see the rest of his face, and—shit—he was even more handsome than you’d expected.

his lips were plump, the corners lifting in a slight smirk as he stared right back at you, his eyes half-lidded but sharp, taking you in just as much as you were observing him. you didn’t say anything, too busy scanning every detail—his jawline, his skin, the way his dark hair brushed against his forehead. it felt surreal, finally putting a face to that smooth voice.

and then, with that same teasing confidence you were starting to associate with him, sunoo broke the silence. “make sure you don’t fall for me so fast,” he said, his smirk widening just a little. “not that i would complain.”

you blinked, finally snapping out of your daze, but your heart skipped a beat at how casually he said it, like he knew exactly how much he was affecting you. and maybe he did, because he kept watching you with that smug, lazy look that made it hard to think straight.

before you could even come up with a response, he pulled a cigarette out of his pocket, sliding it between his lips in one smooth motion. you watched, utterly captivated, as he flicked his lighter open, the small flame reflecting in his eyes as he brought it to the cigarette. the moment it lit, he took a slow drag, his gaze never leaving yours, the tip of the cigarette glowing softly in the dark. he exhaled, the smoke curling lazily into the air, mixing with the breeze that ruffled his jacket.

and, god, it was hot. ridiculously hot. there was something about the ease with which he moved, the way his fingers played with the cigarette, his lips wrapping around it, that made your pulse race.

you tried to swallow the sudden rush of nerves that hit you. was this guy real? because standing there, with his cigarette and his half-smirk, sunoo looked like he’d just stepped out of some sort of daydream, except he was right there in front of you, very real and even more attractive than you could’ve anticipated.

“you’re quiet,” he said after a moment, the smoke drifting out from between his lips. “is it because i’m even hotter than you thought?”

your breath caught in your throat at his question, and you felt your cheeks warm, even though he couldn’t see how flustered you were on the other side of the screen. you tried to find your words, but all you could do was stare. everything about him—his casual posture, the cigarette hanging lazily between his fingers, the way his lips curved up in that smug smile—was pulling you in, and you couldn’t help it.

sunoo’s free hand brushed through his hair, pushing the dark strands out of his eyes as he looked at you through the screen, and you swore your pulse quickened at the simple motion. the way his fingers ran through the messy locks made it look so effortless, but it was everything to you. he leaned back against the wall, watching you with an intensity that made it hard to focus on anything else.

“speechless, huh?” he teased, his voice low and laced with amusement, the smoke curling around him as he took another slow drag from his cigarette. when he exhaled, his lips parted slightly, and he let the smoke escape in a way that felt way too deliberate, like he knew exactly what he was doing.

you swallowed, forcing yourself to respond before you completely lost yourself. “you… really are confident, aren’t you?” you managed to say, trying to sound unaffected, though the tremor in your voice betrayed you.

sunoo chuckled, the sound vibrating through the phone. “confident? maybe,” he said, his voice dipping into something smoother, something more intimate. “but i’m not wrong, am i?”

he shifted slightly, tilting his head as his eyes scanned you through the screen. then, with an almost absentminded gesture, his tongue darted out to wet his lips. it was a quick motion, but it felt like slow motion to you, every small movement somehow captivating you even more. his lips, already plump and perfectly shaped, gleamed slightly under the soft light, and your mind blanked for a second.

“you keep staring,” he noted, his tone almost playful but with an edge that made your stomach flutter. “i wonder what you’re thinking about.”

your throat tightened, your heart pounding louder in your ears. what was it about him? he wasn’t doing anything particularly over-the-top, yet every small movement, every glance, seemed to have you hooked. and he knew it. there was something so intoxicating about the way he moved, the way he let his hair fall back into his eyes before pushing it back again with a small, almost careless groan that had you biting your lip.

“you think i look good, don’t you?” sunoo’s voice broke the silence again, softer this time, but it sent a shiver down your spine. “go ahead and admit it. i don’t bite.”

you exhaled shakily, trying to regain control of your thoughts, but it was impossible. his eyes, his lips, the way he carried himself so casually yet with this undeniable attraction—it was making it harder and harder to resist.

“i… yeah,” you said quietly, almost surprised at how easily the truth slipped out. “you do.”

his smirk grew, and he took another slow drag from his cigarette, the smoke swirling lazily in the air before he flicked the ash away. “see?” he said smoothly. “you’re falling for me already.”

you wanted to deny it, to say something back, but the way his eyes bore into yours through the screen made it impossible to argue. every small movement, every teasing word, was drawing you in deeper. you were falling—maybe not fast, but definitely falling. and somehow, you were okay with it.

sunoo took one final drag from his cigarette before flicking it to the ground, the ember glowing softly as it hit the pavement. with a slow, deliberate motion, he stepped on it, snuffing it out beneath his shoe. then, without missing a beat, he looked directly into the camera, his smirk still playing on his lips.

“but you see,” he began, his voice dropping an octave, the words coming out slow and intoxicating, “i’m not a bad guy. so i’m not going to reject your attraction to me.” he paused, his gaze holding yours through the screen. “in fact, i’ll reward you.”

your heart stuttered, a sudden wave of heat rushing through you as his words settled in. reward me? the way he said it sent a shiver down your spine. before you could even process what he meant, sunoo turned and started walking inside, leaving the cool breeze of the street behind him.

you watched, utterly captivated, as the camera shook slightly with his movement, his steps echoing in the hallway as he entered his apartment. it was simple, dimly lit, with warm tones that made everything feel a bit more intimate. he didn’t say anything as he walked into his bedroom, the door shutting softly behind him.

your eyes stayed glued to the screen as sunoo casually shrugged off his black jacket, tossing it to the side with a nonchalance that only added to his appeal. he sank down onto his bed, stretching out in a way that made him seem almost too comfortable, like he was completely at ease with how much power he held over you in that moment.

the soft light from a lamp in the corner bathed him in a golden glow, casting just enough illumination to show his face and the outline of his figure, but leaving enough in shadow to keep you guessing. his tousled hair fell perfectly into place, and as he rested his head against the pillow, you caught sight of his sharp jawline, perfectly defined. when he turned slightly to reach for something off-camera, the veins in his neck became visible, standing out against his smooth skin, and you couldn’t stop the sudden rush of attraction that surged through you.

how is he so effortlessly hot? you thought, feeling your pulse quicken. there was something about the way he carried himself—his confidence, his ease—that made it impossible to look away. every small detail, from the way his jaw flexed as he moved, to the subtle shift of his body against the sheets, had you feeling like you were on the edge of something dangerous.

“you’re still watching, aren’t you?” his voice broke the silence, soft but tinged with amusement. his eyes flickered back to the screen, locking onto yours, and for a moment, you forgot to breathe.

you swallowed, trying to calm the rapid beating of your heart. you hadn’t even realized you were still staring, so completely caught up in every little detail of him that it felt like you were under a spell.

“don’t get too shy now,” he teased, his lips curling into a grin. “i told you, i’m not gonna reject you.”

you couldn’t tear your eyes away, wondering why you felt so drawn to him, why his every word, every movement seemed to pull you deeper. sunoo had this aura about him—calm, confident, and undeniably attractive. it wasn’t just his looks, though those were part of it. it was the way he seemed to understand exactly what you were feeling, how easily he seemed to read you, and how much he enjoyed keeping you on edge.

as he shifted slightly on the bed, his fingers brushing through his hair, the soft light caught the veins on his neck again, and you couldn’t help but be fascinated by how effortlessly alluring he was. your pulse raced, and you found it hard to keep yourself still, your body reacting to every small thing he did. this was more than just attraction—it felt like you were falling, slowly but surely, into something you couldn’t quite control.

sunoo’s eyes sparkled with mischief as he leaned back into his pillow, a lazy grin stretching across his lips. “if you tell me something you really like about my appearance,” he began, his voice dropping low and teasing, “and you talk about it without blushing, then i’ll give you something more to blush about later.”

your breath hitched at his words, and you couldn’t help the warmth rising to your cheeks. he’s really playing with me now, you thought, feeling your heart race faster than before. but despite the nerves bubbling in your chest, you were determined to play along—at least, to try.

“okay…” you started, though your voice was already trembling slightly. stay calm, don’t let him get to you, you reminded yourself. your gaze flicked back to his lips, those plump, teasing lips that seemed to always carry a smirk. “your… lips,” you said, swallowing hard as the words tumbled out. “they’re really—” you paused, trying to find the right words, but your mind was going blank under his watchful gaze. focus, you thought. “they’re, um, really soft-looking. and, uh, perfectly shaped.”

sunoo’s grin widened, clearly amused by how flustered you were. his gaze never left yours, and you could feel your pulse quicken under the intensity of his eyes. keep going, you told yourself, though it felt like every word was making it harder to stay composed.

“they’re the kind of lips that… you could… get lost in,” you continued, though the way your voice faltered made it obvious you were struggling to hold it together. why is this so hard?

sunoo chuckled softly, his eyes darkening with satisfaction at your reaction. “you’re cute when you’re trying to keep your cool,” he teased, his voice rich with amusement. “but you’re not doing too well, are you?”

before you could even attempt to respond, he reached up with one hand, casually tugging the collar of his t-shirt to the side, exposing the sharp line of his collarbone. the movement was slow, deliberate, and unbearably hot. his skin was smooth, masculine, the curve of his collarbone leading down toward the rest of his chest, just barely visible beneath the fabric.

your breath caught, your gaze glued to the new glimpse of skin, and your thoughts scrambled. oh god. the sight of him was already making it impossible to think straight, but now… you were done for.

“wanna see what’s under?” sunoo asked, his tone both playful and seductive, as if he knew exactly what kind of effect he was having on you. his fingers trailed along the edge of his collar, just enough to hint at more, but he didn’t pull the shirt down any further. instead, he looked straight into the camera, his eyes gleaming with challenge. “keep your voice stable. don’t stutter… princess.”

the way he said that last word, dripping with confidence and a hint of something darker, sent shivers down your spine. your lips parted, but no words came out at first. how am i supposed to stay calm after that?

you swallowed hard, trying to steady your breathing. “i can’t…,” you started, your voice barely a whisper, “i can’t focus when you—”

“oh?” sunoo interrupted, raising an eyebrow, the smirk never leaving his face. “then maybe you should stop thinking so much, hmm?”

sunoo’s smirk only deepened as he leaned in slightly, his voice low and teasing. “well, if you think my lips are hot, then I think you’re hot too,” he said, confidence oozing from every word. “so I’ll show you more, too.”

before you could even process what he meant, he reached down and pulled his t-shirt over his head in one smooth motion. your heart raced as you caught sight of his toned torso, the defined muscles of his abs catching the dim light. he adjusted the camera slightly, angling it just right so that both his face and his chiseled body were framed perfectly in the screen.

you felt your breath hitch as he moved his hand softly against his abdomen, tracing the lines with his fingertips as if he were painting a masterpiece, drawing your attention to every contour. how is he this perfect? the sight of him was almost overwhelming, and you couldn’t help but cross your legs, the heat pooling in your cheeks intensifying.

“like what you see?” he asked, his voice dripping with playful arrogance, and you could only nod, utterly flustered. the words were stuck in your throat, and you cursed your inability to form a coherent response.

sunoo leaned back against the headboard, a casual yet alluring posture that made him look even more appealing. he licked his lips slowly, the motion deliberate and enticing, and you felt your heart race at the sight. “you know, I could get used to this,” he said, his tone light yet full of promise. “just you and me, talking like this… but with fewer clothes. what do you think?”

your mind raced as you tried to maintain some semblance of composure, but it was a losing battle. everything about him was magnetic, drawing you in deeper and deeper, making it harder to focus on anything but the thrill of the moment. this is unreal, you thought, feeling both excited and a little overwhelmed.

“are you going to keep staring, or do I need to give you a little more incentive?” sunoo teased, his eyes glinting with mischief, and you could feel the tension in the air shifting, thickening with possibility.

you bit your lip, feeling the heat radiate from your body. “maybe a little more… incentive wouldn’t hurt,” you managed to say, trying to sound brave, even as your heart raced in anticipation.

sunoo’s smile widened, his confidence filling the room like an electric current. “well, in that case…” he drawled, and you leaned forward, unable to pull your gaze away from him, your pulse quickening at the thrill of what was to come.

sunoo tilted his head, his expression playful but intent, as if he were carefully considering his next move. “you know,” he said slowly, “if we’re really going to get to know each other, I might need to see a little more from you, too.”

you felt your cheeks flush again at his words, the implication hanging heavily in the air. “more from me?” you echoed, a hint of nervousness creeping into your voice.

“yeah,” he said, leaning closer to the camera, his gaze unwavering.

even though uncertain at first, it was only fair to give him his part. after all, you’ve been staring at his abdomen constantly for a good time, why not reward him back? with some second thoughts but full of adrenaline, you let your phone down on the bed, pulling your shirt over your head and getting rid of it instantly. the cool air hit against your skin, though your chest was still covered by a laced black bra. you raised the phone back to your face, an impatient sunoo with an everlasting smirk on his face, waiting for your return.

