#like he was a dog that had a tendency to bite

[paperstarwriters]

to Hear, to Feel, to Know

Inspired by @muletia’s Obsessed Optimus fanfics—they just so so so so good!! The yearning, the ill-buried desire, Optimus chaining himself in place like some dog with a biting problem when all he wants to do is love you???? OUAGH so so good!!

Asdfghjkl I wanna try my own hand at a fic looking at Optimus’s tendency towards obsession in love, but for now, I’ve been thinking about Optimus as a bot who tends to listen….

Pairing: Optimus Prime x Reader

Warnings: n/a

Summary: Optimus is a bot who's exceptionally good at listening. What he likes listening to most of all though, is you.

Masterlist | Transformers Masterlist

Word count: 1,106

───♡-♥-♡-♥-♡-♥-♡───

There was no denying that Optimus had a keen eye, and an even keener attention. His ability to promptly decipher texts based on key words or phrases allowing him to understand the greater picture from his days as an archivist served to train him well in noticing patterns of behaviour if he focused his attention on it. The ongoing war certainly helped as well, forcing him to zero in on what would allow them to survive. Forcefully training his eye to fall to keep points in any battle field.

And yet as trained as his eyes were, Optimus was always keen to listen.

Or perhaps absorbing was a better comparison. How despite being a leader, despite giving commands, Optimus was almost always better suited to listening to the people around him. The information that they shared, the feelings they expressed. Ratchet always used to say he would make for a much kinder medic than he if he took a role in that field. Perhaps it could have served him even better as a leader, but there was little he could change through the tides of time.

It’s why he clings to these things, saving them in the event that one day they may save him. From another attack or another encounter with Megatron, to even a stretch of boredom or loneliness.

It is why he clings to your every word.

Why he loves it when you sit atop his shoulder. So close to his helm, it is as if you’re speaking directly into his processor, filling his thoughts with your words—your delights, your frustrations, your sorrows, your needs. A direct feed like some constant supply of energon into his lines.

Both, he supposed would make his spark stutter a bit.

Ah, just thinking about it brings to mind the many times you’ve pressed yourself against his audial, leaning against his helm or purposely cupping his audials as you whispered sweet words his way, words for him and him alone, a gift sweeter than any energon could ever be.

You didn’t even have to be saying something sweet. Scathing secrets and vicious critiques against some other’s back from the mistreatment you received in the hands of a cruel stranger or an even crueler co-worker, or even some coy remark against a teammate, the fact that you chose to whisper your words to him—to confide your secrets and burning emotions to his audials.

Even being chosen as a Prime was a lesser honour than this.

But perhaps the thing he enjoys listening to most, though your every word delights him and your laughter makes his spark feel so light it might burst from his chest, the sound Optimus likes best it’s the soft thud of your heartbeat and the whisper of your breath.

He recalls when he first heard the sound, mass displaced at your request as you showed to him your beating heart after he showed you his whirring spark.

There is meaning to the action, to show one’s spark to the other, but Optimus felt he need not explain it to you, knowing full well you wouldn’t be able to return the gesture.

And yet somehow you did.

Even if you could not pull back the viscera from your chest the way he did the plates of his chassis, you brought his helm to your chest, pressed his audial against you, and implored him to listen.

And he did.

In the caverns of your chest, Optimus heard as air filled your lungs, swelling with every breath you took, and for a moment he mistook that steady beat for an abnormal twitch, until you began to explain.

“That’s my heart.” You had told him. “The ‘thud-thud, thud-thud, thud-thud’.”

And pressing just a bit harder, Optimus stilled his fans to listen to the faint beat.

And he heard it.

Loud against his audial the drum of your heart pounded against your chest like an insistent knock, or the demands of a captive begging to be freed.

Though perhaps that’s just wistful thinking.

He hears it in his full form sometimes, when you lean your back against his helm or when you cling to his audial in a moment of fear or excitement. A gentle faint rhythm, that sings that you’re alive.

He wishes some days that it would accompany him in his berth, as he lies under the midnight silence hounded by the whispers and wails of the dead of the living he must fight, of the humans he’d never know. They all rattle and sob frying his processor as he starves himself of a proper recharge, but then, some days he hears something this in the base. Perhaps it’s his own movement, perhaps something falls—once even it was the rumble and stroke of thunder and lightning overhead. All the same, it brings to his mind the thump of your heartbeat, and like a spring being unwound, he replays your words in his head. Every praise, every sweet word, every secret you’d give him. Your smile your laughter, your delight and glee he’d play them all over and over in his processor, lingering on the compliments you’d direct his way, every smile you’d make when your eyes met his.

All with the background theme of your heart singing its little song of life, your every breath an instrument to the symphony.

You were here, you were alive, you were with him.

