#he was in love with her before this & he's in love now clearly | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

hanniebaeee · 2 days ago

Text

Feral Puppy

Hyunjin x fem!reader

Warnings: SMUT MDNI

Genre: colleagues/friends to lovers, fluff, smut

Summary: Hyunjin has the hugest crush on you, and you've been trying to avoid any workplace drama. He's an idol after all. But what are you supposed to do when this feral puppy is totally invested in winning you over?

a/n: Sweaty Jinnie is a weakness 🤭🤭🤭

You sat at your desk, deep in work. The office was quiet this early in the morning, except for the rhythmic tapping of keys. You were so focused on your task that you barely noticed the group of boys passing by your little cubicle.

That is, until a soft thud caught your attention.

You glanced up, just in time to see a certain dark haired menace dropping a cupcake onto your desk - perfectly adorable with heart-shaped sprinkles, no less.

Hyunjin flashed you a wink that could make anyone melt. And you? You were trying so hard to not react.

You could feel your heart skip a beat, and you sighed in exasperation, your cheeks heating up. Felix who was passing by gave you a wink.

“Honestly, I don’t know if I should be flattered or embarrassed.” you muttered, and Felix snorted in response.

"A little bit of both, I think." He said, picking off a sprinkle and popping it in his mouth.

You couldn’t help but laugh, because Hyunjin had been trying to get your attention for months. He was always sneaking little treats or flowers to your desk, or winking at you as you passed each other in the hallways.

It was adorable in the most frustratingly complicated way, especially since you were colleagues - technically- and it was strictly against the company policy. Especially since he was an idol and all that.

But you still felt a rush of affection that made your heart ache. Hyunjin was too cute, and you hated that you had to keep it professional.

---

It was just a little after lunch that you had walked into the practice room to have a word with Chan. You've been bracing yourself for impact, because you know what a feral puppy he could be sometimes.

The second you entered, naturally his head snapped around - he’d caught a whiff of your perfume. His eyes locked onto yours, and you could see the way his whole body seemed to tense.

"Down, boy!" Changbin barked, grabbing Hyunjin by the collar just as he took an eager step forward.

But Hyunjin just growled, still looking at you with those wide, pleading eyes.

"I just need to see her face," he insisted, his voice a little too dramatic, and oh dear, lets just say it hit you just at the right spot.

Felix was leaning against the wall now, clearly entertained.

"Bro, her face is your phone wallpaper," he teased with a wink.

The comment made you blush harder than you ever had in front of these idiots. Your eyes darted to Chan, who was supposed to be the mature one here. And now the said mature one was desperately trying to stifle his laughter.

You gave him a glare and he just shrugged, like there was nothing he could do to stop this chaos.

“Chan, are you serious right now?!” You hissed and he cleared his throat trying to regain some seriousness.

But before he could respond, Changbin was back at it, pulling Hyunjin back by the shoulder.

"Nope," he said, shaking his head. "Down, puppy, down."

You couldn't help the little chuckle that left your lips.

God, you loved him. It was undeniable. But there was no way you could get involved with him, not with all the rules in place. You just had to keep pretending that his antics weren’t making your heart flutter in the most inappropriate of ways.

"You’re such a menace, you know that?" You muttered, shaking your head at Hyunjin.

Hyunjin's eyes sparkled with mischief as he said, "If that means getting your attention, then I’ll gladly wear that title."

Your poor heart screamed at that, because honestly, you loved every minute of it.

And so did he.

A few days later, you found yourself staying late at the office, finishing up some urgent reports. You were surrounded by an ominous stillness, because you were the only one left working on your floor and it was getting a little creepy by the moment.

You sent your emails quickly, packed up in record speed and bolted out of your workspace. But as soon as you turned the corner, you walked straight into a wall of muscle.

You froze, heart skipping a beat as you looked up slowly. And seeing Hyunjin’s sweaty, disheveled face staring back at you, you let out a sigh of relief.

That didn't last long because this exactly was your biggest…undoing. Sweat soaked Hyunjin was a weakness you didn't even like to discuss with yourself.

His shirt was soaked through, clinging to his body, and you could actually see the muscles in his chest through it. His damn hair fell messily around his face, and there's a sheen of sweat on his forehead, making him look like some kind of god sent from another realm.

His wide eyes met yours, and for a moment, neither of you moved. You looked away quickly, absolutely embarrassed, but the damage was already done.

You could feel the string of control inside you stretching taut, ready to snap.

Hyunjin watched you with a predatory gleam in his eyes. Not aggressive. No, it’s playful - and so damn hot.

“Didn’t expect to run into you tonight,” he said, his voice husky.

You forced yourself to look up at him, and for a second, you both just stared at each other. Your body was screaming for release, but your brain was holding on.

You couldn’t cross that line. Not when it could ruin everything.

"I…uh, didn’t mean to startle you," you managed, your voice trembling just a little too much for your liking.

His scent is intoxicating, a mix of sweat and his cologne. And pheromones or whatever.

"Startled?" he teased, his lips curling into a smile. "You’re staring. Are you sure you didn’t come to see me?"

"I-I wasn’t staring," you stammered, but you couldn’t even look him in the eye. You were so aware of every inch of him right now - it was like the droplets of sweat trickling down his skin were begging for your attention.

"You're not fooling anyone, you know," he murmured, his voice dipping lower, sending a wave of heat shooting straight to your core. "You’re trying not to break, but I think it’s too late for that."

“Hyunjin-”

"How long are you going to pretend you don’t want this?" he asked, his words heavy with desire, making your heart race faster. "I can’t be the only one who feels it."

You swallowed hard, your hands trembling, your resolve completely gone. You wanted him so badly, it hurt. And maybe, just maybe, you didn’t want to fight it anymore.

Seeing that he has tormented you enough, Hyunjin pulled back just slightly, giving you a playful look that said, I’ll let you off the hook for now.

"You’re so annoying," you whispered, more to yourself than to him.

He just smiled, completely unfazed, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand. "Am I?"

The next few days were a nightmare. The lingering, burning tension that Hyunjin’s created between you two was literally frying your insides. And let's be real. Seeing him in all his sweat soaked glory, you were so unbearably turned on.

Seeing you at the edge of your own self control, has unleashed something in him. He knows you were just as interested. That little moment? He was holding onto it.

So you did the best thing - the only thing at this point - avoiding him. You asked Chan to meet at a conference room for a quick chat when it was necessary. Or you generally didn't venture towards the practice room.

You’ve learned to keep your distance, at least a little. And you hoped that Hyunjin wouldn't notice. But Hyunjin was not having it. No. He was making it his personal goal to make sure nothing went unnoticed.

---

You were walking through the hallway, minding your business, trying to get to the elevator. You heard the footsteps behind you too late. You could swear you felt the heat of his presence before you even saw him.

Hyunjin, being the menace he was, barreled into you out of nowhere, pressing you up against the wall in a move that was so absolutely ridiculous that for a split second, you wondered if you were dreaming.

“What the hell, Hyunjin?!” you exclaimed, flailing as you try to regain your balance, your palms slapping against the cold wall.

You're heart raced and you glanced around feeling kind of dazed. But Hyunjin just stood there, smirking, totally unbothered.

“What?” he said innocently, his body still pressed against yours. “There’s not enough space to pass.”

“Are you serious?!” You flailed again, trying to step aside, but he just shifted his body to keep you pinned, making it impossible to escape.

“Oh my God, Hyunjin, move!” You were flushed, not just from the physical contact, but from the audacity of it all. You didn’t even know if you were angry, embarrassed, or completely turned on.

He looked down at you, his eyes glittering with something so mischievously feral.

“I know you don't mind, sweetheart,” he said, and you groaned internally. How did he keep doing this? The way he was so confident, so sure of himself.

“Hyunjin, please.” You tried to get him to step back, but it’s like he’s glued to you.

“I didn't even do anything,”

Oh the nerve!

You tried to wiggle away, but his arms came up on either side of you, trapping you even further. You’re caught, pressed against the wall with nowhere to go, and his body is all around you.

“Let me go, Hyunjin,” you breathed, but it’s almost a plea now. “There are cameras everywhere!”

His grin widened as he watched you, and said, “Oh is there?”

You let out a soft growl of frustration, realizing you’ve lost all sense of control. Your grip on his shirt tightened, and Hyunjin bit his bottom lip seductively. Your were trembling in his arms.

Maybe that was what he was aiming for, because he dropped his arms and took a step back.

You quickly scrambled away, muttering curses under your breath as you speed-walked away. And Hyunjin watched you go, that mischievous smirk never leaving his face.

“See you around, sweetheart,” he calls out after you.

Hyunjin has successfully invaded every corner of your mind that you had so meticulously disciplined against doing exactly that.

The teasing. The tension. Oh the need - it's been eating you alive. You couldn’t focus at work. You couldn’t go anywhere without your heart hammering at the thought of him.

You’ve tried to ignore it, tried to compartmentalize it, but the truth is - you were well past the point of no return.

And then, of course, it happens again.

It was another late night at the office - one you tried so hard to avoid, but here you were. You were discreet and quiet.

You thought you'd made it. That this time you’d escaped his clutches. But as you walked down the dimly lit hallway, your heart just started to race again.

Because of course, he was coming toward you from the other side. And he stopped in front of you, his hands stuffed into his pockets.

"Are you trying to avoid me?" he asked, his voice so low and husky, you wanted to jump off a cliff.

You swallowed hard, shaking your head as you said, “Why would I do that?”

Your voice wavered worse than a leaf in a storm.

“Just making sure you don’t get any ideas,” he whispered - his face was so close now that you can feel his breath on your lips.

You were so damn tempted to lean in just a little. You shouldn’t. You couldn't.

“You know, I’m waiting for you to crack, baby,” he murmured. “Just let go, you know you want to.”

Your heart raced and flipped and fluttered all at once, and you could feel the heat creeping up your neck. You tried to step back but obviously there's nowhere to go. But he followed, matching your every movement.

“Hyunjin,” you said his name so softly, a breathless sound that made his eyes flash with something darker, something predatory. “Please, just-”

But he was done playing nice. His hand came up to gently hold your chin, lifting your face so you couldn't look away and you were forced to meet his gaze.

“You think you can just keep running from me?” he breathed, stepping impossibly closer. “If you didn't want me, you would've said that by now. But you keep me hanging, and I'm just about done with that.”

And that was when you lost it.

Before you knew what you were doing, your hand came up to grip the back of his neck, pulling him closer. His lips crashed against yours, desperate, unrestrained. The kiss was hot, messy - all tongue and teeth.

And it was everything you’ve wanted.

He groaned into the kiss, his hands sliding down to your waist, pulling you even closer. His body was hard and slick with sweat, and you could feel the heat radiating from every inch of him.

His lips trailed down your neck, making you gasp as he kissed the sensitive skin just below your ear.

“Told you,” he whispered against your skin, his breath hot. “I knew you couldn’t keep pretending.”

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his lips slightly swollen from the kiss.

“I need to hear it, okay?” he said, his voice low and filled with promise. “Tell me you want this too.”

You looked at him, your breath coming in shallow pants. You were done pretending.

“No more running,” you whispered. “I want you too…”

And Hyunjin gave you a smile so radiant, you could die happily at the moment.

“Come on,” He said, taking your hand and pulling you away. “Let's go somewhere safe.”

A room next to their studio. Barely used. Kind of dusty. But it worked.

The minute you stepped in, his lips were on yours. He had you pressed up against the cold wall of the unused office, your bodies tangled together in an almost desperate need. Your hands tugged at his shirt, trying to get it off, and he didn’t even hesitate, pulling it over his head and tossing it aside.

His hands roamed over you, caressing, groping, pulling you closer as if he was starving for you.

“God, I love you-” He growled, his hands sliding down to your hips, pulling you into him. The heat radiating off his body and the feel of every muscle flex beneath his skin - you were blinded by it.

His hands were sliding up your sides, tugging at your clothes, as if he was hungry to see every inch of you. You gasp when his fingertips grazed the skin of your waist, as he took off your shirt.

"Hyunjin..." you whispered, breathless, the sound of his name escaping your lips like a prayer.

"You’re so fucking beautiful," he growled, his lips finding their way down down chest. His fingers pulled down the cup of your bra, as he pressed soft kisses around the flesh.

Your lips parted, but no words came out, just breathy gasps as his lips wrapped around your nipple. The soft scrape of his teeth on your skin made you shiver, and you couldn't stop the low moan that escaped from deep in your chest.

“Fuck baby,” he moaned against your skin, his breath hot, sending goosebumps across your body.

“Hyunjin,” you gasped, tugging him closer, your hands finding his waistband of his sweats. He groaned, clearly as desperate as you are, and his lips crashed back to yours. His tongue sweeped over yours, and you lost yourself in the kiss.

His hands moved down to your waist, his grip tightening as he lifted you effortlessly. Your legs wrapped around his waist, and you felt how hard he was for you.

He carried you effortlessly toward the desk in the corner of the room. Placing you on the edge of the desk, his hands trailed up your thighs as he leaned in to kiss you again. You couldn't stop the trembling in your body as you pulled him closer.

Hyunjin’s hands move quickly, pulling off the rest of your clothes. His dark eyes take in your body, pupils blown wide with lust.

“You’re perfect,” he murmured, his hands sliding over the exposed skin of your tummy.

“Hyunjin… now.” you said desperately, pulling at his pants again, and they're gone in a flash.

When he finally stood completely bare before you, the sight of him sent a shock of heat straight through your body. He was so beautiful - every inch of him.

His eyes never left yours as he positioned himself between your legs, his hands gripping your waist as he brought you closer to him. You felt his hard length pressed against you, and you whimpered softly at the thought of what’s about to happen.

“I need you,” you whispered, your hands running through his hair, pulling him in for another kiss. “Now.”

And with that, Hyunjin moved, spreading your legs and pushing into you slowly. You shivered as he filled you completely, stretching you out.

You gazed up at him, the beads of sweat (he was sweating again - again) trickling down the side of his face.

“Oh my God,” You whined softly, closing your eyes, and he grinned, a chuckle escaping his lips. He began to move, slipping in and out of you with every thrust. Your hands gripped at the edges of the desk, trying to steady yourself as the pleasure built between you both.

You were so wet, and Hyunjin couldn't stop looking at where you two were connected, and with a frustrated sigh, he pulled out completely.

You gasped and stared up at him, as he grabbed your legs and pulled you more to the edge and then, his face was in between your thighs.

You almost shrieked - because that was absolutely unexpected. He wasn't wasting any time, his tongue lapping at your dripping folds and nudging your clit. Your hand landed on his hair, pulling at it gently and Hyunjin hummed - the vibrations of it making you drip even more.

“Hyun… Hyunjin!” You moaned, as he licked softly over your clit and nibbled on it gently making your breath catch.

It didn't take long for your first orgasm to crash down over you, and when Hyunjin straightened, he had the most satisfied grin on his face.

“You're so sweet, baby,” He cooed and you were sure your cheeks were at least two shades redder than before. “I couldn't resist it.”

You laughed, a tired one at that and he laughed with you before stepping in between your legs again. He ran his hands up and down your thighs and you watched, breathing heavily.

“Can I?” He asked softly, and you nodded with a smile.

It felt deliciously good when he slipped in this time, and the rhythm between you was slow at first - tender - but it didn't take long for that to change. Hyunjin’s need took over, and he began to move faster and harder, his body crashing into yours with a force that left you breathless.

The sound of his body slapping against yours filled the room, and you couldn't stop the moans that escaped your lips. Every thrust sent waves of pleasure coursing through you, and you clung on to him tightly.

He was everywhere - his hands, his lips, his body - and you were drowning in him.

You pull him closer, you lips kissing down his neck - glistening with sweat - and you loved the way he moaned as you bit down right below his ear.

You didn't know this was such a turn on for you until today. This man did things to you that even you didn't understand. And you didn't mind really.

And you could feel that knot tightening in your belly again. Your eyes met, and you gripped him tightly, as his name escaped your lips in a breathless gasp.

Your whole body shuddered as you hit your peak again, and Hyunjin kept moving, till you heard him groan and pull out quickly, spilling all over your tummy.

You were both left breathless, hearts racing, tangled together in a mess of sweat and your releases. For a moment, neither of you speak.

Finally, Hyunjin gently cupped your face with his hand, his eyes softening.

“I love you, Y/N. So damn much.” He whispered and you could swear you've never seen him being this serious. Ever.

“I love you too, Jinnie,” You said, and your smile had him smiling. And the two of you were giggling and hugging each other tightly.

“I told you I’d make you mine,” he mumbled against your neck, pressing a gentle kiss there.

“Yeah yeah,”

The next morning, you walked into the office, trying to act like everything was normal. But as soon as you stepped in, the atmosphere just felt different.

You sat down at your desk, but before you could even open your laptop, Changbin, Felix, and Chan came strolling into the office like they’ve been waiting for you.

Oh they knew.

“Morning, Y/N,” Changbin said, his tone way too casual. “Sleep well?”

You forced a smile, trying to stay calm, but inside you’re screaming.

“Yeah, sure. Thanks for asking.” you managed to say, as you avoided making eye contact with him.

“I’m sure you had a very eventful night, huh?” Felix was leaning against your desk now, his chin on his hand and a toothy grin in place.

You dropped your head into your hands, already feeling the embarrassment creeping up. And then, you heard it. That sweet, chuckle which had you wanting to crawl under your desk and never come out.

“Hyunjin,” you hissed, glaring at him as he strutted over to you, like a damn puppy who’s just been given a treat.

And he looked so fucking proud of himself.

"Good morning, sweetheart,” he said, dropping that mandatory cupcake on your desk.

You didn't hold back the sigh.

“Oh my God, Hyunjin,” you whined, burying your face in your hands in defeat. “Please.”

“What? You think they didn’t notice?” he asked innocently, pointing at the spot under his ear, where he sported a very evident hickey.

Oh you wanted to die. Felix snickered, totally enjoying this.

“And you’re glowing love, it looks good.” he said kindly.

“Oh my god, oh my god,” you groaned, pressing your fingers into your temples. “Could you not?”

“You know we should have a talk about office etiquette. But then again... if it was that good…” Chan added, raising his eyebrows, a smile tugging at his lips as he glanced between you and Hyunjin.

“I’m going to murder all of you.”

Divider: @saradika-graphics

Tags: @moonchild9350 @velvetmoonlght @eastjonowhere @pixie-felix @sailor--sun @satosugu4l

#stray kids #skz #hyunjin x reader #hyunjin x y/n #hyunjin x you #hyunjin smut #hyunjin fluff #hyunjin scenarios #skz smut #skz x reader #stray kids x reader #stray kids smut

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moonstruckme · 2 days ago

Note

Pookie! I need you to write me something pretty please :)

Can you write Remus comforting a reader with an anxiety disorder when someone told them "there's nothing to be anxious about. You just want attention" ??? Pretty please?? Love you pookieeeeeee

Thanks for requesting!

cw: mean girl stuff, social anxiety

Remus Lupin x fem!reader ♡ 929 words

“Shh.” Remus holds you close to his chest, his hand moving up and down your arm now that your crying has slowed. “It’s okay. It’s just us, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you echo, croakily. You’re glad you can’t see your boyfriend’s face, for fear you’d die of embarrassment otherwise. The looming insecurity of your day stands over you like a grim reaper.

You arrived home from a friend’s birthday dinner to find Remus sitting on the couch, already marking the page of his book as he turned to you with a soft smile.

“Hi, sweetheart. How was it?”

You replied, through a laugh that turned into a sob halfway through, “Not great.”

The dinner had been an event of foreboding for you since your invite. You’d been determined to be a good friend by not bailing, but actually going had confirmed your worst fears; it was loud, crowded, filled with people you didn’t know and didn’t fit with. Your outfit wasn’t right, the menu was daunting, and conversation swirled all around you about things you weren’t a part of. The fallout was basically inevitable.

You perhaps waited too long to excuse yourself. You were sweating buckets and breathing around a lump by the time you did, whispering an explanation to your friend before locking yourself into a bathroom stall to talk yourself down. You’re sure she didn’t mean anything by telling the people sitting closest to her why you were gone—you don’t think she’d do it to gossip, and she’s never talked down to you about that sort of thing, at least not to your face—but by the time you returned one of her friends—a stranger to you, who’s name you can’t even remember—had formulated a fairly decisive opinion and dubbed you an attention seeker.

You stayed only a little longer after that. Just long enough to avoid attracting more attention. And you worked yourself up well enough on the way home that all it took was one innocent question from Remus to send you crumpling into his arms.

You’ve tried to steel yourself more than once, but any attempts at stoicism have been foiled by your boyfriend’s tender looks and whispered placations, which only make you cry harder. If you’re an attention seeker, Remus is your holy grail. Self loathing sits lodged in your throat like a stone.

“Whose friend was it, again?” Remus asks, stroking your arm gently.

You take a breath, trying to steady your voice. “Does it matter?”

“I don’t mean it’s your friend’s fault, sweetheart,” Remus says. He’s all softness and patience, better than you could ever deserve. “I just thought you might talk to her, if you want to. She ought to know her friend is going around saying cruel things.”

“She was there.” Your throat tightens at the memory.

“Oh. Then I don’t suppose you need to say anything; I’m sure she’s already very upset for you.”

You try to laugh, frustrated with yourself when it only seems to spur another wave of tears. “Rem. You’re biased.”

“What?” Remus sounds genuinely surprised. “You don’t think she’s angry with that other girl?”

“She’s her friend.”

“So are you.” His arms tighten around you protectively, chin bumping your head. “I may be biased, but the other girl was clearly in the wrong. There’s no excuse for the way she acted.”

A dozen rebuttals fly about your head, but you keep your mouth shut. You don’t have the energy to argue. Unfortunately, Remus hears your argument in the silence anyway.

“Sweetheart,” he says softly, “no one puts themselves through what you do for attention. You don’t choose to feel that way.”

You hunch your back, tucking your head underneath his chin. “I do get attention for it, though.”

“That doesn’t mean you want it.”

“But I—”

“Do you want it?” You can’t see Remus, but you hear the hardened edge to his tone. “Did you like it, when that girl called attention to you in the middle of the dinner?”

Your voice smalls. “No.”

“Right.” The gentleness returns. Remus puts his lips to your head. “I know you didn’t, dovey. So don’t torment yourself, please. She doesn’t know anything about you.”

You push your lips together. He lets you chew on your next words for a while, his thumb swiping softly back and forth over your upper arm, the sleeve of your top shifting slightly with the motion.

“What if…” You gnaw the inside of your cheek. Remus waits. “What if everyone thinks that?”

“Mm. Well, for what it’s worth, I don’t think most people would. Surely not anyone who knows you, or anyone worth being around.” He takes a breath, thinking. “You can’t always control what people think. I know you say I’m biased, but anyone who thinks something like that really isn’t worth thinking about at all. You’ve got enough going through that head of yours, yeah?” He kisses your hair fondly.

“I guess so,” you admit.

“Yeah,” Remus decides. He pulls away to see your face, pushing hair away from your tacky cheeks. “I’d say so.”

You wonder if you look as horrendously in love as you feel. You think you must, because your boyfriend’s expression softens impossibly further as he turns his head to give you a proper kiss. You feel raw but comforted, and suddenly, totally exhausted.

“Let the bullies worry about themselves.” Remus gives you a tender look. “I’ll worry about you.”

You let a small smile tilt your lips. “And what am I left to worry about?”

“Nothing,” he says solemnly. “Think you can manage that?”

“Nope.”

“Mm. Well, try.”

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flowersforbucky · 3 hours ago

Text

omg, i'm so excited to make my way through your masterlist after reading this. idk how i missed this when you first posted it but i'm so happy to have read it NOW. i loved each and every one of the 13k words. thoughts under the cut -

"must own insane stock in eyedrops" 💀😂

Your hands grip the edge of the table, desperate to clutch at something solid to root you in reality as the kaleidoscope of memories swirl before your eyes, colliding and merging with one another. All the timelines converging down to a single point of existence within your mind. It doesn’t matter how many times you’ve experienced this process, the return of your memories—the return of your consciousness—was always accompanied by a torturous sensory overload.

this is so descriptive 🤌🏻

You’re half a mile away from the cache when you feel it—the inky slick of anger. It catches on the air and wafts towards you in waves. You slow your steps as you approach the road and come to a halt when the battered van comes into view.

ahhh i love the way you described how her powers feel! i always love both writing and reading empath readers and you're killing it!

The sight of him ignites a spark of longing that blooms in your chest and makes you physically ache. You can feel him. Your lips remember the hungered warmth of his mouth against yours, the way he’d nip at your bottom lip so you’d open up for him. Your skin remembers the calloused rasp of his hands and not just the greedy grabs when he needed to claim you, but the light brushes of his fingertips against your palm as he held your hand, just to remind himself that you were real. Your nose remembers his scent, woodsy and clean, like the earth after rain.

literally stunning the way you worded all of this my god

“What are you going to do, think happy thoughts at it?” he asks, his tone biting and sarcastic.

“Look. I’ve had a shitty coupla days here. And you’re saying a lot of shit I don’t understand.”

i can so clearly hear logan saying all of the dialogue that you write for him

the scene of her helping him through the nightmare and him asking her to stay and they cuddled? yeah i ate that shit UP

i loved the whole scene between reader and wade! i feel like a lot of people struggle to get wade's characterization right (myself included) but the way you wrote his dialogue came across so naturally.

He takes a step closer, his eyes narrowing as his lips curl into a cruel smile. “Yeah, you’d like that wouldn’t you? Me sinking into your cunt while you picture whatever version of me you think I am.” His voice is a low rumble, adding to the tension threatening to suffocate you.

damn i know i shouldn't be turned on rn but something is wrong with me so

Logan doesn’t have time to react before you channel your powers towards him, unleashing an explosive burst of energy that sends him staggering back. And then you smother him, smother him in thousands of years of memories, thousands of years of every single feeling you had ever felt for him in every universe you’ve known him.

YEAH GET HIM!!!!

Logan cuts you off with a shake of his head, his eyes now locked onto yours. “I already knew, sweetheart,”he murmurs, his voice low. “You feel like—you feel like home.”

soooo happy he's being open and letting her in ♡♡♡

He kisses you softly then, his mouth slow over yours and he drops his thigh from between your leg. You whine at the loss and he pulls back. “C’mere,” he says, grabbing your hand and leading you further into he apartment. “I’m not fucking you for the first time against a door.”

whatever you say baby 😩😩😩

Kneeling on the bed, he lays you down, kissing his way down your stomach, his nose nuzzling along the top of your panties. “Do you have any fucking idea how sweet you smell?” His mouth is hot against your skin and he laughs as you tilt your hips up towards him. “You want me to fuck you with my tongue? Lap at you until you’re seeing stars?”

YA ACTUALLY I DO THANKS FOR ASKING

Logan hums. “Sweetest pussy I’ve ever tasted, sweetheart.” His tongue dips down, collecting the arousal at your entrance. “I could die happy between these thighs.”

“I know, sweetheart,” he rasps, dragging his gaze up to your face, “I got you. Takin’ me so well, so tight. Gonna spend the rest of my life tellin’ you how fucking good you are.”

LORDDD I LOVE DIRTY TALKING LOGAN

i truly cannot say enough incredible things about this entire fic. i was so invested from the very beginning. it has so many tropes that i adore and you just really knocked it out of the park. worst logan has a special place in my heart and i just really adored the way you wrote both him and reader. this was flawless, magnificent, truly a beautiful piece.

Til The Sun Turns Black

SYNOPSIS: Your soul is bound to his and you're destined to follow him across the multiverse. When the TVA finds you and sends you to the Void, you feel your chance of finding him has slipped through your fingers. But what you find there is more than you bargained for.

PAIRING: Worst!Wolverine x fem!reader

WC: 13.1 k I apologize for nothing

WARNINGS: smut 18+, mdni, mentions of drinking, angst, peril, some fluff, implied age gap (I guess?), mental trauma, miscommunication, Wade being Wade, dirty talk, oral (m and f receiving), fingering, cowgirl, missionary, cock warming, sex with feelings, unprotected p in v

A/N: Thank you so much for all the love on Soft Edges! I was not expecting that kind of response when I posted that story, so thank you <3. I had the idea for this story in my head since after I first saw the movie. I had no idea my one random runaway thought would turn into this. Also, this story would not have been finished if it weren't for @joelsgoldrush. She let me tease her for WEEKS with this and act as the ultimate sounding board. And she's overall just a delightful human being and I'm so glad I've found her.

The TVA agent sits staring at you, an odd and uncomfortable smile on his face. Like he isn’t quite sure he knows how to smile but had seen it once on TV. You also don’t think he’s blinked in the past several minutes. It makes your eyes water just thinking about it.

“I don’t understand why I’m here.”

“Ah, yes, well—“ the agent clears his throat and smoothes a hand down his chest. “You’re a threat to the multiverse.”

You squint your eyes at him and wonder if you’re lucid dreaming. Or trapped in some bizarre fever dream, but you can’t remember being sick. “The…multiverse? As in, more than one universe?”

He nods once. “Precisely.”

It’s your turn to stare as absolutely none of this is making sense. The morning had started off normal—wake up, shower, coffee at your favorite local corner store. You had barely finished your latte when you were apprehended and taken to this bland room by a man who must own insane stock in eyedrops.

“You see, we’ve been watching you for quite some time,” he continues, oblivious of your growing confusion. “A handful of reincarnations, actually. And we believe we’ve finally pinned it down.”

His words sound insane.

You were a low level mutant at best. You’ve been able to deeply sense and influence emotions in others since you were six—a standard empath if there ever was one. But reincarnation?

“Reincarnations? I’m sorry but—”

You feel it coming then, that all too familiar prickle of deja vu creeping up your spine and setting deep in your brain. The room begins to soften, the corners blurring and you feel disjointed, separate from the you sitting in the chair.

“Ah, see. We’ve pinned it down.”

The world tilts on its axis and your mind explodes into brilliance, the memories of hundreds of alternate versions of yourself firing down your synapses, leaving you as raw and exposed as a fresh wound. The pain is all consuming as you gasp for air and desperately try to quell the throbbing in your skull.

“You see? You have extensive knowledge of the multiverse. And that kind of knowledge is coveted and dangerous.”

Your vision blurs as the memories keep slamming into you and you can’t help the primal scream that rips from your lungs, the pain in your throat a welcome distraction from the torture in your head. And then, amid the chaos, a single figure emerges in crisp focus, a face you’ve seen thousands of times.

“Logan.” His name comes out in a whisper, your voice trembling.

You know he’s not actually in front of you and instead a mirage, a figment of your overloaded neurons, but his presence calms you.

“Yes, Logan. You two are quite fond of each other.” The agent stands and you squint up at him, wanting to be anywhere else as you regain your memories. “But never mind him. We can’t have you traipsing around with all that knowledge in your head.”

“No, no, no, please. Please just let me find him,” you beg, hating the desperation laced in your voice.

The last thing you see before being sent out of existence is his creepy, uncanny smile.

+++

The Void was bullshit.

It had been a month since you were unceremoniously dumped here.

Maybe.

You weren’t really sure.

Time had no meaning, each day seeming to stretch on for eons and simultaneously in the blink of an eye. And for every single one of those moments you’d been focused on one of two things: finding a way out and not dying.

You quickly learned you had a better chance at survival if you stuck to the outskirts and avoided others. So you squirreled yourself away, sheltering in an abandoned cabin and hoping beyond hope you could figure out a way out of the desolate cesspool you found yourself in.

Figure out a way back to him.

Back home.

+++

You don’t venture out unless you have to.

The Void is full of phantom emotions left behind by its previous inhabitants and the cacophony overwhelms you. Rage, terror and despair so thickly envelope every surface you feel like you’re choking. It’s beginning to wear so harshly on your nerves you wonder if you might actually go insane here.