“let me see, princess” he told you on a suave tone, his mouth slightly open, enough to give the right vibes for a sexy boy portrayal. you bit your lower lip and so you lowered the phone down, less confident than he were, only showing your chest before the camera, your face unable to be detected anymore. you looked down at the phone screen, taken by surprise when sunoo found it hard to stay still himself, even though he acted like the most flirtatious fuck boy until now.

“fuck” he whispered, his tongue moving slowly along his top lip, a sudden hunger growing within him. “don’t hide them, princess, let them free. i will take care of them” he winked at you, his smirk never leaving his face. your cheeks started burning again, as you swallowed down and kept the camera at the same angle. using your free hand, you cupped your left breast gently, feeling the material of the bra against your palm. the brunette moved the camera and showed more of his abs again, trying to give you the confidence you needed to show him more.

i mean, better be equal, right?

your fingers wrapper around the side of the bra, pulling it down on the side, exposing a hardened nipple for the camera. sunoo couldn’t help but keep biting his lips, feelings his abs all along, although you did notice his hand going lower and lower each time. and that turned you on so much, seeing how much your body made sunoo feel, you could swear his trousers looked tighter on him already.

but you couldn’t tell just now for a fact, as the angle was not quite it, and the light did not do it any justice.

but there was only one way to find out, and that was giving him more. so with a burst of initiative, you moved you bra under your boobs, pulling both of them out, hanging so prettily for sunoo. “they look so perfect” he whispered, but you heard clearly his words, which made you giggle. that was the last drop you needed to gain enough confidence, moving the phone more to capture both your chest and your face. “i was right to say you are hot, princess” he winked, his hand nowhere to be found anymore along his abs.

“do you want to do something fun together?” he proposed, his voice lower than before, almost like he wanted to draw you even more to him, aware of how much he is hypnotising you. you nodded in response, sunoo immediately pulling down his trousers and lowering the camera again. he was only wearing a pair of boxers now, the shape formed in the middle almost making you choke on your own saliva. he looked big, maybe TOO big inside his boxers, and you could only fantasize about what’s kept inside.

his hand brushed softly against his bulge, triggering to grow even more, although his eyes were fixed only on your tits, your hardened nipples and your collarbone area. he was hypnotised himself. “play with your tits for me, princess”, then a moment of silence set in as you left another bite mark on your lips, your index fingers making some circles around your bud, creating a heat pool between your legs, which have been crossed for so long now.

“you must be so wet seeing me like this” he chuckled, slyly moving his hand inside the boxers, wrapping it around his length, still not in the view for you. and that made you impatient, you really wanted to see more, to see how he is pleasuring himself at the view of your chest, to see the result of his attraction for you. so you pushed your shorts lower down too, a pair of purpleish panties covering your needy pussy.

much more confident this time, you moved the camera lower, surprising sunoo with your sudden pride, showing off your wet cunt. your panties were already proving the brunette what a good job he’d done, the wet stain visible to the camera. sunoo smirked, uncontrollably, and unable to cover his cock anymore, he pushed down the boxers and let his dick stand up freely.

“oh my-“ you started, pupils growing 10x more. he was big INDEED, and you’d lie if you said you didn’t want him to stretch your tight pussy out all night.

“tell me, princess, will this even fit inside you?”

you gulped, surprised by his question, almost like you still didn’t get used to his dirty talk. but not even years would get you prepared for such a thing, as his voice made it hotter everytime, and every flirting line he said, felt almost too real, too directed to you like he meant it.

and maybe he did.

“i don’t know” you answer honestly, not sure if you could even take him without waking up all yours neighbours with your screaming.

“then take care of your pussy for me, princess”

with a natural move, sunoo started pumping himself, his hand going up and down his length, almost in sync with your trembling fingers who pressed hard against the fabric. your cunt was finally receiving some attention, even though you wished in despair it was his hand that did the job. his hand looked absolutely perfect in the dim light, his soft veins making you swallow.

“take them off” sunoo urged you, and you followed his words, throwing them somewhere in the corner. “do you have any toys, princess?”. you shook your head, letting him know you don’t own such things, even though you were planning to purchase some, “then grab your hairbrush”

following all of your lover instructions, you made yourself cum with the brush, while he never stopped pleasuring himself.

[cryptidcasanova]

The Depths You’ll Go

Namor x Reader

This is a big ol’ fever dream. It’s been a while since I felt this way about a Marvel character.

Summary: The price of protecting a an advanced civilization from the rest of the world is high, but the rewards? Priceless.

Warnings: 18+ Content. Angst, cannon level violence, mutual pining. Namor is overwhelmingly protective. I’m a sucker for a happy ending.

Words: 2.5k

Dividers by the stunning @firefly-graphics​.

You had to keep moving.

You were close to the water; you could feel it deep in your bones.

The little boy in your arms must have felt the saltwater lingering in the air. He was frantic, twisting in your hold as you rushed through the corridor. 

His blue skin was pale, and he was trying to breathe in the air you knew wouldn't sustain him.

"Just a little longer," You cradled him close, whispering reassurances in his hair. "I'm getting you out of here."

But you were biting back tears.

You never expected to be followed home by the young Talokan boy. He was so little and curious and full of love. He had hardly left your side while you watched Namor teach a sparring session. How he trained, moved, and spoke with his people made your heart swell.

And you didn't expect the raid on your home soon after you returned to the beach. You didn't stand a chance against the swat team busting down your door. The boy was the most important thing. You weren't going to let anything happen to him.

Shuri warned you to be careful. The agencies have kept an eye on you since you left Wakanda.

It was everything Namor feared. All he wanted to do was protect his people; you were the reason they were in danger.

Oh, Namor.

Your stomach ached. You wanted to scream and call out for help, but the best thing you could do was sneak around the guards and get the boy back to the water. The boy. The adored one.

Taavi.

You treasured him more than you thought possible. He was strong and curious in the water but bashful and wide-eyed above ground.

Dark hair fell against his cheeks, and his eyes drooped as you turned a corner. You cradled him close.

But you were running out of time.

And then, when you finally kicked open the metal door at the end of the hall, you cried out with joy.

You were close to the water. Closer than you thought. 

It was a sheer drop from the cliffside base into the Atlantic, and it was only then you heard the clinking of footsteps not far behind you. The guards found you.

The boy pushed out of your arms just in time and dove into the brink as the guards pulled you back. You should have jumped. And then you watched the little boy poking his head out of the water and staring up at you with a fearful expression. He didn't know what was happening. 

You cried out when the guards pointed their guns at the top of the water.

"Taavi, go. Get out of here!"

You were wrestled back into the base, frantically throwing your body toward the water. You weren't even sure if you could make the dive. But before you could slip out of their grip, something hit you hard in the back of your head.

And everything went dark.

Your cell turned into an interrogation room. 

The soldiers wanted to know about the little blue boy, that thing. They didn’t even treat him like a child, but an experiment. They wanted to know what was in the water. About the vibranium. 

Interrogation turned from fear tactics to torture. And you were no soldier.

You were trained in the sciences, to know biology, to understand life and nature. That's why Banner recommended you go to Wakanda in the first place.

And with Talokan? You still had so much to learn. Their livelihoods and families were on the line. Hundreds of years of culture were preserved. 

And you cared about them.

You weren't going to betray their trust. That is, if Namor didn't think you already had.

His fatalist streak made you fear the worst. He was fiercely protective of his people, and the way he was around the children? Patient and compassionate. Taavi's disappearance must have caused an uproar.

You hoped he would be merciful.

Time passed. Days passed.

You thought you would rot in that jail cell, battered and bruised, until you just drifted away one day. That they'd forget about you until it was too late. Until you were lost to the wind.

And one day, the guards were given new orders.

They all knew something was in the water. But didn't know what to look for, and they never did catch that little boy. 

If he could make his way out of their surveyed waters, the people in power were convinced something could find its way back in.

All they needed was some new bait. 

There must have been a reason why the boy was with you. You were their best bet for finding out why.

The soldiers changed. At first, it was the Americans, then the French, and the Germans, and then you couldn't tell after a while. 

The thought of all the surface countries working together made your head spin.

They waited until the tide was at its lowest. That's when they drug you out of the cell by your arms, until you were too tired to fight back. 

You were too tired to think. It felt hopeless. You were taken to a different side of the base, where paths of rocks were cut out down to the water.

And then you saw the chains. 

The guards attached arm restraints to the rocky walls, where the water kissed the land. One look at the guards was all it took, and then you knew. They wanted their intel. 

They wanted to know about Talokan, and they weren't above drowning a scientist to get it.

"Last chance, sweetheart," One of the men said, all dressed up to fight off the chill in the air. He was different from the others; you'd never seen him before. He must have been the man in charge.

Your stomach roiled in frustration.

He sauntered up to you, pulling your chin up with a firm grip. You hated his clever expression and bad breath.

"We just want to know about your little blue friend," He tormented, looking out to the water. "It's a little cold for a swim, don't you think?"

Your chest ached. But you had come so far; you couldn't hand them over. Namor would never give up like this.

You choked on a cry before taking a breath of sea air.

"He's in New York.”

The man turned around. You caught his attention.

"Come again?" He smirked, urging you to continue. The others were looking now, waiting for an answer.

"New York," You repeated tiredly. "But he turns green once in a while, not blue. Maybe you should get your eyes checked-"

You were kicked down to your knees without compunction.

"You think you're real funny, eh?” He scoffed. “String her up."

Your fate was sealed. You were gagged and bound like a worm on a hook and couldn't go crying out for help. 

And then they dragged you into the water.

The cold plunge made your teeth chatter, but there was no time to consider it. Your arms were strung against the rocky walls on either side of your shoulders. Your legs were bound and weighed down. The saltwater only came up to your waist, but you knew it wouldn't last. 

You rested your head against the wall in defeat.

And at last, you understood Namor's resentment. It pierced through years of you trying to help people and fight for the right causes. 

At the end of the day, people in power wanted to keep their knowledge, power, and strengths. They wanted it all for themselves.

The water spray against the rocks gave you an excuse to cry, to mourn the life you couldn't live. 

You should have told Namor the truth. You stayed in Talokan to learn, but it was more than that. As time went on, your trips into the sea lost focus. You were enamored by the Talokan people and how their lives were completely untouched by the outside world. 

They were considerate and humble. They cared for one another.

Namor cared for them, for all of them. His icy demeanor was an act. He could talk strategy with his advisors and turn around to celebrate a new baby in their city. He could help by collecting food and scouting the perimeter of their sanctuary. It was no wonder why people worshipped him. 

And his animosity towards outsiders didn't touch you. As much as he resented the world above, it was as though he wanted to show just how far they had come. They were a prosperous and independent nation. Completely indigenous. It was breathtaking.

It was hard not to swoon over him. You should have told Namor how you felt sooner.

Shuri could see it. M'Baku could see it. Hell, you were sure Namora could tell how you felt for their leader. But you could keep them safe. 

They were the best warriors you had ever seen, and now it was your turn to protect them.

When the water cupped around your shoulders, you were pulled away from your thoughts. It was much colder than you thought. Your arms were shaking, and your fingers were numb. 

The water was ruthless against the scrapes and cuts along your body. The weight was doing its job. It was keeping you from being buoyant. You swore you could feel something against your legs and panicked, pulling yourself up as best you could.

But the next wave came at you fast, making you choke on the gag in your mouth. You were running out of time.

The soldiers were looking out over the water with their guns ready, waiting for the call. 

They were waiting to find something in the water. But the night was quiet.

In the last attempt to rectify yourself, you begged for his forgiveness. Namor let you into his home and world, and you almost ruined it. Your heart was hammering as the wave receded, and your pleas were lost behind your water-soaked gag.

You'd never see him again. You'd never hear the low timber of his words or see the passion in his eyes. Your eyes were squeezed shut.

Your heart was breaking and you couldn't stop it. 

K’uk’ulkan

The water was rising, but all you could see was his profile. You could remember the curve of his nose and how his eyebrows moved when he told a story.

K’uk’ulkan

Another wave hit hard, and you choked on the icy water. But you could still see Namor guiding you through his sanctuary, pointing to the paintings on the walls.

K’uk’ulkan

The next wave didn't recede as far as you hoped. Another wave struck you, but you could still see him. You could smell the salt on his skin and hear how his necklaces moved when he walked. You could almost hear his voice. 

He was - the bubble burst.

You couldn't breathe. 

Your body was on auto pilot, thrashing and kicking wildly. Your body was fighting off the water that burned in your chest. It surrounded you in a coccon, murky and frothing against the rocks. 

But you weren't as alone as you thought.

You couldn't feel the little grouping of octopuses at your feet trying to find a way to undo your chains.

You couldn't hear the soft singing above the water, urging soldiers into the brine.

And Namor - you couldn't see the carnage. 

