#i'm sorry that all i do is make you look at the same two guys over and over

[mrgoldmc26]

Jisoo's Late Night YG HQ Visit

Tags: Blowjob, facefucking, vaginal sex, facial and more...

Word Count: 5.1k

The following is a Fan Fiction and should be treated as such.

It was a dark and rainy late Friday night at the YG HQ, with pretty much everyone having already gone home. The building was almost empty, and it was quite dark. At times, it even felt like a ghost town, with how little noise there was.

I was in my office, just finishing some paperwork, the only illumination coming from the dim glow of my desk lamp and the soft light of my computer screen, when suddenly, a very angry-looking Jisoo came into the room, slamming the door shut. I was so surprised, I didn't know what to say. She was panting heavily, with an annoyed look on her face, and I wondered what could've possibly gotten her so mad.

"Whoa, Jisoo...what's wrong? Why do you look so angry?"

"Please tell me that the rumors aren't true."

"What rumors? I don't know what you are talking about."

"The rumors that you guys are going to release Lisa's new songs before mine."

"Uhm, nothing has been confirmed yet, but it’s looking likely this will be the case."

"That is bullshit! She has already released two songs before, and I haven't even had my solo debut."

"I'm sorry, Jisoo, but Lisa just simply draws in more numbers than you. She is more famous than you, and her songs are just better."

"Do you really want to compare your 'Flower' and 'All Eyes On Me' to Lisa's 'LALISA' and 'Money'?"

"Also, I'm pretty sure she has already showed you her unreleased song 'Rockstar'..."

"Not to mention, she has a feature on the cards with Rosalía. Where is your feature? Nobody wants to collaborate with you."

"This is so unfair. Jennie, Rosé and Lisa have already had their solo debut. It should be me now."

"I...I don't know what to tell you, Jisoo...you are just going to have to wait a little bit longer.

"How much longer?"

"Well, we have to put your releases far away from each other. So, if Lisa takes 2023, you will have to wait until next year."

"NEXT YEAR? We are in March!!!"

"Sorry. There isn't much I can do."

"Of course there is...you are the son of the CEO. He will listen to you. Please!"

It pained me to see Jisoo like this. She had this weird effect on me...everytime I looked at her, she would leave me breathless, unlike the other girls. They were all beautiful, but she was just on another level. Jisoo was right. I knew it was unfair, but I was just trying to do what's best for business.

"I can try to talk to him, but I doubt he'll change his mind. Now, if you will excuse me, I'm going home." I said, standing up and getting ready to leave.

"No! That's not good enough!" She said, slamming her fist into my desk.

"You aren't going anywhere until I've had my solo debut."

"I know you have the power to make the decision yourself, so please...do the right thing."

"You are right...I do have the power to do it if I really wanted to."

"Then do it. Please, I will do anything. I'm tired of waiting for my opportunity."

"Anything, huh?"

"Yes. Anything."

"We'll see about that." I said, pulling down my pants alongside my boxers, letting them drop to the floor as my cock flopped out, already semi-hard.

Jisoo's eyes widened at the sight, and her jaw slightly dropped. Her reaction wasn't exactly what I was hoping for, and I was surprised by the fact that she wasn't on her knees immediately, taking my cock inside her mouth.

"I can't believe you would do such thing to me...you are disgusting."

"So what's it gonna be?"

"Not that, that's for sure. You can put that away, I'm going upstairs."

"Upstairs? To do what?"

"See if there is still any higher up I can talk to."

"For what?"

"To get you fired."

"You really think that is going to work? The only person that can fire me is my dad. Who do you think he is going to pick?"

"Me." She said, not sounding that convinced.

"Okay, let's say that by some miracle he picks your side, and he fires me...do you really think the next guy won't do the same thing? We are all trying to do what's best for business. They will always pick Lisa ahead of you."

"That's not true."

"Oh, it is...and let me tell you something else. Do you even know why they got their opportunities ahead of you in the first place?"

"No."

"They were in the same spot as you are right now. In front of me, with my cock out. And I will give you a little spoiler...they didn't even hesitate..."

"No...that...that can't be true. You are lying."

"I'm not lying, Jisoo. Why do you think you get the least lines out of all four of you?" I said, leaving Jisoo in disbelief, as she started putting the pieces together.

"I'm giving you the opportunity that you wanted. If you do this, I can make sure your songs are out in the next two weeks. You have my word."

"But please...go ahead. Go talk to my father. Get me fired. I'm sure it will work, and they will replace me with an ugly ass Korean guy with a tiny cock. I bet you will enjoy sucking on that instead..."

"So...once again I ask you...what's it gonna be? And before you answer, and to make the decision easier for you, I must tell you that my cock isn't even fully hard yet." I said, smirking from ear to ear, as I was confident she was going to take the deal.

Jisoo was completely rooted to the spot. I could tell she was thinking about it really hard, and contemplating her choices. This was a difficult situation for her, but the fact that she hadn't walked out the room told me she was considering the offer.

"Next two weeks?" She asked, and I let out the biggest grin I could muster.

"Next two weeks."

"This stays between you and me, okay?"

"You have my word. Now...get down on your knees."

I could tell by the disgusted look on her face that she didn't want to do this in the slightest and felt awful about herself, yet still, Jisoo kneeled before me, and looked at my dick before looking up at me.

"You have done this before, haven't you?"

"Yes. I know how to suck dick."

"Good."

Before I gave her the chance to do anything with my cock, I moved away from her and sat down on the couch, wanting to feel as comfortable as possible for what was about to happen. I saw Jisoo beginning to stand up, when I immediately stopped her in her tracks.

"No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no. Stop! Stay down...I want you to crawl over to me."

"You are an asshole..."

"You want things to get done, you do as I say."

"Now stay on your knees and crawl over to me like the slut that you are."

"I am not a slut."

"Really? You are about to suck my dick to further your career, and you think that makes you any different from a slut?"

"Ugh, shut up. I hate you." She said, as she reluctantly began crawling towards me. Jisoo was so gorgeous, and watching her crawl towards me made my cock throb and swell even more.

As Jisoo finally made her way over to me, she hesitated for a moment, as her eyes were fixated on my cock.

"C'mon Jisoo. Don't act shy."

"Do you know what happened when I gave the same opportunity I am giving you right now to the likes of Jennie and Rosé?"

"No."

"They didn't even think twice. Both of them dove right in. They sucked my cock like their life depended on it, and, on both occasions, I fucked them afterwards."

"In fact, they enjoyed it so much, that they actually kept coming back for more, even after I had already promised to give them what they wanted."

"What about Lisa?"

"Lisa is a greedy slut. Only gets down on her knees for me when she wants something and never shows up after she got it."

"But with you...I believe that you are gonna be like Jennie and Rosé. You are gonna come back for more. I know you will. You can't resist."

"That's never going to happen. I'm only doing this once."

"We'll see about that..." I said, as Jisoo put her hand on the base of my shaft and gently held it steady, before she started stroking it slowly.

"Good girl. Stroke that cock, Jisoo."

"Make it nice and hard before you put it in your mouth."

As Jisoo continued her slow strokes, I could see that Jisoo's face was getting closer and closer to the tip of my dick. And soon, I felt her hot breath hitting my cock, followed by a very gentle lick on the tip.

"Go on. You can start sucking it. I know you are dying to."

"Shut up."

"C'mon. Stop teasing. Put that big cock in your mouth and suck it."

Jisoo shot a sharp look up at me, before she opened her mouth and enveloped the head of my cock between her lips. Her eyes widened a bit as she took more and more of my thick shaft into her mouth, and it wasn't long before she started bobbing her head.

"Ahhhh, good girlllll. See, that wasn't so difficult, now, was it?"

"Now go on and suck my dick like the slutty idol you are."

Jisoo's eyes were focused on the base of my dick, watching her own saliva coating the whole thing as her hand stroked it, and she sucked on the tip. She then began licking the underside of my shaft, from the base, all the way up to the tip, where she swirled her tongue for a moment, before taking more of my dick back in her mouth.

"Fuckkkk, Jisoo...you really enjoy doing this, don't you? Look at you, slobbering all over my cock. I wonder what your fans would say if they could see their favourite idol now."

"I bet they'd be surprised to see just how talented that mouth of yours really is."

"Can you please shut up while I'm doing this? I don't want to be here."

"You know you can leave, right? I'm not forcing you to be here."

"I know I can...but I will gain nothing if I do, so I'm just going to continue sucking your cock."

True to her word, Jisoo did exactly that. She went back to work on my cock, taking it deep inside her mouth, her lips stretching around the shaft. As she continued working her way down, inch by inch, I couldn't help but throw my head back and moan softly.

It didn't take long before I saw a string of spit dripping from the corner of her mouth, down her chin, and onto her top, as she kept sliding her lips up and down, going a bit deeper each time.

"You want to go solo, don't you Jisoo?"

"Mmhhhmmm." She hummed, nodding her head as she kept my cock inside her mouth, sucking and slurping lewdly, coating it with her warm saliva.

"Good. Because you are doing a great job, but you are never going to make me cum if you keep going at this pace."

"You are going to have to do a whole lot better than that if you want your solo debut."

"Show me how much you want to be a star." I said, and Jisoo immediately began rapidly sucking and slurping all over my cock, moving her head up and down, whilst she stroked the bottom of my shaft with one hand and played with my balls with the other.

"Oh my god, Jisoo!...yesssss."

"That is so much better, fuckkkk."

"Suck that dick, girl."

Jisoo was driving me completely insane with her blowjob skills, and I couldn't help but roll my eyes into the back of my head as I also put my arms on the back of the couch and leaned my head back, moaning in pleasure.

"Fuck, I love this. Don't stop, Jisoo. Keep sucking my big dick just like that."

"I bet this is the biggest cock you've ever sucked, isn't it?"

"I've sucked dicks bigger than yours." She said, before putting her lips around my cock and taking my length inside her mouth once again.

It was an answer that left me both intrigued and very pissed off, and so I decided to let out my frustration on her, grabbing a fistful of her hair and pushing her head down until her lips reached the base.

"Take that whole fucking thing, Jisoo. All the way down your throat."

Jisoo moaned and gagged a bit as my cock hit the back of her throat. I kept pushing her head until she managed to swallow the entire thing, my balls resting on her chin. I held her there for a few seconds, and I could feel her swallowing around the tip of my cock.

Jisoo began coughing, and she tried to pull her head off my cock, but I didn't let her, and so I kept her head down. After a while, she stopped trying to fight it, and let me keep her head still as I began fucking her throat, causing her to choke and gag around me.

"Look at you...choking on my big dick just because you are an impatient little bitch."

"Jennie, Lisa and Rosé would be so proud of you right now if they walked in, watching you following in their footsteps."

I kept using Jisoo's mouth and throat like my personal fleshlight, constantly feeding her my big cock as my balls slapped her chin every time she took it all the way down. She was choking and gagging, saliva leaking out her mouth and rolling down her chin and neck.

After a few more thrusts, I finally released her head, and she pulled herself off my cock, with a small stream of saliva dripping from her mouth, onto my cock. She took deep breaths, and coughed a few times, before turning her attention back to my dick.

"Open your mouth." I said before I stood up, and Jisoo, much to my surprise, didn't put up a fight. She did as she was told, and stuck her tongue out. I didn't waste any second, and began slapping her tongue and face with my wet cock.

"Yeah, you like that, huh? You love being slapped in the face with my big dick, don't you?"

"Say it!"

"Say that you love being slapped in the face with my big fat cock."

"I love...I love being slapped...in the face with your big, fat cock." She said, still showing some signs of resentment.

"Yeah, you better."

"Keep sticking your tongue out, baby. You look so beautiful like this, Jisoo." I said, as I kept alternating between smacking her face and her tongue with my hard cock, using her face for my own pleasure.

I didn't know who to thank at that time. Either Jisoo, for her songs being so average, or my father, for giving me so much power in the company, but at the end of the day, I guess the only thing that mattered was that I had one of the most famous and beloved Korean singers in the world, down on her knees, taking a beating from my big dick.

After a few more smacks, I began rubbing my balls all over her face, and she started licking them, before she took them into her mouth and started sucking on them.

"There you go, Jisoo. Good girl. Suck on those balls."

"Take them both into your mouth. I know you can do it." I said, before sitting back down and letting Jisoo do her thing.

I felt Jisoo's warm and wet tongue licking all over my ballsack, before she opened her mouth wider, and slowly engulfed my balls, rolling her tongue around them, and sucking on them hungrily.

Jisoo was doing such a good job, that I actually started wondering if was enjoying it or not. If she was, she was doing a very good job at hiding it. Or maybe she was just that determined to get what she wanted. Whatever the case, the pleasure was still overwhelming, and the way her soft and wet tongue felt on my balls, and the suction of her mouth, was simply magical.

As if things couldn't get any better, she started stroking my cock whilst she feasted on my balls, without me having to tell her anything. I was turned on beyond belief, and I knew I couldn't resist much longer.

After a couple more minutes of Jisoo worshipping my balls, she finally let go and looked at me.

"Make me cum, Jisoo...I'm so close."

Jisoo took a deep breath before she opened her mouth even wide and went right back in, engulfing my whole dick once again, before she came back to the tip, and started rapidly sucking the head whilst she stroked my cock with her saliva covered hand, making her handjob incredibly slippery.

She then started deepthroating my cock by letting it go deeper and deeper into her mouth, until she was choking herself on my cock. Jisoo was desperate to make me cum so that she could leave my office and forget this ever happened.

Jisoo wasn't as cute as Rosé, as hot as Lisa, or even as sexy as Jennie. She was however, by far, the most beautiful out of the four. Nobody this beautiful should be on her knees, sucking a cock, and yet, here she was, slurping all over my cock to further her career.

"You are a good little cocksucker, aren't you?"

"I know I'm good at sucking dick. I don't need your approval."

"Well, if that's true, then you should have no problem getting me to cum, shouldn't you?"

"So do it. Make me cum and show me why you deserve to have it all."

Jisoo looked me right in the eyes, and then she got back to work. She put both hands around my cock and began stroking it in a corkscrew motion, whilst she was sucking the tip of my penis.

"Oh my god, that's it, girl. Do it faster."

"Suck my fucking cock until I cum down your throat."

She sped up her movements and soon enough, she was jacking me off at a very high pace, whilst her lips and tongue focused on the sensitive head. I could feel the familiar feeling of my climax coming, and I was so ready to give Jisoo what she deserved.

"Here it comes, Jisoo."

"Fucking take it." I said, holding the back of her head and shoving her down onto my cock, making her take it all the way down her throat, as my cum splattered inside her mouth.

"Fuuuuuck, yesssss. Open your mouth. Let me see all that cum."

Jisoo pulled her mouth off my cock and opened it, showing me her entire mouthful of cum. I couldn't believe how much jizz I had just shot inside her, and the sight of her holding it in her mouth was driving me wild.

"Swallow it, baby. Don't waste any drop, Jisoo."

Jisoo struggled a bit, but she managed to swallow all of my seed, without missing a drop. She opened her mouth to show me once again that it was empty, and I let out the biggest grin.

"Clean my cock. C'mon, I don't have all day."

She rolled her eyes, but she did as I said, and wrapped her lips around the tip of my dick, and sucked the remaining cum off of it.

"Good girl." I said, as I let her pull herself off of my cock. She licked her lips, and wiped her mouth, before standing up.

"So, do I have my solo debut?" She asked, looking rather displeased.

"No, not yet. Go over there and bend over the desk."

"What?! But you told me to make you cum."

"I did say that, but I didn't tell you how many times." I said, with a smirk on my face.

"You're a liar. Bastard!!!" Jisoo said, shouting at me whilst pointing her finger at me.

"Are you done?"

"Fuck you."

"I promise you'll get what you want if you make me cum one more time."

"Why should I trust you? You've already proven to me that you are a lying piece of shit."

"That's fair. But if you really want your solo debut, then you don't have a choice."

"Ughhh, fine. I hate you. I swear, you'll pay for this."

"You can say whatever you want, but I know you are secretly loving this."

"Just hurry up and fuck me so that we can end this."

"Very well...like I said...bend over the desk and spread those legs for me."

"Asshole..." She muttered under her breath, as she walked to the desk and bent over, sticking her ass out and spreading her legs wide, waiting for me.

I stood up from the couch, and made my way towards her, grabbing her by her waist.

"Mmmhh, what a nice view. I think this is the first time I have seen you in a position like this, Jisoo."

"Can we please not talk?"

"Aren't you excited to feel a big cock inside your tight little pussy, Jisoo?" I asked, to no avail, as Jisoo just ignored me.

I grabbed her leggings and panties, and pulled them both down, exposing her ass and wet pussy. She wasn't soaking wet, but I knew that it was only a matter of time.

I rubbed the tip of my dick all over her pussy lips, coating it with her juices. Her pussy felt amazing, and it wasn't long before I started getting hard again. I stroked my cock a few times until I was fully erect, and then I gave it a couple of smacks against her ass, and pussy.

"Beg for it, Jisoo. Beg me to fuck you."

"Please don't make me say it. I really don't want to."

"Say it, or the deal is off." I said, to which Jisoo just sighed.

"Please, fuck my pussy with your big cock!"

"Happy?"

"I am, and I will be even happier when I cum inside you."

"NO. Please don't. You can't cum inside me."

"My load is either ending up inside you or on your face. It's your choice."

"Is there really no other choice?"

"Nope."

Jisoo thought about it for quite a long time, as I just kept rubbing my cock against her slippery folds, waiting for an answer.

"Please don't cum inside me, okay? Pull out and finish on my face. Just...don't come inside."

"Don't worry, I won't. You can trust me. I am a trustworthy man." I said, and Jisoo almost burst into laughter.

"You are unbelievable..."

"I know I am. I get that a lot."

"Oh god...are you gonna fuck me or what?"

"Patience, Jisoo. Now...relax and let me fill your pretty little cunt." I said, as I pushed my hips forwards and slid the head inside, causing Jisoo to gasp. She was unbelievably tight, the way her walls hugged my dick was amazing, and it made me let out a grunt of satisfaction.

"This pussy is so fucking good, oh god."

As I finally slid into her, a rush of realization hit me—I'd done it. I’d been with all four members of Blackpink. The sheer thought of being one of the few guys, if not the first one in the whole world to do it was mind-blowing, and it made me so horny that I didn't hesitate for a second before pulling my hips back, and thrusting forward, burying my entire cock deep inside her pussy as I felt Jisoo’s tight warmth wrap around me.

Jisoo's pussy was so incredibly tight, that all I really wanted was to feel my cock rub against her walls very slowly. For several minutes, the room was almost completely silent, and the only noise you could hear was the sound of my moans every now and then, until Jisoo broke the silence.

"Ha..."

"What was that?"

"Har...Harder."

"Excuse me? I don't think I heard you correctly."

"Please.....fuck me harder."

No amount of words could describe how happy and satisfied I was upon hearing Jisoo's request, and I happily obliged. So, without any warning, I immediately started fucking her like an animal, pounding her from behind with deep and fast thrusts.

"Oh, FUCK. Yes."

"I knew you would come around."

"Oh, shut the fuck up and fuck me hard."

Jisoo became a moaning mess, and it wasn't long before my thrusts were in perfect sync with hers, as she would push her ass back every time I thrust into her, making our bodies meet midway.

"Does that cock feel good, Jisoo?"

"Mmmmhhhmmm. It feels so fucking good."

"You like having that big cock inside your tight little pussy?"

"Yes...I love having your big cock in my pussy."

"Are you going to let me come inside you?"

"No. I would still rather take your load on my face."

"Very well." I said. It was worth the shot, but I wasn't that upset. After all, I was enjoying the amazing sex that I was having with one of the most beautiful idols in the world.

I fucked her hard and fast, slamming into her so fast, her legs began trembling. The sound of skin slapping and heavy breathing was music to my ears, and I didn't think it could get any better than this, until Jisoo decided to put her right leg up on the desk, allowing me to hit deeper and go even harder.

"Oh my god, this has to be the best pussy I have ever fucked."

"Every guy I let fuck me always says the same thing."

"I bet they do." I said, as I kept hammering away, causing the desk to move a few inches.

"Fuck me! Oh, fuck yes! Harder!"

"Make me cum on your big cock."

"Who does this pussy belong to? Huh?"

"You, baby. My pussy belongs to you."

"Fuck, yesss. Give me that dick. I love this fucking cock."

I was taken by surprise by how eager and desperate Jisoo had suddenly become. Maybe it was because my very slow thrusts at the start made her horny and desperate for something more than just that, or maybe she was just saying that to get me to blow my load.

Either way, I was going to make sure to enjoy every second of it. I continued pumping into her, and it wasn't long before I saw her reach a hand between her legs, and begin fingering herself.

"Holy shit. That's fucking hot, Jisoo."

"Keep going. Don't stop fingering that pussy."

"Fuck, I love fucking your tight little pussy."

"I want you to make me cum on your dick, and then I want you to pull out and cum all over my face. Can you do that for me, baby?"

"Yes, baby. I'll cum all over your face. Just keep fingering yourself."

The room was filled with the smell of sex, and the sounds of moaning, heavy breathing, and the wet sound of my cock going in and out of Jisoo's pussy, and the sloppy noises that were made every time Jisoo would finger herself.

I grabbed a handful of her hair and yanked it back, pulling her head backwards. She screamed and moaned in pleasure, as I kept pounding her harder and harder, the desk shaking underneath us.

"Fuck, keep fucking me, baby."

"Your big dick feels so good inside me."

"Make me cum on your big cock."

"Yesssss. Keep doing that. Right there. I'm so close."

Jisoo's voice was shaky, and her breaths were becoming shorter and deeper with every one of my thrusts, and it wasn't long before her loud moans got muffled, as she bit her lip to prevent herself from screaming.

"Don't stop, Jisoo. Come for me."

"Fuccckkkk, yesss. Just like that. Make me cum."

Jisoo's body shook violently as she squirted all over the desk and floor, her orgasm making her pussy clamp down on my cock. Her loud moan echoed through the office, and the tightness of her pussy was just too much to handle.

"Get down on your knees, Jisoo. I'm gonna cum." I said, and Jisoo rapidly got down on her knees and took my dick in her hand.

"I can't believe I'm doing this." She said, and then she began jacking me off.

"Come on...make a mess on my face."

"Cover me in your cum."

"Paint my face with your warm cum."

"Fuck. Here it comes, Jisoo. Look at me."

"Open your mouth, girl."

"Let me see that tongue."

"Fucccck, Jisoo. Fuckkkkkk." I groaned as I came, my cum spraying all over Jisoo's pretty little face, coating her eyes, cheeks, nose, and forehead, as well as her lips and chin.

"Mmmhhh, yeah. Give me all that cum, baby." She said, opening her mouth and letting her tongue out, as she stroked my cock and aimed it towards her face, catching some spurts of cum in her mouth, and swallowing them.

"How does it taste?"

"Hmmm, surprisingly good."

"So...do I have my solo debut or not?"

"You do. I will announce the decision to the other members of the board tomorrow morning, and we should have all of the social media posts ready tomorrow as well."

"Oh my god, thank you so much." She said, giving me a hug.

"Yeah, yeah...now go get yourself cleaned up before you leave my office and the building."

"Nobody can see you like that."

"Yeah, I know."

"Thank you once again."

"Your welcome. And see you tomorrow, same time." I said, with a smirk on my face.

"Yeah right..." Jisoo said, just before closing the door behind her.

"Oh...what a night." I muttered under my breath, before taking a seat back down.

...

Just like I expected, Jisoo did indeed return the following day, even showing up a little earlier than the day before, at a time when there were actually quite a few people outside my office, working. After chatting a bit and swapping a couple of looks between us two, Jisoo crawled under my desk and fished out my cock, before taking it into her mouth.

The more days that passed, the earlier she arrived and the longer she stayed, as we fucked in every position imaginable inside my office. She even let me fuck her ass and cum inside her pussy.

Because of this job that I only got because of who my father was, not only was I rich and never had to worry about money for the rest of my life, but it also gave me the opportunity to fuck every girl of the hottest, most popular and most successful K-pop girl group of all time.

It was safe to say, that I truly had the best job in the world.

