#and then remembering he almost drowns in the beginning of this shit

[petriwriting]

Based on THIS Request.

Thank you for @skywalkerzs for requesting. I had fun with it! thinking of doing a continuation of the next episode as well.

"JJ where have you been?" Kie asks him.

"We've been so worried." you reply. He walks up, after his outing going to see who he thought was his father, Luke. "Long story. Where are the others" he asks. "Almost back by now, why what happened?" You ask him, kie took off her gardening gloves and folds her arms, ready for whatever exaggerated story JJ is about to tell. You had stayed with kie to tend to the garden, worrying about JJ every minute, wishing to be by his side but respecting his need for alone time. whatever it was.

"Nothing." JJ says, he's defeated. "Please don't lie." you plead. "it's just my dad." he says. "oh shit," kie mutters. "He's back?" you ask. "yup. He's been holding up at barracuda mike's, I guess," he explains. "he's not trying to come back here is he?" kie asks. "Did he say anything about the place being his?" you add. "no it wasn't about that." JJ says flatly running his fingers through his hair. "Cause' the town council thing is tonight." she adds, shes worried for him just as you are.

"It's fine." he insists. "Kie can you give us a minute?" he asks, the wind is gently breezing through his hair now, it's a mess. "Yeah totally." She says, grabbing some of her gardening tools to put away, then disappearing. Kie was smart enough to know something was up, but she wanted to respect the privacy of her two best friends.

"Luke," JJ begins, he is anxious and you can tell. "My dad," he corrects himself. "He told... He told me he wasn't my real dad." he says. "was he serious?" you ask, luke was an abusive alcoholic, so for you it was hard to trust anything he ever said. "It wasn't a joke... He was being, weird- I don't know. But I get this." JJ shifts his feet and rummages his pockets to pull out a note. "it's from Wes Genrette, It says talk to your father." he explains, you run your thumb over the note. "look at this. It says 'talk to your father,' and then luke tells me that Wes Genrette... He's my grandfather. Which makes Groff, ...My father." he finished slowly.

"So Chandler Groff is your dad?" you question. "yeah." He nods. it is some heavy news. "It doesn't make any sense," JJ paces, gesturing. "But then he says, like, Larissa. you remember the painting? The one... Larissa Genrette." he steps closer to you. "She drowned with her baby? that's me. I'm that baby." he says. you sigh gently. "He's trying to work some inheritance scam. That's it, trying to make a quick buck by using me." JJ raises his voice slightly. "He's done it his entire life!"

"I'm so sorry, Jay." you utter softly, you wanted to kiss him or hug him. your heart is breaking for him. but as if on cue, the twinkie pulls up. "finally. the others are here." you say. "hey," JJ gets a bit serious. "Can we not tell them for now?" he asks. "yeah, yeah of course." you agree.

"I don't want them thinking, like, im a genrette. even if it's probably bullshit." he says. you nod in an understanding way. "of course JJ."

. . . .

The town council meeting is packed full of familiar faces. People who have lived on that island for decades through many generations, and some newer faces. It's a full house. There is subtle chatter, as the board memebers discuss the zoning ordinaces and bring up as a topic of discussion the Maybank property. You are sitting next to JJ, your hand is on his thigh. his other leg is bouncing. He's anxiously awaiting the discussion, but it seems like to kooks already have determined what will come of the property. There is some chatter amongst the pogues. The board then invites a representative from the property to come forward. "anyone feeling brave?" kie asks. JJ tries to stand up but you and John B both stop him. "whoa now," he says.

John B is then elected. He looks at Sarah for an approving nod and reassurance. He wanders up, states his name for the record and begins his defense.

"I'm not a lawyer but this doesn't make any sense..." he begins. You tense up in your seat. someone in the crowds cheers for John B. as he ends his long statement with "We could lose our home," You sigh, saddened at that reality. John B beautifully defends your home, and there is arguing and chatter amongst the Pogues and Kooks of the island. It is such an insane moment. They are trying to invalidate the sale. there's no way. That was yours fair and square.

The original owner, Luke Maybank stepped forward and took off his hat. "I'm sorry J." He says. "This can't be legal!" someone shouts. you are in shock, upset, angry and riled up. You stand up in opposition and notice JJ is frozen, he's biting his lip. Kiara is now up there rallying everyone. Her parents are threatening the officers at the front of the stand.

JJ stands, and turns right out of the church. It takes you a moment before you realize what is happening, the broken glass and JJ fighting against cops. You are shocked and processing everything that has happened. "Go! Get out!" You scream. But everyone is too late. The pogues are now outside, In a crown of aggressive townspeople, and JJ is locked into a cop car, once pope shouts for him to crawl out, he does. for a brief moment, he locks eyes with you while you hold his hands. "Go." you tell him. "Not without you." He says, grabbing your hand and running off as fast as he could manage with you trailing behind him.

. . . .

The two of you run through chateaus, mini-mansions, kook yards. eventually crossing paths with a group of kids playing baseball, in which JJ steals their bat. "Sorry!" you scream back at them, your hair flying behind you as you rush behind JJ, as he halts in front of a jewelry store. You catch up to him quickly.

"JJ what the hell are you doing!!" You shout. there's sounds of sirens in the distance. they can't be too far by now. "I've always wanted to do this," He says, before slamming his bat into the glass storefront, immediately sounding the security system. With the alarm blaring, he steps over the glass and grabs a shiny diamond ring. "I know we've only ever talked about it, but I've been wanting to do that for a long time." he says grabbing your hand and slipping it onto your ring finger. He then looks at the bat in his hands. "They wanted one island, Y/n." he pleads. you are lost in his eyes, he's mesmerizing you. "So give it to em'." he encourages, offering you the bat. You grab it, after slight contemplating. There isno time left. something in you had said, and you took the bat and smashed the rear window of the car and watched as the glass shattered all over the pavement. "Come and get me fellas!" JJ screams as he's riled up, you toss him the bat again and he busts the lamp post, before knocking things over, and lighting the trash can on fire, causing destruction to everything. You watched timidly, while you were riled up you didn't want him to end up in more trouble, but you also knew and loved him.

you knew and loved him to the point where you knew this was an outlet for him, he was letting out all his hurt And anger And even sadness. It was almost healing seeing him be so vulnerable in that moment. The way his jacket slung off his shoulder made your knees weak. He smashed the glass to a women's boutique, taking the hand of the manequinn. "Ladies," he says jokingly. He kissed the hand and smirked briskly. "Sorry, not in front of the wife," then looking at you with a wink. he continued on, and you heard the sirens blaring as the cops approached faster. a scene of destruction behind. "JJ we need to get out of here." the next thing you know you are once again running along with him, away from the cops.

[wrathiincarnate]

🚓

[smileysuh]

Love Plug

🌙 starring. Johnny Suh x afab!Reader

🔮 preview. “The only things Johnny’s horny for are things that come in green: money and weed. He doesn’t date, babes, and you two are on a date.”

tw/cw. weed/drug use, shotgunning (kissing after John's taken a hit from a joint), reader likes wine, alcohol, plug!Johnny, unprotected sex, oral (f/m receiving) face riding, big dick john, 69-ing, size kink, grinding, multiple reader orgasms, fingering, pussy stretching, dirty talk, praise, ass groping, hand job, creampie/filling kink, cumming together, etc… I pet names: (hers) angel, sweet thing, good girl

👹 rating.18+ explicit I wc. 7.9k

🍭 aus. plug/drug dealer!Johnny, semi-strangers to lovers, Valentine's Day, etc…

☀️ mlist + an. I know this is slightly late, as it's Valentine's Day themed, but I hope ya'll like it anyway! big thank you to @sehunniepotwrites, my beta reader, my fellow John lover, my bestie- Love you girlie, thank you for helping me edit this to get it posted on time 💕

Being alone on Valentine’s Day is never fun. It would be one thing if you were with your girlfriends, but today, you’ll truly be alone. Everyone is busy, people are working, or with significant others- you feel like you’re the only person without plans, and it’s driving you completely insane.

Your apartment is spotless, you’d gone on a cleaning bender to distract yourself from today’s date, but as three o'clock rolls in, you find yourself sitting on your couch and staring at the ceiling.

There’d been a time in your life when boredom would make way for addictive traits. Dopamine-filled hobbies that you’ve since done your best to squash. But as three becomes four and you have nothing to satiate yourself - not even the pink bottle of wine in your fridge has been able to drown your loneliness - you begin to consider more drastic measures.

You’d never been a stoner, per se, but you’d gone with your cousin a few times to pick up from her run-of-the-mill dealer. If anything can help you relax and watch a movie, you think it might be some Grade A Indica. 

Unknown number: Hi John, are you out today?

John: define out. Who is this

Unknown number: shit

Unknown number: my cousin gave me your number, I’ve picked up from you a few times

Unknown number: You probably don’t remember me but my name is y/n

John: I remember you

John: how much do you need?

Unknown number: I’m thinking $100 worth?

John: I’ll bring my shit. Text me your address and I can be over within the hour

Usually, when your cousin has gotten in contact with John, he comes to her apartment and the two of you go outside, filing into his truck. He has a duffle with jars full of weed, shatter, and the like. You give him money and he helps you decide what your night is going to look like.

When John calls you half an hour after you’ve texted him, you’re already almost at your door. “I’ll be down in a sec,” you tell him, searching for your keys.

“How about you buzz me up instead?” he suggests. “I’m outside the front door.”

You freeze for a moment. As far as you know, John’s never come up to your cousin’s apartment, and the idea of inviting the sexy local plug up into your one bedroom is sketchy… but at the same time, you’re feeling kind of desperate. 

“Okay, type my apartment number into the keypad and I’ll let you in. The elevator will take you to my floor.”

You hang up, and a moment later your phone rings again. You press the buzz-up key and hold your breath.

You’re not sure if you’re scared of being alone with John because he’s a drug dealer or if you’re frightened of your own lack of self-control. John’s one of the sexiest men you’ve ever seen and this is Valentine’s Day. You’d been planning on maybe getting a little high, pulling out your vibrator, and having a good time with yourself… but if you could have a good time with him…

You give your head a shake, reaching for your bottle of wine. You pour the last bit of it into a cup, lifting it to your lips while you wait for the local plug to arrive at your door.

When he knocks, you practically jump, heart lurching in your chest. You scurry to your door, not wanting to make him wait- not wanting any of your neighbors to see the tall, sexy, tattooed man standing outside your home.

John greets you with a grin. “Special delivery,” he jokes, stepping past you and into the apartment and looking around. “You’ve got a nice place.”

“Thank you.” 

You watch him head into the living space. He walks as if he’s been here before, as if he belongs here. The duffle makes a thumping sound when he nonchalantly sets it onto your small dining table, but John doesn’t immediately open it to show you the product like he does when you’ve bought from him before.

“Is it just me, or does it feel kind of sad in here?” John asks, turning to look at you.

“Hmm?” 

“I just mean…” he gestures around, “spotless house, a pretty girl alone on Valentine’s Day… you haven’t bought from me in a while, sweet thing, I kind of thought you’d quit.”

“I did quit-” you stutter, “I mean… I was never a huge stoner or anything, so I wouldn’t say I quit-”

John grins while watching you search for an explanation. He leans back, palms flat on the dining table. The black v-neck he’s wearing shows off some of his chest piece and the tattoos on his neck are definitely a distraction as you try to formulate words.

“Look, all I’m saying is… I’d hate for you to lose your sobriety streak because you’re feeling lonely on Valentine’s Day.”

“I’m not exactly sober,” you scoff, reaching for your glass of wine.

“Is that a rosé?”

You look down at the liquid. “It’s a pink strawberry sparkling wine.”

“Sounds nice. Give me a taste.” He holds out a hand, and it’s clear that it’s more of a demand than a request, so with a sigh, you hand your cup to the local plug.

John swirls the glass, then he lifts it to his lips. He doesn’t sip, doesn’t take his time, he simply tilts his head back and downs the wine in two large gulps. When he’s done, he wipes his hand across his mouth, grinning mischievously. “Yummy.”

“That was the last of it,” you groan. “Now I have to hit the liquor store too.”

“Is it usual for you to get crossed, sweet thing? Weed and wine? You must really be feeling some type of way today.”

“So says the drug dealer working on Valentine’s Day.” You roll your eyes, annoyed that he’d downed your whole glass and isn’t cutting to the chase of your transaction.

“Ouch,” John laughs. “When did you get such a mouth on you?”

“Since you just drank an entire cup of wine in two seconds and started talking about my sobriety streak- are you going to sell me some weed or not?”

“For a girl with nowhere to be, you sound like you’re in a rush,” John muses. “You want to get me out of your home that badly, huh?”

“I mean, I would have preferred meeting you at your car,” you admit.

John simply shrugs. “And I wanted to see how dire your situation was. Clearly, it’s pretty fucked. Listen, we can still go down to my car if you want.”

“Will you sell me the weed if I go with you?”

“Nah, but I can take you out for a drink instead.”

His words hang heavy in the air, and your mind does mental gymnastics to make sense of the suggestion. 

Is he asking you out? 

Finally, you ask, ��Aren’t you working?”

“The good thing about being your own boss is you can always say fuck it, I wanna go to a bar,” John points out. “So are you going to come with me and let me distract you better than weed would? Or are you going to mope around here with no wine, no weed, and no sexy plug to make you feel better?”

You definitely have a sexy plug or two hidden away under your bed that could make your day better- but you don’t tell John that. Instead, you let out a sigh. “I guess I have nothing better to do.”

“That’s the spirit, sweet thing, now let’s go on an adventure.”

The place he takes you to is a complete dive. It’s a dark ambiance, and as you settle onto a bar stool, you notice the stickiness of the counter in front of you. John, however, seems completely at home here. He doesn’t mind the alcohol-stained wood, leaning over it to speak to the bartender over the loud rock music that plays through the establishment. “Two shots of the regular,” he announces.

“You got it, Johnny,” she laughs, turning to grab a bottle of whiskey from one of the higher shelves.

“So I guess I don’t have to ask if you come here often,” you breathe.

“And I don’t have to ask if you’ve been here before. You stick out like a sore thumb, sweet thing. Relax a little.”

You let out a sigh. “Are we really going to do whiskey shooters?”

“I’m buying so I’m choosing,” John insists. “But if you want a cocktail or something, you can get that too, on me.”

So instead of taking your money today, he’s spending his money on you.

John is an enigma, and the confusion you feel has you more curious than ever.

“So how’d a guy like you get into your line of work?” you ask.

“He’s eighteen, gets stupid tattoos on his neck and hands, is rejected from other lines of work, and then discovers he has a talent for growing the best weed in town,” John responds. “Although, between you and me, I’m pretty good at growing orchids too.”

You had not pegged him as a plant guy. He’s always seemed so one-dimensional, and you realize now that your stereotype of him had been wrong. You’d never have thought John was the one actually growing the product he sells, and the idea of him nursing an orchid - a famously difficult flower - has your heart softening.

The bartender returns, setting two shots in front of you and John. “How’s your day going, Hyuna?” John asks, picking up a conversation with her.

“It’s going,” she sighs.

“Ouch, that doesn’t sound good,” John muses, pushing one of the shooters in front of you. “I thought you were seeing that new guy- the finance bro. Figured you’d be with him today.”

“I’m not sure he’s the commitment type.” Hyuna brushes her long dark hair over a shoulder, looking between you and John. “Besides, someone has to run this lonely hearts club here. You’re ruining the single vibe by bringing a date.”

“My bad for not introducing her, by the way,” John grins. His arm comes around the back of your chair, and he pulls you closer. “This is sweet thing, I’m saving her from making bad decisions today.”

“Yeah? And how are you doing that?” Hyuna laughs.

“By substituting one drug for another.” John picks up his shooter, turning to you. “To bad decisions.”

With a sigh, you grab your own shot, lifting it to clink against John’s. “To bad decisions,” you echo.

The whiskey is like fire as you shoot it, and you have to do your best not to sputter from how bad it tastes. You feel your face scrunch up involuntarily, and it earns laughs from Hyuna and John.

“I think we can all agree Johnny’s taste in alcohol is a bad decision,” Hyuna muses. “What can I get you, sweet thing?”

You order your drink of choice. John asks for three more shooters. When Hyuna sets them all down in front of you, John holds one out to her. “This one’s for you. I’m sorry it’s not working out with finance bro.”

Hyuna assesses the shot, then, with a groan, she grabs it. “I shouldn’t be doing this.”

“No one’s gonna care,” John insists. “And we both know your manager is in love with you. Just take the shot, babes.”

Hyuna rolls her eyes and downs the drink. She sets the glass down, her perfectly manicured black nails dragging along it momentarily. “You and your annoying tastes.”

“You’ll learn to love this,” John assures her. “You learned to love me, right?”

“After I got over how annoying you are.”

John only laughs. He downs another shot, bringing his total to three. Then he stands up abruptly. “Vape break,” he announces. “You girls better not have too much fun without me.”

You watch him leave, sipping on your cocktail. 

“So how did you two meet?” Hyuna asks, half turning to remove some glasses from the washer so she can polish them while you chat.

You lean forward, whispering, “He’s literally my plug.”

“John’s everyone’s plug,” Hyuna laughs.

“How about you? He’s a regular?”

“Yeah, but I also dated his sister once upon a time,” Hyuna explains. “He was her annoying kid brother. I did my best to be nice to him but things didn’t end so well with her- then three years later he came in here, all tattooed and wreaking of weed- He recognized me right away, and he’s been coming in here ever since. Tips good too.”

You’d been wondering about the specificities of their relationship. Hyuna’s gorgeous, like- one of the prettiest bartenders you’ve ever seen. Her lean arms are covered in intricate tattoos, her nails are filed to points, her hair is perfect, her cheekbones are prominent and her lips are puffy like pillows-

Who wouldn’t have a crush on her?

“He’s an interesting guy,” you muse finally.

“Don’t let his tattoos fool you,” Hyuna says, meeting your eye. “He’s a sweetheart. He just likes to look all tough because of his job.”

You consider what she’s just said.

“So…” your throat feels a little dry. “Does he often come in here with girls?”

“Never. And especially not on Valentine’s Day.” Hyuna sets a cup down, leaning over the bar top to get a good look at you. “So tell me, sweet thing, what’s the end goal here?”

“Hmm?”

“Johnny might be an annoying plug, but like I said, he’s a good guy. I’m not dating his sister anymore, but he’s still like a kid brother to me. I don’t want to see him get hurt.” There’s a beat of silence. “He’s giving you heart eyes, and he let you choose your own drink. John doesn’t even let me choose my own drink once in a blue moon when we go out. He’s also never cared about what drugs I do, so why does he care so much about you? What makes you so special?”

“I…” you set your cocktail down. “I really can’t answer that.”

Hyuna cocks her head, pursing her lips. “Girl to girl, don’t be a bitch to him. I’m the one he’s going to come crying to if you reject him really hard. Let him down softly, if you have to.”

“Honestly, girl to girl, I don’t even know if he’s into me that way.”

“Sweet thing,” Hyun scoffs, “you must be blind as a bat. Don’t you see the way he’s looking at you?”

“I sort of thought he was just horny for Valentine’s Day.”

The bartender lets out a barking laugh. “The only things Johnny’s horny for are things that come in green: money and weed. He doesn’t date, babes, and you two are on a date.”

Your lips part to respond, but the door to the bar opens and John comes back inside. He lumbers over with a grin, taking the seat next to you. His arm slides around the back of your chair and he leans forward, looking between you and Hyuna. “So what did I miss?”

“Nothing important,” Hyuna lies. 

“In that case, I think I’m going to order a-”

“You’re aware that at some point I’ll have to take your keys away, right?” Hyuna raises a brow at John. “I just gave you three shots, you have one sitting in front of you still-”

“We both know I’m a heavyweight,” John insists.

“Sure you are,” Hyuna rolls her eyes, “and your skin is naturally pink.” 

You assess John. Hyuna must have good vision, because in the shitty lighting of the bar, you can hardly tell that John has definitely flushed from the alcohol. His cheeks are a rosy hue, and he looks as boyish as ever, a stark contradiction to the neck tattoos that are also beginning to blossom with color.

“How about this… two more shots,” John bargains, holding up three fingers.

Hyuna scoffs loudly.

“How about… two more shots,” John continues to hold three fingers, “And I’ll buy dessert so my body doesn’t turn into a complete whiskey barrel.”

“Two desserts and you have a deal,” Hyuna sighs.

“Two desserts it is.” John sits back in his chair. “What are you thinking, sweet thing? This place has a really good brownie, although, there's no weed in it.”

“We’ve also got apple pie with ice cream, tiramisu from the Italian place next door-” Hyuna does her best to be helpful, and you’re beginning to appreciate the tough love elder sister act thing she has going on.

You order the dessert that sounds most to your liking, and as you wait, John begins to ask about your cousin. “She’s a trooper,” he muses. “I sold her this massive thing of mushrooms last week and she texted me like two days ago asking for more.”

“She’s a heavy hitter for sure,” you agree.

“She told me once that she only does things like weed and shrooms because they come from the Earth,” John continues. “Never asks for links to cocaine or MDMA or anything- just the Earthy shit. She told me it’s cuz she’s a Taurus.”

You laugh. “That’s my cousin.”

“It was interesting meeting you for the first time,” John continues. “Your cousin gets into the car, knows exactly what strains of weed she wanted- pretty sure she was buying shatter. And there you are, asking for a blunt. Didn’t know if you wanted indica or sativa or a hybrid…” John shakes his head, as if it was the most baffling experience in the world. “In the end, I gave you some indica. Could tell you had a lot of anxiety and shit. I was kind of happy when you stopped buying, I’d hoped you’d found some other outlets or something.”

“I picked up wine,” you say, only half joking.

“Look, on our way back to your place to drop you off, I’ll stop and pick up a bottle for you to make up for what I drank earlier, deal?”

“Deal.”

John grins, and then you see his hand dipping down into his pocket. “Vape break.”

You watch John lumber outside again, and you release a deep sigh, meeting Hyuna’s eye. “Boys and their vapes.”

Dessert had helped mellow John out somewhat, and he’d actually been pretty law abiding while driving to the liquor store after. The two of you are now walking around the aisles, with John asking you all sorts of questions about your preferences when it comes to booze.

It feels shockingly domestic, especially when people go to move past you and John’s hand finds the small of your back, gently prompting you in front of him to make way for others to go by.

“What if I get us two bottles, and you let me come up for a movie,” John suggests as you reach for a replacement wine from earlier.

“What sort of movie?” you ask.

“Anything you want.”

“Are you sure I’m the only lonely one today?” you tease. “You’re being pretty clingy, John.”

“Anxious girls love a man that clings,” the plug insists. “Here, I’ll sweeten the pot for my sweet thing. Three bottles of wine, on me, and I’ll hand roll a blunt that will blow your socks off.”

“What happened to not wanting me to lose my no-weed streak?”

“I never said I’d let you smoke it, I just said I’d hand roll it and you’d be super impressed by my skills.”

You let out a laugh. It’s shocking how much your opinion of him has changed in a few short hours. You can’t believe how comfortable he’s making you feel.

“Fine. Three bottles,” you agree.

John grabs two more to join the one in your hand, and you head to the checkout. As you’re waiting in line, his phone rings, and he brings it to his ear.

“Hey, Mark…” John’s eyes meet yours. “I mean, I’m kind of busy… You really need it huh? Okay, give me a sec.” The plug presses his phone to his chest. “I’ve got a buddy who wants to link up. He lives pretty close by. It would take like… ten or fifteen minutes max. You good with that?”

“Yeah,” you agree. “Sounds okay.”

John lifts his phone back to his ear. “Okay, I’ll be there in ten minutes. You better be waiting outside though, I told you I’m busy.”

