#it's not even that he's trying to pick a fight/argument either

[nadvs]

the power play (part five)

pairing hockeyplayer! rafe cameron x tutor! reader

rating mature 18+

summary rafe is your complete opposite. the only thing you have in common with the hockey player you tutor is that he’s also recently had his heart broken. in a last-ditch effort to make the people who hurt you regret it, you agree to pretend to date.

< prev

You haven’t spoken to Rafe since he angrily left your dorm three nights ago.

You’re sitting in your booked study room, waiting for him to arrive, wondering if he’ll be regretful of your argument or be ready for round two or pretend it never happened.

Either way, you’d prefer to make light of it and move on. He may no longer be your fake boyfriend, if he really meant what he said, but you’re still going to be seeing him every week.

You hope that you can just give him back his jersey and leave what happened in the past.

The guilt that Rafe has been running from catches up to him once he walks in and sees you. He blew up the other night and you met him with understanding he’s never been given before, softness he doesn’t know what to do with.

“Let’s just get it out in the open,” you say as the door clicks shut behind him. “We fought. I was expecting a bouquet of apology roses, but maybe they got lost in the mail?”

He huffs. Typical of you to make a joke about it.

He sits down, slouched back as he unpacks his things, his long legs stretched out beneath the table. He doesn’t know what to say and is relieved, for once, that you fill the silence.

“I get why you got annoyed,” you say, “but I haven't changed my mind. This doesn’t have to be weird. No hard feelings, right?”

His jaw tenses as he sets your copy of We Have Always Lived in the Castle on the desk. He got through it quickly. And he actually didn’t hate it.

He’s sure it was only because reading killed the time he’d normally had spent training, but he figures this is a good enough topic to start with.

“I finished it,” he murmurs, looking down at the paperback. “It was good.”

“Oh. Wow,” you say, perking up. “You liked it?”

He nods, earning a prideful smile from you.

“Because…?”

“It was short,” he says.

“You walked into this room, I think a month ago to the day, and looked insulted when I asked you if you liked reading,” you say. “And now you’re telling me you enjoyed a book. That’s huge. I need way more than it was short.”

“You’re being a lot right now.”

“I know.” Your smile doesn’t falter. You motion for his laptop, he hands it to you, and you open a new document. “Keep talking. What did you like about it?”

“It got to the point.”

“The prose is very clear,” you agree, typing in the note. “What’d you think of the twist at the end? Did you see it coming?”

“No.”

“This is why I love this class. It introduces you to books you might’ve never picked up,” you gush, then take a breath. “You better not be trying to trick me. You knew I’d get excited about this and forget that we argued. But I’m already over it. Okay, I’m talking too much. Your turn.”

The relief of seeing you act like you normally do has lifted the weight that’s been sinking into Rafe since the night he snapped at you.

Now that he’s with you again, confined in a room he didn’t think he’d ever not mind being in, there’s no avoiding the fact that you have an effect on him.

Against his expectations, he cares about what you think. About how you feel. And he just wants to fix this.

“You don’t know what my fights with her used to be like,” he says. “I’ve heard it all.”

You still for a moment, then rest your elbow on the table, chin in your hand as you gaze at him through compassionate eyes.

You can sympathize that not knowing what Emma said is irritating him, but you couldn’t repeat her cruel words, even if you wanted to.

“I understand,” you say, “but I can’t bring myself to tell you something that’ll just hurt you.”

“That’s my point,” he scoffs. “It won’t hurt me.”

“It could.”

Rafe sinks into the realization that he’ll just have to take the loss here. You’re not going to tell him what he wants to know, because you don’t want to wound him. Even though he kind of deserves it for his outburst.

“I know I…” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “I know I didn’t have to lose it on you like that the other night.”

“Yeah,” you breathe a defeated chuckle. “You didn’t.”

“I’m sorry.”

He fans through the book just to have something to do with his hands.

You take in the remorse etched into his handsome face and you admire that even though he can be rash, he tries to clean up the messes he makes, pushing aside his ego when he needs to.

“We’re past it,” you conclude. You look at the laptop screen again, glad this will be a clean break. “Let’s write what we can about this book first and then go back to the other essay. What else did you like?”

Rafe expected that you’d bounce back after your rift. Your positivity is so relentless that it almost tires him out. But he needs to make sure you know he uttered those words out of disingenuous impulse.

“I didn’t really mean that we should end it,” he clarifies.

You look at him again, a crease formed between his brows.

“Are you trying to un-break up with me?” you tease. “This is awkward. I already started pretend-dating one of the other guys I tutor.”

“You tutor other guys?” he asks before thinking.

“I didn’t want you to find out like this,” you play along.

Rafe’s chest pinches. He doesn’t know why he assumed you exclusively tutored him. He thought he was the only one you see like this, the only one you ramble to and nag and joke with. Why does he hate that he’s not?

“Come on,” he murmurs, shoving past the unwelcome thought. “I know you miss me.”

You laugh. His typical brand of humor is detached and blunt and it’s nice to see another side of him, a playful side that makes him seem warm.

“I have to think about it.” You shrug. “Okay. We’re back together. I had a feeling you were just being mean the other night anyway.”

Rafe’s lips fall into a guilty frown. Without thinking, he scratches the back of his neck, grimacing and letting out a sharply exhaled fuck as his shoulder stings in pain.

“Are you okay?” you ask, serious now.

“Yeah,” he grunts.

“Convincing,” you say. “What is it?”

He sees no reason to hide it. You did tell him that he can vent to you and if there’s anyone he’d complain to about this, it’s you.

He���d rather not tell anyone on the team. Not even his closest friends. He doesn’t want to look weak.

“My shoulder’s fucked up,” he admits.

“Is it from that board check the other night?”

He nods and says, “Physio said it’s a strained muscle.”

“How bad?”

“I’m benched. He’ll look at it again before game two.”

“You mean you can’t play the first game of the championship?” you surmise.

Rafe’s tight expression tells you that you assumed correctly. You grimace sympathetically.

“Did he say if you can use anything to help with the pain?”

“Heat when it gets bad,” he says.

“I’ll be right back,” you say.

He watches you rush out, his forehead wrinkled in confusion. Moments later, you come back with an instant hot compress and place it on the desk in front of him.

“The library has a bunch of first aid kits,” you tell him, sitting back down.

“How’d you know that?” Rafe squeezes the package in one hand, the subdued pop cracking through the small room. “You really like it here that much?”

“A student of mine got a papercut once,” you explain with a laugh. “But yes, I do enjoy being surrounded by books.”

“Right,” he huffs, still in disbelief of how different you two are. “Thanks.”

He rests the package on top of his shoulder, comforting heat spilling through his t-shirt.

When Rafe lets out a velvety, satisfied groan, you find yourself flustered within half a second. Your mind sprints away from you. A mere sound has never made every inch of you tense like this before.

Your imagination can’t keep doing this to you, but it feels impossible to ignore the physical pull you’re starting to feel towards him.

You swallow hard and look at the laptop again, blinking.

This is bad.

You’re crossing the line and you need to yank yourself back into rationality. Rafe is a friend and all the affection he’s given you has been a sham and it’s disconcerting that you keep having to remind yourself of that.

You know he could never give you what you need in a relationship. The last time you saw him was cold, hard proof of that. He’s much too volatile to make a good boyfriend.

And that’s accompanied by a very big if he even likes you like that, which you highly doubt, given how easily you frustrate him. You refuse to overthink, to tumble into infatuation with another man who’ll just hurt you.

“Anyways,” you say, your eyes locked on the screen. “We really should get to work.”

════════

With ten minutes left of the session, Rafe’s laptop dies. You slide it towards him, disappointed you couldn’t upload the essay you’d just finished before the battery drained.

“Make sure to submit it before midnight,” you say. “Oh, and Lyla and Beck’s parents are hosting their birthday party on Saturday, so consider me unavailable for fake girlfriend duties that night.”

Rafe opens his backpack, pushing his laptop in as he mulls over your words. That sounds like the type of event you’d want him to come to.

“Do you need me there?” he asks.

“You were invited,” you say, “but I’ll say you were busy. You’d hate it. It’s an hour away, with a bunch of strangers you’d have to impress, and there’s obviously no way your ex would be there. I can do this on my own.”

Rafe stills before he speaks again.

“Do you need me there?” he repeats, more evenly.

It riled him up to see Emma leave the last party with another guy. To see his arm around her at the game. He hoped he’d be able to count on you to be by his side if he sees them together again this weekend.

But mostly, and more importantly, picturing you at that birthday party alone, in the same room with the guy who hurt you, all because you didn’t want to make Rafe feel forced into going, gnaws at him.

You stare at him, trying to make sense of his tight expression. It’s confusing that he’s still even in this room, asking if you want his help after you’ve given him an out.

“Are you sure?” you ask. You’re positive you’d be fine without him, but he’s sort of become a security blanket.

“I’ve… seen her around with some guy,” he tells you. “It’d be good to get away from campus. And I owe you for losing my cool the other night.”

“Do you even have a cool?” you chuckle.

Rafe glares at you, but it’s proven disingenuous by the small, dimpled smirk he chooses not to stifle.

“I hope I’m with you the next time you see them together,” you say. “Anyways, we can drive up together, then?”

Your eyes brighten with your smile. He doesn’t know if anyone has ever looked at him like that, purely and truly excited to spend time with him.

“A bunch of friends from high school will be there, and obviously Beck and Lyla’s parents, who basically consider me their daughter,” you continue, “so we’ll need to be convincing. It’s a casual dinner, then we’ll just hang out as long as we want. Can you pick me up at five?”

“Yeah,” he says. He stands up, pulling his bag over his good shoulder. “See you.”

You watch him pace towards the door, relieved that you’ll have him there, grateful that he's doing this for you even though you’re certain he really doesn’t want to.

“Hey,” you mumble. He looks at you again. You motion to his injury. “Be careful with your shoulder. And… you’re going to call me corny, but I’m really glad you’re coming.”

A few seconds of silence pass between you.

“You’re corny,” he replies.

You share a smile before he steps out of the study room into the quiet library.

Emptiness abruptly digs into his chest once he’s not with you, growing deeper the farther he walks away.

You’re unlike anyone he’s known. You don’t try to hide how much you care about him and you see things in him he didn’t know were there and you combat his temper with humor and with tenderness and with reassurance that makes him feel like he’s not irreversibly fucking up all the time.

He’s never felt like this before. Like the void he’s always trying to fill isn’t bottomless after all.

════════

Your exhale is shaky as Rafe exits the freeway with only a few minutes left of the drive to Beck and Lyla’s home.

You pull down the sun visor, gazing at your reflection. You’re suddenly quiet and fidgety after you’d chattered for most of the ride.

“What’s wrong?” he asks. “And why the hell do I have to ask?”

You chuckle, catching his implication that you typically blab about what’s bothering you without him having to check in.

“I don’t know how I’m going to look their parents in the eye and lie.”

“It’s that hard to pretend to like me?” Rafe murmurs. He’s glad there’s no edge to his tone, glad he can hide that your words stung him a little.

“No,” you chuckle. “When you’re being nice, I like you. Just not like that, obviously.”

Obviously. It’s happening again, the painful crook in his core, the tangled feelings that just keep twisting together.

He used to not care if you liked him. Because he didn’t like you. But your last conversation did something to him, something that was already quietly building up, something that he needs to strip before it sticks.

After every fight he had with Emma, he sensed the palpable cracks forming between them. With you, things felt stronger once you moved past your argument.

Fuck. Why is he thinking about you like you’re his actual girlfriend, comparing his last relationship? This is the last thing he needs.

“It just feels… official. Like I’m bringing a boy home,” you continue. “Nobody’s seen me in a relationship before and they might question your intentions and I don’t want it to be weird.”

You look in the mirror again.

“And I think I’m having a bad hair day. And a bad face day. And I kind of hate my outfit.”

Rafe can’t take your nonsense. Insinuating that you’re anything short of beautiful is the most ridiculous thing he’s heard you say.

He shuts the visor and utters, “You’re doing that overthinking shit again.”

“Okay, so, that’s a perfect example of you not being nice,” you laugh.

You know if you really liked him as more than a friend, his curtness would hurt you. It’s reassuring, the realization that your attraction to Rafe will never be more than physical.

You breathe a sigh, anticipating being with your friends again after you’ve parted ways to different colleges. You wonder if anyone’s changed in the few months since.

You glance over at Rafe.

“What were you like in high school?” you ask.

“The same,” he answers.

“So, just as warm and cuddly?” you tease.

He smirks. You smile like you do every time you crack his facade. It always makes you feel a little proud.

“Better when I started playing hockey,” he relents. “How about you?”

You purse your lips in thought.

“What do you mean better?” you prod.

Rafe’s in no mood to elaborate, stiffly repeating, “How about you?”

You roll your eyes. It’s like pulling teeth, getting this man to share anything.

“I haven’t really changed much,” you reply. He finds himself thinking that it’d be a shame if you ever did.

Rafe follows the GPS to pull into a quiet suburban street. He slows down in front of the house and parks. You gaze out your window to see helium balloons surrounding the front door and reach for the handle.

“Hey,” he rasps.

You turn your head to meet his eyes.

“You don’t need to freak out. We got this. And you…” He looks away. “You look good.”

The words are tight coming out of his mouth, like he really didn’t want to have to say them.

You start to thank him, but he’s already stepping out of the car.

════════

The party is so busy that you and Rafe disappear in the crowd. He stands close by as you catch up with your friends, remembering details about where they’ve gone after graduation, asking questions, making jokes.

When it’s time for dinner, you sit next to him at the table, diagonal to Beck, who has done nothing but flash you awkward smiles here and there.

He’s hardly spoken to you. You wish you weren’t doing it again, second-guessing if he really is jealous.

You feel a gentle hand on your shoulder.

“I didn’t get a chance to say hi,” Lyla’s mother says. You smile at her and sit up to give her a hug.

“There’s a lot of people,” you say understandingly.

“My kids are too social,” she jokes quietly, leaning over. She looks over at Rafe. “You must be…?”

“Rafe,” you say. His smile is faint, but believable.

“I hope you know I have to grill you a little,” she tells him.

“I know,” he says, glancing at you. “She warned me.”

He’s playing it entirely cool. You’re relieved. You had nothing to worry about. He has this handled.

“How’d you meet?” she asks.

“I’m his tutor,” you tell her.

“Always been a smart one,” she replies, squeezing your hand. “Is that what made you like her?”

Your eyes land on Rafe again, nerves pricking your spine.

“It’s… one a lot of things, yeah,” he says.

“What else?”

Rafe’s heart thrums.

“I don’t know anyone like her.” His eyes soften as he looks at you, the amusement in them replaced by a depth you’ve only ever seen in glimpses, when his guard slips a little. “And she has a good heart.”

“She does,” Lyla’s mother says, straightening to stand. “You better treat her right.”

“I will,” he says with a nod. When she steps away, you nudge his knee with yours.

“That was amazing,” you say. Your praise gives him a high.

“I’m a great liar,” he replies.

You nudge him again, laughing.

“I don’t care,” you say. “You can’t take any of that back.”

He wouldn’t want to anyway. It was the truth.

════════

After dinner, Beck and Lyla’s mother brings out an ornate cake, prompting the room to break out in song. You watch Beck and Lyla blow out the candles as everyone applauds.

“I’ll never forget what the nurse said the day you two were born,” their father announces as he stands by the head of the table, holding a glass up. “Even when they’re big, you’ll picture them this small. And it’s true.”

He looks down, nodding curtly, lips twisting.

“Here we go again,” Lyla laughs.

“He cries every year,” you explain to Rafe in a hush.

He gazes at your profile as their dad continues his toast. He was aware you knew Beck for a long time, for years, but seeing this makes it real.

He can picture it now, you spending your adolescence in this house, making memories with this family, falling for the guy sitting on the other side of the table who brushed you off, who’s blind to how happy you make everyone around you.

The night you sat on that kitchen counter in that frat house back on campus, your eyes deepened with a sadness that hardly ever comes across your face, and you told him what you saw in Beck. What made you fall for him.

Fun. Kind. Nice to everybody.

And it’s a reminder of why this fire that’s growing inside Rafe for you needs to be put out. He’s the antithesis of the guy you’re in love with. You’d never want him like that.

“I’m so proud of both of you,” their father continues. “Happy birthday.”

Rafe looks down at his plate, wishing he’d been prepared for the wave of pain that’s crashing down on him as the sounds of conversation and dishes rattling and joyous laughter ricochet across the room.

He hates to admit it to himself, but Beck has everything he wants, down to a father who’s proud of his son.

He glances over at you again, but you’re still looking at Beck, your smile both happy and sad, your eyes trained on the one person you’re doing all of this for.

════════

The party moves to the rec room after Beck and Lyla’s parents wish everyone a good night.

Rafe’s hand is in yours as you lead him down the carpeted stairs, then settle on the plush sectional couch next to him as you chat with your friends.

He always hated his impulsivity. He was just telling himself to put out the fire, but he only throws fuel onto it when he curls an arm around your waist, pulling you closer the moment Beck walks in.

You nuzzle in, shifting to look at him again, your noses nearly bumping from how close you are.

“It’s the other shoulder?” you confirm softly, making sure you aren’t putting pressure on where he’s hurting.

“Yeah,” he says.

You nod and absorb yourself back into the group’s conversation. Your back is pressed against his chest and he hopes you don’t feel how hard his heart is pounding.

But he knows that the way you make him feel isn’t unique to him. He sees it now that you’re with your friends. You make everyone feel this way, like you want them around.

Drinks start getting passed. You look at Rafe again.

“I’m staying sober tonight,” you tell him. “Thought I should reassure you that I won’t be inviting myself over for another sleepover.”

He wants to ask why that’d be such a bad thing and it’s like he left his sanity upstairs, because now he’s wondering what the hell he’s doing wanting to flirt with you.

“Everyone’s playing,” Lyla announces as she places a box in the middle of the coffee table. “And nobody’s allowed to sit out. You legally can’t say no to the birthday girl.”

“It’s my birthday, too,” Beck says.

“Who cares?” Lyla jokes, opening the box. “It’s truth or dare. We’ll take turns picking a card and reading it out loud and if you won’t do either or you fail at a dare, you have to drink.”

“Oh, no,” you whisper to Rafe.

“Just be happy you found a way to read at a party,” he replies.

You crack a genuine laugh. His lips pull into a smile as he watches you, gratified that the joy you’re feeling right now is entirely because of him.

You feel Beck’s stare on you from his spot on the couch a couple of people away. You look up at him and he looks away and it’s like a discombobulating shove into the past, reminding you of when you’d catch him staring and let your mind run away with daydreams.

The feeling of Rafe’s arm tightening around you grounds you in reality, but it also sends a rush of heat through you and you hate that it does that.

“Truth: what's something you're glad your family doesn't know about you?” Lyla reads out. “Or dare: keep your eyes closed for three full minutes. Easy. Dare.”

She closes her eyes, then points to her right. The game continues around the circle and when it’s your turn to pick, you select a card, feeling everyone but Lyla’s stare on you.

“Truth: what’s the last excuse you used to cancel plans? Dare: don’t laugh or smile until your next turn.”

“Worst dare you could’ve gotten,” Rafe murmurs.

“You’d never manage,” your friend, Marcus chuckles.

You laugh, then laugh again when you realize you just proved both of them right.

“Damn it,” you say. “You know what? I’ll take the dare.”

You put the card down on the table and exhale deeply, trying to focus.

Rafe’s eyes flit to Marcus, whose eyes stay on you longer than he’d like them to.

“Your turn,” you say to Rafe, stone-faced.

He’d rather not play this, but he’s supposed to be acting like a good boyfriend. Besides, there’s something about disappointing you that makes him feel worse than disappointing anyone else.

He leans forward, his arm lifting off of you for a moment, and picks up a card. His hand settles on your hip again as he reclines, his bicep hard against your back.

He’s only staring at the card, so you tilt your head back to read it aloud for him.

“When was the last time you cried? Or, let someone in the room write whatever they want on you with a permanent marker.”

You look at him, holding back your smile, knowing you’re both thinking the same thing. As his girlfriend, it’d make sense that you’d be the one to mark his body.

He would never admit to crying, especially to a group of strangers. The reminder of Emma’s words, of how she’d said he called her in tears, makes your stomach drop. Suddenly, not smiling doesn’t take any effort anymore.

“Dare,” you answer for him. “I need a marker.”

