#it has only been a few months since I have drawn him but it feels as if hundreds of years have passed

[chiropteracupola]

visual reminder to maybe go over to @sawbones-showdown and cast your vote for the coolest parmesan-carrying, wounded-at-Fontenoy, no-nonsense-taken doctor that robert louis stevenson ever wrote

[buckiverse]

Missing You Always

based on the steal a moment phone call!!

☆--- paring: sylus x reader

☆--- summary: Your marriage to Sylus has been a challenging one because of your long distant status. Sylus is determined to remind you that distance can't diminish what you share. He reassures not only your mind but also your body, reminding you why you're meant for each other.

☆--- word count: 4.5k

☆--- warnings: mdni, slight angst, there's comfort don't worry, soft!dom sylus, you take a bath together, oral sex, fingering, doggy, back shots, bit of background story, sylus is an eater ok..., (he eats your cum), size kink if you squint, no protection is used (wrap it before you tap it)

☆--- a/n: i had to get this one out quick because rafayel is quickly taking over my brain ngl.

Just a couple of months before, you married Sylus. He has certainly lived up to (and well beyond) your expectations. While he is the perfect loving husband, your current situation is less than favorable. You knew what you agreed to in this marriage, and you knew the first few years would be difficult, but it did not stop you from feeling a pang in your chest when you arrived home, and your lovely husband was not there because, well, he is still in the N109 Zone. 

You walked into the front door of your shared home with Sylus, but then again, was it? He is never here during the week. You had both discussed it plenty in the early stages of your relationship, but that did not make the adjustment any easier now that you had moved back to Linkon. Being a hunter was difficult for you, mind, body, and spirit. 

Despite your feelings, you fought to hold on until the weekend. You knew Sylus was coming home to you soon. After work tomorrow, you would go home, and your lover would be waiting for you. That thought made you smile. 

You strolled into your home through the grand entryway, maneuvering through it to find the living area. Walking through the arch, you looked above your head to see the chandelier suspended above the coffee table. Turning your head, you observed the ceiling-to-floor windows, admiring the sunset. 

Your imagination took over, the thought of walking in tomorrow, noticing the lit fireplace, candles throughout the room, and the signature scent of vanilla being carried throughout the room. You’d know without a doubt that he was home. Your gaze would be drawn to the kitchen where Sylus would be standing. Maybe he got a gift for you, he usually does, something that reminded him of you during your signature five days apart.

“I miss him,” you said aloud reluctantly. A sigh escaped your lips, and your hands covered your eyes, leaving you feeling the somber silence around you.

A few beats of silence were interrupted by Sylus’s signature ringtone. Pulling you from your mind, you shifted quickly, searching for your phone. Making your way to your work bag, you pull the phone out of the front pocket before swiping “accept” on Sylus’s phone call. 

Sylus: "You have no idea how much I’ve missed this—just hearing your voice, sweetie. It’s been way too long. Feels like forever since I’ve had you all to myself." You: "I know, baby. I’ve missed you too. Every night, I go to bed wishing you were here." Sylus: "Soon, though. Tomorrow, it’s all about us. You and me, finally. I’ve been counting down the days." You: "Me too. I remember the last time we were together…our little movie night… I loved it so much." Sylus: "Yeah? Well, tomorrow, I plan to make it even better. We’ve got catching up, and I’m not just talking about our dinner date, sweetie. I’ve been thinking about you non-stop. I miss touching you, holding you… just being with you." You: "I can’t wait. I’ve been thinking about it all week. Just the thought of being with you makes everything feel right." Sylus: "Good. Because tomorrow, the second I walk through that door, I’m not letting you go. No distractions, no interruptions, just you and me. How’s that sound?" You: "Sounds perfect. I’ve been dying to just… be with you again. Really be with you." Sylus: "Good. ‘Cause I plan to remind you how much I’ve missed you in every way."

☆---

"Hey, Sy! Are you almost here yet?" Your voice carried a hint of strain as you focused on dinner preparations. You had cubed some steak, and the hot grease sizzled and popped back at you while you basted the meat with a rich butter-garlic mixture, ensuring each piece absorbed the flavorful glaze.

“Yes, Kitten. I should be there in a few minutes, but check the door; there's a gift for you outside.”

“Oh! Okay, I didn't know. I’ll go look.” You disconnected the call with Sylus and went to the front door of your house. You saw an absurdly large box waiting for you as you opened the door. You maneuvered the box inside, wanting to open it. You grabbed your knife, tearing through the tape on the top. Once opened, you saw the little white note inside waiting for you. 

“For our date.” The simple cursive of the letter made you raise an eyebrow till you bent down and opened the box. You found face masks, bath bombs, moisturizers, oils, candles, and anything you could have desired.

“Ah, so he planned a self-care night. How cute!” Then you heard the door creak open, causing you to turn around. You dropped the items swiftly back in the box, overwhelmed with emotion.  

“I’m home, my love,” he said sweetly. A large smile instantly plastered your face at the sight of him, and you ran into his arms. You could admit that while you were growing used to your hyper-independence, you missed him. His scent, his touch, his presence. How your days to weeks apart made your heart grow fonder was amazing.

You ran to him, jumping in his arms. He caught you quickly as you gave him a tight hug. “I missed you,” you whispered into his ear, pressing soft kisses to his ear lobe. He shuddered at the feeling of your kiss, his eyes falling closed. You pulled your head back to look into his eyes. The heat of your soft kisses ran through him as he opened his eyes to meet yours. He placed his forehead flush against yours, a smile appearing on his face. His hands tightened his hold on you. 

“Oh, sweetie, you don’t want to know how much I wished I could come to you this past week,” Sylus said, his eyes dropping to your lips. Holding you with just one arm, his right hand caressed your face. Your face flushed a bit. The look in his eyes said even more than his words. His thumb brushed your bottom lip, “I missed this,” he said, kissing you languidly, almost like you were frozen in time. “And this,” his hand moved, tilting your chin upwards and to the side, pressing a taught kiss to your jaw. “This,” he tilted his head and kissed your neck slowly, starting where your jaw meets your neck, down to where your collarbone begins, before his teeth found your skin, nibbling on it gently. 

A rough breath came from your lips. The feeling of his lips and teeth on you always felt amazing. “Sylusss, let’s finish dinner. I smell it burning,” you said, smelling the cube steak slowly turning into burnt steak.  

He kissed you once more and nibbled on the skin by your collarbone. “Okay, we wouldn’t want dinner to burn now, would we?” he laughed, placing you on your feet. You turned around and made your way to the kitchen, still feeling flustered by how he kissed you moments ago. 

Sylus followed closely behind, his presence warm and comforting. You carefully plated the meal—tender, butter-basted (slightly burnt) steak cubes, roasted vegetables, and creamy mashed potatoes. The rich aroma filled the kitchen, the perfect mix of savory and satisfying.

"Smells amazing, sweetie," Sylus murmured as he leaned against the counter, watching you with that familiar, teasing grin.

You handed him his plate, the warmth of the food almost matching the heat between you two. Together, you carried the plates to the couch, where the night would begin. The soft lighting in your house casts a cozy glow, setting the perfect mood for the evening ahead.

"Dinner and a show?" he teased, settling beside you, his eyes lingering on yours.

You laughed softly. "Something like that. Let’s just say… we won’t leave this couch for a while."

Sylus raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. "I like the sound of that."

You both dug into the meal, the flavors rich and comforting, but the real excitement lingered between each bite, the anticipation building for the rest of the date.

The movie you chose to accompany your dinner was a sad romantic comedy. It may not have been the best choice because now you are trying to keep tears from falling from your eyes. You wanted to enjoy your time with Sylus, not cry over nothing.

But you couldn’t help yourself. The movie discusses a couple struggling to navigate their careers. They got pulled in different directions and did not end up together… It was eerie; it was too reminiscent of your current insecurities.

You turned your head, looking at Sylus, who was already turned towards you. His brows furrowed in concern. “What’s going on in that pretty little mind of yours, hmm?” he said, bringing his hand to rest on your cheek as he slowly stroked your face. 

His tenderness and compassion for you were mind-blowing. His never-ending patience was world-shattering. A tear fell from your eye, wetting his hand. “Is this going to work? I don’t want to end up like them, Sylus.” You finally met his fierce eyes, forcing yourself to hold contact as you shared your insecurity with him.

“Listen, this isn’t forever. It's hard now, but it is temporary. I will make sure of that, " he said, his voice strained at the sight of your tears. He pulled you forward to hug him, and his embrace instantly comforted you. “I promise,” he whispered into your ear, placing the softest kiss on your earlobe. 

You pulled back ever so slightly to look him in the eyes. “I trust you, Sylus,” you said, sniffling and wiping your face. He smiled at you slightly, and your admission meant much more to him than you’d ever know. 

“Let’s continue our date. I found those face masks you’ve been texting me,” he offered. “I saw! Where’d you even find those,” you exclaimed and lightly hit his chest. You both laughed together, feeling a bit lighter now.

You shifted to your shared bathroom, which had quite an industrial feel. The walls were covered with deep blue tiles, and the floor was a patterned blue tile, which beautifully complemented the gold and brown accents throughout the room. Walking on your bare feet, the tiles felt cold under your feet, chilling your whole body and giving you goosebumps. 

Sylus followed behind you closely. The brown box rested in his large hands as he placed it on the wide granite counter. He unpacked the box, pulling out the candles, face masks, oils/lotions, and bath items. 

You walked behind him, grabbing the candles and placing them around the large bathroom. The scent of a sweet candle promptly filled the air, spreading through the room. You turned off the warm lights, allowing the candles to be your light source. 

Further setting your space for the date, you turned on some smooth jazz—something you and Sylus would appreciate. Playing instruments was not an easy feat, as you would know after your multiple failed attempts at playing the piano. 

Walking back into the bathroom connected to your primary suite, you saw that Sylus had begun to draw bath water for you two. His hand was wading in and out of the water, monitoring the temperature. You just watched as he worked. He had fresh roses in a plastic bag on the floor next to him. He picked them up, removing the petals. The red roses filled the white bathtub, some resting atop the beautiful bubble bath he made for you two.

“Do you need help getting ready for the bath?” He said suddenly, turning his head to look at you, a slight grin on your face.

“I could use some help,” you said playfully, a pout forming on your cocked head. 

Sylus stopped the bath water and was now ready for you two to share. He made his way over to you and stood tall before you. You lifted your arms, and he moved to lift your t-shirt above your head, tossing it somewhere in the bedroom, leaving you in a lacy black bra. You watched his eyes shift downward to your chest before looking you in the eyes. He laughed a bit, knowing you caught him looking.

“Your turn, Sy,” you said.

“Whatever you say, Sweetie,” he replied playfully. He lifted his arms above his head, knowing damn well he was too tall for you to pull the shirt above his head. So, instead, he moved to his knees, making it easier for you. You reached down, pulling his casual shirt over his head, leaving him shirtless, on his knees for you. Your eyes widened a bit at the sight. You’d never get over this.

“Now, these must go,” Sylus said. He was hooking his large fingers into the waistband of your black leggings and panties. He pulled them down slowly, leaving you in just a bra before him. “Always so beautiful for me,” he said, desire filled his eyes. 

He reluctantly stood to his feet, standing at full height as he moved to unclasp your bra. “May I?” He whispered tenderly against the shell of your ear. 

“Of course, baby,” you said softly. You heard the click of the bra behind you, your breasts falling as they left the support of the bra. 

Sylus stepped back, looking over your nude body. 

You flushed at his gaze, lifting your arms to cover your body. “The bath is getting cold,” you said, suddenly feeling shy in front of your husband.

“Let’s get in, sweetie,” Sylus said with a grin, swiftly slipping off his sweatpants and briefs. He lowered himself into the bath, the water rippling as he settled in, leaving space for you to join him.

You stepped into the hot bath, the warmth enveloping your legs as the water sloshed with your added weight. Steadying your hands on the tub's edge, you guided yourself in, sinking fully until your back rested against Sylus’s broad chest. The hot water worked wonders on your tense muscles, soothing the stress from both your bodies.

The demands of your careers, the physical toll of your work as a hunter, and the mental strain of being apart all faded away at this moment. This was exactly what you both needed: to be close and together.

Closing your eyes, you leaned your head to the side, resting it on Sylus’s strong bicep. You lost yourself in the feeling of him, ignoring the soft glow of candles and the distant music. None of it mattered as much as the sensation of his body against yours. You could feel the rise and fall of his chest, the hard lines of his abs, the strength in his thighs. Your fingers traced the vein from his bicep to his forearm, grounding you in the moment.

The warmth of his skin against yours was everything—comforting, intimate. You were both aware of his cock pressed against your ass, but for now, you both ignored it, savoring the quiet closeness. In this shared silence, nothing else mattered.

The warmth of the bath pulled you into a sense of calm, but the steady rise and fall of Sylus’s chest beneath you stirred something more. You could not ignore how his hands started to drift, one moving slowly up your arm, the other settling on your waist, his finger tracing gentle circles on your skin. A quiet hum of satisfaction escaped your lips as you shifted slightly, pressing your back more firmly against him.

“You feel incredible, sweetie,” Sylus murmured into your ear, his deep voice sending a shiver through you despite the warmth of the water.

The light touch of his lips grazed your shoulder, and you felt a surge of heat build inside you. His lips lingered, pressing soft, teasing kisses along your neck, his breath hot against your skin. 

You tilted your head back to give him better access, your heart quickening as his touch became firmer, more deliberate. The tension between you that had been quietly building suddenly felt undeniable. His hand slid down to your thigh, squeezing gently, and you felt a low moan escape your lips.

"Sylus..." you whispered, your voice breathless, your body instinctively pressing against him. His cock, which you both had been ignoring, now became impossible to dismiss.

He growled softly, lips still brushing your neck. "I’ve missed this," Sylus whispered, his lips brushing your ear, voice deep and full of desire. "But I think it's time we take this somewhere... a little more open."

Without waiting for an answer, he shifted beneath you, his strong arms lifting you out of the water as easily as if you weighed nothing. Water dripped from your skin, splashing back into the tub as he stood, holding you effortlessly in his arms.

"Sylus!" you gasped, gripping his shoulders as he carried you with that familiar, confident grin. He didn’t speak and just gave you a knowing look, his eyes dark with intent.

He walked you over to the bathroom counter, the cool surface contrasting the heat radiating from your body. Gently but firmly, Sylus sat you down, your wet skin making contact with the smooth countertop, the chill making you gasp.

Before you could fully adjust to your new position, he dropped to his knees in front of you, his hands tugging you forward, positioning you exactly how he wanted. His gaze locked onto yours as he parted your plush thighs, his breath hot against your skin.

"I told you, sweetie," he growled, eyes filled with desire. "Your wish is my command."

Your eyes widened at the sight of him on his knees before you. You were breathless, waiting for his next move.

Sylus’s fingers slotted between your folds, moving to spread them open for him. Your pussy was already so wet, and his fingers were soaked in your slick just from opening you up. He pressed a firm kiss against your pretty little clit. His kiss was slow, testing your reaction. Your hips bucked from his kiss. He could tell you’ve grown needy for him. 

“It seems I'm not taking good care of my wife.” His intense gaze reached yours. His mouth opened, allowing his hot tongue to make contact with your sensitive clit. 

A moan fell from your lips. You were quickly feeling overwhelmed. The cold counter, your wet skin, his tongue, his eye contact. You couldn’t help but close your eyes. There was too much going on. 

His tongue expertly flicked your clit, and he was messily making out with your cunt. He decided he would spell his name on it. He loved reminding you who you belonged to after your time apart. He moved his index finger, choosing to work your hole while pleasing your clit. His finger stroked your entrance back and forth, dipping inside a bit more each time he made a pass. You moved your hands to grip under your legs, bracing yourself. Your head bent back, resting against the large mirror in the bathroom. 

He shifted his expert tongue, closing his lips around your clit. Nibbling on your clit lightly, dragging your attention back to him. It’s almost like he was punishing you for looking away from him. 

“Eyes on me, Kitten,” Sylus said, his words sending vibrations straight into your clit, as he pushed his larger finger into you. Beginning to stroke your insides, he found that little sensitive button inside you, pressing it firmly, causing you to squirm beneath him, growing heat in your belly. You could feel the heat going to your face at the sight before you. 

Sylus wanted—needed all of you, but more than anything, he needed your attention. He has to know that you share his desire.

“Yes,” you said breathlessly. You fought to keep your eye on him, even as your pleasure began to build up inside you. The heat of his mouth, his fingers pumping into you expertly, just felt so good.

During the days you spent apart, you counted the hours away. The feeling of his tongue on yours, his body against yours, nothing could compare to what you share with Sylus. The spots are the only ones he knows and can only dare to explore. He blew your mind every time. 

You shifted one of your hands to grip his white hair. It slotted between your fingers so easily when you tugged it like that. A groan released from his mouth, vibrating your cunt. 

“I– oh fuck,” you said suddenly as your hips began to spasm hard against his beautiful face. Your hips lifted at the intensity of the pleasure running through you.

“I know. Come for me, darling,” He purred into you. He kept his mouth on you as you rode out your high. You rode his face, spreading your juices all over him.

Sylus smirked at you. His face was covered in your arousal as you slowly released your grip on his hair. A lazy smile appeared on your face as he stood to kiss you, his hand reaching out, cupping your face sweetly. He kissed you slowly, saving this moment with you. The way he pressed against you sent warmth through your veins. 

Reluctantly parting his lips from yours, he lifted you off your ass onto your feet.

“Turn around for me, Kitten,” he commanded you sweetly. And you complied, turning around and facing the large mirror before you in the bathroom. You bent over on the counter, the cold granite causing your nipples to harden against it. You rested on your forearms, making eye contact with Sylus in the mirror. He licked his lips, collecting your remaining arousal on his tongue.

And he held that with you, not daring to look away. He took his cock in his hands, his girth heavy in his hands, and he guided himself to your cunt. Gauging your reaction, he rubbed his cock against your slit, and you squirmed a bit, still sensitive from your earlier orgasm. 

He pushed into you slowly, agonizingly slow. Your eyes were a bit teary as you bit your lip, watching him tease you. You could feel the burn of him stretching you out. It’d been so long since he fucked you. “don’t tease,” you whined, your lips pouting slightly. You turned back, looking at him directly. “I need you,” you said, your body burning with need.

He kissed you roughly, tilting your head a bit to allow him better access to your lips. At the same time, he sheathed himself fully inside you. A desperate moan fell from your lips, and you tilted your head forward, watching him in the mirror. He took on a slow, deep pace at first, dragging his hips back before pounding back into you. 

His hands found your lower back, gripping your flesh, bracing himself as he pounded into you. The intensity of his thrusts caused your body to create friction against the counter. Your breast, your stomach, his hands on your backside. It just felt so good.

He thrust into you repeatedly, and you heard the slap of his heavy erection pounding into you. The slap of his balls hit your clit repeatedly as he kept his rhythm. Breaking his eye contact with you, Sylus's eyes trained on where he was pounding into you. Every time he pulled out, your cunt dragged him back in. Begging for him not to pull away. You kept gripping down on him.

He watched as your juices mixed, the white film appearing around the base of his cock. A sly smile appeared on his lips, sending the desire coursing through his veins. He closed his eyes, focusing on how you felt around him. Your gummy walls sucked him in, asking for him to stay. You kept gripping his cock so well you couldn’t possibly understand what you were doing to him. He could feel every little time you twitched, gripped him, sucked down on him. And the sounds coming from your pretty little mouth were egging him on. Begging him to come in your pretty pussy, and he couldn’t resist much longer. 

You felt yourself involuntarily grip down on Sylus again, and you turned your head to look at him directly, his pretty face, the flush on his cheeks. He was driving you crazy, too. He kept hitting that sensitive spot inside you, his heavy balls slapping your clit over and over. You couldn’t help but grip down on him again. You watched his eyebrows furrow as he slightly opened his eyes to look at yours. His eyes squinted as pleasure began to take over his body. 

“You feel so good,” he gritted out, his flushed face apparent as you looked at him more closely. The sight is so erotic, a moan released from your lips. You could feel your wetness all over him. Your cunt was dripping at the sight before you. 

He began to keel over you. Resting a bit on your back as his thrusts became more sloppy. He laid on top of you completely, “You’ll take my come, won’t you, baby?” he whispered in your ear. 

“Y–yes,” you moaned out. His eyes closed as he rutted into you over and over as his ropes of come filled you. 

Your hands gripped the counter, steadying yourself until his thrusts slowed up a bit. He was losing his pace and becoming sloppy as he finished riding his high.

His breathing was uneven as he rested his weight on your backside. “You’re always so good for me, Kitten,” he said breathlessly.

He pulled out slowly, trying to keep his seed in you before he got on his knees, and your eyebrows hit your hairline in shock.

“Can’t let this escape now, can we?” Sylus said, slight amusement in his voice as he used his fingers to push his release back inside you before he stood up and licked his two fingers clean. He was looking into your eyes using the mirror.

“Sylus!” you exclaimed at the sight. He’d never done that before. It's a true sight to behold.

“We taste so good together, sweetie,” he remarked casually, causing heat to go to your face as you watched him leave the room.

He returned with a soft towel, wetting the cloth in the sink, furthest from you, so as not to re-wet your now dry skin. 

He came back over and wiped your excess shared fluids from your cunt, leaving you slightly damp from the wetness of the towel.

At that, you rolled over, sitting on the counter, before tenderly kissing Sylus on his taut lips. “Thank you,” you whispered to him. He’s always so attentive, you thought. He pressed himself flush against you before wrapping your legs around his waist. 

“Let’s lay down now,” he said, picking you up. 

You giggled at that. “Yes, let’s,” you said with a large smile. You missed this.

☆---

I feel like Sylus and Raf are the most fun to write for. Their stories always have so much banter idk. THIS IS NOT ZAYNE SHADE, that's my man fr.

[moonchild1]

 kim taehyung fic rec list (Ⅴ)

hello everyone i know it's been a while since i posted, work has been hectic, but i got some time and managed to finish a list so please enjoy i have a few lists ready to post so i'll que them up... here's my all time favourite taehyung fics, please show lots of love and support to these wonderful authors and their blogs, leave a heart, reblog or even leave a message or feedback under their posts i know they would appreciate hearing from you, some of these fics contain smut so no minors allowed you will be blocked ♡ feel free to recommend me some fics or just share what your reading right now i'd love hearing from you 🖤✨

a- angst s- smut f- fluff

series

only here to sin by @gimmethatagustd s a ft. namjoon

When your genius of a boyfriend returns to Harvard for his sophomore year of college, you never would have expected to have his worst enemy keeping you entertained in his absence.

our gray winter by @vyduan s a ft. jjk

“Were you looking for this?” Taehyung asked as he handed you the box of tampons you always bought. He remembered. You wanted to sink into the floor and die. Instead, you recalled your manners and said, “Thanks.” You put the box in your basket. “I can’t believe you remembered.” He beamed at you. It was patently unfair how he could look all glowy and soft while you looked… not like that. “Of course, Y/N.” If possible, Taehyung’s voice dropped even lower. “I remember everything about you.”

schemes and tricks to win her heart by @crystaljins ft. ksj

Rich company heir Kim Seokjin has a plan to win the heart of the girl of his dreams, and you, his little brother’s best friend, are dragged along for the ride. His younger brother objects, of course.

camboy!tae by @hisunshiine f s a

Give me all of your love, gimme something to dream about. KTH is your favorite camboy, and as a loyal subscriber, you are chosen to test out some new features on the platform he uses to go live. He’s really good at selling his viewers a dream, and as a thanks to a new milemark he’s hit on the platform, he’s choosing one winner to get their fantasy scene. 

tolerate it by @archivedkookie s a

Taehyung is your husband, and you love him. If only he loved you back; if only he cherished your love and not tolerated it.

what was hidden by @daechwitatamic s a ft. myg

This is how it all starts: Taehyung is flunking Western Lit. You're assigned to tutor him. His paper on Strindberg's The Ghost Sonata could pass or fail him for the semester. As you and Taehyung slowly become friends, then more, you learn that there's a lot more to him than you originally assumed. Together, you navigate your own experiences with the play’s themes: one's "true self" versus one's "shown self", darkness behind the facade, and how people can be quite literally haunted - and it has nothing to do with ghosts.

complete faith by @daechwitatamic

It’s Taehyung himself who admits that it’s usually around the one-month mark that he starts to lose interest in his relationships. So even though you’re so drawn to him you can barely stand it, even though he’s attentive and funny, even though you’re helplessly crazy about him… when you start dating, you feel like you’ve got an expiration date from day one. But will it be Taehyung’s issues that get in the way, or your own?

and they were roommates by @hoseok666 f s a ft. jjk

it all started with a rejection from your longtime crush, jeon jungkook. you decided to confess to him on your last day of high school. after a harsh rejection and a rough summer dealing with the heartbreak, you were starting anew once your freshman year of college came. you were going to be sharing an apartment with two other roommates that you don’t even know. what a surprise you’re going to be in for once you find out it’s the one and only: jeon jungkook and kim taehyung. 

with a brush of fate by @yoongiofmine f s a

Your roommate was sure she found you the perfect man. Her boyfriend believed he found Taehyung’s soulmate. The only problem was that you never wanted to date an idol and he never wanted to drag you into this life. Taehyung didn’t even know what he wanted anymore and was tired of being criticized for simply growing up. You just wanted to finish university and do something for yourself. What started out with the meddling of your friends became something neither of you expected. Could the two of you be what the other is missing? Or would things just fall apart?

groovy by @kinktae f s a

Even in the 70s, it goes without saying that you shouldn’t have feelings for your best friend’s little sister. 

tempting by @/kinktae s a

Y/N is an angel. She steers clear of the seven deadly sins, especially lust. She runs into a demon but, luckily for her, that demon doesn’t seem to buy into that whole “Angels and Demons are sworn enemies” idea. But unluckily for her, he just so happens to be the very embodiment of sin. Especially lust.

talk by @gukslut f s a

Finals week is kicking your ass, thank goodness you have a friend to help you relieve some stress. It’s a great arrangement, as long as no one finds out... as long as you don’t catch feelings. What could go wrong?

somebody to love by @cutechim

kim taehyung wins the heart of everyone he meets, and you—his self-proclaimed work “nemesis”—are not an exception.

tear you apart by @bratkook s

I want to hold you close, soft breasts, beating heart, as I whisper in your ear, ‘I wanna fucking tear you apart.’ demon au

clairevont by @/bratkook f s a ft. jjk

The second year of college starts off with a bang until you find yourself tangled in between your fuck buddy Kim Taehyung and his innocent room mate Jeon Jungkook.

free use by @littlemisskookie f s a

You tell your crush you want him to have full control of you in every way always. He obliges.

lost myth of truelove by @sugalaritae f s a

for six months you wait for him, a weekend spent together, finally able to reach the man your soul is tethered to.

because of you, blue by @ugh-yoongi f s a

nearly a year out from your breakup with taehyung, jin begs you for help saving his failing restaurant. the two of you aren’t exactly friends, but you feel some stupid sense of obligation and, really, what’s the worst that could happen?

true love by @jjkeverlast f s a

in which you're face to face with your ex again after 5 years, because both of your friends start dating each other.

obsidian by @kpopfanfictrash s a

The world of magic is divided into dark and light, witches and warlocks, choice and fate. You’re a prodigy of light, a witch who works within the police force. You’ve heard of Taehyung in passing, spoken in whispers as the warlock of dark who has the world holding it’s breath.  All this changes on the night you’re assigned as security for a mysterious singer named V and you come face to face with Taehyung himself. What happens after that might be fate.

baby, baby by @hobiwonder ft. pjm f s a

When you’ve run out of savings to continue on to the last semester of your Bachelors - you take an unorthodox route. Helping a desperate couple have a child and getting paid for it? Heck yeah. But what do you know - it wasn’t as easy as it sounds.

entangled by @caelesjjk ft. jjk s a

He saved your life twice. But he’s also been your sweet lab partner in college for the past two years and now someone who is more than just a friend. You care about him…maybe even love him. But something tells you that you aren’t quite sure what love even is. How could you when you have feelings for someone else as well. Kim Taehyung is the handsome stranger you’ve seen around campus and somehow ended up dancing with at Club Onyx. You were upset that Jungkook had stood you up once again and Taehyung made you feel like you were on top of the world. What you didn’t know that night, is the dark secret Taehyung is trying desperately to hide, but the closer the two of you get the more difficult that becomes.

buzzed by @junqkook f s a

maybe ordering a vibrator and letting your best friend open your mail wasn’t such a great idea.

queen cobra by @fantasybangtan f s a

when your boss offers the chance to take down the nation’s most lucrative gang from the inside out, you know you’ll do it no matter what the cost… even if that means entering an arranged marriage with the kingpin himself.

pulse by @rohobi f s a

You fell in love with Kim Taehyung during Medical School. Now living totally different lives in completely different hospitals, you're pulled together again as if by fate during a code black when someone plants a bomb in your hospital. 

things we don't say by @wintaerbaer f s a

Three years after graduating college, everything seems to be falling into place for you: stable job, cozy apartment, and a long-term boyfriend with a ring box hidden in his desk drawer. But when a mutual friend makes a remark that your best friend of nearly two decades is clearly in love with you, you realize that life may not be as simple as it seems.

mars by @to-star-lake s a

ahistorical au, military au, yandere!taehyung

satisy by @suga-kookiemonster f s a

 “listen,” taehyung says, eyes wide and eager as he smiles at you. “i figure we can just help each other out. i scratch your back, you scratch mine.” but when you find yourself suddenly in need of a massive favor, exactly how much scratching are you willing to do?

no kisses by @icedmatchatae f s a

It's championship week! The most anticipated week of the school year; however, leading up to the events, you and your council must collaborate with the football team to promote school spirit and pride. Unfortunately, you're forced to work with your number one enemy, Football team captain and fuck boy, Kim Taehyung, known for having a mysterious "no kisses" rule.

beyond desire by @strwberrytae s a

it’s never easy falling for your best friend when you have so much history. it’s especially difficult when you both share the same sexual desires and lifestyle. taehyung is a dominant CEO of a well known company in Seoul and you are an up and coming editor. while both of you come from a troubled and dark past, you lean on each other for support and comfort. what happens as your feelings blossom and grow over the years? what happens when you fear taehyung may be falling in love with someone else? will you confess your feelings or remain in the shadows?

one-shot

crazy for you by @oddinary4bts f s a

 you’ve known Kim Taehyung your whole life. When you meet again at a party hosted by your best friend, alcohol looses your lips and you spill your secrets to your childhood crush. Will Taehyung give in to your desire, or will you be struck by remorse?

seventeen times 17 by @cutaepatootie f s a

You loved him Seventeen Times 17.

ten out of ten by @shadowkoo f s a

For the past three years, Kim Taehyung has made it his mission to annoy you relentlessly on campus, finding every possible way to drive you up the wall during your shared classes. However, as you both enter your senior year, something strange happens. Taehyung begins to sense a shift in his energy, realizing he might just have some secret feelings for you. What unfolds when you make this earth-shattering discovery too?

under wraps by @jungkxook f s

there’s nothing you and taehyung seem to hate more than each other - except for christmas. having recently been dumped by your (now ex) boyfriend only seems to make this holiday even worse. but when taehyung suggests that you should pretend to be dating each other to save you both the embarrassment, pity, and bothersome questions from family and friends alike for a fun carefree month of celebrations, you can’t possibly say no.

always the bridesmaid by @kookingtae f s a

When you first meet Kim Taehyung, you’re determined to find every reason you can to hate him—or maybe he’s just looking for ways to get on your last nerve. But when a turn of events has the two of you working the wedding of the man you’re hopelessly in love with, you’re too late to realize the real reason to hate Kim Taehyung is because of the latest column he’s secretly writing: “Always the Bridesmaid, Never the Bride”, and it’s all about you.

any way you want it by @noteguk s

in which your best friend, Taehyung, finds out about your unsatisfying sexual experiences and decides to put an end to that track record himself. 

sharing is caring by @jjkpls f s ft. pjm

Taehyung is taken aback when his soulmate, Jimin, introduces his new girlfriend to him. Jimin tries to help them break the ice.

the end of all things (and the beginning of us) by @/kidguk f s a

the end of the world has come and passed, but there is still much to live for. there’s hope, there’s tomorrow, and there’s that guy you met while scavenging for supplies in an abandoned cinema. turns out he hates being alone, and the feeling is mutual.

aberrant by @kth1 f s

Meeting a handsome and rare fox hybrid was the last thing you had expected in a world of coexisting hybrids. What you also hadn’t expected was how this fox found a liking to you, showed up randomly at places where you were and next thing you knew - you were falling, hard, for the man.

lost in you by @/jjkeverlast f s a

the infamous kim taehyung, campus fuckboy and heartthrob is much more than you thought after an unexpected night.

the dinner date by @diortae f (ao3)

pretending to be on a date with your best friend to get a free meal at the fancy restaurant jeongguk works weekends at doesn’t sound so terrible, all things considered. there’s just one small problem: you’re pretty sure you’re in love with the aforementioned best friend.

until yesterday by @jimlingss f s a

You and Taehyung are hopeless as you are hopeless romantics. But five months after tying the knot and saying "I do", you're hospitalized after a car accident with him. But upon waking up, the doctors tell you that you don't have a husband.

the forsaken by @yoonia s a ft. knj

In order to save your people from the danger of drought and hunger, your father had sent you out on a mission across the ocean to find the heart of nature that could bring back the prosperity which your land had long lost. As the Chief’s daughter, you took the mission as your responsibility, even if you had to let the man that vexes you the most join you in your journey, even if you had to ignore the Elders’ warnings about the dangers and all the vicious monsters lying in wait.

blacklist by @httpjeon f s a ft. jjk

after departing from your dom, you’re assigned to two incredibly powerful men.