You couldn't see the rage and anguish on his face as he barreled through the base. Their water explosives shook the ground. You couldn't have known he was scouring the ocean for you.

Taavi made it home because of you. 

You protected the little boy like he was your own, no matter the cost, and Namor couldn't see past it. You put your life on the line for them. It was his turn to serve you. 

His chest ached with some long-lost realization, something he never dared to put into words but was forced to face. His heart beat a little faster when you were around. His focus swayed. He cared about you most ardently.

You were his to protect.

After all the time he had to dance around it, humbly flaunting his world to an outsider, Namor finally understood. The moment he let you see his world, he knew; he would protect you. 

The way he flew into the water and pulled the chains away from the rock was terrifying. 

His blood boiled as your hands fell limp into the water. He tugged the gag away from your face and cradled you above the water’s surface. 

But you weren't breathing. 

There was too much water in your lungs. Your heartbeat was faint, straining against your ribcage. 

In a moment of hesitation, Namor pulled you from the water and up the rocky shore. The singing stopped. The chaos stopped. 

And all eyes were on K'uk'ulkan. 

The sea was claiming you for itself, but Namor wasn't going to give you up so easily. His expression welled with power, even when his jaw locked with uncertainty. 

He needed to get the water out of your lungs. You needed air. 

His hand spread over your heart before pressing down, the ridges of his palm digging into your skin. A command left his lips that was sharper than any blade. 

"You cannot have her."

He began chanting in his native tongue, commanding the seas. 

"Her heart beats for my people. It beats for me," He realized. "You cannot have her."

A rush of wind swept through the sky. And the sea, fearful of his wrath, receded from the shore. 

His other hand cupped your face, leaning in with intention. He had never been so close, but it made perfect sense now. It felt important, felt right.

There was another way. 

His eyes lit up. And when he leaned in to kiss you, it was met with lifetimes of bottled-up affection. Slow and intentional, he poured out his power. It was his breath, a kiss from a god. 

The unspoken command broke the spell. 

When Namor pulled back, your body lurched up with a frightful cough. 

The sting of saltwater burned in your throat. Your hands were clammy, reaching out to hold on tight. Your chest ached, and your eyes burned as you tried to move. It was disorienting. 

And then you heard it; the lull of your voice being called out, followed by a string of native words you couldn't understand.

Then you felt it; a strong hand covering yours, warmer and firmer than your own. He wasn't going to let you go.

And you saw it, saw him. Namor looked down at you like you could have hung all the stars in the sky. He was careful, like you could break under his stare. 

But he brushed the tears out of your eyes. You didn't even realize you were crying.

Namor. 

He had more love in his heart than anyone gave him credit for. He deserved the world. 

And when he pulled you up into his arms, you held on tight. 

Namor wanted to burn the world down. He wanted to fight, but for a moment it was stolen by the way you called his name. It was the sweetest sound he ever heard.

He wasn't going to let anything else happen to you. Because while your heart beat for his people, his heart was beating for you.

[klaus-littlestwolf]

Yan!Aemond T. NSFW A-Z

(For the multiple people who asked for a Yandere Alphabet for our favorite little War Criminal)

A stands for AFFECTION: how would they show affection?

•Aemond is a gift giver to the extreme

•From the moment you found out about your betrothal to your Uncle, you had been receiving gorgeous dresses, fantastic shoes and jewelry you could never have imagined wearing. All of the jewelry you were gifted containing large sapphires in the necklaces or earrings, staking the One Eyed Princes claim on you

B stands for BLOODY: how bloody are they willing to get for their object of obsession?

•He loves getting bloody on a normal occasion so getting bloody for you would be a joy for Aemond

•He would slaughter any and all men who dared even think they had a chance with his girl and he even killed a few women who thought it their place to ‘warn you’ about what he’s like and insist you needed to get out of the marriage proposal, even though you all knew that was impossible

C stands for CRUELTY: would they ever hurt their object of obsession?

•Aemond would avoid harming you as much as possible, he never liked to see pain on your face or bruises on your perfect porcelain skin but if you thought you were going to defy him then he needed to teach you a lesson

•Normally locking you in your rooms was enough after two days of isolation and eating all of your meals alone

•Only once did Aemond ever really hurt you and it was only after you had pushed him too far, something even you admitted he couldn’t ignore in public

D stands for DARLING: would they cross their object of obsession’s limits?

•Aemond is as patient as he can be with you but if you give him no other choice, then yes, he absolutely will

E stands for EXPOSED: how much do they expose their own feelings to their object of obsession?

•Aemond talks to you about almost everything

•One of your jobs as his wife is to listen to him and you quickly find out you’re the only person that he really tells about how he feels about everything from his mother to his brother to even his father

•He is also very open in how he feels about you, making it clear from the moment you are betrothed that you are his and he is completely obsessed with you loves you dearly

F stands for FIGHT: how would they react to their object of obsession fighting back?

•Aemond absolutely thinks it’s funny…for about 5 minutes

•You are his wife and him your husband, you will behave as a lady is expected to behave within the confines of her marriage so ‘fighting back’ isn’t really much of an option

G stands for GAME: do they think this is just a game?

•You are Aemond’s everything, this is no game

•Anyone who thinks it is will get a painful wake up call sooner than they think

H stands for HELL: what would be their object of obsession’s worst experience with them?

•Your worst experience would be the one time you made the mistake of refusing his demands in front of the small council

•Aemond didn’t want to harm you, he was trying quite hard to get you used to being his wife and doing your duties/behaving how he expected you to but you didn’t give him much of an option before you felt his hand strike your face so painfully you briefly thought he had broken your jaw

•He apologized for hitting you so hard later in the privacy of your rooms but informed you that you shouldn’t have said anything against him in front of anyone especially the small council and even you knew how badly you had messed up as soon as the words left your mouth

I stands for IDEAL: what are their plans for their object of obsession?

•Aemond’s plan is impregnating you

•That has been his plan since the moment he insisted his mother ensure you were going to be his wife

J stands for JEALOUSY: how they react when jealous? Do they get jealous?

•When Aemond is jealous someone is going to die, he is a violent man when he thinks another man is getting close to his wife and he will often publicly punish any man who he thinks is looking at his Princess wrong

•You learned very quickly to talk to other men as little as possible

•However you also learned that if you wanted a man dead you had a sure fire way to make it happen

K stands for KINDNESS: how they act around their object of obsession?

•When you and Aemond are alone he is much different than he is in public

•Aemond is usually a sweet, gentle person with you when he isn’t in a bad mood or you’re not being difficult

•Even when in public he is gentler with you than most men are with their wives, he’s just far more quiet and somber

L stands for LOVE LETTER: how would they approach their object of obsession?

•He made sure his mother knew he would only accept you as his wife, and that if Rhaenyra made the mistake of trying to marry you to anyone else he would steal you away before any wedding could take place and burn the Lords house to the ground, ally of the Hightowers or not

•Aemond was quite sweet to you, he always had been when you were children however he was a proper gentleman now and he ensured you were as happy as you could be…obsessively so

M stands for MASK: how different are their public persona from their true selves?

•He is quiet for the most part in public, and if he must say something it is usually a snarky comment or a backhanded insult

•With you he is very attentive and often needy for your attention which is actually what makes you fall for him in the end, loving his desperation for you

N stands for NAUGHTY: how would they punish their object of obsession?

•Aemond locks you in your chambers until you can’t stand being alone anymore and admit you were wrong for whatever, you never really need anything more than that

O stands for OPPRESSION: how many rights would they take from their object of obsession?

•Rights?

•What are rights?

•You are Aemond’s wife. You will do what is expected of a highborn lady wife or be punished. Even so, Aemond tries to make you as happy as he can and doesn’t order you about as much as he could

P stands for PATIENCE: how patient are they with their object of obsession?

•Aemond tries his best to be very patient and to his credit he does very well until you push too hard

•Compared to other men and even other Targaryen men, he is quite patient with you, wanting you to actually learn lessons and want to be a good wife for him in the end

Q stands for QUIT: if their object of obsession died or escaped, would they ever be able to move on?

Died: He would be a complete basket case without you and he would refuse to remarry for any reason what so ever

Escaped: He would go on a rampage until he got you back. No one would be safe until he found you and had you back in his arms

R stands for REGRET: would they ever regret harming their object of obsession? Would they ever let them go?

•Aemond will Never let you go

•He would only ever regret how hard he slapped you once in a small council meeting, he hated how afraid of him you were in that moment

S stands for STIGMA: what made their yandere tendencies bloom?

•You had always been the only one in the family who was kind to Aemond, being his best friend as kids

•He knew you would be his wife from the moment you first stuck up for him during the pig prank to your brothers and uncle, that was the day he fell completely in love with you

•He decided that night that he would do whatever he needed to do in order to make you his wife, even though he knew his mother would want to marry him to another house and that Rhaenyra would never want you to be with him

T stands for TEARS: how would they react to their object of obsession crying/breaking?

•Anger

•Your tears brings out a rage in Aemond that is not often seen and he will slaughter whoever has made you so upset

•If he were the one to upset you however, he wouldn’t really know how to fix that. He would typically hold you until you either calmed down or cried yourself out and then get you a gift as an apology since “apologizing” isn’t really something he knows how to do very well

U stands for UNIQUE: something different they would do compared to others yanderes.

•In the beginning of your relationship, before the wedding was set and you were staying as far from him as you could, Aemond came up with a plan to make you dependent on him and feel safe with him to ensure you wouldn’t try and run back home to Rhaenyra and Daemon (who was the only man you seemed to trust which enraged him to no end)

•Aemond had Criston Cole hire a man to sneak into the castle with the intent to kill you. He planed it out meticulously to ensure you were never in any real danger though you wouldn’t know that

•The man entered your chambers as you were getting ready to sleep and you shrieked, backing towards the window, pleading with him not to harm you and telling him that he could leave and you would forget he was ever there. Suddenly your door flew open and Aemond ran in, he was on the man before you could blink, beating his head in as he shouted about how he would never let anyone harm his wife

•It was that night that you really began giving Aemond the chance to win your love, realizing that you were truly safe with him. The entire plot was a secret that Aemond would take to his grave

V stands for VICE: what weakness their object of obsession could use against them?

•His jealousy, 100%

•If you want someone, anyone dead, all you need to do is make it seem like they’ve been looking at you for more than a second too long, it gives you a feeling of absolute power and you love it

W stands for WIT’S END: would they hurt their object of obsession?

•Aemond would never hurt you in any kind of serious way

•If he has to he will lock you in your chambers for the rest of your life, but he won’t do you serious harm

X stands for XOANON: would they worship their object of obsession?

•He definitely has a way of making you feel like a Goddess

•Especially when you’re pregnant as he worships the ground you walk on. He is constantly getting you whatever food you’re craving, fluffing your pillows, rubbing your sore feet, anything to make his precious Princess feel better while she is carrying his baby inside of her

•You are the most precious thing in the whole world to him and even when he is upset with you Aemond never lets you forget it

Y stands for YEARN: how long would they pine after their object of obsession before they snap?

•Aemond has always loved you, and always had a bit of a crush on you however he has been head over heels since he was 10

•He keeps it together and hidden until he is 16 and he demands you as his bride upon hearing that Rhaenyra was considering marriage proposals for you, the idea of you being married off to someone else sending him over the edge

Z stands for ZENITH: would they ever break their object of obsession?

•Aemond doesn’t want you broken, he wants you to be his compliant little Princess and that’s exactly what you are

•You had always known what was expected of you as a women and a wife in a marriage from the time that you were a little girl (though you never expected to be married to your Uncle) but Aemond ensured that you would be exactly what he always wanted in a wife and you are absolutely Perfect to him

Aemond T. Masterlist

[rivendell-poet]

Hello! Can you do a headcanon on how the fellowship reacts to the 10th member being so oblivious to flirting?

Thanks so much anon! Sorry it's taken me a bit to answer, but hopefully you enjoy these <3

*･༓˚✧❝𝐟𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚𝐧 𝐨𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬-𝐭𝐨-𝐟𝐥𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐡-𝐰𝐚𝐥𝐤𝐞𝐫❞‧͙⁺˚༓˚✧ « headcanons »

○ Aragorn ○ Legolas ○ Gimli ○ Boromir ○ Pippin○ Merry ○ Frodo ○ Sam ○

GN!Reader | No TWs | Wordcount : 1k

𝐀𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐫𝐧

✧ His main ways of showing affection/romance isn’t flirting, so if you pick up on him being more caring/his eyes constantly drifting to you/wanting to listen to you speak then you’re good.

✧ However, if you miss all of those queues as well, eventually he does realise he needs to be more obvious.

✧ Aragorn is pretty good at flirting, the voice definitely puts it from good to pretty good, although a lot of his lines are still done when he’s close to you.

✧ The two of you will be leaning against a wall and he’ll come closer before saying something.

✧ And then you still don’t figure it out.

✧ Confesses pretty quickly after realising it isn’t going to happen any other way.