A short while later, you’re sitting in the front passenger’s seat of John’s truck as he pulls up in front of an apartment building. A man in a hoodie and baseball cap is standing there, and he quickly gets into the back, giving you an odd look.

“Mark, this is sweet thing. Sweet thing, this is Mark,” John says smoothly.

“Dude. I didn’t know you had a girlfriend.”

John ignores the comment. “How much are you spending today?”

“Five hundred.” Mark pulls a wad of bills out of his pocket. 

“The usual?” John asks, reaching down for the duffle by your feet.

“Half shrooms, quarter indica flower, quarter butter or shatter, whatever you think is best today.” 

“You got it.” John sets the duffle gently on your lap, rifling through it. He begins to pull things out, like a jar full of weed. As John sections it off into bags, Mark leans forward to get a better look at you.

“Sorry for interrupting your plans,” he says sheepishly.

“That’s okay,” you assure him.

“You guys up to anything fun?”

“Movie night,” John answers, tossing a baggie of weed back at his friend. 

“Nice.” Mark nods to himself, waiting patiently. 

Soon, John’s fulfilled the order. Mark hands the cash to the plug, and with one final nod and half smile, he gets out of the car. 

“So…” John’s hand returns to the wheel. “Movie night?”

You’re two glasses of wine into the movie when John begins to roll a joint. He’s seated next to you on the couch, his thigh just touching yours as he bends over the coffee table. For a guy with such large hands, he’s more adept than you would have thought he’d be at the fine-tuned movements needed to make the perfect joint.

You’re more enthralled by him than the movie at this point, and you can’t help the way your body reacts when he lifts up his nearly finished product to swipe his tongue across the paper. He seals the joint masterfully before turning to meet your gaze. “I’m gonna pop onto your deck for a moment to smoke this.”

“I’ll join you,” you tell him immediately, pausing the movie to stand up.

You follow him outside, momentarily taken aback by how cold it’s gotten. 

John pulls a lighter out of his pocket, and after one sharp flick, he begins to smoke the joint.

You like the way his jaw looks in the shadows of light from the deck lamp. He’s so handsome and regal-

The cloud of smoke he exhales is bigger than anything you’d ever be able to do yourself, and even that is sexy in some odd way.

“You’re really not going to give me a hit?” you ask.

“Nope.” John looks at you with a lazy expression and a half smile. “You’re the good girl, and I’m the bad guy, remember.”

“Bad guy,” you scoff. 

“Why are you laughing, sweet thing? I’m a plug with tattoos. I’m bad.”

“You’re a softie.”

Now it’s his turn to laugh. “Says who?”

“Says me,” you insist.

“Yeah? And how do you figure?”

You think about it for a moment before responding. “You’ve taken care of me today… even though you didn’t have to.”

“Well, I wanted to.” John takes another puff, blowing it in your face. “It was pretty self-serving actually.”

You roll your eyes, waving away the smoke. “Sure it was, John.”

“Johnny,” he says quietly. “Call me Johnny.”

You stare at him, taking in his pretty face, the way his perfect lips wrap around the joint when he takes a puff. “Johnny… be for real. Why are you here?”

He lets out a laugh, but there’s little humor in it. “Isn’t it obvious?”

You shake your head, holding your breath while you wait for him to elaborate.

Johnny sighs. “Look. I’ve always liked you. I liked having you come around, needing an explanation about weed, and joints versus blunts, and indica versus sativa- it was like… it was like having a little bit of sunshine every once in a while. Then you stopped buying, and I was happy about that, but I also wasn’t. Hadn’t heard from you in months, didn’t have your number, couldn’t ask your cousin about you- you texted, and it’s Valentine’s Day, and I came up and saw you were alone- and… I don’t know… I just hate missed opportunities, and I couldn’t let this one pass me by.”

You’re really not sure what to say. His demeanor is usually kind of joking, he’s the type to always have a smile- but right now, he’s not smiling, not joking- he’s being dead serious. 

“I’m happy I messaged you.” You feel stupid as the words leave your lips, but they bring back Johnny’s boyish grin.

“Yeah?”

“Uh huh,” you step closer, looking up at the tall plug. “Thanks for taking me out for drinks.”

“It would have been a crime to leave a sweet thing like you alone on Valentine’s Day, and trust me, I know all about crime.”

God, he’s such a goof. Why is he so endearing?

“Do you know about shotgunning?” you ask.

Johnny’s brows furrow for a second. “I’m shocked you know about shotgunning.” 

“Do you wanna try it?”

The plug looks you up and down. “Is this a ploy to get at my joint?”

“Nuh uh,” you shake your head. 

Johnny leans forward, meeting your eyes as his lips almost brush past your own. “Liar.”

He pulls away, slotting the joint in his mouth. He watches you while taking a long drag. Then he’s removing the joint and bending down again, meeting your gaze. 

You lean forward, reaching to gently grab at his shoulders. Your heart is racing a million miles a minute in your chest, and you do your best to exhale, although it comes out shaky.

“Kiss me,” you whisper.

Johnny doesn’t have to be told twice, he closes the distance, pressing his lips to yours in an open-mouthed kiss. He exhales the smoke into your lungs and you do your best to breathe it in, but Johnny’s so much bigger than you, and you have to pull away before he’s completely finished his breath.

You sputter a little, feeling tears in your eyes. There’s a rush through your body, and you feel a little wobbly, but your grip on Johnny keeps you standing. 

“John-” As soon as you’ve recovered, he’s kissing you again, but this time, it’s not for the purpose of shotgunning.

This time, he’s kissing you like he means it. 

Like he needs it.

His large hand cups your cheek, and he releases a soft groan when you kiss him back, wrapping your arms tighter around his shoulders to pull him closer. 

He tastes like weed and wine, and oddly enough it’s not a bad combination. As his tongue swipes past your lip and you open your mouth for him, you find yourself releasing a groan of pleasure. 

Johnny returns the sound. In the periphery, you’re aware of him flicking the joint to the ground in favour of grabbing you with both hands. First, he cups your hips, pulling you flush against him, but after a moment, he reaches down to squeeze your ass too.

You go for a breather, and he takes the opportunity to kiss your throat, teasing his tongue against your skin and making you shiver in the cold evening air.

“You know…” you thread your fingers through his hair, “if you won’t give me drugs to use for happy chemicals, the least you could do is give me an orgasm.”

Johnny chuckles, pulling away to look at you with eyes that somehow sparkle. “I thought that was a given, sweet thing.”

“It better be,” you tease, cupping the back of his neck to bring his lips to yours again.

This time, when the kiss deepens and Johnny bends down to cup your ass, he lifts you off the ground, prompting you to wrap your legs around his hips. He pushes the door open behind you, taking you back inside.

You’re so lost in his lips you almost don’t realize he’s moved past your couch, and then he’s gently laying you onto your bed. “So how do you like it?” he asks, pulling away so he can tear his hoodie and shirt off, revealing a toned chest, and all the tattoos you’ve been itching to see.

“I like it any way you want to give it to me. Dealers choice.”

Johnny lets out a laugh. “You’re cute.”

“You’re cute,” you retort, hooking your fingers in his belt to draw him closer again.

Johnny presses a hand to the bed by your head, bending over you so he can kiss you. Your thighs wrap around him, pulling him fully on top of you while you’re locked in the hottest tongue battle of your life.

He’s just so big and sexy- the weight of him is enough to have you gasping, even though he’s still holding himself up with his elbow now propped into the bed. 

His free hand finds your hip, slipping under your shirt to trace your skin. Each brush of his fingers builds the fire in the pit of your stomach, and as he slowly moves to grasp your breast, you find yourself almost dying with need for him. 

You whimper lewdly against his lips, pushing your chest up toward his palm. With a bra in the way, you can’t get the proper stimulus against your nipple, and within moments of him massaging your tits, you begin to tear your shirt off, needing more.

Johnny helps you remove the fabric, tossing it to the side so his mouth can find your throat. “You’re so pretty,” he muses, reaching under you to undo the clasp of your bra. “Can I take this off?”

“Yeah, fuck- let's get naked.” 

Johnny chuckles, pulling away to look down at you. “You sure you didn’t drink too much wine, sweet thing?”

“I’m mostly sober.”

“And that shotgunning didn’t make you needy?”

“You make me needy,” you insist, cupping his face. “You know how you said you were into me months ago? When we first met, I swear I thought you were the sexiest plug I’d ever seen.”

“Probably the only plug you’d ever seen,” Johnny points out with a grin.

“John,” you meet his gaze, “earlier, when you first got here, I wasn’t even sure if I should invite you up. I was worried I’d lose my self-control and jump you or something- trust me, the physical attraction has always been there, but… getting to know you today, I like who you are inside too… so, just fuck me, yeah?”

“Happy fucking Valentine’s Day to us lonely hearts, huh?” 

Instead of answering, you kiss him again, tangling your fingers in his hair. Johnny groans when you tug gently, and he grinds his hips down against your own. You can feel the bulge of his cock as it drags against your core, and you’re pretty sure your panties are going to be ruined after this.

You can’t help yourself, you trace your hand down from his shoulders to his chest, then his abdomen- then you cup his cock, applying pressure that has him moaning again, thrusting against your hand for friction.

“I think I kind of want you in my mouth,” you admit breathlessly.

“That’s funny, I want you in mine.”

You think about it for a moment. “Sixty-nine?”

“Fuck, you’re a girl after my own heart, aren’t you, sweet thing?”

You can only grin, heart thundering in your chest as you push at Johnny’s shoulders, prompting him to roll onto his back.

“You take off your pants, and I’ll take off mine,” you suggest, getting off of him so you can work on your jeans.

Johnny doesn’t need to be told twice, and you watch the way his muscles ripple under his skin as he hurries to get naked. 

He’d never actually taken off your bra, so you do that yourself. In moments, you’re both completely nude.

You stare at Johnny, taking in his cock. 

He’s rock-hard and huge. It makes you excited, but you’re also not sure how well you’ll be able to take him. He must be at least seven or eight inches, and thick too, with a pretty mushroom tip that’s already leaking precum. 

He grins at your reaction. “Think you can handle this, sweet thing?”

“Something tells me you’ll make it fit.”

“You got that right,” he laughs. “Now come sit on my face, wanna taste that pretty pussy.”

There’s something so suave about half-baked Johnny. He speaks with an almost melodic tone, it’s deep and sensual, and your pussy throbs just from the words coming out of his mouth.

As you crawl onto the bed, getting into position, his hands are careful against your form, helping you settle as you swing a thigh over his head, hovering your core over his mouth. Instead of waiting for you to sit down, Johnny lifts himself up a little, burying his face in your pussy before you can even touch his cock.

“Fuck-” you whimper, grabbing the base of his length as he pushes his tongue deep inside of you, licking the length of your slit. 

You would love nothing more than to enjoy his mouth on you for hours- but you have your own job to do, and you’re already drooling. You bring his mushroom tip to your lips, gently licking at him.

Johnny’s large hands find your ass, and he squeezes you gently. “No teasing,” he mumbles, and the vibration against your clit has you squirming down on his face.

You take him into your mouth, sucking on the tip and twirling your tongue. Johnny immediately releases a groan before diving back into your pussy. He grabs your hips pulling you down tighter against his face.

It’s hard to know what to focus on. He feels so good with his mouth worshiping your pussy, but at the same time, you’re kind of obsessed with sucking his cock. He’s so huge, and you want to see how much you can take. You sink further onto his length, feeling your lips stretch at the intrusion-

God, he’s going to absolutely wreck your pussy. You can’t even fit half of him in your mouth before he’s hitting the back of your throat, and as you constrict around him, he releases lewd sounds of pleasure that have your core practically throbbing with need.

You pull off of him, if only to collect your saliva as lube so you can stroke what your mouth can’t reach. Taking a breath and steadying yourself, you grind gently against his tongue, moaning loudly. Then you take him past your lips again, getting lost in the act of simultaneous giving and receiving.

You’re lost in him, so lost that you don’t even know how long you’ve been in this position- but you can feel an orgasm bubbling in the pit of your stomach every time Johnny focuses on your clit.

You find yourself grinding harder against his face, and as the feeling builds, you can’t help but pull off of his cock, gasping and moaning. “Fuck, Johnny, I’m gonna-”

“Cum for me,” he groans, squeezing your ass as he kitten licks your clit. “Don’t hold back. Cum on my face, sweet thing, give me everything.”

You’re stroking his cock mindlessly, your muscles tensing as Johnny takes your clit into his mouth, sucking and licking-

“Oh my God-” you whimper, toes curling-

Your orgasm washes over you like a wave. It tingles through every inch of your being, throbbing out from your core. You and Johnny both release groans of satisfaction, and the knowledge that he’s enjoying having you cum on his face only makes your pussy clench tighter.

You’re practically riding his tongue now, chasing the last inklings of your high until you’re absolutely breathless. 

Johnny presses one last kiss to your clit, and then he’s tapping your ass gently. “Gonna roll onto your back and let me fuck you like the good girl you are?”

“God, yes,” you groan. Your legs are shaky but you get off of Johnny’s face, collapsing next to him. 

“Damn, sweet thing, that was a good one, huh?” Johnny laughs, sitting up and stroking your thigh.

“So good,” you whimper, still feeling the aftershocks.

Johnny gets between your legs, elbow pressing into the bed next to your head as he dips close to kiss your neck. “The way you were grinding against my face was so fucking hot.”

“Johnny-” You wrap your legs around him, feeling absolutely desperate for his cock.

“You’ll have to be a little patient for me, sweet thing,” Johnny sighs, one large hand cupping your breast and teasing past your nipple. “I’ve gotta stretch you out before you can take me.”

“What if I want you now?”

“Like I said,” his breath is hot against your throat, “you’ll have to be patient.”

“What if I want you to wreck me?”

Johnny laughs, pulling away to look at you. “You’re not as innocent as you look, are you, angel?”

You trace your fingers along the fine line, black and white, Japanese Oni mask tattoo that sits on his chest between his defined pectoral muscles. “Not when it comes to you.” 

The plug simply grins at your words, his hand trailing down until it reaches your core. Two thick fingers prod at your opening, and you spread your legs even wider to accommodate him. He teasingly dips the first digit inside of you and you release a moan at how good it feels, but he’s quick to pull it out and circle your clit.

“You know what you said earlier?”

He lets out a humming sound.

“About not teasing?” you correct. “If you’re making me wait for you to prep me, you better not take your sweet time with it.”

“You’ll have to let me take my time with you next time then.”

“Next time?” You cock a brow.

“Yeah,” Johnny ghosts his lips over your own. “Next time.”

“Deal, now finger fuck me open then give me your cock.”

“Jesus, I love it when you talk dirty,” Johnny groans, dipping his finger into your core again. “Tell me more.”

“You just feel so fucking good,” you groan, swiveling your hips. “Even one finger- you’re just so big- Johnny, how are you so big?”

“You haven’t really experienced the Big yet,” John points out, adding a second digit that he scissors inside of you, stretching you out for him.

In response, you reach down and wrap your hand around his cock, pumping him gently. “I’m gonna feel you inside me for days after this.”

“Especially if you let me fuck you tomorrow, and the day after- you could feel me forever if you wanted to.”

“Forever, huh?” You let out a whimper as his digits work harder inside of you, crooking up to stroke your g spot with shocking precision. 

“I’m still a little high, it’s making me… too honest.”

“I like honest,” you admit, cupping his face with your free hand, drawing his lips to yours. “I like you.”

“I like you too,” he whispers, kissing you deeper as he finger fucks you faster. “Okay, sweet thing, I think you’re just about ready for me- dripping all over my hand.”

“I’m ready,” you assure him, staring into those beautiful chocolate-brown eyes.

“Should I grab a condom?”

“Are you clean?”

“Yeah. Contrary to popular belief, I don’t fuck around that often. I’m not a one-night stand kind of guy.”

You giggle. “I’ve sort of noticed that.”

He kisses you again. “I can still grab a condom though.”

“No, I’m on birth control. I want you to fill me up with cock and cum until it’s all I can think about.”

“I can do that.” Johnny pulls his fingers out of your pussy, and before he can lick them clean, you grab his wrist and guide them to your own mouth. “Fuck, you’re so fucking hot, angel.”

You groan around his digits, sucking them clean. When you’re done, Johnny grabs your jaw, drawing your lips to his so he can taste you, his tongue gliding against your own. 

You’ve still got his cock in your hand, and you pump him gently, adjusting against the blanket to get closer to him so you can guide his tip toward your core.

Johnny takes the hint, and he breaks the kiss, pressing his forehead against yours. His gaze dips to where your bodies meet, and he allows you most of the control as you drag his cock through your folds. “You really want this?”

“Just fuck me, John. Please don’t make me beg.”

He pushes forward, the tip of his cock sheathing in your tight core. “Holy shit,” Johnny groans.

“More.” 

Johnny can only laugh, rubbing the tip of his nose against yours as he thrusts deeper into you. The two of you hold your breath as inch after inch stretches you open. You’re so wet, and it makes the process easier, but you can still feel Johnny everywhere.

You’re a wriggling, moaning mess by the time he’s fully inside of you.

Johnny’s breath is hot against your skin, and his chest is rising and falling with effort, his bicep bulging next to your head. “You good?”

“Yeah,” you nod, swallowing thickly.

“Can I-”

“Rail me. Break my back. Murder my pussy.”

Johnny laughs, pressing his lips to yours to shut you up as he begins to move his hips, pulling out only to thrust back in. You can feel your insides practically quivering with each drag of his length against your walls. He’s so big, and you’re stretched to the brink- the vein along the underside of his cock is an added stimulus that has your toes curling already.

You’ll never be the same after this.

No one’s cock is ever going to compare and you just know it.

Johnny’s lips can’t muffle the sounds of pleasure still escaping you, and you grab at his broad shoulders, tracing your nails against his skin.

It’s so easy to get lost in Johnny. He makes you feel safe, and the pleasure he’s giving you has time flying by like nothing else. Johnny’s mouth goes to your throat, teasing the spot that has you moaning even louder.

“Can I flip you over? Wanna see that ass.”

“Do anything you want with me,” you tell him, and you mean it.

With one last kiss, Johnny pulls out of you. His large hands find your hips. He manhandles you over, pulling your ass back and up so he can push into you again. 

“Fuck,” you groan, grabbing at the bed sheets. “You’re even deeper like this-”

Each time his front meets your ass, the slapping sound turns you on even more. He’s practically rearranging your guts like this, and you don’t mind it one bit.

“Do you wanna rub your clit for me, sweet thing?” Johnny asks. “You’re so fucking tight around me, and I’m so sensitive when I smoke- not sure I’ll be able to last long, and I want you to cum with me. Wanna feel this pretty pussy all clenched and dripping-”

Every word has your body tingling, and you bring your fingers to your clit, rubbing in quick circles. 

“Johnny-” you whimper.

“That’s it, angel. You feel so fucking good- so fucking good for me.” He grabs fistfuls of your ass, squeezing in a way that has you crying out. “Who’s my good girl?”

“Me!”

“Who’s taking this cock so fucking good?”

“Me!” 

“Fuck-” Johnny lets go of your ass, wrapping a hand around your throat. He helps lift you up until your back is curved, shoulders pressed to his chest. His lips find your neck, hand dipping down to grasp your breast roughly, pinching your nipple.

“I’m gonna-”

“I know, sweet thing, me too-” He’s fucking into you like a god damned fuck machine, and each circle of your fingers on your clit has you closer and closer to the edge- “Fuck, okay, I’m there- shit, yeah, I’m there- you’re gonna cum with me, right? Gonna cum on my cock and let me fill you up?”

All you can do is whimper, your body fulfilling his ask before your brain can even fully process it. Your core clamps down hard on his cock, and Johnny releases a deep groan in your ear. He holds you close, squeezing you as his thrusts get erratic.

You can feel him cumming deep inside of you, and you’ve never felt this cock drunk in your life. 

Nothing matters except Johnny and his huge cock filling you up to the brink. His lips are hot on your throat, and he fucks you through your highs, your pussy fluttering around him as wave upon wave of pleasure rocks through you.

As you both finish, he pushes himself fully inside of you. You can feel his cock throbbing, and his groans are music to your ears. 

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” he whispers, letting out a soft laugh as he nuzzles against your cheek.

“Happy fucking Valentine’s Day,” you giggle, grabbing the hand on your breast and lifting it to your lips so you can kiss his palm.

He holds you for a few more moments, then he gently lowers you to the bed, cock still inside of you. “I’m gonna pull out,” he says, smoothing a hand over your ass. “You don’t mind if I watch it drip out of you for a second, right?”

“I’m just laying here,” you smile against the quilt. 

Even so, it feels like a loss as he takes his cock out of your aching pussy. His hands are on your ass and he spreads your cheeks. “Fuck, sweet thing. This is the prettiest view in the whole fucking world.”

When you’d texted Johnny earlier for a link-up, you’d never expected this. Never expected to see this softer side of him. 

You’re so fucking happy you reached out- he provided more than what you’d asked for.

“I busted a fat load in you, angel,” Johnny laughs, his thumb moving to rub your clit, causing you to whine and push back against him. “How about we go for a shower. I can wash you up, eat you out some more-”

“Damn, Johnny, are you pussy drunk?”

“Uh huh.” He leans over you, kissing up your spine and to your shoulder. “Valentine’s Day isn’t over yet, we should make the most out of it, right?”

You get the sneaking suspicion that you’re going to be making the most out of it with Johnny for many days to come, Valentine’s Day be damned. God. Your cousin is going to have a freak when she hears about this.

☀️ mlist + an. Thank you so much for reading! I know it's late by three days but this John still has me in the Valentine's Day spirit

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🔮 preview. “You’ll like this. You always like this. You love cumming on my cock. But you don’t get my cum unless I get yours, that’s the deal, right?”

cw/ tw. Unprotected sex, grinding on his thigh, hand job, oral (m receiving) blow job, he spits in y/n’s mouth, spit as lube, masturbation, y/n touches herself while blowing Johnny, fingering masturbation, y/n rides his cock, multiple reader orgasms, praise, gentle degradation, dirty talk, breast worship/tit sucking,  etc…   I petnames. (hers) angel, sweet thing, good girl.

👹 rating. 18+ explicit I wc. 2.6k I teaser wc. 250

🌙 starring. Johnny x afab!Reader

bonus

You’ve gotten accustomed to your plug boyfriend. You’d only been dating for a month when he’d officially asked you to be his, but you know the two of you were exclusive to each other since that very first night you’d fucked. 

Being with John is pretty easy- but his odd work schedule can be a bit of a pain. He never knows how busy he’s going to be, so you can plan date nights, but sometimes he has to push it back a few hours to do unexpected late-night deliveries.

If you’d been cock drunk for him after the first time he’d fucked you, you’re even more dependent on him now.

No drug in the world could fill you up and give you the pleasure that Johnny’s cock does, and you’ve become a little impatient when you have to wait for him to complete deliveries… although, you’d never bring it up with him

You know being a plug is his job. It’s what pays the bills and allows him to dote on you in ways you’d scarcely been able to imagine before meeting him.

Even so, you can feel your skin crawling, pussy practically aching with anticipation as he completes the last handful of orders for the night. He’d initially wanted to be over at your place by seven, but it’s nearly ten now, and you’re three hours behind on the fuck marathon you’d planned.

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[happy74827]

Ice Breaker

[Logan Howlett x Female!Reader]

Synopsis: You start to see your acquaintance/friend in a new light after saving your life.

WC: 6994 (oh, jeez)

Category: Fluff, Eventual Smut (lmfao), Lime/Spice, Slow Burn(ish), {TW: Drowning, Improper Use of Claws (Kinda a joke, kinda not… it’s hinted in the very beginning), P With P, Slight OOC? MDNI!!}

Why am I petrified to post this?? Literally shaking.

