#cos there would always be a friend or two who got down around this time cos they didnt have a date/partner

[itneverendshere]

LOVED YOU AT YOUR WORST - r.c series - FIVE

pairings: ex!sweethearts; rafe x thornton!reader; rafe x sofia. chapter warnings: mention of pregnancy; abortion; lack of self-care

You’ve had to make a lot of unfortunate decisions in your life.

Choosing a place for your entire family to rest for eternity, picking the caskets, the headstones—it felt like deciding which curtains to buy for the house, except you were burying your entire close family.

After the crash, your parents were gone instantly, just like that—no goodbyes, no warning, just there one moment and gone the next.

But your sister survived. Three days. You thought maybe that was a sign, she’d live despite everything, and you wouldn’t be left alone.

Two weeks later, the doctors told you it was time, but you couldn’t accept it. You held her hand, begging her to stay, telling her every promise you could think of if she opened her eyes.

When the monitors finally went flat, you couldn’t feel anything but desperation. Rafe had to pull you out of there, his arms locked around you while you kicked and screamed, sobbing and begging your sister not to go, not to leave you here.

You fought him with everything you had left, clawing, crying, pleading for just one more second. You were screaming so loud you didn’t even recognize your voice. Everything good had been ripped away from your hands, there was nothing left of the world you’d known.

After that, you remember sitting in some stuffy funeral home office, skimming through catalogs and hardly seeing the pages through your tears. The caskets all looked the same, the types of wood made no difference to you, fabric linings, all of it felt so wrong. 

None of it was a choice you should have to make. 

It was unthinkable to be contemplating about gravestones. How could you sum up your family in limited words or dates, let alone choose a font for it?

You just picked something neutral and blank, something that didn’t require thought or emotion because, by then, you had nothing left to give. 

Now you were trapped again, caught between a rock and a hard place.

Your first thought had been telling Topper, your only real family left, but he was as much Rafe’s as he was yours, and when it came down to it, he was still his best friend. Loyal to him since they were five, and jesus knows how he’d react if he found out about this. He’d most likely freak the fuck out and tell Rafe everything, thinking he was doing the right thing, or worse, letting it slip to Ruthie.

Ruthie—no chance you’d involve her. She’d just see this as another fucked up piece of gossip she could hold over your head, another way to judge or control you. She was “friend” only in the loosest sense of the word.

Kelce was the last person you’d consider turning to for something this serious. He has always been there, but you never got close. He was too much of an instigator, always pushing Rafe to do reckless things he’d regret later, peer pressuring him in ways that made you wonder if he even knew what loyalty meant. He had this weird loyalty to Ruthie, defending her comments as if she was some misunderstood angel when really, she was just… mean.

So that left Sarah. 

It felt weird, thinking of her as the person you’d call on for something so serious, she was the only one who felt… safe. She wouldn’t judge, wouldn’t pry, she’d seen what the worst kind of family conflict could do, and she’d keep this private, just for you.

It’s then you recognized how small your world was. How few people were truly yours.

You were pretty sure no one in this town would fully understand, they’d just offer their "advice," as if they knew you, seen what you’d been through. 

The truth was, they didn’t know shit. They hadn't seen you holding your sister’s hand, begging her to stay alive. They didn’t know what it was like to bury everything that made you feel like a person, like you belonged somewhere, and have to get up the next day like nothing happened.

Nine days, you would be halfway across the country, and you needed someone. You pictured saying it out loud: “I’m pregnant", just those two words, to someone’s face, you had no idea what to say next.

Maybe you’d tell them that it wasn’t about wanting it gone out of spite or shame, but because you couldn’t bring a child into a world where you felt this alone.

Earlier that morning, you’d stared down at your phone, thumb itching to click on Sarah’s name, like just pressing "call" could fix everything. You despised how needy it made you feel—reaching out, when you’d prided yourself on surviving alone. 

You didn’t have much time to ponder about it, because you were stuck at the beach cleanup.

Just like every other summer, another "social responsibility" event that your late father’s foundation insisted you smile through. Even back then, when they were alive, your summers were a carousel of charity galas, fundraisers, endless hours of small talk, and impeccably arranged seating charts.

The board members of the foundation probably thought it would “ground” you—remind you of your privilege, of your “responsibility” to give back. As if a couple of hours and a few bags of garbage would somehow balance the scales. They never seemed to understand how much of it was all for show, this shallow idea that if you looked the part, no one would care to learn more.

But, still, you’d show up. You always did. Smile, make just enough small talk to appease the right people. 

Today, it was just you, a few kids and teens dotted along the beach with oversized trash bags. It wasn’t even noon, but the sun felt like it was scorching you alive. It was laughable, really, standing under this blistering sun with a cheap trash bag and an endless stretch of sand to clean. 

Kie, who was so genuinely invested in this whole “save the planet” thing it was almost enviable was there too with JJ, who was running around her as usual, wearing his ‘I’m just here for the ride’ expression but enjoying himself. The love between them made you miss having someone who cared in ways that weren’t just calculated moves.

She waved at you from the shoreline, her eyes moving to the trash bag you were barely half-filling.

You weren’t friends, but if Sarah liked her, you did too.

You offered a faint smile back, tired, because between all the shit you’d been thinking about, you'd forgotten to eat, to drink anything, and every time you leaned down to grab another crumpled plastic bottle or a bit of seaweed-laden garbage, you felt like your legs were about to give out on you. 

Every now and then, she would throw a quick, appraising glance your way, like she was expecting you to miraculously become invested in the beach’s ecosystem.

You didn’t have it in you to pretend this was enjoyable today. The “effortless” philanthropy your family loved was a lifestyle you’d never bought into. It didn’t matter how many smiling photos of you had ended up on some charity’s social media—you knew you’d rather be anywhere else.

You had to take a break every few minutes, leaning against a pier post, trying to get yourself together as a few of the younger kids gave you wary glances. You could have left—probably should have.

You managed a tight-lipped smile, giving a thumbs-up that said, Just doing great over here, guys!

You were in a long t-shirt, which hung over your bikini and shorts, the fabric slightly oversized, to help hide what was still a small change in your body. Paranoia was your new best friend, always worrying that someone would notice something different, even if you didn’t have a noticeable bump yet.

Bending down to grab another plastic bottle, you felt a stab of nausea hit you hard, rolling up from your stomach, thick and sour, but you ignored it. Not here. Not now.

You straightened up too fast, and your vision blurred slightly, that familiar sense of vertigo hitting you. You took a shallow breath, ignoring the burn at the back of your throat, your hands shaking slightly as you adjusted the bag slung over your shoulder.

One girl looked up at you with these wide eyes kids like to pull, “Are you okay?” 

You smiled, brushing it off as if you weren’t about two seconds away from collapsing. “Of course. Just... need a second.” 

The kids were watching you again, with that look of curiosity. You couldn’t look them in the eye. It wasn’t their fault. They just didn’t understand that sometimes the grown-ups didn’t know what they were doing either. 

Just a few more bags of trash and you’d be able to get back to your car, maybe grab some water from the cooler in the trunk, sit down, and think about it.

This used to be easy, you got a weird kind of enjoyment from these cleanups, running around with your sister, making it a competition to see who could pick up the most trash, laughing until your stomachs hurt over stupid jokes about jellyfish and sunscreen. Back then, this was just one of a thousand little family traditions, one of those things that felt effortless.

Now, sweat dripped down the back of your neck, making your skin prickle uncomfortably.

You’d long given up wiping it away, knowing that it would only come back thicker and hotter the next second. Every instinct told you to run off to the parking lot, and sit in the car with the AC blasting until your body remembered it didn’t hate you.

Leaning down for one last bottle wedged in the sand, your legs wobbled and gave way beneath you. Just like that, your vision was spotty, as if someone had turned down the brightness on the entire beach, and you pitched forward.

Just as you felt yourself going down, a hand caught your arm, pulling you back up.

"Whoa, whoa, you okay?" A teenage boy, maybe sixteen, gripped your arm firmly, keeping you upright.

How much longer could they realistically expect you to go on, plastering on that sweet, dutiful smile? How much “grounding” could one person take?

You blinked, trying to clear the haze in your eyes, "I’m fine. Just a little lightheaded, really, it’s fine,” you insisted, but then a shadow loomed beside you. 

Your vision was so foggy that it took seconds for you to register it.

You looked up slowly, feeling a familiar drop in your stomach as you realized who it was.

The last time you’d been this close to him, the two of you had been screaming insults across the room, Lily having to physically step in. She’d forced him to leave before you two killed each other. It was a miracle you hadn’t punched him then and there.

 “You should sit down.”

It felt like a sidekick to your chest.

The sound of his voice was grinding on your nerves, and just like that you were stuck back in your dream, a real memory, leaning against him, his hand playing with a strand of your hair as he laughed at something you’d said, the two of you carefree under a golden sunset. 

Except this was real.

Rafe was shirtless, with his board tucked under one arm, surf wax staining his fingers, and the sun glinting off his damp skin, like he was God’s gift to the Outer Banks. His buzzed hair was dark and wet, droplets trailing down his temples and catching along his jawline. His cheeks were flushed, a little red from the heat.

You looked away, somewhere over his shoulder, anywhere but at him, refusing to let him see you in this fragile state.

“Go away. I’m fine.”

But he didn’t move.

He’d been summoned from your absolute worst memories, catching you at your lowest when you least wanted his help. Typical. 

“No,” he refused firmly, with that stupid, stubborn look that made you want to throw something at his head. “I’ve seen you almost fall three times now.”

“Maybe if you stopped looking at me like a creep, you wouldn’t have to see me ‘almost fall.”

“I wasn’t—"

You grounded your teeth, “Just go back to surfing.”

Rafe let out a dry laugh, shaking his head as if you were the one acting crazy. “Yeah, 'cause you look perfectly stable right now.”

He'd always been a master of the passive-aggressive half-sneer, the art of making you feel like everyone else was imposing on his day, no matter the situation.

“Don’t act like you care.” you snapped, voice carrying over the sand, earning a few glances from nearby kids.

He ran a hand over his face, looking around as if he didn’t want to be there any more than you did, mouth pressed into a tight line. You wanted to scream that this was his fault too, that every choice he’d made led to you standing here alone, exhausted, and terrified.

“Water would help, y’know”, his tone just shy of patronizing “You can’t go around dehydrating yourself just to make a point.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

Your fingers twitched with the urge to send him stumbling to the other side of the beach, you knew that any sudden movement would make you light-headed again, and the last thing you wanted was to give him more proof of your weakness.

The kid—still standing there, eyes wide and darting between you both—looked like he was watching a reality TV show when Kiara appeared at your side.

“Let’s not do this here,” she begged under her breath, handing you a bottle of water she’d brought over, a kindness you didn’t want but couldn’t reject. “Just sit down for a second, please?”

JJ followed, always with that air of easygoing nonchalance, but his eyes were serious as he glanced from you to Rafe.

“She’s right. Just take a second, yeah?” He looked over at Rafe, “Maybe you should leave,” he said pointedly.

“Maybe you should mind your fuckin’ business Maybank.”

“Look, uh,” the kid stammered, knowing he could get caught in the crossfire. “I’ll… I’ll go see if anyone needs help further down the beach…”

You waved him off, your focus still locked on Rafe as the kid all but bolted away, you didn’t want anyone to think they had to “rescue” you.

You tried to take a step back, but the little strength you had in you disappeared as you felt your knees wobble.

"Jesus," you heard him groan, and then his hands were on your arms, board on the sand, holding you as you stumbled. "I told you to sit down."

You shook his hands off, "Don’t tell me what to do.”

It was hard to believe the two of you had once burned hotter than any bonfire, two people who got under each other’s skin, in love, and in hate.

He let out an exasperated sigh while you took a sip from the water Kiara handed you, ignoring how your hands were still shaking around the bottle. 

She spoke again, trying to be the voice of reason, "We’re here to help the community, remember?"

JJ smirked, "Yeah, think the sea turtles are rooting for y’all to work out your issues somewhere else.”

You ignored his joke, keeping your eyes on Rafe, your pride and stubbornness refusing to let him win, “I’m fine.”

“Yeah?”

He looked you over, his gaze fixed to your warm cheeks and the dewy sheen across your temple, “You look real fine, don’t you?” He didn’t even try to cloak his sarcasm.

God, he could be so exasperating.

He couldn’t understand. How could he even think he could look at you now and know anything about who you were? Standing there, with that stupid board and that look, like he couldn’t imagine anything bothering him as much as this seemed to be bothering you.

As if he hadn’t already ruined you in so many ways that felt impossible to get over. 

“Don’t you have something better to do?” 

“Oh, believe me, I do,” he drawled, his eyes trailing from the waves back to you. 

You were tired of this game, of fighting him every time he showed up only to leave you feeling even emptier than before.

Your fists clenched, and you opened your mouth to hurl something back, but the dizziness hit you again. Before you could compose yourself, Rafe’s arm wrapped around your waist, strong and frustratingly secure, holding you upright with an ease that made your skin crawl.

He had seen you at your weakest, had been there at the hospital after the accident, keeping you together when you were certain you’d break. 

Yet, here you were, in a sick way, back in his arms, all broken apart.

“That’s it. I’m taking you to the hospital.”

“I hate to say it, but he’s right,” JJ chimed in, hand shielding his eyes from the sun.

The world alone had all kinds of alarms going off in your brain. You fought back instinctively, your hands pushing at his chest, freeing your arm. 

“I told you, I’m fine.”

He let go, but he didn’t back away.

Instead, he narrowed his eyes, “You think I don’t know what fine looks like? I was there.”

He was there. And you didn’t want to be reminded of it, not in front of other people. 

He meant the exhaustion and hunger pains you’d welcomed after your family was gone, embraced even, because it meant you wouldn’t have to feel anything else.

You’d wanted to disappear, and he’d been there—dragging you back, forcing you to drink water and swallow bites of food, even when you pushed him away. He’d seen you at your absolute lowest, where you didn’t care if you made it through the day. 

The thought of the hospital, tests, questions, you fought it, but your vision was already blurring.

You couldn’t let him find out about the baby. 

Your breathing felt tighter, each shallow breath only making the spinning worse, you could sense your body giving in to the exhaustion

“Shit,” you heard him curse, sounding distant now like he was farther away. 

You felt yourself sway as if the ground was opening beneath you, there was a ringing in your ears that made his voice sound muffled but you still felt his arms catching you again, holding you upright before you fell.

Waking up in a moving vehicle was like emerging from a nightmare, except somehow, this was worse, because you were no longer at the beach. 

You blinked hard, desperate to wipe the fogginess in your eyes and when it did go away, you realized who was behind the wheel. 

Rafe. 

Your heart pounded—your desperation to keep the baby a secret, how you almost passed out at the beach, and the fact that now he was most likely driving you to the hospital.

“What the hell are you doing?” you practically screamed, your voice hoarse from the lack of water.

He didn’t spare you a glance, “You passed out, genius. I’m taking you to the hospital.”

Your whole body went rigid. “Are you insane?”

“Me?” He scoffed, as he kept his focus on the road. “You practically ate sand back there. You’re not fine.”

“Turn the car around. I’ll call my driver and be fine.” You huffed like he was too dumb to understand. “I don’t need your help.”

He let out a dry laugh, still not looking at you. 

“Yeah. You’re out of your mind if you think I’m letting you out of this car right now.”

“Rafe, I’m not kidding,” you warned, louder this time. “Stop. The. Car.”

He gave you a sideways glance, his grip on the wheel tightening.

“Not happening.”

Your heart hammered as you realized he wasn’t going to back down, you were driven by sheer desperation.

“Fine, then I’ll do it myself." you muttered, reaching for the door handle. 

Anything to get out of this suffocating car before he dragged you all the way to the ER and they found out you were pregnant—with his baby, no less.

His eyes widened, finally snapping from the road to your hand on the handle.

“Are you crazy? Get your hand off that, I’m fuckin' serious.”

You yanked at it anyway, twisting the handle and pulling with spiteful defiance, and Rafe’s expression went from annoyed to full-on rage. He swerved the car to the side of the road, tires skidding as he slammed the brakes and practically threw the car into park.

Before he could even stop fully, you flung the door open and stumbled out, sandals sinking into the gravel as you stalked away.

You didn’t get more than a few feet, he was already bolting after you.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” you muttered, digging your nails into your palms. 

How the hell had it come to this? You were stuck here, pregnant with his child, and he played the reluctant hero like you needed him swooping in to save you.

Rafe reached you in two strides, his fingers were digging into his forehead, pointing at it with exasperation imprinted into every corner of his face. 

“Are you out of your fuckin' mind?” He sounded like he was talking to some unruly child.

And the worst part? You could see that frustration in his eyes, the same look he used to give you when he’d reached his limit with you.

You wondered if he ever got to that point with Sofia.

What would he do if she was the one almost fainting? Would he still look like she was some colossal burden, or would he soften, maybe even smile as he fussed over her, acting like he wanted to help?

You hated yourself for caring at all.

Sofia—the one who looked like she'd been ripped off from some perfect postcard, all wide-eyed sweetness and gentle smiles. She probably never challenged him, snapped back, or made him want to pull his hair out.

There was no way he’d look at her like she was a mess, someone he just had to “deal with.” He likely saw her as easy, perfect, all soft and sweet words, everything you weren’t.

This wasn’t who you wanted to be, and yet here you were, stumbling around half-dead and pregnant with his child.

“I’m sorry, am I bothering you?” You spat the words, watching his jaw clench tighter. 

He exhaled sharply, rolling his eyes. 

“Unbelievable. Only you could take me trying to help and turn it into this.”

You were done. You were done with the memories, with the torment of seeing him be something better for someone else. 

“Help?” You laughed bitterly, the anger engulfing you so hard it felt as if it choking you. “You think this is help? That I need you, of all people?”

He took a step back, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “I'm trying to help."

You hated how calm he was, how rational he sounded.

It was maddening when all you wanted was for him to get angry, to let that icy surface crack, to give you even a glimpse of something real, something that wasn’t just irritation or sarcasm.

You wanted proof that he still was affected by you, that this was the same guy who used to be everything, who’d promised you everything.

But you swallowed it down, straightening up, because there was no way in hell, you’d let him see even a hint of weakness.

“Trust me,” you shot back, “I’ll be just fine without you.”

He raised an eyebrow, a bitter smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, “Get in the car.”

“No,” you said, firm and unyielding, every inch of you screaming that you wouldn’t let him decide anything for you ever again.

“Fine. Have it your way.”

In one swift move, he reached out, his hands gripping your arms with enough pressure to pull you forward, lifting you clean off your feet. Your breath caught in a furious gasp as he practically dragged you back to the car, his fingers warm against your skin, like you were just a mild convenience. 

“Put me down!” 

You struggled against his hold, jabbing at his chest with what little strength you could muster, but he didn’t even flinch, didn’t so much as hesitate. 

“Rafe, I swear—”

He opened the passenger door with one hand, keeping a firm grip on you with the other, before finally setting you down—not gently—onto the seat. Without meaning to, tears began falling as you struggled against his hands. You could feel them wetting your cheeks, your voice was breaking, jumping to distress as you tried to twist out of his hold, feeling so small under his unrelenting strength.

He almost knelt in front of you, reaching for the seat belt with one hand, while his other remained firmly on your shoulder, holding you still. You felt trapped, impresioned as you tried to turn in every direction, hands weakly pushing him back, but he caught them effortlessly.

“Stop!” you meekly choked out, failing to shove him, the words coming out shameful.

You could feel your heart breaking all over again.

You hated that he was seeing you like this, how he dared to act like you needed him—it made your skin crawl. You hated that he could do this, like he had any right like you’d ever wanted him involved in this part of your life, let alone now.

This was a version of you only Rafe could bring out.

You glared up at him, practically shaking with rage as Rafe ignored your protests like you were nothing more than a child throwing a fit. 

“Get your hands off me.”

His jaw tightened, ignoring the flailing punches and slaps grazing him, and you couldn’t stop the sob that escaped, loud and ugly.

“I’m not letting you kill yourself out of spite.”

Your chest hurt like you’d been run over a hundred times—it felt suffocating. “I hate you.”

For the first time, you thought he might actually leave you here. 

His fingers stopped as if your words had made an impact, his lips pressed into a thin line. Your vision blurred as he leaned in, his touch hovering as if to wipe away the tear running down your cheek, but he didn’t, instead, he closed his hand into a fist and drew back, his face just inches from yours. 

A faint, humorless smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he clicked the seatbelt into place. He made a low humming noise, that thing he did when he was getting ready to make someone feel two inches tall. 

 "Yeah? Get in line."

Without another word, he pulled back, slamming the door shut, and walking around to the driver’s side.

You wiped at your cheeks, furious that he’d seen you like this, that he had the power to break you down. It was humiliating, sitting here in his car, every part of your body screaming to escape. 

He got in, started the engine, neither of you spoke.

Rafe drove fast, every rev of the engine matching the churning in your stomach perfectly. You sat there, trembling, the dread building with every mile that passed. You gripped the seatbelt so hard it felt like your entire body might go numb, and stared straight ahead, breathing shallow, trying to ignore the sting in your eyes.

You bit back another wave of nausea. Weakness.

You’d already shown him too much. 

You didn’t need a lecture from some doctor on how you “should’ve taken better care of yourself", let alone with Rafe there, watching, scrutinizing, acting like this was his business when he’d made it clear long ago that it wasn’t. He was in your space in the worst way, reopening all the wounds.

You were seething. He had no right to do this.

The thought made you want to drop dead—doctor would walk in, casually drop the news about the baby, and you'd be left watching his reaction in real time.

You looked at the entrance to the ER. The vision of anyone running tests, of some well-meaning nurse, coming in and spilling everything about the baby in front of him—no way. You wouldn’t let that happen.

He wasted no time getting out, moving around to your side, while you sat rigidly, staring straight ahead. His hand was already on the door, yanking it open, looking down at you like he was ready to drag you inside if he had to.

You weren’t moving. You knew the second you stepped inside, it would be over. 

“C’mon,” Rafe pressed, his hand outstretched, hovering there like he thought he could compel you to listen. “Stop being so stubborn.”

You crossed your arms over your stomach, refusing to meet his eyes.

“I’m not going in.”

Rafe let out a sigh, nearing his limit, and knelt down to your level.

“Look, you passed out. I’m not leaving until you get checked out.”

“You’re gonna be here for a while then.”

“Would you stop?” His voice softened for the first time, as if he was trying to reach some part of you that he thought still cared. “You look like you haven’t slept in days, like you haven’t eaten anything that wasn’t out of a vending machine. I know you don’t want my help, but can you just stop for a second and—”

“And what?” you interrupted.

“And think! If you don’t get in there, I’ll drag you in myself.”

Your heart raced, “You wouldn’t dare.”

Rafe stepped closer; his jaw set in determination. “Try me.”

“You’re not coming in."

He blinked like the idea hadn’t even occurred to him. “What?”

Maybe he was seeing the protection you’d built up around yourself since he left, how there was no longer any crack left open for him to slip through.

“I don’t need you. I don’t want you in there.”

“Fine.” His tone was clipped, restrained. “But I’ll be right here.”

You slammed the door shut behind you, not letting him your legs still shaking. You’d rather collapse face-first into the concrete than give him the satisfaction of listening to him. 

“Yeah, you do that,” you replied, turning and walking toward the entrance, refusing to look back.

Stepping inside, you felt a slight tremor run through you—part relief, part panic. The lights were too bright, almost white. Your heart wobbled, replaying how he’d been such a fucking asshole to you.

You’d forgotten how mean he could be, how easily he could go from angry to something so frigid it made you want to cry yourself to sleep.

“Hi there,” The receptionist greeted, her eyes moving over you with a professional once-over, “What brings you in today?”

You forced a small smile, knowing she wouldn’t buy it.

“Just…got a little dehydrated, that’s all.”

“Okay…let’s just get some basic information.” She clicked into her computer, her fingers poised over the keyboard. “Name?”

You cleared your throat, rattling off your full name, she nodded, typing it in.

“Have you experienced any other symptoms besides dizziness?”

“Nothing serious,” you replied, dismissively. “It’s just the heat, like I said. I just need some water and I’ll be good as new.”

This had to be a fucking nightmare you got sucked in, you could sense your blood pressure spike.

She tapped her screen and glanced back at you.

“Alright, Miss Thornton, it looks like we’ll just need a few quick details here to get you all checked in. Can I start with your insurance provider?”

A chuckle almost slipped out of you. Insurance—God, you were fine with insurance. What you weren’t okay with was everything else. You answered, “Blue Cross.”

She asked for your birthdate, which you gave on autopilot, hoping she’d skip any weird or invasive questions. “Any allergies?”

You shook your head. Please, just let this be over. 

“It’s really not a big deal,” You blurted out, giving her a thin smile and forcing calm into your voice. “I just need the IV. You know, standard stuff.”

“Of course, dear. We’ll get things started, it will include routine tests, like bloodwork, just to be safe.”

Bloodwork. Perfect. You were doing everything you could to keep from falling into that spiraling panic mode. 

Please, just get me in, get me out, and don’t find anything.

“Just head down to Room 12.”

All you could think was that you wanted this to be over—before the whole town, or worse, he, found out. It made you want to scream. He was the last person who should be outside.

This was his fault. You’d never be here if he hadn’t shown up.

The next hour passed in seconds—questions, forms, an IV drip.

They’d done blood work, too, but you’d sighed in relief when they’d told you the results wouldn’t be ready immediately. As far as they knew, you’d just overdone it, and now, as you lay on a cot in a room that reeked of sick people, all they’d prescribed was rest, hydration, and food.

When the nurse asked if anyone could pick you up, the thought of calling someone, asking them to see you like this, made you delirious. You didn’t need anyone; you were perfectly fine on your own.

But you also didn’t want Rafe and his delusional ass to barge through the doors.

The nurse moved around you awkwardly, eyes still expectant, as if you were just a button away from a reliable “someone” to come running.

You looked at her, controlling the compulsion to yell. Little people ever bothered to check on you, to show up for more than just the drama or gossip.

Out of them, only one face bounced around in your head.

“Yeah, I got someone.”

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[scarlettmurphy]

STARCROSSED +ੈ✩‧₊˚ LOGAN HOWLETT.

logan and y/n — where you are completely in love with a man older then your father by a good 100 years.. and whose in love with another.

- content warning age gap. nsfw. sh. angst. not really happy endings! pairings: older!logan howlett x xaiver!reader

spoiler: horrible yearning!

note this is my first piece of work so i hope it’s okay! i love logan sm i had to write something for him — and this is really angsty :) pls ignore if there’s any bad grammar! i’m a bit lazy rn, also with the timeline for this fic i have no idea when im going for. im saying 2000s-2010s just remember its a bit scrambled timeline wise cos i wanted my favs here!🤭 enjoy!

you hated when he was around. you couldn’t stand it anymore. your longing glances to him, the yearning looks you gave him which were never returned and only thrown back into your face when you saw how he was looking at jean the way you looked at him.. it had all been getting too much. at first you acted like it didn’t bother you and part of your school-girl crush deluded brain pretend you were just seeing things but as the weeks / months had passed you realised that was the furthest thing from the truth.

recently you couldn’t even bring yourself to glance at him because it hurt too much and that wasn’t even being dramatic, the aching feeling in your heart wasn’t worth getting a glimpse of his timeless beauty so every time he was around you bit down the urges swallowed your pride and acted as if he was nobody to you, just a good friend. a father figure, a teammate.

it felt rude at first, to you since you were the only one noticing it, how you just stopped all those little things you were doing but you couldn’t help it or stop yourself from being like that because it was too hard to deal with — loving someone so much with all your heart but you knew you couldn’t have them. you hated to admit it but it destroyed you and that little part of you right now was falling into a full blown rage as you sat on the sofa alongside logan and wade — charles, hank, scott and rogue being present in the room too.

“i just don’t get her.” scott said out, repeating the same line over again, still bitching about the fight him and jean had after they all got back from the mission — everyone could hear the screaming and scott’s harsh gaze when he entered the room just confirmed it all and the second,of course, logan asked a question after wade made a snarky comment that set off scott and he hadn’t stopped mansplaining it since.

“yea’ well certain people don’t.” logan gruffly spoke out as y/n couldn’t stop her eyes from moving over to him at his words, feeling a sense of hurt coarse through her like it usually did whenever he spoke about jean or implied her. everyone knew what logan’s comment meant and y/n could see how scott was biting his tongue, clearly pissed off like he always was around logan. for good reason.

the tension only grew worse when scott couldn’t help himself and made a comment right back at him, his eyebrows raised as he stood from his seat. charles attention turning right to scott instead of logan, “and what’s that supposed to mean, asshole?” scott spat out like his words were venom.

rogue rolling her eyes at his words as hank shared a little glance with y/n who was cursing the entire situation in her brain as she couldn’t stop herself from looking at logan — those very same feelings boiling in her body as she saw the way his mouth twitched and his jaw clenched. how protective he was getting over jean, a feeling y/n couldn’t help have been wishing for the past two years of knowing the man he would get like over her — sure in a friends way he might’ve done it before, at least that’s how she saw but it never like this.

y/n swore she could physically feel her heart aching.

“pretty sure you know what that means pal.” logan bit back harshly, his words falling to the same tone as scott’s did as scott scoffed at what he said as he bit back with full frustration as charles clearly wanted to get involved - a little grimance pictured on his face as y/n studied her fathers expression, him clearly knowing what jean meant to logan, as y/n looked away before her dad could catch her staring her eyes falling onto a pissed off scott who downed the drink he had in his hand, placing it on the table.

“she picked me.” was all scott needed to say as the weight in the room shifted heavily on logan’s end as everyone could see the way logan’s face dropped a little, that comment taking the little coy expression he had right away but y/n didn’t even bring herself to look, scott’s eyes taking her in as if he knew what she was feeling in this moment. his eyes meeting her own as y/n felt a lump form her throat — the tightness almost burning — as he tutted at how silent logan was before he walked out the room without another word.

with this the room fell silent. everyone knowing the feelings logan must’ve been harbouring right now, y/n especially, as she glanced over to him not expecting to be met with his brown eyes looking back at her as he took in her expression before he roughly got up without another word — going right over to the door.

chaeles couldn’t help himself as he spoke up firmly the second he watched logan head for the door, “logan—“

“just goin’ for a piss, wheels.” he roughly said back before the door shut right behind him.

“more like a bitchless weaping session.” wade couldn’t help say as he had left the room, hank and rogue not being able to help their little laughs from coming out as y/n bit down on the inside of her cheek limiting the feelings she was experiencing as much as she could before she stood up.

“—i’m going to shower.” y/n said out lowly, her words slipping out quickly as the others nodded or hummed in agreement, wades eyebrows furrowing as he clearly felt he knew more of the situation then the rest did but he kept that to himself.

“take some pics for me!” wade called back to her, earning a little look from charles as hank scoffed in reply.

— +ੈ✩‧₊˚

that shower was more like watching a re run of singing in the rain which y/n couldn’t help watch the entirety of for no specific reason before she eventually hoped in the shower. the faint sounds of her speakers being heard as she hummed along to the lyrics of the specific song as she felt the cold water glide down her naked body.

swallowing the pain-filled whimpers that were aching to escape her wet lips as she acted as if the water gracing against all those marks and burns on her skin wasn’t killing her inside despite her ‘little’ case of immortality. immortality sadly didn’t mean you never experienced pain and y/n was clearly the leading case proving that matter as she soon got out the shower after washing her hair and her body.

wrapping the towel around her dainty body as she took in herself in the mirror, the thoughts forming in her brain being within the ‘self loathing’ category as she exited her bathroom. her face falling once she was met with the gruff expression on logans face which turned to one of shock as his eyes scanned over y/n immediately. him swallowing his own spit as y/n hands immediately wrapped around her towel just to make sure it wouldn’t fall.

“lo— shit, i didn’t know you were here.” she quickly managed out, her face a bright shade of red as she watched as logan didn’t move his gaze off her figure.

“—wait.” not a single word escaping his lips as y/n walked over to her bed where her clothes were laid out for her.

y/n’s breath was hitched and she swore she felt all the heat rush to her face as she took in the way logan was just staring at her as she grabbed her clothes with her other hand, taking a few steps back into the bathroom before she swiftly shut the door. her mind a mess as she quickly put on her pajamas before she sprung over to the mirror to double check her appearance before she walked back out to her bedroom.

logan being in the exact same place she had left him — not a single word had left his lips and his facial expression was the exact same as y/n nervously smiled at him.

“what are you doing— uh, here?” y/n asked him swiftly, her words rushed as she swore she could hear her heartbeat in her ears as she saw logan slowly seem to come back to reality, scratching the back of his neck as his lips parted as he tried to say something.

yet it took a little for something to come out as y/n swore she felt something growing in the air as logan finally spoke, his gruff tone a little knocked back then usual, “was coming here to bitch about scott. didn’t mean to see anything i shouldn’t have.”

his words sent a little chill through y/n’s spine as she managed a little smile on her lips, no matter how fake it was she still managed it, as she looked at him. his first words being all the confirmation her heart needed in this moment as she held back her feelings as she felt her heart tense.

“it’s okay.” y/n rolled out quietly, her attention falling over to her bed as she walked over to the foot off it — sitting down on the edge of the bed as logan stayed in place, his arms crossed as he leaned against the fireplace in her room now.

“so scott, you wanna bitch?” y/n trailed off into as logan looked out the window, seemingly lost in his thoughts as he shrugged his shoulders.

“nah, not anymore.” he said, his voice low as y/n took in his hush voice — his words only adding to the building up tension that was making the air thick as y/n looked at him. her eyes taking in every inch off him and how he looked, her mind wondering how he’d feel.. how’d he’d taste.

yet her thoughts were immediately cut short.

“—you seen jean about?”

his words were like a harsh hit round the face as she felt a lump for her in throat, her mind tingling a little as she glanced over to the door. she hated this, every inch of this. she wanted to scream, punch him in the face. confess right there and there at him but she didn’t. she couldn’t.

no matter how much it killed her inside. every second without him being like a gun shot to the heart as she plainly looked back at him, a soft smile growing on her face which was so fake it was indescribable as she nodded to her bedroom door.

“her room, i guess.”

her low words were enough to make anyone know she was hurt yet of course logan didn’t, or he didn’t show he knew as he gave her a playful wink.

“thanks bub.” he said with a nod as he went to walk out the room — his hand on the door when y/n heard his muttered words.

“sleep well y/n.”

his words fell into silence as y/n watched him leave, the door closing behind him being the utmost reminder of how her feelings will probably never be acknowledged. and that harsh reality left her alone in her bedroom for the entire night and with every toss and turn her mind was on one thing and one thing only. him.

— +ੈ✩‧₊˚

[danidrabbles]

Cardinal

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

Rating: Explicit (for themes and smut).

Word count: 16.6k

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

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

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

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

THE LOOKOUT

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

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

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

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

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

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

Today you want it to be your last time here. 

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

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

“Hey, stop!”

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

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

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

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

But then he takes his hands out of his pockets.

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

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

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

“You know–” he begins.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Understanding.

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

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

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

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

“No s-sh-hit,” you retort.

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

– – – – –

Logan.

That’s his name. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Quit pitying me, Logan.”

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

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

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

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

He hums.

“And how does that work?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

THE CRAVING

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

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

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

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

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

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

When you exit the stall, you bump into someone.

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

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

“First time’s on the house.”

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

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

“She isn’t interested, pal.” 

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

“Logan?” you slur in disbelief. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Logan sighs. “Where are you going?”

“I’m leaving.”

“And then what, huh?”

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

“Yeah? Third time’s the charm?”

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

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

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

“Destroy yourself,” Logan finishes for you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

– – – – –

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

“Mornin’, sunshine.”

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ll let you two talk.” Wade winks.

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

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

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

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

“What–”

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

“Oh…,” you say, voice small. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

THE PUZZLE

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

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

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

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

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

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

He nods in greeting. “Brings you here?”

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

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

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

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

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

He nods in acknowledgement.

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

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

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

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

– – – – –

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

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

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

“I’m sorry.”

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

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

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

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

“You’re a quick study.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You can pay next time.” 

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

– – – – –

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

THE PANTRY

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It caught you off guard, it happens–”

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

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

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

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

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

“What if it wasn’t enough?”

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

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

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

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

– – – – –

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

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

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

You respond in kind. 

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

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

THE MEETING

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

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

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

You’d answered without saying a word.

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

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

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

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

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

“Sounds to me like now might be good.”

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

“Logan?”

“Still here.”

“Thank you for calling.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your palms hurt after.

– – – – –

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

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

Logan scoffs in reply. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Maybe next time.”

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

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

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

“You went there on your side?”

He hums.

“By yourself?”

He hums again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Can you do it?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Definitely,” you reply.

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

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

“I like it when I drink it with you.”

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

“See you.” 

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

THE SUMMER

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

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

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

It’s way better than champagne.

– – – – –

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wade,” Logan warns.

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

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

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

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

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

– – – – –

Apartments look weird with nothing in them.