✧ Will still flirt with you, especially after a fight. Grins when you just look at him like ‘???’

✧ Eventually you understand when he’s doing it, although that’s more because he’ll always come very close to you before saying something. (Comes up behind and hugs before whispering in your ear.)

𝐋𝐞𝐠𝐨𝐥𝐚𝐬

✧ Also a more traditional romantic, except whenever he takes you on long walks with him it always ends up with one of you infodumping about some flora/fauna you’ve seen.

✧ Still loves you for it, but decides to try a different approach.

✧ Merry and Pippin decide to step in and help their good friend Legolas, and give him some of the worst flirting lines anyone has ever heard (made most of them up).

✧ Says them to you in his softest voice, before staring deep into your eyes and trying to see if you liked it.

✧ You just end up in weird staring contests until he looks away, or you ask him what he said and he repeats it (you still don’t get it).

✧ Isn’t sure what he’s doing wrong.

✧ Asks Aragorn to help, and does spend a night trying to flirt with the ranger as though he were you.

✧ Aragorn has far too much fun during this, and Legolas takes it far too seriously.

𝐆𝐢𝐦𝐥𝐢

✧ Is also so confused as to how you’re not getting it, and what he’s doing wrong.

✧ But he is a great smooth-talker, genuinely 10/10 lines. Has one for most occasions, and in most tones.

✧ Does experiment to try and find which ones you like and is just so confused as to why none make you blush.

✧ Eventually realises it’s because you’re being oblivious and not because his lines are bad (which is a big relief for him).

✧ Finally, after saying a great line to you, he gets exasperated and asks if you even know he’s flirting with you.

✧ You immediately go red, and he takes that as a ‘no’.

✧ Grins and asks if you’d like to hear any for a second time.

𝐁𝐨𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐫

✧ Mainly shows affection by physical touch and acts of service. His loving words to you and generally acts of praise, or asking you to continue talking - he’s better at listening.

✧ Is also given advice by Merry and Pippin to flirt with you, although he recognises how bad their lines are and genuinely asks them if any of these have ever worked before.

✧ Does not believe them if they say yes.

✧ He has experience with flirting, although it’s generally over ale and with people flirting at him - not the other way around.

✧ At first is more subtle with his flirting. Then, when you aren’t getting it, it eventually devolves into much more obvious flirting - the kind used at slightly seedy bars.

✧ Knows from experience (himself) about people being oblivious to flirting so eventually just confesses.

✧ Still flirts to see the ‘???’ face and laughs before hugging you, telling you he loves you if you ask what he meant.

𝐏𝐢𝐩𝐩𝐢𝐧

✧ Good at flirting, but not in a serious or romantic way. He’s better at getting a smile from his lines, and getting his feelings across, than he is actually starting something intimate.

✧ Flirts quite often from the day he meets you, and doesn’t realise you’re not understanding them.

✧ Slowly gets more dejected until Merry is like, ‘you know they haven’t picked up on you flirting with them?’

✧ Instantly brightens.

✧ Flirts quickly get more and more obnoxious. Gandalf audibly sighs at quite a few.

✧ Eventually tells a very obvious one while looking directly into your eyes and winking.

✧ Takes a lot of pleasure in your embarrassment, will take advantage of you finally realising he’s been flirting with you and tell you almost every line.

✧ Occasionally comes up to you and says something random but with a wink - you then have to guess if it’s a genuine pick-up line or nonsense.

𝐌𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐲

✧ Quite similar to Pippin, although his pick-up lines are slightly better.

✧ Uses them as a way to subtly show his feelings to people, as a way of confessing without the harshness of rejection.

✧ Catches on fairly quickly that you’re pretty oblivious. Has a small amount of fun with it.

✧ Makes some small bets about if you’re going to notice him flirting (mainly with Merry, very occasionally Aragorn, Boromir, Gimli, and Gandalf join in. Legolas could, but just bets with Aragorn).

✧ Confesses normally to you.

✧ Attempts to rig the gambling ring by telling you how you should act ahead of time - this is quickly discovered.

𝐒𝐚𝐦

✧ Sweet, little Sam.

✧ Cannot flirt for the life of him. He truly is trying.

✧ Even gets coaching from Merry and Pippin (and a pep talk from Frodo) to try.

✧ Doesn’t realise you’re oblivious because he’s also so bad at it.

𝐅𝐫𝐨𝐝𝐨

✧ Frodo is surprisingly good at flirting, he just never uses them.

✧ And whenever he does there’s always a slight aura of him being uncomfortable about them. It’s subtle, but it’s there.

✧ Wouldn’t use them as a way to show you his feelings, and would confess before flirting with you.

✧ Does it very occasionally, and when you don’t realise he grins a little.

✧ Tries flirting a bit more, you don’t pick up on any of it, and lets you know at the end of the night.

✧ Very occasionally would flirt with you - but if he’s going to talk to you with romance in mind, he rather be vulnerable and open than flirt.

Hopefully you enjoyed! In any case, I'm thankful you stuck around until the end <3

« 𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 » « masterlist of my works »

thank you for reading *･༓˚✧ wish to be tagged?

[jen-with-a-pen]

(In Your) Arms Tonight - 2/2

summary: Wade tests out his previous hypothesis with great success. Might experiment more later.

pairing: Logan Howlett x Wade Wilson / Worst Wolverine x Deadpool

word count: 3.6k

warnings: MDNI 18+, Wade's POV-ish, blowjob, itty bitty blood mention, slight angst, nightmares/PTSD, pining, cursing, claws, crude humor and language, fluff, touching, *cue start of something new from high school musical*, Wade's a little shit, cum drinking bc i guess that's what happened, deepthroating, lowkey face fucking, bad flirting but it's kinda reciprocated, wade is the throat goat next question, wade kissed his roommate and they both liked it

a/n: here she is :') thanks yall for the patience and all of the magnificent love and comments for part one ❤❤❤ means the world to me, especially since it's my first time stepping out of stucky territory as a whole. also got a little away with the tags 😅 hope yall enjoy this !

Not beta'd. Half-written on my phone, edited and revised in ellipsus + gdocs. Please let me know if there are any spelling or grammar mistakes!

If I've missed any tags, PLEASE let me know!

gif by @tomshiddles | dividers by @saradika-graphics | warning banner by me ❤️

My AO3 | My Masterlist

Read this fic HERE on AO3

❤️ Reblogs and comments are appreciated, as always ❤️

PART ONE | PART TWO

Wade forgot to turn the AC back on. 

It's his turn to sleep in bed tonight and he's got the worst case of swamp ass you can get this far from a fucking swamp. He's already thrown the covers, sheets, pillows, and his boxers off; he swears if he gets up there will be a sweaty version of a goddamn chalk outline on his mattress. 

He stretches. Notices he can feel both hands now, fully grown and everything, fingernails and all. Smirks to himself as he flexes his new fingers before reaching over to the nightstand– it's actually a really sturdy cardboard box, but it works just as good– for his phone. The screen responds with a bright 3:02AM overlayed on a photo of him and Vanessa. 

There's a pang in his heart for a moment. The same type of twist and pull he felt when Logan got up to leave after their big adventure (AKA saving their universe.)

“See you around?”

Wade tried to swallow the hard lump of desperate hope that had been bubbling inside of him the entire time they ate their shawarma. Hopes it wasn't obvious in his voice. Not a total cry for help, but definitely more of a solemn whimper and puppy dog eyes.

No matter how many times he was used to it– the people he loved leaving or dying or what have you– it still stung like a bitch. 

“Probably not.”

And Logan didn't mean for it to come out so harshly, but that's what happened when– and if– he got too close. To anyone. To everyone. 

With that, Logan rose from the bench, gathering his cowl and TVA jacket up from the place on the bench separating him and Wade and started walking. Dogpool whined and scratched at Wade's arms to chase after him. 

Wade had to do something. Anything. He couldn't let this one– this Logan. His Logan– walk off into the sunset.

No.

Not without him. 

“Logan!” 

And then he turned around. 

And now they're here. 

He feels a similar yank and tear elsewhere in his body– lower belly, groin area– whenever thoughts wander back to that glorious time in the Honda Odyssey; Adamantium stabbing in and out of his chest cavity, puncturing his lungs and literally taking his breath away. The tight feeling of multiple seat belts holding him down to the second row passenger seat and the sickeningly happy grin adorning Logan's face when he tied the last knot. Wade remembers smiling just as bright under his mask.

That one definitely got filed into ye ole spank bank for safe keeping.

Sighing, Wade remembers he's sweating like a hog and drops his legs over the edge, planting two clammy feet onto the creaky floorboards. He throws on his previously discarded pair of boxers just in case Logan has a case of insomnia. Gotta take a man out to dinner before you show him your dick, like a gentleman. 

Wade peaks his head out into the living room, TV glow assaulting his pupils like a flash bang. The door creaks open wider and Wade steps further out. He doesn't want to wake either furball– you'd be surprised how grumpy Dogpool gets when she doesn't get her beauty sleep– as he tiptoes out in front of the couch. 

His breath catches in his chest. 

Logan lies propped up on the couch, head resting on the arm with a throw pillow behind for support, arms crossed over a bare, hairy chest rising and falling slowly. A sheen of sweat coats his skin that reflects the changing colors of the TV. Half a snuffed cigar smolders on the coffee table ashtray. The semi-permanent crease between his brows is softer, perfect pink lips parted as he snores quietly.

And to top it all off, he's in his fucking boxers; his jeans are discarded on the opposite end of the couch, kicked off in his sleep to beat the heat.

Wade can't breathe. He can't help but stare, committing the heavenly scene to memory. A knowing smile slowly spreads across his chapped lips.

He's happy. Happy at how peaceful his roommate looks. Happy that Logan is finally feeling safe enough to sleep here. Genuinely. Wade knows first hand what it can be like to be constantly on the run, chasing peace and release, rest and safety. 

Tip toes make way to the thermostat, Wade presses the 'on' button to the AC when there's stirring behind him. Head turning slowly, he catches the tail end of Logan mumbling something in his sleep. 

“...Wade, please.” 

Wade freezes like a carjacker caught in an impound lot. Surely he didn't hear Logan, his roommate Logan– The X-Man, The Wolverine– fucking whining Wade's name in his sleep. 

What were the symptoms of heat stroke, again? 

Wade shuffles back over to the couch. Feels like a creep watching his fucking roommate sleep, waiting another moment to see if he needs to take a power drill and give himself a DIY lobotomy or not. 

“Mm… No, Wade…No, please, don't–” Logan murmurs softly. Struggling, brow furrowing, Adam’s apple bobbing. “Ngh… Don't hurt ‘im… please.” 

Logan begins to shake. His head whips from side to side against the pillow, hands dig into the couch cushions, grunting, fists clenching as his claws itch to defend from the phantom threat. Muscles tensing and chest heaving, his breathing grows harder, faster, more frantic. 

He's having a nightmare.

Wade recognizes the signs immediately. He knows where Logan's at: some distant memory with talons and sharp teeth assaulting his brain without him knowing. Hell on earth on the worst nights, a light ego beating and insomnia on the better ones.

Wade knows– his stopped two months ago. When Logan came home.

Without another thought– one in which he probably should’ve given– Wade climbs onto the couch to straddle Logan’s hips in the most non-horny way he can make it. Hands press into the center of Logan's chest. He gently calls his name, preparing for the sharp stab of Adamantium through an appendage and/or organ. Nothing he isn't used to at this point, but he secretly prays it isn't something totally major.

“Logan. Peanut, hey,” Wade whispers. He presses further into Logan, heat radiating off rough, hairy skin into Wade's tingling fingers. “Logan, it's me, Wade. You're having a nightmare, you’re scaring the kids–” 

SHNK. Intestines. Ten or fifteen points, depending on if it's big or small.  Wade's thankful it wasn't a kidney or his stomach– those are a bitch and a half to grow back.

“Okay– that was maybe warranted,” Wade grunts. Both sets of claws penetrate straight through his lower abdomen as Logan jolts awake, sitting up as much as he can while pinned under Wade. A gnarled scream catches in his throat. White-hot knuckles graze the skin of Wade's stomach, who is really, really trying his hardest not to get a boner right now. 

“Th’fuck's goin’ on?” Logan slurs, face inches from Wade's bare chest. He blinks. Once. Twice. His brow returns to its permanent crease as he adjusts to the scene before him: bright TV glow contrasts with dark shadows Wade casts over him.

Wade is on top of him and his claws are inside of Wade.

Face scrunching– not inherently in disgust, Wade hopes– claws retract with a muted grunt. Wade can breathe again while his body begins repairing itself. His hands are stuck to Logan's heaving chest, fingers fanning out over each delicious pec. Thick arms rest on either side of him, elbows bent and resting on Wade's thighs.

Wade swallows, praying the man currently underneath him either A. doesn't know where his hands are at the moment or B. this is going exactly the way he wet-dreamt it a few weeks ago. Completely unprompted too, by the way– he's no stranger to the sick side effects of PTSD, he wouldn't knowingly exploit that in order to get into his roommate's pants. He's got more class than that.

