#it was a struggle to find images of the final-form

[barksnbites]

Hello!! Could I please request a moodboard with both the final-form final-boss version and humanoid version of Xion (Kingdom Hearts 358/2 Days)? With sunsets and ice cream? Thank you! ^__^

Of course! I hope this is okay - I don't know anything about Kingdom Hearts

[unproduciblesmackdown]

also to go "wow this is just like in pentiment" about absolutely anything and/or "wow this is just like iphigenia crash land falls on the neon shell that was once her heart (a rave fable)" about absolutely anything further:

the Narratives within crash land falls where like, in the end iphigenia being Given the story of both "this is going to happen anyways" and "so why don't you see it as a noble sacrifice to accept." the situation happening to Create a story that she was killed, so her father must be tragic, and sympathetic. that iphigenia does take on that Narrative of taking on the Noble Willing Sacrifice, and it kills her, but she also would have been killed anyways, as everyone also knows. that we even get a bit of pentimentesque [other characters observe & assess things] like, the fresa girls as a chorus, and one at the end like yeah She Was No Saint, i saw everything, but being cut off by The News that's like yeah looks like iphigenia was killed, that seguing into her father saying yeah she was killed, god's will was done, She's A Saint now. seguing to the emcee who introduced the play, but that superceded by achilles, and that superceded with iphigenia's extasis monologue as the end of the play. that whether iphigenia's a saint or not, she dies. that [the whole play] tells us as much, like, this isn't a What If kind of retelling where she escapes her fate, this is a retelling examining itself like, she Will die because the story's preset, so what to do with this as the story that has to take her there, what to do with this as iphigenia who has to go there

that iphigenia takes on another narrative in addition to the one offered by like, violeta as guide and oracle telling her she has to die (As A Noble Sacrifice), that again (as per iphigenia in aulis being like uh hey daughter. let's go to aulis so you can uh marry achilles (it is to be sacrificed)) achilles is this bait, but it's only in the ending that there's any Story about being with achilles, and when iphigenia goes to the mercenary soldier who she knows will kill her, she's the one telling him what to tell her about where she's going and why, i want you to tell me achilles is waiting for me....and she still dies, because This Is The Story. as also applied to the reality, iphigenia as another dead and missing girl following & preceding many; any disappeared deaths when consumed as disposable & replaceable, not given part of any narrative about it. while also iphigenia only gets a chorus of fresa girls from there being crosses put on the factory wall with their names, with one girl even remarking like hey they spelled my name right for once. but at the same time they're also like, both mere Apparitions but also like standins for people who are simply alive. real [shades]esque kind of, i suppose, but like they're not Sanctified for dying either, they'll comment on iphigenia but not with any like, divine knowledge, just as this out of place rich girl. whether iphigenia's A Saint or Not A Saint, she's still dead either way. she wants to be a fresa girl, they maybe want to be her, but everyone's doomed anyways thanks to way larger forces and the Stories that have been told and will be told again

but there's also the moment right before the final section wherein, before she's having to say what she wants within the bounds of [she has to die], there's achilles asking "you still want me" and iphigenia answering with "i want everything" and her vision for, like, getting to be alive actually, i'm on the gulf where the sea is gray, and no one wants a piece of me....the whole inciting event here where iphigenia wants to evade her fate however she can, exiting the bounds of her life, the physical bounds and the family unit and walking away from the rank of status / class / wealth, trying for [have her body for herself] and what the body wants, the sensuous indulgences of (a rave fable), let's hear some more about the roman state like "we don't like the examination and challenge and upending of class and convention in a bacchanalia, so only do the official versions we permit;" the Threat of people's desires for themselves, when that's going to be counter to those in power who'd want these people to be resources at their disposal; the burden on the disempowered to suffer [the only way out is through] with the Additional pain & loss that has to be taken on in pursuit of their autonomy, while also of course suffering for the autonomy they lack, that restricted and controlled and mitigated versions of what you might want are deigned to be provided or permitted so that you have Something, but that everyone's actual undeniable personhood will always be spilling past those bounds, the potential power of transgressive pleasure when one's wellbeing and autonomous choices are counter to the power structures that have to constantly try to suppress and preclude this. achilles just as bait, doomed to die like iphigenia is also still doomed, sex was never going to save everyone and the [recognizing connection as these two parallel people / We're The Same] with your lover here is not going to save everyone but it still makes more things possible for them both; iphigenia does know what she wants, and gets some of it because she wants it, same with achilles in turn, while it can't save anyone from their fates still. but it can mean something even if it doesn't transcend, like even a fleeting night of insignificant dancing that doesn't change anything can mean something, and we all die, but that doesn't mean it's Nothing to be killed any more than it's Nothing to have your desires or choices one way or another to be wrung out of your life before you are

anyways, the stories. the Looking and Presenting here. achilles and iphigenia first encountering each other as images put together and presented by someone else for their own purposes. the presence of what's seen through film/camera/recording versus in person; the potential power relations and even violence in framing, presenting, and the intended looking and assessing. repeated language about eyes/looks that burn, while also that connection between iphigenia and achilles, and their finding the least room in what they do have of their lives for more of their own wants and selves and something genuine and not predetermined, is also connected to eyes and looking and being seen and light and burning. while they're also connected to the protection and possibility of night and darkness, getting to exist and be Without being lit up or seen; that with the power that's still in play, it's never like, well then you should have nothing / no reason to hide; the penultimate moment in the play with achilles being one that's in person and fades into darkness, rather than coming in from the light of a projection / video onscreen as the introduction....iphigenia needing to be guided through a crossroads to even get to achilles in person; violeta giving the Advice and Story and Tradition to pray to eleggua, as iphigenia does before getting to encounter achilles for real, who also doesn't get to break out of a role or a fate in full in any way, but their tragedies are like, pointing towards [autonomy, imagine it] in both the ways they manage to find a little bit of it for themselves, in no small part for simply recognizing each other as in the same boat here, and in the ways they still don't have it and still can't get it

and anyways it's also inevitably saying like, telling a story?? this Play is a told story!! looking? assessing? interpreting? you're doing that in the course of experiencing it! and it's really so fucking true.

[targaryenrealnessdarling]

Unabashed

Summary: Aemond wonders whether his pretty new wife is as shy in her sleep as she is awake, and intends to find out | Word Count: 1.6~k | Warnings: somnophilia, dubcon, oral (f receiving), feelings of shame

Thank you to @targaryen-dynasty for organising the event! <3 Make sure to check out the others!

The early dawn light filtered through the gossamer curtains, casting a soft glow across the spacious chamber. Aemond Targaryen, with his stern demeanour and battle-hardened visage, stood at the edge of their grand bed. His gaze softened as it fell upon his wife, a gentle and shy creature, who seemed out of place amidst the grandeur of a Targaryen prince's bedchamber.

They had been married but a few weeks, and her timidity was still evident in her every movement. She lay there, her breaths even and soft, her face relaxed in sleep. Aemond's heart swelled with a mixture of affection and protectiveness. He knew she struggled with the expectations placed upon her as his wife, especially when it came to intimacy.

He thought back to their wedding night. She had blushed deeply, her cheeks a rosy hue as she avoided meeting his gaze. Her hands had trembled slightly as she undressed, her shyness palpable. Aemond had taken her hands in his, his touch gentle, hoping to reassure her, but with a deep desire to claim her as his. Her skin had been warm, and he could feel the rapid beat of her pulse under his fingers. He had moved slowly, each touch deliberate, wanting to make her feel safe and cherished. Despite his efforts, she had remained tentative, her actions hesitant and reserved.

Many at court whispered that she was ill-suited for the intensity that came with being bound to a man like Aemond. They said she lacked the fire needed to stand beside him. Aemond had often wondered if there was another side to her, one hidden beneath layers of gentleness and timidity. A side that perhaps only he could reach, given time and patience.

This morning, he found himself wondering again. As she lay there, serene in sleep, he considered the possibility that in her dreams, she might be free from the constraints of her waking shyness. Perhaps, he thought, he could gently coax that hidden side of her into the light.

The sheets framed her form in his plush bed, her hair in somewhat disarray, a few pieces having escaped her careful and perfect braiding the night before. It had been hot in King’s Landing since their wedding night, and so as his eye drifted over her, he could see the gentle rise of her chest, and her perk nipples forming peaks against the near-translucent cotton bedding. A shy thing she was, but most certainly not without allure.

Aemond's breath caught at the sight, a primal part of him stirred by her unintentional seduction. The stark contrast between her modesty and the sensual image she presented tugged at some place usually kept hidden. She was a puzzle he was determined to solve, a delicate flower he was eager to nurture.

Before he knew it, his fingers bunched the sheets in his grasp, watching with deep satisfaction at the way her body was slowly revealed to him, inch by perfect inch. A map of unmarked territory he was determined to explore. The fabric slid against her skin with such ease, as if she were made of water and they were simply a ripple in her perfection, until eventually, once she was bared to him and she gave a quick breath-like shudder, he was able to take his time in forming his plan.

Aemond leaned closer, his breath hot against her skin. His lips pressed gentle, reverent kisses along the smooth expanse of her stomach, moving lower with each caress. Her body trembled slightly beneath his touch, her breath hitching in her sleep, as if her dreams were becoming more vivid and enticing.

When he finally reached the apex of her thighs, he paused, glancing up at her face. Her eyes were still closed, her lips parted slightly, a soft sigh escaping her. Taking a deep breath, Aemond pressed a tender kiss against her inner thigh, feeling the warmth of her skin beneath his lips.

His tongue flicked out, tasting her, a heady mix of sweetness and desire. She stirred, a soft moan escaping her lips as her body responded to his touch. Encouraged, Aemond continued his ministrations, his tongue moving with careful thought, exploring every inch of her glistening slit with the precision he afforded everything else in his life. 

Her hips shifted slightly, a subconscious response to the pleasure building within her. Aemond's hands gently gripped her thighs, holding her in place as he deepened his efforts, his tongue moving in slow, deliberate strokes. Each moan, each soft gasp she made was a testament to the pleasure he was giving her.

There was a deep, primal part that glimmered in his eye at the way she responded, her subconscious sounds and movements a stark contrast to her demeanour when she was awake. Her slumber seemed to lower her carefully built walls, imprisoning her sexuality inside. Her hands gripped the sheets the same way he gripped her thighs, the warm muscle of his tongue dragging over her sex up towards her bud, enclosing his lips around it, the smirk he wore hidden in his actions. 

The sounds were so sweet to his ears he could stay between her plush thighs all day. A part of him was surprised she hadn’t woken yet with the way her hips were chasing his lips and tongue, and her fingers carding through his loose hair and pulling lightly at the roots to ground herself. Her movements were by no means erratic, enough for him to know without looking that she was still in whatever sleep-addled bliss she imagined, but it appeared his little wife was more and more an exciting enigma with every passing day.

Her breathing grew a fraction more erratic, her stomach clenching and unclenching with the warm, numbing climax that was steadily rising. She would blush and apologise profusely if she could see the way she was acting right at this moment, moaning and writhing with her cunt on his mouth. Aemond worked in rhythmic, intoxicating strokes, taking everything she was giving to him, the tartness of her arousal was addictive in a way he had never imagined. 

His little wife’s body arched only slightly off the bed, her grip tightening and thighs trembling, her release washing over her in powerful waves. The only sound she gave was a breathy, elongated moan, too sweet for the carnal, forbidden act he was performing on her sleeping form. Aemond watched with satisfaction as she slowly relaxed, her breathing returning to a more even pace. He placed a final, tender kiss against her sensitive skin before drawing back, his eyes lingering on her peaceful, contented expression.

He found it almost comical that his wife hadn’t woken to her husband devouring her sweet cunt, but that she had woken to the feeling of the mattress dipping as Aemond righted himself, looking down at her bare form, her chest shimmering with a dew of sweat. 

Her eyelids fluttered open, and she blinked up at him, her gaze initially hazy with sleep. As her awareness sharpened, she noticed her state of undress and the lingering warmth between her thighs. Her cheeks flushed a deep crimson, a mix of surprise and realisation dawning on her features.

"Aemond," she whispered, her voice trembling with both shyness and residual pleasure.

He wiped his face, a victorious, cat-like smirk on his features, as if to emphasise her embarrassment. “Good morning, my love.”

She averted her gaze, her hands moving to cover herself instinctively, but Aemond's firm yet gentle touch stopped her.

"There is no need for that," he said softly, his smirk fading into a more tender expression.

She looked up at him, her eyes wide with a mixture of emotions, embarrassment, curiosity, and a budding sense of trust. "Did I... did I embarrass myself?" she asked hesitantly.

Aemond chuckled, a deep, satisfied sound that made her cheeks flush even more. "Not at all," he replied, his voice filled with genuine amusement and pleasure. "You were perfect, and it was a delight to see you respond so…unabashedly"

Her blush deepened, but she managed to meet his gaze, her curiosity overcoming her shyness. "I did not wake up," she murmured, almost to herself. “I thought it was a dream.”

"A dream, perhaps," he said, brushing his fingers gently along her jawline. "But one that I was more than happy to make real."

Feeling her cheeks burn at his brazen behaviour, she tugged the sheets to her chest to cover herself, her expression pleasured but shy. “Such actions will not result in a child.”

"No, it will not," he agreed. "But there are many ways to show my desire. Not all of them are about creating heirs."

“Well I know that.”

His expression took on a predatory gleam, moving swiftly to hold her wrists down to the bed with ease. “You might know,” he murmured, “but you will feel it, every day and every night.”

Her breath hitched, a mixture of fear and excitement. The hardness in his gaze tempered by the affection she saw there. Something shifted in her eyes, a spark of defiance and curiosity he hadn't seen before. She reached up, slipping from his hold, her fingers trailing lightly over his chest, her touch both hesitant and bold. Her lips curved into a small, sweet smile that almost dared him to do more.

His innocent little wife had a hidden fire, one that both intrigued and excited him. He felt his desire flare even stronger, spurred on by the need to explore this new side of her, to see just how far she would go.

“And I intend to make certain you never forget.”

General Taglist: @1lluminaticonfirmed @aemondsfavouritebastard @bellstwd @blackswxnn @blairfox04

@buckybarnesb-tch @castellomargot @eddieslut69 @emmaisafictionwhore @eponaartemisa

@hb8301 @jamespotterismydaddy @justbelljust @minholy223 @mochi-rose

@natty2017 @nenelysian @nixiefics @primonizzutto @qyburnsghost

[chaptersleftunwritten]

Beauty is a beast that roars

Part One | Part Two | Part Three

Blurb: You quietly long for Eddie’s attention, and when things with Chrissy start to look serious you resort to desperate attempts for him to look at you the way he looks at her.

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Chrissy Cunningham x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Angst, hurt (no comfort), Eddie is kinda a dick, obsession, hurtful notes being passed, mentions of bulimia/eating disorder, mild stalking, low talk about self image, societal pressure to look a certain way, mental health struggles, characters are 20+ and in a college setting!

-

divider by @reveriesources

It started as a slow burn inside of your chest. You blamed it on the stress of finals but the more you saw them together, the more that burn worsened into a blaze; scorching your heart and tarring it black.

You didn’t think it possible to be obsessed with someone that you didn’t love- but you worshipped the very ground that Chrissy Cunningham walked on. At times, you thought she was able to read your mind. The way she effortlessly flicks her natural glowing golden hair over her shoulder as she laughs, looking like she was sculpted by Aphrodite herself- or how she presses her perfect rosy lips in peppery and sweet kisses to Eddie’s cheek. She had him wrapped around her skilful fingers. You couldn’t stand it.

It twisted your insides into a rope like knot- so tight and big and uncomfortable. You couldn’t breathe. You couldn’t think straight when you looked at her. At them. Your brain harbouring thoughts of envy, rotting from the inside out with lightless horrid concepts.

You couldn’t help but follow study Chrissy. Her signature blue eyeshadow that adorns her gorgeous blue eyes, her tiny upturned nose, her well proportioned features- her body. You had never repeated this information to anyone before, not even Eddie, because not only would it expose your research into Chrissy, but because you definitely weren’t ever supposed to find out.

You had walked in on her one day in the bathroom. She was hunched over in a stall, her white sneakers peeking out from beneath the cubicle door. She was vomiting. Harshly.

At first you thought she may just be sick, and she was, but it was a different conversation. You entertained that thought until you walked in a second and third time to her in the exact same position- her fatigued body draped over the toilet bowl. You understood how she maintained her physique. It broke your heart; momentarily.

What broke your heart more was that Eddie evidentially had no idea. You knew, deep down, Chrissy was just like you. A sad, broken girl. But she was better at hiding it. The Duchess of disguise. The Queen of your psyche. Your admiration of her was unhealthy, you knew that much. You just couldn’t stop. You needed Eddie to look at you the way he looks at her.

So you cut your hair into a fringe, and you change your clothes. You find your own signature colour of eyeshadow and you even purchase a few skater skirts. Sports had never really interested you until now; now you were trying out for the cheerleading team. And with being Chrissy’s friend- of course she gave you direct entry.

Because despite her beauty, Chrissy was also kind. Which made the knot in your stomach grow firmer, imbedding itself within you permanently.

-

“Hey, Eddie!” You make sure your voice is dripping with the sweetest form of honey as you bat your mascara thick eyelashes at him. He glances at you from his magazine, quirking a brow at your chirpy energy.

“Hello… What’s up?” He asks, his words clipped as his eyes focus back on the flimsy book he holds sturdily in his hands. God… his hands. The rings that compliment his slender fingers and the bracelets that dress his wrist. You couldn’t get enough of it- of him.

It was impossible for you to hold his attention for more than a few seconds, and you had bound into the library full of hope and partial confidence today. You had pieced together one of your best outfit. A denim jacket draped over your shoulders, a white tank top (with no bra) and a cute skirt in your favourite colour which also matched your eyeshadow. Your hair was in a voluminous pony tail, held up by a great big scrunchie and your eyes were bright with popping colour. Your cheeks were dusted with blush and your nails painted perfectly; with the help of your mother.

You couldn’t think of a reason why Eddie wouldn’t look at you. You looked totally bitchin’!

“Uhm…” you stutter, your small confidence wavering at his lack of interest, “We haven’t really hung out in a while… I thought maybe we could? If you like!” There is a festering in the pit of your stomach, a panic that grows with every anticipating second, “We don’t really hang out anymore... just us, I mean.” You add, hoping further context will make you sound a little less desperate.

You and Eddie used to hang out every day. Sometimes alone, sometimes with the whole group. But lately… things have changed. And you know the reason why.

Eddie acknowledged you with a hum, finally placing his magazine down and narrowing in on your appearance. You thought you wanted him to look at you, but the intense confusion on his face made you long for the earth to gape open beneath you and swallow you whole.

“Looks like ya did a deep dive through Chrissy’s wardrobe.” His chuckle makes your ears heat and your face flush as his fingertips pluck at the sheer scrunchie wrapped in your hair. You can’t tell if he is joking or not— but to you, it’s a compliment nonetheless.

After a moment of pause and total excitement you gather your composure quickly and cough a meek reply, “I’m trying something new.”

You’re trying to be someone new.

“Hmm,” He examines you further, “I dunno,” Eddie scratches at his chin, his once soft and playful features now express something more distasteful, “I personally prefer your old style— this seems… out of character.” There was a lilt to his deep voice, which made him sound interrogative.

“You.. you do?” You curse inwardly at the stutter in your airy voice. To say his words shocked you was an understatement. They had your jaw hanging loose and your eyes opened broadly. Had you gotten it all wrong? Were you really just as pretty before all of this? Or was he teasing you… was he trying to make you feel better? Was this his attempt at telling you that you look like an utter clown in comparison to Chrissy?

You’d never know… because you would never ever ask him such things.

You think back to a note that got passed to you in class not too long ago- you weren’t sure of the culprit (you suspected Jason) — it read along the lines of,

‘Apply all the makeup you want, but at the end of the day it’s just lipstick on a pig.’

Were you a pig? Was this all just a feeble and comical attempt at beauty? To be desired. To be wanted. It’s all you longed for. It’s all you dreamed of.

You wanted Eddie to see you. To want you. And at this rate, you were losing all hope.

“Yeah,” alongside a small laugh he also flashes you a toothy smile, a mocking smile— and you clamp your jaw closed to stop yourself from shaking out a sob, “Listen, you’re free to chill here with me if you want but— hey!”

You couldn’t take it. The embarrassment. The knife twisting in your chest and puncturing your heart. You flee from the table abruptly before Eddie even has a chance to say anything more to you.

What was wrong with you? You wanted his attention, you wanted him alone and when you got it you despised the humorous way he gazed at you. You didn’t want to be entertaining or funny— you wanted to be loved.

Loved by him.

To please him.

To make him proud…

On exiting the library you pass Chrissy who was entering through the heavy fire doors, clearly she is on her way to meet Eddie. It was uncanny, almost like looking into a mirror.

The blonde spares you a small smile but not without a worried and intrigued glance at your attire before she is muttering a quick ‘Hello’ which you don’t even bother to return. You are too focused on your pursuit to the bathroom where you can hide yourself in an empty stall and cry without judgement. The only issue? You didn’t bring any makeup wipes for the mascara that has plagued your face in splotches and streaks of black tears.

Your eyes sting furiously and your bottom lip quivers outwith your control. It’s hard to believe that you have allowed yourself to stoop this low, crying shamelessly on campus in front of your peers. Their sympathetic eyes and taunting grins don’t go unnoticed by you as you finally make it to the bathroom, bursting into the void room like a bat out of Hell. Slamming the cubicle door closed and sitting on the toilet bowl where you start to question reality.

What are you doing?

You despise the fact that you know, no matter what, no matter how stupid you look- how ridiculous your clothes are and your sorry attempts at looking pretty, you would continue to do it. Even if people stared, gawked, whistled, laughed… you would continue on this descent into madness. The chase of perfection. The downward spiral of your mind had only just begun and you had a far distance yet to fall.

-

Whilst classes had finished for a long weekend and everyone was outdoors enjoying what was left of the sun before Fall crept its way in, you were sat in front of your bathroom mirror. 

Pulling, pinching, tweezing, twisting, sucking, shaving, grabbing and crying.

God, you couldn’t stop crying.

You couldn’t remember a time when you didn’t cry.

To you, winter was already here. You were chilled to the bone, hollow in your chest. Insides were sunken. You felt vacant of any joy.

“Honey!!” Your mother yells suddenly from the bottom of the staircase, her voice is cloud like and warm, “Someone is here to see you!” There is a mutter of something inaudible, “Chrissy!” She confirms snippily and your face drops heavily into a worried frown.

“I’m in the shower!!” You shriek back dishonestly and you are reminded that you have a heart as it shudders inside of your chest. You aren’t ready to see her— you don’t have a lick of makeup on, your hair isn’t done and you are still wrapped up in your bath towel. 

Your first thought is how do you get rid of her? How do you lie your way out of this?

You couldn’t.

“Okay, she’ll be waiting down here for you then…” Your mother’s voice dies out and you can hear her offering Chrissy something to drink and eat; which Chrissy declines.

You move around your bedroom agilely, hustling to get as presentable as you possibly could to face the girl waiting downstairs for you. It doesn’t quite register that Chrissy is sitting with your mother, chatting and possibly gossiping. All you care about is getting some makeup slapped on your face and some nice clothes hugging your body.

Your hair can be brushed, but you don’t have time to style it— that’ll have to come later. After multiple a few sprays of your favourite perfume that smells like vanilla and a tinge of cedar wood you feel ready enough to leave your sanctuary.

Nearly tripping over your entire wardrobe that covers your bedroom floor you fly toward the door handle, bracing yourself at the top of the staircase before you descend.

Time to meet your maker.

Your intense gaze flicks hurriedly between your mother and Chrissy as they both stand to meet you as you enter into the lounge room. Chrissy’s hair is twirled and curled to perfection and a short pink summer dress embraces her small frame. On her feet is a pair of red Mary Jane heels and you catch a peek at the silver jewellery strung around her neck and her wrists.

“Hi,” you say, feeling like it is the first breath you take since entering the room.

Chrissy bounds over to you, stringing her arms around your shoulders and pulling you in for a quick but sweet hug, “Hi!” She giggles in a sing song tone before pulling away, “You smell amazing by the way! You’ll have to let me know what that is later!” Her fingers linger on the exposed skin of your bicep and you cringe away from her touch.

“Thanks,” Your mother has long left the room and you walk a few paces away from Chrissy.

“We were heading to the movies, you wanna join? It’s meant to be such a warm night tonight!” To your disadvantage Chrissy follows behind you closely, closing the distance you were trying to create between the both of you, “The whole group will be there! Plus, it’s a thriller which I know you love.” She winks at you and you hate that you can feel your lips curving up into a minuscule smile.

“I dunno, Chris.” Your hand palms at the back of your neck, you feel hot with discomfort and to be quite frank all you want to do is lay in bed and mope.

“Please!” She clasps her hands together, inching closer to you— if that were even possible, “I’ll even buy your ticket!” Her pillowy bottom lip pouts out slightly, “I just wanna hang out with you, it’s been so long.”

And she was right. It had been a long time. You had been so swept up in this horrible pursuit of yours that you forgot you were actually friends with Chrissy. Long before you even knew of Eddie’s existence.

A defeated sigh leaves through your nostrils and you raise your shoulders to your ears, “Fine.” You smile, a smile that feels the most genuine it has in weeks.

Chrissy squeals with excitement, jumping up and down on the spot before taking your hand into hers. Interlocking your fingers so she can make sure you don’t make a run for it, “Let’s go, tiger!”

-

You all find your seats quickly, settling into them with your snacks and beverages. You partially regret not getting a drink but you decide that you’ll be able to soldier through. It’s what you do.

It was no surprise to you that Eddie was there too, but you couldn’t help but panic at the sight of him waiting for you and Chrissy to arrive at the theatre. His tatted arms crossed comfortably over his chest and a love filled smile teasing at his lips as Chrissy trotted over to him, practically jumping into his arms for a hug.

You fell behind them, ensuring you left as much distance as you possibly could. The sight of Eddie alone was enough to send you tumbling into a frenzy of inky feelings.

You could smell Eddie’s cheap cologne mixed with a hint of powerful weed and for a moment it clouds your senses. Taking hold of everything you knew— past, present, future. You couldn’t think about any of it, not with his scent engulfing your nostrils like second hand smoke.

Once the group had settled into the dimly lit theatre you sink into your seat behind Eddie and Chrissy, your shoulders slumping as you wish for the seat to turn into some sort of magical trap door that will transport you to another universe. But of course, you could never be so lucky.

The movie begins with a deafening introduction and you wince at the sound, your finger tips brushing over your ears gently to make sure that they hadn’t been blown off of the side of your head.

Steve occupies the seat next to you, and Robin is next to him with Vickie. You had grown to quite enjoy Vickie’s company. You loved how happy Robin got when she was in touchable reach… you pined for a connection like that.

Normally, you would be in your element as you watched a thriller movie, but something in front of you proved to be far more interesting.

Eddie and Chrissy were whispering sweet nothing into one another’s ear, Chrissy giggling and blushing at whatever it was that Eddie had said— probably something dirty and ridiculous.

And you could handle that. You could endure that.

But what you couldn’t take was watching as their tongues battled it out in a sloppy and erotic kiss. Chrissy had asked you to come and see this film— was it all a rouse just so she could show you who Eddie truly belongs too? So she could dismiss your attempts and break your heart further?

Unbeknownst to you, Steve had clocked the expression on your face. Tears glossing over your eyes, your front teeth gnawing on your bottom lip to try and contain whatever this was that you were feeling— but most importantly, he noticed the newfound stiffness in your body. He could feel you going rigid next to him.

“Hey, you okay?” His voice is low and kind and you should have paid more attention to his attentiveness but you don’t.

“I need to use the bathroom.” Is all you reply before lugging all of your stuff loosely and lazily into your arms and bolting for the theatre isle, but not without earning a few confused looks from Robin.

You bypass the restrooms, your eyes focused on the colossal glass doors which would separate you from Eddie and Chrissy officially.

The humid air hits your skin in an agonising envelop of warmth and you pull your sleeve over the palm of your hand to rub against your soaked cheeks.