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

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

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

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

Wade. With Vanessa. Hands interlocked.

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

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

– – – – –

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

– – – – –

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

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

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

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

You laugh, “Wade’s been talking about getting a little frame for his polaroid. You know, the polaroid that you held on to for him in The Void, after the two of you fu–”

“Yes, I know the one,” he interjects with a huff. He pauses, sighs, then says, “Consider it done.”

THE PARTY

“There you are!” Wade shouts after he opens the door. He pulls you into a hug that you return with a wide smile. Over his shoulder, you see that the apartment’s crowded, bustling with people who are there for his birthday party.

“I got you something,” you say, offering the small package to him after you step inside and hang up your coat.

“Wouldn’t have let you in if you hadn’t,” he admits as he closes the door behind you with a bang. Wade takes the package from your hand, shaking it next to his ear but hearing it make no sound in response. “Is it a cock ring?”

You can’t help but laugh at that. “Unfortunately, they were all sold out.”

“They always are,” he says, making a disappointed face. Bottom lip tucked between your teeth, you watch as he tears at the wrapping paper to reveal his gift. He makes another face when he sees it. “Well, now I feel like an asshole. This is really nice.”

“Logan helped me kidnap it,” you explain, pointing at the picture. “And the little red hearts on the frame, well, they’re your color, but they also reminded me of how much you care about people.”

When he looks at you after, it’s with genuine emotion… but Wade is Wade. “Never thought I’d say this, but I’m kind of happy you walked in here barfing up the place.”

A strange mix of embarrassment and gratitude claws its way up your neck. “Thank you.”

“We should take a new one,” he decides suddenly, pointing at the picture. “You both should be in it.” His head turns, watching as Logan approaches the two of you. “But let’s be realistic, his shoulders are so broad he wouldn’t even fit in the frame, much less his bul–”

“Stop talking about my dick, Wade,” Logan snaps.

“I was saying only good things! Jeez, so sensitive…” Wade turns, putting the picture on the kitchen table behind him where it joins all the other gifts.

“Did he like it?” Logan asks, voice low.

“Yeah,” you smile.

“Good,” he replies. “Was a nice idea.”

You eye all the other gifts, some clearer who they are from than others. “What did you get him?”

The corner of Logan’s mouth lifts as he points at a roll of silver duct tape with a small red bow on top, making you fix them both with a confused look.

“It’s an inside joke,” Logan shrugs.

Wade’s eyes sparkle, but in a rare turn of events, he doesn’t elaborate, only adds, “It’s classified. I could tell you, but then I'd have to kill you.” 

“And I have top level clearance, lieutenant,” you reply. You exhale through your nose in an amused laugh when Wade makes a surprised face that indicates you’ve gotten the reference. “What, you thought a Tom Cruise impression could save you?”

“No,” he grins, and as if on cue, the doorbell rings, “but that can. Birthday Boy duty calls, but I want it on record that I could do Top Gun, easily, while Tom would never be able to pull off Deadpool.”

– – – – –

The party settles into something comfortable, soft music in the background of lively chatter. Yukio has just finished telling you about a Professor Layton cosplay she’s doing when you excuse yourself, both your glass and your social battery empty enough to look for a momentary out. Finding your way through the crowd, you make it to the kitchen, filling your glass with water and taking a few sips. 

While you do, the music suddenly gets louder, taking over for the steady chatter. You turn around, leaning back against the kitchen counter, and watch as Wade drags Vanessa to the middle of the apartment. People make room for them, exchanging looks while Wade wraps his arm around her waist, takes her hand in his and begins dancing with her. With a laugh, she slaps him on the chest, before settling into his embrace anyway. Some follow their lead, but your eyes stay glued to them. Wade spins Vanessa under his arm, the smile on her face bright enough to light up the entire room. In return, he looks at her with so much adoration he’s almost glowing himself. It fills you with warmth to see the both of them so happy.

It hits you how you haven’t thought about this in a while. You’d decided long ago that the future wasn’t something you had to worry about, but suddenly you’ve arrived, like you’re in some alternate reality where your future is now, and that it would be nice to share it with someone. The sting behind your eyes catches you a little off guard; mixed feelings of time that has been taken from you, but also of time you’re getting back with the life you now have.

For a while now, you’ve suspected the thing inside you is gone, that there isn’t much to feed off of anymore. If it is, it would make sense that there’s room for something else.

Wade and Vanessa make it look easy, even though you know it’s been far from easy for them. You suppose that’s what it’s like, especially as you get older. It’s less about big gestures, more about small ones; someone to make you laugh, to spin you under their arm, who knows how to apologize, seeks you out during your quiet moments–

“Do you dance?”

You startle, head turning towards the voice next to you– 

“Logan,” you breathe. 

It’s like you’re seeing him for the very first time. He’s standing so close, almost touching you but not quite, heat radiating off of him nonetheless. The plaid shirt he’s wearing isn’t even buttoned and still the fabric is pulled taunt over his shoulders and the thick of his biceps. He’s grinning, his nose pulled up in an adorable scrunch, the corner of his eyes crinkling - you never noticed before, but there’s a hint of green between the hazel.

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

You like him.

All you can do is blink at him, dazed, unable to speak, even more so when he leans in a little closer, mistaking your silence for misunderstanding. “I mean, not that I– You and Wade were doing a bit earlier, it’s a reference to–” Logan straightens suddenly, his expression slipping into concern as he watches you, “Are you okay?”

You feel warm, so aware of all his attention on you that you’re afraid he might be able to see your pulse blink rapidly below the angle of your jaw. “Yeah,” you reply, voice hoarse, looking away from him to blink the leftover wetness from earlier out of your eyes. 

Anxiety claws its way into your chest, your mind coming to terms with what it’s puzzled together at such a sickening pace that there’s an immediate knot in your stomach. The party has instantly lost its shine, and you look down at the glass in your hand, gulping down its contents. You need to be alone with your thoughts, you need to think about this before–

“I gotta go,” you say in such a rush that it almost sounds like one word while you set your glass on the kitchen counter.

Logan’s eyes follow you as you push past him, grab your coat and reach for the doorknob. “Wait–”

“Bye, Logan.”

THE TABLE

Once at home, you change into something more comfortable, your mind racing while you peel your party clothes off, toss your bra aside, change into an oversized shirt and plop down on the couch after.

Despite having already established that your mind was occupied with other things for a very long time, it’s laughable in hindsight that you never noticed your feelings before. It’s not like you don’t know what Logan’s like; he’s kind, funny, supportive…

…broad, handsome.

Shit.

Why did you have to come to your senses? Things were better before that moment. Logan’s your friend, whom you met in the most unconventional way possible. It’s ridiculous to want more than what you have when what you have is good. Or to think that he would want more.

But he might.

Because you may have been occupied with depression, anxiety, recovery, and everything in between, but you were there; you remember the time you spent with him, the way he looks at you, drinks the coffee you like, laughs at your jokes, seems to know exactly when to call you, seeks you out in a crowd.

But it would change everyth– 

Actually, not a whole lot would change, if you really think about it. You already see him all the time, you’ve seen the very worst of each other, overcome a great deal of hardship together, you make each other better, his friends are your… 

friends. 

You didn’t say goodbye to Wade.

The thought comes suddenly. It was his birthday party and you didn’t even say goodbye to him before you left. You’re a terrible friend. Dread sinks into your limbs, and you reach for your phone to type out a quick, apologetic message. Just as you hit send, there’s a series of loud knocks on the door, and it makes you freeze up where you’re seated.

“Are you in there?” a muffled voice calls out.

It’s Logan, you realize, and a plethora of fake excuses as to why you left the party early present themselves to your mind as you quickly make your way over to the door.

The first thing you notice when you open it is that he’s dripping wet from the rain, clothes soaked through and his hair flat. There’s a deep furrow in his brow, and it’s different from how he usually looks; he looks actually mad.

“Logan, is everything–” you begin, concerned, but he cuts you off by pushing past you and letting himself inside, boots stomping against the wooden floor. 

“Jesus, here you are. Why’d you leave like that, huh? Saying goodbye, your eyes all wet. I went after you and you were fucking gone, it scared the shit out of me. Didn’t see the car at the lookout, but I went to look for you anyway, and you weren’t in the water, thank fuck–”

“Wait, you went–” you pause, the mental image of Logan running out into the rain to the cliffside making your eyes widen. “Did you think..?”

“Yeah,” he sighs, shoulders slumping.

“Shit.” Your heart is racing when you step closer to him. “No, I wasn’t… I don’t want that anymore.”

“Then what the fuck was that all about?”

The desperation and misunderstanding in his eyes is unmistakable, and you hate that you made him feel like that. “I was just… I needed a moment, after seeing Wade and Vanessa like that,” you say, trying to provide yourself with more time to think, unsure if you already want to broach the subject of why you really left.

“You… like Wade?” Logan asks, his frown deepening.

You can’t help the laugh that escapes you at the unexpected question. “No. I mean, I adore Wade, but not like that. He’s with Vanessa.”

The answer does nothing to change his expression. “And you want it to be different?”

His line of questioning confuses you. “I– No. Logan, this isn’t about Wade or Vanessa, but it’s about… what they have. Something that’s real, but imperfect, and that’s what actually makes it perfect, and I just… I was in a really bad place for such a long time, I didn’t give myself time to even think about… I haven’t felt myself wanting for so long,” your gaze flicks up to his. “Seeing them just made me realize there’s so much left that I still want.” 

Internally, you curse the way he always makes you say too much, because you can see the understanding wash over his features. His expression softens, the balled fists by his side loosen, and his eyes search you, as if to see if that thing you want is him. There’s no doubt he finds his answer; you’re ever the open book when it comes to him, and your pulse quickens while he silently observes you. 

Logan reaches for you so quickly that you can barely prepare for it, a hand on your waist to pull you in, another on your cheek to tip your face up and guide your mouth to his. A shaky breath sails out through your nose when your lips meet, your eyes fluttering shut and your palms sliding up his damp but warm chest to curl in the soaked fabric of his shirt. It’s eager, and the angle is off, but it’s quickly adjusted with a brief parting and a near in-sync tilt of your heads in the other direction. 

Logan pulls away, but stays close, and you almost feel his words before hearing them, “Been… thinking about doing that.”

“Really?” you say, breathless and amused. “When did you, um, start wanting to do that?”

“Few weeks ago–Fuck, no, more than that. Almost did, that day after your first meeting, after you told me you were proud of me,” he admits. “But I wanted to give you time, space. Wasn’t sure if you felt–”

“I do. Didn’t realize it before, but I fucking do,” you assure him, another tug on his collar trying to pull him back to you. His admissions, knowing he wants you too, only make you want him more, like you have to make up for all the time you wasted not doing this sooner.

Logan’s hand on your waist holds you off. “I just don’t know how to… how to be this,” he confesses softly.

“That’s okay,” you say, your nose brushing against his. “I don’t either.”

He inches forward like he intends to kiss you again, but seems to reconsider, swallowing hard before saying, “Wouldn’t be the first time we figure it out together, huh?”

The words make you surge forward to close the gap between you, your brows creasing, attempting to convey everything you feel with one press of your lips to his. Logan’s hand slides from your cheek to the back of your head, pulling you to him in a way that seems to mirror your efforts. Something lights up inside you, something you lost long ago, and it makes you bold, opening your mouth under his to get a taste of him. 

His grip on you tightens with a groan, spurring him into action and walking you backwards into the dark kitchen, the only illumination the slivers of moonlight that come through the kitchen window. You jolt when the back of your thighs hit the table, before you’re scrambling to get on top of it, two hands at your waist helping to hoist you up. Your thighs widen to make room for Logan’s while you push the green flannel shirt off his shoulders, struggling to peel it off his arms to the point you have to break away with a laugh to really get it right. It lands on the floor with a wet sound, before he reaches for the back of his shirt, curling his fingers around the collar and pulling it over his head.

Logan’s sturdy, warm to the touch and surprisingly pliant when you can’t help but let your fingers flit along the corded muscles and protruding veins while he toes off his shoes. His hand flies to the back of your head to fist the hair at the nape of your neck when your lips explore, find his jaw, and travel down his neck. A soft sound sails from his mouth, a barely audible moan that carries over into something deeper when your lips brush a spot just above his clavicle. Using the grip he has on you, he drags you back up to his mouth, doing some more of his own exploring when his warm tongue strokes against your own. 

“You’re so good to me,” he murmurs with a buck of his hips against yours. The thrill of having him pushed up against you, half-hard, warm, full of promise, makes you moan, teeth clacking against his when you do. “Always so fucking good to me.”

It makes you want to protest, from the very moment you met, he’s the one always being that to you, but it dies on your tongue when Logan’s flicks over the tips of his fingers. His impatient hand finds its way between you, disappearing under the waistband of your underwear and stretching the material to make room. His name comes out as a whimper when his spit-slick fingers easily glide through the soft skin between your legs. He curses, another buck of his hips pressing his hand closer against you, and your kiss turns messy and uncoordinated when he dips one finger to touch your clit. 

“This okay?” Logan asks when you gasp, drawing languid circles between your legs.

“Yeah, it’s just– Oh, god.” Two thick fingers find your entrance, swirling the wetness there around. “Been a while,” you manage to finish your sentence.

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

All you can do is nod, and Logan presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth before he pulls his hand back. It’s paired with a wet sound that makes your cheeks heat, more so when you watch him get on his knees and yank you to the edge of the table, the quick turn of events and the casual display of his strength making you a little dizzy. Logan’s nose presses into the fabric between your legs with a sharp inhale, before quick, practiced moves work your underwear down your legs. One eager hand places a thigh on his shoulder as another holds you at the bend of your knee. You lie back, arching as you hurriedly pull your t-shirt over your head, leaning up on your elbows just in time to watch him bend down. 

The feeling of Logan’s hot breath sailing out over your sensitive skin alone is enough to make you gasp. He drags his lips and nose across your folds, easing you into it as much as his lack of patience will allow before tasting you with a swipe of his tongue. It isn’t tentative or testing, but firm and sure, and clearly for his enjoyment as much as yours when he repeats his action and groans into you. The vibrations of it and the gentle scratch of his facial hair only add to the liquid feeling in the pit of your stomach. Letting go of your knee, he curls a strong arm around your thigh, spreading you open then pulling you flush against him while he sucks your clit into his mouth.

“Oh, that feels really good,” you spur him on, your heel digging in between his shoulder blades. You watch him with hooded eyes, shifting your weight to one elbow so you can cup your breast with a whine. 

Logan’s eyes slip shut in focus, working his tongue up and down your clit and making you arch into his mouth. Reaching for you blindly, he slides a hand over yours on your chest, fingers fitting between your own and squeezing while his tongue slides lower to lick over where you’re dripping for him. He lets out an appreciative hum as he repeats the move until your thighs clench and shake around his ears. His tongue dips inside you, curling up against the slick walls of your cunt, and his name tumbles from your mouth, soft, pleading, making his eyes shoot open to meet yours.

The sight of him looking up at you like that from between your thighs, with dark eyes, the tip of his nose glistening with your wetness, will probably haunt you for the rest of your life. 

Logan shushes your begging, pulling away and watching as your pussy clenches at the sudden lack of attention. “Let me give you something to come on,” he murmurs, before fitting a finger at your entrance. It meets absolutely no resistance, a second finger sliding inside with just as much ease, and he sets a steady, deep rhythm before his mouth returns to your clit.

“Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck–” Your head rolls back between your shoulder blades, mouth open on a silent gasp, but he draws your attention back to him with a curl of his fingers, finding a spot that makes you go rigid for a second. It all builds so fast, so suddenly. The hand on your chest shakes Logan’s off, finding the crown of his head and sliding your fingers into his hair. He’s too strong to really make purchase, but you try anyway, using your grip to roll your hips against him. The sound of his groans, every flick of his tongue and every squelching, delicious curl of his fingers all send you closer and closer, until his hand presses down on your belly, and…

“Logan,” you manage, voice sharp with a warning that comes too late when he makes you tumble over the edge. 

It’s so much after so long, the force of it making you fall back against the table, something between a gasp and a shout tearing from your throat. He holds you tighter, to keep you in place and guide the desperate roll of your hips against his face. Your orgasm quickly slips into something bordering on oversensitivity, and you let out a dry sob that makes you slap a hand over your mouth when Logan’s tongue travels a path from where his stilled fingers disappear inside you, up to your clit. He stays there, gentle, uncharacteristically patient as you slowly come to a twitching halt. 

He’s a blur when he comes back into your field of view after standing up, towering over you to watch as you come back down to earth. Becoming sharper with every heavy blink of your eyes, you notice the smile on his face is smug, that the hair surrounding it is a shade darker than the rest. You sigh softly when his fingers slip from you, the feeling of them sliding wetly over your clit making you tremble, but his touch doesn’t leave you completely when he moves to stroke the outside of your thigh.

“How’s that?” Logan dares to ask.

“Hmm, no speaking yet,” you protest.

Reaching for him, you slide both of your arms up over his broad shoulders, wrists crossed in the nape of his neck to pull him in for another kiss. It’s slow, and deep, the taste of yourself shared between the two of you as your tongue slides over his. The table protests with a creak when his hands land beside your head, more when his chest pushes down on yours and you wrap a leg around his waist to get him even closer. The hair scattered across his broad chest teases your nipples and the hard ridge of his cock strains against his jeans and presses up against your slick cunt. It makes your jaw go slack, stoking your desire and making you burn with the need to make him feel as good as he just made you feel. 

With a push against his shoulders, you take him along as you sit upright again, accompanied by another creak of the table. Mouth still on his, you slide a hand down to cup him over his jeans, the weight of him against your wide open palm making you pulse. Logan grunts when your hand squeezes, and your mouth slides off his, kissing his jaw, sliding back down his neck. He cups your head, keeping you in place while watching your hand.

“Feels nice,” he husks, voice so deep it makes you want to push him aside and get on your knees for him, but then he asks, “Are you gonna let me fuck you?”

“God, yeah,” you say with a nod, watching as the mark you just sucked into his neck disappears far too soon while you continue rubbing him over the denim. “Want you inside of me.”

“Jesus–Then get it out,” he instructs, guiding your hand to his belt. 

If you weren’t so turned on you might wince at how eager you are, at how quickly you tug the buckle open and pull the leather free. Logan groans when it relieves some of the pressure, letting his forehead rest against yours. Together, you watch your hands make quick work of his zipper, your fist closing around his cock while your other hand works his pants down until he can kick it off and under the table.

He fits nicely in your palm, heavy and ready, sticky at the tip. With a purse of your lips, you let your spit trickle down in a straight line, and he hisses when it hits him. Your free hand flattens against his stomach, sliding down along the hard planes of his body and following the vein just below his belly button down, until it meets your other hand that loosely strokes up to the root of his cock. Logan arches into you when you stroke back up with a tighter grip, all but getting on his toes to chase your touch. Using both of your hands to get all of him, you twist your fists in opposite directions once, twice, before circling his tip with one thumb. Your other hand curls around the underside of him, dragging some of your spit down to his balls with the tips of your fingers.

“F–fuck,” Logan stutters when you play with him there, cupping him in your hand as well as you can and squeezing his shaft when it twitches in response. His eyes slip shut as his palms land on the outside of your thighs with a smack, fingertips digging into your soft skin. 

It makes you jolt, then grin, giddy from the sharp sting and the power you have over his pleasure. “How’s that?” you echo with a teasing lilt.

He does have the words to answer, albeit a little slurred, “‘S good, sweetheart.”

The nickname tacked on at the end takes root in your chest, blooms bright and makes you ache. You translate your appreciation into tightening your strokes and spreading more of the precome that steadily leaks from his tip around.

“C’mere,” Logan says softly, taking over for you with one hand, giving himself a few strokes before pushing your thighs further apart and shuffling closer to line himself up with you.

You’re so wet that the head of his cock is practically already slipping inside of you, but your hand clasps around his bicep when he really starts to breach you. After giving you a shallow little thrust, his hips draw back, before pushing a little further, gauging your reaction.

“Just like that,” you sigh, watching the careful slide of him in and out of you. “Keep going just like that.”

He gets you opened up like that, giving you a little more with each wind of his hips. Logan’s hand finds the back of your neck, his palm splaying out and keeping you close enough that you’re practically sharing air with each sigh and moan. Eventually, your knees have to draw up to his flanks in order for him to keep going and you wind a leg around his hip to close the final distance with a press of your heel into one of the firm cheeks of his ass. A long breath sails out from between your lips when you pulse around him, slowly adjusting to having all of him filling you up. You can tell he has to put considerable effort into letting you, wood groaning below you when he clutches onto the table.

“Fuck, it’s a lot,” you say, and when he grins against your mouth you can’t help but kiss him again – just a peck. The hand at the back of your neck squeezes in reassurance as he continues to let you lead, and it’s a small gesture, but it makes you feel warm all over. You melt into it his touch, your body relaxing as the pleasure of the stretch of him takes over.  

“Can stay like this a little longer if you want,” he says, but the strain in his voice says something different.

“Hmm, no, you can move.” You’ve barely said it, or his hips are drawing back, and it would have made you laugh if it didn’t feel so fucking incredible. He almost slips from you completely, before sliding all the way back inside with a grunt. The table scrapes along the floor, and vaguely you register one of your chairs falling over in the process. When he repeats the action, the furniture squeaks again below you. “Just don’t break my table.”

The sound he makes in response is non-commital, and when he fucks back into you and nudges against something wonderful, you can’t say you disagree. Grabbing hold of his shoulder and using the leg you have wrapped around him, you roll your hips against his, and he begins to meet you halfway until you work up a rhythm together. The table protest further, a shrill sound filling the room after each slap of skin–

With a frustrated groan and accompanied by a startled squeal from yourself, Logan lifts you. The surprised laugh that threatens to bubble up your throat quickly morphs into something heavier that comes out with a rasp when he makes it all look unusually effortless. Attempting to brace yourself, you sling one arm over his shoulders, the other winding around his neck so you can rake your fingers through the hair at the back of his head. It’s a struggle to keep your balance, a helpless heel digging into the back of his thigh to keep yourself upright. Quick to aid, Logan slides an arm under you, fingers splayed across your ass as your knee hangs off the inside of his elbow. He turns a quarter, presses you up against the wall, and doesn’t miss a beat as he continues fucking you. 

“Jesus, Logan,” you say, voice almost a growl and barely recognizable as your own.

With your new position, you can see him better, the both of you lit from the side with the window to your left. The moonlight paints him in a tapestry of light and shadows when the wind blows through the tree branches, momentarily amplifying the glint in his eyes and the flex of his chest and arms like a strobe light.

The different angle he finds with his cock is a little too good, the feeling of the thick base of him stretching you open with each thrust making you dazed and talkative, “It’s so deep like this, can–oh, my god–can feel you everywhere.” 

Logan curses at your words, squeezing your waist and pushing you harder against the wall. There’s a deep-voiced appreciation of how good you feel in there too that doesn’t quite make it from your ears to your brain because somehow he’s still speeding up. His head ducks down to your chest, mouthing at the soft skin of your breast before closing his lips around a nipple. 

You whine, using the grip you have on him to roll your hips against the piston of his while you pant into his crown. Though the sound he makes against you when you do it makes you beam with pride, it’s not something you can keep up for very long, your hold on him slacking after a few thrust until you slip back against the wall. 

Logan pulls back when you do, tightening his hold on you while his eyes glide from the bounce of your tits that glisten with his spit to down between your bodies. 

“Touch yourself,” he instructs, grunting when you immediately do as he says by bringing a hand down between where you’re joined. Your fingers spread in a V-shape around where he fucks into you, collecting some of your mixed arousal before using it to rub your clit. “That’s it, sweetheart, fuck, make yourself come.”

You nod, rapidly feeling everything zeroing in on the fingers that draw tight circles over your clit and that spot deep inside you that Logan’s finding with every thrust. “Yeah, fuck, I’m–Don’t stop, don’t stop, please–”

He’s coming before you are, tucking his head below your chin to let out a deep, drawn out moan against your neck that ends with his teeth grazing your skin. It’s so much, the pressure of him grinding himself into you with twitching, barely there thrusts, the heat of his release as it fills you where you’re gripping him like a vice, and as your fingers still twirl between your legs you come, and come, and come. 

The leg you have wrapped around his hip slips off, but before your toes can even scrape the floor, he catches your thigh, cupping your ass with both hands now to keep you up, and close. With a soft, satisfied sound, you let your forehead fall against Logan’s shoulder, tasting the salt of his sweat with every light press of your lips there.

It takes you a moment to notice your back has come off the wall, that Logan is walking the both of you into your living room and to the couch. He bends his knees, dropping you between your pillows, where you land with as much grace as you can muster considering you feel like you’re made of lead. The soft couch is pleasant against your body, your sore limbs sinking into the cushions. 

Logan fits himself between your legs again, widening them around his broad shoulders before his lips find your overstretched thighs, leaving marks and kisses up up up, until his tongue slips back into your pussy. Your back arches off the couch, hands shooting down to fist his hair with a whine while Logan’s hand fists his cock. As your eyes adjust to the darkness, you can tell he’s already getting hard again, and his tongue is making something swirl low in your belly that’s making you pant, and...

It’ll be a long night.

THE PEARL

It had taken a lot of convincing and downright groveling, but Wade had allowed you to bring a movie for movie night. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust your taste in movies, his main gripe with your choice was that it wasn’t a Christmas movie – mandatory for December. Wade’s right, but after you explained that it’s the movie you always watch at the end of the year (and after Logan and yourself conceded that yes, his birthday was technically also your anniversary) he’d agreed. 

Now that you’re actually watching it, you suspect he’s genuinely invested, because after a handful of comments about The Hulk, he’s been quiet for longer than you’ve ever heard him be quiet.

In the scene on the screen, Mark Ruffalo’s character Dan and Keira Knightley’s character Gretta are taking an evening walk around New York City, dancing, singing and sharing music with each other as they do. Eventually, they stop and sit next to each other on some steps, watching as the city continues to move without them.

“...the most banal scenes are suddenly invested with so much meaning, ya know? All these banalities, they're suddenly turned into these… these beautiful, effervescent pearls,” Dan says, wistfully looking on as New York bustles around him. “I gotta say, as I've gotten older these pearls are just… becoming increasingly more and more rare to me.”

The arm Logan has slung around your shoulder tightens, and the couch creaks softly as you lean further into his side, your cheek squishing against his warm chest.

“More string than pearls?” Gretta inquires with a frown.

“Yeah. You got to travel over a lot more string to get to the pearls.” There’s a pause as he turns to look at her, “This moment is a pearl, Gretta.”

She gives him a hint of a smile. “It sort of is, isn't it?”

“All this has been a pearl,” he admits, sharing a look with her.

A finger curls under your chin, tipping your head up until your eyes meet Logan’s. He gives you the same look you just saw on the screen, his eyes soft as they take you in, the hint of green between the hazel illuminated by the light of the television. A thumb swipes over your bottom lip fondly, before he leans down to kiss you.

It takes a lot of string indeed.

Sometimes even interdimensional string.

– – – – –

(THE END)

If you made it all the way here, thanks for reading. Seriously. Please come say hi and/or share your thoughts via ask/messages/reblogs/whatever you feel comfortable with. I hope to share more writing soon - emphasis on hope, I'm not making promises, just an educated wish.

And lastly, if you're struggling with mental health problems, please don't wait for a handsome stranger to sweep you off your feet. I know from experience that it can be incredibly difficult to reach that hand out, but I also know from experience that things can get better. There are ways to get help and you deserve to get help 🫂

[wolverigrl]

The Red Carpet Confession

Hugh Jackman x reader (actress)

A/N: Here's another try! Please let me know in the comments if you liked it and if you'd like to have a part two? :)

Summary: Hugh and y/n are rumored to be a couple and the two are figuring out their relationship.

The movie that the next parts are about is fictitious. It's a Marvel movie in which y/n plays one of the main roles as a Lady Deadpool variant.

Time period around 2015. Hugh's divorce fictitiously occurred here a year earlier. Hugh is 46, and y/n is in her late 20s.

Warnings: literally none, only some light fluff but nothing more!

---------------------------------------------------

The energy at the movie premiere was electric—the buzz of the crowd, the flashing lights, and the excitement in the air. Hugh’s hand rested comfortably on the small of my back as we made our way down the red carpet. Every now and then, I found myself leaning into his touch, savoring the warmth and comfort that came so naturally between us. I glanced up at him, admiring the familiar crinkles around his eyes when he smiled and those laugh lines I adored so much.

We had come a long way since our first meeting at one of Ryan’s infamous dinner parties, where Blake introduced me to Hugh. Some months later I found out that my ex fiancé cheated on me. That night was a turning point for me. Blake, always the caring friend, had rallied Ryan and Hugh to come over with takeout and wine, determined to cheer me up. The four of us spent the evening in my living room, talking, laughing, and simply being there for each other.

Hugh had been a quiet comfort, sitting beside me as I cried, his arm around my shoulders. At one point, Ryan insisted on taking a selfie—our eyes a little red but smiles plastered on our faces. We posted it with the caption:

>>vancityreynolds: Friends who stick by you, no matter what ❤️<<

It was a moment that solidified our friendship, and from there, Hugh and I only grew closer.

Over time, our bond deepened. We started working out together, pushing each other to new limits. One day after an intense session, we snapped a photo—both of us sweaty, grinning, and flexing our biceps. I couldn’t resist adding a cheeky caption:

>>y/n instagram: Who needs a gym partner when you’ve got The Wolverine pushing you?<<

The post went viral, and the fans went wild. The comments were full of playful speculation, with people shipping us hard.

>>loganskittycat: You two should just get married already😩<<

One fan wrote, while another cheekily commented:

>>carllax03: Are we sure this is just a workout partnership? Because I’m seeing serious couple vibes here🔥<<

I remember laughing about it with Hugh, but the truth was, there was something between us—something neither of us had fully acknowledged.

Things got even more intense after Hugh's separation. I made sure to be there for him, offering whatever support I could. We spent a lot of time together during that period, just talking, laughing, and working out our frustrations at the gym. He was hurting, and I wanted to be the friend he could lean on. But every time we were together, those buried feelings would start to bubble up again, and it was getting harder and harder to ignore them.

There was that one time I posted a photo of us at the beach in Australia, where I had visited Hugh some days after he told me of his seperation. We were walking along the shore, deep in conversation about the breakup, his children, life and relationships, when the paparazzi caught us.

The next day, the headlines were full of speculation, but what really made the fans go crazy was Hugh's comment under a selfie of us at the beach:

>>thehughjackman: The best view in Australia, and I'm not talking about the ocean 🌊<<

The internet literally exploded with fans shipping us even harder than before.

>>catpool3000: Okay, if you two don't date, the universe is seriously broken😩<<

>>marvelboyx: He's flirting right in front of us! This is not a drill guys!<<

I found these fan comments so amusing and laughed it off, but the truth was, Hugh had become someone I couldn’t imagine my life without.

As we continued posing for photos on the red carpet, I couldn't help but remember the time we ran into a group of fans during another walk, this time back in New York.

Hugh and I had been grabbing coffee when a few fans approached us asking for photos. Hugh was, of course, his usual charming self, chatting with them, making them laugh, and posing for selfies.

One of the fans turned to me, a little shy, and said: "You're so awesome, y/n. You and Hugh are just the best! Your energy is amazing."

I smiled, touched by her words. "Thank you, sweetheart, that means a lot. Hugh makes it easy, though. He's got the charm down to an art."

Later, those fans posted the selfies on social media, gushing about how kind and down-to-earth we both were. The most comments were full of love and support, with many noting how natural Hugh and I seemed together, how much they 'shipped' us. It was sweet, even if it was a little overwhelming.

The speculation about us had been growing for months, especially after that interview with Jimmy Fallon, where Ryan and I were guests. We were there to promote the new movie, and naturally, the conversation turned to the camaraderie on set.

Jimmy Fallon, ever the curious host, leaned forward, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "So, y/n, what was it like joining such a big, well-established cast for the first time? Did you find it easy to get along with everyone?"

I nodded, smiling at the memory of my first days on set. "Honestly, I was a bit nervous at first. I mean, these guys are legends." I said, gesturing to Ryan.

"But they made me feel so welcome right from the start. It felt like I was joining a big. slightly dysfunctional, but very loving family."

Jimmy grinned. "And was there anyone you got particularly close to? I mean, everyone's shipping you with Hugh Jackman after those workout posts."

I chuckled, trying to keep my cool. "I mean, Hugh and I did spend a lot of time together. We bonded over our love for fitness, and he's just such an easy person to get along with. But really, the whole cast was amazing."

Fallon wasn't done yet. He leaned in closer, his tone playful. "But come on, Y/N, who was your favorite on set? Who was the person you looked forward to working with the most?"

Before I could answer, Ryan leaned over, placing his hand dramatically on his chest. "Oh, come on, Jimmy, we all know I'm her favorite," he said with a mock pout. Then, as if sharing a secret, he turned to him, cupping his hand around his mouth like he was about to whisper.

"But between us, it's the Aussie. It's always the Aussie."

The audience burst into laughter, and I playfully shoved Ryan's shoulder.

"You wish!" I said, unable to keep a straight face.

Ryan shot me a wink. "Hey, you don't have to deny it, y/n. We all know how much you love Hugh's, uhh workout routine."

I rolled my eyes, laughing along with the audience. But deep down, Ryan's joke hit a little too close to home. Because as much as I tried to brush it off, there was a growing part of me that knew he was right.

Now, as we walked the red carpet together, another interviewer caught up with us, asking the question we'd been dodging all night. "Hugh, y/n. The internet is buzzing with rumors about your relationship. Care to set the record straight?"

My heart skipped a beat. I glanced at Hugh, and he met my gaze with that familiar, playful glint in his eye. He leaned in, his voice low and teasing, as he spoke into the mic,

"We've certainly spent a lot of time, and we do get along really well."

Hugh and I exchanged a quick look, a silent understanding passing between us.

"We've had some pretty intense workouts together." I couldn't resist adding.

The double meaning wasn't lost on the interviewer or on Hugh, who shot me an amused look.

The interviewer pressed on. "So, is it safe to say you're more than just friends?"

Hugh grinned, his eyes twinkling with that familiar mischief. "I think we'll leave that up to your imagination."

The reporter laughed, realizing we weren't going to give a straight answer. "Fair enough. But you two certainly know how to keep us all guessing."

We thanked him shortly after, said our quick goodbyes, and moved along the red carpet to the next interview.

Another reporter greeted us, smiling, and started right with the conversation.

"Y/n? Hugh, you two have been quite the talk of the town with your workout posts. Can you tell us a little more about your training and diets while preparing for the movie?"

Hugh grinned and nudged me playfully. "Y/n here is a beast in the gym. She's got more discipline than anyone I know, and she doesn't let me slack off."

I laughed, nodding in agreement.

"Hugh's being modest. He's the one who keeps me on my toes. It's hard not to be motivated when you've got The Wolverine next to you, pushing you to do just one more set.

The interviewer chuckled before shifting the conversation to a more private topic.

"And y/n, with your costume being so form-fitting, what kind of uhh.. support did you have underneath?”

The question caught me off guard, and I could feel the heat rising in my cheeks. Before I could respond, though, Hugh stepped in, his expression turning serious.

"I think that’s enough for this interview. Thank you for your time." he said, his tone polite but firm, effectively ending the conversation.

The reporter looked taken aback but quickly recovered, thanking us for our time before moving on. As we walked away, I felt a surge of gratitude for Hugh’s quick intervention. Without thinking, I placed my hand on his chest, leaning in close to whisper in his ear.

"Thank you."

He smiled down at me, his eyes softening as he replied.

"Anytime, darling. Anytime."

As the last flashes of the cameras faded and the final questions from reporters dwindled, Hugh and I finally stepped off the red carpet. The air was buzzing with the excitement of the night, but it was the thought of the after-show party that truly had me giddy. Hugh could sense my anticipation and chuckled, his arm still comfortably wrapped around my waist as we made our way to the venue.

Inside, the party was already in full swing. The room was filled with a dazzling array of celebrities, all mingling and celebrating the movie. My eyes widened as I spotted a few of my own favorite celebrities across the room, and I couldn’t help but feel a surge of excitement. Hugh noticed my reaction and gave me a teasing smile.

"Someone’s excited." he said. His voice was warm with amusement.

I laughed, unable to contain my enthusiasm.

"Can you blame me? This is like a dream come true! There are so many people here I’ve admired for years."

Hugh shook his head, his eyes crinkling with that familiar, affectionate smile. "It’s adorable seeing you like this, y/n. I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself."

We made our way further into the party, the music and chatter surrounding us. It didn’t take long before we spotted Ryan and Blake, who waved us over from a corner where they were chatting with a few other familiar faces.

As we joined them, Blake greeted us with a warm hug.

"You two were fantastic out there." she said, beaming. "How many relationship questions did you get?"

Ryan grinned, leaning in with a playful glint in his eyes. "Yeah, did they finally get you to confess?"