[sunsetchicane]

Postcards - Part 3 [LN4]

lando norris x [travel] journalist fem!reader

find the series here

word count: 5.2k

summary: The one where you're in Paris and you can't stop thinking about him and you find yourself giving him a call.

warnings: angsts again (sorry! I swear it's turning around), swearing, innuendo, unedited!

author's note: hey...sorry this took so long??? college is crazy guys. but anyways, I'm a little rusty so be gentle lmao. please enjoy and I'll see you guys SOON!! feedback, comments, likes whatever you feel like is so much appreciated. Lots of love [xoxo elle]

Lando

Nov. 2022

The lights of Abu Dhabi blind Lando as he stands next to his car and removes his helmet from his head. Ending P6 was respectable, a good end to a mediocre at best season. His head swims with the noise that swallows the track and the flashing lights that light up the night race. Another season was officially in the books. There’s always a bittersweet feeling that hits all the drivers as they jump out of their cars for the last race of the season, letting the months past become another chapter of history. An excitement for the break ahead and the promise of a new season buoys their spirits, but it’s a hard goodbye nonetheless. 

Lando absentmindedly walks around to congratulate everyone, shaking hands and sharing smiles. Though, his heart isn’t in it. His focus splintered the second he left the car. Thoughts drift towards you. They always do. There’s never a day that passes that you aren’t on his mind, on his heart.

Flashing cameras surround him, capturing this moment. He thinks of you.

Journalists with microphones tucked into their hands yell words into a camera lens. He thinks of you.

Faces flashing in and out of sight, bodies swarming around him as his eyes search the crowd. He’s looking for you.

But you aren’t there. There was no reason for you to be there. The last time you spoke, the London night surrounded you and held you together. To this day, when he closes his eyes, he can still feel your lips on his. Somedays, he makes it through with just this memory alone spurring him on. He promised to see you in Monaco, but every time he called your office, you were gone. Every time he showed up at your cubicle, it was deserted. A layer of dust collected over everything. 

A thin layer of dust covering a framed picture of Big Ben lit from behind by the setting sun.

After so many futile attempts of trying to find you, to connect again, he slowly stopped trying. There was an obvious truth behind the estrangement of your paths: you were avoiding him. 

At first, he rejected the idea, claiming to only himself that you wouldn’t do that. He was convinced that you felt the same way that he did. There was something between the two of you that was beyond anything he had ever felt. Your passion inspired him. Your humor warmed him. Your presence set him at ease in such a way that the whole world could be burning and he would be perfectly content to just hold you in his arms. 

He’d never felt that way about anyone. Not even close.

So for a long time, longer than he would ever admit, he clutched onto hope. 

But with each passing week with not a single word from you, faith began to slip. With every message that went unanswered and phone call that went straight to the voicemail of your office phone, his grip on you loosened. 

He’d be the first to admit his lack of maturity. He wasn’t ashamed of still being a kid. Instead, he wore it like a badge of honor, making it part of his personal brand. If it wasn’t for you, he would never have thought twice about growing up to be the man that you deserved. But now that you’re gone, slipping into memory, he’s found himself back in his comfortable corner of immaturity. 

So, after hurrying through all of his post-race interviews and duties with the team, he finds himself taking solace in the night life of Abu Dhabi.

Alcohol had never really been his thing, but recently the appeal has been becoming more and more obvious to him. Round after round is poured down his throat, burning every memory of you away for the night. Intoxication holds you at bay, at least for a while. 

“Slow down, mate.” Max laughs into his ear while Lando tosses back yet another shot of something. He’s had enough that everything tastes the same now.

“I’m celebrating!” Lando slurs, shoving Max square in the chest. They stumble together, laughing as they nearly fall over. The world is a haze of flickering neon lights. Music and voices blend into a loud hum, everything becoming one to drunk ears.

Lando collapses haphazardly onto the couch in the club, quickly followed by Max. With hooded eyes, they watch the dance floor in front of them. The mass of the crowd seems to move as one, enchanting Lando’s drunk mind. The night coalesces and crests like a wave, ebbing and flowing as one singular, living thing. Everything seems interconnected and endless. If he could, Lando would stay in this feeling forever. Nothing hurts, nothing is joyful, everything is completely numb.

“I miss her.” He says, but the usual pain that accompanies those words is nowhere to be found.

“I know,” Max says, his head falling back while he closes his eyes.

“I hate her.” Lando says emotionlessly. Max doesn’t respond. It isn’t true. They both know that it isn’t. But for tonight, they can pretend. 

Lando can pretend that it doesn’t matter that he pushes himself off the couch when he catches the eye of a girl that looks somewhat like you. He can pretend that he doesn’t think about you as he dances behind her, his hands gripping her hips to hold her close. He can pretend that he doesn’t wish it was your neck that his lips trail up towards her jaw. He has to pretend when he finds himself asking her to leave with him. 

And when he finds himself that night, tangled up with a girl who’s name he doesn’t bother to remember, he gives up pretending and thinks only of you. Of your lips, of your body, of the way it would feel to have you around him. Your voice calling out his name in the quiet hours of the morning. 

He hates you.

He hates not having you.

This isn’t the first time that he’s tried to heal his sorrow with momentary pleasure. No, in fact, he’s done this a handful of times and each time he tries he hopes that this will be the girl to erase you from his life. But she never is. He’s a fool for trying the same thing over and over again expecting a miracle.

“Stay,” she mumbles into her pillow, a delicate hand draping across his chest. It’s cold against his hot skin. He turns his face away from her so she can’t see him cringe. Gently, Lando slides her hand away and returns it to her side. 

“Can’t,” He says while sliding to the edge of the bed and away from her. For a few moments while he rubs the sleepiness from his eyes, he listens to her groan and complain. He’s so tired. With a huff, he stands and collects his clothes that are strewn about the luxurious room. 

As he pulls his clothes on, he listens to the soft rustling of silk sheets and the steady in and out of sleeping breaths. But everything seems a thousand miles away, so cold and distant. In the slight hours of the morning, nothing feels real. He’s numb and tired. He’s cold and exhausted of feeling the same pain from the moment he wakes up to the time he finally is graced by merciful sleep. 

Spiraling thoughts plague Lando’s mind as he wanders the slips into the back of an uber. Glossy eyes scan the world as it streams by him in the back window of some random car. How many times has he lived this night? Every car ride back to his apartment or hotel room feels the same, blending into one continuous stream of dull memory. 

Stumbling into his hotel room, he heads straight to his bed without a second thought. Discarding his clothes onto the floor for the second time tonight, he can’t help but wish he’d been here sooner. There isn’t solace for him in someone else’s bed, and when he’s alone he doesn’t have to pretend there is. He’s sick of playing pretend and putting a mask on for himself, for his friends, for his team, and the millions of people watching him under a microscope. The truth and the pressure of that truth has weighed on him for months.

He’s heartbroken. He’s suffering. And there’s nothing to be done about it. He hasn’t had the chance to heal and he doesn’t know when he will–if he will. Because when he thinks of you, it’s like a knife of what could have been to the chest; and when he blocks you from his mind he feels guilty and hopelessly alone. 

A spinning ceiling and tears in his eyes coax him to sleep.

He dreams of you, of course. Even sleep can’t free him of you.

You

The City of Love and Lights has been a whirlwind for you over the last few days. This new piece on an up and coming grunge artist hailing from the infamous streets of Paris has become larger than you originally thought. Night and day, you’ve been chained to your laptop, cranking out a story worthy of its subject matter. 

Tonight, you’ve decided to dive into your work at some random cafe down the street from where you’re staying. Headphones on and phone turned off, you’ve been plugged in for hours. Countless cappuccinos have been downed since you came in which could be three days or minutes ago, you wouldn’t know. Only when the noise at the bar grows from a quiet, sporadic chatter to a distracting, constant hum of voices, do you look up from your work. 

The sun has set, giving the streets a chance to live up to the name “City of Lights.” People and cars whiz past you, everyone on their way somewhere. The crowd at the cafe has gone from a few coffee sippers to a mass of people huddled around the bar ordering drinks for them and their friends. 

Realizing you’ve lost yourself in your work, you rub the heels of your hands against your tired eyes. With a sigh, you fold up your notes and tuck them away into your bag along with your laptop. You gather up your empty dishes and mugs, placing them in the bin above the trash.

Just as you turn towards the exit, ready to slip to your bed and sleep for hours and hours, cheering rises up around you. A name you take care to avoid ripples through the crowd. A small group of people are huddled around the bar, chests pressed to backs, heads leaned in, trying to get a glimpse at something.

Biting hard on your bottom lip, you fight yourself. Your eyes flicker out to the darkened streets of Paris and then back to the group of people who must be watching the season’s final race. As much as you hated yourself for it, of course you kept up with the Formula One season. It was the only connection you had to Lando. Distant, impersonal, and safe. You could keep your eye on him, see his face every once in a while, but not fall in again. At least that’s what you told yourself every time you went out of your way to stream a race, no matter where you were. 

It had been ages since you saw him in London. Some days it feels like a lifetime ago, and most times it feels as fresh as yesterday. You wake up with the feeling of his lips on yours, his arms wrapped around you. 

And maybe it’s the romantic in you that you’ve tried to kill and bury your whole life, but the thing you miss most about him is his stupid smile. There’s such complete joy behind that smile. It lights you up in your darkest moments, lifting you up and warming you. There isn’t anything that you wouldn’t give to be able to see that smile just one more time.

But you can’t. So, you turn your back on the crowd of Formula fans and walk out onto the street. 

As you walk, you try to distract yourself by taking in the scenery or by thinking of your story. But of course every train of thought leads back to him. You know Lando would love Paris. He wouldn’t admit it, of course. He would rather die than let anyone know how much of a romantic he is. The two of you are similar in that way.

At least you think so. So much time has passed, you can’t really say that you know him at all. Sure, you’ve spent a little time together, but life is constantly changing. You don’t know who he is today, what he hates today, what he loves. All you’ve ever gotten of each other is fleeting moments. And you’re to blame.

Countless times you’ve gone over it in your head. Playing every single scenario out over and over, trying to find the one where it could work between you two. But every time, you come to the same conclusion: it never will.

Even if you could convince yourself not to run at the first chance, which you always will, your lives are too different. His job would be pulling him one way while yours would be pulling you to the opposite corner of the world. Constantly in motion, but never intersecting. No matter how much you want it to, his and your futures won’t bend to fit. It tears you apart.

When you’re not traveling or writing for work, you find yourself filling pages with his name and the pain that comes with it. Your messy, ink blotted notebooks are filled cover to cover with insane ramblings of a broken heart. You can’t bring yourself to think of anyone else that way. When you try, it falls short and you do what you do best: you run.

The walk back to your hotel is blessedly quick. Being alone with your thoughts right now is torture, especially with idle hands. Everything seems a little bit easier when there’s a pen held in your fingers. 

Walking through the lobby, you try to keep your head down, not wanting anyone to bother you tonight. Bee-lining for the elevator, you wish you were already in your room. But, as the button lights up under your finger and the numbers above the doors make their descent, you can’t help but wonder what solace a lonely hotel room would bring you. Trapped in a shoebox of a room with nothing but an empty bed and a full mind. A premonition of staring at the ceiling for the next few hours, slowly driving yourself insane flashes in your mind’s eye.

Glancing over your shoulder, you look at the small bar off to the side of the lobby. It’s blessedly empty, only a few randoms sitting quietly here and there. Abandoning the elevator, you walk over to the bar. 

Drinking at a hotel bar isn’t an unfamiliar low for you. It might be sad and slightly pathetic, but it’s better than any other option you have right now. Actually, drowning your sorrows in Paris doesn’t really sound half bad, right? It could be an interesting anecdote in the long, melodramatic tale of your life post-Lando that you could tell Bobbi. She would laugh and commiserate with you over shitty frozen pizza that her son loved and a sweet wine that she loved.

With that thought, you order three vodka shots and a Diet Coke. Dropping your bag and coat in the seat next to you, you haul out the book you’ve been trying to chip away at when you have enough focus to read. Then you crack open your Coke and take two of your shots. Tossing your head back, you relish the burn of the liquid as it slides down your throat, but quickly chase it with your Coke to ease the pain.

Leaning forward onto the bar, you pry your book open and try to focus on the words inked onto the pages. 

Within minutes, your fingertips are buzzing and your face feels flushed. The words in front of your swirl and sway. Pausing your “reading,” you toss back your last shot, grimacing at the taste. Still, you tap the bartop with your fingers, signalling the bartender that you’re in need of his services.

The bartender is quick to place a new shot in front of you. Reaching out, you play with the small glass between your fingers while you continue to read. You don’t know how long you sit like that, your head battling between the effects of the alcohol and your desperation to focus on your book. 

Suddenly, a rhythmic buzzing pulls your already splintered attention away from the stupid book. You rummage through your bag, looking for your phone. When you find it and turn it over, you're met with a blank screen. There are a few random notifications from earlier that day, mostly work emails you hadn’t been bothered to respond to yet. 

“Salut,” The bartender says as he presses his phone to his ear. You watch as he turns away from the bar and mumbles into the receiver of his cellphone. Shamelessly, you watch the hushed conversation of the young, brunette bartender play out. He’s splashed in the soft orange light that filters through the rows of bottles against the wall of the bar. He laughs quietly while leaning his hip against the counter. The white button up of his uniform, his dark hair, and tanned skin are reminiscent of someone you’ve been trying to avoid thinking about all night. It’s surprising you’ve just noticed now. 

You don’t have to speak perfect French to know what he was talking about on the call, or who was on the other end. He was swaying and smiling, his fingers brushing across his lips while his eyes lit up with the fireworks you could practically hear going off in his chest.

A sharp pang of loneliness erupts in your chest.

You take another shot and wait. Abandoning your book, you trace the grain of the wood bartop with featherlight fingers. Time slows and your vision goes a little bit hazy. A sweet peace crashes over your consciousness. Your thoughts begin to slide together so you can’t identify where one thought starts and where a feeling ends. Everything feels delightfully airy and heavy at the same time, making your reality feel a little less real.

“Can I buy a bottle?” You ask suddenly. You weren’t really sure if you said it outloud or not, but when the bartender walks over to you with a bottle of vodka he’d been giving you shots from and tells you the price, you don’t even hesitate as you toss a few bills on the counter, covering everything. He bids you a goodnight as you snatch up the bottle along with your other belongings and make your way back to the elevator. 

The walk feels much easier the second time. You feel so much lighter, so much better. Your thoughts are far away, not plaguing you like they were earlier. Laying on your empty bed and losing yourself in an overly expensive pay-per-view movie sounds far more appealing than it did an hour ago as well.

You take the elevator to your floor, stumbling to your door. Fumbling with your key, you open the door, toss your stuff on the ground, and flop onto the bed, bottle in hand. Almost instantaneously, you turn on the television and peruse the movies. You buy The Proposal and lean back into your pillows while the title sequence plays. 

As you take another burning pull from the bottle in your hand, you think distantly that you should be ashamed of yourself. Drowning your sorrows alone in a hotel room in Paris. The word pathetic echoes around your head. You try to kill the thought with yet another swallow of alcohol. 

With a hazy mind, you watch as a badass, albeit definitely bitchy, Sandra Bullock string along a charismatic and endlessly sarcastic Ryan Renolds. 

“She’s not that bad,” You say into an empty room as she tears her jerk employee a new one. “She’s just career oriented.”

Projecting much? Your subconscious whispers to you.

You tip the bottle back.

And that sequence continues to happen as you watch the movie. Every time something touches a little too close to home, you drink. It’s like some sad drinking game that you’ve forced yourself to participate in.

By the time the credits roll, you’re plastered. Eyes trained to the ceiling, you try to sling together a single coherent thought. But you can’t. Everything in your mind seems to pop up quickly and then slip away before you can grab a hold on it.

Everything except one thought, one name. Lando.

Your drunken mind whispers his name. You want him right now, right next to you. The thought of his big hands in your hair, against your skin, between your legs, is nearly enough to be drunk on alone. And nothing is stopping you now, not even yourself. Intoxication has given you the freedom to do whatever you damn well please. 

Fumbling for your phone, you don’t even really think about what you’re going to say. Instead, you open up your contacts and press on his contact for the first time since you made it. He’d called your work phone months ago and left his number. You’d debated even saving his contact, but you couldn’t stop yourself. Though, you’d never messaged him, never gave him a call. Until now.

Clicking on the call button, you don’t flinch as it begins to ring. It rings…and rings…and rings. His voicemail message sounds like heaven to your wary ears. 

“Landooo, it's…uh…it's me. I’m in Paris on assignment. I bought you a postcard, don’t worry. Listen, I don’t really know why I’m calling. Actually, that’s not true. We both know exactly why I’m calling.” A hiccup breaks up your monologue before you continue. 

“Give me a shout whenever you have the chance, alright? Wanna hear your voice, babe. Good nigh–oh! Good job this season, by the way. Ok, good night, Lan.” You slur into the receiver. There are a million things you want to say, but you know you can’t. Not tonight.

Sleep takes you just as you end the message.

–

“Holy shit.” Fear seizes your chest as you pick up your burning hot phone. It’s nearly dead, but alive enough to show you just exactly what horrible decision you made last night. Lando Norris’ name in red is at the top of your recently called list. You called him last night, which is a horrible grievance in and of itself. What’s worse is that you have zero recollection of what you said. And you don’t trust drunk you to keep her cool. 

“Shit, fuck…shit, shit, shit!” You cry as you dig the heels of your hands into your aching eyes. Your mind races with the million and one things that you’ve wanted to say to Lando in the last months, ranking them from most to least pathetic. You can only hope that you were too drunk to make any sense and he’ll disregard the strange phone call from a number he doesn’t know. He must get dozens of phone calls a week, so there’s no chance that he’ll end up listening to your message. Right?

With a hangover made worse by your intense worrying, you crawl out of bed. You’re unsurprised to find you’re still dressed in your clothes from the day before. Not sparing a glance in the mirror, you strip bare and take a steaming hot shower. Unfortunately, the sting of the water does nothing to burn your spiraling thoughts away. 

As you get dressed, you glance at your phone laying face down on the bedside table. You’d plugged it in before getting in the shower, but hadn’t turned it all the way off. Something kept you from ignoring the damn thing. Curiosity killed the cat and it’s well on its way to killing you too. A twisted, borderline masochistic part of you hopes that he finds your message, no matter how humiliating it is. The truth is that you do miss him and maybe it takes a little bit of liquid courage (foolish courage) to do something about it. 

Questions go unanswered as you do everything to avoid opening your phone. Notifications are still silenced, so you would be none the wiser if it was ringing off the hook or completely bone dry. Instead, you fiddle with a coffee machine, do your makeup, iron out your schedule for the day, and send a few emails from your laptop (which you don’t have your number connected to for the sake of a nonexistent work-life balance).

By the time you’re done, a solid couple of hours have passed. It’s time that you check your phone. You’ve been avoiding the inevitable for too long. Plus, you’ve undoubtedly missed a message or ten about work-related happenings. 

Standing up, you push the desk chair you’ve been perched in back with your legs. A slow breath fills your lungs as you flex your hands by your sides and then shake them out. Nerves prickle down your neck, spilling into a shiver that runs the length of your spine. You’ve always been balls to the wall and nothing so trivial should force you to quiver in a corner with your proverbial tail between your legs. A string of affirmations flood your mind as you turn on your heel and trudge over to the bed. 

The affirmations break down into a waterfall of nervous swears as you take your phone in your hands, pulling it off the charger. It feels oddly delicate in your hands, as if you’re deactivating a bomb. Holding your breath, you slide the control center down and turn your notifications back on. When you return to your home screen, you’re bombarded with a constant stream of notifications from a variety of apps. Your mind goes blank as you skim over everything, looking for the green icon of a message or phone call. Everytime you see one, your heart jumps so far up your throat you think you might vomit. But everytime, it’s just a colleague or your manager or an acquaintance you’ve made while traveling.

Not a single message from Lando. Not a voicemail, not a missed call, not even a short text telling you (rightly) to fuck off. 

Your heart drops into your stomach and the nausea you’d warded off this morning comes back at full force. Managing expectations hadn’t worked. All your worrying had been for nothing. And you’d been a fool to hope. With everything you’ve done to him, effectively ghosting him until just now, months after you’d promised to see him, you’re in no position to be upset that he couldn’t be bothered to respond to you. Let alone the fact that he’s a world famous driver that probably doesn't blink twice at a number he doesn’t know before deleting and blocking it. 

You know you should be relieved that he didn’t listen to your message. Though, some undeniably masochistic part of you wished deeply that he had. Was it unfair of you to force him into the battle that you’ve been waging with yourself over the last year. One day you were willing to give everything up just to see him, then the next you assured yourself that you’d made the right decision by staying away. You were a loose cannon and you wouldn’t be able to live with yourself if you hurt one of the only people you cared so much about.

And maybe you did. Maybe he got your message and he chose to ignore it because he was in pain over you.

Or worse, he didn’t care to respond anymore.

Your mind reels and spins and a pain grows in your chest so severe you think you might have a heart attack. Tears prick at your eyes, blurring your vision of your stupid hotel room that holds everything too close. Memories suffocate you as you hold a phone filled with every notification you don’t want to see and lacking the one that you need.

After a few minutes of much needed cathartic sobbing, you stand up and begin cleaning up your room. Packing is what you’re best at. You’ve perfected it over the years. Everything you own could be stuffed into a few suitcases at a moment's notice. Even your apartment back in Monaco was sparsely decorated and home to only a few dishes and necessary furniture. Traveling from place to place for your job was no different. Rarely did you switch up what you packed into your favorite suitcase. Everything had its spot within. Everything knew where it was supposed to be and where you could find it. It was one of the only constant things in your life. No matter how much you needed constant change, you had this one consistency to keep you grounded. 

It’s worked for your entire life. But now, as you pack everything into its place, it seems slightly duller, more futile. 

Once everything is packed away and your room has been scoured corner to corner for anything you might have forgotten (which you know you hadn’t), you sit on your bed with your suitcase and stare absentmindedly at your laptop screen.

You wonder how many dozen times this exact scene has played out in your life. Something comes up that scares you or you can’t handle, you pack a bag, you sit at the edge of whatever you’d been sleeping on recently, and you wonder where exactly it is you plan on going next.

It’s always been exciting to you, adventurous and whimsical. But now it feels hollow and pathetic. You feel hollow and pathetic and all you want to do is go home.

But where’s home? You’ve made sure that you don’t have anywhere to call home because it’s always been exactly where your feet are. 

So, you decide to go to the next best place.

With a few swift clicks, you buy yourself a train ticket to Nice, Italy. You’re going back to Monaco.

Lando

With his headphones over his ears, he sits in the back of the jet while everyone else sleeps. For what seems like the thousandth time, he presses play on your message again. You’re drunk, he can tell. The voicemail is all slurred words and hiccups, but he can’t find it in himself to care. 

When it ends, he’s angry. Angry at you for calling out of blue because it wasn’t fair. Angry at himself for not picking up. Angry that he isn’t there to make sure you’re alright. Angry because he shouldn’t care this much.

But when he plays the message once more, his anger melts away. Relief floods in at hearing your voice for the first time in months.

He doesn’t know why he hasn’t responded yet, or why he didn’t immediately return your call. Instead, he’s decided to play it safe and protect himself for a little bit longer. His plan is already in motion, it has been since before he got on the plane back to Monaco.

He’s going to find you if it’s the last thing he does. He’s going to get real, concrete, honest answers out of you. The game is ending on his terms. 

-

taglist: @sarx164 @f1fantasys

[antonsbf]

The Scandal- jake x male reader

chapter 002

summary: Jake is caught in a scandal, and the group’s manager suggests a fake relationship with a mysterious boy to fix it

(previous chapter) (next chapter)

Jake was lost in his thoughts. Who is this boy? Why is he so okay with all this? I need to talk to him.

Jake was still lost in thought, and the manager spoke up again.

"Your guys' first public appearance will be at The MAMA Awards."

The room erupted.

“WHAT?!” “Oh my god, Boss, is that really okay?” “MAMA?! That’s huge!”

"Yes. I understand everyone's concerns and how this might break stereotypical Korean norms, but this might be our chance to recover from the damage Jake's scandal made to the group and company."

Ni-ki spoke up. "How will this help us recover? This all seems like a bigger disaster just waiting to create more of a mess."

"No, for real. Ni-ki is correct," Jay added. "We're going against everything the fans and Korean people will perceive as good."

The other members also agreed.

"This is why we have to do it! This will help divert attention from the scandal to our newfound relationship," the manager said, looking and pointing to Jake and Y/N.

"I guess if you say so, Sir," Niki said, still unsure of the manager's plan.

Y/N spoke up, his voice calm, almost carefree. "This seems like a great plan! Acting like a couple can’t be that hard, right, Jake?"