Your chest feels heavy with every shaking intake of breath that you manage to pull into your lungs. You are heaving, gasping for air as you sob into the thick material of your sweater.

The sound of passing cars hits your ears and you slightly angle yourself away from the access road connecting the theatre to other public establishments. The images of Chrissy tongue down Eddie’s throat plays over and over in your mind— you don’t even know what the film was about because you were so hyper focused on them.

Your skin feels as though it doesn’t fit right over your skeleton and you grab at the material of your skirt, fisting the fabric as you try to ground your raging emotions.

You catch a whiff of theatre food and it causes bile to raise up the back of your throat, vomit threatening to project from your mouth.

People pass you by, their out of context conversations entering one of your ears and leaving the other. You felt so overstimulated— so riddled with anxiety that your brain hadn’t had space to even register Steve’s hand on your shoulder.

But when you do, you flinch away from him, taken aback by the horror stricken look on his soft features, “Hey… what’s going on?” His voice is low, a whisper as he tries to contain the situation between the two of you. Not wanting whatever this is to spill into the public.

You shake your head, your strong walls flagging up, “Nothing,” you dismiss him, “That movie was just… really scary..” you lie through your teeth and your watery eyes betray your words as tears continue to stream down your flushed skin.

“Bullshit.” He spits, his eyes turning to slits as he inches in closer to you, “Tell me what’s wrong right now.” His thick eyebrows have furrowed deeply on his forehead and you continue to deny him of any information.

“Steve— I’m fine! That movie was scary, I’m scared! That’s all… and.. and I needed some fresh air.” You shrug your shoulders, hoping that the messy headed man would leave it at that but he replies to your dishonesty with a discontent shake of his head.

“You’re fucking lying. Why are you lying to me?” He is so close to you now that you can feel his breath fanning onto your face, “We’re friends, right?” He cocks his head slightly to the right, his eyes becoming a bit more gentle, “Right?”

“Yes!” You respond instantly, “Of course we are friends-“

“Then tell me what’s going on! What is all of this about!” He gestures to your face, but his eyes scan across your body as well. He wants to know the whole truth, and you aren’t going to give it to him.

“I just told you!” You try not to yell, and thankfully your despair is doing a good job at strangling your voice, “I needed air—“ Steve cuts you off.

“Stop it. Stop it now.” He takes a hold of your arm, hurrying you away from the movie theatre entrance, “Just tell me. Whatever it is, I can help! I can help, okay? There’s nothing too big.” You stare into his honey suckle eyes, seeing your owe reflection staring back at you. It causes your stomach to flip with disgust.

“Why can’t you just let this go? I’m fine, Steve! I’m fucking fine! I just wanted air because I felt sick and you’re causing a scene!” You’re yelling now, your once sadness provoked tears turning to anger.

“I’m causing the scene? You’re the one lying to me and busting my balls! I just want to help you!” He takes a frustrated hand through his hair.

“I don’t need your help! I don’t need anyone, I’m fine on my own. I can take care of myself— you don’t get it! You’ll never get it, Harrington!” You jab at his chest, your body shaking with adrenaline.

“Harrington? Wow, okay. Something is definitely bothering you because you only ever call me that when you are really fucking pissed and I know I haven’t angered you this much so just tell me.” He circles you like a shark in murky water and you flee from him, needing some breathing space.

“Tell me!” He demands, charging after you.

You swing around to face him, your entire body feeling as though it’s going to combust.

“You wanna know, Steve? You really wanna fucking know?!” You march toward him, stopping a few paces away from his large frame.

“I’m in love with Eddie!” Your voice is an unattractive squeak, “Is that what you want to know, Steve? Are you fucking happy now?” You’re trembling now— a mix of rage, melancholy and dread.

“I am in love with someone who will never love me back. I… I have tried so hard to win him over.” You pluck at your t-shirt, scoffing at the silliness of it all, “I tried to change everything about me. I tried to be the one he would want but he doesn’t want me. He’ll never fucking want me, Steve.”

You wrap your arms around yourself, a form of defensiveness, “I’ll always be second best— no.” A moment of ugly realisation hits you, “I’m not even on his list. I’m not even a back up option to him. I’m a nobody. I can’t compete— I can’t compare.”

You’re a mess now. Smudged eyeliner. Smeared lipstick. You are a museum of failed art.

“I am in love with Eddie Munson and he doesn’t even know who I am.”

You try to lessen the blow of your own words with a tight lipped teary smile and a shrug of your shoulders… but whatever was left of your bruised heart was now torn to shreds. Unfixable. Unlovable.

“No one wants me.”

Through your distorted vision you hadn’t even noticed the tears pricking at Steve’s own eyes as he watched you fall to pieces in front of him.

Gently he brings you to lay flat against his chest, one of his hands rest tenderly against your hair whilst the other it draped over your shoulders.

He doesn’t say anything. He just holds you silently and allows you to sob into his broad chest— your makeup destroying his pristine white shirt.

A few moments of the embrace pass and that’s when you hear a muted voice from behind Steve’s large frame. A voice you had hoped to not hear— a voice that belonged to someone you had prayed would never ever hear you confess what you just had. A voice that was laced with what you could only pinpoint as malice and repulsion.

Eddie.

“What.. the fuck?”

And as Steve’s body tensed against yours, you blinked away the last of your tears and accepted your fate.

-

taglist: @colorful-white-ideas @littlered0000 @ali-r3n @daisy-munson @serenadingtigers

[moonlight-prose]

RIGHT WHERE YOU LEFT ME

➛ 02. LOST IN TIME AND SPACE

a/n: logan angst with this fic is all i've been thinking about. mainly because he's the kind of man to swallow all of his feelings until it eventually kills him. so that's super fun to work with. and that scenario is basically this entire chapter. so please root for him, but also know he's not even close to dealing with his trauma. also the x-men timeline remains convoluted as fuck, so if the past of the logan who died doesn't make sense it is what it is. this is fanfic and we're all here to fuck him.

summary: the past is a thing he couldn't ignore. yet he still tried. and when the opportunity to spend a day with you utterly alone arises, he realizes that perhaps he doesn't want to forget about what brought him here.

word count: 6.6k+

pairing: logan howlett x f!reader

warnings: not explicit, angsty as fuck, some fluff, grieving a past he can never have back, logan goes through it, kissing, he's horny, me slightly abusing my literature degree, heartache, panic attacks.

PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER | SERIES MASTERLIST

Logan never liked when the city fell silent. He hated the city in general. It unnerved him; scratched angrily against his chest until he couldn't find the peace he strived for. The city at night was filled with small noises—bangs in the distance, shouts of drunks wasted in the streets, and people finally turning in for the night.

They reminded him of the wars, the echoey expanse of nothing. Where every sound set his teeth on edge.

The cheap leather fabric of the couch stuck to his skin as he turned. He shoved his body into a standing position—his hands curling into fists. His skin remained sticky with a thin layer of sweat which only served to incense him further. Given the apartment's shitty air system, he'd be struggling through this for most of the summer. A fact he tried his best to ignore in the hopes that the fall weather would reveal itself sooner.

With a groan, he stripped himself of the thin tank top that clung to his skin. It didn't help to ease the humidity that hung in the air. It barely helped to cool off his body. But he'd take what he could get when what he could get was so little.

Wade's snoring echoed through the thin walls as he stood there, his body begging for a bit of sleep. Even if his mind refused to shut off. Images of you played through his head on a loop. The past was shadowed in pain, memories dipped in a venom he once wished would kill him eventually. Yet seeing you yesterday—a version that remained untouched by the depravity of what already happened—launched him back into a time that never seemed to be very far behind.

"You weren't there! And they needed you."

Silver ebbed from his knuckles as he faced the window—eyes shut and chest heaving. There was no question the sweat came from the humidity in the air. The cold chill along his spine however stemmed from you.

"You're not the Wolverine Logan. You're just a disappointment."

He fought the snarl that worked its way up his throat. A heavy pounding began to form at the front of his head. A drum he couldn't escape.

"Live with that."

If he opened his eyes. If he refused to give the memories even an inch of space in his mind. He'd have caught you standing there rummaging in the kitchen. A mug of tea forgotten on the counter the second you caught a glimpse of him getting up from the couch. You tugged at your sleep shorts as you stumbled towards the window—eyes heavy with sleep that simply wouldn't come.

Most nights it was easy. Long days at work left you utterly exhausted. To a point where staying awake felt odd and incomplete.

Tonight felt like hell.

No matter how many times you tossed and turned, you couldn't get the thoughts to settle. And all of them seemed to filter their way back to the man who currently faced you—his eyes shut and fists adorned with silver claws that slowly slid their way to freedom. You nearly dropped your kettle when he tore off his shirt, revealing sweat slicked skin lit up by the streetlights outside.

If you were braver you'd ask him to come over, join you in a sleepless night. But he had yet to see you standing there and you weren't one to draw attention to yourself.

So you stood and watched as he fought with whatever must have woken him up so late in the night. You witnessed his battle and wished you could be the one helping him. Maybe then he'd finally fall asleep soundlessly. His mind clear—body free of phantom aches from injuries that still haunted him. He may heal incredibly fast, but the mind...that took far too long to piece itself back together.

Before you could turn away, back to your now cold mug of tea, his eyes opened. Fixating immediately on your form in the window.

Few people in his life were able to calm the thunderous storms he weathered in his own mind. Jean and Charles did what they could. They brought back what he once thought was lost forever. Even you attempted to ease him from what he lived through—what he endured.

But that seemed to be the one thing your variant self was unable to comprehend.

He didn't need someone to fix him. He wanted someone to see him. To understand that there was no cure for a person this broken, no easy way out when things got this bad. He stood before you as a man riddled with far too much—scars that you'd never be able to see—yet he could see no hesitation in your eyes.

Something pulled at his stomach at the sight of you in small shorts and a tank top. Your skin exposed to the city as you watched him carefully. You analyzed him in a way that didn't make him want to put up a facade. And he found he liked it when you looked at him like this; with a burning need to know more clear in your gaze.

Your eyes trailed up his stomach, lingering on the hair that dipped down into his sweats. He wanted you to be here. Or him to be there. The location didn't matter as long as he could reach out and touch you—feel the warmth of your skin beneath his palm.

Minutes passed before your gaze found his face and Logan felt an itch in his body at the notion that you were fascinated by him. That even in a different universe with completely different memories, you couldn't help but be drawn to the man he was.

The horror of destroying another version of you should have made him want to turn away from the window.

Then you smiled.

A slow sleepy grin that lit up your face. You probably didn't think anything of it—simply a small offer of kindness in your shared sleepless night. Logan however swallowed it down as if you'd given him the best tasting whiskey on this planet. His chest tightened, head dazed as you stood there looking with enough reverence to kill him.

If only he could see the way your insides melted at the sight of him smiling back. The thoughts of lust and like racing through your mind the longer you stood there.

Eventually the sun would come up, you'd be called to work, and this would become a brief passing memory you'd both hold onto down the road.

Until that moment though you remained in this spot. Fighting the drowsiness for a chance to watch him a bit longer. To trace your eyes along his body and soak in the expressions that played across his weary face.

You could feel the prick of sleep in your eyes, your body dizzy as it begged for you to finally give in and crawl back into bed. Yet how could you leave him there? How could you walk away?

He seemed to catch the way you bit back a yawn and chuckled. Pressing his hand to the warm window, he nodded at you. To anyone else on the street it might look nonsensical—comical even. To you his message was loud and clear: Go to bed and I'll be here in the morning. I promise.

Reluctance yanked at your heart when he nodded again, his hand falling back to his side. Yet no matter how hard you tried to keep yourself awake—if only to steal another second of his gaze on your body—you knew it was futile. Fighting sleep never went well in the morning when coffee was your only salvation. With another smile, you waved slightly—pressing your hand to the window briefly as if to respond to his silence with some of your own.

Sleep well. I'll find you in the morning. I promise.

Logan woke up to the blaring horn of a taxi right outside. The shout of a man bounced off the buildings, cussing about traffic and for someone to get the fuck out of his way. He groaned, turning to his side in the hopes of catching another thirty minutes. But the city was alive and thrumming with its own heart beat.

To others the echo might have been familiar—peaceful.

To Logan it was like nails being dragged along a chalkboard.

"I fuckin' hate this city," he growled, getting to his feet and snatching his tank top from where he'd left it last night.

Surprisingly the apartment rang out with a sound he had yet to experience in this place. Silence. He peeked in the bedrooms briefly, expecting to find Wade still passed out. An empty room was all that greeted him—the fucking stuffed unicorn propped up perfectly on a surprisingly made bed. There was only one reason Wade tidied up his room.

Vanessa.

She was coming by here or Wade was going with her. Either way Logan didn't want to be around to hear what came next. He'd been privy to one too many nights of Wade reconciling his differences with Vanessa and all of them ended with Logan's head beneath a pillow. That or he snuck out to wander the city at night until he finally returned to a quiet apartment.

For a brief moment he wondered if he could find you at your place; his eyes settled on the view of your window across the one way street. The lights looked off, the living room empty. And he craved to know where in this city you disappeared to during the day. Where did you work?

Would you mind if he visited you there? If he took some time to hear your voice, see your smile.

He grabbed the shitty coffee bag that was tossed on the counter. No doubt due to Wade making some this morning. The machine was old, nearly broken, but it would make do for the time being. A neon yellow sticky note was stuck to the top—the scrawl of Wade's handwriting familiar.

Good morning peanut! Coffee is hot like you. Don't call me. Don't beep me. Because you don't need to reach me today. If you do, I'm at Ness's scoring for tens all across the board. I'm talking the head—

Logan groaned, crumpling the note and tossing it on the counter. Knowing information that Wade would probably tell him anyways wasn't how he wanted to start his afternoon. The cabinet creaked as he opened it, the plain blue mug he claimed as his sat in the front.

Another yellow sticky attached to it.

OF CHAMPIONS. I knew you wouldn't finish reading the note you gorgeous Canadian/Australian bastard.

P.S. Sweet angel's number. I was told to give it to you.

P.P.S. GET. SOME. (For the both of us.)

A crude drawing of Deadpool fucking the air was scribbled in the corner. The details were far too graphic for him to look at longer than a few seconds. Logan would have tossed the entire mug in the trash, but your number enticed him to stick it to the fridge as he made coffee strong enough to make the hair stand up on his arms. He glanced at it every few minutes, tracing the numbers as he considered what this meant.

Was this you telling him in simple terms that you wanted to get to know him? That his past and whatever he buried was something you wanted to learn.

His gaze burned a hole into the yellow paper as he drank his coffee, his mind racing at the possibility of speaking to you today. Some cash was stowed in the trunk Laura dragged from the previous Logan's home. Her claim was that he deserved to have it. Since he might have understood what it meant more than she did.

From what he could tell this universe's Logan was saving up for something—the wad of cash in the bottom of the trunk remained enough for him to get by until he found a stable place to set up a home. Somewhere near the mansion that still existed. He wasn't prepared to be a part of that life again just yet, but that remained the only spot that felt like home to him.

Even in a different universe.

Snatching the note off the fridge he grabbed his flannel, boots, and enough cash to last through the day. He had no location in mind. But knowing you wanted to spend time with him became the motivator he needed to actually leave the apartment.

The city was bursting with life—sounds filling the air as if it would replace the oxygen they consumed. He did what he could to ignore it. Slipping past people with ease, his eyes fixed on the small store that sat on the corner. He debated on ordering from the cafe across the street, wondering if you liked the place. If you came here for coffee and breakfast on days off.

He made a note to ask.

Thankfully the shop wasn't crowded with people—a shitty pop song blasted over the speakers. One he knew Wade would play to piss off your next door neighbors. Whether or not you actually liked Wade's music taste never crossed his mind. Or did you go along with it? Willing to do what it took to make them suffer.

"Just this," he grunted, tossing enough cash down to cover the bill and then some.

The burner phone was small in his palm as he yanked it out of the box and flipped it on. He didn't bother with getting an actual phone. What the fuck did he need that for? But this...he could do to make you entering his life a bit easier.

Every part of him screamed to push you away—make you hate him—but for the first time in his life, Logan didn't listen.

The shop door swung shut behind him as he dug out the sticky note, punching your number in carefully to not miss a single digit. Somehow in the midst of chaos, he was able to shut off the city noise when the phone began to ring. Half of him expected you not to answer. It was the middle of the day, you were at work, and this was probably more a hindrance than anything else.

Your voice filtering through the small speaker put his worries at ease within seconds.

"Hello?"

His heart jumped as he exhaled. "I hear you gave Wade directions this morning."

"Logan?" you asked, voice louder than before. The echo of someone shushing you came through, making him smile.

"Hey Honey."

A shaky breath left your lips. Logan felt his stomach clench at the realization you liked when he called you that.

"I didn't know you had a phone," you replied, much softer than before. "Wade told me you were too old for technology."

"Don't listen to anything that mouth tells you."

You laughed, breathy and cute, and he bit back a groan at the sound. "I'm glad he was wrong."

"He normally is."

"Where are you today?" Shuffling and a door shutting caught his attention as your voice rose in volume again.

A horn went off beside him, piercing his hearing. "Standin' on the street."

"Near our places?"

Oh he liked the sound of that. "Mhm." Another soft breath reached his ears; he felt his body go warm. "Where are you today honey?"

"Work." If he could see through the call, he'd catch you smiling. How your teeth dug into your bottom lip to stop the embarrassing giggle that nearly spilled free. "Do you...um...do you want to see it?"

The words slammed into his chest like a truck. The innuendo nearly enough to make him drop to one knee here in the middle of the street. And suddenly Wade's note came back to his mind. The crude drawing flaring to life as he pictured you saying those exact words in an entirely different situation. If he was a better man his jeans wouldn't have tightened. If he was a better man he'd have ignored it altogether.

Logan wished he was a better man. You longed for him not to be.

He cleared his throat, his grip tightening around the phone. "Where?"

"New York Public Library."

Vaguely the directions came back to him from decades past. He wondered if the building sat in the same spot on this universe as his own. In a rush of words, you gave him some instruction. He agreed to be there as soon as he could.

"See you soon Logan." The excitement wasn't hard to pick from your voice. That still didn't stop him from trying.

"Wait–"

"Yes?"

He turned. "Rosemary's? You like their coffee?"

Another laugh escaped you in a breath and Logan felt the walls around his heart chip. "Love."

Twenty minutes later you were greeting him on the side of the building with a smile he felt down to his adamantium bones. A warm coffee was pressed into your hand, a sandwich tucked safely into a small paper bag in the other. For the entire afternoon he formulated things to say to you, stories to tell. Yet all that came now was an awkward smile and a greeting that made his chest burn uncomfortably.

You thought nothing of it. Even as you led him inside and asked him about his morning. The sight of him holding coffee and wearing a grin was enough for you to lose it a little. The breath knocking from your lungs, warmth spilling into your stomach.

"I didn't know what you wanted–"

Taking another sip, you grinned at the glimpse of red that dusted the tips of his ears. "I don't mind what you got."

A stain of soft pink remained on the cup; Logan's eyes attached to it within seconds. You could see the way his pupils dilated slightly—his throat bobbing at the sight of something so small and delicate. That didn't help the way your heart flipped whenever he was near. As if he'd taken control of all your emotions—all the baseline wants that you could normally ignore.

"What do you do here?" he rasped, focusing on the way you watched him. Though the glaze of sleep was gone from your eyes, the way you analyzed him still remained.

"Archives."

Unlocking another door, you led him down a flight of stairs. The elevator would have been the easier route, but he didn't possess a badge nor a library card. You were pretty sure he wouldn't have gotten one either way. So sneaking him in was the way to go until you could convince him otherwise. What you didn't know was that you could have asked anything of him—anything you wanted—and he'd agree without hesitation.

He followed close behind, unwilling to let you get a few feet away. As if he was drawn to you in ways that didn't seem possible.

"I work on making sure things are properly placed in the correct spot. Older books, newspapers from decades ago, stuff like that."

Humming, he watched as you opened the final door—letting him see the grand room that lay below filled with an infinite row of bookcases. Boxes that had yet to be gone through, files not placed properly, and piles of books that stacked on rows of tables. Each one contained a certain label of where they belonged.

"So a librarian?"

Laughing, you shut the door behind him with a soft click. "Kind of. I'm not working upstairs and handing out books like the actual librarians do. We hermits down in the basement prefer the term archivist."

"Hermits," he huffed. "You don't look like a hermit to me."

"Looks can be deceiving Logan."

That was a fact he knew too well. One that kept him up at night, replayed in his dreams without end. Oftentimes he wondered if he'd been the one to deceive. If his persona and reluctance to help gave others the impression that he was the man to turn to. The hero they needed. He never asked to be seen that way—never wanted it—yet when the time came...he couldn't run away from the truth.

The idea of telling you all this came to him last night as he watched you walk back to your room.

What stopped him was the image of the other you, grief stricken and horrified as he stumbled home from the bar.

"I have some questions for you." Your voice pulled him from his thoughts.

The small table in the back was free of books and you took a seat, pulling your sandwich from the paper. He took the chair across from you, his legs bumping into yours as he tried to cram them in the small space. The apology was quick to land on his tongue. Although your smile and the feel of your ankle curving around his leg killed it instantaneously.

"I'm hoping you have some answers."

He swallowed thickly, ignoring the way you shifted—your knee brushing his. "Now that depends."

"On?"

"Are they easy questions?" He grinned at the way you spoke around your mouthful of food—intrigue lighting up your eyes.

You slid half the sandwich towards him, not pretending to see the way he tried to refuse. He took a bite when your foot jammed in his calf. A pointed look crossing your face as if to say: eat because I know you haven't.

"What am I like?"

He nearly choked on the bread. "Do you mean..."

With a nod, you grabbed another bite, oblivious to the way his tongue swiped along his bottom lip. His eyes fixed on the way your teeth sunk into the meal and oil spread at the corner of your mouth. Tearing the sandwich in half would have been the better option. Biting where he mouth was seemed to be what you liked better.

His insides stirred deliciously, heat forming at the way your lashes fluttered at the taste.

"The other me," you mumbled, giving him the rest. "You said we were friends." When he didn't respond you kept going. "Wade alluded that we might have been...more than friends."

Fucking Wade Wilson.

Logan leaned back, his hand curling into fists in his lap as he once again fought the urge to take off. "He sure likes to run his goddamn mouth."

Anxiety sparked in your chest and you fell silent. Perhaps it wasn't the right time to bring it up. Or even something to bring up. Yet curiosity always ate you alive—the idea of not knowing the full truth. And when Wade briefly said Logan was still pining over a version of you that didn't exist on this Earth, you tried not to let it consume you.

You fought against your baser instincts in the hopes that one day he'd tell you himself.

Then he showed up. Offering you coffee and friendship and possibly more.

How could you ignore it then?

You knew he was watching you, could feel the burn of his eyes along the side of your face. Silence echoed loudly in the room as the old wooden bookshelves creaked and the chatter of people upstairs began to filter down below.

"I'm sorry," you uttered, doing what you could to move past whatever this was. "I shouldn't have asked. We can go look at some stuff if you want. I have newspapers from the seventies you might want to see–"

"I loved you."

You froze, head whipping around to meet his solemn gaze.

"On my Earth you were mine." With a sigh, he leaned forward. "And I fucked it all up. No I didn't just fuck it up. I ruined you."

"Logan..." you breathed. "I'm not them."

"I know." Sorrow flooded his hazel eyes—the grief playing across his face like a film you shouldn't be watching. And for the first time...you saw the man Wade spoke about. The broken version of a Logan that was found in a bar wallowing on his own world. "But I can't do that to you again. I won't."

This wasn't an omission of the truth. Nor a confession of his greatest sins. This was a promise lined with the guilt of his past. Memories of a time you'd never witness played out in his mind and he longed to show them to you.

To give you a piece of what he once had with a version of you that loathed his existence now.

But that isn't why he happened upon you on this Earth. History would remain exactly as it was. He couldn't change that. However, this—whatever he shared with you now—he could keep safe. The promise he made so long ago might finally be shown the respect he never thought to give it before.

"Come with me," you said softly, standing with a hand outstretched for him to take.

With a hesitant breath, he wrapped his calloused palm around yours and let you take the lead.

Past bookshelves and rows of boxes stacked nearly to the ceiling, you stopped at a shelf marked with words he'd seen a thousand times before. X-MEN. You tugged a box free and carried it to the table behind you—the top flipping open with ease as he caught sight of the pile of papers within. A list was taped to the side of what this might contain. Names he knew, people that might still exist on this Earth.

"This is all we know about the Logan in this universe." You pulled out a file, a picture of his variant clipped on top. He was rugged—aged.  "It's not much, but it shows a bit of his past."

"Why are you showing me this?"

"So you can see what others see."

You handed him a photo of the X-Men. Jean and Scott stood on either side of Charles. Logan was off to the side, a cigar in his mouth and a cocksure grin on his lips. He hated the man before he knew him. Always hearing how fucking wonderful he was; how great a hero he used to be.

He selfishly wanted to be everything this version of himself was.

He wanted to be the hero he could never amount to.

"What happened to 'em?"

You glanced at the image, pulling another file out. The name punched the breath from his lungs as you flipped it open. JEAN GREY: ALIAS - PHOENIX. An image of her smiling at a lecture was pulled free—her hair red and down to her waist.

"I don't know much, because well Charles Xavier never disclosed information about the X-Men lightly. But...something happened to her. From what we know...Logan was the one to kill her."

The file fell on the table, his heart twisting violently in his chest as the words flooded his mind. He killed her. He killed Jean. The woman he once loved before you came into his life. Something severed in his body, the breath in his lungs was suddenly hard to come by. But the touch of your hand on his kept him from completely falling into that dark pit he fought to climb out of.

"He–" Logan sucked in a breath and shut his eyes to the image of Jean. "He killed her?"

You nodded, silent while he processed the information. Showing this to him wasn't an act of malice—he knew that. You didn't want him to suffer. You simply wanted to prove that the Logan that once existed wasn't the greatest to have ever lived. He was simply a man suffering the plight of guilt the universe handed him.

He had his own cross to bear. His own nightmares to fight through.

In some ways...they weren't so different.

"You're not the worst Logan," you admitted, letting him lean into you. "And he wasn't the best Logan." Your hand pressed to his cheek, eyes soft and warm. "He was just a man who was offered a terrible hand in life."

Logan huffed, his forehead finding yours as he breathed in your scent. "So you're sayin' I'm just a man?"

"I'm saying that the James Howlett in this universe probably thought he was the worst Logan too."

The words shouldn't have struck him the way they did. Their truth, louder than anything in this building. But the blunt and hardened reality stared him in the fucking face, and he had no choice but to meet it's gaze. The Logan of this world wasn't perfect. He fucked up. He ruined things. Yet he found a way to fix them. Put the pieces back together in order to obtain something that resembled the image of his life.

As much as he fought to claim he wasn't anything like the Logan that once walked this Earth.

He was finding it hard to see where they differed.

"Show me somethin' happy honey," he replied gruffly, his hand finding your hip with ease. "Show me somethin' you like."

The smile you rewarded him with placed some breath back into his chest. "What like books?"

"If that's what you love."

"I don't think we have enough time."

His hold on your hip tightened. "'M here all day."

"Yeah?" Turning away from him, you dug through the box. Down to the very bottom. "They found these at what they think is his grave."

Silver flashed in his vision before you were pressing a pair of dog tags into his hand. The name WOLVERINE was etched into the metal—its cold touch practically burned the skin of his palm. For years he thought he'd never see these again. A piece of his past he couldn't bring with him.

"I thought you'd want to have them."

"They're his," he croaked.

"And you're the Wolverine. They're as much yours as they were his."

Fingers closed around them as the chains dangled from his hand, and Logan felt his heart place another bit back into the correct spot. He never believed he belonged with people. Never wanted to hurt them. Yet life continued to surprise him. The metal was familiar to his touch. Years of toying with them, of having their comfort on his chest, kept him sane at some points. It helped to remind him of who he was.

Without even realizing it...you gave that back to him.

He wanted to tell you how much this meant. How grateful he felt. But he was never good with words.

So he pressed his lips to your cheek and let them linger there as heat pulsed in your body. The race of your heart made him grin. Simply knowing you liked him hiked up his ego in ways he didn't need at a time like this. But like the Logan that came before...he was a sucker when it came to resisting the aspect of love.

