#but also it’s sweet looking back and thinking about how much i did think of it as a romance

[buckyalpine]

I love Bucky loving his body. I love Bucky loved by the team. I love Bucky having his happy ending with a family. Imagine Bucky lounging around the sofa with his little baby girl tucked in his arm, her sweet face covered in frosting after smothering half of her cupcake onto her cheeks. The icing is bright red just like Tony's suit and it's his birthday party afterall, so everything is in full swing. Most of the cupcake is squished between her fingers, very little actually making it into her mouth but Bucky doesn't mind. He chuckles, watching her with heart eyes as she happily smears it onto his crisp white shirt, babbling and cooing, now sucking her thumb.

He is absolutely unbothered by this, all he sees is his happy little baby with her cheeky smile licking up all the frosting just like her mama. While Bucky couldn't care less about his shirt, a few others certainly did.

"Better get dunk that shirt into a bucket of tide pens Barnes" Clint snorted.

"Actually the quicker you get it off, the less likely it is to stain. Take it off now" Tony's voice went from fatherly advice to a seductive growl making Bucky's face twist in amusement, pink starting to color his cheeks.

"Yeah, give the little munchkin to y/n and take it off. Cause of the stain" Nat agreed, cocking an eyebrow. You giggled watching the scene unfold before you, your husband growing bashfully shy.

"Can't hurt punk" Steve shrugged and Bucky's eyes nearly popped out of his head until he realized his best friend had been nursing a rather large glass of Asgardian mead. Tipsy Steve was always a little bit of a pervert...

"I-

"For the stain"

"I think you just want me to take my shirt off" Bucky huffed while you grinned, giving his cheek a peck before taking your little princess in your arms.

"Can't blame them handsome, c'mon, show em' how lucky I am" you whisper and that sells it. Couldn't hurt and since they were all asking...

"Just take it off!" Nat howled with a wink, a bunch of whistles when Bucky sighed, indulging the team a little. He unbuttons his shirt and hands it off to a genuinely concerned Sam who would normally make sure the shirt got sent to the cleaners but this is too good so he throws it into a bucket of cold water and is back within seconds.

"Good God"

"Jesus"

"You look fuckin' good terminator"

"Alright, alright" Bucky holds his hands up, unable to stop the way his ears are bright red, shaking his head when you blow him a kiss making him blush more.

"Body shots!"

"What?"

"Yes"

Tony's eyes glimmer with excitement, and Bucky snorts, loving the way you egg him on, his daughter also squealing with excitement.

"Go on Sarge, y'know you look good"

He lies down on the bar table, surrounded by just the team, abs beautifully flexed as Nat pours a generous amount of some type of alcohol right on his belly button.

"When else will we get this lucky" She says with a playful smirk while Steve cracks his knuckles.

"Why are you cracking your knuckles, what the hell do you plan on-

"ME FIRST" He doesn't give anyone a chance, face planting himself into Bucky's tummy, his lips sealed, drinking every bit of the burning liquor with a satisfied hum.

"How much has he had to drink"

"Who cares, me next"

"I think you've licked enough of my husband"

"You get him all the time, don't be greedy"

"That cute little chubby ball of frosting and giggles is enough evidence you get him every which way, besides isn't there another one cooking, y'can't have any now git"

"Blink twice if you need help"

"Bro looks like an angel"

"Why aren't you blinking"

"Crafted by the heavens"

"You like this, don't you"

Bucky can't help but chuckle, surrounded by idiots. Drunk idiots. His wife. His baby girl. Another little one on the way. All who love him. Would protect him. Life was good.

[mountainsandmayhem]

BDSMaid - Chapter 6

Series Summary: After recently graduating you take what is supposed to be a job to save money before you go back to university to get your law degree. Your best friend offers you a job cleaning luxury homes for clients you’ll never know. Easy. Simple. Mundane. Until one of your clients is home and everything you felt was missing in your life starts to fall into place. This goes against the NDA you signed and you could get fired. Or worse, you could fall in love. 

CW: 18+ MDNI. In order to avoid spoilers, all tags are under the cut in small red lettering. Reader does have some body descriptions so more of an oc than female reader.

AN: I don't think I understood the term "labour of love" until right now. I'm emotionally exhausted yet so fucking proud at the same time. Thank you @lotusbxtch for fixing all my grammar and formatting. I also couldn't of done this without @mermaidgirl30 , @littlevenicebitch69, @alltheirdamn, and @for-a-longlongtime (even if you did just try to distract me with Santi the entire time LOL)

Word Count: 14.6k (sorry, grab a snack or two)

Series Masterlist | My Masterlist | AO3

CW: use of petnames, mention of losing a spouse, mentions of child abuse (mostly verbal), use of nick names (baby, sweet girl, etc.), dirty talk, spanking, sexual activity in public, kissing, protected p in v, oral (female receiving), consumption of alcohol, mutual pining, mentions of falling in love, Dom/sub dynamics.

You: 911, I need to go buy a dress, but ya’ll can’t ask me what it’s for Laren: no strings attached shopping? Fuck yeah!  You: I’m serious though Laren: Dude, I won’t ask you as long as you don’t ask about the hickey on my neck Jamie: Damn, my dad’s in California so I can’t leave the office. You: hmm…maybe we just tell each other one secret each Laren: oh sorry, forgot I have to vacuum my cat today, can’t shop You: fine, no asking about the hickey. Pick you up at noon? Jamie: Have fun. I need a sugar daddy. Odette: booo! I’m studying. Someone alert me when we learn about the hickey. 

You

Laren’s jaw drops as you step out of the dressing room, the soft silk of the floor length black gown skims against your body. Your eyes trail down the thin straps along your shoulders and down the deep v that sits low on your sternum. You’ve never appreciated your small breasts until now. The risque cut has a soft and romantic feel. Somehow, so does the long slit up your one leg, stopping much higher than most black tie venues would find acceptable. You spin to take in the way the silk dips low on your back. Yeah, Joel Miller is going to love this. 

“You look stunning. I’m not gonna ask, but whoever you’re wearing that for is going to fall in love with you. I might fall in love with you.”

You laugh at her, watching as she tugs the collar of her sweater up to cover the very prominent purple hickey on her pulse point. If only she knew how ridiculous that statement really was. Joel Miller, your dom, falling in love with you. It’s impossible. 

The big box that you stuffed the small, pink and bedazzled box in snickers in your mind then taunts you in her uppity British accent. He loves you, remember how he held your hand so tenderly through that last orgasm? “It’s a date”, “It’s only you”. 

You shake your head and run your hands down your torso and hips, the silk feeling like water under your hands. 

“Wow, that dress was made for you.” The peppy store clerk says as she rounds the corner to the dressing room. “Oh! I have just the accessory, if you don’t mind me showing you?”

You nod and then look over at Laren through the mirror. The two of you haven’t been friends for that long, but it doesn’t take a genius to realize she’s not wearing her massive engagement ring, plus that giant love bite; something is off. “I’m not gonna ask about the hickey, but are you ok?”

“Ya - I’m fine, why?” Her phone goes off in her purse for what feels like the hundredth time since you picked her up. She hasn’t looked at it once and this newest alert doesn’t change that.  

“No reason. I’m here for you though. I hope you know that.” The corners of her mouth lift, but that vivacious sparkle in her eye doesn’t make an appearance. 

You spend longer than you ever had getting ready on Friday. You’ve shaved, exfoliated and moisturized every inch of your skin. You painted your fingers and toes with a fresh coat of pearly white polish, noticing that the skin around your cuticles on your hands isn’t picked clean. For the first time in your life, your anxiety hasn’t needed its usual outlet; picking and pushing at your nails until they’re clean. Even with the last few days kicking your ass, Mister Miller made it better, made you better.

After about three hours, you’ve completed the look: big loose curls, one side pinned behind one ear with a gold clip, exposing the soft slope of your neck that Joel loves to press his lips to. You’ve opted for a neutral glam look; a light smokey grey eye, flirty lashes, a touch of blush and highlighter and a nude lip. 

You keep the jewelry simple, just thin gold hoop earrings and two dainty golden chains, the accessories that the sales girl picked out. The first chain is the longest; one end loops tight to your throat then lays down your sternum, a small clip on the other end holds it in place to the lacy black thong you bought for the occasion. The second chain wraps around your exposed thigh. A few small crystals dangle off the garter. It feels perfect for a sex club, almost like you’re being tied up in gold. 

After wrapping the gift you bought for Joel today you debate taping the dress in place. It’s a sex club, surely a nip slip isn’t the worst thing that can happen. However, Joel would probably forcefully remove anyone who got a peek. As tempting as it is to witness that, you decide to save his sanity for one more day and after placing the last piece of tape you hear the rev of his engine coming down your street. Butterflies erupt in your stomach, it’s been weeks since you’ve heard that sound. That deep rumble will probably always fill you with an excited anticipation of seeing Mister Miller. 

You agreed to let him pick you up tonight since Odette is out. You slip your perfectly pedicured toes into black heeled sandals, working the small golden buckle around the ankle quickly as Joel’s shiny black Jag parks in front of your building. You watch from the window as he gets out of the driver's side door, flowers wrapped in brown paper clutched in his hand. A man that size doesn’t look like he’d fit in that sleek sports car. 

Even from your birdseye view from the fourth floor he looks absolutely gorgeous. You’re sure once he’s right in front of you he’ll be devastatingly handsome, especially once he’s added the gift you got him. Similar to you, he’s in all black tonight. 

The beep of his car locking and the buzz of your door go at the same time and you excitedly hit the button to let him up. It feels like hours before there’s a light knock on your front door. After a shaky breath, you open the door.

Fuuuuuck me, you think as you take him in and actively stop yourself from drooling.

He looks as hot as sin dressed in all black, the lapels of the jacket and the tie slightly silky against the flat black of the rest of his clothing. He’s the living, breathing epitome of JMKink right now. Dressed like that matte black letterhead he still leaves you notes on when you clean for him. You lick your lips as your eyes trail back up his tie. Fuck, you want him to wrap it around your wrists. 

He steps into your front entrance and the apartment feels so much smaller; almost like he takes up every bit of space and simultaneously sucks all the air out of you. His hair is parted to the side, trimmed neatly around his ears, curls perfectly placed. You’re sure it was effortless on his part, just running his fingers through it after getting out of the shower, towel wrapped low on his hips. Your mouth waters as you continue to just stare at one another. 

Joel

“Wow,” he finally manages to rasp. His throat feels like it's full of sand all of a sudden. He clears it gently before continuing. “You look…you’re always beautiful, but you are…”

His eyes travel up and down your body again, he’s feeling lost for words which is not something that happens to him often. He watches your bottom lip slip between your teeth, waiting for him to form a thought.

“Sorry, sweet girl, I need a second here.” He places the bouquet of wildflowers on the small table at the entry then reaches out towards you. He actually feels like he might die if he doesn’t kiss you soon. The whorls and calluses of his fingers drag down the warm, soft skin of your arm gently before he closes his hand around yours. Usually, he loves how small your hand looks in his, but he’s finding it impossibly hard to break eye contact with you right now. As he steps in closely you smile sweetly at him and he’s surrounded by the smell of mint, lavender and something distinctly you. “You look life-alteringly gorgeous. I’m not sure if that’s a word, but wow, Freckles.”

You place your free hand on his chest and he’s sure you can feel how hard his heart is pounding behind his chest. Fuck, he wouldn’t be surprised if you could hear his heart at this point. He cups your face with his other hand and presses his lips to yours, reveling in the way you melt into him, parting your lips and letting him deepen the kiss. He swallows the quiet moan that you make just for him. You pull away too quickly for him, an excited smile across your face.

“I got you something!” You spin and he’s left breathless again by the low back of the dress and the way the silk skirt sways with your hips. 

“You didn’t have to do that,” he says, following you into the living area of your small apartment. “I don’t want you spending your money on me, sweetheart.”

You spin again and his cock twitches as he catches just how high the slit of the skirt is, and the golden jewelry wrapped around your thigh. In your hands is a large, light brown box tied with a black ribbon. “Technically, I spent your money on you,” you say with a wink. “Open it.”

He steps in close, watching your face go from excited to downright giddy as he pulls at the ribbon. He slips the lid off the box and stares down at the exact same black Stetson that he sent with Tiffany. His heart stops beating as the memories, both good and bad, flood through him. This is the same hat he wore the night he met her, the night of their first date, the night he told her he loved her for the first time, the night he married her. Joel Miller doesn’t believe in signs from the universe, but this? This is something. 

No, he thinks as emotions start to clog his throat. This was Tiffany. 

He blinks away the tears that threaten to form behind his eyes and whispers your name. “Thank you, sweetheart. I - I used to have a hat just like this.”

When he looks back at you your brows are furrowed together, a genuine curiosity across your face. “Used to?”

He clears his throat again, “Yea, it’s complicated, but this - this means more to me than you could ever know.”

He slips his hands into the box, the felt of the brim spreads a warm comfort up his hands and forearms. He swallows hard as he realizes it’s the same comfort he feels when he has you in his arms. 

Oh my god…I think, no, I know. I love you.

It hits him so hard that he has to clutch the hat tighter in his hands to ground himself as he pulls it from the box. He knew he was falling, he knew the second he saw you. He can’t push it down anymore. 

“I’m sorry if I overstepped, Joel.”

He turns the hat over in his hands, the black satin liner exactly like his old one. He looks up at you, no longer able to stop the smile or the tears that flood his lash line. Your lips part as your eyes dance around his. 

“No, baby, you didn’t. I’ve, well, I’ve been really missing this hat lately.”

“You gonna try it on, cowboy?” The sultry flirtiness of your voice feels sweet on his skin and after a shallow breath he brings the hat up to his head. As the satin slips over his hair a calm confidence washes over him. His eyes meet yours and your flirty smile turns shy as you blush under his gaze. He’s whole again. 

“So?”

“I’m gonna have to fight the women off, I think.” You say softly.

He laughs, moving the box from your hands back to the table and then cradling your face in his hands. “I’ll only be looking at one woman, my sweet girl.” His lips meet yours gently, your tongue swiping softly against his lip as your slant into the kiss. 

I love you.

You

You weren’t sure what kind of reaction you’d get from Joel giving him the hat, but his eyes welling up and his breathing getting all shaky was not what you expected. Something about that hat called to you when you saw it. When you picked it up, the soft felt against your palms reminded you of how it feels to be in Joel’s hands. 

He breaks the kiss with a sigh and glances around your apartment. Months ago you would have felt shy or self conscious about Joel in your space, so wholly different from his, but he has never judged you for anything, and you feel yourself becoming more and more comfortable with him which is not a feeling you’re used to. His eyes fall to the scratched wooden coffee table that you got for free from Craigslist.

“You have college letters,” he says proudly, looking back at you.

Your arms cross across your body subconsciously, like they’re trying to shield you from the possibility of being rejected again. “Ya, the last two came today. I’ll open them later.”

“Baby, let's open them! It could be good news.”

He looks so goddamn handsome, in a suit that probably costs more than the entire contents of your apartment and his new black Stetson hat. His expression is encouraging, that same look from his kitchen when you ate some toast; prideful and empathetic. 

“I’m scared,” you almost blurt, wishing you could be smoother with this man. “I don’t want to ruin tonight. If these are both no’s, I don’t know how great of company I’ll be tonight.”

“Freckles, I’m not going to force you into anything you don’t want. But I think you’ll be thinking of the letters either way.”

“Ah, my consent stands even for mail,” you joke.

“Well, it's a federal offense to open someone else's mail so…” Joel winks and flashes a devastating smile your way. 

“Ok,” you close your eyes and take a deep breath. He’s right, you’ll be wondering all night what those letters say, and Joel has a way of making you forget, making you feel understood, important and cared for. “Do it.”

As if he’s a child on Christmas morning and you just gave him the ok, he snatches up the University of Austin and Berkeley letters, almost vibrating as he says, “Which one first?”

You start to pace the few steps of your living room, wringing your hands together as your heels click on the cheap laminate hardwood. “Austin, I’ll be less upset by a no from them.”

The tear of the envelope sounds like a dagger to the ribs as you go to grab the flowers Joel brought for you, desperate for something to do besides stand there. 

“It’s a thick envelope..” Joel says as he slides the letter out.

“Ya, I’ve learned that that doesn’t mean shit,” You say sardonically.

Joel laughs in surprise, “Always shocks me to hear that pretty little mouth swear.”

“Yea?” You ask, “Open the fucking letter, you’re killing me.”

Joel snorts as his strong fingers gingerly fold open the letter. His eyes shoot to yours, “You got in!”

“W-What?” You drop the flowers on the counter top and cover your mouth.

“Sweet girl, you got in. I’m - I’m so fucking proud of you.”

You stand frozen on the spot. It’s not the school you wanted, you want Berkeley, but it doesn’t matter what that letter says now, because either way, you’re going to be a lawyer.

“Oh my god,” you breathe as Joel's arms pull you in for a tight hug.

“Congratulations, baby girl.” His lips press to hair and you start to laugh. “What’s so funny?”

You both part from the hug as you fight to stop tears of pure joy from ruining your makeup. “It’s just…you know, for a second there I actually thought that I wasn’t smart enough. Me? I have a 4.0, I graduated early, I’ve been top of my class for years and I actually thought that I wouldn’t get in.”

Joel's eyes dance, a big smile across his face as he watches you fill a vase. “Open the other one.”

He keeps his eyes on you as he opens the next letter. As he folds open the thick eggshell coloured paper you plunge the flowers into the cold water, his face drops and you prepare yourself for the worst, “You got in. Baby, you - you got in.”

You - Four Years Prior

“So what? You think that getting into your fancy university in Texas means you can just leave Arizona whenever you please? Your mom needs you, you can’t just leave.” Your dad is in his patchwork recliner, a beer in his hand despite it being nine in the morning. The hot June morning heating the small house to an uncomfortable stifle. 

“I’ve contributed as much as I can, dad. Two months from now I’m not going to have any time to myself. I deserve some time doing what I want.”

Your dad snorts, legs slamming the leg rest down on the recliner. “You’re an ungrateful little bitch, aren’t you?”

That should sting, it would to anyone else, but you’ve been called every name possible by your father. You see him now for what he truly is, a loser. He can’t hold a job, hasn’t been able to for years. When you were younger, you thought you were the apple of his eye. He’d show up to every school function, every award ceremony, all the little things. You were eight when you realized he didn’t even speak to you at those functions, just walked around bragging about how he was the reason you’ve achieved whatever you were being celebrated over. It was his time to shine, his award, not yours.

“I’m going,” you say, hoisting your duffle bag of clothing over your shoulder. You’ve always wanted to go back to California. You went once with your mother when you were nine or ten, and the minute you got to the beach and felt the warm sand between your toes everything went quiet. It’s called out to you ever since.

As you spin towards the front door you hear the groan of your dad standing up. Fear spikes in your veins, your heart slamming in your ribs. He’s never hit you, but with the redness of his face as he called you names this morning you wouldn’t put it past him. 

“Like fuck you are!” He bellows as a hard object strikes the back of your head, followed by warm liquid soaking through the back of your t-shirt.

One of your hands cups the back of your head as you bolt towards your recently purchased, and slightly rusted, SUV. “Get back in here right now you little cunt! You stole money from me for that vehicle, didn’t you?”

You can’t help but laugh as you get in the front seat. You don’t bother locking the doors, you know he’s barely out the front door without looking. He’s not strong enough, and definitely too drunk, to overpower you. You throw the vehicle into reverse and yell out the window, “You don’t have any money for me to steal, Doug!”

You hit his first name hard, knowing damn well how much it will enrage him. You drive away without looking back, and you only stop once for gas for the next ten hours. 

The sun is setting as you reach the motel in Newport Beach. You head straight for the beach, kicking off your sandals and letting your feet sink into the cool sand. Your phone vibrates in your pocket, “Mom” across the screen in bold letters.

“Hi,” you say sheepishly, still feeling like a child even though you aren’t.

“Get our ass home, right fucking now. You’re supposed to be contributing to this family and somehow you had enough money to buy a car? And a trip to California? Mark my words, young lady. If you don’t walk back through that door by this time tomorrow, I will come there and get you myself!”

A lump forms in your throat. You’ve spent your whole childhood trying to get them to see you. Contributing? None of your friends had to contribute, they all got to be kids. You’re going to be making a lot of money as a lawyer one day, and they can go fuck themselves if they think they’re getting a single penny of that money.

“I’m afraid I won’t be doing that, mother.”

“You’re in for a rude fucking awakening, little girl. Just because you were the smartest person here, does not mean you’ll be the smartest person anywhere else. The world is going to chew you up and spit you out, and your father and I will not be here to fix you.”

“I don’t see how that’s any different than now. Good bye.”

You hang up before she can respond and look out over the water. The sun is setting in a kaleidoscope of peaches, marigolds and lavenders. You block your parents' numbers before snapping a picture of the sunset and setting it as your background. A sense of calm washes over you as the waves crash along the shore. You walk towards the water and dip your feet in, the water washing away the last eighteen years of your life. You’re free.

You - Present Day

A whispered ‘holy shit’ is all you can muster as realization washes over you. Your dream school - and you got in. You can go to the beach and listen to the ocean, feel the sand under your feet. You can feel as free as you did almost four years ago. You lock eyes with Joel. Can you really leave him? 

“I can’t believe I got in. To two schools. I’m going to be a lawyer.” Excitement floods your body. You can worry about deciding later, even though deep down you already know what you're going to choose. Right now, you can just be happy and proud. He reaches a hand out to you and you step into the living room to take it. He pulls you in, wrapping you in his strong arms. 

“I know I said this already, but I am so god damn proud of you, sweet girl. No one deserves this more than you. I want to celebrate this with you soon, please?”

“Well,” you say with a hint of mischief, pulling back to look at him, “We are going to be at the club.”

His eyes flash with something you’ve never seen before. “Ya - the club.”

“Oh my god. We’re late, Joel!” You push out of his hold. This is his big night, his five year anniversary of owning his club.

“Baby, stop,” he pulls you into his arms again and cups your face. “I don’t care. Just let me kiss you until you need to reapply that lipstick, and then we can go.” His lips crash passionately into yours. “I’m so fucking proud of you, sweet girl,” he gasps between kisses.

Joel wasn’t lying. He really did kiss you until your lips were swollen and you had to touch up not only your lipstick but the bit of highlighter on your nose; he also needed to participate, taking one of your makeup wipes to his nose, chin and lips before opening the door to his Jag for you and speeding off to the club.

Upon entering the club, the two of you were separated almost immediately. Joel was whisked away to the stage where he, Tommy and who you assume is Tess are now. The stage is lit up as he gives a speech and thanks everyone. A glass of champagne is handed to you as you stand along the edge of the bar. Everyone claps and as he tries to make his way back to you is pulled into a handshake from a very wealthy looking older man. You smile into your glass of expensive pink champagne as the woman from the stage approaches you.

“Hi! I’m sorry for having to steal him the moment you two walked in.” She extends a perfectly manicured hand out to you. “I’m Tess.”

You go to introduce yourself and she cuts you off as she continues. “Oh, I know who you are. Joel will probably kill me, but we have all been very interested to meet you.”

“All?” you say, swallowing nervously.

She shrugs. “No one has ever seen him this, hmm, this relaxed before. He’s usually here or across the street barking orders. You don’t become as successful as him without a little stress, but since you came along he seems different. Happy.”

You blush, watching him engrossed in a new conversation, his eyes often meeting yours across the room. “Look,” Tess says, stepping closer and lowering her voice. “I hang around the Millers way too often and I could really use some girl talk. Is that ok?”

“Tess, if there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s girl talk.” You smile at her and then turn to the bartender. “Two tequila shots, please!”

She takes a breath, looking at Joel and then back at you. “I’m just going to cut right to the chase. I didn’t think I’d live to see the day where Joel wore a black cowboy hat again.”

You raise an eyebrow at Tess, this could be your chance to get an explanation around his response. You know you weren’t imagining his eyes getting glassy, and he did say it means more to him than he could ever tell you. “I got him that hat.” 

Tess’s jaw drops and panic rises in your chest. “What? Why? What’s wrong with the hat?” 

“Tequila first,” she says as the shots slide across the shiny black marble bar top. A shiver racks through Tess after she swallows, you don’t flinch. “I don’t know if it’s my place…”

“It’s girl talk, he’ll never know.” You state, sucking at the lime. Tess clears her throat and motions to the bartender for another round. The next time she speaks it’s a hushed, sad voice, just barely above a whisper.  

“He, umm - well, he had a hat just like that growing up. Wore it all the time actually. He had it on the night he met Tiffany, and pretty much every important day in his life since then. Their first date, their wedding. Shit, I’m pretty sure there’s a picture of Sarah as a newborn in that hat. He also wore it the last time he held her.” Her voice trails off and heartbreak for her friend lines her features. “He…she loved it so much that he sent it with her.” 

You swallow hard and glance past Tess’s shoulder to Joel across the club. The moments of time between each of your heartbeats are filled by memories of his reaction. Tess continues, “Look, maybe you're like Joel. Maybe you don’t believe in astronomy or signs from the universe, but I don’t think you finding that hat was a coincidence.”

You aren’t like Joel; you do believe in signs. You thought you were going crazy when you found that hat today. It literally called to you from inside the store. It wasn’t on display in the window. No, you heard someone call your name behind you and when you looked over your shoulder the hat was all you could see. Could that voice have been from the wife he lost too early? You catch Joel’s gaze across the room; something about him, even before you knew him, comforted you. As your mind starts running through the depth of what that hat means to him he winks, you think you might be falling for him. 

All of this means something. It has to mean something. Right? 

“Girl talk stays between us?” You ask shyly.

“Absolutely!” Tess exclaims, you like her more and more and can see yourself being very good friends with her, even if she is almost twice your age.

“Tequila first,” you say in the same way she did earlier. 

She clicks her glass against yours and then on the bar top before slamming the shot back. “I hate tequila,” she rasps while sucking the lime.

“I can’t talk to my girlfriends about this. I don’t know if you know how me and Joel met, but one of my best friends is sort of my boss and I would get fired from my job for knowing him.” Tess nods, and orders you both a glass of what you’re sure is very expensive rosé. “Sometimes Joel says things that make me feel like maybe we are more than a sub and a dom, but that’s ridiculous, right? It’s the heat of the moment.”

“Babe, do you know how long Joel has been doing this?” She asks gently.

You shake your head and take a sip of your wine.

“Years…at one point, being a dom was how he made money. He’s a professional.”

Her words feel like a lead weight in the pit of your stomach, bile starts to burn at your throat. The whiplash of thinking he’s falling, and knowing that you are, and now dealing with this is almost too much. Joel has moved onto a conversation with yet another guest. “Right, he’s good. He’s supposed to make me feel wanted. I think I’m just not used to someone being there.”

“That’s not what I’m saying,” Tess’s hand comes to grab yours, squeezing reassuringly. “Professional doms don’t say things in the heat of the moment. They don’t give false hopes. If he’s calling you his or struggling to follow limits, that’s Joel speaking, not his dom alter ego.”

The silence after her words is thick between you. He doesn’t say things in the heat of the moment? You swallow the lead weight that’s made its way from your stomach to your throat, your mind racing through all the things Joel has said to you. My sweet girl. It’s a date. It’s only you. 

“Hey,” Tess says, shaking your hand to bring you back. “This DJ sucks, should we go take over the booth?”

You smile, grateful not only for her words of wisdom but now the way she’s able to stop you from spiraling. “Yes, this is a club AND a friday afterall!”

She smiles at you mischievously as she reaches over the bar for the bottle of rosé and then links arms with you as you both practically skip to the booth. “Owning a club is so fun, I recommend everyone try it,” she proclaims through a laugh.

When you reach the booth she waltzes right up to the DJ, “We need dancing music, it’s Friday, it’s a club, and it’s a fucking party!”

“Sorry, Tess. I can’t do that. Joel wanted background music only.” The DJ, who barely looks old enough to be in a club says, his eyes wandering to the low cut of your dress. A few months ago you probably would have been endeared by that look, but you have a real man now. A real man who loves you, says the sparkling box of feelings. 