Well, most of the time, that is. Again, completely unintentional. Coincidence, if you will.

Maybe he does need that DIY lobotomy.

"Where th'hell am I?" Logan asks, voice less threatening and more alert. His eyes flick from the TV and travel up Wade to meet sympathetic chocolate eyes already on him. Wade peels each finger off Logan's chest and sits back on his knees. Gaze softening, hands fall into his lap inches above the chiseled V pointing to down under Logan's boxers. He doesn't dare move a fucking muscle.

His pinky finger twitches.

"You're okay. You're here, in my world, Peanut. Twenty-first century. New York. We use fifty-cals now, not muskets. You were having a nightmare–"

Wade's throat hitches. He's not gonna cry, no– he's not that much of a fucking empath, for chrissake– but what he wants to say versus what he probably should say get lodged together on the way down to his mouth from his brain.

"I– I did the pressure thing Dogpool does with me, sometimes. Except I thought you'd wanna wake up to this pretty face 'nd not one with drool."

Logan looks skeptical, searches Wade to see if he's actually telling the truth for once, features relaxing once he mulls it over in his head. Wade's gnawing at the inside of his cheek when Logan's thumbs subconsciously start rubbing slow circles over the toughened skin of his upper thigh. Upper-outer, to be exact, but right now Wade doesn't really want to dwell on the minute details.

"So," Logan starts, "you woke me up… 'cause I was havin' a nightmare…?"

"Well, not exactly because you were having a nightmare, no." Wade runs a hand over the top of the couch, distracting himself. "Al really likes this couch. Antique, actually. Vintage find. Be a shame if some man with claws–"

Logan's palms press into Wade's thighs. A warning.

"Mouth."

Wade sighs. Hands fall into his lap once more and he is absolutely not fighting to gawk at Logan's V that lights up like a road work sign pointing to a detour. The semi-hard abs just above definitely do not make him want to run his fucking tongue across them like a cheese grater.

He looks back to Logan, clears his throat. "Look I– I've been there. Am there, honestly. Didn't want you t'be alone whenever you woke up, but I also know how hard it is to wake up. So," he shrugs, voice lowering, "thought I'd help. Help you come down from it, I mean."

Logan stares back in response, eyes trained on Wade like a hunting dog and a downed fox. Wade swears the corner of his lip twitches along with the meaty hands on his legs.

He's gotta get the fuck out of here.

"So!" Wade starts, "Seems everything's in working order. The doctor will be in soon–" Wade starts to scramble off before realizing Logan's holding him down. Sharp claw stubs poke into scarred skin and a deep growl rumbles out of Logan's chest. Not necessarily threatening, no, more of a 'you're not goin' anywhere.' Wade gulps, hands raise up jokingly, forcing his racing mind to think of a naked, cross-country skiing Al to stave off the blood violently rushing to his stubborn cock.

Logan sits up, closing the space between him and Wade. Hazel eyes study wide brown ones. Logan takes a breath, shaky but sure.

"Don't want y't'go. Not– not yet."

It's hesitant. Unsure but curious, quiet enough Wade thinks he's hallucinating again. Wade mulls it over, leans forward with hands back on Logan's chest, skin and muscles taught underneath with tactile tension.

Wade sucks in a breath, moves his hands higher to Logan's collarbone and it's grossly apparent how tense Logan is. Hostile to any sudden movement, untrusting of touch to the point his fists shake against Wade's legs. A slow, tender hand inches up Logan's throat and onto his cheek. Wade feels through the rough facial hair and unkempt stubble, a thumb finds the shaved spot at the point of Logan's chin and strokes gently. Fists start to unclench, but there's a hesitancy still lingering in the air, under Logan's skin. Wade thinks it smells like fear. Inches away, face to face, breaths fan eachother's faces.

There's a shift in the air and Wade leans forward.

Logan doesn't stop Wade from connecting them together, lips touching lips in the softest manner possible. Almost feels like there's nothing there, Wade's too gentle. Nobody moves, breathes, at first; they're each trying to make sense of what the fuck exactly is happening. Logan isn't saying no, isn't sawing through Wade's skull and Wade isn't pushing himself on Logan.

Okay, maybe leaning in to kiss his roommate might be pushing himself on Logan to the logical bystander, but in the moment it just felt right.

To Wade's surprise, Logan's the first to move.

His lips start molding into Wade's. There's pressure, a little pushing, chapped skin and the remnants of tobacco on his breath when his lips part and his tongue pokes ever-so-slightly through. Wade pushes back, hoping his breath isn't as abhorrently delicious as leftover cigar. He tilts his head, nose poking into Logan's cheek as his does Wade's, and lets his tongue explore a little more. Logan allows him in, meeting him at the tip and hungrily welcoming him. Breaths turn heavy, panting, while hands begin to roam, more comfortable now that they've crossed the line into 'spit swapping' territory.

Wade drinks him in. Greedily swallows the choked-back groans Logan keeps holding in his throat that come out as muted mewls. Fingernails wantonly dig into one another and leave temporary marks that disappear under rapid replacement cells.

It feels like forever when Wade finally comes up for air, unable to focus with the growing hardness digging into his thigh.

"I–fuckin' shit– I think I have an idea." Wade pants like a dog in heat– and fuck, he might as well be at this point. Logan pulls back with lidded eyes and kiss-swollen lips.

"'s that?" He's hesitant. Hands tense slightly over Wade's back, his whole body stiffens.

"Do you– do you trust me?"

Wade holds his breath.

Logan only nods. Adam's apple bobbing, lips part in anticipation and curiosity.

Wade strokes Logan's cheek in reassurance, shoots him a wink before shimmying down his body to the other end of the couch, keeping Logan's legs in between his thighs. Fingers hook around Logan's boxers, in turn causing Logan to jolt up immediately. A set of claws unsheathe an inch away from Wade's throat.

"Th'fuck are you doin'?"

Wade only smiles, taking a hand away and kissing the tip of the middle claw, gently pushing it back into Logan's fist and coaxing him to lay back down. What he's about to do would be easier with an in-tact esophagus.

"Relax, Peanut," Wade coos, "'m not gonna hurtcha."

Logan stares at Wade. Eyes pinch, still suspicious.

"…Promise?"

A sharp pang ripples through Wade's heart.

"Promise."

Logan hesitates, relaxes, gives another go-ahead. Wade's fingers curl once again around the waistband of his boxers and slowly, but surely, pull them down and off him. He can't help the immediate salivatory reflex upon seeing Logan in all his glory; the deep V lights up like a fucking Vegas sign pointing straight to the jackpot.

Logan's big– like, big big. Biggest Wade's ever seen (and Wade's seen a LOT.) An automatic response, Wade's asshole clenches, mistakenly preparing to take Logan. Wade forces himself to relax– that's not happening tonight. He promised Logan he'd go slow, no surprises, no whipped cream or leather cuffs.

Not yet, at least.

His own cock weeps happy tears through his briefs. He cannot believe how perfect– how beautiful– how fucking huge Logan is.

"What're you gonna do?" Logan whispers, hesitant eyes hooking on Wade and every little movement he makes.

"If it's alright with you, 1972 Burt Reynolds, 'm gonna suck every ounce of tension out of your perfect, hairy body and make you feel the best you've felt in a looong time."

Logan scoffs a laugh, brow furrowing as he shakes his head slightly. "Don't know who–"

Wade shushes him. "Don't worry, baby girl. I'll be your Sally Field."

Wade smirks at Logan's confusion and mentally makes a note to his future-self to show Logan the glory that is Smokey and the Bandit.

A gentle hand steadies the base of Logan's cock while another slowly wraps around his stiffness, standing at attention and beginning to cry, begging for Wade's touch. Heavy breathing and bitten-back grunts fill Wade's ears. It's a heavenly symphony he's lucky enough to have a front and center seat for. Free ticket, too.

"Ngh– Red, whatever you're gonna do– ah–!"

Wade presses his lips to the base, bush of hair tickling his nose and lips while he kisses his way up to the head, tongue poking out to lap up the precum. Before siccing his lips around Logan, Wade looks up once more, mostly searching for permission to help him feel pleasure for once instead of pain.

Logan reads Wade's mind and sends a small nod in response.

With a shit-eating smirk, Wade welcomes Logan into his mouth, flattening his tongue and curving his lips over his teeth so as not to scratch the sensitive, velvety skin. Drool spills out the corners of Wade's mouth and swallows a gag when Logan jams into the back of his throat, digging into his uvula. Squeezing the base and cupping the balls, Wade begins to bob his head to the rhythm of Logan's mess of 'fuck's, 'shit's, and–

"Mmm–Oh–oh, my god," Logan moans. A calloused hand runs over Wade's bald head, scars and grafts rippling under his touch while another hand grips tightly onto the side of the couch. Wade slurps up every drop of precum, relishing in the sweet musk of Logan's scent, head bobbing and tongue swirling in tandem. Logan's hips buck up into Wade, fucking his throat without meaning to. No amount of lozenges or peppermint tea will be able to cure the sore throat Wade knows he'll have come morning.

"F–fuck, Wade, baby– shit– that feels so–!"

Another lengthy dive down onto Logan hits the very back of Wade's throat, pulling a long, strenuous 'fuck' from the deepest part of Logan. He bucks harder into Wade who stalls, choking on Logan's cock while his own strains against his briefs. Another swipe of tongue, another gag and seeping drool, and Logan is officially done for.

"F–fuck! Motherfucker! Oh my, god, Wade–!"

Curses and chants and shaky breaths fill the living room as Logan spills into Wade with an 'O' on his lips and a hand on the back of Wade's head. There's a sharp shngk and a sting at the tip of Wade's ear as red warmth drips down onto Logan's thigh; his claws unsheathe into the couch this time, not Wade, who slurps and sucks every last drop of mutant cum from Logan's softening cock like it's the Fountain of fucking Eden.

He comes up for air, finally, lungs gasping against a swollen, fucked throat. He sits back panting on his thighs and Logan's legs underneath, a mix of cum and drool and the slightest bit of blood running down his cheeks and neck. Wiping away the mess with the back of a hand, blurry vision focuses back into reality and onto his roommate.

His roommate. Logan. Wolverine. Who's dick he just sucked the ever-living hell out of.

Well this is awkward.

Wade swallows, offers a crooked half-smile to the man who he just sucked, fucked, and milked dry.

"How 'bout them Yankees?"

Logan barks a laugh. A real, genuine laugh, one with teeth and spread lips and legitimate amusement. Wade preens.

"That was–" Logan wipes beads of sweat off his brow, "Fuck it. That was fuckin' amazing, Wade." He stuffs a hand behind his head, blinks a couple of times to recalibrate. "Didn't know that mouth did anything else 'sides talk."

Wade shrugs cutesily. "It impresses me sometimes, too. Helps when I have a willing participant. Just hope you signed the paperwork."

Logan shakes his head. Arms reach up to grab onto Wade, pulling an ear to Logan's lips.

"Now how 'bout we take care of you next, baby? Hm?"

\|/ \|/ \|/ \|/ \|/ \|/ \|/ \|/ \|/ \|/ \|/ \|/ \|/ \|/ \|/ \|/ \|/

Morning sun and a weight on his chests wakes Logan from probably the most peaceful sleep he's had in… well, ever, honestly.

There's a wetness and mix of smells wafting into his nostrils that make him stir next; combination of what feels like a tongue on his cheek making way towards his lips, dog breath, and the sweet smell of something cooking in the kitchen. Eyes fly open when a whine vibrates on his chest, finding himself greeted by Dogpool wagging her rat-tail with eyes bugging out of her little head.

"Gah– get off me, mutt," Logan scolds, sitting up and gently shoving Dogpool onto the couch cushion next to him. He runs a hand over his face and into his hair, the crick in his neck a little less noticeable this morning.

"Gooooood morning, sunshine!"

Logan looks up with tired eyes still adjusting to the morning light to find Wade in his robe covered in flour with a mixing bowl cradled in his arm as he stirs. Last night comes screeching back to Logan as soon as he locks eyes with his roommate, mouth going dry and dick twitching in his boxers.

Wade only smiles, not at all hiding his obvious glance at Logan's crotch. "You want chocolate chips or blueberries in yours?"

Logan shakes his head. "In my what?"

"Pancakes, Peanut. In your pancakes."

"Oh. Yeah." Logan blinks, then scoffs a laugh to himself. "Yeah, Mouth. I'd, ah– blueberries. I'd like blueberries."

[spikedfearn]

I Said Just a Little Bit, Then I Got a Taste of It

Chapter III

bjorn x fem!reader

summary: After being transferred to another sector of Jackson's Star you reluctantly befriend a ragtag group of people with the exception of one cocky asshole who knows just how to get under your skin.

