#it's been a few months so now i will tag it as

[hereforthehitsbaby]

Heyoooo, i just read your say it louder and im in love with that so much like holy, so i was wondering if you could make something kinda similar or something? like maybe logans chasing reader because she stole his cigars and they have a cute moment or something along those lines, maybe end a bit with or with smut? thanks so much babes!

Mine Now | DOFP!Logan Howlett x F!Reader

Warnings: Primal!Logan, Scent Tracking, Shotgunning His Cigar, Marking, Implied Smut, Reader is a Mutant who has invisibility, Enemies to Lovers because I’m a sucker for pain, Takes place at the very end of DOPF when Logan comes back to the future, Pain Kink, Breathing Play, Choking, Claws come out – I repeat the claws come out,

Rating: R – No Minors

Word Count: 4.5K

Author’s Note: Thank you so much for your request! This was a blast to write and honestly? It gave me a good excuse to write for DOFP!Logan! I adore you! 😊 Also completely unrelated side note….you did say you wanted smut, right??? Because I may, or may not, have spaced you said cutesy and went right to horny.

To be tagged in any future work of mine, please fill this out.

“Hank, have you seen her?” Logan asks, his voice layered with annoyance. You couldn’t help but silently snicker as you watched his brow crease, his nose twitch with frustration, his finger rapping at his side impatiently. The way his jaw ticked as Hank narrowed his own eyes at him made it impossible to hold your laughter, even when you were currently pressed up against the wall – a clear view of the situation going down. You pulled your lip between your teeth as you homed in on Logan’s features, eyes glimmering with rage. It was such a beautiful sight to see, one you have been dreaming of for months. Though you’d never openly admit it, everyone knew, all except him. You had to make the chase worth his while.

Logan Howlett is a force to be reckoned with, everyone told you that. When Charles and Eric first recruited you to teach with them in New York – you thought it was a joke, a cruel one at that. Living paycheck to paycheck in a hole in the wall Hell’s Kitchen apartment, dealing with constantly screaming and fighting from your neighbors, it wasn’t where you wanted to be. You were a survivor, you could adapt to anything, but after what you had experienced, you needed a fresh start. Working at a local diner, making shit for tips wasn’t ideal, but it was enough to help you save to leave. Where would you go prior to this? You had no idea, but someplace that experiences winter – you always loved the snow. But alas, that dreary November day a few years ago changed everything; It changed you. Meeting Logan on your first day told you everything you needed to know about him – he refuses to get close to anyone, you wanted to break that.

It's been three years since you first met Logan, two since you found yourself thinking he was cute, a year since you felt yourself falling for him, and six months since you started the cat and mouse chase. At first with how standoffish Logan was to you, you started to resent him. A year it took before that all fell to the wayside; Your feelings had shifted when you found him outside one night, crying as he smoked his cigar. Of course, your mutation left you able to turn invisible, able to watch him, without him knowing you were there. Through the heavy rain your smell was masked, he couldn’t tell you were there. But it made you feel closer to him; He wasn’t some robot who didn’t have emotions. He felt them too strong, which is why when he started to slip back into his mind, he pulled away. Being over 200 years old meant he saw some shit, lost people he loved, it took a toll on him after a while. That day forward you stopped keeping your distance, but instead made the effort to be near him, to show him you weren’t going anywhere.

Slowly you noticed how Logan started to open up to you, telling you stories of when he was young, his first mission with the X-Men. You got to learn a lot about The Wolverine, and come to find out he wasn’t a hard ass – he was sincere, doting, downright admirable. What he dealt with in his years fucked him up horribly to where he didn’t trust people easily – but it didn’t make him less. He always pushed forward and strove for success, to survive. He wouldn’t classify himself as a hero, but he was to you, and he deserved to know. Logan found himself trusting you easily after a year, his lonely nights stuck in his own head turned into game nights with you, strolls through the garden, getting a drink at the bar downtown. He could still be himself, but not have to carry the baggage by himself all the time. Falling hopelessly in love with him was inevitable, but also impossible. Nothing more could happen between the two of you and you knew that – but there was still a flicker of hope in your mind that wouldn’t quiet down. Especially with how flirty Logan had become with you.

 Usually, he was like this with Jean and Storm, taking it up a notch with them so he could have the last retort. To say he wasn’t a ladies’ man was a lie, he could pull anyone he wanted to. To Logan it was a game, seeing how flustered he could make him teammates – and he loved to win. With you it was different – it wasn’t low growls and light touching on your arms, no, it was more. At first to started off to be resting his chin on your shoulder, letting his breath stroke the column of your neck. Slowly it moved out to touches; Holding your waist from behind, rubbing his large hands over your lower stomach, slipping his hands under your shirt to caress your hip. Over the last few weeks though, he upgraded to holding your face, running his calloused thumb across your bottom lip, stealing forehead and cheek kisses before heading out. Rogue and Kitty that you two were dating, even Bobby got in on it – but when you stated you weren’t everyone looked at you like you had six heads.

“No Logan, I have not.” Hank let his eyes pan to where you were hiding as Logan turned away for a moment, giving you a small wink as he played along. After all, this was his idea – well, his and Xavier’s. You had overheard a conversation about how Logan’s cigar smell had been wafting into their classroom’s lately – distracting everyone as Logan taught. Charles had the bright idea for you to nab them and hold them hostage, until Logan learned his lesson. You on the other hand, were far too gone to do that. Instead you decided to take the cigars, but make a game out of it. Little post it notes with clues on where you were hiding, you stored them all over his bedroom and classroom, thanks to Scott. Ever since Jean told you just how primal Logan could get, how good of a tracker he was, you wanted to test it out for yourself. What better way than take the one thing he cannot live without? “What happened this time?”

Logan huffed as he ran both of his hands down his face, coming dangerously close to propping his hip against your body. You had to shuffle slightly as he leaned into the wall, letting his head bounce off the wood a few good times. “Little shit stole my box of cigars.” He looked exhausted, frustrated, and downright sexy. Seeing how lost and irritable he was without them made you smirk, causing you to bite your lip harder to suppress a whimper. You noticed how Logan’s ear perked up as you gulped, his head turning softly. Hank noticed this almost immediately and replied with a whooping laugh.  “Ha!” You sighed inaudibly as you silently thanked Hank, knowing he used his booming voice to mask your sounds. Holding one of his hands up to Logan, he snickered as he cleared his throat. “I’m sorry that was cruel of me. What I meant to say is, that’s funny.” Hank let out a small chortle at Logan’s distain, being met with a flash of a middle finger, and claw too.  “Thanks, asshole,” Logan huffed as he pushed himself off of the wall, running his hand through his hair.

You watched him intently, thanking whoever was listening for making you have the power of invisibility. Being able to listen to everything going down, while Logan has no idea you’re here, made you feel powerful. You heard talks about how your power could be useful, but ultimately not threatening; Now, you’d beg to differ. Though you grew tiresome of the chase, being a fly on the wall versus a real player. It was fun the first two hours this started, but encroaching on hour six – the school clearing out and the sun almost set on the horizon, you grew slightly bored. “Have you tried the library? She likes to hide there.” Hank let out without hesitancy, making your eyes grow wide. It was like an aha moment for you, choosing the most likely place for last. Earlier it was too crowded, people would know you were there the second Logan came looking for you. But now with the young mutants either outside or in the city due to the upcoming weekend, you knew it would be vacant.

“I know her all too well, Hank. That’s the first place I looked.” Hearing Logan say that made your heart flutter, made you feel special that he knew you so well. A strong sigh left your lips as Hank coughed, dreamily staring at Logan as you started to walk backwards. Losing your invisibility for a moment, you stood a few feet behind Logan, walking towards the grand staircase that took you to the library. Waving at Hank, you motioned for it as you smirked, causing Hank to laugh. “You sure?” He asked, nodding behind Logan. As you stood closer to the staircase, you noticed how Logan was sniffing the air – his body growing tense as he spun around. It’s when he laid his eyes upon you that you knew he was fed up. It wasn’t the primal growl and heavy breathing that got to you, but the way his hazel eyes went from green to black in a split section, his chest heaving as he stared at you. “Oh shit,” was all you managed to let out as you turned invisible again, running up the stairs.

Everything was a blur to you, running as fast as your body could take you. Three flights to get where you needed to go seemed like forever, when you were being chased by The Wolverine. He had super human speed, a great nose for sniffing things out, he was at the advantage whilst you were at a disadvantage. Even with scent masking, now that you started to sweat it would make you more obvious, especially when the library was empty. Huffing and puffing as you managed two steps at a time, you refused to look back. But you could hear the stomps of Logan’s boots, clearly taking three steps to match you. Silently you prayed to whoever was listening, to get you to the library safe and sound before Logan got you. The last thing you wanted was for him to pin you to the stairs so everyone could see, that was too on the nose.

Reaching the top step of the library, you managed to sway your way through the wooden chairs and tables, giggling to yourself as you were halfway across the room. Due to the grand nature of the library, especially being two floors, it gave you so many good hiding spots. A circular room to see everything, yet hide in plain sight. As you made it over to the spiral staircase for the second level, you had noticed Logan standing at the entrance of the library, huffing and puffing. It made you snort, seeing how riled up he was. You had to admit, it was sexy to see how pissed off he was, causing a fresh wave of your arousal to coat your panties. Logan seemed to have taken note as he sniffed the air, his eyes cutting across the room straight to yours. “Come on out princess,” he growled, flexing his hands at his side. Slowly you crept up the metal staircase for the second level, taking one step at a time to not elicit any sounds. You let your breathing relax, slowing your heart rate as you kept calm, not needing to give yourself away. But Logan could sense you, eyeing the staircase with every move you made. “I got you now.”

A devilish grin fought to claim his mouth as he pounced over the tables, running on all fours as he landed right at the bottom of the staircase. You managed to get all the way up and around, leaving to the right. Multiple aisles of books covered upstairs, as well as the walls, each window let in the dusk light – showing dust particles roaming the air. Your tell-tale shimmer of invisibility was caught in the light a few times, but Logan was too lost to notice. Finding your perfect hiding spot away from prying eyes, you slotted yourself against the endcap of Psychology of Mutants, knowing no one reads these. You could feel the stagnant beating of your heart at times, wondering if it was due to fear or the thrill of the chase. Maybe it was the aspect of it being bittersweet as well; A years long chase with Logan finally reaching its peak. You knew there would never be going back from this, and that was okay. Stealing his cigars wasn’t the endgame, it was only the beginning.

“You can’t hide forever you know,” Logan snarled as he reached the top of the landing, huffing as he eyed every shelf. You could see him, nor did you want to, hoping to God he chose to head left instead of right. Alas you were sorely mistaken as his heavy steps started to echo right, causing you to curse under your breath. SNIKT, you heard the metallic sound echoing through the room, but also your mind, causing you to whimper. Logan had unsheathed his claws, holding them out. The idea of him using the claws on you, pinning you down with them, holding them against your neck made your body run hot, your arousal heightening as the thoughts ran rampant through your mind. “I will catch you.” It was not a threat but a fact, Logan was not kidding anymore. The animal inside of him was taking over, leaving the Logan you knew behind. This was all caused because you pushed him to the point of no return, and you fucking loved it. The reverberation of his claws against the wooden shelves made you shudder, knowing how close he was getting now.

Biting down hard on your lip, you placed your hand over your mouth, trying to regain control of your breathing. Being right across from the last window on the right didn’t do you any good, especially with the beam of light falling through. If you moved even a millimeter, you were going to be made. It’s then when you opened your eyes to pan to your left that you saw his shadow encroaching on you, his stance wide as his claws were pointed at the ground. Each gruff huff he let out made your eyes roll back, finding it harder and harder to keep yourself hidden. You couldn’t look away from him either, you needed to watch him; How the sweat beaded at his hairline, how his little tufts of hair were wild from pulling at them, how his snarl got more animalistic the longer he tried to look for you. “Where did you go?” You couldn’t describe how Logan sounded in that moment; Primal and animalistic do not even begin to crest.

You focused too much on his tone, completely forgetting your watchful eye on him. When you glanced back after trying to calm yourself, you noticed the 6’2 Wolverine was no longer walking his way towards the aisles but vanished into thin air. Not knowing where he was, made your heart rate skyrocket – panic ensuing all over your body. Goosebumps arose across your skin as you pondered where he could be, afraid to move in case he was lurking close to you. Maybe he went off to the left instead, leaving you by yourself to escape. It would make sense, considering how you heard the creaking of the floorboards on the opposite side now. Letting out a concealed breath, you slowly moved away from the end cap of the shelf, leaving your back exposed. You knew it was a mistake when the hot, stifling air of the closed space became ice cold, a shiver falling down your spine. The sun shifted away in that moment, blanketing the area in darkness, complete with only a sliver of light, not even to cast shadows. The second your back was exposed; All hell broke loose.

Two strong hands grabbed hold of your hips, pulling you back into a solid form. The yelp you let out was loud enough to echo, but not loud enough to raise suspicion. The strain on your powers had gotten to be too much, slowly slipping back into being visible. You huffed out as your back connected with his chest, your hands finding purchase on his muscular forearms. “There you are little mouse.” He snickered in your ear, pressing his nose to the pulse point of your neck. Logan deeply inhaled at the vein, his teeth barring to nip at your exposed shoulder. It felt good to have his mouth on you, to have him seemingly obsessed with your scent. After all, it is what gave you away. Whimpering out, you dug your nails into Logan’s arm, feeling the reverberation of his snarl through your body. You couldn’t speak, you couldn’t move – you were a lost cause. “What’s the matter, cat got your tongue?”

Logan was mocking you at this point, purposely being a little shit to mimic how you have been with him. When it came to his cigars, he wasn’t fucking around. But when he knew it was you who took them, well he wasn’t going to let you live this down. Logan moved from behind you, but kept his hands grasping your flesh. Moving to the side, he pressed your back against the end cap again, bringing you back to your original position. His right hand remained on your hip as his left grasped your neck, pressing against your pulse point, feeling the thrum of blood on your veins. The edges of your vision began to go fuzzy due to the restricted blood flow, but you didn’t care. Logan was putting you right in your place, and you were obeying so well for him. “I believe you have something of mine,” he murmured; His prominent nose pressing harshly against your cheek. The warmth of his breath on your skin, mixed with the cold drag of his claws against your skin made you shiver, loving how it felt too much. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You laughed out, clearly laced with thrill.

Logan didn’t take too kindly to you playing dumb, the tick in his jaw spoke measures. His grip on your neck was heavier than before, using his full weight to restrict your blood flow quicker, your vision developing black dots. “Oh, you don’t?” The challenged in his voice said all you needed to know – he was fucking desperate. There was no hiding it now, he needed you – not his cigars, but you. Gulping down against his large hand, you felt the press of his claws against the back of your neck, pushing through the wood of the bookshelf to lock you in place. He would never intentionally draw blood, or hurt you, but he knew this was your deepest fantasy, all thanks to Jean relaying it. His lips were inches from your ear as he chuckled darkly, groaning out against the flesh. “Do I need to jog your memory?” You shouldn’t have been as turned on by that as you were. Your knees buckled slightly as you almost fell, your eyes rolling back into your head.

Logan took advantage of your eyes being closed to pull his hand away from your hip. The loss of touch made you whine, but quickly you were quieted by his roughened tugs. Grabbing at the edge of your tank top, Logan ran his claws through the fabric to create slits, ripping them open just as easily. Looking down at your jeans, he could see the bulge in your pocket – where you had hidden a few of his cigars. A huff of relief fell from his parted lips as she cut your pocket open, letting them fall right into his hand. He mimicked your hiding and shoved them into his own pocket, moving on to the next. The cool breeze against your exposed skin made you quickly heat up; Logan using his claws on you made you lose your fucking mind. He repeated his efforts with your other side, making matching holes in his jeans and shirt, not caring anymore.

It was as the last few cigars rolled out of your pocket that Logan pulled back, his heavy body heat no longer suffocating you. The contact was missed, causing you to pout slightly. “Boo hoo hoo,” Logan mocked as he watched you, walking backwards to push his back against the window. The sill right below it was begging him to sit, so he took advantage of it. Reaching into his left pocket, Logan pulled out his Zippo lighter – flicking it against his pants to ignite the flame. It was intoxicating watching him, how effortlessly fluid his motions were. Biting your cheek, you watched him intently, his eyes never leaving yours. He pulled out the precut cigar from his pocket and pushed it between his lips, favoring his left side for it to rest between his teeth. Lighting the end until the cherry burned bright, he took a few quick puffs, blowing the smoke out in a cloud around him.

Your eyes could not pull away from him even if you tried, it was nearly impossible. The way he moved was like silk through the wind, so effortless and elegant; He knew he was hot like this. Taking another quick drag, Logan let the smoke fall from his lips as he tucked the cigar back in between his teeth, putting away his lighter. Reaching forward with his claws still extended, he hooked two of the blades into the belt loop of your jeans, tugging you forward. There was about a person’s space between the bookshelf and the window, making it easy for him to grab at you. Of course, your body obeyed his silent command, tripping slightly as you tried to regain your footing. Placing both of your hands on his thick, warm thighs, you licked your lips. The smoke being released from both the cigar and his mouth captured your attention, making it difficult to focus on what he was saying. The way his motions flowed were so smooth, it was impossible to say anything else to him.

Taking a rather large drag of his cigar, he puffed his cheeks out a bit to hold it all in. It took you by surprise, why he was holding it all in his mouth. Retracting his claws on his right hand, Logan grabbed at your jaw like a man possessed, pushing his meaty fingertips into your flesh. The slight ache of his possessiveness made your mouth part, a pained look on your face that you were lost in. Logan got close to you, his lips only mere inches away from your mouth as you whimpered. With your lips parted, Logan mimicked your motions as he breathed out. The soft, heady tendrils of smoke wafted from his mouth into yours, causing you to let them stir. Tobacco mixed with the sweetness of the wrap caused your eyes to dilate, boring into Logan with pure unadulterated lust. There was no mistaking it as he shotgunned his cigar with you, his smirk prevalent. “That’s my good girl.” He crooned, taking in your big eyes, the heat of your skin – basking in your glory.

You blew the smoke right back at Logan while he chuckled, licking his lips to wet them as he took another puff. There was something so intoxicating about how you reacted, it was like watching a painting come to life. From the first day he met you, he knew you were something else – he had to challenge you. Almost four years later and you’re still trying to get with him, he admired it. Finally, the silent love he had for you could be shown, but he wasn’t going to make it easy for you. You made him work to catch you, now you had to work to get what you wanted. “Get on your knees.” The command fell off of Logan’s lips so naturally you almost didn’t catch it at first. Your eyes glossy as you watched him, your brain not keeping up. Narrowing his eyes at you, he cocked his brow as he laid the cigar to the side, watching to see your reaction. “I’m sorry?” You questioned without realizing, your face slack with lust.

Reaching forward towards you, Logan grabbed your neck once more, this time yanking you so close to his face that you felt his breath waft over your features. “Get. On. Your. Fucking. Knees.” There was no hesitation in Logan’s voice as he stated his command, letting his face go rigid to show he was getting pissed off. “Don’t make me repeat myself.” You wanted to, every fiber of your being wanted to disobey him, make him angry so he was rough with you – at the same time you didn’t want to make him mad, not yet anyway. Nodding to him against his hand, you slipped down to your knees easily with a moan, pressing out your wet bottom lip as you gazed up at him.

Logan rolled his eyes as he grabbed the cigar again, pressing it against your lips. It’s when you take a drag of it that he pulls out, putting it in his own mouth once more. With his hand now free from holding his cigar, he quickly flicked open his belt buckle, undoing the top button on his jeans as you took the silent command to pull his zipper down. His erection was stiff against his jeans and left nothing to the imagination. He was big, he was hot, and he was fucking turned on. Watching you with a lustful glow in his eyes, Logan groaned as he watched you, never letting you have the last word: “You may have started the game princess, but I am going to finish it.”

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Tagging: @livelaughl0ve3 @mehjustalasshere @allen-444 @begaytotallygay @tezooks @hughj1d @mami-veracruz @salemslostwitch @karencaribou @princesstarble @dirtylittlefairytales @hbwrelic @mosscrissfemmefatale @pinkanonwriting @craziersarah98 @actuallybridgetjones @silversprings-mp3 @lokidovahkiin

[ham1lton]

SIMPLE !

pairings: jude bellingham x lewis hamilton’s assistant!reader

summary: after your first few dates with jude, everything seems to be going smoothly. however, there’s just one problem: your boss seems to hate your new boyfriend.

warnings: judeyn being dumbasses.

author’s note: part of my dream girl universe. for best enjoyment, read after the first instalment. assistant2 also makes her first official appearance!!

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📍 berlin, germany.

tagged: judebellingham

liked by ham1ltonshaderoom, jobebellingham and 2,837,918 others.

yourinstagram: the photos he takes of me vs the one i take of him. i think you all can see the better photographer.

view all 1,108,928 comments

user1: LOVE seeing hot people date each other.

-> user11: i love seeing two hot people be BESTIES.

user2: JUDE IS TAKEN ???!!!! NOOOOOOO

-> user3: babe… you didn’t have a chance at all. like please be serious.

-> user13: thank god they aren’t actually dating tho.

user4: my gf <3

-> judebellingham: who even are you.

-> user4: we can share <3 i can keep her satisfied thru the weekend u have the weekdays king.

jobebellingham: love this yn. he looks so depressed and ugly.

-> judebellingham: U JEALOUS ASF 😹

-> jobebellingham: yn i’ll paypal you £50 rn if you post more ugly pictures. which is all his pictures really.

-> yourinstagram: challenge accepted 🫡

lewishamilton: you look good yn!

-> user5: and what about jude??

-> lewishamilton: what about him?

-> user6: NOT YN’S HUSBAND HAVIN BEEF W/ HER BFF 😭

user7: lip combo?!!??

-> yourinstagram: i’m not a gatekeeper. it’s on my tiktok!! my most recent one <3

user8: you did my king so dirty with that one pic…. LMFAO DO IT AGAIN

-> yourinstagram: 🫡🫡

user10: their friendship is so cute!!

user12: yn is moving up in the world!!! from bts delulu to besties with JUDE BELLINGHAM

-> yourinstagram: blocking you! 😃

-> user12: you can block me but you can’t erase ‘hobisbabymama’

-> yourinstagram: HELLO?2&/9£/

user9: WHERE IS LANDO?!

-> user10: she blocked his main and his ten other side accounts because she’s secretly in love with him and wants to leave loser jude for him.

-> user9: hi lando 😁

user10: no roscoe pic?

-> yourinstagram: sorry babe :(( he’s at home with his dad and i’m on holiday. assistant2 has some highlights of him on her page!! <3

judebellingham: why do i look so depressed

-> yourinstagram: idk <3 want to get ice cream?

-> judebellingham: .. yeah

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title: my girlfriend’s boss (l,39) hates me and it’s ruining my relationship. help?

hi all, i don’t really post on here, but i’m at my wit’s end and need advice. i (j, m21) have been dating my girlfriend (y, f24) for a couple of months now, and it’s been brilliant. she’s smart, funny, beautiful, and honestly the kindest person i’ve ever met. here’s the catch: her boss (l, m39), who also happens to be an insanely famous athlete and very wealthy, clearly hates me.

y works as his personal assistant, and from what she’s told me, l has always been good to her. she’s known him for years, and he’s helped her out a lot in her career. she always says he’s like family, but ever since she introduced me to him, he’s been awful.

it started small, like him calling me “mate” in that condescending way that makes you feel about two feet tall. but last week, i went to pick y up from work, and he gave me this look—you know the type, the kind that says, “you’re not good enough to breathe the same air as her.” i tried to play it off, but it’s eating at me.

another time, we ran into him at a café, and he made this offhand comment about how “footballers aren’t known for their brains.” y tried to laugh it off, but i felt like an absolute idiot.

then there was the incident with the tickets. y mentioned she’d been offered two box seats for a big match, courtesy of l, and we were both so excited to go. but when she told him i was going with her, he suddenly “remembered” he’d promised them to someone else. i know it sounds paranoid, but it feels deliberate.

to make matters worse, y thinks i’m overreacting. she says l is just protective of her because they work closely together, but i can’t help but feel like there’s more to it. she brushes off his weird behaviour, but come on—this is the same man who asked her to taste-test a box of chocolate truffles because he couldn’t decide which to order for himself. (weird, right?)

it’s not just the comments, though. y told me l doesn’t usually care who his staff date, but she mentioned he’s suddenly started asking loads of questions about me, like whether i’ve been in trouble before or if i’m serious about her. it’s like he’s looking for a reason to disapprove. y thinks he’s being protective, but i swear he just doesn’t like me. here’s the problem: i’m pretty sure he hates me. actually, scratch that—i know he hates me.

i’m spiralling here. what if l starts sabotaging our relationship? y says she’s not going anywhere, but i can’t shake the feeling he’s got some weird power over her. am i just being insecure, or is there something seriously wrong here? what do i do?

top comments:

soggy_pigeon: nah, this is classic alpha behaviour. he’s marking his territory. he probably sees her as more than just an assistant, if you know what i mean. tread carefully.

fluffybananas: footballers aren’t known for their brains. maybe he has a point.

spicy_gravy: dude, he’s probably jealous you’ve got abs and a girl who loves you. chill.

randomuser_123: sounds like you’re dating your boss’s work spouse.

tofu_throwaway: i think l’s just jealous because y spends more time with you now. he’s like a toddler upset that someone’s playing with his favourite toy.

ladybantheboys: ok but what if it’s the opposite? like, what if l approves of you but is being mean on purpose to test if you’re good enough for her?

football4ever: j, mate, you’re overthinking. l’s just a famous bloke who doesn’t want to lose his assistant to some random guy. show him you’re not random. take him out for a pint or something.

memequeen420: this reminds me of when i had a cat and got a new dog. the cat hated the dog at first but now they’re best friends. just give it time.

plshelpme1998: have you tried googling “how to win over your girlfriend’s boss”? there’s bound to be a wikiHow.

bananabreadbae: mate, if he wanted her, he’d have made a move by now. maybe he just doesn’t like footballers. not everyone does, you know.

user2847: honestly, the truffle thing makes me think he’s the weird one. does he do this with everyone or just y? if it’s just her, he’s probably got some weird older-brother complex going on.

ultimategoblin69: maybe he wants to adopt you. famous people do weird shit like that.

yogurtbutter: ok but what if you’re the problem? maybe you’re just a bit annoying and he senses it. famous people have great instincts.

iamnotanon: have you considered sabotaging him back? like, nothing serious, but maybe show up in a better suit than him one day. alpha vibes only.

opinionatedowl: this is a power thing. l’s rich and famous, and he’s used to being in charge. stand your ground, but don’t disrespect him. he’s probably testing you.

thecheeseman: it sounds like a bad rom-com where l secretly approves of you but can’t admit it because he’s emotionally constipated. if i were you, i’d play the long game.

spicywaterlover: wait… what if l is secretly in love with y and you’re the obstacle? plot twist.

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edit: wow, ok. this has been a ride. thanks for all the comments, even the wild ones. i think i’ll try the “pint” suggestion, but i draw the line at sabotage. will update if anything changes (or if i get adopted).

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liked by messyassuser, lando11priv and 1,938,882 others.

ham1ltonshaderoom: football star jude bellingham seen cuddling and being affectionate with his new girl! she has been identified as yn yln, she is the personal assistant of f1 icon lewis hamilton. they were spotted outside a restaurant in las vegas after the grand prix all boo’d up! according to sources, they were all loved up at the after party. they ‘didn’t leave each other’s space’. what do we think about this new couple ham1ltons?

view all comments

user1: who tf even is she

-> user2: a baddie. she’s seriously so funny and sweet. you guys should see her tiktok or insta pages. jude is punching above his weight.

user3: oh!

user4: HOTTIES!!!

user5: why they doing the most in public???