So, uh, please be nice to me 😭🫶 Smut is NOT my strong suit. This is like my 3rd attempt at it and the first time I’m posting it. Kinda scary. But I wanted to be that person who wrote all genres (dunno why), so here’s a fic containing mostly all genres? I guess?

@yoursacredqueenmother helped with some parts (mostly the ending) and my confidence so shout out to my queen!! Love you girlie 💞

『••✎••』

Warmth and pain. It’s all you felt. Your lungs were aching, begging for the oxygen that the cold water was denying you. Your vision blurred as your body screamed for air. The feeling of a strong pair of arms wrapped around you, pulling you out of the depths and into a blinding light. You felt the air hit your face as you were laid onto solid ground, a large hand pushing on your chest.

Suddenly, you felt the pressure of a mouth being pressed against yours, and it took a moment before your mind registered what was happening.

It was then a sound of a gasp and a deep, throaty growl sounded from above you, and the warm, comforting weight of the hand was suddenly gone. Only replaced by a sound that resembled a sword being drawn from a sheath.

And then, pain once more. You felt something lodge into the airway, and your body was instantly set into a frenzy, attempting to rid itself of the object. In an instant, the sound similar to a sword repeated itself, replaced only by the feeling of being turned onto your side. Your body began to convulse as a mix of the icy lake water, and your stomach acid spewed from your throat.

When your body finally stilled, your eyes fluttered open to reveal a blurry vision; you began to hear things more clearly. Muffles turned into a voice, which turned into words.

"Shit… Fucking shit," Deep and gruff, almost a growl. You remembered that voice. You knew that voice. "Jesus, you’re ice cold. Fuck!"

The sound of a zipper was heard, and before you knew it, a weight was placed over you, and you were off the ground and in the air.

That’s when you peered up and saw him. The very same man who claimed he was far from a hero. He was carrying you with his arm under your knees and the other supporting your back. He was constantly flickering his gaze to look down at you while you did nothing but stare back.

It was after a moment that your senses were coming back to you, and you began to notice things more clearly.

His jaw was clenched tight, and the look in his eyes was one of concern. You didn't know if it was your imagination, but it looked like there was a tint of red around his iris, which was now a piercing hazel color. The muscles of his face were taut and strained. The furrow of his brow gave him a look of worry while the twitch of his lips hinted at annoyance.

"Lo…" You didn’t realize the impact the water and the ice had had on you until you tried to speak, the sound coming out weak and broken. His gaze flicked back to you, and the red ring around his eyes was gone.

"It’s alright. It’s… You’re gonna…" The cold air hit his face as he opened his mouth, causing his breath to turn into fog. "You’re gonna be fine, Sweetheart. We’re gonna get you somewhere warm, alright?"

You couldn't help but shiver at the term of endearment and nodded in response, knowing that any attempt to speak would probably just come out in a croak.

You didn’t remember much after that, only bits and pieces. You remember the sudden quietness as he ripped open the door of his truck and settled you down on the passenger seat. You remember him securing his jacket around your body, his hands lingering a bit too long on your shoulders.

You also remembered the absolute mental breakdown he had when his truck wouldn’t start.

He had slammed his fist into the dashboard, the impact leaving a dent in the metal, while a loud pang signified the adamantium bones beneath. He was muttering curse after curse and had his head leaned back against the headrest, eyes screwed shut, and a look of frustration and pain upon his face.

It was only when he slammed his head into the steering wheel, clearly aggravated by the failure of his truck, did the it finally decide to work.

You don’t remember the drive, only that the heat was cranked up to its maximum, and he was speeding, his hands gripping the steering wheel a little too tight and his knuckles turning white.

But you remember the look he gave you when he lifted you from the truck, carrying you into some off-the-road motel. For a while, you thought he actually broke into it, but he paid during your trip, both in and out of consciousness.

And now, here you were, completely swaddled in a mass of blankets, in front of a fire that Logan had made as he was pacing the room. His brows were furrowed, and he had his fingers running through his hair in an almost desperate manner. He looked stressed and maybe even a little scared.

Your mind was still foggy, and a wave of pain shot through your head. A wince escaped your lips, and you instantly regretted the noise as Logan snapped his head to you, his eyes wide and his lips parted. He strode over to you, squatting down to your eye level.

"How do ya feel?" He asked, his voice softer than usual.

"F-Freezing," you whispered, your teeth clacking together. Logan looked around frantically, unsure of what to do.

"There’s no fucking hot water in this place," he muttered to himself. "What a shit hole. Fucking cheap bastards. Shit." He continued to ramble, cursing up a storm.

"Logan," you managed to breathe out, your hand reaching out from under the covers and grabbing his bicep. The man was tense as hell. "I-It's fine."

His eyes widened a fraction at your touch before narrowing in frustration.

"It ain't fine," he said, his tone rough. "You’re freezing to the point where yer shaking like a goddamn leaf. How is that fine?"

Your brows furrowed as you tried to sit up, his arms reaching out to push you back down, but you shrugged him off.

"Logan, I'm not… I’m not dying."

He stared at you for a moment, the crease between his brows becoming more pronounced before he shook his head, the muscles of his face twitching in annoyance.

"That ain't the fucking point."

"Then what is the… the point?"

He stood up, beginning to pace again. You watched him carefully as he rubbed a hand over his face, mumbling and cursing to himself. You could feel the frustration practically radiating off him.

You were going to ask him what was wrong, what was the problem, why he was acting so strangely, when his gaze met yours and your breath hitched in your throat.

He looked so… different. You were used to his scowl and his hard features. Quite honestly, his personality was trash mixed with an added dash of salt. But now, even though he held those same hard features, your eyes took it in a whole new way.

His scowl made him seem protective and concerned. His furrowed brow seemed almost endearing, and his clenched jaw gave him a sense of determination.

It made you want to think back on the way he held you and how his arms were secured around you, making you feel all kinds of—

Warmth…

The idea that made you jolt forward, almost falling off the bed.

"Shit!" Logan was at your side in an instant, his arm reaching out and supporting you. "Are ya tryna kill yourself? Lie back down."

"No," you shook your head. "You."

He frowned. "What?"

"You," you repeated, a small smile stretching across your lips. "I need… You."

He stared at you for a moment, his face dropping into a look of confusion. It would’ve been funny if you didn't feel so damn cold.

"Me?"

"Yeah… I n-need heat," another shiver went through you. "And you’re like a furnace. An overheated dog."

"Like a what?" He narrowed his eyes.

"A… just— I'm cold, Logan." You were starting to get tired. "Please."

He blinked at you. Then, he looked at the ground, then at the bed. He was silent for a moment, and you were afraid he wouldn’t do it. But then, his hands were finding the hem of his shirt and lifting it up over his head.

It wasn’t a big deal. It shouldn’t have been a big deal. So, why did you suddenly feel a heat spreading in the pit of your stomach despite him not even touching you yet? Why were your eyes suddenly wide and focused? Why were your lips parting and your mouth becoming dry?

There was just a perfect amount of hair trailing down from his belly button and leading down into the waistband of his jeans. It was almost like a treasure trail but thicker. His muscles were so well defined, their cords protruding from the skin, and he was flexing and twitching as he moved. His stomach was taut, and his hips were slightly visible. His chest was broad, pecs perfectly formed, and the lines between them were the most appealing things you had ever seen.

And right in the center was the all too familiar chain, with the dog tags dangling down, resting just over his sternum.

You couldn’t help but swallow thickly, a strange and unfamiliar heat washing over you. You didn’t really realize how long you were staring until he spoke.

"A lot of girls would pay good money for the view you're getting," he smirked, and the heat in your stomach only got hotter.

You averted your gaze and coughed into your fist. "Sh-Shut up," you mumbled, pulling the blankets back and slipping under the covers.

Logan sighed as he moved the blankets away from your goosebump-covered skin and settled himself in next to you.

Instantaneously, you sighed as the heat emitting from his body enveloped you while he tensed at the contact.

"Shit, you really are freezing," he grumbled.

You couldn't help the slight moan that came from you as his warm arms wrapped around your waist, his chest pressing flush against your back, and his breath ghosting the back of your neck.

You could sleep like this. In fact, you probably would because you were so tired. Your eyelids felt heavy, and the feeling of his warmth made you feel safe.

For a moment, the only noise that was heard was the crackling of the fire, both your panting breath and his, and the sound his throat was making as he swallowed.

"I, uh," his voice was lower and a lot deeper than before. It seemed to rumble through him and into your back. "I thought ya died. When I found you, I thought you were dead."

Your heart skipped a beat, and your mouth went dry. Damn, already with the emotions.

"Well, I'm not," you told him, your voice a lot softer than his. "I'm fine. I’m okay."

You felt him nod against your shoulder. "Right."

And you knew, deep down, that he was lying.

Logan was never a good liar. You knew it from the moment he stepped foot into the mansion. And this, his actions, was living proof of what a horrible liar he was.

"Logan?"

He grunted. "Hmm?"

"Why did you do it?"

You could feel the way his eyebrow quirked in confusion. "Why did I do what?"

"Follow me, and save me," you stated simply. "You had no reason to."

He was silent for a moment. "And, what? I was supposed to leave you there to die?"

"Yes."

"That ain't—"

"But it is, Logan," you said, and he was quiet once more. "You said it yourself. You aren’t a hero. So why did you save me?"

You always knew the answer. But even if you were currently freezing, you wanted to hear it come from him. It was tiringof hearing the same phrase over and over.

And clearly, you poked a nerve because in an instant, his arms were off of you, and you were being flipped over, with all the blankets thrown to the floor, only to find yourself face to face with Logan.

"Is this you pulling my teeth?" He growled, a look of anger on his face. "It sure as hell ain’t a damn good time."

You couldn’t stop the way your eyes kept flickering down his chest, his pectorals tensing as he breathed.

"You say you aren’t, but you are," you told him, not even listening to him. You were too focused on the way the flames of the fire danced along his skin. "Heroes save people. You saved me."

"This isn’t about heroism." He seethed, and the anger was evident. "It’s about you being a stubborn ass and getting yourself in a damn dangerous situation."

"Dangerous situation?" Now it was your turn to get angry. "Are you serious? Are you actually serious?"

"Who the hell just storms off to go frolicking around on top of a goddamn lake? What the fuck were ya thinking?"

"It’s called ice skating, you stupid bastard," you snapped, feeling your body returning back to a chill due to his absence. "I didn't expect it to break, and I didn’t expect to f-fall through. I don’t have f-fucking x-ray vision."

"Any person with half a brain could see how thin the ice was," he spat. "I mean, look at you! Ya, look like a goddamn popsicle."

"I was trying to enjoy myself, Logan. Something you wouldn't know anything about."

"Enjoy yourself?" He barked out a laugh. "You could've fucking died. That isn't enjoying yourself, Icypop, that's being fucking stupid."

"Don’t call me that."

"You are fucking stupid," he hissed. "Do you know what that would've done? Do ya know what it would've done to—"

"Logan," you snapped. "You… This… This is proving my point. If you truly weren’t a hero, you wouldn’t have cared. You would have let me drown and gone on your merry way."

"Anyone would have cared."

"Not anyone," you retorted, "Not everyone."

"You just think that because it's what you want to think."

"No, it's the truth."

"No, it isn’t."

"You saved me, Logan," you whispered, your eyes finding his, which were still burning with anger. "Get it through your head, you idiot. You saved me. I wasn’t even aware you had followed me, but you c-cared enough to keep me from dying. You aren’t a bad guy, Logan; stop trying to convince yourself you are. Because, clearly, you aren’t."

The two of you were staring at each other, neither of you speaking a word. Your breaths were coming out in puffs of air, while his were heavy and almost raspy. The look on his face was intense, and he was practically trembling with anger.

You couldn't tell what was running through his mind, but you had a feeling it was along the lines of, "I'm not a fucking hero. Shut the hell up," or, "Just let me believe what I want to believe."

You didn't know which one it was, but either way, it would be pointless to argue with him.

He would always try to convince himself that he wasn’t a good person. He would try to convince himself that he wasn’t meant for such things.

Even with proving the opposite in so many situations, he still would never take the hint.

And now, with the way he was looking at you, the two of you breathing in the same air, the heat of his body surrounding you, your eyes trying to forget his state of undress, it was hard not to argue.

You didn't mean to do it, but your hand lifted up, and your fingers grazed the chain of his dog tags, sending a shiver through his body.

You couldn’t help but let your eyes flicker down, taking him in for a second time, your eyes trailing down his chest and his abs before finding the patch of hair leading into his—

You swallowed thickly before meeting his gaze again. His eyes were dark, and his pupils dilated. The way his chest was rising and falling, and his jaw was clenching made it obvious he was trying to control himself.

Caught, you quickly dropped your hand and averted your eyes. You didn’t want him to see the effect his body had on you, even if you had no control over it.

"I'm not a hero," he finally whispered, and it wasn’t his words that surprised you, but his voice.

His voice was deep and raspy, and you couldn't stop the way the heat was pooling in the pit of your stomach or the way a strange feeling was taking over your mind. "But, I do care. A hell of a lot."

"Lo—"

"Don’t call me a hero for caring," his arms wrapped around you and pulled you closer to his body. "I care too much for worthless shit like that."

Your throat went dry. He was so warm, so very warm.

He leaned forward and pressed his forehead against yours. Your breathing quickened, your heartbeat hammering in your chest. Not a single coherent thought came to your mind. All you could think about was the way his breaths lined up with yours. The way his skin was brushing against yours. How he smelled so very distinctly Logan, and the way his lips looked so very inviting.

It was taken too far when your tongue slipped out and wetted your own lips, and Logan's eyes darted to the movement.

He stared for the longest time, seemingly frozen, his chest rising and falling heavily, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed. He pulled away only an inch or two, his gaze flicking between your eyes and your lips.

What was he thinking? What was going through his head? You wanted to ask, but you were afraid to break the silence. Afraid to say something and make him come to his senses.

So, instead, you watched his face carefully, the way his lips parted, and his pupils dilated before his eyes found yours once more. Reading him was hard, but this… this was an expression you had seen before.

It was when Jean was flirting with Scott. The way she would lean close and give him that smile, and the way his cheeks would heat, and his eyes would dart down to her lips, then back up.

This was attraction.

And it was an expression you didn't think you would see on Logan. Not for you, at least.

You were one of his close friends, but did you play nice with each other? No. Did you get along? Yes, but those rare arguments the two of you had were heated, and sometimes they didn't make sense.

Did you tease him and mess with him? Definitely.

But never did you think that would lead to this.

Logan was attractive. He was built and tall, and he was very muscular. The definition of a man. His rough, hard features only made him more desirable. And his short temper and bad attitude just drew women to him like flies. They tend to lean towards the bad boys.

You didn’t. You picked the nice ones. The kind ones. The ones who wouldn’t hurt a fly.

You had been with a couple of guys since coming to Xavier's, and all of them had been so nice and so polite, but you did come to the conclusion that they were rather boring.

You couldn't remember the last time you were flustered by a man, or the last time your heart pounded so quickly, or the last time your breath caught in your throat.

But here was Logan, suddenly giving you those feelings and making your stomach do flips. The man who pretended to be the opposite of everything you wanted in a partner was the only one making your heart race.

You didn't know if that was good or bad.

This feeling, though, felt good. Felt so very good.

The way his arm was around your waist, his hand gripping your side, his body flush against yours, his lips just inches from your own, felt too good.

The heat from his skin felt good. The feeling of his warm breath was good. His scent was good. Everything was so, very good.

You were tired, and your eyelids felt heavy. The way your limbs felt like lead and how cold you felt was getting to you. You could feel your body starting to relax.

The only thing keeping you awake was Logan.

He was still so close, and his grip hadn’t loosened. But you couldn't help it when your eyelids started to slip closed, and your body went slack against him.

Logan's grip on you tightened, his arms holding your body tighter, his breath catching, before you felt the softest of touches on your forehead.

Kisses… Kisses were being peppered across your forehead, and it made you shiver.

His lips were so soft. His kisses were so gentle. It was so different from the hard exterior he held. It was like he was a completely different person.

So, you looked up and found yourself nose-to-nose with Logan. His eyes were staring right back into yours, and there was a soft look to his features.

The hand on your waist moved and cupped your cheek, his thumb stroking the skin there.

"You need sleep," his voice was low and raspy. He was whispering as if speaking any louder would break the moment.

"That’s not what I need," you replied just as quietly, not breaking eye contact.

His brow furrowed. "What do ya need, darlin'?"

Words were hard to find and hard to put into sentences. You could’ve said a lot of things. Food, a shower, more blankets, a cup of tea, but the truth was, none of those things would satisfy you.

And the longer Logan's eyes were locked with yours, the more assured you were that what you needed wasn't any of those things.

So, instead of words, you moved your hand to gently grasp the chain of his dog tags. It held the same warmth that was emitting from his skin.

You didn’t know if he knew what you meant or if he understood what you were trying to say.

But the look in his eyes and the way his grip tightened gave you the feeling that he did.

It was silent, and tense. But, it was comfortable, and so, very nice.

You didn’t know if you had the strength to lift your body and kiss him. Or if he had the willpower to.

However, you didn’t need to make the decision. Because when he lifted your hair out of the way and buried his nose into the crook of your neck, his lips just barely hovering over your pulse, you were certain.

So, you did what any other girl would do in that situation.

Your hand tangled itself in his hair, and you pushed his face closer to your neck.

There was a growl, a deep, animalistic growl. One that shook your core from the heat in his voice, and the sound was almost enough to make you moan.

But you were surprised by the feeling of his lips pressing against your neck. You’d imagined with the way he was built, and with his personality, it would be rough and fast. But the way his lips gently caressed your neck, and the way his hands roamed your body made it seem like he wanted to take his time.

His mouth started trailing open-mouthed kisses along the expanse of your neck, his hot breath sending good shivers through your body. He sucked and nibbled, making you shiver, and the way his hand moved to caress your waist was gentle.

It was so unexpected, but it was so very welcome.

His lips traveled up your neck until they were just behind your ear, where he placed a small kiss before nuzzling his nose into your hair.

"Warm enough?"

It was the first thing he had said since your neck began being attacked, and it wasn’t a question that had an answer.

Because, while you were indeed warm, the way his hands were roaming your body and the way his lips were on you was causing an entirely different kind of heat.

And it was obvious that he was trying to get his point across. The way his hips were pressed against yours, and the way his arms were wrapped tightly around you was definitely not helping.

You knew he could smell it, your arousal. And he could most likely hear your racing heartbeat and feel the way your body trembled.

He was waiting for an answer. He wanted an answer.

"Logan," you breathed, your eyes slipping shut and your hands finding his chest. His skin was hot under your touch, and you couldn't help the way you trailed your fingers down his pecs and his abs.

He shook a bit, clearly still not used to your freezing touch, but his grip on you didn't loosen, and neither did the way his body was pressed against yours.

He was hard. Everywhere. His arms were strong, his chest was defined, and his legs were muscular. He was a brick wall, and you couldn't help but admire it.

You couldn't believe how attractive the man was.

Logan Howlett. The guy who was an asshole. The guy who would kill a man with his bare hands. The guy who was working on his temper. The guy who would accidentally pick a fight at the drop of a hat.

The guy who just saved you. The guy who cared about you.

Your hand slid down his stomach, and his muscles contracted under your touch. You were getting closer and closer until you hit the brown border that held up his jeans.

Your hand didn’t stay for long because a hand greeted you, wrapping around your wrist and stopping your movement.

Logan lifted his head from the crook of your neck, and his dark eyes stared into yours. There was a warning in his gaze, and his jaw was clenched tightly.

"Stop," his voice was low and raspy.

Your eyes searched his face, but there was nothing there. No emotion. Just a blank stare. "Why?"

"Don't."

You ignored him and tried to move your hand, but he tightened his grip, making it so you couldn’t move it.

"Logan," you whispered.

"I said stop."

You looked into his eyes and noticed something. His eyes were darker, his pupils were blown, and the look in his gaze was intense.

And it finally clicked.

He was turned on, and he was trying to keep himself in control.

And, you thought about it. If Logan were to lose control, what would happen? What would happen if the man who could slice a man open with his bare hand was in a situation like this, with his hormones raging and his self-control fading?

You didn't think much of it, but when the thought crossed your mind, a rush of arousal surged through you.

You wanted him. You wanted Logan Howlett. And it was a surprise.

He was going to say another word, but your lips captured him, and the hand on your wrist immediately released you.

It was like a switch was flipped. Logan growled into the kiss as you tugged him closer by his hair. The kiss was passionate, and the way his hand slipped under the damp shirt you were wearing was almost too much.

While his one hand was under your shirt, the other was against the bedsheet, his body leaning over you. He was hovering, but his lips never left yours.

Your shirt was gone in an instant, ripped from your body, and tossed to the floor. He paid no mind to the fact that he had ruined a perfectly good shirt, and the only thing he cared about was your bare skin.

Your lips parted, and his tongue darted into your mouth, tasting you. You could hardly keep up, his tongue dominating your mouth and his hands roaming your body.

"Lo," you managed to moan against his lips before his mouth was on yours again.

He didn't reply, but the way his fingers were trailing over the skin of your thighs was answer enough.

It was getting hot, too hot, and Logan knew that.

He pulled away from the kiss, and the string of saliva that connected the two of you broke and landed on your chest. He was breathing heavily, and his eyes were dark.

Your hair was messy, and you were still wet. Your body was shaking, and goosebumps were littering your skin.

You were looking up at him, your eyes searching his face. Your cheeks were flushed, and your chest was rising and falling quickly.

He was staring at your lips, and the way they were swollen from the kiss, and his hands were trailing along the expanse of your stomach, before moving back down to the hem of your jeans.

Logan had undone them, and his fingers were playing with the band.

Your eyes didn't leave his face, but you were surprised when he lifted his eyes to meet yours.

He was waiting for something, and when you nodded, the next thing you knew, your pants were gone. The only thing that remained was his jacket, which you still had on from your lake experience.

It felt like a distant memory, one that was fuzzy and far off. It's odd how something as traumatic and horrifying as nearly dying could turn into something as heated and intimate as this.

Logan was watching your face carefully, his hand resting on your thigh, and his eyes were searching your expression. He was waiting for any indication of doubt.

The only thing indicated was desire.

He seemed satisfied with your reaction, and his hand slowly moved further and further up your thigh before the tips of his fingers reached the fabric of your panties.

His thumb was hooked under the band, and he pulled the black fabric aside, moving his other hand to unbutton his jeans.

He pulled the zipper down, and his hand slid into his boxers.

His head fell back with a sigh, his eyes closing as his hand moved along his length.

You watched, entranced, as he pleasured himself. You didn't realize you were biting your lip until his eyes were on yours, his eyebrows furrowed, and his breaths were shaky.

He let go of himself and leaned forward, his forehead pressing against yours, as he struggled to hold himself together.

He was still waiting, and you couldn't figure out why. Why was he hesitating? Wasn't it obvious that you wanted him?

"Okay, Cowardly Lion, you can do this."

His head tilted to the side, and his nose bumped against yours. His breath fanned over your face, and his hand was gripping the side of the bed.

"Don’t call me that," his voice was gruff.

You grinned and moved your hand to the back of his neck, holding him in place. "Cowardly. Lion."

Logan growled, and you couldn't help the shiver that ran through your body. It wasn't scary. Not even close. It was hot and sexy, and it made you want him even more.

He was hovering over you, and his hand was on the side of the bed, his knuckles clenching the sheets. For a second, you believed he’d let his claws out and slice right through the mattress.

But again, only for a second.

