#i attempted the day before i retracted and stopped talking to him

[fawnnheart]

when ur so in love with him it makes u physically ill that he's ignoring you>>>>>

[aliteralsemicolon]

Bad, bad news - 18+

Main masterlist

"Bad, bad news, one of us is gonna lose, I'm the powder you're the fuse...just add some friction." You and Spencer play to see who can control themselves the longest. Loser is at the winner's mercy for the rest of the night.

Spencer Reid x Fem! Reader

DISCLAIMER You are responsible for the content you consume. Make sure to read all necessary warnings. Minors do not interact at all. Please remember this is a work of fiction; if you don’t like it, don’t read.

WARNING: Smut: Switch!/dom! Spencer, switch!/sub! reader, cock-warming, nipple play, dirty talk, edging/orgasm denial, clit stimulation, one singular spank, no use of protection, pet names (sweet girl, good girl, etc). Not proofread. Proceed at your own risk.

Word count: 2.9K See notes at end for authors note & spoilers.

Rolling around half naked in your bed sheets is like a harmonious duet on most days. You and Spencer mindlessly slip into your roles using non-verbal cues. Today was not one of those days. Today was a messy battle for dominance and your sheets bore the brunt. 

“Give in,” Spencer whispers, his knee strategically pressed against your heat. “You know you want to.”

You wiggle your wrists out of his grasp above your head and flatten your palms against his chest as you push him back down. He doesn't react fast enough and you’re straddling him again. You claim his mouth in a roaring kiss and swallow a desperate moan.

“Baby, if anyone’s going to give in it’s you.” You taunt, pulling away.

Without warning, Spencer bucks his hips up, rubbing his hardness against your core. It makes you jolt. 

“Yeah?” He licks his lips and flashes you a cocky smile.

“Y-yes.” You’re quick to regain composure, not wanting to let him rob you of the upper hand. “You can barely control yourself.”

He harshly cups your jaw in retaliation and pushes himself up until his lips are almost brushing yours. You have to brace yourself against his shoulder and his eyes lock in on yours. He lingers there for a second, his breath tickles your skin. Your eyes flicker between his eyes and his lips. His hold on your jaw loosens as the two of you slowly lean in. 

“I’m not the one that needs to be controlled.” It’s a low gravel that vibrates against your mouth as he retracts his head, making you chase after the kiss. 

Before you can catch his lips, he rolls you over and pushes himself on his knees. The noise that leaves you upon impact is something between a squeak and a grunt. He doesn’t give you time to assimilate, flipping you over and yanking you by your hips. Your cunt slams against his bulge and you groan, gripping the sheets. He grabs your hands, pinning them behind your back. You try to squirm out of his grip, but he’s got you pinned firmly. 

“Hey, that is not fair!” You whine. 

“Oh? Why not?” 

“You’re biologically stronger than I am!”

“Aw, poor baby.” He pouts with a mocking coo. 

You huff and make another futile attempt to set yourself free.

“Just give in and I’ll let go.” He chuckles. 

“Fuck off–ah!” A firm smack on your behind cuts you off. 

If that wasn’t so hot you could have at least pretended to be upset, but the way you involuntarily grind your hips gives you away before you can even make the effort. Spencer hisses in response. His eyes rake down your back to your ass pressed against him. So that backfired. 

You’re just as stubborn as he is and he doesn’t have the patience to wear you down. He needs to watch you squirm as you beg for him. He wants to feel how desperate you are for him. Using a featherlight touch, his hand travels up your back. He leans in, torso hovering over your back and brings his lips to your ear. 

“How about I make you a deal, hmm?” A trail of kisses starts from below your ear to your jaw.

“A deal?” You repeat, falling into a slight daze.

His fingers stop skimming over your back when he reaches the clasp of your bra and he undoes it in one swift motion. You can feel your heartbeat as your breasts spring free. 

“Mhm.” He releases his hold on you and moves off you to sit up against the headboard. 

“What deal?” You question as you sit up, eyeing him curiously.

“Well, it’s more of a bet.” 

Part of the reason you and Spencer work so well is because of your ability to keep up with each other's competitive nature. 

“Go on.” You rid yourself of the bra hanging on your shoulders. 

He tries to hide it, but, being met with your bare chest has an immediate effect on him. The silent but sharp inhale, the way he tries oh so hard to keep his eyes on your face and the way his lip rolls between his teeth. You can practically feel your arousal pooling in your underwear. 

“Come here.” He beckons you closer with his fingers.

A shrewd smirk tugs at the corners of your mouth. You position yourself on your hands and knees, effectively crawling toward him. It shouldn’t feel as alluring as it does, but the sight makes his cock twitch. Part of him wants to grab you and pull you onto his lap the second you’re within reach, but he waits for you to get there on your own, watching you intently with every step. 

His palms caress the sides of your ribcage as you straddle him and he swipes his tongue between his lips. You drape your arms on his shoulders, wrapping them so your fingers run through his hair. You let him kiss you on the chin, jaw and shoulder, but when he tries to go lower, you pull on his hair by the base. He turns his head back up to you and you both rest your foreheads together.

“You are impossibly stubborn.” He groans. 

“I wouldn’t have to be if you would simply do as I say.” 

“I should tie you up and make you watch as I take care of myself in front of you.” There’s an underlying playfulness in his sigh. 

“That sounds like a punishment.” You quirk your eyebrow.

“I wouldn’t have to if you had let me take care of you as I’ve wanted from the start.” 

“You won’t. At all.” You state point blank, indicating he's not the one in charge.

Spencer tsks and brushes his thumb against your nipple. You playfully slap his hand away. You don’t know it yet, but he’s already noting everything he’ll punish you for when the time comes. 

“Do you trust me?” 

You nod, giving him a cautious stare. 

“Do. you. trust. me?” He repeats, unsatisfied with the non-verbal confirmation. 

“Yes!” You huff. 

“Up.” He drops his hands to your hips, gripping the flesh and pushing it away from him. 

You lift yourself off him and on your knees. Spencer then lifts his hips, tugging his boxers down providing ample room for his length to bounce out. Looking down you can see just how hard he is. His tip’s swollen, pink and leaking with pre-cum. If you weren’t so turned on right now, you’d question what he’s up to. 

There is no shortage of things you want to do to him and he can tell as much when he runs a finger through your slit, pushing the fabric to the side. The action is unexpected and you have to use his shoulders for support, a whimper escaping your lips. You glare at him but he pays you no mind.

“Fuucck,” He breathily groans, “you are soaked.” 

It always takes you a little off guard when Spencer swears. He rarely does, saving it for when he feels very passionately about something. It makes you clench around nothing. Spencer guides your hips a little lower and runs his tip between your folds. You can only chuff in desperation as you try to keep yourself composed. 

“Sit.” He commands, lining himself up with your entrance. 

You’re sceptical but comply nonetheless. You slowly sink on his length and his fingers dig into the plush of your hips. The two of you exchange a gasp as you attempt to ground yourselves. Something about how he stretches your walls open is so delicious and palatable, that it makes you forget all sense or reason.

“Now what?” 

“Now,” his voice floats in and out of short breaths, “you sit still.” 

“I beg you pardon? Still?” Your perplexity makes him chuckle.

Shock waves travel between your cores and you squirm. 

“Uh-uh.” His grip on your body tightens as he holds you in place. “You heard me. Sit still.” 

You mull over his words and it clicks.

“Cockwarming?” 

“Precisely.” 

“That’s your deal?”

“Bet.” He corrects. 

A silent pause takes over the conversation. You try to study his challenging stare, but honestly, all you can focus on is how enchanting his eyes are. How ethereal they look when you have him begging for you. You’re smart enough to recognise that the only shot you have of making that happen is if you indulge him for now. 

“Okay, genius, I’ll bite. What are we betting on?” 

“Control. More specifically, which one of us is better at exhibiting control.”

“So not you.” You snort. 

He rolls his eyes but he’s unsure if it’s because of your comment or how warm you feel around his cock. He doesn’t point out that he’s already demonstrating a great amount of control by not flipping you over and fucking the shit out of you, because it might not work in his favour.

“What happens when I win?” 

Your follow-up question brings him back to you with brows raised in astonishment. 

“When you win?” 

“Or when you lose. Whatever way you wanna look at it.” 

His eyes narrow and his tongue swipes the inside of his cheek. Maybe if he brought up how good he is at holding his tongue, he could make a point about how much more control he’s in. 

“Whoever wins gets to do whatever they want to the other. For tonight.” 

You twist your lips to the side in contemplation. Spencer tracks every shift in your features. 

“Deal.” You answer with a genuine smile. 

“Thank you.” His gratitude is relayed in a husky whisper.

You don’t know if it’s the way he speaks or the words he says, but it makes you clench. You don’t realise until he hisses and throws his head back. 

“You can’t be doing that.” His thumbs caress the skin they’re resting on. 

“What? This?” You repeat the action intentionally and give him your most convincing doe eyes. 

Oh the things he plans to do to you. His thoughts hide behind a half-smirk and his eyes drop to your breasts. The look on his face borders between unsettling and erotic, sending shivers down your spine. Spencer lets his hand drift up your sides, stopping so his thumbs brush your nipples again. The feeling provokes goosebumps all over. 

You unintentionally whimper when he gently rolls them between his thumbs and forefingers. At first, Spencer was only trying to tease you for your antics, but the sound of your voice made him want to coax more out of you. He adds pressure to his hold and tugs. Your walls tighten around him again and he lessens the pressure to keep himself composed. If you don’t stop, he will. Your hands move to cup his wrists in place and you try to hold back the pathetic sounds threatening to spill out of you. 

“Can’t have your cake and eat it too, sweet girl. Tell me what you want.” His voice is a coo masking a command. 

“For you to stop playing games and give up already.” You try to keep your voice steady but fail. 

“You’re just delaying the inevitable at this point. The longer you fight, the harder you’ll have to beg.” He relays it like a scientific fact that can’t be proven wrong. 

“And you’re delusional if you think that’s happening. I won’t beg for you.” 

“That’s two bets you’re losing tonight.” 

You scoff but before you can get another word in, he pulls your taut nubs with a tighter grip than before. You have to fight the urge to lean away and roll your hips. Your breathing quickens, it’s almost as if you're quietly heaving. Then you make the mistake of looking down. Slender fingers toying with your hardened peaks and cock so deep inside you that your cores are touching at the base. 

Your senses feel heightened. Everything you sense is jumbled. You can practically taste the sweet ecstasy that fills your body when he’s driving into you so hard that he’s pressing against your stomach. You don’t realise how close you are to the edge, but Spencer does. He can tell by the slight shake in your legs as you try to keep yourself still. And the way your nails dig into his wrists. 

All your focus is on keeping yourself from clenching because you don’t want him to stop. The coil in your stomach has almost completely unravelled; you just need to sit still for a few more seconds. 

Seven. In your distracted state you let a few tiny moans slip out. 

Six. It elates Spencer, he almost feels bad for what he’s about to do. 

Five. As you grow louder, Spencer begins shushing you in his soft voice. 

Four. You shut your eyes, anticipating your release.

Three. Almost there, your lip rolls between your teeth. 

Two–

Your efforts are wasted because Spencer lets go right as you’re on the brink. 

“NofuckWHY?!” You speak so fast that you join your sentence into one word. 

A brash chuckle erupts from him. He releases his wrists from your grip.

“Come on, you didn’t actually think I was going to let you cum.” 

You let out a frustrated huff. 

“Only good girls get to come. Are you a good girl?” He adds, intertwining his hands with yours. 

It seems like an intimate act, but you can see past it. As always, the sneaky bastard has found himself a loophole. The truth is, Spencer doesn’t have more patience, he’s just too good at achieving results. He’s basically admitted defeat and you’ll still be the one to lose. You can only give him a narrowed stare, scouring his eyes with your jaw hanging.

“No?” He prompts when your silence is too long. 

This time, he only gives attention to one of your nubs and his other hand lands on your clit without warning. He doesn’t ease you into his brutal pace, flicking over your bud with his middle finger. The strain against your sensitive nipple, the stimulation on your inflamed bud and his erection still buried inside you. It’s an overwhelming sensation and you’re unsure of what to focus on. The result is a loud, strangled moan you try to muffle in the crook of his neck.

“Fuck! Spencer!” 

It doesn’t take long for the tension in your abdomen to start building again. You try to focus on your breathing and relieve the intensity by pressing your nails into his shoulders. Spencer remains undeterred and you can’t escape the feeling. It’s building fast and it’s going to run through you like a tidal wave. 

“Fuckfuckfuckfuck– oh God– oh fuck–” 

Your stringed obscenities are matched by Spencer's more silent hums and groans. He’s enjoying this, probably more than you are. His begins to twitch inside you at random intervals, he could cum just from this. 

“You’re close. Maybe I should stop. Hmm?” He mumbles his words as close to your ear as he can. 

“Pleaseplease–fucking–please– don’t stop. Don’t stop!” 

“Admit that you’re my good girl.”

“Spenc– mmh–” 

It’s too much but not enough at the same time. The tension inside is brewing too thick, you’re about to snap. 

“You’re not cumming until you say it,” Spencer warns sternly, “say you’re my good girl.” 

The sound of his voice only adds to your desperation. All you give him in return is your lewd mewls. He’s brought you back to the edge, you only need one final push. 

“Still nothing? You must not want it bad enough.” He starts to slow down his pace, indicating that he’s about to stop. 

The threat alone makes you break. 

“No!” You yelp. “Nonono– I’m a good girl– I’m your good girl! Please don’t stop!”

You’re panting frantically. He’s won.

“Yeah? You think so?” 

Yet he’s still going to make you work for it. He quickens his pace again and you don’t even try to keep yourself still anymore, squirming in his lap. 

“Mhm..” It’s a broken beg, your face still hiding in his neck. 

“Look at me.” He hisses gently, struggling against the friction you’ve started to build. 

You lazily lift your head to meet his eyes. He has a victorious smirk on his face. Your eyes struggle to stay open and you flutter your lids.  

“Oh, you look so pretty. All flushed and desperate.” He teases. “Tell me, what are you?”

You need release, now. Your legs try to close around his body. 

“I– ah– shit– I’m–fuck your g–good girl!” Your words exit as more of a moan than a coherent sentence. The coil in your stomach is about to burst any second. 

“I’m sorry. I can’t hear you.” He’s relishing in your struggle. 

You let out a frustrated whine. 

“I’m your good girl!” 

Spencer chuckles at just how agreeable you’ve become because of how badly you want to cum. Your brows furrow and you throw your head back, eyes squeezing shut. Just as you’re about to get your sweet release, Spencer stops. You snap your sights on him, utterly dazed, annoyed and confused. Spencer leans in, getting close enough for his whisper to reach you.

“Prove it.” 

Spoilers: Smut.

AN - When I said edging, I meant it. We’re all getting edged. Anyway first kinktober piece, I can’t promise I’ll deliver all of them in October. I’m just a girl (uni takes priority sorry guys). Also, this is kinda overdue now but thank you for 1K <3

TT has ruined so many things for me. I couldn’t write this without thinking of “asserting dominance” and giggling.

Thank you for reading!

[ebodebo]

Nuts And Bolts

—mechanic!ghost with psychologist!reader…MDNI

Stepping out of your office and onto the town's bustling streets, you admire the Christmas decorations the city has set up. But, it does nothing to settle your soured mood.

Simon and you had gotten into an argument the previous night, and you haven’t heard or seen him since. You assumed he went to his car garage to let off some steam, but, as his wife, why the hell were you left to wonder about your husband’s whereabouts?

To set the scene, it had been an ordinary night. You had gotten off work before Simon, so you thought you would prepare a nice dinner with a glass of red wine.

Simon swings open the door as you season some vegetables, dawning an unpleasant expression. You turned to face him, raising a brow.

“What’s the matter?” You ask, setting your tongs down to walk over to him. He simply shakes his head and heads straight for your shared bedroom.

You tilt your head and head straight towards the bedroom after him, unable to let him writhe in his agony alone.

“Simon.” You stand in the doorway, observing him as he sits on the edge of the bed. He doesn’t so much as spare you a glance, making you worry.

You make your way to him and sit on the edge of the bed next to him. “You want to talk about what you’re feeling?” You insist, making him finally look at you.

“Stop it.” He firmly states. Your eyes widen at his tone.

“What?” You ask, keeping your tone soft to avoid antagonizing him.

“You’re tryin’ to do that shit again.” He scowls, standing up to walk back through the bedroom door. You quickly follow suit as he continues.

“Trynna’ pick my brain.” He walks over to the liquor cabinet and grabs a bottle of whiskey.

“Like I’m a fuckin’ patient.”

“No. I—” You intently pause, thinking. “Okay, you seem upset, stressed even.” You watch him grab a glass and pour some whiskey into it.

“Alcohol isn’t a good way to cope.” You say, adopting your signature calm voice you use on your patients.

He laughs dryly, even though the burning amber liquid coated his throat.

“And, there you go again.” He sighed, looking up at you.

“I’m trying to help you, Simon.” You insist, reaching out to gently grab his forearm, though he quickly retracts from your touch.

He lets out another dry chuckle before setting down his glass and walking to the coat rack to grab his coat. You attempt to question his whereabouts, but he fills in the space first.

“I don’t need a shrink. I need my wife.”

And, with that, he left. Leaving you to stare helplessly at the front door, not knowing where you went wrong and not knowing where to go from there.

You recounted yesterday’s events in your mind all day today, even during patient sessions. You always left your personal matters at the door, but this was different because you were genuinely dumbfounded.

Even walking out of work, you still thought about the whole ordeal. However, your thoughts were absolved when you saw the familiar mechanic shop sign out of the corner of your eye. They would be closed about now, but, knowing Simon, he would still be there.

You walk into the garage part to see a body under a truck, working on it. You delicately press the little bell, you insisted he get, on the desk closest to the doors.

“We’re closed.” God, it had only been a day, but you missed his voice.

“Even for me?” You question, feeling a little shy. He paused his movements before scooting himself out from under the truck. Your eyes shamelessly glazed over his body, looking at what he was wearing: an old white shirt covered in grease and gray sweatpants with oil marks.

“No, not for you.” He stated, the corner of his mouth quirking up as he grabbed an old rag to wipe his hands clean.

You gave him a half-smile. “Been working overtime, I see?” You try to keep your tone playful, but judging by how he slightly frowns, you can tell your voice has defiled you.

“We should talk.” He stated, with almost a cringe on his face. You nod and sit on a chair adjacent to him as he leans on the hood of the truck he was working on.

“I’m sorry.” He sighs out, clearly disappointed in himself. “Was havin’ a shitty day and brought it onto you.” You look up at him and give him a frown.

“I’m sorry, too.” He snaps his eyes to yours, a puzzled expression taking over his face.

“For what?” You gently tug on your bottom lip before answering.

“For treating you like a patient and not my husband. It’s not fair to you.” You sigh, avoiding his gaze.

“Sweetheart, look at me.” He lightly demands. You bring your head up and bring your eyes to lock with his.

“This isn’t your fault. I was bein’ a dick.” He walks over to you and reaches for your hand, which you grasp. He guides you from the chair so you’re standing before him, looking up at him.

“Are you gonna come home?” You softly question as he stares into your eyes, mentally kicking himself for making them look so sullen.

“Wouldn’t wanna be anywhere else.” He says, bringing his hand up to sweep a stray piece of your hair away from your face, leaning down to kiss your lips sweetly. You could feel your skin sizzle from only a slight touch, internally sighing as he pulled away to speak.

“Should get goin’ then.” He says, walking over to the truck's hood and gently slamming it shut. “Johnny’s gonna come check the exhaust.”

“When’s he coming?” You absentmindedly ask as you watch Simon slip off his white shirt, observing his toned body.

“Eh, half an hour.” He casually says, turning away from you to walk over to the cabinet to grab a clean white shirt.

“So, we’re alone?” You question, bringing your hands up to untie the front of your blouse.

“Uh, huh.” He agrees, still rummaging through the cabinets, back towards you. You hum a sign of approval as you open your blouse, then move to unclip your bra, your breasts spilling out as soon as you do.

He finally finds a clean shirt and turns toward you, eyes widening as he sees you, chest bare. Your pulse quickens as he stares, unsure of his thoughts. When he doesn’t speak for a moment, you start to lose the confidence you had garnered.

“Is it too much?” You shyly ask, starting to feel insecure. He can’t speak; his mouth has gone dry at the sight of you. He drops the shirt in his hand and walks over to you, bringing his hand up to trace the curve of your breast.

“Fuck.” He manages to get out as your breathing becomes more ragged and your pupils dilate at the sensation.

“It’s never too much.” He answers your earlier question, cupping the bottom of your breast, making you sigh. You bring your hands up to grip his shoulders as he caresses your breast.

He leans to press a hot kiss onto your lips as he rolls your nipple between his pointer and thumb, making you moan into his mouth. He roughly grips the back of your thighs and picks you up, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist as he hauls you over to the hood of the truck.

He hikes up your skirt and hurriedly connects his lips back to yours before kissing down your neck, gently sucking on the tender skin, making you whine. He sinks to his knees in front of you, bringing one hand up to grab ahold of your calf, raising it slightly so he can slip the heel off your foot.