-> user6: they’re in love? girl lmao.

-> user7: she’s his beard or he’s hers. idk yet. i need to consult the stars.

-> user8: ^ me when i’m off my meds.

user9: am i the only one who thinks they’re cute? good for them!!

user10: um i think she’d be happier with lando.

-> user11: lando please how are you still making new accounts.

-> user10: i’m totally not the handsome and gorgeous lando. i’m actually… pando. hi.

user12: my gf and my bf are dating??? i’m gonna be sick.

-> user13: they got two hands.

user14: they’re rlly dating???

-> user15: no bitch. they’re just coworkers 🙄

-> user14: oh! thank you :D

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UPDATE: my girlfriend’s boss (l,39) hates me and it’s ruining my relationship. help?

hi all, it’s j again. thanks for the advice on my last post—it was a mix of helpful, hilarious, and… well, a bit unsettling. but it gave me the push i needed to talk to l. here’s what happened:

i decided to man up and ask him out for a pint to clear the air. i figured it was the most normal thing to do. well, turns out l’s teetotal (thanks, y, for not warning me properly). when i suggested a pint, he just looked at me for a second and went, “i don’t drink, mate,” in that calm, terrifying way he has. i panicked, said something about tea, and left feeling like an absolute idiot.

but two days later, he called y at work and told her to invite me round to his place for tea. TEA. this man lives in a house that looks like it’s straight out of a Bond film, so you can imagine how intimidating it was to rock up with a packet of biscuits like some budget offering.

long story short, we had tea, and he cleared the air. he admitted he’d been giving me a hard time because he wanted to make sure i was serious about y. he said she’s like family to him (didn’t say “work spouse,” thank god), and he needed to know i’d treat her right. honestly, it was a bit awkward, but also kind of sweet.

so yeah, we’re good now. he even said he’d save me a seat for the next big race. i don’t know if that was a peace offering or a power move, but i’ll take it.

thanks for the push, reddit. you lot are mad, but in a good way. most of the time.

comments:

ladybantheboys: told you he was testing you! this is literally every rom-com ever. next step: you accidentally bond over an inside joke, and he becomes your biggest fan.

bananabreadbae: this is so british it hurts. “sorry i was mean, let’s have tea.” mate, at least you passed the test!

football4ever: called it! blokes like him just want to make sure you’re solid. now you’re in his good books, you’re set for life. congrats, mate.

memequeen420: so… what kind of biscuits did you bring? was it something boring like digestives, or did you go all out with hobnobs? we NEED to know.

randomuser_123: this is like when my dog hated my boyfriend at first but then they bonded over cheese. sometimes it just takes time.

tofu_throwaway: glad it worked out, but honestly, i’m still a bit scared of l. even through your post, he sounds like he could crush a man with a single stare.

iamnotanon: congrats on passing the test. now don’t mess it up, or i guarantee he’ll make you disappear. rich people have connections.

ultimategoblin69: you went to his house?! are you sure it wasn’t a trap? like, did he subtly scan your fingerprints for future blackmail material?

plshelpme1998: like, this whole thing is giving weirdly protective father vibes. good luck, mate.

user2847: what does his house smell like? no, seriously. i feel like rich people’s houses have that “old money” smell, like leather and expensive wood polish. was it intimidating?

(deleted): send feet pics.

opinionatedowl: so… when’s the wedding? i’m assuming l will walk her down the aisle now that you’ve been knighted into his inner circle.

thecheeseman: this is the most British solution ever. “i made you feel terrible, but here, have some earl grey, and now we’re mates.” glad it worked out though!

memequeen420 (again): STILL no answer on the biscuits. j, you’re avoiding the REAL questions here. were they branded or store-brand? did he eat one? this is important.

weirdcookieperson: did he sniff you when you walked in? like, does he have a heightened sense of smell? rich people are weird, man.

alphamale_uk: mate, you handled this all wrong. never apologise, never offer tea, and NEVER back down to another alpha. you should’ve walked in, sat in his chair, and asserted dominance. that’s how you gain respect. next time, bring steak, not biscuits. real men bond over meat, not tea.

j (op): l’s vegan, mate. bringing a steak would’ve been like waving a red flag at a bull. also, this isn’t Planet of the Apes, it’s just tea. chill.

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j (op): wow, i forgot how weird reddit is. for the record: branded hobnobs. because i’m not a monster. no sniffing, no fingertip scanning and i’ll get someone to update you if i go missing. cheers for the laughs.

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— all works taglist: @luvsforme @yelenasloverrrrr @donttouchthegnote @chelle1306 @bloodyymaryy @aliciaablueprint @km-23mr @stinkyjax @f1kenzzz @ctrlyomomma @theblueblub @23victoria @namgification @tallrock35 @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @ariellovelynn @shhhchriss @lifeless-firefly @xylinasdiary @evie-119 @itseightbeats @landososcar @yongi-lee @velentine @m1892 @blushmimi @evans-dejong @nixisracing @lethalvenus @sainzluvrr @santanasaintmendes @idontknowlmaoo @sainzluvrr @tetetoni @ssprayberrythings @heavy-vettel @tashisgf @daniskywalkersolo @c-losur3 @lestappenslover @linoscrly (see yourself tagged when you don’t wanna be? or you want to be and don’t see yourself? send me an ask!)

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[dietcokegirly12]

im sorry to bother you but I love your writing sm... could you do a nikolai one or a threesome with fyolai

“Pent-Up”

featuring fyodor doestovsky and nikolai gogol ִ ࣪𖤐

.˚₊‧ ─── ⋆｡‧˚ʚ🎪ɞ˚‧｡⋆ ─── ‧₊˚. ─── ⋆｡‧˚ʚ🎪ɞ˚‧

art credits: pinterest ˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

.˚₊‧ ─── ⋆｡‧˚ʚ🎪ɞ˚‧｡⋆ ─── ‧₊˚. ─── ⋆｡‧˚ʚ🎪ɞ˚‧

a/n note: thank you anon for this req omg, i had so much fun with it (♡ˊ͈ ꒳ ˋ͈) also dw i'm gonna release an only nikolai fic laterrr!

keep in mind, reader replaces dazai in the prison arc (っˆڡˆς)

tags: threesome, cowgirl double penetration, mutual masturbation, anal, unprotected sex, teasing, slight degrading, squirting, humping(?), mention of death, mention of oral (fem) at the end, etc etc

word count: 2.5k

🂱🂳🂶 ── ⋅ 🂱🂳🂶 ── ⋅ 🂱🂳🂶 ── ⋅ 🂱🂳🂶 ── ⋅ 🂱

who knew being trapped in the most secure prison to ever exist could leave you so pent-up?

it had been eight months since you had last seen the light of day, and eight months since you had been touched by anyone but yourself.

and it was getting unbearable.

the only solace you had was the man in the cell across from yours, fyodor doestovsky.

as a former member of the port mafia, and a current member of the detective agency with a long list of crimes to your name, in all the commotion, you had been arrested by the hunting dogs and placed in the secure space across from his.

and as the days turned to weeks, and eventually you lost all track of time and what was happening in the outside world, he proved the only one you found comfort in.

through thick and thin, and no matter what, he was always there.

which obviously, he couldn't leave, but just the fact he would entertain you when the days seemed to blend together, and always would comfort you when you had one of your inevitable panic attacks from spending too long in confinement, meant the world.

and of course, being enclosed as you were, always in clear sight of the other, he really was always there.

whether it be when you were eating, or sleeping, or changing, or even.. masturbating.

and truly, when it happened, you hadn't meant for him to see, or even hear you. but you should've known you couldn't hide anything from a man with fyodor's capabilities.

it had been eight miserable months in the prison cell, and you were desperately craving physical touch. you practically ached for intimacy. so... you took matters into your own hands.

with a hand between your plush thighs, panties halfway to the side, and your back arched upward from your front-facing bed, you were doing something incredibly risky but you couldn't bring yourself to care, too lost in the haze of pleasure you were giving yourself.

"mmph.. hah.. f-feels so good," you moaned, picturing it was someone else's fingers toying with your clit languidly. someone else who was right in the cell across yours.

picking up speed in your rubbing, you squeeze your legs together, eliciting a small whimper as you feel yourself getting closer.

and just as you think you're going to be able to push yourself over the edge, and relieve all the tension that's been plaguing you for the past few weeks... nothing.

with a small frustrated groan, you turn over, pulling your fingers out in defeat.

now you were right back where you started, still incredibly horny, only with the addition of now being wet and throbbing, unable to finish on your own.

"need some help over there, myshka?"

you gasp, bolting upright and in the process, let the blanket fall off your body to reveal your bare breasts, and lower stomach.

“shit!”

fyodor simply watches with an amused look as you rush to cover yourself, quickly pulling your covers up to your chin.

“no need to be shy now, darling.”

“fedyaaa..” you whine out, cheeks tinted pink. “y’weren’t s’posed to see that.”

he smirks at that. “oh? then who was?”

you flush, turning away to drape the blankets over yourself, hot all over with embarrassment.

a few seconds later however, the quiet sounds of squelching fill the air, and confused you turn around, unsure what he’s doing.

nothing can prepare you for the sight that awaits you however.

fyodor’s pale hand wrapped tightly around his narrow cock, pumping up and down slowly as his eyes lock on yours, a coy smile curling the corners of his lips upward.

the first thought you have is that he’s long. longer than you’d be able to take, you bet, not that there was much likelihood of that trapped in confinement.

as you ogle at him with wide eyes, mouth agape, he purposefully lets out a drawn-out moan, his head tilting back in pleasure.

before you can stop yourself, you find your hand disappearing back between your thighs, desperately rubbing to get yourself off from the sight of him.

his eyes are closed, but his mouth tilts up, like he can sense what you're doing.

your cunt flutters at the sight of him so exposed like you'd never seen him, and you feel more arousal seeping out of you.

speeding up, you circle a finger around your sopping entrance before plunging in and out, sloppily lewd sounds ensuing.

reaching one hand up, you squeeze your breasts, panting softly as you imagine that it's fyodor's hands doing it rather than yours.

your stomach curls up into tight little knots, and your breathing heaves as you feel yourself finally drawing closer to tipping over the edge.

"say something to me fedya. please?"

he chuckles softly, voice slightly breathier than usual as he whispers out, "fucking filthy girl. jerking off to me while you think i'm asleep, hoping i wouldn't notice, hm?"

and it's then that you can't hold back anymore, soft cries of his name leaving you as you twitch and shudder, drenching your hand and thighs in your slick.

and you can't see it, but you know fyodor finishes close behind as soft, guttural groans leave his throat before he lapses back into silence, broken only by the sound of your combined soft breaths.

you had been facing up at the ceiling for most of it, and as you turn over to your side to face fyodor, you see he's already on his side, looking at you.

"as soon as we get out of here, myshka, i'm going to fuck you senseless."

your heart rate increases as you stare at him, lips slightly parted.

"these eight months of confinement so close, yet so far from you have been torture. i don't care who, or what is around us, i'm going to take you and finally make you mine."

you blush, already feeling needy between your legs again just from his words. "as soon as we get out.." you agree.

.˚₊‧˗ ─── 🗝⟢ ₊˚ ꗃ ─── ˗‧₊˚. ─── 🗝⟢ ₊˚ ꗃ

the next morning, you're awoken by loud shouting.

immediately sitting upright, you look over to fyodor's cell, but he's gone.

"hey!" you swing your feet over the side of the bed and are just about to stand up when suddenly the floor drops from under you, and you fall straight through.

you land with a harsh thump! on the hard floor in a foreign area, a tall man wearing striped pants and a white braid leering down at you. "so, you're the one who captured fyodor's heart while he was captured?" he laughs at his own joke before extending a hand to you, a sly grin on his face, one scarred eye shamelessly checking you out.

fyodor stands beside him, rolling his eyes at his companion, still dressed in his white prison uniform with his hands folded across his chest impatiently.

around them were several mangled bodies piled up, guards you assumed.

it was obvious this had been planned. they had clearly been in communication. and yet... what was it that fyodor had said last night? that it didn't matter who or what was around, he was going to take you as his anyway...?

you're startled out of your thoughts at the feeling of cold hands snaking around your waist, bringing you face-to-face with the man you had longed for in confinement for so long.

and now here he was.

touching you.

after being deprived of him for so long, you could care less whether his friend was there to watch or not, and without hesitance you throw your arms over his shoulders and smash your lips onto his, tilting your head to deepen the kiss.

his mouth is cool on yours, and tastes faintly of something heavy and intoxicating, the slightly musky flavor invading your senses until you were practically drowning in it.

with one finger, he tilts your chin upward, and places light kisses down your jaw, tongue darting out occasionally to taste your skin, making you groan in pleasure at the feeling.

and it's then that you feel the warmth of someone pressing into you from behind, and two arms wrapping around your waist.

you gasp softly, trying to move away and unintentionally backing your ass up further into the man behind you, causing him to let out a soft groan.

fyodor chuckles, pulling away to cup your face gently. "it's okay. he won't bite."

swallowing, you stare up at fyodor questioningly.

but before he can answer, the one behind you leans forward, breath tickling your ear. "name's nikolai. but you can call me kolya, little dove."

"i've been telling him about you, my cellmate, for a while now after finding a way to communicate to the outside world, and he agreed to break us out of here on one condition..."

suddenly, nikolai's hands which had been resting at your front begin to slide up your body as fyodor speaks, large palms coming to cup your breasts through your shirt, causing a small involuntary whine to slip out of you, slightly grinding your ass back against him.

"...he gets to fuck you too."

heat pools low in your tummy and you desperately nod in agreement, eager to feel both of their hands on you, giddy with the promise of finally being touched. "please."

nikolai laughs from behind you, hands squeezing tighter around your tits. "seems she doesn't mind having us both, greedy girl."

you whimper softly, leaning back on nikolai as you guide fyodor's hands to between your legs needily, not willing to waste another second.

"someone's eager." fyodor teases, lightly brushing his long fingers along your inner thighs, achingly close to where heat radiates from between them.

however, for all his taunting, he's not faring much better than you, his pants tented from the impressive bulge straining against them.

"someone's eager.." you mock back, one hand reaching out to splay across his painfully hard cock.

with a hiss, hips bucking into your touch, his eyes turn feral, voice dropping dangerously low. "take off your pants. now."

as you quickly obey, nikolai's hands slide down to help you, leisurely pulling them down past your hips until you're in nothing but your panties sandwiched in between them.

quickly, they shift you so you're straddling fyodor's chest, with nikolai behind.

"think you can take us both, dove? i don't want to wait any longer." nikolai purrs out, eye glinting.

as you nod in affirmation, they instantly begin to move as one, fyodor spreading open your thighs as nikolai's hands come to your hips, rutting against your ass slightly.

desperate to feel you for the first time, fyodor's already pulling down his pants to reveal his cock, flushed a pale pink and dripping with pre-cum. it's so long it reaches halfway up his stomach and is even prettier up close.

before you even get the chance to marvel at him, however, he's already lining himself up and pushing in. "myshka, you have no idea how long i've dreamt of having you like this."

all you can do is grip tightly onto his shoulders, soft gasps leaving you at the stretch of him pushing deep inside you.

his cock has a mean curve to it, one that has you dizzy as it reaches all the way to brushing your cervix, without even moving.

there's shuffling behind you as nikolai undresses, and before you can even adjust to having fyodor's cock nestled into your snug walls, his tip is prodding insistently at your hole.

expertly, he reaches one nimble hand to your front, toying with your pulsing clit languidly, and completely covering his hand in your slick before pumping his cock with it a few times as lube.

and where fyodor was impressively long... nikolai was impressively thick.

obscenely so.

his shaft was girthy, and lined with thumping veins and ridges, precum pearling at the slit tantalizingly.

and if you thought you were full before...

the second even an inch of his heavy cock started to push its way inside you, his hands holding your hips steady from behind, you swear you're seeing stars.

"fuck! s'too much! i-it's not all g-gonna fit!" you cry out desperately, squirming in fyodor's grasp as nikolai grunts from behind.

"yes it is.. take it. take it all like a good little slut." fyodor's fingers come to rub circles over your clit to get you to loosen up more for them, accented voice smooth as velvet.

"kolya! y'er so.. so big!" you gasp as he giggles slightly from behind, pushing you forward onto fyodor enough to lift your ass higher.

"hm, is that so? that's not even all of it yet.." and with that, he pulls back before snapping his hips into you, bullying the rest of his thick cock into you in one harsh thrust.

you squeal, falling forward onto fyodor who simply hums, before starting an absolutely brutal pace, meant to completely ravage your poor pussy.

nikolai also begins to thrust into you from behind, barely even giving you time to adjust to his sheer size before you're ping-ponging back and forth between the two, the filthy sounds of skin against skin filling the air.

with the force of their thrusts, your breasts are jiggling, and eagerly fyodor takes one nipple into his mouth, sucking gently, tongue laving tantalizingly around the hardened bud.

you moan, arching up as you quickly tangle your fingers into his dark hair, nikolai groaning behind you.

you know you're not going to last long, not with the way you've been dreaming of this for months, so in an effort to not cum too early, you try to crawl upward and away from their drilling cocks, but nikolai is having none of that, quickly pulling you back to sink even more of him inside you, a small tsk tsk leaving him.

"where you going, little dove?"

you whimper softly in reply, eyes shutting tightly as you try to fight the wave of oncoming pleasure threatening to crash over you. "kolya... fedya.. hmph c-can't.. m'gonna!"

and before you even realize what's happening, your body convulses as with a shudder, you squirt, gushing your release out all over the two, as wave after wave of blinding white pleasure hits you, leaving you a dripping, soaked, mewling mess when you're finally done, panting for breath.

"бля! какая у тебя грязная пизда!" ("Fuck! Such a filthy pussy you have!")

fyodor's words come out in frantic, slurred russian, his only warning before he's spurting load after load of creamy, white ropes into your abused cunt, some of it seeping out to puddle around you.

nikolai follows quickly, a loud throaty groan slipping out from him as more hot ribbons of cum paint your insides white, cock throbbing as he empties himself in you.

and as you all collapse into a heap of sticky, glistening bodies, your faces sweat-sheened and blissed-out, you feel someone nestling between your thighs.

looking down, you see nikolai's head pressed between your legs, eyes closed peacefully.

"kolya..." you warn, voice slightly ragged.

he smiles mischievously. "what? 'm resting!"

as you relent, settling back down, your thighs are pushed open suddenly and a hot mouth instantly latches onto your leaking cunt.

"gotta clean you up..."

and it’s then, you feel another mouth eagerly join.

tagslist (ask to be tagged!<3): @bokukenmakuroo @newnlovesjennie

[fushiguruuzzzz]

xiv  ⊹ ࣪ ˖  Love and (Internal) War 

Series mlist 

Tags — possibly offensive humour, Megumi’s self hatred peeking through, oblivious idiot yn 

Words — 1.2k 

The soft knock echoed throughout your otherwise lifeless room, a reminder that the boy on your mind was more than just text bubbles on a screen. You let out a low sound of acknowledgment, sliding off of your plush bed. The floor felt cold beneath you, the wood pressing firmly against the soles of your feet. 

You opened the door, the hinges creaking ever so quietly in the midst of the nights peace. It was late, very much so, but you were sure many of your neighbours were awake. That’s what students did, cramming everything into one short span of hours, usually at the most inconvenient times of night. By now, though, Megumi was usually asleep. It was something you often teased him for, referred to him as an old man. Truth be told, he just loved sleeping. There wasn’t much more to say. So why was he standing in your hallway looking like a lost dog? 

“Hey,” you said, shuffling to the side as an indirect invitation for him to come in. He took it, though hesitantly, as if he hadn’t been the one to show up here in the first place. “What’s up? Are you okay?” you asked. 

You gently pressed the door closed behind you, lingering in front of it, trying to gauge his mood. Your first instinct was to assume something had happened, something bad. Showing up at your dorm at 2 in the morning was a bold move for any average, semi-social person, let alone for Megumi. He shook his head, as if to shoot down any conclusions you’d jumped to. 

“I couldn’t sleep,” he said. He shoved his hands into the pocket of the hoodie he’d haphazardly thrown on as he left his room, a snoring Yuji in the background. He spoke again, a mumble so quiet you’d think it hurt him to say. “…and I wanted to see you.” 

At this, the tension in your shoulders faded, the harsh lines taking up your face smoothing out. Instead it was replaced by a grin, and the hidden bashfulness that came with the way your heart sped up at his confession. 

“What was that?” you smirked, tilting your head in feigned confusion. 

“Don’t be an asshole,” he deadpanned. You let out a laugh, probably too high in volume for the hour. 

“Yeah, sorry. I missed you too.” 

Your shoulder gently brushed against his as you passed him, and the small touch sent too many sparks flying over his skin. He didn’t like it. He didn’t like this. He didn’t like that he so desperately tried to avoid that longing, that feeling he only felt upon seeing your face, but somehow always found himself here. Well, not exactly here, but with you. No matter the place, he always found himself chasing you like you were all he needed. Like you were home. Maybe you were. 

You plopped down on the bed, the covers rustling beneath you. You gave a discreet nod to the place beside you, noticing the way he stood near the door, barely moving. Did he have to be so mysterious all of the time? So guarded? 

He sat by your side, looking ahead. Anyone could very easily tell something was bothering him, anyone that knew him well enough, at least. He was more tense than he usually was, his walls seeming higher than ever. Though with added height came the crushing weight on the body of them, leaving cracks and holes for hints of vulnerability to seep from. 

“Megumi,” you whispered, a careful hand finding its home on his shoulder. “Is something wrong?” 

He was silent for a moment, avoiding your eyes as he contemplated whether he would be honest or not. His fingers twitched in his pockets, itching to move. They didn’t. 

“How was your date?” he asked, though a bitter feeling resided in his mouth once he spoke. Was that too forward? Too obvious? Were you about to kick him out and push him away? In his mind, those four simple words were as close to any sort of confession he was ready to give. In the few months since the two of you were reunited, he’d felt his walls be slowly chipped away, no matter how hard he fought it. With you, he just couldn’t. It was inevitable, and he was beginning to feel like that same stupid boy he was all those years ago. Stupid stupid boy, falling for you. In his mind, you were the sun and he was simple one of billions of stars yearning for your light. He could never amount to who he wanted to be, to be what you deserved. Wait.. falling for you? Had he just admitted that to himself? 

You paused. Was that what was wrong? Your date? You didn’t understand why such a thing would bother him, let alone enough for him to lose sleep and show up at your dorm in the earliest hours of the morning. “It was nice… he’s nice. Why? Do you not like him?” 

He stole a quick glance at you, softly shaking his head. “I’m not exactly fond of him, no.” 

“Oh?” you said, tilting your head softly to the side. “I didn’t know.” 

“I didn’t expect you to,” he said, shrugging. “Anyway, I didn’t come here to talk about him.” He let out a soft sigh, mindlessly grabbing a book off of your nightstand. He was all too aware of your hand on his shoulder, how close you were sitting to him, and it felt wrong. He shouldn’t be feeling this way. He didn’t deserve it. 

“Mm,” he said, examining the cover. He felt an odd need to make conversation, which made him sure he was losing it. When was he ever one to speak when not necessary? Who even was he? You took notice of this, knowing that he must’ve just been distracting himself from whatever deeper level of the situation was nagging at him. “You have good taste in books,” he said. 

For some reason, the compliment sounded much better coming from him than it did from Noritoshi. You summed it up to the fact that Megumi was more familiar, which wasn’t completely a lie, but… you knew better than that. 

You spent the next couple of hours talking about everything and nothing in between comfortable silences and shared looks. Whether it was literature, your classes, your friends, hell, you even talked about politics, it was all so comfortable with him. Things felt as if they were meant to be that way. And then, before you knew it, the two of you were slumped against eachother, halfway lying down as you slept in each others arms. He’d mindlessly held you in his sleep, something that came to him subconsciously, as if embracing you was muscle memory. You hadn’t protested, even as you stirred and occasionally gained some of your consciousness. It was just one night, wasn’t it? At least he was sleeping at all. You were just comforting him, that was all. 

Neither of you would voice it, but it was the best you’d slept in a long time. 

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sighhh I love them lwk been distracted from bttoh tho been nurturing the farmhand yuji fic a lil too much… nb gonna read ts are they cries anyway ermmmm can you guys not kill me or yourselves after the coming chapters release pretty please… with a cherry on top…

[spacelatinoluvr]

apartment 315 (part 2) 18+

summary: after living in your apartment for a few months, you and logan start to feel more and more like distant strangers across the hall. that’s until you take another guy home, and logan doesn’t know how to act.   word count: 4.0k pairing: modern!Logan Howlett x fem!reader warnings: angst, smut, jealousy, not so nice name calling tags: fighting, jealous!Logan, modern au, top!Logan, fighting, jealous!Logan, public sex, fingering, dirty talk, dom!Logan, teasing, edging, enemies-ish to lovers, soft logan and laura, happy ending part 1

Logan always chose the cheapest and shittiest beer. The beer that would not have an effect on him. A beer that was barely worth anything. You noticed that Logan would appear in your bar more frequently during your shifts. As if he was watching over you. Like a guardian angel of some sort. It was comforting knowing he was there. 

But one particular Friday night, you were not there. 

Instead, you had been put on a blind date set-up by your friend Darcy. One of her co-workers was apparently your type. As if you had a type. You had just gotten divorced almost a year ago. You didn't want to agree, you were hesitant at first, but Darcy insisted it was just to get you out of your humble abode. And Logan didn't know why you weren't there. And her certainly would not have guessed you were on a date with someone else.

“Please?” Darcy was practically begging over the phone. It was now the beginning of December, and the snow still had not appeared. You were walking up the stairs to your apartment, slightly out of breath. The elevator had still not been fixed, and you had to walk up three flights of stairs everyday. The phone was on your shoulder, tucked under your ear and you reached the third floor beginning to search for your keys in your purse. You stopped looking to answer Darcy. 

“Fine…” Darcy squeaked over the phone and you could imagine her doing a dance at that moment. Your brain flashed back to Logan briefly, remembering what you said to him in the alley. You tried to forget it but every time you saw him at the bar, your heart beat a little faster. 

You had not uttered a word about what had happened between the two of you. To Lee or to Darcy. Not a single soul knew. Truly what you had said to him. You were embarrassed. And you really needed an excuse for an expensive glass of wine. You thought maybe you had gotten to Logan. Maybe he'd finally make a move. Maybe the tension would disappear. But he still remained that same distant neighbor. You still felt like strangers. 

“I'll call you later tonight, Darcy. Lee wanted to binge watch some show-”

You both said your goodbyes before you hung up the phone with a large sigh, leaning your forehead against the door. You really did not want to go on a double date. A blind date at that. But you really needed to leave your home. You needed a break. You had just gotten off an awful shift at the bar, hoping something would- 

“You okay?” You turned around sharply to find Logan edging his way up the stairs, staring at you with concern, his eyebrows slightly bunched together. You nodded, putting your fingers between your forehead and closing your eyes. 

“I just really need a drink,” You said, opening your eyes to find Logan still staring at you. You bit your lip, thinking for a moment. Only for a second before the words came tumbling out of your mouth. “Do you wanna come inside?” An open invitation. And Logan accepted. 

You hurriedly rushed to clean off your kitchen counter of dirty dishes and magazines, muttering under your breath. Logan had his hands in his jacket pockets, looking around your apartment. He took note of how there was an unopened box in the back of the living room. It was fairly clean but a little messy in some parts. You moved around the kitchen before you pulled out two bottles of beer from your fridge. 

