#but to me this whole thing is holding a mirror up to him in a way that he really doesnt like and in a way

[hoshifighting]

what kind of nudes they would send you? 👉🏻👈🏻

WARNINGS: smut, mentions of penis anatomy, male body anatomy.

seungcheol: one hand wrapped around the base of his cock, holding it up right so you can see the huge length. phone propped low to catch his abs, chest, and a big delicious smile.

jeonghan: lying down, hand lazily holding his half-hard cock against his stomach, shadows doing all the work. “this good enough for you, babe?”

joshua: sheets slightly covering his cock, one hand slipping underneath like he’s just teasing himself. bonus: his pouty lips in the shot like he’s waiting for your permission to touch.

junhui: standing in front of a mirror, completely naked, flexing a little, with his dick hanging low. he’d throw in a wink too.

hoshi: a pic of his cock leaking, hand gripping it tight, his thigh muscles flexed as he props one leg up on the puff. there’s a tiger plush in the corner. it kills you, but somehow it works.

wonwoo: it’s a mirror pic in his bathroom, dick out, one hand languidly holding it, while he flexes his abs, and the veins of his hand. no caption, no emojis—just the picture. he knows it’ll have you spiraling.

woozi: accidental thirst trap. he sends you a random post-shower pic, towel slung low on his hips, wet hair clinging to his forehead, and his hard cock half-hidden. “oh, oops, didn’t mean to send that.”

minghao: taken from the side, showing off his hips, his cock semi-hard against his thigh, with some dramatic lighting in the background. the veins of his arm, and lower belly POPPING.

mingyu: another mirror whore. he’s taking the pic in his bedroom mirror, one hand stroking himself, abs and v-line shinng and you don't know if it's sweat, oil, or mosturizer. the smirk he gives is almost as cocky as his stupidly hard dick.

seokmin: the shy teaser. he sends you a pic of just the tip of his cock, all red and leaking, his hand covering the rest but barely in the frame. “is this… okay?” like, yes, it’s okay, now send the whole damn thing.

seungkwan: never thought he would send a nude, firstly. so it's aa tight shot of just his cock, leaking and red at the tip, his hand hovering like he’s debating whether to jerk off or not. “you’re making me like this, you know that?” he’s nervous, but he’s loving how wild it’ll make you.

vernon: lounging on the couch, sweatpants pushed low enough to expose his cock resting against his abs, hand casually draped over it. “so… you up?” he acts like it’s no big deal, but he’s grinning like crazy after hitting send, creating a scenario in his mind where you look at the pic while touching yourself.

chan: a full-body selfie of him sitting on the edge of the bed, cock hard and curved up against his stomach, face flushed and biting his lip. “thinking about you, noona. can I come over?”

[altcvnningham]

so i was reading this post and started yapping in the tags before deciding i actually just needed to make a separate post because i have brainworms. long unedited ramble sorry this doesn't make sense at all

adlerbell & co-dependency;

the sick irony lies in the fact that the co-dependency that exists within their relationship, most of the time, isn't even of their own volition, and yet they are the constant cause of their own entrapment. they NEED one another as much as they hate one another because they ARE each other. to their core.

bell is everything adler hates and opposes and wars against yet he NEEDS them to catch perseus no matter the cost; adler is bound to bell in a way where he is ironically beholden to them, his fate in their hands, even when he's technically the one in control, with the power and rank over them, the one holding the leash. yet without bell adler has little to nothing. powerless entirely. in that way, bell has power over him, that his whole world rests upon the pinprick that is their loyalty to him, which is a hairswidth away from being shattered the second they piece together who they are, what he's done to them.

and bell is obviously only who they are because of adler. warped god wrenching hands into their head and rearranging it all until they suit whatever he deems his perfect image when he needs it. friend, ally, team member. dog, prey, victim. whatever he needs them to be, they are.

and bell's entire personhood is adler. bell's entire world is adler. half himself, a mirror image, their head a scrambled soup of his memories and fears, of vietnam, of things that didn't happen to bell but did happen to adler, a point in time that existed but they were not a part of, not until adler dragged their body off that tarmac and forced them to be. without adler, bell is dead in trabzon, or nothing. and that kind of co-dependency is indescribable- to believe that this man is one who went through the horrors of war with you, your friend for over a decade, is one thing. but even when bell breaks free of their conditioning- to know that they are possibly only alive because he found them? to know that mk ultra, despite being the very thing that destroyed them, was the only thing that stood between them and an unmarked grave??

bell wants adler. but adler needs bell. and mf wants to stand at that fucking clifftop and claim that none of it was personal?? he created a home for bell within himself, how they trust him, rely on him, believe that he'll always pick them up- because even if not in vietnam, he did, once, in trabzon. and bell is a home to all the worst parts of himself, scraped out of him and put into the empty pit he carves out of them- his weaknesses, his fears, his trauma, his ruthlessness. (i could talk about how adler's hatred of bell might even be a reflection not only of them being the very culmination of everything he opposes, but that they're also an amalgam of every worst thing he hates about himself, but that's another post entirely.)

i just. it wasn't meant to be personal. bell was a tool for adler, and adler was just this figure meant to be imprinted on. all means to an end. but against their own volition, they rely on each other. they need each other. they are dead without each other. i think adler needs bell to make himself feel powerful. but god, if they aren't the very thing he has to tiptoe around and revere because without them he has nothing. no team, no perseus. and to bell, adler is not too far removed from a god, whether they know it or not. he made them. and i doubt the lamb wants to stray much too far from its shepherd. ugh. whatever.

don't even get me started on how their fates are inevitably intertwined. how even the narrative itself demands them be slave to each other's will. fuck everything

[marifilue]

Part 7: Silent Wars

Pairing: Logan Howlett x F!Mutant!Reader - Slow burn, no use of y/n.

Summary: You're an X-Men member with regenerative healing ability and skilled marksman. On a routine mission with the team things take a drastic turn when a mutant-inhibitor collar is forced onto you, leaving you vulnerable, unable to heal. With no quick fix in sight, Logan becomes your reluctant anchor, helping you get through each day as you fight to survive, unexpected bond with Logan begins to grow, one that becomes far stronger than either of you could imagine.

Warnings: Explicit language, Violence, Blood

WC: 10,6k

<- Part 6

Logan stood in front of the mirror, buttoning his white shirt before adjusting the black suit Ororo had picked out for him earlier. He tugged at the fabric with a grimace, the sleek cut far from his usual rugged style. The polished shoes felt unnatural, and the stiff collar made him want to rip the whole thing apart. Still, he attempted the tie after a failing a first try, fumbling with the knot until it resembled something passable. Or so he thought. After inspecting his reflection, he sighed. “Good enough,” he muttered, stepping out of his room.

The team was leaving soon for the gala to find Killebrew, and Logan made his way down the hall. That’s when he saw you, halfway up the stairs with a basket of clean laundry in hand. You were heading toward your room, but the sight of him stopped you in your tracks. Your steps faltered, and for a moment, you just stared. Logan in a suit was unexpected, he looked sharp, almost elegant, though the sight of him trying to fit into something so formal was oddly amusing.

Your lips twitched into a grin as your eyes swept over him and you couldn’t help but think he looked like a time traveler from some period drama. Except…

“What?” Logan asked, his brow furrowing as he caught your stare.

You smirked, gesturing vaguely at his neck. “You're not leaving with that tie.”

Logan glanced down, frowning. “What’s wrong with it?”

“Are you going to a nine-to-five job or a gala?” you teased, shaking your head. Standing outside your door, you pointed a finger at him. “Don't move.”

Before he could protest, you disappeared into your room, setting the basket of laundry on your bedroom floor. You returned moments later, Logan still rooted in place, his expression an unamused mix of confusion and impatience.

Without a second thought, you walked right up to him, fingers reaching for his tie. “Hold still,” you ordered, undoing the uneven knot with quick, precise movements.

“That took me two tries,” Logan grumbled, his breath brushing against you as you worked.

“Yeah, and it shows,” you replied without missing a beat , the corner of your mouth twitching into a smile.. Your focus remained on the fabric in your hands, but you couldn’t ignore the faint scent of cologne mixed with his usual tobacco scent. He’d tried to clean up for the mission, and you silently appreciated the effort.

Logan stayed quiet, his gaze dropping to your face. He watched the way your brows furrowed in concentration, the soft purse of your lips as you looped the fabric into a neat bow tie.

“There,” you said, tightening the knot one last time. “Perfect.”

You glanced up, your words catching in your throat when you realized he was already looking at you. His hazel eyes were unrelenting, and the intensity of his gaze made your pulse stutter.

“They’re waiting for you,” you said, your voice quieter than you intended, flicking your eyes to his left, then his right, trying to avoid the pull of his stare.

“Huh?” Logan blinked, his brows lifting slightly as if snapping out of a trance.

“The team,” you repeated, stepping back to create some distance. “They’re already downstairs.”

Logan reached up, tugging at the tie as if testing your handiwork. “Right,” he muttered, clearing his throat. “Thanks.”

You offered a small smile. “Good luck.” You said, he nodded, clearing his throat. “I’ll see ya around.” his voice softer.

You turned, opening the door to your room as Logan walked down the hall and descended the stairs. Once inside, you closed the door and leaned against it, your heart racing in your chest. You glanced at laundry, waiting on your floor to be folded, but all you could think about was the way Logan had looked at you, and how it made your pulse quicken.

As you folded the last of your laundry. It was a simple, repetitive task, but tonight, even mundane chores couldn’t keep your mind from wandering. Yesterday’s news lingered heavily in your thoughts—a cancer diagnosis. Your mind refused to fully grasp it. How could it? One day you were fighting alongside mutants, the next you were grappling with mortality in a way you never imagined.

Pushing the thoughts aside, you grabbed the laundry basket and headed downstairs. Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters felt eerily calm tonight. Scott, Jean, Ororo, Logan, and Charles were at the gala, leaving you and Hank as the only adults in charge. The younger kids were scattered throughout the mansion, laughing in small groups or lost in their own conversations.

You walked down the hallway, glancing into the TV room where a small cluster of teenagers were gathered, the sound of an action movie blaring from the screen. Hank sat in an armchair nearby, his sharp blue eyes catching yours as you entered.

“Hey,” he said, giving you a small smile. “How are you feeling?”

You sank into the couch beside him, shrugging slightly. “I’m okay. Just the headache is a pain in the ass.”

He nodded knowingly. “Have the pills been helping at all?”

You shook your head, letting out a quiet sigh. “Not much. Jean prescribed me something, but I can only take it every twelve hours. By hour six, the pain’s already back.”

You didn’t elaborate. There wasn’t a point. The words felt hollow anyway. You knew Hank and the others were doing their best, and the last thing you wanted was to make anyone feel worse. They’d given you a family here, and you owed them everything. So, for now, you swallowed your emotions and tried to keep them at bay.

The movie played on, the chatter of the kids filling the room like white noise. Maya, one of the new students, eventually joined you, curling up against your side. Her small frame fit easily under your arm, her warmth grounding you in the moment. You stroked her hair absently, letting the comfort of her presence ease some of the tension coiled in your chest.

Then, the quiet started to unravel. A distant, rhythmic thudding filled the air, faint but unmistakable.

You froze, your ears straining.

Hank noticed it too, his gaze snapping toward the window. His expression darkened, and he glanced back at you.

“Helicopters,” you muttered, your voice low.

He nodded, his jaw tightening. The sound grew louder, closer. You both knew what this meant. It wasn’t your first time dealing with an attack. It never started quietly.

You gently nudged Maya off your lap and stood, your pulse quickening. “We need to move the kids. Now.”

Hank didn’t hesitate. “I’ll take the east wing, you handle the west.”

You turned to the teenagers. “Everyone, listen up. Go to your dorms, grab your essentials, and follow the evacuation route. No questions, no hesitation. Move!”

They scattered immediately, fear flashing across their faces as the urgency in your voice spurred them into action.

You bolted down the hallway, checking every room to ensure no one was left behind. The sound of the helicopters grew deafening, vibrating through the walls. By the time you reached the hidden tunnel entrance in the west wing, a group of younger kids had already gathered, their wide eyes filled with panic.

“It’s okay,” you said, kneeling to meet their gazes. “Follow the tunnel. Stick together, and don’t stop until you reach the safe zone.”

They nodded, some of them trembling, but they moved. Once they were through, you sealed the entrance and sprinted back toward the main hall, your heart pounding as you searched for any stragglers.

“Hank, how’s the east wing?” you shouted as you met him near the center staircase.

“Cleared!” he called back, his fur bristling with tension. “They’re in the tunnels.”

The unmistakable sound of metal boots hitting the ground outside sent a chill through you. The helicopters were landing.

You exchanged a glance with Hank, a silent understanding passing between you. The kids were as safe as they could be. Now, it was up to you to buy them time.

••••••••

The sleek, polished floors of the Manhattan ballroom glimmered under the cascading light of crystal chandeliers. The gala was in full swing, with attendees dressed in tailored suits and elegant evening gowns. The room buzzed with polite conversation and the clinking of glasses, the perfect cover for the X-Men’s covert operation.

Charles Xavier’s connections had secured their invitations, giving them access to the exclusive event. The mission was clear: locate Killebrew and gather the information necessary to free you from the inhibitor collar. The team blended effortlessly into the crowd, their formal attire hiding the dangerous intent beneath the surface.

The team approached the grand staircase leading to the entrance, their polished shoes clicking softly against the marble steps. Ororo’s long, flowing red dress shimmered in the dim light, its elegant cut accentuating her regal demeanor. She walked hand in hand with Logan, a playful smile tugging at her lips as her gaze fell on his bow tie.

“I didn’t take you for a bow tie kind of guy,” Ororo remarked, her tone light but teasing.

Logan glanced sideways at her, his expression deadpan. “I’m not,” he replied gruffly, though the slight twitch at the corner of his mouth betrayed his amusement.

Just ahead of them, Jean walked hand in hand with Scott, her sleek black dress a stark contrast to his sharp navy suit. Hearing Ororo’s comment, Jean turned her head with a grin. “He’s definitely not. He didn’t even know how to do one,” she teased, her smile widening.

Scott, curious, leaned closer to Jean. “What does that mean?” he whispered, keeping his voice low.

Jean chuckled softly, glancing back at Logan. “Let’s just say it wasn’t his handiwork.”

Logan flushed slightly, the faint color creeping up his neck. Ororo’s teasing smile grew as she leaned in mock-conspiratorially. “Someone else do your bow tie?” she asked, her tone lilting as she searched his face for an answer.

Jean laughed at Logan’s evident discomfort, and Logan grunted, his usual gruff demeanor slipping into mild annoyance. “Red, if you peeked into my head, that’s really creepy, y’know. Should’ve been illegal,” he shot back, grumbling as his hand adjusted the offending bow tie.

Jean only smiled wider, clearly amused. “I wasn’t intending. Your mind’s really loud,” she quipped, her tone airy.

That set Jean, Scott, and Ororo laughing, their lightheartedness echoing down the steps. Logan rolled his eyes, muttering under his breath as they finally reached the entrance, but the faintest smirk lingered on his face as he escorted Ororo inside.

Jean spotted Killebrew first, standing near the bar with a glass of champagne in hand, flanked by two bodyguards. Killebrew's posture was relaxed, his confidence oozing as if he had nothing to fear. She tilted her head slightly, signaling to Logan, who was nursing a drink a few feet away.

“Got him,” she murmured through their comms, her lips barely moving as she pretended to sip her wine.

Scott’s voice came through. “Stick to the plan. No improvisations, Logan.”

Logan grunted in response, his patience already wearing thin.

Jean, with an air of practiced elegance, glided toward Killebrew. A strategically placed stiletto misstep had her spilling her glass of red wine all over his pristine white suit.

“Oh, my goodness!” she exclaimed, feigning mortification. “I am so sorry.”

Killebrew cursed under his breath, brushing futilely at the spreading stain. “Watch where you’re going!”

Jean placed a delicate hand on his arm. “Please, let me help. The restroom is just over there.” She gestured to the nearby door with an apologetic smile.

Killebrew huffed but nodded, motioning for one of his guards to wait outside the restroom. He disappeared through the door, oblivious to the trap waiting for him.

Inside, Logan leaned casually against the wall of a stall, the faintest smirk playing on his lips. The door creaked open, and Killebrew stepped inside, muttering curses under his breath. Before he could notice anything amiss, Logan moved swiftly, grabbing him from behind and locking him in a chokehold.

“What the—” Killebrew struggled, but Logan’s grip was unyielding. Within seconds, the doctor’s body went limp, unconscious.

Logan let him drop to the floor, his expression grim. “Nighty night,” he muttered, dragging the lifeless form out of sight.

When Killebrew regained consciousness, he found himself tied to a chair inside the dimly lit interior of the Blackbird. His head lolled to the side as he groaned, his vision clearing to reveal Scott standing in front of him, arms crossed.

“We’re going to make this simple,” Scott began, his tone calm but firm. “Tell us everything you know about the inhibitor collars. How do we remove them?”

Killebrew chuckled darkly, his eyes glinting with malice. “Ah, you filthy mutants are cute. Trying to save her? Lemme tell you a thing—you can’t. She’s going to experience a slow, excruciating death. The kind that makes every second feel like a lifetime. No cure, no miracle. Just pain.”

Scott’s jaw tightened, his fists clenching at his sides. “Not under our watch,” he snapped, his voice steady despite the fire in his eyes.

Killebrew sneered, leaning back against the chair. “You think you’re heroes, don’t you? But the clock’s ticking. Tick-tock. And when it’s all over, you’ll realize just how helpless you really are.”

