#but i like the way it feels when i'm inches from the grave

[shyacinth]

i have this funny new thing i do that i call "microdosing on caffeine" where i leave an energy drink open in the fridge for a week or two to take a few sips from on the mornings i feel like an absolute corpse. and then instead of having the severe energy and crash of an exploding star, or anxiety, or whatever else a large amount of caffeine at once does to me, i just feel normal and it's nice.

this only works because i'm vehemently against my body having anything resembling a caffeine addiction. i like the taste of fancy sugarey coffee, and i find myself craving it frequently. so i'll just make it decaf so i can enjoy the flavor without feeling like hot garbage after an hour, worsening my already-tumultuous sleep schedule, or racking up points for withdrawl headaches.

but yeah someone left a bunch of samples at my work and these fuckers have 160mg of caffeine in them and my ass does not need that much. i'm on my third in 2 months? i've tried both flavors and they're not great. but they work as i intend them to

[joelsgoldrush]

“you can use my skin to bury secrets in” | 6.8k

old man!logan x f!reader

SUMMARY: Saliva floods his mouth as you rise to your feet, looking down at him from above. Gracefully angelic, and yet— “I know what I’m asking for,” you continue, your voice descending to a low murmur that scratches pleasantly against some dark and remote corner of his brain. Then you lower yourself onto his lap, your thighs bracketing his waist. You repeat your question: “Can I help you?” OR Logan had always known your generosity would get him in trouble. WARNINGS/TAGS: mdni smut 18+ cursing. drinking. pining. mentions of alcohol. dirty talk. age gap (reader's in her late 20s). logan’s POV. angst/self-deprecation (he just needs a little loving). religious imagery. feelings. petnames. chauffeur!logan. oral sex (m receiving, tiny bit of f receiving). sort of dom!logan. doggy style. unprotected p in v. creampie. A/N: i could say i'm sorry for this, but i'm not. love love love this old man (#needthat). heavily inspired by the song "i know" by fiona apple. @lubdubology my partner in crime who keeps putting up with me, tysm!!! hope you all enjoy it <3

The line between being a good and bad person is thin. So thin, in fact, that Logan finds himself stepping back and forth across it constantly.

Rescuing a kitten from a tree? Good.

Punching a guy at a bar because he didn’t feel like being acknowledged? Bad.

Saving countless lives from mass destruction? Good—heroic, even.

But killing others to do it? Bad—condemnable, scum of the earth.

Where does that leave him? Which side has laid claim to his soul? He’s long accepted he’ll never see the pearly gates.

When the day comes that his body can no longer take it, and he only grows wearier, he’s pretty sure there’s a special place in hell with his name on it, etched in some grave awaiting to be filled.

Maybe Satan’s already counting down the days until he shows up at his door, who knows?

Yet, the more time passes by, the less afraid he is of what lies beneath the surface. He’s learned to coexist with the darkness, with the kind of pain and loneliness that would crush most men.

He doesn’t know how, but he survives it—the agony, the memories, the solitude that hits him from time to time.

And still, he doesn't lose himself entirely. He’s tempted, of course, to linger in the past—it’s always easier to drown there.

If he could go back, he knows he wouldn’t be alone in choosing that path. Some days, it feels like the only option.

But there’s no you in his past.

Logan inhales sharply when your tongue teases his slit, lapping at the precum pooling there. You hum at the taste, your hand resting on his bare thigh, fingers pressing into his skin. Your other hand lazily strokes the length of him, working the inches your mouth can’t take.

It’s clear you’re enjoying this. He can tell from the way your lashes flutter each time he thrusts a little deeper into your slick warmth. A win-win situation.

Letting a girl like you do this to him? That’s bad. Very bad. Red flags all around.

He meets you when he least expects it.

It’s a night like any other. He’s been driving for God knows how long. His joints ache from being in the same position for hours, and a part of his left knee he didn’t even know could hurt begins to throb.

It takes everything in him not to call it quits for the night, not to turn around and head home like a coward.

When exactly his life fell into this monotonous cycle, he’s not entirely sure, but it happened somewhere along the way. Now, it’s all the same: taking care of Charles during the day, catching an hour or two of sleep, then gripping the steering wheel with white-knuckled intensity, driving through endless stretches of road, resisting any attempts at small talk from the passengers he chauffeurs around.

They all try—every single one of them. They think if they can crack his harsh and bitter exterior, he’ll open up, reveal something, anything to make their eyes go wide.

But why? Why do they insist on breaking through his shell? What do they hope to discover?

No one really cares what’s going on in his mind. They just want to feel good about themselves—like they’ve been kind, amiable, empaths intending to fill some empty and obscure corner of their own lives.

Logan refuses to be the person who grants them that satisfaction.

You slip into the backseat of his limo, closing the door with a soft click. The night clings to you, the scent of the bar still lingering on your clothes. The music is loud enough for him to hear from outside, and he sees the people lined up at the door, willing to cause a fight if it means securing a good time.

There's a slight frown tugging at your features, your lips pulled downward, though your voice is still polite when you blurt out your address.

Five minutes into the drive and you haven’t said a word. Internally, he’s savoring the silence, so happy he could jump on one foot.

This kind of peace is rare. He’d grown unaccustomed to it. The tension in his shoulders eases as the city lights blur past.

But, all good things come to an end, because—

“How’s your night going?” you ask, fiddling with the seatbelt to have something between your fingers. Logan glances at you through the mirror, his eyes catching yours just for a moment, long enough to see the faint, apologetic smile you offer him. He allows himself a heartbeat more to take you in before focusing back on the road.

You click your tongue, a soft sound of disapproval ringing in his ears. “Well, thank you.”

He lets out a quiet huff, grinding his teeth together. “I’d prefer if we stayed like we were before,” he mutters, his voice rough and gravelly. His attention flickers between the passing cars and the occasional glimpses of you that startle him every time he searches for the mirror. Cars. You. Cars. You. You. You. “Y’know, not talking.”

“But that’s no fun at all,” you retort, sliding more to your left, nearly positioning yourself in the middle of the backseat. It gives him a better view of you—whether intentional or not, he can’t say.

The lipstick on your lips is still flawless. A sparkly necklace glints just above the neckline of your dress, and matching earrings dangle from your ears. Wrapped in a leather jacket, you look effortlessly alluring.

This entire sequence is enough to confirm that by no means is he going to heaven. Straight to hell, he thinks, allowing his gaze to trace over each detail of your frame. Straight to hell.

You don’t give up. “Your aura is off.”

That prompts a crooked smirk from him, a shake of his head as he mumbles under his breath: “M’sorry, my what’s off?”

“Your aura,” you clarify, motioning toward him with a light jingle from the many bracelets adorning your wrist. “It’s the energy that surrounds you.”

Logan snorts, amused for a brief second. “Well, you weren’t exactly a beacon of life when you got in either.”

You chuckle softly, leaning back against the seat and looking out the window. “I’m much better now.” A pause before you continue, your tone shifting, losing strength. “My date stood me up. Last-minute cancellation.”

It’s not anger, nor is it disappointment, that laces your words. You seem more resigned than anything else. He’d have expected you to sound at least a bit more conflicted.

“I should’ve seen it coming. He’d been asking to move it forward for a while.”

Does he look like the type of driver who doubles as a therapist? He wishes he could understand why you're telling him all this.

“That sucks,” he still responds, because even though he hasn’t gone out with a woman in what feels like centuries, he understands that sensation all too well. “First time meeting him?”

Listen up, everyone—he’s genuinely engaging in conversation with another soul. This doesn’t happen often.

He hears you hum, eyes still trained on the outside world. You sigh, crossing your arms over your torso. “Would you mind rolling your window up? I’m kind of freezing here.”

“I’d mind that very much,” he says, his voice carrying its usual gruff edge. He fights the urge to grin, but then you unbuckle your seatbelt, leaning in closer to him. Your body is wedged between his seat and the passenger’s, and he perceives your stare boring into his side profile. “Put your seatbelt back on.” 

“You’re fucking with me.” Your finger taps his shoulder once, twice. “First, I get all dolled up for an idiot who bails on me, and now you have the nerve to make fun of me? Give me a break.”

Your eyes stay on him, a smile plastered on your face, anticipating any possible answer.

Crack, crack, crack—you intend to break through his shell, watching him from the front row, waiting for the moment it gives way.

Before you can say more, he cuts you off. “Seatbelt.”

It’s a command, an instruction, and you comply without hesitation.

Warmth pools and stirs low in his gut as he notes how quickly you obey him. 

Would you still look at him like that if you knew the blood he’s scrubbed off his hands? The flesh that his claws have shredded? The names of the lives he’s taken?

Would your warm gaze turn cold, filled with dread instead of curiosity?

Maybe this is hell. Are you the Devil in disguise, tempting him to cross a line he won’t be able to come back from?

A few minutes later, he pulls up to your building. A really nice one, he notes. You announce you live on the sixth floor. He doesn’t need to know that, does he? Why would you tell him that? Why give that piece of information to a complete stranger?

You linger in the backseat, as though you’re expecting him to turn and look at you. And he does, though not for the reason you might expect. “You got everything?”

Eager and full of life, you nod, clutching your purse to your chest. You avert your gaze to read his ID tag, the one that contains his personal details. “James?”

“Glad you can read,” he utters, pulling out a small bottle of liquor from under the seat. He drains it all in one go, savoring the fleeting burn as it slides down his throat, which is enough to keep him going. “C’mon, kid. I already charged you.”

“You drink while you drive?”

“Keeps me entertained,” he says dryly. It’s the only thing he knows how to do. Raising the empty bottle in your direction, he arches a brow. “Goodnight, darlin’. Leave me a good review on your way out.”

You roll your eyes at him, silent as you exit the vehicle, closing the door behind you. While fumbling for your keys, four words escape your mouth. Casual yet devastating, they ruin him: “I’ll see you around.” 

For a couple of days, you don’t bother him again. Bother—notice the implication of the verb in question.

He’d be lying if he said he didn’t think of you after that drive. Each time his phone buzzes, a small, restless part of him hopes it’s you, asking for his services, wanting him to be the one you seek out.

And it happens. The best things seem to occur when the moon hangs high and bright.

You: Hi.

He stares at the message, recognition washing over him. He knows it’s you; he can see the other texts you exchanged that night he took you home.

You: Are you working tonight?

You’ve got to be kidding him.

Logan: Why are you texting me?

He types the words with frustration, his thumb hovering over the screen longer than usual. 

You: Why are you answering me?

Oh, you’re smart. 

Logan: Take my advice. Talk to a guy your own age.

You: Damn. Already jumping to conclusions. I was just going to ask you if you wanted to have a drink with me.

Logan: I’m busy.

You: Well, what time do you get off?

Logan: I work all night.

You: Can’t even make a quick stop? I swear it won’t take you more than twenty minutes.

An impulse to throw his phone out the window surges within him, but he manages to restrain himself.

Then, as if on cue, the device vibrates again—of course, it’s you.

You: The drinks are on me. Let me know if you change your mind.

Do you think he’s going to let you pay for him? Absolutely not. 

What surprises him more than the message is how easily he remembers your address. It appears to be ingrained in his mind.

He cancels his next trip, scheduled for ten minutes from now, his new destination being your building.

Once he pulls up, he does what feels most natural: he honks. Multiple times. Maybe he’s lucky and you’ll tell him to fuck off.

But you don’t. You’re laughing as you make your way over to the limo, sliding into the backseat in the same way you did a week ago. Your plan had succeeded—you had him exactly where you wanted.

Far from hiding it, you make it evident, obvious. Your heartbeat thrums in the air, and Logan can hear it loud and clear, like the bass in one of those funky songs he likes.

There’s no room for mistakes. He won’t deny it. Even if the feeling is mutual, he can’t shake the idea that he’s doing something wrong.

In his eyes, you’re the forbidden fruit—irresistible, the ultimate temptation known to humankind, camouflaged in the fur of a pretty woman.

You, his paradise on earth, could only lead to one thing: a longing for a chance with you, which he should never be granted in the first place.

He’s diving headfirst into disgrace, and the more he realizes it, the worse it feels. If he were to be scolded like a child, maybe he’d feel relieved, but he’s no kid. He’s a grown-ass man who should be able to resist.

Yet, self-restraint is like sand slipping through his fingers—never lasting long enough.

“You came.” Astonishment. Uncertainty. Amusement. Blinking your eyes at him, you sit very upright, and you don't even bother fastening your seatbelt. “Honestly? I thought you were going to block me.”

I can’t, he thinks. I wouldn’t be able to. I’m not that strong.

“What happened this time? Another failed date?” he inquires, still not starting the car. A look of perplexity appears on your features, puzzled about why he’s not moving. “Ain’t you forgetting something?” He tugs on his own seatbelt for emphasis, the fabric snapping back into place against his coat.

Once again, you follow his lead. “I don’t need to get stood up to want to see you,” you say, placing your hand on his shoulder for balance—or so he tells himself. It takes him all his willpower not to collapse right then and there. “Besides, I’m not bad company. I’ve been told I can be pretty funny.” 

“I see…” he trails off, catching your gaze through the rearview mirror, not shocked in the slightest to find you waiting for him to look back. “Where to?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, you should. You invited me.”

How easy it is to make your chest rumble with laughter, the genuine sound bubbling up, pure and unrestrained. He feels like some amateur comedian who has just realized his real passion is to cause this type of response in others.

Except, it’s not just anyone’s laughter he insists on provoking—it’s yours, and yours alone.

An unsettling sensation envelops him the second you retrieve your hand, not before squeezing his shoulder in a friendly manner. “There’s a bar I go to with my friends sometimes,” you suggest after a beat, shoving your phone in the pocket of your jacket. “We could try that one.”

The moment he steps inside, regret washes over him. Why is everyone here under forty? He feels ancient, like fucking Fred Flintstone.

A fossil out of place, meant to dwell in the shadows, not in a scene like this.

When he freezes in the middle of the bar, your fingers intertwine with his, tugging him along, and he follows after you like a lost puppy. The only thing he’s missing is the leash.

You’re met with his quirked eyebrows as you peer into his eyes over your shoulder, a toothy grin threatening to shake the floor beneath his feet. “You know, people usually sit down before they start getting shit-faced.”

“I’m not getting drunk tonight.” Logan exhales a deep breath, trying to hide his discomfort, his eyes scanning the room. “And neither are you,” he practically yells in your ear trying to make himself heard above the pounding music and incessant chatter. He wonders if you even hear him at all.

The two of you eventually settle at the counter, drinking in silence. Logan half-expects one of your comments to pierce through the quiet, but you delight in proving him wrong.

Instead, your head sways gently to the rhythm of the song playing in the background, and you take a trial sip of your beer.

He’s acutely aware of the stares from the rest of the patrons. He can pretend to be oblivious, but the weight of several pairs of eyes burning holes into the back of his neck doesn’t go unnoticed.

Being watched has never been his favorite pastime, and somehow, it feels even more uncomfortable with you by his side.

He knows what those looks imply, can nearly taste the hidden implications behind each fleeting glance.

What’s a girl like you doing with a man like him? A question that makes no sense.

Does he have money? A well-endowed reputation? Did he recently inherit any properties?

Are you truly that desperate for human contact?

Is your bed so cold that you decide to go for the first guy who can string ten words together?

Logan doubts whether this whole experiment is part of the community service you must be doing. Maybe he should look up your name online to see if any criminal records come to the surface.

Now that he takes a moment to ponder it, you certainly fit the mold of the criminal type. The kind who gets what she wants when she wants it, leaving a trail of intrigue on her wake.

His fingers circle the glass so tightly he fears it might shatter into a million shards. You notice his tension, nudging his arm with yours, aiming to meet his eyes.

When you do (because, as he said, criminals have their own ways), you smile, and he internalizes that gesture as something familiar, something he feels he’s grown used to. Something rankled in his memory.

It’s as if he’s known you for a lifetime.

“Thank you for coming,” you say softly, and he may be going down the path of hallucinations,  but your attention remains a little too long on his lips. Then, just as quickly, it flickers back to the rest of his face, and you lean back to drink from your beer once more.

Straight to hell, he thinks, tasting the remnants of whiskey on his tongue, for ever daring to believe himself worthy of even a moment of your precious time.

You’re probably the first person to have his full, undivided attention. And that’s… well, that’s saying something.

Most days, you’re pretty talkative, a steady stream of conversation, your words pouring out in an endless flow.

You tell him about your family, your career, that pet of yours that died when you were six years old. You mention a friend you no longer speak to, and the events that led to the downfall of your friendship.

There’s also that dish from your all-time favorite restaurant, the one you buy at least once a week because it never fails to comfort you.

Nonstop, you talk and talk, and Logan doesn’t mind one bit. Soon, he finds himself becoming an active listener—asking follow-up questions, chuckling at your jokes, even when they’re not funny at all.

He sincerely cares about what you have to say.

This whole situation with you is beyond his comprehension. Before he realizes it, you start wanting to spend more time with him.

Sometimes, you ride along in the passenger seat while he drives aimlessly through the city.

Sometimes, you invite him over, cook a meal, and he always takes the leftovers with him, as if a part of you goes with him when he leaves.

Sometimes, you come over to his place, and the roles reverse—you’re the one with the mic, asking the questions, fully aware that you’re treading on holy ground. 

Logan’s got a sign on his forehead that reads ‘Stop: do not enter.’ It’s rough around the edges, hardened by the years, all capital letters in stark blank ink. But in the end, you just take the sign and set it aside.

He never goes into too much detail. Not because he doesn’t trust you—it’s just that there’s too much to unpack, and you don’t need to know all of it. You’ll be better off not carrying the garbage he does.

Yet, you’ve got him by the throat, encouraging him to cough up disjoined pieces of his life, bits of his day, his thoughts, his feelings. It sounds stupid to him, but you make him feel alive. 

You never judge him, never flinch when he brings up stories from his past. As he sits at your table one afternoon, you look at his hands, his claws fully extended, and you don’t shy away. You rub the pad of your thumb across the rough skin of his knuckles, right where the adamantium tears through his flesh.