There was a tension growing in the Void. You’d heard whispers of unrest within the factions, Cassandra hungry for something to sink her teeth into. The undercurrent of rage has increased in the last couple of days and it’s enough to set your teeth on edge.

Stuffing a backpack with a few essentials in case you get stranded, you ready yourself for a supply run. The thought of leaving the perceived safety of your cabin has little appeal, but you’ve been putting it off for far too long. There was a small cache only a few miles from your cabin that other survivors kept stocked with extra provincials. You were hoping for something good, anything other can canned food or cereal. Or Spam.

Tightening the straps on your backpack, you take one last glance around before stepping out into the forest. It’s eerily quiet, no birds or animals chattering to fill the silence, just the crunch of your shoes against fallen leaves. The Void has always felt oppressive to you, the air just a little too heavy, but there’s something lingering today that makes you feel on edge. Your skin prickles with anticipation and you pat your belt for the knife you’ve stashed there.

Just in case.

Your breath hitches in your throat.

You’d recognize those claw marks anywhere.

Your heart races as your eyes trace the deep, jagged cuts gouged into the metal and the large swathes of blood coating the ground and what you can see of the interior of the van. Instinctively your hand tightens around the hilt of your knife and you crouch down low behind a fallen log. You scan the area for any signs of movement and find none, but you know Logan is stealthier than you and wouldn’t give up his location willingly.

The van door creaks open on its battered hinges and you inhale sharply as Logan stumbles out of the vehicle covered in dried blood and sweat and more knife wounds and bullet holes than you can count.

Shaking your head, you push down the memories and peer back over the log. A slight breeze wafts through the air and you watch as he sniffs, his head turning in your direction.

“Fuck,” you curse lowly, trying to crouch further out of eyesight.

You hear the metallic snikt of his claws and your pulse quickens. There’s no point in hiding—he knows you’re there. You take a slow, steady breath before attempting to focus waves of calm in his direction, hoping to ease some of the anger wound around him.

His eyes lock onto yours, sharp and predatory and he shakes his head, trying to keep you out. “Who the fuck’re you?”

You draw back your power and raise your hands in surrender as you slowly rise to your feet. You toss out your name and silently hope for a spark of recognition. But he doesn’t know you. Not yet.

“It’s not safe out here alone,” you start, moving out of your hiding place. You walk towards him, his eyes following your every move. “There’s a cache just up ahead—”

The atmosphere shifts without warning, the anger you’d felt previously now melting into thick, cloying fear and desperation. You can taste the ozone and the hairs at the back of your neck stand on end as electricity sizzles across the sky. Glancing up, you see the dark, swirling mass of Alioth just beginning to form.

You look at Logan, panic racing along your nerves. “I promise I’ll explain everything to you later, but I know you, Logan, and right now I need you to trust me.”

Alioth’s presence is getting stronger and drawing closer, and every drop of tension and rage swirling within is beginning to weigh down on you, threatening to suffocate you.

Logan’s eyes narrow, but there’s a slight twitch in his jaw and you know he’s considering your words. His claws retract, but his muscles remain tense, coiled and ready to attack. You grab for his arm, feeling the warmth of his skin and the hard muscle beneath your fingers. “We have to go. Now.”

For a moment, you think he might resist. But then with a low curse, he follows you, his stride matching yours as you lead him towards the cache. The trees blur by, the wind picking up and beginning to toss leaves and loose branches into the air.

You’re operating on pure adrenaline and your heart pounds in your chest as you run, Alioth gaining speed and distance faster than either of you can move. Each gasp of air burns your lungs and your muscles ache with the effort of your sprint.

Still a quarter of a mile away from the cache, you know you won’t be able to outrun Alioth. The storm has consumed the sky, the sun diminished to twilight, as the thunder and groans loom ever closer. You turn towards Logan and yell, “It’s too close, we’re not gonna make it!”

Logan’s eyes flash with anger as you stop and turn towards the oncoming destruction. He grabs for your wrist, pulling you almost nose to nose. “What the fuck are you talking about?” he growls, chest heaving with the effort to breathe. “We can’t stop!”

His proximity briefly disarms you, his fierce gaze igniting something deep within you, but you don’t have time to dwell on those emotions. You take a deep breath in an attempt to steady your nerves. “I’m gonna try and calm it down.”

“What are you going to do, think happy thoughts at it?” he asks, his tone biting and sarcastic.

You know every cell in his body is begging to fight, aching to release his claws and tear Alioth apart with his bare hands. But this isn’t something brute strength can subdue.

“Just trust me,” you plead, your eyes searching his for some indication that he believes you. “Please.”

His stare is hard, but eventually his eyes soften and he loosens his grip on your wrist. “Fine.”

Tearing your gaze from him, you turn back towards the storm, now a full blown maelstrom of anger and destruction hellbent on consuming you both whole. You exhale slowly, pushing your own emotions of fear and panic as far down as you can. Instead, you turn inward and concentrate on every feeling of peace, calm and stillness you’ve ever experienced and project it outwards. Waves of soothing energy pour from you, an almost ghostly aura emanating from you as your power continues to grow. Alioth continues to surge towards you, the wind now flattening trees to the ground and lifting debris high into the air.

The fight is excruciating, every cell in your body shaking with effort as you continue to project outwards, the sphere of your influence growing. When the two opposing masses collide, you’re almost knocked off your feet by the force. You’re vaguely aware of Logan beside you, claws unsheathing as he steps closer into your protective shield.

For a brief moment, you feel the power of the storm ebb before it seems to press into you harder. Your knees begin to buckle and your stance slips. “I…I don’t know if I can hold it!” you gasp.

Logan doesn’t run but instead moves closer, giving you one solitary nod. You can feel Logan’s eyes on you, feel the doubt swirling behind them and yet he stays besides you, ready to fight.

His silent encouragement is enough.

You are not dying in the fucking Void.

Gritting your teeth, you continue to push. A guttural scream rips from your throat as black spots dot your vision and blood drips from your nose. You dig down, channeling every last drop of your energy into a final wave, extending yourself deep within the core of the storm.

The black of the storm begins to retreat and the wind begins to calm. As the first few beams of sunlight filter in through the treetops, your vision fades completely and the world goes black.

The last thing you feel is a pair of strong arms wrapping around you before your mind goes blissfully blank and unconsciousness claims you.

+++

You wake up in the cache.

Dust motes dance in the sunlight streaming in through the broken windows. The light is soft, definitely not the early morning glow from before you left the comfort of your cabin and you wonder how long you were out. With a groan, you try to sit up. Your body is stiff, every muscle in your body aching with the effort you took to banish Alioth. Wincing, you swing your legs out of the makeshift bed, the effort taking your breath away and you can feel the sickly creep of nausea climb up your throat.

A low voice cuts through the haze. “Take it easy.”

Logan.

You blink, trying to adjust your eyes to the light and find him sitting on the floor, one leg pulled up to his chest as a bottle of whiskey hangs between his fingers. He takes a long pull and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

“How long was I out?” you ask, your voice hoarse.

Logan doesn’t answer immediately. He reaches over at a box beside him and then rolls a water bottle towards your feet before he finally mutters, “A day.”

You accept the bottle with a nod of thanks. Taking a slow sip, you close your eyes as the liquid soothes your throat even as your body protests the movement. You’ve never used your powers to that degree before. Fuck, you didn’t even know you could. A perverse sense of pride licks at the edge of your exhaustion.

Lowering the bottle, you breathe deeply in an attempt to settle the nausea rolling in the pit of your stomach. You glance at Logan and find him watching you, his eyes sharp, calculating.

“You owe me some answers. You said you knew me.”

You meet his gaze, the weight of his words pressing down on you. After hundreds of encounters with different Logans, it was never easy explaining to him what you were. For a long time, you didn’t even have a name for it. All you knew was that your consciousness, all your memories, everything that you are moves across different universes and inevitably crosses paths with Logan. It always felt like an invisible string, guiding your soul to his.

“I’m a temporal nomad.”

Logan’s eyes narrow as he glares at you. “A temporal what?” His tone is laced with skepticism.

You take another sip of water, giving yourself time to gather your thoughts and push away the throbbing at your temples. “A temporal nomad. I don’t die, not in the way you think, anyway.”

Logan doesn’t move, but you see his grip tighten on the bottle in his hand, his knuckles going white. “You tellin’ me you’re immortal?”

“No, not immortal,” you reply, exhaling slowly. “When I die, my consciousness moves. I reincarnate in a different universe. Eventually I regain everything—my experiences, my memories, my feelings. It’s why—” you pause and take a deep, steadying breath. “It’s why I always find you.”

Your words hit their mark and Logan’s eyes flash with something you can’t quite decipher—shock, disbelief, maybe some anger. He sits up straighter, tipping the whiskey bottle to his lips without breaking eye contact. “You always find me?” he asks, his voice a low rumble. “We’ve met before?”

“I’ve lost count of how many time, actually,” you admit softly. “But in every reality, every universe, I find you. And we’re not just friends, Logan.”

Your words linger in the air between you and your heart pounds loudly in your chest. Logan stands suddenly, the now empty whiskey bottle clattering to the ground. He runs a hand through his hair before scrubbing it down his face, his jaw clenched as he paces within the small space. A mirthless chuckle escapes his lips. “This smells like bullshit, sweetheart.”

Your heart aches at his use of the word sweetheart. It’s one he’s always preferred for you, usually spoken with reverence, like a prayer falling from his lips. Except now it’s casual and cold, something with a sharp edge instead of softness.

“I know how crazy it sounds. Believe me, Logan, it took me several lifetimes to wrap my mind around it.” You stand, your legs wobbly with the effort and you wince against the pull in your spent muscles. “But I know you.”

His expression hardens. “Yeah? Well, I don’t know you. And if you really knew me, you’d know to stay the fuck away from people like me.” Logan’s pacing grows more hurried, his hands clenching into fists.

“I can’t,” you say softly, taking a tentative step closer towards him. “And I don’t want to. While I might not know the Logan in front of me or the nuances that make you different from the others, I know you.”

His nostrils flare and he lets out a low growl. “Stop.”

“I know the way you fight,” you continue, ignoring his warning. “I know the way you carry your pain as if no one else can possibly shoulder that weight. I know—”

“Stop!”

“—how you push people away to protect them, but that deep down you hope someone will push back. You may carry a lot of self loathing, Logan, but even you know you’re not heartless.”

Logan’s fist slams into the wall behind him, the sound reverberating in the small room. He stands there, chest heaving, his knuckles bleeding from where they made contact with the rough wooden planks. You watch as the raw skin knits itself back together, his head hanging low.

His jaw clenches as he wipes the blood from his hands, his breathing still ragged and posture rigid, itching for a fight. He glances over at you, his expression softer but still rough.

“We’re done here,” he growls, but his voice soft, more broken than angry.

Logan turns without another word and all you can do is watch him leave.

+++

You spend the rest of the morning dozing in bursts of fitful sleep, your confrontation with Logan taking its emotional toll. Your eyes burn with unshed tears and for the first time in your life, you feel as if you’re destined to wander this universe alone.

But you can’t think about it.

Not now.

Ignoring the ache in your limbs, you pack up what supplies you can and ready yourself for the walk back to your cabin. The sun is a couple of hours from setting, the world bathed in golden light, when you set out. Walking down the steps, you pause at the distant crunch of boots on the gravel. You feel your pulse thrum in your chest as the sound gets closer and then he steps into view, his eyes locking onto yours.

Logan.

The sight of him standing there fills you with a rush of conflicting emotions. Relief, angry, anxiety and you’re not sure if you trust yourself to speak first. He looks the same—tired, disheveled, but steady and strong all the same. Neither of you moves, unspoken words hanging between you.

“I shouldn’t’ve left,” he says finally.

For a moment you say nothing. Because it’s exactly what you want to hear from him. Except, because you’re beyond exhausted, mentally, physically and emotionally, you say, “No, you fucking shouldn’t have.”

There’s definitely more bite in your tone than you intended, but the release of some of your pent up anger feels so good you can’t bring yourself to care.

Logan’s eyes narrow as you move past him and keep walking. “Wait, so I come back here to apologize,” he begins, following close behind you, “and now you’re gonna just walk away?”

“You know, you never even thanked me for saving your ass,” you say, side stepping a downed log. “Just started demanding answers and then tucked tail and ran when you didn’t like what I had to say.”

He grabs your wrist and you stumble into his grasp, your breath hitching in your throat as you stand almost chest to chest. “I didn’t fucking ask for any of this!”

His anger bleeds into you, curling around your skin where his fingers press into your pulse point. You feel your nostrils flare and you’re itching for something to hit as you stare up at him, his jaw clenched. Your heart pounds wildly in your chest and you know you need to reign in your emotions or you’ll ignite the fuse between you.

“You think I did?” you ask, pulling your arm from his grasp. Your voice is calmer, but just as sharp. “You think I want to relive the grief of mourning you over and over while also finding something new to love about you? You think I wanted to be banished to the Void all because my soul just can’t die when I do?”

Logan’s expression softens and he scrubs a hand down his face, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Look. I’ve had a shitty coupla days here. And you’re saying a lot of shit I don’t understand.”

He seems weary, then, and any remaining anger you harbor towards him dies in your veins. You take a deep breath in and blow it out slowly. “You don’t have to understand right now. Just—just trust me. Please?”

You hate how your voice breaks just a little.

Logan nods then, the barest tilt of his head, but it’s enough.

He continues to follow you through the woods back towards the cabin and for a while neither of you speak. It should feel awkward, especially now, but it doesn’t. You’re so used to his brand of stubbornness and reluctance to see what’s right in his face that this is the most at home you’ve felt since you got here.

“So,” you start after a few minutes of silence, “how did you end up here?”

Logan huffs. “Some asshole in red spandex dragged me here and I said I need to help save his universe.”

“And can you?”

His step falters and you pause to look a him, his gaze fixed somewhere beyond the trees. “I couldn’t save mine.” The weight of his words linger, heavy with a burden only he alone has been shouldering. He doesn’t meet your eyes as he brushes past you and keeps walking.

“Wanna talk about it?” you ask, catching up with him.

Logan growls. “No.”

“Alright, maybe later then,” you reply and he simply ignores you and keeps on walking. “Where’s this asshole friend of yours?”

“I left him tied up in the van.”

You had long passed the spot where you found Logan by the beat up van and the road was deserted. Based on the subtle smirk on his face, you figure Logan already knows that. Whatever his relationship is with the stranger, he seems somewhat happy to be rid of him and you don’t push him further. Although, you can’t help but wonder what happened to the van and whose hands it fell into.

Logan’s gait slows as the cabin comes into view through the trees. He follows behind you as you clear the space, checking for any stragglers that may have come along while you were gone. Pushing open the door, you watch as he looks around, taking in the small space.

“You’ve been living here?”

“I wouldn’t exactly call it living, but sure,” you comment, throwing your backpack on the table as you sit down. You can’t help the groan that escapes your lips as your muscles relax. “You can stay here if you want. I didn’t just let you follow me for your sparkling personality, you know.”

Logan actually laughs at that as he sits down on the small couch. His face lightens up, eyes crinkling just a bit at the corners, and for the first time since you found him, he seems unburdened. A blossom of hope grows in your chest and you grasp onto it, holding tight to the one bit of light you’ve had in this month of darkness.

“Thank you,” he says softly.

You know he means for more than the offer to stay and you return his smile with one of your own. “You’re welcome.”

As the sun starts to dip below the horizon, you bring out some extra blankets and a couple of pillows and help Logan turn the couch into a makeshift bed. You turn to leave when you hear him ask, “You really find me in every universe?”

“Yes.”

“That sounds terrible.”

You give him a small smile as you lean against the doorframe to the bedroom. “Oh, it’s not all that bad. I get to fall in love with you all over again.”

+++

You wake in the middle of the night to the sound of low, panicked growls coming from across the room.

You quietly slip from the bed and tiptoe towards the couch. Logan writhes beneath the sheets, pain etched across his face as he wrestles the demons in his sleeping mind. Taking a deep breath, you center yourself and focus every fiber of your power in his direction, hoping the waves of calm can break through whatever battle he’s fighting deep in the recesses of his mind.

Logan growls deep in his throat, the sound guttural and raw, his claws unsheathing and tearing at the sheets beneath him in agitation. A fine sheen of sweat beads along his brow and pieces of hair are plastered against his damp forehead.

“Logan,” you say softly, trying to break through the fog of his nightmare. “You’re safe, Logan.”

Your powers are waning, the stress of fighting off Alioth having left you depleted. You push down the ache, the tug in your brain demanding that you draw back, and instead kneel down in front of him, trailing your fingers across his palm and over the pulse point in his wrist. He jerks at your touch, his claws coming close to your skin, but the contact is enough and you feel his pulse slow beneath your fingertips.

You continue to speak in hushed tones, your voice barely above a whisper. “There you go, Logan. I’m right here. I’ve got you.”

Logan’s breathing is ragged, his eyes squeezed shut. You can feel the tension in his body, his muscles rigid with the need for release. You keep your fingers against his wrist, your touch steady and calming, as you bring up your other hand to smooth the lines along his brow.

“There you go,” you continue to murmur, “Focus on my voice. Focus on my calm.”

Gradually, his growls subside and his breathing begins to even out as the nightmare loses its grip over him. His muscles lose their tension and relax and the frantic movements of his limbs subsides. With one final deep breath, he stills, his claws retracting and he settles back into a peaceful sleep.

You sit and watch him for a minute, taking in all of his features and simply admiring him for the first time since your last life with him. This Logan is different—they all are in their own way—but this one a little more than the others. He seems wearier, more worn down, his usual scowl lines etched deep. There’s an exhaustion in his eyes, too, you haven’t seen before and you wonder if this Logan actually ever rests.

As you stand, you feel his fingers circle loosely around your wrist and give a small tug. You look down to where he’s touching you, his skin hot against yours, and you glance up to find him staring at you through half lidded eyes.

“Stay.” It comes out in a low whisper and as you open your mouth to protest, he adds, “Please.”

You could never deny him in any universe.

The couch is barely wider than he is, yet he shifts to make a sliver of space for you to slot yourself into. It should be awkward, the way you press yourself between the couch and the solid warmth of his frame, but it’s not. You hitch your leg over his hip, forcing your legs to tangle, as you rest your head against his chest. His heartbeat is strong and comforting beneath your ear and you find yourself quickly relaxing into his touch.

As you fall asleep, you feel his arm curl around you, tucking protectively against your ribs.

+++

When morning breaks, you’re alone. The warmth of his body is gone and you find yourself shivering. Pushing to sit, you wrap a blanket around yourself before standing up.

The cabin is empty.

You try and ignore the sliver of panic that threatens to slip its way down your spine.

Opening the front door, you pause when you find him sitting on the dilapidated porch, staring absently out at the trees. He glances up at you and watches as you sit down beside him. You hug the blanket closer around your shoulders and sit with him in silence.

You don’t mention last night.

“So,” you start, “what’s the plan?”

Logan raises his eyebrow. “You planning on stickin’ with me?”

“If you let me,” you reply with a smile.

You listen as Logan explains the events of the past couple of days, including Wade’s abduction of him from his own universe and how they both became to be bloodied and battered in the van. Your ears perk up when he mentions Paradox and returning to Wade’s universe.

“You think he can actually get back?” you ask, willing yourself to not hold onto too much hope.

Logan huffs. “Probably not.”

“And yet you’re out here trying to think of a way to find him,” you say. “Why?”

A frown tugs at Logan’s mouth and he looks down at his hands. Eventually, he reaches into the pocket of his suit and pulls out a crumpled Polaroid. He tilts it towards you and you look down at the group or smiling people. “He’s got something to go home to,” he says, thumbing the edge of the photo. “I got nothin’.”

There’s something soft in his gaze as he looks down at the photo, some lingering hope he’s too afraid to put words to.

“I’m sure you have something, Logan,” you say quietly.

His expression hardens then, jaw tightening, as he slips the photo back in his pocket. “Had. Past tense.” Logan stands then and looks down at you. “Get ready. We’re leaving in five.”

+++

You get ready quickly, changing your clothes and splashing water on your face before making sure your pack was sufficiently stocked. You were hoping you wouldn’t be needing it for much longer, but you didn’t want to express that thought out loud. Despite Logan wishing to go back to find Wade, you knew he wasn’t convinced this would end well.

Logan’s already started down the path as you jog down the cabin steps, swinging your pack up onto your shoulders. Catching up with him, you hand him the Pop-Tart you pulled out earlier. “Breakfast? They’re unfrosted, because this is the Void, but it’s something.”

He looks down at you, a strange expression on his face, but he accepts your offer. “Thanks,” he says, taking a bite.

“So, where exactly were you headed when you both decided to maul each other silly?” you ask, keeping pace with him as you walk through the woods.

“Johnny had mentioned a resistance out in the Borderlands,” Logan answers, swallowing the bite of Pop-Tart. “Figured we might find some people who could help us get control over Cassandra.”

You nod. “You’re not far from the Borderlands. Maybe four or so miles from he cache. I haven’t ventured out that far, but I’ve heard there’s a few outposts where others have hunkered down.”

“Then that’s where we go.”

You walk in comfortable silence, leaving Logan to his thoughts as you travel further away from safety and into the unknown. You stop at the cache briefly, pausing only snag a few water bottles before moving on.

A couple of miles past the cache, Logan suddenly stops, sniffing the air. His posture goes rigid, on alert as he slowly moves forward, beckoning you to follow him. A few yards away, the beat up van comes into view, parked alongside a lodging that looks as if it was built into the very earth itself.

Logan’s arm darts out, stopping you. “Stay close,” he commands quietly, stepping cautiously closer towards the structure.

You follow behind him, every sense on alert as you step inside. The place is quiet, but then you hear it—the soft rustle of snoring. And then Logan’s soft, “Ah, fuck me.”

Peering over his shoulder, you find a sleeping Wade spread eagle on the bed. Logan side steps the bed, ignoring the sleeping man, and begins rummaging through the place. Finding a bottle of whiskey, he groans in delight, twisting the cap off and taking a long pull.

“Really Logan?”

He quirks an eyebrow at you, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand. “What else would you like me to be doing?” he asks, biting.

“You came all this way to find him and now you’re gonna just drink?” you ask in disbelief. It gnaws at you, his indifference. You can feel little frissons of indignation licking at your skin and you have to tamp down your emotions before they bleed into him.

Logan shrugs. “He’s asleep. I ain’t draggin’ him anywhere.”

You cross your arms, glaring at Logan in frustration. “I didn’t follow you here to watch you stand around and get drunk. Wake him up.”

He gives you a sidelong glance, his brow furrowing. You don’t relent, your stare pointed as he takes another long pull from the bottle. Muttering to himself, Logan makes his way over to the bed and gives it one swift, forceful kick.

Wade jolts awake with a loud, exaggerated snort. He looks between you and Logan, his eyes finally settling on you. “Who’re you?” he asks, looking around as if expecting an answer. “When did the script get rewritten?”

You look at him quizzically, your eyebrow raised. “Who are you talking to?”

Wade huffs. “The audience,“ he says, gesturing towards the wall.

“Does he do this often?” you ask Logan in a whisper.

“Hasn’t stopped since he fucking dragged me here,” Logan replies.

Your attention is diverted as Wade suddenly rolls from he bed, crossing the room and two large strides. He unsheathes one of his katanas, pressing himself against the wall and then he’s pinned on the ground as a woman pulls a blade of her own. After a moment, she lets Wade up and two more people follow into the room behind her.

Logan eyes each one with suspicion as introductions are made and you can feel the tension growing within him as he continues to drink.

You jump as Gambit uses one of his playing cards to burst the bottle of whiskey in Logan’s hands. Logan ignores your pleading look and Wade’s admonishment as he grabs another bottle with a soft, “Boo boo boo.”

When Laura enters, you feel Logan’s interest pique, something heavy weighing on him. They both look towards one another, taking each other in and you don’t miss the recognition in Laura’s eyes.

“Do you know her?” you ask Logan, sliding closer to him.

Logan shakes his head. “No. But Wade’s Logan does.” He takes another long drink from the bottle, eyes still trained on her.

Wade continues to talk with the group, recapping their time in the Void and how they managed to escape Cassandra’s lair. Logan punctuates the conversation with vitriolic quips of his own, drinking more as Wade tries to get the group to form a team.

You try to send your power Logan’s way, trying to bleed into him some calm, but he shakes his shoulders and brushes you off. “Don’t fucking bother, sweetheart.”

“I can help you, Logan.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t ask for it.”

As Wade rallies the group into a cohesive unit, gaining their support in taking down Cassandra, Logan huffs a bitter laugh. “You’re all fucking dead.”

“Oh, my god, read the room,” Wade chides.

+++

Logan storms off, one bottle of whiskey fisted in each hand. You want to follow after him, but Wade stops you. “Let him go, cupcake. Peanut’s in a fragile state and you’re too pretty to become mincemeat.”

You shoot a glare at him and brush his hand away from your shoulder. “No, he only seems to sink his claws into you,” you bite back, but the anger leeches from your voice.

“Spicy,” Wade comments, “I like you. The script editor worked overtime on you, I can tell.”

“Yeah, well the jury’s still out over here,” you say, but you can’t help the twitch of a smile tugging at your lips.

You glance over at the door and feel Wade sidle up beside you. “Seriously, cupcake. Chasing after him is like trying to catch a raccoon with rabies. Might be fun, but it’s not worth the bite.”

“Oh yeah?” you ask, peering over at him, “And how long have you known him?”

Wade pretends to look down at his wrist and taps a non-existent watch. “Four days, six hours and thirty-two minutes,” he says with a smirk, “but I don’t really like to put a timestamp on friendship."

With a groan, you plop down on the bed and rub at your temples. “Is everything a joke with you?”

“Mostly,” he chirps with a grin. He leans back against the wall and crosses his arms as he watches you. “But I have been known to press pause occasionally.” Wade regards you for a moment, a slight tilt to his head. “Honey badger does it for you, huh?”

Sighing, you lay back on the bed and stare up at the ceiling. “I have followed Logan through millennia, Wade. I can’t remember a time anymore where I haven’t loved him.”

“His mutant dick that good, huh?”

You half laugh, half snort and shoot him a pointed look. “Not everything is about sex, Wade.”

“Agree to disagree,” he says with a shrug. “We’ve all got emotional baggage, mine is definitely over the free to fly limit, but that guy? Literal mountains. Centuries worth, even.”

“Exactly,” you say, sitting up. “I’ve helped him carry more than you can imagine. Logan may push people away, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t need someone to stay.”

Wade cocks his head, considering your words and his expression softens. “You know running after him isn’t going to fix him.”

“I’m not trying to fix him,” you reply. “He just needs to know someone is there for him.”

“Well, it’s your funeral, cupcake,” he says with a sigh. “I promise I’ll give a really moving eulogy. But, I do think if anyone is gonna convince tall, dark and brooding out there to join us, it’s you.”

You give him a soft smile as you stand. “Thanks, Wade.”

“And just so you know,” he calls after you, “I’m open and willing to being your mutant dick rebound.”

You roll your eyes and walk out the door.

+++

You step outside and see Logan sitting by himself in front of a fire not too far from the lodging. Walking quietly, you stop when you see Laura approach him and sit along side him. You’re close enough that you can hear their words—hear Logan tell her about the suit, about how he found the X-Men, his friends, dead.

The anger, the loathing, this Logan carries comes into focus and you can’t help but wonder how long he’s lived with this weight upon his shoulders. Suffering alone with only the bottom of a bottle to quiet the thoughts that scream in his mind.

As Laura eventually leaves, she catches your eye and gives you a small nod.

You feel a strange kinship with her. She too has memories of a Logan who no longer exists and who is radically different from the one she has now. You wonder what she’s thinking and have half a mind to follow after her when you hear Logan call out, “I know you’re there.”

You turn back towards where he remains sitting in front of the fire, the whiskey bottle now more than half gone. Closing the gap between you, you sit down alongside him and watch as he continues to stare down into the fading fire.

“How much did you hear?” he asks, taking a large swig from the bottle.

“Enough,” you answer simply.

Logan grunts and takes a long pull from the bottle, his lips glistening as his swallows get sloppy. “Well, now you know. I’m the worst Logan,” he almost spits, his tone dark and bitter. “You drew the short straw with me, sweetheart.”

“You know I don’t think that,” you say softly.

Logan doesn’t respond and instead finishes the rest of the whiskey, tossing the bottle somewhere behind him. Scrubbing a hand down his face, he looks over at you. “You actually gonna join them tomorrow?”

“Are you?”

“It’s a fucking suicide mission,” he answers. “You want to walk up to your death, be my guest.”

“If you’re so convinced this is a suicide mission, why don’t you want to go?” you counter, his ire beginning to bleed into the space between you and creep uncomfortably along your skin. “You afraid you might come face to face with actual death and realize that’s not really what you want?”

Logan’s gaze flicks up to your face, his eyes dark, dangerous. “You’re fucking pushin’ it.”

“Good! Someone fucking should be!” you exclaim, standing from the fallen log. Maybe Wade was right—maybe this was futile. In every universe Logan could be a stubborn ass, but this one was particularly obstinate. “Do you really believe you’re so unredeemable, Logan? That you’re just a vile mutant who doesn’t deserve sympathy after his friends were brutally murdered?”

You can feel his rage boiling just under the surface of the thin veneer of calm. His eyes pierce into you, pinning you in place as he stands to his full height, his fists clenched tightly.

“You don’t know shit about me, sweetheart,” he growls.

Anger simmers in your veins, threatening to burn you from the inside out. “Oh fuck you, Logan.”

Your breath catches in your throat at his words, and it isn’t desire that courses through you, but rage. Your skin prickles and his vitriol ignites something deep within you, something hotter and brighter than you’ve ever felt before.

“After all this time and everything I’ve told you, you honestly believe that’s all I want from you? You’re a fucking pathetic asshole,” you snap, your voice sharp and laced with venom.

Logan’s expression darkens, the smirk slipping from his face as his jaw clenches. “You got some balls sayin’ that shit to me,” he spits.

A small part of you is terrified of him, afraid that he might actually snap. Might actually unsheathe his claws and send you onto your next life without ever having truly lived this one. But you know him, you know him. His pain and rage isn’t towards you, but himself.

You risk a step closer to him, narrowing the space between you and you can feel the heat radiating off of him, mingling with your own fury. “Yeah, well at least one of us has a pair.”

The weight of your emotional onslaught brings him to his knees, but you keep pushing, switching from your feelings for him to his feelings for you. All the affection, all the love, all the comfort the two of you shared in every version of your coupling across space and time floods his mind.

You watch as his expression melts from anger into one of overwhelming vulnerability and pain. His hands, still clenched into fists, tremble beneath the weight of your power surging through him. He looks up at you then, his eyes pleading and your resolve breaks. Tears burn in your eyes and trail down your cheeks, wetting your lips as a scream rips from your lungs.

Your hold on Logan dissipates as you reign your emotions back under control. You stagger on your feet as your power diminishes, your chest heaving with ragged breaths and broken sobs. You can’t look at him, not yet. If you do, you might actually break. So you do something that you never thought you would do—you leave.

+++

Night in the Void is cool, almost bordering on uncomfortable like everything else in this godforsaken place, but for once it doesn’t bother you. You gaze up at the sky, the haze of distant stars and planets blurring together the more you try and focus on just one.

You’ve always loved looking at the stars. There was a comfort in knowing you could look up at the sky and see the same constellations in every universe, that there was always one constant among all the variables.

You don’t know how long you’ve been sitting before you hear the crunch of his boots on the earth, dried leaves and twigs snapping under his heel. Logan joins you on the ground, sitting with a heavy sigh. The maelstrom of emotions swirling within him bleeds into the space between you and you can feel it, thick and heavy and suffocating.

