#and they took away half my paycheck

[oifaaa]

Bitchboy isn't a compliment?

It is probably just thought it'd be funny to accuse someone else of not liking tim for once instead of the question always being if I don't like tim

[not-neverland06]

broken promises

pt two

bodyguard!logan howlett x congressman's daughter!reader

a/n: the fact that he was canonically a bodyguard makes me absolutely insane someone congratulate me, I finally figured out how to make my own dividers Summary: He's learned from past mistakes that no matter how tempting the girl is, it's better not to get involved. He just needs some cash, he doesn't give a fuck how pretty you are. He doesn't care about you. He makes it clear he wants nothing to do with you besides seeing you sign his check. But, is that really all he wants? You're not blind to the way he looks at you. 18+ MDNI Shameless smut at the end, I'm not sorry about it at all.

Logan had gotten used to this. The long drawn-out wait to meet with the man who wanted to hire him. He always arrived right on time, not a moment earlier. They all had the same game they liked to play. 

The secretary would greet him, a pretty girl in her 20s that the men were screwing or trying to screw. Then they would make him sit in the lobby for half an hour. They’d apologize by pushing the blame on someone else, saying a meeting had gone on too long. But there wasn’t a meeting. There never was. 

They liked to make themselves seem more important than they were. It was a power game, an intimidation tactic that he had always scoffed at. He didn’t give a fuck what government ties they had or otherwise. He just wanted his paycheck. 

This one was no different. A congressman who had only recently begun to make waves when he started up an anti-mutant agenda. Ironic that he had specifically requested Logan for the very thing he was trying to eradicate. 

There was a buzz and then the secretary was picking up her phone. She spared Logan a fleeting glance before whispering something into the receiver. She looked over at him and he already knew what she was going to say.  “He’s ready for you now.” 

“Thanks, sweetheart,” she gave him a coquettish smile as he made his way towards the large office at the end of the hall. The door was closed when he reached it, three quick knocks and then a quiet Come in. 

The man didn’t even look up to greet him. He continued signing something on his desk. Logan took a seat in one of the chairs, waiting for another few minutes before he was deemed important enough to address. He received a tight smile and narrowed eyes as the man took in the way he was dressed. 

He never dressed up for these things. He’d learned a while ago that a suit wasn’t going to get him any further than his leather jacket was. Might as well be comfortable while talking to these pricks. 

“Had a phone call with an associate of mine. Ran on longer than I meant it to.” Always an excuse, never an apology. 

Logan scoffed and shrugged. “I was fine.”

The man sniffed, “I’m sure. Look, I’ll cut straight to the chase. You come highly recommended by my peers and I need help fast.” Logan nodded, motioning for him to continue. The man’s eyes lingered on his fists for a long while before he finished. “It’s my daughter. Things have been a little rough for her at school, for lack of a better word. Especially since this new campaign started. I just need someone to keep a closer eye on her.”

Logan’s eyes narrowed, “She a party girl or something?” He wasn’t sure he could handle another bratty daddy’s girl again. The last one had nearly made him blow his brains out. They always think flipping their skirts up will let them get away with more and he can’t stand it. 

The man’s face blanched and he shook his head so vigorously that his jowls moved with him. “Oh, no, not at all. But she’s,” he paused and lowered his voice. He leaned in closer to Logan and waited for Logan to do the same. He rolled his eyes but did it anyway. “She’s like you, you know.”

Logan shot him a grin, “You mean a mutant.”

“Lower your voice,” he hissed, face tightening up in anger. “But, yes, a mutant. And I need one to guard her.” Ironic, this man was driving a campaign to make mutants second-class citizens, and his daughter was one. But Logan needed a check, he didn’t give a fuck about the morals of it all. 

“Sounds good to me.”

“Perfect, you can pick her up from school for me.”

You had your earbuds in, head lowered while you made the trek across campus when you noticed him. He was difficult to miss, tall and buff. Very buff, you’re surprised that tank top of his hasn’t ripped every time he flexes. 

Your dad’s newest campaign has you hyper-aware of your surroundings. You can’t afford to let your guard down. Not after the last attack. 

There’s something about this man that tells you he isn’t someone looking to jump you, though. You’re not sure what it is. Every part of him screams danger, but not the type you’re looking out for. The cigar perched between his lips, the glistening muscles you want to bite, he’s trouble. 

When you spot him outside your lecture hall for the third time that day, you finally figure out what’s happening. Your dad had told you he’d hired someone new to watch over you at school. You hadn’t voiced just how against it you were, but you didn’t like the idea. 

You didn’t mind this guy, though. He wasn’t busting into your classes and embarrassing the shit out of you by making everyone empty their pockets like the last guy. He just lingered. You could deal with lingering. 

What you couldn’t deal with was the way he was leaning against his motorcycle, smirking as you slowly approached him. 

“Did my dad hire you?” You call out, tugging your earbuds out. “Who are you?”

He speaks around the cigar like it's second nature. “Your new bodyguard, sweetheart.” You suck in a deep breath when you hear his voice. He’s extremely attractive, you're surprised your dad would risk this. 

One of the other ones had kind of gotten a little obsessed, stalking you even in his off hours. You didn’t think your dad would want another pretty boy around you. Though, you suppose this one isn’t pretty. He’s extremely handsome, ruggedly so, very manly. Jesus, you might end up being the stalker this time. 

His lips curl up like he knows what you’re thinking about. You clear your throat, shifting your backpack higher up your arm. “You planning on taking me home on that?” You ask, pointing at his bike. 

He straightens up and shrugs. “Got a problem with the bike?”

You grin, “Not really,” but your dad will. “No, not at all.”

You walk towards him and he reaches out, grabbing your backpack straps and tugging you towards him. You stumble, hands bracing against his chest so you don’t land flat on your face. “Sorry, kid,” but he doesn’t sound sorry at all. He buckles the straps of your backpack together and tightens them, puffing smoke in your face while he does. “Don’t want this flying off.”

“Mhm,” you hum. You’re not paying attention at all. The only thing you care about right now is just how ripped he is under your hands. You’re not sure how long you gawk at him but he seems to be ridiculously amused by it. 

“Ready to go home, or what?” You jump back from him, brushing your hands off on your leggings and clearing your throat. 

“Yes, yeah.” You rip your eyes off his body and instead focus on the bike. “No helmets?” You ask.

“You heal, don’t you?” You nod and he shrugs. “Don’t need them then, do we?”

You can’t help the giddy grin on your face at that. It’s gotten tiring being treated like glass. You’re about to get on the bike when you finally process what he said. “Wait, how do you know I heal?”

He doesn’t respond verbally. Instead, his gaze darts down to his fists. Your eyes widen when you see the metal poking through the skin. Of course, your father would only tell another mutant about his abomination of a daughter. You scoff and roll your eyes. He’s such a fucking hypocrite. 

Logan climbs on the bike and you follow after him. You're hesitant to wrap your arms around his waist but he just reaches behind himself and jerks you forward. 

You suck in a sharp breath, pelvis tight against his ass while he squeezes your hands. “You want to go flying?” You shake your head and he chuckles, starting the bike and driving off without another word. 

Part of you loves the ride home, the other part detests it. For once you get to experience a little freedom. You’re not trapped in a steel box staring at the back of a car seat while the man beside you pretends he doesn’t exist. 

You can feel the wind in your hair, get a taste of real speed, and enjoy a moment uninterrupted by someone’s expectations of you. On the other hand, Logan does not respect speeding laws. And healing abilities or not, you don’t actually want to experience road rash. 

He manages to get you home in one piece, parking the motorcycle in the driveway and waiting for you to get off. But you can’t, your thighs have been clenching the seat so tight you think they might need to scrape you off. 

“Kid?” He mutters. You shake your head against his back, arms still strangling his waist. It was actually kind of fucking terrifying being on one of these things. You can’t tell if you loved or hated it. 

He lets out a rough sigh, forcibly moving your arms and then tugging you off the seat. Your legs are like jello while you try and straighten out. “Wasn’t so bad, was it?” He asks. You can’t manage much more than a strangled hum and he laughs. 

You turn to your front door and spot a leering face peering out the window. “Shit,” you huff. Your stepmother sees you spot her and disappears from view. You feel your hopes of ever getting back on that bike go with her. 

“You took her home on your bike!”

“Well-”

You flinch at the volume of your father’s voice. “I don’t give a fuck what your excuse is! I will not have my daughter seen riding that monstrosity! You are not to do this again, do you understand me?”

You don’t know what Logan says, but you’re certain it’s not the submissive Yes, sir your father is looking for. He continues shouting at him for another ten minutes. When you hear the door to his office open you scramble to look like you hadn’t been listening in. 

But you’re a bad actress and if his huff of laughter is anything to go by, Logan knows what you were doing. “Did you know that was going to happen?” He asks, pointing back to your father’s, now closed, study. 

You nod, pursing your lips with an apologetic smile. “If it helps, I was really hoping he wouldn’t do that.”

He shrugs, “I don’t really give a fuck how much he wants to scream at me.” It’s refreshing, to finally have someone in the house who doesn’t kiss your father’s ass. It makes you smile, a real genuine smile for the first time in a while. 

You stand from the chair you’d been sitting in, gesturing further into your home. “Are you hungry? I haven’t eaten all day so I was thinking about making something.”

The smirk drops from his face, expression suddenly serious. It makes you tense up. “Look, I appreciate the offer, but I’m here to get paid. I don’t want to be your friend, kid.”

You suck in a sharp breath, trying not to let the rejection sting. He’s a professional, it should be a relief after the last one. “Right, yeah, I’m sorry I didn’t mean it like that.”

He nods, “Right,” tone stiff. You stare at him for another awkwardly long moment before you finally turn on your heel and walk toward the kitchen. You rush there, speedwalking so you don’t have to look at him any longer. 

You open up your fridge, keeping your back to him for as long as humanly possible. You can hear him take a seat at the island, can feel the way his eyes bore into you. It’s a physical thing, his gaze, makes chills scrape their way down your spine. 

You make yourself a sandwich and finally force yourself to turn around. Like you’d expected, he’s already looking at you. Lips ticking up just slightly when you finally get the courage to look up at him. 

Logan feels a little guilty. You weren’t coming onto him earlier, you were being genuine with your kindness. He knows there were no ulterior motives to it and there’s a very slight part of him that feels bad for making you so quiet. “Why’s your dad so pissy about the bike?”

You’re a little startled by the question, after the comment he made you’d thought he wouldn’t want anything to do with you. You swallow down the rest of your bite and cough a little when the bread gets stuck on the roof of your mouth. 

“He doesn’t want me to crash.”

“But you heal,” he points out bluntly and you can’t help but laugh a little. 

“Yeah, that’s the problem. He doesn’t want me to crash and for someone to see that I miraculously healed. Having a freak for a daughter wouldn’t exactly help his campaign, would it?” You can’t even attempt to hide the bitterness in your voice. And you know Logan picks up on it because he doesn’t ask any more questions. 

Your gaze drops to your plate and you finish the rest of your meal in silence. Or, you try to. “Got any plans tonight?”

You chuckle and give him an odd look. “No,” you respond sardonically. “None at all, prepare yourself for a very boring job. I don’t even know why he hired you, I never leave the house unless it's for school.”

“Yeah?” he muses, but he doesn’t seem particularly interested. More like he’s talking just to pass the time. “I heard you’ve been having a hard time at school.”

You suck in a sharp breath, a sudden wave of anger roiling through your gut. The cabinets behind you begin to shake and you wince in embarrassment, tamping down on your powers before you accidentally blow up the kitchen. 

Logan watches the moment with subdued interest like he’s not all that surprised or impressed with the display. “Unless they were a PoliSci nerd, I was a nobody up until last year.” There’s no concealing the hate lurking within your words, “And then my dad took up this whole anti-mutant regime. Well, you can imagine how much the activists love me. I’ve just had a few incidents with some particularly passionate protestors.”

“Do you believe in it?”

Your eyes widen in surprise, you hadn’t expected him to actually continue the conversation. “What do you mean?”

He leans back, arms crossed across his chest in a way that makes his biceps bulge. He shrugs, “The anti-mutant regime, do you agree with it?”

You open your mouth, the perfected script almost rolling off your tongue. But this isn’t some politician's son you’re wooing. You’re not the perfect daughter, you’re in your own home, finally talking to someone else like you. 

“No.” You answer, voice strong in its conviction. “And every time I see one of his PAs running around with their little signs I want to ram the stick up their ass.”

He barks out a laugh, eyes crinkling up in amusement. “I think we might get along, kid.”

You try to ignore the way your cheeks warm at his words. You don’t want to be this affected by him, you’ve barely spoken to him. But this is the first person in a long time that you know with absolute certainty you can be honest with. He doesn’t care about protecting your political image or bowing to your father’s every whim. 

It’s a relief, like a constricting weight being taken off your chest. You give him an easy smile and get up to wash your dishes. His eyes are on you again but they feel less oppressive this time. You’ve already forgotten the rule he’s set in place, you’re not supposed to be friends. 

It’s going to be hard to remember that. 

Your father tightens his grip around your waist until you feel like you might squeal. “Smile, now.” You raise your hand, taking the stairs up the stage and waving out at the crowd that’s formed. It’s hot today, your makeup would be melting off if it weren’t for the artists who put it on for you. 

Always have to look good in front of the camera. All of you. Seeing Logan in a suit was certainly a surprise. You’re almost completely sure that your father had to give him a bonus to even consider wearing it today. 

He looks good, but you honestly prefer him in the normal beater and leather jacket. It’s something so uniquely him. This is just a reminder of your reality, that nothing around you is real. It’s all pretty lies wrapped up in expensive clothes. 

You have to bite your tongue and hold back a grimace when your father begins his speech. “First, we had to let them into our jobs. Now they’re in our schools! Our children aren’t safe, not when they’ve got loaded weapons sitting beside them! Because that’s exactly what they are, weapons of mass destruction that will take apart-”

“Fuck me,” you hiss under your breath. Your cheeks hurt from keeping this smile on your face. You’re struggling not to flinch every time the crowd surges up to agree with him, bigoted shouts making your ears bleed. 

Logan’s brows raise and he gives you a brief glance over his shoulder. Your face pinches in confusion only for a moment before you quickly correct it. Still, you keep your lips nearly completely motionless as you whisper, “Can you hear me?”

You dart your gaze back down to him and catch the barest of nods. Your smile softens, becoming something real if only for a moment. You don’t say anything else, you don’t need to. It’s just a comfort to know someone else is there with you, seeing through the painted faces and plastic smiles. 

There’s movement in the crowd. It cuts your father off midsentence. He peers over the podium, trying to get a better look at what’s happening. You hear someone scream and then the entire crowd is getting knocked to the ground. 

You jump back in shock, everyone on stage still. The security, however, is rushing to get to you and your family. It’s too late, though, there’s a mutant in the crowd and his eyes are set on you. “Fuck you,” he screams out your father's name and lugs something at the stage. 

You hear someone shout your name but it’s too late. Glass shatters against the side of your face. It takes less than a second for the pain to start. You can feel holes being burned through your skin, like living fire melting through your bones and gums. A scream rips out of your throat, your hands coming up to block your face too late. 

“Get her out of here!”

As agonizing as it is, you can already feel your skin working to mend itself. You can practically hear the flesh bonding back together. But the acid is dripping down you. It keeps moving steadily through your clothes and skin, your abilities on overdrive trying to repair the damage. 

You can’t focus on anything except the sensation of being burned alive. Suddenly, there’s an arm being thrown around your shoulder and you’re being lifted off your feet. Your skin scrapes against the rough material of someone’s blazer and it makes you grit your teeth and scream again. 

“I know, hold on kid, it’ll be over in a minute.” Logan rushes you behind the stage, where there are no cameras to watch you heal. You don’t know how your father’s PR team is going to spin this. Everyone saw it, saw the way your flesh bubbled and boiled. There’s no hiding the fact that half your face should be melted off. 

“Car,” you grunt out when he puts you on your feet again. 

His hands are clamped firmly around your shoulders, inspecting you for any further damage. “What?”

“We gotta get to the car,” the words are a struggle to get out. Your lungs constrict painfully in your chest while you force the rest out. “Can’t let them see.”

He looks pissed off that that's what you're worried about and not the fact that you were just attacked. Finally, after a minute of just staring at you, he nods. He wraps an arm around your shoulder and runs with you back to the limo. He throws the door open, pushing you inside and sliding in beside you. 

You take in a deep breath the second you’re no longer in view of the TV cameras. “Fuck,” you gasp out. Your dress is in tatters on your left side and you quickly cover your chest. You pray that you didn’t accidentally flash anything while you were still on stage. Your father would never forgive you for that. 

It’s silent in the car for a moment. You feel something being draped over your shoulder and look over to see Logan passing you his jacket. When he catches your gaze he gently grabs your jaw and titls your face towards his. 

His eyes rove over the left side of your face and he gives you a tight smile. “You’re fine, kid.”

You pull your chin out of his grip and pull his jacket closed around you. “See why my father wanted you around? How would he have ever explained his daughter surviving an acid attack?”

There’s something pinched in his gaze. A deep-seated irritation and something else you’re too tired to identify. He’s looking at you oddly and you wish he wouldn’t. You press your forehead to the cool glass of the window and slump against the car door. 

You don’t know when you fall asleep but by the time you wake up, Logan’s already carrying you up to your room. He sees you shift awake and places you on your feet. You steady yourself against the stair banister and walk the rest of the way to your room, trying to shake off the pain of the day. 

You look back just in time to see Logan at the front door. “Goodnight,” you call down to him. You know he can hear you, but he walks through the door without another word. You bite your lip, ignoring the sinking feeling of your gut. 

You toss your destroyed dress to the floor and turn your TV on. You surf through the channels for a bit before finding a clip of today’s incident. “-apparently part of a protest for mutants against the government. I don’t know Bill, they seem to just be proving everybody’s point. They are unsafe.”

“I agree, my thoughts and prayers go out to…”

You roll your eyes as they say your name. They’re saying it wasn’t acid, instead it’s some sort of chemical compound that causes extreme pain. Even you don’t believe that bullshit. You have a feeling your father is going to be looking for a new PR team tomorrow. 

Your attention is snagged by the replay of the accident. You don’t focus on the acid, you don’t want to. Instead, you see how quickly Logan rushed to your side. He seemed to be right there even as the acid was being thrown. 

Your brows pinch together and you glance at the jacket beside you. He’d forgotten to take it back before he left. You pick it up, eyes skating over the fabric before you find what you’re looking for. There’s a large hole in the right sleeve, acid having burned through it. 

You hadn’t even realized he was in pain. You know he can heal, but it doesn’t get rid of the fluttering feeling in your stomach. You’ve never had someone look after you like that. 

You grin to yourself, tucking the jacket in the back of your closet. You’re sure he wouldn’t want it back and you’re not planning on parting with it anytime soon. 

You’re on house arrest for a week after the acid incident. Which includes no school. Your father has to play into the idea that you’re recovering from the trauma and healing. You don’t know how much longer he’s planning on keeping you locked up but you’re going stir crazy. 

Not only do you not get to go to classes, but Logan isn’t around either. He doesn’t need to be, not when the only place you’re in is your room. He’s not a friend, he’s made that clear, but he’s something. And you are desperately craving that specific something. 

“It was a sickening attack against my daughter that my wife and I are still trying to recover from.” You roll your eyes as you listen to your father spew his bullshit to the interviewer in the next room. 

You’re not allowed to be out and about, of course. You can’t risk someone seeing you. But that doesn’t stop you from lurking. 

“It was an incredibly traumatic experience for her, I’m sure.” You grin to yourself, picking at your nails. You like this one, whoever the reporter is interviewing him. She hasn’t let him catch a break. Especially not when he tries to capitalize on your trauma. Even though he hasn’t checked in once with you. 

“Well,” he splutters for a moment. “Yes, of course,” he tries to sound humble but anyone can tell he’s just covering his ass. “And it just further proves what I’ve always said about mutants. They are animals, they’re not like us.”

You’d think at a certain point you’d go numb to it. You’ve been raised hearing this rhetoric from him all your life. But the sting never eases. That cloying ache in your chest never quite leaves you. Not when you know the only reason he publicly accepts you is for political gains. So everyone can see what a wonderful father he is and vote for him.

You feel sick to your stomach and you don’t think you can listen to much more of this. But right as you’re about to tap out a hand clamps down on your shoulder. You nearly scream but you catch a whiff of the man’s aftershave and your mouth snaps shut. 

You leap out of your chair and whip around, a grin plastered on your face. “Logan, what are you doing here?” You can’t disguise the giddiness in your voice. He might constantly be reminding you that you hold nothing more than a professional relationship, but you don’t give a shit. He’s a constant in your life and that’s rare for you, so you’ll latch onto whatever comfort you can find. 

His gaze briefly darts to the connecting wall to your father’s study and you flush. He’d probably heard all of that. You’ve never had someone see the side of your father that you do. There’s something shamefully embarrassing about it. 

He looks back at you and gives you a sly smirk. “Wanna get out of here?” You’d have to be an idiot to say no.

“Uh,” you can hear the music from where you stand across the street. You shuffle uncertainly on your feet beside Logan, glancing up and down the sidewalk like your father’s going to pop out of an alleyway. “I don’t know if this is such a good idea.”

Logan tugs his cigar out of his mouth. He’s leaned up against a lamppost and he’s watched you struggle for the past ten minutes. “Live a little kid, would ya?”

You look back at the dingy bar and grimace. “Okay, there’s a difference between living a little and having my face blasted on the news. How’s it going to look if I’m photographed at a bar while I’m meant to be healing?”

Logan points with his cigar to the entrance of the bar. “I can promise you, no one in there gives a fuck about who your daddy is.” Comforting, and a little humbling. 

You take in a deep breath and Logan must sense the change in your demeanor. He flicks the cigar to the ground, crushing it with the heel of his boot. He holds his arm out, “Ready, kid?”

You nod, hurrying to his side and slipping under his grasp. He lets his arm hang heavily around your shoulder, hand squeezing your bicep gently to try and quell your nerves. You’d be swooning at the touch if you weren’t about to throw up from anxiety. 

You used to have a life. Until your father had blown it up. You haven’t been around this many people in ages. Well, you haven’t been around people who are just having fun and not sucking up to every politician’s kid they meet. 

The music gets louder as you step over through the threshold of the bar. The soles of your shoes stick to the floor. People laugh loudly all around you, some of them shouting up at TV screens for whatever sport is currently playing. You’re sure half of them don’t even normally watch the game. They just need an excuse to get their wives off their backs. 

The thought brings a small smile to your lips. Logan glances down at you and frowns, “You are old enough to drink, aren’t you?”

You roll your eyes and move out from under his hold. “Yes, Logan. I’m going into a master’s program, my frontal lobe is fully formed.”

He huffs a little at the attitude, cheeks twitching with a suppressed smile. He nods towards the back of the bar, “Find a seat, I’ll get us drinks.” He walks towards the bar without another word and you resent him a little for it. 

Without him beside you, it’s like everything comes crashing down all at once. The songs playing grate on your ears. Every laugh feels like they’re screaming in your face. You’ve never been more in tune with your sense of smell and you hate it. 

Your hands tremble by your sides and you nearly miss the man in front of you spilling his beer down his shirt. It looks completely unnatural, the way it just flips out of his hand. And you know it’s your doing. 

You shove through him and his friends, running to the back and sliding into the first booth you see. You dig your nails into your palms, taking a few deep breaths to try and calm your heart rate down a bit. 

Logan slides into the seat across from you, placing a beer in front of you. It’s barely touched the grimy wood of the table before you tip your head back and drain it. You’ve never been a particular fan of beer or any alcohol for that matter. 

But right now you need a buzz before you accidentally level the whole bar. You slam the bottle back on the table, taking in a deep breath, and sitting back. Logan gives you a hard stare, glancing between you and the empty bottle. 

He clicks his tongue and stands up, “I’ll go get another one.”

You bite your lip and give him a sheepish, “Thank you.”

It doesn’t take long for the buzz to settle in. There’s a slight tingling in your legs and the tips of your fingers. It almost feels like how you get when you’re starting to get aroused. But you don’t know if that’s from the alcohol or the way Logan looks in his slutty little t-shirt. 

Definitely tipsy, you think to yourself, nudging your third beer to the side. 

“Always been a lightweight?” He teases, watching you with amusement in his gaze while he works on what must be his fifth whiskey. 

You shake your head with a soft smile. “No, I used to go out with my friends all the time.” You laugh a little at the memories and lean in a little closer like you’re sharing some horrible secret. Logan rolls his eyes but acquiesces, leaning in to listen to you speak. “We made up alter egos for our drunk selves. Wanna know mine?” You ask, wiggling your eyebrows at him with a stupid grin.

His brows pinch together and he frowns, “I don’t think so.”

You laugh and lean back in your seat. “You’re the worst!” He places his glass down on the table and fixes you with an odd look. You shift around uncomfortably, “What is it?”

“What happened to your friends? Why are you hanging out with me and not them?”

“Oh,” your gaze drops to the table and you suddenly find the stains on it very interesting. It’s practically abstract art. You swallow harshly around the lump in your throat and shrug. “Um, just all the stuff with my dad happened, and,” you shrug, “I don’t know. My life kind of fell apart.”

You try and shake off the funk, bring back the happy-go-lucky feeling you were in only minutes ago. “I had to move out of the dorms and head back home. My friends stopped talking to me. My boyfriend dumped me. It all just kind of blew up.”

Logan frowns and you swear he seems angry on your behalf. It’s a nice feeling, having someone care enough to hold a grudge for you. “You ever tell him how it was all affecting you?”

You snort, “Of course I did. He was overjoyed. He never liked my friends, especially not my boyfriend, they encouraged me to be too independent. He thought I was losing the values he raised me with. He just never cared to learn that I never agreed with them in the first place.”

Logan doesn’t say anything for a while and you let your gaze drift to the karaoke stage. Two women are singing a bad redemption of Led Zeppelin and it makes you smile. You don’t see the way Logan’s eyes linger on the curve of your lips and then drop to your chest. 

You never seem to notice how you make him squirm. There is something so interesting about you. Something so different from the families he worked with before. He doesn’t know if it's the whole mutant thing, if you two are somehow kindred spirits in that regard. He doubts it, he’s never really cared much about that. 

But he knows that there is something magnetic about you. It draws him in and makes him hate his own rules. He promised not to get involved with another client. It always ends messy, most times bloody. 

You turn back to him and smile. Your voice is a low purr as you ask, “You wanna get out of here?”

Of course, he’s never been one to follow the rules. 

“I am so sorry about this. Really.” 

Logan glares down at you while you straighten out his tie. You duck your head so you don’t have to meet his gaze and he lets out a long-suffering sigh. 

“Forget it, kid.” He says it with a smirk but it doesn’t make you feel any less guilty. 

This will be your first public appearance since the incident. It’s a gala, of course, because your father hates you. He’d demanded you find a date, someone to look pretty on your arm because he doesn’t want you talking while you’re there. You’re meant for pictures and nothing more. 

Considering the fact that no one wants to talk to you on campus, the acid incident not helping at all, you had no luck finding a date. You’d had to beg on hands and knees for days to get Logan to agree. 