On the surface, you hate each other, but after experiencing a particularly harrowing event together, the two of you grow closer than anyone else could ever imagine.

warnings: secret friends with benefits, enemies to lovers, angst, alcohol/drug use, explicit sexual themes, non-linear narrative, side rainkay, trauma bonding, near death experience, brief mention of child abuse, more tags to be added

a/n: haha don't hate me but I split the chapter up again! that means there's no smut in this chapter either but it was getting long and the place I chose to leave off felt like a natural end. that being said this chapter is entirely you x bjorn-centric and there is a lot of pay off!

tags: @asvtrials @urfavhanna @orangebeauty (comment if you wanna be notified when a new chapter drops)

wc: 4.4k

Masterlist Next Chapter

Bjorn is the fucking worst. 

A marginal part of you just assumed that maybe he was an angry drunk following your little exchange in the bar but no—he's just angry.

Despite your previous apprehension you begin to accept Kay’s invites to join her and the others whenever they get together, which is a lot. You know you're treading in dangerous territory, allowing yourself to get close to them, but you're powerless to stop it, unable to recall the last time you had this much fun, almost too much, feels a little wrong, like it should be illegal. 

The only downside is dealing with Kay’s asshole cousin Bjorn, like stepping on a dull thumbtack you can't dislodge when you see him joking around with Tyler, his eyes narrowing as soon as he notices you approach, like he has some score to settle. 

You don't let it get you, not immediately, not letting him run you off out of spite, just as petty as he is. 

You can only hold your tongue for so long however, before reacting explosively to whatever insult is thrown your way, giving him exactly what he wants. 

The others stop trying to intervene after so long, when they realize neither of you are willing to back down, deciding to just roll their eyes and ignore your immature back and forth, splintering off to start a new conversation of their own.

It's another one of those nights, the tension between the two of you thick, thicker than the smoke coming from the bonfire, gathered in the quarry again. It's a regular hangout spot for them, liking the exclusivity of its location, far from the hustle and bustle of the streets alive at night, when the majority of the colonists who’re assigned to work in the mines aren't slaving away underground. 

You and Bjorn have been taking digs at each other all night—what else is new?—cycling between something passive aggressive and flippant, or overt and direct, depending on how irritated whatever he says makes you. 

“Always so hot and bothered, ain'tcha’ sweetheart? If ya’ shut up and c’mere I can give ya’ a real mouthful,” he smirks, grabbing himself through the loose crotch of his frayed cargo pants.

Disgust pinches the bridge of your nose, nice and tight, hissing back, “ugh, you're such a pig. I’m thoroughly convinced the shitty apple didn't fall far from the shitty tree,” words soaked in venom, the aftertaste of acid burning the lining of your esophagus. 

It's like pulling the pin on a grenade, watching the way everyone reacts, a collective gasp shredding through the calm. Your revulsion is replaced by one of confusion, head cocking to the side as your posture wilts, losing all strength in your shoulders. You don't get why, not when you've said far, far, worse to one another, made a little game of it even. 

You don't see the usual anger or arrogance you've become accustomed to. Instead he looks hurt. Wounded. Blinking twice as fast like he's trying to stop his eyes from watering only to catch himself, schooling his face into something neutral, something mean.

Bracing yourself for the fallout, Bjorn does something completely unexpected—he leaves. Doesn't scream or swear or snark back, just silently turns and retreats, gravel loudly crunching beneath the black worn-in soles of his stormer boots, not sparing a single glance your way while he does.

“Not cool dude,” Navarro chides in your direction, slinging the strap of the backpack she bought the beer in over her shoulder before jogging off in hot pursuit of her brother, “Bjorn, wait up man!”

It's enough to kill the whole vibe, everyone awkwardly parting ways not long after. You return to your apartment sooner than predicted, playing the scene over and over in your head as you try and decipher what could've triggered that response, like he was on the verge of tears. And the others, with the exception of Andy, all seemed floored, clearly clued in on some context you're missing. 

But the thing is, why should you even care? For Bjorn and his infantile way of coping with whatever he's dealing with? When he's not once shown you the same consideration in return? You shouldn't. 

At least—that's what you tell yourself as you strip down to your underwear and crawl into the familiar warmth of your bed, cocooning your body in your blankets as the exhaustion and sleeping pills kick in, lulling you into a restless sleep. 

A sharp knock on the front door startles you awake, eyes bouncing off the walls of your cramped room before they're drawn sideways, finding the analog clock sitting on your bedside table. 

It's late in the afternoon, not nearly as late as you usually allow yourself to sleep on days off, still, that's not what's currently puzzling your still-waking brain.

There's a followup knock, reminding you why you're awake in the first place, begrudgingly removing yourself from the comfort of your sheets while you try and figure out who'd be visiting you right now, pulling on yesterday's jeans left crumpled on the floor by your bed. 

Maybe it's Kay stopping by to check on you. She looked like she wanted to say something last night, after Tyler smothered the bonfire and everyone had left but ultimately never did, choosing to run and catch up with Rain, weaving their fingers together once she did.

You swear though, if it’s just some corpo from the council coming to assign you mandatory overtime you might just take the automatic jail sentence.  

It ends up being neither. To your surprise it’s Tyler, fist raised like he’s getting ready to knock again, immediately taking one step down on the concrete steps leading up to your doorway to give you some room, cheeks a little red. 

“Sorry, didn’t meanta’ wake you,’” Tyler greets, probably taking note of your unkempt appearance, from your tangled hair to the rapid flutter of your lashes, trying to blink the sleep out of them. 

“Could—would you mind if we had a chat?” He amends, adding on, “it’ll only take a sec,” after the fact, the porch light above your head just bright enough to illuminate the hope on his face. Well, this is new. 

You’ve grown to like Tyler and the company he provides, always thoughtful and in high spirits, regardless if he just clocked out of a sixteen hour shift or not, hands shaking and wrapped in dirty gauze from the wounds he sustained. 

That being said, you’ve never met up just the two of you, only ever spending time in facilitated group settings outside of the mines. 

Nonetheless you move aside, a nonverbal queue to come in that he readily accepts, maneuvering around you to step into the tiny kitchenette adjacent to your bedroom. You watch as he gazes around, taking in the surroundings like all the apartments the colonists reside in don't look exactly the same. Albeit yours is pretty bare, not seeing a point in decorating when you could be transferred again at a moment's notice.

“So,” you say, shattering the quiet, leaning back against the laminate counter, arms folded out in front of you with one foot crossed over the other, right heel lifted off the tile floor, “what did you wanna talk about?”

There’s little doubt in your head as to what it's pertaining to, suspicion shortly confirmed by the sheepish look in Tyler's eyes when he meets yours again,“it's about Bjorn.” 

“I figured as much,” you sigh, waiting for him to go on, his hand coming up to anxiously rub over the back of his neck.

“Right, so. Is’not my place to share but Bjorn has a lot of baggage there—with his family. It's a super sore subject for ‘im,’ so when you said that it kinda dug all that shit up.”

Tyler continues, cutting you off before you have a chance to interrupt, “And I know you didn’t mean it, that you don't owe ‘im anything, and you certainly don't hafta’ listen to me but would you please just. Talk to ‘im?’

You can tell Tyler means well, that he wants to smooth things over between the two of you and, while you’d never readily admit it aloud, you do feel a little bad for Bjorn. Bjorn. Sunlight must be shining through the perpetual polluted cloud cover from up above.

It’s just, you know what it’s like, dealing with the aftermath of familial trauma, trying to navigate a world that’s taken so much and given nothing back. Learned to bare your teeth rather than your soul, the only guaranteed method to alleviate the emotional damage life on Jackson’s Star brings.

Maybe Kay is right. Maybe you and Bjorn are alike.

And maybe Tyler is too, about talking to Bjorn, maybe it's time you two talk it out, try and find common ground so the others don't have to play referee anymore. 

“Fine,” you agree,“I’ll talk to him.” 

All the tension in Tyler's shoulders melts away, a relieved sigh deflating his chest, like he had been steeling himself for a potential refusal. 

“Lovely, that's—thank you. Really.” Tyler beams, drawing you into an unexpected hug, a quick, thankful little squeeze despite your arms still being crossed.

Tyler pulls away so you can face each other again, “I know he can be a total fuckin’ wanker but he's one a’ the only people Kay and I got left. And Kay’s got you now and—you don't have to like ‘im. Hell I don't half the time, but if you could just try and tolerate each other maybe?” 

A giggle bubbles up out of you, offering a reluctant nod in return, “sure, I can try. No promises though.” 

“S’okay. I don't expect Bjorn to listen anyways but if I can at least get you on board, things should be smooth sailin’ yanno?” 

You doubt it'll be that easy, that Bjorn will even be receptive to talking but you're willing to honor Tyler's request and try, for him, Kay and the others. 

Once Tyler leaves, you decide it's better to just rip the bandaid off and go looking for Bjorn, who's apparently putting in overtime, something he's prone to doing whenever he needs to blow off some steam according to his older cousin. 

You clock in and check out a drill, the only way low-level colonists gain entry down here, lugging it through one of the series of carved paths towards the sound of shrill cogging you hear echoing off the walls just up ahead in the distance. 

Bjorn isn't hard to find. He's the only one laboring on his day off, the only one in this section of the mines at least, save for the lone guard stationed at the mouth of the tunnel, paying you little mind as you pass. 

The drill head Bjorn's wielding bores into the hard rock, heavy handed from the anger he's trying to work through, sparks flying off as a result. 

Your stomach swoops low when he looks at you, anticipating some kind of reaction, his muscles sagging just a little but, like the guard, he goes back to working, drilling a little harder than before. You can tell this conversation will be like pulling teeth. 

“Bjorn,” you call, trying to be heard over the sound of grating metal, pulling your goggles up and your mask down, letting it hang around your neck. “Bjorn!” 

The lean lines in his forearms built over time flex harder, highlighted by the sweat gathering there, gloved fingers constricting around the worn handle of the power tool as he readjusts his grip. Even through the face shield you can tell he's gritting his teeth, grinding them just as hard as the drill against the rock, the muscles in his neck straining from the way his jaw is set so incredibly tight.

“Bjorn!” You repeat, growing frustrated, taking the risk of losing a finger or two by pushing at Bjorn's shoulder, “can you please just—look at me?”

He’s quick to snatch your wrist, startling you, strong enough to keep the drill upheld with his other arm while he thumbs the off switch. 

“Wha’ in the bloody fuck d’ya want?!” He snarls, eyes narrowed and brows pinched, twisting your arm to hold it down in between you, mindful not to actually hurt you.

“M’sorry,” you mumble, avoiding the angry scowl he's wearing, now the one unable to make eye contact.

“Wha’ tha’ fuck was tha’?!”

Your throat feels rougher than sandpaper, finding it harder to swallow than the pills you pop every night. “I said I'm—sorry.”

The laugh he gives in response sounds hollow, bitter, “oh thas’ bleedin’ rich comin’ from you. Come ta’ say sorry so you can sleep a little easier tonight, have ya?’ Well I don't want ur fuckin’ pity.”

Your head whips up at that, doing your best to keep composed, despite your fight or flight urging you to combat his animosity with your own. 

“I didn't come to apologize to make myself feel better, that's not who I am. Whether we get along or not doesn't matter. I realized I crossed a line and you deserve better than that. That's why I came to say sorry.” 

His face softens just a bit, just long enough for you to notice before his expression hardens again, lips parting to say something more but he never gets the chance to, interrupted by a low ominous groan that shakes the entire roof of the tunnel you're standing in. Shit, that doesn't sound good.  

You share a look of dread then, before either of you can react, a crevasse three feet wide fractures up the entire length of the rock right above your heads as the deafening roar of a cave-in drowns out every other noise.

The only thing you feel is Bjorn’s calloused hand still holding onto your wrist roughly yanking you into his body right as everything collapses around you.

The first thing you register is the fact you're still alive. Aching all over and windpipe tight from inhaling the harsh toxins released into the air all at once, but—alive.

The next is the ringing in your ears, a high frequency whine that sounds like a mortar shell just went off by your head, leaving you disoriented, possibly concussed.

And the last is the solid body of muscle you're lying on top of, the same one that just saved you from biting it several moments ago. 

He's sprawled out on his back, the rapid wide-eyed blinking and quick rise and fall of his chest trying to draw air back into his lungs an indication he's in much the same condition as you, goggles cracked and his face shield missing. 

Your breath catches when you notice how close the two of you are, so close you can see the dirt clinging to his goatee and the dried cracks of his chapped lips, breath smelling like rolling tobacco and polar ice gum. As much as you hate it, you can't help but think how attractive the view is.

He seems to regain his focus, looking down to lock gazes with yours, realizing the position you're in. His eyes roving over your face as if he's appraising you, as if he's checking you out. 

“Ahem,” you clear your throat, the severely dim lighting disguising the blush bleeding into your cheeks, rolling off and away from him, hoping he didn't feel the rapidity of your heart beating against your sternum like a battering ram. “Thanks.” 