1-800-music-street by @/httpjeon f s

↬you’re enchanted by a street performer and then he saves you, resulting in multiple meetings one can only describe as fate.

farner boy i love you by @strawberrynamjoon f s a

↬Needing change in your life you decided it would be a brilliant idea to move to your uncle’s small farm, helping him and your cousin Jimin with the daily work. What you didn’t plan was to fall in love with your beautiful yet very annoying neighbour Taehyung, who seemed to make it his personal mission to tease you every chance he got. And what you expected even less was that he seemed to like you too.

waterloo by @/kinktae f s a

↬Taehyung is a famous but pessimistic art prodigy who doesn't believe in love. You are an art student studying in Paris, who sees the world through rose-colored lens and is a certified cheesy romance film enthusiast. And this is your love story. Or, “Well, it is the city of love. Maybe you just need to fall in love."

get you the moon by @bymoonchild f s a

↬Life has its ways of fucking with you, but you know you’ve hit 50 feet below rock bottom after being tasked to do a profile feature on Kim Taehyung, the varsity football captain, for your school newspaper. Pure torment awaits you, but this is alongside glassy eyes, pink cheeks and conflicted feelings that you’ve never dared to imagine with the likes of the devil incarnate.

fate of the fast & furious by @prolixitae f s

↬you’re a first-generation college student and taehyung is the hot guy with a love for motorbikes who lands the job babysitting for your family while you’re away.

fast & fearless: what comes first by @/prolixitae

↬taehyung is used to earning his keep through illegal street races, and he’s got every reason to win that upcoming promise of prize money for an old friend. but when the odds don’t fall in his favor, he turns to babysitting. enter, you: a first-generation college student with too much to lose to be spending all your time with a troublemaking biker. who also happens to babysit for your kid brother.

cobalt blue by @hobivore s ft. jjk

↬you ask Jungkook to draw you like one of his French girls. 

let it snow by @/suga-kookiemonster f s

↬it all started by accident, but it continues by choice—even before you began sleeping together, things with your friend taehyung have always been comfortable and easy. simple, and this new arrangement between you is certainly no exception to that rule. well...that's definitely what you thought before a major snowstorm traps the two of you in his apartment over the holidays. now? now, it is quickly becoming apparent that things are a bit more complicated than you realized.

muse by @/suga-kookiemonster f s

↬this could finally be tae’s big break, but he’s nervous and struggling to find inspiration. luckily, you’re willing to support him in all ways necessary.

falling, falling gone by @johobi f

↬Taehyung. Captain of the soccer team. Master of your heart. You'll never tell him for fear of rejection. So why the fuck are you about to do it in front of dozens of his peers?

new tricks by @geniuslab f s

↬When your newly adopted puppy turns out to be a lot more work than you expected, a cute dog trainer comes to the rescue. You soon become friends, but you begin to realize friendship might not be all you want.

guns & roses by @chateautae f s

↬he was cold-blooded, stone-faced and ruthless; a formidable force anyone in the criminal underworld sought to destroy. and he didn’t care, so long as it was never you.. anything but you.

saudade by @chateautae f s a

↬a demanding idol lifestyle was something taehyung and yourself were all too familiar with. it wasn’t so hard when considering your unconditional love for one another, but lately, taehyung wasn’t the same anymore; and you decide it's time to find out why.

strands by @xjoonchildx s a

↬taehyung can't figure out how he got separated from his men, or how he ended up stranded in these woods -- hurt. the only thing he knows is that he has no choice but to rely on the beautiful, secretive stranger who's found him.

cheap skate by @/gukslut f s

↬Who doesn’t know Taehyung and his lady? Cutest couple in town, I’d say, and have been since they started dating in their college days. Oh, that was a while ago, though. And still, they’re happy as can be in that place they have together. Almost hate seeing one without the other, y’know, it’s like seeing just one testi- oh, right, I’m not supposed to talk like that. Anyhoo, I only say that because I saw Taehyung at a jewelry store the other day while I was buying my sweet Jiminie his presents. Maybe that boy’s finally gonna pop the question, but I do hope he’s got a good plan for it. Something sweet and romantic. Maybe I’ll find out after Jiminie gets back from that cabin he’s visiting. 

definition of love by @taegularities f s a

↬When the gorgeous student from your literature class starts showing interest in you, you discover that there's much more to him than his know-it-all facade. But is this realization enough to get through your insecurities and secrets?

↬looking for other kth fics or the other members check out my library for more

[fandomhopped]

first love/late spring

pairing: fwb!logan howlett x fem!reader; 2nd person pov

summary: logan and reader have been sleeping together for a while with an unspoken rule to keep it casual, but that goes to hell when logan catches feelings. however, reader is an independent boss bitch and hates men<3

warnings: heavy swearing, hella mentions of sexual situations, substance abuse, brief sexual content(nothing serious fr), creepy guy in a bar, blood, bar fight, mentions of sex trafficking and resulting trauma, daddy issues, fluff, angst asf, lowkey scott slander (i dont mean it i love him)

word count: 9.1k

a/n: reader has light manipulation abilities but theyre not mentioned that often lol, also reader takes a lotta shots at jean just cuz she pisses me off. side note: idk the true meaning of the song i used as the title, there are many different interpretations. i found the song after i had alr written the story and the lyrics resonated pls don’t jump down my throat if it doesn’t align <3

there’s not a millimeter of space between you and logan as he holds you against his body. you’re sleeping soundly, and he watches you breathe all night, not bothering to even think about sleep for himself. the sun came up three hours ago, he felt it on his back.

when you drink, you always wake up early the next morning. you two drank a lot together last night. and like every time you drink with logan, you ended up in his bed.

he tries to block the sun from your face with his body so it won’t wake you up. he knows when you finally do, this little illusion that you're his will all be over. everything you said last night won’t matter. you’ll go back to your room. he’ll stay in bed. you’ll both go back to acting like it never happened.

you always leave him swiftly. you always go downstairs and drink coffee from the same mug and act like nothing happened. without a stutter, it’s a routine.

since he moved into the mansion, he wasn’t ignorant to the fact that the female teachers were attractive. and, of course, he was first drawn to jean. he won’t deny that he still harbored some feelings for her when you came to his room all those months ago, but she made it abundantly clear that she loves scott.

then one night, you slipped a bottle of whiskey into the mansion and invited him to join you in drinking it. you said some things that made him sit closer to you. that was just the beginning. he woke up the next morning to an empty bed but distinctly remembers you falling asleep next to him, so he assumed you woke up and left.

logan is a pro at acting like some things never happen, but he wasn’t expecting you to act the same. he dismissed it as a one-off, drunken night.

then it happened again… and again and again, and you continued to act like it never happened.

which, he was fine with. this wouldn’t be the first time he’s had a with-benefits situation, but there’s something different about you. you’re badass. you’re beautiful. he really respects you. you fit him perfectly.

and you’re mean. you don’t smile all that much, really only when you’re drinking is what logan soon found out. you’re not always outright mean to people, it’s usually deserved. you don’t take anybody’s shit. you’ll let people know when they’re in the wrong or they’re pissing you off. you’re sarcastic and rudely witty.

that was just another thing that attracted him to you. but, God, were you the meanest in the mornings, especially when you’re hungover.

unfortunately for logan, he has developed a small, tiny, itty bitty, barely-there crush on you. just catching a scent of your perfume has him rolling his eyes in the back of his head and white-knuckling whatever is directly in front of him.

the thoughts of you under him, on top of him, in front of him, on your knees for him plague his mind all. day. long. then last night, you had him rock solid from just a few drunken words.

“you’ve ruined all men for me,” you said as he kissed down your neck.

“hmm?” he hummed as his hands roamed your body under your shirt.

“nobody could ever fuck me like you do,” you told him, pulling at his hair roughly. he lets out a deep groan at the feeling.

he’s never picked up his pace of getting someone’s clothes off so quickly. he ripped your favorite pair of pj shorts in the process, mumbling that he’ll buy you a new pair.

with him deeply inside you, one hand wrapped around your throat and the other sending you over the edge with his mouth leaving marks all over your chest, you say breathily, “fuck, you’re perfect for me.”

the moment hasn’t left his mind since.

“i’m hot,” you mutter, pushing the sheets from your legs. “you’re hot.”

“oh, yeah?” he whispers in your ear, his lips turned up.

“i’m about to have a heat stroke,” you return, squirming around and shoving his arms from around you.

he lets go of you and gives you some space, lying on his back and staring at the ceiling. a deep sigh leaves him.

“i’m gonna throw up,” you tell him, groaning and curling up into the fetal position.

“are you serious? don’t puke in my bed,” he says, leaning up to look at you.

you roll your eyes. “no, i’m not serious,” you snap at him.

“‘you wanna take a shower?” he asks, his lip curling up at the thought of you ruining his sheets (and not in the way he usually prefers).

“i feel like shit right now, logan. i don’t want to fuck you in the shower,” you tell him roughly, sitting up and glaring over at him.

he watches you stand up out of his bed and put yout shirt on. “‘s not what i meant,” he grumbles, looking away from her. he throws the sheets off his body and grabs his jeans from the night before.

he runs his hands down his face and then looks up only to see the door closing behind you as you leave him. again.

“whew, late night?” ororo asks you as soon as you walk into the kitchen, changed into some presentable clothes rather than the ripped shorts and oversized tshirt you walked back to your room in.

you ignore the woman as you open the cabinet to grab your mug. the same one you use every morning.

but it’s not there.

“where’s my mug?” you ask, glancing around the kitchen to see it’s not just ororo but also jean and scott there.

“is this yours?” scott asks, holding up the mug in his hand.

your gaze darkens. “yes,” she grits out, tightening her jaw.

“that’s my bad. i didn’t know this was yours,” he says, standing up and walking over to the sink. “i’ll wash it and you can use it.”

you feel your skin crawl as he turns on the hot water. “stop,” you say lowly, walking to him and turning off the water. “you can’t—.” you stop yourself as you breathe heavily. you rip the cup from his hands.

“hey, it’s just a mug,” ororo says to you, “what’s up?”

“it’s not—,” you cut yourself off again and take a deep breath, shaking your head. you turn on the cold water from the sink and carefully wash the mug.

“seriously, what’s going on with you?” jean asks as scott rejoins her side.

you roll your neck. “i’ve been here for years, and you don’t know which one is my mug?” you ask scott, not looking anywhere but your mug until you’re sure it’s clean.

“i never noticed before, ‘sorry,” he says then turns to jean with a shrug.

the light beaming in through the window shines a little brighter as you continue to shake your head, muttering things under your breath that the others can’t make out.

“it really is just a mug,” ororo says carefully, looking over your figure in concern.

“except it’s not,” you retort, attentively drying off the ceramic with a towel. you then pour some coffee into the mug and hold it close to your chest, turning back to the other mutants.

“what—,” jean begins but logan walks into the kitchen just as she starts and she stops herself.

her surveys everyone’s demeanor then looks at you. “what’s wrong with you?” he asks, walking to the cabinet and grabbing whichever cup is closest to his hand when he reaches in. he pours himself some coffee and turns back to them expectantly.

“scott was using my mug,” you tell him, leaning against the counter.

“why?” he asks scott, eyeing the man.

“to drink coffee. why does it matter?” he asks in return, scoffing.

“it’s hers,” logan returns, his stare hardens and he looks at scott like he’s an idiot.

ororo laughs humorlessly. “what does that mean? it’s just a mug,” she asks, looking between you.

you glare at her. “it was my father’s and now it’s mine.”

“the same father that sold you?” jean asks, her face contorting. you shift your weight uncomfortably. “why would you want that?”

“why don’t you just back the fuck off, bitch?” you snap at her, stepping toward her.

“woah, girl, calm down,” ororo intervenes, holding her hand toward you like you’re a wild animal. you scoff. “we get it. it’s special to you. that’s all you had to say.”

you roll your eyes at them. you leave the group and return to your room. logan watches you go then turns back to the others with his eyebrows raised. “did you say sold her?” he asks jean.

“when he found out she was a mutant—,” she begins.

“jean,” ororo interrupts her, shaking her head at the girl.

jean continues, “—her father sold her into a mutant sex trafficking ring,” she reveals, looking only at logan, “that’s where we found her and then brought her here.”

his face contorts, and he looks down into his coffee. “shit,” he comments.

“she doesn’t talk about it to anybody, and, out of respect, we don’t talk about it either,” ororo says pointedly at the telepath.

logan is seething all day over the new information. he hates to think you went through that for God knows how long.

after the incident, logan doesn’t see you for a while. he doesn’t know how. you’re a teacher and you live down the hall from him, yet he still doesn’t even catch a whiff of your perfume.

“logan, meet me in my office,” he hears charles’ voice in his head. he obeys and within a minute, he’s standing before the professor. “you should leave her alone for a bit.”

her brow furrows. “come again?”

charles says your name and logan clenches his jaw. “she’s destructive right now. you should let her be.”

“is she okay?” the wolverine asks, concern growing in his stomach, and it makes him feel sick.

“she’ll be just fine. this happens from time to time,” he tells him, pressing his lips into a thin line. “you know of her circumstances.”

“her circumstances?” logan growls, scowling down at the old man, “you knew what she went through and didn’t think to tell me? you know what’s going on between us and didn’t think maybe i needed to know that? what if she had a breakdown when we were together? i wouldn’t have known what was happening.”

charles’ lips turn down into a small frown. “that’s not my information to tell.”

logan storms off in a huff, muttering under his breath.

that friday, he’s smoking a cigar in his bed, looking out the window at the moon, which is shining rather bright tonight. he hears a few quiet knocks on his door. he opens the door, expecting it to be a student.

“hey,” you say, waving a bottle of jack in his face before pushing past him into the room. “'hope you don’t mind, i got started without you.”

“you always do,” he comments, closing the door, putting out the cigar, and following you to sit on his bed. “listen —.”

“i think i like that vodka more than this. this one makes my mouth taste weird,” you tell him, taking another sip out of the bottle before handing it to him.

he holds it and sighs. “look, we should—.”

“—take our clothes off?” you finish his sentence, smiling darkly at him. “i mean, it’s a little early, but i agree.”

“that’s not what i—.”

“—was going to say?” you guess his words, cutting him off again. “look at us finishing each other’s…” you trail off, looking at him expectantly. he sends you a deadpanned glance. “this is the part where you say ‘sentences.’ i think i’m better at this game than you are.”

he takes a long sip from the bottle before he looks at you. “can you be serious for a second?” he asks.

you scoff and take the bottle from his hands. “i don’t come to you like this to be serious, logan,” you say, putting the whiskey to your lips again.

“why do you come to me at all?” he asks quietly and gruffly.

you take another sip and place the bottle on the floor, scooting closer to him. “because you’re hot,” you say in a sultry voice, putting a hand on his thigh and slowly dragging it up, “and you call me ‘princess’ and ‘darling’,” you continue, reaching for his belt buckle. he doesn’t do anything to stop you, “and your hands.” you push the buckle out the way and unbutton his pants, dragging down the zipper slowly. “and your tongue.” you reach your hand into his pants. “and this.”

he breathes heavily, completely lost in the euphoria that is you.

he forces himself to snap out of him and shakes his head. he pushes your hand away and stands up, taking a few steps away.

“what’s wrong?” you ask him, grabbing the bottle and standing also. “do you need some more?” you ask, holding the drink out for him, confusion written all over your face.

he holds his hands out in front of him as if to deny the offer. “it’s…,” he trails off, pushing a deep breath through his nose.

your shoulders drop along your face. you tilt your head in disbelief. “oh, my fuck. they told you,” you conclude. you turn around and sit back down on the bed. he stays silent, just looking at you. “okay, so what now? you don’t want me anymore ‘cause i’m used up?” you ask, slurring your words a little.

“no,” he denies without hesitation.

your sober personality is back even though you’re still drinking the whiskey like you’ve been in the dry desert for weeks without water.

“then what is it, logan? you don’t wanna do this ‘cause my hair isn’t blood red?” you ask next, raising your brow and looking at him expectantly.

his face contorts. “what’re you talking about?” he asks gruffly.

you chuckle at him. “i’m not a fucking idiot, old man. i know you want jean so bad, but she doesn’t want you so i'm second choice” you say, then you shrug with one shoulder. “i’d’a gone with ororo, to be honest. have you seen her? i’d show her a good time,” you add.

“that’s not what this is,” he tells you, taking a step forward but not within arm's length of you.

“then what is it? just fucking tell me,” you say loudly, the room lights up as the moon shines brighter. “d’you want me to tell you ‘bout how i was a good, little daddy’s girl until i almost blinded my brother when i first got my powers? how about how my dad gave me away like he didn’t love me? d’you want me to cry in your arms about how i was passed around by mean men like a blunt when i was 14? why do you think i can only let you fuck me when i’m drunk?” you ask him sarcastically, but your voice breaks on your last words. you let out an unsteady breath. logan watches you cautiously, unsure of what to do. “is that what you want, logan?! you wanna be the big, strong man here?!” you ask him, crying now as you yell at the man in front of you.

your body slumps forward as you let the tears drop from your eyes, and you grip the bottle in your hands like a lifeline. you feel the bed dip beside you and the bottle pulled from your hands. you move your hands to your face, trying to pull yourself together.

you feel his big arms envelope you and pull you into his chest. that’s when the waterworks really break out.

logan’s never been to best with tears. he hasn’t had to deal with them too much, but his first instinct was to hold you as close as you would let him. he hates to see you like this. in all honesty, he wants to hunt down every man that ever put a finger on you and rip them to shreds. but, for now, he’ll hold you. as long as you would let him.

you wake up with araging headache. you’re hot, burning up, actually. you kick the blankets from your legs and turn over in the arms of the incredibly attractive man in bed next to you. you look at his sleeping face and sigh.

this is the part where you leave, but this time, you just snuggle into his chest and fall back asleep.

logan wakes up later than he usually does after nights like the last one. it’s normally the sound of the door closing wakes him up. but, this time, he sees your cute face smushed against his pec. he doesn’t fight the smile on his face.

you stir quickly after he wakes up. you rub your eyes and look around the room, then to logan. “i’m gonna puke,” you tell him, the remnants of the smile fall from his face. you pull away from him as your face blanches. “seriously,” you add and sit up quickly.

he reaches for the trash can beside his bed and holds it in front of you just in time. he holds your hair back with a look of absolute disgust while you clutch the bin close to your face and your body jerks with each gag.

once you're done, you wipe your mouth with the bottom of your shirt. you groan loudly and stand up from the bed. “i’m gonna take this with me,” you tell him, holding the can in your arms and moving toward the door.

“keep it,” he remarks, his lip curled up.

monday morning rolls around quicker than anybody wants. you walk into the kitchen and grab your mug, pouring coffee and looking around at others in the kitchen.

they’re talking amongst themselves, mentions of grading papers and some stupid answer a kid put as their answer on an assignment.

you just listen and sip your coffee peacefully. that is, until logan walks in. you move from in front of the coffee pot for him to get some. he nods in thanks as he joins your side.

“this coffee is awful,” you comment, pouring it out in the sink next to you. he chuckles at your comment but doesn’t say anything. “scott, did you make the coffee this morning?” you ask him. the three look over to you, almost as if they didn’t see you come in.

“yeah,” he answers.

“don’t do it again,” you tell him, filling the mug with water and leaving the kitchen.

as you watch a group of students take a test, you see logan walk back in his jacket he usually only wears when leaving campus.

“hey,” you call out. all the students look up at you. “keep taking your tests. i’m going to the hallway for a second,” you tell them and move into the hallway. “logan,” you call and he turns around, walking back toward you. “where are you going?”

“to pick up some more cigars,” he answers, gesturing over his shoulder.

“will you pick me up a pack of cigarettes?” you ask him, reaching into your pocket for some money.

his brow furrows. “you smoke?” he asks.

“sometimes, yeah,” you reply, handing him $20.

he shakes his head. “i’ll cover it,” he answers.

“thanks,” you reply, placing a hand on his forearm before returning to your classroom.

he looks down to his arm and blinks. that’s new.

“brad, i know you’re not talking during a test. are you begging for a failing grade?” he hears you say before he turns back toward the front door of the mansion.

logan returns a while later, after the school day is over and the students are training. he finds you in your classroom, grading papers.

“hey,” he greets. you look up at him.

“hey,” you return, eyes dancing all over his body.

“these are for you,” he says, holding out the page of cigarettes.

“right, thanks,” you say and reach for them, your fingers brushing his as you grab them.

“‘you need any help?” he asks, looking at the papers before you.

“do you know anything about math?” you ask him, pursing your lips.

“uh, no,” he answers, shaking his head. “don’t you have an answer key or something?”

“i have to check their work to make sure they didn’t just get the answer from the person beside them,” you reply, looking back down to the papers. “some of these kids are dumbasses.”

he chuckles. “no kid wants to do math,” he comments.

“how would you know? weren’t you born before there were schools?” you ask him without looking up. there’s a beat of silence before you eventually glance up at him. “was that insensitive?” you ask instead.

he just shrugs. “i’m not that old,” he says, sitting in the desk in front of yours.

“sure,” you respond and go back to grading.

the two of you sit in without a word as you grade, and he watches you in complete admiration. after a while, he stands up and walks toward the door.

“you’re leaving?” you question.

“‘didn’t think you wanted your room smelling like cigars,” he replies.

“i’ll join you,” you say, grabbing the pack he bought you and putting the tests in a drawer. he doesn’t object and you two walk outside, to a bench in the gardens, away from the students.

the two of you sit in silence as you inhale smoke and slowly release it from your lungs.

“i’ve never seen you smoke before,” he comments after a while.

“i only smoke when i give up drinking, i only drink when i give up smoking,” you answer, tossing the burnt cigarette onto the ground and stepping on it, then picking another one from the pack.

you pick up your lighter and flick it a few times but it won’t light. you put your head and lighter inside your shirt to block the wind, trying again and failing again.

“motherfucker,” you mutter as you try to cover the lighter.

“here,” he offers his lighter with the fire shining brightly above it. with the cigarette between your lips, lean toward the lighter, looking up into his eyes as you do. he meets your eyes and clears his throat, closing the flame into the top of the lighter and shifting his eyes to the cigar between his fingers. you let a small smile rest on your face afterward.

“so you’re not drinking anymore?” he asks you.

“figured i should go on a sobriety cleanse for a bit,” you reply, “‘t’s probably for the best.”

“probably,” he adds and silence takes over again.

he glances over at her for a second and he sees you bite at the skin of your bottom lip the way you always do when you’re thinking, contemplating. he’s tempted to ask what’s on your mind but before he can break the silence, you let out a hard sigh.

“i don’t apologize for things,” you begin and pause, biting at your lip again.

“okay…?”

“i don’t apologize for my actions or words because i stand by every decision i make,” you continue and pause again. he’s looking at you and you’re looking directly ahead of you. “i’m not good at apologizing,” you sigh again, “but i’m…sorry for some of the things i said the other night. there’s no excuse. i apologize. take that how you will.”

“you don’t have to apologize,” he replies.

you huff. “so i just said all that for nothing? you could at least accept the damn apology,” she snaps at him then rubs the crease between her eyebrows out.

“you called me an old man. i don’t know if i want to accept your apology,” he teases with a crooked smile. you send him a look that turns into a hint of a smile before turning your head away.

“i need to get back to grading those tests. i’ll see you later, logan.” you stomp out another cigarette and stand up from the bench.

“see ya, sweetheart,” he says lowly but you still hear it.

as you look over tests, ororo enters your classroom. “ooh, what’s got you all smiley?” she asks as she strolls in.

the previous smile you didn’t even realize you were wearing falls when you look up at the mutant. “huh?”

“don’t try to deny it. i saw that smile,” she says teasingly. you just roll your eyes lightheartedly. ororo’s brow furrows as she sniffs the air. “are you smoking again?”

“yeah, i quit drinking,” you answer, “what’s up?”

“i was coming in here to ask you if you wanted to go out with the rest of us friday night. we’re planning on going that bar we always go to,” she says, “but if you’re not drinking, i don’t wanna make you go.”

“yeah, no. that’s okay,” you decline the offer.

“alright, if you change your mind, you’re welcome to join us. sober or not,” she adds before leaving out.

the week drags on painfully slow. it’s a week of tests and starting new units in all your classes and you really just want to bang your head against a wall and tell the kids class is canceled.

by the end of it, you actually do want to join your colleagues in going out to that bar in town that they love so much. you offer to be the designated driver, not trusting anyone but yourself to drive you anywhere.

“are you going with us to the bar?” you ask logan as he rummages around the cabinets for something to eat.

“no,” he answers, opening the fridge, “are you?”

“yeah, i’m driving,” you tell him. there’s a beat of silence before you add, “you should come.”

he turns toward you at your words with a crooked smile. “oh yeah?” he questions, “why? ‘you want me there?”

you scoff with no heat behind it. “i was just trying to be nice,” you say.

“you? nice?” he asks, raising his eyebrows in disbelief.

“what? you don’t think i’m nice?” you ask him defensively, crossing your arms.

“no,” he replies, not skipping a beat.

“i’m very nice,” you counter.

“no, you’re not,” he denies again, also crossing his arms.

in his white beater, crossing his arms makes his arms flex and you can’t help but let your eyes wander to the veins of his biceps.

“you have nice hair. there, nice,” you compliment, then add right after, “you’re not balding or anything, which is quite common for men your age.”

“you’re not good at this,” he tells you, looking at your plate to see what you're eating.

“do you want some?” you ask him. you hold your plate across the counter for him to pick off of. he grabs one of your chips and eats it.

“thanks,” he mutters.

“look at me being nice,” you comment and he chuckles deeply.

“shut up,” he returns playfully.

the five of you go to the bar that night, logan joining at your request. he sits at the bar, ordering drink after drink and scanning the bar every so often to make sure you’re alright.

you spend most of your time at ororo’s side. before long, you’re accompanied by a couple of men. you and ororo share side-eyes as they continue to tell stupid jokes. ororo excuses the both of you to go to the bathroom only to move next to logan at the bar.

“having fun?” he asks sarcastically, looking at you then glancing to ororo.

“they could’ve at least been funny, but they weren’t. there terribly unfunny,” you tell him, sitting next to him on a barstool and ororo laughs.

“yeah, that was awful,” she comments and sips her drink. “oh, i see jean and scott. i’ll be back later.” she leaves the two of you. you order a club soda and turn to logan, who is hunched over his drink.

“you have really bad posture,” you tell him as the bartender hands you your drink. he just shrugs and refills his glass with the bottle the bartender left in front of him. you dig your finger into his spine and he straightens up, looking at you wildly.

“why?” is all he asks.

“it’ll help you look more presentable. you’re not looking for anybody tonight?” you ask and glance around the bar for women.

“no, i’m not,” he answers and slumps back down. you dig your finger into his back again and he looks down at you. “stop,” he says seriously.

“oh, what’re you gonna do? stab me?” she asks him challengingly. he looks back down to his drink and shakes his head dismissively. “oh, come on. you’re good-looking, you’re good in bed, you’ve got this hot, animalistic thing going on. why not look for somebody?”

“‘cause i don’t want anybody,” he answers. “did you say i’m good in bed?”

“well, yeah,” you confirm with a one-shouldered shrug.

he stares at you for a beat. this is the first time you’ve ever mentioned it before. you don’t talk about the things you two have done. ever.

“i would know,” you add after he stays quiet.

“you would know what?” ororo asks as she rejoins you, along with scott and jean. they all stand directly behind the man, looking at you expectantly. logan’s waiting for you to make up a lie.

“that logan’s good in bed,” you answer, gesturing to the man next to you. his eyebrows raise and he looks directly in front of him, a smirk playing on his lips as he drinks down all of what’s left in his glass and refills it again. you surprise him more and more every day.

“he’s what?” ororo questions, shock written all over her.

you roll your eyes. “you don’t have to do the clueless bit. jean reads minds and i know she’s told you two,” you state, pointing between ororo and scott.

“what? i haven’t—i didn’t—,” jean stutters over her words, laughing through them.

“liar,” you clock it in a high-pitched tone, sipping your drink. “i’ve heard you talk about it before. i’m just surprised you haven’t mentioned it yet.”

the three of them exchange glances. “okay, yeah, we knew. we thought you would deny it anyway so we didn’t bring it up,” ororo admits.

logan stays silent, drinking like he’s been thirsting for days. why are you doing this? “so…you two are…,” scott trails off. you shrug as your answer. “hmm.”

“hey, sweetheart, you never came back,” the guy from early comes up behind you and wraps an around your shoulders. you tense up at the feeling.

you remove his hand from you. “don’t touch me, and don’t call me sweetheart,” you tell him. he laughs and looks at your colleagues.

“why not? looks like everybody’s got a matchup here but you. let me help you fix that,” he says and runs the knuckles of his finger across your collarbone. he points at scott and jean, then logan and ororo. “i can make you feel good,” he whispers in your ear.

“seriously, don’t touch me,” you tell him firmly, pushing his hand off your shoulder and shifting your seat away from him.

logan doesn’t watch the encounter but he’s squeezing the glass in his hand so hard it’s about to shatter. he feels the red-hot rage crawl up his neck as he does every time he encounters some asshole in a bar.

“don’t be like that, sweetheart,” the man continues and reaches for the strap over your shoulder. chills cover your arms and legs and a shiver runs down your spine. you grab his hand roughly and shove it away from you.

“touch me again and i’m gonna break your fucking nose,” you tell him.

“ooh, i got a feisty one,” he comments to the rest of your group, laughing. “i like that.”

scott takes a step forward. “you need to lay off, man,” he tells him, trying to keep this civil and contained.

the man only laughs harder. “what are you gonna do, glasses?” he asks him and slings his arm over your shoulders. “come on, baby, let’s get out of here. i got a real nice spot for you in my bed.”

“she already told you not to touch her, bub,” logan chimes in, still looking straight ahead and not sparing the boy a glance. there’s a tightness in his shoulders as he uses all his self control to stay in his seat.

“woah, tell your bodyguards to stand down,” he says to you but your only response is to rear back and deck him directly in the nose.

he stumbles back, holding his nose as blood drips into his hand. “you dumb bitch—,” he lunges toward you but logan whips around and grabs him by the front of his shirt, shoving him up against a wall.

“what’d you say?” the mutant asks him lowly, a growl deep in his throat.

“hey, take it outside!” the bartender yells at the man.

“why don’t we do that? you wanna take it outside?” logan asks the scared man in his grasp, shoving him harder into the wall.

“logan, let’s go,” ororo tells him as she walks with you toward the door. he doesn’t move. “logan!”

he drops his hold on the man and turns his back to him. he doesn’t even take a step before the dumbass says, “yeah, listen to your bitch.”

logan turns back around and absolutely socks him in the jaw. the man falls to the ground. logan walks after his friends, rolling his shoulders.

when logan gets out to the car, he sees you in the driver's seat, holding your hand closely to his body. he sits in the passenger seat and looks at you.

“are you okay?” he asks you carefully.

“did you kill him?” you ask him flatly without meeting his gaze, and he shakes his head. “you should’ve,” you say coldly and start the engine, driving out of the parking lot and back to the mansion as quickly as possible.

when you arrive, logan accompanies you to the lab for jean to look at your hand. he wasn’t going to say anything but watching you cradle your hand makes him change his mind. “are you alright?” he asks you.

“fine,” you reply sharply, clenching your jaw tightly. he watches you bite at your lip.

“speak your mind,” he tells you, just outside the hidden elevator. you just shake your head at him. “if you don’t, you’ll take it out on jean.”

“why can’t i just do that?” you ask lowly.

“‘cause she doesn’t deserve it,” he reasons.

you take a deep, frustrated breath. “what happened tonight was stupid,” you say, “dumb fucking men thinking they can get whatever they want whenever they want. now my hand might be broken because i couldn’t—,” you cut yourself off and take another deep breath to steady yourself. “i’m done talking about this,” you say and open the door to the hidden elevator.

he blocks your path. “no, you’re not,” he says and waits for you to continue. that’s when the dam really breaks and you last out at him.

“it’s stupid. all of this is fucking stupid. i could’ve handled myself back there. i didn’t need you to step up and be my big, strong savior,” you tell him angrily, voice rising.