Tess snorts and then tuts at the poor guy. “Joel won’t appreciate you ogling what belongs to him like that. So play Best Friend by Saweetie or I’ll be sure to let him know.”

His eyes snap back to his booth set up, one hand held up in defeat, the other pushing a few buttons and then turning the volume dial up. You and Tess laugh, taking sips straight from the bottle as you move to the dance floor. This is what you need, a friend to help you dissect what’s been happening. A friend who understands the dom and sub relationship, but more importantly, understands Joel. Does him having feelings change how you feel about university? You’ve always seen yourself going to Berkeley, that’s been the dream, but now? 

Maybe you should just end this now before your feelings grow too far out of control. The box of feelings laughs. You have no idea how deep you are in this, do you?

Joel

I’m gonna kill that little shit. Frustration rolls through his body as the music grows louder and as he turns to shoot daggers at the DJ he sees you and Tess. Your beautiful face is lit up in a large smile as you sip directly from a $400 bottle of rosé. His anger dissipates as you move your body with a sexy sway, lost in the music. 

Joel moves towards the bar, never taking his eyes off of you. Your arms stretch over your head as you shake your ass, the slit of your dress exposing your soft thigh. His palm tingles at the thought of how good you feel against him. The smooth warmth of your leg against the rough calluses of his fingers. 

I love you. 

Joel orders a whiskey and then walks towards the edge of the dance floor, his free hand tucked into the pocket of his pants as he watches you. As the song changes your eyes find him and you crook a finger at him, when he shakes his head you stick your bottom lip out and give him big doe eyes. He shakes his head again as Tess hands you the half drank bottle of wine. The pink tone of the wine casts a romantic glow across your exposed chest as you take a small sip. His cock stirs to life in his pants, remembering how those lips felt wrapped around him. He shakes his head at you again and takes a long pull from his drink. You stick your tongue out at him and spin away from him, wiggling your hips while glancing over your shoulder. 

I fucking love you.

You spin back towards him and crook your finger at him again, mouthing ‘please?’. He stays rooted to the spot. Joel doesn’t dance, especially not to this kind of music. His heart flutters as you start to walk over to him, everything moves in slow motion, the sexy way your dress clings to your hips with each movement, the flash of your thigh, the slight bounce of your breasts with each step. It feels like hours have passed by the time you stop in front of him. 

“Please come dance with me.” You say, fluttering your lashes slightly.

He grabs the expensive bottle of wine from you and places it on the tall table beside him. “This is very expensive wine.”

“That was Tess’s doing,” you smile.

“I’m sure it was, because you’re my good girl, aren’t you?” His hand strokes your cheek and he clocks the goosebumps that rise on your skin.

“Please come dance, Mister Miller?”

“I don’t dance, sweet girl.”

You pout again and he wants to suck that perfect bottom lip between his teeth so badly. “What if you just stand there and I dance around you?”

One day he’s going to have to learn how to say no to you, but today won’t be that day. He takes the last sip from his glass and puts it beside the wine. You bounce excitedly on the balls of your feet as he holds a hand out to you. You lead the way, the dance floor now full of people, heading back towards Tess. Joel’s hands come to your hips as you grind against him for the last few bars of the song. 

A slow twang of guitar starts off the next song. Joel spins you to face him. “This I can dance to.” He whispers, pulling you in close, one hand low on your back, the other holding yours to his heart. 

You smile up at him, “Full of surprises, aren’t you, sweet cheeks?”

At this angle the brim of his hat blocks out everything except for you; not that he needs something to block out the rest of the world when he’s around you. I love you.

“For the right woman I can be, freckles.” He says warmly as you melt into his body.

The two of you continue to dance in a comfortable silence. He watches your lips as your tongue glides across them and just as he’s about to lean in and taste you you speak. “I don’t think I said this yet tonight, but congratulations. This is a huge accomplishment and I’m so proud of you and grateful that you brought me into this space. I hope it’s not too bold, but this has done exactly as I hoped. I feel - freer almost, if that makes sense.”

“Good,” his lips press to your forehead. “And thank you.”

Your neck cranes forward, towards the tangled mess of your hands against his chest. Your lips pressing to the knuckle of his thumb. The gesture shoots straight to his heart.  

“I’ve been feeling a bit bad though. You’ve had to go to two events for me this week.” You go to protest but he cuts you off. “What would you be doing tonight if it wasn’t for this?”

You hum in thought. “Any bar where there’s an open mic night or a local band.”

“That so? Do you participate in the open mic?” 

“No, absolutely not, but I enjoy music and watching people do things they’re passionate about.”

He raises an eyebrow at you. “Let’s go then.”

“What?”

“Let’s go. I’ve said thank you to all the VIP’s. Let's go do your thing.”

You

“Can we do that?” You ask, trying not to let the smile that’s pulling at your cheeks win.

Joel laughs quietly. “It’s my party, I can do what I want. They can all stay, but the longer I stay here the more I’m going to be pulled away. And you’re the only person at this party that I want to talk to.”

That’s Joel speaking, not his dom alter ego.

The boulder is growing in your throat again as you croak, “We’re dressed awfully fancy for a local bar.” 

Joel smiles down at you, his eyes soft. You start memorizing every detail of his face. Everything surrounding the two of you went fuzzy the second he pulled you into his arms. This man, dressed in all black, blurs the edges of everything around you, sucking you in and making you feel like the only person he sees. The slow country song that you didn’t even hear starts to come to end. “I don’t care. Any more concerns?”

He doesn’t care, he’ll never care, he just wants to be with you. The box of feelings that's grown exponentially over this evening inches its way out of the shadows, and you can’t deny it anymore. 

You’re falling in love with Joel Miller. 

“Let’s go,” you say, excitement replacing the lump in your throat.

Joel wastes no time, peeling your bodies apart and pulling you towards the exit. He doesn’t look back as Tommy calls his name, only stopping at the front desk to grab your purse. You feel giddy, almost as if the two of you are doing something wrong. He opens the car door for you and then hops into the driver's seat. You pull out your phone, ignoring him as he comments on your cracked screen being a hazard, and check for open mic nights, finding one in a small bar just a few streets over. 

The bar is small, about ten tables crammed together and then a few stools along the bartop. The stage is only big enough for one person, a few guitars on stands, a stool, and the mic stand. The lighting is low, different neon signs above the bar doing the majority of the work. You’re way overdressed and the looks you get from the packed bar further prove it. 

Joel pulls you through the crowd towards the bar. You were feeling slightly tipsy dancing with Tess, but there is something so sobering about being pulled into Joel's arms. And now that you’ve realized you’re falling in love with him, his next question is very welcome.

“Can I buy you a drink?”

“Yes, please.” You smile sweetly, plastering your front to Joel’s side as he squeezes into the bar. “I’ll just have whatever you’re having.”

“Two old fashioneds,” he says deeply to the bartender. You stifle a giggle, “What?”

“You just give me so much ammunition sometimes.”

He swats at your ass and then squeezes, not caring who may or may not see. It’s exhilarating getting to just be yourselves away from the club and you have a feeling you’ll quickly become addicted to this. “Mighty thin ice, baby.” 

The raspy voiced woman with crazy curly hair finishes her set as Joel pays for the drinks. It appears that most of the crowd was here to see her, a few tables free up and the place doesn’t feel so crowded. The MC for the night gets back onto the stage. 

“Alright, if anyone else wants to show us what they’ve got tonight I’ll be by the bar.” There’s a few cheers and some clapping as the bar empties out drastically, only about twenty people are left. Joel pulls out a chair for you and then sits beside you.  

“Thank you for the drink,” you say, bringing the liquid to your lips and taking a small sip. The warmth of it heats all the way down to your belly, a familiar feeling when you’re around Joel.

“Of course,” he nods, sipping his. “So? Do you come here often?”

You laugh, leaning forward on your arms, noticing the way Joel’s eyes bounce from your face to your breasts; now pushed together for him. “What a line! But no, I have never been here. I kinda like it though.”

The MC’s voice fills the room, welcoming a brave soul to the stage. A tall man in cowboy boots and a shiny buckle joins the stage, carefully picking a guitar from the rack before he begins singing. You can tell by the warmth along the side of your face that Joel is watching you and not the man on the stage. 

“He’s pretty good,” you say, looking back towards Joel. It’s almost unfair how he can still look so sexy in the neon glow of the lights above the bar. 

“Mediocre,” he says with a scoff and sips his drink.

You glance around, “Ok, well you listen to this mediocre man, I’m going to find the washroom.”

You feel Joel’s eyes on your back as you walk away. The gender neutral bathroom is surprisingly clean and you giggle to yourself at the interaction you had once Joel was no longer looking at you. You try to act natural as you head back to the table, sitting down and smiling at Joel.

His eyebrow arches, “What did you do?” 

God you hate how well he knows you. There’s no hiding anything from this man. Regardless, you stifle the fit of giggles that are right on the tip of your tongue, “Nothing! I had to pee. Is that not allowed?”

You raise your glass to your lips, trying to hide the smile as the MC heads back up to the stage. “You did something bad, I can tell.”

“Ladies and gentlemen, we have another performer tonight. Please welcome to the stage Joel Sweet Cheeks Miller.”

Joel shoots a teasing glare at you as you start hollering, “Woo! Sweet cheeks!!” You clap your hands loudly. He lets out a sigh, pushing himself up and then grabbing his drink before heading to the stage. 

He steps up, running his fingers over the guitars before choosing a black acoustic. He puts his Old Fashioned on the stool and loops the guitar over his head. Your body reacts in a way you didn’t think it would. Fire erupts on your belly, you take a sip of your drink to try to put it out but the heat of the liquor only makes it worse. He adjusts the knobs on the guitar after hitting the strings a few times and then looks up at you and crooks two fingers, calling you to him. You obey, practically floating to the man you’re falling in love with. 

Joel bends at the hip, taking his cowboy hat off and placing it on your head. His voice is a gravel filled whisper as he says, “I’m going to spank that pretty little ass of yours in that washroom you were looking for after this.”

“Yes, Mister Miller.” You rasp.

He stands back up, and clears his throat before starting. “This is, well, this is the largest audience I’ve ever played in front of so, go easy on me.”

His hand pushes back the few curls that have fallen onto this forehead before he strums at the guitar. 

If I ever were to lose you I’d surely lose myself

His voice is like stepping into a hot bath, full of warmth and comfort.

Everything I’ve found here I’ve not found by myself

He doesn’t break eye contact with you, only glancing away occasionally when he moves his fingers along the cords. 

Try and sometimes you’ll succeed To make this man of me All my stole missing parts I’ve no need for anymore

You stare up at him, lips slightly parted, as everything falls into place. 

And I believe And I believe ‘cause I can see Our future days Days of you and me

You could go to Berkeley and do great, probably middle of the pack, but you’d reach your goals. You’d become a lawyer and leave school with a handful of job offers. Or…you could stay. You could stay and be the top of your class here. You could stay and continue being with Joel. 

Back when I was feeling broken I focused on a prayer You came deep as any ocean Did something out there hear?

The box of feelings starts to vibrate, making it almost impossible to breathe.

All the complexities and games  No one wins, but somehow they still played All the missing crooked hearts They may die, but in us they live on

You’re staying. You’re going to the University of Texas at Austin School of Law.

And I believe And I believe ‘cause I can see  Our future days  Days of you and me

And just like that, the box of feelings explodes like one of those worms in a can of fake peanuts.

When hurricanes and cyclones raged When winds turned dirt to dust When floods they came, the tides they raise Even closer, became us

This wasn’t part of your plan, but you can’t let this go.

And all the promises at sundown I meant them like the rest

You hear his voice, ‘It’s only you, sweet girl’ and ‘your consent is the most important thing to me.’

All the demons used to come ‘round I’m grateful, now they’ve left.

‘Does it look like I own things that aren’t perfect’, ‘tell me, tell me you’re perfect’.

So persistent in my ways Hey, angel, I’m am here to stay

‘I’m here for you’.

No resistance, no alarms Please, this is just too good to be gone

You’re not falling in love. No, you’re already so madly, deeply, insanely in love with this man that it hurts and feels amazing all at the same time.

And I believe And I believe ‘cause I can see Our future days Days of you and me

You suck in a breath for what feels like the first time since he started singing, your chest practically heaving at the release of emotion you’re experiencing. 

You and me It’s just, you and me

You’re not sure if people are clapping, you can’t hear anything over your own voice in your head screaming out ‘I love you’ over and over again. Joel hops off the stage, his eye flashing onyx as he growls, “punishment time, my sweet girl.”

Joel

The way your eyes sparkled as he sang and the way you’re following him now, your warm fingers laced in his as he pulled you gently to the bathroom, almost have him convinced that you feel the same way he does.

He locks the door, then jiggles the handle to make sure it’s secure. He’s shared subs with other men and women, he’s used the rooms for people to watch at the club; fuck, one time he even made one sub kneel completely naked at his feet while he sat at the bar of the club. But someone seeing you, something that is all his, ignites a protectiveness that he’s only ever felt for two other women. 

You giggle mischievously as he steps close, plucking his hat off your head and placing it back on his. “What did I say I was going to do to you, baby?” 

He watches your bottom lip disappear between your teeth before you say, “You were going to spank me.” 

He spins you roughly by your hips, pulling your back flush to his chest before walking you over the pedestal style sink. He watches in the mirror at the tell tale signs of your building arousal. Your cheeks flush, the pink creeping down your neck and exposed chest. He sees the way your eyes glass over, cock drunk before even getting it. Joel loves how easy you are to turn on, loves even more that it’s just for him.

No, I just love her.

He stops, the soft light above the mirror lighting the two of you up in yellow glow. The small bathroom is clean, but dark. White and black checkered floor with white walls; hopefully thick walls, but he has ways to keep you quiet while he punishes you. 

His lips come to the exposed side of your neck, hovering just above where he can see your pulse quickening. He hears the hitch of your breath as he inhales your lavender scent. He slips into full dominant mode, keeping his voice a deep growling whisper, “Hands on the edges of the sink, sweet girl.”

You obey him without hesitation, leaning forward and wrapping your hands around the shiny white sink. His eyes lock on yours through the mirror as he fists the soft silk of your skirt. His palms tingle at the thought of getting to feel you soon and his cock jumps at the thought of your heart-shaped ass being pink with his handprints. 

As the skirt crawls to be just above your knees he says, “How many should you get for that little stunt?”

He watches the goosebumps that spread across your skin. “Five?” Your voice is sweet and innocent with the ask.

The skirt starts to hike up higher, the long slit could give him easy access, but he’s playing a role right now, and he knows that the anticipation makes it better so much better for his sub. “Not much of a lesson in five. How about ten.”

It’s not a question and he knows you know it. He’d be lying though if he said he didn’t want to see if you’d fight him just a little bit. Brat taming is not his thing; granted neither is spanking a sub he’s fallen in love with in a bathroom of a dingy bar while wearing a six thousand dollar suit. 

A shiver runs through your body as he exposes your ass. The lacy black thong sends his thoughts into overdrive. God damn, what I wouldn’t give to fuck this woman, just once. 

“Do I have your consent to spank you ten times?”

You nod, “Yes, Mister Miller.”

He takes one of your wrists in his hand and brings it back to hold your skirt up and then repositions himself to be beside you instead of behind you. He takes you in, bent over with your ass exposed, pupils blown out. Your chest rises and falls with shallow, shaky breaths. He’s going to have to keep you quiet.

A hand clamps around your lips and your eyes widen. “If you want me to stop, drop the skirt. Got it?”

You nod into his palm as the first slap fills the room. Your skin is soft and warm under his touch as he makes contact again. By the third strike, his hand around your mouth muffles a squeal. The fourth spank lands on your other cheek and a quiet husky moan rumbles against your lips and his palm.

“You’re supposed to be my sweet girl,” he taunts as another loud slap fills the room. He’s been watching you in the mirror the entire time, enjoying the way you try to keep eye contact; but now, at the halfway mark of your spanking, your eyes are hooded with need. He looks down your ass, grinding his hips into your side at the sight of his bright red handprints tattooed on your cheeks. “Fuck, you look so good all marked up.”

He spanks you again watching the jiggle of your ass and how it ripples down your leg. Your back arches as you whimper quietly. “Atta girl,” he says proudly, smiling to himself. “Three more.”

Joel administers the last three spankings quickly, two on one cheek and one on the other. The sound of his palm on your flesh goes straight to his cock each time, he’s practically rutting into your hip bone to relieve some of the ache. He’s given a lot of spankings in his time as a dom and his body has never reacted this way. I’m so goddamn in love with her, I should keep spanking her for making me feel like that, but if I don’t taste her right now I’m going to go insane. 

His hand grabs your skirt while his other drops from your face. Your breaths come in fast, like you just ran a marathon. He guides you to stand and then spins you around, a hiss leaves your lips, “It’s cold,” you whisper, making eye contact with him. 

He takes his hat off and places it on your head before kneeling down in front of you.

You

The cool porcelain soothes the delicious burn along your ass, but the burn quickly spreads through your body as the man you’ve realized you’re in love with kneels in front of you. His voice has an edge of desperation as he says, “I need to taste you, please baby.”

What is he doing to me? He has to know what he’s doing to you, right? Did he mean the lyrics of that song or is it just the only song he knows? However, at this moment, you’re just as desperate for him. 

“Yes,” you nod frantically as you speak, “Mister Miller. Please.’

His mouth connects with your lace covered cunt. Licking over the thin fabric, teasing you with light but mind numbing pressure. Joel Miller always looks good, tall and broad, tanned skin that crinkles slightly around his eyes when he smiles, but when he’s on his knees in front of you it ignites something low in your belly. His curly dark hair is soft to the touch and you bring your hand to his scalp now. He groans at the feeling of your hands on him and continues to lick at your clit through your panties. 

The black cowboy hat falls over your eyes, your other hand raises to hold it out of the way. Even with the decision to stay here for law school, you don’t want to miss a second of the salacious acts playing out right in front of you. 

“Oh god, Mister Miller,” you whisper, trying to stay as quiet as possible. 

He moves to kiss at your thigh, hooking a finger around the gusset of your soaked lace. “This fucking garter, sweet girl. Been drivin’ me crazy all night,” he growls between kisses.

He pulls your panties to the side and your nipples harden under your dress as the cool air hits your throbbing pussy. “Fuck,” he practically whimpers. “You smell so good. Taste so good, too.”

His mouth latches around your clit, sucking it between his lips and everything goes fuzzy as the burn in your lower belly starts to spread. “Ohgodohgood, f-fuck.”

The tip of his tongue flicks against your swollen aching clit with each suck and you start to panic over how you’re going to keep quiet while you come. One of his fingers that pulls your thong out of the way teases at your entrance, gathering your arousal, before he pushes it inside of you to the first knuckle. He looks up at you, eyes flushed onyx as he swallows down everything you give him. 

“Mister Miller,” you hum as he pushes his forefinger the rest of the way in. When he curls it forward you release the grip on his salt and pepper curls and clamp your hand around your mouth.

He pulls away, a dimple carving out his cheek as he smirks. “Feels that good?” He flicks gently at your clit and you moan in agreement into your hand. “Good fuckin’ girl.”

Joel sucks your clit back into his mouth, pumping his thick finger against the spongy spot that makes you melt and the heat bursts into tingling pleasure as your orgasm washes over you. Your eyes roll into the back of your head as you fight to keep quiet, grinding your hips unabashedly against Joel’s face. He’s relentless with his ministrations and you bite at your palm as another wave rolls through you. 

The spasms of your pussy around his finger slow and you’re finally composed enough to drop your hand, grabbing his shoulder as your knees threaten to give out. Joel slips his finger out from you, placing light, lingering kisses on your mound before standing. His hands find your hips, holding you steady. 

“Kiss me,” you slur, feeling drunk off the pleasure.

Your arms loop around his neck as he kisses you. His lips taste like you and you lick at the heady sweetness. You slant your head, kissing him deeper. His body goes soft, relaxing into the kiss. You could do this with him forever, and for once it’s not the box of feelings saying that. The contents of that box have coated your entire brain with the love it housed for the man you’re not even supposed to know exists. The two of you break apart, both panting for air. You break the silence first.

“Take me to the club.”

“We can’t go back there. I’ll just get sucked back into the crowd.” His nose runs up and down yours, dark chocolate brown eyes never leaving yours. 

“I need more, Mister Miller. Please, take me.”

“Shit,” he huffs. “Come with me.”

Joel

This is so incredibly stupid, he thinks as he pulls into his neighborhood. The moment the two of you got back into his car you leaned over onto his shoulder and closed your eyes. He should take you to your apartment. You must be exhausted from all the studying and working you’ve been doing. Plus, he kept you out late for two nights. He pulls up onto his driveway, and the slight bump from the curb causes you to stir. He parks in the driveway and watches as you blink and register where you are. 

“I can take you home if you want.”

“No, I want to be with you.” Your eyes widen and you start to do that thing where you ramble, only to dig yourself deeper.

Joel chuckles and then leans forward, pressing your lips to your forehead to stop you. “I knew what you meant, baby girl.”

He gets out of the car and then comes around to open your door. When you left the bar tonight you tried to open your door, again, and he scolded you gently. He smiles to himself that you’ve listened finally, that or you’re just too tired and he should really be taking you home. But when he helps you out of the car and meets your gaze again you look anything but tired. Need and arousal flood his system as he takes you in, lips slightly parted and eyes dancing around his face. Your words from the bathroom ring in his ears. I need more, Mister Miller.

He snaps, lips slamming against yours, your hands immediately finding the curls at the nape of his neck; the only hair you can reach because of the cowboy hat still proudly perched on top of his head. He lifts you, moaning at the feeling of your toned thighs wrapping around his waist. He moves on instinct, closing the car door and walking into the house while the two of you fervently kiss in a mix of tongue and teeth. You nip at his bottom lip as he walks into the marble foyer. He closes the garage entry door and presses you against it, sucking your bottom lip into his mouth, His cock is painfully hard behind his pants.

“I need you,” you whine after your lip is free from his mouth.

“What do you need?”

You kiss at his neck, hands moving to loosen his tie. “I need you to fuck me, please, Mister Miller.”

I love you. 

He keeps you pinned to the door, his one hand grabbing yours and pinning them above your head. How many times is he going to have you in the position, fighting against what you’re begging for? Hopefully, it never stops.

“My sweet girl, you know I can’t do that.” It physically hurts him to turn you down.

You pout at him before speaking, “Then just be naked with me, I need to feel your skin on mine. Please?”

He kisses you again and starts to move the two of you towards the stairs. Between kisses, he says, “What happened to that shy girl who couldn’t even tell me she wanted me to dominate her?” 

You laugh against his lips, “She’s been corrupted.”

“I’m a bad man,” he hums with a laugh and walks up the stairs with you plastered to his chest; one hand around the globes of your ass, the other tucking your head into his neck so he can see where he’s stepping. The moment you reach the top of the stairs he pulls your face back to his to kiss you again.

“This is where it happened,” you say, as he passes the office. 

“Where what happened?” He says, pulling back to look at you, his eyebrows draw in in confusion and the black Stetson he forgot he was wearing falls forward slightly. You take the hat off his head, looking at him all wide-eyed and amused. 

“The corruption,” you say with a wink. Joel snorts in response and then his lips are back on yours. He has missed having this mix of passion and humour with someone.

When he passes over the threshold of his bedroom he places you on your feet. He told himself he wouldn’t ever have you here. No, not told, promised, because he knew what having here would mean. But you made him fall in love with you anyway. The air in the bedroom feels thicker, and his breathing quickens as he looks at you. The only light that trickles in is from the hallway. He takes in your sparkling eyes, your lips, puffy from his kisses and light nips; the perfect curls of your hair are slightly dishevelled and truthfully - he has never found you more beautiful. 

I love you. 

You

Butterflies assault your stomach as you stare at Joel. He takes the hat from you and tosses it gently on the foot of the bed behind you. The room is deafeningly silent, only the sounds of both of your quickened breathing and thundering heartbeats fill the void. You stand frozen, the heels of your strappy black sandals sinking into the plush carpet of his bedroom. You remember when you carried his sheets to the washing machine just a few weeks ago, being surrounded by the delicious scents of ash and leather. You had no idea who Joel was then, the man in this house was just a fantasy in your mind. You wait for him to make the first move. Finally, his thick fingers find the zipper along your side. 

“Are you sure about this?” He says, his voice is hoarse, and you can tell he’s nervous. You wish knowing that would calm you, but truthfully it just makes your heart burst even more. This morning, the thought of anyone, but especially Joel, having feelings for you was ridiculous, but now you aren’t so sure it’s that absurd after all.

“Yes, Mister Miller. I just - I need…” he watches you patiently. Playing with the small metal zipper pull. 

“Don’t be shy, sweet girl. Just tell me what you need.” 

“I need to feel your skin against mine. Please.” 

He pulls at the zipper as his lips meet your neck. “I love when you ask so politely. My good girl, aren’t you?” 

“Mm-hmm,” you hum, fighting the sway of your legs to stay upright. 

If he’s calling you yours, that’s Joel speaking. Not his dom alter ego. 

Joel’s fingers come to the thin straps along your shoulders. The warmth of his hands against your skin causes you to shiver. He drags the straps down your arms and then frowns at the tape holding the dress to your chest. He tugs gently and you gasp at the pull of the tape. Before you can protest, the sting is soothed by his lips, kissing the sore, pink skin. He does the same thing after tugging the other side and the silky black dress pools at your feet. 

You watch the muscles of Joel’s throat flex as he swallows, eyes trailing down your body. “Turn around.”

You spin on the balls of your feet, careful to not catch your heels on the carpet. “So you need to feel me, is that right, sweet girl?” 

You nod your head. “Yes, Mister Miller.” 

One of his hands comes to gently rest on your shoulder and instinctively lean into his touch. His fingers whirl around as he traces down your shoulder blade and then back up to your neck. “I can’t believe how beautiful you looked tonight. I kept getting pulled away from you every time I tried to get back to you. It was killing me to be away from you.” 

You let your eyes close as his fingers run down your spinal column. You feel his heat leave your back and then his lips sponge kisses along the globes of your ass, his hands holding your hips possessively.

“You were such a good girl tonight. Outside of the little singing stunt,” he says between kisses. Every spot that took the punishment of his palm is given attention. “But you paid for that, didn’t you sweet girl?” 

You giggle quietly before saying. “Yes, Mister Miller. Thank you, but I can’t promise I won’t do it again.” 

“Good,” he laughs, standing up behind you. You hear the unmistakable sound of his silk tie being pulled off. “Because I don’t want you to ever stop teasing me.” 

He tosses the tie towards his dresser. Before you know it, he’s spun you around and lifted you into his arms again. Your body knows just what to do, your legs clamping around his waist on their own. He captures the squeak that leaves your lips with his mouth. Nothing makes you melt faster than the feel of Joel’s lips on yours. They’re soft but firm, his tongue warm against yours as he takes what he wants from you and there’s no way you’re not going to let him. 

He sits you on the dresser and plants his hands on each side of you as your hands move to work the buttons on his shirt. His lips never leave yours. 

“I need you,” you whine as you get the first few buttons undone. The heat of his chest skimming against your fingertips has a fresh wave of arousal coat your already soaked pussy. 

Joel moans needily at your confession as he pulls back slightly. He rips at his shirt, buttons burst before he tears it off and stands shirtless in front of you. Your eyes trail down his strong broad chest, stopping on the prominent bulge behind his pants. Your hands fly to his belt. He watches you with rapt fascination as you work the buckle and then the button of his pants. 

As you move to the zipper, his fingers go to the lace of your panties. He growls as he splits the fabric. 

“Joel!” You gasp. “Those were thirty dollars!” 

He grabs your leg, placing the ball of your foot on his chest,unbuckling your shoe. “I just ruined an $800 dress shirt. I’ll buy you more.” 

The shoe hits the floor and he grabs your other foot, his eyes locking to yours as he commands, “And it’s Mister Miller. I’ve been lenient with you. Another mistake and you will be punished - severely.” 

