#fix this so you have to live every second trying to fix this and if you fail it's eternal suffering and everyone was right about you and
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TMNT 2007!Raph x Fem!Reader: Make Me (NSFW 18+)
Anonymous asked: This is kind of weird but would you be able to write 2007!Raph x reader where Raph is trying to dominant and gets shy when he finds out y/n is more experienced?
ya'll im such an idiot and I accidentally deleted the anon request who had asked for this. Luckily, I keep all the reqs in a google doc when writing lol. Here goes nothing! Let me know if you enjoyed this :)
NOTE: this is my after dark blog, and you're going to find smut here. 2007 is a more mature version of the turtles, and they are around their early/mid 20s. MINORS DNI. WARNINGS : dirty talk, doggystyle, and missionary
Imagine Raphael getting thrown for a loop the first time you have sex with each other
It’s honestly so sudden, neither of you expecting it to happen the way it did.
Now, Raph has had his fair share of sex. If the turtles had to take a guess, Raph would have the highest body count out of the four of them (Donnie takes the cake for last place, he’s a scaredy-cat).
He vividly remembers women practically throwing themselves onto him while he was The Nightwatcher long ago
I mean, could you blame him? A mysterious man in metal armor with a sexy accent who protects the city?
He felt invisible, being able to be himself and enjoy life the way it was supposed to be lived
In short, Raph here is no stranger to women- he knows what’s got to be done.
When you first met the turtles, it was thanks to a clumsy Mikey during patrol one night who came crashing into your bedroom window.
With some panicked explanations, promises to keep a secret, and to fix a window, bonds were made. Friendship blossomed.
Feelings blossomed.
You seemed to get along well with each and every turtle, however, something about the smug-looking golden-eyed one who didn’t speak much at first had grabbed your attention.
As you began to come down to their home often, you found yourself having more opportunities to interact with the second oldest brother: Raphael. He had this bad-boy aura that had you hooked.
However, it wasn’t what you thought it was.
Raphael constantly teased you, and you constantly did the same back. He had no malicious intent, and neither did you. You had simply piqued each other's interest.
“Hey shorty,” Raph snickers at you trying to reach for something on a high shelf.
“Hey hothead,” You tease back, “How about you use those big muscles of yours to help me instead of standing there and enjoying the show?” His eyes watched your breasts bounce in your shirt as you struggled to reach what you needed.
Oh, and he loved it. That you noticed what his game was, and that you were more than happy to play.
His non stop picking had been his fun way of flirting with you, to which you did the same back. As it went on, a friendly yet flirtatious connection had been made.
Only, a cloud of sexual tension seemed to follow you around every time you interacted with the turtle in red.
There was something about Raphael that got your panties in a twist. As time went on, you found yourself fantasizing about how you’d make your move on him. It seemed that your sexual appetite grew hungrier with each and every scenario you imagined in your head.
You wondered just how Raph was able to get you going.
Unbeknownst to you, Raphael’s reptilian instincts give him a heightened sense of smell.
AKA, you didn’t have to tell him, he knew- no- he could smell how down bad you were for him.
Luckily for him, your human senses weren’t as strong.
He remembered how he tested the waters a bit, trying to see if he was the cause of the smell of arousal coming from your sex. He had to make sure you were actually thinking of him in that way.
Long story short, he was right. One day, he placed his hands on your waist during training, only for his nostrils to be hugged with your excitement in between your legs.
And thus, the more he flirted with you, the more he wanted- no- needed you.
It seemed the feeling was mutual, yet you both went about your days as normal.
Until one day, you said two words that sent Raph over the edge.
Brace yourself, Y/n.
-------
“Ya ain’t gonna take me down that easily, shorty.” Your eyes follow Raph’s figure, watching as he circles you around the dojo. Since the streets have been getting pretty bad, Raphael took it upon himself to teach you a few things just in case.
You could almost feel your heart pounding out of your chest. Being pushed to your limits, you weren’t giving up so quickly, either. You could see Raph looking you up and down, his amber eyes stopping right at your chest. You made a good choice to wear a tight tank top today, huh?
Quickly, his eyes shoot back up to look at your own, and suddenly, he’s studying you to see what his next move could be.
“I bet money you can’t take me down this time.” You smirk, albeit you were talking out of your ass; seeing Raph’s devious smile got you going.
“Oh, so now we’re delusional?” The turtle chuckles as he gets in a fighting stance, “Looks cute on ya, Y/n.” Raph closes the space between you both inch by inch, and suddenly, his fists are flying toward you.
He was ready to see if you remembered what you practiced.
You quickly dodge his first hit, brushing the loose hair out of your eyes, “I told you,” Your knees bend, and Raphs last punches don’t connect, giving you the upper hand while he’s distracted. “I pay,” with a sweep of your left leg, you were able to catch Raph off balance. “Attention!” To finish, you hop on his shell from behind, touching the pressure point on his neck with two fingers (thanks, Master Splinter!) He easily topples over, and you pin his arm behind him as you straddle the back of his rough shell.
Okay, maybe Raphael underestimated you a bit. He had no idea where you’d learn pressure points from, he didn’t teach you those.
Seemingly defeated, the turtle under you sighs, his breathing becoming regular and less shallow as his heart rate goes down.
“Did Leo teach ya that?” He huffs, straining under your control. A prideful smile is formed with your lips.
“Nope, Master Splinter did.” Why would Leo teach you something like that, anyway? I mean, it wasn’t like he trained you alone. It was always as a group with their sensei. Leonardo taught you safer tricks that didn’t require you to get so close to your opponent.
You were enjoying your little victory, and what kind of victory would it be if you didn’t rub it in Raph’s face?
“Did I really beat Mister Hothead?” You teased the turtle under you, whose annoyed eyes seemed to burn into your skin for you to set him free.
“Aigh’t, ya got me, now, get off.” Raphael’s rough accent was music to your ears, and you couldn’t imagine letting this opportunity go to show him what you were made of. Your grip on his arm becomes tighter, and you lower your lips to his exposed neck.
What’s the point of teasing the big teddy bear if some flirting isn’t involved, right?
“Make me.”
Suddenly, Raphael stops struggling and falls silent. You follow suit, alleviating the pressure you put on his body while on top, letting your guard down in confusion. Before you can ask what was going on, you feel yourself being flipped over, with your back hitting the hardwood floor and Raph’s face centimeters away from your own. Your arms are pinned at the top of your head by one of his hands, while the other is placed under your chin.
“Come again?” He purrs, eyes scanning for any sign of you wanting him to stop. But, you don’t. In fact, you wanted him to keep going.
“I said, ‘Make me.” You could feel the heat between your legs begin to rise, and your heart practically beating out of your chest. You watched as golden eyes behind a red mask looked into your own before his free hand moved toward your bra strap.
“Ya think ya so innocent, dontcha?” You could almost jump out of your skin from the feeling of butterflies invading your stomach. It felt electrifying with every touch the turtle gave you.
“Ya think I don’ know?” His face dives into your neck, taking a slow lick before suckling in a spot that causes your body to shiver in desire. “I can smell ya, I know that ya been wantin’ this.” You wished he would let go of your hands to give you free will, eager to take the lead and surprise him.
It wasn’t long until your soft whimpers caused a throbbing erection to emerge, and when his hand let go of your wrists bound at the top of your head, your fingers found their way to his biceps, giving them a light squeeze.
“Like you haven’t been wanting it, too” You challenged, trying to keep all composure. Raph comes up from working on your neck, his eyes darting to your lips that continue to tease him even though he has the upper hand. He couldn’t wait to shut you up.
He did just that. Before you could think of something slick to say, his green lips crashed on yours, not coming up for air once. It seemed all the pent-up sexual frustration was being let out in this very moment in the middle of the dojo.
Speaking of, it’s amazing how nobody came in by now.
“I’ll take you right here,” You knew he would. Name a time or place and Raph would be down. You could feel tingles up and down your body from the friction, your nipples hardening from the arousal, and Raph's tongue intertwining with your own.
It was a long time coming, and before you know it, Raph’s three-pronged hand moves one of your thighs over, only for them to rub circles around your clothed clit. Now sensitive, you wondered just how you could get Raph crumbling beneath you. “You’d like that, won’t ya?” Oh, he knew exactly what the fuck he was doing. Every sentence he said in between kisses drove you up the wall, the strong desire to ride him until the wheels fell off seemed to take over, and you knew you had to prove yourself. Raphael has no idea who he’s messing with.
His fingers then move to the hem of your leggings, dropping the hint he wants them off.
“Make sure it's locked, big guy.” Your voice hoarse from a dry throat. Looking at you one last time, Raph makes the conscious decision to listen to you. Sure, he could take you to his room and get it on, but he couldn’t wait. He wanted you now. As he makes his way to lock the dojo, you undress behind him, tank and bottoms discarded in a pile off to the side. Your red bra teasing the red-banded turtle, almost begging him to snap it off you. But before he could even think about doing so, he watched you motion for him to come over sitting on the workout bench by the dumbbells.
“My turn,” Your body naturally gravitates toward Raphael’s sweet spots when he sits beside you. Before he can take control, you straddle his waist before he can go anywhere. Arms around his neck, your back arches in pleasure as his hands go up and down your exposed sides, heating you up as he does so. Now, Raphael didn’t expect you to take control of him that easily. If anything, he didn’t think he had it in you. But, here you were, caressing his body and grinding yourself on his throbbing cock, a wave of sinful thoughts making up his mind as he felt the pre-cum leaking onto his thigh. You must’ve noticed, because you dip a finger in the sticky substance, placing it in your mouth as the turtle’s cheeks heated up from watching you taste him.
“Sweet,” You teased, giggling at the sight of a shy yet enticed Raphael.
You really knew what you were doing.
But, shyness aside from not being the only experienced one, he’s ready to show you just what you’re in for. With the help from you, his erection springs up after a swift movement of his lower plastron. His dick stood up with pride, begging for warmth as it throbbed once exposed to the cold air. Once in your sight, it had your own sex wanting to welcome it home. Raphael could smell it, how your pussy soaked your panties, and he couldn’t wait to take them off and make you his.
Picking you up and laying you on the hardwood floor, you unclip your bra as Raph’s fingers find the band of your panties, throwing them to God knows where in the dojo. You’ll get them later. They didn’t matter right now. What mattered was the way Raph admired your excitement, watching you let out a submissive moan as he dipped his head in to taste you.
“Sweet,” He comments huskily, words vibrating your cunt that sends a signal to your brain to ask for more. You didn’t just want his tongue, you wanted him inside of you.
“Stop teasing~” You murmur, your chest heaving after each and every lick your sensitive bud takes. It was enough to get your cavern dripping, and Raphael wasted no time in flipping you over onto your stomach and getting your ass up in the air, arching your back as his hands gripped your hips. You could feel his tip pressing against your tight hole, and as he took your wrists to hold them behind your back, he slowly inserted himself, your pussy squeezing him tight as he stretched you out to the max. He wanted to go crazy, but he knew he needed you to adjust before doing so.
Your body aching for more decides to meet him halfway, your ass coming into contact with his plastron in an instant, swallowing him whole. He was so big, and he knew it, too. Your loud moan after taking him all in caused Raph to hesitate.
“Not too loud, pretty.” His hand then frees your arms, and almost immediately you clasp a hand onto your mouth, muffling all sounds you were making. Once Raph got into the swing, his wild side came out. Before he knew it, he was thrusting in and out of you at an animalistic speed. He was a rough lover, and you loved every second of it. His praises on how good you felt and how wet you were caused shivers throughout your body and mind. The sound of skin slapping against skin was enough for you to be in a trance. You could feel how his curved dick hit you in the right spot deep in your cavern, pressing against your G-spot. How his hands continuously guided your hips and ass to back up against his plastron, and he smirked as he observed you crumble beneath him. You were practically biting your lip to keep yourself from shrieking in pleasure. The last thing you needed was anyone knocking and destroying your high.
“You’ve always wanted me, huh?” “Fuck, you’re so tight,” All of his remarks whispered into your ear as his hand moved toward your neck, choking you lightly. Your hands went over his own, begging for his grip to tighten. He stopped for a moment, then gave into your noiseless demand.
“Didn’t take ya as a freak, Y/n,” He chuckles, watching you turn around to face him. If the sound wasn’t enough, your flushed, fucked-out face was enough to drive him wild.
He was close, but he couldn’t finish like this. He needed to see all of you. He needed you facing him, tits bouncing with every thrust. His hand around your windpipe and your eyes rolling back into your skull.
So as he unexpectedly stops, your legs begin to shake. “W-wha?” You strain your back, trying to get relief. It isn’t until Raph uses his strength to flip you over as if you weighed nothing that you knew what was about to happen.
He wasn’t done, he was just getting started.
“I wanna see ya beggin’ fa me, got it?” Raph grips his member, placing it in between your wet folds as he churrs, locking eyes with you to make sure you understood the assignment.
“Y-yes.” You were hypnotized by Raph. How his girth was enough to stretch you out, and was long enough to hit places you didn’t think were possible. A smirk plays along his lips, and you feel his tip at your entrance once again. He leans in, lips crashing into yours before you feel him fill you up once more. Only this time, he was hitting your sweet spot even better. You felt yourself nearing the top of the hill, waiting for just the right thrust to send you over the top and back down again.
“Tell me how much ya wanted me, baby,” You see Raph’s focused look as his hands gripped your cupped breasts, ripping them clean off before tossing them to the side. He plays with your hardened bud, alternating from the left and the right.
“Shit.. a-a lot! I wanted this so bad, Raph~” Your sweet voice had created the music he wanted to hear, and you felt him slam into you harder. It wasn’t until his hand left your breasts and moved down to your swollen clit. Looking up at you, then back down at your sex, he gives you a smirk before getting to work. “Oh! Fuck, Raph!” His finger quickly flicking your clit like it was a bell, making it ring in ways that caused you to reach the top of the hill.
“Fuck, please,” Your breathy moans became uneven, and your body came millimeters away from your well-needed orgasm, “Don’t fucking stop,” Your words became slurred and sloppy, and Raphael wouldn’t want to have it any other way. “You’re doing so good, Raph, fuck.” You were copping pleas, just like he wanted. Your sweet voice interrupted by unsolicited wonton moans caused Raph to fuck you like there was no tomorrow. He studies your face, and your half-lidded eyes watch as beads of sweat litter his emerald skin, the sweet sinful smell of sex filling the air as you finally come to your senses. “Think you could fill me up?” You had asked so innocently despite the obvious whine in your voice. You sounded so needy and sexy, that Raphael couldn’t hold it in any longer. All of his senses were being simulated, and the sight of you was the cherry on top. He had you exactly where he wanted you: crumbled, fucked-out face, rosy cheeks, and begging for him to cum.
You tightened around him, a wave of pure euphoria taking over you as you came to the squelching sound of you finishing all over Raph’s member. Your body shakes as he doesn’t stop, moments go by before he slows down, allowing you to ride out your orgasm. You lean up to lock lips, and his thrusts quicken before he groans huskily into the sloppy kiss. He had reached the top of his own hill, and he couldn’t wait to fill you up and paint your insides white.
When he’s finally ready, he puts his forehead on yours, and you watch as he becomes weak at the knees, bucking his hips to meet your pelvis one last time before you feel something warm shoot through you. The thought of Raph’s cum filling you up alone caused you to moan in ecstasy, never mind the feeling of it.
Raph shifts his weight, holding himself up with his reserved strength. It wasn’t like he was finished. No, Raph’s libido was so high and mighty, this was just the pregame.
“I kind of feel bad…” You trail off. You felt Raph’s cum leak from your pulsating cunt, pooling onto the floor under you. Droplets of sweat littered the hardwood, “We made a mess.” But before you could get up, Raph lets out a throaty chuckle, “Ya think so? We could do bettah than this.” His accented voice teases a new idea. Maybe he was right, you guys could make an even bigger mess.
The smell of sex wasn’t leaving the dojo anytime soon, and with the way you went uninterrupted for what seemed like hours, what made you think you’d be stopping here? You sit up on your knees, pushing Raphael back onto his shell. Straddling his waist, his member jumped in response. Once again, he was ready to give it to you. As he watched you grab it at the base and align it with your sex, cum still dripping from the previous activity, you sat down on it slowly until your pelvis met his own.
It was your turn to fuck his brains out, and you were ready to do just that.
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#tmnt#teenage mutant ninja turtles#raphael#tmnt 2007#tmnt imagines#tmnt headcanons#tmnt raph x reader#tmnt raph#2007 raph#2007 tmnt#tmnt fanfiction#tmnt smut
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Hello, could I request an imagine with autistic reader and Mick where she keeps trying to break up with him because she gets embarrassed or insecure but he always ends up convincing her to stay?
You are enough||Mick Schumacher x autistic!Fem!reader
Word count — 836
Summary — after a while you begin to doubt yourself about your relationship with Mick but being the best boyfriend he is he reassures you that you are enough for him.
The living room was still, the rain outside the only sound. You stood near the window, your arms wrapped tightly around yourself as if trying to keep from falling apart. Mick sat on the couch, his eyes never leaving you. His presence was steady, grounding, but that only made the guilt gnaw at you harder.
“I think…” you started, the words feeling jagged and raw in your throat, “I think we should break up.”
Mick’s brows furrowed, his head tilting slightly as if he hadn’t heard you right. “What? Why? Where’s this coming from?”
You avoided his gaze, staring down at the floor. “Because I’m not good at this,” you said quietly, your voice cracking under the weight of your emotions. “At being with you. At being in a relationship.”
He stood, but didn’t come closer, giving you space. “What do you mean? You are good at it. You’re good at us.”
A sharp laugh escaped you, bitter and unintentional. “No, I’m not. I never know what you’re feeling or what you’re thinking unless you say it out loud, and even then, I still second-guess myself. And then when I get overwhelmed, I shut down, and you have to fix everything.”
“Fix everything?” Mick repeated, his voice gentle. “You don’t need to be fixed, and I don’t think of it that way at all.”
You shook your head, tears stinging your eyes as you tried to find the right words to explain what felt impossible to articulate. “But you don’t get it, Mick! You’re patient, and you’re good at this—at understanding people. And I’m… I’m just a mess. I can’t even figure out how to tell you how I feel half the time without freezing up or saying the wrong thing.”
Mick stepped forward, his voice soft but steady. “You think saying the ‘wrong thing’ means you’re bad at this? Babe, everyone struggles with communication sometimes. I’d rather you try and stumble through it than not talk to me at all. And if you freeze up, that’s okay too. I’m not going to get mad at you for needing time to process.”
You looked up at him, tears slipping down your cheeks. “But what if it’s too much one day? What if I’m too much? What if one day you get tired of waiting for me to figure out how to be normal?”
His face softened, and he slowly reached out, letting his hands rest lightly on your arms. “You’re not too much. You’re just enough��exactly enough. And I don’t need you to be ‘normal,’ whatever that even means. I want you to be you. That’s who I love.”
You shook your head, overwhelmed. “But I don’t know how to show you that I love you back. I try, but it feels like I’m never doing enough. You deserve someone who can give you everything you need without overthinking every little thing.”
Mick frowned, his hands gently sliding down to take yours. “You don’t think you’re showing me you love me? You do it all the time, babe. When you text me to make sure I got home safe. When you remember things I said weeks ago and bring them up. When you tell me about the stuff you’re passionate about, even when you think I won’t care—guess what? I care, because it’s you.”
You blinked at him, caught off guard by his words.
“You might not say, ‘I love you’ in the same way I do,” he continued, “but I see it in everything you do. And it’s enough. You are enough.”
“But it’s so hard, Mick,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “Sometimes I can’t figure out how I’m feeling, let alone how to explain it to you. And then I feel stupid for not knowing.”
Mick’s thumb brushed over the back of your hand. “You’re not stupid for having a hard time with emotions. If you don’t know how you feel, that’s okay. I’ll wait. And if you can’t explain it, that’s okay too. We can figure it out together.”
Tears welled up again, but this time, they weren’t as heavy. “But what if I get overwhelmed again? What if I shut down and can’t talk to you?”
“Then I’ll sit with you until you feel ready,” Mick said simply, his voice unwavering. “I’ll remind you that you’re safe and that I’m here. You don’t have to go through that alone anymore.”
A choked sob escaped you, and Mick gently pulled you into his arms. “You don’t have to do this perfectly,” he murmured into your hair. “There’s no right way to be with someone, and I don’t expect you to get it all right. I just want you to let me love you.”
You buried your face in his chest, the storm in your mind slowly quieting as his words settled over you. “You promise you won’t leave?”
“I promise,” Mick said without hesitation. “We’re in this together, no matter how hard it gets.”For the first time, you let yourself believe him.
#mick schumacher x reader#mick schumacher x you#mick schumacher fluff#mick schumacher imagine#mick schumacher#mick schumacher fic#faiths inbox#f1#formula one imagine#f1 x reader#formula one x reader#formula one x you#formula one x y/n#f1 fluff#f1 imagine#f1 one shot#f1 x autistic!reader#f1 x yn#f1 x female reader#f1 x y/n#f1 x you
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“Lookin' at you got me thinkin' nonsense.” - PG6
summary: After a second Barça game, Alexia unexpectedly meets Gavi in the players’ lounge. A brief exchange of smiles and words leaves them both captivated, replaying the moment long after the night ends.
pairing: oc! Alexia x Pablo Gavi (ft. oc! Madison)
. ⁺ . ⁺ . ⁺ . ⁺ . ⁺ . ⁺ . . ⁺ .
Weeks had passed since Alexia’s first trip to Camp Nou, but the memory of the boy in the white jacket lingered in her mind. Madison, of course, hadn’t let her live it down. “You’re not even a real fan, and somehow you’re having a rom-com moment with one of the players,” she teased constantly.
Alexia rolled her eyes every time, but secretly, she’d replayed that fleeting moment with Gavi a hundred times in her head. Something about the way he’d smiled at her stayed with her.
Madison finally convinced Alexia to come to another game. “You can’t be a one-and-done kind of fan,” Madison insisted. “Plus, you owe me for making you look good on Instagram with that last post.”
“Fine,” Alexia relented, trying not to seem too eager. She even wore a borrowed Barça jersey and learned a couple of chants to impress Madison.
As they made their way to the stadium, Alexia felt her heart race—not for the game itself, but for the slim chance she might see him again. She wasn’t even sure what she’d say or do if it happened. Smile? Wave? Pretend she didn’t care?
The match was as electric as the first one. Alexia found herself getting into it more this time, cheering loudly alongside Madison and feeling the rush of the crowd. But her eyes kept drifting to the players, scanning for Gavi.