"Show me around bub."

You slid your hand into his, your lips nearly brushing as you turned to catch his gaze. "Okay."

"Why work there?"

The city at night exuded a different kind of energy that you frequently craved during the day. A fun lightness that normally hit when the clock struck six p.m. and people were finally out of work. You were allowed to leave earlier than expected due to a birthday gathering of coworkers going on downtown.

An invitation was offered. Until they saw Logan standing behind you and your plans for the night became clear.

"I love history." He offered to walk you home. You accepted on the single condition that he'd stay for dinner. "How humanity went from one thing to the next and so on."

He scoffed and wrapped an arm around your waist to keep you out of the way of someone barreling by. "You don't have to explain that part to me bub. You're lookin' at a man who lived it."

"Did you?" The look you gave him had the feelings of want he pushed down earlier rearing their head. "Actually live through it?"

"I was born in 1832."

With a gasp, you clutched his arm. "Were you really?" you exclaimed. "That means you saw so much of history. Things we might not have written down."

And suddenly within moments...there you were from his world. Bright and beautiful and in love with the past. At first he believed it was due to your abilities; now he understood that's just who you were deep down. Always in love with what you couldn't fully figure out—the past you could see if you managed to travel back far enough.

"You have to let me pick your brain for facts."

He tugged you closer, stopping off to the side of the busy street, until you were stuck in his hold with nowhere to look but up at him. "Picking my brain ain't gonna be fun honey."

Your eyes were wide, lips parted slightly. "I disagree."

"You forget. Different universe. The history I know might be different from the one you know."

No matter how hard you tried, you could never hide the disappointment that flooded your eyes. "I'm sure it's not that different."

"Hm." He pressed a thumb to the top of your cheekbone, struck by how soft your skin felt beneath his. "Why don't you tell me yours. And then maybe I'll tell you mine."

The double entendre was layered in the lust that clouded his vision—the need that burned in his stomach. Logan hoped you understood it. Could see how much he ached for you. How you affected him since he first caught a glimpse of you yesterday. And seeing your pupils dilate, your chest heaving slightly, made his swell with pride. Saliva filled his mouth at the thought of one day getting a taste of you, but the sound of a horn going off behind him shattered the moment.

You stepped back with a deep inhale, your hand still in his. Which only served to prove Logan's point.

He fucking hated the city.

"Dinner?" you breathed, voice raspy with that feeling you tried to fight against.

Logan managed to turn you inside out. Pulling exactly where he needed to expose your heart. That alone should have terrified you. Yet the thrill of knowing him, of seeing where this might lead, kept you enamored and wanting for more.

"Lead the way."

What plans you created and meal you planned to order were lost the second you ascended the stairs to your apartment and stood in front of your door. The silence of the building was deafening compared to the noise outside. So much so that every breath you took echoed loud against the shitty yellow stained walls. Logan could hear the thump of your heart as it rammed within your chest. Quickening the closer he stepped towards you.

You turned, your back to the door and eyes dazed—unfocused. "I can order something."

His nostrils flared as your familiar scent began to deepen, mix with the arousal that seeped through your body. "That could work."

"What do you like to eat?"

The smile he gave you could only be described as canine. Near feral. "Dangerous question honey."

"What do you–" Shock flashed in your eyes, heat spilling into your face as the words finally processed. "Oh."

Logan wasn't hungry in a way that might seem normal to you. He didn't want to taste you, he wanted to devour. To feel you in ways that would scare you shitless. He craved you potently—viscerally. And perhaps it would scare you off.

Although something told him it wouldn't.

Silence no longer felt all consuming and horrid when he took one more step, crowding you against your door. You should have kept the conversation going. Laughed it off with a flippant smile and an offer of real food. Though neither of you could give a shit about dinner. That fact became evident the second he cupped the back of your neck and slotted his lips against yours.

A moan of surprise tore from your throat and Logan let out a growl to match. He kissed you fervently. Lips pressed hard and hot against yours, tongue sliding along your teeth, and somehow it never felt like enough. He'd dreamed of this for years. For the taste of you again, the gentle grip of your hands that dug into his hair and pulled.

That alone sent a groan echoing down the hallway, his body colliding with yours as your back hit the door. Your teeth found his bottom lip while his hands slid down to your ass, gripping and tugging until you could feel the prominent bulge through the denim of his jeans.

"Logan," you gasped, your tongue meeting his with another sharp tug on hair.

He slammed a hand against the door beside your head, his hips rutting down as you met the movement with one of your own. You wanted to drag him inside. Needed to feel his bare skin on yours. But something pulled tight against your chest as he stuttered into the kiss. The unfamiliar sound of his claws sliding out and puncturing the wood of your door made you jump.

"Sorry," he muttered, sliding his lips down your throat—teeth nipping the vein. "Happens."

"You owe me a door." You sounded breathless.

He brought his lips back to yours with a fury you'd never experienced before. "I'll buy you a new one." Your hips dragged along his, nails digging into the hot skin on the back of his neck. "I’ll fuckin’ make you one," he snarled.

The thought of someone passing by, seeing you nearly held up against your door by a man who's claws were embedded in it, was laughable. Yet you couldn't stop wondering what would happen if you let this go further. If you allowed him to take you right here out in the open.

Logan could smell the way you dripped for him and it drove him fucking insane. His body begged him to keep going. To slam open the door and bury himself in you right there on your kitchen floor. The way you whined into his mouth, rubbing yourself along his crotch, told him you wanted the same.

And he might have done just that.

If they hadn't started.

They're dead because of you!

Memories flashed in his mind with a rage unlike the past few times. Your face, tear stained and rageful. The way you used your powers against him. Tried to kill him for what happened. It all came rushing back with a lungful of air that burned.

I hate you!

"Logan?" You pulled back slightly, hands cupping his face with enough care he could feel the sting of tears start to build. "Are you okay?"

It should've been you that died Logan. Not them.

He sucked in a breath, ripping himself away from and stumbling a few steps back. Fighting against the past wasn't new to him. He'd been broken by it before. But now he couldn't even enjoy the sight of you with swollen lips and ruffled clothes, because all he saw when he closed his eyes was the other you.

The one he broke.

"I'm fine." His voice was raspy as he choked out the words.

A need to help him rang through your body and Logan could see it. He knew how badly you wanted to come to him—to hold him. This simply wasn't your battle to fight. He refused to change that in any way.

Standing up straight, he pressed a kiss to your forehead. An apology for the actions he was about to take.

He only hoped you wouldn't hate him for it afterwards.

"We'll do dinner another night, honey."

"Logan–"

"Goodnight." Walking away from you felt as if he'd ripped a hole in his chest with an adamantium bullet. One that wouldn't heal like before.

The dog tags were now wrapped around his neck, choking him like a collar he couldn't free himself from. A reminder that even the Logan of this world was unable to stop himself from destroying the one he loved. That was the plight they carried.

Their greatest grief. The one thing they had in common.

This...he could accept.

[oizysian]

I Need You | Wanda Maximoff

Pairing: Scarlet Witch x Spiderwoman!Y/N

Summary: Spiderwoman!Y/N helps Scarlet Witch get her kids back.

Warnings: magic cock, breeding, slight dubcon

Word count: 1.3k

AN: a post by @hopelesslygaysstuff inspired this. Also, I’m just perverted so that’s what happened.

“Now that you’ve found me, what do you intend on doing with me?” She asked, almost sarcastically, a playful lilt to her voice.

“I just want to help you, Wanda.” I said honestly, my heart beating out of my chest.

“If you can’t help me find my boys, you’re no use to me.”

I watched as she sauntered around the temple, a very large, very evil looking book hovered in the air in front of her, the pages flipping on their own.

“I-I don’t know how.” I responded weakly, her black tipped fingers flicking the air, red wisps forming around her.

I began to panic, not knowing what she was doing. I shot my web at the book and pulled it toward me, holding it in my hands. Her eyes began to glow red with anger, the wisps heading straight towards me now.

“Oh, oh, oh,” I mumbled to myself, not knowing what to do. “Dammit.”

I ran, avoiding her magic the best I could. It was fast, instantaneous, but I was just a bit faster. I looked down at the book in my hands, and then back at Wanda, who was very, very angry.

“Just make more children!” I called out.

With a huff, she finally caught me, the wisps wrapping around my hands and feet, causing me to drop the book and to return to her.

“Make more children?” She asked, looking me over. What was she thinking?

I felt an odd sensation between my legs, like a stretching ache, and looked down to see the outline of a cock through my suit. My eyes widened and I looked back at Wanda, who was now eyeing me with a different kind of hunger.

“Wanda …” I said softly, wriggling slightly to try and release myself from her magic. “What have you done? What are you doing?”

“I’m taking your advice. We’re making more children.”

“W-we?”

She brought me closer to her, our faces almost touching as her dark fingers ran along my stomach, making the cock between my legs twitch ever so slightly.

“I know you like me, Y/N.” She whispered. “Help me get my children back.”

I swallowed roughly, my mind flooded with images of us, feelings of immense pleasure and I tried to shake it off. I did like Wanda, but I didn’t want it to be like this.

“I made you well endowed.” Her fingers trailed down and stroked the cock through my suit and I couldn’t hold back a moan.

“H-how?” I trembled under her touch, aroused and afraid.

She smiled, the wisps tightening around me as she began to take off her clothing.

“I’m much more powerful than I used to be.”

“Wanda,” I watched as her breasts bounced free from the outfit she was wearing. “You don’t wanna do this.”

I was losing my mind. This was the woman of all of my fantasies, of all my dreams, and she was now naked in front of me. I struggled against her magic, but she was right - she was much more powerful than I remembered.

“I know you want this as much as I do, Y/N. I can hear your thoughts about me - so loud, so desperate for me.”

I did my best to clear my mind, to calm down, but she was in front of me and she was the only one I ever wanted ever, and she knew that.

She grabbed the back of my mask and slipped it off my face, my flushed cheeks and hungry eyes finally coming into her view.

“See?” She ran her hands over my breasts, down to my hips. “I can tell you’re ready for me.”

I nodded, just wanting to please her now. Whatever she wanted me to do, I’d do it. She was inside of me; my mind and my senses. She fully consumed me and I would do anything for her.

“Let’s get this off.” She said, talking about my suit, and before I could even register her words, it was gone, leaving me bare before her.

I looked down between us, the girthy red cock sprung up from between my legs and I swallowed roughly. That was part of me.

She nodded and kissed me softly. She was reading my mind. I kissed her back, no longer upset that she was taking control of me. This was what I wanted.

“Now,” she said as she released me from her magical hold. “You have to fuck me good, pup. Don’t let a drop of cum go to waste.”

I nodded, grabbing her by the hips and pulling her against me, kissing her with a feverish heat. She smiled against me and laid us down on the ground, letting me settle between her legs. She spread them and I looked down in awe at her delicious wetness. The cock between my legs was beyond ready, as if it had a mind of its own, and I didn’t waste any time in grabbing it and bringing it to her entrance. How she had managed to make it a part of me that I could feel was beyond me, but it didn’t even matter anymore. What did matter was my intense desire to be inside of her. I slid myself into her heat, moaning lowly as I bottomed out inside of her.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” She said as she rolled her hips against my own, her breathing becoming heavy.

“Y-yes.” I practically whined as my hips rutted against her.

“Yes, what?” She taunted me and I looked into her deep, red eyes, feeling her inside of my mind.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Such a good pup,” she panted softly as I fucked her. “So obedient.”

My hands balled up into fists on either side of her head as I pounded into her, the feel of her addicting. She wrapped her legs around me and pulled me closer, trapping me against her.

“Wanda,” I moaned softly, looking into her eyes. “I c-can’t …”

“You can’t what, pet?” She asked, her pussy clenching around me as we practically melded into each other.

“I can’t hold it.” I was going to cum already. The new sensations were just too good.

“Don’t hold back.” She grabbed me by the ass and pulled me against her, making sure I couldn’t pull out.

I let out a whine and came, my cum spurting into her and coating her walls. She fucking milked me and wouldn’t let go, making sure every drop of cum made it inside her hungry cunt.

“Keep going.” She said, her eyes glowing red.

I could feel myself getting hard inside of her again and I realized that she was doing it with her magic. I could go on forever if she kept it up like this.

Red wisps wrapped around my neck and pulled me against her, our noses touching.

“Fuck me, pup. Don’t make me do all the work.”

“Y-yes, ma’am.” I choked out, my airway slightly restricted by her magic, which only turned me on further.

I pounded into her and I could feel her squeezing me, which just heightened my pleasure. I wanted to last more than a few minutes this time, but fuck, she felt so good. She was so wet, so tight, I could lose myself in her if I let myself.

“I’m gonna cum, pup.” She moaned and I realized I hadn’t even done anything for her pleasure, she was just going to cum from me fucking her - not touching her at all.

My hips jerked and my stomach clenched as she came, her pussy squeezing and milking me again. I couldn’t hold back any longer and I came inside of her, my hips bucking weakly.

“Keep it in there.” She said as I tried pulling away from her.

“Please,” I begged her. “I can’t.”

“You can.” She slapped my ass and I cried out. “And you will.”

“Wanda,” I moaned. “I can’t cum again.”

“You need a break, that’s okay.” She said with faux sympathy. “I think I’ll keep you for a while.”

I felt her magic wrapping itself around my body, holding me in place.

“Maybe I’ll hook you up to a milking machine and use you for breeding.”

“Wanda, please.” I begged and she smiled.

“I want a very big family, Y/N. I think I’ll be needing you for a long time.”

[won4kiss]

⋆ ｡⋆୨୧˚— PHOTOGRAPH

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 lee heeseung x f!reader genre. angst,, fluff. synopsis. in which you and heeseung make up after a huge argument. 𝑤ord count 𐙚ㅤㅤ 862. 𝑤arnings ‎⸝⸝ not edited, kissing, skinship, arguments ୭ৎ 𝑙una notes⋆.˚ im saur scared for my chem test next week jungwon plz pull thru — 𝓵𝗂𝖻𝗋𝖺𝗋𝔂 ᥫ᭡

if you enjoyed reading ‎⸝⸝ please reblog & like !! <3

THE SILENCE TAKING PLACE IN THE APARTMENT WAS SUFFOCATING, each passing moment amplifying the distance that had grown between you and heeseung.

it had been days since the last fight, a mix of hurtful words and angry glances, ending in heeseung taking his pillow and blanket to the couch, needing space away from you.

the echoes of your argument lingered in every corner, a constant reminder of the rift that now separated you.

you sat on the edge of your bed, the weight of your emotions pressing down on you. your eyes wandered to the photograph on your nightstand, - more under cut !

— a picture of you and heeseung, captured in a moment of pure happiness, your wedding. his arm was draped around your shoulders, both of you smiling so brightly it was as if the world had paused to revel in your joy.

the image was a harsh contrast to the current reality, and the ache in your chest grew unbearable as you struggled to hold back tears.

we keep this love in a photograph, we made these memories for ourselves...

tears welled up in your eyes, the dam finally breaking, you missed him.

you missed the way he made you laugh, the way he held you close every night, the way he kissed you, the way he whispered sweet nothings in your ear.

the arguments and misunderstandings seemed so insignificant in the face of your overwhelming love for him.

you can keep me inside the pocket of your ripped jeans...

you buried your face in your hands, your shoulders shaking with sobs, the thought of losing him was too much to bear.

you knew you had to do something, anything, to bridge the gap that had formed between you.

with the sudden determination to be in heeseungs’ embrace again, you wiped away your tears and stood up, making your way to the living room.

heeseung laid on the couch, his form barely visible under the dim light of the room. his face was relaxed in sleep, the lines of stress and anger softened.

you hesitated for a moment, the fear of rejection holding you back.

but the need to feel his warmth, to be close to him, overpowered your doubts.

gently, you lifted the blanket and slipped under it, pressing your body against his. his familiar scent enveloped you, a mixture of his cologne and something uniquely him that nobody else could possibly replace.

you wrapped his arms around your body, seeking comfort in his embrace.

the sobs you had tried to stifle came back with a vengeance, your body shaking with the force of your emotions as the feelings you had been hiding away deep in your heart coming out.

heeseung stirred, his brows furrowing as he woke up. the sensation of your tears on his bare neck and trembling body against his jolted him fully awake.

"y/n?" his voice was thick with sleep and concern.

you couldn’t find the courage to respond to him, scared he would banish you back into that room which felt like a prison without him in there.

"baby, what's wrong?"

"i'm sorry," you managed to choke out between sobs.

"i'm so sorry, heeseung. i miss you. i don't want to fight anymore."

“please…”

his arms tightened around you, his warmth seeping into your cold, weary body.

"shh, it's okay," he whispered, his voice soothing.

"i'm sorry too. i've been so stubborn, leaving you all alone like an idiot. i didn't want to hurt you, i’m so sorry baby."

you buried your face in his chest, feeling his own tears soak your neck as you both cried in each other’s embrace, feeling safe and seen after the suffocating few days.

the steady beat of his heart grounded you.

"i love you, heeseung. i love you so much. i can't stand being apart like this ever again."

"i love you too, princess," he murmured, his hand gently stroking your hair.

"we'll get through this. we can overcome anything as long as we're together."

you felt at ease in this very moment, nothing mattered as long as you were in the arms of lee heeseung, the man you loved.

wait for me to come home...

the weight of your emotions began to lift, replaced by a strong feeling of hope.

in heeseung's arms, you felt safe, loved, and understood.

the fight seemed like a distant memory, a hurdle that you had overcome together.

heeseung pulled back slightly, his eyes searching yours as he gave you a soft, reassuring kiss on your forehead.

"let's promise each other something," he said softly.

"no matter how tough things get, we won't let it come between us. we'll talk, we'll listen, and we'll work through it together."

you nodded, tears still streaming down your face but a small smile forming on your lips.

"i promise," you whispered.

"always."

heeseung leaned in, pressing a soft kiss on your lips, relishing in each others touch after being deprived of it for so long.

"always," he echoed.

the two of you lay there, wrapped in each other's arms, a reminder that even in the darkest of times, there was always a way back to each other.

© won4kiss 2024

taglist open <3 @luvlyhee @sjyunnsworld @shawnyle @suneng

send an ask or lmk in the comments tba ! <3

[wife-of-all-dilfs]

rosé | f. odair

(final part of red wine)

part one, part two

summary: in the final part of the red wine series, secrets are revealed, and miscommunication threatens to tear you and finnick apart.

pairing: finnick odair x reader

warnings: angst, fluff, blood, minor injury, mentions of forced prostitution, swearing,

notes: i’m sorry this took so long to come out y’all. thank you to everyone who read and enjoyed this mini fic <3

word count: 4.1k

Finnick believed he had made a lot of smart decisions in his life—like rigging a net made out of vines to ensnare tributes in the arena, accepting secrets as a form of payment from his patrons rather than material goods, and mastering the art of seduction to manipulate his way out of various difficult situations. However, shutting you out was not one of them.

Half an hour had passed since the incident on the staircase landing. He lingered within the mansion’s extravagant walls, where other guests mingled and dined on a range of bizarre delicacies. He couldn’t eat a thing. His stomach churned at the image of your hopeless expression as he walked off. The expression he caused.

It had to be done. That is what he had been telling himself. It had to be done, otherwise, everyone in the Capitol would learn of his feelings for you. Snow would find out and most likely punish you for interfering with the arrangement he had—the sale of his body. And Finnick was very aware of what happened to people who disrupted the president’s plans.

Partygoers would have already begun to spread rumours of the scene in the courtyard. Hopefully, it would just be chalked up to a simple argument between friends. Friends. The label borderline disgusted him. You don’t fall asleep to the thought of someone and think of them the moment you wake up if you’re just friends. Nor do you look for them in every room you walk into.

Even now, Finnick was scanning the lavishly decorated banquet hall for a glimpse of your pure white gown, despite being the one who walked away. It was an instinct at this point. But there was no one in the room wearing white but him; his matching half was still outside, blending in with the winter snow. Or maybe gone home.

One colour did catch his eye though. A vibrant, almost tacky red, worn by a woman who was strutting towards him, her chin held high with pride. Finnick noticed the material of her floor-length gown. Silk. She was wearing your old dress, only the colour was incredibly off, and each hem was lined with red fur, conforming with her implanted whiskers. That was when he realised who the woman was.

Her ensemble was entirely made out of fur that clung to her body, complementing the whiskers that were embedded in her face which made her look feline.

“Where’s your dancing partner tonight?” she asked, her voice low and seductive.

The bright saturation of her dress was almost blinding as she stopped in front of him. He held back a grimace and plastered on a smile even faker than her voice. “She wasn’t up for it this time,” he lied.

“Well, everyone knows she’s out of touch with our way of life,” she said. Finnick ground his jaw, struggling to maintain his façade. Words could not explain how condescending these people were. “This dress is an adaptation of one she wore quite a while ago. Such a plain thing. I only liked the colour and bodice. The only way I could wear it in public was if I spruced it up.”

He thought back to the dress you had worn. Nobody had even come close to how phenomenal you looked. Where others needed extravagance and flounce to stand out, you only needed a simple red dress. Yet here this woman was, thinking she had the audacity to call you plain.

“I noticed. It’s very… striking.”

“Thank you, darling,” she purred. There was a predatory gleam in her eyes, like that of a wild cat about to pounce and devour its meal. “I was waiting for the perfect occasion to wear it.”

His forced smile twitched. “You’re certainly turning heads.”

“Did I turn yours?” she asked, batting her eyelashes.

Truth be told, Finnick hadn’t even remembered her existence until she walked right up to him. Obviously, he couldn’t tell her that, so he told her that she did. For a long period of time, they bounced back and forth, complimenting and flirting with each other, never dipping below the surface into a real conversation. Not that he wanted to anyway. Not with her. The only person he longed to conversate with was now out of reach.

The woman started talking about colourless topics such as the latest fashion trends in the Capitol and her opinions on the victor of the 72nd Hunger Games, all of which made Finnick wish she would just gouge his eyes out with her sharp claw-like fingernails. He couldn’t do anything but stand, smile, and agree. Doing anything else would result in Snow staying true to his very detailed threats

As the conversation continued, his attention began to drift. He surveyed the outfits of everyone in the room, amusing himself by deciding whether or not each person was making a fashion statement or tragedy. Only one person claimed the former title—the one in white.

Finnick watched as you entered the room. The giant golden chandelier cast down a bright light which caused your skin to glow with radiance; its glare enhanced the brilliance of your white dress. This brief moment ignited a fear in him that you had died in his absence because there was no way a mere human being could look so angelic.

“Finnick?” the feline asked, but her voice barely registered in his brain.

Captivated. He was utterly and completely captivated. One after the other, sudden realisations conjured in his mind. The first—there wasn’t a life worth living ahead of him if you weren’t by his side the whole way, and not as a friend or a fellow victor, but as his partner. His lover. The second—he would never let any harm come to you. He would keep you safe from Snow’s clutches, from the Capitol, from anyone who would put you in danger, even if it meant the two of you had to disappear into the vast forests of Panem.

And lastly, he was now absolutely certain that the woman in front of him could never compare to you, nor could anyone else in the ever-expanding universe. You were a basic human necessity to him. Without you, his heart might as well stop beating. Your laugh, your smile, your kindness, your unwavering support—every part of you kept him alive.

“Finnick?” the voice that went disregarded hissed again.

With a half-empty wine glass in hand, your anxious eyes searched the room. Finnick wanted nothing more than to sprint over, pull you into his arms, and cast away every trouble plaguing your mind. He couldn’t. Almost all eyes were on you, yet you hadn’t even seemed to notice. Only one person finally seemed to gain your attention, and that was Finnick, standing in the middle of the room, his eyes locked on yours.

The neurons firing in his brain signalled him to move and he did. But just as his legs started to walk, a forceful hand jerked his face to the side and a pair of harsh lips were crushed to his. Glass shattered on the marble flooring. Momentarily paralysed from shock, Finnick stumbled backwards, briefly catching the twisted triumphant smirk on the woman’s face before whirling around.

Your face was frozen with devastation; his heart dropped. Splatters of red wine had stained your gown, pooling in a crimson puddle of glass shards by your feet. Quiet mocking chuckles and whispers echoed around the room. Oh, if only he had his trident; they wouldn’t be laughing then.

An Avox rushed forward, attempting to clean up the mess, but you had crouched down with them.

“No, please,” Finnick heard you say to the Avox as he strode toward you. “Please don’t. I can do it.”

But delicate hands and glass shards never mix well. You gasped in pain. A jagged fragment you collected had sliced into your palm, creating another crimson pool in your hand.

Finnick’s strides quickened, eventually leading him to stop and kneel beside you. He wordlessly took your hand in his, cradling it as he inspected the damage. Blood coated his fingers, but he didn’t care. He might as well have cut your hand himself. None of this would have happened if it weren’t for him.

Pink blush overtook your face. For once, it wasn’t because he made you flustered or bashful, but because you were humiliated. He knew how much you disliked attention; now you were at the centre of it. Beside you was the Avox, tending to the mess of broken glass.

“Could you bring me a first-aid kit, please?” he asked with a polite smile.

They nodded and silently left. Finnick returned his attention to you, applying pressure to your wound. Your gaze was lowered, unwilling to meet his own. There was more to your demeanour than just embarrassment. There was sadness. Disheartenment. Neither of which were present when you walked in, only appearing after the feline woman had kissed him.

His brows furrowed in confusion. “Y/N—”

“Don’t,” you whispered, eyes unmoving.

The Avox returned holding a medical kit; Finnick thanked them, taking the box into his hands. He climbed to his feet, hesitating before offering you a hand up. Much to his relief, you accepted his assistance. And then, without a word, you began walking towards the nearest exit with apparent indifference to the engrossed eyes following you.

Finnick didn’t bother to conceal his icy glare toward the crowd as he trailed behind you and exited the room.

*******

Pain of a thousand unrelenting bees stung the broken flesh of your palm. Even the slightest movement of your fingers sent waves of throbbing agony up your arm. But it was nothing compared to the brutal ache of your heart.

You had entered the mansion in search of Finnick, determined to mend the crack in your friendship before it crumbled completely. What you got instead was humiliation and heartbreak. What you saw was another woman kissing the man you loved, whilst wearing a horrible adaptation of your red gown no less.

The air had been sucked from your lungs. Believing he would kiss you on the dance floor in the courtyard was nothing more than a fantasy, a dream, a pathetic fool’s wish—every term under the sun that defined something not real. At least now you understood why he was acting so differently. Because he had found someone else and that someone wasn’t you.

A lump formed in your throat and you knew tears were approaching. As if your night couldn’t get any more embarrassing.

Your feet carried you down a long corridor, far enough away from the banquet hall that listening ears and prying eyes were unable to reach. Finnick still followed behind you, though you weren’t sure why he bothered. How could he explain what you saw with your own eyes? Plus, the last thing you wanted was for his new romance to think something was going on between you and him. Only in your dreams.

Unsure of your destination, you decided to enter the first room you came across. It turned out to be a lavishly decorated library, walled with large wooden bookshelves which were filled endlessly with novels and historic paraphernalia. Sitting within the bookshelves was a stone fireplace.

The door closed as Finnick entered behind you, the silence so loud that the crackles from the fireplace reverberated through the room. Your hand still throbbed something awful so you looked down, taking in the gruesome sight of your dress. A stranger might have thought you had just murdered someone. If it were televised, it would have been deemed acceptable.

You sniffled, wearing a small bitter smile. “I ruined Snow’s pretty white dress.”

A few moments passed before Finnick replied. “Red always was more your colour,” he said, his tone anything but playful.

Ahead of you was a great wall of windows; in the reflection, you saw him staring back at you with an unfamiliar expression. His brows were pinched upwards, pronouncing the lines in his forehead, and the corners of his mouth drooped in a slight pensive frown. He didn’t look like the Finnick you knew. This Finnick looked pained. Anguished.

You dropped his intense gaze and ambled across the room. By the lit fireplace was a cushioned stool which you sat down on, eyes staring into the flickering flames. If you were lucky, maybe your dress would catch alight and whisk you away from your troubled life. Okay, perhaps the thought was a little morbid, but so was a broken heart. Of all people, why did you have to fall in love with Finnick Odair?