You don’t care that he’s a mutant, that he’s killed people. You don’t try to deny who he is or what he’s done. Oddly enough, you just wish to be by his side, staring off into the void with him. 

“But why?” he asks, partly flattered, partly frustrated. This could be compared to learning a new sport from scratch—he can’t figure you out, can’t understand why you haven’t run the other way yet.

He likes your company, though he’s always bracing himself for the inevitable day you find a better hobby and leave.

Your reasoning defies logic, and he’s afraid that at any moment, you’ll grasp the gravity of your choices.

Almost as if you could feel the turmoil brewing in his mind, you simply say: “You’re nice to be around.”

Nice. Nice. Nice. He’d cackle if he were alone. That word reverberates through him. When was the last time someone called him nice?

Bad-tempered, sure.

A pain in the ass? Definitely.

But nice? Not a term people employed to describe him.

It’s a quality reserved for you, with your endless charisma and kind heart, but not for a man of his kind.

He’s nothing more than a chauffeur, a driver, someone who does and says what’s necessary to survive. Does that make him nice? 

When he tells you he’s probably going to hell, you don’t try to make him feel better. Anyone else in your position might try to soothe him, to offer some hollow reassurance.

Your intention isn’t to change him, for him to pretend to be something he’s not. “Then I’ll meet you there,” you mutter, your shiny eyes searing into his. Under the table, your hand finds his, tender fingers grazing over his knuckles, and for once, he doesn’t pull away.

Could it be that an afterlife catching fire doesn’t sound so bad after all?

As much as he likes to admit how easily you can shift his mood, today is not one of those days.

He’s had a nightmare—nothing new, but this one had been… different. The empty bottle on the nightstand hadn’t been of any help; it never does when they visit him in his sleep.

The ghosts of those who used to be his friends, his family, tiptoe around his dreams in the form of shadows.

Blood. Screams. Shouts of his name. He can’t save them all. Walking through the wreckage, he dodges the bodies of those he couldn’t protect, the knot in his throat tightening with every step, not allowing him to breathe.

Wherever he turns, there’s death, destruction. Sadness. Did he save them all?

It’s always the same routine. He wakes up, screaming, chest aching from the effort. His lungs burn, and he has to remind himself that the limbs attached to him are his own and not the remnants of an immobile corpse.

Sweat clings to his skin, pooling at his temples and nape. He wipes it away with the back of his hand, rubbing at the soreness in his neck.

His phone rings somewhere in the distance, pulling him from his dizzy state. He scrambles to his feet, accepting the call just before it hits voicemail.

It's you. Despite it being late, he swears he feels the gentle kiss of the sun over his brow. Your sweet voice chases away the lingering shadows of his dreams, replacing the bitter taste in his mouth with something real—a reason to get up, to start moving.

He holds onto every second of the brief call, replaying those thirty seconds in his head as he steps into the shower. When the cold water shocks his system, it pulls him fully back to consciousness. He has to get ready.

Even though you insist on getting a taxi, he refuses. He doesn’t mind the drive. His gas tank does, his wallet maybe, but Logan? He just doesn’t.

At the end of the day, he’s protective by nature, and who knows what kind of men are roaming the streets at night?

God forbid they’re anything like him—eager to prompt a smile from you, trying too hard to impress you. He arrives at the conclusion that he’d rather lose fuel and money if it means orbiting around you for longer.

You make him feel better, and tonight, he needs it more than ever. He needs you.

(Now he’s driving. He honks five times when he pulls up to your building. You get on the limo, giggling as you say: “My neighbors must hate you.” He grins. You kiss him on the cheek. Subtle. Not the first time. Still, it doesn’t get old. He feels the faint residue of lip gloss on his skin. He doesn’t wipe it off.)

Not in the mood to cook, you declare as you step into his place. The mouth-watering aroma of the Chinese food you bought fills the air, but when he reaches for the bags, you insist that he sit and relax.

Sure, he can take a seat. But to expect him to relax with you around, playing this intricate game? That’s simply impossible. You’re asking for too much. He’s a player at heart, drawn to the thrill of the chase, and he will play along.

What seems inconceivable is the expectation that he can act as if nothing is happening between these four walls.

His attempts to focus on you are futile, as his mind betrays him tonight. All he hears spilling from your lips is pure and plain gibberish. Your very presence is no longer enough to anchor him.

Already immune to your charm, Logan eats his noodles, occasionally nodding when your voice rises at the end of a sentence, indicating a question.

But he nearly chokes on his drink the moment he registers your serious expression, having never witnessed you like this before.

“Are you even here?” you ask, shoving your food aside with a swift motion of your wrist.

What should he answer? What is it that you want to hear? Of course! I’m here, listening to you. It’s a delightful night. Should I start by telling you about my most recent nightmare? Quite the entertainment!

There’s a shake of his head as he lowers his gaze, escaping your concerned expression. “M’sorry.”

“Don’t be. I’m not trying to make you feel guilty.” You tug your chair forward, claiming a piece of his personal space. You know he doesn’t mind. “Want to talk about it? Did something happen?”

“My brain is just… off today.”

“Many thoughts at the same time.” Not a question. Have you completely figured him out?

“Yeah.”

He remains still, dragging his plastic fork across the now-cold steamed veggies, which have lost their appeal.

How amusing—your knees bump against his, drawing his attention. “Can I help you?” It’s new, the breathy tone you’re using, a whisper of agitation weaving through your calm demeanor. 

“Can you erase my memory?” he shoots back, attempting to smirk through the wave of memories that flash behind his eyelids. When he looks into your eyes, the siren in his head blares.

Your pupils are dilated, blown wide, chest rising and falling rapidly. Sweaty palms that you wipe on your jeans. Tongue darting out to lick your lips. Your heartbeat accelerates, drumming wildly like the fluttering of a hummingbird’s wings.

He hasn’t been with a woman in ages, but he knows how they react when they see something they like—or, in this case, someone.

“Logan.” His name rolls off your tongue once more, tinged with an unmistakable need. The thought of checking his temperature dances through his mind, but the heaviness in his limbs roots him in place. He feels feverish. “I want to help you.”

Oh, no. No, no, no, no—

“What—what are you on, sweetheart?” Get up. Find your keys. Drive her home. “You don’t even know what you’re sayin’.”

Saliva floods his mouth as you rise to your feet, looking down at him from above. Gracefully angelic, and yet— “I know what I’m asking for,” you continue, your voice descending to a low murmur that scratches pleasantly against some dark and remote corner of his head. Then you lower yourself onto his lap, your thighs bracketing his waist. You repeat your question: “Can I help you?”

He’s no longer in control of his actions. His right hand crawls up your knee, palming the fabric of your pants. It’s numbing: a lapful of you, your rich smell, your quickened pulse.

Tempting. So fucking tempted to take you right now, just like this, without the need for words. Your bodies can communicate in a language of their own, one that transcends spoken phrases. 

I want you, he lets you know through the way he gropes your breasts over your shirt, squeezing them together. He’s always been good with his hands. But what the hell am I supposed to do with a sweet thing like you?

His patience teeters on the edge of a precipice. “Tell me what you want.”

“I asked you first.”

“You’re gonna pretend you don’t know the answer?” He thrusts into the air, grinding against your clothed core, and you close your eyes. He’s rock hard beneath you, the bulge in his jeans shockingly obscene, bordering on grotesque. “We both know what I want, but I’m no telepath, baby. Need you to speak up.”

Twisting the locks of hair at his nape, you press your lips to his neck. “I want to make you forget, to focus on this moment. I want you to live in the present, Logan.” A bite on his earlobe sends shivers down his spine, and he grips your hips with a primal growl. “I can do whatever you want. Just tell me. Tell me, and I’ll do it, please.”

Please? He’s spiraling. Please? That’s it—he’s doing it. He’ll grant you your plea, which aligns perfectly with his own desires.

Once his back meets the mattress in his room, you get to work. With delicate precision, you pull down his pants, sliding his boxers off until only his thick thighs and the crown of short curls adorning his cock remain in sight. Your fingers tremble slightly before you wrap them loosely around his length, and it springs to life in your grasp.

Your gaze pierces into his, mirroring the intensity of his own. But something holds you back, prompting you to reach for his hand.

At that moment, it all clicks into place. Logan urges your head down onto him, and he’s welcomed by the slick warmth you provide.

Indeed, he’s very much alive.

“That’s it. That’s—fuck. There you go.” 

His fingers dig into the mattress, clutching the cotton sheets, stopping himself from thrusting into your mouth. It’s not that he doesn’t want to—God, he does—but tonight, he’s on his best behavior.

He wipes the trail of drool from your chin, smearing it gently across your cheek, his thumb lingering as he watches your nostrils flare with a strained, muffled gasp.

Bringing his thumb to his mouth, he tastes the wetness on it the same way you’re sucking him: greedily, without any trace of mercy.

This proves I’m going to hell, he thinks, enraptured by the sight of his cock disappearing between your parted lips. Straight to hell.

You draw him back to the present, nuzzling your face against his thigh, your humid breath teasing his thick shaft, pulling him from a deep reverie. Your glossy eyes roam, exploring until they find his, and you gift him an authentic smile. Wrecked and blissed out, it’s as if the lights are on, but no one’s truly home.

He would’ve never guessed how much you reveled in sucking cock, radiating enthusiasm with each of your movements.

“Am I doing it okay?” you wonder aloud, hovering over the tip, swirling your tongue around the velvety head. He’s no fool, and neither are you; deep down, you know you’re doing more than just okay. Actually, you’re giving him the best blowjob of his long, long life.

Each panting, airy praise he huffs fuels your eagerness, making you even more receptive to his desires as the words slip past his lips.

“Fuckin’ amazing, honey. Got me so hard, y’see?” His tone is heavily charged with carnality, gripping himself and smacking the tip against your mouth, the wet sound echoing like music to his ears.

He pulses against your tongue, and you seize the opportunity to trace the thin veins scattered along his length. Gulping, with his gaze fixed on you, Logan notices how you’re still wearing your clothes, wiggling your hips against the mattress, rubbing your thighs together to get something in return. “Are you wet?”

Humming against him, you suck in shaky breath. 

“Words.”

“I’m—I’m wet,” you rasp, voice hoarse. You try to guide him into your mouth and fail miserably, because his grip only tightens, stroking himself instead. “Logan,” you keen, stretching your neck in a silent plea, “don’t be mean.”

“Not mean. Just enjoyin’ myself,” he replies, pulling the foreskin back to expose the head, arching his eyebrows. His fingers curl around your chin, drawing your face nearer to his girth, fascinated by how your eyes flutter shut the more you surrender to the pleasure. “C’mon. Be polite.”

Blame him for it—he believes he’ll never get tired of this game.

“Please.” You whisper, returning to your begging while tenderly rolling his balls, staring at him through your lashes. And then you say it again: “Please.”

Your gaze burns a hole through his crumpled heart. He lets you have it, eager to give whatever you may ask him for. You dive back into it, engulfing his length and bobbing your head up and down with fervor. Hushed whines escape your lips, savoring another bead of his precum.

Logan almost loses it as you hollow your cheeks, instinctively cradling the back of your head. “Easy, baby. M’not going anywhere. Take your time.”

Whenever he feels himself approaching that long-awaited release, he forces his mind to conjure thoughts that will stall his impending orgasm.

The water stains from flooding on the walls.

The supermarket list.

The rising price of gas.

The—

“Fuck. Slow down,” he groans, utterly captivated by the way you point your tongue to draw imaginary patterns along his cock, seemingly memorizing every detail. “Don’t go too hard on me, remember?”

You mumble something under your breath, and at first, he can’t quite make it out. “What is it?”

“I said I want you to fuck me.”

Under no circumstances is he surviving this night.

“Really, doll?” Logan seeks the reassurance he desperately needs, fearing that this is all a dream from which he’ll awaken the moment he properly touches you. “You sure you want this old man to fuck you?”

You’re a rambling mess, murmuring Yes, Logan, please, until he maneuvers you to lie on his chest, his glistening cock sliding against your clothes, leaving a trail of dark spots. A whimper dies on your tongue as you brush your lips together, your hot breath enveloping him. “Give me a kiss at least.”

Tilting your head up, he connects his mouth to yours, growling as he detects the dull, sour tang of what must be him. He sucks your bottom lip, hardly aware of what his hands are doing until he shifts your positions, pinning you down.

Logan tugs at your clothes, peeling them away with urgency, his fingers dancing over your nipples until you’re grinding against his thigh, quivering beneath him. With a nip at your damp skin, his eyes flutter open as he studies your expression, casting you a glance that seeks your permission.

A ripple of desire courses through him when you dutifully turn over beneath him, pressing your face further into the pillow. He runs his knuckles along the curve of your ass, his throat going dry as you follow after his touch, arching your body in response.

Unable to resist the temptation any longer, he licks a long, slow stripe up your wet folds, keeping his tongue flat against your clit for a brief moment. Your arms give out and you stumble forward, stuttering as you mewl his name, fully consumed by the feeling.

So he does it again, and again, and again, flicking the sensitive bud, even though you’re already beyond soaked. It’s a pleasure he indulges in simply because he can.

Straight to hell, he thinks, coating his length with your arousal, teasing your entrance while pushing in only the tip. That motion alone is enough to make him draw a trembling breath before he continues, gradually feeding you his cock, inch by inch.

Straight to hell, the voice in his head utters as he buries himself to the hilt deep within your body, his heavy balls resting against your ass.

Like an intruder in your territory, he’s free to do as he pleases, and you let him have his way with you.

If only this moment could stretch into infinity—he longs for time to relent and never draw to a close. 

What will happen after? Will you spend the night? Does he—

“L-Logan,” you mumble, having adjusted to his size. You rock back into him, impaling yourself even more on his cock. “Please, move.”

The pace he establishes is brutal. Your warm, inner walls exquisitely massage him, and the earth as he knows it stops spinning. Fire pools low in his abdomen, his hands holding you by the flesh of your hips to keep you anchored, each thrust driving you closer to the headboard with an intoxicating urgency. 

“You wanted it from the very start, didn’t you?” He doesn’t know if a response will ever come, but these kinds of thoughts are impossible to contain. He’s just a simple man, powerless against the allure of a tight cunt. “Just got in my car and knew it would end like this?”

You roll your eyes at him, silent as you exit the vehicle, closing the door behind you. While fumbling for your keys, four words escape your mouth. Casual yet devastating, they ruin him: “I’ll see you around.” 

His next thrust punches a whine out of your lungs. Even as you clench around him, stuffed and filled to the brim, you beg for him to fuck you harder. He would’ve laughed at you were he able to catch his breath.

With a more deliberate rhythm, he rolls his hips, jackhammering your most sensitive spot, pulling you closer as he wraps an arm around you. When his fingers find your clit, drawing slippery circles, a cry escapes you, and your body merges with the mattress under you.

Your release takes him by surprise, urging him to continue as you reach back, encouraging him to chase his own climax. He knows all too well the struggle of bringing you to this point without succumbing to his pleasure too soon. Your nails graze along his thigh, leaving delicate marks in their wake, and somehow, the passion and bliss he’s been nurturing ignites into a fiery crescendo.

Shortly after, he goes completely rigid inside you, pressing his forehead against your back as he bites down on your shoulder to muffle his groans. His hand squeezes your breast tightly, riding out his high, blood buzzing in his ears, continuing to spill into you. You spam around him, milking him until the last drop of his seed, his release painting your insides with his warmth.

Logan tucks you under his chin as his vision returns to clarity. You nose his jaw, your fingers softly tracing the contours of his beard. He pulls you closer into his chest, gliding his hands up and down your back.

Half a minute of dreadful silence, then: “Can I stay?”

Oh, yes—pillow talk. He’s not great at this either. Despite that, his eyes soften, snapping to your face.

Logan pauses for a moment. “Sure,” he retorts, dragging his fingers along your shoulder blades. He’s a one-word kind of guy. Just perfect.

Tell her you like her. Tell her you don’t want this to be a casual fling. Tell her it’s more than just sex for you.

Or maybe don’t. Get ahold of yourself, will you?

“Logan?” you ask, resting your palm against his heart.

“What is it?”

“I know.”

You do?

Try as he might, he can’t deny it. He might care about you more than he ever realized.

dividers by: @/cafekitsune thank you!!! <3

[ristoranteivorykeys]

i greet thee with a kiss (skully hcs)

pre-relationship headcanons about skully's feelings towards you where you and him are in night raven college together

ft. skully j. graves

╰┈➤ 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: uploading these now before the halloween update drops ���� episode 3 is where shit hits the fan, and i want to stay in the lighthearted lore drops that episode 2 brings, so here we are. tbh i had been falling a little bit out of twst due to irl and generally just being less into it as time passes by. but then twst drops skully and unfortunately, he's my type 😟 so here i am now, pilled enough to write the brainworms in my head. i hope u enjoy, and i hope episode 3 does not ruin what i'm uploading

𓆩ᥫ᭡𓆪 Skully is the kind of person who always approaches everyone in the room and greets them with a kiss on the hand. He gives everyone his attention and starts small talk with them (regardless of whether they want to or not). If anyone says they need to go and run a small errand or even just to get water or food from the cafeteria, he offers to accompany them in case they don't want to feel alone. In other words, if you're in love with Skully and prevent your delusions from coloring your eyes with rose colors (or attempt to deny your feelings), you may be thinking dejectedly he probably treats you the same way as he treats anyone else.

𓆩ᥫ᭡𓆪 However, when he's in love with you, his gentlemanly act falters, as he gets flustered. When he kisses your hand in greeting, he's slightly shakier and redder in the face. And whereas his speech is more polite with others, with you, he drops to more casual speech that's littered with occasional bursts of excitement. Usually, he's a generally good conversationalist, able to connect with people on a number of topic, and while that remains the same with you, his hands are on his cheeks more often than usual, especially when he finds that you like something he likes.

𓆩ᥫ᭡𓆪 When you're not in the room, he's going to keep talking about you. Skully is the type to remember in vivid detail about the conversations he has with you, so when he's rambling about you to the first year gang, he mentions everything, from your compliments to the little lilts in your voice that attract his ear to the smallest movement in your hand as it inches closer to his hand. If any hugs occurred, Skully can easily take up 15 minutes describing the sensations and the warm goopy feelings he experienced during the hug. Skully is the type to let his delusions carry him, so Ace and Sebek have to bring him down with their bluntness.