“i know,” he returns.

you’re shouting now, “then why couldn’t you just let me do it? i could’ve stopped him. i’m stronger now. i know how to fight now. i don’t need anybody to save me. i can save myself. i don’t need you. i don’t need any of you.” your voice cracks as the anger starts to shift into the feelings you hate to feel. “i’m not gonna let anyone take advantage of me ever again. and i’ll break every bone in my body before i let some drunk narcissistic man ever put his hands on me again,” you say your peace and breathe heavily and unsteadily.

there’s a long pause, the weight of your words hanging between you. logan doesn’t interrupt, giving you the floor to get it all out.

“i know,” he repeats himself deeply, “but you shouldn't have to.”

you feel that familiar ache in the back of your throat as tears threaten to spill out. you squeeze your eyes shut tightly, pushing all the emotions back down. “my hand really hurts,” you tell him quietly, not trusting your voice. he puts his hand gently on your back and leads you into the elevator then into the lab.

by the time you’re in front of jean, you’ve pulled yourself together and let her examine your hand. you did break your hand. she wraps it up for you and sends you to your room with some pain meds.

logan doesn’t leave your side until you’re at your bedroom door. “i don’t want you to come inside,” you tell him quietly. he stays silent. “it’s just that you’ve never seen my room before and this is mostly where i use my abilities and it’s messy right now and—.”

“‘t’s fine,” he interrupts your rambling. “i don’t have to come inside.”

“right,” you mumble, hand gripping the doorknob. “good night.”

“‘night.” he doesn’t make his way to his room until you slip into yours, locking the door behind you.

the next mid-morning, logan walks into the kitchen to see jean scolding you like a child. he’s surprised you’re just sitting there and taking it without a word.

“i’m serious,” jean says, finishing her tongue lashing.

“i know,” you mumble before jean offers logan a soft ‘good morning’ as she leaves.

“what was that about?” he asks you, moving over to the table where you sit with paper spread in front of you.

“i need to grade these papers but my hand is broken and dr grey told me it would only cause more damage,” you explain, sighing heavily and holding the pen in your healthy hand.

“let me help,” he says, snatching the pen from your fingers and the paper from in front of you. the numbers on the sheet are all greek to him. he doesn’t know what the hell he’s looking at.

“you can’t,” you tell him, pulling the paper from his hands. “you don’t know how to do it.”

“then tell me,” he offers, moving his chair next to yours. “tell me what’s wrong and i’ll write it down.”

you shake your head a few times before giving in. “fine,” you cave and look over the student’s work. you place the page in front of the man and point a certain part of a problem. “okay, so he should’ve foil’d here but he didn’t so the rest of the work is wrong. put a line through it and write ‘foil’,” you instruct him and he follows your orders.

“like that?” he asks, showing you. you nod in approval.

“your handwriting actually isn’t that bad. i was expecting a lot worse,” you comment, leaning into him as you look over the next problem. “that one’s right, so put a check,” you tell him and he follows.

the process continues on. every time there’s a gap of silence as you examine the math that he would never even try to understand, he watches you in complete admiration. there are practically hearts in his eyes while the gears turn in your brain.

as the next few days progress, you and logan spend more time together than you ever have. whether he’s in your classroom during your free period or you watch whatever movie’s on tv together on the couch, if someone’s looking for logan, you’re right beside him and vice versa.

of course, the others have taken notice of it. it’s new and after you confirmed you had been sleeping together, they draw their own conclusions about the two of you.

“‘y’know what i would like to see?” you prompt logan as you watch a show with a lumberjack in it.

“what’s that, darlin’?” he asks, not taking his eyes off the screen.

“you chop wood,” you tell him, looking up at him from your spot under his arm.

“chop wood?” he questions.

“yeah, like, axe, wood, outside, shirtless, sweaty, and muscly, chopping wood,” you tell him, “lumberjack style.”

“lumberj—.”

“with the cigar,” you add excitedly, cutting him off. “maybe add in a little dehydration too.”

“i think you’re drooling a little bit,” he tells you, pointing at your mouth as a lazy smile rests on his face.

“probably, that’s hot,” you tell him, looking back at the screen.

as the credits roll, logan looks down to see you sound asleep with your head resting on his chest. he carefully picks you up in his arms and carries you to your room.

he opens the door and pauses his movements, eyes dancing across your room. there are no personal touches on the walls or shelves. it looks exactly like his did when he first got to the mansion. well, except for one obvious difference.

your room looks completely dilapidated, like an abandoned home that the sun and time have destroyed. the dark color of the wooden floors and furniture has faded, every surface dry and brittle. in some parts, mostly near the window, the wood is completely bleached of its color.

he lays you in your bed and covers you up, taking in the room once more before he leaves.

“why don’t you have another name like everyone else?” he asks as you sit next to him on the bench where you now regularly take your smoke breaks on.

“like a last name? i do have one,” you answer, flicking the butt of your cigarette onto the pavement.

“scott has cyclops, marie’s got rogue,” he elaborates, glancing over at you. you’re sitting right beside him, his arm thrown over the back of the bench in a way that your head rests on it.

“i don’t know. i guess i never understood why i have to change my name just because i’m a mutant. i am who i am, human or mutant,” you answer, messing with a loose thread on your pants. “plus, seeing the way you made fun of the others when you first got here for their names—i’d never even try to think of one now,” you tell him, making him chuckle. you smile proudly at making him laugh. “you looked so cute when you first got here.”

“are you saying i’m not cute anymore?” he asks in mock offense, looking at you sideways.

“i mean, when i first saw you, you had that big jacket on and you were so clueless. a little less muscle too,” you recount, poking his toned stomach to which he curls to the side. your jaw drops. “are you ticklish?” you ask him, a smile growing on your face.

“no,” he replies sharply and gruffly, straightening his posture.

“oh, my fuck. you so are ticklish,” you accuse and dig your fingers into his ribs, attempting to tickle him.

a deep laugh leaves him, and he grabs your hand in his, his facial expression dropping quickly. “stop,” he tells you in warning. you just laugh in his face, reaching toward him with your other hand, cigarette still between your fingers. he grabs your other hand before you touch him, cigar between his fingers. “no,” he denies you.

you look toward the mansion and see the sun reflecting off a window. you bend the light so it’s shining directly in his eyes, almost burning them. he shuts his eyes tightly and brings one of his hands up to his face. as quickly as you can, you reach back into his side.

he quickly stands up and looks down at you. “enough,” he says and points a finger in your face.

you stand up also, but you’re shorter than him so he’s still looking down at you. you decide to stand on the bench, now a little taller than he is. you don’t say anything, just look down on him with a straight face.

logan can’t help the smile that breaks his scowl. “you’re an idiot,” he tells you, raising his eyebrows at you.

you mimic his gesture then flick the cigarette butt onto the ground. “you are cute, wolvie,” you say and ruffle his hair. “i get the whole towering over people know. this is a power trip for sure,” you comment.

“oh, really?” he questions and puts the cigar between his lips. he grabs you around your waist and throws you over his shoulder like you’re as light as a feather.

you let out a surprised squeal as he walks away from your bench with you in his hold. “put me down. bad boy, bad dog,” you chastise him hitting his lower back. he doesn’t listen so you just hang over his shoulder as he drags you into the mansion.

you grab his ass abruptly and he stops in his tracks. he places you on the floor and tilts his head as he looks into your eyes, taking the cigar from his mouth. “‘bad dog’?���

“yeah, wolverine,” you say, gesturing to him.

“a wolverine’s not a dog,” he tells you, smiling down at you.

your brow furrows. “yeah, it’s like a small wolf, right?” you wonder and feel like an idiot when he laughs at you.

“no,” he answers, shaking his head.

“liar,” you accuse.

he tells you, “go to the zoo. there’s some there.”

you look up at him in disbelief. “you’re fucking with me,” she states and he shakes his head in complete amusement. “if you’re lying to me, i’ll—.”

“what? try to blind me again?” he asks, cutting you off.

“maybe i will,” you challenge, crossing your arms.

he pauses for a moment, considering. “maybe i want you to,” he says and his tone drops, like, two octaves when he says it.

you’re suddenly aware of how close the two of you are, how his hands gripped your waist just a moment before, how effortlessly he carried you. the playful atmosphere shifts and you feel heat creep up your neck and across your cheeks. you don’t blush, especially not around him.

“logan,” is all you say softly. he notices the change in tone. he notices everything about you, every detail, every flaw, every perfection.

for a moment, neither of you speak. the air between you is charged. your eyes travel all over his face. he really is such an attractive guy. and when you peel back the tough guy layer, he’s a sweetheart.

“thanks for the ride,” you say lightly, trying to break the tension.

he nods, gaze still locked on you. “anytime,” he remarks, his voice rougher than it was a moment before.

you both stand there for a few more seconds, not really sure where to go from here. his eyes shift from yours to your lip as you chew on it. his jaw tightens and he looks away from you, taking a step back to give you some space.

your heart pounds against your chest unfamiliarly. everything about this feels so new to you.

“see you around, pup,” you say, your voice back to its teasing tone.

“yeah,” he adds, watching as you turn away and walk back toward the mansion.

more days pass and you spend more time with logan. he notices that you make fun of him more, teasing him for small stuff.

it’s only when he’s in the laundry room that ororo catches him alone. “hey, logan,” she greets. he mumbles something of the same. “so…you look pretty cozy with a certain mutant.”

“huh?”

“you know what i’m talking about,” she says, leaning against a washing machine.

“it’s nothing,” he tells her, starting the machine he threw his clothes into haphazardly.

“‘doesn’t look like nothing,” she returns.

“leave it alone,” he grumbles, turning to leave the room.

ororo steps in front of him, placing a hand on his chest. “please, don’t hurt her, logan,” she requests.

“she doesn’t want me the way you think,” he tells her.

“you can’t seriously believe that,” she says, looking back and forth between his eyes.

at that very moment, you turn the corner and your eyes widen. you ignore the sting in your chest as you let out a loud “woah.” ororo quickly turns around and takes a step away from logan. “i didn’t mean to interrupt,” you tell them with your hands up in surrender, but that was exactly your intention when you spoke up.

“you weren’t interrupting anything,” logan tells you, watching you move past him to grab a laundry basket.

“i’m not judging,” you reply, walking back to the door. you turn back last second and look at ororo. “hey, if he asks you to wear a red wig, say no,” you tell her with a wink before leaving.

“i never—,” logan cuts himself off, shutting his eyes and shaking his head. “i never did that,” he says to her.

“God, i hope not. what the hell,” she remarks, shoving his arm. “she was jealous. you need to go tell her nothing happened.” he sighs deeply and takes a step forward. “‘you really still think she doesn’t want you?”

he doesn’t reply and follows after you. you’re walking as quickly as you can up the stairs when he catches up to you. “hey,” he calls after you.

“don’t worry, buddy. secret’s safe with me,” you tell him, picking up your pace as you reach the top of the stairs but he keeps in step with you.

“there’s not a secret. we were just talking,” he says.

you place a hand on your bedroom doorknob. “really, you don’t have to defend yourself to me,” you say and open your door, slipping inside. before you can shut it, logan stops the door with his hand. you look at him through the crack in the door, pushing your lips into a thin line. “uhm…”

“there’s nothing going on between me and storm,” he tells you.

“i’m not gonna tell anybody,” you return, frustration rising in your tone. you push against the door but your strength is in no way comparable to his.

“i’m serious,” he tries again, almost pleading. “i don’t want her, i want—.”

“jean? look at that, finishing each other’s sentences again,” you cut him off with a false laugh.

“come on, darlin‘,” he says, tilting his head to the side.

you groan. “i just thought—,” you stop yourself, sighing. “it doesn’t matter what i thought.”

“it does matter,” he tells you, pushing the door a little wider. you move into the space between the doorway and the door, trying to block his view into the room. “tell me,” he encourages, getting closer to you.

“i thought you weren’t a whore,” you retort, giving him a hardened look.

“that’s not what you were gonna say,” he states lowly, looking deeply into your eyes. “what was it?” you pull your bottom lip between your teeth, biting into the skin. he reaches his hand to your jaw, his thumb pulling the lip from between your teeth. “don’t do that. you know it drives me crazy.”

“i thought maybe you wanted me for more than sex,” you admit, feeling embarrassed as the words slip out. you clench your jaw, preparing for the rejection. a smirk slide onto his face and you drop your head. “okay, bye.”

you move back and push against the door again, but this time he pushes the door all the way open. your eyes widen as he takes a long stride toward you and pulls you back to him by the back of your neck. he presses his lips against yours feverishly to which you obviously reciprocate.

he pulls away and rests his forehead against yourself, breathing heavily. “i want you in every way possible, sweetheart,” he says.

you swallow thickly, putting a hand on his chest and pushing him away. “you don’t want me,” you tell him. he wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you back into him, your chest pushing against his.

“i do,” he counters.

“you don’t,” you respond.

there’s a beat of silence. “i do,” he says again. you just look up into his eyes. “i want you. i’m not the best person for you, i know that. i’m older and unhappy and i probably can’t be there for you emotionally,” he lists then shakes his head at you, looking at you like you make the world go round. “but i want you, i want every part of you—the good, the bad, the hot and sexy, and the rude and snappy. everything.”

you’re quiet. you don’t know what to say, what is there to even say? in your head, he’s always wanted jean and you were just a place filler. you’ve been under the impression that you caught feelings and he didn’t reciprocate them at all. maybe you’re wrong just this once.

“i want you too,” you tell him in a whisper. he watches your brow furrow as you look away from his eyes. his face falls. “but—.”

“no ‘but.’ don’t say ‘but’,” he begs, loosening his grip on your waist.

“logan, i can live with you not being there for me emotionally, but i don’t know if you can live with me not being for you sexually,” you tell him. dread takes over your body. this beautiful, morally grey, perfect-for-you man is in the palm of your hand and you’re letting him slip through your fingers.

her visible confusion deepens. “you’ve been perfect for the past few months,” he tells you, misinterpreting your words as insecurity.

you shake your head. “i meant it when i said i can’t fuck you sober,” you tell him slowly, avoiding his gaze completely. you feel his hands move from his loosened grip to a hover over your hips. you can’t read his mind like you usually can. logan wears his thoughts on his face, perfectly readable when he’s mad or happy or just his normal grumpy. but now, it’s like trying to read a book in a language you didn’t know existed. “i’m sorry,” you add when his silence becomes too much.

“i don’t care,” he tells you as soon as you finish the last syllable.

“you know i don’t apologize for shit and you don’t care that i’m sorry?” you ask him. you go to push him off again but he pulls you back in, this time wrapping his around your neck, smothering your face in his burly chest.

“i don’t care about sex,” he tells you as he rests his head atop yours. you return the embrace and hold him around his ribs. “i don’t care if you never touch me again. i love you.” your eyes widen and he feels your body tense up. he chuckles, pulling away and smiling at you. “too soon?”

“a little,” you tell him, nodding. you then smile back at him.

———

a/n: i haven’t written in a long time . pls don’t rip me up if u hate this🙏

[loveinhawkins]

There’s a table in the school library that’s nestled in the corner, right by a radiator; Steve has claimed it ever since his double block of ‘private study periods’ began.

Not that he’s planning on doing any studying: it’s the last day of school before the winter break, and while his face has healed up from the whole Billy Hargrove Incident, he still finds himself feeling wiped at random—like his body’s having a delayed adrenaline crash ever since he pulled Dustin out of that freaky vine-infested tunnel.

So really, this spot should be ideal for a couple hours of not having to think.

And it would be perfect, if his eyes weren’t instinctively drawn to movement at the front desk.

Because for the past god-knows-how-long, Eddie Munson has been in a back-and-forth with the librarian.

It had started when he ambled up to the desk with a healthy pile of books in his hands, placed them down neatly, all ready to be stamped. Flashed a charming smile.

Steve was too far away to hear the words, but he got the gist that whatever the librarian had said amounted to no, absolutely not, because Eddie scooped the books back up, dumped them on a table a little distance away from Steve’s, then hemmed and hawed before returning to the desk with a more modest pile than before.

He was sent away again with presumably the same refusal, and so the pattern repeated until this very minute: he’s returning with just one book in his hands, his smile less charming now, more desperate.

But… no luck.

Eddie slouches back to the table in defeat. Just stands there, staring down at the books.

And goddamn it, Steve thinks, now he’s invested.

“Hey. Munson,” he says in an undertone. “What’s up?”

He doesn’t miss the weird kind of double take Eddie gives him, but at least Steve knows it’s not because of his face being a mess this time—seriously, drawing looks from students when all he wanted was to get in line for crappy cafeteria pizza had not been fun.

“Nothing,” Eddie says with a shrug, and he flashes another wide smile that makes Steve think bullshit. “Apparently I racked up a mountain of late fees. Who knew?” He sighs, glancing at his wristwatch. “Guess I’ve got enough time to just read the—oh. Um. Hey?”

“These books?” Steve confirms, having already stood up to look at them.

Eddie blinks a few times. “Yeah, these—uh, Harrington, what the fuck do you think you’re—?”

Steve heads over to the front desk with the books. It’s not all that difficult of a decision to make; he remembers Tommy H had his own library late fees in freshman year, but got nothing more than a simpering, “Just make sure it doesn’t happen again, sweetie,” just because his mom knew someone on the school board.

“For checking out, please,” Steve says, not bothering with a smile as he hands over his library card.

The only resistance he gets is a raised eyebrow from the librarian before all the books are stamped.

“What the fuck,” Eddie says, voice flat; he doesn’t take the books when Steve tries to give them to him, so Steve just shrugs and goes back to his seat, sets the books pointedly on the edge of the table.

“Look, man, it’s up to you, but I’m not gonna take them. They’ll just be sitting here.”

Eddie huffs. He goes over to the books, his hand twitching towards them before drawing back, like he’s at war with himself.

“You—you didn’t have to do that,” he gets out as if it physically pains him to do so.

Prickly, Steve thinks.

“It’s no big deal,” he says. “My account’s gathering dust, so someone might as well get the good of it.”

At hearing that, Eddie looks a little less defensive. He chews on his lips for a few seconds, then says, his tone serious, “Harrington, I’ll—I’ll forget. Like, with the holidays… like, I guarantee you, even if I write a million fucking reminders, I’m gonna take these books and forget to bring ‘em back for months.”

“Oh, no,” Steve says dryly, “lemme go alert the press, I just heard a blatant confession to a crime. Dude, just take them, what do I care if your homework takes you months to—”

“It’s not even for school,” Eddie interrupts through gritted teeth, “it’s dumb, it’s just—”

“Jesus Christ. Lemme call the press again, sounds like you’re reading a book for fun.”

Eddie stares at him. Steve raises an eyebrow in challenge—he could do this all day; just the other week, he’d beaten Mike in a brutal staring contest that felt like it went on for hours.

Eddie breaks first. “Fine,” he says with another huff, but he’s less agitated when handling the books—lingers thoughtfully on their titles, puts a couple in his backpack. The rest he opens at seemingly random parts, but it looks like he knows what he’s searching for.

And then it seems as if he’s just going to pick up the remaining books and walk away—Steve expects him to, honestly—but he ends up staying where he is, gives Steve a look of consideration, almost like he’s a book worth reading, too.

“You stole my table, you know?” Eddie says.

“Uh, no,” Steve says automatically, then adds with more confidence, “I was definitely here first.”

Eddie snorts. “Nope. My senior year, uh,” he shrugs self-deprecatingly, “the first time around. That was my spot. Was pretty possessive over it too, think I signed the table, like, underneath.”

Steve’s eyebrows rise in interest; he runs a finger along the underside of the table and soon feels it: an E.M scratched into the wood.

“Huh,” he says. “Guess you’re right.”

A pause.

And then Steve surprises himself.

“There’s, um, room here, if you want? I’m not gonna use the whole table.”

Eddie’s eyebrows shoot up. There’s a long enough silence in which Steve considers just telling him to forget about it, but then—

Eddie sits down opposite him.

It’s not as awkward as Steve was expecting: Eddie seems focused enough on his books, on bringing out a battered looking journal with sheets of paper that look like they’re hanging on by a thread. He roots around his backpack some more, retrieves a ballpoint pen with a quiet, triumphant, “Aha!”

He either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care that Steve isn’t even making an attempt to look busy; his own side of the table is bare.

“Didn’t know you were left-handed,” Steve says after a moment.

Eddie looks up from his note-taking. He smirks, waggles his eyebrows briefly. “Fitting, huh? Spooky.”

“Oh, I’m terrified.”

And Eddie actually laughs—hushed, but it still counts as one.

He soon returns to being absorbed in whatever it is he’s writing, which means Steve has less of a distraction when the familiar wave of tiredness washes over him.

He tries to sit up as well as he can, conscious of the fact that he’s not alone, but the radiator is the perfect temperature, and the steady scratch of Eddie’s pen has a soporific effect. He’s distantly aware of the fact that his head is nodding down with dwindling energy to try and stop it—hears Eddie’s voice, as if from very far away, rising in question.

Steve sniffs sharply, jerks his head back up and blinks hard. “What?”

“Oh, sorry,” Eddie says quickly, and he sounds genuine. “Didn’t know you were sleeping.”

“I wasn’t,” Steve says.

“Uh, okay,” Eddie says. His lips twitch. “That was an awfully long blink then, Harrington.”

“Shut up,” Steve retorts mildly. He stretches slightly, hides a yawn behind his hand. “Did you actually want something or—”

“Nah, wasn’t important.”

Steve frowns, unconvinced. The side of Eddie’s left hand is covered in ink, and Steve can see where his pen has started to die on him as his writing gets more faded across the page.

Steve puts a hand in his pocket, brings out another ballpoint and throws it at Eddie.

The pen bounces along the table, and Eddie manages to catch it one-handed.

“Good catch,” Steve says.

“Thanks,” Eddie says. He sounds almost uncertain.

Silence falls. It only takes another minute or two of hearing Eddie writing away for Steve’s determination to stay awake to waver again. He slumps forward with a mumbled, “M’just gonna…” and lays his head down.

Eddie stops writing.

“Hey, man, are you… okay? Like, if you feel… if you wanna go home I could take you to the nurse? Or—”

“I’m fine,” Steve says into his folded arms. “S’just… the aftermath of… stuff. No big deal.”

“Oh?” Eddie says tentatively.

Steve lifts his head up a bit, squints dubiously. “C’mon, Munson. You must’ve heard the rumour mill.”

Billy Hargrove had spread it all over the school, how he had ‘taught King Steve a lesson.’ In all honesty, Steve hadn’t cared all that much about how he himself came across in whatever story Billy created, was just relieved that at least Max and Lucas’s names had been kept out of it.

“I don’t put much stock in rumours,” Eddie says carefully. “Folks can say… all kindsa things.”

Steve nods faintly. Fair point.

“Okay, but you can take a little bit of stock in this one. Like, a smidge.”

Steve demonstrates with his thumb and forefinger.

It’s only when Eddie doesn’t smile in response that Steve realises he’d been hoping to make him laugh again. Maybe.

“Huh. Well. For what it’s worth… I’m sorry.”

“What for?” Steve says tiredly.

“Harrington. I’m not stupid, y’know? That was more than a… a stupid fight after school or something. Like, I can remember what your face looked like.”

“Gee, thanks.” Steve sets his head back down, closing his eyes.

“I didn’t—I just meant whatever it was, it… it went too far. Way too fucking far.”

Steve yawns again, doesn’t bother hiding it. “Yeah. Something like that.”

He’s resigning himself to the thought of waking up with a stiff neck before Eddie sighs and says, “If you’re gonna sleep, Harrington, don’t be an amateur about it.”

Steve looks up in time to see Eddie reaching underneath the table with one leg, hooking his ankle round the empty chair next to Steve and shoving it closer to him.

“Three or four’s probably the best amount for stretching out on,” Eddie says. “Uh, speaking from experience.”

Steve smiles. “Noted.”

He manoeuvres himself until he’s lying much more comfortably across the seats, using his backpack and coat as a pillow.

Frustratingly but predictably, despite his fatigue, sleep doesn’t come easily, so Steve looks underneath the table and asks, “What’re you writing about, Munson?”

He can see Eddie’s boots, how one foot is tapping away, as if in time to a song no-one else can hear.

“Um, I was just… getting inspiration for… it’s kinda like. Like a story, but—”

“Don’t hurt yourself, dude,” Steve says, “I know what a campaign is.”

The foot tapping stops.

“Aren’t you just full of surprises?” Eddie says.

He sounds a bit far away again, though Steve knows that’s just in his head; he can feel his eyelids drooping.

“You’ve got…” He sighs, voice trailing off as he finishes, “No idea…”

Eddie launches into a speech; Steve can follow it well enough for a little while, Eddie rambling about the kind of decisions he thinks his players will make in the game, but eventually the words become a blur, and he drifts off just like that, into an unexpectedly peaceful sleep.

He wakes with the lightest of touches to his shoulder, a soft, “Steve?” that nevertheless makes him jolt to full alertness in a blink, reaching for a bat he doesn’t currently have.

“Jesus Christ!” Eddie yelps, almost falling back against the table. “What the hell kinda military training d’you have, Harrington?”

“Just have good reflexes,” Steve says, hopes it sounds casual enough as he breathes through his suddenly racing heart.

“Yeah, that’s one way to fucking put it. Anyway, uh. Sorry, didn’t mean to, like, startle you, but you slept right through the bell, man.”

Steve sits up; the library is empty apart from them, the librarian shooting them a not so subtle glare. And he realises that while everyone else was rushing out of school, eager for the holidays to start, Eddie must’ve stayed. Waited for him.

Steve runs a hand through his hair, quickly puts on his coat.

“God, sorry, you didn’t have to—if I’ve made you late, I’m—”

“Nah, don’t sweat it.” Eddie puts his backpack strap across one shoulder. “I wasn’t in a hurry. Um, are you… like, good to drive? I can give you a ride, if—”

“I’m okay,” Steve says, struck by the consideration behind the offer. He means what he says though; he feels pleasantly refreshed. He smiles self-effacingly. “Think I need one class where I can just sleep, and then I’ll get through the day.”

Eddie gives a playful scoff. “That’s already a thing, Harrington, it’s called first period.”

They walk out of the library together, and Steve finds that it’s kind of… nice, honestly. He keeps waiting for some awkwardness to creep in again, but it never does.

“Big holiday plans?” Eddie asks, smalltalk that should be stilted, but it just sounds like he’s sincerely interested in the answer.

Steve shrugs. “Not really. Oh, I’ve got—you know the Snow Ball thing tomorrow, at the middle school? There’s this kid I know, I’m gonna give him a ride there, but—”

Steve breaks off with a fond shake of the head, knowing that there’s this kid I know doesn’t really give it justice, doesn’t say the full truth: that Dustin Henderson has somehow wormed his way into Steve’s goddamn heart forever.

“His mom’s invited me over for dinner tonight,” he continues. “Think he wants, like, a dress-rehearsal of his outfit or something, which is probably the closest he’ll ever come to admitting he’s nervous. I kinda feel for him, honestly. God, do you remember being thirteen? Everything seemed to matter so much, and most of it was just… stupid shit.”

They’ve reached the parking lot, and Eddie gives Steve a sideways look with a bemused smile.

“Woah, Harrington, we’re still in school, remember? Don’t think we’re meant to sound so world-weary yet.”

Steve chuckles. “Yeah.” He gestures at Eddie’s get-up. “Bet you’ve never once cared about the stupid shit, though.”

What people think.

Eddie’s smile turns more knowing. “Shockingly, Harrington,” he says, “I didn’t come out the womb like this.”

They both hesitate; they’re at Steve’s car now, Eddie’s van parked in a space that’s further away. There’s no reason, really, for the conversation to continue any longer.

But Eddie still lingers.

“Uh, enjoy your dinner, I guess. If the… dress-rehearsal goes shit, just tell the kid it’s good luck for the real night.”

Steve laughs. “He’s in the Drama Club, so that might work, actually. Thanks, Munson.” He opens the car door as Eddie nods, starts to head off to his van. Seized by a sudden impulse, Steve calls, “Happy holidays!”

“Yeah, you too.” Eddie turns, tapping at his temple exaggeratedly. “Won’t forget about the books, I promise.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “You better not,” he says, tongue-in-cheek.

He starts the car and heads for Dustin’s house, honks the horn when he drives past Eddie’s van, catches Eddie waving.

Steve thinks he quite likes the idea (regardless of whether it’ll put his library account in jeopardy), of the books finding a permanent home at Eddie’s place. Briefly imagines Eddie writing with an ink-stained hand, curled up safely in a world of his own—where the only monsters are the ones that live in between the pages.

[dyaz-stories]

in a world of boys, he's a gentleman || Park Chan-Young x f!Reader

summary: Yeong-Su breaks a window at the stadium, and Chan-Young takes the blame for it, resulting in severe consequences. Fortunately, you're here to pick up the pieces afterwards.

word count: 3.1k

warnings & tags: spoilers for season 2 of sweet home, violence, injuries, soldiers being assholes, coarse language, making out, the pronoun "she" is used in reference to the reader

A/N: couldn't find gifs for chan-young so I made this one, but I'm by no means a gif maker, so, yeah. Also, I don't know anything about baseball, so please pretend this makes sense if you know better. I'm not sure which team Chan-Young was supposed to be on, so I picked the Doosan Bears because Sweet Home takes place in Seoul. Finally, it's my first time writing for him, so I hope you'll enjoy my take on this character!

It’s another day at the stadium, which means it’s another day of boredom.

Oh, there are things to do around here, sure. If you don’t mind being ordered around by soldiers who stand behind you with a scowl on their face and remind you that the only reason you’re even there is because of their good will, you’ll find a job to do. Cleaning a corner of the stadium, probably, in hopes that someone will be able to live there — as if there were enough mattresses — or doing the inventory, again, while looking the other way when rations mysteriously go missing and everyone knows who’s doing the taking.

Thing is, you’ve never been one to grovel. In fact, back in the Before days, you were the one giving the orders. Youngest assistant coach for the Doosan bears, the Seoul baseball team, you were in line to become the youngest coach in the history of the country. And, yeah, you weren’t completely in charge, but you were trusted. You had responsibilities. People knew to take you seriously.

You’ve had ideas for how to run this place more efficiently, to avoid making the civilians feel like they’re second-rate citizens, but it’s been made clear to you that you weren’t welcome to make suggestions. So you haven’t bothered, lately, but you also won’t play in that stupid game, where people get to change the rules without telling you.

It means that you do a lot of aimless walking around in the stadium. Chief Ji implicitly lets you roam around, a testament to the fact that you knew each other well back in the days, when you used to bring her coffee before big games, but you mostly try to make yourself useful in the way soldiers haven’t bothered accounting for.

A lot of that means keeping an eye on kids that are left to themselves otherwise. Their parents are busy, and it’s not like there’s much to do for them, here, so you try to keep them entertained. Unfortunately, you’re no teacher, meaning that it’s a lot of physical activities, wherever you find enough place. Other days, people who are teachers take over for you. That is the case today, meaning you’d have the day ‘off’, if it weren’t for Yeong-Su not showing up for class.

You don’t personally think he should have to attend class. You know how mean the other kids can be to him, and though the teachers don’t do much in the name of keeping the peace, you don’t let that fly when you’re in charge. Which is probably why the kid never misses your classes, a small pride that you keep well tucked in your heart.

Still, the teachers insist that you make sure he’s okay, so you agree to go try and find him. He knows the stadium well, meaning it will be no easy task.

You end up finding him throwing a ball against a wall. It looks like he’s practicing his aim, you think when you notice that he’s drawn a square on it. You’re about to approach him, maybe give him a few pointers, when a particularly hard throw has the ball bouncing too high and it crashes through a window, finishing outside of the stadium.

You freeze. Monsters don’t approach the stadium much — it’s been months since there’s been a case of that happening.

But the mere thought of there being something open here still has your heart pounding with fear. It’s only a few seconds before you compose yourself, but that’s long enough for someone to come running. You rush towards Yeong-Su, prepared to fiercely defend him if you need to.

It’s Chan-Young, and you relax, even if your heart is now pounding for a whole other reason.

“What happened here?” he asks.

He may have been running with his whole equipment, but he shows no sign of being out of breath.

“I’m sorry,” Yeong-Su mumbles. He’s hard to handle, especially these days, but he clearly respects Chan-Young a lot. “I didn’t mean to— I was just practicing and—"

Oh gosh, you realize, kid was practicing pitching, and it’s not lost on you that that’s the position Chan-Young mainly played as.

“…and now I’ve lost my ball,” Yeong-Su sniffs.

He’s trying to hold back tears, and it tears a little piece of your heart away. You know that Yeong-Su had found a ball autographed by Chan-Young, know that it’s one of his most prized possessions. It’s no surprise that Yeong-Su can’t stand the thought of losing anything more than what he already has.

Chan-Young glances at you, still standing a few steps behind Yeong-Su.

“He didn’t mean to,” you say. “I’ll help you fix the window.” Eun-Yu probably won’t mind giving you a hand, too.