“I’ll get it. Someone help me,” Lyla says, her eyes still shut as she stands. She feels for her way around the room as one of your mutual friends stands up to accompany her. “Keep playing!”

The next person starts their turn, and you take Rafe’s free hand and rest his arm across his lap, gently to not tug too hard and strain his shoulder.

It’s a shock how instinctually you did it, how touching him is natural now, yet still manages to make your heart race a little faster every time you do it.

“I’m going for a meaningful one. I’m thinking my name,” you tease, running your finger up the length of the inside of his forearm, eyes travelling over the faint lines of veins, “from here to here. Sound good?”

“No,” he answers gruffly. You crack a smirk. “And you lost your dare.”

“Don’t tell,” you mumble, forcing your smile away. “You know I can’t hold my alcohol.”

When both girls come back downstairs, Lyla blindly hands you the marker. You meet Rafe’s stare before you look down at his arm.

“The card said whatever I want,” you say quietly, mischief in your tone.

He watches you lean in, eyelashes fluttering as you blink, lips pursing in thought. The wet ink hits the inside of his wrist and his stomach goes numb when you start to slide the smooth, thin end of the marker over him, your thumb gently pressing into his skin as you hold him steady.

Rafe stares as you concentrate, and he starts to breathe a little deeper simply because the way you smell has become a comfort now, a familiarity, a hit of dopamine.

You sit up seconds later. He looks down to see Room 205 written in small, black characters. Your study room.

“You’ll never forget where to go,” you say happily. “Well, until it washes off.”

You finally meet his eyes again. He’s wearing the same concentrated look you’ve seen before, like he’s trying to figure something out.

“What, did you really expect I’d write something that bad?” you say as you snap the cap back on the marker.

The group continues with the next round, and when it’s your turn again, you have to choose between sharing your biggest insecurity or whispering a secret to someone in the room.

“Dare,” you decide, putting the card on the table and leaning back, lifting your chin to whisper into Rafe’s ear.

He slightly angles his head so that nobody can read your lips, shivers spreading over his skin from the feeling of your cheek on his.

“You’re probably my favorite student that I’ve ever tutored,” you say quietly.

It’s not a lie. Even with all his flaws, Rafe has given you something you’re not sure anybody else would have. He came into your life at the perfect time, came up with the perfect idea, and you’re deeply grateful for it.

He hastily cups your jaw, his hand so large it covers your cheek completely, as he tilts your head so he can tell you something, too. His lips brush over the shell of your ear.

“Just probably?” he whispers back. “That’s bullshit.”

You pull back, laughing, your eyes lingering on him.

“Don’t start making out, please,” Lyla teases.

You roll your eyes and look at the group again.

“I’ll spare you all the PDA,” you reply.

“Why start now?” a friend jokes.

“Yeah,” Beck quietly huffs. An ache of confusion rattles through you.

The game carries on, but Beck’s eyes linger on you. He’s never looked at you like this before. And it makes you believe what Rafe has been telling you this entire time.

════════

You leave the party holding Rafe’s hand and untangle your fingers from his the moment you’re out of the house, the moment there aren’t any eyes on you.

Rafe’s palm is cold now that your touch is gone.

Again, he’s powerless to the way his heart does whatever it wants and doesn’t give his head a chance to catch up.

He wasn’t supposed to like you.

He never expected to.

But when he looks at you as you tread towards his car together and the hushed moonlight bathes your features in its glow and you offer him that smile that makes his heart splinter in a way it never has, he yields to the truth, unable to put up a fight any longer.

He’s hopeless. You’ve pulled him under. And he had no choice but to let you.

(to be continued)

>>> new parts drop every friday at 8:30 pm eastern

author’s note and the yearning (that eventually turns mutual) begins 🙂‍↕️

if you want notifications on when i post my fics, follow @xorafe-library and turn on notifications 💘

[dreamytfw]

Sometimes I wonder why I have this almost painful need to be factually correct as often as humanly possible, to the point where I have legit lost friends over it.

Then I have a 10 minute conversation with my father and stop wondering.

[vorfreudevortex]

apologies

✧.* gojo, geto, nanami, toji, choso, sukuna, yuji, megumi, noritoshi, ino, inumaki, yuta

notes: a somewhat happier resolution and part two of arguments! thank you for reading <3

✧.* check out the fun facts after the attachments for background info about their fights and a look inside my brain hehe!

my masterlist

© vorfreudevortex | all rights reserved. do not copy, translate, repost, or otherwise share my work.

satoru cried in his office when he realized that he blamed you for something that wasn't your fault.

suguru's coworker sat on his lap as part of a weird inside joke everyone else at the school has between the two. he has no idea why he was so defensive to you and he truly wasn't cheating. he was so angry that you would believe he cheated that he started calling you out for the first thing he could think of, wearing revealing tops in public. satoru had to call you 8 times before you picked up and let him explain it to you. he's forcing her to transfer to kyoto so she never has the chance to hurt your relationship again (remember that suguru never left and became a teacher alongside satoru in my aus). the pictures sent to the reader leave out how suguru uncomfortably asked her to get off of him shortly after, since they were around other sorcerers and teachers (as politely as he could).

kento came home with so many flowers for you and he still feels awful.

toji's dumbass freaked tf out when you took home your clothes from his place. he was out drinking and gambling and didn't want to tell you. your relationship is rocky for a while but he hasn't gambled since.

choso is still learning communication skills and cried when he realized that he was being mean to you over nothing.

sukuna is a terrible texter and does NOT communicate his feelings well. this is him being vulnerable af with you because he really does love you and has no idea why he was grabbing another girl's ass at the bar. he tried to chase you down after you threw a drink on him, slapped and yelled at him, and ran out.

yuji completely panicked when a curse attacked him out of nowhere when he was out with you. you can't see them and you were so confused and scared that you couldn't move. he just cares about you so much and couldn't stand the fact that you could've died. he made megumi listen to him cry about how mean he was to you for like 3 straight hours.

megumi has no idea how to deal with his emotions and has never been in a relationship before so he literally thought you guys were broken up LMAO. he's trying really hard for you.

in my au toge can speak, just not direct commands, so he still rarely talks unless necessary. i thought it would be nice to have the reader understand that all of his communication skills are terrible and help him work on them.

noritoshi has a terrible outlook on love and relationships from his upbringing so it took him a minute to understand how awful his words were. he truly does love you and wants to marry you. he lowkey constantly thinks about cutting off the kamo clan so they can't control his life anymore.

ino literally cried to nanami after your argument. he's so used to putting jujutsu responsibilities before his own life and feelings, and struggles with having to take care of something that can't be fixed with his power or strength. nanami also called you and apologized for meddling in your relationship, he realized it was inappropriate but he just really cares about you and ino and wants the best for both of you.

yuta literally didn't even realize how insane and controlling he was being until you called him out. after he took you home, he latched onto you with his head crammed in your lap because he was so upset thinking that you might leave him. he swears to himself that he will kill himself before he treats you like that again, and he never does it again.

i don't like when big argument smaus end with "no biggie i forgive you! <3" so i tried to make sure that the reader either made sure they know they fucked up big time, apologized and talked to them face-to-face, they'd never do it again, or you wouldn't forgive them so easily, etc.

sorry this was so long! but i love knowing the background info and author's thoughts for smaus since they can be kind of limiting in content! i think i'll add background info and fun facts after all my future smaus for those who are interested. as always thank you so much for reading ♡

[dcxdpdabbles]

DC x DP fanfic Idea: Pin-Man and the Merry Metal-makers.

The Fenton children all have the misfortune of going home for the holidays and getting tangled up in their father's latest invention, where he, once again, forgot to carry the two. The invention was meant to teleport ghosts into the Ghost Portal as soon as they were captured.

It was supposed to be a long-overdue upgrade to the Fenton Thermos, which Jack had been eager to reveal. His children had all moved out, including the two clones of his son, who had morphed into their own person, and he had taken in as his kids, so it was a real treat to have them home.

Jazz and Dan were both in college four hours away. Jazz was studying psychology, and Dan was studying Law. The two had rented out a house together while working full-time jobs. Dan was one of the older students, but seeing as he hadn't been able to continue his education in his timeline, the Fentons felt like it was not "too late" when it meant learning.

Danny had chosen not to go to college but entered the trades. He had gotten into metal design and jewelry making and was currently learning to wield. Dani shared her brother's love of trade, but she focused more on metal and graphic design. They also lived alone in different apartments despite living in neighboring cities.

With everyone's conflicting schedules, they rarely, if ever, saw each other in person. Texts and phone calls were commonplace but it was nothing like waking up to the chatter of the children (Jack didn't care. They were all well into their twenties and early thirties. They would always be his children)

The holidays were the one time Jack and Maddie fought a year, so she didn't double-check his calculations before Jack fired off the thermos on Christmas morning. It, of course, malfunctioned, sucking in the Halfas twins first, then Dan, and finally, Jazz, who ran over to help, unaware it could pick up humans.

Jack had meant to create a ghost trapper with a self-emptying trash bag. Instead, he made a pocket teleporter. Only he had not designed a way to get what he teleported straight into the Ghost Zone back. Instead, he focused on making sure the ghost was flung as far away from the portal as it could teleport it to, in order to deter the ghost from coming back.

Even though Danny was no longer Phantom Two's protector, Jack and Maddie took up the job of keeping the town safe against ghosts that were actually harmful. It was a hassle having them come back after every fight.

It's safe to say that both Jack and Maddie put aside their yearly argument about Santa Claus to try to track down the children.

_____________________________________________________________

Meanwhile, the Fentons found themselves in the ghost zone, in an area none recognized, before realizing that Jazz could not fly. She plummeted towards the bottomless void, screaming at the top of her lungs, falling straight into a swirling portal of darkness.

Thanks to their ghost powers, the other three were able to get balanced in the air before shooting after her. They didn't care that the portal was colored differently; all that mattered was that one of them caught Jazz as she continued to fall, this time over the landscape of a rather grass field.

In the end, Dani was able to catch up to her, wrapping her arms around her sister and slowing them down into a gentle hover above the ground. The women sighed in relief until their thirty-two-year-old brother and the twenty-two-year-old brother landed on them because their powers fizzed out, shifting them back into humans.

Groans and swears were heard as they quickly unpiled. Dani was also now a human, sporting a large bruise on her back for her troubles.

"Where are we?" She asked, looking around. The large grass field was smacked in the middle of a large desert forest and an even larger city far away.

"Don't know," Dan mutters, clenching and unclenching his fist. "But wherever we are, it's not letting me go ghost."

"Me either," Danny reveals, jumping on the balls of his feet. "Can't even produce ice."

"If your powers aren't working, something happened to your ectoplasm filter." Jazz concludes grimly, rubbing at her ankle with one hand. It had twisted when Danny landed on her. She was staring at her wristwatch, to which their mom had attached an ectoplasm reader. "The ectoplasm levels in the air are so low they're practically non-existent. This isn't our Earth."

"Communication is down too," Dani sighs, staring at the glowing blue screen of her phone, which her parents modified to work in the Ghost Zone, singing on her face. "Can't even get a signal"

"Typically of Dad getting us stranded in a different dimension." Jazz grumbles, rubbing the bridge of her nose. "At least mid-terms ended."

"Amen to that," Dan says before straightening his back and clapping his hands. "Alright. We need to make a plan. Let's go into the city, find out if the currency they use is similar to ours, and get food and shelter if it is. How much money do you all have?"

"I'm literally in pajamas covered in Christmas trees," Dani deadpans. "I have no cash on me at all."

"You're worthless. Next?"

"I also have no money," Jazz winces, gesturing to her plain blue silk pajama set (a long-sleeved shirt and a pair of pants). "I left it in my purse."

Dan rubs his face. He's also clad in pajamas, but he has a checker red and black bottom that didn't match the green shirt with the printed words Comrade of the Grinch. "I have ten dollars because I was going to run down the street and buy eggnog with cookies from that little neighbor girl. Mom handed me the money and told me to go after breakfast."

"I have nine hundred and fifty," Danny announces, ruffling in his jeans pocket until he finds the wad of cash. Everyone stares at him in utter bafflement until he shrugs. "I was going to meet up with Sam and Tucker after breakfast. We were going to gamble a little."

"You call nine-hundred and fifty a little!?"

"Oh no, I owe Tucker seven hundred dollars for that laptop he fixed up for me a few weeks ago. I tried to send it through the virtual payment apps, but his account got locked, so it had to be in cash." Danny waves away their concerns. "I'm sure he won't mind if I ask him to wait until the banks open again."

"Alright. We have a plan and funds- hopefully- let's go." Dan says, moving towards the city. He walks by a sign that reads Welcome to Gotham.

"How bad can this place be?"

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------\

Bruce eyed the screen with wary eyes. The still image of the four siblings didn't change, nor did their bright smiles and strange offits.

It's been six months since the strangers blew into town. Bruce hadn't been able to find evidence of them beforehand, nor did he have a clear picture of their timeline.

What he did know was that sometime in December, the four siblings, going by the last name Fenton, had wandered into a second-hand store, bought a change of outfits, and vanished into the city.

They popped up again three weeks later at a local artist festival. Danny, one of the twins, had rented a booth to sell enamel pins of strangely designed ghosts. He claimed to have created them, and his sister had helped design them.

The following week, his siblings were reported for selling metal wear on the side of the road. It's illegal in Old Gotham to sell things without a license, and it had been run out by the police. They returned soon after with a permit that, despite looking as accurate as can be, was not filed in the city's databases until five days later.

Of course, he would not know any of these until he started building an investigation. What caused this investigation? The Fentons had been inside Scarecrow's latest lair as his most recent test subjects.

The only thing was that, despite the various experiments done on them, none of the Fentons showed any sign of being affected by the needle injections. If anything, they seemed more inconvenienced than frightened by their capture.

Scarecrow had concluded the same thing as Bruce. None of the four Fentons were humans, but for some reason, they were hiding among the human race as metal artists selling enamel pins and metal artwork.

Bruce wasn't sure where they were staying, what they were planning, or what they were after. He would have been okay with leaving them alone, except Damian had reported that the Pin-Man, aka Danny Fenton, had not only spotted him when Robin was doing a stake out of a possible high-ranking member of a mob but had gotten close enough to try and sell him some pins of Damian's favorite anime.

How did he know what show his son liked to watch, and how did he get close enough to a highly trained assassin who didn't notice him until it was too late?

Also, why did Damian buy nine? All questions Bruce needed to have answered.

Bruce Wayne should try to find out what other kinds of pins his son would like if Damian hasn't already bought the whole series. He'll have to stop at the rumored areas where the metal workers were said to be operating.

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

Mrs. R Part Two

Part One | Part Three

Notes: Hi welcome to part two okay love you bye

Not beta-read.

Warnings: Angst; fluff; all that good stuff

Summary: You can’t remember the last time you and Robby were this close. 

“You got any more lightbulbs in here that need changing?” 

You lean in the doorway of the living room, watching Robby unscrew the old bulb and toss it onto the couch before lifting his hand to screw in the new one. 

“I don’t think so. Unless you wanna go around and change a few preemptively.” 

“Think we’ll just stick with this one for now.” 

You bite your lip, glancing down at your bandaged hand and picking at a stray strand. 

“How was the rest of your shift?” 

“Oh, fine. You know.” 

But you still don’t. You bite your lip, fighting back the argument as you pick at another stray strand. 

“How’s the hand feeling?” 

“Oh, fine. You know.” 

You shoot him a coy smile at his sidelong glance. He shakes his head as he turns his attention back to the light, fitting the fixture back over the bulb. He climbs down from the step ladder, folding it, and leaning it against the bookshelf. 

“Where was that, anyway?” You ask, nodding toward it. 

“In the basement.” 

“Ah. I don’t go down there much.” 

“Yeah, the film of dust gave that away.” 

Your smile widens at the tease, then falters as he turns away, dusting off his hands. 

“Alright. I should head out.”

Your stomach twists as he straightens, heading for the door, and where he left his bag. “Oh?” You fight to keep your tone even as you straighten up. “I ordered pizza. Should be here soon if you’re hungry.”

“You’ll have leftovers.”

“Sure! Sure.” You tuck your hands into your back pockets, wandering after him as he reaches for his bag. “I could just um…Wrap it in foil…Stick it in the back of the fridge…Forget it’s there for a few days until I inevitably remember that it’s in there on Friday. Nuke it, gobble down a couple of slices, give myself food poisoning, and then I’ll, uh…” You smile as he turns to face you again. “I’ll see you back in the ER.”

--

“Does it bother you that they still call me that?”

“Call you what?” 

“Mrs. R.”

You catch the slight delay in his movement, the pause in raising his beer to his lips. His eyes stay set on the tv, and you watch the flash and flare of the screen's glow lighten and shade his face. For as long a day as he’s had, it should be easier to read his expression—or maybe you’re more out of practice than you realized.

But you know that he heard it. It’s not as if he can pretend that he didn’t hear Evans or Langdon say it. You hadn’t gotten a good look at him when they’d had though not for lack of trying. 

“Why would it bother me?” He finally asks.

“Because we’re not married anymore.”

“You change your name yet?” 

You turn back to the tv as Robby’s head turns. It’s your turn to fall silent, to take a sip from your beer. 

“It’s a lot of paperwork.” It’s the lamest of excuses. It’s not a complete lie, but it’s not the entire truth, either. You hear Robby huff a soft laugh through his nose, and you can’t help the embarrassment that pulses through you. You push the feeling down, leaning forward and setting down your beer.

"You want that last slice?” You glance toward him and find his lips pursed. He wants to say no, but you’re positive he barely had anything to eat that day.

“You wanna split it?” You correct, already taking up a knife to cut it down the middle. 

“If you really want it, you can—”

“Oh, shut up and eat the slice, Robinavitch,” You lean back, holding it out and raising your own slice to your mouth. 

“Half slice.” 

“You’re way too particular for this late in the day. Did you get all hangry on the ducklings?” 

“...Not on the ducklings.” 

Your brows rose at the admission as you tore off a piece of the crust, popping it into your mouth. 

“Wanna talk about it?” You asked after a moment. 

“Nope.” 

Figures. You couldn’t even bring yourself to be wholly disappointed. But he’d come over, he’d changed your lightbulb. He’d stayed. Months of not seeing one another and now this. It felt like two steps forward and one step back…Though, for what it was worth, that was still one step forward. 

--  

You chalk it up to muscle memory. A late-night hazy wake up, an infomercial droning on the tv, and Robby's head in your lap. You manage to nudge him up, shut the television off, and find his hand to lead him to your bedroom. He doesn't gripe or grumble. His movements seem as automatic as he strips down to his underwear and climbs into bed with you, each on your own sides. 

You think, as you sink into the pillows, that you’re almost glad Robby is too tired to gripe or argue that he should be going back to his place. 

And you think, as sleep takes full hold of you, that you feel his hand curl around yours under the sheets. 

-- 

You wake up to the steady thump of Robby’s heart beneath your ear, and the rise and fall of his belly beneath your arm. You don’t open your eyes for a few moments—you don’t dare. You can’t remember the last time you and Robby were this close. 

For the last few months of your marriage, the two of you hadn’t slept in the same bed, and with the separation and divorce that had followed, your physical connection had ceased to exist.

The closest the two of you had gotten was when he’d bandaged your hand at the ER the day before. 

Of course, that same hand is now throbbing. 

You wince, wiggling the fingers a little and holding back a hiss of discomfort. Damn, you should’ve taken some Tylenol before you went to bed last night. You just hadn’t been thinking about it. You reluctantly push yourself up, sliding out of bed as gently as you can, wary of waking him.

You freeze as he shifts, watching him roll closer to the warmth you left behind and pressing his face into your pillow. You relax as he settles, and turn to your closet, sleepily fishing out your favorite hoodie and tugging it on over the PJs that you hardly remember changing into. 

--  

By the time you hear Robby coming down the hall, you have 500mg of Tylenol in your system, and coffee has nearly finished brewing. You glance back in his direction as he comes into the kitchen. You’re chagrined (but not surprised) to find him fully clothed. 

“Morning,” You greet. His answer is to take two mugs down from the cabinet, setting them by your wrist on the counter. 

“Sleep okay?” You prod. Robby leans against the counter beside you, and you glance up, watching him scrub his hand across his eyes. 

“Yeah,” He finally admits. “Thanks for letting me crash.” 