𓆩ᥫ᭡𓆪 Though he may be flustered, Skully does not fail to act chivalrous towards you. In fact, he's much more gentlemanly to you. He observes the sidewalk rule, he tends to have a hand on your back or shoulder while you're walking in a busy area, and he offers you his jacket when it's cold. If it's raining, he'd share an umbrella with you, and he'd adjust the umbrella so that you're completely covered, even if one side of him gets drenched. In fact, he'd willingly give you his umbrella if you say you don't have one, and he'll tell you that he doesn't need it (he'll end up a wet sopping mess after running in the downpour finding shelter, but it would be worth it if it meant you were safe and dry).

𓆩ᥫ᭡𓆪 Skully's poetry slowly incorporates you as the subject. Usually, he heaps poetic praises in the scenery he witnesses, in conversations that struck him, and in the season of Halloween and his idol Jack Skellington. But he could be having class, and while looking out the window, would mutter about the clearness of the sky paling in comparison to your honest eyes. Or he could be walking along the botanical gardens with the Science club, and Skully would compare the flowering plants to the vividness of your face (and Rook would probably enable him further). Or if you compliment him, he'd squish his own cheeks and squeal about how your words are like evergreen to him, refreshing to listen to after the insults that he endured throughout his life. Without realizing, he's talking about you more than even Halloween.

𓆩ᥫ᭡𓆪 In spite of the delusions, Skully often finds himself having moments of doubt, telling himself that it might be better off if you don't have to deal with someone like him. You're very kind and strong, with friends who would be there for you, and he's a loser whose idea of Halloween has been shunned and rejected by everyone. You deserve someone better, someone who can love you better. Yet, he can't dampen his feelings for you: He wishes to be the one whom you can depend on, he wants to give you the treatment you deserve, and he yearns to hold you for as long as he can.

𓆩ᥫ᭡𓆪 Skully's confession to you is done through a poem that he wrote on parchment for at least 3 days, with revisions from the first year gang. He's trembling as he grips the paper and nervously reads from it. Countless stars shine in the night, but the sparkle of your eyes hold a brighter light. I've heard of smiles that can disarm a man, but I never understood it until I watched your lips curl up and your eyes squint at me in joy... He's cringing at himself with some lines, stopping at some points to complain about what he wrote. But when you hug him, telling him how sweet he is and present your own poem about how much you like him, Skully ends up crying endlessly, thanking you for accepting somebody like him. And you take him in your arms, repeating to him that yes, you'd accept someone like him who's made you happy.

[ssahotchnerr]

Hey love, could you pretty please do an Aaron x reader where it’s there wedding day and she starts getting real bad anxiety about marrying him. Not because she doesn’t want to but because she feels like he is surrounded by so many amazing people who uplift him that she could never compare. Just in the mood for fluffy comfort Aaron 🥹

enough

cw; fem!reader, a LOT of angst but it's comforting??, heavy 5x9 references (i'm sobbing actually), anxiety descriptions, aaron cries 😭, comfort and a happy ending don't worry!!!! wc; 2.4k

"nervous jitters?"

"you could say that." you replied - while staring off into space, while bouncing your crossed leg, while kicking your slipper on and off your heel. your head moved downward as your fingers clutched onto the seat of the chair you were sat in, harshly enough for your knuckles to turn white.

jj pulled the curling wand away from your face an inch, "careful, try not to move."

"sorry."

yet another wave of guilt rippled through you, as this wasn't how you should feel on your wedding day.

last night, you were surrounded by the people you now consider family, celebrating a new chapter. or rather, a beginning. aaron's permanent grin was engraved in your mind; you've never seen him so carefree, happily conversing with his colleagues, gazing at you as if he'd won the lottery (to him, he had). you were positive there wasn't a second where his arms hadn't been wrapped around you.

before parting ways for the night, he had pulled you to the side, to a more secluded area. he gave you long, sweet, deep kisses, holding your body close to his, as you weren't going to see each other until the two of you officially, and finally, became one.

just as him, you had been on a similar high, more than ready for this next adventure, in pure disbelief that in less than twenty-four hours, you'd be a hotchner. so now, whatever this was, had quite literally come out of absolutely nowhere.

when you awoke this morning, rather than the excitement you had expected, you were greeted with an empty, terrifying pit in your stomach.

as the day carried on, pre-wedding activities in full motion, it followed, and the void within only grew and grew. it was gravely unsettling; you were more fidgety, on edge, you hadn't been your usual talkative self. and despite being surrounded by your newfound family - jj, penelope, and emily more specifically - you couldn't help but choose to remain alone in your thoughts.

jj studied your face through the mirror, before securing your hairpiece in place. "there." her hands found your shoulders, giving them a comforting squeeze. "sit tight, i'll be right back."

you nodded, blinking your eyes to prevent the budding tears from slipping - and to not ruin penelope's handiwork, mascara sure to stain your cheeks. she left, leaving you alone.

but as promised jj returned no more than five minutes later, only she remained at the doorway, her head peeking in. "someone's here to see you."

after giving you a consoling smile, as if she knew - profilers - she vanished, leaving door slightly ajar.

your hand had only just touched the knob when the door moved a centimeter back, slight pressure holding it still to refrain from opening fully.

"don't open it all the way."

"aaron?" at the sound of his voice, you fought the instant urge to sob. but the utmost amount of comfort filled you too. it took a second, but you found your voice, "you're not supposed to be here."

"well technically, i just can't see you."

"still." you insisted. your tone was flat, rather than being full of giddiness due to your future husband sneakily paying you a forbidden visit - like it should've. "they're going to be looking for you."

"then let them." aaron answered simply, not concerned about that in the slightest. "are you alright?"

you immediately fell silent, and aaron patiently waited a minute, but still - nothing. the extended period of quietness, scared him, given the day's event.

please, not cold feet.

and given the current circumstances, there was only so much he could do. aaron dropped his hand to his side, weaving through the small gap. "here, give me your hand."

your hand quickly found his, the promptness allowing aaron to breathe. the familiar weight felt like home; your hand always fitting perfectly within his. your hands always cold, his warm. yours soft, his rough.

his thumb drew circles on the back of your hand, an invitation to open up. "what's on your mind?"

you bit your lip in thought, taking a heavy enough breath aaron could hear it without straining his ears.

"honey?"

"first, i want to preface this that i do want to marry you. i don't want you thinking otherwise." your voice was firm, meaning every word.

"okay..." here was a brief hesitancy in his voice despite your promise; a tinge of worry, some question. however, he managed to keep his voice steady, for the most part. you, however, still recognized the waver of uncertainty.

"just," you released a breath, your voice small. "i envy you."

aaron was quiet for a moment, and when he did speak, the confusion was obvious in his voice. "you envy me?"

"you have," you took a breath, gripping onto his hand. "so many wonderful amazing people around you... i don't even know where to start. they've been with you, stuck with you, for far longer than i have. how do i compare to that? god, dave's practically paying for this whole thing. because of you, for you. no matter who you would've married, he would've done exactly the same. i'm not special."

"sweethear-"

"i want to be enough for you." tears pinched at your eyes, your hold on his hand lessening - which frighteningly felt like you were letting go completely. "you deserve," you took another breath, and this one rattled through you. "everything. and i'm afraid i never will be."

aaron only clutched onto your hand tighter, refusing to part. his eyes squeezed shut for a moment, taking a silent, deep breath. "are you wearing your dress yet?"

after all that, you weren't too sure of how he would respond, but you certainly hadn't expected that. "no? once-"

aaron released your hand. and after looking in both directions of the hall to be certain he was in the clear, he swiftly entered, the door clicking shut behind him.

"aaron." you stared at him, your eyes wide in alarm. you barely had the time to process him in his tuxedo, or have the thought to push him out. "you can't be-"

"enough?" aaron looked at you, baffled. exasperation, pain, and love all present in his eyes. "how can you say that?"

"i-"

"you... are everything. my everything." he moved to your left, pacing away for a moment, quickly internalizing a way to get it across solidly, so you wouldn't dare question otherwise again. he blurted out the first thing that came to mind, "did i ever tell you, what haley told me before she died?"

you blinked in surprise, but shook your head. while you knew the story, offered reassurances after nightmares and the topic of haley had never been off limits, aaron had never gone into detail over... the final moments. you never pushed, never asked - if it was something he chose to keep to himself, to have that part of haley close to him and only him - of course you respected that. they were vulnerable, painful memories, not easy to relive.

he sobered, his posture and expression changing before you, alight with a ghost of the past. a tender, solemn fondness was in his tone as he recalled the line. "'love is the most important thing.'"

your eyes studied his face, silently urging him to continue.

"and while our relationship had it's hardships, she wanted jack to believe in it - love - and had me promise her that i'd show him."

"aaron..."

"he believes, because of you."

"i-"

"i believe," his eyes found yours, full of a sincereness you've never seen from him. "because of you."

you opened your mouth to speak again, but no words came out.

"haley was right." he chuckled softly, with a small shake of his head, "honestly, and while i understand why now, for a long time i was furious she made me promise that. because i wouldn't be able to keep my word. before that... day, i'd already given up. lost hope that i could find it again, that it was even possible, or whether i deserved it. haley and i were together for a long time, you know that. being with her was all i knew, what i was used to, and part of me thought maybe someday, we'd manage to work things out. and suddenly, she was gone. it was too late - i was too late. i failed her, and i'd continue to fail her."

"and then you came into my life, and turned my world around completely. never did i think i would love again, let alone get on one knee and ask someone to marry me. but here we are. here you are."

aaron took your face into his hands, as delicately as he possibly could - as if he feared he would break you.

"because of you, i kept my promise to haley. jack knows, he sees the love i have for you every day. and although he 'ew's' at the sight of us kissing here and there, he'll grow up understanding. he'll know the importance, as promised."

"and you saved me. you saved from a looming downward spiral. i saw it happen to gideon, it's happened to countless others within the bureau, and i could've been the next. i told someone once; it's consuming, this job will eat you up if you let it. but instead of letting it, instead of ruining my relationship with jack, you managed to pull me from that impending darkness i was headed toward."

tears were continuously trickling down your cheeks, utterly speechless.

"you're enough. god you're more than enough. and if that doesn't... i'll prove it to you everyday if i have to. if you'll let me." a broken exhale left his lips, choked up. "i promise."

still unable to find the words, and actions speaking louder, your fingers grabbed onto his tux, pulling his body to yours and wrapping your arms around his middle, burying your face into his chest. in the back of your mind, you made a mental apology to penelope, and hoped you weren't soiling aaron's dress shirt too badly.

aaron's shoulders dropped at the contact, in relief. he pressed his lips to the top of your head, his arms wrapping around your shoulders and holding you close. next, he's the one who took a shaky breath.

"so, i'm the one who should be afraid."

"what?" your voice cracked, peering up at him, your chin on his torso.

"baggage." aaron sighed, tearing his eyes away from yours, his hands running along your back soothingly - or rather, to soothe himself. "i'm the widowed father. i'm the one who's never around. i'm the one who's scarred, in more ways than one. i don't want to limit you, to keep you from a life you've always imagined for yourself. like i did with haley."

"don't say that."

"every day, i wonder why i'm the one you chose to be with. wonder why you love me. i think that it's too good to be true, that i'll wake up. or someday, you will."

"aaron."

he sighed, tears sliding down his cheek.

"you are not scarred, aaron hotchner." you cupped his face and angled him so he was looking at you, wiping the droplets away with the pads of your thumb. "far from it. the life i imagine, is with you. this is it." you found it in you to let out a small laugh, refreshing after the morning you've had. "that's why i was so worried."

he also couldn't help but laugh gently through his tears. "you shouldn't be."

your hand slid to the back of his neck, winding your fingers through the nape of his hair. "you've, very unfairly, dealt with the unfathomable. the unimaginable. but that doesn't make you broken. i find it admirable actually, and it's one of the things i love about you. you're strong aaron. to go through something like that, and come out on the other side of it, both the tragedy and the recovery part of it. a lot of people wouldn't be able to do the same."

aaron looked at you, listening, his head tilting as he leaned into your touch.

"despite what you think, you're a good father. i adore you with jack. and with the horrors you see, every day, you still come home with a calm face. you never fail to give us your all - your sweet loving self. you're always present, even if you're physically aren't here. because you're out there making this world a safer place for so many others. for jack, for me. you really don't give yourself enough credit."

aaron remained silent, his gaze beginning to tear away from yours. but you stopped him, with a finger under his chin to direct his focus back to you.

"you may have scars, but they aren't you. they may contribute, but they aren't you."

"are you sure?" his voice fell to a whisper, eyes desperately searching yours, his own dampened.

you nodded earnestly, your bottom lip quivering a small amount. "i've never been more sure of anything. i promise."

and with that, aaron's lips found yours, kissing you even more deeply than he had the previous night. from the urgency that soon developed, it was clear just how needed this conversation was, on both ends. providing closure, clarity. the kiss sent a buzz right through you, instantaneously making up for the all the lost time you had spent brooding.

you forced yourself to pull away - only when air was needed, and to simply stop. you would've gladly kissed him longer, and aaron likewise, but the two of you were on a schedule.

his forehead fell against yours, a rather boyish, adorable smile on his face. "so, are we good?"

you nodded, your lips pulling into a smile as well, the giddiness you've been missing finally present. you reached up, gently blotting away any lingering tears of his. "we've always been."

"wedding still on?"

you rolled your eyes, gently smacking his chest and making him laugh. "duh."

"okay." he grinned, pecking your lips gently. "i better go. if someone catches me in here-"

"-you'll be in trouble."

"big trouble." he grinned, pulling your hands forward to bring you in for yet another kiss. "i love you. you never saw me."

you chased his lips - just one more. "never did."

aaron laughed, his brown eyes just sparkling. "i'll see you soon. you know where to find me, i'll be waiting."

[izvmimi]

cw: self-indulgent. smut, minors dni. oral (fem!receiving). multiple orgasm mention.

it's once you tip over for the third time that night that the small, still semi-coherent part of you realizes you made a grave mistake.

you miscalculated - give your husband an inch, and he'll take a whole fucking mile (or whatever the equivalent is in orgasms).

a somewhat strangled cry leaves your throat, not unlike a cat yowling, one that cannot possibly be sexy, and you, from somewhere deep inside, find the wherewithal to swat izuku's face and hands away from you, losing strength as laps up the nectar that seeps from between your legs for the umpteenth time, the grip of his hands strong and steady around the fat of your thighs.

"s-stop!" you're nearly crying now, overstimulated, and heart racing in your chest, every part of you buzzing with electricity. you can feel him everywhere, even if the last point of contact is focused - a long, protracted swipe of his tongue from your taint to your clit. you gasp, and your hips buck again in his face, heels digging into the mattress as you try to keep yourself together. cumming again at this point might as well be embarrassing.

he pecks you right on the clit before pulling back and peering at you over your belly. izuku is kneeling now at the edge of the bed, grinning, the shine of his lips, sloppy with spit and other fluid, and you watch him warily as you try to catch your breath, wondering if he's some sort of demon.

"are you sure?" he asks. "you seemed to be liking it." his left hand squeezes at your ass cheek before he lowers you down so that your tailbone can feel the surface of the bed again. your heart still thumps in your chest, brain hazy enough that you can't remember half the shit you learned an hour ago.

... panic reaches you again when you realize that yes, in fact, an hour has passed.

"fuck, izuku, i still have work to do!"

he frowns, then leans over you, intertwining his fingers with yours as he pins you down. he's painfully cute as you look up at him, but you know you can't fight your way out of his grip unless he lets you, and something about that can keep you wet in your panties forever.

he dips down low and kisses you, not without making sure that you come up at least a quarter of the way to meet his lips.

"i think you can take a break," he murmurs. he lowers his weight so that he's laying on top of you, and while he's heavy as he clings, it's a comforting pressure that you've grown accustomed to. he shifts his body so that he's not completely crushing you, and you tangle your legs with his, despite your protests that you need to leave.

you can hear a little bit of frustration in his voice and it stills you. he's a little clingier than usual, understandable since all you do is work and study these days, holed up in a little room, scribbling into a notebook by desk light until the wee hours of the morning. after a few months, he's grown tired of asking you if you were coming to bed every night, especially since you just end up flipping through flash cards under the covers after he physically removes you from your chair.

despite this, he's still tolerated your anxiety and dealt with your silence, outbursts and sensitivity to touch.

it's taken a toll on your relationship and you can tell.

your hands find their way into his hair, twisting the curls between your fingers. and you give in.

"fine, i think i'm done for the night anyway."

the second the words leave your mouth, he's back on top of you again, practically beaming.

you blink, in expectation, wondering how he can look so much like an actual puppy wagging his tail at you, green eyes bright and cheery.

"all night?"

suspicious, you start, "izuku... what do you mean-" but then he's rubbing his shaft right against your entrance again and you suck in sharply through your teeth. his eyelids lower as he watches you start to succumb to pleasure again, and in just a couple fluid rolls of the hips, he induces you to moaning his name again-

screaming his name really, when he bullies himself inside you, buries himself in deep, and reminds you that you can be stuffed full of things other than knowledge.

cock obviously, but also love and affection.

[justwinginglife]

The Waiting Game

The line between friends and lovers is dangerously thin and Soshiro Hoshina likes to fucking cartwheel down that tightrope like it's his personal plaything.

Any stranger walking by could see he was clearly checking you out, but if asked, he'd simply shrug and say something about how it was his duty as your friend to make sure your fly was zipped or your socks were matching. He never thought to make himself less obvious as he took in the sight of your shirt that dangled just a little too low or your pants that hugged your curves just a little too tight. He didn't have to. If you claimed to notice his wandering gaze, you'd be setting yourself up for a witty rebuttal. He might say, "Oh, look who's paying so much attention to me, if I didn't know better, I'd say you liked me," or even, "Don't go telling me you didn't wear those clothes on purpose, we both know the truth." He had all sorts of banter at the ready, quips locked and loaded. He wanted to corner you, to checkmate you, to coax a confession from your supple lips. Of course he loved you. But it was much more fun to make you admit you loved him too.