Chan-Young nods, and you watch as he puts a knee to the floor, so he’s at eye-level with Yeong-Su. If he was any other soldier, you’d be more cautious, but you know him. Worked with him, when he was on your team, lost him when he enlisted, and now you’re in this strange limbo, where he doesn’t seem to know how to interact with you, even though there is this obvious familiarity between the two of you, every time you do speak.

“You need to be more careful,” he tells Yeong-Su, putting on his Serious voice. “If a monster heard that and came in, it could be very dangerous for everyone. And if you’re in front of the window when it happens, it would attack you first. So don’t let that happen again, okay?”

Then he gives Yeong-Su a small, comforting smile.

“If you want to practice again, come ask me next time, okay?” He glances up at you, and there’s such softness in his eyes when he does. “Or ask the coach. She knows her stuff.”

You’d never become coach, not officially, but his use of the word makes your heart swell.

“Okay,” Yeong-Su mumbles, staring down at his feet.

For a moment, it looks like everything will resolve itself just like that, and you’re already putting a hand on Yeong-Su’s shoulders to pull him away with you, when you hear the familiar stomping of military boots coming towards you.

Chan-Young’s expression changes immediately.

“Go,” he orders.

“But…”

He spins around to grab your shoulders, lowering himself to look straight into your eyes.

“Go,” he repeats. “Please.”

There’s such urgency in his voice that you can’t deny him, even if you’re not sure what is going on exactly. You grab Yeong-Su’s hand and pull him with you until you’re both behind a corner, just in time. You keep an eye on the scene, confused. The soldiers behave like assholes, you know that, but surely—

“What happened here?” the Sergeant bellows in Chan-Young’s face. “You’re lucky it was us, who were standing outside the window, and not something else! You better have an explanation, soldier.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” Chan-Young says, shoulders straight, from what you can see. “I was just practicing and—”

Before you can wonder why he’d lie, the punch catches him in the stomach, and he doubles over in pain. You catch yourself before you can gasp out loud, and instinctively cover Yeong-Su’s mouth, which is probably a smart move, because he starts thrashing to run towards Chan-Young. You don’t blame him, but you also absolutely cannot let him do that, not right now.

“Yeong-Su,” you whisper, mimicking Chan-Young’s attitude with you just a minute ago. “You need to go back to Ms. Cha. Okay?”

“But they’re…”

You wince, because they’re still berating Chan-Young, and one of them has just given him a hard kick to the ribs. All the more reason for you to intervene.

“I’ll take care of it, I promise, but I can’t do that if you’re here. So go back to her, and I’ll come see you when everything is okay again, alright?”

He sniffs, rubs his eyes to hide the tears, then turns around and runs. At least he’s got a good survival instinct, you think, even if it hurts to remember where it comes from. The second you’re sure he’s not coming back, it’s your turn to run, but towards the soldiers this time, with a confidence that you now worry is wholly unwarranted.

“Hey, don’t you think that’s enough?” you interject, maneuvering so you can get between them and Chan-Young.

There’s a scoff and they roll their eyes. One of them puts his hand on your shoulder and pushes, but you barely take a step back. You’re used to men trying to intimidate you.

“I thought we’d made it clear that your opinions weren’t welcome,” Seo-Jin snaps at you, getting too close to your face for comfort — like that would make you budge.

“Doesn’t mean I’m going to let you beat up someone because he broke a fucking window, when if you’d gotten to work, that hole would be closed by now,” you reply on the same tone.

He opens his mouth to yell at you once more, a vein bulging on his forehead, when Chan-Young comes to stand in front of you. He’s barely just gotten on his feet, has one hand pressed against his rib cage, and still, he’s already coming to stop you from taking any risk. You want to scream at him and hug him all at the same time.

“Please, sir, she doesn’t have anything to do with this.”

Neither does he!

“That’s enough, Seo-Jin,” sergeant Kim finally intervenes, and the man immediately takes a step back. “Don’t let it happen again,” he tells Chan-Young. “And fix the hole,” he tells you, as an afterthought, before leaving and taking his team with him.

Your blood is boiling. He might try to be the voice of reason now, but you saw him doing nothing while his men got blood on their hands so he wouldn’t have to.

You don’t have time to think about it, though, because next to you, Chan-Young has slowly let himself slide to the floor.

“Are you okay?” you ask, panicked, while he grimaces and leans against the wall.

“I’m fine,” he says, an obvious lie. “You shouldn’t have said anything.”

“You took responsibility for something you had nothing to do with, but I’m the one who shouldn’t have said anything?”

He sighs, shakes his head.

“I just don’t want anything to happen to you,” he says. He looks at you with warm eyes, and you feel your breath catching in your throat.

There’s something about Chan-Young, there always has been. You always have to remind yourself that he’s nice to everyone, because he’s such a kind person. Even that didn’t stop you from falling for him — and it’s the second time that it happens, damn him.

“I’ll go get medical supplies,” you say, pushing yourself to your feet. “Stay here.”

“There’s no need to—”

“Please, do you want to die from an infection after surviving all these monsters? Stay. Here.”

You ignore any further protests as you rush to get the supplies.

It doesn’t take you long. Chief Ji provides you with what you need without questions, and apologizes for not being able to give you painkillers — they’re reserved for emergencies, she explains. You know the other supplies are, too, but you understand her reasoning, and just thank her with a quick nod and a promise to help out for the next few shifts outside the stadium, if she needs it.

When you come back, Chan-Young’s moved to sit on one of the boxes that are always laying around in here, and you grab another one to sit across from him.

“Open your jacket,” you say as you take the disinfectant.

“I— I don’t think that’s necessary—”

“C’mon, it’s nothing I haven’t seen before,” you say with an eyeroll, because the guys on the team weren’t exactly shy about taking their shirt off in front of you and he should remember that.

He clears his throat and glances away, and you notice his ears turning red.

“Um, right. Yeah. Just a second.”

Under the jacket, he’s wearing a simple white t-shirt, and he lifts it up so you can see for yourself.

And it’s not looking good. The area is red and swollen already, and you worry it will be worse soon. Unfortunately, there’s not much you can do about that, so you disinfect the scratches caused by the boots, and gesture for him to put it back down. You’d normally advise to put something cold on it, to calm the swelling, but that’s not really an option here, not when the little electricity you have is mostly used to keep the lights on.

“Try not to move around too much, okay?”

“I’ll try my best,” he says with a brief laugh. It’s a silly recommendation, and you both know it, but you still felt the need to say something.

“Now give me your hand, I’ll see what I can do.”

He does, and you carefully turn it to check the palm. You’re not sure if he hurt himself when he fell earlier, or if it’s just that there’s constantly manual work to be done and it’s hard not to injure your hand. Either way, you start cleaning it and disinfecting it as well.

“Do you think they would have been as hard on a kid?” you ask.

“No!” he protests immediately, maybe a tad too strongly. “They’re humans. I’m sure they wouldn’t have—” He interrupts himself, and you suspect that he knows they still could have hit him, a thought that makes your stomach turn. “But… Yeong-Su’s had a hard enough life as it is. People here are not… kind to him.”

“I’m not blaming you, especially after that,” you sigh, “I just— You do realize that it’s not your responsibility, right? I’d have helped the kid, and it could have ended better than…”

You gesture vaguely at him, and he closes his eyes for a second. He closes his fingers over yours where you’re holding his hand, rubs his thumb over your skin, which sends a wave of heat through your body. It only lasts a moment, though, before he catches himself and lets go.

“I’m— I was in charge, when his sister— I was supposed to be helping them. And I failed him.”

“What?” Ms. Cha told you that story, in hushed whispers, to explain why Yeong-Su was such a complicated child these days. It had been clear that there was nothing Chan-Young could have done. “You can’t blame yourself for someone turning into a monster and going on a rampage.”

“It happened on my watch,” he insists. “If I’d been more careful— If I hadn’t left the bus—”

You stop yourself to look at him straight in the eye. He’s close, but you don’t feel uncomfortable, not with him.

“That could have happened to anyone. You couldn’t have planned for it.” He exhales, long and slow.

“Thank you for saying that,” he says, but you can tell that your words haven’t sunk in. It breaks your heart, and yet you have no idea what more you can say. After all, you weren’t there. It makes sense that he wouldn’t believe you.

“You still shouldn’t put yourself in the line of danger to—” to what, anyway? Expiate his sins? What does he have to prove? Does he have a death wish or something? “You shouldn’t put yourself in danger when you don’t have to.”

“Better me than Yeong-Su,” he insists. “He’s just a kid, and he has his mom — well, Ms. Cha. And he has you.” You set the disinfectant back down, hands almost trembling as you realize where he’s going with this. “Better me than him,” he just concludes sadly.

“Park Chan-Young,” you say, “you don’t seriously think that, right?”

He doesn’t meet your eyes when he replies.

“He has a family here. I— don’t really have anyone—”

You’re not sure what goes through your head when you put your hand on his cheek and kiss him. If you had to rationalize it — which you’re not really in any position to do when it happens — you’d say that you just wanted to prove him how wrong he was. Truth is, though, that you also couldn’t bear the idea that you were letting him believe that when it was so entirely untrue.

His lips are warm against yours, and you think you feel him leaning into you, but you pull away too soon to know.

“There,” you say as you gather your things. “Now you know you do have someone, so don’t put yourself in danger unnecessarily, alright?”

Then you’re on your feet, hell-bent on fleeing the scene.

Of course, Chan-Young catches up with you in an instant. He grabs your wrist, and pulls you back against him. His eyes are wide as he searches yours.

“Did you mean that?” he asks, his voice catching in his throat.

“Mean what?” Your heart is pounding in your chest. You’re… not sure where he is going with this.

“It wasn’t pity, right? You— I have you?”

The words almost send a shiver down your spine.

“Of course you do. I don’t exactly go around kissing people—”

Next thing you know, his hands are cupping your face and his mouth is on yours. He kisses you feverishly, like he desperately needs you to prove your words to him. You kiss back without hesitation, wrapping your arms around his neck. It isn’t long before your back hits the wall and you let out a brief groan.

“Sorry,” he says, pulling away from you to check on you. “Are you—”

You don’t let him finish, pulling him back down against you. His hands move down to your waist, one of them slipping under your t-shirt to feel your bare skin. He’s kissing you slower now, more sensual, and he abandons your mouth to kiss down your jaw, then your neck, before he comes back to your lips.

“I shouldn’t—” he mumbles against you. “I’m not supposed to—”

“Everyone’s doing it,” you reply, but it doesn’t surprise you when he tears himself away from you. He’s a sight to behold, flushed and out of breath — and is it odd that you enjoy seeing him panting from kissing you when you know he can run for hours without struggling? He’s always been one to stick to the rules closely. It says a lot that he broke one right now, but you won’t push him any further, not until he’s ready.

You take a step back towards him, take his hand in yours, and press your lips to his cheek for one last, soft kiss.

“Don’t forget now,” you say. “You have me. Don’t risk your life without thinking.”

He doesn’t kiss you again, but he leans in to press his forehead against yours, squeezing your hand in his.

“I have you,” he repeats, as if to convince himself. “I have you.”

I hope you liked it! as always, if you did, consider reblogging and letting me know what you thought! feedback is really motivating and is what keep us authors going, so leaving a comment or sending an ask or anything really helps to keep me writing!

more writing for sweet home

[little-diable]

We Can't be Friends - Spencer Reid (smut)

Since y'all loved my other mother's best friend fic so much, I wanted to write another. Please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this, your comments keep us writers motivated! Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: JJ's daughter, the reader, has joined the BAU a while ago. She and Spencer have been fooling around ever since, even though both know they can't be more than just friends and yet even at being friends, they fail. At least until an incident finally lets the others in on their love.

Warnings: 18+, smut, piv, oral (f), age gap, blood, reader is shot (she survives ofc), mother's best friend, stupid lovers, hidden relationship

Pairing: Spencer Reid x JJ's!daughter!reader (3.2k words)

The gasp rumbling through (y/n) echoed through the room, loud enough to draw a gritty laugh from Spencer. The tall man towered over her, hands cupping her cheeks as their lips moved in sync. No words were spoken as he guided her towards the hotel bed, pushing her down to shuffle out of his clothes, all while (y/n) hastily undressed herself. 

“We don’t have much time, Spence.” (Y/n) mumbled against his lips, naked body searching his like they had done numerous times before. It was a dangerous game they were playing, (y/n) had joined the BAU only a few months ago, always followed by her mother’s watchful eyes. Too many fights had happened between (y/n) and her mother, JJ, since she had joined the team, making the young woman feel as if her mother wasn’t trusting her – rightfully so, and yet neither (y/n) nor Spencer dared to let others in on their back and forth. Nothing but friends – a lie both kept on telling themselves.

“Then we better make the most of it.” His lips kissed their way down her naked body, eyes flickering up to (y/n)’s, watching her with mischief swimming in his pupils. It was scandalous almost, her mother’s best friend, the one who had watched her grow up for years, was now the man whose closeness she searched at any given chance, drawn to him like ancient lovers fulfilling their prophecy. 

“Fuck, you’re soaked, baby.” Spencer’s thin fingers brushed through her slit, spreading her arousal on her pulsing bundle with a smirk widening on his lips. Wordlessly, she tugged on his brown curls, begging him to finally fuck her after a day filled with chases, with clues they had tried to follow and a killer still on the loose. 

“Spencer,” (y/n) choked on his name as he pushed two fingers into her cunt, spreading her walls like he had done just yesterday evening. They were desperate for any and every moment together, hidden away in empty rooms, broom closets, or their hotel rooms while the others were out and about. “Fuck me, I need you inside of me.”

“You know how to ask nicely for it, be a good girl, (y/n).” His condescending tone left her groaning, eyes fluttering close as he curled his fingers against her g-spot. It took her a few seconds, with shaky exhales and trembling fingers clinging to his locks, to finally speak up.

“Please, Spencer, I need you inside of me, I need you to fuck me. I’m yours, forever yours.” The growl ripping through him at her words left (y/n) grinning in success, a grin that was wiped off her lips the second he forcefully pushed into her, letting his cock spread her fluttering walls. For a second, both held still, needing to adjust to one another, to the intense sensation ripping through them like a tsunami, about to drown them in the waves of lust. 

“You’re still so fucking tight for me, I’ll never get tired of fucking you.” Her walls clenched around him at his words, struggling to put her feelings into words. All (y/n) could do was cling to him, claw her fingernails into his skin as he fucked her into the mattress, the hotel bed she shared with her mother. 

(Y/n) couldn’t keep her moans bottled in, unable to stop her sinful sounds from clawing through her as Spencer fucked her into oblivion. Both were stuck in their trance, solemnly focused on one another, all until his phone began to ring. Her eyes shot open, watching Spencer reach for his phone while he kept fucking her. 

They held eye contact as he answered the call, forcing (y/n) to keep quiet. Her moans were swallowed by the hand he pressed to her mouth, struggling to focus on the words Spencer spoke, telling whoever had called him that they’d be at the station soon. 

“That was your mom,” his grin kept widening as Spencer stared down at (y/n), taking in the fucked out expression she couldn’t shake, unable to speak any longer. “They found another lead, we gotta be quick, baby. I need you to cum for me.”

Spencer’s fingers found her clit, rubbing the sensitive bundle to push her over the edge. (Y/n) came within a handful of moments, calling out his name as he fucked her through her high. It was pathetic almost how much power he held over her, how much love she fostered for Spencer – a love that could never be. 

He followed her seconds later, pulling out of her to relieve himself on her stomach, painting her skin with his cum. Both were panting, unable to hold back their laughter as Spencer pressed another kiss to her swollen lips before he rose to his feet, “We better hurry before your mom picks us up herself.” 

……

“I don’t want you on this, (y/n), stay back and wait for my call.” JJ’s voice echoed through the small office, bright eyes staring at her daughter. The team kept watching their interaction, too focused on the both of them to pick up on the uneasiness radiating off Spencer. 

“Stop treating me as if I am not part of this team. It’s my job to chase this man as much as it is yours.” The spite dripping from (y/n)’s words left the others cringing, trying to keep themselves from interfering as (y/n) turned towards Aaron. “Will I be able to join, Hotch?”

She watched the man’s dark eyes flicker from her features to her mother’s, silently studying the two for a few seconds before he cleared his throat, “You will, but I need you to stay close to me, you haven’t had enough field experience yet.” 

JJ was out of the room within moments, followed by all others – all besides (y/n), Aaron, and Spencer. An almost uncomfortable silence wrapped itself around the three, knowing that there was something else the Unit Chief needed to communicate, a conversation (y/n) desperately wanted to flee from. 

“I hope the two of you know what you’re doing. The others haven’t picked up on it yet, but it won’t take long for JJ to figure this out. As your boss, I need to warn you of the chaos this will bring to the team. And as your friend, I beg you to figure this out before I am asked to pick sides.” Aaron left the two without waiting for their reply, forcing heat to flare up in (y/n)’s system, and confusion in Spencer’s. 

“Come, we’ve got a job to finish.” (Y/n) turned from Spencer as she spoke the words, following Aaron out of the station and towards the black SUV he was driving. No further word was spoken between the three as they drove towards their destination, the house that had been surveilled the past days. The others had arrived moments ago, wearing their vests, clinging to their guns with their eyes focused on the house. 

“Is he alone?” Aaron’s voice rang in (y/n)’s ears, she stayed glued to his side, the man who had always been like a father to her, more than her mother’s husband, Will, could ever be. Aaron was the one she trusted more than she trusted herself, the one she’d ask for guidance, the one who’d hold her when everything began to close in on her. The one she’d always fight for. 

“Seems like it is. How do you want to do this?” (Y/n) tried to catch her mother’s gaze as Derek and Aaron spoke, but the blonde-haired woman kept staring ahead, seemingly still fuelled by her anger. (Y/n) and JJ never had a close relationship, just enough to make it through their day-to-day without any big mishaps. But the second (y/n) had joined the BAU, her mother had turned into an overprotective form of herself (y/n) wasn’t used to, not understanding where JJ’s concern suddenly came from. Perhaps this had also been one of the reasons why she hadn’t felt any guilt the first time she had shared a kiss with her mother’s best friend, Spencer, not tied together by any strong mother-daughter bond. 

“(Y/n), Reid, you’re with me. JJ, Prentiss, you take the back with Morgan and Rossi.” Everything began to blur by, and within seconds (y/n) found herself following Aaron and Spencer into the house, checking every room. And then she saw him, their unsub, the man who had kidnapped three girls for his sick pleasure. 

The man had his gun trained on them, telling (y/n) that he was ready to shoot, aiming at Spencer who hadn’t seen him yet. It was a natural reaction of her body, throwing herself in front of the man who held her heart in his hands, oblivious to the depth of her feelings. And the next second, his bullet pierced her collarbone, the spot that hadn’t been protected by her vest. 

Shots echoed through the air, sounds that rang in her ears as (y/n) sank to the ground. Blood poured from her wound all too heavily, an amount of blood her eyes hadn’t ever taken in before. (Y/n)’s vision grew blurry, she heard her name being called, and could feel somebody cradling her hand in theirs, but within moments she passed out. 

“(Y/n)? We need a medic! Please!” Spencer’s panicked voice filled the house, instantly guiding JJ towards them. His glassy eyes found her wide ones, watching his best friend sink to the ground next to her passed out daughter.

“What happened?” It was just a whisper, a whisper that was almost drowned out by the sound of nearing sirens, telling them that help was close. 

“She pushed herself in front of me, she took the bullet for me.” Spencer kept rambling away, telling JJ what had happened, how he hadn’t seen the man Aaron had instantly killed after (y/n) had been shot. Words that kept leaving him like a waterfall cascading down his chin, only stopping himself from speaking a further word as JJ reached for his blood-covered hand, tightly squeezing it.

(Y/n)’d be alright, she had to be.

……

“Fuck,” (y/n) woke with a curse. She had to blink a few times to adjust to her surroundings, the bright light she was engulfed in, trying not to gag at the sterile scent crawling up her nostrils. The first person she focused on was her mother, sleeping on a chair close to her bed. (Y/n) allowed herself to study JJ for a moment before her eyes found the person sitting on the other side of the bed, Spencer.

“Hi,” he whispered the word as he squeezed the hand he was holding with his. Without letting go of her, he reached for a glass of water, helping (y/n) drink a few sips to find her voice. 

“How long was I out for?” She tried to keep quiet, not daring to interrupt her moment with Spencer just yet. Tiredness clung to his features, telling her that they must have been here for a while, waiting for her to wake as her body tried to regain its strength. 

“Almost two days. They had to repair your collarbone, but everything went as planned, you’ll be good to leave in no time.” Both their eyes snapped towards JJ, who watched the two with something swimming in her pupils (y/n)’s tired self couldn’t pinpoint. (Y/n) expected Spencer to hastily pull his hand away as JJ spoke, but he kept holding onto her, not loosening his grip on her. 

“Good, I’ll have to apologise to Aaron for the extra paperwork, huh?” She had expected her mother to smile at her, to speak some kind of soothing words. But all JJ did was stare at her and Spencer – instantly telling (y/n) that her mother knew about what was going on between them. 

“You won’t return to the BAU, (y/n).” She froze in the bed, wide eyes staring at her mother as JJ kept speaking. “Not only did you risk yourself, but you also have been too reckless, and reckless behaviour is unacceptable. I am sure you knew that before you began this relationship or whatever it is between you and Spencer. I am disappointed in you, (y/n). We raised you better than that.”

“Better than what, mother?” (Y/n) didn’t allow her pain to stop her from speaking, fuelled by her anger and her exhaustion. “You should be grateful I found a man like Spencer to love, a man you’ve always trusted more than anybody else. You know he’ll be good to me. And you also know I am a worthy asset to this team. I won’t leave the BAU because you can’t get over whatever it is you’re struggling with.” 

“We’ll speak once you’re back home.” JJ was out of the room within seconds, leaving (y/n) and Spencer behind, wrapped up in the sounds of beeping machines and the voices of nurses and doctors hallowing down the hallway.

……

“Do you need anything else?” Concern dripped from Spencer’s voice. He was standing near her bed, weary eyes following (y/n)’s every movement. He had temporarily moved into her apartment the past few days, not daring to let her out of his eyes once – while skillfully avoiding the talk both desperately needed to have. 

“Mhm,” (y/n)’s eyes wandered over his tired features, the face she’d seen in her dreams, the lips she hadn’t kissed in days, the curls she hadn’t been allowed to tug on for way too long. “Come here, Spence.”

“I should check on the food.” He tried to turn from her, tried to leave the room with hasty steps, but the sharp call of his name forced Spencer to freeze in his movements. Slowly, he turned back towards (y/n), eyes filled with the plea to avoid this topic for a tad bit longer, at least till he’d find a way to escape should they spiral into a fight neither of them could rip themselves out of. 

“I’m tired of this, Spence. We knew from the beginning that this wouldn’t be easy should my mother realise what's going on. But I didn’t think you’d drop whatever this is between us just like that.” She stared up at him, gaze torn between anger and hurt, and yet she couldn’t shake the love she felt for Spencer, a love that ran deeper than any laws, any promises. “If you don’t want to be with me, I need you to leave. I appreciate you trying to take care of me, but I’d rather do that on my own if you keep treating me with this distance between us. You don’t have to work off any debt just because I took the shot.” 

“Is that what you think I’m doing here? Work off a debt?” No longer did his voice tremble, no longer were Spencer's eyes weary and uneasy, but rather filled with a determination she had tried to coax out of him for days. Spencer took a step closer, and another until he sat down near her. The hairs on her arms rose, fuelled by the excitement his closeness always managed to push through her. “This is nothing but torture for me, (y/n). I can’t touch you, whenever my hand finds yours I am reminded of that moment, I thought you were about to die in my arms, and it’d forever be my fault. I can’t concentrate whenever I’m near you, but I can’t breathe whenever you’re away from me. Your mother is my best friend and I curse myself for going behind her back like that, with her own daughter. But as selfish as that may be, I can’t let you go. I don’t know what to do.” 

Her lips found his before Spencer could move away, drawing a groan out of him. Their tongues met with excitement urging them on, but the spell was broken the second a pained gasp left her, forcing Spencer’s mouth away from hers instantly. His hand cupped her warm cheek as she tried to chase his lips, unable to stop her annoyed huff from clawing through her, “You haven’t touched me in days, Spence. Please.”

Spencer studied her for a few more seconds before a small grin tugged on his lips. Once again he kissed her, softer this time – almost teasingly, “Lay back down for me, baby.” 

She watched his every move with curiosity swimming in her twinkling pupils, following his frame as he settled between her legs, as he pressed his lips to her naked legs, wearing nothing but her panties and a shirt of his. Just from the way Spencer was touching her, (y/n) could tell that he wouldn’t fuck her, not tonight, but he seemed to ache for her just as much, kissing his way up to her already damp panties. 

“It’s been torture for me, I fucked my hand in the shower every evening to the thought of you.” His husky voice left her gasping, while her mind imagined Spencer fucking his hand, just a few metres away from her bed, hidden in the shower while she patiently waited for his return. No word managed to leave (y/n), too focused on his touch and the way her body trembled at his words – unable to come up with any teasing words. “I haven’t even touched you yet and you’re already dripping for me. Such a desperate girl for me, aren’t you, baby?”

“Spencer, please.” They held eye contact as he pushed her panties aside with his slender fingers, making enough room for his tongue to brush along her folds, groaning at her taste. Her heart was racing, pounding in her chest as if they were hunting an unsub, racing through streets to catch up with those running from them. But as much as (y/n) loved the high of a chase, this was so much better, a touch that left her burning, buzzing through her like a wildfire spreading all too quickly. 

Spencer’s eyes were filled with a longing that left (y/n) breathless, unable to stop her moans from clawing through her. Two of his fingers dipped into her tightness, perfectly filling her, without stopping his tongue from moving. He brushed the strong muscle against her pulsing bundle, feeling her shudder beneath him  – already close to the edge. 

Her trembling fingers tugged on his curls, drawing a breathy moan out of Spencer as he curled his fingers. Spencer couldn’t rip his eyes off her pleasure-drunken features as she came, head thrown back, lips parted. It was a sight he’d never forget, willingly remembering it with every rising of the sun as if she was his own deity to pray to. 

“I love you, Spencer.” (Y/n) choked on the words, gasping in surprise as he hastily moved up her body to kiss her breathless once again. 

“I love you too.” His words left her grinning, relaxing back against the mattress as he laid down next to her, letting his eyes wander over her gorgeous features. “JJ will understand, it may take some time, but I won’t give you up, (y/n), I never will.”

[tinylilacbun]

Scary Admirer

Pairing: dark!daddy!rafe x kook!little!reader

Warnings: age regression, dark themes, murder, stalking, reader is naive

A/N: not sure if I like this 😭 but omg thank you sm for 4,3k followers 🥹🫶🏻

Rafe laid eyes on you two months ago when he spotted you at a party, admiring you dance and twirl in your pastel colored dress, two small bows decorating your simple hairstyle.

You seemed so soft, such a contrast to his appearance and personality which is the reason he felt so drawn to you in the first place.

In that very night he introduces himself to you, putting on his charming smile as he holds out his hand. "Rafe Cameron, nice to meet you..." He trails off and you tell him your name with an adorable smile, shaking his hand.

He repeats your name in a murmer, testing it on his tongue.

Since then he made it his mission to get to know you more, not that you already share practically everything with him because you feel like you can trust him.

Your friends keep warning you to stay away from him, saying that the kook prince is bad news and that you should be wary of him.

Despite your better judgement you think that they just don't really know him, I mean he's so nice to you since the beginning and there must be a reason he shows that certain side of him to you only.

You like Rafe and you both start getting closer, spending time with each other but you're just friends doing things they normally do, right?

Oh if only you knew his true intentions.

Rafe studies everything you do, your routines, appointments, the people you surround yourself with and he goes furious anytime he sees you talking to a pogue, especially if it's a man, you being your usual bubbly self while that prick keeps staring at your chest shamelessly.

He often has to protect you as he claims, scolding you for being too trusting with everyone and suggest that you should stay near him for your own safety.

When the news of recent killings in Kildare goes around about witnesses who saw a person completely dressed in black and wearing a ghostface mask leaving the crime scenes, you started to not leave your house as much as before, avoiding going out after it gets dark.

The thing that scares you the most is that you have some kind of connection to every person that has been killed.

Since those deaths you've been regressing a lot more due to the fear and stress that comes with anytime you turn on your tv or scroll on your phone because no one can stop talking about it.

It took Rafe three weeks to find out about your age regression, only able to confirm his suspicion after you started inviting him over more often and he got the possibility to go through your room whenever you left to either go to the bathroom or get something.

He went through everything.

Your drawers where he found a certain one that only held more childish clothes with different prints and all in pastel colors.

Under your bed where he found a box decorated with stickers and took a peek of its contents, a smirk forming on his face when he sees a set of pacifiers, coloring books and crayons, stickers, and a bottle.

"Interesting..." He mutters, quickly pushing the box back under your bed when he hears your footsteps approaching the room again.

One evening you lay on your stomach on your plush bed and coloring contently in your hello kitty books with some crayons sprawled around, not knowing about the dark figure looming in your yard and watching you through your window.

Rafe smiles as he sees you reaching under your bed to retrieve a pacifier from your secret box, slipping it into your mouth.

He pulls out his phone, his mask and knife held in his other hand as he snaps a few pictures of you.

You're blissfully unaware of your supposed friend being literally outside, too engrossed in your littlespace.

Outside Rafe sees you getting up from your bed and over to your attached bathroom, closing the door behind you. That was his chance.

Rounding the house to the front door he crouches down for the spare key that he knows is hidden under the mat.

After finishing your night routine in the bathroom you open the door again, yawning as you approach your bed, stopping in your tracks at the printed out pictures laying on your bed.

Taking a better glance at them your heart beats faster when you realize they're all pictures of you...some where you're in your room, others from when you were walking around Kildare or at parties, and what made your stomach drop was the ones where you obviously were in littlespace.

"Nice shots, don't you think?" A sudden low distorted voice from behind you has you freezing and before you could react, a hand clamped over your mouth, a broad chest pressing against your back. "Shh, shh, none of that."

You whimper in fear, instinctively reaching up to grasp onto the arm that was holding you against the stranger.

"I've been watching you for a while now, y'know. Tell me, isn't it tiring to take care of yourself? To know that no one will be good enough to be your daddy?" He asks and you feel tears pricking in your eyes. "All those idiots I got rid of just because they didn't know how to treat someone as special as you..."

Your muffled pleading makes him chuckle, the sound sending a shiver down your spine.

"Imma let go of you now, but don't try and think of anything stupid, got it?" He warns you, his hold on you a little firmer and you nod shakily. "Good girl."

He takes off his mask, throwing it on the bed before he pulls his hand away, taking a step back. Even if you wanted you wouldn't get out a single sound, too afraid to even move.

The you so thought stranger places a hand on your shoulder, slowly turning you to face him and your heart drops into the pit of your stomach at who's standing in front of you. "R-Rafe?"

You take a hesitant step back, the back of your knees hitting your bed. "I- I don't understand...wha-"

"I know, but you don't need to worry." He speaks softly, stepping closer and reaching a hand up to trace the side of your face with his fingers, grabbing your chin to tilt your head up slightly to meet his gaze, a smile creeping on his face.

He gently wipes a tear from your cheek with his thumb, leaning down to kiss your forehead, the action meant to be comforting but the words that leave him do the opposite.

"Daddy's here now..."

Taglist

For everything:

@my-river-lilly @pauntedblacknails @fanfictioniseverything @devilslilbabysblog @buckymydarlingangel @hallecarey1 @daybreakwinter @loveshineslikethesky @wandaslittlewhore @vase-of-lilies @white-wolf1940 @simpingbutch @mischiefsemimanaged @alina02 @teddybearsgrr @doozywoozy @angelbabydoll28 @glxwingrxse @lilymurphy03 @veryvaughnny @lokigirlszendaya @youngstarfishdinosaur @little--baby--bear @minideathgoddess @rach2602 @gh0stgurl @flourishandblotts-inc @lovelyy-moonlight @yoruse

@mythixmagic @iris-xoxo-juhu

For Rafe:

@chiaraanatra @chimindity @erikasurfer

[red-riot-unbreakable-heart]

A Long, *Hard* Night with Eijiro Kirishima

Fandom: My Hero Academia

Ship: Kirishima x Fem Reader!!!!

Note: Ok my first Smut post - this is explicit so A18+ ONLY!!

Genre: Smut, Fluff, Romance, S*xual Tension, Dating

cw: MDNI!, fem reader, adult Pro-heros, all characters are A20+, blowjob, finger fucking, dirty talk, explicit content, romance

My Master List!

The first time you give Kirishima a blowjob, he asks you to use a condom.

It all starts out hot, heavy and hazy. A late night out with your joint friend group at the bar lead to a few close brushes and stolen glances. You both had been flirting shamelessly with each other for weeks.

You’re chatting with Mina and watching the cute bar tender pour espresso martinis when you feel your phone buzz. You pull the device out of your pocket and see a message from Kirishima flash across the screen – You wanna get out of here?