You risk a glance at him and he looks…defeated. His eyes are red-rimmed and raw and you see something in those hazel eyes you rarely see—fear. Not fear at you, although your guilt would rather have you believe that, but fear of himself, fear of feeling what you’ve shown him. Logan’s breath is slow, controlled, but you can hear the slight tremor in it.

“I promised myself I would never use my powers on you” you start, your voice barely above a whisper. “I know what it feels like to experience that onslaught. It feels like drowning.” Your voice cracks and you fight to keep the guilt burning in your chest from consuming you whole. “And that was just a fraction of what we’ve felt across lifetimes, Logan.”

Logan stays silent but gazes at your face, eyes flicking across your features, drinking you in. The scrutiny makes you shiver. Before you isn’t The Wolverine, the X-Man people in his universe loathe, but a man left raw and vulnerable.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” he says slowly, his voice rough as the words are pulled from him. “You shouldn’t have shown me that.”

You flinch, the weight of his words are a punch to your gut. “I know,” you whisper, wiping tears from your eyes. “I know and I’m sorry, I—”

Logan cuts you off with a shake of his head, his eyes now locked onto yours. “I already knew, sweetheart,”he murmurs, his voice low. “You feel like—you feel like home.”

Your heart stutters in your chest and for a moment you can’t breathe. The words hang between you, heavy and raw, the sound of them something you’ve been craving to hear.

“I am your home,” you reply softly.

Logan shifts beside you, closing the space between you as he slips his hand behind your neck and pulls you in. His mouth crashes to yours, his kiss urgent, rough and desperate.

You reach for him, gripping his shoulders as you kiss him back, the Void slipping away. There’s only the heat of his mouth, the rough scrape of his beard against your skin, the way his other hand tugs at your waist in an attempt to pull you closer.

It’s messy and intense and you don’t want it to end. Logan kisses you like a man starved, like you’re his last breath of air.

A whimper falls from your lips as he finally breaks the kiss, resting his forehead against yours. You’re both breathless, his nose softly nudging yours.

“Please come with us tomorrow,” you whisper against his skin. “Let me take you home.”

He nods once and that’s all you need.

+++

The morning comes quicker than anyone would like.

Nervous energy bleeds through the group, everyone knowing they’re on the precipice of life or death, that this may be the last day they ever inhale air into their lungs or feel the warmth of the sun on their skin.

Logan’s quiet, already tucking into Gambit’s liquor, as you sit down beside him. He looks down at you briefly, taking a long long pull before offering you the bottle. You take it from him and take a swig of your own, the amber liquid burning a path down your throat.

“What are you thinking?” you ask, handing him back the bottle.

He stares down at his feet, swirling the liquid around in the glass. “I honestly don’t even fuckin’ know.”

You reach for his hand and give him a comforting squeeze. He stares down at you for a moment and then drags his gaze up to your face. “Whatever happens Logan, I’ll be right there with you.”

Final preparations complete, everyone piles into the van, you tucking alongside Logan in the hatchback. The ride is mostly quiet, punctuated only with the few occasional quips by Wade just to ease the tension. You brace yourself, gripping Logan’s calf as Blade sends a rocket launcher through Cassandra’s front gate and Elektra floors it through the explosion.

The others leave the van first, forming a line of defense. You look up at Logan and lean forward to press the faintest of kisses against his lips. His fingers curl around your neck and pull you closer, deepening it just enough to taste your mouth.

“Let’s go,” he murmurs, pulling back. “Stay by me.”

You swallow hard, loathe to let him go, wanting to stay in the perceived safety of the van, but you simply nod and follow him to join the others.

Fighting erupts all around you and you stick as close to Logan’s back as you can. It’s a symphony of chaos—rage, fear and determination all swirling heavily in the air. You feel your power thrum underneath your fingertips as you channel those emotions back towards whoever Logan is fighting, hoping to disarm them—even if temporarily—with their own vitriol in an attempt to give him an advantage.

The air burns in your lungs as you move through the fight, your mind spinning as you gain distance towards Cassandra’s lair. You can see the others move around you—Elektra and Blade slicing down enemies with their blades; Gambit disarming others with his explosively charged playing cards; Laura fighting in a style all her own, yet so much like Logan’s; and Wade cutting down others like he’s having fun.

A clear path opens up to the ramp leading up to Cassandra and the others swarm behind you, allowing yourself, Wade and Logan to break free from the melee. Logan looks back at you just long enough for you to see the fear in his eyes. You try and remain stoic, even though your mind is racing with all he the ways this could go wrong, and give him a small nod of encouragement.

You stop short in front of Cassandra as she sits sipping tea, seemingly disinterested in the battle happening just outside her stronghold. “You two escaping I could live with, but coming back willingly…” she trails off, “Boys are so silly.” Her eyes dart towards you. “And you brought a friend!”

“I just need to get home,” Wade says, his tone serious.

“I’m afraid that’s not an option.”

Cassandra flicks Wade aside effortlessly and Logan’s instantly on alert, claws extended at his side. You attempt to direct your powers at her, trying to defuse the anger simmering below her surface. She rolls her neck and glances at you, intrigue in her eyes.

“Oh, aren’t you interesting,” she says, effortlessly flicking your powers aside. “I wonder what treats you have hiding in that mind of yours.”

Cassandra steps closer to you, her calculating stare flicking over your face. She lifts one hand up to you and from behind her, Logan growls and moves to attack. You watch, powerless, as she pins Logan to the ground with his own claws.

She tsks and looks down at him, “That’s enough out of you.”

And then, she’s in your mind, every nerve ending in your body on fire, ready to consume you whole.

You’re standing in a library, Cassandra at your side. Shelves extend as far as the eye can see, fading into an infinite distance. You walk aimlessly along the shelves, pausing at the entrance of a room simply titled “Logan”.

“Oh, now this is something,” you hear Cassandra say from beside you. “This is quite the collection you have.”

Your fingers reach out and touch the spines, the briefest flickers of memories emanating from their covers. “I’ve known him for so long,” you murmur. “Been with him through so much.”

You pause in front of one book, the urge to open it nearly overwhelming. Pulling it from the shelf, the pages flutter open and you gasp, the memories of that life flooding your brain.

You and Logan were married in this life. He worked a simple job, construction. There were no X-men, no missions, no danger. He kept his mutation a secret, showing only you when the memories got too rough, too unmanageable. You were his anchor. You had two kids—girls. And oh, how he loved them. Both of them wrapped effortlessly around his heart from before they were even born.

Tears spring to your eyes as the warmth of those memories flood through you. “I loved that life,” you whisper, putting the book back on the shelf.

“And who wouldn’t?” Cassandra agrees, placing her hand on your shoulder. “So effortless his love for you. So different from now.”

You glance over at her, confusion drawn on your face. False empathy tugs at Cassandra’s sympathetic smile. “Are you even sure he cares for you now? This Logan is so broken, more broken and unloveable than all these other Logans, hm?”

Shaking your head, you try to resist her efforts to batter you, to convince you your soul’s purpose is not worth it. Not worth him. “That’s not true. They’re all worthy. All capable and deserving of love,” you say, your fingers trailing along another spine. “Even this one. Especially this one.”

Cassandra’s face contorts then and…

She’s wrenched from your mind and you fall to your knees, blinking up as you see Wade holding Cassandra from behind, one hand holding Jaggernaut’s helmet to her head.

Your mind still spins as Logan and Wade confront her, their conversation a jumble in your mind. But you don’t miss her saying either they kill her, or she kills them. Finding the strength to stand, you rise and place your hand on Wade’s arm.

“If I stay,” you start, focusing only on Cassandra and ignoring the press of Logan’s gaze into your skin, “Will you let them go?”

Logan reaches for you and you pull your gaze from Cassandra long enough to press your palm against this chest. You meet his eyes, silently pleading with him to let you continue.

“Will you?” you repeat, unable to keep the pleading out of your tone.

Cassandra laughs bitterly. “You love him that much? To sacrifice yourself to save him? That Logan, out of all of them?”

You nod, feeling the tears burn in your eyes. “I love him that much,” you reply softly.

Logan grabs your hand then, forcing you to look at him. “Don’t,” he chokes out, voice thick with unspoken emotion, “Don’t do this.”

You smile softly as you reach up and cup his cheek, his beard rough against your palm. You don’t miss the way he briefly nuzzles into your touch, eyes fluttering shut as he sighs. “I love you, Logan. In all my lives, in this one and in the next one, too.” The first tear slips down your cheek as you look up at him. “I promise I’ll find you again, Logan. I always do.”

You press a kiss to his mouth, soft and gentle. It lingers for a moment, a desperate, bittersweet exchange as Logan tries to memorize the feel of you. His hands grip your waist, clutching almost hard enough to bruise, but you relish the pain.

Wade stands beside you both, uncharacteristically silent, his hands still holding Cassandra in place. His usual banter is gone, the weight of the moment not lost on him. “This is the worst fucking idea anyone has ever had,” he mutters, but his tone is soft. “And I’ve had some pretty terrible ideas.”

Cassandra regards you with a mixture of amusement and curiosity. “If I let them go, you’ll stay here with me in the Void. Be my ally.”

You nod, “Yes.”

Cassandra’s eyes narrow, calculating, weighing her options. Finally she sighs, “Fine. But you know…no one will remember this little sacrifice of yours. The next Logan won’t even know you.”

Logan growls and you squeeze his hand in gentle reassurance. “It’s okay,” you whisper, your voice finally breaking. “I’ll remember enough for the both of us.”

You step away from Logan, your heart shattering with every step. Wade lets go of Cassandra and you feel the weight of your decision settle heavily against your shoulders.

Cassandra pulls something from her pocket, slipping it onto her fingers. Before you, a portal opens up, just outside the boundaries of the room. Outside, the raging storm that is Alioth grows near and in that moment, you realize Cassandra was playing a game of her own.

“I figure,” she says, straightening the lapels of her jacket, “that they have approximately four seconds before they’re through.”

Your eyes flick to Logan and you memorize every detail, every emotion written across his face. With one final nod, he tears his gaze from you and he runs towards the portal, Wade alongside him.

And then, darkness consumes all.

+++

You’re unsure how long you’ve been out. The last thing you remember was Alioth screaming towards you, giving you barely enough time to cocoon yourself from his rage.

Cassandra is gone.

Wade is gone.

And Logan—Logan is gone.

You open your eyes and find Remy standing above you. He offers you his hand and helps you to stand. “C’mon, chère,” he says, nodding towards the open portal behind him, “Let’s go home.”

You’re not sure where home is any more, not without Logan, but you don’t have the strength to argue. From the moment you wound up here in the Void, you’ve been looking for a way out. Now that you have one, you know you need to take it.

Accepting Remy’s hand, you join him through the portal.

You stumble into a familiar room and are greeted warmly by a smiling TVA agent. She’s unlike the first TVA agent you met, her presence comforting as she says your name. “We heard you’ve had quite the adventure.” She looks over towards Remy. “Mr. LeBeau, if you’ll follow this agent here.”

Remy leaves with he other agent, turning towards you with a wink. “Enjoy your man for me, yeah?”

Your heart flutters in your chest and you look towards the agent, trying to suppress the hope you feel in your chest. She smiles and rests a comforting hand on your shoulder. From her pocket she pulls out a small device, pressing a few buttons on the pad. Before you a different portal opens and she gestures towards it.

“Welcome home.”

+++

You stand in front of the apartment door and hesitate before knocking. Your nerves flutter uncomfortably in your belly even though it’s been less than two days since you last saw Logan in the Void. But you’re out now—you both are—and the fear nags at you that maybe this isn’t what he wants. That you aren’t what he wants.

You stuff that thought down with a shake of your head. Raising your hand, you rap against the door three times and let out a shaky breath. When he opens the door, you feel as if the air has left your lungs and you forget to breathe. Your heart aches at the sight of him.

Logan stops short, his face falling into one of pure disbelief and all he can do is stare at you.

“Is that my stripper?” you hear Wade call from farther into the apartment. Logan continues to stare at you as Wade pops up behind him, his face lighting up in surprise. “Oh, hey cupcake! Didn’t expect to—“

“Get out,” Logan growls, turning his head slightly in Wade’s direction, his eyes never leaving yours.

From over Logan’s shoulder, Wade wiggles his eyebrows. “Ah, looking for some afternoon delight?” he coos, slinging his arm over Logan’s shoulder and patting his chest. “This guy has been jerkin’ it constan—“

You hear the sknit of Logan’s claws as they unsheathe into Wade’s thighs. “Ah, fuck! Fuck!” Wade curses. “You’re supposed to be penetrating her, not me!”

“Get. Out,” Logan repeats, retracting his claws.

“Fine.” Wade pushes past Logan’s frame, limping slightly as his wounds heal themselves. “You’re lucky Blind Al’s already out playing Bingo. Or selling herself for blow. I don’t actually know her schedule,” he comments as he walks down the hallway. “Glad you’re home, cupcake.”

Logan barely waits until Wade is out of sight before tugging at the hem of your shirt and pulling you towards him. Your gasp dies on your lips as he drags you inside, shutting the door with his foot and pushing you up against the rough wood. Then his mouth is on yours and it’s warm and wet and wonderful.

His hands cup your face, fingers moving to tangle in your hair and you feel him everywhere. You whine as he nips lightly at your chin before trailing his lips back up your jaw, licking into your mouth as he kisses you deep.

Your fingers scramble for purchase, fisting themselves into the fabric of his button-down flannel.

There’s a desperation and urgency bleeding from him, as if he can’t drink you in fast enough, or hard enough, or long enough to satiate the longing that’s within him. And you’re feeling it too, an ache growing deeper in your belly, a need to be consumed by him fully and you whine into his mouth because he’s not nearly close enough to you.

A thigh slips between your legs as he kisses along your jaw and down the column of your throat, a moan falling from your lips as you greedily seek friction.

“I can’t believe you’re here,” Logan husks against your shoulder, pulling your hips harder against his clothed thigh.

Your hands cup the sides of his face, your fingers scratching lightly against his beard. You force him to look at you, his pupils blown wide. “I always come to you,” you say softly. “I always come home.”

You follow him to the bedroom, your chest heaving with ragged breaths and you can feel the prickle of anticipation along your spine as he turns back to look at you. His eyes never leave yours as he shrugs off the flannel and pulls his t-shirt over his head. Your eyes trace the lines of his chest, the strong definition of his muscles, following the line of hair that leads to the top of his jeans. As you bite your lip, you hear his chuckle, “My eyes are up here.”

“Mmm, yeah they are,” you start, tugging your shirt off and shimmying your pants over your hips, “but the view down there is nice, too.”

Logan reaches for you, his large hands skimming over your hips, over the flesh of your ass and under your thighs, lifting you up and forcing your to wrap your legs around his waist. With an easy flick of his fingers, he’s unclasped your bra and you toss it aside with the rest of your clothes.

Molten desire shoots down your spine and you can feel the slick between your thighs. God, the mouth on him was going to be the death of you.

You prop yourself up onto your elbows and look down at him. “Just fucking touch me already,” you whine, and you hate how desperate you sound. “Haven’t we waited long enough?”

He presses a wet, open mouthed kiss to your inner thigh before dragging his nose along the center of your clothed cunt. You inhale sharply as he kisses over your clit before trailing his fingers along your hip bones and pulling the fabric down. His warm hands palm along your thighs and he opens you up, staring down at you with hunger in his eyes. And then his mouth is on you, his tongue licking a hot stripe through your folds before sucking your clit into his mouth.

“Oh, fuck,” you moan as his mouth continues to lap at you, pleasure tingling low in your belly and spreading through your limbs.

Logan hums. “Sweetest pussy I’ve ever tasted, sweetheart.” His tongue dips down, collecting the arousal at your entrance. “I could die happy between these thighs.”

You trail your hands down over your chest, briefly palming each breast before you continue down and sink your fingers into Logan’s hair. His groan rumbles through you and you don’t miss the way his hips start to rut against the mattress, seeking friction.

His mouth and tongue continue to move over you, long, slow licks punctuated by gentle sucks and flicks over your clit and you can’t stop the grind of your hips against his face. You feel his smirk against you as one thick finger finally sinks inside your walls, nudging that spot deep inside that makes you squirm.

Another finger slips inside you and a low whine spills from your lips.

“You’re beautiful like this, you know that,” he says, voice rough, thumb replacing his tongue against your clit as his fingers continue pumping. “All blissed out and needy and desperate to come on my fingers.”

His words zip through you as he fuck you with his hand and you bite your lip. “C’mon,” he purrs, “let me hear all those pretty sounds you make.”

Soft whimpers spill from your throat as he continues to work you, that pull in your lower belly growing stronger and stronger. His hand never stilling, he kisses his way up your body, pulling a nipple into his mouth and then you’re coming, cunt clenching around his fingers.

Logan licks into your mouth to steal your cries as he continues to work you through your orgasm. Your thighs clamp around his forearm, the pleasure overwhelming.

He finally stills, pulling his fingers from you and you whimper at the loss. You watch through half lidded eyes as he licks his fingers clean of your slick and you feel that flame reignite in your belly.

“Take your pants off,” you demand, breathless, pushing at his chest.

Logan laughs, but allows you to push him onto his back. “You always so bossy after you come?”

You fumble at his belt, undoing his buckle and unzipping his jeans before shoving them down his hips. “Make me do it again and find out,” you taunt as his cock springs free.

He kicks his pants the rest of the way off and you sit back on your heels and admire him for a moment. Your eyes trail from his broad shoulders, down the contours of his chest and follow that line of hair down his stomach to between his thighs, where his cock stands, thick and ready.

“I will never get tired of looking at you,” you sigh, raking your nails down his thighs, deliberately not touching him where you know he wants it the most. “You’re so beautiful, Logan.”

Whatever response he has, dies in his throat as you finally wrap your hand around his cock, giving him one long, firm stroke. He’s hot and heavy and you’re aching to feel him inside you. But not yet. Leaning down, your eyes meet his and you trace your tongue along the underside of his cock, tasting the salt on his skin.

“Fuckin’ hell,” Logan curses, unable to stop the thrust of his hips, chasing your mouth.

You wrap your lips around the head, swirling your tongue over the slit and collecting the precum there before taking as much of him in your mouth as you can. Logan hisses through his teeth, fingers winding their way into your hair to help guide your movements.

“You’re so warm and wet, sweetheart,” he groans. “But I don’t want to come in your mouth.”

You give him one last stroke as you release him from your mouth and climb up to sit on his thighs. Logan pulls you forward by your hips and you gasp as your cunt slides across his cock.

“Line me up,” he instructs and you obey without hesitation.

Gripping him in your hand, you guide him to your entrance, notching him inside before slowly sinking down atop him. A sob chokes in your throat at the thick feel of him inside you, stretching you, making you feel complete. Your entire existence boils down to where he’s joined with you and you relish the burn.

His hands are everywhere as you start to move, caressing your thighs, your hips, up to your breasts and back down, tracing a map on your skin only his fingers can read. Praise falls from his lips in an almost nonstop litany, telling you how wet you are, how tight, how warm, how good you’re making him feel.

“Do you want to know how you make me feel?” you ask, breathless. You look down at him through half lidded eyes and find him just as flushed and wanton as you. “How you’ve always made me feel?”

You continue to rock back and forth on his cock, slow, deliberate movements that leave you wanting, needing more. Logan shifts his hips and finds the leverage to fuck up into you, the deep drag of his cock against your walls making you throw your head back and moan.

“Fuck,” he growls, his fingers sinking deeper into the flesh of your hips, pulling you somehow impossibly closer. “Show me, sweetheart.”

You brace your hands against his chest, raking your fingers through the damp hair there, feeling his heart beat beneath your palms. Leaning down, you capture his mouth with yours, the kiss sloppy as he continues to thrust up into you. You move your hands up his neck, your fingers collecting the sweat along his jaw and then, “Feel, Logan.”

It starts slow, an almost faint heat spreading from your fingertips as they ghost over his skin, your power beginning to pulse in time with your heartbeat. Logan gasps and his rhythm falters as the first wave of emotion hits him. You slow, too, your hips barely moving as you run your fingers down from his jaw, over the column of his throat and back to his chest.

Your palms rest against his ribs as you continue to pour into him all the love and passion he’s ever shown you over centuries. Logan stares up at you in reverence, his face soft as he runs his hands up your sides, over your breasts. He tugs you down towards him, his mouth hovering over yours.

“Do you feel, Logan,” you ask, your breath hot against his lips. “Do you feel how much you love you have in you?”

He draws your bottom lip into his mouth, biting softly once, before capturing your mouth fully, kissing you deep. You hum as his tongue swipes against yours and his fingers tangle in your hair.

A gasp pulls from your throat as Logan wraps his arms around you and flips your position, forcing your legs around his waist as he begins to thrust into you again in earnest. You feel him deep in this position, each thrust of his cock against your walls hitting that perfect spot inside of you.

“It’s too much,” he groans into your skin. “Never…never felt like this.”

You rake your nails along his back, relishing in the growl that falls from this throat. “It always feels like this,” you gasp, drawing your power back.

His arms slide under your shoulders, anchoring you in place as his hips continue to thrust into you. It’s lewd almost, the slapping of skin against skin and the wet noises from where you’re joined. His breath is hot and damp against your skin where his mouth hovers over the pulse point in your neck.

Your fingers snake into the short strands of hair at the back of his neck and your other hand slips in between your bodies, reaching for your clit.

“That’s it,” he moans, “use those fingers to get yourself off on my cock.”

You can feel where he’s sliding thickly into your cunt, the wiry hairs at the base of his cock damp with your arousal, and you begin to rub in time with his thrusts. Pleasure zips along your spine, every cell in your body afire at his touch. You feel that telltale tug low in your belly and you know you’re not going to last much longer.

He slides his hands down from your shoulders, following the curve of your spine, forcing you to arch your back. Taking the opportunity before him, he swirls his tongue over one nipple, then the other as he palms the flesh of your hips in his hands, angling your hips further up into his. A keening whine falls from your lips as he somehow thrusts deeper into you, making your legs shake.

Logan nudges your hand away from your clit, replacing your fingers with his own as he pushes you closer and closer to the edge. His eyes are focused on the sight of his cock thrusting into you and the slick smeared across your thighs.

“Logan,” you gasp, “I’m so close.”

“I know, sweetheart,” he rasps, dragging his gaze up to your face, “I got you. Takin’ me so well, so tight. Gonna spend the rest of my life tellin’ you how fucking good you are.”

His words tip you over the edge, your orgasm rolling through you as you spasm down on his cock, his name falling from your lips. He fucks you through your orgasm, each thrust of his hips sending aftershocks of pleasure along your limbs as he chases his own release. Logan’s thrusts grow erratic and you reach for him, grasping at his forearms, pulling him down to you.

“Come for me, Logan,” you murmur in his ear. “I wanna feel you come.”

With one final thrust, he comes with a groan, forehead pressed against yours as he spills himself deep within you. You can feel cock spasm as he lazily thrusts through his orgasm, using your body to wring out the last of his pleasure. You hold him close, pressing open mouthed kisses to his jaw as he finally stills within you.

Careful not to crush you, Logan pulls you to him as he rolls onto his side. He doesn’t pull out, tugging your leg over his hip to keep you close and full.

You smile up at him, brushing the damp hair away from his forehead. He sighs at your touch, a content sound that tugs at your heart.

“You really love me in every universe?” he asks softly, brushing his nose against yours.

“Yes.”

“Even this one?”

“Especially this one.”

You don’t know what the rest of this life holds, but you do know one thing—wherever he goes, you’ll be right there with him.

#logan howlett x reader #fic rec

2K notes · View notes

santaasi · 1 day ago

Text

obviously blind

pairing: james potter x bsf!fem!reader

summary: for years, james potter thought he was chasing love. sirius black knew better — he’d been holding it all along.

warnings: fluff fluff fluff, friends to lovers, idiots in love, james calls reader love, no use of y/n, english isn’t my first language

word count: 11.3k

a/n: it was probably the longest idea to write and edit. i rewrote every moment a bunch of times trying to bring it all to perfection. therefore, this time I hope more than ever that you will like it and you will support me with a like, comment or reblog. have a nice time reading this work! love u <3

ᯓ★ now playing…

slaves – footprints

You left your mark on me like footprints in the snow

Would you promise me you'll never let me go

November 15, 1971 My dear best friend, Hogwarts is brilliant! You should see the castle; it’s massive, with these moving staircases that sometimes take you to places you didn’t even mean to go! I tried to get to Charms class last week and ended up in the Trophy Room instead. Sirius says it’s part of the fun, and I’m starting to agree. Speaking of fun, I made a new friend! His name’s Sirius Black, and he’s a bit of a troublemaker like me. Don’t tell Mum, but we might’ve let some Filibuster’s Fireworks off in the Great Hall during lunch. The teachers were furious, but the look on their faces was worth it. How’s Beauxbatons? Is it true your castle is magical in a totally different way? Sirius said something about unicorns roaming the grounds. Is that real? Write me everything—I want to know what it’s like over there. Hope you’re having as much fun as I am. Forever yours, Jamie

SIRIUS BLACK WAS UTTERLY SPENT. Not the charming, rakish kind of spent he might brag about after a late night of mischief, but truly, completely, soul-drainingly done. The journey to the Potter family cottage, which should have been a brisk jaunt, had turned into a Herculean trial. Blame the snowstorm that had swept through magical London like some vengeful Norse curse, burying everything in its path under heaps of frosty misery.

It started with a delayed train — no, not delayed, imprisoned. Sirius and James were already aboard when the announcement came, trapping them in a stuffy carriage surrounded by loudly complaining wizards and at least one crying baby. And because the universe clearly found Sirius’ misery entertaining, the train came to a jolting halt halfway to their destination, snow packing the tracks so thickly that it took hours of magical clearing before they moved again.

When they finally arrived at the station, they discovered that Mr. Potter, their much-needed savior with a warm car and a better attitude than either of them, had been delayed at work. Thus, Sirius and James were left to trudge through the snow-laden countryside, dragging their trunks behind them, with James’ endless chatter about Lily Evans ringing in Sirius’ ears like a persistent curse.

“Her smile, Padfoot,” James had sighed dreamily at least seventeen times, his glasses fogging up as if even thinking about Lily caused them to malfunction. “And the way she tucks her hair behind her ear when she’s concentrating—”

By the sixteenth sigh, Sirius had been sorely tempted to shove a fistful of snow into James’ face. By the seventeenth, he was mentally composing a list of Unforgivable Curses and ranking them by efficiency. Yet, even as he grumbled under his breath, Sirius couldn’t bring himself to abandon the trek. The Potters were the closest thing he had to a family, and spending Christmas anywhere else — no matter how dire the journey — was unthinkable.

When they finally reached the Potter home, Sirius didn’t so much step inside as collapse into it. He shoved the front door open with the dramatic flair of a man escaping death itself and sprawled across the polished wooden floor like a martyr for his own cause. His trunk fell beside him with a satisfying thud.

“Home at last,” he groaned, voice muffled against the rug. “Tell me, Prongs, do they serve last rites before cinnamon rolls, or do we skip straight to the feast?”

The cottage, of course, was as warm and welcoming as Sirius remembered. Strings of fairy lights twinkled across the beams, casting a cozy glow of red, gold, and green. A holly wreath hung crookedly on the wall — lil’James’ handiwork, no doubt — and the scent of pine mingled with the tantalizing aroma of cinnamon, butter, and something sweet. Sirius’ stomach growled audibly.

“Oi, shut it, you ungrateful mutt,” James shot back with a grin, though Sirius could see his friend’s eyes darting toward the kitchen. “You’re embarrassing us in front of the wreath.”

James hadn’t even set his trunk down before a figure appeared in the doorway.

At first, Sirius barely registered her presence. He was too busy muttering about the injustice of underage magic restrictions. But then — oh, then — she stepped fully into view.

A girl.

Not just any girl, but you.

You moved with a kind of quiet confidence that Sirius instantly clocked, your steps unhurried, your presence undeniable. The golden glow of the fairy lights danced across your hair, giving it a shimmer that seemed almost unreal. You were wrapped in a deep blue jumper — Sirius realized this after a moment’s brain lag — and your cheeks were rosy, likely from the heat of the kitchen.

You carried a tray of steaming cinnamon rolls, the scent of melted sugar and spice trailing after you like some kind of domestic enchantment. Sirius’ mouth went dry, and for the first time in years, he was at a loss for words.

“Well,” he managed after a beat, hauling himself upright and trying for a semblance of decorum. “Now I see why you were so keen to come home, Prongs. You’ve got cinnamon-roll-bearing angels dropping out of the sky.”

You laughed, soft and melodic, the sound so unguarded it seemed to wrap the room in warmth. Sirius couldn’t help but notice the way your lips curled into a smile that was equal parts inviting and mysterious.

“Hello to you too, Sirius,” you said, your voice carrying a familiarity that made his ears perk up.

Sirius blinked. Wait. Of course. This wasn’t some celestial being summoned to his rescue; this was James’ childhood best friend. The one James had vaguely mentioned — just a handful of times over the years, always in passing and with a strange softness that Sirius hadn’t thought to question before.

And yet, here you were. In the flesh. Standing in the middle of the Potters’ living room with a tray of baked goods and a smile that Sirius suspected had the power to stop traffic.

“Well, well, Jamie-boy,” Sirius drawled, nudging James with his elbow and watching his friend with amused curiosity. “You never told me the famous cinnamon-roll angel was also — what’s the word? Ah, yes — real.”

You raised an eyebrow at Sirius’ antics, though your smile didn’t falter. Instead, you glanced toward James, who looked like he’d been hit with a Confundus Charm.

Sirius smirked. “James, mate, you alright? You’ve gone all... slack-jawed.”

But James wasn’t paying him any attention. His hazel eyes were locked on you, wide and brimming with something Sirius couldn’t quite place. He watched as James' gaze traced over the streak of flour smudged on your cheek, the stray strands of hair escaping from your ponytail, and the red apron dusted with flour and cinnamon.

Sirius almost snorted aloud. This was the James Potter who couldn’t shut up about Lily Evans — the boy who spent half his waking hours plotting ways to win her over. And yet, here he was, staring at you like you’d just descended from the heavens.

“Jamie,” you said softly, setting the tray down on the nearby table.

It was just one word, but the way you said it — warm, tender, and utterly unguarded — sent a jolt through Sirius.

Before he could process what was happening, James crossed the room in a few long strides and swept you into his arms. You squealed in surprise, and the sound was pure delight, echoing off the walls.

Sirius blinked, startled. The way James held you — hands firm on your waist, his head dipping into the crook of your neck — wasn’t friendly, not by a long shot. Sirius had known James since he was eleven years old, had seen him charm and flirt with half of Hogwarts, but he had never seen this.

“Missed me, Jamie?” you teased, your fingers slipping into his unruly hair with the kind of ease that spoke of years of familiarity.

“Always,” James murmured, so quietly Sirius barely caught it.

“Bloody hell,” Sirius muttered under his breath.

He glanced around the room, half-expecting someone to explain this baffling scene, but it was just him, James, and you, wrapped up in some intimate little bubble that made Sirius feel like an intruder.

James murmured something into your shoulder — too soft for Sirius to catch — and you laughed, your voice light and unrestrained. The sound pulled James’ head up, and Sirius couldn’t miss the way his eyes traced your face with a kind of devotion Sirius had only read about in sappy romance novels.

It was then that the memories began to click into place. The scattered mentions over the years, the odd tone James always took when he talked about you. “She’s not like anyone else, Padfoot. She just gets it.” Or that one summer when James had come back to Hogwarts looking utterly miserable and wouldn’t explain why. Sirius had teased him about it for weeks, thinking it was Lily-related. But now, seeing the way James looked at you...