For such harsh words, he’s being so careful with the small golden buckle on your shoe. “Yes, Mister Miller,” you say sweetly, batting your lashes innocently. 

“Feet up on the dresser. Spread your legs for me, sweet girl.” 

You lean back slightly, hands being used as an anchor behind you, placing your heels on the edge of the dresser. Cool air hits your drenched cunt and you fight yet another shiver. You’re spread wide for Joel, every single thing on display for him. He looks at you like you hung the moon and your heart flips behind your ribs. You suddenly feel like you did the first time the two of you spoke in his kitchen, his gaze is too much, too intense, and it becomes nearly impossible for you to not yell out that you love him, so you look away, your eyes falling to his strong chest.

“Eyes up here,” he murmurs as he takes the smallest step back. 

Your mouth goes dry as you look back up at him. In your peripheral you can see his hands going to his belt, the sound of the buckle jingling tempts you to look down. “Atta girl, stay right here with me.”

You stay in his warm coffee brown pools, flecks of gold and honey appearing as the soft light of his bedroom hits him. I love you.

He bends slightly, his pants and boxers falling to the ground. You try to swallow once, twice, never leaving his gaze as the rest of his clothing comes off. You swear that time stops, the two of you are suspended in a moment that’s all yours. He steps forward and you can feel the heat of his skin against your entire body, you melt into his warmth.

“You want to look, don’t you?” he taunts.

“Yes, Mister Miller,” you hum.

 The soft tip of his cock gently nudges at your clit and you gasp. “Look down, baby.”

You peel your eyes away from his, looking down to see where his body caresses against yours. The tip of his impossibly hard cock, precum glistening as it leaks for you, pressing lightly to your soft and swollen clit. His piercing lays flat against his pelvis and you remember what he said about there being benefits to it. You try to memorize the sight in front of you. As filthy and debauched as this is, it’s also passionate and beautiful; it's the epitome of Mister Miller and your time with him. 

“Fuck, sweet girl. Your pussy is so pretty…and soft.” You watch as he wraps his hand around the thick base of his cock and rocks his hips. His cock slides easily along the warm folds of your drenched cunt, you swear you can feel the ridge of the underside of the tip as he says,  “Who has you this turned on? Huh, sweet girl?”

“You,” you whimper as your legs start to tremble.

“God damn,” his voice now matching yours, “How’d I get so lucky.”

This time you know he’s not asking you a question, yet you hum in agreement as his cock slides back over your clit, the swollen nub relishing in the friction and the feel of him against you. You hope he’s going to keep going, you want to feel him inside of you more than you need oxygen. Instead, his other hand slips between the two of you, his strong digits teasing at your entrance. He slides along your clit again as one of his fingers pushes inside of you. 

“Is this ok?” He whispers.

“Yesyes - fuuuuck, Mister Miller.” A bead of pre cum lands on your mound at the sound of pleasure passing your lips. 

“Such a good girl for me. Already learning how to take me so well.” His finger slips out as a second joins it. “She’s begging for it, tryin’ to suck me in. So tight, my gorgeous sweet girl.”

Your foreheads meet and it all becomes too much again. You close your eyes as his fingers finally fill you. “Don’t stop,” you whine desperately.

His hips pick up their pace, pressing harder along your most sensitive spots. You get that floating feeling again. He’s so close to exactly how you need him, how you want him. The voice from your now-exploded box of feelings adds, “For the rest of your life”. 

You keep your eyes closed, sparks of pleasure occasionally flickering behind them. You’re getting closer to your high with every press of his body against yours. You know if you opened your eyes you’d be able to fall over the edge, but you aren’t ready to be done imagining how it would look if his cock was doing what his fingers were right now. 

“I can feel you’re getting close, baby. Clenchin’ my fingers so hard.” His voice is full of admiration, not a tone you’re used to hearing in moments like this. You used to think that you had a first love, and while none of your exes ever mistreated you, they also didn’t look at you or speak to you the way Joel Miller does. 

His pace increases again as he curls his fingers forward, your body jolts up with the newly applied pressure behind your clit. You grip his shoulders to ground yourself, the inside of your thighs start to ache, but you’re not going to let your feet fall from the dresser. Truthfully, the burning ache only seems to intensify the pleasure at the apex of your thighs.

“Open your eyes, watch how good your pussy looks against me.”

“I ca-can’t. ‘M so close. I don’t - oh fuck - don’t wanna be done.” 

“Just because you come, it doesn’t mean we are done, sweet girl. I’m not ready to be done. I want you to come as many times as you need to.” He presses his cock down against your clit harder as he speaks.

Before you can even take your next breath your orgasm washes over you. It hits hard and for a second you think your throat is constricted, but just as the wall of your pussy relaxes and begins to flutter, a euphoric scream frees itself from your airway. You start to pant, your body falling back to rest on the wall behind you. Joel falls forward with you, and just when you think you’re about to come down from your high, the pressure at this angle sends the strongest wave of your orgasm through you and you begin to gush around his fingers. 

“That’s my good fuckin’ girl. Soak me.” Pride swells in his eyes as you chant his dominant name like a prayer. Your breathing starts to even and he slows his fingers and hips, ensuring not to send you into any overstimulation. I’m not ready to be done yet. He slowly removes his fingers, then wraps his arm around you to pull you up. Your feet fall from the dresser and the relief your muscles feel causes you to let out a pleasurable sigh.

Joel

He needs more, so much more, but waits for you - taking a few slow breaths in time with yours. When he sees you coming back down to earth he slides the tip of his cock up and down. At this angle, there’s no risk of accidentally slipping so he runs himself along every part he can reach. 

“Kiss me,” you mumble, bringing your face towards his. He captures your lips in a sweet kiss, a kiss he’s sure you can tell isn’t the way a dom kisses his sub. He realizes at that moment that he’s never kissed you that way. No, he’s always kissed you with everything he had, giving himself to you piece by piece. 

More. His inner voice growls. I’ll never come back up for air now.

Joel whispers your name between kisses and you both pull back just enough to see each other's faces. “When we got here, you said you wanted me to fuck you. Do you still want that?”

He watches your eyes dance around him. Confusion, fear, excitement and arousal line yours before you pull back from him. He scolds himself for saying it. Of course you’re going to panic, this is supposed to be a safe space. He set a complete ban on sex before he even met with you the first time. It’s right there, in his dom profile; because that’s what he is, he’s your dom. You can come here and beg for it, because you know it’s a safe place where it won’t happen. 

He prepares himself for you to slap him or yell at him. Instead, you say, “Mister Miller, I don’t want you to do anything that you don’t want to. This was a hard limit for you, and where I very much want to, I don’t want you to break any promise to yourself.”

He let his eyelids fall shut, for the first time, he doesn’t want to be Mister Miller. He wants to be Joel. 

I love you.

Goosebumps break out along his skin as you drag your hands up to his neck, fingers scraping along the back of his scalp. “Talk to me.”

“Just call me Joel,” he says through the boulder that’s lodged in his throat. 

He feels your warm lips meet his cheek, kissing him softly before you clear your throat quietly and then whisper into his ear. “Please fuck me, Joel. Fuck me or I might die or go insane.”

“Again,” he growls.

“Fuck me, Joel.” You say, louder and with more conviction than the last time.

He scoops you off the dresser, your soft naked thighs tightening around his waist and he steals your squeal with his lips, kissing you hard with hurried passion. He’ll worry tomorrow about what getting you to call him Joel means, all he knows at this moment is that he needs to hear that you need him just as much as he needs you. 

  He lays you on the bed, pressing down into your warmth. He can feel how wet you are as you grind up into him. His lips grow hungrier, kissing every bit of your face and neck he can reach, relishing in the feel of your hands running up and down his biceps, your short nails scraping his skin occasionally. 

“Are you sure you want to do this?” He asks before fusing his lips to your neck.

Your feet fall to the bed and you arch into him. “Yes, Joel.” 

He raises to his knees, unclipping the chains around your body and then working with you to slip your ruined panties off. He reaches over to the bedside table to get a condom, using his teeth to peel the foil open and sliding it on. You’re always completely at his mercy, but this time he’s wholly at yours. One of his hands grips your hip, the other wraps around his cock as he takes in all your soft smooth skin, and memorizes the constellations that your freckles make along your body. Your breasts heave with each shallow inhale and shake beautifully with each exhale. Finally, his gaze meets yours, your eyes filled with every emotion he’s feeling. 

“There’s no safeword anymore, my sweet girl. If you tell me to stop, I will.”

You nod as he lines himself up, the warmth of your tight entrance calling to him. Joel pushes gently, your hips rising to encourage him. His balls tighten at the feeling of you wrapped tightly around the tip. 

“So tight, sweet girl.” He falls forward, both forearms beside your head to keep his weight off of you. 

The two of you rock in tandem, working more of him into you. “Oh god, Joel. More,” you moan.

There was a time when he told you to only call him Joel, it was the only name you could use that would keep this side of him from taking over. But now, hearing your voice say his name in the needy little vibrato, it’s having the same effect as when you call him Mister Miller. He’s sure you know exactly how he feels, and he’s now certain that you feel the same way. 

Your hips grind into his and pleasure spikes through his entire body. He’s fully seated inside of you now, your tight pussy squeezing him sweetly. He buries his face into your neck, lavender hypnotizing him. Everything he can see, hear, smell and feel is you. His sweet girl. 

“More, please, more.” You whine, circling your hips. 

His jaw flexes as he fights his body’s instinct to come. He pushes down with his hips to still you. “I need a minute, sweet girl. Shit - you feel too good.”

Your soft giggle at his confession causes your pussy to flex tighter around him. A shiver runs up his spine, “Baby, please don’t. Just stay still, please.”

He pulls himself away from your neck, his hips flexing forward. He watches your eyes widen as his piercing presses right where it’s meant to. You gasp and clench his hips with your thighs. He smirks, now flooded with desire and determination to fuck you until neither of you can walk. 

“Ready?” He says, his voice deep.

“I think - Joel, fuck - I might…” 

His animalistic side kicks in, he pulls out to the tip and then slams back in, swivelling his hips so his piercing stimulates your clit, which he’s sure still must be sensitive from earlier, before pulling back and repeating. 

“Think you might what?” He demands, keeping his gaze locked on yours as he fucks you.

“I’m gonna - gonna come.” You moan between thrusts.

“So fuckin’ needy. Aren’t you?” You met each of his thrusts with a flick of your hips. Even with the condom, you feel better than he could have ever imagined. All the things he wants to do to you run through his mind; he wants to take you from behind, or watch your tits bounce as you ride him, he pictures you strapped to the spanking bench in his room at the club. But right now he just wants to worship every inch of you. He wants to show you how you should be treated and loved. 

The words are on the tip of his tongue. I love you. 

He shifts his weight, one arm hooking under your leg so he can take you deeper. “Sweet girl, I want to feel you come on my cock.” 

“Fuckfuck don’t stop.” He peppers your jawline with kisses. 

“Kiss me,” he whispers. He tilts his head, parting his lips for your warm tongue. Joel starts fucking you faster. He breaks the kiss, “Come for me, baby girl.” 

“Are we going to be done if I do?” You ask. 

“No, baby.” He huffed a laugh, his hand pushing the hair away that’s started to stick to your forehead. “Never. I’m never going to be done with you.” 

“Joel - oh my god.” He feels you getting tighter and tries to distract his thoughts. He’s not ready to be done, but he’s not young anymore so he can’t risk finishing quite yet. “Your - your piercing.”

“Let go,” he says into your lips. He feels it then, that infinitesimal tightening of your pussy around his length before it begins to flutter. Your whine fills his head. He watches the pleasure fill your face, he swears he can see the clouds that form around your vision as you look deep into his eyes and succumb to your high. Your soft body quivers beautifully underneath him, “That’s my girl.”

The primal need to fuck you hard into his mattress simmers his skin. Not yet, not this time. She’s too perfect right now. 

“Tell me how it feels, sweet girl.”

Between pants you moan out, “So good, Joel.”

Your body begins to slow beneath him as your orgasm crests and he gives himself a mental pep talk to hold on just a bit longer. His cock is achy with the need to come, and it’s going to be slightly tortuous to stop, but he wants to take you at least one more time before you both fall into what is sure to be an exhausted sleep. 

His lips come to your shoulder. “I love fucking you. Your pussy was made for me.”

Your nails scrape at his back. “It’s t-too much. Fuck. Sorry…sorry.”

Joel stills his hips, releasing your leg and pushing his weight off of you, but doesn’t pull away. Your eyes are clenched tight, “Look at me, sweet girl.”

Your eyes pop open, pupils blown in pleasure and love. There’s no denying it now, he knows you feel the same. “Don’t be sorry.”

Your cheeks flush slightly, “But you’re not, you didn’t yet.”

“If you can’t say it, you shouldn’t be doing it.”

“You didn’t get to come yet,” you whisper.

“I don’t want to yet. I’m going to let you catch your breath and then you’re going to climb onto my lap and really learn what that piercing can do.” He winks and then gives you a small smile before slipping out of you. He rolls onto the mattress beside you, removing the condom and dropping it into the waste bin beside the bed. 

He hears you hiss, panic clogs his throat as he whips back towards you. “What’s wrong?”

You nod towards his almost impossibly hard cock. “That looks painful.”

“I’m ok, sweet girl.” He pulls you in, melting at the way your body molds so perfectly to his. He kisses your forehead, “You’re incredible.”

“You too.” You nuzzle deeper into him, your warm breath hitting his chest and your leg wrapping around his. 

There’s a few minutes of comfortable silence before you speak, “Hey Joel?”

“Mm-hmm?”

“I think we should ditch the condom.” He pulls back as you look up at him, “You have a vasectomy. I have an IUD. We had recent test results as per the club's rules.”

Joel swallows. Not wearing a condom, even though he had his vasectomy over a decade ago, has never been an option. Another rule of JMKink is that you have to be wearing a condom during all penetrative activities; even if the person you’re fucking is your husband or wife. It hits Joel then that the only person he’s felt that intimately before is Tiffany. 

“Are you sure? I know the chances of getting pregnant are very slim, but you got into law school today, I don’t want to risk anything.”

“I’m sure,” you hum. “I’m also sure that you should put that cowboy hat back on for the next round.”

[crazyvik97rpg]

Alan didn't let William get out of this hug for a while - he just held him tight and rubbed his back soothingly. If Sebastian was going through something so serious, than it was more than telling when William looked like he looked today. Exhausted, big dark circles under his eyes, Alan just knew he worried so much, he couldn't imagine what these two were going through. On top of that, Sebastian was still so young. Getting such diagnosis at such point in time - it must be soul crushing.

Visiting him though seemed like an excellent idea, William agreed and so did the others. Sebastian seemed fine enough already for that. Eric smiled: "Great, then we could visit him all together. What about tomorrow, right after school? In which hospital does he stay, how far is it? We could get him some flowers and sweets, some chocolate, to cheer him up".

"Ohh yes, that sounds great. I can buy the flowers", Ronald volunteered with a grin, "I have experience in buying flowers, I've been getting Sonia a lot of them lately. I bet if I tell Seb that, he will feel better right away", he snickered - Sebastian would be always so grumpy whenever Ronald did something stupid regarding Sonia after all.

"That's great, then we can get the sweets. Will, you know best what he likes", Alan smiled, "But we'll manage. So then tomorrow after school? We can take our car, there's enough room for us", he patted William's back and only now pulled away from the hug, so he could look at him.

If Sebastian only knew what great friends he had - not only worried for him but caring for William too. He needed the support, more than anyone - he kept neglecting his needs for Sebastian, to be strong for him, but that could only work for so long either.

Around noon, Sebastian was alone in his room again - his neighbour was now in surgery and he got to chat with him only a little bit before. He was friendly, a former military guy but now retired. An interesting fellow to chat with for sure.

His body kept him busy either way - the pain was a handful today and the nurses didn't want to give him too high of a dose of pain meds all the time. Soreness was a part of recovery he supposed but he could barely move and he also couldn't sleep like that. So he was just in a constant state of exhaustion, feeling like a bus ran him over. He was counting seconds at this point - visiting hours just started and he couldn't wait for his boyfriend to come already.

Before that, though, someone else showed up.

"Sebastian...oh dear, I finally found your room, this place is a whole big maze, gosh..."

It was the most pleasant surprise. Sebastian's eyes lit up, he recognized her by the voice alone and his lips curved up into a smile. "Grandma-...grandma, you're here?"

"How could I not visit my favourite grandson", she grinned and she came to a halt right next to his bed as she gently took his hand, squeezed it. "When you're not able to visit me, I have to visit you", she smiled, big round glasses on her nose - Grandma Lillian, Sebastian's mother's mother. That was a big surprise, to say the least - they didn't see each other for well over a year, maybe called each other a handful of times. Usually they celebrated Christmas together with the whole family. But that didn't happen last Christmas - and now it was already mid of September.

"How are you? Are you better already, I thought you had such problems with your lungs?", Sebastian asked right away, his eyes big as he looked at her in awe - she merely chuckled at that question. She didn't look the youngest on her own anymore, her grey hair put up in a simple updo - she had a cane with her too, just in case.

"I should be asking you, my darling. Your mother told me just the other day, well-...she told me all about your illness. And that you had surgery. I didn't think I would get to see you in such hospital bed before me", she sighed, the look on her face sad and worried - it pained Sebastian, to say the least. "I thought about calling you but I needed to see you in person. It's been such a long time. How are you?"

For I have sinned...

The principal cleared his throat, eyes scanning the notes that he had wrote down before this meeting. It already lasted an hour, and the teachers gathered in the faculty room were becoming restless and bored. But indeed there were some things to discuss, with the concert that the senior class was supposed to perform at the end of the semester, and with recent staff changes. 

William glanced down at his watch, sighing softly. His class was starting in 15 minutes, so at least, whether the meeting will be done soon or not, he will get to excuse himself. He looked out of the window, his mind wandering. Principal’s voice turned into white noise in the background. It was a pleasant day, late summer. But William was looking forward to a slightly cooler weather. Wearing all black could really be bothersome at times. 

“And lastly, I am pleased to announce that we have finally found replacement for the violin teacher. Dear Mr Tanaka, may he rest in peace, was with us for so many years that I’ve been concerned we won’t be able to find someone as good as to fill this position.” the principal spoke. “But Mr… Michaelis, was highly recommended to me, and he indeed has impressive references. He will be starting this week, so please welcome him warmly once he will arrive. Ah yes… about that. He will arrive today at noon, I need someone to pick him up from the train station and bring over for the tour around the school. Any volunteers?” 

William was barely listening, and definitely not paying much attention. He glanced at his watch again, and saw that it was time to leave, as his class was about to start. He raised his hand to excuse himself, and little did he know, he just volunteered.

“Father William! Excellent!” the principal exclaimed. “Just don’t be late, the train arrives at noon.”

“Train…?” William questioned, raising his brow. He had a feeling he was missing something…

***

Right after the meeting, William had to run for the class, so he had little time to clarify what exactly he had volunteered for. He was a piano teacher in this Music Academy, but also he served as a priest in local church. Well respected, and rather liked. So when he later found out it was about the new violin teacher, he didn’t refuse. Who, other than himself, would be a better choice to introduce a newcome to their community?

So even though he raised his hand by accident, he accepted this fate.

After classes, at noon, William took a taxi and drove to the train station, to pick up their new teacher. Wearing black trousers, and a black shirt with a thin tie, was absolutely dreadful in this weather, so William quickly found shelter under the roof of the station platform, that provided some shade.

The train had just arrived. William had no idea how Mr Michaelis looked like, but he figured he will just look for someone carrying a violin case with them. 

He was in for a bit surprise.

@crazyvik97

[willowsworldbaby]

Penpals with the 141

Warnings: stalkerish behaviour at the end teehee 🤭

Notes: if only I had a hot military man or men to send letters to 🤷🏻‍♀️😩

It started out as just another way to keep the boredom away. Sending care packages to military members was also a plus. You'd be staying busy and doing a good deed at the same time. You found some trustworthy-enough organization, signed up, and sent out your first letter along with a few goodies like choclates and warm socks.

The 141 had never really thought much about getting care packages from civilians. In their eyes it was just a good way to get the things they missed out on while on deployment. Most of the letters got tossed as soon as they opened the box.

That was until they got yours.

The stupid little smiley face drawn on the cardboard shouldnt have stopped Simon in his tracks, but he found himself staring down at the doodle.

"L.T? Y'been standin' there fer a good 15 minutes." Soap remarked.

"S'that your favourite candy, right?"

Soap was swayed by the chocolate oranges, finding himself reading your letter as he scarfed down each wedge. The curly handwriting, the crossed out and rewritten words had him showing the letter to Gaz, and then Price. Soon you found yourself in an almost penpal situation. Over the exchange of more and more letters, you were able to dicern the personalities of each man who was writing to you.

There was Soap, who wrote it barely legible chicken scratch, often skipping words or even entire sentences, like he was thinking too fast for his hand to keep up. Always calling you 'bonnie' or 'lass'.

Gaz, who wrote much more formally. His hand writing was the best to read, neatly printed on the lines of the paper. You got the sense that he sat down and put his whole attention into writing back to you.

Ghost, who's name you were yet to learn, tacked on his responses at the end of the paper. It was rare to get more than a few sentances from him, and even rarer for them to be anything but small talk. Slowly, he began to open up, asking you how you were or if your boss had resolved that HR issue yet. How did he know that?

Price, who'd quickly insisted on you calling him John— makes me feel old, luv— was the one who you seemed the most interested in your life. You chalked it up to him wanting to have something to think about other than his life threatening job.

Questions about your living situation, your job, your hobbies, it all seemed like small talk. Easy enough to look over. And then came the questions about your bills. Does your job pay enough? When's the last time you've been on vacation? What does your ideal living situation look like? Are you in a relationship?

It wasn't just John who was asking. So Gaz, Johnny and even Ghost began to inquire about more personal details. Every time you got a letter, it was almost a pavlovian response for your cheeks to blush. You looked forwards to the letters from your far away military men, and they even sent you gifts!

A watch, just like the one on your pinterest, wrapped up in a pretty pink bow. They added on such a sweet note too.

"Synced up to our watches." Ghost.

"Thought you needed a little treat." Gaz

"Here you go, bonnie! Now you can know when we're awake!" Soap.

"Let me know if you need it tightened, sweetheart." John.

They didn't feel the need to tell you about the favour they called in with Laswell to get the micro-tracker added, or about the camera and microphone they planted in the watch face. You looked so pretty with it on anyways, they'd need to make sure nobody stared too long.

[holybibly]

hiiii :> im new here. I’ve never sent anything like this, or anything at all honestly because I get really shy:( I love your writing hehehe it’s very 😳 im sorry to be upfront 😖 but could I request some yunho.. thoughts? AHHHHH im too shy to say it omg🥲🥲🥲 hishandsandhimjusthimbeingadomiwanthimtodestroymeomg. I read your unholy thought of the day for yunho on the fourth, and 😵‍💫😵‍💫 I can’t seem to get him out of my head. M SORRYYY i sound so needy it’s embarrassing.

Your wishes are my commands, my sweet bunnies. If you want more unholy thoughts with Yunho, here you go.

Unholy thoughts of the day, my bunnies: Sometimes Yunho just wants to be a good boy for you and let you use him like a toy. Or Yunho wants to return the favour and warm your pussy with his mouth while you're chatting carelessly on the phone.

You made yourself comfortable on the bed with your legs bent and spread wide apart as you continued to talk to your best friend on the phone, discussing your trip to Jeju together next month. Yunho was lying on his stomach between your legs, mooing softly and contentedly as he pressed his handsome face against your pussy. In this position, you could easily see his plump, bare buttocks peeking seductively out from under the edge of his oversized, homely t-shirt. 

As he began to wriggle slightly, trying to find a more comfortable position, you could catch a glimpse of his thick, large cock with its swollen veins and black vibrating ring at the base. The swollen head was red and shiny from the copious amounts of pre-cum that had leaked out, and you unconsciously licked your lips, thinking how good it would taste when you finally took his cock in your mouth. It was strange, and you know many would consider you a pervert, but sometimes you just wanted to suck his cock and heavy testicles like a favourite pacifier, not for sexual pleasure but just for comfort. Just like Yunho liked to keep his fingers deep inside you, feeling your slippery, warm walls clinging greedily around them. You were a dirty couple; sue you for that.

He purrs softly, drawing your attention back to him, and you stroke his hair as that moist, soft mouth completely surrounds your tiny pussy, providing warmth, and you can feel the faintest hint of his tongue pressing against your tender folds and labia, but nothing more.  You've only recently started practicing pussywarming with him, and you have to say it's been an exciting experience. You loved warming Yunho's huge, delicious cock in your tight cunt, but your gorgeous boyfriend thought it only fair to return the favour and warm his sweet girl with his mouth while you went about your routine business. 

You weren't surprised at all by his desire, Yunho loved to eat pussy and he was amazing at it, you loved how messy and sloppy a eater he was, always greedy and slobbering licking your cunt and pulling as many orgasms out of you as he could before you begged him to stop, although even that wasn't much of a reason for him to stop swirling his tongue around your tiny hole. You also practiced 'free use' by refusing to wear any underwear at home and sometimes outside.

You were so excited to try something new and please your boyfriend, but damn if anyone told you it was going to be as easy as it seemed.

At first it was an unbearable pleasure, almost on the verge of pain, when Yunho had to restrain himself with all his might from licking you like crazy and sucking your cute clit into his insatiable mouth, wrapping his lips around it, and sipping it every now and then. But the more you did it, the easier it became, and now Yunho was warming your pussycat with his mouth like a champion. Spend hours between your legs while you were doing your usual things. You don't want your friend to hear your next words, so you put your phone away.

"You look so sweet, baby." You pull his hair harder, and he looks up at you with his huge eyes clouded with pleasure, carefully dipping the tip of his tongue into your slit. "You make me feel so good, Yuyu."

He lets out a low moan at your praise, bobbing his head up and down a little as if you were riding on his face to heighten pleasure, and your thighs tremble a little at the delicious stimulation. Yunho lifts his hips off the bed and slides his hand underneath to stroke his needy cock. The soft fabric of his shirt slides all the way down the curve of his ass and to his waist, exposing his buttocks, and you bite your bottom lip from the seductive sight.

This also serves as a signal for you to end the conversation quickly and let him fuck your pussy properly.

"Yuri, I'm sorry, but I have to go; Yunho and I have plans for tonight." You smile as you see Yunho's eyes darken and become heavy with sensual anticipation, and he no longer holds back, starting to tickle your clit quickly and jerkily with the tip of his tongue. You almost scream, ignoring your friend and hastily pressing the end call button. "Oh fuck, Yunho."

He finally releases your cunt from his mouth, only to spit into it and immediately smear his drool all over your folds with his tongue.

"Are you going to sit on my face or am I going to fold you in half, princess?" He purrs before wrapping his lips around your clit and tugging. You arch your hips and pull his hair roughly.

"How about 69, baby? I want to taste you too."

[cosmicalily]

"to be loved is to be remembered" - a mini series by @cosmicalily. view series masterlist, and outline here

procedural memory | kim seungmin x fem!reader

procedural memory: a type of implicit memory that is categorised as the unconscious guide to the processes and tasks performed on a daily basis.

author's note: this might be one of my favourite seungmin fics i've ever written. and maybe i'm biased because he is my bias and i love strawberry matcha, but i think sometimes it's okay to be self indulgent. enjoy!

There were many things that Seungmin would do without realising, as if he was on autopilot. Actions that were ingrained into his daily routine, little activities that made up his day without his awareness. The way he made his bed, the double knot he always tied on his shoelaces, the route he took to the coffee shop where he worked. He loved his routine; he loved simplicity and consistency.

At work, he thought even less about his actions. He was a quick learner, and had mastered the art of perfect coffee early on. He heard the words ‘latte’ or ‘flat white’ and somehow the completed drink would appear in front of him thirty seconds later.