You don’t know what it is that finally made him cave but you’re grateful for it. You think your father was expecting you to fail. To come crawling to him and be forced to go with who he wanted you to go with. 

You were not going to spend the whole night listening to some political major try and explain your own father’s campaign to you. You’d rather swallow acid than go through that for another night. Your father, of course, doesn’t know that Logan is taking you. 

You’re planning on ambushing him with it. He can’t do anything about it now. He wants you to have a date for some reason and there’s no way for him to find a backup now. You take a step back from him and turn to look in the mirror. 

Side by side, you do make an incredibly attractive couple. He looks amazing in his suit, his muscles just slightly pushing against the fabric. And as much as he hates the tie and constricting material, he makes it work. 

And you feel pretty for the first time in a long time. You actually got to do your own hair and makeup for once. You’re a lot less heavy-handed than the assistants your father hires. You feel comfortable in your own skin, finally, wearing the deep red dress your stepmother had gotten for you. 

“We look good,” you muse. 

Logan looks down at you and smiles slightly, “You do.”

You give him a confused grin, “I said we.”

He leans down, lips brushing against the shell of your ear as he whispers, “I know what you said, sweetheart.” Your heart nearly beats out of your chest at the proximity. Gooseflesh raises on your arms where he’s touching you and your knee buckles ever so slightly. 

You can perfectly imagine his husky voice whispering something much, much dirtier to you. He pulls back with a slight chuckle and forcefully turns you around. “Come on, kid, we’re gonna be late.”

He nudges you towards your bedroom door and you nod your head mutely. He keeps doing that to you. These little things that could be so easily dismissed as you reading into his actions. But you know, deep down, you’re not reading into anything. 

But you don’t know what to do with this information that he might possibly be into you. Or at the very least, attracted to you. He made it clear early on that he wants nothing but professionalism between the two of you, yet he continually breaks his own rule. 

Your father and stepmother are waiting at the bottom of the stairs for you both. Your stepmother smiles when she sees you but your father’s face screws up in anger. “Are you fucking kidding me? The goddamn bodyguard?”

You shrug and slip past him, already walking to the front door. “A date’s a date.” You pause and grin over at him, “What are you going to do about it?” It’s a taunt, one you don’t give him a chance to respond to. 

You’re already slipping outside and heading to the town car. Something about Logan being with you emboldens you to act in ways you never would. Even when he’s not there, when you’re just having family dinner and your father says something off-putting. You fight back, you don’t let him steamroll you and your opinions. 

You feel better than you have in ages with Logan beside you. Still, the ride there is incredibly awkward. 

The hotel is grand and luxurious. But they all are. You feel guilty complaining about your life when this is your weekend. What do you have to be upset about when you regularly stay in five-star motels and wear designer dresses without glancing at the price tag?

Sometimes you feel guilty around Logan. You wonder if he ever resents you for your privilege. You might be a mutant like him, sure, but you’ve never had to struggle to make ends meet. Or try and scrap together enough money to get your next meal. You’ve never had to worry about where you’re going to sleep next or if you’ll have a roof over your head. 

Your struggles have been so different that you worry if something ever did happen between the two of you, you might not work together. 

But those are spiraling thoughts for another time. Right now, you’re just trying to get through the front door without someone bombarding your father with questions on his stance about whatever. 

When it’s clear that he’s going to be there for a while, he sends you and Logan off to the ballroom on your own. You feel bad for your stepmother, having to stay behind and pretend she’s interested as they bore her with stories that have no real meaning. 

“Poor woman,” you mutter, watching her struggle to keep the smile on her face. 

“You don’t call her mom,” Logan muses. You turn to look at him and he just shrugs. “Just a little weird.”

“Well, she’s not my mom.” His head tilts in confusion and you elaborate. “My bio mom left the second she figured out she gave birth to a mutant. We lie to the public, stepmom’s interfere with the perfect nuclear family ideal my dad’s pushing for.”

“If he cares so much about family then why don’t you have your dad’s last name?” A good question, one you had to field a lot when you first started school. 

You give him a sly grin, “Took my mom's maiden name the second I was eighteen, just to piss him off.” There’s no true reason behind it other than being vindictive and petty. “He’s been trying to get me to change it for years but he can’t force me to. Besides, I like having my name separate from theirs. Lets me pretend I’m not a part of the family. Don’t get me wrong, she’s nice and all, we just never really had the chance to bond.”

Someone passes by you. A couple you know you’re supposed to recognize but you can’t place their names. The man calls out your name, coming toward you with his arms open wide. You can see Logan tense up slightly beside you, bodyguard instincts coming out for a moment. 

You squeeze his hand briefly before stepping forward to hug the man. “So nice to see you, again.” You tell him. He grins and squeezes you a little closer to his chest than necessary. 

Logan clears his throat, glaring at the man’s drifting hands. Before either of you can react, Logan is pulling you back, hand resting lightly over the small of your back. He holds his hand out, forcing the man to shake his hand and take his attention off of you.

You can’t hold back the smile on your lips when you see how much smaller the man is under Logan’s intense stare. You’ve gotten used to the men at these events treating you however they want. They don’t see you as a human, you are your father’s accessory and their toy. You envy Logan for how easily he can dismiss these men, take away their larger-than-life personalities, and reduce them to the sniveling rats they truly are. 

He doesn’t even speak, simply tugs you towards the ballroom and away from the man’s wandering hands. You can’t help the stupid smile on your face while you look at him. He glances out the side of his eye and huffs, “What?” He snaps, tone impatient. 

You shrug and shake your head. “Nothing, you’re just…” You trail off, unsure how to continue. You don’t want to make him uncomfortable by telling him how you really feel about him. How deeply you appreciate him, how horribly you desire him. You’re afraid it will all just blow up in your face. That you’ll have truly been reading into everything and gotten his intentions all wrong. After all, he’s made it abundantly clear that there’s meant to be nothing between the two of you except a paycheck. 

You take in a deep breath, smile faltering, “Nothing.” You finally spit out, slipping out of his grasp and walking quicker towards the doors. His hand lingers on your back, fingers trailing slowly down your spine until you’re completely out of his reach. 

The chatter inside gets louder the closer you get to the entrance. You listen to the indiscernible voices, the quartet playing in the corner, and the clink of metal on the glass as they all eat. You straighten out your shoulders and put on your best smile, mentally preparing yourself to keep it stiff on your cheeks for the rest of the night. 

Logan catches up to you, the both of you stopping the second you see the inside of the ballroom. 

People Against Mutants

Evolution or Monstrosities

Parents for the Removal of Mutant Children

Your eyes widen as you take in the banners and signs hanging off the walls. More and more uncreative rhetoric all for the annihilation of mutants. Of people like you and Logan. Your smile drops immediately and you know you should have expected something like this from your father. He’d been refusing to tell you what this gala was for, saying offhandly he was just raising some money. 

You thought it was another charity. Not this. Not people, quite literally, calling for your head. For Logan’s head. You suck in a sharp breath and glance towards the silent man beside you. His jaw is clenched as he takes in all the finely dressed people around you. They’re all laughing and chatting like they’re not actively campaigning for the destruction of children. 

“Bar?” You ask, already walking towards it. 

“Sounds good to me.” His hand is on your back again and you’re grateful for it. The glower on his face, the attitude that screams I don’t belong here keeps people away from you. He shoulders through the men huddling around the bar, forcefully clearing space for the two of you. 

And when they turn around, posturing like they’re going to say something, he only has to look at them for them to retreat with their tails tucked. It’s ridiculously attractive seeing someone command these men so easily. 

“Whiskey,” Logan grumbles, he looks back at you and you slide beside him, leaning your elbows against the cool counter. 

“Just champagne, please,” you tell the bartender. He nods, quickly making your drinks and handing them to you. You turn with the flute in your hand, surveying the room. It feels less like a gala and more like a production of false niceties that will never end and never be genuine. 

“Don’t know how you deal with these fuckers all the time,” Logan mutters, glaring as a man slams into him and keeps walking without apologizing. 

You let out a short huff of laughter, “Honestly,” he glances over at you and you shrug. “I’ve got no fucking clue either.” He scoffs and takes a swig from his glass. But you can’t take your eyes off of him. You feel the words on the tip of your tongue, weighing you down until you feel like you have no choice but to spit them out. 

“You,” his brows quirk up and he glances over at you. You take in a deep breath and start over, nerves making your palms sweaty around the glass. “You make it bearable.”

Logan’s face falls and he sucks in a deep breath. You see the expression on his face, you know what he’s going to tell you. And you hate how apologetic he looks. You especially despise the way he’s making you feel pitied. He’s never done that before and you don’t want him to start now. 

“Don’t,” you tell him before he can say anything. You let out a self-deprecating laugh and place the champagne flute on the bar so you don’t have to look at him. “I know what you’re going to say, alright. So, just, don’t.”

Logan purses his lips and grabs your jaw. You try and jerk your face out of his grasp but he doesn’t let you, he forces you to look at him. He only lets go once you reluctantly make eye contact. You’re surprised by the look on his face. There’s no pity in his gaze like you’d expected. 

This is something else, something darker and more twisted. You can’t put your finger on what exactly you’re seeing but you know it makes your heart race and your thighs clench. “Listen, sweetheart, I-”

“What the hell are you doing?” You jump away from him but Logan just clenches his eyes shut with a short huff of irritated breath. You clear your throat and turn to face your father. He’s glaring between you and Logan, but smiles warmly anytime someone looks your way. “I didn’t bring you here so my contributors could see what a fucking whore you are for the help.”

“Dad!” You exclaim, eyes widening in horror. But Logan doesn’t seem bothered by your father’s words. If anything it seems to incense him, his hand drifting from your jaw to drape itself over the nape of your neck. You try not to show just how much the possessive grip is affecting you but you know they can both tell. 

Your father’s face pinches and he nearly stomps his foot as he looks between you and Logan. He looks like he wants to say something else but your stepmother, thankfully, calls his name. She waves him over towards her and you hold your breath, waiting to see what he’s going to do. 

He takes in short puffs of air, straightening out his suit jacket and glaring at you. “You’re not going to be a fucking wallflower all night, got it?” He doesn’t give you a chance to respond before he’s stomping off. He calls out a warm greeting to someone across the room and you feel like you can finally breathe again. 

You give Logan a tired smile and nod towards the rest of the party. “Time to mingle.”

He laughs, loudly, enough to make people’s heads turn. You can feel your skin heating up from embarrassment and flinch away from the sound. “Sorry, kid, mingling ain’t part of my contract.”

Your jaw drops as you glare at him. “Are you serious?”

He turns back to the bar, flagging down the bartender for a refill. “Deadly,” he tells you firmly, barely looking at you. You roll your eyes and walk away from him, glaring at his back the whole time you do so. 

He thought coming to one of these things, being stuffed in a scratchy suit, would be his worst nightmare. He was proven wrong when he heard them talking to each other. Bitching about golf and their mistresses wanting more attention. Their kids nagging them and their wives being bitches. 

All of it made him want to down a whole bottle of whiskey and then blow his brains out. His worst nightmare turned into ever having to hold a conversation with one of these pricks. 

Then, he turns around, surveying the room for wherever you were lurking. He expects you to be by your father’s side or hiding somewhere in a corner. Instead, you’re standing close -extremely close - to some pretty boy. 

His hand is on your waist and you’re laughing at whatever boring fucking story he’s telling you. Logan tries to pick up on your conversation but there are too many things happening at once already. His senses are on overdrive and he’s already struggling against a migraine. 

He feels something brewing in his gut, something he’s been trying to just shove down for months. He doesn’t know what it is he hates about this picture but it makes him sick to his stomach. He hears something crack and looks down to find the glass of whiskey split on one side. 

“Shit,” he hisses, slamming the glass on the bar behind him. He shakes his hand out and tries to unclench his fists but it’s hard. He couldn’t have possibly been standing here long enough for you to suddenly find the love of your life. Why the fuck are the two of you so close?

This was so unlike you. Rarely did you ever have something good to say about the men you would encounter at these things. He’d heard you bitch about it enough times. Something about this isn’t adding up and he doesn’t know if it’s his own jealousy or intuition. 

Still, he finds himself pushing away from the bar and stalking towards you both. Closer, he can finally see what the problem is. Your hands are on the guy's chest but you aren’t leaning against him, you’re actively trying to push him away. 

It makes Logan’s blood boil, jaw clenching as he tries to keep himself at bay. He didn’t want to cave some kid’s head in in the middle of the gala. But the closer he got the clearer he could hear your hissed warnings to take his hands off of you. 

Logan finally reaches you and the look of sheer relief on your face makes him want to bring the claws out. He’d love to see that smug smirk ripped off his face, but he holds back. If only so he doesn’t traumatize you. 

“Alright, bub, hands off,” he warns. 

“Why don’t you just leave us alone?” He had to give it to the kid, he’s got balls. Rarely did anyone ever buck up to him like this. Normally, he might entertain him a bit, drag this on longer than necessary to get a kick out of it. 

But he still hasn’t taken his hands off of you and Logan’s not interested in fucking around tonight. Without a word, he grabs the kid by the collar of his jacket and tosses him away from you. 

He lands roughly on the floor with a loud gasp and people turn to look. Logan pays no mind to the onlookers. He places his hand on your back and leads you out of the ballroom, unwilling to have eyes on you for the rest of this conversation. 

“Logan,” you start, tone nervous. 

“Don’t,” he snaps. He regrets it immediately from the way you jump in surprise. He lets out a rough sigh, running his hand down his face, and walks through the first door he finds. “I’m sorry, kid, I just-”

“Logan,” you cut him off. The tone of your voice is enough to get him to finally look at you. Your arms are crossed and you’re glaring at him. “Why the fuck did you drag us into a closet?”

His brows furrow in confusion and he glances around, finally realizing what he walked into, “Fuck,” he hisses. He gropes blindly around the room for a light switch. There’s a small click and then an unflattering fluorescent light is shining down on you both. He’s managed to drag you both into a small, incredibly cramped, cleaning closet.  

You’re grimacing as you push a few mops away from your head. You look over at him and something about the look on his face must be funny because you start to laugh. “What were you thinking?”

Your smile makes one curl up on his own lips. He can’t help it, something about you eases a bit of the tightness constantly lurking inside him. “Thought it was one of those stuffy conference rooms.”

You scoff and reach for the handle, “Just a stuffy closest, good going, Logan.” You roll your eyes and tug on the knob. Your brows furrow together as you jiggle the handle every which way, desperately pulling on it. 

“Move over,” Logan mutters, nudging you to the side. He wraps his hand around the handle and yanks on it, expecting the door to swing open. When it doesn’t his face falls. 

“Did you miraculously unlock it, genius?” You demand sarcastically. Logan feels his shoulders tense up, frustration levels steadily rising. He’s already got a shit temper, he doesn’t need you adding to this. 

“No,” he snipes, “but I don’t see you coming up with any wonderful solutions.”

You throw your hands up in the air, wincing when your elbow collides with the shelving unit behind you. “I didn’t drag us into this mess! Why did you even come in here?” You demand and he can see how angry you are. 

It shows in the way you tapped your heeled feet against the floor and glower at him like he’s the bane of your existence. He doesn’t know what happens, what comes over him, or why this is the moment he chooses to break his rule. 

Your back slams into the shelves behind you and you gasp as he surges towards you. His hands come up to cup your cheeks and before you get a chance to question him, his mouth is covering your own. Logan buries his hand in your hair, ruining the perfectly styled curls. You don’t seem to mind much if the way you arch into him is anything to go by. 

His tongue runs across the seam of your lips, tasting the cherry-flavored gloss you’d applied earlier. He wants to devour you. Consume you body and soul, take everything you have to give, and then keep going. He doesn’t want to stop, but he’s not sure he wants the first place you have sex to be in a janitor’s closet. 

He pulls back, tugging you back when you try to chase his lips with your own. “Shouldn’t do this here,” he mutters. He’s struggling to hold back. And when you look up at him, lips swollen from his kiss, and you mutter why, how is he meant to resist?

He tugs you away from the shelves, pushing you against the door so he doesn’t have to see your face twist up in pain every time the corner digs into your lower back. Your hands drop down to his belt, lips desperately carving a path down his neck. 

He’d laugh at your eagerness if he wasn’t just as desperate for you. He reaches for the hem of your dress but it’s one of those floor-length gowns with no slits. He struggled for a minute before getting too impatient and just muttering, “Fuck it.”

You gasp when you feel the metal of his claw against your leg, eyes dropping down to watch as he makes himself a slit. He slices the fabric along your thigh and then just rips it. “Logan,” you hiss as he hikes the silk over your hips. 

“Something wrong, sweetheart?” You glare at him, eyes darting between him and his pants before you finally shake your head. He laughs slightly, hand drifting under your dress and reveling in the way you shiver under his touch. “Yeah,” he whispers, “that’s what I thought.”

His fingers move gently along your thighs, easing you into his touch. You let out breathy whimpers, tucking your face in his neck the closer he gets to your core. He lets his hand drift lower, searching out the band of your underwear. 

He’s pleasantly surprised when he’s met with nothing but you dripping for him. “Shit, you’re not wearing any underwear?”

You freeze and keep your face stubbornly buried in his neck. Logan laughs slightly, tugging you back and forcing you to look up at him. You mumble something under your breath. It’s said so quickly he can barely understand you. “What was that?”

“Ugh, god, Logan.” You groan and let your eyes drop down to his shirt, fiddling with the end of his tie. “I was hoping this would happen.”

When he doesn’t say anything your face shifts, worry gnawing away at you. You glance up at him and are surprised by the intensity of his gaze. He’s staring down at you like he wants to eat you whole. His pupils have consumed all the color of his eyes, there’s nothing but want on his face. 

“You wanna know why I agreed to come with you, kid?”

Your mind is completely dulled just by being this close to him. It takes you a moment to process what he’s saying before you nod your head. “Why?”

The look on his face reminds you of a wolf guarding its territory. It’s predatorial, animalistic, it makes you want him even more. “I didn’t want any of these little boys getting a chance to have their hands on you.” His gaze drops down to your lips and he leans in until your breaths are mingling together. 

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted you.” He dips his head down and his kiss isn’t as intense as it was the first time. His lips move lazily over your own, tongue stroking against yours like he’s savoring the taste. 

You can taste the whiskey he’d drank earlier, can still smell cigars on his breath. It should be revolting, you’ve never liked kissing smokers. But there is something so intoxicating about him. Everything he does is enchanting to you. 

It’s a naive train of thought but you trust him wholly. He could do whatever he wanted to you and you’d let him willingly. His hands continue their exploration down your body and you can’t help but arch into his touch. His fingers stroke languidly over your center and you moan into his mouth. 

Your lips part with little gasps and your head thunks loudly against the door. Neither of you notice or care, you’ve all but forgotten the gala outside. The government employees and rich socialites that you’re supposed to be entertaining. 

And when he slips a finger inside you, you don’t care who hears you call out his name. The rough pad of his finger creates a feeling you’ve never been able to produce on your own. There’s something so exhilarating about this whole situation. 

Stuck in this tiny closet, no air to breathe but each other’s. No room for anything other than your bodies pressed as closely together as possible. You're completely surrounded by him and you never want to leave. 

“Logan,” you gasp out his name and shove at his shoulders. He momentarily stops his ministrations, giving you a worried look. “Please, I just want you.” You tug at his wrist, hissing when his fingers leave you with a lewd pop. 

He looks hesitant, but you can see the way he’s straining against his boxers. You let your hand trail down his stomach, palming him through the thin fabric. His hips buck into your hands and he lets out the most attractive noise you’ve ever heard. You’ve always liked guys who aren’t afraid to be vocal. 

“Fuck, you’re gonna be the death of me,” he whispers. He swats your hands to the sides, tugging his boxers down and squeezing your hips hard enough to bruise. “Come on, up.”

You jump and he slings your legs around his waist, lining himself up with your entrance. He drags you slowly down his cock, resting your back against the door and giving a hesitant thrust inside you. 

You can’t help the low groan that leaves your parted lips. It’s like you’re full of nothing but him. You’d been mentally prepared for the stretch he would present, but you probably should have given him more time to warn you up. 

You don’t care though, this is all you’ve been craving for months. To feel nothing, taste nothing but him. You’ve been praying that he feels the same way you do, and if the look on his face is anything to go by, he does. 

He looks completely wrecked, head resting on your shoulder while you both take a breath. It’s overwhelming, this feeling of finally having what you’ve always wanted. Someone you can give yourself to completely and still feel safe with them. 

You drag your hand up his back, burying it in his hair and reveling in how soft it is. You tug him back by the roots, tilting his neck until he’s forced to look at you. Your gaze drops to his reddened lips and you smile at the gloss you’ve smeared across his chin. 

“Come on, Logan, don’t tell me you’re all talk.”

His eyes narrow but you can see the amusement swimming within them. “You’re gonna regret that.”

“Oh, yeah?” You goad, grinding your hips down against his and biting your lip hard enough to draw blood. You’re trying not to make a noise, trying to make sure he doesn’t see just how much he’s affecting you. But you can already feel your orgasm forming, it’s a low tingle in the tips of your toes, a burning hot desire rushing through your thighs as you clench around him. 

“Yeah,” he promises, thrusting sharply into you. This time the moan is forced out of you, your lips parting unbidden as you slump over him, burying your face in his neck. He doesn’t waste any time, using your hips as handles to pump you over his cock like you’re nothing more than a toy. 

The door rattles behind you, each thrust of his hips makes it shake in its frame. His hands fist the back of your dress, grip so tight you think it might tear. You don’t care. He could rip it off of you and you’d walk outside naked right now. 

You don’t care what happens, not when he’s beside you. There’s a feeling of security that comes from being around Logan and you can feel it in this moment. You trust him to take care of you in every way. 

Maybe you shouldn’t. After all, you two haven’t known each other long. But there’s not much you’re worried about when he’s moving steadily inside you. You can taste the desperation you share for each other in each pump of his hips. 

He whispers it into your ear while you claw at his back. The shelves around you shake and you worry you might bring them down if you can’t rope yourself in. But you can feel the wave building in the back of your throat, your vision blurring as you tighten your legs around his waist and begin to match his rhythm. 

“There you go,” he mutters, pinning you to the door and keeping your hips still while he moves inside you. “Come on, I can feel you clenching around me, sweetheart.” He manages to hold you up with one hand, the other diving between your legs to rub tight circles around your bundle of nerves. 

It doesn’t take much longer for your muscles to seize up, back bowing as you clench desperately around him. “Oh, fuck, Logan,” you shout his name, and his hand quickly comes up to smother your cries. He squeezes your cheeks until your eyes snap open and he drags you down to meet his gaze. 

“Don’t want to lose my job, need you to be quiet for me,” he grunts out, his tone breathy and strained. He loses his rhythm, movements speeding up erratically while he lets out low groans and whispers of your name. You almost cum again when he finally finishes inside you. 

Your limbs are twitching in overstimulation by the time his hips still. You feel completely boneless, body slumped lazily in his arms. He wraps both arms around you, squeezing you a little before slowly lifting you off of him. 

It’s a relief of pressure when he pulls out. His cum leaks out of you, dribbling down your thighs and dripping onto the floor of the closest. Your face screws up at the feeling and you internally cringe. No condom was probably a stupid call.

But you don’t really want to think about the repercussions right now. Not when he’s stroking your hair and rubbing a soothing hand down your back, waiting until you can form a coherent sentence before he lets you go. “Alright?” He asks, voice bordering on something smug. 

“Mhm,” you push away from him, legs shaky as you try and straighten out your dress. It’s a loss cause, trying to hide what happened in here at all. You’ve got a tear going up to your hip and you’re pretty sure there are holes in the back. Logan’s tie is gone and you don’t even remember taking that off. His shirt is completely wrinkled and your lip gloss has stained his face. 

You’ve both got horrific sex hair and the room reeks of it. You don’t know how you're going to sneak out of here. You still try and relax your hair, patting down the flyaways while Logan retucks his shirt. 

It’s silent between the two of you, heavy but not awkward. You don’t think either of you knows what to say now that you’ve physically acted on what you want. A sudden thought hits you, makes your heart clench painfully and your tongue ties up in your mouth. 

He’d confirmed that he wanted your body. That he desired you sexually. But you don’t think he actually said anything about a real relationship. There would be problems, of course, your father for one would have a lot to say about it. But you don’t care about that. You don’t care about any of the consequences, you just want to be with him. 

You open your mouth to ask him what he wants when the door swings open. Both you and Logan whip towards it. But where you look like a deer caught in the headlights he looks like the epitome of male pride. 

Especially when he realizes it's your father on the other side. “Dad-” You start, but you have no idea what you could even say. Your dress is in tatters and both you and Logan are still mussed up. There’s no hiding what happened here. 

He doesn’t let you finish, holding up his hand. His voice is eerily calm as he says, “I thought I heard something banging around in here.”

“You did,” Logan scoffs, crossing his arms and glaring at your father. You feel your heart jump to your throat, staring over at him with a horrified look on your face. How could he think that was okay to say? It was so dismissive of what you believed had happened. 

This was more than just a quickie in the dark to you. This meant something, but you’re seriously starting to doubt that it was the same for him as it was for you. And that just makes you feel like the stupid little girl everyone seems to believe you are. 

Your father says your name but you can’t bring yourself to meet his eye. “You’re feeling sick,” he tells you, no room for argument. “Your date had to take you home. It was just too much too soon after the incident at the rally.” When you don’t say anything he shouts out, “Understood?” That makes you jump. 

“Yes,” you clear your throat and face him. “Yes, understood.”

Your father has made his stance on mutants clear. He hates them, despises them to their very being, and wishes he could kill every last one. And as much as you were raised with those ideas, they were never truly turned on you.

But he’s looking at you right now like he wishes you were never born. You feel like shit on his shoe. Something to be hidden away and buried. It makes your shoulders slump like a hundred pounds was just tossed onto your back. 

You try to run past him but he jerks you back, fingers so tight around your bicep you feel the skin tear. You gasp in pain but don’t say anything, too afraid to argue. “Put his jacket on, I won’t have you looking like a whore.” He releases you with a rough shove and storms off. 

You can feel something burning at the back of your eyes. A moment later Logan drops his jacket over your shoulders, pulling you back into his chest and running his hands over your arms. “Come on, kid,” he mutters. There’s something resigned in his voice that makes your heart drop, “Let’s get you home.”

The walk through the lobby feels like you’re walking through a dream. You’re not completely present for it, or the ride home. Your mind and your heart are warring and you feel like you’re going to be torn apart if you keep lingering on what just happened. 

You just can’t understand how you could go from having everything you wanted to feeling like the scum of the earth in less than two minutes. Logan doesn’t speak as he drives you home. His knuckles are turning white around the steering wheel and you’re afraid to even try and start a conversation. 

You don’t want to hear him tell you that he didn’t desire you past your body. You don’t want to discover that you’re just another notch on his belt. He seems to do this a lot, sleep with the girls he guards. The idea of just being another job, another fun night, makes you absolutely disgusted with yourself. 

When he pulls into the driveway of your house you both just sit in the car. Neither of you knows what to say. And the air between you is so thick with tension you feel like you could choke on it. You stare down at your hands, fingers fiddling with the ripped seams of your dress. 

You pick at the threads and feel his stare on you. You can’t do this. You can’t deal with the possibility of rejection. Not after what happened between you and certainly not after what your father said. 