Scott stepped closer, his visor glowing faintly. “You’re going to tell us everything you know, or you’ll wish you had,” he said, his voice low with simmering anger.

Killebrew’s lips twitched into a defiant smirk. “Do you think tying me to a chair and playing good cop is going to work?”

Logan stepped out of the shadows, his claws extending with a menacing snikt. “I’m not here to play cop, bub.”

Killebrew flinched slightly at the sound but quickly masked it with a smirk, his pretentious bravado returning. “The wolverine,” he began, drawing out the name. “I’ve spent my years studying you, dissecting your genetic material, perfecting it. You’re an open book to me. Every scar, every growl, every feral instinct.”

Logan’s claws inched closer, the metal glinting in the dim light. “You don’t know a damn thing about me.”

Killebrew’s smirk widened, his tone turning sharper. “Oh, but I do. Just like I know about her. Fire and flesh, the perfect weapon. I built her, the way she moved on the battlefield, so precise, so merciless..”

Logan’s claws twitched, but his expression remained cold. “Keep her outta your fucking mouth.”

Killebrew tilted his head, feigning innocence. “She’s wasting her potential, playing house with your little band of mutants. But you're a bunch of fools if you think you've tamed her. It’s only a matter of time before she relapses, before she craves the chaos again. Because that’s who she is, war and death incarnate. You're just counting your days until she realizes it.”

Logan’s claws scraped against the wall as he slammed them dangerously close to Killebrew’s head, his voice a low growl. “Say another word, and I’ll make sure you don’t get a chance to regret it.”

Killebrew’s smirk faltered, but his voice remained mocking. “Touchy, aren’t we? Face it, Logan. You and she are cut from the same cloth. Weapons pretending to be people. How long until she burns everything down, just like she was made to?”

Logan leaned in close, his voice cold and unyielding. “You don’t know a damn thing about her.”

“Logan.” Jean’s voice cut through the tension like a blade. She stepped forward, placing a hand on his shoulder, silently asking him to stepped back.

Logan growled under his breath but retracted his claws, stepping back reluctantly.

At that moment, Charles entered the room, his calm presence immediately commanding attention. “Apologies for the delay,” he said, his gaze sweeping over the scene. “There were matters to address.”

Killebrew’s smirk returned. “The famous Professor Xavier. Come to play the moral high ground?”

Charles ignored the taunt, his expression serene as he moved closer. “Dr. Killebrew, I don’t have the luxury of time for your games.” He placed his fingers gently against his temple, his eyes closing as he delved into Killebrew’s mind.

The room fell silent, the tension thick as Charles sifted through the layers of Killebrew’s thoughts. His eyes snapped open moments later, a flicker of something dark passing across his features.

“What is it?” Scott asked, concern lacing his voice.

Charles hesitated for a moment before answering, carefully withholding the full truth. “The collars are prototypes, unfinished technology. I can't find the key to unlock them. The only way to remove them is by destroying the metal. But…” He paused, his voice heavy. “…doing so could harm the wearer.”

Logan’s fists clenched at his sides. “That’s it? That’s all this punk knows?”

Charles nodded solemnly. “Unfortunately, yes. However, I’ve learned the location of another laboratory where these collars were developed. It may hold the answers we seek.”

Scott exchanged a glance with Logan, both of them visibly frustrated but resigned.

“What do we do with him?” Logan asked, his tone cold.

Charles’ gaze shifted back to Killebrew. “He’s of no further use to us.”

Without another word, they hauled Killebrew out of the Blackbird and left him unconscious in an alleyway near the gala. As the Blackbird ascended into the night sky, Charles’ thoughts lingered on what he had seen in Killebrew’s mind—the truth about the collar’s devastating effects. For now, he chose to keep it to himself.

••••••••••

You and Hank moved swiftly through the darkened hallways of the mansion, your steps careful yet purposeful. The power had been cut, leaving the intruders at a disadvantage. While they stumbled blindly, you and Hank knew every twist and turn of the mansion’s layout by heart.

Hank, already in his Beast form, was a formidable sight as he scanned each room. “Check every corner,” he growled softly. “We can’t risk leaving anyone behind.”

Nodding, you veered off toward the equipment room. The flickering emergency lights cast an eerie glow as you entered, your eyes immediately landing on the wall-mounted array of weapons. Among them, a bulletproof vest caught your attention.

For a moment, you froze, staring at it. You hated the thought of needing it. You were the bulletproof one back then, you thought bitterly. The collar around your neck weighed heavier than ever, a constant reminder of how vulnerable you’d become.

With a resigned sigh, you grabbed the vest and adjusted it over your torso, fastening the straps securely. The irony wasn’t lost on you.

A faint noise pulled your attention, a shuffle just beyond the room’s corner. Your heart skipped a beat as you approached cautiously, your gun drawn. Turning the corner, you saw a small figure curled up, hugging her knees tightly.

“Maya,” you breathed, lowering your weapon. Your heart sank as the young girl looked up at you with wide, tear-filled eyes.

“Are they here to take me?” she whimpered, her voice trembling.

You knelt beside her, checking for injuries but finding none. “No one’s taking you, sweetheart,” you reassured her, brushing a hand over her hair. “I promise. But we need to move now, okay?”

She nodded hesitantly, her small hand clutching yours as you led her back into the hallway. You moved quickly, guiding her toward the secret tunnel where the other children were already gathering.

Just as you reached the hallway’s intersection, shadows emerged from the opposite end. Guards. Their rifles were already raised, and without hesitation, they opened fire.

“Get down!” you shouted, shoving Maya behind the wall and throwing yourself beside her. Bullets ricocheted off the metal-lined walls, the deafening sound echoing in the confined space.

Maya was trembling, her hands clamped over her ears as tears streamed down her face. Then, she screamed—a piercing, unnatural sound that made your blood run cold.

The guards crumpled immediately, their hands flying to their ears as they collapsed, unconscious or worse. But the force of her supersonic scream was overwhelming. You cried out, your hands instinctively covering your ears, but it wasn’t enough. Pain exploded in your head, and you felt a warm trickle down your neck. Your ears were bleeding.

Maya was sobbing now, horrified by what she’d done. Gritting your teeth against the pain, you forced yourself to your feet, pulling her up with you. “It’s okay,” you said, your voice hoarse. “You did good. Now let’s keep going.”

You led her the rest of the way, your vision swimming slightly from the pain in your head. Finally, you reached the tunnel entrance, where Hank was ushering the children inside. He took one look at you and Maya, his sharp eyes narrowing at the blood streaking from your ears.

“She’s safe,” you rasped, gently pushing Maya toward him.

Hank nodded, his massive hand resting reassuringly on Maya’s shoulder as he guided her into the tunnel. “Now go,” he told her firmly.

Turning back, you adjusted your vest and readied your weapon. “Let’s finish this.”

Hank’s lips curled into a fierce grin. “Gladly.”

The two of you moved together, a practiced dance of coordination honed through years of training. You stayed low, firing calculated shots to disable the guards. Meanwhile, Hank charged forward, his claws slashing through their ranks with precision.

The intruders wore full black tactical gear, but even their advanced equipment couldn’t match Hank’s brute strength or your unerring aim. You fired at an enemy attempting to flank Hank, your shot hitting its mark and dropping him instantly.

Another guard lunged at you, but you sidestepped, slamming the butt of your gun into his temple. He fell unconscious, his weapon clattering to the ground.

Hank roared as he took down the last of them, his claws raking through the guard’s chest plate and sending him flying into the wall.

Breathing hard, you leaned against the wall for a moment, your hands trembling slightly. “Is that all of them?”

Hank sniffed the air, his sharp senses searching for any remaining threats. “For now,” he said, his tone cautious.

You reloaded your weapon, your ears still ringing from Maya’s scream. “I'm just getting warmed up,” you muttered.

Hank nodded, his gaze softening for a moment. “You’re doing good,” he said, his voice quieter now.

You offered him a faint smile. “So are you.”

With that, the two of you turned and began to sweep the mansion again, ensuring it was secure. But in the back of your mind, you couldn’t stop thinking about Maya’s terrified question. Are they here to take me?

And you wondered just how much longer any of you could hold out.

You and Hank stood in the backyard of the mansion, both watching as the remaining helicopters retreated in the distance.

“They’re aborting?” you asked, your voice laced with suspicion, your grip still tight on the rifle in your hands.

Hank adjusted his glasses, still in his Beast form, his expression grim. “Seems like it. But why?”

Your question was answered almost immediately as the Blackbird appeared, its engines roaring as it hovered on the other side of the mansion. You exchanged a quick glance with Hank, and without a word, the two of you sprinted toward the hangar, Hank flipping the mansion’s power back on with a flick of a hidden switch as you ran.

By the time you reached the hangar, the Blackbird had landed, its ramp lowering smoothly. Professor Xavier was the first to emerge, his calm gaze meeting yours. He didn’t ask a single question—he didn’t need to. The weight of what had happened was already evident in his expression as he absorbed the chaos from your mind and Hank’s.

Logan followed close behind, his movements hurried and purposeful, his bow tie askew and his black suit already unbuttoned. He barely glanced at where he stepped as his eyes immediately landed on you, scanning you from head to toe.

“What happened?” Logan demanded, his voice rough with concern. His sharp gaze zeroed in on your disheveled appearance, noting the blood smeared along your neck and the exhaustion evident in your posture.

You couldn’t even summon the energy to answer. Your limbs felt like lead, and the weight of the bulletproof vest dug into your shoulders.

Hank stepped in, his tone measured despite the tension. “There was an attack—three helicopters. Two of them left as soon as you arrived.”

Logan’s jaw clenched, his hands curling into fists as he continued to watch you. Your knees wobbled slightly under the combined weight of the vest and firearm, and with a soft grunt of frustration, you shrugged the vest off, letting it fall to the floor alongside with the firearm with a dull thud. The noise felt distant, your vision blurring slightly as nausea twisted your stomach.

The voices around you became muffled, distorted, as you pressed a trembling hand to your mouth. Acid burned at the back of your throat, and without saying a word, you turned and bolted for the bathroom down the hall.

“Shit,” you heard Logan mutter behind you, followed by the heavy sound of his boots as he moved after you. “I’ll check on her,” he called back to the team.

You barely made it to the toilet before throwing up, your body trembling as your stomach heaved violently. The pain in your head pounded in time with your heartbeat, making the world spin.

A moment later, you felt Logan’s presence behind you, his familiar scent of cigar smoke grounding you. He didn’t say a word, but you heard the sound of him pulling tissues from the dispenser.

When you felt his hands gently gather your hair and hold it back, you froze for a second, caught off guard by the tenderness of the gesture. He crouched beside you, one hand steadying your hair while the other offered a tissue.

Wordlessly, you took it, wiping your mouth as you flushed the toilet. For a moment, you simply leaned against the cool porcelain, trying to steady your breathing.

“I can see your night is much more fun than mine,” Logan quipped, his voice low but with a touch of that familiar sarcasm.

You let out a weak laugh, the corners of your mouth twitching despite everything. “Fuck off, Logan,” you muttered, though your tone lacked any real bite.

He smirked, releasing your hair as he stood, his eyes never leaving you. When he noticed the unsteadiness in your movements, he instinctively reached down, offering his hand.

For once, you didn’t argue. Placing both hands on his for support, you allowed him to help you up. Your legs wobbled slightly, but with his steady grip, you managed to stay upright.

As you moved to the sink, Logan hovered close behind, his presence both comforting and suffocating. You turned on the faucet, splashing cold water on your face before catching sight of your reflection in the mirror. The dried blood on your ears and neck painted a grim picture.

Grabbing a tissue, you dampened it with water and started wiping the blood away from your left ear. Logan watched silently for a moment before stepping closer, his movements deliberate. Without asking, he grabbed another tissue, dampened it, and began wiping the blood from your right ear.

You tensed at first, but his careful touch surprised you. He was gentle, his rough fingers brushing against your skin with an unexpected softness. Through the mirror, you caught sight of him—still dressed in his suit, bow tie slightly loose, his expression unreadable.

“You okay?” he asked finally, his voice softer than before.

You leaned against the sink, your exhaustion catching up with you. “Maya,” you said quietly, your voice hoarse. “The intruder… they were shooting at us. She got scared and screamed. Her mutation, I think it's a supersonic scream.”

“Huh, explains why you look like hell.” He muttered, his voice low

You huffed a tired laugh, the corners of your lips twitching despite the pain in your head. “Thanks for the compliment, as always.” your gaze falling to the sink as you gripped its edges. “She saved us,” you added after a moment. “It nearly broke me.”

Logan didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he finished cleaning the blood from your neck and discarded the tissue in the trash. When he finally spoke, his voice was low but steady.

“You did good,” he said, his tone gruff but sincere. “Getting her out of there,” His tone was a bit different this time, you could sense there's something more coming.

“But you shouldn’t have gone in alone,” he said after a long silence, his tone gruff but not unkind.

You stiffened slightly, glancing at his reflection. “What choice do I have? Hank and I had to protect the kids. You weren’t exactly here.”

Logan’s jaw tightened, his hazel eyes flicking up to meet yours in the mirror. “Still. You’re human now. You don’t have a healing factor to fall back on anymore.”

The reminder hit harder than you cared to admit. Your grip on the sink tightened as you felt your stomach twist, the weight of the collar around your neck seemingly growing heavier.

“I know what I am,” you snapped, more harshly than intended.

Logan didn’t flinch, his gaze unwavering. “Yeah? Then maybe you should start actin’ like it.”

Your temper flared, the exhaustion and pain boiling over. You turned abruptly, facing him. “I don’t need a lecture from you, Logan. I did what I had to do to keep Maya safe.”

His hands dropped to his sides, his shoulders tensing. For a moment, neither of you said anything, the air between you crackling with unspoken emotions.

Finally, Logan took a step closer, his presence overpowering in the small bathroom. “And what happens next time? Or the time after that? How many more of these do you think you can handle before—” He stopped himself, his voice catching.

“Before what?” you challenged, your voice trembling. “Before I die? Is that what you’re worried about?”

His eyes darkened, the intensity in them making your breath hitch. He didn’t answer, but the way he looked at you said everything.

The silence stretched, heavy and suffocating. Then, as if sensing you were seconds away from breaking, Logan’s voice softened. “You’re not alone in this, y’know.”

The words hit harder than any argument could have. Your resolve wavered, and you let out a shaky breath, your shoulders slumping. “I know,” you murmured. “But it doesn’t make it any easier.”

Logan’s hand hesitated before reaching out, his rough fingers brushing against your arm in an awkward but sincere gesture of comfort. “It’s not supposed to be easy,” he said quietly.

You nodded slowly, unable to meet his eyes. The vulnerability in his voice, paired with his uncharacteristic gentleness, was too much. It threatened to unravel the fragile control you had left.

Logan seemed to sense this, because he stepped back, giving you space. “C’mon,” he said, his voice back to its usual gruffness. “Let’s get you back out there before the team thinks you’ve keeled over.”

You forced a faint smile, wiping your damp hands on your pants. “Right. Can’t let them think I’m weak.”

Logan smirked, though his eyes still held a shadow of concern. “You? Weak? Not a chance.”

Without waiting for a response, he opened the door, holding it for you as you stepped into the hallway. You didn’t miss the way he hovered slightly behind you, close enough to catch you if you stumbled.

••••••••

Scott and Ororo led the children down the hall, their calm voices echoing softly as they reassured the kids that they were safe here, far from the chaos outside. You envied their composure, the way they seemed to have endless patience and strength to guide others. Meanwhile, you sat stiffly in the laboratory, your back against the cold surface of the examination table.

God, how you loathed this place—the sterile white walls, the smell of antiseptic that lingered in the air, and the bright overhead lights that always seemed too harsh. The memories tied to labs like these made your skin crawl, yet here you were again.

Jean approached with a syringe in hand, her movements calm and deliberate. “Just a quick injection,” she said, offering a small smile as she prepared the needle.

You didn’t bother asking what it was; you trusted her enough, but that didn’t make you feel any less like a test subject under scrutiny.

Your attention drifted across the room to where Logan stood in the corner, deep in conversation with Professor Xavier. Their voices were too low for you to hear, leaving you to wonder what they could possibly be discussing. Logan’s posture was tense, his arms crossed over his chest as he nodded occasionally to whatever the Professor was saying.

“Something on your mind?” Jean’s voice broke through your thoughts as she administered the injection.

You blinked, realizing you’d been staring. Jean followed your gaze to Logan, a knowing smile tugging at her lips. “He cares about you,” she said casually, as if stating a simple fact.

“Huh?” You frowned, caught off guard.

“Logan,” Jean said, her tone light and teasing. “He has a soft spot for you.”

You stared at her, taken aback by her words. “Why are you so sure ab—” You stopped mid-sentence, realization dawning as you remembered Jean’s telepathic abilities. A sense of discomfort crept over you. “Never mind, forget I asked. Please don’t get into my head too. I feel violated.”

Jean chuckled softly as she set the empty syringe aside and reached for another to draw your blood. “The feeling is mutual, don’t worry.”

“I don’t know what you mean by that,” you said, feigning ignorance, though the slight heat creeping up your neck betrayed you.

Jean didn’t press further, her grin widening as she focused on her task. “Relax,” she said, her tone soothing as she carefully inserted the needle into your arm. “I’ll need to scan your brain again after this. Then you’re free to go.”

You nodded, your eyes drifting away as she drew the sample. The hum of the lab’s equipment filled the silence, a stark reminder of how much you hated being in spaces like this. Every second felt like an eternity, and you couldn’t wait to be anywhere else.

Jean capped the vial and stepped away to label it, leaving you to brood quietly. The endless tests, the needles, the scans—it all blurred together into an exhausting cycle that left you drained.