Once he gets one heel off, his other hand drifts to your other foot, slipping the heel off as he plants kisses up your ankle, and calf, stopping at your mid-thigh before nipping at the pantyhose encasing your cunt with his teeth, making a tiny hole. He slightly raises his hands and uses his pointers to split the pantyhose further.

“Hey! Those were Falke.” You urge, referring to the German-made, almost three-hundred dollar silk tights he had soiled.

“I’ll buy you more.” He amends, gripping the waistband of his sweatpants and boxers, slipping them down simultaneously. His cock immediately shot up, so visibly hard. You brought your hands to gently pump him up and down as his hands went to massage your tender breasts.

He groans at the contact, gripping your breast a little firmer. You moan at that contact, pulling his cock a little firmer.

“You’re killin’ me, baby.” He chokes out, gripping the back of your neck as he roughly kisses your lips. With your hands still on his cock, you gently pull him closer by it, making him hiss as you guide it to your slit.

“I need you in me.” You whine as he brings his hand to twirl in your hair. In one swift motion, he thrusts into you. You both groan at the swift contact, even throwing your heads back.

His movements continue; over and over again, he thrusts into you, making you dig your nails into his skin, desperate for stability. You knew you wouldn't last long and could tell Simon wouldn't either. It has been only been a God-damned day, and you ached for him. Nothing but him would suffice your craving.

“So, fuckin’ good, baby. So, fuckin’ good.” He gruffly repeated, making you clamp around him tighter until you felt that familiar all-consuming euphoria you had so ached for.

As you reached your peak, Simon followed suit, coming with your name on the tip of his tongue. You were both panting, even after both of your orgasms subsided. You looked up at him as he tied your blouse back so your breasts were concealed, bra be damned.

“You did good.” You praised as he reached down to pick up your abandoned skirt from the floor.

“Yeah?” He lightly laughed out, finding humor in your statement.

“Yeah.” You nod as he grips your waist and pulls you off the hood of the car.

“Can you walk?” He questions, his hands still on your waist to help steady you as he carefully slips on your skirt.

“No. Might need you to carry me.” You sigh as you bring your hand up to fake an anguished expression.

“Uh, huh.” He rolls his eyes, though they contain no actual annoyance, as he goes to pick you up bridal style.

“Let’s get you home, Drama.”

a/n: this is the pipeline i’m here for

ur honor i’m just a girl

reblogs & comments are encouraged!

[mrs-weasley-reid]

JUST SAY WHEN

Spencer Reid x writer!reader

Synopsis: You always choose Spencer Reid, but is it the right choice? Word Count: 3500+ WARNING: ANGST. not proofread!!! A/N: oh, here we go again... the angst plot in my head. this one feels disorganized. like my writing is all over. i've had this one in my drafts for over a month. but today i have the courage to hit post. honestly have mixed feelings about this. it's a new type of reader I'm dabbling in so i really am anxious about this. tell me what you think!

 “You should’ve seen him when he first saw me.”

THE PURCHASE.

 Vast lavender field soaked in chamomile tea. Dusty sunset through the window pane. Overwhelming aroma of old books. One figure tiptoes to the eighth shelf. Arm stretched to reach an old copy of The Scarlet Letter.

 Whenever Spencer is asked what he felt at that moment, he thinks, “Like I saw an angel freshly descended from heaven.”

 “Shit—” Gasps by the said angel.

 A book and body drop on the carpeted floor.

 Spencer runs to your aid. A failed attempt to prevent the seething pain you momentarily felt. First of many.

 “Are you okay?” He asks, kneeling next to you. Spencer reflexively offers his hand.

 You chuckle, taking his hand, and you feel him tense. “Don’t worry, I’ve had it worse.” You retract your limb to focus the pads of your hands on dusting yourself, squatting down to pick up the book.

 Spencer nods unknowingly despite the confusion and the knots in his eyebrows. He glances at the book, “That’s a great book.”

 Following his gaze, you hoist it up with a grin. “Very,” You emphasize. “I’ve read this, like, ten— thirteen times?” You brag excitedly, sparkling eyes as you meet his big brown sight.

 “Eighty-four.”

 You hum, raising your brows. 

 “I’ve read it eighty-four times.” Spencer shyly smiles, tight lips in a curved line. His hands grip the strap of his leather satchel. Socializing has always been his worst skill, let alone talking to someone as beautiful as you. He can’t help but feel his tongue twist itself into knots he can’t untie.

 You blink—slowly and adorably innocent. “What?” You chirp. It’s not every day you meet someone who’s read a book more times than you. Plus, the boy in front of you is quite the charmer, and you’re distracted by the glow of hazels in his eyes. 

 Spencer nibbles on his lips, and a faint reddish glow creeps all over the land of his skin. “I— uh, I have to go. Bye.” He shuffles as if his body can’t figure out where to direct itself and ends up malfunctioning in the process. In the end, he walks past you, rushing to another aisle.

 It takes you roughly twenty seconds to process that he’s no longer in front of you, twisting your body to his trail. “Eighty-four?!” You exclaim, baffled. 

 Your feet chase after him. “Wait!” You try to match his pace, almost jogging to catch up. “How is that even possible?” You get past him, completely blocking his way. “You just love this book so much that you read it on a loop, or what?” 

 “It really isn’t that big of a deal…” He mumbles, eyes glitching from one title to another, to towers of spines except you. A book with such a beautiful cover, his hands itch to reach and flip every page into memory.

 You place your hands on your hips, furrowing your brows. “Tell me how you read it eighty-four times. I won’t leave you alone until you do. And I swear I’m the most annoying person you’ll ever meet, so it might be in your best interest to get rid of me quickly before you go insane.” You shrug like it’s a normal thing to say to a stranger.

 Curiosity brims from your eyes, like a big doe's eyes begging a prey to bite her limb for the sake of adventure. And like a pirate tempted by a siren, Spencer takes the bait.

 “My mom loves the book, so I read it to her all the time.” He admits, a hand behind his neck. It’s the start of a long explanation. You don’t dare stop him. Your eyes are fully fixed on his moving lips. He can feel it. And he fights not to meet yours because he just might explode.

 Right then and there, you know the small contact from his hand completely stole your heart. And his words hold you into a willing prisoner because you saw him first from afar. Because you specifically chose the book in your hand despite having two copies of it to avoid first contact. Because you didn’t want him to know how long you’ve been staring. 

 Spencer gets abruptly cut off by a patron bumping into him. You fight every willpower in your chest to keep yourself from making a scene in a mall’s bookstore, shifting your attention to him.

 “Want to talk more about it over coffee?” 

 “I was mesmerized. The beauty of his mind was so intricate I couldn’t stop myself from falling even if I tried. I wanted him to own me. And it happened just as I wanted. I just didn’t know it’d be torture… Reaching his hand out was his fatal mistake. Taking his hand was my demise.”

THE FIRST CHIP.

 Disheveled. Broken. Sharp.

 Big brown eyes dull in the dead of the night. Spencer stands before you with indifference.

 He’s changed.

 But the grip on the neck of his satchel tells you your Spencer is still there behind the walls he put up. The first of many false hopes you convince yourself to believe.

 Five months. You’ve been dating Spencer Reid for only five months. And you’re in love with every fiber of his being. Only five months, and you know you’d love him for the longest run. 

 When people ask why you love him, you say, “Because I know he’ll never hurt me.”

 Then it happens.

 Tobias Hankel. 

 You loathe the name the moment you hear it. Accidentally burn yourself in the middle of making dinner when you receive a call from Penelope Garcia that Spencer’s been kidnapped by a serial killer. 

 In the moment, you panic. Almost causing a huge fire in your apartment building as you babble over the phone, asking Penelope where the hell your boyfriend is being held as if the word kidnapped meant a mark on a map.

 Then, you worry. You beg Penelope to let you in on the progress of his search. You pace in your living room. You read every true crime book on your shelf. You pray on each page that an answer will dawn on you and that you’ll have something of use to locate Spencer, as if you knew everything when, in reality, all you knew was that he’s held captive by some sick villain in your story. 

 You felt like every sidekick in a hero’s movie. Useless.

 When Penelope tells you that he’s on his way home, you’re never too tired or sleep-deprived to drive to his place. You waited hours outside his doorstep. You ignore the shivery breeze all over your skin, as you’d forgotten to change into something more weather-appropriate. You don’t worry about the unattended kitchen, the food you are excited to make. 

 You only think about one thing: be the first person Spencer sees when he comes home. 

 He arrives in the sixth hour, close to dawn. There's a gauze on his temple. His eyes are glued to the wooden floor.

 It’s a strength not to cry out from the sight. Worry courses throughout your body. But the relief that he’s made it home safe cancels the anxiety out of your head. All you want is to cradle him, wrap him in your arms to remind him of home, of safety, of being loved.

 You take Spencer into a tight hug. “I was so worried.” You whisper in his chest, breathing in his wake. He’s safe. Everything should be okay. “I’m glad you’re safe. I care about you so much.”

 Only for him to say, “You should go home. It’s late.”

 “I’m not gonna leave you by yourself.” You shake your head, pulling away to stare at his empty face. Your palm cups his cheek, and it’s cold. He doesn’t lean against it. He simply winces like your touch is dangerous.

 “I’m too tired to entertain a guest.”

 You.

 A guest.

 There’s a small sting inside your chest that you ignore don’t notice. Your heart feels similar to a teacup with a chip on its rims. Delicately painful to the touch. 

 You swallow the thick air in the middle of your throat, nodding as you bite the tears from the back of your eyes. “Alright, my love…” You softly enunciate, not wanting to sob at the sight of Spencer avoiding your image.

 The spark in him that you love so much is nowhere to be found. Only hatred and something you can’t figure out swim behind his irises. He doesn’t even reach for your hand. Doesn’t hum in delight like he always does when your skin caresses him.

 A prominent chip marks your being. As if you had been dropped from two floors down. 

 You shove the thought away. 

���You tell yourself that Spencer needs his space. Tell yourself that he needs time to process, to heal. You tell yourself it’s okay because Spencer’s had a long week. You tell yourself it’s not about you.

 You leave a kiss on his cheek, “Rest well. Call me if you need anything.” You walk down the stairs with a weight you don’t discern. 

 Spencer doesn’t say he will.

 And he didn’t.

 “It takes a while before I realize the chip he caused. And even then, I said, what is love if I never get hurt? What is love if there’s no struggle? Besides, there are moments when the chip didn’t hurt. Minimum effort filled the aching void. Simplest gestures blinded me. Sweetest words impaired my hearing. I wasn’t hypnotized or caught in a spell. It’s plain and simple. He had a hold on me. I chose not to break free.”

THE VOICES IN HIS HEAD.

 “Oh, here we go again.”

 You feel yourself physically shrink.

 Spencer rolls his eyes, pushing one hand into the depths of his right eye socket. Heavy sighs drool off his lips. The pounding in his head makes his vision blurry. And you’re convinced some type of voice tells him you’re no one important in his life. 

 You had asked him if he’d like to take a break from his files. After he’d said no, you carefully made a point that he hadn’t eaten anything the whole day. Then, you’re back to the now, where Spencer snaps at the mere mention of taking his fingers off the thin edges of the case. 

 A year into loving him. A year into being his solace—his words that now seem to be a lie—and you feel your entire body tense with every twitch and narrow of his eyes. 

 “Can’t you just leave me alone?” 

 Your chest tightens. A tug hitches your breath. A strong pressure sits over your lungs, deflating every air out without any chance of inflating back. 

 Since that night, Spencer changed. And you don't blame him. Completely understanding the stake of his trauma. Motivated to make his days better, to make him feel better. 

 The first month since that evening, Spencer didn’t text or call. He didn’t answer yours either. He isolated himself, and you’d heard from JJ that they even had a hard time talking to him. 

 So, you thought you weren't alone. That you weren't the problem. Because if everybody else can't reach him, then Spencer must want his solitude.

 You climb on your shelf. You patiently wait for him to want you again. You let it happen. Let him consume you despite the ache that gnaws in the back of your mind.

 And when he comes knocking on your door. You swing it so fast, eager to have him back in your arms. You lock the tingly feeling inside a vault. Because Spencer said he loves you that day.

 “I’m trying to do my job. It’s a difficult job, unlike yours, where you just scribble on paper or tap on your annoying keyboard and be done for the day.” 

 It cracks. Every fiber of your being cracks. The colorful memories are stricken with connected lines, slowly turning into a depressing gray. 

 You crack internally. A glass hit with force enough to break but not enough to shatter apart. Your skin holds up every broken part like a puzzle piece. 

 He’s just mad. He doesn’t mean it. You chant inside your head. You don’t know who you’re lying to.

 Spencer said he loves your writing. Love every word lined by your weaving hand. Love the stories formed from mundane moments and late nights. Love the emotions that brim within spaces and punctuation marks. 

 And you wonder if you should've kept not believing it. If you should've stayed appreciative but never convinced.

 “There are people’s lives at stake. I’m saving people’s lives, not filling their free time by reading your made-up stories.” 

 A target made to be maimed. Spencer aims at the center with precision. And you’re stricken with every shot.

 Your feet step back on their own. A subconscious pull for safety. Heart beats in fear, in ache. 

 “I’m sorry.”

 It dies in your throat. Your body shakes in so much pain you don't mind the way your heart and lungs shrink. Afraid that tears may fall, willing them to stay in place—in the back of your eyes where Spencer won't find them. 

 His migraines worsen. You tell yourself. 

 He’s still in pain. You remind yourself.

 His job is more important. You convince yourself. 

 Excuses after excuses. You make it a habit. Make excuses for him to distract the piercing agony.

 “W-why don’t I give you some space? Refill your cup?” You offer a smile like it’s a job you must carry successfully.

 Spencer gulps, hands in his pockets. “That would be great. Thanks.” He replies, getting back on his seat as if he hadn’t just cut through you like a sharp ax splitting a small trunk in half.

 You flinch when he shuts the door as soon as you step out of the room. Each piece vibrates in place, waiting for the last hit.

 “Litany of reasons come after that. I woke up each day with yet another excuse. A shameful attempt to sell what was rotten. Until I took a bite of it myself, and I tasted the sickening truth.”

THE DESTROYED SAND CASTLE.

 It's deafening. 

 The sound of you shattering into a thousand pieces. Sharp edges cut through every fabric of what you thought was true, what you thought was real. 

 “I love her.”

 But you're not her.

 You’re not the great Dr. Maeve Donovan. The woman who kept his migraines at bay, if not anything, cured them. The smart, beautiful, successful woman who rang every local pay phone in his vicinity. The woman that occupied his waking days. Days he went through next to you.

 Dr. Maeve Donovan. Spencer’s great love.

 And he’s never seen her in person until her last breath. But her voice is enough to steal him away from you. Enough for the color in Spencer’s skin to light back up after years of your failed attempts. Enough for Spencer to fall in love with her. Enough to stay in love with her despite her being gone in the wind. Despite you sleeping next to him every single night.

 She was enough. The idea of her is enough.

 “I love her.”

 Love. Present tense. Spencer loves her. 

 You don’t remember the last time he’d ever said those words to you. Don’t remember the genuine emotions that radiate along those words. Don’t remember the last time you’ve ever felt loved by him.

 “Hey…” 

 You walk past Penelope. You don't realize it until she catches your arm, distracted by the fatal explosion inside your chest. You can see the way your world crumbles like a sand castle kicked by the meanest bully.

 “Sweetie, what’s wrong? Did you not find Reid? Is he not in Hotch’s office?” Her eyes soften at the sight of your tears flowing like a steady river. “He’s safe, I promise. Just a little graze, you’ll see.” She tries to console you, rubbing the side of your arm.

 Just a little graze.

 Spencer has been carving little grazes on you for years, and the final blow causes your entire life to shatter in fine dust—close to nonexistence. 

 “Do you mind telling Spencer that there was an emergency, so I had to go?” Your voice breaks with each syllable, fighting the sobs from spilling out. It’s numbingly painful. Every part of you is sore and aching. 

 Penelope furrows her brows, “Sure, but is everything okay? What emergency?” She pries, no bad intentions, simply a sign of her kindness.

 You take a rough gulp. “I…” You look into her eyes, begging for her not to ask further. 

 She nods, giving you a soft squeeze on your arm and a warm smile. That's when you knew that she knew exactly the source of your nonstop tears. Maybe no longer than you did because you can see the anger in her eyes. At least she's on your side. And it's enough for you. “Call me if you need anything, love,” Penelope says, pulling you into a bone-crushing hug. “I’m always here for you. I’m always ready to be on your side.” She adds against your neck.

 And you're heading towards the elevator without a second thought.

 You hear your name as the doors close, lifting your head to find Spencer coming out of the bullpen. Penelope is true to her words, blocking him from reaching where you stand. His voice makes your insides churn. The sound of your name rolling off his tongue is sickening.

 Your body collapses on the floor. The sobs finally echo within the tight space. The tears endlessly flow in raging torrents between floors. You wrap your arms around your torso, holding yourself together.

 But it's way too late.

 Every piece of you has already shattered into messy pieces. Spread out in broken parts, unfit even if you tried to glue yourself back together. 

 Spencer has destroyed the castle you've built. The castle you made just for him. 

 You wonder if it's all for show. If Spencer chose to keep you just to avoid his boredom when Maeve’s unreachable. If he only tolerated you to fill her physical absence.

 But you should’ve known that it was a matter of time. His kisses were merely ghosts. His touch was stinging cold. His words were hallow. 

 The signs were clear in plain sight.

 Spencer stopped loving you a long time ago.

 "It's my fault." You say out loud, as if thinking it isn't painful enough.

 You made a choice. Each day, you choose to make up new reasons why Spencer is distant. You convince yourself that you aren't hurt by his cold glances. You tell yourself that it’s not torture if you love him.

 The elevator dings to the last floor.

 “Remnants of myself dried up inside that box.”

 Tongue runs over the softness of your lips as the final lines of your book approach with the same heart-wrenching ache. For the audience, at least.

 You flip the page, lifting your gaze. You scan the mass of teary eyes and silent sobs.

 There, you find two familiar faces. Penelope sniffs next to Rossi, who’s smiling proudly. The sweet blonde became your secret ray of sunshine. And the Italian mentored your way to a New York Times bestseller.

 "In that tight space. In the center of those four moving walls. I wished so much that he'd only said when. When everything felt too much. When I was unwanted. When he stopped loving me. I would've understood. Because I always did."

 What you don’t expect is the third familiar figure. It stands in the farthest back. A shadow if you don’t know any better. You take a deep breath.

 The next words are etched in your brain. The first words you’ve ever written in the making of the book under your palm. The words that still ring in your ears.

 “I must say, it’s not that I never learned. I learned so much that within the cracks of my broken self, I filled them with empty promises. Promises I never kept. Promises I broke because I believed I’d be fixed in a couple of days. I believed that the space between pieces of me would mend if I made the choice to stay.”

 His hair is unkempt. His eyes are as brown as the healthiest earth. His build is leaner. His face is worn out by horrors you don't dare imagine.

 Flashes of his pleas, his tears, his knocks on your door. You remember them like they were just yesterday. The pain that left a prominent indentation on your heart.

 Tattoos of pain adorn his face. Has he been there the entire time? Do you really care if he was?

 You lock eyes with Spencer, pausing for a moment. You let the past seep in. You unlock the vault of your broken pieces. Let them sing in agony. Let him hear the melody of your suffering.

 And then it stops. They vanish through the air of peace. The relief of moving on.

 You smile at him. The one that started everything.

 “It’s important to know that I always had a choice. And with that is the acceptance that each time I chose wrong.”

reid masterlist | masterlist

[amorchai]

"i'm dead, only way for me to come back to life is by a kiss.” is so jj bae 🥺 I'd love to request this one with jayj and gf reader.

𝐉𝐉 𝐈𝐒 𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐕𝐄𝐃.

pairing(s): jj maybank x female!reader

words: 729

warnings/tags: minor dirty innuendos but nothing sexual whatsoever!

a/n: thank you for the request, my lovey!

the pages of the book that rests in the palm of your hands lightly wave in the breezy air as you lay in the hammock. the soft nudge of a foot against your hip makes you giggle, only causing it to continue.

“jj, stop!” you say, one hand leaving the book as you hold his ankle still. he lays at the other end of the hammock, your thighs atop his as you both sit in a comfortable silence.

of course it didn’t last long with jj involved. “i’m bored,” jj speaks, taking the baseball cap from atop his lying head to rest over his face and shield him from the sun. the gang were elsewhere, and jj insisted on spending time with you, but you were adamant on finishing your current book before the month ended.

“i don’t know how to help you here, j.” he huffs dramatically before moving his cap to look disapprovingly at you, “you’re my girlfriend, it’s one of your majors to amuse me.”

you re-read the page, jj interrupting your book, “that’s dirty,” you murmur. “you know that’s not what i meant… for once,” you hum in disagreement, retracting your foot when your boyfriend tries to tickle it.

“you’re such a toddler,” you muse lightly, leg resting against his chest as you try to get comfy again, starting the same page for the third time. “you know you love me,” jj replies, now reaching a hand to tickle the back of your knee and you squeal his name in annoyance.

“not when i have twenty pages left of my book and you can’t leave me in peace. the quicker i read, the quicker you have me to yourself.” jj huffs again, laying further down into the hammock and gripping your legs to now massage gently.

two minutes go by in silence, if you ignore the huffing and puffing from the other side of the small hammock. however, jj is quick to talk again, “you’re such a slow reader.”

