#it doesn’t even feel like that long since it happened but it’s been over a year and tbh I was not ready for this

[flowersforbucky]

i got it bad

logan howlett x reader (worst!logan x reader)

word count: 4.9k

summary/prompt: logan can't help that he has super hearing and overhears you - wade's seemingly sweet, shy neighbor - telling vanessa what you fantasize about doing to him. believing that you won't ever act on it, he takes matters into his own hands.

or - getting yourself off on logan's abs

warnings/tags: smut, 18+ only mdni, reader is afab, no use of y/n, logan's pov, porn with a little plot, male masturbation, teasing, nipple/breast play, some tit slaps, multiple orgasms, unprotected p in v, cream pie

Ever since Logan first met you, he hasn’t been able to get you out of his fucking head.

Which is really unfortunate for him, considering you seem indifferent to his existence.

Wade says that you're just an introvert, and that it takes you a while to get comfortable around new people, but after living across the hallway from you for the last few months, Logan is sure that you have no interest in him outside of simple, polite conversation whenever the two of you run into each other.

He first notices you from across the room when you enter Wade and Althea's apartment – his apartment now, too, he supposes. The small space is crowded, but you're impossible for him to overlook. He instantly recognizes you from the polaroid picture that Wade had showed him in the Void.

You’re greeted by Vanessa, who kisses you on the cheek and shoves a drink in your hand before dragging you over to where Logan is listening to Wade and Althea bicker about – what were they bickering about again? All he can focus on is the way your dress hugs your curves and the lipstick imprint that you’ve left on the champagne flute in your hand.

He needs to get out more. Go to a bar, get a job, maybe even try out one of those dating apps that Vanessa has suggested to him – something to get him out of this fucking apartment that he's stayed holed up in since arriving in this universe, because he should not be this flustered by a complete stranger.

“Earth to Peanut,” Wade snaps his fingers in front of Logan’s face. He barely processed anything Vanessa had said while she introduced you. Blah blah, neighbor, something something, lives down the hallway. “Jesus, did you get into the white powder under the floorboard? Your pupils are as big as saucers right now.”

“Oh, go easy on him, Wade,” Althea scolds. “It’s natural for pupils to dilate when looking at a pretty girl.”

The expression on your face matches how Logan feels – surprised, embarrassed, slightly mortified.

“You don't even know what she looks like. She could look like me for all you know,” Wade snorts.

“She brings me homemade cookies and she always smells good,” Al retorts. “I don't need to be able to see her to know that she's pretty.”

“Nice to meet you,” Logan finally speaks up with a forced smile. Leave it to his two roommates to make a simple introduction as awkward as possible. “And no, I am not high on cocaine,” he adds with a pointed glare at Wade.

“It’s nice to meet you too, Logan,” you return the sentiment with a chortle and shy smile. “And don’t worry, I never pay attention to anything Wade says.”

Yukio and her girlfriend with the long ass name that Logan has yet to memorize then walk up and gain your attention, leaving Logan wishing he could redo the entire interaction.

He spends the rest of the night hoping for an opportunity to talk to you again, and feeling disappointed when that doesn’t happen.

The next couple of months go similarly. He runs into you frequently – in the elevator, and the communal laundry room of the apartment complex, and when you’re both checking your mail at the same time.

You always greet him with a smile and ask the typical casual conversation questions – how he's liking his new job (he’s not, but he tells you it’s going fine), if Wade is staying out of trouble (no), and how Laura is doing (she’s doing great, actually), but it never progresses much past that.

As soon as the conversation starts to venture into more personal territory, you seem to shut down. You’ll make some excuse about having somewhere to be, wish him a good day, and then you’re gone.

He can’t help himself. He sees how carefree and talkative you can be with Vanessa and hell, even Wade – and he wants that. At least then he may feel a little less crazy for spending so much of his free time racking his brain for ways to get closer to you.

Maybe it’s because it has been so long since he’s had a crush on anyone, but sometimes he thinks he might be losing his mind with how often he thinks of you – your smile, your eyes, your scent, your voice, and the way that having a five minute conversation with you always leaves him feeling for the rest of the day.

That’s why when he’s walking to his apartment one evening, and hears his name come from inside your apartment, he stops dead in his fucking tracks.

God, he knows he shouldn’t listen. He knows he should keep walking, go into his apartment and close the door.

But it’s not like he has his ear pressed up against your door. It’s not his fault that he has super hearing and that the apartment building has paper thin walls.

His brain is yelling at his feet to move but they stay planted firm right where they are.

“He thinks you don’t like him, you know,” Vanessa says. Logan doesn’t need to be able to see to know that there’s a smirk on her face.

He’s tempted to cause some kind of commotion in the hallway and then dash into his apartment, just to stop Vanessa from saying whatever the hell she’s about to say.

“Logan?” You sound appalled. “Of course I like him.”

“I know that you like him,” Vanessa chuckles. “But I can see why he would think otherwise. You act like you can barely stand to be in the same room as the guy for five minutes.”

“That’s not true.” Your voice shoots up several octaves higher than normal.

Logan sends a silent prayer to whoever the fuck is listening that no one walks down this hallway in the next few minutes and sees him standing still as a statue next to your apartment door.

“It’s not that I simply can’t stand to be in the same room as him,” you continue, lowering your voice back down to its normal volume. “It’s that being in the same room as him makes me want to jump his adamantium bones.”

For a second, he really believes that his two hundred year old heart might stop beating.

“I’m fucking pathetic around him,” you huff. “Last week, I saw him pull his t-shirt off in the laundry room to put a clean one on, and ever since then I haven’t been able to stop thinking about grinding my pussy against his abs. Something is seriously wrong with me, Nes.”

But Logan doesn’t hear Vanessa’s response, because he speed walks away while she’s still cackling. By some miracle, Wade isn’t home, so Logan darts past Althea and locks himself in the bathroom.

What the fuck, Jesus Christ, and holy shit all play on a loop in his mind while he tries to ignore the bulge that has quickly formed in his jeans.

The last words he expected to hear anyone say today were jump his adamantium bones and grinding my pussy against his abs – but the fact that he heard those words come from your mouth in your sweet voice has his cock throbbing so hard that he can't think of anything other than you doing exactly what you’ve been fantasizing about.

Images of you straddling him with your bare, wet cunt rubbing against his happy trail, getting yourself off on his body as he plays with your pretty tits –

He let’s out an audible growl and rips the shower curtain open before turning on the water – straight to his normal hot temperature, too. He knows a cold shower isn't going to do him any good right now.

Standing beneath the hot stream, he thinks of what has transpired in the last five minutes and strokes himself in his hand until warm, white liquid follows the water down the drain.

When he finishes, he stills hears your voice in his mind and gets hard again within minutes.

••••••

Logan hasn’t seen you in three days. Three days might not seem like a long time to go without seeing your neighbor, but it feels like a long fucking time for him. In fact, it’s the longest he’s gone without casually running into you since he first met you months ago.

There’s a reason for this, though – he hasn’t checked his mail in days, hasn’t taken any of his laundry down to the basement in days, and has generally tried to avoid leaving his apartment as much as he can out of fear that he’ll see you. He even went as far as to pretend to be napping when you came by with some fresh baked brownies for Althea yesterday.

He wants to see you, of course. Goddamn, does he want to see you. But after overhearing your conversation with Vanessa earlier this week, he doesn’t know if he’s strong enough to look you in the eye and pretend like he hasn't been making himself cum to the thought of you on top of him every time he takes a shower.

But after three days, he finds himself missing you too much to keep up his attempt at distancing himself from you.

What if he’s being ridiculous, staying cooped in this apartment to avoid you? What if you’re just down the hallway, thinking about him at the same time he’s thinking of you?

He's tidying up the kitchen when he sees the pink Tupperware container that you’d brought the brownies in yesterday sitting in the sink. The brownies were long gone – they’d all been eaten by him, Wade and Al within the same hour that you brought them over.

Taking the Tupperware back to you would be the nice, neighborly thing to do, right?

With Al already retired to her bedroom for the evening, and Wade out with Vanessa, he takes it upon himself to wash and dry the container.

It’s a Friday night, so he knows there’s a chance that you’ve got plans and might not even be home, but he still takes a few minutes to fix his hair and swipe some deodorant on before walking down the hallway towards your apartment.

As he approaches your door, he realizes that you are home. There’s light spilling from the crack at the bottom of the doorframe and he can hear low music playing inside. A mix of anxiety and anticipation sets in, but he clears his throat and knocks on your door before he can chicken out.

He hears your footsteps approaching and attempts to wipe any sign of nervousness from his face – he’s just returning your Tupperware, for Christ's sake.

“Logan,” you breathe as you open the door. “I haven’t seen you in a few days,” you greet him. He can’t help but relax at the smile that grows on your face when you realize it’s him. “What are you up to this evening?”

You lean against your doorframe, and Logan has to force himself to maintain eye contact. You’re wearing a matching pajama set – a cute pair of velvet shorts and tank top that shows more of your skin than he’s ever seen before.

“I – uh,” he stammers, holding out the Tupperware container to you. “I just thought I’d bring this back to you. They were great, by the way.”

Your smile spreads to your eyes at his compliment.

“Oh, thanks,” you beam. “I’m glad you got to have one. Wade told me that you were asleep when I came by yesterday so I figured he’d have them eaten by the time you woke up.”

“I’m sure he would have, but Al made him save one for me,” he laughs.

He tries to focus on the conversation at hand, but the fact that you look fresh out of the shower definitely isn’t fucking helping. Bare faced with the scent of your body wash and lotion on your skin, his thoughts begin to stray into dangerous territory fast.

“I don’t wanna interrupt your night, though. I’ll let you get back to—”

“You’re not,” you say quickly as he begins to step backwards. “You're not interrupting. Are you doing anything tonight? I just ordered a pizza and there’s plenty. I was gonna watch a movie, if you want…” You trail off, glancing back and forth between him and your apartment behind you.

He can't help but notice that your voice sounds hopeful.

The invitation excites him more than he cares to admit. Sure, the two of you have hung out plenty of times, but it's always been in a group setting – at one of Wade’s get togethers or movie nights, surrounded by other friends.

But never just the two of you – definitely never in your apartment.

He could never think of saying no to you. Especially not when this is what he's been hoping for since he first me you.

“Yeah. Yeah, I'd really like that.”

You hold the door open for him, letting him enter your apartment. Right away, he notices how different it is from the one that he lives in. Then again, there’s three people cramped into Althea’s – you're the only person who lives here, so you're able to make it entirely your own.

It’s cute, and cozy, he thinks. From your furniture adorned with throw pillows and blankets, to all of your shelves stocked with books, knick-knacks and candles, to the various plants occupying space throughout the living room, it feels endearing and welcoming right away.

“So, where’s Wade at tonight?” you ask as he ventures into the living room. He notes a large cardboard box with an untouched pizza in it on your coffee table. His stomach growls at the sight, and it hits him that he actually is fucking starving.

“He’s out with Vanessa. Fourth time this week,” he answers, turning to find you retrieving two plates from a cabinet in your kitchen. You're angled away from him, and when you raise your arms to grab the plates, your tank top lifts enough to give him a clear view of your midriff. He quickly averts his gaze, pretending to find something on your bookshelf particularly interesting.

“I’m just really glad that they’ve worked through things and seem to be happy now,” you sigh. “He wasn’t in a good place after their breakup. Barely ever left his apartment for the longest time.”

“They’ve got something special, that’s for sure,” Logan agrees.

You hand him a plate, walking past him to your couch. You toss some of the decorative throw pillows to your recliner, making room for him on the sofa. You pat the empty space beside you, an invitation for him to make himself at home.

“Who knows, maybe they'll even get their own place soon and I won’t have to share the living room with him anymore,” he says as he sits down beside you.

It’s a pretty small couch – really more like a loveseat – so it’s a snug fit for the two of you. The skin of your exposed kneecap brushes against the fabric of his jeans as you lean forward to grab yourself a slice of pizza.

“Sounds like you just want Blind Al and Mary Puppins all to yourself,” you tease. You hand him a piece of pizza and close the box before propping your feet up on the table. You lean back, looking at him with a smirk and raised brows.

“If he moves, that dog is going with him and you know it. There’s no way he’d leave her behind,” he shakes his head.

“There’s no way Althea would let him take her. She's grown to be as attached to her as Wade is. I think even you like her more than you care to admit.”

“What can I say? She has a way of weaseling herself into your heart,” Logan sighs.

“Oh, it’s definitely the tongue,” you shrug through a bite of pizza.

Logan grimaces as a vivid image of Mary Puppins French kissing Wade awake flashes through his mind, but he can't help but laugh.

You turn on some action-comedy that Logan has never heard of, and the two of you eat and take turns making comments about whatever is happening on the screen for the first half of the movie.

He tries to stay focused on the film, he really does, but every now and then you readjust your position on the couch, causing him to catch a whiff of your perfume or your thigh will brush against his and he'll have to force his attention back to the characters on the screen.

No matter how distracting he may find your mere presence beside him, he's enjoying himself. This is by far the longest the two of you have hung out together, without the additions of his roommates and other friends. He dreads the moment that the movie ends and he’s obligated to tell you goodnight before reluctantly going back to his own apartment.

During the second act of the movie, he wonders what you’re thinking - if you could possibly be feeling the same way as him – when you randomly sit forward, grab the box of the leftover pizza off of the table in front of you, and stand to take it to your refrigerator.

It's then that he picks up on an odor – not the light floral aroma of your perfume but something new. A scent that answers the question of exactly what you had been thinking about. It’s musky and pheromonal, and even though it’s been a while since Logan has been intimate enough with a woman to smell the scent of her arousal, he recognizes it right away.

When you sit back down beside him, the sweet smell washes over him again and he bites the inside of his lip so hard that he tastes blood. The wound disappears as quickly as it’s formed, but the same can’t be said for the erection that begins to strain against the confines of his boxers.

He eyes the pile of small, decorative pillows that you had tossed to the side and wishes that he could grab one to place over his lap.

The words that you’d said to Vanessa a few days ago begin replaying in his mind for the thousandth time since he’d first heard you say them, reminding him this isn’t one-sided. He may be sitting here attempting to conceal a raging hard-on by shifting his position and subtly adjusting his pants, but Logan’s heightened sense of smell tells him that your underwear are probably starting to feel as uncomfortable as his do at the moment.

Without turning his head, he risks a glance at you. Your eyes are on the movie, and your face is neutral, but your posture gives you away. Your arms are crossed over your chest, the tips of your fingernails digging tiny crescent shaped indentations into the flesh of your upper arm. You have one of your thighs crossed over the other, locked together tightly but that doesn’t stop him from being able to smell how fucking wet you are.

“You know, if my sense of smell is as good as my sense of hearing, then I think I have a pretty good idea of what you’re thinking about right now,” Logan starts, his voice low and gruff. He watches from his peripheral vision as you freeze, your form going rigid.

“But I’d really like to hear you say it.”

You turn to him, your eyebrows quirked but your face otherwise impassive.

“I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about. What exactly is it that you’d like to hear me say?” you ask innocently. You give him doe eyes that make his cock finish filling with blood.

He huffs a laugh, picking up on the way that your heartrate accelerates when you look at him.

“I'd like to hear you say what you said to Vanessa a few days ago,” he hums. “I can’t remember exactly, but I think it had something to do with you rubbing your sweet little cunt on my abs. Does that sound familiar to you?”

“Hm,” you feign contemplation. “That doesn’t really sound like something I'd say.”

He knows you’re trying to play it cool, but there’s certain things that you just can’t hide from him – like the way your heart is beating a mile a minute and the way your nipples have pebbled beneath the thin material of your tank top.

“You’re right. It doesn't sound like something you’d say,” he snorts, and leans in so that your face is just a few inches from his. “So imagine my surprise when I walked by your apartment to hear you talking about jumping my adamantium bones.”

He doesn't miss the way your breath catches in your throat or how your eyes flicker to his lips.

“You gonna do it? Or you just gonna keep thinking about it while you're sitting beside me?”

For a second, you say nothing and Logan struggles to read your expression. Then, without taking your eyes off of him, you slowly stand in front of the couch. You reach for the hem of your tank top and pull it over your head, leaving you naked from the waist up.

Logan's mouth goes dry. Suddenly, he's all out of smart remarks.

You hook your thumbs into the waistband of your pajama shorts, pushing them down your thighs along with your panties, and let them both drop to your feet all while holding his gaze.

With you now stark naked before him, he leans forward, grasping you by the backs of your thighs and pulling you onto his lap. You straddle him, gently pushing him back against the sofa.

He tugs his own shirt over his head while you undo his belt buckle and pop open the top button of his jeans, your hands fumbling when he sheds his shirt.

Logan doesn’t typically think too much about his physical appearance. He knows he’s in good shape, and thinks he’s conventionally attractive enough. But he could see himself getting a bit of an ego, if he had someone looking at him the way you are right now on a regular basis.