“Do you do iced strawberry matchas?” a voice asked, snapping Seungmin out of his coffee-scented daze. He looked at the shot he’d started running for a flat white and then at you, cheeks pink from the cold and eyes sparkling. A soft blue scarf was wrapped around your neck, covering your chin, and you wore a cosy navy cable knit sweater, just a little too big at the sleeves.

Seungmin thought intently. “We don’t,” he said truthfully, drumming his fingers on the benchtop. “But give me a second. I’ll try and make something for you.”

You beamed in excitement. “Thank you!”

“It’s no problem,” Seungmin gave a half smile back, digging around for the matcha powder. “Although, I have to say, who orders an iced drink in the middle of winter?”

Your cheeks flushed a little pinker and you rolled your eyes. “Shut up, it’s business for you, isn’t it? And I’ll tip, obviously, because it’s a custom order. They just don’t taste as good warm. I tried it once, and it was awful.”

“Was it?” Seungmin paused, tipping the ice cubes from your cup back into the tray and placing it into the freezer. “I’m going to try and change your mind. Out of confidence as a good barista, but also out of concern for your health, because you’re literally going to freeze as soon as you step outside with ice in your system.”

“And if I don’t like it?”

“It’s on the house.”

“Deal,” you agreed, leaning against the counter and watching as he poured the frothed strawberry milk, creating a little bear design. He leaned to grab a lid, but you knocked his hand away. “It’ll cover the art you did,” you protested, and he shook his head in amusement.

You breathed in the soft, sweet scent and took a sip, thinking hard. Seungmin watched intently, his attention distracted from the three coffee orders he had lined up to complete next. You smiled, and his face softened. “Good?” he asked.

“It’s shit,” you deadpanned, then burst out laughing. “It’s amazing! How much do I owe you for it?”

“Nothing,” Seungmin replied, eyes shining.

You opened your mouth to protest, but he gave you a warning look. “Do you do this often, then?” you asked, taking another long sip of your drink.

“What do you mean?”

“Save girls with silly drink orders from hypothermia.”

“Sure, it’s my favourite pastime,” Seungmin replied seriously, though his eyes twinkled mischievously. “No, not ever before. You’re the first, Strawberry.”

Your smile widened at the nickname. “Even if you’re lying, I feel special. Thank you…” you paused.

“Seungmin,” he finished, handing over a latte to a man behind you.

“Thank you, Seungmin. I’ll be back, I promise!”

He nodded. “I know you will. See you around, Miss Matcha.”

You snorted and walked towards the door, spinning around and blowing him a quick kiss. He winked and you burst into a fit of laughter, and once you were properly out of sight, he let a full smile creep across his face.

By your third visit to the coffee shop, he didn’t even need a prompt to make your order. By the fifth, your drink would be sitting, ready for you, extra hot. Even though you no longer had a reason to wait, you always stayed to talk to him, and he was thankful you did.

Soon, Seungmin became unconsciously aware of your routine, of your timing, of your daily scarf rotation. Once winter ended, he caved and made you your first iced strawberry matcha, which you declared better than any other iced drink you’d ever consumed. He still refused to let you pay, but he was always accepting of your newfound habit of leaning across the counter and giving him a quick kiss before you left for the morning. Initially on the cheek, but by mid spring, on the lips. Your kisses tasted of your mauve lipstick, cinnamon, and of course, strawberry matcha.

After a year of dating, you moved into his apartment. Seungmin, a lover of routine and consistency, found himself mesmerised by your sporadic actions and in the moment decisions. It didn’t frustrate him, the way he worried it would. Your presence was a constant, something dependable that he centred his new, irregular routine around, filled with evening walks and beach day trips. He learnt your habits, and soon, your actions were as familiar to him as his own. He would still make his bed in the morning, and you'd help him, finishing the job off with the two jellycat puppies you'd bought for your six month anniversary. He would tie a double knot in his shoelaces, and wait for you to slip on your ballet flats. Whilst you always had your signature drink at his shop, he knew you loved chamomile before bed, and there was always a mug of it by your bedside after you'd gotten out of the shower.

And of course, you did the same for him, but in your own way. You'd lay on top of him, playing with his hair for hours, explaining every single thing you adored about him. You cooked him dinner, and you'd sit on the counter beside him as he did the dishes. It was routine. You were each other's routines.

He kept working at the coffee shop, but now as a manager, although he always insisted on making your drink himself, and you would visit him, sometimes bringing your laptop and glasses with you to set up in a corner and work, other times bringing whatever book you were currently engrossed in.

“Hi baby,” you smiled up at him, stretching your arms and dog-earing your page.

“You know I hate when you do that,” he groaned, sitting beside you on the bench. Nevertheless, he pressed a kiss against your cheek and you giggled.

“I know, but like, it shows the love I have for my books. The ones that have crumpled pages and tea stains and frayed edges are the ones I read the most.”

Seungmin shook his head. “I’m just teasing. I love you and your broken books.”

“They aren’t broken-” you protested, but he cupped your face in his hands and silenced you with a soft kiss.

“I love you,” he repeated, eyes glossed over.

“I love you too,” you gazed back at him. Your book fell off your lap, but you didn’t move to grab it. The strawberry matcha Seungmin had brought over was probably cooling, but you didn’t care. It was moments like this where everything felt like muscle memory, where nothing felt new or uncomfortable. He was familiar.

He grabbed your hand, entwining your fingers in his. You gently stroked his thumb, then whined when he let go of your hand to reach in his pocket. “What are you doing?” you asked, then you paused.

He’d slotted a ring on your finger.

“You can say no,” he said, looking you directly in the eye. "You can take it off. But it feels right for me. I saw it in the window the other day and I didn’t even think, I just bought it. Which is crazy, because you know I overthink and overplan everything.”

“I know, you’re a dork,” you smiled, but your eyes were glassy. “Why the fuck would I say no? Of course I’ll marry you.”

Seungmin breathed out and pulled you in a tight embrace. He felt warm, he smelled like coffee, and the skin of his neck was soft against your cheek. “I’m glad, because I’ve never been so sure of anything in my life.”

“I’m only doing it for the strawberry matcha, of course,” you quipped, chuckling.

“I’m only doing it out of pity,” he added.

“Dickhead.”

“Asshole.”

You leaned against him, his arms around your waist. He kissed your cheek, your forehead, your shoulder, and you rubbed his back. A buzz went off in his back pocket, a reminder that his break was over.

“So,” he broke the hug, rubbing the back of his neck. “Your drink’s probably cold. So I guess, as a good barista, I probably have to make you a new one.”

“I’m gonna make out with you for hours tonight, Kim Seungmin,” you declared. “You’re my dream boy.” You blew him a kiss as he stood up, taking your drink with him, and he winked in return.

You watched his reflection on the steel coffee machine, and saw him smile.

[eupheme]

you writing is so beautiful. the way that logan tries to stop her - how blunt and earnest he is and the worst person for the job (but also best, in his own way) but he's trying, gosh that got me. love the line about logan's tailights being a lighthouse, guiding her back out in all that dark, and then trying to make her promise she won't go back.

and how they bump into each other again, the way he takes time and listens to her each time had my heart aching. the way you write her grief felt so real (I really appreciate how you wrote this fic - my own mental health over the past few years has been rocky and this felt so - gosh, I don't know, relatable? hopeful? wonderful? to read), and the fact that he understands in a way that no one else she knows does - it such a rough connection but you have me feeling glad for each of their encounters.

“Logan.” He sighs when you frown. “I know, not how you remember. This is what I look like during the day; blessed with incredible good looks at night and, well,” he gestures at his face that’s covered in scars, "this, during the day. Bit of a reverse Princess Fiona situation–”

Wheezing omg - perfect Wade introduction. And then that she goes back, and I that she hates but I love that he is getting a handle at how she thinks, how he makes her be honest. And gosh when he opens up in return, that fondness he had for Wade, how he's still hurting from before, I was inhaling this.

Loving 'DVDJ' (and the F9/Wade & Logan references omfg) and I so feel for reader and how hard it is to put yourself out there, but what a great group of people for her to surround herself with. And the whiplash with her finding him like that, how it still comes back to him after all the healing he's been trying to do, all of this made my chest ache.

He’s talking about his team from there, you realize, and something clicks. All this time, you thought this was about him being unable to die due to his mutation, but it’s more than that. It’s shame, remorse, grief, survivor’s guilt, all wrapped into one. // “You did what they would have done. And now you… you need to allow yourself to honor their memory without feeling like you have to destroy yourself to do it. You deserve that.”

Ahh this made me want to cry - I love how you dug into his grief in this. How she's able to help him this time, find the words he needs to hear. And ahh I love how you write everyone - Vanessa, Wade, Althea. Logan's chip! I am tearing up again, especially at this part:

“I have people I care about again, and um, it scares me. ‘Cause I don’t want to let them down, and every day I feel like I will because of all of my… past shit.” He pauses and swallows hard before he continues, “They show me so much kindness and understanding, that… that even though it’s fucking hard, I want to be able to see myself the way they see me. And allow them to care about me without feeling like I… have to earn it all the time, without destroying myself to do it.”

oh!! 🥺💖 and then I love the reveal that the cliff was a space in his world, even with their shared history of it. like they were always meant to meet, the “Think it took me coming over here to find reason in it.” had me like !!!! - sad and lovely is so right.

“‘sides, I don’t know if I would have a lot of… consideration for people’s boundaries.”

this made me laugh (reference to Hugh's interview right??) omg. and the way you pace things, how they slowly get better and fall into place for her, it makes me so proud, even just as a reader.

“Oh, yeah, baby. Wolverine goes both ways. All the ways, really.” He grins. “We’re so alike.” // It isn’t lost on you he doesn’t deny a thing.

Grinning, oh my god. And how sweet she is with the gift and how Wade wants to take a new photo of his new world - my heart. And then how seeing Vanessa and Wade makes her think about more, when at the beginning that was impossible - weeping.

Everything that’s been happening, that you’ve been feeling, all the times something happened between the two of you that you couldn’t put your finger on… it falls into place with a well-timed, completely unrelated question and a glance at him.

You like him.

!!!!! god, what a realization. and how she can't handle it, so real. And how he comes through the rain to check on her, oh my god. That he checked, and how scared he must have been!

“I– No. Logan, this isn’t about Wade or Vanessa, but it’s about… what they have. Something that’s real, but imperfect, and that’s what actually makes it perfect, and I just… I was in a really bad place for such a long time, I didn’t give myself time to even think about… I haven’t felt myself wanting for so long,” your gaze flicks up to his. “Seeing them just made me realize there’s so much left that I still want.” // His expression softens, the balled fists by his side loosen, and his eyes search you, as if to see if that thing you want is him. There’s no doubt he finds his answer; you’re ever the open book when it comes to him, and your pulse quickens while he silently observes you.

Oh. And oh my god that perfectly imperfect kiss, the fact he's been wanting to for ages!!!!! I am screaming. “Wouldn’t be the first time we figure it out together, huh?” !!!! (the vein appreciation, loved that)

“I’ll make it good for you,” he promises. “You want that?”

eep! 😳💖 the smut was so perfect, so good. I am obsessed with how soft he is for her -

“Let me give you something to come on,” he murmurs, before fitting a finger at your entrance.

LOGAN 😳 the desperation with how they’re still on her table, how sweet and pleased he is - the “then get it out”, omg he is so filthy. This was amazing (that stomach vein yesssss) just absolutely steamy as hell and so so well-written and I had to keep taking breaks to stare at the wall. Phew! Fucking her against the wall!!!! I love the use of the strength here and yessss a long night indeed!! 👀💖💖

And gosh, the last segment. No words, my heart is tied up in the sweetest of strings and knots. This was really something special. I already want to reread and pick each line apart. This was Logan and this is canon to me and wow I just loved this so much and I hope you are so proud of this fic because you really really should be. I am going to be thinking about this for a long time 💖 (and I would love to hear about the title, is Logan her cardinal?)(like a sign of hope and new beginnings?)

Cardinal

Pairing: Logan Howlett ("Worst" Wolverine) x f!reader

Rating: Explicit (for themes and smut).

Word count: 16.6k

Summary: At the edge of the world, someone from another keeps you from stepping off.

Tags/Warnings (Please, read the warnings!!): Post-Deadpool & Wolverine, female reader (female anatomy etc + 2 mentions of hair long enough to fall into your eyes), strangers-to-lovers, depression, suicidal ideations, suicide attempt and mentions thereof, addiction, drinking alcohol, drugs (mentioned not used), panic attacks, sobriety meetings, anxiety, recovery, co-dependency vibes, sprinkles of soulmateism, explicit smut (oral and unprotected PIV), happy ending (yay!!). If I forgot anything, please let me know!

Notes: Deadpool and Wolverine re-triggered my X-Men obsession and what started as a means to write some smut actually became this idea about two broken people who shouldn't even have met in the first place finding each other. There's a lot of me in this story, more than there's ever been I think. I'm sorry for this glimpse into my head, and I'm sorry if this isn't as Reader-insert as it should be, but... I'm not that sorry, you know. Huge thanks to @javier-pena , for not only reading this over and fixing so many embarrassing mistakes, but also for saying she'd read this even if it was 20k words and always believing in my abilities as a writer, even when I sometimes didn't.

If you want to read the smut as a standalone, you can! Just CTRL + F (or search in page) for 'Logan reaches for' and read away.

THE LOOKOUT

With closed eyes, you inhale the cool, December air, before looking down at your feet. Here, at the edge of the lookout, the grass has been trampled. You imagine friends taking bets on who dares get closest to the edge, lovers making memories, families taking pictures. It’s strangely soothing that maybe you’re not the first to stand here to do this. 

Far below your feet, the water laps at the rocks. The force of it depends on the weather and tonight it’s violent, with big splashes and crashing sounds. The wind tugs at your coat, pulling you towards the water as if to help you along, making you look up again as you hold your balance. In front of you, the line of the horizon is dark but visible – it would have been impossible to make out if the moon hadn’t been as bright as it is.

It’s like you’re looking at the edge of the world.

During the weeks that fall had made way for winter, you scoped the place out a couple times. The first time you stood at this cliff’s edge, the place it took you to mentally scared you so much that you got back into your car and broke down in tears. The next couple times, things became more and more serious, as your life crumbled around you, and your feelings numbed, and nothing seemed to matter anymore.

Something had crept in while you weren’t looking, settling somewhere behind your eyes and spreading out to make a home behind your ribs, slowly but surely changing you. And once you realized it, it was already too late. It had grown large, became jilted and jealous, like it wanted all of you. It pushed away everyone and everything you held dear, until it was just you and that… something.

Especially during the quiet of the night, the lookout became soothing, a strange sense of familiarity enveloping you each time you were here. It was addictive and pretty soon, it became a daily routine to visit. But lately it’s been losing its shine, your feelings here dulling and darkening too. You’re exhausted, fed up, tired of giving it more of you.

Today you want it to be your last time here. 

You’ve had countless hours to contemplate what it would be like, imagined – all but romanticised – how the cold water would paralyse your limbs if the impact wouldn't do the trick. You read somewhere that it’s apparently like falling asleep when the water finally fills your lungs. You’ll be gone, but the thing will be too.

The thought makes your eyes fill with tears, but not from fear. All you feel is relief, like it’s right, how it’s supposed to be. It makes you smile despite everything, and–

“Hey, stop!”

A voice behind you thunders through the silence and makes you shriek into the night, dirt toppling over the edge of the lookout below the shuffle of your foot. A string of curses follows, heavy footfalls behind you indicating that the intruder is approaching you.

“Fuck off!” you throw over your shoulder, your voice a roar with how it’s amplified by the wind. 

After, your throat closes up, fighting the angry tears over the fact that you can’t even fucking kill yourself in peace. Never have you seen anyone here at night, never. What you hate even more is how it breaks your momentum. The haze that was surrounding you is pierced, and your body’s baser instincts kick in. Adrenaline suddenly pumps through your veins, making your legs tremble, your heart hammer, your body scream for you to step back from where you’re standing. Your anger, however, has you nailed to the floor. 

You almost miss the much softer, “Hey,” as a man steps into your peripheral vision. You pretend like you don’t hear him, or see him – you simply pretend he isn’t there, focussing on getting back into your previous mindset. 

But then he takes his hands out of his pockets.

“Don’t fucking touch me,” you warn, hating how your voice comes out trembling – weak.

“Easy.” He holds his hands up in surrender. “Wasn’t planning on it.”

You stand there together for what feels like hours. You will yourself to not let it affect you, setting your jaw to keep your teeth from clattering on account of the cold, allow the wind to blow your hair into your eyes without brushing it away. Even when it begins to rain, you don’t move, don’t blink even once more than you need to. From the corner of your eye you watch the man shove his hands back in the pockets of the brown leather jacket he’s wearing, and you quietly celebrate that your surroundings are fazing him more than they are you.

“You know–” he begins.

“I’m not really looking for a conversation.”

“Me neither,” he immediately counters, suddenly impatient, “so I’ll get right to it: You planning on jumping? Because if you think the water’s gonna be nice to you, you’ve got that wrong. You’ll end up in there feeling everything, that fall isn’t gonna do shit.”

Having expected a gentle approach, his bluntness and his tone knock the wind out of you. You cock your jaw, the shame creeping up your body the first bit of warmth you’ve felt in a while. Your cold fingers ball to fists as you will yourself not to care. Yes, his words and the way he's shatteríng your expectations with them sting, but you don’t even know this guy–

“And there’s nothing fuckin’ peaceful about it, it’s just panic. Right before you go too far…” He raises a fist and holds it against the center of his chest, “...there’s this burning right here that’s hell.”

“And what makes you such an expert?” you finally spit out.

“Died like that a couple times,” he says without waiting a beat.

The casual statement of something so bizarre beats your resolve before you know it, your head turning in his direction. “‘A couple times’?”

“I, uh…” You watch him hesitate, the moonlight illuminating the tick of his jaw, the bob of his throat as he swallows, the way his chest falls as he sighs, “Let’s just say I can’t die.”

Before you can stop yourself, you snort at that. “That must fucking suck.”

He barks out a laugh, “Got that right.” It startles you when his head suddenly turns to you, when he looks you in the eye for the first time. “But trust me, being down there isn’t much better.”

There’s something in the way he looks at you that makes you waver. You can’t really place it, or decipher why it makes you want to open up to him. Maybe it’s because you’re freezing and it’s your body betraying you, tricking you into moving so you can generate some warmth, moving your lips to keep them from going blue. Or maybe it’s simply because he’s a stranger and it’s so much easier to be honest when there are no consequences.

“Things just feel so…,” you begin, voice shaky. Every possible way to end the sentence crosses your mind, seemingly all wrong, before you settle on what’s closest to how you feel, “endless.”

To your relief, he doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t tell you to give it time that it will get better, or any of the other bullshit you’ve heard from all the other people that had been in your life and left a long time ago. You do find something else in the shift in his eyes, something you haven’t encountered before.

Understanding.

It might be worse. If anything, it’s overwhelming, making your eyes dart away from his as you sniff. 

The wind still tugs at you, the waves still hit the rocks, but your moment seems to have passed. It’s a sobering conclusion, a twisted version of wrong place, wrong time. Or maybe it was him who was at the wrong place at the wrong time. Either way, the outcome is the same.

You take a step back, and another, but it takes considerable effort; you hadn’t taken your numb legs into consideration. You stumble, falling back on the dewy, cold grass, not quick enough to catch yourself on your hands. With a groan, you move to sit upright.

“Shit. Hey, you still with me?” The stranger kneels next to you, fingers lifting your chin to look into your eyes. “Jesus, you’re fucking freezing.”

“No s-sh-hit,” you retort.

He sighs, offering you a hand so he can pull you up. “C’mon, let's get you warmed up.”

– – – – –

Logan.

That’s his name. 

It’s how he introduced himself, anyway, after he suggested you follow him. To his credit, he did offer to drive you, but you didn’t want to leave your car in the parking lot of the lookout. Logan waited 15 minutes for you while you put the blowers on the highest, warmest setting and waited for the feeling to return to your limbs. After, his brown truck led the way here – here being some hole in the wall, 24 hour diner. You could have not followed, but the drive was kind of mesmerizing; the night seemed darker than usual, and Logan’s tail lights served as a lighthouse.

Outside, the diner is all Christmas lights and flashing signs, but the interior is like something straight out of Twin Peaks; booths to the left, red barstools to the right, a girl that looks too pretty and too young to be here standing behind the counter. There were two other patrons you spotted along the way as Logan led you to one of the back booths. Once seated, Logan studied the pamphlets–or pretended to, more like, because as soon as the waitress came up he ordered two whiskeys and nothing else.

Between then and now, as you nursed your drink sip by careful sip, you hadn’t learned much more about him other than that he could knock back a glass of whiskey like he got paid to do so. And in truth, you like it this way; preferring silent company, the droning of the machinery behind the counter and the quiet hum of a song on the jukebox next to the entrance. The white noise helps to distract from the white noise in your head. Settling back into the leather cushions of the booth, you let some warmth seep back into your body. Opposite you, Logan does the same. 

Some moments after you finish your drink, one of the waitresses walks up to your booth to ask you about a refill, like she’s asked Logan twice now. You’re handing her the glass when Logan says, “She’s had enough.”

Your head whips from her to him. “Excuse me?”

He doesn’t say anything, and from the corner of your eye, you see the girl leave. With your glass. Logan’s is on his lips, his eyes observing you over the rim, looking at you like he– Dammit. You sigh deeply, a sense of anger filling you. You don’t need this, least of all from him. When you stand from the booth, those eyes follow you, making you voice your observations,

“Quit pitying me, Logan.”

“I’m not,” he says before taking another sip. “You still have to drive.”

You quirk an eyebrow at him. “And you don’t?”

Logan shrugs. “It’s different for me.”

Anger is still prevalent in your voice when you ask, “Well, let me guess, it’s another case of ‘I died like that a couple times’?” 

He hums.

“And how does that work?”

“Regenerative ability,” he sighs. Another sip before he elaborates, “X-Gene.” 

The admission makes you plop back down in your seat. Well, that explains things – he’s a mutant. You’re not familiar with that world, but you know enough to know it meant that. It isn’t like you couldn’t have deduced it before, but truthfully, you kind of thought he was bullshiting you as part of some tactic. Now, his actions and words make more sense: He really knows what it’s like to... That’s why he had that look on his face. Suddenly, you see him in a different light–

“Now who’s pitying who, hmm?” Logan asks, giving you a thin-lipped smile that doesn't reach his eyes as he sets his glass down on the table.

“I’m not, I’m just… processing. So this...” you lift his glass, swirl the contents around, “...doesn’t even affect you?”

“It does. For a few seconds.” He plucks the glass back from your hand, and throws the whiskey back with one gulp. His pupils dilate, pushing the hazel of his irises out until his eyes are almost black for a second, two… before going back to normal. “But if I chugged the bottle, I’d pass out.”

“Well, so would I,” you say with a chuckle. “So maybe we’re not that different after all.”

Just as the corner of his mouth lifts, your smile falls, because… it isn’t true; you’re very different. You’re pretty sure you don’t have what it takes to do what he did tonight. To care enough to do it. To sit with a stranger and hear them bitch and moan about being denied a drink. A feeling creeps up on you, sticky and uncomfortable, like you’ve overstayed your welcome—burdened him.

“I should head home,” you say, standing again.

Lightning fast, Logan’s hand shoots out to close around your wrist. “That really where you’re going?”

“Yes,” you reply. When you pull your hand back, he doesn’t let up. You fish your car key out of your pocket with your free hand, voice tighter when you say, “Let me go.”

“Just promise me something,” he says, eyes as dark as they’d been earlier, yet his drink has gone untouched since. “Don’t go back there again.”

“Not making promises I can’t keep,” you say, giving him a wry smile. “To strangers, but least of all to myself.”

He sighs, and lets you pull yourself from his hold.

THE CRAVING

New Years comes and goes, and you quickly discover that it was foolish superstition to think that it might change how you feel.

You find yourself in some club, a drink in each hand. You hate to admit it, but Logan’s words scared you out of your original idea and the only time you can bear to think of how to move on from it is when alcohol soothes the embarrassing grief of your shattered, macabre fantasy. It’s not a good way to deal with things, but it works.

There’s a part of you that welcomes feeling anything at all, but that… something inside you is busy trying to squash it. 

It’s getting somewhere, because you have no idea how much you’ve already had to drink, but you’re buzzing pleasantly. Adding to it, you knock both drinks back, slamming the glasses on the bar before spinning around and facing the crowd of dancing bodies. The music sucks, the dance floor is cramped, you’re tired… The truth is that you’re too old for this, but it’s easy to escape here, surrounded by strangers. You clumsily drag the back of your hand over your wet mouth, push your sweaty hair from your eyes, and join them.

The past couple weeks, you found yourself craving something. Contact. And here is where you can get your fill; a hand on your waist, lips on your ear, the music too loud and yourself too drunk to even comprehend what’s being said, but never more. You want them to get close, but never too close.

After some time – could be an hour, could be 10 minutes – you make your way to the bathroom. It’s quieter here, the dulled thump of the music making the time you spend there feel slow and syrupy. 

When you exit the stall, you bump into someone.

It’s a man. The dark hood over his head obscures his eyes, but you can’t help but think he’s looking right at you when a bright, almost unnatural grin appears on his face. It draws you in like a magnet, more so when he says, “Need something to take the edge off?” 

Curiously, you watch as he opens his palm, long fingers unfurling slowly until they reveal a small plastic bag in his hand. 

“First time’s on the house.”

You have no idea what it is exactly, but your eyes widen. This is new territory for you, and all the possibilities it opens up are suddenly invading your mind. As if on auto-pilot, you reach for the place where you keep your money, the sound of the door opening completely lost on you.

A hand closes around your bicep, pulling you aside with a quick yank of an arm.

“She isn’t interested, pal.” 

It’s another man, who effortlessly tucks you half behind him. Before you can protest beyond an indignant huff, there’s a sound, like a sword being unsheathed, and you catch a flash of red, and of knives. Frowning, you try to get a better look, but your view is obscured by the man’s shoulder. The hooded man seems undeterred, regarding the weapons with the same sickening grin, before leaving the bathroom, muttering something that you don’t understand on the way out. The sword sound returns, the man twists around, and–

“Logan?” you slur in disbelief. 

Logan doesn’t reply, instead takes hold of your arm again, making you follow him out of the bathroom. There he stops the two of you to murmur something to a woman wearing the same clothes as him, before tugging you along again. You’re stumbling after him on account of his pace and the iron grip he has on you as he leads you to the back door. He pushes it open with enough force to make the hinges creak, a gust of wind blowing in your face. It’s a contrast to go from the crowded, sweaty club to the silent, cold back-alley where tall brick walls and employee cars cage you in. You shake your arm and Logan’s grip loosens – another and he lets you go.

“How did you even find–” You cut yourself off, eyes widening, “Oh, my god, are you following me?”

Logan scoffs, narrowing his eyes. “Oh, please, do you think I have time to follow you around all day?”

“You’re here, aren’t you? You and your fucking…,” you gesture wildly into the air at him, “savior complex.”

“I work here,” he growls. When you give him a look, he adds, “It’s temporary. ‘Sides, me and my savior complex are the reason that creep isn’t selling god knows what to you in that bathroom right now!” His voice is a roar, echoing off the walls around you.

“Maybe I wanted that creep to sell god knows what to me in that bathroom,” you say, doing a poor impression of his voice, before turning and walking away from him.

Logan sighs. “Where are you going?”

“I’m leaving.”

“And then what, huh?”

“I don’t fucking know, Logan,” you say, twisting around to face him again, arms spread out by your side. “Figure out a new way out of this.”

“Yeah? Third time’s the charm?”

“Why do you even care, huh? You don’t even know me,” you say. Almost immediately, you let out a bitter laugh as your own words hit your ears, a sad realization dawning on you. “But I guess that makes two of us.”

It’s not like you expected him to, but he doesn’t answer.