You undo your seat belt and Logan watches as you go through the movements of getting up. His eyes never leave you and it’s like a physical caress, his stare. Normally it would make you warm inside, comforted by his presence. But right now all you can feel is the chill of where his cum has dried between your legs and the icy-hot stab of nausea in your gut. 

You throw the door open and you’re nearly out when he calls out a quiet, “Goodnight.”

You don’t look at him, you can’t. You slam the door shut and walk silently to the front door of your house. You don’t look back, don’t respond, you just slip inside your house and finally let the weight of the night come crashing down on you. 

You don’t cry until you hear him pull out of the driveway. 

Your father and stepmother usually stay at the hotel the night of a gala. Most nights you come home and enjoy the house to yourself for once. Tonight, you’re woken up by the front door slamming so hard your walls shake. 

You can faintly hear your stepmother’s voice trying to console your father. She’s muttering something to him you can’t make out. You shoot out of bed, running to pull some sweatpants on. After you’d cried yourself out you’d taken a shower. 

You’ve scrubbed your skin raw but you swear you can still smell him on you. You rush to your bedroom door, turning the knob quietly and slowly peeking your head outside. Your father’s at the bottom of the stairs, the second he spots your open door he’s screaming your name. 

Your stomach twists painfully and you can feel panic starting to overwhelm you. Your hands shake and your legs are stiff as you slowly step into the hallway. You’re a grown woman. You shouldn’t feel like this because your dad is going to yell at you. 

But he’s been so good at forcing you to rely on him. At forcing you to bend and break to fit his beliefs and mold. You don’t know what to do if you’re not striving for his approval. And right now it’s very clear that he’s never been more disgusted by you. 

If the look on his face isn’t enough to twist the knife deeper, his words are. “I have never,” he screams at you. You take a step back, keeping the stairs between you, refusing to meet him in the middle. “Been more embarrassed to call you my daughter. Do you have any idea how humiliating that was for me? Do you know how many people saw you being dragged outside like a fucking whore off the corner?”

You clench your eyes shut, turning your face away from him as the shame becomes a physical thing inside you. You can feel it making its way up your throat. Because he’s right. Tonight you were nothing more than a slut without any self-respect. 

But you’re also pissed off. You’re fucking enraged at yourself for being so stupid as to ever believe Logan wanted you for anything more than your body. You're mad at Logan for knowing how you feel about him and taking advantage of it. And you’re so fucking tired of doing everything you can to make your father proud and it never being enough. 

“Have you ever once asked me what I want?” You raise your voice, screaming down at him with a ferocity that surprises even you. His eyes widen, frame trembling with unreleased rage. You plow through, not stopping because you know if you do, you’ll never get this out. “No, you haven’t. Not once. Because you don’t fucking love me! And it has taken me years to accept that, to finally realize that you’re incapable of loving anyone but yourself.”

You gasp, the noise wet and painful as something warm trickles down your cheek. You stare down at him with your eyes wide in realization. “It’s so clear to me now, I feel like an idiot for missing it for so long. You never loved me. You’re incapable of it!” 

You’re embarrassed at the way your voice cracks. As much as you want to pretend you’re stronger than him, not afraid of him. There’s still a little girl inside you who wonders why Daddy doesn’t love you. 

“I don’t give a flying fuck what you want, Dad. I don’t care what you want my life to look like or if I embarrassed you. I’m glad I did, glad someone finally saw a sliver of the truth you try so desperately to hide-”

“Enough!” He shouts and it startles you so bad that you jump back, your abilities reacting and a vase behind you flying off the shelf. You duck as glass shatters across the stairs and floor. You glance at the scene with shocked eyes, looking down at your father to see that he’s not even a little bit surprised. 

Instead, he just looks so deeply disappointed that it makes you shrink into yourself. The anger within you is extinguished in a second. He rubs his face, shaking his head and turning his back on you. “Dad?” You call out, voice trembling. 

“Go to your room,” he tells you quietly. “I don’t want to look at you anymore.” You hover by the top of the stairs for a moment, not quite believing him yet. And when he realizes you're still there, that you’re not taking him seriously, he finally looks at you again. 

“I wish every goddamn day that those doctors had just put you down. I’d rather have a dead daughter than one like you.”

You stand there, stunned, even after the rest of the house has gone to bed. You clean up the pieces of glass while you try and swallow down your tears. Let the sharp edges dig into your skin and tear until you can feel any type of pain besides the one inside you. 

A week of solitary confinement. You’re surprised that you haven’t just been kicked out of college. You’re sure that your father’s many donations to the university are the only thing stopping your professors from dropping you from the class. 

You don’t care if they do or not, though. You never actually care about what you studied. You’d just always hoped that it would be a way for you to escape the tight grip around your neck your dad has on you. 

You’ve figured out that no matter how hard you fight, you’ll never escape him. He hates you and yet, he can’t let you go. You’d laugh if you weren’t busy wallowing in your depression. 

Someone keeps leaving food by your door but you can’t find it in yourself to be hungry. You’ll nibble on something, but you feel like you’re going to throw up when you so much as breathe the wrong way. 

You haven’t heard from Logan since that night. You knew your father would fire him the second he woke up. But you’d held out hope - foolishly - that he might still try and reach out to you. You have this childish image in your head of the prince coming to rescue the princess from the dragon. 

But you’ve been naive your whole life, you don’t want to keep going down this road. You don’t want to keep expecting the best of people and live your life in perpetual disappointment. 

You haven’t seen or spoken to your father since that night. Wordlessly, he’d banned you to your room. No one’s said it, but you know you’re not allowed to come out. You don’t know when he’s going to deem you useful again and drag you back out into the public eye. 

Contrary to his belief, no one had seen you leave that night with Logan. You hadn’t been in any tabloids or shitty news articles. Besides emotional estrangement from your father and losing the only guy you’ve ever really liked, there were no consequences to your whorish behavior - as your father so lovingly puts it. 

You roll over in your bed and picture yourself taking a shower. It feels like such a workout but you can’t stand lying in your sweat and tears for much longer. With a long drawn-out groan, you throw yourself out of bed and enter the bathroom connected to your room. 

You know you’ll feel better afterward, but everything besides sleep sounds like too much work. Still, you force yourself inside and finally clean the grime of laying on your ass for a week off. 

You walk naked through your room, making a beeline for your dresser. You feel a little better after washing yourself off and moisturizing. But not much. Physical health can only do so much for how you feel inside. 

You hope this will blow over soon, you’re not sure how much longer you can take feeling so awful. You hate pitying yourself, and that’s exactly what you’re doing right now. You huff irritatedly, digging around your drawers for your favorite shirt. 

A hand clamps around your mouth, rough and big, yanking you back into a muscled chest and keeping you quiet. You still try and scream, hands clawing at the skin of their hand until you feel blood. 

“Fuck, quit that, would ya?”

Your erratic movements slowly come to a halt. You still feel your heart pounding against your chest, adrenaline warming your blood and making you feel like you're on fire from the inside out. But, you recognize the voice, recognize there’s no danger to the situation. 

That doesn’t make you any less pissed off. When Logan is sure you won’t keep attacking him, he lets you go slowly. You immediately whirl around on him, uncaring that you’re still naked. Energy moves quickly through you, becoming a physical thing under your skin. 

He smiles at you and you push the energy out, throwing him across your room. He flies into your bookshelf, crashing to the ground with a loud slam. “What the fuck are you doing?” You scream at him. 

There’s no one home right now, luckily, or else you both would be screwed. He shakes his head off, brushing pieces of wood out of his hair and slowly getting to his feet. “Well, I was coming to say hi-”

“You say hi by ambushing naked girls?” You interrupt, grabbing the clothes closest to you and pulling them on quickly. 

Logan rolls his neck out and shrugs. “No, that was just a plus,” he gives you that insufferable smirk and you want to scream. 

This is the first time you see him in a week since you had sex together and your father officially disowned you. And this is what he’s leading with? Seriously? “You’re a real fucking prince, Logan.” You shake your head with a scoff and glare at him.

He narrows his eyes, looking to be in disbelief at your attitude. “What happened?” You expect to hear irritation in his tone. Anger that you’re being such a bitch right now. Instead, he sounds concerned, like he can see right through you. 

You hate that. You used to love having someone who could see past all the pretenses and walls, but it just hurts now. “Nothing,” you tell him, unable to hold eye contact any longer. “Look,” you take in a deep breath, and your brows furrow in confusion. “How the hell did you even get in here?”

Logan doesn’t look like he wants to drop the topic just yet but he relents. He nods towards your window and you fix him with an astonished look. “I climbed, I didn’t want your dad to risk seeing me on the security cameras out front.”

You feel suspicion brewing inside you, tone turning defensive. “Look, if you came here because you want to fuck again, I suggest you go find another girl. I’m not interested anymore.”

“Well,” he scoffs, “I find that hard to believe.” How easily he just dismisses your words. Like they hold no real importance. It makes you want to scream. Instead, you just flick your wrist, throwing him into another wall. You don’t know how you’re going to explain these holes in the wall to your father but you don’t really care. 

“Enough,” he snaps, brushing himself off and glaring at you. Your lips curl up in amusement, the first thing you’ve felt besides anger and depression for the last week. “Look, I was coming here to get you the hell out, kid. Clearly, I’m not wanted.”

He walks towards your window, intent on climbing back down the side of your house and leaving. You almost let him, if only to see him scurrying down the wall. Instead, you take a step forward and stop him with a small, “Get me out?”

He sighs, running an aggrieved hand over his face and propping the other on his hip. “Yeah,” he mutters. “Look, I can’t stand the thought of you cooped up in here, isolated from the rest of the world. It’s not fair, I was gonna see if you…” He trails off and roughly swallows. 

Your interest piques. Whatever is this hard for him to get out has to be interesting. “Logan,” you call his name softly. “See if I what?”

He huffs out a rough breath, turning around and staring you down. There’s something in his eyes, something reflected in yours. He’s looking at you the same way you always look at him. “You wanna come with me, kid?”

Well, you’d have to be an idiot to say no. 

You don’t leave a note. You don’t give them any clues or hints as to where you might have gone. They can draw their own conclusions about what happened to you. They can tell the news whatever twisted lies they want. 

You don’t care, that’s not your life anymore. Your life is packed away in a backpack in the back of Logan’s trailer. Your new life is in the passenger seat beside him. You’re equal parts terrified and excited to figure out what you’re going to do with the rest of it. 

a/n: can you tell I know fuck all about politics?

Also, smut, wow, this was hard and rough to write. I don’t know why it’s such a struggle. I just feel guilty writing such dirty words, it’s absolutely diabolical that I have no problem being crazy over a guy whose age gap with me is the same age as my parents, but I can’t write smut.

end. — I do not own the characters or the comics/movies Wolverine/X-Men, but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

General Taglist: @evasmlp

Logan Taglist:  @nonamevenus @smexy-bucky-waifu @wh1sp♡

[occamstfs]

No Need to Apply

Here is my 1K special! Though admittedly it is nothing much out of the ordinary- Thanks to everyone who submitted prompts but especially the anonymous suggestion that spurred this transformation of a desperate twink into a cocky slob! -Occam

Brock really needed a lucky break. He had been staying with his ex since they ended it, but now that he’s sleeping with someone it’s clear that Brock needs to get his own place. Unfortunately the market is not being quite so accommodating to his urgent needs. Given that he is now to be living alone it’s evident he also needs the place on the cheap. He had been denied all reasonable accommodations that he could afford and was beginning to contemplate moving back in with his parents when he suddenly received an email from an apparent realtor he’d never met.

It was an invitation to an open house at some ritzy downtown apartment that he was sure was out of his price range. Rather than just tossing it to his spam folder though, he finds himself looking at the handful of images with a voracity, whether it’s simple curiosity or a fantasy to have such clearly luxurious housing Brock reads through the whole listing. Reaching the end of the invitation and looking at the specs he finds the rent impossibly labeled as just under half his monthly paycheck.

Nearly spitting up coffee all over himself in shock, Brock’s eyes flutter to find exactly when and where this open house was. Surely the demand for this place would box him out but god wouldn’t it be nice to just check it out and dream. He sends an RSVP and far too quickly the realtor, Lucas, thanks him for his prompt response, wishes him well, and signs off saying see you soon. Brock went about the rest of his day as normal, if not a little cheerier than he’s been for some time as he keeps finding his mind drift to that almost-too-perfect apartment’s view over the city.

Fortunately off from work the next day, Brock took the bus to the open house, stopping by his favorite cafe that just so happens to be nearby. He grabs a drink and finds himself preoccupied with thoughts of what a convenience, what a windfall, this break would be. He heads inside and takes the elevator up to the suite and hesitates before entering at the door. Odd that there is no one else here, he double checks the room and floor and puts his ear to the door to see if perhaps other visitors are inside already.

In his untrained attempt to eavesdrop he puts his weight squarely against the door, pushing it open and stumbling in, nearly spilling his coffee over the pristine floors as he crosses the threshold into the apartment. Light streams in through the blinds, only magnifying the manicured state of the spotless room around him. The floor is clean enough to see his reflection, mouth agape, staring at how impossibly clean the apartment is. The only record at all that the place had ever been lived in is the furniture that had clearly been procured by someone of great means, though one lacking any critical eye or desire for design. He sees framed posters of some real red flag movies near a large TV and some sports trophies lined on a shelf. Brock can’t help but wonder what could cause someone to leave such personal artifacts behind and feels a chill in the air. 

He wanders away from the entrance to stand at the large windows, his phone ringing as he takes in the view of his town. Answering without checking the ID he hears a man’s voice he doesn’t recognize. Though he knows this must be the mystery realtor on the line, “How do you like the place Brock?” he begins to reply before being cut off by Lucas, “Have you seen the view yet, it’s quite something else.” 

Brock feels something flicker through his mind as he gazes at the city blocks around him, below him. His eyes briefly catch on his reflection in the glass, though not long enough to see his eyelids droop slightly as he is able to reply, a tad slower than he usually likes to project, “uhh, yeah I know right, how could I not apply to live here? It’s almost too good to be true right?” There is another chill in the air and his body shivers before tensing up, shocking him back to reality and awareness to something strange afoot, “Excuse me actually, I’m so sorry, how did you get my phone number?”

Lucas clicks his tongue and speaks with an almost sickly sweet tone, “Now Brock come now, what can I do to get you to move in today?” Shaking his head in shock Brock is immediately, regardless of the clear sinister air to this man, he really cannot afford to pass up this chance. He clams up as he clambors to express interest, “No I uh! Of course I want the place, just send the lease over so I can read through it.” There is a real weight to Lucas’ words as Brock hears them, the cloying tone impressing itself on his mind, “Wonderful! That is all I needed to hear!”

It is suddenly dark in the apartment, but wasn’t he looking out the window? He can’t tell if his eyes are open or closed but he cannot see. Brock tries to move his head around to see, to feel anything, he strains his mind reaching for any muscle to flex, any tendon to pull, limbs to controt. He loses track of time and reality as he sits in the darkness, trying to grasp anything beyond his own consciousness, unable to affect anything. He feels his right hand move in a familiar way then he feels a warmth, almost a burning, completely engulfs it. He can almost see the shine of a smile, stark perfectly lined teeth that seem eerily inhuman and suddenly there is once more light. He gasps, coughs, and spits up over himself. Immediately grateful that he can feel anything at all. After feeling his body, and seeing the world almost entirely like it was before he lost consciousness, besides a copy of some contract with his name signed at the bottom.

He takes deep breaths feeling his lungs stretch and he starts to read whatever he has gotten himself into in that stupor. He reads the first few lines before he loses where he was on the page. Going again he finds his eyes suddenly dry, doing an uncharacteristically heavy blink that he can’t quite recall ever doing before and as he wonders this he again forgets his work on the contract. He slams his hand on the thigh in a rare show of aggression and gives it one last go. Brock makes even less progress this time as he is almost immediately overcome by a headache. As soon as he looks away from the sheet though, it disappears. 

Brock groans as he feels himself starting to lose control of his senses before he hears his stomach grumble, and he finds a purpose he can immediately resolve. He starts to the fridge, clearly something has happened, an episode or something, he can figure it out later, he just needs food in his stomach now. He doesn’t stop to realize that there should be no food in the fridge since no one’s been living there. Though he finds there is no need as in the fridge, under a note labeled: “To Help Moving In -Lucas,” Brock sees at least a week of prepped meals. The thought that this is bizarre beyond imagination, as well as the concern at his missing time, is immediately pushed from his mind as his stomach rumbles once more, his mouth watering as he sees his soon-to-be dinner.

Brock swiftly heats it up and begins to scarf it down, throwing something on the paying no mind or care to the thought that he’s using the account of whomever the previous tenant was. He quickly scans through seeing a handful of shows and movies that he wasn’t quite interested in before stumbling on a reality show he was watching with his Ex. He grimaces and almost loses his appetite as he thinks about his boyfriend for the first time in what feels like forever. He sets his meal down on the coffee table and crashes down onto the couch. He continues to stew in ire at his ex, palming his crotch as his feelings become more passionate. He rolls his eyes in irritation at himself and that jerk, he’s not going to masturbate to that asshole. 

He reclines in the couch and hears the sound of paper shifting in the cushions, pulling it out he finds a crusted magazine lodged in the couch. What can he do besides shout “what the fuck” and toss it across the room. How could they have possibly missed that in their cleaning? Brock’s eyes shift across the room suspiciously, though he notices nothing amiss as the room is illuminated by only the television. He looks at his hand that grabbed the porn and blushes, wanting to joke about the absurdity to calm himself down. Though his body makes its priorities known once more as his cock pulses and he looks past to see the magazine once more. He did want to masturbate to anyone besides his ex right? 

He shuffles to pick it up, the discomfort and anxiety from handling something covered in a total strangers cum only heightens his pleasure as he sits back down. He grimaces as he sees this is a real hetero-bullshit magazine, he quickly flips through to find something he can work with. His cock keeps demanding his attention as he flips through, almost impatiently pulsing as if to suggest he doesn’t need the magazine at all, just give it your attention. Though soon enough he finds an ad for some protein powder made to emasculate the reader into buying, that almost immediately helps him lose control. 

Soon after he once more fades from consciousness, his cum joining the plethora of other stains in the magazine as he tosses it behind the couch. He finds himself in a darkness that this time feels almost familiar and pleasurable. He once more feels his hand, this time though it is wet and warm. He feels it scratching in briefs that are too tight, through pubes that are too thick. He hears snoring breaking through the silence of his sleep, but that can’t be right? He would know if he snores, surely that fucker of a boyfriend would have complained. He feels his head grow warm as if he’s got a fever, though he knows it is a rage. He feels his hand feel even tighter in his briefs as his cock begins to grow in them. He continues to think of every slight his ex made, every shortcoming he was made needlessly aware of, and of how much better things are going to be now.

The heat shifts from his mind through his whole body and as light begins to break through the windows. That is not what wakes him up though, rather it is the heavy scent coming from his now sweat stained clothes. He rolls off the couch onto his face, quickly removing his hand from his briefs to catch himself, landing the stinking hand too close to his face to not smell just how loud his underwear smells. He feels his clothes sit weird on his body as he starts to rise, while his shirt just feels like it’s hanging weird, surely from the sweat, it is impossible to not see how strained his underwear is. He groans as he feels them pull strangely before he just discards them and makes his way to the bathroom. 

His eyes immediately latch onto his now exposed crotch, he does a double take as he notices that it seems distinctly larger. He also would have sworn that he shaved his pubes far more recently than it seems. He scratches through them, blushing as he sees dried cum flake off curls that are longer and thicker than he ever remembers them begin. Rather than hoping in the shower like any reasonable person would do he instead tosses on some boxers, not questioning why clothing that isn’t his would just be lying out, or why he would ever put them on. Instead choosing to focus on how right wearing them feels. He pulls them tight and turns wanting to see just how his ass and bulge fill them out, though is waylaid as his shirt blocks the view. 

He sneers as he takes off the sweat-stained shirt and tosses it to the floor, stretching high as his reeking body feels the air on his skin. He smiles in shock as he sees the body he has now exposed, he sees hair spreading across his stomach and torso and sweat dripping off of pits that were sure to stain every shirt he is to wear from now on. Beyond that he feels a body that is indisputably powerful, where there wasn’t even fat on his body before there was now muscle accompanied with weight in all the right places. His eyes then trail down to see the weightiest part of him by far as it bulges even lower in his boxers.

He feels an urge to move, to flex, to stretch, fill him as he hungrily takes in every new change in his body. His eyes trace their way past muscles contorting to land on his face, seeing a jaw that could certainly do with a shave. He sees his eager grin begin to turn into a cocky sneer as he begins to stretch once more, trying to will his torso even longer, trying to force his body even taller. His voice grows even deeper to his barely-aware ears as he closes his eyes to stretch, not seeing his throat force itself thicker and longer. There is once again a flicker in his mind as Brock is in darkness once more. Where there was once discomfort and fear there is now only hunger and an eagerness to grow even more.

He feels an itch burn across his body. He feels his hands dig deep into his pits scratching as hair grows thick enough to hold an odor that would never dissipate. He smells as even in this dreamstate he raises his hands to his nose to give them a post-scratch whiff. He feels the same itch cry out from his chest and pubes, from his lower back and his ass. He feels himself move his jaw as it squares up, a rumble in his throat as he feels his groans grow even deeper. He feels his mind thicken and slow as his muscles flex in his sleep. His arms do rep after unconscious rep as he feels biceps that should not be rub against a chest that has never been there before.

Finally he wakes one last time, his hand as it apparently always is, shoved in his pants, once more barely fitting despite wearing the spacier boxers. Brock blearily looks to see lines of takeout containers covering his coffee table. He scratches his beard using the hand from his crotch and he deeply inhales, two birds one stone after all. He sets out to get started with his day, tossing over in his head if he should masterbate again or not, a stain from a wet dream clearly showing through his boxers. Instead he throws Drake on his speakers and starts getting an early workout in, seeing to every part of his body getting a pump as he feels the hunger in his crotch grow only more urgent. 

Going about this workout Brock feels totally at home in this apartment. After all he’s lived here for? Uh? His mind empties as he looks around and sees weeks of piled up detritus and filth. He sees dirty clothes and cum stains on his couch. Looking past them there are his American Psycho and Fight Club posters, discarded underwear hanging off the latter, as well as the trophies he distinctly remembers winning back in college wrestling. He smirks and flexes tilting his head to sniff his pit. Beyond feeling at home in his apartment he also feels unequivocally at home in this, in his body, duh. He jumps to his feet with ease, his stomach rumbling as he once more goes to meet a basal need.

Throwing some of his favorite protein powder in a blender with some milk and eggs he hears his phone go off. There are a string of messages from some bitch asking him to come back and for the life in him Brock can’t remember who that little fucker is? Hearing his shake finish blending he stares at the profile picture of whoever this twink is as he starts to down it, wiping his lips on his sweaty arm as needed. The twink he doesn’t know calls him Brock and his eye twitches, ugh. Why is this dude calling him by his, uh? Is that his middle name? Or no he was Brock right?

He finishes the shake, tossing the blender onto the pile of dishes in the sink and his mind finds itself deeply conflicted. As ever though, his body is more than happy to assuage him, the phone vibrates once more and his cock begins to bring him clarity, demanding his attention once more. Brock’s a little bitch name. He smirks as he looks around at his sty of an apartment, not remembering how neat it once was. Peeking from under a particularly dirty dish there’s a contract that he remembers that he meant to have a look at. 

Bringing it to his face however he simply can’t find the motivation to even start. Why worry about this when he can masturbate, or fuck maybe he can get that whiny bitch to come over? His eyes trail to the end of the paper and see his signature, written clear as day “Adam.” He guffaws at this, god how stupid can you be, he basically forgot his own name after that twink called him uh, whatever that bitch name was. He feels his crotch grow tight again, that is kinda hot though? He moans to himself, pawing at his crotch and texts whoever this man is his address and to come ready to fuck. Adam feels no real attachment to whoever it is, nor should he, a hole is a hole after all. Saying that thought he can’t help but feel this hole is due to be taught a lesson.

If you enjoyed this I also recommend @fredwkong's The Voice in Your Head which explores a similar idea in quite a unique and captivating way!

[jazzyoranges]

Late nights - drabble

Tara Carpenter x fem!reader

Summary: sorry anon, i accidentally deleted the request 😓 but they asked for me to write a fic with tara in fem!reader’s hoodie (aka cuddly tara strikes again)

Words: 0.9k

A/n: hopefully a lil something to get me out of my writing slump. let’s hope this isn’t too bad considering i haven’t written in a few months 😅

You really didn’t mean to be out for so long

First your boss asks you to do one favor, then another, and next thing you know you’re at work for 4 hours more than you’re supposed to be. The asshole didn’t even pay you for all the extra shit you did! You made a mental note to go job hunting this week.

Maybe the gay club was looking for a stripper? Nah. Your girlfriend would get jealous

So you were angry. Angry about your paycheck

Next a few storm clouds roll up that night. Of course you forget to bring your rain jacket that day. Not to mention, rain feels like hail stones when you’re on your motorcycle. Apparently it’d be a cold day in hell before you dressed right for the weather

So along with being angry, you were cold and wet. Shitty might’ve been the lightest way you could’ve described your day

At least you could come home to your wonderful girlfriend in an apartment of your own. It took lots of convincing and hundreds of game nights to convince Sam to even accept the idea of you and Tara being alone together. Fortunately you were blessed with patience and homosexuality — two things that could withstand Sam’s will to protect her sister

Was the older Carpenter’s place on the floor right above you and Tara’s?

…

Yes. Yes it was.

But if it made your girlfriend and her sister happy, you had no reason to not be as well. Other than the elevator that never fucking worked but that was out of their hands

Your shirt and hair were absolutely soaked in rainwater by the time you reached your apartment door. The was a small trail of water behind you from where you walked but that might’ve been the least of your concerns. Fishing around in your damp pants for your keys, you fortunately find them without much effort

Opening the door with as little energy you can, you lock the door behind you and triple check you locked it just like Sam told you

Not wasting any time you slide off your wet shirt in the middle of your living room, throwing it on a chair and missing the younger Carpenter waiting on the couch for you half asleep

“Baby?” Tara rubs her eyes. You stand in the middle of your hallway like a deer in headlights. You were awfully vulnerable while wet and almost naked. Who knew.

Before you can respond, there’s shuffling behind you then something weighted and warm on your back. Tara’s leaning into you with her arms around your torso while you’re wet and almost naked in the middle of your hallway. What a sight.

“Why were you so late? You’re working tonight…” Your girlfriend’s hand dips a bit below your waistband and you have to resist the urge to shiver. From the cold? From Tara? Only god knew

“My boss had me do extra shit. I’ll find a different job that doesn’t have me out so late” You turn around to face Tara while her arms were still around you “I promise”

The younger Carpenter only hums into your chest without any sign of moving. So you don’t. It gives you the chance to really soak in the moment along with the rainwater on your skin. You only pull away when your girlfriend also starts to shiver

Of course she’s wearing nothing but a hoodie

Specifically, Tara’s wearing nothing but your hoodie

“How long have you been fighting sleep? Go to bed, love” You pick up your girlfriend with her legs wrapped around your waist and her arms loosely thrown around your neck

“Since you decided you hated me” Tara mumbles into your shoulder

“When was that?”