After the game, Madison had another surprise. “So, don’t freak out,” she said, grinning mischievously, “but I managed to get us into the players’ lounge for a meet-and-greet.”
“Wait, WHAT?” Alexia’s stomach flipped.
“Don’t thank me yet. It’s crowded, and there’s no guarantee you’ll even get near him. But, you know, miracles happen.”
The players’ lounge was buzzing with fans, all clamoring for autographs and pictures. Alexia followed Madison nervously, her eyes darting around the room. Then, she saw him.
Gavi stood near a table, talking with a staff member. He was dressed casually this time, in a black hoodie and jeans, but he was unmistakable. Alexia froze as he turned slightly, scanning the room—and their eyes met again.
For a moment, it was like the chaos around them disappeared. Alexia felt her pulse quicken as Gavi’s lips curved into the same small, genuine smile he’d given her weeks ago.
Madison nudged her hard. “Go talk to him!”
“I can’t just—”
Before Alexia could finish, Gavi began walking toward them.
“Hola,” he said, his voice warm and his accent thick. His gaze didn’t waver from hers. “You were at the last game, no?”
Alexia blinked, struggling to believe he’d noticed her before. “Uh, yeah. My first game, actually.”
Gavi’s smile widened. “And? What did you think?”
“It was amazing,” she managed, returning his smile. “Though I think Madison might be the bigger fan.” Nodding to the blonde next to her.
“True,” Madison interjected, clearly loving every second of this. “But I think Alexia’s catching on. She even learned some chants this time.”
Gavi chuckled, his attention still fixed on Alexia. “Good. Maybe you’ll come to more games, then?”
“I think I might,” she said softly, feeling her cheeks heat up.
“Perfect,” Gavi said. He glanced over as a staff member called him back but hesitated before leaving. “It was nice meeting you, Alexia.”
Her heart nearly stopped. “How did you know my name?”
He pointed at her Camp Nou ticket, which she had clipped onto a lanyard around her neck.
“Right,” she said, laughing nervously.
“Maybe I’ll see you again soon,” Gavi added before walking away, glancing back one last time with a smile.
. ⁺ . ⁺ . ⁺ . ⁺ . ⁺ . ⁺ . . ⁺ .
That night, Alexia lay in bed, staring at the ceiling and replaying the moment over and over. She felt like she was in a dream.
Meanwhile, Gavi sat in the back of the team bus once again, headphones around his neck but no music. Instead, he stared out the window, replaying the way her smile had lit up when he spoke to her.
For the first time in a long time, someone outside of football had captured his attention. And he wasn’t sure what to do about it.
. ⁺ . ⁺ . ⁺ . ⁺ . ⁺ . ⁺ . . ⁺ .
Part 3??
Inspired By:
Read part one here
#fc barcelona#barcelona spain#barça#fc barça#soccer#nonsense#sabrina carpenter#gavi x reader#pablo gavi x reader#pg6#Spotify
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Brb gotta just yell into the void
#GOD IM JUST#so both Q and I were under the impression we would be getting help fixing the place#almost a full week later#it’s basically just been me his elderly grandma and him when hes not working#which is very little time since he’s full time#I have been working on this place from basically sunrise to sunset#doing what I can to make it clean and repaint#but I can’t do most repairs#mainly what the bathroom needs#but today#ooooooo today#Q’s parents are getting on our nerves man#we’ve been trying to explain that the bathroom is not functional in it’s current state#and instead of Q’s father#the landlord of this place who decided keeping it while living two and a half hours away was a smart idea#helping to fix said bathroom#says he’d rather work on the living room floor which is the lowest priority#and when we expressed this to them#his mother goes#if you don’t like it you can go live somewhere else#EXCUSE ME#I have literally been spending all the time I can trying to fix up YOUR place for you two#to the point where I am now coming down with a cold and my lowing back is killing me#where Q is sacrificing every free moment he has trying to do what he can while working a full time job#and THIS is the thanks we get???????#what the hell#anyway they’re coming tomorrow but Q has work so I am going to cry#I am so exhausted and stressed if they pull some shit I might just do something I shouldn’t#I want this to be over#the second were able to afford a house we’re getting the hell out of here
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i bet raymond has coped with suicidal thoughts in thee worst way possible
#no confirmation on if he's ever felt actually suicidal but i mean. how could he not. and the journal entries get p close to outright saying#i wanna fuckin KILL myselffffff WAAAAAAAAA#like it's not a 'i owe it to myself to get better and build a good life' cause that's impossible#it's not 'this too shall pass' cause it fucking doesnt#it's not 'there are people who love me and rely on me' because there's fucking no one and honestly his presence is more harm than help#honestly it's probably something like 'as bad as it is now it will be infinitely worse when you die and you're running out of time to#fix this so you have to live every second trying to fix this and if you fail it's eternal suffering and everyone was right about you and#you'll be stuck in the mom's rotting flesh dimension forever and ever'#hows that for motivation#normalposting#mr delver i wont u...
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my best friend has been very distant w me lately and i asked today if she wanted to hang out and she said she probably couldn't bc it's her brothers birthday but she would let me know if she could and i have her location and i just looked and she's at her boyfriends house rn....
#we have it bc we're roomates so we started sharing locations when we first moved in like in case someone doesn't come home at night or smth#she recently told me that she wants to move out bc she has always wanted to live alone and she can finally afford it. and i asked her#directly like is there an issue because she is so non confrontational so she has never ever mentioned me doing anything that bothers her#and i said please tell me if there's something wrong because it would really suck if there was and i never got a chance to fix it because#you never told me. and she said no it has nothing to do with that i really just feel like it's time for me to live on my own. and a couple#days ago she was like okay i'm next in line for my apartment i'll probably move out in april. and i try to get her to hang out still and#she always has something else going on and i swear every night this week she's been at her boyfriends.#and if i see her around our apartment and try to make conversation at all she's so like short about it and barely responds like will only#give one word answers. i feel like it kind of started when i started dating e but i realized that i was spending less time with her and i#didn't want to be the girl that loses all my friends bc of a boyfriend so i started specifically reaching out to hang out with her and she#says no most of the time and never asks me. like i don't know what else i can do.#i'm like maybe it's bc of her boyfriend? bc they've been on again off again for a long time and previously when they were together it was#really distant with her like i barely saw her EVER. and they were mostly broken up for the past couple years and have been together i think#for a while again... but she knows i don't approve of that relationship and so she would like not say when they were talking again. so maybe#since lately they've been hanging out or dating or WHATEVER she doesn't fucking tell me what's going on with him. maybe that's why.#i literally like try to think of ways it could be my fault and maybe i'm being crazy but i cannot even think to blame myself for more than a#fleeting second bc i'm like. i have ASKED HER directly if there is an issue or something i do that bothers her and she says no. so even if#i'm somehow pissing her off would i ever know to change anything?? i just feel so frustrated bc it's like she's an entirely different person#to me. like this is not the person i know. and i don't know what else i could possibly do like i feel like we need to sit down and have a#conversation about it but what good does that do if she just acts like nothing is wrong. but i don't want to lose my friend i have such a#hard time making friends. i've known her since i was 14 like i can't imagine my life without her. we were the only two in our whole friend#group in high school to get out of the church i still love those other girls but we have so little in common now.
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slippin' and slidin' all over you!
pair: logan howlett x fem!reader
wc: 4k
contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, swearing, sweating, mutual masturbation, sweat licking (i don't know???), not-so-dry humping, p in v, JUST THE TIP RAHHH, creampie, fingering (fem!recieving), oral sex (fem!receiving), come swapping, come eating, literally over four thousand words of pure nasty smut, this is gross lowkey, idk i'm h*rny, porn w/o plot, no use of y/n.
nat’s note: very much not the winner or even an option of the poll i posted last week but...shhh don't hate me. it’s october and over 80 every single day, what the fuck is that? only good thing that came from this heat is thoughts of nasty sweaty sex with logan. once again shoutout to my wonderful husband @ebodebo for reading this over for me (i successfully changed her vendetta against sucking up some man sweat...which was the real point of this fic tbh) go give her fics some love if you're a slut for ghost! kisses!
logan forgot to fix the ac...
It's too hot out to be alive. 36°C and sunny.
One of the hottest days in recent memory for Alberta, and you're really feeling it.
"Remind me," you say slowly, the first words spoken in almost ten minutes. "How many times did I ask you to fix the air conditioner?"
"Don't start," Logan says from his spot across the room. His head is tipped back to rest on the couch cushion, eyes slipped shut.
You ignore him, lazily rolling your head to the side to look at him through squinted eyes, your brows furrowed in thought. "Was it ten? Or maybe thirteen?"
Logan huffs a breath, slow and heavy, but he doesn't move--doesn't even open his eyes. “I said don’t start,” he mutters again, though there’s the faintest edge of a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth.
"Don't worry baby," you say, voice pitched lower in a terrible impersonation of Logan. "I'll get to it, promise. Won’t get too hot for another couple months."
Logan finally cracks an eye open, just enough to give you a sideways glance, his mouth twitching with amusement. "You done?"
You hum noncommittally, the sound lingering in the air like the lazy summer breeze doing nothing to cool the temperature outside. Your gaze slips down the side of his face to trace the jut of his jaw, then lower to the sweaty column of his neck.
Both you and Logan lost most of your clothes earlier in the day, too hot to bother wearing anything but underwear. You trudged around the house like zombies until you finally gave up on trying to be productive, you both ended up in the living room.
All the windows are cracked open, trying in vain to let in any cool air. You claimed the armchair closest to the fan, refusing to be anywhere near Logan and the massive heat wave he constantly gives off.
Logan’s on the couch, stripped down to the thinnest pair of sleep shorts you’ve ever seen. His chest is bare, glistening with a thin sheen of sweat that mats the dark hair dusted along his pecs to his skin.
You can’t help the way your eyes follow the drops of moisture that slide slowly down the contours of his abs. A low heat starting to swirl through your gut when it disappears into his happy trail.
It's funny. When you basically peeled yourself off your mattress this morning, sex was the absolute last thing on your mind.
Now, as your eyes glide over the strong expanse of Logan's body on full display, you're having second thoughts.
Maybe it just comes with the heat. That sort of slow, syrupy feeling that slides along your overheated skin to pulse pleasantly between your thighs.
A bead of sweat slides down the length of your spine slowly, falling until it soaks into the damp waistband of your panties. You try to not notice how Logan is halfway across the room, not touching you.
You fail.
“It’s just a shame, though,” you start, fingers idly toying with the hem of your tank top. “If it was cooler, I could come over there.”
You slide a leg up, letting it rest against the wooden rest, newly exposed skin gleaming under the sunlight filtering in.
The move isn't lost on Logan. You see his jaw clench slightly, the tiniest shift in his posture.
"Something you wanted?" Logan asks, his voice going low and teasing. "Looks like you've been gettin' yourself all worked up over there."
“Just thinking,” you reply, shifting slightly on the sticky leather of the chair.
Logan’s fingers twitch at his sides, his chest rising and falling with slow, measured breaths. His eyes slide the rest of the way open, his gaze heavy and lingering as it ventures down to where your thin shirt sticks to your skin, outlining every curve.
“Oh yeah?” he prompts, his voice a little rougher now. “Thinkin’ about what, baby?”
“You,” you say easily, fingers slipping down to your thigh. You bring your other leg up, perching it against the opposite armrest. Your thighs spread wide enough that you know Logan has a full view of the wet spot growing along the gusset of your panties.
The hitch in Logan’s breath has you stifling a smug smile, taking your bottom lip between your teeth as you watch the way his chest starts rising faster.
"That's real sweet, sugar," he drawls, an unimpressed look on his face as he drags his eyes back up to your own. "But if you're tryin' to get me over there, you're gonna have to do better than that." His voice slides through the air heavy and warm like molasses.
You bite back a grin, enjoying the slow game that's unfolding between the two of you.
"Maybe I don’t want you to come over here," you let your fingers trail a little lower, just to the edge of your panties, teasing. “Maybe I like you right where you are.”
Logan’s brow raises, his thighs tensing before he spreads them just a touch wider. The fabric of his boxers goes taut over the strong muscle, riding up to expose even more hairy skin to your greedy eyes.
"You're playin' with fire, kid," he warns.
The tent in his shorts is obvious now, the hard length of his cock pressing against the fabric where it lays across his thigh. Your other hand twitches by your side at just the sight, your pussy throbbing with the sudden need to be filled.
"Am I?" you murmur, your fingers slipping beneath the waistband of your panties, just enough to make sure he knows exactly where this is headed. ”It’s not like you’re going to do anything about it, you’re too busy pouting."
With a deliberate slowness, you slide your fingers lower, brushing against your clit with just enough pressure to let out a soft gasp at the contact. You arch your back slightly, relishing in the way the air feels against your skin, hot and sticky.
You want him to see how badly you need him—how his heat is the only thing that could truly satisfy the insatiable ache building between your legs.
Logan's nostrils flare, jaw tightening and eyes darkening at the sight of you teasing yourself. His restraint is slipping, and you can practically feel the tension building in the room, thick and stifling like the oppressive summer heat.
But he still doesn’t move, doesn’t rush over like you expect him to. Instead, he shifts his hips slightly, spreading his legs wider and letting his hand fall on his thigh.
You can’t help the way your breath quickens at the sight, the way his fingers drift dangerously close to his own growing bulge, teasing you just as much as you’re teasing him.
You tilt your head to the side, gazing at him through your lashes. “You're really just gonna leave me hanging?” you goad, fingers circling lazily around your sensitive clit. “Come on stud, whip it out.”
Logan chuckles low, a sound that sends shivers through you. "Is that what you want, baby?" he asks, voice thick and taunting, a smirk curling on his lips. “You want me to whip it out for you?”
“Yeah,” you murmur breathlessly, biting your lip as you maintain eye contact, your breath starting to come in short bursts. “I need to see you, Logan. Need to see how hard you are for me.”
“Need to, huh,” he muses slowly, fingers finally grazing over the hard length of his cock. “What’s in it for me?”
“How about this?” You slip your hand out from your ruined panties, fingers glistening with your own wetness as you hook your thumbs on either side and drag them down your legs.
You let the soaked cotton fall to the floor, leaving you completely exposed to him.
Logan’s pupils dilate, an inky black completely swallowing the warm hazel. He licks his lips slowly, the tip of his tongue running along his teeth like he wants to sink them into you. His cock twitches visibly beneath his shorts, the growing tension in the air between you thick enough to choke on.
“Fuck,” he breathes out, his voice low and gravelly, more of a growl than a word.
You smile, shifting in the chair to give him an even better view, your legs spreading wider. "Yeah?" you purr, running your fingers over your slick inner thigh, feeling the heat radiating from your own skin. “You like what you see?”
Logan swallows hard, his hand finally slipping beneath the waistband of his shorts, palming his cock as he watches you. “You know I do,” he says, voice rougher than before.
You let your hand trail back down to your clit, rubbing it in slow, teasing circles as you hold his gaze. “Then show me, Logan,” you whisper, your voice almost a plea now. "I wanna see you."
Logan lets out a low, rumbling groan, his fingers making quick work of shoving his shorts down enough to free his cock. It springs free to slap lewdly against his stomach and you can’t help the moan that escapes your lips at the sight.
He strokes himself slowly to start, his eyes locked on you, watching your every reaction, feeding off the way your chest rises and falls in quick, shallow breaths.
"Like this?" he asks, his tone taunting as he strokes himself from base to tip, his thumb swiping over the head with a low hiss. “That what you wanted?”
Your breath catches in your throat at the sight of him, straining and in his hand. The sight of his thumb brushing over the tip of his cock sends a hot, electric pulse through your body, your hand between your legs moving in time with his slow strokes.
"Yeah," you whisper, voice trembling with need. "Just like that."
You slip your hand lower, sliding two fingers inside yourself with a low moan. Logan groans like he’s the one being touched, his hand speeds up, eyes glued to where your fingers disappear in your slick heat.
His cock leaks pre-come over his knuckles each time his fist passes over the dripping head, the wet sound of it mixing with the low hum of the fan and your own breathy sighs.
"You look so fuckin' good like this honey," Logan groans, his voice rough, strained. "All spread out, playing with that pretty pussy for me."
You whimper at his words, your body aching for more than just your own touch. You need him, need the feel of his rough hands on your skin, his mouth, his cock—anything.
Your fingers move faster, slipping deeper inside with each pump, but it’s still not enough. The stretch is nothing compared to taking Logan, to the feeling of him carving a place for his thick cock inside your pussy, hitting that spot inside you that your fingers can’t quite reach.
Your hips buck up towards your hand, your back arching off the chair as your free hand clutches the armrest tightly.
Logan’s pace quickens, his fist pumping his cock with a new urgency, heavy balls bouncing with every rough tug.
“God, look at you, such a needy fuckin’ thing” he growls, chest heaving as his gaze flicks between your flushed face and the glistening mess you’re making of yourself like he can’t decide where to look. “You want it bad, don’t you?”
"Please," you whine, desperation creeping into your voice. Too keyed up to draw this out any longer. “I need you inside me, Logan. I can’t take it anymore.”
Logan groans, a sound that rumbles deep in his chest. His hand falters slightly on his cock, squeezing hard around the base as your words push him dangerously close to the edge. His jaw clenches, eyes raking over you, and with a growl, he stands.
The last threads of his restraint snapping.
He crosses the room in two long strides, towering over you where you sit. His cock swollen and hard, sways between his legs with every step, glistening with pre-come that drips to the floor. His eyes, hooded and burning, drink you in as he reaches down, yanking your hand away from your slick heat.
“Thought you said it was too hot to move,” you tease breathlessly, unable to quit egging him on even when your legs start to tremble with need, spreading wider to welcome him.
Logan ignores you, tugging your hand to his lips. Your breath catches in your chest, a weak moan escaping you as he takes your soaked fingers in his mouth. His tongue swirling along your skin to taste you, his eyes never leaving yours as he does.
“Changed my mind,” he growls, strong hands rough and possessive as they drop your wrist and haul you out of the chair so he can spin around, collapsing into it with you in his lap. The wood gives a warning creak beneath you but neither of you care.
Not when his mouth is on yours, hot and demanding as he slides his tongue past the seam of your lips. The heat radiating off his body is suffocating, but you welcome it—craving the weight of him on you.
You melt against him, feeling the hard planes of his body against yours, every inch of him alive and pulsating with need. Logan’s hands find their way to your hips, fingers digging in just enough to send a rush coursing through you.
It’s intoxicating, the way he devours you, his hands exploring every inch of your back, grasping and pulling you impossibly closer.
The hard jut of his cock presses against your thigh, a thick plane of heat that makes your pussy throb with need. You shift your hips, grinding down on him in messy circles.
“You feel that?” he growls, lips brushing against your ear. “That’s all for you, darlin’.”
“Need you,” you whimper, grinding down against him faster, desperate for the friction that sends pleasure rippling through you. “Please, Logan, I need you inside me now.”
“Hold on, baby,” he murmurs, his voice low and husky, sending sparks all up your spine.
He dips his head, capturing your lips again, while his hands roam hungrily down your sides, fingers curling around your thighs to urge your legs open wider. “You wanna tease me, you’re gonna have to get off just like this.”
Logan angles his hips so that his cock slips between your drenched folds the next time you roll your own down.
The hot, slick glide sends electric shocks of pleasure racing through you, your body responding instinctively to his touch. You gasp against his lips, fingers tangling in his hair as you push down, desperate for more.
“God, you’re so fuckin’ wet,” he growls, his voice dripping with lust as he watches your movements with hungry eyes. “Just for me, huh? She’s droolin’ just for me.”
You nod breathlessly, chasing the friction, craving the feel of him so close. You lift your hips and rock back down again, the blunt head of his cock brushing against your swollen clit, and you feel your body pulse in response.
“More,” you plead, leaning in to nibble at his lower lip. “I need it.”
Logan pulls away, shaking his head with a wicked grin. “Come on, tough shot,” he says, giving your ass a quick smack and kneading the tender flesh in his hand roughly. “You’re gonna come like this, you can do it baby.”
You whine, dropping your chin to your chest. Your hands find his shoulders, nails digging crescent moons into the strong muscle. Your chest slips slickly against his, the front of your tank almost entirely soaked with sweat.
Yours or his, it doesn't matter. The white cotton turned transparent enough that your breasts are on full display, nipples hard and visible.
You watch a single bead of sweat make its way down the length of his throat. It trickles down and down and down until it dips between the pronounced muscles of his chest.
You duck your head, dragging your tongue up the valley of his pecs. A deep moan bursts from your lips, pussy drooling more slick over Logan’s cock at the coarse feel of his thick hair on your tongue, at the heady taste of his sweat filling your senses.
Logan groans, hands tightening their hold on your waist. The dull ache his strength leaves behind is enough to let you know that two hand shaped bruises will be blooming over your skin by tomorrow morning.
“Come on, girly,” he encourages, nipping at the sweaty column of your throat, the sharp points of his teeth scraping along the sensitive skin deliciously. “Fuck me, give it to me good.”
Your hips speed up, his hard cock sliding through the slick folds of your cunt faster. The tip bumps against your clit deliciously with every move, smearing pre-come along the way to add even more to the mess between your legs.
“Gonna fuckin’ fill you up,” he groans, breath puffing warm and hot agasint the slick skin of your lips. “Pump you so full of my come you’ll be leakin’ for a goddamn week.”
He shifts underneath you, the tip of his cock catching on your entrance just enough for it to push inside on the next grind of your hips.
The barely there fullness has you coming with a sharp cry, nails roughly dragging down Logan’s back hard enough to leave red welts that heal as you go.
The pain mixing with the pleasure of finally getting to feel the warm, wet suction of your pussy has Logan coming with a rough shout of your name. He throws his head back, hands tightening their grip on your hips enough to have your bones grinding together as he pumps you full of his come.
“Logan…” you mewl, your pussy fluttering over the tip of his cock, greedy little clenches like you're trying to suck him the rest of the way in. Drunk on the way his release paints your insides, how you can feel each thick spray coating your walls to claim you in the rawest way.
Logan pulls back just far enough to meet your gaze, his eyes dark and smoldering as he watches you squirm in his lap.
"You’re not tapping out on me already, are you?" he teases, his voice rough and gravelly. "I thought you were tougher than that."
A weak, breathy laugh escapes you, but it’s cut short when he applies just a little more pressure, making your thighs quiver. "Not tapping out," you manage between shallow breaths, your head falling back against the chair. "But you’re—fuck—you’re insatiable."