“Sure,” You shrug. “My fault, anyway. I talked you into staying for pizza.” You pick up the coffee pot, filling both mugs. Robby mutters his thanks as he takes one up, drawing in a sip. You let the silence settle back in, but you can only handle it for so long: “Do you wanna talk about it?” 

“About what?” 

“About whatever it is that’s been fucking with your sleep lately.” 

“Do you wanna talk about why you haven’t changed your name yet?”

It catches you off-guard, and you whirl around to face him. 

“I told you, it’s a shitton of paper work—”

“If you’d started when we filed for divorce, it would be done by now.” 

“Well if it bothers you that much, why didn’t you fucking say so last night?” 

“I didn’t say it bothered me, I just find it weird—”

“It isn’t that weird—And how the fuck did we get on to me? We’re supposed to be talking about you.” 

“We don’t have to talk about me.” 

“Yeah, we fucking do. Something is off with you, Michael. You’re not sleeping, you’re snapping at people—I get that you’re under pressure—”

“You don’t get it.” 

“Alright, maybe I don’t know how it feels, but I can see how much it’s fucking messing with you—”

“Forget it—”

“Mikey, c’mon, just talk to me—”

“Let it go!” 

The snap and bark of his voice startles you, and you unthinkingly take a couple of steps back. You become more aware of the way your face is crowding with heat, your heart pounding in your chest. You turn away from him, shoving your hands in your pockets and curling your good hand into a fist. You’re not gonna cry, not when he’s right fucking there. He’s going to leave, anyway. 

You hear him push out a weary sigh, chased by the sound of him putting the coffee mug down. He’s going to put his hoodie on and just fucking go—

“Hey.” His hands curl around your shoulders, and he sighs again as you shrug him off. You step away, turning back to your mug and taking it up. Maybe you can take a big gulp and pretend that your eyes are tearing because the coffee’s so hot. 

You feel the heat of him as he crowds up behind you, his hands landing on the counter and caging you in. You open your mouth to tell him to back off, but fall silent as he gently nuzzles his temple. 

“I’m sorry,” He murmurs. “I know you’re just trying to help.”

“And I know you’re a closed book, so why do I fucking bother.”

Robby inches closer, curling his arms around your middle. 

“I don’t want you to feel like you have to take this stuff on.”

“I don’t feel like I have to, Michael.” You turn in his arms, meeting his eyes despite the tears lingering in yours. “I’ve only ever asked because I want to, because I’m not okay if you’re not okay.” Your throat grows tight as you admit it, and you blink rapidly as more tears well up. You drop your chin, closing your eyes as you shake your head, fighting to steady yourself. 

Robby lifts a hand to cup your chin, thumb sweeping tenderly over the apple of your cheek as he tips your head up. You sniffle as he presses a gentle kiss to your forehead, then rests his forehead against yours.

“You shouldn’t still worry like this.” 

“I know.” 

Robby tips his head, nose gently nuzzling against yours. You can’t help but chase the touch, a few tears escaping and slipping down your cheeks. You each go still as your lips brush, then stop just a hair’s breadth from one another’s. Robby’s breath puffs warmly across your mouth, and you feel his chin tip up just a touch more. 

“Don’t,” You breathe, then hurry to explain—”Don’t do this if you’re just trying to fix it.”  

For a few harrowing moments, neither of you move; you hardly breathe. And then Robby’s hand lifts to cup your other cheek, thumbs gently disrupting the few tear tracks. He brushes tender kisses to your closed eyelids before his mouth descends tenderly on yours. You shiver, curling your hand in the fabric of his shirt and drawing him closer, until he’s pressing you fully against the counter. Your lips part and your tongue teases gently against his, his beard brushing pleasantly against your skin. 

The kiss breaks slowly, with Robby stealing another two languid pecks before resting his forehead back against yours, his hands smoothing over your shoulders again, fingers rubbing across the familiar fabric. 

"...Couldn't find that last hoodie, huh?" He asks knowingly. You bite the inside of your cheek to keep from breaking into a guilty grin.

"Misplaced it."

Robby hums knowingly before he dips his head, giving you another tender kiss.

"How's that hand feeling?"

You grunt, raising it and wiggling your fingers.

"Better now. Hurt like a bitch when I woke up, so I took some Tylenol."

"Good." Another peck before he draws away, and you reluctantly let him go. You expect him to head into the front hall, to grab his backpack. But he goes into the living room, taking up the stepladder. You frown, straightening up.

"Where are you going with that?"

"To check the other bulbs."

Next Part

Tag list:

@missredherring ; @fantasticcopeaglepasta ; @massivecolorspygiant ; @blueeyesatnight ; @amneris21 ; 

@ew-erin ; @youngkenobilove ; @carbonated-beverage ;  @moonlightburned ; @milf-trinity ; 

@millllenniawrites ; @chattychell ; @dihra-vesa​ ; @videogamesandpoorlifechoices ; @missswriter ; 

@thembosapphicclown ; @brandyllyn ; @wildmoonflower ; @realwhoreforfictionalmen

@mad-girl-without-a-box ;  @winchestershiresauce ; @lorecraft ; @kmc1989 ; @veryprairieberry

[starskq]

I STILL HATE YOU / J.W

Pairing ◊ bratty!fem!reader x brattamer!wooyoung (ft. '99 line)

Genre ◊ SMUT, angst, ennemies to ???

Warnings ◊ SMUT (MINORS DNI), reader is a brat, harddom!wooyoung, they hate each other, fingering, rough, degradation, petnames (good girl, sweetheart...), oral (fem receiving), lots of angst

Word count ◊ 4,6k

Summary ◊ : You and Wooyoung hated each other, but your friends thought it would be a good idea to lock wooyoung's room to "sort things out"

a/n: just a sucker for dom Wooyoung 😵‍💫 enjoy! (not proofread)

You were part of this tight-knit friend group with Wooyoung, Yunho, San, Mingi, and Yeosang. Usually, you would have considered yourself lucky to be surrounded by such a cool bunch of people, but there was one glaring exception: Wooyoung. From the moment you met, you and Wooyoung clashed like fire and ice. You were both cocky, always trying to outdo each other with snarky comments and sarcastic remarks.

It wasn’t even like you had any reason to hate each other; it just happened. Maybe it was how Wooyoung always seemed so smug, with that infuriating smirk plastered on his face. Or maybe it was how he would always find some way to one-up you, no matter what. Either way, the tension between you two was almost palpable, and it was clear to everyone around.

The others in the group seemed to take it in stride. Yunho and San would roll their eyes and laugh it off, while Mingi would try to play peacemaker, often unsuccessfully. Yeosang, on the other hand, seemed to find your constant bickering somewhat amusing, though he rarely got involved. Despite the tension, the group managed to stick together, probably because your mutual animosity oddly balanced the dynamic.

One Friday night, you were all hanging out at their place, lounging on his beat-up couch, debating over what movie to watch. Wooyoung, as usual, had a different opinion from you. He wanted to watch some action flick while you were in the mood for a horror movie. The debate quickly turned into a full-blown argument, with you and Wooyoung standing face-to-face, jabbing at each other with pointed insults, as usual.

“Why don’t you just admit your taste in movies sucks?” Wooyoung sneered, crossing his arms.

“Oh please, like you even understand what makes a good movie,” you shot back, your tone dripping with sarcasm.

Yunho sighed loudly, standing between you two. “Alright, can we just decide already? It’s just a movie.”

San laughed, shaking his head. “You two are hopeless. Can’t even pick a movie without turning it into World War Three.”

The argument over which movie to watch was reaching a boiling point, and everyone in the room could sense it. You and Wooyoung were standing toe-to-toe, practically shouting over each other.

“I’m telling you, action movies are way more entertaining,” Wooyoung argued, his voice filled with exasperation.

“And I’m telling you, horror movies have way better plots,” you shot back, not willing to back down.

Yunho exchanged a knowing glance with San and Mingi. They’d had enough of the constant bickering and had been joking for weeks about taking drastic measures to put an end to it.

“Alright, that’s it,” Yunho said suddenly, standing up. “I can’t take this anymore. We need a break from your constant fighting.”

Before you could react, Yunho grabbed you by the arm while San and Mingi grabbed Wooyoung. You struggled, demanding to be let go, but they were determined.

“Hey! What the hell are you doing?” you yelled, trying to shake off Yunho’s grip.

“Let go of me! I’m not done here!” Wooyoung protested, struggling against San and Mingi.

Yeosang, who had been quietly watching the whole scene unfold, opened Wooyoung’s bedroom door. “In you go,” he said calmly, stepping aside.

Yunho and San practically shoved you both into the room and quickly shut the door behind you. You heard the click of the lock, and the realization set in.

“Are you guys serious?” you shouted, pounding on the door. “This is so immature!”

“Yeah, open the door! We don’t need this!” Wooyoung added, equally furious.

From the other side of the door, Yunho’s voice came through, sounding uncharacteristically stern. “You two need to sort this out. We’re not letting you out until you do.”

“You can’t be serious,” you groaned, leaning against the door in frustration.

“Oh, we’re very serious,” San replied, his tone leaving no room for argument. “You’re both our friends, and we’re tired of the constant fighting. So figure it out.”

Inside the room, you turned to face Wooyoung, who was glaring at you with just as much annoyance as you felt. You crossed your arms, refusing to be the first to speak.

“This is ridiculous,” Wooyoung muttered, pacing back and forth. “Like locking us in here is going to make us get along.”

“Well, maybe if you weren’t such a jerk all the time, we wouldn’t be in this situation,” you retorted, not missing a beat.

Wooyoung stopped pacing and turned to face you, his eyes flashing with irritation. “Me? A jerk? You’re the one who’s always acting like you’re better than everyone else!”

“Oh, please,” you scoffed, rolling your eyes. “I only act like that because you always have to be the center of attention!”

Outside, you could hear your friends laughing and chatting, clearly unconcerned about the drama unfolding inside the room.

“Can’t believe they did this,” you muttered under your breath.

“Same,” he replied, sitting down on his bed with a huff. “This is all your fault.”

“My fault? How is this my fault?” you demanded, sitting down on the floor opposite him.

“You’re the one who always has to argue with me,” he said, gripping his hair in frustration. “You just can’t let anything go.”

“Because you’re always wrong!” you shot back, the argument feeling strangely familiar, yet different with no audience to play to.

You exchanged a heated glance with Wooyoung, who looked ready to explode. “This is all your fault,” he said, his voice low and accusing.

“My fault? You’ve got to be kidding me,” you shot back, crossing your arms. “If you weren’t such a pain in the ass, we wouldn’t be here.”

“Oh, please,” Wooyoung sneered, getting up from the bed and stepping closer. “You’re the one who’s always picking fights.”

“Because you’re always so damn infuriating!” you retorted, matching his step forward until you were face to face.

The tension between you was palpable, and for a moment, it felt like something would snap. Instead, you both turned away with a huff, deciding that silence might be the best strategy. Maybe if you stopped engaging, your friends would see how pointless this was and let you out.

The silence stretched on, heavy and uncomfortable. You sat on the floor, leaning against the bed, while Wooyoung sat on the edge of it, staring at the wall. The minutes ticked by slowly, each second filled with unspoken words and unresolved tension. You could feel his presence, every movement and breath, making it impossible to fully relax.

After what felt like an eternity, the silence became too much to bear. You shifted, the slight noise breaking the uneasy peace. Wooyoung glanced at you, his expression unreadable.

“What?” you snapped, unable to hold back.

“Nothing,” he muttered, looking away again.

The frustration boiled over. “You always do this,” you said, your voice rising. “Acting like you’re so much better than everyone else.”

Wooyoung’s head whipped around, his eyes flashing with anger. “Better than everyone else? You’re the one who’s always acting like you have something to prove!”

“I wouldn’t have to if you didn’t constantly try to undermine me!” you shouted, standing up.

“You’re unbelievable,” he said, standing up to face you. “You think you’re the only one who’s frustrated? You make everything so damn difficult!”

“Me? You’re the one who—”

The argument escalated quickly, voices rising, insults flying. The room seemed to shrink around you as the anger and frustration spilled over. You were both shouting now, words tumbling out without thought.

“You’re so arrogant!” you yelled, stepping closer to him.

“And you’re so damn stubborn!” Wooyoung shot back, closing the distance between you even more.

The space between you was electric, charged with anger and something else you couldn’t quite identify. The fight became more heated, the words more cutting.

“You think you’re so smart, don’t you?” you said, your voice shaking with anger. “But you’re just a coward, hiding behind that smug attitude!”

Wooyoung’s eyes blazed with fury. “You don’t know anything about me!”

“Maybe because you never let anyone in!” you screamed, pushing him back. He stumbled slightly, then came back, his face inches from yours.

“Maybe because you never tried to understand!” he shouted, his breath hot on your face.

You felt a surge of anger and recklessness take over. “Why would I want to understand someone as pathetic as you?” you shot back, your words sharp and cutting.

Wooyoung’s eyes flashed dangerously. “Shut up,” he said, his voice low and filled with warning.

You met his gaze with a challenging look, the anger and adrenaline making you bold. “Make me,” you replied, your voice steady despite the wild beating of your heart.

For a moment, everything seemed to freeze. Then, before you could react, Wooyoung grabbed your shoulders and pulled you toward him, crashing his lips against yours in a rough, almost desperate kiss. The suddenness of it stole your breath, and for a split second, you were too stunned to respond.

But then you felt a surge of heat, a mix of anger and something much deeper. You kissed him back just as fiercely, your hands moving to tangle in his hair as you tried to pull him even closer. It was a battle, not a kiss—each of you trying to dominate, to claim the upper hand.

Wooyoung’s hands tightened on your shoulders, his grip almost bruising as he pushed you back against the wall. You gasped, but it only made the kiss more intense. Your hands slipped from his hair to his back, clutching at his shirt as if it was the only thing keeping you grounded.

The kiss was messy, all teeth and tongues and raw need. You could feel the anger in it, the frustration and the years of unspoken tension. But there was something else, too—a desperate desire, a need to finally break through the barriers you’d both put up.

You fought back, your hands tangling in his hair, pulling hard enough to make him grunt. He responded by pressing you harder against the wall, his grip on your shoulders almost bruising. His lips moved against yours with a fierce intensity, his teeth nipping at your lower lip, demanding submission.

“Is that all you’ve got?” you taunted, your voice breathless but defiant.

Wooyoung growled, one hand moving to grip your jaw, tilting your head back forcefully. “You really don’t know when to shut up, do you?” he muttered against your lips before biting down harshly on your lower lip, drawing a gasp from you, almost drawing blood.

You retaliated by digging your nails into his back through his shirt, trying to assert some control. But Wooyoung was relentless. He grabbed your wrists and pinned them above your head with one hand, his body pressing against yours, leaving you no room to move.

“Pathetic,” he whispered, his breath hot against your ear. “You’re always so desperate to prove yourself.”

“Better than being a smug asshole,” you shot back, twisting in his grip but finding no escape.

Wooyoung’s laugh was dark and mocking. “You like this, don’t you? Being put in your place.” His free hand trailed down your side, gripping your hip hard enough to leave marks.

“Shut up,” you spat, trying to ignore the heat pooling in your stomach.

“Make me,” he countered, echoing your earlier challenge. His lips found yours again, even rougher this time, his tongue forcing its way into your mouth, dominating every movement.

You bit down on his tongue, earning a growl from him as he pulled back slightly, only to return with even more force. His kiss was punishing, each movement designed to remind you who was in control. You couldn’t help but respond, your body betraying you as you arched against him.

“You’re such a brat,” he hissed, his lips moving down to your neck, biting and sucking hard enough to leave marks. “Always trying to fight me, but you’re just as desperate for this as I am.”

‘’Fuck you,” you repeated, though the words lacked conviction as a moan escaped your lips.

“Admit it,” he demanded, his hand slipping under your shirt, fingers digging into your skin. “Admit that you want this.”

“Never,” you gasped, tugging against his hold on your wrists.

He yanked your hands down, pinning them behind your back with one hand while his other hand slipped under your shirt, trailing down your stomach with rough, possessive movements.

“Let go of me,” you demanded, but your voice wavered, betraying your conflicting emotions.

“Oh, I don’t think so,” he said, a cruel smile playing on his lips. “Not until you learn to keep that mouth of yours shut.” His fingers found the waistband of your pants, slipping inside with a determined, almost punishing force.

You gasped as his fingers brushed against your core, the sensation both shocking and electrifying. “You’re such an ass,” you hissed, trying to ignore the heat pooling in your stomach.

“Such a dirty little mouth,” he taunted, his fingers moving with a rough precision that made it impossible to think clearly. He found your clit quickly, starting to circle it roughly. “Maybe I should teach you a lesson.’’

Before you could respond, his fingers pushed inside you, the intrusion rough and unyielding. You bit back a moan, refusing to give him the satisfaction, but it was impossible to ignore the intensity of his touch.

“You like that, don’t you?” he whispered in your ear, his breath hot and taunting. “You act all tough, but deep down, you’re just a needy little slut.”

“Shut up,” you managed to gasp, your body betraying you as you arched against his hand.

His fingers moved faster, rougher, each movement designed to break down your resistance. “Fuck. You’re so wet for me. Just admit it.”

You clenched your jaw, refusing to give in. “I hate you,” you spat, though the words lacked conviction.

“Oh, I know you do,” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “But your body says otherwise.” He added another finger, stretching you, making you gasp. “Look at you, so desperate and needy. It’s pathetic.”

You wanted to retort, to throw another insult his way, but the sensation was overwhelming. His fingers moved with a brutal efficiency, hitting just the right spots to make you squirm. The anger and hatred mixed with the undeniable physical attraction, creating a storm of conflicting emotions.

“Say it,” he demanded, his voice rough and commanding. “Admit that you want this.”

“Never,” you gasped, though the word came out more like a moan.

Wooyoung’s eyes narrowed, and he thrust his fingers harder, making you cry out despite yourself. “Say it,” he repeated, his tone leaving no room for argument.

“I… I want it,” you finally admitted, the words torn from you unwillingly.

“Good girl,” he murmured, a mocking smile on his lips. “Was that so hard?” He continued his rough ministrations, his fingers moving in a relentless rhythm that left you trembling.

The words were degrading, but they pushed you over the edge. Your body convulsed around his fingers, pleasure crashing through you in waves. You cried out, unable to hold back, your hands gripping his arms for support.

Wooyoung watched you with a satisfied smirk, his fingers continuing to move inside you, drawing out every last bit of your orgasm. "That's it, sweetheart,’’ he murmured, his voice softening just a fraction.

You tried to catch your breath to regain some semblance of control, but Wooyoung was already kneeling in front of you, his hands roughly pushing your pants and underwear down to your ankles.

“Wh-what are you doing?” you stammered, though your body betrayed you with a shiver of anticipation.

“You think I’m done with you?” he growled, his hands gripping your thighs hard enough to leave marks. “I’m going to show you what happens when you push me too far.”

Before you could respond, he leaned in, his tongue flicking against your clit with a precision that made your knees buckle. You gasped, one hand flying to his hair, the other bracing against the wall for support.

“Wooyoung, stop—” you started, but your words dissolved into a moan as he sucked hard on your clit, his tongue working you over with relentless, rough strokes.

“You’re going to scream for me,” he muttered against you, his voice vibrating through your core. “Let your friends hear how much you need this.”

“Fuck—no,” you managed to gasp, though your voice wavered.

Wooyoung laughed, the sound dark and cruel. “We’ll see about that.” He intensified his movements, his tongue moving in ruthless circles while his fingers dug into your thighs, holding you in place.

You bit your lip, trying to stifle the sounds threatening to escape, but it was no use. The combination of his rough touch and skilled tongue was too much. Your hips bucked against his mouth, and a cry slipped out before you could stop it.

“Louder,” he demanded, pulling back just enough to speak, his breath hot against your sensitive skin. “I want them to hear how much you love this.”

“Fuck you,” you spat, but the defiance was slipping away with every flick of his tongue.

He chuckled, the sound sending shivers down your spine. “Maybe later,” he said, diving back in with renewed intensity. His tongue moved faster, harder, and you could feel the pressure building again, even more overwhelming than before.

Your resolve crumbled, and you let out a loud moan, unable to hold back. Wooyoung smirked against you, his satisfaction evident as he continued to push you closer to the edge.

“That’s it,” he murmured between strokes. “Scream for me like the needy little slut you are.”