I exchanged a quick glance with Hugh before we both laughed. "Oh, you know, we kept them guessing." I said, shrugging lightly. "It’s more fun that way."

Hugh nodded, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "We might have let a few things slip here and there, just to keep them on their toes."

Blake raised an eyebrow, a knowing smile playing on her lips. "You two really enjoy this, don’t you?"

"Maybe a little." I admitted with a grin, feeling a little mischievous. "But in the end, it’s our story to tell—or not."

Ryan lifted his glass, grinning from ear to ear. "Well, here’s to keeping the world guessing, then. And to the best workout partners in the business."

We all clinked our glasses together, the sound of crystal ringing out as we toasted to the night and everything that had led us to this moment. The conversation flowed easily, with laughter and banter filling the space between us. As I stood there, surrounded by friends who had become like family, I felt a deep sense of contentment.

As the night wore on, we mingled with other guests, and I let my inner fangirl come out to play, much to Hugh’s amusement. He watched with a fond smile as I excitedly chatted with some of my favorite stars, his laughter echoing in my ears when I returned to his side, gushing about the conversations I’d just had.

Blake nudged him playfully, a knowing look in her eyes. "You’ve got your hands full with this one, Hugh."

Hugh just laughed, looking over to me, while I was talking to Ryan. "I wouldn’t have it any other way."

---------------------------------------------------

Next part

[ktownshizzle]

Wild & Free | Part 1 of 2

Pairing: Min Yoongi x female reader

Summary: Everybody says they want to marry Min Yoongi. But what if he only wants to say 'yes' to you.

Alternatively: While on the last leg of their PTD tour, Yoongi discovers there was such a thing as drive-thru weddings in Las Vegas - spontaneous, wild, exciting - something his pretty little brain can't seem to process having lived the last decade of his life planned to perfection by his management team, which includes you. When he goes down a rabbit hole of Youtube videos about The Little White Wedding Chapel (Omo! Michael Jordan got married there!), he starts getting all sorts of ideas - all of it starring him and you.

Genre: Fluff, Angst, Eventual Smut, Childhood friends to lovers, Idol!au, Coworkers to lovers (reader is a HYBE employee)

Warnings: Mild angst, cursing lol, mentions of sex, pining and lots of it, reader is insecure, couple of idiots truly, covid didn’t happen, one mention of recreational gambling (we're in Vegas!), canon moments I botched for my own use, ginger Yoongi is a warning in and of itself, angry Yoongi, cliches ‘cos meh, possible inaccuracies about Las Vegas - been there once, but details used in the story are just from research. Also, I get that Las Vegas weddings might seem tacky to some. Coming from a background of traditional, elaborate ceremonies, the characters in this story are genuinely surprised by this simpler approach. After all, a wedding is really just about you and your partner, and that’s the essence we’re exploring here. ♡ If you can get on board with that, then let's head to the Tunnel of Love! Viva Las Vegas! 🙂

Word Count: 7.2k (approx. 30 mins.)

Posting date: August 31, 2024

Dividers: @/saradika-graphics

Part One | Part Two | Masterlist

"Yoongi, marry me!" You shout at the top of your lungs, earning laughs from the people around you. 

On the other side of the room, a couple of other people shout the same catchphrase, including Kim Taehyung, who seems to get the most kick out of it out of all the members.

Coerced to do one of those Tik Tok dance challenges, Min Yoongi stands in front of the room, hides his face behind his hands and you watch in delight as he awkwardly sways his hips side to side. More cheers erupt and two seconds after he decides he was done.

"Hajimaaaa!" Your friend says to no one and everyone, cheeks burning as he stalks back to the chair he was occupying across yours.

You push his beer bottle towards him, "Good job, gramps."

"Fuck off," he says with no real bite, taking a long swig off his drink to cool off his reddened cheeks.

It's great to finally get some down time with the crew. After such a fast-paced, high production tour, everybody needed to blow off some steam. This Korean BBQ restaurant off the Strip was the perfect venue to get the team together for samgyupsal and drinks. The vibes are, as the kids say, immaculate.

You are already sufficiently buzzed so you sit down as Seokjin takes his turn to do the challenge. He really seems to be more into it than the man currently giving you a look.

"I heard you." He narrows his eyes at you almost accusingly.

"What? It's the new viral catchphrase," you shrugged. "Everybody and their grandma is saying it these days."

"Not their grandma."

"You should be flattered."

Stop, you thought he would say. But his response catches you off guard.

"Only ‘cause you said it."

And he has the audacity to lick his bottom lip, a ghost of a smirk forming.

Fuck. Your throat dries up. When did it get so hot here?

“And in case you’re wondering…” he leans forward, a dopey-ass grin now on his face. “The answer is yes.”

Record scratch.

Did he really just-

Thankfully, you recover.

“Stop playing,” you say, trying to sound casual. But your face probably betrays the internal turmoil happening in your brain. You fear the day will come that he will have caught on to the unshakeable something you have been harboring for the better part of the last decade.

See, there’s always been an unspoken tension between you and Yoongi, something neither of you ever addressed or acted upon. Perhaps, in your younger days, there were moments when you felt your friendship was on the verge of becoming something more. But then he debuted as an idol, and things took off, and you were robbed of time. With his group’s growing popularity and you managing his personal career, the possibility of exploring anything beyond friendship and your work rapport became even more distant.

You feel like a bug under a microscope the way he observes you with a lopsided grin and while you try to hold his gaze, this clown interrupts.

"If y'all done eye-fucking each other, some of us are heading back." A drunk Park Jimin says with a mischievous grin, eyes crinkling like crescents. You could almost throw up.

Your eyes shift back to Yoongi and he just blinks in that blank way he does and bends to collect his bag from under his chair, completely ignoring his bandmate.

‘Fuck you,’ you mouth to Jimin hastily. Just enough time before Yoongi emerges with his backpack and your tote, which he already slung on his own shoulder.

You try to take it from him, but he waves you off.

"We're in bus 2," Jimin sings-songs and walks off, looking every bit the trouble-maker.

Thing is, you made the mistake of confiding in Jimin once, last year. You got drunk after getting dumped by some guy you met on Bumble three dates down, though it really was the sting of learning that Yoongi took one of Psy’s backup dancers out for coffee, even if it was just casual, that pushed you off the edge and into a bar in Hannam Intersection. Coincidentally, Jimin was there with that cute idol from Shinee and some other guys, but he joined you when he saw you looking like shit.

After learning about your long-standing crush (thank God you did not drop the L-bomb), Jimin would occasionally tease you, much to your chagrin. He’s careful not to push things too far, but it’s clear he sees himself as a bit of a cupid. You keep telling him that nothing will come of it, but he just won’t let up.

You are scared for things to change between you and Yoongi, not when everything is just how it’s supposed to be. 

Not when you believe in your heart that if anything would have happened, it already should have.

And you would snuff the last embers of the torch that you keep holding out for him if only you knew how.

"Drive-thru weddings?" Yoongi enunciates in English, with the slightest lisp that you have always found so endearing. As your tour bus passes by chapel after wedding chapel, he continues to wonder out loud. "People get married there?"

Namjoon turns his head to look at Yoongi from his seat in front. "Yeah, hyung. They don't even need to get out of their car. It's just like a McDonald's. But they get a marriage license instead of a burger."

“Really? And people do this? Like, randomly?”

“Yeah, some celebrities decided to do it that way, but I assume many people do, too. I mean, look how many we’ve passed already.” Namjoon says with a tiny grin, cheek dimpling.

"Mm." Yoongi hums and you're curious about that faraway look on his face as he stares outside.

“Are you interested?” You joke lamely, instantly regretting opening your mouth. Why do you keep propositioning him? You blame that ‘one for the road’ shot of soju you downed on the way out of the restaurant.

He studies your face, before he replies lowly, so only you can hear, “Are you asking?”

Fuck, he’s bold. He’s also a bit drunk, but everyone knows he can drink anyone under the table. You know this is not the first time he got weirdly flirty with you after one too many drinks, so you take it in stride.

“What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas,” Hoseok's voice booms from the back and with a chorus of laughs ringing inside the vehicle, you take that as a sign that this is definitely just the effect of being in Sin City.

A few beats after and you steal a glance at Yoongi, finding his gaze transfixed at a sign that read: "The Little White Wedding Chapel".

Last day of the Las Vegas tour and while you are glad it is almost done, your heart aches as you remember that this is also your last one, ever. Your 60-day notice is already running, having tendered your resignation a month after LA wrapped up.

As great of a job as it is, your heart seems to always be at odds because of the lingering feelings you have for Yoongi. Everyday, you find yourself trapped in the limbo of unspoken feelings and missed chances. The endless “what ifs” weigh you down, and you can’t summon the courage to confront them. It’s not anyone’s fault but your own, and you hoped that stepping away from this life might jumpstart your next chapter, as BTS is also about to embark on theirs. 

With the group taking a break for solo projects and gearing up for their military service, it seemed like the perfect moment for you to explore something different, too. Maybe finally open that cafe you’ve always wanted. Maybe you can also meet somebody, especially since your eomma has been on your back even more lately about giving her a grandchild.

You weren't planning to sever ties with Yoongi entirely, or at all. There’s too much history between you two to just walk away from the friendship. But you were desperate to let go of the emotional baggage.

The thing is, you have not told anyone. Not even Yoongi. Especially not Yoongi. It is highly likely that he will try to stop you and press for reasons, and you can't tell him that you’re in love with him, can you? Just… no. What a fuckin’ cliche.

You don’t know when you will be ready to tell him the truth, but it needs to be soon.

You find him on the side of the stage, eyes locked in on his phone that he held with one hand and you already can tell he is watching a documentary with the way his face is screwed up in concentration. His ‘watching a cat video’ face was infinitely more smiley, that's for sure.

He lifts his sleepy eyes up as you approach, handing you a latte that he apparently picked up for you from that place across the street, because the coffee from the catering ‘tastes like shit.’

Before you can say thanks, Yoongi exclaims, “Omo! Michael Jordan got married there?” 

Your confusion must be written all over your face, because he quickly explains, “You know in one of those drive-thru wedding chapels we saw the other night. Wow. I can't believe Jordan did that.” 

He pauses the video and turns the screen toward you, revealing a white building decked out with all sorts of decorations reminiscent of Valentine's day. The way he looks at you, expectantly, makes you feel like you should share his excitement, but you're a bit stumped. “Yoongi-ah, why are you watching this?”

He fidgets with a sheepish grin. “Well, I’ve never seen anything like this before. Korean weddings can be so complicated, you know? Hyung was really frustrated with all the traditions at his wedding.” He shrugs, still looking a bit embarrassed but trying to stay casual. “Here, it seems like you just need the right person. And maybe some courage. Okay, a lot of courage. I just— I don’t know, I find it fascinating.”

He nods to himself, gnawing on his bottom lip.

Totally endeared, you hop to sit beside him on the stage, bump your shoulder with his, and say, “Go on, press play.” 

The tiniest of frowns that has settled between his brows smoothes out and he angles the screen more towards you before resuming the video.

Turns out it really is fascinating (Omo! Joe Jonas also got married there! But wait, isn't he divorced now?), so you watch a few more clips, before soundcheck starts.

You’ve always known Yoongi to have massive hyperfixations. In fact, you’re not at all surprised when that night during the concert, he even cheekily says to the crowd during his ment, “Welcome to Las Vegas, with the drive-thru wedding.” And of course, the audience eats it up, those wearing Shooky headbands, veils or holding “Yoongi, marry me” signs end up being the loudest.

But while you’ve supported all his previous mini-obsessions (League of Legends, Dalgona coffee, woodworking) until he over-indulged to the point of almost flushing it out of his system, you are not quite sure how else to help him with this one.

Unless of course, you… hah, you wish.

The tour wraps up successfully. The boys have different group and individual schedules before they return to Seoul. For Yoongi, a shoot for his photofolio, and some b-roll content for his upcoming documentary was on deck for him, you, and his crew. 

The drive up to the desert was pretty uneventful as mostly everyone was asleep. You arrive sometime in the afternoon and immediately get to work in order to catch the golden hour. Yoongi has disappeared into the makeup trailer and you busy yourself with checking the preps.

The theme was glamping. Though Yoongi would never admit that that was the concept he approved. He would most likely say something more deep and poetic, that the setting is a poignant portrayal of his growth as a person and a metaphorical exploration of his artistry… Or something like that.

Things were running a little later than you like, which always happens when you are doing shoots overseas, so you volunteer to help with the set design. Placing some of the props near the camper van, you take a second to decide whether to use the metal cup or the ceramic mug, when a sleepy voice interrupts your thoughts.

"Set looks great. Good job."

You turn your head to look at Yoongi and wow his hair is orange.

The color of his favorite citrus and of course he looks sexy as fuck. He smells phenomenal, too–like mandarins with a hint of spice. You are in so much trouble. Seems your mouth is filled with cotton the way you are unable to make a sound.

“Yah! I spent hours on this new hair, you're not going to say anything?” he whines with a small pout.

You snicker at his cute expression, reaching out to touch the ends of his hair very lightly else the glam team unnies might scold you. “You look like a cat.”

“Ugh,” he groans, walking away with what you now realize is a stick of marshmallows in his right hand.

“No, Yoongi, it's cute,” You follow him as he stops in front of the bonfire, roasting the marshmallows over it briefly before taking a bite, still not placated by your words.

You decide to put him out of his misery. “You look good. Like really good. ARMY would probably even say sexy.” You inwardly cringe at the last bit–using ARMY to voice out your inner thirst, really?

Nonetheless, Yoongi's reaction is priceless. His lips stretch into a thin line, chin dimpling as he pretends to not enjoy the compliment that he very well fished for. 

“Ok quit acting like an emoji and let me take your photos for IG.” You take your phone out and snap a few pics of him posing with the marshmallow, some without it. A couple of him grinning, gummy smiles on display, and you know you need to keep some of these for yourself when the inevitable comes and you won't see his face everyday. 

“C’mere,” he pulls you to his side, arm going around your shoulder. A whiff of his musk has you swooning which you hope he does not notice.

Your phone is taken. He snaps a few selfies of you both and tsks when he sees your lock screen. 

“Tablo-hyung, still? You know he's literally married and has a kid, right?”

You make a face and snatch your phone from his grasp. “Yah! As if you're not an idol and your face is not the wallpaper of thousands of people.”

“I think you mean millions.”

“Ass.” You try to shove him, but his hand closes in on your phone again. 

Swipes and taps later, he seems satisfied and your phone is handed back to you, before he walks off without so much as a goodbye.

What did he do?

Wait.

Tablo is gone. 

And the tableau in his place is one of the photos you just took with him. Eyes twinkling, smiles identical. The picture of a seemingly perfect couple.

Oh, damn. You really are a goner.

You send the pic to Jimin a little later. His response was unwelcome.

Jimin: You two have literal heart eyes for each other. So cute.

You: Not helping.

Jimin: Just tell him how you feel.

You: Again, not helping.

Jimin: What's your plan?

You: Do you really wanna know?

You ring him. Might as well tell somebody.

In between layouts, Yoongi films interviews for some magazines. You have complete faith in him and his media relations skills at this point. Smart, thought-provoking Yoongi can wow any interviewer, sometimes to the point where numbers have been slipped inside his coat pocket. Thank God this one is on Zoom, ‘cause you can’t deal with something like that happening right now.

You caught wind of something that he said during the interview and you made a mental note to ask him about it later.

“Sometimes, it feels like my life is just a sequence of obligations and schedules,” he tells the online reporter. “I can’t even remember the last time I made plans for myself. Being here in Las Vegas is refreshing. It’s like everyone is just living by their own rules. I don’t think I’m like that at all.”

"Do you want to be like that?" The reporter asks.

"Maybe..." he shrugs, sinking a bit lower on the chair he was on.

It was late and the crew was just winding down before packing up the set.

“How was your day?” he asks you with a soft smile. You can see the tiredness in his eyes.

“Not bad,” you say, taking a spot beside him on the picnic blanket that was still on set. He seems pensive.

“Did you ever think we would get this far?” he asks. “Couple of Daegu kids, now running around in America.”

“Who would've thought…” you say, observing him. His eyes were stoic, but you know he's got something else on his mind, something bothering him.

“You said something in your interview earlier.”

“Nothing bad, I hope?”

“Not bad per se, I just never heard you say it in an interview before. About not feeling like you can make your own plans. Like life has become a series of schedules.”

He hums and takes a sip of something from the mug he is holding. Your nose tells you it is definitely not hot cocoa.

“I’ve come to terms with it for the most part, you know,” he sighs looking out into the vastness. “But plans are good. Makes me feel like there is a point to all this.”

You follow his line of vision and sigh. You knew he was feeling a lot of stress lately. His life was not easy. You hate that you have to pile on top of it.

“We need to start planning D-day soon. It's going to be so busy with the album and the tour and all the content we have to make. Oh God, we might have to do fan calls, but I'm so embarrassed when I do it.”

You mimic his hum, getting disoriented with his use of ‘we’. He still doesn't know that word would be null and void soon.

“By the way, we gotta come up with a different name for the Youtube show. I can't pronounce it. Sich? Sush? Shit-”

“Suchwita,” you say, guilt settling in your tummy.

“...and we have that collab with Halsey for what’s that game again? Doom? No, Diablo! We used to play that before, remember? I think we might be doing a music video for that one.”

Just tell him. This would be the best time.

“Look, Yoongi I-”

“Thank you,” he suddenly says, in a tone so soft, and the way he punctuates it with your name makes your heart soar.

Your eyes snap to him, the slight pinks dusting his cheeks make him look like the teenage boy you met in music school.

“I’m not good at this - fuck, this is so awkward - umm but I've really been meaning to tell you that I appreciate you.” He continues, “You're really important to me.”

You try to fight back a smile at how elated you are, but can’t. And maybe he needs to see how happy this is making you. How happy he is making you.

In the years that you've known him there were two distinct moments that made you believe that just as you have been in love with him, maybe he was in love with you, too. And as you watch him rub his crinkled nose, trying to act chill but can't, you somehow convince your fickle heart that this might be the third.

“I’ve been thinking a lot, with all this talk about our ‘chapter 2’...”

“Yeah?”

“I know things are going to change, but I’m glad you’re still here. I honestly don't know what I'm doing half the time, but you, you give me direction,” he smiles, a hand scratching the back of his neck.

“Are you seriously thanking me for my constant nagging?” 

“No,” he chuckles to himself. “I’m thanking you for being my friend.”

Oh. Ouch.

His lips keep moving and moving, and he is saying things with a fond smile, but your ears can’t register a single word. Except that single word: friend. Because, that’s all he sees you as, and that’s all you’ll ever be, and lest you need a reminder, that’s why you did what you did.

Disappointment cracks through your core and your lungs are suddenly devoid of air and you feel the urgent need to step away.

“Sorry Yoongi, I- I have to go.”

“Huh?” The light in his face fades, replaced by a frown and confused eyes that are watching your every move.

“Wait, did I say something? Tell me what's wrong.”

Don’t cry. Shit. Don’t cry. 

“I've nothing to tell you.”

You grimace at how stiff you sounded but before you can rectify anything, your feet take you to the nearest trailer. You close the door and drop to your knees as uncontrollable sobs rack your body.

You rein yourself in after a few minutes, wiping your tears on the back of your sleeve. You fish your phone out from your pocket, the photo on your lock screen twisting the knife lodged in your heart. 

You ring the first person on your recent contacts.

“I can’t do it, Jiminah.”

“What happened? Talk to me.”

You tell him how you were just talking and it was getting deep then he got sentimental and said thank you…

“For being his friend.”

A beat, then Jimin finally speaks. “He is such an idiot.”

“I can’t do this,” you say, with finality. “I’m going to finish this tour, but I’m really leaving. I can’t be around Yoongi anymore.”

You finally get a couple of days off and decide to dodge Yoongi after coming back from the desert. It’s oddly easy—he’s not seeking you out like he usually does. You left him hanging the last time you talked, and now you’re stumped about how to fix things. You and Yoongi never really fight, at least not seriously. You handle work stuff through Kakao, like sending over today’s recording schedule for the award show. He left you on read.

Jimin immediately calls out for you as you step inside the set. It was just one of the penthouse suites in the hotel you were staying in. You feel awkward as some eyes shift over to you as you barely had time to fix yourself, you just aren't in the mood.

“Hi,” you respond simply. “How's everything?”

Jimin glances over his shoulder, and you follow his gaze to find Yoongi staring blankly at the coffee table, a face of thunder.

“He knows. He heard you on the phone with me.”

Your heart immediately drops to your ass. “Shit.”

Jimin shrugs, a mixture of sympathy and amusement on his face. “Yeah, he’s pretty confused… and a little pissed.”

“Did you–”

“I would never,” Jimin interrupts quickly, holding up his hands. “It’s not my story to tell.” He pats your shoulder reassuringly. “Just talk to him. What’s the worst that could happen?”

You’re not sure if Jimin’s optimism is comforting or just making you more anxious. You’ve spent years imagining every possible outcome, every scenario where he finds out you felt something deeper. And most of those scenarios end in heartbreak.

Either way, you know you’ve got to face the storm brewing in Yoongi’s eyes.

The shoot goes on without a hitch. You and Yoongi avoid each other like the plague, so much so that one of the makeup unnies takes notice. You downplay it, not wanting to be the subject of workplace gossip.

The schedule wraps up and as you get ready to leave, there is a light tap on your shoulder.

“Hey noona,” Jake says, looking a bit nervous but flashing a tentative smile. “Umm, a bunch of us are heading out tonight. If you don’t have plans, you should join us.”

Jake’s one of the newer camera guys, and while he’s been nice—always greeting you and opening doors—he’s barely scratched the surface of what could be considered a friend. He’s not just polite; he’s actually pretty cute. You’ve never really hung out with him before, but something about the way he’s looking at you makes it hard to say no. It was one of the last nights you have in Las Vegas, and maybe, you should live a little.

“Ok. What time are we leaving?”

“Can we meet at the lobby by 10?”

Just as you’re about to respond, there’s a loud crash from the other side of the room. You catch a glimpse of Yoongi and Jin amidst a flurry of crew members rushing over. Whatever happened, it looks like it’s already being dealt with.

“10?” you repeat, still distracted by the commotion.

He nods.

“Got it,” you reply, trying to shake off your unease. 

Jake adjusts his backpack and gives you another nod, his smile still lingering as he heads out. “Cool. See you tonight.”

“Ok…” you nod, a little dazed as you watch Jake fistbump one of the producers on the way out.

“Hot date?” Jimin appears out of nowhere, casually sipping his Americano. His grin is a little too knowing—clearly, he was eavesdropping.

“Not really. He just mentioned that a few people were planning to go clubbing and asked if I wanted to join.”

Jimin’s eyes light up. “So, he wouldn’t mind if we tagged along, right?”

“Who’s ‘we’?” 

Yoongi lifts his wine glass at you, smiling and unbothered.

Is this him extending an olive branch?

“Hey, Danbi, Eunchae…” he says, his gaze drifting past you to the two girls from Design. They look momentarily stunned, then offer hesitant waves, clearly not accustomed to this rare gesture from the usually wordless Yoongi.

Seriously?

This asshole.

A knot of frustration tightens in your stomach. Not only is he acting like nothing happened, but he’s also playing it cool, like he’s completely unaware of how much this is getting under your skin.

You’re sad, but now you’re kinda pissed, too. And the worst part of it all, he knows he looks fine.

Ginger hair slicked back to reveal the fresh undercut, He’s wearing some black shirt and black pants, with Jordans you would guess, and you know if it was any other man wearing that, he would have been stopped at the door. 

You shift the strap of your dress slightly, conscious under his taunting eyes. The little number was something hot you recently picked up, the kind that might end up on somebody's floor.

“Are you going over to them,” Jake asks casually, leaning closer to your ear.

“No,” you say, breaking eye contact with Yoongi and moving to the next table where the others were, with Jake following closely behind.

A chorus of hellos started as you reached the table. There were a couple of girls from Hair and Makeup and some of the videographers, too. As if on cue, a tray of colorful shots are suddenly placed on the center console. The night is about to begin.

Jake has been incredibly attentive so far, but the truth is, it’s someone else’s attention that you want. You are hyper aware of Yoongi’s presence and it’s like having an itch you couldn’t scratch.

You spot Yoongi by the bar, alone and absorbed in his own world. As usual, he's oblivious to the pair of women casting lingering glances in his direction. 

Taking a deep breath, you steel yourself and make your way towards him. You notice his shoulders tense and stiffen as you approach, a clear sign of his unease, which almost made you want to retreat. But you know you can't go on another day of this unresolved tension with him.

“Yoongi, can we talk?”

He looks up, smirking as he swirls his drink. “Nah.”

Alright. You were not expecting that. 

“Look, I just wanna explain–”

“It’s cool. You don’t have to,” he cuts you off, his voice casual but his eyes fixed stubbornly on the lowball glass he’s holding.

“But I–”

“You don't wanna be around me anymore, simple. Dunno why you're here.”

“Wait, Yoongi, you don't understand.”

“Don't understand? You never told me shit.” You notice how his fists are clenched, knuckles turning white. “I would have apologized if I did something wrong. Thought you knew that. Thought we were friends.”

It’s that word again. You chuckle bitterly. “Friends, I know. You keep saying that.”

At this he looks up at you, brows furrowed, but it was your turn to avert your gaze. 

“‘Kay. You're leaving anyway, right? You can start now.”

“Fine.”

“Bye.”

You take a few steps, but something tugs at you, pulling you back. You glance over your shoulder, hoping to catch him watching you leave, wishing he’d somehow intervene, stop you from walking away.

But he isn’t there. His chair is already empty, the space where he sat now as vacant as if he’d never been there at all.

No one knows you better than Yoongi, and apparently no one else can hurt you quite like him, too.

The night is young. The club is electric. It is the hottest spot in town and you are hell-bent to experience it to the max.

Spirits and sugary shots tempered the hurt that settled in your gut after your encounter with Yoongi, now replaced with an urge to forget, to almost rebel.

The dance floor becomes your sanctuary. Shots of sweet, potent liquor flow, loosening you up and syncing your movements with the music. The crowd sways around you, a sea of bodies, but Jake remains a constant anchor. 

His hands rest confidently on your stomach, your back pressed against his chest as you grind slowly against him. With one arm raised, you hook your hand around his neck, letting your bodies move in perfect rhythm. It's been a while since you let yourself go like this, but it's Vegas, after all.

You can feel the warmth of his breath as he leans in, his lips brushing your ear as he whispers, “You’re so sexy, noona.”

“Wanna get out of here?” The words leave your mouth before your brain can stop you.

Jake's eyes widen slightly, but he nods, quite enthusiastically actually, and you think: fuck it, he's cute and you are leaving the company anyway. 

Disappointingly, the heat between you and Jake cools with every passing second as you make your way back to the hotel. Yet, you cling to the idea of seeing it through, driven by the need to prove a point: that a) your life doesn't revolve around Min Yoongi; and b) you are attractive and can pull anyone, even if Min Yoongi does not want you.

In another world, this would be a whirlwind of clothes flying off, bodies pressed against walls, hands exploring with urgency. But instead, you both enter the hotel room in silence, the air heavy with a tension that contrasts sharply with the passionate encounter you’d hoped for. The quietness between you feels like a stark reminder of how far you are from the fantasy you envisioned. 

Jake notices the maze of thoughts you were lost in.

“Noona,” he says, placing his jacket over the arm of the couch. “Are you sure you want this?”

Want. It was hard to stitch words as a response to that. Not when your heart has only wanted one person for years.

To be fair you do want Jake in your bed tonight. Objectively, he is super attractive - his soft, wavy hair, those wide, doe eyes, and a jawline that could cut glass.

No time to waste. You turn to him, slowly unzipping your dress and letting it slip to the floor. “Does this answer your question?”

“Yes, yes, it does,” he walks in long strides over to you, yanking up his shirt in one fell swoop, revealing his toned stomach.

His hands cup your face and soon you feel his lips against your… neck? Ok, you can get into this. It’s not like you hate it. 

He spends a few moments kissing you there. You close your eyes, willing your brain to shut off and just be in the moment.

“Can I touch you here?” One of his hands ghosts the side of your rib, inching towards the underside of your breast.

But before you can answer, loud knocks pound at your door.

“What the hell?” You hastily pull up your dress, zipping it up quickly. The furious raps continue and you can hear a voice behind it.

Jake follows you as you head to the door, picking up his tee from the floor and pulling it over his torso.

Bothered at the urgent banging, you don’t think to view the peep hole as you swing the door open, revealing 

“Yoongi?” you squeak.

“Get out.” Eyes bloodshot, he strides past you and goes for Jake, who quickly tries to side-step him, moving a few steps back to create distance between them.

“Yoongi-ssi?” Jake's eyes, wide as saucers, go to his elder then to you, before a realization dawns on him. “They said you weren't– Fuck, I swear I really thought–.”

"Get. Out." His voice is cold, laced with a fury you’ve never heard from him before. He grabs Jake by the arm, practically shoving him toward the door.

Jake casts a pitiful glance back, mumbling, "Sorry, noona," even though he’s done nothing wrong. But you don’t see it. Your hands are covering your face, trying to shield yourself from the shock and shame crashing over you as the scene unfolds.

“Fuck off, kid.”

And then the door slams shut.

Yoongi paces the room like a caged animal, his hand raking through his sweaty hair in frustration. His breathing is heavy, almost ragged, as if he’s on the verge of losing control.

You finally find your voice. “What the fuck is wrong with you? You can't just barge in my room like that!”

“I just did,” he fires back. “Why are you with him?”

“It's none of your business. But since you really wanna know. I was about ready to fuck him.”

He clenches his jaw, his voice strained. “Did he touch you?”

“Yes.”

“Fuck!” 

His hand shakes as he drags it through his hair again, his frustration barely contained. “Did you want him to?”

You can't understand why he’s asking these questions, why he’s reacting like this.

“Yoongi,” you exhale heavily, the weight of the moment pressing down on you. “Why are you here?”

Yoongi’s POV

Min Yoongi likes being in Las Vegas. The city buzzes with an electric energy, a stark contrast to his own chill demeanor. It’s a place where neon lights flash all night, and the unpredictable atmosphere makes him feel like a fish out of water—a thrilling kind of discomfort. He doesn't get why a city so loud and chaotic captivates him, but it does.

He was never one for outlandish, over-the-top spectacles, but the Cirque du Soleil show he watched with you and Hobi the other night instantly became one of his favorites.

He never liked recreational gambling, but the way you lit up with joy and hugged him tight after winning just 20 bucks at a random slot machine—it’s now one of his most cherished memories.

He never fared well in big, buffet restaurants, but if it means hearing you shout “Yoongi, carry meeee” (so stupid) as you beg him for a piggy back ride after downing five heaping plates, then maybe he can start looking up some buffets back home, too.

Las Vegas is free. Las Vegas is wild. Min Yoongi is not. 

At least, not until that night when he tore past wild and plunged into nothing short of primal.

Straight out of a segment from The Animal Planet, he was a tiger, lounging contentedly with his pack. You were his queen, his chosen mate—though you don’t know it yet. But when a looming threat emerges, the alpha in him awakens, tapping into ancient survival instincts to protect what’s his.

First, he observed the threat.

Some guy from production. Jake. He’s HYBE's new ace videographer from Australia. Isn’t he younger than her?

Oh shit, this was the dude Yoongi actually handpicked to be the director of photography for his documentary. He might have to rethink this, depending on how things play out.

Fucker has his hand on your back and you shift subtly so his hand falls away. This is good, you don’t seem to be too into his advances, Yoongi tells himself, relaxing slightly on his chair.

Second, he assessed the situation.

Unfortunately for him, the situation escalated quickly.

Never in his life has he ever wanted to gouge his eyes out so badly. If he could actually shove his fingers in his eye sockets and scoop his eyeballs from his skull he would have done it right then. Yet somehow he couldn't look away. There was a sick, sadistic pleasure in watching you lose yourself on the dance floor. Like a voyeur, he stared, mouth slightly parted, breathless as your body grinds in time with the bass. He didn’t want to acknowledge the other man in the picture, the one that wasn’t him.

“You’re drooling, hyung,” Jungkook teases, and Jimin erupts in a fit of giggles, almost falling out of the bar stool.

Yoongi wants to deny it. But between the ache in his heart and the boner in his pants, he did not have it in him to lie. “Pass me a napkin, dipshit.”

Third, he sensed danger.

Unfortunately again, he had to use the toilet at some point. And as he returns to his spot on the balcony, he panics.

“Where the fuck is she?”

Jimin looked at him, warily. “They left.”

No, he thought. No, no, no they’re not leaving this club. They are not leaving his sight.

Fourth, he took decisive action.

A rush of adrenaline coursed through his body spurring him to run out the door, his phone on his ear as he tries to reach his driver.

“Hyung, stop.” Jimin runs to keep up with him. “Where are you going?”

“You know where.”

“Why?”

His head is pounding. He cannot think straight. And Jimin asking so many questions is so fucking annoying.

“You know why.”

Jimin sighs exasperatedly. “Why didn’t you idiots just talk about this like normal people?”

He doesn’t answer his friend, but he knows Jimin will be coming with him, whether he likes it or not. Because Jimin, nosy as he may be, is also one of the last real ones in his life.

Fifth, he confronts the threat head-on.

Which has brought him here, in your room, acting like the unhinged motherfucker he never aspired to be.

Your stern voice shakes him from his thoughts. “If you’re just going to stand there, just get outta here, Yoongi.”

“No.”

“No?” you let out a huff, a bitter sound cutting him. “You got some fuckin’ nerve. You ask me all sorts of questions, but you can't answer mine, huh?”

He has never seen this look in your eyes, and he starts to regret the hasty decision to come to your room. 

Now, he was confronted with the first and very real possibility of you walking out of his life.

“Again, why are you here?” you ask, your voice a notch softer than it should be. It’s clear you’re exhausted, your tear-filled eyes an indication, wanting nothing more than for everything to make sense.

He cautiously pads towards you and gently reaches out for your hand. To his relief, you let him take it and he envelops it in both of his.

He takes one good look at you, committing your face to memory, because in his mind, this could be the point where your friendship ends.

He takes a deep breath, squeezing his eyes for a moment, before a confession finally spills from his lips. “Because I can't lose you.”

You blink and a lone tear spills free.

“I heard you on the phone with Jimin and what you said broke me. I keep thinking what I did wrong, but I can't figure it out. Then I saw you with that guy and I lost my shit. You know I'm terrible at expressing myself, but I need you, ok? More than I can say. Don't go. I can’t let you go.” He tugs you gently towards him, encasing you in his arms.

It didn’t take long for you to return the hug, pressing your cheek against his chest, and he is certain you can finally hear his heart that beats only for you. How he wishes he can summon the courage to say so. But the moment feels so delicate and he wants to tread lightly. 

“Yoongi…” you sigh out his name and his heart races at how tenderly you seem to have surrendered to him. 

“I’m so sorry that I was such a dick to you. Didn’t mean to ice you out. Honestly, that’s the last thing I ever wanted.”

“What is it that you want, then?”

“This.” He tightened his arms a tad against your frame to make a point, before pulling his head back, just enough to be able to see your eyes when he says, “You.”

Your breath hitches and he is unable to read the expression in your face. Was it just shock? Was it dismay? A slight panic bubbles in his throat. Did he misread the signs? Did he just blow it? But you felt so pliant under his touch, you still do. So he had to ask, even if your response might just end him.

“Y-you don’t want this?”

“No, I do, I do,” you say, almost too quickly, nibbling on your bottom lip afterwards. His thumb goes to caress your cheek, and you lean slightly into his touch.

‘Fuckin’ do something,’ his brain screams at him, the way it has for years now. 

So many words are still unspoken between you two, but as he looks at the affection and the want in your eyes, he decides–fuck it, you can talk later.

"I really want to kiss you right now," he finally admits, his voice low but steady. "Is that okay?"

You nod, but hesitate. "I’m just—” you place a hand on his shoulder, as if to anchor yourself on him. “I’m afraid that if I start, I won’t be able to stop.”

He lets out a breath, a smile playing on his lips as he sees yours curve into a shy grin.

“That’s exactly what I want,” he murmurs as he closes the gap, his lips almost grazing yours.

“I don’t want to just be your friend anymore, Yoongi.” Your nose nudges his, inviting him to make the next move.

“You were never just a friend,” he whispers against the corner of your mouth.

“And after this,” you say, moving your hands to the back of his neck, “I might want you all to myself.”

His lips brush against yours, featherlight. It’s barely a kiss, just a fleeting touch, but it leaves you both craving more.

“Baby,” he breathes, “I’m already yours.”