“Almost done,” Jean assured you as she returned, her hands already reaching for the scanner. “Then you can go back to pretending none of this ever happened.”

“Sounds like a plan,” you muttered, though you knew deep down that forgetting wasn’t an option.

Your business in the lab was finally over. Jean dismissed you with a reassuring nod, the tests done for now. Logan was leaning casually against the doorframe, waiting for you to leave. His sharp gaze softened when he saw you step out, exhaustion written across your face. Professor Xavier gave you a small smile as you passed, his voice calm and encouraging.

“Get some rest,” he said, his words heavy with understanding. As he turned back toward Jean to discuss something—what, you could only guess—you were already walking away, longing for your bed and the peace of sleep.

The hallway felt quiet, the weight of the night pressing down on you. Logan followed a few steps behind, still clad in the suit and bow tie you’d made earlier. The sight would’ve amused you under different circumstances, but now it only reminded you of how much had happened in a single night.

“We’ve got a lead,” Logan said, breaking the silence. His voice was steady, calm, yet purposeful.

You glanced at him, too tired to muster much of a reaction. “How strong of a lead?” you asked, your voice weak and raspy.

“It’s pretty solid,” he replied. “We’ll check out the lab where they made that collar first thing tomorrow—at dawn.”

You looked up at him, the weight of guilt settling heavily in your chest. The team had barely rested, and now they were preparing for yet another mission. You wanted to help more, to be more useful, but your current state made that feel impossible.

“So, you found Killebrew?” you asked, curiosity breaking through your exhaustion.

Logan shrugged nonchalantly. “Yeah. The bastard wasn’t much of a help. We left him unconscious in a dark alley.”

The way he said it, with that familiar gruffness, made you grin despite yourself. A small, satisfied chuckle escaped your lips. “Serves him right,” you murmured, the hint of amusement lightening your expression.

Logan gave you a sideways glance, the faintest smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, as if your reaction pleased him. But he didn’t say anything more, letting the silence settle between you both as you reached your doors.

The two of you arrived at your floor, your footsteps slowing as you reached your respective doors. The soft light in the hallway illuminated Logan’s face, his usual stoic expression giving way to something gentler.

“Thank you,” you said, hesitating with your hand hovering over your door handle. “For everything. I wish I could be more of a help.”

Logan shook his head slightly, his gaze meeting yours. “You just need to rest,” he said, his voice low but firm. “We’ll handle it.”

His words, simple as they were, carried a weight of reassurance that made your chest tighten.

“Goodnight, Logan,” you said softly, pushing open your door.

“Night…” he muttered, your name slipping past his lips with an almost inaudible tenderness.

You stepped inside your room, closing the door behind you. The bed called to you, its promise of comfort irresistible. You swallowed the pill by your nightstand, the bitter taste barely registering as exhaustion overtook you.

Within minutes, sleep claimed you, pulling you into its embrace and silencing the chaos of the night.

••••••••

The morning was cold and heavy with anticipation. The team gathered in the hangar just before dawn, their faces set with determination despite the early hours and you were still asleep, safe and sound in your room. The Blackbird hummed with power, its sleek frame ready to take them to their destination. Pennsylvania laboratorium, where the inhibitor collar was created.

Logan stood near the ramp, adjusting his gloves, his expression unreadable. Scott was at the helm, running pre-flight checks, while Ororo’s white hair shimmered faintly in the dim light as she prepared for potential weather manipulation. Jean, her brows furrowed, sat beside Charles, whose calm demeanor anchored them all.

“Alright, team,” Charles said, his voice clear and steady. “This lab may hold the answers we seek, but it is also likely to be heavily guarded. Be cautious and stay together. Goodluck” Charles gave a speech before wheeling down from the blackbird, watching the team before they take off.

The Blackbird took off smoothly, cutting through the early morning skies.

After an hour trip trough the sky, industrial park on the city’s outskirts was desolate, abandoned structures looming like ghosts in the dawn light. The lab was tucked away in one of the larger buildings, its entrance obscured by rusting machinery and overgrown weeds.

Logan sniffed the air as the team approached. “Blood,” he muttered, his jaw tightening.

Scott led the group, disabling a few rusted cameras with precise blasts. The entrance was locked, but Ororo’s lightning made short work of it. Inside, the lab was a stark contrast to its dilapidated exterior. Sterile white walls gleamed under harsh fluorescent lights, and the air was thick with the scent of antiseptic and something far darker.

Rows of steel tables lined the main hallway, some still holding remnants of experiments—tools, dried blood, and shattered syringes. Jean paused, her hand brushing the air as her telepathy picked up faint echoes of terror and pain.

“I can feel it,” she murmured. “Fear… desperation. The mutants they brought here…”

One side room caught Logan’s eye. He stepped inside, finding containment pods arranged against the walls. Some were cracked, their contents long gone, while others held lifeless figures suspended in fluid—mutants who hadn’t survived.

Jean entered behind him, her breath hitching. “Maya Fernandez” she said, spotting a file on a nearby desk. It contained detailed notes on her mutation, the experiments she endured, and a chilling final note: Subject released. No further use.

Logan’s hands tightened into fists, the claws threatening to unsheathe. “Bastards,” he growled.

As the team moved deeper into the lab, a sensor tripped. Alarms blared, and laser turrets descended from the ceiling, their beams sweeping for targets.

“Get down!” Scott shouted, blasting the nearest turret with his visor.

Ororo summoned a gust of wind, disorienting the remaining turrets long enough for Logan to charge forward, slicing through the machinery with brutal efficiency.

“It’s never easy, is it?” Logan muttered, shaking off sparks from his claws.

In a darkened corridor, a containment pod hissed open, releasing a creature unlike anything they’d seen before. It was part animal, part weapon—its skin patched with metal, its eyes wild with rage. The creature roared, lunging at Logan.

“Keep moving!” Logan barked at the team, meeting the creature head-on.

The fight was vicious, claws against metal, but Logan’s ferocity kept the creature at bay. Jean and Scott worked together, using blasts and telekinesis to pin the creature long enough for Ororo to incapacitate it with a precise lightning strike.

As it collapsed, Logan stared down at it, breathing heavily. “What've they done to you..” he said, his voice gruff. Logan didn't have the heart to abandoned the creature, he needs to bring it back with him, to rescue it.

In the lab’s control room, Jean hacked into the computers, her fingers flying across the keys. “There’s a lot here,” she said, her voice strained. “Blueprints for the inhibitor collar, notes on Killebrew’s research… and a list of other labs. This isn’t just one operation—it’s a network.”

Scott frowned. “How big?”

“Big enough,” Jean replied, pulling a hard drive from the terminal just as the screens flickered.

An automated voice blared: “Self-destruct sequence initiated. Five minutes remaining.”

“Damn it!” Scott cursed.

The team sprinted through the lab as explosions began to rock the building. Logan carried the unconscious creature over his shoulder, while Jean levitated files and equipment to safety. Ororo summoned gusts of wind to clear debris from their path, and Scott led the way, blasting through blocked corridors.

They barely made it out, the lab erupting into flames behind them as they boarded the Blackbird.

The creature Logan carried into the Blackbird was a massive hybrid, a mix between a wolf and a dog. Its fur was patchy, revealing scarred, raw skin beneath, especially around its back and legs where jagged metal plates were fused into its flesh.

The head was wolf-like, with sharp, predatory features. Its long tail was thick, partly covered in metal, giving it a monstrous, patchwork look. Its claws were unnervingly sharp, with metallic tips, and its muscular frame suggested immense strength. Despite its fearsome appearance, the creature lay still, unconscious, but radiated an unsettling power.

Logan carefully maneuvered the creature’s unconscious body into the back of the Blackbird, a low growl vibrating through its chest. Its enormous frame filled most of the space in the compartment. As he secured it, the creature’s heavy, metal-patched skin shimmered faintly in the dim light, and Logan's mind raced to piece together what had happened.

He muttered a low curse as he stepped back, making sure it wouldn’t move too much.

The door slid open just as he settled into the seat, and Scott stepped in, his eyes widening at the sight of the creature in the back.

“Why the hell is that thing here!?” Scott nearly yelled, his voice sharp with disbelief as he stepped further into the Blackbird. His eyes were wide, fixed on the unconscious creature sprawled across the rear compartment.

“It’s just a dog,” Logan muttered, grumbling under his breath as he sank into the seat. His tone was dismissive, but the way he avoided Scott’s gaze spoke volumes.

Scott wasn’t convinced. “A dog? Do you have any idea what you’ve just brought on board? Put it back where you found it, Logan,” he demanded, his voice rising again. “What happens if that thing wakes up while we’re flying fifteen thousand feet above the ground? You’re risking all of us!”

Logan shot him a sideways glance, his expression stony. “Then it’ll be my responsibility, I've got it under control just fine” he said curtly, flipping switches on the control panel. “Take your seat. We’re taking off now.”

Scott opened his mouth to argue further but stopped himself, his jaw tightening. Shaking his head, he muttered something under his breath and took his seat near the front.

Jean and Ororo stood near the entrance, both looking uncertain, unsure of how to respond. Jean’s eyes flicked between the creature and Logan, but she didn’t speak, sensing the tension in the air. Ororo, however, wasted no time, walking briskly toward the cockpit. Without another word, she slid into the co-pilot seat, hands already working to start the Blackbird.

The Blackbird’s engines roared to life as Ororo guided the jet into the sky, leaving the argument—and the mysterious creature—behind them for now.

••••••••••

The smell of sizzling eggs and freshly brewed coffee filled the kitchen as you stood by the stove, flipping eggs with a practiced hand. You had only woken up half an hour ago, but there was already a certain rhythm to the morning. The soft buzz of the mansion's quiet atmosphere was comforting, but it didn’t help quiet the nerves in your chest.

You glanced up at the clock. It was almost nine. The team was due back soon.

A sense of anxious anticipation rolled through you. The mission, whatever had happened in that lab, still weighed heavily on your mind. You cracked open another egg, a quiet focus settling over you as you worked.

But you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was different. The Blackbird had landed a few minutes ago, its distinctive hum now just a faint noise in the background. You could almost feel the tension rising in the air as the team returned.

You finished plating the breakfast, glancing out the kitchen window and catching a glimpse of the Blackbird. It was always strange to see it land so quietly, its presence belying the intensity of what it carried inside.

With a sigh, you put the finishing touches on the breakfast and placed it on the counter. The team would need food and rest, but more than that, you were eager to know what had happened out there. What had they found at the lab?

The hangar buzzed faintly with energy as the Blackbird powered down. Hank approached the team, his sharp eyes scanning the group. "Everyone in one piece?" he asked, his tone calm but probing. His gaze lingered on Logan, who gestured toward the massive, unconscious creature slumped near the back of the jet.

Jean stepped forward, handing Hank the device she had collected from the lab. "This might help shed some light," she said softly. "And, uh, we’ve brought something else too." Her tone was less confident now, and her eyes flicked toward the creature.

Hank followed her gaze, his brows furrowing deeply. "What... is that?"

Logan grunted as he stepped closer. “A dog, It’s alive, and it’s staying unconscious for now. We’ll need it in containment.”

Scott descended the Blackbird’s stairs, his footsteps heavy with frustration. As he passed Logan, he purposely bumped his shoulder into Logan’s from behind. “It’s not a dog,” Scott snapped, his tone sharp. “That thing nearly killed us all.”

Logan stopped, turning his head slightly to glance at Scott, but he didn’t say a word. His silence was pointed, and his expression remained unreadable, a mix of restrained irritation and indifference.

Hank nodded slowly, clearly curious but deciding not to press further. “I’ll take care of it,” he said, motioning for help as he prepared to transfer the creature to a secure cage.

Logan sniffed the air suddenly, his nose twitching. A faint grin crept onto his face. "Anyone else hungry? I smell breakfast upstairs," he said, his voice carrying a rare lightness as he turned and walked briskly toward the exit.

Scott shook his head, his irritation barely concealed. “That super smelling sense is creepy. You can’t convinced me otherwise,” he muttered to Ororo as they followed Logan, Jean trailing behind after finishing her conversation with Hank.

Logan entered the kitchen first, his mood visibly lifting as the aroma of fresh breakfast hit him. His gaze immediately fell on you as you set glasses of orange juice on the table. “Thank god,” he said, his tone full of gratitude. “I’m famished.”

Scott, still simmering with frustration, let out a sarcastic comment. “Hm, someone’s in a good mood.”

Ororo laughed softly, and Jean placed a calming hand on Scott’s shoulder, rubbing gentle circles.

“Let it go, Summers,” Logan said dismissively, pulling out a chair and sitting down. “Nothing happened.”

You sensed the tension hanging in the air and decided to diffuse it quickly. "Please, enjoy your breakfast,” you said warmly, gesturing to the plates you had set out. “It’s the least I could do.”

Ororo gave you a grateful smile as she took a seat. “Thank you,” she said, already reaching for her fork.

You put the juice carton back in the fridge, noticing the only seat left was next to Logan. Without hesitation, you slid into the chair, feeling his gaze shift briefly toward you. The table settled into a hum of quiet conversation as everyone began eating.

As the team chattered lightly, you noticed Logan staying out of the conversation, his focus entirely on his plate. Ororo and Jean were discussing something animatedly, their laughter a soft contrast to Scott’s occasional interjections. Taking the chance, you glanced at Logan, watching as he ate quickly, his large spoon practically disappearing into his mouth with each bite.

“Everything okay?” you asked quietly, leaning slightly toward him.

Logan raised an eyebrow and glanced to your side, pausing mid-chew before swallowing. “Yeah,” he replied curtly. “We found something big.”

You tilted your head, curiosity lighting your features. “Big as in… dangerous?”

Logan shrugged, pushing his plate slightly forward as he reached for a glass of orange juice. “Could be. Too early to say.”

The vague response left a sense of unease lingering in the air, but you didn’t press further—not yet, at least. You could tell he wasn’t in the mood to elaborate. Instead, you shifted your gaze back to the table, where the others were now discussing their next moves.

Logan’s voice broke through again, softer this time. “Thanks for breakfast,” he said.

You smiled faintly, your curiosity temporarily taking a backseat. “Anytime,” you murmured, turning your attention back to your plate, though your mind couldn’t help but linger on whatever big thing they’d found.

Charles’ voice suddenly echoed in your mind, clear and commanding, “Everyone, gather in the meeting room.” The slight shift in expression from those around the table confirmed the message had been sent to all of you. Without missing a beat, the team rose from their seats, leaving their dirty plates and glasses in the kitchen as they filed out.

In the meeting room, Hank stood by the central console, his face unusually serious as he worked through the data pulled from the hard drive Jean had recovered. The faint hum of the holographic display filled the room as he turned to address the team.

“I’ve gone through most of the files from the lab,” Hank began, his tone measured but heavy.

“There’s good news and bad news. Let’s start with the good. I believe I can build a chip to unlock the collar.” His gaze flickered to you. “But it’s going to take time. Weeks, at least. The components I need are specialized and will have to be sourced from around the world.”

The room was silent except for the faint shifting of chairs. Hank pressed a button, projecting scans of your brain and blood tests from the night before onto the screen.

“Now for the bad news,” he continued, his voice softening. “The scans show your condition is deteriorating. Your blood isn’t replenishing itself properly, and the tumor is putting more pressure on your brain. I know you’ve been hiding it well, but…” Hank hesitated, his usual confidence faltering. “I can’t let you keep suffering like this. Not under my watch.”

Your stomach tightened as his words hung in the air. You knew things were bad, but hearing it laid out so plainly made it feel crushingly real.

Hank exhaled deeply before continuing. “From the files, I’ve found a potential temporary solution. It involves a bone marrow transplant—from Logan to you. His healing factor could regenerate your blood temporarily, buying us more time until I can remove the collar.”

You’re immediately against it. The thought of another injection derived from his DNA dredges up memories of your transformation into a mutant, an experience you’ve never fully reconciled.

You fear the idea of becoming too much like him, as if losing more of yourself every time his DNA alters you.

Logan’s eyebrows shot up, but he didn’t hesitate. With a shrug, he muttered, “I’ll do it. No problem.”

Hank looked relieved, nodding gratefully. Before he could say more, Jean chimed in. “We can prep everything tonight. Hank and I will keep digging through the drive for more information.”

“I"m sure you both can ensure her well being,” Ororo added, her calm voice cutting through the tension.

Charles nodded in approval. Then Hank turned to Scott, seeking his input. Scott crossed his arms, his expression unreadable. After a long pause, he simply said, “If it’s what she needs, then we should do it.”

The team seemed to settle into agreement, but no one had thought to ask you. Finally, you broke the silence.

“No.”

The word came out sharp and clear, cutting through the room like a knife. Every head turned toward you. Logan’s eyes narrowed slightly as he leaned forward. “What’s wrong, Varmint?”

You met his gaze, your voice unwavering. “I can’t do that.”

Logan frowned, clearly trying to figure you out. “Nothing's gonna happened to me. I’ve been through worse, and if this gives you a shot at life, it’s worth it.”

You shook your head, the words you wanted to say stuck in your throat. It wasn’t about Logan—it was about you. But how could you explain that? Your voice cracked slightly as you repeated, “I’m sorry. I just… I can’t.”

Without waiting for a response, you pushed back from the table, rising abruptly. The team watched in stunned silence as you strode out of the room. You moved quickly down the hall, your steps echoing off the walls, climbing the stairs until you reached the sanctuary of your room. The door closed with a soft click behind you, sealing you off from the questions and expectations left behind.

Back in the meeting room, the team exchanged puzzled glances. Hank and Jean shared a quiet look, unsure of how to proceed. Charles, however, seemed unsurprised. His calm gaze turned to Logan.