You tried to resist, to stay bratty and defiant, but it was impossible. The pleasure was too intense, his dominance too overwhelming. With a final, desperate cry, you came, your body trembling as the orgasm crashed over you.

He didn’t let up, his tongue working you through the aftershocks, drawing out every last bit of pleasure until you were a shaking, gasping mess. Only then did he pull back, his lips glistening with your arousal, a satisfied smirk on his face.

He stood up from his knees, his eyes dark with a mix of triumph and raw lust. You barely had time to catch your breath before he was on you again, his hands rough as they grabbed your wrists and pulled you toward the desk beside you.

“You think we’re done?” he growled, his voice filled with cruel amusement. “Not even close.”

You tried to muster some defiance, but the intensity of the situation left you breathless. “You’re such an asshole,” you managed to say, though your voice was shaky.

“And you’re about to learn just how much of an asshole I can be,” he replied, pushing you forward so that your upper body was bent over the desk. His hands were on your hips.

Wooyoung didn’t waste any time. You heard the rustle of his clothes as he freed himself, and then you felt the blunt pressure of his cock against your entrance. He didn’t bother with gentleness; he thrust into you in one brutal motion, making you cry out.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he groaned, his grip on your hips bruising as he started to move, setting a punishing pace. “Bet you love being fucked like this, don’t you?”

You tried to hold onto some semblance of control, to maintain your defiance. “Go to hell,” you spat, though the words were weak, almost drowned out by the sounds of his relentless thrusts.

Wooyoung laughed, a dark, mocking sound. “Already there, sweetheart,” he replied, his hips snapping against yours with a brutal rhythm. “And you’re fucking coming with me.”

Each thrust was rough and demanding, pushing you closer to the edge with a ruthless efficiency. You could feel the desk digging into your skin, but the pleasure was overwhelming, making it hard to focus on anything else.

“Such a dirty little slut,” he murmured, leaning over you so that his breath was hot against your ear. “Can’t even form a proper sentence, can you?”

You tried to respond, but all that came out was a broken moan. Wooyoung’s pace quickened, his thrusts growing even more forceful, and you felt the pressure building again, a coil tightening inside you. Wooyoung felt your tight walls pulsing around his cock. 

“You’re going to come for me again, aren’t you?” he taunted, his voice low and rough. “Say it.”

“I—” you gasped, trying to fight the pleasure, but it was useless. “I’m going to—”

“That’s right,” he cut you off, his tone filled with dark satisfaction. “Come for me, you filthy brat.”

The words pushed you over the edge, and you came with a loud cry, your body trembling as the orgasm ripped through you. Wooyoung didn’t let up, his thrusts relentless as he chased his own release.

“Look at you,” he said, his voice filled with contempt and desire. “So desperate and needy. Pathetic.”

He pulled out suddenly, leaving you empty and aching. Before you could process the loss, he was moving you again, his hands rough as he pushed you toward the bed. You stumbled, falling onto the mattress, and he was on you in an instant, flipping you onto your back.

“Think you can handle more?” he asked, his eyes dark and challenging.

You nodded, too breathless to speak, your body already craving the next wave of pleasure.

“Good,” he said, positioning himself between your legs. 

He entered you again, the angle different but no less brutal. Your hands clutched at the sheets, trying to anchor yourself as he pounded into you, each thrust pushing you closer to the edge once more. He took your thigh and pressed it against your chest, thrusting deeper. 

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he groaned, his grip on your thigh hard enough to leave marks. “Such a perfect little slut for me.”

The pleasure was overwhelming, turning your mind into a hazy blur. You could barely form coherent thoughts, let alone words, as he fucked you with a relentless intensity, pouring all the rage from earlier into it. 

“Can’t even talk, can you?” he mocked, his voice filled with cruel amusement. “Too dumb from getting fucked by my cock.”

You tried to respond, but all that came out was a series of incoherent moans. Wooyoung’s thrusts grew even more forceful, and you felt the pressure building again, another orgasm threatening to crash over you.

“You’re going to come again,” he said, his tone commanding. “And you’re going to scream my name when you do.”

You shook your head, trying to hold onto some shred of defiance, but it was useless. The pleasure was too much, too overwhelming. With a final, brutal thrust, you came, your body arching off the bed as the orgasm tore through you, as you screamed his name. 

“Good girl,” he murmured, his voice rough with satisfaction. He continued to move, his pace never faltering, pushing you through the aftershocks and into another wave of pleasure.

By the time he finally came, his release hot and overwhelming inside you, you were a trembling, incoherent mess. He pulled out slowly, leaving you breathless and spent on the bed.

“See?” he said, his voice filled with mocking satisfaction. “All you needed was to be put in your place.”

You glared at him weakly, the fire of your anger not completely extinguished despite the overwhelming pleasure. “I still hate you,” you managed to say, though your voice was weak, more breathless.

“And I still hate you too,” he replied, his expression hard. “But at least now you know what happens when you push me too far.”

The room was filled with the tension of your unresolved hatred, the physical release doing nothing to ease the animosity between you. As you lay there, trying to catch your breath and regain some sense of composure, one thing was clear: the war between you and Wooyoung was far from over, but for now, you had been thoroughly defeated.

————————

Outside Wooyoung’s room, Yunho, San, Mingi, and Yeosang were still gathered, exchanging knowing glances and quiet laughter as they waited for the inevitable explosion of another argument. However, when the first loud moan echoed through the door, their expressions changed from amusement to shock.

“Did you just hear that?” San asked, eyes wide, looking at the others for confirmation.

“Yeah, I definitely heard something,” Yunho replied, raising an eyebrow. “That didn’t sound like an argument.”

Mingi covered his mouth, trying to stifle a laugh. “I think they’re… uh… working things out in a different way.”

Yeosang’s eyes widened as another, louder moan filtered through the door, followed by a string of incoherent words. “Oh my god, they’re really going at it,” he said, looking both amused and slightly horrified.

Yunho shook his head, a grin spreading across his face. “Well, this is unexpected.”

San smirked, nudging Yunho. “Guess our plan worked a little too well.”

Mingi couldn’t contain his laughter anymore. “Should we just… leave them to it?”

Yeosang nodded vigorously. “Yeah, I don’t think they need an audience for this.”

Yunho stood up, clapping his hands together. “Alright, everyone. Let’s give them some privacy. I think they’ve got enough to handle without us hanging around.”

San stretched, yawning dramatically. “Yeah, I could use a break from all the drama anyway.”

As they gathered their things, another particularly loud moan resonated through the door, making them all wince and then burst into laughter.

“Okay, that’s our cue to leave,” Mingi said, heading towards the front door.

“Maybe we should go get some ice cream or something,” Yeosang suggested. “Give them plenty of time to… sort things out.”

Yunho nodded, opening the door. “Good idea. I think we all need a break from this craziness.”

As they left the house, the moans and muffled sounds of pleasure faded into the background, replaced by the summer evening's quiet hum.

“You know, I always thought they’d kill each other before anything like this happened,” San said, shaking his head in disbelief.

“Guess there’s a fine line between love and hate,” Yunho chuckled.

“Or in their case, a very loud, very thin line,” Mingi added, laughing.

As they headed down the street, leaving Wooyoung and you to your privacy, the group couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity of the situation. It seemed that locking you two up together had definitely brought some unexpected results.

[lovegalor333]

˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊✧˚ · .

safe house (next part)

summary: your boyfriend takes it too far again and paige picks us the pieces

content warnings: domestic violence

“Pick up, pick up, pick up.” You plead over the drone of the dialling tone. You were trying to reach your friend Allie, her apartment wasn’t far from where you were but you didn’t want to show up unannounced, but you also didn’t really have a choice. It was either Allies place or a park beach at 11PM because there was no way you were going back to your own apartment.

You lived with your boyfriend who had a temper firey enough to melt ice caps and you often ended up on the receiving end of said temper and today was no different.

You had gone to your classes and studied in the library for a few hours before heading home to cook dinner. Your apartment was silent and unlit when you walked in and you said a silent prayer, thankful that you would get a moments peace.

You cooked dinner, your favourite playlist softly emitting from the speakers, curating the perfect evening vibe.

The sound of a key turning in the door made your head snap up from the stove and you quickly paused your music in an attempt to not create any unnecessary arguments. Your boyfriend had an opinion on everything you did from the way you dressed, who you hung out with and even your music preference. He made it clear that no girl of his would listen to slutty music after you had played SZA one time.

“Hi baby, I cooked for us.” You announced as he joined you the kitchen, peering over your shoulder to look at the pot of freshly cooked pasta.

He’d been at the gym, he smelt of sweat and his skin was clammy against yours as he pressed into you.

“Pasta?” He questioned in disgust as if you just offered him a plate of raw meat.

“Yeah, you love pasta.” You said gently, he did love pasta, you’d been together almost a year now and he’s said many times it’s his favourite food but somehow you knew you’d be in the wrong tonight.

“I’m not eating that.” He scoffed, purposefully knocking the handle of the pot sending the pasta you had just cooked flying to the floor. The tomato sauce still hot, splattered up your leg causing you to jump back and collide into his chest.

“You don’t know me at all.” He says shaking his head, a deep frown set on his face. “You love pasta.” He mocked your words.

You mummbled out apology after apology as you begin to clean the mess he made but it’s no use. His hands were in your hair and then around your throat and you squeeze your eyes closed knowing what was coming next.

Like always, you told yourself just take it, there’s no use fighting back. He was bigger and stronger than you, your small hands are no match to his. Once he got bored, he goes to take a shower, without a second look in your direction and that’s when you left.

By the time you reach Allies place, she still hasn’t picked up so you hope that she’s in and just not on her phone as you knock at the door.

Your face ached and throbbed as you wait for the door to be opened and you knew the metallic taste in your mouth was blood, undoubtedly from a busted lip. Allie knew what your boyfriend was like so the sight of you wouldn’t be a shock but it was because it wasn’t Allie who opened the door.

“Y/N?” Paige, Allies roommate stutters, eyes darting around your face, her shock at your appearance evident.

“Um- is- is Allie here?” You murmur feeling embarrassed that someone else is seeing you like this.

“Um, no. Her and Jana are out. Are you OK? Come in.” She rambles out, stepping aside to let you through the door.

“I can wait in Allies room.” You suggest, noticing the setup of the living room. There was a blanket on the couch and Greys Anatomy was on the television and from the way Paige was dressed, in slouchy plaid pyjama pants and a black sports bra, you assumed you just interrupted her chilled night.

“Wait.” Paige stops you as you begin to walk to your friend’s bedroom. “What happened?”

You turn to look at Paige and her brows are furrowed and eyes turned down in genuine concern. You stare at her for a while, not knowing what to say or how to say it.

“Who did this to you?” She asks gently, voice soft and caring and your walls crumble as tears spill out and you stumble to sit on the couch, suddenly very light headed.

“My boyfriend.” You choke out between sobs and you watch as Paiges face turns from soft and concerned to hard and filled with anger.

“What the fuck?” She hisses coming to sit beside you on the couch. “How long has he been doing that?”

“A while. It’s fine. It looks worse than it is.” You reassure Paige and it was true. It always looked worse when it was fresh, once you washed your face and iced it, it would look better and with the right amount of makeup, you could cover it completely.

“Fine? Y/N this is not fine!” She fumed and brought her hand up to your face causing you to flinch at the unexpected, sudden movement.

“Sorry. I’m sorry. Can I touch you? I want to check you’re OK.” She apologises, her voice light and calm, an adjustment from a few seconds ago.

You nod your head, granting her permission to inspect your face. Her hands are soft and warm against your skin, they’re big but not big and scary like your boyfriends, they’re big and comforting as they trail across your face causing you to wince every now and then.

Paige uses a cloth and warm water to wipe away the dried blood on your lip, it stings but you’re used to it so you don’t react. Her movements are slow and careful as if your a piece of fine china and she’s scared to use any force incase you break.

“Are those- are those hand prints around your neck?” Paige asks and you can only nod, there’s no point denying it, the blonde girl is practically in your lap she’s so close to you.

“Fucking hell Y/N.” She breaths out and her hand comfortingly rubs up and down your arm.

“I don’t know what to do. He just gets so angry for no reason and I can’t fight back. I’m not strong enough.” You begin to sob again, only now realising the severity of the situation. You’re blooded and bruised again because of your boyfriend but you can’t see a way out.

“You have to leave him. You can’t keep going through this.”

“I can’t Paige. He’s already told me he won’t let me leave him.” You cry.

“Listen,” Paige begins, taking your face in her hands, “listen to me good. Tonight was the last night he’ll ever put his hands on you. Do you hear me? He’ll never hurt you again.” She comforts as tears spill down your cheeks and she wipes them as they fall.

“You’re safe here.” She adds before leaning in pressing a kiss to your forehead, it wasn’t sexual at all, it was completely platonic and warm and comforting and you believed her. You were safe here.

˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊✧˚ · .

a/n: hello guys, hope u enjoyed. let me know what u think, im still new to this 💋

[asaedw]

Fucking Sae and cuffing him as revenge for all the times he made you submit. (mdni, handcuffs, slapping, bratty sub Sae, dom reader)

Read our PINKOCK series here!

🫀You thought Sae would take you seriously? If you’re a dom, then it’s either a fight of dominance or he’s just straight up mocking you. However, today, things are different. I mean, how many more times is he gonna get away with it? Fucking you till you’re blind, just because you decide to switch it up for him? (Dom reader, kinda sub Sae, a little ooc, I wrote this because I’m a dom-switch and I don’t see any dom readers on here sooo)

🫀wc: 1259

You don’t want to whine or pout. That will instantly defeat your argument. You understand that the true essence of domination is understanding that you are deserving of pleasure. That you are being given to during sex. That also applies if you’re on the bottom.

The problem however, was that you never felt that way with Sae. It wasn’t a problem with your past exes. Even when they thought they had you all wrapped around their finger, in the end you were the one pulling the strings. The one that was left pleased. With Sae, his pathetically beautiful yet plastered stoic expression and his lewd promises, it’s easy to feel that you have no control over him.

You have been submissive in bed to him almost entirely throughout your relationship, but the few times he’d let you fuck yourself dumb on his cock. Even then, he was the one with the nearly blank face.

Today, you refuse.

You hear the keys jingle outside and then clank. The front door to your shared hotel for the night flies open and then shut.

Sae stops in his tracks when he sees you, all dolled up.

“Where are you going?” He places his duffel bag down as he locks the door.

“No where.” Your reply is plain. Like you are trying to imitate him.

He looks around curiously. You wear a black top that exposes more cleavage than you usually do. You feel that a woman’s breasts represent some sort of power that men lack. An almost idiotic ideology you picked up from somewhere.

“You must be hungry.” You walked towards a table for two in your dining room and lit a candle.

“Heels? In the home?” He inquired, probably noticing the sound of your heels clicking per step.

“They’re pretty, aren’t they?” You keep your composure.

He finally sits, attacking the carbonara pasta you cooked up with a fork.

“It’s delicious. Why aren’t you eating?” Judging by the number of questions, you can tell he’s already feeling a shift in the atmosphere.

“I already ate.” You kept your eyes locked on his, the same way he always does that nearly always weakens your knees.

He gulps, his pupils wander for a second before they fall on me. He was ready to use his secret weapon, but I was already at his throat with it.

“Is there a problem?” He cocks a brow and then continues to eat the pasta.

“There’s a big problem.” You start.

He looks up at you, almost nervously.

“What is it?”

“There’s a huge spider beneath our bed.” You look away for a brief second.

“Is that… so?”

You nod.

He licks his plate clean, placing it next to the sink.

“I’ll be there in a moment.” He washes his hands and watches you disappear into the shared bedroom.

He bends over the bed, his hand raised with a phone.

“The flashlight isn’t bright enough. I don’t see any—“ with an unsuspected click, Sae’ s raised hand gets tied into a cuff you had attactched to the hole in the bed’s decoration earlier.

“Fucking hell…” he mutters when he turns to face you. You eye him like predator does to prey, “I knew something was off.”

“It will be an interesting turn of events to see you vulnerable for once, Sae.” You touch his nose teasingly, and then drag your finger down his face, “don’t you think?”

“Sure.” He glares at you and you swear you see his eye twitch. He lowers himself on the bed, contemplating whether or not to sit and give you full control. You bring you finger lower, now lifting his face with a finger.

“Don’t make this difficult for me.”

“Fuck you.” He cusses through gritted teeth.

Another click ties away his other hand into the cuffs. With such restricted movement and my knee already pinning him down from the side of his thigh, he had no other option but to sit.

“Good boy.” You praise. Before he can spit venom at you once more, you take his lip in between your teeth. And then plant wet kisses down his neck, already recieving some sharp exhales from him.

“Just fuck me already.” He commands but it comes out like begging and he pants for air. After several minutes of teasing and toying with usually dominant man, he was willing to be pathetic enough to let out the pleas he never thought he would have to. “Please.”

His clothed dick now erected and his voice breaking with every word, he begs once more, “come on. Fuck me.”

You rip his jersey off to whcih his eyes widen. It doesn’t take long for you to break his begging penis from the clothes it was earlier clad in.

“As you wish.” You say before you go berserk on his penis.

You’d already stripped. That was half of why he was already begging for you. Now, you sit on him, guiding the mushroom tip to your entrance. He winces.

“Don’t fucking tease me.” He manages to spit out. He throws his head back in anticipation.

You draw circles on your clit almost getting off on his tip alone. His weak protests blurr in the background of your rising orgasm.

“Fine, fine.” Before you let yourself finish, you take his cock in. Sae whimpers at the feel of your lubricated walls pulsating around his cock. You bounce, slapping his balls into your ass each time your hips meet. He whimpers a few times more, biting his lip to keep his noises in. Like he was trying to keep his dignity.

The little whines and gasps escape his lips anyway once his tip repeatedly fucks into your cervix. His lips part but his eyes flicker shut. You deliver a sharp slap across his face to which he moans in pain.

“Look at me,” you demand. “Look at me or I stop.”

Your arms hold onto his shoulders from beneath him. This allows you to fuck his length deeper into yourself. Both chests clash repeatedly and soon you feel yourself over the edge. His uncontainable noises motivate you further.

He takes a deep breath and keeps his eyes on you. More like— he tries to because they constantly roll back. Your slow your pace each time he does, making sure he looks at you when he fills your gummy walls with his seed.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck—“ he struggles to compose his words in the state of overstimulation that you put him in. “No more— no mo— no!” He moans when you begin to fuck yourself on him once more.

“No longer trying to keep those noises in?” The sloppy mess of his seed and my own whites leave the room smelling like sex.

“Fu— fuck— y-you—“ he manages to spit out in between gasps.

“Save your breath.” Your own eyes roll back as you almost finish on his cock for a second time, his little sounds only driving you to fuck him harder. Now you get what he means, atleast. “We have all night.”

[hysteria-things]

can you do a teacher!chris and a college student pleasee. (With smut. And if you want to!!)

PROFESSOR STURNIOLO

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: dom!teacher!chris x student!reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: this isn’t your first problem with this specific professor, but at this moment you’re fed up and want to put your foot down.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: SMUTTY SMUT, p in v, degradation, spanking, masturbation (female), making out, stomach bulge, overstimulation, dumbification, squirting, cream pie

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1,535

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: we are locked in🫡

your professor dismissed class mere seconds ago, and everybody either has already left the lecture hall or is still packing up. “are you meeting us for lunch?” your friend says, zippering her bag and putting it on her shoulder.

you scoff, shaking your head. “can’t.” you say, ripping out the essay you wrote for this class that was due a few days ago. “professor sturniolo gave me an F on the essay.”

“again?” she questions genuinely shocked. “he’s got a bone to pick with you.”

this isn’t the first encounter like this you had with your professor. this class — your argument and persuasion class — is the only one you’re failing this semester.

not in your three years have you ever had this type of problem, and after many F’s, you’ve finally had enough.

“well, good luck.” your friend sighs, leaving the classroom with the remaining group.

now, that leaves you and him.

it would be a different story if you didn’t do the assignment right or didn’t try on the essay, but you’re one hell of a writer and you’re sure he knows it. you’ve always been good in school, ever since a young age.

normally you wouldn’t pick up fights with teachers, but your blood has been boiling for this dude for weeks.