Once the kicked-up soot and debris has settled a bit you take in everything around you—what's left of it. Both your headlamps are busted, both of which you discard along with the goggles and gloves, drills buried somewhere underneath the rubble you just were, the entrance to the tunnel you're in decimated to a cataclysmic degree, the only way in or out. You guys are trapped. 

“Ah fuck,” Bjorn swears, grasping the utterly abysmal situation you’ve both found yourselves in. “This is bad.”

“Thank you for your valuable insight. Where would I be without your brilliant observation skills,” you snark, the two of you sitting up to face each other, backs against either side of the walls that are still intact, knees drawn up to your chests to give each other a little more leg room.

“Shoulda just let ya’ get crushed by them rocks,” he huffs, “woulda saved me tha’ headache. And tha’ oxygen.” 

He's right about the oxygen. In an enclosed space like this with no ventilation, you're both in short supply, aware you'll run out of it soon enough. Even if the collapse didn't initially kill you, the suffocation inevitably will. 

“I seriously can't believe I'm gonna die down here with you of all people.”

“Ah yah,’ cuz this is how I wanted ta’ spend ma’ last moments before I kicked the bucket,” he rolls his eyes, untying the simple knot of his red bandana, which is grimier than usual due to the ash and sediment lingering in the air, setting it on the ground beside him. 

Bjorn pulls a rolled joint out of the breast pocket of his shirt, lighting up as soon as it's in his mouth. You almost tell him to put it out so you can preserve the limited oxygen you have but ultimately you elect to stay quiet. What's it matter anyway? Dying sooner might just be a mercy. 

“How much ya’ wanna bet some synth fuck’s up there right now tellin’ tha' council we're not worth tha' time or trouble?”

“You really have it out for synthetics, don't you?” 

You were aware he didn't like Andy, an opinion he made known every time Rain brought him to group hangouts but you didn't realize it ran that deep, never connecting the dots between his insults and the prejudice he clearly harbors. 

He chuckles, smoke billowing out of his mouth as he does so, a pungent cloud of weed looming over you, “ever tha' observant one, aren't cha babes?” 

“Fuck you,” you bristle, arms loosely wrapping around your shins, fingers lacing together just below the kneecaps. Although, to be fair you did more or less say the same thing to him not even five minutes ago. 

“Don’t threaten me with a good time,” the few oil lamps the cave-in didn't snuff out highlighting the wink he throws your way. “And if ya’ must know—yeah, I do. Every fuckin' last one of ‘em.” 

Deciding to tread carefully you simply ask, “why?” exercising a level of caution you normally never do.

Silence drags between you, expecting Bjorn to ignore your probably invasive question when, to your surprise he replies, answering with a painful degree of honesty that nearly blindsides you, “my mum. She worked in tha’ mines like most o’ us had to. When I was eight, there wuz a collapse much like this one. ‘Cept she was one o’ three miners on one side o’ the tunnel while there were a dozen in tha’ otha. A synth convinced tha’ council her life wuzn’t worth theirs. So—they let her die. Scared. Confused. Probably hopin’ for rescue. She always told me ta' keep tha' light on fo’er when she'd tuck me inta bed before her shift every night so she could find’er way back ta’ me.” 

He yanks out two sets of dog tags tucked underneath his shirt by the chain, one of them his and the other presumably his mother's, just like the ones you’re wearing, the corporation’s way of identifying bodies of miners lost, his thumb running over the engraving etched into one of the nameplates. 

Sympathy swells inside of you listening to him, “that's horrible.” 

You had assumed Bjorn's past was traumatic based on the little information Tyler was willing to share but you never expected it to hit so close to home.

“I get it,” you murmur, head tipping back to stare at the chiseled rock and remaining support beams to hold back any stray tears that might threaten to fall, clenching at your dirty pant legs a little tighter.

“My mom. She was pregnant and forced to work down in the mines until the shit she was inhaling induced her prematurely. Guess toxic fumes are bad for a pregnancy,” you roll your eyes, biting off a sarcastic, watery chuckle. “She ended up dying during childbirth.” 

There's a pause, your words hanging heavy in the air. You've never shared that with anyone who didn't already know. Word traveled fast around each sector, gossip the only news worth spreading, people talking about the girl orphaned by a reckless mother who should've known better. Fuck, it makes you sick just thinking about it.

When Bjorn speaks it's soft, comforting. “Thas’ horrible. So thas’ why you been volunteerin’ for Kay.” 

“Yep,” you confirm, popping the p, head rolling forward to lock eyes again, watching him put out the remnants of his joint on the wall next to him before flicking the butt into the pile of debris. 

“And ur dad?” he asks, the bend of his elbows resting on either one of his knees, leaving his forearms to dangle. 

“Never knew him,” you shrug, becoming detached at the very mention of him, like you’re discussing a stranger, which in a way you are, “he left right after knocking my mom up. Didn't want the added responsibility of raising a kid.”

“Fuck, I wish my old man woulda jus' dipped out from tha’ start. Woulda been the only decent thing he ever did fo'us,” Bjorn spits, words dripping with vitriol, clearly holding a hatred reserved for his father only. 

“What happened to him?” No longer trying to tiptoe around the questions that pop into your head since you're both over sharing. Since you're both dead anyway. 

“He’s still around but 'e's not around if ya know whadd’i mean. After my mom died 'e started boozin’ heavily to deal widit. When he wasn't in the mines 'e was out gettin’ piss drunk. Stupid prick gave fuck all about me and Navarro.” 

There's a growl that rumbles deep in his lower register, rotating his arms so they're pointed wrist-up towards the ceiling. You follow his line of sight, seeing scars littered across his skin, raised and round and purple from healing. Cigarette burns. 

“Bjorn…” you trail off, a level of sadness you haven't felt in a long time settling deep in your skin, “That's—what the fuck. Did Jackson’s, did they do anything about it?” 

“They don't give a rat's arse, yanno that,” he scowls, but not at you, turning his arms back down, “s’long as I'm alright enough to work they'll overlook a black eye or busted up lip. They can all fuckin’ eat shit far as m' concerned.”

“I'm so fucking sorry about earlier. I really, truly am,” You stress, even more genuine than the initial apology you offered, feeling like a total bitch for what you said to him in the quarry. 

He waves you off, combing his fingers through his sweaty, clumped bangs to separate them, “s’alright babes. Already forgiven.” 

You never thought you'd say it but you're actually glad Tyler convinced you to talk things out with Bjorn, even if it inevitably did lead to your approaching demise. If, by some miracle, you both survive, maybe you can be friends. At the very least, friendly. 

“Can't believe m' gonna die a bloody virgin,” Bjorn groans, head falling back against the rock. 

“Really?” You laugh, a full-body chuckle that has you coughing into a loosely curled fist immediately after, your lungs burning from all the shit you've breathed in, “that's your concern?”

“Uh yah! What else do I hafta' be worried about? Dying? That shit’s imminent at this point, hate ta’ break it ta’ ya’ darling.” 

He has a point. Besides, maybe focusing on a smaller problem will diminish some of the fear about the larger one at hand. 

“You're right,” you concede, though you can't help but be surprised by the revelation, with the way Bjorn carries himself he seemed like the type to sleep around with anyone willing to let him, “that does suck.” 

“Oh? So ur not one then?” he asks, raising an eyebrow that disappears under his hair, curiosity piqued. 

“No. Made a few mistakes back in my old sector, had a few one night stands. Nothing serious,” you shrug, indifferent. None of them ever meant something to you anyhow, just a brief period of time when you used alcohol to cope, when you just wanted to feel someone's arms around you. 

“Course—I don't hafta’ die a virgin.” 

His eyes openly roam over you, from your face down to what he can see of your body with the position you're sitting in, tongue parting his lips to slowly lick over them. You feel your stomach flutter, like you'd just swallowed a congregation of butterflies. Okay, he's definitely checking you out now. 

Are you seriously suggesting I sleep with you?” You ask in disbelief, the question entirely rhetorical considering you're the only other person here and he's eyeing you like a prime cut of steak, “what are you, high?”

“Clearly babes. That's beside tha’ point. Wouldn't be tha’ worst thing in tha' world, now would it?” 

“It might be,” you retort, “so was this just your plan all along? Get in my pants?” 

“Ah yah, I collapsed tha' mine so you'd drop ya' knickers fo' me, fucking come off it. And come with me, why don't ya?’” He smirks, doing that signature cocky head tilt of his.

That's not what you meant. Moreso wondering if that was his goal from the start, the tension between you seeming sexual in retrospect. You spear your bottom lip between your teeth, actually considering the offer, always finding Bjorn annoyingly, stupidly, attractive. Maybe you're the one that's high.

“I—” 

As if on queue you hear a familiar rumble, just like the one that trapped you here to begin with, rubble and soot raining down on top of you and Bjorn, looking up just as the ceiling bows.

Bjorn is quicker to react than you are, lunging at you right as one of the wooden support beams gives way and topples sideways, taking another chunk of the mine with it, the both of you avoiding another close call as the tunnel around you continues to shrink and shrink. 

This time he ends up on top of you, the full weight of his body pressing down onto yours, his gaze drawing away from the roof to meet yours again, the intensity of his stare causing heat to pool low in your core.  

Then he kisses you—and you let him. 

[mythicmanuscripts]

So, what are your thoughts about Aemond and reader’s first time, considering all his past experiences with the brothel and all (I don’t know if that too vague, if it is, I’ll try to be more specific next time haha)

I love this question! Also, I don't think this is too vague but thank you for checking!! For future reference and also for everyone else, if you had just asked for something like "write Aemond and reader sleeping together" or "write Aemond x reader smut" then I'd say there's not enough to go on. Hope that makes sense!!

Anyway, NSFW sub!aemond below the cut :))

This ask is in reference to the brothel scene where Aemond admits that Aegon essentially forced him to sleep with a sex worker when he had just turned 13.

I'm sure I've babbled on about what I'm about to say before but oh well here we go again: I think that a big part of Aemond's discomfort with the sex worker wasnt just because he was being forced to lose his virginity but because of how utterly exposed he felt? We all know how closed off and composed Aemond always tries to be, and we know he has plenty of insecurities both from his missing eye and from being the second son. The concept of sex as a whole had always felt uncomfortable and far too vulnerable. To lay completely naked with another? Aemond couldnt imagine a scenario where that wouldnt feel terrifying.

And then he turns 13 and Aegon shoves him into a brothel and all his worst fears are confirmed. The sex worker's eyes shamelessly travel across his body and he has to fight the urge to wrap a blanket around himself. The lights are too harsh, he can hear other people having sex outside the room. r

When he leaves there he's convinced he'll never lay with another again. He even decides that he'd let his future wife fuck the first blond hair man they can find and call the resulting child his heir because he couldnt bring himself to be the exposed again.

But then Alicent introduces him to you and you throw a rather large wrench in his plans because you don't do any of those things that left him feeling exposed?

Even before the wedding, you're always checking his boundaries and ensuring you abide by them. If he seems uncomfortable you step away and you ask. And beyond that, you form a real, genuine bond with him that he's never had with anyone before never mind with a romantic partner.

The truth is that Aemond just really loves being around you? He doesn't even notice his walls beginning to crumble because he just feels so safe with you. For the first time he's not constantly having to prove himself.

You're shocked by how different he is to how everyone else had warned you he'd be. You don't see an ounce of the danger and dominance so many others had warned you off, hell even his own mother warned you of. But those traits have always been due to a fight for survival, due to him having to come out on top or risk being ridiculed or worse.

So when you come along and you make it so that he doesn't have to fight for love and respect and recognition? Then all that violence and anger slips away because he doesn't need it here.

You start out VERY slow.

Aemond can best be described as almost skittish when it comes to sex and intimacy. He likes it, but the moment something moves just slightly too quickly he's jumping up and going to hide in his own private chambers.

The first time you kiss him after the wedding, he very nearly starts crying because you just kiss him so gently with absolutely no indication of wanting to go any further than that. Aemond realises he could happily spend hours like that, with the two of you laying together and trading soft kisses.

He tells you about the sex worker eventually, maybe Aegon actually makes a comment about it? Like a few weeks into the marriage Aegon decides to tease Aemond and ask him if he still goes back to his first or if he's actually fucking his wife. (Aegon promptly sprints out the room immediately after saying this because the look in your eyes when you turned to look at him was absolutely terrifying)

So he opens up about the sex worker with you, and he full on sobs when you say he deserved better and that he deserved to feel safe, that sex should always feel safe.

From then, you put a lot of time and effort into ensuring that your chambers together becomes that warm, safe place aemond was missing. You only approve 3 servants who are allowed into your chambers with Aemond, and only 2 are allowed in at a time. No servants can come into the chambers unprompted either. If you want the sheets cleaned or the laundry taken to be washed, then you will call one of the 3 approved servants but servants are not allowed to do those things on their own, only when you request it.