Cautious footsteps followed behind you, coming to a stop beside your feet. Without your acknowledgement, Finnick crouched down, eyeing the bloody mess of your hands with concern. His gaze lifted to yours, which was still on the fire, and he sighed.

“Let me take care of your hand,” he murmured.

Before you could refuse, you realised contracting an infection was worse than giving in to your stubbornness. So, you nodded.

Finnick opened the first-aid kit and began tending to your wound; his touch was so gentle it was like he was piecing together a broken china cup. Using an antiseptic gauze, he attempted to clean the damaged skin, whispering apologies whenever you winced in pain. After carefully applying a dressing, he began wrapping a bandage around your hand.

You stared into the orange flames, wondering how he would explain to that woman why he left her behind. You wondered when their relationship started and why Finnick continued to shamelessly flirt with you in her absence. You wondered if their relationship would be the end of your friendship.

“Are you in love?” you quietly asked.

His hands stilled at your sudden words, then he continued wrapping the bandage. “Not with her.”

He secured the binding with medical tape and climbed to his feet, placing the supplies back into the kit on a small side table.

Brows drawn together in confusion, you turned to look up at him. “But I thought—"

“Things are much more complicated than they seem,” he interrupted. There was a clear vase of white roses on the table. Finnick toyed with the petals, caressing them between his gentle fingertips. “No one understands me better than you do, and there is no one in this world I trust more. But… there are still things I’ve been keeping from you.”

The troubled expression on his face melted into one of vulnerability. This was a new appearance for him. Finnick was known nationwide for his radiant confidence and charm; he never let his guard down. You have had difficult conversations before, such as discussing each other’s hardships and innermost secrets, but none of them seemed to affect him like this.

“Everyone knows about my visits to the Capitol,” he continued. “How I spend nights with different people every time as if it’s all a game for my pleasure. But it’s not true. It’s not my game I’m playing.” He began walking over to the wall of windows, overlooking Snow’s gardens. “There’s a part of it that no one knows about.”

You rose from the stool, beginning to take slow steps towards him. “Which is?”

The fire flickering behind you deepened Finnick’s features. It intensified the shiny bronze of his hair and enhanced the defined contours of his face, making it easy to see the muscles in his jaw clench with apprehension. He stared out the window so intensely that you were sure his usual green eyes were blazing with their own inferno.

Even full of angst, he was painstakingly beautiful.

His chest inflated with a deep breath. “President Snow… sells me to the Capitol.”

Horror washed over you in monstrous waves. Sells? Only one explanation appeared in your head as to what he meant. You remained silent, praying he would prove your assumption wrong.

“After I won my Games, he saw my success as an opportunity to please his citizens. He began offering me to potential buyers—'admirers’ is what he called them—who soon became my regular customers. They would use me however they liked. Some would pounce on me the second I stepped through the door. Others were relatively tamer. Kinder. They would have me take them on dates or watch a movie with them, but one way or another, it all ended the same way at the end of the night.” He sucked in a sharp uneasy breath before continuing. “Then there were the rare few—the ones who treated me like I was nothing more than a ragdoll for their amusement. They did things that were… unspeakable.”

Nausea churned in your stomach as your mind conjured sickening images. It couldn’t be true. You refused to believe that human beings could stoop to such levels of atrocity to make one person endure so much cruelty. Then again, you lived in a world where children were sent into an arena to fight to the death on live television.

Finnick looked like he was holding himself together by a thread. Every word he confessed shattered your heart into a million pieces. How could this have happened to him?

“I’ve tried to refuse but Snow threatened to harm the people I care about—my family, my friends. After I met you, I knew you were added to that list.” He finally turned around to face you, his eyes filled with such anguish, it shook you to your core. “The Capitol owns me, Y/N. Body and soul.”

Despair riddled your entire body. As you stared at him, the image of a teenager appeared in your mind—eyes sea green and hair a fiery bronze. He was just a boy when it started. A child.

“I’m—I’m so sorry,” you managed to whisper. “I didn’t know.”

“I didn’t want you to know.” His eyes dropped to the floor. “I didn’t want you to think less of me.”

“Less of you? Finnick,” you said softly, stopping in front of him. Your eyes beckoned for his; you needed him to look at you, to really take in your next words. “There isn’t a single person alive I think more highly of than you. No one even comes close. Can’t you see? Just having you in my presence makes me feel whole. You make me whole.”

Tears glistened in his eyes as they flickered between your own, absorbing every reassuring word you said into his mind, his bones, his entire being.

“You have brought so much into my life,” you continued. “So much good. And I would never have made it to where I am now without you. So please, don’t ever distance yourself from me because you think I will judge you. I won’t and I never will.”

As the room stilled with silence, a lone tear rolled down Finnick’s cheek. His Adam’s apple bobbed, revealing the sob he was keeping restrained within his throat. And then a smile started to grow on his face, small at first, but then it stretched wider and wider, deepening those dimples that you adored so much.

You knew that your words had touched the deepest parts of him. That you had managed to convince him ‘less’ could never be a word used to describe him. He was more. More kind, more genuine, more caring than almost all of Panem.

“You’re incredible,” he whispered in awe, looking at you as if he were witnessing the birth of the universe. “Sweetheart, you’re incredible. Do have any idea how rare that is for a person to be? I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve someone like you in my life, but I swear I’ll do whatever I can to keep you. And if—” His gaze drifted, seemingly wrestling with a decision in his mind— “if that means I have to share all my secrets with you, then I will.”

“Have you got any more secrets, Finnick?”

He returned his attention back to your face. The indecision from moments ago had disappeared and was replaced with certainty, which was underscored by a sort of tenderness that settled in his features.

“Just one,” he murmured. He paused, observing the universe before him and wondering how on earth he got so lucky to have the privilege of having it staring right back at him. “I’m in love with you.”

Electricity shocked your heart like someone had placed a defibrillator over your chest and hit charge. Love? You? He was?

“What?” you asked, dumbfounded.

“I should’ve told you sooner,” he said, shaking his head. “I should have told you everything. Even if saying this means I’m risking everything between us, I can’t keep it from you any longer. God, sweetheart, I love you so much it fucking hurts. I always will, even if you never feel the same.”

Somehow in the span of twenty minutes, everything you thought you knew came crashing down. First, your heart was broken by the thought of Finnick kissing another, and then it was healed. And then it broke again as he voiced his arrangement with Snow. It could never fully heal again while Snow was alive, not with what he was forcing upon Finnick.

But Finnick pieced together every piece he possibly could with his confession, one heartfelt word of declaration at a time.

The weight of his confession hung in the air. His eyes held a mixture of anxiety and hope for your response. Time seemed to stretch out as you tried to find your voice. How do you declare your love as powerfully as someone who just bared their soul to you?

An emotional laugh bubbled up your throat, your eyes brimming with tears. “You idiot,” was what you said, the words spoken with utmost adoration. “I’ve loved you this whole time.”

Finnick’s eyes widened in amazement and a brilliant smile broke across his face. Before you had a chance to react, he had moved towards you in one swift step, pulling you into his arms and crushing his lips to yours in a powerful, passionate kiss.

Your hands were quick to cling onto him, desperately terrified that if you let go, he would vanish into thin air. Every ounce of yearning and hidden affection from the past year poured into this one single moment, into the movement of your lips against one another, and the feeling of your hands cradling each other’s bodies.

Emotions were running high. You could taste both your own and Finnick’s tears as they streamed down your faces, salty and palpable with affection. The sheer relief of finally being free to express your love was so unimaginable that you felt like you would be crying with happiness your whole life.

Finnick’s hand cupped the side of your jaw and he lowered his head, deepening the kiss as much as he physically could to make up for all the time he wasted. His lips were soft and adoring, savouring the sweet taste of your lips on his. His other arm tightened around your lower back, pulling you even further against him.

You felt like you were melting into his embrace and happily, you would have. It felt so right, so safe to be held by him. The world outside the library no longer existed; there was only Finnick and you. Your hands settled on either side of his jaw, staining his skin red from your blood-soaked bandage. You knew he wouldn’t care—the blood belonged to you.

And that is how you spent most of the night. In the library, in that one spot by the windows, in each other’s arms. At some point, you ended up sitting on the floor in front of the fireplace, both covered in red and feeling blissfully content. Your back was leaning against Finnick’s chest, his arms wrapped around your middle as he occasionally pressed his lips into your hair.

You toyed with the fabric of his sleeves, your head leaning against his collarbone as you watched the flames once more.

“If Snow ever finds out…” you murmured.

“He won’t,” he reassured quietly. “I won’t let him. He’s taken too much from me; he won’t take you too.”

You turned your head to peer up at him, wearing a teasing smile. “Can’t live without me, Odair?”

He grinned, leaning in closer. “Never without you, sweetheart.”

Once again, Finnick’s lips were on yours, conveying every ounce of immense love he felt for you through his kiss. The only time either of you broke apart was to whisper sweet declarations of your devotion and reverence before returning to each other again. This was when you felt most complete.

When you felt whole.

tags: @queenofspades6 @powellssaturn @bellamybellamyblake @heroinhchicblog222

[leahsgf]

SECRET LOVE - katie mccabe

katie mccabe x fem!reader

vaguely inspired by secret love song by little mix!

underneath the fluorescent glow of the lights beaming across the emirates stadium, you stood on the sidelines, your usual spot - as you watched your girlfriend shine and showcase her talent on the pitch. the chants of her name echoed around you when she won the ball through one of her famous tackles, and you couldn’t help but feel a swell of pride in your chest, knowing that you were surrounded by thousands of people equally as captivated by the irish woman as you were.

well, maybe not in the exact same way that you were, but they didn’t know that. nobody did. here, you were merely an addition to the blur of red and white shirts and scarves in the stands.

just another voice, merging with all of the others belting the chorus of ‘the angel’.

nothing special.

and with that thought, the cheers and applause surrounding you quickly became almost taunting, leaving a sense of unease lingering in the depths of your soul. behind the facade of her fame and success, and you being simply a fan, another face in the crowd making up a sold out stadium, lay a hidden truth. a truth that threatened to tear apart the already incredibly fragile fabric of your relationship.

you and katie had fallen in love against all odds and expectations, drawn together by what you would call fate - and a passion that transcended all possible boundaries. however, in a world, her world, where public image and professionalism was everything, especially with the way social media was changing - the revealing of your love would jeopardise not only katie’s career and standing within the football community, but your life too.

especially as you weren’t used to the madness of being a public figure.

katie had been in very public relationships in the past, and was determined this time to not give strangers, or to even her own ex a reason to merely look in your direction or attempt to ruin what the two of you had. you deserved more than being reduced to a gossip topic or stupid joke on a so called ‘podcast’ and your girlfriend insisted on not allowing this to happen to you. every move she made was plastered online and analysed to no end, and with that came walls and boundaries that she put up - and an even fiercer protectiveness over her loved ones. you particularly.

you had known this from the get go, and you knew more than anything that she loved you. but there were moments where your resolve cracked, and insecurities slipped through your one innocent, almost naive bubble of love.

as the final whistle blew, signifying a well earned arsenal win, you hung back - allowing the crowds around you to eventually disperse, with their signs begging for katie’s attention trailing by their feet, before finding your way to her, a well practiced routine that now didn’t even need to be said.

you hated that you felt envious of the fans around you, able to literally plaster their love for the girl, your girl, for everyone to see, without even an ounce of hesitation.

your usual car ride was oddly quiet on the way home, with you lost in your own thoughts and your girlfriend still winding down from the adrenaline rush of the game, and quickly sensing that something was up with you.

she knew that you had been struggling more and more with being almost like her little secret as time went on, and it killed her to watch you fade away before her eyes. but her desire to protect you was stronger than her ability to see just how much the tiniest action would affect you.

you knew it was playing on her mind too as she slipped her hand into yours when you were walking from the car up to her house. a short lived moment of happiness and almost relief, that you cut short when you noticed her head constantly turning - making sure nobody was watching, even in the darkness of the night enveloping you.

tears formed in your eyes at a speed in any other moment you would find embarrassing, as you dropped her hand and rushed ahead, ignoring her calls of your name trailing behind you.

and in an instant, her house, your usual refuge from the prying eyes of the outside world, turned from an escape to the place you were trying to hide from as you entered it, with katie not even a step behind you.

“baby please. talk to me.” her voice made you shiver, her being much closer to you than you had realised, and the scratch of her accent almost made you crumble entirely. it didn’t - but it did force your sudden guard down slightly, and allowed her to guide you towards the sofa with a hand on your back.

you sank into the plush of the cushions pathetically, a perfect match to the way you threw your head in your hands a second later. your thoughts were racing around your mind, and not showing signs of letting up for even a second. you’d gone from having one moment of vulnerability at a game to being convinced that your world was ending.

that you weren’t worth it, you never had been - and that she was going to leave you.

“sweetheart, look at me.” katie almost begged, now on her knees crouched on the floor in front of you, looking the most concerned you’d ever seen her, which made you feel beyond stupid.

you knew she loved you. any idiot could look at her now, notice the look in her eyes as she took in you and know that she loved you more than anything. so why was it so hard for you to see that?

why could you not just appreciate what you had and be happy?

any one of those fans sat around you tonight would kill to be you if they knew. and yet you’re near crying and refusing to look at her.

“it’s silly, i’m sorry, you had such a good game i shouldn’t be ruining it.” your words were no more than a mumble, spoken into the palms of your hands.

“no it’s not. nothing you feel is ever silly, i promise. talk to me.” she clasped your hands in hers, causing the now slowing tears to kick start again.

“i just- i’m just so tired of not being able to show the world how much i love you. i don’t want to be a secret anymore, all of the hiding is suffocating me and i don’t want that. i don’t want us to deny ourselves the chance to be truly happy. so many couples are out freely, why can’t we be like that? am i not enough? or do you not want to be with me? i- i just can’t do it anymore. i’m so sorry, katie.”

you closed your eyes when your ramblings trailed off into sniffles, not wanting to witness her reaction. she wanted this to be a secret - she was dead set on it. you weren’t prepared for this life. you didn’t know what it was like. all you thought would come from this conversation was her leaving you.

that surely was the only outcome here.

she didn’t reply for a few seconds. seconds that felt like hours as an unnerving, almost cold silence fell between the short distance between you.

“look at me.”

and for the first time since your emotions had taken over you - you made eye contact with her, staring into her eyes that you were convinced contained some kind of magic, holding the ability to completely bring down your walls just from a glance, every time.

“okay.” she spoke, so softly that you were almost convinced you’d misheard.

“okay what?” you looked at her, confusion visibly plastered all her your face - that in any other circumstance would’ve had her laughing and teasing you.

“we can do this.” her voice was so soft, so vulnerable that it made guilt seep into your veins.

“really, i don’t want you to feel forced i understand you don’t want-”

“baby. no. i want more than anything to show the world how much i love you. i just want to protect you from all of the negativity out there, but the last thing i wanted to do was push you away. if you’re ready, then so am i, kay?” she cut you off before you’d even had a chance to let your insecurities consume any more of you.

“and you are my absolute world. i’m sorry i let you doubt that for even a second. i love you so much it physically hurts - everything i do is for you, and i’m so beyond lucky to have you.”

and with her words, your tears returned once more - but instead for a completely different cause.

her lips were on yours in an instant, joining in a kiss that whilst mixed with salty tears - said everything that months worth of words could never.

you settled instantly in her arms, letting her hold you and literally kiss all of your troubles away.

-

“i’m gonna have to start training more then i guess!” she broke the first peaceful, happy silence of the evening abruptly, and confusing you even more than she had before at the randomness of her words.

“wait what? why?”

“because you are all mine. and look at ye! i’m going to have to fight off my competition now they’re going to know who you are!”

“there’s no competition, never has been.”

-

this is not proof read and is most likely the worst thing i’ve ever written but i was determined to actually get it out of my drafts

[fangswbenefits]

The Arrangement (14) - Trance

Chapter summary: Astarion wishes he coukd freeze this moment in time, but fate has a way of interfering.

Pairing: Astation x female!Tav

Warnings: Astarion's POV. Mentions of trauma.

Word count: 2.6k

Series Masterlist . Ao3

Vampirism had warped his bodily need to trance. 

The tadpole had meddled with it even further and he barely found the need for it all, but there was some semblance. Now, it was back to what it used to be.

He had no actual need for it, but he had come to realise it was the only way to be with you without facing the prison his mind had become. It allowed him to bypass how it held back his body.

In his trance-induced dreams, he was finally free.

Whatever freedom meant to him, he was sure you were involved somehow.

Even if only bound to a dream and nothing more. 

After all, you had made it perfectly clear that a friendship was all you could offer.

He had made peace with that.

For the most part.

He still had these moments of wanting to slip into his subconscious and lose himself in you.

The mattress underneath his body was comfortable enough and the raindrops outside that thumped against the window, presented themselves as more than enough to lull him into the beginnings of a trance.

He let go of his weight.

He blacked out everything around him in the hopes he'd find you.

Your chirpy laughter was what he heard first. Unknowingly, a faint smile tugged gently at his lips. He could easily get lost in the warmth of your voice.

He was getting deep enough that your voice now had a corporeal form, too.

Your kind face took over each corner of his mind until all of him was you.

Astarion could barely withstand trancing unless he could conjure you this way.

You were the calm in a restless sea that kept on drowning him.

In his mind, he could find himself being with you with nothing holding him back.

It was freeing and soothing.

It was an illusion, and in the back of his head, he almost felt it slip away as awareness threatened to overtake. 

He frowned.

Your voice faded and your pleasant face held a grave expression. It was as if you could tell something was wrong.

And you'd be right.

There was something wrong with his trance.

As frustration began to dissolve the image of you, he let out a low growl of annoyance as his eyes snapped open.

And he immediately understood why it felt off.

Ava was standing near the edge of his bed, holding a sweet smile that he had grown to appreciate over the past few weeks.

“You were reaching for her again, weren't you?”

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “It's the only way I can these days.”

She lowered herself to sit, the mattress dipping slightly under her weight. “You know that isn't true.”

“Ava, I don't wish to be lectured,” he said, more harshly than intended.

She nodded and said nothing else.

There was nothing more to be said. She had tried to make him see that he was the only one standing in between himself and you. 

He had heard it all before and he was sick of it.

It wasn't as easy as snapping his fingers, because a large part of him didn't want your friendship.

He could find friends. In fact, he didn't even know if he needed friends. 

Your friendship wasn't enough, but he had no right to demand more when he was struggling this hard with his mind.

Could he even offer more? Did he even deserve more?

“Do you wish me to leave?” Ava's voice snapped him from his thoughts. “I can, but maybe a piece of advice is in order.”

His frown eased and he nodded. 

“I would urge you to stop seeking her in your mind. She's out there. You two have been seeing each other to honour your arrangement.” She paused briefly, studying his reaction. “I can lay here with you and help with your intimacy, but I'm not the one you seek.”

Silence.

“The chance you seek is within you and I believe she can help in more ways than one.”

He scoffed. “I can't ask that of her. This is not something she has to concern herself with.”

Ava leaned against the headboard with a sigh. “Lovers help each other through the toughest of times.”

The word ignited a visceral reaction inside him at once.

“We're not lovers!”

Ava didn't even flinch at his snarl. “But you could be.”

Ava was terribly skilled at worming her way under his skin. He didn't regret having gotten closer to her even if merely as an exchange of sorts.

“Leave.”

The word spilled from his lips like poison and he knew he wasn't being fair, but he couldn't stand talking about you.

Not with her.

You would be utterly disappointed that he was giving out his blood like this.

He was beginning to dread any talks of you with her.

Mostly because Ava didn't know you and no string of words he might voice would ever do you justice.

You had saved him from himself. You had trusted him when no one else would. You had been his first and he had been yours. 

How could he possibly put into words how much you meant to him? 

“Astarion, jus-”

He had made up his mind. “Leave. I don't need love advice from anyone – least of all you.”

It was harsh. 

And it was enough to cause her eyes to widen in unmistakable displeasure. 

“That was uncalled for.”

She rose to her feet and walked out of the room without sparing another glance in his direction, the door closing loudly behind her.

In a way, he was thankful she didn't. He knew he'd find hurt in her face and he could do without the reminder of how snarky he could be.

For all intents and purposes, Ava had been the sole constant in his life and he might even consider her a… friend.

He had made some progress along the way.

Touching you as he fed didn't feel suffocating. He could even bear your touch as you held on to him for support.

He would need to feed soon.

Your blood was more filling than anything he could hunt out there, but the set schedule wasn't enough.

He pushed himself to sit, face buried in his hands.

You were already giving him more than he could ever repay. Again.

But he still found in himself the unshakable desire for more.

More. More. More.

This was the nature of his bond with you.

No in-betweens. No half measures.

With you, it was all or nothing.

And his vampiric nature always found ways to creep into his mind. 

Blood.

“Astarion?”

He was rooted to the garden bench, your eyes on him.

Shaking his head, he cleared his throat. “Yes?”

Uncertainty covered your face and he immediately realised you feared he had spaced out too far for her reach.

“Oh, I apologise, dear,” he said, putting on his best mask. “I suppose I wasn't expecting this revelation.”

But even such a practised facade was no longer enough to keep you convinced.

You knew him too well.

Slowly, you came to sit by his side again. “I'm sorry, Astarion.”

That immediately gnawed at his nerves. “Whatever for?”

“I know you were fond of Ava, and it's never easy to realise that someone we might have placed our trust in once can be capable of such things.”

Your logic wasn't flawed per se, but it didn't quite cover what he was now feeling.

“You think I'm upset because I care for her?”

“You don't?”

He tensed up. “My relationship with her felt necessary. It was built out of mutual need.”

At this, your features hardened. “Like ours when we first met?”

“It could never be like ours.”

He tried his best to hide the offence he had taken from your words, but, once again, you were able to read right through him.

“Didn't you see her as a friend?”

Quite frankly… “No.”

“Then why do you seem so shaken?”

Astarion should have known better than to give in to his impulsiveness, as it rarely did him any favours.

Yet…

“Why? Why do you think?” he said through gritted teeth. “I feel ashamed! More so because it was my recklessness that could have potentially been the cause of all of this.” 

You looked alarmed, but took your time to word out an answer. “Astarion, you couldn't have known. If this is actually true, then she played you.”

He scoffed, avoiding your piercing eyes. “Ironic, isn't it? I used to be so good at reading people and…” His voice faltered momentarily. “... and now I realise how much of a fool I am.”

Your hand met his cheek and you slowly turned his head until your eyes found his again. “You're not a fool for trusting people. You didn’t trust me at first, remember? It was all about survival.”

Astarion was sure that if his heart still pulsed, it would have shattered.

“I trusted you and you trusted me.”

He fought the urge to roll his eyes. “You are far too trusting.”

You smiled warmly and his defences immediately crumbled. “And you hardly trust anyone. Still, we met halfway, didn't we? Through pain and blood and gore and with all the odds against us, we found a way.”

Astarion realised for the nth time in that moment that he adored you.

He didn't think he had it in him to break the flow of this moment and say it out loud, but he did.

Trust was never on the table with him. He had built his undeath around using and abusing the trust others placed on him, only to bring them to their demise. Therefore, he never expected the same grace to be extended to him. He was unworthy, wasn't he?

Until you came along and shifted his world on its axis, showing him that there was still good out there reserved even for those deemed monsters.

Your hand dropped from his face, but your caring smile only deepened.

“I will not think any less of you if my suspicions are confirmed.”

It would be so easy to just accept your words, but he still hesitated. “Maybe you should. I roped you and others over something driven by selfishness.”

And now you were visibly angry.

“Astarion. Stop it – please. You told me about the spawn in the Underdark, too. A selfish person wouldn't even factor them in.”

He grimaced. “Be it as it may. It didn't start out like that. I thought of only myself when I made the deal with Ava. My blood for a possible cure to my hunger.”

“Does it matter how it started? Does it, really? You're not the person you used to be. You're not driven by the same survival instinct and selfishness.”

“Because of you.” he blurted out.

Did this version of himself even exist without you? If it hadn't been for you, he would have ascended. He would have sacrificed thousands of souls and reach

A part of him still lingered on the ‘what if’ of it all. Deep down, he knew that refusing to partake in the ritual had been the right choice for him. For everyone. 

But he still wondered… what if.

“What of the ritual, then? I was so blinded by greed and power that I would have caved in if not for you.”

Weak.

Pathetic.

Broken.

You seemed slightly taken aback before offering a reassuring smile. “You're so wrong, Astarion. I merely reminded you of who you already were. You saved yourself.”

He was stunned silent for a moment.

You were being genuine and it was clear you meant every single word.

“I've told you this before, but I'm proud of you,” you said, reaching for his hand and he nearly hissed from the sudden shift in temperature. You were always so warm… even on a cool night. “I hope you are, too.”

He wasn't. He truly wasn't, but he would lie for you.

His voice would give him away, so he merely nodded, earning a tender squeeze from you.

“Maybe we ought to go and meet Wyll now.”

He hesitated as you tugged his hand, not moving an inch.

In truth, he'd rather stay here with you and savour this moment. He was excruciatingly exhausted from the emotional turmoil the past days had brought on. 

“The sooner we go, the better,” you reminded him.

Astarion looked up at the night sky until his gaze found the horizon line, hues of soft pink and orange swirling in the distance.

Dawn was about to break.

The sun couldn't be kept from rising just as he couldn't keep himself from you.

“We'll figure this out, Astarion. Together.”

You gave his hand another squeeze and shifted in his seat, fully facing you.

For a moment, he considered kissing you. He thought it would be fitting. He could allow his body to convey what words would always fail to do so.

But his body was at the mercy of his mind.

So you spoke first, “May I hug you?”

It was a simple enough request, yet he appreciated you asking beforehand.

“Of course, darling.”

You leaned into him, engulfing his body within the warmth of yours. He lowered his chin to rest on your shoulder and you mimicked him, clearly doing your best to read his body language.

He was tense at first, mostly due to the unwavering fear that his mind might play a trick on him. 

But he found himself slowly but surely easing into you, welcoming your touch. He could hear your pulse quicken alongside your neck and his stomach lurched in response. His most basic instincts being put to the test.

A wave of revulsion washed down in a frail attempt at keeping his hunger for your blood at bay.

Eventually, he was able to have it subside into the back of his mind, like an ever-watchful fiend, waiting for him to give permission.

But he had sworn off feeding on you again. At least, for the time being. As painful as it was – and borderline unnatural for a vampire – he had to resist this. 

The act itself was too tainted for now, and the wildlife around Baldur's Gate would have to suffice.

He wished he could freeze this moment in time and have everything else be background noise.

And when you finally pulled back from the embrace, he saw tears streaming down your face, causing him to stir in alert.

“What did I do?”

You shook your head, your face too close. “Nothing. You're just…”

It was time to lighten the mood and that was a skill he indulged like no other.

“Ridiculously handsome?”

You chuckled, your breath fanning his lips. “Incredibly so. But…”

He cradled your face in his hands, thumb brushing against the softness of your cheek, as he waited for you to continue.

You shivered under his touch.

Was it from the cold?

Or was it something else?

You were close. Too close. 

He could feel your every breath on his face and this ever-growing pull was now enveloping him.

Oh, how he wanted to kiss you.

Make you his and his alone.

“What is it, love?”

The word had left his lips before he could register how he was almost… panting.

Your hands came to grip his arms and he found himself leaning into you again.

“Astarion… I…”

He arched a brow, suddenly aware that something was amiss.

Something was terribly wrong.

Your eyes were glassy and your skin had grown cold, mouth agape and face void of any tangible expression.

Suddenly, you went limp in his arms but not before letting out a piercing pained shriek that tore through the night air and through him like the sharpest of knives. Your pulse was weak, but he could still feel your heart fighting through

Amongst the shock and panic, he spotted movement in the corner of his eye.

A hooded figure was standing still by the fence and he immediately knew who it was.

“Hello, Astarion.”

TBC

[wraithlafitte]

nightmares - dean winchester

Summary: Dean wakes you up from a nightmare.

CONTENT: feminine descriptors, mixed POV, demonic possession, angst, hurt/comfort, post hell!dean, cuddling

word count: 935 (est reading time 4 mins.)