“what’s your problem with me?” you say sternly, wiggling the paper in your hand as you step down to where he is.

he stops erasing the board and turns to you. “class is over, ms. l/n.”

yeah, no shit.

you roll your eyes. “so? i want to speak with you about my recent essay. you always give me F’s and never explain why. i would understand if it happened once before at the beginning of the year, but for every. single. one? it’s ridiculous.

he’s emotionless as he listens to your rambling, then he shrugs. “it wasn’t good enough.”

you crinkle the paper in your fist and slam it down on the desk in front of you. “wasn’t good enough my fucking ass, professor sturniolo. is it a favoritism thing? or are you fucking the other chicks in your class so they can have good grades? is that what i need to do? do i need to fuck you?”

the moment those words left your mouth, you knew that was a huge mistake.

you wouldn’t be surprised if he does, though. he’s not much older than you, and he is attractive.

he licks his lips, tilting his head toward himself. “bring it over.”

you gulp, feeling slightly intimidated. you uncrinkle the page and hand it to him, who is now sitting in the chair.

not even reading it, he stares at it and looks back up at you. “sorry. your paper didn’t meet the expectations.”

your pinch your lips together to keep you from screaming at him. “you didn’t even read it.” you shake your head. “i should’ve dropped this class when i had the chance. you’re cocky, and a waste of my time. i’m failing probably because your teaching sucks.”

as you start to storm out, he speaks up. “i’m going to have to clean that filthy mouth of yours.” he smirks. “teach you a much-deserved lesson, then afterward you can see if my teaching still sucks.”

you pause in your tracks, face turning beat red as you slowly turn back around. “w-what?”

he motions you to come over with his finger, and for some reason, you listen.

grabbing your wrist, he pulls you over his lap so you’re straddling him. again, you let it happen. you can’t help the wetness that starts to pool between your legs.

“you can admit it, you know,” he whispers, dragging his hand from your waistband to your mouth. he grazes his thumb over your bottom lip.

“a-admit what?” you stammer, shuffling in his lap which causes him to groan and hold your hips.

he chuckles. “deep down you want me to fuck you. i bet you touch yourself to the thought of me like a desperate little thing.”

you look away, face turning even redder than before if possible. “nuh-uh.”

“your face says otherwise.” his whisper shoots a chill up your spine as he starts to unbutton your shorts.

the way your fingers move quickly inside of you have your eyes shut with your mouth dangled open.

you were lucky enough to get a single dorm, so you can do whatever you want without being sneaky about it.

the way your legs are spread makes your fingers dig deeper, curling to hit the right spot. you grip onto your sheets tight, moans and other loud noises leaving your lips.

your previous orgasms make a mess below you or the back of your thighs, but you don’t stop. you’ve been at this for almost an hour because your mind is only focused on one thing.

your lecturer.

professor sturniolo.

“shit.” you pant, your orgasm building for the nth time. you let go of the sheets to massage your breast, pinching at your nipple from time to time.

you whine. “just like that.”

legs shaking, your fingers get coated with yet another orgasm, but you wish it wasn’t your fingers.

you wish it were his.

your shorts are now on the floor, along with your shirt, underwear, and bra. chris still has his clothes on except for his pants.

hovering just above his tip, your lips move in sync with each other. his tongue fights yours, and the erotic sounds of you two kissing fill your ears.

his hands rub along your back before spanking you hard, ruining the intimate moment. you pull away to gasp.

“sit,” he demands, mouth agape as he looks down to watch you try to sink onto his dick.

you grunt from the pleasurable pain, stopping just about midway. he’s probably the biggest you’ve ever seen. “it’s not gonna fit.” you whine.

“i’ll make it fit.”

with that, he grips onto your ass, hammering up into you without being able to adjust first.

you grab onto his shoulders for dear life. you moan uncontrollably, the feeling of him raw inside of you making you grin like a fool.

you’ve been wanting him to do this for a very long time.

“look at you.” he starts, smacking your ass to have you jolt. “having the professor you allegedly hate balls deep in you.”

“i-i do— ha-ate you.” you struggle to get out, a hand landing on your asscheek again.

“is that so?” he mocks, waiting for you to talk back but instead you moan even louder. he nods. “that’s what i thought.”

he bites his lip, looking at the way your tits bounce rapidly and at the bulge in your belly, eyes widening slightly. he’d never seen something like that before.

“i should keep you around more often after class.” he groans, seeing your face of pleasure.

eyes rolled back, mouth hung open, hair disheveled and sticking to your forehead from sweating.

“you make a pretty little cocksleeve.”

that sentence makes you clench around him, your body starting to quiver from the overwhelming feeling. “ngh— feels so go-od. y-you make me feel s-so good.” you whimper. “wanna cum!”

“not until you apologize.” he tuts, grabbing and then spanking your ass. “say you’re sorry, and i might let you cum.”

you whine, his cock now kissing your g-spot more than it did before. “i’m s-sorry.”

“for?”

“for— mm!” you squeal. “for being b-bad.”

“and?”

“and-and—” you can’t finish because of the sudden clear liquid squirting out of you, now making your pussy squelch more than it was before. your back arches even harder, your brain all dazed and dumb from the overstimulation.

you start to lose stability from being too weak, so chris has to hold you by your arms.

he groans, shaking his head at the terrible mess you are making. “come on. you can do it.”

tears spill from your eyes, sobs running past your lips. “a-and for t-talking back. fuck!”

his dick twitches inside, his thrusts getting sloppy. “i hope you’re on the pill because i’m going to fill you deep, baby.”

you can only make sounds, so a high-pitched moan echoes throughout. you’re seeing stars the closer your orgasm approaches before it finally snaps and you’re smearing the ring of white around his dick.

he doesn’t stop, causing your body to twitch in his grasp as another orgasm builds since he’s still fucking deep to your g-spot.

“close again?” he laughs fake. “scream for me. let people know how much of a slut you are; letting your teacher use you to get a better grade.”

your body slowly starts becoming limp, eyes fluttering closed as you moan.

he spanks you for the last time, not caring that his job is on the line.

“louder. they can’t hear you.”

screaming this time, you cum once again when he holds you down on his shaft. you collapse onto his chest, quiet sobs leaving your lips as you feel his cum start to fill you.

he peppers kisses on your shoulders, peeking over them to grab a pen and clicking it open. he scribbles over the previous grade on your essay to write a new one.

A+

𝐭𝐚𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭!

@bunbunbl0gs @lexisecretaccx @thy-mission @angelic-sturniolos111 @sophssturn @mattsneezing @janiellasblog @blahbel668 @meg-sturniolo @hearts4chris @mattslolita @sturnbaby @imwetforyourmom @tillies33ssss @sturnifyed @mayhem-72 @ripmattitude @p1xieswrld @alorsxsturn @txssvx @sttzee @multiluvr @delilahprentiss @matthewsspecial @sturnolio-luvs @sturniolho @suga-daddy-69 @tworosesblackthorn @luckistar-posts @gnxosblog @junnniiieee07 @sturnioloslurps @tylerthecreatorsrealwife @flowerxbunnie @imaslut4kehlani @sturniolosandmoree @hertvgirl @whoreforchrissturniolo @r4iyaa @sturniolotriplettoplover @mattybswife @freshsturns @loverrsposts @sturnlcvr @elliesturniolo1 @tpvmz @user283926392 @lalalands86 @sukiipjs @sturniologirl813 @leahrab @chrissturniolosslut @h3arts4harry @sturnioloblogs @creamoncreamoncream2 @luv4kozume @ivyyyyyysposts @mirxcle1 @iluvm4ttsturni0l0 @sturniol0s @catalina-island @mbsbaby @pinkfarts @slut4mattsturn @thesturniolos @vickeyzloserz @nononopeno1

[jiniretracha]

ꕤ 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 '𝟐𝟒 - 𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝟏𝟖 ꕤ

Lee Felix x fem!reader: shower sex

summary: Felix makes it up to you in the shower.

warnings: smut, make up sex, they're in love your honour!!

word count: 1.7k

kinktober masterlist // masterlist // ko-fi

You weren’t used to fighting with Felix at all. In fact, this was the first time you were fighting with him. 

The argument started out of the most simple thing. Lately he had been coming home at such ungodly hours, and it felt like it was taking quality time with your partner. You had prepared a huge dinner for him after texting him you were doing that. You knew he loved when you cooked pasta for him, the recipe from your grandparents to be exact. 

Felix had texted you back saying he couldn’t wait to go back home and enjoy the meal you were going to prepare for him.

Except Felix did not come on time that night. 

You had placed the plates carefully on the table, lighting up some candles and using the cloth napkins you used only on special occasions. 

At eight o’clock you sat down on the table and texted him everything was ready. 

You: hey lixie, dinners ready!

You left the phone on the table and put on some TV to pass the time. When you felt like a solid half hour had passed, you checked the phone but saw no notifications. 

You: lix? u there?

No reply. 

You licked your lips and felt the anxiety kicking in. It wouldn't hurt to just wait him a couple more minutes. 

But those more minutes happened to turn into an hour. 

It was 9:30 by now and your eyelids were feeling heavy. 

You: hey, are you okay? did something happen or come up?

You heard your stomach rumbling and quickly placed your hand over your stomach, trying to calm it down. You even tried calling him a couple of times but no one picked up either. 

Deciding to throw everything out of the window when no notifications kicked in, by 10:35, you decided to eat your meal and just forget the whole thing. 

You only finished like half the plate, blame your anxiety. 

Leaving everything like it was on the table, you let out a few tears and got into bed, feeling your heart hurt from the whole situation. 

Things like this never happened, it wasn’t in Felix’s DNA to do this. You even thought something had happened to him, until you went on Instagram and clicked on Jeongin’s story, only to find that just a couple of minutes ago, he was just leaving a barbecue with his friends. 

That fucker, you thought. 

With a grunt, you left the phone on the nightstand and tried falling asleep as fast as you could.

  ᯓ★

Felix got inside the apartment with a sigh, leaving his things on the couch. He saw that the lights were off and supposed that you had gone to sleep already. 

When he got to the living room, his eyebrows furrowed when he saw that you hadn’t picked up the plates from the table, something unusual from you. You always washed the dishes after eating.

His eyes widened when he saw a plate half empty and another one full of pasta.

He had forgotten.

Shit!

He quickly grabbed his phone, which he had put on silent mode. He saw the amount of messages and missed calls he had from you, unanswered. 

His eyes clenched in anger. Anger he felt at himself. 

He had forgotten the meal you had prepared for him, instead going out with his friends. 

Felix was ready to fall to his knees and beg for your forgiveness, but he was terrified you’d break up with him or something. 

He slowly made his way towards the bedroom and his heart broke when he got closer to you, his eye catching the dried tears on your cheeks.

Felix closed his eyes and let out a frustrated breath. 

This was all his fault. 

  ᯓ★

The next morning, you woke up with that familiar pair of arms wrapped around your waist. You basked in the feeling until the memories from last night came back in flashes. 

You tried moving from his grasp but even in his sleep he was holding you fiercely. 

With a rather violent move, you set yourself free from his arms and walked in stomps towards the bathroom, shutting the door behind you with a thud. 

Felix, who had woken up an hour before you did, felt the tears blurring his vision at your anger. You were totally right at being angry, but he wasn’t going to let his stupid mistake ruin what you two had built all this time.

He got up from the bed and went towards the bathroom, hearing the shower running. He breathed in and got inside the bathroom. 

His eyes caught your naked body, rinsing off the shampoo you had applied on your hair. 

His body hardened as his eyes raked all over your figure. He could never ever get used to seeing your naked body. 

He shed his clothes quickly, leaving them carelessly on the floor as he stepped into the shower with you. 

You were already aware of his presence the moment he had opened the door, and he knew it as well.

Felix’s arms came to wrap around your waist and his chin rested on your shoulder, his eyes peeking at your face.

“I’m so sorry, my love” he said sincerely. His eyes pathetically started watering and he let out a breathy sob. “I’m sorry, please forgive me”

You breathed in, and then, out. You wanted to forgive him, of course you did. He was the love of your life and you knew Felix didn’t have one single mean bone in his body. But what he did last night hurt.

“You hurt me last night. You know that. Right?” you asked in a small voice.

Felix nodded against your shoulder and sniffled. “I know, and that’s why I’m apologizing. I- I know it’s not an excuse, at all. I know. I was just super tired last night from all the practice we had and then Hyunjin suggested we go to the bar down the street, the one with the tteokbokki you like, I even brought you some. But I totally forgot about our meal, and I love you for making it for me. And I hate myself for forgetting” he said in a panicked rush. 

You bit your lip. He was so cute and convincing when he wanted to. 

You turned around in his arms and caressed his cheek. “Make it up to me” 

Felix nodded.

You smiled and shook your head. “Make it up to me. Right. Now” you ordered him. 

His eyes visibly widened and nodded. 

Soon enough, you found yourself with your chest pressed against the tiles of the shower wall, hands next to your head as Felix grasped your hips, moving intensely inside of you as he pulled deep and high pitched moans from you. 

He had eaten you out and made you come on his fingers twice and now, he was going to make you come on his cock until you forgot what he had made you sad about. 

“You like that baby?” he asked you with his characteristic deep voice closed to your ear. “Huh?”

“Y-yeah” you replied in a moan. “I love it, baby”

“You deserve it” he whispered, kissing your neck while his hands went up to grasp at your tits, groping them. “You deserve it, baby. You’re so good to me… so, so good to me” 

You moaned at the praise and clenched around him, making him groan and bite at your neck.

His hands came to grab your hips, pulling out of you to turn you around. Felix’s hands came to grasp the back of your thighs and hoisted you up, your legs wrapping around his waist. 

He put his cock back in you and continued moving his hips to thrust in and out of your hole. 

“Shit… shit, shit, shit” you whispered, feeling Felix hit the sweet spot inside of you harshly. “Felix…”

“Yeah, baby. I’m right here” he whispered, kissing your lips. The kiss was hot and wet, his tongue tracing yours as you grasped his hair, pulling him closer to your face. “I love you. I love you, I love you, I love you” he whispered against your mouth.

“I love you, Lix” you moaned, your nails scratching his shoulders, and he knew damn well it was going to leave a mark, but he couldn’t care less. 

You threw your head back once you pulled away from the kiss.

“I’m- I’m close…”

He watched with hooded eyes as one of your hands drifted down to where your bodies were joined and started rubbing your clit to get you closer to the edge. 

Felix’s thrusts started getting sloppy and uneven, and he knew he was getting close to his orgasm as well. 

“Shit, come around me, babe. Come on” he urged.

You looked down and you felt your mouth watering at the sight of his hard abs contracting with the movements of his hips against yours. The sight of his cock moving in and out of you so smoothly was enough to make you come violently around him.

He moaned as he felt your orgasm coat his shaft and he thrusted harshly inside of you. 

“Fuck, I’m coming baby. Let me pull-”

“No!” you squealed, your legs tightening around his waist.

His eyes came to lock with yours.

“Come- come inside of me” you whispered, and he was about to lose his mind when he noticed the desperation in your eyes.

“Fuck” he closed his eyes and felt his cum spurting inside of you, painting your walls white. He stilled his hips and let out a breath, his forehead coming to rest on the crook of your neck. 

You waited until you had regain your breaths and started caressing his scalp with your fingers. 

“I’m sorry, babe” he whispered, lifting his face to stare at you. “I’m so sorry. It won’t happen again”

You nibbled on your lip.

“I promise”

And you knew he meant it. 

“I know. And I forgive you” you told him, kissing his lips in a simple peck. “I love you”

Felix smiled and you knew there was no one else in the world that could make you feel the way he did.

“I love you, baby”

── .✦

taglist: @annhearttihaehe // @frequentlykit // @alexisfeliz // @jeonginsleftcheek // @yaorzu-blog // @jisunglyricist // @leeknowinggg // @ka0ila // @minghaosimp // @lixies-favorite-cookie // @yn-x-them // @chrizrizz // @madkati // @starzystay // @pancake-freckle // @velvetmoonlght // @regardsto-hell // @jaiuneamesolitaiire // @bangchansbeanie

i apologise if i can't tag u :(

[wonderjanga]

Revival

(I posted this on accident when I meant to put it in drafts, anyone who saw that, you didn’t)

Anyways , so Billy casually revives Mary and Freddy whenever they die in their marvel forms. (For this AU, let’s say they’re still super durable, but they’re less durable than Marvel) Like for example:

*Mary and Marvel are fighting a super strong monster. It swings one of its claws at the two, hitting the both of them. It gives Billy a scratch but Mary just dies.*

Marvel: *forgets about the monster immediately* “Oh my gods…” *looks down at her looking properly disturbed and uses tip of boot to move Mary onto her back to see if she’s really, really dead.* “That’s… a nasty one.” *Bends down and fixes her face and wounds up with magic.* He’s revived them before but seeing them die never ceases to scare him. What if he can’t save them the next time?

Mary: *alive but unconscious*

Marvel: *picks her up and zips off to the Rock of Eternity* “Okay, Mary… I’m just gonna…” *Puts her down on the floor and runs around the rock finding blankets upon blankets and a singular pillow. Puts them all on her and puts the pillow under her head.*

Mary: *wakes up slightly and tries to sit up* “Billy, what happened?”

Marvel: “You uh… got knocked out.” *Pushes her back down so she can lay back down* He hasn’t told either of them that nine times out of ten, whenever they get knocked out, they die. It causes a major argument when they find out. “Just go back to sleep, Mary. I’ll take care of the monster.” If anyone saw this, they would truly think he’s her dad.

Mary: “The monster’s still out there?” *already on the verge of going back to sleep*

Marvel: “Not for long.” *tucks her in extra tight and pats her head before flying back to Fawcett*

or

*JL are fighting some aliens. These aliens are actually a little harder than normal. Some of their weapons burned Billy such as the ray-guns. (Which looked awesome) After closer inspection, the ray-guns had some type of magic signature. (Is it bad he finds that even cooler?) Freddy’s also there. The ray-guns affect him more than Billy. He dies when the aliens use a particularly big gun when Billy’s too distracted to help him. He doesn’t even realize Freddy died (again) until all the fighting is over and he’s looking for him.*

Marvel: *Flying around, looking around for Freddy* “Junior! Junior, where’d you go?” *Sees Freddy just laying there and flies down, touching down on the ground* “Junio…” *trails off when he sees Freddy’s dead and walks over to the corpse*

Superman: *flies down and lands next to Marvel* “Cap, Hal’s asking if you want to go for drinks. Do I tell him you’re not going—” *covers mouth when he sees Freddy.*

Marvel: *kneels down in front of Freddy.* How long had he been like this? Could Billy even save him now? He’s so charred… *feels impending dread and nausea creeping up*

Superman: “I- Marvel- I’m so sorry…”

Marvel: *spiraling as he stares at Junior*

Batman: *appears from the shadows* “I know what it’s like to lose a child, Marvel.” *puts hand on Billy’s shoulder* “If you ever need to talk to someone…”

Marvel: *shrugs hand off and starts to try and heal Freddy* “I’m fine.” *keeps muttering that he’s fine and the whole situation is fine as he continues to heal Freddy.*

Batman and Superman: *staring at Marvel in pity*

Superman: “…Marvel?” *Walks up behind Billy* “Marvel. He’s not fine.”

Freddy: *healed, alive but unconscious*

Marvel: “Yes, he is.” *Picks Freddy up* “He’s perfectly fine. I uh- I gotta go.”

Superman: “Cap, wait!”

Marvel: *Zooms off the rock. Ended up doing the same thing he did with the blankets before with Mary to Freddy.*

The league are gobsmacked when they see Freddy talking to Billy as if they hadn’t heard from Supes and Bats that he died. Billy also found a few grey hairs when he detransformed.

[hanasnx]

“ YOU GOT A FETISH FOR MY LOVE, I PUSH YOU OUT AND YOU COME RIGHT BACK ” — anakin skywalker.

MINORS DNI 18+ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ NOTES: if this counts for kinktober, i'm saying the kink is begging. WARNINGS: ex!anakin ノ fem reader ノ mild angst ノ established relationship ノ size difference ノ sexual content: some p in v stuff ノ pathetic begging anakin.

All of your relationships leading up to this point had resolutely ended. There were no loose ends, and nothing worth sacrificing your self-respect for. You'd cut them off, or burn the bridge if you had to, just to ensure you couldn't backslide on your decision. It's an incredible trust to place in yourself, and a little lonely. No matter how much your heart ached for the person you separated from, you would not reach out, and you'd make it pretty clear you didn't want to hear from them either. One exception stands before you now, that familiar crease in EX!ANAKIN SKYWALKER's brow as he demands to be let inside.