“Wait a minute,” Sirius blurted, his grin widening as realization dawned. “You’re the one. The one he’s always sneaking off to write letters to, the one he’s all secretive about.”

James shot him a glare, his cheeks burning bright red.

“Padfoot—”

“—the one who sent him that hideous scarf last Christmas!” Sirius continued, thoroughly enjoying himself now. “I knew there had to be someone. Prongs doesn’t just get that moony-eyed look over just anyone.”

You laughed again, covering your face with your hands, while James muttered something about strangling Sirius later.

Before Sirius could needle him further, the kitchen door creaked open, and Euphemia Potter swept into the room. She was radiant as always, her cheeks rosy from the cold, her dark hair streaked with silver. Her eyes lit up the moment she saw James.

“There’s my boy!” she exclaimed, pulling him into a tight hug before he could even attempt to protest.

“Hi, Mum,” James mumbled, his voice muffled against her shoulder.

Euphemia pulled back, cupping his face in her hands as though memorizing every detail. “It’s been too long, Jamie. Too long. You’re far too skinny — have you been eating properly at school? And what have you done with your hair?”

James groaned, though his smile was fond.

Then her eyes fell on Sirius, and the warmth in her expression grew tenfold.

“Sirius, my dear,” she said, moving toward him with open arms. “I’m so glad you’re home, too.”

Sirius froze for a moment, caught off guard. He wasn’t used to this — the genuine affection, the way Euphemia made him feel like he belonged.

When her arms wrapped around him, the embrace firm and filled with love, Sirius felt an odd lump form in his throat. He couldn’t help but think of his own mother’s cold, perfunctory hugs, her disdainful gaze, and the way her affection always felt like a transaction.

“You’ve grown even handsomer,” Euphemia said, pulling back to study him. “Fleamont’s going to be jealous.”

Sirius managed a crooked grin, the lump in his throat still stubbornly there. “That’s the goal, Mrs. Potter. Keep him on his toes.”

Euphemia laughed, her eyes twinkling, before cupping his cheek briefly. “You’re family now, Sirius. Never forget that.”

Satisfied, Euphemia turned her attention to you. Her face softened even more, and she reached out to squeeze your hands. “Oh, there you are, dear. I was wondering where my helper had gone. The mince pies won’t bake themselves, you know”

You shot James a quick, playful glance before following Euphemia toward the door. “I’ll be back in a bit,” you said, your smile lingering.

As Mrs. Potter ushered you toward the door to finish the pies, Sirius remained rooted to the spot. The warmth from her hug lingered, and for a fleeting moment, he thought of how lucky James was to have parents like that — and how lucky he was to have stumbled into their lives.

James watched you leave, his gaze following you until you were out of sight. Sirius couldn’t help but laugh.

“Mate,” he said, clapping James on the shoulder. “You’re a goner.”

James huffed, shoving him away, but the goofy grin on his face was impossible to hide.

And Sirius? Sirius couldn’t wait to see how this played out.

July 2, 1973 My Love, Summer’s only just started, and I can’t wait to see you. Mum’s already planning another one of her “legendary” tea parties, which means she’ll fuss over you endlessly. You’ll smile politely and charm her like always, and she’ll end up spoiling you with biscuits to take back to Beauxbatons. I’ve got so much to tell you. Sirius and I found this secret passageway that leads straight to Hogsmeade. We’ve been practicing spells to make it even harder for Filch to find us. Remus is shaking his head, but I think he secretly loves our schemes. Oh, and Lily—she’s still brilliant. She’s got the most incredible laugh. But you, my love, I bet your laugh would still outshine hers any day.

Do you still walk in those Beauxbatons gardens at sunset? I can imagine you there, glowing in the soft light. It suits you. Write me back quickly, won’t you? The days are always better when I hear from you. Forever yours, Jamie

SIRIUS BLACK HAD ALWAYS KNOWN JAMES POTTER WAS A TACTILE PERSON. James spoke fluently in the language of touch — claps on the back that lingered just a second too long, overly enthusiastic shoulder bumps that almost knocked you off your feet, and the occasional arm slung around your shoulders like he was staking a claim. But this? This was something else entirely.

It wasn’t just the way James touched you. It was the way he seemed to orbit you, like some lovesick moon drawn to its planet. Wherever you were, James was never far behind — hovering, grinning, completely and utterly besotted without even realizing it. And for someone so allegedly brilliant, he was astoundingly stupid about it.

Sirius noticed it within minutes of their arrival at the Potter cottage for the holidays. As the snow settled outside, so did James — right beside you, always beside you. If you were arranging the flowers Euphemia had insisted on, James was there offering suggestions like he’d suddenly become an expert on floral arrangements. If you were curled up in the drawing room with a book, James was sprawled across the nearest sofa, pretending to read but actually just watching you out of the corner of his eye like some hopeless romantic idiot in a badly written Muggle novel.

Sirius had been rolling his eyes so much, they were practically stuck in the back of his head.

THE SECOND MORNING WAS WHEN THINGS REALLY CLICKED. Sirius had woken up earlier than usual — a rare and uncomfortable event for him. He had no plans to do anything productive, of course, but the faint sound of footsteps in the hallway intrigued him. Padding out of his room, he peeked around the corner just in time to see James sneaking toward the kitchen.

Naturally, Sirius followed. He found James standing at the counter, sleeves rolled up like some kind of domestic god, arranging breakfast with the precision of someone preparing an offering to Merlin himself. There was a plate of toast with cream cheese and thinly sliced avocado, a bowl of berries that looked like they’d been picked by woodland elves, and a steaming cup of coffee. The smell alone was enough to make Sirius reconsider his usual disdain for mornings.

“Fancy,” Sirius said, leaning lazily against the doorframe, voice still scratchy from sleep.

James jumped slightly but recovered quickly, flashing Sirius a sheepish grin. “Morning, Pads. Coffee’s on the counter.”

Sirius eyed the tray suspiciously. “Is this for you, or is it for your favorite person in the world aka me?”

James’s ears turned pink. “It’s for her,” he admitted, almost bashfully, like he hadn’t just spent ten minutes crafting the most meticulous breakfast Sirius had ever seen.

“Of course it is,” Sirius muttered with a smirk, grabbing a mug for himself. “You realize this is bordering on embarrassing, yeah?”

James shot him a look, but before he could respond, you appeared in the doorway, still looking half-asleep. Your hair was mussed, and the oversized jumper you’d borrowed from James was slipping off one shoulder, but you somehow managed to look effortlessly radiant. Sirius rolled his eyes again.

“Morning, love,” James said, his voice soft and warm in a way Sirius had never heard before.

“Morning, Jamie,” you mumbled, your voice thick with sleep as you shuffled into the kitchen.

James practically tripped over himself to hand you the coffee. Sirius watched, amused, as James’s fingers brushed yours in the exchange, his entire face lighting up like someone had cast Lumos Maxima directly on it.

You took a long sip of the coffee, humming in contentment. “Perfect, as always,” you murmured, looking up at James with a sleepy smile that could have melted a Dementor.

And then, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, you leaned up and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek.

Sirius nearly choked on his coffee. He wasn’t sure what was more painful — the nauseating sweetness of the moment or the fact that neither of you seemed to realize how completely ridiculous you were.

“Right, well, I’ll just... leave you two to it,” Sirius said, waving his mug in mock surrender as he backed out of the room. “Try not to get married while I’m gone.”

“Shut up, Sirius,” James called after him, but the way his voice wavered slightly betrayed his embarrassment.

By the time Sirius reached the living room, Euphemia and Fleamont were already seated by the fireplace, exchanging knowing glances like they’d seen this coming a mile away.

“Is he making her breakfast again?” Euphemia asked with a smile that was far too pleased for Sirius’s liking.

“Every detail,” Sirius confirmed, sinking into an armchair. “I’m starting to think he’s auditioning for Witch Weekly’s ‘Most Devoted Boyfriend’ feature.”

“Don’t tease him too much,” Euphemia said with a chuckle. “He’s just like his father was with me.”

“Merlin, it’s contagious,” Sirius groaned, dramatically throwing an arm over his face. “If I start acting like that, someone put me out of my misery.”

But even as he joked, Sirius couldn’t help but smile. Because for all his teasing, it was obvious to anyone with eyes that James was hopelessly gone for you. And judging by the way you looked at him, Sirius had a feeling the feeling was mutual — even if neither of you was bright enough to figure it out.

AND THEN THERE WERE THE SMALL, INTIMATE TOUCHES SIRIUS COULDN’T IGNORE, no matter how much he wanted to. James’s hand resting on the small of your back as he guided you through a doorway, like you might somehow lose your way without him. The way his fingers traced lazy patterns on your knee under the dinner table, as though the contact grounded him. Or how he’d tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear, his touch lingering just long enough to make Sirius roll his eyes and fight back a gag.

It was maddening to watch, really. Not because Sirius minded the affection — no, James deserved a bit of softness in his life, and you were undeniably good for him. It was maddening because you were both so oblivious. James was a goner, sure, but you weren’t far behind. Every time you leaned into his touch, smiled up at him like he hung the stars, or called him Jamie in that soft, teasing tone, it was like watching two wizards tiptoe around a cauldron, waiting for it to explode.

One evening, as the three of you lounged in the living room, the dynamic was on full display. The Potters had insisted on a family movie night — Euphemia’s idea, of course, because family time was important. Sirius couldn’t say no to the fire roaring in the hearth, the massive bowl of popcorn, and the ridiculous Muggle Christmas film flickering on the screen. But as the minutes passed, he started to regret not escaping upstairs.

James had situated himself squarely in the middle of the sofa, with you tucked neatly under his arm. His hand played absently with the ends of your hair, fingers twisting the strands like he didn’t even realize he was doing it. You had your legs curled beneath you, leaning into him with the kind of comfort Sirius had only ever seen in old couples who had been together for decades. James pressed a kiss to your temple, murmuring something Sirius couldn’t quite catch.

It was unbearable.

“Oi, lovebirds,” Sirius interrupted, launching a piece of popcorn at James. It hit him square in the forehead, a small but satisfying victory. “Some of us are trying to watch the movie without choking on all this sap.”

You burst into laughter, sitting up just enough to toss a handful of popcorn back at him. “You’re just jealous, Black.”

“Jealous? Me?” Sirius placed a hand over his chest, mock-offended. “Of what, exactly? Watching James Potter transform into a human puddle before my very eyes? No thanks. I’ll pass.”

James didn’t even flinch. He just grinned, looking every bit the lovesick fool he was. “You’ll get it one day, Pads,” he said with infuriating calm.

Sirius snorted, grabbing a handful of popcorn and tossing it into his mouth. “Right. Because what I’m really missing in my life is the chance to turn into that.” He gestured at the two of you with a dramatic wave of his hand.

But despite his teasing, Sirius couldn’t ignore the warmth spreading in his chest as he watched the scene unfold. James, the arrogant, Quidditch-obsessed, devil-may-care prankster he’d known all his life, was utterly, completely, hopelessly in love. And the worst — or perhaps best — part? He didn’t even seem to realize it.

BY THE END OF THESE COUPLE OF DAYS VACK AT THE POTTER COTTAGE, SIRIUS KNEW. James Potter wasn’t in love with Lily Evans — not really, not anymore and maybe not ever. He was in love with you. It wasn’t in the dramatic declarations Sirius had once teased James about making to Lily. No, this was quieter, deeper. It was in the way James’s gaze softened whenever you spoke, like he couldn’t believe you were real. In the way his hand always seemed to find yours, even when there was no need for it. And in the way his entire being lit up when you smiled at him.

And you? You weren’t much better. You laughed at his terrible jokes, poked fun at him with an ease Sirius envied, and looked at James like he was the center of the universe. It was so obvious it made Sirius want to scream.

“This isn’t normal, you know,” Sirius said later that night, cornering James in the kitchen as he made tea.

“What’s not normal?” James asked, far too casually for Sirius’s liking.

“You and her. You’re not just friends. Stop pretending you are.”

James frowned, his brow furrowing in confusion. “We are just friends. She’s my best mate, Pads. You know that.”

Sirius laughed, loud and sharp, shaking his head. “Oh, Prongsie. You’re an idiot.”

“Am not,” James shot back, but there was a flicker of doubt in his voice.

Sirius leaned back against the counter, crossing his arms. “If you’re just friends, then I’m a unicorn. Face it, Potter — you’re in love.”

James opened his mouth, probably to argue, but then you walked into the room, yawning and looking for all the world like you belonged there. James’s expression softened immediately, his gaze lingering on you like you were the only thing that mattered.

Sirius didn’t say another word. He didn’t need to.

Because James Potter was already lost, and for once, Sirius didn’t mind watching his best mate fall.

March 30, 1975

My Love, It’s been ages since your last letter, and I miss you like mad. Exams are coming up, and I’m hopeless at concentrating without your words to keep me sane. The Marauders are in full swing, though—our latest adventure involved sneaking a swamp into one of the corridors. Filch is still grumbling about it. I told you before how Lily has the most beautiful laugh, right? Well, I think she might finally be warming up to me. I’m playing it cool, but honestly, every time she looks at me, I feel like a kid with a new broomstick. And yet... you’re still the one I write to when I want to share everything. Funny, isn’t it? How’s the ballet going? I remember you mentioned your school recital. I wish I could see you dance. You’d be like a dream on stage, graceful and bright. Maybe one day. Forever yours, Jamie

SIRIUS BLACK WASN’T ONE TO BELIEVE IN LOVE — not the kind spun into poetry or whispered in secret corners of libraries. Sweet words, fleeting touches, long glances… all of it sounded like an elaborate prank. A fantasy created by people who hadn’t tasted the bitterness of the world.

How could anyone believe in love when raised in a house where affection was a weapon and the family motto might as well have been stab first, smile later? The Black family had given Sirius many things: wealth, privilege, and a last name dripping in infamy. But love? That was a foreign concept, spoken in a dialect he’d never been taught.

And yet, Sirius Black — child of darkness and rebellion — had found light. That light had a name: James Potter. From the moment James had barreled into Sirius’s life, grinning like the sun itself, everything had shifted. James had yanked him out of the shadows and dragged him into a world Sirius didn’t know existed — a world filled with warmth, laughter, and actual hugs.

It wasn’t just James, though. It was the whole bloody Potter family. Euphemia and Fleamont were like characters out of a Muggle holiday film. Euphemia, with her soft, unrelenting affection, had made it her personal mission to drown Sirius in love and sweaters. Fleamont’s laughter could fill a room, a deep, belly-shaking sound that warmed Sirius from the inside out. Together, they moved through the world as though their love was an unshakable force, a steady undercurrent in every shared look and word.

“Darling,” Fleamont would call from across the kitchen, leaning over the counter with a newspaper in hand.

“Yes, Fleamont?” Euphemia would reply, her smile soft and teasing as she stirred whatever heavenly dish she was making.

Never by name. Always darling.

Still, if love like that was rare, James bloody Potter seemed hell-bent on stumbling into it without even realizing.

James and you had been dancing around each other for years, so oblivious it was borderline painful. Sirius sometimes wondered if you two were practicing for a comedy sketch, the way you acted like best mates while exuding the kind of tension that could make a Dementor blush. If Sirius had a Galleon for every time James looked at you like you were the only person in the room, he could have bought his own Quidditch team by now. And he's only been watching you for a couple of days.

IT WAS THE FOURT DAY OF HIS CHRISTMAS STAY AT THE POTTER HOME, and the dynamic was impossible to ignore. You and James were practically inseparable, moving through the house like two planets caught in the same orbit. You helped Euphemia with the decorations while James carried boxes of ornaments up from the cellar, always hovering nearby like he was afraid you might vanish if he looked away.

“You know,” Sirius said, leaning casually against the doorway, “most people don’t need to supervise someone hanging tinsel.”

James didn’t even glance back. “She’s not most people, Pads.”

Sirius groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “For Merlin’s sake, just marry her already.”

James froze, an ornament dangling from his hand. “What are you on about? We’re just friends.”

“Sure, and I’m a Muggle,” Sirius shot back, rolling his eyes.

You, blissfully unaware of the conversation, turned from where you were perched on a stepstool. “What are you two arguing about now?”

“Nothing,” James said quickly, his cheeks tinged pink. “Sirius is just being Sirius.”

“That’s never good,” you teased, smirking at Sirius.

“Oi! I’ll have you know I’m delightful company.” Sirius crossed his arms, feigning offense. “But if you’re not careful, pretty, you’ll end up trapped in Potter’s web of undying devotion.”

You raised an eyebrow, stepping down from the stool. “Potter’s web of what now?”

James shot Sirius a warning glare, but Sirius just grinned. “Oh, nothing. Just that James here is—”

“Hungry!” James interrupted, loudly and awkwardly. “Right, Pads? Didn’t you say you were starving?”

Sirius barked a laugh, shaking his head as James practically shoved him out of the room. “Subtle as ever, Prongs.”

From Sirius’s vantage point, it was painfully obvious. James was hopelessly, stupidly in love with you. And you? You weren’t much better. The way you smiled at him, teased him, trusted him without question — it was all the evidence Sirius needed. And yet, you were both blissfully, idiotically unaware.

One evening, as Sirius sprawled on the sofa in the Potters’ living room, he couldn’t help but notice the way you and James interacted. You were sitting cross-legged on the floor, rifling through a box of Christmas decorations Euphemia had set out.

“Jamie, hand me the gold bauble,” you said, tossing him a quick glance over your shoulder.

James, who had been half-heartedly untangling a string of lights, immediately perked up. “Which one?”

You rolled your eyes, a smile tugging at your lips. “The one in your hand, genius.”

James laughed, tossing it gently toward you. It missed entirely, landing with a soft thud on the carpet.

“Good aim, Prongs,” Sirius drawled from his spot on the couch. “Truly inspiring.”

“Shut it, Padfoot,” James shot back, but his grin never faltered. He turned to you, sheepish. “Sorry, love.”

Love. Sirius didn’t miss the way the word slipped out so naturally, like James had been saying it his whole life. And he definitely didn’t miss the way your cheeks flushed as you ducked your head, pretending to focus on the decorations.

LATER THAT EVENING, SIRIUS FOUND HIMSELF LAYING ON THE SOFA IN THE LIVING ROOM AGAIN (it probably was his favorite place in the house by now), a book abandoned on his chest as he watched Euphemia and Fleamont dancing in the kitchen once, a slow, swaying movement that didn’t match the upbeat Muggle music crackling from the wireless. Euphemia had rested her head on Fleamont’s chest, his arms wrapped around her like it was the only place in the world she belonged. It wasn’t dramatic or flashy — just simple and unshakable. And it made Sirius ache in ways he didn’t understand.

And a moment later they were in the same kitchen, preparing tea and laughing softly as they worked.

“Darling, pass me the sugar, would you?” Fleamont said, his voice warm and affectionate.

Euphemia handed him the sugar bowl without looking up, her smile soft. “Here you go, darlin'.”

It was the kind of exchange that Sirius might have mocked once. But now, as he watched the way Fleamont leaned in to kiss Euphemia’s cheek, or how she swatted him away with a laugh when he tried to sneak a biscuit, he felt something unfamiliar tugging at his chest.

“They’re sickeningly sweet, aren’t they?”

Sirius turned to see you standing in the doorway, a mug of hot chocolate in your hands.

“They are,” he admitted, sitting up and motioning for you to join him. “But it’s sort of... nice. In a vomit-inducing way.”

You laughed, settling beside him. “I think it’s lovely. They’re so in tune with each other, you know? Like they’ve been dancing to the same song for decades.”

Sirius tilted his head, watching you as you spoke. “And what about you?”

“What about me?”

“Do you want that? The whole ‘dancing to the same song’ thing?”

You hesitated, your fingers tracing the rim of your mug. “I don’t know. I suppose it would be nice, but... I’m not sure it’s in the cards for me.”

Sirius frowned. “Why not?”

You shrugged, a wistful smile tugging at your lips. “Because my dance partner’s too busy tripping over his own feet to notice I’m right here.”

Sirius stared at you, his mind racing. Did you mean James? Surely you meant James. But before he could say anything, James walked in, ruffling his hair like he always did.

“Alright, what are you two plotting?”

“World domination,” Sirius replied without missing a beat. “Want in?”

James grinned, flopping onto the sofa and immediately throwing an arm around your shoulders. “Always.”

Sirius watched as you leaned into James, your head resting against his shoulder. James turned to look at you, his expression soft and unguarded.

And that’s when Sirius knew — again, because he seemed to be realizing this every ten minutes — just how much trouble you two were in.

DAYS LATER, SIRIUS WAS STANDING BY THE WINDOW OF THE POTTER COTTAGE, a steaming mug of hot chocolate warming his hands. The world outside was a vision of winter — snow blanketed the ground in pristine white, the trees bowed under its weight, and the air held a sharp, crystalline stillness. Inside, the house was alive with warmth: the crackle of the fire, the gentle hum of Euphemia’s humming, and Fleamont’s cheerful banter as he set up a chessboard by the hearth.

But Sirius wasn’t watching any of that. His attention was fixed on the two figures trudging down the snow-covered path just beyond the window.

You and James walked side by side, your mittened hands brushing against each other with the kind of unconscious familiarity that spoke volumes. The path ahead glittered in the weak afternoon sun, the frost catching the light like scattered diamonds. Clouds of breath curled into the frosty air as you laughed at something James said, the sound clear and bright, even from a distance.

Sirius couldn’t hear the words, but he didn’t need to. He saw everything in the way James turned his head toward you, his face lit with the sort of joy that was impossible to fake.

Then it happened — your foot slipped on a patch of hidden ice. Sirius’s grip on his mug tightened for half a heartbeat, but James was already there. His hand shot out, steadying you before you could fall, as if the world might crumble if he didn’t catch you in time.

“Careful there, love,” James said, his voice carrying easily through the crisp winter air.

You laughed, brushing snow from your coat as your cheeks turned pink — not just from the cold, Sirius was sure. “You’d think I’d have learned how to walk by now.”

James grinned, tugging you a little closer to his side. “Good thing you’ve got me.”

“Good thing indeed,” you replied, your eyes crinkling at the corners, your voice soft and full of affection.

And then, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, James reached out to brush a stray snowflake from your hair. His fingers lingered for just a moment, his expression open and unguarded, filled with something so pure that Sirius had to look away for a second.

It wasn’t the first time Sirius had seen that look on James’s face. It was the same quiet, awestruck gaze he’d noticed a thousand times when James thought no one was watching. But seeing it now, against the backdrop of snow and laughter, it struck Sirius like a Bludger to the chest.

That’s how Fleamont looked at Euphemia, Sirius realized. He’d seen it that very morning, when Euphemia had walked into the kitchen with a sleepy smile and Fleamont had paused mid-sentence, his face lighting up as if she were the sunrise itself.

Sirius took a long sip of his hot chocolate, the sweetness of it sharp against the lump forming in his throat. He muttered to himself, a small smile tugging at his lips, “Never by name. Always love.”

“What are you smiling about, Sirius?” Euphemia’s voice broke the quiet, warm and curious. She stood in the doorway, wiping her hands on a tea towel.

He turned, raising his mug in a mock toast. “Oh, nothing, Mrs. P. Just watching James make a right fool of himself in the snow. Again.”

Euphemia chuckled, stepping closer to peer out the window. Her gaze softened as she spotted you and James, now engaged in some sort of playful shoving match, James clearly letting you win.

“Hopeless,” Sirius added, shaking his head.

“Like father, like son,” Euphemia said with a knowing smile.

Sirius huffed a laugh. “Yeah. Exactly like that.”

They stood in companionable silence for a moment, watching the scene outside. Sirius’s gaze lingered on James’s hand as it rested on your shoulder, the ease of the gesture speaking louder than words.

And for the first time in what felt like forever, Sirius allowed himself to believe. Not just in the love he saw in James’s face or the easy affection between Fleamont and Euphemia. But in the idea that maybe—just maybe—love wasn’t the cruel, twisted thing his family had tried to make him believe.

Maybe love, real love, was something entirely different.

November 27, 1976

My Jamie, Winter has settled over Beauxbatons, and the mountains are kissed with snow. I wish you could see how the frost sparkles on the trees. I think of you often, imagining the mischief you’re up to at Hogwarts. I heard you’re Quidditch Captain now — congratulations! I can already picture you soaring through the air, the wind in your hair and that unstoppable grin. You were born to lead, Jamie, and I’m so proud of you. Your mum wrote me again last week. She’s sent another scarf, this one in Gryffindor colors. She says it’ll keep me close to you. It does, in a way — I wrap it around myself when I miss you most. Do you think of me as much as I think of you? You’re my constant, my warmth on the coldest days. Soon it’ll be Christmas, and we’ll have the stars and endless nights to talk about everything. Until then, stay safe, my Jamie. Forever yours, Love

THE CHRISTMAS CHAOS AT THE POTTER HOUSE STARTED BEFORE SIRIUS EVEN HAD A CHANCE TO GRUMBLE ABOUT THE HOUR. The sun wasn’t up yet, but Fleamont Potter most certainly was, barreling into James’s room with the energy of a man half his age. Before Sirius could properly complain — or hide under the covers — he and James were unceremoniously hauled to the garage. Their mission? Assembling the absurdly large Christmas table that Euphemia insisted on every year.

Sirius swore under his breath, wrestling with the oversized wooden monstrosity. “You know,” he grumbled, glaring at James, “if your parents had just gone for a nice, normal-sized table, we wouldn’t be out here freezing our—”

“Language, Sirius!” Fleamont interrupted cheerfully, though there was a definite glint of amusement in his eyes.

Sirius rolled his eyes but complied, though only because Euphemia’s kitchen smelled like heaven, and he was determined to earn his way to a plate of whatever was roasting in the oven.

Inside, the house was a picture of festive perfection: holly strung along the bannisters, twinkling fairy lights glowing softly in the corners, and a wireless by the fireplace playing carols just loud enough to make Sirius hum along when no one was listening. Euphemia’s soft laughter echoed from the kitchen, mingling with yours as the two of you prepared a feast fit for kings — or in this case, a house full of Marauders.

And James? Well, James wasn’t himself.

Sirius noticed it almost immediately. His best mate was usually a hurricane of enthusiasm during the holidays, cracking jokes, sneaking sweets from the kitchen, and generally making a nuisance of himself. But today, James kept glancing toward the kitchen like a puppy waiting for its owner to come home.

The idiot was besotted.

Every time your laughter drifted into the room, James’s head whipped around like he was under some sort of spell. If you so much as said his name, he’d stop mid-sentence, his eyes lighting up like the Christmas tree in the corner. Sirius would’ve teased him mercilessly if it weren’t so... obvious. Painfully, ridiculously obvious.

LATER THAT AFTERNOON, WHEN JAMES AND FLEAMONT HAD VANISHED TO THE GARAGE — probably to charm something they had no business charming — Sirius found himself tasked with tidying up James’s room. He grumbled the whole time, of course. Cleaning wasn’t his style, and James’s room was a disaster zone: Quidditch magazines spilling off the desk, parchment crumpled in corners, and socks scattered in ways that defied the laws of physics.

“Honestly, Prongs,” Sirius muttered, holding up a suspiciously stiff sock with the tips of his fingers. “How are you supposed to woo Evans — or anyone, for that matter — when your room smells like the wrong end of a hippogriff?”

As he moved to clear a particularly cluttered shelf, a box caught his eye. It was tucked in the far corner, partially hidden behind an old textbook. Sirius raised an eyebrow. Anything stashed away like that was bound to be interesting. With a mischievous grin, he reached for it, only for the entire thing to tumble off the shelf, spilling its contents across the floor.

“Bloody hell,” he swore, crouching to pick up the mess. His hand froze mid-reach when he realized what had fallen out: letters. Dozens of them, bundled in ribbons of various colors.

Sirius sat back on his heels, eyeing the pile. His curiosity, as always, got the better of him. With a glance at the door to ensure James wasn’t about to barge in, he grabbed the nearest stack and plopped himself onto the bed, cross-legged and grinning like a kid about to open a box of Zonko’s best tricks.

The first letter he unfolded smelled faintly of vanilla. Your scent, Sirius realized, and his grin faltered for just a moment.

October 7, 1971 Beauxbatons is so different from Hogwarts. The professors here are so strict, James, sometimes it feels like I’m being watched all the time! I miss the feeling of freedom you must have at Hogwarts, even if you’re always getting into trouble with Sirius. Do you ever just wish you could escape the rules and run wild?

Sirius chuckled softly, his eyes scanning the elegant handwriting. “Trouble? Me? Never,” he muttered, his tone dripping with mock innocence.

But as he reread the letter, a strange tightness settled in his chest. The way you wrote about Hogwarts — it wasn’t just about the school. It was about James. Even miles away, you saw him as something larger than life, as the embodiment of freedom and adventure.

And James? The idiot probably thought you were just being polite.

February 21, 1971 Sirius sounds like a bit of a handful, but I bet he’s hilarious. I think I’d like him, even if he does cause chaos. You all sound like you’re constantly up to something, but I imagine you get into trouble a lot, don’t you? Anyway, I’d love to hear more about his pranks— I’m sure you and him must make a great team!

Sirius barked a laugh. “A handful? Pretty, you have no idea.”

Still, the words struck a chord. He could see it so clearly now: the way you’d woven yourself into James’s world with every playful question and teasing remark. You weren’t just curious about his adventures; you wanted to be a part of them, to understand the boy behind the Quidditch bravado and the wild schemes.

Then came the letters about Lily.

March 25, 1973 James, you always talk about Lily, and I think it’s sweet that you have such admiration for her. I bet she doesn’t even know how much you like her. She sounds like she’d be really hard to win over, but I’m sure you’ll figure it out. Just don’t forget to have fun along the way, yeah?

Sirius groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Merlin’s saggy pants, Prongs, how thick can you be?”

He could almost picture you writing those words, the careful balance between encouragement and self-sacrifice. Even as you pushed James toward Lily, your letters were saturated with love — pure, unguarded, and heartbreakingly unspoken.

It was infuriating. How could two people so obviously meant for each other be so oblivious?

By the time Sirius reached the later letters, the humor had drained from his face.

December 5, 1974 Your mum sent me another gift! She’s so sweet, and I can’t believe how kind she is to me. It always makes me feel so loved. You know, when I’m away from you, it’s like I’m missing something... like the best part of my day. I never want to take our friendship for granted.

The parchment crinkled slightly as Sirius’s grip tightened. That wasn’t just gratitude — it was devotion, raw and aching. The kind of love that didn’t need fireworks or grand declarations because it was already woven into every moment, every memory.

And James? Sirius shook his head, a pang of frustration mixing with pity. James had spent years chasing the idea of love, blind to the fact that he already had it.

The final letter undid him.

December 12, 1975 I was thinking about you today, and how you’ve always been there for me — whether it was listening to me complain about the Beauxbatons professors or laughing with me when I’m in a bad mood. You’re always there, and I think that’s why I trust you more than anyone else. You’ll never know how much that means to me, Jamie.

Sirius closed his eyes, letting the words sink in. You didn’t just see James; you knew him. The real James — the boy who laughed too loudly, who lived for Quidditch, who couldn’t resist a good prank. You loved James, not the idealized version he tried to be for Lily or anyone else.

Sirius exhaled sharply, folding the letter with a reverence he didn’t usually bother with. His heart ached — not for himself, but for you, for James, for the years you’d both spent dancing around the truth.

“Merlin, you’re both idiots,” he muttered, though his voice was softer now.

Sirius ran a hand through his dark hair, ruffling it further into disarray, his mind replaying what he’d just uncovered. The letters — those bloody letters — had been the key. Now everything fell into place: James’s barely-there smiles over the past few days, the way his gaze lingered when you entered the room, the softness in his laugh when you said something clever. James Potter, his brash, unrelenting, wildfire of a best friend, was utterly transformed around you.