And you did. You wore that shirt on purpose, you wore those pants on purpose. You bent over in those pants on purpose. But two could play at this game, and you were awfully good at chess.

If he was a tightrope walker, you were a sword swallower. You could take anything he'd throw at you, gulp it down, lick your lips, and have room for seconds. Maybe throw in a burp for good measure.

So the circus act continued, both of you juggling offense and defense, both of you thinking yourself the lion tamer. It was anyone's guess at this point, who would cave in first.

You pictured the two of you on your deathbeds, your hands wrinkled with age, still trying to wring a confession from each other's throats. It was honestly a terrifying notion, thinking that eighty years from now, your feelings might accompany you to the grave, unvoiced, unreciprocated. But it hadn't been eighty years yet, it had only been one, and your pride was still in prime condition, even despite Soshiro's attempts to wear it down.

When he bragged to you about his hot date, eager for your reaction, you simply pointed him to your favorite flower shop and told him what to buy her. When he ended up not going through with it because some mysterious illness overtook him, an illness that only lasted the length of what would have been the date, you simply smirked and remarked on how convenient it was that his condition was so particular. He had shrugged, saying, "Maybe I was allergic to her, who knows?" You had laughed and he had smiled. Then you both went about your usual day, stealing time from each other whenever you could, sneaking glances, subtly inching closer, the distance both an inch and a galaxy apart.

The gap only widened when Captain Ashiro relayed to the Third Division news of the Winter Ball. It was like prom for soldiers, and when you heard the announcement, you felt like you were right back in high school- everything infamously familiar, right down to the nerves that threatened to swallow you whole.

You could always pull the, "You're single, I'm single, let's go as friends," card. But you weren't sure that either of you would be content with that resolution. Neither one of you wanted to resign yourselves to a night of awkwardly sitting at a side table, using small talk to fill the simmering silence, as you watched other couples slow dance their way into oblivion.

But unfortunately for the both of you, rather than declare a draw, your little game with each other continued, even as the event drew nearer. You'd ask him who he was going with, feigning nonchalance, and he'd dodge the question, feigning ignorance.

At some point, you bought yourself a dress, though you had no idea why. There was only a week to go, and still, no one had asked you for the pleasure of your company on that night, not even him. You weren't sure you should even go. But still, you let your hopes drape from a hanger in your closet, in case maybe he decided to overturn the chessboard, throw the match, ask you out.

Narumi beat him to the punch.

When you asked him why he was asking you so late in the game, he merely shrugged, saying he hadn't realized the ball was happening in the first place, but now he knew and he wanted you.

Soshiro had caught wind of it.

He ignored you until an hour before the dance.

He knew you liked to hide on the roof when you got nervous, and as he climbed the stairs to the top, he begged you to be there. He hoped you were having second thoughts about going with Narumi. He hoped you were pacing in your dress, waiting for him to whisk you away, because he was ready to whisk you away. He had dragged his feet through this whole fucking charade, and now he suddenly found his own pace too exceedingly, disgustingly slow for his liking.

When he got to the roof, all that awaited him was a cold breeze and the night sky. He collapsed on the floor, leaning back to take in all the stars. He didn't care anymore if he got his suit dirty, he only wore it for you anyway. His finger traced patterns of constellations as the white of his breath stained the air. He wished on every single star that he could see you tonight, all dressed up and gorgeous. He didn't have to see you to know you looked stunning. But he had planned to go home after he finished this sulking session. He didn't want to see how happy you looked with Narumi. Of all the people, why did it have to be him? The idea of you with anyone else but him made him ache, but the idea of you with Narumi made him want to tie a noose around his neck.

Another half hour of brooding later, he decided he needed to go home. That, or freeze to death, which would serve him right. But he turned towards the door and suddenly, there you were, his light in the dark, his warmth in the cold. And you were dazzling. He knew you would be. You always were, no matter what you were wearing.

"Y-you're here."

You nodded. "I'm here. And you're here. Why are you here?"

He pulled his jacket tighter around him. "This is your spot."

You raised an eyebrow. "Yes, it is. Were you looking for me?" You tried to keep the hopefulness out of your voice, but it seeped into the frosty air all the same.

He fidgeted with his cufflinks, nodding slowly.

You began walking over to him, and he knew you were going to sit down so he quickly took his jacket off for you to sit on. He didn't want to ruin your dress.

You shook your head at him. "You look freezing, put your jacket back on. How long have you been out here anyway?" You threw his jacket back around his shoulders, plopping down next to him, unbothered by your dress.

He blushed and looked away. "That's not important."

The silence resumed.

"It's your favorite color." You blurted out suddenly, desperate to fill the air with something, with anything.

He immediately knew you meant your dress. He had noticed. "It's nice."

You coughed.

He chuckled. "Alright, it's more than nice. You look breathtaking. Seriously, I'm having trouble breathing with you so close to me." He teased as he nudged you with his shoulder, trying to make light of the awkward situation.

"You don't look so bad yourself. Even for someone who's half frozen to death. So why were you looking for me?"

He bit his lip. "Had a, uh, question... for you."

You settled your head on his shoulder and you felt him tense up. "And what's this question of yours that's so important you almost gave yourself frostbite?"

"Will you.... will you go to the dance with me?" He held his breath as the words left his mouth.

You laughed. "Little late, don't you think? We're about a half hour away from it."

He groaned. "I know, I know. But don't go with Narumi. Please don't. He wouldn't know romance if it shit in his lap. He doesn't know how to treat a woman."

You smirked. "And you do?"

He looked at you properly for the first time that night, his gaze locked on yours with a sudden sense of determination. "Yes, I do. If that woman is you. I know everything about you. I have to. Knowing you is the second greatest pleasure of my life."

"And..." The words caught in your throat, "And what's the first?"

"Loving you."

Your heart soared in your chest. "I love you too."

"So will you be my date to the dance? And the rest of my life?"

You kissed him in response.

Suddenly the cold faded from your bodies, the frigid air rescinding itself from your lungs, as your warmth intermingled in a display of passion.

"So, what should I call this, checkmate?" You teased him as you pulled away from his lips, leaving him wanting more.

He rolled his eyes but nothing could make him less smitten than he was right now. "I call this me throwing the match."

"Well, better late than never, baby."

You kissed him again.

And then the both of you danced the rest of the night into oblivion together.

[tofics]

Nothing Like Some Neighborly Love

Part 1 - Series Masterlist

Pairing: no outbreak!Joel Miller x fem!Reader

Summary: Goodbye New York, hello Austin! - After a split from your ex, you're in dire need of a fresh scenery. Texas seems to provide just that. Your grandmother, fresh out of a hip surgery and in need of assistance, is happy to have you move in with her as a solution for both of your predicaments. Ever the hands-on person that she is, she also seems to want to rectify your fresh singleness, and she knows just the guy...

Word Count: ~4500 words

Warnings: mentions of a manipulating ex, mentions of cheating, mentions of a surgery, age gap (reader is early 30s, Joel is an unspecified amount (~10-15 years) older than her)

Your arrival in Austin, Texas is anything but spectacular. Besides your bags being some of the first to appear at baggage claim absolutely nothing out-of-the-ordinary happens - it's about as normal as a Monday-morning flight can be.

Not for you, though. Today marks the first day of your new life.

No big deal.

Except it's a huge deal. With every inch that you put between yourself and your old life in New York, you feel your shoulders relaxing a bit more and the tight-knit knot in your chest loosening.

Finally, at long last, you're free.

Free of the asshole that, up until a couple of months ago, was your boyfriend, your roommate, your co-worker.

Your lying, manipulating source of self-doubt, tears and misery.

Good fucking riddance.

"Oh honey, c'mere you!" Your grandmother pulls you into a surprisingly tight hug. For a lady who had hip surgery just two days ago, she seems to be at the top of her game.

"Gammy," you smile and return her embrace, even if not as forcefully. Strong arms or not, she did just come out of the hospital. Better to be a little more careful.

"Come in, come in! Let's get you out of that heat." Your grandma shuffles out of the door and down the hallway with the help of her rollator. You step into the house after her, dragging your two suitcases behind you.

Everything looks just like you remember. The beige carpet that flows from the hallway into the open living room and up the stairs, the brown tiles of the kitchen area, the light flowery wallpaper on the walls - as far as you can tell, not a single thing has changed. It even smells the same, like fresh laundry and soap and a faint hint of your grandmother's perfume.

You can't imagine a more comforting scenery after everything you've been through.

"How was your flight, honey? And do you want anythin' to drink?"

If it wasn't for the rollator, it'd be hard to tell that your grandmother just had a major surgery. She's already bustling about in the kitchen when you enter the open living and dining area, moving at the same speed you've always known her to. Watching your grandmother at work is like watching a busy bee, always doing something, fingers always moving. It goes without saying that your grandmother is not a woman known for sitting still or taking a break.

You already know her answer, but you have to ask anyway. "Gammy, shouldn't you be resting?"

"Restin', restin'. I hear that damn word one more time, I'm gon' have a fit!" She drops two ice cubes of frozen iced tea into each cup, then adds a lemon slice. "Doctor's said I'm s'posed to be movin'." The ice cubes clink and crackle when she pours fresh iced tea on top. "You told me to follow them orders!" Your grandma shakes the big spoon your way accusingly and you can't help but grin at the image.

"That's true, I did. I also said I'd move here to help you, grandma."

"Honey, if I can't pour no more damned iced tea, I want you to put me in my grave. Until then, I'll pour my own drinks. Now get on over here n' take those glasses over to the couch, will ya?"

You do as you're told and sit down next to your grandmother on the couch, making sure to use coasters for your drinks. Glass rings on the furniture did not go over well in this house.

"See? I can ask for help just fine." Your grandmother winks at you and then clinks her glass against yours. "Cheers, baby. Now tell me, how was your flight?"

"It was fine. Boring, uneventful. Just how I like my flights to be." A sip of your glass floods your mouth with the taste of your childhood summers, sweet and lemony and filled with your grandmother's love to the brim. There's no other iced tea quite like it.

"Good, good. And how are you doin', baby? Hm?" Her hand squeezes your thigh as her eyes roam over your face. You know the look: it's the look of scrutiny, the same one she uses any time she wants to get the truth out of someone. You've seen it being given to your mother, your father, your grandfather, even neighbors. You yourself have been at the receiving end of it a few times in your life. The result is always the same - the truth. Your grandmother is not a woman that's lied to.

"Honestly? I feel like a massive weight has been lifted off my shoulders." You sigh, both for effect and because it's true. Setting foot onto Texas soil was already liberating, but sitting in your grandmother's living room has you relaxing more and more by the minute. "I'm just so glad to be here. This couldn't have come at a better moment. Not saying I'm happy you had to get hip surgery, you know, but I'm just glad it all worked out with you needing help and me needing a new place to figure out where to go from here."

You squeeze your grandma's hand on your thigh and she puts hers right on top, squeezing you back. "Oh, hush. Y'know you're welcome here anytime, and I'd much rather have you here t' help me out than some stranger comin' into my house every single day."

Despite your circumstances, you can't deny how lucky the timing of it all has been. Your relationship had been crumbling for months and it seemed like no matter what you did, all your efforts were in vein and largely not reciprocated. To make matters worse, your job was suffering under the pressure of your dissolving relationship as well. You and your boyfriend worked at the same elementary school, you being a teacher and him being the principal, and while sharing a workplace and commute had been something out of a dream come true for the first two years together, it quickly posed a problem when your first problems emerged.

The final nail in the coffin came in the form of him being the nail and the coffin being his secretary. It was so cliché that you didn't know whether to laugh or cry when you first found out. In the end, you did neither, just packed your things and left. That part was easy, with a circle of friends who offered up their couches and open ears immediately. The work part? Not so much. By now you'd say that working under your ex while another woman was actually under him was the worst part of your final months in New York.

You needed to get out. You were already out of your joined flat, the job was the next thing to go. Then your grandmother mentioned she'd need to get surgery on her hip and just hated the idea of having a stranger coming to her house every single day to help her with her day-to-day errands.

The plan basically wrote itself.

Your grandma was delighted by the idea of you moving you here. A temporary arrangement until she's all healed up and you have figured out where to go from here. It's basically a two-birds-with-one-stone situation.

After you've finished your iced tea, your grandmother insists on showing you around the house. "Gammy, come on, you really should sit down, at least a little," you try to convince her, but she's not having any of it. "I know it looks like it hasn't changed much, but I've had some things done since you were here last. Now you'll wanna know where everything is if you wanna help, right?"

You don't even bother contradicting her and she pulls herself up by the handles of her rollator with a triumphant look.

The first room you tackle is right by the entrance, opposite of the guest bathroom. It used to be your grandfather's office, but you're surprised to find it all turned around, now with a bed in the middle of it and an assortment of bedroom furniture to go with it.

"This is my new haven, at least for now." Grammy shuffles into the room and carefully plops her behind down on the raised bed. "Got help from a neighbor a street over. Nice young fella, handsome too." She shoots you a meaningful glance that you decide to ignore. "Him and his brother got some of the stuff from upstairs down here. I got this bed on loan just until I can get back into my old chambers upstairs. Doc said the stairs shouldn't be an issue, but I just wanted to make sure." A few approving pats on the mattress.

"I'm impressed, Grammy. I'd have thought you'd force yourself up the stairs every single night, no matter what. I'm glad you're cutting yourself some slack somewhere." You know your grandma appreciates your candor, but you also know how hard this situation is on her mentally. She has always been an active woman and being physically impaired can't be easy for her. You press a soft kiss to her forehead to emphasize your praise.

"Yeah yeah," she grumbles but then still squeezes your arm. "C'mon now. I wanna show you the upstairs."

The changes upstairs are less drastic, but still noticeable.

For one thing, the master bedroom is full of your grandfather's old files, various stacks piled around the room. It's a temporary set-up that you mean to sort through in your upcoming weeks here, a thank you for letting you stay and your way of chipping in, as your grandmother refuses to accept any kind of rent or payment in general for your stay.

Your own bedroom has also received a slight makeover. Previously a guest room that served as storage for when no guests were in town, the room used to be somewhat cramped, yet still cozy. You've always slept in this room and never minded the wild assortment of furniture and various gadgets, but your grandmother went all out in preparation for your visit and had all of the "junk" removed and stored in the garage downstairs. Now, on top of new furniture, the walls sport a fresh paintjob and the closet is completely empty, waiting to be filled with your own clothes and belongings.

"Grandma, you shouldn't have!," you exclaim but can't hide the excitement in your eyes as you take in your new four walls. The twin bed got exchanged for a queen, which, now that everything is stored downstairs, comfortably fits against the back wall under the window. Despite your solo-self, it comes with a nightstand on each side, matching the color of the dresser to the right and the desk tucked into the corner next to the door. Ever the prepared host, your grandma has already put a small bouquet on one of the nightstands and fresh sheets on the bed.

You spin around and bury your grandmother in a tight hug, suddenly overwhelmed by the love that clearly went into the preparation of your arrival. "You're the best," you whisper against her neck as a couple of tears spill from your eyes.

There's no place you'd rather be.

Your spend your first few days in Austin getting reacquainted with the city. As a child, you'd come here for every single summer break, so you know your way around the neighborhood well enough, but a lot has changed since you strolled around the streets in your dungarees and pigtails. Mostly it's just different shops or a new building here and there, but the neighbors have changed too. You're sad to find out that one of your favorite neighbors, an old man named George who grew the sweetest strawberries in his front yard, passed away just a couple of weeks ago. Another couple two houses down, whose daughter you used to play with on your childhood visits, has moved away to the north. The list of changes is long, but besides old George's death, there's nothing too drastic.

Just as expected (and hoped for), you have no time to dwell on your recent split. With the way the relationship went for the past years, you kind of checked out of it mentally a long time ago, but finding out about the affair still kicked you in the guts. Luckily, you're too busy to get lose yourself in a thought spiral about it, all thanks to your grandmother who is keeping you fresh on your toes.

Being the busy woman that she is, she has a whole list of errands for the week, consisting of groceries, check-ups and social calls. You keep thinking that if it wasn't for her rollator and her slower, slight wobbly walk, you'd hardly know the woman was operated on just days ago, and you're not alone. The same sentiment is expressed to you wherever the two of you go, your grandmother being a well-known and respected woman in her neighborhood.

On Saturday, just five days after your arrival, you take her to the local church. Despite not being big on faith, she has been a member of the volunteer group of the church for decades, and a cherished one at that. The moment you push her wheelchair through the door, other volunteers rush over and swarm your grandmother with questions about her well-being. Grammy makes a point of saying there's no need for the fuss, but you can tell that she's touched by the community's care for her.

The meeting discusses the idea of a block party that's been floating around for some time now, but was never realized.

"Lottie, do you even think you could handle it, being in recovery and all?," an elderly man asks directed at your grandmother. The look she shoots him in response drains some color in his face, and some other members at the table laugh. "I'm insulted you'd even ask, Frank," your grandmother replies with a hint of sourness in her voice, but then her smile grows wide and there's a mischievous spark in her eyes that puts you on high alert. You know that look. Your grandmother is up to something.

"Much as I hate to admit it though, you might be right. I'm not at the top of my game, no denying that. However, that's where my lovely granddaughter comes into play!" All eyes swivel around to you, including your grandmother's, the mischievous sparkle present as ever.

Uh oh.

"As many of you already know, my granddaughter has temporarily moved in with me to help me out during my recovery, gracious soul that she is." Gracious soul? Grammy is laying it on thick. You cock your head slightly to the side with raised eyebrows, all while maintaining a smile on your face. What are you doing? Your grandmother reads the silent question in your facial features but offers no explanation, her smile just turns more sweetly. "As a teacher, she has her fair share of experience with organizing events. Ain't that so, sweetheart?"

"I mean, I've organized two talent shows, but that was in collab-," you begin, still unsure of where this is going, but Grammy cuts you off.

"See? She's perfect. I'm sure she can fill my shoes just fine, and I'll still be there behind the scenes anyway."