Logan smirks, leaning in to nip at the sensitive skin of your throat, his teeth scraping just enough to send shivers coursing through you.
"When it comes to you, baby?" he murmurs against your skin, the heat of his breath fanning over your pulse point. "Fuckin’ always."
A lazily smile takes over your lips as you tighten your core and push, the rest of Logan’s come leaking out over his fingers. Logan groans, pressing his forehead to your shoulder to try and ground himself.
His cock throbs where it sways heavily between his thighs, still hard and ready to go even after he just came. His hand slips down your body, thick fingers running through the creamy mess of come and slick to messily push it back inside you.
“Fuckin’ shit, honey,” he groans lowly, pressing his thumb to your clit. “You’re gonna kill me.”
Before you can respond, he stands again, gently placing your trembling form back into the chair and dropping to his knees in front of you.
Your breath hitches, legs widening despite the way your pussy shakes with overstimulation, like you can’t help but spread your legs for Logan anytime he wants.
Logan smirks up at you from between your legs, his lips already ghosting over the inside of your thigh. "Look at you," he growls, voice low and filled with lust. "Still so needy."
The slick heat of his tongue runs along your folds, lapping at the mess he just made of you. You let out a sharp gasp, thighs trembling as your fingers weave into his hair, tugging him closer.
The sensation is overwhelming—the rough, demanding pace of his tongue as it swirls around your clit, teasing you, while his hands grip your thighs with bruising force. Keeping you exactly where he wants you, keeping you spread open for his tongue.
Your body arches off the chair with a loud cry, every nerve alight with raw pleasure as he feasts on you, his growls vibrating against your sensitive skin.
"Fuck! Logan," you moan breathlessly, head falling back as you try to keep up with the sensations he's pulling from you.
The heat that was pooling low in your belly reignites, stoked by the way his tongue flicks faster against your clit, each stroke sending you higher.
Logan doesn’t let up, his tongue delving deeper, drinking in every moan, every shaky gasp as he drives you closer to the edge. He moans into your pussy, his own arousal clear in the way his hips buck into the air, seeking any kind of friction.
You tug on his hair harder, desperate for more, for release. "Logan, please," you whimper, your voice barely above a whisper, thick with need.
"Atta’ girl," he rasps, his voice thick with desire as he watches your face contort with pleasure. "So fuckin’ pretty like this. You gonna give me another one, baby? Gonna come for me again?"
Every lick, every rough squeeze to your thighs, every teasing stroke sends you spiraling closer to that edge you’re dying to reach again. You can feel the heat radiating off him, his breath hot against your soaked skin and driving you wild.
“Logan, I—” You gasp, fingers tightening in his hair, urging him closer, closer, closer. “I’m so close—”
His eyes flick up to meet yours, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, nose and jaw glistening in your juices.
"Give it to me," he growls, the rough rasp of his voice sending a shiver through your overheated body. "I wanna feel you come on my tongue."
It’s all the encouragement you need. With a strangled cry, your body tenses, thighs quaking as the orgasm crashes over you.
Logan keeps his mouth on you, tongue working you through every pulse, drawing it out until you’re trembling and gasping, your body boneless in the chair.
When you finally come down, panting and spent, Logan pulls away. With one last kiss pressed over your clit, he makes his way up your body, not dropping eye contact as he settles over you.
His hand comes up to your face, thumbs meanly hooking into either side of your cheeks to gently force your mouth open. You part your lips willingly, the heat still radiating between you, a mix of lingering pleasure.
Logan leans in, and the intoxicating scent of sweat and sex surrounds you as he spits what he collected from between your legs back into your own mouth.
Your cheeks burn with shame, a broken moan ringing through the space between you. Your glassy eyes stare into Logan’s, his own gaze so intense and all consuming you fight the urge to squirm.
"Swallow," he commands, unwavering.
You hesitate for just a moment, caught off guard by the pure audacity, but the way his eyes darken with hunger makes your resolve crumble. With a breathless whimper, you obey, tasting the remnants of your own pleasure mingling with his, the act both humiliating and intensely arousing.
Logan watches you closely, his gaze never straying as you swallow, a dirty smirk creeping onto his lips. “That's my girl,” he praises, his tone thick with satisfaction.
As the taste lingers on your tongue, you can feel the weight of Logan’s stare like a physical touch.
“Think you can handle another round?” he teases, his voice low and sultry. “I don’t plan on letting you off that easy, kid. Not with all that mouthing off earlier.”
You catch your breath, shaking your head in exasperation. “You’re relentless,” you whisper, a hint of laughter in your voice, though your body betrays you, already craving more.
“Only for you, baby” he replies, brushing the strands of hair plastered to your sweaty forehead behind your ear. “Only for you.”
tags are now in the comments! if you want to get tagged for any of my works just fill out this form!
mini nat's note: i started my period today chickens...that explains it...
#— 𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘢 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦𝘴 ♡#ᯓ★ 𝐧𝐚𝐭'𝐬 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐚𝐧 𝐡𝐨𝐰𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐭!#natalia cant write anything under 1.000 words#hehe#don't look at me#i can't explain what came over me#but i just needed to write this#logan howlett x reader#logan howlett x you#logan howlett fic#logan howeltt imagine#logan howlett smut#wolverine x reader#wolverine x you#wolverine fic#wolverine imagine#wolverine smut#x men x reader#x men x you#x men smut#marvel x reader#marvel x you#marvel smut
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Americans, these are things we are NOT saying in 2024:
"Voting blue won't solve anything." Yes it will: if enough of us do it, it will solve a problem called Trump's second term in the White House. We unfortunately live in a two-party system. If you refuse to vote, you're effectively voting for Trump. I shouldn't need to explain this to people, yet here we are.
"It doesn't matter who's president. Both candidates are the same anyway." No, they are REALLY not. Biden was never my first choice, and his shipments of arms to Israel are despicable, but don't try to tell me even for a second that a second Trump term would be the same for the world as a second Biden term.
"But voting blue won't fix [fundamental underlying problem in America]." Voting for Democrats cannot fix every issue, this is true. But by saying this and ONLY this you are discouraging people from voting by making them feel hopeless. Voting is one of many tools in our arsenal, not the only tool, but an important one, and it does matter.
"You shouldn't vote blue, you should do [other thing] instead." See above: you can vote and protest and organize at the same time. It's not either/or. You can do it all. Stop discouraging voters from exercising their rights under the guise of leftism.
"Voting is just legitimizing government power. It makes you part of the system." Literally just shut up. Women and people of color didn't fight for their voting rights to have you say things like this. If you live in America and you can legally vote, then you should fucking vote, and vote blue. There is no neutral option.
"Voting blue just makes you complicit in [this bad policy]." Inaction, and allowing Trump to have a second term, is worse for the entire world than any Democrat policy. Yes, even that one. Voting is not about finding a perfect unproblematic candidate. It is about choosing the lesser of two evils.
"Voting doesn't work because—" STOP IT. STOP DISCOURAGING PEOPLE FROM VOTING.
You know who wants you NOT to vote? Trump supporters, that's who. You should be suspicious of ANYONE who is suggesting that your vote doesn't matter, or that both candidates are the same, or that Biden's policy on XYZ means you shouldn't vote for him. Trump supporters aren't trying to get your vote by saying, "Vote for Trump!" They're trying to get your vote by DISCOURAGING YOU FROM VOTING AT ALL.
I don't like Biden either, but Trump is unequivocally worse. Voting doesn't fix everything, but it is the minimum fucking requirement of living in a democracy. Voting for president has real, tangible, immediate impacts on people's lives, and choosing not to vote is not the rebellion you think it is, it is just relinquishing your voice. So fucking vote. THIS IS A GROUP PROJECT AND DAMN IT WE ARE NOT FAILING BECAUSE OF YOU.
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“never is a promise” | 12.4k
old man!logan x f!reader
SUMMARY: You are everything Logan isn’t: sweet, trouble-free, much younger—and, to top it off, Charles' caregiver.
WARNINGS/TAGS: mdni smut 18+ mentions of drinking. angst. some fluff. old man!logan x caregiver!reader. implied age gap (reader’s in her twenties). miscommunication. slow burn. pining. reader is shorter than logan and has long hair. charles in his cupid era. petnames. minor injuries. wound tending. mentions of blood. virgin!reader. dirty talk. cum shots. fingering. handjobs. oral sex (m receiving). loving sex. sex with a lot of feelings (is that a tag?). unprotected p in v.
A/N: i just want to fall in love with him. that’s it. that’s the reason why i wrote this long ass fic 😭 while doing so, i had “never is a promise” by fiona apple and “cool about it” by boygenius on repeat. give them a try if you haven’t listened to them (your lives will be CHANGED) (also, thank you for reading <3)
No matter how often you play chess with Charles, you never manage to beat him.
“You’ve been staring at that knight for five minutes. It’s not going anywhere, I promise.”
Chuckling at his sarcasm, you fold your hands in your lap, lifting your eyebrows in mock surrender. “Okay, I get it. You’re the master of chess,” leaning back in the chair, you cross one leg over the other. “Can we play something else?”
“I’m quite entertained, thank you,” Charles says, sliding the board closer to you across the table. “Your turn.”
“How is it that you don’t get tired of this game?” you mutter under your breath, eyes fixed on the board as you weigh your options, hovering your hand indecisively over the chess pieces.
“Please do something before I’m forced to make a dash for the toilet.” He hangs his head, pinching the bridge of his nose—a telltale sign of one of his irritable days.
His words spur you into action, encouraging you to finally slide the knight into position. You glance up, meeting his gaze with a hint of challenge. “You go now.”
Charles doesn’t hesitate, and he moves a bishop. “Check.”
Fuck. You hadn’t seen that coming. “I’d prefer to walk away with my pride,” you joke, pushing your chair back and pretending to lose interest in the board.
That makes him smirk, a barely there grin dangling on the corners of his wrinkled lips. The truth is, you wouldn’t stop playing for anything in the world—not even if this old man kicks your ass every single time he suggests playing chess. “You’re not out of the game yet.”
Quietness settles over the tank while you allow yourself some time to come up with a new strategy. After a moment, you decide to go for a pawn, using it to block his bishop.
He doesn’t stop grinning, studying your move with an amused glint in his blue eyes. “Not bad, but you’ve left your king exposed.”
You gape at the board, your fragile confidence faltering for a split second. "I still have some pieces in play."
Charles nods, his brows drawing together in thoughtful consideration. "True. But sometimes, it’s not about how many pieces you have left—” He reaches out, carefully sliding his queen across the board. "It’s about where you place them.” He relaxes, hunching over, his eyes searching for yours. A smile that’s all teeth welcomes you. “Checkmate."
“Damn.” You blow out your cheeks, your gaze tracing the path of his queen. Somehow, he’s trapped your king with no easy way out.
He leans back with a satisfied grin. “That’s three games in a row. My suggestion is that you start rethinking your strategy.”
“Or maybe you’re just a better player,” you admit, a mix of frustration and admiration palpable in your tone. “No more chess for today, though.” You stand up from your seat, gathering the board and chess pieces. As usual, they find their place under Charles’ bed, and you turn back to him, beaming with delight. “I think you owe me one after all this.”
“You’re a terrible loser, my dear,” he says, his eyes twinkling as they take you in. “Reminds me of someone I know.”
At that exact moment, you hear the familiar creak of the tank’s door opening, followed by a cough you immediately recognize.
Without thinking, you straighten your back as Logan steps into the room. Charles notices it, but says nothing in return.
It was an infatuation—or at least, that’s what you try to convince yourself of. Logan is a very good-looking man, probably the most handsome you’ve ever laid eyes on.
The fact that you live with him doesn’t help at all. You think that if you only saw him occasionally, this—this anxiety that grips you whenever he’s around or when you hear his voice—wouldn’t happen in the first place.
Whether it’s good or bad luck, you’ve been sleeping under the same roof as him for over a year, and the crush you’ve had since the first time you exchanged words with him only seems to grow stronger with each passing day.
What you figure out over time is that men like Logan aren’t the dating type. He’s never brought anyone home, and for that, you’re secretly grateful. The last thing you need is to see him with another woman—thank you very much. Still, the thought gnaws at you: he could easily be meeting someone elsewhere.
In fact, it’s more than likely that he’s hooking up with other people. It doesn’t have to be at—
Alright. You don’t need this either.
Logan’s heavy footsteps resonate even louder, his presence more imposing, and he seems especially pissed off. Then again, he always has that demeanor—angry, grumpy, locked in a constant battle with life.
But today… today, you haven’t seen him this troubled in weeks.
“Look who’s joined us,” Charles mumbles, steering his motorized chair to meet him halfway. The chair bumps against Logan’s legs with a thud that sounds almost cartoonish, and Charles scrunches up his nose, his nostrils flaring in disgust. “You smell like shit.”
“Yeah, I missed you too, Pop,” Logan grunts, shoving his hand into the pocket of his suit, searching for something. That’s when you notice the bloodstains on his shirt, smeared across his chest, and the missing buttons at the top. Your breath catches in your throat, and you bite your tongue to keep from asking any foolish questions. “They gave me new ones,” he mutters, looking you in the eye as he tosses the pill bottle at you.
You leap forward to catch it mid-air, your heart skipping a beat. Logan holds your gaze for a moment longer, his expression unreadable, before giving a slight nod and turning on his heel to storm out of the tank.
When your attention goes back to Charles, you see how his eyes remain locked on the pills you’re holding, his head lowering in defeat. “He’s waiting for me to die.”
“Don’t say that.” You squat to be at his eye level, momentarily hiding the meds from his view. Still, you struggle to make him shift his gaze. “He’s taking care of you, which is something completely different.” You place your hand on top of his knee, giving it a reassuring squeeze. You’ve had this same conversation innumerable times, yet each time feels like the first. He offers you a melancholic but knowing look as you softly say: “You have to take them, Charles. I’m sorry.”
He raises a hand, his trembling fingers curling around your wrist, examining you, trying to find an answer in the lines. “Don’t be. At least you’re here.”
“I’m sure Logan’s tired; that’s why he doesn’t stay any longer. Haven’t you seen him?” You rise to your feet, moving behind him to guide his chair. The tank sort of has a chill in the air, metallic walls that seem to press in around you both. “Besides, you wouldn’t want to play chess with him. Rest assured I’ll always let you win,” you murmur next to his ear, succeeding in eliciting a chuckle from him.
After that, you help him with his daily routine. Charles isn’t heavy, and you manage to get him onto the bed, his frail body yielding to your gentle support.
You slip the rest of his body beneath the blankets, tucking him in carefully before handing him two pills and a glass of water. “All the way down, okay? And I wanna see that tongue after you swallow them.”
If looks could kill, you’d be six feet under, covered in dust and dirt. Charles sticks his tongue out, putting the glass down on his nightstand. “Happy?”
“You’ve got no idea how much,” you say, adjusting the covers. The silence of the tank surrounds you both, and you can sense his gaze lingering on you. You flick your eyes up, furrowing your brows as you sit in the small space beside him on the mattress. “What is it?”
“You fancy him, don’t you?”
Freezing on the spot, your eyes narrow. “I—I don’t—” you trail off, pushing the words out with some effort. “Are you trying to read my mind?”
His whole chest rumbles with laughter under your touch. He finds your hand once again, intertwining your fingers with his. “Don’t be so naïve. I don’t need my abilities to see the way you get all flustered when he passes by. Why do you think they say older people are wiser?” he inquires, his lips forming a straight line. “We’ve lived too much not to notice the most common things, my dear—and let me tell you that you do a horrible job at pretending.”
“Of course I like him. Logan’s a good man, he keeps us safe.” You glance down at your hands—his, weak and delicate, in evident contrast to your own. “I’m not in love with him, Cupid.”
“Oh, you should’ve seen him years ago,” Charles says, his eyes glazing over as he drifts back into the past. His body remains here, within the confines of the room, but his mind is elsewhere, somewhere far away. You give his hand a gentle tug, trying to bring him back. “When we took him in, he was pursuing a career as a cage fighter. I had never seen anyone like him in all my years of educating mutants. He was so… different from the rest. Reserved, didn’t talk much at first. But I gave him a family, I—” His voice falters, overcome by his own emotions.
That’s when you realize he’s no longer with you, his gaze unfocused, looking around the tank as if seeing it for the first time. It pains you to see him like this, completely disoriented and disconnected from reality.
“Why are we here? What has happened to the rest? Has he told you anything?”
These are the questions he asks every day without fail—questions that you can’t, nor want, to answer. Since you’re not exactly sure the explanation would soothe his troubled mind, you feel forced to play dumb.
“I don’t know, Charles. We don’t really talk that much, Logan and I.” You stand from the bed, not without pressing a chaste kiss to his forehead before. You smile at him, hoping he doesn’t realize the gesture lacks authenticity. “Why don’t you get some rest? I’ll let you know if I hear anything worth sharing.”
Once you close the door behind you, you settle back into it, releasing a shaky breath. Being Charles’ caregiver was a challenging task, especially in moments like these, which required immense internal strength not to crumble in front of him.
You squeeze your eyes shut as you adjust to the harsh sunlight, fighting to regain your composure. When you finally scan the area, the only thing that meets your eye is the deserted smelting plant you now call home.
You open the sliding door, the noise breaking the stillness and forcing Logan to look up from his plate. He’s eating like a starved man, casually drinking from a small bottle of whisky on the table, already half of it gone. After those long drives through the nights and the early hours, he always returns hungry.
You pour yourself a cup of coffee, setting it on the stove to heat. Neither of you says anything for a few minutes: he eats, and you sip your hot coffee in silence, not wishing to disturb the breakable peace that hangs by a thread.
Thinking this is how the noon will continue, you begin to walk toward your room until he clears his throat, stopping you in your tracks. That simple gesture makes you whirl around, anticipating something.
“This is delicious,” he acknowledges, pointing to his plate with his fork, the rice with veggies and meat you cooked last night nearly gone. Dipping his chin, he adds in a low voice: “Thank you.”
You’re taken aback by his unexpected willingness to engage in conversation. Moments like these are as rare as seeing Halley’s Comet, so you proceed with caution, as if you’re approaching a skittish animal—one wrong move, and the opportunity is lost.
Setting your mug down on the table, you sit on the chair opposite him. Deep down, the hammering of your heart echoes in your ears, and you hope his sharp senses don’t pick up on it.
“I’m glad you liked it. Charles ate two bowls of it,” you explain, unable to suppress a smile. Logan hums, tilting his head to the side as he keeps devouring his meal. You take another sip of your coffee, blowing on it in a futile attempt to cool it down. “He wants to talk to you.”
“Huh?”
“Charles. He—he asks to see you a lot,” you begin, carefully choosing your words. “I know it’s none of my business, but I think it would make him feel better if you spent more time with him.”
The sound of a distant train rumbles through the walls, amplifying the silence between you. Logan doesn’t utter a word; instead, he puts down his fork, the clinking noise making you jump slightly, the intensity of his stare becoming overwhelming.
“You’re right about one thing—what I do or don’t do is none of your goddamn business.”
Just like that, the buildup dissolves in a matter of seconds. You bite down on the inside of your cheek, nodding absentmindedly. “I’m sorry,” you murmur, feeling a wave of shame wash over you. How stupid were you to think he might want to talk to you? “I just—I want to be of help.”
“Just take care of Charles. That’s all you gotta worry about, all I’ve ever asked you to do,” he barks, clenching his jaw, and you can tell he means each word.
When he talks to you in this tone, it makes you think more rationally—it reminds you that you don’t really know him, and yet you agreed to work for him in exchange for a roof over your head and food on your plate. He’s not your friend, and he’s excellent at making that crystal clear every time you cross the line.
Logan pushes you away like you’re nothing, like you’re just another of the many burdens he has to deal with.
It should be enough to send you running to your room, but despite the knot tightening in your belly, you somehow remain rooted in place, your eyes sharp like daggers.
As another train echoes in the silence, you come to terms with the knowledge that one more question will drive him away.
And sometimes, you speak before you think, as you do now: “Whose blood is that on your shirt?” you ask, voice steady and cold. Perhaps it’s you who wants him to leave this time.
He shakes his head with offense, frustration crinkling his eyes. “I don’t need this shit,” he groans, his gruff voice loud enough for you to hear it. He gets up from the table, placing his plate in the sink without much delicacy. At last, he heads to his room, slamming the door with a deafening thud that reverberates through the entire place.
It’s not a crush, that voice deep inside you insists as you’re left alone in the kitchen. And it’s valid: a mere crush wouldn't cause this kind of pain, wouldn’t make your chest feel this heavy and your limbs numb.
Whenever he leaves, he takes a part of you with him, never to be returned. By now, you’re certain he’s stolen all those missing pieces from you, and you’ve got no idea how much longer you can endure before you shatter completely.
You seem to have won this battle, but what you end up losing is far greater than any fleeting gratification.
Loving Logan is maddening, to say the least.
To this day, you still recall every detail of the night that altered the course of your life—the night you met Logan.
The memories are rather vivid in your mind, and you revisit that moment on nights like these, when you can’t sleep and the past appears to be much more appealing than your present.
Pressing your cheek against the cold pillow, you let your eyelids drop, reconstructing the full scene behind your sealed eyes.
It was your third week working at that restaurant, and you were still getting used to its daily rhythm. Waitressing was working wonders for you—you had a good memory, and people often gave you generous tips.
Everything was going well: you were the only waitress on shift, and your boss had left for a brief errand, promising he would be back soon.
During this lull, a group of men entered the restaurant, already drunk or high—probably both. They sat at one of the empty tables, immediately calling for you.
One of them, a tall blonde, was the loudest. “Come here, baby.” He pointed his finger at you, gesturing for you to approach him. The nickname felt wrong rolling off his tongue, and as you obliged, he shoved a handful of bills into the front pocket of your apron. He clutched your waist, dragging you nearer. “I’m getting married tomorrow. Think you can do something special for me?”
His friends cheered him on, laughing and pounding their fists on the table. You managed to slip from his grasp and asked them what they wanted to order.
While they took their time deciding, you noticed a limousine parked in the distance, probably the vehicle that had brought these morons here. The driver rolled down his window, hanging his arm from the armrest.
Though you couldn’t see his features, the interaction alone was enough to make you look away.
An hour went by, and the men refused to take off. They’d eaten, drunk, and danced—and driven you crazy in the process. The rest of the customers had decided to leave once they realized the night was far from finishing for the noisy group of friends. You apologized, feeling incapable of doing anything to change the situation.