Balanced. Grounded. Sincere.

It was unbearably obvious now, as if someone had pulled back the curtain.

And yet, the idiot still had Lily Evans’s picture on his bedside table in his dorm.

Sirius’s gaze fell on the stack of letters once more, neatly tied with a ribbons that seemed far too delicate for James’s usual chaos. He could have left it alone, let James figure things out in his own thick-headed way — but that wasn’t Sirius Black’s style. If there was one thing he’d learned from years of pranks, broken curfews, and bending the rules until they snapped, it was this: sometimes people needed a push, even if it stung a little.

Sirius exhaled and leaned back against the headboard, the letters still in hand. "You're a fucking idiot," he muttered under his breath.

A slow smirk tugged at his lips. Oh, the look on James’s face when he confronted him — it would be priceless. Sirius wasn’t one for sentiment, but for you? For James? Maybe, just maybe, he’d make an exception.

The door creaked open, and James stumbled into the room, his steps heavy with exhaustion. Sirius watched as his best friend all but collapsed into the armchair by the bookcase, running a hand through his already-messy hair. He looked like he’d been wrestling dragons all day — or, more likely, his dad’s endless list of chores.

But there was something else, too. A tension in his jaw, a restless energy that practically vibrated off him. Sirius could see it plain as day: James hadn’t seen her all day, and it was driving him mad. She was so close — just a staircase or two away — and yet untouchable.

Sirius cleared his throat, breaking the silence. “So, Prongs, is this why you’ve been obsessing over the owl schedule for years? Didn’t peg you as the secret pen-pal type.”

James’s head snapped up, his hazel eyes narrowing in confusion. They darted to the bed, where the stack of letters lay exposed, and then to the shelf where the box had clearly been moved. He froze for a second before letting out a long, resigned sigh.

“Pads,” James said, his voice low and uneven, heavy with an edge Sirius rarely heard. “It’s not cool to read someone else’s letters.”

The room seemed to still, the words settling into the air like dust, soft but laden with weight. James’s eyes — those unmistakable hazel orbs that always held a spark of mischief — were guarded now, a flicker of something raw and unspoken behind them.

Sirius leaned forward, a grin stretching across his face like the blade of a knife, sharp and unapologetic. “Not cool,” he echoed, his voice laced with mockery, “is keeping this from me for six bloody years. Care to explain, or should I guess?”

James flinched, the tension in his shoulders visible even through the soft knit of his jumper. He moved toward the bed with the slow, deliberate steps of someone walking a tightrope, balancing the fragile threads of anger and restraint. The dim light of the room cast long shadows over his frame, making him seem taller, older — more vulnerable.

He reached for one of the letters, his hand hesitating for the briefest moment before his fingers curled around the parchment. His thumb brushed over the faded ink, tracing the loops of her handwriting like a blind man reading Braille. The edges of the letter were frayed, softened by years of touch, and as he lifted it to his face, Sirius caught the faintest smile tugging at James’s lips.

It was a small, private thing, that smile. Reverent. It wasn’t the boyish grin Sirius knew so well, the one James wielded like a weapon to charm or disarm. No, this was different — softer, as though the mere act of holding the letter in his hand brought James closer to something sacred.

Sirius felt his chest tighten. He’d seen James in every possible state — triumphant on the Quidditch pitch, livid after a prank gone wrong, devastated when the world seemed too heavy — but this? This was new. This was James Potter unguarded.

“She’s different, isn’t she?” Sirius said, his voice quieter now, almost gentle.

James didn’t look up. He sat on the edge of the bed, sorting the letters with a precision that bordered on ritual. Each movement was deliberate, his fingers careful not to smudge the ink or crease the paper. Sirius had never seen him handle anything with such care — not his broomstick, not his glasses, not even the Marauder’s Map.

“It’s not what you think,” James murmured, but the words lacked conviction, as though he knew they’d crumble under scrutiny.

Sirius scoffed, leaning back in his chair with an exasperated snort. “Not what I think? Mate, I think you’re in love with her and too much of an idiot to admit it. Am I wrong?”

James froze mid-motion, the ribbon he was tying slipping from his fingers. For a moment, he didn’t speak, didn’t move — just stared at the letters as if they might answer for him.

“She’s…” He trailed off, his voice barely audible. “She’s different, Pads. She’s… everything.”

There it was. The confession, raw and trembling in the space between them. Sirius leaned forward, elbows on his knees, his expression unusually serious.

“Yeah,” Sirius said softly. “She is. And that’s exactly why you’re a bloody idiot for pretending she’s not.”

James let out a bitter laugh, the sound low and fractured. He raked a hand through his already-messy hair, his movements frenetic, as though he were trying to shake off the weight of the moment.

“You don’t get it,” he said, his voice cracking under the strain. “It’s not that simple.”

“Like hell it isn’t,” Sirius shot back, his tone sharp but not cruel. “I’ve watched you for years, Prongs. You talk about Evans like she’s some kind of bloody trophy, but her? You look at her like she’s the air you breathe. Like without her, you’d suffocate. And you’re sitting here telling me it’s complicated?”

James’s laugh turned hollow, empty. “Lily’s… safe. She’s who I’m supposed to want. She’s not my bloody childhood best friend.”

The words hung in the air, and for a moment, Sirius said nothing. Then, he barked out a laugh, loud and biting.

“Safe?” he repeated, incredulous. “Since when have you ever played it safe, James Potter? Love’s not supposed to be safe. It’s messy, terrifying, and completely bloody worth it. Or are you seriously telling me you’d rather be ‘safe’ than happy?”

James looked up at him then, and Sirius’s breath caught. His best friend’s hazel eyes, usually so full of fire and mischief, were red-rimmed and glistening with unshed tears.

“Do you think…” James’s voice wavered, barely above a whisper. “Do you think she feels the same?”

Sirius’s grin returned, slow and wolfish. “Mate, judging by these letters? She’s just as much of an idiot in love as you are.”

For a moment, James didn’t move, didn’t even breathe. And then, like a dam breaking, he laughed — a shaky, unsteady sound that grew louder, freer, until it filled the room.

“What do I do?” James asked, his voice raw and trembling with vulnerability.

Sirius stood, crossing the room to clap a hand on James’s shoulder. “You start by telling her everything. No more hiding. No more pretending. You owe her — and yourself — more than that.”

James nodded slowly, the faintest glimmer of determination flickering in his eyes. “You’re right.”

“Of course I’m right,” Sirius said, smirking. “I’m always right.”

As James reached for the letters, carefully tucking them back into their box, Sirius watched him with a rare sense of pride. This wasn’t just James Potter, the fearless Quidditch captain, the prankster extraordinaire. This was James Potter, a boy on the cusp of something extraordinary.

And for once, Sirius Black wasn’t just causing chaos — he was helping someone find their way through it.

THE SNOW OUTSIDE FELL IN HEAVY, DELIBERATE FLAKES, BLANKETING THE WORLD IN A SOFT, UNBROKEN QUIET. Sirius stood on the second-floor landing of the Potter home, a mug of hot coffee cradled in his hands. The rich aroma mingled with the faint scent of pine and cinnamon wafting from the decorated tree below. The whole house seemed to hum with a kind of warmth that Sirius rarely allowed himself to imagine, let alone experience.

From his vantage point, he had a perfect view of the living room below. The fire in the hearth crackled gently, casting golden shadows across the walls. Mr. Potter sat on the sofa with an arm draped around Mrs. Potter, the two of them cocooned under a soft plaid blanket. A book rested on Fleamont’s lap as he read aloud, his voice low and steady. Euphemia’s head rested against his shoulder, her eyes half-closed in serene contentment. Every so often, she’d smile at something he read or reach up to adjust her husband’s glasses, her touch so light and familiar it made Sirius’s chest ache with longing — not jealousy, but something softer. A wistfulness for this kind of unshakable bond.

But his gaze didn’t linger on the Potters for long. It drifted to the corner of the room, where the Christmas tree’s twinkling lights bathed two figures in a kaleidoscope of warm colors. You and James sat on the floor amidst the chaos of torn wrapping paper and open boxes. The morning’s gifts had already been exchanged, but it seemed James had saved something special for last.

Even from here, Sirius could see the faint nervousness in his best friend’s posture. James wasn’t one to fidget, yet his hands moved restlessly, smoothing invisible creases on his trousers, brushing imaginary dust from the tree skirt. His eyes, though, were unwavering as they watched you. You were cross-legged on the fluffy white rug, your hair falling in soft waves over your shoulder as you picked idly at a ribbon. Sirius noticed how your gaze lingered on James, curious and full of quiet affection.

James leaned closer, his voice low but carrying an unmistakable lilt of mischief. “One of the owls was late,” he said, holding up a slightly weathered envelope. The parchment looked a little worse for wear, its edges crumpled as if it had been handled too often. “It dropped this off this morning… asked me to give it to the most beautiful girl in the world.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head as you reached for the envelope. “Still using that line, are you, Potter?”

“Can you blame me? It’s worked wonders so far.” His grin was cocky, but Sirius saw the faintest flicker of uncertainty in his eyes as he handed it over.

You rolled your eyes, but the way you bit your lip betrayed your own anticipation. Turning the envelope over in your hands, you ran your fingers along the black-inked scrawl of your name before carefully breaking the seal. Sirius leaned forward slightly, his coffee forgotten as he watched the scene unfold.

The moment the letter emerged, the air seemed to shift. Your eyes darted across the page, your expression softening with each word. Sirius could see the precise moment the meaning settled in — the way your lips parted in surprise, the way your shoulders tensed, then relaxed, as if letting the weight of something long unspoken sink in. James’s hand rested on your knee, his thumb moving in small, nervous circles.

“Love?” James’s voice was barely above a whisper, his usual bravado stripped away. He was watching you as though the world rested on your reaction, his fingers tightening ever so slightly around yours. “You’re awfully quiet. Should I be worried? Say something. Anything.”

You didn’t answer immediately. Your eyes stayed fixed on the page, even as a tear slipped down your cheek, catching the light like a tiny diamond. James froze, his face paling slightly.

“Hey, hey, no…” His voice cracked. “Don’t cry. If it’s rubbish, just say so and we can forget it. Burn it, even.” He laughed nervously, though it sounded forced. “I’ll… I’ll pretend it never happened.”

That’s when you looked up, meeting his gaze with eyes so full of emotion it made Sirius’s breath hitch even from across the room. You didn’t say anything. Instead, you reached out, cupping James’s face in your hands. He stilled under your touch, his wide-eyed surprise melting into something softer as you leaned in and pressed your lips to his.

It wasn’t the kind of kiss Sirius might have teased him about — not fiery or impulsive. It was quiet, deliberate, and full of a tenderness that made Sirius feel like an intruder, even though he couldn’t look away. James’s hands found your waist, pulling you closer as though you might slip away if he let go.

Sirius smiled to himself, feeling a rare swell of pride. James had always been the heart of their little group, the one who wore his feelings openly. And now, here he was, finding a kind of love that Sirius knew would anchor him forever.

A sharp click shattered the moment, and both of you turned your heads to find Sirius standing at the bottom of the stairs, a wide grin plastered across his face as he waved a freshly developed photo in the air.

“Perfect!” he announced, shaking the picture. “This one’s going in the family album. And when my godchildren ask how their parents got together, I’ll tell them Uncle Sirius orchestrated the whole thing.”

You laughed, leaning your forehead against James’s shoulder, while James groaned, though the corners of his mouth twitched upward. “You’re a menace, Pads,” he said, though his voice held no bite.

“A charming menace,” Sirius replied, retreating toward the couch where the elder Potters were watching the scene unfold with amused smiles.

“Everything alright, dear?” Euphemia asked, her eyes twinkling with affection as she glanced between you and James.

James nodded, his hand still firmly clasping yours. “Yeah, Mum. Everything’s perfect.”

Mrs. Potter’s smile widened, and she reached over to pat your hand. “Welcome to the family, my dear. Though, truth be told, you’ve always been part of it.”

“Thank you,” you said softly, your voice thick with emotion.

THE REST OF THE DAY PASSED IN A GOLDEN HAZE OF LAUGHTER AND WARMTH. Euphemia roped you into helping her in the kitchen, insisting you learn the secret to her mulled wine. Sirius watched from the doorway, sipping his coffee and grinning as you tried to follow her directions, only for James to sneak in and steal a taste from the pot, earning himself a playful swat on the arm.

By evening, the fire burned low, and the snow outside had blanketed the world in an even deeper hush. Sirius sat in his favorite armchair, a blanket draped over his legs as he watched the scene before him. You and James were curled up together on the rug, a cozy tangle of limbs as you whispered to each other, your laughter soft and unguarded. The Potters sat nearby, sharing quiet conversation, their hands intertwined.

For a moment, Sirius closed his eyes, letting the warmth of the room and the sounds of contentment wash over him. He thought of his own childhood Christmases — cold, sterile affairs devoid of joy. And then he thought of this… the home James had built, not just for himself but for everyone he cared about. It was the kind of love Sirius had always believed was out of reach. Until now.

“Merry Christmas, Prongs,” he murmured, raising his empty mug in a toast to his best friend.

James glanced up, catching his eye. “Merry Christmas, Pads,” he replied, his grin soft but unmistakably James.

James had turned to you, his hand cradling your cheek as he pressed a lingering kiss to your temple. You smiled up at him, your fingers tracing lazy patterns on his arm.

"Merry Christmas, love," James murmured, his voice low and filled with a tenderness that made Sirius’s chest tighten.

"Merry Christmas, Jamie," you replied, resting your forehead against his.

Sirius chuckled, settling back into his chair, the warmth of the moment settling deep in his bones. The world outside might be cold and uncertain, but here, in this house, surrounded by love and laughter, everything felt exactly as it should be.

He thought about how James Potter had once given him the home and warmth he never had. And now, it seemed, Sirius Black had helped his best friend find his way home, too.

FROM THE ARCHIVE OF SIRIUS BLACK:

To my future, undoubtedly brilliant, devilishly handsome, and wildly talented nephews,

Listen up, you little rascals. You don’t know me yet, but let me make one thing very clear: I’m the reason you even exist. That’s right, your ridiculously perfect Uncle Sirius is the mastermind behind it all. Without my charm, wit, and expert meddling, your parents might still be doing the whole "will-they-won't-they" nonsense.

So, when you’re out there ruling the world, remember to thank yours truly. The coolest, suavest, and most humble uncle you'll ever have — Sirius Black. You're welcome.

December 25, 1976 My Love, It’s Christmas, and the house is quiet now, the soft hum of the tree lights the only sound. I’ve been sitting here for hours, staring at this parchment, trying to find words big enough for what I feel, but they don’t exist. Still, I need to try. Love, I see it now—what I’ve been too blind to see all along. I’ve always thought of myself as brave, fearless even. But when it came to you, I was a coward. I didn’t want to risk losing you. You, who have been the brightest part of my life since the moment we met. You, who’ve filled every corner of my world with warmth and light, even when we were miles apart. Every summer, when you stepped into my life again, it was like the sun breaking through a storm. You’d sit by the lake with that book you never quite finished because I was always distracting you. You’d laugh at my terrible jokes, your nose crinkling just so. And you’d hum when you thought no one was listening, always off-key but somehow more perfect than any melody I’ve ever heard. I thought I was looking for the kind of love my parents have — their unshakable bond, the way they look at each other like the world begins and ends with them. And all this time, it was right here, under my nose. You were under my nose. I think I was afraid, love. Afraid that if I let myself feel what’s always been there, I’d ruin us. That I’d lose the only person who’s ever truly known me, the only one who can look past the pranks, the bravado, and see me—the real me. But Sirius, being Sirius, knocked some sense into me. He said I’ve been acting like a fool, and for once, he’s right. Rereading our letters with him was like seeing my life laid out before me, and every line, every word pointed to you. Even when you were far away, you were my everything. The letters you sent were more than ink on parchment; they were lifelines. When Hogwarts felt too big, too chaotic, you were the quiet in the storm. When I felt lost, you reminded me who I am. Do you know how many times I reread your words, just to feel close to you? I kept your letters in my trunk, hidden from the others like a secret treasure. Because that’s what you’ve always been — my treasure. How could I have been so blind? How could I have wasted so much time thinking it was Lily I wanted when it’s always been you? I’ve spent so long chasing a dream when the real thing was right in front of me. I see it now, clearer than I’ve ever seen anything. You are my stars, my moon, my sun. You’re the laugh that makes everything brighter, the voice that feels like home.

I love you. I love the way your handwriting gets messier when you’re excited. I love the way you argue with me over the silliest things just to see me smile. I love the way you hum when you’re nervous and how you always know exactly what to say to pull me out of my worst days. I love you. I don’t know if you feel the same way, but I hope with everything in me that you do. And if you don’t, I’ll understand. Because having you in my life, even just as my friend, has been the greatest gift I could ever ask for. But if there’s even the smallest chance you might love me too, then I promise to spend the rest of my life proving I deserve you. Merry Christmas, my love. You’ve been my greatest gift every day since I met you. Forever yours, Jamie

thankx for reading <3

god, this is my biggest work and I was so afraid to publish it, cause it seems to me that no one reads such long fics (I myself adore long fics).

and if you've finished reading this, thank u and I love you so much! I hope you enjoyed every part of it and I will be very glad if you leave a comment, because it seems to me that I have left all of myself in this work!

you can always share your opinion in comments or my inbox. btw my requests are open so… make a wish :3

– your santi 🪐

masterlist

#– santi 🪐#james potter fluff #james potter fic #james potter x reader #james potter #james potter x you #james potter imagine #james potter x y/n #james potter fanfiction #bsf!james potter #james potter x fem!reader

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redeemingvillains · 3 days ago

Text

the apothecary's rebel - mattheo riddle

summary: hogwarts' bad boy can't seem to find a way to stay out of the infirmary where you're working to become a healer, but as the stakes get higher, you struggle to understand if you're simply a means to an end, or something much more.

word count: 4k

warnings: mentions of severe injury, broken bones, blood, etc.

a/n: this is so tropey and i'm not sorry about it! credit as always to the lovely @pizzaapeteer who has definitively determined that mattheo's favorite quidditch team is the falmouth falcons, which i will faithfully honor in every fic that i write.

The first time you met Mattheo Riddle, he had rivulets of blood pouring from his nose, crimson and amber; it stained his white collared shirt and seeped into his emerald tie and dark robes but despite it, he was smiling, laughing actually as his eyes glinted at Professor McGonagall who was dragging him alongside her into the infirmary.

"Please, Professor" he implored, "I can't help myself when someone runs their mouth like that, I can't, it's like a curse or something, my fist just flew to his face, what was I supposed to do?!" He was smirking as he looked at her, but she ignored his gaze as she yanked him before you.

"Enough, Mr. Riddle!" she said shrilly.

He tugged his arm out of her grasp. "I don't need the infirmary, m'fine" he huffed, rolling his eyes.

"You're dripping blood on my floor" she retorted, pointing to the maroon spots at his feet.

He glanced down and then wiped his nose with the back of his hand, smearing the blood further across his face.

"Ms. YLN!" McGonagall said, making it clear that he was your problem now as she squeezed her eyes shut in aggravation then spun on her heels and left.

You stood from your desk at once startled and awed by the situation, but Mattheo's gaze followed McGonagall out of the room.

"M'fine, I don't need anything" he repeated as he continued to swipe at the blood that wouldn't stop running.

You begged to differ as you took in the gash on the bridge of his nose, and the early signs of a black eye. You handed him a cloth which he stuffed under his nose halfheartedly, barely glancing at you, and before you could do anything else, he jogged back to the doorway, peered around the corner and disappeared.

Your week went by without anything nearly as exciting occurring beyond the normal bumps, bruises, and burns from spells and potions gone awry before you saw him again, this time of his own volition.

He caught your eye as his large framed graced the doorway. He was dressed for quidditch, still in his shoulder pads and Slytherin practice jersey. His dark curls were windblown and his cheeks were flush with exertion; sweat glistened on his brow and you thought fleetingly to yourself that no one had the right to look that sweaty and that good at the same time.

You stood from your desk to approach him, eyebrow quirked when he held up his hand by way of explanation, where two of his fingers were bent the wrong way, clearly broken. You motioned wordlessly for him to sit on the nearest cot.

He sat and immediately focused his attention out the window, peering like he was hoping to see the quidditch pitch from his vantage point.

You gathered a few supplies and approached him and he thrust out his hand, eyes never leaving the window.

"Go on then, get it over with" he said shortly. "I wanna get back to practice."

Unbeknownst to you, he was no stranger to broken bones, nor the sharp, relentless pain that came with the healing process and he was doing everything he could to steel himself for it.

Your touch was warm and tender as your fingers gently examined his hand.

"What position do you play?" you asked.

"Beater" he said simply.

You handed him a dose of healing and numbing potion, which he chugged in one go, thinking briefly that it tasted much better than he remembered.

"Are you any good?" you continued as you took the vial back from him and continued your work on his fingers.

"Are you joking?" he asked, laughing humorlessly.

You shrugged innocently, a sly smile on your lips, though you never broke your focus.

"Yeah, I'm good" he said. "Best Slytherin has seen in a while. We might actually have a chance at the cup this year if Flynt can keep his head straight and Goyle can stay sober long enough to sit on his broom."

"A daunting task" you teased.

He laughed genuinely this time, your humor enough to garner his attention and break his gaze from the window as his eyes fell on you instead, and you could feel yourself flush under his notice.

"Harpies or Cannons?" you asked, trying to guess his favorite team.

"Falcons" he said, smirking at your knowledge of quidditch.

"My brothers root for Ballycastle, but I'm partial to the Magpies" you replied.

Now he was flat out impressed and had about a million questions for you, but just as he opened his mouth to ask them, you step back and smiled.

"You're all set!"

He thought you were joking until he looked down at his carefully bandaged fingers.

"You should be able to grip your broom just fine. Put some ice on it after practice if you can, otherwise it will hurt like hell when the potion wears off."

You were gathering your supplies as he wiggled his fingers with trepidation. He felt a dull ache, but nothing more, and he could easily grasp his broom despite his mended fingers with the unique way you'd wrapped them; it'd felt better than any mending he'd had before and whether it was your talent or the deft way you'd distracted him, he couldn't stop himself from muttering "S'bloody brilliant."

"Thanks" you said genuinely, feeling the heat return to your cheeks as you shot him a playful smirk of your own. "Best Ravenclaw's seen in a while" you teased, echoing his words from earlier before you walked back to your desk.

The rest of the afternoon you found your thoughts wandering between the books you were trying to study and the boy with dark curls and a smirky grin who seemed magnetized to mischief, how even the brush of your fingers against his strong, calloused hands had had you struggling to focus on healing, the very thing that came most naturally to you.

You were both happy and disappointed that you didn't see him soon thereafter, glad perhaps that he was keeping himself out of trouble and in one piece. You caught glimpses of him occasionally in the busy corridor between classes or in the Great Hall surrounded by his raucous group of friends, but you tried your level best not to stare, in turn missing his equally ardent attempts to catch your eye.

It was perhaps three weeks later that you awoke late on a Saturday night to a muffled pounding on your bedroom door. Bright moonlight shone through your curtained window as you struggled to get your bearings and the pounding relented, heavy and urgent.

Occasionally, Madam Pomfrey summoned you in an emergency and your heart trilled as you pulled a large sweater over your lace and silk pajamas. You moved quickly to open the door, only to find Mattheo slumped and leaning against your doorway.

He swung his head to look at you with noticeable effort and you couldn't hold in your gasp as you took in his face, scraped and dirty with a large cut on his eyebrow that you were already calculating would need stitches, and a smaller but sizable cut to match on his lip. His mouth was bloodied and the gash on the bridge of his nose was back.

"Gods, Mattheo" you whispered as you reached for him. "Let's get you down to the infirmary."

"S'four inthe mornin' m'not gonna explain to them why I looklike this" he said, his speech slurring as he moved to brush past you into your room.

"Can'tyou fix me n'here?" he asked, as he swayed and you moved to support his weight.

"I-I don't have what I need, I don't have any numbing potion..." you tried to say.

"Can't hurt more'n it already does" he huffed as he sat on your bed.

The sight of him there, rumpling your sheets caught every last word in your throat and you busied yourself grabbing what you could to buy time to still your racing heart.

"What happened?" you asked, finally.

"Me'n the boys got into one" he said, not offering more in the way of an explanation as he glanced around your room, making you feel exposed.

"And where are they?" you asked, glancing for a moment back at the door like they might follow him in.

"I wasn'about to drag five ofus n'here" he said with a smirk.

I wanted you all to myself he thought as he tried with significant effort to focus on you as you came to stand between his spread legs. Your sweater was falling off of your shoulder to reveal thin, silk pajamas that covered next to nothing; your hair was rumpled and wavy with sleep, giving you a relaxed and tousled look that had his mind racing with the image of you tangled in your sheets.

You held his chin softly in your hand, turning his head slowly to the right and to the left. You could smell firewhiskey on him, and could see the pupils of his eyes blown wide as they looked unwavering at you in a way that made your legs feel like jelly.

"You might have a concussion" you said quietly, focusing on the facts instead of the fantasy in front of you.

"Probably" he agreed, his voice thick and raspy.

Your eyes shifted from his strong gaze to focus on his hands, attentively wiping away the dirt, gravel and blood from his knuckles, your fingers running down his palms. His eyes fluttered, thinking you had no right to make him feel this good by touching his hands, and then immediately he thought about your touch anywhere, everywhere else.

You leaned further into him to attend to the cut on his eyebrow, softly whispering the spell to mend it, close enough that he could feel your breath against his skin and he closed his eyes in earnest, letting your words wash over him, calming him from what had been an intense and violent night; they didn't flutter open again until you gently touched his lip.

"Sorry, did that hurt?" you asked.

"S'other ways you could make it feel better" he said, smiling widely in way that set a twinkle in his eye.

"Very funny" you said, redoubling your efforts, without realizing that for once he wasn't joking.

He reached out a hand to grab your waist, attempting to pull you into him, but you mistook it for an effort to steady himself and set a hand on his shoulder.

With the amount of alcohol in his system you thought, there is little to no chance he remembers any of this.

Mattheo woke with a throbbing headache and for the life of him he couldn't piece together why his friends visibly looked like they'd lost a brawl, while he looked...fine; his hands and face were clean and his split lip and eyebrow were reduced to small cuts and scrapes, nearly healed.

He had a foggy memory, like a dream, of you tracing your fingers over his lip, a touch he retraced now like he could feel you on his skin, could feel your warmth from being pulled out of bed, and then he remembered how good you'd smelled, like vanilla and amber... Had he really gone to your room in the middle of the night? He would almost be embarrassed if he didn't feel so fucking smitten about it.

The group dragged themselves to breakfast, hoods drawn; Theo even sported an oversized pair of sunglasses, whether to cover his black eye or to abade his hangover, no one was sure. They were talking in rasp whispers about the night before when Mattheo caught sight of you leaving the Great Hall with a few of your friends, his feet moving on autopilot towards you before he knew what he was doing, breaking rank to his friends' bewilderment.

"Hey" he said, catching your attention. "I-uhh, thanks for last night, I guess" he smiled, even as he carded his hand through his hair, a bit abashed.

"I am genuinely surprised you remember any of it" you said, laughing.

"F'course I do" he said confidently.

"So, you'll keep your promise then?" you retorted as you cocked your head expectantly.

Promise? What fucking promise?

"Yeah, of course I will" he said, even as his mind drew a complete blank on what you were referring to.

Your eyebrows shot up as a wide smile graced your lips and you crossed your arms, ready to challenge him before you were interupted.

"—Wait, is this her?" Theo barged in, pushing Mattheo aside, the others following closely behind.

"Can she look at my nose?" Draco tried. "I think that fucker broke—"

"—No. Stop, stop it." Mattheo said, dragging them away from you gruffly as you laughed, waving to Enzo who was waving eagerly to you despite Mattheo's efforts to contain him.

Your cheeks were crimson. He'd told his friends about you.

That giddiness carried you throughout your day. You felt like you were floating from class to class, like a fifth house ghost, your spirits high even as you resigned yourself to the infirmary that evening while the rest of the school made their way to the quidditch pitch for the final game of the season, the House Cup: Slytherin versus Gryffindor.

A dark storm had settled over the mountains and the last of the sun disappeared behind large, black clouds that brought with them torrential wind and rain that you watched cascade in sheets against the windows. You were disappointed to be missing the game, missing the chance to watch Mattheo play, but you were also happy to be inside, dry and warm.

You settled into your book, trying your best to enjoy it, but you found yourself reading and re-reading the same sentence over and over again, unable to clear your mind from the night before, the way Mattheo settled effortlessly on your bed in a way that even now had your stomach clenching, the way his dark eyes followed you in the white moonlight, the way he smiled under caked blood and the warmth and softness of his skin and his lips under your fingertips; and finally the way he'd grabbed you, perhaps stronger than he'd intended, fingers pressing into the thin silk that covered you, leaving imprints on your skin. Your heart was racing and you felt warm at the memory as you set your book down and exhaled shakily.

It wasn't a moment later that you heard a commotion in the corridor, loud voices and shuffling feet before a large group burst through the doors, professors and students crowding around two quidditch players, the sight making your heart constrict in your chest, until you noticed a red jersey on one and the flash of Draco Malfoy's bright blonde hair on the other. You scurried to help guide him to a cot as he groaned, his eyes squeezing in pain as a gash on his forehead dripped blood down the side of his face.

"What the hell happened?!" you asked Professor Sinistra who had a deep frown set on her face.

"The storm is making it impossible to see anything, they should have cancelled the damn match" she said. "These two collided and there's another one coming - he tried to grab Malfoy and took a bludger straight to the knee before falling 60 feet to the ground."

Draco continued to writhe in pain in front of you and Professor Sinistra was still talking but she sounded distant, almost underwater, because dread and fear had settled over you. Somehow you knew before you turned around that the third player was Mattheo, and you glanced over your shoulder in time to see him being supported between Theo and Blaise.

He was limping on one leg as the other dragged uselessly beneath him. He was soaked through, his hair stuck to his forehead and his jersey stuck to his skin. He was covered in mud and his face was like stone, marble white as he stared sternly at a spot on the ground, jaw clenched.

You dropped what you had been doing, rudely brushing past Professor Sinistra and rushed to his side.

"Here, put him here" you said to Theo and Blaise, leading them to an empty cot.

"Nahh - fuck - get someone else" Mattheo said sharply in a way so cutting and raw that you froze, like his words had struck you like a charm.

"W-What?" you said as the boys lowered him to the bed, exchanging glances.

"You heard me YLN. Get someone else!" he said angrily, almost yelling.

You turned to face the rest of the infirmary which was in a state of utter chaos between the nurses, students and professors running back and forth; the raging storm outside cracked and boomed, setting you further on edge.

Tears welled in your eyes at how overwhelmed you were and how angry Mattheo was. Your head was spinning. Clearly he didn't care about you at all, you had been a convenience, a means to an end, someone who could patch him up when he was too drunk to go to the infirmary, and he'd used his good looks and charm on you like he did everyone else to get what he wanted. You had been an utter fool. Now his injuries were serious and he wanted someone with experience, not some girl to exchange flirty banter with.

Your eyes scanned the room again and you swiped angrily at your cheeks as several tears escaped.

"Well, there isn't anyone else, Mattheo" you said, the realization hitting you simultaneously that you were responsible for him.

He groaned in annoyance and threw his head back on his pillow, which Theo and Blaise thankfully took as their cue to go. You drew the curtains behind them, struggling to calm yourself, to get a semblance of control.

"You took a bludger to the knee?" you asked. "What else, where does it hurt?"

He was silent, face grimaced, refusing to make eye contact with you.