You help him shimmy his jeans and boxers down far enough for his cock to spring free. You take him in your hand, using your thumb to smear the thick bead of pre-cum across the head.

“You should be careful listening to people’s conversations outside of their doors,” you hum as you pump him in one hand. You hunch over, lowering your mouth enough to spit down his shaft, lubricating the length. You smirk, glancing up at him from beneath your thick eyelashes. “Other people might not react as happily as me.”

Fuck, he knows it’s been a long time since he's even felt anyone’s hands on him, but he feels a little pathetic at the way his balls are already tightening and feeling so heavy just from the way you’re languidly stroking him.

And as much as he’d love for you to keep your hands on him, there’s time for him later. Right now, what he wants more than anything is the feeling of your pussy on him.

He pulls your hand off of him and then tugs you over his erection, trying his hardest to ignore the way the wetness between your legs glides against the tip of his cock, until you’re flat against the hard expanse of his lower stomach.

“This is what you wanted, yeah?” He grunts. You whimper in response, tightening your thighs around his sides and rocking back and forth with the smallest amount of friction. “Don’t be holding back, wanna feel you make a mess on me.”

His words seem to erase any remaining reservation that you may have had. You brace your hands on his chest and begin dragging your center across his lower stomach, your slick coating the thick trail of hair that goes from his belly button to his waistline. With every backstroke, the head of his cock juts against your ass.

You glide across him easily. Soft, wet, and warm, Logan thinks that if you feel this good on his fucking stomach then there’s no way he’ll be able to handle being inside you.

He leans his head forward, capturing one of your nipples in his mouth. You hold his head in your hands, tugging on his hair with your fingers as he teases your nipple with his tongue and teeth.

He pulls his mouth away from your breast with a wet pop. “You like this? Using me to get yourself off?”

“Mm-hmm,” you nod frantically, your answer coming out as a moan. He gives a quick, firm slap to your other breast. Judging by the sound it draws from you, you like it, so he does it again.

He'd pictured this exact scenario a shameful number of times in the last few days, but his thoughts hadn’t done you justice. Every little noise you make, every little whimper and moan as your clit brushes against the thick bulges of his muscles again and again, sounds sweeter than he could've dreamed.

He places his hands on the meat of your hips, guiding you forwards and backwards across his abdomen at a fast pace.

“Fuck,” you gasp, clenching your thighs around him as tight as you can. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum—”

“That’s right,” he coos. “Come on, cum on me.”

You dig your fingernails into his shoulders, drenching the hair on his stomach as you ride out your orgasm on him with a cry of his name.

You collapse against his chest, going still with your face in the crook of his neck as you steady your breathing.

“Look at me,” he whispers after a moment. It hits him that despite the fact that you just humped him until you came all over his abdomen, he somehow hasn’t even kissed you yet.

You pull away from his neck, looking down at him with a dazed expression. He brings your face to his mouth by the back of your neck. He wastes no more time, instantly slipping his tongue past your lips.

He holds you by the globes of your ass, which hovers just above his erection. You grind down, causing the tip of his cock to nudge against your entrance. He groans into your mouth, his cock past the point of feeling like it’s going to explode if he doesn’t fucking feel you.

“We can stop here,” he murmurs against your lips when he breaks the kiss, even though the thought kills him. He doesn’t want to stop kissing you, touching you, tasting you. It’s only been a few months, but it feels like he’s been waiting a lifetime for this and the last thing he wants is for it to come to an end. “Don’t have to go any further if you don’t—”

“No,” you exclaim with a breathy laugh. “No, I don’t want to stop. Do you want to stop?”

He grins up at you, taking his length in his hand and teasing it through your folds from below you. He coats the head in your juices before nudging it against your hole.

“Definitely don’t wanna stop, sweetheart.”

You sink down onto him at the same moment that he tilts his hips up enough to slip inside you, causing the entirety of his length to fill you at once.

You both go still, adjusting to the new sensation of each other. Your walls, velvet soft and so warm, constrict around him like a vice. He knows you’re likely tired from riding him through your first orgasm, so he begins thrusting his hips slowly, the tip of his cock nudging against your cervix.

“You’re big. So, so big,” you moan – something between a whine and a praise.

“I know, but you’re doing so good, honey,” he encourages as he eases himself in and out of you. “Don’t worry, I got you.”

You latch your lips to his again, and it’s hard for him to hold back. The feeling of your tight, perfect cunt around him and the taste of your tongue in his mouth is overwhelming. He wants to memorize every movement, every sound you make.

You snake your hand between your bodies, your fingertips finding your swollen clit and massaging languid circles. He feels you flutter around him as you start meeting his thrusts with movements of your own, and he knows you’re close.

“Not gonna last much longer, honey,” he grunts with a sharp thrust. “Feel too fucking good.”

“Cum with me,” you murmur against his mouth.

Your command causes something in him to snap. He releases a throaty growl, pistoning his hips upwards at a harsh pace as he fills you up from below. You constrict around him, crying his name into his ear as you ride out your climaxes together.

You collapse against his chest once more, his cock still nestled inside you. He loses track of how long the two of you stay like that, neither of you wanting to be the first to move.

“Remind me to eavesdrop on your conversations more often,” he huffs a laugh, still slightly out of breath.

You bring your lips to his, smiling as you give him a light kiss.

“I’ll know if you do. I have a doorbell camera. You didn’t notice that?”

thank you so much for reading <3 comments and reblogs are super appreciated. here are a few more of my favorite logan pieces that i've written ✨️

for always and ever is always for you - old man logan x healer reader

diet pepsi - old man logan x reader limousine sex

lavender and velvet - worst variant logan x neighbor reader

[wolvietxt]

Could you do Logan Howlett + priorities in the miscommunication prompt? ❤️

one character believes the other is prioritizing someone else over them, feeling hurt and neglected. after a heartfelt confrontation, the other explains their actions, and they find comfort in understanding their connection remains just as strong.

LOGAN had always been hard to read, his gruff exterior a carefully constructed wall that rarely came down. you’d learned to navigate it, to understand the subtle shifts in his tone and the fleeting glimpses of vulnerability he allowed you to see. but lately, it felt like those moments had vanished altogether.

every time you tried to talk to him, he seemed preoccupied, his focus drawn to someone or something else. it wasn’t unusual for jean to need his help - her calm presence often balanced his rough edges - but it felt different this time. more constant, more consuming. and no matter how much you tried to push the thought away, the knot in your chest grew tighter with each passing day.

that evening, you found yourself alone in the kitchen, absentmindedly stirring a mug of tea that had long since gone cold. the quiet buzz of the mansion surrounded you, but your mind was elsewhere, replaying every moment logan had walked past you without so much as a glance, every time his voice softened when speaking to jean in a way it hadn’t with you recently.

“what’s eatin’ ya?”

the gravelly voice startled you, and you turned to see logan leaning against the doorway, arms crossed over his chest. his brow was furrowed, but there was something softer in his eyes, a flicker of concern that made your throat tighten.

“nothing,” you muttered, looking away. “just tired.”

“ain’t buyin’ that.” he stepped closer, his boots heavy against the tiled floor. “been quiet lately. somethin’ happen?”

his tone was genuine, but the frustration bubbling beneath your skin refused to be ignored. you set the mug down with more force than necessary, the clink echoing in the room.

“maybe you should ask jean,” you snapped, the words tumbling out before you could stop them.

logan’s eyes narrowed, his posture stiffening. “what’s that supposed to mean?”

“it means,” you said, turning to face him fully, “that you’ve been spending more time with her than with me. it’s like i’m not even here anymore.”

his jaw tightened, and for a moment, you thought he might argue. but instead, he sighed, running a hand through his hair. “jean needed help with some stuff. ain’t nothin’ more than that.”

“it doesn’t feel like nothing,” you said, your voice cracking despite your best efforts to keep it steady. “every time i turn around, you’re with her. and i get it, logan. she’s… she’s amazing. but it hurts, okay? it feels like you’d rather be with her than with me.”

his eyes softened, the tension in his shoulders easing as he stepped closer. “that ain’t true,” he said quietly. “jean… she’s been strugglin’ with some things. i was just tryin’ to help her out.”

“why didn’t you tell me?” the question came out as a whisper, your hands gripping the edge of the counter for support. “why do you always shut me out?”

logan exhaled heavily, his gaze dropping to the floor. “guess i didn’t wanna burden ya. you’ve got enough on your plate without me addin’ to it.”

“so instead, you made me feel like i wasn’t enough,” you said, the weight of your own words pressing down on you. “logan, ‘m here for you. i want to be here for you. but i can’t do that if you keep pushing me away.”

he looked up, and for the first time in days, you saw a crack in his armor. his expression was a mix of regret and something deeper, something raw and unspoken.

“i’m sorry,” he said, the words gruff but sincere. “you’re right. i shoulda told ya what was goin’ on instead of makin’ ya feel like this. it ain’t fair to ya.”

you blinked, the tears you’d been holding back threatening to spill over. “i just… i just needed to know i wasn’t losing you.”

he closed the distance between you in two quick strides, his hands gently gripping your arms as he tilted his head to meet your gaze. “you ain’t losin’ me,” he said firmly. “that’s the last damn thing that’ll ever happen.”

the sincerity in his voice, the way his fingers curled slightly as if afraid you’d pull away, broke through the last of your defenses. you let out a shaky breath, leaning into his chest as his arms wrapped around you, solid and reassuring.

“i’m sorry too,” you murmured, your voice muffled against his shirt. “for assuming the worst.”

“nah,” he said, his chin resting lightly on the top of your head. “you had every right to call me out. i’ve been actin’ like a damn fool.”

you let out a small laugh, the tension in your chest easing as his hand traced soothing circles along your back. for a moment, neither of you spoke, the quiet between you no longer heavy but comforting.

“next time,” you said softly, pulling back just enough to look up at him, “promise me you’ll talk to me. no more shutting me out.”

his lips quirked into a faint smile, one that reached his eyes. “promise.”

he leaned down, pressing a kiss to your forehead, then another to your temple, lingering there for a moment as if grounding himself in your presence. the gesture was simple but full of meaning, a silent reassurance that you weren’t going anywhere, and neither was he.

you stayed like that for a while, wrapped in each other’s arms, the weight of misunderstanding finally lifting. and though the road ahead might still have its bumps, you knew you’d face them together - no walls, no secrets, just the unshakable bond that held you both steady.

ᰔ logan howlett : @notacleangirl, @v3lv3tf0x, @dugiioh, @whxtewolf, @rooroen

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[thursdayinspace]

So I rewatched "Our Town" last night and when I sat down at my laptop this morning to do something that was not writing, I ended up writing instead. These things happen. Just a silly fluffy-ish little thing because omg that ep is so gross and also Scully has to be getting sick of being abducted all the time. Mulder feels the same way.

She can’t sleep. It’s not every day you almost get beheaded—even after everything that she’s already been through this year, it seems there are still things that can shake her up pretty badly. She rolls over on the lumpy motel mattress and tries to get comfortable. For a glorious moment, she considers quitting. Handing Skinner her resignation and walking away, finding a nice job with regular hours where people won’t handcuff her to radiators, stick her in closets, contort their stretchy bodies through cracks in her bathroom window, or drive her around in the trunks of their cars before handing her over to aliens or the government or whatever theory Mulder’s going with right now. A job where she won’t spend the end of a work day strapped into a metal harness as a guy in a mask raises an ax above her head.

In her mind she pictures a simple life: a nice house with a yard, a dog greeting her as she opens the door and walks inside after a long day at the hospital…no, a private practice? A day of teaching? Whatever she’s been doing, she walks into a kitchen that smells like home-cooked dinner, leaning up to kiss her faceless husband who’s vaguely Mulder-shaped. “Honey, I’m home!” “Dinner’s almost ready! How was your day?” “Fine. Narrowly avoided decapitation. Nothing exciting.” Fuck. Not even fantasy-Scully can escape the absurdity of this life.

The knock on her door doesn’t even surprise her. She already knows who it is. He stopped waking her unless it’s something really important, so she groans and gets up, her bones aching, weeping inwardly as she makes her way to the door. So she can’t sleep; that doesn’t mean she wants to spend the night going over their case report or whatever that infuriatingly charming insomniac wants from her this time.

But when she opens the door, he doesn’t look as if he wants to go over case reports. He looks like shit. As much as that’s even possible for him. Another thing that’s simply unfair about her life, she thinks with a sigh. Even with bags under his eyes and pale as a sheet he still looks beautiful. “Mulder?” she says.

He doesn’t answer, just steps right into her and pulls her into a wordless hug, so tight she’s a little afraid he’ll crack her ribs. She hugs him back weakly and pats his back, not quite sure what else to do since she has no idea what the fuck he’s even doing. She expects him to pull back, but he just keeps holding on, and she’s genuinely having trouble breathing.

“Uh, Mulder?” she says again, a little louder.

“You’re okay,” he mumbles into her hair, and she wiggles in his arms, trying to loosen his grip.

“Not for much longer if you don’t let go.”

“Sorry.” He drops his arms and takes a step back, but keeps looking at her like he’s never seen her before. “Sorry, I just—”

“It’s fine,” she says. “Did you have a bad dream?”

He shakes his head. “I couldn’t sleep.”

“Yeah.” She grimaces. “Me neither. It’s been…a day.”

“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asks, and she laughs. She’s too tired not to.

“Thanks to your timely rescue, my head is still firmly attached to my body.” It sounds a little bitter, and she’s surprised at herself before she feels another little piece of her frustration clicking into place. Ah, yes, she thinks. There’s that too. Rescued once again. She makes a mental note: fantasy-Scully in her little imaginary suburban nine-to-five utopia will never have to be rescued. She’s gonna be the one doing all the rescuing. Except nobody needs to be rescued in that perfect little world, because nothing bad ever happens to anyone.

“You don’t sound okay,” Mulder says, and she closes her eyes for a second. She’s not annoyed with him, she reminds herself. It’s not his fault that she became part of these townsfolks’ dinner plans, and it’s not his fault that she needed him to keep that from happening.

“I’m just a little tired.”

“I’ll let you sleep.” He sounds exhausted and when she looks at him, she sees leftover fear in his eyes. “No more interruptions, I promise.”

Her hand reaches out for his before she’s fully conscious of what she’s doing. It’s just that he’s here and she’s had enough of being Agent Scully for tonight, and he really looks so much like Doctor Scully’s faceless dinner-cooking husband in her nice little fantasy home. “Come on,” she says.

“What are you—”

“Bed,” she explains, hoping he won’t ask any more questions.

“Oh. Okay.”

She gets in on her side and is relieved when he lies down next to her without another word. She closes her eyes, but she can feel him stock-still as a statue next to her, she can feel the tension radiating off of him, and, hell, it sounds like he’s even trying to breathe without making a sound. So she grabs his arm and rolls onto her side, tugging him with her until he has his back against her chest, and she holds firmly onto his hand and snuggles back into him.

“Scully?” he asks, sounding a little confused.

“Relax, Mulder,” she tells him. “Sleep.”

“Are you sure?”

“About sleeping?”

“You know what I mean.”

She laughs and squeezes his fingers. “No. Of course not. But honestly? I really don’t care right now.”

“Okay,” he says, and he gets it, she knew he’d get it. “Okay,” he repeats, and laces their fingers together. She feels him lift his head, feels his hot breath against the side of her face, and then a gentle kiss against the corner of her eye. “Good night, Scully.”

“Good night, Mulder.”

Behind her closed eyelids, fantasy Scully lies just like this with her faceless partner, who’s just as warm and smells just as good as real Scully’s friend-partner spooned up behind her. The only difference is that her own real Mulder is…well, real. No matter how perfect her beautiful little dream house with her beautiful perfect husband may be, she kind of prefers snuggling with someone who has a face and a name. And maybe she’d actually miss the mess.

Not all of it. Not the ax-swinging, homicidal maniacs or the lumpy motel mattresses. But a partner who knocks on her door in the middle of the night because he couldn’t sleep without making sure she was okay? Who sleeps wrapped around her with his breath ruffling the hair at the back of her neck, knowing this isn’t leading anywhere other than comfort and friendship? And…she kisses the backs of his fingers once she convinces herself he’s probably asleep…a vague hope that maybe this won’t always be all there is between them?

Yeah. She’ll take it.

[thewritetofreespeech]

Can I request headcanons for Astarion, Gale, Wyll, and Halsin reacting to gn s/o telling him how hot it was to them that he came in his pants please?

Astarion

Astarion is humiliated and lashes out because of it.

He is supposed to be the one to make them so flustered and consumed with lust that they cum in his pants. Not him!

He isn’t meant to loose control like this. Be excited this way. Has he ever been excited this way, like a bumbling virgin, it all these 200 years?

Astarion would tell them they are disgusting; even though he doesn’t mean it, he’s just disgusted in himself. Then he will slither off to change his pants and be mortified in private.

Gale

Gale is embarrassed, of course. Cumming in your pants like an over excited teenager is not something that has happened to him since his academy days. But he’s not surprised.