“that’s it! i’m going inside until i finish the book-” you start as you begin to make your departure from the small nook, jj grips your legs in protest, “no, no, don’t leave me.” you continue, “nope, you can stay out here and once i finish my book i’ll come back out and we can do anything you want okay?”

while holding your book, you lean over to peck your annoying boyfriend’s cheek who has a knowing look on his face, “anything?”. you pull away, whacking him softly on the arm with your book, “get your mind out the gutter.”

“don’t leave me, i’ll die of boredom,” despite jj’s attempts of keeping you in the hammock, you messily make your way out, leaving a pouting boyfriend behind. you muse, “guess i’ll see you at the funeral.”

jj crosses his arms, shuts his eyes, and lobs his head to the side, “i’m dead.” you laugh, your boyfriend was the biggest idiot you knew, “jj,” you try but he shakes his head.

“i’m dead, only way for me to come back to life is by a kiss.”

you laugh again and jj sticks his tongue out slightly, a rubbish attempt at faking death. “shame, was just starting to like you as well,” you walk back over, kissing his cheek which then turns a shade of pink.

“wrong kiss, revival denied.”

“you’re an idiot, jj maybank.” jj looks at you through peeked eyes as you watch him amused, “i need the kiss of life.” you roll your eyes, “you just want more kisses,” your finger runs across his warm cheek.

jj smiles, “i don’t make the rules,” he shrugs and you lean down, “you talk an awful lot for a dead guy, maybank.” but you kiss his lips anyway, intending a peck but jj springs to hold the back of your head and kisses back desperately.

“you saved me!” jj muses with a happy chuckle, sitting up as you pull back and shake your head, “i’m dating an idiot.”

jj watches you walk away to the patio door, “and i’m dating my lifesaver, i’ll repay you one day.” looking back, you give him one last expression mixed between love and exasperation, “you can repay me in twenty pages, don’t follow me in.”

however, as you step into the house, jj is already forcing himself out the hammock to follow.

amorchai masterlist . taglist

amorchai © ─ all rights reserved. no reposting/translating/copying will be tolerated.

[apricot-blossomss]

would it be okay to ask for maybe A dionysus/hermes/Apollo x Reader?

The gods just love giving reader multiple praises to the point it completely overwhelms them/pos

(seperate please!)

the greek gods showering mortal!f!reader in praise [apollo, hermes, dionysus x reader]

sfw, cw: mentions of a praise kink, not proofread

feels good to finally upload again, I hope I'll find more time to write next week!

APOLLO

There was perhaps no greater blessing for you personally than listening to Apollo sing, and once one witnessed him, they would find themselves aggreing with you. Which was why you had no objection when Apollo interrupted your little make out session on his settee to ask you wether he could play a song for you. Quite the opposite, actually. But now, you almost regretted it, because you felt like your head was about to explode.

His golden eyes were locked to yours, making you unable to turn your head and hide from the might of his words. Endless praise and adoration fell from his lips in the most beautiful melody. You suddenly realized you were crying, but you made no attempt to wipe the tears away as you were frozen in place, growing hotter by the minute. With newfound intensity, Apollo recited the next verses, lips pulled into a little smile as he flooded your poor helpless mind with words of devotion.

You couldn't do this any longer, you buried your burning face in your hands, overwhelmed by his divine love. The way each word sounded so genuine you began to doubt the very existence of the lie. Nearly shaking, you pulled your legs to your chest and whined. "Oh gods, please stop, it's too much!"

A soft coo made you look back up at him as Apollo played some closing strings and put the lyre aside to pull you into his lap, right were the lyre had sat. Hiding your face in your chest, you attempted to conceal the deep red of your cheeks. "You can't just say stuff like that," you muffled into his tunic and a soft rumble made his chest vibrate.

"Like what?" he asked, caressing your hidden face with his index finger before placing it underneath your chin, guiding your face up to look at him. "It's all true. Every time I look at you, my sunshine, I am lifted, gazing upon a masterpiece that must've been sculpted by a god. Or perhaps, you are your own artist?" Apollo allowed himself a little grin when you let out a loud whine and slapped his chest. Gently, his fingers closed around your wrist as he guided it to his lips to trail kisses up your arm.

"Your smile could rival the warmth of spring itself—it awakens my heart as surely as the season revives the earth." His words were blooming as always, masterfully crafted sentences praising you, as his lips, hushed into a soft whisper, trailed up your arm. "No lyre could ever match the harmony of your laughter. My music is a mere attempt to echo your perfection. You are as brilliant as all the stars of the night sky. Every word you speak is a melody to my ears, every thought of yours a revelation."

His lips reached your shoulder, making their way to your throat that was taken over by a bright pink tone, it felt like your whole body blushed, like the pink blossoms in spring. "You're going to be the death of me," you said breathlessly, burying your hands in his hair and keeping his head in place in the crook of your neck, so he couldn't talk any more of his charming words.

Apollo laughed into your neck, it muffled the sound but couldn't lessen the melody of it. A shuddering breath left your lips as you pulled him closer, and though they flustered you, you savored his words, remembering every little phrase to keep in your heart forever.

HERMES

Gods curse the day Hermes found out you had a praise kink. Because ever since he had realized how much his compliments flustered you, he exploited it maliciously. Humming sweet praises into your ear when you were going about your day and doing the most mundane things, leaving you blushing and spluttering as he retracted with a cackle. Giving you the sweetest compliments anytime he would find you unsuspecting, with your guard down, and utterly humiliating you as your heart would start to race and all you could muster up were weak stutters of embarrassment.

So, when he plopped down on the couch next to you, stretching his limbs after a long day of godly duties and regarding you with that cheeky, mischievous smile, you knew what ideas formed in his head, as if you were able to read his thoughts. Immediately, your flight instinct kicked in as you retreated into the kitchen as quickly as possible- though not fast enough. In the blink of an eye, the sneaky god had caught up to you and dragged you back into the couch with him, pulling you into his lap.

His nose nudged your chin and you could practically hear the smirk in his voice. "How's my beautiful girlfriend doing today?" Ignoring your petty kicking, he giggled. "You know I'm faster than you, you know I know my way around you- though, you know, you’ve got this spark about you—like you could talk your way out of anything. It’s kind of my thing, but I think you do it better."

"You're insufferable," you sighed, though you felt your cheeks heat up embarrassingly. When his fingers trailed over your stomach, you squeaked and pushed them away, making Hermes throw back his head in a loud laugh. For a moment, you were mesmerized by him- the sound of his laugh, the bounce of his curly hair, the way his face lit up, eyes squeezed shut and cheeks pink. Then, he started talking once more.

"I used to think of myself as the best of thieves," Hermes sighed, drawing circles on your thigh. "But you outdo my trickery, love, as you have stolen my heart away from right under my nose." Don't blush, don't blush, don't blush, you thought to yourself, but you knew you were as red as a tomato by now. Stuttering out protests, you felt your stomach constrict in the best way and tried to wiggle out of his arms, a fruitless attempt.

Turning your head, you glared at him, but only got a cheeky smile in return. Hermes tipped his hat and chuckled. "Gods, you're so hot when you're mad." You gave him a deadpan stare and his smile only widened. "And so cute when you're blushing like this. Honestly, sweetheart, I think you could make everything more sexy."

In a final attempt to cut him off before you could make a complete fool of yourself (even more so than you'd already done), you crashed your lips into his. And of course, Hermes would never deny you, so his eager hand shot up to cup your face and tilt it in order to get a better angle to kiss you completely senseless on his lap.

Little did he know, you had been waiting for this moment of weakness. With his hands busying themselves with cradling your face, you jumped out of his lap, evaded his reaching arms and ran upstairs, laughing breathlessly. Of course, he could've caught up with you in an instance, but Hermes seemed determined to give you a fair chase, because when you reached the highest stair, you could hear his voice, still from downstairs.

"Baby, I think that was just about the hottest thing I ever saw."

DIONYSUS

"No cuddles with that breath" you protested, dismissing your lover's drunken attempts to wrap his arms around you. Whining, Dionysus forced himself halfway into your lap, in spite of your slapping at his chest and arms, looking up at you with dreamy eyes, glazed over by the effect of whatever alcohol emitted its odeurs from his mouth. Rolling your eyes, you attempted to shove him off. "If you want to bother someone, go and hang out with your brothers."

"Nooo," Dioynsus gave a long, drawn out protest and you found yourself lamenting how he could be a thousand years old and this childish at the same time. "You are more fun," the god pouted, squinting up at you. You complimented yourself on showing no reaction whatsoever on the outside, but your insides secretly did somersaults.

"If you want fun, why don't you throw a party?" you said dismissively, flicking his temple to which he responded with another whine. At your words, a drunken little smile creeped onto his face. "You make everything more fun, even doing nothing. I swear, you’re better than wine… and that’s saying something."

"If I'm better than wine, how come that's what you have been drinking for the last hours?" you asked with a raised brow. With a genuinely shocked expression, Dionyuss shot up and stared at you wide-eyed. "You're right. I should have been drinking you, you are so much sweeter-"

Groaning, you buried your face in a pillow, considering to suffocate yourself before he could see the blush on your cheeks. Then again, how receptive could he be, in his state? Turns out, very receptive. When you discarded the pillow, his eyes hushed over the pink on your cheeks and he cooed. "Aw, baby, do you like it when I tell you how sweet you are?"

Ignoring your stubborn but whispered 'no thank you', Dionysus threw an arm around your shoulder, continuing to brabble compliments and praises into your ear. Embarrassingly, your cheeks burned even more and the god laughed joyfully.

"Baby, the way you blush... I’ve seen people lose their minds over less."

[roseghoul26]

Part 1: Honey, Don't Feed It...

Logan Howlett | Worst Wolverine x gn!Reader

Synopsis: Logan gets to know his next-door neighbor. Tags: Not Beta Read, Title From Hozier Song, It Will Come Back - Hozier, Next-Door Neighbor, Older Man/Younger Person, Reader Is Mid-20s, Logan Is 200, Reader Is Described As Shorter Than Logan, Gender-Neutral Pronouns For Reader, AFAB Reader, Fem Anatomy, Logan Is Down Bad, Horrendously Actually, He's A Little Pathetic, Alcohol Consumption, One-Sided Attraction, Not Actually One-Sided, Talks Of Masturbation, Tags To Be Added Author's Note: happy to finally see hugh jackman getting the appreciation (simping) he deserves Part 1 ❉ Part 2

Frustrated huffs filled the stairwell as Logan ascended to his apartment. 

Next was the jingle of keys, and curses that would make a sailor blush. It made him chuckle to himself as he reached his floor, not expecting the creator to be on his floor, attempting to get into the apartment next to his. 

He knew someone lived next to him, but he’d never met them. Guess now was a better time than any to make introductions, saying it had been a few weeks since he’d moved in. Your back was to him, piles of groceries in your arms, which was the source of your difficulties as you tried and failed to unlock your door. “Motherfucker…” he heard you grumble, adjusting the groceries that nearly slid out of your arms. 

“You need some help with that?”

You, understandably, jumped, the keys that were once in your hands hitting the floor with a thud. The items in your arms were about to meet the same fate, but you managed to get a hold of them just in time, spinning to face Logan. He had stepped closer to you, yet still kept a good amount of distance, not wanting to scare the shit out of you further.

Wary eyes scanned him before recognition flashed across your features, your tense state relaxing as you deemed him not a threat. He took that as the go-ahead to step closer, keeping his stance casual, hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans. “Let me help ya,” he repeated, no longer offering it as a question. 

“You don’t have to.”

“Please. It’s the least I can do after making it fifty times harder.”

That made you chuckle, a soft noise that made the corners of his lips curl up. “Fair enough,” you took a step back, letting him step into the space beside you to bend down and pick up the keys. “Thank you.”

Waving off your thanks, he thumbed through the various keys on the ring, stopping when he reached one that looked like his. Upon your nod of approval, he stuck it into the door. Tocked turned, but the deadbolt didn’t retract, which elicited a frustrated sigh from you. “It’s been doin’ that for months. If it’s the tiniest bit humid out, or if the universe just fuckin’ hates me that day, it’ll get stuck. You just gotta-” he watched as you jolted your body at the door, a faux shoulder check, “as you turn the key.”

Knowing he would most likely break your door if he bashed his shoulder against it, he opted to just tap it lightly, or at least his version of lightly. It didn’t take a lot of effort for him, the door opening with a creak as the deadbolt finally retracted. With a relieved noise, you entered your apartment, dumping the groceries on the first available surface as Logan pulled the key from the door. 

“God, I owe you one,” you exhaled, returning to Logan who stood in the doorway. “Thank you…” you trailed off, an unspoken question. 

“Logan.” He stuck out his hand, hating the way he hesitated momentarily, hand flinching back.

If you caught it, he had no idea. A warm smile crept across your face as you took his hand, giving him your own name in return. Your hand was warm, gentle in his grip, soft fingers dragging across his palm as you pulled your hand away. It nearly made him shiver. 

Repeating your name, he took this moment to let his eyes wander, to take in your features. He wasn’t blind; you were stunning. The kind of stunning you see out of the corner of your eye, that stops you right in your tracks. The kind of pretty that you remember, that sticks in your mind like a parasite. 

You were shorter than him, but that didn’t surprise him; he towered over most people. But he wouldn’t deny that something primal in him loved the fact that he was taller than you. He stopped his mind from wandering further, but the idea warmed his blood, an inaudible inhale pulled through his nose.

And when you grinned, a bashful laugh escaping your lungs at the way he whispered your name, he couldn’t help but smile in return. He felt like a goddamn kid, stumbling in front of his crush like a fool. But he kept a calm face, ignoring the way his heart began to patter in his chest. 

“You must be Wade’s new roommate, then.”

That caught his attention. “You talk to him, then?”

“More like he talks at me,” you muttered, making Logan chuckle lightly. 

“Yeah, that sounds like him.”

“I was just trying to do my laundry in peace, kept talking about multiverses and ‘Void’ and TVA, and then you. Thought he’d gotten into Al’s stash. Again. Guess I was the fool for not believing him,” you gestured to Logan. 

“Unfortunately, he was tellin’ the truth.”

You hummed curiously, an inquisitive glint in your eye that he couldn’t decide if he liked or not. You opened your mouth, about to speak, before loud yowling from behind you cut you off, making you turn away from him. It was like he could breathe properly again, without the heat of your gaze. 

“Maize,” you admonished, yet with no real bite as you watched the cat that snuck between your legs. It was a brown tabby, on the smaller side, yet with the largest ears he’d ever seen on a cat. In response, the feline let out another yowl, making you shake your head. 

“Maize? As in-”

“Corn, yes. I found her in a cornfield, back a few years ago on a road trip. Silly name, I know. Isn’t that right, Maize?”

Maize meowed in response, not even glancing at Logan. 

“You’re five minutes late to giving them dinner, and they act like you’re starving them.” You sighed melodramatically. 

“Sounds like a roommate.”

“Wade gets on his hands and knees and meows and screams at you until you give him food?” You paused, reconsidering your question. “Actually, it wouldn’t surprise me if he does.” He chuckled when you shuddered at the idea. “I’ll take the cat over… that.”

“If I could do the same, I would.”

“I’m sure there’s something you could do to change that. Though I figure he’d find a way to still talk your head off, even without human vocal cords.” Once again, you paused, this time a flicker of self-consciousness flashed across your face. “And here I am, talking your head off. As if you don’t have enough of that at your place.”

Strangely enough, Logan felt disappointed that the conversation was ending, instead of the usual relief he felt. “You’re doin’ nothin’ of the sort. Promise.”

You seemed to believe him, relief replacing self-consciousness, your lips turning into a soft smile. The sight made his stomach flip. “I won’t keep you any longer. Thank you again, for earlier. It was nice to finally meet you, Logan.”

Once again, he waved off your thanks. “It was nothin’. I’ll see you around?” He hoped he didn’t sound desperate. He used to be so suave, back when he was younger. He used to have everyone wrapped around his finger, them waiting for his next word with bated breath. Now he second-guessed everything he said, praying that he wasn’t crossing a line. He hated it. 

Thankfully, you didn’t seem put off by his question. In fact, a small smile, one softer than all the rest crept up your face, your voice hushed as you responded. “I’ll see you around. Have a good night, Logan.”

He already loved hearing you say his name, even though it didn’t feel worthy to be utter by your lips. You said it like it wasn’t something tainted, scorned, shameful. It was a clean slate, he realized. 

“Goodnight, sweetheart.”

He hadn’t even registered that he’d let the petname slip until after he shut the door, squeezing his eyes shut and regretting every decision he’d ever made. That was until he heard a soft oh being whispered from the other side of the door, and he exhaled a sigh of relief, grateful that he hadn’t royally fucked everything up on the first introduction. 

He felt strange as he walked back to his apartment, a weird confidence in his system that he hadn’t felt in years. There was a small smile on his face when he walked in, one that did not go unnoticed by Wade, who was sitting on the couch when he walked in. 

He thought he could slip to his room unnoticed. How wrong he was. 

“What’s got you smiling like that?” A gasp left him. “Did you finally get laid?”

And just like that, his smile vanished. It was funny, how quickly Wade could do that.

“Shut the fuck up,” he glared at the merc, who looked like a cat who caught the canary. 

“You didn’t say no though,” he responded in a sing-song manner. “So, who’s the lucky girl? Or guy? Or person? Hell, it doesn’t even have to be a human, though I would prefer it if you keep the beast-”

“I didn’t get laid,” Logan ran an exasperated hand over his face. “Because you need to know, I met our neighbor,” he gestured with his head to the apartment next door.

Wade said your name, and he nodded in confirmation, something he immediately regretted when a shit-eating smirk appeared on his scarred face. “And they’ve got you smiling like you’ve just gotten the best fucking head in your life.”

“They didn’t-”

“You wished they did, though,” he waggled his non-existent brows, and Logan was silent for a second too long. “Ah, you’ve got a crush, you old sap!”

“You realize how fucking childish that sounds?”

Wade clicked his tongue. “And, once again, your lack of denial is very telling. I can’t blame you though. They’re quite the catch.” A loud wolf whistle cut through the air. “We used to have a thing, back in the day.”

“You… did?”

“Well, it was more of me flirting and asking them out, and them shutting me down every time. But it was romantic.” A dramatic, dreamy sigh escaped Wade before he raised a brow at Logan’s tense stance. “Ooh, did the idea of me touchin’ them upset you? Jealousy is a good look on you, peanut. The green looks good with all that yellow you wear.” He paused. “Or is it possessiveness? You know, a lot of people find that attractive.”

Wade’s ability to take one small thing and blow it out of proportion stunned him. He was truly at a loss for words, but luckily he was talking to the guy who never ran out of them. “So what are you doing here?”

“Whaddya mean?”

Wade sighed like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Why aren’t you over at their place, you know-” crude finger motions followed his words, and if he weren’t so used to it, he would’ve been embarrassed. “I’ve been dying to hear them get some action. They’ve gotta be lonely, just them and their cat. They’re a bit young to be going full ‘old crazy cat lady’.”

“And that’s just the reason.” Wade cocked his head to the side. “They’re young. Fuck, I’m old enough to be their dad, at least.”

“And that’s an issue because?” Logan was about to respond but was quickly cut off by the other man. “Look, are they a fully matured, consenting adult?”

He didn’t know your age, but if he had to guess, you were somewhere in your mid-twenties. So, he nodded to Wade’s question. 

“Do you hold authority over them? Are you their teacher, their boss, fuckin’ parole officer?”

He nodded no, furrowing his brows. 

“Did they seem put off by you, uncomfortable in any way? Reaching for weapons, looking for ways to escape, threatening you?”

“Is that from experience?”

“Just answer the question,” he responded through a forced smile, teeth gritted. 

“No, they didn’t.”

“Ding ding ding!” Wade chirped, the furrow between Logan’s brow deepening at the noise. “You’ve passed my ‘Am I A Pervert?’ test with flying colors! I’m fresh out of gold stars, though. But you are clear to go get ‘em!”

“I think we’re gettin’ a bit ahead of ourselves,” Logan backtracked. “I’ve just met them.”

“And whose fault is that, you reclusive fuck?” Yet again, he wasn’t given a chance to respond. “Now’s the chance to talk to them! And then-” crude fingers once again were demonstrated by the other man. 

He walked away at this point, shaking his head at Wade’s “advice”. Guilt ate away at him for thinking and talking about you the way they had; he had to put an end to it. You deserved far better, anyway. 

Yet he found his traitorous mind still wandering to you for the rest of the night, a feeling of longing that he hadn’t felt in so long. 

He was fucked. 

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

He had a job now, working in construction in the city. It had been some time since he’d had a “normal” job, but he liked the structure of it. The purpose it brought. And sure, his other skills were used from time to time, but there weren’t any world-ending threats that needed to be taken care of right now. For right now, he got to pretend that he was just Logan. 

Because of his job, it meant that he was out the door before the sun rose, and back home late, different from the 9-to-5 schedule that most other people followed. Up until now, he loved it; he didn’t have to see people as he walked down the hallway, traffic wasn’t busy, and he got to just keep his head down and walk. 

He hated it now. It was ridiculous, the way his eyes now wandered to your door as he passed it, hoping to catch a glimpse of you again. It had been about five days since your initial introduction, and he’d yet to run into you again.