He was watching you, his gaze locked on your face. He was staring, and his eyes were dark, and the way he was looking at you was intense.

You didn't say anything.

So, his hand moved.

And his fingers hooked under the band of your underwear, and he slowly, oh, so, slowly, pulled the fabric down.

He tossed the garment somewhere in the room, and his eyes trailed over your body.

He was staring at you, admiring your body, and the way the moonlight shone through the window made it all the better.

Your legs were spread, and you were completely naked. The only thing that was covering you was his leather jacket.

Logan's eyes moved back up your body, and he swallowed. "You’re pretty great when you’re wet."

A smirk made its way onto your lips, and you couldn't help the giggle that escaped you. "You should see me after I get out of the shower."

He growled, and the hand that was next to your head came up and grasped your chin, tilting your head back, and his mouth was on yours in an instant.

The kiss was heated, and it was a shock. Not a surprise, though. This was the original thought that went through your head. The way his hands were rough and the way his grip was tight.

This is how you expected him to be. Rough and fast. But this was not that.

This was so much better.

Your teeth clashed, and his tongue fought with yours, his body pushing you further into the bed.

You gasped into his mouth as his hand traveled back down to stroke himself a few more times before he was just outside your entrance.

You couldn't stop the whine that escaped you as his tip nudged against your core before his length started to push in.

His eyes slipped shut, and his hands caught him from falling. The bed creaked, and you could feel him trembling as he took a moment to collect himself.

When he had, there were only two things on your mind as the jolt of pain mixed with pleasure hit you.

One, you couldn't believe Logan had been holding out on you. This was amazing, and you could see yourself getting addicted to the way he made you feel.

And two, it was the way he had his jaw clenched, the way he was breathing, his hips pressed flush against yours, and the way his muscles were flexing.

He looked so good, and it was hard to focus on the fact that he was actually inside of you. His cigarette-stained breath fanned over your face, the way every time he moved slightly faster, he became more vulnerable and less guarded, the back of the throaty moans he made, the way his lips were swollen from the kissing and the biting.

All of it was a big turn-on.

His hands were gripping the bed, and his dog tags were bouncing off of his chest, hitting your skin with a cold metallic sound.

The way his hair hung in his face, and the way his eyes were dark, made him look incredibly sexy.

"Lo," you whimpered, and your nails scraped his shoulders, leaving red lines in their wake.

Of course, by the time he had reacted to the slight pain, they were already gone.

He leaned down, his arms wrapping around your body, and he held you close. He pressed his lips against your neck and sucked the sensitive skin.

It was quiet, except for the sounds of the bed creaking and the gasps and pants that slipped out every now and then. You weren’t very vocal, but that was only because you were more focused on how it felt.

And it felt so good.

It was a lot more enjoyable when it wasn’t painful, and you were more than happy that the pain had subsided and was now replaced with pure ecstasy.

He was big, bigger than you had originally expected. So, he had taken his time.

Well, not really. He had tried to, at least.

Logan had tried to hold out, but the way you had squeezed him and the way you had whimpered when he was halfway in had caused him to lose his grip on reality.

But he had tried to take his time. And that was what counted.

Your hands tangled in his hair and pulled his head closer, making him moan into your mouth.

He was moving faster, and he was losing his mind. Your lips were swollen, and the way your chest was rising and falling was amazing.

He was holding himself up, his arms flexing as his hips moved against yours, and the sound of your name falling from his lips in such a way was a sound you wanted to hear more often.

He was close. You could tell by the way his thrusts were becoming sloppy and the way he was gasping.

But you were, too.

It was the first time, the only time, you had ever experienced such an intense high. And it was a rush.

Your head fell back, and your fingers tightened in his hair as your orgasm ripped through your body. You were shaking, and your mouth opened in a silent scream as the intensity of it all hit you.

Logan followed soon after, his orgasm hitting him just as hard. His was more brutal towards you, though, as he full-on collapsed into your body, his entire weight pressing into you as he came.

It was an experience you didn't think you would ever forget. Especially when he accidentally unleaded his claws and sliced through the mattress.

"Ah, goddamn it," he sighed and slowly pulled out. He was still on top of you, but he had turned his head to the side to see the damage. "I'm not paying for this."

You were breathing heavily, and your hands were tangled in his hair, your body shaking from the aftershock.

He turned his head to look back at you, and his dark eyes studied your face.

You were a mess. You had bite marks along your neck and chest, your lips were swollen, your cheeks were flushed, and your chest was rising and falling rapidly.

Logan's eyebrows were furrowed, and his lips were parted. The way his hair was a mess, and the fact that his eyes were darker than usual made him look extremely attractive.

You couldn’t help but notice how completely out of breath he was and all the sweat and the heat radiating off his body.

He was hot, literally.

"You, uh," you swallowed and tried to keep your hands steady. "You want to take a dive in the lake?"

It took a few moments, but eventually your question had registered, and you have never heard this man laugh like he had right now. He completely lost it, and he was laughing.

And it was a deep laugh. One that could make someone feel safe. One that could make anyone fall in love with him.

His laughter died down, and he turned to look at you, the smirk still playing on his lips. "I think I'll pass."

"Oh," you breathed and bit your lip. "You don't know what you're missing."

Logan stared at you, and his hand moved from the bed to trail down your stomach. Blood was coating his knuckles from the five-second fight that had taken place when his claws had popped out, but he didn't seem to care.

You were staring at him, and the way his dark eyes were boring into yours was intimidating.

"How about," his hand slid down further, and the tips of his fingers touched your lower abdomen, "I take a dive in the shower with you instead? Can’t drown in the tub."

Your eyebrows were raised, "Am I that fragile that a simple shower will kill me?"

You were obviously joking; that soft banter had been something the two of you had always done, but there was also a hint of curiosity.

He sat up to look at you. His eyes were darker than before, and the way his hands were running along the expanse of your torso was sending shivers down your spine.

"Says the girl who slipped through ice," he leaned down, his arms caging you in, and his forehead was pressed against yours. "You really are—"

Crack.

Call it what you will: fate, destiny, bad timing, but there now, there was no way in hell he’d escape the expensive bill the motel would surely send.

The bed completely gave out.

It had taken a few seconds for it to register, the sudden drop and the loud noise. But, once you had, now it was your turn to laugh.

And boy, did you.

Your laughter filled the room, and your entire body shook. He started to blame it on the production of the bed, of course, but you knew deep down he couldn’t escape the big fat bill the motel owner was going to send.

He even got up to try to find another possible explanation, and as you pulled his jacket closer to cover yourself, you watched him try and fail to find one.

The smile never left your face, and when he turned to look at you, his dark eyes were studying your expression.

"You think this is funny?"

"Very," you grinned and leaned up on your elbows. "How about we go out for dinner tomorrow night, Edward?"

Logan's eyebrow raised, and he stared at you. You could see the visible disappointment on his face, and it was amusing.

"Alright, come on," he took hold of your arms, and pulled you out of the bed, jacket and all.

"Where are we going?" you asked and let him lead you out of the room. "The shower?"

"Yeah," he nodded, and led you into the bathroom, "I think it's time I teach you how to swim."

You grinned, "We have no hot water, remember?"

"Then, I’ll just have to make sure you don't get cold, won’t I?"

[kunazz]

WEEK ONE: RYOMEN SUKUNA — [public blowjob]

tags: blowjobs, public setting, spit, choking, slight praise, degradation, hair pulling, lowercase is on purpose.

synopsis: sukuna decides he’s had enough of waiting and chooses to take what’s his, even if that meant he did it in the back of the cinema.

a/n: kicking off kinktober with a good start!! Let’s hope I make it through the rest of the weeks :] I HAVENT PROOF READ YET IM SO TIRED. Promise I’ll do it soon..

sukuna breathed steadily through his nose, his eyes shutting tightly as he sunk further down onto your cock, the glow of the cinema screen providing a dim light and helping him see what he was doing. it wasn’t busy, only a few people littering the chairs in the front and middle rows, and half probably weren’t even paying attention to the movie — whatever it was you had definitely forgotten by now, especially with the way sukuna was gagging around you, tongue sticking out to lick the base as he took your cock down his throat to the best of his ability.

“holy shit, kuna..you’re doing so good..” you groan softly, trying to keep your voice down because you were not about to get caught by a random old person who was genuinely enjoying this stupid hero movie.

was it even a hero movie?

at this point you were beginning to think there wasn’t an actual plot to whatever was being shown on the screen, and maybe, having a blow job in the back of the cinema would make this whole trip worth it — and could possibly salvage the last piece of excitement you and sukuna had.

your cock was thick, and heavy, sliding across sukuna’s tongue and trying to fit down his throat, stretching him around your cock until he was sputtering and jerking backwards, trying not to cough his lungs out and draw attention to the two of you. he sighed through his nose, eyebrows furrowed in determination as he trying to swallow all the saliva he could before your hand was pushing him back down, a loud wet gagging sound meeting your ears that was thankfully drowned out by the movies loud and dramatic sound effects, but you were grateful to hear it — sukuna’s struggle was always a pleasure, especially when he was usually so cocky.

“It’s like you’re made for this now..I trained you well” you mumble, hips jerking upwards just to make sukuna gag around you a little more, enjoying the way his body contorts before he pulls back just a little. you can remember when you and sukuna first attempted this, he wasn’t getting half of your cock in his mouth like he was now, his throat contracted way too much, and you can remember vividly the loud burping sound that came from him — almost puking all over you, and that’s when you decided to call it quits. sukuna had a bad habit of trying to do things all in one go, especially things he wasn’t good at, and that ended up with him either failing or trying and trying until he got it right. you’ve told him that it’s ok to get things wrong, but his response is always the same “i never get shit wrong, I can do it”.

but, his efforts to suck your cock did pay off, because now he was able to take you to the hilt, of course he gagged a lot, and his reflex was something that would take more time to work on, but the fact he can fit all of your cock in his mouth and down his throat was an achievement in itself — and you always made sure to praise him for it.

“good slut..you’re doing so well f’me..” you mutter, a soft gasp leaving you when sukuna’s hand comes up to play with your balls, tongue lapping at the base of your cock as the rest fits perfectly down his throat — he’s drooling so much now, and when he comes up for some breath, a large glob of saliva dribbles down your cock, soaking at the cushony seats you sat on; the cleaner was going to have a field day after this.

you sigh softly, petting sukuna’s head as your cock twitches when the cool air hits it, you’re close, so close you could almost cum just from looking at how wrecked sukuna was, but you had more self control than that, and you weren’t about to blow your load unless your cock was so far down sukuna’s throat he could almost feel you in his belly. “g’na make me cum baby?” you question, head cocking to the side as a playful smirk stretches onto your lips — the movie plays in the background, but it’s drowned out to the both of you when the slick sounds of sukuna jerking you off fill both your ears.

“wanna cum on my face or-”

“in your mouth” you’re quick to shut sukuna off, not wanting waste anymore time as the minutes of the movie we’re depleating, and and you’d rather have your pants on when the credits roll and the lights slowly turn back on. you can hear sukuna make a snide remark, commenting something about your desperation, but he takes your cock back into his mouth anyways. this time, it’s clear he’s determined, the way his cheeks hollow when he sucks back up is a distinct indicator of that, and your hips accidentally buck up into his mouth every time he does so.

“such a good whore f’me..gonna make me cum baby” you groan, mouth hanging open as you tug at sukuna’s hair, feeling the soft strands wrap around your fingers before you’re shoving his head back down, liking the way his body contorts and stiffens at the sudden action. “take it like a good boy yeah? use that mouth for what’s it’s made to do” your words are now turning sukuna’s ears red, and you take pride in embarrassing someone as egotistical and cold as him — it’s an achievement.

you use sukuna’s head as a fleshlight, pushing his head up and down your cock, enjoying the way his spit cascades down your shaft, making everything even more wet and messy. you can feel yourself getting closer, and your cock was throbbing, begging for release as you push sukuna’s head all the way down. “cum- fuck i’m cumming baby..” you groan, hips pushing up to make sure your cock was all the way down sukuna’s throat as you came, not wanting to waste a single drop of it.

it was an earth shattering orgasm, one of the best ones you’ve had in a while, and you’re not sure if it’s to do with the fact that sukuna’s finally gotten better or blow jobs, or if it’s to do with the fact you’re in public and you could have been caught at any moment — it’s probably the latter. but even so, you don’t care, not when sukuna’s cleaning off your cock, swallowing your cum with a grimace.

“tastes fuckin’ nasty, the fuck do you eat?” sukuna grumbles, he had half the mind to spit it out, but a part of him didn’t mind swallowing your cum down, it wasn’t as unpleasant as he made it out to be, this was just him trying to scrape at the last bit of dignity he had.

“most of the time it’s pizza or your ass” you reply, sarcasm lacing your tone as you pull your jeans back up — great, just in time for the credits of the movie, at least your timing was right. sukuna didn’t find any humour in your witty response and slapped your shoulder, his eyebrows furrowing as he looked at you.

“then no more pizza” he says, standing up to leave as everyone else did too.

“what about your ass?” you inquired, standing up with him as you raised an eyebrow.

“you know you can’t live without that.”

[pseudowho]

You both forget. Every time.

Everything within you clenches, shivering and coming down from your high, in time to hear Kento gasp behind you, drowning in euphoria.

Cursing under his breath, Kento's thrusts become slower and shallower; he barely pulls out, groaning as his cock jerks within you, filling you with sluggish, sticky stripes of his seed. He gasps, face contorted in bliss, his powerful body buckling under the force of his peak. You only wish you could see his face, eyes closing to imagine it instead.

You couldn't move if you wanted to; the primal breeding centre of his brain urges his fingers to grip your hips with stunning force, holding you back onto him. You're vulnerable, impaled as he fills you, balls clenched tight and pulsing.

You grin, face down and goofy with pleasure, that core part of you satisfied to feel him spill himself inside you. You can almost hear the sanctuary in your belly, calling him home, drinking him in.

Every time. Every time, you forget.

Your husband finally comes back, behind you, having been replaced by a beast for a moment. You call out to him, your voice sweet and dopey.

"Hi, Kento."

"...y-yeah...hi."

"Hi."

Kento chuckles, low and breathless, holding you back onto him as he threatens to slip out. He realises.

Every fucking time.

"Shit, have you-- have you got anything...anything to hand?"

"Err..."

You hear him huff behind you, turning into a laugh. A low rumbling reassurance.

"Alright...move with me."

You giggle, moving your arse with his hips to keep him plugged within you. Kento splays his hand over the bed, hunting, hunting--

"Every time," he grumbles, floundering as his softening cock begins to slip out of you, "every fucking time-- been years-- think we'd remember--"

"Clearly my pussy game is just too good--"

"You're fucking right, too good-- distractingly good pussy game-- a-ha!"

Kento's hand clasps his discarded shirt, and you squeak when he claps his hand between your legs. You're laughing as you crumple forwards, his cock slipping free and his shirt being squashed between your legs. A telltale trickle of cum soaks into the soft fabric, just in time.

Every time.

You feel a trail of lazy, open-mouthed kisses down your spine, your hips, your sacral curve, squealing and laughing as his teeth nip into your bottom. You wiggle, certain you're still alluring with his cum-stained shirt between your legs. You're right; you are. It earns you a gruff little slap to the arse and you laugh again.

"...hang on--" Kento groans, wobbling on cum-drunk legs, his cock still half-hard, as if he'll have any life left in him before he passes out, face down on your breasts. "Hang on...you deserve better...than a fucking shirt."

"Noooo!" You cry, grinning as you snuggle under the duvet, your eyes drooping. "I love ruining your shirts."

"That's because you're tacky. And classless."

You laugh again, knowing he's right. You're protesting without protest when Kento returns, smirking and battling your legs open to retrieve his shirt and replace it with a warm flannel.

He wouldn't have it any other way. Every fucking time.

[chrissv4mp]

— I COULD CHANGE YOUR LIFE -

the prologue , it was important. — | — ...back — | — next... — |

summary: chris has an obsession with you, one of the most famous pop stars of the last few years. when he goes out to eat at a local diner with some friends, he spots you, and his obsession turns to something bigger.

pairing: stalker!chris sturniolo × singer!reader

warnings + topics: cursing, stalking, murder, weapons, blood, obsessive behavior, suggestive moments, breaking & entering, crying, arguments, chris is crazy, choking, drowning, etc. more than half of these topics are mentioned in later chapters, not the prologue.

author's note: if the person reading this is sensitive to any of the topics listed above, please do not read this. i am not responsible for your own media consumption, and will not change any aspect of the story for your own pleasure.

author's note 2: no but real talk, this is probably the most motivated i've ever been while writing/coming up with a story😭 i really hope all of you enjoy this and please remember this is just my imagination and is not real at all!!!

word count: 1.8k

"don't be afraid of me,

i'm what you need."

chris laughs at his brother's joke, hand landing on matt's shoulder as he clings onto the brunette boy. nick just chuckles, glancing over at madison only to see her laughing her ass off as well.

nate smiles at matt, taking a quick look at chris before he lets out a quiet giggle. chris was always making the group laugh, he was just unintentionally funny at times.

chris begins to tickle matt with a cheeky grin on his face, resulting in his brother pushing him away. matt steps in front of chris before opening the door for his friends, flashing a smile at madison, nate, and nick. he only sticks his tongue out at chris, and his younger brother does the same.

matt couldn't help but laugh before following close behind the group, looking back to make sure nobody else was coming through the door.

"haven't been here in years." nick says, taking in the atmosphere of the older building as he looks around the place. he can't believe it's been so long.

madison listens with intent as matt chimes in, adding on to his brothers new topic, "yeah, i can't believe it's still up."

"we always went here after our lacrosse and hockey games for a celebration, even if we didn't win. it became a tradition until we moved to la, so it's special being here again." the middle triplet explains with a smile on his face, reminiscing the vibe of the place.

nate hums at his friends memories, looking around the small diner that was mostly empty. there wasn't many people who came here as often, but it was very popular back when the triplets were in high-school.

chris grabs both of his brothers, pulling them closer to him with a huge smile on his face, "yup, gotta love the memories we made in this place." nick grimaces at his brother's cheery tone, but he still pats his back affectionately.

matt just ruffles his hair before distentangling his and his brothers limbs, settling his hands in his jean pockets as he waits for someone to speak again.

"let's go sit?" madison suggests, and the whole group collectively agrees as matt and madison lead the way to a booth in the corner of the building.

all of them immerse in conversation as they look over at the menu, chris looking over at the kids menu occasionally and getting interested in the short list of options. chicken nuggets did sound good, but he wasn't seriously gonna get them.

"kid seriously got dino nuggets," matt laughs, and chris only flips him off, "shit is crazy."

madison looks over at chris, grabbing his forearm to slowly bring it back down on the table. as chris turns his head to look at her, she sighs, eyes wide in warning. "if you bark at me again..."

nick laughs, looking over at nate and matt to catch their reactions. nate snorts and matt laughs harder at his best friends reaction. he can't help but grab nates shoulder and rest along his back comfortably, tears almost pricking in his eyes.

madison forks a piece of steak into her mouth, looking over at chris to see that he's already munching on his meal.

"slow down, chris. you're gonna get the hiccups." matt says, tone warning as he looks at his brother with a slightly concerned expression.

the brunette picks up his sandwich before biting into it, his eyes trained on his younger brother as he bites down on a fry.

the others begin to eat, chatting in between bites as they get sucked into the topic of work. chris hates the topic, but he has no choice but to listen in. some of the stuff he finds interesting, like designs for merch and new ideas for vlogs over the summer.

he can't help but let his attention wander off from the conversation in front of him, eyes roaming the old diner and looking around for any other things that catch his eye. he doesn't want to think about work the entire rest of the night, that's actually what he wants to get his mind off of.

his foot taps against the side of the booths seat, his leg hanging off but not quite touching the floor just yet. did they raise the seating in this place? maybe, but all he could focus on at the moment was a girl sitting across from his friend group.

chris could only see the side of her face, but he knew who it was. he knew very well who hid in a booth at the back of the diner. it was y/n l/n, one of singers he's been obsessing over lately. what was she doing in boston? no, what was she doing in such a low-quality diner like this? he seriously didn't understand why huge a-list celebrities went to run-down places.

maybe for the aesthetic, the scenery. he does the same thing, but he never thinks bad of the places he goes to. nothing is really considered bad unless it's falling apart or smells horrible. like chobani yogurt. he couldn't stand the smell of that... substance. he wouldn't even clarify it as food!

"what the actual fuck." chris says out in the open, louder than he intended to but not loud enough that she could hear.

nick tenses up at his brothers tone, grabbing onto matts shoulder tight as he looks over at the younger boy, "what. chris, what?!"

matt winces at the small pain, but he also becomes alert, looking around the place for any signs of danger. he sees none, and his eyes return to chris again. everybody's eyes are on him now, but the longer-haired boys eyes aren't on them.

"chris!" nate exclaims, shaking his friends shoulder and finally making him come back to reality.

the brunette has to hold himself back from pointing, gripping the seat under him as he speaks quietly, like if he spoke any louder the building would collapse, "y/n l/n. y/n l/n is in that booth right-fucking-there, look, look!!"

the entire groups heads turn in sync, looking the direction that chris' eyes were pointed at. madison, nick, and matt's jaws dropped, and nate only looked around in confusion. madison began to shake matt by his shoulders, and he let her.

he was sure the entire group, minus nate, was in shock. they all had the same questions as chris, why was she here? who was that girl she was with? would she take a picture with them if they asked?

chris didn't give them any more time to think, practically jumping out of his seat and holding himself back from running straight towards her. he was about to meet his favorite female singer ever, and possibly even take a picture with her? how could this day get any better, seriously.

"hi, excuse me. sorry to bother you, but could i get a picture?" chris smiled, eyes glistening in the dim lighting of the diner, and maybe even in admiration of the beautiful girl in front of him.

she looked up from her friend, who chris knew as olivia rodrigo, and looked at him with a sweet smile. he swore her teeth glowed, "of course,"

she stood up from the booth, the drop being insanely tall for her shorter figure. chris had a couple inches on y/n which resulted in him looking down at the h/c girl. she cocked an eyebrow as she took a better look at him, eyes basically glowing at the realization.

"hey, aren't you that famous youtuber that films with his brother? correct me if i'm wrong, but you're chris, right?" she asks with slight confusion in her voice, and chris just stares in awe at the knowledge that y/n knows who he is.

y/n stares at him awkwardly, hearing olivia giggle behind her quietly. that's what snaps chris back to reality, and he nods his head, "yeah, yes, that's me! how'd you know? do you.. do you watch us?

he watches you. interviews, live performances, listening parties. that's what he meant, he wasn't some creep that followed around people he liked. probably.

she nodded her head as she looked up at the taller boy, still shocked that one of her favorite celebrities came up to her. y/n didn't even see him walk in, and now here he was, asking for a picture. "yeah! and i would assume you listen to me, hm?"

chris nodded happily, a grin on his face as he stared into her eyes with adoration. y/n was so much prettier in real life. now, he could really see all of her facial features, he could see the features that made her special, "yes! i love your music so fucking much. it always brings me up whenever i'm down, you're really a huge part in my life."

y/n made a gesture with her hands, putting them over her heart as she looked at chris with her doe eyes, "that means so much to me, chris. you're so sweet, thank you."

she couldn't help but wrap her arms around the boy, and chris only welcomed her warmly, taking in the scent of her perfume as his head rested on the h/c-girls shoulder. she smelled as good as she looked. damn, the things he'd do just to have her perfume on his nightstand.

fuck, the things he'd do just for her love, even. he would steal for her, and he had just met the girl. no, it felt like they've been friends for an eternity, and now they were just meeting again for the first time in a while. that's the real story. it's not fake.