Your sanity felt threatened as you turned off the TV, ending the sixth round of karaoke, their shouts and hoots ringing in your ears.
“We’re closing in ten minutes,” you informed them, starting to collect their dirty plates and glasses. Out of the corner of your eye, you spotted the blonde man standing right beside you, his piercing blue eyes burning holes through your skin. He attempted to graze your shoulder, but you quickly stepped back, keeping a safe distance between you. “How do you plan to pay? Cash or credit?”
“How about with a kiss, huh?” He inched forward, his face dangerously close to yours. Unaccustomed to being approached in this manner, you ducked your head, unsure of your next move. His breath reeked of beer and vodka, a horrendous combination that had you nearly gagging on the spot.
As he backed you against the counter, one of his large hands cradled your face, urging you to make eye contact with him. “I swear I can be very, very nice. You haven’t given me the chance to show it yet.”
“Hey, pal. You said one hour.”
The first time you heard his voice—low and husky, the kind that could send shivers down your spine.
Your eyes locked with Logan’s, your pleading gaze seemingly stirring something in him as he got a grip on the situation. His brows bumped together in a scowl, and you didn’t miss how he limped as he made his way into the restaurant.
There was something about him—how he moved, his stance—that felt strangely familiar.
“We’re busy in here, chauffeur,” the blue-eyed man protested, slightly losing his balance while still holding your cheek.
Your rescuer squared off against him, their noses practically brushing. He worked his jaw, his half-lidded, tired eyes taking in the sight of you. “I’m no fortune-teller, but I don’t think she’s into you, bub.”
“Come again?” the blonde guy released you, much more concerned with defending his bruised pride. “What’s the matter, Grandpa? Is it past your bedtime?”
“I want you to pay me for the ride, and for waiting a fucking hour and a half for you and your friends,” the older man spat, jerking his thumb toward the limousine. “I’m not taking you back to the hotel. You might want to start looking’ for another driver.”
The group of men closed in around him, their anger bubbling. “That’s not cool, dude. We had a deal,” another voice snapped, but Logan couldn’t seem to care less.
“Well, the deal’s off. And leave the girl alone, will you?” he retorted, his tone dripping with disdain. “So, where’s my money?”
He couldn’t have predicted it. One of the men behind him swung a plate, striking him in the nape and catching him off guard. Logan collapsed to the floor, clutching his head in pain. The others took the opportunity and began to pummel him, kicks and punches landing wherever they could.
You screamed at the top of your lungs, desperately trying to intervene. You grabbed at their clothes, digging your fingernails into every patch of exposed skin you could find, but they shoved you aside with brutal force. Your back slammed against the nearest wall, a jolt of sudden pain making you wince.
The blood in your veins turned to ice as you watched, paralyzed with fear that they might kill him. But then—
Three metallic claws emerged from his knuckles, and he used them to push himself upright. Despite the blood smeared across his nose and mouth, he managed to stand, his quickened breathing coming out in short puffs.
The men backed away in shock, leaving him alone amidst the chaos.
You stared at him, your hands trembling as recognition dawned: it was The Wolverine.
The familiarity, the sense of having seen him before, all made sense now. It all flooded back in a rush—the comics, the news, the rumors.
“Get the hell outta my sight,” he growled, pressing his claws against the fabric of the blue-eyed man’s jacket, making him flinch.
You couldn’t make out what you were feeling. It wasn’t fear, but intrigue. Even as the group of men fled the restaurant, you couldn’t tear your eyes away from him. At first, he avoided your gaze, focusing on his shoes as he retracted his claws.
Once the immediate danger had passed, he slumped forward, groaning. You gently draped one of his arms around your shoulders and helped him into a nearby chair. His weight felt like a thousand bricks, but you accomplished to get him seated.
He rubbed a shaky hand over his graying beard, his face twisting in pain as you pressed a makeshift towel of napkins against his lower lip, where blood continued to flow.
Taking the towel from you, he continued tending to himself. You scanned his features, scrutinizing him.
“You are…” you began, the words feeling inadequate at the moment.
Logan nodded hesitantly, his silence confirming your suspicion. “Yeah, that’s me,” he tugged at his shirt collar, exposing some of his chest hair, fresh blood staining his work clothes. Your gaze fell there, and you quickly chided yourself.
The poor guy was bleeding, and you were checking him out. Jeez.
Kneeling by his side, you introduced yourself. “Thank you for stepping up for me,” you said afterward, and he shook his head dismissively. “They were a pain in the ass. I don’t know how you even managed to drive them here.”
“Money’s money, darlin’. Doesn’t matter where it comes from, as long as—” he was interrupted by a coughing fit, and your concern deepened as you continued to spot more of his injuries. “I’ll heal,” he reassured you, his expression softening in an attempt to calm your anxiety.
Your eyes pierced his with an intensity that seemed to unsettle him. Warmth crept into your cheeks as a question surfaced in your mind: “Is there anything I can do for you?”
“You don’t owe me anything, kid,” he replied, a hint of gruffness in his voice.
“But I could help you,” you persisted, your voice betraying a touch of eagerness. Stifling a cough, you tried to mask your enthusiasm, and sighed. “Are you hungry? I could cook you something, or pour you a drink. We’ve got plenty of liquor—”
Logan interrupted you, placing the towel down on the table. “Have you ever taken care of an old person?”
Tilting your head, you considered his question. “How old?”
“Ninety-somethin’.”
You nodded, memories of the events from years ago surfacing. “I lived with my grandparents for most of my life. When they fell ill, I spent a lot of time with them. My mom had to work long hours, and I—well, the point is, I did take care of them,” you paused for an instant, his expression unreadable, though you perceived a slight relaxation in his posture, as if your answer had put him at ease. “I like being around old people. They have stories to tell,” you added, a genuine smile breaking through, “and I’m a good listener.”
“Then I suppose there is somethin’ you can help me with.”
And so began a new chapter in your life.
The very next day, you were moving in with him and Charles. It took several weeks for the latter to warm up to you and get used to your presence.
Initially, he was hopeful that you might also be a mutant, but his disappointment was palpable when he discovered you lacked any supernatural gifts. Leaving that aside, he valued your company.
“The shots mellow the seizures. The pills keep them from happening,” Logan had once explained, detailing the medications Charles needed. You recalled the psychic attack from a year ago and its consequences, but that wasn’t a topic to be discussed with Logan, and you understood why.
“Where do you get these?” you asked, examining the bottle of pills with a curious glance. “Without a prescription, I mean.”
“Oh, you don’t wanna know.”
Soon, you got adapted to the whole package: his unpredictable temperament, his mood swings, and his nightmares. Logan Howlett was a puzzle box of surprises, one you could never quite unlock.
Fast forward to the present day, you realize it must be already late, because Logan’s heading to work. You stand on your tiptoes, peering out of your bedroom window. Your humid breath fogs the glass as his eyes find yours, and then he slips into the vehicle, blending into the shadows of the night.
The distant rumble of his limousine signals his departure, your forehead pressed against the glass, as if somehow that could take you with him.
There goes another piece of you.
You find yourself shaving Charles the moment worry takes over your senses.
He’s retelling a familiar story: that one time Logan, Scott, Jean, and Storm saved Rogue from Magneto.
On any other day, you wouldn’t mind listening to his stories, despite having heard them countless times. This one in particular is your favorite.
But today, it’s hard to focus on it, even more when one of its main characters is missing in action.
Logan hasn’t come back home yet.
It’s been an entire day, and he’s usually back by morning to rest. Now, after having cooked dinner and helping Charles shower, you’ve run out of distractions. There’s nothing left to occupy your thoughts, nothing to ease the building anxiety gnawing at you.
You texted him multiple times—no answer. You even called—also nothing. Every time Charles asks if Logan’s at work or sleeping, the knot in your chest tightens. That’s when your mind starts to spiral, and you’re convinced you’ll burst any moment.
After putting him to bed, you pace the kitchen, picking at your nails and biting the raw skin around them. The sting of pain is there, but it’s faint, not enough to overshadow the real fear clawing at your insides.
All these what-ifs that storm through your mind make you feel nauseous: what if he’s dead? What would you do with Charles? How would you provide for both of you without a salary?
Just as you’re about to dial his number again, Logan materializes out of thin air through the sliding door.
He’s got a dark bruise under his right eye, and his once-white shirt is littered with bloodstains. You stare at him—he’s limping harder than usual, each of his movements slower.
Walking towards him, your hands cup his face. His skin feels rough beneath your fingers, and he lets out a grunt as you graze his split lip. “What happened?”
“They were followin’ me. Had been doin’ so for a few days now,” he says, making no effort to pull away.
“Did you kill them?” you wonder out loud, still inspecting his injuries. The pad of your thumb hovers inches away from his bruised mouth.
Covering your hands with his, Logan ducks his head, closing his eyes for a brief second and swallowing thickly. “Somebody had to do it, sweetheart.”
You limit yourself to a nod, because you know there’s nothing you can reproach him for. You were no stranger to the idea of him killing. It was an implicit truth between you.
“I thought—I was so scared, and I—” your voice wavers, and you feel your eyes watering, the tears prickling at the corners. “I thought you—”
He doesn’t let you finish, already knowing how it would end. “Hey, look at me,” he’s the one touching you now, tilting your chin up. Your eyes keep flickering over the cuts and old scars you spot on his cheeks, his neck. Logan forces a pained smile, unable to hide his discomfort. “It’s fine, I’m alright. Just a bit fucked up, but nothin’ you haven’t seen before,” he jokes, trying to lighten the mood, and it works. You bite your lower lip, suppressing your grin. “I always come back, don’t I?”
“But you can barely stand,” you whisper, not sure why you’re speaking so softly. You make him turn his back to you, helping him shrug off his coat. As expected, remnants of dried blood decorate his shirt like highlights. “Let me help you.”
“I don’t—”
”There are cuts all over your back. And your chest—you’re not healing properly,” you say, turning him to face you again. The look on his face suggests only one thing: he’s about to throw in the towel. “You don’t have to do everything on your own.” You think you’ve never been this close before, his proximity both intoxicating and comforting at the same time. “Please.”
He ends up giving in to your persuasion, allowing you to guide him to the bathroom. Logan sits down on the toilet, watching you gather supplies to clean his wounds. When you come back, he’s still staring at you, his eyelashes fluttering together each time he blinks.
Starting with his cheek, you press a damp towel to his skin, and he hisses. It takes everything in you not to flinch in sympathy.
“How’s Charles?” he asks, probably trying to distract himself as you continue to clean his wounds, the towel darkening with his blood over time.
“He’s doing great. Asked for you a lot, actually,” you take a look at his jaw, where one shallow cut is already starting to fade away thanks to his healing ability, something that never fails to amaze you.
Logan hums, tilting his head. ”I’ll check on him in the morning,” he murmurs, and you flash him a quick smile, finishing with his face. He’s now free of dirt and blood, his brows furrowing as he pauses to collect his thoughts. “The other day, when we talked—”
You cut him off, turning to the sink as you rinse the towel, watching the water get red. “Forget it.”
“No, it wasn’t okay—how I acted,” he stands up from the toilet, and you feel his presence behind you, the alarm inside your head going off as the space between you shrinks. “I know you just want what’s best for him. For us. I’m sorry I was a jerk,” his voice comes out even huskier at this time of the night, sounding afraid of waking someone, even though it’s just the two of you here.
“Apology accepted,” you swirl around to meet his gaze, only to find yourself nose-to-nose with him, and you lean back against the sink, your spine pressed into the cool surface.
Logan places his hands on both sides of the vanity, caging you with his body. Like the most beautiful tree, he stands tall in front of you, and you take a deep breath, getting drunk on his distinctive scent. “Are you… okay?”
You watch as he lowers his head, pursing his lips before muttering: “Imma need you to do something more for me,” he says, almost pleading, and you can’t avoid the amount of thoughts that rush into your mind.
Gone was your decency when you had to deal with him.
That’s when he looks up to find your eyes, his harsh expression evolving into a more vulnerable one. “Have you ever removed a bullet?”
If you thought listening to Logan’s nightmares was painful, nothing could have prepared you for the sounds he makes while you pull several bullets from his wounds.
He sits shirtless in front of you, grunting at each of your careful movements. As you remove one bullet lodged near his ribs, Logan practically yells, and you rest your cheek against his, desperate to ease his suffering.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Almost done,” you whisper into his ear, hoping your words might bring him some relief. He lets his head fall forward, resting it on your shoulder, trusting you enough to tend to his injuries, his thoughts drifting elsewhere.
It takes you half an hour to clean both his chest and back, but Logan doesn’t complain. When you’re finished, he goes straight to his room, flopping onto his bed, the mattress creaking under his weight. You see the way his chest rises and falls rapidly, his breathing still labored.
You wish you could lie beside him, even just for a few minutes, but your last shred of self-control stops you from doing such a thing.
“Get some sleep,” you say leaning against the doorframe, your advice sounding more like a plea. He looks exhausted, dark circles sunken beneath his eyes.
Logan lets out a bitter laugh. “Do I look that bad?”
You roll your eyes at that, your fingers curling around the doorknob. Glancing back at him over your shoulder, you catch something in his look—a glimmer of something you struggle to put into words, but you decide not to look further into it. “Good night, Logan.”
“Good night, darlin’—and thank you,” he murmurs, holding your gaze until the door shuts between you.
Then you sprint to your room, gently closing the door before biting back a smile, replaying the last hour in your mind. How close to you he had been, how comfortable he seemed around you.
You hadn’t just crossed lines—you’d broken them. You almost pinch yourself to make sure you weren’t dreaming.
Somehow, your racing mind calms down, and you fall asleep, one hand tucked beneath the pillow, the other resting against your chest.
You’re a light sleeper. The sound of something shattering wakes you, leaving you startled and disoriented.
Dawn is just breaking, the first rays of sunlight slipping through your window. You sit up, pricking up your ears as you scratch the back of your head, listening attentively.
Logan’s voice filters into your room—he lets out a string of profanities, and you stifle a giggle, throwing off your covers and putting on a sweatshirt that matches your pajamas.
Barefoot, you walk down the hall, stopping at the kitchen’s entrance. Logan is kneeling beside the table, gathering the shards of a broken mug. It seems like he’s just gotten out of the shower, tiny droplets of water trailing down his neck.
“That was my favorite one,” you say in a low voice, teasing him. His back muscles flex under the material of his shirt, and he turns to look at you, his expression a silent apology. “I take it you’re not using your glasses?”
“I’m gonna stop you right there.” Rising to his feet, he grunts, digging his fingers into his lower back with a grimace. “They’re called readers for a reason.”
You decide to let him have that one, grabbing a new mug from the shelf and handing it to him. He accepts it, thanking you, and fills it with freshly brewed coffee.
“Was it a nightmare?” you ask, watching as he sinks into the couch, spreading his thighs apart with a sigh while you take a seat at the table instead.
Logan gives a nod, sipping some of his coffee. “At least I slept for a few hours.”
“Are you really going to stay up? It’s pretty early.” You stretch your arms over your head, a yawn escaping you before you can hold it back.
“Wouldn’t be the first time.”
You hesitate for a moment, but then comes your question: “Can I join you?” You prop your elbows on your knees, any trace of sleepiness now gone with the wind.
He squints his eyes, his unrelenting stare boring into you. “Feel free.”
So here you are, studying him as he drinks his coffee, his fingers wrapped tightly around the ceramic. There are so many things you want to ask him—about how he’s feeling, if his wounds have healed—but it seems you’ve entered a silent staring contest without even knowing it.
Not that you mind him looking at you—you just want to know the reason why.
You snort, and he arches a brow. “Do I have something on my face?” You decide to ask him, straightening your back.
“I guess I can’t help but wonder why you agreed to all of this,” he says, setting the mug down with a soft clink. By this, you understand he’s referring to being Charles’ caregiver and leaving your old job behind. “I mean—you could be doing better things with your life. Why would you choose to do this?”
“I told you before: I wanted to help you,” you shrug, trying to keep your tone light even as your stomach tightens with nerves. You watch as Logan folds his arms, the muscles of his biceps becoming more visible. “Plus, I love being around Charles.
“I don’t think people your age would be that interested in spending their days like this,” he says, and you toy with a lock of your hair, wrapping it around your finger.
“Well, good thing I’m not like most people my age then.”
His silence hangs heavy in the air until he speaks again. “What do you mean by that?”
“You know that feeling when life seems like a race? And you just have to keep up with certain things that everybody else is doing, or you’ll be left behind?” You pause, the words falling more naturally than you’d expected.
Logan nods, making it seem like he understands what you’re trying to say. Whether he truly does it or not, you don’t know.
“When my friends started going to parties, getting boyfriends… I couldn’t. My family wouldn’t let me. And even when I could, it felt like it wasn’t really what I wanted.”
Inhaling sharply, you stop yourself. The conversation suddenly feels far too personal.
“You never had a boyfriend?” He gets more comfortable on the couch, his voice gruff as he rubs his chin, waiting for a reply.
A familiar heat settles between your legs. “I went out with some guys, but it never led to anything serious,” you say, your cheeks getting warmer the more details you share with him. “I guess I wasn’t the kind of girl they were looking for,” you add, not missing the way his lips twitch momentarily.
“How could they not want you?”
“They didn’t think like you do.”
“That’s because they were boys, not men,” he mutters, his gaze dropping to your hands before returning to your face. “Did they treat you right, those boys?”
Swallowing hard, you can hardly register the uncertainty in your own voice. “I mean… yes, I think they did. They were nice to me.”
There it is—the faintest hint of a smirk dancing on his lips. “Nice doesn’t mean good, though.”
You dig your nails onto the table, your pulse quickening, trying to hide how affected you are by his words. “What is it that you want to know?”
“Come sit with me, doll.”
Doll. Doll. Doll. Inside your chest, your heart gallops, your legs trembling as you get off the table, moving closer to him.
Feeling lighter with every step you take, you plop down beside him, and Logan sits straighter, his knees almost bumping into yours.
You can’t bring yourself to look at him—this is happening, just like in your filthiest dreams.
His hand slides up to yours, not applying any sort of pressure. He scrutinizes your skin, bringing your hand to his lips, and he presses a kiss to the inside of your wrist.
It tickles, it burns—it ignites a fire inside you, one you know you can’t ignore. A gasp attempts to escape you, but you suppress it.
“Did you let them touch you?” he whispers, attaching his mouth to your neck, brushing the sensitive spot where your jaw and ear meet.
This time, you moan, any possible rational thoughts turning into putty, melting with the way he’s touching you. “Logan,” you purr his name, begging for something, anything he’s willing to give you. Your thighs, once shoved together, spread of their own accord, and you hear him click his tongue.
“I asked you something.” His teeth graze your pulse point, forcing you to close your eyes.
“I didn’t. They wanted to, but I—I wouldn’t let them,” you answer, and as if he’s rewarding you, his fingers begin to tug on the hem of your sweatshirt, rolling it up your body and over your head. He tosses it to the floor, admiring you.
“Why?”
Goddamn.
“Because I was waiting for the right guy,” you manage to get out, grasping his hand and positioning it on top of your right breast, encouraging him to go on with what he had started. His pupils widen further, and he squeezes your tit roughly, eliciting a moan from you. “I think I’ve found him.”
Logan scans your face, searching for any sign of repentance in your expression. “I’m going to hell for this,” he murmurs under his breath, his hard-on noticeable through his tented sweatpants. “Lay down.” You obey his command, easing yourself onto the couch, and sinking into the cushions as he presses himself to your side.
He peppers your neck with kisses, playing with the waistband of your shorts. “I’m not gonna kiss you, but I’ll make you feel good. Just this time, ‘kay? And we don’t talk about it.”
You accept his offer, knowing that you’ll probably regret it in a couple of hours. Right now, it doesn’t matter. You need his electrifying touch, his fingers, his—
With a swift motion, your shorts are yanked down your legs, and his calloused hands part your thighs even wider. A damp spot on your underwear sells you out, and his thumb rubs gentle circles over that area, causing you to lift your hips.
“So this is what you look like when you touch yourself, huh?” He edges his fingers closer to your clit, his breath tickling your ear, and he dips his tongue into your collarbone. “I hear you all the fuckin’ time. You’re not as quiet as you think.”
It should embarrass you, the fact that he has listened to you pleasuring yourself. But in a moment like this, it only succeeds in fuelling your desire. “Please. You said you’d make me feel good.”
“And I will, but you’re greedy as hell,” he says, his movements more deliberate now. You feel hot all over as he pulls your panties to the side, exposing your glistening cunt.
Logan’s on the verge of drooling all over you, reaching for your folds and spreading your wetness. “Men aren’t strong creatures, honey. You’ve got no idea how hard it is to hold back.”
“D-don’t hold back,” you stutter, losing your composure when he returns to your clit, his fingers coated in your arousal while they flick your swollen bud. “Oh, Logan…”
“You make the prettiest sounds,” he rasps, mouthing at your jaw, though as you try to kiss him, he slows his pace. “What’s wrong? Am I not giving you enough?”
“Sorry. I’m sorry,” you whisper, fascinated by how big his fingers look in comparison to your pussy. “I’m just—”
“Needy, I know,” he finishes for you, and he picks up his merciless rhythm again. Heat pools in your lower abdomen, and you can’t help but arch your back every time he teases you, grazing your entrance with his middle finger. “Don’t get ahead of yourself.”
You dig your nails into his arm, relishing the way his body responds to your touch. He grinds his cock against your hip, his teeth nipping at the column of your neck. “I want to come. Please, make me come,” you sob, letting out a shaky breath.
A thin sheen of sweat covers your forehead, and Logan locks eyes with you after what feels like an eternity. “Please, Lo.”
The nickname snaps something inside of him. His fingers circle your clit with a fervency you hadn’t experienced before, your pleasure seemingly being his primary focus. “The shit I’d do for you.”
You warn him, telling him you’re close—so so so close—until the fire in your belly flares, and blood rushes to your ears. You collapse against him, holding his hand firmly against your core, hips jerking as you ride your orgasm.
The world narrows down to this—this moment, your most desired fantasy.
Logan holds you as you go limp in his arms, rubbing your clit ever so slightly, murmuring soft praises. “Y’did so good, sweetheart,” he whispers, planting a kiss on your temple, burying his nose in your hair. You’re still out of breath, the pulsing between your parted legs persisting long after your release. “Told you you weren’t quiet.”
A giggle bubbles up from your chest, his beard tickling you as he slides his hands up under your shirt, finding your nipples.
“It was n-nice,” you tell him, your voice faltering the more he toys with your hardened peaks. Your skin heats up again, heart racing at the thought that he isn’t done with you yet.