“When you didn’t come home on time”

“And I gave you a reason why I was late”

“Which doesn’t excuse you, because you could’ve hurried up” Tara plays with your bra strap as you stop walking toward your shared bedroom

“What I’m hearing is, you don’t want to take a late night shower with me? Even after a long day of work, where you could help me de-stress?” You say with a certain smugness in your voice

Your girlfriend whips her head up at your offer but you’ve already made it to your shared bed, not wasting a second to plop her down

“Waitbabypleaseididn’tmeanit-“ You’re already in the bathroom as Tara’s trying to scramble to you

“What? Sorry, love! Can’t hear you over the shower”

You had a childhood cat that always followed you around when you were younger. Tara reminded you of when your cat would scratch at the door whenever you went to the bathroom. Your girlfriend even had the scratching down just like your cat

When you were about to hop in the bath for a quick shower, something stops you from getting in. The imagery alone that Tara is probably leaning against the door waiting for you to get out is enough to pull at your heartstrings

You weren’t mean. You missed Tara as much as she missed you. It’s why she always wore your hoodies and you always took her shirts that fit you

So against your better judgment and the water bill you’re going to have to take Advil for, you unlock the bathroom door but you don’t open it

You’re both in the shower and you’re in Tara less than a second later

[agi-ppangx]

💭roommates to lovers (100 followers special)

chan | minho | changbin | hyunjin | jisung | felix | seungmin | jeongin

“oh my god, are you okay?” you heard jisung exclaim as soon as he saw you in the kitchen. you were trying to make yourself some tea but your hands were shaking and you felt like you were going to faint. 

you woke up with the worst headache you’d had in your entire life. the night before you decided to come back from work by foot, since you were waiting to get your paycheck and didn’t want to waste your last money on a taxi. since the evenings were getting colder now and you didn’t wear a coat or anything that would keep you warm, you were now suffering the aftermath of the walk. 

“yeah, i’m just kind of tired,” you tried to sound convincing but your voice was so hoarse it startled both jisung and you. he obviously didn’t believe you, so he came closer to you and gently placed his hand on your forehead. “damn, you’re burning up,” he simply acknowledged and you looked at him. he was really close to you and for a split moment you wanted to just fall into his arms. 

some may think that it’s so cliche to fall for your roommate, but how could you not? jisung was always kind to you, he always knew how to make you feel better after a long day and knew when to leave you alone because you were too stressed and worn out. he was just so thoughtful and caring that you wondered if he would be the same as a partner. not that you planned to confess anyway.

“go to your room,” he ordered suddenly and you breathed a faint “what?”. “you heard me yn, you look like a ghost. go to your room and lay down, i’ll go to the pharmacy for some medicine.” you were caught off guard by his firm tone, but since you really didn’t feel good and you weren’t in a mood to argue you just nodded and did as he said. you covered yourself with a ton of blankets and quickly fell asleep. 

the noises outside your room woke you up. you heard some rustling from the kitchen as well as jisung talking to someone on the phone. after a while you heard a knock on your door and jisung entered the room with a tray in his hands. “how are you feeling? i made you some chicken noodle soup. i’m not sure if it’s good but i called my mom and she helped me cook it. she said it works wonders for the flu,” he said quietly and placed the tray on your bedside table. then he helped you to sit up and took the bowl with soup in his hands. you reached out to take it from him but he moved away a bit. you looked at him, confused and he just shook his head. “i’ll feed you,” he then stated and it left you dumbfounded. “ji, i may be weak but i think i’ll be able to hold a spoon,” you chuckled. “i know, i just… i mean, if you don’t want me to, it’s fine, here,” he responded nervously, his cheeks becoming pink, and he handed you the spoon. you took a glance at it and then it was your turn to shake your head. “it’s okay. go ahead,” you gave him a green light and after a while he started to feed you the soup. he was cautious, trying his best not to douse you with the soup. “okay, that’s enough, i can’t eat more,” you sighed after half of the bowl was empty. jisung raised an eyebrow, clearly not convinced. you saw his gaze and added “my throat feels like sandpaper, i physically can’t eat more”. he giggled at that and placed the bowl down. he then took some pills and a glass of water from the tray and handed them to you. “take this. according to the pharmacist, it also works wonders for the flu.” you laughed softly at his words. he was so caring towards you it made you delusional, you really wanted someone like him as your partner. you wanted him as your partner. 

you obediently swallowed the medication and you grimaced when you accidentally tasted one. “oh god, that’s awful,” you coughed and gave jisung the now empty glass. you laid down and it seemed as if you were drowning in the amount of blankets you were under. “you know it’s actually bad for you to cover yourself that much when you’re sick?” “but i’m cold…” you whispered. jisung gave you a soft look, seeing you all weak and vulnerable made his heart melt. he didn’t vocalise his feelings towards you, too scared to ruin your little friendship that developed throughout the past year of living together. 

“i know but it’s really not good for you,” he tried to convince you and you thought about it for a while. “fine, but maybe you could… um…” you started, but then shook your head and whispered a faint “nevermind” and simply took some of the blanket off of yourself. “hmm, what did you say?” jisung asked, too curious to let it slide. you thought for a moment and decided to ask him - the worst that could happen is him saying no. “could you, um, cuddle me? that way i won’t need all these blankets.” jisung stared at you, speechless. you started fidgeting with the hem of your hoodie, thinking it was a bad decision, but then he mumbled a simple “yeah, of course” and you felt as if a weight was taken from your chest. he soon laid by your side and took you into his arms. if your nose wasn’t so stuffed you would for sure inhale his cologne. he felt so soft and safe and it made you actually sob a little bit. jisung stroked your head, detangling some messy hair strands from time to time. it helped you relax and you closed your eyes, wishing you could stay like this forever.

after a while you suddenly heard jisung speak. “you know, sometimes i dream about holding you like this.” at first, you supposed he was talking to someone over the phone and you pretended to still be asleep, not wanting to interrupt, but then the meaning of his words hit you. was he speaking to you? “i’m glad i’m the one who’s taking care of you. i wish i could be with you and take care of you more and hold you in my arms more and just… i don’t know, just be with you yn,” he whispered and it made your heart ache. oh my god, did jisung also have a crush on you? “then be with me,” you simply said. it caught jisung off guard, when you opened your puffy eyes you noticed his frightened gaze and quivering lips. “are you serious?” he said, his words barely above the whisper. “i am.” “i’m gonna kiss you, okay?” “don’t, you’ll get sick” “i don’t care.” with that jisung captured your lips in a soft kiss, letting you set the pace. “i think i’m not cold anymore,” you giggled when you broke the kiss to catch a breath. and jisung laughed as well, caressing your now rosy cheeks.

feedback and reblogs highly appreciated🫶🏽

[mytheoristavenue]

DM - Chilchuck Tims x Reader 🍋 - Logical Next Step

Kinktober 2024 - XI

Size difference + Breeding

Summary: Realizing he's getting up there in age, Chilchuck decides to settle down again for his remaining years. After taking you as his second wife, he finds himself missing a home filled with the pattering of little feet.

Warnings: Breeding, unprotected sex, creampie, tallman!reader, fem!reader, sub!reader, dom!Chilchuck, married/pre-established relationship, post-canon, language

Chilchuck would never have claimed to have had the perfect life, nor would he have claimed that that wasn't his own fault. He knew in his heart that he was the reason his marriage fell apart, why he was estranged from his children, why he was living paycheck to paycheck. As he aged and fell into life with the Touden party, he thought he was comfortable with spending the rest of his life dungeon-delving. That was until he met you.

You had joined the party shortly after Senshi had, during their search for Falin and the Red Dragon, and the half-foot was quietly amazed at your way of operating. You were a fair bit younger than him, around Laios's age, but you were so mature, so cool under pressure. You had a way of saying exactly the right thing at exactly the right time to calm everyone's nerves. Chilchuck couldn't count how many times you'd soothed Marcille when she got anxious, or came between himself and Laios when he was ready to come to blows.

"Hey, we're all tired and frustrated. Let's cool off, yeah?" You'd say, your hand on his shoulder, smiling down at him patiently. After which, you'd lead him away to the other side of camp and offer him space or company. And you always respected any decision he made.

That was why, after the journey to save Falin was completed, Chilchuck took his savings, bought himself a cottage and a stop, and decided to settle down. With what little he had left, he bought a modest ring with a genuine pearl and approached you at Laios's dinner party.

"H-Hey, (Y/N), c'mere." Hey stammered as he passed you, everyone else preoccupied. Popping the question here, especially with his daughters in attendance was risky for sure, but he just couldn't wait. You followed him over to the corned, watching on curiously as he fidgeted with something in his pocket. "I know we haven't known each other long, and we've only been together for a little while..."

Tears instantly pricked your eyes and you gasped, covering your mouth, guessing what came next. "But I'm not gettin' any younger." He continued. " I never thought I'd find myself looking to get tied down again but..." He sighed, frustrated that he was losing words- he was stalling.

"Go ahead," You smiled patiently, sinking to your knees to be on his level. You didn't miss the way his eyes wet at your action, and he mirrored it, kneeling on his left knee.

"R-Right," He laughed nervously, clearing his throat. " I thought I had it all figured out, that domestic life just wasn't for me but- (Y/N), I wanna try it again. With you." By this time, he'd pulled the silver band out of his pocket. He didn't have an ornate box with silk lining, he just pinched it between his fingers as he offered it to you. "You've singlehandedly changed my entire outlook on life, and I'm tired of wasting the last little bit of my life doing odd jobs, sleeping on a bedroll by myself."

Suddenly, there was a chorus of squeals from the dinner table, and Chilchuck grimaced. Looking over his shoulder, you could see his two younger daughters, as well as Marcille, fawning over the sight. You giggled a bit as a crowd formed around him, pinning you both into the corner. He began to sweat, irritated that his moment has been ruined. "Can't you all screw off for five minutes?" He scolded, face red.

"Chilchuck," You smiled fondly, placing your hand on his shoulder. "What did you want to ask me?"

His attention instantly snapped back to you, the tips of his ears hot from his daughters excitedly cheering him on. "W-Will uh..." He swallows nervously, nodding to the ring. " Will you marry me?"

"Yes, I thought you'd never ask!"

-----

You hummed softly, stirring a large cast iron pot filled with Autumn vegetables and broth. Beside you, your youngest step-daughter set the dinner table. "Your father and sister should be home soon," You mentioned casually.

"I wonder how business went today," Puckpatti replied, fluffing the bouquet of flowers in the center of the table.

"I'm sure it went well, those two are the best lockpicks around!" Flertom chirped from the sink, washing up the dishes you'd used.

You and Chilchuck had been married for about a month and today was the first day that his new shop would be open. To celebrate, you and the girls planned a dinner to surprise him. You couldn't help but feel a warmth in your chest, truly part of the family. Nothing could possibly make you happier.

Just as you turned off the heat of the stove, the front door opened, and you could hear a jovial conversation and a pair of boots hitting the floor near the entrance. "Hon, we're home- oh!"

Chilchuck couldn't keep a straight face as he stepped into the kitchen, finding his lovely wife and beautiful daughters standing around the table, waiting for him. "What's all this?"

You smiled bashfully, setting the pot down on the table, plaid oven mitts still covering your hands. "We made dinner to celebrate the shop opening today!" Flertom cheered, pressing into his side for a hug.

"We wanted to surprise you!" Puckpatti added, mirroring her sister on his other side. Their father glanced back over his shoulder to his eldest daughter, who smiled back at him smugly.

"Did you know about this, Mei?" He asked with a smirk. She simply nodded, uncrossing her arms and patting his back.

You watched the moment fondly, feeling a bit awkward to be outside of it. Shyly, you turned away to the oven, pulling out a fresh loaf of bread. "Don't think I forgot about you," Your husband's flirtatious voice called, startlingly close. You nearly jumped, feeling his arms wrap around your hips, pressing a kiss to your tummy as you sat the bread down. The girls grimaced at the display. "Oh, grow up," Chilchuck groaned, taking his seat, and prompting you to sit beside him. "When you get spouses that are twice your height, you'll understand!" He huffed, crossing his arms before pausing. "Wait, scratch that, none of you are allowed to get married!"

The night went smoothly, filled with laughter, joy, and praise for your squash stew. As the stars came out, one by one, the girls all began to leave, each tired and heading to their respective homes. Once it was just the pair of you left, you stood up, beginning to clear the table. "Hey, lemme help with that." Your husband smiled, standing up with you and carrying the rest of the dishes to the sink.

You thanked him, rolling up your sleeves to begin washing them, plunging your hands into the wrist-deep sink of bubbles. "How was work, dear?" You asked softly as his arms found their way around your waist again.

"It was great, we were way busier than I thought we'd be." He mused, resting his head against the small of your back. "Mei's so skill now, she might actually be a better locksmith than me. Don't tell her I said that, though."

You giggled in response. "She's a carbon copy of you, of course she's skilled. She learned from the best."

"Patti and Fler seem pretty fond of you." He mentioned, partying from you and heading over to the cabinet, taking a bottle of ale from it.

"I'm pretty fond of them too," You laughed. "They're sweet girls. So is Mei."

"Yeah, you're right, couldn't ask for better kids." Chilchuck smiled softly, uncorking the bottle. "By the way, I've been meaning to ask... are we gonna have kids?" The question caught you so off guard, you dropped a bowl into the sudsy sink, shattering it. "I didn't mean to startle you, I'm sorry."

Concerned, he stepped up onto a stool, pulling your hands away from the sink as you tried to dip them back in, apologizing relentlessly. "Hey, it's okay, really. Let me," You watched as he carefully dug out the drain stop, revealing the rest of the dishes and broken glass, before picking it out into a towel. "You okay?" He asked, setting the towel to the side. "Listen, I'Il fix this tomorrow after work, m'kay? No harm, no foul."

You soften at his comforting words, nodding. Ever the worrier, his concerned eyes stayed trained on you. "You look a bit flushed, why don't you go rest? I'll finish up."

-----

Your hands wouldn't stop trembling as you undressed for bed, his words echoing in your head. Where the two of you going to have kids? He didn't want more kids, did he? Could the two of you even have kids, being different species? What would they look like? How would that even work?

Your mind raced with questions and visions of how he might go about impregnating you, considering the vast difference in your stature. Sure, you'd been intimate before, but when you imagined how a man would breed his wife, it tended to look a bit different than what you were used to with him.

Nevermind all that- did he want to have more kids with you?

As you slid into bed, you tried to immerse yourself in a book to calm your nerves, but just as you found your place, the bedroom door opened. "Are you upset at me, hun?" Chilchuck's voice was a bit more timid than usual and laced with worry. "I'm sorry I asked about having kids, it was dumb-"

"Do... you want to have more kids?" You interrupted him, voice quaking a bit.

"I wanna do whatever you wanna do." He answered, approaching the bed and sitting on the edge of it.

You search his eyes for sincerity. "So do I, so you tell me first."

"Well..." He trailed, rubbing the back of his neck. "I guess I wouldn't mind. Kinda miss when the girls were little." He admitted with a sheepish smile. "Is that weird? Am I too old to be havin' kids?"

"No," you replied with a warm smile. "I don't think so, not at all."

"Would you... maybe wanna?" He asked with a nervous laugh, much like how he acted the day he proposed. "You wanna be a mama?"

Your cheeks heated up exponentially and you hid your face, save for your eyes with your book. "I-I... I-" You stammered, unable to find the correct words. Eventually, you simply nodded. Chilchuck's sheepish expression turned smug as he began crawling closer.

"Need you to tell me with words, hun." He cooed, straddling your lap. "Tell me you wanna have my baby."

"I-I want to..." You swallowed hard. "Have your b-baby." As a reward for your obedience, he pulled you close, tilting your chin up as he began peppering kisses up and down your throat. "M-My love, what are you...?"

"Givin' my pretty wife a baby."

-----

"G-Gods, Chil," You cooed, your eyes rolling back as he bottomed out, hips rolling into yours at a slow but firm pace. His hands cupped the back of your knees, pressing them into your collarbone, folding you beneath him.

"What's the matter, sweetheart?" He rasped, a bead of sweat dripping from his forehead onto your tummy. "Didn't think a guy like me could fold a girl like you? I'm stronger than I look." His brows furrowed, a cocky grin splitting his flushed face. "Not gonna lie, ain't never bred a woman bigger than me, but-" He laughed confidently, suddenly slamming his hips into yours, making you see stars. "Won't let that stop me from fuckin' a baby into this pretty little thing."

You had always known Chilchuck had a foul mouth, but you'd never heard anything like this from his lips. You felt a bit silly for worrying about how this would go, he was so stubborn, you should have known he'd find a way. Still, it made your tummy churn how he could be half your size and still dominate you so completely. He had you wrapped around his finger and you both knew it.

"That's it, pretty, just lay back," He soothed smugly, pressing you deeper into the mattress. "Let your big, strong husband take care of everything," You could practically see his ego inflate with his self-praise, breath falling out in ragged chuckles. "How does it feel getting pinned by a half-foot?"

"F-Feels good..." You whimpered, drool dripping down the side of your cheek as his tip endlessly nudged against that special spot, which he seemed to know exactly how to locate.

"What's that? Couldn't hear ya?" He teased, hips pistoning into yours with renewed vigor. "Tell me louder, mama."

"Chil, it f-feels so good," You moaned a bit louder, eyes squeezed tight, trembling under him.

"What feels good?" He laughed cruelly, his nails digging into the meat of the back of your thighs in his daze. "Be specific, babe."

"I-I feels so good to be under you like this..." You admitted shyly, overwhelmed tears welling in your eyes. Chilchuck groaned at your words, drunk off of your pretty, pouty, flustered expression.

"That's my girl," He grinned, doubling his efforts, reaching down to press his thumb to your clit, rubbing in rough circles with experienced ease. "Big surprises come in small packages, or however the saying goes."

"Chil, ahh-" You whined, feeling that familiar knot in your tummy tightens at his doubled efforts. "P-Please, make me a mommy..."

Your eager begging made his breath hitch and his pace faltered a bit. "Shit, pretty, so desperate to carry my baby, huh?" He grunted, thrusts changing to a more insistent pattern. "That's okay, I can't wait to be a daddy again."

You knew his last words would do you in, the knot in your belly snapping taut within seconds of hearing it. You couldn't hold back the needy pleading that spilled from your throat, clamping down on him as you rolled your hips into his, riding out. "A-Ahh, Chil! I love you so much!"

He let out a choked groan, sent over the edge by your constriction and loving declaration. "Oh fuck," He hissed, hips sputtering as that warm, gooey feeling enveloped his sensitive member. "Fuckin' milk it, mama." He muttered, folding against you, nestling his face between your breasts. "Shit, love love you like crazy."

Your chest heaved as you both lay there, revelling in the moment. After a bit, you began to shift, expecting him to pull away so you could stretch your legs. To your surprise, he continued to hold your knees to your shoulders. "H-Honey," You whispered bashfully. "My hips are getting sore."

"That sucks," He laughed, languidly rolling his hips into yours, making you jump in surprise. "Gonna have to get used to it, they're gonna get a lot worse when you start showin'." He teased, fuckings seed deeper into your womb.

"S-Showing what?" You asked innocently, melting at his tender pace.

"Your baby bump, obviously." He smirked, kissing up and down your stomach.

"I-I don't think I can go again so soon..." You admit shamefully, only to have him reach out, lifting your chin to meet his gaze.

"You want me to make you cum again later, I will, but that's not what this is, hun." It was just now that you were beginning to really look at his face, your eyes having been closed during most of this event. His cheeks, nose, and ears were blushed, freckles more evident against the pinked skin. His auburn hair slicked to his forehead with sweat and you could see the greys in his sideburns more easily in the moonlight. He looked so mature in this moment, you could almost forget how different his species was from yours.

"W-What is it, then, my love?" You asked, bringing up a hand to lovingly rake through his hair.

"Think of it as insurance," he replied, softening a bit, nuzzling into your hand. "Gotta make sure it takes, right? And hey, if it doesn't we won't stop 'til we get it right."

[minminbunny]

Stalker X Stalker AU - Posessive Coworker! Yang Jeongin/Naive Gender Neutral! Reader

*smut part - AFAB/AMAB

💕Drabble Masterlist

❤️Ultimate Masterlist

"Innie!" you giggled, wrapping your arms around him. Jeongin gave you a nonchalant pat on the back, even though his heart was racing within his chest. You beamed, "Guess what? I made candy over the weekend, would you like some?" you asked, biting your bottom lip. Jeongin nodded, "Sure," he said, internally waiting until you got to him when he saw you give out candy bags to the others. 

"Yay, here!" you said, giving him a full bag than the tiny packets you were giving out. Jeongin didn't realise the difference when he took it, the packaging was the same, sure it was a bit full but the others must have gotten the same. You gave him a big squeeze, "I'll head back to work. See you later," you beamed, skipping away from him with a contagious smile. 

Jeongin sighed, holding his chest, "Fuck, what am I going to do with them," he grumbled, hiding his face within his cubicle. You swayed your feet, drawing pretty hearts around his picture. You looked to your cubicle neighbor, "Hey, do you think Innie will ever like me?" you asked, hoping for support. "Well, he's the type to hate everyone. You might need to try a different approach," they said, ruffling your hair. 

You sulked, nodding your head, "You're right I'll think of something," you said, drawing out a little plan. Jeongin felt his eyes twitch when the coworker ruffled your hair, the pen broke in his hand as he tried not to lash out. He sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose, 'One day, I'll secure a damn collar around your neck' he thought, imagining his name etched on your pendent before he walked away. 

You gulped, standing in front of a old tarot shop, "Hello?" you asked, walking in. An old lady sat with her crystal ball, "Hello, deary. I heard you're looking for a love potion," she said, rubbing the crystal ball. You gasped, "How did you know?" you asked, naive enough to believe in such fabbles. 

The old lady chuckled, "I see and know all, darling. Now, this is the potion you seek. You must be the first one he sees after drinking it. Don't use more than half, or else he might turn into a feral beast," she warned, knowing the viagra content in the vial is quite high. You nodded your head, "No more than half, understood," you said, waiting for the price. 

The old lady smirked, "A vial like this is priceless, I'll charge you a discounted price," she said, giving you the number. You sulked when it was half your paycheck but for Jeongin you'd do anything, "Thank you," you said, leaving the shop. Jeongin stood behind the old lady, "Quite the scam you've built here," he said, twirling his knife. The old lady froze, "Wouldn't you like you future read, young man?" she asked, trying to avoid her fate.

Jeongin pursed his lips, "No, I can't let people like you take advantage of my little doll," he said, holding the knife across the old lady's throat. "Wait, wouldn't you like to know what they purchased?" she asked, hoping that would stall him. Jeongin tilted his head, "I could care less. They can buy whatever they want. I'm a gentleman to their purchase privacy," he said, slitting the old lady's throat before she could defend herself. 

Jeongin took your money and reported the crime anonymously to the police, he burned his clothes and vacuumed the floor. He then burned the contents of the vacuum and fled the scene. Jeongin sighed and slid your paycheck into your mailbox, "Seriously, a leash is needed," he grumbled, glaring at your room window.

You wore your prettiest outfit, and held your basket of cookies. After making all the normal cookies, you began to bake Jeongin's batch, you did as told pouring half when you suddenly flinched at a loud crackle of thunder. "Shit," you whispered, seeing the empty vial in your hand. You looked outside and saw no rain, "Stupid thunder," you whined, staring at the pink glittery liquid in the middle of your dry ingredients. 

You sighed before smirking, "I wouldn't mind seeing Innie as a feral beast. Maybe he'd turn into a werewolf and a have a big girthy cock," you giggled, stirring the ingredients together. You bit your bottom lip, hiding the special stash within your pocket while you looked for him. Jeongin sat by his cubicle, hoping that the money he placed in your mailbox didn't get stolen. 

You beamed when you saw him, "Innie, Innie. I made cookies, want some?" you asked, handing him his special batch. Jeongin gave you a subtle smile, and opened the bag, "Thank you," he said, taking a bite. The cookies were soft with a crunchy edge. Jeongin tasted a hint of chemicals but brushed it aside, thinking it's probably the glitter you used, "It's really good," he praised, biting into another cookie. 

You smiled, your eyes turned into crescents from smiling so hard, "Thank you, Innie," you said, waiting for the potion to kick in. You gulped, needing to be the first one that Jeongin sees. Jeongin furrowed his eyebrows, feeling his control slipping, "What?" he whispered, looking into your eyes for answers. "Is the love potion working?" you asked, seeing Jeongin hold his chest. 

Jeongin panted, feeling his cock throb under his slack, "Love potion?" he asked, groaning from the sheer sensitivity his body was in. You gulped, looking at him with a guilt and scared expression. Jeongin clenched his jaw, "Don't look at me like that; like you're afraid of me," he growled, gripping your wrist. You sniffled, tears ruining your mascara, "Are you mad?" you asked, hiccuping under his feral gaze. 

Jeongin buried his face into your tummy, "Everyone else left for lunch right?" he asked, his voice deep and husky. You nodded your head, guilt filling you up, "Today's the one hour break," you sniffled,  lips wobbling at the thought of upsetting Jeongin. "Good, good. One hour should be enough," he groaned, lifting you up.

NSFW BELOW CUT

AFAB

"Too fast!" You sobbed, clawing the desk for any form of leverage. Jeongin groaned, pounding your little cunt with a brutal pace. His hands bruising your precious skin as he fucked you in the meeting room. Your body laid pliant, taking as much as his rough thrusts as possible. He already came twice and he was still hot and throbbing within your cunt. "Hah, hah, hhgh," you hiccuped, covering your mouth to muffle your moans. 

Jeongin clenched his jaw and held your throat, "Let me hear you cry, darling. I wanted to take it slow with you but just had to be So. Fucking. Naive," he growled, thrusting harder with every word he grits. You sobbed under his thrusts, you cunt spasming from the constant pleasure buzzing through your body. Jeongin pushed his hair back and rolled his hips, "Look at you, doll. So messy, so dirty with cum," he chuckled, eyeing your makeup stained face and semen stained outfit. 

You sniffled, clenching around his cock, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," you whimpered, wiping your tears. Jeongin kissed your palm, "You just couldn't help yourself, doll. You're so easy to influence," he grunted, thrusting his hips. You stared at him through your tears brimmed eyes, "Just wanted Innie to love me," you sobbed, heart squeezing at the confession. 

Jeongin held you close, his hips keeping their relentless pace, "Darling, I loved you from the beginning. Never once have I not love you," he rasped, nipping your ear. You sniffled, "Really?" you asked, pushing back with his thrusts. Jeongin chuckled, nosing your cheek, "Really, really," he said, kissing you softly. Your mind melted, his kisses contradicting his desperate thrusts. 

You arched your back, chest pressing against his as you creamed around his shaft. Jeongin hissed at the searing warmth coating his cock and came deep within your body. You gave him a few soft pecks, "Hehe," you giggled, nuzzling his shoulder. Jeongin raised an eyebrow, "What are you giggling for?" he asked, kissing your forehead. You hugged him close, "I'm just happy you're mine," you whispered, catching your breath. Jeongin chuckled, "Me too, doll. Now let's clean up as fast as we can before they come back from break, hm?" he said, kissing your nose.