Before you can utter another word, you are crowned as head of the block party planning committee. As soon as the decision is made, the group gets down to business and starts mapping out a rough draft. Besides the obvious cake buffet, whipped up and provided by members of the volunteer committee, the only other safe participant is the church's kids group, who, according to pastor William, plan to host a lemonade stand. By the end of the meeting, you have an extensive list of possible collaborators to hit up. As head of the committee, it falls in your jurisdiction to get local business on board.

"Alright, that looks like a solid list. I trust Lottie's granddaughter will do a fine job of getting lots of business on board." Pastor William smiles warmly at you and you can't help but feel like he's already forgotten your name again. Then again, he's got a big flock. Can't blame him if he doesn't remember every single sheep by name.

"And we've got Anne, Derrick and Kirsten for decorating, as well as our kids group. That just leaves the question of construction. Who's gonna supply us with stalls or booths? Any ideas, folks?"

"I'm sure Joel Miller would be happy to chip in. Him n' his brother got that construction business, remember? Sweet boys. Helped me set up my lil' hospital ward situation I got back at home," your grandma chirps up, and suddenly, you understand the mischievous twinkle in her eye.

What an elaborate and canny way to set you up. Wow.

You bite on your lip to hide the grin that threatens to spill across your face, keeping your laughter inside until after the meeting. Once you bring it up in the car back home, Grammy plays the innocent act. "I got no idea what you're talkin' about, honey. Just suggested a guy I know that does good work and has a good heart."

"Right, because especially the good heart is extremely relevant when it comes to building things," you chuckle.

"Sure it is, if it's volunteer work. And I'm tellin' you. That Joel, he's got a heart of gold."

You can sense the way your grandmother's eyes are boring into the side of your skull, but you keep your gaze focused on the road ahead of you.

Heart of gold or not, you're nowhere near ready to be dating again.

"Yeah, come on in, Lottie said you'd swing by."

It's late in the evening and his porch light hums above the two of you, casting a golden light on your silhouettes and long shadows on the ground. The fly screen creaks as Joel Miller holds it open for you. You shimmy past him with a small smile, tugging your folder of papers to your chest so they don't rub against him.

Joel's house smells like wood chips, old leather and something distinctly 'homey' that you can't quite put a finger on, but makes you feel very at ease. The scent engulfs you as you step into the house, briefly interrupted by smell of him, a mix of soap and aftershave and just the tiniest tinge of sweat.

It's an intoxicating combination.

So much so that for the briefest moment, you have the instinct to lean a step back and sniff him, but you catch yourself before you embarrass yourself.

"Kitchen's down there. Got a table and everything for your paper collection." Joel motions down the hallway with a quick and friendly wink at you. You follow his direction wordlessly and sit at the aforementioned table, feeling the tips of your ears growing slightly red.

Your grandma wasn't kidding when she said he's handsome.

You'd chalked it up to her trying to set you up, talking him up the same way elderly ladies tend to talk about men that are younger than them. 'Handsome' and 'smart-looking' are standards in that vocabulary box. You couldn't have known that this time, the description would be right on point.

"Want one?" Joel's got his head in the fridge, holding out a cold beer to you over his shoulder.

"Sure, thanks." Usually you're not so tight-lipped. In fact, you've probably talked more in the past few days than you do in a normal school week, and that's saying something. Going around town and chatting up local businesses about participating in your block party had your mouth going at a hundred miles per hour, figuratively speaking. Between speaking to people in person and confirming spots via your cell-phone, it has been a couple of very word-filled days.

And yet, now that you're with another potential 'client' you have to recruit for your endeavor, your speech well seems to have dried up.

It could have something to do with the fact that visually, Joel Miller is exactly your type. Besides his physique - tan biceps visibly stretching under a tight t-shirt that might be a size too small for him - he's got warm, brown eyes with laugh crinkles around them and a head full of salt-and-pepper hair that pairs beautifully with his scruffy-looking beard. By the looks of it, he has ten, maybe fifteen years on you.

Not really an issue for you.

Your ex, cursed be his name, was a chunk older than you too. It was just the type of man you drifted towards, the kind that's a bit ahead of you in time. In your experience, it pays off maturity wise in a way that men your age just can't compete in, even if your last boyfriend wasn't the best example.

Older men just have a grip on you you can't explain, nor deny.

"So." Joel sets the two bottles of beer down on the table, then slides onto the chair across from you. "What can I do for ya? Lottie said somethin' 'bout you guys needin' somethin' built?"

He screws the caps off of both bottles, then slides one over to you. "Cheers." Your bottles clink together and you take a few chugs, grateful for the liquid running down your dry throat. Whether that's from all your talking or a physical reaction to Joel, you don't know, and you're not sure you want to find out.

"Yeah, that's right," you finally say when you put your beer down half empty. Joel glances at your bottle with one raised eyebrow and half a grin on his lips, but doesn't say anything and instead motions for you to go on. "It's for the church's block party. The volunteer group, which my grandmother is a part of, is putting it together. It's supposed to be this come-together opportunity, get-to-know-your-neighbors kind of thing. I've been going around the past couple of days, seeing who wants to join and maybe offer a booth or a stall."

"Looks like you were quite successful with that." He nods at the wild stack of papers in front of you, post-its sticking out left and right and scribbles all over. You laugh and shuffle through the papers.

"It looks more than it is, but yeah, lots of people want to join, thankfully. Now that's where you come in." You pull out a numbered list and slide it over to him.

"This is everyone that wants to join. Problem is, we don't have enough booths for everyone."

Joel skims over the list, then whistles. "Phew. That's a bunch. How many of them you got stalls for?"

You pause long enough for Joel to look up from the list and notice you biting on your lip. "Umh. None of them?" Your grin is awkward and apologetic at the same time. Joel stares at you for a second, a dumbfounded expression on his face, then breaks out into a bellowing laughter. It's warm and deep and infectious and has the corners of your lips rising into a genuine grin.

"Oh, you're somethin'," he says breathlessly when he recovers from his laughing fit. "I can definitely see the relation to Lottie."

You shrug apologetically again and bite down on your bottom lip, the grin still lingering on your face. "What can I say? Persuasion runs strongly in this family."

"That so?" Joel leans back in his chair and puts his arms behind his head. Before you can help it, your gaze flickers across his across his arms, from his prominent biceps all the way down to where his torso meet his jeans. You look away quickly, but get the feeling Joel caught your stare by his smug grin. "I ain't said yes yet."

He does say yes. You come home giddy, excited by your success of rounding up participants for the block party and flustered from your hour at Joel's house.

It didn't take him long to officially agree, though you had no doubt that he would.

You also have no doubt that Joel Miller has been flirting with you.

There is even less doubt that you liked it.

You surprised yourself. By the time you wrapped your first meeting up, you asked for his number so you could reach him in case of changes or the like. Though the block party really was the main reason you required his number, you couldn't deny finding a little bit of joy in the idea of having his number in your phone. He had smiled all smugly too when you'd asked, his brows wiggling suggestively for just a second before he reached for the pen in your hand and scribbled his number down on one of your papers. "There you go, darlin'," he'd said, and you had to fight the urge very hard to bite your bottom lip at the mention of the endearing term.

It only occurs to you now that your grandma probably already has his number and you asking for his number could have come across as you flirting.

Oh.

"Honey, that you?," your grandma hollers out of the living room when you enter her home.

"Yeah Gammy, it's me," you call back and set your papers down on the side table near the front door.

"How'd it go?"

You tell her about your meeting with Joel in the most nonchalant way possible while you help her chop up veggies for dinner. She listens intently and is delighted that Joel has agreed to build the booths, but doesn't seem surprised by it either. Once you're finished with your summary, she gives you that inquisitorial look again.

"So?"

"So what, Gammy?"

"Don't fool me, honey. What'd you think?"

You keep your eyes focused on the carrot your peeling, determined not to meet her gaze. You just know she'd read everything in your eyes.

"Yeah, he's a nice man," you say, but she just tsks at you and swats your arm with her cooking spoon.

"You know damn well that's not what I asked."

"What do you want to hear then?"

The lack of reply makes you look up. Grammy is staring at you with an anything-but-pleased look on her face.

"What!," you exclaim defensively. Her response comes paired with another whack of her spoon. "He's a good man! You should give him a chance."

"Oh my god, Gammy. He has a kid." You groan, but pictures of Joel's biceps dance across the back of your mind.

"So? You're thirty-two, old enough to be a mom. 'Sides, I ain't tellin' you to marry the man, I'm just sayin' go out, have some fun."

"Oh well, in that case. If I'm not supposed to marry him."

You giggle and jump away when the spoon launches for you a third time, only narrowly missing you by a few inches.

Series Masterlist - Mobile Masterlist

Feedback is always appreciated! If you have any requests, feel free to send them my way. I'm always happy to practice my writing! :)

Find more entries for the hot dilf summer challenge by @hellishjoel here!

[talaok]

I love your writing bestiee ok so you're dating Pedro, but you're not famous, there's an age gap between you, many people support you and think you're super cute, others make mean and nasty comments, one night you get insomnia (Pedro is sleeping) and decides to look at social media, and some disgusting comments about you and Pedro appear, you start to cry because you don't believe it and don't accept people talking about him in such a nasty way, but while you try to make as little noise as possible while you're crying, it's inevitable, Pedro wakes up and comes to you....

Pairing: Pedro pascal x reader

a/n: thank you bestie💖

One of the few times he was able to sleep, it was you who couldn't.

The curtains filtred the shallow lights of the streetlamps and cars from outside, but a flash of them still penetrated the room every few moments, each time distancing you from sleep an inch further, until inevitably, you were wide awake at three in the morning.

Pedro's left arm was wrapped around you, holding you close even in his sleep, his breath was fanning over your neck as his face hid in the crook of it. Your bodies had melted into one, holding onto each other even when not conscious, because that's how you liked it, because that's how much you loved each other.

And you did, god if you did, no matter what people said, thought, or wrote all over the internet, that's all that counted, the love 

as Pedro always put it: "As long as I'm with you, nothing else matters"

But today, today as you made the grave mistake of picking up your phone, of unplugging it from the outlet, of opening Instagram... today, in the cold of the night, out of reach from Pedro's sweet words, from his warm embrace... today what people said was hitting harder than usual.

You had slipped out of your boyfriend's grasp to walk to the living room, and god did you regret it as you now sat on the couch, tears streaking down your cheeks, while you tried muffling your own sobs with the palm of your hand.

you tried recalling what Pedro usually said, you tried mustering even a glimpse of the optimism, the tranquility that defined him, that made every negative comment about him, or you, not bother him in the slightest, but all your brain was able to do was re-read all those awful, awful comments out loud without giving you a chance to stop it, making it all worse... so much worse.

Because they weren't only insulting, it wasn't the usual "slut" or "whore" or "gold digger", no, no there were also comments that made fun of him, that called you both "pathetic" or even "disgusting"

What's disgusting about loving someone? In wanting to spend the rest of your life with them?

Why, just because of a few years of difference, did people feel the need to go and make assumptions, why's that?

And as the tears multiplied, as the sobs climbed faster up your throat, you didn't notice the steps coming from the bedroom until-

"Sweetheart?", a voice startled you from behind, freezing you in your spot, as Pedro inevitably rounded the couch to take a better look at you.

The moment your eyes met, the moment he saw the frown on your forehead, the glimmer in your red eyes, your wet cheeks, he was next to you, holding your hand, holding you in any way he could.

"what happened?"

And when you didn't answer, when you could only sniffle as you hid your face in his chest, sobbing and drenching his shirt, only then, did he see your phone, the app it was opened onto... all the dirty words staining your screen.

"baby" he cooed, petting your hair, begging you to look up at him "you can't let them get to you" he murmured "Who cares what they think, we know the truth, that's all that matters"

"I-I know-" your trembling voice made its way to him as you slowly raised your head "I just- it's just-"

that's all you could stutter before you were bawling again, holding onto him for dear life as he stroked your back and gently kissed the crown of your head.

"oh sugar" he cooed, "It's all alright, everything is fine" he whispered "'m here, I'm not going anywhere"

It took a long time for your breathing to even enough for you to find his eyes again.

"sweetheart you're the most amazing woman to ever exist, whatever it is they said, I promise you, they're just jealous"

"n-no it's not what they said about me" you shook your head, wiping away a leftover tear "It's what they said about us"

His eyes closed for a moment as he sighed 

"let them say what they want baby, who cares?" he forced a smile to try and cheer you up "Sweetheart, I'm the happiest I've ever been in my entire life" he promised "I love you more than anything on this earth"

"me too" you were quick to reply

"yeah, see? then let them say whatever they want sweetheart, because what matters is that I have you." he murmured "that I'm lucky enough to be with you. and it doesn't matter what they say, because as long as I have you, nothing else matters, the world could collapse and you, baby, would still be the only thing on my mind"

"Pedro..." your lips trembled as your eyes wet again, for a whole different reason this time

"I'm serious" he promised, taking your hands in his "I love you, sweetheart, and as long as I'm with you, nothing else matters"

And as always, he had made it all better

"you're right"

"I know I am" he smiled, stroking your cheek "Now c'mere, let's get back to bed"

[devilfic]

Do you still make Batman x reader? If yes, could I request a "reader figures out Bruce Wayne is Batman"?

Thank you!

❝honeymoon❞

parts: next plot: 'til death do you part. pairing: battinson!bruce wayne x gn!reader. cw: arranged marriage, friends to enemies to (fake) lovers, implied history between reader and bruce. words: 760.

a/n: a little something quick that I thought of!

Recognizing that you had agreed to this, you had been prepared to accept anything. An affair, a drug addiction, secret ties to the mafia overlords like high society always suspected. That was your job as Bruce's spouse: contractually obligated to be okay with it and never let anyone find out about it. Whatever it was.

Even now, as your brain short circuits and the floor feels like you're about to sink right into it, you're looking for ways to be okay with this, and he's looking at you like he wants to kill you.

It's a fleeting look. One second there, the next vanished. Neither of you say anything but there is a world of things being felt, you're certain. One of you has to budge. "This... isn’t what I was expecting."

But Bruce doesn't laugh (and you'd never expect him to, not in your presence). He stands there, heaving slow breaths to calm himself down, the cowl still conspicuously trembling between both of his hands. He could've tossed it or let it go but it's almost like you've frozen him solid.

"Where did you get that?" Is all he demands, eyes trained on the key glimmering in your hand now. "The doormen have orders to-"

"To not let me in? I know. I had the key made myself. Your doormen are easy to persuade with the right amount of money."

Bruce's lip twitches and he scoffs. "I won't tell anyone," you assure him, about 75% convinced of it yourself, "It does me no good to have extra eyes on me, and I'm sure you've got contingency plans in place were I or anyone else to expose you. You were always very good about that. Plans."

"Of course you won't. Your mother wouldn't approve of the disruption in cash flow."

Your eyes narrow. "I am not interested in what my mother wants."

"Why not? She's a part of this marriage, too. Isn't she?"

"Can we talk about the suit?" Bruce stiffens when you bring back attention to the compromised position you'd found him in. "I have questions, and I suppose if you want me to be good at lying about your... hobby, you'll have to prep me."

"I think the less you know, the better. Personally."

"The 'my husband's just busy with work' spiel is getting old, and people are already starting to talk about us living apart. Now, when I agreed to marry you," you watch him flinch as you take a step forward, "I promised that I would be with you in sickness and in health, for richer or for poorer, 'til death do us part. Your business is my business. Your secret," within arm's length of his cowl, you wrench it from his grasp and he relents rather easily, "is my secret. I will take it with me to the grave so long as you keep up your end of the bargain."

Up close, you take in the black paint smeared over his eyes, a fitting backdrop for his stunning eyes so cool. The fire in the hearth flickers off of them, reflecting back at you as you stand but inches apart.

Just as you stole his cowl, Bruce steals your key. He holds it up in the palm of his glove, "You want to move in."

You hum, "It would help with appearances. And my mother would be pleased."

"I thought you weren't interested in what your mother wants."

"I'm not, but she's interested in you, and given tonight's revelation... I think you'd like someone keeping her nose out of your business."

You punctuate your point with a touch to his chest, palm laid flat over his heart and the several layers of iron-clad padding in front of it. His hair falls into his eyes as he looks down at it, then back at you. There's discomfort there but... something else. Resignation, you'd wager. Defeat. You almost sigh in relief when it dawns on you that you've—rather miraculously—won this battle going in completely blind.

Later, it will dawn on you (or plummet on you) just what you've witnessed tonight. Just what you've agreed to. Just who you've married.

Bruce peels your hand away, placing the key in your palm before releasing it like a burning stone. "There are guest rooms on the second floor." He pauses when you're not fast enough to school your expression, his mouth turning down into a scowl, "This changes nothing else." And he stalks away.

Nothing else. This changes nothing else, but if anyone were to ask, the honeymoon was going great.

[catscraaatch]

₊˚ପ⊹ gag it!

sum: your tired, overworked boyfriend comes home exhausted. much too exhausted to listen to you yap at him about the dishes. good thing he knows exactly how to get you to shut up...by stuffing that pretty little mouth full. wc: 1.2k

includes: fem reader, throat fucking, tojis a little rough with it ngl, slight degradation, ruined orgasm if you squint mdni.

as soon as he walked in the door, shoulders slumped and exhaustion written all over his face, there you were. your hands on your hips and your mouth pulled into that little frown you make at him when you're mad. he'd think it was cute if he wasn't so fucking tired from work.

"..what'd i do?" he groaned, ready for you to just spit it out and stop staring at him. you roll your eyes, huffing in annoyance. you weren't angry, just fed up with having to tell your tall child of a boyfriend the same shit every other day

"I asked you to do the dishes last night toji." you deadpan. tojis expression falters for a split second before he lets out a deep sigh, rolling his eyes at the way you tap your foot at him

"look, I'm sorry-" he starts

"I get that you're tired after work toji but that's like the second time this week. seriously all I ask is one little thing of you-"

you start moving around the kitchen as you babble on and on, putting away the dishes that you must have reluctantly cleaned on your own before your boyfriend walked through the door. toji follows you with his eyes, rubbing a hand down his face in exasperation

"...now dinners gonna be late and I know your ass hasn't eaten all day. I literally don't ask much of you I don't get why-" your rant is cut short when you feel tojis broad chest press against your back. you're pressed between him and the counter, his arms grabbing onto the surface in front of you trapping you between them as he leans his head down close to your ear.