“Just nice?” One of his hands makes its way back into your pussy, ghosting his fingers over your hole, and he smirks when he feels you squirm. “You surely know how to hurt a man’s pride.”
“I wasn’t—I didn’t mean to—” You can’t structure a proper sentence, not when he’s playing with you like this.
Logan rubs your arousal between his fingers, as though he wants you to see how slick you still are, even after coming. “Are you going to touch me again?”
He hums, feigning uncertainty. “What do you think, baby? Should I make you come with my fingers now?”
It’s like a switch flips in your mind. He knows exactly how to make you beg and which buttons to push, using that power to his advantage. “Yes, please. I want it,” you plead, intending to buck your hips into his touch, impatient for more.
“Do you fuck yourself with your fingers?”
“Sometimes, but I can never finish—Oh my God.” He slips one finger inside you, causing you to curse, your voice barely above a whisper. You clench around the intrusion, your head falling back onto the cushions. “Fuck me.”
“In a minute.” He begins to thrust his finger in and out, gathering your juices every time he goes back to hammering that sweet spot in your interior. Soon, one finger becomes two, and he reduces you to a panting mess.
Tears threaten to swell in your eyes, and you whine as he involves his other hand in the matter, furiously rubbing your clit. “Your fingers feel much better than m-mine, Lo.”
“I can tell.” He curls them just right, and you push back against his thrusts, tilting your pelvis to meet him halfway. “There you go. Take what you need, sweetheart. I’m right here, I’ve got you.”
Everything feels frenzied, fast, the way your inner walls spam and contract around his fingers as you chase your second climax.
Once you come down from your high, your blurred vision catches him tugging the waistband of his sweatpants down. His cock springs free, and he fists himself, stroking his length angrily.
You watch as some pre-cum dribbles from the head, and you lean forward, watching it closely.
“You look goddamn beautiful when you come, darlin’,” he murmurs through gritted teeth, his jaw clenched tight. Hovering over you, he rucks your shirt up until he can see your tits from above. He alternates between your breasts, squeezing them while he continues to stroke his girth. “Want to see these all dirty.”
Logan truly loses it when your hand reaches out to him, tracing a bulging vein near the head of his cock. You meet his lustful gaze, batting your lashes, and then you feel his come splashing against your bare chest, a choked moan escaping Logan’s throat, spurts of his hot seed landing on your skin.
“Fuckin’ hell… fuck,” he grunts, still tugging at his cock, enamored with the masterpiece he’s created. When it’s finally over, he lies beside you, hiding his face in the crook of your neck. You run your fingers through his hair, and he nuzzles further into your touch with a groan. “I’m too old for this.”
Minutes pass as both of you seem to grasp the gravity of what has just happened. Eventually, Logan rises to his feet, disappearing for a brief moment before coming back with a towel to wipe his come off your stomach and chest.
He’s gentle with you, his gaze trained on his task until his eyes flick up to meet yours.
“Don’t look at me like that,” he says, pulling your shorts back up.
“Like what?”
“Like you want to see right through me.” He adjusts your shirt to cover your body again, but the towel remains in his hand, a reminder of the previous events.
I’m not gonna kiss you, but I’ll make you feel good. Just this time, ‘kay? And we don’t talk about it.
You don’t have to talk about it. You definitely don’t.
Two days later, he’s the one who comes looking for you.
You’re nearly asleep when he knocks on your door. “Come in,” you mumble, a bit of drool having dampened your pillow. You dry your mouth with the back of your hand, your back turned to the door.
He steps into your room cautiously, as if navigating a minefield. The mattress dips under his weight. “Were you sleeping?” he asks, caressing your leg over the covers.
You shift onto your back, your body responding before your mind. There’s no blood on his clothes—that makes you feel a bit better, and you shake your head.
“Good.” He looms closer, fumbling with his belt. His thumb applies little pressure to your lower lip, and your mouth parts to let him in, salivating.
This is just like Pavlov’s dog experiment—except that Logan isn’t an experimenter, and you aren’t a dog.
Yet, when he approaches you like this, you can’t help but respond, settling into a routine where you both take take take from each other.
Logan doesn’t fuck you, even when you beg him to. He gets you off with his fingers, his thigh, his mouth—but his cock remains out of the equation.
“Just the tip,” you plead, voice laced with pure need, when he’s got his face nestled between your legs.
As he stops eating you out, his beard shiny with your arousal, he’s still got that angry look on his face. Your cries don’t get to him.
“That lie’s older than me.” He slips his fingers back inside you, aiming to make you drop the subject. “Come on, baby. Gotta get ready for work, but you need to come first.”
Nor does he stay the night after telling you you’re the most gorgeous girl he’s ever seen in his life. Just when you think he’s fallen asleep, his legs intertwined with yours and one of his large hands under your head, you drift off.
By the time morning comes, he’s gone. You just know that when night falls, he’ll be back for more, drawn to you like a moth to a flame.
Despite all that, Logan won’t kiss you. He keeps his promise, and you hate how determined he is.
“Not even once?” you ask him one night while going over the scars on his back. You’re in his bed this time, and he has his nose buried in his pillow, moments away from dozing off.
“No,” he answers, squirming slightly under your touch. “I’m tired. Stop doing that.”
“How did you get this one?” You trace one scar that’s close to his shoulder, resting your chin just inches from it.
He turns his face to see your eyes. “Well, I was doing Pilates, and I—Hey!” He laughs when you pinch the skin near his ribs, tickling him. “I don’t even remember. Must’ve got it a long time ago.”
“Did it hurt?” It’s a dumb question, but he doesn’t mention it.
His index finger grazes your cheek, and he chuckles at the way your eyelids flutter. “In the past, they all did. But not anymore,” he replies, though you wish you could believe him.
You know he’s in pain most days. That when he goes down on you, and he’s on his knees for too long, he has trouble standing up without cursing. That no amount of alcohol, or his healing ability, helps him with it.
You kiss each of his scars before curling against his side, brushing your nose against his. “And now?” Your eyes fall to his lips, silently hoping he’ll say Yes.
Instead, he sighs. “I think we should go to sleep.”
So despite the lack of kisses, the miscommunication, and the fact that he won’t fuck you even though you know—you feel—he wants to, things are good between you.
Charles notices it, openly expressing his recent realization. “He looks happier, doesn’t he?” he asks says after winning two games of chess in a row, startling you.
“Logan, you mean?”
“Yes, my dear.”
You glance down at the board, fidgeting with the pieces. “I guess so.”
“You guess so?” he parrots your previous words, raising an eyebrow in doubt. “Look at me,” he says, and as you do it, he points a shaky finger toward your neck. “I assume mosquitos have taken a liking to you.”
Heat rises to your cheeks, your hand flying up to cover the hickey you had completely forgotten about in the first place. “Charles, I’m—“
“Are you happy?” he interrupts you, and you nod, because you are.
A nagging thought lingers at the back of your mind. You don’t know if you’re asking for too much, but it still feels like something’s missing.
One morning, you accidentally overhear a conversation between them. The door of the tank is ajar, and right before you step inside, you recognize Logan’s voice in the distance.
“Charles, I’m fine, alright? I don’t need your advice.”
There’s a pause before Charles responds. “You know, Logan… this is what life looks like. You should take a moment and feel it. You still have time.”
Logan doesn’t say anything in response to that. And if he does, you don’t stick around long enough find out, because you’re already turning on your heel.
A poet once said: “Blowjobs are fucking amazing.”
Actually, you might be wrong. Those may not have been a poet’s words, but your best friend Keira’s from high school.
You remember the sleepovers at her place—she had a boyfriend at the time, a boy she had met at a party you hadn’t been invited to.
“Welcome to blowjobs 101,” she had declared one night, holding a hairbrush like a microphone. “Don’t worry, sweetie. I’ll tell you everything you need to know when the moment comes.”
Luckily, many years later, that moment arrived.
Just ten minutes ago, you were cooking dinner, sniffling back tears while chopping onions, so lost in thought that you didn’t realize Logan was already home.
He tossed his keys onto the table, hugging you from behind seconds later. You leaned back against his chest, enjoying the scratch of his beard against your sensitive skin, his lips planting soft kisses wherever they could.
“How was work?” you dropped the knife, wiping your tears as you turned to face him, throwing your arms around his neck. Logan pulled you in tighter by the waist, giving your ass a firm squeeze.
“Hell, as usual,” he looked into your eyes, finding them all glossy. “You miss me so much you started crying?”
Of course, you didn’t talk about it—but words aren’t the only ones who can convey meaning.
You’re not sure how, but one thing led to another, and now you’re on your knees, Logan’s cock filling your mouth. Your lips, swollen and red, suck hard at his tip, pulling the foreskin back, and his hips jerk deeper into your throat. “That’s it, fuck. Doin’ so good.”
Your movements are far from graceful. As a matter of fact, it’s all too sloppy and desperate. Saliva drips down your chin, some of it coating his balls, and you fondle them at the same time you bob your head.
Keira’s advice plays on repeat in your mind, and you pull out every trick you know to make Logan roll his eyes.
So far, you think you’re doing pretty great, judging by the way he’s gripping the back of your head.
“H-how is this your first time suckin’ cock?” he slurs, more to himself, his voice strangled as you make eye contact with him. He brushes your hair out of your face, bewitched by the sight of him disappearing into your wet mouth. “God, I fuckin’ love you.”
Taken aback by his sudden confession. you involuntarily gag around him. He pulls you off his cock, not even sparing you a glance, tucking himself back into his briefs. “Wait, Logan—”
“Not now,” he mutters abruptly, withdrawing into his bedroom and shutting the door behind him.
God, I fuckin’ love you.
God, I fuckin’ love you.
God, I fuckin’ love you.
But still, he doesn’t want to talk about it.
How bad is it to tell somebody you love them and then avoid them?
Yeah, it’s absolutely terrible, right? Tell that to the idiot himself—Logan Howlett.
It’s been over a week, and no matter how many times you press him for an explanation, he keeps dodging it.
Things go back to how they were before you two started fooling around, and Charles’ questions don’t take long to come: “I thought you two were getting somewhere.”
“Me too,” you admit, your voice quieter as you try to appear indifferent.
You have no answer for him. Not that you don’t want to discuss your relationship problems—it’s just that you don’t know what went wrong.
When evading you isn’t enough, he works longer hours, which only adds to how little you see him. At least he lets you know if he’s going to be late, sparing you from waiting up.
But apart from that, your interactions have dwindled to nothing, and it’s eating you alive.
You’re madly in love with him. You thought you knew that already, but now that he’s distant, the depth of your feelings has become clearer than ever.
He’s everywhere you go, just not physically—he has conquered your mind.
And it should be funny, loving someone who used to be no more than a myth for you. Though Logan is real—maybe too real for your own good—and he hasn’t been the mutant you once read about for quite some time.
This morning, he’s having breakfast at the table when you walk into the kitchen. You hold your breath as your shoulders brush for a microsecond, his gaze following your steps.
You’re no longer accustomed to sharing the same space with him, so it makes sense that you stay as far away as possible.
After an awkward silence, he stands up and mutters something about checking on Charles and giving him his meds, leaving you alone with your thoughts.
It’s infuriating, how collected he seems. Why isn’t he miserable like you? Doesn’t he miss you? Didn’t you two have something… special?
I’m not gonna kiss you, but I’ll make you feel good. Just this time, ‘kay? And we don’t talk about it.
The shit I’d for you.
God, I fuckin’ love you.
Not now.
The memory of his words lingers, seared into your unconscious, though the sound of his phone jolts you out of your thoughts.
It’s ringing beside the coffee machine, and you try to ignore it, determined to be the bigger person.
But after five minutes of the relentless ringtone echoing in the empty kitchen, you’ve had enough.
Unknown caller—interesting. What could he possibly be hiding?
Charles, you better keep that asshole busy, you think to yourself, swiping right to answer the call.
Before you can say anything, a woman’s voice fills the line.
“James! Thank God. It’s Gillian. You didn’t reply to any of my texts, and I was starting to get worried,” she lets out a giggle, the sound grating against your nerves.
As your grip on the phone tightens, your knuckles start to go white.
“Look, I know you said you weren’t available, but I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since that ride. I didn’t see any ring on your finger, so what do you say, huh? Will you let me take you out?”
Red. You’re seeing red.
“James? Hello? Cat got your tongue?”
At last, you clear your throat. “Hey,” you greet her, pacing around the kitchen. “I’m deeply sorry, but James can’t talk right now.”
“Excuse me?” she snaps, her high-pitched voice echoing through the speakers, and you pull the device away from your ear. “This is James’ number. Who the fuck are you?”
“Oh, I’ll tell you who the fuck I am, you intolerant piece of—”
Before you can finish, the phone is yanked out of your hand, the call hastily ending.
There is no use in playing dumb, not when Logan’s standing right in front of you, observing you like you’re a child who’s made a severe mistake.
His deep, brown eyes pierce your soul, shattering any chance you had of coming up with an excuse.
“What where you doing with my phone?” It’s the first thing he asks you, his voice still steady, the calm before the storm.
Perhaps you’re not as mature as you thought you were—your forehead furrows, unwilling to back down, and you fall silent. He takes a step forward, as if he can’t believe your attitude. “Think I asked you somethin’. Why did you answer?”
“Gillian sounds like a lovely lady. Tell her I said ‘Hi’ the next time you see her,” you croak, attempting to walk past him, but he doesn’t budge, his solid frame blocking your path. You collide with his chest, and it feels like trying to move a brick wall without success.
“We’re talking. You can’t just leave.”
The nerve of this man.
“You can’t be serious,” you retort, staring at him, wishing the emotion in your tone could capture even a fraction of what you’re truly feeling. “Weren’t you the one who walked away first? After telling me you loved me?”
You search for any sign of the man who once held you close, but he feels miles away, hidden under all these layers that smell like cheap whiskey and gasoline. “You didn’t mean it.”
“I did. I meant every word,” he growls, his fists clenching at his sides, and you don’t miss the exhaustion in his eyes, the dark circles that expose the fragile façade of control he’s so desperate to maintain. “Goddamit! You’re doing that thing again!”
“What thing?” you exclaim, your mouth hanging open in frustration. “What the fuck are you talking about? I’m not doing anything.”
“Yes, you are! You’re trying to see through me, like you can read my mind.”
“Well, sorry to disappoint, but I’m not a fucking mutant. I just have eyes, Logan.” You throw your arms up, exasperated. “People actually look at each other when they have a conversation, in case you haven’t noticed.”
“You’re testing my patience,” he mutters, rubbing a hand over his face.
“And you are testing mine.” You rest your back against the table, raising your chin. “So, who is she?”
Logan drops his shoulders, slamming his eyes shut. “I drove her once, last week. It was a long ride and she… wouldn’t stop talking. Didn’t shut up for a single second. She hit on me, but I told her I’m off the market.”
“Why? ‘Cause she talked too much?”
“No. Because I love you,” he says, pure awe transforming his expression, like he doesn’t believe he has said it out loud. “I don’t know when I started feeling like this, or if I’ve always felt it, but—I do. I love you.”
Oh.
You had heard those words slip through his lips before, but now they sound different. It might be that keeping him at arm's length has felt like death by a thousand cuts, or perhaps it’s the realization that this is the first time someone’s declaring their love for you.
Fuck. He loves you. As in, he’s in love with you?
“Then why do you keep running?” You edge closer to him, your eyes trained on his. “I’m done with the chase, Logan. It’s tiring—I am tired. I’ve been sleeping like shit, trying to figure out what—”
His arms surround your body, cutting you off and pulling you close. The hammering of his heart matches yours, and you return the hug, nuzzling your nose against his neck.
You fear that this might be all you’ve ever needed, feeling as if the pieces he took from you in the past are finally falling back into place.
Logan holds you as if in a past life he lost you, but now, he’s decided to never let you go.
This profound sense of completeness, of being where you’re meant to be, makes you realize you’ve found home in the warmth of his embrace.
“I’m sorry. This… this scares me, alright?” he murmurs next to your ear, raking his fingers through your hair. “You make me feel things I didn’t think I could feel anymore. That’s what I’m running from—the part of me I thought was gone. But you… you brought it back.”
You feel a deep urge to curl up and cry, wondering why on earth he would ever think he was unworthy of being cared for. “Logan, I…”
“I sound pathetic, I know. It sounded way better in my head.”
“Don’t you dare say that.” You retreat a bit, looking him in the eye. He stares down at you with a tenderness you’ve never seen before. “It’s not pathetic to voice how you feel. I want to know it all, want to know everything about you.”
“Everything?”
“Yes, everything. But I need you to promise me that you won’t run away anymore. I know it’s difficult, but it’s not fair to any of us.”
His eyes peer directly into yours, and he gives a nod. “I promise to do my best.” He presses your foreheads together, and that’s when his mouth turns into a grin. “You’re not going to say it back?” he teases, gripping your waist. “Come on, I said it first. Twice, for the record.”
Lifting your shoulders in a half-shrug, you find it hard to conceal your smile. “I may need a bit more convincing.”
Kiss me. Kiss me. Kiss me.
Before you know it, his lips are on yours, almost making you lose your balance. You whimper into his mouth, tightening your arms around his neck as his tongue wastes no time in finding yours, stroking it sensually.
The wait had been definitely worth it—you’d do everything all over again if it meant having him kiss you like this at the end of the day.
He tilts your face so that he can deepen the kiss, and a whine gets caught in your throat when his fingers pull gently at the hair at your nape, nibbling at your bottom lip.
“I love you, too. Very much, to be honest,” you blurt out against his mouth, pleased with the way he laughs at your reaction, squeezing your hips. “But I still have some ideas in mind.”
“I’m all ears.”
Here goes nothing. “Fuck me like I’ve been asking you to.” You cup his cheek, guiding his lips into yours one more time. “Please,” you mewl, standing on your tiptoes. “Want you to be my first.”
If it were up to you, you would’ve begged him to take you right there on the kitchen floor. But Logan, ever the gentleman, insists on moving things to his room.
Each of his movements is slow, igniting your skin with a burning heat, leaving his name imprinted where his teeth sink into your soft flesh.
You’re left in nothing but your underwear by the time he murmurs: “Let me take my time with you.” He trails his lips down your chest, your stomach, until he’s planting several kisses along your ankle. “I don’t know how I got so lucky, baby. Look at you.”
Under his gaze, you feel shy, your eyes snapping to the ceiling instead. “Shut up,” you say, tugging at his shirt to undress him, your fingers tracing the lines of his abdomen before you pull him into a bruising kiss, sucking on his tongue.
He strips out of his black slacks and hovers over you, his clothed cock grinding against your throbbing core, eliciting a moan from both of you. “So goddamn beautiful. Can’t believe you’re mine.” His tip grazes your entrance through the fabric, making your toes curl in ectasy. “I’m gonna make you feel good, I swear.”
At first, he’s extremely careful, making sure to stretch you out with his fingers while you stroke him, pumping your fist to match his rhythm. “Keep that up and this’ll be over sooner than expected,” he warns, taking one of your nipples into his mouth.
It doesn’t happen like it does in the books or movies. No foreplay could’ve prepared you for the moment he enters you.
You move clumsily beneath him, your nose bumping into his forehead as he eases the first inch of his length inside.
For a moment, you’re not certain which hurts most: the dull ache in your nose or the way he’s splitting you open.
Logan freezes, his eyes wide in concern. “Shit. I’m sorry, sweetheart. Are you okay?” His hand cradles your face as he props himself up on one forearm, pushing your hair back while you adjust to his size. You laugh despite the sting, and he wipes away your tears with his thumb. “You’re laughin’?”
“I’m just happy,” you manage to get through the lump in your throat, raking your nails down his back, feeling the rough texture of the scars beneath your fingers. “I love you. Since that day at the bar, I—” you pause for a second, gasping at the sudden wave of pleasure when he twitches inside you. “I’ll always l-love you. Forever.”
As you wrap your legs around his waist and tell him you’re ready, something inside him shifts.
He feels like a madman, his eyes fixed on your face the whole time, searching for any hint of discomfort, though he occasionally glances down at the place where your bodies meet and become one, entranced by the sight of you taking him in, slick coating his length.
Your heels dig into his lower back, pulling him back to the present—back to you, with your pretty tits bouncing each time he pistols his hips, the intensity of his thrusts increasing.
“All those times you took care of me, when you—Fuck,” he groans, nipping at your jaw to regain some of his composure, his humid breath dampening your skin. Your scent drives him wild, and he reaches for your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours. “You made me feel loved when no one else did. My girl, love you so f-fucking much.”
His pace is nothing more than a voiceless testament to everything he feels but can’t find words to express.
With each minute that passes, your dripping cunt grips him tighter and tighter, his thrusts losing finesse. He needs you to come first—why does he feel like a virgin?
When you tell him you’re close, the world around him turns into a musical. You cling to the sheets, the mattress creaking noisily as he clutches the headboard, determined to find that angle that will push you over the edge.
“That’s it, sing for me,” Logan mutters from above, hypnotized by the crease forming between your brows. “Come on, let go.”
Time seems to slow down as your muscles tense and you clamp around him, your body sagging against him. His name spills from your lips in breathy whimpers, like an endless prayer, and your mouth engulfs his, tongues and teeth clashing in a fevered kiss.
Soon after that, he surrenders to the coiling tension deep within him, pulling out just in time to stroke himself once, twice, before emptying his hot load across your mound.
You gently thumb the head of his cock, coaxing out every last drop of his hot seed. He’s panting as he comes down from his high, his brain foggy and blissfully blank for a while.
Logan loses track of how many times he tells you he loves you—he does it when he pulls you into his chest, when his lips press against your temple, and when you crack that smile, the one that resembles the very purpose of his existence.
“So this is what it feels like.” His voice sounds low like a murmur near your ear, and you stir, half-asleep.
“Hmm?”
“Nothing, baby. Just thinkin’ aloud.”
You don’t have to talk about it, at least not now. Deep down, he knows that whatever thoughts run through his mind will somehow find their way into yours.
This is what life looks like. You should take a moment and feel it. You still have time.