"It can't end like this." A statement that leaves no room for argument. One of the reasons you called it quits in the first place is dating a general doesn't feel like dating, it just feels like taking orders. "Do you have any idea what I've done for you? What I've sacrificed?" he admonishes incredulously, taking up the space of your doorway as stand your ground.

"Anakin- leave." you command. You know he's just here to pick a fight, to see if he can break your spirit with guilt-tripping manipulations. It's hard to feel large against a towering figure like General Skywalker, but you're bold enough to try to. Even if he can sweep you out of his way with an arm, you block his entrance with your body.

"You stubborn girl. You don't understand anything, do you?" he spits, the deep lines of his scowl drawing shadows that cascade his expression to a near unrecognizable degree. If you didn't know him, you'd fear for your safety.

"I told you to go!" you cry, jabbing your finger over his shoulder to signal him to turn around.

He advances, forcing you to arch away. "You don't mean that!" His voice is a lot louder than yours, and it carries. The frown in your brow relaxes as your eyes widen in response to his outburst. In a way, it's a keen reading. If it combats the loneliness of your self-sabotaging nature, you wish you'd let yourself invite him to stay. However, your pride has gotten you this far, and you don't want to appear weak. Perhaps, you don't want him to go, but it's the right thing to do.

You've been through so much together, and you're sure that he only holds onto you so tightly because you're all he's ever known when it comes to romantic entanglements. If he had been more experienced when you'd met him, he wouldn't have such passionate outrage about being refused.

He's the only one who's chased you so closely while you ran away. Retreating from intimacy, retreating from love, he's the only one who's seen right through you, and demanded you anyway.

"Anakin, you should go." you whisper against his lips as he backs you up deeper into your apartment. Eager hands curtly whip your clothes from your body, careful not to disrupt the connection of your mouths, recycling breath between you.

"Please, don't say that—You don't mean that." he murmurs, the vulnerability of being rejected laced into his plea. Your hands suspended in air from shock come to rest on his leather padding, helping him out of his robing like you've done a thousand times before. It's like a dance, the way your figures move fluidly, retracing the steps, how he backs you up against the wall as he slips his tongue between your lips, tilting his head to reach you as you're less than cooperative. The taste of him intoxicates you, coaxing your own tongue to smooth over his, and he expels a pleasant noise through his nose. His fingers splay on your shoulders, keeping you in place while staying at an uncharacteristic distance. It's as if he's begging for you with his body, showing you he'll do whatever it takes to prove to you his devotion, his love. Kiss him without touching places he's not allowed to touch anymore.

Part of you wishes he'd get over that, and in a fit of impatience, you place them for him, tracing them over the curves of your bare figure.

Herding you to the bedroom you once shared, his hand comes to cup the nape of your neck, pinning you to him as he delves his tongue deeper. You've never had anyone kiss you like Anakin, and if you didn't care for him it would be unpleasant. The impatient plunge of an inexperienced lover still laces the way he makes out with you, and it's clingy, it's forceful, it's desperate. At its end, he sucks your bottom lip between his, dragging it through his teeth. Plump, wet, and pink he speaks against yours, hushed and hurried. "Say you love me." he breathes—another plea, delicately concealed.

"Say you love me." he asks again, holding your gaze while he enters you. The fragile flinch of his softened features endears you, reintroducing his sex to yours as if its his first time—like the sensation is just too much, evidenced by the hitch in his throat when he questions you.

He sinks to the hilt over and over again, using his own hands to wrap your legs around his hips, keeping you close in embrace. He squeezes his eyes shut, grunting through his mouth from effort as he buys your love with his body, begs for your attention through his pitying ministrations. "Say you love me." he pleas one more time. "Please- please, I need you. Even if you don't mean it, even if you hate me... just... just..."

You bite hard into your lip, trying to think your way through the pleasure coursing through your veins. Skin hot and mind occupied, you clutch onto him as if he grounds you. In the dull light of the room, you find his eyes again, glossy and bloodshot. You palm his cheek, and his face softens. "I love you." you concede. The wall you've put up begins to dismantle.

[theladysunami]

I listen to a lot of audiobook murder mysteries, which has me thinking:

Shen Yuan transmigrating into a murder mystery… as the killer!

There are a couple of ways the story could go.

First Option: Shen Yuan lets his System know, in no uncertain terms, he will not be murdering anyone.

Its response: [Alternate Plotline Initiated. New Assignment: Designated Red Herring].

Poor Shen Qingqiu finds himself stuck in a whole murder mystery series, and any time anyone is murdered, he somehow ends up being the number one suspect!

The victim? Probably picked a fight with Shen Qingqiu at some point. (Shen Qingqiu tries to avoid such arguments, but it never seems to work!)

The murder weapon? Yeah, Shen Qingqiu is almost guaranteed to have touched it. (Shen Qingqiu is severely tempted to start wearing gloves 24/7.)

The body? Either Shen Qingqiu finds it himself at some inopportune time, and/or it was stashed somewhere “only” he is supposed to have access to. (At some point it's just: Shen Qingqiu opens a door… sees a body… closes the door. “Time to call the cops, yet again.”)

Shen Qingqiu ends up a tad paranoid about the whole thing, setting up cameras outside his house, in his office, in his car, etc. just to (hopefully) stop people from planting evidence any of those places.

If anyone asks about the truly absurd number of (eventually dropped) murder allegations, Shen Qingqiu insists he's cursed. Even with genre blinders on (making the number of convoluted murders in the area seem normal somehow), it's hard for anyone to argue the point.

For Shen Qingqiu's day job (when he's not busy being charged with murder) he works as a professor at a university with a highly regarded Criminology & Criminal Justice program. I'm thinking the original goods was a literature professor, with a strong distaste for cops, who was known for grading anyone in the criminal justice program exceedingly harshly. Naturally one of his students is the protagonist, Luo Binghe.

After his transmigration, professor Shen Qingqiu suddenly becomes a very kind and doting professor with a real passion for literature. This leaves Luo Binghe quickly smitten and makes him a very motivated amateur detective, since he's determined to prove his beloved's innocence as quickly as possible and as often as needed!

Second Option: Shen Yuan takes over after the original goods already committed the murder.

He wakes up with a splitting headache (the victim attempted to defend themselves presumably), looks at his bloody hands… looks at the victim… looks at the weapon… looks at his bloody hands again. “Damn it, Airplane.”

He decides he doesn't want to try and hide a body actually, just to be caught by the protagonist later and charged with a whole slew of things in addition to murder, so he calls the cops himself. He might as well take advantage of the fact he has a concussion and literally doesn't remember a thing. Maybe he can get the charges reduced somewhat and get a lighter sentence.

Of course the first cop that arrives at the scene is Yue Qingyuan, who as the #1 Xiao-Jiu stan gives Shen Qingqiu way too much benefit of the doubt. The most obvious evidence also keeps being erased or damaged by weird as hell coincidences.

Shen Qingqiu knows he certainly isn't responsible for damaging evidence and wonders if the System is working overtime behind the scenes to ensure there actually is a mystery for Luo Binghe to solve. (After all, it wouldn't be much of a story if Shen Qingqiu was already charged and sentenced before Luo Binghe had a chance to even do anything.)

To his complete bewilderment, after a few days leave to recover from the concussion, Shen Qingqiu is actually allowed to return to his university teaching job. He decides to make the best of it, since who knows how long he'll be a free man.

As in the first scenario, a few months later and Luo Binghe is absolutely smitten, not to mention all the other students and faculty that have come to adore him.

As Shen Qingqiu has successfully endeared himself to pretty much anyone and everyone local that could actually charge him or provide eyewitness testimony, not to mention all the shady shit about murder victim Qiu Jianluo the ongoing investigation keeps digging up, the plot stalls for a bit until the state police (aka Huan Hua Palace) are finally called in by Qiu Haitang.

Unfortunately for the ‘HHP’ folks, the protagonist himself is on Shen Qingqiu's side, and Luo Binghe is perfectly happy to muddy the waters by conveniently “losing” evidence, sending them after every single red herring he comes across, and “accidentally” digging up dirt on all the shady dealings going on in their department.

The System keeps trying to motivate Shen Qingqiu to hide evidence, lie, or do literally anything suspicious to progress the plot further, but all its punishment protocols involve sabotaging Shen Qingqiu's coverup attempts (of which he has none) or revealing information to the protagonist (who is complicit by this point) so it's fresh out of luck.

Eventually the System gives up and Shen Qingqiu is congratulated for “getting away with murder!” despite the fact he didn't actually do anything.

“Seriously? Does it even count as getting away with murder when the original goods was the actual murderer? I didn't kill anyone!”

[...]

[hyuckswoman]

mark and you arguing pt1

pt2

genre: angst (doesn’t have good ending but i can make a pt2)

summary: you don’t like how touchy one of your boyfriend’s friend is, when you try to tell him, he doesn’t listen

pairing: mark x y/n

“no mark you don’t understand and that’s fine, i never asked you to understand either way” you say putting your things down and closing your front door behind you 

earlier that night, you and mark were on a double date with his childhood friend and her situationship? you thought it was her boyfriend but seeing the dynamic up close you understood how wrong you were 

the date was going okay at first. since her situationship was so entertaining, it completed shifted your focus away from the fact that you had barely taked to your boyfriend ever since stepping foot inside of the restaurant, not only that but you had also failed to see how her hand was on mark’s forearm and didn’t look like it was going to move in any second. 

you’re not normally the jealous type but seeing how there’s been a few instances where she had stepped over the boundaries you put with your bf and when you told him about it he just shrugged claiming that “she’s an old friend, she’s bound to be…comfortable” you were apprehensive of the evening. 

and you were right to be! the whole evening was basically her flirting and eye fucking mark, cutting you off when you were speaking, barely paying any attention to her date i mean hell even YOU talked more to him than she did. 

the more the evening progressed the more you dread coming home, yea it meant she wouldn’t be here anymore but it also meant you having to be vocal about your feelings and a possible argument with mark because of course his friend could never be in the wrong 

“why are you being like this? each time we hang out with her you’re always mean and tense about it, i don’t get why you have a vendetta against her” you boyfriend says taking off his coat following you into the living room 

“it’s not like i don’t have a reason to have a vendetta against her mark, she was flirting with you all evening! and i don’t even understand why you’re picking a fight with me, i bit my tongue on purpose and didn’t tell you shit and wasn’t planning to just to avoid this so i’m having trouble understanding why we’re even having an argument right now” you say sitting on the sofa hoping he’ll let it go

but of course he doesn’t 

“oh so now i’m so scary and intimidating that you can’t communicate? and we’re having an argument because tonight, just like every night we’ve ever spend with her you were in a pissy mood. do you know how embarrassing it is to have to apologize for your behavior each time” mark says 

“no one asked you to apologize, i kinda think it’s crazy how you’ve never even taken the time to maybe wonder why i dislike her so much mark” you answer anger rising 

“i know why you’re like this, it’s because you’re jealous” your boyfriend answers

“i’m sorry? yea you’re gonna have to elaborate on this one” you say

“i don’t know maybe it’s because her and i get along or the fact that we were a thing for a short while maybe that makes you insecure or something” you boyfriend says ever so casually 

“what the fuck?? she doesn’t make me insecure i’m just tired of having to explain to you why it bothers me to see one of your friends eye fucking you while you let it happen. i can’t even have a man be in the same vicinity as me before you start to lose your shit mark. Like i really don’t care that you and her were a thing because you’re with me now so unless it’s an issue i need to worry about I don’t see why I’d be jealous? But if you’re gonna be mad at me for being in a ‘pissy’ mood i never want to hear you complain about any men apparently flirting with me ” you say getting up, if you see his face you might start to hit it at this point 

“I still don’t understand why you’re being so bitchy, if her and i were still dating, she would’ve never done this to me” mark says instantly regretting his words 

“So it is something i need to worry about then.. you know what? go date her or something i don’t care mark, maybe she’ll appreciate you acting like a dick” you say sighing. this argument honestly tired you, repeating the same things over and over again tired you but what could be done? 

you were starting to head upstairs to brush your teeth and head to bed when mark gripped your arm preventing you from leaving 

“let go mark” you ask tiredly 

“i’m sorry” he says apologizing 

“okay, now let go” you ask and he shakes his head no 

“please i’m tired i want to sleep let me go” you say as you forcefully remove your arm from his grip, if he wasn’t going to let you go, you’ll leave 

“we don’t go to sleep mad at each other” mark says still blocking your way 

“maybe sometimes we do, plus i’m not even mad at you now please move i want to brush my teeth and you’re blocking the path” you say 

“i’m sorry” mark says 

“i heard you the first time” you answer giving up on brushing your teeth settling to  find a place to sit in your shared house 

“talk to me, please” your boyfriend pleads 

“i have been talking to you mark! ever since the first hang out i told you how she would make backhanded comments about me, then told you how it made me uncomfortable how touchy she was with you, then told you i didn’t want to hang out with her anymore so you could go see her alone and i also told you how her eye fucking you and making me feel like i’m bothering you guys annoyed me. mark you just never listen, and since you don’t listen i sit back, bite my tongue and try my best to act nice but it’s not because she’s your friend that i’m going to let myself get walked over” you say as mark finally lets you in your bedroom where you just lay down to sleep 

“you’re right i’m sorry” mark says hugging your figure thankful that you still communicated despite his actions 

“no you’re not, you say this every time the proceed to do it all over again, anyway good night mark” you say turning so your back faces him just wanting to be done with the conversation because you were starting to feel bad for acting this way when you have every right to be upset. Mark on the other hand is biting his lip realizing that he seriously messed up and needs to make it right somehow. 

because he’d 100% rather never talk to that one friend than have you feel the way you’re feeling right now, at the end of the day, nobody compared to you and he now realized how little he’s been showing it to you 

[satorurize]

❝𝐃𝐨𝐧𝐭 𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐮𝐧 𝐠𝐨 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐨𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫!❞

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Pairing: Gojo Satoru x Fem!Reader

Plot: An argument over a remote control surely couldn't turn into hot sex right?

Minors and Ageless blogs DNI.

Content and Warnings : 18+, MDNI, female reader smut, fluff, crack?, make up sex, cockwarming, mating press, creampie, clit play, satoru and reader are not married but he is a bit delulu, satoru is annoying (but so loveable), big dick satoru, passionate satoru. English is not my first language pls be nice

Tagging: @pixelcafe-network 💗

Satoru will never miss an opportunity to be the egotistical prince he is, and he'll take that gaping chance to tease you so pompously, that you wouldn't mind slapping his stupidly handsome face with his stupidly handsome dimpled grin if it weren't for him fucking you so rauchily after a heated argument. He'll make sure to purposely thrust into you painstakingly slow, it was almost like not moving at all. It didn't help that he was still as a lake inside you from the past few hours.

"Impatient enough?" He knew he was easy on the eyes and how hard it made for you to resist and remain with your ego after a fight, especially when he worshipped you even with his mocking words.

"Satoru..fucking move already—" You arch your back, moving yourself on his still cock, desperate and needy, feeling his each vein ridging against your warm, cloy, walls.

"Aw..too much for you? Mh..? Your sweet pussy just clenches harder when I do this.." He cockily speaks, hovering over you, his big strong arms propped onto the mattress, getting a good view of your pussy stuffed full of his lengthy cock and your tits—, his tits spilled out for him.

The rapid flicking of your swollen clit with his index and middle finger makes you reach out your hand to slap his away, the metalic taste of blood hit your taste buds, the bite on your lower lip stopped you to almost push aside your pride and say that you wanted it harder. But you didn't, your body did, feeling the ecstatic pinch of a building orgasm.

He lets out a throaty, enraptured laugh when you raise your hand to slap his away, the desperateness and your duclet sighs not amiss by him. What were you two fighting about again? Satoru would prefer being a dead man if he had to pick between leaving you to sulk after an argument and dying.

He hummed deeply, immediately grasping your wrists to pin them down to the either sides of your head, his sheer strength holding you down. He leaned in, grazing his lips against yours but not quite kissing you, depriving you of that doting intimacy because he wanted you to suffer a bit more. How dare you try to break up with him? Again a hyperbole in Satoru's mind. It was something very measly in reality and you weren't gonna break up with him.

"Just say it baby..just say you want me to fuck you harder..make love to you, tell me how much you love me..come on sweets.."

"Shut up.. you're so annoying.." You spat but your body was a pure antithesis to that statement when you grinded yourself onto his cock.

"Really..? You beg all annoying people to fuck you baby..? I'm jealous" He pushed further, smirking, the mirth in his voice so clear.

"You-"

"Okay fine! I'll do my job! Don't be so difficult.." He tuted, now the one sulking like a child, though pretentiously as if he himself didn't want to give you a mauling fuck. He didn't care if he had to desperately apologise, you were just so cute to him when you were annoyed.

The next words died down in your throat and that acid in your tone was soon cut off and replaced with coarse, sweet moans, your pupils blown wide when he suddenly bucked up and moved his hips to hit is tip to the hilt with an anchoring grip on your waist. The hit was nothing but brute force, while his face was calm but hazed with lust, a sickening, consuming lust for you, his wife. Although you weren't married yet, in his head you already became Mrs. Gojo the moment he first laid with you.

"You know what? No. You shut up, I've had enough of your bullshit...you're not mad at me anymore..yeah..? You got that..?" He cooes to you not concerned about the gaslighting, in complete contrast to the way his cock was ruthlessly splitting your cunt apart, the sticky, stringy webby mess of your arousal and his pearly cum only made it easier for him fuck you like a fleshlight. The fused sounds of your synchronised moans filled the room with the creaking of the bed underneath.

"Oh.. yeah, just like that Toru..yeah..harder..I love you..m' so close.." You cling onto him, his words proving right as you could do nothing but dwindle down into the pleasurable mess he turned you into, you simply couldn't be mad at him for long. "See? Was that so difficult..? thaaat's it, fucking make a mess on your husband's cock..cum." The soft parting of your lips and the vice grip of your cunt made him almost roll his eyes back at your release.

Husband.

Your nails clawed the beefy mass of his arm, eyes in an outerwordly daze that made him fall for you even more if that was possible at all. Fuck. You were so beautiful to him, he'd make you angry and pound you like this like this all over again if it meant he got to see this visual again. He would never get used to it.

"Toru- mh..yeah.."

"Fuuuck..ha..I love you..M'sorry baby.." He slurred completely enamoured by you and heavenly cunt. Satoru felt his dick just twitch inside you when you told him you loved him, a spark buzzed through his head as if your declaration of love was the only salvation he needed, his confident voice now pleading and needy. He grunted, scooping up your legs from the calves to press your thighs to your chest, plunging into you in a mating press.

"I love you, I love you, I love you..fuuck! Fuck..!" He whimpered loudly, shamelessly while spelling out how he loved you, out so hopelessly. His hips gave in few sharp rams, burying himself deep with a single strong thrust, caulking you with his thick seed, his moans deep and guttural.

He didn't even bother pulling out, letting his weight be on top of yours snugly. He kissed you, with all tongue and teeth in languidity. The palpable tension in the room from earlier now replaced with the scent of sex, sweat, the gentle click sounds of lingering kisses. Satoru let out a deep huff, shifting his body next to yours with a plop on the bed before burying his face into your chest again, pressing damp kisses onto the swell of your breasts, exactly onto the spots where he marked you as his with pretty purple abrasions. His slender digits snaked down to spread apart your labia to watch his cum drop out of you. He always loved that debauched slight.

"If you being mad means I get to fuck you like this.. I'm getting you mad everyday.." He chuckled, blowing an air bubble on your skin. Idiot.

"Oh my god. I'm not fighting over the stupid remote again and stop calling yourself my husband—"

"Sorry for acting like that, it will happen again~" Ofcourse he had no remorse.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

m.list! ₊˚⊹ ʚɞ♡︎ ˚⋅.

[mcrdvcks]

i love you, always and forever ࿐‧₊ wanna see what's under that attitude

chapter summary: The kids try scaring Logan but fail at every turn. You come up with a new binder.

word count: 8.1k+

pairing: Logan Howlett x fem!reader

notes: like last chapter, this is pretty much mostly fluff. next chapter is where we ramp things up a bit :)

warnings/tags: reader wears glasses, fluff, slight angst, brief mentions of sex, slight scott slander (in a playful way...?)

series masterlist - chapter 10 → chapter 12

It was part infuriating and part upsetting. It’s not that the two of you never fought, you did, but it was usually about stupid things like Logan keeping his boots in the middle of the walkway, or you staying up late to finish grading papers.