"I said I'm sorry y/n. I was at work all fucking day yesterday and all day today. you mind giving me a break, huh?" he utters sternly.

his arms caging you in and the icy chill in his tone ignites something familiar in your stomach. you mentally curse yourself, you're supposed to be pissed at him. you turn around in his hold, crossing your arms over your chest and staring up at him. your gaze almost falters when your eyes meet those dark green ones, lidded and clouded with mostly just exhaustion, but there's something sharp and irritated in them too.

you swallow down the butterflies that practically try to claw their way out of your stomach, huffing as you hold his gaze. "wouldn't have to be on you like this if you just pulled your weight around here." you know you're exaggerating. toji knew you were exaggerating. other than some scattered laundry every now and then, and unwashed dishes maybe once every couple of weeks, your overworked boyfriend does more than enough around your shared space.

toji sucks his teeth at your words as he leans closer, your noses almost touching. he nods his head slowly, challengingly. his voice is low and gravelly, warm breath ghosting over your face.

"you think I don't pull my fucking weight around here?" it's all you can do not to shiver as something dark flickers across his heavy gaze, something about when he gets like this never failing to get your panties wet. nevertheless you stand your ground, your (less) intense gaze challenging his own.

"..if you did, the dishes would have been done." you murmer out. you decide to push him even further, realizing how grave of a mistake that was as soon as the words leave your lips

"that mouths gonna get you in trouble."

that's how you find yourself on your knees, gagging on your boyfriends cock as he ruthlessly bullies thick inches impossibly farther down your throat. 

"..hnng, this what you need? n-need to choke on my cock just to get you to shut.. the fuck... up?" he emphasizes each word by fucking up into your mouth, his swollen tip hitting the very back of your throat so deliciously, making you gag on it, a mess of spit and precum dribbling down…everywhere. his cock, your chin, your chest, pooling down onto the floor in a lewd puddle in front of you. you look up at toji from under your wet lashes, and he’s completely gone. his eyes are lidded, nearly closed as he watched you take every inch, his jaw slack.

your vision is fuzzy and you’re starting to get lightheaded at the way his dick constricts your airflow. toji notices that far away look in your eyes, your nails digging into his thighs where your hands were perched for support. he grips a handful of your hair, tugging you off of his cock, webs of saliva connecting you to his leaking tip. you pull off with a gasp, swallowing down as much air as you can get.

“hard to talk when your mouths full, hm?” toji pants out, his chest heaving up and down as he smirks down at you. his words make you press your thighs together, your pussy has been throbbing the entire time he’s been fucking your face. he catches the action, chuckling darkly. he knew what this was doing to you, knew you egged on his irritation knowing what it would lead to. you two rarely argued and toji would never raise his voice at you, but you had a mouth on you. thankfully toji always knew how to put you in line, whether that be by fucking you until you were too dumb from his cock to form coherent sentences, or stuffing your pretty little mouth full. 

you let out a needy whine after a while, wanting toji back in your mouth. you mostly wanted to cum, wanted him to take care of the wet mess between your thighs, his own doing. but a part of you really just loved when toji used you like this. you pull against his grasp on your hair, darting your tongue out to lick at his tip teasingly. toji groans at the feeling, letting up his grip a little, your warm wet mouth immediately coming down to wrap around the swollen head of his cock again. he hisses, gingerly bucking his hips up into your face, a much slower pace now, making sure you take him inch by inch back down your throat. 

“greeeedy fucking girl. fuck. taking my cock so well” you moan around him, the vibration causing his length to twitch in your mouth. you whimper, your hand coming down to rub at your drenched pussy through your underwear, desperate for any kind of friction right now. your throat tightens up around toji as you begin bucking into your hand, already on the verge of cumming. toji looks down at where your hand is working between your legs, suddenly forcing you all the way down on his cock, your nose pressing against the tufts of black hair above his shaft as you splutter around him. “my little slut need some attention?” he coos, your eyes rolling back into their sockets as you try to nod.

you’re so close, you can feel the coil in your belly threatening to unravel, tight wet walls pulsing around your fingers. toji tsks, pulling you off of his cock, using his grip on your hair to drag you up to him at face level. you reluctantly pull your hand from between your legs, panting and whimpering at the loss of your orgasm. toji pulls you in for a sloppy kiss, his tongue licking the taste of himself out of your mouth, biting down at your lower lip, pulling it between his teeth as he breaks away from the kiss before releasing it. 

he eyes your pretty fucked out face, grinning at the absolute mess he’s made of you.

“well you better make me cum then, huh?”

[jordanstrophe]

Abandoned whumpee is back

[Previous] - [Next] CW: Captive whumpee, injury, blood loss, medical whump, hurt/comfort, defiant whumpee, intimate whumper

Two guards on either side pulled whumpee through the wasteland. Whumper lead in the front, often craning their head back to make sure whumpee stayed in check.

"This is all pointless!" Whumpee shouted at them. "I'm not giving up my team, I'll be nothing but a h-.. hassle. I just-" Whumpee ran out of breath as their retorting faded. The bandage on their side was soaked in blood as some began running down their waist.

Whumper turned around, immediately motioning for the group to stop. "They're bleeding faster than I thought. Lay them down for a second." Whumper ordered, rushing to them while ripping open a new bandage.

The guards tried pulling whumpee to the ground; whumpee wouldn't bend their knees, so whumper grabbed their legs and pulled them out from underneith them.

"No no NO- I'm fine! Leave it alone!" Whumpee squirmed. Whumper pinned their legs together with their knees and peeled off the dripping bandage.

"I'm going to put some pressure and tighten it, okay?" Whumper explained, wrapping a bandage around their midsection.

"Just le-leave me here. I'm already holding you back." Whumpee rasped, sweat pouring down their face. The guards kept whumpee's arms over their head and wouldn't let them move an inch.

"Thanks for the kind thoughts. Now take a deep breath, this'll hurt." Whumper said. Whumpee glared and breathed rapidly; whumper just watched and waited. Finally out of sheer discomfort, whumpee took a deep enough breath as whumper pulled the two ends tightly against the wound.

Even though they wanted to, whumpee willed themselves not to scream. They groaned and cried behind gritted teeth, their cheeks flushed red and whumper could feel them tense underneath them.

"That's it, you're doing fine. Good job." Whumper patted their leg. Whumpee deeply exhaled with the tiniest whimper behind it. They seemed unable to speak.

"I'll get you taken care of when we get home. Some stitches and a night's rest will do you good. I'm sure you haven't eaten in a while." Whumper shook blood off their hands and stood up. They looked down and realized whumpee was trying to squirm to their feet. They kept collapsing and their legs were shaking.

"Want me to carry you-"

"No." Whumpee cut them off, still trying to struggle to their feet. They began using the guards to try and pull themselves up.

"Come on whumpee, this is pathetic." Whumper crossed their arms.

"I'm- I'm aware. I don't want your help, don't touch me anymore. Please..." Whumpee looked up at them with a furrowed brow. For the first time, whumper saw just how much pain they were in. Mentally and physically.

"Okay I'm picking you up." Whumper said, shoving their arm under whumpee's knees.

"No, no you are nooOOOTT-!" Whumpee shouted as whumper hoisted them up mid-sentence. Whumpee clung to their neck out of sheer adrenaline.

"There we go, not so bad right?" Whumper cooed, continuing onwards.

"Put. Me. Down." Whumpee hissed.

"Would you rather we drag you across the gravel? Just relax. I'm not going to drop you."

"If that gets me put down, they do it." Whumpee kicked their feet. They tried to pry off whumper's fingers from their back leg, but was unsuccessful.

Whumper sighed and rolled their eyes. For the rest of the way, whumpee complained and argued loudly. Carrying them was exhausting, but whumper liked that they could monitor the bandage and keep track of how much blood they were losing.

By the time they got to the transportation, whumpee had fallen asleep. Their head was resting against whumper's shoulder, one arm was folded over their stomach, their other arm hung limp.

Whumper claimed the back seat and laid whumpee across the length with their head on whumper's lap.

"What an unfortunate little lamb. Willing to follow your team to the grave." They whispered, stroking whumpee's hair from the side of their face.

"I truly feel terrible for you."

[Previous] -- [Masterlist] -- [Next]

@parasitebunny @starzabove @frog-hat-fa-ggot @morning-star-whump @memepsychowhowantsuperpower-blog @mommymarichatfurever

[riddles-n-games]

Let It Hurt

Pairing: Avery and Jameson Summary: A rewrite of Ch. 54 in the first book. Alternate take post first kiss at the Wayback Cottage where Avery is more angsty and doesn't let Jameson go that easy. Length: Moderate Story Type: Rewrite

ANNOUCEMENT: I'm starting a tag list. If you want to be included, comment down below! Also, to access my TIG master list of fics, here's the link to the expanded view of my blog: riddles-n-games.tumblr.com. Click the icon Hawthorne Vault, that's where you'll find hidden treasure.

A/N: Hi guys! I'm sooo excited to be posting this one. It's been a long time in drafts and I was lost with how to continue it but I just know I really wanted Avery to be hurt but accidentally didn't try hard enough to make Jameson stop kissing her again. This gets deeper in their feelings and so it kinda makes Jameson sound like he's his THL self but still in line with his TIG self as well. Enjoy!

Kissing him felt like fire. He wasn't soft or sweet, the way he had been while washing away the blood and dirt. I didn't need soft or sweet. This was exactly what I needed.

    Maybe I could be what he needed, too. Maybe this didn’t have to be a bad idea. Maybe the complications were worth it.

    He pulled back from the kiss, his lips only an inch away from mine. “I always knew you were special.”

    I felt his breath on my face. I felt every last one of those words. I’d never thought of myself as special. I’d been invisible for so long. Wallpaper. Even after I’d become the biggest story in the world, it had never really felt like anyone was paying attention to me. The real me.

    “We’re so close now,” Jameson murmured. “I can feel it.” There was an energy in his voice, like the buzzing of a neon light. “Someone obviously didn’t want us looking at that tree.”

    What? 

    He went to kiss me again, cupping my cheek in his hand and with my heart sinking, I sadly wasn’t fast enough to turn my head away as his mouth connected with mine. I couldn't stop the lone tear that slid down my face. The shock of his words only started to hit me then and I wished it didn’t hurt so much but it did, even as I subconsciously reciprocated the kiss. 

    For a moment, I tried to will the hurt away, to pretend that this was what it was like to get kissed by a boy that liked me. I hated that his body felt snug against me and how it felt right. We didn’t actually like each other in that way, he just needed me to solve his grandfather’s last mystery and then I’d be discarded. I was no Emily but then, I never would want to be her anyway. 

    She was a life lesson of what not to be; a spoiled little girl who was more trouble than she was worth, got everything she wanted and got away with anything. Even if something was most definitely her fault, somehow everyone else was responsible. Well, the princess fell from the tower at some point. But even though I was tired of being associated with a dead girl that was six feet below the ground in a grave, I was continuously being dealt that card to no avail.

    The biggest irony of all was that I was in the house where her presence was most felt, like the ghost of her was overhead, hovering behind me, following my every move. 

    When he pulled away, I pushed at his chest and turned on my heel, trying to put as much distance between us. Hearing him grunt in surprise was only the tiniest bit satisfying as I made my way back to the room. There was some muffled mumbling that sounded an awful lot like “deserved that” but even so I didn’t care.

    I stopped at the beds and looked from one to the other. Which was hers? As I took in every fine detail of the quilt, my hand subconsciously went to my chest, ghosting over the pattern of the wound. I was in a dead girl’s room. I was almost killed tonight. There had been wood in my chest, there could have been a bullet buried there instead. Jameson could have been hurt or killed; if the bullet had ricocheted, it easily could have hit him. 

    Both of us could have come out of this very differently if it weren’t for those “hadn’t beens”. But Jameson didn’t seem to see it that way. No, because he was busy thinking about a tree. Anger flared inside me at the reminder. I understood he had laser focus but I thought he had room for a little bit of empathy and logic. 

    My mind shot to alertness when I heard nearby shuffling until I realized it was coming from the bathroom and heard him step into the bedroom. I crossed my arms and kept my eyes trained on the bedpost in front of me, not letting myself look up when I knew he was right behind me. He sighed softly. 

    “Heiress?” I didn’t reply. Another sigh. “Look, I know I came off as in-

    “I could’ve been shot.” 

    “Pardon? I didn’t-”

    “I said I could’ve been shot.” I spun around, catching him blink in surprise. “Shot, Jameson. Do you know what that means?” I stared at him sharply for a long moment before he looked aside, something like guilt or shame evident on his face. “I just inherited your family’s stupidly big fortune which made me a target of basically everyone related to you and anyone else in the world that made me their problem. I could have been killed. You could have been. Don’t you get that?”

    He looked up again and tilted his head, giving me a small wry smile. “Don’t worry about me, Heiress. A bullet still wouldn’t stop me.” My jaw dropped; he was still attempting humor. 

     “A-Are you being serious right now? Do you hear yourself?” He stayed silent. “Oren just pulled a chunk of wood out of my chest and if things had worked out a little differently, he could have been pulling out a bullet. Same goes for you. And meanwhile you’re over here thinking about a damn tree? This mystery, us running around acting like we’re Mystery Inc, you figuring out why your grandfather chose me, it’s all meaningless to you if I die. And if you got shot, your family would be out for me, we both know that much. And then what? Not everything is a game, Hawthorne.”

    “Perhaps you’re right but that’s just it, MG. If Emily taught me anything, it’s that everything is a game. Even this.” I was about ready to throttle him. But I withheld and rolled my eyes, laughing anxiously instead. “Jameson, get real. Emily’s dead, I almost died, your grandfather is dead, you’re not one of the heirs, your family hates me, the inheritance is not in the rightful hands, and now someone is after me. This is reality for me and you right now. This isn’t in your head. Life comes with risk, I know, but this isn’t a game.” 

    That elicited a reaction. His jaw got tight and his eyes narrowed. “You don’t think I know that Heiress? Unfortunately, my grandfather raised us treating everything like a damn game from the moment we could talk and think. Don’t pretend you even know the beginning of my life story, we’d be here all day.”

    “And I’m not. But you are acting like what just happened is something to push aside. Newsflash, it can’t be. I can get you pretending that covering me with yourself in the woods, cleaning my wound, our kiss doesn’t matter but not my life or yours being on the line for some stupid mystery. That’s all I ask.” That’s when it hit me. “Why do you act like that? Like you don’t matter?”

    I caught the panic in his eyes when they widened for a brief second as he turned away from me and ran a hand through his hair, sighing deeply. He’d been doing that a lot. After a long pause he spoke. “Because I’ve done worse. There’s a lot of things from my past that I’m not proud of. Things with Gray, things with Emily, things with Xan and Nash, the old man…” I put a hand on his shoulder. He side-eyed me and smirked knowingly. “If you’re expecting for this to turn into a confession, you’re going to be sorely disappointed.” 

    This time I sighed and shook my head. “No, I don’t. I don’t expect you to say anything you’re not comfortable sharing. But Jameson? We’ve all done things we’re not proud of, don’t be so hard on yourself for that.” 

    He turned his head toward me fully and the smirk turned into his signature crooked grin. “Don’t pity me, Heiress. Self loathing is a very good look for me.” But I saw the sadness in his eyes and something about it gave me a hollow feeling, like he’d been holding it in for so long. Yet that didn’t last either. “I know what you’re thinking and contrary to what you believe, I deserve it. Call it my role in the family.” 

    My hand slid from his shoulder and swiped at the mussy hairs stuck to my forehead. Then, I sidestepped him to pace around the room. I wasn’t sure how much more beating around the bush I could take.

    “I thought that was my thing,” he said. I glared at him in passing. “What? Did I say something wrong?”

    “Can you just let me think in silence for a second? I mean, would it kill you to stop making everything a joke?”

    “Hey, this wasn’t ever going to be a pity party, Heiress. Not my style. I’ve been honest about that mu-”

    “Stop it! Just… stop.” I walked over to him and took his hands in mine. “Look at me, Jameson.” He did, surprisingly. I lowered my voice and spoke gently. “I know you’re not okay. I know you’re sad. You have been for a long time. It’s caused you deep pain, I’ve felt that way, too.” I felt him go very still and for a long minute, he was quiet. 

    He exhaled shakily and his eyes were averted. There was the rawness again. “I’m not very good at this, Avery. I’m terrible at hurting.”

    Avery. He said my name; that’s when I knew he meant it. I let go of his hands and cupped his face in mine which made him meet my gaze. I felt like crying just seeing his misery. “I know you are. You can take all the time you need. But you can’t fix the issue by avoiding it.”

    Jameson inhaled sharply and rose to his full height, shaking his head again and went to stand against the wall. “I can’t. I’m sorry but I can’t.” His voice had gone so quiet, I could barely hear him. I followed after him and while I stopped just far enough that he had some space, I still reached an arm out and placed my hand on his back. He flinched slightly but didn’t tell me to move it and I didn’t retract either.

    “Look, I’m sorry that this might be pushing you too far.” He didn’t say anything. “You can be mad at me like I am at you for tonight but in truth, I think you’re just mad at yourself.” His head tilted to my side and I saw his mouth open but I plowed on. “You don’t have to tell me anything about your past. You don’t have to clarify. We can pretend everything else is a game. But not this. You matter Jameson and hate me for telling you that but that’s something you’ll have to eventually admit to yourself. It doesn’t have to be out loud with anyone around. It just has to be you admitting to yourself that you matter because you do.”

    “I-”

    “And I know this sounds worse but there are people who care about you: your brothers, your Nan, your aunt, I think, and you know, I’d even say me. You matter to me, Jameson. I may not know too much about you but I know a bleeding heart when I see one, especially one who hates themselves. I’ve been there myself, Libby too.” That’s when I heard the broken laugh. 