"i saw you on the screens

i know we're meant to be."

matt opened the door again, beckoning all of his friends and his brother out the door of the old diner. he watched as chris stood still, leaning against the wall as he stated over at y/n. she was making small talk with her waitress as she signed on the bill.

chris couldn't get enough of the girl after that interaction they had. he couldn't get her out of his mind, she was just there, clouding all of his senses with nothing but y/n.

"hey, buddy!" matt snapped, and chris turned to look over at his brother who just stared at him with suspicion in his gaze, "are you coming or not? we don't have all night, y'know."

the younger boy shrugged, turning back to look at that beautiful girl, "i'll take an uber home. you guys can take madison to her hotel and nate to his house, i just have a few things to do."

matt sighed quietly, worry and suspicion flashing across his features as he looked at his brother. he just shrugged it off before walking out the door, and chris smiled when he heard the door shut.

he had things to do tonight, important things. his brothers wouldn't care if he was out late tonight, right? i mean, after all, he had to do this. it was important.

comment to be on this taglist! @livialifesblog @zayyluvz @snowysosturn @mirioosos @1800-love-me

[vellichor-of-the-solivagant]

With Them, Who Swallowed a Star

PAIRING: Professor!Task Force 141 X F!Student!Reader WORD COUNT 5.3k CONTENT WARNING: NSFW! group sex, age gap, fingering, cunnilingus, oral sex, handjobs, facefucking/blowjobs, unprotected sex, p in v, anal sex, slight usage of nicknames, reader is a pianist/student, tf141 are professors, smut with plot SYNOPSIS: A musician is a storyteller in their own ways. You had told yours and captured the sights of men you never expected to pull when you stepped inside an academy. AUTHOR'S NOTE: I tried to be poetic. This fried my brain and I'm not going to write something like this again. That's a lie because I have a series that has 5 love interests. This one was supposed to have Graves as well since he's actually my inspiration for writing this shit, but I ended up not adding him. I might do it on Drabbles if someone asks though. And yes, I have changed my username from DontFearTheReaperAzura. Here's the Masterlist for more! Also on Archive of Our Own

Your fingers fluttered slightly as you lifted your hands to the keys, blocking out the rustling from others as they sat in the grand auditorium. Long and drawn, you began to tell a tale you had held for a long time. Notes swam in the air, old friends that played with your tresses and caressed your skin.

The story started slowly, the sound of the beginning, the beginning of the end. Longing clashed with trepidation, your fingers sang a song of despair. You swayed with the music, lost in the whims of unspoken words—of a world you owned. Quicker and quicker, the notes climbed in sync with your heart, growing joyful in hopes of masking the mournful melody surrounding you.

It filled the emptiness deep within your chest for a moment, before like the heavens shed tears upon a barren land, you showed—you poured out the lore of your world, and with heavy reluctance to leave what you created, you played the last few notes.

For a few moments, you kept your eyes closed, and when a series of claps reached your ears, only then you opened them. You were shackled back to reality just as you held back your work.

You looked at the people, who in your eyes were nothing but shadows at the beginning, now enamored, yearning for the rest. You knew they felt it, too. Pulled, as though you were the center of the system. Like the Sun, a star.

And one man stuck out more than others, gazing at you, blue eyes almost ravenous. But it didn’t last for long, just like a song in the wind, he faded among the standing crowd, drowned out in the flurry of praise.

You breathed out a sigh as you stared at the towering structure before you, now your second hell—in replacement of the ramshackle place you call home���after you had gotten a scholarship to this prestigious university after years of a couple of years of working your ass off. Students rushed past you on their way in and out of their classes, but you stood frozen.

Suddenly you felt awfully unprepared for this unfamiliar place, of socializing and strangers, and of university. Of life. What did Google say about socializing with people your age again? How about impressing a professor? Good lord.

You shrugged off your thoughts and sauntered to your class. A large lecture hall welcomed your sight and you found an empty seat at the front row. Not the perfect place for observation of the whole place, but good for listening to the professor.

The sound of expensive shoes echoed throughout the hushed room and you kept your eyes down as you took out your notebook and pen. As the quiet dragged on, you glanced at the professor and found your brows raising at his sight.

He was tall, seemed to be fit, and in his thirties. He had a few wrinkles, a beard, and brown hair, but no sign of graying.

Above all, you could remember those eyes. An endless swirl of blue. The man at the concert hall.

You put your gaze down as the professor looked down on you, your heart hammered against your ribs, sudden nervousness springing in your nerves. You wished he wouldn’t recognize you, but at the same time, you hoped he did.

Yet, the silence remained, and in curiosity, you looked back up. Your breath hitched as your eyes met his, gaze shining with something you couldn’t decipher, and a smile formed on his lips.

You forced yourself to mirror it and batted a glance at the door. You wanted to get out.

The professor introduced himself as Jonathan Price, and told the class a few things about himself, before diving straight into the first lesson of Philosophy.

Time seemed to flow fast throughout his class and you kept your fingers busy, writing down his words. He was easy to understand, bringing out intricate details in his lesson, and asked questions now and then if he was going too fast while walking around the room.

You couldn’t help but notice his slacks fit in a certain area. Then again, that thing wouldn’t give you a brain cell even if you suck it off.

The bell chimed and you gathered and stuffed your notebook and pen inside your bag, jolting up to your feet. But as you approached the exit, his canorous voice called out to you.

“Pardon me, young lady.”

You turned to face the professor, keeping a respectable distance from him, which he closed off, only standing a couple of feet from you.

“Yes, sir?” You asked in a small voice when he remained silent, his eyes studying you with disconcerting intensity, just like how he gazed at you at your performance.

Finally, after an uncomfortable silence, he asked. “What’s your name?”

You spoke of your name in a steady voice, equally confused and intimidated, you gripped on the strap of your bag. Everyone had already left, now bringing quietness to the hall.

He smiled once again, his head tilting a bit to the side. “A pretty name.” His voice sent goosebumps on your skin, making you breathe in deeply, inhaling the scent of his pleasant cologne. “Such a shame I couldn’t catch it after your performance a couple of weeks ago.”

He remembered you.

Your cheeks began to burn.

Oh, how he yearned to caress your tinted cheeks, place a kiss on them, and mutter praise against your soft skin.

“Ah, you were there, weren’t you, sir?” You offered him a smile and a pause. “I think I caught a glance of you in the front rows.”

“Correct.”

“Thank you for watching, sir,” you said, not knowing what to speak of next, and nodded at him, reaching out to the knob to leave. But he reached for the door, making you blink at his unexpected actions, caged between the door and him.

“I couldn’t take my eyes off of you,” he fessed, bodies now closer to yours that you almost touched, and you gulped. “You were magnificent.” He opened the door, a hand motioning at you. “See you on Wednesday. And I hope we see more of your performance.”

We?

You jolted awake at the loud laughter of a raucous group outside of your room and grunted at the sudden pang of pain in your head when you stood up. You glanced at the alarm clock by your bedside and muttered a crisp curse, hauling your bag. You burst out of your room, slipping past students in the hallway like a breeze, hurried apologies were called out to those poor victims she bumped into.

The morning had been long and tiring, and you decided to take a nap earlier, only to end up sleeping for a couple of hours. Now, you were about to get late for your next class, and the usual ten-minute walk turned into a five-minute run and an uncalled exercise.

You glanced from left to right in the hallway, glancing at your phone to make sure you were in the right building, and turned to the right, following the signs. You halted before a room, strangely closed even though the class was supposed to start in five minutes.

You used your phone as a mirror and patted down your hair, before turning the knob and opening the door. You walked into a softly lit room and realized the mistake you had made as you spotted a man splayed down on a couch across the room. A hand behind his head and over his stomach, and over the lower half of his face was a black mask.

Inside was a personal office, belonging to one of the professors.

You immediately turned away, about to exit the room when an angry voice echoed.

“Have you got no manners?” The man rose to sit, a scowl painted on his face.

For the nth time in your sorry life, you wanted to bury yourself alive. You dipped your head low in embarrassment. “I’m very sorry, sir. I thought this was the room my class was in. I didn’t mean to intrude.” You frantically fumbled on your phone, inputting the wrong password one time, and read your schedule.

You read the room number wrong.

Brilliant. Bloody brilliant.

The professor fixed his crooked mask. “What class were you supposed to go to?”

“Uh, a math class of Mr. Simon Riley,” you read on your phone, keeping your head low.

A hum escaped past the man’s lips, making you glance up at him. His dark blond hair slightly ruffled from his apparent nap and coat a bit crooked. He ran his hand on his hair, fixed his coat, and patted down the invisible wrinkles on the fabric.

He stood up and you inched back, surprised at his stature. A tall man with broad shoulders and arms noticeably strong, (massive honkers) and eyes like a pool of honey, swirling like molten gold under the light.

“You’re in luck, sweetheart. I’m Simon Riley. You’re in my office, our class is in the next room.” Unlike earlier, his cold voice had turned a bit softer, but the fact that he was your professor made your sweat run cold.

You nodded, inwardly wincing at your dumbass. “Again, I apologize, sir.”

He stood before you, next to the opened door. Gladly, there were no students passing by in the hallway.

“What is your name, love?” he questioned, his hands going to his pockets. His eyes narrowed at the way your head dipped, refusing to meet his gaze. Like a meek little bunny, scared of the world and what all those pretty eyes could see.

He wanted to place a finger under your chin and lift your face up to look at him.

You never knew introducing yourself could feel like an interrogation until now. You told him your name, averting your gaze down at his shoes that shifted slightly. “Nice to meet you, Sir Riley. I’m sorry it wasn’t under the best circumstances.”

He hummed once again and stepped out of the office. “Pleasure’s all mine."

You followed him out of the room and he swiftly closed the door behind you, his being a bit closer to you than comfort.

With a nod, Professor Riley led you to the classroom. Dozens of students had already occupied the room and you silently made your way to a vacant seat on the second row, placing your bag next to you.

Just like Mr. Price, the masked professor went straight to the point, briefly introducing himself to the crowd, and began his lesson. He, too, was easy to understand, repeating the equations some couldn't get well, and was kind enough to let the class take a few minutes of break, before continuing. You had also come to notice he would fix his mask every once in a short while.

And when the bell chimed, he bid his students goodbye, yet called for your name. You halted on gathering your things as he approached you. His eyes glanced at the students who last left the room before he spoke.

"Feel free to come by my office whenever you have a question or need anything. Can't have you lose your way again, do we?" He asked, a bit of amusement in his voice as he leaned close.

You smiled at his offer. "Thank you, sir."

Sure as shooting, you asked him where your next room was for Chemistry. By good fortune, he knew where it was and who the professor would be.

"Ah, there he is." Sir Riley abruptly came to a stop, making you halt in your tracks as well and follow the direction of his gaze, to see a man with a mohawk.

"Simon!" The man jogged towards the two of you, a grin playing on his lips in contrast to the man who never took off his mask. Another person with blue optics, but his were bluer as though someone took a piece of the briny deep and placed it in his optics.

He kept a smile as his attention swept to you. "And who's the little bird?"

You frowned a bit at the nickname, nonetheless gave him your name, and watched his eyes light up with fascination. The man began to tell the pull he felt by the notes of your music, how enamored he was by the unspoken words of your tale.

He was there, too and Sir Riley was along with them.

Your face flushed as he ranted and they both noticed, taking note of the shades painted on your skin, bashful of the sudden recognition.

"He is John Mactavish, your Chemistry professor," Sir Riley piped in, placing a hand on the other man's shoulder, before bidding his farewell at the moment, marching down to his next class.

Left all alone with Professor Mactavish, you turned to him. He grinned at you and he beckoned at you to follow him. The man was, well, talkative and wasted not a second expressing his applause of your performance and how he never expected to see you in the university.

You could only mutter small words and nod, already feeling exhausted. But it was pleasant to hear him compliment you. You could get used to it.

And you could get used to his enthusiasm for teaching. His first lesson went straight to an experiment and dragged you to his side as his assistant, instructing you to mix chemicals. Occasionally, his fingers brushed over yours as you passed vials.

Your eyes met, and sparks flew all around.

Literal spark.

And fire.

Professor Mactavish pulled you to the side, hand remaining on your arm as the chemicals were set ablaze.

With a couple of ticks of the clock, a giggle erupted from your lips and like there was a pull, his chuckles followed.

In the sea of awes, his laughter floated on the surface.

You sprinted on the hall, navigating through the winding routes of the structures, and arrived at one of the most exquisite auditoriums you had ever set eyes on. Your eyes took in the magnificent chandeliers and the divine paintings stretched across the ceiling.

The sound of a throat clearing pulled you from your stupor.

“Are you just going to stand there?” a voice called for your attention to where he stood near the stage. The man basked in the warm glow of the concert hall, skin as though molten caramel, and eyes like embers.

“Oh, forgive me, sir.” You straightened yourself up like a soldier before a superior. “I was just, well, this place is beautiful.” You couldn’t help but glance around once again.

“Isn’t it?” A soft smile crawled its way to his lips and he approached you. “I am Mr. Garrick and you are . . .” your name rolled out of his tongue like a serenade, gentle to the ears, a sight to see the way his lips moved, and he extended a hand to you.

You clasped it gently before realization dawned on you. “Pardon me, Garrick as in the Kyle Garrick?”

In a flash of a moment, something sparkled in his eyes and searched yours. “Yes, it is me.”

You nearly squealed and ran around the room in excitement. “Oh my God. Wow. I-I’m a huge fan, sir. You were such a huge inspiration to me—and, and, I wished I could have watched your performance at the concert before, but I was busy preparing for mine. Oh, that must be why Mr. Price, Mr. Riley, and Mr. MacTavish were there! You are friends!” Your words tumbled out of delight.

"Yes, well, thank you for the kind words." His hand sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck, his smile becoming wider.

You gazed at him for a few moments before you snapped out of it, your brain slapping it to your face that you just rambled in front of this gentleman. "I'm very sorry, that was unprofessional of me."

"No need for apologies. But I do want to get a feel of your play today as soon as possible." A hand landed on your back, his warmth slipping through the fabric as he led you towards the grand piano patiently waiting for you at the stage.

Your fingers itched in anticipation.

Sir Garrick gave you a comforting smile and sat on the front row seat. "Feel free to play whatever your heart desires."

What your heart desires.

With a shaky breath, once again, you began to tell a tale, the notes sounding like a human voice as it wove its sonorous song.

A ballad to tie what dream your heart made. An andante at first and increased tempo at each heartbeat.

Lightning striking and thunder howling, Kyle was consumed with the way you swayed from one note to another. He couldn't peel his eyes off you as though you had him in your grasp, a puppet for you to control. And only when the last of the music hung in the air, could he snap free of the strings.

He walked towards you and dropped to his knee, taking one of your hands in his palm. "You were truly astonishing."

"I'm telling you, she was marvelous," Kyle exclaimed, pacing around Price's office and pointing at his fellow professors. "Blimey, if only you guys were there the other day, you'd feel chills."

Simon kept a straight face as he sat on the couch, legs spread, his knees bumping with Johnny who took a seat beside him, sipping from his mug of coffee. Whilst, Jonathan inclined on his chair behind a mahogany desk, decorated with intricate carvings and souvenirs he had gathered as they traveled across continents.

"I get that you're delighted, but could you quiet down?" Price grumbled on his desk, a pang of pain shooting his head.

"No, I am not shutting up." Kyle raised a hand, shaking his head. "She recognized my name. My name.” He pointed at himself.

“Anyone would recognize your name if they’re yer fan or hater,” Johnny quipped and placed the mug down on the coffee table.

Kyle turned to him. “You don’t get it, mate. She said she’s a fan of mine. I was a huge inspiration to her—”

“Was a huge inspiration to her,” Simon echoed, leaning back against the couch. “Used to be, not anymore.”

Kyle glared and stomped towards the masked man, grabbing his collar when the other merely raised his brows in a challenge. “I swear to God, Simon, I swear to—”

“I swear to God if you three don’t shut the fuck up—” Price paused, straightening himself from his chair as Kyle shook Simon, and glared at them— “I’ll have you asinine blokes chopped into bits!”

Kyle let go of Simon, who simply fixed his crooked collar and tie, and raised a brow at the man behind the desk. He sat down on a vacant chair, his eyes not leaving Price, and asked, “Are you jealous she recognized me, Price?” he was answered with another glare, which he shrugged at. “Or not.” He definitely is.

For a few moments, they sat in silence, each lost in their train of thought. All centered on a certain lady, whom they had watched from afar, now within their grasp. They only acted as though it was their first time meeting you.

Each born to a wealthy family, presented interesting things which soon died down as they broke them down into pieces, they had grown bored. And had found that there were only a few they could put their trust in this world. Though not related by blood, they shared everything since they were younger. They knew one another strengths and weaknesses. Their faults. Their passions.

Their desires.

A knock pulled them out of their reveries.

Johnny being the closest to the door, got up and opened it. A smile was brought to his face as he found you. “Hello, bonnie. C’mon in.” He swung the door open, a hand motioning at you.

You hesitantly stepped in as you saw your professors inside the office, eyes all settled on you. You put a hand on your other arm to hold down your nervousness as the door behind you shut.

Four men who were strangely overly friendly to you. You could think of a couple of reasons. The first being a musician they had watched and the second, being their student.

A hand landed on the small of your back, guiding you further in, making your face flush. “Have a seat,” Sir MacTavish waved a hand at the sofa, where he and Simon sat. 

You kept your gaze low as you obeyed him, sitting between him and your math professor, red cheeks going in a deeper shade as you met Kyle’s gaze. Embarrassed, you finally faced Price, and asked, “What is it that you called me for, Professor?”

Price put his elbows over his desk and intertwined his fingers. “We have a proposition for you . . .” Your name rolled sensually out of his tongue.

The proposition was to be their assistant. Given their overlapping schedules these days, it was hard for them to handle them. At first, you refused the offer, telling them you had a part-time job to do, along with practicing your skills in piano. But they had already thought about that and said they could pay you for your work.

A tempting proposal. Perfect for a student like you who got into this prestigious school through a scholarship.

You tapped your pen on the table and heaved a sound sigh, slouching on the chair. You were in a cafe near the school, in an attempt to change the atmosphere and help you write a report for Sir MacTavish's and Sir Price’s classes, but it didn’t seem to be helping at the moment. A pleasant music came from your earphones to block out the background noises and you closed your eyes to lull yourself.

When you opened your eyes, you jolted up your seat. “Shit!” your hands immediately flew to your potty mouth and straightened your spine at the sight of one of your professors, Simon, across the table. “Ah, uh, I’m very sorry, sir. I didn’t notice you—”

“Why do you apologize so often?” his rough voice was low and he placed a cup of tea on the table. His eyes landed on your notebook, full of notes, written clean as though it was printed.

You pursed your lips, unable to think of an answer, and ran your tongue over the soft flesh, catching Simon’s attention. “I . . .”

Simon glanced around the empty cafe, the only other person within the area was the staff over the counter, who kept her eyes on her phone. And you had perfectly picked a secluded spot. He looked back at you and reached out a hand, placing it under your chin. He lifted your face to bring your eyes to his.

Your heart raced at his actions.

“An angel as brilliant as you are should carry yourself with confidence, sweetheart.” His thumb caressed your lips. “Perhaps, we could teach you that.”

Your lips parted at his touch, warmth pooling at your stomach. You knew this was strange—wrong, and yet you didn’t want him to stop.

But he let go and leaned back, and you found yourself gripping on your thigh. “Have you thought of our proposal last week?”

You nodded, clearing your throat. “I have, sir.”

“What do you say?”

“The offer is good, and I don’t think it will clash with my schedule under normal circumstances, either.” You paused, letting him wait for your answer as you gazed into his caramel eyes. “I’ll take it, professor.”

You were fond of puzzles. You were interested in mysteries. And you were drawn to danger.

Being their assistant had more perks than you initially thought it was. You talked with them about their terms and added some of yours, and they seemed to be pretty considerate about it.

Maybe, a bit too much.

You had moved to an apartment they got you, so you wouldn’t be distracted by your roommates. When you had breaks, they would call you to their offices and give you desserts and snacks.

And more often than not, their touches lingered, turning into hugs, caressing, and pinching when in private. To close, seemingly the start of a taboo, a risk, and yet when Professor Price had you pinned between him and Professor Garrick in his office one late night when most of the people at school had gone home, you didn't want them to stop.

You wanted the heat to rush over you, like a forest fire, unwavering.

Didn't pull back when he planted his lips on you. Didn't stop the very professor you looked up to as a musician to bunch up your skirt and grind his dick against your ass. Didn't stop even when the other two entered and Sir Price had his hand rubbing against your clothed cunt. Didn't stop when Professor Riley locked the door behind him as Sir Mactavish joined in.

Johnny’s snaked a hand around your waist, a bit harsher than the ones he’d always done, but you didn’t mind it. Not when his lips were gentle against yours, patient and exploring as he led you on his lap when he sat on your couch, stealing you from Price and Garrick. He drank on your gasp as you felt another pair of lips on your nape, dusting kisses along your flesh.

Simon breathed against your shoulder, hand grasping the swell of your breast and performed maddening massage that got your nipples pebbling under the fabric of your top. You flinched when he took them by fingers, the rolls languid, and shifted on the other man’s lap as you felt a poke underneath.

Johnny groaned against you, parting the breathtaking kiss. He removed you from his lap, only to turn you against him, now facing the professor who had shed his mask. His fingers dipped under the band of your panties, into your untouched bud and your wet folds. He rubbed with a hum, spreading your filth.

“You're so wet, hen,” he commented and inserted a digit, rubbing it against your slick walls.

Your teeth sunk to your lower lip, biting back a squeal at the sudden intrusion.

Simon placed his fingers under your chin and leaned down on you, his tongue running over your lips, something he had always wanted to do before. “Don't bite your lips. That's something we're supposed to do, yeah?” He whispered on your lips and explored your mouth, savoring the echoes of your pleasure, and left to plant his marks on your collarbones. Hands gathered your shirt and lifted it, exposing your chest to his sight.

His mouth dropped to the nipple, sucking while his hand went to work on the other. 

Johnny began to pump faster, making you throw your head back to his chest, moaning out in pleasure as you shot a glance at other professors.

“You are not so innocent after all, hm?” Price took your jaw and ran his thumb over your lips, before pushing it in, muffling your cries.

“No one's that innocent nowadays, Price,” Garrick remarked, watching the frown on your face and the flutter of your lashes at every jerk of Johnny's hand made and Simon’s tongue did. His tongue ran over his lips, hand cupping over his hard-on, palming himself through his pants.

You began to suck on Price’s finger, making his dick twitch in his pants—his brain wondering how good your mouth would feel around him. He pulled his hand away to work down on his belt and pants, hands pulling out his shaft. He gave it a few pumps, chuckling when he noticed the way your tongue ran over your swollen lips before a groan escaped from it as Simon planted a bite on your neck and Johnny's thumb began to work on your clit.

Price brought his tip to your mouth. “Open up, dove,” he demanded and grunted as he pushed his shaft in, breath hitching at the warm feeling of your tongue and your throat. Your face twisted a bit at the taste of his precum. He let you adjust for a couple of seconds, hand going to the back of your head before he began to thrust.

One of your hands flew to hold onto his hip as you let him use your mouth, eyes fluttering closed and focusing on breathing through your nose. Out of the blue, Johnny pulled his fingers out and Simon stepped away, eliciting a whine from you. Vibrations ran down Price’s body and he groaned.

Unbuckling of belts echoed in the air, and you were pulled away from Price, making him curse. The next thing you knew, you were staring into the eyes of the man you had admired for so long.