It was another late night as he climbed up the apartment complex’s stairs. If he was any other man, his muscles would've ached from a hard day’s work, but the only exhaustion he could feel was in his mind; it was tiring, getting ordered around all day.

As he reached his floor, the jingling of keys caught his attention, and he was unable to hide the smile on his face when he heard your voice. Making sure his boots stopped against the stairs, he rounded the bend and was met with the sight of you once again trying to get into your apartment, your hands free of any groceries this time.

“You really ought to get that lock replaced.”

He didn’t scare you this time, thankfully. “I’ve put in a request, but that was at least a month ago,” you sighed.

“I could replace it for you.” It slipped out so easily, not even having to think about offering you his help.

You blinked at him, clearly not expecting it. “You… you don’t have to do that.”

“Maybe not. But I’m offering.”

He watched as you tried the lock again but to no avail. It seemed to finalize your decision, a heavy sigh leaving you. “You really would? I… I’ll pay you back. For the new lock.”

“Don’t worry about it, sweetheart. I’ve got it covered.”

Instead of simply hearing your reaction, he got to see the way your eyes widened and then ducked down to avoid his glance. You bit back a smile, though he could still see the corners of your lips curl up, your attempt unsuccessful. “Then at least let me make you dinner, or something,” you countered. 

He could hear the warning bells going off in his mind. He was getting too close; you deserved far better than an old mutant like him. Not to mention the fact that you were still so young. But he was already caught up in the idea of spending some time alone with you, and his heart answered before his mind could. Besides, this wasn’t going to be romantic. He could just be friends with you. Right? “It’s a deal, then.”

He wasn’t expecting you to stick out your hand, but he certainly wasn’t going to deny himself a chance to feel you again. “It’s a deal,” you agreed as he shook your hand. You were still so gentle, barely squeezing his hand; it had been so long since he’d been treated that way.  “Say, you wanna get me into my apartment?” You asked, and he pulled his hand away as you presented your keys with your hand. They jingled as you wiggled them, and he caught a glimpse of a small cat keychain. Cute. 

My apartment is always open, is what he would've said if he, A, lived alone, and B, not still worried about crossing a line. Instead, he kept his mouth shut as he grabbed the keys, playfully rolling his eyes as it was the most laborious task he’d ever been asked to do. That made you giggle, a soft “Thank you, Logan,” being uttered. Screw his job; this made him feel of use, purposeful. Even if it was to just get your door open. He almost wished he didn’t offer to fix the lock, just so that you’d come to him whenever you needed to get in. 

Just like the first time, it only took a light tap from his shoulder as he turned the key for the door to open. “You make it look so easy.” Your eyes ran over his body, across the broad expanse of his shoulders, down his muscular arms, to his forearms that peeked out from beneath his flannel. It was subtle, but your eyes widened a fraction, a reaction that really shouldn’t have made him feel as good as it did. 

He just shrugged, pretending like your not-so-subtle ogling didn’t get his heart hammering. Holding the door open, you ducked beneath his outstretched arm, pulling the keys from the door as you did. “I’ll come and fix it tomorrow.”

Your widened eyes narrowed; he realized you’d momentarily forgotten about his offer, too distracted by him. God, you weren’t even doing anything on purpose, and you’ve got him losing his mind. “I’m lookin’ forward to it.” He could tell you were sincere, a dazzling smile on your face. “See you soon, Logan.”

Your smile was the last thing he saw before he shut the door behind you.

To say he was distracted at work the next day would be an understatement. 

He was a grown-ass man, yet he was as excited as a kid on Christmas when he walked home, stopping by a store to pick up the new deadbolt lock. But beyond the excitement, he could feel his nerves, buzzing and alight after years of dormancy. He then had to remind himself that this wasn’t a date; this was purely platonic. He was just being a good neighbor. Still, that didn’t stop the small shake in his hand as he raised it and knocked on your door. 

For a moment, he worried that you weren’t home after about a minute passed without a response. But just as he was about to knock again, the door swung open, and you stood looking a bit disheveled on the other side. “Sorry,” you panted, “had to wrangle Maize into my bedroom. Don’t want her dashing out while the door’s open.”

“Don’t worry ‘bout it.”

With that, you stepped back into your apartment, wordlessly letting Logan in. Stepping in, he glanced around at the new surroundings, at the space you called yours. Blankets and pillows adorned the couch in the living room on the right, and your kitchen on the left. He saw a pot on the stove and could hear the rapid popping of bubbles as the water in it boiled. The scent of garlic and tomatoes filled the air, something that made his stomach rumble. 

“Do you wanna eat before or after?”

Ah, the lock. Glancing at the plastic bag in his hand, as well as a few tools he’d grabbed, he shrugged. “It shouldn’t take me too long. Ten minutes, max.”

“That’s how long the pasta needs to cook for, so after, then.” You paused a flicker of disbelief on your face. “Only ten minutes?”

“Yeah, about. Why?”

You shook your head, chuckling softly. “You’d think with the way they ignored my request that it would've taken fifty years, but it’s that quick?” Shaking your head again, you turned into the kitchen, your back now to Logan. He took this time to glance around your place, your decorations, the pictures you had framed on the wall. “Thank you, again.”

He was getting distracted. “You don’t gotta keep thanking me, sweetheart,” he responded, making his way to the door and opening it. The sound of splashing water hit his ears as you added the water, slightly louder than what would’ve been expected. It was as if your hands slipped as you poured the pasta. 

He got to work, then, easily able to unscrew and remove the faulty deadbolt lock, setting it aside to be discarded later. He was just about to start installing the new one when he heard you drag out a chair and sit in it, presumably at the table in the kitchen as you waited for the pasta to cook. He could feel your eyes on him, but he found that he didn’t mind. Not at all. 

About of minute of silence passed, the sound of bubbling water filling the air. “You replace a lot of locks?”

“Not a frequent pastime of mine, no. But I’m good with my hands.” 

He caught the double meaning too late, grateful that his back was turned so that you couldn’t see his reaction. But that meant he couldn’t see yours, a cruel price to pay. He knew that if he concentrated, he could’ve used his enhanced senses to know, yet something about that made him feel dirty. 

“You a handyman, then?” He swore your voice was airier than it was before, but maybe he was being delusional.

“Close. Construction.”

“That explains it…”

“Explains what?”

“Your… muscles. It makes sense, then.”

He realized then that you probably had no idea who he was. Who he truly was. He was unsure if a version of him lived on this Earth, and if that version had been a mutant like him. Or maybe they were just a regular human, woven into the thread of society, instead of sticking out like a frayed string. In response to you, he just grunted noncommittally.

“You’re not just a construction worker, are you?”

He stilled, damn near dropping his screwdriver. 

“No offense to construction workers, but I don’t think Wade would’ve dragged one around on his ‘adventure’ if there wasn’t something else to them.”

He turned his head to look at you now and was met with your back as you stirred the pot. But upon his extended silence, you too turned a frown on your lips. “Sorry, that was too much. I- I didn’t mean to pry. You don’t have to answer that.”

The thing was, he wanted to answer you, something he’d never wanted to do before. There was nothing he hated more than questions, but when they came from you, he found that he didn’t mind them. Yet he had no clue how you would react to the truth, and he’d be pissed at himself if he scared you off. “You’re not… wrong,” he began. “I…”

“You don’t have to answer me now. Or ever. But, I should have you know, it probably won’t be the strangest thing I’ve heard. There’s been a lot of crazy shit the last ten years, let’s just say.”

Grateful for the topic change, he resumed screwing the new lock into place. “Oh yeah? Like what?”

You weren’t kidding. The next couple of minutes were filled with you telling him about the various takeovers and attacks on the city and across the world. There was Loki, Ultron, and then something called “The Blip”, just to name a few. “Maybe that explains the cheap rent.”

By this time, he had installed the new lock, making his way to the kitchen. It caught him off guard, how domestic it felt, a deep pining for a life he’d never had, and would never have. It was nice to imagine, though. It had only been about seven minutes, beating the food’s timer. The jangling of keys caught your attention, turning away from the stove to glance at Logan. “Done already?”

He nodded, holding out your new keys. “Go ‘head and try it.”

The smile on your face was infectious as he dropped the keys into your outstretched palm. When you closed the door, he locked it, and even though he trusted his work, he was still relieved to hear the smooth click as the deadbolt retracted, without you having to slam your shoulder in the door. 

Your giddy laughter is what he heard when you came back in, and knowing he was the cause of it made his pride swell. “God, I know you don’t want me to say it again, but thank you. Go on, sit,” you gestured to the table, “You’ve done more than enough for me today.”

The yowling of a cat cut into the conversation, followed by the scratching of wood as Maize pawed at the bedroom door. “Should probably let her out now. Don’t want her to tear apart my stuff,” you muttered to yourself, about to step away to do so.

“I’ve got it.” 

“Logan-”

“I’ve got it,” he repeated, not leaving any room for argument.

You conceded rather quickly, a huff of air leaving you. “Alright. It’s the first door on the left,” you pointed down to the small hallway. “Th-”

A brow raise from him was all it took to get you to stop your unnecessary thanks, a bashful smile appearing on your lips. Shaking his head with a small laugh, he followed your directions, opening up your bedroom.

Immediately, the small brown tabby stuck her head out the door, hesitating when she realized it wasn’t her owner on the other side. A small, pink nose sniffed, large ears flicked back as she took in the unfamiliar scent, her hackles raising slightly. 

Bending down, Logan offered a hand to the feline, who inspected it with weary eyes. But when he didn’t make a move, Maize relaxed some, extending her head so that she could sniff his hand. After a few moments, her ears flicked back up, hackles lowered, and he took that as the go-ahead to pet her. 

Maize let him pet her for all of ten seconds, before scampering out the door and disappearing to somewhere in the apartment. “Are you a cat person, Logan?” He heard you ask as he made his way back to the kitchen. The pasta, spaghetti, he now saw, had been drained, and you were currently dishing up servings for both of you. 

Finally sitting, he flashed you a grateful smile when you set a plate down in front of him, but no matter how badly his hungry stomach wanted to, he didn’t dig in yet. “Not particularly. But I don’t mind ‘em.”

With a hum that made it seem like you didn’t quite believe his indifference, you quickly finished setting the table, setting your own plate opposite of his. “You want something to drink? I’m afraid I don’t have a lot of variety, I… I don’t get a lot of guests.”

It was at that moment Wade’s words came trickling back into his mind. You lived alone, that much was clear, but it seemed there wasn’t anyone sharing your company. It sparked a bit of hope in his chest, something he immediately stomped out. This didn’t mean anything, as much as he wanted it to. 

“You got whiskey?”

He expected the shake of your head. “I’ve got a bottle of red wine that’s covered in cobwebs. Can’t guarantee it’s anything spectacular.”

“If that’s what you’re having, then I’ll take it too.”

Before long, two glasses of wine joined the plates, and you were about to seat yourself before Logan stood, pulling out your chair. He hadn’t lost all of his manners, it seemed. Your wide eyes crinkled as you smiled, not expecting him to help you in, but letting him do so nonetheless. 

A comfortable silence fell over you two as you began to eat, something that was broken by an appreciative noise from Logan. You paused mid-bite, your expression unreadable. “Is it good?”

“Delicious,” he responded. “Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve had a proper meal like this?”

A flicker of relief flashed across your face. “You don’t cook much?”

“Fuckin’ terrible at it. Don’t have much time for it, anyway.”

“Well, I always make too much, so if you’re ever hungry…”

How could he tell you there was a different hunger festering in his gut, something that only you could satiate? “You’re spoiling me,” is what he said instead. “I might just have to take you up on that.”

“Please do.”

The rest of dinner was filled with comfortable chatter, questions being asked on both sides. He learned more about you, your job, where you went to school, where you grew up. And with every sentence that left your lips, he found that little “crush”, as Wade called it, sinking its claws deeper into his heart, sharper than the ones in his hands. 

You were so animated when you talked, your eyes lighting up when Logan implored further like you couldn’t really believe that he cared. You were interesting, yet in a normal person's way. It had been so long since he simply talked with someone who wasn’t like him, who wasn’t enhanced, mutated, whatever. He found he rather enjoyed it, and not just because it was you, although that part did help significantly.

The conversation continued even after the plates were empty and the wine drunk. He found it so easy to talk to you. There weren’t any expectations, any judgments, nothing like that. You were innocently curious, with no ulterior motive behind your questions. You just wanted to get to know him. He was fully prepared for you to ask more about him not just being a construction worker, but you never asked. He couldn’t tell if it relieved him.

He also couldn’t tell if you wanted more. 

Sure, your eyes wandered as he spoke, running over his exposed skin, where his flannel and shirt didn’t cover. And when he did eventually shrug off his top layer, resting in on the chair back behind him, he watched as your eyes jumped to his arms, trying your damnest to be subtle. 

But he just wasn’t sure. Would you recoil if he were to brush against your fingers, where your hand sat outstretched on the table? Would you be uncomfortable, disgusted, if he were to cross that line? Would this whole thing crash and burn before it even left the ground? Was this even a thing?

So he kept his desire locked tight, some of it escaping in small compliments and light, teasing remarks. And he spent the rest of the night wondering what if.

But eventually, like all good things, the night had to end. He hadn’t even realized how late it was until you yawned, stretching back on the couch the two of you had migrated to. You sat on one end, Logan on the other, a full cushion’s distance between you, which was occupied by a cat. You rested your back against the armrest, knees tucked up into your chest, reaching down to mindlessly pet Maize. 

Glancing over at the clock on the stove, he cursed. “Shit, I didn’t even realize how late it was.” He wasn’t kidding, having gotten so caught up talking with you. To him, it only felt like an hour had passed, at most. 

But he now saw the way your eyes drooped, though there was still a small smile on your face, one that hadn’t really faltered the entire night. “It’s alright. I didn’t either,” you chuckled, leaning back as you stretched. He had to force his eyes to your face so that he didn’t watch the way your shirt rode up. “God, I haven’t talked that long in… years.”

“Me neither. I’m surprised you haven’t gotten fuckin’ sick of the sound of my voice.”

“Nah, I don’t think that’s possible. You… never mind.” The way your eyes widened, he realized you were about to say more than you intended.

Well, now he was curious. And the tiniest bit hopeful. “You…?” 

You weren’t looking at him anymore, staring holes into your cat. “You have a nice voice,” you whispered, barely audible. 

Logan has heard enough pick-up lines, enough flirtatious remarks to fill up a book, yet none of them got his body warming like your simple compliment. Sure, you weren’t confident in your delivery, but it was honest, not just said to get him in your bed. “You think so?” He hadn’t meant to pitch his voice lower, but he knew you weren’t complaining. 

You had lifted your head more upon not hearing his rejection of your compliment, and he watched as your throat bobbed as you swallowed, nervous. “Yeah,” your voice was breathy, but he couldn’t tell if it was from nerves or desire. 

He wanted to touch you. He craved it more than any cigar, any drink. His fingers twitched from where his arm sat slung over the back of the couch, and he watched as your eyes flicked to them. But he didn’t move, no matter how badly he wanted to. The ball was in your court now. 

“I-I should probably let you get home.”

He tried to not feel the sting of rejection. You probably should, before something happens that you’ll regret. “Yeah, okay.” With a tense smile, he eased himself up from the couch, you following behind him, the cat by your feet now glaring angrily at you for disturbing her rest. 

Picking up his flannel from the dining chair, he felt your eyes on him as he moved, everything about your demeanor now uncertain. But he didn’t push it; you made your choice for tonight, and he’d never force you to choose otherwise, no matter how much he wished you would. 

It was when he stood in your doorway that he finally turned to face you. “Thank you, for dinner,” he smiled, this one less forced. “And for the company.”

“I should be the one thanking you, but I know you’d just tell me I’ve thanked you enough,” you chuckled, some of the tension dissipating. “I… I had a good time tonight.”

“I wasn’t kidding, earlier. I’d like… you’re welcome over, anytime. For whatever reason.”

And just like that, that little flicker of hope that he’d held the entire night reignited. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

That made you grin. “Good. I’m home pretty much every night, so don’t be afraid to knock. I’ll see you later, Logan.”

“Goodnight, sweetheart.”

He liked the way you ducked your head when you were a bit embarrassed. “Goodnight.”

It was nearly midnight when he arrived home, getting the shit scared out of him when Wade sat up, Frankenstein-style, from the couch. “Fuck,” he grumbled, retracting his claws back into his hand, though he considered slashing into the other man for startling him. The only thing that held him back was that he didn’t want to have to clean the blood out from the couch. Again. 

“Earth to Logan,” Wade knocked against his own head. “Anyone home?”

He rolled his eyes but didn’t dignify him with a response. Wade, of course, didn’t like that, jumping from the couch and cutting Logan off as he tried to head to his room. “What’s got you so distracted?” Wade continued. “Maybe a certain… neighbor?”

He really needed to get better at not hesitating before he responded, Wade’s eyes widening as Logan’s lack of response answered yet another question. “Oh, shit. Oh, shit!” An almost victorious laugh left him, punching Logan in the shoulder. He didn’t budge, a scowl appearing on his face, which was almost like a second skin. 

Despite what an outsider might think, Logan didn’t hate Wade. He would never admit it, but he rather enjoyed the eccentric man’s company; he was opposite to him in so many ways, offering a new perspective. He’s talked about many a subject with Wade, and never once had there been a topic that he didn’t want Wade’s input on. 

Until now. 

He couldn’t stand the fact that Wade was talking about you, talking about his “relationship” with you. Maybe Wade was right. Maybe he was possessive. But for once in his life, he wanted something that was just his. He wanted to create something without the help of others, something without outside influence. 

But he was never good with his words. And he was certain that Wade would never let it go if he tried to explain why he hated hearing your name leave his mouth. So he just grumbled a familiar, “Fuck off,” hoping Wade got the message.

Wade, as he should’ve expected, didn’t get it. Or he just chose to ignore the warning in his voice. Either way, Wade continued on like Logan hadn’t uttered a word. “You were over at their place, weren’t you?” 

There were some days he swore that Wade could read his mind. “I was fixing their door,” was what he finally muttered, indirectly agreeing to his question. 

“And that took,” Wade glanced down at his wrist, which was notably absent of any watch, “Almost five hours? Didn’t realize rearranging their-”

“For the love of- there was none of that. I fixed their door, they made me dinner, and then we talked.” He didn’t dare mention that he had been on your couch, your compliment still ringing in his ears. 

“Talked?”

“Yes.” A scoff from Wade made him scowl. “What?”

“Did you lose your balls in the Void? You didn’t make a single move? Oh, how the mighty have fallen.”

“It wasn’t like that. They don’t-”

“Oh, but they do. God, I forgot all your stats were put into strength, you dense fucker. People don’t spend hours talking to someone they're not interested in. And they don’t just make dinner for anyone.” He paused. “What did they make, anyway?”

“Does it matter?”

“Yes.”

He sighed. “Pasta.”

“With wine?”

A singular nod. 

It nearly startled him, the bark of laughter that left Wade. “Oh, my sweet summer child,” two scarred hands now rested on Logan’s cheeks, and he was too confused to brush them off. “They wanna fuck you.”

That snapped Logan out of his confused daze, slapping Wade’s hands away with more force than was necessary. It wasn’t like he could do lasting damage, anyway. “Those have no correlation, you dumbass.”

“Uh, have you ever seen The Lady and the Tramp? You know, the one with the two dogs, and then the spaghetti, and then they fu-”

“I don’t think that’s how the movie goes-”

Wade waved him off. “What I’m trying to say is that they made, like, the most romantic dinner for you, and you didn’t think that they wanted you?”

This was another reason why he shouldn’t talk to Wade about this; he was getting his hopes up. With a huff, he shoved past Wade, who, thankfully, let him go. At least, only a few feet.

“Did they invite you back?”

He debated ignoring him, but the serious tone Wade had taken intrigued him. “Yeah, whenever I want.”

“And do you plan on it?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Don’t lose this. Don’t lose them. You… you’ll regret it.” There was a pause, the fresh familiarity to Wade’s words made him stumble. But just as that sincerity appeared, it vanished, Wade clapping his hands together. “Well, I’ll be sure to steer clear of your door tonight, while you work out your… frustrations. Sweet dream, peanut.”

Logan just grumbled something in response, failing to see the small, rare frown that pulled at Wade’s lips, and failing to notice the way his words had fallen flat, how forced they’d seemed. He was too caught up in his own thoughts, the events of the night playing on repeat in his mind.

He doesn’t even remember getting ready for bed that night. He was suddenly in his bed, which felt colder than it had ever felt before, too large for his body alone. And his mind would shut up, no matter how much he pleaded with it to be silent.

Was Wade right? Had you wanted more? Do you still want more? Or had his cowardice driven you to believe that he wasn’t interested? If he knocked on your door right now and explained himself, would you let him in, or slam the door back on his face? If he had made a move, would things have played out differently? Would he have not spent the night alone, then?

Not only were questions bouncing around freely, but he couldn’t stop thinking about you. How sweet you’d been, almost sickly, enough to make his teeth rot. Your gentle smile, the one that made fucking butterflies erupt in his stomach. Your laugh, fuck, your laugh was addicting. And it was even more so when he was the one who caused it. 