“She needs a little push,” Charles said gently. “You can convince her, Logan.”

Logan’s jaw tightened. The idea of being in a room with two telepaths poking at his thoughts made him uneasy, but he couldn’t deny the truth in Charles’ words. He gave a slight nod, his mind already focused on finding you and trying to understand.

With a gruff sigh, Logan stood and left the room, determined to bring you around—even if it meant pushing you harder than he’d like.

Logan climbed the stairs to the third floor, his heavy boots echoing faintly in the quiet hallway. He paused in front of your door, hovering for a moment before reaching for the handle. It clicked open easily—it wasn’t locked. Stepping inside, his sharp eyes immediately found you sitting by the windowsill, your arms wrapped tightly around your knees like you were shielding yourself from whatever he was about to say.

You glanced at the door, spotting Logan, and cursed softly under your breath. Why didn’t I lock it?

“It wasn’t about me,” Logan said simply, his voice low but steady.

Your eyes stayed fixed on the view outside, refusing to meet his.

“It’s about you,” he continued, his tone firm but not unkind, reading you like an open book. It frustrated you how easily he could cut through your defenses, even when you tried so hard to keep him out.

“I’m not gonna do it, Logan,” you said, your voice quiet but resolute.

Logan stepped further into the room, his movements careful, as if trying not to spook you. He sat across from you, close enough to catch even the smallest flicker of emotion on your face. But you kept your gaze firmly on the window, refusing to look at him.

He tilted his head slightly, watching you for a long moment before speaking again. “I need to show you something downstairs. Come on.”

You hesitated, the weight of his words sinking in. But then he stood, tilting his head toward the door in a silent invitation. Without a word, you unwound yourself from the windowsill and followed him out, your steps quiet against the wooden floors.

As you walked side by side through the hallway and down the stairs, Logan finally broke the silence. “Scott was furious because of this thing,” he confessed, his voice gruff but tinged with something softer.

You glanced at him briefly, the faintest flicker of curiosity in your eyes. “What is it?”

“A dog,” Logan said, his lips twitching into a humorless smile. “He was ready to toss it out mid-flight.”

Logan stopped in front of the reinforced cage by the lab, dragging it slightly into the light. The dog-wolf creature lay inside, still unconscious but breathing steadily. The harsh glow illuminated the jagged metal patches on its body, emphasizing its unnatural appearance. Logan's gaze fixed on the creature.

“This thing was made. Torn apart and put back together like it didn’t matter. It’s probably been through hell.”

But his words barely registered. As soon as the creature came into view, your breath hitched. Recognition struck you like a blow to the chest. You stepped closer, your eyes wide with disbelief.

“Fenris!” you exclaimed, your voice trembling as you dropped to your knees in front of the cage.

Logan froze, his sharp gaze flicking between you and the creature. “Fenris?” he repeated, his tone tinged with confusion.

Ignoring him, you unlocked the cage without hesitation, your fingers trembling slightly as you pushed the door open. You reached inside, gently placing a hand on the creature’s head. Despite the cold metal plating and the harsh scars marring its body, there was still something familiar in the way its chest rose and fell, the faint remnants of the dog you once knew.

“What have they done to you…” you whispered, more to yourself than to anyone else. Your fingers trailed over the patchy fur and metallic implants, your heart sinking as memories surged back.

Logan crouched beside you, his brows furrowed as he studied both you and the creature. “You know this thing?” he asked, his voice low and careful.

You nodded, your throat tight. “Fenris was…is…one of them. A weapon. The military used him for a short time, a biological weapon. They'd injected him with rabies to attack the enemies, back when they were developing experimental war assets. He was just a dog when they got him, but they…they turned him into this.”

Logan’s expression darkened, his jaw tightening. “You were there?”

You hesitated, your hand still stroking Fenris’s head. “I wasn’t on the battlefield, but I saw him after each mission. They’d send him out and…when he came back, it was worse every time. More scars, more metal. They kept adding to him, taking away the parts that made him…him.”

Logan didn’t say anything for a moment, but his silence spoke volumes. He glanced at the unconscious creature, his gaze heavy with understanding.

“I tried to stop them once,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “Tried to tell them he was suffering, that he wasn’t just a machine. But they didn’t care. They didn’t see him as anything more than a tool.”

Logan sighed, leaning back slightly. “They never do. That’s how they see us, too. Tools, experiments. Nothing more.”

You met his gaze, and for a moment, you saw the shared weight of pain and loss in his eyes. Turning back to Fenris, you gently stroked the fur where it was still soft, untainted by the metallic implants.

“I used to sneak at night,” you said softly. “I’d sit with him. Bring him treats”

You swallowed hard. “…I don’t know if there’s enough of him left to bring back.”

You stayed seated by the cage, your fingers gently tracing the cold metal bars as Fenris’s slow, steady breaths filled the room. Logan crouched beside you, his gaze flicking between you and the creature.

“Fenris would still need you.. to be around.. Please…” Logan’s voice was gruff, and there was a hesitance in it, like he couldn’t quite believe he was saying the words. “You need to do the procedure.”

Your hand stilled, and you glanced at him. His eyes held something you hadn’t expected—concern, not just for you, but for Fenris too. You shifted your gaze from the unconscious creature to Logan, your heart heavy with doubt.

“What if It changed me?” you asked quietly, the vulnerability in your voice catching even you off guard. “What if I survive, but lose everything I have left?”

Logan’s palm rested on your arm, his thumb brushing lightly over your skin. The touch was grounding, steady. His voice was low but firm. “You’re already more you than anyone I’ve ever met. A shot of me ain’t gonna change that...” He muttered your name softly.

His words held an unshakable confidence, and for the first time, you found yourself believing him. His gaze never wavered, holding yours with an intensity that made it hard to look away. You felt a strange sense of comfort in it, a reassurance that had been missing for so long.

Logan’s lips twitched into a faint smirk. “C’mon, do it for Fenris.”

A soft smile broke through your uncertainty, despite yourself. “You’re not gonna stop playing that card now, are you?”

“Not a chance,” he replied, his tone lighter now but still laced with sincerity.

You glanced down at his hand, still resting on your arm, and then back at Fenris. There was a warmth in Logan’s touch, an unexpected solace that made the decision feel just a little less daunting. Finally, you exhaled deeply, the tension in your shoulders easing.

“I can’t wait to throw this right at Scott’s face,” Logan said with a quiet laugh, breaking the heavy atmosphere. “The dog I rescued that he hated for an hour straight? I was right, and he was wrong.”

You chuckled softly, your smirk growing. “Thank you, for not leaving him behind.” You said which Logan just silently respond with a small smile, flickering his eyes between your eyes and lips.

With a small shake of your head, you pulled your arm from his touch and reached to close the cage. As much as you hated breaking the connection, the moment felt less weighty now, more manageable.

“Let’s get it over with,” you said, standing and casting one last glance at Fenris. Logan followed, his hand resting briefly on your back as you both turned toward the door. “For Fenris,” you muttered under your breath, and though the words were small, they carried a growing sense of determination.

Part 8 ->

[apomaro-mellow]

Runaway Royalty 10

Part 9

Eddie spent the rest of the evening convening with his inner circle in one of the cave’s alcoves, speaking so quietly, there wasn’t a way to figure out where the conversation was going, even when Steve found reason to go by the mouth of it no less than three times. Not that he was counting. No, Robin was and before he could make his forth pass, she hooked her arm with his and dragged him off to the space she’d taken as their own. 

“I’d say you look as lost as a child but I’ve never seen a pup so forlorn as you right now.”

“I do not!”, Steve pulled his arm away and sat on the blankets provided to them.

Robin knew that pose. It was his ‘I’m going to sit in front of my vanity and primp’ pose that he did. Usually to ignore someone until they went away. But as he didn’t have a vanity-

“Where did you get that?”, Robin gasped as Steve took out a compact mirror.

“I always pack the essentials”, Steve said, looking himself over, fluffing his hair with one hand while the other held the mirror.

Robin rolled her eyes. “You can’t ignore me forever with that little thing.”

“I can ignore you just long enough.” He brought the mirror closer, looking for what, Robin couldn’t tell. Steve would spend hours in front of his vanity and Robin could never tell you what Steve had even changed. But he always seemed satisfied by the end of it.

Robin plopped down next to him, scooting until her head was in his lap. Steve was able to hold out for approximately thirty seconds before looking down at her. Only to see her eyes had gotten big, round, and wet. Steve groaned.

“Don’t use those against me. I’m the one who taught you how to do that.”

“I learned from the best”, Robin pouted.

Steve sighed and put the mirror away. Robin smiled in triumph and sat up, leaning her shoulder against his. Steve sighed again and nuzzled the top of her head. She may have been an alpha and he an omega, but he was still her big brother. That five minute difference meant something to  him.

“What are you thinking about?”, Robin asked.

“It’s silly.”

“Sillier than running away from home?”

“It’s as silly as thinking that we may need to return home”, Steve confessed.

Robin blinked and pulled away. “Wait, are you serious?”

“Eddie said that Prince Edwin’s disappearance is causing distress among his kingdom. With you and I gone, our kingdom won’t be too far behind.”

Robin frowned. “You don’t think there’ll be a coup, do you? Or a war? Just over us? There’s still a whole line of succession.”

“Having three royals suddenly disappear is no small thing”, Steve said.

“Yes, but we didn’t know about Prince Edwin when we did it”, Robin pointed out. “And do you really want to be apart from Eddie?”

Steve brought his knees up to his chest. “You know I don’t. I know this is just infatuation but I…it’s silly.”

“You’re very silly today.”

“Could it not become a true romance? If it were given time?”

Robin laid her head on Steve’s shoulder and rubbed her cheek against it, scenting him. “I think whatever you want to do, you should do it soon. It feels like our path and his will diverge soon.”

That night, they cuddled up close together and fell asleep. Royal blood dictated that after a certain age, they had to sleep separately. Common folk typically slept with their pack in nests but if the royal family did so, it made it all the more easier for assassins. They’d both missed being able to sleep with each other.

But when morning came, Robin tugged his ear gently, coaxing him awake. It might have been gentle, but he was still annoyed by it and tried going back to sleep. 

“You have a gentleman caller”, she whispered into his ear.

Steve stiffened and then quickly relaxed. He whispered back. “How long?”

“He’s been stalking for about ten minutes.”

He wanted to slap her. “And you didn’t wake me?”

“I’ve been trying.”

Steve turned onto his back, pretending to stretch and yawn, then rose to a sitting position. He fixed his hair up a bit just in time to hear Eddie’s footsteps move across their cave. But instead of continuing, as if he were patrolling, he paused at the mouth of it.

“Oh, you’re up.”

“I am”, Steve said, voice soft.

Robin could have rolled her eyes but she refrained. She knew Eddie was trying to talk to Steve but was being annoyingly coy about it. It was a little funny though, watching Steve put on the whole ‘demure omega’ act.

“Well good morning to you. And to you Robin”, Eddie gave a bow.

“Good morning Eddie. I assume you have business with my brother, yes?”

“That I do, if I may have your leave”, he said as he rose back up.

“Hmm, I don’t know, the last time you two were left alone-”

Steve threw the blanket off of himself, into Robin’s face and got up to meet Eddie at the mouth of the cave. “Ignore her. She doesn’t know when a joke has gone too far.”

Eddie chuckled as he watched Robin struggle under the fabric. “Oh but ‘tis no joke for me. She is your kin and an alpha at that. I intend to do right by the both of you.”

“And to what end?”, Steve asked.

“I invited you both to join my pack. That makes you my responsibility.”

“Is that why you wish to converse with Steve alone?”, Robin asked, finally getting to her feet.

Eddie’s cheeks flushed and he hesitated to answer just long enough for Robin to scoff. He was so incredibly obvious. He and Steve deserved each other, truly.

“Go on, the both of you. Just remember sound travels in these tunnels.”

Now Steve was blushing but he was already rushing Eddie out. It was odd, how short they’d known each other and yet he couldn’t wait to get him alone again.

“So what did you want to talk about?”, Steve asked, their arms linked together.

Eddie’s heart swelled when their gazes met. He couldn’t believe he’d come to care for someone in such a short amount of time. He may need to return as Prince Edwin, but that didn’t mean he had to part from Steve, did it? Eddie wanted to believe his fiance would understand. Wherever he was. Maybe Prince Stephen had gone to elope with his own lover, Eddie couldn’t be sure.

The only thing he could be sure of was the fact that he wanted more time with the omega on his arm right now. Not some faceless royal who he’d never met. Eddie led their stroll across the main cavern, towards his own space.

“I meant what I said. I invited you and Robin to join us. And I know we haven’t officially set it, but I already consider the both of you pack.” 

Eddie felt emboldened when he could smell Steve’s interest. When they got to his den, Eddie sat Steve on a pillow. One that seemed like it was meant for nicer places than a cave. A blanket over the mouth acted as a privacy curtain for the space.

“You heard what I said last night. I have to return home. Someone else will lead the bandits. But you and Robin you could…” Eddie knelt in front of Steve. “You could come and stay with me.”

“S…stay with you?”, Steve breathed out.

“I want to court you the way you deserve, Steve. For longer than a day, for longer than a month. You deserve love letters, and courting gifts, and for me to earn Robin’s approval.”

“You would do all of that? Welcome us into your home and promise me all of that?”

Eddie grabbed Steve’s hands. “I may not look like I come from much but we’ve got plenty of room.” It was all Eddie had thought about last night. Bringing Steve into the castle, introducing him to his family and being allowed to show the world his love. It was unorthodox, a prince courting and then marrying a commoner. But it was what his parents had done. That was something he’d been entirely truthful about.

Not many knew exactly what happened to the Bandit King. But Princess Tannis falling for someone below her station was well known. His parents would be hypocrites to not accept Steve. If they had a problem with it, he’d run away again. But Steve was meant for the throne.

“If I accept…”, Steve started, his hands smoothing up Eddie’s arms. “Would we be allowed to consummate the courtship?”

“I don’t see why not”, Eddie said, his own arms coming around Steve’s waist and bringing them to their feet. 

Their faces got close, pausing to savor their scents mixing when the blanket was pulled back, revealing Gareth. “I drew the short straw. Come and eat.”

Steve sighed but Eddie patted his hip. “All for the best, my sweet. I said you deserve better than a forest floor and I didn’t mean a cave.” Now that his path was clear, Eddie knew exactly what he had to do. What he wanted to do. Any thoughts of Prince Stephen had been completely erased from his mind. It was all just Steve, Steve, Steve.

Part 11 coming soon

[puppyeared]

fake ep idea + doodles

[triflesandparsnips]

Something something Ed seeks out or is confronted by his own reflections three times in ascending order of violent emotions (the hand mirror, the salver, the knife)--

And we see Stede being painted twice in his old life, not looking at the painter or the painting but at some distant other thing, and then finally seeking to see himself in the third appearance of his portraiture-- only to find he's been painted out.

I wonder if Stede will someday ask to be drawn, and how, and whether he will look at the artist while they work, or the other people in it (if any), and seek out the finished work and be happy to see himself reflected in it.

...and I wonder if Ed will avoid reflections now (remove the mirrors, avert the eyes, but sometimes he'll catch himself in still water and flinch away--) because he knows what he is, he made himself this way, he knows how others see him and he can see it in their eyes without needing any further proof (except what he sees in Stede's eyes doesn't seem to match, so better not look there, fuck, fuck--)

Stede will look so, so hard now, and Ed will look at anything but-- a switch now, from their season 1 selves, lasting, perhaps, until they can finally see themselves -- and each other -- fully.

(And maybe, after that, they'll be able to see themselves together.)

[nervocat]

I love my cat sm

[ljesaw]

IS IT YOUR OWN DESTINY? OR IS IT A DESTINY SOMEONE ELSE HAS TRIED TO FORCE ON YOU?

[myownprivatcidaho]

new supervisor @ my job this semester who's great and super friendly and a great listener. he said today im the most guarded of everyone who works there and that "[i] want to talk about everything except [my]self" and from what he gathers im a "walking contradiction" because im an "intentional person who's afraid of intentionality" i-

[mikuhats]

Idk how to properly word this, but it's like... Kendall bringing up how he doesn't think he's a good father was definitely because he realized how much Sophie is an afterthought during this, right? His priority is his position as CEO. As much as he cares for Sophie, she does not measure up to how much CEO means to him unfortunately! So much of an afterthought actually, that he would rather call Mencken to spite Shiv, than continue to abstain. And he calls Rava, in hopes to speak to Sophie, to feel better about himself. But it doesn't happen, because it's late and she's asleep, and Rava ends the call by saying she needs to sleep too. And I think that's probably gonna bug him for the remaining episodes... That the poison does, in fact, drip through. That it has been for way longer than he seems to realize. That business IS, ultimately, more important than his children. That he isn't a good person, or a good father. Lol 👍

[nereidprinc3ss]

hi!!! here for a request. can we have a imagine where reader has a wound from surgery or whatever on like in a rib and she hides to change the bandages but then spencer sees her and he’s like ‘lemme help you’ and…

you do you for the rest!

in which spencer helps BAU fem!reader change her bandages in the bathroom at work. it's intimate, and he's adorable and awkward, and it only fuels her terrible, terrible crush.

warnings/tags: fluff, talk/description of wound, brief talk of being stabbed (does not actually occur in this fic lol), reader wears a bra, spencer undoes said bra but not sexually, lots of suggestive humor and teasing, a TINY sprinkling of angst but not really, idiots in love

a/n: i'm picturing early seasons spencer and it is filling me with so much unbridled joy. I. LOVE. HIM. thank you for the request!! and lets not talk about how inconsistent my formatting for requests is pls and thanks!!