Jake had been so caught up trying to figure Y/N out that he hadn't been paying attention to the MAMA Awards talk.

"Wait… What?!" Jake said, snapping back to reality.

Y/N removed his mask, revealing his pretty plump lips. As he spoke, his sharp jawline became more apparent.

"I said, 'Acting as a couple can't be that hard!" Y/N said with a small smile creeping on his face.

"WHAT? WE’RE GOING TO MAMA AS... AS A— COUPLE?!" Jake exclaimed.

"Wow, Jake, you really are dumb!" Sunoo said, making everyone burst into laughter.

"W-Why is everyone so calm about this?" Jake stumbled over his words as the weight of his reality began to creep in.

The room went quiet when they realized Jake was serious.

"Bro, are you okay?" Sunghoon asked.

"Yeah, are you okay, Jake?" Heeseung added.

The members began to grow concerned. Y/N, however, just froze, looking at how his members truly cared for him.

"Yeah, sorry. I'm okay. Just caught me off guard. I wasn’t really paying attention to the manager," Jake spoke up, his voice calmer.

"Please pay more attention, Jake," the manager said with a sigh, rubbing his temples.

"Yes, Sir," Jake said quickly, bowing toward him.

The manager sighed again, a little frustrated. "Alright, now that we’re all on the same page, let’s review the next steps carefully." His gaze flickered between Jake and Y/N. "You two need to start spending time together publicly and privately. The chemistry has to feel real."

Jake tensed. "Privately?"

"Yes," the manager said firmly. "The MAMA Awards are in two weeks. If you two show up together and look awkward, no one’s going to believe it. The public needs to see some interactions before then small things like social media posts, casual hangouts, maybe even a ‘leaked’ sighting."

Jake felt his stomach drop. This was moving way too fast. He glanced at Y/N, expecting some kind of reaction, but nothing. No surprise, no frustration. Just that unreadable expression.

Sunghoon leaned back in his chair. "So basically, you guys need to start ‘dating’ now."

Jake groaned, rubbing his temples. "This is insane."

Y/N finally spoke, his voice calm, almost amused. "You’re overthinking it. Just act natural." He tilted his head slightly, eyes locked on Jake. "Unless pretending to like me is gonna be a problem?"

Jake scoffed, crossing his arms. "I just don’t like lying, that’s all."

Y/N let out a quiet chuckle. "Then don’t lie. Just pretend."

Jake clenched his jaw. The way Y/N said it, so effortlessly, made it seem easy. Like this wasn’t completely messing with his life.

The manager clapped his hands together, bringing the room’s focus back. "We’ll start simple. You two are going out tomorrow somewhere casual, somewhere public. Just get used to each other."

Jake opened his mouth to argue, but the look on the manager’s face shut him down immediately. This was happening.

Y/N adjusted his hoodie, finally showing the smallest hint of a smirk. "Cool. Hope you’re a fun date, Jake."

Jake wanted to rip his hair out.

This was going to be a nightmare.

Once the meeting ends, Jake is left alone with his thoughts, processing everything that just happened.

"That boy is so odd," Jake thinks, pacing around the quiet meeting room. "Why is he so calm about everything? Why does he never go against the manager's word?"

"THIS IS ALL SO FRUSTRATING!" Jake shouts, the sound echoing off the walls of the empty room.

Just as the shout bounces off the walls, Jake hears the door creak open behind him. He spins around, startled.

Y/N steps in, his expression still unreadable. He doesn't seem phased by Jake's outburst at all.

"Y/N?" Jake’s voice is almost demanding as he confronts him. "Why are you so okay with all of this? Don't you care about any of this?"

Y/N stands in the doorway for a moment, quiet. "I have my reasons," he says calmly, as if Jake’s frustration doesn’t faze him.

Jake clenches his jaw, frustrated. "What kind of reason is that? You're just going to go along with everything, no questions asked?"

Y/N shrugs. "It’s just business."

Jake feels a twinge of irritation. "This isn't just business," he mutters. "This is my life."

"It’s mine too," Y/N rebuttals.

"Huh..." Jake blinks, caught off guard by his response.

"Forget it," Y/N says, dismisses it

There’s a brief pause before Y/N suddenly shifts the conversation. "So, where are you taking me out tomorrow?" He quickly adds, a small, teasing smile tugging at his lips.

Jake stares at him for a moment. "You are so strange. You know that?"

Y/N just rolls his eyes. "Oh, who cares? Everyone’s a bit strange." He leans in, still grinning. "So, where are you taking me, hm?"

Jake groans, rubbing his temples in frustration. "Ugh, I don’t know," he mutters, still trying to process everything that's been thrown at him.

Y/N smirks, leaning casually against the wall. "Not very good at this, are you?" His voice is light, teasing, as if everything was just another joke to him.

Jake glares at him, his patience thinning. "Look, I didn’t sign up for any of this, okay? I didn’t expect... well, you." He gestures toward Y/N, his hands throwing up in exasperation.

Y/N just shrugs, unfazed. "Well, you got me. You’re stuck with me, so might as well make the best of it." He pauses for a beat, eyes glinting with amusement. "But seriously, not even a little coffee shop? You can’t do better than that?"

Jake grumbles, pacing back and forth, clearly irritated. "Fine. Coffee shop it is, but don’t get your hopes up. It’s just for the act. I don’t get why you’re making this such a big deal."

Y/N’s smile only widens as he crosses his arms, clearly loving every second of Jake’s frustration. "I’m not making a big deal. You are. But hey, I’ll take the coffee. Just don’t make it awkward."

Jake stops dead in his tracks, eyes narrowing. "Wait, you’re saying I’m the one making it awkward? You’ve been acting like it’s nothing this whole time!" He snaps, his tone sharper than intended.

Y/N chuckles, that mischievous spark in his eyes. "Well, it’s easy for me. I don’t have to pretend to be someone I’m not."

Jake’s jaw tightens, frustration boiling over. "Great. So you're all calm about this because you don't care."

Y/N's smile flickers, just for a moment, before he masks it with a grin. "I care. Just not the way you think I should." His tone softens for an instant, but the grin quickly returns. "Now, let’s see if you can actually get this date right. Coffee’s on you, right?"

Jake stares at him, trying to make sense of everything, but all he manages is a sigh. "This is gonna be a nightmare."

Y/N laughs, leaving out the door and shaking his head. "You’re not the first to say that."

Jake slightly chuckles, but doubt creeps up on him again as he is left alone once more.

well i hope you enjoyed it and thank you for all the support. writing dialogue for multiple people is so challenging, but i hope you truly did enjoy this longer chapter and please give it a heart and leave your comments (i love them). stay tuned for the next chapter!!!- eli

[lesmiix]

hc for Hyun-ju confessing? I’m or out of games? Idk whatever sparks your interest ❤️

HEADCANON: Confession

Hyun-ju x g/n reader

Summary: How would Hyun-ju confess her feelings to you? (in the games and out of the games)

Warnings: None, just fluff.

a/n: English's not my first language, there may be some grammatical or orthography mistakes 😞

💗HYUN-JU REQUESTS ARE OPEN!!!💗

In the games:

You both met during red light green light, as you both helped a guy who was injured.

Since then, You've been together, talking about everything and nothing, being there and comforting each other when you were down.

You were the first person in that place that she admitted to that she was trans. And you being the first person to accept her only strengthened your relationship.

You used to sleep together, if it wasn't in the same bed, it would be in beds that were next to each other.

You once woke up in the middle of the night, and the urge to go to the bathroom kept you from sleeping, so you slowly got out of bed, not wanting to wake up Hyun-ju, who was sleeping next to you.

"Where are you going?" Her voice startled you a little.

"I have to use the bathroom"

She wouldn't let you go alone, afraid that someone would do something to you.

"I'll come with you".

You both were washing your hands, in a comfortable silence but as you looked at your reflection, you noticed the nervousness on Hyun-ju's face

"Hey Hyunnie, is everything alright?"

"Y/n... I have been thinking..." She softly muttered.

You looked at her, slightly confused.

"I think... I think I've started to fall in love with you. I know is not the right place or the right time, but... Seeing the circumstances, I guess is better to let you know." She let out a soft chuckle. "So it's okay if you don't feel the same, I don't want things to change between us." She looked onto the floor, a bit embarrassed, thinking what could be the worst thing you could answer.

Seeing that she didn't get any response from you, she turned her gaze to you, only to find you staring at her in disbelief.

"I'm sorry I shouldn't have-" She started, anxiety starting to run through her body. You really found her really cute, so you didn't lose the chance and leaned in for a soft kiss.

"No no, Hyun-ju, it's okay, is just... I've never thought that you'd... like me back." You said nervously as you pulled back, not knowing how to react. Not knowing how she would react. "Actually, I've liked you too for a while now... I was trying to work up the courage to tell you."

That was the best night of your life.

Out of the games:

You and Hyun-ju have been friends for years now, since you two were kids. You had always been there for each other, even when she started her transition and her family kicked out of her house, you welcomed her into yours.

Those close interactions between you both, like you going to her bedroom at night, to ask her if you could sleep with her as you were scared of storms, watching movies on the couch, leaning on each other's shoulders and sharing the food made her star to develop other feelings for you.

One day she finally decided to tell you how she felt about you. So she decided to take you out for dinner to a nice restaurant.

You had an excellent dinner, the food was amazing and you had a very smooth and entertaining conversation. You really had a lot of fun that night.

You both decided to go for a walk, just to enjoy the breeze of the summer night.

You were walking on the beach, along the shore, the cold water crashing against your feet.

Suddenly you noticed how Hyun-ju held your hand. You didn't push her away, instead, you grabbed her hand firmly, enjoying the warmth.

"Thank you for today, Hyunnie" You said, smiling at her.

"Don't thank me, you've already done a lot for me, it's the least I can do." She let out a giggle. "You know, I really appreciate everything you've done for me these past few years... You know, with all that transition stuff, letting me stay at your house and making me feel loved every day." Her eyes met yours as she smiled back at you.

"Of course, pretty girl, I'm glad you feel that safe with me" She suddenly stopped the step.

"You don't understand, darling."

"Huh? What do you mean?" You innocently asked.

"I like you, y/n, I really do. I've done it for a while now." She shyly looked into your eyes, trying to read your reaction.

You were too shocked to react. Your body did the thinking before your brain could and you slowly leaned towards her, Your gaze lowering to her lips, and back to her eyes, searching for permission. Finally she closed the space between you.

a/n: I genuinely loved making this, I hope you liked these too!!

[spookystiless]

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ Unspoken Truths, Broken Ties

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ Percy Jackson x reader .𖥔 ݁ ˖

Reader feels insecure and jealous about the close relationship Percy and Annabeth have, leading to an argument between them.

———

The sight of them together, comfortable in their own little world ― just talking and laughing ― made something ugly and painful twist deep inside of you, settling uncomfortably in your gut.

Annabeth and Percy ― they just looked so close, so comfortable around each other. like they always knew exactly what the other was thinking. like their thoughts were constantly in sync ― and it hurt ― gods, did it hurt.

it was obvious they never meant to make you feel this way ― the two of them were oblivious to their surroundings, to you, to the pain they were causing.

you couldn't just stay silent anymore. and so you didn’t— you finally snapped and although the both of them looked at you rather confused at first ― having been snapped out of their little world ― you just continued.

the words just kept spilling out, the pain and jealousy swirling inside of you, making you feel insecure, making you feel small.

which is what lead to you and Percy here.

—

Percy's expression grew a bit frustrated again, his grip on your arm growing firmer, as he dragged you away from where you guys previously were.

“seriously?” he retorted. “are you still going to be mad about that? I told you, I just didn't get―”

“― yeah, you didn't get it,” you cut him off, finally turning your head to look at him. your voice was bitter and sarcastic, and your expression was almost angry. “I noticed.”

Percy's gaze met yours, and his expression was a mix of guilt and frustration.

“I'm sorry, okay?!” he shot back, raising his voice a bit. “I'm sorry ― fine? I'm sorry that I'm such a terrible boyfriend who spends all his time with annabeth―”

“oh, at least you noticed that much!” you snarked, sitting up and glaring at him. “or at least you do have some common sense in that brain of yours after all!”

Percy's expression went from guilty to offended and irritated as you started to jab at him.

he sat up straighter, his shoulders tensed and his eyes narrowing slightly. “oh, is that what you think?” he asked, his tone almost mocking. “that I'm just this idiot with no common sense?”

you rolled your eyes ― Percy's reaction was just proving your point.

“you said it yourself,” you shot back, your voice sharp. “all you do is spend time with annabeth ― you don't even notice me!”

“that's not fair!” Percy retorted, his voice growing more heated.

he got up from the bed, his body tense with the anger that started to bubble up inside of him. “yes, I spend time with annabeth! we're friends, that's what people do!”

you scoffed, shaking your head in disbelief. “yeah, friends who spend all their time together instead of with their girlfriend!”

Percy flinced slightly ― your words stung deeply. but he still tried to defend himself.

“it's not all the time,” he protested, his eyes still trained on you. “c'mon, c'mon, you're talking like we don't spend any time together!”

you laughed bitterly at that, the sound harsh and mocking.

“oh, you mean the few minutes we actually stay in the same room?” you asked sarcastically. “yeah, that's sure enough.”

Percy's expression grew angry again, his jaw clenching as he tried to control his temper.

“stop exaggerating,” he said, his voice gruff. “you act like I neglect you or something!”

you got up from the bed as well, standing in front of him and looking him straight in the eyes.

“but you do neglect me!” you countered, your voice almost a shout. “you're always busy with annabeth, you don't pay attention to me ― if anything, it feels like she's your damn girlfriend, not me!”

Percy winced at your words, his expression changing from angry to hurt in an instant. He took a step back, running a hand frustratedly through his hair. “seriously? you’re jealous of annabeth now?!” he retorted, his tone incredulous and almost offended.

“yes!” you snapped, your fist clenching in frustration. “that's what happens when you spend more time with her than with me ― I get jealous!”

Percy huffed, his expression still frustrated, but there was also a hint of disbelief. “I spend time with her because―”

he stopped himself, a flicker of realization passing across his face. he took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down.

“because…?” you asked ― your voice slightly softer as you saw the look on his face changing.

Percy hesitated for a moment, looking at you with an almost guilty expression. his eyes roamed your face, searching for something.

“because…” he started, but stopped again ― biting his lower lip.

you raised an eyebrow ― his reaction was getting your curiosity up.

“because..?” you repeated, your eyes locked on his face ― waiting for him to go on, waiting to hear what he was about to say.

Percy took another deep breath, his shoulders slightly slumping.

“it's not like―” he began again, his tone growing quieter. “it's not like I don't enjoy spending time with you. because i do. but sometimes…”

he trailed off ― his expression was struggling between guilt and frustration, and his eyes never left your face.

“but sometimes..?” you questioned, your expression growing a bit gentler as you saw Percy struggling ― the whole thing was so uncharacteristic of him that you couldn't help but feel a shiver of worry creeping up your spine.

Percy closed his eyes for a moment ― taking another deep breath as he gathered his thoughts.

“sometimes,” he muttered, his voice growing so quiet that you could hear the slightest tremble in his tone. “sometimes it's just... easier spending time with her. because sometimes it feels like― like―”

“like?” you prompted, stepping closer to him despite being so angry at him.

there was a strange anxiety starting to grow in your chest as you watched him struggling to put words to whatever he was trying to say.

Percy opened his eyes again ― a mixture of guilt, frustration, and hesitation swirling in their depths.

he looked at you for a moment ― his gaze roaming your face as if searching for something. his lips parted ― and then, he blurted out

“― like she understands me better than you do.”

you felt like someone had just sucker-punched you in the gut.

his words hit you like a ton of bricks ― and for a moment, all you could do was stand there in silence, feeling the sharp pain of his words shooting through your chest.

Percy immediately cringed as the words left his mouth ― seeing the change in your expression made him wish he could snatch the words right out from the air and stuff them back down his throat.

he reached out, like he wanted to touch your arm ― but then he stopped himself, his hand hesitating just millimeters above your skin.

you stood still ― your mind spinning at the same speed as your heart.

words just failed to come to you ― they were stuck somewhere in your throat, leaving you speechless and stunned.

there was an unbearable silence as you looked into his eyes that held a mixture of guilt and worry.

“I…” Percy began again ― the hand that was still hovering over your arm was clenching into a trembling fist.

he looked like he had so much more he wanted to say, but he just couldn’t get the words out. his eyes searched your face, trying to find some clue of understanding in your expression ― instead, he saw only hurt and pain.

“I didn’t mean… I…” he mumbled, his voice wavering slightly.

“didn’t mean what?” you finally managed to get out, your voice quiet and almost trembling.

your emotions where all over the place ― pain, confusion, anger, hurt ― you couldn’t even tell what was what anymore. all you knew was that you wanted Percy to explain himself.

“I.. I―”

Percy’s expression was full of agony as he struggled to find the right words ― struggling to find any words at all. his guilt was almost palpable ― his eyes were glued on your face, as if you were the only thing anchoring him to reality.

he opened and closed his mouth a few times before words finally forced themselves from between his lips

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

“then how did you mean it?” you shot back, your voice growing a bit more heated.

you stepped closer to him, forcing him to look at you ― to meet your gaze.

“how is it that Annabeth understands you better than I do?!”

Percy winced at the fire in your voice ― an almost visible wave of guilt washing over his face.

“she― she just understands―” he stuttered, struggling to find the words.

“she understands WHAT?!” you snapped ― the anger was getting the better of you, but you didn’t care.

you grabbed his chin and forced his head straight again, forcing him to look you in the eyes.

“come on ― spit it out, Percy!”

Percy winced as you grabbed his chin, his expression pained and guilty. he flinced almost physically ― not from your grip on his chin, but more from the anger in your voice. he swallowed again ― his eyes dropping down again.

“she understands the... the hero thing.” he muttered eventually, his voice quiet and almost ashamed.

your anger deflated a bit ― replaced by an overwhelming wave of confusion.

“the.. ‘hero thing’..?” you repeated, your grip on Percy’s chin loosening a bit.

Percy nodded ― he was biting his lower lip again, a nervous habit of his. he didn’t look at you, his gaze fixed on the floor.

“yeah, you know, the... the whole being-a-hero thing. the prophecy thing.” he murmured, still refusing to look you in the eyes.

you let go of his chin, your hand falling back down to your side. you took a step away, your eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

“so...” you started, your tone guarded. “you’re saying Annabeth understands that whole being-a-hero thing better than I do... because she's a demigod as well?”

Percy’s shoulders slumped ― he still refused to look you in the eyes, nodding slightly in response. he was quiet for a moment ― then he let out a deep sigh, ran a hand through his hair, and muttered:

“it's just― it's easier talking to her about that stuff, you know? she knows what it's like because she lives it, too.”

his words ― as rational and understandable as they were ― still stung.

you took another step back, feeling a growing mixture of hurt and anger building in your chest ― though now, the anger was mostly aimed at yourself.

"so.. what," you asked in a hoarse voice. "so I just don't understand, huh?"

Percy’s head snapped up, his eyes finally finding yours. he looked at you ― and the expression on his face almost broke your heart. guilt, shame, pain, worry ― it was clear as day.

he took a step towards you ― his hand reaching out like he wanted to touch you.

“no,” he protested, his voice almost urgent. “no, that’s not what I meant! I―”

“then what DID you mean?!” you interjected, taking another step back ― though not fast enough to escape his reach.

his hand landed on your wrist, holding on to you lightly as if he was afraid you were about to disappear.

“I―I just―” he started again, struggling to find the right words. he took a step closer, still holding on to you.

“it’s just... sometimes it’s just easier to talk to her about the hero stuff.” he muttered, his eyes dropping down again. “because she understands what it’s like. I don’t have to explain anything to her because she knows.”

your heart ached from his words more than you wanted to admit. no matter how rational it was ― it stung knowing that he shared things with someone else that he didn’t with you. someone who apparently understood things better than you did.

you tried to pull away from his grip again, but his hold on your wrist tightened slightly.

Percy could sense your discomfort ― he could see the hurt in your eyes, but he couldn’t find the words to make it better. he knew he was only making things worse with every word he uttered, but he couldn’t stop himself.

he ran a hand frustratedly through his hair again, still refusing to look at you, as he muttered

“I didn’t― I didn’t mean to hurt you. it’s just― it’s complicated.”

“complicated?” you repeated, your voice growing more and more bitter.

“what’s so complicated about it, huh?!” you snapped ― pulling at your wrist and finally managing to escape his hold. “she understands it, I don’t ― so you just spend all your time with her?!”

Percy’s expression was pained as you finally pulled your wrist free ― he ran his hand over his eyes, trying to keep himself together.

"it's― it's not that simple, I―" he started ― then stopped, struggling to get the words out.

he opened and closed his mouth again, as if every time he was about to say something he thought better of it.

“not that simple, huh?!” you retorted, your voice bordering on hysterical. "then make it simple for me! because clearly, I'm just too dumb to understand, since I'm not Annabeth."

Percy flinced at your words ― a mix of pain and guilt washing over his face.

"that’s not what I said," he protested, taking a step closer. He looked like he wanted to reach out and grab your wrist again ― but the look in your eyes told him it was better not to.

"it's― it's not that you're dumb, I―" he started, struggling to find the right words again. he couldn’t meet your eyes.

"what, then?!" you pressed on, your voice rising. anger was taking over your pain and you didn't want to let him off the hook. "what do you mean with ‘it’s easier to talk to her’?"

Percy bit his lower lip again ― his expression was pure misery, but he still wouldn’t look at you.

"I― I just―" he began again, sighing deeply. he finally managed to meet your gaze ― and you could see the guilt and pain reflecting back at you.

"she gets what I mean, alright?" he said, his tone quiet. "she― she understands without me having to explain it to her. she just... she gets me."

your heart clenched in pain as you heard his words. it hurt ― hearing him say it out loud, hearing that there was someone who ‘got him’ better than you did.

"and I don't?" you shot back, your voice growing more and more bitter.

Percy winced again ― the guilt and pain in his face deepening. he ran his hand frustratedly over his face, looking like he wanted to punch himself.

"no― no you do, it’s just―" he started, hesitating for a moment. his eyes dropped down again, his shoulders slumping.

"it’s just― it’s different with her, alright?" he muttered, his voice barely audible.

"different how?!" you fired back ― your anger was turning to rage. you felt like you wanted to scream at the top of your lungs.

how could someone else understand him better??

"I don't know!" Percy exclaimed, his voice growing frustrated as well. he shook his head, running his hand through his hair again.

"I don't know, she― she’s just different, alright? it's― it's complicated!"

Percy looked more and more desperate on the inside ― as if he was fighting a war against himself.

you let out a frustrated noise ― all of your feelings starting to boil over.

you wanted to scream at him ― to yell until your throat hurt. you wanted to scream at him to explain himself properly, to put these confusing and conflicted feelings into words. it wasn’t enough to just say that it’s “complicated”. you wanted answers!

"complicated how?!" you demanded again, your voice growing even more heated.

you were fed up ― fed up of being left in the dark, of being left out of some ‘inner circle’ of understanding.

you were angry that he wasn’t being open with you ― and now he was telling you that someone else understood him better than you did.

Percy was growing increasingly agitated at your demanding tone, but he tried to keep his voice level.

"I already told you, I don’t know how!" he snapped back, frustration and desperation making his words come out harshly. "I don’t know how to explain it, alright?! things are just― they’re just easier with her, that’s all!"

"easier how?!” you snapped ― your voice rising even more.

"because she understands all these ‘hero things’?!” you put air quotes around the last two words, sarcasm dripping from your voice.

"yes!" he snapped back, his voice rising as well.

something seemed to finally have snapped ― all his guilt and shame getting replaced by anger and frustration.

"yes, because she understands things you don’t! she― she knows what it’s like, okay?!"

"so what, you just dump all your ‘hero problems’ on her and don’t bother telling me ‘because I wouldn’t understand, anyway’?!" you shot back.

"that’s not what I said, would you―" Percy interjected, frustratedly running a hand over his face again ― but you didn’t want to hear it.

"no, that’s exactly what you said!" you cut him off, your voice shaking with anger. "you said she understands, you said things are 'easier' with her!"

"well, they are!" Percy snapped back, his own volume increasing.

he was getting angry now ― the guilt finally turning entirely into irritation.

"she understands when I can’t explain things, she gets my jokes, she― she just... she gets me, okay?!”

you let out a strangled noise ― your anger was increasing with every word he uttered.