Wade was wrong. His mind didn’t wander to improper images conjured up by a lustful mind, even though he expected him to. No, the images that repeated in his mind were completely innocent, yet the tension building in his abdomen, the tightening of his pants told another story. You hadn’t even done anything to elicit this kind of reaction, yet here he was, like a horny fucking teenager. He felt pathetic, honestly. 

It would be so easy, to sneak a hand down, to pretend like his hand was yours, and relieve that ache. But as soon as he began to inch his fingers downward, guilt hit him like a goddamn train. He’d never be able to look you in the eye if he fucked his fist to the thought of you. It was wrong, to say the least. He barely knew you, and no matter how much his heart wanted to believe that you wanted him, he still didn’t know.

Clenching his hands so hard that his nails tore into the flesh of his palm, he flipped over in his bed with a pained noise, but not because of the self-inflicted injury. Longing cut deeper than any wound that had ever torn his body, and guilt was the salt to it. 

He didn’t sleep well that night.

[sovasleepy]

touch me

[omen x gn!reader] - you were surprised when omen, a phantom of a man, wanted to date you. you were more surprised when he wanted you to touch him. even more so when he wanted you to kiss him.

notes - i love him so bad. anyway, it’s implied that omen got horny and is also very very touch deprived, but that’s all

omen had a weird way of courting you. in his attempts at flirting he was his usual solitude, short-spoken self. he would leave flowers and gifts either in complete silence or with few words of you were lucky. compliments were sincere, but short.

you hadn’t even realized he was complimenting you the first time he did so. he had been watching you, and when you tilted your head in confusion he gave you a simple “stunning” in his usual gravelly voice. after that, he had disappeared in a wisp of black smoke and disappeared for the next several hours.

however, as you finally talked through things and understood each other’s feelings, there was the blatant issue of his form. you didn’t mind it, not really. it was… odd at first. but you got used to it.

until one day, his familiar black form materialized next to you.

“why don’t you touch me?”

it was one question, but it froze you in place. what kind of question was that? he was the one that hated to be touched, so why was he asking you that?

“well,” you finally found your voice to respond. “you don’t like people touching you. it’s not that i don’t want to, but it’s not something that i have to have to be with you. i’m not going to force you, y’know? and we haven’t exactly… done anything, so i haven’t had the real need to.”

“you aren’t everyone.” he answered simply. a few beats passed. “and i would like to.”

“you want me to touch you?”

he was quiet for another few moments. “yes. and… kiss.”

you smiled at him. “baby steps first.”

he seemed to nod, then took a small step towards you as if to give you permission. you took one last look up to his face, then to his arm. the fabric encircling it was cold to the touch, but solid nonetheless. you ran you hand up and down the cloth, wondering if he could feel it.

you got your answer in the low groan that escaped him.

at first, the noise had scared you off of him. afraid that somehow you had hurt him, you retracted your hand from him and looked at him for any sign of anger or pain.

instead, omen latched onto you. his arms came to encircle you and his head tucked into the crook of your neck, breathing you in. his shadows swirled wildly around him, before settling in more calmly than they usually were. he felt cold in a weird way you couldn’t describe, but it was nice.

you noticed the rumbling hidden in omen’s throat wasn’t a noise of pain or discomfort, and instead something akin to a purr.

your arms came up to his shoulders. you pulled him back slightly, and for a moment he seemed to falter. but your eyes slipped closed and your lips found his.

the purr drifted into something like a groan as omen pulled you closer. his lips were cold, too, down to the way his tongue licked at your lip. the kiss deepened, and omen silently requested access. you obeyed. his tongue found entry as his shadows swirled into tiny, painless pinpricks across your face. his tongue lapped at you, which made a low whine escape from the phantom.

he pulled back slightly, lightly biting your lower lip as he went. he hid his face in your shoulder.

“we… should stop.” he finally said. “thank you.”

[jolalibrary]

17. tangerine dreams

frankie morales x f!reader | chapter seventeen of do me yourself

summary: a meet-cute in a hardware store? impossible, out of the question. except, that's exactly what happens. a need for screws leads you to a broad-shouldered, brown-eyed man who you're sure is about to change your day, never mind your life.

wordcount: 4.1k chapter warnings: dad!frankie. frankie calls you 'rainy' (paint-related from chp.1) no other descriptions or name used. no use of y/n. flirting. too idiots who clearly want to have a future together. a little anxious rainy. an: i love them i love them.

prev chapter | series masterlist

key: frankie is in bold, you are in italics

You didn't mean to, but your finger presses the screen again.

It illuminates, unveiling the time and how another three minutes have ticked on by. A sigh quickly escapes, nostrils flaring from your exhale as you shake your head at how time passes slowly, as though shuffling its feet to become a bit later.

It shouldn’t bother you, should be able to quiet the irrational from spreading into faux reality.

Because things happen, days get away—

His work could be insane, Luca could be ill; he could have written the message out and not clicked send. All things which are plausible, possible. All good enough reasons to not have woken to a good morning text or have heard from him by lunch.

Yet, you stare at the unread message.

Unread messages.

It’s irrational. Baseless. Yet the worries mount like they’re pressing down on your bones and making your head swim in a sea of doubt as they remain unanswered, unread, unnoticed.

Your eyes blur around the way your messages are sitting there, unable to be retracted. All plural in nature. The words ‘sent’ sitting under them, as memories swirl from the conversation the two of you shared after you’d slipped into bed.

It had been warm, usual, no sign of anything changing—but he had been quiet. Less talkative. You had needed to prod him a few times by name for him to hum, and come back to you.

And now, you’ve woken and it's hard not to believe everything feels different. From your home feeling unfamiliar to the quietness you’ve been plunged in.

Maybe, it had been too much too soon. Maybe you'd overstayed your welcome and he was attempting to retract his three words and his promises and his—

Shaking your head, you rub your eyes with the base of your palms. A scream burning on your tongue. Because he isn't them, he's Frankie.

Good, kind.

And you wish he were here. A thing you can’t say. Not again. It had already slipped out last night, through the cracks of comfort; murmuring itself past your lips before he wished you goodnight. It had slipped out, escaping—

Home is you, Frankie.

You can’t remember his reply. Can’t remember if he thought it was cute or sweet, or if he was horrified and filled with dread.

A thing which tangles up inside of you, becomes matted, and clogged. Not able to be broken apart when you step under the water from your shower. Finding yourself shattering instead, breaking, soap lathering and washing away, repeating, as you conjure all the things you could have said that may have upset him. The jokes, the quietness last night; the flirting and the fact you spoke to his ex. It builds, morphing, twisting, doing so until your skin prunes and no more tears are blurring with droplets.

It forces an opening, one where unruly thoughts can break through, prizing itself open as your finger presses the screen again.

Because it’s always this way. Interested, until they’re not. In love, until they aren’t. Staring as the black screen goes dull again. Memories of past relationships where messages went unanswered for days, leading only to painful goodbyes, flashed through your mind.

Fingers pinching the backs of your forearm, almost bruising, doing so until your eyes stop springing fresh pain and the towel becomes another heavy thing constricting you.

Fool. You think it—digging it into flesh. Again. And again as you dress, as you hang your towel. Burying your nails so deep you could rationalise it as the reason tears drop down your cheek as you wander into your almost finished office, crouching in the centre, readying for a sob to escape, to leave—

“Rainy?”

The slam of your front door ripples through the house, hearing it a clatter of keys, wallet, hat—more thuds than placed—as your fingers brush away your sobs, wipe them as though they never existed, standing up from your crouched position to face him. To stand two strides from him.

Frankie's usually warm eyes are shadowed with exhaustion, but you spot them softening as they meet yours, tinged with concern, love.

And he’s holding his phone up, a crack right down the screen—little lines running from it, fractured so similarly to how you must appear right on the inside.

“I broke my phone, well Luca broke my phone, but—”

You exhale—both in relief, in thankfulness, and also because it allows you to fill your lungs. To calm yourself. To banish the shadows away to find the strength for yourself to walk across to him.

Because a past version of you would have shrunk more in yourself. Taking the warning, the fear, and used it to build walls that would keep him out. But you're not that person, not now.

Not just because of him, but because of you. The choices, the decisions, the little things that led you down a path to not needing, but finding him all the same.

“—we was having a morning. Slept through my alarm, and then drop off, and then Harold—”

His words halt with an oof as your head presses itself into his chest, and you inhale. The faint scent of his cologne mingled with the smell of freshly brewed coffee, which lets your heart rate calm before his fingers tease the back of your neck. Rooting you, helping you unknot the last ropes of worry and panic.

“I love you,” you whisper, right against his heart, feeling his fingers slide around the side of your neck, hooking under your chin.

And you repeat it. Softer, swathed in a sigh—relief.

Feeling his face burying itself in the top of your head, a kiss given, one pressing to your forehead when you lift, to your nose, and then your lips.

Biting your lip, fingers sliding over his chin, his jaw—tentatively brushing the wiry hair and the soft dimple that begins to appear—as he asks, you okay?

Nodding, swallowing. Burning the panic that had been bubbling in you all morning.

“Just worried you’d had enough of me.”

He whispers your name—each letter, each syllable—before following it with never, I've missed you so much.

And you believe him. You believe him.

How’s my lover?

Still getting used to this new phone. But, outside of that, my son told me that I look old because my hair has grey bits in it, and then I got to work and gave myself a splinter.

I meant Harry, but that’s a lot baby, I’m sorry.

You’re awful to me.

Would me offering to suck your splinter out help?

You fancy using your key tonight?

Starting to think you hate being by yourself.

I appreciate you giving me time with Luca, but I miss you. A lot.

Is there pizza and uno?

I can promise you one of those things.

Tssst. Only one?

Was thinking Chinese and uno?

Sold.

Unlike days ago, alone, wishing for his voice, this morning you’re woken by fingers on your ankles, lips on your lower spine. All soft strokes, interchanging with drags.

“Need you to get up so I can show you something.”

Groaning, lashes fluttering on your cheek, turning your head on the pillow, you find his skin glossed in sweat, wearing the tell-tale signs that he’s been up for a while.

“Frankie…”

“Shh. Surprise time,” he whispers.

Body crawling up the bed as you turn in his sheets, both hands taking either side of his cheek, bringing his mouth to yours. It’s intimate, intense—right. You taste coffee on his tongue, hoping your own breath doesn’t taste half as bad as you can imagine the morning could be.

Whispering, urging you to come on, to get up, even as he lowers his body on top of yours. As he tries to move the duvet and slots your knee over his jean-covered hip.

“Making it really hard to get up.”

“You’re not making it hard for me to get up.”

Laughing, head tipping back as his grinning mouth trails kisses up your neck. Feeling his other palm slide up your stomach, right under the t-shirt you’d stolen from him.

“You know I’ve seen your cock before, if that’s the impressive thing you’re showing me.”

Snorting, he hovers his face over yours, finger tapping the tip of your nose.

Twenty minutes later, your fingers are knotting through his as he leads you through his house. The morning air is crisp, the sun filtering through the trees as he leads you out of the back door. Half-dragged, and still a little sleepy, Frankie’s hand is warm and steady around yours, leading you outside.

“C’mon, just a bit further,” he coaxes gently, voice a soothing balm against the early morning chill.

You squint against the light, noticing the faint scent of paint lingering in the air. Frankie finally stops, his hand releasing yours as he rubs the back of his neck, and you see it.

The table. The one from a yard sale a few weeks ago—as your eyes flick to his, fingers teasing through his curls, a habit you’ve come to adore.

“I um… tried to strip it back, see what shade it was first,” he began, his voice tinged with nerves. “But I know you love this colour, so I thought—”

Your breath catches in your throat as you take in the sight. The garden table, the one you’d both made an entire fake scenario around weeks ago, joked that you’d serve him lemonade and bake him cookies. And now, it’s here, a beautiful, vibrant shade of butterscotch, all freshly painted and gleaming in the morning light.

Emotion wells up, your chest tightening as you realise the effort and thought he’d put into it.

“I—I love it, Frankie,” you manage to say, voice choking up. “I… you went and got it?”

Glancing at the ground, arms folding across his chest as he nods. “Right after I dropped you to meet your friend.”

His hand scratches at his arm, pausing mid-scratch, eyes widening into a joyful smile as though all your words dawn on him. “You like it?”

You nod, swallowing hard. “You… god, I don’t deserve you.”

His grin widens, before he pulls you close, wrapping you in his arms, kissing your cheek, the gesture tender, reassuring.

“You did this.” Your fingers slide up his cheek, not forcing the tears back like you’d usually, kissing him. “You bought us furniture?”

“Yeah,” he says, as if it’s nothing, finger-swiping your tear away as his breath warm against your skin. “Told you, it’s you and I”

You nod, resting your head against his chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat grounding you. “You and me, technically.”

He kisses a laugh to your lips.

Me and Benny have decided that yoga would kill you and Will.

You enjoy your class?

I did. I think Benny is still working out what he feels. At one point he asked me to put him out of his misery.

Did you?

Yes, I’ve committed murder.

Well, wouldn’t be the first time. You in that lace set the other week—still think I died there and you brought me back.

Mouth-to-mouth really is something special, isn't it? Oh, Benny’s decided that in your next training session, you’re doing yoga.

Baby, I’ve seen you, I don’t think I can do that.

Oh, you can't.

Did you tell him that?

Yeah. He's still laughing.

The music, which has been blasting from your phone for the last ten minutes in the background, suddenly dies on your phone. Glancing over, suds sliding down your arm, you see his face and name light up the screen, bringing an automatic smile to your face.

“Hey, handsome—” you greet, your voice filled with warmth.

“I’d like it on the record,” he says, the rumble of his engine coming through the call, accompanied by the click of a turn signal, “yoga isn’t for me.”

A grin spreads across your face as you drop the plate back into the water, splashing yourself in the process. “He made you do it, didn’t he?”

“He fucking made us do it,” he replies, the exasperation in his voice tinged with humour.

You dry your hands on your jeans and pick up your phone, sliding into one of the chairs in the kitchen. “I owe him ten dollars now,” you say, your tone playful.

“He said.”

Laughing softly, you bite the nail on your thumb, a habit he has begun teasing you about. You listen as he starts recounting the names he was subjected to in the yoga class, his deep voice filling the silence of the room. Names such as Goddess Squat, Cat and Cow, Table and others fall like a list, listening, occasionally helping when he struggles with the name.

“—Baby, I don’t know how you do it,” he says, a mix of admiration and incredulity in his voice.

You pull a knee up to your chest, resting your chin on it as you smile, the affection in your eyes carrying through your voice. “Practice.”

“Yeah, well. I don’t know if I’ll be doing it again,” he admits, and you can hear the grin in his voice.

“I told him you’d struggle with it.”

“Struggle? Baby, struggle is a nice word for what Will and I looked like.” Sniggering, all attempts at burying it in your hand fail as you pretend to clear your throat. “I heard that.”

“Not sure what you mean, Butterscotch.” He grumbles something as your elbows come to rest on either side of your phone. “You want me to massage you, baby?”

“Fuck… don’t do this to me, Rainy. I’m driving.”

Smirking, biting the nail on your index. “I’d warm lotion in my hands, press my palms to your back—”

“Fuckin’ Christ, baby.”

“I’d have to be naked, obviously.”

You press your thighs together when you hear him groan through the phone.

I need you to be free Saturday.

You need me?

Always. But I specifically need you to be free on Saturday.

Leave it with me. Can I know what I’m required for?

No.

Ominous.

It’s a surprise. A birthday surprise. Do you trust me?

I wondered when that would come back around.

I take that as a yes?

Of course. Just checked, I’m all yours.

Harry be okay?

He said he can ask his nephew to help out.

Is he doing okay?

He’s currently making puns about a new product, so I’m going to assume yes.

The car hums softly as you drive.

The late morning sun casts a golden glow across the dashboard. Frankie is sitting beside you, a puzzled smile playing on his lips as he glances periodically at you, trying to decipher your secret—whatever it is up your sleeve.

He interchanges between resting his hand on your thigh, fingers tapping a light rhythm that matches the song playing on the radio or re-picking a new station.

“Alright, Rainy,” he says, a heavy curiosity in his voice. “Are you ever going to tell me where we're going?”

You glance at him, heart fluttering at the sight of his easy grin and the way the sunlight highlights the flecks of gold in his eyes and the little flecks of silver coming through in his curls.

“Not yet,” you reply, a playful lilt in your tone. “You'll just have to be patient a little longer.”

Chuckling, he shakes his head. “You know I'm not good at that.”

“Oh, I know. But trust me, it’ll be worth it.”

The landscape outside the car window begins to change, the city giving way to rolling hills and lush greenery. As the song changes, you steal another look at him, watching him mouthing the lyrics to the song playing before his expression shifts from curiosity to realisation as you near your destination.

Finally, you turned onto a narrow road that winds through a grove of trees, the sunlight dappling the ground in patterns of light and shadow.

And, Frankie’s eyes widen. A spark of recognition ignited in them.

“Is this—?”

You smirk, unable to contain your excitement—stomach doing flips as you slowly begin to nod. “I thought maybe it was about time you introduced me, even in passing, to your first love.”

He’s leaning forward, seatbelt tense against his chest, hand on your dusty dash as the sun streams in and highlights the way his fingers go white from the pressure.

Picking a spot in the gravel, you put it into a park, killing the engine, staring off at the open field—where two helicopters are parked. Nervousness rolls, balling up as you give him a moment, staring ahead, resisting the urge to glance over and see his reaction. See if you've gone too far. Remembering the way Benny's brows had lifted when you'd asked when you'd told him your plan.

Maybe it hadn't been surprise at the kindness, but surprise at the audacity, at the balls—

It's then you feel his hand on your leg, squeezing. Dragging your eyes to him to find his smile so far into his cheeks, making you wonder if you could get lost in his dimples. His eyes are nothing but softness, so full of affection and nostalgia, you think your chest inflates with love.

“Rainy...

It leaves his lips all thick with emotion, as you squeeze his hand on top of your thigh. “Come on, handsome.”

Exiting, walking to the front of the car, you extend your hand, able to breathe a little easier when he slides his fingers within yours.

“Meet Robert—Robbie,” you say quickly, watching Frankie shake his hand—brows knitted together in confusion he tries to hide over the rest of his face. “He’s a friend of Benny’s—and he has a helicopter.”

Frankie’s head turns to you, eyes still a little wide.

“Now, it’s up to you. It’s your birthday gift. But, if you want to go up in it, you can, Robbie can be your co-pilot—I showed him a photo of your old license and Benny helped fill in some things for you. But, if you want to stay on the ground, show me around the cockpit,” you smirk, leaning into him. “I’ve packed us a picnic. It’s in the back of my car.”

He whispers your name.

Not your nickname, your real name. It's all soft, flowy—so gentle as it passes his lips and kisses the air as he stares at the helicopter ready.

Moving closer, hand sliding along his lower back, you stare at his eyes as they move to yours, dropping your voice, “I know you haven’t flown since… then. I don’t think it’s a waste if you want to stay on the ground. But, if you do, I’ll suspend my belief that I’m not going to feel some kind of way about being so high up.”

“You scared of heights?”

“I’m not the biggest fan of being in the air in a small metal contraption?”

Snorting, rolling his jaw, he frowns, before his face smooths out and he cups your face, his eyes searching yours. “You’re amazing, you know that?”

Warmth spreads over your cheeks, feeling the heat of his gaze. “I just wanted to do something special for you.”

He kisses you then, slow and sweet—the kind of kiss which makes time stand still. Almost forgetting everything, the wind, the sound of it dancing through the leaves as your arm slides around his neck, hips moving closer to his when his hand finds a home there.

It’s only when he finally pulls away, his forehead resting against yours, and you feel his breath mingling with yours, do you think about poor Robbie who has thankfully walked back to a hanger.

Frankie looks past you, something unreadable stretching out across his face. Assessing, almost calculating—a face you’re coming to know well. Spotting the slight narrowing of one eye, the way his teeth bite the inside of his lower lip and his nostrils flare.

“Can I show you around?”

Offering your hand, he takes it, sliding his fingers slowly between yours, knitting your palms together. With a playful grin, he guides you around the helicopter. At first quietly, before he points, clears his throat and begins explaining something.

From then on, it’s hard for him to be quiet. Each part is shown, the door opening and shifting you in front so you can clear, as his voice rings with the passion and precision of someone who has spent countless hours in a cockpit like this one. His fingers trace the curves of the fuselage, his eyes sparkling as he describes the functions of the rotor blades, the tail boom, and then back to the cockpit instruments.

You listen, captivated. Not only by his knowledge but by the joy that radiates from him as he speaks—even if you struggle to follow. Even if your nod feels hollow and you’re lost in watching him talk so enthusiastically about something that you’re so new to.

Then, your stomach grumbles. Eyes widen, his voice trailing off as he stares at you, before slowly grinning.

“Shit.”

“You hungry?”

Face scrunching, wearing a face nothing short of apologetic, you bury your head into his chest. “I was so nervous I didn’t want to eat before the drive.”

He kisses your head, burying an, “Oh, Rainy” against your hair before he moves an arm around you.

“You say you packed a picnic?” You nod. “Alright, well I could eat.”

“Are you just saying that? Because I feel like we’ve barely touched the cockpit.”

Smirking, kissing your forehead again. “Let’s eat.”

Taking charge of spreading out the blanket, choosing a spot right near the helicopter—Frankie quickly catches up with Robert. Doing a little half-run back to you as you set out the plates, the glasses.