It’s not like you meant to bend down so quickly that your wound reopened—but here you are, suffering the consequences of your actions in the women’s bathroom at Quantico as you try to assess the injury before you re-bandage it. And your shoe is still untied. 

Unfortunately, the fact that you had quite literally been stabbed in the back last week makes it hard to reach said injury—especially when you’re at work and so can’t take off your shirt like you normally would. And all this struggling means it’s taking longer than it should, so now you’re focused on the wound and its scabby, wet edges and all the things it’s secreting rather than hurrying to give another statement of the entire event to Hotch since the first one had apparently been too sparse on the details. 

A knock sounds on the open door. Spencer calls your name. 

“You in there?”

The angle of your neck has your voice slightly strained as you call back, “yeah, what’s up? Is it Hotch?” you pause to hiss as you accidentally scratch at the wound with a nail. You don’t even want to know how much bacteria you just introduced to it. “Tell him I didn’t forget our meeting, I’ll be there in—”

“It’s not Hotch. I just wanted to make sure everything was okay with your back? I know you said you were going to check on it, but you’ve been in there a while.”

You sigh, dropping your sore arm as you continue to hold up your shirt with the other and regarding the reflection of your back in the mirror. 

“Actually—could you come in here?”

There’s a pause. 

“You want me to come into the women’s restroom?”

“Yes, Spencer. It’s fine. There’s nobody else in here. I just… I need some help, I think.”

The last part is admitted quietly, with an air of defeat. To admit to needing help, is, by your standards, the same as failure. Spencer knows this, which is probably the only reason he puts aside his hesitations and shuffles uncertainly into the tiled room. If you’re asking for help, it’s because you really need it. 

“What do you need help with?” he asks, sweeping his gaze suspiciously around the lavatory as if you were lying about there not being any other women present and this whole thing might be a trap of some sort. 

“It’s gross, and you can totally say no.”

He raises his brows expectantly, before spotting the weeping wound on your back. Unconsciously he steps closer, leaning forward. It’s not your fault, and the gore is not specific to you—anyone’s body would react this way to being stabbed. But you still feel embarrassed by the close attention to such an ugly marring, which nobody besides you and your doctors has actually seen up close.

“That doesn’t look good,” he mutters. The expression on his face is irritatingly familiar—the drawn brows, tightened eyes, barely parted lips—but it takes a moment before you realize what it is. 

“Reid,” you complain. He’s still stooped over slightly to examine the wound, and looks up at you through dark lashes with those infuriatingly warm puppydog eyes.

“What?”

“You’re looking at me the way you look at a dead body on the slab.”

His nose scrunches.

Some might say it scrunches adorably. 

“No, I’m not. That’s just my face.”

“Okay, well stop. It’s freaking me out.”

He pouts—actually pouts. Subtle, but bottom lip jutted out and all. It’s ridiculously endearing. 

“My face freaks you out?”

“Wh—no! That’s not what I said! You have—you have a great face! I didn’t mean—” 

You manage to claw yourself out of the hole you’re digging when you see the dopey smile growing on his face. 

Oh. He was fucking with you. 

He never used to do that. It’s unnerving to be the fucked with instead of the fucker for a change. Especially when it’s Spencer. 

“What did you need me for?” Spencer asks by way of peace offering. You close your eyes and sigh, attempting to collect your thoughts without his presence re-scrambling them.  

“Um—I just need you to put this bandage over it. I can’t reach without taking my shirt off.”

And now you’re forced to wonder if he’s thinking about you shirtless as much as you’re thinking about you shirtless.

“Yeah—don’t do that,” he says absentmindedly, stepping again closer to get a better look before turning to the nearest sink.

For some reason, this offends you. 

“Why not?”

Spencer pulls another face as he washes his hands—you love the constant flow of expressions he always seems so unconscious of. Even when they’re not pleasant and directed at you.  

“Are you asking me why shouldn’t you take your shirt off?” he clarifies. 

“I know why I shouldn’t take my shirt off, but I want to know why you think I shouldn’t take my shirt off.”

“Because we’re at work?” he observes astutely. You frown deeply at his completely logical reply. Spencer chuckles as he dries his hands and approaches once more, taking the square of gauze pre-lined with medical tape from your hand. “I mean, I can’t stop you. But it would be kind of a weird choice.”

“Oh, so me shirtless is weird?”

Cool fingers meet the comparatively hot skin of your back—where everything is still sensitive because the wound wreaked havoc on your nerves there. You flinch slightly. 

“Sorry,” he murmurs gently. Though his touch is so incredibly light it doesn’t really hurt—it hurts much less than when you’re tending to the wound, anyway. It’s almost soothing. After a moment he continues, a bit louder. “And that is not what I was saying. But I am completely comfortable asserting that it would be weird for you to be shirtless at work.”

The gentle touches contrast with his teasing words and serve to disorient you as you’re shaken back in to your usual dynamic. Which is markedly more sarcastic. 

“Well—”

Before you have to think of something to say, Spencer interrupts you. 

“Your, um—I think your… brassiere… is in the way.”

As soon as he says it you burst out laughing. It echoes through the room. 

“My brassiere? Are you actually 70 years old?”

His brows knit even tighter and his face gets very pink very quickly. He can’t meet your eyes over your shoulder. 

“That’s what it’s called.”

“Spencer, you may be the first person to use that word since 1952. Say bra.”

“I don’t want to,” he complains. Your laughter only grows as your head tips back. 

“Why? How is brassiere better than bra?”

“It’s—it’s too colloquial! I’m trying to be professional!”

“Call it a bra or I’m going to rub my dirty hands all over my back,” you threaten, adopting a poker face so he knows you mean business. His eyes widen immediately. 

“Oh my god! Bra! Do you want to introduce staph and meningitis and g—do not do that!”

“See? How hard was that?”

“I hate you,” he mumbles, face still flushed and adorable. “And you still have to take it off.”

“Excuse me?” you grin, pretending to be affronted because you know he didn’t mean it like that but it’s fun to pretend he did. Fun for you, of course. Not so much for him. He's utterly flustered by this point.

“Or at least undo it! It’s in the way.”

With a deeply bored sigh, you go to unclasp your bra—but as you go to do it your shirt drops down. You grimace, humor briefly forgotten as the fabric brushes the damaged skin. 

“I can’t—”

“Okay, just—I’ll do it,” Spencer says. “Just move your shirt again.”

So you do, watching his reflection as he works.

And you have not one joke to break the heavy silence with as you feel his knuckles gently pressing into the middle of your back, as he unclasps the bra with his characteristic tenderness and a surprising amount of agility. It’s quiet except for your pulse in your own ears as he carefully pushes it out of his way, holding it down with a hand to your rib cage and fingertips slipping just under the fabric of your shirt—unintentionally and certainly non-sexual, no doubt, but skimming under your heart in a way that still feels so intimate you’re realizing how touch-starved you are. 

“You do that often?” you find yourself asking, because you’re stupid, and you need to cool the tension before it chokes you, and you can’t help yourself even though you don’t actually want to know the answer. 

“I,” he begins, voice quiet as rustling paper, tongue darting over his lip and eyes narrowed. The sentence stalls as he focuses on placing the patch just so. “Do not think that is an appropriate workplace question.”

Something aches in the pit of your stomach. 

Something resembling jealousy. 

It was not the timid evasive linguistic maneuver of someone who is insecure about the thing they’re discussing. It was not the awkward fumbling no but I don’t want to tell you that which you were expecting from Spencer Reid. 

Nor is it an easy yes—an admission between friends. He doesn’t want to tell you. 

You swallow and try to act like yourself. 

“Yet here you are, in the woman’s restroom at our place of employment, undoing my bra. I think we’re past professionalism.”

“When you decontextualize it like that it sounds like something it’s not. This is professional, because I’m helping you with a wound you sustained on the job. I’m being a good colleague.”

Your lips twist into a smile he can’t see. 

“A great colleague would kiss it better.”

“It's almost like you want me to file a sexual harassment complaint with HR," he says through a little smirk as he smooths the bandage over. Before you can snip back, he steamrolls over his own teasing—you’ve both been speaking in almost reverent tones since he started but his voice loses the sarcastic edge from a second before and reverts back to concerned and sweet. “Does that feel okay?”

You rotate your shoulders best you can without letting go of your shirt or flashing the good doctor to check if it feels secure.  

“It’s good. And hey—if I were going to sexually harass you I would do a lot better than that. You think that’s my best material? That’s just the tip of the iceberg. I keep so many inappropriate comments to myself. You’d be shocked by some of the things I have almost said to you.”

He laughs, secures the band of your bra and begins fitting it to the clasp you’d had it on—and at that precise moment Emily walks in. 

“H—woah.”

“It’s—I’m—I was helping her!” Spencer panics, immediately removing his hands from you like his palms are burning and holding them up defensively. 

“Oh, you helped me alright,” you tease, pulling your shirt back into place. 

“Don’t say it like that!” And then, to Emily, “I was changing out her bandage!”

“Changing my bandage,” you emphasize, winking more than is advisable. 

“That’s—this is a hostile work environment! I feel unsafe!” Spencer almost yells, half laughs, as he scampers towards the door. “I’m going to HR!”

“Shut up! You love it!”

His laughter audibly travels farther away for several moments as he presumably goes back down the hallway to do his actual job. 

You have the stupidest grin on your face, but you wipe it off when you notice Emily staring. 

“What?”

“Nothing,” she says, shaking her head and looking away, moving toward a stall. “You’re just… you guys are funny.”

“What do you mean funny?” You demand, standing right outside her stall as she closes it. 

“Wh—I mean funny! Are you going to listen to me pee, you weirdo?”

You frown. 

She makes a good point. 

Unfortunately, giving Hotch a more detailed statement is just as bad as you’d thought it’d be. Despite how cheery you’ve tried to remain about the whole situation, despite the way you insisted that the wound was so shallow you didn’t need more than a few days off work, despite the jokes you make about forgetting it’s even there because it’s on your back—it’s hard not to remember exactly how the glass felt twisting under your skin, how you’d felt suddenly so hot and lightheaded and sick to your stomach and the way Morgan hollered because he didn’t know how deep it had gone after you crumpled quick from shock, when you’re asked to describe it all in excruciating detail. 

It only takes ten minutes, but they seem to drag on and on and by the time you’re leaving Hotch’s office you feel utterly drained. You hurry back to your desk, covertly wiping away moisture that you refuse to allow to become tears. Once seated, and having dodged sympathetic looks and avoided any do you want to talk about its, you allow yourself a few deep breaths with your eyes shut. 

When you open them, you realize there’s a fresh cup of your favorite tea on your desk, in the Snoopy mug the team is always fighting over. Now his little black nose is covered by a square of yellow paper. You’re already smiling as you peel away the sticky note and hold it closer. 

On it is an adorably odd smiley-face, and a note in familiar, messy looping scrawl. 

I would never report you to HR beautiful

That would be a stab in the back!

You snort loudly and clap a hand to your mouth—but you’ve already drawn the attention of almost everyone in the bullpen. 

When you turn to look at Spencer, he’s not looking back. Instead, his eyes are firmly trained on his computer screen. But he’s got his chin propped on his fist over the desk, and his knuckles are doing a poor job of concealing a giant self satisfied grin. He is the only person on the team who knows you well enough to make such a distasteful joke. And he also knows you well enough to know that it would make you feel so much better after your meeting with Hotch than all the well-meaning sincerity in the world ever could.

Funny. 

Maybe that is the right word for what you two are. 

[goxjo]

𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐚𝐲 “𝐢’𝐦 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐰𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐩𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐞𝐬” — 𝐢𝐧 𝐩𝐮𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐜

⟢ ﹒ ft. gojo, megumi, sukuna (you’re his vessel), naoya

⟢ ﹒ links. gen masterlist ༚ jjk masterlist

⟢ ﹒ an. it is what is this. couldn’t sleep and have to be up in 3 hours plus I suddenly had horny thoughts before bed. ++ reader as sukuna’s vessel is a concept I really like and have written a fic about before. enjoy <33

overall cw. f! reader, commando, reader wears a skirt / dress, exhibitionism. gojo cw. semi-public v! fingering. megumi cw. aged-up! megumi, public sex, consensual chikan, creampie. sukuna cw. sort of monsterfucking + body horror (since you’re sukuna’s vessel + check my header for reference!), dressing room mirror, cunnilingus, saliva for lube, getting caught. naoya cw. mean! naoya (a.k.a. he’s normal), trophy wife! reader, modern! au?, degradation, humiliation, rough, v! fingering, wall sex, creampie

♡ ┈┈┈ ꒰ ♡ 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐬, 𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬, 𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐬 𝐝𝐧𝐢 ♡ ꒱

⟢ ﹒ 𝐠𝐨𝐣𝐨

“oh yeah? spread your legs for me, baby.”

satoru reaches for your pussy underneath the table, finding you soaked and bare, exactly like you’d told him. of course he doesn’t care that you’re seated with 2 of his friends. you try your hardest not to squirm in your seat, biting onto your fingers balled in a fist with your eyes closed, corners of your lip upturned, releasing hot and heavy exhales due to the crazy heat budding in your core from how good he plays with your wet, throbbing clit.

“what can I get you— a-are you alright?” the waiter turns to you when you suddenly grip onto the white table cloth.

“she’s fine. just give us 5 more minutes,” satoru responds with the widest shit eating grin as he begins to pump two digits into your cunt, palm stroking your clit.

“mmff,” you purr, hunching and leaning onto satoru’s shoulder causing the waiter to cock a brow.

“stomachache.” satoru smiles at the waiter, still relentlessly fucking your hole now with a third digit.

“hmmmfuuuuck,” you drag out as you hit your climax, and at this point, both of his friends are staring at you intently.

“some stomachache. you should get that checked,” suguru says, clearly finding the whole scene very amusing.

“yeah, at home or in a bathroom at the very least? and please, never call us again for dinner. ever,” Shoko barks.

⟢ ﹒ 𝐦𝐞𝐠𝐮𝐦𝐢

“fuck, now you’ve done it.”

megumi’s dick presses hard against your ass. it’s a good thing the train is crowded and everyone is busy waiting for their stop. he’s not really keen on having his fully hard, throbbing cock out on full display for the other passengers to see. but you could’ve at least picked a better time to let him know you had gone commando.

a cold breeze brushes past your bare ass as he reaches for your wet pussy underneath your skirt. he pinches your clit making you stifle a moan with one hand, the other holding onto the cold steel bar inside the train for dear life.

he reaches for your hand, guiding it to cup his aching bulge. you take his zipper from behind you, pulling it down slowly so it doesn’t make a sound. you reach for his cock, whipping it out through his fly. megumi groans when his foreskin gets a little snagged by his zipper but he doesn’t budge — not when he’s aching to get inside your free access hole.

“‘s tight, fuck.” he slides his cock into your warm, slippery pussy. he’s grateful for the influx of new passengers coming in, allowing him to move and fuck you freely. to others, he only seems like he’s trying to get a good squeeze within the tight space, but to you, his cock hits deeper and deeper the more he tries to ‘struggle’.

“hmmmffff,” you mewl when denim slaps against your ass, roll of his hips forcing you to jolt in shock.

“be quiet, okay?” he whispers in your ear, leaving a hot and sloppy trail of kisses down your neck, hips ramming onto your ass last time before he fills you with his hot cum.

you’ve lost track of time, and with it your stop, and you’re suddenly hit with the realization that you have to get off at this exact moment, not even worrying about the mess beginning to drip down your inner thighs.

“bathroom?” legs crossed, you ask.

“duh. need to make you cum, then let’s get you cleaned up.”

⟢ ﹒ 𝐬𝐮𝐤𝐮𝐧𝐚

“I knew that was for me, doll.”

a voice growls from your cheek. he licks his lips, and your cheek by extension, at the sight of you trying on clothes that are a tad too tight and too short for a leisurely walk. you perk your ass up, watching the reflection of your exposed wet and puffy lips through the dressing room mirror.

“bend over a little bit more for me.” you do as you’re told, pussy creaming every single time he speaks. every syllable feels like a love bite, as if his razor sharp teeth gnaws underneath your skin. and any time a 2nd pool of heat grows in your stomach, one that is different from your own, you know for a fact that sukuna is excited.

“you know what to do.” sukuna’s mouth suddenly appears on your hand. like a ritual, all he needs to do is say the words, and you are more than ready to say grace. much like a sex toy, you bring your hand — his mouth — to your cunt, his hot saliva, your makeshift lubricant.

“ohhhh fuck. fuuuuuck!” you whine, pitch of your voice increasing the longer you drag out your moans.

sukuna’s mouth ravishes your cunt, alternating between his tongue flicking and his teeth nipping at your sensitive clit, the added bonus of your soiled expression through the mirror pushing you over the edge.

sukuna begins to suck your clit and your cries have all but filled the dressing room.

“are you okay in there?” the shop assistant asks you from the other side of the door.

“mmhmm, yeah ‘m fffine,” you answer back, weakly.

“you sure?”

“yyyeahh,” you breathe out. “just… ti-haaaa-ight, that’s all.”

sukuna’s tongue explores your velvet walls mid-conversation, preventing you from answering any further.

“keeping you here until you’ve collapsed, doll,” sukuna barks.

“is someone there with you?” the shop assistant asks, voice thick with concern.

“fuck,” you curse, knowing just how much sukuna is going to enjoy this.

⟢ ﹒ 𝐧𝐚𝐨𝐲𝐚

“you little fucking slut.”

he takes the champagne from your hand, giving it to the waiter. he drags you all the way to the bathroom, past the hotel staff, past his family, flaring at how you’ve chosen to make him horny during his much awaited family reunion. he was going to show off his accomplishments, he was going to show of you, his new pretty little wife, and parade you in front of all his brothers whose wives can barely hold a candle to you.

he shoves you up against the cold tiles of the bathroom wall, hand reaching for your unclothed cunt from underneath your dress.