"so, what, I don’t get you, then?!" you fired back ― you couldn’t keep the desperation out of your voice. "I don’t get your stupid little jokes, I’ll never understand your ‘hero problems’?!"

"I didn’t say that!" Percy protested ― his own irritation rising to the surface.

he was starting to match your volume, his own voice growing more and more heated.

"but you don’t, okay?!" he yelled back. "you don’t understand these ‘stupid little jokes’ as well ― you don’t understand the ‘hero problems’ because you’re not a freaking demigod!"

you nearly flinched at his words ― the truth of them hitting you like a truck.

he was right, goddamn him. you weren’t a demigod, you didn’t have any of the same life experiences as him.

but still, hearing him say that hurt. it felt like a punch to the gut, as if he was rubbing it in that you would never truly understand what he was going through.

"I―" you started, your voice growing shaky again ― the anger was still there, but now it was mixed with pain and resignation.

you didn’t know what to say. he was right ― you would never understand. you could never truly relate to him in the same way that Annabeth could.

your shoulders slumped, the fight slowly leaving you.

and suddenly, all that was left were the feelings ― the hurt, the pain, the heartache.

the anger was gone ― replaced with raw, vulnerable emotions.

"hey…" he muttered ― his voice more gentle now as he slowly reached out for your hand. he took it carefully in his, as if he was afraid you’d jerk away.

his touch was soft ― gentle and delicate. he held your hand like it was made of glass, his thumb slowly tracing small circles in your palm.

you didn’t know when you’d started to cry ― all you knew was, that tears were streaming down your face, and they wouldn’t stop.

Percy’s expression softened even more as he saw your tears, guilt and pain creeping back on his face.

he carefully laced his fingers through yours, his grip growing a bit tighter, but still delicate.

"hey…" he muttered again ― his voice just above a whisper now. he gently pulled you closer, bringing you into his arms, your head ending up leaned against his chest.

his free hand wrapped around your body as he pulled you closer, rubbing small circles on your back.

you could feel the steady beat of his heart thumping against your cheek through his t-shirt ― fast, but steady.

"shh..." he whispered as you tried to stifle a sob, his fingers running through your hair.

"I’m sorry," he whispered, his voice rough. "I didn’t― I didn’t mean it like that, I―"

he sighed deeply ― the sound sending a shiver over your skin.

"I’m an idiot, okay?" he muttered, his voice just above a whisper. his fingers never stopped massaging the skin on your scalp.

you shook your head, your face still pressed against his chest. you didn’t trust yourself to speak ― your throat tight with swallowed sobs.

he let out another sigh ― a sigh filled with guilt and pain.

he gently pulled you a bit closer, his chin resting on the top of your head. his arms wrapped tighter around you ― as if he was trying to shield you from the world.

"I shouldn’t have yelled at you," he muttered ― his voice more of a whisper now. his hand wandered to the back of your head, his fingers continuing to massage your scalp. his other hand was still rubbing soothing circles on your back.

you could hear his heart still beating fast, but steady. he was calmer than he’d been before ― his rage gone, guilt and shame taking its place.

"I should’ve just― we should’ve just―" he muttered, his voice growing more frustrated. he was struggling ― trying to find the right words, any words. he was clearly fighting with his own thoughts, his own feelings.

he let the silence linger for a few seconds, his fingers still tracing slow, soothing circles on your back. he swallowed again ― hard and loud ― as he inhaled once more, as if trying to prepare himself for what he was going to say.

he took another deep breath ― his shaky exhale making his chest shudder. and then, he finally spoke, his voice barely above a whisper.

"I’m scared."

you swallowed ― the words making your throat feel dry.

he was scared?

you could feel his fingers tighten their grips as he spoke, holding you even closer than before. his heart was going fast under your cheek ― faster than it usually did.

you lifted your head from his chest, looking up at his face. his expression was nearly pained ― guilt, shame, fear, and... something else you couldn’t quite identify.

his grip on you was tight ― his arms holding you against him like he was trying to fuse your bodies together.

his eyes looked a bit glossy ― as if there was something building up behind them, something he was desperately holding back.

he swallowed again ― his throat muscles flexing under your gaze.

"I’m scared," he repeated ― he voice rough and strangled.

he swallowed again ― his throat bobbing visibly as he fought the growing lump.

"I’m scared of losing this," he muttered, his voice strangled. "I’m scared of losing you."

you nearly flinched at his words ― the raw emotions behind them nearly knocking the air out of your lungs.

he was scared of losing you? after everything? after the stupid argument and the words that were said?

the guilt and shame were back on his face ― he looked as if he’d just ripped out a part of his heart.

his grip on you became tighter ― his fingertips pressed into your skin.

"I’m scared that― that you’ll realize that I’m not good enough," he muttered, his voice shaking as he swallowed dryly once more ― forcing the lump in his throat down. "that you’ll find someone better than me. someone who can... understand you―"

you barely stopped yourself from scoffing at hearing his words. like there was someone else ― someone better than him.

did he really think that? did he really think you could ever want anyone other than him?

you wanted to tell him how stupid he was being ― that he’d been an idiot for even thinking you would find someone else.

how was it that the greatest and bravest hero you knew of, was also the most clueless and self-deprecating man?

"You―" you started, your voice thick with tears. "you are the only one I want, okay? that’s all― you. no one else."

his eyes widened momentarily ― shock evident on his face.

he stared down at you for a moment, his expression surprised ― as if he had been expecting some other response.

but your words seemed to do something to him ― the pain on his face lessening ― the fear in his eyes fading, slowly changing to relief and... and hope?

he swallowed ― his throat clicking audibly.

he seemed to be at a loss for words ― his expression almost dumbfounded as he just stared at you, taking in your words.

then, his mouth opened as if he was about to say something ― but he didn’t get a chance to say anything, because you cut him off.

"I don’t care that you’re a demigod and I’m not," you whispered, your words thick with tears. "I don’t care that you have hero problems that I’ll never understand.

I don’t care that you’re stubborn, or that you can’t always say the right thing, or that you have an annoying habit of taking stupid risks. I don’t care about any of it, okay? I just... I just want you.”

he stared at you for a moment ― completely speechless.

his grip on you was still tight ― his fingers pressed into your skin, holding you like you were something precious.

he swallowed once more ― his Adam’s apple bobbing with the motion.

"but― b―" he stuttered, but his voice broke before he could finish whatever he was about to say.

you could clearly see the conflict in his expression ― the pain of his past words still present, but now, there was also something more in his eyes as he looked at you.

his hand that was still gripping your back, moved to cup the side of your head ― his rough thumb stroking your cheek with a gentleness that made your heart flutter.

he licked his lips ― a nervous tic, you had noticed early on. he always did it when he was distracted, or nervous, or upset.

"I don’t― I don’t deserve you, you know that, right?" he asked ― his voice still hoarse.

"You’re―" you started, but you took a deep breath, trying to calm the rising anger ― trying to focus on the fact that he was hurting, that he was just as insecure about this as you were.

he needed to know how much he meant to you ― that he was more to you than some heroic boy. he needed to hear it.

you reached up, your hand grabbing his chin again, forcing him to look you in the eyes.

he obeyed without a word, his own gaze moving to yours, even though he clearly didn’t want to ― guilt still present in his expression.

"You’re an idiot," you said, your voice firm. "A complete and utter idiot who can’t see what’s right in front of him."

he winced a bit at your words, a flash of embarrassment crossing his face, but you ignored it, continuing.

you gripped his chin a bit tighter, your voice hardening.

“you think you’re the only one who’s scared? you think you’re the only one who feels like they’re not enough? think again, dumbass.”

he clearly had not expected the sudden anger in your voice ― his eyes widening briefly.

he swallowed once more ― a nervous tic you had noticed he’d recently developed.

he looked so vulnerable in front of you ― his features soft and open, none of his usual defenses present.

"I’m scared too, you know," you continued, your hand still gripping his chin. "everyday I wake up and I’m terrified that you won’t come back. everytime you go out, I wonder if this will be the time you don’t come back. every single time."

his expression darkened ― guilt and shame taking over his features once more.

he knew it was all true. he knew how much pain it caused you whenever he left.

his hand still cupped your face ― but neither of you made any move to close the distance between you.

"but you know what?" you asked, your words softer now.

his eyes flickered back to yours, a hint of hope returning to his expression.

"every single time, you come back to me. and I’m okay. because you’re a hero, and heroes don’t run. they don’t give up, and they don’t die."

"you’re always there," you continued — your voice quiet, almost whispering now. “you’re my hero, okay? you don’t get to decide how much I love you, or how much I need you. you don’t get to decide if you deserve me or not.”

his breath hitched in his throat ― his body tensing at your words, his expression pained.

he wanted to fight you on it. he wanted to argue and tell you he wasn’t good enough ― he wasn’t worthy.

"you are good enough," you said — your voice firm, leaving no room for argument.

"you’re more than enough. you’re amazing. you’re everything I’ve ever wanted. and you don’t get to decide something different. got that?"

he just stared at you ― his expression morphing into multiple different emotions as he tried to process your words.

he seemed torn ― a part of him still wanting to convince you that you deserved better, but the other part slowly losing that internal fight.

"I’m just... I’m just scared," he muttered, his expression weary, the dark circles under his eyes emphasizing the exhaustion you knew he felt.

his face was just a few inches from yours ― you could feel his breath against your lips.

you wanted to touch him ― to kiss him, and touch his face and his body. but you held back, knowing that he needed this ― this reassurance, this talk.

you knew Percy wasn’t good at expressing his feelings ― he was more of a man of actions, using physical gestures to show his care. but it wasn’t just you who needed to hear it, Percy also needed to express it. and this, this was the most he’d ever exposed himself to you.

he was a stubborn, sarcastic, hot-headed hero ― but he was also vulnerable and scared and insecure, and he was still just a 17-year-old boy. and you loved him ― you loved him so fiercely, so deeply and unapologetically.

you gripped one of his wrists in your hand, your fingers gently rubbing the soft skin there.

"we're going to figure it out together, okay?" you reassured him. "whatever happens ― we'll figure it out, together. and I'm not leaving you. ever."

he opened his eyes at hearing your words ― the familiar shade of sea green that always made you feel safe now looking back at you.

he exhaled another shaky breath, the corners of his lips twitching into a weak, tiny smile. it was an expression of comfort and security ― he believed you.

he leaned forward again ― pressing his face into the crook of your neck, his breath ghosting over your skin, making you shiver.

his body was pressed tight against you ― his arms embracing you, holding you tightly once more, as he inhaled your scent.

"I love you," he mumbled against your skin, his voice barely more than a whisper, but you heard him anyway, his words making your heart flutter.

“I love you too.”

[ac-19]

After jim street gets into the hospital going up and arguing with the nurse who says no visitors and you march past her and goes into jims room and breaks down. He holds you close and tells the nurse its okay, and she lets them be. She tells him how scared she was.

Hospital - J. Street (S.W.A.T)

summary: you might do a tad too much when a nurse won't let you see jim after he's been injured.

i knew it was bad news the second i saw the principal's face when i opened the door in the middle of my afternoon class.

"it's jim. he's in route to the hospital, that's all the information they gave me."

i nodded as the tears welled up in my eyes and i swallowed the lump in my throat trying my best to put on a brave face. i knew this day could come eventually, but i never thought it would be today.

"go. i'll cover your afternoon."

i nodded.

"thank you."

she nodded and i quickly grabbed my purse from my desk and bolted down the hallway. the sound of my heels hitting the floor as i ran out to the front door was loud in my ears and i barely remember the drive to the hospital. i had tried to call luca on my way there but there was no answer but i figured he might still be out on a call.

once i got to the hospital i rushed through the doors of the er and headed up to the nurses station ignoring the throbbing pain in my feet, cursing myself for wearing some new heels today.

"can i help you?"

"what room is jim street in?"

"are you family?"

"fiancée."

she nodded as she typed in his information on the computer.

"you'll have to wait out here. no visitors are allowed back to his room."

i shook my head.

"can you at least tell me what's going on with him?"

"the doctor will be out to give you all that information in due time."

i shook my head as i pushed myself up from where i was leaning onto the nurse's station and took one look down the long hallway before i started walking down it hoping to at least lay my eyes on jim to know if he was okay or not.

i heard the nurse screaming at me that i wasn't allowed back there but at this exact moment i didn't care. i quickly found jim's room and he gave me a confused look as he stood up from the bed. he was shirtless and i could see the bruises forming around his ribcages already and the bandage on his left arm but other than that he seemed good.

"what are you doing here?"

i walked inside the room and headed straight for jim's arms and he quickly wrapped his arms around me as he grunted probably in pain given the state of his torso and arm so i lightened my grip on him.

"they told me you were hurt..."

"ma'am like i said you can't be in here."

jim pulled back from me slightly and looked down at me and chuckled before he looked back up at the nurse.

"can you give us a minute?"

"one. any longer and she gets escorted out of here by security."

"fair enough."

"what did you do?"

i chuckled through the tears that were streaming down my cheeks as i pulled away from jim.

"she told me no visitors were allowed but i needed to see you with my own two eyes. make sure you were okay. i was so scared jim. not just for me, but what i would tell nate, if anything ever happened to you."

"hey, i'm good. bullet caught the vest so a few bruises and a small cut on my arm from some barbwire."

i nodded.

"okay it's time for you to go."

i nodded as i leaned up on my tippy toe and planted my lips on jim's. he laid his hand on my hip and i smiled as we pulled away from each other.

"i'm not going anywhere anytime soon. plus i agreed to bring nate to mcdonald's this weekend so i can't let the little guy down."

"why wasn't i invited to this little outing?"

"father son time."

i nodded.

"i better go. before she actually has me escorted out by security."

jim nodded.

"i love you jim street."

"i love you more. now go."

"just for the record i would of probably done the same thing you did."

i chuckled and nodded as i walked out of the room and down the hallway with the nurse.

"i'm sorry."

she nodded.

i gave the nurse a small smile as i nodded and sat down in a chair in the nursing home as i pulled out my phone and texted my mom to ask her to pick up nate from daycare and bring him here.

[gearsandhammers]

STONES, LIKE DIAMONDS : VIKTOR X M!READER

synopsis : you're a biology/zoology student at the academy, and you've been placed in the same lab as jayce and viktor. you grow close with the both of them over time, but you have a soft spot for viktor...

warnings / tw : meljayce mentioned , idk how animals work in runeterra so all animals exist there now, grammarly is my beta

pairing : viktor x male reader | m/m

author's notes : hiya! sorry this one took me so long, school hit like a truck this week. anyways, i really liked this concept! like a lot, would you guys want this as like a series or miniseries? if this gets at least 40 ish notes maybe i'll make a second part! anyways, have a great day/night and read!

Heimerdinger had taken you in as one of the very few zoology students at the academy, intrigued by your studies. Despite how large the academy is, they run out of space at some point. So, he placed you in the lab of two of the most brilliant men in Piltover, Jayce and Viktor. You were sort of confused by that since your two lines of research didn't really connect anywhere, but you didn't dare argue with Heimerdinger.

So here you stand in front of the grand lab doors, a box of your lab supplies in your arms and a bag with your textbooks slung over your shoulder. You take a deep breath and push your way through the doors to the lab. The two men in the lab turn towards the door, one sitting at the desk and the other standing at the chalkboard, both of them looking equally exhausted.

You recognize one of them, Jayce, from the posters all around Piltover. From that, you assume the other seated at the desk is Viktor.

"Ah, you must be the student Professor Heimerdinger said would be joining us. Please, come in." Viktor says, motioning for you to come in. You place the box down on the far end of the desk, and walk over to them, shaking their hands and introducing yourself. Your voice quivers, and your hand almost shakes, but you force yourself to gain some semblance of composure. These are going to be your lab... partners, after all.

· ─ ─ ─ < ⟨ ⚙︎ ⟩ > ─ ─ ─ ·

Months pass like minutes, and you get closer to them over time. You spend days and nights in the lab, discussing school, labs, personal things, and everything in between. You spend late nights with them, laughing at how delirious you all are at 3am, trying to finish your work.

"Gods, we should go to sleep," you comment, trying to pick up all of the papers that fell onto the floor in your dazed laughter. Jayce rubs the back of his neck, nodding.

"Yeah, I'm probably gonna head back to mine. Mel's probably waiting for me." he picks up his bag, stuffing his notebooks into it before slinging it over his shoulder. "You two get home safe, yeah?" he smiles at you and Viktor.

"Yeah, you too. Say hi to Mel for us." You say before he nods, shutting the door behind him, washing you and Viktor into a half-awkward silence. "So, you gonna head home?"

"Eh, yes. Maybe, I don't know if I have anything else I need to get done tonight..." he trails off, sifting through piles of paper, looking for any unfinished notes.

"Do you think I could walk you home...?" You fiddle with your thumbs, looking down at your bag as you organize the papers in it. "I mean, I don't have to, it's just─"

"I'd like that." he interrupts you, putting his notebook into his bag. "I don't have anything else to do, are you ready to go?"

"Oh! Um, yeah, I got all my stuff." You scramble to your feet, pushing your seat in and turning off the desk lamps and your microscope. "Here, let's go." You open the door for him, stepping aside for him to step through, and he thanks you. You close the door behind the two of you, your keys clinking together with your orca keychain as you lock the lab door.

You and him walk back to his apartment, chatting about everything and nothing. He makes a few flirty comments, you brush them off and rule it down to flattery. At some point, you realize you've been staring at him as you walk when you almost walk into a lamppost. He laughs and you rub your arm, embarrassed. You finally make it to his door, and something in your stomach twists as you think about having to walk home alone, without the familiar comfort of his voice. As he unlocks his door, he turns around to you and you jump a bit, snapped out of your thoughts.

"Thank you for walking me home, sir," he teases. You smile at him, before remembering something.

"Oh right, I have something for you! Well, a few things." You dig through your bag, pulling out a small pouch and you open it, pulling out a few smooth, shiny stones. One was golden orange, almost like tiger eye. I saw this one and it reminded me of your eyes." You sift through them, and he looks at you with an expression that's a mix of astonishment and pure infatuation, but you don't notice. You find a few small black ones, and take them, along with the amber one, and put them in his hand. "Those little black ones reminded me of your moles, they were like little constellations in the sand," you explain, smiling, proud of yourself, and just happy to talk about your work.

You finally look up at him, having put the rest of the rocks back in the pouch and into your bag. You make eye contact with him, and you're a bit taken aback by his soft, loving sort of smile. "You're giving me rocks...?"

"Well, basically. Did you know that young gentoo penguins give other penguins stones or pebbles to put in a nest when they find a potential mate in an attempt to impress their desired mate, a lot like humans gifting diamonds or jewelry to a significant other?" you ramble, obviously passionate about your research.

"So, are you saying that I'm a 'potential mate'?" he smirks, turning to put the rocks down on his coffee table, waving for you to come in. You look down at your hands, a little stunned and you take a deep breath before stepping into his house, your hands clutching the strap of your bag.

"I mean, you could think about it like that, but I just saw them and thought of you─ oh, hi, you're very close," you notice he's come closer to you, and you have to lean back to try to give yourself more distance, knowing you'd just melt if he got too close.

"Come, take your coat off. I have some of my own... gifts, to give to you."

[meidui]

welcome to steve and tony's masterclass on how to be a bitch

[sskk-manifesto]

(｡･ω･｡)ﾉ♡

[willaminareads]

too busy

PARING: exhusband!drew x reader

SUMMARY: you and drew had been divorced for a little under a year now. while drew had your two kids this weekend, zach unfortunately let it slip, that mommy had a new "friend". drew was anything but thrilled.

WORD COUNT: 667 words

WARNINGS: possesive drew, angst, fluff, cursing, kids.

WILLA SPEAKS: hey! this is my first fic, on this blog, and i'm so excited!! please note that english is not my first language, so if any mistakes occur, i'm so sorry! enjoy<3

you stand outside his door, waiting for him to open it. you were a little nervous. you didn't exactly have a reason to be, but you were.

"y/n," drew says as he opens the door. "hi, baby, come in. the kids are in their playroom." he ushers you inside, hoping you didn't notice he let the nickname slip. old habits die hard.

you smile softly at the nickname but quickly stop once you notice. this is your ex. hell, not even just your ex—your ex-husband.

you follow him inside his new house. you liked it, though it did remind you of the house the two of you once shared.

"can i get you anything?" drew breaks the silence.

"you have tea?" you ask softly.

"the kettle is already on, sweetheart," he responds in the same soft tone. god, he knows me so well, you thought.

he finds a cup for you and starts preparing the tea. silence falls between you. it wasn't awkward per se, but not exactly pleasant either.

drew is the first to break the silence, still keeping all his attention on your tea. "zach says you've got a new friend." his tone is sharp, not at all soft like the one you'd heard just a couple of minutes ago.

a quiet "oh," was all you could muster up. you didn't know what to say. i mean, what could you say?

he turns his attention to you, handing you the cup of tea. "yeah, that was my reaction as well," he says bitterly.

you sigh. "come on, drew, don't do this." guilt written all over your face.

he lets out a dry laugh. "i didn't do shit, y/n."

"i'm allowed to move on, drew," you say softly, catching his gaze.

"the fuck you are," he sneers, placing his hands on the countertop. "i can't, so you don't get to either." his statement hangs in the air as you stare at each other.

you scoff. "no, you don't get to do this, drew. you fucked up. you didn't have time for us," you say, knowing how to hit him where it hurts.

"don't say that." he looks down, unable to meet your eyes.

"why not, drew? it's true," you state. "you were too busy with your big dreams, and, i mean, it worked out for you," you say, waving your arms slightly. "you have everything a man could want," you taunt.

"you know that's not true," he glares at you.

you shrug. "you can't have your cake and eat it too."

he scoffs at your comment. "right, okay. you're getting on my nerves, y/n," he bites. "you know how much i wanted to make this work. you know how much i love you—"

you cut him off. "loved."

"no, fuck that, and fuck you for saying it," he raises his voice at you. he doesn't do that often. "i'm sorry..." he takes a deep breath. "you know that i still love you. i just want another chance, y/n. let me show you that we can make this work," he says softly, reaching for your hand.

you shake your head at him. "we can't put the kids through another divorce, drew," you say softly.

"we won't," he says. "come on, y/n. we can make this work."

you sigh. "drew..."

"please," he says, bringing a hand up to caress your cheek.

"there's no new guy." drew stares at you, a little confused, waiting for you to continue. "that friend zach says he saw me with?" drew nods along. "it was chase."

"chase? as in my co-star chase?" drew asks, utterly confused.

"yeah... he and maddie came by to help me build a dresser." you bite your lip, your nerves taking over your body.

"oh," he falls silent.

"drew?" you ask.

"so, no new guy?" he asks with a glint of playfulness in his eyes.

"no new guy." you confirm.

"so... do you wanna marry me again..?" he asks.

"drew!" you exclaim with laughter as you smack his arm.

[dollfacefantasy]

can't get started ♡

older bf!logan howlett x fem!reader

logan can't get it up one night and is humiliated. but that just means he'll have to prove he can still satisfy you.

cw: nsfw (18+), smut, p in v, daddy kink, age gap (reader in 20s)

a/n: the part in dpw where he said he's got whiskey dick with the claws turned me on too much tbh

This had never happened to Logan before.

That wasn't a lie he was telling you to make himself look less pathetic. It wasn't an affirmation he repeated in his own head to feel like he was still hot shit. It was the truth. One he would swear to on anything.

He'd never had a problem getting it up before.

Not with you, not with anyone. He thought the healing factor made him immune to whiskey dick or any kind of down-there dysfunction. But apparently not. Because the two of you finally had some time alone after being amidst the chaos of the mansion all day and his body was stalling.

The second he had the bedroom door shut, you were dragging him over to the bed and climbing into his lap. You were doing everything like usual. Your lips pressed against his, and then moved to his jawline and down his neck. Your hands glided across the firm muscles of his chest. Your hips rolled down against his lap, beckoning the appendage between his legs to reciprocate your desire.

But it just wouldn't. He tried to make it because it wasn't a matter of not wanting you. He wanted you bad. 

He grabs your chin and brings your lips back up to his mouth so he can communicate his passion wordlessly. He digs his fingers into your hips, feeling the beginnings of where your flesh swells into your ass. He envisions how you'd been prancing around the whole day, cute tits pushing against the fabric of your t-shirt and calling out for him to grab.

You're so soft and warm. The little mewls that leave your lips sound like calls of angels up above. It doesn't matter though. His cock had clocked out for the night.

"God damnit," he grumbles before brushing you off his lap and bringing his fist down against the mattress. He sighs and his head hangs.