AMAB

"Too fast!" You sobbed, clawing the desk for any form of leverage. Jeongin groaned, pounding your little rim with a brutal pace. His hands bruising your precious skin as he fucked you in the meeting room. Your body laid pliant, taking as much as his rough thrusts as possible. He already came twice and he was still hot and throbbing within your hole. "Hah, hah, hhgh," you hiccuped, covering your mouth to muffle your moans. 

Jeongin clenched his jaw and held your throat, "Let me hear you cry, darling. I wanted to take it slow with you but just had to be So. Fucking. Naive," he growled, thrusting harder with every word he grits. You sobbed under his thrusts, you hole spasming from the constant pleasure buzzing through your body. Jeongin pushed his hair back and rolled his hips, "Look at you, doll. So messy, so dirty with cum," he chuckled, eyeing your makeup stained face and semen stained outfit. 

You sniffled, clenching around his cock, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," you whimpered, wiping your tears. Jeongin kissed your palm, "You just couldn't help yourself, doll. You're so easy to influence," he grunted, thrusting his hips. You stared at him through your tears brimmed eyes, "Just wanted Innie to love me," you sobbed, heart squeezing at the confession. 

Jeongin held you close, his hips keeping their relentless pace, "Darling, I loved you from the beginning. Never once have I not love you," he rasped, nipping your ear. You sniffled, "Really?" you asked, pushing back with his thrusts. Jeongin chuckled, nosing your cheek, "Really, really," he said, kissing you softly. Your mind melted, his kisses contradicting his desperate thrusts. 

You arched your back, chest pressing against his as you creamed between your torsos’. Jeongin hissed at the searing grip engulfing his cock and came deep within your body. You gave him a few soft pecks, "Hehe," you giggled, nuzzling his shoulder. Jeongin raised an eyebrow, "What are you giggling for?" he asked, kissing your forehead. You hugged him close, "I'm just happy you're mine," you whispered, catching your breath. Jeongin chuckled, "Me too, doll. Now let's clean up as fast as we can before they come back from break, hm?" he said, kissing your nose.

[satorusugurugurl]

Never got a request for them you say…

I know i request way to fucking much but I can’t help myself I love ur writing🫶

Butttt hear me out adult trio gojo geto shoko with fem reader. I’m thinking professional reader, who has an exhausting but rewarding job comes home exhausted, but her 3 lovers cheer her right up <333

Could be fluff or smut, I just need them in my life Fr

-🍭

Welcome Home!

Character: Gojo Satoru, Geto Suguru, Shoko Ieiri, FAB!Reader

Word Count; 2,853

Warning: overworked reader, nipple play, oral sex, praising, making out, achohol consumption, Geto in a fucking apron has me FERAL

A/N: Thank you so much for the request! I had lots of fun with this one 🥵🌶 Spicy loved it 1000000/10 would recommend.

Everything hurt, from your feet to your back, as you exited your car, the garage shutting behind you. You had been gone for twelve hours, leaving at six and getting home when you'd left this morning. But you couldn't complain. Your business had taken off, and as CEO, you had responsibilities to take care of, which tended to keep you away from home longer than you'd like, but the paycheck was worth it.

You had started your own candle company in college. Book tropes, characters, and television series inspired the candles you made. Your shop had been small, and you were content with that. Until your partners suggested advertising on social media, reaching out to authors, broadening your horizons. You hadn't expected much, maybe a couple of dozen more orders, a few rejection letters from said authors. What you hadn't been expecting was for your products to go viral, and several authors jumped at the opportunity to commission you for custom character candles.

Your tiny little shop became a big-time shop so fast it had your head spinning. You shipped orders worldwide, made custom customer orders, and were featured on several podcasts. Your company was close to being a multimillion-dollar company with several locations. While exciting, and you didn't need to worry about money, it was exhausting. Long hours, dozens of meetings, and business trips were your new norm; it came with the title CEO. You loved your job! There was, however, one downside.

You missed the fuck out of your partners.

With your position, you could take care of the house payment and utilities. Allowing your partners to do whatever they want without worry. Shoko was studying to become a surgeon, Geto was working on a novel, and Satoru was your biggest investor; seeing as he was from a wealthy family, he could do what he wanted. And what he wanted was to help your company grow. Things were perfect; it justified you working so hard all the time. Some days were more exhausting than others, but it was also gratifying. Your partners could pursue their dreams, and as long as they were happy, so were you.

”I’m home.” You announced mid-yawn, removing your heels and setting them to the side. You ventured into the living room. The condo was clean and tidy, as per usual, thanks to your amazing partners. They took such good care of the house when you were gone.

“Welcome home.” Suguru greeted you from the kitchen. Both the mouth-watering aroma of prepared food and the sexy man stopped you in your tracks. “Thank you for all of your hard work today, Princess.” He wore gray sweatpants, his hair pulled into his signature half up half down style.

The best part of his whole outfit was the apron. Good god, it was illegal! The black apron went around his neck and tied firmly around his waist. It read, ‘My meat is 100% Going In Your Mouth’. It was a gag gift, one you’d need to thank Satoru for purchasing. Suguru was wiping his damp hands on it as he made his way around the island, wrapping his arms around you in a tight hug.

You melted in his embrace, your arms snaking around him as he kissed the top of your head. “Thank you. It’s good to be back.” You sniffed at the air, happily groaning at the scent of food. “That smells absolutely amazing, Sugu!”

“You had a long day, so I made one of your favorites.” You followed him into the kitchen, staring at the four neatly prepared plates of perfectly prepared katsudon and fluffy white rice. ”I was finishing up the salad. It should be done in a few minutes.”

A warm body pressed against your back; the smell of clean linen and musk followed the body's movements behind you as Satoru rested his chin on your shoulder. “I hope so, I’m starving.” The whiny tone that resonated from Satoru had Suguru rolling his eyes at his antics as he chopped up lettuce. “But not as hungry as you probably are. You busted your ass today, as usual.” Soft lips peppered your cheek with kisses.

“It was a very long day.” You reached forward, grabbing a slice of cucumber off the cutting board and popping it in your mouth. “But it’s well worth it.”

“Long day; I guess this calls for some sake,” Shoko added, handing you a glass of chilled peach sake.

You took a long sip, humming at the sweet taste that danced over your tastebuds. “Shoko, what would I do without you?” Your exhausted-looking girlfriend took a long sip of her drink before pressing a kiss against your lips.

”You would be stuck with these two idiots.”

“Hey!”

Satoru pouted, while Suguru just shook his head with an unbothered chuckle. The carefree atmosphere and warm aura had you relaxing, the tension leaving your shoulders as the four of you sat down for dinner. While you ate and conversed with them, your partners looked you over while you weren’t paying them attention. Suguru took note of the dark circles under your eyes before looking at Satoru from his peripheral vision. He had noticed the circles along with how your skin appeared paler tonight. Dark and blue-hued eyes focused on Shoko. Her dark brown eyes examined you as she would a patient.

The three of them reached the same conclusion: you were exhausted, burning the candle at both ends. They knew very well how seriously you took your job; your work ethic was nothing to be sneezed at. No matter how sick or tired you were, you constantly pushed yourself to do more, to provide for them. Your motivation was fueled by positive forces, and there was nothing wrong with being driven by a goal.

However, the moment your goal began to run you down, that’s when you had a problem. You needed a break—some time to rest properly and recuperate. The three of them set their plan into action just with mirror eye contact.

“All right,” Suguru stood, collecting the dishes off the table, “Satoru and I will clean the kitchen. Shoko, why don't you take our sweet girl and get her relaxed?”

“Oh, don't be silly, I can help.” You followed them, collecting dishes that were snatched away from you by Satoru. “Hey, I can help!”

Shoko gently grabbed your hand, her slender, delicate fingers interlacing with yours, pulling you towards the bedroom. “It’s not a matter of you being able to help or not; we all know you’re perfectly capable of that.” Shoko gently squeezed your hand before pushing you back against the bed. “It’s more of a matter that we want to take care of you.” Those same soft fingers that had gently held your hand began working at the buttons of your blouse. “So please don’t fight us on this. You’re exhausted.” Your chest moved up and down, your steady breathing quickening as she exposed your torso. “Just lay back and relax.”

A breathless sigh escaped you as her soft hands groped your breasts in both hands, squeezing the soft mounds. “A-alright, then, let me touch you too.” You reached for her breasts, her nipples erect, peeking through the thin fabric of her white t-shirt. Your fingers just grazed over the fabric, straining against her hardening buds, when she pulled back, out of your reach. “Shoko, why are—” Her lips met yours in a soft, delicate kiss, one that emanated her true intent and desires.

”Have you been hanging out with those two morons too much?” Soft fingers, unclasp the hook in the front of your bra. “What part of ‘lay back and relax’ did you not understand?” Warm caresses of your girlfriend's skin felt like a burning fire over your tingling nipples.

“But I hate not making you feel good.”

“Baby,” Shoko chastised, leaning down, gently flicking her tongue over one of your nipples. “You make our lives comfortable; you do so much for us.” She kitten-licked one of the buds, nearly sending you off the bed. “There will be plenty of other times for you to join in. For tonight, relax and enjoy being a pillow princess.”

You were hesitant to listen to her, but as you relaxed against the bed, you realized just how tired you were. Laying back, your head cradled by the pillow alleviated some of the throbbing pain in your upper back. Plus, you weren’t often told to be a pillow princess, to lose yourself in the pleasure. This might be precisely what you needed tonight.

Without any further protest, you melted against the bed, your hand gently running through Shoko’s long, silky hair as she suckled and nibbled at your nipples while her hands massaged your breasts. I felt so good to be touched so gently. It was a drastic contrast to the boys, who roughly groped and nipped at your sensitive breasts. No matter how many times they saw your breasts, they were still the teenage boys you met nearly a decade ago. Breasts were, and always would be, some of their favorite things. Shoko, on the other hand, knew what felt good, how to get those little moans and whimpers to escape your mouth. If the woman was given the chance, she very well could make you orgasm from your nipples alone one day.

”Oooh my god, S-Sho—” That day was today, “Shoko, f-feels so good, really good.” Your nails gently grazed her scalp before you tugged on the strands of her hair. “H-Holy shit.”

Your girlfriend giggled, sending vibrations to stimulate your already sensitive nipples. “Yeah? Feel good—“ her pink tongue swirling tantalizingly slow around them, “so good you’re going to cum like this?” A tiny whimper was the only response she received. “Such a good girl for me. Go ahead, baby.” She groped both your breasts, pushing them together, allowing her to suck and nibble at both your nipples at once. “Cum for me.”

Shoko pressed her knee against your clothed center, and that was all you needed to cum. “N-Nggh! C-cumming~ S-Sho! Fuck!” you withered and squirmed, your hips rocking g against her knee, extending the sweet pleasurable waves that rocked you to your core.

She was watching you get off from just the brush of her knee, and her mouth on your tits had Shoko giggling softly. Your face was twisted with pleasure, slowly shifting into a more lax face as you finished riding the waves. Once your heavy breathing turned into soft, content sighs, she pulled back with a grin. She’d like to see the boys try and get you off solely from your tits. Because she knew neither had the patience or skills for that.

“Good job, Shoko.” Your eyes fluttered open as the bed shifted. “Got her nice and relaxed for us.” Shoko sat back, watching as Suguru and Satoru crawled up the bed. “How are you feeling, sweetheart, better?” Satoru hummed as he unzipped your skirt, tugging it down.

“Mhmm, a lot better.” You lifted your ass off the bed. Allowing Suguru to tug your thigh-high stockings down. “Sho always takes good care of us.”

“Mmm,” larger hands forced your legs apart, “I can see that.” Suguru hummed, trailing a finger up and down over the wet spot on your panties. “She made you cum, and you did such a good job.” His fingers hooked under the lace hem and tugged them down, throwing them somewhere across the room.

Suguru’s fingers pulled your wet folds apart, admiring the slick coating of your lips and how your arousal seeped out of your tight entrance. His thumb pulled the hood over your clit back just enough, allowing him to rub sweet, gentle circles around the bundle of nerves. While he teased your clit Satoru nestled himself between your legs, kissing and nipping at your inner thighs up to your dripping sex.

“Mmm, I was wanting dessert.” His hot breath teased your twitching cunt. “Thanks for the meal, sweetheart.” His tongue dipped out, tracing teasing circles of your entrance. His wet tongue and Suguru’s thumb had you gasping, arching off the sheets. Your hips jolted forward, silently begging for more. “So fuckin’ needy~” Satoru growled into your pussy. “Normally, I’d make you beg, but you’ve been working so hard you deserve a reward.” His tongue dipped past your tight entrance, gently swirling it as he licked at your inner walls.

With Satoru’s tongue spearing you, working the muscle inside your pussy, Suguru takes the chance to lean down, kissing and sucking at your swollen nipples. “Fuck, you sound so pretty; make more sounds.” His teeth gently graze over the bud. The sudden sensation made your body jerk forward, here widening as his skilled mouth wrapped around your nipple, sucking on it hard.

“Suguru,” Shoko sits on your other side, “try swirling it gently~ like this.” A raspy sigh shakes through your entire body as Shoko demonstrates her technique on your other nipple. “This gets her going.”

“Oooh~ I see now.” The dark-haired man watched Shoko closely, nodding as he observed her momentum. “So I need to do—“ his eyes meet yours as he flattens his tongue, “—this?” His tongue matches Shoko’s face as pressure, sending tingles coursing straight to your pussy, where you clench around Satoru’s skillful tongue.

Blue eyes widen as feeling the gentle spasms of your cunt on his tongue. Your wetness seeped out, coating his tongue, mouth, and chin. “Mmmphmm~ yeah.” His voice is hoarse with unfiltered, pure need. “She fucking likes it~ her cunts hugging my tongue, keep it going.”

Hearing the filthy words, Satoru spoke motivated his best friend. Suguru kept his ministrations up, his eyes darting between Shoko and back to you, doing his best to keep up with her pace, mirroring her movements to the exact inch. In turn, Shoko’s hand dipped down, pressing gently on your lower abdomen.

“S-Shiiit!” You hissed, lifting your head an inch, watching as your three beautiful partners worshiped you. “Ooooh haaah!” You arched, squirmed, and twitched on Satoru’s tongue. Your partner's fingers, tongues, and lips moved faster as you screamed, one hand gripping the sheet as your other hand thrust into Satoru’s hair, tugging and pulling at the strands as you rocked against his face.

“Good girl~” Suguru growled against your nipple. “Goood fuckin’ girl~ cum all over Satoru’s face.”

Shoko nodded her head in agreement, her hand pressing harder against you. In doing so, she put pressure on the coil that was twisting and twisting inside you. Satoru groaned loudly inside of your pussy, feeling your walls twitch slightly around him; the tiny movements had his tongue lapping faster and harder, rubbing against your g-spot with every flick.

The combination of all three of their efforts made you scream and squirt. Coating Satoru’s tongue and face. Watching the stream of clear liquid coat, Satoru’s face had Suguru rubbing your clit faster. Extending your orgasm, making you squirt again again.

“Oooh, that’s it! Good fucking girl!” Suguru praised while Satoru glowered at you. Not in anger or disgust, but in feral fucking need. His mouth and tongue didn’t stop moving as he drank all of you in, working you over the dips and rises of the orgasm that nearly took your life. He only pulled away when you grimaced, shaking at the overstimulation of his mouth, and that only happened because you yanked him out of your pussy.

“Mmm~ such a good girl~” your slack mouth was suddenly being kissed by Shoko before Satoru crawled up, slotting his mouth against yours, allowing you to taste the sticky, tangy essence of your cum. “She was the best, wasn’t she, Satoru.”

The white-haired man pulled back, collecting the remaining traces of your cum with his pointer finger. “She’s the fucking best. No questions asked.” You lazily watched as he offered his finger to Suguru.

“Oooh, thank you.” Dark eyes trailed over you before he smirked, gently wrapping his hand around Satoru’s wrist and leading his finger into his open mouth. You choked on a breath as you watched Suguru bob his head up and down Satoru’s finger, ensuring all of your juices were clean. “Mhmm, so sweet. Shoko, have a taste.” Your girlfriend grinned slowly, leaning over your spent body, kissing Suguru with full tongue to get a taste of you. Their tongues swirled and massaged the other for what seemed like an eternity before they broke the kiss with a string of saliva and your cum connecting their tongues. “Isn’t she delicious?”

“She’s sweeter than the peach sake from dinner.”

With a gargled moan, your head fell back against the pillows as your lovers all leaned over to examine your face. Your pale skin from earlier was flushed a darker shade, your eyes were hazy and distant, and if this were an anime, they were sure you’d be spurting a nosebleed right about now. The trio exchanged knowing glances and gentle smiles. You did so much for them. The least they could do was give you a proper welcome home.

[selfaware-bungou-stray-dogs]

Spooktober. Lantern

Self-Aware! Ichiyo Higuchi x GN! Reader x Self-Aware! Natsume Soseki

Description: You and Higuchi are trying to praise an ugly decorative lantern, and Natsume is a cat.

Warning: OOC. English is my second language. Fluff. Short

A/N: A short fic for a Spooktober.

You were eyeing a decorative lantern on your table. It was a present from one of your distant uncles. He worked in a decor stores and, for some reason, took half of his paycheck in decorations.

Probably for presents.

You weren't against a new decor item. But, you were against this one lantern.

It was ugly. Not in a "cute ugly, "Halloween ugly" or a "funny ugly" way. In an "ugly and cheap" way. The mansion might not have a luxurious decor, but you still have standards.

And you can't get rid of it. Because your uncle used a courier to deliver the lantern to you, and you were currently on the video call with the uncle, and he knew and saw, that lantern were in good shape. And, if you threw it away, he will be disappointed.

"So, what do you think?" your uncle sounded proud of himself. You were thinking for the best way to answer his question. Higuchi decided to fill the awkward silence.

"It looks... unique." she tried not to look at the lantern or at the monitor. You slowly nodded.

"Yes... Unique..."

Your uncle frowned.

"You didn't like it?"

You quickly grabbed the phone and start circling around the living room, shoving it to your uncle.

"No, I like it. It will be the great audition for the room, see? Everyone will pay attention to it the moment they come in."

Higuchi lips moved, but she didn't make a sound. Thanks to Gide and Rimbaud, you started to learn, how to read lips.

"Not in a good way. It's ugly and have no place in this house." Higuchi noticed your look. "What? [Y/N], honey, don't tell me, that you disagree?"

You didn't show your disappointment in Higuchi. Because you weren't disappointed, and secretly agree with her.

Still, you continue your honeyed words to ensure uncle's happiness.

None of you noticed a calico cat jumping on the table.

"Hm, [Y/N], I must say, your living room needs more lanterns. I will send more similar... Get away from here, your beast! Get away from the lantern!"

You and Higuchi jumped, not expecting the yelling. And then, something crashed behind your backs.

Here, on the table, Mii-chan was sitting. One of his paw was stretched out. And on the floor were the remains of the lantern.

Your uncle screamed again.

"No! You won't get another lantern from me! Not until you taught your cat, how to behave!"

Your uncle ended the call. In a second, Natsume Soseki stand up from the table, dusting himself. He gave you a sly smile.

"I am sorry, Dear Muse, for taking away your lantern supply."

You and Higuchi huffed with laughter.

"Just help me clean this mess, and you are forgiven, Mr. Cat."

Natsume gave you another smile.

"Well, I could, but I have paws..."

Okay, who taught him him about that meme? Higuchi, who was standing near you, caughed and rubbed the back of her neck. She looked embarrassed and guilty.

Huh. Either Higuchi can read minds, or you are a seer.

You raise an eyebrow.

"You having paws doesn't stand in a way of your little war with salesman from the fish market. Or did Higuchi do most of the job?"

Now both Higuchi and Natsume looked embarrassed. Yes, you knew, that the duo, for some reason, didn't like that one guy from the fish market and have a mini war against him.

You rubbed your temples.

"Let's just clean up the mess and do something more interesting or productive."

Higuchi and Natsume nodded, agreeing with you.

[sanjoongie]

Downtown

ღPairing: Kim Hongjoong x Reader (f)

ღAu: office worker au, club goer au

ღTrope: strangers to lovers, age gap (10 years between younger Hongjoong and older reader)

ღRated: 18+ MDNI, smut, angst

ღWarnings: alluding to sleeping with Hongjoong, somnophilia, oral (f), alluding to being fucked by Hongjoong on his kitchen table

ღWord Count: 3,229

ღSummary: when you stumble out of work late on a Saturday, a curious club goer wonders who you are and what you're doing and it's all downhill from there

ღBeta's: @flurrys-creativity @mejuii @downtoamagicalland

You raised your hand to rub at your tired eyes but quickly brought them down to not touch your beyond-twelve-hours make-up. The last thing you needed was to rub your mascara in and add to the dark bags under your eyes. You pulled the lapels to your jacket closer to your neck and pulled out your phone. What would be quicker, flagging down a taxi or ordering an uber?

This wasn’t your first rodeo, working on reports in your office until 2am on a Saturday. The repeat of the schedule wasn’t preferred but when your job was always on the line and it was expected of you, you did what you could to maintain a paycheck incoming to your bank account. All you wanted to do was shuffle home and get into something comfy and--

“Do you have a lighter?”

You blinked slowly at the heavy make-upped face in front of you. A shock of blue hair haloed his face and the charming grin calmed your beating heart that one of the homeless wasn’t here to harass you. By the look of this guy's clothes, he was stumbling out of a club at 2am. 

“I don’t smoke, sorry,” you mumbled and started to side walk away from the stranger. 

“Ah shit, there it is!” The guy smiled triumphantly, having dug into his pant’s pockets for a flashy lighter that had the initials of either a rich person or an expensive label. “Wait!” His face fell when he saw how far away you were. “Where are you going?”

You pulled a tight, customer-service smile at him. “Look, I’m sure you’re looking for a good time, still half-drunk and making your way home when the bar closed, but I’m just trying to go home after a long day, if you don’t mind…” You ducked your head and walked a bit quicker down the street.

“I’m not looking to harass you or anything, come on!” The guy called after you. You winced when you could hear the clicking of his dress shoes on the sidewalk behind you.

You stopped abruptly. “I don’t know if you’re into an older woman type thing but,” you paused to wave vaguely at the skimpily dressed girl across the street cooing at him, “they seem primed and ready to take up your offer.”

The guy took a drag of his cigarette, contemplating you. “I don’t want them.”

You had to laugh at his audacity. “Well, I don’t want you, sir. Goodnight.”

“Just call it late night curiosity!” He continued to follow you. “If you’re not coming from the clubs, where did you come from in your high heels and felt jacket?”

“My job,” you replied curtly.

“Your…?” That made him stumble. “You were at your job until 2am?!” He said in disbelief.

You stopped again. If you just had to answer a few questions to get this guy off your back, maybe that was better than him following you late in the night. “Listen,” you raised your eyebrows, indicating it was his turn to give you his name.

“Hongjoong,” he grunted, eyes still wide with curiosity.

“Hongjoong,” you continued, “my life is clearly not the same as yours.” You motion to his one-of-a-kind suit. “We’re cut from a different cloth. If I don’t finish typing up reports or doing invoices or other boring office activities, they’ll fire me and hire someone fresh off the street. They don’t care, as long as the work is done and on time. So if it takes me until 2am on a weekend night, so be it.”

Hongjoong narrowed his eyes at you. “Are you sure I didn’t catch you leaving the office late after blowing your boss or something secretive like that? Maybe digging for corporate secrets to sell?”

Maybe it was your brain almost being dead, but you let his suggestive thoughts roll off your back. You snorted in response. “You’ve watched too many movies. Yes, I’m sure you didn’t catch me doing a plot to a porno or a spy documentary. Now, have I satisfied your curiosity?”

Hongjoong watched as your toe tapped in impatience. “What are you going to do now?” He shot back a question, ignoring your own.

“I’m trying to go home so I can get into something baggy and comfortable and hopefully sleep until the late afternoon,” you intoned. 

Hongjoong visually perked up. “Hopefully sleep?”

You sighed heavily. “I’m an insomniac.”

He smiled happily, for what reason, you hadn't a clue, until: “Me too.”

You offered your hand to him in a professional handshake. “Nice to meet you, fellow insomniac, now, can I please--?”

Hongjoong’s phone dinged and he pulled it from his pocket. “Car’s almost here.”

You winced. You looked up and down the street, which was almost ghosttown-like in its cold abandon. You had not flagged down a cab nor ordered an Uber like you had planned. Your feet hurt and your shoulders ached and you were still talking to this stranger--

“Wanna share a car?” Hongjoong tossed the half smoked cigarette to the ground and snubbed it with the toe of his shoes.

“I--” The no was begging to roll off your tongue but a shiver went through you. “You don’t even know where I’m going?!”

Hongjoong shrugged with one shoulder. “If you want--”

“No.” This time it was prudent that you stomp down on that thought.

Hongjoong smiled but it was a little sly. “I can offer you late night ramyun and a blackout room.”

You hummed in sarcasm. “Uh huh, and no strings attached too, I suppose.”

A car pulled up and Hongjoong opened the door. “The carriage is leaving, Cinderella.”

Curiosity was killing you now. What would his place look like? Ramyun sounded real good right now and you knew you would be up as soon as the sun rose because your bedroom barely kept the light out. If you could get one good night's sleep-- 

“Fuck it! Fine, let's go.”

Oddly enough, the night was as PG as an adult night could go. Hongjoong’s curious questions didn’t hold a sliver of maliciousness to them. He told you about his life as a trust fund kid with a passion for fashion and you told him about your ridiculous coworkers over the steam of spicy noodles. Once your stomach was full, Hongjoong showed you his guest room and offered you some of the softest pj’s you had ever had the pleasure of putting on your body. And you slept like the dead. 

When you woke up the next day, however, you were starting to feel a little stupid. Why the hell did you sleep in some stranger’s place without even the benefit of actually sleeping with said stranger???

You tiptoed across the polished hardwood floor and past the exposed brick walls, having made up the bed you had slept in and folded the pajamas. You really didn’t want to encounter the owner of said pajamas, fearful he would hold you down with more questions and not let you leave like last night. 

“How’d you sleep?”

You jumped a foot in the air and squealed. You turned around and your breath caught in your throat. Along with the husky voice, sleepy Hongjoong really cut a figure. His hair was mussed and he was currently trying to rearrange it to no avail. His tired smile was charming. He moved to the island where a French press was clearly waiting for him. 

“Uh, surprisingly well,” you offered.

“Surprisingly?” Hongjoong wondered.

You wobbled on your ankle, having toed on your heels. “Listen, Hongjoong…” Hongjoong gave you his full, undivided attention and it was a bit unnerving to be on the receiving end of it. You stuttered, faltering on your firm words. “A-about last ni-night.”

“You don’t owe me anything, if you’re worried.” Hongjoong gave that one-shoulder gallic shrug of his again. “I just wanted to help out a fellow insomniac.”

“Right,” you said lamely. 

Hongjoong sipped his coffee, peering over his mug at you with unreadable eyes. 

“So… I’ll see you around,” you tried again.

Hongjoong dipped his head in acknowledgement. “Downtown. Same time, same place?”