“fuck, you’re wet.” he coats his two digits slick with your juices before waving them to your face. “see this? my horny little wife, so eager, so wet for me.”

he sucks on his fingers, tasting your wetness before sliding them back into your hole. “fuck, you taste so good. do you want me to make you feel good? say it. say you want your husband to make you feel good.”

“I-I want my husband to m-make me feel good—fuck!” naoya ruthlessly pumps your pussy with his thick fingers, coiling inside your walls, nails scratching your insides making you scream in pleasure.

naoya swells with pride knowing zen’in ears are pressed up on the other side of the door, not that they couldn’t already hear you with how loud you’re screaming from just his fingers. he wants his brothers to hear you. wants them to get hard from the lovely tunes you hum in pleasure and remind them none of them can have you.

“naoya, please—mmm—need your cock now!” you whimper loudly in full support of all your husband’s endeavors.

“my lovely doting wife, so fucking needy!” he says as he lets his pants drop down to his feet.

he hooks your leg around his arm, granting him deeper access to your insides, balls wet from slapping your cunt.

“fuckfuckfuck!” his cock hits you so deep, you’re forced to prop yourself better against the wall while he fucks your high — one hand raised up, palm flat against the cold tiles, the other digging nails into his shoulder, into the hard material of his tuxedo.

he bucks his hips one last time in his climax, stuffing you full of his white seed.

you take a couple of minutes to fix your hair, your clothes, and even clean up the mess dripping down your thighs.

“shall we?” your husband offers you his arm, excited to see the look on his brother’s faces.

[shariasweet]

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚ angel girl

_._____ 𝒙 f.reader

wc ::: drabble length sharinote ::: contains dumbification and some other stuff! unprotected sex as well as mirror sex… also pet names (SLIGHT daddy kink… im so sorry) and overstimulation + squirting and maybs a little roughness. this isn’t proofread grrr :(

[porn no plot] just your boyfriend fucking you dumb and making you squirt 👻

'dumb baby...' your boyfriend relentlessly fucked into you from behind — his breath hot and fanning against you neck, fueling to the fire that was your arousal.

the mirror in front of you was just as foggy as your brain — your eyes clouded, and rolled back as you babbled incoherently. 'mmm...' a soft groan fell bubbling from between your lips.

'you're drooling everywhere, sweet girl...’ your boyfriend’s rough thrusts coming to a slow halt as his hands snaked around your body. ‘here… give daddy your chin, sweetheart.' his long slender fingers came crawling between the valley of your breasts and past your neck to firmly grip you cheeks.

'look at you, sweetheart. so, so pretty.' as he forced your face up and out of the sheets his lips met your own in a sloppy wet kiss — one filled with passion and desire. once more, his hips forcefully slammed against your ass — red from the friction as he buried himself deep within your sopping cunt.

'good girl...' his hand groped the swell of your breasts. as you were overwhelmed with pleasure, you could feel yourself slipping away. what you’d assumed to be your third, maybe fourth orgasm crept up on you. 'aht aht...’ he tutted in your ear. ‘want you to look... watch it, pretty girl.'

you could feel him roughly repositioning your face yet again to stare into your reflection.

he trailed kisses along your neck, chuckling warmly as he saw your eyes snap open in awe at the scene before you: your thighs littered in hickeys your lips puffy and swollen and your whole body quivering in absolute bliss.

'ah! s'too much... s'so deep!' you squirmed. he pressed on the bulge poking out from your lower abdomen. 'too deep? m'only right here... how about this?' harder. deeper. you suddenly hit the mattress, his grip on your waist faltering as he fucked into you with even more dedication... slamming you down and splitting you open for the umpteenth time on his cock... he continued bullying himself cozily into your cunt as he drilled further, and further within you velvety wet walls. ‘ffuck… always so tight aren’t you, baby?’

'ahw fuck, fuck mh!' gasping, your fingers knotted up in the sheets as you moaned uncontrollably… back arching far into the bed before he lifted you up yet again — his tip practically kissing your cervix.

‘shit! w-wait…’ the knot in your stomach began to wrap itself up. waves of pleasure threatening to fall and crash over you if he continued — which he did.

it only took a few more thrusts — each drag of his cock soothing your high as you’d finally came.

sharp thrust after sharp thrust… you took note of how he carefully overstimulated you. harshly rubbing your clit even after your orgasm. ‘shit! a-already… fuck… I already came.’ you pout, whining. ‘I know, just hold on, baby… need one more thing from you.’

‘unghhh!’ the male had lifted you up once more… your reflection not your own as you appeared completely ruined. ‘how’s it feel hm?’ your sore core ached — burning hot as you cried, leaning into his neck. ‘don’t hide.’

‘feels like im ‘gonna pee…’ you mumbled beneath your breath. he nodded. ‘good girl, let go f’me.’

another knot came forming in your tummy…

‘w-wait! ohmygodohmygod..!’ and clear liquid shot from between you legs. drenching the sheets and you and your boyfriend's thighs.

the two of you breathed heavily collapsing onto one another as he kissed your forehead. ‘angel girl…’ he purred. ‘did so good for me yeah?’

lee heuseng: yang jungwon: choi soobin: kang taehyun: jeong yunho: choi san: taesan: leehan: park gunwook: suh johnny: lee jeno: whoever else your little heart desires 🤍

[saerins]

ᯓ ᝰ CRAZY GOOD .ᐟ — itoshi sae

hold up, netizens. you’re in for a treat this time because guess what? out of all people, it’s time for itoshi sae to hard launch his girlfriend: you.

itoshi sae x female reader. content tags pro-player!sae, established relationship, profanity, kissing, kind of a tease here, he likes showing you off, oliver is the matchmaker. word count 1.5k

ᯓ notes .ᐟ hi guys i finally have some sae content for you all !!! >:) yes i’ve missed him , and no i didn’t abandon him :’) heh i hope all my sae lovers that are still here will like this mwah <3

there are many things that itoshi sae is good at.

soccer skills, one of them. snubbing people, the second. (that’s how he got the reputation of being rude—even if it’s not really true!) and three, not last and not least (but still substantially), it’s causing a buzz.

he caused a buzz the moment he debuted on the soccer field. his first game and he already made a name for himself. people started asking where he’d been his whole life (even if he was introduced to the people very early on), equating him to soccer megastars like cristiano ronaldo.

ever since that day, he’d been caught in the spotlight numerous times. mostly related to soccer, but some due to his personal life. more specifically, the media loves to take a guess on who he’s dating.

yeah, he’s had more than his fair share of dating rumours. if it were up to the media, sae would have had about thirty-four girlfriends by now and he’s only twenty-six this year. (go fish!)

but as many people do, almost everyone who consumes media content about sae is particularly interested in one thing that is shrouded in mystery: his dating life.

because despite all the rumours and whatnot, there’s never been any confirmation of any relationships at all. and no one in his circle has ever coughed anything up, so anything in that regard has been strictly hush-hush.

well, until tonight, when your boyfriend of six months invited you to one of his teammates’ high-profile birthday party.

“what, are you nervous?”

your boyfriend’s ever unbothered tone is still the same as when you first heard it a year ago. somehow you find it funny that one year later you’re living with the same guy you’d first found to be somewhat intolerable.

sighing, you try and zip up the back of your dress, looking into the mirror, making sure you have your best face on. “sae, you have fans that number in the millions, of course i’m nervous,” you comment, watching from the reflection in the mirror as sae saunters over to you, taking his hands out of his pocket.

he smirks at you through the mirror, his body pressed against you as he helps you zip your dress the rest of the way up, his lips right next to your ear. “i’ve never even seen you this nervous in front of me,” he says, poking a little fun at you as he gives you a light kiss on your temple.

a soft chuckle comes from him as you deadpan, obviously in much more distress than he’ll ever know. not that he’ll blame you; he’s used to the fame, you’re not. “relax, they’ll love you.”

“sae, they won’t.”

he shrugs. “yeah, you’re probably right,” he agrees, earning a small slap on the arm—and he’s laughing again, though this time he tilts your chin up and gives you a long, slow kiss. the kind that takes your breath away everytime he does it. “but who cares? i love you.”

and there he goes, saying that as if it’s no big deal. making your heart beat so quickly it’s not funny. and before you know it, he’s whisking you away into the lobby where a personal towncar is ready and waiting, with the chauffeur and everything.

“geez, oliver sure loves to go over the top, huh?”

sae gives a sharp exhale at your comment. “hey, that’s your friend right there.”

you roll your eyes, getting in first and sticking your tongue out at him. “and you should be thanking him, without him we’d never have met.”

you look away from him right after saying that so you don’t see it, but sae’s smiling to himself, already thanking his lucky stars.

he thinks meeting you and getting to love you is the luckiest he’ll ever get in this lifetime.

by the time you’ve arrived at the venue—a hotel in the heart of the city—swarms of paparazzi already litter the streets outside. they’ve no doubt had their fill of the other soccer players and mega celebrities that have already arrived and are now ready for the real star of the night (aside from the birthday boy himself): itoshi sae.

of course, everyone’s expecting to see sae all by himself because that’s what usually happens; sae attending any and every event alone and unbothered by the scene. it’s never a surprise anymore, but sae’s a good payday and they’d never miss a single shot.

the moment sae exits the car, it sounds like there’s a million shutters pressed all at the same time, give or take a few milliseconds. (it’s nothing you’re used to.) he stands right where he got out for a few seconds, and even inside you can hear the amount of photographers just begging sae to look straight at them.

and if you think that’s rowdy enough, oh boy you’re in for a treat. because the moment the paparazzi realise that sae’s not, in fact, headed for the hotel just yet, you can hear just a few confused noises before it turns into even more pleading the moment they realise he’s opening your side of the door.

when he opens it and holds his hand out for you, that ever handsome smile on his face (which you forget that he only ever shows to you), you feel like you’re nearly blinded by all the flashes. you brave through it though, taking his hand and getting out of the town car, being greeted by the mass of photographers yelling out to you and sae.

“sae, who is that!”

“hey, girl! look over here! yes right there!”

“what’s your relationship?”

“obviously that’s his girlfriend! hey you!”

you’re a little wide-eyed, stunned at how chaotic this scene is. it’s easy to lose yourself in it, but as it always is, sae realises it whenever you are, and he’s quick to pull you back in.

in this case, he pulls you into his arms, a hand wrapped around your waist, pulling you close as he rests his forehead against yours.

“hey, focus on me, just me,” he whispers to you, eyes looking into yours, eyelashes fluttering against one another’s.

(the paparazzi are having a field day.)

“you’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” you ask him, chuckling because you only now realise what a fucking tease he is.

sae shrugs, pulling your hair away from your face. (he’s actually just really grateful to you for doing this for him when you don’t need to—when you’re happy to just be able to support him behind the scenes but he really just wants the world to know that you exist, because it’s a blessing, really.) “maybe i am.”

and this time your heart’s beating faster than you know it ever could, his teal blue eyes melting into your gaze, lips getting closer and closer to your own, his calloused hand on the back of your neck.

like clockwork, his lips sink into yours, his tongue snaking its way in. (and the crowd goes absolutely wild.) you’re both laughing at the panicked and hurried yells from the photographers, slowly pulling away from each other.

you reach your hand out to wipe your lipstick stain off his lips but he doesn’t let you, winking at you and leaning in to whisper, “let everyone know who i belong to.”

such a fucking tease.

not that you’re opposed, so you let him be, shaking your head and following him as he holds your hand and leads you in.

within the next hour, pictures of you and sae flood the internet. (notifications come flooding into your phone too.)

itoshi sae hard launches new relationship with mystery woman!

soccer world loses another bachelor—everything we know about itoshi sae’s presumed girlfriend

most of them are pictures of your kiss, with a good chunk of it being his lipstick-stained lips.

as you scroll through some of the articles your friends texted to you, you’re probably never going to be used to it. you’re probably going to be anxious over everything you do in public now.

a slight panic bubbles up in your chest, but then sae comes over, pulling you backwards into his embrace, looking over your shoulder at your phone.

“that quick, huh?”

and suddenly it’s like anxiety has never existed. because even if it may not seem like much, a year of knowing itoshi sae has made you feel safer than you ever did, knowing that he’s always there to catch you, to never make you feel alone.

you melt into his embrace, turning your head and giving him a kiss, your lipstick stain still on his lips.

“i fucking love you, itoshi sae.”

his eyes widen a little before they grow soft, arms pulling you even closer. “i love you too, stupid.”

(and while the two of you are getting all lovey-dovey at his party, oliver’s just slightly—a lot—upset that sae upstaged him during his own birthday party.)

“i fucking hate the both of you,” oliver groans.

[ponderingmoonlight]

How JJK Men React to Seeing You in Their Clothes

Pairings: Gojo x fem!reader; Megumi x fem!reader; Yuta x fem!reader; Nanami x fem!reader

Word Count: 2,5k

Warnings: fluff over fluff, I'm pretty sure I already wrote something like this but I can't find it anymore lol, all scenarios talk about the clothes of the said jjk men being big on you so please don't read if this isn't what you vibe with (but feel free to let me know if you want a version in which their clothes actually fit reader quite well!)

Gojo Satoru

The apartment is unusually quiet as you move through the living room, your bare feet padding lightly across the cool floor. Gojo had left early this morning to deal with some “business,” leaving you alone with nothing but a mess of his belongings scattered around. You’re not one to complain though - cleaning up after him has become second nature after spending so much time together.

As you tidy up his place, you come across one of his oversized hoodies. It’s sprawled across the back of a chair, still slightly wrinkled from when he wore it the night before. The faint scent of his cologne lingers in the fabric, and for reasons you can’t quite explain, you find yourself reaching for it.

It’s soft, much softer than you expected. You hold it for a moment, staring at it thoughtfully before a mischievous grin tugs at your lips. You slip the hoodie over your head, the fabric swallowing you whole. The sleeves are comically long, almost covering your hands completely, and the hemline reaches down to your thighs. It’s so big that it feels like you’re wearing a blanket, and despite yourself, you giggle at the sight of your reflection in the hallway mirror.

You sit down on the couch, pulling your legs up under the hoodie, and let yourself relax into the comfort of wearing something that smells like him. His signature cologne that follows him around wherever he goes, that makes your heart skip a beat every time you smell it. To be honest, you really miss him. These past weeks were so busy that you didn’t really get the chance to see him more than 2 hours before passing out sleeping. What you’d do for a whole afternoon, just you and him…

Not long after, you hear the oh so accustomed sound of the door unlocking, followed by the familiar voice of Satoru calling out, “I’m home!”

You stiffen for a moment, wondering how he’ll react, but you can’t hide now. Fuck, you never wore his clothes before. After all, they belong to him and you have no right to grab his stuff as you please.

Before you can say anything to defend yourself, Gojo steps into the living room, his bright blue eyes immediately locking onto you.

There’s a beat of silence. Then, a slow, amused grin spreads across his face.

“Well, well, what do we have here?” he teases, leaning against the doorway with his arms crossed.

His sunglasses are perched on his head, revealing his crystalline eyes that seem to glow with delight.

“Did you raid my closet while I was gone?”

You roll your eyes, trying to play it cool despite the sudden warmth creeping up your neck.

“Your place was cold. Figured I’d borrow something.”

Gojo doesn’t respond right away. Instead, he walks over to you, crouching in front of the couch as he eyes you up and down. His grin widens as he takes in the way the hoodie completely engulfs you, making you look even smaller than usual.

“Looks good on you,” he murmurs, his voice lower now, laced with something playful but undeniably affectionate.

He reaches out, tugging on one of the oversized sleeves gently.

“In fact, I think it suits you better than it does me.”

You scoff, though your heart skips a beat at the way he’s looking at you, like you’re the most fascinating thing in the world.

“You think everything looks good on me.”

“That’s because it does.”

His grin is infuriatingly confident, but there’s a softness in his gaze that makes your breath catch.

“But you, wearing my clothes? I think that might be my favorite look.”

He leans closer, his nose brushing against your temple before pressing a soft kiss there.

“You can keep it if you want,” he whispers, his breath warm against your skin.

“I don’t think I’m getting it back anyway.”

Megumi Fushiguro

It’s early morning, the sun just beginning to rise over the horizon, casting a soft glow over Megumi’s small apartment. He’s still asleep, his dark hair a mess of unruly strands as he breathes softly beside you. You’ve been staying with him for the weekend, a rare break from the chaos of jujutsu sorcery.

As you quietly slip out of bed, careful not to wake him, you feel the cool air hit your skin. Without thinking, you look around the room for something to cover yourself with. Your eyes land on one of Megumi’s plain black shirts, tossed haphazardly over the back of a chair. It’s oversized, much bigger than anything you’d typically wear, but you shrug and grab it anyway.

Slipping it over your head, the fabric is soft and familiar, carrying the faint scent of him. It hangs loosely on your frame, the sleeves too long and the hem falling halfway down your thighs. You glance at yourself in the mirror, a small smile tugging at your lips. There’s something comforting about wearing his clothes, like having a part of him with you even when he’s asleep.

As you turn back toward the bed, you freeze. Megumi’s awake. His dark eyes are half-lidded, still clouded with sleep as he watches you from the bed. You can’t quite read his expression -it’s a mixture of surprise, confusion, and something else you can’t place.

“You’re up early,” he mutters, his voice still thick with sleep.

You shrug, feeling a little self-conscious under his gaze.

“Couldn’t sleep. I didn’t think you’d mind if I borrowed your shirt.”