“Uh, go ahead and sit on the couch.” You pointed with your head at the couch at the end of the apartment and Logan silently moved towards it. His eye caught on that unopened box again as he sat down. You handed him the beer, hoping he wouldn't bring it up. But to your dismay, he did. 

“What’s in the box?” You smirked, taking a long swig from the beer, the slick feeling of its coolness running down your throat. 

“Body parts,” You answered, and Logan smiled, his eyes narrowing at you. “You're a boxer, right?” Logan paused.

“Was. I was a boxer.”

“Who says you aren't anymore?”

“I do.”

“Well I say you still are one. Look at your hands. What makes you think you aren't one?”

“What's really in the box?”

“Touche.” You stood after a moment, letting out a huff. You turned around grabbing the small box, setting it on the table in front of the couch. The box’s writing was now on display reading “Shit asshole didn't want!”. You slowly opened the box, peering inside to find only three things: a wedding ring, a photo album and an oversized t-shirt. You took the three things out of the box, setting them down next to it. It was quiet again, and Logan took a long sip from his beer before speaking up. 

“There’s a boxing ring downtown…I used to make money off of it. Think of it as gambling. I was the boxer. The Wolverine. It felt illegal even though it wasn’t. And then one night…I lost, breaking my shoulder blade. I’ve been trying to get back into it but with Laura around- it’s difficult.” He took another long swig and moved towards the fireplace on the other end of the room, turning it on before moving to sit back next to Logan, closer than before. 

“I was going to be a professional dancer. A ballerina. It was my first love really. And then I met…” You paused, staring at the fire, anger rising within you for a moment. You calmed yourself, breathing in a deep breath, turning towards Logan. “His name was Ben. He didn’t want me to be a dancer so… I quit. I became some lousy bartender down the street from our cheap apartment-“ 

“You’re not lousy.” You smiled, a crinkle in your eye. 

“Thanks but…I didn’t follow my dream. I followed a man. That’s what made me lousy. Anyway!” You stood abruptly, picking up the things from outside the box and standing next to the fire. 

“This was my favorite oversized t-shirt…” You stood over the flames, throwing it in the fire, watching the remnants of the cotton turn to soot and ash. You grabbed the photo album next flipping through the empty pages, landing on a photo of you and Ben. 

“He didn't want this photo because it was the only one that had just the two of us…” You ripped it out of the album before tearing it to pieces and throwing it in the fire along with the shirt. You watched them burn for a moment, before grabbing the wedding ring, the one you had given him. 

“And this was his wedding ring…it wasn't cheap but…” And you threw the ring in the fire, watching all of your lost memories with your ex-husband fade along with those three reminders. You turned around, clearing your throat and Logan was staring at you just like he was at the halloween party. Just like he was behind the alley.

“Whatever he did…he was a stupid fuck.” Logan had a different sound in his voice when he said that, it was deeper than when he normally spoke. You hummed, sitting back down next to him.

“He was a really stupid fuck.” You laughed, leaning to pick up your beer. You took a long swig, feeling Logan watching you from the corner of your eye. You turned towards him, fully facing him as you crossed your legs on the couch. 

“Where’s Laura tonight?” You asked, taking another sip from your beer, it now begins to slowly empty itself. Logan grimaced slightly, shaking his head. 

“She's with Mrs. Baker…she wanted to knit with Laura.” He sounded upset when he said it and all you could do was let out a laugh, covering your mouth quickly when it escaped you. 

“Laura knitting? Wow, I can imagine her having so much fun right now.” You said sarcastically, laughing after your sentence. Logan smiled. He actually smiled. His eyes crinkled slightly, the lines across his forehead smashing together. For what felt like the first time you’d seen him grin at you. And it made you ecstatic. You felt accomplished. Someone else besides Laura had finally gotten the grump across the hall to smile. And it was genuine. Not the snarky ones he had given you before. But it was a truly happy smile. 

”Yeah she’s…different,” He said, still smiling whilst bringing the bottle to his lips. “You guys are similar.”

You leaned towards him. “How so?”

“You’re both just…different from everyone else.” Now it was your turn to smile.

“I think that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.” Logan scoffed, taking another sip from the beer. 

“Doubt it.”

“I bet you can’t give me another good compliment.” He hid another smile behind his bottle. And then his smile was gone, another look appearing in his eyes as he set the now empty beer bottle on the table. And damn you wished you could make him smile again. Maybe get a chuckle or a small laugh. But no. The look you got now was not a smile or a cocky grin, it was serious and hard. Like he was staring into your mind and soul. Staring right into you. 

“Well for one you are…attractive.” He paused before saying the last word, averting his eyes from yours. His cheeks turned a light shade of pink, and if the fire didn't glow so bright you might not have caught it. 

“And what does that mean?” You leaned closer to him, tilting your head to the side. He glanced down, looking at your lips. And then he moved even closer to you. It was as if a flip switched inside of him. 

“I like your hair…” He reached his hand to touch your hair, moving away a piece that had fallen in front of your eyes. You watched him as his warm hand paused right before touching your face. His fingertips slowly panned down your face. “Your eyes…” His hand traced your face delicately, stopping right before your chin. “Your lips…” He reached your chin, holding it in his hand, grazing your lips softly with his thumb. His thumb pulled open your lips, your mouth parted slightly. You held your breath, waiting for his next move.

His hand left your face, encasing your neck, grazing the exposed skin. 

“Your neck,” He wanted to kiss the skin, leaving marks in the place of his lips. His hand trailed again, now on your shoulder. “Your shoulders.” His hand was laying on your shoulder, and you scooted towards him but he abruptly pulled away, flexing his hand when it reached his side. Your eyebrows creased, and you reached towards him, your hand about to land on his cheek but he pulled away fast. So fast that you almost fell on top of him, but he couldn't look at you. 

“What-”

“I should go.” Logan stood abruptly, almost flushed, as he made his way to the door. You sat there stunned for a moment, staring ahead of you as the door opened. Logan was standing there, waiting for you to say something. Anything. But you didn't. You sat there, silent. The door slammed shut moments later, the only sound that was heard was the crackling of fire. 

That Friday night, you arrived at the restaurant thirty minutes before the time Darcy had instructed you. You wore a short black dress, one you haven't worn in years since before you were married. One you wanted Logan to rip off- No. You were here on a date with another man. Not to have thoughts of your neighbor. 

You were the first one there, so you sat at the table, anxiously tapping your foot on the ground whilst sipping on a glass of water. It was now five minutes before the time and you were starting to think you got the wrong time. Maybe you-

Someone called your name from behind you. 

“Hi Uh, I’m Charles.” He stuck his hand forward, and you stared at it for a moment before smiling and gripping his sweaty palm. You introduced yourself, inviting him to sit down in front of you. Your phone went off, and you picked it up staring at the text Darcy had sent you: sorry we can’t make it! have fun! ;)

You angrily shut off your phone, taking a large gulp of water. Of course it was a set up. 

“Is something wrong?” Charles asked and you choked on your water slightly, still mid sip. You eventually swallowed the water, nodding your head. 

“Yeah everythings perfect. Darcy just texted me that she couldn't make it.” Charles smiled lightly, looking into his lap. 

“Yes, well that is not a surprise.” He laughed, and it was awkwardly silent before you asked him a question. 

“So um, you work with Darcy?” He nodded, the waiter arriving with two glasses of red wine, setting them in front of you both. 

“Yes.” He responded, and you waited for him to say something else but he sat there quietly sipping on his wine. This guy is a talker…

The rest of the night went on like that. You ask him a question and he'd give you a short one word answer. It was exhausting. But, damn, he was attractive. But he wasn't Logan. He wasn't the man across the hall. The man that had voluntarily touched your face. The man that you had wanted to want you back. But, he wouldn't do it. And that made you angry. So angry that you had brought this mysterious man back to your apartment after your date. You pulled him up the stairwell, your hand in his. Your black dress rode up your thighs as you went up but you didn't care. You didn't give a damn. You didn't give a single fuck. Because this man wanted you. And that's all the permission you needed. For someone to finally want you back. 

His hand trailed down to your ass, squeezing gently and you couldn't help but think of Logan. Wishing it was him instead. You reached your door, fumbling with the keys in your hand. You were nervous. The keys fell to the ground, and Charles bent to pick them up, rising in front of your face. He twirled them in his hand, before his mouth landed on yours quickly. You gasped as his lips met yours, not reciprocating the kiss at first. And then it dawned on you. Why did you care? In a second, your hands were running through his hair, tugging it harshly and he groaned when you did it. He pushed you against the door, his lips trailing down your neck. Your eyes were closed, your mouth agape. When your eyes opened, they met the gaze of someone across the hall.

They met the gaze of Logan. Logan was stationed on the stairwell, his hand gripping the handrail so hard you could see the blood from his knuckles already seeping through the loose bandages that covered his hands. He stared into your eyes, not even daring to look away from you. He was breathing heavily, his chest heaving with every moment Charles lips trailed lower and lower.

He watched as his hands trailed down your thighs and under your dress. He watched it, not uttering a single word. And then he looked hurt; disappointed. He shook his head, slowly dragging his feet as he walked towards his apartment. The door opened quietly, and Logan stopped for a moment before he entered slamming the door loudly on his way in. 

The sound of the door slamming startled Charles and he jumped away from you, breathing heavily. 

“Sorry I-” He began to say, but you cut him off. You didn't want this. You didn't want him. 

“You're a sloppy kisser,” You deadpanned, turning to open your door with your keys. You opened the door, pausing to say one more thing. 

“And you're boring.” The door slammed shut. 

That same night, you lay in bed in only an oversized tee tossing and turning. You couldn't sleep. You rose from your bed, still only in your underwear. You sagged yourself outside your door, leading to Lee’s apartment. Just before you knocked on her door, you stopped yourself. What were you doing? It was two in the morning. Lee most likely was not asleep but you didn't want to wake her. You didn't want to bother her with your troubles. 

You sighed, running your hands through your hair before turning around. Logan was in the middle of closing his door, and he stopped only staring at you. Only staring at you, solely in your underwear. Staring at your exposed legs. And then he looked away, almost as if he was remembering something. Remembering past events. A dark look overtook his eyes when he glanced back at you and you fought the urge to clench your legs together. 

Logan had not been able to sleep either. He sat on his couch waiting…waiting for your door to open. Because Logan knew exactly what sound your door made every time you opened it. 

“Have fun?” Logan grumbled, setting a trash bag outside of his door. You scoffed, pulling your shirt down to your knees. You tried to at least cover your thighs, but the shirt just bunched up reaching the ends of your inner thigh. 

“You know what Logan,” You looked at the ground. “You’re such a fucking hypocrite.” Your eyes raised to meet his. 

“Excuse me?”

“I said you’re a fucking hypocrite!” You stepped towards him, away from Lee’s door. He shook his head, his lip curling upwards.

“And you’re a slut. What's worse?” He turned towards his door, opening it but you shot forwards, your bare feet padding across the ground. You slammed Logan’s door shut with your back before he could enter, and he backed away, a long sigh escaping through his nose. 

“Fuck you. You don't get to call me that. That is not fair.” Your finger pointed at his face, almost touching his mouth. His lips parted, as if thinking about his next words carefully. 

“Well you did fuck a guy you just met.” Logan inched towards you, his face now hovering over yours. 

“I didn't sleep with him! Jesus- what is your-” Logan bounded forward, bringing your head towards his, his lips meeting yours in a furious kiss. At first you crinkled up below him, not prepared for that. But then you melted into his hands, as he kept kissing you, his hands placed firmly between your two cheeks. You kissed him back just as hard, if not harder than he expected. He enjoyed tasting you for the first time. He wanted to relish in it. He wanted to feel you for the rest of his life. 

Your back hit the door of his apartment, Logan’s hands traveling lower to grip at your shirt, lightly lifting it above your stomach. His hand encased across your stomach, tracing it lightly with his rough fingers. You pulled away from him, hitting the back of your head on the door again. 

“I'm sorry I-” You were breathing through your mouth, trying to calm your heartbeat. 

“Shut up. Just shut the fuck up.” Logan growled deeply, and you felt your heart quicken as he put his hands between your head, diving in for another kiss. And you accepted. His hand trailed down your stomach again, this time not stopping. He paused right before the top of your underwear, almost uncertain. He played with the panty lines, almost tugging them off of you. But you ripped your lips away from his. 

“What are you-” Logan’s fingers went under your underwear, and you let out a gasp as his fingered glazed over your core, and you jutted your hips forward, a gasp leaving your lips. 

“I’m taking what is mine. Isn't that what you wanted?” His fingers, his calloused and large fingers slowly inserted themselves into you. You were wet. You were surprised at how aroused you had gotten by the previous argument. How much making him angry turned you on. Logan’s fingers curled inside you, and it took everything in you to not buckle beneath him. 

“Fuck-” You moaned and Logan pumped in again before you gripped his shoulders with both of your hands, squeezing tightly, your head falling on the door again.  

“Quiet…” He whispered, starting to pump in and out of you at a faster pace. His other hand trailed down your stomach, reaching your thighs. Your beautiful thighs. He squeezed one, running his thumb across the space of your exposed skin, his fingers pausing inside you. 

“I wanted to kill him,” Your mouth opened in a silent plea as he stopped pumping inside you, a groan leaving his lips. “For touching you, touching what's mine.” A quiet moan left your lips, so soft like music to Logan’s ears. “And that dress…I wish I had gotten the chance to rip it off of you.” He wanted to watch it drop to the floor, he wanted to not just rip, but tear, that dress off of you. Because you were his, and only his. He began pumping inside of you again, more vigorously now and all you could do was try not to crumble against the door. 

“Please,” Your mouth opened again, a loud moan releasing itself from you and Logan’s hand that had been on your thigh reached up and cupped itself over your mouth. You breathed out heavily, that familiar feeling building up inside of you. “Please, Logan.”

“You have to be quiet.” He reprimanded, and your legs were starting to feel like jello now. You were so close, Logan’s eyes were only on you as he kept pumping his fingers in and out. His pace fastened, and your breathing was getting heavier and your hands now gripped the one covering your mouth. A muffled moan escaped from you, and your eyes closed slightly as you chased your high, about to-. 

And then Logan stopped, his fingers leaving from inside of you and your eyes opened to see him smirking at you. 

“What the fuck?” You asked, your mouth open in shock. Only a few seconds longer and you would have released all over his hand. In front of his apartment. In the hallway of your building. Your cheeks got red, and you touch them with your hands. There had to be cameras, right? 

“Oh my god we're gonna get arrested for-” Logan laughed, shaking his head. 

“Were not going to get arrested,” And then he looked you up and down, almost instantly noticing your uncomfortable stance. “Here.”

He took his coat off, putting it around your shoulders, reaching behind you. And then he pulled you into a long hug, after the coat had been sat on your shoulders. You looked so small and frail, but your eyes still had a euphoric gloss in them. It took everything in Logan not to take you right then and there. Because truly he didnt care where it was that he fucked you. He just needed you. 

But instead he kissed the top of your head and you sighed, wrapping your arms around him as well. It was comfortable standing like that. It wasn't awkward. Just comfortable. He then picked you up bridal style and you gasped laughing as he did, opening the door of his apartment. You looked over at the apartment in front of you, right before you entered, reading the numbers three-fifteen. You wondered what would have happened if you picked a different apartment complex. If you didn't go on that atrocious date. 

So before you went to bed that night, Logan asleep next to you, you silently thanked apartment 315. 

a/n: wow I was NOT expecting people to actually read the first part omg. I really appreciate everyone’s comments! I wrote this during my work breaks lmfao. I wanted to get it out asap. Thank you so much for reading! This is my first time ever writing smut so I’m not too sure how good I did but we’ll see… until next time you horny fucks! Also they did NOT freak… i couldn't stop thinking about Laura being next door to that so… lol

taglist: @needz1nk, @likeficsinthewnd

cross-posted on ao3:

[nuria-schnee]

Dead Boy Detectives - Fic Rec List (Part 1)

I've been wanting to do a rec list for a while, and now I have found a bit of time to do so. I've read A LOT of DBD fics in the past months, so I'm gonna split this rec list so this doesn't get insanely long. Also, check the tags of the fic because I'm just adding a few for length's sake.

Anyway, let's dive in! ❤️

Run your fingers through my soul by Hse11z5 (@thenyoumaykissthebride)

| T | 3k | Tags: Love Confessions, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Feelings Realization, Miscommunication, Idiots in Love, Fluff |

“Charles-” Edwin started, his voice catching over his friend’s name. “Just let me… Can I go first, please?” Charles begged, his hands still caught up with Edwin’s. Edwin nodded and swallowed the words he wanted to let escape. “Okay. Don’t be mad. But there’s no case.” Edwin scowled and opened his mouth. Charles winced. “I said don’t be mad! Now, I had to bring you here because there’s something really important I’ve been needing to tell you for a while now and it’s that-” Charles stopped. His hands fell to his side because he no longer had Edwin’s hands to hold. One second Edwin was there and then the next he just… wasn’t. Charles looked around madly, trying to work out what had happened, what kind of magic could have caused him to just disappear in a puff of smoke. That was when he saw the small orb bobbing behind the board games. aka The One Where Charles Fucks Up His Love Confession So Badly Edwin Orbs Out.

Notes: This was the cutest thing ever. I loved it so much, I swear.

and at once i knew i was not magnificent by aletterinthenameofsanity (@aletterinthenameofsanity)

| T | 3k | Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, First Kiss, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, Angst with a Happy Ending, Unreliable Narrator |

The problem with being Charles Rowland- or, rather, the truth of being Charles Rowland- is that he is not somebody that people kiss because they truly want to. Or rather, because they truly want him. When he was alive, it was because girls wanted the other guys on the team and he was a decent second option. It was because girls wanted to try out kissing and he did too and why not figure out their problems together? And now that he's dead, it's more of the same, isn't it? Crystal kisses him to try to feel something. And Edwin kisses him because their mouths are close together, and Edwin has just helped Charles through his crisis about his father and Brad and Hunter, and emotions are high, and, well- It makes sense that Edwin kisses Charles right now, doesn't it? It makes sense that Edwin is testing something out, and Charles is the person he trusts to test things out with. (Edwin kisses Charles at the end of Dead Dragons. Charles thinks that Edwin is doing it for practice. Edwin will just have to correct him, won't he?)

Notes: This broke my heart in a million pieces, but it was very worth it. This fic is absolutely brilliant.

the great snogging debacle of '95 by thatgayprince (@prince-simon)

| M | 26k | Tags: First Kiss, Feelings Realization, Getting Together, Disguise, Gender Fuckery, Near Sex Experience, Charles Rowland Has ADHD (DCU), Bisexual Charles Rowland (DCU), Internalized Homophobia, Canon Compliant, Pre-Canon, Post-Canon, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Past Child Abuse |

London, 1995 – Charles Rowland gets ambushed at a house party. He doesn’t think about it for the next 30 years.

Notes: Look, I'll be forever screaming about this one. It was amazing from the first word to the last. I think it rewired my brain, because I couldn't stop thinking about it afterwards.

i’ll be waiting for twenty years (praying for redemption) by aletterinthenameofsanity (@aletterinthenameofsanity)

| E | 4k | Tags: Heavy Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Pre-Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Canon, First Kiss, First Time, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, Religious Imagery & Symbolism |

The kindest thing that anyone has ever done for Charles was guide him to death. The cruelest thing that anyone has ever done is tell Charles that they would rather Charles have left with Death in that attic than stuck around. Charles has spent the last thirty years being haunted by the same ghost, of course. What an irony that Charles only started being haunted after he died. (What an irony that Charles only realized he was in love after that same ghost proved that Charles still had a heart in his dead chest, because that heart had broken the moment that Edwin had turned on his heel and left a shattered Charles in the place they once called a home.) And yet, Charles cannot stop wishing for Edwin to just turn around. For Edwin to just turn around and smile and laugh as he did in that attic. For Edwin to smile at him, for Edwin to accept him back, for Edwin to love him. (Edwin and Charles go their separate ways in 1990 and spend the next thirty years pining for each other. Don't worry, they'll figure things out eventually.)

Notes: The way this broke my heart and put it back together, I swear- Absolutely amazing. It's angsty and it hurts, but I have no regrets. I wanted to give it a thousand kudos (please, AO3, let me).

so I try to talk refined by shadowquill17 (@shadowquill17)

| E | 6k | Tags: POV Charles Rowland (DCU), Self-Esteem Issues, Internalized racism, Jealousy, Oblivious Charles Rowland (DCU), Misunderstandings |

Edwin tells Charles about the Cat King taking his appearance and Charles, after he's done being angry, thinks about it some more and comes to the conclusion that the only reason that could happen and Edwin could still be more flustered by the Cat King when he didn't look like Charles... is that Edwin doesn't find Charles attractive. He has no idea why it feels so painful.

Notes: This made me feel INSANE in the best of ways. I re-read it often and enjoy it as much as the first time. Thank you, @shadowquill17, for this amazing fic.

That Story Ends Tragically by Alexander_Writes (@neitherthehoneynorthebee)

| M | 12k | Tags: Ep 7 canon divergence, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Found Family, Pre-Canon Scenes, Violence, Internalized Homophobia, Trauma, Love Confessions, First Kiss |

"Can you explain this?" Charles begged. "Charles, don't leave," said the boy behind them. Edwin glared, but forcefully smoothed his expression when he looked back at Charles. "Hell is ... perceptive. It likes to snare souls. What is ..." He swallowed, throat moving with it. "What is the thing that you are most scared of, right now?" "Losing you." Or, what if Charles got lost trying to find Edwin in Hell?

Notes: MY GOD THE BRILLIANCE OF THIS. This was so well written it had me on the edge of my seat from start to end. The angst and the resolution of it were incredible.

Turnabout's Fair Play by LikeMmmCookies (@likemmmcookies)

| E | 7k | Tags: Edwin learns to flirt, Charles is down so bad, Edwin wears SHORTS, Charles walks into a door about it, Cute and silly, Cheesy flirting |

Edwin learns how to flirt.

Notes: This one had me giggling and kicking my feet because it was so amazing. It was such a fun and sweet read that I just had to include it in this list.

A gentleman by Superfriki

| Not Rated | 2k | Tags: First Kiss, Getting Together, Courting Rituals, Fluff, Love Confessions, Charles being a simp, Niko and Charles being friends |

“Niko, I can’t walk into the office with a flower bouquet and ask Edwin to let me court him. He would shit himself and run the other way” He looked at the girl, worry etched into his brow. “Don’t worry, you can do some things before that. Maybe you could start by getting him a gift or being a gentleman with him” “Oi! I’m always a gentleman with him” - Or Charles tries to woo Edwin in the Edwardian way.

Notes: ABSOLUTE FLUFF. The love. The courting. Everything about is a 10/10.

The Case of Richard Rowland by RB (BlueflowersandWings) (@writerofstuff)

| M | 31k | Tags: Post-Canon, Case Fic, Abusive Parents, Past Child Abuse, Childhood Trauma, Recovery, Hurt/Comfort, Homophobia, Angst with a Happy Ending, Developing Relationship, Getting Together, Romantic Tension, Mutual Pining |

"Right on time, Charles," Edwin calls as he phases in through their office door. "It seems that we have a new client. We were just about to—" Charles freezes. "As I was saying," Charles' father coughs, sat across from Edwin with his back to the door, "my name is Richard Rowland, and I believe I have been murdered." — Or: Charles' father dies on a Sunday. On Monday, he arrives at the doorstep of the Dead Boy Detective Agency.

Notes: One of my all-time faves, honestly. This one hit me in the feelings with such force and shook me so fundamentally I had to stare at the wall for a bit after reading some scenes. It's angsty, but it's brilliantly written. Thank you @writerofstuff for this masterpiece.

a part of me that will never be mine by tragedy_machine (@tragedy-machine)

| E | 22k | Tags: Mutual Pining, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, Unreliable Narrator, Oblivious Edwin Paine, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Getting Together, First Kiss, First Time, Love Confessions |

Edwin tells Charles he loves him in Hell, but when Charles quickly responds with his own breathless 'I love you', Edwin assumes his friend meant it platonically, so he gives up halfway through his confession, leaving out the crucial 'I'm in love with you' part. Dejected, he decides to keep his feelings a secret. Meanwhile, Charles has been in love with his best mate for years, so when they unexpectedly exchange 'I love yous' on the staircase of Hell, Charles happily assumes that they've just started dating and are just going at a really slow pace. Needless to say, they're not really on the same page. --- OR: because of a misunderstanding during the confession in Hell, Charles thinks they're dating now, while Edwin believes his love will stay unrequited forever

Notes: This fic has my whole heart, I swear. It's one of my faves ever, and the sensation of receiving the email when it was updated was unparalleled. A true jewel. Thank you @tragedy-machine

pinch me (I don't want this to be a dream) by shadowquill17 (@shadowquill17)

| E | 15k | Tags: Accidental Mind Reading, Light Angst, Oblivious Charles Rowland (DCU), Misunderstandings, Love Confessions, First Kiss, Getting Together|

Charles has never met a magical object he didn’t want to use. He might have gotten cursed a couple times over the years, but he also found some great stuff that way, and it keeps his afterlife exciting, you know? So when he and Edwin find something called “Desire’s Pince-Nez”, spelled glasses that make you see someone’s desires if you look into their eyes, Charles doesn’t really think twice before trying them on.

Notes: This one killed me and revived me with every line. I cannot express properly how much I loved it, but it's one of the fics I re-read most often, so I guess that says something. Seriously, it's amazing,.

[bringbackmaes14]

It's fine; you just have to understand that friendships between people in different age groups don't and can't necessarily work the same as friendships between people in the same age group.

I'm not even kidding when I say that when I was a kid/teenager two of my best friends were the grocery bagger at my local supermarket, Mr. David, who was in his mid 50s, and Mr. Theodore, an usher at my church, who was in his mid 70s. I was bullied and ostracized in my own age group, so I didn't have a lot of friends my own age. But I saw these two old guys a couple times a week. Mr. David had met my mom when she was pregnant with me so he'd been around my whole life and watched me grow. And we'd been going to the church where Mr. Theodore was an usher and since I was 3 years old.

And the thing was, it wasn't a friendship where I could invite these old guys over for sleepovers or to play tag or to watch SpongeBob, and they didn't talk about politics or playing golf or retirement plans with me. But when I saw them, I'd get a great big bear hug and a "how ya doin, kiddo?" They'd ask me how school was and I'd ask them how things were at the grocery store or the church. They'd ask me how my siblings were doing, and I'd ask Mr. David about his nieces and Mr. Theodore about his grandkids. I had a secret handshake with both of them (that now that I think about it might've been the same handshake for both of them but they didn't know each other so it was fine). We'd tell each other jokes. We'd make promises to see each other again when my parents eventually dragged me off to the next errand or sunday school class.

And those were good friendships! Not every good friendship has to include tons of quality time and numerous shared interests. I'm sure tons of us have friends now, even in our own age group, where we text them or see them once every six months, catch up for a few hours, and then we don't hear from them from a long time, and that's just how the cycle goes, but you still consider that spotty cycle a friendship!

And I'll also say: I'll never forget how devastated I was when I found out Mr. David had died in an accident. I remember going to the grocery store when I was 13 and asking a manager where he was because I hadn't seen him for a while, and the manager pulled my mom and I aside and said "Sweetie I'm so sorry. I know you and Mr. David were very close, but he died in a car accident three weeks ago." That was the first major death in my life. I'll never forget how furious I was when I told teachers and therapists that my best friend had died in an accident, and when I explained that my best friend had been an "old" man named Mr. David, I was told children couldn't be best friends with old men. I still tell people to this day that Mr. David was my first best friend.