A ghost of a smile pulled at your lips. “If I know my job,” you huffed.

“Then it’s a date.”

Then it’s a date echoed in your head for a few weeks. How could a man be so clingy and yet let you go without any information? Why the hell did he let you sleep at his place? It was all so very weird.

And yet when you saw him after stumbling out of your office late at night once again, you couldn't help the flutter of butterflies in your stomach. You stomped them out immediately. He probably didn’t even remember you!

“Hey, Workaholic.” Hongjoong raised a hand to wave at you.

You let out some air. “Hey, Hongjoong.”

“Another late night with the boss again?” He teased you. 

You nodded studiously. “A blowjob a day keeps the hunger at bay.”

Hongjoong snorted. “Do you want to--?”

“Ah, Hongjoong, I don’t think--”

“What, the chance to sleep in my lavish pjs isn’t enough of an incentive?” 

You stomped your foot in frustration. “Don’t you think this is a little weird?” 

“Weird that I invited you to my place to let you get a little rest?” Hongjoong finished your thought.

“Yes!” You shouted triumphantly.

“No.”

You sighed. “Seriously, Hongjoong, it’s weird.”

“It doesn’t have to be weird,” Hongjoong persisted. “Oh look, the car is here.”

“I’m not going with you this time,” You said coolly and folded your arms over your chest.

“No?” Hongjoong lifted an eyebrow at you.

“No!” You insisted. 

“Okay,” Hongjoong did his one-shoulder shrug and moved to open the door to the SUV. “But just to let you know, I bought you slippers.”

“Slippers?” You screwed up your face in confusion.

“You’ll never know if you don’t come.”

So you found yourself in Hongjoong’s elaborate highrise place, still wondering what the fuck you were doing. “I have a whole bedtime kit for you, including some tea I find helpful and a playlist and--”

“Hongjoong, seriously, what the fuck?” You interrupted rather severely. 

Hongjoong looked slightly sad but hopeful. “I want to help.”

“Some random stranger who is also an insomniac?”

“Exactly.”

“And this has nothing to do with the fact that I'm a woman?”

“Nope.”

“Nothing at all.”

“Right.”

“You’d do this if I was a guy?”

“Yes.”

“You sleep with guys too, don’t you?” 

“Yup.”

You rubbed your temples, trying to understand with your sleep-deprived brain what this was. Hongjoong was a few steps away from you now. “Would it help if I actually slept with you?” He offered.

“Yes, actually, that would make a lot more sense,” you agreed without truly understanding what you said.

Hongjoong’s eyes crinkled at the corners and his lips curled at the tips and you felt those butterflies again. “No, that’s not what I meant! I just--”

“If I was fucking you, you wouldn’t be as confused,” Hongjoong supplied.

You scratched your neck awkwardly. “Yeah…”

“You know what also helps with sleeping?” Hongjoong persisted.

“A knock out punch?” You joked.

“An orgasm.”

Your heart skipped a beat this time. “Hongjoong, be serious.”

“I am serious.” Hongjoong had crept closer as you talked, an arm's length from you now. 

“I already told you, I don’t want you,” you insisted.

“You did.” Hongjoong's gaze said he didn't believe it.

“It is the older woman thing, isn't it?” You frowned.

“Nope, not an older woman thing.” Hongjoong caught his tongue between his teeth cutely.

“Hongjoong, please, help me understand why this is a thing?” You pleaded.

“Does it ever make sense, when two people are drawn to each other?” Hongjoong put two hands on your upper shoulders and pushed off your jacket. 

He had you there! 

“Let me help you sleep?” Hongjoong offered, genuine concern radiating off him.

“From one insomniac to another?” You said mirthlessly.

Hongjoong shook his head. “From someone who's wondering what you look like without bruises under your eyes.”

And thus your friends with benefits exchange began. Hongjoong honored your original situation and never asked for your number or contact information. If the two of you happened to stumble upon each other, him leaving the club and you from your office, you went home with him. It had an odd sense of intimacy with no strings. Hongjoong spoiled you rotten but then you never heard from him until the next fateful meeting. It still didn’t make sense to you but you were starting to assume that was how this was always going to go.

There were a few nights where you genuinely thanked Hongjoong but wondered if you couldn't sleep in the guest room by yourself. He’d shrug and agree, whatever was best for you, of course. But when you woke up with him kissing up the inside your thigh one particular night, you knew he had changed his mind.

“Please,” he murmured against your skin. “Please let me eat you up.”

“Ho-hongjoong!” You stuttered. 

His kisses didn’t stop, unbuttoning the silk pj top you slept in while you were over from the bottom up. He revealed your very normal underwear that absolutely had not matched your bra today. His nose dived into your cunt and he breathed in deeply. When he raised his head, you could tell he was still half drunk from the bar. 

“Please? Wanna eat you out,” he pouted generously. 

“You, sir, need to sleep this off,” you insisted.

“Let me take care of you,” Hongjoong whined.

You watched in wonder as Hongjoong hooked a finger around the elastic of your underwear and pulled them to the side. His eyes wandered over your exposed cunt and he pressed his lips inward. “I need this. Please?”

“Why?”

Hongjoong groaned and rolled his eyes. “Always with the why! Because I want to smell you, I want to taste you, I want to hear your deep breathing and know that you’re sleeping better because of me.”

You swallowed loudly, your throat tightening at his confession. “Okay, Hongjoong,” you allowed in a small voice. “Go ahead.”

Hongjoong used both his thumbs to hold open your labia so that he could go straight for your cunt. He moaned like he was feasting, as his lips and tongue sucked and nibbled on the flesh between your legs. Your hips practically lifted off the bed when his tongue slipped inside of you and his nose brushed your clit with his motions. Hongjoong simply wrapped his arms around your legs to anchor himself to you despite your movements.

“Oh god, Hongjoong,” you moaned, hand diving into his blue hair. 

Whimpers began to fall from your lips as you felt your insides coil with the orgasm he was coaxing from you. But it wasn’t until he sucked on your clit ruthlessly that you began to scream for him. The pleasure was unreal. Your climax hit you like a tidal wave, sweeping you off your feet and carrying you away.  

You could hear your heart in your ears and your own panting as Hongjoong hovered over you to check in on you. “Sleep well, my darling.” And that was the last thing you remembered before you indeed fell asleep. 

You weren’t quite sure when it had happened, but you were pretty sure Hongjoong was falling for you. And you couldn't help but care for him. This man had no right being as gentle or caring or understanding as he was, but still he funneled energy into you, the only way you would receive it anyways. Everything was on your terms but you were starting to feel like you weren’t in control anymore. 

You could see it in Hongjoong’s eyes; how he felt about you. The care was moving towards love. His smile had morphed, even, and it felt… how the hell were you going to be able to introduce him to anyone you knew? Or tell them the weird way you had met? Could you even form a relationship with a man ten years your junior?

The more you stewed on it, the more your mind was made up. There was no way this could work. And if Hongjoong couldn't keep his heart out of this, well, maybe it was time you cut him loose. 

You couldn't bear to sleep with him, and this time you had received a hurt puppy dog look at the statement, but Hongjoong respected your wishes. That way you didn’t feel even worse for what you were going to dump on him in the morning.

“Hongjoong,” you started, sitting at the kitchen island.

“Bagel? Had them flown in from New York. You know what they say about--”

“Hongjoong,” you said more firmly. 

“What, can’t I feed you too?” Hongjoong teased.

“I don’t think we should do this anymore,” you announced.

Hongjoong’s eyes flickered with worry but he pressed forward. “Eat bagels? We can always switch it up if need be.”

“No, Hongjoong, us. I don’t think we should meet anymore.”

Hongjoong frowned heavily at you. “That doesn’t make any sense. You’re the most healthiest I’ve seen since I met you, in fact, I was just about to ask you to move in with--”

You laughed in disbelief. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Hongjoong shook his head, still looking confused. “I’m really not.”

“Why would I move in with you?”

Hongjoong winced visibly like you had struck him. “Because I'm good for you.”

“So you think because you're a good lay that we should be together? Hongjoong, I don't even have your contact information!”

“That doesn't matter. Or can be fixed quickly. Why are you--? What's going on?” 

“You can't possibly think we could begin a life together? Based on a few months of sex and a good sleep? Hongjoong, come on. You're young but you're not THAT naive.”

“But we--I don't understand!” Hongjoong lamented. “Why are you doing this?”

“Being realistic? Hongjoong, this is what you have to do to live in this world.”

“No, why are you tearing down what we have? Making it lesser than it is. I know you feel--”

You squeezed your eyes tightly. “No, Hongjoong, I won't let you convince me into another fool plan. I can't afford to think like you! You have years to adjust and the money to support mistakes. I don’t!”

“What are you saying? That I was a mistake?” Hongjoong demanded.

“Yes.”

“No, I don't believe you for a damn minute,” Hongjoong denied. You could hear his slippers slide against the floor and his hands turn you around in the bar stool chair. “Look at me.”

When you refused to do so, Hongjoong pleaded. “Darling, open your eyes.” 

You pursed your lips stubbornly. “No.”

“And why's that?” Hongjoong persisted.

You felt weak. "Because if I open my eyes, I'll see your face,” you whispered.

“And what happens when you see my face?”

“I won't be able to say no to you.”

“Because?”

You opened your eyes. “Because I have feelings for you.”

Hongjoong giggled, then he pulled you off the bar stool chair and hugged you to his chest. He cradled your head against him and rubbed his cheek against the crown of your head. “I love you too.”

You had tears in your eyes but you refused to acknowledge them. “Can I have that bagel now?”

Hongjoong held you arm's length away, a sly grin pulling his features. “Only if I can fuck you on the island in celebration.”

“Hongjoong!” You squealed, slapping his chest.

“Is that a yes?”

taglist: @hijirikaww @starlitmark @stardragongalaxy @pyeonghongrie @k-pop-ology @mingsolo @flurrys-creativity

[spaghettificationandpretzels]

IM ON HERE TO CELEBRATE YOUR 1000 FOLLOWERS 🎉🎉🎉 WOOOOT!

Can I pretty please request Jax Teller for prompt #14!?

Thank you!!!!!

Masterlist

Insomnia

Contains: Very mild angst, fluff.

1.2K words

“My eyelids are heavy, but my thoughts are heavier.” - Unknown

You couldn't begin to express how grateful the late nights were less late now that the club was out of guns and drugs. The only downside was that Jax and the rest of the Sons were now just mechanics, they had cars to fix and taxes to file, not meeting deadlines meant parts didn't get bought and paychecks weren't written.

Anxiety still lingered when Jax was away at night, a hold off from the worry that the next phone call would deliver the worst news one could get. Tonight was one of those nights, even though you knew Jax was safe, your brain wouldn't quiet.

The sound of a door opening drew you from your thoughts, "What are you still doing up? It's almost one."

You shrugged, "The usual. I can't sleep when your side of the bed is cold. Your dinner is in the microwave."

Jax gave you a soft smile, "Lucky me because I'm starving. Sit with me while I eat?"

You nodded, "That's my plan." Jax hurried to the kitchen and warmed his dinner before sitting next to you at the dining table, "Did you get all your work done?" 

"You bet, and I've got the whole weekend off so we can sleep in." You could smell the faint hint of oil on his clothes. 

"That's great news, you know how much I love our lazy mornings." If you were lucky, Abel would be there too, between you and Jax. 

"You and me both darlin. How was work?" He must have been hungry, half the food was already gone. 

"The usual." You yawned and Jax reached across the table to hold your hand, "I'm sorry, I guess I was just waiting for you to get home." 

Jax shook his head, "I'm almost done here. I'll hop into the shower then I'll be all yours." 

You sighed, "That sounds perfect." 

"How did Abel go at daycare today?" Jax loved all the pictures Abel drew for him, his locker, his office and his workstation were full of them. 

You smiled, "He had lots of fun today, they got a new water table and he went wild. I had to throw his tiny little shoes in the wash, that's how much fun he had." 

Jax chuckled, "I'll pick him up on Monday, I can't have you having all the fun darlin." 

"Sure, he loves it when you go and get him." You went to take Jax's empty plate from him, but he yanked it away. 

"I'll do that darlin." He rushed it to the sink before drying it and putting it away. Once that was done and he had wiped over the kitchen one last time, he walked back over to you and stretched out his hand, "Shall we?" 

You nodded and took his hand, "We shall." 

The trip to the bedroom was quick, and then Jax was stripping off and hopping into the shower, "You wanna get ready for bed darlin?"

You sighed, "I guess I better try and keep a routine, brushing my teeth and washing my face again won't hurt." 

Steam filled the room as Jax washed the day away and smirked when he caught you staring at him through the shower glass, "See something you like darlin?" 

You nodded, "You know I do Teller." 

The shower flicked off and he stepped out, wrapping the towel around his waist before stopping by the kiss you on the cheek on his way to the bedroom to get dressed. 

With his comfortable grey sweatpants on, he headed to the bed and flicked the heated blanket on your side before fluffing your pillow and peeling back the covers, "Hop in darlin." 

You took your robe off and placed it on the chair, leaving you in just one of Jax's T-Shirts and a pair of panties, then climbed into bed with a sigh, "It's so much better with you here. Maybe we should get a cat so when you're not here, I'm not alone in bed." 

Jax smiled, "I like that idea, we've got the room and it will be good for Abel to have a pet." 

You reached over to the bedside table and picked up the bottle of the lavender lotion but before you could do anything, Jax took it from you, "Let me?" 

You nodded, "I'd like that." 

He started with your arms, rubbing the smooth cream in with broad, firm strokes, "What do we need for a cat? Food, water fountains, a few litter trays and toys. Hell, with Happy's help, we can have one by Monday." 

He pinched your shirt and you pulled it over your head so he could do your shoulders next, "We need a bit more time than that. The kitty should have a catio, that will keep you busy over a few weekends and once that's build and the cat can enjoy the outdoors without killing anything we can get the kitty." 

The corner of Jax's mouth ticked up as he moved to your chest and a thought came over him, "We can tell Abel can't we? He'll want to help." 

Your eye grew heavy as you spun and his hands moved over your back, "Sure we can tell Abel. He'll want to name the kitten and he should come when we pick. Not that it means anything, the cat will pick us." 

You returned to facing him and Jax moved to your legs, rubbing the ache out of your claves, "You've already said you'll let the cat on the bed so I only have one rule, he or she has to stay away from my kutte." 

You chuckled, "You and I both know that's not going to happen, cats do what cats want." 

Jax sighed and placed the bottle back in its spot before picking your book up, "I guess so. How are you feeling now darlin?" 

You smiled, "Great, I'm ready to call it a night." You slid all the way into bed and placed your head on the pillow, "Will you read to me, I love the sound of your voice." 

Jax looked over you fondly, "Of course, darlin, that was my plan when I picked up your book." You had been reading it to him for days, a sweet tale of a little robot in search of life on Mars who made friends with an alien. 

"Rusty lifted his little arm and ticked as he handed the apple slice to his friend, 'Apples are one of human's favourite fruits, you should try some.' The alien took the slice from him with a squeak and ate it in one bite, then gave another squeak of approval at the sweet taste." 

You snuggled closer to Jax and he wrapped his arm around your body, "The Alien squeaked again, then waved its arms before pointing to itself and then to Rusty. The series of squeaks that followed sounded like the robot's name and then another which must have been its own." 

Your eyes felt so heavy as Jax continued, "It made sense when Rusty heard it for a second time, 'Your name is Eldredth? Tell me Eldredth, have you ever had chocolate? It is the best of the human's treats." 

Jax smiled as he felt your chest rise and fall softly under his arm. He put the book and laid down next to you, pressing a kiss to your forehead and pulling the blanket up to your neck, "Good night Darlin, I love you." 

Fin

[bitchlessdino]

Would you like a receipt? Pt. 1

In Valentines collaboration with @svthub hosted by my wifey @wongyuseokie, pt 2 out now! Pairing: Childhood bf!junhui x working class gn!reader Genre: fluff, slight angst, slice of life Word count: 2.9k tags: second chances, exes to ???, childhood friend/boyfriend!junhui, spontaneous dates, misunderstandings, smut in part 2!!! Summary: Coming across a grade school ex-boyfriend while you worked a shitty seasonal job around Valentines was not in your 2024 bingo card. author note: to sweet mio at @skyechild i apologize in advance for making you wait for the second half. I promise it'll be worth the wait. but yes! i am your one and only cupid. I hope you enjoy what i have so far. And to answer your ask, idk if i have a favorite thing about myself? Maybe it's the constant desire to look for new things to improve on or my attitude in trying new things? What i look for other people is pretty simple tho. That would be ease. I'd like if someone felt comfortable with me and vice versa. if i can make someone's day by making them laugh or just existing then that would be great. happy valentines day mio! From yours Truly, Cupid💘

Tag: @shiningstar-byulxx @misssugarlips @tommolex @hoeforhao @dkakapizzaboy @junhui-recs @svtup @buffhoshi @meowmeowminnie @caratochan @lovebot4han @camisun93 @emmmui @toruro @jeonride @novalpha @nvmrljk @feat-sun @tinkerbell460 @aaniag @tacosandbitch @cottoncheol @embrace-themagic

Valentine's Day has always been a bit of a hit or miss for you. The last time you remember eagerly anticipating the holiday was back in high school. Since then, the allure of celebrating love and romance seemed to fade away, as you realized that not everything in the world is adorned in shades of pink and red. Valentine's Day became a luxury, a whimsical indulgence that felt distant and impractical for someone navigating a world that often left little room for such extravagances. Life, for you, was a series of tasks, responsibilities, and the constant juggling act of making ends meet.

From the time you were in high school, you entered the realm of adulthood, where dreams sometimes took a backseat to the more immediate needs of providing for your family. The dreams you put on hold lingered in the recesses of your mind, awaiting their turn to be fulfilled. Working tirelessly, you made sacrifices, dedicating yourself to a job that demanded your energy and time. Despite the challenges, you pressed on, ensuring the well-being of your family, who toiled alongside you, if not even harder.

Now, as an adult working a part-time job that offers a slightly better paycheck than your previous one, you’ve grown used to the matter. While the financial gains may not be monumental, every improvement counts, especially when compared to the downfalls of your previous workplace.

Amidst the whirlwind of your daily hustle, Valentine's Day transforms into a distant echo of the past–a time when celebrations were carefree and seemingly attainable. However, for you, navigating the world feels akin to maneuvering on an almost empty tank. In this moment, mere existence becomes a means to sustain yourself.

“Is this a gift? If so, would you like it to be gift-wrapped for you?”

The middle-aged man raises an eyebrow, smacking that mint gum that doesn’t seem to mask his nicotine-coated breath. “Is it extra?”

“It’s two dollars extra.”

Usually, you’d really sell the idea that the highest premium quality wrapping paper would be used to then be topped off with a satin ribbon that truly pulls it all together, but for such a customer, you know you’d be wasting your breath.

He scoffs, snatching the bag off the counter. “Are you trying to scam me? Fuck that shit.”

You let a sigh of relief slip past your lips the moment he made his way out the sliding door, muttering to yourself about the smell. You reach down for your Powerade hidden on a bottom shelf of the counter you stand behind, hoping this supposed ‘power’ would relinquish itself to you for another long shift.

It’s the day before Valentine's Day, which means the rush has become a regular occurrence since about a week ago. The store is bursting with vibrant displays of flowers, stuffed animals clutching oversized lollipops, and decadent heart-shaped boxes of chocolates. Not such a bad gig if you look at it.

However, the true predicament lies in the presence of aggressive customers, drawn to discounts like magnets. They're all about grabbing anything and everything that's on sale, making things more complicated than they need to be. It's like they're trying to see how far they can push things and make your day even crazier. Dealing with them adds an extra layer of chaos to the already busy scene as if you haven’t lost faith in humanity enough.

“I bought this yesterday and it’s DIGUSTING! I want a full refund and extra compensation for my time and taste buds being wasted on this disgusting excuse of a candy.”

Popping open the box revealed a sorry sight–almost half the candies were missing as if they'd gone on a little taste adventure without an invite. The poor box looked like it had been through a candy apocalypse, so messed up that I couldn't even be sure if it originally belonged to our store.

“Ma’am, I’m sorry you're dissatisfied with our products. However, because the box is so damaged and half of the contents have been consumed we cannot accept this return,” you respond in your most polite service voice.

“Are you fucking kidding me? Where the hell is your manager? The customer is always right!”

At last, a wave of relief crashes over you like a superhero arriving just in the nick of time during closing hours. The once bustling crowd has dwindled, allowing you to begin the task of rearranging items and securing the cash register, signaling the imminent conclusion of yet another busy day.

Just when you're on the verge of clocking out and calling it a day, a sudden interruption unfolds at the entrance. A lone figure materializes outside, softly tapping on the glass as if pleading to be granted entry.

"Please," his voice is all muffled through the glass, "I know you're about to close, but pretty please! I just need to grab something real quick. I already know exactly what I need!"

It’s not every day you see a man of his looks and caliber beg to be given access to a candy store as if he were a determined child. There's this undeniable air of urgency about him–as if he’d die if we didn’t get what he needed–but it doesn't overshadow his perfectly proportioned features that illuminate under the evening street lights. Ultimately, you decide to approach the door, swiftly undoing the top lock of the door and allowing him inside.

He expresses his gratitude with a grateful clasp of his hands, swiftly navigating through the inventory to grab what he urgently needs. Returning to the counter, you initiate the process of unraveling the closing procedures, all the while fervently hoping that no one else decides to join the stranger in last minute browsing.

"Sorry," he apologizes as he drops his items on the counter: several heart-shaped boxes and a bear clutching a mini Mylar balloon that shouts 'I love you,' with a small box of chocolates in its other paw. A classic and popular choice.

“That’s a lot of chocolate. Big family?”

He shakes his head, "Nah, these are for a company thing. I've been busting my butt for weeks, and the one simple task I get, I can't even manage it until the last minute."

"Got it. And the bear? Picking up a last-minute surprise for your girlfriend too?"

A slightly offended look crosses his face. "Oh, if I had a girlfriend, I’d do way more than make up my tardiness with a teddy bear.” He holds the fluffy creature in his hand, “This is just for my mom. So, if you ever spot a lady with my face and long hair, please, keep it on the down-low."

You chuckle softly, bagging up his purchases. "I'll remember that. Cash or credit?"

He extends his hand, revealing his credit card with his full name on display. As you sound out the name in your head, it strikes you as unique yet oddly familiar. You run the card through the machine, unaware that the customer is squinting at you, also trying to place where he might know you from.

"Hey, have we met before? You seem really familiar," he questions.

"Uh, not sure, but your name does ring a bell," you reply as you hand the card back. "Haven't come across too many Wen Junhuis."

"Wait, how do you know my name?" he questions.

"Well, it's on your credit card, sir," You respond with straightforward precision.

"True, but no one has picked it up as quickly and accurately as you did. Maybe we do know each other."

You shrug. "Maybe so. I think the last time I heard a name like that was back in elementary school. A classmate maybe."

"Hold on, you couldn't be Y/n, right?" he questions, his eyes widening with realization.

You take a brief pause to grasp the implication, acknowledging it with a nod. "Been a long time coming, hasn't it?"

His smile widened across his cheeks, evoking memories of a similar grin on a boy more than half his age. "Yeah. Well, I be damned. I'm surprised you remember my name."

"It's pretty distinctive; I'm surprised you remember mine."

He scoffs. "You are a core memory, thank you very much. One of the nicest and coolest people in our grade. God, remember our first Valentines?"

"Yes," you softly chuckle, the memories of childhood innocence flooding back. "I begged my mom to get these really nice scented Valentine cards to give to the class."

"And you gave me the lemon one because I love lemons, and I gave you one of the hologram cards of a cat that smiles when you flip it on its side."

"I was so excited to show my sister, and I just know she was so jealous."

"Yeah, where did the time go?" he sighs, his smile turning wistful on his lips.

You shake your head, still smiling from the unexpected trip down memory lane, and finally, hand off his gifts back to him. "Would you like a receipt?"

"No, I'm good. So,” He leans over the counter curiously, “What are you doing this Valentine's?"

"Working the day. I'll probably just grab takeout for dinner and head home. You?"

"It's a workday,” he says proceeding to grab his things. “So most of the day is spent in the office. But, I'm free the rest of the evening…would it be weird if I asked you out for Valentine's Day?" he nervously proposes.

You raise an eyebrow, slightly taken aback but intrigued. "You want me to be your Valentine?"

"Couldn't hurt," he nonchalantly shrugged, a wry grin playing on his lips. Then, as if a light bulb flickered to life above his head, an idea dawned on him, sparking mischief in his eyes.

"Unless you've got a 200-pound, all-muscle boyfriend ready to beat my ass," he quips, his tone laced with a hint of sarcasm. The words linger in the air, forming a playful challenge and a subtle admission that, just maybe, he wasn't entirely impervious to consequences.

It harks back to a past altercation, one of those rare 'couple quarrels' you had. The promise was made in jest—that you'd leave him if he ever pulled on your hair again, and he'd have to face a burly 200-pound muscle man. Though uttered in humor with no evidence of said muscle man, it struck a chord of genuine concern in his little boy heart, and he kept that promise until the end of your relationship. The memory lingered, manifesting now in an unmistakable charm, a blend of audacity, bravado, and humor that fills the air with laughter and unadulterated ease.

You chuckle. “Lucikly, I don’t, but I don’t know you. Who knows what kind of person you, or I, have become in the last fifteen or so years? Maybe I'm a bitch.”

"Well, as long as there’s no one else in the picture, I see no problem. Bitch all you want to me." he grins.

Your expression shifts into a playful contemplation, "Why me? I'm pretty sure there are plenty of people out there dying for a dinner date with you. I mean, the last thing we shared was a juice box."

"Maybe I'm hoping to reignite an old spark. If I recall our MASH game correctly, we were supposed to be living in a shack with 20 kids, a dog, and daily commutes on a scooter," Junhui retorts.

"Thank goodness that scenario never played out, but, um, I'm not sure dinner is a good idea."

As the banter unfolds, you realize it's been an eternity since you've experienced the thrill of a proper date. The mere thought of dressing up, the nervous excitement before meeting someone, and the shared laughter over a romantic meal become fragments of a distant past, like pages in a cherished novel stored away on a forgotten shelf.

“We never know unless we try, right?” He says, a teasing glint in his eyes.

“You always hit on exes that you stumble upon on a random Tuesday?”

“Only the pretty ones.” Junhui grins, swiftly extracting a candy box from the bag. With a quick scribble on the side, he hands it to you. “If you change your mind. Happy Valentine's Day.”

You roll your eyes playfully, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips as you accept the candy. “Happy Valentine's Day to you too, Jun.”

You depart with a box of candy in hand when your shift ends, Junhui's number hastily scribbled on the top, the ink still fresh as that abrupt encounter. As you make your way home, the city lights shimmering in the distance, you find your thoughts circling back to his audacious proposition.

The weight of the candy box seems to mirror the gravity of the decision before you. The city streets, now quieter in the late evening, echo with dilemma of pursuing his offer. You can't deny the charm that lingers in the air—a mix of confusion, nostalgia, and an unexpected connection. The mere act of considering his offer adds a layer of excitement to the night, anticipation for plans that have been yet set in motion.