“You tell on me that I touched his leaver?”

“Yeah. I said, my girlfriend—who you told not to touch anything—touched everything. Practically licked your leaver.”

Heat flushes your cheeks at the word girlfriend. Even if you've been it for so long, it still makes joy bloom across your face, your skin and makes your ears warm as blood rushes to them. So much so, that you dip your chin, digging into the basket for the sandwiches from the place he likes, and the snacks you’d managed to make.

“You should be careful saying that sentence to anyone not on this airfield.”

There’s a pause, and then he laughs.

Joining you, sinking to his knees first before sitting more comfortably when you hand him a foil-wrapped sandwich.

It isn’t until you take a bite of your own, do you feel your muscles relax. Your body sag, falling into its natural place as the conversation, as it always does, flows easily. Your mind calming, relaxing from all the worries last night of possible annoyance, maybe even anger—hurt and all others.

Instead, it’s all punctuated by laughter, by smiles, and the occasional brush of his hand against yours.

“Happy birthday,” you say, pressing it to his lips.

His thick fingers, glide over your neck, around the side, remaining at the back as he swallows. Before there’s a thank you against your lips, against your cheek, before your fingers find a grape, and pop it against his mouth.

Chewing, he smirks, you slide to sit beside him as you grab another chip from the open bag.

It's quiet, but comfortable as the two of you eat the food, the sun cresting in the sky, as Frankie slowly leans back on his elbows, looking thoughtful.

“You know,” he begins, a mischievous glint in his eyes, his gaze locking onto yours. “Would you like to see the sky?”

Your heart skips a beat, excitement and nerves mingling in your chest. “Really? You’d take me up?”

He sat up, his expression earnest. “If… If you trust me. I know it’s been a while so, can understand if you’d rather not.”

“Frankie,” you whisper, kneeling, sliding across the blanket to him as you clutch his face, “There’s no one I trust more than you—well, other than Luca. The kid really cannot lie.”

Grinning, feeling it against your hand, your palm. Finger stroking at the dimple that appears as you stare at him.

“I know it’s safe—I know I’m safe with you. But, I know this is a big deal. I know you had to walk away from things, so if you’re sure, then I am. I just don’t want to put you off.”

Frankie’s face lit up with a smile that made your heart soar higher than any helicopter ever could. “If anything, I think you being there is just what I need.”

You’re both quick to begin putting away the picnic, him taking it back to the car before you find yourself seated behind him. Headset on, belt done and checked by Robbie—watching Frankie sitting in the cockpit, finger switching controls and dials flicked.

“Ready?” he asks, his voice coming through your ear, your hands gripping your thighs as you smile.

“Yeah,” you reply. “I’m ready, baby. You and me.”

His laugh, crackly through the microphone, ripples out. “You sure? Not you and I?”

And you roll your eyes, just as the blades go quicker overhead, and you brace a little more for leaving the ground.

NEXT CHAPTER ->

[senanatheskenana]

Hello! I loved your Sinclair post about their S/O leaving them. If you would like too could you please write a part 2 where the S/O comes back and the talk it out? Happy ending if at all possible only if you want too, I hope you have a great day!

I'm glad you enjoyed it :)

I hope this is ok, i tried my best but i've been a little bit rusty after my break from writing <3

Part two of this

The Sinclair Boys' S/O Comes home.

Bo Sinclair

Bo had exhausted nearly every option of where to find you.

He knew that even if the chance of getting you back was slim, he had to at least apologise- promise to be better. For once he needed to prove to someone that he was worth the fight.

Most of all, he needed to see you.

And he never admitted it, but a part of himself needed to see if you looked even a fraction of the way he did.

Bo turned up on your doorstep, hat in his hand, face covered in dirt, sweat, and who knows whatelse.

You had to admit he looked awful- worse than you'd seen him in months.

Even when Bo recognises he's done wrong, he doesn't always feel bad and her certainly never apologises for it.

Until now.

~~~~~

You stand there on the porch, staring expectantly at Bo as he struggled to find words. His throat was dry, and all of the things that he wished to say- the large speech he had spent days rehearsing and rewriting- melted into nothing at the back of his throat. He looked at you briefly before diverting his attention downward at his shoes.

"Beauregard, please say somethin'. I don't wanna stand in the cold all day," when he doesn't seem to respond, you more to shut the door on him. He panics and in a moment of adrenalin, sticks his hand in the doorframe to stop you from closing it. He doesn't so much feel it as he does hear the scraping crunch, letting out a hiss when you immediately reopen the door to let his trapped fingers go.

The next thing he knows, he's in your kitchen with a bag of ice wrapped around his hand. The lights in the kitchen are too bright for Bo, making everything but you seem hazy in the sleep deprived state hes in. You can see that hes not in a good state, but it worries you how he got here

"Bo, did you drive all the way by yourself?" you hope he says no, that Lester had driven four hours to get here. However, from looking into his truck, you know it was just him.

Bo looks at you like you're stupid. "I drove. Din't ya see the truck?"

"Don't make that face at me, Beauregard. Why are you here?"

He stares at you a little longer again, his resolve cracking further. It's been so long since he's seen you and now he can barely look at you out of shame.

"Sugar, you know i ain't the type to apologise for anythin'. An' i know you deserve someone who does..." but now he looks you in the eyes like a kicked dog, "I haven't be'n treatin' you like I shoulda."

"Bo-"

"No, please lemme say this cuz i wanna get the chance before you chuck me out." he sighs.

"I know I'm no good for you, and i know i dont deserve the time of day from you but i do love you... Sugar, i love you so much it hurts when you ain't around no more. It's like i'm continuously choking on smoke. Now I ain't trying to guilt you into comin' home- Ambrose. "

"Bo please just say it"

"I'M SORRY- I know that don't make up for how ive treated you- or anyone," Bo shifts and mores to grip your hand, "But i wanna be better for you, i wanna show you i love you, and make you feel loved"

You remain silent for a time and he feels his stomach sink slowly to his feat and he deflates, retracting his hand.

"I-I'm gon' head out soon, get outta your hair for good. I just wanted you to know i was sorry."

"No you're not, you're in no state to drive Bo. Stay the night here. We can head back together tomorrow" at that his face lights up. "You can have a shower before you get anywhere near me though," you tease.

He smirks and scampers up the staircase, "Yes, ma'am"

Vincent Sinclair

Vincent made no attempts to find you.

After all, why would he try to bring you back if you were only going to leave again.

He figured he may as well cut his losses and try to get over it.

So he tried.

For weeks.

Then for months.

But he just couldn't.

He saw you in everything he did.

He could swear that he saw you in his paintings or in visitors' cars.

Hell he thought he saw you getting out of Lester's truck right now.

Until he realised you actually were.

But something was different.

~~~~~

Through the glass he could see you hopping out of the cab of the truck, thick winter sweater consuming your figure. He's sure its one of his.

Vincent rushed through the house to the front door, swinging it open on its creaky hinges. You hardly get the chance to look at him before he's wrapping his arms around you tightly.

Lester stands to the side watching.

"Yer lucky i was drivin' west otherwise she might not've made it t'all"

Vincent turns away to sign to Lester but you dont catch it because he's moving his hands so fast.

"She's tryin' to get back to ya but ran outta gas before i found her"

He was shocked. You were trying to get back to him? Why, he was sure you wanted nothing to do with him this entire time.

He signs slower so you can understand,

'Why did you come back?'

You look at him sadly. In truth you felt bad for running away with no notice- leaving Vincent all alone with no explanation.

"I had to." you started, "Because i love you. And it wasn't fair to run away, i know, but i was scared of what you might think, or do"

Though you cant see, Vincent looks puzzled under his mask, you can tell. he signs again.

'Why did you leave- what were you afraid of me for?'

Your eyes water and you look down, arms wrapping around your torso.

"Vincent, I.." the words get stuck in your throat and he moves to cup your cheeks but you grab his hands before he can. You don't think you can say it. Your trembling hands guid his callused palms to your stomach. His eye widens when he feels the protrusion there.

There was no way. He stiffens and stays like that for what feels like forever until your shoulders start to shudder with sobs. Vincent snaps out of it and panics, trying to calm your cries. He moves to embrace you again before frantically signing to you.

'No please darling, don't cry. I'm not upset- i could never be upset with you'

You sniffle, "I'm sorry i left you. It was only meant to be for one day- to go to the clinic but then i found out i was pregnant and then i got scared that you wouldn't want it so i went to a hotel to try to think about what to do but i never manages to figure anything out."

Vincent feels his heart crack a little bit at your distress. He should've been more intuitive- maybe let you know that he'd care about you no matter what.

He gently puts his hands back on your tummy and looks at you. He doesn't even need to sign for you to know what he was trying to say.

'It'll be ok'

Lester Sinclair

Lester was a good guy, you knew that.

To you, he was perfect.

He never even raised his voice at you, and you're sure that if he even scratched you, he'd feel horrible for days.

And if you were honest, you still missed him.

You knew what he was doing was wrong but you still loved him.

Before you can stop yourself you're calling his mobile, waiting for the beeps.