I know now that there are definitely more fulfilling ways to have friendships than the friendships I had with Mr. David and Mr. Theodore (Mr. Theodore is still alive to my knowledge, I just don't live in that state anymore), but I don't regret the friendships I had with them at all, in fact I'm very very grateful for them.

My mom was constantly stressed but very much doing her best to raise me and my 3 siblings, and my dad was around but he was an abusive piece of shit. I'd had a boatload of disrespectful and downright demeaning therapists, and 9 times out of 10 the teachers I had either brushed me off entirely or loved me right up until they didn't. Suffice to say my view of adulthood was pretty shitty.

But these two old guys were there to remind me adults can be kind, to kids and adults and everyone in between! And adults can be silly! And adults can hug people just because they're happy to see them. And adults can have fun. And adults can love- their parents, their children, their spouses, their neighbors, their coworkers, their friends, a stranger walking by who just needs a smile.

Think about all the lessons kids and teens could learn from adult friends.

We ask your questions so you don’t have to! Submit your questions to have them posted anonymously as polls.

[itsonlydana]

Love Spells and Fang-tastic Kisses (A Hauntingly Romantic Tale) | hobbit

pairing: Thranduil x fem!reader 👑🦇

You're invited to Thranduil's halloween party; a fangtastic opportunity to get closer to the man you've been harbouring a crush on

tags/ warnings: none, modern!au, Thranduil in a hot vampire costume

word count: 8,2k

an: hello!! happy Halloween! This is totally not a month late!! We shall ignore and celebrate Halloween!

+ masterlist + rules +🌿 reposts and comments are much appreciated, they motivate me a lot and keep me writing <3

You're invited to a Night of Haunting Delights!

Dearly Departed,

As the brisk winds of autumn carry the faint whispers of otherworldly echoes, and the luminous full moon bathes the night in an unsettling glow, we extend a chilling invitation for you to join us at a Halloween gathering that guarantees to send shivers down your spine!

Attire: Elegantly Eerie or Ghoulishly Glamorous

“Tilda if you want your braid to be straight you have to hold still for a second!”

The girl in front of you nods obediently but a few seconds later the wobbling of her head starts again as she grows impatient. Five minutes ago, after she kept reaching back with her hands when the braiding pinched a little, you had asked her to sit on her hands. What you didn't count on was that this would give the girl the wonderful opportunity to swing forward and backward, using the height difference that her hands gave her to the usually flat surface of the kitchen stool. 

You allow yourself another quick glance at the clock above the fridge and immediately regret it again when you see the time. 

It was already just after four, and while on any other Friday afternoon that was just the kickoff to the weekend, today didn't offer you much more time to have three children – four if you counted Bard – ready with costumes and makeup. 

Your eyes flitted from the clock to the invitation pinned to the fridge, surrounded by all kinds of paintings; the animals were Tildas, the planes had been drawn by Bain and there were a few more advanced watercolor sceneries that Sigrid had done, hung up with different shapes of magnets and while there was so much color the silver paper with the beautiful handwriting stood out in elegant monochromy.

Now, with the current time coming up closer to the one on the invitation, more than ever since the kids had brought it home from school a few weeks ago. 

The girl in front of you wiggles again and you bite down on the hair tie that you had to take away from her (she had offered to hold them while you braided but with her nervousness, she had dropped them two times until you had taken them again). 

“Tilly,” you groan out between clenched teeth, just barely catching the last centimetres of hair you had left before they slipped away and you could start from the beginning.

“Sorry Auntie,” the girl giggles, the sound so pure and full of excitement that the annoyance and stress disappear in a pink cloud full of love for her. “Are you done soon?” Tilda asks, already moving her head again to look back at you but you react fast and turn with the movement.

“One second–,” You hold the hair in one hand and grab the hair tie with the other, quickly securing the braid. When it falls down, you reach for the small mirror placed on the kitchen counter, holding it out so that Tilda can get a look at herself. Watching over her shoulder, you see the red-painted lips curve in a smile. 

“I look so pretty!” she exclaims, her eyes wide and sparkling, not just because of the glitter she wanted you to put on her eyelids. 

You laugh, tapping her red nose with one finger, “Yes you do! The prettiest scarecrow in the whole wide world”

She scrunches her nose, and takes one last look in the mirror before she hops down the stool with such speed that you nearly drop the mirror in order to catch her. But she lands safely on the floor, running off into the hallway, where you can hear her stomping up the stairs.

You hope she will only grab her stuff and be ready in ten minutes when you had planned to leave. 

Knowing her, you would need to send Sigrid to get her sister.

Halloween had been a lot easier a few years ago, when it had been just you and a bottle of wine alone on the couch, watching scary movies or the few times you'd gone out with work colleagues. Halloween at the Bowman's house, no, scratch that, Halloween in Esgaroth in general was incomparable to that.

Not that you would want to trade your life now for those years, not for any amount of money. 

When you moved from the bustling city of Gondor to the quiet seaside town of Esgaroth there hadn't been any more lonely nights, alone yes, you needed them from time to time, but never lonely. How could you be lonely if you had Tilda, Bain, and Sigrid in the neighbourhood? They were responsible for the move, including the change of apartment as well as job, if only indirectly. 

After their mother, and Bard's wife, had passed away, your brother had overworked himself trying to feed all four of them, taking on a second and third job next to his handyman one, which in itself had already taken up too much time. It had taken you too much to listen to how tired and completely exhausted he had sounded on the phone calls between you, which had diminished in their regularity. 

He didn't have to explicitly ask for your help, he was too stubborn for that, which is why you didn't let him know that you had quit your job (it had been unbearable and much too boring anyway) and your apartment (please, who wants to live in a multistoried building with a hundred tenants?!). You had just left one day with all your stuff in the car, rented a small vacation apartment in Esgaroth and rang the doorbell.

You had chosen a Sunday morning, the only morning of the week when he was not at work and far too tired to object much.

One week after that, Bard helped you move into the guest room. 

Not that you weren't extremely happy with the life you now lived, much cosier and full of laughter, family movie nights and stickers everywhere on your clothes, but right now you wished you could have imprinted your organized lifestyle from before on your brother.

“Bard? We should leave in like–” You watch the clock, debating on whether you should lie to give all of you enough time to finally get out the door. Hearing nothing but what sounded like chaos from upstairs, the answer was clear, “–in five minutes!”

Eh, close enough to the truth. 

A door slams somewhere, followed by the sound of boots on the carpeted stairs that barely muffle the steel soles. “Coming!” you hear Bard's grave voice getting louder the closer he gets, “Have you seen my hat? I swear I left it here..”

“On the sofa.”

“What? Who put it there?”

You would have laughed if you didn't hear a loud crash from upstairs at that moment.

“Everything's fine!” Sigrid yells just as you and Bard nearly run into each other on the way to check whatever happened and if someone is hurt. The edge of Bard's cowboy hat, now safely placed on his curly mess of hair, slams into your forehead, not enough to really hurt but it slows you down abruptly. 

“Sorry, sorry!” Bard takes a step back and adjusts his hat. “What are you doing up there?” he yells, casting an apologetic glance at you as he steps back onto the first step. “I'll be right back down.”

Another glimpse at the clock. 

“Tell the little monsters they'd best come straight with you or I'll tell all the neighbours to give their candy to Legolas!” you raise your voice enough that it would travel all the way to the three children's rooms. Immediately there is an indignant shout, a proclamation of “You wouldn't dare!” (Bain), “Legolas would never do that to us!” (Tilda) and “I can't get my dress zipped, Da!” (Sigrid).

It's a miracle how you and Bard manage to be out the door relatively on time with all the kids both costumed and ready with makeup, and equipped with bags for their candy. 

You don't question it any further, happy that you finally made it and with few incidents. You had already been out with one foot when Bain ran in again because he had forgotten his proton pack for his Ghostbuster costume. After that Sigrid had to go to the bathroom and last but not least under the laughter of the others you went in again to exchange the cape that had come with your witch costume against a far warmer black coat. 

You are glad that you did, even if it cost you time that you truly didn't have.

October has made itself comfortable in the small town, decorating the trees on the side of the road scarlet red, pumpkin orange and a sulfurous yellow and the cold winds that swirl through the colourful trees are biting at your legs, despite the tights you wear under the dress. 

“Shit, I hope they have a warm punch,” Bard leans towards you, careful that the curse doesn't reach his kids that are walking a few meters in front of you, awing at the town's Halloween decorations.

You look from them to your brother. “Have you met them? Of course, they will have warm punch, jeez, I am sure we will have mulled wine served to us in barrels.”

It wasn't an understatement, last year the hosts of what must be the biggest Halloween party in the area (not just in Esgaroth, it was bigger than the ones in most cities on the coast) had shipped in the most expensive bottles of cider and even the simplest choices of drinks like water or coke had been served in crystal flutes. 

Bard grins, clearly remembering the cider as well, or the effect it had. By the third glass, when all the kids had been tucked into their beds in the mansion and the adults had gathered outside again, there had been one too many drinking contests with the result of a shared hangover. 

“I can't wait to see what Thranduil has planned for this year,” Bard muses, raising a hand to scratch the stubble of his beard. He turns his head slightly in question. “He didn't tell you anything?”

“What?” you ask in what was probably a much higher note than usual because Sigrid whips her head around alarmed. You wave her off with a tight smile and lower your voice, “Why–  why should he tell me anything?”

Bard's eyebrows wander so high up his forehead that they should disappear under his stetson any second. “No, don't do that. Don't deflect and worm your way out of this. He comes into the coffee shop daily and I know he stays for a chat.” At your incredulous look, he shrugs his shoulders, “What? The kids talk.. and before you tell them off for snitching–” his lips curve into a smirk “Thranduil mentioned himself that he enjoys staying for his cup of tea.”

“I wouldn't tell them off!” you protest, completely overrun by the sudden emotions cursing through your body like it's a goddamn rollercoaster.

“No, you are too nice for that,” Bard says, drawing a roll of your eyes as a reaction from you, “–and far too flustered that you would speak to them right now.”

Any objection dies on your tongue as another particularly cold breath of wind hits your face and the heat in your cheeks burns indisputable; your denial is no match to it. Your stubbornness, however, steps into the fight with her hands raised, ready to at least try and defend yourself in any way she knows how.

“So what?” you attempt to sound nonchalant. “There are many customers that do not want to leave immediately. They say they like the atmosphere. It's cosy and comfortable.”

When you think of the coffee shop that hired you a few years ago, those adjectives were not the only ones coming to mind- the moss-green facade made it special, tugged in between a white hairdresser and a grey washing saloon, the plants ranging from honeysuckle growing on the walls to seasonal potted plants littering every window sill and the steps up to the dark blue door made it colourful and alive. 

It was however very cosy and comfortable as well once you stepped inside, with cushioned stools and wooden tables decorated with candles in coloured glasses. There were benches under the windows, and a leather couch tugged away in one corner of the room with two giant armchairs where students would hang out during their break you truly love the warm feeling that just thinking about the shop brings to you but you can't help it; your thoughts trail to the man that would come into the coffee shop every morning and sit at the few bar stools at the counter. 

Right where you worked, and waited for him.

Before, your mind would only conjure the big windows, the sound, and smell of coffee getting crushed in the machine and the chatter of the customers but now, and damn that man for messing with you with that, you think about golden sunlight filtering through the window and falling on silver hair, about tea steaming and the flowery scent of it, about the low hums of appreciation when Thranduil would slowly sip his tea, the cup looking tiny cradled between his big and yet slender hands. 

“Yeah sure,” Bard laughs and the familiar sound of it leads you back, out of the coffee shop into the night; Halloween night. “That's what keeps the customers there, right.” He earns himself a well-deserved nudge in the side from your elbow “Ow!” he yelps dramatically, rubbing the spot that you slightly grazed.

“What was that supposed to mean?” you glare at him, eyebrows pinched together, “And I hope for your own well being that you're gonna tell me it is because of the coffee and the delicious pastries.”

“–or the woman smiling at everybody like she gets paid for it.”

“I get paid for it!”

“Not enough to be that happy every morning, sunshine coming out your–”, Bard stops himself before the crude word slips out his mouth but the sentence finishes itself in both your minds and that's enough for you to hit him again. It doesn't do anything, your flat hand catches just his upper arm and not forcefully, you two were never really ones for the whole wrestling siblings act.

His upper body shakes with laughter as you shake your head, clicking your tongue against your teeth like that would help the smile fight its way up in the corners of your mouth. “Obviously I am nice to the customers, they pay good money for a good cup of coffee.”

“Or tea.”

“Or tea,” you roll your eyes again because of course, Bard has to throw in another hit with the fence about Thranduil. “Just because you are mister grumpy, grumbling while you work and avoiding talking to your customers doesn't mean I have to do that as well.”

That you bring up the subject of his work is normally enough for him to change the topic, not that he hates working as a handyman, going around town fixing leaky pipes and sinks or straightening up shelves and letter boxes, but his boss wasn't as nice as yours and that left him working far too much for (what you think) is far too less money. On any other day he would quickly move on to another topic but tonight he has his teeth dug into what was in his mind, the relationship between you and Thranduil Greenleaf. 

The truth is that you don't know what Thranduil thinks of you, you on the other side are completely and utterly swooned by him. Hell, when you moved to Esgaroth the last thing you had on your mind was falling in love and then, a few weeks into the new job, in comes this tall, beautiful man with shoulders that you want to lean into and cerulean eyes that pierce their way into your soul and he orders a fucking tea.

In a coffee shop. 

At first, you thought you hadn't heard him right, then he'd cocked one dark eyebrow, his manicured nails tapped against the wooden counter and his deep voice had repeated the order for “His tea”.

Thankfully, your coworker Feren had jumped into the conversation before you'd started crying out of pure confusion about who the man was and why he would order tea in the middle of the midday rush when you weren't even sure if and where the shop stored tea.

The next day the man was back, this time with an apology about his rushed behaviour the day before and when he ordered his tea, a flowery combination of what smelled like roses, cherry and green tea, you told him off for behaving far too entitled for someone who wanted something from you. 

After that Thranduil came back every day, ordering his tea and sitting on the barstool, chatting with you while you prepared coffee, wrapped up pastries and tried not to glance over at the beautiful man giving you his whole attention.

Well, not that often. Once in a while, you allowed yourself a sneak and were gifted a small smile and sometimes a wink. 

“Yes, let's come back to Thran for a second.”

You groan.

Bard laughs. 

“Did he or didn't he tell you about the party?”

“He told me nothing,” you say, fingers crossed inside the pocket of your coat. It's not entirely true, he really hadn't told you anything but he had asked you some things. What you would want to drink, what you think is a better activity for the children, apple bobbing or pumpkin bowling? 

The lie, half-lie, half-truth, comes out sure enough and Bard huffs, white clouds escaping his nose and disappearing into the rosy evening light of the lowering sun. He stuffs his hands into his pockets as well and you can see the second-guessing of his outfits happening on his face. It's a nice costume, the nearly all-black outfit except for a leather belt with a golden buckle, some silver decorations on his stetson and the jacket that he is wearing. He probably would have chosen another, slightly warmer costume if it hadn't been for Tilda who wanted her dad to wear the golden star that she had made him in school and that's now proudly shining on his chest. 

You smile and link your arms, pulling your brother with you as you catch up with the kids that already started trick-or-treating at the houses on the way.

When you arrive at the mansion its heavy iron gates are wide open, pumpkins with what probably were supposed to be scary faces cut into them by a wobbly kids hand sit on the ivy covered pillars. They stare down at you as you turn onto the gravelly road adorned with orange-glowing lanterns, the kids sprinting and kicking up dirt and gravel with the warm boots that Bard made them wear no matter the costume. You can hear them awing and gasping, and when Bard and you turn another corner and the tall pines make way for the mansion sitting on the end of the road, even your mouth falls open.

The fountain in the circle in front of the stairs is coloured an eerie red, illuminated by the lights inside the lower bowl, and the texture looks easily mistaken for blood from far away. Instead of the usual birds using the fountain as their water source, fake bats are hanging from the upper bowl, their glowing red eyes shining through the water rushing in front of them. 

The whole garden is decorated accordingly for the festivities; spiderwebs cover the trees and bushes, skeletons sit on the benches, gravestones are splattered here and there on the lawn and everywhere are little ghost fairy lights strung from tree to tree. 

The house itself screams Halloween as well, with flickering lights in the windows, more cobwebs stretching over the dark roof tiles of the front porch, and the small tower where Thranduil's son and the children's friend Legolas has his room. The ivy that grows outside at the gate grows on the white brick of the house itself as well, climbing up the walls and when you get closer you can see the (hopefully) fake spiders nested inside the green vines. The door to the house is wide open, letting a pool of golden light fall onto the porch but instead of going inside Bard tugs you along with him towards the small group of adults milling around on the lawn around a small campfire. 

“Good evening!” he proclaims and tips his hat. 

You give everyone a small wave, eyes scurrying over everyone in search of a particular someone who doesn't seem to be there at the moment. Though you don't know if it's a relief or disappointment, your heart leaps in your throat at the realization. Arm still linked with Bards, you stop at the fire pit. 

It's the same constellation of people as most years, mostly parents from the children's friends who got together in the ways that parents always make acquaintances. Elrond (dressed as a pirate with a ridiculously big hat and a fake pirate sitting on his slim shoulders) and his wife Celebrían who matches his costume with a puffy blouse, leather trousers and a sword dangling next to her leg were the first parents you met when you started bringing the kids to school. Their daughter, Arwen, waited for Sigrid and Bain and her parents had roped you into a conversation while they wandered into the school, Arwens hand finding Sigrids naturally. 

Then there are Thorin and his husband Bilbo, Thorin who seems to be dressed the warmest in a werewolf suit, and Bilbo, who wears a green overall with flowers pinned all over it (“I am a gardener!” he could be heard multiple times throughout the night and every time Thorin would lean into the other part of the conversation and whisper loudly “He is secretly a garden fairy, you simply can't see his wings” and watch him so lovingly when Bilbo glared at him that you got jealous.)

Those two you met because Bain was in one class with Thorin's nephews Fíli and Kíli who he basically adopted as his sons at this point. Five years ago they came over for a school project and stayed because “Bilbo is trying out vegetarian recipes and we need meat if we want to become real strong men” (their words, mumbled with mouths full of the spaghetti and meatballs you had cooked that day). 

You really met them on a stroll through the park with Tilda, who decided that walking around and gossiping was much more fun than sliding and swinging on the playground, and you exchanged numbers so at least one person would inform them about the boy's whereabouts. Fíli and Kíli, as it seemed, sometimes just forgot to call home, and now you would ring them and chat when Bain and the two boys would huddle up around the living room table, their textbooks buried under snacks and instead of their pens they held controllers of Bain's game console in their hands. 

There were some other people around the garden, work colleagues of Elrond and Thranduils or parents that you never got as close with as these four, neighbours and friends of friends. 

However…

“Where did the children go?” you ask, head turning back to the parents after sweeping over the whole garden, resultless.

“Maybe the evil witch got them,” Thorin's joke about your costume goes right over your head, your eyes still wandering and meeting Bards in confusion. They weren't your kids but you felt the same chilling drop of your heart whenever you couldn't find them as if they were your own.

Elrond steps closer, nudging his chin toward the house. “Thranduil gathered them inside the house,” he explains with a comforting smile that eases all the worry. Of course, you didn't have to worry, this party is always safe and it's not like you let them loose in the woods for the wild animals (Ha Thorin, take that!).

“He wanted them to get some warm tea before we go out trick-or-treating,” Celebrían adds, uncrossing her arms in front of her chest when Elrond takes one hand in his. 

“That's good,” you feel and hear Bard exhale a deep breath, even he gets nervous when he doesn't know about Tilda's whereabouts despite the fact you are with his dearest friends right now. “So who drew the short straw and will go with them this year?”

The groan that leaves Thorin at the question is an answer in itself. 

Bilbo playfully pushes his hip against his husband. “We–” there was most definitely a bigger I in that word– “decided that Thorin should definitely go to keep an eye out for the boys. Kíli got into some trouble with another boy at the school and his house in on our route.”

“Yes,” Thorins mouth twitches into a smile “And judging by how dented the boys' pockets looked, I'm sure I'll find the eggs that mysteriously disappeared from the kitchen in them.” He gets another push from Bilbo and rolls his eyes “I won't do anything stupid, love.”

“Throwing eggs with them will count as stupid.”

“Then I will maybe do something stupid.”

“Don't you dare,” the smaller one shakes his head, wavy locks flying with the movement, “I really have no desire to deal with the parents tomorrow about why their windows are smudged.”

Thorin laughs, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to Bilbo's temple while throwing a wink in Bard's direction. “No worries, they won't know who it was. Bain is a smart one and will figure that one out.”

“Oh, I am sure about that,” Bard nods, pride oozing out of the smile that grew when Thorin called Bain ‘smart’. 

You want to reply, step into the conversation to tell them that Bain will not partake in any egg throwing at all because of his smartness, thank you very much, when the children storm out of the house, loudly cackling and yelling, long and short feet trampling over to you fast enough that you get nearly crushed by a small fury of a straw scarecrow who crashes into your legs. Following her is Arwen, Elrond's girl, who is wearing a costume that must be snow-white, because hot on her trails is Thranduil's daughter Tauriel with a red-riding-hood cloak a fiery red like her hair, fluttering in the wind like a wild flag in a storm. Behind them comes Legolas, who, despite his braided hair and green Robin Hood outfit, bears such a resemblance to his father Thranduil that you falter for a moment. He seems to have had a growth spurt every time you meet him, slowly growing as tall as his dreams, his head ever closer to the clouds.

“We are going now!” Tilda yells up to you, her voice uncontrolled by all the excitement that has the girl bouncing up and down your side and tugging at your coat. “Are you coming with us, auntie? Are you? Or are you Da? Pleasee–”

Thorin, who steps away from the fire to Fíli and Kíli (both of them wear a Ghostbuster costume like Bain) rubs his hands through their hair, earning himself an outraged grumbling, “Aren't you two going to ask me nicely to join you?”

“I would beg you to stay here,” Fíli barks out, fixing his long blond hair by throwing it dramatically over his shoulder. “But your head is too thick for that to go through.”

“That and you are such a fool for Bilbo. He probably asked you to keep us in check,” Kíli adds, mimicking his brother with his own, brown hair. Even though they are not twins, their behaviour is so similar you could mistake them as such. 

“You–,” Thorin starts but Elrond jumps in: “Celebrían will be there as well and now.. you know not to anger her.” His sharp eyes bore into the boys, even without any real edge or warning in the sentence Kíli and Fíli shrink under the gaze, nodding fast enough that their heads must hurt, Elrond's stern, thin eyebrows surely help with that.

His wife and you share a smirk.

You turn back to Tilda and Bard, the latter is wiping away some crumbs of what must have been cookies out of the corner of her mouth, careful that he doesn't smear the lipstick the younger one is so proud to be wearing. 

“Tilly–,” you tug at the collar of the sweater she's wearing under her costume.

You don't get to finish the sentence, right as you open your mouth to tell her that you would love to come with her, you are abruptly silenced by the resonant sound of approaching boots from behind. The arrival of a newcomer, his voice a mellifluous, baritone timbre and a sonorous blend of charisma, sends a tantalizing shiver down your spine. “I had dared to hope she might grace me with her presence, as you delightful rascals torment the hapless neighbours.”

Tilda's eyes grow bigger as she looks up at the man standing behind you, the dark brown shining with admiration, and her mouth falls open in the tiniest ‘o’. 

It's not that difficult to impress her, she is an eight-year-old girl, all you had to do to win her heart was to tell her a story about the fairies and elves that supposedly lived in the forest next to your house, but that look in her eyes, awe in its purest form and you are sure that she would be singing praised about whatever she is seeing right now if there wasn't absolute shock mixed into her emotions as well. 

There are only few that get that reaction out of Tilda though and you slowly twist around. First, your shoes turn, squelching softly on the grass covered in leaves, then your legs, your upper body following the movement and finally, awfully cautiously, your head turns.

Your eyes land on a pair of boots.

Black. Leather. Boots.

And they don't seem to end as you lift your chin.

You know the man is tall, like really, really tall. Even Bard, who got luckier than you with the height genes, is a few inches shorter than Thranduil. If you stand next to Thranduil, it always requires you to look up.

Right now, as your legs buckle and you casually (it surely is anything but) drop one knee into the grass for more balance, the striking figure of Thranduil is looming over you. Your eyes travel upwards, up those damn boots on his endless legs, to the silvery corset that hugs his small waist tight, higher up over a ruffled white blouse with far to many buttons undone to be considered decent, and when you reach his face, your tongue lays heavy in your suddenly dry mouth. 

The smirk hiding in the corner of his mouth and the crowfeet next to icy blue eyes twinkling with mirk tell you that the asshole knows the effect the costume has on you.

“Good evening,”  Thranduil greets everyone but his gaze is locked on you. “I didn't know it’s witching hour already,” His lips curve more, flashing a row of pearly white teeth and if the black cape swaying around his body isn't expressive enough, the smile reveals two extraordinarily sharp canines, pointing down at you almost predatory.

You swallow hard enough that your throat protests. When you speak there is still a roughness to your voice that surely anyone around you must be able to detect: “Aren't you supposed to lay in some dirt until the sun sets? I wouldn't want anyone to clean up your ashes,” and when you can't fight the smile that threatens to break out on your lips anymore, you add a cheeky, “Count Greenleaf."

Next to you Thorin snorts and Bard groans.

“If you two would pause the flirting for just a second,” your brother's voice cuts through whatever had been building up there because your eyes snap to him.

“We weren't flirting!” you say at the same time as Thranduil nonchalantly shrugs his shoulders: “One second should be fine.”

The look you send him is supposed to be threatening but all it archives is another smirk from the tall blonde man. 

“Back to the question,” Bard sends you a wink that has you fletching your teeth in his direction “I think Thorin, Celebrían and me will go with you, Tilly-bear.”

“Yes, and I think Bilbo wanted to help me prepare the games for when you come back,” the man addressed nodded dutifully, not an ounce of not a bit of malice in his face and yet you resist the urge to roll your eyes. Here stood probably the smartest people you knew and they didn't even try to hide what they were up to. 

Of course, you could have seen it coming, in the last few years it had always happened that you and Thranduil were suddenly left alone. At Sigrid's birthday party, Bard sent you off to buy more garlands, only for you to run into Thranduil at the supermarket, whom Bard had asked about the very same thing. Another time, Elrond and Celebrían both had to cancel a breakfast out of the blue, so it ended up being just you and Thranduil sitting together. It seemed like everyone was conspiring behind your back to force something into existence that was growing so beautifully slowly.

Now all you can do is smile and nod, while you kiss Tilda on the cheek (“I will try to ask Lady Galadriel if she has your favourite chocolate,” she whispers into your ear like a secret promise), ruffle Bain's hair despite the fact that he always shakes the care you put into styling the short brown mop away as soon as your hand leaves his head, help Sigrid with the zipper of her Mary Shelley dress and let her pull you into a hug (“If you want me to abandon Da somewhere on his own, you just have to say the word,” she mumbles and nods into Thranduil's direction. “I will be fine,” you assure her. When you want to let her go, she smiles encouragingly: “Don't let us be the reason you hold back from going after what you want. I'm pretty sure Bain wouldn't mind having another boy his age around the house.”

You hug her just a tiny bit tighter, wondering when the hell she grew up.)