A/N: What do we think??? Feedback is appreciated! Do we hear wedding bells, or nah? See you in Part Two! 🙂

Tag: @tea4sykes @mggv97 @jajabro @yooglefics @codeinebelle @tinytan-gerine @comingupwithacoolnameishard @dontcribuyabag @mizz-kraziii @angelfuzzy2 @marnz1990 @speedyhandsbonkpalace @amarawayne @coffeedepressionsoup @little-cherry01 @take-u-2-an0ther-w0r1d @lolpanda94 @parapiop7 @wobblewobble822 @dazzlingjade @storyofafangirl @yoongrace @mzbtsreads

Thank you so much for reading, you beautiful human! xo

[writersblockedx]

Hi. I am sorry if that this is not your thing, so you can just ignore it.

I love some pervert Spencer Reid (I am so sorry, it is a guilty pleasure). Things like very inappropriate daydreams about his female friend and some admiration for her lingerie (maybe even stolen a few and feeling guilty about that, but at the same time, it turns him on).

If he got a peek of her nud form or just seeing a few spice pictures of her... idk

What's the Harm? / S.R.

Pairing - Spencer Reid x BAU!Reader Summary - When Spencer accidentally walks in on Y/n getting changed, he can't seem to think about anything else. Warnings - Perv Spence, like soft smut, nothing in depth x Words - 1.2K

A/n - This is probably the closest I'll come to writing smut but I hope you enjoyed it anyway? <3

Masterlist

Spencer had always thought of Y/n as pretty, nice...lovely. But his thoughts have never delved any deeper. He was never one to dare let his mind go deep enough to wander about sensual thoughts - never mind such thoughts being about her. He was too himself, the idea of a woman even kissing him made the boy nervous.

And then something snapped in him.

He knew the culprit. It was something so innocent. In his logical mind, Spencer knew the girl hadn't done it on purpose, but gosh a part of him yearned that it had been. That she had just so happened to be left in her bra in the changing room for him to walk in on. That she had been waiting for the very moment he wandered in to grab his FBI vest too.

Y/n had her shirt and FBI vest laid out in front of her as she adjusted her bra straps. The boy was practically drooling. "Oh...uh...erm..." Were the only words he could muster as he walked in.

The girl jumped, grasping her shirt close to her chest before sending him an easy smile as she realised it was only Spencer who had walked in on her. "Oh, it's just you." She breathed out a sigh, worrisome one of the cops or god forbid Hotch had been the one to walk in. But it was just Spencer - what harm could he have done in taking in such a sight?

That day Spencer had muttered a, "Sorry, I'll erm-" And proceeded to leave without another word. But his mind was left marked as if the girl had just carved that very image of her in a lacy yet practical bra into the forefront of her mind.

It started on the jet ride back. Spencer was in the seat facing her, a book laid across her chest as her forehead nuzzled into the seat further, like she was sinking into the comfort of her own dreams. But as Spencer gazed over at her, his eyes wandered. At first, to her book then to the edge of her neckline where the shirt was pulled down ever so slightly Spencer could catch the top of her breasts. He thought to earlier that day. How soft they probably felt, how soft they would feel in his own harsh fingers, how it would taste to kiss them-

No. He couldn't be thinking this. He was her co-worker, a friend, a very close friend. She shouldn't be the subject of his sexual desires. Spencer hadn't even realised he had any sexual desires until that very moment.

He shook his head and followed her movements, leaning his head back against the jet seat, letting sleep engulf his mind. That was the best way to escape his thoughts. Or so he had thought. In fact, his subconscious mind had only done the very opposite, like it was taunting him.

The very thoughts of her naked and bare, cupped between his two hands, had clouded his entire dreams. Her rolling around between his sheets, giggling as the sunlight enhanced her nude figure. Her hand reached out, caressing his cheek ever so gently it made even his dream self shiver. What was he doing? Why was he here? Why was he only just thinking about this now?

A hand fell to his shoulder, jolting him awake. It just so happened that such hand belonged to the very girl who had infatuated his dreams, "We've landed," Y/n gave a sweet smile but all Spencer could focus on was what had since grown in his trousers.

His shoulders became stiff as he glanced between his lap and the girl, "I'll erm- I'll be right there." He murmured before the girl gave a tilt of her head. She thought about asking him if everything was okay but bypassed her concerns as she exited the jet.

It didn't stop there. It only got worse. His dreams were every night, getting more detailed, more handsy, the feel of her atop of him or the other way round, how easy it seemed for him to grasp her wrists and pin her down. And when he wandered into the office and glanced at Y/n, he could only picture her naked, he could only think about all the things he wanted to do to her.

The boy was at breaking point. The very thought of her...of her figure had consumed almost every waking thought. How was he meant to go on like this?

It only got worse when the team were invited around Y/n's apartment for end-of-week drinks. He was getting towards tispy and when he was directed into Y/n's room to find the adjacent toilet, he couldn't help himself. Of course, Spencer had been in her room before. He had been on her bed before. The flower sheets and little tv which faced the end of the bed where the two watched hours of crappy shows. 

But this time around, things were different. The boy's fingers traced her bedsheets, just as soft as he imagined her bare breasts to be. When his eyes caught her side dresser, it was as if something else inside of him had taken over. All those thoughts of her, the desire which burned inside him was pushing him on. His hand reached out as he guessed the right draw on the first try. An array of pants stared back at him. 

Some were practical and made for comfort, others were similar to what he had imagined her in. Silk, lace, ranging from black to red to bubblegum pink. His breath itched. But it was like he couldn't help himself. The same way an addict reached for a needle, he was reaching for one of her thongs, as if the very feel, the very lavender scent of her washing powder overwhelmed him with euphoria.

He was so distracted by the smell of the girl, that he hadn't dared to pay attention to the sound of steps growing louder. The boy jumped when the door rattled open. He had no choice. He slipped the thong into his inner blazer pocket and preyed in every way that he hadn't just gotten caught being so invasive by the very girl he adored.

"Spence?" Y/n's head tilted at him lingering at her bedside table. A tug of a smile as she questioned the boy, "You all good?"

He didn't dare speak, "Hmh." He was already moving past her towards the door, "I'm gonna- yeah." He muttered before leaving.

Y/n was left alone in her room as she scanned it. Her eyes found her underwear draw left ajar. When she wandered over and noticed her favourite red thong missing from her draw, she had an inkling about where it had gone. But she wasn't mad, no, if anything she was impressed to find Spencer had the confidence to do such a thing. And, strangely, she was flattered that the pretty boy of the BAU was thinking about her in the same way she had been thinking about him.

[alotofpockets]

Co-captains | Leah Williamson x Lionesses!Reader

Where your teammates try to get you with someone at the World Cup to make Leah jealous

Woso masterlist | Words: 1.7k

-----

While representing your country was always an honour, especially at the World Cup, it felt different this time around. Ever since you were thirteen you had represented England with your best friend Leah, but this year she wouldn’t be there with you.

Leah had done her ACL a few months before the World Cup, everyone was devastated for her. The injury in itself was horrible, but to have it happen right before a big tournament like the World Cup made it even worse. 

Besides being best friends, you had also been co-captains for your country the past couple of years. Doing this tournament without her felt wrong, but you knew you had to step up and make her proud.

The team had definitely noticed your mood during your training sessions in Australia. You were very grateful to be a part of the team, but not having Leah there to do it with you kept playing over and over in your head. 

“Missing Leah?” Keira asked as she sat down next to you in the hotel lobby. “Yeah, I wish she was here with us.” A playful smirk formed on Keira’s face. “What?” You asked with your brows furrowed. “Oh nothing, but if I were you I’d turn around.” You had no idea what was going on, but you turned around like she said.

“Lee!” You quickly stood up when you saw your best friend walk through the doors. “You’re here!” With a couple steps you had reached her and wrapped your arms around her. “I’m here.” She whispered. 

“I can’t believe you’re really here.” You hadn’t smiled this much since you had gotten to Australia. “You didn’t think I was gonna sit this one out completely, did you?” 

You let Leah greet the rest of the girls, and hugged her brother Jacob who had been filming the whole thing. “Jakey, I saw you a few days ago, how could you not have told me?” The first day you had landed in Australia, you had gone to visit Leah’s brother. The two of you had talked about the World Cup, and Leah’s wellbeing, and yet he hadn’t said a word about this surprise. He playfully shrugs his shoulders. “What would have been the fun in ruining the surprise?”

The rest of the day was filled with laughter and excitement. Leah joined you at training, while she wasn’t playing, she was a captain at heart and had plenty to say to prepare her team for the upcoming games.

After training you all gathered in the common room of the hotel, you sat down between Ella and Jordan. The room filled with a mix of conversations about everything and nothing. Leah was sitting across the room from you, and every now and again your eyes would fall on her. A small smile playing at your lips when she would look your way as well.

“Look at them,” Alessia said softly enough for only Ella to hear. “They’re such idiots.” Ella followed her best friend’s eyes between you and Leah, “Completely clueless.” Alessia nodded in agreement, “We’ve really got to do something about that.”

An idea formed in Ella’s mind and a smirk grew on her face. “I’ve got an idea.” She turned back towards you. She spoke loud enough for all of the team to hear this time. “So, y/n, it’s been ages since you’ve been on a date, hasn’t it?”

The question took you off guard, seemingly coming out of nowhere. “Eh, I guess so. What does that have to do with anything?” You felt watched by everyone on the team and suddenly you grew nervous.

“Oh, I was just thinking that we could help you out. There are so many good looking players at this tournament, there must be one that has caught your eye, right?” Your cheeks flushed as the intensity of the eyes on you grew stronger. “Oh, eh, I don’t know. I’ve just been focussed on football.”

Your eyes darted to Leah, silently asking for help. She was sitting back in her chair, looking nonchalantly, but for a second you thought you saw a flicker of sadness in her eyes. Before you could think about it further Jordan chimed in on the conversation. 

“Oh come on, there must be someone. Name one player you think is fit.” You felt put on the spot, so you named the first player that came to mind. “Oh eh, maybe Alexia Putellas, she’s a very talented player.”

The team erupted in laughter at how you were still choosing to look at this through football lenses. Only one person wasn’t laughing, and that was Leah. Her jaw was clenched as she looked at you, but it went unnoticed by you. 

“I can definitely set you up with Alexia. In fact, I can call her right now!” Keira joined in on the fun. “No! Please don’t do that.” You didn’t like the turn this was taking. “Oh I won’t then, someone else maybe?”

Everyone on the team joined in on calling out names. Raso? Rölfo? Kaneryd? Bonmatí? Kennedy? Sonnet? Fleming? 

Leah sat watching the scene unfold unamused. Her arms were crossed and her expression had turned into a frown. Everyone was enjoying getting a reaction out of you by listing every player they could think of, so they hadn’t noticed the change in her demeanour, until she stood up abruptly. Her chair loudly clattering against the floor.

The room went fully silent. No more names being thrown around, and no more laughter. “I eh, I’m gonna go check on her.” You stood up and followed in the direction Leah took off in. 

“Lee, what’s wrong?” You say as you reach her about to open her hotel room. She huffed and walked into the room, just before the door closed behind her, you managed to slip through. 

“Nothing, go meet up with any one of those people the girls mention. Go out, have fun.” Your brow furrowed, “Lee, I don’t know what’s going on. But-” She cut you off before you could continue telling her that you never said you wanted to meet up with those people, that it was just coming from your teammates. 

“I can’t deal with listening to you potentially being with any one of those people. I don’t wanna hear who you think is good looking or fit. I don’t want to hear it because… because I want you to think of me that way.” The last part of her sentence was barely above a whisper.

You stood there, too stunned to get out any words. Leah figured she had put it on the table now, so she might as well continue what she just started. "I like you. I like you more than just my best friend. More than I ever thought I would. I didn’t realise it until I heard you talk about other girls that way.” She looked up at you nervously. 

“Well, I was going to say that I didn’t talk about any of the people that way, and that it was only the girls doing so. And honestly the reason for that is because I only have eyes for you Leah. I like you too, I have for a long time.”

“You do?” Your smile grew, “Yes, you dummy. I’ve been a total grump without you here. You are the only person that I want. I don’t care about any other players going into this competition, it’s always been you.”

Leah stood up quickly and moved towards you. “I am so happy to hear you say that.” She said with her face mere inches away from yours. One look at her lips and then quickly diverting your eyes back to hers, was enough for Leah to lean in and connect your lips. 

The kiss was short and sweet. It was everything you had hoped it would be and more. “Will you be my girlfriend?” Leah asked as soon as you pulled away from the kiss. “Definitely.” You said with a big smile.

“Can we go back down and show the girls everything is alright?” You asked shyly, not wanting to make Leah feel bad for walking out on everyone the way that she did. “Only if we can tell them that they can stop trying to match you up with someone.” You chuckled at her request. “Deal.” 

As you wanted back to the girls, Leah took ahold of your hand and gave it a soft squeeze. You couldn’t believe that she was your girlfriend, but you knew that with Leah by your side everything was going to be great.

The atmosphere in the common room shifted the second the both of you walked in. The team had been quietly speculating about what had happened, and if they had taken things too far. 

As soon as they looked at your intertwined hands, the speculation started back up again, this time in the direction of did this actually work? 

“Everything alright?” Keira asked with a knowing smile. Leah glanced at you and squeezed your hand once more. “Yeah, everything is more than alright.” She pulled you a little closer. “You can stop matchmaking, I’m taking her out tomorrow morning.” 

The room filled with cheers and laughter. A few of the girls high fived each other. “Finally, I thought we were going to have to lift every player in the tournament before the two of you finally got together.” Ella says dramatically, earning a laugh from the whole group, including you and Leah.

The teasing of the girls didn’t stop, but this time around it felt different. Leah’s arm was wrapped around your shoulder, with her thumb lightly caressing your arm. 

You still had the tournament ahead of you, but tonight had given you a bit of extra encouragement to perform better than you had ever done before. You felt ready to take on the world and make Leah proud.

-----

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[demonicbaby666]

The Boiling Point

One shot | Criminal Minds Masterlist | Masterlists

Fandom: Criminal Minds

Pairing: Emily Prentiss x fem!Reader

Genre: fluff, angst and a dash of smut

Words: 3.9k+

Warnings: 18+, minors DNI, light smut, one bed trope, a butt loads of sexual tension, fingering (r!recieving), a slight bit of miscommunication/lack of communcation

Summary: Months of friendship, endless banter and sexual tension all lead to one boiling point.

A/n: @prentisssgf this ones for you <3 I hope it'll put a smile on that gorgeous face of yours and lives up to your expectations. Have an amazing birthday doll! Love and kisses xxx

As far as cases went, this one wasn’t so bad. Sure, the team was stretched a little thin, paperwork was piled high, new cases were flooding in, and bureaucracy kept tensions mounted amongst the higher-ups, but every cloud had a silver lining. You found yours on a Wednesday, around midday, walking into Hotch’s office with Emily at your side, having both been summoned. 

“I’m sending you two. I need the rest of the team here.” 

A two-person unit would leave you with a load of groundwork: liaising with local authorities, checking out the crime scene, heading to the coroners and ordinarily, that would have overwhelmed you had it not been for the fact you’d have Emily by your side the entire time. Emily, who was now shifting her weight from foot to foot, fidgeting with the loose skin around her nails as she bit the inside of her cheek. 

You nudged her, ascertaining from Hotch’s stare he was scrutinising her every move. She straightened her spine and puffed her chest, giving your boss a solid nod as she awaited further instructions. 

“You can take the jet. No detours, though,” he said with a smirk, giving the pair of you a once over before bringing his attention back to the paperwork littering the oak desk. “Now get moving. Garcia will fill you in on the details.” 

“Damn. I was hoping for a pit stop in Vegas, a quick game of poker, maybe even a couple goes on the slot machines.” You received a blank stare from Hotch and honestly, given the state of affairs running a muck through the BAU, you couldn’t blame him for not entertaining your fruitless attempts at comedy. “Jet. No detours. Garcia will fill us in. Got it.” 

And with that, you made to leave the room, trying to tame the rosy tinge of embarrassment burning over your cheeks. For the sake of propriety, you waited till you were out of sight in the elevator, on the way down to the car park, to elbow Emily right in the ribs. 

“What was that for?!” She cried, holding her side. 

“Don’t think I didn’t see your smug ass smirk on the way out,” You groaned. “I made a tit out of myself, and you thought it appropriate to bask in my misery.” 

“For a profiler, I thought you’d read a room better,” Emily laughed, walking out of the steel death trap and into the parking lot, pulling out car keys. 

“Says the woman who was smiling like an idiot at the prospect of having me all to yourself for a couple of days.” 

She stopped in her tracks, “Got a problem with that?” 

Did you have a problem with an attractive co-worker turned friend relishing your one-on-one company? No. Did you beam at the opportunity of having her alone, knowing you’d be able to let your affections run free to a certain extent? Yes. But did Emily’s ego need to know that? Hell no. 

It took a couple more steps to realise Emily wasn’t following. Though you were eager to get going, you deeply regretted turning to usher her towards the car. It was her stance that knocked you off kilter. Her folded arms, hip slung to the side, and arched brow made it an outward struggle to remain upright. Had her legs always been that long? 

“As smooth as cases go with you and I working together, I can’t say I’m not feeling the slightest bit put out by the thought of having to do a majority of the heavy lifting.” Emily didn’t seem convinced, her eyes squinting as she picked apart truth from lie. Her glare stretched out for too long, and you were beginning to wither under it; the spark of curiosity that drove her to excel at her job was bright and unyielding, threatening never to let go of this subject matter until she got the answers she wanted. You couldn't have that. 

You walked towards her, hiding your fear behind a mask of false confidence. The scales were unbalanced, Emily reigning supreme with her brazen approach to the underlying sexual tension that plagued your friendship and you drowning in it—that required change. 

With each step forward, Emily took one back till her eyes were wide and her back pressed against the car park wall, and she had nowhere to go. You took victory in the shiver that racked through the brunette, relishing the delicious taste of her withheld breaths skating across your skin. The look of disbelief she wore grew louder when your hands bracketed her shoulders, palms flat against textured concrete. 

“What are you doing?” She asked, breathy and fidgety. You couldn't help but let your eyes drop to the rise and fall of her chest, to her bobbing throat. 

Dropping one hand to her cheek, you drew her lips open with your thumb, “Taking what’s mine.” 

After a few hurried blinks, Emily’s eyes closed, her breath stilled, and you struck. You used the hand, keeping you steadily leaning over Emily to push yourself away. At the exact same moment, you reached down and plucked the forgotten keys from between her fingers. 

“I want to drive,” you said, turning and walking towards the car with the biggest shit-eating grin plastered across your face. 

Emily’s steps were laden with the force of a thousand stampedes as she stormed after you. Unsurprisingly, she caught up with you quickly, but not quickly enough. By the time she reached the car, you had already clambered behind the wheel and had the engine started. From the corner of your eyes, you observed the difference in Emily’s demeanour. Outrage had burned her cheeks red. Her breathing was steady, but you could see how focused she was on maintaining it as she flicked invisible dust particles off her blazer. 

“You’re a little shit,” she muttered. 

“Like calls like and all that.” 

When you reached the runway, Emily was back to her old self–shooting off teasing remarks about your driving and keeping close to your side as you made your way to the jet. 

“Do you know how many road violations I counted?” she asked, sitting beside you and setting up her laptop. Garcia was due to call any minute. “There's nothing wrong with being a passenger princess. Honesty, I think it’d suit you.” 

“You sure know how to compliment a girl.” You rolled your eyes and pulled out two case files from your bag, dumping them on the table and flipping one open. 

“You should see what I can do in bed.” 

Judging by how fast you snapped your neck, you wouldn’t be surprised to wake up the following day to discover a muscle tear. There was a reprimand on the tip of your tongue, ready to rip a hole right through Emily’s self-satisfied smirk. However, before you could reinstate yourself as the reigning champion of inappropriate workplace flirting, a shrill chime tore through the weighted silence. 

Emily looked so pleased with herself. It killed you to have missed the opportunity to knock her down a few pegs. 

“Saved by the bell,” she hummed, accepting Garcia’s call. 

It wasn’t a long debrief by any means. Garcia divvied information on the victims and their histories between a rundown of each crime scene and any other bits of digital data she’d acquired that would aid the case. It went on for ten minutes, maybe fifteen. Work began at the drop of the call, you and Emily scribbling down notes, batting theories to and from each other till you’d weaned down the profile from anyone to the standard white male between the ages of thirty and forty—surprise. Miles high from where the bulk of your work would take place, you and Emily had exhausted every avenue you could. After half an hour of back and forths and meticulous reviews of each victim, of which there were thankfully only two, you gave into idle chatter and then comfortable quiet. 

The jet looked different without all its occupants. It still held its comfort, forever the resting place after a long couple of days, but the barren landscape remained off-putting enough for you to seek solace on the lonely couch. A trusty book in hand to pry your racing mind away from the stress of your job. 

“Mind if I join you?” 

Emily hovered over you, one hand empty and gesturing to the unoccupied space beside you and the other holding her current read. She had her finger wedged within the pages, keeping her place as she waited patiently for your answer. 

“Sure,” you smiled softly, scooching to the side. 

Paragraph by paragraph, the space between you and Emily was eaten up. By the closing of your chapter, your thighs were side by side, and the older woman had somehow managed to sling an arm over the back of the sofa without your notice, mindlessly twirling with the ends of your hair around her fingers. 

“Sorry.” Emily began to pull her arm away, but you held her still. 

“Don’t be.” You brought her arm back down, looping it over your shoulder as you rested your book on your lap. “I could do with resting my eyes, and the pillows aren’t nearly as comfortable as you.” 

“Well then,” Emily began, a sure smile lining her lips, “I’m all yours.” 

Once you’d shuffled around a bit, tucking your legs underneath you and leaning further into Emily, you settled your head down on her shoulder, snuggling into the familiar scent of her herbal shampoo. Emily’s hand slowly migrated down to your waist, where she pulled you closer and held you tighter. 

“Emily?” 

“Mmm?” she replied, her eyes still on the book she’d impressively managed to keep open with just one hand. 

“Could you read out loud?” Your request was met with the turn of Emily’s head and the soft crease of her brows as she gazed down at you nestled in the space between her neck and shoulder. You’d seen her angry, you’d seen her sad, you’d seen her happy, but whatever this was, you’d never seen. The afternoon sun had chosen her milky skin as its subject, a canvas to paint its balmy glow over. Her eyes were lighter under its yellow and orange hue, making it oh so easy to get lost in the space where her chocolate irises met the blacks of her pupils. 

She looked beautiful like this. She looked at ease. 

“Of course.” 

—

You roused to quiet, Emily’s lilt no longer warming your ears with its eloquence and clarity. She didn’t even seem to be reading anymore. Her book closed and placed on the armrest as she watched clouds fly by. She did not jump, freeze or move at all when you spoke. 

“What are you thinking about?” You asked, rubbing your eyes and quietly beaming at how sleep had shifted your knees to rest over Emily’s lap. The position felt remarkably close to cuddling. 

“I’m trying to figure something out,” she started, eyes filled with mirth as she turned to look at you. There was movement along your waist–Emily’s hand gliding up and down, intermittently pausing to trace circles into the intercostal space between your ribs. She’d have had to be blind to miss your throat bobbing as you swallowed a shiver. 

“Go on…” you prompted. 

“I don't understand how something so cute and tiny, especially when sleeping, can cause such a ruckus.” She bit her lip at the mix of horror and mortification donning your face, waiting to deliver the punchline. “You snore.” Oh, she looked so fucking proud of herself. 

“I do not!” 

“At first, I thought something was up with the jet, but then I realised you were practically vibrating next to me. Seriously, you should get your sinuses checked.”

“Now I know you're taking the piss.”

A great bark of laughter tore from her chest, and you hadn’t a clue what to do with yourself. On the one hand, you wanted to punch her, and on the other, you were enthralled with the sweet melody of her joy, desperate to hear it for whatever duration was left of your flight. 

“If I weren't so comfy, I’d slap you,” you groaned, relaxing your muscles against the warmth of Emily’s side. “How long till we land?” 

“Not long, twenty minutes maybe.” She brought her free hand to your face, brushing past your cheek and reaching for the strands of hair that had fallen loose in your slumber. “We’ll head straight to the latest crime scene. The media have already caught wind of the murders, so we’ll have to keep them at bay with a statement.” She listed off your itinerary, tucking your hair back in place behind your ear. “I’ll ask JJ to handle that remotely once we know more. Then, we can head to the precinct and talk to the victims’ families. You take one, I'll take the other.” 

“Sounds good,” you nodded wistfully, taking Emily’s hand into your lap, trailing your finger over the lines marking her palm. 

Emily’s plan was carried out—first, the sweeping of the crime scene and the reiteration of JJ’s statement to the cluster of rowdy journalists and news correspondents. Then, at the station, you spoke briefly with the police chief, gathering characteristic information about the families you were due to meet. It always helped to have a measure of knowledge regarding the personalities you would encounter. 

When the sun drew its last breath over the skyline, you and Emily agreed it was time to call it a day. Hotch sent the address to a nearby hotel, letting you know everything had been handled, and all you had to do was give your name to whoever was working the front desk. So, for the life of you, you couldn't understand how you’d found yourself in heated discussion, or rather argument with the hotel receptionist. 

“There must be some mix-up,” you moaned. Emily was standing by you, uncharacteristically quiet and of no help. Her focus appeared to be on her phone as her fingers clattered over the digital keyboard with scary determination. 

“I’ll sort this out,” Emily said frostily. Bringing her phone to her ear, she walked away. 

As you stood in the hotel lobby, left a little out of sorts by the unresolved problem of your nightly stay, you could see Emily pacing the length of the room, back and forth and back and forth, nose flared, jaw clenched, and words sharp. You tried not to overthink her anger, how the thought of sharing a room with you brought about so much outrage. Was it that abhorrent to share the same space as you for a single night? 

By the time Emily returned, she looked defeated. She barely acknowledged you before setting her wrath upon the guilty-looking clerk. 

“Surely not every room is booked for tonight,” she sighed, impatiently drumming her fingers on the marbled desk surface. 

The click and clack of a keyboard filled the awkward silence. 

“Unless you’re willing to take the honeymoon suite, we unfortunately have no other rooms free tonight.” The undeniable proof of the woman’s statement came with the turn of the computer screen. Everything was red except one column. Emily’s eyes bulged at the collection of numbers gathered at its side. 

Enough was enough. You weren’t about to let her pay an obscene amount of money just because she couldn’t stomach the thought of sleeping with you. She’d have to suck it up. 

“It’s fine,” you whispered, struggling to find conviction in your statement under the sudden attention of Emily and the receptionist. “We’ll be fine sharing.” 

—

The hotel, for all its expensive charm, was quaint. The floor was carpeted and looked freshly cleaned, the bedding was crisp and neat over the queen-sized bed, and adjacent was an open door leading to what you assumed would be the bathroom. Once you’d set your bag down, you ignored Emily, too caught up in your disdain for the woman’s callousness to even look at her. She likely had disgust written all over her face, surveying the bed. 

You took out your sleepwear, plucked a neatly folded towel off the foot of the bed, and stormed into the bathroom. 

When the first spray of water hit, you wanted to cry. You wanted to scream. How had you been so stupid? The flirting, the underlying sexual tension–had it all been a wicked trick played by your mind? Did the months spent waiting for the right moment all lead down to this? The boiling point where everything fizzled into nothing but humiliating recognition. 

A single tear fell down the drain, followed shortly by another and another. Soon, it was hard to pick apart the onslaught of tears from the water soaking your hair and rolling down your face. Behind your closed eyes, a movie montage of scattered memories began to roll. You and Emily nestled close together on your couch in the thralls of heated banter. You and Emily patching each other up, reprimanding foolish decisions with teasing remarks and antiseptic solution. You and Emily nestled in your own corner of the jet, dozing off to the drone of Spencer’s ramblings. 

When you stepped out of the shower, the mirror painted a sore sight. Reflected in front of you were your puffy eyes, blotchy skin and one glum frown. You could chalk the redness to your face and the swell around your eyes to the sweltering shower. Your sorrowful expression, however, you’d have to fix.

Sighing, you brushed your teeth and splashed some icy water over your face, taking a deep inhale and deeper exhale before exiting the safe haven of the bathroom. 

Emily stood outside, waiting. 

“Somethings wrong.”

“With the case?” you asked, brushing past her to shove your clothes through the open zipper of your bag. 

She followed you to the edge of the bed, hovering at your side with a pointed stare. “No.” 

“There’s a lot of things wrong,” you huffed, dumping your black duffel on the floor with a thud. “You’ll have to be more specific.” 

“Something’s wrong with you.” 

You stood motionless for a brief second, letting the words register. “Excuse me?” you gaped, swivelling your body to glare at Emily. 

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it’s not.” 

“No, no,” you seethed. “Please, go on. Tell me what’s so wrong with me. Spare no detail. I want specifics.” 

“You know what?” Emily shook her head, her humourless smile striking a skittish nerve in you. “I’m going to freshen up. By the time I finish, maybe you’ll have matured and learned to use your big girl words.” And with that, she grabbed her bag and towel, shooting you a disappointed scowl as she slammed and locked the bathroom door. 

When she did return, you were in the midst of trying to get comfortable. Sensing by your lack of eye contact, you were no more ready to hash things out than you were before Emily drew in a long breath, flicked the lights off and circled the bed, settling in beside you. 

Rest didn’t come easy, or at all. It was impossible to stay in one spot. The smell of Emily’s shampoo and body wash made it impossible to ignore her presence, and on top of that, every time you shut your eyes, an echo of your argument haunted you. 

“Are you going to toss and turn all night?” Emily groaned. 

In a flurry of movement, the brunette flipped over, facing you head-on as her hands gripped your hips to hold you still. 

“I can’t sleep,” you bit out, trying to wriggle out of her hold. When that didn’t work, you brought your hands to her chest and applied light pressure. Emily’s grip tightened. 

“I gathered that much.” As if holding you hostage wasn’t enough, Emily tugged your body closer, intent on turning this nightmare into a living hell. “What would help is talking to me about what’s got you so pent up instead of sulking and flailing about like a toddler mid-tantrum.” 

“You suck.” 

“So you’re taking the toddler thing to heart then.” Amusement danced in her eyes, and a flicker of a smile ghosted across her lips. 

“Why did sharing a room with me bother you so much?” you mumbled. 

Emily almost looked shocked. Disbelief cut a crease in the space between her brows. “It didn’t.” 

You rolled your eyes and attempted to wriggle out of Emily’s grasp, again failing. 

“I thought it bothered you, and I didn’t want you to feel uncomfortable. That’s why I was trying to sort out another room,” Emily explained, her smile never faltering as she brought her fingers up to your chin, thumb brushing the underside of your lip. 

“Oh.” 

“Sweetheart,” she drawled, her timbre low and husky, “all I’ve wanted these last few months was a chance to have you alone in bed.” 

Oh.

The room was engulfed in silence. Slowly, everything became a blurred backdrop as your sole focus remained on Emily. Behind her, the moon shone through the window, bathing her hair in a soft silvery glow. It was loosely tied into a low ponytail and a shade darker than usual, the dampness of the shower still clinging to the thickest locks. Despite her face being skulked in shadows, offering you only the slightest glimpse of chestnut eyes and ivory skin, you could see her clear as day, the contours of her face forever ingrained in your mind's eye. 

Months of pent-up tension crackled low in the suspended space between your bodies. You tried to move your tense muscles, coaxing them into seeing this was the time for action. They remained frozen.

In the end, it was Emily who made the first move.

You felt her draw closer, holding your breath for fear that one more pull of oxygen might break you out of this dreamlike scenario. 

“I’m going to kiss you now,” she whispered before the press of her lips engulfed all your senses. 

As it turned out, Emily’s shameless brags regarding her bedside manner were not untrue. In the small pocket of time it took her to undress you both, she’d managed to turn you into a wry mess of ardent need. She teased and teased till you forced your pride aside and begged her to slot her fingers inside you. To which she did without question. 

Moving her fingers in and out, Emily brushed her thumb against the thousands of nerve endings, all condensed into one tiny button hidden at the apex of your sex. She worked your clit between her fingers, each drag up and down, sending a delicious thrill down your spine. Every thrust of her digits marked the spot of rough flesh burrowed within your pussy; expert precision ensuring it never remained untouched for too long. 

Pleasure coursed hot through your veins, unyielding in its mission to draw you to your impending release. Mammoth waves of satisfaction rolled up and down your body, contorting limbs till your back arched and your chest pressed against Emily’s bare breasts. She didn’t stop when you moaned through the duration of your peak, pummeling her fingers into the convulsing grasp of your cunt till you were crying out and shaking from overstimulation. 

“Fuck,” you sighed dreamily, the last sparks of your orgasm still very present in the tingling of your legs. 

Emily settled on her back beside you, squeezing an arm under your waist and pulling you close. “Bet you’re glad I didn’t break the bank on that honeymoon suite now,” she smirked. 

“You have no idea,” you chuckled.

Resting your head over her breastbone and listening to the steady drum of her heart, you let sleep lull your eyes shut. 

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[targaryenluvs]

OUR LITTLE DOVE

pairings: dark!lucy gray x fem!reader, dark!coriolanus snow x fem!reader, coriolanus snow x lucy gray

summary: you reunite with your dear songbird after the games, but it seems the capitol has followed her home, and taken an interest in the two of you. but it seems lucy gray is willing to share you with a certain peacekeeper, even if you aren’t.

warnings: crazy lucy n corio conspiring like evil doers, manipulation, chasing, primal play?? is that what is called idk corio enjoys hunting your ass down, kidnapping, drugging, forced into accepting a third partner?? nc touching, abuse of power (peacekeeper), power dynamics, kinda cheating (lucy n corio), guilt-trip, jealousy, threatening, self doubt and relationship problems, murder, betrayal

word count: 3.0k

a/n: lol i complain about wanting to write fluff but all my good ideas r so dark 😭 someone needs to give me tips on how to write girls cuz i have no experience would be easier if i was gay boooo!!

he was like a shadow, stuck to your back, always.

you’d complained to lucy numerous times that you didn’t feel comfortable around him when she played at the hob, knowing he’d be there, in the crowd. “sweetie, he was my mentor. he helped me so much in the games, i wouldn’t be here without him. you love me don’t you? so you need to learn to love him too, he’s a good friend a mine. i love you and i gotta get to the stage baby.” she explained as she ran around getting herself and the covey ready.

you were always front row. wanting to be as close to lucy as possible. she looked especially majestic tonight with flowers in her hair. as you listened to her sing you’d managed to forget about the certain blonde peacekeeper near the back. but he hadn’t forgotten about you, nor lucy.

you’d left to get a drink and you’d came back to an unfamiliar tune. you usually knew every song being played off by heart but this was new.

Everyone's born as clean as a whistle

As fresh as a daisy

And not a bit crazy

Staying that way's a hard row for hoeing

she sounded as angelic as usual and the crowd around you seemed entranced.

As rough as a briar

Like walking through fire

This world, it's dark

This world, it's scary

lucy smiled at you once, just once. which threw you off since you usually got a bunch. especially during new songs and songs about you. was this not also about you?

I've taken some hits, so

No wonder I'm wary It's why

I need you

so it is about me! you thought as you closed your eyes, allowing yourself to sway to the music and singing. you’d hoped you wouldn’t miss a smile headed your way.

You're as pure as the driven snow

your eyes flew open as you stared at lucy, she was looking past you and to the peacekeeper. to coriolanus snow. you’d always been a rational person, you prided yourself on restraint but that restraint was hanging on by a thread. you wanted to jam a beer bottle into his neck. lucy was your girlfriend not his. and yet he smiled stupidly towards her as she sang and you could feel your heart clawing its way up. best to leave now rather than stay and hear more of the ever so driven man.

your head was spinning as you slumped to the floor, in one of your finest dresses yet worst mental states. of course, something had formed between the two. she was in the goddamn hunger games and he was her mentor. trauma bonding? he quite literally saved her life, coached her and you did what? sat at home and hoped.

hope could only get you so far.

your hope and faith in lucy gray baird was dwindling as her lyrics swirled in your head. of course she loved him. who wouldn’t? the man was undeniably eye catching. a capitol man. but you’d always imagined lucy staying away from the capitol, despising them. but maybe it wasn’t the captiol part but the man part. maybe she wanted a true life, a home, marriage and children and everything she could wish for.

what on earth could you provide her with?

“y/n?” it sure as hell wasn’t lucy calling out for you and you knew that. coriolanus’s reflection was prominent in the puddle before you as he neared. great, you sneered, would love to get to know you mr peacekeeper. please tell me how you stole my lovely girlfriend from me!

your chest felt oh so heavy as you heard his footsteps in the gravel, determined and unwavering as he made his way to your slumped body. “what do you want? you wanna gloat?” coriolanus stopped in his tracks, gloat? “why would i gloat?” you looked up at him annoyed, “rub it in my face. you practically stole my girlfriend from me.” coriolanus laughed. actually laughed and it made you want to strangle him with his stupid dog tags.

“sweetheart.” vomit. you wanted to vomit. maybe choking and dying on your vomit would be less embarrassing then this. why on earth was this fuck head calling you his sweetheart. “fuck off.”

you didn’t see him coming. and you certainly didn’t expect his demeanour to snap. but the large hand tangled in your open hair was a big slap in the face to your unreadiness. “you of all people don’t get to talk to me like that. do you know who you’re talking to?” you could hear his perfect porcelain teeth grinding at your words. god this man couldn’t handle an insult. wuss.