He can already sense the look on your face. Worry, hesitation, and affection swirling into one humiliating look. He feels your hand find his shoulder, the touch tender and accepting.

"It's ok, Logan. We don't have to," you say. Your tone is so soft and gentle, and it just drives him fucking nuts.

"But you want to," he says and looks over at you. The look in your eyes kills him. He knows you don't mean it, but it looks so patronizing. As if he's an old dog about to be taken out back and old yeller'd.

"Yeah but I don't want you to force yourself. We can just cuddle," you offer, sweet as can be.

"It's not forcing, I want to do this. I want you so bad," he says and cups your cheek. He pulls you back onto his lap and nuzzles your neck. "Been thinking about this all day."

You let out a little sigh as he lays some kisses on the column of your throat, and that gives him a spark of hope. Maybe he can do this. Maybe he doesn't have to be put out to pasture just yet. The two of you make out and grind and feel each other up some more. But eventually your tits are all but in his face and his dick still doesn't have a pulse.

He huffs and pulls back. 'Fuck, I'm sorry, sweetheart," he says.

You watch him, the gleam in your eyes as adoring as ever. It was the same look you gave him when you'd have to explain a basic function of a cell phone to him.

"It's ok. You don't have to be embarrassed," you reassure and lean in to peck his cheek.

He groans and gently brushes you off. "Don't. I don't need you coddling me."

"I'm just saying. I understand," you say with conviction, hands splaying on your chest to physically convey your empathy, "It happens to lots of guys when they get older. You don't have to be ashamed of it with me."

And in that moment, he wishes he didn't have his mutation so he could just die on the spot from being utterly mortified. He'd actually have preferred if you laughed in his face and called him an old man. A sad, old, perverted fuck who decided to date some half his age even though he couldn't keep up with her appetite. If you'd told him you were gonna find someone who could satisfy you, it probably would've stung less than being talked to like a patient who doesn't know their cancer is terminal.

There was no chance in hell, you'd ever do any of that though. As much as he hated that fact right now, it was part of why he loved you.

All he does is mumble a thank you and kiss the corner of your mouth. He doesn't just cuddle you after though. He gets you off on his thigh. You were still going to cum even if he couldn't. When you're done, he holds you close and rubs your back till you're sleeping curled up to his side.

His night isn't very restful though. It's haunted with the prospect of future incidents like this, of your perception of him changing. The look in your eyes changing from admiration to pity.

He can't live with that. The next day for the two of you is super busy, but he makes sure there's a spot at the end of it for him to secure his redemption.

This time around it's him carting you away from the others once the sun is down, mouth on the curve of your neck before you even reach the bedroom. His hands grope your waist and paw at your tits. You stumble into the door, bumping it loud enough that you'd be worried about someone hearing you if they weren't all downstairs.

"Logan..." you giggle. You push your ass back against him and glance at him out of your peripheral.

"Not what you're gonna be calling me before the night is done, sweet thing," he grunts and boosts you up.

Your legs press into his sides to support yourself as he opens the door. He takes the two of you inside and kicks it shut behind him before heading to the bed and tossing you on the mattress.

You look up at him with a coy smile, arms propping you up and one of your legs extended to entice him.

"You know... you don't have to prove anything to me, right?" you say.

"Oh, I don't?" he asks and grabs your ankle, pulling you to the edge of the bed so your hips meet, "You're too easy to please, babydoll."

Another laugh bubbles through your lips. Your legs drop to lock around his waist. "I'm just saying. It's like totally normal, and I don't want you to get all grumpy about it."

"Oh, I get grumpy, do I?" he asks as he leans over you. His large body envelopes yours on the mattress. He ducks down further to swallow your words up with kisses.

You hum into the exchange but pull back a little to finish your thought.

"Mhm, you do. And I just don't want you to feel that way cause I knew when we got together what I was getting into," you say.

Your confidence is so cute. You talk with absolute certainty, like you understand all there is to be understood about him. Like you'd known him forever and he hadn't been doing things like this for decades longer than you walked this earth.

His mouth crashes against yours again, his body weighing down on you and crushing you into the mattress. 

"You did, hm? You knew what you were getting into? You got with me thinking I wouldn't be able to give it to you how you need all the time?" he mutters against your skin.

"I didn't mean it like-"

"Didn't mean it like that? How'd you mean it then, sweetheart?"

"I dunno..."

"Doesn't sound like you knew what you were getting into to me," he breathes.

That little sentence that you'd said in an attempt to comfort him unlocked something between the two of you. He felt his cock waking up and pressing against his zipper, eager to get out and slide home. It's hard to register your clothes being pulled off when he's got his tongue in your mouth and his fingers playing with your clit. In no time at all, he's got the both of you bare and his cock nestled between your thighs.

Like he already knew, the issue last night had never been about lack of desire. And he intended to prove that to you, fuck you so good it wiped your memory of any placating word that fell from your lips.

He ruts into you hard. The mattress rocks on the bed frame and threatens to slide off. His dick is big and even though it's not a new sensation for you, each time you take it is a stretch. It's even more so when he pushes you up by the back of your knees. You whine as you're folded in half. His thrusts hit your sweet spot every time at this angle.

"Thought you knew what you were getting into?" he teases as he pistons himself in and out.

You mewl and bob your head, though you aren't sure if you're shaking your head or nodding.

"Fuckkkk, Logan. 'm sorry," you pant. Your walls squeeze tight around his shaft as your eyes close up. He made every part of your body contract and feel like it was moments from exploding.

He simply laughs at your apology. "Don't gotta be sorry. You didn't do anything wrong. I'm just showing you what happens when I get older."

His balls hang heavy and swing with each motion, clapping against your ass. The heat between your legs is enough to make you squirm. Constant whimpers pour from your lips as he fucks into you without mercy.

"I know," you moan, "You fuck me better than anyone else."

"That's right," he grunts, "Nobody else could fuck you like this. Just me."

"Mhm, just daddy," you slur and cling onto him tighter. Your arms hook around his neck and keep his sweaty skin flush against yours.

"Just daddy," he repeats, his tone smooth like silk despite his raspy voice, "You don't need anyone else. Not when I can take care of you like this."

His tip prods at your cervix, making you yelp and buck. He doesn't stop though, just keeps battering into you, hammering into your warm, wet hole.

"You don't need any little boys thinking they know how to handle you," he breathes and nuzzles your neck, "Your old man can handle you just fine, make you cum whenever you need."

A strangled cry leaves your lips. Your nails dig into his back so hard that it seems like you wanted to draw blood. His words just make you melt for him. Reduce you down to a compliant jumble of flesh for him to mold and play with how he wants.

"Needa cum right now, daddy," you whine.

"I know you do, spoiled girl. You act so understanding, but I know that little pussy is aching to cum around my cock. To get filled up with my cum," he murmurs.

You nod wildly.

He chuckles at your eagerness and snaps against you even harder.

"Hold on tight, baby," he whispers.

His hips ricochet off your ass, clapping against you with intensity that borders on violent. You squeal and hang on as directed. Your whole body rocks with his momentum. Your head bobbles around like it's empty, which it is. Empty of everything but him.

"Fuck fuck fuck fuck," you whimper.

"Let it out for me. Let me feel you burst, pretty girl," he grunts as he continues plowing into you.

Your body rolls. Your hips vibrate with the ecstasy release brings you. It crashes over you in one intense wave, like a gallon of liquid euphoria being poured over you. Your eyes flutter, and you bury your face in his neck like he has his in yours.

He fucks you through it. Coos in your ear too. "That's my baby. My sweet girl. Always sound so pretty when you're cumming."

One of your hands flies up to clutch at his thick, dark hair. Keeping him close keeps the words flowing.

"Getting so tight for me, fuck. No one can make me cum like you, honey. Drains me dry every fucking time."

Moments later he spurts into you, unloading thick ropes of his spend inside you. You let out another moan from that sensation alone. He growls and pants against your skin, his hands locking you in place as his hips pummel into your cunt and make sure every last drop has been released.

He lingers on you for a few moments before pulling out. His body feels loose in the afterglow. He stands at the edge of the bed and looks down at himself and then you. He knows he's gonna have to clean you up. Your inner thighs are shimmery with a mix of fluids, and the bush of dark hair at the base of his cock is in the same condition.

"Time to shower, baby?" he asks and pats your leg. You don't respond at first and he smirks. "Or did I tire you out too much?"

You whine something incoherent and shift to turn your face against the blankets. His smug look grows. He crawls over you again and nips at your jaw, rubbing his nose against your cheekbone.

"You know, it's ok, sweetheart. It's nothing to be embarrassed about. It's totally normal for pretty little things like you. I knew that going in."

His tone mimics your soft and understanding one from earlier. You make a little growl and swat at his bicep.

“Shut up, old man.”

[flowersforbucky]

down bad

bucky barnes x reader

word count: 3.9k

author's note: i couldn't stop thinking about bucky being able to use his metal hand as a vibrator and therefore this was born.

warnings/tags: SMUT, oral (female receiving), fingering, bucky being used as a human vibrator, multiple orgasms, language, consumption of alcohol, reader is afab, no use of y/n, slightly possessive bucky, 18+ only

“You’ve got to be fucking joking,” Natasha mutters through a mouth full of popcorn. “Tyler from the statistics department? Are we talking about the same Tyler from statistics?”

“Nat, for the fourth time, yes. Tyler from statistics. The only Tyler from statistics that I know.” You reach for the bottle of Moscato that the two of you are sharing, pouring yourself some more wine.

“Nuh-uh,” Natasha shakes her head. “I don't believe you. There's no way he could be that bad.” She takes a sip from her own glass of wine. “He's too gorgeous,” she shrugs, turning to face you on the couch. The romantic comedy you had picked out for your bi-monthly movie night plays forgotten in the background.

“Trust me,” you sigh. “I was just as shocked as you are. But I swear on my life, he stuck his tongue in my ear. In my fucking ear, but wouldn't go down on me.” You can tell by the look on her face that Nat is trying her hardest not to laugh.

“He said his dick game is ‘too good to need to eat a girl out’.” You shake your head, cringing at the memory. “Which is also what he said when I merely suggested that he use my vibrator on me instead. He looked like I had kicked his dog.”

“Well?” she asks, a pained expression across her features. “Was it? Too good?”

“I didn't stay to find out,” you admit. “I faked a work emergency and dipped.” A laugh breaks through her pursed lips.

“I'm sorry–” she says, although her face says otherwise. “I shouldn't laugh. You just have the worst luck with men. Isn't that the third failed hook-up in what? Six months?”

“Don't fucking remind me,” you groan, throwing your head back on the couch and staring up at the living room ceiling. “I think I've lost all hope of ever having an orgasm given to me by another person again.”

Nat opens her mouth to speak, but quickly closes it when you both notice voices approaching from the hallway.

Sam and Bucky enter the room a moment later, both dressed uncharacteristically nice. You suddenly feel the desire to conceal yourself with the fleece throw blanket laying across your lap. You and Nat usually plan your movie nights for when the tower is relatively empty, so you're just wearing a pair of old sweatpants and a tank top. Bare-faced and hair unstyled, the fact that Bucky's gaze is locked on you as the two of them approach where you and Nat are lounging doesn't help. He's not smiling - but there's a look on his face that you don't quite understand. The ghost of a smirk on his lips and a twinkle of amusement in his eyes.

It's a look that makes you nervous - in addition to already feeling flutters in the pit of your stomach at how fucking good he looks.

“Hey, boys,” Nat greets them cheerily. “Where are the two of you going so dolled up?”

“There's a new nightclub in Brooklyn that a group of SHIELD trainees are going to tonight,” Sam answers. “They invited us and we've got nothing better to do. Figured we'd go check it out, get a few drinks. You ladies want to tag along? Or are you too busy watching - what is this, 10 Things I Hate About You?” He gestures towards the screen.

“Couldn't hurt to get out of the house for a while tonight, right?” Nat looks at you for confirmation, a knowing gleam in her eyes. “Who knows, you might even meet someone,” she adds, nudging you with her elbow.

Bucky lets out a sound halfway between a laugh and a cough, which he tries to play off as the latter. You narrow your eyes at him before glancing back to Natasha.

“For sure,” you agree, trying to ignore Bucky's bizarre behavior. “Couldn't hurt. You guys go on, we'll get ready and head there soon. Text us the name of the club?” You direct the last part to Sam in particular.

“You got it,” Sam says as he pulls his cell phone from his coat pocket. He turns to leave when both your and Nat’s phones chime with the club information. “Let's go man, our Uber's here,” he directs at Bucky.

“See you both soon,” he says before turning to follow Sam, though his gaze is still only on one of you.

“I'm gonna go throw on some make-up, curl my hair, and hope I can find something somewhat cute to–” Nat starts as soon as Bucky and Sam have turned back down the hallway.

“Was he acting kind of odd?” you interrupt her in a hushed tone.

“Barnes? Always. I've stopped reading into it too much.”

“Some spy you are,” you mumble. “Meet me back here when you're ready.”

— — — — —

One hour later, you're applying some last minute mascara and lip gloss in the backseat of an Uber on your way to downtown Brooklyn. Natasha sits beside you, ranting about an assignment that Fury has tasked her with and you swear you're trying your hardest to absorb everything she's saying - but your mind keeps going back to the way Bucky was looking at you just an hour ago.

What was with that little smirk? That curious glimmer in his eyes? Had he overheard your conversation with Nat? Had he developed the ability to read minds and knew you were thinking about how fucking hot he looked? Or was that thought simply written all over your face?

You knew you couldn't deny it. Bucky does look exceptionally attractive in his black suit, with his perfectly tousled hair - but you had found him to be ridiculously good looking since you'd first met him. Even in casual, everyday clothes, even in gym shorts and drenched in sweat, even covered in blood after particularly brutal miss–

“You girls have a great evening,” your Uber driver interrupts your train of thought as he comes to a stop in front of your destination.

You really need to get fucking laid. You definitely shouldn't be having these kinds of thoughts about Bucky. He's your coworker, your teammate, your training partner on many occasions, your friend…

Natasha thanks him and hands him a generous cash tip before climbing out of the car right after you.

“Thanks,” you tell her. “I'll buy our drinks.”

“Don't worry about me,” she tells you with a sly grin as you both flash the bouncer your IDs and enter the club. Despite the night still being relatively young, it's already bustling inside.

“You just focus on meeting people, mingling, maybe hitting it off with a super hot guy and taking him back to your place for some mind-blowing–”

“Super hot guy? Are you talking about me?” Sam’s voice interrupts Nat. You both turn around to see him and Bucky walking towards you, drinks in hand.

There's a roguish smile on Bucky's face as his eyes skim up and down your figure.

“You both look wonderful,” he compliments, but once again, his stare is focused only on you. If Natasha notices, she says nothing.

To be fair, you were impressed with how well you managed to put yourself together with such little notice. You found a black, backless mini dress crammed in the back of your closet that you had forgotten all about after snagging it on clearance forever ago. The form-fitting material hugs you in all the right ways, and paired with your favorite pair of strappy black heels, you're feeling infinitely more confident than you were when Bucky saw you just an hour prior.

“Thanks!” You chirp quickly, averting your gaze from him to take in your surroundings. To your left, the dance floor is lively, though not too overcrowded for your liking. To your right, there's a bar surrounded by tables filled with groups of people conversing - you vaguely recognize a couple of SHIELD agents huddled around one. The entire room is illuminated by the faint blue-green glow of the mood lighting, and the bass of the music vibrates through the floorboards.

Sam and Bucky excuse themselves to go say hey to the group of agents that had invited them, while Nat all but drags you over to the bar. You order a double shot of whiskey and throw it back as quickly as you can.

“I see what you mean now,” Nat whispers to you after downing her shot of tequila. “About Barnes,” she clarifies. “He's been eye-fucking you since we walked through the door.”

If you hadn't already swallowed your liquor, you would have spewed it all over her.

“He has not been eye-fucking me, Nat,” you say in an almost scolding tone.

“I'm just saying,” she throws her hands up. “There’s no way he could possibly be any worse than the last few guys you've gone for. I think you should go for it,” she shrugs.

“It's not that I don't think he'd be good,” you say defensively, forcing yourself to look away from where he and Sam are socializing with the small group of SHIELD agents a few tables away. “I just don't want things to be weird afterwards. We work together nearly every day, and we have a bunch of mutual friends–”

“Suit yourself,” she cuts you off in a tone of voice that very much says if you say so. “Now, are you going to dance with me or not?” She adds as she begins tugging you towards the ever-busying dance floor.

You spend the next half hour dancing with Nat before she's swept away by some black-haired doctor looking type. Good for her, you think as you watch them converse intimately at a small booth on the other side of the room.

Thanks to the liquid courage that runs through your veins, you're okay with the fact that Bucky stands just twenty feet away from you, watching you as you dance among the thick crowd of people.

You've made eye contact with him a few times now - on accident or on purpose, you're not sure at this point. But each time, your eyes lingers on his for a moment longer than the last.

You're mentally daring him to come here, to make a move, to do something other than stand to the sidelines of whatever conversation Sam and the others are engaged in.

The slightest bit of pressure on your waist snaps you back to the now congested dance floor.

You look up to find that the hand on your waist belongs to a tall man with shoulder length, sandy blonde hair. He's conventionally attractive enough, though not who you were hoping would come grab you on the dance floor.

“I'm Shawn,” he introduces himself, loudly enough for you to hear him over the roaring music. You tell him your name, pushing aside the pang of disappointment in your chest.

“Do you want to go somewhere a bit quieter to talk, maybe? Let me buy you a drin–”

“There you are! I've been looking everywhere for you,” a voice booms from behind you.

Shawn immediately retracts his hand from your waist, backing up a few inches as Bucky comes into view beside you.

“Must not have been looking too hard, I've been right here this whole time,” you jab back with a smug smile.

“Sorry, I didn't mean to–” Shawn says as he starts to back away.

“No worries, bud,” Bucky says in an overly friendly voice as he moves to stand in front of you, blocking you from Shawn's view entirely.

“Took you long enough,” you tell Bucky once the man is out of ear shot, once again beginning to sway to the music. “Get bored of listening to Sam hype himself up to the newbies?”

He takes a step closer, angling himself behind you. The crowd of people surrounding you edges you closer to him - your bare back brushing against the cool satin fabric of his suit.

“Maybe,” his chest vibrates against your skin when he speaks. He places his hands on either side of your hips - eliciting goosebumps across your skin in a way that no one else has in a long, long time.

“Or maybe I just wanted to save you from wasting your time on another guy who can't make you come.”

Your movements come to an abrupt pause as his words hit you.

He had fucking overheard your conversation with Natasha.

At a loss for words, you turn to face him. There's a shit-eating grin spread across his face. He thinks this is hilarious and it's obvious.

“Hasn't anyone ever told you it's rude to eavesdrop?”

“Is it really eavesdropping if I have superhuman hearing?” He takes a step closer to you, closing what little distance was separating you. The peaks of your breasts brush against his chest.

“So what happens now that you've saved me from another unsatisfactory hook-up?” You challenge, staring up at him in the neon blue lighting.

You can smell hints of cedarwood and sage from his cologne in your close proximity. It's so delicious that it's dizzying.

“Let me take you somewhere more private than this dance floor and I'll show you.”

“You seem to have a lot of confidence in your ability to give me a better experience,” you say, leaning forward so that your face is just inches from his.

He responds by placing his flesh hand on the small of your back and pulling you flush against him. The tips of his fingers continue to dance down the skin of your exposed spine. His vibranium hand comes to cradle your jaw, his metal thumb tracing your bottom lip.

His mouth forms a dark smirk - and then you feel it. It starts soft and subtle and then gradually increases in intensity.

His fucking thumb is vibrating against your lip.

If you hadn't been standing in the middle of a crowded dance floor at a nightclub in downtown Brooklyn, you would have taken that thumb into your mouth and sucked on it right then and there.

“What do you say?” he asks, now tugging on your bottom lip with the pulsing digit. “Are you going to let me take you to the first empty room I can find in this place and make you come?”

“I say show me the way.”

He removes his hand from your face and turns you in the direction of the back of the club. He guides you through the throng of dancers, keeping his hands placed firmly on either side of your waist from behind. His vibranium fingers still hum softly, reminding you of what he says is to come.

Directly past the dance floor, there's a hallway blocked off by a rope with a sign that reads employees only. Taking a quick look around, you see that all of the patrons surrounding you and Bucky are paying you no mind. Bucky unhooks the flimsy rope and the two of you slip down the hallway.

He jiggles the handles of several doors that all turn out to be locked. Not wanting to waste any time or draw any attention to yourselves with picking locks, you continue down the dark corridor until the heavy music from the heart of the club fades to a muted roar.

The very last door opens without a hitch.

Thanks to the pale orange glow of a table lamp on a desk in the corner of the room, you can see that you're in a makeshift office/supply room - a couple of filing cabinets, cleaning supplies, extra glassware, and some sound equipment strewn haphazardly throughout the limited space.

Bucky clicks the lock into place as soon as he closes the door behind him.

You're going to turn around him and tell him that he doesn't have to do this - that as badly as you want this, you don't want to ruin your friendship, that as badly as you want him, he doesn't have anything to prove to you - but his lips are already on yours as soon as you start to open your mouth.

He doesn't take his lips off of yours as he guides you backwards to the rickety wooden desk. The backs of your thighs hit the table and Bucky effortlessly lifts you to sit on the edge, giving him the perfect angle to deepen the kiss - with his tongue exploring your mouth, you're unable to stop yourself from groaning into the kiss.

You fist your fingers into his hair, tugging just hard enough so that he hisses into your mouth. His own hands trail from the sides of your stomach and down your thighs, until he reaches the tail of your dress. You instinctively part your legs for him, as much as the restrictive fabric will allow, and his vibranium hand shoots between your thighs.

He teases you, dragging his index finger along the cloth of your panties that you know you're close to soaking through already. Just as the tip of his finger pauses above your clit, his finger begins emitting the softest vibration.

You break the kiss, breathless as you throw your head back at the sensation. Bucky takes it as an opportunity to attach his lips to the pulse point of your throat, nipping your flesh with his teeth followed by a wet kiss.

He continues with the ministrations through your panties until you're rutting against his hand, needing more. He tugs your underwear to the side and increases the intensity of the vibration before nudging his middle finger past your entrance.

You have to hold onto his shoulders to steady yourself - despite the fact that you're sitting, your body feels like jelly beneath his touch. He adds in his index finger with ease before cupping your pussy in his palm - the heel of his hand pulsating against your clit.

“Fuck, Bucky,” you cry against his mouth.

“You're so fucking wet for me, you know that?” He coos, thrusting both of his fingers against the spongy-flesh of your walls.

You can feel the vibrations of his hand all the way from your belly to your toes.

You begin grinding your hips to meet the movement of his fingers, fucking yourself against his hand. There's a familiar knot forming in your lower belly as he curls his fingers inside you -

“I want you to think about me and how good I'm making you feel every time you think about letting some fuckin’ nobody touch you,” he says in a low voice next to your ear. “I want you to think about riding my fingers until you come all over my hand.”

His words send you over the edge and you do exactly that - your pussy clenching around his fingers as you ride them through your orgasm. While you're still coming down from the high of your climax, Bucky pulls his metal fingers out of you and brings them to your lips, inserting his index finger in your mouth. You swirl your tongue around the slick metal as he brings the vibrations to a halt and then slowly pulls the finger from your mouth.

He picks you up off the edge of the desk and plants you back on the ground - your legs still shaking from how hard you had come.

“Turn around and lean over the desk,” he instructs you, soft but authoritative.

You don't know if it's because of the way he's looking at you or because of how good he's already made you feel, but in that moment, you would've done anything he asked of you.

You bend over the desk, supporting yourself by leaning on your forearms. You peak back over your shoulder to look at Bucky - he hikes your dress up, baring your ass to him.

He lets out an audible groan before he has even pulled your panties down to your ankles.

He kneels on the ground behind you, his face inches away from your cunt. He uses both his flesh and metal hands to spread you open for him, and then his tongue is licking up your center from behind.

God, you hope no one tries to come into this room. The door may be locked but the sounds that someone would hear if they even walked up to the door…

Bucky knows just how to make you writhe above him. He's soft when he's kissing up your folds and unsparing when he's sucking your clit between his lips. His hands hold your ass in a firm grasp that teeters between pleasure and pain.

You grind back against his face and he moans so deeply that you feel the vibration of it up your core. Your eyes roll back into your head as you clutch the sides of the desk to better support yourself.