And God, is he feeling it.
dividers by: @cafekitsune thank you!!! :)
#logan howlett#wolverine#wolverine x reader#logan howlett x you#logan howlett x reader#wolverine x you#deadpool and wolverine#logan howlett fic#logan howlett fanfiction#logan x reader#logan howlett smut#james logan howlett#james howlett#logan howlett xmen#logan howlett x fem!reader#wolverine smut#the wolverine#wolverine x men#wolverine fic#wolverine fanfiction#logan wolverine#x men wolverine#smut#fanfiction#fluff#angst#old man logan#fic: never is a promise#x men movies#logan james howlett
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NO ONE TALK TO ME, CHAPTER 15 OF SLWY IS FINALLY HERE
star lost with you | hyunjin au | part 15
pairing: idol! hyunjin x artist! reader
synopsis: working in a quaint little art store, you’ve had the honor of meeting all kinds of people, but you’ve never met somebody like him.
there were many reasons hyunjin returned to his hometown; a getaway from the ephemeral and fast-paced life of the city, so he could fall in love with life again. he thought he was prepared for everything, to study art in the way that he’s always wanted to, but what he didn’t anticipate was meeting you. hwang hyunjin realises that sometimes, the best things in life happen unplanned.
genre:friends to lovers, so much angst, smut, fluff, set in the idolverse, mutual pining, unrequited love, forbidden romance, slowburn (!!!) soulmate au (kind of), star-crossed lovers
warnings:cursing, mature content, fancy drinking, mutual pining, sexual tension, so much angst, kissing, making out, dirty talk, fingering, grinding, dry humping, dom!hyunjin, jealousy, more angst
word count:35K (ik the wc makes it feel v long but it’s really not that much haha)
a/n: im so excited to be coming back with this huge of a chapter for you guys. so much goes down and im insanely excited to share this next phase of my story with you. its v long so pls get comfortable with a blanket and snacks. I would recommend rereading the last chapter, if you can! thank you for still being here.
i recommend that you can listen to my star lost playlist here!
important: all works are fiction, and do not in any way represent the real personalities or real people, they exist only as faceclaims, and are fictional characters.
masterlist
He had fucked up. Even in the dimly lit drive-in theatre, the guilt on his face was evident. Hyunjin had never looked this devastated.
“I need to talk to you”
That’s what he had said. The gnawing feeling in your gut got worse. Those words together, in that order, was never a good sign. You knew as much, and you knew whatever he had to tell you was going to be something bad.
“Why did you leave in the middle of the film?” You asked, gaze darting between him and your friends.
Yuqi was staring wide-eyed, watching this unfold, soda cup clutched in her hands, and Felix…he looked beyond irritated.
The movie could still be heard all the way over here. You weren’t too far from the projection screen, and the speakers were right next to you. It was a horrible place to be having this conversation, but you couldn’t wait.
What was he holding back?
You’d always felt the safest around Hyunjin, but every breath between you right now was uncertain. He was fidgeting, sliding the silver ring off and on his finger.
“I was on my way back to you when—” Hyunjin paused, and the veins in his neck were prominent as he strained to be heard over the movie, “—when Felix found me. He wanted to talk”
Keep reading
#i was working all of last night#but you best believe my greedy little ass was spending every spare second reading this#shocker to literally no one this chapter was an absolute masterpiece like all of the rest#i feel so healed but also completely destroyed by this#so much happened i think i will be processing this for at least 2-3 weeks#hyunjin reuniting and interacting with the boys was so cute and pure and fun#i had the stupidest grin on my face#and the cute phonecalls and text and pictures when he first moves back?#got me giggling and kicking my feet fr#but don't worry#i am still absolutely and completely emotionally devastated#“everyone deserves to have someone like you in their lives”#godamit you're gonna make me cry again#reading that made me realize all i want is for someone to love me like that#and don't even get me started on “you have to know this sadness isn't forever”#fuck you're writing just gets me every time#like i have read hundreds of books and tics throughout my life#but i have never read anything that makes me feel so truly seen before#it breaks my heart and shatters my soul in the most bittersweet way#okay sorry for all of my rambling#i am feeling wayyy to many emotions for 6am when i'm still at work#once again i will never be able to thank you enough for writing this absolutely beautiful piece of literature#it will probably be my favorite fix forever#i will always be thinking of this version of hyunjin#i can't wait to reread this whole fic for the millionth time while i anxiously wait for the next chapter#anywho long story short no one talk to me for the next month while i try and fail to recover from this#reblog#stray kids#hyunjin#q: painting with hyunjin
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#i actually think im going fucking insane .#oh my.god. im hating every second im alive#i cant atand how.unckmfortabls my emotions ars rn#and im trying to fucking allow space for them or whateve rbut my god it feels like claws at my throat n skin i cant ?????? i literally????#esp bc it is a Cluaterfuck and i Cannot pin point a single emotion. bc what the FUCK . but my god this is actual torture for Me#coukdnt focus at work bc brain decided 'fuck you unpack the last 12 months of ur life' and it wasnt pleasant . bc i couldnt Switch my brsin#off at all. it just . Kspt Looping back to it no mattee what i fucking did and i hust .#man . i am so tired.#also realising tbat i have jnfact been in therapy for a decade#and while.i have Made Tremendous Progress with a Lot . im so tired of picking up pieces and fixing shit#i wanna unplug my brain for like a second and . not live with it for a minute.#anyway whatever.
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Two Faced -Yandere Stalker/Cop
Yandere! Cop who pulls you over for a DUI. You're barely under the legal limit and it's clear you can't hold your liquor in the slightest.
Yandere! Cop who feels his cock twitch when you blow into the breathalyser, your eyes flickering up at him all half lidded like he's just fucked you raw, teasing him that most fellas don't say please as nice as you do officer.
Yandere! Cop who says he'll follow you home, just to make sure you're safe. You don't see anything strange about it, he's a cop after all. But now he knows where you live, he knows what car you drive, he knows that your roommates always leave for school at the same time you do.
Yandere! Cop who looks so damn good in his uniform, who has the muscles to fill it out just right.
Yandere! Cop figures out early on that you're a hard-core party girl. Different guys coming home with you every weekend. He doesn't like it, but he understands. You're probably just lonely - filling your bed with strangers to chase away the cold.
Yandere! Cop aims to fix that.
Yandere! Cop who makes sure he gets the weekend off and who makes sure to run into you at the club. You're totally wasted this time, hanging onto his arm and running your fingers up his biceps, giggling about what big muscles you have officer.
Yandere! Cop who takes you home and just let's you sleep it off in his bed. His cock is raging and he wants to fuck you more than anything, but he's a gentleman and you're hammered.
Yandere! Cop who makes you breakfast and a good ol' fashioned hangover cure all the cops swear by. He drives you home and tilts your chin up to kiss you. "How about a proper date, babydoll?"
You giggle and blush and slip away before he can get an answer.
Yandere! Cop who can never get with you in the daylight. You'll kiss him and grind up against him on the dance floor and warm his bed later that night, but you're almost always gone by morning.
Yandere! Cop who doesn't want you as just a fuck buddy. He wants you as his girlfriend, maybe his wife someday.
Yandere! Cop who'll take what you give him. He'll fuck you screaming and when you leave the next morning, he'll bury his head in your pillow and try to catch the remnants of your scent.
It goes on for months. He's becoming a neglected dog, fed on the scraps of attention you give him. He's starving, he's ravenous, he's slowly going rabbid.
Yandere! Cop who does something he didn't think himself capable of - he starts following you. Just a little at first, just so he can learn more about you. He's curious and you don't talk about yourself so it makes perfect sense, right? It's harmless.
Yandere! Cop who breaks into your apartment when you're in class. Just to make sure everything is safe. And if he jacks off into your used panties, it's just a kind of payment. He's going above and beyond for you, doesn't he deserve a little reward?
Yandere! Cop who sees you kissing another man on the walk back from school. You've got your hands on his chest and you're standing on your tip toes under the magnolia trees, like the poster of a sappy fucking romcom.
Yandere! Cop who's never been more angry in his life. And so he sends you a bloody bullet in the mail, your name carved into the steel.
And it works. You call him, terrified that you pissed off the wrong person somehow.
Yandere! Cop who loves being there to comfort you, who feels so masculine and strong when you cling onto his arm and sob about your big, scary stalker.
Yandere! Cop who takes endless pictures of you going about your day and leaves them on your doorstep.
Yandere! Cop who slowly becomes your boyfriend. Who's there the second your stalker gets too close or frightens you too badly. Who makes you feel so safe in his arms.
Yandere! Cop who carefully suggests you move in with him. He's a cop afterall, and no one would be stupid enough to break into his apartment.
Yandere! Cop who'll do something vicious everytime he feels you straying away from him.
Yandere! Stalker who leaves your pet's head in a box on your porch when you refuse to cut off your male friends.
Yandere! Cop who coos over you when you sob, as though he isn't the one scaring you.
Yandere! Cop who is extra careful with everything he does, so that you never suspect that he and your stalker are one and the same.
He's a cop afterall, and he's just keeping you safe. Even if you don't always see it that way.
#robo cop but like stalker cop#Yandere#Yandere cop#Yandere stalker#yandere oc#yandere drabbles#yandere imagines#yandere oc x you#yandere x reader#yanderecore#yandere x darling#X reader
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i love you, i'm sorry.
a/n: requested based on a prompt list - the dialogue prompt is in bold! gif not mine, all credits to the creator (also the title has nothing to do with the song, it was just stuck in my head lol)
pairing: jj maybank x reader
summary: you and jj maybank drunkenly hooked up a few nights ago, and neither of you know how to deal with that. (routledge!reader)
word count: 3k
warnings: fluff/humor, angst w/ a happy ending, implied sexual content, drinking, semi-proofread, I think that's it
John Booker Routledge never thought he’d actually have to tell his best friend JJ Maybank that his little sister was off limits. Not once did it ever occur to him that JJ would ever think of you in a different way; he hardly liked to consider the idea that you dated anyone in the first place, let alone that you’d express any interest in the man he knew inside-and-out.
But things change and people get older. After you and the rest of the Pogues found El Dorado and began construction on Poguelandia, JJ started to see you differently. Sure, he always found you attractive, but JJ also found every woman he encountered attractive, so he never thought much of it.
And you certainly didn’t ever think of JJ in that way either. At heart, you were a relationship girl; and while the fact that you were single was proof enough that no relationship of yours had worked out in the past, one of your greatest strengths was that you knew what you wanted. You didn’t seek out something casual because you knew you’d be left unfulfilled. You wanted something all-consuming and destined for marriage. Seeing your older brother grow and mature in his relationship with Sarah Cameron only clarified that further. In your mind, if the second-most relationship-allergic person you knew (after JJ of course) was able to dive headfirst into marriage with a girl so remarkably different from himself, then you decided you wouldn’t settle for any less.
Feelings, however, have a funny way of messing with plans and expectations. While JJ had essentially lived with you and your brother for years, building Poguelandia only pushed the two of you even further together. And watching someone so unpredictable and chaotic as JJ tame himself for the sake of his friends and his future stirred something in you that you hadn’t been expecting at all.
Over the months, your interactions with JJ changed, little by little, and for a while neither of you noticed. It just grew natural for JJ to fix something in the bait shop that you were fussing over, or for you to bring JJ a sandwich or a snack while he worked. You found little ways to make the other’s day brighter, even if subconsciously you never even considered why you were doing these little favors in the first place.
What actually brought the two of you together wasn’t anything out of the ordinary, however. One night, after a long day of work on the house, the Pogues found themselves hanging out above the bait shop, buzzed off of beers, seltzers, and a few joints made of flower grown right from Kiara’s secret spot in the garden. And while the rest of the Pogues eventually found their ways inside and to sleep, JJ and you probably drank a bit too much. One thing led to another, and that was the first night you hooked up. It was slow, passionate, and clumsy, and while the both of you would later blame it on the alcohol and the weed, deep inside you were both fully aware that it was simply the end result of months of pining.
And that’s how you found yourself waking up on the hammock above the bait shop in only one of JJ’s t-shirts and a pair of underwear. The combination of the blinding North Carolina sunrise along with John B.’s extremely loud footsteps on the floor below practically forced your eyes open. While you play the night before over in your head, trying to piece it all together, you’re scrambling to get the rest of your clothes on.
Running downstairs with your shoes untied, you let out a huge “oof” as you collide with your brother, almost sending the two of you to the ground.
“Good morning to you, too, sis,” John B. says, his eyes expressing his confusion at the fact that you obviously slept upstairs last night.
“Oh, um, sorry, JB, I guess I just drank too much last night and crashed on the hammock,” you practically vomit out.
“Riiiiight,” John B. responds, clearly not convinced but nonetheless wholly uninterested in this situation in the first place. “Just, uh, go shower. You stink.”
Assuming John B.’s comment is a joke, you let out a laugh that immediately sounds forced. “Yeah, uh, that’s what I planned on.”
John B. shoots you a thumbs-up before making his way behind the counter, clearly prepping to open the bait shop for customers. Deciding to avoid any more awkwardness between the two of you, you begin to make your way back to the house. However, your brain can’t help but consider the possibility that only more awkwardness awaits you back in the house, which you’re really not ready to process. You spin around to face John B. at the entrance to the bait shop. “Hey, uh, is JJ up?”
John B. doesn’t even look up from whatever he’s doing at the counter, clearly focused on something else. “Yeah, he took his bike to the grocery store about ten minutes ago, I think.”
You breathe out a sigh of relief, and then turn back around to make your way into the house. Occupied with trying to wrack your brain about what exactly happened last night, you again stumble into someone else as you walk through the kitchen.
“Ow,” Sarah squeaks.
You immediately apologize, looking her in the eyes. “Oh, I’m sorry. I just, uh, didn’t sleep well last night,” you explain, hoping she’ll move out of the way so you can make your way to your bedroom upstairs.
But Sarah, unfortunately, has the attention to detail that your brother lacks. Looking you in the eyes, her brows furrow. “Did you sleep outside last night?”
You scratch your head. “Uh, yeah. Just, uh, crashed after all those drinks, you know?”
One thing that Sarah does share with your brother, however, is her unwillingness to let things go. Clearly noticing that something is on your mind, her eyes stare into yours, as if she thinks that she can figure out everything about you based on your facial expressions alone. And evidently, she can, because she then proceeds to whisper-yell, “Y/N, is that a hickey?”
She lightly taps a new bruise on your neck that JJ must have left last night, and you can feel your cheeks heat up at the action. You bat her hand away, and she smirks when she realizes what you must be hiding.
“I don’t have time for this,” you blurt out, before maneuvering yourself around Sarah and walking over to the bottom of the stairs.
“Whatever you say,” she taunts behind you, and you can practically hear her giggle as you make your way up the steps.
Once you get to your bedroom, you lock the door behind you. Sliding down the wall, you let out a sigh, grateful that you met no more obstacles on the way upstairs. But as soon as your butt hits the ground, reality comes crashing down, and you realize that you have a much harder obstacle to deal with than running into one of your friends in the hallway. Instead, you have to deal with the fact that you slept with JJ Maybank—the man you’ve known practically your entire life who not only happens to be one of your closest friends, but even more than that, is your brother’s best friend. Yeah, you’re screwed.
For the next few days, JJ avoided you at all costs. He didn’t want to face the consequences of what you’d done, and was worried more than anything that his friendship with you (and John B. for that matter) would be ruined. And while you had the same idea for a while, within only a few days you decided that talking about it was the only way to move forward. Knowing JJ’s extensive dating history, you were convinced that JJ would only tell you that it was a mistake and a regret. You prepared yourself for the negative, and found him alone at night in the employees-only area above the tackle and bait shop.
You carefully tiptoe up the stairs to prevent JJ from getting spooked and immediately bailing on the conversation. When he notices your presence, he shoots up from where he was laying on the hammock, just like you had anticipated. “JJ, we need to talk—”
“Y/N—”
“No, please, JJ, just let me speak,” you clarify, before walking closer to him.
Realizing he doesn’t have any other choice, JJ sighs, gesturing for you to continue.
Working up the nerves, you wring your hands, preparing yourself for a moment that seemed more daunting than any of the actually threatening experiences you’d had with the Pogues over the last few years. “You know me, Jayj. You know that I don’t have one-night stands or casual relationships. And I can’t go on like this, pretending like what happened between us is normal or that I can just ignore it. I know that you’ve probably never had feelings for me, but if I don’t tell you this now, I’ll regret it. I… I like you, JJ.” Taking a breath, you step back, feeling like a weight has been lifted off of your chest. Only now, you have to brace yourself for the inevitable rejection.
Looking into JJ’s eyes, you can’t tell what he’s thinking, and that’s nothing short of terrifying. You’ve known JJ since he was a kid, and he’s not the best liar, so you can usually tell what he’s feeling from the moment you see him. But this time, you’re clueless, and the silence is deafening.
“JJ, please say something. If you’re going to tell me you don’t like me back, then just say it so we can move on and put this behind us.”
He brings his hands to his face, trying to piece the words together. “Just, uh, gimme a minute.” You nod at him, before moving to sit where he’d previously sat on the hammock. You swing your knees up to your chest, hugging them in comfort.
You watch as he paces the floor around you. It’s not long before he speaks, but it feels like hours as you wait.
“Y/N, I… We’ve been friends forever. You, me, and John B. It was the three of us for the longest time and then Pope came and then Kiara and… Uh, I’m getting off track.” He starts fidgeting with the ring on his thumb as he looks down at the ground, preparing for what he’s about to say next. “I won’t lie—you’ve always been hot. Like super fucking hot. And I’m not good at relationships or whatever, but I… I like you, too.”
And your ears can’t believe what they’re hearing, so your head immediately jerks up to meet his eyes. “Wait… you do?”
He nods, and you can feel a smile beginning to form on your face. “Well, then, why didn’t you just say that?” you ask.
“Because it doesn’t matter,” JJ answers, and your heart immediately sinks in your chest, once again. “I can’t do this to John B., Y/N. I just can’t.”
“Who cares about him? He’ll get over it. John B. is not my problem.”
“That’s the point, Y/N! He’ll be there for you no matter what. But the Pogues are basically all I have left. You and John B. are my family, and if I mess shit up with you, I’ll lose you both. And I can’t do that to myself.”
“You won’t mess it up, J,” you reassure, though part of you understands what he’s getting at.
“When have I not messed something up? I mess shit up all the time, and you mean too much to me for me to risk it. You need to go and find someone out there better than me, because as much as it’ll hurt me to see you with someone else, it’d be a lot worse if you were in pain and I was the reason. It’s because I’m in love with you that I wish we’d never done what we did,” he blurts out.
And while you were trying your best to listen to him carefully, all you heard was him telling you that he’s in love with you. “You… You love me?” you whisper, and JJ’s eyes go back to the floor.
“Of course I fucking do! How could I not? You’re gorgeous and funny and weird and you know me better than anyone else, and I’ll never forgive myself if I ruin shit with you. So just let me go, because this is the hardest thing I’ve had to do.”
As you process what JJ says, he rushes down the stairs. The heavy pattern of his boots hitting the wooden floors grabs your attention again, and you sprint downstairs to meet him before he can run away completely. You grab his hand and pull him towards you. When his head moves, you can see tears in his eyes, even as the sky gets darker. “It’s not okay to just leave me here after telling me you love me back,” you choke out.
“We can’t—we’ll never be together,” he bites back, trying to sound angry. But you can read right through him, and he knows it. You drop his arm and reach up to grab his face with your hands. Your thumb wipes away a stray tear.
“JJ, you’re right: I do know you better than anyone else. And yes, you’re not the best at relationships. But don’t you think that with us it could be different? That maybe because we know each other so well we can figure it out together?”
He begins to shake his head, but before he can get any more words out, you continue. “JJ, I know everything about you. I know the worst things you’ve done and the best things. You’re always calling me a know-it-all, and yet right now you don’t seem to believe me when I tell you that I know we can do this. We can do it, and it’ll be hard, but it’ll be worth it because I can’t picture myself loving anyone else the way I love you.” And as the tears stream down your cheeks, JJ inches a bit closer to you.
“You… You love me?”
“Of course I do, you idiot. How could I not? You’re the sweetest, kindest, funniest, bravest person I know and my life would be so unbelievably boring if you weren’t in it.”
His eyes look all over your face, trying to see if he can detect a lie. But all he sees is someone so convinced in their feelings, so articulate, and he can’t believe that it’s possible but he might just love you more than he did five minutes ago.
“Let me deal with John B., okay? I get why you’re scared and I would never want to come between the two of you, but you deserve to be loved, JJ. And I want to be the one who gets to love you.”
As soon as you get the words out, he’s pressing his lips to yours, and you’re so glad he reached out to hold your waist because otherwise you’d be falling to your knees. It’s magical and romantic and you can taste the salty years you’ve both shed. His right hand moves to grab the side of your face and pull you even closer somehow, before moving back down to your waist and squeezing you in anticipation. The two of you break away, panting. He grips you again and gestures for you to jump, which you do, and you wrap your legs around his back. He carries you over to the counter of the bait shop, where he sets you down. Your legs squeeze his, and he grabs ahold of your face with his hands. “Before we um… do anything else… Are you sure?”
You nod immediately. “Babe, I need the words.”
Your heart clenches at the term of affection, and you pull his shirt to bring him even closer to you. “I am absolutely, positively sure that I love you, JJ Maybank.” He grins so wide you start giggling.
He smashes his mouth back to yours, and this time the kiss is hotter and needier. It’s just a mess of clashing teeth, lips, and hands, with little “I love yous” whispered in between.
JJ tugs on the bottom of your shirt, and you break away so that he can lift it off, throwing it somewhere else in the shop. His shirt follows, but before he can unclasp your bra, you push him back. “JJ, I’m not fucking you in the bait shop.”
“It’s dark out and no one’s gonna see—”
You jump down from the counter. “It’s either in the house or in the Twinkie. Your choice,” you challenge, and he rolls his eyes.
“Oh come on, people do it all the time,” he justifies, and you look at him like he’s grown two heads.
“What on earth are you talking about?” you ask.
“Hooking up in the bait shop, duh. I caught Pope and Cleo on top of the freezer once, and I’m pretty sure I saw Kiara making out with her ex-girlfriend behind the counter.”
You roll your eyes. “You are literally proving my point,” you say, and he scratches his head.
“Well, I know for a fact that John B. and Sarah hooked up in the bait shop once and I didn’t see anything!” he explains.
“That’s not any better! You’re talking about my brother!” you whine, and JJ starts to see that you’re not budging.
He lifts you up bridal-style into his arms, and you squeal. “Fine, my lady, my room it is.”
You wrap your arms around his neck. “Have you cleaned it recently?” you ask, knowing how messy his room gets.
“Uh… Like, maybe not super recently. But I can make it nice,” he offers.
You squint. “As nice as my room?”