As you unlock the door to your apartment, the scent of familiarity welcomes you warmly for once, likely due to the refreshing end of your night. You set the candy aside–already having memorized Junhui's number–and with a decisive tap, you enter his number into your phone. The screen lights up with his name, a digital beacon inviting you to venture into uncharted territory. As you send a quick message, the city outside continues its gentle hum, and you can't help but feel giddy. You’re eleven all over again.

The memory of Junhui's charismatic grin lingers in your mind, a subtle tug at the edges of your thoughts the moment you hit send, and you throw the phone aside, letting yourself get rid of the electrifying nerves running through your body. When you hear the notification going off–Junhui’s name on display–you realize there’s no going back.

The following day, you’re excited about living for once. Delighted to have something to look forward to after work, you board today's bus with a genuine smile on your face, a subtle change that doesn't escape the notice of the bus drivers, who have grown accustomed to your early presence by now.

As the bus carries you through the familiar townscape, you can't help but revel in the subtle shift in the air. The usual humdrum of daily life seems to have given way to a vibrant undercurrent of anticipation for the holiday. The ordinary scenes outside the window take on a slightly pink hue, and you find yourself savoring the details that often go unnoticed illuminated with festive decor.

Work hours also pass with a newfound energy, and the anticipation for the evening grows with each passing minute, even with the rambunctious customers buying more gifts just in the nick of time. The mundane tasks of the day become a mere backdrop to the vibrant scene that awaits you once the clock strikes the end of the workday.

Today, the world outside the candy store seems to radiate brighter than any other day has. The street lights gradually flickering on, usually just a backdrop to your daily grind, now beckon with a promise of surprises. As the day unfolds, you find yourself counting down the hours until your appointment time arrives and you quickly change into your Valentine's date attire, anticipating Junhui's reappearance.

Time moves forward—one hour, two hours, three hours. Doubts begin to creep in. Were you merely indulging in wishful thinking at this point?

The rose-tinted glasses, which once painted the day with a hopeful hue, must have started to expire. Now, a subtle gray takes over, bringing you back to the stark reality of the passing moments. The initial excitement begins to wane, replaced by a tinge of disappointment and a hint of uncertainty.

As the clock ticks away, doubts and questions swirl in your mind like a gathering storm. The vibrant anticipation that once filled the air begins to dissipate, leaving behind a quiet unease.

You glance at your reflection in the mirror, the Valentine's date attire now carrying a touch of wistfulness. The city outside, once alive with the promise of a special evening, now takes on a different tone. The street lights, initially beacons of excitement, cast shadows that dance with anxiety and unease. The imminent arrival of buses amplifies a fleeting thought–maybe, just maybe, you can still catch it if you run.

Taking a leap of faith, you hastily gather your belongings and make your way to the bus station, adhering to your initial plan—opting for takeout in the solitude of home, if restaurants are still an option at this hour. Amidst the uncertainty, your phone succumbs to the lack of power, its screen plunged into darkness, mirroring the tone of your night.

The familiarity of home brings no comfort, only disheartenment. You set aside the dinner you had envisioned for tonight, plugging in your phone to replenish its drained battery, intentionally avoiding any further interaction with the outside world for the remainder of the night.

When your phone finally regains its power, messages burst to life in an instant, one particular message standing out, beckoning attention. That is, of course, if you were still around to witness it.

Junhui: I’m so sorry! You will not believe the day I had. My office was bombarding me all day with extra work and i only left now. Please tell me its not too late.

P.S. and here's that valentine i wanted to give to you <3 i hope you like it as much as this fic so far

[moth-ink]

''Off-The-Clock Paycheck.'' (Part Two)

AURON x FINACIALLY CHALLENGED!READER

Summary: (GN!)Rook has trouble giving into this new dynamic their lover has created as old fears still cling to them, it doesn't help when they get a call from their landlord that's going to ruin the rest of their week, but Auron has other plans.

Warning: NSFW, sugar daddy kink, dom/sub dynamics, mild coercion, poor living situation and simping (from the author, of course)

Word Count: 5.3k

A/N: Oh boy this was a long one to write, by the way Auron totally buys out the apartment complex after the events of this fic ;) dw, rook doesn't have to know, all characters belong to @yuurivoice

“Pick something, rook.’’ Auron huffed, annoyed. 

“I am!’’ You huffed, searching over the menu, the glowing warm lights of the bar reflected off the crystal glasses surrounding us from the other tables, dancing across his face in a way I couldn’t pretend that I didn’t like. 

The bar was expensive, something way out your usual boundaries; which was usually seedy dive bars if you’re being honest. 

The drinks were expensive, gaudy cocktails that were brimming with excessive decorations and gimmicks. 

“I don’t even know what half of this shit is.’’ You scoffed, guilt gnawing at your stomach at the idea of making him pay for something you might not even like. 

“How classic of you, rook.” Auron smirked, raising his eyebrows faux disappointment, “I can always expect you to present your lack of knowledge.. indecorously, ‘’ 

God he was a prick, handsome, but a prick. 

He leaned back in the booth chair, the dark red pillowing of the chair complimenting his dark black suit; a black Victorian-style vest adoring his black button up, accentuated by his long dress pants. 

His red hair was the only touch of color, pulled back into his usual bun—the front bits tumbling out of the two lackeys and spilling down the arch of his face. 

“You’re staring.’’ Auron commented, blankly, his grey eyes sliding up from the menu to you, “Didn’t anyone ever tell you it’s rude to stare, pet?’’ 

Your cheeks flare a bit redder, and your eyes slide back down to the menu, staring without really reading, mostly just to avoid his piercing grey eyes. 

“You should know, I'm not a patient man, Rook.’’ He said coolly, leaning forward and reaching out a hand and slowly... tantalizingly running his cold fingers over your arm, a slow chill running up your spine, “Order something, now.’’ 

You swallowed thickly, “Fine, oh my god.’’ You sighed, standing up. 

He quickly reached out to grab your arm, halting your movement, “And where do you think you’re going, pet?’’ 

“..To order at the counter? You wanted a whiskey neat right?’’ You frowned, staring at him curiously as he let out a sharp laugh, the sound of his rich voice warming something in your center. 

“Oh, rook.’’ 

The waitress puts down the drinks in front of us, the thin delicate crystal clinking gently against the hard wood of the table. 

His was a simple whiskey neat, the small glass holding a dark brown liquid with ice so perfect it looked almost plastic—the warm lighting of the bar dancing off the clear ice and making it look almost coloured. 

Yours was a cocktail, the bright colours mixing gorgeously within the tall dainty crystal glass; complimented by the fruit expertly sliced and wedged onto the side. 

Auron reached out, idly picking up the glass and aerating it with small, circular motions, his grey eyes watched over the buzz in the bar, hungry, his eyes were always hungry for more, more visions, more out of this world. 

You took a sip of your own drink, enjoying the burst of flavor on your tongue, the toothpick rolled around in the delicate glass and the sharp end poked against your cheek insistently; you winced slightly as you pulled it away. 

“What is it?”  his sharp grey eyes were on you in an instant, his piercing gaze seeming to look through you, ‘’Is it not to your liking, did they fuck up your order?’’ 

You held up a hand, intent on soothing his worries but he seemed to have already made up his mind, he summoned over the waitress immediately and coldly barked out the order to be fixed to a higher quality and ordered several other tasters. 

“Auron, chill.’’ You sighed, rolling your eyes at his dramatics, he flicked his hand. 

“Believe me rook, I've given this place many chances.’’ Auron sighed, the ending words coming out in a sort of growl, “I couldn’t imagine it, offering subpar quality and being alright with that, not striving for anything less than perfection in your work.” 

He leaned forward, “You see rook, I have very high standard, and I expect those standards to be met.’’ his grey eyes rake across you, “And to be rewarded when... surpassed.’’ 

Your in the car in an instant, the door clicking shut as you crawl onto his lap, letting his hands settle on your waist. 

‘’So eager, my my..’’ He chuckles thickly and darkly, “I didn’t pick you to be so... desperate, rook.’’ 

‘’S-Shut up..’’ You huffed, embarrassment creeping up your spine at your own neediness, you were always so self reliant—it felt.. Strange to rely on someone else to provide for you, it almost felt anxiety-inducing enough that it made you avoid accepting his offers of support. 

Some could say that’s how you ended up in your financial situation, but a bad draw is a bad draw whether you have a certain attitude to accepting help or not, perhaps that’s why you developed such a resilience, nobody was coming to save you from this situation. 

“Now, now rook-’’ He drawls, his grey eyes darkening, “-You know I don’t appreciate little brats..’’ 

Your phone rings. 

Auron groans loudly as you pull back from him, he doesn’t take his hands off your hips but allows you to lean back enough to pull out your phone and answer the call. 

“Hello?’’ you answer in your normal, professional voice, a curt contrast to the very intimate position you find yourself in. 

“It’s me.’’ The thick Australian accent of your landlord comes out the other end of the line, the mere voice making your face sour slightly, “Tried to text ya but ya didn’t seem too interested in answerin’ me.’’ 

His voice was snippy and you resisted an eyeroll, but you couldn’t speak the way you wanted to the person dictating where you live. 

“Ya should probably know I've scheduled some maintenance on the buildin’,’’ your eyebrows shot up, it wasn’t often any sort of maintenance happened on your shithole of an apartment complex, “Comin’ out of ‘ya strata, of course.’’ 

There it was. 

“The concrete is damaged from the mold, needs’a new foundation or some shit, I don’t know—they told me I needed it fixed or they’d shut down the complex.’’ He huffs frustratedly. 

The concrete that made up the base of the floor connecting the apartments really was shit, cracks and mold seeped so far into it that the grey had tinted green, and it carried a squishier texture than before. 

But anxiety welled up at the thought of having to pay extra fees, the fear wasn’t a new feeling- worrying about money, it was like sticky tar that remained settled in the pit of your stomach, crawling up the back of your throat like bile whenever a new problem arises. 

“..Yes, Mr Tiras.’’ you grit your teeth, the tar mixing with the venom of wanting to say so much more to your greasy, dickhead of a landlord but you swallowed it back down, intent on not going homeless anytime soon. 

He hung up abruptly, ever the gentleman he was. 

Auron was listening quietly, he frowned, pulling you back onto his lap, “Well, he sounded like a piece of work.’’ Auron huffed, his grey eyes darkening. 

“Yeah, Mr Tiras is an asshole.’’ you huffed, shrugging your shoulder, “He’s my landlord though, so I don’t exactly have a choice but to put up with his bullshit.’’ 

“Why?’’ He scoffs, “Unless you're being held at gunpoint by him, why don't you just.. leave?’’ 

“It’s not exactly an option right now, okay?’’ You huff, crossing your arms in your age-old defensiveness, “Not all of us are rich CEO’s.’' 

“I suppose that’s true rook, but not everyone has a CEO offering them... an off the clock paycheck.’’ 

A shiver runs down your spine at the reminder of that agreement, and the night that convinced you. 

“Okay! Okay!’’ you cried out desperately, your hole stretching under his ruthless pistoling, “M’ gonna let you waste on me, I'll let you catch me..!’’ 

Auron growled deeply, shoving back inside you with extra force, “Not a ‘waste’ rook, stop  being humble, it’s.. unbecoming.’’ 

You feel his tip rubbing against that spongy spot inside of you, the one that made electricity crackle down your spine. 

‘’You think I got where I am being so humble and so good, pet?’’ Auron grunted, pushing your heated body against the cool glass overlooking his office, where the city sparkled underneath. 

‘’Look at it, rook.’’ he commanded, your body jerking from the force of his rough thrusts, “All of it could be yours rook, anything you want, you name it.’’ 

You cried out, your stomach tightening with the force of teetering on the edge. 

“It’s not completely selfless, pet, you should know better than that,’’ he huffs, his hips slamming back against you with ruthless pace, “I told you; I don't pay for company.’’ 

“But I've gotten a taste of you, and once I taste something I like.. I become ravenous,’ his voice was low and gravelly, the noise brushing against your neck as he leaned over your shoulder, gazing at the city. 

"And why should the sweet taste of something that belongs to ME be rotted by something as trivial as modesty?’’ He growls in your ear, a low rumble that plucked at something primal within you, “It’s quite unfortunate pet, that you cannot see reason to let ME take care of you, even when it's for my own benefit.’’ 

You press further against the cool glass as he buries himself to a hilt. 

“Your a smart, smart little thing, rook.’’ he coos, ‘’It’s a beneficial agreement, you must agree~’’ 

Your shaken out of the honey-soaked memory by the car pulling up to your apartment complex, it’s more like a unit complex than anything— but the contract was a bit.. sketchy to say the least. 

Auron wrinkled his nose, eyeing the place critically. 

It was an old feeling, the embarrassment, the shame that welled up inside of you at the look he was giving your home; it was an uncomfortable feeling that settled deeply in your stomach. 

You huffed and stepped out the car, stretching your legs as you moved forward to trek up the concrete stairs and back to your door. 

You were taken off guard when you felt a protective—almost possessive hand on the small of your back, Auron was hunched over you, like he could block you from the view of everyone in the dimly lit street. 

At your questioning look, he spoke up gruffly, ‘’I’m escorting you to your door, rook, I don’t trust this place won’t be housing.. certain types of individuals I don’t want you around.’’ 

He sneered at the feeling of the concrete underneath his dress shoes, feeling the oddly spongey texture beneath him. 

He huffed in disbelief when he saw the state of the hallway, “Jesus fucking Christ rook, this place looks like it’s falling apart.’’ He looked personally affronted by the state of the hallway, cracked concrete littering the floor—wooden panels chipped and groaning, and plenty more noteworthy attributes to the far from charming condition. 

He was right, but damn, fucking asshole. 

Defensiveness rose in you, the heavy rock of shame and embarrassment sharpening into a protective barb, rising up your throat and making your words thick with sharpness; “Well sorry if my home isn’t good enough for the esteemed CEO.’’ 

He seems taken aback for a moment, before sighing and scrubbing a hand through his hair. 

“..I didn’t mean to offend you, rook.’’ he sighed, clearly struggling to find the right words, he took your hand in his, “But I can’t help but feel like you deserve... more.’’ 

He spoke thickly and carefully, like he wasn’t quite sure how to go about this situation, which was unusual for him—the only time he ever seemed.. discomforted and unsure was when he was showing vulnerability. 

“Of course, I will always accept that I've grown up privileged compared to most people, whether I deserve it or not doesn’t really matter.” He huffed out in a gruff voice, “Being good, ‘deserving’ it is just a faux mindset used to justify the existence of ‘karma’, a false sense of security that bad things will happen to people who deserve it.’’ 

“But you...’’ he breathes out, taking both your hands in his, “You’re not content to just sit in the misery of your situation, it’s admirable, rook...’’ 

“When I look at you, I see.. more.’’ he spoke again, his grey eyes boring intensely into yours, “Are you not ambitious, rook? Do you not crave... more?’’ 

You awoke the next morning to the loud sounds of construction outside, jackhammers digging into the concrete in a way that seemed to vibrate through your brain. 

It was early, too early, like ass-crack of dawn early. 

Your head hurts from the sounds alone, you get up with a loud groan that’s barely heard over the sound of the rumbling jackhammer and steel yourself for a day of work, hopping in the shower and getting ready. 

You checked your phone, the sweet notification of pay-day making you feel a little bit better, though you notice your paycheck seems larger than usual, and came from Auron himself as opposed to the payroll team. 

The bus was fast and rickety, you didn’t know what the bus driver was on but clearly he had zoomies today, and your tired brain (woken up so abruptly from construction) seemed to jerk with every turn. 

You stopped at the large, imposing building of your workplace, yawning as you rode the elevator up to your desk, making a pointed stop at the coffee machine to pretty much inhale a roast darker than your usual blend. 

Finally, it didn’t feel like your brain was about to crawl out of your ears. 

You sat down at your desk, opening your laptop and starting the workday as the early morning buzz filled the office. 

The hours passed in a blur of typing and idle chatter around the office, it was relatively uneventful until a familiar redhead popped into your little office space. 

“Rook, can I speak with you privately?’’ He said in his curt, professional voice that belied the warmth he tried to desperately hide in those grey eyes of his whenever they landed on you, “Come join me in my office.” 

You followed him down the winding hallways and up the elevator to his office, it was a lovely space, his dark wood desk complimenting the warm glow of the lighting and the openess of the windows surrounding the space, giving an acute view of the shining city. 

‘’Take a seat, rook.’’ his smooth, deep voice commanded with easy dominance, “I have something for you.’’ 

You raised an eyebrow and took a seat on the plush armchair, looking over him curiously. 

He reached under his desk, pulling out a white cardboard box filled with large, red strawberries that were perfectly dipped in a mesmerizing marble mix of white and dark chocolate, creating a swirl-like pattern. 

The strawberries were red and plump, sweet juices oozing out the perfectly cut green stem; water droplets collecting and running down the chocolate and fruit enticingly. 

“These are for you.’’ He said blankly, his grey eyes carefully surveying your reaction like this was a test of some sort. 

“Oh Auron..’’ you gasped, warmth spreading in your chest, “Oh, this is so sweet, thank you.’’ 

Auron huffed, “This is hardly ‘sweet’, it’s quite a simple gesture amongst lovers, rook.” He rolled his eyes in his usual theatrics, but you couldn’t bring yourself to be annoyed. 

You plucked a strawberry from the thin white box, marveling at the seemingly perfect proportions of it before finally taking a bite, letting the sweet taste of fruit and chocolate melt in your mouth. 

“Oh my god.” you moaned slightly, ignoring the way his grey eyes darkened at the sound, “Auron, you have to try this.’’ 

“I’m quite fine, rook.” He leaned back on the black, plush armchair, seemingly taking half the air in the room with him, “I don’t indulge in many sweets, not my particular taste.” 

You rolled your eyes, plucking up another strawberry and poking it against his mouth playfully, he eyes you, unimpressed by your antics. 

“Come onnnnnn!’’ you wheedled, playfully jabbing the strawberry at his lips, “Just one, for me?’’ 

With a slightly exaggerated huff, he spread his lips, letting you poke the strawberry into his mouth. 

“So?’’ You asked eagerly, “Is it good?’’ 

“Of course it is, rook.’’ He rolled his grey eyes, swallowing the mouthful of strawberry, “I do not pay for.. lackluster results, I had specifically chosen the best brand that ensures quality.” 

You laughed at his dramatics, “Ever the critic, aren’t you?’’ you teased playfully, taking a bite out another strawberry. 

“Some might say that.’’ He hums, leaning forward to pin you to the seat with his piercing gaze, “I prefer the term connesurier.’’ 

His hand reached forward, steady and slowly as if to draw out the moment for as long as possible, he slowly swiped his thumb over your bottom lip to wipe away a small smudge of chocolate. 

The slow and deliberate touch sent a chill down your spine, the earlier warmth in your chest turning scalding and melting down to the lower pit of your stomach. 

“It.. pleasures me when you’re shameless, when you accept my gifts without the burden of modesty.” He hums darkly, his grey eyes slowly raking over your form, “It’s very becoming of you, rook, when you take what you want.’’ 

The ‘meeting’ in his office took a long, long time. 

The week following that pleasant Monday afternoon was even longer. 

You could cry, you could actually start sobbing the moment you were jerked awake by the familiar sounds of jackhammers, this had been a week long issue, being woken up early and abruptly by the sounds of construction outside your door. 

You were so exhausted, the noises long since persisted when you arrived home from work the other days and followed into the night. 

You sat up in bed, simply taking a moment to rest your head in your hands. 

You couldn’t afford to stay somewhere else during this week, especially since your performance has been suffering because of exhaustion and over-stimulation—your colleagues have noticed, the way your words-per-second has dropped dramatically, the way you slug into the office each morning. 

And if they’ve noticed, then your lover boss has definitely noticed. 

Maybe that explains his recent behaviors, he’s been more insistent with the gifts, first it started small with snacks and food throughout the day, but it’s steadily been growing and growing. 

You glance at the expensive, antique pen resting on your desk, it sticks out like a sore thumb compared to the rest of your cheap furniture—you couldn’t see inside your fridge, but you knew the expensive alcohol and fancy treats probably stuck out just as much next to your tubber ware containers full of leftovers. 

You got up and headed to the bathroom, sighing at your appearance in the mirror, your skin was paler than normal, there were bags underneath your drooped eyes and your lips weren’t as colorful as before. 

You didn’t cry in the shower, you didn’t. 

The fluorescent lighting of the office seemed worse than usual, the stagnant bright white lighting seeming to burn your retinas, you squinted and kept your eyes on the floor as you entered the elevator. 

When you rode up to your floor, you immediately headed to the coffee machine, it has been your life blood this week. 

You picked the darkest roast, different to your usual order of something much lighter but you enjoyed the bitterness running down your throat, hoping it’d keep you more alert. 

Before you knew it, the cup was empty, but without a moment's hesitation you put it back under the almost-black spray of caffeine. 

‘’Rook.” 

You startled violently, the hand wrapped around your cup of coffee flinching along with the movement and causing the dark liquid to slosh violently out the cup and directly onto your white shirt. 

The sting of the hotness soaking into you was nothing compared to the pain of just pure defeat, that crushing feeling that everything is going wrong. 

“Jesus, rook!’’ Auron flinched along with you, his hand immediately reaching for napkins to start dabbing you dry, nobody else was around yet so he wasn’t afraid of witnesses. 

You tilted your head back, the sting of fluorescent lighting doing nothing to quell the tears that were blurring your vision. 

You were so exhausted, so overstimulated all you could do was let the tears run down your cheeks. 

Auron paused when a droplet of water fell onto his hand, still clutching at the cloth in his hand, his grey eyes shot up to study your face. 

“..Rook? What’s wrong? Are you burnt?’’ His brows furrow, he takes your cheeks in his hands and tilts your face towards him, his thumbs rubbing at the tears leaking out your eyes. 

“N-No, s’not that hot..’’ You whimpered, feeling pathetic for how broken your voice sounded, “M’just stressed, m’sorry..’’ 

Auron studies you for a moment, before heaving a sigh. 

“What’s going on rook?’’ He stares into your eyes, piercing stormy grey that left no room for deception or excuses, “You look like a fucking zombie.” 

His words were rude, but the underlying tone of concern you’ve come to be able to pick up softens the accusatory words. 

“Come to my office.” He commands, his voice filled with gentle dominance, something about the way he easily commands you, taking a load off your tired brain makes something in you relax. 

You didn’t have to... think, and to your exhausted brain—it was perfect. 

His arm snaked around your waist, subtly supporting your weight as you walked to the elevator, taking the long ride up to his private office. 

The familiar sight of the dark wood office, illuminated by windows bringing in the early morning light relaxed some tension in your shoulders, you hadn’t realized it, but you’ve come to associate his office with privacy and safety—things you’ve come to associate with the office’s owner as well. 

He sat you down on the plush, black leather couch in the corner, letting you sag against him however you’d like. 

“Tell me what’s wrong, rook.’’ He commands gently, his hand gripping your shoulder as you rested your own head in your hands, similar to the position you found yourself in the morning. 

The words clumped in your throat, thick and uncomfortable as stress welled up in you like bitter molasses. 

“This isn’t some kind of test, or.. performance review.” He said gruffly, his strong, grounding hand rubbing up and down your shoulder in a calming motion, “Of course I noticed the.. Decline in your usual work performance, but I doubt it’s because of any fault of your part.” 

“Outside forces can greatly impact even the most intelligent of people.” His grey eyes swept you over, clearly indicating who he was referring to, “If there’s something in this office that’s upsetting you or disrupting your work—you need to tell me, you have a line straight to me that not other people have, so take advantage of it.” 

“No, no, it’s not work, there’s nothing wrong here.” You spoke up, keeping your eyes averted, “It’s just personal stuff.” 

He rubbed your shoulder more insistently, keeping you grounded in the moment with him as he hums in acknowledgement, “I won’t force you to tell me anything you don’t want to share, but I want you to know..” 

He took a breathe, this wasn’t easy for him, being vulnerable. 

“I’m present, rook.’’ he exhaled, his voice a bit thicker than usual, “Not just at work, as your boss, but.. As your partner as well—our bond doesn’t have to solely exist in the office.” 

“I know it certainly doesn’t for me.” He continued, his words betraying a warmth and vulnerability you don’t see from him very often, “You haunt me when I'm alone at night and deep into my personal life, the office seeming so distant when I'm alone with my thoughts going on and about how vital you’ve come to me.” 

Your heart clenches a bit, warmth mixing into the bleakness inside of you like a spot of sun on a rainy day. 

“It feels as if every moment without you is a testament to my self-control.” He sighs, letting you lean onto his chest, “It’s agonizing to force myself to stay away from you.” 

He brushes his strong, cold hand over your scalp, sending pleasant shivers down your tense back. 

“What I'm getting at is, you don’t need to suffer alone.” He leaned down, his honeyed voice speaking directly into your ear, “Helping you is enough of a reward if it means I can exist in your head for even the fraction of time you spend in mine.” 

His vulnerability, his genuineness makes something crack inside of you—the tough exterior, built entirely on surviving all by yourself so long melts at the heat of his warm tone. 

“S’going to sound silly.” you breathed into his chest, he doesn’t make a move to cut you off, just stroking your back encouragingly, “I-I’m just so tired, Auron.” 

It was like the warmth of his embrace and words had melted an icy dam in you, suddenly all the pain and stress gushed out of you in a wet stream of words and tears, spilling onto him in a way he didn’t seem to mind. 

He held you against his chest, his head resting on top of your head in a way that hides the way his eyes darken at every disrespect, every struggle you’ve faced this week. 

You tell him about the construction, how your dick of a landlord has the work being done constantly, limiting your sleep. 

“N’ I don’t have anywhere else to stay,’’ You sniffled, “I haven’t slept properly all week, I-I just want somewhere rest.” 

“That’s what you need, rook.” He huffs out in a gruff sigh, squeezing you tighter against his chest, “You cannot work—fuck it, you can barely function in these circumstances, you looked like a dead-man walking when you came out that elevator, why don’t you write a complaint?” 

You almost let out a laugh at that, but it was drenched in humorless sarcasm, “My landlord is a dick, you remember that right? He's not above raising my rent, or cutting of utilities if I speak to him like that, he knows damn well nobody there could afford a lawyer to bring it to court.” 

Auron let out a small growl, his eyes darkening, “How utterly disgusting, rest assured, he will be dealt with.” 

You quickly scrambled up in a panic. 

‘’Don’t!” you almost choked on the words, your eyes searching his desperately, “Yeah, he’s an utter dickhead, but I need him, without that apartment I don’t have anywhere else to go--” 

Auron silenced you with a kiss, “Wrong again.” he growls slightly against your lips, a low rumble that sends shivers down your spine. 

“You always have a place with me, rook.” He breathed, moving down to nose at your fluttering pulse point, ‘’You don't need him, you have me, and I can offer you so much more than that disgusting excuse of a man.” 

He pulled you more against him, the curve of his body melting against yours. 

“You’re not going back to that dingy excuse of an apartment.” He huffs, easy command slipping into his voice, “You’ll be staying with me until I can... sort out this situation.” 

“I-I’d never make you--” 

“You do not make me do anything, pet.” He gave you a pointed look, “I choose what happens, and as your boss and partner I've decided your not staying in that hazardous trash-heap when it’s being used as a sandbox for construction workers.” 