Bard only gets another light shove, as well as a threatening warning that you would hide all of his work tools if he steals the kids' candy, and then they are off, disappearing down the gravely path winding through the trees and you watch until the laughter and howling grow quiet. 

Someone, and you know exactly who it is by the crunching sound of leaves under heavy boots, the scent of a rich perfume hitting your nose without having to turn around, steps next to you. “They are not very subtle, are they?” Thranduil hums, and your cheeks go up in flames again.

“I have no idea what you are talking about,” you deny, forcing a calm tone into your voice. 

“Come,” Thranduil says. He holds out an arm, an invitation you gladly take. The sight of him, all dressed up in this costume with fangs and silvery blond hair flowing down his back, is enough for your legs to consider giving up under you; you appreciate the arm not just for the gesture but for the feeling of his muscles underneath your palm as well.

“Where to?” you ask, yet you know that no matter the answer, you will follow wherever. Sigrids words have made themselves comfortable in your mind, and the night, coming upon you on the slow walk to the mansion in beautiful tones of pink and purple in the sky, feels magical. 

“I did not lie before, even though I was tempted,” Thranduil says “There are a few more things to be done and I was a little bit selfish in wanting your help especially.”

This time, you don't ignore the warmth settling in your stomach that his words cause, instead you embrace it, use it. “Well, I am sure that while the others are maybe capable, this witch here” – and you point to yourself with the free hand – “has a touch of magic that will surely be better than anyone else.”

He chuckles, seemingly agreeing in the form of a low hum. “Witch, you truly are captivating, making me wonder if being wicked has ever looked so irresistibly appealing,” he flirts right back, as openly as he never did before. Or maybe he did. Maybe all those times he complimented you in the coffee shop or asked for a smile to sweeten up his tea were not just niceties (it was what you told yourself every time, a reassuring 'He doesn't mean it like that' to hold yourself back and not kiss him senseless), maybe he really did like you.

Motivated by a sudden rush of adrenaline and giddiness, you tug at his arm, beaming up at him. “Count Dracula would be envious of the charisma you bring to that costume, Count Greenleaf,” you giggle, nearly shocking yourself with the sound.

You reach the steps up to the front porch of the mansion just that moment. You take the first step, Thranduil though, stops and while it's not the biggest difference in height, when you turn around to ask him why he stopped, you have a direct line of sight with the fangs biting down on his lip. 

“I don't know who this Dracula is or what you mean with a costume,” he leans closer, finally taking that step and growing taller before you. “But I will take the compliment nonetheless. It's not every night that an enchanting woman compliments me.”

He grins an uncharacteristically lopsided grin, boyish and far from the snobby, rich persona he sometimes falls into and the laugh bursts out of your chest. His statement was far from the truth, he must be the most lusted-after man in Esgaroth (it didn't help that he was a stupidly rich single father, drop dead gorgeous with soft features, strong shoulders and a voice that made a woman's heart tremble). More than enough times you had become a witness to a poor soul making their way up to Thranduil when he was sitting on his spot at the counter. Their faces were sometimes nervous, sometimes determined but no matter in what way they came onto him he never accepted a number or agreed to a date.

He did however accept the compliments that rained onto him. 

Walking into the mansion, you are confronted with what can only be described as the target Halloween decoration section. The dimly lit hall is illuminated primarily by the soft, flickering glow of antique chandeliers that have been fitted with blood-red candles. Their warm, dancing flames cast haunting shadows on the cream-colored wallpaper, adorned with intricate, spiderweb-like patterns that seem to writhe in the low light.

Upon entering, you can't help but notice the intricately carved mahogany staircases that rise on either side, their ornate bannisters entwined with artificial cobwebs, and the steps littered with pumpkins and more candles. The velvet drapes on the large windows are heavy and dark, adding an air of foreboding mystery to the space.

Throughout the hall, life-sized, macabre figures dressed in costumes stand at attention, like sentinels of the night. Skeletons in tuxedos and gowns, ghouls with outstretched hands, and statuesque vampires adorn the corners, exuding an unsettling realism.

The air is heavy with the scent of incense and dried herbs, giving the impression of an ancient, mystical ritual underway. A wrought-iron candelabrum hangs from the ceiling, holding a cluster of flickering black candles that fill the air with an enchanting, spicy aroma.

Turning in a circle in the middle of the hall, your mouth falls wide open. 

“Thranduil,” you breathe out “How.. what.. don't tell me the whole house looks like this! No wonder I couldn't find any decorations,” you turn, throwing your hands in a wide gesture into the air and an airy laugh follows, “–you bought it all!”

Thranduil quirks an eyebrow and shakes his head, his hands neatly tucked behind his back. “No,” he starts, then corrects himself. “Well yes, the whole house looks like this, you would be surprised to see I fully committed myself as I now have a coffin instead of my bed upstairs. Legolas and Tauriel inspired me with their fantasies of a haunted mansion, they picked out the majority of what you see, though I shipped most of it into the country from a friend.”

“Because that is so much more reasonable,” you shoot back, skipping over that one part of his answer, still gazing around in wonder, “Where did this friend get these things? They look so real.”

You reach out to one of the skeletons in a fancy suit, barely hearing the: “Wait!” when a loud cackling booms through the hall, a ghostly and eerily sound. The squeak that you nearly scream bounces off the walls in the same way, rounding corners and expanding in reverberation. 

Thranduil is at your side in seconds. He extends his hand just a moment too late to prevent you from approaching the sensor. However, the shock coursing through your body, combined with the warmth of his presence so near, sends your hormones into a frenzy. 

Laughing uncontrollably, you fall into his chest, grasping for your own racing heart while feeling the irregular beat of his through the thin blouse. His cape drapes around you, as he joins in the laughter and lets his chin brush against your shoulder, folding himself across your back.

“I should probably adjust the sound settings,” his breath hits your neck and the thought of his lips (the fangs!!) this close to the delicate and sensible part of you sends a thrill to your body. 

“Maybe,” you answer, sounding very much as flustered as you are. “Or you could hide it somewhere you don't want any guest to wander and use it as an alarm system.”

Thranduil's hand, still holding yours, comes to your waist, guiding your own fingers over the tulle fabric of the skirt and it evokes a delicate and ethereal sensation as your fingers gently graze its surface. “Maybe,” he sounds rough, voice low and raspy, similar to boots sinking into gravel. When you take a deep breath and relax into his touch, let him stretch the flat and warm palm of his hand over yours, the tips of his fingers sinking into the fabric of the dress right on the curve of your hips, his voice evens out:

“I think it has found its purpose right here.”

“And that would be?”

“Luring alluring witches into my arms.”

“Do you plan to use that move on anyone else?” you ask, and suddenly feel his lips ghost over the soft skin on your shoulder.

The lips turn into a smile. “Why should I?” The words feel like they are spoken directly into your skin and the grin with which they are said leaves a heavy and burning imprint in your mind. Your eyes dart toward the ceiling, to the flickering candles as if you would pray to the gods in the heavens above even though the devil is standing right behind you- ready for your command. 

“It has worked once and I find myself quite satisfied with the results it has yielded,” Thranduil's voice becomes even lower, his timbre taking hold on your heart while rattling your bones. One boot shuffles closer, tapping the outside of your shoe gently and teasingly, and you are sure that if you look down you would faint at the sight of the leather boots reaching as high as your hips.

He raises his other hand as well, lets it descend slowly on the other side of your hips and without your hand under it, his touch burns through the fabric. You wishfully hope they will stay there forever, holding you to him and moulding your forms together perfectly.

“Do you know how you can best a vampire?” the question shouldn't cloud your mind over as much as it does, but how could you continue thinking clearly when Thranduil decides to graze the tips of the damn fangs over your neck?

Not at all, as proven by the lack of an answer.

Thranduil continues, either unbothered by the silence on your part or spurred on to unravel you even further.  “There is sunlight, an unfair opponent if one considers that you emit light even brighter. And though I know the consequences, I would gladly burn to ashes for one second in the golden rays of your smile.”

A gasp echoes through the hall, wavering with emotions, and your hand flies to your mouth to bite down on a finger, stifling any sound. 

“Most theories revolve around a stake through the heart. I doubt that would do any good since I lost mine when you came to this town and served me that awful cup of tea.”

You want to laugh but the true meaning of what he is telling you hits you hard enough to press all the air out of you in a shaky exhalation. 

“Then there is holy water,” Thranduil's lips ghost over the juncture of your neck once again, not once really touching skin. The anticipation of what is about to be said, about what he is about to do, tears at your resolve to stand still, to wait and let it happen. There is no one rushing you, no one trapping you in conversation or leading you into awkward fumbling around with words while the others are staring. 

This is exactly what you yearned for. 

There is a cold blow of air as Thranduil takes a breath and then his teeth scrape the skin, digging slightly into the flesh (not to break it, he would never hurt you) and-

his lips touch you, finally. They press down onto the spot where the fangs have been, gently and not moving at all. Just the soft weight of them. 

“I would drown myself in it if I could taste your lips.”

Oh..

Your eyelashes flutter down, brushing the heated skin of the apple of your cheek. A soft: “I wish for nothing else than a kiss” is said into the room, raising the electricity sizzling and crackling.

Before you can even blink, Thranduil's hand caresses your cheek, tilting your head to the side. The difference in your heights grants him the perfect angle to lean in, capturing your lips in an ardent kiss, despite the awkward positions of your bodies, twisted into each other. Any illusions of gentleness from the previous kiss on your shoulder fade, as Thranduil's lips now meet yours with an intense, passionate fervor.

You might have expected that your first kiss would leave you breathless, but the desire and hunger within him not only steals the air from your lungs but also clears your mind, immersing you in a captivating void. He doesn't break away, his lips maintaining their press against yours, and with the hand curling over yours on your waist, Thranduil tugs at you to turn you. The sensation is head-spinning, and if you weren't already descending into the depths of Thranduil, you'd surely have stumbled.

With Thranduil no longer towering over you and no need for you to twist to meet him, he confidently takes a step forward. It's like a well-practised dance, where he leads with precision. Uncertain of where he's guiding you, you surrender to his direction. A step back, a pause as your hands intertwine behind his neck, though it tugs at your arms, and then the next step. Another kiss follows, fervent and insatiable, a hunger that defies comparison.

In the distance, a cheer breaks through the pounding of your heart and the rush in your ears. Realizing it's the children, you manage to disentangle yourself from Thranduil. Even though you long to return to his lips, he, too, wears an apologetic look in his cerulean eyes.

“We should–”

“The children–”

Both of you speak simultaneously, still in such harmony that your words tumble over each other. You gaze at each other, and a burst of laughter escapes your lips, hearty, uncontainable laughter that you attempt to muffle with a hand, though Thranduil still holds you close.

“We should head outside,” he murmurs, a touch of nostalgia in his voice, longing in his gaze, which traces a path from your well-kissed mouth to your eyes.

“That would probably be the wisest choice,” you agree, but your body seems to resist the logic, leaning in closer to him. “Strange, I appear to be unable to detach myself from you,” you jest. Your arms wrap around his waist, seeking the comfort of his embrace.

“I will blame it on you, you captivating witch.”

[jetii]

By Your Name

Part One

Pairing: Wrecker x fem!Reader / Wrecker x Jedi!Reader

Words: 7,998/19,226

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! fluff, good-natured brotherly teasing, smut, this is mostly just smut actually, unprotected sex, fingering, oral (f receiving), size kink, aftercare, dirty talk, Wrecker being a sweetheart that is a given

Summary: You and Wrecker are still figuring out exactly what your relationship means, and a month apart hasn't helped. Now that you're reunited again, nothing is going to stand in the way of the two of you getting what you want.

A/N: Greetings from horny jail! I didn't proofread this one that much so if you see any mistakes no you didn't.

Previous Work | Next Work | Masterlist

Keeping your relationship with Wrecker a secret is easier said than done. There's no denying the spark between the two of you, and it only seemed to grow stronger in the days following your confession. To you, Wrecker is the sun, and you're a planet caught in his orbit, drawn in by his warmth and light. 

It's become increasingly difficult to keep things professional when all you want to do is pull him into a kiss, or spend every waking moment touching him in some way. Every time his fingers brush yours, or his hand finds the small of your back, the desire to kiss him, to hold him, to simply be with him is nearly overwhelming. And it's a feeling that only grows stronger the longer you're away from him.

Saying goodbye to Wrecker at the end of your tour with the Batch had been almost unbearable, and the distance has been agonizing. The weeks apart had dragged on, and the only solace you had was in the late-night calls and the occasional text. The longing had been a constant companion, and it had left you irritable and on edge.

But now, finally, the two of you will be reunited, and the excitement building in your chest is impossible to ignore. Even though it's been weeks since the two of you were last together, it feels like a lifetime, and you can't wait to be near him again. To feel his arms around you, his hands on your skin, his lips on yours.

The two of you had barely had enough time to figure out what exactly you are to each other before you left, and with the others around, there was little else you could do beyond a few stolen moments. But now, after weeks of anticipation and separation, you're finally getting the chance to explore things further.

And you know Wrecker is intent on making the most of the opportunity.

It was no secret that the man is incredibly tactile, and the fact that he'd been unable to touch you the way he wanted to, the way you both needed him to, had clearly taken a toll. His texts had grown progressively bolder, and the calls had lasted well into the night, and you'd spent hours on the comm with him, trying to keep your voice down while he told you everything he planned on doing to you once you were alone.

And now, you're on the same planet, finally, and the thought is enough to drive you crazy. You're already waiting in the hangar bay when the Marauder arrives, and the sight of it, the sight of him, sends a thrill of anticipation through you. The moment the ship touches down, the ramp lowers, and Wrecker comes barreling down, his arms outstretched.

"Hey, General!" he shouts. "Get ready, 'cause I'm gonna—"

You don't wait for him to finish. Instead, you throw yourself into his arms, and he catches you with ease, his arms wrapping around you, lifting you up off the ground. He spins you around, the two of you laughing and grinning like fools, and you're so happy you can barely breathe.

"Miss me?" you ask, breathless, your arms around his neck.

"Kriff, yeah," he says. "Wasn't the same without you."

"It wasn't the same for me, either," you murmur. "I didn't realize how much I would miss having you around."

"Me, neither," he replies.

He sets you down, but his arms stay locked around your waist, holding you close. The urge to kiss him is a physical ache, and the closeness is almost unbearable. But you can't, not here, not now, and so you settle for the feel of his arms around you, his hands stroking your back.

"I'm glad to see you," he says, his voice soft.

"I missed you, too," you reply, smiling up at him.

"I can't wait to show you how much I missed you," he whispers. The look in his eyes, the heat in his voice, sends a rush of desire through you, and you shiver. "Been thinkin' about it every day."

"Have you?"

"Yeah," he breathes. "And I've got a few ideas."

"Oh?" you ask, unable to keep the smile off your face. He's practically radiating energy, the excitement rolling off him in waves, and it's infectious.

Before he can respond, the sound of someone clearing their throat snaps you back to reality. The two of you turn, and you spot the others standing a short distance away at the end of the ramp. Crosshair and Tech look mildly amused, while Hunter looks vaguely uncomfortable, and Echo's expression is one of long-suffering annoyance.

"Uh, Wrecker," Hunter says, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. "You mind putting her down so we can go?"

"What?" Wrecker asks. "Oh. Yeah, yeah. Sorry."

He lets go of you, his hands trailing over your waist as he steps back. You brush your hands across your tunic, trying to quell the butterflies in your stomach, and Wrecker grins down at you.

"Sorry," you say, unable to keep the smile off your face. "It's been a while."

"Just save it for the ship,” Crosshair drawls as he passes by.

"Don’t worry, we will," Wrecker fires back, throwing an entirely unnecessary wink in his direction. Crosshair rolls his eyes, but the corner of his mouth quirks up. Tech follows, shaking his head with a small smile.

"I am glad that the two of you have reconciled your differences," he says, his eyes flicking to yours. "But please keep such displays of affection to a minimum in our presence.”

"Sorry, Tech.”

"We'll behave," Wrecker adds, but his tone is teasing.

"I doubt that," Echo mutters, but his eyes are crinkled at the corners. You flush, but can't help but return the smile. He's not wrong, after all.

"We'll try," you amend, and the others chuckle as they follow Crosshair out of the hangar toward the barracks. You and Wrecker walk a short distance behind them, keeping pace, and the silence is comfortable, the two of you walking shoulder to shoulder. He leans over and nudges your arm, and you glance up at him, catching the grin on his face.

You smile back, unable to hide your excitement, and the look in his eyes is almost enough to make your knees give out. You have no idea how you're going to get through the rest of the day, knowing that he's within arm's reach. Knowing that tonight, when the others have gone to sleep, the two of you will have the ship to yourselves. And the thoughts running through your mind are enough to have you squirming in place, eager for the day to end.

"Welcome back, by the way," you say, trying to ignore the flutter in your stomach.

"Glad to be back," Wrecker says. "And ready to start celebrating."

"Oh, is that what we're doing?" you tease.

"Mhm," he replies, his voice low and rough. "Gonna celebrate the kriff outta you."

You bite back a gasp, and your face heats up. You'd known Wrecker was forward, but the way he talks about wanting you, the way he openly stares at you, is still startling. No one has ever been so open with their feelings before, and while you're still getting used to the idea, it's nice. Reassuring. It's a reminder that this is real, that he wants you, and it's all you can do not to melt on the spot.

"Sounds like a good plan," you reply, your voice hoarse, and you resist the urge to fan yourself.

"Knew you'd see it my way," he says, and the look he gives you is enough to send a jolt of heat straight to your core.

The two of you continue on in comfortable silence, and you can't help but glance at him, taking in the sight of Wrecker finally back by your side. You can't deny that the past few weeks have been...frustrating. Being unable to be near him, or touch him, or even speak openly about how you feel has been agonizing. And the constant teasing and flirting via holo hasn't helped.

There are so many things you've wanted to say, to do, but haven't had the chance. Now, with the privacy and space, the temptation is nearly overwhelming. And the look on Wrecker's face tells you that he's thinking the same thing. You just need to get through the next couple hours without drawing too much attention, and then...

As expected, the celebration is a simple affair, a meal and a round or two of drinks at 79s. You've gotten used to the squad's traditions over the past year, and it's a relief to know that the evening won't drag on for hours. As it is, your patience is wearing thin, and you can tell that Wrecker feels the same.

"So," Hunter starts, his eyes fixed on the two of you. "Did you have a chance to talk about things while we were away?"

"Yeah, a bit," Wrecker says, shifting in his seat. His leg brushes against yours, and the contact sends a jolt of electricity up your spine. "Still workin' things out."

"I see," Hunter says. He takes a sip of his drink, his gaze flicking between the two of you, and he raises an eyebrow. "Just try not to make it too obvious, okay?"

"I'm not making any promises," Wrecker smirks, and the words are directed at his brother, but the way his eyes burn into you is unmistakable. You bite your lip, the heat on your cheeks nearly unbearable. The fact that he's so brazen, so shameless, is doing nothing to help your growing desire, and it's all you can do to keep a straight face.

"Wrecker, please," Echo groans, his eyes squeezed shut.

"Sorry, sorry," Wrecker chuckles, and his hand finds your thigh beneath the table, his fingers squeezing gently. You resist the urge to jump, trying to ignore the warmth of his palm seeping through the fabric of your pants. You can tell he's teasing, testing the boundaries, and the look on his face is almost smug. "I'll behave."

"No, you won't," Tech says, his eyes locked on his datapad. "But I suppose we will simply have to accept that this is your current reality."

"Guess so," Wrecker says, and the smile he gives you is blinding.

The rest of the meal is relatively uneventful, and the conversation is light, mostly centered around the mission, and what's to come. The Republic is preparing for another offensive, and you and the Batch have been assigned to gather intel on a possible Separatist stronghold in the Outer Rim. It's not an ideal mission, but it's better than sitting around doing nothing. And with Wrecker by your side, it will certainly be more bearable.

You listen as the others share stories, laughing and talking like they always do. Wrecker's hand stays on your thigh, his fingers tracing absentminded circles on your leg, and it's enough to keep you distracted, the anticipation growing with every passing minute. By the time the meal is finished, you're all but squirming in your seat, and you're desperate to get out of the crowded room.

"What about you?" Crosshair asks, and the sound of his voice pulls you back to the present. "Did you sit around doing nothing this whole time?"

"No," you reply. "I was training, mostly."

"Boring," Crosshair sneers, but his eyes are soft, and the look he gives you is teasing.

"I did manage to get a new scar, if that counts," you say, pointing to the healing cut above your eyebrow. "Had a run-in with a particularly unpleasant bounty hunter. She was faster than she looked."

"Ooh, lemme see," Wrecker says, and his hand finds your chin, tilting your face up. The gesture is casual, but the way his fingers stroke your cheek is not, and you shiver at the touch. He turns your face, his thumb brushing the healing skin, and the heat of his palm sears into your cheek. "Pretty nasty. You gonna live?"

"I think so," you manage, and his eyes sparkle with amusement.

"Good," he says. "Don't want anything happenin' to that pretty face of yours."

Someone makes a noise of protest, but you're too busy trying not to melt under Wrecker's gaze to notice who it was. His eyes flick over your features, his expression intense, and his fingers trail down the line of your jaw, coming to rest on your shoulder.

"Alright," Hunter cuts in. He slaps his hands on the table and stands, giving the two of you a pointed look. "Let's call it a night."

"But—"

"No buts," he says. "I can't watch this any longer."

Wrecker grumbles something under his breath, but he pulls his hand away, and the absence is nearly enough to make you whine.

"Fine," he huffs, rising from his seat. "See you all tomorrow."

You stand as well, your legs shaking. You're not sure how you're going to make it back to the ship, and the smirk on Wrecker's face tells you that he knows exactly what he's doing.

"Later," Crosshair says, his tone bored.

"Have a good night," Echo calls after you, his voice tight with discomfort. You glance back at him and offer an apologetic shrug, but he just waves you off. Tech is still buried in his datapad, oblivious, and Hunter gives you a long-suffering sigh as the two of you leave.

The walk back to the ship is agony. The sun has long since set, and the streets are dark, but the lights of the city are bright enough that it's not difficult to navigate. Still, the journey feels like an eternity, and every step sends a thrill of anticipation through your veins. You can feel Wrecker's presence behind you, his hand occasionally brushing against your back, his body close enough to touch.

"You're enjoying this, aren't you?" you ask as the two of you round the corner, putting some distance between yourselves and the others.

"Enjoying what?" he asks innocently.

"Teasing me," you reply, elbowing him in the side.

"Maybe a little," he grins, and the heat in his gaze makes you blush. "You know, it's hard not to be when you react like that."

"React like what?

"Like this," he murmurs, his hand sliding down your spine, coming to rest on the curve of your ass. His palm is hot and heavy, and the pressure is enough to make you gasp.

"I can't help it," you mutter, trying to ignore the desire that's pooling in your core.

"I know," he says, and his fingers squeeze, pulling you into his side. "And it's kriffing adorable."

"Shut up," you say, pushing against him. He laughs, the sound low and husky, and the way his eyes gleam in the dim light is more than a little distracting.

"Make me," he says, and his voice is teasing, but there's a note of challenge in it, and the implication sends a shiver down your spine. 

You turn to face him, and before you can second guess yourself, you reach out, taking hold of his armor and pulling him towards you.

Wrecker's lips meet yours in a searing kiss, and the force of it knocks the wind out of you. He backs you up against the wall, caging you in with his body, and his hands find your hips, lifting you up onto the tips of your toes. You moan against his mouth, and his tongue slips past your lips, his fingers digging into your flesh. The kiss is bruising, full of heat and want, and the way he moves against you, his body hard and solid, leaves you gasping for air.

He breaks the kiss, and his teeth nip at your lower lip, his hands wandering down, squeezing the swell of your ass. His breath is hot on your skin, his chest heaving, and the desire in his eyes is all-consuming.

"That shut you up," you whisper as his lips move down the column of your throat.

"Mhm," he mumbles. His tongue drags over the delicate skin, and you tilt your head back, giving him better access. "Keep doin' that, and I'll be quiet the rest of the night."

You laugh, the sound turning into a groan as his teeth sink into your flesh, biting down. His hands slide around to your back, pulling you flush against him, and his knee slips between your legs. The pressure against your core is enough to make you moan, and he chuckles against your skin.

"That's a dangerous game you're playing," you whisper, trying to catch your breath.

"Not the only one," he murmurs, his eyes finding yours. The hunger in his gaze makes your blood sing, and you swallow, trying to steady your pulse.

"True," you say, reaching up to cup his cheek. "But I'm not sure we should keep playing it. At least not until we get back to the ship."

He leans in and presses a gentle kiss to your lips, his tongue teasing the seam of your mouth. You open for him, and his hand comes up to cup the back of your head, holding you steady.

"Good point," he whispers as he pulls away, his nose brushing against yours.

"Come on," you say, and you nudge him backwards. Wrecker goes willingly, stumbling back a step, his eyes never leaving yours. "Let's go."

The two of you pick up the pace, and it's not long before you're making your way through the hangar bay towards the Marauder. There are a few people milling about the hangar, and a group of technicians working on a nearby ship, but none of them pay the two of you any attention as you approach the ramp.

The moment the door closes behind you, Wrecker pounces, pinning you against the wall, his mouth finding yours in a hungry kiss. You pull him closer, and he wraps his arms around you, lifting you up with ease. Your legs lock around his waist, and his hands slide down to grip the underside of your thighs, his fingers digging into the sensitive skin.

You break the kiss, your lungs screaming, and he moves down, pressing hot, wet kisses to the line of your throat. His mouth is warm and slick, his tongue leaving a burning trail along your collarbone. His hands find the hem of your shirt, and he pushes the fabric up, exposing your stomach.

"You really gonna keep quiet the rest of the night?" you ask, your voice hoarse.

"Do you want me to?" he murmurs, his nose brushing against the skin beneath your ear.

"Not particularly," you reply.

"Didn't think so," he says, and his teeth scrape against the shell of your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. "You wanna know what I think?"

"What?"

"I think you like it," he growls. His hands slip beneath your shirt, his palms sliding up the curve of your waist. "I think you like it when I tell you how pretty you are, or how much I want you."

"Maybe," you whisper.

"It's okay," he murmurs, his fingers dancing across your skin. "I like it, too."

You moan, the sound soft and needy, and he laughs, the vibrations tickling the sensitive spot below your ear. Wrecker's mouth finds yours again, his tongue plunging past your lips. He tastes like the liquor the two of you were drinking earlier, and the heady mixture is enough to make your head spin.

He breaks the kiss, and the next thing you know, he's carrying you down the hall, his pace hurried. Within a few steps, the two of you are falling onto the bunk, a tangle of limbs.

You land on top of him, straddling his waist, and Wrecker groans, his hands coming to rest on your hips. You grind down against him, the movement sending a rush of heat through your body. The contact is dizzying, and you do it again, relishing the way his eyes flutter closed.

"Kriff, cyare," he breathes.

"I thought I was cyar'ika," you murmur.

"Both. Either. Doesn't matter," he says, his hands slipping beneath the hem of your shirt.

"I think it matters" you say, leaning down and pressing a kiss to his lips.

"You really wanna talk about Mando'a right now?" he asks, and the amusement in his voice makes you laugh. You pull back enough to let him pull the shirt up and over your head, leaving you bare save for your breast band.

"I guess not. I'd rather do something else," you whisper, and Wrecker's eyes darken, his pupils dilating. His gaze trails over your chest, and his hands follow suit, tracing the line of your ribs.

"Me too," he murmurs. His fingers ghost across the band of fabric covering your breasts, teasing the edges. You give a slight nod, and he hooks a finger underneath the material, pulling it up and over your head.