“what the hell is your- ow! problem!” you yelped as he dragged you into an alleyway. “you need to learn how to respect your superiors. if you’re nice to me, i can make your life easier. doesn’t it hurt? not being able to fully provide for your family? seeing them struggle? do you really think disrespecting a peacekeeper is going to help? i suggest you straighten your act and thank me for even looking your way. there are plenty of other girls here.”

but he didn’t want those other girls. he wanted you. you with the teary eyes and messy hair. you who he’d been seeing in his dreams and during the day. you with the kind smile and curious eyes. you who were so sweet and pretty but mean when need be. the y/n who was stupid enough to spit such hateful words at a peacekeeper. but he’d teach you. whether it be with words and lessons or actions and bruises. you’d learn your place, by his side and lucy’s, and underneath. but with such fearful, brown doe eyes watering up infront of him, the girl he’d heard oh so much about from lucy. how could he refrain from indulging?

his hand reached out to wipe away the few stray tears that fell as his left extended towards your right, which was clutching your head, where he’d grabbed you. “shh, let me help you.” your hand slowly retracted as your heart ran a marathon. the man was obviously unstable, going from a deceptively caring man to violent. coriolanus smiled at your actions, and it freaked you out. he caressed your scalp in an attempt to soothe, “good girl.” he cooed as your apparent saviour approached.

“sweetie?” lucy called out to you as coriolanus withdrew from your personal space. he walked over to her and she let him. he held her hand and spoke with, love? his voice was soft and comforting, his thumb again caressing the back of her hand as they talked, whispered, plotted? god knows, all you wanted was to leave.

was this your chance?

you tested the waters, slow and calculated movements as lucy nodded in agreement with him. but by the time they were done speaking you’d bolted.

but you sure as hell weren’t getting far with these two on your tail, poor y/n l/n. a little dove trying to spread her wings but they were bound to be clipped.

your feet were throbbing and begging for you to slow down. but your brain was in charge for once, your heart which yearned for your dear songbird pushed to the side as your head screamed and urged you to go. she was in league with him apparently. her seeing him corner you and not even batting an eyelash. did she truly care for you so little? did she want to rid herself of you? she could’ve broken up with you and let that be it. maybe the games had twisted her head.

even as you believed yourself to be gaining distance from the two you could hear the not-so distant steps of determined pursuit, headed your way. how would they kill you? slow and intimate? hasty and brutal?

“if you stop running now we won’t be mad little dove!” lucy shouted in warning as you felt yourself momentarily slow at her words. traitor. you thought to yourself as your body involuntary listened, she still had an affect on you. “she’s right, we love you, we won’t hurt you. unless we have to, don’t give us our reasons.”

“shut up!” you screamed. god, i know we haven’t talked in a while. last minute efforts right? maybe he’d listen to you, save you from your tormentors. you should’ve kept your head clear, focused on running. focused on your surroundings and if you had, you would’ve noticed the nearing tree roots, thick and protruding from the ground, ready to knock you down.

you crawled behind the tree, trying to catch your breath as your hands worked tirelessly to provide some form of relief to your aching ankle.

crack.

you’d been found. you fucked up.

“our little dove, ever the sprinter.”

his words had you lurching forwards in an attempt of fleeing but lucy’s cold hand on your ankle dragged protests and cries from your throat as well as you, back to them. “you should’ve listened before, we would’ve been nice. given you some time to adjust, but you can’t sit and think for a second can you?” coriolanus mocked as his hand trailed up your un-injured leg, “that’s okay, you won’t be doing much thinking from now on. we’ll be taking care of you, since you obviously can’t take care a’ yourself baby.” lucy’s voice was saccharine, like honey, and her smile was even sweeter. the familiarity and comfort of her presence was intoxicating, you felt at peace on one side and the other wanted to jump off a cliff. she lowered your guard and coriolanus slithered right in.

the prick in the side of your neck wasn’t painful, but their words were. “you’re with us now, we’ll take care of you, we promise.” and you were stuck, stuck with them for god knows how long.

you blinked away the sleep in your eyes, adjusting to the room. maybe they had killed you? in their own twisted way they’d keep you forever, in their memories and soul. coriolanus and lucy’s voices swam around your head and blended together. you were wrong. yay.

“it’s a bit early for katniss, even if it’s one of her favourites.”

“she should eat something better.”

“better? don’t go all capitol on me now corio.”

he was smiling, you could tell.

“never lucy gray. but she’ll be weak for a few days, proper meals will help her regain some strength.”

you picked your head up and looked through the window, the lake was evident.

“alright, you go grab it and i’ll stay here.”

“why? so you can get more time with her? if anyone should get extra time it’s me.”

“now who was her partner first? oh that’s right, me. you’re acting as if i’m gonna pick her up and run away. if you’re that scared than we’ll both go. take her with us.”

coriolanus’s head whipped towards the cabin and you quickly flopped back down on the bed. you shut your eyes as you heard the door creak open. “gosh, doesn’t she look pretty?” lucy asked, knowing the answer already. “so calm, i liked her better when she was crying.” lucy hit him, “coriolanus snow!” he stroked the side of your face and you had to resist from turning your head and biting his fingers off.

“little dove.” your eyes opened again, turning your head his way tiredly. “we need to get some supplies okay?” you nodded as lucy went outside to gather the baskets she’d left out earlier on to dry. coriolanus’s hand dug into your cheeks as he forced you to look at him, “i told you i’d make you respect me. now listen, if you try anything when we’re in town i will never let you forget it. you’ll know who you belong to every single day. maybe i’ll pay your family a visit? an appointment with the hanging tree for being rebels? stealing?”

you shook your head violently as you began to cry, “you don’t want that? didn’t think so. you listen to me and everything will be fine. your family will get daily help and weekly groceries. they’ll never go hungry again. all thanks to their sweet little girl. lucy’s too nice, but don’t think for a second she’ll save you from me. you’re mine and if you try anything.” he leaned in to whisper, “i’ll strangle her with my bare hands infront of you.” his words were meant to scare you, and they did. but don’t you know? coriolanus snow doesn’t need a reason to do bad things.

coriolanus was wicked and ruthless when it came to what he wanted, if you had any hope of trying to get through this then you’d need lucy’s attention and help. so you nodded. “words sweetheart.” you swallowed your pride, your dignity, and you shook hands with the devil.

“yes, i’ll do what you say.” he straightened up, his white shirt a contrast to his dark thoughts.

“y’all ready to go?” lucy questioned as coriolanus grinned, “yes, yes we are.” he lifted you up and helped you dress, you hadn’t realised the fact that you were only dressed in his own white shirt, dress to you. he handled you like you were the most delicate object. as if he wasn’t hell bent on breaking you, over and over again. till you were fit to his standards. the captiol standards. the snow standards.

his, his, his.

with how obedient you were, he figured you’d do well in the capitol. which was exactly where he was meaning to bring you.

lucy walked in front of the two of you as you made your way through the woods. coriolanus’s hand was glued to your waist as he held you close, afraid to let go. you were at flight risk of course. his grip was tight and bruising. lucy’s humming distracted you at times, if you were delusional enough you could imagine it to be the two of you. your brothers far infront and the covey following. after an amazing afternoon at the lake, heading home for dinner, maybe a performance or the night shift.

your daydreaming was interrupted when you clocked coriolanus’s missing hand from your waist, and his arm now around lucy grays throat.

don’t you remember? you’d do well in the capitol! you were his! but not entirely, no.

not with her in the way.

you were frozen in place as lucy clawed at him before reaching out for you. a plea, a cry for help and aid yet you stood stuck in fear. a minute, two. she’d put up a strong fight, especially when you ran towards the two, pushing and shoving at coriolanus to let her go. but again, you fucked up.

here lies lucy gray baird, singer, victor, psycho.

obsessed? madly in love? you couldn’t think of another word, and as much as you wished to forget her, forget how she’d practically allowed another man into your relationship and let him kidnap you. her lifeless face and hollow eyes made your heart clench. but soon enough she was rolled over, thrown in a pre-made hole and buried. she’d survived the games but no one survived coriolanus snow.

“don’t forget what i said. don’t forget what you agreed to. you said you’d do as i say, i’m telling you to get up and follow me. we’re leaving district 12.” your face was painted with confusion as coriolanus clutched your face, “i’m going back, and you’re coming with me. don’t ask questions, just do as i say.”

and you did.

when he had you say goodbye to your family, a courtesy, a privilege he’d granted you. you kept it short and sweet, no questions just hugs and false promises of return.

when he ushered you onto the train and he wanted you to sit and be silent, you did.

through his time at the university, he wanted you close to him, living with him. and you did.

through his presidency campaign he wanted for you to charm sponsors and entice newcomers. you did.

when he wanted to marry you in a grand spectacle infront of the captiol and dress you up, you did as he asked.

when he held you down on your wedding night after tearing your dress off, biting and marking you down all over, pushing you down to your knees and took you all over the house, asking you to give yourself to him as if he didn’t take you anyways, you did.

you had no idea why at this point.

for your family? who hadn’t reached out in so long, even when they promised to talk to you every day? coriolanus had them all arrested, punished and hung for inciting riots and uprisings.

for your friends whom listened to your concerns of the capitol peacekeeper who hovered and didn’t make you feel crazy? each of them ended up dead in many different ways, hung, shot, a mugging gone wrong.

you didn’t know at this point and when you looked in the mirror you didn’t recognise the girl who stared back. a captiol sheep, dressed up in the finest silk dresses and slick heels yet the filth underneath the finery, jewels, and makeup weighed you down. each time he touched you, kissed you, fucked you, it felt like a peace of yourself was thrown away.

and as you clutched your swelling stomach, you couldn’t help but feel pity for baby number four.

maybe you’d grow up and find love.

maybe i’ll be able to take you all away from him.

maybe we’ll heal.

you thought, but in the back of your head, a little voice wouldn’t shut up.

you’ll always be his little dove.

[ncttytrack]

"Not your type?" - l.hs (m)

“Oh, Sweetheart.” He says and looks at you with a massive smirk, his hand never leaving your soft cheek. “I heard everything"

Summary: Your new summer job was great. The salary was great and the scenery was beautiful. But what made the job perfect, was your hot older co-worker Lee Heeseung, who you swear is not your type.

Genre: SMUT, Co-worker!Heeseung x reader.

Words: 3,7k+

Warnings: HardDomHeeseung, Heeseung is lowkey mean, chocking, creampie, lowkey size kink, degradation kink!!!, reader is lowkey a masochist...

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ ☠︎︎♡︎☠︎ ☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙︎ ☠︎︎♡︎☠︎ ‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ ☠︎︎♡︎☠︎ ☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

You load dirty spoons and plates Into the dishwasher, sweat running down your neck. It was a hot summer day, and while the average person your age is down by the beach sunbathing, you are working at your new restaurant job. When you applied, you didn’t actually think you would get it, but here you are during your vacation from college. Not that you could really complain, it is a nice restaurant you are working at by the coast. It’s always sunny, you are surrounded by people wearing little to no clothing because of the hot weather, and the nearest sea is just about ten meters away from you. The perfect summer job for someone who is in a desperate need for money. 

But there is one thing that makes working there difficult. 

The first day on your job, your boss wanted an experienced college to help you out. For example, showing you how to load the dishwasher, the different courses on the menu, what you should do after the restaurant closes - and so on and so forth. What you didn’t know however, is that the man getting the “help the new coworker” mission, would be the hottest man you have ever seen in your life. 

Lee Heeseung.

When Heeseung showed you around on your first day, it felt like you became 16 again. Every time his eyes met yours your whole body would tingle, only being able to look into his eyes for 3 seconds before looking away. Every time he asked you a question, you became a stuttering mess trying to compose yourself. It was really difficult, and because you two always seemed to get the same shifts, you couldn’t avoid him either. Not that he seemed to complain, he probably loved the attention he got from you. That is what you at least internally tell yourself. 

You did however get close to some of the people working at the restaurant over the last two months, one of them being your now close friend Sunoo who was your age. That is what is peculiar about this working place, everyone is about the same age. Over the age of 17, but younger than 24. And because of the young staff, it wasn’t an unusual thing that people hooked up with each other. And the first time you heard about it from Sunoo, you couldn’t help it but get almost too excited.

“Are you serious!?'' You shout with a shocked expression, the food you chew almost flying out of your mouth. Sunoo laughs, putting a hand right in front of his mouth. “Yeah, it's true! And can you please whisper, we don’t want the others knowing what we are talking about”. You look at him with big eyes, before looking around making sure that people aren’t listening to your conversation. 

You lean in and begin to whisper. “Like who?” Sunoo leans in as well, right by your ear. “Which ones have hooked up with each other? Well where should I even start. Um, well there was this one time with Yujin and Jay, and oh! Yunjin and Hee-“ you cut him off abruptly, not wanting him to mention Heeseung. 

You lean back beside him, trying to act casual. “Yeah I get it, I get it, you don’t need to continue!” You look away from him, but Sunoo looks at you. “What, do you like Heeseung? Y/n…” He says and punches your shoulder playfully. Your face turns beet red, trying not to unveil the secret you so desperately have been hiding for the two months working here. 

“What do you mean? Heeseung? Nooo he is like, sooo not my type” You say trying to sound convincing. “Not your type?” Sunoo says, not convinced by your false statement. Instead of answering him, you look away and shake your head confidently. 

Sunoo suddenly smiles teasingly, grabbing your arm and leans in. Because of his sudden touch, you look at him surprised. He maybe leaned in a little too much, though he is so close that you can feel his breath tingling your neck.

“You know what I think?” He says slowly, making sure to pronounce every syllable, and looks at you with innocent eyes. You get nervous, not knowing what he is about to say and try to look away. “What?”

His smile gets bigger, and he continues while having a teasing pout on his lips. 

“I think that you want big, sexy, Heeseung to grab your tiny, little, fragile body, push it against the hard wall of the storage room and manhandle you with,“ he makes his voice lighter, trying to mimic yours “his, big, manly hands, and strong arms”

Your mouth gapes open and you begin to laugh nervously, hitting Sunoo playfully several times until he backs away from you. You shake your head. “No! No! It’s not true!”

He looks at you and laughs while hitting the table in front of you. “Are you serious? You are lyiiiing! That is totally what you want!” You shake your head “No! I promise I-“. 

Before you can continue defending yourself, you get interrupted by Sunoo rolling back his eyes. “OhmaGAWD, You are so BIG! Don’t stawp Heeseungie-“ 

Sunoo suddenly stops, and look away at someone standing in front of your table. You slowly look towards the same direction Sunoo is looking. You begin to internally panic. 

“Um I think your 30 minute lunch break is over”. 

It’s Heeseung. 

You and Sunoo look at each other. 

Omg, did he hear all that? 

Heeseung is looking at you two confused, did he interrupt something? 

“I mean, I need to get my lunch break too” Hee continues, looking down on the salad he picked out. He seemed…nervous? Before you could make this situation even more awkward, you and Sunoo quickly grab your dirty dishes and walk away trying to ignore Heeseung's intense gaze. 

You could hear Sunoos' quiet laughter beside you while walking away from Heeseung. You look at him.“Promise me to never do that again Sunoo! And why are you laughing!” You whisper-scream trying to sound intimidating. “What?” He laughes, “It was sooo funny!” 

You look at him with a worried expression. “But what if he heard everything?” 

“So what! Just wait until the next Friday-night shift you have with him, drink the last 30 minutes at closing, and see what happens!” 

You look at him, smiling. “Are you allowed to drink on the job?” Sunoo looks at you and grabs your shoulder. “I don’t know? But what I do know, is that amongst the older coworkers-“ he points his finger towards Heeseung and the others, “it’s a Friday-tradition, and if you want what I think you want…then you know what to do” He says and winks, walking away to help a customer. 

And here we are, the Friday night shift. It would be embarrassing to admit, but the night before you did a 3 hour long everything-shower. Every inch of your body was shaved, scrubbed and cleaned. You were partially oozing vanilla. You hope that if something happens he doesn’t acknowledge the small wound you got from shaving too enthusiastically. Even though you put on matching underwear, an inch of you silently hopes that nothing happens. What if something goes wrong? What if you do something wrong? You try not to get too anxious, afraid that the nervous sweating will smell more than the perfume you put on this morning.

The final customer walks out of the restaurant, and you look at the clock. It’s exactly 30 minutes before the shift ends, which means it’s cleaning and drinking time. 

“Is it your first time on a Friday-shift?” The voice behind you, surprises you, making you do a small jump out of fear while looking over your shoulder. Heeseung looked down on you with an amused expression. “Did I scare you? Sorry I didn’t mean it” You try to say anything, but the scary thought of you stuttering is enough for you to stay quiet. You tap your foot on the ground trying to fill out  the quiet atmosphere while looking away. 

Heeseung tilts his head, while biting his lips, trying to hold in his laughter. Why is she so cute? “Um… So..If you don’t know already, we have a tradition where we drink during cleaning so it makes it more fun. I mean, it is Friday soo” You look up at him again trying to act as if you don’t know about the “tradition” - as if Sunoo didn’t tell you a week before. “Oh, well, that sounds fun?” You answer. 

Heeseung looks at you with bright eyes, turns around and grabs two glasses of beer, probably around 50ml, and hands it to you. "Perfect! You drink beer, right?” He says and looks at you. To be honest beer is the least you want to drink right now, but not wanting to be a burden, you take the big glass. You press it against your mouth, looking up into his eyes, while swallowing a big gulp of beer. You feel the bitter drink hit your tastebuds. Heeseung takes a deep breath, looking at your lips while you swallow the beer. Does she know what she is doing? 

You put down the glass, it is already half empty. “It tastes better than what I imagined!” You say, feeling the courage entering your body with every second because of the alcohol. Before Heeseung can answer, you pick up the glass again, only for him to take it from you. You look up at him irritated “I think you might slow down on that, the beer is extra strong and we don’t want any…accidents”. Heeseung says, bringing his hand up, laying it on your cheek. His thumb strokes your top lip, swiping away foam left from the beer. Your breath hitches, and you stop moving. Heeseung's hand leaves your cheek, before walking away, leaving you with a beating heart. 

Your body is swaying to the music coming from the speaker Sunghoon brought from home. The Broom you are holding gets heavier, the alcohol making your body weaker every minute. You don’t really remember how much you drank. Was it two glasses? Maybe Three? You don’t really care. All the staff members working this shift seem to be having a great time. Jay and Sunghoon were singing their brains out while putting up chairs on the tables, and Jake leaned towards the wall, holding his drink while laughing at his friends. You try to look around for Heeseung, but you can’t see him anywhere. 

Suddenly you feel a hand on your shoulder, and you look back to see Heeseung looming over you. Why does he always sneak up on me like this? 

He looks at you with an innocent smile, pointing back at delivery boxes filled with vegetables and meat. “It seems like the food supplies are here, do you mind helping me load the boxes into the storage room?”  He says. The storage room? Omg the storage room! That’s where the hook-ups that Sunoo talked about happen! You look at him trying to calm yourself, hoping he didn’t notice your body reaction to the word ‘storage room’. You look at him, confident enough to talk back without stuttering. “It seems like I am done cleaning the floor, so I can help you” 

He looks down on you, grabs the broom from your hand and leans it against the nearest wall. “Well come on then”. He says, picking up two boxes, and walks away, signaling you to follow him. You do so, lifting a heavy box with vegetables in the process. 

The storage room is in the far back of the restaurant, and it’s now when it finally hits you that you two are completely alone. Even the others were too far away for you to hear, and only the music from the speaker was the sound reaching your eardrums. Trying to do your best, you turn around towards the shelves, stacking up cucumbers and carrots. 

While opening up the second bag a hand suddenly leans on the shelf in front of you. You already know who it was, but decide to look back anyway, thinking he needs to stack up this shelf as well. Heeseung is looking down on you, his other hand resting in his pocket before bringing it up and grabbing your chin - making you look up at him. You could smell the alcohol from his lips, and you were super close, only a few inches keeping you apart. “W-what are you doing?” You say almost pathetic, as if you already don’t know the answer. 

Heeseung lets out a small laugh and bites his lips. “I think you know, not that you should be complaining” You look at him confused, before realizing what he might mean. He looks at you and sighs, leaning down right beside your ear and whisper sensually. “I think you want big, sexy, Heeseung to grab your tiny, little, fragile body and push it against the hard wall of the storage room and manhandle you with his big, manly, hands and stroooong arms. Or isn’t that what Sunoo said?” You look back at him trying to object before feeling his hand leave your chin and meet your lower back, pushing you towards the shelves, making you drop the bag of cucumbers on the floor. He pushes his leg between yours, rubbing it against your core to tease you. 

You try not to let out a moan, bringing up your hand in front of your mouth to muffle the sound. “Don’t think you can hide those sweet sounds from me princess” Heeseung says and grabs both of your wrists and puts them above your head. His other hand is now playing with the hem of your shirt, slightly brushing against the side of your stomach. Too drunk by his touch, the only thing leaving your lips are your heavy breaths. Heeseung grabs your waist and pushes you harder down against his leg, making you grind on him. The sudden friction is making you moan, and you tilt your head back to lean on his shoulder. His hand now leaves your waist and unbutton your shorts, sliding his hand over your panties. 

A smirk forms on his lips when he can feel how soaked you are, and only from using his leg. He lightly touches your core with the tip of his fingers, making you let out a small hiss. Getting inpatient, he turns your body around making you face him and he let goes of your wrists. He grabs your shorts harshly, pulling them down with your panties in one go. You gasp by the sudden movement while Heeseung crouches down so he is eye-level with your core.

While licking his lips, he puts his finger between your folds. “Aww, baby, you are completely soaked already!” He says amused, trying to hold himself back so he doesn’t tear you apart then and there. Not wanting to wait anymore, you let out a small groan. “I know, I know, baby. Heeseungie is going to take care of you ok? Do you want that?” He says and looks up at you while rolling his head to the side, his fingers still lightly touching your folds. You desperately shake your head and down. To your surprise, he stands up and grabs your chin. “Use your words baby, only good girls get what they want.” You look at him with pleading eyes, hoping that he would spare you from the embarrassment. 

He suddenly slaps you hard against your check, making your gasp. “I said use your words y/n” he says, his soft voice not matching his hard demeanor. He grabs your chin harshly. “Hee, please, I really want you” He looks at you and shakes his head. “I’m not sure I understand, what do you want me to do baby?” 

You can’t take it anymore. Your whole body is aching for his touch, and the only thing you want right now is Heeseungs cock buried deep inside of you. You look up at him with tears in your eyes. “I want you to fuck me”

Heeseung wraps his hand harshly around the back of your neck, and pushes your head towards his, passionately kissing you. His tongue slides in your mouth while you feel his hand massaging your clit. You leave his lips, letting out a moan by the feeling of his rough hand pleasuring you. He takes off your shirt, not sparing a single second before unclipping your bra. He starts licking your nipple while his hand starts massaging the other. Cum is dripping down your leg and he kisses you down your stomach down your thigh. He drags his tongue against your leg to taste your cum, from your inner thigh up to your core, pushing his nose up to smell you. “Mm, baby, you smell so sweet”. 

You feel his tongue circling your clit, making your head fall back towards the hard shelf behind you. Your hands grab his soft hair, a feeling Heeseung can’t get enough of, he loves how good he makes you feel, and how weak you are for his touch. Wanting to bring it one step further, Heeseung pushes his tongue inside your soaked pussy, making sure to push it as far in as possible. His hands grab your thighs harshly for support, and you roll your eyes back at the feeling. You know his harsh touch is going to leave bruises tomorrow. Heeseung speeds up his pace, using his nose to touch your clit while his tongue is deep inside of you. You begin to feel a clump in your stomach, and by the way you are pulling Heeseungs hair he knows you are close.

But then, he stops. You look down on him, disappointed and confused. “Why did you stop? I was so clo-“, before you can finish your sentence, Heeseung stands up and turns your body around. He leans down towards your ear “Don’t think we are stopping yet”. His nose brushes against your neck. He takes a deep breath to take in your sweet vanilla scent, before sucking your neck - making sure to leave a bruise. You tilt your head back, feeling both pain and pleasure from his actions. 

He then stops, unbuckles his belt, and pulls down his pants, and that’s when you feel it.

You feel how his cock teases your wet fold and he is big, really big. At least 9 inches, if not more. Not wanting to wait anymore, You need to feel him inside of you,  you whine “Just fuck me already!”. He slaps your ass, leaving a red mark and making you shut up. “Eager now are we? Don’t forget who is in charge here”

Before you can talk back you feel his cook slowly entering your hole, making you let out a moan. His hands meet your waist, pulling you in on his cook deeper. He is so big that it is actually difficult to take all of him, and you wouldn’t be surprised if you begin to bleed because of his size. He is stretching you out completely. “Common princess you can do it”. He says between heavy breaths, encouraging you to take his length completely. “Oh god, you are so tight” He says, pushing the last part of his cock into your pussy. 

He waits a few seconds, so you can adjust his big size, before beginning to slowly slide his entire cock out of you. You look back at him, “Why did you take it ou-“ you say, before he harshly slams it back fast and deep into you. Your body slams on the shelves and you moan from the pain. You are not sure anymore if it is blood or cum sliding down your leg, but you don't care. The only thing you care about is the man behind you, pushing his deep length inside of you. Using you, for his pleasure, like his personal fuck toy. 

Heeseung grabs the front of your neck while he fucks Into your tight little pussy, tilting your head back so he can take over your mouth, and your tits are bouncing with his thrusts. He then stops kissing you, still holding your neck almost shocking you till your light headed. You From the feeling of his large cock ramming into you to his hand on your neck is almost too much for you to handle, and you begin to see black spots forming in front of your eyes as if you are going to pass out from pleasure. “Aww are you about to cum? Do you think Heeseungie should let you cum?” He teases you, not slowing down one bit. 

“Please Hee, please let me cum” You say desperately, trying to hold in your orgasm before Heeseung lets you cum. He fastens his pace and the before steady thrusts turns into sloppy, and you know he is about to cum soon as well. “You want me to fill you up with my cum baby, be my little cum slut?” Sweat is running down his back, and his hand leaves your neck and he instead grabs your waist to deepen his thrusts. 

It’s not long before you both cum, his filling you up and leaking out of you when he pulls out his length. You are breathing heavily, and you feel too weak to stand on your feet. You lean back on Heeseung, your whole body aching because of him, and he hugs you from behind, kissing your neck. You feel his naked sweaty chest on your back, you can’t believe how tal he is compared to you. 

“How much did you actually hear from mine and Sunoos' conversation?” You ask, breaking the silence, while turning around still leaning on his chest. He lets out a slight chuckle, one of his hands holding your waist, helping you stand, and the other grabs your shin. His thumb sliding across your bottom lip, playing with it, wanting to slide it into your mouth. 

“Oh, Sweetheart.” He says and looks at you with a massive smirk, his hand never leaving your soft cheek.

“I heard everything” 

The moment you slam your front door you pick up your phone from your pocket to call Sunoo. “Sunoo, you have NO idea what happened at the shift today”

[4unnyr0se]

Could we get an nsfw with hinata shoyo (28) 😙

❥ que linda | shoyo hinata

warnings: timeskip! hinata, brazil! hinata, fem! reader, unprotected sex, ts! hinata has a massive dick bc i said so, male masturbation, couch sex, pining, he whimpers so much you guys, hinata speaks portuguese because i said so, cunnilingus, virgin! hinata, virginity loss, he lowkey rich asf, not proofread

MDNI | 18+ content

word count -> 4.3k

a/n: this work was loosely inspired by pin-k-ink's "mania". any plot relations are coincidental. please read her writing, it's good!

happy 28th birthday hinata!! short king

Shoyo Hinata was homesick, incredibly so. Being on a very popular Brazilian volleyball team was worth it: the beach, the sand, the fame, the paycheck. Hinata had fun; there was absolutely no doubt about it. He loved his teammates and hanging out with Oikawa on the beach but longed for Miyagi. He longed for the serene countryside. He longed for his friends who had gone on to other prospects. Sure, some of them stuck around, like Daichi and Sugawara, and he missed them too. But there was one person he missed that Hinata practically craved.

You and Hinata grew close during high school, especially during the third year. You and Yachi were co-managers of the volleyball team, and things went incredibly smoothly. Karasuno went to nationals each year until Hinata and the rest of the third year graduated. Because you were a manager, you worked with Kageyama and Hinata on their quick attacks. In contrast, Yachi worked with Tsukishima and Yamaguchi (Yachi was the only one who could handle Tsukishima’s attitude; she grew up when Kiyoko left.) Hinata loved that you were his manager because he had a little crush on you. You were one of the few people who didn’t underestimate him because of his height, nor made fun of him for not being the sharpest knife in the drawer. He would often stare at you for extended periods as you gave the beginning-of-practice briefing, admiring every aspect of your face. The color of your eyes, the way you styled your hair. To Hinata, you were perfection. He only wished he asked you out during high school before he was scouted by the Black Jackals; that was one of his few regrets from his school days. 

Soon enough, once the volleyball season in Brazil ended, he had much spare time. Sure, there was practice and things to do for publicity and media, but he could do that whenever he wanted. Hinata decided to book a flight back to Miyagi the first chance he got, arranging to stay at a hotel just outside the central part of the city. It was a two-week trip with a round ticket back to Brazil, which was just enough time to ensure he would see you at least once. He would visit his other friends, obviously. It would be cruel of him not to. But Hinata did have a favorite, and it was you. Pretty, perfect, beautiful you. He couldn’t wait to get off the plane and tell you he was in town. He just couldn’t.

Hinata flopped onto his hotel bed, breathing in the fresh linen scent. He missed the smell of Miyagi, how it almost always smelled like freshly cut grass. The windows were wide open, and the summertime crickets and cicadas filled an otherwise silent room. He adorned a massive smile, taking off his shirt to let his body breathe. He didn’t have your number; no one on Karasuno’s previous register had it, not since the Nishinoya incident. Yachi had it, but she was no doubt asleep. Well, there was always Instagram direct message. He had a lot of followers (mostly crazy fan girls), and his messages were constantly flooded. He opted to use his secret personal account, which boasted a very proud 23 followers. Hinata searched for your name, found your profile, and hit the message button.

He bit down on his lip, his calloused thumbs hovering over the keypad. How should he type this? He didn’t want to come off as too desperate, even though he wanted to see you again so badly he felt like a heroin addict. The little profile circle taunted him, proudly displaying your happy, smiling face and achingly perfect lips. 

The opposite hitter shrugged his shoulders and hastily typed out a message, adding cute little smiley face emojis. Hinata groaned as he sent the message, shutting off his phone. What if you thought it was weird that he wanted to meet up so soon? Or even worse, what if you had a boyfriend? Not that he wanted to try anything, right? That would be stupid. It’s not like he wants you under him, moans escaping your pretty mouth as he thrusts in and out of your perfect pussy, claiming you as his all night long…right? He wasn’t a pervert, no way. He just wanted you to be his and only his, his hickeys decorating your neck…fuck. Hinata gazed down at his pants, rolling his eyes in annoyance as he saw the newly-formed tent in his grew sweats. 

“Eh, it’ll go away in a bit,” he mumbled, rolling over to check his phone. His heart stopped in his chest once he saw your name appear on his screen. Holy shit.

Your reply was short and sweet, telling him to come for lunch tomorrow. You told him your address and even added a cute little heart emoji. Were you trying to fucking kill him? Hinata shut off his phone again and breathed out, the tent in his sweats growing painfully harder by the second. He wishes he could show you how you made him feel, what you did to him, and his virgin cock.

Yeah, he was a virgin. He just didn’t have time to fool around that much. Volleyball took up much of his time and obligatory social events like media conferences and charity work. He got close once. But she stopped when he told her that he was a virgin. Maybe you would be more forgiving. You were always so kind.

Hinata pulled down his sweats along with his boxers, his cock eagerly springing out and slapping against this bare chest. He shivered as his hand wrapped around the base of his shaft, slowly pumping up and down. His hazelnut brown eyes were squeezed shut as he imagined his hand was yours, all tiny and dainty, pumping up and down on his shaft. How your thumb would rub the tip of his cock, that tongue of yours giving him the tiniest little kitten licks before returning to fucking your fist. Fuck, would his cock even be able to fit in that cute palm of yours?

A deep moan left his chapped lips as he found himself propped up against the wooden headboard, desperately fisting his cock. Precum oozed out of the tip and coated his shaft, the lubrication making it all the more sweet. His mind was clouded with the thought of your pussy slamming down on his length over and over again, the greedy cunt taking his fat cock so well. He wondered if you would flutter around him, how deep you would let him fuck you.

“Fuck, just like that baby,” Hinata moaned, his cock thrusting into his hand impossibly fast. His orgasm would hit any second now. “Fucking this pussy ‘cus it’s mine, yeah? My fuckin’ pussy, my girl,” he bit down on his bottom lip. “Did ya think that since I’ma virgin, I can’t fuck you good? Y’thought wrong, pretty baby-oh fuck.” Hinata’s breath caught in his throat as his cum covered his hand and shaft, glistening in the light of the hotel.  “Shit.”

He grabbed a tissue from the nightstand and cleaned himself off, tossing the spent tissue in the waste basket nearby. “I gotta work on lasting longer…” he mumbled, growing sleepy as nirvana slowly overtook him. He laid his head on the fluffy pillow, setting his alarm for the next morning. He slept with his mostly unpacked bags, eager for what tomorrow would hold. 

That alarm was the prettiest thing Hinata would ever hear because it meant that today was the day he could finally go to your house and see you. He practically jumped out of bed, plastering a huge smile on his freckled face. He wore a simple outfit, mainly because that was all he could hastily back on such an in-the-heat-of-the-moment decision. A black compression shirt with jeans was simple. He grew fond of the compression style when Boktuo showed it during his time on the Black Jackals. Hinata had to admit: he looked damn good in black. Especially since the shirt showed off the abs he worked so hard on building. He donned designer sunglasses and took the elevator downstairs, whistling a happy tune like in some old 1950s bubbly cartoon.

He enjoyed the stroll from the hotel to the town where you lived, waving to those who recognized him from his time spent on the Black Jackals. A few tweens asked for a picture, which he happily agreed to. Hinata loved meeting and interacting with his fans when they weren’t desperate fangirls just trying to get into his pants. They flattered him, but he couldn’t sleep with his fans. That was Oikawa’s business. 

The sun beamed down on his broad shoulders as he finally entered your neighborhood, practically skipping along the burning hot pavement. In retrospect, he should have worn something other than cheap flip-flops. He didn’t care. He was too damn happy to see you again. He would walk across a desert barefoot if it meant he could hang out with you, even if only for five minutes. After a bit, Hinata turned the corner to where your townhouse was. It was quaint and tiny, with a well-kept lawn and a little garden with various colorful flowers under the window. The marigolds caught his eye in particular, mainly because they weren’t native to Japan. He wondered if they were expensive or if someone bought them for you. Hinata tched at the sight of the yellow flowers, growing strangely annoyed at them. He could spoil you more than any man ever could.

Walking up the steps, he felt the nervous sensation of butterflies filling his stomach. He knew you would be so welcoming and open to him—you always have been. It was one of the several things he liked, no, loved about you. His calloused and tanned hand knocked on the beautifully painted wooden door, his foot tapping nervously on the concrete steps that led up to it. 

All his worries vanished instantly once he saw your gorgeous face poke out from behind the door, offering him a bright and welcoming smile. “Oh my god, Shoyo! It’s been so long, come on in!” you laughed, wrapping him in a tight embrace. Hinata’s hands found the small of your back, gently caressing the thin fabric of your baby tee. “I missed you,” you softly spoke, squeezing his muscular torso with all your might.

After a bit, Hinata pulled away from the hug, finding the sun blaring on his back a welcome but annoying presence. You led him inside and ushered him to sit on your couch, ensuring everything was right. “Oh, did you want something to drink? I know you walked here. I’m sorry. I should have just called a cab…” you rubbed your temple, mumbling swear words under your breath as you waltzed into your kitchen. “Shoyo, honey, do you want lemonade or ginger ale? I also have diet sodas!”

Hinata choked on nothing as you called him honey, covering it up with a cough. “U-uh, lemonade is fine! Thanks!” he massaged his throat, the tips of his ears turning faintly pink. Shit, if you were gonna keep calling him sweet words all day, it would only be a matter of time until he was pinning your hands above your head and making you see stars. At least, that’s what he hoped to achieve. He didn’t want just anyone to be his first. He wanted it to be you.

He thanked you for the lemonade, admiring the taste, and brought the cup to his lips. “Oh wow, this is really good. What brand is it?”

“Oh, I made it myself,” you smiled crookedly.

“Even better,” Hinata winked, unaware of what he was doing. “It’s been so long since I’ve had good lemonade, you know? Don’t get me wrong, their drinks in Brazil are amazing, but nothing can ever really beat lemonade.”