Megumi blinks, his gaze drifting over you slowly. He doesn’t say anything right away, but you can see the way his eyes linger on the way the shirt swallows you, how it looks like you’re drowning in fabric. After a long moment, he finally speaks, his voice quieter than before.

“It looks good on you,” he finally speaks out, a little awkwardly, as if he’s not quite sure how to compliment you.

“Better than it does on me.”

You can’t help but laugh at how flustered he seems, even though he’s trying to play it cool.

“Really? I think it’s a little big.”

Megumi shakes his head, sitting up in bed and running a hand through his messy hair.

“No. It’s perfect.”

He pauses for a moment before adding, almost shyly,

“You should wear my stuff more often.”

His words catch you off guard, and you raise an eyebrow at him, surprised. Even though you know all too well that Megumi Fushiguro has a soft spot for you, you never really thought about stealing or borrowing his stuff. After all, he is the guy who slaps the back of Yuji’s head each and every day over stealing his sandwich or equipment. And now…he’s telling you straightforward that he wants you to wear his shirts?

“You want me to?”

He looks away, his usual stoic mask slipping just a bit as a faint blush creeps up his cheeks.

“I mean... yeah. It suits you.”

Your heart skips a beat at his admission. Megumi isn’t one for big, flowery declarations, but this, this small, almost hesitant compliment, is enough to make your chest warm. You walk over to him, climbing back into bed and curling up beside him like you always do after waking up.

“Well, if you insist,” you mutter teasingly, leaning your head on his shoulder.

“I might just steal more of your clothes.”

Megumi huffs, but there’s a softness in his eyes as he wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you closer.

“Go ahead,” he mumbles, tugging at the hem of his loose shirt.

“I don’t mind.”

Yuta Okkotsu

You’ve been staying at Yuta’s apartment for the past few days, crashing at his place while you’re both on a break from missions. It’s been nice: quiet, peaceful, just the two of you enjoying each other’s company without the usual chaos of jujutsu high looming over you.

It’s late in the evening now, and you’ve just gotten out of the shower, feeling refreshed after a long day. As you towel off your hair, you realize you forgot to grab something to wear. Your suitcase is still in the living room, and you don’t really feel like walking out there in just a towel.

Your groan in frustration over your usual absent-mindlessness, eyes landing on one of Yuta’s old sweatshirts, folded neatly on the chair by his desk. It’s a little worn, clearly well-loved, and the idea of wearing something of his brings a smile to your face. Yuta definitely wouldn’t mind you wearing one of his shirts, right? And even if he did…you’d love to see that little blush creep up his face.

Without thinking twice, you pull the sweatshirt over your head. It’s oversized, the sleeves long enough to cover your hands, and the fabric is soft and cozy against your skin.

You’re adjusting the sleeves when the door creaks open slightly. You look up just as Yuta steps into the room, his eyes widening in surprise when he sees you.

“Oh, hey-” he starts, but then he freezes, his gaze locking onto the sweatshirt you’re wearing.

His face flushes almost instantly, a deep red creeping up his cheeks as he stares at you.

“Uh… is that…?”, Yuta stammers, clearly flustered.

You glance down at the sweatshirt and smile sheepishly.

“Yeah, I hope you don’t mind. I forgot to grab my clothes, and this looked comfortable.”

Yuta blinks, his face still bright red, but he quickly shakes his head.

“No! I mean, I don’t mind at all! It’s just… you look… um…”

He trails off, his eyes flicking away as if he’s too embarrassed to finish the sentence.

You giggle softly, stepping closer to him, to tease the hell out of him even more. That poor innocent boy who doesn’t even dare looking your direction when you stumble in the bathroom in the morning with noting but a shirt and panties on.

Even though you’ve been together for over a year by now.

“I look… what?”

Yuta clears his throat, still avoiding your gaze.

“You look… really cute,” he mutters, barely audible.

“In my sweatshirt, I mean.”

Your heart swells at his words, and you can’t help but smile as you reach out and take his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“Thanks, Yuta.”

He finally meets your gaze, his face still red but his expression softening as he squeezes your hand back.

“You can wear my clothes anytime you want,” he says quietly, a shy smile tugging at his lips.

You grin, stepping closer and wrapping your arms around his waist.

“I might just take you up on that.”

Yuta chuckles, his arms wrapping around you in return as he pulls you close.

 “I wouldn’t mind,” he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head.

“Not at all.”

Nanami Kento

It’s late, and Nanami is still out on a mission. You’ve been waiting for him to come home, but the clock is ticking past midnight, and exhaustion is beginning to catch up with you. After all, you’ve had a long and exhausting day at work yourself.

You’re curled up on the couch, half-asleep, when the chill of the evening air prompts you to grab something warmer to wear.

Your own clothes are in the bedroom, and you don’t feel like moving that far. Instead, your eyes land on one of Nanami’s neatly folded dress shirts, sitting on the back of a chair. It’s probably not the warmest option, but the idea of wearing something of his feels comforting, like having a part of him with you while you wait for him to return.

You slip the shirt on, the crisp fabric soft against your skin. It’s too big, of course, the sleeves hanging past your wrists and the hem falling almost to your knees, but it’s cozy in its own way. You curl up on the couch again, pulling the sleeves over your hands and breathing in the faint scent of him that still lingers on the fabric.

You don’t realize you’ve dozed off until the sound of the front door opening stirs you awake. You sit up groggily, blinking as Nanami steps inside, looking tired but unharmed. He pauses when he sees you, his eyes widening slightly as he takes in the sight of you wearing his shirt.

For a moment, neither of you say anything. Then, a small, almost imperceptible smile tugs at the corner of Nanami’s lips.

“You’re wearing my shirt,” he observes, his voice calm but with a hint of amusement.

You rub your eyes sleepily, nodding.

“It was cold, and I didn’t feel like getting up.”

Nanami walks over to you, his expression soft as he takes in the sight of you.

 “It suits you,” he murmurs, his voice low and warm.

“I didn’t expect to come home to this.”

You shrug, feeling a little self-conscious under his gaze.

“If you don’t like it, I can-”

“I like it,” he cuts in, his tone firm but gentle.

He reaches out, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear before his hand lingers at your cheek.

“I like it very much.”

You smile, leaning into his touch as you look up at him.

“I might have to borrow your clothes more often, then.”

Nanami chuckles softly, his thumb brushing against your cheek before he leans down to press a soft kiss to your forehead.

“You’re welcome to them,” he breathes out.

“Though I have to admit, you make my clothes look much better than I do.”

You laugh softly, your heart warming at his rare display of affection.

“I doubt that.”

Nanami shakes his head, his eyes soft and filled with affection as he looks at you.

“It’s true. But regardless, you’re welcome to them anytime” he insists.

With that, he sits down beside you on the couch, pulling you into his side as he wraps an arm around your shoulders. You snuggle into him, the warmth of his body and the comfort of his shirt making you feel safe and content.

“Thank you, Kento,” you whisper, closing your eyes as exhaustion starts to pull you back into sleep.

Nanami presses a soft kiss to the top of your head, his voice low and soothing as he murmurs,

“Anytime, love.”

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[violentdelightsandviolentends]

that old cliché.

you swore you’d never give in to the maid of honour and best man cliche. and then you met evan buckley.

evan buckley x female reader

warnings - smut. cursing. alcohol. buck’s a filthy flirt.

word count - 6k

authors note - and so she returns!! thank you all so much for your loveliness on my post about my break - I appreciate it more than you know. this one was so much fun to write. i’ve not written any longer stuff for buck, but he’s a character I feel that I have a really good understanding of - I actually think we’re very alike - so this came so easy. hope you love it as much as I do. <3

masterlist. inbox.

Silvery melodies of laughter clink off the rim of the champagne flute you hold in your freshly manicured hand. As the gentle breeze whips through the material of your dress, you look around you, realising you’ve never seen so many people so happy at once.

The backyard of the Italian villa is packed, dozens of guests milling around - dancing, drinking, chatting and catching up. Family, friends, colleagues; people from every phase of the bride and grooms life, all celebrating together in one place.

A rocks glass is placed down onto the table in front of you with a thud. Looking up, you’re met with the sight of the best man towering over you expectantly with a drink in his hand.

“Evan.”

“Hi gorgeous.”

You scoff, staring up at him through your lashes.

“What’s this?”

“A drink.”

“Yeah. But why?”

“It’s whiskey. I watched you grimace every time you had to drink the champagne, so I thought you’d want something different.”

You swirl the glass, listening to the tinkle of the ice against the sides.

“You were watching me, huh?”

“Of course I was. Can’t take my eyes off you in that dress.”

“Shut up,” you chide, fighting to keep the grin off your face. “I’m not doing this with you.”

“Doing what, exactly?”

“The whole best man and maid of honour thing. It’s just too cliched.”

He laughs all hearty and genuine, and you poignantly ignore the way the butterflies start fluttering in your stomach.

“Then why do you keep looking at me like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like you want to eat me.”

Now it’s your turn to laugh, shaking your head at him.

“Yeah, right. In your dreams, Evan.”

“Oh, you will be,” he winks, knocking his glass against yours in a quick cheers before walking off to the find the groom.

You watch him go, not completely oblivious to the way his suit fits him just right. Determined to stand your ground, you inhale a deep breath before taking a sip of your drink. The drink that definitely isn’t exactly what you needed. The drink that he’d practically read your mind to figure out. Effortlessly.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

It’s been like this all day.

You met Evan Buckley for the first time last night, at the rehearsal dinner. The bride, your best friend in the world, kept telling you that you’d love the best man.

“He’s from California,” she’d said. “He’s Danny’s friend from when they were kids. He’s a firefighter, babe. He’s hot.”

You’d laughed it off, zipping up the back of her dress while she watched you in the mirror.

“Oh, come on. That’s so cliched. The whole maid of honour and best man thing is so old, Lucy.”

“You’re single, he’s single,” she’d protested. “It’d do you some good to get laid, relieve some stress. And people let their guards down at weddings. Now’s your chance.”

“If I wanted to get laid, I’d get laid,” you scoffed.

“All I’m saying is that Buck is completely your type. He’s gorgeous, he’s funny, he’s sweet. And you’re gonna have to spend a fair bit of time together tonight and tomorrow, so… just keep an open mind.”

“Fine,” you soothed, rolling your eyes. “Mind wide open. Alright?”

“You’re gonna love him.”

“You said that already.”

“Because I really believe it. You’re gonna love him.”

And the problem is… she was kind of right.

No, you don’t love him. You’ve known him for 48 hours. But… there’s something.

Lucy wasn’t lying. He is gorgeous, and funny, and sweet. And hot. So hot. He showed up to the rehearsal dinner in dress pants and a linen shirt, all sun kissed and muscled and tanned and stunning.

The two of you were seated next to each other, planned so carefully by the bride and groom. One minute you were making cautious introductions, shaking hands and smiling gently. The next minute you were crying with laughter, clutching at his bicep as he grabs your thigh, legs intertwined and chairs pulled together.

Lucy and Danny nudge each other occasionally, watching the both of you get along like two old friends that have known each other forever. A look passes between them that says I told you so clear as day.

But you’re stubborn. Too stubborn, some may say. You know you’ll never hear the end of it from your friends if you give into this very alluring temptation, and perhaps your pride means a bit more to you than it should. So you resist, you refuse to give in. Even if you really want to.

And that was just last night. Today has been even worse.

By worse, you mean the connection between you and Evan has grown even stronger. You walked down the aisle with him, arm linked with his, both dressed up to the nines. The maid of honour and the best man, a perfect picture.

You haven’t been able to keep your hands off each other all day. Little touches - his fingers on the small of your back, your grip on his bicep, shoulders brushing and thighs pressed together. Nothing crazy, but nothing meaningless, either. There’s an undeniable electricity buzzing between you, hot and alive.

You’re not sure how much longer you can deny it.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

You’re dancing with Lucy and her little nieces when you hear yelling and commotion coming from the other side of the dance floor. Looking over, you see Danny, Evan and other groomsmen flailing around and fussing.

“What happened?” Lucy’s yelling, making her way over with you in tow.

“Just a drink spillage, Luce! But it’s red wine, and now Buck’s shirt is pink.”

You look at the man in question and can’t help but laugh. His crisp white dress shirt is now a pretty shade of pink across the front, his cheeks a rosy colour to match.

“Stop laughing,” he chides, but he’s grinning at you as he says it. “I need to go and change. I have a spare shirt in my suitcase upstairs.”

He starts to leave, but soon turns around and calls your name.

“I don’t have a key for that big door at the end of the hallway to get to our rooms. Do you?”

“Yeah, it’s in my purse. You want it?”

“Just come with me. It’ll be easier.”

Before you can argue, he’s taken off, big strides across the garden. You have to practically run in your heels to keep up with him, shaking your head in frustration.

“I could have just given you this,” you say when you reach the door, unlocking it for him.

“Where’s the fun in that?”

The smirk he gives you is so cheeky, it’s a wonder you don’t smack it off his face. Cocky bastard.

“You’re so annoying,” you mumble, walking with purpose to his room.

“Come in with me? It’ll only take a minute, then we can walk back together.”

You know you should say no, tell him that you’ll meet him downstairs. But you don’t. Instead, you say,

“Fine. But hurry up. I don’t wanna miss the party.”

“Yes ma’am,” he mock salutes, unlocking the door to his room that’s conveniently directly across from yours.

You take a seat on the edge of the bed, trying to avoid watching him undress. He shrugs off his now pink shirt, taking it with him into the bathroom.

You’re surprised at how tidy everything is. Not that you think Evan would be particularly messy, but he doesn’t strike you as a neat and clean type. His suitcase is unpacked into the closet, bed made, nothing on the floor. It only makes you like him more.

“Can you grab my other shirt from the closet please, gorgeous? The one I wore last night for the rehearsal dinner.”

You swing the two doors open and rifle around, failing to see the linen button up that he’s looking for. Suddenly, you feel a warmth behind you, Buck’s solid form caging you in. He reaches around you, arm brushing yours as he finds what he needs.

“Found it,” he murmurs into your ear, all low and honeyed.

Against your better judgment, you turn around, finding yourself face to face with him. He towers over you, watching your reactions carefully. Your hands reach out and rest on his bare chest, steadying yourself before you either fall over or pass out.

Buck gently traces your bottom lip with his thumb, eyes completely locked on yours. You have to resist every urge to either bite it or suck it into your mouth, reminding yourself that now isn’t the time. The noise from the garden floats up and through the window that’s cracked open slightly, tethering you to the reality that is slowly fading away the longer you hold Evan’s gaze.

He leans in, and to your surprise, doesn’t kiss you immediately. Pressing his forehead to yours, he inhales deeply, as if committing the moment to memory. His thumbs are now tracing gentle circles on your jaw, soft and callous at the same time. You inhale slowly, processing the scent of his cologne mixed with the evening breeze. If you could bottle it up, you think, you’d be a millionaire. This would cure everything.

Buck finally closes down the gap between you, inching towards your lips softly. You shut your eyes, waiting for him to finally kiss you - when there’s deafening knocking on the door. The two of you jump apart, hearts pounding and nerves on a live wire.

Evan strides over to the source of the noise, taking a deep breath to try and compose himself as he goes. You perch on the edge of the bed, smoothing down your dress and attempting to look as inconspicuous as possible.

“Buck? Dude, it’s Jake. Hurry up, yeah? The guys wanna do our dance routine before everyone gets too drunk to remember it.”

He doesn’t bother opening the door, just yells back through the wood.

“Yeah, sure - I’ll be down in a minute!”

You hear Jake’s footsteps retreat, both of you exhaling the breaths you didn’t know you’d been holding. Buck looks at you, worried that the moment’s been ruined, to find you stifling a laugh behind your hand.

“There’s a dance routine?”

“Shut up,” he grumbles, fighting to keep the grin off his face. “We created it years ago. The guys won’t let it die.”

“Oh, I can’t wait to see this.”

You’re cackling, reclining onto the duvet as you laugh.

“Stop,” he groans, jumping over to flop onto his back on the bed next to you. “I did a lot of regrettable things in college… and that routine is definitely the worst of it.”

“I hope you know that you’re never going to live this down, Buckley. I’ll be reminding you of this forever.”

“Oh yeah?” he asks, propping himself up on his elbow so he can look at you. “You really like me, huh?”

“What the hell gave you that impression?”

“You said forever. What’s next, honey? You gonna get down on one knee later?”

You’re suddenly aware of the warmth of the whiskey flowing through your veins, giving you a liquid confidence that stuns both you and the man lying next to you.

“Two knees, maybe. But not one.”

His eyes go wide as you smirk, pulling yourself off the bed and making your way over to the door. Buck watches you carefully, gaze steady and firm.

“You coming? I’m more than ready to see those moves of yours.”

He stands up, slipping on his shoes and shrugging the clean shirt onto his broad shoulders. You grab your purse, leaning against the doorframe as you wait.

Evan reaches past you for the door handle, nose purposely brushing yours as he does it.

“I’ll hold you to what you said before,” he murmurs, moving a strand of hair away from your face softly. “Don’t think I won’t.”

You look up at him with big doe eyes, like butter wouldn’t melt.

“Sure, Evan,” you reply lowly. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

Breaking away from him, you swing the door open, strutting down the hallway without looking back. Your confidence has sky rocketed, knowing that he wants this just as badly as you do. You walk back out to the garden and take your earlier seat, ready for the show you’ve been promised.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

The dance routine is spectacular.

It’s cheesy and hilarious and very early 2000s inspired - it’s almost like watching a music video from a boy band you loved when you were a teenager. It should embarrass you, turn you off majorly, but… it doesn’t. It only does the opposite.