After going to Jean’s lab to help her with a project, you went back to your classroom and found a cup of tea and a note.

“Sorry. Can I make it up to you? Love, your idiot husband.”

The note stayed on your desk longer than you intended. You read it again—Logan’s familiar scrawl, the self-deprecating humor tucked into his words. It was sweet, yes, but it didn’t entirely quell the lingering frustration from the fight last night.

Not that you could exactly pinpoint what the fight was about. It had started small, like they usually did, and spiraled into something heated before either of you realized it. Logan had been snappish, you’d been stubborn, and by the time the argument ended, you’d retreated to your classroom to prep for today’s lessons while Logan stomped off somewhere else.

Still, the tea on your desk—your favorite blend—was warm when you found it. And the note? It was peak Logan. Gruff but apologetic, with enough charm to make you start forgiving him before he even said the words.

You tucked the note into the front pocket of your notebook before starting class.

---

The rest of the day went smoothly enough. Your students were engaged, a few even managed to crack a joke that earned more than a polite smile from you. By the time the last class ended, you felt lighter, the earlier tension fading.

When you returned to your shared room, the sight stopped you in your tracks.

Logan had cleaned.

The scattered boots, flannel shirts, and that one stubborn pair of jeans that he left draped over the chair for weeks were all gone. The bed was made, the surfaces were wiped, and you could smell the faint scent of lemon from the cleaner he must have used.

You bit back a smile, crossing to your desk where even your papers had been neatly stacked. A small bouquet of wildflowers sat in a glass jar next to your lamp. They weren’t extravagant—just blooms he must’ve picked from the garden—but the thought behind them made your chest ache in the best way.

---

Dinner wasn’t just dinner—it was dessert.

When Jean intercepted you on your way to the kitchen, she barely contained her grin. “Don’t go in there yet,” she said, arms crossed as she leaned against the wall.

“Why not?” you asked, narrowing your eyes.

Jean just tilted her head, smirking. “Let’s call it a peace offering. Logan roped me into supervising.”

Your brows furrowed, but before you could press her for more details, the kitchen door swung open. Logan stood there, holding a tray with two small plates of molten chocolate cake. The edges were slightly uneven, but the rich scent of chocolate and caramel made your stomach flip.

“Dinner’s still cookin’,” he said, nodding toward the plates. “Figured this’d keep you happy ‘til then.”

Jean winked at you before slipping past Logan and disappearing down the hall.

You accepted the plate he handed you, raising an eyebrow. “You made this?”

“Well, Jean stopped me from burnin’ the place down, but yeah,” he admitted, smirking slightly.

You took a bite, the warm, gooey center melting on your tongue. “This is actually good,” you said after swallowing, and Logan chuckled.

“High praise, comin’ from you,” he teased, but there was no edge to his words.

---

Later that evening, you curled up in your favorite chair with a book, the day’s tension completely gone. Logan had been uncharacteristically subdued all evening, watching you with a quiet intensity that made you wonder if he was still waiting for you to forgive him fully.

When he finally approached, it wasn’t with words. He slipped the book from your hands and pulled you into his lap, his arms wrapping around your waist as he nuzzled into your shoulder.

“I’m sorry, darlin’,” he murmured, his voice low and soft.

You turned slightly to look at him, your fingers brushing the side of his face. “For what?”

“For bein’ an idiot,” he said, smirking faintly.

You laughed, resting your forehead against his. “I can’t even remember what the fight was about.”

Logan’s brows furrowed. “Somethin’ stupid, I’m sure.”

“Definitely stupid,” you agreed, a smile tugging at your lips.

He chuckled, the sound rumbling through his chest, and you felt it down to your bones. “Still. Shouldn’t’ve snapped at you.”

“You’re forgiven,” you said simply, leaning in to kiss him softly.

When you pulled back, his smirk returned, softer this time. “You’re too good to me, sweetheart.”

“Don’t forget it,” you teased, and the two of you laughed, the fight already forgotten as you melted into his embrace.

---

The two of you turned a corner as Theresa and Jones let out a “boo!” that startled you, making you yelp and grab Logan’s arm.

Logan, as always, didn’t have a reaction.

“Tess!”

The girl giggled, “sorry, Y/N! We were tryin’ to scare Logan.”

“Yeah, well, good luck with that.”

You shot a glance at Logan, who was, as always, unbothered by the kids’ antics. It wasn’t surprising—after all, he’d been through far worse than a couple of kids trying to scare him.

Theresa and Jones gave each other a glance and high-fived, clearly proud of their latest attempt. You, on the other hand, just rolled your eyes, though you couldn’t deny that their efforts did keep things interesting.

Kitty, Rogue, and Bobby weren’t far behind, each trying their own version of a surprise attack on Logan over the next few days. The thing was, Logan always managed to stay calm, unflinching. It was as if nothing phased him—not even the most elaborate scare attempts.

Kitty tried jumping out of a closet one afternoon, “Boo!” she yelled. Logan barely blinked.

“I’ll get you one of these days, Logan,” she muttered, walking off, her pride wounded.

Later, Bobby had hidden in the shadows near the kitchen, armed with a bucket of cold water. His grin was smug as he prepared for the perfect ambush.

But Logan never gave him the chance. As soon as Bobby moved to tip the bucket, Logan had already pivoted, his heightened senses picking up on his every move. A simple swipe of his hand sent the bucket flying, and Bobby got drenched.

“Next time, freeze yourself, Bobby,” Logan muttered, walking past him with a casual shrug. Bobby was too wet and too stunned to reply.

But it was Rogue who seemed most determined. She set up a whole contraption in the hallway, a series of loud noises, ropes, and traps designed to rattle Logan. The thing was, she had underestimated one key detail: Logan had been through far worse. Nothing in this mansion could surprise him anymore.

By the end of the week, you’d had enough of the spectacle. You overheard them planning yet another attempt—a clever one this time, involving wires, an old airhorn, and some poorly executed timing. It wasn’t exactly foolproof, but they seemed hopeful.

Curious, you made your way to the common room, hearing their hushed voices as you approached.

“We’re gonna get him this time. For sure,” Jones was saying, his voice filled with excitement.

“You just gotta set up the wires right, Bobby,” Rogue added, sounding slightly exasperated. “And remember, we hit the airhorn before he steps through the door. We time it perfectly, and he’ll jump outta his skin.”

Kitty added, “Yeah, and don’t forget the confetti—it's gotta be a show.”

You leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, catching their attention. “Really?”

They froze, like deer caught in headlights, before Bobby awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck. “Uh... yeah. We’re... we’re gonna scare Logan.”

You raised an eyebrow. “I’ll handle it.”

Jean, who had been nearby and overheard the conversation, gave you a look. “You? You’re gonna scare him?”

You shot her a playful smile. “You’ve all tried and failed, right? It’s my turn.”

The kids exchanged skeptical looks. “Okay, but if this goes horribly wrong—” Bobby began.

You just waved him off. “It won’t. Trust me.”

---

That night, you set your plan into motion. It wasn’t anything big or flashy—no confetti cannons or dramatic airhorns. Instead, it was something subtle but effective. You weren’t trying to make a scene; you just wanted to prove a point. If anyone could catch Logan off guard, it was you.

Logan was in the kitchen, rummaging in the fridge for a beer. His flannel was rolled up at the sleeves, and his usual gruff muttering filled the space as he searched. You leaned casually against the far wall, glasses perched on your nose, watching him.

With a quick glance over your shoulder to ensure that the kids were watching, you exhaled and concentrated. Time slowed, the air thickening like molasses, until the faint hum of the fridge faded to silence. You stepped lightly across the room, weaving through the paused world, until you were standing right behind Logan.

Unfreezing time with a soft snap, you waited.

“Need help finding someth—”

Logan whipped around so fast he nearly knocked the beer he’d just grabbed from the shelf. His eyes were wide, and for the briefest moment, you saw the flicker of instinct—the readiness for a fight.

“Jesus Christ, Y/N!” he growled, clutching the bottle like it might ground him. “What the hell?”

You crossed your arms, fighting back a grin. “What?”

“Where the hell did you come from?” He narrowed his eyes, scanning the room as if trying to piece together what he’d missed.

“I was here the whole time,” you said, feigning innocence.

Logan huffed, stepping back to give you a once-over. “Don’t lie to me, darlin’. You weren’t there a second ago.”

“Maybe you’re just not as sharp as you think,” you teased, tilting your head.

His scowl deepened, but there was something else behind it—a flicker of realization. “You froze time, didn’t you?”

You shrugged. “Prove it.”

Before Logan could respond, a burst of laughter erupted from the doorway. You turned to see Bobby, Kitty, and Rogue peeking in, their faces lit up with glee.

“We saw that!” Bobby crowed, doubling over. “You actually got him!”

Kitty clapped her hands, practically bouncing. “I can’t believe it! Logan never gets startled!”

Rogue leaned against the doorframe, smirking. “Guess the big bad Wolverine ain’t so unshakable after all.”

Logan groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You’re all a damn pain in my ass.”

“Oh, come on, Logan,” you said, patting his arm. “It’s not every day we get to see you speechless.”

“You think this is funny?” He glared at you, but there was no real heat behind it.

“A little,” you admitted, biting back a smile.

The kids continued laughing as Logan shot them a look that could’ve melted steel. “You’ve had your fun. Now get lost before I make you regret it.”

Bobby snickered but wisely ducked out, dragging Kitty and Rogue with him. “Totally worth it,” he muttered as they disappeared down the hall.

When they were gone, Logan turned back to you, his expression softening. “You know I’m gonna get you back for this, right?”

“Good luck,” you said, leaning up to kiss his cheek. “You’ll need it.”

He grunted, shaking his head with a smirk. “You’re somethin’ else, sweetheart.”

“Don’t forget it,” you said, grabbing the beer from his hand and taking a sip before walking off, leaving Logan standing there, muttering about how he’d never live this down.

---

The heat in the mansion quit working due to an ‘accident’ caused by Scott and Hank. This was the third day it was out, and everyone was freezing. Well, almost everyone.

Logan always ran hot, during the summer it was a curse to sleep in the same bed with him, tucked into his chest, but right now? Yeah, you can forgive him for holding you close when you were sweating in the summer nights.

The two of you were on the couch in the common area, with some of the other kids and adults trying to watch a movie and feel the heat from the small fireplace.

Your arms were wrapped around Logan’s waist under his jacket, and your face was pressed into his side, glasses sitting awkwardly on the bridge of your nose. His body heat was a gift, radiating through the layers of your clothes. You tilted your head slightly, looking up at him.

“You’re like a space heater,” you mumbled, voice muffled against his side.

Logan huffed a quiet laugh, his arm tightening around you. “Guess I’m good for somethin’, huh?”

Across the room, Scott was poking at the fireplace with a long iron rod, trying to coax the flames higher. Jean sat on the arm of the couch, balancing a mug of cocoa, while Bobby was busy freezing the edges of a blanket to stop Rogue from stealing it.

“Hey, Logan,” Bobby called, his breath visible in the cold air. “Why don’t you share some of that heat? You’re hogging it all.”

Logan shot him a glare, the kind that wasn’t entirely serious but still made Bobby hesitate. “Get your own,” he growled. “Ain’t my fault you can’t keep warm.”

“You’re so generous,” you teased, your breath making a small cloud as you spoke.

“Don’t start with me, sweetheart,” Logan muttered, though the corners of his mouth twitched. His hand rubbed small circles on your back, an unconscious gesture that made you sink deeper into his side.

Jean’s gaze shifted between the two of you, her lips quirking into a knowing smile. “You two look cozy.”

“Warmer than you,” you shot back without looking at her.

“Oh, absolutely,” she agreed, holding up her mug. “But at least I’ve got this.”

“You could just sit closer to the fire,” Logan suggested, not bothering to hide the sarcasm.

Jean raised an eyebrow. “And give up my prime seat for Scott’s endless fire-poking? No, thanks.”

Scott glanced over his shoulder, shaking his head. “It’s called keeping the fire alive, Jean.”

“It’s called annoying everyone within a ten-foot radius,” she countered with a grin.

You snorted softly, adjusting your glasses. The banter between the two of them was as familiar as Logan’s steady heartbeat under your cheek. Moments like this—small, quiet pockets of normalcy—were what you’d come to cherish most.

---

After another day of the cold, you had had enough. If Scott and Hank couldn’t fix their mess, you were going to have to do it yourself. You had layered on five thick layers of clothing, along with your gloves, beanie, and earmuffs. You weren't letting the freezing temperatures keep you from being warm and comfortable any longer.

The hallways in the mansion were unusually silent, and the only sound was the crunch of your boots on the frozen floor as you made your way to the furnace room. You were fully prepared to face this head-on, especially after Scott and Hank’s continued "lack of action" over the last few days. You weren’t sure what the problem was—Hank had said something about a malfunction and Scott was apparently trying to do some sort of "maintenance," but neither of them seemed to be getting anywhere.

It wasn’t the first time you’d had to step in and fix things—especially when it came to Scott. Sure, he had his good qualities, but there were times when he’d just... drag his feet on the simplest things, and you had no patience for it.

As you rounded the corner, there was Scott himself, bundled in a thick parka, kneeling on the ground next to the furnace. You sighed, already knowing exactly what he was going to say.

"Scott," you called, crossing your arms and raising an eyebrow, "you still haven't fixed this thing?"

He looked up, eyes wide behind his glasses. "Well, I—"

"You said you were going to fix it yesterday, and the day before that," you interrupted, a little too sharply. "It's been three days! You can't just keep poking at it and hoping it will magically work."

He immediately sat back on his heels, clearly taken aback by the annoyance in your tone. "I was going to get to it," he mumbled, but you could see the guilt on his face.

"Yeah, well, I’m tired of freezing my ass off," you snapped, though there was no real malice behind the words. "You know what? I’ll do it myself."

Before Scott could respond, you got to work. You could tell he wanted to argue, to defend himself, but this wasn’t the first time he’d been in this position. And at this point, it seemed like you were the only one who actually cared enough to do something.

A few minutes into working, you heard footsteps behind you. You glanced over your shoulder to see Logan and Jean standing there, both clearly curious.

"What’s going on?" Logan asked, his eyes narrowing as he saw you kneeling by the furnace with a wrench in hand.

"I’m fixing this," you said simply, still focused on the task at hand.

Jean grinned. "You mean Scott’s not doing it?"

"Looks like it," you said dryly, giving Scott a pointed look. "He’s been staring at it for three days."

Scott shot you a defensive look, but you weren’t having it. "I’ve been trying," he muttered.

"Trying, or pretending?" you retorted, twisting the wrench harder.

Logan stepped closer, his arms crossed over his chest, his usual smirk making an appearance. "You know, sweetheart," he said, glancing at Scott with an amused glint in his eyes. "I think it’s better you’re handling this. At least you won’t take three days to get it done."

You huffed a laugh, then rolled your eyes at Scott’s defeated expression. "You’re lucky I’m even doing this. You know, I was going to let you do it, but it seems like that would take a lot longer than I have patience for."

Scott sighed dramatically. "I was going to fix it!"

"Yeah, in another year or two," you muttered, now tightening the last bolt.

"How much longer is this going to take?" Jean asked, raising an eyebrow, clearly amused by the little scene unfolding.

"Five more minutes," you said, your tone flat as you focused on finishing up.

"Should’ve just let her handle it from the start," Logan teased, looking at Scott. "But hey, now you’ve learned something for next time, right?"

Scott grumbled something under his breath, but said nothing more.

Finally, you stood up, wiping your hands on your thick layers, a small sense of pride swelling inside you. "There. Done. You’re welcome."

Jean raised her cup, a teasing smile playing on her lips. "Nice job, Y/N. But did you have to do it like this?"

You shot her a sidelong glance, lifting your eyebrows. "Your husband is an idiot. You should really do something about that."

Scott groaned, rubbing his temples. "I was going to fix it, okay? Just... give me a break."

Logan chuckled, leaning against the wall. "You were going to fix it, huh? For someone who was going to do it, you sure did a good job of standing around."

Scott shot him a glare, but Logan was too busy enjoying the moment to care. "Don’t worry, Scott. Next time, just leave it to Y/N. She gets things done."

Jean rolled her eyes, but there was a fondness in her voice when she spoke. "You know, I’m pretty sure I told you to fix this a week ago."

"I know, I know," Scott muttered, now looking slightly embarrassed. "I’m not proud of it."

Logan chuckled again, giving you an approving look. "Well, sweetheart, it looks like you've done more in five minutes than Scott did in three days. Nice work."

You shook your head, fighting a smile. "I swear, you’re all so predictable."

Jean raised an eyebrow at Scott. "Guess I know who I’m asking next time."

Scott sighed dramatically again, as if defeated. "Yeah, yeah. You can ask Y/N next time. I get it."

You chuckled, crossing your arms as you turned to head back to the common room. "Glad I could help. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to enjoy the heat I fixed."

Logan followed you with a smirk, hands in his pockets as he watched you walk away, amused by the whole exchange. "You’re somethin’ else, darlin’. You know that?"

You shot him a side-eye, your lips curling into a grin. "Don’t forget it."

The sound of Scott and Jean’s bickering faded behind you as you walked back inside, warmth finally returning to the mansion, and with it, a slight sense of satisfaction that maybe, just maybe, you were the one who kept things running.

---

Your new binder was different than your previous ones. Instead of it being pregnancy related it was completely relationship related.

Nothing was wrong with your marriage, far from it, just sometimes you feel like you… need a little help being affectionate. Logan seems to do it effortlessly and you overthink everything.

Which is why you had spent the last 2 months researching and putting everything into your binder, complete with tabs, highlights, and annotations.

Of course it was just for you. A guide if you will.

The binder sat neatly on your nightstand, innocuous to anyone else who might happen upon it. But to you, it was a treasure trove of ideas, strategies, and research on how to show affection—subtly, purposefully, and in ways that didn’t make you overthink everything. It wasn’t that you had a problem with affection or PDA. No, you didn’t mind being close to Logan or holding his hand when others were around. The problem was initiating it. That little voice in the back of your head would second-guess every move: Does he want this? Am I overstepping? Am I doing this right?

Logan, on the other hand, was a natural. He didn’t hesitate to grab your hand or pull you into his lap during movie nights. He kissed you in front of others without a care, and when he called you those pet names it sounded like it belonged to you and only you. He made it look easy—effortless, even. You wanted to match that, to give back as much as he gave, but your shyness and tendency to overanalyze sometimes got in the way.

Hence, the binder.

It wasn’t just any binder—it was meticulously organized. Each section was labeled with a handwritten tab: "Physical Touch," "Words of Affirmation," "Small Gestures," and even "Spontaneity." You’d spent weeks filling it with ideas, things you’d read, and even notes on what Logan liked. It was your secret weapon, and while you hadn’t exactly put it to the test yet, you felt more prepared.

---

Logan knew about the binder. How could he not? You weren’t completely subtle—leaving tabs open on your laptop, jotting notes in the margins of books he’d catch you reading, or the one time you left the binder wide open on the bed after getting distracted by a shower.

That day, Logan had walked into the room, ready to drop onto the bed after a long training session with the kids, only to stop short at the sight of your meticulously organized binder. Curiosity won out over respect for your privacy as he glanced at the open page.

At first glance, he thought it was one of your usual hyper-organized projects—another guide like the one you’d made for his motorcycle a while back. That one had been impressive, filled with diagrams, troubleshooting steps, and even a list of tools he might need. It had been so thorough it almost made him laugh, but he’d appreciated it. You always had a knack for diving deep into anything you set your mind to, and it showed in the way you approached every problem or idea.

But this binder was different. The tabs caught his attention first: Physical Touch, Words of Affirmation, Small Gestures, and Spontaneity. He frowned slightly, curiosity getting the better of him as his eyes skimmed the open page.

It only took a few seconds for him to realize what it was. A guide. For him. Well, not exactly for him—more like for you. A guide on how to be affectionate.

At first, it made him smirk. The idea of you, you, needing a manual to show affection seemed almost ridiculous. From where he stood, you were already the most thoughtful, caring person he’d ever met. You didn’t need a binder to prove that.

But as he looked closer, the smirk faded. The notes scrawled in the margins, the careful highlights, and the tiny hearts here and there—this wasn’t some casual project. This was you, trying your hardest to give as much as you thought he gave to you. And that hit him right in the chest.