“What’s Brazil like?” you innocently asked, scooting further down the couch closer to Hinata. “I haven’t left the country.”

Hinata set the glass of lemonade on the coffee table. “Oh, it’s beautiful. It’s so tropical and lovely, and the locals love me. But that’s just because I play for their team,” he chuckled. “The language was tough to learn at first, but I eventually got the hang of it.”

“I’ll bet. Portuguese sounds like a hard language to learn,” you cross your arms over your chest, inadvertently pushing your breasts together. The baby tee you wore was cut just right to show off a bit of your cleavage, which drove Hinata wild. He would have pounced on you if he had been more immature and ripped that shirt clean. He could always buy you a new one. 

“It’s actually kind of pretty,” he smiled, tapping his fingers against the couch.

“Can you say something in Portuguese?” your eyes sparkle with curiosity, leaning towards Hinata. “Pretty please? I wanna know what it sounds like.”

Fuck. You looked so damn pretty like that, so eager for him. Hinata paused for a moment, opening his mouth. “Eu acho você incrivelmente linda. Você me deixa louco.” Hinata smirked to himself. It was the perfect plan. He could say whatever he wanted, and you would have no idea what it meant.

“What does that mean?” you tilted your head to the side, your hair falling out of its braid. 

Hinata reached for your braid and pushed the loose strands behind your ear. “Uh, it means I like your shirt.” he nodded in mock assurance. 

“Oh wow, that’s a pretty long sentence for just a compliment,” you took a sip of your lemonade, leaving lipgloss on the glass brim. “I guess it’s just a different language. Can you say something else?”

Hinata nodded and subtly wrapped his arm around your shoulder. “Uh, this is a traditional Brazilian custom for when you’re seeing someone for the first time in a while.” he glanced down at your eyes, wanting to swim in them.

“Eu preciso te foder,” he mumbled in a low tone. “Tenho desejado que você seja meu primeiro desde nosso terceiro ano.” his thumb brushed across your lower lip.

“Shoyo…?” you questioned, looking up at him with confused eyes. “You’re acting different…did something happen in Brazil?”

Hinata shook his head. “Nothing bad happened to me,” he pulled his thumb away. “I just matured, I guess.”

“And you got taller,” you squeaked, paying extra attention to how his compression shirt showed off his toned and muscular body. “A-and, uh, more buff. Your girlfriend must be lucky.” your voice trailed off, your eyes deciding to focus on the lemonade glasses. 

Hinata shook his head. “I don’t have a girlfriend. I didn’t want one when I played during the season. My coach says it would be a bad idea.” his eyes never left your blushing face. “So, I guess we’re both single.”

“I guess so,”

He thought for a moment. “Do you want to know what I just said in Portuguese?” he heard you mumble in agreement. “I said,” he bent down to reach your ear level. “I need to fuck you. I’ve wanted you to be my first since our third year.”

Your pupils blew out as his words reverberated in your ears, your thighs squeezing together. Was this the same Shoyo Hinata that you went to high school with? “Shoyo,” you breathed, gasping slightly as he quickly pulled you into his lap.

“Please,” he whispered, lazily trailing kissed down your cheek and onto your neck. “You don’t know how badly I missed you, pretty girl.” he stopped his wet kisses, squeezing your hips. “Didn’t stop thinking about you for a second. You’re always on my mind.”

“Fuck, Shoyo,” you wrapped your arms around his neck, pushing your chest against his own. “Have you really been thinking about me like that?”

“You have no fucking idea,” he moaned into your neck, nipping at your flesh. “I fucked my fist to the thought of you so many times. I can’t even get off unless I imagine it’s you.” he groaned as you ground down onto his lap. His lips brushed against yours, aching to taste that gloss. “Please, be my first. It’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

You shuddered. “Okay,” 

Hinata’s eyes roared with a passionate fire as he claimed your lips instantly, the kiss being wild and untamed. You gasped, parting your lips, allowing Hinata’s tongue to delve inside your mouth, happily exploring every inch shamelessly. His hands wandered down to your ass. Any restraint he had melted away as he took a nice handful of your ass, squeezing it roughly. Your hands found purchase in his unkempt red hair, tugging on any curl you could manage.

He groaned into your mouth, slapping your ass shamelessly. “Fuck, keep doing that,” he commanded, biting down mercilessly on those perfectly plump lips. You whined in agreement, tugging harshly on one strand near the crown of his head. He trailed sloppy, wet kisses down your neck until he found the spot that made you squeal so nicely. His teeth sank onto the skin, sucking it like a starving vampire until an ugly purple bruise began to bloom. 

His hands picked you off of his lap and threw you to the other side of the wide couch, his muscular body quickly crowding around you as his lips crashed against yours once more in a scorching, desperate onslaught. “Please,” he whimpered against your lips. “Please let me fuck you, baby. I gotta know how it feels.” his hands slipped past the hem of your leggings, massaging your clothed core. “D’ya want me to do something down here, hm? Tell me what y’want, please. Lemme make you feel good.”

“Shoyo,” you kissed his cheek, bucking your hips onto his palm. “Can y’finger me, please? Wan’ feel your tongue.”

Holy fuck, Hinata could cum just from your words. He eagerly nodded and pulled his hand from your core, the slightest hint of slick on his fingertips. “Take that shit off right now,” he demanded, his cock painfully hard underneath his jeans. 

You scrambled off of the couch, tossing your leggings and panties aside. Fuck, you were wearing pretty orange ones today, too. Did you plan that? He wondered if your bra was orange as well. “And take that top off. Lemme see those tits.” 

His hands reached up and ripped your shirt off, exposing your pretty orange bra for him. Hell yes, he was right. “Shit,” Hinata groaned, biting down on his lower lip. “Now, the bra, please. I wanna see my pretty girl's tits.”

You giggled in response, unclasping your bra from behind. It dropped to the floor, revealing you in all of your naked glory. You sat back on the couch and spread your legs, propping yourself up with your elbows. The sight of your glistening heat drove Hinata mad, he just had to get a taste.

“I wanna see you too,” you begged, your eyes sparkling. “I wanna see what all that time in Brazil turned you into.”

He happily obliged, taking a moment to remove his compression shirt and jeans. They were tossed aside on the coffee table, making a mess. Hinata proudly displayed himself for you, tan lines, and everything. He was sculpted like a Greek god, and the freckles across his body added to his beauty. “D’ya like what you see?” he flexed his bicep.

“So fucking much,” you felt yourself get wetter at the sight. “Please, Shoyo, c’mere and make me feel good with your tongue. I-I can teach you if you want.”

“Fucking please,” Hinata groaned, kneeling between your legs while using his strong arms to hold them apart. “You’re fucking dripping for me, y’know that? Did you want this as badly as I did, pretty girl?” he kissed your inner thigh.

You nodded. “Yeah, so fucking much. D’ya know how to eat pussy?”

“I did once,” Hinata spoke against your other thigh, kissing it. “I was really good at it for a virgin.”

“Shoyo,” you whimpered. “Stop talking now and eat my pussy.”

“Yes, ma’am, whatever you want,” his cock twitched in his boxers. Did he like being told what to do? He buried his face in between your legs, eagerly lapping at your folds. He flattened his tongue so expertly that it was apparent he had done this more than once. His tongue made rapid zig-zagging motions across your fold, stopping to happily suck at your clit. Your hands again flung to his hair, the orange curls nestling between your fingers.

“Shoyo, fuck!” you cried, arching your back into the couch.

“Fuck baby, if you say my name like that, I’m gonna cum in my boxers,” he mumbled into your pussy, snickering as you let out another pornographic moan. Hinata became frenzied, lapping and sucking and licking at anything he could. He began spelling his name with the tip of his tongue, which he knew you liked because you came on his tongue moments after he finished spelling ‘S-H-O-Y-O.’

“Fuck,” his mouth glistened with your release. He tugged his boxers down to his ankles, letting his throbbing cock smack against his hard abs. “Do you have a condom?”

“N-no,” you shook, still coming down from your high.

“Can I fuck you without one? I’ll buy you the morning-after pill,” he was so desperate he was shaking. Holy fuck, it was finally happening. He was about to lose his virginity to you. 

“Fuck, Shoyo!” you whined in annoyance. “Just fuck me already, we can talk about this after!”

Hell, he didn’t need to be told that twice. His hands caged you into his body, your legs being pushed up against your chest. The throbbing tip of his cock prodded at your entrance, precum leaking from the tip. Hinata hissed as he pushed himself in, relishing in how your pussy tried so hard to take his massive girth. “Holy shit, you’re so fucking tight. M-maybe I, fuck, maybe I should have fingered you or something.”

“You’re so fucking huge,” you whimpered, your hands scratching at his toned back as you struggled to take his size. “Holy fuck, you’ve been concealing that monster for how long?”

“For a while, baby,” he sighed as he finally bottomed out, his cockhead brushing against your cervix. “Fuck, I can’t hold back. I’m sorry, pretty girl,” Hinata hooked your legs under his arms and pulled his cock almost out before slamming it back inside you again, earning a delicious shriek of pleasure from your lips. 

“So. Fucking. Tight.” he punctuated his words with a thrust, his balls slapping against the cleft of your ass as he drilled his length into you. The front of his thighs met the back of yours over and over again, creating a beautiful melody. “‘Been wanting this f’so fucking long, oh my God.” his head was tossed back, nostrils flaring each time your gummy walls sucked him deeper inside. 

Your entire body was trembling as Hinata used you like a human fleshlight, ruining your cunt for anyone else for a while. Was he really a virgin, or did he fuck like this because he had too much energy? Your hair created the perfect messy halo above your head, your mouth slightly agape with the constant wanton moans being ripped from your chest. 

His blazing brown eyes landed at the sight of your bouncing tits, his hand roughly grabbing one. His thumb ran over the pert nipple, squeezing it. “There are my fuckin’ tits, m’gonna mark them later.”

Hinata choked back a whimper as he was on the ledge of his climax, his hips moving like they had a mind of their own. His breathing was erratic, chest falling up and down as his cock twitched deep inside your cunt. “Shit, m’gonna fucking cum inside of you. Take it all, fucking take it.” he let out a strangled gasp as he painted your walls white with his seed, gasping sharply. 

“Oh fuck,” his head was thrown back, his hips slowly fucking the rest of his orgasm into you. “Oh my god,” Hinata’s face was so incredibly flushed, the baby hairs sticking to his forehead. 

The opposite hitter let go of your legs and collapsed on top of you, nuzzling his face into your neck. “Y’okay?” he grumbled, squeezing your breast. 

“I’m fine, Shoyo,” you breathed out, still recovering. “That was fucking incredible. Were you lying to me about being a virgin?” you raised an eyebrow in suspicion. 

“Nuh-uh,” he kissed your neck. “I was a virgin until five seconds ago. Sorry for not lasting as long as you wanted me to.”

“I actually liked it,” you rubbed his bicep. “Some guys keep going for so long that eventually it becomes painful. It only really hurt when you shoved yourself into me.”

“Sorry about that,” Hinata reached up to kiss your lips. “I was just really excited, that’s all. You know I flew here just for you, right?”

Your heart softened. “Aw, really? You missed me that much?”

He nodded. “Of course I did. I missed you ever since our last day of high school.”

“You’re such a sweetheart,” you kissed his cheek. “Hey…d’ya wanna stay with me while you’re in town instead of that crappy hotel?”

“Could I really?” his pupils were blown out. 

“Yeah, don’t be silly.” 

“I’ll go back there and get my things!” Hinata practically jumped off the couch, scrambling to get his clothes on. “Oh, uh, I’ll also get you the morning-after pill.” he chuckled, stumbling as he put his flip-flop on. 

“You’re such a dork,” you grabbed a random throw blanket and bundled yourself up, resting on a throw pillow. “But you’re cute, so it’s okay.”

“I’m your dork now,” he flashed you a smile. “I’ll be back soon, okay? Don’t miss me too much!” he walked out the door, smiling. 

Suddenly, Hinata didn’t seem so homesick anymore.

[avatar-anna]

i saw this post on and got inspired. enjoy!

"It was nice running into you."

"Yeah, yeah, you too. It was—I'm glad we could catch up."

You held your bag in both of your hands and leaned back on your heels, waiting for the sudden tension to cease. Harry scratched his neck awkwardly while you looked down at the cobbled streets beneath your shoes. When a minute passed and neither of you said anything, when two couples excised themselves to walk past you, you finally decided to break the silence.

"I'm headed this way."

"Me too. We can walk together?"

"O—Okay."

Harry extended his arm out, a clear message for you to go first, so you did. For a split second, his hand grazed your lower back in that protective gesture he always used to use when you walked anywhere. But that had been when you were together, and now you weren't, and even though his hand merely hovered awkwardly behind you, you swore you could still feel it.

"Your hair looks nice. I don't think I've ever seen it so short before," you said, needing to break the silence all over again before it consumed you.

"Thanks, I, uh, I shaved it a few months back. It's finally starting to grow in."

It must've been soon after your break up, you realized, quickly doing the math in your head. A change, a fresh start after the end of a long relationship. You understood that, knew neither of you needed to comment on it, or the fact that you no longer wore the necklace Harry bought you for your first anniversary, though you'd seen him glance down at the missing piece of jewelry multiple times since you ran into each other.

"It's cute," you said, resisting the intrusive urge to reach up and touch his hair, instead clasping your hands behind your back.

"Are you across the bridge?" Harry asked, gesturing to one of the many bridges that stretched across the Tiber.

"Yeah. How'd you know?"

Harry shrugged, the canvas bag on his shoulder slipping a fraction. "You always liked Trastevere."

You smiled, charmed by how Harry still seemed to know you so intrinsically. "And you? Are you staying in Prati?"

Harry shook his head before waving to a fan who had spotted him. He didn't stop, though, and kept walking beside you, asking about your family, specifically your grandmother, who was his Scrabble partner nearly the entirety of your relationship.

"Good. I play Scrabble with her on the weekends now. I'm pretty sure she thinks I'm not a good enough opponent, but she'll never say it to my face."

"Graceful as always, your nan," Harry nodded in agreement. "Probably wouldn't say the same thing about chess, though."

"No, probably not. Do you still play?" you asked, tilting your head up to look at him.

He was so close, close enough that the sleeve of his green shirt grazed your bare arm. Close enough that if you really wanted it to the back of your hand could graze his. Instead you shifted your hand away.

"When I can," Harry said, his mouth twitching as if recalling a memory. "I've been focusing on writing most days, but I play whenever I'm stuck."

"How's that going?"

"How's work?"

"Sorry, go ahead," you said, blushing a little. Would it always be this awkward around him? You hoped not. Harry had been a friend first, and even though you knew you shouldn't,y you missed his companionship some nights. Lots of nights. Most nights.

"No, you go. Catch me up on all the latest drama at work."

So you did, falling back into familiar, neutral territory as you brought Harry up to speed on your co-workers.

Before long, you'd made it to the apartment you were renting, your palms suddenly warm as you searched your purse for your keys. You were stalling, you both knew it, but Harry didn't comment, nor did he leave, didn't offer any reason to finally say goodbye.

You knew this was where it was supposed to end. That a chance encounter with your ex in a foreign country really shouldn't have gone on this long. You knew that, and yet...

"Do you want to come in?" you asked, scrambling for any logical reason as to why Harry should follow you into your apartment. "I—I, uh, I could make us coffee and—"

"Please. I mean—Sure. That would be...that would be fine."

Relief flooded through you, though that was quickly replaced by a guilty sort of anticipation as you unlocked the door to the main building of the apartment, as Harry followed you up a couple flights of stairs, as he waited once again for you to unlock a door. When you were inside, when you set your things down on the small dining table, you turned to face your ex.

Harry's gaze was once again lowered to your collarbones, to the place where the necklace he gave you used to sit. Then he met your eyes, the expression in them clear. It was the first time you'd seen them since running into him today. He'd kept his sunglasses on the whole time, perhaps to hide his expressions more, because now that you properly met his gaze, you saw it all. Those green eyes you still loved so much betrayed his every thought, and you knew yours probably did as well.

It was hard to say who moved first. If you grabbed the front of Harry's shirt before he wrapped an arm around your waist and fisted your hair in his other hand. But none of it mattered when your mouth met his, when your hands traveled up to cup the sides of his face, your thumbs tracing the familiar planes of his face.

A graze of his teeth against your bottom lip had you gasping, had him smiling as if that was the exact reaction he'd been hoping for. You responded in kind by dragging your nails down his scalp, satisfied by the groan that vibrated against your mouth as his tongue caressed yours.

"This isn't—It's not—" you tried to say, losing focus as Harry left a trail of kisses from your jaw to the base of your neck and back up again. "This doesn't mean—"

"I know," Harry breathed, his forehead pressed against yours as he toyed with the bow that held the front of your blouse together. Your breath hitched as his knuckle grazed your exposed stomach. "This doesn't change anything. Now take this off."

You almost made him do it just because he ordered you to, but you knew why he wanted you to be the one to untie the knot of your blouse. It meant you were saying yes to this moment, it meant you were saying yes to doing whatever it was you were about to do.

So you pulled at the blouse until it came undone, leaving it open so it revealed a strip of bare skin going right up the middle of your body. The rest you would leave up to him.

Harry shrugged out of his own sweater and t-shirt before reaching out to push back the shoulders of your shirt until it was off completely, falling into a puddle of fabric at your feet beside his. His gaze alone was too much and not enough, more explicit than it had any right to be. He stood there and drank you in for a full minute as if in a daze, taking in every mark and imperfect like he was reacquainting himself.

It was hard to get the words out, but you managed. "Still broken up?"

"Yeah," Harry said, his eyes still roving over every inch of your body that he could see. Then he blinked as if remembering the situation for what it was. "Yeah, still broken up."

There wasn't much left to say after that, really.

[drama-trauma]

Yandere nerd

Part two of the anti-social nerd. Kind of. This is more of a what went behind the scenes. Sorry for the wait. Hope you'll enjoy.

Warnings: Manipulation,yandere,drugs,more suggestive rather than smut, cheating and student-teacher relationship(minor characters), blackmailing, stalking, reader's too horny.

You've been a mess as far as you remember. Always seeking fun instead of abiding to obligations. None of your relationships lasted long. I mean, you only wanted some long, thick dick! You didn't want to act all lovey dovey with them. Just fuck you full of hot, thick sperm and leave! Was it that hard?

Your parents realised their mistake in raising you. They wanted you to be a lawyer or a doctor, not a whore for fuck's sake!So you get send to a new school, one well known for it's multi talented prodigies.

That's where you met the love of your life. To be honest, the best dick of your life.When the teacher placed you next to a weirdo,at first you didn't think much of it.You came here to get dicked down, not bother about which wacko is sitting next to you!You went around getting fucked by both juniors and seniors alike. Living the best time of your life with your favourite companion - dick. Hell, you could prepare a chart on all the dicks you saw so far - thick ones, long ones, small ones, average ones and more. Among all the dicks only a couple stood out in their size or shape.You could remember the way your body took it in but not the names of their owners.

And that's when it happened. You were running laps in p.e class, when it started raining heavily. Upon entering back to the gym room, you notice it. The p.e uniform clinging to that wacko seatmate of yours. His nipples were a nice shade of pink- hardened by the chilly atmosphere.And there was a prominent outline of his dick through the wet pants.That was when you sweared to yourself “I have to cum atleast once on this dick”.

From then on began your attempts to get closer to the wacko. Kian was his name. It wasn't difficult finding out since he was more or less of a teacher's pet. Always answering to every single question.Always paying attention in class. Hell, why couldn't he pay attention to you? You were the most good looking person in that class. Others would die for a chance to be in your hole but this guy was more interested in solving sin and cos! If only he knew how much your hole was twitching around empty air at the thought of his dick!

You came to the realisation that if you don't take the initiative then your dream of getting fucked by that dick will remain a dream. So you started making small conversations - something about classes and favourites and what not. Only to be polite. You can't just go upto someone and ask to be fucked. It was only polite to get to know each other. Just enough so that when he sees your favourite colour, he gets hard at the thought of you clad in it , screaming and creaming.

It was cute how Kian stuttered when he talked to you. That's what you would've said if it wasn't for his bulked up body. No one talked to him much. Who wants to even talk to a bookworm? If it wasn't for dick, then you would've ignored him too. But God,it made things easier. You only wanted his dick at first. But now he was getting pretty damn adorable with his attempts at getting to know you more.The way he beat around the bush when he was nervous, the heavy blush coating his face on a teasing comment, the way he squirmed in his seat when you got a bit close - God fucking damnit, it was adorable .

You don't know how but from a point onwards you looked forward to seeing him - not a glimpse of his dick but him. Was it the way he looked at you dreamily? Was it the way you were the only friend that he had?Was it the way his entire world revolved around you?Was it the way you were his entire world?You don't know. But one thing, you knew was that it was addictive. It was consuming. It was love.

You wanted him to make the first move towards your relationship. But ofcourse, he just had to be dense. That's fine, you'll help him out.Changing out of your pe uniform extra slow - tantalizingly, dropping pens more often and picking them up while bending more than needed with pushing up your ass temptingly, accidentally dropping water on your chest to put your hardened nipples on display and what not. He was an idiot when it came to romance. But he was your idiot.

You could easily tell the effect it had on him. His boners couldn't be hidden - not with that size.He wasn't really good at stalking. Kian made his presence obvious despite all his efforts at going unnoticed. The way his footsteps sounded when he was following you, the shutter of the camera going off, the heavy breaths he inhaled while you were taking a shower - you could sense his presence easily.

Kian was not good at being possessive either. He couldn't find the courage to butt in when you conversed with others. He was too scared to touch you. He seemed content just being by your side. But hell, you knew better. You knew about the way he jerked off in one of the school bathroom stalls after you got a bit too close with him. You knew about the questionable pictures being taken.You knew about the predatory glimpse in his eyes at times. You knew that he wanted nothing more than to have you all to himself. You knew everything.For a nerd, he sure was dumb as fuck.

The day your English professor decided to give you a group project was the luckiest day of your life.You and Kian were not in the same group but that could be arranged. After class, you stayed back. You managed to convince the professor to pair you up together. With an excuse of how he would let his teammate walk all over him and how he would have to do all the work, him having trouble getting along with others and what not . At first, the professor wasn't too keen on letting it happen. But at the mention of letting his pregnant wife know of his cheating, he quickly complied. Cheating on his wife was one thing, cheating on his pregnant wife was even worse and the worst thing? The fact that he cheated on her with one of his students.

Next class, you and Kian got paired together. He seemed happy. He wanted to do the project at your house, but you denied it saying that your parents were home and they don't like having people over or something. He believed it and offered to go to a cafe. Why couldn't this dense fuck understand that you wanted to go to his house? Stupid bitch. You brought up the idea of doing it at his place. He seemed nervous - about the “secret photos” he took maybe. Did he have it posted on his bedroom wall? Did he wake up to your picture? Did he end his day after staring at it? Did he jerk off to it? Fuck, curiosity killed the cat.

After a while of contemplation and convincing, he finally relented. You would be at his house in three days. The project was only due in two weeks. There was plenty of time.

Day 1 - you could see dust and smell a nasty scent on him. He must be cleaning his entire house inside out since you were coming over. Day 2 - you just so happened to tell him about how people nowadays fucked while drugged and how many of the students in your school preferred such things and how it seems crazy and what not. As long as you sow a seed, the fruit's bound to be ripe. Day 3- you tell him about how there's a guy selling stuff in your school.Students buy their stuff from him and at an affordable price. That night, you got a call from this so called "dealer", that Kian had bought the stuff from him. Good. You paid the dude pretty well to work this all out . Drugs going around in a prestigious school? Lies.But Kian fell for it and that's what matters.

Everyone has a secret that they'll take to their graves. And for you, what went behind the scenes will be that secret.

The day you went to his house, you had looked through the pictures he took of you. You were honestly so fucking horny after seeing them. You looked good. He sure knew how to work a camera.And the time where a needle was injected? You weren't a masochist but you could make adjustments.Waking up covered in cum? You must've looked like a masterpiece. Fuck, you wanted to be conscious for your first time together. You wanted to feel the pain and pleasure of having his dick enter your hole for the first time. You wanted to see him loosen you up. But it's alright. There'll surely be another chance. And you'll make sure to do it conscious then.When he walked in dressed in that robe? You could cum on the spot just at the sight.When he started fucking you again?For a virgin, he fucked real damn good. Just your style - fast ,deep and desperate.

Everyone has a secret that they'll take to their graves. And for you, what went behind the scenes will be that secret.

[buckyownsmylife]

out of the woods (chris evans x famous!reader smut)

the one where Chris watches an interview of you on the Ellen show

Warnings: mention of small stature in comparison to Chris, smut thoughts, Ellen Degeneres trash talking/thinking, cursing, mention of prescription medicine, talk of age gap (reader is younger than Chris), jacking off, daddy kink

WC: 3k

A/N: this doesn't really have an ending, so if you all like it, I might make a series out of it - the idea is that you are also famous (for acting, singing, writing) and have been friends with Chris but there's always this underlying tension between the two of you. It goes without saying, but I'll say it anyway: no, he's not married in this story nor do I intend to feature Alba in any part of it whatsoever.

Chris’ P.O.V.

I was scrolling through Twitter when I realized some fans were tagging me in a short video of Y/N on Ellen DeGeneres’ show. I knew she had gone there by herself, mostly to promote her new album, but also to give some publicity for our movie, so I was aware that she would probably talk about me at least a bit… Curiosity got the best of me and I clicked the link to check the video for myself.

She looked gorgeous as always, her hair down in that way I loved so much and her skin seemed to be as soft as ever under the mini dress she chose to wear, her legs stretching out and making her look taller than she actually was. I chuckled, remembering just how small she looked by my side.

I remembered one time when I lifted her up, bridal style, and spun her around the pub we had close to the set, after the Patriots had won a game. Despite not understanding the game, she tagged along and celebrated every time I got excited, like the cute person that she was. I got so transfixed by her giggles back then. They were the sweetest sound and the only thing I heard, despite the fact that we were in the middle of a very loud bunch of dudes. 

I found myself imagining again, as I had then, what it would be like to have her under me, trapped by my arms in bed, or better yet, against a wall, only my thighs securing her in place while I made her moan with my touch. How would she sound? Or, better yet, how would she feel?

Christ. 

Shaking my head, I tried to gather my thoughts so as to not let them stray too far in that direction, something I didn’t have much success in doing, despite the fact that I had been practicing that simple habit every single day since I met her. But it was proving to be a nightmare. She was just far too tempting.

Shaking my head once more, I focused on the video in front of me. My heartbeat had sped up as soon as it started, but I tried to tell myself it was because I was scared for her, since I knew how Ellen could get invasive sometimes.

“So, Y/N…” She started, eyeing my co-star. “You have just finished working on a movie with someone we’re very familiar with, isn’t it?”

Y/N giggled, nodding at the blonde woman. “I suppose so. We have just finished the promotion for it, maybe you guys have already seen it?” She asked the crowd, who went nuts at her. It was sweet to see this kind of feedback, I truly believed in our movie and the fact that I got to know her was just an added bonus.

“For those of you who don’t know what we’re talking about, it’s called ‘Be Here Now’ and it’s currently in a theater near you. Y/N stars alongside Chris Evans, who we love so dearly here, and they play brother and sister as they try to reconnect after their parents' passing.”

More applause at that. I couldn’t stop myself from rolling my eyes at her idea of love. Last time I was there, she made me pretty uncomfortable, and I knew I wasn’t the only one who felt that way.

“So, how was the process for you? We know you’re familiar with the filming process, since you star in your own series ‘Evermore’, that sent you to stardom, along with your songs, but you had said before you’d never act outside of it, since your true passion relies on music. What changed your mind?” Ellen sat back as she said that, already comfortable with the fact that something good would come out of this interview, since Y/N had been pretty vocal about what made her decide to do the movie, even with me.

“Chris did, actually. Or, in fact, the fact that he was cast in it.” A chorus of “aws” echoed around the room and there was no way to know if they were real or prompted, but they were quickly interrupted by the host.

“So, you were a fan?” She instigated, as to what Y/N nodded again.

“Of course. Well, my mom more than me, but I was the one who introduced his work to her, so…” She poked her tongue out at the camera, to which my heart (and my cock) jumped in response. “Ever since I got into this, when I first had the idea for Evermore with James, I told him time and time again I would never act outside of this, because I had no intention whatsoever on becoming an actress. I have always been in this for the music. Well, the writing. I’m a writer, I like writing scripts and songs, I’ve fallen into this performer thing by accident. But I’ve always been adamant about the fact that if I ever had the opportunity to act alongside Chris, I’d take it. It doesn’t matter that I don’t think I’m good enough. It didn’t even matter if the script was terrible, which thankfully wasn’t the case, I just really admire him and his work and I would never live with myself if I turned this opportunity down.”

Even though I knew most of this, I couldn’t help but to gloat at the fact that this incredible woman actually admired me. She was so much better than me in so many things, even acting, and she still thought I was great enough to get her to participate in a movie. 

“So, what I’m hearing is, you have a little crush, that’s right?” And there it was. The coup. Of course. That evil wench…

“That’s what you took out of everything I said? Jesus, Ellen, has anyone ever told you that you listen like a man?” Ouch. That one was perfect. Being the ambassador for females and lesbians everywhere, it couldn’t not hurt her, especially coming from someone as angelical, sweet and universally-loved as Y/N. I appreciated the quick second her smile faltered before it became plastered on her again.

“No, I haven’t heard that before… But tell me, have you met any of the other Marvel actors? I mean, granted, there are a lot of them now, but especially those who have worked closely with Chris?” Y/N shrugged at that.

“I have been friends with Elizabeth Olsen for a very long time, we’re very close, but other than that, no. I haven’t had the chance to properly meet, or rather, hang out with any of them.”

“Who’s first on your list?”

“Anthony Mackie,” Y/N promptly responded, getting a few laughs and claps from the audience.

“My, you had that answer ready” Ellen teased, to which Y/N simply shrugged again. 

“We talk through social media sometimes and I know for a fact he’s hilarious. I hope we get to meet sometime. I might just have to bug Chris about it.” She had already, in fact. I couldn’t wait to introduce them to each other and I was already planning my next party just to be able to make that happen.

“What about Sebastian?” Ellen asked, a glinter of something extremely suspicious in her eyes.

“Sebastian Stan? No, we haven’t met, but I’d love to get the chance to someday. He seems extremely sweet and I know he’s very talented and Chris loves him, so I think it’s a matter of time until it happens.”

“I heard somewhere you had a bit of a crush on him, right? Even if you don’t admit that you have one on Chris?” This fucking woman. I could fucking kill her right now. But, to my surprise, Y/N simply laughed.

“Truly, you have got to check your hearing sometime soon, because that is absolutely false.” 

“Really?” Ellen pushed, to which Y/N beamed even brighter at her.

“Positive.” A beat as the two women stared at each other down. “I think what you meant is that I have had a huge crush on his character, Bucky Barnes.” Y/N explained, laughing at the host. “I admit that only happened after I saw Sebastian’s portrayal of him, but my attraction to a fictional character can’t be really connected to him.”

Ellen nodded, obviously not paying attention to anything she was just saying. “Well, let’s figure out who do you actually feel attracted to, shall we? Let’s play fuck, marry or kill!”

The audience screamed and, to my surprise, Y/N didn’t even blink, a patient smile painting her lips as she calmly watched the interviewer. “So, Y/N, between Anthony, Sebastian and Chris, who would you rather fuck, marry or kill?”

Y/N shook her head, still smiling at the older woman. “I couldn’t possibly answer truthfully to this question, Ellen, mostly because I am not capable of feeling carnal attraction to people I have never met, but I can 100% assure you that I would marry Chris without blinking twice if there was a choice.” 

My heart skipped a beat at her words. The crowd went crazy, obviously satisfied with the answer.

“And you’re sure you don’t have a crush on him?” Ellen’s eyes glistened with mischief, as she stared at the younger woman.

“Ellen, I think the question here is… Are you sure *you don’t have a crush on him?” The laughs from the audience was the last thing to come from the video before it stopped, and I found myself echoing them in the silent living room. Oh my, how I missed this girl.

I tapped my fingers nervously on my jean-clad thigh, looking around the room. I had been staying in Boston with my family for the last few weeks, since the movie premiered and we had finished promotion, and I had found myself constantly calling her to share funny stories from my nephews or to hear about her day. I knew she wanted to meet my family, she had always said she admired the fact that we were so close, despite there being so many of us.

My mom obviously loved her, having been a fan of hers long before I even heard about her existence. So what if…? 

Before I could second-guess myself, I pressed call in the name of the woman I had been thinking about. The phone rang three times before she picked up, stopping me from giving up on this crazy idea.

“Hey, Chris! How are you? I missed talking to you, it’s so weird seeing you everyday for four months and then suddenly not at all anymore.” I know I was literally forty, but I literally melted at this girl’s words.

“Did you now? Is that because you wish we were married, so we could see each other everyday?” Her breath hitched as she realized I had seen the video and I could just imagine the cute little embarrassed expression she was probably sporting right now. I tried to ignore the fact that my words and tone of speaking had suddenly become way too similar to when I was flirting with a girl.

“Fuck, you saw the interview.” I had never heard Y/N curse before, so the fact that I suddenly had no control over my mouth could be explained by the unavailability of blood in my head, since it had all gone south.

“Come stay with me for a while,” I spilled suddenly. Silence was the only answer I got from the other side of the call and my heart sped up in a way that only happened when I was truly anxious. I was already cursing myself out for scaring the poor girl when she finally answered.

“Are you serious?” She asked, her voice barely over a whisper. It was obvious how vulnerable she was feeling, and a sense of overprotectiveness overcame me. “Please don’t joke about this, Evans. This better not be a prank. ‘Cause I really do miss you a lot.”

Fuck indeed. There was no way something good would come out of this idea, but there was no way I would go back either.

“Of course I’m being serious. Come to Boston. You can stay with me, but I think my mom is going to steal you before you even settle in.” A large breath came from the other side.

“Okay. Okay! I’m going to pack my bags. Yay! I’m so excited!” She was clearly jumping up and down with the perspective of what was to come, and I couldn’t help the smile that painted my lips not only at her cuteness, but also due to my own excitement at her arrival. 

“Great! I’ll be waiting.” My heartbeat still hadn’t gotten back to a normal speed. “Text me the details of your arrival, I’ll pick you up at the airport.”

“Chris, I don’t think that’s such a good idea…” I knew what she meant. If someone caught sight of us together at the airport, or even the fact that she was here in Boston, all hell would break loose in the press.

“Shhh, don’t worry about it, baby girl. I’ll take care of it.” I froze, only then realizing what I had just called her. A few seconds ticked by while I silently freaked out, wondering how I could brush this over, when she intervened.

“Thanks, Chris. That was pretty much the best thing I’ve ever heard. I just might forgo my prescription medicine while I’m over there, because you’ve been able to completely relax me with just two sentences.” She giggled and if I was at first leaning towards thinking she was sarcastically teasing me, just by the nature of her words, the tone of her voice made it clear that she actually meant what she had just said.

Once again, I was at a loss for words, especially because I couldn’t help but to allow myself to imagine that this was her, flirting with me a little bit. The blood I so desperately needed in my brain had once again left to pump another organ full of life. I was saved from having to answer, though, as Y/N quickly wrapped up the conversation.

“I’ll text you the details of my flight in a little bit. See you soon, angel.” She hung up before I could process the nickname she had given me. 

“Fucking hell,” I whispered, finally relenting and getting up from the couch to take a shower to rub one off.

I had found myself in this situation more times than usual after meeting Y/N. Normally, I’d only do it out of boredom, preferring to fuck someone whenever I’d get sexually frustrated. But the last few times I had taken girls from parties into my bedroom, I could only see her. Y/N. And I hated how disgusting I felt after it was done, the fact that I didn’t care about the girl I just fucked and the fact that I imagined my younger friend.

So now I resorted to this kind of activity. As the warm water started to hit my body, I allowed my right hand to travel the extent of my body until I found my hardened member. “Fuck,” I found myself whispering into the bathroom as I tugged on my cock. Images that I had spent a lot of time concocting in my head flashed in front of me, all of them starred by Y/N. 

I imagined her nude body here with me, under the falling water. How her breasts would heave with every breath she took. Would she be as filled with desire for me as I was for her? I imagined the path the warm droplets of water would run across her skin and how I wished I could lick its remnants. 

Maybe she’d fall to her knees before me, looking up from under her eyelashes with that coy expression that drove me crazy. Her lips would softly kiss the tip of my cock and she’d still be watching me, analyzing my reactions. I would do my best to restrain myself, allowing her to get accustomed to my member, but my hands would eventually find their way to her wet strands, creating a makeshift ponytail that would facilitate my vision of her work while I still managed to control myself and not use it to guide her.