He picks up after a single ring, like always.

~~~~~

"Heh-hey hun!" he tries his best but you can hear he's happy that you called him. "Is everythin' ok up there?"

You had to admit, it was sweet that even now, he cares about things like that.

"Hey, Les..." you don't really know what to say but he's patient, "Sorry im not really sure why i called."

"It's ok, please, i ain't gonna complain" you can almost hear his smile through the phone.

"I'm sorry about what i said-"

he cuts you off, "No, no you're right. What we was doin' was horrible, i know. But i- i wantcha to know that i told Bo that i ain't doing his dirty work anymore."

That surprised you. You know that Bo's a strong, stubborn character and Lester wants nothing than to impress his older brothers. This was big.

"I'm glad, Lester. Just stay outta trouble." You tease him and he giggles.

"I'm tryin' my best out here." an uncomfortably long period of silence takes over the line before he speaks again. "Jonesy misses ya... she just sorta stares at the door at night, expectin' ya to come walk through it."

It sounds sort of sad when he says it like that, he realises. "Not that I'm tryin to trick ya into comin back, im jus' sayin' that maybe you'd like me to bring her up to you some time." It's a ploy so that he can see you again, he knows.

"Oh no, Lester don't go all the way out here to let me play with YOUR dog, thats unfair." you pout through the phone and he laughs again.

"I don't know- i'd get to see you again, so it seems like a good trade, hun."

You dont know what got into you.

"Lester, I miss you."

The line is quiet again for a few seconds before he replies, "Really?"

"I know you've done some horrible stuff, but i still love you, and i dont know, if you're tellin' the truth about leaving that stuff behind, then maybe we can make it work."

He fights back a squeal of delight when he hears that.

"You stay right there, Huneysuckle, I'll be coming to get you as soon as i can." you laugh at his enthusiasm, "I'm getting in the truck, ill see you soon!"

[maleyanderecafe]

Hell Trap (Visual Novel)

Created by: marikatti

Genre: Horror/Thriller

The story and artwork in this game is gorgeous. I think this might be the same artist as Paper Cuts because the artstyle seems strikingly similar. This visual novel goes into rather dark topics like suicide, rape and revenge, and it is really beautiful how the story is written so far. There is a prologue and two parts of the story as of writing this.

The story starts out with Yul recalling a childhood memory of being in the snow and walking home. He is interrupted by his sister who teases him, but feels distressed that he cannot remember her name. After some comments about how they were opposites, yet they were two peas in a pod, Yul points out her mismatched shoes. His sister promises that the two of them will be together and that they will take care of each other, something that Yul is happy about. We get a time jump to when the two are in high school. His sister plays with a friendly cat at the front of the school before the two go inside. At lunch, his sister tries to talk about him getting more friends at school, something that Yul sees as useless as he already has his sister. During lunch, Yul's sister ends up in the infirmary, after throwing up, though tries to reassure her brother it was just lunch. Yul immediately doesn't believe this as not only did they have the same lunch, but his sister has a strong stomach. After school, as they walk home, the two lament about their current situation. The two of them are living by themselves, as their dad refuses to give money for them to live with him. The two talk about their future, about how his sister is trying really hard to study well and get good grades so that she can provide for them in the future, along with the various part time jobs that they've been taking. They know their father will stop sending them money the moment that they become adults. Yul tries to get his sister to tell him what really happened to get her in the infirmary, but she refuses. At night, she has a nightmare, and while Yul is trying to wake her up, she hears her talk about how she no longer wants to be at school. The next day, Yul ends up evesdropping on her sister talking to the principal. We see a flashback of Yul's sister working at school after hours on her homework, when a teacher named Blanche comes to talk to her. Blanche talks to Yul's sister about her troubles, and offers her a way for her to make her money. She agrees, desperate for some more money, but retracts when Blanche suggests her to use her body. Blanche then pounces on her and rapes her. Yul ends up bursting into the professor's office after hearing this, much to the principal and his sister's surprise. The principal doesn't help her and instead berates her, stating that women can't be rapist and that Blanche is a good teacher, much to the sibling's dismay. Soon after, Yul's sister jumps off of a building, dying in front of Yul, with Blanche coming over and scorning him.

After the death of his sister, Yul attempts to change his appearance by dying his hair so that he isn't reminded of her every time he looks in the mirror. He grows extremely agitated and distraught, and even starts killing animals, starting with the cat that Yul's sister petted at the beginning of school. He is still not satisfied, until he sees Blanche's daughter at school one day. Yul upon seeing this starts to formulate a plan on how to cause the most pain to Blanche- by killing her daughter. After graduating, Yul follows Blanche's daughter around. First by seeing that she hangs out with her mother on Saterdays, and then by following her and learning her schedule. He does this for three years, learning everything about her and what she does in order to find the best way to kill her. On the day of the kill, Yul follows behind her, planning to choke her and bash her head in when she goes into the alleyway. All seems to be going well, at least until she suddenly screams out that she forgot her phone charger and runs in the opposite direction, leading to her getting hit by the bus instead. In shock and horror, Yul is completely undone, angry that his kill was taken away from him. He ends up helping to call the ambulance and even gets to check in on her during the accident. In an attempt to revive, her he ends up staying and wishing that she'd wake, and she does end up doing so. While talking to the doctor about who to contact, she ends up responding very negatively to the suggestion to tell her mother, something that catches Yul off guard. Afterwards, she thanks Yul for saving her, even introducing herself as Mila. Yul starts to develop some mixed feelings on the scenario, though still decides to go with his plan of killing her. He ends up sneaking into the hospital and night and tries to choke Mila on her bed, but recoils, as he realizes that her reaction with her mother's mention was unusual. He ends up leaving her alive a bit longer to find out what exactly her relationship with her mother is like.

Starting out, this visual novel does a really good job of setting the tone of the entire story. The artwork is beautiful in each scene, with the start with various exaggerated and cute types of facial expressions from Yul's sister, symbolizing her innocence and her general happy outlook on life, contrasted with later after her assault. Most of the story is told from Yul's point of view, with vivid thoughts on his sister's death and his attachment to her, wanting to stay by her side, not wanting to be friends with anyone else and of course, seeking revenge for her after her death. We see that his sister's death is so painful that he can no longer remember her name, and even changes his appearance so he is not reminded of her when he looks into the mirror. Everything for these two has been pretty tragic for a while, having to live on their own, having little to no help from parents or other relatives and of course, the lead up to the sister's death and Yul's eventual lead to revenge. The dialogue and inner thoughts of Yul really give such a powerful feeling in this entire visual novel, with the kind of tension that really wants to make you see more of it, all with a beautiful and striking black and white artwork. It really is beautiful. It's hard to predict exactly what will happen next, as I did not expect Mila to be hit by a car and fully expected her to die or almost die by Yul's hands.

It's hard to say whether or not Yul is a romantic or platonic yandere for his sister, since she does die pretty early on. I will wager that Yul is more platonic though considering he does seem more dependent on her, rather than lusts over her but regardless, he does very clearly care about and love her. Regardless, much of his revenge plot is driven by the fact that Blanche caused his sister to die, and the agony he feels afterwards. Considering he doesn't kill Mila by the end of chapter two, it is possible that he could develop feelings for her as well, as his realization that her and her mother's relationship isn't as amicable as it seems. As a yandere, he's mostly just a bit clingy initially, but after her death pretty much goes straight into more sinister roles, killing animals to try to sate her hatred of Blanche and of course stalking Mila to kill her as well as meticulously learning her schedule just to kill her. Those last ones aren't specific to yanderes themselves, but he does incorporate a lot of traits from there to get his revenge. If he does possibly fall for Mila, then these traits might come back not to try to get her killed but possibly to protect her. It is always fun to see how these more thriller like stories go.

Overall, while this is still in a demo state, it is extremely promising and is a thriller/horror type story that really keeps you on your toes. As this creator did likely create Paper Cuts, I can see their expertise in writing this as the thriller aspect of Paper Cuts really kept you on your toes. I highly recommend it and look forward to new chapters coming out in the future.

[drowninginblox]

Logging off

Pt: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5

Sighing into darkness became Kurt's newest pastime as feelings clouded his judgment. What can be made of a situation like this?

It's been a long time since Kurt had contemplated his feelings for someone else, and this may be the first time someone else confessed to him. He's typically the one pinning or flirting with only hopes in his heart, not the other way around. To have the ball in his court is leaving him frozen mid-play with the highest stakes on the line- his friendship with you.

He's never considered you in this light before. That isnt to say it's a bad thing, far from it! Yet, he can't stop pacing back and forth along any and all surfaces to even attempt to understand how to decipher this. Pros and Cons are the only things he can trust since the waters of his mind are murky.

"... it wouldn't be a bad thing. Would anything really change?" He mumbled. The thought of kissing them when they think no one is looking has crossed his mind before, and cuddling together in the depths of the night has... lingered from time to time.

Telling each other things no one else would ever know is a common thing they do but... would it be more intimate even though it would be under the covers and not on top of them? Learning everything about them and worshiping all of it as it culminated in one of the most radiant beings he's seen. With eyes of raw hope and a smile that he could- no- would die for...

He finds himself in the middle of his room, his wide gaze stuck to the floor. "Mein gott..." his eyes widened slightly as a hand held his forehead. For a moment, the solution is clear. Y/n was just down the hall- he could just-

Yet when he impacted from the ceiling onto the floor, reality set him straight. "No no- Wir d��rfen nicht voreilig sein, Wagner. Das kann kein Gewinn sein, denn wenn das… was auch immer das ist! Auf Gefühle zu reagieren, die wir gerade bekommen haben, wäre ihnen gegenüber nicht fair." He quietly scolds himself. A beat passes as he contemplates this more. Factors he never considered bounced around his mind until he ultimately sighed. The only way he could make sure of this was to test it with time, although how Y/n reacted to his plea would be crucial.

Kurt returned to his pacing as ideas on how to tell them weighed him down with each step.

He waited a few days, just to be sure of himself.

Eventually, he caught you on your lunch break. Your door was cracked open, revealing you hunched over your desk grading some papers. “Hey, Y/n?” You raised your head, giving Kurt a surprised smile. “Hey, Kurt! Whatcha need?” He takes a breath “Can I talk to you?” You nod, already cleaning up your desk “I’m guessing this is a door closed conversation?” Kurt chuckles as she steps inside “Ja, very much so.” You nod and get a spare chair from close by as Kurt closes the door behind him. “Is it about the elephant or something else?” Kurt cocks a brow before realizing what you meant “Oh! The elephant being the post?” You sigh a little “Y-yeah…” he nods a little as he holds the back of his neck.

You only motion to the chair and sit back in your own. “Any verdict?” You sigh as you take out a bag from your desk drawer. Kurt smiles slightly as he sees your gummy bears “Honestly, I’m lost Y/n.” Your eyes catch his just as he looks up to you.

What attempts you make to play cool was interrupted by the bag breaking open, starting the both of you. A pause follows before you chuckle awkwardly “Sorry, um… I don’t mean to pry but, would it be okay for me to ask for elaboration?” You say while offering the bag. He smiles sightly and holds out his hand. A few bears fall into his palm before you retracted the sweets. Kurt popped one onto his mouth and chewed while considering the question. All the while you occupied yourself by sorting your palm- sized selection by color.

“I… I don’t want to get your hopes up,” you look at him, his gaze fixated on the desk rather than you. “…but I also don’t want to drag you along.” You can only slump at that. You didn’t know what you were expecting. Part of you wanted a confession that rivaled that of fanfiction or maybe an outright refusal like you’ve gotten so many times in the past. I hurt a little, but this was your life.

“So… what do you want to do?” You leaned a little into the question. “I… I don’t know, Liebling. Truly.” You looked away for a moment before returning to him. “Do you think going back to being friends would be easier for you? For us?” He leaned over himself, his elbows propped onto his knees for support. His eyes look into your own for a long time, yet he too broke away “I… I don’t know. I’ve never had a friend confess to me before…” he chuckled dryly. “It’s usually me taking a chance on strangers, or friends if I’ve really pined long enough… but this is unlike anything I’ve ever experienced.” A hand holds his forehead. “And the worst part is that the feelings aren’t lost on me.” You tilt your head at that. “Kurt, do you feel the same?” His head rises, yet the only thing to be seen in his honey eyes is uncertainty. “Yes, but I know that I wouldn’t have gotten these before. I didn’t have feelings like these towards you until after you… this experience. And I know that acting on it isn’t fair to you.”

He keeps his eyes on you and you for him. An even yet uncertain gaze meets one equally steady, mixed with hope and controlled admiration. You eventually break the stare, turning away from him. “Y/n, I’m sorry…” he starts but you immediately interrupt him. “No- don’t you dare.” You say a little louder than you thought you would as he watches your face. Your throat slowly, but surely tightened. Your unexpected outburst of sorts managed to shut them up for at least a few moments as you took a breath. A breath to at least try to find the words.

Eventually, you turn back to him, he’s a little startled now. you almost falter. Almost.

“Do you remember when we first met?” He furrowed his brows “Ja, of course I do. Germany, that one December,” You nod “What was the first thing you told me?” He blinked at that, straightening a little as he racked his memory for that moment. It’s found though, making him sober “Never apologize for your emotions froline.” You nod. “Take a page out of your own book.” You sit up a little as he sits on that.

A moment passes before you continue. "Never force yourself to feel the feelings that I have for you, Kurt. Please. That would be worse than rejection. Rejection I can move past from.” You offer with a small smile. He only sighs “But I feel these things for you now…” you swallow “And?”

Confusion washes over his face. “Say we both do like each other after some time, would our dynamics change? Yeah of course I hope we would kiss and do other shit but the bear bones of our relationship- would that change?” The question eases the tension in his shoulders and back “No…Nein, I don’t think so.” You smile “Then let’s just continue as we are.” You offer. “ I know myself. And if you say you have the same feelings now… then I’ll wait for you. Just keep me updated. Okay?” You ask, a hope in your voice. He looks at you, amazed by how simple of an answer this was “Really?”

“Yeah. I mean, Kurt you forget who you’re talking to.” You chuckle “I knew what I was getting into when I made that post. I knew what I was getting to if you ever realized or if I ever got the nerve to tell you. I thought about this a lot. This situation- admittedly, not as much…” he laughs “It’s better to have clarity on where we are than to just stumble in the dark.” You pop a few more bears into your mouth “Besides you’re still my best friend. I'm happy that baseline hasn't changed."

He finds himself sighing in relief only to follow up "Are you sure this is okay? I don't want to hurt you more Y/n." You shake your head. "Kurt, above everything else, I want to stay your friend. You are one of the best things that happened to me, and I want to keep you in my life for as long as whatever forces let it." He smiles and sits up. "Thank you, Y/n." They nod. "Just keep me in the loop Kurt. I won't pry, but I'd appreciate it." He nods and offers a hand for you to get up. You chuckle and take it. His grasp on your forearm is firm but warm. Sturdy and safe. "I promise you, I won't leave you in the dark. You can only smile at him. "So, are we back to watching all those live actions?" You smirk. He only groans through a smile. "Why? Why the Fox Docu-movies? Warum die Fox-Doku-Filme? Die sind so scheiße und sie charakterisieren mich so falsch! Und Rouge ist nicht mal meine Schwester-!"

You only laugh as life returns to a normal you can live with.

[meyousing]

𝙸𝚕𝚕𝚞𝚖𝚒, 𝚄𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚈𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚃𝚑𝚞𝚖𝚋

𝚜𝚢𝚗𝚘𝚙𝚜𝚒𝚜: you’re quite far under illumi’s control, unbeknownst to yourself. it isn’t until you hear some particular words that you begin to question your reality.

𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚎𝚜: part two to subservient! sfw, major manipulation and gaslighting, light mentions of blood.

part 3 (final) is also here!

It was your greatest joy to know that you were being a good wife to your husband. Illumi was perfect, utterly so. You thrived to be as perfect of a partner as he was, you felt indebted to him just for his being so lovely. The way he protected you, provided for you, and would anticipate the extension of your family in the future, what more could you ask for? You were truly living the dream. 

As far as you could tell, you always felt this way. There was one night where these emotions were amplified, when you two slept together with Illumi’s implication of trying for a baby, and that experience only doubled the already abundant love you felt for him. Your first attempt at conception was unsuccessful, yet in spite of that you kept your hopes up. The prospect of having Illumi’s child was so domestic, you anticipated going through all of the highs and lows of parenthood, training your child to become the ideal Zoldyck assassin, with your perfect husband at your side as you did. 

On the topic of domesticity; you used to dread the family dinners, cowering away from the intense eyes of the other assassins and pretending to enjoy the food in front of you, when your appetite was mostly nonexistent. Now, you would eagerly listen in on their daily reports, politely savouring your meal as you did. Kikyo would still send you resentful stares every now and then, but it didn’t bother you anymore. Your only concerns were about Illumi now, with what he planned for you to do every day and night, ensuring that you took care of yourself to ensure that your body was in the right condition to bear a child. How thoughtful of him, truly! Everything was just so, so perfect. 

Yet, unless under false pretences, perfection is not genuinely attainable, is it? Your first suspicion arose when Illumi muttered something to himself a few nights back.

Laying at your side in bed, Illumi had bid you goodnight and turned away to fall asleep, but your hand on his shoulder stopped that. You were still sitting up, ignoring the voice in your head telling you that it was time to lay down now. In a moment, you told it.

“Sorry, I just wanted to talk about one last thing before I forget.” you spoke sheepishly, instantly retracting your hand when his eyes met yours in the darkness; still so visible despite the minimal lighting that only came from the dimly moonlit window.

“Yes?”

You subconsciously began to fiddle with your fingers, tentatively slouching over and leaning your weight to one side as you avoided eye contact. Somehow, you knew that asking about this would only disappoint you, as if it were forbidden subject matter, or to a lesser extent; plainly just meant not to be talked about. You couldn’t stop yourself from asking anyway.

“I know that you want me to stay away from anything involving…the more intensive work that you do, like training and stuff, but… do you have any idea of when I can start?” Your voice got quieter and more slurred the longer that you spoke, your apprehension clear as day. 

Illumi’s lack of visible reaction prompted you to keep speaking though, as if now was the only time that you’d be able to, before some unknown source hushed you for good. It felt odd that you were thinking that way, but you couldn’t help it. 

“I just don’t want to fall behind, I think it would be a little illogical if I’m to help our child become an assassin when I don’t even know the first thing about it. You can see why I would think that, right?”

A beat of uncomfortable silence passed, but was pacified rather quickly. 

“No, I don’t see why you are thinking that.” 

He seemed to have given almost no thought to your inquiry. That hurt a bit, but was overridden by confusion. Why wouldn’t he want you to start training? Surely you were making sense here… how could you help your child become an assassin when you didn’t even know the first thing about it?

He turned away then, mumbling something beneath his breath that you almost missed, had you not been extra attentive right now considering the weight of what you just dared to wonder. 

“She should’ve stopped asking about that by now.”

The next morning, before leaving for his job of the day, Illumi had woken you up while seated at the edge of your bed, his hand resting on your blanketed thigh. 

“Do you recall what you asked me last night, before we slept?”

“I asked you something?” you rubbed the fatigue from your eyes, trying to remember what it could have been that you questioned him about. “We just went to bed right away, didn’t we?” that was what happened from what you were able to recollect. You entered the room together after dinner, then went to bed right away, full and satiated from the lovely meal.  

“Yes, that’s exactly right.” He stood up, not sparing you another glance while casually brushing off his shoulder as he headed for the door in record time. 

“Have a good day!” you called out, tiredness still evident in your voice, the well wish sounding weak as a result. He didn’t respond, but you didn’t mind that as you turned back over to sleep in for a bit longer, your eyes closing at the same time as the bedroom door. 

Your second suspicion came about at the family dinner that same day. 

You gave a respectful smile to Silva, him being the last person at the table to share his job report for today. You bit down on a carrot and courteously covered your mouth with a napkin as you chewed, listening to how enthused he sounded to announce that his target had been successfully eliminated, as always. He finished speaking after that and began eating his own food, making you divert your attention back to your plate. That is, until the sound of someone clearing their throat made your ears perk up. 

“So, is this another day of no training for you, Y/N?” Kikyo’s chin rested atop her clasped hands, her elbows propped on the table in an odd show, considering how she was usually much more conscious of her table manners. This was something she had even corrected you on when you first arrived here, and you abided by it ever since, due to her strict tone and unforgiving stare each time you made the same mistake. 

“Uhm,” you coughed lightly, shooting her an apologetic glance due to your own ill manners. “Illumi has told me that I don’t need to train just yet, we’re looking to keep my physical exertion light in preparation for–”

You felt a scintilla in your mind, a sensation that told you not to finish that sentence. 

“Illumi should know that isn’t what we want.” She tilted her head slightly in his direction, her tone of voice a bit condescending to make up for her lack of visible expression, which was surely on the verge of scowling. Illumi barely paid her any mind, dabbing a napkin at the corner of his mouth. 

“This topic only concerns myself and my wife.” He kept his gaze on his plate, placing his utensils on it alongside his napkin as he seemed to be finished with them. 

“I trained rather heavily while I was pregnant. I did the most when I was carrying you, Illumi. That could be part of why you’re such a strong assassin now.” 

Illumi continued to act passive. To you, Kikyo’s words came across as offensive and discrediting of Illumi’s own training, though he very well could not have been acting and genuinely felt passive towards her words, since it did not seem that he would be changing his mind about what you were to do any time soon. It was hard to tell at times with someone so stoic. 

You, on the other hand, felt your eyes widen in concern. How did she know what you two had been planning? You hadn’t said anything, perhaps it was just motherly intuition? 

“In that case, maybe it’s time for Y/N to start, don’t you think?” You watched as her fingers bent and dug into the skin of her hands, indicating a rather harsh grip that she must have been exerting her annoyance into. You winced subconsciously from the sight, worried about what you may have done wrong in a situation that you did not have much control over (your mere existence just seemed to bother Kikyo either way). Illumi may have claimed that this topic only concerned the two of you, but he tended to be the only one making any final decisions, your input being long forgotten once his mind was made. 

“No, we’ll be doing things our own way. Y/N is her own person, I’ve planned for things to be done in a way that would be best suited for her, not you.” 

You felt your lips twitch upward at his words, bashful at his defence of your character and his typical attentiveness. He is so perfect, you thought to yourself, watching Kikyo’s own lips curl into a snarl. 

Illumi excused both him and yourself from the table after this, and you followed his lead rather hastily as he stood and exited the dining room, striding into the hall while ignoring everyone else’s watchful eyes. As per your routine, you knew that this was the walk to your bedroom to retire for the night. You trailed behind him, and on this walk, you reflected upon everything that had just been discussed.

 Kikyo was usually irked by you, but the more you contemplated it, you believed that her words tonight did not carry any malice. Well, maybe some attitude, but that was something you had grown used to; the intentions behind what she said came off as mostly curious, regardless of the snark. 

Kikyo would not be curious without valid reason. Was your lack of training something that had concerned her for a while now? She had not said anything about it until tonight, you almost forgot about the other times she asked previously, had this not served as a sudden reminder. It was odd that you forgot, but now that you remembered, you began to wonder the same thing as her; should you be starting your training now? If she trained while pregnant, surely you could begin now while not even being anywhere near that stage just yet? 

You couldn’t help but tug at Illumi’s sleeve diffidently, not waiting for any form of acknowledgement before sharing your piece. 

“Illumi, are you positively certain that I shouldn’t be doing some kind of training by now? If Kikyo thinks that I should be…” you trailed off nervously, much too anxious to speak your next words given his earlier reaction to any kind of defiance. “And there’s… there’s something in me that’s telling me I should be too.” 

“It should be telling you not to.” He stopped walking. You slowed your pace, until you stopped about a foot behind him seconds after.

“...What?”

“Your incessant questions about training were becoming tiring, Y/N. My patience was starting to wane the more that you asked, when I already told you that you need only to worry about staying healthy for a pregnancy as of now.” He turned to face you as he spoke, his eyes hooded and low with ire. You were caught off guard, his tone seemed slightly less levelled than normal, which was startling despite the miniscule difference. 

“Truthfully, I’m perplexed by how you have managed to continue asking me about this every day since I tried putting a stop to it.” His fingers found his chin in contemplation as he stared away from you and into the distance of the long hall. “How do you have such resistance?”

You could tell that this was not exactly a question that you were meant to answer; moreso something that he was asking himself. It wasn’t like he was trying, but nothing he said remedied your confusion after his second to last statement. 

“What do you mean you tried putting a stop to it?” 

He didn’t react to you, you could tell that he had likely tuned you out even as he looked back once more with the same look of pique on his face, the hand on his chin falling back to his side promptly. 

“It’s as if the needle has only caused more of a hindrance.”  

The needle? What, needle as in his nen ability? The one that he used to control others–

Your blood ran cold. You could almost feel it draining from your face, his indirect assertion sending chills down your spine. He wouldn’t do that to you, would he?

He approached you suddenly, and you flinched back given the information you just heard and were now heavily struggling to process. He didn’t allow you to move far, his hands bracing your shoulders with a grip strong enough to keep you grounded in your spot, though your fear-induced paralysis was already doing a sufficient job of that. His hair brushed over your cheek when he leaned toward your ear, one of his hands moving to the top of your head as his lips tickled the shell of your ear. 

“We are going to start over. Perhaps this intermission will serve as a reminder to the real you the next time you try making any demands.” 

His fingers crimped into your scalp as he tightened his hold, making you grimace and pull back into yourself as best you could, like that would provide some sort of escape from his suddenly very dark and intimidating aura. An aura that once seemed so loving, so devoted, so... perfect. 

“Unless you want this to happen again, prove to me that you have learned your lesson, starting tonight.”

You wished to respond, to apologize for angering him with your interrogations and insist that you would never do it again so he would let go of you, but any thoughts were cut short by an excruciating throbbing that began to resonate at the crown of your head. So excruciating, that you could barely process anything else before your vision instantly cut to black. 

Illumi caught your limp body once you collapsed into him, peeking over your shoulder and looking down to the bloodied needle resting in his palm. This case was certainly peculiar, you were the only person who had been able to challenge his control thus far. He examined the needle for a moment longer before hoisting you into his arms with one under your knees, the other supporting your back as he resumed your trek back to the bedroom. Even in his vexation, Illumi couldn’t help but feel a tinge of anticipation upon this revelation; such a promising sign for your future with the family, and as his wife. He knew that he made the right decision when he picked you, you were just so perfect for him.

© meyousing 2023. do not share/export my work on to any other platforms. do not translate my work. 

[clown-friend-gt]

Up, Up, and Away Chapter 16

Reaching an Understanding

1.6k words

Link to Masterpost