"Suppose I'll just have to undress you and find out for myself then?" you tried. But even that didn't work as he remained quiet and shame and embarrassment set over you.

You took a steadying breath and quickly wiped another errant tear away before approaching him cautiously, moving to unlace his boots as gently as you could, but even that caused him to tense. Delicately, you began to cut his trousers from the bottom and within three snips could you see a sicky swelling letting you know that this was bad....very bad. He'd well shattered his knee and likely broke his fibula and tibia too, his entire leg was a disaster. You had no idea how he'd remained so calm despite it all and you were worried that this might be too complex for you to mend.

You mixed him a strong healing and numbing potion and he took it from you wordlessly, gruffly. Gone was his bashful smile from this morning, the twinkle in his eye, it was like he wanted nothing to do with you, downing the potion in one go, still refusing to meet your gaze.

"Mattheo, I can't imagine how painful this must be, but I'll fix it, I-I promise" you said.

His eyes shifted darkly to you for only a moment, anger and distain clear in his gaze before he looked away again, never saying a word.

You applied just about everything you'd ever learned about mending bones, tendons, muscles and sinew and within moments of taking the potion, Mattheo had fallen into a deep sleep, allowing you to work without fear of hurting him further. It took the better part of two hours, by which time the rest of the infirmary had settled and Madam Pomfrey came to check on you. She was difficult to please, but she scrutinized your work with a sharp eye before complimenting you thoroughly, you had done it.

You were depleted, exhausted, both physically and emotionally but you didn't stop as you wiped the caked mud from Mattheo's cheeks and gingerly cut away the rest of his wet clothing, fearful he'd catch a chill, thinking you deserved some sort of medal for your level of professionalism as your fingers traced his strong muscles, veined arms and faded scars. You pulled a blanket over him, charmed to stay warm before you finally slumped into a chair at his side.

Your entire body was tense, and your muscles were sore. You let yourself catch your breath as your emotions finally caught up with you and you bit your lip to keep from crying at how foolish you felt.

Madam Pomfrey poked her head through the curtain. "You're free to go" she said quietly.

You glanced back at Mattheo before turning to her. "I think I'll stay...just in case" you whispered.

She pursed her lips knowingly before nodding curtly and walking back to her station at the far end of the room.

It could have been minutes, it could have been hours, but eventually you fell into a fitful sleep riddled with nightmares of falling into deep darkness with nothing and no one to catch you.

Mattheo came to in a haze, enveloped in a soft warmth that brought a smile to his lips; for some reason, it reminded him of you, and it smelled like you, like warm vanilla and amber spice. As if in a dream, a memory came rushing back to him, of another time he was engulfed by you, of feeling your gentle touch on his lips in a way that made them tingle even now.

"How'sthis" he said. "I promise if I'm ever this'fucked again, and you haveta take care o'me, I'll take you ona date?" Your eyes shot to his, shining against the moonlight streaming into your bedroom and he clocked the twitch of your lip, the rose of your cheeks, Gods how he loved to make you blush. "Yeah?" you said jokingly. "Yeah" he said, feeling confident. You refocused your attention on his lip, your touch soaking through him like sunlight. "Well, for your sake, I hope that doesn't happen, you're a mess" you chided. Then, quietly, "But for mine, I look forward to it."

His heart soared and he reached for you only to come back with empty hands. He continued to grasp for you until his eyes fluttered open and he realized where he was. The memory of the game came rushing back to him, the flash of thunder and lighting, the fear of seeing his best mate falling off his broom as he raced to grab him, and then the crunch and splitting pain of his knee shattering, the scream he'd let out that was drowned by the storm.

His stomach roiled as he relived the way his friends had dragged him back to the castle, how every bump of his foot felt like torture. He tensed now, waiting for the pain, nearly nauseating himself with the memories, but he felt...nothing. A dull ached radiated from his knee and it felt stiff, but the sharpness was gone, replaced with a pulsing warmth.

His eyes blinked in the low candlelight, coming to rest on you, curled uncomfortably in a chair next to his bed, and he realized he should have known, should have recognized that you were the constant peace on the other side of his pain.

You were asleep, but your face was scrunched in discomfort, in concern and he clocked the smudge of your eye makeup, the loose strands of your hair falling on your face, and the fact that you were wearing the same clothes from earlier this morning, when he'd made you smile. Now, you looked distraught, upset and his stomach clenched as he remembered the way he'd spoken to you.

He had been in so much pain and pain is weakness he could hear in his head over and over again as he'd tried unsuccessfully to fight it. She's going to think you're weak, pathetic. He didn't want to be weak in front of you, he didn't want you to see him that way. He was proud when you mended his busted knuckles, his split lip, or even his smashed fingers, you didn't need a weak, crying git. But then he remembered the crushed look on your face as he'd yelled at you, and he realized he'd been a git all the same.

"Hey" he said, his voice coming out quieter than he'd intended, scratchy with sleep.

"Hey" he tried again.

You woke, startled. "Are you alright?" you asked, bolting upright in your chair, setting a hand on his arm. "Here, let me check your—"

"—I'm fine" he said, laughing. "More than, actually."

"Oh" you said, settling back down. "Good."

A moment of tepid silence passed between you.

"Look, m'sorry about earlier" he said, his sleep ridden voice coaxing your eyes to meet his as he opened his hand on the bed beside him, stretching it out for yours.

You hesitated, pursing your lips, and he could tell you were hurt.

"Can you keep a secret?" he tried.

You nodded.

"That fucking hurt, a lot" he exhaled as he let his vulnerability show.

"That's not really a secret. You shattered your knee, fibula and tibia, Mattheo, and you also have three bruised ribs and two more broken fingers" you said, pointing to his other hand.

"Well, would you look at that" he said smartly, twiddling his fingers back and forth.

"Draco cried harder over a hairline fracture, you'd have thought he was dying" you laughed quietly as you rolled your eyes.

Mattheo let out an earnest laugh at that before he grabbed his side.

"Do not tell him I said that—"

"—I am absolutely telling him you said that!" he said cockily as you both laughed until you fell into silence again.

He opened his palm again and you moved closer, setting your hand in his, which he enveloped in his warm grasp, gently rubbing a thumb over your fingers.

"I didn't want you to think I'm weak" he said finally, the truth settling over both of you like a blanket.

"Pain isn't weakness, Mattheo" you said simply, and the fact that in one instant you had understood exactly what he had meant had his dark chocolate eyes locked on yours.

"And anyway" you continued, "you don't have a weak bone in your body, your pain tolerance must be through the roof."

He didn't have the heart to tell you he hurt just like everyone else, he'd just had more practice with it, so he shrugged.

"Well all things considered, I feel great... thank you" he said, twirling your fingers together before tugging them gently, pulling you to sit on the bed beside him, close enough to feel the warmth between you. "I do have a couple of complaints though."

Your eyebrow quirked, suddenly serious.

"You got me nearly naked here before I could take you on that date I promised, hardly seems fair" he smirked.

You blushed, opening your mouth to defend yourself. So he did remember after all you thought.

"I'm kidding" he said lightly. "But start thinking about where I can take you. A promise is a promise."

You couldn't hide the smile on your face even as you tried, glancing into your lap, your cheeks Mattheo's favorite shade of blushed red.

"And what else?" you asked, trying to deflect.

"You missed something. I think I fucked my lip up, real bad" he said.

Your eyes twinkled as they looked at him, glancing briefly at his perfect lips, free from any mark or mar.

"I don't know, I don't see anything" you said, jokingly, taking his face in your hand, pretending to examine him.

"C'mon, c'mere you've got to get closer" he teased, pulling you into him, so your noses were nearly touching, your heart pounding in your chest.

He paused, relishing the moment, letting his fingers trace a line from your cheek to your jaw, letting your lips hover a breath away from his before he cupped your face and closed the distance between you.

He kissed you tentatively, softly, with a tenderness that made every inch of you feel like melted honey but it was only a breath before his restraint broke, intoxicated by you and every moment he'd daydreamed about the way you'd feel against him, the way you'd taste as he cupped both sides of your face and pulled you further into him. You grasped for purchase as the blanket between you slipped revealing his bare chest and you wound your arms around his bare shoulders, tangling your fingers into his hair, eliciting a muffled moan from deep within him. You nibbled his lip playfully before you pulled back, and he grasped you harder, fighting the distance.

"How's that?" you asked, breathlessly.

"Still unbearably painful, gorgeous, keep trying" he smiled against your lips before kissing you again.

taglist: @kenjikishimotoswifey @mattiesgf @sleepiibunniiii @darlingshecried @girllblogging777 @foivetimesacharm @clar2aa @pizzaapeteer @broadwaybaby123 @slytherinscreamqueen @chelawrites @rositxespinosa @longpondlibrary @littlebookbengal @lovetaylorrussellgrr

#mattheo riddle #mattheo riddle fluff #mattheo riddle x you #mattheo riddle x reader #slytherin boys

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rie-092 · 3 days ago

Note

Hi, i love ypur dinamic.

When I read lycris number 8 I inmediatly tough of Claude de Alber Obelia.

Maybe where the reader is someone whi he grow up and it could be Athanasio or Felix Fiance/wife <3

EVENT'S ENTRY OO1 : POSSESSION

[ yandere! claude de alger obelia ]

note: here's the link about the event! i love this prompt. this would be fun!

okay, let's start with the time before everything became messy.

there is one reason why you became anastacius's wife despite the two of you being way too young to get married. they wanted to tie your family down to the imperial family and anastacius was the one who acted as a shackle to make sure that your family will stay still and be the imperial family's loyal dog.

but honestly, being in the imperial family wasn't that bad. because you have anastacius and his younger brother, claude who was still young that time.

the first time you met claude, there's only one thing that came into your mind. why in the hell did they abuse this cute little creature?

that's the reason how you and anastacius became claude's salvation inside the imperial palace.

you always plays with him, spend time with him, hell, you even go far on firing those maids who put sand on claude's soup (you're the crown princess and you have the every rights to do so, duh.)

but there is still this small doubt inside his mind. that this peace won't stay forever and there is a high chance that you will change once you grew up and realize that he was lacking in many aspects.

and that doubt was only fueled when anastacius slowly changed.

and anastacius started isolating you. and he started prohibiting you as well as claude from visiting each other. and that's how everything became messy.

you see, this is the main reason why claude lost it. the gentle facade that he created for you and anastacius. his confidence, his emotions, his everything as well as his mother.

but don't worry, this wasn't his boiling point. he still had lady margarita (forgot her name, my baddd). while you escape time to time to spend time with him.

he remembered back then, before his big brother's betrayal. when the two of you escaped the palace to play. he remembered it clearly, the time you said that you were on his side. and you will remain as his friend forever.

unknown to you, this only fuels the unhealthy feelings that he suppress for years. because hell, you were his big brother's wife!

and congrats! now you had a possessive and obsessive yandere who sees love as ownership! and damn, he will not let you escape, after all, you were his right?

and fast forward to the time where claude discovered lady margarita and anastacius' betrayal. instead of feeling betrayed, this man was delighted as hell.

he can still clearly remember how he sent you a letter using his brother's name and inviting you to the room where lady margarita and anastacius was doing the deed.

he remembered how excited he was seeing the horror in your eyes.

ahh, don't blame him. you left him no choice after all. because he knew that deep inside, you started on having a feeling towards his older brother.

and it's a big no because you were his.

and now, after all the shits happened. and he became the emperor. you suddenly said that you will now go back to your family?

no, no. how can you say that towards him, (name)? after all he did to keep you by his side? after all the blood that he spilled for you?

don't be surprise if you woke up in your palace, chained in your bed. and even had a collar with his name on it.

you made him do this so basically, this wasn't his fault. you made him insecure, you made him panic. so, technically, you deserve this.

oh, by the way. starving yourself to death won't work against claude because he won't hesitate to force you on eating. or even killing your family in front of you.

just give up, ( name ). because you were his as much as he was yours.

now, be a good girl and help him raise athanasia well, okay? <3

￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣

“ ahh, dear. stop being annoying or i would be the one to hold you down and put this damn food in your mouth. hmm? you don't like that right? now be a good girl and listen to me, okay? ”

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daemonbrain · 16 hours ago

Text

1.8k, cw: ghosts a pervert, smut, readers husband is piece of work, not proofread.

Simon Riley who first saw you at the butcher's shop on the phone.

You were a pretty thing. Wearing a pink little yoga set, one arm holding your mat and the other holding your phone to your ear as you wait for the butcher to bring out your cut of meat.

Which was taking a long time

Simon would’ve had it chopped and packed to go by now. Though, he can’t complain with the view he has of your ass- you. The man was touch starved. He hadn’t been back home in a while, back-to-back deployments keeping him occupied. His only company being his calloused and scraped hands roughly jerking himself until he came, bordering on unpleasurable. Not what some could consider enjoyable, but try being in the middle of fuckin’ nowhere for weeks on end and see if you care so much about gentle.

The borderline perverted look you were blissfully unaware of was tracking down your form. He stared at the way the material tightly clung on to every bit of you in a welcoming way, a second skin. The sweat on you from your little session.

Just how flexible does yoga make a bird like you?

It was only when he heard a grating sound come from your phone that he snapped out of his trance. Even with his bad ears from all the bullets whizzing past him, bombs going off within meters of him, and the usual shit show he did for a living he could hear the voice which bled through your phone's speaker.

"Get me a steak this time. Nonna that nasty shit from last time!"

You hurriedly turned your volume down as it blasted in your ear, startled by the voice. Chewing on your lip you pivoted towards the counter to see if your order had been brought out; the motion to no avail as the employee continued chopping away in the back room.

It was only when your other hand came into full view from the motion he noticed the absolute rock on your finger.

"Honey, I thought the salmon was pretty good." That prick clearly firing something back as you winced away from your phone once again. Gritting your teeth as if biting back your arguments, looking around to occupy your time as the man on the phone continues to speak. "I know... I'm sorry. Don't worry, it'll be ready by 7." You placatingly cooed.

"Listen, I have to go. I love y-" You began, but the moment the words tumbled from your lips you pulled the phone fully from your cheek to see a blank screen with the time staring back on you. The asshole hung up!

What a fuckin tosser.

Simon hears the butcher finally call your name with familiarity and with a sigh you step towards the counter.

He leaned on to the wall further as he had been the entire time. Silent. Unsettling. A stark contrast to your bright appearance in the shop, the larger man brooded in his corner waiting his turn.

“See ya’ next Friday!” You still managed a bright smile at the butcher who handed you your meat.

A mild thing like you really shouldn’t be talked to so thoughtlessly, some guys are fuckwits though. He never liked the type. Why lock a bird down with a ring if you were gonna be mean to her?

“S’cuse me sir, i’m just gonna push past you here” You asked. With widened eyes, Simon gruffly mumbled a “Yeah,” out before creating a stupidly small space.

Maybe he really did want you to push past him. Or just push up on him but oh well.

Sweeping past him, you give him a toothy smile as you had so sweetly done to the butcher, as if you hadn’t got yelled at less than five minutes ago. God you really have no common sense, beaming up at the lurker in the corner at least twice your size. A girl as pretty as you should really stick to herself.

From that interaction on, Simon found himself being guided by the memory of you back to the butcher shop the next Friday.

And the next…

And the next.

Every week progressively standing closer and closer to you as you picked up your usual order. One day you had taken the liberty of starting small talk with him after recognizing his unmistakable stature. After all, there were only so many people you had seen in this shop and none so… large.

You could not deny you found this mystery man disquieting. Always dressed in dark colours, not so much as a word coming from him. Like clockwork you would come in after hot yoga, greet the butcher, he would come in, silence would ensue as you both waited for your meat, and you would leave with a quick smile.

It was rude. He had never even said a simple hello to you! Though, you suppose that it could be due to your own curt exits. The thought of the unkindness you might’ve exhibited subconsciously sent your mind into a spiral, leading to your abrupt introduction.

After all, who were you to judge! Kindness is and should always be the response in your books.

At this kindness, Simon swore he had to take a breath in as you politely outstretched your hand and spoke your name casually. Tilting his head down to your face he raises a brow skeptically, and then firmly shakes your head.

He failed to hide the shudder which wracked his body. The way your hand effortlessly slipped into his. Soft and manicured engulfed in his.

“Simon.”

“Well it’s good to meet you Simon” With the twinkly little smile you would grace him as you hauled it out of the shop. He felt the shiver go down his spine a second time when you spoke his name for the first time.

And then- it happened.

You giggled. A soft thing, no doubt intended to be small. It wasn’t to Simon though. It reverberated throughout the room, rang so prettily in his ears. Fuck. He would remember that sound later on tonight.

“Are you cold? You keep shivering. It’s pretty harsh out there right now.”

“Nah. Not really.” His accent thick as he shrugged.

Letting out a little “mhm” you nod and look back to the counter.

“I was freezing outside! Usually I walk home-” Simon already knew that “-but today I called my husband to come grab me! Way too cold!”

That visibly made him stiffen. Of course. Perfectly normal that guy is coming to get you, he’d be an idiot to leave you walking home alone in the cold.

If you were his girl, Simon wouldn’t have let you out of his sight. Fuck sakes you practically had “come mess with me” written all over you. There were creeps all over the place nowadays, (thought the creep).

He would’ve carried everything for you, scarfed down whatever the hell you had taken the time to prepare him. That husband of yours doesn’t like your salmon? Simon would. Hell if he didn’t, he’d cram it down his throat with gratitude anyways. He doubted anything could be worse than some of the rations he’s eaten on duty.

That train of thought is pretty redundant when he takes note of how you wouldn’t be able to leave the bed to make anything.

Maybe you’d cram something of his down your throat in gratitude.

Shaking his head subtly, he hears the bells of the store door opening. He watched your face fall as you step away from him and it’s when he sees your husband's look of complete irritation he understands why.

You had grabbed your order swiftly and with a quick wave goodbye you were on your way back to your husband. Simon could only register your husband's whisper-yell as he disapprovingly glared his way. “The fuck are you doin talking to him?”. And with that you were hurriedly ushered out.

You deigned it necessary to continue greeting Simon, have little chats about the weather, any plans he had for the weekend. Tossing in your stupid jokes that he would laugh at. You interpreted it as something closer to a breathy snort-hopefully positive- and it went on as such for weeks

And every time he returned home Friday night, he came home with only one thought after. You.

As he laid in bed the same thought persisted as he slipped his cock out of his boxers, red and weeping for some sort of stimulation. He took to his usual harsh pace. You’d be so much softer.

You’d be so nice to him wouldn’t you? Coo some compliment as he lets you tug at him. Fuck he wouldn’t know what to take first.

Would you give him a blowie or a hand job?

No. You wouldn’t be on your knees- not yet. If you’d let him have you, you’d be on your back in an instant. He’d rip the stitches of those leggings right down the middle, your panties next.

“Fuuuuuck” he moaned into the quiet of his room. He’d stick it in slow, he’d try. It would be torture not to ram himself right up to the hilt, but he’d do it for such a good girl.

That’s what you were, weren’t you? Always a nice word for someone? What would you say to him when he began to rut into you like a madman. When you would feel the pummeling intrusion, his head knocking into the deepest parts of you.

He’d be able bend you into so many different positions that you’d better hope that yoga has taught you well. Split your legs open to accommodate his imposing body size as he’d take purchase between them. Then you better hope your cunny can accommodate his other size when he spears you open on his cock.

Would you take it smiling? Would your tears roll down your cheeks, the prodding bordering too much? You’d take it either way, he knew you could. He’d rub at your clit with such tenderness he never afforded himself (as gentle as he could anyway). He’d make sure you begged to stay on his cock forever, fuck himself so deep you would be too stupid to pull away unknowing of where he ended and you started. Not that you’d have to care.

He’d flip you on to all fours and rip away your clothes entirely, pounding you from the back and instead of just his own labored breaths, the sound of skin slapping together would ring out.

In silent stoicism, he feels his balls tighten up at the thought of your perfect face stuffed into the pillows screaming your thank you’s. You probably were just as nice with someone stuffing themselves into your pussy.

At both his ruthless ministrations and boundless imagination, his release spurted all over his hand with a breathy sigh. When you were here he’d make sure to slam his hips to yours and keep them flush against you, coat your insides in hot cum better than your limp-dick husband ever could. That man wouldn’t be able to fuck you the way Simon knew he could. You deserve someone who could make you go stupid on his dick, not cry of frustration like you probably did everytime that knob who thinks himself a man rolled over after finishing himself off.

Not that you’ll have to worry about that soon

…

He wouldn’t be around for much longer anyways.

#simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #cod fanfic #simon riley smut #ghost cod #ghost mw2

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rafeysdeer · 15 hours ago

Text

dizzy (aka clumsy reader x protective jason)

civil!reader x jason todd

prompt: jason and his really clumsy girlfriend who is so used to her bruises from simply bumping around, that she forgets that it's not exactly the usual for other people to walk around with bruises. jason who isn't exactly happy to see his girlfriend hurt and makes it his new mission to take care of her.

a/n: that one i think it looks really cute, i'm also a really clumsy person, so it was pretty easy to come out with this one, him taking care of her was just so cute, i can sleep better knowing that they got eachother, anyways, english is not my first language, hope you guys enjoy it 💗

Jason was used to bruises and injuries, part of the job he chose, but he didn't expect that on a cold thursday night, he would find his girlfriend with a bandaged wrist and bruises all over her body, some that even looked old. He expected even less that she would give him a bright smile and run to hug him as if everything was normal, what he didn't know was that bruises and a bandaged wrist were just everyday nonsense for the clumsy girl.

"Honey, what happened to your wrist? Did someone hurt you?" he asks, carefully picking up her injured wrist to take a look, a worried expression on his face, his brow furrowed as he studies it. "Oh, it's nothing, I just got distracted and fell on it, it's okay."

And Jason looked at her face with a huge question mark on his face. "Did you fall on your own arm?" he said looking more and more confused. "Yeah? It was no big deal, really, I've had worse. Come in, i made hot chocolate" she said with the brightest smile on her face, as if she didn't have a fractured wrist.

He followed her into the apartment, the confusion never leaving his face as he slowly closed the door and followed her into the kitchen. Before he could even reach the cozy kitchen, he heard a soft groan of pain, followed by a muttered curse.

He rushes into the kitchen, afraid that she was hurt, even more hurt. And he was right, when he came inside, he found two colorful mugs of boiling chocolate with small marshmallows on the counter, some of the very same hot chocolate spilled around, and his girlfriend, with the hand that was not bandaged, under the cold running water of the sink, with a light burn on the torso of her hand.

"Love? What happened?" he asks, getting closer to her so he can see the injury more clearly. "Nothing serious, Jay, just a lil' burn, i'll be fine, just give me a minute to clean it up." she says, smiling and looking really calm for someone who just burned her own hand.

And as she moves to grab the rag to clean everything up, she bumps into the counter, holding onto it to steady herself, and it hits him, something finally clicks. All the times he watched her get hurt, bump into something or someone, get burned, fall awkwardly, it's too many to count.

She made a joke or two about being a distracted person and clumsy, but he didn't realize how much until now.

He smiled slightly as he watched his girlfriend try to balance the two mugs, knowing how this would end terribly, taking the mugs from her hand. "Honey, go sit on the couch, I'll take these." He noticed her frown, already starting to protest. "You don't have to do this, Jay, I want to help." But he was already interrupting her. "Sweetheart, please, you're going to help me by going sit on the couch." She huffed slightly but went anyway, sitting down and waiting for him to come right behind with the mugs, he put the mugs on the coffee table and went towards the bathroom to get the burn ointment.

And from that point, it just became a routine, her clumsily hurting herself, him taking care of her right after, and at some point it was like he had a sixth sense of when she was going to get hurt, being a vigilante also helped a lot with his reflexes.

So, they were walking down the street and she tripped? His arm was around her before her body could even dream of falling. They were cooking and she was cutting something? The knife was out of her hand before she could cut herself, and he told her to do something safer, like opening the dough.

And just like that, it became something of his, caring for her and looking out for her, knowing how to take care of her when she got hurt, and knowing how to stop her from getting hurt, and for that, she was eternally grateful.

#jason todd #jason todd imagine #jason todd thoughts #jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #red hood #red hood imagine #red hood thoughts #red hood x you #red hood x reader #batfam #batfamily

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eggyrocks · 2 days ago

Text

DRUNK WALK HOME

chapter eight: mistakes

masterlist

“and i was so young when i behaved twenty-five / yet now i find i’ve grown into a tall child” -fist love/late spring by mitski

It’s Wednesday, and Akaashi is reading her essay.

It’s clear that she actually tried this time, his pen marking up less of it than he normally would. He can tell she’s out of practice, some sentences rusty and awkward, blunt transitions and thoughts that trail off. But he can see her ideas better than before, more fleshed-out, more consistent.

He keeps looking up at her, stealing a glance between every other sentence or so. She’s slumped in her chair, arms crossed over her chest and staring off ahead, frowning. Akaashi can’t stop himself from thinking about how much she looks like her mother. She doesn’t look back at him.

“This essay’s a lot better than your last,” Akaashi mumbles, almost like he doesn’t want her to hear him. It makes him blush to say it, and he’s grateful she refuses to look at him. “Looks like you actually tried this time.”

She doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t react at all. She just sits there, with her jaw locked and her arms crossed, and does her best to pretend that Akaashi isn’t there.

He feels guilty. It gnaws away at him, and he has this impulse to apologize, which disgusts him. He doesn’t like that he’s wronged her, and now his sense of moral superiority has slipped. He doesn’t like that he wants to fix the damage he caused.

He looks up at her again, and sees no change in her posture, in her demeanor. He bounces his knee, and he can’t bring himself to look back down at her essay. Akaashi studies her, for a moment, the lines of her face, her narrowed eyes, the slow, deliberate breaths she takes.

She doesn’t notice him staring. Or, maybe she does, but is so committed to ignoring him that she chooses not to comment on it. He wants her to. He wants her to snap at him, call him a freak for staring, accuse him of being obsessed, insult him, belittle him, something.

But she just stares straight on, and Akaashi can feel himself starting to get desperate.

“How’d your visit with your mom go?” he asks, hoping to provoke her to respond, hoping she’ll say something vile to assuage his guilt.

“There’s only one more page left in the essay,” is the only response she gives him, though, and Akaashi is stuck.

He turns his attention back over to her essay, and rushes through the end of it. Akaashi rushes through correcting a run-on sentence or two and then slides the essay back over to her. “There, now you can-”

She slams her hand down on top of the stack of papers and snatches it away, standing at once. “Great, see you Friday,” she says, ready to leave.

“Wait,” Akaashi says, standing, “listen, I’m so-”

“I said I’ll see you Friday,” she interjects harshly, finally turning to face Akaashi. He notices the tears that build in her eyes then. He can’t tell if they’re from sadness or anger.

He’d never seen her cry before. There was a time when he didn’t think she was capable of it. Something in him softens, then, and he thinks that the damage he’s done is the kind that he wouldn’t be able to fix.

She turns on her heel and leaves, leaving Akaashi to stand there, at their table in the library.

It seems futile, then, to hate her. To hate someone so hated by their mother. To hate someone who so clearly hates herself. He hopes the feeling passes.

extras->

is akaashi genuinely remorseful for what he did? yes

is he mostly just trying to appease his guilt so he can go back to just plain hating yn? also yes

he sort of knew immediately that he fucked up; he picked up on the dynamics of yn and her mother before he even realized it was her mother

he was feeling defensive when kaori messaged him but it's been eating away at him since then

been quiet on the bokuto front

yn's roommates banded together when they realized her mom was coming to visit bc yn is always a complete mess afterwards and going out and drinking always makes it worse

once yn realized though she figured kaori and yukie were probably in on it and went straight to kuroo

kuroo always has a good time when he goes out with yn so he's always down

taglist: @wyrcan @thechaosoflonging @localgaytrainwreck @cherrypieyourface @eclecticeggknightpsychic @httpakkeiji @does-directions @needtoloveoutloud @causenessus @kawaii-angelanne @thatonecroc @v1oletfury @lonesomedrive @nnnyxie @crownj1min @frvppe @mollyrolls @karasyuu @ciderscape @phoenix-eclipses @s1ckntw1st3d @cnnmairoll @soobin1437 @worldgyu @snail-squasher @dragonictears @ferntv @reignsaway @Lisoozi @staygoldsquatchling02 @gsyche @yuminako @spicana @hermaeusmorax @shoyostar @whorefornoodles @hqsimprevival2024 @atsumuenthusiast @lemonocityyy @itsdragonius @robinphobia @aboveasphodel @savemebrazilhinata @lllaw @dreamingofyeo @milesmoralesluvs @miliondollagirl

taglist is open, complete this form to be added

#haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #hq x you #haikyuu smau #haikyuu x you #haikyuu x y/n #hq x y/n #akaashi smau #akaashi x reader #akaashi x you #akaashi x y/n #akaashi keiji smau #akaashi keiji x reader #akaashi keiji x you #akaashi keiji x yn

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bestalbertcamuslover · 2 days ago

Text

“Is it really that funny?”

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶

✯ pairing: Max Verstappen x Reader ✯

✯ content warnings: none ✯

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶

The Monaco apartment was dimly lit, the quiet hum of the city filtering through the windows as she and Max sprawled on the plush gray couch. Her focus was entirely on her phone, the small screen glowing softly against the shadows of the room. She was watching clips of one of her favorite streamers, a smile playing on her lips as chuckles spilled out, warm and genuine, every few seconds.

Max glanced at her, his curiosity piqued, but it quickly shifted to something closer to irritation as he caught sight of the screen. There was a guy—confident, good-looking, and undeniably funny—reacting to a video while cracking jokes that clearly had her entertained.

“Is it really that funny?” Max asked, his tone carrying a hint of that unmistakable jealous edge.

She looked over at him, catching the way his jaw tightened slightly, his blue eyes narrowing at the sight of the streamer. It was endearing, really, how transparent he could be. “It is, actually,” she said lightly, her voice laced with teasing amusement.

Max’s eyebrows shot up, and he gave her an unmistakably offended look. His arms crossed over his chest as he leaned back against the couch, his pout making him look every bit like a sulking child.

“What’s that look for?” she asked, her laughter bubbling up again, softer this time. She knew exactly what that look meant—Max Verstappen, fierce on the track and cool in almost every situation, didn’t like sharing her attention, not even with someone on a screen.

He shook his head, but the twitch of his lips betrayed him. “Nothing,” he said stubbornly, though his eyes flicked back to her phone. “I just didn’t know your sense of humor was so… basic.”

Her laughter turned into a snort as she nudged him with her foot. “Oh, come on. You’re jealous, aren’t you?”

Max scoffed, his cheeks flushing just slightly. “Jealous? Of that guy?” He gestured toward the phone with exaggerated disdain. “Please.”

She raised an eyebrow, a playful grin tugging at her lips. “You totally are. Admit it—you hate that he’s making me laugh more than you do.”

Max huffed, but there was no real heat behind it. “I’m way funnier than him,” he muttered, leaning closer to grab her phone. She squealed in protest, holding it out of his reach.

“You’re ridiculous,” she said between laughs as she tried to fend him off.

“Maybe,” Max replied, his grin breaking through as he managed to snag the phone. He paused the video and set it on the table, his attention fully on her now. “But at least now I don’t have to compete with Mr. Streamer.”

She rolled her eyes, her amused smile teasing. “You’re impossible, like a baby all day craving attention,” she joked, knowing he only acted so clingy with her.

Max smirked at her words, leaning in slightly, his eyes glinting with that playful, mischievous look he always got when he was about to turn the tables. “A baby, huh? Is that what you think of me?” he asked, his voice soft and teasing as he slid closer to her on the couch.

She laughed, shaking her head. “Oh, absolutely. A big, sulking baby when you don’t get what you want.” Her tone was light, but the way her heart sped up as he closed the distance between them was impossible to ignore.