His enthusiasm alone has you spiraling towards a second climax embarrassingly fast.

“You know,” he murmurs against your sensitive pussy. “When I overheard you say that someone had refused to go down on you, I couldn't believe it. What a fuckin idiot to pass this up.” He gives your ass cheek a firm slap with his flesh hand before diving his face between your legs once more.

It's just seconds before you feel the telltale pressure growing in your lower belly once more. You go limp against the table, Bucky placing his hands on the backs of your thighs to help keep you upright as you ride out your orgasm on his face.

You continue to lay against the desk as you regain control of your breathing. Bucky stands up, tugging your panties up your legs and back around your waist as he does. He then shimmies your dress back down into place so that you're once again looking club-appropriate.

When you turn around to face him, he's wiping your slick from his lower face on the sleeve of his suit, once again displaying a shit-eating grin.

“What was it you said?” He asks in mocking contemplation. “You had lost all hope of ever having an orgasm given to you by another person again?”

“I think you've made your point. You're fantastic at eating pussy and you're a walking human-sex toy.” You roll your eyes at him and start to walk towards the door, but he grabs your wrist in his metal hand, stopping you.

He pulls you back to him and brings his flesh hand to cradle your jawline. He stares at you in a heavy, uncertain silence for a split second before bringing his lips to yours.

It's a kiss that's a bit more hesitant, and a lot less rushed than the one before. You taste yourself all over him, warm and salty. He takes his time getting lost in your mouth - you savor every second and it still comes to and end all too once.

“Couldn't help myself,” he smiles softly when he pulls away. “Just had to kiss you one last time.”

You can't help the way your heart skips a beat when he says the word last.

You clear your throat. “We should probably go find Sam and Natasha,” you say, giving him a small smile in return. “I'm sure they're both wondering where the hell we are.”

You spend the rest of the evening attempting to mingle with friends, but there's one thought that torments you for the remaining duration of the night - just a few hours ago, you doubted that you'd ever have a satisfactory hook-up ever again.

Now, you had to wonder if anyone else could ever make you feel as good as Bucky did.

♡♡♡♡♡

i left this kind of open-ended soooo leave it to your own interpretation what happens next for them 🤭

as always comments/reblogs are infinitely appreciated. thanks for reading!

my masterlist

[joelsgoldrush]

“you can use my skin to bury secrets in” | 6.8k

old man!logan x f!reader

SUMMARY: Saliva floods his mouth as you rise to your feet, looking down at him from above. Gracefully angelic, and yet— “I know what I’m asking for,” you continue, your voice descending to a low murmur that scratches pleasantly against some dark and remote corner of his brain. Then you lower yourself onto his lap, your thighs bracketing his waist. You repeat your question: “Can I help you?” OR Logan had always known your generosity would get him in trouble. WARNINGS/TAGS: mdni smut 18+ cursing. drinking. pining. mentions of alcohol. dirty talk. age gap (reader's in her late 20s). logan’s POV. angst/self-deprecation (he just needs a little loving). religious imagery. feelings. petnames. chauffeur!logan. oral sex (m receiving, tiny bit of f receiving). sort of dom!logan. doggy style. unprotected p in v. creampie. A/N: i could say i'm sorry for this, but i'm not. love love love this old man (#needthat). heavily inspired by the song "i know" by fiona apple. @lubdubology my partner in crime who keeps putting up with me, tysm!!! hope you all enjoy it <3

The line between being a good and bad person is thin. So thin, in fact, that Logan finds himself stepping back and forth across it constantly.

Rescuing a kitten from a tree? Good.

Punching a guy at a bar because he didn’t feel like being acknowledged? Bad.

Saving countless lives from mass destruction? Good—heroic, even.

But killing others to do it? Bad—condemnable, scum of the earth.

Where does that leave him? Which side has laid claim to his soul? He’s long accepted he’ll never see the pearly gates.

When the day comes that his body can no longer take it, and he only grows wearier, he’s pretty sure there’s a special place in hell with his name on it, etched in some grave awaiting to be filled.

Maybe Satan’s already counting down the days until he shows up at his door, who knows?

Yet, the more time passes by, the less afraid he is of what lies beneath the surface. He’s learned to coexist with the darkness, with the kind of pain and loneliness that would crush most men.

He doesn’t know how, but he survives it—the agony, the memories, the solitude that hits him from time to time.

And still, he doesn't lose himself entirely. He’s tempted, of course, to linger in the past—it’s always easier to drown there.

If he could go back, he knows he wouldn’t be alone in choosing that path. Some days, it feels like the only option.

But there’s no you in his past.

Logan inhales sharply when your tongue teases his slit, lapping at the precum pooling there. You hum at the taste, your hand resting on his bare thigh, fingers pressing into his skin. Your other hand lazily strokes the length of him, working the inches your mouth can’t take.

It’s clear you’re enjoying this. He can tell from the way your lashes flutter each time he thrusts a little deeper into your slick warmth. A win-win situation.

Letting a girl like you do this to him? That’s bad. Very bad. Red flags all around.

He meets you when he least expects it.

It’s a night like any other. He’s been driving for God knows how long. His joints ache from being in the same position for hours, and a part of his left knee he didn’t even know could hurt begins to throb.

It takes everything in him not to call it quits for the night, not to turn around and head home like a coward.

When exactly his life fell into this monotonous cycle, he’s not entirely sure, but it happened somewhere along the way. Now, it’s all the same: taking care of Charles during the day, catching an hour or two of sleep, then gripping the steering wheel with white-knuckled intensity, driving through endless stretches of road, resisting any attempts at small talk from the passengers he chauffeurs around.

They all try—every single one of them. They think if they can crack his harsh and bitter exterior, he’ll open up, reveal something, anything to make their eyes go wide.

But why? Why do they insist on breaking through his shell? What do they hope to discover?

No one really cares what’s going on in his mind. They just want to feel good about themselves—like they’ve been kind, amiable, empaths intending to fill some empty and obscure corner of their own lives.

Logan refuses to be the person who grants them that satisfaction.

You slip into the backseat of his limo, closing the door with a soft click. The night clings to you, the scent of the bar still lingering on your clothes. The music is loud enough for him to hear from outside, and he sees the people lined up at the door, willing to cause a fight if it means securing a good time.

There's a slight frown tugging at your features, your lips pulled downward, though your voice is still polite when you blurt out your address.

Five minutes into the drive and you haven’t said a word. Internally, he’s savoring the silence, so happy he could jump on one foot.

This kind of peace is rare. He’d grown unaccustomed to it. The tension in his shoulders eases as the city lights blur past.

But, all good things come to an end, because—

“How’s your night going?” you ask, fiddling with the seatbelt to have something between your fingers. Logan glances at you through the mirror, his eyes catching yours just for a moment, long enough to see the faint, apologetic smile you offer him. He allows himself a heartbeat more to take you in before focusing back on the road.

You click your tongue, a soft sound of disapproval ringing in his ears. “Well, thank you.”

He lets out a quiet huff, grinding his teeth together. “I’d prefer if we stayed like we were before,” he mutters, his voice rough and gravelly. His attention flickers between the passing cars and the occasional glimpses of you that startle him every time he searches for the mirror. Cars. You. Cars. You. You. You. “Y’know, not talking.”

“But that’s no fun at all,” you retort, sliding more to your left, nearly positioning yourself in the middle of the backseat. It gives him a better view of you—whether intentional or not, he can’t say.

The lipstick on your lips is still flawless. A sparkly necklace glints just above the neckline of your dress, and matching earrings dangle from your ears. Wrapped in a leather jacket, you look effortlessly alluring.

This entire sequence is enough to confirm that by no means is he going to heaven. Straight to hell, he thinks, allowing his gaze to trace over each detail of your frame. Straight to hell.

You don’t give up. “Your aura is off.”

That prompts a crooked smirk from him, a shake of his head as he mumbles under his breath: “M’sorry, my what’s off?”

“Your aura,” you clarify, motioning toward him with a light jingle from the many bracelets adorning your wrist. “It’s the energy that surrounds you.”

Logan snorts, amused for a brief second. “Well, you weren’t exactly a beacon of life when you got in either.”

You chuckle softly, leaning back against the seat and looking out the window. “I’m much better now.” A pause before you continue, your tone shifting, losing strength. “My date stood me up. Last-minute cancellation.”

It’s not anger, nor is it disappointment, that laces your words. You seem more resigned than anything else. He’d have expected you to sound at least a bit more conflicted.

“I should’ve seen it coming. He’d been asking to move it forward for a while.”

Does he look like the type of driver who doubles as a therapist? He wishes he could understand why you're telling him all this.

“That sucks,” he still responds, because even though he hasn’t gone out with a woman in what feels like centuries, he understands that sensation all too well. “First time meeting him?”

Listen up, everyone—he’s genuinely engaging in conversation with another soul. This doesn’t happen often.

He hears you hum, eyes still trained on the outside world. You sigh, crossing your arms over your torso. “Would you mind rolling your window up? I’m kind of freezing here.”

“I’d mind that very much,” he says, his voice carrying its usual gruff edge. He fights the urge to grin, but then you unbuckle your seatbelt, leaning in closer to him. Your body is wedged between his seat and the passenger’s, and he perceives your stare boring into his side profile. “Put your seatbelt back on.” 

“You’re fucking with me.” Your finger taps his shoulder once, twice. “First, I get all dolled up for an idiot who bails on me, and now you have the nerve to make fun of me? Give me a break.”

Your eyes stay on him, a smile plastered on your face, anticipating any possible answer.

Crack, crack, crack—you intend to break through his shell, watching him from the front row, waiting for the moment it gives way.

Before you can say more, he cuts you off. “Seatbelt.”

It’s a command, an instruction, and you comply without hesitation.

Warmth pools and stirs low in his gut as he notes how quickly you obey him. 

Would you still look at him like that if you knew the blood he’s scrubbed off his hands? The flesh that his claws have shredded? The names of the lives he’s taken?

Would your warm gaze turn cold, filled with dread instead of curiosity?

Maybe this is hell. Are you the Devil in disguise, tempting him to cross a line he won’t be able to come back from?

A few minutes later, he pulls up to your building. A really nice one, he notes. You announce you live on the sixth floor. He doesn’t need to know that, does he? Why would you tell him that? Why give that piece of information to a complete stranger?

You linger in the backseat, as though you’re expecting him to turn and look at you. And he does, though not for the reason you might expect. “You got everything?”

Eager and full of life, you nod, clutching your purse to your chest. You avert your gaze to read his ID tag, the one that contains his personal details. “James?”

“Glad you can read,” he utters, pulling out a small bottle of liquor from under the seat. He drains it all in one go, savoring the fleeting burn as it slides down his throat, which is enough to keep him going. “C’mon, kid. I already charged you.”

“You drink while you drive?”

“Keeps me entertained,” he says dryly. It’s the only thing he knows how to do. Raising the empty bottle in your direction, he arches a brow. “Goodnight, darlin’. Leave me a good review on your way out.”

You roll your eyes at him, silent as you exit the vehicle, closing the door behind you. While fumbling for your keys, four words escape your mouth. Casual yet devastating, they ruin him: “I’ll see you around.” 

For a couple of days, you don’t bother him again. Bother—notice the implication of the verb in question.

He’d be lying if he said he didn’t think of you after that drive. Each time his phone buzzes, a small, restless part of him hopes it’s you, asking for his services, wanting him to be the one you seek out.

And it happens. The best things seem to occur when the moon hangs high and bright.

You: Hi.

He stares at the message, recognition washing over him. He knows it’s you; he can see the other texts you exchanged that night he took you home.

You: Are you working tonight?

You’ve got to be kidding him.

Logan: Why are you texting me?

He types the words with frustration, his thumb hovering over the screen longer than usual. 

You: Why are you answering me?

Oh, you’re smart. 

Logan: Take my advice. Talk to a guy your own age.

You: Damn. Already jumping to conclusions. I was just going to ask you if you wanted to have a drink with me.

Logan: I’m busy.

You: Well, what time do you get off?

Logan: I work all night.

You: Can’t even make a quick stop? I swear it won’t take you more than twenty minutes.

An impulse to throw his phone out the window surges within him, but he manages to restrain himself.

Then, as if on cue, the device vibrates again—of course, it’s you.

You: The drinks are on me. Let me know if you change your mind.

Do you think he’s going to let you pay for him? Absolutely not. 

What surprises him more than the message is how easily he remembers your address. It appears to be ingrained in his mind.

He cancels his next trip, scheduled for ten minutes from now, his new destination being your building.

Once he pulls up, he does what feels most natural: he honks. Multiple times. Maybe he’s lucky and you’ll tell him to fuck off.

But you don’t. You’re laughing as you make your way over to the limo, sliding into the backseat in the same way you did a week ago. Your plan had succeeded—you had him exactly where you wanted.

Far from hiding it, you make it evident, obvious. Your heartbeat thrums in the air, and Logan can hear it loud and clear, like the bass in one of those funky songs he likes.

There’s no room for mistakes. He won’t deny it. Even if the feeling is mutual, he can’t shake the idea that he’s doing something wrong.

In his eyes, you’re the forbidden fruit—irresistible, the ultimate temptation known to humankind, camouflaged in the fur of a pretty woman.

You, his paradise on earth, could only lead to one thing: a longing for a chance with you, which he should never be granted in the first place.

He’s diving headfirst into disgrace, and the more he realizes it, the worse it feels. If he were to be scolded like a child, maybe he’d feel relieved, but he’s no kid. He’s a grown-ass man who should be able to resist.

Yet, self-restraint is like sand slipping through his fingers—never lasting long enough.

“You came.” Astonishment. Uncertainty. Amusement. Blinking your eyes at him, you sit very upright, and you don't even bother fastening your seatbelt. “Honestly? I thought you were going to block me.”

I can’t, he thinks. I wouldn’t be able to. I’m not that strong.

“What happened this time? Another failed date?” he inquires, still not starting the car. A look of perplexity appears on your features, puzzled about why he’s not moving. “Ain’t you forgetting something?” He tugs on his own seatbelt for emphasis, the fabric snapping back into place against his coat.

Once again, you follow his lead. “I don’t need to get stood up to want to see you,” you say, placing your hand on his shoulder for balance—or so he tells himself. It takes him all his willpower not to collapse right then and there. “Besides, I’m not bad company. I’ve been told I can be pretty funny.” 

“I see…” he trails off, catching your gaze through the rearview mirror, not shocked in the slightest to find you waiting for him to look back. “Where to?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, you should. You invited me.”

How easy it is to make your chest rumble with laughter, the genuine sound bubbling up, pure and unrestrained. He feels like some amateur comedian who has just realized his real passion is to cause this type of response in others.

Except, it’s not just anyone’s laughter he insists on provoking—it’s yours, and yours alone.

An unsettling sensation envelops him the second you retrieve your hand, not before squeezing his shoulder in a friendly manner. “There’s a bar I go to with my friends sometimes,” you suggest after a beat, shoving your phone in the pocket of your jacket. “We could try that one.”

The moment he steps inside, regret washes over him. Why is everyone here under forty? He feels ancient, like fucking Fred Flintstone.

A fossil out of place, meant to dwell in the shadows, not in a scene like this.

When he freezes in the middle of the bar, your fingers intertwine with his, tugging him along, and he follows after you like a lost puppy. The only thing he’s missing is the leash.

You’re met with his quirked eyebrows as you peer into his eyes over your shoulder, a toothy grin threatening to shake the floor beneath his feet. “You know, people usually sit down before they start getting shit-faced.”

“I’m not getting drunk tonight.” Logan exhales a deep breath, trying to hide his discomfort, his eyes scanning the room. “And neither are you,” he practically yells in your ear trying to make himself heard above the pounding music and incessant chatter. He wonders if you even hear him at all.

The two of you eventually settle at the counter, drinking in silence. Logan half-expects one of your comments to pierce through the quiet, but you delight in proving him wrong.

Instead, your head sways gently to the rhythm of the song playing in the background, and you take a trial sip of your beer.

He’s acutely aware of the stares from the rest of the patrons. He can pretend to be oblivious, but the weight of several pairs of eyes burning holes into the back of his neck doesn’t go unnoticed.

Being watched has never been his favorite pastime, and somehow, it feels even more uncomfortable with you by his side.

He knows what those looks imply, can nearly taste the hidden implications behind each fleeting glance.

What’s a girl like you doing with a man like him? A question that makes no sense.

Does he have money? A well-endowed reputation? Did he recently inherit any properties?

Are you truly that desperate for human contact?

Is your bed so cold that you decide to go for the first guy who can string ten words together?

Logan doubts whether this whole experiment is part of the community service you must be doing. Maybe he should look up your name online to see if any criminal records come to the surface.

Now that he takes a moment to ponder it, you certainly fit the mold of the criminal type. The kind who gets what she wants when she wants it, leaving a trail of intrigue on her wake.

His fingers circle the glass so tightly he fears it might shatter into a million shards. You notice his tension, nudging his arm with yours, aiming to meet his eyes.

When you do (because, as he said, criminals have their own ways), you smile, and he internalizes that gesture as something familiar, something he feels he’s grown used to. Something rankled in his memory.

It’s as if he’s known you for a lifetime.

“Thank you for coming,” you say softly, and he may be going down the path of hallucinations,  but your attention remains a little too long on his lips. Then, just as quickly, it flickers back to the rest of his face, and you lean back to drink from your beer once more.

Straight to hell, he thinks, tasting the remnants of whiskey on his tongue, for ever daring to believe himself worthy of even a moment of your precious time.

You’re probably the first person to have his full, undivided attention. And that’s… well, that’s saying something.

Most days, you’re pretty talkative, a steady stream of conversation, your words pouring out in an endless flow.

You tell him about your family, your career, that pet of yours that died when you were six years old. You mention a friend you no longer speak to, and the events that led to the downfall of your friendship.

There’s also that dish from your all-time favorite restaurant, the one you buy at least once a week because it never fails to comfort you.

Nonstop, you talk and talk, and Logan doesn’t mind one bit. Soon, he finds himself becoming an active listener—asking follow-up questions, chuckling at your jokes, even when they’re not funny at all.

He sincerely cares about what you have to say.

This whole situation with you is beyond his comprehension. Before he realizes it, you start wanting to spend more time with him.

Sometimes, you ride along in the passenger seat while he drives aimlessly through the city.

Sometimes, you invite him over, cook a meal, and he always takes the leftovers with him, as if a part of you goes with him when he leaves.

Sometimes, you come over to his place, and the roles reverse—you’re the one with the mic, asking the questions, fully aware that you’re treading on holy ground. 

Logan’s got a sign on his forehead that reads ‘Stop: do not enter.’ It’s rough around the edges, hardened by the years, all capital letters in stark blank ink. But in the end, you just take the sign and set it aside.

He never goes into too much detail. Not because he doesn’t trust you—it’s just that there’s too much to unpack, and you don’t need to know all of it. You’ll be better off not carrying the garbage he does.

Yet, you’ve got him by the throat, encouraging him to cough up disjoined pieces of his life, bits of his day, his thoughts, his feelings. It sounds stupid to him, but you make him feel alive. 

You never judge him, never flinch when he brings up stories from his past. As he sits at your table one afternoon, you look at his hands, his claws fully extended, and you don’t shy away. You rub the pad of your thumb across the rough skin of his knuckles, right where the adamantium tears through his flesh.

You don’t care that he’s a mutant, that he’s killed people. You don’t try to deny who he is or what he’s done. Oddly enough, you just wish to be by his side, staring off into the void with him. 

“But why?” he asks, partly flattered, partly frustrated. This could be compared to learning a new sport from scratch—he can’t figure you out, can’t understand why you haven’t run the other way yet.

He likes your company, though he’s always bracing himself for the inevitable day you find a better hobby and leave.

Your reasoning defies logic, and he’s afraid that at any moment, you’ll grasp the gravity of your choices.

Almost as if you could feel the turmoil brewing in his mind, you simply say: “You’re nice to be around.”

Nice. Nice. Nice. He’d cackle if he were alone. That word reverberates through him. When was the last time someone called him nice?

Bad-tempered, sure.

A pain in the ass? Definitely.

But nice? Not a term people employed to describe him.

It’s a quality reserved for you, with your endless charisma and kind heart, but not for a man of his kind.

He’s nothing more than a chauffeur, a driver, someone who does and says what’s necessary to survive. Does that make him nice? 

When he tells you he’s probably going to hell, you don’t try to make him feel better. Anyone else in your position might try to soothe him, to offer some hollow reassurance.

Your intention isn’t to change him, for him to pretend to be something he’s not. “Then I’ll meet you there,” you mutter, your shiny eyes searing into his. Under the table, your hand finds his, tender fingers grazing over his knuckles, and for once, he doesn’t pull away.

Could it be that an afterlife catching fire doesn’t sound so bad after all?

As much as he likes to admit how easily you can shift his mood, today is not one of those days.

He’s had a nightmare—nothing new, but this one had been… different. The empty bottle on the nightstand hadn’t been of any help; it never does when they visit him in his sleep.

The ghosts of those who used to be his friends, his family, tiptoe around his dreams in the form of shadows.

Blood. Screams. Shouts of his name. He can’t save them all. Walking through the wreckage, he dodges the bodies of those he couldn’t protect, the knot in his throat tightening with every step, not allowing him to breathe.

Wherever he turns, there’s death, destruction. Sadness. Did he save them all?

It’s always the same routine. He wakes up, screaming, chest aching from the effort. His lungs burn, and he has to remind himself that the limbs attached to him are his own and not the remnants of an immobile corpse.

Sweat clings to his skin, pooling at his temples and nape. He wipes it away with the back of his hand, rubbing at the soreness in his neck.

His phone rings somewhere in the distance, pulling him from his dizzy state. He scrambles to his feet, accepting the call just before it hits voicemail.

It's you. Despite it being late, he swears he feels the gentle kiss of the sun over his brow. Your sweet voice chases away the lingering shadows of his dreams, replacing the bitter taste in his mouth with something real—a reason to get up, to start moving.

He holds onto every second of the brief call, replaying those thirty seconds in his head as he steps into the shower. When the cold water shocks his system, it pulls him fully back to consciousness. He has to get ready.

Even though you insist on getting a taxi, he refuses. He doesn’t mind the drive. His gas tank does, his wallet maybe, but Logan? He just doesn’t.

At the end of the day, he’s protective by nature, and who knows what kind of men are roaming the streets at night?

God forbid they’re anything like him—eager to prompt a smile from you, trying too hard to impress you. He arrives at the conclusion that he’d rather lose fuel and money if it means orbiting around you for longer.

You make him feel better, and tonight, he needs it more than ever. He needs you.

(Now he’s driving. He honks five times when he pulls up to your building. You get on the limo, giggling as you say: “My neighbors must hate you.” He grins. You kiss him on the cheek. Subtle. Not the first time. Still, it doesn’t get old. He feels the faint residue of lip gloss on his skin. He doesn’t wipe it off.)

Not in the mood to cook, you declare as you step into his place. The mouth-watering aroma of the Chinese food you bought fills the air, but when he reaches for the bags, you insist that he sit and relax.

Sure, he can take a seat. But to expect him to relax with you around, playing this intricate game? That’s simply impossible. You’re asking for too much. He’s a player at heart, drawn to the thrill of the chase, and he will play along.

What seems inconceivable is the expectation that he can act as if nothing is happening between these four walls.

His attempts to focus on you are futile, as his mind betrays him tonight. All he hears spilling from your lips is pure and plain gibberish. Your very presence is no longer enough to anchor him.

Already immune to your charm, Logan eats his noodles, occasionally nodding when your voice rises at the end of a sentence, indicating a question.

But he nearly chokes on his drink the moment he registers your serious expression, having never witnessed you like this before.

“Are you even here?” you ask, shoving your food aside with a swift motion of your wrist.

What should he answer? What is it that you want to hear? Of course! I’m here, listening to you. It’s a delightful night. Should I start by telling you about my most recent nightmare? Quite the entertainment!

There’s a shake of his head as he lowers his gaze, escaping your concerned expression. “M’sorry.”

“Don’t be. I’m not trying to make you feel guilty.” You tug your chair forward, claiming a piece of his personal space. You know he doesn’t mind. “Want to talk about it? Did something happen?”

“My brain is just… off today.”

“Many thoughts at the same time.” Not a question. Have you completely figured him out?

“Yeah.”

He remains still, dragging his plastic fork across the now-cold steamed veggies, which have lost their appeal.

How amusing—your knees bump against his, drawing his attention. “Can I help you?” It’s new, the breathy tone you’re using, a whisper of agitation weaving through your calm demeanor. 