Ah, but sometimes those moments stung worse than the wailing dead.

You were not here with him now, and all he had was the echo of your heartbeat. If he could hum its melody he would, but the sound doesn't comply with his voice box. Still he taps it out with a digit sometimes or a pede even, a little reminder of a precious tune.

He hasn’t had the chance to listen to your heart again. To mass displace and press his head against your chest, to listen to that sound, and maybe listen to you speak as he follows the gentle beat. He hopes one day he might get the chance. He hopes one day to tell you what it means when one shows the other their spark.

One day, he dreams, he’d tell you what it meant, and you’d smile, perhaps in rapt delight, perhaps shyly, but you’d open your arms to him and allow him to listen once more, let him listen as he lets you watch his glowing spark.

Until then, he basks in what he can get, faint as it is against his full form, listening to the soft beat of your heart, feeling you warm and pressed against him, resting assured in the knowledge that you were here, you were alive.

[yourheartinyourmouth]

in my experience, what they actually mean when they say that, and the reason they say it as a compliment, is “wow, you’re not an offputting freak like i was expecting you to be! you’re actually a person!”

and that’s why they say it as a compliment. they were expecting either an empty husk, which is how they see nonverbal/intellectually/physically disabled autistics, or an unwashed creep with a fixation on anime girls and MLP, which is what they think most autistics are, or Rain Man, which is their perception of verbal intellectually disabled autistics.

in any case, what it really means is “i didn’t expect you to be a human being like me.”

I hate it when Neurotypicals are like “you don’t SEEM autistic”, because what they’re really saying is “you don’t fit into my preconceived idea of what autism is”. And the worst part is, they think that’s a compliment!

[nochepsicodelica]

Toji who got really drunk after a misunderstanding you left him to ponder upon one morning when you left for work. You missed a part of your routinely goodbye to him and at first it didn't bother him. He understood that you were running late, but once he started chugging the cold drinks and he sat with the sentiment, he realized it did strike him.

He hated the entire process of getting drunk, hated that drinking was unbearable unless it was chased with sweet kisses from you, but there he was, downing bottle after bottle. He was starting to feel liquid full but even in this intoxicated state he didn't want to put down the bottles. At some point he starting feeling uncomfortable being by himself and didn't want to feel that way anymore, so he called and texted you. Multiple times. You finally picked up after the eighth call.

-Hi, baby! Sorry, I missed your calls. I just left work and i'm heading home.-

-Baby? Who are you calling baby?- He scoffs, a roll of his eyes following.

-You... Toji. It's you. Who else would I be calling baby?-

-Honestly, I...- He laughs, the sound not coming off as one of joy with the next words he speaks. -I didn't think you even loved me enough to give me stupid pet names. I feel very unloved by you and... mhm, just want you to know that.-

Now, that's just entirely untrue and it hurts to hear. You prove your love for him every day. What is this sudden false claim against you?

-Toji, love, what are you saying? I'm coming home, already. Maybe we should talk in person. This is hard to discuss over the phone.-

-Uh-huh, you do that.- He sighs, heavily, his eyes lidding with sluggishness. -Can't win a verbal argument, s-so you're gonna come over here and try to seduce me with your pretty face. I'm just gonna say no when you try to touch me. Just no.-

-I'll see you in a bit, Toji.- you say, before abruptly hanging up.

He sounded off. You knew something was up the second you saw his eight missed calls and a stack of messages just saying 'hey'.

Your keys jingled as you pulled them out of your bag to unlock the front door. The house was steady, no sign of Toji watching TV in the living room or of the shower running. You walked further in, calling his name. It was kind of eery walking through your silent house. You also knew of Toji's tendency of scaring you, so you were on guard for that as you paced around the house. You had one more room to check and it was the bedroom. You dragged your feet over to the room, knocking when you noticed the door was closed. There was no answer after two more knocks so you just opened the door.

The sound startled Toji who was lying against the headboard of the bed, almost falling asleep. The second he saw you his demeanor changed. He perked up like a dog when their owner comes home, before melting back to the stoic state he had been sitting in.

"Hey," you say, almost tentatively, as you walk towards your shared bed, sitting down on the edge. You're met with an acknowledging hum of a response. "What's wrong, baby?"

"There you go calling me baby again. Baby is for people who love each other, so stop it."

You look over the bed, spotting the evidence that led to the bite in his attitude towards you— those bottles that spill the remaining drops of their content and Toji's backwash onto the bed, making the sheets reek of alcohol.

"Well, I love you, so no, i'm not gonna stop calling you baby."

He crosses his arms over his chest, huffing like a child. "That so? It didn't seem that way this morning. I've never felt so forgotten about by you."