“Sir—”

Kyle put his thumb over your lips, cutting off your words. “Not sir. Call me Kyle.” He positioned his cock under your cunt, rubbing the tip on your entrance.

You gasped at the sensation. “Kyle . . .” Your jaw slacked as he slowly went in, hands pulling you closer to his clothed body, fingers running on your flesh, gentle just as how he played his instruments. 

“Yeah, yeah, that’s it,” he groaned, hands sliding down to your ass to guide you up and down on his length.

Now, he made music out of you.

It didn’t take a few ticks of the clock until they fucked you with all they had.

Simon’s cock was buried in the confines of your mouth, fingers tangled on your tresses, watching the curls of your lashes get soaked by the tears that rolled down on your cheeks as they relentlessly pounded on you—Kyle on your pussy, Price on your ass, and Johnny on your grasps. You had never felt so full, so complete.

You feel your legs shake—the sign you have reached the pinnacle of pleasure and exhaustion when Kyle hits the spot deep in you. You whined against Simon’s cock, groaning as beg for the overdue orgasm that they had been keeping from you.

You felt a hand slide down your thigh, finding your swollen clit, before the rough pads of the fingers rubbed aguishly gentle and slow. If they weren’t your professors, you would have cursed at whoever the one was doing it. But your wish had been heard and he picked up the pace until you were crying, arching your back.

But they weren’t done.

You felt Kyle and Price become rougher at each of their thrust, Simon tugging on your hair harder, and Johnny losing his rhythm on your hands, until they all pulled back, coating your skin with their cum.

You slumped on Kyle’s chest, limbs like a stringless puppet as you ride out the aftermath of your orgasm. Your heavy lids fell close, tired from the deed, but you fought back the drowsiness, not wanting to fall asleep in the state you were in.

“You did good, love,” Kyle cooed into your ear and planted a soft kiss on your temple.

Johnny leaned down and pressed a kiss on your shoulder. “Yer amazing, bonnie. Can’t wait to have more of ya.”

A hand caressed your flushed cheek, swiping the transparent mix of tears and sweat. “Let’s bring you back to your apartment, dove,” Price said in a gentle voice.

Gentle fingers scraped your scalp, gaining a hum from you, must be Simon with how his fingers feel on your head. An unspoken apology about the way he tugged on your locks.

Like the sky glowing, your skin glittered in the ruins they drew up. A masterpiece you were, vulnerable, vincible in their sight, like walls that had fallen. And yet as though a book which held thousands of words, they still had more things to know about you. 

Like every start of a relationship. How fortresses were made. Each beginning of a story. 

You basked in the echoes of their praise, letting their words bring you comfort and slowly help you regain your mind and strength.

Like after a fire, new maps were drawn. A new tale was written, with them, who swallowed a star.

Taglist: @itsyellow

[dead-boys-club]

†  kisses : shigaraki.

❥ scenario: kissing tomura. ❥ no triggers; not rated. ❥ i don't have any beta readers - you get what you get. ❥ requested! it is a whole mess.

❥ series: tomura - izuku

✧*̥˚ some stuff *̥˚✧

tomura comes off as a rather aloof person; someone with many walls and deep rooted trust issues. so, if you're kissing me, we can already assume your relationship to him is one build over a good amount of time. it would be a very, very intensely personal experience for him. he's not used to physical touch by any means, so it would put him in an almost awkward mindset. he probably wouldn't fully know how to process being so.. ( god, i use this word a lot, i'm sorry ) vulnerable and close.

kissing him would be soft and slow. he would be hesitant, like you were something fragile, also trying not to fuck something up. he's navigating something new, so it would take time for him to get the hang of it. and, it would make him smile - which is a feat all in it's own. he would show you this small, gentle smile; a genuine expression of warmth and adoration that's incredibly rare.

i can't even put into words how soft this man would be over kisses. and, he's not going to be picky once he gets the hang of it. he would really, really enjoy:

moth kisses

forehead kisses

jaw kisses

slow make out sessions

in the beginning, he would ( idk, is this surprising? ) not be in control of shit. he would actually hand the reigns over to you and enjoy the ride.

the thing is, he's a really good kisser???? because any time he kisses you, he's kissing you like it's the very last time. he's got a hand on the back of your neck, fingers settled against when your hair stops, just.. drowning in the intimacy of the moment. his other hand gripping onto your shirt at your side - he'd have hell letting go.

he's obsessed. and, honestly, unless he's in a foul mood, it's the best way to distract or help him feel better. though, i should add, i feel as though he'd become just a tad bit clingy towards you once you made it to this level of intimacy.

if i keep going, i'm going to go down a rabbit hole of trapping him on the couch and kissing him til neither of you can breathe, SO - i'm going to slide down into a scenario.

✧*̥˚ tiny things *̥˚✧

❥ moth kisses: ( so, do you remember the last time we actually saw him play a game? no? me either but- ) moth kisses are mostly to attempt to annoy him, which.. may only actually work once or twice. the type of kisses you give when interrupting him. when you just cup his face and kiss all over, quickly, not giving him a chance to do anything about it.

❥ forehead kisses: god, please, give him forehead kisses. he really appreciates them in the morning or before bed, the way you brush his hair aside and linger for a moment. i feel like this is a gesture that really makes him understand that you're there for a reason. and you're genuine.

❥ jaw kisses: when he's working on things, you generally know better than to fuck with him too much. so, as you're tucked up beside him, that's when you nose and press little kisses to his jaw. you try not to jostle him too much.

❥ temple kisses +: this is more of something he does for you. because it starts as temple kisses, his eyes closed as he layers kisses over the spot for a few seconds. he'll slowly move down until he's nosing at the spot behind your earlobe, either humming or whispering little things. very much a private moment that no one else sees.

❥ the aforementioned slow make outs: usually when this happens, he's either tired or it started because he was in a shit mood. he likes how it starts as just small kisses and then turns into closing his eyes, lungs clenching, need building but it's still going so slowly, it's nearly killing him.

❥ the one time you almost died: because it was in the middle of a fight. it wasn't your fault that when you caught his gaze, you both seemed to stop. however, when you plant an unexpected kiss on his lips before disappearing into the fray once more, he's briefly distracted and a little agitated. you were being reckless but fuck if he didn't continue on with wanting more of you.

✧*̥˚ first kiss *̥˚✧

withdrawn.

that was somewhat normal but he seemed even further gone than usual. his responsibilities and the pressure on his shoulders, it was starting to wear on him and you could see it. the way he sank into the arm chair, picking at the hem and staring off into space. it wasn't something you enjoyed seeing.

you shift from your spot by the doorway, approaching to settle on the armrest of his chair, lifting his hand into your hold. a few minutes past in silence, neither of you feeling the need to say anything. you could see some sense of helplessness behind his eyes, making you frown and squeeze his hand. he didn't pull away despite how he flinched, fingers curling into the touch.

'tomura..' you said softly, not really know what could be said in the moment, considering he'd never done too well with encouraging talk. 'i'm here, you know?'

it took him a second before his head turned, guarded expression briefly flickering to give way to something softer. he didn't say anything, gratitude seen in his gaze. it wasn't hard to identify the conflict going on behind his eyes, something you knew you couldn't do much to fix or aid in. the most you could do was attempt to distract.

you didn't think about it too much, or at all, when you began to lean closer, the distance between you shrinking quicker than your mind could keep up. you were really leaning far too close into the personal space of one of the most dangerous men you knew and couldn't really stop. your heart felt like it was in your throat the moment your lips pressed against his own. the kiss was tender and hesitant, lasting only for a moment.

when you pulled back, you weren't sure how to act. his eyes were slightly wide with bewilderment, frozen and free hand anchoring him to reality with it's grip to the armchair. 'why...?' he began, barely above a whisper, not trusting his voice. you could hear the confusion, clear as day, but beneath it - there was something else. the smallest note of longing.

his voice completely erased the mild panic that had grown and you just smiled, light and careful. 'because you matter to me? because i adore you. and, i want to be there for you.. in any way that i can be.'

you weren't expecting to make a confession and he surely wasn't expecting to receive one. thankfully, he didn't respond to that. 'thank you,' was all he managed to get out, taking in the words and warmth that spread through him at the kiss.

the room fell quiet once more, though the atmosphere shifted into something new. there was a newfound understanding created from the simple, yet profound, moment of intimacy.

and, it would only grow from that moment on.

[jaymadii]

FAMILY MAN [O!Bakugo Katsuki x A!Male Reader] PT.1

Bakugo's hero agency was thriving - doing statistically the best in Japan out of all the agencies at the moment (shove it Deku). He quickly gathered traction up the hero ranking, he made it. This was his dream. The problem though, Bakugo’s area of expertise was fighting, specifically, hand to hand. Quirks that messed with the mind or reality always threw him for a loop. So when he comes across a man with glowing blue fingers, the hero had barely landed his first attack before everything around him vanished into black smoke. And he’s down.

The next thing he knows, he’s in a hospital bed, surrounded by beeping machines and a shit ton of people in white coats. He doesn’t even have time to process his surroundings before he’s being swarmed with people shining penlights in his eyes.

“Get the FUCK OFF ME.” He yelled, shoving a younger looking man out his damn personal space. He was hooked up to all kinds of wires and lines, yanking at them to get them off and out of his body. The sound of the doctors protesting was drowned out by him screaming over them to get away. He gripped the wrists of one of the doctors trying to stop his from pulling the IV out, pushing him away harshly. She fumbled a few steps away, holding her wrist with a pained whimper. “I SAID DON’T TOUCH ME.” There’s a magical freak out there terrorizing people and robbing banks and they want him to stay in this room? Fat fucking chance. A door swung open.

“Bakugo Katsuki.”

The room went silent. The doctors or PAs or whoever the hell all these people are suddenly shut their mouths. That voice. Your voice boomed his name.

The scent of an agitated alpha filled the room. And despite the sour note from the anger, he could recognize the smell almost instantaneously. Suddenly he could hear his own heart beating in his ears.

At the hospital door, stood you. You looked frantic and worried and pissed all at the same time, your clothes were disheveled like you had been running. Your left hand held a death grip on the doorframe while you’re right was on the knob from where you swung the door open. In the nasty florescent lighting of this place, a solid golden ring gleamed on your left hand. So many thoughts started buzzing at once. A wedding ring. You were married - mated. You were in this hospital. You just yelled at him. You looked almost exactly the same as the last day he saw you.

He didn’t know what feelings he was feeling right now.

It’s been years since Bakugo had last seen you, eleven. It made sense that you’d move on, mate with another omega, he made that decision for the both of you. He told you to go to America, to leave him alone. And from what he remembers of that conversation he wasn’t very nice about it.

You started to approach Bakugo slowly, like you’re unsure of what he’ll do. It’s now that he realizes that he’s halfway off this hospital bed from his attempted escape. Your scent starts to even out, the sourness from your anger fades with every step you take closer to him. He wants to speak, to say something to you. To fuck off, or ask why you’re even here, or what you want. But he doesn’t. He lets you come closer, because even after all these years your scent is still the only one that gives him any remote sense of peace. He’s always hated hospitals.

When you do finally reach him, your touch is soft. It’s like you’re scared, you put his face in your hands and your eyes surveyed his features. You seem satisfied with whatever you’re looking for because the hands on his face begin to thread through his hair and now you’re hugging him. You’re hugging him. You’re hugging him. Any anger still left in his body directed towards the staff or you suddenly lifts like a weight off his shoulders. You hold him close like he’s gonna float away with the wind if you don’t.

“You’re okay.” You whispered into his hairline, tucking your nose in on the top of his head. “I was so worried, I’m so sorry I wasn’t here faster. I dropped off Hinata and Ren with your parents.” It sounded like you were talking underwater. All he felt was his scent begin to mingle with yours as you scented him. It felt so nice, to have this feeling again, to have you want to be near him. He wanted to reciprocate the affection.

But he didn’t.

Whatever the hell was happening right now, wasn’t right. Bakugo tucked his arms between the two of you and shoved you away. Confusion flooded your face as you took a step back, your hands still holding on to his shoulders.

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

—————

A/N: Hey I’m still alive and well okay

[jmdbjk]

I'm telling you, their life flashed before their eyes...

The staffs' I mean...

WARNING: CONTINUED POSSIBLE SPOILER ALERT! I may or may not mention "Are You Sure?" scenes in detail and their outcomes during these long rambling messy posts beginning with the next sentence.

While on the kayaks, JK flipped over almost immediately. this sequence will be legendary in my mind:

All is well so far. Let's go kayaking! After being assisted by the Black Hall Outfitter staff, including Mr. Gino, they take off.

At this point, staff is walking away, ready to get on a boat to follow. Everything is cool. But something's not right. Why is the horizon at a 45 degree angle?

Staff has not noticed yet...

Jungkook's $1700 Balenciaga fancy pants are about to get soaked.

Jimin does not see what's going on behind him. Yet.

I can read his mind: "WTF?"

Staff finally notices and thoughts of living on the street start to flash through their heads...

Jimin can't believe what he's seeing...staff is sprinting into action...

He was first worried about his phone but one of the staff had it.

Staff thinking "I'm too old for this shit."

Drowned Rat Jungkook was not on my bingo card. I need a new bingo card.

Meanwhile, Jimin fearlessly paddles out to the middle of the river wearing his $70,000 Patek Philippe watch on his wrist... gasp.

Please take a moment to appreciate that gorgeous sunset in the background.

Seems some of Jimin's Slytherin has rubbed off on our little Ravenclaw (I know that's debatable but that's for another post).

Jimin was probably clenching so tight that flipping over would have been disaster for him.

Jungkook gets back in the kayak and is on his way... staff breathes a sigh of relief that they won't be jobless tomorrow.

Remember when he said this?

And this is how we know Jungkook is able to move past his own missteps.

But still desires some sort of collateral retribution from those more fortunate than he:

And this is the true and lasting take away from this little incident:

A moment that can be a beautiful memory.

And this is about the time this moment happened:

Now we know.

Jungkook was about to put on his royal blue Salty to the Core t-shirt. He wasn't taking off a shirt, he had already taken off his wet shirt and he was about to put on a dry one. That shirt in his hands is not black. And now we know Jimin was about to put on his turquoise one. And now we know what kind of fun they'd had up to that point. And now we know Jimin was struggling with a stomach bug when this pic was snapped. And now we know that Jeep parked next to them was theirs. And now we know they were about to head to the campsite. And now we know why this photo was special enough to Jimin that he posted it on his Instagram for Jungkook's birthday. They'd just had so much fun doing something they never get to do. Definitely a cherished memory for them. It was so endearing to me. I feel privileged knowing so much about this particular day. I hope they are doing all right today...

Things I cannot relate to and will never happen to me:

• Driving over a bridge not realizing Jimin and Jungkook are the ones on those kayaks down there on the river.

• Shopping at Dick's Sporting Goods and running into Jimin and Jungkook while they shop for mens size small shorts and Nike slides.

• Sitting at a bar at my neighborhood craft brewery while global stars next to me sample several pale ales and hard sodas.

Again, I will end it here as I've used up the posts image limit. I will be back with part three of Episode 1.

[solarmorrigan]

(Slight disclaimer: I haven't seen S2 in almost a year and parts of it are hazy, so if some details here seem repetitive/don't quite match up... don't worry about it, I love you <3)

cw: anxiety, mentions of past child abuse

-

Steve had not, for the record, wanted to spend his Saturday tromping around by the stream in the woods searching for tadpoles. He’d wanted to go to the movies, or maybe get lunch, or even just hang out, but Dustin had insisted, and now Steve is slopping through the muddy grass and trying to figure out if there’s any way he can get them home without getting the inside of his car filthy.

(Probably not.)

It’s not that he’s opposed to getting his hands dirty when he needs to, it’s just that hunting for baby frogs doesn’t seem like a need to Steve, no matter what Dustin says. He probably shouldn’t be such a pushover for the kid, but– Steve’s actually a little worried about him.

He’s been in a nasty mood for the last couple of weeks, alternating between snappish and sullen, throwing biting comments at Steve that go beyond his usual know-it-all lilt, or else going silent and only shrugging when Steve tries to ask him questions.

And Steve’s trying not to take it personally; they’d hung out a lot through the winter and on into the new spring, and he knows Dustin isn’t normally like this, and he doesn’t think it’s anything he’s done (Dustin keeps seeking him out, so it’s probably not him), but it’s definitely something. So when Dustin had actually suggested something for them to do, had actually seemed excited about it, Steve had been hard pressed to say no.

Even if it meant mud.

“Hey,” Steve calls as Dustin pulls ahead of him to start climbing down the embankment that pens in the stream. “Watch it, alright? It’s slippery.”

“I know what I’m doing, Steve,” Dustin snaps, and Steve can practically hear him rolling his eyes.

“Fine, sorry for giving a shit if you break your leg or something,” Steve mutters, beginning the precarious trip down the embankment himself. “You don’t have to bite my head off.”

Dustin sighs. “Whatever.”

Steve shakes his head. He really hopes this isn’t just the start of puberty, or something. He doesn’t think he can handle another four or five years of this attitude.

(He doesn’t even question it anymore, the assumption that he’ll be around as Dustin continues growing up; it just seems like kind of a given.)

“So what are we doing here, again?” Steve asks when they reach the stream.

“I told you: we’re looking for tadpoles.” Dustin tosses a glance at Steve. “Baby frogs.”

“Yeah, dude, I know what a tadpole is, I did actually pass second grade science,” Steve snarks back. “Why are we looking for them, though?”

“I need them for school. For a science project,” Dustin says, peeling off to start looking in the shallow edges of the stream.

“Right…” Steve moves off in the opposite direction, looking for the shape of a thing he remembers seeing in a science textbook probably too many years ago.

They search in silence for a little bit, nothing but the sound of the woods and babble of water between them, but Steve keeps half his attention on Dustin even as he looks. If the kid falls in the stream and drowns, Claudia will never forgive him. He twitches a little when he watches Dustin skid over a rocky patch on the bank, but he finds his footing quickly enough, so Steve keeps his mouth shut.

“You’re not gonna, like, experiment on these things, are you?” Steve asks idly, finally tiring of the silence.

“Of course not!” Dustin exclaims. “I’m just gonna study ‘em. I’ll give them a good home and everything!”

“Alright, alright.” Steve holds up his hands in surrender. “Just checking that it’s not going to end up like the last time you brought in something weird from outside.”

Dustin stops walking, going quiet for a long moment, and when he turns around Steve is startled to see that he looks pissed.

“I’m not actually an idiot, Steve!” he barks. “I can tell the difference between a frog and some kind of alien monster!”

“Okay, sorry, I didn’t–”

“It’s not like I saw D’art and thought he was anything from around here!” Dustin goes on, stalking back towards Steve. “I didn’t think he was just some kind of fucked up frog! I knew he was something different, there was scientific merit in wanting to study him, and I’m sick of everyone acting like it was just some stupid mistake!”

“I didn’t mean to– Careful!”

Steve has no time to do much more than shout a warning and throw out a useless hand as Dustin goes skidding back over the slick, rocky patch, then slips and goes down hard, catching himself on his hands and one knee.

“Shit, Henderson, are you okay?” Steve is kneeling in front of Dustin in a blink, already searching for visible injuries; he’s probably fine, it hadn’t looked like he’d hit anything vital on the way down, but it couldn’t hurt to just check.

Dustin doesn’t move, his head still hanging between his shoulders, his back so tense he’s almost trembling, and worry starts to bloom in the pit of Steve’s stomach.

“Henderson?” Steve tries again, and that’s when he hears it – the sniffle.

Shit.

“Hey. Dustin,” Steve says, slipping into the same calm, firm register he uses when he’s lifeguarding, without even realizing he’s done it (honestly, he’d had to deal with a lot more kids with scraped knees than he had potential drowning victims when he’d worked at the public pool); he cups his hand over the back of Dustin’s neck, squeezing gently to get his attention. “I need you to let me see. I need to make sure you’re alright.”

Slowly, Dustin shifts so that he’s sitting with both knees bent in front of him, though he keeps his head bent down – and that’s fine, Steve won’t make him look up just yet. Instead, he does a quick inspection of everything else; both of Dustin’s palms are a little scraped up, and one is bleeding a bit, but it’s his knee that got the worst of it. It looks like it caught and scraped on the sharp edge of a rock, leaving a bleeding strip of skin that curves across the surface of it.

(It probably wouldn’t have been so bad if Dustin hadn’t insisted on wearing shorts in March, but whatever. Now really isn’t the time to argue about practical fashion.)

“Okay, this looks like a pretty shallow scrape. I bet it stings like hell, but it’ll be a million times better once we get it cleaned up,” Steve says, framing the wound with gentle fingers, careful to avoid the drip of blood streaming down Dustin’s shin.

Still, Dustin says nothing. He’s practically trembling now, sniffling again, and Steve frowns.

“Did you hurt yourself anywhere else?” he asks.

Dustin shakes his head.

“Are you sure? Did you hit your head when you went down? You should let me–”

“I’m not hurt, Steve, Jesus fucking Christ!” Dustin snaps, finally looking up; his cheeks are red and his eyes are watery and he’s clearly trying hard to hold everything in, so Steve does his best not to rock the boat too hard.

“Okay,” he says, low and smooth, still stuck halfway in crisis management mode, “then can you tell me what’s wrong?”

“Everything!” Dustin chokes. “Fucking everything is wrong, okay? I keep – I keep having nightmares and I feel like I haven’t slept in weeks and I’m so tired.” He loses the fight with his tears and they finally spill over, running down his face. “And my mom was talking about Mews the other day, like, just stuff he used to do, and she misses him even though we have Tews, and sometimes I feel like I killed the stupid cat, and I just–”

“Shit, dude, I’m sorry.” Steve reaches up and cups his hand right at the juncture of Dustin’s shoulder and neck, giving him another gentle squeeze. “You didn’t kill your cat, okay?”

Dustin gives a congested snort that’s distinctly lacking in his usual derision. “Yeah, I know that about the same as I know there’s nothing coming to get me at night, but I still can’t sleep.” He sniffs again, reaching up and trying to smear his tears away with the back of his hand. “I’m so done with this, I just– I want it to be over. It’s supposed to be over.”

There’s a little tremor in Dustin’s voice, and Steve’s heart breaks a little bit, because he knows exactly what Dustin means – he knows what the nightmares are like, he knows the guilt over things you can’t change, he knows the feeling of jumping at shadows. And fuck, the kid’s still so young.

(Never mind that Steve’s not even scraping nineteen yet. Never mind that.)

He should probably talk to an actual professional, or something—get some real help—but Steve isn’t sure there’s anyone out there that Dustin can talk to about government coverups and literal monsters from a hell dimension beneath their town. He’s not sure if there’s anyone even qualified. And while Steve sure as hell doesn’t feel qualified to do anything, either, he’d been there with Dustin when it happened, and he’s here with Dustin now, so he’s going to do his best.

“Okay, c’mere,” Steve says, giving one of Dustin’s arms a tug.

Dustin doesn’t argue, doesn’t even question him, and that’s almost more alarming than anything else; he follows Steve a few feet over to a grassy patch at the foot of the embankment and leans heavily into Steve’s side when they sit down again. The grass is a little wet, but Steve doesn’t even feel it as he wraps an arm around Dustin’s back and pulls him closer.

They spend a minute with Dustin’s face half buried in Steve’s shoulder before Dustin gives a muffled grunt of annoyance and tries to pull away. “This is bullshit,” he mutters.

Steve quashes the way he wants to flinch at the declaration and looks down at Dustin instead. “What?”

“Sitting here crying my ass off. It’s stupid. I’m being a baby,” Dustin says, trying to wipe his face clean even as more tears replace the ones he’s just dried away.

“It’s not stupid. Crying is normal,” Steve says.