“Well,” Max murmured, his voice dropping as his face inched closer to hers, “babies need lots of love, don’t they?”

Her breath caught for a moment, the playful atmosphere shifting into something warmer, softer. She felt his hand gently settle on her waist, pulling her just a little closer as his lips brushed against her temple in a featherlight kiss.

“You’re ridiculous,” she muttered, though her voice lacked any conviction. She turned her head slightly, meeting his gaze. The proximity made her stomach do flips, and she couldn’t help but smile.

“And yet,” Max said, his lips curving into a grin, “you put up with me anyway.”

Before she could reply, he leaned in fully, capturing her lips in a soft, unhurried kiss. It wasn’t rushed or demanding, just sweet and full of affection, the kind of kiss that made her forget everything else for a moment. His hand moved to cradle her cheek, his thumb brushing against her skin as he deepened the kiss slightly, enough to make her head spin.

When they finally pulled apart, her cheeks were flushed, and she couldn’t suppress the shy smile tugging at her lips. Max looked down at her with a smug expression, clearly pleased with himself.

“That’s cheating,” she whispered, her voice breathy but amused.

“Cheating?” he echoed, leaning his forehead against hers. “Pretty sure this is just me winning.”

She rolled her eyes again, laughing softly as she relaxed into him, letting her head rest against his chest. His arms wrapped around her securely, holding her close in the dim light of the apartment.

“You’re impossible,” she murmured, though the affection in her tone was unmistakable.

“And you love it,” Max replied, pressing another kiss to her hair as they settled into a comfortable silence.

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶

✯ authors note: It's a lil corny, but yeah...

English is not my first language and hope you liked it <3

(also I give likes to my own posts, hope that's not embarrassing lol)

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torchwood-99 · 3 days ago

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Eomer and Eowyn only talk to each other once in the films

but they communicate so much.

When Eomer first returns with a wounded Theodred, an entire dialogue is shared between Eomer and Eowyn without a single word passing between them.

This mutual look of concern, they're both on the same page.

Eowyn then goes on to look at Theodred's wound. It's interesting that Eomer now looks curious above all things, he's waiting on Eowyn's judgement.

Eowyn looks at the wound and grimaces. It's bad. Theodred isn't going to survive this.

She looks to Eomer, who looks back at her in grim resignation.

They go to Theoden to inform him of the situation. As Eomer walks by Eowyn, he doesn't speak to her or interrupt her, but he puts his hand on her back as he passes. Even when the focus is on other things, he is giving her that gesture of support and fondness. That it is done without fanfare shows that this sort of affection is commonplace.

They both stand before the throne, both of them united in their attempt to reach through to their uncle. They're a team, a unit.

Eomer throws down proof that Saruman, who Grima is trying to protray as a friend to Rohan, is sending his soldiers to terrorise their people.

Eowyn gives Grima a death glare, challenging him to refute her brother's accusations. She's on Eomer's side, Eomer's team.

Eomer sees Grima looking at Eowyn, and knows what he wants. It fills him with fury.

Eowyn sees her brother choking Grima against the wall. She looks on in cold silence, then walks away.

When Aragorn reveals that the beacons have been lit, Eowyn rushes into the throne room, drawing to a stop at Eomer's shoulder. They wait together for Theoden's judgement.

When it comes, and Theoden sends Eomer to muster the troops, Eomer bows, but even before he has fully straightened up, his eyes go to his sister.

Again, no words exchanged, simply a look of common understanding. They both know what the risks are, they both know what is at stake, for the world, for their country, for their family.

Before Eomer leaves, he touches Eowyn's arm, before walking away.

With Eomer gone, we see a steely determination come into Eowyn's eyes. Now there's something Eomer's missing, now Eomer's back is turn and there's something about sister that she's keeping from him. She's riding to battle.

The one time they speak to each other, they're in opposition. About Merry, about Eowyn, about war.

The words are harsh. Eomer is stern, Eowyn is defensive.

But Eomer puts his hand on Eowyn's shoulder. He doesn't say "I don't want you to get hurt, I don't want you in battle", but that hand on her shoulder, tells the audience that's exactly what he's saying.

Those small moments of physical affection culminate in one great moment, when stern, stoic Eomer discovers Eowyn on the battle field, and breaks down in tears, cradling her and rocking her like she's a child.

And his devotion to her ultimately shown in him sitting small and hunched, tucked in on himself, crouching down in armour for what seems to have been a lengthy space of time, as he sits by her side, waiting for her to be healed.

This is such an effective way of showing to an audience that two characters love each other, when there is a limited time window. The movie needed to crack on to cover the ground it needed to cover, and with so many important dynamics to reveal to the audience, the creators needed to be time effective. Eomer and Eowyn don't share much screen time, but the looks exchanged, the passing moments of intimacy, tells us clearly that these are two people greatly fond of each other, and have been fond of each other a long time.

The lack of spoken dialogue almost enhances it. Little is said between them because little needs to be said. They already know. The one time they do speak, it's when they're quarrelling, because that's the only moment when they need to use words. The rest of the time, a gesture, a look, is enough.

#LOTR #Lord of the Rings #Eomer #Eowyn

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slut4hee · 2 days ago

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Prize Possession

{Paring: Club Owner Jeong Yunho x Blk Stripper Fem! Reader

{Genre: pure dirty smut, strip club au, mafia au, a little angst, 18+ so (mdni).

{Synopsis: You’re just a small town girl, who’s never had it easy in life. That’s until you started working at the Sparkle City nightclub, where you meet Jeong Yunho one of the most richest and dangerous mafia bosses in the city.

{Warnings: explicit scenes, rough sex, unprotected sex, (wrap it, before you tap it), creampie, choking, big dick yunho!!backshots, missionary (with the silver chain hanging yup teehee), fingering, squirting, oral (f receiving), daddy kink, breeding dirty talk, pet names, Yunho is nasty nasty, mentions of murders, alcohol consumption, lmk if I missed anything bookies<33

—————————————————————————

“FUCK YOU, YOU PIECE OF SHIT” You shouted at your good for nothing ex boyfriend. You had just caught him cheating in your shared bedroom, sleeping around with the bitch he clearly told you not to worry about. You should have seen this coming though, all the late nights in, the constant excuses on why he always smelled like another women’s perfume.

You were so over his all his bullshit, all the lies, and all the sleepless nights you cried yourself to sleep, you were truly done. Tears streamed down your face, as you tugged your heavy luggage down the steps of the apartment complex, but you weren’t crying of a broken heart, it was tears of exhaustion.

You were already so numb to the pain you’ve been through in your life, that something like cheating was so minor to you. The only thing running through your mind is where you would lay your head tonight, you were broke as fuck, only 200 to your name which was not enough to get you by for the remaining of the week.

“Fuck this shit, I can’t believe I let myself go through that shit for so long” You said to yourself, as you set on the curve of the road, laying out your options and contemplating what the hell you were going to do. You could check yourself into a motel for tonight, but that would only get you by for the night, plus that would take all you have.

You pulled out your phone, opening up your contact list and scrolling down, until you stopped at your best friend’s contact name. Your finger hovered over the screen, as you contemplated whether you should call her or not, you genuinely didn’t want to bother her but she was the only person you could call.

You didn’t have your parents, your mom died when you were only thirteen years old, and when that happened your father also lost himself, turning to alcohol and drugs. You finally said fuck it and dialed her number, and after three rings she picked up the call.

“What’s up girl, let me guess that motherfucker ain’t came home yet?” Your best friend Nini asked, you could tell she wasn’t home by the loud music playing in the back, she must be at work.

“Hey Ni girl, I just caught his bitch ass cheating on me, with the bitch from down the street” You sighed, disgusted with yourself to even call that pig your ex boyfriend.

“Noo, are you serious right now, with that hoe Makayla or whatever the fuck her name is” Nini said in disbelief, you shivered as you started to feel your body getting cold by the late night breeze, reminding yourself that you were currently homeless.

“So where are you now love bug?” Nini inquired, you bit your lip nervously, hesitant to tell her that you have no where to go, but Nini would never judge you so you just let her know straight up.

“Bitch I’m on the curve of the road right now, I don’t have nowhere to go Ni” You said, you were genuinely so embarrassed to tell your best friend that, feeling the tears starting to prick at your waterlines.

“Oh my god girl, why are you just hanging out by the side of the road this late at night, are you crazy? I tell you what, I’m gonna get you a ride to my spot and you can crash as long as you want okay?” Nini said, you fought back your tears before thanking her and telling her much you appreciated her, without Nini you don’t know where you would be right now.

Not long after the Uber had picked you up from your shitty little town, and brought you to Nini’s high rise apartment in the city. Nini was a stripper, so she could afford to live like this, you on the other hand was barely making it. Some parts of you thought about becoming a stripper, but you just weren’t that type of girl, no judgement though especially to your best friend. But honest truth, you couldn’t see yourself becoming a stripper.

Oh so you thought….

⋆˚࿔

Nini wasn’t going to be home until later on tonight, she was working a late night shift, so she just gave you the passcode to her apartment and told you to make yourself at home. Her apartment was so spacious and luxurious, you hope one day you could call a place like this your home as well.

You sat your stuff down as you settled in, it was a two bedroom apartment, so you obviously took the guest room. Your stomach growled, reminding you that you haven’t eaten a single thing, since this morning. You thought the least you could do is buy you and your bestie food, so you settled on ordering Chinese takeout.

It was around 2 in the morning when you finally heard the keypad buttons being pressed, indicating Nini was finally home. You were already lounging on the couch, so you greeted her when she came in.

“Hey girl, so good to see you boo, long day at work?” You stood up from the couch, walking over to her and embracing her in a tight hug. She returned your hug with a little snuggle in your neck, sighing exhaustingly.

“Yes girl, we were packed tonight, we have this deal on the weekends, where you can get a free lap dance if you drop a band tip” She said tiredly, spotting the takeout boxes and helping herself to it.

“I’m guessing you had a lot of request huh?” You said cheeky, winking at her playfully. She rolled her eyes at your childishness, stuffing her face like she hasn’t eaten in days.

“Not to bring it up again, but I can’t believe that little ass boy played you like that” She said muffled, the food still being stuffed in her mouth. You sighed and rolled your eyes, before plopping back down on the couch.

“Yeah girl same, but it’s whatever fuck him, I’m done playing with little boys like him, who claim they’re real men when they’re not. All I’m thinking about is finding another job” You said, you had recently quit your other job, because it just got too stressful for you.

“How about you come work with me at Sparkle City?” Nini said a little hesitantly, she’s brought it up to you before, but of course you shot her down, so of course she expected the same response.

You started to actually think real hard about it, I mean could it really be that bad, I mean your best does it so it couldn’t be that big of a deal.

“I don’t know about that Ni, I mean do I even meet the requirements, plus you know how I feel about putting my body on display” You said, and quickly apologizing after, you didn’t want it to sound like an insult but Nini never took offense she knew you didn’t mean any harm.

“Just think about it baby, you’ll be making hella bank like me, plus with a body like that you’ll for sure make a killing” Your best friend reassured you, she’s always hyping you up, when you start to feel insecure or belittle yourself. But she knew it was caused by trauma, you went through in your past.

“I tell you what, come with me to work tomorrow night, and just check the place out to see if it would be something you’re up for” She said understandably, you nodded before going back to thinking real hard about her offer, you honestly loved the idea of making tons of cash, and being able to take good care of yourself because you fucking deserved it.

⋆˚࿔

The day went by fast and it was time for Nini to go to work, you don’t know why you were so nervous, it’s not like you’ve never been to a strip club before. But you guess, it was because this was possibly going to be your new job now. You and Nini got ready, and headed to Sparkle City, one of the most famous nightclubs in the city.

When you walked inside the club, you were immediately hit with different fumes of smells, some smelling of weed, alcohol, sweat, and different scents of perfumes and colognes. The club was actually really nice, the lights dim with a shade of purple, and the vibes of the place gave off a vintage yet modern style.

“ I have to go get ready, I just got word that one of my regulars are here, aka the one who literally pays all my bills” She stuck her tongue out playfully at you, before disappearing in the back. You on the other hand, you made your way over to the bar, ordering a drink you could barely afford, and taking in the scenery of the place.

As you’re sipping on your drink, you couldn’t help but get the feeling someone’s staring at you. You turned around, to check your surroundings, and that’s when your eyes landed on him. A South Korean gentleman, tall and handsome with an aura that was so intimidating.

His gaze was intense yet, nonchalant as a little smirk was plastered across his face. You tried to look away but it’s like you were paralyzed, you couldn’t move a muscle. That’s when someone finally knocked you out of trance, another handsome gentleman, but not as handsome as Mr tall and mysterious.

“What’s a pretty girl like yourself, sitting here all alone by herself for?” The man inquired, taking a seat next to you.

“I’m just enjoying the vibes” You simply said, taking another sip of your drink. You don’t know why, but you found yourself looking back over at the tall gentleman’s direction, his gaze still on you, but this time his smirk was a lot more noticeable almost amusing as he raised an eyebrow at you.

The guy next to you offered to buy you a drink and of course you took the offer, I mean who were you to turn down free drinks. The whole time you kept stealing glances at the tall handsome man, even though he was accompanied by two beautiful women on his lap, his attention was solely focused on you.

Suddenly he whispered something to the two women in their ears, before they got up from his lap and dismissed themselves. His eyes never left yours, in fact it’s like he called you over without exchanging any words or gestures. You just found yourself getting up from your seat, and making your way over to his section, totally ignoring the other guy asking where are you going.

Now that you were up closer, you could finally make out just how fucking sexy he was, his sliver hair, and lips plump and pink. His eyes were so pretty and intriguing, and don’t even get you started on his style, dressed in all black paired with a whole bunch of jewelry, you could tell he was rich.

“What took you so long baby, kept staring at me but kept me waiting so long” His deep voice caused shivers to run down your spine, fuck this man was going to be the death of you already, and you didn’t even fucking know him.

“Correction sir, you were staring at me” You said, trying to sound confident but your voice wavered a bit, he was making you so nervous and imitated. He let out a little chuckle, and fuck was it the most attractive thing you’ve ever heard, you were ready to drop your panties then and there.

“You stared back sweetheart, I guess we’re both guilty” He said softly, smirking at you with that fucking look, god he’s so fine you thought, if it meant he came to this club all the time, then who’s the person you need to see to apply!

“Are you here all alone baby girl?” He suddenly asked, tilting his head to side, as he checked you out from head to toe, waiting for your answer. You bit your lip nervously, before answering his question.

“No, my friend strips here, I’m just tagging along” You simply said, subconsciously scooting closer to him. He noticed, and smiled before scooting himself closer as well, and at this point you’re almost in his lap.

“Who’s your friend? And I haven’t seen you around here before, are you thinking about working here as well?” He inquired, placing his hand on your thigh, just resting it there but to you it was setting you off, heat rushing to your cheeks and core. His hands were so big, you could imagine how they would feel wrapped your ne-

“Hmm?” He hummed, knocking you out of your dirty thoughts.

“Oh um, her name is Nini, and yes I’m thinking about stripping here” You said a little hesitantly, you didn’t really feel too great giving out your best friend’s name, and telling a complete sexy stranger your plans of applying to work here, but it’s like you were under some spell just by the look in his eyes.

“Mmm I see, first time stripper eh?” He said, voice so deep but smooth like butter. You raised your eyebrow at him, how did he know you never stripped before.

“And how would you know I’ve never stripped before, I could be a pro you know” You said matter of fact, he chuckled softly again, shaking his head at your cuteness. Of course he could tell you were a beginner, just be the way you looked so tense.

“I just can tell mama, definitely don’t know what you’re getting yourself into, are you sure you want to step into this lifestyle? It can get pretty dangerous in this territory” He leaned over to you and whispered those words in your ear. You felt a chill run down your spine, both from being turned on by his hot breath on your neck, and the meaning behind his words.

“I’m a big girl I can take it, thank you very much” You replied, trying to sound tough and confident as possible. He just smirked and chuckled at you, before getting up from the velvet couch.

“Then I hope to see your pretty face around here then, I could get used to that you know” He simply said, before sparing you one last look, as he disappeared somewhere in the club. You don’t know why, but his words laid heavy on your conscious, did he know something? Who was he? why did he seem so informed with everything?

The night came to an end, and you ended up putting in an application and getting interviewed by one of the staff members, he was another South Korean gentleman, long black silky hair, and fine fine. He told you that they would get back to you, after your background check comes back clean and that would decide if you get hired or not.

Two days had passed and you finally got a call back saying your background check came back clean, and you were hired. You were happy you got the job, but you were super nervous, you didn’t really know how to work the pole and you didn’t even know how everything’s supposed to work.

Luckily you had Nini, she’s been stripping since she was 19, and she’s definitely a pro. She has a pole in her room, so she allowed you to practice with it, and honestly you’ve always been a fast learner, so you learned the basics pretty quickly.

Friday night came fast, it was officially your first day as a dancer, and you were anxious as fuck. Nini was a good support system though, making sure you were okay, showing you around the locker room and laying down the important rules that applied to the dancers.

“So what color are you going to wear for your first session, red always looks good on you boo” Nini said, as she applied her makeup. You smiled at her, before holding up both the red and the pink to your naked body in the mirror, as you contemplated on what color you should wear.

You decided on red of course, it just brought out your skin tone, pretty smooth brown skin, in red lingerie. You couldn’t help but feel a little uncomfortable though, the outfit you were wearing was nothing but provocative, a thin little lace thong and a red corset top. You did look so good though, titties sitting up nicely in your top, and your plump ass on full display.

Finally it was your turn to go on stage, and you started to freak out a little. You swallowed your nerves down the best way you could, before making your way to the stage, your six inch heels clicking as you walked. You hoped that they would play a song that you knew, just to make it easier for you to move to the beat.

Luckily for you, they were playing The Party & The After Party by The Weekend, one of your favorite songs and something slow you could work with. As the song played, you got lost in the music, swaying your curvy hips as you rolled your body down the silver pole

You could feel all the attention on you and honestly it felt good, which was a feeling you didn’t expect to feel, money and praise being thrown at you, as you moved your ass left to right. Finally you looked out to the crowd, and that’s when you laid eyes on none other than the gentleman before.

He had the same exact piercing gaze, but this time it was different, his eyes were dark with lust, hunger, and curiosity. You played along as you kept eye contact with him, bending over on the pole, as you wiggled your ass nicely. He shifted in his seat, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down, and if you weren’t seeing things, he mumbled a curse under his breath.

Your dance came to an end, and your made your way backstage, where Nini and some the other girls complimented you on your first dance.

“Damn girl, if I was a man I’ll definitely be hard as a rock right now” one of the other strippers, Lala said. You giggled at her comment, and thanked her.

“No seriously, you did an amazing job sweets, even Mr Jeong came to watch your first performance” Nini said, you looked at her confused, and she snorted, she totally forgot to run that by you about who the boss is, literally the most important part.

“Oh shit, I totally forgot to tell you about who runs this place, so his name is Jeong Yunho, he’s the owner of Sparkle City, he’s also know as Black Demon. One of the most dangerous and feared men in the city” Nini said with no hesitation, meanwhile you’re about to have a panic attack, what do you mean you’re working for a mafia boss?!

You’ve heard of the name Black Demon, even back in your small city, you remember reading about all the possible murders, that are all supposed to link back to him. That brings you back to the night that gentleman said those words to you, and now you knew just what he meant.

“How does he look, is he some creepy old Italian guy, who walks with a cane” You said seriously, but all the others laughed at your remark.

“No silly, he’s actually pretty young and handsome, but he’s really tall, like tall tall and he’s Korean. Oh, and he has silver hair” Nini said nonchalantly, your eyes widened as you registered her words, the gentleman you met at the club the other night, was the owner of this nightclub and he’s in the fucking mafia.

You quickly pulled Nini to side, whispering shouting at her, about why she didn’t let you know beforehand that you were going to working under a criminal.

“You could have at least told me, what I was getting myself into girl, what if something was to happen here” You said, you weren’t really upset, just a little terrified of the possibility of danger here.

“I didn’t think you would mind, plus what type of people do you think run these types of places, CEOs and government workers?” She said sarcastically, you rolled your eyes at her scoffed.

“No, but maybe just regular people, not deadly killers like him, do you know how many people he’s had killed” you exclaimed a little to loud for Nini’s liking, she quickly grabbed you by the arm, shushing you and taking you somewhere more secluded.

“Fuck Y/n, you can’t just be saying shit like that here, you really gotta watch what comes out of your mouth around here. If that shit gets back to Mr Yunho, both of heads will be on a sliver platter” She said with all seriousness, no hint of playfulness in her tone. You felt an eerie chill run down your spine, as you nodded in agreement.

The rest of the night went by smoothly, you had two dances the whole night, and just from those two performances alone you made $500 In total, that would have took you two weeks to make at a regular 9-5, but with stripping you made it in just a day.

You could definitely get used to this lifestyle, continuous money showers raining down on you, all from that shaking a little ass, and popping a titty? It was simply so easy. You couldn’t lie and say you weren’t on edge the whole time though, the new found information you got from Nini, was all starting to make sense.

You actually took time, to really look around the place, and it was all so obvious. Men dressed in all black suits, with guns on their hips, and the rule of not being all to enter the boss’s office without permission. You could also tell drug deals goes on here, a bunch of corporate executives and CEO’s, disappearing into the secret room, only to come out looking high out their minds.

Finally your long shift ended, and your feet were killing you, you don’t how these girls around here lasted everyday wearing these tall ass heels. You gave the club their percentage, and took the rest for yourself. You threw back on your regular clothes, and waited for Nini, to get finished with her private session, she was one of the popular dancers, so she had a lot of rich ass regulars that always came and spent hella money for a private lap dance.

You decide to reward yourself with a nice little drink, the fruity alcoholic beverage hitting the spot after a long day of standing on your feet. As you’re enjoying your drink, you felt someone tap you on the shoulder, and that’s when you turned around and you were faced with the same man who interviewed for the job.

“Miss Y/n, the boss has requested your presence to his office” The man simply said, his stone cold expression giving you chills, your heart started to beat out of your chest, why did Mr Jeong want to see you? Were you in trouble? Are you going to die? Did someone overhear you and Nini’s conversation from earlier.

All those thoughts started to run through your head at once, as you nervously nodded your head, and stood from your seat following him into the back of the club. Your palms were so sweaty, and your legs wobbled slightly as you walked, were you about to die? He led you down a long vintage looking hallway, stopping two tall double doors.

“You may enter, boss is waiting for you inside” The man said, before turning away from you, and standing by the door like a statute. You assumed he was one of Yunho’s men. Your hands were shaky, as you hesitated to push the doors open, you didn’t know what you were about to face and it scared the living hell out of you.

Finally you pushd the doors open, and you were hit with a faint smell of an incense burning, his office was more like a lounge, vintage furnished and expensive chandeliers hanging from the ceilings. There was even a pole in the middle of the room, and not to mention, the big liquor cabinet, with tons of expensive glasses and brown liquor.

You made your way around the corner, and there he was, lounging on the couch as held one of the expensive looking glasses in his hand, half full of some type of brown liquor. He was clad in a black button down shirt, with some of buttons opened to see his chest, and black slacks that showed the outline of his skinny waist.

“Y-you wanted to see me sir?” You stuttered, barely managing to get your words out. He grinned softly, as he twirled the brown sustenance around in his cup.

“Would you like to have a drink with me” He said softly, gesturing you towards the spot next to him on the couch. You managed to walk over and take a seat next to him, your legs felt stiff, like they were going to give out on you any minute.

He grabbed you a glass off the table and poured bourbon whiskey inside of it. You’ve never had whiskey before, it was way too expensive to buy, but he had a whole case full of it.

“I hope you don’t mind taking whiskey, it’s the only thing I drink” He said, staring deep into your eyes as he handed you the drink.

“I’ve never had whiskey before, but all about trying new things” You said before, holding the glass up to your nose and smelling it. The scent was strong, and you could tell it was going to burn your throat, but being a pussy was not in your nature. Yunho watched you carefully the whole time, watching as you down the shot of whiskey.

And just how you imagined, the brown liquor burned the hell out of your throat, your eyes watering like hell. Yunho smirked at you in amusement, you were an intriguing little thing, taking a whiskey neat shot like a champ, he was so turned on by you.

You cleared your throat before breaking the silence, the room was starting to grow hot, the tension in the room was beginning to feel overwhelming.

“I didn’t know you owned this club” You said carefully, trying not to make full eye contact with him, his presence was so dangerous for you, his aura was addicting and you were eating it all up. You’ve never felt so weak for a man, like you do for Yunho, he makes you want to submit to him, makes you want to serve him like he’s your master.

“You seemed like a smart girl, thought you would’ve been able to read between lines bunny” He said, voice husky and slightly raspy from drinking the whiskey, you fought to keep your composure, your things starting to rub together at the nicknames he was giving you.

You swallowed your hard, not trusting your own voice to say another word, you just looked around timidly, waiting to see what his motive was. And that’s when he said that…

“Dance for me” He suddenly said, staring at you with an unreadable expression, your eyes widened as you stared back at him in shock. Did he really just ask you to dance for him?

“Y-you want me to dance for you?” You repeated, starting to squirm nervously in your seat. He simply nodded, biting his bottom lip, as he laid his back against the couch, relaxing his shoulders. You sat there in silence at first, trying to process everything at once, it’s not like you could tell him no, Could you tell him no? You thought to yourself as you pondered and pondered.

“I want you to repeat the same dance you did earlier, but this time can we make it a little bit more interesting shall we?” He smirked, taking another shot of whiskey, you could tell he was tipsy by the way his pupils were now blown out and glassy.

“Make it interesting how?” You inquired, anxiously fiddling with your fingers. He grabbed a small black remote, dimming the lights of the room changing it to the same shade of red like you had for your stage dance.

“Do it naked, just for me” He replied, you almost choked on your own spit, he wants you to dance naked for him, is he out of his mind?!

“I don’t think that’s appropriate sir, I can’t” You said, yes he was fine and yes he was a mafia leader, but you still had respect for yourself, or so you thought…

“You know baby, I don’t usually take to the dancers that work at my club, but you baby, you been driving me insane since I first laid eyes on you” He said, you do remember Nini telling you that Yunho never slept or interacted sexually with any of them, of course there were plenty of the girls who threw themselves at him, but he always turned them down.

“You’re telling me I’m special huh” You said, starting to feel less nervous and anxious because of his intriguing words.

“Yes, indeed you are baby girl, now be a good girl and get up there and dance for me” He smirked, as he poured himself another drink, waiting patiently for you to follow his orders. You got up from the couch, and made your way over to the pole. Yunho stared shamelessly at your ass, as it jiggled when you walked.

He pressed play on the music, and the beat of the song came through the speakers of the lounge. You started to slowly strip out of your clothes, luckily your regular clothes consisted of a pair of booty shorts and a lace crop top. You turned around and bent over, your ass facing him as you slowly eased out of your thong.

Yunho let out a quiet groan, shifting around in his seat, as he adjusted his legs. You could tell the effect you had on him, boy were you letting it go over your head, you swayed and rolled your body just like you did on stage, Yunho was watching so intently, taking another sip from his drink, as he enjoyed your dirty dancing.

You swirled around the pole, doing the tricks that Nini taught you, and then you hopped off the pole and made your way over to him. You stood right in front of him, as you shake your ass and danced provocatively. He spread his legs, and you took the hint now giving him a lap dance as you grind and twerk your ass in his lap.

You could feel how hard he was, cock straining painful through his slacks, begging for some sort of relief. As much as you loved and respected him for just watching and enjoying without touching, you wanted him to touch you, to feel his big strong hands on your body.

“Mmm touch me baby” You said, your pussy now leaking onto his slacks, you were so turned on from this, and so was he. He bit his lip harshly, before going to rub on your ass and waist, you were such a sinful sight.

“God fucking damnit, you’re making it difficult to resist you right now baby” He groaned, squeezing your asscheeks and spreading them apart to look at your wet glistening folds. You moaned softly, as he spread your pussy lips apart, to see how tight and small your hole is.

“Then don’t resist sir, take me please” You begged shamelessly, Yunho could feel his cock twitching in the confines of his boxers, it was not like him to fuck one of his dancers, but you weren’t just a dancer to him, you were the women he’s been searching for all along, he was so weak in the knees for you.

“Do you know what you’re asking for bunny, and who you are dealing with?” He hissed in pleasure, you full on dry humping him now, the friction from his clothed cock, turning you on to the max.

“I don’t care how dangerous you are, I don’t care that you are bad for me, I just w-wan you now” You whined, feeling yourself getting shamelessly close to your high, you were about to get off by dry humping him, it felt too fucking good to stop now. He halted your movements, and you let out a desperate whine, you thought he was rejecting you until he suddenly manhandled you into the couch.

“Fuck I can’t hold back anymore, can’t resist such a pretty little fucking slut like you darling, such a nasty little thing, about to make a mess all over my pants with that wet pussy” He groaned, spreading your asscheeks, before spitting directly on your pussy, and licking a strip of your pussy.

Your back arched, as you gripped the edges of the couch, the feeling of his wet long tongue was like no other, it’s been so long since you’ve had your pussy eaten, and Yunho just happened to be a fucking pro at it!

“Oh fuck, oh fuck please right there” You moaned shamelessly, he sucked and licked on your sensitive bundle of nerves. Your whole body was trembling with pleasure, as you looked back at see his face buried beneath your asscheeks.

“Fuck mama, pussy taste so damn good, shit could eat your up all night” He said muffled, now tongue fucking your tight little hole, like it was his cock. You let out a pathetic scream, the band in your stomach threatening to snap any minute now, you couldn’t believe how fast he was about to make you come undone on his face.

“You gonna come on my face pretty thing, that’s right make a fucking mess on daddy’s face” He growled, sliding one of his digits inside your tight cunt. Your pussy clenched violently around his finger, you could feel this hot tingling feeling in your lower abdomen, you’ve never felt this feeling before and you knew you were about to cum so hard.

“Daddy! Oh my god I’m cumming” You whined loudly, the knot in your stomach finally coming unraveled, as you squirted your essence all over his face. Your legs were trembling, you were panting like crazy, and you felt so embarrassed squirting all over his face like that.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t know I was going to squirt” you said weakly, you were already so fucked out, but you guys were far from being done, you needed his big cock inside your greedy pussy.

“No don’t apologize for being a good girl for daddy, that was so fucking hot” He groaned, standing up from his knees, as he started to unbuckle his pants, dropping down to his ankles. The outline of his cock in his boxers was huge, you were definitely intimidated by his size but also so fucking turned on by it.

“Gonna let me fuck this tight pussy raw baby?” He grunted, freeing himself of out of the confines of his boxers, as his dick spring free, the top flushed red and leaking precum. You looked back at him and nodded eagerly, wiggling your ass to entice him. He groaned loudly, before rubbing his tip against your wet folds.

“Baby p-please, stick it in, need your cock so badly” You pleaded, wanting nothing more than to feel his thick cock, rearranging your guts. He smacked your asscheek, and you yelped at the sting of it. Finally after what seemed like eternity, you felt his mushroom tip nudging your tight hole, your little pussy struggling to accommodate his massive size.

“Oh shit! Oh my god wait, too fucking big” You whined, pushing back at his stomach for him to give you a minute. He chuckled softly in amusement, landing a harsh smack to your asscheek, as he rubbed soothing circles on the same spot.

“You can take it bunny, remember your words, you’re big girl you can take it” He cooed, pushed your face into the couch, as he started to push his length inside your fluttering walls. The stretch was intense, it felt you were being split in half, if it wasn’t for how wet your pussy was, it would have been impossible to fit.

After a couple more pushes he was fully nestled inside you, standing still to let you adjust to his size, and you could feel his throbbing cock pulsating. He let out a deep groan, trying to hold himself back, from fucking into you roughly.