“You know I used to like myself? I used to smile, I used to have friends, I used to be more sober than drunk. But this feeling, it takes… everything.” You raise a fist, hold it to the center of your chest. “It takes everything I love, pushes away everyone I love, including myself. It eats me up, and wants more and more, until I’m something I’m not and until I’m so far away from that version of myself, my old self, that it feels easier to just fucking–” you pause with a wet gasp for air.

“Destroy yourself,” Logan finishes for you.

Your chest heaves, an unshed tear clings to your lash line. “Exactly.”

He takes a step closer to you. “Let me take you home,” he says, voice gentle. 

You should hate the implications of that gentleness, but you don’t. In your drunk state of mind, it’s easier to admit it’s nice that someone understands, that someone’s there to stop you from going too far… 

Tomorrow, when some of your pragmatism returns, you’ll deny this embarrassing thought ever occurred; if relying on other people worked, it would have worked a long time ago, and you wouldn’t be standing here with him. If you’re lucky, you might even forget this entirely, and wake up with a hangover that you’ll enjoy a little too much because it feels like a punishment–

“What about your job?” you ask with a sniff.

Logan’s palm finds the space between your shoulder blades with a gentle push, the warmth of it seeping in through your clothes, and he leads you to his truck. “They’ll manage without me.”

– – – – –

When you wake, your world is tilted sideways, a blanket is pulled up to your chin and there's a pillow under your head. They’re not your own; the blanket is itchy and the pillow’s too small. When you try to move your legs, they stick uncomfortably to the material below them, and you realize you’re on a leather couch. You squint at the light that comes in from a window across from you–

“Mornin’, sunshine.”

The voice startles you, eyes shifting to focus on the source: A man lying on his front on the floor, chin in his hands as he kicks his feet back and forth in the air. 

“Wish I could say it’s a pleasure, but it hasn’t been very pleasurable. You’ve been barfing up the place since the moment you stepped inside. Kept poor Al up all night. Her ears are sensitive,” he adds with a whisper. “But don’t worry, she left about an hour ago.”

“Who are you?” you slur, blinking against the light.

“Logan.” He sighs when you frown. “I know, not how you remember. This is what I look like during the day; blessed with incredible good looks at night and, well,” he gestures at his face that’s covered in scars, "this, during the day. Bit of a reverse Princess Fiona situation–”

“Cut it out, Wade,” comes the sharp protest from next to you. With considerable effort, you turn your head and see the actual Logan, slumped back in a recliner next to the couch, rubbing some sleep out of his eyes while motioning for the other man to go.

“I’ll let you two talk.” Wade winks.

Logan stands when Wade does, walking from your field of view. Your head is scrambling to catch up, trying to piece together what happened last night, but only coming up with bits and pieces.

“How are you feeling?” Logan asks as he makes his way back to you, handing you a glass of water.

You flinch when the front door closes behind Wade with a bang, before taking the glass from Logan and taking a few thankful sips. “Like shit.”

“Yeah,” is all he says as he sits back down.

“What–”

“You fell asleep in the car. Didn’t know where to take you, figured the couch was the safest place.”

“Oh…,” you say, voice small. 

You try not to think about being so wasted that you had to be carried out of Logan’s car, or about what Wade said earlier about the things that happened as soon as you stepped inside the apartment. During your silence, Logan’s fingers fiddle with the armrest, before his hand balls into a fist, and it unlocks something in your hazy memory.

“I have the weirdest memory of you having… a sword?”

You watch as Logan’s lips purse in amusement. His tongue rolls around in his mouth, seemingly contemplating something, before saying, “You probably saw these.” He holds up his fist, flexing his forearm before three blades shoot from between his knuckles like claws, accompanied by a shing!

“Jesus fucking Christ,” you startle, spilling some water on your blanket. Your head spins with your hangover and the bizarity of the situation. If it didn’t sound so much like how it did in your memory, you might think you were still drunk. 

There’s so many things you want to ask, your intrigue almost winning out over your hangover until the sharp start of a headache gives you pause. Instead, you take another sip of water before rubbing your temple.

“It’s a story for another time,” Logan says, like he can read your mind, and you want to ask him that, too. His claws retreat, the cuts they leave between his knuckles immediately smoothing over until they’re gone. “I gotta go check if I still have a job.”

The words make you feel warm all over, the memory of your back-alley conversation coming back in full force. The thought of the things you admitted to him and that you put him in the position that he had to risk his job for you make you feel even warmer, your gaze no doubt laced with embarrassment and worry when you look at him.

“‘S not your fault,” Logan assures, standing and fishing his car key from the pocket of his jeans. “You don’t have to rush but um, make sure you close the door behind you on the way out. Gets jammed sometimes.”

“Yeah, okay,” you say, watching as he makes his way to the front door. 

He takes a final glance at you over his shoulder, then leaves, accompanied by a bang.

THE PUZZLE

It takes you a little over a week to muster up the courage to go back. Admittedly, your courage is aided by another, foreign feeling. You don’t have a name for it yet, or maybe you’re afraid to call it what it is, but somewhere along the week, you became consumed with the thought that feeling like you did wasn’t all there was. That there is something beyond this. 

Perhaps foreign wasn’t the right way to describe it, because it is something you’ve felt before – it’s just been long dormant. The last time, it lasted about a month before it all came crashing down, and you swore you wouldn’t fall for it again, but you can’t help it. The feeling’s too sweet, and the idea that there’s still some baser instinct willing you to keep fighting for yourself makes you feel like the sun is shining on you. 

So yeah, maybe you’re just having one of your good weeks, where the thing sleeps – quiet while its presence still simmers. But you figured now’s your chance to take advantage of its unguarded moment.

Sneaking into the building is surprisingly easy. It helps that it isn’t anything fancy. You wanted to forego the humiliation of ringing the bell and him not letting you in, but standing in front of the door now, panting after climbing three flights of stairs, you don’t know if this is much better. 

Just when you’re about to knock, the door swings open. In the opening, Logan has one arm in his jacket, head twisted to watch the other that’s caught halfway in the sleeve. It takes him almost bumping into you to realize your presence. “Shit, sorry.” He steadies himself with a hand on your arm, the touch leaving you as fast as it appeared.

“Hi,” you breathe, taking a step back to give him a little more space.

He nods in greeting. “Brings you here?”

It takes you a moment, caught off guard by him skipping over pleasantries and cutting right to the chase, despite your best intentions; it’s not that he’s ever been any different in his interactions with you.

“I came by because I, um, owe you an apology, for my behavior at your workplace and for, you know…,” you trail off, gesturing at the door.

“Barfing up the place!” comes a shout from inside the apartment. 

Logan’s eyes close with a sigh, before he steps into the hallway with you and closes the door with a bang. 

“That,” you finish sheepishly. “I’m really sorry.”

He nods in acknowledgement.

“I also wanted to ask, um, if you want to come with me to get a coffee. To make it up to you.”

Logan just looks at you, the leather of his jacket creaking as he crosses his thick arms in front of his chest. He raises an eyebrow at you expectantly. You hate how he somehow can see right through you, how he makes you elaborate, and honest.

“I want to quit drinking,” you say, fiddling with the sleeve of your coat. “It doesn’t make me better, and when I don’t do it I finally feel a little… normal. Maybe coffee’s technically just as bad, but it’s the only thing that’s currently acting like… like a reverse gateway drink? And I feel like you’re the only person I know that might get that feeling of–”

“I do,” Logan cuts in, voice softer than before – assuring. His arms drop from where they’re crossed and he starts making his way to the stairs. “Let’s go.”

– – – – –

You don’t know this coffee place, and from the way he looks around and shifts around in a chair that might be a bit too small for him, neither does Logan. Main reason you picked it is because the booths remind you a little too much of a bar – and you like the tall windows. The coffee’s pretty decent.

“Did they fire you?” you ask, picking at a loose corner of one of the laminated menus before setting it back in its holder.

“Boss commended me for helping a customer, but not so much for leaving before my shift ended,” Logan replies. “Got off with a warning.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Said that already, and I accepted,” he says. When he takes a sip of the coffee, he winces. “No need to worry about it anymore, okay? I would do it again.”

You nod, folding your hands around the warm cup in front of you.

“But, um, Wade hasn’t shut up about… the incident.” There’s a different tone to his voice, like he’s trying to lighten the mood. “His words.”

“You know, I kind of get the feeling that Wade doesn’t shut up about a lot of things.” It comes out a little meaner than you intend, but it makes Logan laugh and finally slump back in his chair a little. 

“You’re a quick study.”

Offering him a short smile in return, you continue with the other real reason you came to see him, before you chicken out. “I also stopped by because I wanted to, uh… because I realized I never really… I never… I never thanked you, for um… And–”

With a shake of his head, Logan sits upright. “Y’don’t–”

To your horror, your eyes brim with tears, “Logan, I’m supposed to be dead–”

“So am I,” he counters. He lets the words hang between the two of you for a moment, until you look at him, before he continues, “I’ve been where you are. Past it, even.”

You don’t know what to say to that, if the lump in your throat will even permit you to speak, but it’s impossible to look away from him. Logan’s gaze is piercing, frown ever present, but it’s not from anger. Instead, it’s like he’s searching for something, the right thing, to say. The silence doesn’t bother you; if anything, it makes his words seem more genuine when he does speak,

“I had someone who was annoying enough to not give up on me when I could really use it. If getting a coffee with you that’s, frankly…,” he makes a face as he pauses, “a horrible excuse for a coffee, helps… I can do that. I want to do that.”

The corner of your mouth lifts as you blink away your tears. “Was it Wade?”

Logan lets out a chuckle, and it’s honest – fond. “Yeah.”

“Figured,” you say. “How did you meet him?”

Across from you, Logan stills. You swallow thickly, adjusting yourself in your chair. It’s an innocent question, but maybe it isn’t something he’d like to revisit right now. Logan’s mug squeaks when he grips it tighter, and he looks at you with something like defeat– 

It makes you deflate. This must be what you looked like the night you met…

There’s no way to have prepared for what he tells you next: That he came from another timeline about three months ago, that he and Wade saved this one from being destroyed and almost got killed in the process, that he has nothing to go back to after the death of his team, so he stayed here. 

There’s hesitation in it, like he isn’t telling you the whole story, though you don’t comment on it. He doesn’t owe you anything and you’re too busy putting all the pieces in the Logan-shaped puzzle in your mind together; his words and actions towards you are starting to make more and more sense.

“It’s a very brave thing the two of you did,” you say when he’s finished.

“Hmm, it was all Wade,” Logan muses. “He did it all for the people he cares about.”

“I’m sure you would have done the same if you were in his place.”

At that, he lets out a dry laugh with absolutely no joy behind it. “Do me a favor, don’t put me on a pedestal.”

You frown, but before you can comment, he stands. A knot forms in your stomach, worried you’ve offended him, but he clears up the uncertainty immediately.

“I gotta go but um, Wade’s friends–,” he stops himself, correcting, “our friends are coming over to watch a movie, next week, 7:30. I have no idea what crap they’re going to be watching but… it’s nice. It’ll be nice to be around good people.” Logan doesn’t wait for your answer, simply takes his wallet from his pocket and leaves enough money to cover the bill.

“Wait, no, I invited you,” you protest. “I should–”

“You can pay next time.” 

When you nod, he says his goodbyes with a jerk of his head and makes his way to the door.

– – – – –

You see Logan two more times for coffee that week. He never lets you pay.

THE PANTRY

“–but it’s the best one!” Wade protests, DVD in hand.

“They fly a car into space, Wade,” Laura sighs.

“Launched off a jet,” he corrects. Like it helps.

You cover your mouth with the back of your hand, hiding the smile that appears at everyone’s babbling. Unbeknownst to you, you had found yourself invited to a double feature night, with Wade as the self proclaimed DVDJ. The credits had barely started rolling on A Good Day To Die Hard, or Wade had another DVD at the ready. It was met with the same amount of enthusiasm as when he presented the first.

It hadn’t been easy to make yourself go to this tonight. On your way, you’d thought of turning around at almost every step. Of course, that was all before you knew it would be this fun, and that you’d be relieved you hadn’t canceled last minute. Even meeting everyone hadn’t been as bad as you feared. 

There’s Peter, Wade’s friend. Ellie, another one of Wade’s friends. Yukio, Ellie’s girlfriend. Laura, Logan’s daughter. Mary Puppins, Wade’s small, disgusting but adorable dog, who had greeted you with equal amounts saliva and enthusiasm, before falling asleep next to the TV, completely unbothered by the commotion. Unlike Althea, Logan and Wade’s blind roommate, who had taken one listen to the gaggle of voices and left. The elusive Vanessa, Wade’s ex-but-we-might-get-back-together you heard about a couple times, wasn’t there.

Logan had been right, it was nice to be surrounded by good people. Especially good people who were… unconventional. It made joining them less complicated, less performative, and as the evening progressed it made you a participant instead of a silent observer. Wade even called you, “good for the group dynamic,” and it made you beam with pride.

“Don’t they have like, rockets attached to the car?” Ellie questions, to which Yukio’s eyebrows knit together.

“Exactly!” Wade exclaims, mistaking her confusion for enthusiasm. “Citizen Kane wishes.”

There’s more grumbling from everyone when Wade pops the DVD into the player, and he grumbles something back about how Logan would back him up if he wasn’t in the bathroom because he, quote unquote, goes way back with some of these dudes.

You’re pretty sure he’s the only one who knows what he’s even talking about.

An empty bowl of popcorn rests in your lap, and as you put it on the table, you notice how sticky and greasy your fingers and palms are. When the opening credits begin to roll, you get up to wash your hands, assuring Wade he doesn’t need to pause the movie before you go.

The apartment’s small, so it isn’t far to the kitchen, but it’s nice to stretch your legs. You can still hear the sounds from movie night; tell-tale action movie music, comments of disbelief and Wade shutting them down. They’re more faint, though, more so when you turn the tap on and wash your hands.

Right as you’re finished, you hear a dull thud. You turn the water off, head tilted and at attention while you dry your hands. There’s another sound, like a muffled groan. It’s coming from the pantry, you realize, noting that the door is slightly ajar. There’s a shing! sound followed by a distressed grunt, and before you know it you’re walking over, wrapping your fingers around the door to pull it open–

You’re not sure what it was you were expecting, but it wasn’t this. Logan’s sitting on the floor, uncharacteristically small, curled up against one of the walls. His chest is heaving, shoulders all but going up to his ears with how he’s trying to draw in breaths. Next to him, his fist is balled against the hardwood, claws buried in the floor.

Fuck.

Dropping to your knees, you wedge yourself between his. “It’s okay, you’re having a panic attack,” you explain, your hands landing on his shoulders with a light shake. “You need to breathe. I’ll help you, just look at me.”

Logan’s head stays tipped down, a deep, rattling breath sailing from his mouth as he curls further in on himself.

“Hey!” you say sharply, cupping his jaw with two hands and tilting his face up, “Look at me.” 

Logan’s eyes are wet when they meet yours, moving frantically as they search your face, tears spilling over when he blinks. Something changes in his gaze, like he finally sees it’s you, and his bottom lip begins to tremble. His hand lifts from where it’s buried in the floor, clutching onto your wrist like a lifeline.

“Breathe,” you instruct, trying not to flinch at the sharp claws in front of you. He doesn’t catch on immediately, so you overdo the purse of your lips when you blow out a breath before exaggerating an inhale through your nose, showing him what to do. It starts off shaky, a fresh set of tears falling from Logan’s eyes as he does as you instruct, but after a couple of times you find a rhythm together. The silver between his knuckles slowly disappears. “There you go, good job. Keep going.”

You sit like that, until the wild shift of his eyes stops, his pulse steadies beneath your fingertips, and eventually his eyes close with a deep exhale. His grip on you loosens and you take it as your cue to let go of him, slumping back against the wall opposite him with a sigh of relief. The both of you catch your breath, sitting together in silence until Logan breaks it.

“Came outta nowhere… suddenly I was back there… letting them down.”

“It caught you off guard, it happens–”

“I let them get killed,” he says, voice raw. “They were like– They were my family, they trusted me to be there for them and I… I was too caught up in my own bullshit. I should have been with them, I should be dead with them.”

Logan’s tears still come, but the words almost sound reverent; as if saying them out loud just to punish himself with his own shortcomings is a balm. He’s talking about his team from there, you realize, and something clicks. All this time, you thought this was about him being unable to die due to his mutation, but it’s more than that. It’s shame, remorse, grief, survivor’s guilt, all wrapped into one.

It’s the final piece of your mind puzzle that makes his picture appear.

“How– How can I ever atone for that?” he asks. “How can I ever–”

“Logan, you can't change your past,” you interrupt carefully. “You made your choices and they made theirs, and you honored them by– by…stepping up to the task, by doing what you did with Wade.”

“What if it wasn’t enough?”

“What if it was?” you counter. Your hand finds his knee with a squeeze, before adding, “You did what they would have done. And now you… you need to allow yourself to honor their memory without feeling like you have to destroy yourself to do it. You deserve that.”

Logan blinks at you, eyes still glossy. He looks devastated yet calmer than before, like the emotion is still there, but displaced. For a good while, you sit with him like that while his sniffles lessen and his breathing returns to normal… until there’s a loud explosion coming from the living room. It’s followed by cheers and hollers, and you’re both suddenly reminded of where you are. 

“C’mon,” you say, patting Logan’s knee before using it as leverage to haul yourself up with a groan. You give him room by holding the door open for him. “Better get back before we miss the good stuff.”

Still on the floor, Logan exhales heavily. “Think this was the good stuff.”

– – – – –

Three weeks later, on your way to your third movie night, you catch Wade and Vanessa making out in the building hallway. 

It stops you dead in your tracks and makes for an awkward meeting with Wade’s mystery woman, who is beautiful but very direct when she asks you what the fuck you’re staring at. Wade certainly has a type when it comes to the company he keeps… He quickly shushes the situation, introducing the two of you, and it immediately makes Vanessa’s expression twist into recognition. 

“Nice to meet you,” she says, followed by an apologetic smile. 

You respond in kind. 

When Wade tugs at her jacket impatiently, they brush past you and make their way to the exit. “See you around!” she throws over her shoulder.

A grin forms on your lips, realizing what you just witnessed, and you race up the stairs. With Wade gone, you’re not sure if there will be a movie, but at least you have gossip to share with your friends.

THE MEETING

April flies by, rolls into May, and thing’s are… okay.

With some help, you find a therapist. It’s good, she’s good, but it’s difficult to be confronted with things that are painful, week after week, and to keep reminding yourself it’s all part of the process you’re going through.

Last week, after a particularly difficult session, you’d left her office being auto-piloted by dark feelings, like they knew exactly when to strike. You had turned corners and crossed streets, wandering as you stewed on everything you’d discussed –  like your mind was playing a constant loop of your most painful moments. It was a small miracle you had heard your phone, and that you had the presence of mind to thumb the green button.

You’d answered without saying a word.

“Got any plans?” Logan had asked on the other side of the line.

“No,” you’d replied, coming back to yourself a little bit at the sound of his voice.

“Al’s making her meatballs – she and Wade can’t agree on if they’re famous or infamous. Thought you might like to come. If it tastes like shit, we’ll order in.”

You’d hummed, managing to ask, “What time?”

It had stayed quiet on the other end, and that’s how you’d known he was onto you, could picture the pinch of his brows, his lips forming a thin line. For the first time, you welcomed it—wanted so badly to reach through the phone, shake his shoulders, ask for his help and accept it, like he had done with you weeks ago. 

“Sounds to me like now might be good.”

“Yeah,” you had agreed, the constricting tightness in your chest easing up. “Yeah, I’ll be there soon.” You’d released a shuddering breath, ear still pressed to the phone as you took in your surroundings before you auto-piloted yourself to a different destination. 

“Logan?”

“Still here.”

“Thank you for calling.”

“‘course. Get here soon, I’ll stay on the phone.”

The afternoon had ended with Logan and yourself allowing Althea to boss you around in the small apartment’s kitchen, rolling meatballs, sharing stories — Althea’s recollection of something that happened to her in her 20s that involved her stealing a police horse while wearing nothing but a thong, made you cry from laughing.

The meatballs were the best you ever had, though you couldn’t be sure if they actually were, or if it was just the taste of the moment that was better than anything had been that day. 

Sometime after dinner, Logan had nudged your shoulder to show you a little plastic chip. He flashed it at you long enough that you could read the words one month, before he pocketed it again. Then he suggested you come with him next week. 

“I thought it was bullshit too, but it helps,” he’d explained. “Figured I couldn’t continue to drink whatever that stuff is you call coffee to… avoid my problems.”

You contemplated his suggestion. Things were going well for you in that regard, but your therapist had also recommended you go to one of these things, even if it was just for the community aspect of it. It just made it so… official. Your problems, but most of all, your recovery. You weren’t good at keeping promises to yourself, and this felt like a big commitment. Not to mention the speeches and other people’s problems...

But as Logan told you more about it, the location, how it had been for him, you sensed something else between the lines: He wasn’t just asking for you, he was also asking for himself. Maybe… this was his way of telling you he needed some support. 

That’s how you find yourself inside a high school gymnasium a week later. It’s as gloomy as you expected. Slick floors, gray fold-out chairs set in neat rows, buzzing lights in a high ceiling, and a slightly raised podium with a whiteboard that reads a welcome message in capital letters. 

Unsure of what to do, you follow Logan as he weaves through the crowd to find a seat. As you do, it strikes you that there’s a pretty even distribution of people, with many genders, ages and lifestyles represented. Eventually you take a seat; not quite in the back, but definitely not in the front. 

The whole thing goes by in a blur, but where you expected to be overwhelmed, you feel… connected. Here you are, surrounded by people with different backgrounds, different lives, but all their stories have something you can relate to. Where you thought addiction was the common denominator, it’s actually the desire to turn your lives around that unites you the most.

“Before we end the night I want to circle back to last week, when we spoke about goals, or things we want to work towards,” says the woman leading the meeting – you’re ashamed to admit you already forgot her name. “Does anyone want to share something about that?”

It takes a lot to hide your surprise when Logan raises his hand. 

“Logan! Come on up!” She sounds as surprised as you feel, beckoning him to her.

The plastic chair he sits on creaks when he stands and his boots squeak against the shiny floor as he does as she asks. He looks so out of place on a podium; both larger than life behind the lectern and lost to the space of the stage. He clears his throat as he retrieves a paper from his pocket and unfolds it while his eyes scan the room until they land on yours. You give him a little nod of encouragement, and it kicks him into gear.

“Not good at this stuff, so I’m going to keep it brief,” he starts. 

It earns him a chuckle or two from the other attendees, and you can tell he doesn’t expect it when he looks up from his paper. Your hands clasp together with nerves as you watch him divide his weight from one leg to another, before focussing his gaze back down.

“My life has changed a lot over the past few months. For the first time in a long time, it’s not all bad. Coming here has been good. I’m starting to feel more like I did before–” 

He stops his monotonous droning with a frustrated sigh, stuffing the piece of paper in his pocket and sounding considerably more lively after. 

“I have people I care about again, and um, it scares me. ‘Cause I don’t want to let them down, and every day I feel like I will because of all of my… past shit.” He pauses and swallows hard before he continues, “They show me so much kindness and understanding, that… that even though it’s fucking hard, I want to be able to see myself the way they see me. And allow them to care about me without feeling like I… have to earn it all the time, without destroying myself to do it.” 

You exhale for what feels like the first time in an eternity.

“So, that’s what I’m currently working on.” Logan sighs. “That’s it. Thank you.”

A small applause follows, and you quickly unclasp your hands to join in.

Your palms hurt after.

– – – – –

“It was really nice, what you said in there,” you say, fingers caressing a little plastic chip of your own that you keep safe in your coat pocket. You haven’t felt proud of yourself in a while, but tonight you do.

The evening is nice, the setting sun bathing the city in hues of orange and pink. Your pace is slow and comfortable, your arm occasionally brushing Logan’s when you make room for all the other pedestrians. You didn’t plan on him walking you home, but he insisted and you enjoy the company – it makes you a little sad when you turn onto your street.

Logan scoffs in reply. 

“I’m being serious,” you say, knocking your elbow against his arm on purpose now. “It was nice for people to hear a guy like you say those things. I’m proud of you.”

You swear he blushes. “A guy like me, huh?” he asks, almost amused.

It’s your turn to scoff. “You know what I mean.” 

“A mutant?” He looks at you from the corner of his eye.

“No,” you say, because it’s not what you meant, but the hint of seriousness in his voice and the fact he’s not entirely wrong make you track back. “Well, maybe that, too, but I meant someone who looks like you, allowing themselves to be vulnerable. Sets a nice example.”

Logan doesn’t shoot your comments down like you expect. Instead, he seems to consider your words, maybe he even silently accepts the compliment. “Think you have some things to say that could set a nice example, too.”

“Maybe next time.”

During the comfortable silence that follows, you’re reminded of something you’ve been considering for weeks now. You hadn’t paid much attention to it since that night, but as you worked through the feelings that got you to that point, the question kept coming back.

“I’ve been wondering something,” you begin. “The night we met... What were you doing at the lookout?”

Logan glances at you, contemplating the question. “When I had just, um, gotten here, it wasn’t always easy to adjust, you know? So I went to all these places that I knew from back there, to ground myself, to see that things may be different, but that they’re not that different.”

“You went there on your side?”

He hums.

“By yourself?”

He hums again.

“Did you…” You hesitate to finish your sentence, both because you’re not sure if you have any right to ask and because you’ve reached your building. You stop walking, and Logan follows your lead. 

“No, no, no, I… I can’t explain it, it’s just one of those places I was always drawn to,” Logan says, shoving his hands in the pockets of his jeans with a shrug. His brows furrow suddenly, his mind seemingly lost in something before his eyes flick back to yours. “Think it took me coming over here to find reason in it.”

It’s a thought that’s equal parts sad and lovely. 

The silence that follows hangs between you, thick with something you can’t place, but Logan doesn’t look away from you, eyes scanning your face before they land back on yours. You can’t help thinking that maybe this is how he does it, and the question comes out before you can help it,

“Is mind reading part of the X-Gene thing?”

His eyes widen – amusement or surprise, you can’t say. “It can be.” 

“Can you do it?”

“No,” he says. “And it’s for the best, fucking hurts when you can’t control it.” Then the start of a smile begins to form on his lips. “‘sides, I don’t know if I would have a lot of… consideration for people’s boundaries.”

It makes you chuckle. “Right. Not to mention some minds are probably a lot – imagine reading Wade’s mind.”

“Hurts to even imagine,” Logan says, gesturing for you to be quiet as he winces, but a smile breaks through anyway. When your shared laughter dies down, he jerks his chin at the building behind you, “This your place?”

“Wha–?” Going home long forgotten in the moment, you glance over your shoulder. “Oh! Yes.”

“All right,” he nods. “See you next week?”

“Definitely,” you reply.

“Oh,” Logan says right before you turn around. “Bring coffee? You owe me.”

You make a face at him. “You don’t have to– I’ll get you something else, I know you don’t like it.”

“I like it when I drink it with you.”

It’s incredibly hard to hide your grin. “Okay, I’ll bring coffee. See you next week, Logan.”

“See you.” 

He lingers, watching you climb the steps, waiting until the door opens after you turn your key in the lock. It’s not until you close the door, when you can only make out his silhouette through the patterned glass window in it, that he walks off.

THE SUMMER

Walking back from a very successful job interview, you find yourself on your way to your friends with a big, plastic bottle of coke under your arm. It’s a warm feeling to know that you’ll soon have a job that suits you and that you have people to celebrate with; you look forward to seeing them and sharing this with them.

You’re invited inside with open arms, tight hugs, exclaimed praise and congratulations, and it makes you giddy, a feeling so foreign that you wish you could bottle it up right this instant. With a grin, you shake the Coca Cola bottle, before twisting the cap off. You let out an excited shout as you watch the foam shoot out from the top, bubbles and dark liquid pulsing down the neck of the bottle as cheers surround you.

It’s not champagne, but Althea grumbles about the soda ruining her floors, Wade gets mismatched glasses from the cupboard, and Logan clinks his glass to yours and tells you he’s proud of you.

It’s way better than champagne.