For a while after their talk, Wren kept their distance from Trevor. But despite his request to be left alone, Wren found themselves watching him every chance they got. They weren’t entirely sure why.

As poor as it was, they’d already tried apologizing. Maybe they still felt guilty, like they owed him something. Or maybe they were still holding on to the hope that the two of them could find some common ground.

One thing they noticed in their observations was how paranoid Trevor seemed. His eyes were constantly scanning any room he was in, almost as if he was expecting someone to jump out and attack him. Occasionally his eyes would meet theirs and narrow in suspicion. After watching them for a moment, though, he’d move on, apparently satisfied with their non-action.

It also struck Wren as odd how cautiously he acted. Sometimes they’d see him reach out his hand to open a door or move a chair, then stop halfway. He’d retract his hand and try to move the obstacle some other way, or if there was no alternative, give up entirely. Wren couldn’t wrap their head around it.

Then one day, they got an idea as to why he acted that way. Wren watched from across the rec room as he tried to scribble something on a piece of paper. They weren’t allowed to use things like pencils or pens without supervision, so he wrote with a marker instead. It was closer to the size of a large sewing needle in his hand.

He was hunched over the table he sat at, all of his focus on the task at hand. His brows were knit in concentration. He held the paper down with his finger and his thumb and carefully pressed the marker to the page. His movements were painfully slow as he scrawled a few letters on the page.

All of a sudden, the casing of the marker cracked in his fingers. He looked at the broken marker with agitation, but not a hint of surprise.

No wonder he’s so afraid to touch things, Wren realized. Everything must seem so fragile to him.

They watched for a little while longer as he attempted to continue writing with the lower half of the marker. He didn’t seem to be making any progress. Making up their mind to lend him a hand, they snatched a marker from the bin and made their way over to the table in the corner where he sat alone.

He was too engrossed in the task at hand to notice them approaching. Wren cleared their throat to make their presence known. Trevor jolted slightly, then slapped his hand over the paper he’d been writing on. His hand covered it completely.

He gave them an irritated look. “I thought I told you to leave me alone,” he grumbled.

“I know, I know. I just thought you might want a little bit of help.” They wiggled the marker in their fingers.

“I can handle it just fine on my own, thanks,” he said coldly.

Wren looked pointedly at the broken marker in his hands, then back to him. “You sure?”

“That’s not—” he stuttered. “That was an accident. Besides, it still works. Kind of.”

“Does it though?”

Trevor rolled his eyes, then set the marker down. When he met their eyes again, his gaze was hard.

“What do you want from me?”

“Huh?” Wren replied, thrown by the sudden shift.

“You really think I haven’t noticed you staring at me all the time? I know there’s a reason for it. Spit it out already,” he demanded.

“I just—” Now it was Wren’s turn to lose the ability to speak coherently. Finally, they sighed in defeat and decided to speak honestly.

“Look, I was a real piece of shit to you the first time we met. It wasn’t fair that you got in trouble just because I had something to prove. I just want to make things right, and I thought this would be a good place to start.”

Trevor was silent. Wren couldn’t read the look he was giving them. When he didn’t say anything in response, they continued.

“I…I understand if you still want nothing to do with me. I’ll go.”

They turned to leave, but before they could, Trevor spoke up.

“Wait.”

They turned to face him again, curious.

“It’s not that I don’t want any help, it’s just,” he rubbed the back of his neck. “The letter I’m writing, it’s kind of personal.”

Wren shrugged. “I won’t ask any questions. Just tell me what to write.”

Trevor mulled it over for another moment. “Fine. Here.”

He raised his hand, revealing the letter he’d been writing. Wren pulled up a chair at the other end of the table, since Trevor pretty much occupied the other half by himself. They slid the paper over to themselves.

He’d only managed to write the words “Dear mamá” so far. There was also a large splotch of red ink after, probably from when the marker had broken.

Wren uncapped their own marker with their teeth. “What do you want to say?” they asked, putting their pen to paper.

“Um…” Trevor drummed his fingers on the table in thought. His fingers were also stained with ink.

“Let’s just start with ‘It’s been a while, hasn’t it?’”

Wren nodded and wrote that down.

“‘I’m sorry they wouldn’t let you see me these past few weeks,’” he continued. “‘The truth is, it’s not your fault, it’s mine.’”

He waited for Wren to finish copying down what he was saying before he went on. They were starting to realize that his voice wasn’t really what they’d expected. They’d expected someone his size to have a loud, booming voice, but he was actually fairly soft-spoken.

“‘I ended up getting into a fight on one of my first days here, so they,’ uh…” He paused, apparently lost in thought.

“I can’t think of the right phrase. What do you call it when they won’t let people see you in jail?” he asked.

“Visitation privileges?” Wren offered.

“That’s it,” he agreed. “‘so they took away my visitation privileges.’”

He kept talking even as Wren struggled to keep up. “‘I swear I wasn’t trying to, everything just happened so quickly, and I—’”

“Slow down,” Wren complained.

“Oh, sorry,” he said, then paused so they could catch up.

“Ok, keep going,” they said.

“Alright. So, ‘everything just happened so quickly, and I lost control of myself.

“‘Afterwards, I tried to stay out of trouble, but stuff like that kept happening.’”

Wren frowned. It sounded like they weren’t the only one who had gotten into a fight with him.

“‘It really wasn’t my fault,’” he continued. “‘but I probably could’ve handled things better.’”

He was quiet for a moment after that. Wren looked up to see him staring at his left hand, the one covered in red ink.

“Trevor?”

“Huh?” He looked back up at them. “Oh, sorry. Give me a minute to think of what to say next.”

“Right,” he said eventually. “‘So, about the last time we saw each other, on the day I was arrested.

“‘You didn’t really do anything wrong. I was just worried that I—’” He stopped. “Actually, don’t put that.”

“Oh, whoops,” Wren said, putting a line through that last sentence fragment.

“I really don’t want her to see that part. Can we just start over on a new piece of paper?”

“Hold on,” Wren said. They colored in the part they’d struck a line through, so it was impossible to tell what had been written there.

“There, see? Everything’s fine,” they assured him. Although they were incredibly curious about what he’d been about to say, they’d promised not to ask questions. Maybe if this went well, they’d get a chance to ask him some other time.

“Fine. Just put, ‘I’m not mad at you. You don’t need to worry about it anymore.’”

“Okay…” they wrote that down, then looked at him expectantly.

“This next part’s kind of sappy. Just, don’t say anything about it, please?”

“I won’t, I promise.”

“Alright.” Trevor took a deep breath.

“‘I just wanted to say that I’m so, so sorry. For everything. For getting into fights, for losing control of myself, all of it. I never wanted to disappoint you. I’m going to try and be better from now on. I promise you, I’m going to be the kind of son you can be proud of. Love, Trevor.’”

It was quiet for a moment after Wren finished writing that down. They felt the need to say something, even though they’d promised not to.

“It sounds like you care about her a lot,” they said.

“I do. She’s all I’ve got.”

Wren had to wonder what that was like. They hadn’t heard a word from their parents since they’d been arrested. They were closer to their sister, but she hadn’t come to see them at all. Probably for the same reason Trevor hadn’t seen his mom yet either.

“Do you think she’ll notice the handwriting isn’t mine?” Trevor asked

“Uh…here.”

Wren added a line at the end of the letter: PS Sorry if the handwriting looks weird. I had to get someone else to write this for me. The markers here are too small for me to use.

Then they passed the letter back to Trevor for him to look over. He took a minute to read it through. He breathed a laugh when he got to the end.

“Looks good to me,” he told them.

“Cool. I’ll try and find an envelope, then.” Wren stood up and began to walk away.

“Hey, Wren?”

They smiled to themselves. He’d actually remembered their name.

“Yeah?”

“Thanks for your help.”

They looked back, quickly hiding the smile on their face.

“Anytime,” they said coolly.

First/Last/Next

[netegf]

alive

pairing: ao'nung x reader

plot: when one of the tulkun dies, ao'nung reflects on his friendship with you and needs the truth to flow out like water.

word count: 1.5 k

The tulkun way forbade killing, but death would one day come to touch all things in this place. Ao’nung, perhaps better than some others, knew that. And still, his grief had a body of its own.

It stood by his sister who cried, remembering how the water of birth once covered this calf, then was so quickly absorbed by the hungry ocean. It stood by his mother and father who, like always, endured. Tall and firm, even in their pain. Sometimes he wished he could scream for them until his lungs burned out. But he was always under water - always screaming without sound.

It stood by you. Usually with many words to say, but tonight, quiet. He watches as you stare, tight-lipped, looking out into the glowing water with your arms crossed over your chest. He wonders if you’re trying hard not to say anything like he is. Or, maybe, you enjoyed this silence. Hearing everyone’s breathing. Rejoicing that they were alive.

He lets his elbow brush against yours and melts when you shoot him a small, but affectionate smile. He relishes in the way it clears his breathing. Your mouth twitches to mumble something his ears are not keen enough to catch, and it brings him back to a day he thinks he will remember forever.

That day – only a few weeks after your arrival to Awa’atlu. The one that made him see the same waters he saw everyday differently. He watched as you sat along the reef, playing with strings of wet seaweed, talking to the water like it would say something back. He watched the way the tide surged in rhythmic murmurs and wondered if it did.

He did not know you so well back then – too busy being broad-shouldered and indifferent. Too busy convincing himself that nothing could touch him. Busy trying to make himself believe that he could be happy that way.

Nonetheless, he knew you were struggling to adjust. He remembers asking you about Awa’atlu once, and you said that a new place felt good so long as there was the prospect of belonging. But when that dream crumbled, there was nothing left but anger and licking teeth.

He didn’t know what that meant back then. Now, he draws his tongue over the points of his canines and thinks he is angry. Maybe frustrated was a better word - at his cowardice. Even in that moment, so long ago, he's unsure he would’ve said anything had you not caught him lurking.

After your talk with the water, he watched you grab a rock off the shore and attempt to make it skip. He noticed how quickly it sank. Then, like nothing happened, you grabbed another. Tried again. Kept throwing. Again, and again, and again. He thought it was stupid. And courageous.

When your eyes flicked over to him, poised awkwardly behind a boulder, you didn’t look bothered so much as you looked confused. It didn’t help that his lips were fused shut. He hoped you couldn’t tell that his lungs were beating in his mouth.

All he could muster was a strangely poignant, “I-I saw you.”

“You saw me?” You repeated, brows raised.

“Talking to the water.” He added, wincing slowly when realized that it hadn’t made anything less weird.

You nodded your head slowly. “Right.”

He felt his body retract before his mind could even recognize, but stopped when he heard the playful lilt in your voice.

“Hey, do you know how to skip rocks?”

He remembers scoffing. “I am not a baby, so yes.”

Then he remembers you rolling your eyes. Turning to rip away from him. His chest erupting in a pain he didn’t know. The sand grains beneath his feet, suddenly in an hour glass, and his moment slipping.

“Wait,” he said, grabbing at your hands. They were strong and warm. “I mean, yes, I do. I can help you.”

You bit your lip. “Okay, then.” And smiled happily. “I will think of something to teach you in return.” He liked the way you said everything like it was a promise.

So much time had passed since then, and granted, you had taught him many things. Mostly, about the odd resilience of seeds. How his hands felt too light without yours in them. Even now, you were teaching him. That grief was not an end, but a new kind of beginning. To a time of remembering.

Looking forward to where his parents were gathered in front of the clan, torches blazing, he thinks to a time when he caught the shore sparkling.

Sea glass. You said it was the only good thing to come from the war with the sky people. Shards of glass from ships and other things, churning through the water, persisting through the salt, until they became the ocean’s jewels – shiny, round, and beautiful.  

Without thinking, he picked it up. Paying no mind to its sharp edges. The way it sliced through the tips of his fingers. He hissed in pain, and continued to do so, even after you arrived. Your touch was not particularly gentle.

“You know, I think you would be better at this than me.” You remarked, fumbling with the wraps that clumsily hugged at his wounds.

“I was getting it for you.” He pressed. “I think you owe it to me.”

You scrunched your nose. Leaning forward to tap at his temple, and smiling crookedly. “Note to self, fish boy. I like my sea glass without blood on it.”

He rolled his eyes and turned his attention back to your trembling hands. Running a finger over the wrapping, only to be surprised at how damp it was. He bit back a laugh. “And I like when my bandages are not soaking wet.”

You lurched forward, then, trying to remove them. Muttering something about how Tsireya, or his mother, could fix it but he slipped away from your touch, cradled his hands to his chest.

“Back off!” He barked in between laughs. “These are mine.” Silent for a moment. “The world’s worst tsahìk did them for me.”  

He remembers how long the word tsahìk hung in the air. The implication of it. How your face felt warmer when he hugged you as a ‘thank you’. How strange it was to hug you for the first time, but how it set a precedent. He silently thanks himself for having had the courage.

By the time the funeral is over, Ao’nung has a conviction. That he has energy under his skin, and that it is yours to have. That it is time to tell you about it. He sees you lingering where the water kisses the shore, at the place you always meet.

In the event of something rippling, the two of you shared a special kind of ceremony. You each picked a pretty rock, watched it get swallowed whole in the ocean’s mouth, and said aloud something you planned to do in the near future.

He pulls up behind you. Notes the rock already jumping like a small fire in your hand. You look to him with wide eyes, somewhat bleary from the tears you cried for the tulkun, but also fearless. Also beautiful.

“I’m going to ride tsurak.” You say, not skipping a beat.

Ao’nung feels his neck crane. “But you’re not a hunter.”

“You don’t think I can?” You look disappointed, and it hurts his heart.

He pauses for a moment. Not disbelieving, but contemplative. He thinks of the one who keeps throwing sinking rocks.

“No, I know you can,” he corrects. “That is why it is so scary… I will never hear the end of it.” Laughter thunders from his chest, urging you to send a slap to his shoulder. You laugh, too, until there is just the sound of uneven breathing.

“What’s yours?” You ask.

Not trying to pry, but the silence is strange and disarming. It feels like he is hiding right in front of you. You turn your cheek to catch his pupils, and watch as his forehead pinches with tension.

“No fair.” You pout. “I told you mine, you can’t flake out no-”

“I am going to court you.”

Maybe he expected your face to contort in some kind of shock, but he'd take that knowing glimmer in your eye every time. More than happy with your hands pulling up from your lap and bringing a vibrating warmth to his neck. Maybe the water had one day sucked out his secrets and told you. He can’t be sure, but he thinks you were waiting for this. For him.

“Can I teach you something?” You whisper.

Before he can nod a second time, you are kissing him. A kiss with everything in it. Your soft lips, and teeth, but no anger. That has his veins burning. Reminds him that he breathes air and it circulates through this body. That life, too, touched all things in this place.  

And if he only ever focused on how much the water took, he'd be remiss of how much it gave.

END.

a/n: <33 enjoy bbs!! reblogs/tags are so appreciated! 🪐

[riya-kaur]

calum thomas hood

eight years.

↪ part one!

↪ part two.

"merry christmas eve!"

"mhm, come back to bed" you hear calum whine in his morning voice. you giggle at the sight of your boyfriend patting the empty mattress beside him.

it was now two days after the snowball incident, the one which led to calum finally confessing his feelings for you. well, since then, you and calum talked things through, about where you both stood with each other. the next day after that talk, calum took you out to a rooftop dinner and asked you on the balcony to be his girlfriend.

the both of you had waited so long for the moment, and your answer was obvious, but the fact he asked you - was something you appreciated.

the day after that, the four of you: you, calum, ashton, and mali, all went to target to get some christmas decorations for the cabin.

you and calum hadn't told mali and ashton yet of your guys' relationship, but they didn't ask either. the both of you were pretty sure that they already knew, though - due to the fact that calum was very into pda, and sometimes they would walk in on you two cuddling or just you two getting along.

and now it was the present day...

"cal, you need to get up, mali, and i made breakfast," you inform him as you stand beside the bed, hovering over him as your hand reaches for his hair. he turns to his side and looks up at you before retracting your hand from his hair and intertwining it with his.

"calum" your lips pout before you turn them into a frown. "fine" he huffs, "can i least get a kiss" his eyebrow arches as he looks up at me. you let your lips turn into a smile before placing them on his lips.

with the hand that was holding yours, you feel a light but effective tug, resulting in you falling on top of calum. "you're terrible." you shake your head before letting out a giggle.

"i've got you now," calum hums. he wraps his arms around you securely as he rests his face in your shoulder. you turn your head slightly to place a kiss to the the side of his head.

"ashton! you owe me fifty bucks!" the sound of mali's voice fills the room before rapid steps are heard running down the steps.

you'd turned your head to the bedroom door, which was now opened, you thought back to when you walked in before, remembering that you closed it behind you. "she knows, they know." your eyes widened as you turned back to calum.

"i'm surprised they didn't figure it out earlier" calum mumbles against your shoulder. "i've not been the most discrete" he admits. "but can you blame me? look at you" he says, pulling away from your shoulder, letting his eyes take you in.

"stop it!" you blush as you attempt to get out of his grasp. "no" he says, letting one of his hands reach up to your cheek. "you're beautiful, y/n" his fingers trace circles against your skin. "i'll never stop telling you that" he smiles before letting his lips rise to yours.

"thank you" you smile as against his lips, "for everything, calum" with that, you place another kiss on his jaw.

"so what was that bet about?" calum asks, walking into the kitchen. you follow behind him, looking over at ashton and mali, who were sitting at the table eating their stack of pancakes

"you two," ashton answers, "who won?" calum asked, already knowing the answer. he grabbed a plate of pancakes and sat beside his sister. you stood at the island as you were finishing up your food.

"me" mali spoke, "i knew something was going on between you two!" she exclaimed. calum chuckled before looking over at you. his fork had reached his lips as his eyes settled on you, "c'mere" he smiled at you.

you let out a small laugh as you pick up your plate and place it down on the table before taking the chair out from under the table. "i meant here, baby." he frowns as he opens up his arms.

"you guys are making me feel really single right now" mali sighed as she dropped her head to the table. "i don't care" calum shrugs, making you and ashton laugh.

mali raises her head from the table and sends a glare to her brother before looking over at you. you had tucked the chair back under the table and walked around the table to calum.

"i really have to show you that picture of him as a bratz doll" mali says, "he really pulled it off, didn't you cal?" she pointed her sarcasm over at calum, who just rolled his eyes.

you took a seat on calum's lap as he glared back at his sister. "is that really all you have against me" calum shrugs before he lets his arms settle around you. he drops his chin on your shoulder.

"so how are you this morning, ash?" you asked ashton as you pulled your plate towards you.

you and ashton began talking, leaving the two siblings to their squabbling and glaring

"are you guys coming!" ashton shouted from the bottom of the stairs. "we'll be five minutes!" you shout back.

at breakfast, ashton brought up seeing a poster of the winter wonderland fair that was being held tonight, so we all decided to attend.

"calum, will you do up my necklace?" you stood in front of the full-length mirror as your eyes locked with calum's through the glass.

he was in the middle of running a hand through his hair before he turned to look at you. he gave you a small nod before striding over to you, stopping when he reached a few inches behind you.

he let his hand scoop your hair over on one side of your shoulder before taking the small chain from your hands. he clasped it close, letting his fingers graze your nape.

you watched through the mirror as calum dipped his head, leaving small kisses on the side of your neck. his hand slightly tugging down the turtle neck you wore, leaving behind your exposed skin.

"cal-" your voice comes out breathy as you tilted your head to the side.

"will you two hurry up!" the sound of mali shouting from the bottom of the stairs left you both startled.

"we should probably go"

the four of you headed into an uber, ashton sitting in the passenger seat whilst you, calum and mali sat at the back.

mali was against you and calum sitting beside each other, so she sat in the middle. "you're so annoying," calum whispered, so the driver wouldn't hear.

you let out a small giggle as you see calum extending his hand out to you. before taking it, you see mali squatting his hand away. "i'm right here" she huffs.

"you're being really childish." calum shakes his head at his sister before letting it rest against the window.

"you need to stop being so touchy" mali argues back. "guys, let's not -" you shake your head with a smile to your lips.

"you're sitting in the middle on the way back"

"okay, what shall we do first?" ashton asks, the four of you huddled around together.

"i'm starving!" you exclaim with a pout on your lips. "let's get food, i wanna try that burger place" mali joins in. the four of you walk over to a burger hut. you and mali tell the boys your order before getting table.

"i'm so happy you two finally got together," mali smiles. "i know calum, and i pretend we don't get along, but i'm so happy to see him happy and finally be himself with you" she continues, "and now one of my best friends will eventually become my sister-in-law" she pouts as she pretends to wipe a tear off her cheek. you shake your head as you let out a laugh.

"thank you, though, that's means a lot, mali" you smile, "speaking of you and calum, have you told crystal, she'll be over the moon excited for you guys" mali giggles. "not yet, i was planning to call her tonight, but i have a feeling she already knows" you admit. "why" mali asks, her eyebrows furrowing.

"i spoke to michael a few days ago thinking it was crystal, and i just went on about -" you start, "well, calum" you shrug. "and i have no doubt that michael told crystal about it" you finish. "in that case-" mali chews on her inner cheek, "i'll admit she may already know- but i swear i didn't tell her" she says.

"have you seen calum's instagram recently?" she asks and you shake your head. "have a look" she urges.

so you do. you take your phone out of your bag and click onto instagram, tapping onto calum's account. you click on his recent post.

it was the picture mali took on our first morning at the cabin, me and calum tangled against the white sheets in bed. you felt deep red tint rise to your skin as you admired the picture.

"i didn't know my brother had it in him to be a romantic" mali says.

you giggle at the statement before reading calum's caption:

' we made it- it took eight years, but i finally have the girl of my dreams. it's you and me against the world, baby. i love you, always have and always will <3 '

you felt your eyes water at the caption, but quickly wiped them away when you raised your head back up at mali. "this is so cute" you point at your phone, "what's so cute?" you hear calum say.

you turn around in your seat, looking up at calum with a grin across your lips, "you" you tug on his sleeve, telling him to bend down. he does so, letting a kiss fall on your lips.

calum takes the seat next to you, his lips still on yours whilst his tongue runs across your bottom lip, "guys, food?" mali breaks the two of you up with the short sentence.

"oh yeah, i'm starving!" you squeal, calum let's out a chuckle before placing a kiss to the side of your head. he waits a few seconds before letting out a pretend yawn, his arms stretching out and then settling on the back of your chair.

"cliché"

"i'll hold your hand!"

you look over at calum, who sat on a bench with his arms crossed over his chest. "it's so embarrassing, i'll end up falling," he says. "i promise you won't, i'll be right be your side. look at ash. he was the same as you, and now he's doing great"

you stretch your hand out in front of calum, pointing over at the ice rink where mali and ashton were skating laps around the rink. "you'll be fine, calum" you bat your eyelashes whilst holding out your pinky finger. "i pinky promise baby"

"fine" calum huffs as he hooks his pinky finger on yours. "but you owe me since i'm literally going out there to embarrass myself" he sighs.

"thank you! thank you! thank you!" you squeal as you pull his arm, trying to pull him off the bench- it failed because he didn't move an inch. "get up" you shake his arm as you watch him smirk, amusement dripping off of him.

"you're so cute" he chuckled as he stood up from the bench. "mhm i know"

calum rolls his eyes playfully, you let out a scoff before hitting his chest, "come on," you say impatiently as you take his hand in yours, dragging him to the ice rink.

the two of you made your way to the counter and requested your skates. after a couple of minutes, you had received the skates, and you both took a seat on a bench to put them on and tied them up.

"stay there," you say calum as you rush over to the lockers, "not like i can move anyway, i'll end up falling" he states. you shake your head as you watch him lean back into the bench.

you pick up yours and calum's trainers from the ground and carefully make your way over to the lockers. after putting in the locker combination, you made your way back to calum.

"okay, you ready?" you ask calum, you let your hand push his legs apart, allowing you to stand imbetween them. he looks up at you, his bottom lip imbetween his lip. "what?" you coo as you raise your hand to cup his jaw. "why don't we just skip skating and do something else" he pleads, his hands find yours, tugging on them, making you take a seat on one of his thighs.

you adjust yourself on his thigh before letting your fingers trail his jaw. "you'll have fun" you pout, your fingers mindlessly trailing down his chest.

he catches your wondering hand with his, "kids" he says, darting his eyes to a group of children, who were staring at you both. "oh god" you say, embarrassed as you rush yourself off of calum.

calum lets out a laugh as he watches you turn flustered, a deep red tinting your cheeks. "come one then, before i change my mind" he takes your hand in his and wobbles over to the rink.

you walked onto the rink first, still holding onto calum's hand. he eventually made it onto the rink, earning glances of both adults and children as he struggled to balance himself.

"you're doing it!" mali exclaims, sneaking up from behind calum. calum jumps but holds onto you and the side of the rink. "god, mali. don't do that" he furrows his eyebrows at his sister. "you're doing great, cal." you smile as you watch him take small strides on the ice.

"ash, look!" mali exclaims, gaining ashton's attention. "well done, man, you're doing great" ashton beams as he strides over to the three of you.

"wanna try let go?" you ask calum, he nods in response, "stay close though, just in case" he shrugs, "i will, i'll be right beside you " letting go of calum's hand, you watch as he lets go of the side wall, taking small strides ahead.

he eventually starts taking longer strides around the rink, feeling much more confident from when he first stepped on the rink.

"how'd you find that?" you ask calum as you untie the skates off. "supringsly fun, thank you for making me do it" calum smiles.

the both of you were sat on the bench, now putting on your trainers and doing them up. calum leaned into your side, placing a kiss to your head once he had finished tying his shoelace up.

"where did mali and ahston go?" you ask calum, turning to your side. "on the rollercaosters" calum points out. "right." you bite your inner cheek, "what shall we do now?"

"i have an idea" calum pipes up. you hum in response. "the wheel?" he asks. your eyes shoot up at the illuminated wheel.

"it's a bit-" you begin to say, "high" you finish off by looking over at calum. "you helped me on the rink, now let me help you" he says. "cal, that's really high" you sigh, looking up at the wheel again, "i'll be right next to you, baby" he says, tucking a stray piece of your hair behind your ear.

you turn to look at calum again. "i'll hold your hand" calum turns the corners of his lips down as he bats his eyelashes at you.

"i guess this is karma for making you go on the rink" you huff, standing up from the bench, "come one then" you say, reaching out for his hand. he takes your hand in his and practically runs over to the line for the wheel.

"you'll be okay, i promise," calum reassures you, "i know." you smile, hugging into calum's side. "i've got you" you mumble against him. "you do, baby, you always got me. you've had me for eight years" calum whispers against the top of your head, leaving behind a kiss.

it eventually came to yours and calum's turn to sit in a carriage. the man guarding the ride strapped you both in, whilst you kept your eyes on calum, "if i just look at you, it'll be fine, i just won't look down" you state, tightly clasping onto calum's hand.

calum places another kiss to the side of your head as the carriage moves forward, your feet now off the ground and instead dangling.

calum brings his hand to your cheek as the carriage starts getting higher, "you're okay," he whispers.

"wanna try look down?" he asks. you nod as you unconsciously grip calum's hand tighter. you draw your eyes beneath you, looking at the lights that were lighting up the night sky.

"i-it looks beautiful," you state. "mhm, it does," calum says, his eyes never leaving you.

once the wheel had come to a halt, you and calum jumped out, giggling. " that was so fun!" you squeal, you let your arm link with calums as the both of you walk towards a nearby fire.

there were little bonfires scattered around, under little huts, to help keep warm. so you and calum entered a hut and stood beside the fire, letting your hand hover over the fire. you leaned into calum's side whilst doing so.

"look up" calum smiles. you look up at the wooden ceiling, seeing a mistletoe hanging down.

you giggle as you shuffle around calum, now standing in front of him, on your tiptoes. you let your arms wrap around his neck whilst he let his arms wrap around your waist.

you pull him down for a kiss, calum quickly slipping his tongue in, imbetween your parted lips.

"merry christmas, baby."

this took longer than i'd hoped :/

but thank you to those of you who asked for a part 2 to eight years! 🫶🏽

i initially had wanted to do something completely different with this, but i ended up with this!

also, there might be a part 3 to this