He’s been almost entirely celibate for almost a year. No physical touch at all, and no romantic feelings either. Completely numb.

Meeting them is like having the flood gates not only open but burst (no pun intended).

Gale takes it in stride though. Comments on their beautiful being the cause, and flattered that they think it's attractive. Tells them about his confinement so they understand that this is not a normal occurrence usually. Then sets to prove his worth as a lover by returning the favor thrice over.

Wyll

Wyll is surprised it came on so quickly. Usually he’s not caught off guard.

It’s embarrassing, to be sure, but no use crying over spilled milk. Or, in this case, cum.

Wyll has been the gentleman for long enough. And while he will always put their honor, protection, and affection above all else, he has also waited too long for this moment. He isn’t going to give it up.

So, in true dive in first fashion, he just takes off his pants and they keep going. They have to come off anyway in the end. Wyll calls them a naughty boy/girl when they tell him it’s hot while he takes of theirs.

Halsin

Honestly? Halsin is just relieved that this is the outcome, instead of him shifting into bear shape. Maybe that says something about his two halves coming together again, or the calm his wild shape feels when he is with him.

He isn’t embarrassed, though a little disappointed that he will have to wait now to be inside them. His stamina is high but not infinite.

When they tell him it’s hot that he came in his pants for them, he makes a common on ‘this is why I prefer sky clad’ but also feels the beast in him growl with desire. Maybe it’s not so ‘tame’ after all.

He reaches his hands into his pants to offer his spilled seed to them from his fingers. No use in wasting it. Watching them clean it off sets his cock hard again, and Halsin is ready to go.

[sebastianstangirl01]

✧˖° lifeline | rafe cameron

pairing - rafe cameron x routledge!reader

warnings - violence (jj decking rafe), language, pregnancy (audrey’s pregnant instead of sarah), almost drowning

summary - after rafe, who just so happens to be your baby daddy, offers you and your friends a boat ride to Moraco tensions rise between the untrusting group. when an intense storm hits out of no where you get swept off the front of the boat by an enormous wave and rafe has to make a decision. save the woman he loves and mother of his child or ride out the storm to find groff.

authors note - well…..i’m back! kinda. sorry for literally dropping off the face of the earth, i’ve been more activish writing wise on wattpad lately. so sorry for not writing any on here! since buzzcut rafe and just drew in general are literally daddy i knew i had to write for him! i’m sure you’ve seen this trope like a million times, but that’s because it’s such a bomb trope and never gets old! at least in my opinion! with that being said, because it’s so popular it’s inevitable that these types of fics will probably be similar but i’ll try my very best to be as original as possible!! oh, also since i hate having to write y/n as the name i’ll be using is audrey since that’s my name and who doesn’t want to imagine themselves as rafe’s girl?? but for real, feel free to imagine any name you want! i hope you enjoy!!

not proofread!!

✧˖°

when rafe showed up and convinced shoupe to let you all track down groff, you thought you were dreaming. but here you are sitting on a container of god knows what stuck on a boat with your older brother (by 9 months), best friends, and ex/baby daddy who you haven’t spoken to since you found out you were pregnant 2 weeks ago.

you paced circles around the large bathroom, chewing on the side of your finger anxiously. the timer winding down on your phone seemed to be taking a lot longer than 3 minutes and the test flipped upside down on the sink seemed to be haunting you.

it all started about a week ago. you noticed some unusual changes in your everyday routine, starting with the fact that you found yourself bending over the toilet seat every morning puking your guts up.

the thought of being pregnant didn’t even click in your mind until you realized the last time you had your period was so long ago you couldn’t even remember the exact date. panic involuntarily filled your mind when you thought about your situation.

you and rafe have been off and on for as long as you could remember. him using and smoking all the time was one of the main reasons why, he wasn’t the same when he was high and he honestly scared you. when peterkin was killed you thought there was no way you’d ever be able to look at rafe the same again.

but there’s just something about him that keeps drawing you in, he’s different around you. even more so now that he’s quit abusing drugs, he makes you feel like the only girl in the world. the issue still stands though, he treats your brother and friends like the scum of the earth and nothing you say changes his behavior.

it’s exhausting having your boyfriend and friends hate each other to the point where you can’t even bring rafe around your home without someone starting a fist fight.

that’s what caused your breakup this time, you couldn’t stand the animosity between everyone and what sealed the deal was jj starting a brawl with rafe that ended with both of them having to get stitches. you felt responsible for them getting hurt and put your own feelings aside to do what you thought was best for everyone as a whole.

you and rafe broke up. but no matter how hard you tried you couldn’t stay away. which led to your current predicament.

the timer finally went off, snapping you out of your thoughts and stopping you in your tracks. you’re heart was beating so fast you thought it would burst from your chest and land in the claw foot tub across the room. biting the bullet you grabbed the test and held it tightly in your hand, not having the heart to turn it over yet.

“hey-” rafe pushed open the bathroom door making you jump in surprise

you had thought he left for work already but here he was standing in front of you with furrowed brows as his gaze landed on the test in your hand.

“rafe.” you started but he cut you off

“what the fuck is that?” rafe snapped in shock

“i uh, i’m late.” was all you could mutter as you bit your lip nervously, recognizing the cold look on rafe’s face

“and?” rafe raised his brows waiting for your answer impatiently

“I haven’t been able to look.” you admitted and rafe huffed walking closer to you and yanking the test out of your hand

the tension in the room was suffocating as rafe flipped the test over, you were terrified as you studied his face closely looking for any sign of what the test read.

“fuck.” rafe whispered before dropping the test to the ground his hands immediately coming up to press against his forehead as he turned away from you

you slowly bent down and your hands shook as you picked the test up, flipping it over your heart dropped into your stomach.

pregnant.

tears filled your eyes and your chest filled with panic, you had truly never been more scared in your life than you were in this moment. how were you supposed to raise a baby? you only just turned 19 and your home is about to be swept out from under you by greedy kooks. and you aren’t even with the father of your baby at the moment.

“holy shit.” rafe’s voice broke you out of your thoughts and you looked over at him

he was standing with his hands squeezing the counter top harshly, the veins in his neck looked like they were about to burst.

“rafe?” you whispered

“i cant do this right now.” rafe shook his head before storming out of the room

the front door slamming downstairs startled you making you jump, then it hit you. you were pregnant and alone and the tears slid down your cheeks.

that was the last you had seen or heard from rafe. when you told your brother he was less than thrilled, it took everything for you to keep him from tracking rafe down and killing him. but john b eventually realized that you needed him to be there for you so he put his feelings aside and focused on you and his future niece or nephew.

your friends were about the same story, especially jj who has always been a loose cannon. but at the end of the day they rallied around you and you knew they would be there for you and be the best aunts and uncles to the baby.

but right about now you wished you had just gone with shoupe because you were being hit with motion sickness to the extreme and felt like you were about to throw up everywhere.

“hey, what’s up?” kie frowned kneeling down in front of you, sarah immediately following

“you ok?” sarah placed her hand on your knee

it took you a second to answer having to take a few deep breaths until the nausea subsided before you blinked down at the pair.

“just nauseous.” you held a hand to your stomach

“maybe there’s some ginger ale or something in the kitchen.” kie said and you nodded the thought of the fizzy drink sounded appealing

before she could stand to go searching for anything a hand appeared in front of your face holding a can of ginger ale. you knew that veiny hand and gold ring anywhere but still looked up and saw rafe looking at you in concern.

that was the most concern he had shown you since you found out you were pregnant.

“thanks.” you smiled softly and he just nodded before disappearing back inside

you saw the look exchanged between your two best friends but ignored it as you eagerly cracked open the can before humming in delight as you took sips of the drink.

“ok, so I think it’s time we talk about the elephant on the boat.” jj started making everyone exchange confused looks. “rafe, guys.”

“what about him?” sarah furrowed her brows

“what do you mean, what about him? do we really trust that he’s not going to screw us over? shit, i wouldn’t be surprised if he was working with those psycho mercenaries and was leading us to our deaths.” jj rambled

“come on jayge, you know none of us trust him but he did save our asses. as much as i hate to admit it.” kie reminded her boyfriend who just rolled his eyes

“and that automatically excuses everything he’s done?” jj scoffed

“hey, she’s not saying that. you know i’d love to just chuck him into the ocean but so far he hasn’t tried anything. i say we play it cool then ditch him the second we dock.” pope spoke levelheadedly and the others reluctantly nodded in agreement

“but until then, what do we do?” sarah crossed her arms over her chest and leaned into john b’s side

“you know him best, aud. can we trust him to keep his word?” john b turned to his sister who had stayed quiet for the whole conversation

“i believe he’ll keep his word.” you answered after a second and john b studied you for a moment before nodding

“ok, we’ll just stay cool for now.” john b looked between everyone who reluctantly nodded

well, that didn’t last long. one second you were moving inside the cabin to get out of the sun and the next you were kneeling on the ground cradling rafe’s unconscious form after jj sucker punched him in the face.

“what the fuck jj!” you exclaimed in shock

“what? we can’t trust him, i know he’s your baby daddy and you two have some weird relationship thing but i’m not taking any chances.” jj shrugged as he grabbed a rope

“if he didn’t do it i was going to.” pope commented

you just signed and rubbed your forehead at their stupidity and stubbornness before gently stroking rafe’s cheek that was already bruising.

“i’m surrounded by idiots.” you mumbled to yourself

john b and jj carried rafe down into a small utility room after tying his hands together, shutting and locking the door behind them.

knowing there was nothing you could say to get the group to change their minds about rafe, you and cleo got to work in the kitchen looking around for something edible that could be fixed for dinner.

“what about this?” cleo turned to you holding a box of spaghetti noodles

“i guess you can never go wrong with spaghetti.” you shrugged with a small smile

you also knew that spaghetti was a safe food for you, it was one of the only foods that didn’t make you sick at the moment.

john b and pope were out on the deck trying to catch some fish, but you knew you’d be having spaghetti for dinner regardless since you don’t like seafood. jj and kie were up in the cabin making sure the boat was on course and sarah was sunbathing since there wasn’t really much else to do. of course she had offered to help cleo cook and let you relax, but you needed a distraction right now.

while cleo started boiling water, you started working on the sauce. surprisingly the kitchen was pretty nicely stocked and you were able to find a jar of marinara sauce and a bunch of different herbs and seasonings.

humming to yourself you stirred the sauce in the pan in front of you, listening to the playful banter from your friends.

after everyone ate they all agreed that it would be safest for you to be the one to bring rafe dinner. even though both jj and pope voted on letting him starve, everyone else agreed that it wasn’t right. you were nervous to approach him one on one, unsure of what he would say or do when he saw you.

getting your nerves under control, you took a deep breath before shifting the tray of food so you could push open the door. rafe blinked up at you lazily, the image brought you back to the mornings when you woke up together.

“hey, i thought you might be hungry.” you spoke softly closing the door behind you

you stepped forward and knelt down beside him, sitting the tray of food in front of him. rafe looked down at the tray in distain before looking back up at you.

“you gonna feed it to me? or am i supposed to just shove my face in it like a fuckin animal?” rafe snapped making you flinch, which he noticed and immediately took a deep breath. “baby, untie me. please.”

“don’t call me that, rafe. not when you’ve spent the past few weeks ignoring me.” you frowned in frustration

“i’m sorry. i just don’t know what to think, this is a really big thing.” rafe mumbled pulling uncomfortably at his restraints

“i know it’s a big thing rafe, trust me. i’m the one waking up every morning at the crack of dawn to puke my guts out.” you couldn’t help but snap, your emotions from the past couple of weeks overflowing

you had been so upset since finding out you were pregnant and you hate it. you hate that your first thought about your own child was a negative one. you’ve always wanted to be a mother, it’s something you dreamed about since your next door neighbor had a baby when you were 6.

so knowing that you have felt like your baby is a burden for the first part of your pregnancy makes you feel so incredibly guilty. and it’s all because of rafe, of the way he reacted to the news by up and leaving you all alone.

you want your child to have a father, and as much as you hate to admit it you want that father to be rafe. because regardless of everything, you love him.

“look, we can talk about this ok? let’s just talk about it, but first untie me.” rafe held his hands out to you

“i can’t rafe, they don’t trust you and i can’t say i blame them. you’ve never given them a reason to.” you shook your head

“i talked shoupe out of arresting all of you, i got you on this boat.” rafe scoffed

“you also beat pope, shot sarah, strangled kie, framed john b for murder, and started how many fights with jj? not to mention how you’ve continued to terrorize them in general. why would they trust you rafe?” you shook your head moving to stand

“i’m sorry. i’m sorry, audrey. ok, i’ve been a shitty guy, a shitty brother and boyfriend. i know that, but i’m getting my shit together alright? for you, i’m getting my shit together for you and the baby.” rafe rambled and you couldn’t help the way your heart fluttered at his words

especially at his mention of the baby, this being the first time you’d ever heard him acknowledge it.

“I hope you are rafe, and i’m happy for you. but you need to change for yourself too, not just me and not just our baby.” you said casting him one last look before leaving ignoring his calls from behind you

things changed so fast. one second, you were sitting next to pope trying to ignore your guilt at ignoring rafe while everyone ate and the next there was a huge clap of thunder.

the night sky was black but the swirling clouds and flashes of lightning were alarmingly clear. the ocean became harsh and unforgiving, aggressive waves slammed into the side of the boat sending it rocking back and forth wildly.

john b, accompanied by pope and jj immediately ran for the cabin to try to get control of the boat while the girls held on for dear life.

you felt a wave of fear overcome you, not just for your own life, but for the lives of everyone on the boat including the baby in your belly. of course, john b and sarah had survived sailing into a storm, but it wasn’t anywhere near as intense as the storm they are in now.

after a particularly harsh wave collided with the side of the boat, you were knocked out of your seat and hit the ground hard.

“shit!” you exclaimed trying to balance as you pushed yourself to your knees

“are you ok?” sarah grabbed your hand and pulled you to her protectively

“this isn’t good. we’re fucked, aren’t we?” you gulped holding sarah’s hand and the bottom of the table tightly

you looked around at the girls, who all had similar looks of fear on their faces, even cleo who was always calm and collected. pope rushed back down to you guys, explaining that they decided there was no way of outrunning the storm. that they just had to go through it.

sarah and kie went off to find jj and john b, not wanting to be too far from them which left you, cleo, and pope in the small sitting area to hold down the fort.

“hey! let me out! audrey! sarah!” your head suddenly snapped towards the door across the room that led to the room rafe was being kept in

you couldn’t leave him in there all alone, there was no telling how scared he was trapped in there having no idea what was going on. only being able to feel the way the boat thrashed back and forth.

pope, recognizing the look on your face after so many years of friendship immediately shook his head in protest.

“no! no, audrey you can’t let him out!” pope reached for you but you shrugged him off as you ran towards the kitchen area

“audrey! come on, girl! don’t!” cleo exclaimed

“i can’t just leave him there to die! he’s the father of my child, and i still love him. i’m sorry!” you gave them an apologetic look before grabbing a knife out of the sink and running tot he door ignoring your friends shouts from behind you

your legs shook from the effort it took to stay on your feet, the boat rocked back and forth harshly as the enormous waves tossed them around like a pinball.

you practically busted down the door and fell against the sink, somehow miraculously you managed to not stag yourself in the process. rafe was pulling on his restrains and you saw water had already leaked into the room making your eyes widen.

“baby, cut me loose.” rafe broke you out of your trance

“i got you.” you rushed over to him and cautiously began cutting the ropes

“careful!” rafe scolded when you accidentally nicked the skin on his forearm

“i’m trying! just, stay still i’ve never done this before!” you fired back

finally you were able to cut through the ropes and rafe waisted no time pulling you into his arms holding you tightly. you melted into his chest, momentarily forgetting the terror of the situation.

“thank you.” rafe sighed into your hair

“i’d never leave you.” you mumbled squeezing his waist

the two of you pulled away and looked at each other, silently promising to have a long conversation, when you weren’t battling a dangerous storm of course.

“i need to get to john b. sarah’s with him, come on!” you abruptly pulled away, now that you knew rafe was ok you had to find your brother

you ran out of the door hearing rafe curse before following behind you, calling your name. the unfortunate thing was that to get up to the cabin from your position you had to first go across the deck.

the wind was so strong it almost knocked you off your feet as you stepped onto the deck, the rain pelted down onto you mixed with the water that had been sloshed over the edge of the boat.

“john b!” you exclaimed, shielding your eyes as you tried to walk forward

“audrey!” john b yelled with wide eyes as he took in your small figure in the storm he, followed by sarah, jj, and kie rushed out onto the upper deck right outside the cabin.

just as you made a move towards them a large wave came out of no where and slammed into the side of the boat knocking you to the ground. your skin scuffed against the ground and you yelped at the feeling of a jagged piece of metal slashing your hip.

rafe had just burst onto the deck when he saw you on the ground, as he was about to run to you he heard sarah scream your name.