Logan sat down heavily on the edge of the bed, the binder still in front of him. He let out a long breath, rubbing a hand over his jaw.

You didn’t need to try so hard. Hell, you didn’t need to try at all.

The truth was, he’d seen you make gestures more meaningful than any grand romantic moment he could think of. The whiskey you gave him for your anniversary, aged for five years because you thought that far ahead. The way you’d ask, shy and hesitant, if you could trim his hair or beard, like it wasn’t the most intimate thing in the world. Or how you’d spend hours in the kitchen, making him dinner or baking something sweet, even though you never made a big deal about it.

You were affectionate. You just didn’t see it.

Logan closed the binder carefully and set it back on the nightstand. He leaned back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling, his mind whirring.

Later that evening, when you walked into the room, Logan was sitting in his usual spot on the bed, a book in one hand. He glanced up as you entered, a little smile tugging at his lips.

“Hey,” you said, giving him a small smile as you slipped off your shoes.

“Hey, darlin’.” He set the book down, watching you move around the room. You seemed oblivious to the fact that he’d seen your binder earlier.

After a moment, he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Been meanin’ to ask you somethin’.”

You froze slightly, looking at him with wide eyes. “What is it?”

Logan’s grin softened. “That binder you’ve been workin’ on…”

Your face went pale. “What binder?”

“The one with all the tabs and notes,” he said casually, leaning back against the headboard. “The one about… affection.”

You groaned, pressing your hands to your face. “You weren’t supposed to see that.”

“Too late,” he said, chuckling. He reached out, catching one of your wrists and tugging you gently toward him. “Come here.”

Reluctantly, you let him pull you into his lap, your cheeks still burning. “It’s not what you think,” you mumbled.

“Uh-huh,” he said, his voice warm with amusement. “You made a damn binder about us, sweetheart. I think I know exactly what it is.”

You squirmed slightly, trying to hide your embarrassment, but he held you steady, his arms wrapping around you. “Listen,” he said, his tone softening. “You don’t need a guide for this stuff.”

You looked up at him, your brows furrowed. “I just… I overthink everything. You’re so good at it—being affectionate, I mean. It’s easy for you.”

Logan tilted his head, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “You think I don’t overthink things? Darlin’, half the time, I’m just wingin’ it.”

You blinked, surprised. “You are?”

“Yeah,” he said, brushing a strand of hair out of your face. “But you? You do things that blow me away without even tryin’. Like that whiskey you gave me. Or when you ask to trim my beard—do you know how much I look forward to that?”

You opened your mouth to protest, but he silenced you with a kiss, his lips lingering against yours for a moment before he pulled back. “You don’t need to try so hard. I already know how much you care.”

For a moment, you just stared at him, your heart full and your cheeks warm. “You really mean that?”

Logan smirked, his hands sliding down to rest on your hips. “I mean it. But if you wanna keep the binder, I won’t stop ya. But maybe you could do some research on… something else.”

Your cheeks warmed instantly, and you looked away, fiddling with the hem of his shirt. “Logan…”

“Hm?” His fingers lightly drummed against your hip as he leaned back, his gaze fixed on you with an amused glint.

You avoided his eyes, focusing intently on the fabric between your fingers. “I, uh…” you mumbled, barely audible, “had to put it in another binder.”

Logan stilled for a moment before a low chuckle rumbled from his chest. “Another binder?” His smirk widened, and you could feel it without even looking at him. “Well, now you’ve got me curious, darlin’.”

Before you could stop him, Logan reached over toward your nightstand.

“Logan, wait!” You grabbed his wrist, your voice more desperate than you intended.

His head tilted, a playful grin spreading across his face. “Unless what, sweetheart?”

You sighed, your face burning as you kept your hold on his wrist. “Unless… unless you’d rather not know,” you mumbled.

“Oh, now that’s just cruel,” Logan teased, leaning closer until you had no choice but to meet his eyes. His voice dropped lower, gravelly and teasing. “You’ve been hidin’ a second binder from me? I’m startin’ to feel left out.”

“Logan…” You groaned again, burying your face in his chest.

He laughed, wrapping his arms around you as he leaned back against the headboard. “C’mon, Y/N. I ain’t gonna bite. Unless you want me to,” he added with a wink, making you swat at him lightly.

“It’s not—it’s not what you’re thinking,” you said quickly.

“Oh, yeah? Then what is it?”

You hesitated, your face still pressed against him. “Just… research. That’s all.”

“Uh-huh,” Logan drawled, clearly enjoying your embarrassment. “Research about…?”

You stayed silent, your fingers gripping his shirt tightly.

Logan leaned down, his lips brushing against your ear as he murmured, “Darlin’, you know I’m not lettin’ this go.”

You groaned again, reluctantly pulling back just enough to look up at him. “It’s about… you know what it’s about!”

Logan raised an eyebrow, his smirk deepening. “Darlin’, if I knew, I wouldn’t be askin’. Now spit it out before I get the wrong idea.”

“It’s—it’s personal, okay?” You pushed your glasses further up your nose and squirmed slightly in his lap, the mortification nearly unbearable. “It’s just research. For us. About…” You sighed, the words dying in your throat.

Logan’s teasing grin softened as he studied you. “About what?”

He wasn’t letting this go—not because he was trying to embarrass you, but because he wanted to know. Logan didn’t pry unless it mattered. And right now, it mattered to him.

“About… that,” you whispered, motioning vaguely at him with one hand.

Logan tilted his head, the dots connecting in an instant. A low chuckle rumbled in his chest. “That, huh? We’re talkin’ about sex?”

You groaned again, burying your face in his shoulder. “Yes, Logan,” you mumbled against his flannel, “we’re talking about sex.”

His laughter was warm, not mocking, and his hand ran comfortingly up and down your back. “Darlin’, you’ve got a binder… for sex?”

“It’s not like that!” you protested, lifting your head just enough to glare at him. “It’s not just… sex. It’s ideas, okay? And… you know… different kinds of… sex.” Your voice trailed off as if you were praying for the bed to swallow you whole.

Logan’s lips twitched, a smirk fighting to break free. His hand, still resting against your waist, gave a reassuring squeeze. “Different kinds of sex?” he repeated, his tone equal parts curious and teasing.

“Don’t make me explain it,” you mumbled, shifting uncomfortably in his lap, your glasses slipping slightly down your nose. You pushed them back up, avoiding his eyes.

Logan chuckled, the sound deep and warm in his chest. “Darlin’, you made a whole damn binder about it. Kinda feels like you owe me an explanation now.”

“Logan,” you groaned, pressing a hand against his chest. “It’s not—okay, fine. It’s just… research.” You sighed in defeat, giving in to his unrelenting stare. “While I was working on the first binder—about affection—I came across all these articles. They were talking about keeping relationships… fresh or whatever.”

Logan raised a brow, his smirk widening. “Fresh, huh?”

You huffed, the words spilling out faster now. “It’s not like we need that, obviously! I just thought it was interesting. Like… there’s so much information about the benefits of intimacy and… you know… other stuff.”

Logan stayed quiet for a moment, watching you with an expression you couldn’t quite place. Then he reached up, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. His hand lingered, fingers brushing lightly against your cheek. “So, you went down a rabbit hole and decided to make a sex binder.”

“You’re impossible,” you muttered, trying to hide your face again, but his grip shifted to gently cradle your jaw.

“Hey,” he said softly, his thumb brushing your cheek. “I’m not makin’ fun of you, sweetheart. You know that, right?”

You hesitated, nodding slowly. “I know.”

“I just… I gotta ask.” His tone took on a playful edge again, but his eyes were kind. “Did you highlight stuff?”

You groaned again, louder this time, and Logan’s laughter filled the room. “Stop it!”

“I’m serious!” He was grinning now, his arms pulling you closer. “Did you? Little notes in the margins, maybe a color-coded system?”

You swatted at his chest, but your lips betrayed you with the ghost of a smile. “I’m never letting you see it. Ever.”

“Aw, c’mon,” Logan said, his hands sliding down to your hips. “You’ve got me all curious now.”

“It’s not meant for you,” you insisted, though your voice lacked conviction. “It’s… it’s just for me.”

Logan leaned back slightly, studying you with a mix of amusement and admiration. “You know, you don’t have to try so hard, right? With anything.”

“I know,” you admitted softly, your gaze dropping to the space between you. “It’s just how I am. I like being prepared.”

Logan’s grin softened, his eyes warm. “You’re already more than enough, Y/N. Binder or no binder.”

A warm flush crept up your neck, and you tried to shrug it off. “Maybe. But it doesn’t hurt to be extra prepared.”

“Guess I can’t argue with that,” Logan said with a chuckle, pressing a kiss to your temple. “But for the record, darlin’, I think we’re doin’ just fine.”

You couldn’t help but smile as you rested your forehead against his chest. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He wrapped his arms securely around you, his voice dipping to a near whisper. “But if you wanna share any ideas from that binder, I’m all ears.”

“Logan!�� Your laugh was soft but genuine as you swatted him again. He only chuckled, holding you close and dropping a kiss to your hair.

“Relax, sweetheart. I’m just teasin’,” he murmured, though there was a glint of mischief in his eyes. “Kinda.”

“Unbelievable,” you muttered, but the smile stayed on your face.

Logan smirked, letting you settle comfortably in his lap. “What can I say? You keep things… fresh.”

---

Logan stood behind you, his strong arms draped loosely around your shoulders as you both hovered near the bathroom counter. The soft hum of the mansion in the distance made the quiet between you even more intimate. You toyed with the pastel swirl of the bath bomb in your hand, letting its light weight roll across your palm as the faint scent of lavender and citrus teased the air.

Logan’s chin rested on top of your head as he glanced at the colorful sphere. “You’re tellin’ me this thing’s supposed to do somethin’ magical in water?”

A smile tugged at your lips, your fingers tightening slightly around the bath bomb as you tried not to laugh at his skepticism. “Not magical, just… fun. Jean gave it to me,” you murmured, tilting your head back to look up at him.

His dark eyes flicked down to meet yours, softened in a way most people never saw. “Well, if Jean says it’s good, I’m not gonna argue. You trust her taste more than I trust it.”

You laughed softly, leaning into his chest. “She said it would be relaxing,” you said. “And, to be honest… I thought you’d enjoy it too.”

One of Logan’s eyebrows quirked. “I enjoy baths, darlin’, but I ain’t ever thought about tossin’ a candy ball into one.”

You nudged him lightly, your shyness waning just a little under the bubble of his warm presence. “It’s not a candy ball! Just… watch.”

With that, you slipped out of his hold briefly to kneel by the edge of the tub. The still, warm water reflected faint ripples across the bathroom walls. You turned the bath bomb over in your hand once, the little ridges of its pastel swirl tickling your palm. Then, with one last glance back at Logan, you dropped it into the water.

The reaction was instantaneous. A quiet fizzing sound bubbled into the air as the ball began to spin, leaving a kaleidoscope trail of purple, pink, and yellow hues in its wake. A soft floral-citrus scent filled the room. You looked up at Logan, whose sharp expression had morphed into one of genuine curiosity.

“Huh,” he muttered, kneeling next to you and dipping a roughened hand into the water. “Didn’t expect all that.”

You grinned, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “See? Magical,” you teased gently.

Logan’s smirk returned, his wet fingers brushing against your wrist. “Well, I’ve had my share of magic over the years, but this is new. You wanna take it together?” His voice held the gruff warmth that never failed to settle your nerves.

You nodded, cheeks warm as you stood. His hands ghosted to your waist to steady you as you slipped off your robe, leaving only your glasses perched delicately on your nose. Logan shed his own clothes quickly, his usual efficiency softened as he reached for you.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” he murmured, stepping into the colorful water before holding out a hand to help you in. “You’ve officially sold me on this… thing.”

Once the water embraced you both, you leaned back against his chest, your shy hesitance melting into the warmth of his touch and the soothing swirl of colors around you. Logan’s arms wrapped protectively around your waist, his hand finding yours underwater and giving it a gentle squeeze.

“This is nice,” he admitted after a long moment, his voice a low rumble near your ear.

You hummed in agreement, adjusting your glasses slightly as they fogged. “Told you,” you whispered, a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips.

Logan’s mouth pressed to your temple, lingering there as his thumb traced lazy circles over the back of your hand. “Don’t think I ever needed bath bombs, but if it gets me this? I’ll take all the candy balls you can find.”

You laughed softly, warmth spreading through your chest, not from the bath but from the rare, unguarded tenderness in his words. For a moment, you closed your eyes, letting yourself exist in the colorful, fragrant water and the strong, steady hold of the man who always remembered you.

---

It didn’t matter at this moment that you had flour on your apron, possibly on your face, or that this is your 4th attempt at making the choux correctly. You were going to win the baking contest this year.

For 4 years straight you had won the contest, a little competition that the team set up to go along with the student talent show, but the past 4 years you lost.

What made it worse was that you lost to Hank of all people last year.

And though Jean had won the other 3 years, you weren’t going to let that happen again.

Logan leaned against the kitchen doorway, his arms crossed and an amused smirk tugging at his lips as he watched you meticulously pipe custard into cream puffs. The counters were a chaotic mess of flour, powdered sugar, and tools, with a faint scent of caramel lingering in the air. Your glasses slid down the bridge of your nose, but you didn’t stop to adjust them, too focused on perfecting the next puff.

“You know,” Logan drawled, his gravelly voice cutting through the soft hum of the radio, “I’ve seen you in a lot of situations over the years. Didn’t think I’d ever see this side of you.”

You glanced up briefly, brushing a strand of hair away with the back of your hand. “What side is that?” you asked, your tone a mix of distracted and determined.

“The cutthroat competitor,” he replied, pushing off the doorway and stepping closer. “You’re actin’ like you’re tryin’ to win the damn Olympics, not a bake-off.”

You let out a soft laugh, finally pausing to push your glasses up your nose. “It’s not just a bake-off,” you said, your voice tinged with mock offense. “It’s the bake-off. I’ve lost four years in a row, Logan. Four. And Hank beat me last year. Hank!”

Logan chuckled, shaking his head. “So what’s the plan, darlin’? Intimidate ‘em with your… what is this thing called again?”

“Croquembouche,” you said, your tone proud. “It’s a French dessert. A tower of cream puffs held together with caramel. It’s supposed to look impressive.”

Logan raised an eyebrow, leaning on the counter to peer at your progress. “Impressive, huh? Looks like a lot of work for somethin’ that’s just gonna get eaten.”

You shot him a playful glare. “It’s not just about eating it. It’s about presentation, creativity, skill—”

“And your pride,” Logan interrupted with a teasing smirk.

You sighed, shaking your head but smiling despite yourself. “Fine, maybe a little bit. But it’s more than that. Jean’s won three times, and I love her, but I’m not letting her win again.”

Logan leaned closer, his smirk softening into a fond smile. “Didn’t know you had this much fight in you about somethin’ like this. You’re usually so…” He hesitated, searching for the right word.

“So what?” you prompted, turning to face him fully, your hands resting on your flour-dusted apron.

“Calm. Reserved,” he said with a shrug. “Not the type to get worked up over a contest.”

You tilted your head, feeling your cheeks warm under his gaze. “Well, maybe it’s because I know I can win this. I just… haven’t yet.”

Logan reached out, brushing a stray bit of flour from your cheek with his thumb. “I like seein’ you like this. Fire in your belly suits you.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, and you quickly turned back to your cream puffs to hide your flustered expression. “If you’re not here to help, you’re just in the way,” you said, trying to sound stern but failing to hide the smile in your voice.

Logan chuckled, moving to stand beside you. “Alright, tell me what to do. But if you make me use one of those fancy piping bags, I’m out.”

You handed him a small saucepan instead. “You can stir the caramel. Just… don’t let it burn.”

He took the pan and nodded, his expression serious. “Got it, boss.”

As the two of you worked side by side, the tension in your shoulders eased, replaced by the familiar comfort of Logan’s presence. He didn’t tease you much after that, instead offering quiet support as you assembled the tower, his large hands steadying the base while you carefully added each cream puff.

When the croquembouche was finally complete, you stepped back to admire your work. The golden caramel glistened under the kitchen lights, holding the delicate tower together with intricate threads.

“Well?” you asked, glancing at Logan. “What do you think?”

He crossed his arms, tilting his head as if appraising a fine piece of art. “Looks like a winner to me, darlin’.”

You smiled, the warmth in his voice melting away any lingering doubt. “Thanks, Logan.”

He reached out, slipping an arm around your waist and pulling you close. “Don’t need some contest to know you’re the best, but I’ll admit… this thing’s pretty damn impressive.”

You leaned into him, resting your head against his chest. “I’m glad you think so. Now, let’s hope the judges agree.”

Logan pressed a kiss to the top of your head, his voice soft. “They’d better. Otherwise, they’re gonna have to answer to me.”

---

The judges were seated at a long, makeshift panel in the mansion’s common room, where the baking contest had been set up. Charles, as always, presided over the event with an air of calm authority. Beside him, Rogue and Bobby whispered back and forth, clearly enjoying themselves, while Scott sat at the far end, arms crossed but watching intently. A whiteboard behind them displayed the competitors’ names—Jean, Hank, Ororo, and you—with empty spaces awaiting scores.

You stood near your carefully crafted croquembouche, nerves buzzing. The caramel-glazed tower gleamed under the room's lights, every puff perfectly placed. Logan lingered just behind you, arms crossed, his presence grounding despite the mischief in his smirk.

“Alright, who’s up first?” Charles asked, his voice carrying a hint of amusement as he glanced at the assembled desserts.

“I’ll go,” Jean volunteered, her tone casual but confident. She wheeled forward a stunning cake decorated with delicate sugar flowers. It was classic Jean—graceful and precise.

You exchanged a glance with Logan. “Of course she’d make something perfect,” you murmured, adjusting your glasses nervously.

Logan leaned closer, his voice low. “Perfect’s overrated, darlin’. Ain’t got half the heart yours does.”

You shot him a grateful smile, feeling your cheeks warm. Jean finished her presentation, earning nods of approval from the judges. Then it was Hank’s turn. He unveiled a surprisingly elegant chocolate soufflé, its rich aroma wafting through the room.

“Hank,” you muttered under your breath, watching him with narrowed eyes. “Where was that finesse last year?”

Logan chuckled. “He’s tryin’ to rattle you. Don’t let him.”

Ororo went next, presenting a tray of intricately decorated éclairs that practically sparkled under the lights. By the time it was your turn, your nerves were frayed, but Logan’s hand briefly brushed your back, steadying you.

“You’ve got this,” he murmured.

You stepped forward, your croquembouche balanced on a cake stand. “This is a croquembouche,” you began, clearing your throat. “It’s a traditional French dessert made of cream puffs and caramel. I, uh, thought it’d be... memorable.”

Bobby leaned forward, eyes wide. “Whoa, did you make all those little puffs yourself?”

You nodded, pushing your glasses up your nose. “Every single one.”

Rogue whistled softly. “Looks like a lot of work.”

“It was,” you admitted, glancing at Logan, who gave you an encouraging nod. “But I wanted to challenge myself.”

Charles smiled warmly. “Well, it’s certainly impressive. Let’s see how it tastes.”

You carefully dismantled part of the tower, handing plates of cream puffs to the judges. Logan stood just behind you, his presence steady and reassuring. As the judges sampled your work, you held your breath.

“This is incredible,” Rogue said, her voice muffled by a mouthful of pastry.

Scott, ever the critic, nodded slowly. “The caramel’s a little sticky, but the flavor’s perfect.”

Bobby gave you a thumbs-up. “Best one so far.”

You let out a small sigh of relief, turning to Logan. “Think that’s enough to beat Hank?”

Logan smirked, leaning down to whisper, “Not even a contest, sweetheart.”

When the scores were tallied, your croquembouche stood victorious. The room erupted in applause, and you felt a wave of pride wash over you. Jean clapped you on the shoulder, her smile warm. “Guess I’ll have to step up my game next year.”

Hank grumbled good-naturedly. “I demand a rematch.”

Logan pulled you into a brief hug, his voice low in your ear. “Told you you’d win.”

You laughed softly, leaning into him. “Thanks for being my sous chef.”

“Anytime, darlin’,” he said, his eyes full of warmth. “But next year, you’re on your own with those candy balls.”

i kinda messed up the timeline a bit here so this is part 2011/part 2012