    “You really don’t know when to quit, do you?”

    I shook my head. “Nope, why do you think I’m still here?” He turned around and leaned on the wall, eyes red and hair covering his right eye but he was smiling that crooked smile. It was raw and edgy but it looked good on him.

    My stomach did a little flip flop. Stop it, now’s not the time. I stepped closer to him, swiping at the forelock but when I pulled my arm back, he gently wrapped his fingers around my wrist and tugged me to him. I shuffled forward a little more till I was practically leaning on him and his other hand went to my hip. The hand that was entwined with his was resting on his chest and it seemed like he was mindlessly rubbing circles into the back of my hand, as if distracting himself. We stayed in silence for a few minutes which seemed to stretch into an hour. Finally, Jameson spoke up.

    “Listen, Heiress, I owe you an-”

    “I forgive you.” 

    He shook his head. “Nuh-uh-uh. Not so fast. You got to give your little speech without interruptions. Now that I am in the mood to talk, you want to interrupt? Tsk-tsk.” I arched an eyebrow at him and he simply winked. His voice lowered, “I’m warning you though, this might be a shitty apology.” Oh, I’m prepared for that. But I didn’t say that out loud, just nodded and waited for him to continue. 

    “Hmmm-ahh. Hah, I’m already failing this. I’m sorry for what happened back there and here. I know it was serious and could’ve been bad news for both of us.” He looked to my wound and brought a thumb over it, air tracing it but hovered so close to my skin that I could practically feel his touch. “I was worried about you, still am.” Then through his teeth I heard him mutter something more softly. It sounded something along the lines of “Maybe-something-always.” but I couldn’t be sure.

    “That wound could have been fatal and I am angry we didn’t spare that but it doesn’t change the fact you’re still here kicking. Avery, if there’s anything I can give you full credit for, it’s your tenacity. I admire that a lot.” I felt a smile tugging at my lips. “About the tree thing, um, that’s how I learned to push away all the bad stuff, by focusing on the next clue. Those Saturday games helped me learn to focus on one thing even when there was something in the back of my mind. And to your final point; you are right. If I got shot or died, Nash would find a way to bring me back just so he could whoop my ass.”

    I smirked at the last bit. “I’m sure he would. I could try to protect you, though.”

    “Heh, you can try. But I wasn’t wrong when I said this was a game.”

    “Jameson…”

    “Hear me out. This is a game, a dangerous one and because of the risks and stakes, this,” he pointed to my wound, “is exactly what can happen. People will be out for you, more now than ever. But, if you still want to find out why my grandfather chose you, then the reward is considered higher than the risk. However, that’s up to you. And I can go back myself because I know these grounds.” He stared at me intently and I knew what he implied with the unspoken words. He wants me safe. The feeling warmed me but turned to ice shards because I knew he still wanted to risk himself.

    I shook my head. “Jameson, you were with me. I don’t know if that person was potentially after you too. I don’t want you to risk yourself.” What if the bullet strikes its mark this time? I leaned my head against his chest but he didn’t let me be that way for long. He cupped the back of my head and made me look up at him.

    “Do you trust me?”

    “No.” He smiled.

    “Good. But do you trust that we’re a good team?” I bit my lip but nodded in the end. “I can take worse risks, Heiress, and I found ways out of shadier spots. I’ll look through the security logs to find a safe path to the tree, I can promise you that much. Also, tell Oren to block that fireplace entrance in your room.” I nodded frantically. Then, he whispered the quietest I ever heard him. “I know you don’t have reason to trust any of us but me and my brothers don’t have anything against you even though Gray was acting like you’re a conwom-,” I snorted while he briefly smirked but quickly turned serious again, “If there’s anything good the old man taught us it was loyalty to each other no matter the circumstance.”

    I nodded again for what felt like the hundredth time. Then, I carefully wrapped my arms around his upper torso and hugged him, burying my head into his shoulder. His went to the small of my back and I felt him rubbing circles into my shirt like earlier. “Thank you, that means a lot. I still think you’re an idiot for wanting to do this but I won’t stop you. I’ll even distract Oren.” 

    “Great, does that mean I can kiss you again?” I pulled away from him immediately and raised an eyebrow in question. He was smiling cheekily and winked. But his eyes held that same intensity when he was focused and were tempting me. Well? Will you? Before I could think twice, I pulled him down by his hoodie strings and pressed my lips to his hard. Jameson had no trouble catching on and he lifted me up by the thighs, letting me wrap my legs around his waist before readjusting his arms to my back. I also curled my arm around his shoulder and clutched the fabric of his hoodie at his shoulder blade. It was a deep kiss but it was sweet. Ok, so a bit sweet isn’t bad. 

    When we parted, I was panting but he wasn’t. What a shocker. Instead, he was observing my face and I could imagine what he saw; the cuts, raw and red, scratches from the bark. Before I could ask anything, he leaned close and pressed soft kisses to each one. I closed my eyes. When he kissed my forehead last and he pulled back, I opened them again to find him smiling softly at me. It made me smile too and I didn’t hesitate to lean forward again to give him a light kiss in thanks. 

    Unfortunately, at that same moment a hushed gasp came from the hall.

A/N: Hope you guys enjoyed that. See you next time. Also, I'm updating my master list of fics so the last few including this one will be there for you.

[ariiadnes]

╭ ㅤ ⿻ ･ ESCAPISM

you may be able to prolong your life , but it's not like you can escape your inevitable death , is it?

-ˋ ♡ ◞ leon kennedy. resident evil 4 remake. repost. reader is a separate companion from ashley.

( 1 ) : LOST LITTLE LAMBS, WELCOME HOME.

YOU ARE IN AN UNBELONGING, BODY IN LIMBO, HEART BURSTING AT THE SEAMS , TORN BETWEEN HOPE & DESPAIR. you are so far from home, you lonely little lambs, minds on the brink of corruption, blood spilled and meant to be stained with eternal damnation. you venture further into doom, surroundings crumbled into debris and desolation, places once full of life and vigor and a brewing evil now withered into a type of dead you have killed over and over again.

you are so far from home. something greater and something more sinister than nostalgia embeds itself in your existence, sinks itself in the crevices of a hauntening. everywhere you go -- zombie after zombie, death of the undead, every shot fired, every inch of a silver blade covered in red, you hear it, these whispers among the rot : welcome home, welcome home, welcome home, WELCOME HOME.

you wonder if you are losing your mind amidst the violence. in the quiet, it is easier to lose control, fall back into the rabbit hole you once desperately crawled out of before. you inhale, feel the dreadful air bring a heaviness into your lungs, threaten to crush a racing heart.

you ignore the feeling. some things are better that way.

you wrap leon's arm with bandages, movements delicate as to prevent further pain; your expression is somber, mind deep in thought, so you fail to notice the way leon looks at you, fail to notice how he calls your name in that firm yet somehow gentle tone.

"something tells me that you aren't thinking about me right now."

you blink. the trance is broken. you finish tending to him, and instead, your hand slides down and rests on his. it's almost instinct that he turns his hand over, grabs yours, thumb grazing over your knuckles in silent consolation. he leans in to take a better look at you, check if you're wounded-- and it's only just the slightest bit but somehow already too much.

"i'm not, sorry." he smiles wryly at your words. you run your fingers through his hair, find some comfort in this rare respite, force yourself to express the worries that run rampant. "i have a bad feeling... just--" a pause. "something is going to go wrong, leon. something bad is going to happen and--"

"and we'll survive it."

it is almost fascinating -- the shift of tenderness that hardens into resolve in those blue eyes. you almost feel a semblance of safety, but a paranoia, a guilt, accompanies it, engulfs it entirely until it is nothing in existence. gone, void, and leon knows this.

"look, nothing ever goes as planned. you know how it goes." he leans closer, and maybe there is something of reminiscent sorrow that lingers, and maybe he remembers raccoon city and the brutality of death there. "i can't promise nothing bad will happen, but i can promise that we'll make it out of here. both of us."

you nod. the numbness sinks in, one foot in the grave.

you are so far from home.

( 2 ) : LOST LITTLE LAMBS, YOU ARE MEANT FOR THE SAVING.

YOU ARE IN AN UNBELONGING, BODY IN LIMBO, HEART BURSTING AT THE SEAMS , TORN BETWEEN SURVIVAL & DEATH. you are so far from home ; the air becomes more suffocating as you continue forth. the weight of each step becomes heavier. you almost wonder if your footprints in the mud will become the last fragment of yourself, should you get lost in the dark.

the hollows of the earth you step on become a walking grave. it is a very tragic thing that you cannot see the crimson that seeps into the roots of her tragedies, this place corrupted with a madness of some higher being.

something in your chest hurts. it burns, almost -- a sensation akin to terror, and you have almost forgotten that feeling, last felt anything remotely similar when you first learned what it meant, killing another for the sake of survival, dead or undead. you force the calm, anchor it yourself, but you cannot see in this building, the staleness of the air suffocating.

you linger behind leon, keep to yourself. you should be stronger than this, but something in your gut, your instinct, tells you that something bad is coming. it is coming and it's coming soon and you've got to get him out of here, because better him than you and--

in the quiet, leon picks up on your breathing, senses a shift in the air -- a panic, a trembling, but there's something else he can't quite figure out, something else that isn't part of you. something approaches, silent, so he turns on his heel, hardly able to make you out in the dimness of this cramped room.

something is coming. something bad is coming. it is coming and it's coming soon and it's coming now. you hear nothing, but you feel it : this ominous presence, this dreadful dance with death and something that will infect your bloodstream, try to make you something that you're not.

SOMETHING IS COMING.

neither of you can think, fail to move in time from an omniscient being. the last thing either of you remember is a loud chaos, the destruction of a temporary safekeeping, then the collision of your bodies, then nothing.

nothing.

( 3 ) : LOST LITTLE LAMBS, IT HAS BEGUN. I HOPE YOU'RE READY.

YOU ARE IN AN UNBELONGING, BODY IN LIMBO, HEART INFECTED WITH A DEPRAVITY , TORN BETWEEN SURVIVAL & DEATH. you are so far from home, but this is where you are meant to be, you foolish little lambs. you should know your place, know that you are destined to be at the altar, worship in your veins, adoration drowned in black.

you wake up with an ache. when you come to, you are surrounded by a familiar warmth and comfort, realize that leon is holding you, arms supporting your frame. you have seen fear in those eyes too many times before, but there is something so visceral and heart wrenching this time. your vision blurs for a moment, head throbbing so violently that you can't quite make out what he says to you, but you understand the urgency in his voice.

"--with me?"

"leon, sorry, i--" you can hardly hear yourself. you feel the way his muscles tense as he pulls you closer. "hold on, i-- it's okay, it's okay-- i'm with you." you shut your eyes tight, feel that recognizable yet painful sensation in your chest.

you open your eyes, see the horror in your visage reflected by a cool blue. there's a relief to be found somewhere, if you looked hard enough, but you feel guilty for worrying him so much, so you look away, pat his arm gently in silent request for him to let go.

"you're with me." he tells you, breathless.

you nod. there's a lump in your throat.

"always with you."

there is something heavy in your chest and you know it is not grief. you know what that feels like. this is different. unnatural. you wonder if he feels it, too.

"how are you feeling? you okay?"

"yeah. yeah, i'm okay. i'm okay if you are."

neither of you have enough clarity to understand what happened-- to deem something as strange or out of place is rare nowadays, given both of your histories and roles in these catastrophes. but what need, what purpose is there to attack and flee? it would have been easy to rid of both of you, bring an end to the disruption to this corruption.

something is wrong.

( 3.5, REVERSED ) : LOST LITTLE LAMBS, A FALSE SAVIOR WILL DEEM THIS AS CORROSION, TELL YOU THAT THERE IS A WAY OUT. BUT THEY ARE SIN THEMSELVES, AREN'T THEY? BE CAREFUL.

YOU ARE IN AN UNBELONGING, BODY IN LIMBO, HEART INFECTED WITH A DEPRAVITY , TORN BETWEEN SURVIVAL & DEATH. you are so far from home, but the reluctant acquaintance you find company with is neither unwelcomed or welcomed.

"las plagas, huh? some vacation."

luis's words echo in your mind. a parasite made for the end of all things, set to blossom, devour, destroy, and it's in your heart. there's a small inkling of hope-- something like that, you guess, had it not been for the former umbrella researcher's roundabout words.

you lean your head against the wall, shoulder to shoulder with leon. the taste of blood lingers on your tongue.

"some vacation." you repeat those words, mind in a fog. "some vacation."

he takes your hand in his, all too aware that his other one is stained with his own blood. no pep talk this time, you muse. that's okay. the silence is enough for now. even with a wavering resolve, you both know that this story is yours and that there is always an ending to reclaim.

"you with me, leon?"

you rest your head against his shoulder. he smiles, bittersweet. there will be an end to this, and it will be a good one. you've got a future together, after all.

"always with you."

( 4 ) : LOST LITTLE LAMBS, THIS IS MERCY. SALVATION. WON'T YOU GIVE IN?

YOU ARE IN AN UNBELONGING, BODY IN DARK WATERS, HEART INFECTED WITH A DEPRAVITY , TORN BETWEEN SURVIVAL & DEATH. you are so far from home and you are closer to losing yourself forever. you can feel it, that numbness and burning in your chest, in your heart. in your dreams, you find yourself drowning, surrounded by figures cloaked in black. unfamiliar.

when you dream, leon never leaves your side. call it love, call it fear, call it cowardice, but he holds you tightly, the shelter you have found a temporary haven. in the dimness, he makes out the foreign lines that run haphazard on his skin. a grimace.

there is an malevolence and hatred flowing in his veins, but such a thing does not exist in his heart. the black flows through his body, consumes the red entirely, spreads its parasite and curse. it grows more and more, and he almost wonders if this is how his story will end. his jaw clenches. he shakes his head, knows he cannot humor such thoughts. he has too many people to save, too many people he cares for. it can't happen again. not this time.

his vision distorts. everything becomes heavy. he is so tired. the taste of rust overwhelms his senses, suffocates him. maybe he is underwater too, drowning just like you are.

time is running out. he has to hurry.

it can't happen again. not this time.

( 4.5, REVERSED ) : LOST LITTLE LAMBS, TIME IS NEARING. I HOPE YOU'RE READY.

YOU ARE IN AN UNBELONGING, BODY IN DARK WATERS, HEART INFECTED WITH A DEPRAVITY , TORN BETWEEN SURVIVAL & DEATH. you are so far from home and everything you know, everyone you know. something poisonous engulfs you, takes over your mind and body whole. the visions, the whispers-- you shudder, feel that cool metal against your skin.

no, this isn't right-- you won't call it betrayal because it's not, because you can't be betrayed by someone you don't know, even if leon is the one who holds the knife against your throat. how terribly wretched this is, lover against lover, minds plagued with a reckoning. the virus continues its course, black adorning his countenance. it's coming. he is running out of time.

this isn't him. it's not. you know leon, know he would never put you in harm's way. you know the cause of this, recall the times you felt you weren't yourself, lost in the chaos of las plagas, mind set ablaze, a superficial deity echoing terror in your soul. you know leon, know this isn't him. you don't call this betrayal.

you are too afraid to speak, feel like one word will lead to demise. speak and you lose. stay silent and you lose. move, you lose. stay still, you lose. you cannot win here. there is no good ending, no optimal end game, no way around it unless he can restore himself.

you are helpless and weak and you cannot even save the person you love.

your mouth runs dry. his hand trembles. you feel him regain himself, barely, but the blade meets flesh anyway, draws the slightest amount of blood. part of you hopes, prays, that maybe the sight of you being harmed is what will bring him back, but it doesn't. the knife digs deeper. something trails down your neck. you shiver, instinctively take a step back, his name falling from your lips without a single thought, pleading. one step back, another forward.

you cannot distance yourself from this violence. you don't know what to do -- draw your gun, unsheathe your knife, act like you'll hurt him if he continues? would they care if leon died? would they care if you died? you are simply part of the flock, after all. your deaths are meaningless. you do not know if pain would even snap him out of this. you can both push it to the limits, wait and see what happens, but it doesn't matter, not if they see you as another useless puppet.

the possibilities are both endless and limited. something warm continues to run down your skin, leave a faint crimson in its wake. it's now or never ; there's no winning with inaction. another step back. you draw your gun, aim it down at the ground -- somewhere far in the distance, and shoot, once, twice. it's stupid. it'll draw attention. you can't think of anything else though, adrenaline sending your thoughts in a spiral.

it works.

a sudden wild bewilderment in blue eyes-- he jerks away from you, then you hear the knife clatter against concrete. you let out that breath you've been holding for too long, unsure if it is relief or some semblance of hurt that decorates your features.

leon is quick to put the pieces together, sees the wound on your neck. that was him. it was him. he hurt you, he--

"don't think about it. it wasn't you." you grab his wrist, ignore the way he reflexively tries to pull back in possibility that he could bring harm to you once more. "we have to go and we have to go now."

so you do. you run in search of safety together, but there is something that shatters the soul, breaks what little is left of the hearts that cling to humanity.

you run. you keep running. together.

( there is nothing to grant forgiveness for. there is no need for apologies, but you hear them endlessly, anyway. he is careful to tend to the wound, but his hands shake. his hands shake, so you hold them until they still. until he knows you're okay. )

( 5 ) : LOST LITTLE LAMBS, YOU HAVE TURNED DOWN GOD'S WILL, REFUSED YOUR OWN STORY. WHAT WILL YOU MAKE OF THIS?