“audrey!” sarah screamed in horror as the lightning in the sky revealed a monster wave approaching them

you screamed, knowing there was no way you’d be able to make it to safety in time and tried your best to clutch onto something. before you knew it you felt your body being hit hard by a wall of water, sending you skidding across the ground. your hands slipped and slid as you tried to grab onto something, but it was no use as you felt yourself suddenly falling off the back of the boat.

you didn’t even have time to scream as you’re body collided with the harsh and unforgiving ocean water, your body was pulled underwater by the rough current. you had been swimming in the ocean your whole life, yet you had never experienced something quit like this before.

it felt like there were hands gripping your body trying to keep you underwater, but you fought as hard as you could. when you were finally able to break the surface you did so with a big gasp, eagerly sucking in air as you fought against the waves.

“help! rafe! john b! jj!” you screamed thrashing in the water

when rafe saw you fall overboard his heart stopped and it was like his body was in autopilot. he ran forward and grabbed the lifebuoy that was hanging on the side of the boat.

sarah locked her teary eyes on her brother, her heart pounding out of her chest at the thought of losing her best friend, and now she sees rafe holding the lifebouy and knows exactly what is going through his head.

“rafe!” sarah yelled not wanting to lose someone else

rafe didn’t hesitate, his mind already made up as he ran to the end of the boat.

“audrey! i’m coming!” rafe yelled before diving into the water

the pogues watched in terror as the two disappeared from their sight, john b dropping to his knees in agony at the potential loss of his sister. the only family he had left. while sarah was in the same position, you were her best friend and now sister in law and rafe was the only family she had left and she had just lost them both.

rafe gasped as he broke the surface, holding onto the bouy tightly he looked around frantically trying to spot you when he saw you clinging to a piece of wood.

“audrey!” rafe yelled before swimming towards you

your head snapped up when you heard rafe’s familiar voice and couldn’t help but sob in relief as you saw him swimming towards you.

“rafe!” you started swimming to meet him halfway

when you were within arms reach, rafe pulled you into his arms and held you against him and the bouy as tight as he could. you cried as you clung to him and rafe tried his best to push his fear aside for your sake.

“you came for me. you came for me.” you gasped kicking your legs to stay above the water

“i’ll always come for you. always. it’s going to be ok, baby. just don’t let go.” rafe demanded and you nodded

the storm raged around you and the boat disappeared from your sight, nothing around but the vast stretch of the ocean leaving you with nothing but fear and anxiety. but at least you had rafe, you knew he would do whatever he could to protect you and that’s what kept you going as the two of you clutched onto each other tightly and rode out the storm.

the first thing you recognized was how quiet it was around you, the next was the body laying beside you. you blinked your eyes open and coughed feeling some of the water you inhaled trickle out of your mouth. hands grabbed your face and you blinked up to see rafe’s soaked face hovering above you.

“there she is, wake up for me baby.” rafe sighed in relief as he pulled you into his arms

“are we alive?” you asked clutching onto his arm

“yeah baby, we’re alive. we’re ok.” rafe chuckled kissing your forehead

you sighed leaning against him lazily, as exhaustion filled your aching body. you have no idea how the two of you survived the storm, but you were grateful.

“you saved my life.” you looked up at rafe with teary eyes before grabbing his hand and placing it on your stomach. “you saved us both.”

rafe felt his emotions overpower him as a lone tear slid down his cheek, it was just now hitting him how much he had to lose. if he had been even a second too late he would have lost you. he would’ve lost you and the baby.

he had spent so much time being an idiot, being a terrible person when he could’ve spent that time loving you. no more, he made that vow to himself right in that moment. he made a promise to himself that he would do right by you and this baby, nothing else mattered. not money or kooks vs pogues, nothing. only you and the future the two of you had together with your child.

“i will always save you. i love you so much, audrey, and i and so sorry for the way i have treated you. for the way i have treated your friends. for everything. this has made me realize that you are the most important thing to me in the world and i am going to spend the rest of my life making it up to you and to our child. if you give me a chance, i swear to you that i will be the best man i can be.” rafe cradled your face in his hands

as you looked into his eyes you saw nothing but love and sincerity, and it was what you had been wanting from him for as long as you can remember. seeing him in this moment you know how serious he is and after he literally risked his life to save you, you know that he is the one.

“i love you too, rafe. i want to be a family.” you leaned your forehead against his nudging his nose with yours

“i want that too. more than anything.” rafe said before leaning forward and connecting your lips

in that moment you knew that no matter what came out of this new treasure hunt that you would always have rafe by your side and that your child would grow up with a father. and that’s all you could hope for.

[spencerrsmopbucket]

Tides of Venom (4) | Finnick Odair

Pairing: Finnick Odair x reader.

Summary: You've held to your reputation -- the ruthless killings of two tributes, all on your own. But can you handle the weight of Finnick's words? Do you really understand what's happening?

You moved through the jungle like a ghost, silent and quick, your mind a whirlwind of emotions you couldn’t allow yourself to process yet. It was a dangerous time for hesitation, and you knew better than to dwell. But your hands were still trembling, your body betraying the numb resolve you were trying to maintain.

As the hours dragged on, the adrenaline that had once made everything clear began to dull, replaced by a gnawing feeling deep in your gut. You couldn't tell if it was guilt or the creeping cold of isolation. You tried to focus on your surroundings—the sound of the wind in the trees, the distant calls of birds—but the image of Reid’s wide, pleading eyes kept creeping back into your thoughts.

You set up camp near a small stream, your movements mechanical as you gathered firewood, making sure the flame stayed low. It would be stupid to draw attention to yourself now.

But when the fire flickered, the darkness closed in, and you sat with your back against a tree, the exhaustion finally catching up to you. That’s when it happened again: a memory, unbidden, rising to the surface.

You remembered his face—the way he had looked at you in those last moments, his trust in you so clear. The tenderness of his voice when he said, “Please don’t do this.” It was raw, it was real, and it cut through you like a knife.

Your fingers gripped the edge of your knife, the metal cold against your skin. You hated the way your chest tightened, the way the tear had fallen so easily, like a betrayal of the persona you had built to survive. You weren’t supposed to feel—especially not for someone like him. But the ache in your chest wouldn’t fade.

The question now wasn’t whether you could kill again. It was whether you could keep your emotions in check long enough to survive. You were at the point of breaking down. You didn't know who you were right now, or how you had crumbled so quickly. What happened with Reid broke you. You'd cried. And you hadn't been broken in a long time, not since you were 16.

Matter of fact, you hadn't even cried since after you won your Games. You didn't allow yourself a moment to be emotional. But you couldn't swallow it down now and you were at a moment where it mattered. You wanted to slap yourself, to shake yourself back into the Snake. But you couldn't. This was the worst time possible to be in this condition.

Suddenly, a rustle in the underbrush snapped you out of your reverie, and you reached for your weapon, tense and alert. Someone was close. Someone was watching.

It grows louder, more deliberate now, signaling a presence that’s more than just an animal or another lost tribute. You freeze, every muscle in your body coiled in anticipation.

Your hand tightens around the knife, and you prepare yourself for another fight. But then a voice cuts through the silence, smooth and calm, familiar yet foreign in the context of the games.

“Well, well... what have we here?”

You turn sharply, and there, standing just beyond the flickering light of your campfire, is Finnick Odair. His sea-green eyes gleam with amusement, though there's something shadowed in his expression. The tousled curls of his hair catch the firelight, and the tightness of his jaw hints at something darker beneath the surface of his usual effortless charm.

"Finnick," you breathe, your voice steady but laced with wariness. His reputation precedes him, but there’s more to him than the arena’s deadly darling. He’s been through hell, just like you.

His gaze sweeps over you with a knowing look—assessing, calculating. He spots the bloodstains on your clothes, the wildness in your eyes, and he doesn’t look away. Instead, he takes a step closer, as if drawn to something in you. Maybe it’s the vulnerability you try to hide, or maybe it’s something darker, something he recognizes in himself.

“You’re alone,” he notes, his voice soft, almost as if speaking to himself. “Funny, I thought I’d be the one in that position.”

You don’t respond at first, eyes narrowing. “What do you want, Finnick?”

He smirks, stepping closer still, his presence almost magnetic. “To survive. Same as you.”

His eyes flicker over your face, and for a moment, you see something other than the cocky, untouchable victor. There’s a heaviness in his gaze, an understanding that cuts deeper than most. For just a second, he isn’t the charming, confident tribute you’ve heard about. He’s just a person. A survivor, like you.

“You really did it, huh?” he murmurs, his voice low, a trace of something almost like admiration—or pity—flickering in his eyes. “Took him out. Just like that.”

Your grip on your knife tightens again, but not out of threat—out of something you can't quite name.

“Don't talk about things you don't understand. Why are you here, Finnick?” you ask again, your voice sharper this time, determined not to let him break through whatever shell you’ve built around yourself.

His smile softens, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “You’re not the only one who knows how to survive, sweetheart. Maybe I’m here to offer you a deal.”

You raise an eyebrow, not trusting the glint in his eyes. “What kind of deal?”

He leans forward, just enough to make your heart race. “I don’t need allies. I need distractions. And I think we could help each other out.”

A deal? You remind yourself what you'd said when you were in the tube, floating up to the arena.

Ignore Finnick Odair.

You had never betrayed something you said. You were dead set on any conviction you'd made.

Your face twists into a snarl, a menacing glare in your eyes. "Get lost, Odair. Before I decide to do what we came for."

Finnick takes another step forward, not intimidated by your show of teeth, his eyes scanning you with a strange, unreadable expression. The tension in the air thickens, and you can almost feel the weight of his thoughts pressing against you.

“You know,” he says casually, leaning against a nearby tree, “sometimes the arena feels like just the beginning, doesn’t it?” He doesn’t look at you when he says it, but you feel the subtle weight of his words, as if they’re meant for someone who understands the unspoken language of survivors.

You freeze. The words hang in the air, both an invitation and a warning. “What are you talking about?”

Finnick’s eyes flicker toward you for the briefest moment, his gaze sharp. “I’m talking about how this place isn’t the end of things. Not for people like us.”

You don’t respond immediately, the implication of his words nagging at the edges of your mind. He continues as if nothing significant has been said, his voice smooth and nonchalant. “What happens here—well, it’s only part of the story. The rest... that’s up to those who choose to survive long enough.”

His words are laced with meaning you can’t quite decipher, and yet, they carry an undeniable weight. A shift in the air. A subtle promise.

“There’s always something more,” he adds, his tone light, but his eyes darkening briefly as if a shadow passed over them. “Doesn’t matter if it’s people or something else. Things change. Sometimes faster than we’re ready for.”

You watch him carefully, trying to read between the lines, but Finnick’s expression is guarded, his usual cocky smile replaced by something more somber, more real. The flicker of something in his eyes makes you wonder—had he been involved in something more than just the Games?

“And what do you expect from me?” you ask, your voice hardening, though you can't shake the suspicion gnawing at the back of your mind.

He tilts his head, his lips curling slightly into a half-smile. “Expect? I don’t expect anything. But I’m not blind, either. Survival isn’t just about beating the other tributes. It’s about playing the game the way it’s meant to be played.” His eyes meet yours with an intensity that makes you swallow hard. “If you’re smart, you’ll figure out what the real game is soon enough.”

His words hang in the air like a cryptic riddle, one that carries far more weight than a mere survival instinct. His smile fades into something far more serious, and you can’t help but wonder if there’s more to Finnick’s motives than just survival.

“Just... don’t forget, sweetheart,” he adds, his voice low, almost a whisper now. “Sometimes, the ones who seem like the enemy are just players like you. And sometimes, the real ones you need to watch out for are the ones you can’t see coming.”

You catch the shift in his tone—the subtle warning buried in his words. You don’t know whether he’s talking about the other tributes, or something far more dangerous, far more insidious.

But it’s enough to make your skin crawl. The silence is too. It envelopes you, taunts you with the emotions that were now pouring through your mask, the reality of what you'd done. Everything clashes in your brain and your chest.

The flames cast flickering shadows on your faces, but it’s not enough to hide the turmoil you feel. The jungle around you is quiet, but the silence is suffocating. The weight of Reid’s death is still fresh, his voice echoing in your mind. The image of his pleading eyes won’t fade. You can still hear him, still feel the tremble in his voice, as if he’s begging for mercy, for life.

Your hands tremble as you clutch the knife, the metal cold but grounding in your palm. It’s the only thing that’s been steady in this madness. And yet, it feels like it’s losing its purpose. You could feel the guilt creeping in, curling like smoke around your chest. Was it really the right choice? Was it survival, or was it something else? The line between the two was so blurry now.

You don’t look at Finnick. You can’t. If you do, you might break.

“Don’t,” Finnick says softly, his voice low enough to carry a trace of something unspoken. “Don’t shut me out.” He knows, somehow, that you're not just fighting the Games anymore. You're fighting something inside yourself.

“I didn’t... I didn’t want to,” you murmur, the words slipping out before you can stop them. The admission hangs heavy in the air. “I didn’t want to do it, but I had to.”

His gaze softens, and for a moment, he’s no longer the cocky victor, the charming tribute that everyone has written off as a ‘lost cause.’ His eyes are warm with something you can’t place, and there’s an understanding in them that unsettles you. “I know,” he says quietly. “I know you didn’t.”

The fire crackles between you, and you can feel the rawness in his words. He’s not asking you to explain, and he’s not judging you. He’s just there. And for some reason, that makes it harder to keep your walls up.

“I heard him,” you whisper, voice trembling. “His voice... I heard him begging. I couldn’t stop. I just... I just had to do it. He wouldn’t stop... He wouldn’t stop begging.” Your breath catches in your throat, and for the first time in a long while, you let yourself feel it—the weight of what you’ve done.

Finnick’s expression doesn’t change, but his presence is suddenly much closer. He reaches out slowly, his hand just hovering near your shoulder before he finally lets it land gently. The touch is comforting, solid, as if he’s offering you some kind of anchor.

“You had to,” Finnick says softly. His voice is gentle, but firm, as if he knows what you’re going through better than anyone. “In here, we do what we have to. It’s not about right or wrong anymore. It’s about surviving. And you survived. That’s what matters.”

Your chest tightens, the words too heavy to bear. “I don’t know who I am anymore,” you murmur, the admission slipping out like a secret you’ve kept for too long.

Finnick doesn’t answer immediately. His fingers twitch slightly, but he doesn’t pull away. He just sits with you in the silence, letting it linger between you both.

When he speaks again, his tone is softer, more personal than you expect. “You’re still you. You’re still the person who made the choice to survive. And that’s not something you should be ashamed of. You’re a fighter. You always will be. We all are.”

You glance up at him then, the weight of his words sinking in. His eyes meet yours, and for a second, you see something raw—something far more than the person everyone else knows. You see the person behind the victor’s mask, the one who’s lost so much, and the one who knows what it’s like to be caught between surviving and losing yourself in the process.

“I didn’t mean to... let it change me,” you whisper, your voice breaking. “I didn’t mean to lose myself. I'm strong. I'm a snake.”

Finnick’s hand rests briefly on your shoulder before he withdraws it, but the warmth of his touch lingers. “We all lose a little of ourselves in here. But you haven’t lost everything. You still have a choice. You still have a chance to be something more than just the Games.”

You’re silent, the gravity of his words sinking in. There’s a part of you that wonders if he’s right, or if you’ve already crossed that line, but in that moment, you allow yourself to believe him—just for a second. You cling to the thought that maybe, just maybe, there’s more to your survival than what the arena has forced you to become.

Finnick stands, offering you a hand. “Come on. Let’s keep moving. We’ve still got time.”

His voice is steady, like he’s trying to pull you back into the present, back into the fight. But this time, it feels different. This time, you’re not alone. You look at his hand, hesitant at first, then take it, letting him pull you to your feet. The warmth of his fingers between yours makes you feel things that you don't want to acknowledge. This is the first time you've let someone touch you in years.

And for the first time since the Games began, you feel like maybe, just maybe, there’s a way out of this. You’re still fighting. You’re still here. And that means you’re not done yet.

[s6rine]

a sweet disaster

(megumi bday special!) | main masterlist

pairing : megumi fushiguro x gn!reader synopsis : it's megumi's birthday! what's the best way to celebrate it despite megumi obviously not wanting a party? to entrust nobara and yuji with his cake! tags : fluff i think i have no idea on how to tag stuff, drabble, pre-established relationship AHHHHHHHHHH, writing these tags earlier on but like uhm uhm uhm NOT PROOFREAD!!!!!!!!!!!!!! OFFICER PUT THE GUN DOWN!!!!!! (update: babi lei proofread it what would i do w/o my wonderful beautiful gorgeous queen 💔), i cant write kageyama for SHIZ even tho theyre the same holy cannoli, lower case work intended perchance, yes yuji got beat, its a little lazy gn its 4 am zzzzzzzz word count : 0.4k a/n : happy birthday tpo MY baby 😭💔 i was gonna write for tobio but even tho theyre like the exact same i just cannot but trust one day i'll make up for it...........perchance❓

a/n pt.2 : my vision was something very similar happened last year… like im imagining last year they tried to smash his face into the cake but someone moved it at the cake at the wrong time at his face hit the table instead ykwim

DECEMBER 14, 1:32 PM megumi doesn’t like birthdays.

not because he hates fun or celebrations, but because, in his mind, having a whole day dedicated to yourself feels unnecessary when there are millions of people born on the same day. what’s so special about it? it’s just another date on the calendar. he doesn’t get the hype, and frankly, he doesn’t care to.

and he’s not shy about saying so—even to you.