Everything Buck does makes you like him more.

You spend the rest of the evening dancing, laughing, and floating on cloud nine. In a garden in Italy, surrounded by your best friends - you can’t think of anywhere else you’d rather be.

As the evening dwindles to an end, everyone slowly begins making their way back to their rooms within the villa. You sit down, unbuckling your heels to finally give your feet a rest. It almost feels like deja vu when a rocks glass is placed down in front of you on the table.

“Hi, Evan.”

“Hi gorgeous.”

“What’s this?”

“A drink.”

“Yes, but why?”

He pulls out the chair in front of you and sits down, looking at you intently.

“Thought we could have a nightcap before we go upstairs.”

You look around to find that mostly everyone has decided to call it a day. You can see Lucy and Danny walking off hand in hand, going for a stroll around the grounds before they let the wedding officially be over. It just leaves you and Buck, sat in your original places.

“Is this Baileys?”

“Yes ma’am. Do you like it? I figured you probably wouldn’t want another whiskey, seeing as you’ve had so many.”

You scoff, trying to fight the grin that threatens to take over your face.

“I’ve had, like, four, thank you very much.”

He holds his hands up in mock surrender, making you chuckle as you shake your head.

“Cheers, Evan,” you toast, clinking your glass against his matching one. “We did it. A wedding without a hitch. Mostly.”

“My shirt will never be white again, but besides that, we did a pretty good job.”

“We make a good team.”

He looks slightly taken aback by your honesty, trying to hide his smirk.

“Yes, we do. A super hot, super funny team.”

“A super hot, super funny team.”

You both laugh, heads thrown back with no cares in the world. Buck shuffles his chair forward so his legs are slotted on either side of you, warm skin radiating into yours. The moonlight is glinting off of his cheekbones, illuminating the light streaks in his hair. You’re a little tipsy and much too tired to fully fight your feelings anymore.

He’s beautiful, and you’re sick of denying it.

The two of you finish off your drinks, sat in a comfortable silence beneath the starry night sky. His hand has found its way onto your thigh, thumb rubbing gentle patterns into your bare skin. You’re sneaking glances at him when he looks away, admiring the way he’s glowing, buzzed off of the alcohol and the excitement of the day. He’s doing the same with you, soft smile etched onto his face as he watches you gaze up at the stars above your heads.

A yawn escapes you, making both of you chuckle.

“I’ll walk you to your room?”

“Well, you better. I’m the only one of us with a key for that big door.”

He laughs even harder, shaking his head.

“Yeah, I forgot about that. If you weren’t here, I’d have slept on the floor in the hallway or something.”

“Probably wouldn’t be the first time,” you mutter, standing up and tucking your chair under the table.

“Sorry, what was that? Say it again? Hmm? Hmm?” he wraps his arms around your middle, spinning you so your feet are no longer on the floor.

“Okay, okay! Put me down before I throw up,” you shriek, giggling like a teenager.

He places you back down, hands on your hips to steady you. You look up at him, keeping your eyes fixed on his to steady yourself from the dizziness. When you feel ready to go, you clear your throat, willing yourself to walk away before you kiss him stupid.

“We should go to bed,” you whisper, afraid to ruin the moment.

“Yeah?”

“Separate beds,” you tell him sternly, chuckling when he cackles.

“Yes ma’am.”

Buck walks you back to your room in a gentlemanly fashion, looping your arm through his to keep you both upright. When you reach your door, your fingers linger on the handle, as if you’re not quite ready to go inside just yet.

Reaching out gently, he moves a strand of hair from your face, fingertips brushing your cheekbone as he does it. You sigh softly, eyes fluttering shut at the sweet contact.

“Goodnight, gorgeous,” he murmurs lowly. “Sweet dreams.”

“Goodnight.”

He takes a step back towards his door when you speak again.

“Evan?”

“Hmm?”

“Thank you.”

“For?”

“Everything, today. You’ve been a damn good best man.”

“Well, thank you. For being the best maid of honour.”

You nod, smiling like an idiot as you unlock your door and shut it behind you. You take a deep breath when you’re finally inside, throwing down your heels onto the floor and your purse onto the side table. Reaching behind you, your fingers tug at the zipper on your dress, attempting to pull it down.

It’s only now you realise your dilemma. The zipper is on an awkward place on your back, right where you can’t get to. You think quickly back to this morning - one of the bridesmaids doing the dress up for you, pulling the material taut as she fastened it. You’re not going to be able to get this off yourself.

Finding the purse that you discarded minutes earlier, you aim to find a hair clip. If you can loop a bobby pin into the zipper, you think, you might be able to pull it yourself. You root around in it for a second, before pulling out two phones.

Well, fuck.

You’d completely forgotten that Evan had given it to you earlier in the evening, worried that it was going to get broken if it stayed in his back pocket. You’d tucked it away and not thought about it again.

Until now.

Now, you’re realising that you’re going to have to go and give it back. He probably hasn’t remembered that you have it, otherwise you’re sure he’d be knocking on the door or yelling across the hallway.

You stand in the middle of your room, with two phones and a stuck zipper, wondering if the universe thinks this is funny.

You’re certainly not laughing.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

“Evan?”

He swings the door open, facing you in his suit trousers with no shirt on.

“Hey. You okay?”

“Yeah. I, uh, I have your phone.”

Holding it out to him, his fingertips brush yours as he takes it from you, sending a shiver up your spine.

“Oh, shit. I forgot about this. Thanks, pretty.”

“Of course.”

You stand and look at each other for a second, so much left unsaid.

“Can I ask you for a favour?”

“Anything.”

His instantly willingness has butterflies fluttering in your stomach, flitting and lightweight and undeniable.

“Can you help me get my dress off?”

When he smirks and goes to speak, you cut him off quickly.

“The zipper is stuck, Evan. Alice zipped me up this morning and I can’t undo it by myself.”

“This is a very long winded way of asking me to get you naked, gorgeous.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes.

“If that’s what I wanted, I would just ask you, Buckley.”

“Uh huh. Sure.”

“Can you help me or not?”

He’s laughing, now, head thrown back with it. You hate the way it makes your heart sing.

“You coming in? Or you want me to undress you in the hallway?”

“You’re not undressing- fuck, you’re annoying.”

He’s still chuckling when he ushers you inside, shutting the door firmly behind you both.

“How do you wanna do this? Lights on, lights off? Curtains open or shut? Music? Candles?”

“Undo the damn zipper before I smack you.”

His laughter is rumbling through his chest, contagious in its nature. You want to be angry at him, but you just can’t seem to find it in you.

“Turn around, gorgeous.”

You spin to face the door, taking a deep breath as you anticipate his touch. You feel his warmth behind you, fingertips dancing over the skin of your shoulders before they reach your zipper. You can’t see him, but you can envisage the sight - his broad chest, thick neck, that beautiful sun kissed glow he’s developed over the past few days. Your lungs heave as the room suddenly feels like it’s a thousand degrees.

Buck slides the zipper down your back slowly, with intent and clarity. When it reaches your coccyx, he stops, resting his other hand on your hip to keep you steady.

You know you should step away, maybe throw him a quick thanks as you leave. But you do believe in fate, whether you like to admit it or not - and this entire night has felt like it’s been written in the stars.

Who are you to deny what the universe is so clearly gifting you?

You let your arms relax, sighing as the dress falls off of you and down to the floor. You step out of it, finally turning around to face Buck wearing nothing but your lacy white underwear. Surprisingly, there’s not an ounce of self consciousness in your body. The only thing you feel is desire.

For the first time since you’ve met him, Evan is completely speechless. His eyes rove over you, drinking in the sight in front of him, and he has to remind himself to breathe.

“You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he whispers in awe, fingers itching to reach out and touch you. “The minute I first saw you, I couldn’t believe you were real.”

“Evan?”

“Yeah?”

“Touch me, please.”

He grins, surging forward to cup your cheek with one hand while the other finds its home on your waist.

“Can I kiss you?”

“Please.”

“Finally.”

Buck leans in and presses his lips to yours surprisingly gently, testing the waters. You tangle your fingers into his hair, pulling him as close as possible. He gets the message, reeling you in and deepening the kiss until you can’t tell where he ends and you begin.

You’re being walked backwards and into the wall, pushed up against it for leverage. You hike a leg up over Bucks hip, groaning when the two of you grind forwards at the same time. His hands are everywhere - your face, tits, ass, waist - anywhere he can reach. It’s like he’s not quite sure where he wants them, as if he’s worried he’ll leave somewhere untouched.

“You’re all I’ve thought about for two days,” he’s muttering into your neck as he leaves open mouthed kisses on your skin. “Driving me crazy.”

“I got myself off last night,” you breathe, eyes fluttering shut when he sucks at the spot under your ear. “Thinking about you.”

“Fuck,” he moans, sinking down to his knees in front of you. “Tell me more. Please.”

It’s almost biblical, the sight of him. On his knees, practically begging, looking up at you like you’re his saviour. You’re dizzy with the power, blood rushing straight to your head.

Buck presses kisses into your leg, starting at your calves and moving up. When he gets to your inner thigh, he gazes up at you, pleading with his eyes for you to continue.

“Tell me more or I’ll stop,” he says sternly, hooking his fingers into your underwear to pull them down and off.

“Okay, okay,” you pant, dropping your head back against the wall. “I, I- I couldn’t stop thinking about your arms in that shirt. The, the, the-”

You’re stuttering as he licks a stripe up your core, diving in with no hesitation. His fingers are gripping your thighs so hard you know it’ll bruise, and you can’t wait to feel the imprints in the morning.

“The?”

He’s pulled away to look at you with his brow quirked, dirty smirk etched across his face.

“Keep going, gorgeous. You haven’t even got to the good part. Neither of us have.”

You scoff at him in defiance, but slide your fingers into his hair to tug him back to where you want him.

“You looked so strong,” you continue, sighing when his tongue finds your core again. “Kept thinking about how easily you could throw me around. Pick me up, sit me on your face…”

Buck groans, all deep and rumbled, and the vibrations have your legs going weak. He doubles down on his efforts, slipping his tongue inside as his nose nudges your clit. He’s a fast learner, taking mental note of the spots and pressures that make your knees buckle.

“Keep going,” he mumbles into your core.

“You keep going,” you retort, pulling at his hair.

He chuckles but obliges your request, sucking your clit into his mouth with purpose. You’re shaking, holding onto him for dear life as you reach your climax. The moan you let out is borderline pornographic, and it has Buck palming himself over his suit trousers with a groan.

“Fuck, Evan,” you pant, chest heaving as you slump into the wall. “You need to grab me before I collapse. My legs are jelly.”

Laughing as he does it, he stands up and wraps his arms around your middle, holding you against him as tightly as he can.

“You okay?” he asks, pressing a kiss into your hair.

“Better than ever.”

He rests his lips on your forehead, both of you breathing each other in for a moment.

“Can’t believe you were right across the hallway from me, trying to be quiet while you were getting yourself off,” he murmurs, fingers running up and down your back. “You should have come over here. I would have helped you.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” you tease, cupping his face in your hands. “I was still acting like I didn’t wanna rip your clothes off back then.”

“Knew you’d crack eventually,” he winks, grinning when you laugh.

You pull him into you for a kiss that’s all teeth and tongue, clearly telling him exactly what you want.

“You gonna fuck me, Evan? Or are we just gonna stand here all night?”

He shakes his head with a smirk before throwing you onto the bed, chuckling when you almost bounce back off. As he starts to crawl over to you, you stop him with a foot on his chest.

“Nuh uh. You’re wearing too many clothes. Strip, Buckley.”

“Yes ma’am.”

He’s standing up immediately, unbuttoning his pants and pulling them off in one fell swoop. His boxers are next, leaving him stood bare and beautiful in front of you.

“Fuck. You’re not real,” you breathe out, eyes dancing over him.

“Oh I am so real,” he’s reassuring, situating himself on top of you.

You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him down so you can grind your hips into his.

“I’ve been waiting two days for this,” you murmur into his lips. “Make it worth my while, please.”

“Careful what you wish for,” he teases, kissing you again with such a force that you’re dizzy.

Buck sucks a bruise into your collarbone, licking a stripe up your sternum and tasting the salt that sits on your skin. Your patience is wearing thinner and thinner, anticipation bubbling up in your veins.

“How’d you want it?” he whispers into your ear.

“Just- deep. Wanna feel you for the rest of the weekend.”

He groans, a breathless chuckle leaving his lips.

“Anything you want, gorgeous. I’ll give you anything you want. Anything in the world.”

His lust drunk rambling makes you giggle, wiggling your hips into his to hopefully hurry him up. You tug at his hair, pulling his face so it’s level with yours.

“Now, Evan. Can’t wait any longer. Please.”

“Fuck. You’re so pretty when you beg.”

He lines himself up, pressing his forehead to yours as the two of you connect. He’s big and he’s stretching you out just right and you think you might have died and gone to heaven. You both groan, panting into each others mouths.

“Fuck, baby. It’s like you were made for me.”

The baby sends warmth running through both your core and your heart, all the signals setting your nervous system on fire.

“Please,” you whimper, kissing him with desperation as you tangle your fingers in his curls and pull. “Please, Evan.”

“I’ve got you,” he’s mumbling, pulling his hips back and sliding them forwards with clear intent.

Reaching up beside your head, Buck pulls a pillow down and situates it under your hips, putting you where he wants you.

“Want you to feel me as deep as possible,” he murmurs, tucking his head into the crook of your neck. “Won’t be able to walk tomorrow.”

You can only moan at the promise, praying he delivers. There’s a shiny sheen of sweat covering his sun kissed skin, making him glow in the moonlight like some sort of angel. Sent just for you.

Buck sets a steady rhythm, not too fast but just fast enough. He clearly knows what he’s doing, and you ignore the pang of jealousy in your chest at the idea of him with another woman, even in the past.

Now that you’ve had a taste of this, you don’t want to let it go.

He’s pressing kisses onto whatever skin he can reach - your neck, your collarbone, underneath your ear. His hips never cease, determined to get you both to where you need to be. When he hitches one of your legs over his waist, you can’t help but drop your head back, eyes fluttering shut at the new angle.

He tilts his hips upwards, and hits a spot that has you keening. Speech has left you, and all you can do now is take it like you were made for it.

“Right there? Yeah? That’s it, isn’t it?”

You nod frantically, sucking in a shuddering breath like you’ve been under water. Your legs have started to shake, and Buck’s grinning when he thinks about how far he can push you before you’re at your limit.

“Come on, pretty girl. Give it to me.”

You’re so close you can taste it, desperate to find this release that’s been building for the last forty eight hours. When Buck moves his hand from your hip to your throat and squeezes just slightly, you snap.

You’re coming with a breathless moan, back arching into him to plaster your fronts together.

“Shit, you look so beautiful when you come. Jesus.”

You manage a soft smile, looking up at him to see those bright eyes staring into yours. He looks entranced, as if he’s staring at a piece in an art gallery. You swipe his hair back from his sweaty forehead, teasing your thumb across his bottom lip. When he sucks it into his mouth, your jaw drops open, mind foggy with arousal.

“Think you can give me another one? Let me see you come all pretty again?” he asks around your digit, tongue laving over your skin.

“Mhmm,” you’re agreeing before you can even process it, eager to please.

“That’s my girl.”

He moves your fingers from his mouth back into his hair as his find your throat once more, applying a little pressure. His hips pick up their pace, faster and harder than before. He’s fucking you into the mattress, strong arms keeping you from sliding off the bed.

He looks breathtaking, on top of you like this. He’s so broad, towering over you like he’ll shield you from the entire world if he has to. It feels like it’s just the two of you in the whole universe, unbothered by anything or anyone else.

“Buck- I… I-”

“I know, baby. Can feel it. Atta girl.”

You pull him down to kiss you as you reach your third climax of the night, arms wrapping around his neck so every inch of you is pressed together.

“There we go, good girl. That’s it, yeah. It’s yours, baby. It’s all yours.”

Buck finally finds his release, triggered by yours. His head drops into your neck, his frantic breath tickling your skin. You murmur sweet nothings into his ear, talking him through it as he shudders and shakes. Eventually, he collapses completely onto you, body weight pinning you down.

You’re both heaving for air, lungs burning as you try to regain an ounce of composure.

He murmurs something into your shoulder, the vibrations of it rumbling through your bones.

“Hmm?”

“You called me Buck.”

A breathless laugh escapes you, silvery and melodic.

“I’ve been trying not to for two days.”

“I know. You thought you were making a point.”

“I was making a point.”

“Sure, honey. Sure.”

“I hate you,” you grumble, but you can’t wipe the grin off your face. “I also hate that we’ve just made Lucy and Danny the happiest people ever.”

“Oh, shit. I hate it when they’re right.”

He pulls his head from your neck to look at you, resting his cheek against your chest so he can gaze up and into your eyes.

“I’m sure we can keep this a secret for a little while.”

“Yeah… we can’t.”

You quirk your brow at him in a silent question.

“I told Danny I was gonna marry you the minute you walked into the rehearsal dinner in that red dress. Can’t hide how I feel about you, gorgeous. It’s physically impossible.”

You can’t help but laugh, running your fingers through his hair to scratch at his scalp.

“Take me on a date first. Then we’ll talk about marriage, okay?”

“You did say forever, earlier.”

“That I did. Maybe my heart knew something my brain didn’t.”

Buck grins up at you, all blinding and giddy.

“The best man and the maid of honour, huh?”

“That old cliche,” you chuckle. “We weren’t the first, and we won’t be the last.”

“You’ll be my last, gorgeous.”

“Real smooth, Buck. Real smooth.”

“Buck,” he whispers, half in amusement, half in awe.

He could get used to this. You both could.

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