You toss and turn in bed, limbs tangling in the worn motel duvet. Images flash through your head, reminding you of pain and torture and being trapped in your own mind. It had been months since Sam drove the demon out of your body, but its fingerprints lingered in the corners of your mind, ready to creep out as soon as you closed your eyes to fall asleep.

The worst part of the nightmares is the intense feeling of anxiety and fear it induces in you. You feel like you're really back in that time, watching yourself commit atrocities you could never have dreamed of on your own.

You try to scream at the images to stop, but as in most dreams, your voice is gone. That's how it was during the possession. Your consciousness screamed for control, for mercy, but the demon's unrelenting cruelty pushed you deep into the recesses of your own mind.

You scream again, mouth hanging wide as you voicelessly plead for the horror to end.

Dean sat up slowly, groggily trying to make out the neon red numbers on the digital clock on the nightstand above him. He was sleeping on the floor, as per usual when they could only afford a room with two beds. His self-sacrificing nature wouldn't let you sleep on the floor, and Sam had gotten injured on the last hunt, so it wasn't a question.

He heard a low groan from your bed, followed by a fabric-laden thrashing of limbs. In the dark, he could barely make out your body shuddering beneath the blankets, head tossing and chest rising and falling quickly with each belabored breath you took.

He knew the feeling. Hell, nightmares from his time downstairs still plagued him from time to time.

Dean stood and went to your side, bending over you to touch your shoulder. "Hey," he whispered, giving you a gentle shake. "Y/N. Wake up."

You didn't respond, so he shook you again, a little harder. "Y/N!" he hissed.

You wake with a gasp, flying upright, heart hammering in your chest. Hands shoot out to hold you and you struggle against their grip.

"Hey, hey," you hear a familiar voice whisper. "It's me. You're okay."

You blink rapidly as a pair of eyes slowly becomes clear to you in the dark, meeting your terrified gaze. Dean.

You heave a relieved sigh and lean forward, dropping your head on his shoulder. He takes you into his arms easily, all pretense of not caring about you forgotten.

"Jesus Christ," you whisper into his shoulder.

Dean rubs your back comfortingly. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you."

"Better than what I was seeing."

He doesn't press, but lets you relax into his body as your heart rate slowly returns to normal.

"God, Dean," you say quietly after a while. "Does it ever stop?"

"No," he replies ruefully, one hand now stroking your hair. "I wish I could say it did."

Tears prick at your eyes as memories come flooding into your mind again. "I can't forget the things I did," you manage. "I can't ever unsee-"

Dean takes you by the shoulders and holds you away from him. "That wasn't you, ya hear me? How many times do I have to tell you it wasn't your fault?"

"I know, but it was still me, Dean." The tears are threatening to escape now, but you hold them back. You will not cry in front of this man, who has gone through so much worse. "These hands killed people."

Dean sighs, pulling you back into him. "I know. It's hard to deal, but you gotta try."

You shudder, tears finally rolling down your face and dampening his shirt. "I'm not... strong like you."

"I know you can do it," he whispers, hand finding your hair again, tangling in the strands. "You're stronger than you think. I don't know a lot of people who were conscious for that long during a possession and can still form a coherent thought, much less continue to hunt down these sons of bitches like you do."

You sniffle, turning your head into his neck. Deep in your heart of hearts, you know he's right.

"I know it's hard," Dean continues. "But if anyone can beat this, it's you. You're one badass lady." He chuckles, trying to lighten your mood.

Your heart melts at this. "Thanks," you whisper, tears subsiding.

"Think you can go back to sleep?" he asks gently.

"Not really," you say glumly. You pull away and hesitate deeply before asking in a small voice, "Can you... stay? With me?" Your eyes refuse to meet his. He's going to tell you to suck it up, you know it.

"Yes."

Your eyes flit up to his, surprised and relieved. Dean looks at you warmly, gently, before getting up and raising the covers, nudging you to the side as he lays down next to you.

You face him, feeling his hand travel up your hip and stop on your waist. A surge of bravery and emotion hits you, and you lean forward, leaving a gentle kiss on his lips. When you back away, he looks surprised, and for a moment you fear you've just done something that will make your friendship irrevocably damaged.

But he just pulls you into him, kissing your forehead and resting his chin atop your head, pressing you into his large body comfortingly.

You feel relieved for the millionth time that night. No more words need to be said. You fall asleep like that, nestled in his arms, breathing in his familiar, comforting scent.

[ghostfanwriter]

✨🍑 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐃𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬 🍑✨

🍑 Pairing: Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

✨ Synopsis: You catch Joel looking at a dress while on run for supplies, so you decide to bring it home... And torture him with it at a Jackson party.

🍑 Features: 🔞 Pre established relationship, possessive Joel, teasing, edging, Joel spiting in reader's mouth (🫥), real quick feet action, rough unprotected piv, oral sex (f and m receiving), Joel being insecure and soft at the end.

✨ Word count: Around 7k

🍑 About this: The Jackson couple's back! This time I wanted to touch more on their dynamics and how they work outside the bedroom. But everything builds to some possessive sex with a very possessive Joel.

✨ Author's Note: I've had this drafted for months now, and it finally matured enough to be yours 🩷

Good reading ✨🍑

You were on a run for supplies and winter clothes with Joel and a few others from Jackson. The two of you found this fancy women's clothes store and were grabbing everything that felt nice and warm. Besides, you thought of looking for nice dresses for women to wear on your solstice party, that would celebrate the end of summer and all the resources you got from it.

Joel said it was okay with him as long as you carried the bag full of dresses back home.

You finished looking around and went after Joel, who you found holding a dress in front of himself, just looking at it. His brain forming the perfect image of how your body would look in it.

He knew every line and every curve you had, having touched, bitten, kissed and squeezed you enough times to have them memorized. He thought about how life would be if things didn't go to shit.

Taking you to a party, wearing nice clothes and just drinking and having fun. He was lost in his fantasy when someone called everyone out, it was getting late and it would be dark soon. He yelled back and put the dress back where he found it, turning his head to look for you, calling you by your name.

You hide and as soon as he leaves that corner of the store you run to it and grab the dress, putting it inside your backpack and running back to the other side of the store, emerging from the clothes racks for him to find you.

"Hey, I'm here." You say. He looks at you and smiles.

"C'mon, baby, gotta go." You walk towards him and hold his hands, snuggling to his side as you walk out the store to find the others and go back home.

When he saw you struggling with its weight, Joel insisted he'd carry the bag with the dresses for you.

"Holy fucking shit!" Ellie almost screams when you walk out the bathroom. You look at her and her eyes are wide, mouth open and a ever so light blush on her cheeks. Dina turns to look at you and her face looks exactly like Ellie's, but she's also laughing.

"Oh, someone's definitely gonna fucking die tonight. Either Joel will fall dead when he sees you or he's going to kill every man that looks at you."

You laugh. You only truly saw the dress when you picked it up from your backpack to wash it over at Ellie and Dina's. You didn't want Joel seeing it and ruining the surprise.

The dress is tight and long, but has a slit on one of the legs that goes all the way to your thigh, almost to your hips. It hugs your body perfectly and you can't wait to see his face.

Winter was soon to arrive and for a good while you'll not bare to wear any less than three layers of clothes, so you wanted to enjoy your last chance to look good on something.

Joel was out working all day, and by the end of the afternoon he went home to shower.

He smiled when he found the clothes you left him perfectly laid out on top of your bed, with a perfume you got him a while back.

He was hoping to find you home, but he loved that you took your time to prepare this for him. He got ready and went straight to where the party was gonna happen to help hang lights, fix a few things and be his hot contractor self.

You were gonna meet him with Ellie and Dina, who were also dressed up on some nicer button up shirts and jeans they've found.

On the way from their house to the party, you got compliments all around, men and women turning heads to look at you. You were happy to see all the women in dresses and nice clothes. It was a privilege you had in Jackson, to dress up and have fun, and you were glad everyone was having a good time.

For just one night it was good to forget the world had ended.

You start looking for Joel as soon as you arrive at the party. Scanning the place, you find him drinking and laughing amongst a few men. It's funny how anyone around him looks blurry to you. As soon as you see your man, there's nothing else that could get your attention.

Nothing else matters.

He looks so good, so big, so strong. His wide shoulders, big frame, strong chest and stomach, his legs, spread and inviting, making you want to sit on him. His arms, showing through the flannel he's wearing, his big hand making an already tiny shot glass look even smaller.

One of the men with him locks eyes on you and Joel curiously follows his gaze.

When his eyes land on you his expression thickens immediately. He looks at you up and down, stopping at your face. Your smile disarming him completely. He puts his glass down and gets up, heavily walking towards you with a smile on his face. You open your arms, squeezing him tight when he hugs you, engulfing you in his arms.

"Missed you" You said, because spending the day away felt like an eternity.

"Thought about you all day, peach. Couldn't wait to see you." He said on your neck.

You pull away, he holds you by the waist and you keep your fingers interlaced behind his back, giving him a quick but firm kiss on the lips. "Look as good as you thought?" You ask and his face reddens — he didn't think you saw him with the dress that day. "Can't hide from you, can I?"

"Nuh-uh." You say, shaking your head and giggling.

"You look even better than I thought, amor." He kisses your cheek, a low and effective move he knows to make you melt in his hands.

"You look really good too." You praise him and he looks down at himself, wearing the outfit you sorted for him, a nice button up flannel and a new pair of jeans. A stark contrast from the worn out clothes he wears everyday. "Have to look good when I have you like this by my side, baby. Or the others will see you're too good for me and try and take you away from me."

You shoot him a stern look through your lashes and dig your nails on his back. He gets it and laughs. "Alright, no saying stuff like that about myself. Got it."

"Well, let it be known, Joel Miller, that I wouldn't leave this party with anyone else but you." You say, getting on your tiptoes to give him another quick peck on the lips.

"C'mon, stop being so fucking gay you two." Ellie teases, bringing you a drink and calling you to come hang out with your friends. "Good to see you too, Ellie." Joel says, reluctantly letting you go and watching you walk away.

It had been a long time since you've had this much fun. Hanging out with your friends, sitting on Joel's lap and listening to the stories everyone had to tell.

You laughed, drank and spent time with people you cherished.

But it didn't take long for Joel to get overwhelmed by the attention you were getting.

As soon as you started greeting people and walking around, he noticed the way people looked and touched you for even just a second too long.

This one guy approached you by the drinks table and kept talking to you. Joel doing his best to focus on his food and not break his own teeth with the force he was chewing it down.

He looked at you, young and pretty. Your dress hugging your body so nicely, your hair falling effortlessly over your shoulders, a big smile on your face.

People just couldn't look only once.

And it made him feral.

They all turned to shoot you a second look, almost as if trying to make sure they were actually seeing you. Like you were a mirage.

He couldn't blame them, though. He knew that feeling all too well. To not believe his eyes when looking at you; he felt the same when you first slept together.

He was frozen, sitting on the edge of his bed watching you undress, bringing you close to him and kissing your body, to make sure everything he was seeing was actually there, in front of him.

And he mesmerized you the same way, even today, watching him work from a distance. Your mind wandering thinking about the man, as if you've never been with him. Picturing his strong arms holding you, making you feel safe.

Whenever something broke on your house you always offered to help him fix it. Not just to be useful — even though you knew very little about fixing things, he was slowly teaching you what he knew —, but also to watch him. His muscles flexing, his hair getting messy, the thin layer of sweat that slowly covered his skin, his each time more laborious breathing.

You couldn't help but eat the man with your eyes.

You feel good knowing that amongst all the women in Jackson, you were lucky enough to be by his side.

Your chest almost aching from imagining if he were someone else's. Making you do your best to show him how much you wanted and loved him.

How much you loved when he hugged you tight, when he soothed you when you were scared or sad, how he caressed your hair for you to sleep, how he played his guitar on your porch, singing you nice songs. How he snuggled his nose on your neck before leaving for work, how loved he made you feel.

But he didn't know that. He thought he was the lucky one. That you could just leave him at any minute, going after a stronger and younger man.

He was removed from his thoughts when Tommy touched his shoulder. His tense expression softening a little. "Hey, man! Have you figured out how to make it look like an accident yet?" He laughs, looking at Joel and following his gaze, finding you by the drinks table, the guy still talking to you.

"Don't know if I want it to look like an accident." Joel says back, and his serious tone makes Tommy wonder if he's actually considering killing the man for talking to you.

Knowing his brother...

"Hum. Make him an example; send a message, right? 'Look what happens when you mess with that belongs to me!'" he says, mocking Joel. Joel shoots him a stern look, but laughs when his brother slaps his chest.

"Hey, quit it man, alright? She looks good, boys will flirt with her, get over it. I would bet my ass she would never pay them any mind." Tommy tries to ease him.

Joel sees the man get more comfortable around you, laughing and touching your arm occasionally. You look relaxed, and he fucking hates it. You're terribly oblivious to notice when someone's flirting with you — although you always cut it as soon as you notice.

It's just that this time it's taking you a bit too fucking long to do something about it.

"It's not her I'm worried about. Some of these boys think they're grown men, think they can talk to her like that." He shoves more food inside his mouth, clearly eating to release some steam.

On the other side of the salon, you're getting tired of the conversation you're in, and your face probably shows it. The guy starts accelerating his pace.

"Anyway, I was thinking you would like to leave this party? I mean, it's kind of dumb, you know? Maybe we could go to my place, or yours." Your face freezes. Was this guy flirting with you this whole time?

Fuck.

You look over a Joel, and judging by his face... yes. This guy was flirting with you.

Fuck.

You know you should shake the guy off, tell him you're not interested.

But when you keep looking at Joel... Jealousy looked so good on him, his jaw moving slowly and forcefully, his eyes hooded and dark, eyebrows low, nostrils wide. You wanna see more of it.

"I don't think it's a dumb party. It's fun, were celebrating everything summer gave us, everything we have stocked up." You say.

"Well, yeah, I guess. But not as much fun as we could have somewhere else." He said, coming closer to you. You watch Joel from your peripheral, making sure he's not coming over to murder the poor guy.

"Can't. Don't want to, honestly." You say, feeling bad at how the guy's face sinks. "Besides, I have a man, you know? Joel, Tommy's brother." The guy's face now goes pale, his eyes widen and he follows your gaze, already on Joel and Tommy.

He pulls away from you. Almost like he can see his fate on Joel's expression.

He heard the stories, of what Joel did before Jackson. He didn't want to be in one of them.

"I'm so sorry. I... I didn't know. I've never seen you two together, like together. I thought you were just close because of Ellie. I'm so sorry." He managed to say between stutters before rushing away from you.

You look back at Joel and Tommy and laugh, biting the inside of your lower lip.

You grab your drink and walk towards Joel, a silly and innocent smile on your face.

"What did he say?" Tommy asked laughing, wanting to see Joel's reaction. You look at Joel, seeing his low eyebrows and forceful chewing.

He was livid, but not at you. Maybe your oblivion, but not you. He liked how you teased him, because he knew it'd never go beyond that, and you were only doing it for him. But fuck... He hated to see men flirt with you.

"We were talking about food and supplies, and then out of nowhere he asked if we could go over to his or my place. Said we could have move fun there." You said, making Tommy laugh, Joel shaking his head furiously, still chewing his food.

"Poor guy was inviting himself to his own death." Tommy said laughing, and Joel grunted, shaking his head, still chewing.

His brother was right. If a guy showed up at your doorstep looking for you, Joel would just snap his neck on the spot.

"You need to pay more attention, baby. These boys don't wanna be your friends, I told you that." Joel says on a tender but firm tone. Tommy finishes his drink and gets up.

"He's right, sweetheart. You give these boys too much attention and they think you're theirs. Cut it as soon as they start." He advices, slapping Joel on the back of his shoulder when leaving. "Besides I don't want to help Joel hide any fucking bodies. Behave you two. Also, try and have some fucking fun, Joel! It's a party." He says, dancing away from you two.

Joel moves on his stool, spreads his legs and taps his thigh, calling you to come closer. You get in between his legs, leaning on him with your butt against his thigh. He buries his nose on your hair, caressing your sides. "I know you're right. But he was just talking about the food at first, as soon as he said that I told him I wasn't single and left." Your tone apologetic.

Joel's eyes softened. He knew he could trust you, and he hated to see you believe he thought you would flirt with anyone else. "I believe you, amor. I just hate to see it. You're mine, they should feel lucky they can look at you. Not be so fucking disrespectful." He said, kissing your temple.

Realistically, Jackson was a bit too full of people to keep track of all the couples. So, naturally, not everyone knew you and Joel were together, but it still made him angry how men would throw themselves at you.

He knows you are more than a pretty facade, and he doesn't like seeing you diminished to that. He loves you.

All of you.

The fact that you're eye candy is just a bonus he still isn't sure he deserves.

"Do you wanna dance? Let everyone see me in your arms, know I'm yours." You whisper the last part on his good ear, softly pulling his hair behind it. Your faces are close while you watch him fondly.

"Dance?" He's not much of a dancer, but he sighs at how you're looking at him.

A sweet smile across your face, your lower lip between your teeth, your eyes sweet and hopeful.

He can't say no to you.

You pull him up and he reluctantly follows you, dancing to a few songs you had on old CDs around Jackson. Your bodies are close, your head resting on his chest, his mouth on your temple, kissing you there.

"I know you do it on purpose." He suddenly says, his voice low and intimidating. Almost scary, honestly.

"What do you mean?" You look up at him, your head tilted to the side, your bodies still glued by the torsos.

"Y'know what I mean. Giving these boys attention just to piss me off. To see what I'll do about it later." His dark tone tickling your stomach, contrasting with his soft touch as he tucks your hair behind your ear.

"And what will you do about it?" You mimick his whisper.

"Still planning, bunny. But I'll make sure you don't do this again. Only I get to see this dress after tonight." He says, squeezing your waist harder. You sigh, laughing as you hug him tighter before letting him go and taking his hand in yours.

You walk him away from the crowd, talking to some people on the way, sneaking together into a bathroom and locking the door.

You pull him into a needy kiss, and he presses his already hard cock on you, taking you with hunger, his big arms engulfing you and his mouth not giving you room to breath. His beard scratches your face, the thin pain from it just making you lean further into him.

You pull away when you feel like you're gonna faint, palming him and biting his lower lip, both your breaths deep and heavy. When he mentions to open his belt, though, you lace your fingers on his locks, forcing him down.

He smirks and lets you lower him, pulling your dress up by the hips, revealing your underwear — also a new pair, one you got just for him. He groans at the sight.

He kisses your mount and licks your folds through your panties, making you laugh before pulling at the fabric, lowering it down your legs. You lets your dress go, and he groans when you open your legs and the slit of the dress grants him free access to your pussy. He spreads your folds with his thumbs, licking your clit.

"Fucking made for this, baby." He says with an amused sigh before burying his face on your folds.

He kisses, sucks and bites you with such passion, you're sure you don't last even one minute before cumming, pulling on his hair to keep balance and quietly moaning his name, little screams escaping your lips. You're doing your best to support yourself against the wall and not fall.

It's the type of orgasm that turns your brain off. Your legs struggle to hold you up, your body is shaking, you can't speak. Not even your tongue you can manage to hold inside your mouth, a wide and silly smile spread across your face.

He pulls your underwear fully out of you, and you whimper — the closest you can do to speaking, protesting, right now.

"I'll keep this. You won't need it anymore." He says, shoving your underwear into his back pocket and holding your face with both hands, his grip strong and comforting, your nails digging in his biceps.

"We'll go home now. No more playing around. You'll walk outside, say your goodbyes and I'm taking you home. I'll show you what you get for fucking teasing me, bunny." He says slowly and sternly as you look into his eyes, doing your best to pay attention and listen to him.

You're holding onto him, and he's supporting you up. You'd just fall if he let go. Your eyes are watering and wide, bliss glistening all over them. Your lips are frozen on a silly smile, and he stares at you for a second, a smile stamping his own lips.

"You're already like this and I haven't even fucked you yet, baby. So adorable." He kisses your jaw, maneuvering your face with such ease it makes you want to take him right there and then. To just handle you and do whatever he wants.

You moan into his beard, tugging on his shirt, trying to squeeze his arms. "Please, Joel." You beg in a whine.

"Uh-huh. You were teasing me till a minute ago and now you want me to treat you with my cock? You know how it works, baby." He pulls away, smiling when he sees the pout on your lips. "My way now. I'm dealing with you at home." He says kissing your pout before letting go of you, almost letting you fall on the floor.

He turns his back and leaves the bathroom, knowing damn well you were just gonna follow him and go home.

He knows you may want this even more than he does.

And he loves it.

You try to drop to your knees

"No. Not today." He says, grunting as he pulls you up.

You whine, melting into his arms, staying steady into his embrace.

But he's already mad, and he's already gonna fucking destroy you.

So why not make him give you his worst?

He is sucking on your neck when you let out amidst a moan: "You know, the men back at the party would let me do it."

He pulls away and shoots you a stern look, a cold and serious one. A look that told you clearly to not keep pushing him.

A look he rarely shot you, a complete contrast from the soft, sweet and weak gaze he'd offer you every time you looked at him.

And you know he's losing it. You know he's fighting not to throw you on the bed and fuck you until you apologize.

The problem is: he knows you never do. You've learned that if you make him mad he will fuck you, punishing you for it, so you never apologize.

Because you don't want him to stop. You love it.

You don't feel bad after it, no matter what he does to you.

You want him to do whatever he wants.

To use you like you're there just to please him, just to give him some relief. You want him to call you names, and to fuck your brain out of your body.

And then you want him to hug you tight and call you his good girl, tell you how good you did for him, how lucky he is to have you. How much he loves you.

You love it. You love him.

You love it when he gets jealous, when he possessively wraps his arms around you when a boy talks to you, how he whispers before bed that you belong to him.

Because you don't want it any other way.

"They'd looove me to do it." You say with a smile.

Maybe you drank a bit more than you should have..

"Did you behave like a fucking whore to every man you fucked, baby? Or is it just for me?" He asks, and oh... You like this. The deep and short moan you let out proof of just how much you like this.

"Just for you, Joel. Only you deserve it." You say with a smile, and he frowns, lust consuming more and more of him with every word you say. "Any other man tries to talk or fuck me like you do and I'd slit their throat." You whisper in his good ear, earning a grunt from him.

"That's because you're not a slut, angel. No. You're a good girl, the best one I've ever had in my hands. Doing all I want." He goes back to your neck. "But you sure know how to act like a whore when you want to, baby. A real good one." He says pulling your head back, allowing himself more skin on your neck.

You moan. "I do it because I know you like it."

He groans, grinding his dick on you. "As long as it's just for me."

"You know it is." You whisper. "Let me do it, show you what only you can see." You say even lower, caressing him through his jeans.

"No. My way now, you'll take what I give you." He says, throwing you on the bed, kneeling in front of you and pulling your legs, bringing you close to the edge before dropping your legs back down. "And if you're good to me, I might give you what you want."

He opens the dress's slit, kissing your mount and licking his way through your still connected folds, his tongue finding your clit between your folds and rolling circles around it.

"Oh, God — Joel." You moan, already feeling something forming inside your core.

"You tell me when you're gonna cum. If you don't, I'm not touching you here for the rest of the night." He says, his voice serious and stern.

"And how are you gonna cum if you don't touch me?" You ask, a smile on your lips.

"Plenty of ways I can cum without making you cum, baby. I can fuck this pretty face, can fuck your thighs, your tits, so many things I could do to you. You only cum after I say so. Alright?" He punctuates every way with a kiss to your mount.

You nod.

"Words, bunny, need you to use your words. Do you understand me?" He says, a stern but comforting tone, lifting your legs and resting your thighs over his shoulders, spreading your folds open with his thumbs.

"Yes, sorry, yes. I understand." You mumble, running your fingers through his hair, your entrance burning in anticipation.

"There's my smart girl." He praises before licking a streak from your entrance to your clit, your eyes rolling back. He rolls his tongue around your clit, sucking on it, his eyes focused on your face.

He teases your entrance with the tip of his tongue before pushing it inside, rolling it around inside you and bringing his thumb to your clit, drawing tight and slow circles over it.

You moan and call his name, your back arching and your lower muscles contracting. He groans and squeezes your hips, pulling you lower onto his face.

You pull his hair as he switches, french kissing your clit as he inserts one, then two of his thick fingers inside you. His beard burns your sensitive skin, and the pain makes you roll your hips on him, burying his face even deeper on you.

You lift your hips from the mattress and he holds them high, grabbing your butt and squeezing it. His hungry eyes not leaving yours for even a second.

He thrusts in and out of you with his fingers, his tongue lapping on your clit as his lips stay locked around it, sucking on it progressively harder and harder.

"Joel." You moan, the ease with which he always coaxed orgasms out of you never failing to impress.

He feels your walls tightening around his fingers and picks up his pace, sucking harder on your clit and thrusting his fingers more roughly.

When he starts curling them, right on your sweetest spot, your throat shuts and you gasp, pulling his hair harder and locking your ankles around his back.

"Joel — fuck — I'm gonna cum, please. Please, let me cum." You beg. He doesn't make it easy for you, though, intensifying his movements even more, waiting for your ultimate tell that you'd cum.

When your hips start raising even higher and your walls compress his fingers even more, he lets go of you completely. Leaving your clit throbbing, your entrance leaking and burning with need. Your mouth dry and open, your eyes watering, your legs sore and shaky.

"No, no, no. Please, Joel, don't." You plead. You hated when he edged you, because he let your orgasm start, then ruined it. Not fuelling it for you, letting it die bitterly between your legs.

You reach for your pussy, but he catches your wrists, holding them tight.

"You wanna behave like that? Talk about having other cocks in your mouth? Then you gotta be a big girl and accept the consequences of your actions, baby." He says, getting up and pulling your arms.

He pulls you into a kiss, but you're mad at him, so you don't correspond it. "So pretty all angry like this. Like you don't love it when I do this to you." He whispers close to your mouth, a playful smirk on his face.

You kiss him, deep and needy, moaning at your own taste and holding his arms, almost climbing on him to kiss him deeper. You grab his cock through his jeans, and his hips buck into your hand.

"Let me do it." You moan.

"Thinking about sucking other men made you forget your manners, baby?" He asks, biting on your throat.

"I want it." You whine.

"And how do we say?" He asks, going back to kissing your throat, his fingers intertwined tightly with the hair in the back of your head.

You let out a frustrated moan, one he knows to be an acceptance of defeat. "Please, Joel. Let me do it. I want you in my mouth, please. I promise I'll be so good."

He laughs on your neck.

You're always so good.

"Get down." He says sternly, his lips leaving your neck while he stares at you with furrowed brows.

He just can't say no to you.

To think that you ask — constantly beg — to suck his cock, was too good of a vision to waste. He had women be grossed out by it enough times to not be grateful when he has you begging so nicely for it.

You don't get down, just holding his stare as you admire his strong features. How his brows and nose frame his whole face, how his beard is starting to grey around the edges, how pretty his mouth and his eyes are.

How much you love him, how much you love when he treats you like this. Because you know he loves and respects you, and he'd never do anything to hurt you or make you feel bad.

The best word you can use to describe what you feel for him is pure adoration.

You're pulled out of your mind when be grabs your jaw.

"You wanted this, didn't you? Talked to that stupid boy to get me to do this, right? Then you got what you fucking wanted, no reason to keep being a fucking brat." He says, making you smile. His head tilts to the side, his nostrils widen and he twitches inside his jeans.

He pushes you down to your knees, opening his belt on a split, the sound of his ziper and belt making your stomach float inside your belly.

You have a silly smile on your face, and you retribute his teasing by pulling just his jeans down and licking his tip through his underwear, right where it's wet with his precum. He grunts and interlaces his fingers with your hair.

"Teased me enough, haven't you, amor?" He says with a grunt, as you suck on his clothed tip, stroking him over his underwear a few times while indulging in how big, hard and thick he feels on your hand. How you can feel him pulse sometimes, and how much you love to taste him.

The latter makes you pull his underwear down, staring at his cock for a beat and, without touching him with your hands, lick around his urethra, gathering his precum in your tongue. His cock twitches and jumps away from you, making you laugh.

"Jesus Christ, baby." He groans, furrowing his brows and pulling your hair. His hips instinctively buck forwards.