Instantly your eyes lock across the crowded bar and he hits you with a mischievous grin. There’s a question in his eyes as he nods towards the door. You smile back wickedly, and it’s the only answer he needs.

A half hour later you’re in his bed, running your hands under his shirt and across his toned stomach. Kirishima kisses down your neck and you moan as his hands creep under the hem of your shirt. Before long, you’re both in your underwear and breathing heavy.

You climb off of the pro hero and slide off the bed. He pouts at the loss of contact.

You stand back and drink him in – he’s absolutely gorgeous. His hair has fallen out of its usually spiked-up style and lies flat, dropping almost to his shoulders. The past few years of hero work show in his toned muscle and in the light scars that crisscross his upper chest and arms. His boxers stretch tightly across his toned thighs and you can see his arousal clearly through the thin black fabric. You almost lick your lips as you imagine what he looks like naked. Kirishima is so turned on right now that he can barely stand it. Yet there he lies - sweet faced and smiling at you. He’s eager to please, and very much enjoying the attention your eyes are giving his body. He likes the hungry look in your eyes as you appraise him.

“Come here.” You motion for him to slide to the edge of the bed. He obliges, drawn to you like a moth to flame. As he moves to the end of his bed, you slowly kneel before him. “I’m about to give you the best head of your life.”

You can tell that he loves hearing that – it’s so hot, the way you’re using your commanding pro hero tone on him. You see his dick twitch through the thin fabric of his boxers at the promise of your lips around him.

You grin, running a fingertip down his chest, across the expanse of his muscled stomach, and right to the elastic of his boxers. He shivers at the delicate contact. You move to slip your hand beneath the waistband of his underwear when he lightly grabs your hand to stop you.

“Hey – can we slow down for a minute?” He says sheepishly, looking down at you with soft eyes. You blink, the tension between you suddenly broken.

“Of course.” You say, worrying that you did something to make the unbreakable hero uncomfortable. He holds out a hand and pulls you to your feet, inviting you to sit next to him on the bed so that you’re on even ground.

“What’s up? Do you want to stop?” You ask, concern lacing your voice. You and Kirishima have known each other for a few years as casual friends, but you don’t know much about his dating history. The two of you have never discussed past hookups and now you wonder if he has some sexual trauma that you have unwittingly triggered.

“Oh my God – no! I absolutely want to keep going.” He says sincerely, reaching out to put a large, warm hand on your bare thigh. The contact turns you on so fast you need to squeeze your legs together to keep your libido at bay. Kirishima smirks, and you know your reaction didn’t go unnoticed. “I’ve pictured this night with you for weeks – months, even. I’ve wanted you so bad since you wore that crazy dress at the agency’s winter gala last year.”

You smile, thinking back to the strappy blue number you wore to the party of the year. The glittery high heels. The long, elegant slit up your left leg. You had been an absolute bombshell. But still - it’s shocking to think that Kirishima has burned for you for this long.

“Then did I do something that you didn’t like? Talk to me Eijiro.” The use of his given name takes him a bit by surprise. He can’t quite meet your eyes as he struggles to string an answer together.

“Well – shit this is awkward – I want a blowjob. Of course I want a blowjob from you – you’re the hottest girl I’ve ever met!” His hand, still on your thigh, squeezes pointedly as he says this. “But since it’s our first time together and we really haven’t discussed where we stand on exclusivity and STI tests…I’d really appreciate it if you let me wear a condom while you do it. If you still want to do it, that is.”

You look at him, perplexed. You think that never, in the history of all mankind, has a man so desperate to get his dick sucked asked to wear a condom during the act.

“It’s not that I don’t trust you. It’s just that – I think it’s the most responsible way to move forward until we have time to properly sit down and talk through what this is.” He gestures at the two of you with his free hand. And then it hits you – this is some classic chivalry shit. Kirishima is trying to set a boundary that respects the sexual and physical health of everyone involved. You grin.

“I’ve never done it that way before, but if you help me along I’m sure I’ll get the hang of it in no time.”

Kirishima’s body seems to sag with relief. “I know it’s a little weird…but it’s really important to me. I’ve had some challenges with partners in the past and I-”

You silence him with a kiss. “Eijiro, it’s totally fine. You don’t need to explain. Unless there’s any other boundaries or trauma triggers you want to talk through before we go any further?”

His smile is wide. “I knew you were cool the moment I met you. Nah, that’s it for now. I just ask that you let me know if you’re not into something. We can stop anytime you want.” He gets up and walks across the room to his dresser, popping open the second drawer and reaching inside to produce a bright orange box of flavored condoms.

“The chivalrous hero is always prepared.” You say sarcastically, smiling as he blushes a deep red.

“I’ve got a great handle on my brand – even in the bedroom.” He waggles his eyebrows suggestively and the two of you laugh. He cracks open the box and pulls out a string of bright foil condoms, the packaging glints in the low light. “What flavor would you prefer? We’ve got strawberry, banana, grape…oh, shit! I forgot they come in different colors, too.”

“What colors we talking?” You look over curiously.

“Let’s see…” He holds up the packages so he can read in the semi-darkness. “We’ve got red, yellow, purple, and green. It’s your pick!”

“Omg let’s do green…” You cover your mouth as you cackle out “so you can have a…cucumber dick!! Ha!” Kirishima laughs along with you and tears off the green condom package, haphazardly abandoning the rest of the box in his half-opened dresser drawer.

He walks back over to the bed and sits down, handing the shiny package to you. “You’re in control of this next part.” He says softly, and you can see he’s getting hard again underneath his boxers. You feel a spark in the pit of your stomach.

“Oh yeah? Number 12 Pro-Hero Red Riot likes to be taken care of?” You slide off the bed and get back into kneeling position beneath him, your small hands sliding up his muscular thighs and squeezing. He groans as you run your right hand slowly up his clothed length, dragging your finger along the sensitive tip of his cock.

“You’re being so good for me…” You whisper, dipping your fingertips underneath the waistband of his boxers to feel soft skin. You tease him, running your hand along the sensitive “V” of his waist, avoiding his dick. His eyes close and his head drops back. Oh – it seems that Kirishima has a praise kink. You smile at this delicious development, and decide to see how far you can push him.

“You’re getting so hard for me, baby.” You pull your hand out from under his boxers and reach up to slide them smoothly down his toned legs. He whimpers and lifts his ass to help you take off his underwear. His rock hard cock springs out of the garment and comes to rest flush against his taught abs. Unsurprisingly, he’s huge – you absentmindedly lick your lips as you take in his perfect length. He is just as beautiful as you imagined – and his tip is absolutely dripping with anticipation.

You toss his boxers over your shoulder and reach for the flavored condom. You examine the thin square and see a small watermelon emoji printed on the smooth silver packaging. You smirk and look up to see Kirishima staring at you from up on the bed, pupils blown wide with arousal. His left hand is twitching towards his dick, seemingly waiting for permission. You meet his gaze as you bring the package to your mouth and slowly tear the perforated strip back using your bright teeth. “Touch yourself for me, baby.” And he does, grasping his member lightly as he begins to pleasure himself with gentle, languid strokes. He watches you pull out the condom, features taught with anticipation.

“Good boy.” You whisper, and he groans in response. “I’m gonna make you feel sooo good with my mouth, Eijiro.”

He picks up his pace. His cock is so hard you can see it spasm in his hand. “My rock hard hero.” He smiles at the endearment.

After a few moments, you put your hand to his wrist and motion for him to stop. He releases his dick and it springs back to attention against his rippling abdomen. You lean forward and place the bright green condom on his length, taking your time to slowly roll it down all the way to the base of his member. He shudders at the intimate touch, and his eyes widen as you cleanly spit into the palm of your hand. You reach to stroke his dick a few times to make sure the condom’s in place, and realize that the green latex comes pre-lubricated. Your saliva mixes with a thin sheen of liquid, causing your hand to move smoothly across Kirishima’s hard dick.

“You seem to know exactly what you’re doing.” He pants, grinning as you continue to pump his length.

“Well what can I say? I’m a Pro at everything I do.” You mutter before leaning forward to pull his cock into your mouth. He hisses at the unexpected contact as you circle his tip with the edge of your tongue.

“Baby…” He whines out, as you move to drag your tongue up the underside of his dick.

“Wow you’re big.” You whisper, re-tracing up his length again. You look up at him through your lashes. “An impressive dick for an impressive goddamn hero.”

He absolutely loves that, and suddenly he’s scrambling to pull you up into his lap so that you’re straddling him. He kisses you fiercely, eyes closed, one hand twisted in your hair. And you’re kissing him back with just as much fervor – gasping as you feel his hard length press against your wet panties.

“I think we should take these off.” He says between kisses, reaching blindly to push your underwear down. You stand up shakily and stumble as you try to hop out of your practical cotton panties. You strip them off and toss them into a pile with Kirishima’s boxers.

You don’t even have a second to breathe before he pulls you back into his lap and starts sloppily making out with you again. You both groan as his condomed dick slips against your wet pussy. You reach down and reposition his length it so that he’s right against your clit. He grinds slowly against you, making you both see stars.

Kirishima kisses down your jawline and up to your ear to whisper: “I’m not ready to have penetrative sex just yet – is it ok if we just keep going like this?” You nod breathlessly as you roll your hips against his hard dick, already close to orgasm. It’s slippery and hot and he knows exactly what he’s doing as he licks his fingers and reaches between you to massage your swollen clit.

“You’re so gorgeous.” He pants, moving his fingers deftly against you. “I’ve always wanted to see you like this – absolutely undone and naked on top of me.”

“Eijiro…” You whimper as he rolls against you again. The lube of the condom allows his cock to slip comfortably along your folds. “I’m…I’m gonna cum! Is it okay if I cum?” Your face starts to heat up as you feel an orgasm welling up in the pit of your stomach.

“Yes! Yes, please – cum for me baby.” His voice is rough as you feel your body start to shudder and explode. You’re dimly aware of him whispering, “Oh my God, this is the hottest thing that’s ever happened to me.”

You ride out your orgasm slowly, gasping at the way his fingers continue to draw out your pleasure. He’s smiling as his fingers and cock slip against you, a wave of heat between the two of you. You laugh as he slows his pace, then removes his hand when you become too sensitive. He envelops you in an embrace, bringing his fingertips up to trace along your back softly. You shiver as you come down from your high, your head swimming with an image of his sharp red eyes clouded over with lust.

“That was...” You turn your head so that your foreheads touch. You kiss him soundly. “That was just…wow. I knew you had to be good with your hands…but that. That was a whole other level of Pro Hero work.” You both laugh, his face is glowing with the praise.

“Hey, anytime.” Kirishima leans forward to kiss you back. “And I mean anytime.”

Your heart leaps at the implication, and your brain jumps through a few hot situations where you’d like to ask Kirishima to drop what he’s doing to pleasure you. One particular fantasy comes to mind, in which you’re locking your office door while Eijiro sits on your desk unbuckling his belt. You shake your head to clear away an image of him fucking you in your office. One hookup at a time, girl! You refocus.

 “If it’s alright with you…I’d like to suck your dick properly now.” You plant a wet kiss on his left cheek. You can tell that Eijiro is trying not to seem overeager, but the impatient cock throbbing against your pussy is a dead giveaway.

“I’d really love that, cutie.” He leans forward to catch your mouth in another of his searing kisses. A moment later, you swing your legs off of him and your feet hit the ground shakily. You didn’t realize how much the orgasm had taken out of you as you duck-walk over to his dresser. Wordlessly, you open a drawer and fish out the brightly colored box of condoms.

“Let’s do red this time…for Red Riot.” You find a strawberry flavored condom and quickly tear the foil packaging. You turn to see Eijiro sitting on the bed practically quaking with anticipation. You smirk, legs like jelly as you return to the bed with the fresh condom.

You bend over him and swap out the slippery, stretched green condom for the fresh red one. When you’re done, you give his rock hard member an approving pat. “There – good as new!”

He laughs with you as he sinks back into the bed, ready for you to work your magic. It’s nice to be this comfortable with someone – to be able to joke in between the sex.  To be shamelessly naked in another person’s presence. You can’t remember the last time you’ve slept with someone like this – the last time it was this easy.

You spread his legs out and push him the rest of the way into the mattress before kneeling on the ground between muscular thighs.

“Hold on a sec – here, take this.” He reaches behind his head to grab a pillow, which he lobs your way. You smile appreciatively as you tuck the pillow beneath your knees.

“You’re such a gentleman.” You praise, before running your tongue up his length. “Now let’s reward you for being so manly and chivalrous.” It’s almost funny how those words are almost enough to push Eijiro over the edge. His face flushes and you see his hands grip the sheets above you.

“You like it when I praise you, huh? Want me to keep telling you what a good little hero you are?” You lick underneath the tip of his cock, teasing. Eijiro lets out a needy moan. “Such a manly, strong hero. You deserve to be taken care of after working so hard to keep everyone safe.”

And with that, you take his entire length into your mouth. You put on a good show – sloppily bringing your lips down to the base of his cock and running your fingertips along the underside of his balls. You squeeze them experimentally and he groans at the sensation. You begin to bob up and down on his firm member, hollowing out your cheeks with intent to suck the life out of him. He brings a heavy hand up to rest in your hair as you work, smoothing your bangs out of your face as he does so.

You slurp up his dick and can see that he’s getting close. You use your left hand and continue to massage his balls and the base of his cock lightly. You hum softly, and the vibrations of your mouth and throat send absolute shivers up his body. His cock is twitching in your mouth and his balls are all but pulsing in anticipation of his release.

Time for the grand finale - you start to suck on the head of his dick, taking care to stimulate him with some impressive suction before releasing him with a loud “pop” of your lips. He groans at the loss of contact, running his free hand messily through his hair with sexual frustration.

You prop yourself up on your elbows as you take a quick breather. You look at the absolute wreckage of a man laying on the bed before you. His pupils are wide and blissed out and his body is tense as he takes quick and shallow breaths.

You look him straight in the eyes as you let your tongue dart across your wet mouth. You stare him down, a dare mounting in your eyes. You want to drive him completely over the edge, and he knows it. He looks at you hungrily, desperately. “You know…Red Riot has got to be my favorite Pro Hero.”

And with that – he’s gone. Eijiro grabs either side of your face and practically stuffs his dick back into your mouth. You eagerly accept him in, moving your tongue to accommodate his size. Within moments, he’s face fucking you – hands gripping and pulling your hair as he starts to cum in your sweet little mouth.

“Oh my God.” He stutters out, his hips pistoning into you as he rides out his orgasm. His purposeful thrusts draw an unintentional whine of pleasure out of you. The noise makes him smile, and as he finishes his pace begins to slow. Finally, blissed-out and boneless, he slowly pulls his softening dick out of your mouth.

It takes a moment for you to realize that there’s an unexpected advantage of giving a blowjob using a condom – easy cleanup. Eijiro carefully rolls the spent condom off of his member before tying it off and tossing it in a wastepaper basket across the room. He flops blissfully backward onto his bed, butt naked and handsome. He’s covered in a sheen of sweat and looks like he’s absolutely glowing.

He holds his arms out to you expectantly and you climb into them, giggling as he wraps himself around you and rolls you both to the side so he can spoon you. You feel his exhausted cock feebly twitch as it makes contact with your bare ass. You smile to yourself as you wonder how long he will need to recover before he’s hard again.

His arms encircle you with warmth; a big hand comes down to lay flat across the plush skin of your tummy as he rests his chin on your shoulder.

“That was…” He’s trying to find the words to describe the passionate exchange you just shared but comes up flat.

“…the best head you’ve ever had?” You supply helpfully, a sly smile playing at your lips. This earns you a belly laugh as he plants a kiss on the side of your head.

“Yeah. That’s exactly what it was.” He pauses, taking a moment to compose himself. “I swear this isn’t just the afterglow talkin’ – but would you like to go out sometime? I’d like to take you on a real date.”

You open your mouth to respond but he forages on ahead before you have a chance to form words.

“I want to date you. Fully. Exclusively. I want take you to dinner, the movies – even to that stupid hero gala at the end of the year. The works.” He lets out a shaky breath. “I want you to wear that strappy sexy dress to the next work party and I want everyone there to see you and know that I’m your date. I want us to hangout at the bar with our friends and be able to just hold hands and be silly and couple-y. I want to have sex with you like this…all the damn time.”

He sounds so sure of himself as he says this next part – “I’ve felt this way for a while – and I’m hoping that you maybe feel the same?”

You can practically feel his heart jumping in his chest behind you.

“Are you asking me to be your girlfriend Eijiro?”

“Well – we don’t need to put a label on it just yet if you’re not comfortable. We can take some time to feel things out and just-”

“Yes.”

“Huh?” He’s frozen around you, thinking your answer is too good to be true.

“Absolutely. Yes. I want to be your girlfriend.” The tumble of words comes out of your mouth before you even register what’s happening. “Let’s do it all – dates, team-ups, galas, sex. There’s really no one else I’d want to share all of that with. And yeah – I’ve felt this way for a while, too.”

Behind you, Eijiro grins so widely he practically radiates sunshine. “Sounds like we’ve got a full blown relationship on our hands here, sweetheart.”

You feel your face blush at the term of endearment. “Usually I wouldn’t go rushing into something so quickly…but this. Us. I don’t know…it just feels right.” You muse, as he kisses your bare shoulder softly. “I guess we have been shamelessly flirting for months on end though.”

“Gotta love a slow burn.” Kirishima supplies, kissing the side of your head and then shifting away from you as he moves to get off the bed.

“Where are you going, hot stuff?” You gently swat his bare ass as he stands up, delighting in chuckle you elicit from the hardening hero.

He walks around the bed to kneel before you, settling between your legs. He grabs your thighs and pulls you roughly towards him, bringing your butt to the edge of the bed.

“So now that things are all official…I think I’d better return the favor.  Any interest in receiving the best head of your life?” He starts kissing up our leg and you shiver with excitement. Oh, hell yes.

“Hold on – if I had to use a condom to blow you, that means that if you’re gonna go down on me you need to use…” You search the deep recesses of your mind and try to recall what you learned in high school sex ed. “…a dental dam? Is that a thing?”

Kirishima pulls away from where he’s licking up your thigh to give you one of his trademarked-shark-toothed grins. “Go check the dresser drawer, there’s a box of them to the right. A good Pro Hero is always prepared.”

You smile back at him – it’s going to be a long, hard night.

-------------------------

Thanks for reading!! 💕 You can check out more ~spicy~ fics on My Master List!

[jetii]

By Your Name

Part One

Pairing: Wrecker x fem!Reader / Wrecker x Jedi!Reader

Words: 7,998/19,226

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! fluff, good-natured brotherly teasing, smut, this is mostly just smut actually, unprotected sex, fingering, oral (f receiving), size kink, aftercare, dirty talk, Wrecker being a sweetheart that is a given

Summary: You and Wrecker are still figuring out exactly what your relationship means, and a month apart hasn't helped. Now that you're reunited again, nothing is going to stand in the way of the two of you getting what you want.

A/N: Greetings from horny jail! I didn't proofread this one that much so if you see any mistakes no you didn't.

Previous Work | Next Work | Masterlist

Keeping your relationship with Wrecker a secret is easier said than done. There's no denying the spark between the two of you, and it only seemed to grow stronger in the days following your confession. To you, Wrecker is the sun, and you're a planet caught in his orbit, drawn in by his warmth and light. 

It's become increasingly difficult to keep things professional when all you want to do is pull him into a kiss, or spend every waking moment touching him in some way. Every time his fingers brush yours, or his hand finds the small of your back, the desire to kiss him, to hold him, to simply be with him is nearly overwhelming. And it's a feeling that only grows stronger the longer you're away from him.

Saying goodbye to Wrecker at the end of your tour with the Batch had been almost unbearable, and the distance has been agonizing. The weeks apart had dragged on, and the only solace you had was in the late-night calls and the occasional text. The longing had been a constant companion, and it had left you irritable and on edge.

But now, finally, the two of you will be reunited, and the excitement building in your chest is impossible to ignore. Even though it's been weeks since the two of you were last together, it feels like a lifetime, and you can't wait to be near him again. To feel his arms around you, his hands on your skin, his lips on yours.

The two of you had barely had enough time to figure out what exactly you are to each other before you left, and with the others around, there was little else you could do beyond a few stolen moments. But now, after weeks of anticipation and separation, you're finally getting the chance to explore things further.

And you know Wrecker is intent on making the most of the opportunity.

It was no secret that the man is incredibly tactile, and the fact that he'd been unable to touch you the way he wanted to, the way you both needed him to, had clearly taken a toll. His texts had grown progressively bolder, and the calls had lasted well into the night, and you'd spent hours on the comm with him, trying to keep your voice down while he told you everything he planned on doing to you once you were alone.

And now, you're on the same planet, finally, and the thought is enough to drive you crazy. You're already waiting in the hangar bay when the Marauder arrives, and the sight of it, the sight of him, sends a thrill of anticipation through you. The moment the ship touches down, the ramp lowers, and Wrecker comes barreling down, his arms outstretched.

"Hey, General!" he shouts. "Get ready, 'cause I'm gonna—"

You don't wait for him to finish. Instead, you throw yourself into his arms, and he catches you with ease, his arms wrapping around you, lifting you up off the ground. He spins you around, the two of you laughing and grinning like fools, and you're so happy you can barely breathe.

"Miss me?" you ask, breathless, your arms around his neck.

"Kriff, yeah," he says. "Wasn't the same without you."

"It wasn't the same for me, either," you murmur. "I didn't realize how much I would miss having you around."

"Me, neither," he replies.

He sets you down, but his arms stay locked around your waist, holding you close. The urge to kiss him is a physical ache, and the closeness is almost unbearable. But you can't, not here, not now, and so you settle for the feel of his arms around you, his hands stroking your back.

"I'm glad to see you," he says, his voice soft.

"I missed you, too," you reply, smiling up at him.

"I can't wait to show you how much I missed you," he whispers. The look in his eyes, the heat in his voice, sends a rush of desire through you, and you shiver. "Been thinkin' about it every day."

"Have you?"

"Yeah," he breathes. "And I've got a few ideas."

"Oh?" you ask, unable to keep the smile off your face. He's practically radiating energy, the excitement rolling off him in waves, and it's infectious.

Before he can respond, the sound of someone clearing their throat snaps you back to reality. The two of you turn, and you spot the others standing a short distance away at the end of the ramp. Crosshair and Tech look mildly amused, while Hunter looks vaguely uncomfortable, and Echo's expression is one of long-suffering annoyance.

"Uh, Wrecker," Hunter says, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. "You mind putting her down so we can go?"

"What?" Wrecker asks. "Oh. Yeah, yeah. Sorry."

He lets go of you, his hands trailing over your waist as he steps back. You brush your hands across your tunic, trying to quell the butterflies in your stomach, and Wrecker grins down at you.

"Sorry," you say, unable to keep the smile off your face. "It's been a while."

"Just save it for the ship,” Crosshair drawls as he passes by.

"Don’t worry, we will," Wrecker fires back, throwing an entirely unnecessary wink in his direction. Crosshair rolls his eyes, but the corner of his mouth quirks up. Tech follows, shaking his head with a small smile.

"I am glad that the two of you have reconciled your differences," he says, his eyes flicking to yours. "But please keep such displays of affection to a minimum in our presence.”

"Sorry, Tech.”

"We'll behave," Wrecker adds, but his tone is teasing.

"I doubt that," Echo mutters, but his eyes are crinkled at the corners. You flush, but can't help but return the smile. He's not wrong, after all.

"We'll try," you amend, and the others chuckle as they follow Crosshair out of the hangar toward the barracks. You and Wrecker walk a short distance behind them, keeping pace, and the silence is comfortable, the two of you walking shoulder to shoulder. He leans over and nudges your arm, and you glance up at him, catching the grin on his face.

You smile back, unable to hide your excitement, and the look in his eyes is almost enough to make your knees give out. You have no idea how you're going to get through the rest of the day, knowing that he's within arm's reach. Knowing that tonight, when the others have gone to sleep, the two of you will have the ship to yourselves. And the thoughts running through your mind are enough to have you squirming in place, eager for the day to end.

"Welcome back, by the way," you say, trying to ignore the flutter in your stomach.

"Glad to be back," Wrecker says. "And ready to start celebrating."

"Oh, is that what we're doing?" you tease.

"Mhm," he replies, his voice low and rough. "Gonna celebrate the kriff outta you."

You bite back a gasp, and your face heats up. You'd known Wrecker was forward, but the way he talks about wanting you, the way he openly stares at you, is still startling. No one has ever been so open with their feelings before, and while you're still getting used to the idea, it's nice. Reassuring. It's a reminder that this is real, that he wants you, and it's all you can do not to melt on the spot.

"Sounds like a good plan," you reply, your voice hoarse, and you resist the urge to fan yourself.

"Knew you'd see it my way," he says, and the look he gives you is enough to send a jolt of heat straight to your core.

The two of you continue on in comfortable silence, and you can't help but glance at him, taking in the sight of Wrecker finally back by your side. You can't deny that the past few weeks have been...frustrating. Being unable to be near him, or touch him, or even speak openly about how you feel has been agonizing. And the constant teasing and flirting via holo hasn't helped.

There are so many things you've wanted to say, to do, but haven't had the chance. Now, with the privacy and space, the temptation is nearly overwhelming. And the look on Wrecker's face tells you that he's thinking the same thing. You just need to get through the next couple hours without drawing too much attention, and then...

As expected, the celebration is a simple affair, a meal and a round or two of drinks at 79s. You've gotten used to the squad's traditions over the past year, and it's a relief to know that the evening won't drag on for hours. As it is, your patience is wearing thin, and you can tell that Wrecker feels the same.

"So," Hunter starts, his eyes fixed on the two of you. "Did you have a chance to talk about things while we were away?"

"Yeah, a bit," Wrecker says, shifting in his seat. His leg brushes against yours, and the contact sends a jolt of electricity up your spine. "Still workin' things out."

"I see," Hunter says. He takes a sip of his drink, his gaze flicking between the two of you, and he raises an eyebrow. "Just try not to make it too obvious, okay?"

"I'm not making any promises," Wrecker smirks, and the words are directed at his brother, but the way his eyes burn into you is unmistakable. You bite your lip, the heat on your cheeks nearly unbearable. The fact that he's so brazen, so shameless, is doing nothing to help your growing desire, and it's all you can do to keep a straight face.

"Wrecker, please," Echo groans, his eyes squeezed shut.

"Sorry, sorry," Wrecker chuckles, and his hand finds your thigh beneath the table, his fingers squeezing gently. You resist the urge to jump, trying to ignore the warmth of his palm seeping through the fabric of your pants. You can tell he's teasing, testing the boundaries, and the look on his face is almost smug. "I'll behave."

"No, you won't," Tech says, his eyes locked on his datapad. "But I suppose we will simply have to accept that this is your current reality."

"Guess so," Wrecker says, and the smile he gives you is blinding.

The rest of the meal is relatively uneventful, and the conversation is light, mostly centered around the mission, and what's to come. The Republic is preparing for another offensive, and you and the Batch have been assigned to gather intel on a possible Separatist stronghold in the Outer Rim. It's not an ideal mission, but it's better than sitting around doing nothing. And with Wrecker by your side, it will certainly be more bearable.

You listen as the others share stories, laughing and talking like they always do. Wrecker's hand stays on your thigh, his fingers tracing absentminded circles on your leg, and it's enough to keep you distracted, the anticipation growing with every passing minute. By the time the meal is finished, you're all but squirming in your seat, and you're desperate to get out of the crowded room.

"What about you?" Crosshair asks, and the sound of his voice pulls you back to the present. "Did you sit around doing nothing this whole time?"

"No," you reply. "I was training, mostly."

"Boring," Crosshair sneers, but his eyes are soft, and the look he gives you is teasing.

"I did manage to get a new scar, if that counts," you say, pointing to the healing cut above your eyebrow. "Had a run-in with a particularly unpleasant bounty hunter. She was faster than she looked."

"Ooh, lemme see," Wrecker says, and his hand finds your chin, tilting your face up. The gesture is casual, but the way his fingers stroke your cheek is not, and you shiver at the touch. He turns your face, his thumb brushing the healing skin, and the heat of his palm sears into your cheek. "Pretty nasty. You gonna live?"

"I think so," you manage, and his eyes sparkle with amusement.

"Good," he says. "Don't want anything happenin' to that pretty face of yours."

Someone makes a noise of protest, but you're too busy trying not to melt under Wrecker's gaze to notice who it was. His eyes flick over your features, his expression intense, and his fingers trail down the line of your jaw, coming to rest on your shoulder.

"Alright," Hunter cuts in. He slaps his hands on the table and stands, giving the two of you a pointed look. "Let's call it a night."

"But—"

"No buts," he says. "I can't watch this any longer."

Wrecker grumbles something under his breath, but he pulls his hand away, and the absence is nearly enough to make you whine.

"Fine," he huffs, rising from his seat. "See you all tomorrow."

You stand as well, your legs shaking. You're not sure how you're going to make it back to the ship, and the smirk on Wrecker's face tells you that he knows exactly what he's doing.

"Later," Crosshair says, his tone bored.

"Have a good night," Echo calls after you, his voice tight with discomfort. You glance back at him and offer an apologetic shrug, but he just waves you off. Tech is still buried in his datapad, oblivious, and Hunter gives you a long-suffering sigh as the two of you leave.

The walk back to the ship is agony. The sun has long since set, and the streets are dark, but the lights of the city are bright enough that it's not difficult to navigate. Still, the journey feels like an eternity, and every step sends a thrill of anticipation through your veins. You can feel Wrecker's presence behind you, his hand occasionally brushing against your back, his body close enough to touch.

"You're enjoying this, aren't you?" you ask as the two of you round the corner, putting some distance between yourselves and the others.

"Enjoying what?" he asks innocently.

"Teasing me," you reply, elbowing him in the side.

"Maybe a little," he grins, and the heat in his gaze makes you blush. "You know, it's hard not to be when you react like that."

"React like what?

"Like this," he murmurs, his hand sliding down your spine, coming to rest on the curve of your ass. His palm is hot and heavy, and the pressure is enough to make you gasp.

"I can't help it," you mutter, trying to ignore the desire that's pooling in your core.

"I know," he says, and his fingers squeeze, pulling you into his side. "And it's kriffing adorable."

"Shut up," you say, pushing against him. He laughs, the sound low and husky, and the way his eyes gleam in the dim light is more than a little distracting.

"Make me," he says, and his voice is teasing, but there's a note of challenge in it, and the implication sends a shiver down your spine. 

You turn to face him, and before you can second guess yourself, you reach out, taking hold of his armor and pulling him towards you.

Wrecker's lips meet yours in a searing kiss, and the force of it knocks the wind out of you. He backs you up against the wall, caging you in with his body, and his hands find your hips, lifting you up onto the tips of your toes. You moan against his mouth, and his tongue slips past your lips, his fingers digging into your flesh. The kiss is bruising, full of heat and want, and the way he moves against you, his body hard and solid, leaves you gasping for air.

He breaks the kiss, and his teeth nip at your lower lip, his hands wandering down, squeezing the swell of your ass. His breath is hot on your skin, his chest heaving, and the desire in his eyes is all-consuming.

"That shut you up," you whisper as his lips move down the column of your throat.

"Mhm," he mumbles. His tongue drags over the delicate skin, and you tilt your head back, giving him better access. "Keep doin' that, and I'll be quiet the rest of the night."

You laugh, the sound turning into a groan as his teeth sink into your flesh, biting down. His hands slide around to your back, pulling you flush against him, and his knee slips between your legs. The pressure against your core is enough to make you moan, and he chuckles against your skin.

"That's a dangerous game you're playing," you whisper, trying to catch your breath.

"Not the only one," he murmurs, his eyes finding yours. The hunger in his gaze makes your blood sing, and you swallow, trying to steady your pulse.

"True," you say, reaching up to cup his cheek. "But I'm not sure we should keep playing it. At least not until we get back to the ship."

He leans in and presses a gentle kiss to your lips, his tongue teasing the seam of your mouth. You open for him, and his hand comes up to cup the back of your head, holding you steady.

"Good point," he whispers as he pulls away, his nose brushing against yours.

"Come on," you say, and you nudge him backwards. Wrecker goes willingly, stumbling back a step, his eyes never leaving yours. "Let's go."

The two of you pick up the pace, and it's not long before you're making your way through the hangar bay towards the Marauder. There are a few people milling about the hangar, and a group of technicians working on a nearby ship, but none of them pay the two of you any attention as you approach the ramp.

The moment the door closes behind you, Wrecker pounces, pinning you against the wall, his mouth finding yours in a hungry kiss. You pull him closer, and he wraps his arms around you, lifting you up with ease. Your legs lock around his waist, and his hands slide down to grip the underside of your thighs, his fingers digging into the sensitive skin.

You break the kiss, your lungs screaming, and he moves down, pressing hot, wet kisses to the line of your throat. His mouth is warm and slick, his tongue leaving a burning trail along your collarbone. His hands find the hem of your shirt, and he pushes the fabric up, exposing your stomach.