– – – – –

You’re in serious, desperate need of a new place… 

The August heat is relentless, and the entire building’s AC isn’t working. It’s with considerable effort that you manage to make your way to your friends’ place, the promise of a constant, cold stream of wind the only thing that keeps you going. But when the front door opens, it isn’t with the welcoming, cool waft of air you were hoping for. Instead, there’s no temperature change, only Wade in his underwear.

“No.” It’s a little embarrassing how you literally pout, but these are desperate times. “Here, too?”

“If it wasn’t this fucking hot I’d be offended by that greeting.” He sighs. “Come in.”

Slightly defeated, you shuffle past the threshold, while Wade lingers. Mary Puppins trots by, an ice-pack wrapped in a towel secured on her back, and you catch a glimpse of Logan exiting the bedroom. He’s in black shorts and a ribbed, sleeveless shirt, and with a desperate groan, he lets himself fall back into the recliner in the living room. 

“Tried everything, there’s no fixing that fucking thing.”

Wade makes a face, “Listen, I know what you’re thinking: Wade’s in his underwear, Logan’s emerging from the bedroom… But we didn’t fuck, it’s not that kind of st–”

“Who are you talking to?” you ask from behind him, glancing over his shoulder into the empty hallway.

“No one–You!” The door closes with a bang.

Confused, you walk further into the apartment. “Well, telling me you didn’t is just going to make me think that you did.” Wade darts past you and takes a seat on the couch, but you hang back and lean against the kitchen table to avoid sitting on leather.

Wade suddenly turns to face you. “Did I ever tell you about our time in The Void?”

“Wade,” Logan warns.

Wade’s eyes are sparkling with mischief and you can’t deny how fun it is to indulge the way he pushes Logan’s buttons. It’s a good distraction from how you’re drenched in sweat. And you’re actually curious.

You play your part, letting out a faux-scandalised gasp. “Did you..?”

“Oh, yeah, baby. Wolverine goes both ways. All the ways, really.” He grins. “We’re so alike.”

“Shut up. Both of you.” Logan groans, lacking any real threat as he adjusts in his seat and wipes some sweat off his brow. “It’s too fucking hot to be annoyed.”

It isn’t lost on you he doesn’t deny a thing.

– – – – –

Apartments look weird with nothing in them.

It’s what crossed your mind after you finished packing up your place three days ago, and it crosses your mind now as you look into the open space of your new one from the doorway. It’s a pleasant, late summer day; perfect weather to move, which was on your schedule for today.

“Incoming!” comes from behind you, followed by quick, heavy steps.

You jump aside as Ellie sails through the door, carefully setting a big box marked “Kitchen” down in its designated area, followed by Logan who is balancing three boxes at once. After a beat, Yukio follows, holding a single table lamp in her hand. It takes some effort not to laugh, not just because of how funny it looks, but also because you relate; after all the exhausting late nights you pulled packing up, that’s also the kind of energy you’re bringing to this.

It’s nice of them to help, and instead of shoving that feeling away in fear, you allow yourself to bask in it. You don’t get long, however, because more help has just arrived.

Wade. With Vanessa. Hands interlocked.

It draws everyone’s eyes to the doorway. Wade looks almost bashful, and it baffles you how someone who can say the most insane things unprompted, all without batting an eye, could blush while holding hands with a girl he likes. To his credit, he shakes it off quickly.

“All right, all right,” he says. “Stop ogling me and my girlfriend and get back to work everyone!”

– – – – –

“So it was like an experiment?” you ask, stirring the pot on your stove before taking a careful bite of food off your wooden spoon.

Tonight’s your first night hosting at your new place – Family Dinner, Wade had dubbed it. With fall setting in, you had an idea of what to make, but it still made you nervous to have everyone in your space. Logan saw right through you, offering to come over early to help you prepare. 

Once he had arrived, it hadn’t taken long for him to admit he wasn’t much of a cook, so he mainly chopped vegetables as you chatted; you about your new place, Logan about his new job as a boxing instructor, Laura going off to college. You don’t remember exactly how the subject of his adamantium came up, but he was telling you freely about it.

“They needed someone who could regenerate fast enough to bond with it,” he explains. “I was in a dark place. Figured I didn’t have anything to lose if it didn’t work.”

You nod in understanding. “Do you… remember much about it?” You put your spoon down, then put the lid back on the pan. 

Logan’s knife stops hitting the cutting board. “Yeah, I… I remember every second of it.”

You look at him then. His eyes are still cast down at his task. Unsure of what to say, you think about what you’d want to hear, and you find it might be best to say nothing at all. Instead, your hand finds his shoulder. Logan’s head turns to you, and you feel like the look you share is more important than anything you could’ve told him. His hand covers yours with an appreciative squeeze. 

“But I’m trying to leave that there so I can focus on remembering what happens to me here.” As soon as he’s said it, his hand quickly slips off yours, adding, in a rush, “Here in this timeline, I mean.” 

You smile at him, but a strange feeling settles in the pit of your stomach. “That sounds like a great idea.”

– – – – –

“I need your help with something,” you say, balancing your phone between your ear and your shoulder while you turn a birthday card over in your hand. Deciding you don’t like it, you throw it back on the pile of cards and continue your grocery shopping.

“Just say the word,” comes Logan’s reply from the other end.

“I need you to steal something out of the apartment for me.” There’s a silence, and you purposely let the feeling of trepidation linger.

“Am gonna need you to say a little more than just that.”

You laugh, “Wade’s been talking about getting a little frame for his polaroid. You know, the polaroid that you held on to for him in The Void, after the two of you fu–”

“Yes, I know the one,” he interjects with a huff. He pauses, sighs, then says, “Consider it done.”

THE PARTY

“There you are!” Wade shouts after he opens the door. He pulls you into a hug that you return with a wide smile. Over his shoulder, you see that the apartment’s crowded, bustling with people who are there for his birthday party.

“I got you something,” you say, offering the small package to him after you step inside and hang up your coat.

“Wouldn’t have let you in if you hadn’t,” he admits as he closes the door behind you with a bang. Wade takes the package from your hand, shaking it next to his ear but hearing it make no sound in response. “Is it a cock ring?”

You can’t help but laugh at that. “Unfortunately, they were all sold out.”

“They always are,” he says, making a disappointed face. Bottom lip tucked between your teeth, you watch as he tears at the wrapping paper to reveal his gift. He makes another face when he sees it. “Well, now I feel like an asshole. This is really nice.”

“Logan helped me kidnap it,” you explain, pointing at the picture. “And the little red hearts on the frame, well, they’re your color, but they also reminded me of how much you care about people.”

When he looks at you after, it’s with genuine emotion… but Wade is Wade. “Never thought I’d say this, but I’m kind of happy you walked in here barfing up the place.”

A strange mix of embarrassment and gratitude claws its way up your neck. “Thank you.”

“We should take a new one,” he decides suddenly, pointing at the picture. “You both should be in it.” His head turns, watching as Logan approaches the two of you. “But let’s be realistic, his shoulders are so broad he wouldn’t even fit in the frame, much less his bul–”

“Stop talking about my dick, Wade,” Logan snaps.

“I was saying only good things! Jeez, so sensitive…” Wade turns, putting the picture on the kitchen table behind him where it joins all the other gifts.

“Did he like it?” Logan asks, voice low.

“Yeah,” you smile.

“Good,” he replies. “Was a nice idea.”

You eye all the other gifts, some clearer who they are from than others. “What did you get him?”

The corner of Logan’s mouth lifts as he points at a roll of silver duct tape with a small red bow on top, making you fix them both with a confused look.

“It’s an inside joke,” Logan shrugs.

Wade’s eyes sparkle, but in a rare turn of events, he doesn’t elaborate, only adds, “It’s classified. I could tell you, but then I'd have to kill you.” 

“And I have top level clearance, lieutenant,” you reply. You exhale through your nose in an amused laugh when Wade makes a surprised face that indicates you’ve gotten the reference. “What, you thought a Tom Cruise impression could save you?”

“No,” he grins, and as if on cue, the doorbell rings, “but that can. Birthday Boy duty calls, but I want it on record that I could do Top Gun, easily, while Tom would never be able to pull off Deadpool.”

– – – – –

The party settles into something comfortable, soft music in the background of lively chatter. Yukio has just finished telling you about a Professor Layton cosplay she’s doing when you excuse yourself, both your glass and your social battery empty enough to look for a momentary out. Finding your way through the crowd, you make it to the kitchen, filling your glass with water and taking a few sips. 

While you do, the music suddenly gets louder, taking over for the steady chatter. You turn around, leaning back against the kitchen counter, and watch as Wade drags Vanessa to the middle of the apartment. People make room for them, exchanging looks while Wade wraps his arm around her waist, takes her hand in his and begins dancing with her. With a laugh, she slaps him on the chest, before settling into his embrace anyway. Some follow their lead, but your eyes stay glued to them. Wade spins Vanessa under his arm, the smile on her face bright enough to light up the entire room. In return, he looks at her with so much adoration he’s almost glowing himself. It fills you with warmth to see the both of them so happy.

It hits you how you haven’t thought about this in a while. You’d decided long ago that the future wasn’t something you had to worry about, but suddenly you’ve arrived, like you’re in some alternate reality where your future is now, and that it would be nice to share it with someone. The sting behind your eyes catches you a little off guard; mixed feelings of time that has been taken from you, but also of time you’re getting back with the life you now have.

For a while now, you’ve suspected the thing inside you is gone, that there isn’t much to feed off of anymore. If it is, it would make sense that there’s room for something else.

Wade and Vanessa make it look easy, even though you know it’s been far from easy for them. You suppose that’s what it’s like, especially as you get older. It’s less about big gestures, more about small ones; someone to make you laugh, to spin you under their arm, who knows how to apologize, seeks you out during your quiet moments–

“Do you dance?”

You startle, head turning towards the voice next to you– 

“Logan,” you breathe. 

It’s like you’re seeing him for the very first time. He’s standing so close, almost touching you but not quite, heat radiating off of him nonetheless. The plaid shirt he’s wearing isn’t even buttoned and still the fabric is pulled taunt over his shoulders and the thick of his biceps. He’s grinning, his nose pulled up in an adorable scrunch, the corner of his eyes crinkling - you never noticed before, but there’s a hint of green between the hazel.

It hits you so suddenly that you have to grab the counter to keep your balance. Everything that’s been happening, that you’ve been feeling, all the times something happened between the two of you that you couldn’t put your finger on… it falls into place with a well-timed, completely unrelated question and a glance at him.

You like him.

All you can do is blink at him, dazed, unable to speak, even more so when he leans in a little closer, mistaking your silence for misunderstanding. “I mean, not that I– You and Wade were doing a bit earlier, it’s a reference to–” Logan straightens suddenly, his expression slipping into concern as he watches you, “Are you okay?”

You feel warm, so aware of all his attention on you that you’re afraid he might be able to see your pulse blink rapidly below the angle of your jaw. “Yeah,” you reply, voice hoarse, looking away from him to blink the leftover wetness from earlier out of your eyes. 

Anxiety claws its way into your chest, your mind coming to terms with what it’s puzzled together at such a sickening pace that there’s an immediate knot in your stomach. The party has instantly lost its shine, and you look down at the glass in your hand, gulping down its contents. You need to be alone with your thoughts, you need to think about this before–

“I gotta go,” you say in such a rush that it almost sounds like one word while you set your glass on the kitchen counter.

Logan’s eyes follow you as you push past him, grab your coat and reach for the doorknob. “Wait–”

“Bye, Logan.”

THE TABLE

Once at home, you change into something more comfortable, your mind racing while you peel your party clothes off, toss your bra aside, change into an oversized shirt and plop down on the couch after.

Despite having already established that your mind was occupied with other things for a very long time, it’s laughable in hindsight that you never noticed your feelings before. It’s not like you don’t know what Logan’s like; he’s kind, funny, supportive…

…broad, handsome.

Shit.

Why did you have to come to your senses? Things were better before that moment. Logan’s your friend, whom you met in the most unconventional way possible. It’s ridiculous to want more than what you have when what you have is good. Or to think that he would want more.

But he might.

Because you may have been occupied with depression, anxiety, recovery, and everything in between, but you were there; you remember the time you spent with him, the way he looks at you, drinks the coffee you like, laughs at your jokes, seems to know exactly when to call you, seeks you out in a crowd.

But it would change everyth– 

Actually, not a whole lot would change, if you really think about it. You already see him all the time, you’ve seen the very worst of each other, overcome a great deal of hardship together, you make each other better, his friends are your… 

friends. 

You didn’t say goodbye to Wade.

The thought comes suddenly. It was his birthday party and you didn’t even say goodbye to him before you left. You’re a terrible friend. Dread sinks into your limbs, and you reach for your phone to type out a quick, apologetic message. Just as you hit send, there’s a series of loud knocks on the door, and it makes you freeze up where you’re seated.

“Are you in there?” a muffled voice calls out.

It’s Logan, you realize, and a plethora of fake excuses as to why you left the party early present themselves to your mind as you quickly make your way over to the door.

The first thing you notice when you open it is that he’s dripping wet from the rain, clothes soaked through and his hair flat. There’s a deep furrow in his brow, and it’s different from how he usually looks; he looks actually mad.

“Logan, is everything–” you begin, concerned, but he cuts you off by pushing past you and letting himself inside, boots stomping against the wooden floor. 

“Jesus, here you are. Why’d you leave like that, huh? Saying goodbye, your eyes all wet. I went after you and you were fucking gone, it scared the shit out of me. Didn’t see the car at the lookout, but I went to look for you anyway, and you weren’t in the water, thank fuck–”

“Wait, you went–” you pause, the mental image of Logan running out into the rain to the cliffside making your eyes widen. “Did you think..?”

“Yeah,” he sighs, shoulders slumping.

“Shit.” Your heart is racing when you step closer to him. “No, I wasn’t… I don’t want that anymore.”

“Then what the fuck was that all about?”

The desperation and misunderstanding in his eyes is unmistakable, and you hate that you made him feel like that. “I was just… I needed a moment, after seeing Wade and Vanessa like that,” you say, trying to provide yourself with more time to think, unsure if you already want to broach the subject of why you really left.

“You… like Wade?” Logan asks, his frown deepening.

You can’t help the laugh that escapes you at the unexpected question. “No. I mean, I adore Wade, but not like that. He’s with Vanessa.”

The answer does nothing to change his expression. “And you want it to be different?”

His line of questioning confuses you. “I– No. Logan, this isn’t about Wade or Vanessa, but it’s about… what they have. Something that’s real, but imperfect, and that’s what actually makes it perfect, and I just… I was in a really bad place for such a long time, I didn’t give myself time to even think about… I haven’t felt myself wanting for so long,” your gaze flicks up to his. “Seeing them just made me realize there’s so much left that I still want.” 

Internally, you curse the way he always makes you say too much, because you can see the understanding wash over his features. His expression softens, the balled fists by his side loosen, and his eyes search you, as if to see if that thing you want is him. There’s no doubt he finds his answer; you’re ever the open book when it comes to him, and your pulse quickens while he silently observes you. 

Logan reaches for you so quickly that you can barely prepare for it, a hand on your waist to pull you in, another on your cheek to tip your face up and guide your mouth to his. A shaky breath sails out through your nose when your lips meet, your eyes fluttering shut and your palms sliding up his damp but warm chest to curl in the soaked fabric of his shirt. It’s eager, and the angle is off, but it’s quickly adjusted with a brief parting and a near in-sync tilt of your heads in the other direction. 

Logan pulls away, but stays close, and you almost feel his words before hearing them, “Been… thinking about doing that.”

“Really?” you say, breathless and amused. “When did you, um, start wanting to do that?”

“Few weeks ago–Fuck, no, more than that. Almost did, that day after your first meeting, after you told me you were proud of me,” he admits. “But I wanted to give you time, space. Wasn’t sure if you felt–”

“I do. Didn’t realize it before, but I fucking do,” you assure him, another tug on his collar trying to pull him back to you. His admissions, knowing he wants you too, only make you want him more, like you have to make up for all the time you wasted not doing this sooner.

Logan’s hand on your waist holds you off. “I just don’t know how to… how to be this,” he confesses softly.

“That’s okay,” you say, your nose brushing against his. “I don’t either.”

He inches forward like he intends to kiss you again, but seems to reconsider, swallowing hard before saying, “Wouldn’t be the first time we figure it out together, huh?”

The words make you surge forward to close the gap between you, your brows creasing, attempting to convey everything you feel with one press of your lips to his. Logan’s hand slides from your cheek to the back of your head, pulling you to him in a way that seems to mirror your efforts. Something lights up inside you, something you lost long ago, and it makes you bold, opening your mouth under his to get a taste of him. 

His grip on you tightens with a groan, spurring him into action and walking you backwards into the dark kitchen, the only illumination the slivers of moonlight that come through the kitchen window. You jolt when the back of your thighs hit the table, before you’re scrambling to get on top of it, two hands at your waist helping to hoist you up. Your thighs widen to make room for Logan’s while you push the green flannel shirt off his shoulders, struggling to peel it off his arms to the point you have to break away with a laugh to really get it right. It lands on the floor with a wet sound, before he reaches for the back of his shirt, curling his fingers around the collar and pulling it over his head.

Logan’s sturdy, warm to the touch and surprisingly pliant when you can’t help but let your fingers flit along the corded muscles and protruding veins while he toes off his shoes. His hand flies to the back of your head to fist the hair at the nape of your neck when your lips explore, find his jaw, and travel down his neck. A soft sound sails from his mouth, a barely audible moan that carries over into something deeper when your lips brush a spot just above his clavicle. Using the grip he has on you, he drags you back up to his mouth, doing some more of his own exploring when his warm tongue strokes against your own. 

“You’re so good to me,” he murmurs with a buck of his hips against yours. The thrill of having him pushed up against you, half-hard, warm, full of promise, makes you moan, teeth clacking against his when you do. “Always so fucking good to me.”

It makes you want to protest, from the very moment you met, he’s the one always being that to you, but it dies on your tongue when Logan’s flicks over the tips of his fingers. His impatient hand finds its way between you, disappearing under the waistband of your underwear and stretching the material to make room. His name comes out as a whimper when his spit-slick fingers easily glide through the soft skin between your legs. He curses, another buck of his hips pressing his hand closer against you, and your kiss turns messy and uncoordinated when he dips one finger to touch your clit. 

“This okay?” Logan asks when you gasp, drawing languid circles between your legs.

“Yeah, it’s just– Oh, god.” Two thick fingers find your entrance, swirling the wetness there around. “Been a while,” you manage to finish your sentence.

“I’ll make it good for you,” he promises. “You want that?”

All you can do is nod, and Logan presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth before he pulls his hand back. It’s paired with a wet sound that makes your cheeks heat, more so when you watch him get on his knees and yank you to the edge of the table, the quick turn of events and the casual display of his strength making you a little dizzy. Logan’s nose presses into the fabric between your legs with a sharp inhale, before quick, practiced moves work your underwear down your legs. One eager hand places a thigh on his shoulder as another holds you at the bend of your knee. You lie back, arching as you hurriedly pull your t-shirt over your head, leaning up on your elbows just in time to watch him bend down. 

The feeling of Logan’s hot breath sailing out over your sensitive skin alone is enough to make you gasp. He drags his lips and nose across your folds, easing you into it as much as his lack of patience will allow before tasting you with a swipe of his tongue. It isn’t tentative or testing, but firm and sure, and clearly for his enjoyment as much as yours when he repeats his action and groans into you. The vibrations of it and the gentle scratch of his facial hair only add to the liquid feeling in the pit of your stomach. Letting go of your knee, he curls a strong arm around your thigh, spreading you open then pulling you flush against him while he sucks your clit into his mouth.

“Oh, that feels really good,” you spur him on, your heel digging in between his shoulder blades. You watch him with hooded eyes, shifting your weight to one elbow so you can cup your breast with a whine. 

Logan’s eyes slip shut in focus, working his tongue up and down your clit and making you arch into his mouth. Reaching for you blindly, he slides a hand over yours on your chest, fingers fitting between your own and squeezing while his tongue slides lower to lick over where you’re dripping for him. He lets out an appreciative hum as he repeats the move until your thighs clench and shake around his ears. His tongue dips inside you, curling up against the slick walls of your cunt, and his name tumbles from your mouth, soft, pleading, making his eyes shoot open to meet yours.

The sight of him looking up at you like that from between your thighs, with dark eyes, the tip of his nose glistening with your wetness, will probably haunt you for the rest of your life. 

Logan shushes your begging, pulling away and watching as your pussy clenches at the sudden lack of attention. “Let me give you something to come on,” he murmurs, before fitting a finger at your entrance. It meets absolutely no resistance, a second finger sliding inside with just as much ease, and he sets a steady, deep rhythm before his mouth returns to your clit.

“Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck–” Your head rolls back between your shoulder blades, mouth open on a silent gasp, but he draws your attention back to him with a curl of his fingers, finding a spot that makes you go rigid for a second. It all builds so fast, so suddenly. The hand on your chest shakes Logan’s off, finding the crown of his head and sliding your fingers into his hair. He’s too strong to really make purchase, but you try anyway, using your grip to roll your hips against him. The sound of his groans, every flick of his tongue and every squelching, delicious curl of his fingers all send you closer and closer, until his hand presses down on your belly, and…

“Logan,” you manage, voice sharp with a warning that comes too late when he makes you tumble over the edge. 

It’s so much after so long, the force of it making you fall back against the table, something between a gasp and a shout tearing from your throat. He holds you tighter, to keep you in place and guide the desperate roll of your hips against his face. Your orgasm quickly slips into something bordering on oversensitivity, and you let out a dry sob that makes you slap a hand over your mouth when Logan’s tongue travels a path from where his stilled fingers disappear inside you, up to your clit. He stays there, gentle, uncharacteristically patient as you slowly come to a twitching halt. 

He’s a blur when he comes back into your field of view after standing up, towering over you to watch as you come back down to earth. Becoming sharper with every heavy blink of your eyes, you notice the smile on his face is smug, that the hair surrounding it is a shade darker than the rest. You sigh softly when his fingers slip from you, the feeling of them sliding wetly over your clit making you tremble, but his touch doesn’t leave you completely when he moves to stroke the outside of your thigh.

“How’s that?” Logan dares to ask.

“Hmm, no speaking yet,” you protest.

Reaching for him, you slide both of your arms up over his broad shoulders, wrists crossed in the nape of his neck to pull him in for another kiss. It’s slow, and deep, the taste of yourself shared between the two of you as your tongue slides over his. The table protests with a creak when his hands land beside your head, more when his chest pushes down on yours and you wrap a leg around his waist to get him even closer. The hair scattered across his broad chest teases your nipples and the hard ridge of his cock strains against his jeans and presses up against your slick cunt. It makes your jaw go slack, stoking your desire and making you burn with the need to make him feel as good as he just made you feel. 

With a push against his shoulders, you take him along as you sit upright again, accompanied by another creak of the table. Mouth still on his, you slide a hand down to cup him over his jeans, the weight of him against your wide open palm making you pulse. Logan grunts when your hand squeezes, and your mouth slides off his, kissing his jaw, sliding back down his neck. He cups your head, keeping you in place while watching your hand.

“Feels nice,” he husks, voice so deep it makes you want to push him aside and get on your knees for him, but then he asks, “Are you gonna let me fuck you?”

“God, yeah,” you say with a nod, watching as the mark you just sucked into his neck disappears far too soon while you continue rubbing him over the denim. “Want you inside of me.”

“Jesus–Then get it out,” he instructs, guiding your hand to his belt. 

If you weren’t so turned on you might wince at how eager you are, at how quickly you tug the buckle open and pull the leather free. Logan groans when it relieves some of the pressure, letting his forehead rest against yours. Together, you watch your hands make quick work of his zipper, your fist closing around his cock while your other hand works his pants down until he can kick it off and under the table.

He fits nicely in your palm, heavy and ready, sticky at the tip. With a purse of your lips, you let your spit trickle down in a straight line, and he hisses when it hits him. Your free hand flattens against his stomach, sliding down along the hard planes of his body and following the vein just below his belly button down, until it meets your other hand that loosely strokes up to the root of his cock. Logan arches into you when you stroke back up with a tighter grip, all but getting on his toes to chase your touch. Using both of your hands to get all of him, you twist your fists in opposite directions once, twice, before circling his tip with one thumb. Your other hand curls around the underside of him, dragging some of your spit down to his balls with the tips of your fingers.

“F–fuck,” Logan stutters when you play with him there, cupping him in your hand as well as you can and squeezing his shaft when it twitches in response. His eyes slip shut as his palms land on the outside of your thighs with a smack, fingertips digging into your soft skin. 

It makes you jolt, then grin, giddy from the sharp sting and the power you have over his pleasure. “How’s that?” you echo with a teasing lilt.

He does have the words to answer, albeit a little slurred, “‘S good, sweetheart.”

The nickname tacked on at the end takes root in your chest, blooms bright and makes you ache. You translate your appreciation into tightening your strokes and spreading more of the precome that steadily leaks from his tip around.

“C’mere,” Logan says softly, taking over for you with one hand, giving himself a few strokes before pushing your thighs further apart and shuffling closer to line himself up with you.

You’re so wet that the head of his cock is practically already slipping inside of you, but your hand clasps around his bicep when he really starts to breach you. After giving you a shallow little thrust, his hips draw back, before pushing a little further, gauging your reaction.

“Just like that,” you sigh, watching the careful slide of him in and out of you. “Keep going just like that.”

He gets you opened up like that, giving you a little more with each wind of his hips. Logan’s hand finds the back of your neck, his palm splaying out and keeping you close enough that you’re practically sharing air with each sigh and moan. Eventually, your knees have to draw up to his flanks in order for him to keep going and you wind a leg around his hip to close the final distance with a press of your heel into one of the firm cheeks of his ass. A long breath sails out from between your lips when you pulse around him, slowly adjusting to having all of him filling you up. You can tell he has to put considerable effort into letting you, wood groaning below you when he clutches onto the table.

“Fuck, it’s a lot,” you say, and when he grins against your mouth you can’t help but kiss him again – just a peck. The hand at the back of your neck squeezes in reassurance as he continues to let you lead, and it’s a small gesture, but it makes you feel warm all over. You melt into it his touch, your body relaxing as the pleasure of the stretch of him takes over.  

“Can stay like this a little longer if you want,” he says, but the strain in his voice says something different.

“Hmm, no, you can move.” You’ve barely said it, or his hips are drawing back, and it would have made you laugh if it didn’t feel so fucking incredible. He almost slips from you completely, before sliding all the way back inside with a grunt. The table scrapes along the floor, and vaguely you register one of your chairs falling over in the process. When he repeats the action, the furniture squeaks again below you. “Just don’t break my table.”

The sound he makes in response is non-commital, and when he fucks back into you and nudges against something wonderful, you can’t say you disagree. Grabbing hold of his shoulder and using the leg you have wrapped around him, you roll your hips against his, and he begins to meet you halfway until you work up a rhythm together. The table protest further, a shrill sound filling the room after each slap of skin–

With a frustrated groan and accompanied by a startled squeal from yourself, Logan lifts you. The surprised laugh that threatens to bubble up your throat quickly morphs into something heavier that comes out with a rasp when he makes it all look unusually effortless. Attempting to brace yourself, you sling one arm over his shoulders, the other winding around his neck so you can rake your fingers through the hair at the back of his head. It’s a struggle to keep your balance, a helpless heel digging into the back of his thigh to keep yourself upright. Quick to aid, Logan slides an arm under you, fingers splayed across your ass as your knee hangs off the inside of his elbow. He turns a quarter, presses you up against the wall, and doesn’t miss a beat as he continues fucking you. 

“Jesus, Logan,” you say, voice almost a growl and barely recognizable as your own.

With your new position, you can see him better, the both of you lit from the side with the window to your left. The moonlight paints him in a tapestry of light and shadows when the wind blows through the tree branches, momentarily amplifying the glint in his eyes and the flex of his chest and arms like a strobe light.