"you what?" you exclaim, coming to an abrupt halt. "who doesn’t like birthdays? it’s literally the day you were born! it’s supposed to be special!"

megumi lets out a long, tired sigh, rolling his eyes in your direction.

"it’s not special. at least not to me," he mutters. "and celebrating getting one year closer to dying? seems dumb. plus, they never go right. for me at least." his hands bury themselves in his pockets as he keeps walking, not sparing you a glance.

you quickly catch up, narrowing your eyes at him. "that’s the most depressing thing i’ve ever heard! birthdays are about celebrating life, not… getting morbid. you’re alive, you made it another year, and you deserve cake! lots of cake!"

he shrugs, barely reacting. "cake’s too sweet."

you scowl, a spark of playful annoyance lighting in your chest. you shove his shoulder lightly, earning a grunt as he stumbles a step.

"you’re so lame!"

"good to know." he mutters with a sigh.

DECEMBER 22, 4:19 PM "you’re officially banned from picking restaurants." megumi’s voice is flat as he unlocks his dorm room, both of you slipping off your shoes. "that tapioca was awful. undercooked."

you’ve been oddly quiet since leaving, lips pressed tight like you’re holding back laughter. megumi notices immediately, his eyes narrowing as he stops in the entryway.

"what’s so funny?" he deadpans, his gaze flicking to your face and then over his shoulder. it doesn’t take him long to put the pieces together.

he sighs, already defeated. "seriously?" he asks, just as nobara shoves yuji too hard in the kitchen.

it all happens in slow motion—the cake colliding with megumi’s face, the frosting sticking for a moment before it slides down in one messy lump. the room falls silent except for yuji’s grunt as nobara decks him on the back of the head.

megumi stands frozen, wiping frosting from his cheek with a scowl.

“…we should've listened to gojo-sensei when he said cupcakes were… the better option…” nobara mutters, inching backward cautiously.

maybe he was right—birthday parties never seem to work out for megumi. seems like a repeat of last year.

p.s. : a second birthday date made up for it.

© 𝐒𝟔𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐄 | please do not edit, translate or plagiarize my work ! all banners belong to me, please give credits if used !

[astrowarr]

obsessed with your dl analysis. scar hurts himself [to hurt grian] while grian opens up because it sets the precedent, i think. it's his first decision after he discovers (or can't pretend not to know anymore but. y'know. unreliable narrator will unreliably narrate.) that FOR SURE grian is his soulmate and by going and punching the jellie it establishes their dynamic as scar keeping grian hostage in a way? or testing him? considering that he actively weaponizes it later in a soulmate torture for no apparent reason at all, it reads to me as almost punishing. again, all scar has been saying since the start of this season is that he doesn’t need a soulmate, that he doesn’t want to know who he’s bonded to, etc. and grian forces him to acknowledge the bond, keeps on insisting that they base together, that they work together, that they are together because they are soulmates. all the things that scar is averse to. explicitly. now, i don't know what would happen if grian left scar alone before that point or gave up on him after that punch, because we know that grian is incapable of giving up on scar and that universe does not exist, BUT. i think that scar genuinely wanted to be left alone there, "there" meaning the whole season. and after he didn't have that choice - because grian asked him to base together and scar is incapable of denying grian - he wants a little payback? maybe? another thought is that after all of that in scar's eyes grian goes and 'forges his own destiny' with his 'secret soulmate'. his blame can so easily intertwine itself with grian's guilt and they both need to die.

oh im obsessed with this thank you so much for some beautiful scar goodtimes insight... i was definitely also considering the payback theory you mentioned, especially when you think about the fact that prior, grian had Dropped dripstone on his head. and actually, now that I think about it, i feel so much of his behavior might be desperate attempts to attain some sense of control over his circumstances?

i totally agree that the torture was always a form of punishment. i think a big miscommunication between scarian at all points in time is that grian, as a character, holds a lot of agency. he highly prioritizes Choices, and hates relinquishing control. he can't fathom staying anywhere or doing anything he doesn't want to, so what he doesn't understand is that scar isn't like that. when it comes to grian, scar does not care.

he will do literally anything so long as grian stays by his side. like you said, he is physically incapable of denying grian. but on grian's part he cannot even consider that scar is sacrificing anything for him here, because he wouldn't do that. he doesn't think he's ruining any of scar's soulmateless plans because he just fundamentally doesn't understand the power he holds over scar. part of that misunderstanding is definitely by scar's design, who is allergic to letting anyone Know him, especially post last life

it definitely makes sense why scar would be frustrated. a lot of his problems in last life were forged by his choicelessness: his only friend turned red and was forced to cut ties with him, the boogeyman curse continued to alienate him further, it goes on. so here he is in double life, ready to start anew, but then here comes grian his soulmate, asking for his hand. grian, who just by virtue of existing enacts upon scar a specific brand of choicelessness. and now scar is coming to terms with the fact that his feelings for this force of nature of a man have bound him to powerlessness ONCE AGAIN!! FOR THE REST OF HIS LIVES!! and it places him in this gross push-pull where he doesn't want grian but he Also can't help but want him desperately .. and that's how we get his behavior throughout DL. dear God i just love him

[donteattheappleshook]

Not Broken at All Chapter 18/?

Summary:

A season 1 Neverland AU. Emma is still trying to adjust to her new life as Sheriff of Storybrooke and mom to Henry, who still believes everyone in town is a fairytale creature. When she finds a badly beaten, one handed man while patrolling, she’s convinced he’s crazy. He is, after all, rambling about fairies and shadows and crocodiles. But when Henry is suddenly taken out the window of a house everyone believes is haunted, the madman in the hospital might be her only hope of getting her son back. Whether he likes it or not.

Rated E

Catch up on Ao3 (where my italics work) or on Tumblr 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17

Oh hey! What's up everyone?

I know it's been a while (shocking) but it's Solstice today and the muse decided something needed to be posted for this fic in honour of the fairy orgies XD

This was written super fast and not really re-read because it's already 10pm so I'll probably edit it later but I'm giving it to you all now.

Happy Solstice and I hope you enjoy this chapter! <3

********

Part 18

“Doesn’t look so bad,” Will shrugs when they stand outside the mouth of the cave the next morning. Emma and Wendy roll their eyes at the same time. It does look that bad. For a place called Echo Cave she’d had expected something bigger, something louder. But all she can see as they approach is a narrow tunnel in the rockface, no sound escaping from within. So she jumps when Tiger Lily’s voice suddenly comes from within. 

“You’re late.”

“Apologies,” Killian nods. “The forest has changed a fair bit since I last made the journey - it took us longer than anticipated to find the path.” 

“You have a habit of doing that,” Tiger Lily scoffs. “Misinterpreting time.” 

The reply is so quick, and Killian’s sigh so exhausted, that Emma has to hold back a snort of laughter.

“We came as fast as we could.”

“Come then, let’s not delay any further. The others have gathered.” 

“Who are the others?” Emma asks Hook quietly as they follow.

“The eldest of those who were here before Pan. They were barely more than children when it happened, but They have some memory of how things were.” 

“I thought you said they’d forgotten all their magic.” 

“We did not forget,” Tiger Lily snaps from the entrance. Emma watches as the faint, gold dusting of magic that covers their skin, the only light in the otherwise pitch black cave shimmers and slides over their arm, cascading like water down through their fingers  that they trail along the  rocky wall, leaving flecks of sparking, gold dust in their wake.  “It was taken from us. Through slaughter and cruelty. When the children who were left behind grew enough to become a threat to Pan, we were forced to lock away what little we remembered or meet the same fate.” 

Every time she thinks it can’t get worse, it does. The massacre of Tiger Lily’s people and the destruction of their history, the torture and killing of the Lorelei, the horror of the murder of those boys on the beach. There’s no end it seems to Pan’s cruelty, to his thirst for blood. 

Emma reaches for the shimmering of light that remains along the wall, glittering and moving with the flow of the rough surface. It glows brighter beneath her touch and something swells from deep within her, rushing to meet it, warm and electrifying, before she yanks her hand back and stumbles the rest of the way though. 

The walk is long, this cave buried deep in darkness and stardust. She’s not sure she even hears it at first, a small whisper of a voice from far away, the words too quiet to make out, but repeating. As they continue along and a dim light starts to appear in the distance, they grow louder. It’s a child’s voice, rolling against the walls of the cave - wish I’d never come here… just want to go home. Just want to go home. Just want to go home….

She feels Killian’s hand on the small of her back and realizes she’s stopped walking. “It’s alright, love. It’s just an echo. The last secret that was shared here.” She still hesitates, not wanting to get any closer to the haunting voice. “Whoever they were, they’re not here anymore.”

“His name was Ruffio,” Will says, nearly as quiet as the first echo. “He’s been gone a long time.” He only meets her eye for a moment before clearing his throat and continuing as though he hadn’t said anything. She can’t blame him. She knows by now that nobody in Neverland ever goes home. “Come on - we’ve got secrets to spill.” 

The light ahead grows until finally they emerge into a massive cavern. The stone that surrounds them black onyx - gleaming faintly against the dust that covers the ceiling like a galaxy above them. The space feels boundless, endless like the darkness could go on forever and she’s reminded of their flight here, of the endless sea of stars they’d sailed in on. 

There are four people standing in the center of the chamber on a platform of the same black onyx, all of them with the same sharp, androgynous features as Tiger Lily, all with the same loose-fitting clothes and cropped hair, and all with that same shimmer of living magic glowing faintly in the dark. Tink stands with them, waiting. None of them are any older in appearance than herself, but she knows better by now than to judge age or power by appearance on this island. 

The Constant. 

They follow the rest of the way to the narrow, stone bridge that connects the ledge to the platform on which the others stand. When Emma takes a step to follow Tiger Lily onto the bridge, Killian puts an arm out, halting her in her tracks. Emma watches, heart in her throat as the bridge crumbles after Tiger Lily, stone falling away behind every step until they reach the end and there’s no bridge at all. 

“The Constant keep no secrets,” Killian explains. “The cave can’t compel anything from them. We, on the other hand…” 

“Of course they don’t.” No wonder they wanted to use this place. Easy to make others share their deepest darkest secrets when you’ve got none of your own to divulge and nothing to risk. “What about Tink?” she asks, nodding at the fifth person standing with the Constant.

“The fey have wings.” 

Right. “So how does this work?” 

“From what I remember, you step out onto the edge and call out your secret. If it’s truly your darkest, the cave will echo it back to you.”

“And then we get across?” 

“Aye, easy as that,” Killian attempts a smile, but it comes out as a wince. “I’ll go,” he offers though he looks like he’s dreading this as much as she is. She’s just thankful she doesn’t have to start.  He lets out another sigh, bracing himself and then, “I kissed Emma.” 

Fuck. Her heart drops into her stomach. He’s been a pirate for two hundred years - How the hell can his darkest secret have anything to do with her?

Will smirks. “Kissed? Is that what they’re calling it these days? And I think you’re forgetting that we were all there when she jumped you at Solstice.” His smirk deepens. “And when Emma came back all wet.” If Emma could reach him she’d smack him. 

“I literally walked in on you,” Wendy deadpans.

“I’m not talking about Solstice,” he sighs, not rising to the bait. “It was…” She knows when it was. We’ll keep each other safe, they’d promised. She doesn’t need everyone else to know though. Not when she’s not even sure what any of it meant or what it means now. “It doesn’t matter,” Killian shakes his head. “It was what the kiss - what all of it - exposed.” Fuck. fuck. fuck. fuck. “My secret is… I never believed that I’d be capable of letting go of my first love, of my Milah.” He breathes her name like a prayer and a wound. “To believe that I could find someone else.” His eyes lift to hers and it’s only by sheer force of will that she’s able to stop herself from taking a step back, from running away from the way he’s looking at her. Because she needs to hear this. They all do. If she wants to get across this fucking bridge, if she wants to talk to the fucking Constant, if she wants to get her son back - she needs to hear this secret as much as he needs to tell it. “That is, until I met you.”

She doesn’t know what to say or if she’s supposed to say something, can’t bring herself to look at Wendy or Will or look away from his eyes still burning into hers. And then before she even can do anything, Killian’s voice echoes through the cave, ‘until I met you’ called back to them like a ghost. A rumble follows as a section of the fallen bridge rises back from the depths below them, rock by rock, rebuilding itself. 

Killian lets out a humourless laugh. “So, who’d like to go next?” 

“I will.” Wendy stands with her shoulders straight, like she’s ready for a fight rather than a confession. Emma gets a sinking feeling in her stomach from the way she’s making herself look at Killian, with shame and guilt. He doesn’t look surprised - he looks like he expected this to hurt. “Sometimes… Sometimes I wish you’d never found me. Sometimes I wish you had just kept on walking that day when Pan left me to die.” She winces. “I’ll always be grateful to you for saving my life, for taking me in but…” 

Killian nods when she hesitates, her eyes damp with unshed tears. “Go on, it’s alright.”  

“You trapped me here, Hook. You’re the reason I have to live in this neverending nightmare. Forever. You knew what that water would do to me and I know you couldn’t ask but… you didn’t give me a choice. And I think that if I had one now - if I could have had a say in the next hundred years of my life… I’d rather you’d just let me die because this -” she gestures at herself, at everything around them.  “It’s worse than death. And because of you I’ll never leave.” She lets out a bitter laugh. “I can’t even die if I want to. Not unless Pan decides that’s what he wants. You forced this life on me, Killian, you cursed me to live because it made you feel better and I don’t… I’ll never forgive you for that.” 

Tears stain her cheeks now, jaw tight as she refuses to let any more follow and Emma can see the heartbreak on Killian’s face. “Wendy…” but she shakes her head and he stops the step he’d taken towards her. 

“I’m sorry,” she chokes and he shakes his head this time. Her secret echoes around them like a taunt this time - ‘never forgive you for that’ - and another piece of the bridge rebuilds itself. The silence hangs between them, louder than any echo, until Will steps up. 

“I suppose I should go next - while we’re on the topic of never being forgiven.” He takes his own steadying breath. “I’m dying.” 

Wendy’s face falls. “... what?” It comes out cracked and small and frightened. “What do you mean you’re dying?”

The look Will gives her - there’s so much guilt there, so much pain and self-loathing and love. Emma may not know much about it but she can recognize it now in his eyes, in the way he looks at Wendy. “I lied when I told you I didn’t know what Pan did to my heart. I’ve seen him do it before.”

“One hundred years…”

Will nods, a self-deprecating smile falling flat. “I really hoped that I could keep it from you for a little longer. Neverland will slow it down but… he squeezed a hundred years from my heart. I’ll start aging faster - a lot faster - and pretty soon…”

“How long?” He hesitates a beat longer than Emma can handle - and Wendy… gods, she can’t imagine. “How long?”

“I’ll be dead in a few months - three, maybe four depending on how long I would have lived if I’d aged like a normal person but - I’m so sorry, Wen. I didn’t want to tell you, I -”

Whatever he was going to say and whatever she might have answered  is stolen by the cave calling back to them in Will’s voice, ‘dead in a few months’. Nobody looks as the bridge puts itself back together, all of them too focused on the cruel revelation. He did it for her, Emma realises, for all of them but… he’s dying because of her. Wendy’s losing him because of her. Even Killian looks solemn at the news. 

“Your turn, Emma,” Will chokes out with the palest attempt at levity she’s seen him manage since she met him. “Wouldn’t want to be left out of all the fun, would you?”

She looks out towards the chasm between them and the Constant. She doesn’t even know what she expected to confess, or what she’d hear confessed by those with her, and now, with the truth of Will’s fate hanging in the air, nothing feels like it matters in the grand scheme of things. 

What even is her deepest secret? That she gave up Henry? That she had her heart broken by a selfish man who used her and then left her? That she spent a year of her life in jail? That she’s spent her whole life searching for the parents who left her behind? That between Neal and her parents she doesn’t think she could ever trust someone again - could ever let herself love someone again, or let them love her… That she might be anyway? None of it feels like enough; none of it even feels like a secret anymore, not since Henry found her and brought her to Storybrooke. 

And then, like bile and sick, she feels something being forced up from her throat, words clawing their way to the surface and past her lips of their own volition. She can’t stop them. She doesn’t even know what she’s going to say until they come spilling out. 