"You really gonna keep quiet the rest of the night?" you ask, your voice hoarse.

"Do you want me to?" he murmurs, his nose brushing against the skin beneath your ear.

"Not particularly," you reply.

"Didn't think so," he says, and his teeth scrape against the shell of your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. "You wanna know what I think?"

"What?"

"I think you like it," he growls. His hands slip beneath your shirt, his palms sliding up the curve of your waist. "I think you like it when I tell you how pretty you are, or how much I want you."

"Maybe," you whisper.

"It's okay," he murmurs, his fingers dancing across your skin. "I like it, too."

You moan, the sound soft and needy, and he laughs, the vibrations tickling the sensitive spot below your ear. Wrecker's mouth finds yours again, his tongue plunging past your lips. He tastes like the liquor the two of you were drinking earlier, and the heady mixture is enough to make your head spin.

He breaks the kiss, and the next thing you know, he's carrying you down the hall, his pace hurried. Within a few steps, the two of you are falling onto the bunk, a tangle of limbs.

You land on top of him, straddling his waist, and Wrecker groans, his hands coming to rest on your hips. You grind down against him, the movement sending a rush of heat through your body. The contact is dizzying, and you do it again, relishing the way his eyes flutter closed.

"Kriff, cyare," he breathes.

"I thought I was cyar'ika," you murmur.

"Both. Either. Doesn't matter," he says, his hands slipping beneath the hem of your shirt.

"I think it matters" you say, leaning down and pressing a kiss to his lips.

"You really wanna talk about Mando'a right now?" he asks, and the amusement in his voice makes you laugh. You pull back enough to let him pull the shirt up and over your head, leaving you bare save for your breast band.

"I guess not. I'd rather do something else," you whisper, and Wrecker's eyes darken, his pupils dilating. His gaze trails over your chest, and his hands follow suit, tracing the line of your ribs.

"Me too," he murmurs. His fingers ghost across the band of fabric covering your breasts, teasing the edges. You give a slight nod, and he hooks a finger underneath the material, pulling it up and over your head.

Your breasts bounce free, and his eyes lock on them, his gaze burning. His hands slide up your sides, cupping the swell of flesh, his palms hot and rough.

"Mesh'la," he murmurs. He leans forward, his lips finding the slope of your shoulder. "So kriffing beautiful."

The praise makes you blush, and he kisses his way down the length of your chest, his lips trailing over the curve of your breast. You tilt your head back, closing your eyes as he licks a circle around your nipple, his tongue leaving a hot, wet trail.

"Wrecker," you whimper, and the sound seems to spur him on. His mouth finds your breast, his lips closing around the tight bud, his tongue swirling. You moan, the feeling electric, and he hums in response, his teeth grazing the sensitive flesh.

He sucks and bites at the stiff peak, his fingers rolling the other, and the twin sensations send a rush of heat through your body. It's almost too much, and you can't help but squirm, the desire pooling in your core. Wrecker’s armor presses against your thighs, the pressure almost painful, and the need to feel his skin on yours is overwhelming.

"Take it off," you pant, tugging at the shoulder plates.

"Bossy," he chuckles, and the sound sends a jolt of excitement through you.

"I think you like it," you say, throwing his own words back at him, and the wicked grin he gives you is all the answer you need.

"You're right," he replies. He reaches behind him, unclipping the pieces of his armor and setting them aside. The process is painstakingly slow, and you can't help but pout. But when you try to move his hands out of the way, he lifts you off his lap and sets you down on the mattress.

"Hey!"

"I'm going," he says, a grin on his face. "Don't worry."

Wrecker stands, and the sight of him towering above you, his broad frame blocking out the light, is enough to make you tremble. He strips off the pieces of armor with practiced efficiency, revealing the black undersuit beneath. You stare at him, your eyes roaming over the thickly corded muscles of his arms and chest, the taut fabric stretched across his abdomen.

"See somethin' you like?" he teases, and the sound of his voice draws you back to reality.

"Yes," you say, clearing your throat.

"Yeah?"

"Yes," you repeat with a smile.

"Good," he says. He kneels before you, his fingers finding the hem of your pants. He undoes the button, and you lift your hips, letting him slide the fabric down.

He takes a moment to admire you, his eyes trailing over the curves of your body. He hums in approval, his hand sliding up your leg, his fingers stroking the inside of your thigh.

"Beautiful," he murmurs.

You watch as his hand slips lower, and his thumb finds the edge of your underwear, the touch light and teasing. The sensation is enough to make you gasp, and he does it again, tracing a line along the seam. Your legs part instinctively, and his hand cups the apex of your thighs, his palm pressing against the damp fabric.

"You want more?" he asks, and the huskiness of his voice is enough to make you ache.

"Yes," you breathe.

He pulls the underwear off, and you lie back, spreading your legs, giving him a clear view of the most intimate parts of you. He groans at the sight, his eyes raking over the soft flesh, and his hands grip your knees, pushing them further apart. You feel exposed, but the look on his face is nothing short of reverent, and the desire in his eyes is enough to take your breath away.

"Mesh'la," he whispers, and then his head is between your legs, his tongue finding the sensitive flesh. The contact is electric, and you moan, the sound muffled by your fist. Wrecker chuckles, his eyes locking on yours as his mouth continues its work. His lips and tongue are soft and warm, and his fingers grip your hips, pulling you closer.

"Stars, Wrecker," you whimper, and he hums in response, the vibrations sending a jolt through your body. You gasp, and he smiles, his mouth never leaving the apex of your thighs. His tongue traces circles around the stiff bud, his fingers stroking the delicate skin.

You squirm under his ministrations, the sensation nearly overwhelming, and he holds you steady, his hands like steel. You grip the sheets, trying to ground yourself, but it's a futile effort. Wrecker is relentless, his mouth devouring every inch of flesh, his tongue probing, his teeth scraping, and the heat pooling in your belly threatens to consume you.

"Wrecker, I can't—"

He stops, pulling away with a wet smack. His face is glistening, his eyes burning, and the sight of him is enough to steal the words from your lips.

"Tell me," he growls, his hands tightening on your thighs.

"I can't—"

"Can't what, cyar’ika?" he murmurs, leaning in, his breath warm on the skin of your neck.

"Can't wait," you manage. "Please."

He laughs, his fingers stroking the sensitive flesh of your thighs. He presses a kiss to the side of your neck, and his hand slips between your legs, his fingers finding the apex of your folds. You groan, the contact almost too much to bear, and his fingers tease the edge, sliding along the slick skin.

"I'm gonna take my time with you," he says, his voice rough. "Gonna learn every inch of your body, every place that makes you feel good. And I'm gonna do it until you're a kriffing mess."

The words send a rush of heat through your body, and you can't help but arch into his touch, your hips rising off the bed. He grins, his fingers parting the slick folds, and you bite back a moan as he slides the digits along the length of the slit.

"So wet," he says, and the pride in his voice is obvious. "Mesh'la."

He leans down, his tongue darting out, tracing the same path his fingers had just followed. Wrecker takes his time, his mouth exploring every inch of the exposed flesh. By the time his tongue reaches the sensitive bud, you're trembling, the pleasure almost unbearable. His fingers press against your entrance, and you nod, giving him the go-ahead.

He slips a finger inside, and you clench around him, the feeling almost foreign. It’s been so long since you've done anything like this, and the stretch is unfamiliar, the sensation a strange combination of pleasure and discomfort. He moves slowly, his lips and tongue distracting you from the intrusion, and the discomfort fades, the pressure turning into a delicious fullness.

"You okay?" he asks, looking up at you, his lips still pressed against the apex of your thighs.

"Mhm," you reply, and you roll your hips, letting him know you're ready for more. He grins, and he presses another finger in, his tongue swirling around the stiff bud. The stretch is almost too much, and you gasp, the pleasure making your head spin.

Wrecker moves slowly, his fingers curling, probing, searching for that spot inside you. When he finds it, he rubs the tips against it, and the jolt of pleasure is enough to take your breath away.

"Fuck," you gasp.

"Yeah?" he asks, his eyes glinting with mischief.

"Yes," you whimper.

"More?"

"Yes, please," you beg. "Please."

He complies, his fingers pressing deeper, and you groan, the pleasure almost too much to bear. Your thighs shake, and he hooks his free arm around one of them, pulling you closer, his lips closing around the bud.

It doesn't take long before the heat coiling in your belly becomes too much to bear, and you can't hold back the moans spilling from your lips. Wrecker keeps up the pace, his fingers pumping, his mouth devouring, and it's only a few moments before the tension snaps.

You cry out, the sound swallowed by the bulkhead, and your thighs clamp around his head, trapping him. The air seems to ripple around you, the Force flowing through you, and the room fades, replaced by blinding white light. You're weightless, drifting in the current, the pleasure rippling through your body.

When you finally come down, the room has returned to normal, and the pressure of Wrecker's mouth is nearly too much. You push him away, and he looks up at you, a smirk on his face. His lips are wet and swollen, and his eyes are bright with lust.

"That was somethin' else," he murmurs, his voice hoarse.

"What did I do?" you ask, your voice shaking.

"Not sure," he replies. He presses a kiss to the inside of your thigh, his tongue darting out, licking away the remnants of your climax. "But I liked it."

"Oh," you manage.

"You good?"

"Yeah," you breathe. "Really good. Stars, Wrecker, that was...”

"Just the beginning," he says, his hands finding your waist and flipping you onto your stomach. He pulls you up onto your knees, and the next thing you know, his tongue is on your folds again, the sensation making your legs tremble.

"Wrecker, what—"

"Told you I'd take my time," he murmurs, and his fingers slip inside you again, the pace agonizing. You groan, burying your face in the pillow, trying to muffle the sounds spilling from your lips. His hand slides up your spine, his fingers tangling in your hair, pulling your head back. "I wanna hear you."

"I can't," you whimper.

"I'll stop if you don't," he threatens. "Wanna hear how good I'm makin' you feel."

"Fine," you groan. "Don't stop. Please."

"Good girl," he says, and the words send a rush of heat straight to your core. You feel yourself clamp down around his fingers, and his other hand grips the curve of your ass, squeezing hard. "Fuck, that's hot."

You moan, the sound loud and needy, and he rewards you by sliding another finger inside. The stretch is almost painful, but the pleasure is worth it, and the thought of him inside you, filling you, sends a thrill of excitement through your body. You can't help but push back against him, grinding your hips against his face.

"Look at you," he says, and the awe in his voice is enough to bring tears to your eyes. "Fuck, you're perfect. So fuckin' perfect."

His mouth returns to its work, his tongue licking and sucking and teasing. Your legs tremble, and his arm wraps around your waist, holding you up as his fingers plunge deeper. The pleasure is overwhelming, and the room seems to fade around you, the only thing remaining the feeling of his mouth on your sex.

You can't think, can't breathe, can't do anything except take whatever he gives you. And the thought, the knowledge that you're completely at his mercy, is intoxicating. You surrender to the feeling, allowing yourself to let go, and the release is almost instantaneous.

You cry out, the sound torn from your throat, and the force of it threatens to knock you over. But Wrecker is there, his arms steadying you, his mouth coaxing every last ounce of pleasure from you. When the waves of bliss finally subside, you slump forward, the mattress soft against your cheek.

"Holy shit," you mutter, unable to form a coherent thought.

"Yeah," Wrecker says, his hand stroking the length of your spine. He leans over you, his mouth finding the soft skin behind your ear. His tongue darts out, licking the shell, and his breath is hot on your neck. "Still with me?"

"Barely," you whisper, and the sound of his laugh sends a shiver through you. You roll over slowly to find his face inches from yours, his smile wide and wicked. You reach up, cupping his cheek, and the softness in his eyes is enough to melt your heart.

"Hi," he murmurs.

"Hey."

He leans in, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips. The tenderness is unexpected, and the taste of yourself on his mouth is more arousing than it has any right to be.

"I'm glad we're finally alone," he whispers, his nose brushing against yours. "Was about to explode."

"Mm," you reply. "Well, let's fix that."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," you say, pushing him back. He sits up, and you move with him, swinging your leg over his waist. He watches you with hungry eyes, and the desire in his expression is enough to stoke the embers of your own. You can feel his cock straining against the fabric of his suit, the thickness hard and insistent, and the realization of just how badly he wants you is almost too much to bear.

You lean in, your mouth finding the side of his neck, and he groans, his hands coming up to rest on your hips. You nip and bite at the exposed flesh as your hands slip underneath the hem of his shirt, and you peel the fabric up, revealing his chest. He lifts his arms, and the two of you work together to pull the garment over his head, tossing it aside.

You run your hands over his broad chest, your fingers tracing the line of his muscles, his scars, his tattoos. The expanse of his skin is a map, a landscape, and you want to explore every inch. He sighs, his eyes closing, and the contentment in his expression is beautiful. You kiss him again, and he groans, his hand reaching up to cup the back of your head.

"I could kiss you forever," he murmurs.

"That would be nice," you reply, your lips moving down his throat.

"Mhm," he hums. "But right now, I really, really wanna fuck you."

The words send a shiver of desire through you, and you pull back, giving him a smirk. You slide back, and his hands move to the closure of his suit, undoing the catches with ease. The fabric parts, revealing the thick shaft beneath. The head is dark and swollen, and a drop of precome glistens at the tip.

"Kriff," you breathe. "You're—"

"Big?" he says, grinning.

You swallow, nodding. You've felt him through his clothes, the evidence of his desire more than clear, but the reality is something else entirely. He's larger than any partner you've ever had, and the thought of taking him, of feeling him inside you, is both terrifying and exhilarating.

"That's putting it mildly."

"We can wait," he offers, his hands finding your hips, his fingers stroking the sensitive skin. "Or take things slow. We don't have to do anything you're not ready for."

"I appreciate that," you say. "But I really, really want this."

"Yeah?"

"Yes."

He smiles, and his hand slips between your thighs, his fingers finding the slick skin. You gasp at the touch, rising up on your knees to pull his blacks down further. His cock springs free, the length curving up against his belly. He helps you pull the rest of the suit off, leaving the two of you bare before each other.

He sits up, his eyes raking over the planes of your body, his gaze hungry and possessive. He pulls you towards him, and you wrap your arms around his shoulders, his mouth finding yours. His hands slide down your spine, cupping the swell of your ass, his fingers digging into the soft flesh.

"You sure about this?" he asks, his lips moving against yours.

"Very," you reply. You reach between the two of you, your fingers wrapping around his length. He groans, his head falling back, and his hips twitch, pushing into your grasp. Your fingers don't quite meet, the thickness impossible to fully encircle, and the size of him is daunting.

"You can change your mind," he says, and the words are choked, strained. "Just say the word."

"I won't," you say. "Trust me."

"Okay," he breathes, and the faith in his voice is enough to take your breath away. He leans back, and you raise yourself up on your knees, positioning him at your entrance. You take a deep breath, and then begin to lower yourself onto him. The head presses against the tight ring of muscle the sensation almost foreign. You press down, and the tip slips inside, the thickness stretching you.

"Shit," he mutters, his fingers gripping your hips. "Fuck, cyar'ika, you're so—"

The words turn into a loud, unrestrained groan as you sink down, taking him inch by inch. It takes time, the fullness overwhelming, but you persevere, the feeling of him inside you more intense than anything you've ever felt. The way his length fills you, stretching and stretching, the slight pain, the ache, the feeling of being whole, it's enough to drive all thoughts from your mind.

By the time Wrecker is nearly fully seated inside you, the both of you are trembling. He's panting, his eyes squeezed shut, his chest rising and falling in rapid breaths. You watch him, the sight of his reaction sending a rush of excitement through your body. It's the first time you've seen him lose control, and the knowledge that it's you, that you're the cause, is exhilarating.

You shift in his lap, grinding down on his cock, and he hisses, his teeth clenched. The pressure against the walls of your cunt is almost too much to bear, and it takes everything you have not to collapse. You lift yourself up slightly, testing the limits, and his grip on your hips tightens.

“Stay still,” he growls, and the command in his voice sends a thrill through you. “Don’t move.”

"Or what?" you ask.

Wrecker opens his eyes, his gaze burning into you. There's a dangerous glint there, and the promise in his expression is almost too much to take. You swallow, unable to look away. He smirks, and his hand comes up, his fingers wrapping around the back of your neck, holding you steady.

"Or I'm gonna have to fuck you into the kriffing mattress," he says, his voice rough. "You think you can handle that?"

"Maybe," you reply, and the confidence in your voice is surprising.

"Really?" he says. He shifts, his hips lifting off the mattress, and the movement pushes him deeper. The stretch is almost too much, but the sensation is exquisite, and the moan that escapes your lips is unabashedly desperate. "Sounds like you can't."

"I'm not convinced," you say, and the words come out more as a whine than a statement. Wrecker laughs, his lips curling into a smug smile. The expression should annoy you, but instead, it only adds to the heat pooling in your core. You like seeing him like this, confident and commanding, and the thought of letting him have his way with you is more than a little arousing.

"You're adorable," he says, and he tilts his head forward, his lips meeting yours in a searing kiss. You wrap your arms around him, and he pulls you closer, his other hand sliding down to the small of your back. The pressure is intoxicating, and you can't help but squirm, trying to find purchase. But he holds you steady, his mouth devouring yours.

He lifts you up, his hands gripping the curve of your ass, and his cock nearly slips out, the sudden emptiness jarring. But before you can complain, he's lowering you back down, sheathing himself inside you again.

"Oh," you whimper.

"Yeah," he murmurs. "You feel so good."

He lifts you again, and his pace is achingly slow, the movement careful, controlled. He's clearly holding back, and the knowledge that he's doing it for your benefit sends a rush of affection through you. You cup his face in your hands, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

"Wrecker," you say. "Please."

"You sure?"

"Yes," you hiss, your head tilting back as he slides home. "Please, I want—"

"Tell me what you want," he growls.

"You," you say, and the confession is more difficult than it should be. "All of you. Hard and fast and— Fuck!"

The breath leaves your lungs as he flips the two of you, his weight pinning you against the mattress. He slides a hand beneath your hips, tilting them up, and his lips find the curve of your neck, his teeth scraping against the sensitive skin.

"Don't say I didn't warn ya," he growls, and then his hips snap, driving him into you. The movement is quick and powerful, and the impact reverberates through your entire body. The thrust is accompanied by a wave of pleasure, the feeling intense and all-consuming, and it takes everything you have to hold on.

"Holy shit," you mutter, your eyes squeezing shut.

"You good?" he murmurs, his hands finding yours, his fingers intertwining with your own.

"So good," you whimper. You wrap your legs around his waist, trying to anchor yourself, but the motion seems to have the opposite effect. The slight shift in position is all the invitation he needs, and he drives into you again, the force enough to push you up the bed. The pleasure is almost blinding, and the room blurs, the edges of your vision darkening.

"More," you beg, the word torn from your throat.

"Anything," he breathes, and then his mouth finds yours, swallowing the moan that spills from your lips. His hips set a relentless rhythm, his cock pounding into you, the friction delicious. You wrap your arms around him, pulling him closer, and his mouth never leaves yours, his tongue plunging past your teeth. The taste of him, the smell of him, it's enough to send you reeling, and the world around you fades, replaced by a single, searing point of pleasure.

You lose yourself in the moment, the feeling of his body pressed against yours, the warmth and strength and power of him. He surrounds you, engulfs you, consumes you, and the intimacy of the act, the connection between the two of you, it's unlike anything you've ever felt. The sensation is overwhelming, and you're powerless to do anything except take whatever he gives you. You let go, surrendering yourself completely, and the feeling is almost euphoric.

"You feel so fuckin' good," Wrecker pants, and the words seem to echo, his voice distant. "Can't believe you're—fuck, cyar'ika, you're perfect."

The praise spurs you on, and the next thing you know, Wrecker is kneeling before you, pulling you towards him. His hands grip your waist, his fingers digging into the sensitive flesh, and his cock plunges deeper. You cry out, the sound echoing around the room, and he groans in response, his movements becoming erratic.

"Fuck," he grunts. His hands slide down, cupping the curve of your ass, and he lifts you off the mattress, impaling you on his cock. The angle is intense, and you can feel the tension coiling in your belly, the pressure threatening to burst.

"I'm close," you gasp, and he nods, his face twisted with pleasure. He's lost control, the steady rhythm giving way to desperate, frantic thrusts, and the knowledge that he's close to coming undone is intoxicating.

"Touch yourself," he manages. "Come on, cyar'ika, wanna feel you come on my cock."

You do as he says, reaching down and sliding your fingers through the wetness between your legs. The contact is enough to push you over the edge, and you come hard, the orgasm tearing through you. The room goes dark, the pleasure nearly blinding, and the air seems to vibrate, the Force surging through you. You can't breathe, can't think, can't do anything except let it wash over you.

You feel yourself clamp down around Wrecker's cock, the walls of your cunt spasming, and he gasps, the sound raw and primal. He thrusts once, twice, and then his hips stutter, and he drives himself deep, the force of his climax making the bed shake. You feel his cock pulse inside you, filling you, and the warmth of his seed sends another wave of pleasure rippling through your body.

It seems to go on forever, the two of you riding out the aftershocks. You're trembling, and tears are spilling down your cheeks, but you can't bring yourself to care. You pull him close, your mouth finding his, and the kiss is sloppy, needy, the two of you too far gone to do anything except cling to each other.

When it's over, Wrecker rolls the two of you over, pulling you into his arms. His chest is rising and falling in rapid breaths, and his heart is pounding, the beat so loud you can hear it. You rest your head on his shoulder, your arm draped across his chest, and he pulls you closer, his nose buried in the top of your head.

"Holy shit," he breathes.

"That good, huh?"

"Good doesn't even cover it," he says. "Stars, that was...fuck, cyar'ika, that was somethin' else."

"I'll take that as a compliment."

"You should," he murmurs. "Fuck."

You laugh, the sound muffled by his skin. He chuckles in response, and his hand strokes your back, his fingers tracing circles on your spine. You sigh, the touch soothing, and you close your eyes, letting the tension leave your body. You're exhausted, and the thought of moving is nearly unbearable. You’re more content than you can remember being in a long, long time.

"Don't fall asleep," he says. "Not yet."

"Too late," you murmur, the words slurred.

"Hey," he says, and his tone is gentle, teasing. "At least let me get a towel or something."

"Fine," you grumble.

He laughs, and the bed shifts as he gets up, the loss of his body heat jarring. You shiver, curling into yourself, and the next thing you know, he's pressing a damp cloth between your legs. The contact is enough to wake you up, and the realization of what's happening is both embarrassing and endearing.

"Wrecker," you say, pushing his hand away. "I can do that."

"Sorry," he mutters. "Should've asked."

"It's okay," you say, and the sincerity in your voice seems to reassure him. "I just don't want you doing all the work."

"I don't mind," he says, leaning down and pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth. "I like takin' care of you."

"And I like taking care of you," you reply. "Which is why I want you to come back to bed."

"Okay, okay," he says, smiling. He tosses the towel aside, and the bed dips as he climbs in next to you, his body pressed flush against yours. The feel of his skin on yours is soothing, and you can't help but melt into his touch. He's solid and warm and real, and the knowledge that he's here, that he wants you, is more comforting than anything else.

"Mesh'la," he whispers.

"Hmm?"

"I love you."

You turn, burying your face in the crook of his neck. His arms wrap around you, his body enveloping yours, and the words come easily.

"I love you, too."

Taglist: @baddest-batchers @covert1ntrovert @stellarbit @bruh-myguy-what @qvnthesia

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@kashasenpai @kkdrawsdecently @isaidonyourknees

[phoward89]

Based on this ask for my moot @swiftieblyth

“Darling, are you feeling unwell again?” Your husband, President Coriolanus Snow of Panem, asked you as he entered the residential wing of the Presidential Palace only to see you sprawled out on the sofa with a cold compress on your head in an attempt to ease your migraine. A migraine that's so bad that your body's shaking in pain and all of the drapes are drawn, leaving you in the dark to wallow in your misery.

“No.” You moan out in pain. “I’ve been suffering with a terrible migraine all day, Coryo.”

“My darling rose, perhaps we should call the doctor?” Coriolanus suggested while making his way over to your side.

“I don't need a doctor, Coryo. It's just a migraine.” You waved off your husband's concern as he kneels next to you. Truthfully, you hurt so bad that you just want to cry. But it's just a headache, all a doctor's going to do is prescribe headache and migraine medications and you've already got those in the medicine cabinet. Too bad you're too nauseous to take them tho.

“This isn't just a migraine. You've been getting frequent headaches too often lately. Not to mention your lack of appetite and nausea.”

“I'm fine, Coryo.” You stubbornly told your husband.

“You're not fine, my love. Don't even lie to me and say you are.”

“I know, Coryo.” You sigh defeatedly. Your husband always knows when you're lying. What is he, a human lie detector?

“This is concerning me. Really it is and you know I don't frighten that easily.” The President told you, gently stroking your arm up and down in a soothing manner.

“I know, it concerns me too," You honestly admit to the platinum blonde who's your other half in life. "but I already have migraine and headache medications; they don't work.”

“You have to take them for them to work, darling.” Scolded your husband.

“Okay, when I'm not too nauseous from the headaches and take them they don't really help.”

“That's why we need to get you to a doctor.”

“I know, but I don't want to see the doctor only for him to tell me what I already know- that I have migraines.”

Coriolanus loves you, he truly does, but sometimes you can be so stubborn. He'd feel better if you'd just agree to see the doctor, but you won't.

Your claim that it's just migraines is bullshit; both you and your husband know it too. You're been experiencing chronic fatigue, a tiny bit of brain fog, and tingling in your hands that makes you shake them out to get feeling back sometimes.

Those symptoms on top of the frequent headaches, nausea, and loss of appetite has Coriolanus worried. Of course you're concerned too, but your husband's downright scared to death. But maybe that's because he's been looking up things and playing Dr. Panoogle when it comes to your symptoms.

But President Snow’s read so many scary things while playing Dr. Panoogle that he's desperate to get you to a doctor. He can't have you dying on him from some disease or illness.

Coriolanus let out an exasperated sigh. “If your symptoms consist or worsen, I'm taking you to the doctor. Understood?”

“Understood.” You reply, causing your husband to gently kiss your temple before scooping you up and bringing you to your large bedroom for some proper rest in your king sized bed.

A few days later your health took a turn for the worse. Your headache was gone, but you were feeling fatigued. More than usual. Also you were having some problems with your motor skills. You're, for a lack of a better word, clumsy and stumbling over your own feet.

You're scared, but you don't want to bother your husband. Coryo's the President and he's been busier than usual lately since the games are a month and a half away. You know if you call him or send a maid to get him then he'll scrap all of his duties to tend to you. As much as you want your doting husband by your side, he's the President of Panem and has a duty to the country. Plus, he's the youngest president that's ever been elected, so if he puts off his duties it'll make him look like a slacker and your husband's anything but that.

So, you decide to deal with feeling poorly yourself. But then you suddenly feel dizzy when you rise from the sofa in order to go to the bathroom. You feel as if the room's spinning, as if you can see the air dancing around the floor.

And suddenly you faint; hitting the floor with a loud thud. A loud thud that, unfortunately, none of the staff heard.

Coryo's exhausted when he makes his way down the hall, towards the residential wing of the Presidential Palace. He can't wait to get home to you, his darling wife. You've been by his side since college, always supporting his dreams and goals. You always manage to bring a smile to his face when he's had a bad day. You also calm the rage coursing through him whenever he's pissed off about something work related.

Just being around you's enough to calm him, bring fresh air to his dark soul. The nation of Panem should be glad that you're the First Lady. If Coriolanus was married to anyone else, well…there would be a ton more executions and poisonings then what have occured.

That's for sure.

Coriolanus can't wait to see you, to have you in his arms or to be held in yours (either works for him), but when he enters the living room of your living quarters his blood freezes in his veins.

The sight of you passed on the floor is like a vice around his heart. You're motionless and he's terrified that he's going to lose you. Quickly, he rushed over to you and pulled you into his arms. “Please, baby, wake up. Open your eyes for me, darling.” Coriolanus begs, gently patting your cheek in an attempt to rouse you, as his icy eyes shine with fear.

Your eyelashes flutter as you begin to weakly open your eyes. “Coryo?” You ask, trying to make the shape of your husband out since your vision’s a bit spotty.

“I'm here, darling.” Coryo assured you. Pressing a kiss to your forehead, he tells you, “I'm taking you to the doctor, Y/N. You've been passed out for only gods know how long; you're getting checked out.’

“Okay.” You relent, knowing that you won't win against your husband on this. He told you before that if your health declines he's making you see the doctor.

The doctor examined you, listened to your list of symptoms, and ran some tests on you. Once the results were in, the doctor walked into your examination room with a few papers in hand.

Coming to a stop in front of the table you're sitting on, the doctor looks between you and President Snow before revealing, “First Lady Snow, I've come to the conclusion that you have both high cholesterol and an iron deficiency.”

“Isn't she a bit young for that?” Coriolanus asked in disbelief. How could you have those medical issues? Didn't people Grandma'am’s age have those kinds of issues?

“Yes, President Snow, the First Lady is young, but it seems that her medical issues with high cholesterol and iron deficiency is a genetic one.” The doctor told your husband before looking over at you. “Do your parents or siblings have any of these issues?”

“No.” You shake your head. “My mother and older brother don't have any problems.”

“Her father died in the war, during the Dark Days alongside mine.” Your husband told the doctor before the middle-aged man could even ask about your dad.

The doctor nodded, only to hand you a script and say, “That's a prescription for a statin. It's a medication to control your cholesterol.” He gave you another piece of paper that had some supplements written on it. “Those are over the counters you can buy for your iron deficiency. They're easily found in the vitamin aisle of the pharmacy.”

Looking between you and your husband, the doctor sighed. “Now, this next part might be a bit difficult since it concerns diet. I understand that you're the First Family of Panem, the equivalent of royalty in the eyes of the old world, but there's quite a few diet restrictions the First Lady has now because of her condition.” Handing some papers about foods you could eat, couldn't eat, and diet plans to your husband l, the doctor concluded his thoughts on the matter with, “I understand that you hold a lot of galas and dinner parties and I won't tell you what to serve, just that the First Lady doesn't eat anything she's not supposed to unless you want her having another episode due to out of order levels of cholesterol.”

“Don't worry, Dr. Murphy, she'll strictly adhere to whatever's in this diet plan.” Coriolanus assured your doctor, holding the papers in his hand up slightly. “Nothing she's not allowed to have will enter the Presidential Palace.”

Well, it's rare, but your medication gave you an allergic reaction. Yea…it gave you a bad cause of hives, which you had to get some antihistamines for. So, you couldn't take the cholesterol medication.

Your husband was livid that the statin gave you hives. He even threatened to have the doctor's head on a silver platter for malpractice, but you managed to calm him down enough not to kill poor Dr. Murphy. That doctor should be thanking his lucky stars that you have such a strong hold on your deranged husband, President Coriolanus Snow, otherwise he'd be pushing up daisies right now.

Since the cholesterol medication is off the table, you have to manage it all on your own with a strict diet. A diet that Coryo's also eating, despite the fact that he's as healthy as a horse.

It means a lot to you that your husband's supporting your journey to get healthier. That he eats the same foods as you and won't let anything you can't have come into your home. Not many husbands are so devoted, but yours is.

But, that also means that dinner parties have a strict menu now to. Because President Snow's making everyone-

EVERY-FUCKING-ONE

that enters the Presidential Palace for a gala or dinner party eat your family's special diet.

Mhm…

He's not having you get sick on his watch by accidentally eating one of your ‘bad’ foods that can make your cholesterol skyrocket.

Coriolanus needs you to get healthy so that you can start thinking about having a baby. Well, you've been together for so many years now, it's the only logical step. But before that can happen he wants to make sure that your cholesterol and iron levels are at a good reading.

He's so supportive and you're so grateful for him.

“Thank you, Coryo, for doing this diet with me and for just being such a good husband while I've been dealing with my health issues.” You tell your husband one night during dinner.

Your husband always returns to the residential wing of the Presidential Palace for mealtimes now. He feels it's his duty to make sure you're eating healthy and the only way to do that is to share meals with you all the time.

Coryo pauses in stabbing his vegetables with a fork, only to tell you, “My darling rose, you don't have to thank me for wanting you well. For wanting nothing but the best for my love.”

“I know, but not all husbands are like you and I just wanted you to know that I'm grateful for everything.”

Reaching across the table to grab your hand, the president smiles that special smile he only reserves for you. “You're everything to me. Made me love again when I never thought I'd be able to.” Coryo's icy blue eyes were twinkling as he admitted, “I'm completely lost without you, my love. I'll always be by your side to support you because I need you to be healthy and at your best.”

Your husband's words really touched your heart. To the public your husband's a cold, stoic, firm leader. But to you he lets down his guard, shows you a tender side. He's also a very devoted man to have as a life partner.