“Yeah, let’s just go to yours,” he says, and you giggle at how easily he gives in. As he walks down the talk, carrying you in his arms, you can see a smirk grow on his face. “But after we’re done, it’ll be as dirty as mine.”
“JJ!”
so... what did y'all think? I might consider making a part two where john b. finds out. is that something y'all would be interested in??
also... feedback is very much appreciated - pls comment, reblog, send asks, etc.!
#jj maybank#jj maybank x reader#jj maybank imagine#jj maybank fic#jj maybank fluff#jj maybank angst#jj maybank one shot#jj maybank x y/n#jj maybank x you#jj maybank reader insert#jj maybank x routledge!reader#routledge!reader#obx fanfiction#obx x reader#my writing
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Things that I "knew" before that fully clicked recently
recently had a mindset change and while i can't explain the specific details or elaborate well i will try my best
imagination/4d is the true reality = so stop looking for movement or resistance in the 3d, stop caring about the 3d at all (ok live your life but all I mean is don't give it any power or meaning because it has none)
"subconscious mind believes what you tell it/ has no eyes" = literally go wild with what you want to manifest. THERE. ARE. NO. LIMITS. (even limiting beliefs won't affect you if you assume they don't)
you don't need to enter the void state/ pure consciousness/ god state to manifest instantly every second and everything is a reflection of your 4d you already are manifesting instantly you just need to fix your 4d
persisting = knowing it is ALREADY yours regardless of what 3d shows, regardless of doubts
when manifesting the only effort necessary is mental but physical change in lifestyle may occur BUT unless you have your full desires/results ignore it and focus on the inner reality
closest times to the void for me was when i literally didn't think about anything like this was how my mind was, just looking at the darkness behind my eyelids and ignored the 3d completely but then i stopped and went on pinterest
#loassblog#manifestation#affirmations#neville goddard#manifesting#loassumption#void state#law of assumption#youtube#it girl
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╰┈➤Misunderstood
Summary: How the gang finds out about Sukuna's girlfriend in a misunderstanding.
Relationship: Ryomen Sukuna/Reader
Word count: 3.0k
Note: I'm a liar, I know I said this would go up yesterday, in my defense we set very optimistic goals. Please comment and feel free to send me anything to my inbox
-‘๑’-: No curses au, uni au, sfw, humor, fluff, bad english
The house of the twins Yuji and Ryomen seemed more lively than normal, as every weekend they had planned a movie afternoon, the meetings began early after leaving school, buying snacks, preparing comfortable clothes and choosing some games of table.
Yuji's face wrinkled into a displeased grimace at seeing his twin dressing casually to go out for a walk down the street, while he and his friends were already prepared wearing their comical pajamas, it wasn't fair. This time it was Yuji's turn to choose the movie so as not to let his brother get away with it.
“What are you doing?”
Sukuna turned to look for a second indifferently at his brother while he finished fastening the buttons of his dark shirt. How could he take seriously his brother who maintained an irritated pout while wearing those ridiculous tiger-themed full-body pajamas?
"I'm going out, tell mom I'll be late"
Yuji's moan of annoyance echoed throughout the house, drawing the attention of Nobara and Megumi who were stealthily trying to spy on the conversation by hiding behind a wall.
"You said you would watch Human Worm 4 with us today!"
The one with the caramel eyes began to complain about the injustice that was occurring, a perfect time for his faithful friends to take action.
“We already prepared everything, you can't leave us stranded for an afternoon of movies!”
Nobara grumbled as she tried to fix the sleeves of her raccoon pajamas.
"We made a pact, you must suffer with us"
Megumi was supposed to be the most mature of the group, perhaps Sukuna had overestimated him because he never imagined seeing him share the same neuron as his friends while also wearing ridiculous beige dog pajamas.
“It's a shame brats, it'll have to be another day.”
The older twin's hands didn't stop moving trying to find the car keys; he had somehow managed to look appropriately with a hint of elegance, but without losing that menacing aura, a pair of black pants held up by an expensive belt that he had stolen from his father, a dark gray shirt with the first few buttons open showing his collarbones and the sleeves perfectly arranged at his elbows showing his tattooed arms.
"You look like a criminal"
“Who said I'm not?”
Itadori's intentions to plant some blame on his brother for abandoning them on a seemingly important night were noticeable for miles.
"At least have the decency to tell me where the hell you're going."
Sukuna took a while to respond, his eyes straying suspiciously and the trio could see a slight nervousness on his face. Wait, nerves? Sukuna? Those words were naturally contrary, it even seemed strange to put them together in one sentence. Here was definitely another shoe that was taking a while to drop.
"Mind your own business, don't be nosy"
Itadori instantly stood between his brother and the front door, blocking his way, he would get to the bottom of this matter at any cost.
"Are you planning something bad? Mom will be angry if you get into trouble again"
"Yes, yes, yes. I plan to do many bad and illegal things, in fact in this mood I plan to strangle the first person in front of me"
Itadori, Nobara, and Megumi looked at each other before leaving the hallway clear, letting Sukuna walk.
"Behave badly, take good care of yourself and if they discover you, deny everything"
“See you”
Once the so-called evil twin left the house, the hallway was completely silent for a few seconds.
“Don't you feel...? Curiosity?"
An excited Nobara looked at her friends with bright, gossip-hungry eyes.
"No not really"
Megumi's voice was ignored as Itadori pushed the Fushiguro boy's face away with his hand.
"I was hoping you'd ask, Nobara! In fact, my brother has been acting strange lately."
Itadori put on a thoughtful expression as he remembered his brother's unusual behavior in recent weeks.
"What do you mean he's been acting strange?"
At that moment Nobara had taken on a detective attitude, while the previously disinterested Megumi began to listen attentively to his friends.
“He's been coming home late, more than usual.”
“That doesn't seem strange for someone like him.”
An exalted Itadori raises his hands dramatically as he defends his argument.
“But when he is usually late it is always because he is causing problems in the streets and he is not at all careful with his arrival, now it is different!”
Sharing a room with Itadori, Sukuna didn't care how scandalous he could be when he showed up at home after curfew. He didn't pay attention to the fact that the noise of his shoes being thrown to any side of the room or that the sound of his swear words every time he tripped over something could disturb his brother's sleep.
Lately, however, the nights that Sukuna had spent late away from home had become more frequent, and Itadori couldn't help but notice even in the dead of night how messy his twin's clothes were every time he returned with silent footsteps and he also did not overlook the large number of marks that stood out on Sukuna's neck.
“Also, he has been trying hard in all his school subjects, he has turned in all his homework and sometimes he goes out to the library to study. Did you hear what I said? He goes to the library to study!”
“That's definitely not the Sukuna we know, something is happening to him.”
The three teenagers headed to the living room to sit down to discuss more calmly and solve that mystery.
“Do you think someone is bullying him?”
Itadori looked worried for a split second at Nobara's statement until Megumi gave him a strange, brief sarcastic smile.
“Are you serious right now? Do you think Sukuna, the most feared man on campus, could be bothered by someone? Jesus Christ even earned the nickname “The King of Curses”
They didn't need much time to agree with Megumi, it was impossible to imagine Sukuna being submissive to anyone.
“True, it would make more sense for him to be the one who bothered someone… It can't be possible”
“I told him clearly not to get into trouble, but he never listens to me!”
“Wait, Yuji, calm down. Don't you think that if that's the case, he's spending too much time on that person?”
Itadori seemed to think about it for a second and his face transformed into one of much more dramatic horror than before.
"So he really hates that person! Maybe he's planning a murder? Your brother isn't exactly known for being patient"
Nobara's words were the little push Itadori needed to panic.
"Sukuna definitely can't go to the correctional facility again!... Mom was very sad back then..."
Nobara and Megumi looked into each other's eyes, unable to abandon their friend in such a situation.
"Fine! Our mission today is to prevent your brother from becoming a criminal.”
"Are we allowed to use force? I still have to get revenge for the books I lent him."
The brown-haired girl, Kugisaki, was the first to stand up and was followed by Fushiguro. It seemed like a scene worthy of a movie, this was the motivational part because both friends extended their hands to the boy in tiger pajamas.
“Wait, wait, wait… What happened to your books?”
“I'll ask your brother when I see him.”
It had been approximately 30 minutes since the trio of friends had located and followed Sukuna, a difficult mission that had begun with the friends running after the older twin's car. The fatigue was overcome by surprise when seeing the target enter a flower shop.
“We're late, he's already planning the funeral!”
“Wait, give him the benefit of the doubt, maybe… Maybe he's going to visit a friend?”
“Impossible, my brother has no friends”
Nobara and Yuji's brief talk was interrupted when they saw Sukuna leaving that flower shop with a huge and pretty bouquet of yellow carnations.
"You see it? Maybe your brother is not as bad as he seems” Nobara's voice tried to be optimistic, and it also seemed strange to her that a man would buy flowers for no apparent reason.
“Now I'm quite confused” Itadori, for his part, narrowed his eyes, staring at Sukuna, trying to read his brother's mind.
Megumi spoke with a stiff voice drawing the attention of his friends.
"Don't be so surprised, in the language of flowers, carnations of that color mean contempt"
"Is he turning his assassination attempt into a performance? He's getting creative"
"Hey, he's leaving. Hurry up"
The gang quickly got into a taxi and like every chase scene, Itadori and Nobara yelled at the driver to follow the car in front of them, Megumi had to apologize to the driver at the end of the ride.
Sukuna drove his car until he reached the darkest and most dangerous neighborhood that anyone could imagine, clearly that place had an invisible sign indicating that it was better not to be there, there were few passers-by and the streets were cold with graffiti everywhere.
The older twin got out of his car after having entered the area a little, he walked as if that place was his territory, as if he felt at home, he adjusted the sleeves of his shirt, raising them to his elbows, with a bored look he observed the time on his watch and then leaned his back against the wall waiting patiently. Meanwhile, the trio had remained hidden behind a pile of boxes and seemingly useless objects, thinking about Ryomen's intentions.
"There isn't a soul in this place, what is he planning to do?"
Itadori's question was answered when Megumi held his jaw making him look to his right, his eyes widened as he saw a girl with a small frame, transmitting an aura of delicacy and fragility, she was the complete stereotype of a little princess wearing a pink dress and white sneakers, light makeup and a flower crown adorning her hair, she looked out of context walking with a smile and humming a song in that horrible alley.
"It can't be her... There's no way Sukuna..."
Nobara's words were cut off when the red-eyed man put out his cigarette and walked over to where the girl was with a proud smile on his face.
The fear that this small, fragile woman could be hurt by his violent brother made Itadori quickly get up from his hiding place and stand in front of his brother.
"Sukuna! Stop right there, don't do it!"
The sudden entrance of his nosy brother surprised Sukuna who maintained a displeased scowl at his twin's actions.
"What the fuck? Get out of the way brat, I'm on something important right now"
"Don't you dare take another step, don't do something you'll regret!"
Itadori's voice took a drastic change, sounding too threatening compared to his usual cheerful tone.
"What the hell are you talking about? Leave me alone, I don't have time for this."
Sukuna looked at the horrified girl who was just a few meters away from him, he pushed his brother away with one hand with the intention of walking towards where she was, however he was stopped and subdued on the ground by Megumi.
“Don't even try it, you disgusting scoundrel.”
“Leave me alone, you fucking bastards!”
While the three men argued and fought among themselves, Nobara also came out of her hiding place and walked towards the frightened woman, being careful not to exalt her even more, Kugisaki placed his hands on her shoulders trying to calm her down.
"Are you okay? “Did he do something to you?”
The girl's hands remained covering her mouth, completely surprised by the situation. She instantly left Nobara and ran quickly to where Sukuna was lying on the ground.
"What are you doing?! Get your hands off him!"
Megumi and Itadori's movements stopped, still holding Sukuna on the ground, they turned to look completely surprised at the owner of that little voice, their minds went blank as they watched her approach, she put her hands on Fushiguro's chest. making an attempt to push him away from the red-eyed twin.
"What are you doing to my boyfriend?! Leave him alone!"
Still bewildered, Itadori was the first to move away and placed a hand on his friend's shoulder for him to do the same, allowing Sukuna to stand up a little dazed.
"I don't know what 'Kuna did to you, but what you are doing is not right, it is not right to intimidate others, problems are solved by talking"
You stood in front of your boyfriend trying to be the one to defend him this time, you used to be a little shy when talking to strangers, but you weren't going to let your lover be the victim of such an unfair situation.
"Honey, calm down. They are—"
"No, love! They were very mean to you, no matter who they are!"
You knew that Sukuna had a special weakness for you that made him want to protect you from any danger, everyone told you that, obviously he would also want to take control of this situation in his hands. No, this time it was your turn to protect him, to be his knight in shining armor.
On the other hand, there were also the three idiots who had tried to play detective, watching the situation in astonishment.
"She... just called him love"
“Yes, she really did”
"I can't believe it"
Ryomen had tried to calm his girlfriend's little anger by taking her hands and caressing them, it worked for a few seconds until that trio spoke again.
Upon hearing the incredulous voices of those strangers, you let go of Sukuna's hands and walked a few steps close to those you thought were criminals.
"Listen, my parents are very important people, I will make sure you are punished appropriately"
Your acute and sweet angry voice was silenced by Sukuna's lips, one of his large hands finding a place on your waist while the other caressed your soft cheek.
"It's okay, princess"
"No, it's not okay-"
You tried to reply to his deep voice, you would be lying if you said it didn't make you shiver, his voice was only directed at you, only for you to hear, that made you calm down and also lowered the tone of your voice.
"Pretty, this is my stupid brother and his friends."
"...Impossible, it can't be…, they were subduing you"
"Don't worry, I'm sure they have a good explanation for doing all this, right?"
The affectionate look that Sukuna had given his supposed girlfriend had changed drastically when he turned to look at his friends, removed his touch from his beloved and walked towards the frightened trio, cracking the fingers of his fists.
"Last words?"
Approximately 10 minutes had passed after that disastrous encounter, Sukuna had considered himself generous that day so he decided to take his brother and his friends to the house where they should have stayed from the beginning, very kind, it had nothing to do with his girlfriend will look at those three idiots like abandoned puppies.
"How were we supposed to know you were visiting your girlfriend?"
"What kind of dates are you taking her on?"
"Yeah, you looked like you were about to commit a crime!"
Of course Itadori, Megumi and Nobara tested their patience throughout the car ride, complaining from the back seats and trying to alleviate the pain caused by the car owner's blows. Your curious little eyes turned to look at the trio with intrigue.
"Why do you say that?"
None of them knew how to answer your question, the answer was so obvious that they thought you were stupid or blind, of course none of them said that thought out loud, not when they felt Sukuna's psychopathic gaze in the rearview mirror. However, that didn't stop Yuji from continuing the conversation either.
"You were alone in that horrible and dangerous place, it is the perfect opportunity for a madman"
"Oh, that..."
Your calm reaction to that comment only confused them more, you were too sweet to be in those places and even worse to be there with Sukuna for no good reason.
"Her parents are renowned people and they do not agree with our relationship, that is why we must meet in the most discreet places possible"
"Sometimes dad hires people to watch me, so our meeting point for dates is that place."
The older twin's words left the dynamic trio thinking, especially Itadori and Nobara, Megumi didn't really care much, your complementation made them imagine a current version of Romeo and Juliet. The explanations of your strange relationship had clarified most of his doubts regarding the strange day.
"Wait, what about the flowers?"
Nobara's comment made all the attention focus on Ryomen who wrinkled his face in confusion until he remembered the detail that his friend was talking about at the same time that he stopped the car in front of his house.
"What flowers?"
"Oh right, I brought you something"
Sukuna got out of the car and went to the back taking something out of the trunk, a nice big bouquet of flowers appeared in front of you held by your handsome boyfriend.
"Oh, honey, you shouldn't have bothered."
"It's no bother when I can make you happy"
You received the beautiful flowers in your small hands, allowing yourself to smell them, such a fresh smell while you lovingly observed your loved one and he returned the same look, absorbed in that cloying atmosphere.
Of course that beautiful moment was not the most comfortable for everyone present, much less for Yuji Itadori imitating his twin with a shrill and annoying voice, since he had never seen his brother in that silly state.
"It's no bother when I can make you happy"
“I'm going to kick your ass”
Megumi couldn't stay silent for long either, because something kept echoing in her mind.
"But the meaning of flowers..."
"Excuse me?"
You looked at him with a smile so sweet and innocent that he hesitated for a second on his next words.
“Those flowers have a negative meaning…”
"It's funny you think my 'Kuna knows the meaning of flowers"
"We should have assumed that"
⋆·˚ ༘ *🔭 master list is here
#aledthinks#jjk x reader#jjk drabbles#jujustsu kaisen x reader#ryomen sukuna#drabble#sukuna x reader#sukuna x you#jjk sukuna#sukuna#jjk fluff#jjk x you#jujutsu kaisen#fluff#ryoumen sukuna
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01 | SIXTEEN AGAIN
m.list | prev | next
Your breath hitched, and your phone slipped from your trembling fingers, landing with a soft thud on the carpet.
Four years ago.
The date burned in your mind like a cruel joke. It couldn’t be real. It shouldn’t be real. But the reflection staring back at you, the unfamiliar-yet-familiar state of your room, and the unscarred body you now wore told you otherwise.
This was real.
You forced yourself to take a deep breath, but the air felt too thick, too suffocating. You sank onto the edge of your bed, your hands gripping the sheets tightly as your thoughts spiraled.
What was happening? Was this some kind of hallucination? Were you dead, and this was some twisted afterlife?
You closed your eyes, trying to remember everything that had led up to this moment. The warehouse. The fight with the drug ring members. The blood. And then it hit you.
You died.
There was no questioning it. You felt your heart stop. You felt yourself take your last breath. You remembered the darkness afterwards. The quietness.
Before you heard the alarm.
A noise so mundane, yet so impossibly jarring in the context of your supposed death.
Your heart pounded as new thoughts invaded your mind. If this was real—if you were truly back to being 16—what does this mean?
Was this meant to be a second chance for you?
A second chance?
That was rare.
But a second chance for what exactly? To try again? Another chance to make yourself seen in this godforsaken family? But what use would that be? If you couldn’t do that before, what changes things now?
What exactly could you even fix?
Was it any use to try and see if anything you could change now would make your family acknowledge you?
Your hands tightened into fists as doubt and fear crept in. Four years ago, you were a girl who’d spent every waking moment trying to prove herself. Four years ago, you were still chasing the approval of a family who barely seemed to notice. Four years ago, you were still desperate to find your place, even if it meant destroying yourself in the process.
Did you have to repeat that whole process again? Go through all that pain and disappointment and loneliness all over again?
You shook your head violently, banishing the thought. No. You wouldn’t let that happen. Never again. This time, you’d do things differently. This time, you wouldn’t let yourself go through that again.
Not when that very thing drove you to your death.
You stood up from your bed and when towards your dressing table. Your gaze locked onto your reflection, lingering on your hair. The long, luscious black curls framed your face, a stark reminder of everything you’d endured when you were sixteen. It felt foreign, almost like you were looking at someone else entirely. Back then, your hair had been a source of pride—something you nurtured and refused to cut because you wanted it to grow naturally, to be perfect.
But now, seeing it again after everything you’d been through, it didn’t feel like pride. It felt like a symbol of the girl you used to be. A girl who sought validation in all the wrong places. A girl who let the weight of everyone else’s expectations crush her.
Without hesitation, you reached for the pair of scissors on your desk. You picked them up, holding them firmly in your hand. For a moment, you hesitated, the memories of your past self flashing through your mind. Then, with a sharp breath, you snipped.
The first lock of hair fell to the floor, and you kept going, cutting away the length of your curls until your hair rested just below your shoulders. It was a bit uneven, messy, and far from perfect—but that didn’t matter. The act itself felt liberating, like shedding a layer of skin that didn’t belong to you anymore.
When you finally put the scissors down, you stared at your reflection. You barely recognized the person staring back at you, but for the first time in a long time, you didn’t mind.
This was you. A new you. A girl who wasn’t going to live her life chasing after her family’s approval. A girl who wasn’t going to let herself spiral into loneliness and despair again.
You swore, in that moment, that you’d do things differently. This second chance—whatever it was, however it came to be—was yours. You wouldn’t let anyone dictate your worth this time.
This time, you’d live for yourself.
A soft knock at the door startled you from your thoughts. Your heart stilled as a familiar voice reached your ears, a voice you hadn’t heard in so long—a voice you thought you’d never hear again.
“Miss, are you all right? You’ve missed breakfast. I wanted to check on you.”
Your heart began to pound. You stood frozen for a moment before rushing to the door. As you opened it, you felt your breath hitch.
There he was. Alfred Pennyworth. The man who was supposed to be dead.
But he wasn’t. Not here. Not now. Because somehow, you’d been sent back to the past, and he was alive. Standing in front of you, as real as the pounding of your heart.
You stared at him, wide-eyed, your emotions wavering between shock and overwhelming sadness. Was this why you were sent back? Was this your chance to save him?
Alfred’s expression shifted as he took in your freshly cut hair, his usual composure faltering for just a moment.
“You’ve, uh… changed your look,” he said gently, a hint of hesitation in his voice. “May I ask… why?”
You didn’t answer him right away. Instead, you lunged forward, wrapping your arms tightly around him. You could feel his body tense under your embrace, likely caught off guard, but you couldn’t bring yourself to let go just yet. Damnit, you missed him.
It took Alfred a beat to respond, and even then, his arms came around you tentatively, a silent acknowledgment of the sudden outburst. “Miss,” he began softly, concern lacing his tone, but before he could say more, you pulled back abruptly.
A stray tear had escaped down your cheek, and you quickly wiped it away, offering him a small, shaky smile.
“I just thought it was time for a change,” you replied simply, your voice steadier than you felt.
Alfred’s sharp eyes caught the tear despite your best efforts to hide it. His brow furrowed slightly. “Are you certain you’re all right, Miss?”
You shook your head quickly, forcing your smile to widen. “I’m fine, Alfred. Really.”
He hesitated for a moment, clearly unconvinced, but finally gave a small nod. “Very well, then. Breakfast is waiting for you downstairs.”
You gave him a grateful look and stepped past him, heading downstairs to eat.
As you walked away, Alfred remained rooted in place, watching you. Something was different. He’d seen it in your eyes, in the way you smiled, and in the way you’d hugged him.
He couldn’t place what had shifted, but whatever it was, it wasn’t just another day.
You stepped into the kitchen, the familiar scent of Alfred’s cooking wafting through the air. At the table, you spotted Damian already eating. He was so much younger than you remembered—shorter, his posture not as rigid, but the scowl on his face? Oh, that was exactly the same.