She’d kiss the skin all around my cock, quick little kisses just to tease me before going further down to suck on my balls. I’d throw my head back, begging her to do what I needed, and she’d finally succumb, wrapping her lips around my tip before slowly sucking further down my dick. She’d be relentless, eventually being able to swallow my whole member down her throat, and I would look down again to see her looking up at me with a proud gaze in her eyes.

“Such a good girl,” I would whisper, just before I finally snapped, using my grip on her hair to pull her from my cock until just the tip remained tightly squeezed by her lips, until I pushed her all the way against me again. “Take this fucking cock like the little perfect girl you are for daddy.”

And she’d take it like a pro, a satisfied smile on her lips as I fucked her mouth, eventually breaching into her throat, making her gasp for air, tears in her eyes as her hands flew to my hips in an attempt to slow me down. But she wouldn’t really, opting for simply carving her nails on my flesh as she took every single rope of cum I’d deposit between her eager lips.

Fuck. I let the water wash away the sin I had just committed while sending up a prayer for better control when Y/N arrived. The last thing I needed was to be stuck in the bathroom, touching myself while she was at my house.

[qlossytbh]

𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐧𝐞 - 𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐧 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐧

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 working with the BAU team has always been challenging— but your suddenly disrupted by a case that hits close to home and you don’t know how to react when your past starts clawing at you.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 drinking, usual criminal minds content, mentions of dead bodies, mentions of murder, mentions of sexual assault, mentions of anxiety

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 3.7k

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 AHHH so the series has begun. this is based on this lovely request. i’m trying my hardest for things with the UnSub and the case to be as coherent as possible while the storyline progresses, so it’s very important to pay attention to names and your past ;)

𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

"And that is your third drink of the night—" You reached over to Garcia's drink, ripping it from her lips as she tried puckering onto the straw before you could steal her of the drink she had rightfully purchased. Protests flowed out of her as you brought her drink to your own lips, taking a deep sip of the fruity alcoholic beverage, savoring the light flavors in your mouth. "At least share."

"Anyone tell you how boring you can be sometimes?" She slumped herself across the table complaining profusely at your antics.

"All the time actually," You shrugged. "And I'm not boring, I just don’t condone alcoholism."

"Says the one whos about to singlehandly down my drink," She rolled her eyes at the sound of your straw reaching the bottom of the glass with a slurp. You looked at the glass and shrugged your shoulders innocently.

"Oops,"

The whole BAU had finally decided to host another one of these team bonding activity's, and the vast majorty had agreed on hitting a bar that was near the downtown area, Morgan having been the main enthusiast at picking where the bonding would take place.

You thought it'd be fun honestly. It was unusual to see the group in an ambience that wasn't so full of anxiety and tension all the time. Of course, a joke or two would slip around the office, mainly through the jet rides but it was hard to lay back all the time when you were constantly chasing sadists and murderers around.

It had also been a while since you had gotten somewhat dressed up. A simple black squareneck bodysuit and some leather pants wasnt your biggest definition of getting dressed up, but you knew today was casual, so you didnt want to go completely out. You chose to instead settle for a outfit that'd allow you to blend in and some soft curls in your hair.

Everyone was in their own little comfortable bubble, which really allowed you to understand your co-workers and friends better. You watched how JJ and Emily chatted along a few other men on the further side of the bar, laughing at their antics and desperation when it came to obviously impress them. It was funny even from this side of the bar how badly the men were oggling them shamelessly.

Just as you were about to look for Derek, you felt someone clash between you and Garcia. "Well how are the two of the smokiest looking woman in this bar doin'?"

"I was just looking for you," You jabbed him with your elbow as he wrapped his arm around you. "Should've known you'd come crawling to look for us."

"By us, I hope you mean just me." Garcia butted in. Derek scoffed and allowed his arm to leave your shoulder and instead wrap both of his around the blonde that sat next to you on the bar stool.

"Pfft, you kidding?" He scoffed. "Don't' get me wrong, those pants look great on you sweetheart, but Garcia here's my one and only."

You let out a laugh at Morgans comment. He was a flirt, a natural one, it'd been just like this since you first arrived at the BAU all those years back. You however, were inmune to his charm, and he'd always been a brotherly figure to you. The two of you teased the other and often got into small discussions that were similar to that of a sibling dynamic. Nevertheless, you cared a lot for him.

"I'm going to take that as a compliment," You eyed Morgan, sipping through the straw of the recently emptied drink. He pinched your cheek as a familiar laugh left his mouth while you slapped his hand away.

Your eyes scanned the rest of the bar, allowing your shoulders to slouch ever so slightly. You swirled the small cubes of ice around in the glass, looking at them intently before Derek whistled low accompanied by a deep chuckle. "Looks like Boy genius is hitting jackpot over there."

Your eyes turned to where Derek was gesturing and you saw Spencer sitting at a small table with three other woman practically perched on his arms. You watched as his arms enthusiastically flew over the place. Garcia pitched in. "Well thats a first,"

You chuckled to yourself, not failing to notice how his mouth was moving at an unreadable pace, which probably meant he had already went into what you'd like to tease him as 'wikipedia mode'. His brows were furrowed and his lips were pursed as they moved inaudibly, the same way they always did when he rambled on about something.

"Look at my man go," Morgan cheered.

"He looks constipated.." Garcia squinted her eyes, noticing his nervous and tense posture as one woman grazed his forearm.

You and Spencer had gotten really close over the past few years. He was the first person you immediately hit it off with when you first arrived to the BAU a little over a year later than he had. It initially started when the two of you were unintentionally being paired in many cases together.

However, Hotch and at the time Gideon realized that putting both of your minds together was a power weapon in disguise— Both you and spencer were incredibly smart but very different. Spencer was very good with statistics and information, and you were good with reading people in great depth, which is why the two of you made such an outstanding team.

By being together all the time, you slowly started to get more comfortable around eachother and soon enough the two of you became inseperable. Wether it was getting coffee with eachother in the morning, or staying over later in the office to read over some unsolved cases, you and Spencer were attached at the hip as months went on. It had taken a while to crack his shell open, but slowly, you'd manadge for him to loosen up.

"Looks like that's my cue," You said standing up and dusting of your pants. Morgan and Garcia shared a look while you sighed heavily, watching how Spencer entirely short circuited when one of the girls reached up to tuck a loose strand of his hair behind his ear.

You knew Spencer had a thing with his personal space, but also having a heart of gold prevented him from having the guts to push these woman off. You could tell that he didn't desire their company or attention.

You rounded the bar and made your way to the table where Spencer desperately needed saving. Once you walked closer to them, the woman in the middle looked up with an unamused gaze and then Spencer's intimidated eyes met yours. You clicked your tongue, gesturing your chin to the side and insinuating them to take a hint.

"Sorry to interrupt ladies," You smiled tightly, crossing your arms. "I need to steal your boy candy for a bit."

"We're busy.." One of them said, smiling at you wickidly and she placed her hand on Spencer's shoulder. You groaned internally because your intentions weren't territorially driven and these woman felt some inescessary need to fight you for Spencers attention.

"I wasn't asking." You responded sharply, given them one final smile. Under the intensity of your gaze, the three woman finally cowered and got to their feet, walking away while tossing their hair back at you and spitting hateful glances towards you. You followed their trail with your eyes before looking back at Spencer and narrowing your eyes at him.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you," He clasped his hands together, blabbering as you walked over and plopped into the seat next to him.

"Why is it that you always end up in these situations?" You looked over at him. "You have got to stop attracting the bitches.." You rested your elbow on the chair and tilted your chin towards him.

"They came and I didn't really know how to—" He started but cut himself off with a groan, slumping deeper in his chair and dragging his hands across his face. He peered at you through his fingers and you chuckled at him, looking down and shaking your head to yourself.

Spencer quickly noticed how your hair was lightly curled towards its ends and the makeup on your face was giving you a soft glowy hue. His eyes scanned your lightly tinted cheeks and eyelids, along with the long dark wisp of your eyelashes that deepened your gaze, not entirely used to seeing you like this. You finally looked up at him, and eyed him.

"What?" You laughed, shoving his arm lightly. He looked down and smiled to himself. When he looked back up at you, he opened his mouth, wanting to tell you all about the statistics of makeup and its history and evolution along the years to ease his nerves, but Derek's voice cut through the comfortable chattering the two of you were sitting in.

When you looked up at him, you saw JJ, Emily and Garcia standing alongside him, all having the same familiar expression on their face. Derek motioned towards his phone and you nodded your head understandingly. You knew that Rossi and Hotch had probably called everyone in due to a new case. You looked over at Spencer, sighing heavily. "Duty calls,"

Spencer stood up from his seat and grabbed your hand, helping you up from your own and letting his chest heave with disappointment. "Are we ever going to get a day off?"

You looked up at him and patted his chest. "Now that is a stupid question for someone as smart as you, Dr. Reid."

The whole team scattered into the conference room as Rossi held his phone to his ear and chatted stoically to someone, pacing back and forth the white board. You scanned Rossi's posture and the few pictures that were peeping out of a file and your brows furrowed.

"What do you think happened now?" You voiced, turning to Spencer, who scanned the room just as intently as you had beside you, hands deep in his pocket. Morgan, JJ and Parentiss had already fallen into their seats waiting for Rossi to hang up with whoever it is he was talking to. Spencer looked down at you and tightened his lips, shrugging slightly.

You hugged yourself as an unsettling feeling sat in the pools of your gut. There was something that happened to you often where you couldn't really voice a feeling into coherent words, but something about a situation seemed oddly off in your gut. The familiar feeling was currently bubbling inside of you and it evidently manifested onto your expression. You felt a hand on your shoulder accompanied by a light squeeze.

"You okay?" Spencer asked, furrowing his brows in concern. You quickly waved him off, smiling at him and taking in a deep breath.

"Yeah, just got a bad feeling,"

As Rossi hung up, you and Spencer made your way to your chairs. Spencer absentmindedly pulled yours out, allowing you to sit before him. You mumbled a quick 'thanks' before sitting down comfortably and turning your attention to Rossi with Spencer not far beside you.

"Sorry to interrupt team bonding but," Rossi shoved his phone into his pocket. "We've got trouble."

Rossi lifted the projector remote, turning on its contents and revealing a series of gruesome pictures. The photos showed what looked to be a couple, brutally slaughtered with blood splattered across the walls.

"Easton Green, 27 and Michael Green, 28, brutally slaughtered last night in their home here in Virginia," Rossi said scrolling through a few pictures of the couples body limply displayed across what looked like a bathroom. "Both victims received more than 20 stab wounds and both had their ring fingers severed. Due to autopsy reports, Easton had water in her lungs and Michael showed signs of sexual assault."

Your heart stopped in the back of your throat as Rossi read off the names of the victims, following with ID pictures of the two familiar faces you hadn't seen in a long period of time.

"A week ago, an almost identical murder took place." He punched the buttons on the small control, revealing a stomach churning picture. "Sarah Johnson, 28 and Adam Johnson, 28. The couple presented the same stab wounds and severed fingers, but no signs of sexual assault and no water in either of their lungs."

Your eyebrows were furrowed deeply as your mouth hung open, just slightly. You never thought you'd hear those names again, much less the way you had just right now.

"Both murders happened in their own houses and signs of forced entry are present." Rossi said.

"How do we know that these murders are connected?" JJ asked, scribbling mindlessly into her journal.

"We were able to make with the little evidence they've presented so far was that both couples had been recently married," Hotch pipped in. "The stab wounds are also identically the same, along with the way the bodies were left."

"So, wait, we have someone hunting around recently married couples?" Derek asked, brows furrowed tightly in curiosity.

"In a way that would explain why the ring fingers were severed..." Spencer quipped, scrolling through his files. You glanced over at him, watching the familiar furrow in his brow. He looked up. "Recently married couples wear their wedding bands on their ring fingers after the ceremony takes place. They're exchanged during the wedding ceremony and symbolize the couple's union and commitment to each other,"

"And with the severed fingers are probably the wedding bands," Derek blew out.

"If only the ring fingers are being cut off than maybe our UnSub probably has a personal vendetta with marriage in itself and is most definitely acting out of rage," Parentiss quipped in as well, crossing her arms over her chest. You looked from person to person as they all added in their analysis and group review, but you felt as if you couldn't keep up. Your brain had stopped working the second Easton and Michael had been named.

"We'd have to figure out how the UnSub is connected to the victims to be able to confirm that, and by that we'd have to connect the victims," Hotch uncapped a marker and turned to the board.

"Actually," You finally said. "All these victims went to North Virginia High School, the private school over by the upper east side of town."

The room fell silent as everyone's head turned to you. You froze momentarily, sinking into your seat while swallowing the bundle of embarrassment that seeped into you as the spotlight suddenly found your way. You signaled to the files "I, uhm— I used to go to school with these people."

"All four of them were in my class, I was actually friends with Easton. Sort of—" You shook your head. "—I haven't talked to her for years until well..."

 You looked over at the board and cringed internally.

"So were they together since high school?" Derek asked you, turning in his seat towards you. You pursed your lips in thought.

”Sort of," You flipped a page over onto it's back and pointed your finger to one of the lines. "Easton and Michael starting dating a year or two after graduation, but Sarah and Adam had been dating since sophomore year of college."

Your frown deepened, suddenly memories of your past flooding your head quicker than you anticipated. And quicker than you were prepared for. You rubbed your temple and laid back in your chair.

"Whoever the UnSub is could be connected to the class or school," You stated, deciding to fall silent until further notice. Hotch nodded in your direction, eyeing you suspiciously before Rossi began laying out a few more details of the case to which you couldn't completely pay attention to. Your hands fell into a nervous pattern of picking at the skin that sat comfortably on the side of your nails.

Spencer reached out from the side, placing one of his hands over both of your to prevent you from continuing your anxious habit. When you looked over at him, his gaze remained on Rossi and Hotch, eyebrows slightly furrowed yet expression completely relaxed as if he had not a single thought flowing around in his head. 

God knows you needed a bit of that. You glared at him but with a huff of surrender, you slouched further into your chair, allowing your fingers to dance along with Spencers underneath the table and away from anyone else's view.

After about thirty minutes of placing down a starters plan to the case and more unnecessary stuff that you weren’t all too interested in paying attention to, everyone in the team was dismissed. You snapped out of your trance, suddenly realizing that everyone was standing up and getting ready to leave. 

"You in there?" Spencer called out from beside you as he shoved his paperwork into his familiar satchel. You hummed offering him a quick, forced smile. 

"Yeah," You threw your bag over your shoulder. Spencer stopped you with a firm hand as you attempted leaving the room. He gave you a knowing look, clearly not even impressed by your poor attempt at running away from his worried gaze. 

"I’m fine Spence," You said, tilting your head slightly to the side. "I’ll tell you about it in the car,"

When you and Spencer first started to get along, both of you had realized that your lived not far from the other. A fifteen, maybe twenty minute car ride from the others place at most. When Spencer found out you usually took the train to get home, he insisted on dropping you off every evening after work. At first, it was a bit awkward, due to the fact that none of you knew anything about the other, opting for plugging your AUX cord into your phone and playing music to distract yourself from the silence. But now, things were different and things were everything but uncomfortable

"Y/N," Hotchs voice cut through the air thickly. "A minute?”

Your head snapped over to Hotch. You tensed, looking back over Spencer to which he tightened his lips, giving you a look full of sympathy. You assured him with a nod in the direction of the door. "I’ll catch up with you," 

With a final nod, Spencer left the room, closing the door behind you. You tensed your fingers at your side and swiftly patted the sides of your pants. You suddenly felt intimidated by Hotchs presence. It made you incredibly panicky not knowing why he called you to stay behind. Hotch had always been someone you found hard reading.

"Whats up?" You asked walking up to him and gripping at the strand of your bag.

"Are you okay?" You furrowed your eyebrows, jerking back slightly. Now that was definitely not what you had expected. 

"What..?" You asked, profusely confused as to where his question was coming form. He continued, organizing the files that were left on the meeting table.

"I asked if you were okay," He paused turning towards you. "If you’re going to be in conditions to work this case—“

You invoulintarily let out a laugh, to which you clamped shut in embarrassment at Hotchs unnamused glare. “Sorry..”

You shifted on your toes and sighed heavily. You understood that this sudden revelation may make people think this could effect your performance in the case. I mean, these were people you spent all four years of high school with and to any logical human being, in a sense, it would be emotionally impacting if ex-classmates were being executed one by one. 

But Hotch knew very little about your past. No one did. So with a firm nod you looked over at Hotch. "I am perfectly capable of working on this case Hotch."

“I didn’t doubt your capability,” He stared at you intently. “I asked if you were okay to work on the case,”

You stopped, watching him slowly try to weave his way into the truth of what these people actually meant to you. But you quickly shot him a smile, blocking him out and preventing him from seeing what was going on in the inside of your head.

“Yes, I am.” His eyes scanned yours, and with a simple sigh he shook his head and finally dismissed you from the room.

The case did not effect you in the slightest, and you weren’t lying about that. It was just very shocking finding out that someone who used to be your best friend was slaughtered to death. But you knew that nothing— no even the people who used to go to school with you were going to put a halt to your job, much less when you love doing said job so much.

You said your final goodbye to Hotch and walked over to the door, exiting it carefully. When you turned your back to the closed door, you found Spencer sitting against one of the desks. You crossed your arms and glared at him. 

"You should’ve gone home," You said. He pursed his lip, cocking his brows with amusement laced in his features. "I could’ve taken the train.”

You turned on your heels and allowed him to follow beside you. Spencer let out a laugh, throwing his head back. You beamed at his smile. 

"That’s funny," He said, looking down at you as both of you made your way to the elevator. "Did you know that transit riders, especially women, are often victims of a wide range of offenses of a sexual nature that happen on, as well as at bus stops and train stations."

You looked up at him with an unamused look, knowing he was doing this just to prove a point. He opted to continue. "Verbal harassment is the most common form of harassment, with 41% experiencing "obscene/harassing language" and 26% being subjected to sexual comments. Among non-verbal types of harassment, 22% had been stalked and 18% had been victims of—“

"Okay fine!" You exhasperated. "I wouldn’t have taken the train anyways, I have my personal choufer with me."

You patted his arm with a smile on your face as you rolled your eyes at his triumphal grin. Once the elevator door opened you pursed your lips. "Can I at least pay those 25 dollars of gas?"

He looked forward as the elevator door closed, scoffing. "Not a chance.”

[ohmytyong]

mark me in your heart

PAIRING: drug dealer!mark x bartender!reader (female!reader)

GENRE: angst, smut, kinda friends with benefits au, bartender!renjun, best friend!renjun, action au, open-ended narrative

WARNINGS: mentions of alcohol, explicit description of drug use (don't do drugs kids), use of pet names, trust issues, explicit language, mentions of food, smoking, emotionally unavailable characters, both mark and y/n are kind of assholes, explicit sexual content, angry make-up sex, rough-ish sex, unprotected sex (!always use protection!), heavy make out, choking, lip biting, nipple play, pussy slapping, spitting, oral (both m and f receiving), degradation, praise, spanking, crying, hair pulling, incredibly cringey dirty talking, aftercare (?), not proofread (let me know if i missed any!)

WC: 13k (12,975)

‣[PLAYLIST]: 505 by arctic monkeys, bad omens by 5 seconds of summer, slow down by chase atlantic, why do you only call me when you’re high? by arctic monkeys, a little death by the neighborhood, okay by chase atlantic

SUMMARY: when a sensitive and broken heart meets another one of the same nature, their instinctive reaction is to seek comfort in each other, and in order to heal themselves, they both need to be equally strong and willing to put all their broken pieces back together. but sometimes, some hearts aren’t strong enough to be saved; the only way to save them is if the stronger heart of the two is willing to take the risk and try for the both of them, whatever it takes.

A/N: it's finally here! it took me too long to finish this one but here it is! i know it might seem a bit fast paced or vague in certain parts, but remember this is all about the vibes and i deeply hope that you will enjoy it and give it some love because it definitely needs it <3

read on wattpad / ao3

“Hey Renjun, pass me that glass” you said as you wiped the thick tall glass completely dry before you put it back on the shelf behind you. You were moving mechanically at this point, the exhaustion of the long night at the bar taking over your entire body. It was 5 in the morning and you had just barely managed to kick out some of the remaining drunk nobodies who were so wasted, that their toxic-infused brains couldn’t even give them the signals to move their own bodies.

Working at the bar wasn’t your dream job but it’s not as if you had a better choice. It was either a bartender or a stripper. Both of them sounded equally bad, so you decided to opt for the slightly better one. If you could even say it like that.

It wasn’t a particularly ideal job but it was enough to get you by. It earned you enough money to buy you food and pay the rent at the motel you were staying at, it got you as many free drinks as you needed to help your mind escape from all your worries and you also got to meet some relatively cool people, so that was somewhat good. The working hours weren’t such a big of an issue either, you couldn’t really sleep anyway. So you were fine with it.

Most nights, the bar usually closed at around 3 am. There wasn’t a set rule on this; it usually depended on how many customers there were and how much they were drinking. Your boss had suggested that you shouldn’t keep the bar open all night long, so you kinda decided that it was best to close a few hours after midnight. You weren’t complaining about this though; the sooner it closed, the more time you’d have to get high with your co-worker Renjun at the alleyway behind the bar.

Unfortunately, tonight luck wasn’t on your side, as a group of friends kept on drinking more and more as the hours passed by, which meant that you and Renjun had to keep the bar open until later. You weren’t opposed to this idea, it only meant that you would earn a little bit more money. It was Renjun who started complaining, so he decided to take action into his own hands and practically dragged the drunks out of the bar.

This is how you ended up cleaning up the place this late, rather this early in the morning, with your co-worker. The two of you were too tired to speak, so neither of you made any efforts to spark up a conversation. You both just attended to your respective tasks, waiting for a specific somebody to show up.

Luck surely wasn’t on your side tonight. He would usually show up at around 3:30 am, right after the bar closed, and he would have all the stuff ready, just at the exact moment you needed it. Why was he late today?

It didn’t take a genius to understand that Renjun was clearly affected by the lack of the stuff. He moved around the place nervously, tugging at his hair and stomping his foot rhythmically. He was in a desperate need of it, and you would honestly lie to yourself if you said you didn’t need it half as much as Renjun did.

You put the last clean glass on the shelf behind you and went over to the storage room to grab a broom, so that you could clean the floor a bit while Renjun was still wiping the bar counters. As soon as you closed the door of the storage room, the little bell that hung above the bar’s front door rang with a tinkle and soon after it followed the sound of the so familiar footsteps you were waiting for all night.

“Hey kids, Santa’s here,” his voice resonated in the empty room as he waved a small transparent plastic bag that looked white because of its content. Renjun threw the handkerchief he was holding to the other side of the counter and dramatically jumped over it to go and hug the male who just entered. All of that just at the sight of the clear plastic bag with the snowy content.

“Mark, what took you so long my guy, I’m literally a dead man walking! Give this beauty to me,” Renjun exclaimed and snatched the plastic bag straight out of Mark’s hand. Mark smirked at what Renjun said and immediately started grinning at the sight of the boy’s eagerness.

Renjun went to sit on the bar stool closer to him and placed the bag on top of the counter he had just wiped clean. With slender fingers, he opened the plastic bag and dredged some of the content on the counter. With nervousness in his movements, he set the bag aside and shuffled through his back pocket to find his ID card. He started scattering the white dust all over the counter before he gathered all of it in a straight line with the help of his ID card. When he was satisfied with the result, he put his ID card back into his pocket, lowered his head to the level that his nose touched the cold surface of the counter, took a deep breath and snorted the entire line of crack, the product going straight up into his nostrils.

Renjun blinked several times before he slowly lifted his head. He scrunched his nose and wiped it with the back of his hand, his drowsy eyes looking surprisingly bright considering his state. “Man, whoever hasn’t done crack, never, they haven’t known the beauty of life yet” he chuckled. Mark smirked at Renjun’s comment and you couldn’t help but shake your head amusingly, a small smile creeping up at your face.

Renjun took the plastic bag with the rest of the cocaine and put it in his pocket. “This baby’s for me, thank you,” he amused and turned his heel towards the storage room. “Don’t come look for me, I’ll be right here. If I take too long to come out, then you should be concerned,” he said and closed the storage room door behind him; a scene that was surprisingly quite familiar to you.

You then set the broom down and walked towards Mark. “Hey” you whispered and Mark greeted you back in a low husky voice. “What took you so long? We were expecting you to come earlier” you asked him.

Mark shrugged and leaned his elbow against the counter. “I came by at our usual meeting hour and saw that you guys were still open. I couldn’t risk anyone seeing me so I decided to drop by later,” he said and you nodded in understanding.

“You do have more of those plastic bags on you, don’t you?” you asked him and he chuckled. “Of course I do, pretty. Let’s go outside and treat ourselves a bit, shall we?” he suggested and you nodded again, walking beside him towards the alleyway behind the bar.

The sky was painted in a deep hue of light blue, the moon and the stars still visible in the early morning sky, the sun barely seen in the horizon. You huffed in a sharp breath and put both your hands inside the pockets of your jeans as a reaction to the crispy air of the early morning, as you leaned your back on the damp wall behind you. Mark followed right after you and did the same. He shuffled into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulled out a clear plastic bag full of crack, two crack pipes and a lighter. With almost automatic motions, he filled the pipes with crack and lit them up. He handed you one of them and kept one for himself.

You looked at the crack pipe as if it were an oasis in the middle of an infinite desert and you were so thirsty that your dried up mouth and throat were already relieved just by the sight of it. It only took you one second to react to the visual stimuli in front of you, quickly removing your right hand from your pocket and pulling the pipe straight from Mark’s hand. You brought the pipe to your lips, closed your eyes and took a long, slow drag. This was exactly what you needed.

You immediately felt your body relax and your mind clearing up. The moment you took the drag in, all your worries and problems completely vanished, even if it were only temporary. It was your brief sweet escape from the huge bitter world you were forced to live in.

A chilly breeze flew and you lifted your shoulders at the shivering sensation. Mark noticed immediately and he pulled you closer to him, removed one of the sleeves of his jacket and draped it over your shoulder, slinging his arm over it too.

"So," Mark spoke up, breaking the easing silence, "how was work today?"

You shrugged your shoulders. "Eh, like usual. Bunch of random people came in to drink their problems away and give us their money in exchange for adulterated alcohol. But Renjun had to drag some of them out of the bar, he literally grabbed them by their collar and feet and dragged them out of the store, you should have seen it. It was way too funny" you said and chuckled at the memory of the incident that happened a couple hours ago.

Mark giggled at your statement. "Damn," he dragged out the word, "too bad I missed that" he said and brought the crack pipe to his lips and squinted his eyes in pleasure and relief when he inhaled the poisonous content.

The next few minutes remained silent. There was only the sound of cars passing by being heard in the distance, it was probably people going to their early shifts at work. Normal types of work. Unlike the one you had, unlike the fate you brought upon yourself. That’s when the realization of your situation hit you like a truck. How could your family cut you off so easily when they found out that your dreams were different from what they were expecting of you? Were you just a tool for them? Another burden to take care of?

"You seem unhappy" Mark broke the silence. He was looking straight ahead in the distance, his eyes focusing on nothing in particular, probably because he was a bit too high to notice anything.

"Because I am" you responded to his comment, turning your head to look at him, searching for a sense of home into his soulless eyes.

Mark smirked and turned his attention to his heels. "You know, I wanna help. Right? You know that" he said with a raspy voice due to his sleeplessness. "But I don't think that feeding you drugs is any help" he now turned his head to look you in the eyes.

You pressed your lips into a thin line before you spoke. "I ask for the drugs Mark, you're not feeding me anything. It's my only escape, what else am I supposed to do?"

"I love you, Y/n" Mark said.

You winced at his confession and turned your head to avoid his gaze and fixating yours on the wide sky ahead of you.

"You're high, Mark. Cut the crap" you said in a bitter tone.

"Do you think I'm lying? I mean it, Y/n. I fucking love you, for whatever reason I do. And I care about you, so come with me and let's get out of this shitty town. I’m running out of time too, they’ll soon find where I live" Mark defended himself.

You turned again to meet his eyes. "And go where, Mark? Where the fuck should we go, huh? I don't have anything else to do other than this shitty job. I only keep it because I need the money to survive and it's the only way to keep myself sane. The people I used to call family kicked me out of my house and this was the easiest solution I could come up with before I would collapse entirely and before it would become too difficult to get back on my own feet. So what else is left for me to do?" you were clearly getting angrier now, but not at Mark. At yourself.

Mark's eyes darkened in sadness. "That's what I'm saying! You deserve better than this! Look, we have enough money. I do deals, but I know this is a job I can't have forever. I told you, I’m on thin ice. If I’m seen doing deals again, I’ll go to jail. You know I play the guitar, right? I can join a band or something. I know a friend downtown, he might be of help" he said.

"And you," he continued, "you're a great bartender. You could make a career out of it" he said.

You shut your eyelids and shook your head in denial. "It won't work out. I'm a mess, you're a mess. We can't make this work. It's impossible" you said, turning your head away.

Mark sat up straight and put his hand below your chin to turn your attention towards him. "Look at me, Y/n. We can make it work. Believe me. Trust me. I can't leave you living like this. And I certainly can't live a life like this myself. You're the only person I can make a change with. I need you" he said.

You gulped and stared right into his eyes, unable to form a response. "So you just need me as a means to get you out of town and help you start your magical new life. No thanks, Mark, I'll pass" you said and shoved his hand away to release his grip on you.

Mark became frustrated and moved to stand right in front of you. The half of his jacket that was wrapped around your shoulders dropped and it hung behind his back.

"Okay, look Y/n, you're tired and you're high. We'll have this conversation again in the morning" Mark said defeated.

Your energy was running low despite the boost of energy you had just inhaled, so you let yourself loose. "Let's get you back to your room. You need some rest. Come on, I'll drop you off" Mark suggested and you gave in to him completely.

You took a step towards him and stumbled a bit. Mark, with his rapid reflexes, caught you firmly by the forearm and guided you to his car. The last thing you remembered was the faint sound of the car door closing, before you were engulfed into pretty sleep.

The next day you woke up to the sound of light guitar strumming from across the dim lit motel room. It was already past noon; the curtains were still drawn closed but the midday sun rays found their way in between the curtain folds and peaked through the dirty motel room windows to light up the inside of the place.

Mark was sitting on a wooden chair across the bed with a concentrated look on his face. With his jaw clenched and his cheekbones popping, he strum his fingers through the guitar strings, playing random chords in an attempt to create a melody he liked.

You shuffled between the bedsheets and stretched your body all over the old bed. A squeaky sound echoed in the room due to your sudden movement, which caught Mark’s attention. His strumming stopped abruptly and his head jolted up in surprise, his eyes opened wide and his lips dropped to a pout.

“Did I wake you up? Shit, I’m sorry” he whispered, trying to be as quiet as possible.

You rubbed your eyes to clear your vision and looked at him. “No, you didn’t. I like what you’re playing. Sounds pretty” you reassured him. “Good morning, Mark”

His previously guilty expression was taken over by a wide grin appearing on his face, which turned into a bright smile. “Good morning, pretty,” he said.

You smiled at him and he went back on strumming random chords on his guitar. His eyebrows scrunched in concentration and you couldn’t help but giggle at the sight of his messy hair and wrinkly t-shirt due to the, apparently, good quality sleep he just had. Your obsessive thoughts took over once again and didn’t let you enjoy this glimpse of happiness in the abyss of misery you were engulfed in. Your lips gradually dropped to a frown and your vision became blurry again.

Mark wasn’t perfect, but neither were you. He came into your life at the perfect moment, when you needed him the most. It was your first day at the bar, your first time as a bartender. Renjun had been training you all day, teaching you the basic parts of the job and giving you tips on how to handle weird or creepy customers. You were completely drained out that day, so your co-worker and soon-to-be best friend had promised you a pleasant surprise by the end of your shift.

Renjun’s definition of a “pleasant surprise” was slightly different from yours. That night, Mark walked into the empty bar with steps full of confidence. You didn’t know him back then, but from the very first second you saw his figure enter your life, there was only one word that kept circulating your mind; trouble.

Mark was trouble. With his sharp gaze and well-defined features, captivating aura and assertive moves, it was more than obvious that this guy would mean nothing but trouble to you. For some inexplicable reason, this was exactly why you were instantly attracted to him.

Mark came in carrying all the usual stuff Renjun wanted and gave them over to him without talking much. The two guys seemed to share a lot of past memories together, and you were right. Renjun had filled you in later that night on his relationship with Mark and how they helped each other stand back up on their own feet after they were forced to leave home. A story very familiar to you.

Mark came by the bar every single night. He didn’t give Renjun drugs every time, but he sure enjoyed both your and Renjun’s company. It’s not as if he had anywhere else to go.

That’s how you grew quite fond of him very easily. You found yourself looking forward to the end of your shift just so you could see him. He once offered you drugs but immediately took back his offer when he saw your shocked expression. You were at the lowest point in your life and doing drugs wouldn’t be the wisest habit to take up, even though this was, at the same time, the exact reason why you should do drugs. Eventually, reality hit you and you caved in, waiting for Mark to come at the end of your shift for one more reason other than just seeing him. He was reluctant at first. Mark didn’t want to drag you into this lifestyle, so you annoyed him and begged for it until he finally gave you the lethal medicine.

You and Mark were surprisingly very similar. Maybe that’s why you bonded so fast with each other. And maybe that’s exactly why you were equally bad for each other. You could see so much of yourself in him, just at a more put-together version. Sure, he was a drug dealer, which was certainly not a better job than yours, but he at least seemed to have a purpose in his life. Unlike you.

As time passed, you started spending more and more time with him. You would smoke crack, get high, talk endlessly until your mouths dried up, go back to your motel room, have sex with each other, and repeat. You found comfort in his presence and became attached to him without even noticing.

But you didn’t love him. No, you couldn’t call this love. Rather, you were depending on him, no matter how much you hated that. He acted as an emotional support beacon to you, you enjoyed his company and, if you were honest, you genuinely liked him. But it was hard for you to admit to any deeper feelings, so you repeatedly tried to convince yourself that you didn’t love him, so that it wouldn’t hurt as much if he ever decided to switch on you. You hoped it wouldn’t turn out like that.

You lightly shook your head to get rid of all these thoughts and got out of bed to wash up a bit. “I’m starving, I’ll go down to the diner to grab some breakfast, do you want anything?” you asked Mark as you were heading towards the humid bathroom.

“Let’s go eat there. Together” Mark suggested and you stopped at your steps.

He always avoided going out in places that were too public because he was at risk of being outed as a dealer. Especially now that he was caught selling drugs once and the guy who saw him threatened to report Mark to the police.

“Are you out of your fucking mind? You’re on thin ice, you said that yourself” you raised the tone of your voice and walked towards him. 

Mark put down his guitar to focus on you. “You worry too much Y/n, like, what are the odds? We’re in the middle of nowhere, I doubt anyone knows this place apart from us and the customers of your bar. I think we’ll be fine,” he cleared his throat, “I mean, I’ll be fine. Relax, I wanna spend some time with you.”

You decided against protesting and trusted Mark’s certainty of his words. Besides, he was right. The diner was out of town, it wasn’t very popular among people who weren’t familiar with the bar. Most customers at the diner were either drunk people from the bar or passersby. So you simply just nodded and whispered a soft “okay” before you went inside the bathroom, the door emitting a creaking sound as you closed it shut behind you.

The screeching sound of the fork scratching the surface of the porcelain plate turned your facial expression into a wince, which went completely unnoticed by Mark whose attention was entirely devoted to the pancakes in front of him.

The old diner was relatively empty despite it being lunch time. Other than you and Mark, there was only a group of friends and a guy sitting on a barstool. You were actually very satisfied with the quietness of the place, which was only disrupted by sounds of forks scraping plates and glasses thudding on the tables.

The diner was situated right down the same road your motel was at, so anytime your stomach growled in annoyance you would stop by and fulfill its needs. You were practically a regular customer now and probably the one who kept the place from going bankrupt. It was old, cheap and dirty; the perfect place for you.

Mark gulped down the last bite of his pancakes and thirstily drank the entire glass of water. He then set the glass down and leaned back on the booth, fixating his gaze on you.

You noticed his eager eyes on you and you set down your fork, mimicking his stance and staring right back at him, waiting for him to speak.

"That was a pretty good meal" Mark sighed and you smiled a bit. This wasn't what he wanted to say.

Since Mark seemed to be unwilling to speak his mind, you decided to take matters into your own hands instead.

"Why did you want to have lunch with me?" you asked him with your voice calm and your eyes searching for an answer in his.

Mark crossed his arms and scrunched up his nose before he answered your question. "’Cause I wanted to spend time with you. Actual time. You know, like normal people?" he said.

You rolled your eyes at his response and mimicked his body language once again, crossing your arms over your chest. "I don't buy it, Mark" you said.

Mark sat up straight and leaned closer to the table, resting his elbows on top of it. "Why are you always like this, Y/n? Whenever I tell you something, you never believe me! What's up with you?" Mark's frustration started building up in his attempt to defend himself.