Coryo's been by your side during all of your hard times. Like during the times I'm University that you had some very bad spats and falling outs with some of your friends via social media. He's your biggest supporter, but hearing that he needs you by his side because you make him a better man just makes you swoon.

So, it seems that you both need each other. Perhaps that's why your love works so well. You make his heart beat and prevent it from rotting while he makes sure that you're healthy, both mentally and physically.

And right now you might be a little unwell, but you'll get better. With Coryo's love and support you'll be better in no time.

Tags: @kuroosbby001 @purriteen @poppyflower-22 @meetmeatyourworst @whipwhoops @bxtchopolis @readingthingsonhere @savagenctzen @ryswritingrecord @erikasurfer @tulips2715 @universal-s1ut @thesmutconnoisseur @squidscottjeans @sudek4l @wearemadeofstardust0 @mashiromochi @gracieroxzy @belcalis9503 @shari-berri @aoi-targaryen @whiteoakoak @spear-bearing-bi-witch @gisellesprettylies @loverandqueenofdragons @qoopeeya @mfnqueen1 @permanentlyexhaustedpigeon88 @v-love @swiftieblyth @joyfulyouthlover @harvey-malfoy @chxrrybomb22 @marvel-hiddles-stark @xjinnix @devils-blackrose @zombicupcake3 @jacesvelaryons @tempt-ress

[osamucide]

DAZAI HCS! ⊹

LAST UPDATE: OCT 10

cw: talk of mental illness and substance use/abuse, speculation about Dazai’s f’ed up past+trauma, Dazai-typical references to suicide, references to self harm, probably a lot of projection on the author’s part

reid: i feel like yapping about Dazai tonight so here’s a non-exhaustive list of general headcanons i have about him. no word count because i’ll probably update this periodically lol

he does not listen to music from this century. he just doesn’t. not that he goes out of his way not to, he’s just drawn to a certain sound that only older music seems to have—I think The Smiths, Blondie, Tears For Fears, The Smashing Pumpkins, King Crimson, and Led Zeppelin are among his favorite artists

I think he also really enjoys classic jazz/blues/bebop music—Charles Mingus, Billie Holiday, Duke Ellington, Thelonious Monk, Miles Davis, etc.

he’s anemic. I’m of the firm belief that Kunikida buys him a 100 ct bottle of iron tablets every 100 days which Dazai always graciously accepts. however, he only actually takes them when he gives enough of a shit to (which is not often) so the bottles are just accumulating on his bathroom sink/in the cupboard beneath

nail biter, cuticle picker, hair twirler, thigh bouncer, etc. I don’t think he really sits still unless it’s absolutely necessary

children love him, much to his dismay. they think he’s entertaining. he thinks they’re like puppies (and he canonically hates dogs). he won’t treat them badly, but he’s just not super interested in interacting with them. unwilling older brother vibe when faced with them. shithead kids can stoke his rage much faster than Chuuya ever could

he cannot take care of a fucking plant. has one succulent in his apartment. it’s surviving out of pure unadulterated spite. he hasn’t watered it in over a year

wearer of funky socks. his favorites are either the ones that say "I love my job ha ha just kidding" or the custom ones Yosano got him as a gag gift one year for white elephant at the office christmas party (they have Kunikida’s rage face on them)

really sad that, despite his criminal record being scrubbed clean, he is still banned from driving in the nation of Japan for the rest of his life because he wants a Ford Explorer so bad

PROFOUNDLY SOUND KNOWLEDGE OF MEDICAL TERMINOLOGY

he’s fluent in Japanese and English, proficient in French and Italian, and learning Russian

I think he also enjoys learning math/researching random shit/reading anything he can in his free time when he feels up to it. he never received a formal education and his IQ is through the roof—his yearning for academia is almost like an itch he has to scratch every once in a while. also, he just likes knowing things

he never learned how to ride a bike. wahhhh wahh

BPD king. look at him. my beautiful princess with a disorder. I doubt he’s diagnosed but he strongly suspects it seeing as he’s so self-aware; if not borderline, he just assumes he has severe PTSD. either way, he really won’t do anything other than what he already knows about how to manage it

along the same lines—he’s been a functional alcoholic since an alarmingly young age (I’m talking 16-17). I think it probably got a lot worse post-defection when he was underground, but he hardly had to function then anyway; he gets somewhat better after joining the Agency but still has a dependence, it’s just not severe enough to debilitate him

has a bin of art supplies in his apartment. he only ever pulls them out once every few months, but he rather enjoys painting and wouldn’t mind getting better at it

master at darts. don’t take him to a bar where there’s a dartboard. he will stand in front of it all night and obliterate everyone who challenges him

insatiable sweet tooth. he especially loves anything maple, butter pecan, or butterscotch he’s a grandpa

UPDATE.1

I love to headcanon that he has a glass eye!!! and that the bandages around his head in the dark era were some legitimate injury. he likes to pop it out as a party trick/to weird Kunikida out

he feeds the stray cats and kittens that linger around the ADA dorms. he probably spends some of his grocery money on the fancy wet canned food and leaves it out with a big plastic bowl of water. sometimes sits and watches them eat and likes to give them little scratches if they trust him enough to come rub up on his legs. they’re sort of to him as the orphans were to Odasaku, and it makes him feel closer to his deceased friend

on the note of grocery shopping—he only goes when Atsushi or Kunikida drag him along. keeps his list relatively the same from trip to trip: canned crab, cigarettes, bandages, a few cases of beer, sake, instant ramen, ice cream (particularly butter pecan), paper towels, and 3-in-1 shampoo when he needs it. Kunikida forces vegetables upon him (“put it in the ramen so you don’t die of heart disease”) but they almost always end up rotting to mush in his fridge. he steals his toilet paper from the ADA bathrooms/supply closets or bothers Atsushi and Kyoka for spare rolls when he’s out

religiously orders drinks from the cafe on his way in and out of work. on mornings he usually gets a latte with plenty of sugar and some sort of flavor; in the evenings he probably gets an iced flavored tea to mix or chase his sake with when he gets home

always has a pocket knife on him. probably one he got in his mafia days, or, it’s at least a habit/security he picked up from then

takes a lot of night walks. he doesn’t sleep well, so I think he probably wanders out tipsy with his pack of cigarettes in the wee hours of the morning and scuttles around to tire himself out

UPDATE.2

two words: medical trauma. I know some people get iffy when it comes to speculation about what Mori did/didn’t/may/may not have subjected him too as a young teenager (and believe me I have a lot of thoughts) but I definitely headcanon that Dazai was used as a little bit of a lab rat/sedated and coerced to some degree when it came to turning him into a killing machine. as a result, he’s got a fear of medical settings. after his surgery during the cannibalism arc? I know he got that phone back and was like “Tanizaki get me out of here right neow”

I think sweet little old ladies probably love him and he loves them too. always feels like he strikes up the best small talk with them. will help load groceries into their cars for them. he gets all smiley and stuff when they call him “sweetheart” “honey” “dear” or remark how handsome he is and about his hypothetical girlfriend must be so lucky

he can throw knives with pinpoint accuracy from a pretty impressive distance. he’s a little less accurate with his handgun at long range/with moving targets but HE’S GETTING BETTER

has like a 3.5 ft vertical jump at his best. like why are you a detective when the Lakers need a center

[ttshihiro]

pspspps.. totally not golden groovy woops

ANYWAYS HII!! heard u were open for requests. may i request tammy + qiu with and an artist reader :00

requests of my favorite fandoms are my catnip good gof woa who could this be‽‽ my reqs and my ask box are like always open btw >◡<

extra note/s: I refer to step 1 Qiu as he/him. Uhhh take this as platonic or romantic, I'll add an indicator for romance (𐙚) ^^

more under the cut > o

✧ At 10 years old, QIU's fascinated. How he discovers your interest and skill in arts varies but his reaction doesn't. He's impressed! Whether digital or traditional, Qiu would love to participate especially if you asked him yourself.

For this reason, he carries an extra pen and even those colored ones just in case you get bored or if you're suddenly struck by creativity when you two are playing :3

✧ The first time you show him one of your doodles you made during class, he's compelled to do the same whether or not you actually give him it. And ever since, you two've been exchanging these sketches during class. It's the cutest scene to walk into.

✧ URGH AND THE THINGS HE DOES WHEN YOU TELL HIM ABOUT ART BLOCK DEPENDING ON HOW AND WHAT YOU DRAW

You're into drawing sceneries? Trust that he starts telling you and Tamarack about more "special things" in the forest and/or the town.

Like the sky? There's this clearing a lot further into the forest at your backyards. Stargaze, watch the clouds and the sunset together?

✧ It's also necessary for me to mention that unlike his notes, lazily pressed against eachother and constantly on the run, anything you give him goes to a safe space probably in between a books pages, under the the matress of his bed or inside a drawer/container.

"They broke into my backyard accidentally, 'cause they were on a crazy investigation about a paper airplane. Plus, they got here a day ago and they're already looking out for me. Normally, I'm the one doing that."

"Besides, they're pretty. And they make me pretty. Look! Look how they drew me!"

✧ As for 10-year-old TAMARACK, she's curious. The things you draw, are they based on actual places? Actual people? Oh, you draw based on your imagination? Elaborate.

✧ At some point in the prologue, she says "All the forests in the world are different, and some places don't even have forests. I can show you good spots to find things since you're newer to this forest than me."

And I can't not think of her running up to you to give you all of what she gathered for you to draw like omfg

With all those leaves and tiny branches sticking out of her hair and sweater, she smiles brightly with her hands filled with her treasures. AUGH SHE MAKES ME SO SICK I LOVE HER

✧ Like Qiu, she has her own safe spot designated for only your drawings if you've given her any.

She shows off all of them. Especially if you've drawn her?? It'll be the only thing she talks about during literally any time for the rest of the month and the few months after.

"Out of all the friends I have here, you're the best one. We came to the same exact neighborhood, almost at the same time, and are he same age. You have fun outside and I do too."

"I think you're pretty. How you draw me is pretty! I've never met a kid who was just like me. That's important. That's serious."

✧ Now, 14-year-old QIU's pretty much no different. They're even more impressed when they see just how much you've improved. Nonetheless, they treasure your old drawings just as much as they do they new.

They take the liberty of providing you with both a pen and paper to draw on when you're together, in case you don't bring your sketchbook (if you own one).

On those days where you two just sit in silence in their hideout, their gaze drifts to your side quietly a few times to watch your progress. After a while, they settle with sitting right next to you and watching the stroke of your pen against the paper as the scene forms with each hatch.

✧ As a teen, they've actually been a tad bit farther off the town when they feel like taking a ride on their bike. They've seen many sights and burn the route into their brain for them to tell you about. They'd even be happy as to bring you there themselves.

✧ If you ask them to be your muse, good god you'd need to tell them what to do.

It's almost a funny sight. Qiu, the kid who knew what to do their whole life asks you, "Should I pose? Where do I look? Ah- what's my good side?"

𐙚 They can feel their breath hitch under your scrutiny. Suddenly, they're concious of every single thing about them. Where do their eyes go? Should they move their hands? Is their hair in the way?

They avert their gaze flusteredly, their head ever so slightly moving to the side when they do so.

And good god do their hands clutch the fabric of their pants when you tell them to look at you properly.

✧ Same goes for TAMARACK at 14. She's as intrugued as ever to hear about your work. She admires (you)r style from then till now and has learned to appreciate the time gone into things as simple as this, whether or not you've made it with her in mind. BUT GOD IF YOU TELL HER IT IS, it's always sitting on her desk and she thinks constantly about what you've done for her.

✧ And while she doesn't exactly bring you a pen, she's more than glad to hand you hers when you need it.

✧ Unlike before, she'd now be at your side when you two hung out at her backyard. She'd be sitting across from you, practicing the cello. The hum of her instrument accompanied by the sound of nature and the scratch of your pen against paper gives her a sense of calmness.

This may also be when she realizes she's been your muse! Her fingers trace over where your pen has been and boy appreciate isn't even enough for her to describe how she felt. It was definitely happy, but that wasn't the word either.

𐙚 Her heart pounds alarmingly as she admires your work. It's almost concerning to you that she sits silently with a blank expression as she held your sketchbook in her hands.

But that concern washes off you as soon as a warm smile curls the corners of her lips, tender adoration displayed all over her face.

[coff33andb00ks]

Burning - LN

Hopeless, Part 4

{1 - Hopeless} {2 - Luxury} {3 - Poison} {4 - Burning} {Epilogue}

Lando Norris x fem!reader summary: my kingdom for a kiss upon her shoulder, all my riches for her smiles, all my blood for the sweetness of her laughter songs: lover, you should have come over by jeff buckley word count: 5872 warnings: angst, smut <mdni> a.n.: the finale <3

The overlook is quite lovely. Prettier than the photos he'd seen. The sea air is crisp, filling his lungs as he stares at a young family strolling along the beach. Pushing his hands into his pockets he watches them, homesick for something he's never had as the toddler picks up something to show their parents. A wholesome, beautiful moment, unmarred, and he swallows the lump in his throat as it occurs to him that he'll never experience it himself.

Turning his back to the sea, he breathes deep, eyes slowly scanning the area. Trying to match it to the description he'd been given. Gaze landing on the weathered bench he finds he's already walking towards it, one hand slipping from his pocket and reaching to trail along the arm, feeling the wood that's been carved with words and initials. And there, just as he'd been told, the two letters he would know anywhere.

Yours.

He drops onto the bench, leaning forward and trying to keep his breathing normal. It's the closest he's been to you in about a year – one year, two months, one week, five days, thirteen hours.

No, there was that day over winter break. When, melancholy and yearning, he'd spent more than he should have to fly out the week before Christmas, ignoring Oscar's suggestions that he stay away. He'd rented a car, following the roads you'd told him about to the seaside town that you'd described in such detail he could have drawn a map before seeing it. He'd driven the streets, stopped a few houses down from your parents' home. Had sat, watching the house, then cursed himself a million times over for being a fool and driven off.

Oscar hadn't said told you so. He'd merely sighed and nodded, listened to his sad story again.

You'd be so happy that Oscar's become his best mate. He wants to tell you, because he knows that only you would understand why it was such a big deal.

"Mate?"

He looks up, sighing at the sight of Oscar. "Nice, yeah?"

Oscar sighs sadly, sitting next to him on the bench. "You're torturing yourself."

"You said I could have one day," Lando reminds him.

"She's not gonna show up here on a Thursday morning," Oscar says after a moment.

"I know." It would be too movielike if you did. And the only genre of movies that reflects his life is tragedy. Standing, he walks over to stare at the beach again. The family has gone, their footprints already erased by the waves. When he heads back, Oscar stands, and there's a long look before they walk together to the gravel lot where they parked.

"Just call her." It's probably the billionth time Oscar has said the words since Lando's trip to Melbourne over summer break last year.

He exhales, about to lie and say he's deleted your number. But Oscar doesn't deserve lies. "I've tried."

"Did she block you?"

"Dunno." He drums his fingers on the steering wheel, stopped at the end of the lane coming down from the overlook. There's not much traffic, nowhere near enough to warrant him sitting idle for so long. He can't bring himself to hit the call button after punching in your number. Which he still knows by heart. The only number aside from his mum's that he has memorized.

"Lan?" Oscar ventures softly.

"Am I stupid?" he blurts.

Oscar sighs. "No."

"This—" He gestures angrily at their surroundings. "This isn't fucking stupid?"

"I wouldn't say stupid. Ill-advised, maybe?" Oscar follows a passing car with his eyes. "It's been a year."

He knows.

"I think if you were able to get over it, you wouldn't be here right now."

"I don't even know if she's here." His voice is wavering and he can feel the sadness and frustration and anger stinging, piercing what's left of his heart over and over, clawing up his throat and up into his brain, burning his eyes.

"You know her better than anyone." Oscar's voice is still gentle and soft. Careful, and Lando knows he's truly only there to support him. "Where else would she go?"

"Nowhere." This tiny corner of the world is your home.

"Call her."

Lando throws the car into park and bangs his forehead against the steering wheel. "This is stupid. It's been a year. A fucking year. I can't even bring myself to text her or call her, what the fuck do I think I'm gonna do if I bump into her on the fucking street?"

Oscar doesn't speak, merely waits.

"What would I say to her?" he whispers, scared to raise his voice because he knows he'll either scream or cry.

"Mate…"                                                                         

"It's stupid. I'm stupid. I should never have—" He cuts off, swallowing hard, squeezing his eyes shut. It shouldn't still hurt this bad. "I shouldn't have come."

"But you did."

"Yeah," he gasps.

Oscar's silent for a long moment, looking out the window while Lando struggles to compose himself, knowing that if he reaches out to offer comfort it won't be appreciated. "It's a small town, yeah?"

"Yeah." He scrubs at his eyes with the heels of his palms, wishing his heartbreak had been the type that was easily numbed. He's tried everything. Alcohol, exercise, random women, even random men when he was drunk enough. Therapy, antidepressants, meditation. Nothing's worked. He can get so drunk he almost forgets, he almost loses himself, but just when he's thinking this is it, it all comes rushing back and he snatches his body away from whoever he's with. Never much further than getting his belt unbuckled before he's rushing away with a shit apology and an empty ache in his chest.

It's been over for a year and it's still fucking him up. He can't do what the therapist suggested – seek forgiveness for your part in a wrongdoing – because Charles laughed in his face.

"You? Slept with her? Impossible. She has standards."

Fucking bastard.

"Switch, I'll drive."

Lando doesn't argue even though Oscar hates driving in America. Nothing rattles his unbothered friend. But six lanes of Americans driving like – Oscar's words – fucking cunts? His friend is ready to commit crimes. Once in the passenger seat he sighs, leaning his head back and closing his eyes. It isn't long before he feels the car stop and he sits up, not looking to see where they are. "I'll call the charter for a flight out."

"Not yet," Oscar tells him. "Wait here a minute."

Confused, he rubs at his eyes, trying to keep more tears from forming. He just wants to go. Best to resign himself to being lonely. Alone. Maybe he'll be lucky and time will eventually heal the pain, even just a little, and he can— Grunting as he looks out the windshield, he watches Oscar walk into a small brick building.

"Really, Osco, not the time to be a fucking nerd," he sighs, leaning back and throwing an arm over his face. Why the fuck are they at a library?

It's not long before Oscar's back, getting behind the wheel and humming softly to himself. He doesn't speak, still humming while he buckles his seatbelt and drops a folded sheet of paper in Lando's lap.

"What?" Lando sighs, dropping his arm and looking at the paper. Even more confused, he picks it up. "What is it?"

"Mate."

Sniffling, he rubs at his nose then unfolds the paper. At first he's still confused, reading the address written in Oscar's handwriting. "Is… Is that hers?"

"Yeah."

"H…" He sucks in a breath. "How."

"She said she wanted to go back to school and work in a library, right? They've got a display board up of recent things that have happened, and there was a picture of her with a bunch of kids. A paragraph about how she's working here as a research assistant while pursuing her master's in library science."

Lando rubs at his temples, knowing his friend wants to tell the whole story but longing to tell him to get to the fucking point. And also a little touched that Oscar remembered the detail about you wanting to work with books.

"Asked the lady at the desk about her, said I was an old friend driving through. She's off today, won't be back until Monday. When she went to help someone I nicked the notebook by the computer and it has everyone's address." Oscar smiles, obviously proud of his ability to spy without being caught. "Nice lady. Said y/n's an asset."

Lando nods, typing the address into the search bar of the map on his phone. "It's…"

"Close." Oscar reaches for the in-dash screen, pausing just before his fingers touch it.

He could tell him not to. Could shake his head. And Oscar would nod, they would call the charter, and be on a flight back to Monaco by dinnertime.

And he would spend the rest of his life trying to forget.

He swallows, barely nodding his head.

"…we'll shift our focus to the surge of trade throughout the Mediterranean, but first—"

You look away from your laptop screen when there's a knock on the door. The professor drones on and you mute him, standing from the couch and setting the laptop aside to go see who it is. You're not expecting anyone, and the neighborhood isn't the type where neighbors drop in uninvited. Peeking through the window, you furrow your brow at the unfamiliar car parked on the street. Leaving the chain attached you open the front door just a bit.

And nearly hit your knees in shock.

He's looking down at the stoop, at his impossibly white sneakers, and his hood's pulled up over his head but you know it's him.

"Lando," you breathe.

His head lifts and his eyes take your breath away. They're just as you remember them, the jade hue that could see straight through to your soul.

He looks sad. Worried.

Scared.

"H-hey," he says, his voice cracking slightly.

You can only stare at him, unable to really believe he's on your front stoop. The light breeze picks up and you're slammed by the aroma of his cologne. It's so faint you know you shouldn't be able to smell it but you do and a wave of memories rush through you with it.

"Hey, nice to meet you." He smiled, an easygoing aura radiating from him as he stepped over and held out his hand. "I'm Lando."

"Hi, I'm y/n."

You press your lips together and swallow hard. "Hey," you murmur.

You, walking along pit lane with Charles and on the phone with your best friend. "So I finally got the game installed. I need to upgrade, the lag is so bad I die before I can get a shot in."

"Really? What are the specs?" Lando asked suddenly, appearing at your side.

"Call you back," you laughed into the phone, putting it away and smiling at him. He was always popping up to talk to you, had quickly become one of your favorite people on the grid. He never seemed too busy to at least stop and speak to you, that easy smile putting you at ease.

Lando exhales, his shoulders rounding. His eyes are almost mournful, the light of memory flashing and you wonder if he's reminiscing, too.

"Sorry 'bout the mess," he muttered, picking up a helmet and looking around, finally placing it two inches from where it had been.

"It's fine," you promised with a laugh. "You live here, it shouldn't look like a magazine spread."

"Yeah? I guess. Anyway, here you go, have a seat."

You swallow again, the sound of his hand slapping his computer chair echoing in your mind. Easing the door to a little, you reach up to unlatch the chain and take a step back as you pull the door open further. "What are… How did you know where to find me?"

"I love it here, really, but I miss the space. I miss having a little patch of grass where I can plant flowers and not have people squeezing in around me," you said, sliding the tarts from the baking sheet to the cooling rack.

"I get it. But I mean, you could talk to Charles, right? See about getting a place with a garden?" Lando looked at the tarts with a longing sigh.

"At least let it cool," you teased. Leaning against the counter, you shook your head. "No, this is his home. He'll never want to move out of Monaco."

"I like it here, but it's not home." He shrugged, pinching off a piece of the pastry shell for a taste, grinning when you slapped at his hand. "There's a villa up the coast a ways – it has space and nice gardens. I've thought about getting it, but seems a waste just for me."

"You could get a dog."

He's standing in your tiny living room. He looks so out of place and yet he fits and you think you're just in shock. Pushing back his hood, he fiddles with his hair, the nervous gesture you remember him doing. "Osco… He's with me – I mean, in the car," he says, gesturing over his shoulder with his thumb. "Man's a fucking spy I think."

"No, no, you put your hand here." His face is serious as he guides your hand to his shoulder. "Okay?"

You nodded, grateful he was willing to teach you. You knew Charles would happily pay for dancing lessons but it's embarrassing, not knowing how to waltz. And when you'd mentioned it to Lando he'd said to come by, he could show you the basics, and he'd practice with you so you wouldn't make a fool of yourself at the prince's gala. His hand moved to rest at your waist, warm and strong, and you felt a glimmer of heat as his other hand took yours, holding it up.

"We'll take it slow, yeah?" he asked softly.

He's still standing there, looking lost and scared, and all you can do is stare at him. You've seen him – on tv, online, on your phone because you hadn't been able to delete the pictures of him and every once in a while your phone likes to play a sick joke and throw you a memory that somehow always includes him. But you're struck by the slight differences since you've seen him in person. His hair is a little longer, that one curl he used to complain about dancing against his forehead. The scar from Amsterdam last year is faded, barely a line across the bridge of his nose.

He's still the most handsome man you'll ever see. He still takes your breath away. It's taking everything in you to not beg him to forgive you.

"Love it. This. Us."

You suck in a breath and hold it. "How are you?" you ask, because really what else can you say?

I'm so sorry I never should have let us end like we did, even if we were hopeless from the start. I still love you, I'll never stop loving you. I'll never stop needing you. I'm miserable.

"I'm fucking miserable, y/n." His voice is strained. "I-I came months ago. At Christmas."

You feel your eyes widen at the same time you watch his do the same. Suddenly recalling a strange car parked just down the street from your parents' home that had sped off. At the time your first thought had been that it was someone up to no good. "You did?" you whisper.

"I remembered where your mum and dad live, and I… I hoped I'd see you."

He would have, if he'd waited five minutes. But you remember the texts you'd sent that had gone unanswered. The one phone call you'd attempted two months after moving away from Monaco, at four in the morning when your dreams had been him.

They still are.

Lando takes a step forward. "Y/n…"

"Why are you here?"

"I miss you," he says, his voice still strained. Like he's just finished crying. Or is about to. And you don't want to see him cry. It'll break your unhealed heart. "Are… Are you okay?"

You jump slightly when there's a soft tap at the front door. It's still hanging open – way to go, just invite burglars and murders in – and both you and Lando spin to look.

Oscar holds both hands up. "Sorry to interrupt. Um… Hi."

"Hey," you squeak. God, you can't do this. You can't have this awkward, painful conversation in front of Oscar. "C-come on in," you say, dragging a hand through your hair.

"I, um, just…" His cheeks darken as he closes the door and he clears his throat. "Could I use the restroom?"

Blinking at him, you feel Lando step closer to you. With a small nod you point in the direction of the bathroom, backing away from Lando as soon as Oscar's back is turned.

"Y/n… Please—"

"What?" you ask. It's as though seeing Oscar threw some common sense into you. "I'm in the middle of a class."

"For the library thing, yeah?" One corner of his mouth lifts.

"How did you—" You glance towards the bathroom. "Maybe he is a fucking spy."

"He was trying to help me."

"He always has," you whisper.

"He's kept me from going completely insane this past year. I… I owe him a lot," he murmurs, and he's picking at his own fingers.

You're reaching to stop him and jerk your hand back. He's not yours to comfort. He never was. "He flew all the way here with you when he could be home with his girlfriend. I think you owe him at least a new car."

"She's pregnant."

You gasp. "Really? I should—" But you can't. You haven't been able to call her, either. You text sometimes, but your friendship with the other girlfriends will never be the same. She hasn't mentioned being pregnant and you know it's because you're not in the 'club' anymore. It's a wildly different life you lead now. And you're happy. You're miserable and lonely but you fake the happiness for the sake of your family and coworkers. "I'm happy for them."

"God, I hate this," he whispers, and he rubs his hands over his face.

Then he's reaching for you. Almost catches you, but you jerk away.

"Y/n—"

"You have no right, Lando. What, did you think I'd just fall right back into your arms?" you ask, voice trembling because you want to. You want to be hugged as only Lando's ever been able to do. But you can't let yourself, remembering all too well how your life had been destroyed because you wanted a hug once.

"I didn't – I miss you," he whispers. "It's been a year and I still can't wash the coffee cup you left on the counter because it's… It's still got your lipstick."

Your heart twists, thinking of the hoodie tucked in the very back of your closet. The one you were going to throw out two weeks ago but couldn't after you opened the bag and could still smell him. Then you firm your resolve. You can't. "I'm not stupid. I've seen how not lonely you've been—"

"I was trying to forget you!"

"Then try harder. Doomed, remember?" You'll never forget him saying that, or how your heart had fractured.

"I couldn't even do it, because I felt like I was cheating on you!" The words ring out and he looks shocked, face twisting. "That's how fucked up you got me."

That rankles you, and you don't know if it's because he tried or because he's blaming the failure on you. "It's not my fault you can't get off," you snap.

"I can only get off if I'm thinking about you," he snaps back.

Your cheeks flame, your broken mind immediately conjuring up the image of him in the shower or on his bed. And you would swear you can hear his breathy moans. You bite your tongue hard to keep from confessing that when you try to make yourself cum you have to think about him, too. "Lando—"

"Tell me you're happy," he whispers. "Say it and I'll go."

"Happiness is subjective," you say, because despite everything you can't lie to him.

There's a creak or a sigh. Both your heads swivel and though you've only ever respected and admired Oscar, you aren't happy to see him. He doesn't speak, turning and studying the notes and photos on the refrigerator door.

Your heart lurches, knowing he'll see the snapshot of Lando.

"Y/n."

You snap your eyes back to him, forgetting all about his friend when you look into his eyes.

"Can we just… Talk. Please."

"I would have talked a year ago. When you left me on read. I would have talked a few months later, when I called you and you didn't answer." The worst part had been that his voicemail greeting was the automated voice.

"I was hurting! I was trying to get over you! I wanted to hurt you—"

You gasp, the admission a knife in your chest. You deserve it, you know that, and so much worse, but it stings.

"Like you hurt me."

"What was I supposed to do, Lando? We were doomed. You said so yourself."

"I'd rather be doomed with you than broken without you."

You must leave. Despite how long it's been you're not strong enough. You doubt you'll ever be strong enough to resist him. About to step away, you remember it's your house. Small and cramped and yeah the neighbors are too close for your liking. But it's yours. "Go, Lando. Live. Be happy without me."

"Like you're happy here?" he asks, throwing his hands out. "Rotting away in a fucking library?"

"I was happy until you decided to show up." Your voice cracks and you try to hold it back but a sob escapes as you back away, shoulder banging the doorway of your bedroom.

"Don't lie to me, y/n," he pleads, taking a step closer and reaching out.

"Don't touch me." You shrug his hand away, trying to get out of his reach, lift a hand to slap his arm. He catches your wrist before you can and your breath sticks in your throat when he moves forward. "Lando, please, let me go—"

His lips crash against yours and you whimper. It's harsh and demanding and you struggle weakly against him, spinning as soon as his hand grabs your waist. His near feral moan vibrates through your body and in a heartbeat you're clutching at his hoodie, whining as your back meets the closing door.

"Lan," you whimper, shaking your head as you break the kiss. "Please, we—"

"One more," he gasps. He lets go of your wrist, his hand trembling as it cups your cheek. "God, please… I just need you one more time. Everything's wrong without you." His lips brush over yours, and you feel your own inconsolable longing reflected back at you. "Y-you were everything, let me feel everything again."

His kiss tastes like tears and stifled rage. It grows harsher, his body crowding yours tighter against the door. It's everything you've wanted for over a year and yet not enough and you whisper his name into the breaths you share, knowing you'll feel the worst pain imaginable when it's over and you're alone all over again. The pull of him is too strong though and you want to feel everything again too, want just one morsel of what you once had.

"Wish I could hate you," he groans, voice as rough as his fingers in your hair, so tight your scalp stings. You whimper with both delight and pain and he answers with a moan, snatching back, breathing uneven as his hand slides from your hair and there's a frantic, familiar scrambling to remove his hoodie and your shirt. His moan as his fingers brush your bare skin ends in a whine, tracing patterns over your chest. "Wanted to hate you. Wanted to forget you but you—" His mouth is on yours again, his hands clutching at your breasts. Your nipples are stiff before his thumbs brush them and he groans deep in his chest, pressing his thigh between yours.

He pinches and squeezes, lips almost cruel on yours, and you can feel the rage he feels. Know you deserve every bit of it for everything you'd done, and more than he's capable of showing. Tears sting your eyes. It's beautiful, crushingly so, because you know this will be the last time. You want to rush ahead, to feel the incandescence only his lovemaking had created inside you and you also want to slow down, to memorize every breath, every touch, so you can cling to the memories for the rest of your lonely existence.

"Y/n…" It's a low, drawn-out moan, lips parted over yours.

"Please," you gasp. You're practically squirming with need, and the hate for you that he can't muster is there, coming from yourself. "Need it, Lan…"

You feel his pained grimace, taste the ache and the agony on his tongue. "Need you," he whimpers.

"Us," you whisper, squeezing your eyes shut as your tears fall.

"Us," he barely sighs. One hand slips down, the rage still there as it pushes between your bodies and into your panties, cupping you and squeezing. His ragged groan echoes in your ears and it shreds the last sliver of your sanity.

You tip your head forward, initiating the next kiss, loosening your grip on his biceps and letting your hands smooth over his warm skin. Breathing in and holding it so you can taste and smell and feel him all at once. Your fingers trace the necklace at his neck and more tears fall – it's the one you gave him two years ago. Rough, his fingers rub along your slit, his other hand thudding against the door then cupping your throat. His lips still on yours, whining when you brush the tears from his cheeks.

He leans into you, fingers rubbing steadily, teeth catching your bottom lip as they grow slick. "Did you…" He moans when one finger dips, your hips tilt forward, pushing yourself against his hand. "You miss me, baby?"

"Yes." You're gripping his wrist, clutching his hair.

"This?" His fingers move in slow circles over your clit. "…Or me?"

"You, Lando, you," you whimper, head falling back, the curling heat so sudden you fear you'll cum already.

"Have you let anyone fuck you?" he asks, still rubbing your clit agonizingly slowly.