The dominance in his tone, the pure authority makes something warm and hot swirl in your lower stomach, he wasn’t asking but simply telling—it would be alarming if you didn’t feel so much trust towards him. 

He simply wanted you well, as a worker and as his lover. 

“Oh my god.’’ was the first words to slip from your mouth when the elevator dinged, opening to a sleek, modern penthouse, “This is built like a vampire estate in those trash romance books!’’ 

He barked out a laugh, his hand falling to the small of your back as he led you through the labyrinth of marble. 

You both settled on his plush couch, you leaned against the armrest and took a moment to bask in the quietness surrounding you, the absence of noise becoming a treat over this last week. 

“Enjoying yourself?” He smirks, amused by the serene look on your face but there's an undercurrent of something softer lurking, “I sure hope that’s not all it takes to please you.” 

His fingers trailed over your thigh, his touch featherlight but leaving a smoldering trail behind. 

“Though I will say,” He hums, his eyes darkening as they slowly raked up your form from your legs to meeting your gaze, “I consider myself quite skilled in uh.. pleasing you.” 

You felt your cheeks warming and playfully batted him with your foot. 

“My, my, so fiesty~” He chuckles thickly, the thickness of desire not fully leaving his voice, “What, did you not like the presents I gave you?” 

You felt your cheeks growing darker as you glanced at the things he’d purchased for you, the gifts tailored to your likes and interests so meticulously you were wondering if he had examined you in a lab or something. 

“Normally, I'd call you a little brat..” He hums, drumming his fingers on your thigh, “But I believe tonight calls for a celebration of sorts, pet.” 

That made you raise a brow, curious about what cause for celebration there could be. 

“Don’t tell me I missed a birthday.” you teased lightly, tilting your head with a small smile, enjoying the way his amusement lit up his eyes. 

“Always have something coming out that smart mouth of yours, don’t you?’’ He teased back, leaning closer with a smirk, “But no, I'm opting to celebrate something a bit more monumental and..” he leaned closer, his hot breath brushing against your ear, “..exquisite.” 

“And what would that be?’’ your voice tightened in the effort to hold back the frill of pleasure that ran up your body. 

“You, my dear,” He hums, eyeing you like you were a delicacy, “More specifically the way you’ve... given into me.” 

“You were so resistant at first, almost offended at the idea of letting me take over, take care of things—” he purred, satisfaction lacing his words and every movement as he continues on, “--But now, here you are, about to be curled up in my sheets after a day of accepting the luxuries I've decided to bestow upon you.” 

“I told you rook, it’s fetching..” he ran a hand down your neck, his fingers idly tracing your collarbones as you swallowed, “Seeing you accept what deep down you know you deserve, reveling in it, taking it for yourself.” 

“Am I.. selfish?” you said tensely, insecurity lapping at your voice. 

“Does it matter?” His voice drops to a low rumble, purring directly in your ear, “The world doesn’t reward those oh so humble, oh so selfless.’’ 

He picks you up, keeping you thrown over his shoulder as he climbs the glass stairwell, “Doesn’t it feel good? To finally be rewarded?’’ 

You whimper, the old guilt and shame of feeling the need to stay independent warring heavily with the warm sticky feeling of finally being taken care of. 

He drops you gently onto the bed, the matress feels like a cloud underneath you, the pillows enveloping you in a way that made you feel like you were floating—he crawls on top of you, a comforting weight placed on you. 

The warm, sticky feeling spreads throughout you, running down to your wrists when he grabs them, gently pinning you down as he moves to suck at your fluttering pulse. 

It melts down to your core, where arousal builds like a smoldering flame, it melts down to your thighs and legs like hot water relaxing the muscles in a heavenly soak. 

You’re completely relaxed, completely given in, and why shouldn’t you be? 

You’ve been working so hard on your off-the-clock paycheck. 

[str4ngr]

EYES ON YOU [ SIMON 'GHOST' RILEY ]

cw: suggestive, sexual tension, strangers to lovers, not beta read, might be military inaccuracies because i'm not in the military, alcohol consumption, medic! fem!reader. this is part two of a series. part one. notes: sorry for such a long wait, i just went through the academic trenches. words: 1,222.

It was expected that the friendly crowd would welcome you, but drinking at the local pub in uniform was not something you anticipated.

Luckily, you had the chance to change out of your… not so clean scrubs into another set of a simple grey. 

Sighing as you sat beside Soap, or as the mesmerizingly gruff voice called him, Johnny, at the end of the cushion booth. You smiled at the rest of Taskforce 141, happily introducing yourself once more. Conversation was easy with an easy crowd, they were all friendly, even more so when they learned you were a personal recommendation by their Mrs. Kate Laswell. 

“Looks like someone stole my seat, aye?” 

Low, almost inaudible, Ghost murmured as he slipped into the seat beside Gas, or Kyle, though not as fondly called by that alluring voice. You smile, laughing in soft tones as Gaz nudged his new neighbor's arm. Of course, he meant no harm, anyone could tell, but the unassuming way your eyes fluttered away from his made it seem like something else.

To be honest, it probably was. 4 shots, a margarita, and taking sips out of Soap’s, which he ordered in humor after he chugged too much of something else, Pornstar martini, you genuinely couldn’t let left from right. 

But you could tell his eyes from theirs.

All night, every second, every time you turned, away or to, he was watching, like a predator on the hunt, he stalked your every move. Arms crossed his broad chest, shifting only for a moment to sneak a sip from his old-fashioned as he carefully lifted the bare minimum of his mask. It was almost impossible to look away, no matter how trained the others were to shift their eyes, sober or not, you couldn’t help but stare at the pale skin beneath. 

Then suddenly, his eyes met yours. It felt like white-hot lightening, the way you couldn’t look away, even as his hand dropped to settle his glass back onto the table, his mask following the same direction, even when the others laughed drunkenly as they cut your paycheck in half. 

He didn’t look away and you couldn’t.

You felt your cheeks burn, your eyes snapping back to the salted rim of your glass as you mindlessly laugh along with the running chatter. They burned holes into the side of your head, you felt as they traced every feature, every curve, dip, whatever else was on your face. It made you tremble, made you hold your cup a little tighter. But it wasn’t out of fear, it was a notion you weren't quick to resist. 

If anything, you leaned into it.

You let your fingers tap across the glass between your palms, debating how to go about this. The man, that after a couple, two, (2), interactions, you had become completely enthralled by, was eating you alive with his eyes. 

Trying not to make your intoxication too evident, you purr, leaning onto your elbows on the wooden table, 

“Y’know… Soap’s right, we should play a game.” 

Maybe you should’ve been a salesman with how easily they took your offer, ignoring that they, too, were drunk and easily impressionable. They laugh, especially the Russian one who was, far too often, accidentally funny.

Soap cheers, wrapping his arm around your shoulder as he nods his head, pointing at the rest of them babbling about his ingenious idea. In his drunken state, his hand slips down to your waist. He swayed, holding you close, teasingly grinning,

“Aye, Ghost, yer’ looking a lil’ jealous?”

The way he twitched, his gloved hands tightened around his whisky, gorgeously intimidating eyes narrowing, piercing into the blue eyes beside you. Used to his tactics, Soap, pokes a bit more, squeezing your waist, while you nervously chewed on your lip, comfortable in Soap’s arm, but melting under Ghost’s eyes. 

Your eyes drift away under the pressure when Ghost’s eyes move from Soap to you, a stern utterance of, “Johnny,” before they shift. Focusing on his drink, you eye the cherry settled atop the block of ice in his glass. 

Johnny continues raving about some random form of a drinking game that would surely have you all taking far too many shots and dying of high blood alcohol content. You nodded at each word that followed his mouth, your eyes following the shape of the maraschino cherry.

Then he moved it.

Grabbing the small, artificially red stem, thick, gloved fingers carefully grab the tip, pulling it away from its place above the ice. He rests his elbow on the wooden table, his dark eyes scrutinizing the plump, round cherry dangling from his fingertips. 

”You want it?” 

You blink, eyes fluttering up to his hesitantly, met with an intense gaze that made you want to look away, but so mesmerizing you couldn’t. You didn’t reply, not sure of your own answer, No, I want you.

“The doctor mute?” He muttered at your silence, gravelly voice barely making it through the buzz of the surrounding people. His bulky figure let out a sigh, watching the way your lips parted in surprise. Straightening out, still a little woozy, your eyes blinked, 

“I- yes, I’d like it.”

He gives a skeptical look, analyzing the slow movements of your hand as you reach out for his. Your fingers wrap around around the lower portion of the stem, knuckles knocking against his as you hold the sticky stem. Ghost lets go just as you take hold, the moment your hand grazes his cold gloves barely a second for any of the detail to be even mildly valuable. 

But It felt like minutes, the way you stared into his eyes and he stared back as a damn cherry exchanged your hands with an exotic kind of excitement. Your hand retracted quickly, his hand lingered,, his elbow still digging into the table. 

It was just you two, eyes on each other as the conversation beside you spun into an unintelligible droning,

“Well?” 

Low and sharp, he asked, eyes trailing down to your lips for, who knows what time within the night. You blinked a couple times, now was your chance. God, you were fucking desperate. 

Keeping your eyes on him, you bring the crimson fruit to your lips. He never looked away, his eyes not on yours, but watching the way your lips took in the juicy flesh between your teeth, your lips closing around the stem to pop it off. 

You see him shut his eyes, desperate to hear the gruff voice as his eyes snap away, a hand coming to cover his mouth.

"Doc! We should play musical chairs!"

Your eyes snap to Soap, stammering in surprise, lucky to have alcohol as an excuse when your face begins to heat up, 

"Yea- what?" 

You scoff in confusion, still trying to shove away the fluttering in your stomach. "We-... We can't do that in public, Sargent." The others laugh as Soap continues to ramble about the available space in the common area at the base. You couldn't help but grin, your foggy mind slowly clearing its yearning.

Only he didn't laugh. It's been consistent with a spectrum of people that said he had a cold demeanor. But this was different, this was distraction, and two blue eyes saw right through his balaclava. 

⚬ ☠︎︎ ⚬

I feel like their drunk-ness was a little ooc but for the plot. giggling and kicking my feet i hope this counts as slow burn bc i really like reading slow burn and this is my first series. also, will probably make a masterlist bc i wanna be organized. taglist: @141trash, @thriving-n-jiving, @agorophobicreader, @murder-hobo

EYES THAT HOLD SECRETS

directory

[lilacxquartz]

Those Late Summer Nights | Chapter 6

satoru gojo x f!reader × suguru geto

about: you moved to tokyo over the summer to take a teaching job. as you get settled in, you find yourself entangled in a toxic dynamic.

chapter summary: isolating far from everyone else on the campus was a problem after all and you end up moving in with shoko. meanwhile, tensions slowly build as you reveal that you have to go somewhere in particular quite soon.

< Previous Chapter • Next Chapter >

6. Tangerines

It didn’t take you too long to finally give into Suguru’s suggestion about moving into Shoko’s spare room. It was starting to eat away at you at how isolated you were from everyone else, after all. Luckily, Shoko was more than happy to have you move in and even cleared out the room the night prior to your arrival.

It took you a couple of trips back and forth to get everything there. You wanted to do this whole thing discreetly and to not bother a single soul, even though you knew that friends actually helped friends move.

Just before settling in her place completely however, you decided to stop by a nearby supermarket to pick up some essentials so that you wouldn’t have to take her food, even if it would have likely fine to share.

Still though, you wanted to be less of a bother, if you could help it, so you bought the essentials along with a cheap bottle of wine to split with her and about a kilo of tangerines that were on special offer. Some fruit could never hurt.

Upon returning the final time, you expected the apartment to be just as empty as the last few times you swung by, but this time Satoru was present instead, sat opposite Shoko as she nodded away at his rambling with an exhausted half-lidded look.

All life returned to her eyes when she saw you (and especially that bottle of wine poking out of the bag), prompting her to rise to her feet immediately, searching the cabinets for a pair of glasses.

“You’re such a sight for sore eyes,” she beamed as she twisted the metal cap off, grabbing a tangerine out of the bag before settling back into her seat.

You weren’t sure if she was talking about you or the booze though.

Satoru also then tried to get up to grab himself a glass but you stopped him from doing so, trying to not be a complete doormat even if he did sponsor your wardrobe. You’d get him something nicer when your paycheck comes through, something more meaningful.

“Ah-ah,” you quickly said, stopping him from reaching out for the bottle, “this is for me and her, but I will permit you to have a single tangerine,” filling out his hand with some fruit instead of a glass.

Satoru paused for a moment as he searched for a response, deciding to not be offended in the end after all.

“Alright [name], I’ll stay sober for you,” he smiled instead, something glittering in his icy eyes as his confidence returned, “you’re just looking out for my health, that’s why you’re not letting me have it, right?”

“Sure, let’s go with that,” you sarcastically replied, trying to further insert yourself into their dynamic. It was still difficult to let go of taking yourself so seriously, though.

“See, I knew it, you’re nice like that,” he continued to say as he watched you sit down opposite at the table.

Time then gradually passed by, the bottle of wine slowly but surely emptying itself as the three of you talked.

You found Satoru, although an endless stream of conversation, still quite easy to listen to because the flow would simply never run out. You didn’t have to talk much around him because he’d carry the conversations with ease no matter what.

Suguru arrived later on in the night with a six pack of beer in his hands, hoping to help you feel more relaxed around him but luckily you already were from the look of it.

He stared at you for a split second before taking a stiff step back as Shoko had already managed to infiltrate his personal space, nails slicing into the packaging and fishing out a can before his very eyes.

“That’s for leaving us alone with him all night,” Shoko teased.

Suguru rolled his eyes in response but surrendered to his fate as he sat next to Satoru, keeping quiet for a moment before cracking open a can of his own.

“So, what has he been talking about for so long that the two of you have been reduced to actual alcoholics?” he asked.

Satoru laughed in response, saying that he was unsure actually and that he didn’t feel as though he was being that bad, reaching for another tangerine as he did so. Shoko immediately however snatched it away, throwing it over to Suguru instead who then peeled the fruit and gave you half.

The four of you continued with the conversation otherwise from before as if all of those little distractions had never even happened. The highlight of the night seemed to revolve around family burdens and obligations as Satoru got deeper into hiding away from clan duties and how Suguru still felt exhausted from his own family reunion from just a few days ago.

Shoko mentioned a point too; something about what gruelling small talk with her own now retired family was like, unable to relate to them anymore.

You chimed in just as the conversation died down, feeling a wave of awkwardness rush through you in doing so, wondering if you should have left it as a fleeting thought instead but you didn’t.

Instead, you mentioned how it was your dad’s birthday coming up since it was getting close to the end of June and as a result, ended up unintentionally souring the mood at the mention of needing to go back to your hometown.

A collective silence brewed between the three as they all mulled this piece of information over.

Shoko was the first to break the silence.

“Are you sure that you should be going back there all alone?” she asked, immediately placing her hand over yours to show support.

“Yeah, you should at least let me go with you, [name],” Satoru chimed in, “I’d be getting out of clan duties, so it would be a win/win for me.”

It took a moment for you to shake off the unease you had caused but then quickly got back into it, forcing yourself to not dwell on it.

“Going to a small dead town is a win for you?” you asked as you tried to lighten the mood.

“Yes actually, they wouldn’t know where to find me and you wouldn’t have to face a place you hate completely alone,” he replied, offering you a legitimately valid reason.

“I mean… I guess so?” you considered it now with more thought, thinking that it could make things a little easier for you.

“Just think about it, yeah?” Satoru said again, leaning in as he flashed you a teasing smile. “The entire town would be in such awe with me that they’d forget all about you.”

“Oh, here we go,” Shoko said as she rolled her eyes.

Suguru in the meanwhile had stayed silent throughout this whole exchange, clenching at his jaw just a little as he stared bitterly at the can, his fingers tapping around it. He wore a small tight smile, but his eyes didn’t quite match his expression, looking intense instead.

Not that you had an opportunity to read too much into it though as your focus was elsewhere currently.

“I guess I could, but there’s a problem,” you considered yet again, “my parents wouldn’t accept me just showing up with a random guy.”

“So, tell him we’ve been together for a while now and you’re just showing me around where you grew up. They can’t deny you that.” Satoru suggested, seeming to think that this could work.

He knew strict families perfectly well, after all, this part of life wasn’t something new to him and if anything, he wanted you to exercise standing up to your parents as an adult and for you to face your past knowing that you didn’t have to be there alone to do so.

Besides, he would behave. At least around your family.

You considered it either way, warming up to the concept as already used to the idea of being a platonic plus one so this sort of concept wasn’t so strange to you a second time.

“Alright, why not?” you replied as you surrendered into the idea, not quite noticing at all how close Suguru was to crushing the can with his hand the more that he listened in.

~~~

The day to finally travel to your hometown finally rolled around as the month came to a close and for the most part, life up until then was pretty quiet.

Shoko for example stayed mostly in her room to do what she called ‘minimal studying’ to make it look like that she knew what she was actually talking about in her career, something you suspected was actual revision even if she claimed that it wasn’t.

You on the other hand had to work on and off at the campus itself, going over a prospective list of upcoming students who might do better in shadowing you.

Satoru had his unavoidable clan obligations to attend, reminding you through on and off texts that he was actually looking forward to escaping with you in the upcoming weekend.

Then there was Suguru who was deadly silent, completely cutting himself away from everyone else without a single reason behind his actions.

You tried asking Shoko about it, but she told you to not worry—that he’s like that, at least sometimes, but you couldn’t help but feel as though it was personally directed somehow, especially when he wasn’t even there to see you off for the weekend.

Satoru arrived relatively early otherwise, parking his car off to the side of the main street. The vehicle he sported was a little flashier than Suguru’s and he leaned against it as he waited for you to come down.

For the trip, you packed a small weekend back while he packed a whole suitcase, leaving you wondering with sheer fascination as to what exactly he needed for the course of just two nights.

Both you and Shoko studied the contents in the trunk, briefly glancing at each other and remaining quiet until you were the one to break the silence for once.

“Uh, Satoru…?” You asked.

“Yes, [name]?” Satoru replied.

You took a glance at him and then at the suitcase then back at him. You swallowed your initial words away, lacing your upcoming observation with even more confusion as you finally got around to it.

“W-we’re going away for… maybe 2 days maximum.”

“Correct,” he replied as he slowly nodded.

“Dare I ask what you’re bringing?”

“Just souvenirs, don’t worry,” he replied as he failed to reassure you, “a little token to keep the peace.”

It was then that you started to wonder if this was such a good idea to begin with but it was far too late to back out of this now. Satoru was a special breed of a person and you started to think that he might be too much for your parents, let alone your hometown, but upon further consideration—if his role was to keep the attention off of you—that much would work.

Shoko lightly tugged at your wrist to both give you a hug goodbye as well as to ask you a question.

“Hey, uh,” she asked as he reeled you in close, “is your town useful at all in any way? Do they have any locally made spirits? Wine? Anything like that?”

You hummed for a moment in consideration.

“Maybe… maybe plum wine? I’ll see if they still sell bottles to go.”

“That would be great,” she smiled.

Satoru then swung by to the driver’s side and motioned for you to enter along with him, making sure that you buckled in before starting the engine. He booted up a playlist of songs, saying that these were all tunes from his most nostalgic years so he was going to make this whole trip a positive one if he could help it.

The road trip in question was fine also, harbouring far less tension than how it was around Suguru, if at all. Satoru leaned more into being a passive driver, although he did manage to take a few wrong turns once he was deep out of the city which seemed to all be accidental rather than to actually mess with you.

Somehow his mood remained positive throughout such moments, no matter how strange the places ended up being. He joked on and off that he’d totally protect you if you had to camp out overnight in the car.

Such a comment did lead you to one small realisation that you hadn’t quite considered throughout all of this though.

While your parents might end up accepting the sudden appearance of your new supposed sudden (however fake) boyfriend, they wouldn’t accept him sleeping in your bedroom overnight.

“Hey, uh, Satarou…?” you spoke up, feeling nervous about the topic.

“Yeah?” he asked as he drove down the now quiet road, the playlist had ended quite a while ago so he was just enjoying a peaceful ride with you instead.

“So, my parents are strict-“

“—And so are mine,” he said as he cut you off, sensing that you were worried and wanting to soothe your mind right away if he could help it, “I know how to handle strict parents, don’t worry.”

You stayed quiet for a moment as you nodded and felt comfort in his response. You were aware from Shoko’s initial explanation, way back then on the rooftop, that Satoru had a limiting childhood so he was probably used to a lot worse when it came to a strict family.

Which meant even more to you that he wanted to tag along with you to something like this.

“I know, I know, it’s just,” you continued to say anyway, not wanting to keep anything hidden, “you most likely will be asked to sleep in the guest house in the garden,” your fingers fidgeted as you spoke, “I mean it’s just a glorified shed with windows, but it isn’t personal—they ask this from visiting relatives too.”

“Damn, not even the sofa?” he asked as his expression momentarily fell flat although it was subtle, bouncing back immediately to something carefree almost right away.

“Not even that,” you confirmed.

He tried to remain positive as he considered your response. Ideally in his mind, he was already prepared to take on the sofa, already accepting the idea that your room would be off limits but maybe not even that? He would manage just fine in the garden but the trip was already going into a completely different direction than he had originally planned.

He thought about it even more as he finished up the rest of drive in silence, realising that he should have made more of an effort on his end to reassure you once again but he was also at the same time starting to piece things together about you—or at least why you were so initially afraid to sleep the first night over at Shoko’s, protesting that you absolutely couldn’t in your drunken stupor.

Other things too, like why you seemed to hesitate so often despite knowing everyone comfortably well at this point and maybe even why you still trembled a little when addressing people by their first names.

While endearing, it was concerning beneath the surface.

“It’s fine,” he said as he finally piped up, offering you an assuring smile as he filled out the remaining silence, “seriously, it’s fine, it’s just for the weekend and my main role is moral support anyway, right?”

“R-right,” you replied as you felt yourself calm down.

Once you both had finally arrived at the correct street, you pointed him towards the right house and his car eased into a vacant spot in the driveway. He shook his body a little, fingers drumming against the steering wheel before finally taking a look towards your direction.

“Think I got a chance?” he smiled, hoping to take your mind off of things before they even began.

“Not at all,” you laughed a little. Admittedly it was nice to have someone that you knew in this town, so maybe even in spite of awkward family relations, this wouldn’t be so bad in the end.

He continued to fix up his demeanour as you knocked on the door and waited for your parents to come answer. His mood turned serious and his tone of voice adjusted to sounding much more polite as he would finally face the two people who made you into someone you didn’t want to be.

You went along with it either way, your mother simply sighing as she let you both inside, muttering something under her breath how your father won’t be happy about this.

All of the hope continued to then go straight out of the window as Satoru met with your father, the old man asking him a slew of questions demanding to know if he’s a delinquent due to his appearance, not quite accepting that both his hair and eyes were completely natural.

Walking inside also left you feeling a little stiff, a sudden reminder of your past that existed to haunt you.

As predicted, your folks didn’t allow him to follow you upstairs and didn’t even let him see what your old room looked like.

Upon being back down though, Satoru thawed back into life and decided to try and pass down the souvenirs he brought in from Tokyo as a sign of goodwill to which they begrudgingly accepted, setting the boxes away to the side as both of your parents didn’t even take a look inside.

Satoru couldn’t help but feel as though this was a strangely tough crowd as he continued to piece even more things together about the way you were. He was starting to get it, at least a little; you were the way you were because you had zero room to express yourself.

(And to him, this was unacceptable.)

So upon being shooed away off to the guest house come evening after dinner, he continued to take it all in stride knowing that this was all only temporary.

He had a plan up his sleeve now to make your visit back home less isolating, less painful and even less strict if he could help it.

You were more to him than just your parents’ daughter, after all.

[thefallennightmare]

How about dad Noah but with teenage kid headcanon? Thx

@thescarlettvvitch @mitchhbitch @missduffsblog @hayleylatour @sleepyomens @loeytuan98 @artificialbreezy @marvelousmal @bngurngheart @lma1986 @dsireland86 @wild-child-7747 @calleyx13 @illmakeyousaywow @jaded-and-hollow-souls @exitwoundsx @shayzillaaaa @lookwhatitcost @badomensls @princesspeach-00 @burning-outx @shadowseve @collective-heartbreak @klutzy-kay24 @sorrowsofsilence @sweetlittlekitsune @shilohrosechicken @itsafullmoon @toospooktocute @niicoleleigh @thatchickwiththecamera @hoe-for-daddywise @whenthesummerdies @cookiesupplier @concreteemo @thisbicc @sammyjoeee @pathion @flowery-mess @tashka

"Hey dad?"

Noah turned away from the computer in his studio towards the doorway where you seventeen year old son stood.

"What's up, bud?" He asked while leaning back in the chair.

You were sitting on the couch, reading a book in your lap. You already knew what your son was going to ask Noah because your son came to you first.

"It's whatever your father decides, Y/S/N. He knows more about this subject than I do," you told him an hour prior as he asked you while you were cleaning up dinner.

Noah ushered your son inside the studio.

"Um," your son held his shaking hands behind his back before extending them towards Noah.

He took the paper with furrowed brows. "Isn't it kind of early for report cards?"

Noah's eyes scanned the paper and you swore you saw the corner of his lip twitch.

"You want to get a tattoo?" He asked your son.

He nodded. "Mom said it's ultimately your decision since you're covered in them. You started getting tattoos at sixteen."

Noah's eyes fell on yours and you simply shrugged. "He asked."

"Y/S/N, I also have some tattoos that I regret," Noah warned.

Your son nodded. "I know, like the ones of Uncle Bryan."

That caused you to let out a fit of giggles. Knowing exactly what tattoos your son mentioned.

"I don't regret them," Noah snorted before leaning back into his chair, carefully looking over the permission slip.

"They're just weird," you teased with a wink.

You gave your son a reassuring nod, letting him know that it'll be alright.

"What are you thinking of getting?" Noah asked.

Your son then pulled out a sketchbook from behind his back, one you recognized. It was yours from years ago when you were first drawing designs for Bad Omens.

It's how you and Noah met.

"Where did you find that?" You asked.

Your son smiled. "In the attic. I saw the design you drew for dads song Dethrone and ever since then, I wanted to get it tattooed."

Now you and Noah shared a look. "You want to get your mom's drawing of one of my songs tattooed on you?"

"Duh," your son chuckled.

Clicking a pen, Noah immediately signed the form. "You're paying for this yourself, right?"

"Saved up half of my first couple paychecks from Uncle Folio's bike shop," your son smiled proudly.

Before Noah handed the slip back, he gave it one more once over. "Wait, this is for Uncle Nick's shop?"

"Oh, I wouldn't let him go anywhere else. The only one that's going to be putting a needle in my baby's skin is someone I trust," you informed while kissing the side of your son's head.

"I love you guys!!" Your son beamed before leaving you and Noah alone.

Noah pulled you into his lap and brushed his lips across yours. "Do you really think my Bryan tattoos are weird?"

"No offense, Noah, but when I give you a blow job, I don't really like Bryan's face looking at me," you said while brushing away the long strands of hair from his face.

His eyes darkened. "Well, let me do something to make sure you pay attention to my cock and not the tattoos."