You reach for his tip again, still not touching him. You roll your tongue around it and suck him inside your mouth, applying pressure and licking your lips when you let him go, twitching again, away from you.

Joel grunts, your teasing not helping your case.

Not that you're trying to make him less mad at you anyway.

"Do it right or I'm taking it away from you." He says sternly, and you frown, instantly grabbing him, stroking him slowly as you suck and roll your tongue around his tip. "Shit. Good girl, like that." He groans, throwing his head back. His fingers caressing your head without forcing you to move.

He knows you don't need guidance with this. He loves how you blow him.

You take more of him inside your mouth, but his edging made your mouth dry, and his precum isn't enough to make him slide into your mouth easily.

"Joel?" You call, you voice small. He looks back down at you, humming in response.

"Can you help me? My mouth's a bit dry." You ask, keeping your voice sweet and low.

"Tell me what you need, peach. So pretty using your words for me like this." He says, stroking your hair gently.

"Can you... Spit on it for me?" You ask. You could just wet your mouth until he slides inside it. But he's right there above you...

"On your mouth or my cock?" He asks and you shrug. "Your choice, baby." He says softly, still stroking your hair.

"Can it be both?" You ask with a smile. He smiles and pulls you up by your armpits, grunting.

"Open wide for me." He pants, his voice raspy.

You do so, opening your mouth and sticking your tongue out.

"Now don't swallow, you're gonna need it." He says before spiting inside your mouth once, making you moan.

You swallow instantly, your core leaking when you do.

"Why such a brat today, baby?" He asks, smiling and furrowing his eyebrows. His hands cup your cheeks tenderly.

"I tried not to, I swear." You smile, biting the thumb he rubs over your lips. He pulls your lips open.

The crease between his eyebrows gets deeper when he does it again, once again earning a moan from you. "Want more?" He asks, and you nod, your brows furrowed. He does it with a smile, holding both your cheeks, your ears between his index and middle fingers while he admires the pool he made on your tongue.

He kisses your cheek, right under your eye, besides your nose. "Knees." And you fall back down, your mouth closed, full of him, doing your best to not swallow it.

He gathers some more saliva in his mouth while you take him in your mouth. You go as deep as you can with the wetness inside your mouth, stoping and looking at him.

Aiming for his cock, he spits on it, close to his base.

You take him in deeper, swishing his saliva around his cock. "There you go, amor. This month feels so fucking good." He praises as you start picking up your pace, your mouth around his tip, hand working his length, twisting your wrist, feeling his skin move under your hand. Your other hand goes to his balls, caressing and squeezing them lightly, making him grunt.

"Fuck — Taking me so well you almost made me forget you were thinking about other cocks, baby. So bad." He says and you moan. You could never think about anyone else, you just said it to piss him off.

Gladly he knows that, but gladly it doesn't mean he won't play along with it.

He holds your head with both hands, pulling your hair back, carefully gathering it in his fists, and you hold onto his thighs.

"Ready?" He asks as he pulls out of your mouth.

The tenderness in his touch and voice a stark contrast of what he's about to do to you.

"For you always." You moan back, and he caresses your scalp.

"My pretty girl." He praises. "All mine." While he places his tip inside your mouth. "Suck it."

You wrap your lips around his tip and suck on it, rolling your tongue around him, never breaking eye contact.

He pushes himself in, going all the way to the back of your throat before pulling away. Then doing it again.

A particular thrust goes even deeper, and he bottoms out inside your throat. You gag, and he holds your head in place, grunting with the squeeze.

He picks up his pace, eventually fucking your mouth. His hands pressing on the sides of your head, his thrusts deep and mean.

"Oh yeah, so so tight for me, baby. So good, could fucking cum inside this mouth." He says, thrusting deeper before pulling away from you, a thick streak of saliva still connecting his tip to your mouth. You stare up at him, admiring his imposing figure. How he towers over you, how big and strong he is.

He pulls you up and away from your adoration, fixing your hair and wiping your lips and chin with the sleeve of his flannel.

"I swear to God if I ever see you step outside wearing this dress again, baby..." He says, looking down at your body, squeezing your waist.

"If you say you're gonna do all this again I'm going out tomorrow with it." You say with a smile, and he laughs, looking at you through his lashes, that dark gaze back on his face.

He throws you on the bed, removing his shirt. You reach for him with your feet, and he kicks his pants away. You stroke him once with your feet and he holds them, keeping them tight together, thrusting a few times with his eyes closed before snapping them open and looking down at you.

"See? Another way for me to cum without making you cum. But not today, baby." He laughs, spreading your legs and opening your dress right on the slit. "So fucking made for me." He says, both at the slit and at you.

He wraps his forearm underneath you and pushes you further onto the bed, kneeling between your legs.

"Wanna apologize before I start?" He asks, running his tip through your folds, gathering your arousal.

You laugh, supporting yourself on your elbows to kiss him, and he pushes in, all the way, slowly, letting you wet every inch of him before inserting the next.

You moan into his mouth, wrapping one, then both your arms around his neck, pulling him down with you. His weight crushes you, and you gasp when he pulls almost all the way out before roughly going back in.

His first thrust sets a relentless pace, his hips slamming against yours. He wraps his left arm underneath you again, pulling you even further onto the bed, never letting himself slip out of you.

"God — Joel." You moan, screaming his name on his shoulder, his thrusts forcing air out of your lungs, making you gasp while you do your best to breath.

"So fucking tight, baby." He breaths on your hair. "Fucking made for me, just me. All — grunts— fucking — grunts —mine." He says, punctuating every last word with a thrust.

"Yours Joel. Keep me so full I can't think of anyone else." You cry on his neck, your orgasm coming closer and closer to you.

"Fuck — Such a good girl for me, only one I fucking — grunts —need." He groans, his pace somehow getting rougher. He wraps his other arm around you, keeping you locked under himself, his hips moving fast and hard.

The brush of his skin and his pubic hair on your clit is enough to make you whimper and clench around him.

"Please, Joel. I have to cum." You beg, your orgasm only not hitting you because you know better than to go against his word.

"Sure know how to take it like a whore, baby. I'm fucking you like this and you're asking to cum on my cock, huh? So fucking good." He teases, squeezing you in his embrace.

"Yes, Joel. Please, I want to." You whine, your nails digging deep into his back.

"Cum for me, baby. C'mon, you're being such a good girl for me. You deserve it." He coos, kissing your neck, somehow fucking you even rougher, even deeper, even faster, pulling a strong and deep orgasm out of you.

"Joel!" You moan almost pornographically, screaming his name passionately, your throat hurting with how loud you're being all of a sudden.

You'll certainly get some looks tomorrow. And it's not gonna be because of the dress.

The way you scream his name makes him cover your mouth — the whole bottom of your face — with his large hand.

"Shh, trying to tell the whole town who you belong to, peach? I thought that was why you wanted to dance at the party." He laughs, watching as your face contorts and grunting at how much you squeeze him. "Keep a bit more quiet for me, baby, c'mon."

He lets go of your mouth and fucks you harder, now having to forge room for himself inside you. You bite right between his neck and his shoulder, trying to not scream again. Your hips rolling as your orgasm comes to an end.

As soon as you stop quivering under him he starts rolling circles around your clit, fast and tight. You gasp, your hips moving desperately, trying to get away from the overwhelming stimulation.

"Oh, Joel. Too much, fuck." You plead, but it only makes him fasten his movements, his hips pouding you relentlessly.

"You wanna behave like a whore you gotta take it like one, bunny. Liked teasing me, didn't you? Huh? Now you're gonna squeeze me real nice again, gonna make me cum for you."

"Joel." You moan, half screaming, digging your nails in his back, trying to focus on him, his weight, his warmth, his rough fingers on your clit.

"C'mon, baby. Gonna squeeze the cum out of my cock, aren't you? You feel so good, my peach." He pants on your hair, kissing and biting on your neck.

"You're gonna cum inside me?" You ask, your voice coming out more hopeful than you expected. Your ankles instinctively tangling behind his lower back.

He laughs softly on your neck, kissing you there and squeezing your hips. "You know I can't, baby. I fucking — grunts — can't." He pants, his voice frustrated and low. "Fucking wish I could." He whispers, barely leaving your pussy before thrusting hard back in.

His confession makes you moan, clenching around him, your orgasm so close you can almost feel it.

His hips lose rythme, and he takes your hand in his, putting it between you two. He lifts himself, hands besides each side of your head. He's loud. Panting, grunting and groaning while he pounds into you.

That's why you tease him. To see this animalistic and senseless, strong and big man pound you like his life depends on it. His cock rearranging your organs to please himself.

"Cum for me, baby. So fucking close, just need to feel you again." He pants, his forehead touching yours, his pace punishing and lovingly at the same time. Punishing you for teasing him and lovingly for you to remember he loves you more than anyone else ever could.

"Joel." You scream again, a shameless and vulnerable plead for him. For him to see how good he makes you feel, how much you love being his.

"There you go, baby. C'mon, feels so good squeezing me so nice, fucking — grunts — milking my cock, gonna cum so much for you, my baby. Can't be fucking inside you. No." He says, his face hovering above yours.

"I want it, Joel. Please. My mouth, I want you." You plead, still high from your orgasm.

"Take the dress off, baby, c'mon." He whispers and you eagerly do so, squeezing him inside you when you contort your upper body to remove it. He grunts from it, slowing his movements down for a second, one of his hands holding your waist.

"Please, Joel." You beg, scratching his shoulder blades and looking at him.

"So pretty begging for me like this." He says. "Too bad you don't deserve what you want, baby." He pulls out of you, pumping himself hard and fast above your belly, and you open your mouth, a beg for him to give you some of it.

"Don't be so fucking greedy, amor. You've had plenty of it". He says right before cumming all over your stomach and breasts with loud grunts and groans.

He loves seeing you covered in him, marking you as his.

He is, thankfully, kind enough to aim some of it at your face, and you end up drinking a few streaks.

He finishes and falls on the bed besides you, staring at the roof and trying to catch his breath as you do the same.

After a minute he gets up with a grunt and goes to the bathroom, coming back with a wet towel. He dresses his underwear and sits by the end of the bed, pulling you legs by your ankles. He spreads them and runs the cloth over your swollen folds, carefully cleaning them.

He presses a kiss on each of them, kissing your clit last, laughing when you jump from the overstimulation. He licks around it, looking into your eyes and smiling.

"You don't deserve it." He laughs, lightly slapping your pussy and climbing on top of you, pressing the mattress besides your head and hovering above you.

You lift yourself to kiss his lips, wrapping your arms around his back and digging your nails deep into his skin. You let go of your own weight and he holds you both up, deepening the kiss, panting into your mouth, his beard burning your skin deliciously.

"You know I love you, don't you?" He asks, his voice low.

"You just showed me." You say with a soft laugh.

"No, amor. I mean it. You know it, don't you?" He sounds like he's about to cry.

You pull him down on the mattress with you, looking into his eyes. He wraps his arms tight underneath your body. "Of course I do, Joel. What do you mean?"

"Just keep seeing you with those boys. They're all so young. You could just have any of them." He says, his soft eyes glistening.

"But I don't want any of them. I want you, love you, only think about you." You coo, kissing his lips.

He turns you both around, and you lie on top of him, your head on the crook of his neck, inhaling his manly and woody smell.

"I love you so much." You whisper. It almost hurts how much you do. "I'm so lucky to have you, Joel." You squeeze him in your embrace, your own eyes threatening to water.

"Love you more. Luckiest, happiest man in this town with you by my side, baby." He responds, and you snuggle your face deeper on him, kissing his neck, indulging on his presence.

On how you'd never imagine leaving your man.

Hope you enjoyed it, need a jealous, possessive and soft Joel in my life to call me names and tell me how much he loves me 😫

My Masterlist 🩷

[lixiepixiedust]

I wanna show you off

pairing — idol!jeongin x f!reader (From the Unveiling Love series!)

word count — 5k

warnings — she/her reader, argument, hurt/comfort, exes (?) 2 lovers, jeongin is kinda toxic in a way but only slightly, suggestive themes (making out), reader is drunk, mentions of alcohol and night clubs, unwanted advances towards reader (not from jeongin)

summary — you and jeongin broke up after many arguments about how secret your relationship was. when you find yourself alone and uncomfortable at a club, jeongin comes to your rescue.

Inside the dance practice room, the tension between you and Jeongin was palpable. The air crackled with unspoken words, each movement echoing the silent storm brewing between you.

Jeongin's frustration boiled over, his voice piercing through the air like a knife. "Why do you always have to push me like this?!" he screamed, his hands clenched into fists at his sides.

You shot back, your own voice rising to match his intensity. "I'm tired of pretending like we're just friends when we're not! I want us to be open about us, about what we have!"

His eyes flashed with anger as he stepped closer, his breath hot against your face. "You know why we can't do that! My career, my image, everything will be ruined if they find out about us!"

"I'm not asking you to shout it to the world or to all your fans, Jeongin! But can't you at least acknowledge us when we're with close friends? You won't even let me meet your own members," you pleaded, your voice tinged with hurt and frustration.

Jeongin's jaw clenched, his eyes flashing with defiance. "You know it's not that simple. Our group's dynamic—it's delicate."

"Well, what about me? What about how I feel?" you countered, feeling the tears prickle at the corners of your eyes. "I'm tired of knowing I'm not good enough to be shown off!"

Tears streamed down your cheeks, your heart aching. As he paced back and forth, his frustration palpable in the air.

When he finally spoke, his voice was still thick with anger, his words cutting through the air like shards of glass. "We can't do this anymore," he said, his tone final and resolute.

Your heart sank like a stone as his words echoed in the empty room. "What do you mean?" you whispered, your voice trembling with disbelief.

"Us. We're not meant to be together, not like this."

The pain in his words was like a physical blow, knocking the breath from your lungs as you struggled to comprehend what he was saying. "But… but I love you," you choked out, the words tasting bitter on your tongue.

He shook his head, "I'm sorry."

And with those final words, he turned and walked away, leaving you alone in the empty room, your heart shattered into a million irreparable pieces.

Jeongin knew he was going to finish work late that day. He was filming a music video which was specifically designed for a nighttime setting, which explained the extended working hours. As the filming progressed, each frame meticulously captured, Jeongin's anticipation grew for work to be over. When the time arrived, he eagerly checked his phone, expecting a text from you. However, to no surprise, he was still left with nothing. A furrow formed on his brow as frustration settled in.

He knew he shouldn't be doing this, yet he found himself yearning for your touch, your presence. After all, he had been the one to break things off, and it seemed unreasonable to expect you to reach out. He could still replay each word you said that night. All he wanted now was to hold you close, to reassure you that you were more than enough, that all he ever wanted to do was to protect you.

In the quiet moments of the night, he found himself grappling with the truth he had been avoiding: that despite his attempts to move on, he still loved you, still needed you in ways he couldn't admit even to himself.

He discreetly went to check your location, like he was committing a crime. To his surprise, he learned that you were currently at Hallyu, the most prestigious club in Gangnam favored by the wealthy, including his idol friends. Everyone knew that Hallyu held a reputation for discreet happenings, scandals, unspoken to the public. Whatever happens in Hallyu stays in Hallyu — or within the idols in general.

Going to Hallyu was a good way to unwind after a demanding comeback and promotional activities. Hallyu gets the busiest during the yearly break that most idols get, a time when companies are occupied with contract negotiations. This break becomes crucial for idols to rest, leaving the workload in the hands of their management departments.

What's interesting is that fans haven't realized that these are the only few weeks in the year with fewer comebacks, since everyone is on break. This trend usually happens around spring. During this time, new songs only come from smaller groups who are trying get noticed in the industry and earn revenue.

Jeongin ran a hand through his damp hair, his brows knit in concern. The unusual sight of you at Hallyu without him triggered a sense of worry. You had never ventured there without his company, and considering the strict entry policies, it puzzled him. The bouncers typically ensured you entered only in the presence of someone who was at least a little famous.

His mind raced through various scenarios—was there someone else with you? Perhaps an idol, an actor, or an obnoxiously rich man? He thought about it for a while. Surely you weren’t that poor yourself. Your family was fairly wealthy and your well-paying job provided a comfortable life for you. Yet, the thought of you gaining entry to Hallyu alone or with your everyday college friends seemed highly unlikely, as the club prioritized popularity over financial status. Lost in thought, Jeongin dedicated a considerable minute to pondering these perplexities, his gaze fixed on his phone screen.

"Jeongin," Hyunjin's voice called, pulling him from his contemplation. "You alright? You seem upset."

"No, um," he cleared his throat, still fixated on your icon on his phone screen. "I'm fine, just, um," he stammered. "Wanna go to Hallyu?" The question slipped out suddenly, and he shifted his gaze towards Hyunjin.

Hyunjin's eyes widened with a big smile, and Jeongin couldn't help but know exactly why he was so happy. Hyunjin had been begging for someone to join him at Hallyu. He’s always been quite a party animal. "Yes," he responded almost immediately. "Our hair already looks nice, and we're wearing…" Hyunjin eyed both of them, still clad in outfits from the music video shoot, not the most suitable attire for the club. "I'm sure we can find something hanging on the racks."

And indeed, Hyunjin was right. The stylist had left a few options for them. Jeongin, wanting to make a good impression, chose a clean white dress shirt that was unbuttoned down his chest. His hair had been professionally styled by the staff a few hours earlier, giving it a polished look. Jeongin couldn't help but notice your love for his growing-out hair—your tendency to run your fingers through it while cuddling and the smiles you had on your face when you made makeshift ponytails with his hair.

As he looked at himself in the mirror, a content smile crossed Jeongin's face. These efforts extended beyond just preparing for the club; they were a subtle declaration of his affection for you. Each choice, from the outfit to the hairstyle, was a deliberate attempt to present himself in a way that he knew would resonate with your taste and bring a smile to your face.

Hyunjin was prepared and looked exceptionally beautiful, as always. He carried a sultry vibe to him, enhanced by subtle details like the extra red on his lips and the fifty pounds of exquisite jewelry he made sure to put on.

As they prepared to head towards the car, Seungmin walked up from behind them, curiosity etched on his face. "Where are you two going?" he inquired. "The club," Hyunjin replied. "Alright, I'm coming with you," Seungmin decided. Jeongin gave a nod and a smile, patting Seungmin's shoulder gently before proceeding into the car. He also took charge of steering them to their destination.

"So Jeongin," Hyunjin questioned and leaned forward to the passenger seat where Jeongin was sitting. "Why the sudden change? You've always turned down the club."

Jeongin, with a casual shrug, replied, "Oh, I just haven't gone out in a while, you know? Figured tonight's the night."

Hyunjin furrowed his eyebrows, detecting a hint of something unusual in Jeongin's tone. His suspicion grew, and his lips formed a pout. "Something's off," he thought.

Brushing off his concerns for the moment, Hyunjin turned to Seungmin. "And what about you? Why the sudden interest in going out tonight?" he asked.

Seungmin smirked and looked at the rear-view mirror. "Well, Jeongin's going, so why not join in the fun?"

Hyunjin raised an eyebrow at Seungmin's response, fake offense crossing his features. "So, what you're saying is you only wanted to go because Jeongin's going? I see how it is. Making me feel a bit left out, are we?" he quipped.

Seungmin chuckled. "Well, you know, Jeongin's got that charm."

"I'm offended, but y'know Jeongin asked me first." Hyunjin teased.

"Oh, by the way, wanna know something funny?" Seungmin suddenly mentioned, a mischievous glint in his eyes. With a sly grin, he began, "So, last weekend, I went to another club with this girl. Worst decision ever. The club itself was a disaster and she was just too much, you know?"

Hyunjin, intrigued, leaned towards Seungmin. "Who was it?" he urged.

Seungmin, with a smirk, teased, "That part, I can't tell you. Gotta keep my mouth shut."

Hyunjin persisted, "Oh, come on, give us a hint."

The mischievous look in Seungmin eyes intensified, and he simply replied, "Let's just say, she does music."

Hyunjin's eyes widened in excitement. "No way! An idol? Who could be so bad that she overwhelmed you?" he exclaimed, almost jumping in his seat.

Seungmin, nonchalant, rolled his eyes. "Believe me, it's a mystery."

Hyunjin's excitement reached new heights. "Come on, Minnie! You can't drop a bomb like that and not spill the details. Is she a rookie? Gosh, Kim Seungmin please don't be hanging around children."

Seungmin gasped dramatically, "What no! She's in a group that's been around for a while. But that's it, no more hints!"

Hyunjin, unable to contain his curiosity, leaned forward as if on the verge of revealing his suspicions. "Wait a minute… is it—" He caught himself just in time, the name hovering on the tip of his tongue. A sudden look of realization crossed his face, and he quickly retracted his statement. "Never mind, forget I said anything. I don't want to get into trouble."

Seungmin, smirking at Hyunjin's near revelation, teased, "Careful, Hyunjin." Hyunjin, grinning sheepishly, nodded in agreement.

Jeongin's noticeable silence lingered in the car, prompting Seungmin's concern. "You okay?" he asked, to which Jeongin offered a nod. Meanwhile, Hyunjin had a mischievous smirk on his face.

"So, Jeongin, how's it going with your girl?" Hyunjin probed, and Jeongin shot him a bemused look.

"We're good," Jeongin replied, refusing to tell them that you two had broken up.

Hyunjin rolled his eyes theatrically. "Come on, give us the juicy details. Ever since you two became official, you're acting like it's this huge secret. What's the deal?"

Jeongin, maintaining his composed demeanor, stated, "I don't feel the need to share my love life with everyone." Hyunjin responded with an audible groan as he heard this.

"No one's fun anymore," Hyunjin lamented. "Remember the good old days when you would gush about her. We'd get sick of hearing about your big fat crush on her. Now it's all hush-hush. Boring." He sighed as Seungmin pulled into the vast parking lot of the club.

Seungmin maneuvered the car into a spot, bringing it to a halt. The trio exited the car, and he swiftly locked it, the subtle click echoing in the night. They made their way towards the club entrance, where a formidable bouncer stood guard.

Recognizing the members, the bouncer nodded, allowing them passage. With a nod of gratitude, they entered the vibrant realm of Hallyu.

As soon as they stepped inside, Jeongin excused himself abruptly, leaving Hyunjin and Seungmin exchanging perplexed glances. Over the pounding beats and lively chatter, Hyunjin tried to communicate, "Where do you think he's off to so suddenly?"

Amidst the booming music and pulsating bass, Hyunjin attempted to voice their shared confusion, but Seungmin couldn't hear him. Seungmin strained to hear over the deafening noise, responding with a confused shrug. Hyunjin, realizing the problem, cupped his hands around his mouth and bellowed into Seungmin's ear, "WHERE DO YOU THINK HE'S OFF TO SO SUDDENLY?"

Seungmin, startled from the sudden volume, yelled back, "No idea!" They continued further into the club, navigating the lively crowd while Jeongin ventured off in search of you, his footsteps merging with the rhythmic beats that echoed through the Hallyu atmosphere.

Amidst the pulsating lights and thumping beats, Jeongin navigated through the expansive club, checking every corner except the bar in his quest to find you. The sea of people, familiar faces, and the sheer enormity of the venue made the search challenging.

Navigating through the pulsating crowd, Jeongin unexpectedly collided with Yuna. Her friendly smile greeted him, "Hey, Jeongin."

"Hi, Yuna," Jeongin replied, returning the greeting. Yuna's eyes held a flicker of recognition. "I see you brought your girlfriend here tonight," she remarked, making an assumption Jeongin wasn't prepared for.

Confusion furrowed Jeongin's brow as he eagerly asked, "My girlfriend?"

Yuna insisted, "Yeah, your girlfriend. Why are you so shocked?"

"Because I'm not dating anyone," Jeongin replied.

"Stop lying," Yuna said as she gave him a playful swat across the shoulder.

"Shin Yuna, I'm not, I'm serious," He laughed wholeheartedly.

"Yang Jeongin, I know there's a girl" She stated, giving him the same energy.

Jeongin sighed, accepting his defeat, "Well, did you see her anywhere? I don't know where she is."

Amused, Yuna teased, "How did you lose her?"

Growing more exasperated, Jeongin explained, "Because I didn't bring her here with me. She came without telling me, and I don't even know who she even came with! Just tell me where you saw her."

Rolling her eyes, Yuna quipped, "Jeez, I haven't met her before or seen her tonight, but some of the others pointed her out."

Jeongin face-palmed, frustration evident on his features. "How do people even know about her?"

"Your members are uncontrollable," Yuna chuckled.

Jeongin sighed, seeking more information, "Well, did anyone say where she was?"

"They had drinks with them earlier, so probably one of the bars. Maybe check around?" Yuna suggested, offering a helpful direction amid the chaos of the club.

Concern etched Jeongin's features as he mumbled a quick thanks and continued his search. Determined, he headed toward the bar, hoping to find you amidst the myriad faces in the bustling club.

As Jeongin approached the bar, scanning the crowded area, his heart skipped a beat as he spotted you, plopped on the counter. He could always recognize you from far away by the way your hair fell loose around your shoulders, catching the iridescent lights of the club. He couldn't help but notice the way your tight outfit hugged your curves in all the right places he was so familiar with. Instinctively, he walked up to you and put a gentle hand on your arm out of habit.

Unaware of his identity and startled by the sudden touch, you reacted defensively, swiftly hitting him, mistaking him for a stranger. Jeongin winced but quickly spoke, "Y/N, it's me." Your eyes widened in recognition.

"Jeongin? What are you doing here?" you spoke up, looking around nervously as if checking to see if anyone would notice you two talk to each other.

He arched an eyebrow, his expression turning serious. "I should be asking you the same question. What are you doing here alone?"

Your words came out slurred, and Jeongin's concern deepened as he noticed the unease in your demeanor. "I..." you began, your voice trailing off as tears welled up in your eyes.

Jeongin's heart clenched at the sight of your distress, and he sat down on the bar stool next to yours. "Hey, hey, it's okay," he murmured, his voice soft and soothing. Jeongin's concern deepened as he observed your drunk state. He could see the distress in your eyes and the vulnerability in your words. "Why are you so upset, Y/N?" he asked gently, with worry in his tone.

You hiccupped, the alcohol clearly affecting your composure. "It's just... some of my idol friends, they brought there, but then they left me alone with some guy. They keep doing this. I could never tell them I had a boyfriend, so they keep introducing me to these random men, and it's just... it's a little too much."

Jeongin listened attentively, his jaw clenched in silent anger. He knew how much you used to value your relationship, and the thought of your friends continuously setting you up with strangers without considering your feelings frustrated him.

"You shouldn't have to go through this, Y/N." Jeongin finally spoke.

A tear streamed down your face as you spoke, "And the guy tonight..." you began but a big hiccup interrupted you.

Jeongin's eyes narrowed, his protective instincts kicking in as he listened to your distressed voice. "What happened with him, Y/N? Did he do something to you?" he asked, his voice tense with concern.

You took a shaky breath, trying to compose yourself. "He was just so bad, Jeongin. He kept on touching me and we kissed." You added, "Please don't be mad. I wouldn't take advantage of our breakup like that. I tried to stop him, but he was so pushy, and I didn't know what to do."

Jeongin's eyes tightened with anger as he heard the details of your distressing encounter. He remained silent for a moment, absorbing the gravity of the situation. Your fear was palpable, and he could feel the urgency in your plea for understanding.

Finally, he spoke, his voice low and steady, "Y/N, what does the guy look like?"

You hesitated, fear evident in your eyes. "I don't want to see him again. I just want to forget about it."

Jeongin's expression softened, understanding the depth of your discomfort. "I need to know so I can make sure you're safe. You don't have to face him again, but I need to know who he is."

You reluctantly told him the name of the guy and provided enough visual details for Jeongin to identify him if necessary. As you spoke, Jeongin's jaw clenched, his protective instincts kicking in even more.

After you finished explaining, Jeongin stayed silent for a moment before finally saying, "Y/N, I'll never be mad at you for this. I'm furious at that guy for treating you like that. No one should ever make you feel unsafe."

You nodded, grateful for his understanding. "I just really want a hug right now," you admitted, your voice trembling.