The different angle he finds with his cock is a little too good, the feeling of the thick base of him stretching you open with each thrust making you dazed and talkative, “It’s so deep like this, can–oh, my god–can feel you everywhere.” 

Logan curses at your words, squeezing your waist and pushing you harder against the wall. There’s a deep-voiced appreciation of how good you feel in there too that doesn’t quite make it from your ears to your brain because somehow he’s still speeding up. His head ducks down to your chest, mouthing at the soft skin of your breast before closing his lips around a nipple. 

You whine, using the grip you have on him to roll your hips against the piston of his while you pant into his crown. Though the sound he makes against you when you do it makes you beam with pride, it’s not something you can keep up for very long, your hold on him slacking after a few thrust until you slip back against the wall. 

Logan pulls back when you do, tightening his hold on you while his eyes glide from the bounce of your tits that glisten with his spit to down between your bodies. 

“Touch yourself,” he instructs, grunting when you immediately do as he says by bringing a hand down between where you’re joined. Your fingers spread in a V-shape around where he fucks into you, collecting some of your mixed arousal before using it to rub your clit. “That’s it, sweetheart, fuck, make yourself come.”

You nod, rapidly feeling everything zeroing in on the fingers that draw tight circles over your clit and that spot deep inside you that Logan’s finding with every thrust. “Yeah, fuck, I’m–Don’t stop, don’t stop, please–”

He’s coming before you are, tucking his head below your chin to let out a deep, drawn out moan against your neck that ends with his teeth grazing your skin. It’s so much, the pressure of him grinding himself into you with twitching, barely there thrusts, the heat of his release as it fills you where you’re gripping him like a vice, and as your fingers still twirl between your legs you come, and come, and come. 

The leg you have wrapped around his hip slips off, but before your toes can even scrape the floor, he catches your thigh, cupping your ass with both hands now to keep you up, and close. With a soft, satisfied sound, you let your forehead fall against Logan’s shoulder, tasting the salt of his sweat with every light press of your lips there.

It takes you a moment to notice your back has come off the wall, that Logan is walking the both of you into your living room and to the couch. He bends his knees, dropping you between your pillows, where you land with as much grace as you can muster considering you feel like you’re made of lead. The soft couch is pleasant against your body, your sore limbs sinking into the cushions. 

Logan fits himself between your legs again, widening them around his broad shoulders before his lips find your overstretched thighs, leaving marks and kisses up up up, until his tongue slips back into your pussy. Your back arches off the couch, hands shooting down to fist his hair with a whine while Logan’s hand fists his cock. As your eyes adjust to the darkness, you can tell he’s already getting hard again, and his tongue is making something swirl low in your belly that’s making you pant, and...

It’ll be a long night.

THE PEARL

It had taken a lot of convincing and downright groveling, but Wade had allowed you to bring a movie for movie night. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust your taste in movies, his main gripe with your choice was that it wasn’t a Christmas movie – mandatory for December. Wade’s right, but after you explained that it’s the movie you always watch at the end of the year (and after Logan and yourself conceded that yes, his birthday was technically also your anniversary) he’d agreed. 

Now that you’re actually watching it, you suspect he’s genuinely invested, because after a handful of comments about The Hulk, he’s been quiet for longer than you’ve ever heard him be quiet.

In the scene on the screen, Mark Ruffalo’s character Dan and Keira Knightley’s character Gretta are taking an evening walk around New York City, dancing, singing and sharing music with each other as they do. Eventually, they stop and sit next to each other on some steps, watching as the city continues to move without them.

“...the most banal scenes are suddenly invested with so much meaning, ya know? All these banalities, they're suddenly turned into these… these beautiful, effervescent pearls,” Dan says, wistfully looking on as New York bustles around him. “I gotta say, as I've gotten older these pearls are just… becoming increasingly more and more rare to me.”

The arm Logan has slung around your shoulder tightens, and the couch creaks softly as you lean further into his side, your cheek squishing against his warm chest.

“More string than pearls?” Gretta inquires with a frown.

“Yeah. You got to travel over a lot more string to get to the pearls.” There’s a pause as he turns to look at her, “This moment is a pearl, Gretta.”

She gives him a hint of a smile. “It sort of is, isn't it?”

“All this has been a pearl,” he admits, sharing a look with her.

A finger curls under your chin, tipping your head up until your eyes meet Logan’s. He gives you the same look you just saw on the screen, his eyes soft as they take you in, the hint of green between the hazel illuminated by the light of the television. A thumb swipes over your bottom lip fondly, before he leans down to kiss you.

It takes a lot of string indeed.

Sometimes even interdimensional string.

– – – – –

(THE END)

If you made it all the way here, thanks for reading. Seriously. Please come say hi and/or share your thoughts via ask/messages/reblogs/whatever you feel comfortable with. I hope to share more writing soon - emphasis on hope, I'm not making promises, just an educated wish.

And lastly, if you're struggling with mental health problems, please don't wait for a handsome stranger to sweep you off your feet. I know from experience that it can be incredibly difficult to reach that hand out, but I also know from experience that things can get better. There are ways to get help and you deserve to get help 🫂

[mochiwonz]

✉ - won the boyfriend lottery ♡

𓍯𓂃 content : insecure fem!reader x sweet bf!ni-ki , FLUFF , skinship (hugging , kissing , hand holding etc) , cursing , petnames (nini , baby , my love etc) , reader loves the scent of vanilla , lots of lovee <33

𓍯𓂃 word count : 2.1k

𓍯𓂃 note : i really reallyy think that as much as ni-ki is playful and likes to tease ,, he would definitely be the most caring, gentle, and understanding boyfriend ever :3 i hope that atleast some of you can find this fic relatable (i know i can) and i hope you enjoyy ♡♡

You look in the mirror, you're wearing a fitted top and flared jeans. Complimenting the outfit, you're wearing bow earrings and pretty rings, and of course some cute makeup. You're supposed to be feeling all pretty and confident, right? But actually, you're feeling the exact opposite. It's like the longer you look at yourself, the uglier you get. Fuck, why is it so hard for you to feel pretty?

Giving up, you change back into your baggy basketball shorts and xl baggy tee.

You've always preferred baggier clothes because 1. they were more comfortable and 2. people don't pay attention to your body. One could say that you were quite insecure. You've never felt gorgeous, at most you've felt okay, average, or mediocre. You've always found something wrong with your face, your uneven eyes, the one bump that won't seem to go away, or your dark circles. You wonder how those pretty girls do it. How they just walk around flawlessly, wind blowing through their hair perfectly and their skin basically glowing. Gosh, you really hated how you looked and how insecure you were. You thought you could never be loved by someone, ever.

That was until your boyfriend, ni-ki appeared in your life, and you couldn't be more grateful. It was like the universe knew when you needed him the most and boom, there he was.

Of course, you were still very insecure, it was nothing compared to how you were one year ago. Ni-ki had always made it very clear that he understood you and that you were absolutely beautiful, even if you couldn't quite see it yet. Everytime you felt insecure, he could immediately tell and instantly went to comfort you. Everytime that you felt unsure about anything, he would reassure you. He made you feel understood and seen, something you hadn't felt since...well...ever. People would always tell you, "you don't need to be insecure" or "just stop being insecure" as if it was really that easy.

Fast forward to today, it was your guy's first anniversary as a couple. You still remember the day he confessed, you also remember being so confused. How did someone as beautiful and perfect as him end up being attracted to you?

To put it simply, you were the most gorgeous human being he had ever laid his eyes on. The first time that he laid his eyes on you in senior year of highschool, he knew that you were the one. He never expected such a beautiful girl to be so insecure, but that didn't matter to him. Everyone worried about something, your worry just happened to be your appearance and overall self. He understood. He truly did.

Anyways, you and ni-ki agreed on just going out to get his favorite gongcha milk tea and come back to your place to cuddle and watch an anime. You guys didn't care if it wasn't that "special", because all you really wanted to do was be in each other's presence.

You didn't wanted to be perceived as the hot boy's ugly girlfriend. That's why you were trying to dress up like the pretty girls you've seen on social media. We already know how it went, and now you're in baggy basketball shorts and a baggy tee.

What if ni-ki doesn't like it? What if he thinks you look bad today? Should you just put more effort and atleast try to look "good"?

"y/n, baby, you're so fucking gorgeous. you don't have to dress up and put on alot of makeup for me to find you beautiful. you could be bald and i'd still find you so gorgeous. and don't worry about what other people think of you, why does it matter at the end of the day?" you remember him telling you.

Right, ni-ki loves you for who you already are, and you try to remind yourself of that everyday. Of course, it's hard- but you're trying.

Snapping you out of your thoughts, you hear a knock on your door and a voice from outside. A very familiar voice, one that you could recognize literally anywhere.

"babyyy it's meee" ni-ki says from the other side of the door, and you already know he has the cutest smile on his face right now. He might be 6ft and all, but he's your giant baby.

"coming!!" you exclaim while excitedly running to the door, trying not to slip. Let's just say you've slipped a few times before.

Opening to the door, you're met with a smiling ni-ki. And wow- he looked so good. He was wearing an oversized black hoodie with some red designs on it and some baggy jeans. On top of that, he also had some silver rings and a silver chrome hearts necklace on and honestly, you were fighting the urge to lunge at him right now. God knows how you were controlling yourself.

He quickly brings you into his embrace, engulfing you in his warmth.

"my baby, i missed youuuu" he says in a sweet tone of voice, still hugging you. He was always so sweet to you, you truly think you won the boyfriend lottery.

You look up at him with hearts in your eyes. "i missed you too ki" you respond, talking in the same sweet tone of voice.

"here, wait- we should go inside, i still need to get ready" you tell him. He nods while intertwining your guy's hands and lets you drag him inside. To be honest, he didn't think you needed to get ready. You were always gorgeous in his eyes, no matter what you were doing.

You bring him into your bedroom, and he instantly smiles at the familiar scent of vanilla. Of course, he was very well aware of your love for vanilla. The way you had 4 different type of vanilla candles on your bedside table and so many different vanilla perfumes was so endearing to him. Quietly, he sits down on the edge of your bed and watches as you go to quickly grab some clothes. He quickly notices that these clothes aren't very you.

"baby, since when did you start wearing such fitted tops? i mean, don't get me wrong- i bet you'd look so good. but i'm just wondering" he asks curiously.

"oh," you say quietly "i just wanted to look pretty for you"

Ni-ki slightly frowns at your words. He wished you knew how effortlessly beautiful you already were. He gets up from your bed and walks towards you, wrapping his large arms around your waist and resting his chin on the top of your head. He makes eye contact with you through the mirror and pulls you closer to his chest.

"my love you always look so pretty. trust me. just wear whatever you're comfortable in, okay?" he tells you in a soft voice. He kisses the top of your head and smiles at you. God, he's so good at reassuring you. You're so in love with this man.

Feeling less pressured after hearing what he said, you put down the clothes and instead, put on one of the oversized hoodies that he lent you. Your favorite one actually, it smelt just like him. After putting it on, you have a comfortable smile on your face, visibly showing that you feel much better. Ni-ki notices the instant change in your energy, and he loves seeing you like this.

"my girl, you're so cuuteee i love you so much" he says while admiring you. He turns you around so that you're facing him and he just stares at you, admiring your beauty in all is glory. Getting shy, you bring your face down and bury it in his chest.

"nini i love you too my big baby" you tell him as you finally look back up at him and go on your tippy toes to give him a peck on the lips. You loved his pretty plump lips, he was really the most beautiful man ever. He giggles and pulls you closer to kiss your forehead. He loved you so so much.

"you're so beautiful" he says as he brushes your hair away from your face, "god i could stare at you forever my pretty girl"

You could already feel how hot and red your cheeks were, you always got like this because of him. He always said such nice things to you and always showered you in compliments, what did you do to deserve such an amazing boyfriend?

"i love you" you tell him while smiling "we should go to gongcha now though, they might be closing soon"

Ni-ki completely forgot about the boba, shit. Agreeing with you, he grabs your tote bag for you and opens the door for you.

"for you m'lady" he says playfully while bowing at you. You giggle and bow back at him, matching his playful energy. He finds you so adorable, and so he ruffles your hair and closes the door behind him.

He quickly intertwines your guy's hands and sways them back and forth. He was always so happy around you, your energy and presence just made him so happy.

Once you guys got back to your place, you decided that you wanted to have a skincare night. You might not be the best at makeup, but you loved your skincare. He, of course- found you so adorable. And of course, he let you do his skincare. He'd let you do whatever you wanted, honestly.

You quickly run to your bathroom and grab your skincare, face masks, and skincare headbands. Ni-ki looks at you, slightly confused, not understanding why you had so many things in your hands. He helps put the items onto your bed and sits down, waiting for you to do his skincare. You wipe his face down with micellar water and put the face mask on him. He just stares at your beautiful face, enjoying how close you are to him. Swiftly, he wraps his arm around your waist and pulls you onto his lap.

Shit, your face was hot again. Ni-ki giggles and gives you a kiss on the cheek.

"kiiiii" you whine, "you got the face mask serum on my face"

"sorry baby, you're just too cute" he teases and gives you another kiss, but on the lips this time.

You smile fondly at him and start putting your own face mask on, asking ni-ki to help you. Of course, he helps you and notices how big his hands are compared to your face. He loves it. You were so tiny compared to him.

Once it was on, you take out your phone to take a selfie. You both loved taking pics together, so that you could look back and laugh at them. After taking the picture with him, you pull out your wired earphones and give him one of them. Another thing you guys loved to do together was listen to music. You both enjoyed music, although you didn't dance like him- you still loved it just as much.

Getting comfortable, you both get under the comforter and he wraps his arms around your waist, your back facing his chest. He rests his head in the crook of your neck and pulls you closer to him. (if that was even possible) He loves how you smell, he could really smell your vanilla shampoo and conditioner now and he almost melts. He feels so relaxed, and you do too. You could hear ni-ki's breathing because he was right next to your ear, and you loved being so close to him. By the way he was breathing, you could tell he was asleep.

Slowly, you shuffle your body around so that you're facing him now, chest to chest. You gently take off the face mask and pat the serum into his skin, making sure you doesn't wake him up. You observe his beautiful features, his pretty eyelashes, his pouty lips, and your favorite- his pretty moles. You loved his moles, especially the one on his chin. He always told you how beautiful you were, and you realized you didn't tell him enough about how absolutely handsome he was, inside and out.

You promised yourself that from now on, you would tell him at least 100 times every. single. day.

You brush your fingers through his pretty hair and lovingly trace his features with your smaller hands. Without realizing, your eyes start to get glassy. Ni-ki was so beautiful on the outside, but also so beautiful on the inside. He always made sure you were doing okay mentaly and reminded you of how beautiful of a person you were.

After staring at him for (at least) 5 whole minutes, you take off your own skincare mask and decide to just call it a night. You really didn't want to get out of this comfortable position.

Ni-ki is so special to you, and you love him so fucking much. He's had such a positive effect on your self esteem and mental health and you're forever grateful. He was your soulmate, you were very sure of that. Nobody compared to him, and nobody was ever going to compare to him.

Honestly, you won the boyfriend lottery.

this is the longest fic i've ever wrote and surprisingly, i don't feel too bad about it! pls reblog if you enjoyed <33 my other works are here :D

[ssentimentals]

Hii can i request mingyu + hurt prompt #34? Thankssss

hi sweets! thank you for requesting, hopefully you will like it! 💜

hurt prompts: 'the things you said yesterday... did you mean them?'

someone is caressing your hand. it's a nice feeling to wake up, especially when you know who is responsible for said action. mingyu's face is the first thing you see when you open your eyes and you smile a little. mingyu doesn't smile back and memories of last night rush in, reminding you why you're waking beside him and not in his arms. before panic rises, you remind yourself that mingyu is caressing your hand gently now, so everything can't be that mad.

'morning,' you whisper, afraid to talk in a normal voice for some reason.

'morning.' mingyu repeats and clears his throat. 'slept well?'

you don't really remember how you fell asleep; probably knocked out from crying and fighting. arguments with mingyu were rare but whenever they did happen, they sucked all the energy out of you, leaving you drained and exhausted. truth to be told, you don't even remember coming to the bedroom, so mingyu probably carried you here once you fell asleep in the living room.

'not really,' you reply, not feeling rested at all. 'you?'

he shakes his head. when you first started dating, you both promised each other to never go to bed angry, so what happened last night is an exception of sorts. 'the things you said yesterday... did you mean them?' mingyu asks quietly, voice muffled by the pillow.

your mouth opens but nothing comes out. to your horror, you don't even remember about which things mingyu is talking exactly - a lot of stuff was said yesterday and not all of it was said due to anger or frustration. but mingyu is sensitive, always has been in a much more delicate headspace than you, so you tiptoe around the question, looking for the right answer while also staying honest: 'any of the mean and angry words - no. i love you, gyu, i'd never actually mean any of those. but what i said about the whole thing, like in the beginning, what made me upset in the first place.. yeah, i meant that. i stand by it even now.'

mingyu doesn't say anything at first. he just stares at your hands, chewing on his bottom lip, thinking about your answer. you both treasure honesty the most, so he knows you're being sincere. 'okay.' he settles for in the end, taking a deep breath. 'i also didn't mean everything i said after we moved from the kitchen to the living room.'

you smile and hesitantly interlace your fingers together. 'i know, gyu.'

he nods again and squeezes and when he does that, you feel like you can breathe again. if mingyu is not declining physical contact, if he's still here then you two can work it out. 'we don't have to do it now,' you say, not wanting to get up. 'we can just lay here for a while.'

sigh that mingyu lets out on this is full of relief. 'yes. yes- yeah. please.'

you both move in sync, slotting your bodies together until it's impossible to tell where one ends and another one begins. 'sleep a bit more for now,' mingyu whispers, holding you tight. 'i'll be here when you wake up.'

a/n: request your own here! <3 - nini

[innerfare]

Crocodile Fluff // Angst Compilation 

Summary: A compilation of Crocodile angst and fluff from my multi character posts (You're Wounded, Type of Date, Nightmares, I Love You, Kisses, Cuddling, You're Sick).

Genre: Fluff // Angst

CW: None // SFW

———

You’re Wounded: 

Lectures you on your fighting form, tears into you for taking any unnecessary risks, gets on your case about not seeking medical attention fast enough. Tells you to get some rest, sits at your bed side until you’re better, claims he’s not there for you and is just resting his own eyes. 

Type of Date: 

Dinner and a show. The dinner will be textbook fine dining, with multiple courses and drinks; he orders for you at the restaurant. And the show will be something a little racy, like cabaret. He’s an asshole about it, too, accepting transponder snail calls in the middle of dinner, his mind on work most of the time. And in the middle of the show, just as it gets to the good part, he’ll step outside to smoke a cigar. If it’s a date he’s a little more present on, he might take you to a casino and teach you how to gamble (i.e., how to cheat at cards). 

Nightmares: 

You betray him. Of course you do. He would betray you in an instant, and not even for a whole lot. A business deal, or perhaps the freedom of one of his more valuable people. From the look on your face, it’s not difficult for you, either. In fact, you seem to relish the pain on his as you inform him you’ve taken a deal with one of his enemies- a lucrative one, at that. And all you had to do was set him up. He wakes with a start, sitting up on the sofa in his office he often crashes on when he doesn’t feel like dragging himself to bed. You’re nowhere to be seen, and that’s what he needs for the next few days. He only stops giving you the cold shoulder when he figures out a way to approach the topic of betrayal without telling you how pathetically heartbroken he would be if you ever did turn on him. 

I Love You: 

He despises the word love, would never even utter it except to mock people who use it. He thinks it’s weak, thinks men who profess love are sniveling and pathetic, thus the reason he despises himself for feeling it. The emotion creeps up on him slowly but surely, and he beats it back and bottles it up for as long as he can, staying up late at night with a bottle of whiskey because laying in bed makes him think of you and your mischievous smile. Only when he is locked up in Impel Down does he finally, begrudgingly admit to himself that he feels deep affection for you, which he painfully admits to you one night after he breaks out, bracing himself for you to reject him, laugh at him, or spurn him in any way. When you tell him you feel the same way, he decides that is that and sees no reason to ever repeat it, your mutual and abiding affection one of his most closely-guarded secrets. 

Kisses: 

His kisses are hot and heavy with the expectation of something more. He’s rough about it, too, grabbing your face in his hand and squeezing your cheeks as he steers your lips onto his. He rarely kisses you outside of the bedroom. Doesn’t do sweet pecks on the lips, doesn’t kiss anything better. Although, on a few occasions (you can count them on one hand over the course of more than a decade), he has slipped into bed late at night and pressed a warm kiss onto your shoulder. It doesn’t sound like much, but by Crocodile’s standards, a kiss on the shoulder is a marriage proposal. Will also allow you to kiss anywhere on his body. 

Cuddling: 

Words like cuddling, snuggling, and love are completely off limits for this man, but he does enjoy you slipping into his bed and wrapping yourself around him, especially when it leads to you working the tension out of his muscles with your hands. He’ll even let you massage his aching stump. But all of this only ever happens with the cover of darkness. 

You’re Sick: 

If you’re expecting a caretaker, you should find someone else. That being said, he’ll make sure to hire a caretaker, taking great pains to secure the best doctor around (and putting that doctor in pain if they don’t drop everything to attend to your every need). He’ll probably sleep on the sofa in his office to give you space to recover. 

———

Hope you enjoyed it! If you want more, you can check out my masterlist here!

[chiorisgf]

❕nsfw venti x fairy!reader

summary: as the anemo archon, venti knew about the various wind fairies that inhabit monstadt. they’re usually rather small, almost like a seelie. when he finally found you, a cute little anemo fairy in the wild, he couldn’t help but play with you!

wind fairies in monstadt weren’t very common, but they certainly did exist. you existed in the soft breeze, as nothing but a shining light that dances freely.

you stem from dandelions, only few are blessed by the anemo archon and manage to fully grow your wings and fly. your siblings and your friends were all blown away, living their lives freely as dandelion seeds.

even so, venti has never ever seen one of your kind up until now, when he was strolling around starsnatch cliff. he only meant to pick flowers, and never expected to grab one with such a delicate little thing like you lounging on the petals.

“my my, what do we have here?” he whispers gleefully, his bright teal eyes shimmering as he blinks at your figure.

anemo fairies truly were beautiful.

“a-ah!” you exclaim, your eyes opening as his voice rings through your ears. curse his stupidly loud mouth —!

your body is flung off of the cecilia flower, and as quick as you awoke you find yourself on the floor with a “thud”, your body growing to match his size.

you really could get used to switching forms, you think to yourself with a sigh as your wings twitch and flutter.

though, if you didn’t switch when you did you’re sure you would’ve blown away and blended with the wind.

who is this man?

“how fascinating!” he exclaims, a soft gust of wind carrying his body up to float in the air as he squeals. he can barley contain his excitement as he watches you look up at him with a curious gaze.

“quit staring, mister.” you frown, stumbling to stand up. human bodies are much heavier than your fairy form, you wonder how mortals can lug around all that weight.

venti chuckles at your words, slowly landing back down on the grass as he reaches for your hand, a soft and excited sound leaving his lips as he touches the skin of your palm.

“sorry, sorry. it’s my first time encountering a fairy.” he admits, pulling you up to stand properly.

you don’t miss the way his eyes scan your body, from your feet to the top of your head. he focuses on your wings for a while, watching as they create small breezes of wind with each little movement. 

“i’m just a fairy. nothing special.” you sigh, looking down at your bare feet as warmth pokes at your cheeks. has the wind gotten warmer or is there something wrong with you?

in all honesty, you’re not used to the functions of a humanly body.

“nothing special? nothing special?!” the archon repeats, staring at you with wide eyes as he holds onto your hand tighter. “you’re the most special being i’ve ever laid my eyes upon, my dear.” he hums, leaning closer to you as he inspects your features.

“oh—?” you look back up at him as his hand reaches to brush a few stray hairs behind your pointed ear.

“you know, i’ve always wondered how an anemo fairy like you would react to me..” his hands wanders down your body, avoiding your sensitive wings to brush against your clothing.

it was a thin dress, breathable and easy to flow in the wind. also perfect for venti to bunch it up around your waist and pinch at your hips.

“do this.” he giggles, watching as you flinch slightly. “are you alright with this, sweet fairy?” he asks, his breathy voice ringing in your ears as his free hand reaches down between your thighs.

“i am..” you can only manage to whisper a quiet affirmation, your body relaxing in his hold.

you allow his fingers to nudge at your bare pussy, moaning softly as he rubs your clit gently. you’re already so wet for him, like the good girl he knew you’d be.

one of his hand has a tight hold on your hip, the other hand already plunging two of his slender fingers into your little fairy cunt.

the sounds leaving your lips were more beautiful than any mere song the bard could come up with; he’ll have to sit you down next to him as he plays his lyre sometime.

“look at you,” he teases, his fingers nudging deep into your gummy walls, allowing you to adjust for a moment before he pulls out slightly and slams them back into you, starting a steady pace as moans spill from your mouth. “i didn’t know a delicate thing like you could be so filthy.”

it was so nasty, the way your cunt squelched with each thrust of his fingers. it only took a few more strokes for you to cum around him, moaning softly into the wind around you.

the archon didn’t care that the two of you were out in the open air — for any unsuspecting couple to stumble upon in hopes of finding a good date spot.

this was his land after all, and you’re his little fairy.

“that’s right, my fairy. mine.” he whispers, his voice carried away with a gentle breeze as he presses wet kisses against your neck.

after a few more thrusts of his fingers, he pulled out slightly, teasingly licking at your cum coating his slender digits.

“now, be a good fairy for me and stay still.” he’d coo, caressing your cheek with his free hand as his other tugs down his pants. “such a good, good fairy.”

his voice is as sweet as sugar as his cock springs free, hard and leaking with pre as he aligns himself with your sloppy cunt.

moans and whimpers spilled from your lips as he slowly slid into you, his dick reaching a spot you never even knew humans had — it seemed that a fairy’s body is much different.

as he began to slam his length in and out of you repeatedly, you couldn’t help but throw your head back in a newfound pleasure, your eyes rolling into the back of your skull as your wings fluttered behind you.

your sounds only grew louder as the bard tugged on your wings so gently, almost like a soft breeze brushing against them.

it felt so good when he filled you up like this, your pussy switching lewdly around him with each harsh thrust.

“so good!” you squeal as he reaches impossibly further, lips kissing at your neck and dancing down to your collarbone.

“so good?” he repeats, smirking up at you as he watches your expression contort in pleasure. “how cute.”

it wasn’t long before the two of you got closer and closer, the coil in your abdomen growing tighter and tighter before you came undone around him, whining as he emptied himself inside of you.

he didn’t stop there, though. his pace grew even faster, it was a miracle you managed to stay upright. if it wasn’t for the strange flow of the wind today, it was certain you would’ve tumbled over.

the chilling sensation of the air brushing against the remnants venti’s saliva sent a sweet tingle down your spine as your thoughts drifted away into dumbness.

at this point all you could do is sit there prettily and take the archon’s cock as he pulls orgasm after orgasm out of you.

[elitesheepi]

Something something Ember Island Something something Changing Emotions

Katara coming to a horrifying realization. A terrible, no good, realization that only could've happened on Ember Island.

Zuko is attractive. A shocking realization, she knows.

Of course he is. That's just an objective fact, she reasons to herself. Even back in Ba Sing Se, she always knew he wasn't a bad looking guy. Bit of a temper, and nostrils flared to much for her taste but... He was a little handsome.

Now that things are okay between them, Katara can't help but look at him. Really look at him, and all she sees is a kind guy, who is very attractive. And that's just ruins her whole day because it's not fair. She supposed to be preparing for the comet, not oogling one of her closest friends.

He's not making it any easier on her. Does he really have to firebend with his shirt off? She doesn't waterbend in just her sarashi! ...Okay she does, but that's different.

Still, she asks him as much. Sweat is still dripping down his neck and chin. Whatever else evaporated from his heated body. She can feel his blood pumping through his body, the exertion in the pink dusting on his cheeks. Or maybe that's a normal blush cause she did just ask why does he need to be shirtless. Showing off his muscular build, toned arms and--ugh! Does he have to look at her with that puppykit look in his eye? Now he's just being unfair!