Your breasts bounce free, and his eyes lock on them, his gaze burning. His hands slide up your sides, cupping the swell of flesh, his palms hot and rough.

"Mesh'la," he murmurs. He leans forward, his lips finding the slope of your shoulder. "So kriffing beautiful."

The praise makes you blush, and he kisses his way down the length of your chest, his lips trailing over the curve of your breast. You tilt your head back, closing your eyes as he licks a circle around your nipple, his tongue leaving a hot, wet trail.

"Wrecker," you whimper, and the sound seems to spur him on. His mouth finds your breast, his lips closing around the tight bud, his tongue swirling. You moan, the feeling electric, and he hums in response, his teeth grazing the sensitive flesh.

He sucks and bites at the stiff peak, his fingers rolling the other, and the twin sensations send a rush of heat through your body. It's almost too much, and you can't help but squirm, the desire pooling in your core. Wrecker’s armor presses against your thighs, the pressure almost painful, and the need to feel his skin on yours is overwhelming.

"Take it off," you pant, tugging at the shoulder plates.

"Bossy," he chuckles, and the sound sends a jolt of excitement through you.

"I think you like it," you say, throwing his own words back at him, and the wicked grin he gives you is all the answer you need.

"You're right," he replies. He reaches behind him, unclipping the pieces of his armor and setting them aside. The process is painstakingly slow, and you can't help but pout. But when you try to move his hands out of the way, he lifts you off his lap and sets you down on the mattress.

"Hey!"

"I'm going," he says, a grin on his face. "Don't worry."

Wrecker stands, and the sight of him towering above you, his broad frame blocking out the light, is enough to make you tremble. He strips off the pieces of armor with practiced efficiency, revealing the black undersuit beneath. You stare at him, your eyes roaming over the thickly corded muscles of his arms and chest, the taut fabric stretched across his abdomen.

"See somethin' you like?" he teases, and the sound of his voice draws you back to reality.

"Yes," you say, clearing your throat.

"Yeah?"

"Yes," you repeat with a smile.

"Good," he says. He kneels before you, his fingers finding the hem of your pants. He undoes the button, and you lift your hips, letting him slide the fabric down.

He takes a moment to admire you, his eyes trailing over the curves of your body. He hums in approval, his hand sliding up your leg, his fingers stroking the inside of your thigh.

"Beautiful," he murmurs.

You watch as his hand slips lower, and his thumb finds the edge of your underwear, the touch light and teasing. The sensation is enough to make you gasp, and he does it again, tracing a line along the seam. Your legs part instinctively, and his hand cups the apex of your thighs, his palm pressing against the damp fabric.

"You want more?" he asks, and the huskiness of his voice is enough to make you ache.

"Yes," you breathe.

He pulls the underwear off, and you lie back, spreading your legs, giving him a clear view of the most intimate parts of you. He groans at the sight, his eyes raking over the soft flesh, and his hands grip your knees, pushing them further apart. You feel exposed, but the look on his face is nothing short of reverent, and the desire in his eyes is enough to take your breath away.

"Mesh'la," he whispers, and then his head is between your legs, his tongue finding the sensitive flesh. The contact is electric, and you moan, the sound muffled by your fist. Wrecker chuckles, his eyes locking on yours as his mouth continues its work. His lips and tongue are soft and warm, and his fingers grip your hips, pulling you closer.

"Stars, Wrecker," you whimper, and he hums in response, the vibrations sending a jolt through your body. You gasp, and he smiles, his mouth never leaving the apex of your thighs. His tongue traces circles around the stiff bud, his fingers stroking the delicate skin.

You squirm under his ministrations, the sensation nearly overwhelming, and he holds you steady, his hands like steel. You grip the sheets, trying to ground yourself, but it's a futile effort. Wrecker is relentless, his mouth devouring every inch of flesh, his tongue probing, his teeth scraping, and the heat pooling in your belly threatens to consume you.

"Wrecker, I can't—"

He stops, pulling away with a wet smack. His face is glistening, his eyes burning, and the sight of him is enough to steal the words from your lips.

"Tell me," he growls, his hands tightening on your thighs.

"I can't—"

"Can't what, cyar’ika?" he murmurs, leaning in, his breath warm on the skin of your neck.

"Can't wait," you manage. "Please."

He laughs, his fingers stroking the sensitive flesh of your thighs. He presses a kiss to the side of your neck, and his hand slips between your legs, his fingers finding the apex of your folds. You groan, the contact almost too much to bear, and his fingers tease the edge, sliding along the slick skin.

"I'm gonna take my time with you," he says, his voice rough. "Gonna learn every inch of your body, every place that makes you feel good. And I'm gonna do it until you're a kriffing mess."

The words send a rush of heat through your body, and you can't help but arch into his touch, your hips rising off the bed. He grins, his fingers parting the slick folds, and you bite back a moan as he slides the digits along the length of the slit.

"So wet," he says, and the pride in his voice is obvious. "Mesh'la."

He leans down, his tongue darting out, tracing the same path his fingers had just followed. Wrecker takes his time, his mouth exploring every inch of the exposed flesh. By the time his tongue reaches the sensitive bud, you're trembling, the pleasure almost unbearable. His fingers press against your entrance, and you nod, giving him the go-ahead.

He slips a finger inside, and you clench around him, the feeling almost foreign. It’s been so long since you've done anything like this, and the stretch is unfamiliar, the sensation a strange combination of pleasure and discomfort. He moves slowly, his lips and tongue distracting you from the intrusion, and the discomfort fades, the pressure turning into a delicious fullness.

"You okay?" he asks, looking up at you, his lips still pressed against the apex of your thighs.

"Mhm," you reply, and you roll your hips, letting him know you're ready for more. He grins, and he presses another finger in, his tongue swirling around the stiff bud. The stretch is almost too much, and you gasp, the pleasure making your head spin.

Wrecker moves slowly, his fingers curling, probing, searching for that spot inside you. When he finds it, he rubs the tips against it, and the jolt of pleasure is enough to take your breath away.

"Fuck," you gasp.

"Yeah?" he asks, his eyes glinting with mischief.

"Yes," you whimper.

"More?"

"Yes, please," you beg. "Please."

He complies, his fingers pressing deeper, and you groan, the pleasure almost too much to bear. Your thighs shake, and he hooks his free arm around one of them, pulling you closer, his lips closing around the bud.

It doesn't take long before the heat coiling in your belly becomes too much to bear, and you can't hold back the moans spilling from your lips. Wrecker keeps up the pace, his fingers pumping, his mouth devouring, and it's only a few moments before the tension snaps.

You cry out, the sound swallowed by the bulkhead, and your thighs clamp around his head, trapping him. The air seems to ripple around you, the Force flowing through you, and the room fades, replaced by blinding white light. You're weightless, drifting in the current, the pleasure rippling through your body.

When you finally come down, the room has returned to normal, and the pressure of Wrecker's mouth is nearly too much. You push him away, and he looks up at you, a smirk on his face. His lips are wet and swollen, and his eyes are bright with lust.

"That was somethin' else," he murmurs, his voice hoarse.

"What did I do?" you ask, your voice shaking.

"Not sure," he replies. He presses a kiss to the inside of your thigh, his tongue darting out, licking away the remnants of your climax. "But I liked it."

"Oh," you manage.

"You good?"

"Yeah," you breathe. "Really good. Stars, Wrecker, that was...”

"Just the beginning," he says, his hands finding your waist and flipping you onto your stomach. He pulls you up onto your knees, and the next thing you know, his tongue is on your folds again, the sensation making your legs tremble.

"Wrecker, what—"

"Told you I'd take my time," he murmurs, and his fingers slip inside you again, the pace agonizing. You groan, burying your face in the pillow, trying to muffle the sounds spilling from your lips. His hand slides up your spine, his fingers tangling in your hair, pulling your head back. "I wanna hear you."

"I can't," you whimper.

"I'll stop if you don't," he threatens. "Wanna hear how good I'm makin' you feel."

"Fine," you groan. "Don't stop. Please."

"Good girl," he says, and the words send a rush of heat straight to your core. You feel yourself clamp down around his fingers, and his other hand grips the curve of your ass, squeezing hard. "Fuck, that's hot."

You moan, the sound loud and needy, and he rewards you by sliding another finger inside. The stretch is almost painful, but the pleasure is worth it, and the thought of him inside you, filling you, sends a thrill of excitement through your body. You can't help but push back against him, grinding your hips against his face.

"Look at you," he says, and the awe in his voice is enough to bring tears to your eyes. "Fuck, you're perfect. So fuckin' perfect."

His mouth returns to its work, his tongue licking and sucking and teasing. Your legs tremble, and his arm wraps around your waist, holding you up as his fingers plunge deeper. The pleasure is overwhelming, and the room seems to fade around you, the only thing remaining the feeling of his mouth on your sex.

You can't think, can't breathe, can't do anything except take whatever he gives you. And the thought, the knowledge that you're completely at his mercy, is intoxicating. You surrender to the feeling, allowing yourself to let go, and the release is almost instantaneous.

You cry out, the sound torn from your throat, and the force of it threatens to knock you over. But Wrecker is there, his arms steadying you, his mouth coaxing every last ounce of pleasure from you. When the waves of bliss finally subside, you slump forward, the mattress soft against your cheek.

"Holy shit," you mutter, unable to form a coherent thought.

"Yeah," Wrecker says, his hand stroking the length of your spine. He leans over you, his mouth finding the soft skin behind your ear. His tongue darts out, licking the shell, and his breath is hot on your neck. "Still with me?"

"Barely," you whisper, and the sound of his laugh sends a shiver through you. You roll over slowly to find his face inches from yours, his smile wide and wicked. You reach up, cupping his cheek, and the softness in his eyes is enough to melt your heart.

"Hi," he murmurs.

"Hey."

He leans in, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips. The tenderness is unexpected, and the taste of yourself on his mouth is more arousing than it has any right to be.

"I'm glad we're finally alone," he whispers, his nose brushing against yours. "Was about to explode."

"Mm," you reply. "Well, let's fix that."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," you say, pushing him back. He sits up, and you move with him, swinging your leg over his waist. He watches you with hungry eyes, and the desire in his expression is enough to stoke the embers of your own. You can feel his cock straining against the fabric of his suit, the thickness hard and insistent, and the realization of just how badly he wants you is almost too much to bear.

You lean in, your mouth finding the side of his neck, and he groans, his hands coming up to rest on your hips. You nip and bite at the exposed flesh as your hands slip underneath the hem of his shirt, and you peel the fabric up, revealing his chest. He lifts his arms, and the two of you work together to pull the garment over his head, tossing it aside.

You run your hands over his broad chest, your fingers tracing the line of his muscles, his scars, his tattoos. The expanse of his skin is a map, a landscape, and you want to explore every inch. He sighs, his eyes closing, and the contentment in his expression is beautiful. You kiss him again, and he groans, his hand reaching up to cup the back of your head.

"I could kiss you forever," he murmurs.

"That would be nice," you reply, your lips moving down his throat.

"Mhm," he hums. "But right now, I really, really wanna fuck you."

The words send a shiver of desire through you, and you pull back, giving him a smirk. You slide back, and his hands move to the closure of his suit, undoing the catches with ease. The fabric parts, revealing the thick shaft beneath. The head is dark and swollen, and a drop of precome glistens at the tip.

"Kriff," you breathe. "You're—"

"Big?" he says, grinning.

You swallow, nodding. You've felt him through his clothes, the evidence of his desire more than clear, but the reality is something else entirely. He's larger than any partner you've ever had, and the thought of taking him, of feeling him inside you, is both terrifying and exhilarating.

"That's putting it mildly."

"We can wait," he offers, his hands finding your hips, his fingers stroking the sensitive skin. "Or take things slow. We don't have to do anything you're not ready for."

"I appreciate that," you say. "But I really, really want this."

"Yeah?"

"Yes."

He smiles, and his hand slips between your thighs, his fingers finding the slick skin. You gasp at the touch, rising up on your knees to pull his blacks down further. His cock springs free, the length curving up against his belly. He helps you pull the rest of the suit off, leaving the two of you bare before each other.

He sits up, his eyes raking over the planes of your body, his gaze hungry and possessive. He pulls you towards him, and you wrap your arms around his shoulders, his mouth finding yours. His hands slide down your spine, cupping the swell of your ass, his fingers digging into the soft flesh.

"You sure about this?" he asks, his lips moving against yours.

"Very," you reply. You reach between the two of you, your fingers wrapping around his length. He groans, his head falling back, and his hips twitch, pushing into your grasp. Your fingers don't quite meet, the thickness impossible to fully encircle, and the size of him is daunting.

"You can change your mind," he says, and the words are choked, strained. "Just say the word."

"I won't," you say. "Trust me."

"Okay," he breathes, and the faith in his voice is enough to take your breath away. He leans back, and you raise yourself up on your knees, positioning him at your entrance. You take a deep breath, and then begin to lower yourself onto him. The head presses against the tight ring of muscle the sensation almost foreign. You press down, and the tip slips inside, the thickness stretching you.

"Shit," he mutters, his fingers gripping your hips. "Fuck, cyar'ika, you're so—"

The words turn into a loud, unrestrained groan as you sink down, taking him inch by inch. It takes time, the fullness overwhelming, but you persevere, the feeling of him inside you more intense than anything you've ever felt. The way his length fills you, stretching and stretching, the slight pain, the ache, the feeling of being whole, it's enough to drive all thoughts from your mind.

By the time Wrecker is nearly fully seated inside you, the both of you are trembling. He's panting, his eyes squeezed shut, his chest rising and falling in rapid breaths. You watch him, the sight of his reaction sending a rush of excitement through your body. It's the first time you've seen him lose control, and the knowledge that it's you, that you're the cause, is exhilarating.

You shift in his lap, grinding down on his cock, and he hisses, his teeth clenched. The pressure against the walls of your cunt is almost too much to bear, and it takes everything you have not to collapse. You lift yourself up slightly, testing the limits, and his grip on your hips tightens.

“Stay still,” he growls, and the command in his voice sends a thrill through you. “Don’t move.”

"Or what?" you ask.

Wrecker opens his eyes, his gaze burning into you. There's a dangerous glint there, and the promise in his expression is almost too much to take. You swallow, unable to look away. He smirks, and his hand comes up, his fingers wrapping around the back of your neck, holding you steady.

"Or I'm gonna have to fuck you into the kriffing mattress," he says, his voice rough. "You think you can handle that?"

"Maybe," you reply, and the confidence in your voice is surprising.

"Really?" he says. He shifts, his hips lifting off the mattress, and the movement pushes him deeper. The stretch is almost too much, but the sensation is exquisite, and the moan that escapes your lips is unabashedly desperate. "Sounds like you can't."

"I'm not convinced," you say, and the words come out more as a whine than a statement. Wrecker laughs, his lips curling into a smug smile. The expression should annoy you, but instead, it only adds to the heat pooling in your core. You like seeing him like this, confident and commanding, and the thought of letting him have his way with you is more than a little arousing.

"You're adorable," he says, and he tilts his head forward, his lips meeting yours in a searing kiss. You wrap your arms around him, and he pulls you closer, his other hand sliding down to the small of your back. The pressure is intoxicating, and you can't help but squirm, trying to find purchase. But he holds you steady, his mouth devouring yours.

He lifts you up, his hands gripping the curve of your ass, and his cock nearly slips out, the sudden emptiness jarring. But before you can complain, he's lowering you back down, sheathing himself inside you again.

"Oh," you whimper.

"Yeah," he murmurs. "You feel so good."

He lifts you again, and his pace is achingly slow, the movement careful, controlled. He's clearly holding back, and the knowledge that he's doing it for your benefit sends a rush of affection through you. You cup his face in your hands, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

"Wrecker," you say. "Please."

"You sure?"

"Yes," you hiss, your head tilting back as he slides home. "Please, I want—"

"Tell me what you want," he growls.

"You," you say, and the confession is more difficult than it should be. "All of you. Hard and fast and— Fuck!"

The breath leaves your lungs as he flips the two of you, his weight pinning you against the mattress. He slides a hand beneath your hips, tilting them up, and his lips find the curve of your neck, his teeth scraping against the sensitive skin.

"Don't say I didn't warn ya," he growls, and then his hips snap, driving him into you. The movement is quick and powerful, and the impact reverberates through your entire body. The thrust is accompanied by a wave of pleasure, the feeling intense and all-consuming, and it takes everything you have to hold on.

"Holy shit," you mutter, your eyes squeezing shut.

"You good?" he murmurs, his hands finding yours, his fingers intertwining with your own.

"So good," you whimper. You wrap your legs around his waist, trying to anchor yourself, but the motion seems to have the opposite effect. The slight shift in position is all the invitation he needs, and he drives into you again, the force enough to push you up the bed. The pleasure is almost blinding, and the room blurs, the edges of your vision darkening.

"More," you beg, the word torn from your throat.

"Anything," he breathes, and then his mouth finds yours, swallowing the moan that spills from your lips. His hips set a relentless rhythm, his cock pounding into you, the friction delicious. You wrap your arms around him, pulling him closer, and his mouth never leaves yours, his tongue plunging past your teeth. The taste of him, the smell of him, it's enough to send you reeling, and the world around you fades, replaced by a single, searing point of pleasure.

You lose yourself in the moment, the feeling of his body pressed against yours, the warmth and strength and power of him. He surrounds you, engulfs you, consumes you, and the intimacy of the act, the connection between the two of you, it's unlike anything you've ever felt. The sensation is overwhelming, and you're powerless to do anything except take whatever he gives you. You let go, surrendering yourself completely, and the feeling is almost euphoric.

"You feel so fuckin' good," Wrecker pants, and the words seem to echo, his voice distant. "Can't believe you're—fuck, cyar'ika, you're perfect."

The praise spurs you on, and the next thing you know, Wrecker is kneeling before you, pulling you towards him. His hands grip your waist, his fingers digging into the sensitive flesh, and his cock plunges deeper. You cry out, the sound echoing around the room, and he groans in response, his movements becoming erratic.

"Fuck," he grunts. His hands slide down, cupping the curve of your ass, and he lifts you off the mattress, impaling you on his cock. The angle is intense, and you can feel the tension coiling in your belly, the pressure threatening to burst.

"I'm close," you gasp, and he nods, his face twisted with pleasure. He's lost control, the steady rhythm giving way to desperate, frantic thrusts, and the knowledge that he's close to coming undone is intoxicating.

"Touch yourself," he manages. "Come on, cyar'ika, wanna feel you come on my cock."

You do as he says, reaching down and sliding your fingers through the wetness between your legs. The contact is enough to push you over the edge, and you come hard, the orgasm tearing through you. The room goes dark, the pleasure nearly blinding, and the air seems to vibrate, the Force surging through you. You can't breathe, can't think, can't do anything except let it wash over you.

You feel yourself clamp down around Wrecker's cock, the walls of your cunt spasming, and he gasps, the sound raw and primal. He thrusts once, twice, and then his hips stutter, and he drives himself deep, the force of his climax making the bed shake. You feel his cock pulse inside you, filling you, and the warmth of his seed sends another wave of pleasure rippling through your body.

It seems to go on forever, the two of you riding out the aftershocks. You're trembling, and tears are spilling down your cheeks, but you can't bring yourself to care. You pull him close, your mouth finding his, and the kiss is sloppy, needy, the two of you too far gone to do anything except cling to each other.

When it's over, Wrecker rolls the two of you over, pulling you into his arms. His chest is rising and falling in rapid breaths, and his heart is pounding, the beat so loud you can hear it. You rest your head on his shoulder, your arm draped across his chest, and he pulls you closer, his nose buried in the top of your head.

"Holy shit," he breathes.

"That good, huh?"

"Good doesn't even cover it," he says. "Stars, that was...fuck, cyar'ika, that was somethin' else."

"I'll take that as a compliment."

"You should," he murmurs. "Fuck."

You laugh, the sound muffled by his skin. He chuckles in response, and his hand strokes your back, his fingers tracing circles on your spine. You sigh, the touch soothing, and you close your eyes, letting the tension leave your body. You're exhausted, and the thought of moving is nearly unbearable. You’re more content than you can remember being in a long, long time.

"Don't fall asleep," he says. "Not yet."

"Too late," you murmur, the words slurred.

"Hey," he says, and his tone is gentle, teasing. "At least let me get a towel or something."

"Fine," you grumble.

He laughs, and the bed shifts as he gets up, the loss of his body heat jarring. You shiver, curling into yourself, and the next thing you know, he's pressing a damp cloth between your legs. The contact is enough to wake you up, and the realization of what's happening is both embarrassing and endearing.

"Wrecker," you say, pushing his hand away. "I can do that."

"Sorry," he mutters. "Should've asked."

"It's okay," you say, and the sincerity in your voice seems to reassure him. "I just don't want you doing all the work."

"I don't mind," he says, leaning down and pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth. "I like takin' care of you."

"And I like taking care of you," you reply. "Which is why I want you to come back to bed."

"Okay, okay," he says, smiling. He tosses the towel aside, and the bed dips as he climbs in next to you, his body pressed flush against yours. The feel of his skin on yours is soothing, and you can't help but melt into his touch. He's solid and warm and real, and the knowledge that he's here, that he wants you, is more comforting than anything else.

"Mesh'la," he whispers.

"Hmm?"

"I love you."

You turn, burying your face in the crook of his neck. His arms wrap around you, his body enveloping yours, and the words come easily.

"I love you, too."

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[aquaticmercy]

Waste a Moment / Part 14

Summary : Bucky had always kept his distance, but seeing you get hurt on a mission changed everything. For the first time, he has a chance to start over with you.

Pairing : Bucky Barnes x avenger!reader (she/her) 

Warnings/tags : Mentions of food. Cursing. Memory loss. Head injury. Reader used to work in a museum.

Requested by :  @remoony

Word count : 2.2k

Note : Hey lovelies!! Sorry for those I missed in the tags last time! My notes has been weird latter and I accidentally deleted a bunch so hopefully now you’re all back here again! Please let me know if I miss anyone on the tags! Enjoy!

Series Masterlist

“Never Ask to be Forgiven”

Saturday.

You blinked, your eyes adjusting to the too-clean white ceiling, your ears trying to find comfort in the beeping that marked your heart rate. The pain was still there, a dull throb radiating from every bruise and cut. 

But that was all. 

You didn’t know what you expected. Maybe some part of you thought the last four years would come back, simply because waking up this time felt so eerily similar to the first. But no—there was nothing. All you had were the last few months. The hurt, the betrayal— the nights spent in Bucky’s arms, the pain that followed.

And then you noticed him.

Bucky sat slumped in the chair beside your bed, his face buried in his hands. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days. His hair was messy, his eyes red-rimmed and glassy. He’d been waiting for you to wake up.

The moment he noticed you were moving, his hand shot out, hesitating just inches before it reached you. 

“You’re awake,” he murmured, relief flooding into his voice. 

You stared straight ahead. You refused to give him your attention. You didn’t want to give him your time.

“I... I’m so sorry,” he broke the silence, his voice breaking as he struggled to keep his composure. He was uncomfortable, and she was filling in the silence. “I should have told you everything.”

You stayed quiet, your eyes fixed on the wall.

“I was wrong.” The words spilled out of him in a rush. “I thought I was protecting you, but all I did was hurt you. I was terrified of losing you. But that’s no excuse. I... I’m sorry. Please forgive me.”

All you heard was I this, I that. He was begging for your forgiveness, but it wasn’t something he could plead for. It was something you had to choose to give freely. On your own terms.

Slowly, familiar fury rose up in your chest, destroying any trace of empathy you had for him.

“Get out.” The words left your lips before you’d even realised you’d spoken. Your voice was barely above a whisper, yet it didn’t leave any room for debate.

Bucky’s face fell, the sadness in his eyes drowning him alive. “Please,” he tried, his voice trembling. “If you’ll just listen—”

“No.” Your voice steeled. “Out.”

You watched as he staggered to his feet, his hand slipping away from where it had been, hovering near yours. You remained still, refusing to give in to the quiet voice in your mind whispering that you still loved him— more than you had ever loved anyone before.

For a moment, it looked like he might try one last desperate plea. But then, he turned and walked toward the door.

He paused at the door frame, as if waiting for you to change your mind. But you didn’t look away. You held that cold stare until he was gone.

Sunday. 

The knock came quietly at first, as if the person on the other side wasn’t sure they wanted to disturb you. 

You didn’t answer. You had nothing left to give. No words left to say. 

The door creaked open.

Yelena moved with a hesitation you’d never seen in her before—like she wasn’t sure if she had the right to be there. 

You stayed still waiting for her to say something or leave. She did neither.

Instead, she lingered by the door, counting her breaths like she was trying to keep herself together. When she finally spoke, her voice came in the form of a whisper. “I’m not here to make excuses.”

You didn’t respond, resentment still alive in the dark corners of your mind. 

“You probably don’t want to hear this,” Yelena sighed, stepping closer, “but I’ve been sitting outside that door for hours, trying to… gather the courage to come in.”

You closed your eyes, wishing she would just go away. 

“I tried,” she admitted, her voice breaking. “I wanted to tell you so many times. But I was afraid. So I projected it on Bucky. And I’m not making excuses for him either but… I think I discouraged him.”

Yelena had to learn the hard way; you can’t force the truth out of someone. Force only breeds fear, and fear makes people say whatever they think will make the pain go away, truth be damned.

She understood that now— that there was something fundamentally wrong about using force in human relationships. But in her defence, it was all she had ever known. The Red Room, the kills she was forced to carry out—they’d taught her that control came through fear. Force became the only reliable tool in her arsenal. 

She realised now, that it was the same for Bucky.

Hydra had stripped away his humanity, piece by piece. Force had shaped him, twisted him into a weapon of someone else’s will. Force has dehumanised him. 

Of course he had resisted when met with any kind of force. Of course he had pushed back.

Yelena wasn’t going to defend him—not entirely. But she couldn’t deny that what he’d done was painfully… human. His reaction had been flawed, but it came from a place of desperate survival— and she understood that better than anyone.

She had failed to see Bucky as human. In doing so, they both had failed you.

You clenched your teeth, refusing to look at her, refusing to acknowledge the sting of her words.

When you finally spoke, your voice was cold. “You were complicit.”

You heard tension in the sharp inhale she took, in the faint tremble in her breath. “I know,” she said quietly. 

You turned your head slightly, just enough to catch the edge of her face in your peripheral vision. 

“I’m not expecting you to forgive me,” she said, taking another cautious step closer. “I just... I need you to know that I’m sorry.” Her voice broke, her hands clenching into fists at her sides. The sincerity in her voice was unbearable.

You exhaled, pressing your palms into the bed. “I don’t have the energy to fight you right now,” you muttered, the tiniest hint of acceptance forming on your face. You didn’t know if you could ever forgive either of them, but you were tired— tired of being bitter. Tired of feeling nothing but hatred.

A faint, bittersweet smile tugged at her lips. “I’ll take it.”

She pulled a chair over. After a while, she leaned forward, her elbows resting on her knees. “There’s something else I think you need to hear,” she said carefully. 

You didn’t respond, but you didn’t stop her either.

“It’s Bucky,” she said hesitantly. “He… he’s in pieces over you. He doesn’t sleep, he barely eats. And I know he fucked up— but…”

Your breath hitched.

“His heart is yours,” She continued softly, “It always has been. And… and I’ve just never ever seen you as happy as you were with him.”

The words hit you harder than you would ever admit. 

She only ever wanted you to be happy.

Your hands clenched into fists, your nails digging into your palms.

“I know you don’t want to see him,” Yelena added quickly. “But you should just… think about him. For your own sake.”