Jeongin's eyes softened, and without a moment's hesitation, he pulled you into a tight embrace. It wasn't the response you were expecting. You had wanted him to suggest something like "Wanna leave? We can take a cab back to your house and I'll stay for the night." and hug you when you got home. Instead, Jeongin, sensing the urgency of the moment, chose to offer comfort right there and then.

As he held you close, the chaotic surroundings of the club seemed to fade away. Jeongin's arms provided a shield, and the steady beat of his heart against your ear drowned out the noise. It was an unexpected moment of tenderness amidst the chaos, a silent reassurance that you weren't alone.

"Jeongin, everyone's going to see," you whispered anxiously, your voice shaking with fear. The overwhelming noise of the club seemed to amplify your vulnerability.

Jeongin continued to hold you close, his hand rubbing soothing circles on your back. "Shh, we're okay," he whispered softly, his words a gentle lullaby to your escalating anxiety. Without breaking the embrace, he pulled back slightly to look into your eyes. "You said you two kissed?" Jeongin questioned.

"He kissed me," you corrected, your voice barely above a whisper.

Jeongin's expression tightened with controlled anger, but before he could say anything, you felt his gentle touch on your face. His thumb brushed away a stray tear, and his eyes locked onto yours. "Where?" he asked, his tone soft but demanding answers.

"On the lips," you replied, your voice trembling. You could see the anger flicker in Jeongin's eyes, but there was something else too—something tender.

Without saying a word, Jeongin leaned in, his hands resting on your waist. As Jeongin's lips met yours, the fear and anxiety began to melt away. It was a kiss that held reassurance, a silent promise that you were fully his.

As the kiss lingered, you couldn't help but marvel at the fact that Jeongin was openly expressing affection in public, something he had never done before. It struck you that he was okay with showing you off to other people at that moment.

However, as Jeongin pulled away, you sensed a sudden shift in the atmosphere. He avoided eye contact, his gaze fixed on some distant point. A knot of worry formed in your stomach. It felt as if he were already regretting it.

"Jeongin, look at me," you urged, your voice filled with concern. But he continued to avoid your gaze, and the worry intensified. "Jeongin," you repeated, trying to catch his eye, but he remained unresponsive.

In a moment of desperation, you gently lifted his chin, forcing him to meet your eyes. What you saw took you aback – tears glistened in Jeongin's eyes. This sight, combined with his refusal to make eye contact, sent a surge of anxiety through you.

"Jeongin, what's wrong?" you asked, your voice trembling. Without hesitation, you reached up to wipe away the tears that trailed down his cheeks. He didn't resist, but his silence and tears spoke volumes.

His emotions seemed overwhelming, and you knew Jeongin was not one to cry in front of so many people. It left you deeply concerned. Looking around, you noticed the crowded nature of the club and realized it wasn't the right place for such a vulnerable moment.

You stood up, gesturing for Jeongin to follow you to a quieter area. The unspoken understanding passed between you as he rose, and you both navigated through the pulsating crowd to find a more secluded spot where you could unravel the emotions that had surfaced.

Finding a small corner away from the pulsating beats and prying eyes, you gestured for Jeongin to sit with you. As you both settled into a more private space, you could feel the weight of the unspoken emotions hanging in the air.

"Jeongin, please tell me what's going on," you pleaded, your worry etched across your face.

He took a deep breath, his shoulders trembling slightly, and finally met your gaze. The pain in his eyes struck you, and you realized that whatever had triggered this emotional response went beyond the events of the night.

"I'm sorry, Y/N," he whispered, his voice catching in his throat. "I didn't mean to... I just..." He struggled to find the right words.

Concern deepening, you gently cupped his face, wiping away the remnants of tears. "Jeongin, you can tell me anything."

Jeongin took a deep breath, his eyes reflecting a mixture of regret and pain. "Y/N, I thought keeping our relationship a secret would protect you from any trouble. But I see now that it only did you worse."

As he spoke, his voice carried the weight of realization, and you listened attentively, still holding his face in your hands.

"The reason you got harassed tonight was all because of me," Jeongin continued, his words laced with self-blame. "I was too afraid to let people know about us, and it got you stuck in situations like this."

Your heart ached for Jeongin's internal struggle, but you could also sense the sincerity in his words. "Jeongin, it's not your fault. I'll never blame you for what happened tonight. Those people were out of line, and it had nothing to do with us keeping our relationship private."

He nodded, appreciating your understanding but still burdened by guilt. "I should have let you tell your friends about us. Then, they would've never tried to set you up with guys like that."

You took a deep breath, your thumb gently caressing his cheek. "Jeongin, it's not your fault. What happened tonight, it could have easily happened anytime. It has nothing to do with you."

Jeongin's shoulders slumped, the weight of his guilt evident in his posture. "I just… I didn't know how to be a good boyfriend. I was scared, so I just broke it off like that." he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper.

Your heart broke at his words, and you reached out to take his hand in yours, offering what little comfort you could. "Jeongin, you are a good boyfriend," you reassured him, your voice firm with conviction. "You were always there for me. When you were keeping our relationship private, your heart was in the right place since you just wanted to protect me."

He shook his head, tears welling up in his eyes once again. "But it hurt you to have to deal with that," he whispered, his voice choked with emotion.

You felt a pang in your chest at his words, "It did at times," you admitted softly. "But what hurt the most was when you broke up with me, Jeongin. I didn't want us to end like that."

Jeongin's gaze softened, his heart aching at the pain he had caused you. "I'm so sorry, Y/N," he whispered, his voice filled with regret. "I never wanted to hurt you. I just... I didn't know how to handle everything, and I thought it was for the best." He paused for a moment, "Can we just forget it all happened?"

You looked at Jeongin, "What do you mean?" you asked softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Jeongin sighed, his gaze dropping to the ground as he struggled to find the right words. "I hate the thought of us breaking up. I hate that word. I don't even want to call it a breakup," he admitted, his voice tinged with uncertainty. "I just... I want to call it... our time to learn from each other."

"Does this mean you want us to get back together?" you asked, your voice laced with cautious optimism.

Jeongin nodded, his eyes meeting yours. "Yes, Y/N," he replied, his voice filled with determination. "I want us to give our relationship another chance. But I don't want us to dwell on this past week like it was some tragedy. I want us to focus on moving forward together, stronger and more committed than ever before."

You smiled softly at Jeongin's words, feeling a sense of relief wash over you. "I want that too, Jeongin," you admitted, your voice filled with sincerity.

"I wanna show you off." He admitted.

"We can take it slow." you reassured.

"No, really," he confirmed, his tone serious. "In fact, if it weren't for running into Yuna earlier and her knowing you as girlfriend, I might never have found you this easily."

Your eyes widened in surprise at his revelation, a soft laugh escaping your lips. "Yuna knew me?" you exclaimed, unable to hide your astonishment.

Jeongin nodded, a chuckle escaping his lips. "Yeah, she did," he confirmed, his eyes shining with amusement. "And thanks to her, I was able to find you and have this conversation with you."

You couldn't help but chuckle at Jeongin's admission, finding his reaction endearing. "Well, I guess we owe Yuna a thank you then," you remarked, a playful glint in your eyes.

Jeongin grinned, nodding in agreement. "Definitely," he replied, his gaze softening as he looked at you. "But you know, I want people to know about you. I want the world to know how much you mean to me."

A soft smile tugged at your lips, touched by his sentiment. "Well, you realize you did kiss me at the bar in front of everyone," you teased gently, a playful glint in your eyes.

Jeongin's cheeks flushed with embarrassment as he realized his slip-up. "Oh right," he muttered sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. "I guess I forgot that there were people around us."

You chuckled softly, reaching out to place a reassuring hand on his arm. "I guess you must've accidentally shut them out."

A tender smile spread across Jeongin's face, his eyes shining with affection. "Yeah, I was probably to focused," he admitted, his voice filled with warmth. "That's what happens when you're in love."

Your heart swelled with warmth at Jeongin's words, feeling the sincerity behind them. As you smiled, Jeongin's expression softened even more, his gaze lingering on your lips. Without a word, he leaned in, closing the distance between you. The world around him seemed to fade away once again as your lips met in a tender kiss.

Wrapping your arms around him, you pulled him closer, deepening the kiss. Sensing your desire, Jeongin responded eagerly, his arms encircling you as he lifted you effortlessly. You found yourself straddling him, your bodies pressed together as the kiss grew more passionate, more urgent.

He pulled away slightly, his lips lingering dangerously close to yours. In the hushed space between you, he whispered those three words, "I love you," his breath warm against your skin.

"I love you t-", Before you could respond, before you could utter those same words that had been waiting on the tip of your tongue, he silenced you by shoving his tongue into your opened mouth.

You eagerly welcomed him, losing yourself in the heat of the moment. There was an urgency, a hunger in the way he kissed you, as if he couldn't get enough of you, as if he wanted to consume you entirely.

As the two of you were lost in the intensity of your make out sesh, a voice suddenly shattered the passionate haze. "Yang Jeongin!" The voice was loud and unmistakable, causing both of you to pull apart, breathless and startled.

Turning towards the source of the interruption, you were met with the sight of Hyunjin, his eyes wide and his mouth hanging open in disbelief.

[straylightdream]

what am i missing | 3racha

act three: “Let’s get you naked.”

↳ in your mid to late twenties you’re left wondering if you missed your sexual awakening. With a the help of friends you start to really find yourself.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: for the story as a whole angst, a little fluff, body image issues, and self doubt, cussing all smut warnings listed below for what is in this story.

series masterlist

𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐬.

𝐚𝐧: these will be shorter Drabble style chapters. 𝐢𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐝 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐦𝐞 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰. Please fill out this form.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: for the story as a whole, oral (fem & male receiving), piv, unprotected sex, groping, threesome, use or traffic light system, choking, and spanking, more warning to come.

Changbin hasn’t always been as confident as he is now. He spent his teen years struggling with being shy. When he got to college he really became more confident.

From the moment Changbin lost his virginity he learned his favorite thing about having sex was pleasing his partner. As soon as he discovered you didn’t know what it’s like to be with someone whose only goal was to bring you pleasure, he knew he wanted to be that person for you.

Since he met you, you were always close but he always felt a need to protect you and wanted to make sure you were happy.

Kissing Changbin felt completely different then any boy you had kissed before. One hand held your face while resting his other hand on your soft side. He slowly walked you backwards until your back hit the door with a thud.

“I’m going to worship you,” he groans with his lips against yours.

Pulling away from your lips he gives you a lust filled look. “Can we go to my room?” You say finally speaking. The thought of having sex in the middle of your living made you feel self conscious for some reason.

Without a word he leads you to your bedroom. He shuts the door and smiles. “Let’s get you naked.”

It took very little effort for him to have you completely naked.

Laying on your back with your legs spread. He pressed wet kisses across your thigh. The moment his lips touched your clit you couldn’t help but moan. Your fingers tangle in his soft curls while his mouth pushes you closer and closer to the edge. With every guy you've ever been with, none of them ever seemed eager to eat you out, while Changbin wanted to and was enthusiastic about it.

Your first orgasm you have with Changbin has you arching your back off bed while your fingers tug on his hair. Your voice doesn’t even sound like your own as you moan his name loudly. Thank god you live alone and nobody can hear the noise coming out of you. Your grip loosens on his hair and you throw your hair back gasping for air.

Pushing himself up, Changbin is wearing a satisfied grin before licking his lips. “That was fucking hot.”

“I’ve never come that hard,” you pant, still trying to catch your breath.

“We haven’t even gotten to the best part. Do you have any condoms?” He asks, pushing down his boxers.

“Top draw of my nightstand.”

Hoping off your bed he opens the drawer and pulls out two things. Your cheeks instantly flush at the sight of him holding up your pink vibrator.

“One time we’ll have to play with this together,” he smirks before setting it on top of your nightstand.

Tearing the foil packet open he slowly slides it down his length. Changbin is thick so you know it’s what’s about to happen and is gonna feel good. Getting onto the bed he sits on his knees between your spread legs.

He slides this thick length between your folds. His head brushes your sensitive clit earning a gasp. He reaches down maneuvering your leg so it rests on his shoulder.

“Are you sure you want me to fuck you?” He asked, tapping his dick against your already wet pussy.

“Please.”

The moment he slowly pushed into you a soft moan passed your lips. One of his hands gripped your thigh while the other rubbed your hip. His eyes were locked on yours while a smile played across his lips. “Are you going to be a good girl and take all of me?”

His words lit a fire inside you. You couldn’t even think of words to form you just mindlessly nodded your head.

Once you were filled completely he stills gave you a moment. You look at him and can’t help but notice how incredibly good looking he is. “God you’re hot,” you groan.

He laughs lightly. “You’re beautiful,” he says before kissing your knee.

“Can you move?”

His thrust are slow but firm at first. He’s making sure he’s hitting a deep spot inside of you that makes your toes curl. Having sex is different than anything you have experienced before. Your stomach feels like a coil is tightening with each and every thrust. He still sitting on his knees between your legs. His hand kneads your thigh and the other hand rest on top to your core. His thumb is dragging slow circles across your sensitive clit.

“I’m close,” you whimper.

“Are you going to come again?”

“Please.” Your body craves the feeling of falling apart again. You want the sweet release that Changbin is going to give you. The coil snaps and your walls flutter around his thick length. Having sex with Changbin is like nothing you have ever experienced before.

As you ride out your high he finds his own release. He stays in you for a long moment gently rubbing your thigh as his chest rises and falls.

He pulls out you removing the condom and tossing it in the bin. He lays down next to you and gently presses his lips to yours for a gentle kiss. Without even thinking you curl up next to him resting your head on his chest.

[ghoulsbounty]

From a Previous Life (Pt 4)

Cooper Howard (The Ghoul) x Preg!Reader

Summary: You and the Ghoul quickly learn that your actions—and your words—carry significant consequences.

Warnings: Emotional hurt/comfort, pregnancy, doctor examination, sickness/radiation poisoning, arguing, angst, grief, yearning, rejection, slow burn, stubbornness, canon-typical violence, miscommunication, mention of blood/wound, reader throws things.

Word Count: 7.1K

A/N: It's been a while since I posted for this story, part 4 has been kicking my butt! Lots of angst and drama as usual, but the happy ending is on the horizon! I'd love to know what you think 💌

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

After thoroughly scouring the house and filling his saddlebag with every vial he could find in the basement, the Ghoul was adamant that you both leave immediately and put as much distance as possible between yourselves and the grim scene. You offered no resistance; despite the crushing fatigue that weighed heavily on your body and muddled your thoughts, you were eager to escape the horrors of that place. The pervasive stench of blood and decay had seeped into your clothing, becoming nearly suffocating, making it difficult to breathe and causing a deep ache in your chest.

As you left, you couldn't resist the urge to glance back at the lifeless forms of Mags and her family. The scene struck you deeply, like a blow to the gut that stole your breath away. In her final moments, Mags had dragged herself to her son, her fingers interlocking with his as she drew her last breath. That image seared itself into your mind, intensifying your desperation to leave until you were nearly sprinting out of the door.

The house now loomed as a grim testament to the violence that had transpired within its walls. Shadows gathered thickly in the corners, murmuring unsettling recollections you wished to erase from your mind. Each groan of the floorboards and whisper of the wind through shattered windows seemed to echo with ghostly reminders of the atrocities you had witnessed—and narrowly escaped. This sinister ambiance was compounded by a deeper regret: your inability to rescue the Ghoul, resulting in your needing to be rescued by him once again.

The Ghoul moved with a newfound intensity and focus that left your nerves frayed. Normally cautious, almost paranoid about traveling after dark with you in tow, his demeanour had shifted dramatically. Driven by a sense of urgency, he hurriedly led the way outside. "We can't stay here," he growled under his breath, more to himself than to you, his voice a tense murmur. "It's not safe. The next town isn't far; we can make it if we hurry." His words were laced with determination, pushing both of you forward into the encroaching darkness.

His usual paranoia had transformed into a fierce resolve. The normally measured pace was replaced by swift, almost frantic strides, and you struggled to keep up. Each step was a battle against the pain and exhaustion that threatened to overwhelm you, but the Ghoul's insistence was infectious, propelling you forward despite the fatigue weighing down your limbs.

"We're close," he assured, though it was unclear whether he was speaking to you or trying to convince himself. The path ahead was cloaked in shadows, the only light coming from the dim glow of the moon partially hidden by clouds. The noises of the night—distant howls, rustling amongst the dunes, the occasional whistle of the wind—kept your nerves on edge, but the Ghoul's presence offered a small measure of comfort despite your earlier confrontation.

You remained silent, too afraid to question why he was so determined to leave the house in such a hurry. You had your own reasons to comply—each step a painful reminder as your shirt rubbed against the scratch on your pregnant belly—but his urgency unnerved you. He was usually the epitome of calm under pressure, but now he appeared almost desperate, causing your own anxiety to simmer just below the surface.

You cast a wary glance at the Ghoul, observing the tension etched into his features. His jaw was clenched tight, and his eyes flicked restlessly from side to side, meticulously scanning the surroundings for any potential threats. The silence stretched taut between you, a palpable tension hanging in the air. As you approached the edge of the property line, the urge to speak became overwhelming. Unable to suppress your curiosity and growing unease, you finally broke the silence.

"What's chasing us?" you whispered, the question escaping your lips before you could rein it in. His head snapped towards you, eyes narrowing for a moment before he responded, his voice low and gravelly.

"You don't need to worry about that," he murmured. The edge in his tone cut through the night air, sending a chill down your spine. "Just hurry up," he said louder this time, his voice firm. As the faint outline of the town emerged, he quickened his pace, and you struggled to keep up, your backpack bouncing painfully against your spine with each hurried step.

Your breaths came in ragged gasps, the icy air searing your lungs as a sudden, sharp pang shot through your abdomen. Clutching your stomach, you recoiled in horror when your hand came away slick with thick, crimson blood. Lifting your shirt, the dim light revealed the alarming state of your wound. What had started as a mere surface scratch had transformed into a grotesque display of infected tissue, marked by unsettling shades of green and purple. Yellowish pus oozed from the lesion, trickling down your trembling thigh, each drop intensifying your dread.

The sight alone was enough to send waves of panic through you, but it was the accompanying symptoms—the feverish chills, the throbbing pain, and the overwhelming weakness—that truly underscored the gravity of your situation. Your heart pounded in your chest, a frantic rhythm that mirrored the escalating fear gripping your mind as you realized just how dire your circumstances had become.

Dizziness overwhelmed you, a disorienting fog clouding your thoughts as a wave of nausea surged, making your mouth water uncontrollably. The chilling night air felt like icy tendrils wrapping around you, adding to the disorientation. You fought to steady your breathing and quell the nausea, each breath a struggle against the rising panic that threatened to consume you. Your vision blurred, and the ground beneath your feet seemed to sway.

You knew you should tell him about your worsening condition, but you were reluctant to add to his worry. The Ghoul had enough on his mind without your complications, you rationalized, though a niggling part of you wanted to keep it secret just to spite him. Despite his presence and support, the unresolved tension between you lingered, feeding your stubbornness.

"We're almost there," you muttered to yourself, a mantra to keep your legs moving. The Ghoul glanced back at you, his eyes narrowing as he noticed your distress.

"Everything okay?" he asked, his voice tinged with concern.

You forced a weak smile, nodding slightly. "I'm fine," you lied, the words tasting bitter on your tongue. The effort to appear composed was draining, and the dizziness intensified, making it harder to focus on the path ahead.

The town's lights shimmered in the distance, their soft glow promising relief and safety. Each step felt heavier, your legs trembling with the effort to keep moving. The Ghoul eyed you warily, noting the beads of sweat that dripped from your brow despite the harsh coolness of the evening. His hand reached out suddenly, gripping your arm and stopping you in your tracks. You swayed on unsteady feet, his firm hold the only thing keeping you upright. His eyes, filled with concern, searched your face for an explanation you weren't ready to give.

"What's wrong?" he asked, his voice low and demanding.

You took a shaky breath, trying to steady yourself. "It's nothing," you mumbled, but your body betrayed you, another wave of dizziness making you clutch at his side for support.

"Don't lie to me," he said, his grip tightening. "You're not fine. Tell me what's going on."

Your vision blurred again, dark spots dancing at the edges, and you stumbled, the infection's toll on your body becoming undeniable. Each pulse of pain radiating from the wound sapped your strength, making it increasingly difficult to stay upright. Despite this, a stubborn part of you resisted admitting the severity of your condition, not wanting to appear weak or vulnerable.

The Ghoul tightened his grip on your arm as he shook you gently but firmly, trying to snap you out of your daze. "Tell me. Now." He urged, his voice low but intense. He dipped his head to meet your eyes, which wandered aimlessly, struggling to focus.

"I... I'm not feeling well," you stammered to the Ghoul, your voice quivering as you struggled to focus on him through the growing haze of discomfort. His eyes widened as he pulled your hand away from your stomach, revealing the crimson stain seeping through your wet shirt. He lifted the hem, his teeth clenching at the sight of the grievous wound.

His gloved hands moved with a mixture of desperation and gentleness as he examined the area around the infected wound. He was careful not to press too hard, yet his touch was thorough, probing the extent of the damage. The seriousness of the situation was unmistakable in his expression—the furrowed brow, the tight set of his jaw, and the flicker of panic in his eyes. You could see him mentally calculating the next steps, his mind racing to figure out how best to manage the injury in the desolate surroundings.

The cold air bit at your exposed skin, adding to your discomfort, while the distant lights of the town seemed both tantalizingly close and frustratingly far. The Ghoul's demeanour was a blend of determination and fear as he quickly formulated a plan in his mind.

"Is it bad?" you asked, your voice barely more than a whisper, thin with fear. You weren't sure if you truly wanted to know the answer, and even less sure that he would tell you. His eyes flickered with something unreadable and he hesitated for a moment, as if weighing how much to reveal.

He grasped your wrist and began rapidly tapping on the screen of your Pip-Boy, his eyes scanning the information with growing alarm. The glow from the screen illuminated the deep lines around his sunken eyes, and in your hazy state, you thought about how handsome he looked. When he finally looked up, you felt unsteady under his worried gaze.

"We need to go—now," he declared, his voice leaving no room for hesitation. His grip tightened around your forearm, the pressure both reassuring and insistent, as he tried to pull you up. The intensity in his eyes and the firmness of his hold made it clear that there was no time to waste, and your mind struggling to keep pace with the rapid escalation of the situation.

Despite his urgency, your legs betrayed you. They faltered, stumbling and ultimately failing as you collapsed onto the sandy ground with a soft thud. The Ghoul's voice echoed as if from a distance, his words urging you to get up, but your body felt disconnected, heavy, and unresponsive. A visceral wave of panic surged through you, tightening its grip around your chest, making it hard to breathe. The edges of your vision began to blur, darkness creeping in, threatening to engulf your senses like a spreading shadow.

As you lay sprawled on the cold, sandy ground, the Ghoul quickly bent down to your level, his face etched with unease. He searched your eyes, looking for any flicker of awareness, but your responses were slow, your eyelids heavy and fluttering, making his movements appear surreal and drawn out, as if you were both submerged underwater.

Despite the chill that pervaded the air, beads of sweat continued to form on your forehead, streaming down your face as a fever raged within you. In a feeble attempt to find solace, you reached out blindly, seeking the familiar touch of your companion, only to grasp at the empty, chilling air.

Then, a profound dizziness overwhelmed you, like being pulled into a deep, dark chasm. You lost all sense of direction, no longer aware of what was up or down, past or present. The world around you faded to nothingness as you slipped further away, drifting into an inescapable void that swallowed all consciousness.

A faint voice, soft yet persistent, gently coaxed you back from the void's embrace. Wrapped in a dense fog, your mind meandered through scattered memories, teetering on the edge of consciousness. Slowly, sensations began to return as if awakening from a deep slumber; nerves tingled and flickered back to life under your tentative command. The first movement was a mere twitch of a finger, but it felt monumental, the brush of thin cotton against your skin amplifying the moment.

What happened? Where were you? These questions nudged at the corners of your slowly clearing mind. With effort, you drew a deep breath, marshalling the strength to pry your eyes open. They fluttered initially, rebelling against the harshness of light and the strain of waking. Gradually, your vision steadied, focusing upward at a ceiling marred by stains and the passage of time. You lay still for a moment, taking in your surroundings, trying to piece together how you had arrived at this unfamiliar place.

"Thought I'd lost you again," the voice spoke, its timbre resonating with relief and lingering anxiety. You turned your head slowly, your neck stiff and uncooperative, to see the Ghoul sitting in a dusty armchair nestled in the corner of the room. He had one leg crossed over the other, and his hands were clenched into tight fists resting in his lap. His posture betrayed the tension that had not yet left him.

"You seem to have a nasty habit of getting away from me," he added, a faint, wry smile playing at the edges of his lips, softening the sternness that had settled over his features. The combination of relief and reproach in his eyes alluded to the worry he had endured. The dusty armchair creaked slightly as he shifted, uncrossing his legs and leaning forward, his gaze never leaving you.

Your lips parted to respond, but the pain and dryness in your throat silenced you, leaving only a strained whisper. The effort made your vision blur momentarily, and you felt a wave of dizziness threaten to pull you back under.

The Ghoul jumped from his seat, closing the distance between you in two swift strides. He grabbed a glass of water from the side table and held it to your lips. His hand gently rested underneath your chin, helping you tilt your head back into the pillow as you swallowed painfully. The cool water soothed your raw throat, each gulp easing the burning sensation and bringing a momentary relief from the discomfort. His gloved touch was surprisingly tender, his eyes filled with concern as he looked down at you.

"Easy now," he murmured, his voice softer than you had ever heard it. The rough exterior he usually presented was momentarily stripped away, revealing a depth of care you hadn't fully realized before. As you finished the water, he set the glass aside, his hand lingering on your chin before carefully adjusting the pillow behind your head, ensuring you were comfortable.

"Thanks," you managed to whisper, your voice still hoarse but filled with gratitude. "Guess you can't get rid of me, can you?" You joked, your voice light despite the underlying exhaustion. 

A hint of a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. "Wouldn't want to," he replied, his tone gruff but softened by a note of sincerity. A flutter rose in your stomach at his words, and you felt an ache at the growing distance between you as he returned to his seat. Your fingers flexed against the bedsheet, wanting to reach out to him, but the memory of his words in the house still lingered.

The room seemed colder without his proximity, the silence stretching out once more. You watched him, noting the tension still evident in his posture, the way his hands clenched and unclenched restlessly in his lap. His gaze was fixed on some distant point, lost in thoughts you couldn't decipher.

As your eyes adjusted and began to focus, you took in more of the surroundings. You were in a bedroom, worn and slightly dishevelled. The vanity mirror across from the bed was cracked, its spiderweb fractures distorting the reflections it caught. A large, old wardrobe stood partially open, its doors unable to fully close, with clothes spilling out like colourful waterfalls onto the dusty floor.

The walls were faded, peeling wallpaper hinting at a time long past, while the floorboards creaked softly under any movement. A small nightstand next to the bed held your Pip-Boy and the empty glass. The bed you lay in had a wrought iron frame, rusted and showing signs of age, with a thin, threadbare quilt covering you. A faint scent of dust and age hung in the air, mingling with a lingering hint of antiseptic from recent efforts to clean and treat your injuries.

Despite its state, the room had a certain charm, a sense of having been lived in and cared for, even if that care had become sporadic over the years. The small details—a chipped teacup on the vanity, a child's drawing pinned to the wall—made it feel almost homely.

Your eyes widened in a flash of panic as you turned back to the Ghoul, but he cut you off before you could speak. "We aren't back there," he quickly interjected, his voice firm but reassuring, keen to alleviate your fears even momentarily. "We're safe."

His words settled some of the immediate panic, and you took a deep breath, trying to ground yourself in the present. Of course he hadn't taken you back to Mags' house, he'd wanted to get away from there almost as much as you had. Maybe more.

"Where are we?" you croaked, trying to make sense of your surroundings. Your gaze shifted to the window, where thin curtains let slivers of daylight filter through, casting faint patterns on the floor. The sounds of street vendors calling out their wares and distant bird calls drifted in, mingling with the occasional clatter of footsteps and murmured conversations from passers-by.