“I wish Henry had never come to find me. I wish he’d never brought me to Storybrooke.” The confession leaves her gasping, tears in her eyes as though she had been sick. She wants to be, hearing such a horrible truth being spoken out loud. Killian looks at her with sympathy, but she turns away from it. And once it’s started, she can’t stop it. “I never wanted to be a mother. I gave him away because I knew he’d be better off without me - but also because I knew I’d be better off without him. He’s a beautiful, amazing kid and I love him more than anything… but I never asked for this. Every day since he showed up at my door I’ve been terrified - every minute of every day. Those few minutes in the Fae forest when I couldn’t remember him were the most peaceful I’ve felt in months and when it all came flooding back it just reminded me of how much simpler my life was before I had to be anything to anyone. I don’t want to lose him. But I never wanted to find him either.” 

The bridge rebuilds itself, completing the path across as the worst thing she’s ever said, ‘never wanted to find him’,  is echoed back to her cruelly. She feels drained, numb, and she wonders if the others are feeling this horrible emptiness too. She looks out at where the Constant wait. If this is their idea of having them prove their allegiance, they better be ready to give theirs in return.

“Come on, Swan,” Killian tells her, leading her across the bridge. None of them say a word, Will and Killian both casting glances at Wendy who won’t look up from her feet, and the silence follows them the whole way across. 

“That sounded rough,” Tink comments when they reach the platform, the five Constant talking in harsh whispers in a language she doesn’t recognize. 

“How lucky of you to have missed it then,” Will snips. He must be feeling worse than Emma realized.

There’s an argument starting, still in that foreign language, but she can tell just the same. Every few words there’s a glimpse of something that feels familiar, a syllable from another language she’s heard, a word that could be French or Spanish, a glimpse of English, not one language but many - like every language spoken at once.

“This meeting has been a topic of some controversy,” Killian whispers. “But I think Tiger Lily might be on our side.” 

“You can understand them?” 

He shrugs. “One picks up a few things after two centuries.”

There’s a small scoff from Tink. “Yeah, all that pillow talk was really educational.”

Killian ignores the quip. “They’re the keepers of the last of the forgotten history of the old Neverland.” He nods at each as he names them. “That’s Philodendron, Halcyon, Alder, Jacaranda, and you know Tiger Lily.

“Tiger Lily is one of them?” 

“Tiger Lily was the oldest Constant to survive the massacre. They were just shy of a century when Pan took over.”

“A century?”

“The Constant are eternal, love. A century is nothing.” 

The Constant have gone silent, a tense, begrudging conclusion to their argument that Emma can feel even if she doesn’t know the words. 

Finally, Tiger Lily speaks. “Tinkerbell tells us you wish to unearth the secrets of the island - secrets that were buried to keep us safe.”

“Secrets that could return the island to the way it once was if you ally with us against Pan,” Killian counters. 

“If our knowledge could have defeated the boy,” Alder interjects, “we would have done so a millenia ago when he first laid waste to this island.” 

“Maybe your knowledge alone couldn’t defeat him, but we have the Lorelei on our side, and the fae,” Wendy adds, gesturing at Tink. 

Alder scoffs. “You have one fairy. One who’s been without magic for almost five hundred years, who’s magic was corrupted by the very demon you seek to destroy. Our magic was born from the innocence and dreams of children, the purest light magic there is, and even it was snuffed out by Pan’s darkness. What chance have you with a weakened fairy and the duplicitous sirens?” 

“We have more than that,” Tink interjects, bitterness and insult obvious in the bite of her words. “We have her.” It takes Emma a moment to realize that she’s the one being gestured at and now every set of eyes is on her. 

“Me?” 

“Her?” Wendy frowns. 

“You can’t honestly tell me you haven’t noticed. She practically reeks of magic. It’s spilling out of every pore. I clocked it as soon as she got here.” 

“I don’t have magic.” The Constant continue to stare, questioning, doubting. “I don’t. Don’t you think if I did I’d have used it by now to get Henry back?” 

“Not if you weren’t aware of it, love,” Killian offers gently.

“Okay but I’m not some fairytale character; I’m from Boston - the land without magic. I don’t have any power.” 

“Oh for…” Tink swears under her breath, crossing the room and grabbing Emma’s wrist. Faster than she can stop her, the fairy pulls a small blade from the complicated twist of pins and leather that keeps her mass of blonde hair piled on top of her head, ivory handle embellished with gold runes, and slashes it across Emma’s palm. 

“Ow! What the hell!” Emma shouts, yanking her hand away. That fucking hurt. Tinkerbelle doesn’t resist, the rest of their small crew moving to intervene, but all at once, they freeze. Emma follows their gazes to her hand, clutched tightly in a fist to her chest and her breath catches. There’s light seeping through the cracks in her fingers, golden and swirling like smoke, shimmering like the magic that flows over the Constant’s skin. 

Jacaranda reaches a hand out to her, palm upturned in a request and Emma looks to the others before carefully placing her hand in theirs. Carefully, the Constant unfurls her fingers, examining the light that shines from her wound with a careful touch. Their eyes go wide. “This is our magic,” they say, voice soft and tinged with awe. “Ours and… something else.” 

“May I?” Philodendron asks, extending their own hand. Emma nods, even as the urge to refuse shouts at her. You don’t have magic. You’re not magic. You’re a goddamn bail bonds person from Boston, not a fairytale character. Philodendron looks at her after taking a moment to examine the wound themselves. “This is light magic,” they confirm. “It’s raw and untapped but powerful, more powerful than anything I’ve seen since before Pan’s time.” They twist her hand a bit, trying to look closer, to read something in whatever they see that Emma can’t. “But this isn’t born of belief and dreams as ours is, it's the product of something else… of -”

“True love,” Emma breathes out, so low she doesn’t mean for anyone to hear it. Henry had said that hadn’t he? That she was supposed to be the daughter of Snow White and Prince Charming, that she was supposed to be the Saviour. 

“Yes, that’s it,” Philodendron nods slowly. “You were right, Tinkerbelle. This is more powerful magic than we anticipated.” 

“Can you use it?” Emma asks, still not believing it really, but if it means they’ll help her get her kid back, she doesn’t care what she has to do. 

“That depends,” Halcyon takes a step forward. “Can you wield it?” 

“No, I…” she doesn’t even know how this is possible. 

“I can.” They all turn to Tink, Emma cradling her hand to her chest once more. “If you tell me what we need to do, I can guide her. But you’ll have to let me.” The last bit is directed at her and she hesitates… Tink hasn’t exactly made a secret of the fact that she’s not a fan of hers, and she just slashed her damn hand open… Trust already isn’t her strong suit to begin with. “I’m not going to steal it,” Tink snaps and looks genuinely offended and Emma remembers that she knows what it is to have her power taken from her. 

“I know you won’t. I just… what if it doesn’t work?” How powerful could this magic be? She’s not anything special, she never has been. Why would this be any different? 

“Then I guess you don’t get your kid back.” 

“Tink,” Killian warns but Emma can’t help but appreciate the fairy’s bluntness. 

“What do we need to do?” 

“This cavern, ” TigerLily starts, taking a knee and placing a hand reverently on the stone, “used to be a sacred place. It held all of the secrets of Neverland, and the dreams of children who visited - the purest and most honest of truths of all - fueled the island as it did our magic. This was its source - the source of everything. 

“But then Pan tainted this cave with his twisted version of secrets as power, as something to be wielded, and forced us to sacrifice the last of the light magic that still breathed life into Neverland, the cavern shielded itself from his darkness. Now it echoes truths rather than accept ones taken maliciously. This place… has seen nothing but darkness for centuries. It has not been sleeping, but fighting, the last of the resistance against Pan right under his nose, keeping the darkness at bay and it has hardened. We need to remind it what the light looks like.” 

“It can have mine. Whatever this is. If it can help and if this place can defeat Pan it can have all of it.” 

Tiger Lily smiles kindly. “Not all of it. It would never snuff out your light. But even the slightest kindling can spark an inferno and with it you can breathe magic back into the island.” 

“How?” 

They nod to Tink who retrieves her knife again, slashing her own palm this time, the light that glows from her wound a shimmering green, and holds her hand out to Emma. Heat burns across her skin when she takes Tink’s offered hand, the light between them growing, shining and mixing. Tink places her other hand on Tiger Lily’s shoulder and the Constant flattens both their palms against the stone beneath them. After a moment, they look to Emma and she knows she’s doing it wrong. She’s not doing anything but she’s doing it wrong. 

“I’m sorry.”

Tiger Lily shakes their head, their smile not malicious, but understanding. 

“I have met so many lost boys and girls on this island. So many broken, hardened children lead here by fear and hurt and neglect, so afraid to trust, to love, to admit or even accept what they want, what they desire more than anything - what has been robbed of them. This place is born of dreams and truths and you, dear Swan, strong Swan, brave Swan… frightened Swan, have locked yourself away from both.” 

“But I already told this place my darkest secret.” But she doesn’t need Tiger Lily to tell her - this place echoes darkness, resists darkness. That secret was Pan’s magic - not Neverland’s. 

“What do you dream of, Emma? What truths do you keep from yourself?” Emma opens her mouth to speak but Tiger Lily holds up a hand. “Do not tell them to me. Tell them to the lost girl. Unburden her.” 

What does she dream of? Things she can’t have, things she’s never had, things that were taken away. She wants to find her parents, that’s no secret though, she’s always known that. She wants them to have never given her up in the first place. She wanted a family, the one she could have had with Henry and Neal if he hadn’t turned out to be the vile person he was, the life that she’d had just a glimpse of after one missed period, before everything went to shit. She doesn’t want that anymore. She hasn’t let herself want any of it since then, not love, not family, not hope… 

Her skin begins to warm, something flaring beneath the surface. Liar. She doesn’t know if it’s the cave or herself or her magic but it echoes through her like her secret against the walls. Tiger Lily accused her of locking herself away from her dreams, from her truths, but can they even still be truths if they’ve been silenced and stomped down for decades? 

She thinks of the lost girl she was, abandoned, a runaway on the street, burning the last of her childhood, of stupid fairytales and stories to keep warm in a world that was only ever cold. What had that girl wanted? Powerless, lost, alone. That girl who felt like nothing, who meant nothing to anyone, who had never mattered and never would, who had only herself to take care of her. She wanted to matter - to someone, to herself, she wanted people to matter to her, to be able to let them. She didn’t want to be alone anymore. Even as she pushed away every foster parent, every friend, every lover as she grew older, she didn’t want - she doesn’t want - to have to do it alone. 

That’s what she dreams of, what she refuses to admit that she dreams of. That for all of her rightly earned distrust of everyone, for all of her caution and her fear of abandonment, of love and hope, she wants to be able to let them in, let them matter. She wants to believe that she could have that happily ever after that she’s scorned all her life. 

Images flash in her mind as the heat builds, her body tingling, a faint glimmer of light shining against her shut eyelids. Henry smiling in her doorway in Boston, Mary Margaret offering her a home, Killian bringing her to Neverland, Wendy helping her hide from Pan, Will sacrificing himself for her, Killian nearly sacrificing Milah’s name - sacrificing his memories, all of them banding together to help her save her kid, even Tink now, helping her to wield magic she doesn’t understand. 

She’s not alone. She’s not in this alone. For the first time in her life she has people she can count on. People she can trust. She thinks of the smile Henry gave her when she let him know she wasn’t going to leave Storybrooke even though she could, of Mary Margaret’s pep talks, of shared hot chocolate and drinks and advice in their apartment, of Killian in that dank brig after one of the worst hours of her life - perhaps I would - of his words whispered in the quiet darkness of his cabin - I’m here. You don’t have to ask - of his confession echoing around them - until I met you. She does matter to people. She’s not nothing. She was never nothing. She matters and she has people who matter to her. 

Her whole body alights, the blood in her veins not blood anymore but something else, something powerful and she can feel it surging beneath her skin, pulled by a force as it rushes through her and towards that opening in her palm. The white of her light overtakes the green and Tink’s body jerks like the surge of magic is as jarring to her as it is for Emma. Tiger Lily gasps, the ground beneath them starting to glow, tendrils of golden light snaking towards them across the stone like rivulets. Their body starts to shimmer, the dusting of gold shining brighter until their skin is swallowed by it completely. 

Emma can feel sweat beading on her skin, the salt mixing with the tears she hadn’t realized she’d been crying. She doesn’t know how much longer she can keep this up, the power coursing through her overwhelming. Tink’s hand is shaking in hers, both their palms damp and slippery and white knuckled and she can’t imagine how much more effort the fairy is putting in as the one actually channeling all of this. 

“There’s so much,” Tiger Lily says in awe. “We’ve forgotten so much.” Their eyes are glowing with the same gold that covers their skin, their mouth pulling into a smile even as tears roll down their cheeks. 

“I can’t -” Tink starts, but doesn’t let Emma release her hand when she tries to stop.

There’s another moment, the light engulfing the Constant almost completely, so bright Emma has to look away, before finally, suddenly, it stops. The three of them slump against the ground with a gasp of exhaustion. Emma doesn’t even turn when she feels hands on her shoulders, helping her to sit up, she knows it’s him. Wendy is at Tink’s side helping to support her as well as the Constant circle around Tiger Lily, all of them holding one another in a moment that feels beautiful and private as joy and heartbreak play over their faces. 

“Can you. Stop him?” Tink pants out. 

“I… I think so. There’s just - there’s so much. I need time to sort through it all.” 

“We don’t. Have. Time.”

“All of the secrets of Neverland, millennia’s worth, have just been poured into my mind. It will take me more than a few minutes to understand it all and find what will help us.” 

“How much time?” Emma asks. Henry’s already been here too long - too long without knowing that she’s here, that she’s coming for him. 

“I don’t… give me a few nights at least. Come back in three days. That should give me time to make sense of what is needed at least.” Their eyes are far away, like they’re not seeing the cavern around them but something far bigger and far more extraordinary.  

Emma nods. “Three days?” 

“Three days. And then we’ll rid this island of its false king forever.”

***********

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[kingkatsuki]

[sunmoontruth-stiles]

I need a completely rewritten teen wolf series with Derek Hale as the main character. I think it would heal me.

[donnatroyyyy]

Batman has/had some kind of miscommunication going on with every single one of his kids. The bat family is just one big miscommunication trope after the other.

[joonieskinks]

simon ghost riley is sometimes a little blunt (warning: smut)

You adore him for who he is, but it still unnerves you with just how blunt he can be at times.

It usually happens privately with just you:

“In about 5 minutes, I’m gonna eat you out.” He says as you are in the middle of The Goblet of Fire on the couch. You almost choked on your popcorn.

Or you’re doing laundry in the morning. “We need pineapple juice next time we’re out, want you to enjoy swallowing next time you’re suckin me off.” Jaw dropped.

He does it in front of the team too- and sometimes it’s even worse:

You accidentally dropped your lip balm onto the bar floor while fishing it out of your purse and bend to pick it up.

“Haven’t seen that angle in a while, dove. It’s been too long since we done doggy.”

It’s a never-ending series of eyebrow raises when Simon decides to open up his mouth and you’re around, needless to say. You brunt all of the embarrassment and the deep blushes, Simon couldn’t give a shit. He didn’t even clock it when John, Johnny and Kyle would all give him shocked looks. Man just owns it. Completely unbothered.

“Youre wearin the skirt you wear when you wanna get fucked. That your goal?”

“Simon!” You hiss, you can feel the red hot heat rush to your face.

But he just stares back at you, waiting for your response. You can hardly believe how composed he is when his Captain is right there glaring at him.

“So?”

“I need another beer.” John excuses himself, he can’t even look you in the eyes right now. Kyle joins him shortly after making a run for it, but you’re left with a quiet Johnny patiently waiting for you to respond. Eager, almost. Joy.

“You can’t just say things like that in public, especially not in front of your friends!” You lecture, pulling down your skirt in the process.

“Why? If you wanted to fuck, you could’ve just said so, love. Give me 2 to down this pint and I’ll meet you in the toilets, yeah?”

“Simon!” You smack his thigh.

“Can I watch?” Johnny asks excitedly.

“No!-“ “Fine.”

Johnny’s face lights up while yours gives Simon a death stare.

“Do you want it or not?” You roll your eyes and throw your purse over your shoulder.

“You two are ridiculous.” And they watch you walk away.

Simon only shrugs, pounding back his beer before coming after you. Doesn’t make a difference to him if he fucks you here and now or at home and later.

“… so is that a no?” Johnny asks with puppy eyes.

[genderdog]

chat is it normal to feel completely desensitized to feeling constantly sick that when you’re actually sick you feel like it’s not enough to warrant it

[sttoru]

Omg could we see reader getting jealous of Sukuna having sec with his other concubines? And maybe liek the other concubine rubs it in readers face?