You didn’t answer. 

You couldn’t.

Monday. 

Today, Sam stepped inside, tablet by his side. He wore his expression as a mask of restraint, not betraying the guilt he felt underneath. He didn’t flinch, didn’t look away as he offered you quiet sympathy you weren’t ready to face yet.

Progress had been slow. You’d refused to see anyone but Yelena, but even when she was in the room, you barely talked to her. 

Maybe you just didn’t want to be isolated while you were healing— maybe you just needed a friend.

When Sam spoke, his voice was measured, like he was tiptoeing across a lake that had just frozen over

“I know you’re angry,” he said cautiously. “And you’ve got every right to be. But there’s… something you need to see.”

You wanted to tell him to leave, to stop pulling at threads you weren’t ready to unravel. Anger was easier— simpler. It didn’t leave room for doubt, didn’t force you to come face to face with how complicated everything had become. 

But his words lingered in your mind, demanding curiosity from you. 

So you gave an almost imperceptible nod you gave in response.

Sam crossed the room carefully, like he was approaching a wounded animal. He placed the tablet on your lap, waiting for you to take the reins.

“The first time— when you lost your memories, he sat with you for hours,” Sam said quietly. “That’s— It’s all here.”

When he stepped back, his hand retreated reluctantly. 

Without another word, Sam turned and left, his footsteps fading down the hall until the room was nothing but a bubble of suffocating silence.

You stared at the tablet on your lap.

You wanted to push it away, to leave it untouched, to keep its secrets buried forever. You didn’t want to do this—not again. Not let a piece of technology guide you through fragments of memories better left forgotten. But your hands had other plans. 

You gave in, pressing play. The screen came alive with a flicker, pixels blooming into existence from the void. 

And then, there he was.

Bucky, in the sterile, dim light of a hospital room, looked like he’d been hollowed out. His eyes were red and swollen, dark circles beneath them etched deep into his face. He was holding your hand, his thumb brushing absently across your skin. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice barely audible, “You deserve so much better than this. I just… I just didn’t know how to handle it. I pushed you away because… because I was afraid. But I care about you. I care about you so much.”

The raw pain in his voice, the vulnerability in his eyes, sent a tremor through your chest. You could see it, the regret laid bare, the desperation searing through him like the pain of an open wound.

Here, he wasn’t hiding. He wasn’t holding anything back. He was just a man, broken and afraid, holding onto your hand like it was a lifeline.

The footage cut briefly, and when it resumed, he was still there with the same clothes, the same tousled hair.

The time stamp showed that a day had passed. 

Here, his voice was softer, more fragile. His thumb was still tracing small circles over your hand. “I’ve been sitting here for hours, and I can’t help but think about how you light up every room you walk in,” he murmured, a bittersweet smile pulling at his lips. “You always found a way to pull me out, even if I didn’t show it. Even if I didn’t deserve it.”

The words felt like a surgical knife had methodically split your heart open, removing the hatred from your body piece by piece before stitching it up again.

You couldn't quite believe— that despite being cold to you then— he had known exactly what you meant to him. 

He’d known, even when he couldn’t bring himself to say it.

“I miss you so much,” he choked out, his voice collapsing. He clung to your hand as if it was the only real thing left in the world. “I can’t do this without you.”

Your throat tightened, and you felt tears burning in the back of your eyes. 

He’d spent so long hiding this, hiding everything he felt.

And it all came spilling out when you weren’t even awake to hear it.

Then he looked up, his eyes lost in a distant memory. “Do you remember the time we went on the Latveria mission together?” He let out a soft, shaky laugh. “I thought I was going to be a distraction. You laughed and said I could never be a distraction. You said I was your favourite partner. I should’ve known then that you cared about me… that I meant something to you. And I took you for granted.”

The remorse, the grief in his voice, was too much to bear. 

And then, he said it: a quiet confession of a broken man.

“I love you.”

The screen went dark, but you couldn’t move, couldn’t look away. 

Your heart twisted.

You knew now, deep down, that he was just a man—flawed, broken, fighting his own battles. Sometimes, he failed. This time, he failed you. 

But aren’t failures what makes us all so devastatingly human?

And yes, he failed. But he was also a man who loved you. The man who sat beside you for hours, holding your hand, pouring out every piece of himself in the hope that you’d feel him.

And love is something he could never fail at.

Tears slipped down your cheeks washing away the last shreds of your anger. You couldn’t forget the hurt he’d caused, couldn’t ignore the wounds he drove in your heart, but you could try to understand why it hurt so much. 

You couldn’t deny that you loved him, too—despite everything. And for the first time since all of this began, you felt that maybe, just maybe, you could find a way through the pain.

You could be whole again.

Tuesday.

Today, you were discharged. And today, you went searching for a friend—not Yelena. Things between you and her were still fragile, and you were unsure if you had even forgiven her completely.

Instead, you found yourself back at the museum, sitting in front of Bucky’s old war uniform. The glass case reflected your bruised face, a monument to your present and his past.

Alex sat beside you, eyes furrowed with concern 

"Tell me everything," she said.

And so you did.

-To be continued…

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[hydrangeapartridge]

Overindulging (EmmRook short fic)

Summary: Emmrich gets upset because he put on a little weight. Rook is here to reassure him.

The first part is mostly sfw, I signaled the moment we switch to a more heated (E-rated) exchange, please mind it.

Part of my EmmRook post game (so may contain spoilers) short-fics found here on AO3 (or on my blog with the Emmrich x Rook tag).

Rook was absentmindedly getting dressed when a very highpitched, scandalized noise startled her. It wasn’t coming from veyr far away, and she only needed to turn around to find Emmrich staring intently at his midsection, his fingers frozen over the buttons of the waistcoat he was fastening. It was his favourite one, the green one with the golden buttons.

« Darling » He called out to her, distress clear in his voice. He looked up to meet her eyes, sadness mixed with frustration in his warm brown gaze. « It doesn’t fit anymore » He stated, and indeed, Rook could see the first two buttons were fastened but the effort of it was dangerously straining the fabric. As for the last one, it would be impossible to fasten without tearing the lovely piece of clothing and ruining it.

« Well I suppose you’ll have to wear another one » Rook offered with an apologetic smile. She was ever the optimistic one of the two.

Emmrich sighed in defeat, undoing the hardly fastened buttons in a smooth gesture. However right it was, his lover’s proposition, and the implications behind his failure at getting dressed didn’t sit well with the watcher.

« I knew I had gained a little weight, there are always ups and downs in a year. But I’ve owned this waistcoat for decades and it always fit » He complained, pained and irritated. « Now I’ll have to get my entire wardrobe mended and ajusted... »

Rook stepped closer to her lover and placed a tender hand on his elbow to try and pull him out of the spiral of negativity he was losing himself into.

His slight increase in waist circumference wasn’t a surprise, for they had probably overindulged in the last months when it came to food. Emmrich took a sabbatical so they could undertake a journey around Thedas to reconnect with their former companions of the Veilguard, and check on the reconstruction of the cities destroyed by the Blight.

Those long weeks turned months had been a wonderful succession of heartwarming reunions, all of which of course around generous amounts of food and drinks. Rook and Emmrich had been delighted to discuss with their friends while sharing large meals made of the most delicious dishes, whether grilled, or fried, or covered in rich sauces, as well as around tea-times assorted with the softest buttery and flaky pastry. And not to forget the syrupy wines and bittersweet cocktail. Emmrich wasn’t known for his gluttony, but he still really enjoyed a good meal, as well as the cultural enlightment of discovering local dishes. On the way home, he kept reminiscing the taste of the famous llomerryn red sauce from Rivain or the Gnocchi from Antiva.

Pair that with a hectic schedule preventing them from exercising as they usually did, and you got a few more pounds.

It was nothing too serious. Rook herself had gained a little chub around the thighs and waist, but she understood Emmrich’s concerns. He liked to look clean and sharp, and had a strong taste for elegant fashion. All his clothes were also tailor-made and cost a pretty penny, which was an investment he made for the long run. He took very good care of his belongings and she could see why it would upset him to be forced to have them remade.

Rook gently squeezed Emmrich’s elbow. “I’m sure there is no need to come to that yet. A little more exercise and lighter meals should do the trick. You’ll be back in shape in no time”

She tried to reassure him, but Emmrich wasn’t having any of it. He placed a hand over his stomach and squeezed the fat there though the fabric of his expensive white shirt, then clicked his tongue. “I fear it won’t be that simple. Each year staying fit becomes more and more challenging. I’m getting limp and my skin will only keep sagging until I all wrinkled and flaccid. I’ll gradually wilt before your very eyes darling, this is only the start”

Oh.

So that’s what this was about.

Emmrich had partially made peace with his mortality when he brought back Manfred, and he had accepted that Rook loved him and wanted to be with him on the long run despite their difference in age. However his fears and insecurities resurfaced from time to time.

Rook’s heart sank in her chest and she pressed herself against her lover, circling her amrs around his waist, hoping her presence would comfort him better than words would. From experience, she kew that when he was in this state, there was no reasoning with him; no appealing to his usual logic. The last thing she wanted was to get into a fight because of such a trivial problem. Well, trivial to her. They already did fight several times because she brushed off his heartfelt concerns too casually and now she knew better than to lose her temper over this.

Emmrich grew silent, and soon, he hugged Rook back, the palms of his hands pressing against her back.

They stayed in this embrace for a while, Rook listening to his heart while he breathed in the familiar smell of her hair.

“You know I’ll always love you” Rook promised against his chest, and she heard his resulting deep, shaky exhale close to her ear.

“I know darling” He sighed. “It is not my intention to question that… but sometimes it feels surreal” he kissed her temple before he continued. “And sometimes I cannot help but regret that we didn’t meet sooner, or that I wasn’t born later”

Rook looked up to meet his misty gaze, a bittersweet smile on her face. “I understand that sentiment. But I believe things were meant to be this way. I am glad we even got to meet each other. And survived to enjoy the rest”

“Of course, you are absolutely right dearest. I wouldn’t have it any other way” Emmrich caressed her cheek, craddling it in his warm palm. “But the human heart can be weak, and mine is particularly prone to that kind of longing”

Rook nuzzled into his touch “That’s part of why I love you” She stood on her tiptoes, and whispered against his lips “I never hoped to meet such a romantic soul”

She kissed him then, soft and gentle, and he reverently kissed back, both of his hands holding her face like a precious treasure he feared would escape him.

When they pulled back, Rook let the hand that was pressed to his chest travel to his navel. She eyed his reaction carefully, assessing his consent, checking that her touch on the part of him he criticized was still welcomed.

Emmrich didn’t protest, but the attention made him shy, still a bit self conscious, and he distracted himself by replacing a stray lock of hair behind Rook’s ear.

“You are still the most dashing necromancer around you know” Rook said, her usual bright tone returning to her. “And you won’t be alone in your effort. I’ll help. I have a few pounds to lose too”

Emmrich let out an incredulous huff. “Darling there is no need for you to do that. You are simply perfect. Marvelously beautiful as always”

Rook raised an accusing eyebrow and gave him a chastising look which silenced him immediately. Talk about the pot calling the kettle black.

Rook splayed her fingers moree firmly over Emmrich’s lower stomach. “You know, I’m thinking of a pleasant way of exercising…” She whispered wickedly as her hand traveled lower. “I’m sure it burns a lot of fat”

She pressed her palm against Emmrich’s crotch and he let out a small breathy moan.

“Darling, we were just getting dressed” He protested, but only for the principle of it, his voice lacking any resolve.

Rook hummed “But since you were dissatisfied with your clothes, I think it’s better if you don’t wear them at all”

And so Emmrich was quickly convinced to indulge in a different kind of pleasure.

E-RATING STARTING HERE

After a few heated kisses, and unbutonning his shirt, Rook swiftly fell to her knees in front of Emmrich. Without hesitation, she untucked his crisp shirt from his flannel pants first. Her hand deliberatelly brushed his clothed growing erection before she set on undoing the buttons of his trousers.

“Darling” Emmrich tried to grab her attention and she hummed in response but didn’t stop. “As much as I enjoy the view and the promise of your attention, I fail to see how this counts as exercising on my part”

Rook gave his still clothed erection a gentle kiss through the fabric of his underwear. “Consider it a warm up” She hummed “And a way to show you how much I adore every part of you”

Emmrich let out a languid sigh. His fingers moved to brush against her cheek, and played with the hair there while she pulled his pants and underwear enough to find the most sensitive part of him. “Whatever pleases you my dear” He breathed in that lower voice that was reserved just for her; just for these moments shared between them in intimacy. He always ended up indulging her.

Rook took him in one hand, and splayed the fingers of the other over Emmrich’s stomach. She started stroking him to full hardness, while reverantly exploring the dip of his waist, and the more recent softeness of his belly, where a trail of dark hair led to his growing desire. She loved to touch him. Emmrich was a generous lover and was always the one to insist on how gorgeous she was and to focus on making sure of her pleasure. She desperately wanted to reciprocate the favour. Besides, she knew from experience that for all his composure and restreint, a teasing from the mouth should rile him up enough that he would then be most enclined to bend her over any avalaible surface and take her most ardently.

Emmrich’s self consciousness over his stomach became the last of his concerns when she stopped stroking him and started leaving opened mouth kisses on the length of him. He gasped and moaned when she proceeded to take him between her sinful lips, caressing the part that she couldn’t fit in yet between a few fingers.

Rook moaned around him when she felt his hand carefully grab the back of her head, holding ontop her hair without pressure to ground himself and help guide her. She increased the pace of her ministrations as Emmrich’s voice joined the lewd wet noises she was making. True to himself, he kept praising her, complimenting her skills, singing praises of her beauty as she worshipped him with her mouth.

This was incredibly pleasant, but not quite what she had in mind. She pulled away to catch her breath, lazily stroking him instead, the glide made easy from her saliva and his excitement. Her other hand cupped his balls, her heel pressing into his perineum until he was left breathless and flustered. She then moved to squeeze his naked bottom, a part of him that she enjoyed very much indeed. The number of times she was distracted by that ass back in the lighthouse she couldn’t count on the fingers of two hands.

Now that she had rendered Emmrich silent but for ragged whimpers, it was her turn to talk.

“My heart, you focus on the front of your body because that is the first thing you see. But know that the sight of your backside would make anyone both jealous and enticed” She murmured before giving his tip a quick suck, earning a strangled “Darling” from him.

She squeezed his bottom again for good mesure, giving it a small swat as if to make her point “I have seen the way people look at it. Makes me want to burn their eyes in their sockets”

“Darling,I’m sure that’s no-” Emmrich tried to say between heavy pants but interrupted himself, completely losing his train of thoughts when Rook took him into her mouth again, as deep as possible.

Rook smiled around him, prood that she rendered him silent. She used her now both free hands to grab at his backside firmly, using her hold as leverage to try and take him even deeper with each bob of her head.

Emmrich’s hand tightened in her hair, and she moaned delightfully in tune to her lover’s half hearted and whimpered pleas for her to slow down. She could tell that Emmrich was using the last threads of his self control not to thrust into her throat at his own rythm. His thighs were clenching, his knees buckling, she could tell he was losing it.

He was close. But this was far from over yet.

After a wicked swirl of her tongue around him, Rook pulled back, earning a distraught whine from her lover.

She barely wipped her mouth before she got up and proceeded to quickly take off her clothes. Emmrich’s gaze followed the reveal of her bare skin with a distinct hunger. For a second she had rendered him lost as what to do with himself. He stood before her, painfully hard and half dressed, panting and flushed. He looked ravishing; and she wouldn’t give him the leisure of regaining the composure she worked so hard to break.

Rook quickly stepped back into his arms, pressing her naked form flush against his body.

“I think you’ve warmed up enough” She said against his lips, her hand caressing his chest where his shirt was opened. He tried to follow after her lips but she pulled away, instead hiking one leg up his hip. Emmrich’s scattered brain had mere seconds to gather what was expected of him before Rook jumped into his arms, wrapping her beautiful legs around his narrow waist. Emmrich caught her of course, his hands coming to support her backside while she anchored her arms behind his neck.

“Now it is your turn to do all the work” Rook teased, but Emmrich complied.

“Gladly” He breathed before he crashed his lips into Rook’s, his usual finesse lost in the turmoil of his desire.

Rook’s shorter and lighter figure was easy to carry for Emmrich, who possessed more muscles than would be expected of a scholar. In his endevour to age as well as possible, he had adopted a healthy lifestyle consisting of a balanced diet and a lot of exercise. The watcher valued physical form as much as a keen intellect. To fight the rebellious undead of the Necropolis, one needed to stay in shape. Also, Rook learned when they met that necromancers from Nevarra enjoyed friendly tornaments of battle magic and took pride in winning them if possible. Emmrich had his pride, and trained so he would easily prevail if a student or colleague dared challenge him.

Rook remembered feeling both surprised and weirdly aroused the first time Emmrich twisted the limbs of a Venatori cultist with a florish of his wrist, and then proceeded to send him flying with a powerful strike of his heavy staff. To think she first considered him a delicate scholar when they met, and even hesitated bringing him to the field. How wrong she had been, and how she then had put that strength to good use.

Rook wasn’t too heavy, but to perform the activities they had fallen into, they needed more stability. While he kept kissing his lover, Emmrich walked to the nearest wall and proceeded to carefully press Rook’s back against it. The support the wall offered allowed him to free one of his hands. He held Rook around the waist with one arm, and while his lips went down to explore the delicious column of her neck, his free hand traced a path from her clavicle to her breast, where he focused his attention. He squeezed and pressed just the way she liked, without forgetting to give attention to her already erected nipple. Rook’s head fell back into the wall as an abandonned moan escaped her lips when his mouth replaced his fingers on her chest. In an impressive exercise of multi-tasking and balance, Emmrich’s hand travelled lower, testing the state of arousal of his lover. She could see the bicep of the arm holding her tensing under the strain of her weight, pulling the fabric of his shirt tight. That sight only could have made her ready for him.

To only Emmrich’s surprise, Rook was soaking wet already. He collected some moisture on his index finger still, and proceeded to pet her clit for good mesure. Rook closed her eyes under his expert ministrations, but she shook her head when he started teasing her folds and her entrance.

“Please my heart, I need you now”

To think she planned on being the patient one today. Emmrich’s lips traveled back to her neck, then cheek, and stopped to kiss and nip at her sensitive ear.

“Who am to deny you when you find yourself in such distress dearest” He purred, low and assertive before he blew on her wet and tender ear, making her gasp and shamelessly grind against his erection.

Rook admired the display of Emmrich’s strength as he repositionned her to align her center with his aching need. She was vulnerable and opened, her legs brought up against the inside of his elbow, her ankles thrown over his shoulders and her weight supported by both the wall and Emmrich’s long fingers grabbing her hip dips, her lower back mostly fitting into his large palms.

He entered her slowly, making sure she was comfortable. The sight was delightfully exciting: Emmrich still half dressed taking her naked form, the muscles of his broad shoulders and of his arms flexing to hold her in place as he penetrated her.

A first tentative thrust and then Emmrich pressed flush against Rook, bending her in half and trapping her against the wall while his cock caressed her insides. She felt impossibly full and deliciously stretched, forced to take him without moving; losing the ability to form a coherent sentence from the raw pleasure of it all.

Rook’s moans were loud and unrestrained as Emmrich took her against the wall, deep and slow. Even when pent up, he still was one to make groundbreaking love and not copulate like animals. He did slip a few times however, thrusting harder as he lost a bit of control the more Rook tightened and gushed around him.

Tears wet her eyelashes from how good it all felt, the sensations heightened by the praises Emmrich’s velvet tongue kept drowning her in. He breathily told her about the marvelous display she offered, akin to a nymph straight from an Orlesian painting; a perfect portrayal of a godess of pleasure and lushness. He fed her poetry as sweet as honey while ravishing her with impossibly accurate assaults of her most sensitive places, reaching impossibly deep in this position.

Rook left herself get lost in the pleasure he offered, and soon, as he told her he would hold her like this forever, make love to her endlessly, she choked on trying to tell him how much she loved him, whimpering instead while clenching down on him like a vice, coming around him in a raw display of bliss, tears of ecstasy rolling down her cheeks.

Gradually, Emmrich slowed down until his hips came to a stop. He reclined a little and pressed a few amourous kisses on Rook’s wet cheeks.

Rook’s chest was still rising and falling rapidly when she regained the ability the think properly. Her previously hazy eyes found Emmrich’s warm brown ones.

“I love you” She whispered in a laboured breath as if it was the most important and fitting conclusion to this exchange.

Emmrich chuckled, amused and proud of himself for rendering Rook almost speechless “I love you too dearest”

He released her trembling legs so she could get them around his waist again. She hugged him tight while he held her by two hands under her backside, gently rocking her until she regained her footing.

After a while, Rook perked up, blinking away the haze in her mind only to realize something. She looked between them, where he was still hard against her. “You didn’t-” She started, looking to Emmrich. “What about you?” She asked, dejected. She wanted this to be about him and it ended up being about her again.

Emmrich’s chuckle was low and pleasing to her ears. “I believe I ought to prolonge the effort for the exercise to truly be efficient on burning calories.” He said, a mysterious smile on his thin lips. “A ratio of three to one should suffice for today don’t you think?”

Rook blinked owlishly. She had no clue what he was talking about.

Emmrich let her think about it, amused by her airheaded state. He took a step back, then turned and walked to their bed where he carefully dropped Rook on her backside on the silken covers.

“What ratio are we talking about?” Rook asked as Emmrich caught her leg by the ankle and brought it to his lips for a tender kiss to her malleolus.

“Orgasms of course darling. One for me after three for you” Emmrich replied like it was the most obvious of things. His assertive brown gaze pinned Rook down, making her feel like a meal on display. “If you’d be kind enough to help me keep on exercising of course” He added lowly, in that tone that made her wet without being touched.

Rook inhaled sharply, feeling herself ready to go again. She couldn’t possibly refuse such an offer.

“Well, I did say I’d help…”

[radish-club]

So now that I have finished, I am going to break down my prior knowledge point by point and see where I was right or wrong about my prior knowledge of Worm because being thorough is fun.

Side note: you may be thinking since I've been tagging my liveread posts as "wren wreads worm" that my name is Wren. Nope. I just liked the triple W plus the misspelling. Wren is the name of the robot girl in my profile pic. It was also the pseudonym I used back when I was active(ish) on the Parahumans discord (for the Pact and Pale chats).

Wren Wreads Worm: Where I Was Wright and Wrong about Worm

Big picture: there's alien entities called incubators shards who implant themselves in people and give them powers.

So so the alien entities aren't called Shards like I thought, they are called Entities and the Shards are just their fragments.

I was under the impression that there was, like, a bunch of these aliens that were doing their experiments on earth and each one was implanting themselves into humans. But nope, only really 3 of them important to this story, only 2 came to earth, and only 1 survived initial contact with the planet.

I am not sure how accurate the comparison to the Incubators from PMMM ended up being, but similar enough I guess.

Powers are triggered by traumatic events and are usually themed to said events. There is also an organization called Cauldron who tries to give powers in a controlled manner. Powered beings are called parahumans.

All correct here.

The main character is Taylor. She has the power to control bugs. She was triggered by being bullied in high school. She was shoved into a locker full of used tampons and left there. I don't recall if that was the specific trigger event or just one instance of bullying.

It was the specific trigger.

She wants to be a hero and thinks of herself as a good, well intentioned person but is so so stupid. She goes out to fight crime, and meets up with teenage villains (called the Undersiders??). Against advice of established hero(es) she goes "undercover" with teen villains. In doing so she gets deeper and deeper in. Does like bank robberies or some shit that go badly. People die. And so on.

All true. Though I didn't realize eventually she just fully embraces the villain thing and get outed as "Undercover" during the course of that. I figured kept up her plan to rat them out up until she defected and then started snitching.

At some point she officially joins heroes and there is a time skip but I don't know if these two things happen together.

Kind of?? Not really but close enough. The time skip wasn't all in one piece like I thought either. Just a few months at a time per chapter until it gets the last year, year and a half out the way in one go.

Halfwayish through the book there is a big fight with a creature called Leviathan in which several characters dies (and apparently the author rolled dice to see who would die, so it was possible even Taylor could have died in that fight).

So in my head, the Leviathan fight played a similar roll as what the Behemoth fight ends up playing. A big transitional fight between Taylor as Skitter and Taylor as Weaver.

The way I was figuring it, I think, was that all the Skitter crime boss stuff happened and gradually escalated in an intact Brockton Bay, but then the Leviathan wrecks shit and the experience lead Taylor to defected or something, I am not sure.

But no, it was towards the beginning, if anything. It is the arc that is the transition from Act 1 to Act 2 if you were to break Worm into 3 acts.

At some point in the story Taylor kills several people. These include an established hero (Alexandria?) by suffocating her with bugs and also a baby but for the baby she uses a gun.

All true. I was not aware of her first proper kill in Coil, I'll note.

It was Alexandria that she kills which, as I guess, was a big important event that happened that gets referenced throughout the rest of the book.

The baby killing, however, was NOT as big of a deal as I thought it was going to be. By a good margin too. Like I was imagining there was going to be this build-up over the course of several Arcs about some baby who was going to set off a chain reaction or be dangerous in itself in an immediate sense.

There was going to be debates amongst characters about what do do about it until Taylor finally gets impatient, tracks down said baby, and assassinates it. And then it would be this big awful thing she had done that would be held against her and make her reviled by many.

But no. There is build up in the sense that it is implied that the baby, Aster, COULD be dangerous. And it is implied that she might end up in one of Gray Boy's time wells.

But the actually shooting just kind of happens, with implied motivations, as opposed to explicit ones. And the chapters that follow are for Golem, Aster's brother, who is broken up about it at first. But after that, I am not sure if she is ever mentioned again.

I guess because goes straight into the Jack fight and then Scion attacking immediately after. And not that many people saw it happen. And Taylor is at the point where she is kind of past feeling emotion about such things.

But going on memes and jokes about Taylor's baby killing, I just thought it was going to be a much bigger deal than it was.

There is a parahuman with gold skin who was one of the OG parahumans back in the 80s.

I was both right and wrong here. DWMP is named Scion and he was a cape from the 80s, but he was not a parahuman.

I discussed this in another post, so I won't go as in depth here. Briefly back when I didn't realize there was just one single entity (for all intense and purposes) and shards of said entity but I thought the entities and shards were one in the same and were many in number, I thought Scion was just a regular human who got an Important Shard and also most of his memories wiped.

I don't remember his name but I do remember he is very Dead Wife Man Pain, so let's call him DWMP.

The DWMP aspects came from half remember stories about Worm my wife told me. She used that expression to describe Scion and I got memories jumbled and thought there was some car wreck backstory or something.

DWMP has a fateful conversation with a villain named Jack Slash. Slash convinces him to destroy the world. Maybe also other realities too??

He does have that conversation with Jack Slash and he does begin destroying the world because of it. I didn't know the Jack Slash connection would be broadcasted within the story itself, long before via Dinah's precognition. I thought that was neat and felt special and in on the secret (this is why I don't mind spoilers for stuff).

And yeah, he does attempt to destroy multiple earths in multiple realities, but that isn't really part of the conversation.

(or maybe the same conversation is happening on multiple realities with multiple Slashes and DWMPs??)

The same conversation wasn't happening in multiple realities. And there is only 1 Scion for all the different realities. So no idea where that part came from.

There's apocalyptic event and Taylor gets someone (Amy/Panacea, I think) to enhance/alter her power so she can jump between realities. She then begins to gather parahumans from differently realities into a team to come together and take out DWMP with the power of teamwork and a giant laser.