“Fuuuckk, this pussy so tight and warm, shit tell me when to move baby girl” He hissed, as your pussy clenched snugly around his length. Eventually the pain started to turn into pleasure, and you were ready for him to ruin you.

“You can move now daddy” You moaned, pushing your ass against his pelvis, wanting to feel him as deep as possible. He pulled almost out of your wet pussy, until he slammed back in, knocking the wind out of your lungs.

“Hnmphhhh, Ohh my god Yunho, your cock so fucking good” You moaned loudly, gripping onto the couch for dear life, as he starts to fuck into you. Yunho eyes rolled to back of his head, your pussy felt incredible around his cock, all tight and warm.

“Look at you, such a good fucking girl, taking my cock like a good little whore” He growled, setting a brutal pace, as he starts to beat your pussy in. The sounds of skin slapping echoed throughout the room, and you’re pretty sure his bodyguard could hear you getting your guts rearranged.

“Yes daddy, I’m your good little whore” You screamed out, as Yunho pulled you by the hair, forcing your body to lay flushed to his chest, as he pounds relentlessly into your weeping cunt.

“That’s right all fucking mines, nobody can fucking have you, you belong to me now understood?” He spat, as he manhandled your body to a different position, somehow not sliding out of you. You were now laying on your back, face to face with him, ad he hovered on top of you.

He barely gave you time to breathe, as starting to pound into you again. Your eye rolled to back of your head, and you screamed In silence, he was fucking the shit out of you, all you could do was lay there and take it like the good whore you are.

“Yunho! S-slow down, I’m going to cum again fuck” You whined, that same tingling feeling returning, as you neared your high for the 2nd time tonight. The sight of Yunho tall frame above your small one, rocking his hips back and forth, as his silver diamond chain dangled over your face.

“Fuck baby I’m not gonna last any longer, I wanna breed this pussy, stuff you full of my babies and ruin you for anyone who tried to take what’s mines” He said, you could barely hear what he was saying, your mind was in another dimension as he fucked you into an oblivion.

Like clockwork, he hit your pressure point, that spot inside you that makes everything feel fuzzy. Your legs were shaking violently, as he slammed into your g-spot over and over, and finally you felt the band snap in your stomach snap. You came hard around his dick, squirting and creaming like crazy.

He followed shorty after, letting out a guttural groan, as he emptied out his once full balls inside your spent cunt. His big body collapsed on the side of you, the both of you panting heavily, and trying to catch each other’s breath.

You could feel his cum oozing out of your abused hole, the feeling was so uncomfortable in the worst way. He got up from the couch, disappearing into the bathroom, and coming out with a box of tissues. You laid there weak, as you watched him wipe the remnants of his cum, that oozed out on your thighs and legs.

Your heart skipped a beat at that, normally you never received aftercare, not even your ex boyfriend took the time to do this for you. You couldn’t believe a stone cold killer like Yunho, was being sweet to you like this, you were whipped.

Finally he broke the silence, grabbed you by your waist and pulling you closer to him.

“I hope you didn’t think I was playing with you baby, you really belong to me now “ He said seriously, rubbing soothing circles on your back. You smiled like an idiot, snuggling your face into his neck.

“Good because I’m not going anywhere, I’m yours” You simply said, pecking him on his cheek, he locked eyes with you, and this time it wasn’t that unreadable stone cold expression. It was replaced with something more softer, love and warmth.

You knew what you were getting yourself into falling for a man like Jeong Yunho, but you didn’t care, you were in love with a criminal with no shame.

“𝐈 𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰, 𝐈 𝐜𝐚𝐧’𝐭 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐦𝐲 𝐟𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐥𝐞𝐠𝐬 𝐉𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐘𝐮𝐧𝐡𝐨” 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐝.

“𝐆𝐞𝐭 𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐢𝐭 𝐛𝐮𝐧𝐧𝐲, 𝐈’𝐦 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐲𝐞𝐭” 𝐇𝐞 𝐜𝐡𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐥𝐞𝐝.

The End…

A/n: Someone pass me a cigarette real quick 🚬 😩 this is so toe curling, pussy popping good!!! I been wanting to release a fic about Yunho for so long and I finally did it😛 we cheered! Ladies and gentlemen I’m afraid this is a nasty one be prepared to change your sheets🫦 not proofreading shii🫶🏽

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Taglist:

@i03jae @ataver @ancnymcnzjy @kolawnk

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darlingdaisyfarm · 2 days ago

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⋆. 𐙚 ˚ִֶָ mullet!stan pines x farmer's daughter!reader ♡༉‧₊˚.

honestly idk what happened i just wrote this in like 40 minutes because the idea wouldn’t leave me alone, i never write this fast sorry for the random but i love that dynamic 🤍

Gravity Falls market days were a real mess you’d grown up in but never quite adjusted to. the sun sat high and too mean, slanting golden light across the rows of wooden stalls and voices carried sharp over the sound of shuffling feet. you didn’t mind the noise because it made the hours feel faster.

your hands worked quickly, sorting the last of the peaches into the old wicker basket, as you clearly remembered your mom’s words “don’t bruise the fruit, honey; folks don’t buy what looks spoiled.” you smoothed your palm over the fabric of your overalls, standing up straight to greet the next customer and—

he wasn’t what you expected and you weren’t sure what to make of him. broad shoulders under a faded red jacket, hands stuffed into his pockets, huge dark bags under his eyes. he looked rough, unpolished you'd say, like he’d stepped out of a life far removed from your quiet one and found himself here by accident.

he nodded toward your baskets. “how much for the peaches?”

you sized him up. “depends,” you answered. “you actually gonna pay?”

that caught him off guard, did he really look that bad? his lips twitched into grin. “didn’t know this place came with an interrogation.”

“it’s not interrogation,” you shot back, leaning against the edge of the stall. “it’s just business. besides, you look like the type to run off with free samples.”

he laughed then. “well, guess you caught me,” he held his hands up like he’d been caught red-handed. “but im starving here. what’s it gonna take to get one of—”

“ahh, you must be the scientist everyone talks about.” you interrupted him, shifting the basket awkwardly against your hip.

“uh right, that's me.”

“mom mentioned you,” you continued, even though he didn't seem in the mood for conversation. “said you were. . . weird.” the word came out of your mouth before you even realized it, and your cheeks instantly flushed. great. off to a fantastic start.

but he didn't seem offended. on the contrary, he looked amused, slightly raising his eyebrows. “weird, huh?”

“her words, not mine,” you explained quickly, though it wasn't exactly untrue. “but yeah. she said you moved out here to study something? bugs? dirt?”

he chuckled. “somethin’ like that. but im pretty hungry. so what’s it gonna take to get one of those?”

you should’ve turned him away, told him to come back with cash like everyone else. but your gut told you he’d actually gone a little too long without a decent meal. yeah, thats how bad he looked.

so you reached into the basket and handed him one.

“on the house,” you said.

he blinked at you, caught somewhere between surprise and suspicion. “seriously?”

“just this once,” you warned. “but if you come back, i expect full price.”

“aww, isn't that adorable, thank you, sweetie.” he took the peach, turning it over in his hands. “heard people here mentioning you're generous girl.”

...

the sun begins its descent, painting the sky with hues of orange and pink as you ride your bicycle down the lonely country road. the day has been long, filled with selling farm food. your hat shields your face from the fading light, but a chill is settling in as the evening approaches.

the basket on your bike rattled with what was left of the day’s haul, less than you’d hoped for but enough to keep the house running another week. your legs ached from pedaling though. the cold was creeping in now.

when the headlights appeared behind you, cutting through the soft twilight, you almost didn’t notice. but then the car slowed, pulling up beside you and you heard the window roll down.

“need a lift?” a smoky voice asked.

it was him. Stanford. the same red jacket, the same grin. he surely hadn’t been expecting to see you but was damn happy about it anyway.

you hesitated as you looked at him and his car, tightening your hands around the handlebars. “and leave my bike?”

“throw it in the back,” he told you, jerking his thumb toward the back seat. “unless you’re real set on freezing out here.”

you glanced at the empty road stretching ahead of you, then back at Stanford. he didn’t seem like the kind of guy to offer something for nothing, but he also didn’t seem like the kind to push it if you said no.

so you nodded. Stanley gave you a reassuring smile. “hop in, toots. it's getting cold.” you let him haul the bike into the back before climbing into the passenger seat. the warmth from inside is immediate, a stark contrast to the cool evening air.

he didn’t say much at first, just flicked on the radio and kept his eyes on the road. but then, without looking over, he shrugged off his jacket and handed it to you.

“here, take this. it’s not much, but it’ll keep you warm.”

you took the fabric and when you putted it around your shoulders, you felt the softness of it against your skin, grateful for the gesture. “thank you,” it was too big, the sleeves hanging loose past your wrists, but it was so warm. although it smelled very strongly of cigarettes.

he shrugged modestly. “no problem. it’s the least i can do after the way you treated me last week.”

“so,” he said after a beat, glancing over with that same crooked grin. “what’s a farmer’s daughter doin’ out on the road this late?”

you pulled the jacket tighter around you. “work doesn’t stop just ‘cause the sun goes down.”

“hard worker, huh? guess your mom was right about you.”

you glanced at him in surprise and furrowed your brow. “you keep bringing up my mom like you actually know her.” you said suspiciously.

“ran into her a couple weeks ago,” he admitted. “she was real proud, talkin’ ‘bout how her daughter’s the backbone of the farm.”

heat rose to your cheeks and you turned your gaze back to the road. “she talks too much.”

“nah, she’s just proud of you.” this time, you stayed quiet, letting the hum of the engine carry you the rest of the way home.

...

the next time you see him, it’s at the farm on early morning, when dew still clings to the grass and the sky’s a pale, watercolor wash. you’d barely had time to start on your chores when that same old car rumbled down the dirt track.

Stanley stepped out, wearing that red jacket you’d given back last night, hands shoved deep into his pockets. “you forgot your bike.”

“you didn’t have to bring it all the way here.” you smiled shyly

“well,” he glanced around, assessing the place, “figured you could use it more than i could. besides, wasn’t much of a detour.”

in addition, it was the first time Stan met your dog as he stayed at the farm to try the freshly baked apple pie that you offered.

you were hauling a basket of fresh vegetables from the field when you heard a low, warning growl. you looked up, biting back a grin. “she won’t bite.”

“uh-huh,” Stan said, standing frozen in place as the big scruffy mutt circled him.

you set the basket down, whistling low, and your dog trotted over, tail wagging now that you’d given the all-clear. “this is Molly,” you said, ruffling her ears. “dont worry, she’s just protective.”

Stan crouched slowly, one knee to the dirt, sticking his hand out like he was afraid she might lunge. Molly sniffed him once, then pressed her head against his palm, tail thumping in approval.

“well, look at that,” he said, scratching behind her ears. his hands are so big, calloused, but his touch is surprisingly gentle. Molly leaned into his hand, letting out a pleased huff. “she likes me.”

but then Molly rolled over, flopping onto her back in the dust and he laughed. “spoiled,” he said, rubbing her belly as she wagged her tail.

“you don’t even know the half of it. she gets the best scraps off the table. mom says it’s why she’s got such shiny fur.”

Stan grinned. “lucky dog.” oh, how he wished he could be in Molly's shoes. to be needed at least by someone, to be taken care of, to be fed. “so, you sellin’ this week?”

you nodded, but your gaze drifted toward the fields. there was still so much work left to do, rows and rows of crops waiting to be picked and sorted. you sighed, already feeling the ache in your arms.

Stan seemed to catch on. “well, if you’re ever lookin’ for extra hands, i know a guy who owes you a couple favors.”

...

you don’t know why you start bringing him food. it’s not like Stanley asked for it and he’s certainly not the kind of man who’d admit if he needed it. but you, the sweetest girl in town, noticed how he looked that first day at the market, hunger written all over him like and that makes it impossible not to.

it started with a couple of peaches tucked into a paper bag which you carefully left on the counter of the Mystery Shack with a quick, “thought you might want something fresh.” but then it grew into a jar of honey. then. . . in a bundle of wildflowers tied with twine.

one day, you showed up with a loaf of bread so fresh it was still warm, wrapped in an old tea towel embroidered with little sunflowers. Stanley was tinkering with something behind the counter, muttering something about journals but when he saw you, he stopped, wiping his hands on his pants.

“you know, you don’t have to keep bringing me this stuff,” he said even as he took the loaf from your hands.

“i know, yeah, but you’re always here, and I figured. . . well, everyone deserves a decent meal now and then.” he looked at you for a long moment, longer than felt normal, trying to figure out if you were pulling some kind of trick.

“thanks,” he said your name. “that means a lot.”

and it becomes a thing, fresh eggs one day, a loaf of bread the next. you don’t stay long when you drop them off, because Stanford always says he's kinda busy here, dealing with some of his "scientific research”, so you quickly greet him, maybe say some comment about the weather, but every damn time he sees you, his face softens, genuine smile appearing on it, his shoulders relax too. maybe you’re not just bringing food but something else he’s been missing.

and sometimes, Stanley feels too lonely, so he pulls out an old chair and offers you coffee, the two of you sitting on the porch while he tells you about his life.

#gravity falls #gravity falls x reader #gravity falls x you #x reader #gravity falls smut #stan pines x reader #stan pines smut #stanley pines smut #stanley pines x you #stan pines #young stan pines #stanley pines x reader #stanley pines #mullet stan #mullet stan x reader #gravity falls fanfic #gravity falls headcanons

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gotta-winwin · 2 days ago

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squidgame!wonwoo x reader

cw/tw: references to squid game, blood, guns, dark!wonwoo, lost!reader, angst, ambiguous ending a/n: squid game s2 has been living rent free in my head these past few weeks (yim siwan has reentered the serena residence as well) and i couldn't help but think... wonwoo frontman angst?

frontman!wonwoo feels immune to the gore and pain. He barely bats an eye now, watching the games run from his spot on the couch, observing through a large flat screen tv. It no longer feels real, as if he was just watching a movie. The sounds of those gunshots used to deafen both his heart and his ear, but now they’re strangely silent, missing his hearing altogether.

frontman!wonwoo remembers how he used to cry over losing you, body shaking as he begged to the sky, his chest aching with love that had nowhere to go. A past long forgotten - until he’d wake up covered in sweat, his hands shaking, cupping an invisible face he could touch but not see. He barely remembers the reason he lost you - but he sees your face clearly.

frontman!wonwoo, who never planned to have the job he had now. You had always praised him for being a hard worker, always able to climb his way to the top - even if he had to crawl to get there. It felt like a curse now, as he oversaw the games, a mask replacing his usual glasses. He wore contacts now - the feeling of your hands fixing his glasses that would always sit crooked against his face haunted him, even to this day.

frontman!wonwoo, who justifies his actions by telling himself it’s not really his fault. It’s not like he’s physically killing those people, and they did give consent! He argues with the better half of himself that life was never especially kind to him, so why should he? In fact, life had been rather cruel - taking you from his reach and trapping him in this cold world.

frontman!wonwoo scoffs at the people begging him to save their lives. After all, why should he? The question only infuriates him: he couldn’t even save the only person he’s ever loved in this life and they’re asking him to save them? Your disappearance and running the games had changed him - he knew, even if you did return, you’d never love this version of him.

frontman!wonwoo brings in one of the triangle guards below him, prepared to scold them for going against the rules he had set - no communication with players, no matter the circumstance. He finds himself pausing, as he listens to their reasoning: something about the player being sick and needing the bathroom after hours, and for the first time in a long time, he feels his face relaxing.

frontman!wonwoo doesn’t understand why he had let the guard off so easily. There was just something about the way they spoke, even covered under the heavy voice modulation, the tone and inflections tugged at his stomach and heartstrings. He found it odd and not at all like him.

frontman!wonwoo, who slowly becomes entranced by the guard, watching their every move on footage, ignoring the games in front of him. His once calculated and orderly days crumble, leaving him grappling with the idea that just maybe, past!wonwoo was beginning to fight his way out again.

frontman!wonwoo, who starts ordering the guard in more often under the guise of ‘maintenance’ or ‘reprimands.’ He never speaks much, asking a few questions here and there - but instead he listens, ordering the guard to speak, to say anything, to tell him anything. He listens, wholly concentrated on their cadence, desperately trying to pinpoint where he’s heard it from.

frontman!wonwoo, who hesitates to pull the trigger for the first time since he had first started working for the game. He stares at the young woman before him, her eyes quivering with tears, a brave expression on her face - staring death head-on. Lowering the gun, he gestures for her to run. Leave, he tells her quietly, a part of him still amazed at his own actions.

frontman!wonwoo, who doubles down on the cruelty once he realizes he’s been slipping. As if he were trying to recondition himself, Wonwoo takes it upon himself to be twice as unforgiving, white hot anger directed solely at himself for letting his guard down.

frontman!wonwoo, who looks at you with bewildered eyes as you take off your mask, dropping it to the floor as you stare down the barrel of his gun. You’ve had enough - unable to watch him destroy both himself and others, stepping in front of him with heartache coursing through your veins. His eyes widen subtly as he stares, mouth open, the muscles trying to remember how to speak your name.

frontman!wonwoo, who calls out your name with a slight rasp, his throat closing up as he lowers the gun, arms falling uselessly to his sides. You look the same as the last day he saw you, staring at him with helpless eyes as you looked around, the piles of dead bodies staring back at you.

At the end of the day, it was the stark contrast of seeing you surrounded by blood and death that jolted frontman!wonwoo out of his stupor. The sight was obscene, sinful (not in the good way) and just not right. His arms reached out to grab you as he neared, frantic eyes roaming across your features to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating.

frontman!wonwoo, who abandons his job and respobsiblites with your miraculous return. He doesn’t care about the target now on his back, happy to fight through fire and ice to keep you by his side - promising you the life he couldn’t give you before: normalcy. Wonwoo yearns for it, to regain the uneventful yet fulfilling life he had once shared with you, leaving the mess behind.

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austinbutlerslovers · 2 days ago

Text

Model Patient 2

Label Mature 18+

🔗 Model Patient

Summary After being cared for by Dr. Butler, you find yourself needing him more than anything, making you determined to have him indefinitely.

🔗 Master List

❤️‍🔥Passionate Smut❤️‍🔥 Austin as a doctor •compassionate •caring •adoring •doting• trial of separation•love lorn• reunited •lovers embrace• attentive with intimacy• passionate oral on fem • intuitive lovemaking • orgasms •aftercare

📖 Proofreader @purejasmine

Model Patient 2

In the morning, you wake to an empty bed, the lingering warmth from the night before now replaced by a quiet stillness.

As you sit up, you notice a note left beside you on the pillow. It’s in Austin’s unmistakable handwriting and it makes you swoon, his thoughtfulness to leave it entirely endearing.

-Last night was incredible,I can never thank you enough. Until I see you again, take care of yourself for me, I mean it. —Austin

A small smile forms on your lips as you fold the note then you slip it carefully into the drawer of your vanity with his phone number like a secret treasure.

Heading downstairs, you find the house already clean from your dinner. On the fridge, another note awaits, written in Austin’s penmanship:

-Eat your breakfast—fruit and granola. No skipping meals.

You bite your lip softly, the corners of your mouth lifting at his attentiveness, his care for you evident even when he’s not around.

Opening the fridge, you find a bowl of fruit and granola prepared from the groceries he brought.

Sitting at the counter as you eat your “prescribed meal,” you feel his thoughtfulness and devotion settle over you, and it deepens the ache of missing him.

Over the next few days, your life resumes its relentless pace. Early mornings blur into late nights, filled with back-to-back photoshoots, interviews, and endless meetings.

Fashion Week is fast approaching, and the pressure to be flawless is heavier than ever.

The variety shoot for the cover is an elaborate setup featuring luxury pieces and dramatic makeup.

The photographer circles you, his sharp eyes scanning every detail, but he frowns, clearly dissatisfied.

“Tone it down,” he snaps at one of the assistants, his tone clipped. “She’s too… soft. Too much glow. I need her serious, distant—mysterious. This is editorial, not romantic!”

The makeup artist rushes over, quickly powdering your face, dulling the warmth in your cheeks, smoothing out the light that seems to radiate from within. You hold still as they transform you, but your thoughts drift elsewhere.

As the photographer resumes clicking, capturing the carefully curated version of you, all you can think about is the one person who created the glow they’re trying to erase.

Between poses, your mind lingers on Austin—the way his touch made you feel grounded, the way his gaze held a truth you’d never dared to believe about yourself. The ache of missing him settles deeper with every passing moment, becoming harder to ignore.

“Yes! Magnifique! This is it!” the photographer exclaims triumphantly, circling you as the camera clicks furiously. “It’s raw, yearning… this is exactly what I want!”

You hold the expression they demand—detached, melancholic—but underneath it all, your heart aches for the simplicity of being in Austin’s arms, where nothing has to be forced or fabricated.

You are the muse for Dolce & Gabbana at Fashion Week. At your fitting, the designers circle you like hawks, their sharp eyes assessing every detail of the gown on your body.

Weeks ago, the dress fit perfectly, now it subtly shifts on your frame.

As the seamstress tries to pin the midsection into place, one of the designers frowns, his brow furrowing deeply as he clicks his tongue in disapproval.

“This waist—it’s wrong. Wrong!” he exclaims, snapping his fingers sharply at an assistant. “The proportions are off. If she can’t work with this gown, we’ll need another dress entirely!”

Your heart sinks, a wave of inadequacy washing over you as you stand frozen, the rejection sharp and stinging.

Moments later as you change back into your own clothing, your phone vibrates.

It’s your agent. Her text is polite but firm. “They’d like you to consider a lifestyle adjustment to better fit the design’s vision.”

You know exactly what she means and place your phone in your hand bag numbly, the pressure suffocating yet all too familiar.

You bury the sting and move on—This is the life you’ve worked for, and you’d be damned if you let anyone think you can’t handle it.

By the day of the fashion show, your Vogue billboards are everywhere in Los Angeles—your face larger than life, your body draped in elegance, a symbol of perfection. Still, you feel anything but perfect as the hours tick closer to the show.

Assistants swarm around in your home , pulling at your hair, touching up your makeup, adjusting your outfit.

The chaos feels overwhelming, each second filled with precise movements. The stylist tugs firmly at your mini dress, muttering as she tries unsuccessfully to zip it up.

Finally, the dress fits, though it hugs you tightly. You glance in the mirror, the image staring back almost unrecognizable you look healthier, radiant even, and you smile.

Your phone buzzes on the table, almost missed in the commotion and when you see Austin’s name, you grab it instantly.

“Austin?” you say, your voice soft but eager.

“I see you’re in town,” he muses, his voice warm, instantly grounding you.

You laugh lightheartedly. “I’m guessing you’ve seen the billboards?”

You can hear the smile in his voice when he answers, “I’m looking at one right now, and you’re breathtaking.”

Your heart flutters, the ache of missing him swelling. “I miss you,” you out right admit, the words escaping before you can filter them.

There’s a pause, then he says, “I miss you too.” The affection is his tone unmistakable.

“Come to my show tonight,” you blurt out, your voice a mixture of hope and nerves. “I can arrange everything with my agent.”

You can hear the smile in his voice as he says, “I’ll be there,” his certainty wrapping around you like a comforting embrace, and you can’t help but grin, feeling the excitement to see him again.

The fashion show begins in a whirlwind of activity. You’re fitted into your first gown, a shimmering silver piece with a dramatic train. The stylist gives a final firm tug, the fabric barely moving in place.

As you step onto the runway, the lights hit you instantly. The black and gold detailing of the silver gown sparkling under the glare.

You stride forward with your signature walk, confident and commanding, a newfound pride swelling within you knowing Austin is there and the audience observes with approval, the sound blending with the rapid flash of cameras.

When you return backstage your heart is racing as assistants rush to help you change into your final gown—a masterpiece of sleek red silk, cinched perfectly at the waist. You’re the show’s closer, the pressure undeniable as they adjust every detail.

When you step onto the runway for the final walk, the adrenaline surges through you. The applause is thunderous, and as you strut down the aisle, your heart nearly stops.

Austin is in the front row, his smile wide and soft, his gaze locked on you as though you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

You try to maintain your composure, but the corners of your lips curve into a soft smile, unable to hide your joy.

You make your way to the end of the runway and strike a pose, holding it for a moment as the cameras flash and the crowd erupts with applause.

As you turn to walk back your head is held high, your gown flowing like liquid elegance as you steal a glance at Austin.

The way he looks at you—his eyes full of pride, admiration, and something deeper—makes you feel invincible, like you could conquer the world in that moment.

Backstage, your heart pounds with adrenaline as you quickly join the lineup of models and the designer for his final bow.

The atmosphere is electric as you all step onto the runway together, confetti cascading from above while the crowd roars in approval.

But your focus is singular—The noise, the lights, the applause—they all blur into the background. All you see is Austin, and his gaze on you is everything.

Once the show ends, you change quickly back into your sleek black mini dress, and head to the champagne lounge with the other models.

The room buzzes with energy, a mix of laughter, champagne glasses clinking, and conversations about the show. Models draped in casual yet effortlessly chic outfits chat with designers, photographers, and industry elites.

You weave through the crowd, your eyes scanning until they land on him.

Austin stands near the entrance, his tall frame impossible to miss.

He looks devastatingly handsome. His sandy blonde hair is slightly tousled, catching the soft glow of the overhead lights, and his piercing blue eyes scan the room as if he’s been waiting for you.

He looks like a dream, a mix of charm and raw masculinity that sends a thrill down your spine.

When his gaze locks on yours, his lips curve into a slow, breathtaking smile that lights up his entire face, making your heart race.

Without hesitation, you rush to him, throwing your arms around his neck and he catches you effortlessly, his hold strong as you press a kiss to his lips, the world around you fading.

The flashing of cameras pulls you back to reality, the sound followed by curios voices.

“Is this your new boyfriend?” a reporter asks, their microphone thrust toward you.

You pull back slightly, your arms still around Austin’s neck, your eyes gleaming as you glance at him. “Are you my boyfriend?” you ask teasingly, your voice light but filled with anticipation.

Austin’s hand cups your jaw gently, his gaze soft as he answers, “Yes.”

His word hangs in the air, and you feel yourself melt into him, your smile so genuine it makes your cheeks ache. You don’t care about the cameras, the crowd, or the questions.

In this moment, it’s just the two of you and as you kiss him again, it feels like everything between you perfectly falls into place.

As soon as you get through the door of your place everything becomes a blur. His hands are on you, tugging at your mini dress, his mouth crashing into yours with an urgency that makes your knees weak.

“I’ve wanted you like this ——since the moment I saw you on stage,” Austin says against your lips, his voice rough and trembling with passion.

Your hands slip under his shirt, raking across his skin as he yanks the fabric over his head, his gaze devouring you. “I missed you so much,” he breathes, his eyes blazing as his fingers slide over your hips, pulling you closer. “I couldn’t stop thinking of you”

“Show me how much you missed me” You breathe, your heart racing as you tug him toward the living room, pulling him down onto the couch with you.

His hands find your hips again, his grip firm as his lips brush over your collarbone. “You’re so perfect to me— so beautiful ,” he says, his words spilling out in a rush, each one filled with raw need.

“Let me show you “ he says guiding you back onto the cushions as his lips trail down your body leaving a fiery path in their wake.

His hands slide along your thighs, spreading them open as his mouth moves lowers and when his tongue flicks against your clit, a sharp gasp escapes your lips. Your back arcs from the couch as he finds the spot that makes your entire body tremble.

He licks and sucks with precision, his hands gripping you tightly as you try to stay still for him.

“Austin,” you moan, your fingers threading through his hair, holding him there as he pleasures you with his relentless devotion.

His name spills from your lips with every stroke of his tongue, and his moans against you vibrate through your core as he thrusts his tongue into you with perfect rhythm.

The tension coils tighter and tighter until it finally snaps, your release hitting you in waves so intense you can’t stop your body from shaking.

Your hips move against his face as you cry out, your moans filling the room.

He holds you through it, his mouth never leaving you, until you’re shuddering from the aftershocks. When you finally still, your chest heaving, he looks up at you, his lips glistening, his eyes dark with satisfaction and awe.

“You’re incredible,” he says softly, his voice filled with reverence, as he kisses the inside of your thigh before moving back up.

Your hands grip his shoulders as his chest presses against yours, his lips colliding with yours in a desperate, fiery kiss. Your fingers tangle in his hair, pulling him closer as you devour his mouth

He groans softly, his body pressing into yours as his hardness pushes against you . With a slow, deliberate push, he thrusts into you, filling you slowly.

“Yes… yes,” you pant, your nails digging into his back as you arch against him. The stretch is intoxicating, and you gasp as he reaches a depth that no one has ever touched. He groans against your neck, his breath hot and ragged, as your body tightens around him.

You cup his face with trembling hands, forcing him to look into your eyes, the connection unbreakable as he gazes at you with an intensity that makes your heart race. He braces himself, dragging his cock out slowly before pushing it back in, the motion so precise it has you reeling.

Your thighs wrap tightly around his waist, your heels digging into his back as he grips your hips, guiding you to rock against him. His thrusts roll into you perfectly, the rhythm building as you gasp and moan, breathless and lost in the overwhelming pleasure of each other.

His blue eyes burn into yours, his lips parted, his expression raw with desire and reverence. His thrusts become more intense, each one designed to unravel you completely. As he leans down, his lips find your neck, leaving hot, reverent kisses.

“I love everything about you,” he whispers against your skin, his voice filled with awe and devotion. “I’m so glad I’m yours.”

His words tip you over the edge, your orgasm crashing through you like a wave. Your body tights around him, your moans turning into cries as you shatter completely. He holds gently, his gaze fixed on yours watching every moment of your undoing with pleasure.

His thrusts become faster, more erratic, his breath hitching as he nears his own release. With a deep groan, he pushes into you one final time, his body trembling as he comes, giving you everything he has.

You hold him gently as he rocks against you, then he collapses, his breath warm against your skin.

He kisses your shoulder, your collarbone, anywhere his lips can reach until you both lay there, tangled together, your bodies melting together in a heap of warmth and intimacy.

His arms wrap around you tightly, his lips pressing one last kiss to your temple as you both catch your breath in the quiet aftermath.

“You’re mine now,” you pant with a smile, your chest heaving as you look at him. He grins, his blue eyes glinting with a mix of satisfaction and mischief as he looks over you. “I’ve been yours from the moment I saw you,” he says, his voice low and full of adoration.

His words make your heart melt, and you pull him into a lingering kiss, his hand sliding to cradle your cheek giving you everything in this moment.

Comforted in his arms you feel a profound sense of completion —and you realize, for the first time, you don’t have to prove yourself or earn your worth—because with him, you’ve finally found where you belong

END 🩺

🔗 Masterlist

🏷️ Always Tag Me List

@purejasmine @burnthheparaphilia @butdaddyilovehim99 @austinbutlerfly @mrs-hardy-hunnam-butler-pascal @lindszeppelin @abswifey @aust-een @umika@feralgodmothers @psycheetamore @megangovier@magicovento @obsessedvibee @austiebuttbutt @faegoddessog @dunevitani @thejeywillburnoutthepain @jessica987 @slowsweetlove @hardcoredisneynerd @finley-08 @thegabbyh @thefallofthedamned @buckysteveloki-me @bucking-mustangs-with-wings @shegatsby @darlingisntit @lovereadingfanfic @denised916 @shockercoco @minispice-1@ @i5uckersblog @ughdontbeboring @meetmeatyourworst @avidreader/3 @xxmandaveexx @mamawiggers1980 @12joeywheelerfangirl @imjustheretoreadsmuthaha @missjadesticsreblog @gravesdiggergirl @nostalgichoya @stars-remain2 @skulliecadaver-blog

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