 𝝑𝑒 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒. true form!sukuna x concubine!female reader. angst (no comfort), suggestive \\ smut aspects. size difference. one tiny mention of reader being a crybaby. reader gets called ‘little one, brat’ \\ kuna’s an asshole! not proofread, excuse the grammar. no part 2. wc: 3.3k

you’ve been away from the estate for three days; three days too long for the king of curses. so much had happened while you were away to take some well deserved rest—a small vacation that sukuna had granted you because you needed it.

perhaps that was his first mistake. giving you permission to leave his side ended up being a bad decision. he hates that faint feeling in his chest, the feeling of missing something.

missing someone.

it couldn’t be. sukuna doesn’t have any weaknesses, and yet he can feel his body reacting to that unfamiliar emotion again. all because of you— that one human who always succeeds to occupy his mind.

he couldn’t let himself succumb to it—he’s not going to. sukuna is not going to let a mere human like you deter him from his superior identity that he’s had for decennia. he’s not going to let you have that power over him and his body.

and thus, when you return to the estate, you find yourself being laughed at. you were unpacking your luggage when two concubines stand at your doorway, hiding their evil smiles behind their handheld fans.

they don’t waste a single second and immediately rush to ruin your carefree mood.

“you know, you shouldn’t have returned at all,” the brunette giggles, her laugh sounding like nails scraping against a chalkboard. she looks to the other woman next to her before glancing back at you, “i mean—heh—lord sukuna definitely didn’t seem to mind your absence.”

you figure it’s just another way to get you riled up, so you do your best to ignore them. you put your packed kimonos in your wardrobe as your back faces the two.

yumi, the second concubine, nods along. she knows what she’s about to reveal will get on your nerves. and deserved, if you ask her. they had successfully caught the attention of their king while you were away. for the first time in a good while since your arrival in the estate.

the fact that they managed to spend quality time with sukuna again, is a wonderful first step to your downfall. one that will surely crumble your confidence as his so-called ‘favorite’.

“mhm,” yumi grins as she recalls the memories of her time with sukuna. time spent together that you were unaware of, “lord sukuna definitely didn’t seem to mind your absence when he had me in his bed last night.”

you freeze.

your brows furrow and the corners of your lips twitch. you don’t know if you should believe them—they could’ve lied about it for all you know. although, the voice in the back of your head had already rang the alarms.

guessing by the way they were dying to talk to you the second you came back - which never happens - you realise that they’re probably telling the truth. they’re only telling the truth to agitate you. it’s so painfully obvious, and yet so. . . hurtful.

“what?”

you don’t recall when you’ve choked up. you feel a lump in your throat. it shouldn’t even be there. you promised yourself to not get attached to a monster like sukuna.

so what if he went to bed with his other concubines?

but of course he’ll get pleasure from his other women when you aren’t around. he doesn’t feel any love, he sees it as worthless, so why did you expect him to not indulge himself? he still has his other concubines around for a reason.

you really shouldn’t be surprised by this revelation.

“what do you mean ‘what?’ - you heard me,” yumi shrugs, that cocky smirk still on her face. she’s clearly enjoying your reaction to everything she’s revealing. all the two concubines wanted to get out of this encounter with you, is to break that delusion of yours.

the delusional thought that you’re special to the king of curses—the delusion that sukuna considers you as something more than a toy to emotionally manipulate and play with until he’s tired of you.

“my lord spent all night with me in his chambers until the sun rose,” yumi continues without an ounce of shame. she bites her lip as she remembers the way sukuna had her body positioned on his large bed. for her, it was a dream come true.

though for you, it’s a living nightmare. even if you try to deny the fact that it physically and mentally hurts. there’s a painful twist at your heart—reminding you of the truth.

the truth being that you had truly thought that sukuna wasn’t really a monster of a man. you thought he was a different, more softer person around you.

you should’ve listened to the servants when they told you to not get tricked by sukuna’s special treatment, that he could easily manipulate you and make you do and act as he pleases.

“do you want me to explain it in detail?” yumi crosses her arms over her chest as she looks down at you with a menacing glare. both of the concubines are loving that face you’re making. that face of defeat that you’re attempting to hide from them, “how he held me and pleasured me until i—”

“enough,” you cut them off with your hands clenched into fists. you don’t want to hear another word. you’re already feeling awful; already, not even an hour into your return. you can never catch a break.

you have an urge to throw things around. you already feel stupid, and if you decide to throw a fit, you bet that you’d feel even dumber. you truly do not know why you’re getting this worked up about it.

maybe it’s because of the special treatment. the delusional thoughts you have about your relationship with sukuna. you really thought that you two had something special. an unofficial romantic relationship, perhaps, or something that resembles it.

a secret, unspoken deal where you’re promised his loyalty in exchange for your body and soul.

although, those dreams have been shattered this very instance. you’re once again reminded of the animalistic nature of the being called ryomen sukuna.

he told you clearly that he’d never tie himself to someone, a human no less. devotion to one person? why would he.

“out of the way.”

you push the brunette and her sidekick the other way. you’re going to confront the man yourself. or at least, you’ll try to. you can hear their sick laughs and chuckles fade into the background as you stomp your way towards sukuna’s chambers.

the other concubines seem to have gotten the gist. some peek their heads out of their rooms, grinning at you in victory. seeing your confidence slowly crumble and the realisation kick in - the realisation that your dear lord’s special treatment means absolutely nothing - is a sight for sore eyes to them.

you enter sukuna’s room and close the heavy doors behind you. you swallow the lump down your throat and try your best to look presentable.

no tears, you promise yourself. you’re not going to waste them on something like this.

“oh, it’s you, little one,” the familiar voice calls out. sukuna’s low and husky voice rings from his bed. he’s laid back against the many silky pillows, blowing smoke from his kiseru. he lays there like he doesn’t care about your reappearance at all.

he eyes you up and down, “how was your vacation, hm?”

sukuna asks like it’s the most normal thing to do. it seems like he’s trying to catch up with you, to ask you how you’ve been enjoying your time alone, though it also seems like he couldn’t care less at the same time.

“just absolutely fine, my lord,” you reply with gritted teeth and an obvious hint of sarcasm. there’s also a bitterness to your tone that doesn’t go unnoticed by the pink-haired man. he frowns—this cold greeting is not what he expected nor what he wanted to hear from your mouth. he expected you to at least smile at him like you usually do, but you didn’t.

on top of that, you seemed to be annoyed with him. that unexpected attitude of yours made something inside of him snap. it irritated him somehow; the fact that you’re so comfortable talking to him like that . . . it reminded him of the recent inner conflict he had which you were the cause of.

one of his hands tightens into a fist at his side. his jaw clenches and his eyes narrow into slits. you’re physically in front of him, which means that he’s also about to experience those complicated feelings again. the same ones he tried fleeing from by letting you go on a break, and by physically taking his mind off you.

he did the latter by taking his frustrations out on his other women. the stress that came with the thought of him possibly liking a human, relieved by pure animalistic sex.

that’s exactly what you’re upset about.

there’s an urge inside of sukuna to act normal. to ignore those difficult emotions and just treat you like he usually does. yet, another part of him is trying to protect his sense of superiority by trying to push you away.

there’s a war going on in his mind as he tries to calm himself down. you’ve always had this effect on him and it’s becoming unbearable. he has to show you, no - remind you, that you’re nothing to him. you mean nothing—nothing at all.

he’s the king of curses, you’re but a human. he’ll need to remind himself of that obvious statement as well. he’s got all the power in this situation. not you.

you cannot rule over him or his mind.

“you dare come back with an attitude? tch,” sukuna scoffs, nearly breaking the kiseru with his fingers as they squeeze around the solid material. he’s turning off whatever emotion present in his body. that doesn’t belong there anyway. he won’t care if you cry—he won’t care at all.

you notice the sudden change in sukuna’s tone as well. you’re sure you’re the reason for it. perhaps you crossed a boundary with how sassily you replied to him when he was simply asking you how your vacation went.

“my apologies,” you murmur with a sigh. you try to avoid getting on sukuna’s nerves any further, yet when you remember the words from the concubine, how she implied that sukuna had given her the best night of her life when you were away, you get mad again.

your eyes have a fiery look in them. you don’t want to get worked up. you don’t have the right to. you were warned from the very beginning to not get attached to an asshole like ryomen sukuna.

you’re to blame for feeling like this. it could’ve been prevented if you just weren’t so weak. if you just stayed away from him.

“did you have fun while i was away, my lord?” you continue, your voice shaking a little. you need the confirmation. you’re sure sukuna knows what you’re referring to by now, especially because of the way you’re acting out of character.

the king of curses raises a brow at your question. you sound even angrier, even more pissed off. he tilts his head after taking a deep inhale of the tobacco from his kiseru. he tries to figure out what you’re hinting at, “what are you—”

and that’s when everything fell into place. the dots connect.

sukuna’s jaw clenches. he realises that you’ve found out about him receiving services from his other concubines while you were away. there could be no other explanation behind your sudden attitude. besides, he knows how his other concubines could be. they must have told you the moment you came back.

normally, he’d say that it’s none of your business. what he does is up to him—he does not care about the consequences of his actions. though, seeing the slight hurt in your eyes, mixed with sadness and disappointment stirred something inside of him. he brushes that feeling away and stares at you intently, awaiting another comment. perhaps you’d cuss him out or bawl your eyes out in front of him.

either way, he promises himself that he won’t care.

sukuna is the king of curses. feeling bad for a human like you would only further tarnish his image, that image of superiority and power he has.

he’s a man of many needs. you should’ve kept that in mind when you left him. he wanted to keep you with him—to hold you down and refuse to let you leave—but that would be another sign of weakness. one sukuna could not manage to show.

when you departed, he was irritated by the fact that he had no one to turn to with his needs. from simple needs like wanting your company to sexual needs like craving your body.

keeping you by his side or letting you go; both decisions seem to clash. either way, there’s one thing he’s sure of, as much as he doesn’t want to admit it: he missed you.

sukuna can’t believe that he can feel an emotion like that. he can’t accept that fact. that’s why his irrational mind took over—his dark urges that strived to prove himself to still be the same old ryomen sukuna. the monster that did not need a single soul. the ruthless man that did not depend on anyone else, especially not a human. a woman like you.

he thought he’d forget all about you if he’s surrounded himself with other women. but, he was quick to be proven wrong, and that only caused to enrage him more and more.

every time sukuna fucked a concubine, his thoughts still manage to drift away to you. to how he wished that it was you he was holding.

nothing hit the same with the other women and that frustrated him. he’d keep them around in his room after he fucked their brains out, something he never allowed a woman to do except for you, yet kicked them out again after a few minutes.

it doesn’t hit the same.

you’re just different. your presence is soothing and calming to the chaotic soul of the pink-haired man. no one else could compare. that realisation made him feel inferior; a feeling he loathes.

sukuna’s red eyes glow. he hates seeing you look so defeated, but he cannot give in. if he tells you the truth, he’ll admit his weakness. he’ll admit that a human like you has completely taken over his brain. that’s no good.

if he doesn’t tell you the truth, he’ll save face. he’ll feel like himself again. his old self—the cold ruthless monster that he was before he met you. one without a soft spot for a human.

it’s an active dilemma that’s running through his mind as he slowly blows out another cloud of smoke. you cannot guess what’s going on behind those intimidating eyes staring you down.

sukuna tilts his head back and scratches his neck, smacking his lips as he makes his decision.

“yeah, i did. i had lots of fun.”

the words sting. they hurt you and make your heart ache in a way that makes you physically weak. you should’ve expected that answer. your shoulders tense up and your fingers curl around the material of your kimono—feeling a sense of anger and betrayal.

you can see a ghost of a smirk on sukuna’s lips, which only reminds you of his nature. his nature as an independent, aloof and cold man who likes to play with his prey. a natural disaster that knows no emotion, that shows no mercy to anyone.

you’re naive for thinking that you could be the exception. all of those times with sukuna were confirmed to be but a lie in that moment. as your gazes meet, you can now easily interpret what that look in those red eyes meant.

‘know your place,’

that’s what it means. you’re foolish, dumb. you take a deep breath to compose yourself after you’ve been made out to be a total fool. you should’ve listened to those warnings, you should’ve known that you were getting played.

this is exactly what sukuna desired to achieve. to build up your trust, to make you comfortable enough with him, to think you’re special and that he won’t need any other woman other than you — just to shatter your pathetic delusions when the time comes.

“tsk tsk. no need to look at me like that,” sukuna scoffs, a mocking laugh leaving his lips. he can hear a small voice in the back of his head telling him to shut up and let you go, to not make it worse, but who is he to listen to that irrelevant thought? he can decide for himself.

“y’ weren’t around, so the other concubines simply did their job by serving me,” he stares the other way, seemingly not interested by your presence anymore. his face is as expressionless as ever, “what do y’ think i keep them ‘round for, brat? for decoration purposes? hah, nah.”

another loud mocking laugh makes you nearly burst out in tears. you don’t know if it’s in anger or sadness. you take a deep, shaky breath for the last time. you unclench your fists and nod, accepting the reality check you’d just gotten.

it’s a slap to the face, but it helped you get out of your delusions. the delusions that sukuna is a man capable of loving someone, even if it is just for a tiny bit. this visit confirmed that there’s not an ounce of love or appreciation in that man’s body.

“i’m glad you had fun, my lord,” you answer after a bit of silence. you bow at sukuna in an attempt to stay polite while struggling with that inner turmoil. you don’t even glance up at him anymore. you need another break already.

sukuna isn’t dumb. you may think that you’re good at hiding your emotions, but you’re not. at least not around the king of curses. he’s spent enough time around you to realise that you’re going through a lot right now.

he’s the reason for it, yet he cannot bring himself to feel an ounce of empathy. he just looks at you with a blank stare, thinking that this is for the best.

“good night then,” you add and turn around to walk out of sukuna’s room. your steps are slow as you secretly hope to be called back, like sukuna would do every time you’d leave his room after an intimate night. you just want him to tell you that this was a test of some sort—a cruel joke.

you want to feel like his favorite again. you don’t want to be thrown away like this. you don’t want to be on the same level as all the other concubines. you want to stand out to him.

unfortunately, you don’t hear sukuna’s voice anymore. he lets you walk away without a care in the world. the heavy doors of his chambers close behind you and you feel your knees buckle. “fuck,” you cuss to yourself and clench your chest.

you lean back against the closed doors and try to regain your composure. crying can be done when you’re in your room—not in the hallway where anyone could catch you. you don’t want to give the other concubines more reason to bully you.

you drag your feet across the wooden flooring. all those times with sukuna, all those slight glimpses of his soft side that only you’re allowed to see— all of that is thrown into the trash.

you really shouldn’t have gotten so attached to him on an emotional level.

meanwhile, sukuna is silently sitting on his bed, thinking back to what just happened. he usually never doubts his decisions, but this is an exception. why couldn’t he just tell you the truth?

his mouth had moved before he could let his mind process all that he was feeling. a small part of him regrets it, though strangely, he couldn’t feel any real sympathy for your situation.

sukuna drapes an arm over his eyes, clicking his tongue at himself. he just wants to let the situation go, though his brain isn’t letting him to. the image of you standing at the edge of his bed, clearly hurt by his actions, flashes through his mind again.

he sighs. he’s sure that he’s going to forget about you soon enough. he needed an excuse to get rid of you for the sake of regaining control over his own being and he took the chance. he should be glad that he did—it meant that he’d be his usual self—with no weaknesses to look out for.

sukuna blows out another cloud of smoke through his mouth. as much as he’s proud of himself for not giving in to you, he can’t help but let his thoughts wander again. you’re probably crying in your room. he knows you’re sensitive. you would always cry about the smallest of things and he’d hold you (feigning reluctance) until you’ve calmed down.

he can’t do that now.

well, he can, but he won’t. sukuna has made his decision today: it’s power and status over you. that’s what it’s always been. you were but a toy he used to get a stronger grip on himself.

perhaps he simply is what people make him out to be; a monster. nothing more, nothing less.

[ceilidho]

Buttermilk

It doesn't take long to settle into the rhythm of your new summer job. Or: the babysitter x single dad au

Part 4 | masterlist

-

There’s nothing else to do but pretend it didn’t happen. 

In the morning, you’re surprised to wake up and find him in the bed next to you, still covered in old sweat and dried cum. You suppose even in your sleep you’d unconsciously expected him to avoid the incident altogether—wake up extra early to shower while leaving you alone in the bed, giving you a modicum of privacy to digest the situation and its repercussions on your own.

He does no such thing.

“Morning, sweetheart,” John rumbles, stroking your cheek with his thumb. “Feeling alright?”

Dangling precariously over the edge of oblivion. Some kind of abyss. The kind that says you might not like what’s down here, girlie, but still you sit by the edge and kick your feet. 

“Yeah,” you croak, and Lord, your voice is hoarse. Scratchy and rough, like it’s been dragged over sandpaper. 

“Good.” He lets his hand rest on the curve of your cheek for a second before pulling it away. “Why don’t you get cleaned up? I’ll shower after.”

The bed groans under his weight when he sits up, throwing his legs over the side before rising to his feet. You quickly avert your eyes at the sight of his naked backside, hairy there as well. A bear all over. Even his yawn reminds you of one. And the way that he stretches his arms overhead and every bone in his upper body cricks and cracks, the sounds of age manifold. 