Correct about apocalypse and that it was Amy.

But see, I thought the power enhancement was the reality hoping itself. I didn't realize that she got the power to literally control people.

So here I was thinking the climax was going to be her jumping through realities talking to and convincing alternate earth capes to join her cause and then they were all gonna rally together and fight Scion.

What ACTUALLY happened was so so so much better. She becomes a monster and begins controlling people, namely other parahumans. She controls a portal making parahuman to help extend her range and forcible recruit literally 1000s of people to fight and die against Scion.

This represents culmination of her continually increasing unethical actions for the "great good" and the final betrayal of her previously held morals.

Basically the "power of friendship" is funny in retrospect since I meant it somewhat sincerely.

Spot on about the giant laser. There was a giant laser. It is was killed Scion in the end.

They are not able to save the world they are currently on but a portion of Earth's population are evacuated from their current reality to an Earth with no humans where Ward takes place. One of these two earths is called Earth Bet.

Earth Bet is the main earth for our purposes. It wasn't as thoroughly destroyed as I assumed. Like folks are still rebuilding and live there. I am not sure how much of the population is spread amongst the various worlds.

From what I understand the afformentioned humanless world (Gimel) is where Ward takes place mostly or completely but I can only imagine there is some crossing over.

No idea what happens in-between. If folks continue to live on Bet, and so on.

Taylor's fate is left ambiguous. She maybe dies, she maybe fucks off to another reality. Maybe she become meguca idk.

And this part annoys me. It's is not ambiguous in the way I thought.

Like at first its pretty unambiguous. Contessa shoots and kills Taylor, ending her narration. It's great, I like that.

But then you have that epilogue about her fucking off to the other reality. It's somewhat implied to be fake given Tattletale's dialogue and the fact that her (presumably) dead dad is there. But the phrase "Gold Morning" is used. And the whole thing doesn't feel "dreamlike."

I get that the author SAYS it's supposed to be just a dream that happens while she's dying (I think that's true, correct me if I am wrong). And while I like to think that is the case myself, what he wrote isn't very good at getting that across.

And it's not even that good of a chapter (Tattletale parts are fine) to justify it being there, even as a dream. I feel if the last we see of Taylor is her getting shot, that would have been great. The final epilogue stuff felt forced and I didn't like it.

Other Notes:

-Taylor goes by 3 names: Skitter, Weaver, and Khepri

Partially true. She briefly goes by the temporary name of Bug prior to Gallant naming her Skitter after the bank robbery. Also I did not realize how little the Khepri name gets used in book.

-There a suite of powers called the Alexandrian Package bc they are the ones the parahuman Alexandria has. I think they are flight, semi-invulnerability, and strength (or maybe one of those is energy blasts)

True but this term only gets mentioned once maybe twice in the Worm. Maybe it comes up more in Ward or Weaverdice or something.

-there is a character named Bitch whose power is turning dogs into monster dogs. Media calls her Hellhound to be less controversial and she hates that

True

-There are sisters named Victoria (Glory Girl) and Amy (Panacea) the former of who is the protagonist of Ward. Amy turns Victoria into a Cronenberg at some point. Their relationship and respective characterizations across both books is a point of great controversy among fans. To put it lightly.

True. Though I did think Victoria would be put back together again within the text of Worm.

There was a scene and her being presented to Amy (I am guessing) to be fixed while Taylor is being lead through her banishment portal, which was kind of out of place to be honest. Like, I know Taylor saw Cronenberg Victoria via the clairvoyant when searching for heroes but did she collect her? If so, why? And if not did someone choose that moment, immediately after the fighting finished to take care of this. It was an awkward moment.

-There is a character named Lab Rat who died(?) but he, in the form of one of his clones, comes back in Ward as a guy named Chris.

As far as Worm goes, the part about Lab Rat dying is true. And if I remember correctly, the thing he threw over the side of the oil rig was his clone. And I haven't read Ward but I am pretty sure said clone became the character Chris.

-Browbeat's fate was ambiguous, so him secretly being this or that character in Ward became a meme. Because the author hates fun memes, he went back and changed Worm so BB unambiguously died.

Not much more to say here. The death was changed to be unambiguous.

Numbers Man is hung

Described as wearing just a shirt and glasses. Surely, what the author meant was that he was wearing no pants because of his monster dong.

I know Brian and Alec die but not exactly how or when.

Both true, though the story really take it's time before confirming Brian's death. Not a criticism, just wasn't expected.

I think Danny dies too but I'm not sure.

It's never confirmed but heavily implied.

I'm pretty sure Lisa and Rachel make it to Ward but I'm not sure about Aisha. I don't think she dies though.

They all make it.

I know there is going to be a jailbreak at the Birdcage at some point but I don't know the particulars.

Kind of true?? But not in the way I thought. I thought the inmates mount a jailbreak and that is how Marquis, Lung, Amy, etc get out. But no, pretty much all the named inmates are let out to help fight Scion. Taylor breaks the remaining inmates out during her run as Khepri, if you want to call that a jailbreak.

Taylor loses an arm at some point

Twice actually. Once at the oil rig (along with her lower half) but gets it regrown. Then again when it is crushed by Sveta and then removed by Lung (at her request). That gets healed over but never replaced.

It may be a few weeks before I start, but I'm probably gonna finally read Worm here soon. May even do a liveread if I feel like it.

I already know several of the major plot points BUT I I'm probably wrong in many places (as I was with Pact).

So before I start, I wanted to write a synopsis of what I think I know about Worm. This way I can refer back to this post and see how much I got wrong, what major things I was missing, etc.

What Worm is About (by someone who hasn't read Worm)

Big picture: there's alien entities called incubators shards who implant themselves in people and give them powers. Powers are triggered by traumatic events and are usually themed to said events. There is also an organization called Cauldron who tries to give powers in a controlled manner. Powered beings are called parahumans.

The main character is Taylor. She has the power to control bugs. She was triggerd by being bullied in high school. She was shoved into a locker full of used tampons and left there. I don't recall if that was the specific trigger event or just one instance of bullying.

She wants to be a hero and thinks of herself as a good, well intentioned person but is so so stupid. She goes out to fight crime, and meets up with teenage villains (called the Undersiders??). Against advice of established hero(es) she goes "undercover" with teen villains.

In doing so she gets deeper and deeper in. Does like bank robberies or some shit that go badly. People die. And so on.

At some point she officially joins heroes and there is a time skip but I don't know if these two things happen together.

Halfwayish through the book there is a big fight with a creature called Levithan in which several characters dies (and apparently the author rolled dice to see who would die, so it was possible even Taylor could have died in that fight).

At some point in the story Taylor kills several people. These include an established hero (Alexandria?) by suffocating her with bugs and also a baby but for the baby she uses a gun.

There is a parahuman with gold skin who was one of the OG parahumans back in the 80s. I don't remember his name but I do remember he is very Dead Wife Man Pain, so let's call him DWMP. DWMP has a fateful conversation with a villain named Jack Slash. Slash convinces him to destroy the world. Maybe alos other realities too?? (or maybe the same conversation is happening on multiple realities with multiple Slashes and DWMPs??)

There's apocalyptic event and Taylor gets someone (Amy/Panacea, I think) to enhance/alter her power so she can jump between realities. She then begins to gather parahumans from differently realities into a team to come together and take out DWMP with the power of teamwork and a giant laser.

They are not able to save the world they are currently on but a portion of Earth's population are evacuated from their current reality to an Earth with no humans where Ward takes place. One of these two earths is called Earth Bet.

Taylor's fate is left ambiguous. She maybe dies, she maybe fucks off to another reality. Maybe she become meguca idk.

Other Notes:

Taylor goes by 3 names: Skitter, Weaver, and Khepri

There a suite of powers called the Alexandrian Package bc they are the ones the parahuman Alexandria has. I think they are flight, semi-invulnerability, and strength (or maybe one of those is energy blasts)

there is a character named Bitch whose power is turning dogs into monster dogs. Media calls her Hellhound to be less controversial and she hates that.

There are sisters named Victoria (Glory Girl) and Amy (Panacea) the former of who is the protagonist of Ward. Amy turns Victoria into a Cronenberg at some point. Their relationship and respective characterizations across both books is a point of great controversy among fans. To put it lightly.

There is a character named Lab Rat who died(?) but he, in the form of one of his clones, comes back in Ward as a guy named Chris.

Browbeat's fate was ambiguous, so him secretly being this or that character in Ward became a meme. Because the author hates fun memes, he went back and changed Worm so BB unambiguously died.

Numbers Man is hung

[altcvnningham]

shotgun

adler x f!bell

summary: quick rough drabble inspired by this post, a little by this post, probably should look at the first one for picture reference bc damn it’s confusing to write

tags/cw: established adlerbell, f!bell, she/her pronouns, cold war era, shotgunning/smoking, but bell doesn’t, adler is a nasty meanie and makes her

wc: 450~

a/n: my brain wouldn’t let me sleep until i wrote it so i wrote it. small, messy, barely edited . bon apetit sickos

“Adler,” she winces, her hands wrenched around the thick forearm he deftly curls around her, locking her in place against him. The chafing of his leather jacket pinches against her back as he presses his chest into her, pinning her hips forward into the darkroom table. She whimpers, neck straining to turn her head away. “Adler- stop.”

But he doesn’t listen- doesn’t much care to, the scruff of his jaw nuzzling catlike against her soft cheek, sandpaper and velvet. He presses a smirking kiss to the corner of her mouth, pursed tightly in her refusal to humour his stupid game, while his hand steadies her head for him to continue his teasing assault. His cigarette, half-smoked, stays perched in that hand as he stamps a kiss upon her cheek, flushed red and seared hot with her embarrassment.

“C’mon, Bell,” he croons, turning her face back with a firm hand to look his way. She resists at every point- and he’ll give it to her, she’s stubborn. (Just how he likes her, he supposes.) He smooths back her hair, cigarette still in hand, then tightens his forearm around her as he brings it towards himself. A mocking jibe as he goes.

“You’re a big girl, aren’t you? You can take it.”

“I don’t want it,” she whines, a shake of her head made stiff and rigid as he presses his temple tight against hers; with a flinch of her watery eyes she watches as his hand comes around her face, towards his own, slowly pulling the cigarette into his mouth much too close to hers.

The smell is acrid, burns to even breathe in, yet she can’t deny the sobered part of her that yowls its craving for it, her system clean of nicotine now for… how long? A few weeks- no- months? Actually, when did she stop? She could have sworn it wasn’t long ago she’d been perched beneath a rain sheltered overpass, smoke in hand as she watched city lights glint in the distance… but where? When?

She’s awarded little time to mull it over before Adler’s face is squashed too close to her own, his lips a hairs-width from breaking the corner of her mouth as he lodges the cigarette between them. It’s a cruel joke, she thinks, the way he goads her, corners her, bends her boundaries all pliable to his liking- Adler’s way of staking some nasty, childish claim over her, she reckons. A shame then, that she doesn’t half mind it. A shame, when he takes a drag, slow and deep, and then turns his head towards hers to pry her lips apart with his thumb, open her mouth, and bitterly exhale the smoke inside.

[bringthekaos]

are you gonna keep writing jayvik now that viktor is confirmed straight?

Gunna answer this one diplomatically, even though this ask was clearly sent with malice. Warning for Act 2 spoilers (and possible Act 3 spoilers, since the footage used in the "The Line" music video is most likely from Act 3).

First, when I continue to write Jayvik, it will probably have to be an AU anyway, because I have about 2% confidence that both of them make it out of this show alive.

Second: he is still not confirmed straight. He was depicted taking Sky's hands as she fades away for a second time. This means nothing, romantically. It means he regrets this is happening, he knows it's his fault, and he wishes to bring comfort to her in her last moments.

And that's if it even is her, and not a manifestation of his guilt, given that she doesn't look like herself at all in his hallucinations, or whatever it is. Her eyebrows are thinner in the hallucination, and her hair is wholly different: not as high on her head nor as tightly bundled or curly. This points to a suggestion that this manifestation is his best effort of representing her in his mind, and it is wrong because he didn't know her well at all.

Not to mention, in the very few interactions that they had (before Jayce's Progress Day Speech and when she asked him to walk home together), he was shown just... not receptive. It could have been read as disinterest because he is gay (which obviously many people did), or just that he has a very one-track mind on his research at the time, and isn't even cognizant of the missed social interaction. But either way, there was no foundation for connection, intimate or otherwise, between them. Certainly not enough for the heavy-handed and forced connection depicted in season 2.

THAT SAID, I am a very ship and let ship person. I have certainly fabricated ships from less. Hell, I've shipped characters that never even interacted in canon. And I have no problem with the SkyVik ship, given that his sexuality was never confirmed one way or the other. Honestly, if it had been built up better in the writing, there is potential there! Both of them being from Zaun, and clawing their way into the Academy, which as Jayce said has a success rate of 3%. But it is not groundbreaking or even remotely incorrect to say that this ship is fabricated (and not in a negative sense. It's just fact). There wasn't enough to support it. He brushed her off multiple times. And he only seems to give her the attention after she is dead, which again points to a motivation of guilt: he wishes he'd gotten to know her and her aspirations and dreams before her life was cut short by him. But it's too late.

And lastly, the thing everyone needs to understand is this: Jayce and Viktor were released in League in 2012, and Jayce was specifically built as the mirror to Viktor. It was honestly quite a poetic "formed from the rib" kind of release for Jayce, who came 7 months after Viktor. These two had no canon romantic involvements in that time beyond mere speculation, so naturally they had very queer undertones for almost ten years before Arcane came out. And I don't think it's much of a leap to be disappointed when the producers and distributors of the show decided that they couldn't make their show "too gay" for mainstream audiences. Especially when the pre-established League fanbase consisted of 87% men (source), and a lot of cishet men are threatened/disgusted by/afraid of gay men, yet fetishize lesbian sex. So yeah. The Jayvik shippers get understandably disappointed when their 10-year old ship gets no-homo'd at the finish line.

So to answer your original question. Yeah. I am probably gunna continue to write Jayvik. Yes, even if they're both "confirmed" straight. I will hit them both with the bi hammer. And I will tag my stuff accordingly, and "stay in my lane" so to speak, and everyone is welcome to block me if they don't wanna see it. I'm not gunna go around harassing SkyVik shippers, just as I have never harassed MelJayce shippers. And I'm sure this will be called "misogyny" by many who'd like to assign a moral high ground to their attempts at eradicating the JayVik ship. Trust me, if I could have my ship without disregarding two amazing women, I would do it. But I can't, because someone at the decision making table decided to give two characters who never had any romantic involvements in League the no homo treatment.

And of course, as always, the season is not over. Some of this could change. But my love of the JayVik ship won't. Block me if you don't like it.

For obvious reasons, anon is now off ✌️

[bteezxyewriter12]

Lazy Cuddles/ 2

Pairing- Yoongi x Named Reader

Word count- 1.9k

Includes- Soft cuddly boyfriend Yoongi, lazy sex from behind, cock riding, multiple orgasms, so much fluff

Tag List- @mingtina @jaxminnie @yeosayang @delightfulmoonbanana @tannie13 @y00nzin0 @marsstarxhwa

@borntowalkaway @soulseobi05 @kpop-bambi @seokwoosmole @meowmeowminnie @realisticnotes @effielumiere @svnbangtansworld @insomniacatiny @marvelfamily3000 @amyz78 @blueie-things

Masterlists- check out for more fics

📝Masterlists 📝BTS Masterlist 📝Yoongi Masterlist

📝Lazy Cuddles 1

Yoongi POV

"Jagi?", I call, coming into the living room

"Mmmm?", she answers

"Jagi, where are you?"

I walk around the couch to find her laying on it, her face buried in the pillows, blanket pulled up to her chin

"What are you doing baby?", I chuckle, sitting next to her

"Dying"

"No baby, you can't die", I joke, "I need you jagi"

"Yoongi", she whines

Something's wrong

She'd usually joke back with me

"Tell me what's wrong baby", I ask, running my fingers in her hair

"Bad headache", she whispers, "Hurts so much"

"I'm sorry jagi"

She gets bad headaches from time to time

Even with meds it still hurts

Sometimes they last hours, sometimes they're short

Sometimes she gets one every day for a week or two then none for months

She's been checked out and there's no explanation for them

"Did you take meds?"

"Three Advil"

"Three?", I gape

That's a lot but it's normally what she takes when the headaches are severe

"Very bad headache", she whines, "And it's not working anyway"

"I'm sorry baby. Did you drink water? Maybe you're dehydrated?"

"I did naekkeo", she answers, "I'm just trying to nap. Maybe it'll go away when I wake up"

Sounds like a good idea

I don't want to leave her alone though

"I'll stay with you jagi"

She lifts her head, squinting at me, "You don't have to work?"

"Yeah but I can do it here. Use my laptop and headphones and I'll be right next to you"

She nods, "Ok naekkeo. Thank you"

"Of course Jo"

Leaning over her, I kiss her forehead then get up to get my stuff

--------------------------------

Half an hour later, I stop the music to change something when I hear her whimper

Reaching out, I rub her back as I fix what I need to fix

Then I hit play and listen to the melody

She moves, turning around, her back to me, trying to get comfortable

She hasn't been able to fall asleep yet

I'm trying everything I can- play with her hair, massage her forehead, rub her back but nothing is working

I don't know what else to do for her

Once the music stops playing, I decide it's good and I open a new file to work on

"Yoongi", she whispers

"Yeah baby?"

"Can....you hold me?"

I smile at her back, saying, "Yeah jagi. Of course. I can use a break anyway"

I'll do anything for her, drop anything for her, to help her, to comfort her

Taking my headphones off, I put them and my laptop on the floor, then lay down under the blanket next to her

Wrapping my arms around her body, I pull her against me, her back to my chest

I cuddle into the back of her neck, pressing kisses to her skin there

"Better jagi?"

"Yeah naekkeo. Thank you"

"No need to thank me. I'll always jump at the chance to hold you"

"I love you Yoongi. So much"

"I love you Jo. More than anything", I tell her, "Now try to sleep baby ok? I don't want you hurting anymore"

"I'll try", she says softly

"Good"

Pressing a kiss to her neck, I hold her, my eyes closing as well

I'm not planning on sleeping as I'm not tired but I don't want to just stare at nothing

A few minutes later, I hear her even breathing and I smile

Seems like she just wanted me

Which is fine because she can have me whenever she wants

I'm not ready to get up yet so I just keep a tight hold on my jagi

--------------------------------

Movement against my dick wakes me up

She's moving around in my arms, her ass rubbing against my crotch

What time is it?

I don't even remember falling asleep

It's not a big deal

That's our thing

Naps

A nap with my jagi is never a bad thing

But her wiggling around is making my dick hard

"Jagi", I murmur, moving my hand down to her hips and stopping her movements, "Don't wiggle baby"

"Huh?", she asks sleepily

"Don't wiggle. Your ass is rubbing against me and making me hard"

"Mmm", she whines, still pushing against me

"Is your headache gone?", I ask, trying not to think about sex

"Yeah. Just needed a nap", she says softly, her body still pressing and moving against my dick

"No more wiggling jagi", I say softly, my cock fully hard against her

It'll go away, I just need her to stop moving

"Put it in naekkeo", she murmurs

"What?", I ask, not sure I heard her right

"I feel how hard you are. Want you. Put it in"

It takes a second for my sleep riddled brain to comprehend what she's saying

"Are you sure?", I ask, once what she says sinks in

"Yes naekkeo. Want you"

I definitely want her so I pull her pants and panties down as far as I can

She lifts her legs to her chest, pulling everything off as I pull my pants and boxers down

I pull her back against me, then align my dick to her entrance and start pushing in slowly

"Yoongi", she murmur, her tight pussy opening for my cock, sucking me in as I move

"Jagi", I whimper, my arm moving around her, keeping her body against mine, "Feels so good baby"

"Mmm", she moans, her cunt getting wetter, leaking around my cock with each inch in

I'm almost in and I shove my hips forward, burying entirely in her sweet cunt, feeling the hard clenching her pussy is doing

The pleasure rolls over me as we both moan

"So good naekkeo", she says softly

"Always good jagi", I tell her, kissing the back of her neck

I move one of her legs back, over mine thigh, spreading her legs open

Moving my hand in between her legs, I run my fingers up her pussy, collecting the juice she's leaking around my cock

Then I press on her throbbing clit, hearing her gasp, and start moving my fingers in a circle

"Yoongi", she moans, shaking against me

Her pussy tightens so hard around me, spasming so blissfully

With each massage of my fingers, her cunt creams my dick more and more

I keep my cock firmly buried in her cunt, starting to grind into her, making sure my head rubs her spot

I slide my free hand up her shirt, groping her boob, pinching her nipple

"Oh god", she cries, "Yoongi, don't stop"

"I'm not baby", I murmur against the back of her neck, pressing soft kisses to it, "Not until you cum all over my cock"

She whimpers, her pussy spasming wonderfully hard around my length

She's so fucking tight, it like her pussy is choking my cock and I'm living for every pulse

I play with her throbbing clit faster, her cunt a waterfall, soaking my pelvis and my thighs, her pretty moans music to my ears

She's close, I can tell from how her pussy's gripping my cock, how she's throbbing

And I know what she needs when she's right there

"Cum for me jagi", I murmur in her ear, "Want your pretty pussy coming all over my cock for me"

"Yoongi, oh god"

She falls apart at the next move of my fingers, orgasming all over me

"Yes baby. Don't stop", I murmur, her body shaking against mine, pleasure from her orgasm washing over me

It feels so fucking good and I wouldn't have it any other way

Her legs start to close as her orgasm continues

Letting go of her boob, I grip her thigh, holding it open

"Keep your legs open", I demand, "I didn't tell you to close them. I'm not done with you yet baby"

She nods, "Ok naekkeo"

"Good girl"

After she finishes, I hold her around her waist and keeping her leg over mine, I pull my hips back, feeling every inch of her pussy tug on my cock as I pull out to my head

"Ready for me jagi?"

She nods

I thrust my whole cock back into her, slamming her spot, her scream of pleasure sounding in the room

I move quickly, fucking her pretty pussy, incredible pleasure washing over me

Her pussy squelches with every thrust, the pornographic sound turning me on more

I pound into her, spreading her hole around my length, making her cunt cream every inch of my cock

She leans back, her arm moving around my neck, her lips crashing into mine

I throw myself into her kiss, my tongue against hers, kissing her hungrily as I fuck her pussy wide open

The kiss is messy, our tongues all over each other's and it's so right in this moment

She moves, pulling me out, then climbs on top of me, sliding down my cock to the hilt

"I need you baby", she murmurs, bouncing on my cock right away

Fuck, I need her

I move us, leaning against the couch cushion, my hands on her thighs

As she comes down, I thrust up into her cunt, going in so deep

"Yes, Yoongi", she cries, grinding on me when I'm all in

I watch her slide up my cock, her pussy cream coating my cock, making a big beautiful mess

She comes down, her pretty swollen lips wrapped around my length, her hole opening and straining as she takes me

Sliding my hands up, I push her shirt up and off, watching her pretty boobs bouncing in my face

She tugs on my shirt, whining as she rides me and I get the hint

As soon as my shirt is off, she leans her hands on my shoulders, fucking the life from me

The pleasure is exquisite and the view of her on my cock, the pleasure in her face is mesmerizing

I love this girl more than anything in this world

I start moving again, thrusting up into her pretty hole as she bounces down, the bliss increasing for both of us

"Yoongi, yes...yes baby", she pants, her gorgeous brown eyes on mine

"So fucking good jagi. Such a good girl for me", I murmur, the throbbing of her pussy becoming extremely hard and tight

We fuck each other, both sweating and the next thrust has her screaming as she cums

"Yoongi", she cries, her pussy squirting, soaking me, her head back, her hips rocking, eyes closed, her fingers digging into the skin of my chest

Ecstacy tidal waves over me, stars explode in my vision, my hand squeezing her thighs hard as I go over the edge, filling her cunt with my cum

"Joanne! Jagi!"

"Yoongi! Yoongi!"

I help her rock on me to prolong the bliss for both of us, my body shaking involuntarily

God, it's so fucking amazing

She's amazing

As we finish, her rocking slows down until she stops

Her eyes meet mine, a soft smile on her face

Her hand cups my cheek, her fingers stroking my skin, a loving look on her face as she gazes at me

"I love you"

My heart pounds in my chest, like it always does when I hear her say those words

"I love you", I tell her, smiling at her too

She leans down, her lips meeting mine

I immediately fall into her kiss, her arms moving around my neck, mine around her waist

As we kiss, we move, laying down, her body against mine, her soft skin against mine, our legs tangling together

Holding onto each other tightly, we cuddle and kiss each other with no intention to stop

[snekwritesstuff]

Poolverine fluff? Cuddles perchance?

hello! im sorry that this is so short T-T

i hope you like it though! thank you for the request!

Sleepless Nights

Pairing: Poolverine

Word Count: 523

Tags: fluff and cuddles!!

Logan hadn't stricken him as a cuddler. Wade's body tenses as Logan's weight crushes him into his mattress. Adamantium was brutally heavy. Even in the pitch darkness, there was no mistaking it was him.

But it's…2:00 AM. And Logan started on the couch.

“Hey, Honey Badger,” he protests with as much sound as he could muster. “I'm totally into this, usually I prefer to be asleep for much longer, but I'll make an exception for you–”

Wade can feel the powerful rumble reverberate through both their chests as Logan growls, “Shut up.”

So he does, for once. Just…lets him lay there. A few shudders wrack through Logan's body and his grip tightens on Wade.

“They're dead,” Logan eventually mumbles.

“Yeah,” Wade replies with a sigh, bringing one of his arms up around the bulkier man. “I know.”

“I told them to run.”

“You did what you could.”

Logan's breath is harsh, his body tensed, claws poking at his skin. Wade brushes his hand down Logan's back, soothing him with just the tips of his fingers.

These nights were less frequent than they'd been at the beginning, when they had to replace four couches in the span of a month. He'd almost taken out their television, catching his reflection in the dark and jumping out of his skin.

Usually, Wade would crack a joke by now, say something to poke the bear, start commenting about how his dick was hard…But not tonight. Tonight, he'll let Logan hold him as long as he needs.

And Logan doesn't say anything else. The pair lay in silence, Wade's fingers tracing Logan's skin and Logan’s hold tight on Wade.

When the clock ticks past 3:00 AM, and Logan finally relaxes, Wade takes a breath and rolls Logan to his side. Logan huffs in surprise, but when Wade snuggles up behind him and presses a kiss to the back of his neck, he makes no other protests.

“Would now be a bad time to say that you growling at me to shut up was the hottest thing I've ever heard?” Wade mutters, a cheeky smile plastered across his face. He presses himself against Logan just enough that he nips at Wade's arm. “Like, I'm not a furry, but fuck-”

Logan bites down, hard, a warning huff tickling Wade's skin.

“No biting!” Wade whines. “You live with me for my witty commentary, don't pretend you hate it!”

“Your ‘witty commentary’ is interrupting your much needed beauty sleep,” Logan mutters, one corner of his lips raising.

“Oh-ho! He can joke!” Wade says, his arms squeezing Logan once. “Planning on staying here all night, Snookums?”

“Not if you're calling me that.” Logan tries to move but Wade laughs and tugs him back. Tomorrow, he'll tell Wade what the nightmare really was. But tonight he'll play along, keep Wade close.

He eventually stops trying to escape, settling down for the night. They chat, Wade making a joke that earned him a claw through the forearm and another ruined set of bedsheets. They eventually succumb to the call of sleep, Wade's arms wrapped around Logan's waist and his head pressed between Logan's shoulders.