“Can you erase my memory?” he shoots back, attempting to smirk through the wave of memories that flash behind his eyelids. When he looks into your eyes, the siren in his head blares.

Your pupils are dilated, blown wide, chest rising and falling rapidly. Sweaty palms that you wipe on your jeans. Tongue darting out to lick your lips. Your heartbeat accelerates, drumming wildly like the fluttering of a hummingbird’s wings.

He hasn’t been with a woman in ages, but he knows how they react when they see something they like—or, in this case, someone.

“Logan.” His name rolls off your tongue once more, tinged with an unmistakable need. The thought of checking his temperature dances through his mind, but the heaviness in his limbs roots him in place. He feels feverish. “I want to help you.”

Oh, no. No, no, no, no—

“What—what are you on, sweetheart?” Get up. Find your keys. Drive her home. “You don’t even know what you’re sayin’.”

Saliva floods his mouth as you rise to your feet, looking down at him from above. Gracefully angelic, and yet— “I know what I’m asking for,” you continue, your voice descending to a low murmur that scratches pleasantly against some dark and remote corner of his head. Then you lower yourself onto his lap, your thighs bracketing his waist. You repeat your question: “Can I help you?”

He’s no longer in control of his actions. His right hand crawls up your knee, palming the fabric of your pants. It’s numbing: a lapful of you, your rich smell, your quickened pulse.

Tempting. So fucking tempted to take you right now, just like this, without the need for words. Your bodies can communicate in a language of their own, one that transcends spoken phrases. 

I want you, he lets you know through the way he gropes your breasts over your shirt, squeezing them together. He’s always been good with his hands. But what the hell am I supposed to do with a sweet thing like you?

His patience teeters on the edge of a precipice. “Tell me what you want.”

“I asked you first.”

“You’re gonna pretend you don’t know the answer?” He thrusts into the air, grinding against your clothed core, and you close your eyes. He’s rock hard beneath you, the bulge in his jeans shockingly obscene, bordering on grotesque. “We both know what I want, but I’m no telepath, baby. Need you to speak up.”

Twisting the locks of hair at his nape, you press your lips to his neck. “I want to make you forget, to focus on this moment. I want you to live in the present, Logan.” A bite on his earlobe sends shivers down his spine, and he grips your hips with a primal growl. “I can do whatever you want. Just tell me. Tell me, and I’ll do it, please.”

Please? He’s spiraling. Please? That’s it—he’s doing it. He’ll grant you your plea, which aligns perfectly with his own desires.

Once his back meets the mattress in his room, you get to work. With delicate precision, you pull down his pants, sliding his boxers off until only his thick thighs and the crown of short curls adorning his cock remain in sight. Your fingers tremble slightly before you wrap them loosely around his length, and it springs to life in your grasp.

Your gaze pierces into his, mirroring the intensity of his own. But something holds you back, prompting you to reach for his hand.

At that moment, it all clicks into place. Logan urges your head down onto him, and he’s welcomed by the slick warmth you provide.

Indeed, he’s very much alive.

“That’s it. That’s—fuck. There you go.” 

His fingers dig into the mattress, clutching the cotton sheets, stopping himself from thrusting into your mouth. It’s not that he doesn’t want to—God, he does—but tonight, he’s on his best behavior.

He wipes the trail of drool from your chin, smearing it gently across your cheek, his thumb lingering as he watches your nostrils flare with a strained, muffled gasp.

Bringing his thumb to his mouth, he tastes the wetness on it the same way you’re sucking him: greedily, without any trace of mercy.

This proves I’m going to hell, he thinks, enraptured by the sight of his cock disappearing between your parted lips. Straight to hell.

You draw him back to the present, nuzzling your face against his thigh, your humid breath teasing his thick shaft, pulling him from a deep reverie. Your glossy eyes roam, exploring until they find his, and you gift him an authentic smile. Wrecked and blissed out, it’s as if the lights are on, but no one’s truly home.

He would’ve never guessed how much you reveled in sucking cock, radiating enthusiasm with each of your movements.

“Am I doing it okay?” you wonder aloud, hovering over the tip, swirling your tongue around the velvety head. He’s no fool, and neither are you; deep down, you know you’re doing more than just okay. Actually, you’re giving him the best blowjob of his long, long life.

Each panting, airy praise he huffs fuels your eagerness, making you even more receptive to his desires as the words slip past his lips.

“Fuckin’ amazing, honey. Got me so hard, y’see?” His tone is heavily charged with carnality, gripping himself and smacking the tip against your mouth, the wet sound echoing like music to his ears.

He pulses against your tongue, and you seize the opportunity to trace the thin veins scattered along his length. Gulping, with his gaze fixed on you, Logan notices how you’re still wearing your clothes, wiggling your hips against the mattress, rubbing your thighs together to get something in return. “Are you wet?”

Humming against him, you suck in shaky breath. 

“Words.”

“I’m—I’m wet,” you rasp, voice hoarse. You try to guide him into your mouth and fail miserably, because his grip only tightens, stroking himself instead. “Logan,” you keen, stretching your neck in a silent plea, “don’t be mean.”

“Not mean. Just enjoyin’ myself,” he replies, pulling the foreskin back to expose the head, arching his eyebrows. His fingers curl around your chin, drawing your face nearer to his girth, fascinated by how your eyes flutter shut the more you surrender to the pleasure. “C’mon. Be polite.”

Blame him for it—he believes he’ll never get tired of this game.

“Please.” You whisper, returning to your begging while tenderly rolling his balls, staring at him through your lashes. And then you say it again: “Please.”

Your gaze burns a hole through his crumpled heart. He lets you have it, eager to give whatever you may ask him for. You dive back into it, engulfing his length and bobbing your head up and down with fervor. Hushed whines escape your lips, savoring another bead of his precum.

Logan almost loses it as you hollow your cheeks, instinctively cradling the back of your head. “Easy, baby. M’not going anywhere. Take your time.”

Whenever he feels himself approaching that long-awaited release, he forces his mind to conjure thoughts that will stall his impending orgasm.

The water stains from flooding on the walls.

The supermarket list.

The rising price of gas.

The—

“Fuck. Slow down,” he groans, utterly captivated by the way you point your tongue to draw imaginary patterns along his cock, seemingly memorizing every detail. “Don’t go too hard on me, remember?”

You mumble something under your breath, and at first, he can’t quite make it out. “What is it?”

“I said I want you to fuck me.”

Under no circumstances is he surviving this night.

“Really, doll?” Logan seeks the reassurance he desperately needs, fearing that this is all a dream from which he’ll awaken the moment he properly touches you. “You sure you want this old man to fuck you?”

You’re a rambling mess, murmuring Yes, Logan, please, until he maneuvers you to lie on his chest, his glistening cock sliding against your clothes, leaving a trail of dark spots. A whimper dies on your tongue as you brush your lips together, your hot breath enveloping him. “Give me a kiss at least.”

Tilting your head up, he connects his mouth to yours, growling as he detects the dull, sour tang of what must be him. He sucks your bottom lip, hardly aware of what his hands are doing until he shifts your positions, pinning you down.

Logan tugs at your clothes, peeling them away with urgency, his fingers dancing over your nipples until you’re grinding against his thigh, quivering beneath him. With a nip at your damp skin, his eyes flutter open as he studies your expression, casting you a glance that seeks your permission.

A ripple of desire courses through him when you dutifully turn over beneath him, pressing your face further into the pillow. He runs his knuckles along the curve of your ass, his throat going dry as you follow after his touch, arching your body in response.

Unable to resist the temptation any longer, he licks a long, slow stripe up your wet folds, keeping his tongue flat against your clit for a brief moment. Your arms give out and you stumble forward, stuttering as you mewl his name, fully consumed by the feeling.

So he does it again, and again, and again, flicking the sensitive bud, even though you’re already beyond soaked. It’s a pleasure he indulges in simply because he can.

Straight to hell, he thinks, coating his length with your arousal, teasing your entrance while pushing in only the tip. That motion alone is enough to make him draw a trembling breath before he continues, gradually feeding you his cock, inch by inch.

Straight to hell, the voice in his head utters as he buries himself to the hilt deep within your body, his heavy balls resting against your ass.

Like an intruder in your territory, he’s free to do as he pleases, and you let him have his way with you.

If only this moment could stretch into infinity—he longs for time to relent and never draw to a close. 

What will happen after? Will you spend the night? Does he—

“L-Logan,” you mumble, having adjusted to his size. You rock back into him, impaling yourself even more on his cock. “Please, move.”

The pace he establishes is brutal. Your warm, inner walls exquisitely massage him, and the earth as he knows it stops spinning. Fire pools low in his abdomen, his hands holding you by the flesh of your hips to keep you anchored, each thrust driving you closer to the headboard with an intoxicating urgency. 

“You wanted it from the very start, didn’t you?” He doesn’t know if a response will ever come, but these kinds of thoughts are impossible to contain. He’s just a simple man, powerless against the allure of a tight cunt. “Just got in my car and knew it would end like this?”

You roll your eyes at him, silent as you exit the vehicle, closing the door behind you. While fumbling for your keys, four words escape your mouth. Casual yet devastating, they ruin him: “I’ll see you around.” 

His next thrust punches a whine out of your lungs. Even as you clench around him, stuffed and filled to the brim, you beg for him to fuck you harder. He would’ve laughed at you were he able to catch his breath.

With a more deliberate rhythm, he rolls his hips, jackhammering your most sensitive spot, pulling you closer as he wraps an arm around you. When his fingers find your clit, drawing slippery circles, a cry escapes you, and your body merges with the mattress under you.

Your release takes him by surprise, urging him to continue as you reach back, encouraging him to chase his own climax. He knows all too well the struggle of bringing you to this point without succumbing to his pleasure too soon. Your nails graze along his thigh, leaving delicate marks in their wake, and somehow, the passion and bliss he’s been nurturing ignites into a fiery crescendo.

Shortly after, he goes completely rigid inside you, pressing his forehead against your back as he bites down on your shoulder to muffle his groans. His hand squeezes your breast tightly, riding out his high, blood buzzing in his ears, continuing to spill into you. You spam around him, milking him until the last drop of his seed, his release painting your insides with his warmth.

Logan tucks you under his chin as his vision returns to clarity. You nose his jaw, your fingers softly tracing the contours of his beard. He pulls you closer into his chest, gliding his hands up and down your back.

Half a minute of dreadful silence, then: “Can I stay?”

Oh, yes—pillow talk. He’s not great at this either. Despite that, his eyes soften, snapping to your face.

Logan pauses for a moment. “Sure,” he retorts, dragging his fingers along your shoulder blades. He’s a one-word kind of guy. Just perfect.

Tell her you like her. Tell her you don’t want this to be a casual fling. Tell her it’s more than just sex for you.

Or maybe don’t. Get ahold of yourself, will you?

“Logan?” you ask, resting your palm against his heart.

“What is it?”

“I know.”

You do?

Try as he might, he can’t deny it. He might care about you more than he ever realized.

dividers by: @/cafekitsune thank you!!! <3

[dilf-docs]

It Always Leads To You

joel miller x younger fem!reader

summary: it's been a year; now you're back. how can joel be so sure of those old summer feelings in your eyes when there's a new hand holding yours?

warnings: 18+ (minors dni), age gap, toxic relationship, cheating and infidelity themes, mutual pinning, kinda dark!joel, smut, p. in v., pussy pronouns, oral (f. receiving), fingering, manhandling, lowkey forced creampie, ANGST, the taylor swift evermore (2020) references go wild, happy ending cause y'all weak asses voted for it and i love to keep my citizens happy!

word count: 5,199 words

side note: my joel miller era is alive and breathing after this tlou re-watch i'm doing my brother swears it's for him but it's mostly me and my fic/womanly reasons, yes we love gaslight girlkeep girlbossing in here gotta say, finding inspiration for this amidst my wattpad duties and christmas movie marathon was harder than i thought lol. was it worth the wait? please like, comment and reblog to let me know! it's based on this request (they're still open btw!)

part: I / II

Holidays linger like bad perfume.

Your eyes wander through the streets: the roads you've got to call home, the ones where you grew up. They're familiar, but so foreign, it's hard to believe they're the same ones where you scrapped your knees at ten and kissed Joel just last winter. It's as if both timelines, your life, feels more like two separate lives, miles apart.

"Hey, you okay?" tender, from the driver's seat; you're still getting used to the soft.

There's a reassuring smile your way, his hand finding yours to give it a squeeze. You notice his palm is the same size as yours. It fits perfectly, but there's a ghost of what it feels like to have it all wrapped up, looming over your itchy palm like all the yearning's a joke.

You nod. "Just tired. That's all"

He sighs. "If I wanted you to lie to me, I would've just asked"

"I'm not lying" you defend yourself as his pickup truck parks on the sidewalk.

He makes a funny face, and you laugh.

"I'm serious, Nick" your lips purse, a thing you do when you lie, yet he still hadn't noticed, like Joel. "Don't worry"

He doesn't look that convinced, so you take off your seat belt and grab his hand.

"C'mon. Mom and dad must be waiting for us"

"Hey" Nick calls you out.

"Yeah?"

"Who lives there?" and he's pointing behind you.

It's his. Joel's house.

"A friend of my dad's" you answer, dryly.

It was last december when you stood there in his porch, begging. It feels like time has stopped ever since, and you're still right where he left you.

"So will he be here?" Nick asks. "You know, since he knows your dad"

"Don't think so" you shrug, "he's got better things to do anyway. Bitter old man" comes out, with more venom than intended.

"Oh! Alright, sorry for asking"

You come back to your senses, realizing you've shared more than you should.

"No, I'm sorry. It's not that important; let's just go inside"

Your mom and dad greet you as soon as you cross the door. Last year, you'd basically fled away before New Year's, with a poor excuse and a broken heart. They both greet you as if nothing happened, although you're sure they remember your tear streamed face coming back from Joel's house, where it all ended.

As your mom corners Nick with kisses and embarrassing questions, your dad whispers to you:

"Joel asked what happened" you quirk and eyebrow, "wanted to know why you left"

"Eh, it's not important" you try to dismiss. "Definitely not as important for a guy like Joel to know"

"What is that supposed to mean?" your dad inquires. You often wonder if they knew.

"Nothing" you laugh nervously. "Listen, why don't you go and meet Nick, yeah? Did you know he likes fishing too?"

The distraction works with your dad; the same can't be said about you.

There's conversation flowing, but through the snow covered window, your eyes keep glancing back to his own. The view is dark, and you ponder if he's fled as well, the town plagued with memories too painful to reminisce.

You can still feel his hands roaming your body, the lust filled gaze that hid warmth. Every time he touches you, you have to remind you he isn't there: that the lips that kiss you, don't taste like his, that the hands that hold you, aren't big as his, and that the face that looks at you like they'll never choose another, is one you haven't learned to love yet.

Joel's memory cuts like thorns: they sink their teeth into your heart, that bleeds with that blood-colored sadness you're all too familiar with. He's poisoned you. But-- isn't it his love also the antidote for this disease he's gave you?

You abruptly stand up, plate half eaten.

"I-I need some air"

It's cold outside, but you don't care. All you want to do is sit on the porch, and drop some tears, something you can do inside too, but the fear of your muffled cries being able to be heard stops you.

You walk towards the stairs, to sit there like you do on summer days, yet there's now a difference: the snow. So you end up slipping, falling with your butt on the floor.

You yelp, embarrased although no one can see you.

"Need help?"

That you're wrong, apparently.

You don't even need to raise your view to know who that voice belongs to: you know it like a record, spinning in circles on your head.

He offers his strong hand your way, and although the cold wind hits your face, you're back to spring on the cabin: wet feet, bright sun and beating heart.

"I can get up myself" you reject his help, pushing the hand out. You keep avoiding his gaze, so you don't see how he's reacted, yet you hope he feels bad about it.

You walk up to the front door, and it takes you a while to realize he hasn't left yet. On top of that, it seems like he's following you. Just what you needed.

"What are you doing here?" you question, but your tone sounds like you're offended.

"Your folks invited me over" Joel answers, "Says they got a special guest"

"Yeah" this time, you do look back, finding him to be much closer than you thought he'd be. Yet you stand tall, defiant even. "It's my boyfriend"

You savour the way his expression falters, before the stoic façade takes over again.

"Boyfriend?" Joel scoffs, as if you just told the funniest joke ever.

"Is that supposed to be funny?" you bite back. "What? Think a pretty girl can't get a new man?"

"Never said I'd doubt'it" he clicks his tongue. "Y'a could get any man you'd want, sugar"

Ironically, the only man you want stands before you.

"Right" you chuckle dryly, "I think it's kind of funny of you to say that"

Joel's eyes bore into yours, a clash of emotions circling in his chocolate orbs.

"Y/n-"

"Don't" you stop him. Then sigh, defeated. "Let's just go inside"

As soon as you both arrive on the dinning room, your parents both greet Joel. Then, they introduce him to their guest, just as promised.

"Joel, this is Nick, y/n's boyfriend" your father speaks. "Nick, this is Joel, a dear old friend of mine"

Nick, as the gentleman he is, offers his hand. Joel accepts, but you can see the barely desguised displease behind his eyes.

"Wow, strong grip" Nick comments before joking, "you can let go now, I'm not going anywhere"

The hidden meaning of his words, whether intentional or not, hit Joel in the face. It's obvious by the way he backtracks, letting go of Nick's hand.

As you sit again, Nick leans to your side and whispers.

"Is this the guy who lives in the house across the street?" you nod. "Thought you'd said he had better plans. But, see? I told you: no plan's more important than coming to your house"

He's always making jokes, trying to make you smile, but it's done the opposite now. The food has gone cold long ago, yet you cut through the meat with a violence so palpable, even your mom tells you to slow down.

The nerve of Joel, showing up to your house like it's nothing, talking to you like he's unaware of his spell on you, acting like Nick is some sort of competition when he pulled out of the race himself a winter ago.

"So, Nick. How did you two meet?" your mom adresses him, eager to know details.

"It was at a party, actually, through mutual friends. Not a very spectacular story, that I know. What's funny is, she asked me what hour it was. And what did I say?"

"He didn't answer my question. Instead, he said: For you, I'm available any hour" you answer.

Your parents laugh, but Joel remains quiet. You wonder what he's thinking.

"You know" looking at Nick while cutting the steamed vegetables a little too agressive, "y/n actually hates parties"

"Joel" you warn through gritted teeth.

"Really? I didn't know that!" Nick seems so genuine, Joel can't help but hate him. He looks at you, concerned "You didn't tell me"

You can't believe he would rat you out like that. The appropiate word isn't hate, and you don't know how to describe it, but parties aren't really your environment; if you can, you'd choose to be anywhere else.

He'll pay for that.

"Joel" you seethe, an ugly smile painted in your features, "did you know Nick knows how to fish?"

It's a direct jab at him. He feels stupid for letting you get to him. The inferiority complex towards some random guy he just met, years younger, is actually laughable.

"I like-" Nick wants to add on that.

"Well" Joel interrupts, looking at you. "You never taught me like ya' were s'pposed to"

"You never cared to learn" you reply, acidic.

He sips his drink, trying to hide the smirk that's formed on his lips. You can't shut up, and he loves you've stayed the same.

"That means I've got some classes to take" Joel leans back on his chair, relaxed like he's won this round. "Just tell me when"

The tension cuts like the storm that's just formed outside.

"You should stay over, Joel" your dad offers when he takes a peak at the climate, "it's too dangerous outside"

Joel seems indestructible, like not even a snow blizzard could pierce through the rough old man. But he agrees, much to your dismay.

It's probably midnight already, and all you've done is toss around the bed. Nick peacefully snores next to you, and you envy how easily he falls asleep. You've always find it hard to sleep, the nighttime plagued with too many loud thoughts that fill the silence.

You get up carefully, heading downstairs for some water. You sip with tranquility when a noise jolts you from your sit.

The wooden floor creaks, making you aware you're not alone anymore.

"Can't sleep?"

You don't answer, seeing his sturdy figure emerge from the shadows until the dim moonlight shines over his aging features. Silence settles in. Outside, the wind howls, bumping against the windows with violence, like your heart does now against your chest.

"Not much of a talker, are you?"

"There's nothing to talk" cuts your response through the thick tension, the air suddenly suffocating.

You take another sip, but the tremble of your hand doesn't go unnoticed by Miller.

"Right" Joel sits next to you, on the kitchen island. "Won't even look at me, sugar? You've got eyes" his voice drops, "use 'em"

"What are you doing, Joel?" you ask looking at him, tears threatening to spill, making your bright eyes shimmer with pain.

He gets up abruptly, like he's woken up from a trance. He's seen his own pain on your eyes, and he hates it.

"Joel?" you ask again, demanding but softly.

He can't answer. Instead, he leaves.

"Goodnight, y/n" voice raw, many emotions boiling, hidden on the inside. It hurts.

If you hadn't changed, Joel too stayed the same.

A goddamn coward.

Two days have passed since, and now it's Christmas Eve.

You kneel, putting the presents under the tree. Normally, your parents would have much more people around for the holidays, but thanks to the storm, it's just them, Nick, Joel and you.

"I'm gonna miss Mrs. Stone's cookies" you pout, "I wish she could be here"

"It's a big loss for tonight" your dad sighs. "Next time, yeah? Christmas will come again faster than you think"

You nod, still absent as he walks away.

"Hey" Joel pops up behind, seemingly from nowhere.

"Hey" you reply, voice laced with tiredness just at the sight of him. How will you manage to survive until New Year's? You have no idea, the task harder if he's staying in the same house as you are.

"Put this in there, will ya'?"

He hands you a box, neatly wrapped up. What stands out the most is the silver bow on top. Your stomach drops: it's your favorite color.

"Y-yeah" you stammer. When the present falls in your hands, you notice it looks like Joel did it himself.

"Didn't know you were capable of nice things" you whisper. There's no anger in your voice, only loss.

"I'm trying" is what he says, before leaving you alone. Until then, you realize he had been touching you, the skin where his hand was on your shoulder burning.

Dinner goes by swiftly, conversation flowing easily courtesy of Nick and your father, who both have in common the love for talking. It may be your brain messing with you, but his eyes never leave you, fixated on your every move, savoring when your lips open and take a bite; when you lick them afterwards, salt in your mouth he'd love to take off in a movement of his tongue. The ghost of your lips haunts him, cruelly playing with his yearning now that he's got you across the table. It's a few centimeters, really, but it feels like you're miles away: and it's his fault. You're no longer his, and he's reminded of it every time your boyfriend kisses what he once had.

Now it's time to open the presents, and you excitedly raise your hand to go first.

"Alright, sweetheart. You know I can't deny you anything" your father beams, "go ahead. Choose any present you'd like to open first"

Joel's eyes are on you, and you know he's desperately waiting for you to open his first. Maybe partly in courage, maybe partly in fear, but you choose Nick's first: something safe to start with.

"That's mine!" he chirps, and Joel mockingly imitates his kid-like joy under his breath.

You unwrap the present, finding a small box inside.

"Please, don't be another box" you joke, and he laughs.

"You think that low of me? Please"

You keep unwrapping and find a bag. The bag has a small tag that reads: Gotcha.

"Nick! God, you're so corny" you tease as you open the bag. Inside, there's a velvet box, and by the looks of it, you can tell it's jewelry. You gasp, pulling out a silver charm tied to a silver thin chain: it's a marlin fish. "Nick..."

"I know. Marlin isn't your favorite fish, but that's all I could find" you get up, wrapping him on a tight hug. Aware you've got an audience, he leans and whispers "I knew fishing was special to you, because of your dad and childhood. Maybe now" he takes it from your hands, carefully putting it around your neck, "it can also be our special thing"

Joel sees the scene unfold in front of him, his grip tight on the cloth of his jeans until it's white. His jaw clenches at the affection display; all he sees is red.

"What about that one?" your mom points out Joel's present. A pit of nerves forms in your stomach. "I don't remember seeing it there"

Before you can grab it, your dad moves faster, examining the box on his hands.

"It's Joel's" he makes a pause, "for y/n"

You pretend to be shocked, and you can tell Nick tenses at your side.

"You didn't tell me you were close"

"Used to" you correct quickly, despite the knot on your throat. "Not anymore"

"He still got you a present, though"

You don't get to answer because your dad leaves the box on your lap.

"Open it" it's soft but feels threathing for some reason, "I'm curious"

Joel's resting hands tremble as much as yours while you open the present. You reveal the simple white box under the wrap, opening it up.