"It helps," Zuko explains like it's nothing, "It's like a grounding technique I guess. Feeling the flow of energy through your body as you bend fire. Besides, you bend in your sarashi sometimes, what's the difference?"

'It's totally different!' Katara wants to claim as she hands him a towel. She's not...him. And she'll say that as much when her own face is burning with a blush. Katara decides to leave it be for now, and heal up the small burns he did get from Aang's fire on his hands. Because she's just that mature and yes it is completely necessary to hold both his hands as she heals him. His firm, rough hands from handling his dao... It's more than a little unfair that his hands are bigger than her's too.

It's also unfair how he tucks her hair behind her ear and says "Are you okay? You're kinda warm." In that low voice only meant for her to hear. Her heart stutters in chest. He's just looking at her with a little bit of worrh, why the stupid butterflies in her stomach? And why does she not want him to move his hand away from her? Well, she knows why, but she doesn't wanna say it. Or maybe she does, but he's going to have to make it up to her somehow.

"I-"

"Hey Katara, check it out! I'm finally getting the hang of my fire bending stances!" It's like a cold splash of water over a fire. Katara shakes her head, plastering on that gentle smile. Aang is excitedly waving for her attention across the court yard.

She catches Zuko's golden eyes before turning to the Avatar, "Good job Aang! You're really improving!" She thinks anyways. Zuko kinda snatches her attention each and every time during their sessions. "I'm going to get some fruit juice inside. You want one?"

"Yes please!" Aang wants to go with her, she can sorta tell in the way his eyes keep looking between her and Zuko. He doesn't get two steps before Toph is dragging him with her now. "You had your time with Zuko, now it's time for some real fun." Katara can be concerned about the giant crash later. Another crash of rock. Waaaaayyyyy later.

She spares a glance over her shoulder, and takes a little pride in how he jumps. "Well? Shall we?"

"We shall?" He responds, confused.

"Did you think I wasn't to get a fruit juice for you too? Besides you said I was too warm so..." She slides her arm in to his. And if she stands a lot closer to him than necessary, than fine. She beams up at him with a pleasantly, sweet smile, "Let's go get some."

Now it's his turn to blush. Good, let him be flustered and dumb over a pretty person. It's his turn anyways.

[cakerybakery]

Adam and Lucifer have been a sort of friends with benefits, thing, for a few months now. It had been a while since he’d come back as a sinner.

They were both trying to play it casual. Sneaking around cause it’s supposed to be casual and Lucifer didn’t want Charlie thinking it was a thing and getting excited only to be disappointed before (when) they stopped, cause it was casual so obviously they weren’t going to be forever.

Even though Lucifer was caught giving Adam a t-shirt as a gift, and they both lied and said it was Adam’s birthday. Even though he doesn’t have one.

They hung out on not dates. It wasn’t a big deal.

And when they have sleep overs, Lucifer just portals one of them back to their own room in the morning. Nice and easy

But that morning Adam looked rather cute asleep, and Lucifer figured he could just go down and maybe get some breakfast and bring it back up for Adam and him. Have a little breakfast in bed.

He grabbed his shirt and pyjama bottoms off the ground.

They’d stayed up late the night before. They fucked yeah, but also the season finally of their tv show was a two parter and so they had curled up in bed to cuddle as they watched it. He was a little groggy.

Lucifer wandered down to the kitchen yawning.

“Mornin’” Lucifer muttered as chipper as he could be given how tired he was.

“Uhh, morning, dad.” Charlie smiled but it was a little tight around the edges.

His own smile wavered as he wondered if everything was okay.

Lucifer got down a coffee mug and poured a cup. He’d need the caffeine. They had a not date that night.

The opera house was showcasing a collection of Tchaikovsky’s best work and Adam was excited to go. Heaven’s version of the music had gotten a little boring after a while, according to Adam, but the one in hell was a little more theatrical and in Adam’s words, “fucked a lot harder”.

Adam had had ways around the parental locks up in heaven meant to keep things more pg. It made his band rather popular for more than just having him in it. But he was enjoying that he could just see shows and things without needing to skirt rules that dumbed things down or made it nicer for souls.

Lucifer pulled down a second cup.

It was good that they did have some music tastes in common. Rock wasn’t strictly Lucifer’s genre of choice but he did like some of it that Adam introduced him to. And he recognized some pieces just having heard them and not realized.

Adam got so excited about things like music.

His eyes lit up and he had so much fun. It was good to see since he’d been so miserable when he first fell.

After a while they commiserated together over shared pains. One thing had turned into another as one glass of wine turned to another. Soon they’d kissed.

Weeks later they did it again.

Then again.

Then they went to the movies where they entwined their pinkies in the dark and leaned a little against each other. Afterwards they went back to Lucifer’s room. In the morning Lucifer opened a portal to Adam’s room so no one would see them.

“Uhh, dad?”

Lucifer startled. He’d forgotten the others were there. “Hmm? Yes, sweetie?”

Charlie tapped her nails nervously against her own mug. “You, well, you poured two cups of coffee.”

Shit.

Shit. Shit!

Fuck.

“Oh. I guess I spaced out.” He gave a hollow laugh to try and mask his mistake as a different sort of mistake. “Must be a two cup day, good thing I already have two.”

Lucifer tried to leave but he bumped into Alastor as he turned, barely keeping the coffee from spilling.

“Why, good morning, your majesty.” Alastor gave a mock bow of his head.

He rolled his eyes and almost pushed past Alastor, because like hell he was going to go around the fucker. You moved for the king, not the other way around. But Alastor spoke before he could keep going.

“How sweet of you.” Alastor might be all smiles but his eyes never agreed with his mouth. “Bringing Adam coffee in bed this morning? I assume you’re in your room today.”

Lucifer nearly dropped his mugs and his jaw. “Wha-“

“After all, you two didn’t stay in his room.” Alastor moved out of Lucifer’s way but Lucifer couldn’t take a step.

He clenched the mugs and there was a slight crack as Lucifer gripped too hard.

“I do appreciate it when you stay in your room. I can’t hear your activities through the wall I share with him when you both retire to your suite for the night.”

The mug dripped hot coffee over Lucifer’s hand through the cracks.

“Oh dear.” Alastor’s tone mocked. “Was it supposed to be a secret? I assumed you two were telling people. Seeing as you’re wearing the shirt you got him for his birthday.”

Lucifer looked down at the Duckysaurus shirt he’d picked up off the floor and his face lit up like a bonfire. It hung loose on him. There was no way he could try to claim that he bought his own, but he tried to stammer through an explanation he didn’t remember the details of anyway.

“And the two coffee mugs?” Alastor pressed.

“I-“ fuck!

Fuck!

Fuck!

FUCK!

What had he said? What was it? He closed his eyes, pressing them together. Trying to remember.

A hand covered his. He opened his eyes and Charlie was looking at him.

“Dad. Maybe we should talk in private.” She lead his hands to the counter to put down the broken mugs.

As she hooked her arm in his and as she dragged him away he could head Vaggie ask Alastor why he did that.

“Perhaps I wasn’t clear. I can hear them through the wall!”

The trip up to Charlie’s office was quiet. She didn’t look angry, but she didn’t look happy either.

“Sit.” She let him go and he sank into one of the overstuffed chairs in her office as she leaned against her desk in front of him.

It cut too close to home and reminded him of being scolded by the other angels back in heaven, and she hadn’t even said anything yet.

“Is what Alastor says true?”

He opened his mouth and shut it again. He flushed and looked away, covering his mouth to try and hide his embarrassment.

“So yes.” Charlie sighed. “I’ll have a talk with Alastor about outing other people’s business then.”

She gripped the edge of the desk hard and he winced as her nails dug into the wood.

“Char-“

“It’s none of my business. If you wanted me to know, you would have told me.”

“It’s not-“ he started. Lucifer rubbed the back of his neck and looked down at his rubber duck themed pyjama bottoms and bare hooves. He muttered more to himself than speaking to Charlie. “It’s not serious or anything.”

“You don’t have to-“ Charlie pushed herself away from the desk and moved to the window. “It’s not like you and mom are going to get back together. I’m just... I don’t know.” She wrapped her arms around herself, she look to the ground.

Lucifer got up from his seat, “Charlie.” He didn’t want to move. Fear twisted in his heart.

What if she reject his attempt to comfort her? Rejected him?

He took a step and reached for her.

She turned and hugged him tight.

Lucifer wrapped his arms around her. Burying his face in her shoulder.

“I just didn’t want to get you excited for something that wasn’t going to work out.” He pulled her closer as his face started to burn and his eyes started to water. “He’ll leave one day. And it’s better not to get attached.”

She squeezed back just as hard. “Oh Dad.” Charlie said sadly as she pulled back to look him in the eyes. “You love him, don’t you?”

“What?” He laughed. Lucifer wiped away an errant tear as his slide down his face. “No. That would be-“ He took her hands in his and looked away. “Stupid. Really stupid of me.”

Charlie pulled him back into a hug and squeezed him until he thought he was going to pop.

Lucifer hugged her back.

“Love is never stupid.” She said into his ear. “Come on. Tell me about Adam.”

He laughed but those stupid tears were back. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Anything.” She pulled him to the window seat and they cuddled. “I just want you to let me in a bit.”

Charlie rested her head on his. “You live here now, but you’re still a million miles away. You’re here.” She squeezed him, “but you’re not here.”

“I’m sorry.”

When did his little girl get so big? So observant?

“I don’t mean to be.”

“I know, dad.”

The lapsed into silence for a bit. Just enjoying each other’s company before Lucifer spoke.

“He’s nice.” What could he say? “He’s brash. And swears like a sailor in a storm. But he’s fun. And Adam can be thoughtful too. He doesn’t care if anyone knew about us, it was just me. He snuck around for me.”

They talked and Lucifer kept finding more things to say about Adam. Things that annoyed him and made Charlie laugh. “Vaggie does the exact same thing. Seeing them together. It’s funny, it’s like he’s her dad.”

“That stumpy walk when they’re mad!”

“Oh and how they both go, ‘babe’.” Charlie giggled.

Lucifer snorted a laughed. “Ohhh! The drill sergeant voice.”

“Listen up maggots!” Charlie tried to impersonate Vaggie.

“Yeah!” Lucifer was having a fit of laughter. “That’s totally them. I took Adam to a concert and some fucker tried to mug us. Adam had him doing push-ups. “Fifty more, maggot!” It was so hot.” He flushed realizing he just called Adam hot in front of Charlie.

She breezes past it though. “So you guys go on dates?”

“Not dates. But we hang out. Alone.” He put his on his knees and kept wiggling his hooves together. “Like going to the movies. Concerts. We get dinner.”

“Those sound like dates.”

Maybe they were.

“He’s not staying. Adam’s trying to get back to heaven. We can’t be together.”

“But you want him to stay.”

Lucifer nodded.

Charlie’s fingers brushed through his bed head. He could feel her twisting small strands together and braiding little pieces of his hair. Lucifer let her play with his hair in the silence.

“Have you asked him to?”

“He hasn’t.” Adam spoke up from the doorway.

Lucifer jolted as he was startled.

Adam was shirtless and just in the sweat pants he wore as pyjamas. His chest was hairy and his stomach chubby, it was hard not to just sink into the harsh man’s soft body.

“Adam-“ Lucifer went to get up but Adam gestured for him to stay and Adam came to him.

He took a seat on the other side of Lucifer. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about something.”

A hand took Lucifer’s.

“I talked to heaven. Told Sera I was going to keep working on my shit, but that I wanted to stay down here.”

“You did?” He asked hesitantly.

Adam nodded. “Actually. Charlie got me in touch with a therapist and I’ve been going once a week to talk about crap that wouldn’t be fair to lay on my kind of boyfriend’s kid to help sort out. Shit about Eden and Eve. Crap about falling and shit from heaven.”

Pulling the hand to his lips, Adam kissed it. “I figured if I wanted this to work I should probably work on the shit that drove Lilith and Eve away.”

“If-“ Lucifer couldn’t take his eyes off their hands. “If I asked you to stay…”

“Are you asking?”

He bit his lip, the fear of rejection trying to harden his heart. Lucifer nodded.

“I’d love to stay.”

“Excellent to hear.” Alastor interrupted the tender moment. “Can I assume you’ll be moving into Lucifer’s room? Or better yet, his house. I’ll help you pack.”

Adam smiled even as Lucifer swore and Charlie gave a sharp, “Alastor!”

“Oh no, Al. My dear grandchild. I’d say it’s much too soon to move in together. But I think we’re likely to stay over with each other much more often.”

They both fake laughed and Alastor turned to Charlie. “I’d like to change rooms.”

-

This was supposed to be a funny bit about a neat t-shirt I saw that said duckysaurus and had a dino rubber duck on it.

[hextechmaturgy]

lucanis' romance is disappointing because like many other aspects of this game you can practically smell all the wasted potential

spoilers below!

we know from the stories that came before veilguard that cousins lucanis and illario grow up knowing caterina has a favorite grandson she intends to make first talon one day. it's implied and sometimes outwardly said that lucanis is indeed a better assassin than illario, and being a better assassin in a FAMILY OF ASSASSINS is a big deal. at the same time, we find out that illario is the more personable between the two. lucanis says he can charm just about anyone and zara calls him 'amatus' right before illario fucking kills her, so we know that's true. we find out through banter that lucanis had a crush on viago and failed miserably to show him because his only idea was to get him a knife, and, should you have an active romance with him, he will also admit to your companions that you are his first relationship

lucanis spends his entire romance backing away from you. he barely reacts to your flirting, he ducks away from a first kiss to 'clear his head', he won't shut up about coffee, and the moment you commit to him is just a quick scene where he SAYS he made you dessert, meanwhile, pretty much every other character is kissing you and declaring how much they care for you, emmerich's first kiss happens relatively early into the second act and it's such a sweet scene.

all this tells me is the writers were going for 'fail boy's first romance', packed with the slow burn of someone who has no idea how to show you how much he cares for you. it's sweet! i romance alistair every time for pretty much the same reasons. there's something very disarming about a strong, capable man who turns to mush around you because you're just that precious to him, because he's afraid you'll cringe and run away at his inexperience/awkwardness/eagerness.

but while i think that idea was perfectly executed with alistair, i think what we got for lucanis is extremely weak, to a point where i started wondering if my game was bugged and i had missed a romance flag somehow, or soft locked myself into someone else's romance. that's when it becomes a problem for me. when i flirt with him and he DOESN'T REPLY, it's not even him looking awkward, it's him not looking interested. he certainly sounds cute and awkward around neve, why does he show her that side and not rook? it felt like they were meant to be together, especially with the whole 'pick between treviso and minrathous' storyline, but i checked out neve's romance and that one is really good, one of my favorites in fact, SO WHAT GIVES? it's not that lucanis is reserved as a character, it's more like the game wasn't programmed with his reserved nature in mind. so he shows you he's committed by making you desert... couldn't we have had a scene where we watch him baking, instead of hearing him say he did it? we run into him preparing a surprise and he's out of sorts, or he asks us to go on another grocery run and you piece together what he's planning from peeping the ingredients. SHOW DON'T TELL IS THE MOST BASIC OF WRITING ADVICE, SO PLEASE ???? they did it with kaiden in ME3, he cooks for you and burns the garlic because you're just so distracting. there were multiple opportunities for cute and unsure, neve's romance is surprisingly tender and this one could've been too.

as it is right now, lucanis' romantic interactions feel like game bugs, his pet demon seems to be far more entertaining than him/is generally mega underutilized (can you imagine a scene of spite getting done with lucanis' bullshit and sleep walking some more to tell you he's smitten), and if you are planning to have lucanis as your romance, you should go into it knowing that after your first good, dare i say EXCELLENT first romantic chat at that coffee shop ("like a kiss goodbye" charmed me there and then) you'll be waiting until literally the end of the game for any sort of pay off. there's a good romance to explore here, the complete opposite of zevran as far as crow romances go, but sadly these fun dynamics will only get decently explored in fanfiction i fear

[southerngothicchic]

we're too young to be lonely (part one)

King!Steve Harrington x reader (18+)

This is a rewrite of a fic I wrote last year that I felt could be improved upon 💖

The King of Hawkins High had made a habit of climbing through your bedroom window every Friday night. His visits started out innocent enough, with you both commiserating about the past week of school and maybe sharing a kiss or two.

As weeks went on, and as both of your crushes grew, sweet kisses turned into steamy makeouts. He would murmur how pretty you were into your neck as he tried not to leave any hickies, though he desperately wanted to.

He wanted everyone to know you were his, but wasn't sure if you wanted to belong to him, outside of your bedroom.

It was a typical Friday night, with you laying in bed, waiting for Steve. The radio hums lowly while the dim light from your bedside lamp illuminates the room. You keep glancing up from the latest issue of Seventeen every few minutes to check the digital display of the clock on your nightstand. He's usually here by now, you think, as you're beginning to think he's not going to show.

If something changed he would've let you know, right? A horrible thought then enters your mind making you wonder if he's lost interest in you and found someone else to spend the night with. You glance at the window again before shaking your head.

After all the nights you spent together, you knew he wouldn't do that to you. At this point, you knew him better than his 'best friends' or anyone else at school did. He was different when he was with you, so sweet and attentive, you almost forgot about his famous persona.

As you wrack your brain for answers, you hear a familiar tapping on your window. You look over and see his silhouette crouching outside the glass.

With a relieved smile, you get up and cross the short distance to let him in.

He greets you with a smile and a soft, "Hi," before he climbs into your room. You feel his arms around your waist as you quietly close the window. You turn, in his arms, to face him, still with a smile on your lips.

"I was starting to think you stood me up," you say, now with a slight pout.

"I'm sorry," he apologizes, nuzzling his nose against yours. "My parents came home early so I had to wait til they went to bed to sneak out."

"Oh," you breathe, as he ghosts his lips over yours.

"Did you really think I'd miss a chance to see my best girl?"

You sigh his name, already under his spell in record time.

"I missed you," he whispers before finally kissing you.

You eagerly kiss him back, wanting to make up for all the lost time spent not kissing the cutest boy you'd ever seen.

"I missed you, too," you reply, breathless with your fingers gripping the sleeves of his sweatshirt.

"I can tell," he softly laughs. "Maybe we should extend these visits to more than just one night."

You glance up at him, with a hopeful shimmer in your eyes, that makes him weak.

"You really like me that much?" You ask, earning another soft laugh from him.

"I wouldn't keep coming back if I didn't," he replies, bringing his hand up to cup your cheek. "You're, like, the only real friend I have."

"Is that how you see me, just as a friend?"

His eyes widen in panic as he stumbles through his reply: "No, I mean, at first, yeah, but not now. I like you more than that."

His thumb tenderly brushes your cheek as a goofy smile forms on your lips.

"So you like me like me, then?"

"I thought it was obvious, but yeah, I do," he also smiles, as he leans in to kiss you again.

You sigh his name against his lips as he guides you towards your bed. He smoothly slips off his Nike's before laying you back onto your sheets, all without breaking the kiss. His denim clad thighs press against your bare legs, making you feel extra vulnerable. He subtly spreads your legs with his knee, so he can nestle his hips between them. You gasp into a kiss when he grinds teasingly.

"I guess I don't have to ask if you liked that..." he pants, between kisses. "You wanna feel more of me?"

You nod, while whimpering a soft, "Yes."

"Okay, honey," he smiles, gently taking your hand and placing it between your bodies, against his growing bulge.

"Want you to feel what you do to me..." he breathes, as he nips at the tender skin under your jaw.

You palm him through his jeans before squeezing slightly. He moans into your neck as his hips chase your touch.

Moments like these still feel so surreal to you. Having Steve Harrington in your room was one thing, but touching him like this was something else entirely. Feeling him through denim wasn't enough, you wanted more.

You pull him into another kiss while your hand moves to unbutton his jeans. You feel him shudder when your fingertips graze his skin. You tease him through his briefs at first, before slipping your hand under the waistband. He whines against your lips as he feels your fingers wrap around him.

"Mmm, fuck..." he breathes, while you slowly stroke him. "I've dreamt about this."

"Have you?" You ask, between kisses.

"Yeah, been wanting you to touch me like this," he whispers, desperately trying to keep his voice down. "Its all I can think about most days."

You smile into his kiss, feeling truly desirable for the first time in your life.

"You're all I think about most days," you quietly reveal before kissing him again, muffling another moan.

He pulls away, and sighs your name, already looking completely wrecked.

"If you keep on, I'm gonna-" he warns, before your hand stills. "And I don't want to yet, not like this."

"What are you...?"

"I wanna go all the way with you," he whispers, gazing into your eyes.

"Steve..." you breathe, his name the easiest thing for your mind to latch onto, as his admission has you reeling.

"Only if you want to," he adds. "I won't make you do anything you don't wanna do."

You notice how he's looking at you, with such sincerity and adoration, it's almost overwhelming.

"I want to," you softly reply, holding his gaze.

He smiles. "Yeah?"

You nod. "Just... not here, not with my parents down the hall..."

"You could always come over to my house," he offers, leaning in close. "My parents should be going out of town again soon and we'd have the place to ourselves."

"I actually have a better idea," you reply, with a smile. "I just remembered mine are going to a dinner party tomorrow night and will most likely be gone for most of the night."

"That is much better," he agrees, his lips brushing yours. "We can have our first, proper date then."

He feels you smile against his lips before you whisper, "Yeah, we can."

He pulls away, for a moment, so he can admire the sight below him.

"I really like this," he compliments, lightly dragging his finger along the collar of your silky pajama top.

"I was hoping you would," you quietly reply, as you watch his eyes darkening.

"Is it okay if I...?" He then asks, his fingers already gripping the top button.

Your eyes meet his as you nod. "I want you to feel more of me, too."

He leans forward again, pressing his lips to yours, as his skilled fingers unbutton your top. The lightest scratch of his nails against your stomach makes you shiver. He pulls away slightly to marvel at you again, and suddenly you feel too exposed. The look on his face instantly reassures you, as it's one of awe.

"You're so fuckin' gorgeous," he laments, leaning in close.

He nuzzles his nose along your jaw, before trailing kisses down your neck. You pull your hand from his jeans and curl it into his hair as he kisses his way to your collarbone. Soft moans of his name fall from your lips as he places wet kisses against your breast. His mouth has your back arching into him, as his teeth barely scrape your nipple. He flicks his tongue over it and you have to keep yourself from screaming.

He's presses himself against you, unable to keep from grinding, as you feel how hard and big he is.

"Fuck, I can't wait til tomorrow night..." he pants, words almost muffled by your skin. "...When I can kiss you like this while I'm buried deep inside you."

You whimper his name and he thinks it's his new favorite sound.

"You still want that too, right?" He asks, glancing up at you, his amber eyes alight with desire.

You nod, as your pretty, pink lips part with a gasp. He tries to hide his smirk before raising his head so he can kiss you again.

The way he kisses you is so deep and romantic, its unlike anything you've ever felt before. Your thoughts melt into a dreamy haze, as the only constants are how you feel about him and how he's making you feel. It's a moment seemingly frozen in time that you never want to leave.

"Can I feel more of you?" He breathily asks, with his hand hovering over the waistband of your matching silky shorts.

You hesitate, trying to catch your breath as you gaze up at him. Your hand grips his sleeve as you struggle to answer him.

"It's okay if it's too much. We don't have to -" He comforts before you interrupt him.

"I want you to touch me. I've dreamed about this, too," you admit, as a familiar heat rises to your cheeks.

"I want you to tell me about all the filthy dreams you've had about me," he smiles, as his fingertips lightly glide across your stomach.

"I might, someday," you smile, in return, pulling him into another kiss.

You feel him smiling against your lips before deepening the kiss.

He slips his hand into your shorts, and presses the pads of his fingers against the thin cotton of your panties. He softly moans when he feels how wet you are.

"You must really like me," he whispers, as he teases you with his finger.

"I do," you breathe.

"Want me to make you feel good?" He asks, pressing harder.

"Y-Yes, Steve, please..." You almost don't recognize your own voice as you've never heard it sound so desperate.

"Fuck, I'll do anything for you, honey," he replies, his own voice ragged as he slips his hand into your panties.

He slowly eases his finger inside you while his mouth hovers over yours. He whimpers over how tight you are as he begins to pump it in and out. Your eyes are already rolling back at how different and good he feels compared to you.

"Look at me, honey," he quietly commands, nudging the tip of your nose with his. "Want you to keep your eyes on me when we're like this."

You nod, obediently, as your hands claw at his sweatshirt again. His kisses are a little rougher as he adds another finger. He's already losing himself in you, in wanting to make you feel so good, you'll never want anyone else.

You body trembles underneath him, as you fight to kiss him back with the same intensity. You whine his name repeatedly against his lips and he can't help the smug look on his face as he says, "I know it's good now, but imagine how much better it'll feel when I'm actually fucking you."

You finally break eye contact as your orgasm washes over you. His lips are instantly on yours, quieting your continued cries of his name. Your fingers now curl around his wrist as his movements slow. He pulls away just enough, and once your eyes meet his, you smile so warmly at him. He leans in again and covers your face in kisses.

"You really are my best girl," he laments, gazing at you with total adoration.

It mirrors how he was looking at you earlier, but there's something new in his eyes. It's a hint of something more, something deeper that he can't find the words for yet.

He stays with you for the next few hours, as you just lay holding each other, before drifting off to sleep. You wake him up sometime before sunrise and tell him he should get home. He whines, tightening his arms around you before getting up.

You stand next to your window, with his arms around you again as he gives you a lingering goodbye kiss.

After watching his taillights fade into the early morning air, you climb back into bed with a smile. You close your eyes, your thoughts consumed with being his girl, before sleep overtakes you again.

[oneemasan]

"I... don't need a wish today - Being with everyone is enough."

Fairytale soiree event by @angelwishess - congatulations on 100+ followers and thank you for hosting the event, i had a lot of fun!!

this is my first time joining a fan event (and drawing an actual card for erice), design notes & clear file under the cut!

jfdghsfgjjksghfdj i didn't think i would have time to draw erice for the event any time soon, but for some reason i didn't feel like working on any of my wips today so i painted the background to relax a bit (and warm up) aaaand ended up with the card done 4 hours later - well, why not!

at the very beginning i wasn't even planning an actual background, but hey whatever happened happened alright (besides, i planned it as a r/sr, and then realized i was having a lot of fun rendering - but not enough motivation for a dynamic pose... we got an in between, i guess?)

at some point, i added firefly everywhere, and the piece ended up looking SO cluttered..... so i erased all of them except the one she's holding - and i feel like i lost a bit of what i wanted to convey, but it looks better than it did before, so it's fine!

on one side, i wish i spent more time polishing the pose, etc, on the other, damn i wanted this done today

actual design notes fr fr this time

my first thought was the yellow dress, and i was almost sure i'd go with it but still decided to do some other sketches for fun - and in case another idea popped up i don't usually ramble too much about her lore outside of dms, but the thing with erice is that she very likely doesn't believe this kind of outfit/event would suit her - since she's a bit more... brash than she'd like, among other things (read : as much as she wishes she could wear fancy dresses, she definitely doesn't feel comfortable doing so because of her usual temperament/sweet self esteem issues, kind of), so upon wearing such a dress she would probably go "wait, this is wayyyy too delicate for me, i need to change back into my usual clothes NOW"

so, i ended up going for the simple white, knee-length dress thinking it was what suited her the best - and here came another problem : it does look the right mix of formal and simple for her, but it very definitely doesn't look fairy-like, at all... at the same time, i wanted to keep the shape, to keep it simple - to have something she would enjoy wearing that would still fit the theme, so i added a butterfly pattern and transparent fabric over the dress - cute and simple enough that she can enjoy herself without worrying too much about how mismatched she thinks her looks and personality are... my daughter she's so precious to me

while i was drawing the actual piece, i ended up adding a bonus layer to her skirt because it looked a bit empty without it - it also helps making the dress shape look more.... logical lol