Dustin scoffs, still trying to pull out of Steve’s hold, but Steve keeps a hand in the middle of his back, unwilling to let him go far.

“I’m serious,” Steve insists. “It’s, like, a normal body reaction, or something. It happens. People cry.”

“You don’t,” Dustin shoots back, and Steve can’t help the instinctive huff of this-isn’t-actually-funny-at-all laughter.

“Yeah, man, because I’m kinda fucked up.”

It’s clearly not the reaction Dustin is expecting, and he stares up at Steve with furrowed brows. “What?”

And– well, fair’s fair, isn’t it? Dustin told Steve what’s bothering him, so Steve can open up a little bit in return, can’t he?

Besides, he can’t really think of any other way to convince Dustin that he’s not just pulling some cool, tough guy shit.

No, he doesn’t stop to cry, but it’s hardly even a choice anymore.

“I used to cry really easily, actually,” Steve says, looking away from Dustin and staring out at the stream instead. “Like, over everything. Literally cried over a glass of milk I spilled once.”

Dustin gives a wet huff of laughter, and Steve allows himself the tug of a quick smile.

“My dad fucking hated it. He was always telling me to stop whining, stop crying, stop acting like–” –a little bitch, Steven. Alright, maybe Dustin didn’t need to hear everything his dad had said to him. “He said I needed to toughen up, be a man. The last time I really cried, I was, like, nine, I think? I don’t even remember what it was over, I just remember that it pissed my dad off. And he said he’d give me something to cry about, and, uh–”

Steve can feel Dustin going tense under his palm, as if he’s afraid of what comes next, and that’s fine. Steve has no problem stopping there; it’s not a story he’d relish retelling in its entirety.

“Anyway, after that, I just kinda… made myself stop. Just like he wanted. And honestly?” Steve blows out a breath, still staring hard at the stream. “It just makes everything worse, holding that shit in. Makes you feel like shit.”

Makes you want to make other people feel like shit, too, because at least it’s an outlet.

“So, whatever. ‘Be a man.’ That’s bullshit.” Steve has known for years that his dad is an asshole, that the things he says are shit, and maybe he’s never known what to do in the face of it, maybe he’s never reacted in a way that’s healthy or even safe, but that doesn’t mean he has to spread the disease around. “Don’t be like me, man, be like you. Cry if you have to.”

Slowly, Dustin wilts back into Steve’s side, curling up under his arm and burying his face half in Steve’s shoulder again.

“You’re actually really smart sometimes,” Dustin mumbles against Steve’s shirt, and Steve snorts.

“Yeah, once in a while I might have some shit worth listening to.”

Dustin’s shoulders start shaking again, so Steve slings his arm more tightly around his back, and Dustin wraps an arm around his middle and clutches at Steve’s sweatshirt. At this point, it’s probably beyond stained with mud and snot and the blood from Dustin’s palms, but Steve can’t really bring himself to care. It’s not like it’s his favorite.

It isn’t the most comfortable place for a breakdown; March in Indiana is still chilly, and the grass is still damp, and the ground is hard, and Dustin’s cap keeps jabbing Steve in the collarbone, but Steve isn’t going to move until Dustin is ready. So they stay a while.

(Steve does end up knocking Dustin’s cap off, because it really is annoying, but he can’t help the little trill of fondness that goes through his chest when he realizes that he can faintly smell the shampoo he’d recommended to him.)

Finally, Dustin pulls away with a heavy sigh, snatching his hat back up and placing it firmly on his head, and Steve takes that to mean that it’s time to go.

“Alright, I’ve got a first aid kit in the car, and I think we can at least tape you together long enough to get back to my house,” Steve says, heaving himself up off the ground.

“We didn’t find any tadpoles, though,” Dustin says, looking back at the stream. “I seriously do need some for my project.”

“We can come back tomorrow,” Steve says, even though he really doesn’t want to spend his Sunday tromping around by the stream in the woods searching for tadpoles.

“Yeah?” Dustin aims a hopeful little smile up at him. “Can I stay over?”

Steve shrugs. “If your mom says it’s fine, yeah.”

(They both know she will.)

“Awesome.” Dustin grins, but it’s a pale shadow of its usual intensity; the kid looks wrung out.

Steve glances up the embankment and then looks back at Dustin.

“Hey,” he says. “You want a lift?”

Dustin, who had been preparing to start the climb back up, looks over at him in confusion. “What?”

“Up the hill.” Steve jerks his head towards the incline.

“How?”

“Piggyback ride. One-time offer.”

“Dude, it’s steep as shit. And I just had a growth spurt,” Dustin scoffs. “There’s no way you can carry me up that thing.”

Steve smirks. “Wanna bet?”

“What do I win?” Dustin asks.

“You get to pick the movie when we get back to my house,” Steve offers.

Dustin chews it over for a moment, then nods. “Deal.”

“Deal.” Steve kneels down. “Hop on. And try not to choke me.”

When Steve stands up again, Dustin settled against his back, he realizes he may have slightly overestimated his own abilities; light, Dustin is not (the kid’s almost fourteen now, Jesus H. Christ), but Steve isn’t one to back down from a challenge.

He starts up the embankment.

“When I win, after you drop us both back down the hill,” Dustin says, “I’m gonna pick Ghostbusters.”

Steve groans. They’ve watched that movie a hundred times now, and he has his limits. “When we get to the top, and I win, I’m going to pick anything but Ghostbusters.”

“Dream on, Steve,” Dustin pats his chest, and Steve keeps climbing.

They’re about halfway up when Dustin laughs in his ear, clutching more tightly around Steve’s neck as the incline gets steeper. “Holy shit, you’re actually doing it!”

“Told you,” Steve says, proudly sounding only a little strained.

He does have to drop Dustin’s legs and use his hands to make sure he doesn’t lose his balance when they get near the top, which does result in Dustin choking him, but Steve gets his revenge by wiping the excess mud on his palms off on the front of Dustin’s shorts once they get over the edge of the embankment.

(“Dude, what the hell!”

“You were already muddy!”)

Still, Dustin laughs and chatters all the way back to the car, still a little more quietly than usual, but Steve doesn’t think he’s seen him smile this much in weeks, so the strain he can already feel setting up in his legs and back is probably worth it.

And they will not be watching Ghostbusters (again) when they get back to his house, but maybe he’ll pick one of the Star Wars movies instead.

He can’t fix everything for Dustin, but he can at least make sure they have a good night – and sometimes, that’s good enough.

[Prompt: Piggyback rides]

[cultpastorkevin]

Sometimes Wymack regretted handing Kevin a bottle.

He rose from his place in Abby’s bed, grumbling, turning on the lights as they both heard another loud noise. He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose before stepping out of the bedroom and hunting down the drunk athlete in his house. It didn’t take much time. He found Kevin haphazardly spinning in a circle, a backpack slung off his shoulder as he tried to shove a jacket into it, a half finished bottle of everclear in his free hand. Wymack swiftly plucked the bottle away, setting it on the coffee table that had so far miraculously survived Kevin’s stay.

“Kevin.” He snapped. Kevin ignored him. “KEVIN.” He snapped louder, and the younger man whipped around to look at him, looking both genuinely surprised at his presence and also incredibly fucking annoyed.

“What?” He hissed.

“Kevin what the fuck are you doing? It’s 3am. Shut the hell up and go to bed. You have shit to do for me today.” Wymack reached towards him, intending to try to snatch the backpack away as well. Kevin stumbled away from him, something changing in his eyes as he suddenly looked at the door, then back to Wymack. Wymack had seen that look before; it was a universal one shared by cornered animals right before they tried a last hurrah. Wymack barely managed to step between him and the front door before Kevin barreled into him, aiming for the outside.

“Day what the fuck-“ He started, grabbing at the extremely drunk man and wrestling with him. Kevin went into hysterics at being stopped, trying to hit Wymack with his cast and thrashing harder.

“Let me go! Let me go fuck let me go I need to go HOME.” He screamed, voice cracking raggedly as he struggled more, his body vibrating from grief and anger.

“No you don’t. Kevin, calm down.” Wymack finally got a grip on him, wrestling him down until he was practically scruffing the 6 something kid, yanking the backpack off him and tossing it. He dragged Kevin back to the couch, feeling Kevin beginning to sob in his grip. God I am not paid enough for this, he thought briefly. He heard a door click, and looked up. Abby had woken from the noise of the debacle. She came out to the living room, looking entirely unsurprised to see Kevin Day slumped on his knees, scratchy sobs ripping from his throat as he struggled, begging Wymack to let him go back to Riko. Wymack groaned, sighing heavily, keeping ahold of Kevin even after he stopped trying to rip the coach’s arm off.

“Let me go-“ He sobbed. “let me go back- It’s where I belong. I’m a Raven-“ He bit out, drunk out of his mind and full of loathing for how badly he missed home. Wymack was about to say something to shake him from his ramblings, but Abby hushed him silently. She strode around the table, sitting down next to Kevin. She tugged him from Wymack, fingers threading lightly into his hair as Kevin drunkenly slumped into her lap like a half drowned feral cat, still spitting cries to be released. She shushed him softly, hugging him, feeling him soon relax, the hairpin trigger of tension that kept him shaking starting to loosen the longer she gently soothed him. Kevin’s grievous cries turned into muffled whimpers, eyes glazed from alcohol and emotion as he eventually went boneless in Abby’s grip. After what seemed like forever, he passed out, exhuasted from his explosive breakdown. Abby sighed, looking up at Wymack before they shuffled Kevin’s lanky form onto the futon. He looked almost peaceful, tears staining his face, soft noises escaping him as he fell deeper into an alcohol induced sleep.

“Do you think he’ll remember tonight?” She asked as they returned to bed. Wymack shrugged.

“If he has any ounce of survival in him, he won’t.” He didn’t need to voice the unspoken fear of what could happen if Kevin’s drunken feelings overran his sober ones.

As it turned out, Kevin did not remember anything when he woke up.

[petrichor-idyllic]

@lu-thinkingstuff I accidentally deleted the original ask (and the entire fuckin fic I'd nearly finished along with it) so have a screenshot of your ask I managed to keep. Sorry.

I'm writing this as a standalone piece, but it can be read as a prequel to quite a few of my pieces if you please.

INDOCTRINATION

MASTERLIST | MINHO MASTERLIST

SUMMARY: See above. I know the request is fem!reader, but I guess this can be read as gender neutral since I don't think I used any pronous to refer to you, apart from you obviously lmao. Follows no cannon events. I am making this shit up. Can be read as a prequel to "Life before Drowning", any other of my fitting work, or as a standalone. Whatever ya want. References to the simulation sky that's in the books - if you're reading this as a movie fic, then let's pretend this is a failed WICKED experiment.

WARNINGS: Inappropriate language, annoying WICKED shenanigans, traumatised children, Ratman.

You met Minho when you were seven. Maybe eight.

The last few weeks had been a blur of chaos you can barely remember. With the Flare finally taking its victims in your hometown, families flocked to their last resort, donating their children to WICKED.

Most children weren't picked.

Of course, they weren't. Most children aren't immune. The occasional normal child was also plucked from the masses and swept away from the warmth of their families to the cold, white walls of WICKED's laboratories. But that was rare, and they were only ever valued as a control variable in whatever twisted experiments they took part in.

Not that you ever knew that.

The potential horrors didn't matter to most parents; yours included. Mothers and Fathers desperately passing their remaining blood to men in masks in hopes of saving their loved ones. There really wasn't much choice.

You were given even less choice as you were one of the lucky ones to be picked.

A white room became your home for several weeks. They made you forget your parents - those parents who willingly passed you into Ava Paige's custody in hopes you'd have at least a fleeting chance of survival on the infected planet.

They took your name, too. Your personality. The few memories you'd managed to develop so young. All of it; gone.

You were almost in a state of shock when they finally said you could leave your pristine tiled prison cell.

Following your capture through the endless high-tech halls and flawless clean corridors, you reach a large dining hall. Several long tables fill the room, along with the high-pitched chattering voices of children. The kids vary in age - some older, some younger, but that doesn't matter. They're all talking.

"Grab your food and find a seat." The booming, hollow voice of the balding man in a labcoat reaches your ears, and you can't even begin to process what he's saying.

"W-what?" Your voice is barely a whisper as you squeak out a response.

"Join the queue, and then find somewhere to sit. Your lunch break doesn't last long." He gives you no chance to ask anything else as he turns and walks back down the corridor. Leaving you with very little choice but to continue into the room.

Getting the food is the easy bit; a tray full of a passing excuse for food and a small cup of juice. Finding somewhere to sit is the problem. You mindlessly search for an empty seat, though your gaze mainly lingers on the masked individuals lining the room; armed and dangerous.

"Psst. Don't stare. They don't like it when you stare."

Your head snaps towards a voice. An Asian boy, about your age, leans over the table top, hand cupped around his mouth as he whisper-yells at you, like he's pretending to be subtle.

"...What?" You stare back at him as a grin creeps across his face as he sits back down.

"Those freaks? Duh? Don't stare at 'em. They'll snap at you." When you don't respond, the boy starts to sense your unease. "...You gonna sit down or what?" He vaguely gestures to the empty space on the bench across from him. It takes you a second to move, but he seems relieved when you do. "You got a name?"

"Uh, (Y/N)... I think."

"You think?" He scoffs as you struggle to get your leg over the slightly wobbly bench. You think it's wobbly, or maybe you're shaking too much; it's hard to tell.

"Well, yeah - that's not my real name, is it?" Your response leaves the boy unsure how to react. You're... not wrong.

"Huh. I guess. I'm Minho." He says with a grin. "And even if it ain't my real name, they made a good choice. It suits me, right?"

For the first time since you'd arrived, you find yourself smiling. Minho is charming, for a kid. He's already got an air of confidence about him, which is almost reassuring in this situation.

"Yeah," you giggle, "I guess it does suit you."

And that is how you met Minho. Reckless, cocky, funny, brilliant Minho. And by brilliant, I mean he is a brilliantly bad influence.

It's not like you got to see him very often - just over lunch and the rare breaks you both got at the same time. But when you did, it was always fun. You even developed a little group, mainly including Minho's friends - he has enough charisma for both of you.

The first time Minho snuck into your room, you were eleven.

It's the middle of the night, the faint sounds of footsteps from WICKED guards echoing through the small white room you reside in at nights. It's all background noise, now, you barely even notice it as you drift off to sleep.

Until the loud clattering of the vent hitting the floor makes you jump out of your skin, shooting up in bed.

"...shit." Minho murmurs as he peers into your room.

"Minho?" You whisper-yell at the sudden intrusion. "What the hell are you doing?"

"I couldn't sleep." He responds, matching your tone as he attempts to clamber out of the vent and onto the safety on the floor below.

"So, you decided to break into my room?" You climb out of bed, coming to assist your best friend as he slides down your wall.

"Yeah. Figured I'd give you a visit."

You cross your arms, eyebrow cocked as you glare at your friend. "Are you insane? We're gonna get in so much trouble if you get caught." You grumble at him, swallowing your initial shock (and your small smile thanks to his presence.)

"So? What are they gonna do?" Minho dusts himself off. "Make me train more? Poke me with another needle? However shall I cope?" His sarcasm results in another eye roll from you, but you can't help but chuckle as you shove him, playfully - but warning.

"They could lock you in your room for a week." A beat passes. "Again."

"Great." He grins. "Means I get some peace. Sleep away my problems."

"You're such a dick."

"You love me, really." He flashes you another signature cocky grin.

You don't even dignify that with a response. "What exactly are we doing then? Just... hanging out in my room?"

Minho hesitates, then looks back at the vent, then you again as a sly smile slowly creeps across his face. "I think I have a better idea."

And that is how you end up crawling through a vent in the middle of the night, and following your chaotic friend through the facility. Minho is a lot calmer than you are; cracking jokes, whistling and generally being a cocky little shit. You, however, are hissing at him every thirty seconds to shut the fuck up.

Somehow, you both stumble into a vacant hall. Well, Minho dragged you through another vent and whilst he gracefully jumped down, you fell in a heap on the floor.

"Christ-" you grumble as you dust yourself off, looking around the room. It's dark, unusually so - the only light creeping in from under the locked door to the room from the buzzing halogen bulbs. "Where are we?"

Despite your low tone, Minho doesn't do much to hide his voice. "Dunno. Damn - this place is huge!" The boy chuckles to himself, dragging his hand across the wall to navigate, the sound of his words, and comfort, creeping away from your reach.

"Minho-" you say into the void, further panic swelling in your gut.

"Yo, I think I found a light switch."

Before you can object that this is a bad idea, there's a hollow click, quickly follow by a binding light.

You weren't expecting it; expecting the same dull bulbs that consume the WICKED labs. But what you get is anything but.

The entire ceiling springs to life, imitating the bright blue of the sky you haven't seen since you found yourself in WICKED's custody.

"Holy shit-" Minho gawks upwards as he stares, too, finally in your line of sight.

The fake sky is scarily realistic - the glow of the sun, the faint fluffy clouds floating across the screen. You're not even sure you could call it a screen, honestly. There's not lines, or glitches or lagging from the technology. It looks so real. Like you could reach out and feel the damp clouds through your fingers, the heat of the sun on your skin.

You look at Minho, who looks at you at the same time. Both of you have no words; how could you? But your silence and exchanges looks say everything words could - what the actual fuck is this?

"...this is.." Minho starts, losing himself quickly.

"..beautiful." You finish for him.

"I was gonna say freaky." He responds, earning a chuckle from you as you wander into the middle of the room. "Hey, there's other buttons-" He says, gesturing to the control panel on the wall that he originally assumed was a light switch.

With the click of his fingers, dark clouds start to fill the fake-sky, creating a dimmer, more stormy atmosphere. But there's no rain. Just clouds.

Those seem to be the only two weather modes as Minho keeps switching between the two. Cloudy and sunny. It's definitely not quite advanced enough to imitate the real thing.

"Look- there's a time monitor." Minho mumbles as he moves a slider. The sky dims, as bright sunset colours fill the ceiling before it creeps into dusk, and then into a series of bright stars.

Minho's goofy grin says enough as he moves away from the controls, joining you in the middle of the room. You barely even notice him until he's crouching the lie on the floor.

"What are you doing?" You raise an eyebrow at him as he moves to lay on his back, looking up.

"Star-gazing, duh. What does it look like?" He says as he smiles at you, before gesturing for you to join him.

"We're gonna get caught-"

"Will you relax?" He chuckles, leaning up on his arms. "When are we ever gonna get a chance to do this for real? Might aswell enjoy it whilst we have the chance."

"It's fake." You cross your arms defiantly.

"Still pretty. Still better than our boring white rooms." He retorts. "C'mon."

You sighs, but relent as you move to lay next to him.

He's right. It really is pretty. The mimic stars sparkle and flutter, and suddenly the labs and the experiments feel worlds away, even if your escape is an extention of your captives skills.

Minho suddenly starts chuckling.

"What? What's so funny?" You say, turning your head to look at him.

"Nothing." He shrugs. "Just thinkin' that if Thomas was here, he'd probably be telling us about all those star thingies."

"...star thingies?"

"Yeah. You know? Those... stars that are, like, in a pattern."

"...constellations?" You can't help the amused smile creeping across your face at your friends ignorance.

"Yeah- those. They got names don't they?" Minho turns to look at you. "Thomas is such a dork. He'd know all of them."

You shake your head as you look back up at the ceiling, but Minho keeps looking at you.

"We should tell the others." You say, not noticing his gaze.

"What?"

"About this room. Newt and Sonya would love this."

"I thought you didn't want to get caught?" He chuckles and you roll your eyes.

"Yeah- but this is cool. They should see it."

A beat passes as Minho continues to look at you. "Nah."

"Nah?" You look at him, surprised by this. He's rebellious and fiery and is normally the first to drag everyone into schemes and fun despite the risks.

"Nah... this is... ours." He says, smiling softly at you, before he shifts slightly to slips his fingers between yours, looking back up. "Just ours."

And that's what it became.

At least once a week, you and Minho would sneak around and into this secret special room. You'd spend hours talking and messing around, and somehow, you didn't get caught. Or maybe some of the kinder WICKED people were turning a blind eye to two kids enjoying themselves.

Who knows.

It was like this for about a year. Maybe a year and a half.

But, things took a turn.

Minho was starting to revieve praise for his athleticism. He became one of the most physically capable subjects, and it was impossible to get him away from a rigged-up treadmill. So, by the end of the day, he was exhausted. Too tired to be crawling around vents with you.

You were thirteen, maybe fourteen when Minho ended up crawling though your vents again.

Hearing the familiar noise, you're out of your bed before he's even here, your bare feet already on the cold floor as he appears.

"Minho-?"

"I know. I know." He grumbles. "I'm sorry." He says, before you can even get so much as a word in, and it leaves you stunned.

"For what?"

"For like... not being here. For neglecting you, I guess." He shrugs as he runs a hand through his hair.

"Neglect-?" You cut yourself off. "Dude, they've been working you to the bone. You don't have to apologise."

He sighs, seemingly of relief. "Yeah, well, I still feel like a dick. You're my best friend."

"Well, you're here now." You attempt to reassure him. "We can go back to the sky room."

He shakes his head. "Nah. I was thinking we could go exploring." He flashes that damn grin at you again.

"...exploring?" You raise a brow, crossing your arms.

"Yeah. Yanno- like me, Newt and Thomas used to do."

"I never joined in with that."

"Well- you should've. And we were exploring when we found the sky room, so you're no so innocent." He chuckles, and you can't help but admit he's right. Yet, he continues at your hesitation. "Look, we found that room by chance. Surely there's more cool and interesting things to find. I'm getting bored of looking at the same fake sky everyday."

Something in that comment stings. You'd never gotten bored of that pretend sky. Maybe because you'd always been with him - and you could never get bored of him.

"C'mon." He drags out the syllable. "One night of exploration. Just one. Who knows how far they'll be making me run from now on. Better take the chance whilst you have it."

You playfully shove him at this. "...fine. One time only. Okay?"

"Okay." He smiles. "Let's go."

So, once again, you find yourself creeping around the sleeping facility with your far too confident best friend.

Though, when Minho reaches a locked door, you would've never expected him to slip an excess card out of his shoe, swiping it into the card reader.

"What? Where did you get that?" You hiss, wide-eyed and stunned.

"Some dumb lab-coat dude left it on the side. So, I picked it up. Finders, keepers." He says as he pushes the door open.

Sneaky around is one thing, finding hidden rooms through vents - but stealing an ID card is something else. You're literally never going to see each other again if you get caught. Not that you get chance to voice your concerns as Minho walks into the room.

This sinking feeling creeps into your gut, yet, you can't find it in yourself to tell Minho. What if he really is starting to find you boring? Being whiney to him about this would only confirm that. You don't need him getting closer with someone else, especially not the flocks of girls in the dining hall who have started taking interest in the boy since he started his physical training.

Okay. Maybe this is creeping beyond friendship. It was years ago, but you're always thinking about the way he held your hand the first time you found that room. How it was just yours. Your special place, just for the two of you. And he doesn't want to go there anymore?

You've never felt so insecure.

So, you keep quiet.

The first room is full of labelled chemicals you don't understand.

The second is full of strange, clouded tubes, with slimy, creatures with metal arms. Even Minho was eager to leave that one - to remain ignorant for his own bliss, pulling you along once you stop to stare into the tubes. You suspect Thomas mentioned something to him. Thomas has always been Ava's favourite.

Though, the third is far less scary. It's a office - well, more like a small library with a computer and a desk. Filing cabinets liter the walls with endless documents.

Minho lets out a low whistle. "A computer." He grins, casually sliding into the office chair as he starts fiddling with the computer. Having most of the common sense in this friendship, you've assumed that the computer is password locked.