"N-no." Your cheeks burn, hating yourself for feeling a spike of desire at his crude question. Pulse racing, you can hear the blood rushing in your ears, and his low hum as he leans closer, lips at your ear now. Your pussy clenches, gushing and you let out a shaky moan, able to hear the slick sounds of his fingers working your clit. Your hand wraps around his wrist and he chuckles.

"You need to cum? Hm?" He moans right in your ear and your pulse thunders beneath his fingertips at your throat. "You're gonna cum that quick?"

"I—" You whine, clutching tighter at his wrist. "It feels good, Lando, I can't…"

"It's gonna feel better when I'm fucking you," he whispers.

"Yes," you hiss, head falling back with a thump. "Please!"

"You want it, baby?" There's a slant to his cooed words and you wonder if he does hate you after all. "Want me to fuck you?" His lips tug at your earlobe, smirking while you whine. Slipping his fingers down, he dips them inside you, echoing your moan as you immediately squeeze around them. "Oh I missed your pussy so much… That's why I couldn't fuck 'em, you know?"

"Lando, please." God, you're gonna cum. It's sick and it's twisted now, but he knows exactly how to play your body.

"Cuz I know how good this feels…" He sucks on your earlobe, fingers curling tightly, exhaling harshly as they brush your spot and your hips jerk. "Gonna feel so good when you cum on my dick."

"Yes, baby, I need that," you whimper, digging your nails into his wrist. You need it more now than you did a year ago, your body buzzing. "God, please… Let me cum for you, Lan – Fuck!"

"Cum on my fingers, baby," he hisses, stroking your spot so hard it hurt. But his words and the reminder that he knew exactly what to say and do to you send you spiraling, pussy squeezing tightly around his fingers as a ragged cry ripped from your chest. "That's my girl, fuckin' cum…"

His fingers slip out and you gasp at the gush, tugging at his hair while he rubs your slit rapidly as your body tenses and trembles, panting harsh in your ear when you squirt over his fingers. When you slump back he coos, fingers strumming your clit and causing your back to arch.

He snatches his fingers from your clit with a low growl, and your lips meet in a fierce kiss, hands meeting at his belt. You wriggle between him and the door, frantic and scrambling to remove your panties, gasping against his tongue as he kicks his jeans away and then he's jerking your hips towards him, pressing his face to the side of your neck and your breath catches in the back of your throat, hooking your legs over his hips. His cock, hard and straining, glides along your slit and his teeth sink into your skin as his hips surge forward.

"Lando," you cry out, eyes rolling back.

"Make me hate you. Please, fuck, I need to hate you."

"How?" It's a broken sob.

"You can't." He presses his forehead to yours, hands so tight on your hips you know you'll feel the bruises forever. "You can't, y/n…"

"I'm sorry," you whisper, lifting trembling hands to cup his face. "I'm so sorry, Lando."

He exhales slow, releasing your hips and sliding his hands up, keeping the rest of his body still. It feels as though he's re-memorizing your body, closing his eyes while his palms sweep over your shoulders and up to your wrists. There's a prolonged moment as his shaky breaths fan over your lips, then his eyes open.

They're luminous. Shining with emotion. You can't breathe, can't even blink, can only just barely feel him shift, reminding you he's buried deep.

"I miss you so much." His hands are gentle, smoothing your hair back and cradling your cheeks. There's the reverence you remember.

"I'm right here." Your vision blurs and his lips are on yours, tender where they'd been rough before. "I'm right here, baby."

"Can't lose you," he mumbles, shifting again, his arm winding around your waist and holding you close. "Can't lose you again, baby, okay?"

You whisper his name, unsure of what to say. You're not sure you understand. "Lan?"

He kisses you again, turning and you're floating even after he lays you down on the bed. Each touch is gentle, like he's afraid of hurting you.

As though you're a dream he doesn't want to wake up from.

"I love you," he says. And for the first time since he stepped into the house it's the voice you remember. Clear and bright, warm and your favorite sound. It's him, the real Lando that you know and love.

Your lips part to say the words back – of course you love him, you've loved him since the beginning, before he was yours to really love. Before he was your forbidden secret.

"I bought the villa." Even he looks surprise as the words pass his lips and there's a small smile on his face and you want to laugh at the absurdity of the moment. He's talking as though he isn't inside you, as though he didn't just make you cum against your bedroom door.

"You did?" you ask softly, fingers following the freckles splattered over his cheek and neck. "When?"

Lando shifts, gently guiding your legs around his waist. The friction causes your toes to curl and he pauses, stuttering out a whimper. "F-first of the – god – year."

"Do you like it?" You're asking about the villa, remembering the photos he'd showed you on the realty website.

"Fuck I love it so much," he moans. His hands squeeze your thighs and he lifts himself up slightly, licking his lips slow. Eyes still luminous, he looks down at you and you can feel he's holding his breath.

"I love you," you whisper. "I love you so much."

And it's like that's all he needed. He leans down, kissing you deeply, his hands finding yours and holding on, fingers tangled as he rolls his hips slow. His thrusts are slow and deep, echoing moans and gasps the soundtrack to the passion. There's no subdued rage or cruelty anymore, and you whisper apologies between kisses, needing him to know how sorry you are for hurting him.

"I'm so sorry… I love you… Love us." You whisper the words over and over, tasting the salt of his fresh tears and yours.

Clasped hands tighten, knuckles turning white. "Be mine," he murmurs, his tremble rippling through you. When you arch, crying out yes, he dips his head, pressing sweet kisses over your heart.

"I always was," you promise, eyes locked with his as the passion crests and you cum with a scream of his name. It's blinding, deafening, and all you know that is real is the tight grip of his hands.

"Get your degree," he murmurs an eternity later. You nod, heart racing, the ache that has been in your chest for so long begins to fade. "Move in the villa with me."

"What if it's doomed?" you whisper, fear slicing through the elation. "What if we fail?"

"W-what if we win?" His breath stutters harshly, hands squeezing yours even tighter. "What if it's sacred?"

He kisses you, both of you trembling as his thrusts quicken and you feel his muscles grow tight. Your name is a soft, pleading cry and you feel the heat of him filling you, hips straining and pushing you deeper into the mattress.

Another lifetime passes with delicate kisses. Tender whispers. Praise and love are murmured between you, and you feel the eternal hope springing back when he offers forgiveness.

If it's all a dream you never want to wake. You'll gladly sleep until your final breath or even hasten your end so you never have to know cold reality again. But it's not a dream when you wake up, it's real and he's real, and the love in his eyes is still there.

The peace, the dreamy bubble formed around you, is burst by a gentle tapping at the bedroom door.

"Um… You good, mate?" Oscar calls out, his voice amused and embarrassed.

Lando giggles against your shoulder, kissing your skin before lifting his head. "Are we good, love?"

"Can we get a dog?" you ask suddenly.

"Just one?"

You nod. "To keep me company while I'm studying."

Lando grins, dipping to kiss you quickly. "All good, Osco!"

"Thank fucking christ," Oscar groans..

a.n.: originally this was close to 9k, but I cut a full scene from the end, because these two idiots deserve a happy, hopeful ending. I hope you enjoyed. housekeeping: if you'd like to be added to my taglist(s), please fill out this form.

taglist: @driverlando | @leodette | @trisharee | @manicpixiemom | @littlegrapejuice | @mochimommy2002 |

[writingficsanddaydreams]

Worried Thoughts

Mihawk x gn!reader

Summary: he thinks you’re afraid of him, but really you feel more comfortable here than anywhere else. If only you could figure out how to explain that.

Content: fluffy cozy piece. Just a hint of romance. Reader is autistic.

Warnings: reader is somewhat insecure about their autistic traits.

A/N: Couldn’t get this idea out of my head, so I’m sharing with all of you. It’s been a long time since I wrote any fanfic so I might do more, I might not, we’ll see. Story is based on live action Mihawk with some inspiration from the little bit I know about the anime. Enjoy!

—————

He’s frustrated with you.

He doesn’t let it show. Mihawk is too controlled for that, too stoic. Besides, you’ve come to learn the look of casual disdain he wears is for everyone, not just you.

But he’s still frustrated with you.

You can see it in the little things. The slight furrow of his brow. The way he watches you over his book. The long, drawn out sips of wine.

It’s the things you’ve learned to look for after a lifetime of having to watch and analyze and try so hard to fit in. A lifetime of trying to be normal.

Around Mihawk though? You don’t feel that need so much.

It’s why you let your eyes drift away from his intense, piercing gaze. It’s why, though you’re still afraid to let yourself stim too much or let too much excitement shine through when a special interest topic comes up, you do let yourself chew on your lip. And sometimes, when you catch yourself rocking because the silence is just a little too much, you don’t make yourself stop.

But still, he doesn’t quite understand it. He thinks you’re afraid of him.

You should be. Honestly you’re not sure why you aren’t. He’s the worlds greatest swordsman. He’s probably the most powerful person in all the seas. He wears that power like a cloak, holds himself in a way that warns people to step away. Step back.

You saw it in the village last week, when he had you sail with him to a nearby island so you could help pick up supplies. Folk recognized him and feared him.

To be honest, you thought he would leave you behind there. After all, he has no reason to keep sheltering you. It’s been a month since you washed up on the beach of his own gloomy island, a month since you barely evaded the monsters that live there and found your way to his door.

He let you stay, and you figured it was because of how pathetic you looked at the moment. A shipwrecked survivor on the brink of death, looking more like a drowned rat than a human.

It’s not that you’re actually pathetic. You’re not weak. Or at least not too much so. Honestly, you can hold your own against most folk back home, and you know how to sail a small ship just fine. Or at least, you thought you did.

That storm wounded your pride and has you questioning your seafaring skills.

The point is, you can take care of yourself overall. Though, you quickly learned after you first set sail a few years back that being the best in your village means nothing when so many folk out there are as powerful as gods. Competent or not, you’re nothing compared to the great warlord.

So why did he let you stay? Why was it, when you were getting ready to turn and walk away after setting foot on the village island, he handed you a small crate of supplies and said to not fall behind? Why was it he let you get back on his ship and sail all the way back here with him? 

You haven’t asked him yet, because you’re a little afraid that maybe he’ll change his mind. You’ve come to like your life on this isolated island.

But you’re getting away from yourself again. Letting your thoughts drift. It’s been a week since that village visit and now you still sit within Mihawk’s vast and rather chilly castle, hyperaware of his piercing gaze digging into your head.

“You don’t need to be so afraid of me.”

His voice makes you jump, and you realize that you’ve been rocking where you sit as you stare at the book in your lap.

“I’m not,” you manage. “I…”

Your eyes latch onto the book. You’ve been reading it for a couple of days, but you’re having trouble focusing today. Whenever you look at the words, it makes you think about how yesterday you launched into a long analysis of the adventure genre and how it really is such a shame that people don’t appreciate this book as much, since even though it was one of the first of its type there’s been so many books that have built on it since that now it seems almost predictable.

Mihawk didn’t seem bothered at the time, but now you look back at it and you’re sure he must’ve been annoyed, or at the very least bored. You’re still kicking yourself for not taking the time to check his expression when you went on that endless monologue.

“You act afraid.”

You take a quick peek out the corner of your eye, watching as he casually sips from his wine glass. Firelight flickers across his face, lighting up those vivid eyes and casting a golden hue across his dark hair. He’s not looking at you anymore, but you know that he’s still aware of everything you do.

When you find your attention catching on his chiseled chest, you quickly force your gaze away.

“You are a warlord,” you say, trying to be teasing.

“An astute observation.”

“I’m not afraid of you though.” You close your book and with it close your eyes, trying to find the right words. Trying to get them all untangled. “I… I just don’t like eye contact. With anyone.”

“I see. That is reasonable.”

It’s not the response you expected. You’re used to people judging you when they learn how are you are. You’re used to people underestimating you and assuming the worst.

You glance back up at Mihawk, then quickly away to the fireplace instead. “I’m not very good with people,” you continue, “It’s not that I don’t like them, but I don’t always understand the rules of society and stuff. And I don’t always do things the way other folk do.”

When you peek back, he’s lifted a single eyebrow. You blush. Surely he’s already noticed that. Surely you’re being silly as you explain the obvious.

“The rules of society do tend to be rather boring.”

The way he says it, so straightforward as if it makes all the sense in the world… you feel relieved giggle bubble out of you.

“I suppose you really aren’t afraid of me then,” he says, just the slightest twitch forming a smile at the corners of his lips. He tilts his head slightly, then adds. “I was thinking about your theory yesterday. It was… Intriguing.”

Something flutters in your chest. A feeling that you never really thought you’d have for somebody so dangerous. Joy. Excitement. Perhaps even some infatuation, if you’re being honest with yourself.

His castle might be vast and chilly, but it’s also comfortable. And you’ve come to truly enjoy these times where you sit together in front of the fireplace, simply existing near each other. You’ve come to enjoy just being around him. 

“Would… would you like to talk about it more?” You can’t help the hope that creeps into your tone.

“That would be pleasant.”

And so, you finally let that wall down just a little further. You let yourself start talking without holding back, let yourself feel comfortable.

When he rises from his chair and walks to stand closer to your own, his hand just barely brushing your shoulder, you let yourself feel a little bit at home.

[eekshade]

hey!! sry for not writing anything for 5 months, school has been yucky, but im back!! i started with an alphabet bc it was an easy way to ease myself back into writing. also happy gay month 🫶

Bucky Barnes Fluff Alphabet

bucky barnes x m!reader

word count: 4.4k

warnings/info: letter J depicts a make out sesh ig, internalized homophobia is mentioned, Buck cries, use of you/your for reader but is said to be male, there are scenes after the hcs for a little bit but I gave up on that lol, made in my notes app so sry for any formatting issues, not proof read

A - Admiration. (what do they admire about their S/O?)

☆ Bucky loves your hands. He likes how "innocent" they are compared to his. He adores when you hold his hand, especially the vibranium one. It makes him feel all warm and soft inside. It causes his stomach to ache (in a loving way), and it makes him want to love himself.

The two of you are slowly making your way through the crowded farmer's market, somewhat resembling a can of sardines. You were walking in front of him, taking notice of a small clearing off to the side, grasping his metallic hand, pulling him behind you. He follows without question, a small smile pointed at your two interlocked hands.

Once stopped in the empty area, before you could even think of letting go of him, he pulled you into him, placing his cracked lips onto your own.

"You know I love you, right?"

"Of course I do."

He kisses you again.

B - Boldness. (how bold are they in regards to their S/O? who confessed first?)

☆ Bucky was a confident man in his youth, always the one making the first move. Ever since he started living in Brooklyn again, he started to notice the anxiety crawling up his throat whenever he interacted with others. This is why he wouldn't start talking to you, even if he's interested in you, so you would need to initiate the first few (dozen) conversations before he starts to feel comfortable around you. That being said, given that you've been talking as friends/acquaintances, he'll have no problem asking you out, it might just take me some time.

☆ Once in a relationship he is extremely bold, there are still some topics where he would be more hesitant to talk about (such as the full extent of his past), but when it comes to you he won't having any problem charmin' you like there’s no tomorrow.

Bucky lingers in front of your shared apartment building hoping to catch you on your way home after a day out, he nervously switches from leaning on a tree to sitting on a bench, then back to the tree. He only waits for about five or so minutes before he notices you walking on the pavement leading to the building, but after locking eyes with him, your course changes.

"Hey, Bucky!"

"y/n! I'm glad I caught you, can I walk you up?"

You simply smile and nod in the direction of the door. You smell like newly washed clothes, but to Bucky, it might as well be heaven. You break the silence by asking him about his day, he breifly responds, giving you some of the highlights, you two chit-chat for bit, not able to dive into much as the trip is rather short. By the time you two reach your door, he realizes that he longer can try to find the perfect segue so he might as well just go for it.

"...Well, thanks for walking with me." You smile at him, reaching for the door handle.

"Wait, y/n, I wanted to talk to you about something." You raise your eyebrows as a sort of permission for him to continue.

"I hope I wasn't misreading this, but would you like to get dinner together sometime?" His voice remains unwavering, with a sly smile dancing across his face.

You roll your eyes at his tone, but it's hard to hide the smile forming at the corners of your mouth,"I guess I don't see why not."

"Yeah, yeah," he snickers, "here." It's his number written on the back of receipt, a small smiley face had been drawn next to it, then erased.

"See you, Bucky."

"Bye, y/n."

C - Comfort. (how do they comfort their S/O?)

☆ Bucky is more of an advice guy than a comfort guy, this is due to him getting extremely awkward/uncomfortable during touchy, feely situations (and not because he doesn't know how to confront his own emotions!!). However, he does understand the need for warmth during hard times, he just opts to show it through acts of service instead.

Your thoughts thrash against the walls inside your head, the throbbing only getting worse as you slowly pull yourself out of his bed. Your face caked in sweat and dried tears, your bloodshot eyes drift to the phone resting upon the on of the nightstands, your unsteady hand grips the device, checking the time.

The late afternoon sun coats the walls in an irritable light, despite the curtains being mostly closed. You notice on the second nightstand that he left a glass of ice water (which was mostly melted now) and a note, which read:

"EVERYTHING NEEDED FOR A BATH IS ON THE BATHROOM COUNTER - ILL BE BACK WITH YOUR FAVORITE ASAP :)"

D - Dates. (do they prefer going out or staying in? do they prefer fancy or simple?)

☆ Bucky has a really hard time with this one. All he is used to are the classic dinner and a movie type dates, but in his heart, he likes the more intimate, at home, kind. Over time, he finds a sort of balance between the two, like a picnic at a drive-in movie.

"Bucky, where the hell are we?"

The two of you are currently driving down backroads you've never seen before. The road is slightly too narrow for anyone to get fully comfortable, the night sky darkening the path. Bucky has been relatively quiet, letting you do all the talking, and control the music; he never has liked modern music, but there's something special about when you play it.

"Well, if I tell you it's not really a surprise, is it?" He answered, turning his head to you slightly. The smile on his face is almost aggravating, if it had been anyone else's, you would've jumped out of the moving vehicle.

"You're not funny," you playfully roll your eyes, "if I didn't know you any better, I'd say you're trying to kill me." You pretend to study him as if trying to find a motive.

"Well, I can promise you I'm not doing that." The smile changes to softer, genuine.

The car is almost silent for the rest of the way, the soft music leading you two down the road. The car pulls into an unpaved parking lot, bringing you back to reality. You look around and see a white screen proudly standing twenty or so feet ahead of you, realizing what's going on, you turn to Bucky. A nervous grin shines back at you, he's holding a basket filled with dinner, and movie snacks.

"You like it?"

E - Equal. (are they more dominant or passive?)

☆ Due to Bucky growing up in the 40s, he does still have quite a bit of internalized homophobia. Therefore, he tends to try and be the stereotypical, manly, provider. He does unconsciously feminize you to make himself feel better, but the second he realizes, or you tell him, he'll do everything to stop, as well as profusely apologize.

☆ Other than that, I do see him as being in the middle. He can obviously take control when he needs to, but also because of his past, he loves when you take the pressure off, and take care of him.

(I can't think of a scene for this rn, and I rlly need to finish this so sry, if anyone want more about this just ask)

F - Family. (do they want to start a family?)

☆ Bucky loves kids, and is great with them, but he doesn't want to have his own, at least until he's stable. So for now he's okay with being the cool uncle.

After spending a lake day with the Wilsons, it was noticeable that Bucky wanted to say something. He looked uncomfortable, nervous even as he waited for everyone to finally call it a night. A little after the kids were put to bed, Sarah called it in, then Sam. You went to follow, seeing as it may be weird to stay up longer than the hosts, but Bucky ushered you to follow him to the back deck.

You sat on the stairs next to him in silence, waiting for him to speak, the warm air surrounding you two. He bit his lip and looked at you, studying you.

"I love you," He smiles at you, his tone signifying a second part of what he needs to say.

"But?" You laugh, nervousness now making its way into you.

"But I can't give you this." He has tears in his eyes, threatening to fall if he says anything else.

"What does that mean?" Confusion grips you tightly, his face giving nothing away.

"An apple pie life," he laughs at his own words, "I can't give you the house, and two kids, dinner by 6, it's all too much for that." He looks to the lake as if it could help him.

"Bucky," you gently take his chin, making him look at you, "what makes you think I want that?"

"The way you looked at me," he wipes a fallen tear from his cheek, "when I was playing with Cass and AJ today.

"Oh, Bucky." You kiss a tear away from the side of his nose, "I don't need any of that, hon. I just need you."

G - Goofy. (how serious are they when it comes to a relationship?)

☆ When it comes to a romantic relationship, Bucky can be pretty serious, while he is smooth/sly, 'goofy' isn't really the word I'd use to describe him. Not to say he wouldn't be funny, but I feel as though his humor is more sarcastic than anything.

(same thing as before)

H - Hugs. (how do they hug?)

☆ I imagine Bucky's skin to be cold, so that transfers to his hugs, but he's cold like a soft breeze on a hot beach. His hugs would also be very firm because of obvious reasons. If he's in an emotional mood, they may be slightly too hard, but never enough to hurt you.

You shiver slightly as his arms wrap around your frame, his head resting upon your shoulder. You two stay like that for a moment before he shifts his head into the crook of your neck, leaving a chaste kiss on it before planting his nose to touch your skin; eyelashes softly tickling you as he blinks.

"I miss you."

I - Interests. (what Interests do they want to share with their S/O?)

☆ Bucky's a fucking nerd, his main interests being motorcycles, fantasy novels (reading in general), folklore, and ancient history.

Bucky smiled widely as he firmly gripped some obscure fantasy novel with a dragon on the cover, unintentionally waving it around. He's excitedly explaining the novel to you, about how well written the book is, about how interesting the character dynamics are, and so on. You mirror his smile as you watch him talk, hanging on to every word that falls off his tongue.

You stand, your smile never wavering as you walk toward him, he stops talking, confused. Once you reach him, you pull him into your grasp, kissing his cheek, holding him close.

"What?" His voice lacking confidence, his smile now unsure.

"Keep talking." You mumble into him, "I like it when you talk." He grins and continues his rant.

J - Jealousy. (do they get jealous?)

☆ He can get jealous, this is do to his trust issues, but he's mature enough that he won't be a bitch about it unless you want him to, he'll just talk to you, and the two of you will work through it one way or another. He does get rather clingy when jealous, though, wanting to touch you in some way.

You and Bucky are currently at your workplace, your boss decided in order to boost morale that a company party was needed, and you (thankfully) convinced Bucky to go, promising it'll be quick.

Both of you were chatting with one of your work friends when they asked you to come help them get refreshments, leaving Bucky alone with their spouse. Bucky wanted to be nice, he did, but the spouse would not stop going on and on about some shit Bucky had never even heard of. So, naturally, his eyes wander trying to locate you, hoping that you'll come back and save him from this dreadful conversation, and that's when he saw it. Your co-worker was basically feeling you up, their eyes traced your figure as you bent over to grab a couple of waters from the case on the floor, and when you stood back up they grabbed your waist to "move you out of the way" of someone walking by.

The final straw was when you attempted to walk back to Bucky and their spouse, they grabbed you by the elbow stopping you from moving, the grip wasn't very hard from what Bucky could see, but the look on your face was enough to get him moving.

Bucky walked away from the spouse mid sentence. They called out at him, but he paid it no mind. He reached the two of you, and you smiled at him, saying something along the lines of "What couldn’t stand to be without me?" Bucky rolled his eyes when the co-worker asked what he was doing.

"Sorry to cut this short, but honey, we got to go." Overpronouncing the pet name, as he pulls you toward him.

"What? You just got here!" The co-worker joked, "Come on, y/n! The night is still young." He whined out.

"I'm sorry, but Buck's right. I promised to make dinner tonight in order for him to come." You laughed, pulling Bucky's hand into your grasp, "See you on Monday though." You smiled at them, causing Bucky to tighten the grip of his hand around yours.

The second the two of you walked out of the building Bucky pushed you against the wall of it, just barely out of view from the window, kissing you harshly. You opened your mouth in shock, giving Bucky the opportunity to slide his tongue in. His hands roam your body in search for nothing in particular, he smirks when you moan into the kiss, motivating him to pull as much of those pretty little sounds out of you as he can. He thinks of your co-worker, the slimy bastard, they could never have you like this, this thought makes his smile grow as he attaches to your neck, and slips his knee in between your legs. Once he's satisfied with your disheveled state, he silently walks away to the car, leaving you to follow him, confused, calling out for him to slow down.

K - Kiss. (how they kiss/favorite place to be kissed, and vise versa.)

☆ Bucky’s kisses are tender/soft, this is attributed to him subconsciously not wanting to hurt you in any way, so any time he touches you it's rather gentle. His lips tend to taste a little like blood, because he has a habit of biting them.

☆ His favorite place to kiss you is on your cheek, specifically with his hands on your hips as a form of greeting.

☆ His favorite place to be kissed is his neck, it feels special, a place just for you and no one else, it's a form of intimacy he hasn't been able to truly experience until now. He especially likes it when you hug him from behind kissing up from the top of his spine to his nape hairline.

Bucky uncomfortably cleaned the kitchen as he waited for you to return from work; he had recently moved in to your place, and it was just now starting to hit him how serious you guys were. You and him have been dating for quite a while, he stayed over more times than not, so it was only natural for you to ask him to move in. He said yes of course, how could he not? He thought about the two of you, about him no longer sleeping in your bed, but sleeping in his. Next to you. It's driving him insane, oh god - when did he start crying? Seriously though, how could you chose him? He just doesn't understand how this happened, how could you, of all people, want him? More tears. God, Bucky, pull yourself together man.

His thoughts screech to a halt as he hears the door open, he hears you call out his name, he doesn't respond, wiping the tears, this proved to be a lot harder to do as one's tears are still actively falling. You find him within a few seconds, he's facing the sink, you snicker at his concentration; you walk up to him, making sure not to be silent, though there’s not a doubt in your mind he knows you're there. You wrap your arms around his lower torso, placing your chin on his shoulder. His hands stop moving as he leans into the touch.

"Hey, Buck." You softly whisper, "You get out today?"

"Of course I have." He turns his head down slightly, trying to avoid eye contact, "You worry too much." He grumbles, he attempts to move his arms forward, but stops when he feels your lips graze his nape.

"I like worrying about you." Another kiss. "It keeps me grounded." You laugh into his neck.

"Please." He drags out the word in an almost whiney tone, moving his head back to get even closer to your mouth, "Please don't stop."

You consister teasing him, turning his chin to look at you, but stop when you see his wet cheeks you decide against it. You leave a kiss on the corner of his mouth as a sort of apology, before going back to what you were doing to the back of his neck.

"God, Buck, you know how much I love you?" You mumble into his skin after a few moments.

"No, I don't think I do," He smiles at the wall, "how much?"

You unravel your arms from around him, placing them on his shoulders, turning him to face you. You deeply press your lips onto his nose, causing him to scrunch his face, the kiss makes a humming sound, before a soft pop of your lips.

"That much, times like a thousand." You giggle at his soft expression.

"Wow. That's a lot." He remarks with faux amazement, trying to make it seem like you didn't just make his heart nearly beat out of his chest.

"Yeah it is." You exaggerate the words, gripping his cheeks for one last kiss.

L - Love Language.

☆ Bucky's love language is definitely acts of service. He enjoys doing things for you, and putting his skills to use, I think this can been seen in fatws when he helps Sam with repairing the boat, and getting him a new suit. He likes surprising you with household takes already completed when you get home, he absolutely basks in the praise you give him for doing this.

(yuck. This is where I officially give up on the scenes, as said prior if you want to see any specific ones just ask!!)

M - Meals. (kitchen dynamics.)

☆ Bucky doesn't like to cook with other people, you can watch for sure! But he doesn't like to share the space too closely, it just annoys him when people do things he believes he can do more efficiently.

☆ The two of you will most likely do A/B days when it comes to cooking and clean up, unless one person is pampering the other/it's a special occasion.

N - Nicknames. (what do they call their S/O?)

☆ His nicknames for you are obviously older, and slightly feminine (unless you tell him off), he starts you relationship with names like, doll, darling, and dove. As time progresses he will start incorporating handsome into his list of pet names. All that being said, I don't think he's too into pet names, for the most part he'll just say your real name.

O - Openness. (how open are they about their past/emotions with their S/O?)

☆ He starts telling you about his past in the form of jokes (like that one date scene in fatws). He's able to tell you about everything in a factual tone a few months into dating (just so he knows he trusts you), as far as his emotions surrounding it - that does obviously take longer, but in my opinion not by that much. The amount of emotion shared does vary, but maybe a month or two after he tells you about it for the first time, he'll start venting about his nightmares and such.

☆ also it does depend on how you view/retain media, because you might have already recognized his face/name.

P - PDA.

☆ Bucky is in the middle when it comes to PDA, he likes holding your hand, will give you goodbye kisses and such, but he doesn't go father then that. Half due to his social anxiety, half to him wanting the more intimate things to stay private.

Q - Quarrel. (how they apologize/ how long it takes them to forgive their S/O?)

☆ If Bucky feels he's in the right he can and will be petty, such as brushing you off, or making sarcastic comments. He typically won't confront you because of the attitude he holds, but when you decide to apologize he's ready to talk it out. He accepts your apology in time, (depending on what you did) but he is still standoffish for some time after, due to his trust issues.

☆ When he fucks up he is all over fixing it. He starts the apology in a very formal manner, stating how he knows he what he did was wrong, how he'll do better. The second part of the apology is him being (too) nice for the next week, as said on L his love language is acts of service so he'll overcompensate, and do every task you needed done.

R - Rules. (boundaries they have.)

☆ His "main" boundaries are focused around his past, such as you're not allowed to pry when it comes to asking about it - he will talk about it in his own time. You're also not allowed (at least for a long time) to touch the scars he has next to where his arm is attached, or the attachment itself. As far as other boundaries go, he doesn't want you to go further than hand holding, and a quick goodbye kiss in public, and he hates it when you pity him out right - keep that in your head.

S - Security. (how protective are they of their S/O?)

☆ He is very protective of you, not in a weird controlling way, but he always checks in out of fear someone will use you to get to him for one reason or another. This protectiveness isn't really that obvious, more just him checking in on you, and keeping an eye out when you're out together.

T - Time. (how long does it takes to fall for their S/O?)

☆ Bucky does take quite a bit of time to actually fall in love, but him finding you attractive/intriguing is very fast if not immediate. It takes about 2-3 months for him to ask you out (though he does flirt for a while first), and about 5-7 months of dating to "love" you.

U - Upset (what things upset them in a relationship?)

☆ He can get upset from a few things namely; everything said in R, when you grab him first in his post nightmare state or during/after a panic attack (he wants to be the one to initiate contact, because sometimes he doesn't want to be touched), and if you disagree on politics - although Bucky isn't the kind of guy to compromise on those so it most likely won't happen, because he wouldn't be dating you in the first place.

V - Vacation. (what kind of traveler are they with their S/O?)

☆ Bucky's a NERD!! He likes to go to places with rich history/culture, and he won't take a second to rest, he just wants to see everything, can you blame him? If you're the kind of person who wants to spend a day relaxing by the pool, I'm sorry, but he will leave you behind without hesitation.

W - Words. (promises they make to their S/O.)

☆ Bucky promises to never hurt you in any way shape or form, he promises to protect you agianst others who wish to harm you, and he promises to never leave you behind as he doesn't want anyone, especially you, to feel how he felt.

X - Xenial. (how they make you feel welcome/what makes them feel welcome?)

☆ Bucky likes to do little things for you to make you feel welcome/comfortable around him. This comes in different shapes and forms, such as complimenting you in every which way, making mental notes of things you like, and always being ready to help you out with anything you may need.

☆ Bucky feels the most welcome when it's explicitly said that he is. You using your words to validate him, not even compliment him, but just say he's doing fine, it does more for him then you could imagine.

Y - Yearning. (do they miss their S/O easily? what do they do about it?)

☆ Bucky is able to survive being isolated for long periods of time, even going as far to do it intentionally, but you've weakened him. He misses you rather fast. Now, it's not like he's going to cry over it or anything, but he will sometimes sit up at night unable to sleep without you next to him.

☆ Let's say that you two, for whatever reason, can't call. Bucky is an old fashioned guy, he likes to keep a least one physical photo of you on him at all times. He says it's his good luck charm; he would never tell you however, is that when you two are separated he keeps the photo as close as possible at nights because it calms him down from his nightmares.

Z - Zzz. (sleeping habits/how they cuddle.)

☆ As said so many times throughout this list, Bucky gets nightmares, and sometimes he can't fall back asleep afterwards so he gets up to go do his own thing, because of this while the two of you do sleep near eachother, you rarely cuddle. It's not even that he doesn't want to cuddle, he does, it's the fact he feels like a burden any time he wakes you, so instead he lied and told you he doesn't like them.

☆ Other sleep facts about him is that he runs hot at night, somewhere earlier it's said he's cold to touch, but for whatever reason he can not have more than one blanket on him, plus your body heat.

☆ His typical sleepwear is a pare of shorts, and if you want to count them, his dogtags. During the colder months he'll add a long sleeve shirt, or even just a standard tee, depends on his mood.

MARVEL MASTERLIST