Once that's been sorted you start getting the rooms themselves into a better state. You keep candles all over the walls, get the softest blankets and pillows you can. Maybe you also get some of his favourite books to put up? It's a slow, gradual change but Aemond notices every single change and every time his breath it taken away at how perfect you are. He never even had to explain how vulnerable he was the first time, you just knew and you knew how to make him feel comfortable.

The actual sex takes longer of course, and there's plenty of oral and makeup sessions before he's ready for more, but when you do get to the main event he can't believe how good he feels?

The way you praise him and check in on him brings tears to his eyes, and when you gently wrap a blanket around his shoulders while you stroke him he really does cry. Just that simple gesture of putting the blanket over him makes him feel so much less exposed.

Sex is always a calm, quiet affair with Aemond. Make no mistake, you certainly get edge him and overstimulate him and all that fun stuff, but that's never with standard sex. If you're doing those other things then you're either pegging him or using your hands/mouth. The actual act of sex, that is always gentle. It's the gentleness that really breaks him.

(One quick sidenote to end off: cockwarming, how the flying fuck have we never discussed it? I'm now now picturing a scene where it's the first time you go the whole nine yards, but then from the moment Aemond slowly enters you, he just stays still? At first you think he's trying to get used to the feeling but when even more time has passed and he still hasn't moved, you ask him that's going on and that's when he kinda just collapses into your, his cock still inside and mumbles about how nice this feels. So needless to say, actual sex was not achieved that day)

[twilightkitkat]

What makes this Logan the "Worst Wolverine"?

There are versions of him who are "worse" in different ways. Some of them failed not just to save the X-men, but to save the world. Some let down everyone around them more harshly than he ever did. Some were objectively less "good" than him. So what separates him from the rest?

One of the biggest factors is regret.

Regret is one of the most crucial parts of Logan's character. It's the whole reason he's called the "Worst" Wolverine to begin with. It's the cause of his depression, the big hurdle he needs to overcome, a primary motivator for him.

But all variations of Wolverine experience regret, so what makes Worst Wolverine in particular so special? Why is he called the "Worst" Wolverine when there are other variants who have "failed" the X-men? When there are other versions who aren't good people? When almost all of them are burdened by remorse?

I think, firstly, it's important to clarify the depth of Logan's regret. He isn't just regretting the X-men's deaths. He isn't just regretting his inability to prevent it. He isn't just regretting the way he reacted to their deaths, how he rampaged and let his anger funnel into destruction.

He isn't just mourning what he lost, he's mourning what he could've had.

Because in his world, he never really had the X-men. They existed and he occasionally worked alongside them, and clearly got close enough for them to want him to join, but he never belonged to them. He never took them on their offer. He never became a part of their team. He never wore that suit. He never accepted them as his family.

Before they died, he was on rocky terms with them. They cared, and they knew he cared to some extent, but that was it. Logan cared enough to show up but not to stay. He was so terrified of commitment and letting people in that he hid away from his troubles with alcohol.

They died without ever knowing that he really cared. They never had the chance to learn the depths of his feelings or yearning to be part of their family even if it scared him. They died with the memory of him as a closed-off, reclusive, alcoholic bastard.

And Logan has to live with that. Live with the knowledge that that's the last impression he left, the image that flashed before their eyes as he died.

Logan has lost the X-men in several universes. In the main movie timeline, in which he was regarded as a hero, he still lost them. There still was "more" he could've done to save them. He could've stopped Scott from his self-destructive spiral or gone with him. He could've reached Jean before she was too far gone and beyond saving. He lives with the regret of knowing he could've done more for them, that if he'd just acted a little differently they might still be there.

But at least he had them. At least, while they were alive, he was honest about his feelings. Even Scott knew he cared, in a fucked-up way. Logan had joined the X-men and saved Scott in return and even tried to hold impromptu interventions after Jean's death. In hindsight, Logan could've done more, but in the moment he acted the best he could with the knowledge he was given.

But Worst Wolverine didn't even do that. He didn't fail them while he was doing the best he could over a blind spot. He failed them because he deliberately chose not to try. He chose not to get closer. He chose not to do more, knowing full well that they wanted him to be more involved. He chose a path of willful ignorance and denial and never had the chance to confront his feelings. Not until he was hit with them full force as he realized the magnitude of what he'd lost.

He never took the chance to get to know them. To become Scott's rival-friend or Jean's almost-lover. He never became a paternal figure to Rogue, never became a confidant to Storm. He can't look back on the "good times" because he didn't have any. He prevented them from happening.

He has no memories to comfort himself with. He has no past to cling to. He can't claim to have lost his family because it never existed. He has to confront the weight of his feelings and the fact that they never were realized all at once. He has to reconcile with how he never took the chance while they were alive, and now it's gone. He has to live with the knowledge that he could've had what he wanted, even for a little bit, if he wasn't such a pathetic fucking coward. That it would be better to at least have something other than the weight of the what-ifs and could-have-beens.

(He has to live with the fact that they never knew. They never knew he cared. He never told them. He could've at least given them a crumb of affection, any hint that he cared. They died thinking he'd move on without a second thought.)

One of Logan's "key" character traits is that he isn't afraid to take what he wants. That he's single-minded and purpose-driven. That he's open about his emotions and pursues his goals by throwing himself into them wholeheartedly.

Succeeding at this is what makes a "good" Wolverine. It isn't necessarily about morality or even power, it's about the ability to chase what he wants and obtain it.

This is what makes our Logan the "worst" Wolverine. He knew what he wanted but never pursued it. He gave up before he even started, distancing himself from the X-men so that they couldn't hurt him.

Wolverine is meant to represent a man who never gives up. Who pushes through pain and hardship with unsheathed claws and gnashing teeth. Who refuses to lose. He's meant to be the image of perseverance: someone who throws aside regard for his own well-being to protect those he cares about and achieve his goals. He's always been scared, terrified even, but he doesn't let that stop him. He rises up to that fear and spits in its face.

He was supposed to be a symbol of bravery. Of courage. Of being true to yourself and fighting for what you believe in even if it's hard. Of being gruff and sometimes mean but painfully honest and willing to do what's needed for the sake of his team and the world.

But "Worst" Wolverine isn't like that. He let his fear control him. He acted the opposite of what made Wolverine special. He isn't the worst because he's evil, or even because of the deaths he's caused. Some versions were more morally grey and mean and fucked up.

He's the worst because he didn't have the strength to keep going. Because he gave up too soon and it cost him a family he never really had. Because he didn't go down with a fight, he just laid down on the ground in a puddle of alcohol and let it swallow him whole.

He's the worst because he went against everything he stood for. He never pushed, never tried, never suffered for the sake of what he believed in. He just suffered without purpose. Sometimes on purpose. He had no reason for living, nothing to belong to, and nothing to strive for.

This is why he was considered the "Worst" Wolverine.

And this is why, at the climax of the movie, Wade called him the "Best" Wolverine.

Because Logan was no longer aimlessly floating without a purpose. He stopped running away from his problems and feelings. He looked Cassandra dead in the eye as she offered him the "easy way out" that he'd always taken before and refused it. He laughed as Wade captured her even if it took away his only chance to silence the voices in his head because he no longer wanted that.

He didn't want to keep living in the past, he wanted to finally fucking fight for something. For his future. (He wanted to finally fight not just because he had no other option. Not just needless violence. Not just because he didn't know anything else. But because he had a purpose. Something that he wanted and that he'd try to pursue.

He finally found a purpose. Something to believe in. Something he'd fight for. Live for. Die for. So when he finally was willing to sacrifice himself, even if he didn't, he achieved the crux of what "Wolverine" is meant to be. Someone willing to do and endure anything to protect what he cares about. Someone willing to do the impossible to reach his goal. Someone willing to die for his family.

Wade helped him become the "Best" Wolverine because he gave him what he'd always been looking for: a home.

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Yandere Witch /// Part 2

Part 1

The great part about Rhiana the Witch’s cozy cottage outside that small town was the privacy. Not just when her most wriggly meals ran; but because it was purposefully hidden. The faerie circles just outside the town messed with maps and satellites making her little place a safe haven from the enemies and ex-lovers experiments she’d made over her many centuries of being alive. But now that she was leaving to get closer to you, she was uncomfortably exposed. 

“Hey Rhi-Rhi you okay? You’ve looked so nervous since I picked you up.”

“Oh I’m fine it’s just all these people make me so nervous.”

“I guess it is kind of overwhelming.”

“Maybe you can take me somewhere private. Like your place maybe?”

She thinks it’s worth the risk as she’s allowed to use the same excuse to cling to your side. Pretend to be distraught when she gets hit on to have you pretend to be dating to drive off desperate and confident weirdos. She eats that up. Unfortunately though, her open fawning over you leaves her unguarded from soul searches. An old technique lovers of olde used to unite over long periods. Naturally, trouble just happens to be in the 500-meter radius and is well off enough to get in close to foil her plans.

“Hello there. I’m your new neighbor. I wanted to introduce myself to everyone since I’m completely new to the area.”

“Oh hi, nice to meet you! I’m (Y/n) and this is Rhi–”

“(Y/n) you don’t have to introduce me I’m only visiting.”

“That’s such a shame Rhiana. I would’ve hoped we could…get to know each other better.”

Trouble is one of her craziest exes–Narciness. He was a nymph and she was a witch. Back then, it made sense that they were perfect for one another. Both were a gorgeous couple, immortal and with plenty of magic. Not to mention he didn’t even mind that she ate humans for her youthful appearance. But it just wasn’t right for Rhea. Just as his name would suggest there was a deep-seated and well-masked narcissism that showed its ugly head at the worst times. She ultimately took the very mature option that she’s learned over the centuries when it comes to major obstacles. She ran. 

“Nice to see you again Rhiana. It’s always nice to know my girlfriend decided to disappear from me the last few centuries!”

“Quit whining. I left you a note didn’t I?”

“A note cursed to explode with a memory-wipe spell the second I finished it. If I didn’t know any better I’d say you were trying to leave me.”

“Oh genius, you’re finally getting it!”

“That can’t be right! You and I…we’re perfect together! And you instead cheat on me with the most imperfect human!”

“Do not ever talk about my (Y/n) like that!”

She’s almost glad he’s crazy enough not to hide his intentions. Had he been cut from the same cloth as she-she would have kept silent until after she devoured her prey. But Narciness is an idiot who so clearly had it out for you that she wouldn’t let him live another day without singing your praises. Unfortunately, the thing about killing a nymph is that it wasn’t easy, a child of the old powers of nature. He’s survived a lot of things and can withstand some of Rhea’s most fatal potions. And especially when she’s far from home spending time with you, she’s a little shorthanded. So she’ll come up with another remedy. 

“Hey Narc, I didn’t know you went shopping here.”

“I think instead of solely getting the organic stuff I figured I’d swing by here every once in a while. The gallery is truly immaculate.”

“Good for you. C’mon (Y/n) we’re going to miss our movie.”

“Oh right! Well, it was nice seeing you, Narc!”

“Oh (Y/n) before you go, there's something I wanted to tell you.”

“What?”

“I just love your smile.”

“Oh, thanks !”

“Let’s go, (Y/n).”

The thing she found that sparked her attraction to him was his smile. It lit up the room like yours and in the end, it’ll be what protects you from his violent protections of ‘their relationship’. Unfortunately, now that she’s used a spell to shift his affection she’ll have to figure out some way to end his life before he turns violent against her. Too bad it’ll be hard to figure out in the span of two days. Now she can miss her plane and extend her stay a little while but it’s just not enough time. Not enough time for her to make sure ‘Narc’ doesn’t try anything, she’ll have to do something drastic. 

“Narciness I was hoping we could find some common ground.”

“With you? Babe, didn’t I tell you I was done? Your old news.”

“For you, I might be but I’m the hottest thing in (Y/n)’s world.”

“...I see. So we’re officially competing then. Would you like to fight this out now?”

“I’d like to try something new. A gesture of peace, if you will.”

“...oven mitts? You plan to make me bake? Why would I concern myself with such a lowly task?”

“Did I tell you (Y/n) has a sweet tooth?”

“...”

Rhea the Witch considers herself lucky her ex considered cooking for himself as a job for ‘someone uglier than him.’ She’s also glad she gets to stay another day due to food poisoning. Who knew nymphs gave witches so much nausea?

“Oh Rhea were you eating that bloody meat again? I keep telling you that rare steak is great but you got to make sure it’s at least cooked a little bit.”

“I know hon. I should really think about maintaining my diet better.”

“Yeah, I’m just glad this is happening now. Instead of on a plane or bus where I wouldn’t be there for you.”

“Yes…(Y/n) what do you think about me staying another week or so. So many things keep happening, it feels as though fate is telling me.”

She may have some serious indigestion but you were hers and the threat was…toast. For Rhea, her reward was being pampered by you. Finally able to rest with her love by her side. Nothing was better and nothing could bother her. Not even the distant thought of the new owner to the place next door. 

“I noticed your plants. I’m not a huge fan of nature but maybe you can show me the ropes. What do you say, neighbor?”