Which is confirmed by Minho's hushed cursing.

So, you start looking through the documents in the drawers. A lot of them are medical files and general testing that you don't really understand.

Though, a few documents contain blueprints and titles such as "the Maze Trails" and "The Scorch Trails". They're detailed and confusing.

"Minho-" you gets his attention, passing him the notes as he's distracted from the computer, a puzzled expression crossing his face as he looks through them.

He doesn't get much time to comment as you find another interesting drawer; labelled "Subjects."

Flicking through a few, you recognise the pictures of the people you've spent the last few years with. Teresa. Thomas. Gally.

You stumble upon Minho's- grinning at his awful mugshot style photo. A7. The Leader. They've already got him marked down pretty faithfully.

Though, something consistent through all the documents is the phrase "status: Immune." Something about that stands out to you, for some reason.

That is until you reach Newt's file.

Staus: Nonimmune. Control Variable.

Nonimmune?

Nonimmune.

"Uh, Minho-?"

"These maps are insane." He mumbles, still examining the blueprints. "Do you reckon these are those big plans Thomas is always yapping about?" He picks his head up to look at you, noticing your face drop, concern written throughout your features. "What? What is it?"

"...we're all immune to the Flare, right? That's why they're testing us. To find a cure?" You don't even look up at him.

"Yeah..? Why else would we be here?" His grin is there, same as always, but now it's uneasy and uncertain. You look at him, before walking over and slapping Newt's file onto the table.

It takes him a moment to catch on, but when he does, his face drops, and he just looks at you.

Before any words are exchanged, footsteps can be heard from down a corridor.

"Shit-" you both scramble, collecting all the papers and stuffing them in whatever drawer they came from (or whichever is closest.)

It's a mad dash to get out of the room - adrenaline and fear coursing through you both. You didn't even find your own file.

Are you immune? Could the Flare get you?

Little do you know, Minho is internally freaking out over the same thing.

In your panic, your silence evades you, which alerts whatever guard was prowling the building.

"Quick! Up here!" Minho commands as he struggles to open a vent, giving you a leg up before yanking himself up the wall and diving in.

You don't even know where you're crawling to, you're just trying to rush away. But, eventually, it goes quiet, only the sounds of yours and Minho's panting in the small vent system.

"We have to tell Newt." You say, managing to turn in the small space to face him. Minho hesitates for a moment, but nods.

Of course you have to tell him.

"Yeah, at lunch, tomorrow. We'll tell him. But right now, we have to get back to our rooms. They'll be checking." You nod in agreement. "Let's get you back first."

Minho has a far better memory than you, leading you back to the safety of the room before he turns to navigate the way back to his.

"Minho-" you say, turning to look at him once your feet hut the floor, a sense of dread overwhelming you.

"..yeah?"

You can only look at him. There's so much you want to say, but none of it want to come out. Some deep gut feeling screams at you that this is the end, but you tell yourself you're being silly.

His blank expression pushes you to talk, though.

"Just.. be careful."

He offers a warm smile, but rolls his eyes. "Yeah, yeah. I'll be fine. Don't worry about me. See you at lunch tomorrow."

Your attempt to mimic his expression falls flat as he shimmies back into the vent and on his way.

You didn't know how accurate your instincts would be.

The next day, you make your way to the lunch hall. You're late- your lab testing ended up being longer than possible. But when you enter the dining hall, Minho's absence is quickly noted.

Though, you do spot Newt. Maybe Minho's running has gone overtime, again?

"Newt-" you shout him, jogging across the hall. "Have you seen Minho? We need to talk to you."

Newt doesn't even have to say anything as he glances at Thomas, whose eyes are burning into the table in front of him. There's some sense of desperation in Newt's expression, mixed with grief and regret, but like he can't say anything.

It makes your stomach flip and your heart stop as you open your mouth to speak, but you don't get any sound out.

"(Y/N)." Janson's annoying voice sends a chill down your spine as you turn to look at him. Two guards stand by his sides, his forced grimace doesn't reach his cold, unforgiving gaze. "I need a word."

Janson gestures for you to walk with him and you swallow a lump in your throat. Your first instinct is to run. Like Minho thought you. But in a room full of people? It's not like your quiet escapades in the middle of the night.

Your feet are like concrete as you force yourself to walk towards him.

Janson walks in front of you, the guards behind you. You're trapped, and even if you did run, that wouldn't change anything as he leads you into a room. It's a room you're familiar with.

It's where you have one-on-one progress conversations with Janson to discuss how you're doing. Minho spent more time in here than you ever did, but that doesn't mean the confines space doesn't fill you with anxiety, even in normal circumstances.

You take your place in the cold chair as Janson sits across from you, the slab of metal that is meant to be a table keeping you separated feels like a godsend. Though, not much of one with the guards breathing down your neck.

"...Where's Minho?" You manage to croak, attempting to mimic your missing friends confidence.

"He's been dealt with." Janson says, and your blood runs cold.

"What- what does that mean?"

"I'm sure you already know what that means. From your adventures last night." The world stops.

You knew.

You knew it was a bad idea and your own insecurities led you to keeping your mouth shut and hiding away from your concerns. What? Because of a stupid crush? Your own feelings of inadequacy have led to Minho's demise. And it's soul-crushing.

"I-I don't understand." You words falter, any false confidence quickly shattering.

"It's a shame. Really. It is." Janson nods as he leans forward, his elbows on the table. "We let yours and Subject A7's strange relationship slide because it was showing promising results. New waves in the Killzone we were examining. I knew we should've stopped it." He sighs. "...and now, you know too much."

"Where is he?" You spit, fists clenched, unused adrenaline causing you to tremble.

"I told you." Janson hisses. "You already know. But don't worry. You're not going to remember any of this." Janson nods towards the guards.

"What-" your words catch at a sharp sting in the side of your neck as one of the masked-men injects a burning liquid into you. You gasp, grasping the side of your neck. "What have you done?"

Your words slur slightly as a dull buzz fizzles into your vision, your head feeling light.

"My job." Janson leans back as he watches you sway in your seat. "What was always going to happen."

You can't even respond as your limp body slips out of the seat, and your consciousness leaves you before you even hit the floor.

WHOOP WHOOP. 1K BABYYYYY.

I guess this is my 1k follower post - and it's angst. That's typical of me. Sorry for the massive gap since I last posted something, but everyone's support has given me a drive to write. Well, at least finish writing this. Sorry if its not everything you wanted, but I've always felt there's something so much sadder about not getting that chance to say goodbye to someone, and things fizzing out instead of a bang.

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed :)

[bcdaily]

An Influx of James/Lily...stuff

So, this is the first week in...lol, a year?...that I haven't had mountains of freelancing to finish or grappling with utter burnout or just...yeah lol whatever life. So I'm at Starbucks now with the freedom to ~~write whatever I want~~ which has left me dazzlingly undecided, which lead me on a little foray into my Google Docs.

And the thing is...I've started so many one-shots or stories or somethings or another that are not going to go anywhere because I don't even remember what they were. And I'm too sad to delete them, so I thought I'd just...throw them up here under a cut?

So enjoy, these random paragraphs of the graveyard of Bee's Fics That Never Were:

Something AU? About Lily house/petsitting?? There are fish??

Everything was going swimmingly well until Lily almost killed both the fish and the heir.

"Whoah—whoah!" the latter had been shouting as Lily had been shrieking, the tidy bowl of fish in her hands rattling and sloshing water over its rounded rim as bodies collided inside the posh townhouse foyer, and Lily's instinctive reaction had been a sad attempt at weaponizing paltry plastic. Blindly, mid-shriek, she'd shoved the fish bowl like a battering ram the intruder's way, endangering both innocent marine life, most eardrums within range, and Euphemia Potter's pristine hardwood floors.

Also, Lily realises approximately twenty seconds too late, Euphemia Potter's similarly pristine only child.

Not likely to be keen on the destruction of either, Euphemia.

Hands down, Fleamont would care most about the fish.

"Jesus—shit. Shit." Lily jerks the bowl back, lifting it up to inspect the damage, her frantic gaze bouncing between the man she's just attacked and the tiny sea life she may have just murdered. "I'm so—are you—are they—are they alive?"

"Is this a burglary? Are you stealing them?" asks the heir, the hefty armful of papers and books he'd been holding now mostly scattered by his feet. A few industrious, aerodynamic pages are still floating down, lapping leisurely by their legs. He'd dropped them, back during the shrieking and colliding and shame. Now, he is standing very still, but nodding very specifically at the fish. "If so, I will not stand in your way."

"What?"

"Take them. Please."

"The fish?"

"Yes."

"I'm not stealing fish," Lily responds dumbly, eyes shifting from the heir back to the precious cargo he is honestly being a bit too generous in looking to offload. Her mind has quit whirling enough to concentrate on the contents. Immediately, she begins to tally up fish. Four, five, six...fuck, were there two of the blue ones? Is the orange one moving? Is that a death float?

One fish, two fish. Red fish, slew fish.

The heir is still talking.

"More of an art thief, then?" he asks. His hand lifts, elegant-looking and long-fingered, moving to straighten the trendy specs sitting upon his patrician nose, which had gone askew in the scuffle. "There's a bloody ugly statue of some tragic Greek in the dining room. Worth loads. Grab and go. I'll assist hefting, even. No charge."

"What?" There are eleven fish. Eleven, glorious, wonderful, still somehow living fish. Relief is a drowning tidal wave nearly pulling Lily under. Her knees go fair weak with it. She attempts to shake the remnants of shock and panic off like a sodden dog, but hasn't quite managed it when she gives her attention back to the man in front of her. He's quite tall. His hair is dark and haphazard, like Fleamont's. "That's not how burglary works."

"Are you certain?"

"Not from personal experience, but a woman can take some educated stances."

"So you're not a burglar."

"No." This is a ludicrous conversation. From the smile playing at his lips, Lily reckons the heir thinks so, too. She's trying to remember his name. Fleamont had told her it at some point, maybe even multiple points. It's something traditional, one syllable. She'd had some worry about that, with parents called mouthfuls like Fleamont and Euphemia. Fleamont's favorite fish was called Jeremiah Rumplestiltskin. "I'm Lily. The housesitter."

"The housesitter." He says the word with the flourish of a brightened lightbulb, ah yes, there it is. He bends, beginning to gather his belongings from the foyer floor.

++++

Something canon?? I actually think this might have been a sequel to a one-shot? Maybe??

It's become a game now, and they are both very, very good at it.

“What are you staring at?” she baldly asks that very first Monday morning, barely twenty-four hours after what James had quickly begun to refer to in his head as The Age-Old Snogging Incident (subtitle: Wildest Dreams Defined).

They are eating breakfast in the Great Hall, and save for the seven seconds it had taken James to thrust the wrapped Brewing Cauldrons record at her yesterday with a hurried “Happy birthday, Evans,” before scurrying off in the most pathetic of manners, this is the first time he’s encountered her. She looks much the same as she always does (brilliant), and he’s doing much the same as he always does (eating lathered toast, subtly watching her, hoping no one realizes he’s subtly watching her), but this time, she calls him out on it.

She’s seated across the table and two seats over. They are surrounded by people, but they may as well be alone. Noise buzzes in James’s ears as he stares fixedly at her smugly arched eyebrows, her tellingly quirked lips (the same ones that had snogged him). He is moments away from stuttering out an embarrassed, evasive response, likely flushing and bumbling at being caught, because she's right, he is staring...

But then he realizes something.

He is not the only one.

Lily Evans, that coy conundrum, is staring fixedly at him, as well.

More specifically, she is staring fixedly at his mouth.

Fucking hell, she’s thinking about it, too.

It's sudden, stunning awareness. It's wild, uncontrollable confidence. It's unproven, untested, unmitigated victory and arrogance, a feeling James is not entirely unfamiliar with, but never--never--in regards to her.

“I’m not staring at anything,” he somehow finds himself answering, slowly biting into his toast like it's a token power move. He takes his leisurely time swallowing. “What are you staring at?”

“Me?” Her eyebrows have arched even higher. She licks her lips. “I’m not staring.”

“No?”

“No.”

“My mistake, then.”

"That's right."

"Cheers."

Neither of them breaks eye contact. Neither of them even moves. It is a battle of pointed, heady, bloody fucking hell flirtatious wills, and now that James has realized she is not the only one with power here, he is damn well not going to give it up.

"What are you two doing?" Hestia Jones eventually asks, regarding them with vague suspicion. "What's going on?"

James bites his toast.

Lily stirs her tea.

"Nothing," they both say.

But ten minutes later, as James is somewhat giddily taking his time in exiting the Hall for Charms, Lily slinks up behind him, grabs his arm, and yanks him back as their mates sail unassumingly though the Great Hall toward lessons.

"You're so obvious," she hisses. "Control yourself."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," James returns loftily. "But for shame, Evans--can't you keep your hands off me for even a moment?"

James nods down to where her fingers are still curled around his biceps. He expects her to drop it immediately like a scorching hot pan, but instead she gets a wicked sort of gleam in her green eyes, curls her fingers around even further, and squeezes.

"Mm. So tense." The quiet husk in her voice sends a string of shivers straight down James's spine. One of her fingers has begun to stroke. "I know a few helpful ways to remedy that...but I'm afraid you're just a bit too young to hear them."

"Corrupter of youth," James accuses, though it mostly comes out as a choke.

Cruel, cruel witch that she is, Lily gives a jaunty shrug, lets loose his arm, and with nothing more than a conciliatory pat, stalks off past him.

The point, admittedly, goes to her. But James is nothing if not a sportsman.

Later that same afternoon, Marc Darndis spills an entire beaker of uncooked Brinstin Brew down his front in Potions, and James takes a moment in the ensuing chaos to turn around to the workstation behind him. He watches Lily as she diligently keeps working, then leans his elbows against the table top, sighs heavily, and says, "Poor Darndis. He'll be in the shower for ages trying to scrape that off. Unfortunate, I suppose...but then again, I am personally a very firm advocate for a nice, long shower."

Lily doesn't even glance up at this comment. Maybe her eye twitches a bit, but mostly she just continues chopping up her beetle parts.

"If you don't turn around and mix in your daffodil root," she says eventually, "you're going to need a nice, long shower. When your cauldron explodes."

"Nothing beats a good shower," James continues, like she hasn't spoken. "You know, when the steam starts to billow, and you take your first step in, and the hot water hits your skin, dripping down..."

James manages to get through a good thirty-five seconds of discussing raunchy bathing habits before Lily's face has gone so completely red, it very nearly matches her hair.

(Truly, if James's bothersome cauldron hadn't chosen that exact moment to go on and explode, he reckons he may very well have cracked her.)

(Still, it's worth the detention Slughorn gives him, and the victorious look Lily shoots him. Overall: Point Potter.)

That Monday sets the tone for the following weeks, unleashing this new, maddening dynamic wherein James is now not only allowed to flirt shamelessly and ruthlessly with Lily Evans...it is quite simply expected. The pair of them are both so grossly over-the-top with it, it is very nearly laughable.

She shows up to breakfast one morning with an extra shirt button undone and glossy lips, and James has to squint at the ceiling for a good three minutes before he's in a dignified enough condition to rise from the table.

He "accidentally" leaves his Charms textbook in his dormitory, inquires if he can look on with hers, and spends the entirety of the lesson invading her personal space to her ever-obvious reluctant delight.

They cross paths in the common room, where she promptly begins to read aloud from a Witch Weekly article entitled "The Sexy Art of Snogging" (with charade accompaniment).

James arrives back from Quidditch practice one afternoon, sweaty and still in-kit, and finds her gawking at him by the portrait hole. He loudly hums the chorus to "Mrs. Robinson" as he passes her by, and hears her muffled laughter as the Fat Lady swings closed behind him.

Somehow, they're sitting together during History now, and spend nearly every lesson shooting hurried, sloppy notes between them:

It's so sad how badly you want to kiss me, Evans.

I could weep with how much of a projection that is, Potter.

Shoot those lusty looks elsewhere, I will not be seduced. (how long did he just say this essay was meant to be?)

If I wanted you seduced, you'd be seduced. (I don't know I wasn't listening, go ask Remus.)

I'm too young for these types of conversations. How dare you. (two scrolls)

I guess I'll go find someone else to have them with for the next thirty-two days, then. (thks)

Speaking of mates...the lot of them know nothing. Or at least, James hasn't told his--he can't be certain what Lily has divulged. As far as the lads are concerned, James and Lily are merely engaged in a mysterious, extended battle of wills, their hushed conversations never disclosed, the prize an unconfirmed puzzle. Peter finds the anomaly entertaining. Sirius is primarily disinterested. Remus likely figured the whole thing out on day two, but is much too polite to intrude.

So on it goes, just the two of them--tempting and toying and teasing and TK.

James loves his birthday. He has always loved his birthday. It's the one day of the year when no one's allowed to tell you off for being utterly self-involved, and James has always been keen on that type of lenience. He fancies cake and presents and embarrassing traditions. He doesn't shy from attention or parties or mugs of beverages clinked in his honour. But this birthday...

January quickly shifts to February. February fades into March. James has never been so keenly aware of the days of his youth ticking by as he is at this particular moment. Last week, Lily had cornered him in the library stacks, had used that sad, predictable old ploy of reaching for a book beyond his shoulder in order to brush her body full against his, and James had very nearly threw the whole game and timeline out the window then and there. He was losing his mind. She was keenly enjoying it. If he wasn't very nearly certain the tricks and teasing were getting to her too, he'd likely have put a stop to them ages ago.

But Lily Evans is not the sort of girl who would even vaguely entertain a bloke if she wasn't interested. James, of all people, ought to know that. Yes, their blatant harassment of each other these past eight weeks has been so wildly extraneous in every way...but that doesn't mean there isn't something lying beneath. There is for James, in any case. And really, she'd started it. He doesn't exactly know what any of it means, but he reckons he can't be be castigated for counting down the hours until 27 March with bated breath.

It's Thursday, three days until his birthday. 

+++++

Some canon smut that never was??

"This," James mutters, as her mouth peppers his chin, "is an insulting cliche."

She hums a vague acknowledgment at this comment—or is that a groan?—but continues undeterred in wrestling apart the buttons of his shirt. The sharp half-moons of her nails scrape his chest in a scrambling kitten's scratch as the paltry buttons of his cotton school shirt pop. There is a cool June wind drifting in from the mooncast evening outside the nearby doorway, leading out onto the ramparts. It hits his now exposed skin in soft, brisk billows.

Her teeth bite down on his pulse point. James teeters to the right, nearly tipping back down the steep spiral staircase.

He grabs her around the waist, swinging them around until her back is pressed against the cold stone wall.

She gives a light oomph...then continues to nibble.

"The Astronomy Tower," James snarls.

She has made work of half his shirt buttons. Sighs. "James."

"Really. 'Meet me,' she says. Then drags me to the Astronomy Tower. I feel cheap and tawdry."

[flowercrowngods]

The Last Day.

Steve doesn’t remember what drove him here — he doesn’t remember a lot of things lately, not that he’s mentioned that to anyone. They don’t really question these things anymore. Fucky vision, nightmares without sleeping, or things that just get lost in the everyday grind of remembering to do normal things like eat or drink or where the fuck he put his glasses.

So, he doesn’t remember what drove him here, if he was supposed to get something or if he just needed to get out of the gym, needed to breathe some air that’s not filled with anxiety and grief and the pressure of survivor’s guilt and why and how and when around every corner, behind every door, underneath every donated item and in every bite of stale peanut butter sandwiches.

The library was never a place of comfort for him, and he honestly never really cared about it one war or another. If pressed for it, he couldn’t name five books in all of these shelves. He never really looked.

But now, in the semi-darkness, the empty shelves are somehow daunting. All useful books were taken, children’s books donated to all the families that stayed, all science books stolen by people who were sure they could fix this, could get behind this, could build generators and water refineries and all that shit.

Somehow, the negative space in these shelves draws him in, and he takes a deep breath. A breath that Dustin would like, probably. It smells like books. It smells old. It smells like, somehow, somewhere, there might still be a constant in this world. Something that will remain. Like maybe there will always be a library that smells of old books. No matter how often the world will end.

It’s a strange thought. But comforting. He trails the shelves, not really looking at the books, walking too fast still to make out the titles in the dim light, but he refuses to stop. He refuses to stand. To linger.

The next two rows are completely empty, and it makes him shiver. Robin probably has a name for the feeling. Maybe melancholy. Or maybe he’s just haunted. Susceptible to absence.

Or maybe they’re the same feeling.

Blindly, he reaches for a book, because his hands begin to tingle and he really needs something to do before his lungs catch up and his brain finds out that he’s somehow almost about to panic, or to relapse, or to drop to the floor if his legs don’t regain feeling soon.

He keeps walking, the book in hand. It’s a slim edition, bound in leather, and it feels really old. Looks like it, too.

Michael Bruce

He carefully flips it open, the old paper crackling with the movement, and he wonders briefly if this is the part of the library that’s usually watched like a hawk, the part where you’re not allowed to touch the books without supervision and certainly not without reason. Maybe. Maybe this Michael Bruce hasn’t seen a real face in a long time.

It doesn’t take long for Steve to find out that they’re mostly poems—and of course they are, old books are almost always filled with poems.

He opens the book at a random page, still needing to settle his hands, his heart, his mind. The title makes his heart drop. “The Last Day.”, it’s called; still his eyes glide over the lines, intrigued.

Twas on an autumn's eve, serene and calm. I walked, attendant on the funeral Of an old swain : around, the village crowd Loquacious chatted, till we reach'd the place Where, shrouded up, the sons of other years Lie silent in the grave. The sexton there Had digg'd the bed of death, the narrow house, For all that live, appointed. To the dust We gave the dead. Then moralizing, home The swains return'd, to drown in copious bowls The labours of the day, and thoughts of death.

Okay. Sure. So, maybe this Michael Bruce dude is not the best company when the world is sort of ending. But somehow Steve can’t stop reading, and for the first time he kind of doesn’t want to stop reading a poem. This one’s different anyway. This one just… it gets him.

Images of Barb flood his mind. Eddie. Chrissy. Max. Everyone who was lost, everyone who has an empty coffin in their grave and an NDA penned to their name.

To the dust We gave the dead.

The labours of the day, and thoughts of death.

Maybe that’s why he doesn’t want to go back out there. Head to the gym and fold clothes and check the missing posters and make phone calls to find out, to make sure, to keep in touch. The labours of the day. The thoughts of death.

Shaking hands flip the pages, two at once, because he doesn’t want to live the last day; doesn’t want to hear about it. He needs to know how it ends, needs to make sure, needs to find out, just—

A pause ensued. The fainting sun grew pale, And seem'd to struggle through a sky of blood : While dim eclipse impaird his beam : the earth Shook to her deepest centre : Ocean rag'd, And dash'd his billows on the frighted shore. All was confusion. Heartless, helpless, wild.

Suddenly, what little light was left to stream through the windows disappears, stealing the words from beneath his eyes, and before he can look up and breathe, the door to the library bursts open, revealing a panicked Robin.

“Steve?”

“Robbie?”

“You… You better come see this.”

He hears it in her voice. The resignation. Oceans raging as the fainting sun grows pale. Confusion. Helpless, heartless, wild.

He closes Michael Bruce and runs toward her on numb legs, not ready to find out about the new apocalypse he’s gonna find outside the library. And seeing black skies through the windows and pale faces behind them, reflecting against the growing darkness, he wonders if he shouldn’t have skipped through the last day. The Last Day.

Terror in every look, and pale affright Sat in each eye ; amazed at the past, And for the future trembling.

Steve, too, is trembling. And Robin’s hand in his is shaking just as much.

Poetical works of Michael Bruce : with life and writings. William Stephen ed. 1895.