Your voice comes out shaky as you call his name. And he can see it: the muffled laughters on the shed, the warmth of the cabin's fire, the fogged up windows of his car, the bruises on your tits and that voice, so vulnerable, he can see you on his porch, saying those three words that terrified him so much, his solution was breaking your heart.

"What is it?" your dad asks.

"It's a scarf" the fabric tickles your fingers that wander through the loose strands.

You remember it all too well.

"Oh, it's vintage!" your mom comments when she sees the worn-out aspect.

But just as your affair with Joel, you keep the secret of it's real owner.

"It's perfect" you mutter, remembering better times: ones where he'd wrap the scarf colored as the leaves on the ground around your neck, covering bruises he'd just made while you joked you'd steal it, and Joel would say he'd just let you, that it looked better on you anyway.

You've forgotten the good, so used to thinking of Joel at your worst, like a punishment to endure and sink your shipwreck even deeper. You felt lost, replaying memories that seemed stuck on a loop. Since last december, all you've known is pain; creeping up through the cracks in your fleeting happiness, one you've tried to find to no avail. One day, past the curses and cries, maybe there'll be happiness. But as for now, that day seems terribly far.

As he sees your teary gaze, Joel often wonders were it went wrong. When did hurt was all you had for him in that gaze of yours he can't bare to look that long, not before he's reliving all those seasons by your side, replaying his footsteps on the snow, grass, water and fallen leaves, trying to find the one where it all went wrong. The torture he now wears like a second skin, his agony painted words addressed to the fire of a house that feels so empty and alone.

"We should continue" your dad speaks over the silence, "there are still many presents left"

The night moves slowly, and the scarf you've chosen to wear is now suffocating around your neck. But you can't take it off. This is the closest you've been to Joel on a year; it still smells like him. As the presents run out, you excuse yourself early to bed, only to wake up again in the middle of the night. You want to pee, so you exit your room and walk to the bathroom, your bare feet against the cold wood sending shivers down your spine that only seem to augment when you walk past his door, next to the bathroom. After being done, you splash some water on your face, as if that would make some sense get to you.

"What are you doing?" you ask yourself in the mirror. Your tired reflection stares back at you, in silence.

You open the door, ready to go back to bed when a hand covers your mouth and shoves you inside.

"Don't scream" your cries go muffled against his hand, the calloused digits pressing against your soft skin, "wanna wake 'em up?"

You shake your head, so he lets your mouth free.

"Joel" you call out, but he's facing the door, his back all you see. No sound can be heard, aside from his uneven breaths.

"I'm sorry" he says, and then you hear the small click of the door's lock.

"What the hell?"

This time, he faces you, but his movements are so quick you don't register his lips on yours until it's too late. He kisses you like a starved man who hasn't had a meal in years, eating you out while your body acts up on it's own, the urgency embarrasing even.

"No" you pull back. Your mind screams in guilt at how much you want this, and that's all you can hear aside from his ragged breaths.

"No?"

"It isn't fair"

"To lover boy out there?" he teases, "I know he ain't treating you right, or ya' wouldn't look me the way ya' do"

"Don't, Joel" your tone is icy, "Nick treats me better than you ever could"

He laughs, darkly. "You know I ain't meant that" he corners you against the sink, the material cold against your bare legs; you don't sleep with nothing but an oversized t-shirt, despite the weather.

"Riddle me this, sugar: if he treats you so well, why are you so fucking wet?"

Your heart beats so fast you fear you'll die. He gets closer, his hot breathe prickling against your ear.

"It takes a man to please a woman" he tucks a loose strand behind your ear, "and I ain't leaving my baby displeased"

His fingers pull down the panties until your clit is exposed.

"Look at 'er" he traces a teasing finger over the puffy skin, coated on your slick "missed me, didn't she? Gonna treat 'er so good, she won't ever feel lonely again"

He softly kisses your neck, the trepidation and regret tying your stomach in knots.

Joel teases your needy core with his finger.

"Tell you somethin', sugar" Joel finds it hard to hide his adoration, "I missed 'er too"

He stares into your eyes while pushing two rough fingers inside your cunt. You bite your lip, holding back your moans.

"Need summ help?" he kisses you roughly, smirking when he feels your shaky breath against his lips. He pushes them in and out faster, making your walls squeeze tightly around his fingers.

"Did he ever have you comin' this fast? I'ont think so" he whispers against your neck. You whisper his name through labored breaths, making a smug smile adorn his features. "Good girl"

He proceeds to kneel down, despite the creak of his bones. You see him leave a trail of kisses down your thighs, your legs opening wider in response. His tongue gives rapid flickers against your sensitive bud, aware of the lack of time. He slurps the pulsing cunt, his head moving back and forth while he sucks, coating his moustache on your juices. Joel goes back to the quick movements, tongue knowing your spots and twisting fingers as aid, causing your back to arch.

"Fuck" you curse as you come, gripping the sink a bit too tight.

Joel then pulls away and places his fingers coated in your arousal in his mouth and licks them. He sees the obscene display in the fogged mirror, satisfied.

"Goodnight, sugar" Joel bids goodbye like it's nothing, kissing your lips that taste like you. "Still as sweet as ever"

It's New Year's Eve.

"You're leaving?" you sound so sad, Joel can't help but scoff. In the end, he'd stayed long after the storm had passed, your father arguing holidays weren't meant to be spent alone. So he stayed.

And now, Nick is leaving.

"I'm sorry" he apologizes for the millionth time, "but granny is sick. I don't know if she'll make it another year, so say the doctors. I would love to stay, really, but I have to be with her"

You understand, having lost your grandad years ago. But that doesn't mean you're okay with it: Nick leaving means a clear path for Joel, who didn't stop with him sleeping next room, and certainly won't now, despite not having interacted with you since he ate you out on the bathroom.

He pulls you into a long hug and a kiss that doesn't feel the same anymore. "Will you be okay?"

"Yeah" you nod, "I'll miss you though"

"Well, I'll be all yours when you get back"

You smile but it doesn't reach your eyes.

"See you, y/n. I love you"

Your lips purse after you utter those three words back.

Later at night, the house is filled with guests. The lively environment is restored, and you feel less confined to Joel's claws, so many faces to speak and distract yourself with, compared to Christmas and the past couple of days. You clutch the marlin charm tightly, mind busy wandering to places it shouldn't. Joel stares at you from across the room, eyes trained on you as he sips his drink calmly, like he's won; you don't know why he's keeping score if he already knows it. You wander off to the kitchen, and Joel follows you.

"You have to stop" you speak as soon as he enters, aware he would follow you.

"I ain't do shit"

You turn around, facing him. "Bullshit, Joel"

"Tell me, what'd I do?" he comes closer, and despite your erratic heart and fear, you stay still; challenging.

"You did this, Joel" his expression falters for a second, the weight of last december's crimes dawning on him. "Don't try to make me feel guilty"

"I ain't. That wasn't your fault" he sighs, breath dragging long like a cigarrette. "But this" he motions with his hands the reduced distance, "this it is"

Your breath hitches.

"We can't keep doing this, Joel. Nick doesn't deserve it"

He pins you against the counter with force, gripping the skin of your wrists until you're sure you'll get a bruise. Joel's eyes darken at the thought of your frail and soft body under his rough figure and belly, his strength and your weakness making the job of putting you under his will, so much easier.

"Don't say his name" he whispers, his breath laced with alcohol, "he ain't here anymore. Ain't nothing to stop me now, right, sugar?" Joel purrs as he steps towards you, taking your face in his hands before starting a heated kiss, making you stumble.

This was so wrong, but it felt so right, the missing pieces falling like dominoes.

He was your pain divine: you needed his hurt to bleed and feel alive again. Maybe the red of the blood and the blue of your sadness could paint your darkest grey skies with a happiness you've craved since you lost him.

"Tell me to stop" Joel whispers, tempting like a devil as he kisses down your neck, littering it with hickeys.

"Don't"

Next thing you know, you're excusing yourself upstairs and then Joel goes missing too, both inside of your bedroom.

Your dress was the first thing to go.

"Wear it for me?" you're about to answer, lips pursing, but he cuts you off, "and don't lie, sugar. Don't get too used to the bad girl schtick"

"I only wore this dress so you could take it off"

He kisses you desperately, legs wrapped around his waist while he carries you to bed, and the memories of your first flood you as he drops you down to your back, watching the way you bounce. He has you just like he wanted: moaning his name while he leaves tender kisses on the soft bare flesh.

"Joel-" you gasp. Despite the chatter downstairs and music, you try to remain low as he wraps his lips around your nipples. He then moves to your breasts, covering them with his kisses and hickeys. He hadn't touched a woman ever since you left, the feeling of the rosy innocent skin on his rough teeth making him loose all common sense, the real thing even better than what he would try to conjure when he fucked himself in the bathroom at the memory of you.

He groans when he feels your hands roaming over his back, nails digging on the scarred skin.

"Someone's eager" he teases, seeing your damp underwear. "Is this 'cause of me?" you don't answer, too busy removing the cloth, only for his strong fingers to grab you and stop you. "Don't be shy, answer baby. We got a whole new year, yeah?"

"I need you Joel" you whine, not laughing at the joke "cut the crap"

He pushes you gently back down to the bed. "So needy sugar, want me to help ya'?"

You eagerly nod, making him laugh. But there's no mock, only love behind the sound.

"Will you let this old man take care of ya', pretty baby? Just use your words, and I'll be all y'rs"

"Do it, Joel. Just do it"

You gasp as your folds begin to be prodded open by the fat head of Joel's cock. You curse, feeling him push in just the tip, the sweet burn of your walls welcoming his size making you grab his arms that stand at the sides of your body, caging you in.

His tummy pushes against your stomach as he adjusts himself, his weight sinking your body on the creaking matress.

"'S just the tip, ready for the whole thing?"

You needed him, all of him.

"Yes, Joel. I want you" You say and he pushes in slowly, feeling his cock fill up every empty space that craved for him.

You squeeze your eyes shut as his hips roll back pulling out about halfway before rocking back in. His sloppy thrusts pick up a familiar pace that makes you moan and beg for more, head falling against the sheets as his pace speds up until he's fucking you senseless.

Joel's brain goes blank at the sight of you creaming on his dick and the obscene sounds leaving your pretty mouth. Did he really give this up? He'd definitely go back in time and slap the fuck out of his past self, because there is simply nothing better than having you under him, screaming his name like that's all you can ever say.

"Does he fuck you like this, huh?" Joel angles his hips, resuming his brutal pace. Your body jolts with each snap. "Is he enough for you?"

"Yes" his stomach drops, dark eyes now hesitant, "but he isn't you"

He pushes himself back in, your eyes fluttering shut almost immediately.

"Tell me you'll leave him, y/n. Look me in the eyes and tell me who ya' really belong to"

Your eyes snap open at the possesiveness clashed with jealousy that drips from his sweat-soaked lips.

The confession falls easily, as meant to be. "Yours, Joel. Always was and will be"

He could cum just at the sight of your loving doe eyes.

Downstairs, the countdown begins, but in your room, all you can hear are his soft groans and your pathetic whimpers, and if the people would stop shouting, you could probably hear the squelch of your dripping cunt sucking in his girth with each thrust.

After a few more erratic thrusts, you feel his warm cum fill you up. Joel was always obsessed with how his cum seeped out of you and around his cock. Without thinking, his rough fingers push deep in you, making you yelp as he makes sure he isn't wasting a drop behind.

The countdown ends, and fireworks erupt outside as your head rests on the crook of his sweat covered neck.

"I love ya', sugar" those words you thought you imagined that one time, now real, so goddamn real his voice quivers and eyes get tearful with grief, "'S okay if ya' don't say it. I just wanted you to hear 'em. 'M just tired of wastin' my time"

He wraps your lips with his with tenderness you had only dreamed of. There is still a lot to talk and heal, but this time, his arms hold you like a promise. And you let yourself believe it.

Y/n's New Years' purposes: 1. Break up with Nick 2. Try to explain this seasonal mess to mom and dad 3. At last, try to be happy

[ghouljams]

Ok nobody extrapolate anything about me from this...

The first time you cry in front of the 141:

The first time you cry in front of Ghost it's because you can't fucking take it anymore. All the little things, all the comments you know he didn't mean to hurt, all the conversations you ignored because you didn't want to make him feel like the bad guy, it all comes to a head. You don't even mean it to happen, and you feel like shooting yourself on the spot as soon as the tears start flowing. It feels manipulative. It feels disingenuous. You feel like a piece of shit having him awkwardly bundle you in his arms as you break down sobbing over a topic that normally would mean nothing to you. And it all comes out. All the worries and slights you ignored, all the fears and doubts, all the things that made you question if you could ever even start to bring up with him. Like throwing up, once it starts you can't stop it.

He looks like you've hit him when you finally escape his bear hug. You barely get the chance to take it in before you're thrust back into sobbing hysterics, blubbering out apologies, how you feel like you're manipulating him, how you're a bad partner, how you're sure he's going to realize he doesn't want you and leave. You barely hear the rough "Jesus Christ" over your own hiccuping.

Ghost shuffles the two of you over to grab you a t-shirt to blow your nose in while you're sniffling and wiping at your eyes. You feel pathetic having him hold the fabric to your face and telling you to blow.

"Didn't know ya made this much snot love," he jokes.

"You're dot funny," you whine, nose still clogged with wattery mucus as your tears finally start calming down.

"I know," he grumps.

"You're mad at me," you sniffle.

"I'm not," he sounds mad, "mad at myself. Shoulda seen ya keepin' things to yourself, I'm glad ya finally told me." His scarred mouth screws to one side. "Just gotta work on makin' sure we don't get to this point again."

-

The first time you cry in front of Soap it's because you're so fucking mad at him. He's arguing with you over nothing, the same way he always does when he's in a bad mood. Finding little things that dig at you and twisting just enough to make it not his fault when you snap. Back and forth with your barbs until you got to bed angry.

You can feel the tears burning at your waterline before they spill and you know your hot cheeks don't bode any better. You're not yelling but you almost wish you were, at least of you were yelling at each other it might make you feel better about the sudden waterworks. You hate when this happens. Too big an emotion in the body, it has to come out somewhere, you suppose this is just the quickest avenue. The way Soap's face drops from anger to concern pisses you off though.

"Hen, are ya-"

"I'm so fucking mad right now," you assure him, "don't look at me, don't even acknowledge them."

"Ah dinnae ken," His voice is getting softer, it only makes you more upset, "Oh my bonnie, ahm sorry ah didnae think this would hurt ya so bad."

"Fuck off," you try to push past him to lock yourself in the bathroom and he catches your arm to pull you against him. "Fuck off!" You shriek, pushing at him.

"No," he holds you a little tighter, "my mam would 'ave my heid hearin' ah let ya walk away from me like this, yer stayin' 'ere."

"I will fucking skin you Mactavish," you struggle harder.

"Aye anno, now shut up an' quit yer kickin'."

You do neither of those things.

-

The first time Gaz sees you cry it's because no one's ever seen you before. Even in your best relationships, your closest friendships, no one sees you like Gaz. No one picks you up from work with flowers and takes you by your favorite bakery just so you can have a slice of cake when you watch your comfort show. You're not even through the title music, Gaz sorting through your takeout options after he'd gotten you a "fancy plate" and a small fork to eat with, when you break down in sobs. He's on you immediately, hushing you as he gathers you into his arms. He's so attentive it hurts.

"It's OK baby," he hums, "don't have to talk about it, you just let it out."

God even that gets you crying. You don't have to get your words right or find a way to explain what you're feeling, you can just feel it. You try to think of a way to put it into words but it all lines up wrong, sounds too juvenile, doesn't make any sense even to you. There's no need to say anything though, Gaz just sits there with you, holds you through it as you wet his shoulder with your tears.

You don't even know why you're crying by the end of it, you just kept coming up with other reasons to cry. Jesus you don't think you ever got over your last grandparent dying, or losing that one friend, that's something to unpack later. You feel drained. Literally dehydrated drained. Gaz's shirt is soaked, but he doesn't day anything when you pull back.

He cups your cheek at wipes at the wet stains on your cheek with his thumb, eyes searching yours before he gives you a tight smile.

"Why don't you go take a hot shower, yeah?" He offers, you give him a watery nod, he smiles and pats your knee. "Alright, off you go. I'll be in, in a second."

The second time you cry in front of Gaz it's before he's got you pinned to the shower wall.

-

The first time Price sees you cry it's because you're tired. You're tired of giving everything to this relationship and seeing him leave right when things seem to be falling into place. His phone buzzes in the middle of the night and you don't stop the downpour when he grumbles out a swear and turns on the light. You glare at the ceiling and let the tears flow. It hurts. Tight in your chest. This feeling like you'll never be enough, like he'll always have something more important than you, it kills you. So why can't you leave him?

Are the good times really good enough to make up for the bad?

It makes him stop what he was doing when he sees the resolute grimace and the flow of tears over your cheeks. You shudder in a breath when he sits on the side of the bed. You refuse to look at him.

How could he do this to you?

"Sweetheart," he starts, his voice low, gentling, "I'm sorry."

"You're not." You correct him, "Otherwise you wouldn't keep doing it."

"You want me to choose between you and the world, you know what I'll say." He always sounds so sharp, ready to guilt you into giving up what he wants.

"I'm asking you to choose between me and paperwork," you bite back.

"You don't know-"

"You get phone calls when you're being deployed." You remind him, "You get reminders when papers are due." You turn to glare at him. The look on his face twists like a knife in your chest. You're dead on the money, and it's killing him. "So can this really not wait until the morning, are you really that eager to be rid of me?"

"I'm sorry," he tries again, toeing off his shoes, "you're right, I hadn't noticed." You turn over as he climbs under the duvet again. You fold your legs up as his arm drapes over you hip and he curls around you. His lips touch your shoulder, a silent plea for forgiveness. "Let me make it up to you, no more running into red tape I promise."

You don't bother agreeing to empty promises, but the next day he's had the paperwork sent from the base. The same the next day. Price always told you working from home didn't suit him. Waking you up with a cuppa on the other hand and walking you to the station does though.

He makes good on his promise, he doesn't run off until the next call comes in.

[thinkinonsense]

Sweet Temptations.

logan howlett x fem!reader

cw: fingering, oral (f receiving), innocence kink, inexperienced reader, darkish!logan

a/n: hi! sorry i've been gone so long! i have plenty of stuff in the works but for now here's this. i'm working on making a mini-series of dark!logan x inexperienced!reader so i hope everyone enjoys! <3

to think, logan almost went out to the bar tonight. almost left to find a one night stand or come home and fuck his hand. tonight could've had so many different outcomes but luckily, he ended up with the best one.

there's a light knock on his bedroom door. he knew it had to have been you since everyone was on a field trip a couple hours away for the night. logan obviously wasn't interested in going and you were busy working on an experiment in the laboratory.

in all reality, logan just wanted an excuse to stay here alone with you overnight. ever since he joined the x-men and met you down in the lab in that cute white coat and pretty smile, he's had a crush on you.

"hi, logan." you smile softly when he opens his door.

"hey, dollface. you need something?" he asks, leaning against his door frame and eyeing that short little nightgown of yours.

"can we talk?"

"sure."

the two of you walk into logan's room and sit on the end of his bed. you sit up on your knees, facing him. he can tell that something is on your mind but you're unsure on if you should confide in him or not.

"is everything alright?" he asks, growing concerned.

you nod, chewing on your bottom lip.

"whatcha wanna talk about then, sweets?"

logan's large hand rubs your knee softly, almost coaxing the words out of you.

"would you do me a big favor?" you ask, avoiding his hazel gaze.

"of course."

there's slight hesitation. you were afraid of logan's reaction to your request. after a deep breath, you remind yourself that it's just logan. the same logan who trains with you every morning, the same logan who plays with your hair when he's bord, the same logan who praises you for all your hard work in the laboratory. there was nothing to be afraid of.

"c-can you take my virginity?"

the question almost killed logan. he thought he had died and gone to heaven. you finally look at him with a twinkle in your eyes and he feels the need to adjust the tent growing in his pants.

"where'd this idea come from, sweetheart?"

"well, i was seeing a guy a while ago who acted really weird when i told him i was still a virgin then when i told storm and jean, they told me that if i'm ready to do it, than it should be with someone i trust." you explain so innocently to him. "i just figured since you've always been so gentle with me and i trust you, i was kinda hoping you wouldn't mind."

never in his wildest dreams could logan have imagined this happening. you sitting pretty on his bed, practically begging him to take your virginity. god, logan couldn't even remember the last time he was with a virgin. must've been decades ago.

"that's real sweet, dollface. 'f course i'll do it." he says, watching your smile grow with excitement. "first i need to know what you've already done."

"i've kissed while sitting in someone's lap, given a hickey twice... maybe three times? some nights i'll rub myself against one of my pillows."

even though he knew the answer, he had to ask, "ever fingered yourself?"

"no." you shake your head, almost making logan moan at just the thought of being the first person to do that to you.

"want to try it?"

"s-sure but i thought we were gonna–"

"we will." logan assures. "need to get you loosened up first if you want me to fit inside of you."

a small gasp exists your lips, making him chuckle. logan leans in, testing the waters to see how you kiss. he's a bit shocked by how you pull him closer to deepen it. you moan into his mouth while your hands roam his hair. he sits you in his lap and lets you grind yourself on top of him, showing him what you know.

"let's see if you're nice and wet for me." logan hums, lifting up your nightgown and feeling the wet spot over your underwear. "very good, dollface."

without thinking, you let out a tiny moan next to his ear because of his praise. he can't help but pull your head from its hiding spot in his neck to look at you.

"you like when i tell you how good you're being for me?" he ask, watching your face contort as your hips keep moving. one of his hands rests on your waist, stopping you from moving. "c'mon, you can tell me."

"mhm..." you nod. "love when you praise me."

suddenly, your back is pressed flat against his sheets as he kisses all down your body. leaving little marks here and there until he reaches the waist band of your pretty pink underwear.

"did you wear these just for me, princess?" he asks, placing a kiss right over the cotton covering your button.

"y-you said i looked p-pretty in pink."

as the words stumble out of your mouth, logan feels a warmth spread across his heart. a couple months ago, you were wearing a new pink dress and as logan passed you by, he mentioned how pretty you looked in the color. it meant a lot to you.

"you still do." he says. "can i take these off of you, baby?"

you nod, lifting your hips a little to help him. logan tosses the pink cotton somewhere behind him. lifting up the nightgown to your tummy, eyes glued to the spot in between your legs.

"didn't think you could get any prettier." logan mumbles to himself.

his intense gaze made you feel a bit vulnerable, trying to close your legs but his large hands stop you.

"don't hide from me, princess." he says, capturing your attention. " 'm gonna make you feel good."

logan carefully drags his thumb through your slit, collecting the arousal and circling it around your button. the feather like touch sends your head back and whimpers to fall from your lips. gently, logan pushes his middle finger past your velvet walls, groaning once you clench around him.

"atta girl, princess." he smirks watching you swallow up his finger. "takin' it so good."

logan watches in awe as your head fall back and the arch in your back. slowly he inches his face closer and licks a thick stripe up your fold before sucking softly on your button. you feel logan muffle 'fuck' against you, only resulting in more arousal to spill out of you.

"o-oh, logan." you moan, hips chasing his tongue feverishly.

since this was your first time, logan went easy on you, not making you work for your orgasm. he feels your cunt clench down on his one finger as it hits deep inside of you until you are seeing stars. with logan's other free hand, he paws at your tit and rolls it in his palm.

"need m-more!" you whimper with glossy eyes and lips. "p-please, lo."

in an attempt to give you what you want, logan struggles to hit another finger inside of you. he wasn't sure what he did to deserve this type of heaven but god, was he thankful for it.

"i can't, sweetheart." he groans, kissing your hip bone as he speeds up the finger inside of you. "you're too tight for two of my fingers. there's no way i'll be able to fit inside of you tonight."

before you could whine in protest, this indescribable wave of euphoria washes over you. smooth silky legs wrap tightly around logan's head. thighs covers his ears, blocking out the sweet sounds you were making. logan goes back to sloppily making out with your cunt until you weakly pull him off and drag him up to your lips, tasting your own release on his tongue.

"thanks, lo." you smile in a daze at him.

"anytime." he says. "i think you'll need another lesson soon though if you want to take all of me. do you want that, princess?"

he could feel your heart rate increase eagerly. you blush intensely and avoid his gaze as you nod.

"alright." he chuckles darkly. "but first, you gotta show me how you get off on your pillow."