"It's not that I don't believe you-"

"It's that you don't trust me" Mark interrupted you and you stood there with your mouth still open. You didn't know what to say.

Mark's gaze was piercing, his sharp eyes were darker than usual and his lips quivered at the blank stare you were giving him. "You don't trust me," he concluded.

The truth is that you weren't sure if you trusted him or not. You wanted to trust him and he had proved to you numerous times that he was someone who cared and didn't lie. Yet sometimes, you were afraid that if you trusted him too much, he would end up hurting you. So every time he said something you weren't expecting him to say, you immediately assumed that he was lying.

"Mark, listen to me," you started to say and Mark sat back against the booth, rolling his eyes. "I-I do trust you, it's just that-"

"What? You think I don't mean what I say? If I didn't meant what I fucking said then I wouldn't fucking say it! When I say I care about you, Y/n, I fucking mean it. When I say I fucking love y-"

"Don't get mad" you were the one that interrupted him now. Mark was clearly way too frustrated by you now, his voice was getting gradually louder, his eyes were full of fire and his nostrils were fuming.

At the sudden raise of Mark’s voice, the guy who was sitting at the barstool turned to look at your booth with a brief glance and then returned back to eating his food.

"Mark, just let it go, please" your voice came out almost like a whisper. You hated when Mark became angry at you and you hated it even more when he did it in public, even though it was practically just you and him in that diner.

Mark's jaw visibly relaxed and he lowered his eyes to his lap, nodding to himself. He lifted his head to look back at you with pleading eyes, much in contrast with his previous fiery gaze.

"Then why don't you come with me? Out of this fucking town? You deserve to live a better life than this. We deserve it. Look, I know I don't have an exact plan on how we'll do it, but I know that we can figure it out together. Please, Y/n" he said, taking your hand in his from across the table, rubbing your knuckles with his thumb.

You lowered your eyes at the spot your hands were joined together. Did you really love Mark? No, actually, did you really trust him enough to depend your entire life on him?

You couldn't give him an answer at that moment. Not a yes, not a no. Not even I don't know. Forget that, it would complicate things even more.

Mark noticed that you weren't going to give him an answer to his question soon, so he let go of your hand and started putting on his jacket. He reached into the inside pocket and took out some cash. He slammed it on the table and got up from the booth ready to leave.

"I have to go to work now, alright? I've arranged some deals. I'll come back later at the bar tonight. If you ever decide what you want to do with me, you know where to find me" he said and without even turning to look at him, you heard the sound of his footsteps grow fainter as he walked out the diner.

The bar was relatively full tonight. From behind the counter, you could spot only two empty tables. That was the fullest the bar has been in the last month. At the far back of the bar, you spotted Renjun already counting the tips he had earned and it was still midnight.

All the customers were busy chatting and enjoying their drinks. You found yourself craving some alcohol too, the need for an intoxicant substance was growing stronger and stronger, so you decided to mix just a little bit of something to treat yourself.

As you were filling in your glass, Renjun walked behind the counter and leaned close to your ear to speak, otherwise you wouldn’t be able to hear him through the loud chatting of the customers. “Man, I think we are in heaven, I lost count of my tips and I’m not even high yet” he said and you giggled at him.

He noticed the bottle of vodka you were holding and nudged you on your forearm. “Hey, pour me some of that too” he asked and your response was to grab a glass from the shelf behind the counter and fill it with the toxic liquid.

You had barely stopped filling in the glass when Renjun grabbed it and downed the liquid in an instant. He placed the glass on top of the counter with a thud and licked his lips, savoring the bitter taste. “What’s up with you and Mark?” Renjun asked you. You contemplated whether you should answer him or pretend you didn’t hear him just to buy you some time. A good couple of seconds passed so you just caved in and answered him.

“I don’t know. Go and ask him.” you said in a tone filled with nonchalance, sipping on your drink.

Renjun rested his elbows on the counter, his eyes scanning the place around him. “He said the exact same fucking thing when I asked him about you. You can’t be running in a vicious circle all the time. Just fuck it out, you’re both acting like little kids” he said and you sighed at his scolding tone.

Renjun wasn’t just your co-worker, he had also grown to become your best friend, a person you could talk to freely without fear of judgment because he always understood your intentions. Engulfed in your misery and loneliness, he was the person who helped you get back on your feet and have hope that things will somehow get slightly better. That sounds like something a friend would do.

You brought the glass to your lips to drink the last sip of vodka that was still inside, leaving it empty waiting to be filled with more of that toxic liquid. “You wanna know what, Renjun? Even though I hate the life I’ve made for myself, I enjoy having Mark in it. But I can’t do what he asks me to do. I can’t depend my entire life on him. I can count on him for some of it, yes, but starting anew with him? I don’t know. I really don’t. I’m not the kind of person you want to start a life with. I will fuck everything up. And he shouldn’t count on me as much as he does. It’s for the better. For both of us.”

Renjun kept staring at you, waiting for your little rant to be over so that he could take his turn to speak. He gulped and looked at your burnt out figure. Your eyeballs were turning a bit crimson due to the line of cocaine you snorted earlier, even though you promised you’d wait until Mark came later, and the lack of sleep provided you with dark hues under your eyes and skin as pale as the moon. 

“Look, Y/n,” Renjun started and came a bit closer to you so that he wouldn’t have to strain his vocal chords in order to be heard, “I see your point. And I understand exactly what you mean because I felt the same way when I came here. But in my case, I had nobody to lean on. I became an addict, left home and the rest of the story is familiar to you. But you and Mark have each other and, trust me, your future is looking way brighter than mine.”

You looked into his eyes searching for honesty. Renjun has always been honest with you and you never doubted any of his words. He really cared about you. Mark too, as it seemed. And he was right. Living in a cheap motel, starving and working long hours to barely make ends meet, depending on drugs and more specifically on an exceptionally lovely drug dealer wasn’t the life you imagined to have. But fate had different plans for you and now you ended up here, whatever this here is supposed to be.

Mark didn’t seem to be ill-intentioned. From the very first moment you met him, he was protective and caring, he had always treated you nice. He spoke to you softly and touched you in a just as smooth way. But the life he was living wasn’t that much better than yours; in fact, you could say it was even worse. He depended on you as much as you depended on him.

You didn’t know what was the thing that made you keep a sort of distance from him. Emotional distance. Part of it might be because you weren’t available to be fully devoted to him, because of fear that one day he would leave you, just like everyone else did. Part of it might be because the two of you weren’t so different and two broken souls mending together doesn’t necessarily make a fully healed one.

“I’ll talk to him when I’m ready. I could do it later but I’m afraid I’ll be too high to think rationally. Or maybe this will give me more insight, I don’t know, I’ve never thought of it. Do you think clearer when you’re high?” you asked Renjun but he was preoccupied, looking at the screen of his phone which radiated such brightness his eyes squinted as a reflex.

Scanning his features more carefully, you realized that the reason for his scrunched expression wasn’t lying solely on the brightness of the screen. You took half a step closer to him and Renjun tilted his phone away from you, hiding the screen from your eyesight.

“What’s wrong, Renjun?” you asked with worry lacing the tone of your voice. Renjun shook his head and put his phone away in his back pocket. “Mark won’t be coming by later. Something came up, I’m afraid we’re in trouble too. Listen, can you handle the bar for a couple hours by yourself? Mark needs some help” Renjun said, searching for his jacket underneath the counter.

Your eyes widened at Renjun’s words and you felt your heartbeat racing and your fingertips trembling. “Is Mark okay? Tell me, is he okay?” your rising voice quivered, betraying the nervousness you felt.

Renjun squeezed your shoulder and pressed his lips together in an attempt of a reassuring smile. “Yes, he is alright. He’s fine. He just needs some help with the cops. If you see anyone suspicious showing up, flash the stashes down the toilet, we don’t want them finding anything. I’ll be back soon.” 

With swift movements, Renjun turned his heel to walk out the bar in a hurry, muttering something under his breath that, due to your shocked and nervous state, you failed to hear, “How am I gonna save your ass this time, Mark?”

As soon as you heard the bell on top of the bar’s front door tinkle, you knew that Renjun was already outside and you were left alone in the bar. You were left standing frozen behind the counter, staring into nothingness. Your vision became blurry due to the tears that threatened to spill from the corners of your eyes, your hands curled into fists and your nails were digging deep into your palms, cold sweat forming at the sides of your forehead.

You were terrified. Mark was already caught selling drugs very recently, so your mind went to the worst case scenario which made you extremely terrified; that Mark was caught selling drugs by the police. 

You dreaded this moment at the exact same time your eyes met Mark’s sharp ones. You knew that, once you became thick as thieves with a drug dealer, you would be in for a lot of trouble. 

But you also knew how careful Mark was and this gave you hope that, whatever the case is right now, he would find a way to get himself out of there. Mark was a smart guy. You wanted to trust him, you wanted to believe that he would be smart enough not to get himself in trouble.

Yet something didn’t add up. Mark has been doing these types of deals for a long time now, he knew all the tricks of the job and he knew very well how to protect himself. So it sounded almost impossible that he would do something so reckless and irresponsible to get him caught. 

There was only one possible and logical answer to all of your questions. That somebody ratted him out.

Your train of thought was disrupted by the husky voice of a man. “Excuse me, miss, would you mind pouring me a drink?”

Your head snapped at the sudden sound of a voice other than the one inside your head. Your eyes met with a man sitting on a barstool at the other side of the counter, looking at you with wary eyes. Your gaze was roaming all over his figure when your eyes halted for a second as soon as they spotted something shiny at the right side of the man’s chest; a badge.

You cleared your throat to cover up the anxiety and fear that started to appear in your voice. “Officer! What can I get you?” you greeted him with bright eyes and a cheerful voice that masked your intense heartbeat and the trembling state of your hands behind the counter.

“Actually, I don’t want a drink,” he started and moved his hand inside his jacket to pull out a file with pictures and papers, “but I do want you to help me with something. Have you ever seen this guy?” he asked you, placing the file on the counter and turning it to your side.

You gulped at the sight in the front of you and your eyes quivered from side to side. A mugshot of the face you grew to almost love was staring back at you. Sharp gaze and popping cheekbones, defined jawline and dark eyes were presented in front of you and you knew more than well enough who the person in the picture was.

Your heart sank at the sight of Mark’s mugshot and you knew what you had to do. You drew in your eyebrows together and lifted the picture with your hand in order to bring it closer to your eyes and examine it better. “I don’t think I recognize this man, officer” you said.

You set the picture down on top of the counter and looked at the police officer, not trying to avoid eye contact. You wanted to seem as less guilty as possible.

The police officer took the picture and put it back inside the file. “Really? That’s a shame. But I’ve been informed that you do know this guy because you were seen with him this morning.”

You froze immediately. Your brain tried to put all the pieces of the puzzle together, you tried to digest and connect everything the cop just said in order to form your answer.

“Are you sure about this, officer? A lot of other girls look like me, maybe it was a mistake?” you asked with a rising intonation in an attempt to defend yourself by adding another lie to your previous one.

You tried to remember where you could be possibly seen with Mark, especially during the day. You always met with him at night and you avoided seeing each other in the morning. There was no way anyone saw you with Mark.

The moment you had this thought, the answer to your question suddenly popped up in your head as if a lit up light bulb. That morning, you and Mark had breakfast down at the diner. And you specifically remember that suspicious guy who kept staring at the two of you.

That’s when you knew you had to do something drastic to get you out of this situation, and you had to do it relatively fast.

The police officer didn’t seem to buy the lie you had just uttered and continued to pressure you more. “Is this where you keep all the drinks? Can I take a look inside your storage room?”

The rhythm of your heartbeat kept increasing more and more by each word the police officer said and you were running out of lies and excuses.

“Sure, it’s this way officer” you said with a nonchalant tone, gesturing towards the door behind the counter. 

The cop stood up and turned his heel to walk behind the counter and towards the storage room door. Your trembling hands had barely managed to hide the stashes you kept behind the cash register under your oversized shirt, and you followed the cop inside the storage room with uncertain steps.

The police officer could not find the rest of the stashes. It shouldn’t happen, and you had to act smart in order to prevent it. “Can I help you with something, officer? We can’t stay in here for too long, my co-worker finished early and we’re not allowed to leave the bar without having anyone to tend to the customers” you said in an attempt to speed up the process and get rid of him before he could find anything that could put you in jail.

“You can go back to your work, miss. This is my job here, you can go and do yours” the cop said as he had already taken a bottle of vodka in his hand to examine it for anything suspicious.

“Okay, I just wanted to help. Call me if you need anything,” your answer was convincing enough for him, but it wasn’t good enough for you to buy you more time.

You left the storage room and stood right outside the door, leaving it so open as to let you peek through it so that you were able to see what the police officer was doing.

With your still trembling fingers, you took out your phone from your pocket and dialed Renjun’s number with quick movements. Without taking your eyes away from the cop, you kept tapping your foot waiting for Renjun to pick up his phone.

The constant beeping sound in your ear signaled that Renjun wasn’t going to respond soon, so you put your phone back in your pocket and tried to think of what to do.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck” you muttered under your breath, running your fingers through your hair. Your eyes were wavering from the police officer to the customers in the bar and then back to the police officer. You had to do something to get everyone out of there.

Your eyes followed the cop’s figure and certainly didn’t like what you were seeing. The cop squatted down so that he could reach the boxes under the shelves and stretched his arm to pull out one of them.

“No, no, no, fuck” you whispered. Those are the boxes in which you hid the drugs.

You turned your head to look at the inside of the bar. It was fully packed. There was not any chair or barstool that was empty and, just at that moment, the door opened to reveal a group of friends who wanted to get drunk and have fun just like the rest of the people inside the bar.

The only person who wasn’t having any fun right now was you. And obviously Mark and Renjun as well, who you had no idea about their whereabouts or their well-being. On any random night, all these people in the bar would equal a pretty satisfactory amount of tips that would make your life slightly easier to get by. However, you could definitely not say that for this particular night, when your main priority was your and your friends’ safety.

Shifting your gaze from the customers to the police officer and back to your phone for any missed calls or unread messages from either Renjun or Mark, you were completely on your own on this one. Cold sweat engulfed your entire body as the seconds passed and the cop was one step closer to finding the thing that could turn your entire life upside down.

You swallowed thickly and looked at your phone one last time. No sign of anybody.

“Okay, I got this” you muttered to yourself and walked behind the counter where you usually stood. A middle-aged woman was sitting on one of the barstools, smoking and sipping lightly from the cocktail you mixed for her earlier. You picked up the first bottle of alcohol you saw on the counter - you didn’t have the time to care what it was - and walked towards her.

“Excuse me, miss, would you like a refill?” you asked politely to gain her attention. Before she even opened her mouth to speak, your actions were faster than her words. You quickly snatched the cigarette from her hand and put it out on the counter, immediately pouring some alcohol right on that spot.

Soon enough, flames started building up and the counter caught on fire. The smell of smoke became suffocating and it was hard to breathe in such a small space full of people. Your plan worked.

Muttering a string of “sorrys” to the woman, you turned around to pull the fire alarm. Every customer turned their heads to the direction of the piercing sound full of worry. “Everyone must get out, the building is on fire!” you yelled as loudly as you could, motioning everyone out the door.

Very quickly, you managed to evacuate the building by leading all the panicked customers outside the bat through the front door. In the midst of all this chaos, you noticed with the corner of your eye the police officer you rushed out of the storage room without looking any scared at all. 

You ushered the last customers outside as the fire grew bigger, eventually leaving you and the cop as the only ones inside the flaming place. As he passed by you to get out the bar, he leaned closer to your face and whispered. "That was smart, young lady," he said and walked outside towards his car.

So he knew, you thought. He knew all along about the drug deals happening in this place and mainly the drug possession. He almost tricked you into thinking you tricked him. How amateurish of you.

You walked out the bar and shut the door behind you, watching the police officer drive away. A sigh of temporary relief escaped your lips and you pulled out your phone to dial a phone number you weren't particularly happy to call. Waiting for a few seconds, you heard the dreadful voice on the other line. "Hey boss, um, is it easy for you to come down to the bar? We kinda have a small problem" you said with a rapidly beating heart.

The time was already 3:16. You were pacing around your motel room, patiently waiting for any news about Mark. You had already called and texted him multiple times, but all of your efforts to reach him went in vain.

A few minutes after you called your boss, she arrived at the bar, totally shocked and deeply saddened upon seeing her not-so-small business all up in flames. You explained to her what happened, shaping the story so as not to sound guilty, and luckily she didn't blame you for anything.

After the firefighters arrived, your boss encouraged you to go home, saying that you already went through a lot for the night, so you needed to get some rest.

So now you were back to your motel room, unable to get some rest because you were still scared about yourself and your previous interaction with that police officer. But most importantly, you were anxious about Mark.

You were terrified for him. And your fear only increased because you couldn’t do anything to help him or save him. You realized that you depended on him twice as much as he depended on you and that made you feel useless in situations like this. Knowing that Renjun was - probably - with him eased your nerves a bit, but, at the same time, knowing that you didn’t do anything to help him made you feel selfish and hopeless.

Everything you did tonight was to save no one else but yourself. The entire night, you kept worrying about yourself and how you could avoid going to jail when during those very same moments in time you had no idea how Mark was or what he was going through.

Mark wasn’t the helpless one in this situation; it was you.

As you picked up your phone to call Renjun again, a loud thumping noise on the door startled you. Your body jolted up upon hearing the sudden sound and you walked nervously towards the door to look outside through the peephole.

Your eyes widened in shock and surprise at the sight of the face that was constantly on your mind. You didn’t waste any time opening the door and pulling the boy you were aching to see all night long inside the motel room, wrapping your arms around him in a tight hug.

You rested your head in the crook of Mark’s neck and he reacted to your touch in an instant, stretching his arms to the small of your back to hug you as tightly as he physically could.

Tears fell from the corners of your eyes and you pulled back just as much as you needed in order to look into Mark’s exhausted eyes without breaking the embrace. “You can’t imagine how scared I was,” you whispered.

Mark stared deeply into your watery eyes. He moved his hands to cup both of your cheeks and nodded his head when he processed what you just said. “I know, I was terrified too. Renjun came to help me but we kinda fucked it up" he said with a stinging tone in his voice. 

“What happened?” you asked and Mark let go of you and walked towards the bed in the middle of the room, sitting on the edge of it. You copied his movements and sat down right next to him, turning your head to his side as you waited for him to fill you in on what you had missed.

“That bastard ratted me out. That asshole from the diner. I had a deal with some teenagers and he called the cops on me. I don’t even know how he tracked me down.” Mark confessed looking straight, his eyes full of void, focusing on nothing in particular. 

“Anyway, they took me to the police station and started questioning me about all this bullshit. There was no way I could excuse myself, they literally busted me, they saw me doing the deals. I texted Renjun and, I don’t know what he said to them but it didn't go well," he stopped to take a deep breath despite the desert that formed inside his mouth and the waterfalls that were forming in the corners of his eyes, "so we basically ran away and sooner or later the police will find me. I had nowhere else to go and I knew that your place would be relatively safe." Mark finished reciting you the events of the last few hours, tears staining his cheeks like the raindrops of a drizzle.

The dried tears that stained your cheeks became wet again when the new set of them fell down your face. You were staring at Mark through your teary gaze, trying to find any emotion in his void expression. He had never looked so soulless and it terrified you even more.

But the truth is that Mark himself was trying to mask his fear and anxiety by not showing them. The tears that traveled from his bambi eyes down to his popping cheekbones felt empty and the sight of him in such a state brought a stinging pain to your heart.

“So w-what does that mean?” your voice trembled at each word you uttered as you faced Mark with nothing but fear and another emotion that, at that moment, resembled love.

Mark made an attempt to wipe most of the tears off his face with the palms of his hands so that he could face you with clear vision. “It means I might go to jail. I will go to jail, unless I get out of here” he said. “Fuck, those bastards gave me an excuse to leave this fucking place” Mark scoffed as he sat up from the bed and started roaming around the narrow room, hands resting on his waist.

Your eyes trailed on every single one of his moves. You blinked several times to prevent any more tears from falling and cleared your throat to avoid your hoarse trembling voice. “So you’re really leaving” you said quietly, more to yourself than to Mark.

Mark turned around to look at you. “Yeah, I am. First thing in the morning. I don’t have many things to pack so it won’t take me long. And I can help you pack your things too, it will be quicker if-”

“Who said I’m coming with you?” you interrupted Mark and you immediately regretted doing so once you met his fuming gaze, which was now completely taken over by anger but was previously filled with nothing but emptiness.

“Y/n, we agreed to this. You’re coming with me and that’s it.” Mark growled as he took a step closer to you.

You stood up and started walking nervously around the place you called home, running your fingers through your hair in an attempt to ease your nerves. “We never agreed to anything. I told you I can’t-”

“Bullshit, that’s what you told me. Everything you said is bullshit. I want nothing but the best for you, we’ve been meaning to do this for such a long time and now that we have every reason to leave, you don’t want to! What’s wrong with you Y/n?” Mark clapped back at you.

A tear dropped down to your feet as you looked at Mark’s reddening face. Your lips trembled in your attempt to voice out your feelings, unfamiliar to your vulnerable state. “I’m scared, Mark,” you paused to sniff your nose, “I’m so fucking scared. For you, for me, for everything.”

Mark’s features softened at your sudden confession. He remained silent, gesturing to you to move on.

It was hard and unusual for you to open up to him like this. You hated the fact that he made you weak, that he had such a strong effect on you to make you eventually do as he says. But there was always this evil little voice in your head that told you not to trust him because, in the end, he would act just like everyone else and leave you.

“Do you know how scared I was tonight? I almost risked my fucking life for you! I had no idea where you were, I didn’t know what happened or why, and you know why? Because you never tell me anything! You only care about yourself,” all your fears and anxieties exploded and the outburst was so big you didn’t know how to stop. And you couldn’t stop even when you took a glimpse of Mark’s furrowed eyebrows and frowned lips, which you couldn’t tell if they were the result of sadness or anger.

You didn’t want to hurt him. But at this state, you couldn’t remain silent anymore. It wasn’t Mark’s fault, but you had reached a point where you couldn’t bottle up anything you felt anymore, so he just had to take everything you said.

You took a deep breath before you licked your dry lips to speak again in a calmer but still bitter tone. “If only you would disappear from my life I would-”

You never completed your sentence because Mark dashed towards you and grabbed you by the neck, squeezing the sides just so, so you could breathe a little bit, his face only a couple inches away from yours. “Shut the fuck up” Mark spat out with a growl which immediately kept you quiet.

His blackened eyes were piercing right through you, his fully black pupils bore into your wavering ones. You stood frozen there, completely locked in your place under Mark’s forceful hold on you, a position which made your lower stomach twitch.

Neither of you spoke for a few seconds. Mark’s face was painted in crimson, his eyebrows fully drawn in together and his nostrils flaring out, as he tried to keep his breathing steady. His angry state scared you even more; not because he would hurt you, but because he could hurt himself. Behind the mask of the angry man he presented himself as, you were the only one who could see the sad little boy who wanted nothing else from you but to love and trust him.

With Mark’s hand still pressing on your neck, your voice barely came out when you tried to speak. “Mark please, say someth-”

Mark interrupted you once again by smashing his lips on yours with the same force he held you under him and the same desperation he hid behind his bloody gaze. You didn’t waste a second, responding in an instant to him, moving your lips to the pace and rhythm he settled. You slightly parted your lips to allow him access to deepen it even more, as he slid his tongue in your mouth to dance with yours.

His presence and strong grip was too much to endure, so you stretched your arms to grab his hair. Mark sensed your need for more support, so he lessened the pressure on your neck and moved his free arm to the small of your back.

The previously quiet room was filled with the lewd sounds of your lips and tongues and the soft grunts and whimpers that left your lips in between each violent connection between them. You hadn’t realized how much you needed Mark, how much you had missed his touch and his burning essence on you until this very moment. Your body reacted to him almost immediately, as you felt your blood flow from your heart down to your aching core.

The heated argument from earlier was now completely forgotten and transformed into a passionate battlefield between two broken souls. Mark's crack infused breath, the bitter taste of alcohol on his dry lips and the lust overtaking his brain and controlling his actions electrified your entire body. There was not a single part of you that didn't want Mark, that didn't desire him and you couldn't help but want more of him.

Your brain, too foggy from the bold emotions and the alcohol you had consumed earlier, couldn't work properly, so your primal instincts took over you entirely. You kept kissing Mark while biting on his lower lip, which resulted in low whines coming out of him, his hardening length growing more inside the pressure of his pants.

You could sense him struggling to keep his cool and you were trying to give yourself some friction too by rubbing your thighs together. You reached your hand down to Mark's pants, cupping his dick outside the thick fabric of his jeans, the teasing action causing him to roll back his eyes.

Mark stopped kissing you abruptly and without wasting any time, he threw you on the bed with all his strength, watching you with hungry eyes. You plopped down on the bed, the sheets creasing at the sudden force and you looked at him with a lustfull gaze that invited him in.

"Wanna fuck you so dumb right now" Mark growled lowly as he took off his shirt from the back of his neck in a swift motion and continued to unbuckle his belt, his eyes never leaving your pleading ones.

You followed along, removing your own shirt and shorts, lying in bed only in your underwear. Mark had now discarded himself completely off of all his clothes except from his boxers, which had an undeniably visible precum stain on them.

Mark's body hovered above yours, connecting his lips with yours for a brief moment before he pulled back to attack your neck, biting and nipping on the spot right under your ear, which earned a loud gasp from you.

His lips kept on abusing your neck area, as you locked your fingers in his hair, tugging and pulling at it with every bite on your neck and chest. The hot sensation of his lips, tongue and wet saliva all over your body made you whimper under him, a sound that made his cock twitch inside his underwear.

Mark traveled lower down to your chest. He slipped his hand behind your back to undo your bra, removing the bra straps off your shoulders eagerly and tossing the piece of clothing somewhere in the dirty motel room. He was quick to attack your hard nipples, dropping his head to suck on one of them, and reaching the other one with his hand, twisting and rubbing it between his fingers.

Your moans and whimpers echoed in the room, the sound and smell of your bodily fluids polluted the small space, everything about the inside of the place being purely filthy.

The heat in your body kept rising and you could feel the stickiness in your panties. You wanted Mark, all of him. You wanted him to treat you however he wanted to, you wanted to please him by giving him all of you and you wanted to feel desired by him.

"Please Mark," you breathed in a soft moan, "please fuck me" your face reddened in your pathetic confession, but it didn't seem to stop Mark from ripping your panties apart, leaving your dripping cunt exposed to the dirty cold air of the room.

Your drowsy eyes and rapid breathing fueled Mark and all his inner needs, as he lifted his body off yours and parted your legs with his hands, pushing your thighs apart. You were breathing heavily in anticipation of his next move, which was a sharp slap to your pussy that sent a strong bolt of pleasure through your whole body. You moaned in pleasure and surprise and Mark repeated his action at the sound of your whiny moans.

"You're a pathetic little slut after all, aren't you?" Mark lowered his head and spat on your pussy, which had you clenching around nothing. "Look at you, begging to be fucked" he brushed one finger up and down your clit, just enough to tease you and elicit a sharp intake of breath from you. "You really pissed me off, you know?" he muttered.

"Please Mark, I want you. I need you so bad, please fuck me" you whined with a high-pitched voice, the one you knew that Mark could never resist, as you pouted your lips at him.

Mark rested his hands on your knees, holding your legs as far apart as possible, so as to have full access to your glistening cunt. His dark eyes were filled with nothing but hunger and lust, unable to control himself any longer from how bad he wanted to taste you. He lowered his head even further, brushing his lips over your clit.

"As you wish, princess" he mumbled to your wet core before he attacked your swollen bud, licking and sucking on your clit with absolutely no remorse.

A loud moan escaped from your lips at the abrupt touch of Mark's wet tongue on your pussy, your hands intertwining in his hair, grabbing and pulling at every licking stripe Mark left on you.

He kept on licking and sucking on your clit, mumbling sweet nothings and small praises, which reminded you more of the Mark you knew rather than the cold and hungry man that was presented in front of you a few minutes ago.

The lewd sounds of Mark's lips and tongue on your pussy mixed with your whiny moans turned him on to the fullest, as he pulled one of his hands away from your knee and dropped it down to slowly pump his dick underneath his underwear.

The burning desire rising up in his body was becoming too much for him, so he pulled away from your clit with one last sucking pop and took off his underwear, setting free his painfully hard length.

Mark positioned himself between your legs and with a swift motion, he turned you over to your stomach, pulling you by your hips so that your ass was higher up towards him.

"Need to fuck you so bad" Mark growled as he smacked your ass cheek with a sharp slap, your pussy clenching at the burning sensation.

"Please, Mark" you whined in the pillow, a tear rolling down your face and landing on the sheets as a response to the overstimulation taking over your body.

The way you kept whining his name and the juices almost dripping down your thighs had Mark gritting his teeth. He gave himself a few more light strokes as he positioned his dick right at your entrance. Without giving you any warning, he dived into your pussy with a sharp stroke.

You shut your eyes in pleasure and gripped the sheets tightly until your knuckles went white as Mark pounded into with sharp rhythmic strokes, each one pushing your head further into the pillow.

Your moans were coming out as crying mumbles as your face was buried deep in the sheets. Mark kept his pace and force, his head lolling back at the intensity of the moment. He kept his one hand on your hip in order to keep you steady while, with the other one, he reached down to grab a fistful of your hair, tugging at it and pulling it roughly, an action that triggered your hot tears to spill from your eyes at the pure sense of pleasure.

Mark's breathing was heavy and sharp at the sound of your soft growns and the sight of your ass jiggling at each stroke he left. "Is this what you wanted, pretty? Me fucking you so good you end up a crying fucking mess?" Mark provoked you in a voice as deep as the ocean, his groans low and hot like the pits of hell.

The sound of skin slapping on skin echoed inside the four walls of your motel room. Mark's hips connected with your ass in an intense force and a static speed, as he hit the spot that always brought you closer to the edge.

"I-I'm close, Mark, p-please" you whined as he gradually took you closer to your limits, your lower stomach twitching in pleasure and your jaw going slack as you felt your climax rising more and more.

"Let this pretty pussy cum on my dick, come on baby" Mark growled and with that, you let out a high-pitched groan into the pillow as your pussy clenched around Mark's dick, the forceful grip of your hands on the sheets was slowly loosened.

You felt Mark's strokes become sloppier as you coated his length with your warm fluids. He quickly pulled out and turned you over so your back was touching the soft mattress. He moved his body closer to you, pumping his dick slowly as he brought the tip to your lips, brushing softly against them as an invitation to take in his dripping cock.

"Open up for me, pretty" his fully blackened eyes bore into your teary ones. You slowly opened your mouth and Mark quickly pushed his cock into it, moving his hips as you bobbed your head up and down, sucking on his veiny length.

"That's right, baby. Such a good girl" Mark whimpered as he slowly released into your mouth, his hot cum dripping down your throat. You swallowed all of it completely before he pulled out and laid down on the bed next to you, both of your heavy panting echoing in the now quiet room.

Mark took a few seconds to ease his breathing and turned to the nightstand above his head to search for the pack of cigarettes you kept hidden in the small drawer. He took one cigarette out of the box and brought it to his lips. With the lighter you kept inside that very same drawer, he lit it up, smoke immediately coming out of it. The room now smelled like a mix of sex and smoke, and you winced at the odd yet satisfying combination. Mark took a long drag out of the cigarette and then puffed the smoke into the filthy air.

As soon as you caught your breath, you turned your body towards Mark's, looping your arm around his waist and resting your head on his chest. Mark responded to your intimate touch, wrapping his free arm around your shoulders, stroking your hair lightly. He pressed a soft kiss on your forehead and then brought the cigarette again to his lips.

After the long and terrifying day you had, you finally felt at ease. Your heart was beating normally, your breathing was steady and your mind was blank. All you could do was savor this moment with Mark, wrapped around his arms and listening to his beating heart, a sound that promised you that everything would be alright.

"Please don't leave me, Mark. I wouldn't know what to do without you" you whispered to him as you slowly drifted away to deep sleep. Mark didn't say anything back. He kissed your forehead again instead and inhaled deeply, exhaling in a long sigh, as his eyes were fixed outside the window, looking over at the bright city lights.

Your eyes fluttered open at the sound of chirping birds outside your window. From the way the room was illuminated and from the shadows that formed behind every object, you could tell that it was only a few minutes after sunrise, and the bright orange sun confirmed your speculation.

With your eyes still half-open, you stretched your arms above your head and groaned, a soft yawn leaving your pouty lips. You then shifted between the sheets, turning your body to the other side of the bed, moving your arms around in search of the drug dealer’s toned body, the one that hugged you tight to sleep.

“Good morning, Markie” you mumbled, still half asleep. You rested your head on the pillow, still patting the mattress when you couldn’t sense the male beside you. Your eyes widened in an instant and your body quickly adjusted to the awake state. You were focused on the other side of the bed, where the boy you spent the previous night with would be lying sound asleep. Instead, you were met with nothing but tangled bedsheets.

“Mark?” you called again, in hopes that maybe he was in the bathroom and he couldn’t hear you. No response.

You yanked the sheets off you and rushed to the bathroom, opening the squeaky door with more force than you intended. “Mark?” you called, but the calling was in vain.

Maybe he went down to the diner to get us breakfast, you thought. It was still very early in the morning, but the diner never closed during the night, so there might be some leftovers or, if you were lucky, some fresh food at this hour.

So you decided to wait for him, thinking that his whereabouts were probably the old diner. Since you were now fully awake, you decided to take a shower and change into some fresh clothes. It will only be a few minutes, Mark will probably be back by the time I’m finished, you thought.

So you hopped into the shower, letting the warm water fall down your tense shoulders in order to ease your nerves and help your body physically relax. Your mind brought up the memories of the previous night you spent with Mark. You thought about the cop that came to the bar, you thought about the fact that Mark was in serious danger, you thought about your argument with him and how you made up afterwards by having steamy sex, just like every other time.

You didn’t know how to label your relationship with Mark, or whatever you had with him. He was more than a friend but less than a lover. He protected you, cared for you, helped you with any troubles you had and was always there for you, whatever it took for him. And what did you do for him in return? Nothing.

You did absolutely nothing, at least nothing that could compare to what he did for you. And you hated yourself for not being able to pull him out of his misery, even for the slightest bit, when he could even go as far as to move mountains just to see you crack a smile.

You didn’t deserve him; yet you were too selfish to let him go. He was a soul that wanted to fly and be free, but his wings were weighed down by your annoying fears and anxieties for the unknown.

The water dripping down your body suddenly turned cold and you immediately turned off the faucet and ran out of the shower, wiping your body dry with a towel. There was still no sight of Mark, so you quickly put on some fresh clothes and searched throughout the room in order to find your phone and call him.

Your eyes scanned every corner of the room where you could have possibly left your phone, when your gaze dropped to the wooden chair across the bed, the one where Mark usually sat when he played the guitar, only to find a folded piece of paper.

You stepped closer to the chair, picking up the piece of paper and turning it around. With shaky hands, you slowly unfolded it and a shiny bright red guitar pick fell on the floor. You picked it up, bringing it closer to your eye only to recognize it as one of Mark’s favorite ones.

You held the pick between your fingers and sat down at the wooden chair, looking at the wrinkly piece of paper. Written with a dark pencil, you recognized the sloppy handwriting and the small neat letters as none other than Mark’s and you couldn't help but feel your eyes sting in threatening tears as you slowly read and processed each heartfelt word he wrote:

Dear Y/n,

You’re probably reading this because you can’t see me in your room. But don’t bother look, because I have already left for a better, safer life and I won’t be coming back.

So here’s everything I couldn’t bring myself to say last night.

I love you deeply, Y/n. And I know your feelings towards me differ from my feelings towards you, but I’m not scared to hide it. You’re afraid of the power your heart holds and I understand that. For that, I will give you time, as much as you need to learn how to use this power.

I don’t know if I am a strong man or a coward for leaving; that I’m not sure of. But what I’m sure of is my life, and right now my life is in danger. I always spoke to you about how I wanted to have a normal life, to escape from this hell hole and build a different path for me.

Most importantly, I wanted to build this path with you. You’re the only thing that made this hell hole bearable, the only thing that gave me purpose, the thing that made my life have a meaning.

But I took some time to think and I realized that I can’t force you to follow the same path as me, no matter how much I need you or how much I want only what’s best for you.

So I left. I left to build this new path and I will try as hard as I can. I don’t care if I fail, because I know I can keep on trying and, no matter where you are, just the thought of you gives me strength.

I’m leaving you a piece of me behind though. My favorite guitar pick. I want you to have it. You can keep it, burn it, destroy it, I don’t care what you’ll do with it. I just want you to have something to remember me, something that means to me as much as you do.

So, for the meantime, mark me in your heart like I have marked you in mine, and think about what makes you truly happy. If you ever change your mind, you already know where to find me.

Your beloved,

M.

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