You scrub yourself with shaky hands in the shower, gnawing at your bottom lip when you spread your puffy folds to find his cum still slightly tacky inside of you. Very bad. Scooping as much out as you can with your fingers, watching it run down the drain. Very bad indeed. 

John has breakfast on the table when you come downstairs and it seems, somehow, uncouth to just tell him you want to go home. So instead you force yourself to sit and eat, glad that he at least agrees that it isn’t the time for conversation. 

At the door, he sees you off with a hug, watching you from the door until you reverse out of his driveway and drive off, waving as you leave. 

“This is really bad,” you whisper to yourself on the drive home. “Really, really bad.”

Despite the morning after, the night you spent together is never explicitly spoken about. It’s not a ‘thing’ you discuss by any means. No sit down conversation, no awkward allusions to it, no talking around and around the events until the exchange becomes unbearable. It simply blips out of existence as soon as you change into your old clothes and John walks you to the door, seeing you out. 

You still show up the next day, as usual. Nothing’s changed except everything, but it feels taboo to even mention that things feel different. 

The world hasn’t radically changed since you accidentally slept with John, but it certainly feels that way sometimes. In the few delicate hours after leaving his house, you were sure he’d call at any moment to tell you that your services would no longer be required—that he’d send your last check in the mail before parting ways. So sure of that, in fact, that you’d put your phone on silent for hours before mustering up the courage to check your missed calls later that evening.

Only a few texts from friends. No missed calls from your employer. 

He doesn’t fire you. He certainly doesn’t treat you any differently the next time you come to babysit. You still get paid every week—though, admittedly, the money makes you feel a little weird now after sleeping with him, but it’s not like you can just turn your nose up at making rent—and everything else in your life stays exactly the same. If you weren’t now acutely aware of the feeling of your boss coming inside you, you might even think you dreamt it up. 

Still, despite John never bringing it up or even alluding to sleeping with you, there’s still a sense that he—

The soft, affectionate thanks, hun that he gives you when you bring him a glass of water on the rare day he comes home early to work out in the garage makes you shiver. 

His need to touch increases tenfold, matched only by his proprietariness. He must feel like after what you did together, it’s nothing for him to squeeze your thighs when he tells you that you did a good job with the baby or hug you extra tight when you’re about to leave. 

If you’re extra shy around him, he doesn’t remark on it. 

You’re levelheaded enough to know that he shouldn’t be so touchy with his younger female employee—his babysitter no less—especially after what happened, but it’s not as though he treats you like sleeping with you is a given. When a week goes by and nothing happens, you almost relax. Almost. Enough to let your guard down. 

But—

You can’t stop thinking about it though. It runs through your head every hour of every day, made worse by the fact that you see him six days a week, Sundays excluded. Sundays being your one day off, which you no longer look forward to but rather dread because Sundays mean no baby, no park, and no John Price.

So, you follow his lead and pretend like it didn’t happen. 

You think it’s past you; a terrible mistake that’ll never happen again until it happens again. 

Eight o’clock at night and the blue light from the television has begun to strain your eyes. Baby sleeping upstairs—you put him down a few hours earlier without much of a peep; had to check on him a few times, but otherwise the baby monitor sitting on the end table hasn’t so much as crackled, leaving you no choice but to doze off on the couch. 

When the door opens, it startles you awake. 

“Mr. Price?�� you ask, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes and clearing your throat.

John’s there when you twist around to peek over the back of the couch, filling out the door frame. Dishevelled after a long day’s work, his beard even more grown out than when he left earlier in the morning. A bit rougher around the edges, the day leaving its mark in the slight dark circles under his eyes and the set of his jaw, which only relaxes when he lays eyes on you. 

“Just me, sweetheart.”

“Sorry, I…the baby’s been asleep for awhile, so I just thought I’d—”

“It’s fine, don’t worry. I know you’ve got it under control.”

“Let me just get my stuff and I’ll be out of your hair—”

He cuts you off with a wave, toeing his boots off at the same time. “No, no, no—you stay there and finish your movie. I’m gonna grab a drink and join you.”

There’s not much more you can say to that. Instead, you watch him take his bag upstairs to put away in the bedroom before you hear the sink turn on. Running water. 

You carefully avoid looking at him when John comes back downstairs, the creaking steps signalling his descent. He heads to the kitchen without stopping by the living room first. The light switches on with a click. The fridge door opens and bottles clinking together when he roots around for something to drink. 

And then you hear him make his way back to the living room. 

The unspoken pact to not bring up what happened the last time you spent any alone time together imbues you with a false sense of security. Part of you expects him to take the single recliner next to the couch, if only to put some distance between the two of you. 

Except when he comes back into the living room, he plops right down in the middle of the couch like always, close enough to you that you’re forced to scoot away, pressed up against the arm of the sofa. You shiver when he cracks open his beer and takes a swig, resting his arm on the back of the couch with the can held in a loose grip. 

“What’re we watching?” he asks, blatantly adjusting himself to get more comfortable on the couch. Even soft, the outline of his cock is visible through his trousers. 

You stare over at him nervously, unblinking. 

“Sweetheart?” John prompts when you don’t answer. 

“Oh, um…” You clear your throat again. “It’s just a Hallmark movie.”

“Cute. Well, we can keep it on. No sense changing it now.”

It’s tense for a little while. You keep your hands folded in your lap like a good girl and your eyes on the television. So you can’t stop inhaling the heady scent of tobacco and vanilla. So you can’t stop blinking your eyes, each blink heavier than the last until they spend more time shut than open. So you yawn and burrow deeper into the cushions, your head tipping back and nearly jarring you awake when you lean too far and topple over the side. 

When you lean the other way and start to doze off on his shoulder, he pulls you onto his lap. You squirm, initially resistant, but he shushes you before you can put up a fuss. 

“Just don’t want you to drool on my shirt,” he teases in a low murmur, smoothing a hand down your side and then it’s lights out for you. 

You wake to a blunt intrusion at your entrance. Half-awake and squirming, you vaguely feel him rub the tip of his cock up and down your pussy, teasing himself. The second you squirm just a little too much, he uses that little bit of movement to push the tip in. It pops in without much resistance; then the slow, methodical press inward, your walls squeezing around the thick length thrusting up into you. 

“Wha—” you whimper, keening when a big hand glides up your chest to squeeze a tit, rolling your nipple between his fingers.

“S’alright, baby, it’s just me,” John murmurs, his voice right in your ear. 

You come to gradually and then all at once, aware of your back pressed to his clothed chest and your legs spread around his, your ankles hooked around his calves. Skirt rolled up and panties pushed to the side, one of his arms locked around your waist like a seatbelt to hold you in place. 

“John, I’m—we c-can’t do it again—”

“Sorry, honey,” he apologises into your neck, kissing the area he just spoke into. “Had to be inside you again. S’all I’ve been able to think about since you came on my cock the other night. Promise it’ll be easier this time, okay, baby?”

He guides you down his length until he bottoms out, slick lips kissing the base of his dick. The pressure is overwhelming; in your belly, in your throat, in your head. Heart beating a million miles a minute. Walls throbbing around his length, thicker and heavier than you remembered. 

All you can think of now is the last time he had you like this, legs spread for him and pussy dripping wet. Taking his cock all sleepy and sweaty under his giant comforter, whimpering into his neck. 

It’s not as frantic this time, no rush to the finish line. He seems to like just burying his cock in you while he plays with your breasts, pinching and plucking your nipples until they’re pebbled and sore. His hands aren’t particularly soft either, callused from years of hard labour. When you whine and try to push his hands away, he shushes you again, not paying your protests any mind. 

“Fuck, these are pretty,” John praises, staring down at your tits from over your shoulder. “No, baby, jus’ watch your show. M’gonna use your pussy for a bit, okay?”

It’s just that it’s—

When he lets go of your breast to play with your clit instead, you melt, any resistance going up in flames. The heat fans over your cheeks, your eyelids too heavy to lift, vision blurring even when you try to focus. 

He helps you grind your hips down on him, big hands like manacles on your waist. Little undulations of your hips. Short, shallow thrusts that keep you both right on the edge, drenching his lap with your juices. When he gets bored of playing with your clit, he switches back to your breasts, pawing at them and then bending down to suck a nipple into his mouth. 

Any time you get distracted by what he’s doing, he stops, holding you down on his cock and coaxing you to focus on the television in front of you instead. 

When he jiggles your clit, you seize up, heart hammering in your throat. 

“Good girl, c’mon—jus’ like that.” John presses a hot kiss to your temple, arm tightening around your front to keep you close. Sweet talks you through your orgasm, all vaguely paternalistic and patronising in the best and worst way.  

He makes you lean forward so he can bounce you on his dick after, your hands braced on his knees to keep yourself upright. 

“Ah, ah, ah, ah—”

“Almost there, honey, jus’—fuck, perfect, yeah, tighten up like that. Good fuckin’ girl.”

He comes with a strangled moan, still cognizant enough to keep the volume down even if you can’t. Shuttles you down onto his cock a few more times until you’re filled to the brim with cum. 

In the aftermath, he sits you back against his sweat-matted chest and pushes his cum back into your sore cunt with his fingers when it dribbles out. Ignores your wounded little sounds like they’re just background noise. He even makes you suck his fingers to clean them up, the digits coated in your combined juices. 

“Best fuckin’ girl,” John growls, pressing another kiss to the side of your head. Your fingers twitch feebly in your lap. 

Pretending like it didn’t happen after the second time around doesn’t seem wise, but still you don’t know how to broach the subject. 

Especially since you know it’s going to happen again. 

John doesn’t say it outright, but his actions speak for themselves. An arm looped around your waist casually in line for coffee. Paying for the two of you in any situation, you having your own source of income be damned. 

“It’s my money anyway, sweetheart,” he says when you point that out. “Might as well just pay now.”

And doesn’t that just send you into a tizzy, head spinning and mouth agape. Embarrassingly so. 

Not to mention you still have this strange, sycophantic need to please him, even after everything. The complicated nature of your relationship aside, it still makes your heart flutter to hear him praise you for anything. 

That’s how you end up in his bed on a Saturday afternoon, taking a nap with him after a long day out in the sun. Two hours spent at the botanical gardens, the sun beating down on your head, lathering sunscreen on the baby’s sensitive little arms and legs, and swiping it over his cheeks. John sporting a mild sunburn near the collar of his shirt where he forgot to apply sunscreen and when you have the audacity to giggle, he pulls your baseball hat down over your eyes. 

It’s almost too easy for him to coax you into his bed, even though you’re adamant about keeping it clean. A hand firm on your back up the stairs. Already yawning when you put the baby down for a nap, so why not take one too? Ushering you into the bedroom when you say you can take the couch, but why, he presses, take the couch when you’ve already shared the bed before?

Well, because the last time—

He draws the blinds shut and climbs into bed, pulling you into his chest. 

You wake up to John plastered against your back, bare cock nudging against your cunt while he snores into your neck. You don’t remember him curling up next to you without any clothes on, but he must have taken off his pants in his sleep, now somewhere rumpled at the end of the bed. 

When you try to quietly pull away, his arms just tighten around you more, grumbling in his sleep. The sound makes you freeze, going quiet as a mouse. A few more minutes go by before you feel confident enough to try moving again, carefully trying to slide out from his hold. 

You wiggle a hand out, reaching for the other end of the bed.

The hand resting on your belly dips low, shoved between your legs and feeling you up before you can do more than gasp. The man behind you gives a short exhale, shaking off the last vestiges of sleep, rising out of it like a wave now that he feels something wet under his hand.

“Oh, honey…why didn’t you tell me you needed my cock again? You’re leaking right through your panties,” John rasps, dragging your underwear down to mid-thigh. 

A big bear hand clamps over your mouth before you have a chance to protest. There’s nothing you can do to keep his knee from spreading your legs and feeding his cock into your drenched centre with his other hand. As soon as he notches the head against your entrance, it’s a smooth glide in. 

“There we go,” he pants into your neck. “Big stretch—ah, yeah, nice ‘n tight. That’s my pretty girl.”

He keeps your legs spread with a hand on the inside of your thigh. All you can do is moan behind his hand, humid breath blowing back around your face as you pant. So hot for it that you’re almost nauseous. 

You’re a bit too tight for him to fit his cock in you, so he has to work to stretch you out, bullying another inch into you with every thrust. The angle makes it tricky though; means he can’t get more than half of his cock into you. It’s hardly comfortable for you either, your leg already cramping. 

“My leg’s got a cramp,” you whine, unsure of what you want to happen. All you know is that you can’t keep this up. 

He readjusts his grip, but that just makes you hiss, wincing when that makes your leg twinge. Suddenly the world spins, the pillows going from comfortably under your head to right in your face, John manoeuvring you onto your tummy and hiking your hips up a few inches. It lets him get even deeper, the angle letting him slide right to the hilt. 

“Oh god, oh god—John, I can’t—”

“Shh—you’re alright, honey. Much better like this,” he breathes, settling on top of you. It takes him a second to get comfortable, nudging right up against a sensitive spot inside of you the whole time, so deep you can almost feel him in your throat. 

He weighs a ton on top of you, rutting between your thighs like he can’t hold himself back, his self-control snapping like brittle glass. Bristly beard chafing your neck when he buries his head to suck on the tender skin there, smothering you under his weight. Thighs trapping you in place, your memory jumping back to that time at the beach, but now there’s nothing between you. Just a thick cock pounding into you and moulding you around its shape.  

His hips slap against your ass with every thrust, the lewdest sound you’ve ever heard. 

“Gonna make sure it takes this time,” John grunts. “Wanna take care of my baby so bad? I’ll give you a couple to mind.”

That rattles you right to your core; shakes you to the foundations of who you are. You don’t know what to think, what to say—tongue tied and loose lipped all at once. You’ve let him come inside of you so many times that if it hasn’t taken already, surely it will soon. 

It slips out before you can take it back. “D-daddy, please—” 

That makes him lose his mind. Just a bit. 

“Fuck,” he snarls. “Again.”

He wedges his arm under you to curl his hand around your throat, tilting your head out. 

“Daddy—daddy—please, I wanna come—” you pant, repeating the same word until it sounds like nothing, tongue puffy in your mouth. 

His dick slips out at some point and he wrenches himself off you long enough to wrap his hand around himself and slap it against your ass a few times, cum tagging your skin. Your breath catches in your throat, whining when you clench down on nothing. One stroke after repositioning himself and he’s all the way back in, hammering the spot that makes you go cross-eyed and squeak. 

“Make daddy another baby, okay, sweetheart?” It’s not sweet. It’s not doting. It’s growled into your ear like a demand, punctuated by the way his hips snap forward, nearly sending you into the headboard. 

You’re practically an old hat at taking his cum now, squeezing up when you can feel it coming and giving him a nice little treat. He sinks his teeth into the back of your neck when he does, muffling the sound roaring out of him, and it hurts. 

He’s tender with you after though. Lavishes the line of your neck with soft kisses; murmurs sweet nothings into your ear while you cry fat tears onto the pillow. Even twists and turns so you’re no longer on your back but rather splayed across his chest again, urging you up for a deeper kiss with tongue. 

“‘Know you’re tired, sweetie, but this is for your own good,” John murmurs as he wedges a hard thigh between your legs and makes you ride it, grinding your sensitive, throbbing clit down on the muscle. “Can you come, baby? Jus’ like that—that’s good, baby—”

It hurts so good that you don’t even notice when you squirt, the emotions too big for you. It’s like being squeezed too tight, unable to catch your breath or say anything but the same word on a loop. John’s sweet about it though—wipes the sweat from your hairline and upper lip, talking you through it until you slump down on his chest, legs akimbo.   

For a bachelor, you think in a daze, he’d make a good husband.

The days grow colder and the sun sets earlier.

A while ago you thought maybe this babysitting gig would be temporary. That at some point you’d move on—maybe go back to school or apply for a more standard nine-to-five job. That’s how the trajectory of your life was supposed to go, you think. 

But the timing never seems right. Maybe you’ve grown too attached to the baby or maybe the pay is just too good to give up or maybe you’ve just become habituated to someone getting you off at least every other day. Still, it feels a bit weird to get paid for what essentially boils down to fucking a man and taking care of his baby. 

It comes up when you’re sitting out on the porch with him again, this time in his lap in the same adirondack chair, a blanket wrapped around you to keep you warm. John laces his fingers through yours, thumb stroking over your finger, burning a line into the skin.

“Doesn’t it make you feel weird to pay me for…” you say, trailing off with a cocked eyebrow. Surely he must catch your drift. 

He chuckles. You wait for the joke.

Your eyes must be big as moons staring up at him. 

“Don’t think of it as a paycheck, sweetheart. That’s your allowance.”

You sink your teeth into your bottom lip and swallow. 

“Okay,” you whisper. Then let him reel you back in for another kiss, his thumb resting over your ring finger and pressing.