He shifted slightly in his seat, the gentle sunlight casting a warm glow on his worn features. "A makeshift clinic, managed by an old friend," he explained, his voice calm but laced with a hint of unease. "It's safe, for now." His eyes flickered towards the window, as if to reassure himself of the safety he promised, before returning to you with a determined expression.

He paused, his face reflecting deep thought as he carefully considered his next words. "You've been unconscious for almost two days," he disclosed, his voice heavy with the weight of the vigilance he had maintained while watching over you. His eyes were shadowed with exhaustion, the lines on his face more pronounced from the sleepless nights.

"You should have told me," he said, his voice a mix of frustration and concern. "How could you be so reckless to keep this to yourself?" His eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that made it impossible to look away, the weight of his stare drilling into your conscience. The guilt welled up inside you, sharp and consuming, making your chest tighten with regret.

"I didn't want to bother you," you said softly.

He scoffed in response, rolling his eyes. "That's ridiculous," he muttered.

Narrowing your eyes in determination, you pushed yourself up to rest against the pillow, wincing slightly from the effort. The fabric rustled as you settled into a more upright position, your gaze locked onto his, the resolve in your eyes challenging the storm of emotions swirling in his.

"I'm tired of being a burden," you continued, your voice steadier now. The weight of your words hung in the air, the unspoken resentment evident in your tone. The room felt still, the sounds from outside momentarily fading as the intensity of the moment drew both of your focuses inward.

He shook his head, a sneer playing on his lips as he looked at you. "That's not your choice to make," he said, his tone carrying a cold edge. His eyes shifted away from you, staring out the window as if searching for answers in the distance.

The room seemed to grow colder, the sunlight no longer providing its gentle warmth but instead highlighting the tension between you. Each breath you took felt heavier than the last, the weight of unspoken words pressing down on both of you. The air was thick with emotions, and the distance between you felt insurmountable.

A chill ran through you, his words settling like a heavy weight in the space between you. "Seems I don't get much choice over anything nowadays," your voice wavered slightly, but you held his gaze when it snapped back to you, determined to confront him. You could see his jaw tighten, his eyes flickering with a mixture of frustration and something you couldn't quite identify. Each second stretched out painfully as you waited for his response.

"If you've got a death wish, that's between you and that baby," he growled through clenched teeth, pointing at your pregnant belly. "But don't drag me into it. I'm not hauling my ass across the desert just for you to throw your life away at every turn," he spat, his words sharp and biting.

Your breath caught in your throat as his words sunk in. "Glad to see where your priorities truly lie," you said, tears welling in your eyes. Anger surged through you at his insinuation. You didn't have a death wish—far from it. Since the bombings, you had fought tooth and nail to survive and to keep your baby safe, and he knew that.

His words felt like a betrayal. Whether he was trying to push you further away to save face or make it clear that he really did feel nothing for you, his harshness cut deep. The tears spilled over, tracing hot paths down your cheeks. "You know I've done everything to keep us alive," you continued, voice trembling with emotion. "I can't believe you'd think otherwise."

His eyes flickered with a brief moment of regret, but it was quickly masked by the anger that still lingered. "I'm just trying to keep you safe," he muttered, but the words felt hollow against the backdrop of your pain.

"I never wanted this!" you shouted, your voice cracking. "You captured me. I didn't ask for any of this!"

The anger and fear boiled over, and your desperate cries filled the room, making the air between you almost suffocating. The walls seemed to echo your words, amplifying the magnitude of the moment. His expression remained hard, but you could see a flicker of something cross them.

"You think I wanted this?" he shot back, his voice rising. "None of this was supposed to happen!"

"You should have just left me out there!" You cried, voice breaking under the weight of your anguish.

"I wish I did!" The raw emotion in his voice startling you as he stood up, his figure towering over you. The intensity of his words cut through your anger, slicing deep into your heart and leaving you both teetering on the brink of something irreversible. His face was flushed with a mixture of regret and pure fury, and the raw vulnerability in his eyes was a stark contrast to the harshness of his words.

The silence that followed was thick with unspoken words and unresolved pain. Each of you grappled with the complex web of emotions that bound you together, the weight of your shared past and uncertain future pressing down heavily.

You wrapped your arms protectively around your belly, your gaze dropping to the intricately patterned bedsheets. The delicate floral design blurred as tears welled up in your eyes. "Get out," you whispered, your voice barely audible, but the sharp flinch of his jaw from the corner of your eye told you that he had heard you clearly.

The words felt like lead on your tongue, heavy and final, as you struggled to maintain your composure. The room, once a refuge, now felt like a battleground. You could sense his presence still looming over you, his conflicting emotions almost tangible in the air between you. The moment stretched, every second amplifying the tension.

Tears streamed down your cheeks as you thought back to the memories you'd shared together. Each recollection felt like a dagger to the heart—the lingering gazes, the fleeting moments when you sought solace in his arms, the fragile bond you believed was forming between you. Perhaps it had all been a figment of your imagination, a desperate illusion in the midst of chaos.

The realization struck you like a punch to the gut, leaving you breathless and reeling. The weight of it pressed down on you, squeezing the air from your lungs and making your chest ache. You remembered the way his eyes would soften, the rare, fleeting smiles that had given you hope, the comforting warmth of his embrace. But now, those memories felt like cruel jokes, mocking your naïve belief in a connection that perhaps never truly existed.

The Ghoul sighed, running his tongue over his teeth as his gaze briefly flickered to the ground before locking back onto you. "What are you gonna do?" he asked, his tone softer but still edged with irritation. "Don't be so foolish; you wouldn't last a second out there alone."

"Maybe not, but that's no concern of yours," you retorted, refusing to meet his gaze. "If you don't want us, then we don't want you either." You placed a firm hand on the swell of your belly, feeling the life growing inside you.

A small flurry of movement, a determined kick from within, gave you a momentary pause. The sensation was both a reminder and a source of strength. You sniffed, drawing in a shaky breath, and willed your voice to work as you finally looked up at him through bleary eyes, the tears making everything a blur. "Leave," you commanded, your voice trembling but resolute.

He sighed again and moved toward you with an outstretched hand, but you stopped him mid-step. "Go! Get out!" you shouted, your voice echoing off the walls.

The Ghoul looked at you exasperatedly. "There's nothing for you here with me, do you understand? Dispel any romantic notions you have about me, darlin'. I am not a good man," he said, his eyes pleading with you. "But it doesn't mean I want you in harms way—far from it. Just listen to me, dammit."

His words cut through the air like a knife, sharp and final. "I said get out!" You shouted again, your hand gripped the Pip-Boy on the nightstand, and with a surge of adrenaline, you hurled it towards him. He ducked just in time, the metal device shattering against the wall behind him. Shards of glass and metal scattered across the floor, the sharp sound punctuating the tension in the room.

He straightened up, his eyes wide with shock. The silence that followed was deafening, broken only by your heavy breathing. You sat there, chest heaving, eyes blazing with a mix of fury and desperation. The broken pieces of the Pip-Boy lay on the floor, a stark reminder of the irreparable rift between you.

"Just leave," you said, your voice now a raw whisper. "We don't need you." The determination in your eyes left no room for argument. He hesitated for a moment, his gaze lingering on you, before turning and walking out of the room, the door closing behind him with a finality that echoed through the stillness.

A few hours later, a knock on the door startled you from your sobs. The door creaked open, and an elderly man entered. His features bore the unmistakable signs of ghoulification: mottled, decaying skin and sunken eyes. Despite his unsettling appearance, his expression was warm and kind, a gentle smile softening the harsh lines of his face.

You eyed him warily as he stepped into the room, each movement slow and deliberate, as if he was conscious of not alarming you further. The contrast between his ghastly visage and the kindness in his eyes created a strange, almost disorienting juxtaposition, leaving you uncertain but cautiously hopeful.

"Good to see you awake," he greeted with a gentle smile, his voice carrying a soothing, raspy tone. He moved toward your bedside with a practiced ease that spoke of long experience and familiarity with such situations. His steps were steady and confident, his presence oddly comforting in the wake of the Ghoul's absence. 

He stopped next to you, his eyes briefly scanning the room before focusing on the IV bag connected to your arm. With expert hands, he adjusted the flow, his touch slow and precise. "Your friend said you were feeling better," he remarked, glancing back at you with a reassuring nod. "Looks like the RadAway is working," he commented, his tone imbued with calm confidence. 

The mention of 'your friend' had your eyes darting to the door, replaying the memory of him walking out of it hours before. A sudden dread gripped you as the realization struck: perhaps it really would be the last time you saw him. Why wouldn't it be? You'd told him to leave, said you didn't want him, which was only partially true.

The truth was more complicated. You wanted him. You undeniably craved his affection and needed his approval, but your stubbornness—almost a mirror of his own—kept you from admitting it. He had made it clear that he didn't want you, or at least that's what his words said. Yet, his actions often told a different story, leaving you confused and frustrated.

You weren't going to beg. Pride and self-respect wouldn't allow it, no matter how much your heart ached for him to come back. The conflicting emotions swirled within you, a storm of longing, pride, and hurt. You drew a shaky breath, pushing the thoughts aside as you refocused on the present, determined not to let your vulnerability show.

"Dry your eyes, pet," the doctor said softly, offering you a handkerchief from his pocket. You took it with a grateful smile, dabbed at your wet cheeks until you felt the tears ebb.

"Thank you," you whispered, watching as the yellow liquid filled the tube attached to your arm. "What is RadAway?" you queried, your eyes narrowing slightly with caution as the elderly ghoul continued his examination, his fingers pressing against your wrist to check your pulse.

"It's a medical treatment used to flush radiation from the body," he explained, his voice steady and informative. "It speeds up recovery, especially with injuries like yours." He paused, then gave you a concerned look. "It's essential out here. I'm surprised you don't know about it."

His eyes held a hint of curiosity, perhaps even worry, as he studied your reaction. The weight of his gaze made you acutely aware of your vulnerability and the gaps in your survival skills, but his tone remained kind, without a trace of judgment.

You sniffed and feigned a smile. "I'm still getting my bearings on the surface," you said, your voice small.

His eyes flickered with an unspoken understanding, a subtle nod acknowledging the enormity of adjusting to life above ground. The corners of his mouth turned up slightly in a sympathetic smile, and he placed a reassuring hand on your arm.

"That makes sense," he replied softly, his voice full of understanding. "It's a lot to take in, but you're lucky your friend got you here when he did. He almost woke the whole town with his hollering. I was in the middle of a quiet evening when the commotion started. I looked out the window and saw him rushing through the streets, carrying you in his arms. Poor feller, the colour drained straight from his face with all the worry—well, as much as it can drain from us irradiated folk."

He paused, shaking his head slightly with a wry smile. "He was frantic, you know, practically bursting through the door, demanding help. I've seen people in desperate situations before, but the way he looked at you... It was clear you mean a lot to him."

The doctor's words painted a vivid picture, but you shook your head, dispelling the hopeful image he conjured. The Ghoul's actions came about as a result of you flaking out on him during his urgency to get away from that house. Despite wanting to believe otherwise, you reminded yourself that you didn't mean anything to him.

"He was just trying to get away," you murmured, more to yourself than to the doctor. "I collapsed, and he didn't have a choice."

The doctor studied you for a moment, his expression thoughtful. "Maybe," he conceded gently, "but actions speak louder than words. Sometimes, people show they care in ways they can't admit to themselves."

You didn't respond, letting his words linger in the air as he pulled a rusted stethoscope from his coat, preparing to listen to your heart. The cold metal pressed against your skin, a stark contrast to the warmth of your conflicting thoughts.

As the doctor listened intently, you couldn't help but replay the moments of the Ghoul's protectiveness in your mind. The anguish on his face when he found you at the house, the curl of his finger beckoning you closer, his arms wrapping tightly around you as you lost yourself in his touch. Had you really imagined those moments? The ones before those? They felt as real as the beat of your heart pounding against your chest at the thought of them.

The tenderness in his eyes, the security of his embrace—it all seemed too genuine to be mere figments of your imagination. Yet, his harsh words and actions contradicted those fleeting instances of connection, leaving you in a state of confusion and doubt.

But sometimes, kind words did slip through. You remembered what he had said hours ago, before the shouting: you had told him that he couldn't get rid of you, and his response had been a soft admission, almost lost in the tension of the moment. "Wouldn't want to," he'd said.

You were so hurt by his past rejection, by his constant pushing you away rather than addressing any feelings he may harbour, that you didn't stop to consider, in the heat of the moment, that perhaps you were doing the exact same thing when you told him to leave.

The doctor finished his examination and removed the stethoscope, his eyes meeting yours with a mixture of concern and curiosity. "Your heart sounds strong," he said, his tone reassuring. "Physically, you're doing better. But don't ignore what's happening inside here," he added, gently tapping his temple.

You nodded absently, his advice barely registering as you continued to grapple with your emotions. The lines between reality and wishful thinking blurred, and you found yourself longing for clarity in the midst of the turmoil.

"Would you like me to check?" he asked, gesturing to your stomach that you still hugged protectively. You blinked, slow to understand until he mouthed 'the baby.' He was a genuine doctor, or as close to one as you could find in the wastelands. The individuals who had held you captive in the vault were more torturers disguised as scientists than actual healers. However, the risk of revealing your pregnancy was not lost on you, especially after recent events.

His hands stilled as he met your gaze with an understanding that seemed to stretch beyond the typical patient-doctor exchange. It was evident he had a wealth of experience dealing with the unique challenges of the wasteland, a far cry from the so-called doctors of your past who had hidden cruelty behind their clinical masks.

"Yes please," you replied, your voice tinged with apprehension. You hesitated, weighing the risk of revealing too much against the need to know your child's fate. "Is my baby okay? Can you tell me?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, yet laden with the weight of your worries and hopes.

The elderly ghoul's expression softened further, and he nodded slowly, placing a reassuring hand on your arm. "Let's take a look," he said gently, reaching for a small, somewhat battered handheld device from his bag. He moved the device slowly over your abdomen, his eyes focused intently on the faint screen.

After a moment, he looked up, a small smile breaking through his weathered features. "From what I can see, your baby seems to be doing just fine," he announced softly. "The heartbeat is strong and steady. You're both fighters, that's clear."

Relief washed over you upon hearing the doctor's reassuring words, easing some of the persistent tension that had gripped you since you regained consciousness. Your eyes instinctively sought the Ghoul's, and your heart dropped at the sight of the empty chair.

"A few more days of rest and you should be back on your feet," the doctor said, gently covering your stomach with the thin sheet. He reached into his bag and pulled out a small bottle of pills. "Take one a day with food, and if you come into contact with any large bouts of radiation, double the dose until you can get some RadAway," he instructed, handing you the bottle.

The torn label read Rad-X, and you turned it in your hand, trying to decipher the rest of the words. The doctor watched you with a patient expression, his gaunt features softening as he spoke. "Rad-X is used to increase your resistance to radiation," he explained, his voice steady. "It’s different from RadAway, but just as important, especially with your...relations," he finished, and your cheeks burned at his insinuation.

You thanked the doctor when he promised to check on you again soon before leaving the room. As the door closed behind him, you sighed and settled back into your pillow. Relief washed over you knowing your baby was healthy, but the sense of being on your own left your heart heavy. The room felt both too big and too small, the deafening silence pressing in on you as you stared at the Rad-X label, contemplating the uncertain future that lay ahead.

You didn't see the Ghoul after that, but a supply of RadAway and bullets appeared on your bedside table. The sight of the neatly arranged supplies made you pause, a mix of surprise and gratitude washing over you. You assumed it was his doing, imagining him sneaking in during the night amidst the few hours you'd managed to sleep. The thought of him moving silently through the darkened room, leaving behind the essentials you needed, brought a bittersweet pang to your heart.

A woman named Ada, who you had come to learn was the owner of the establishment, dropped in regularly to bring you warm meals. They were hearty and nourishing, intended to build your strength, but your appetite was often suppressed by the weight of your thoughts and the loneliness that settled in your heart. Ada's gentle encouragement and understanding smile were small comforts in the otherwise stark and quiet room.

She chatted with you during her visits, sharing stories about the settlement and its inhabitants, giving you a glimpse of the life that awaited you once you were well enough to leave the confines of your room, if you were to stay in town. Her tales painted a picture of a tight-knit community, resilient and resourceful, each person playing a vital role in their collective survival.

"The Ghoul, he's gone," she informed you on morning, her voice gentle but firm. "I do hope you'll consider staying. He's covered your keep for more than enough time." She rested her hand on your shoulder, her touch warm and reassuring. "It's not safe out there alone."

Her words hit you like a wave, the reality of his absence sinking in. The weight of his generosity and care pressed heavily on your heart. Her eyes were filled with concern, reflecting the danger that awaited beyond the safety of this town, and her kindness was a small comfort in the midst of your turmoil, a reminder that you still had allies even in his absence.

"Thank you, Ada," you said, offering her a smile despite the worry inside of you. "But I have to go."

The morning sun cast a gentle glow on her face, highlighting the kindness in her eyes. She nodded, her own smile reflecting a mixture of pride and concern. "Where will you go?"

You eyed the map in your hands, the one you had taken from the Ghoul the day you left to find the vials. Your eyes traced the path that led to the haven, a route marked with careful notations and warnings. The map had become a lifeline, a tangible connection to him and his meticulous planning.

During the last few days of your bedrest, you had spent hours poring over it, mapping out your journey, and planning stops for resting and loading up on supplies. The intricate details on the map showed the effort he had put into ensuring your safety on your journey to the haven, each mark a testament to his care.

It wasn't until that morning, as you packed your bag and ran your hand over the tattered paper, that your resolve solidified. The realization that he had crafted this map specifically for you, considering every possible danger and refuge along the way, filled you with a bittersweet determination.

"I'm going to find him," you told her, your eyes steely with persistence as you adjusted your backpack over your shoulder. "There are some things I left unsaid," you finished, your voice resolute. 

You hugged her goodbye and thanked the doctor for his car on your way out. When you left the clinic, your gun felt heavier on your hip, the burden of not having the Ghoul there for your protection weighing it down.

Navigating through the bustling streets, you kept a firm grip on the map, each step taking you further from the comfort of Ada and the doctor's care and deeper into the unknown. Vendors continued to call out, their voices blending into a distant hum as you made your way toward the town's edge.

As you reached the outskirts of the town, the lively sounds of the marketplace faded behind you, replaced by the vast silence of the open desert. You paused for a moment, breathing deeply, taking in the endless expanse of sand and scrub stretching out before you. The horizon shimmered with heat, the sun high and relentless in the sky.

You questioned whether you were making the right choice in attempting to find the Ghoul. The vast, treacherous wasteland stretched out in every direction, offering countless places for him to disappear. He could have gone anywhere, but deep down, you felt certain that he wouldn't retrace his steps. He would likely stay as far away from Mags' home as possible, avoiding any place with too many memories or potential danger.

Then, the hairs on your arm stood to attention at the familiar sound of spurs jingling on the ground behind you. The distinct, rhythmic clinking sent a surge of recognition through you, and a hopeful smile began to tug at your lips. However, before you could turn around, the cold, unyielding metal of a gun barrel pressed firmly against your temple, sending a chill down your spine and freezing you in place.

Your breath caught in your throat, and your heart pounded in your chest, the sudden shift from hope to fear almost too much to process. The coolness of the barrel contrasted starkly with the warmth of the sun on your skin.

"I'll ask you this just once," a rough voice growled from behind, the command filled with menace. "Where is Cooper Howard?"

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[genshingorlsrevengeance]

Remember that ask with a s/o who had a mech? That one with firefly.

(H:SR Short Fic) Firefly's S/O using a mech

I was going to do something more comical originally, but unfortunately for everyone I just saw Gundam Narrative, which means Firefly isn't allowed to have nice things. Warnings: Angst/No Comfort, just sad robot on robot action (in the beat the shit out of each other way) Word Count: 1.8k

Firefly sat upon the roof, enjoying the peace and quiet as she stared at the stars far above in the sky. However, it wasn't long before the sounds of footsteps approached from below. She turned to the source of the sound, her lips forming into a bright smile.

(Firefly) "S/O?"

(S/O) "Hey, sorry I'm late!"

S/O was panting as they joined her, Firefly moving a little to her left to make room. They sat down close, to the point their legs were constantly brushing against hers, but neither seemed to mind. Instead of looking back to the stars, Firefly's gaze remained on S/O's own smile.

(S/O) "I was just making some final adjustments to the Phenex! I think it'll be ready to fly with you by tomorrow night!"

Firefly's eyes widened at S/O's news, leaning closer into their shoulder.

(Firefly) "Really? That's great!"

S/O beamed at her reaction, nodding excitedly as one hand wrapped around hers.

(S/O) "Honestly, I'll probably end up falling a bunch of times, but I promise, we'll find the brightest stars we can together!"

Firefly's imagination started running wild with images of S/O comically flailing about in their own steel suit, making her giggle. She couldn't wait to actually see what happened.

She opened her mouth to say something, but the words never left as she noticed S/O looked up to the sky, with a much more somber expression despite their lighthearted quip.

(S/O) "...The brightest star, huh?"

(Firefly) "...S/O?"

S/O squeezed her hand tighter as they remained silent for a moment. They seemed to grow sadder with every second that passed.

(S/O) "Did...I ever tell you the reason I even began making the Phenex, Firefly?"

She tilted her head in confusion as her brows furrowed.

(Firefly) "No, you didn't. I assumed you just wanted to be with me whenever I donned SAM."

(S/O) "Well, it was that too, but..."

Firefly felt their thumb fidget against the top of her hand as they struggled to come up with an answer, in which she simply said nothing, giving them all the time they needed.

(S/O) "I wanted to go up into the stars myself, brave whatever awaited me out there, so I could find a way to defy your fate."

Their voice started to tremble as they spoke their reason aloud.

(Firefly) "S/O..."

Finally, they turned to face her, tears welling up in their eyes.

(S/O) "That's what I'll do with the Phenex. I'll become a bird and soar, so that way I can find a way for you to be reborn."

Firefly and S/O said nothing after that declaration, staring at each other before they sighed, letting go of her hand and resting it in their face.

(S/O) "Oh my god, that sounded way better in my head than it did out loud..."

Firefly was only stunned for a few more seconds before she burst into laughter, making S/O pout at her reaction.

(S/O) "H-Hey! I know it sounded bad but you don't have to laugh that much at it!"

Both her hands rested on her stomach as it began to hurt, her laughter barely stopping as she tried her best to reply.

(Firefly) "I-I-I'm sorry! I promise I'm not laughing at you!"

It took her a minute to finally calm herself down, S/O still grumbling under their breath as they waited. Firefly gently wiped their tears away with a finger before kissing them on the cheek.

(Firefly) "It's a sweet gesture, S/O...Thank you."

S/O smiled at Firefly, resting their head onto her shoulders and closing their eyes.

(S/O) "Do you mind if I sleep up here with you tonight? I...Don't want to be alone right now."

(Firefly) "I don't think there's anything more I'd want right now than having you with me."

...

...

Firefly sat alone on another starry night, but this time there would be no one to join her. Her hands rested on each other in her lap while she stared up at the night sky, waiting for her signal.

The planet she was on now was completely different from the one S/O and her shared their last night. Instead of warm city lights, there was nothing but ruins and debris below her.

It was here where the reports of a brilliant golden machine, leaving behind a blue trail around the cosmos was sighted. Many assumed that it was some kind of divine being, or an unexplained anomaly in the universe making itself known.

But Firefly knew the truth of what it was.

Or rather, who it was.

...

...

The last step of the process was to have S/O's mind sync up with the Phenex's system. It was an extremely risky process, as this technology was still experimental and not fully understood.

Apparently, it was something that allowed the person's mind to directly translate into the machine's movements and combat capabilities, which S/O accepted the risk without hesitation.

This would be the power they needed to give Firefly her life back.

And finally settling into the suit, S/O let their mind begin synchronizing with the Phenex.

With barely a second passing, their eyes widened as their body felt a shock of pain growing faster by the second.

Firefly saw S/O's vitals rapidly spiking up and down as the Phenex dropped to one knee, screaming all the while.

(Firefly) "S/O?!"

The golden mech started to twitch involuntarily, its shield-wings shooting out and lodging itself into the facility's walls. S/O's screams were eventually drowned out by the Phenex's metallic joints creaking, almost as if it were roaring.

In an instant, flames materialized around Firefly as she dashed towards S/O, moving to rip them out of their suit. However, as soon as she made contact with them, the machine's eyes flared red and blew her backwards.

Firefly was easily able to catch herself from crashing into the floor, immediately flipping to use the walls as a launch pad as the armor's thrusters activated and she rocketed back to S/O.

The Phenex's shield wings stabbed itself into the ground and made her armor crash straight into it, making her lose course as she spiraled out of control for only a second.

Not wasting time, the Phenex's shield wings flew back behind it, and the machine flew straight up, tearing a hole through it and sped away, eventually out of sight and into the atmosphere.

...

It had been months since the incident, and Firefly was determined to bring them back. If the Phenex was still flying, then that means S/O was still alive.

As if on cue, a blue streak cut across the night sky like a knife, catching her attention and making her heart race.

(Firefly) "..."

She wanted to call out their name, but knew that they couldn't hear her anymore. What she needed to do now was to stop the Phenex.

The wind blowing her hair back was strong since she was standing at the top of a skyscraper. She knew for a fact that the Phenex would be able to detect her no matter what, so might as well choose the location that'd start the closest to them.

It took her a few seconds to stand up from her spot, and she took a deep breath, frowning as her eyes traced the blue streak that flew in a straight line above her, towards the horizon.

One foot stepped in front of the other, letting her drop from the building's edge and fall toward the ground.

Without so much as blinking, the area around her ignited as the armor's thrusters kicked into full burst, the building behind her getting scorched in the process as she gracefully weaved through the city and into the sky after the Phenex.

As elements of her HUD began blinking into view, her eyes remained focused on the blue line of light suddenly veered to her right.

With a simple nudge of her body, the armor tilted and extra thrusters emerged from the skirts of her armor to gain faster speed, feeling her body and suit both begin to heat up.

The Phenex's trail dropped completely downwards onto the streets, trying to lose its pursuer as it began wildly darting in an unpredictable manner, before it eventually disappeared into a tunnel.

Firefly quickly followed it into the temple, still not saying a word as she kept an eye on her suit's motion trackers.

Before the radar could even register the movement, the Phenex suddenly burst from the tunnel's walls, debris scattering everywhere and threatening to crush her.

She simply frowned as one punch completely obliterated the stone that tried to crash into her, eyes still following the Phenex for a split second before it tried to escape behind her.

Firefly's other arm extended outward and managed to catch the leg of the machine, before diverting her strength to fling it into the wall directly behind her, letting the Phenex slam into the stone and temporarily disabling it.

She raised her arm to disable the machine's flight unit before realizing the shield wings it had just a second ago were missing.

Alarms were ringing as signatures were quickly approaching from her flanks, making her extend both arms to catch the shields before it threatened to bisect her, Firefly's teeth clenching from the impact.

The machine's eyes stared at Firefly's helmet, and for a brief moment, its red eyes flashed a blue color.

And though it was hazy, a voice spoke out to her from the corners of her mind. It may have been her imagining things, but that didn't stop Firefly's voice from crying out:

(Firefly) "S/O!"

Seemingly unaffected by Firefly's counter, the Phenex's eyes returned to its natural state before quickly dislodging itself from its position and rocketed out of the tunnel, both shields following after.

(Firefly) "Just hang on, S/O, please!"

Even though time was the last thing on her side, she prayed that she stayed strong, at least for long enough to catch the Phenex. Firefly truly had no idea if S/O was still inside that suit considering how long it had been, but at the very least, she would avenge them by destroying the machine.

Not to mention, this machine existed because of her. It was created solely to help her, yet it seemed to be dragging both her and S/O to Aeons know where.

But she didn't care about where it was taking them, only that she rescued the person who gave their life for her.

Firefly's armor crouched before taking off, denting the concrete below her as it was left scorched by all her thrusters activating, flying after the Phenex.

...

There were many researchers and travelers who spoke of seeing a red comet chasing after a blue one in the skies that night.

No one had any idea what it was, but everyone watched in a mixture of awe and confusion, watching as the comets eventually took off into space, off towards a destination unknown.