If you were 16, then Damian must be about 11 now. The realization hit you like a wave, and you couldn’t help but stare for a moment, taking in the sight of your youngest brother looking… well, like a kid again.
Unfortunately, he noticed.
Damian’s sharp green eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that made you pause mid-step. He didn’t say anything at first, just stared at you like you were an alien that had invaded his space.
Internally, you thought, What the heck is his problem? But you weren’t about to let him get under your skin. Not this time.
You walked over to the table, keeping your composure, and took your seat. Alfred had already set out your plate—classic scrambled eggs, toast, and fruit, just like you remembered from those years.
As you settled into your chair, Damian finally broke the silence.
“What the hell did you do to your hair?”
You glanced at him briefly but didn’t rise to the bait. “Good morning to you too, Damian,” you replied calmly, picking up your fork.
Damian’s eyes narrowed as he leaned back in his chair, studying you with a scrutinizing gaze. Then he huffed. “It looks stupid.”
That ticked you off. Your grip on the fork tightened momentarily, but you caught yourself before you could snap back. Instead, you took a deep breath and decided to let it go. Without saying a word, you simply started eating your breakfast.
For a split second, you swore you saw Damian flinch, his gaze flicking down to his plate. He let out an annoyed scoff, stabbing his oatmeal with his fork, and mumbled something under his breath.
You couldn’t help but feel a tiny spark of triumph. Ignoring him, not letting him get to you was a win, right?
You kept eating, pretending not to notice how Damian kept sneaking glances at you from across the table, his expression unreadable. Whatever he was thinking, you weren’t going to let it bother you.
Not this time.
Damian had been awake long before the sun rose. His mornings were always disciplined: training, meditation, and breakfast—his time to exist without the noise of others. By the time he sat at the table, the house was still and quiet, just the way he preferred it.
Today was no exception. He ate his breakfast in relative peace, each bite of oatmeal and fruit deliberate as he mentally reviewed his plans for the day. That peace, however, shattered the moment you entered the kitchen.
He heard you before he saw you, the soft padding of your steps on the hardwood floor. He didn’t bother looking up at first, expecting to see you shuffling in half-asleep as you often did. But something made him glance up—and that’s when he froze.
Your hair.
It was short. Messy. Uneven in places, as though you’d taken a pair of scissors to it in a fit of frustration. He blinked, staring, his mind working to reconcile this with the version of you he’d seen just yesterday. What the hell happened?
“What the hell did you do to your hair?” he asked sharply, the words tumbling out before he could stop himself.
You paused, your eyes flicking to him briefly before responding with infuriating calmness. “Good morning to you too, Damian.”
Damian’s eyes narrowed. Normally, you’d snap back with some sarcastic remark. That was how it always went with the two of you—a constant back-and-forth of sharp words. Especially when your father or Grayson wasn’t around to stop you two from bickering. But now? Nothing.
“It looks stupid,” he added, his tone more biting than before.
You didn’t even flinch. Instead, you calmly reached for the plate Alfred had prepared for you, picked up your fork, and started eating.
Damian stared, his expression hardening. What was this? Why weren’t you responding? The silence grated on his nerves in a way he couldn’t quite explain.
His eyes flickered back to your hair. It wasn’t just the fact that it was short—though that was strange enough. It was what the act symbolized. You had always been so particular about your hair, letting it grow long, keeping it neat. He remembered you fussing over it, refusing to cut even the split ends because you wanted it “natural.”
But now? You’d hacked it off like it meant nothing.
Damian’s fingers tapped against the edge of his plate as he studied you. Something was different about you. It wasn’t just the hair. It was the way you carried yourself, the calmness in your demeanor that didn’t belong to the person he remembered.
And it unsettled him.
He hated not understanding things, and right now, you were an enigma. Damian prided himself on being observant, on reading people with precision, but you were throwing him off completely.
“Ridiculous,” he muttered under his breath, stabbing at his oatmeal with unnecessary force.
Despite himself, his gaze kept flicking back to you. You ate in silence, seemingly unbothered by his presence—or his insults. And for a moment, just a moment, he thought he saw a flicker of something in your eyes. Something quiet. Resigned.
Damian scoffed, turning back to his food, but the uneasy feeling lingered.
Whatever had changed in you overnight, it unsettled him more than he cared to admit. You were acting like a stranger, like he didn’t matter, and Damian hated that.
Why did he hate that? He doesn’t know. But what he does know is that he hated not knowing things. And right now, he had no idea what changed about you overnight. Though one thing was clear: he wasn’t going to let it slide. Not until he figured it out.
You shoveled the rest of your breakfast into your mouth as quickly as you could manage, the clock on the wall reminding you just how little time you had. It had been so long since you’d been in school—high school, no less. The thought made your stomach churn.
High school. The one place where whispers and rumors followed you like shadows. Where the weight of your name and the absence of your family’s visible support made you feel like a target. Where every glance, every muttered word, felt like a judgment.
But then, another thought struck you.
High school also meant Adrien and Caitlyn.
Your heart skipped a beat at the realization. Adrien and Caitlyn—your two closest friends, the ones who stuck by you when no one else dared. The ones who had tried so hard to pull you out of your destructive spiral, to get you to stop chasing the approval of a family that seemed indifferent. And how did you repay them? You pushed them away.
You could still remember the way their faces fell when you told them off, accusing them of not understanding you, of not understanding why you needed to prove yourself. The hurt in their eyes, the silence that followed. You hadn’t seen them in years.
But now? Now you had the chance to fix it.
The thought gave you a renewed sense of urgency. You stood, grabbing your bag—or what you thought was your bag. You weren’t even sure if it had everything you needed, but you didn’t care. You just needed to go.
As you rushed down the stairs, Alfred appeared at the base, his brows furrowing in confusion. “Miss, where on Earth are you running off to in such a hurry?”
“School!” you blurted, already moving past him.
“School?” Alfred repeated, his tone laced with disbelief. “Miss, if you insist on going, at least allow me to—”
“No time!” you called over your shoulder, pushing open the front door. “I’ll take the bus!”
“The bus? Miss—”
But you didn’t wait to hear the rest of his protests. You bolted down the driveway, your bag bouncing against your back as you ran. The crisp morning air stung your lungs, but you didn’t care.
You had to catch the bus.
You had to see them.
The thought of Adrien and Caitlyn waiting at the school, of their familiar faces, of the chance to mend what you’d broken—it filled you with equal parts hope and fear. What if they didn’t forgive you? What if they’d moved on?
No. You couldn’t let yourself think that way.
This was your second chance.
A chance to make things right.
You reached the bus stop just in time, your breath coming in short gasps as the vehicle pulled up. The doors hissed open, and you stepped inside, your mind racing faster than your feet had moments ago.
For years, you had regretted the way things ended with them. Now, you had the chance to fix it. You just had to find the courage to do it.
You fumbled in your skirt pocket, fingers brushing against a few spare coins. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to cover the fare. You dropped the change into the slot, the clinking sound strangely grounding in this surreal moment.
As you stepped further into the bus, your eyes scanned the rows of seats. The hum of the engine and the soft chatter of other students filled the space, but all of that faded when your gaze landed on two familiar figures in the back row.
Adrien, with his short blond hair falling messily over his forehead, was leaning back against the window, lazily scrolling through his phone. Caitlyn, her brown hair tied neatly in a ponytail, sat beside him, scribbling something into a notebook.
Your chest tightened. There they were. Just as you remembered them.
The realization hit you all over again, like a tidal wave crashing against your chest: you were back. Truly, impossibly, undeniably back.
Your gaze lingered on them, drawn to the easy camaraderie between the two. Adrien muttered something, and Caitlyn rolled her eyes with a smirk before elbowing him lightly. The sight was painfully nostalgic, a reminder of the warmth and friendship you’d so carelessly tossed aside.
Then you noticed the empty seat beside them.
It called to you, tempting you to go over, to sit down, to fall back into the fold of their friendship as if nothing had ever happened. You took a hesitant step forward, but your feet faltered.
No. Not yet.
They hadn’t noticed you yet, and maybe that was for the best. You couldn’t just barge back into their lives, not without making things right first. You owed them an apology—a real one—and this wasn’t the time or place for it.
So, you slid into an empty seat farther up the bus, one out of their line of sight.
You exhaled shakily, leaning back against the seat as your mind churned. Seeing them again after all this time stirred up a whirlwind of emotions—guilt, longing, hope, and fear all tangled together.
You didn’t want to ruin their morning. You didn’t want to come crashing back into their lives uninvited, not when they didn’t even know what you carried in your heart.
For now, you’d wait.
But as you sat there, your eyes flickered to the reflection in the window, catching the faint outlines of Adrien and Caitlyn in the background. You couldn’t help but hope that later, you’d be able to face them properly and make things right.
The bus ride felt agonizingly slow, your heart thrumming in your chest as the city passed by in a blur. You were sixteen again. Sixteen, sitting in a high school bus, on your way to Gotham Academy. The thought was still absurd.
When the bus finally pulled up to the school, you stepped off hesitantly, your shoes hitting the pavement with a weight you hadn’t felt in years. Gotham Academy loomed before you, as grand and imposing as ever. The sprawling stone building with its Gothic spires seemed to mock you, its arched windows catching the pale morning sunlight.
You stood frozen for a moment, staring up at the place that had been the backdrop for so many of your formative years. Nostalgia washed over you, bittersweet and suffocating.
The courtyard was already buzzing with students. Groups of teenagers clustered around benches, laughing, chatting, or finishing up last-minute assignments. Some darted across the lawn to catch up with friends. Others leaned against the stone walls, scrolling through their phones.
It was so familiar. The hum of conversation, the subtle hierarchy of who sat where, the tension of homework left undone—it all came rushing back to you. It felt like stepping into a memory, but this wasn’t just a memory. This was real.
You inhaled deeply, the crisp morning air tinged with the faint scent of freshly cut grass and chalk dust.
Two years. It had been two years since you’d last walked these halls. Two years since you’d graduated and left this chapter of your life behind. Except now, here you were, a sixteen-year-old all over again, staring at the same building with the same familiar ache in your chest.
Your gaze shifted to the steps leading to the main entrance. How many times had you trudged up those stairs, your bag heavier than your shoulders could bear? How many times had you stood here, dreading the day ahead because of whispers you couldn’t silence and rumors you couldn’t stop?
The same faces. The same cliques. You spotted people you hadn’t thought about in years, younger and unburdened by the drama that would inevitably unfold.
The weight of it all hit you again. This wasn’t just a second chance to relive the past. This was a chance to change it. To fix the things that had gone wrong. To make peace with the person you were at sixteen and the choices you made.
Your grip tightened on the strap of your bag as you forced yourself to take a step forward, then another. Each step brought a flood of memories, some sweet, others bitter.
This time, things were going to be different.
This was it. The start of your new beginning—or your repeat, depending on how you looked at it.
The rest of the school day went surprisingly smoothly. Classes passed by with minimal hassle, and you even managed to take a few notes—though it was difficult to focus on anything but the surreal fact that you were truly sixteen again.
At lunch, you avoided the cafeteria entirely. You weren’t ready to deal with the crowded chaos yet, so you found a quiet spot outside and ate there instead. The day wasn’t as bad as you remembered, though the whispers and side glances still lingered in the corners of your awareness.
By the time the final bell rang, you almost dared to think that high school wasn’t as awful as you had built it up in your mind. Maybe it was the years of separation—or maybe it was the determination you felt now, knowing you wouldn’t let the same things happen again.
But just as you stepped out of your last class and into the hall, a hand gripped your wrist tightly, yanking you backward. Before you could react, you were dragged into an empty classroom.
The door clicked shut behind you, and when you turned, you froze.
Chloe Travers.
She stood before you with her arms crossed, a wicked smile curling at the corners of her lips. She hadn’t changed a bit—not that you expected her to. Her pristine blonde curls, immaculate uniform, and piercing green eyes screamed perfection. But you knew better.
Chloe was the reason your high school years had been hell. The daughter of influential Gotham socialites, she was untouchable—at least, that’s what everyone believed. Her reputation was pristine, but beneath it was a master manipulator who thrived on making others miserable. She never did anything that could directly incriminate her, and when she couldn’t keep her hands clean, her clique—Maya, Darius, Victoria, Ryder, and Sienna—always covered for her.
You clenched your fists, already bracing for whatever cruel remark she was about to make.
“I almost didn’t recognize you with that awful haircut,” she sneered, taking a slow step closer. “What, did Daddy finally stop paying for your fancy stylists? Or are you just trying to make a statement now?”
You swallowed the bitterness rising in your throat, but this time, you didn’t shrink back.
“Thanks for noticing,” you said evenly, your tone sharper than you’d ever dared to use before.
Her expression faltered for a split second, but she quickly recovered, her smirk widening. “Wow, you’ve grown a backbone. What’s next? You’ll actually try to fight back this time?”
“I don’t need to fight back against someone whose entire personality revolves around making people miserable,” you shot back, keeping your voice steady.
Her eyes narrowed, and the room grew tense. Chloe’s lips curled into a condescending grin.
“You really think you’re so much better now, don’t you?” she hissed. “You’re still the same pathetic little shadow, clinging to your daddy’s name to make yourself seem important.”
You bit the inside of your cheek, refusing to let her see the way her words stung.
“I’m not the one clinging to my parents for relevance,” you said coolly. “At least I know how to do something other than bully people.”
Her face twisted in fury, and before you could blink, her hand shot up, ready to strike you across the face.
But the impact never came.
A hand stopped hers mid-air, gripping her wrist firmly. Your breath caught as you turned to see Adrien standing there, his jaw tight and his eyes burning with anger.
“Enough,” he said sharply, his voice cold and commanding.
At the same time, someone stepped in front of you protectively, shielding you from Chloe. Caitlyn. Her presence was steady and reassuring, her shoulders squared as if daring Chloe to challenge her.
“You okay?” Caitlyn asked over her shoulder, not taking her eyes off Chloe.
You nodded numbly, unable to form words.
Chloe yanked her arm free from Adrien’s grip, glaring at him. “You’re making a mistake,” she spat, her voice trembling with rage.
“No,” Adrien said calmly, his gaze unwavering. “The mistake would be letting you get away with this again.”
Without another word, Caitlyn grabbed your hand gently but firmly and started leading you out of the room. Adrien followed close behind, his presence a silent warning to Chloe not to follow.
The walk to another empty classroom was silent, tension hanging thick in the air. When you finally stopped, Caitlyn let go of your hand, and the three of you stood there, the quiet almost unbearable.
You stared at them, your mind racing. Why? Why did they jump in like that? Why did they defend you, especially after what happened the last time you’d been sixteen? You remembered the argument clearly, even though it had been four years for you. For them, though, it was probably still fresh.
Before you could say anything, Caitlyn hesitated, then broke the silence.
“Your hair,” she said softly, her tone unsure.
You blinked, caught off guard. “What about it?”
She shifted uncomfortably, glancing at Adrien before looking back at you. “It’s… different. Shorter. You never would’ve done that before.”
Adrien crossed his arms, his expression unreadable as he studied you. “Yeah. What’s going on with you, (Name)?”
You blinked, your throat tightening. “What do you mean?”
“You’re different,” Caitlyn said, stepping closer. Her usual sharpness was softened by concern. “Chloe’s always been horrible, but you’ve never fought back like that before. And now… you’ve cut your hair and…” She trailed off, her brow furrowing.
Adrien crossed his arms, tilting his head as he studied you. “We’re not mad, but we’re worried. You’re not acting like yourself. Did something happen?”
The care in their voices made your chest ache. For years, you’d thought about how deeply you regretted pushing them away, how much you missed them. Now, standing in front of them again, with their concern still so evident despite everything, you didn’t know what to say.
Your lip quivered, and you glanced at the floor, feeling shame creep up your spine. They didn’t deserve the way you’d treated them back then. They were great friends—better than you’d ever acknowledged.
And you threw it all away because you were so caught up in proving yourself to your family.
“I…” Your voice cracked, and you looked up at them, blinking rapidly to hold back the tears threatening to spill. “I’m sorry.”
Adrien and Caitlyn exchanged a surprised look, but neither of them interrupted you.
“I’m so, so sorry,” you said, your voice breaking. “For everything. For how I treated you both. For all the awful things I said. You didn’t deserve any of it.”
You could see their brows knit with confusion, but you couldn’t stop. “You two… you were always there for me. Always trying to help, always standing by me. And I pushed you away like an idiot because I was so focused on proving something to people who didn’t even care.”
A tear slipped down your cheek, and you hurriedly wiped it away. “I don’t even know why you bothered with me after the way I acted. I don’t deserve friends like you. I don’t deserve you.”
The silence that followed was unbearable. Your chest tightened as you added, “And I get it. I’d understand if you don’t want to be friends with me anymore after what I said and did, but—”
You didn’t get to finish.
Caitlyn lunged forward, wrapping her arms around you tightly, cutting off your words with the force of her hug. A second later, Adrien joined her, his arms wrapping around both of you.
For a moment, you were too stunned to move. But as their warmth sank in, so did the overwhelming sense of relief. You let out a shuddering breath, the tears finally spilling freely as you hugged them back.
“You’re such an idiot,” Caitlyn mumbled into your shoulder, her voice trembling. “But we missed you.”
Adrien chuckled softly. “Yeah. Don’t think we’re letting you off the hook that easily. You still owe us an explanation.”
You laughed—a real, genuine laugh—and it felt like something inside you was healing. For the first time in years, you felt lighter.
“Maybe it’s because of the new haircut,” Adrien joked, pulling back slightly to ruffle your still-damp hair.
“Oh, shut up,” you said, sniffling but smiling.
They both grinned, and the three of you stood there for a moment, wrapped in a bubble of comfort and understanding. Whatever came next, you knew one thing for sure: you weren’t letting go of them this time.
You walked into the manor, cheeks hurting from the wide smile you couldn’t seem to shake off. For once, you felt like you were doing something right—something for yourself. The weight of guilt and regret that had once plagued you felt lighter, almost manageable. You’d made up with Adrien and Caitlyn. You’d taken the first step in changing things.
It felt surreal, like you were rewriting the script of your life in ways you hadn’t dared to dream before.
As you walked into the living room, Alfred was tidying up, humming softly to himself. He glanced up when he saw you, his sharp eyes narrowing slightly in curiosity.
“You’re back earlier than expected,” he said, pausing his work. “And wearing a smile that’s far too wide to be anything ordinary. Might I ask what has brought this unusual cheer to your day?”
You grinned, almost mischievously. “Let’s just say… things are changing, Alfred. For the better.”
Alfred raised a brow but didn’t press further. “Hmm, cryptic as always, I see. Well, whatever has brought this change, I hope it continues to do so.”
You turned to head upstairs, but Alfred’s voice stopped you. “Oh, before I forget,” he said, “you do have a patrol scheduled for tonight. Do be mindful of the time.”
And just like that, your smile faltered. Patrol. Right. How could you almost forget? Almost.
Because this was that time—when you were sixteen, desperate to prove yourself, and driven by an endless spiral of toxic self-comparison. This was the period when Stephanie had donned the Batgirl mantle, leaving behind her identity as Spoiler, and your insecurities had spiraled out of control.
Back then, you felt overshadowed, like Stephanie’s presence somehow diminished your worth. Even after she eventually returned to being Spoiler, the damage was already done in your mind. You hadn’t “won” anything; you’d simply been left behind.
But now… now, standing in this second chance at life, you could see how warped your thinking had been. None of it mattered. What mattered was doing what was right—not for anyone else, but for yourself.
Your resolve solidified. You turned back to Alfred. “Where’s father?”
Alfred frowned slightly, tilting his head. “In the cave, as usual. Why do you ask?”
You didn’t answer, simply nodded and headed toward the clock entrance. Alfred’s confused expression followed you, but he didn’t question further.
Descending into the Batcave, the cool air and faint hum of machinery enveloped you. The smell of leather, metal, and the faint chemical tang of the medbay felt familiar, almost comforting.
There he was, seated at the Batcomputer, his broad shoulders hunched slightly as he scanned reports and case files. His back was to you, but you didn’t need to see his face to know the intensity of his focus.
“Father,” you called out.
Bruce didn’t turn, though his fingers paused briefly over the keyboard. “I’m here,” he replied, his voice steady and sharp, as always. “What is it?”
You stepped further in, your heart pounding in your chest. “I’m not going on patrol tonight.”
Bruce didn’t react at first, still absorbed in whatever was on the screen. “Alright,” he said absently. “I’ll reschedule your route for another time. Stephanie can fill in for you tonight—”
“No,” you interrupted, your voice firm. “That’s not what I meant.”
Finally, Bruce stopped typing. Slowly, he turned his chair around to face you, his expression calm but searching. “Then what do you mean?”
You took a deep breath, summoning every ounce of courage you had. “I’m done, Father. I’m quitting as Batgirl.”
i don’t think this really focused on the batfam as much, it’s more of world-building i suppose. but the next parts will definitely showcase more of the batfam!!
taglist (open): @tricksters-maze @dusk-muse @quethekillerqueen @silverklaus @isupportorbitalbombardment @nxdxsworld @vanessa-boo @coffeeaddictxd @moonsbluekingdom @yuya-bubbly @percythebitchwitch @anonymousdisco @jason-todd-fangirl-14 @redsakura101 @what-0-life @idkwhattoputhete @secretyouthcomputer @witch-waycult @allycat4458 @dazed-lavender @eclecticfurylady @wizzerreblogs @marsmabe @daddysfangirls-dc @hoeinthehouse @beeweensblog @ilxandra @agent-nobody-knows @thethingwiththefeathers @mochiivqi @pix-stuff @narration-ator @nebulousmoon3990 @delias-stuff @froggy-voidd @jjsmeowthie @kore-of-the-underworld @nen-nyy @juthesillylesbain @vikkus-main @emilylouise123 @blueiones @horror-lover-69 @chaotic-fangirl-blog @wassupbroski55555 | ask to be added <3 (idk why i can’t tag some of y’all, must be your settings i think 😓)
#angst#batsis#batfamily#batfam x batsis#batfam x reader#batsisreader#bruce wayne x daughter reader#damian wayne x sister reader#dick grayson x sister reader#jason todd x sister reader#tim drake x sister reader#cassandra cain x sister reader#bruce wayne#dick grayson#jason todd#tim drake#damian wayne#cassandra cain#alfred pennyworth#barbara gordon#stephanie brown#duke thomas#x reader#batman#imagine#regressed reader#regressor reader#undoing fate
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