YOU ARE IN A BELONGING, BODY IN DARK WATERS, HEART INFECTED WITH DEPRAVITY , TORN BETWEEN SURVIVAL & DEATH. you are closer than ever to being lost, but you are closer than ever to being found. your lungs burn, your limbs ache. the exhaustion weighs you down, but you and leon support each other, fend off the hallucinations that threaten to break you. you're underwater again, drowning, but the surface is right there, so close--

you cough up blood, wind knocked out of you by the ravaging plague. leon is on the verge of vanquish, but he fights through it, knows that your story together is yours and only yours to reclaim, so he pushes through, even if his body hurts so terribly much. he's so close-- there is no stopping now. luis's lab is nearby.

he's too close. he cannot stop now, even if everything turns into a haze, even if the darkness nearly takes him. so he picks you up, movements clumsy and weak, silently apologizes when he hears your muffled cries of pain.

when you reach the lab, leon rushes to put you in the chair. you do not know what will come next. your lips part in protest, but he is quick to shush you, tell you to save your strength. the parasite inside you lies dormant, but it will wake soon, and then you will be gone, lost forever. you don't have time, but neither does he.

you are afraid. you feel yourself going in and out of consciousness, eyes heavy, your head lulled to the side. you close your eyes, feel leon's hand on yours.

you are so afraid. it will hurt. you know this.

it does. it does. it does it does it does IT DOES.

( 5.5, ENDGAME ) : WHAT WAS LOST IS ALWAYS FOUND. YOU ARE CLOSER TO HOME THAN YOU THINK.

YOU ARE IN A BELONGING, BODY ABOVE THE TIDES, HEART CLEANSED FROM PLAGUE , BEATING , ALIVE. you are closer to home than you think, the pain spread through your body slowly fading. you are more tired and more awake than ever, the pain in your chest obsolete. you are safe, and so is he.

leon is knocked out cold, entirely still as he lies in the chair. had it not been for the subtle rise and fall of his chest, you would have thought to check his pulse. you rub your eyes, try to fend off the fatigue. you may be safe, but you are only free from the virus. still, you do not wake him, know that you both have been running on fumes.

you are not entirely sure how you managed to switch places with him ; your muscles ache in protest. surely you will be sore tomorrow. you smile weakly, rest your forearms on the arm of the chair. you put your head down, take a deep breath. you should wake him, start running. you should be going. but you are so god damn tired, and you cannot think. you cannot bear to do so. not right now.

you close your eyes, fall into a slumber in which you do not drown.

you wake up with an ache. this all feels so very familiar.

"--with me?"

when you come to, you raise your head, greeted by the sight of leon's warm gaze. he smiles when you sit straight up, shake your head as if it'd rid of the grogginess.

"good morning, sunshine. are you with me?"

you do not answer at first, though you both know exactly what will be said. you scoot a little closer, a faint worry in your eyes as you study him intently. the black has faded entirely, all signs of infection gone. you glance at the computer, confirmation made by the notification that pops up on the screen. still--

your hand trembles ever so slightly as you reach out for him, but part of you is scared that maybe it's wrong, maybe there's a chance that things could still go south.

"it worked. i'm okay." leon's words are gentle and reassuring ; he grabs your hand, leans into your touch in hopes that it will ease the panic that threatens to bloom in your heart. "it'll take more than that to get rid of me, remember? you're always with me."

something almost chokes you-- everything you have ever endured, whether good or bad, everything you have ever swallowed in attempt to keep it somewhere unheard, unnoticed. your eyes sting, but you nod anyway.

"yeah." you whisper, voice shaking. "i'm always with you, leon."

he studies you, careful, brows furrowed. he squeezes your hand : a desperate desire for reassurance, more for his own sake than yours.

"i've got you." he tells you, and you've heard those words so many times before, always knowing them to be true. "i've got you. we'll make it out of here."

[jamdoughnutmagician]

Sweetcheeks (Logan Howlett x fem!reader smut)

Look, this is my first time writing for Logan, so please forgive me. It's been just over a month since I saw deadpool and wolverine and I'm not about to apologise for wanting to fuck that old man 😌

anyway just a short little something to get me out of my writing funk

Word Count:589

Masterlist

When you're spread out underneath him, safely caged by his strong arms, he's all stifled grunts as he rocks his hips into you. Heavy, pounding thrusts as he sinks his cock deeper into you every time. Growls of pleasure rumbled into your ear as he fucks you with everything he's got. 

“You're fuckin’ mine, ain'tcha sweetcheeks” his gravely voice rasped out.

Fingertips clinging to his broad shoulders, nails leaving half-moon marks as you hold on to him, hanging on for dear life as he rails into you. Your soft thighs hugging around his hips, and your ankles locking together as they cross at his back. Every inch he gives you rewards him with the salaciously slick, wet noises of your cunt stretched around his thick cock.

“Look at you..fuck..practically creamin’ for me and I’ve hardly touched ya” he teases, as he continues to pound you with his relentless thrusts. 

With every inch he fucks into you, you feel it. You feel it in the deliciously burning stretch of your cunt, so much that you fear that he might break you. And as your hand coasts down between your tightly pressed bodies you feel it, the way he’s bulging in your stomach with every thrust. 

“Taking it like a champ though, aren’t ‘ya darlin’?” his voice teases again, as his rough hand joins yours, pressing down on the bulge, smirking down at you from under his dark gaze. “Looks like you’re fulla’ me”

Flushing hot at his words it’s all you can do to nod and whimper out little moans as his hand moves lower down your body, snaking down to your clit, and rubbing precise little circles around it just the way he knew you liked. 

Your whines pitched higher and higher as you neared the high of your orgasm, and you knew he wasn’t too far behind you as the tell-tale creaking noise of his adamantium claws began to pinch through his clenched fists. 

Moans shared between sloppy kisses and playful bites nibbled into the crook of his neck. Making sure to leave your mark on him, one way or another.

“Y’getting close? Yeah, I know you are, I can feel you squeezing me.”

Please please please, you desperately whine, he was dangling you just on the edge of anticipation and pleasure and all you wanted was for him to give it all to you.

He doubles down in his efforts and that’s all it takes before you’re gushing out your release, practically crying as the pleasure wracks through your body.

“‘Atta girl, that’s it…” he coos as best he can in his gravelly voice, slowing his thrusts to see you through the shuddering shocks of your high.

“Think you can handle a little more, sweetcheeks?” he asks softly, his hard cock still instantly pressing between your folds. 

You offer him a soft hum and a nod of your head, and with that he’s slipping himself back inside you, rolling his hips in steady thrusts, his stomach muscles clenching with tension each time he sinks himself into you.

You wince at the stretch but breathe through it, and he rails into you once, twice, three times more and with a growled moan he spills rope after rope of his hot seed inside you, filling you with everything he has until all that’s left is slowly dripping out of you. 

He holds himself above you, and as he flashes you that all to cocksure grin, you know that with him, you wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.

@penguinsandpotterheads @paybacksawitch @mrsjellymunson

[hungharrington]

*clears throat* okay!!!!

but imagine the next time you two are apart (probably a day or two but it’s enough), imagine you decide to be the one that jumps him and kisses him all over and make sure you’re the first to say how much you missed him? you use his “how dare you get prettier” discourse on him and kiss him first and call him sweet names before you drag him home. poor boy would be flustered and with his cheeks on fire / pink and breathless and i bet he wouldn’t be able to form words 😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨

oh just y e s - 1.4k, gn!reader i believe, this fic describes a blowjob and as always, MDNI this entire blog is 18+

He's not expecting it. It makes it that much better.

When you sneak down the aisles of the Family Video and spot a certain ass, in a pair of tight jeans that should be illegal, bent over to reach the bottom shelf, your heart sings. You let Steve straighten up, watching him closely as he dusts off his hands and then places them on his hips, leaning into one. Classic Steve pose. You can't wait any longer.

You strike.

Striding down the aisle as quickly as you can, you reach out and grab his shoulders, using the momentum to propel yourself up and cling onto his back - like a piggyback he's given you a thousand times before. Steve startles, but even then, he catches you. Hands come up under your thighs and his face is holds a smidge of that bitchiness you love.

It wipes away in an instant when he realises who it is.

"Baby!" He exclaims, his grip on your skin tightening. Excitement lights up his features- softening when you grapple closer, kiss him on the cheek, and say, "surprise!" with your best grin.

"I thought you weren't—“

"—Coming back til the weekend?" You interrupt. You smother kisses along his jawline, anywhere you can. You're beginning to feel a bit breathless by the time you pull back to speak again and Steve's eyes look oddly misty in their fondness. "Missed you too much. Came back early."

Steve lets go of your thighs and without his support, you sink down his back sluggishly, hands still tangled around his neck. He's turning quickly, his hands seeking out to tug you closer. They slide up along your jaw, cupping it sweetly. "Can't kiss you when you're back there, c'mere,"

It's maddening, the way he kisses you. Plush lips capture yours, soft and sweet, his fingers creeping along your jawline. His fingertips slide into your hair, tightening to pull you even closer.

When he pulls back, his pink cheeks give away his delight. You beat him to the punch on his own spiel. A frown knits together your brows as you reach up to hold his face, palms to his blushing cheeks.

"Hold on," You say. Steve's face flickers with concern. You turn his face in your hand, side to side, just an inch. "I thought we agreed you weren't going to get any prettier?"

Steve's cheeks darken from pink to crimson and try as he might, he can't hide his giddy smile with you holding his face between your hands.

"Stop," he chuckles, rolling his eyes lightheartedly. You shake your head and try to deepen your frown; your smile peeks through.

"I'm serious, Steven—"

"—Not my real name—"

"—I thought you were gonna tone it down, pretty boy. " You pout, reaching up to dot a peck on his nose. Steve looks at you unbearably soft, his grip growing slack as you continue with a grave nod. "You're doing a number on my heart."

"You're being dramatic." Steve says and it makes you grin wider.

"You love it."

It only takes one disgusted bleh! from Robin, who witnessed most of your strangely heartwarming reunion, to send Steve home early. Steve doesn't push his luck, just sheds his vest and blows a kiss to her as he leads the way out the door. You call your thanks over your shoulder, hands on Steve's shoulders, ushering him with a quick little go-go-go!

He doesn't ask why you're in any kind of hurry. There's no need to ask. When your back into your apartment, the door snicking shut behind you, you're upon him. Hands pressed against his chest like a panther sinking its claw into its prey.

Your lips find his skin, hot and heavy kisses along his neck and you can feel the way he pulls you close, pressing you up against him. You can already feel the shape of his hardness against your thigh. Desire flares hot in your tummy.

Steve huffs a breathy laugh, "Always against the door, huh?"

"Can't help it," you whine between your kisses. You give his neck a little nip, then soothe it sweetly with your tongue, basking in the sigh Steve gives. "Missed you."

"I-" He inhales sharply when your teeth scrape in just the right way. "Fuck, I missed you too, honey."

Your hand creeps on his chest, traveling down, down, til you can feel the waistband on his jeans — and then you keep going, fingers wrapping around the shape of him. Steve gives a soft groan, his hips pushing forward in your hand.

"Can I show you?" You say, putting on that sweet voice that just kills Steve every time. Peering up at him through your lashes, you watch his breath catch and his cheeks stay that glorious ruby red colour. "Will you let me show you how much I missed you, Stevie?"

You pair your words with a soft rub of his cock and Steve moans softly, eyes screwing shut. You're already sinking to your knees by the time he's remembering you've asked him a question. "Yes, yes, please, yes, you can."

The zipper scrapes audibly as you pull it down, shuffling clothes enough just to free his cock. Your mouth salivates just a little at seeing it again, even if you had only been gone for a total of three days. It's already leaking for you.

"Oh," you say softly, your hand wrapping around the girth of him. You move slowly, gently, thumb coming up to rub over his slit and spread his precum. A string of curses and moans escape Steve's throat. His hands clench tightly at his side. "So hard for me already?"

You're teasing him, just a bit. It works exactly as you planned — Steve shivers, his cock giving a little twitch in your hand. His voice sounds strained already when he speaks, "Didn't —ah— didn't touch myself when you- you were gone."

Surprise blooms in your chest and sets a fire in your belly, thinking of him waiting for you when you were away. Determination licks at its heels. You give his cock a more purposeful squeeze, adoring how he whines in response and lean up and give the tip a kiss, then a soft lick.

He moans again, raspy and long as you wrap your lips around it, your mouth hot and wet and perfect. You drool on his cock, letting yourself get it soaked as you suck on it gently — not taking him as far as you can. Teasing. Steve’s breathing is beginning to sound jagged, little whiny noises seeping into every breath.

You pull off with a slurp and use the slickness of your saliva to jerk him, your hand twisting perfectly on his cock to pull the most sweet and pathetic little noises out of your boyfriend. Your pace is nearly cruel how slow it is. Steve doesn't even dare complain, especially not when you whisper his name so he opens his eyes— and he sees you looking at up him from your knees. Beautiful.

"S’missed you so much," you say again, rubbing over his slit as you do, and Steve feels that familiar flare of heat in his cheeks as he chokes out a whine. You nuzzle against his cock, soft lips giving the smallest of kitten licks to the head of it and Steve can’t help it, he keens, giving a loud whimper. His lust is equally entangled with adoration.

"Missed this cock too," you say, beginning to pump your hand a little faster. Steve’s breath catches. "Missed hearing all the noises you make when you cum, Stevie— y'gonna let me hear them again?"

"Yeah," He whines loudly, hips chasing your grip, fucking his cock into warm, wet hand. It feels fucking amazing. Pleasure claws at his chest, rising rapidly.

He doesn’t even sound like himself as the next string of words pours from his mouth, all high and breathy— he must be so wound up from being away from you, "Yes, yes, gonna- fuck, gonna give you anything— anything you want."

Slowing your hand, there's only a moment for Steve to whimper before you take him back in your mouth and start sucking, cheeks hollowing. Your hand on his cock trails up, giving a soft rake of nails along his thighs before giving a soft rub on his balls.

Steve shudders violently, a gaspy moan warbling out his chest and the only warning you get is his hushed whimpery whispers of, "Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck," before he's spilling down your throat with a loud moan.

It drips from your mouth as you pull off, giving yourself some air as you take in the state of your boyfriend. It makes your feel down right carnal the way his looks slumped against the door, cheeks still coloured pink and pleasure written all over him.

You give him a minute before taking his softening cock back in your mouth, soft slow motions — Steve seizes up and whimpers loudly, hands reaching to pull you off him.

"Sensitive, christ," He pants a bit, gazing down at you. "S'too much, sweetheart."

You pout, turning to give his palm a little peck and give a little huff, then repeat your words from earlier. "Just missed you, baby. Won't you let me show you how much I missed you?"

Before you, Steve's cock twitches. You smile. It's going to be a long night.

[aphroditesmoon]

hi there ! could I get a gwen x gn! reader where gwen finally confronts reader after going missing for months during events of atsv?

lose your faith in me

gwen stacy x gn!reader

summary: two months without her was too long for you, but not long enough for you to forget her.

warnings: hurt/comfort, gn reader, fluff, curse words.

a/n: hopefully this is to your liking<3

°°°

IT'S BEEN accurately 68 days and 1610 hours since you've last seen Gwen Stacy.

Two months since she slid out of your window while you were sleeping in the middle of the night. Two months since she disappeared without a word, leaving you nothing but a folded paper by your bedside with a 'text u when i get home' scribbled over it.

George Stacy wouldn't meet your eyes when you decided to come knocking on his door a month ago. It felt like you're not looking beyond the curtains where the sun hides when you're talking to him.

He didn't know where Gwen was, it was evident, but he wasn't worried over it either. And when he says her name, it sounds foreign to both ypur ears, like he's talking about a stranger and not his own daughter.

He tells you that you shouldn't look for her. An odd thing for a father to say, but the grief in his eyes forces you to oblige, so you gave in and threw away her stupid rotting note, buried deep in your pockets for all the while she's been missing.

But ghosts eventually find their way back home, her grave in the shape of your bed, and in your arms the only place she'll ever find peace.

You felt her before you saw her, chilly air enters your room from the window, and when you glance up from your pillow, her silhouette stares back at you, an image so clear and persistent that you know you weren't dreaming it. You lift up your body, eyes squinting at her. When she steps closer, the moon finally shining its light on her face, you flinch as you're met with a masked face, the widely known ghost-spider.

A barely audible gasp leaves you when the spiderwoman moves to rip the mask off of her face, and all the questions you've asked nightly to the universe finally answers themselves. You take off your blanket slowly, getting up to walk towards your Gwen is a cautious manner, her eyes stays on your face, waiting for a reaction. Waiting for fear to colour your features.

But besides your suprised expression, you don't show any sign of hostility towards her.

Gwen watches as you finally step in front of her, faces inches from eachother, eyes wide and brows furrowing. She didn't plan to reveal this to you, neither did she plan to find herself in your room, the moment she's been zapped back into her universe by Miguel.

Her fingers flexes to stop itself from trembling, and when your hands reaches up to cup the right side of her face, her eyes soften, and Gwen lets out a heavy breath, succumbing to your touch.

You don't hesitate to move your arms around her, pulling her towards you as she finds her place on your neck, her own hands wrapped around your waist.

You feel her fingers fisting the back of your shirt, as if you'd disappear if she pulls way. Eventually you do, facing eachother once more, you lean your forehead againts hers and feel your mind finally coming back into yourself. She didn't want to speak, it was obvious, but you also knew that it was necessary.

Dissapearing for two months was one thing, finding out she was ghost-spider is another. You should feel betrayed, angry, disappointed in the least, but all you felt was aching pity for her, trying to imagine how alone she must've felt, even when she had you by her side. You opened your mouth to speak but she cut you to it first.

"I'm so stupid." You cracked a smile despite the circumstances as Gwen winces at her own words.

"That fucking came out wrong- I was gonna say 'I'm so sorry' actually." She corrected herself, gripping your forearm.

"I know." You tell her. "You should've-"

"-Told you, I know, god knows, I know. I was just so terrified, I lost Peter, and everyone thinks I killed him, my own dad looked at me like i was a monster when I took my mask off in front of him. Do you think I could've handled having you look at me like that?" That silenced you.

All the petty anger you've buried deep waiting for her return felt childish now. You would've done the same thing if you were her, you knew that.

When she sees your own tears welling up, Gwen cursed herself for saying the things she said. She didn't need you to carry her guilt. Gwen pulled you back into her arms, and you take in the odd mint smelling shampoo she must've been using and kissed her temple.

You felt yourself about to burst now, She was here, and she's laying herself open for you to see, all the things she's never told anyone about before.

"I love you." You croaked out, feeling yourself unable to strain the overwhelming sadness. And Gwen wipes your tears away despite her own and tells you what you already know. "I love you too."