"I told you I was gonna be late for work, but you insisted on keeping me trapped beneath you. Bring that part to light, handsome." You can see the corners of his lips twitching. He's holding back the most wicked smirk at the short burst of memories from the morning. "Plus, I still gave you your goodbye kiss, so what are you on about?"

"You didn't say 'I love you'. That's part of goodbye with you, so you can't blame me for feeling this way." His eyes express something of hurt. Maybe it's enhanced by the drinks he had, but you can't leave him that way.

"You're loved, baby. Very much so. Me not saying it this one time doesn't diminish the actual feeling." He's been reduced to a cub over this, so as his lover, you step in to mend the feelings that were grazed.

"Can you..." he rasps, patting his thigh, signaling for you to sit. You drag yourself towards him, and plop yourself onto his lap. You can smell the alcohol on his breath as he rambles on about how you can't forget to say 'I love you' to him ever again, even if it's a blurted, rushed one that he doesn't get a chance to respond to as you rush out the door.

The look he reserves for you is entirely soft, his hands are hot against your clothed back as they feel the warm body he's missed for hours. "I still..." he pauses to sigh, tiredness imbued into the sound. "Still want you to call me baby," he starts again. "I was just bummed. Don't stop calling me baby. Don't ever do that." He's letting his hands roam all over you. Your back, your waist, your hips—everything.

"Are you gonna let me touch you or are you gonna say 'no'?" You grin, remembering his words, verbatim, just incase he tries to tell you he never said them.

"Why aren't you touching me? Why would I not want you to touch me?" He looks insulted by the question and you have half a mind to remind him of what he said to you on the phone, but the heat in his eyes dies out as quickly as it appeared. "Really need a hug, mama. Please, hug," he says, the last part muffled by your chest as he keeps his face buried into it.

You held him tight and murmured 'I love you' countless times, while he hummed in response and groaned quietly as you ran your fingers through his hair.

[gay-dorito-dust]

Can I request headcanons for Logan and Wade with shy gn s/o please?

I’m going to assume separate unless told otherwise as poly relationship between Wade/Logan and reader would be cool too, but again unless specified I’m just going to assume it’s separate.

Wade Wilson/ Deadpool

Wade found your shyness adorable but found your reactions to his teasing and flirting.

And he abuses the shit out of that to his hearts content.

Mouse was a nickname that you were given almost immediately from the moment you met as you were quiet and cute as one too that to Wade it just fit you perfectly.

Wade; stop being so fucking cute!

You: huh?

Wade: you heard me! It should be illegal to be as cute as you! You should be locked up for the thing you do to me, but I’d rather keep ahold of the details because half of them might make you faint little mouse.

You: oh. 😶🫣

Wade will make it a tradition to take you by surprise, whether it be by randomly kissing you, hugging you from behind, playfully smacking your ass, it didn’t matter because your tendency to whine his name out in embarrassment ‘waaaaddde!’ Before hiding your face in his chest as he laughs and whispers teasing words into your ear that only makes your flustered state worsen.

Wade didn’t mind that you were shy, he really didn’t as he found it to be one of the many things he loved about you and wanted to protect, he didn’t want you to feel as though you should have to change to better fit him when he was more content with you being you.

He’s never had as much fun nor laughter in his life like he did when he was with you, and Wade considered himself lucky to have someone as soft and sweet as you that he often times thought you’d be better off without a fuck up like him in your life but he’d kept it to himself, disguising it with humour and teasing you instead.

Logan Howlett/ Wolverine

Logan finds you being shy amusing to say the least.

It brought his protective instincts out as someone as soft and shy and softly spoken as you would need him by your side 24/7.

He’s your guard dog, scary dog privilege in the form of a very traumatised man who’s became more familiar with pain and heartbreak than the tender affection and touches you give him.

So you found it best to be patient with Logan and give him time to become familiar with your love and affection until he felt ready to reciprocate in his own way. And Logan appreciated you for that and would let you know his appreciation by planting a soft kiss to your forehead.

Logan is a softy with you and while he’s quick to bite back at other people, with you he’s much softer with his words that they’re practically sweet murmurs whispered within your ear, as he held you against his chest protectively as you both drifted off to sleep.

He more or less acts as your voice whenever you felt discomfort, he’d could easily tell from your bodily language and would immediately step in, and voice your discomfort for you in your stead for Logan knew that you’d rather avoid conflict then delve headfirst into it like him.

However Logan would be the type to try and teach you ways to defend yourself and how to stick up for yourself when he couldn’t, this is probably out of his fear of losing someone dear to his heart again, but he wasn’t about to risk looking you when he could give you the tools to keep yourself safe while he was away.

He gives you his jacket, just make sure that the point gets across that you were his and not theirs, after all he’s a possessive man who doesn’t like sharing what’s his with anyone else.

He didn’t care about anyone else, you were the only thing he gave two shits about alongside Laura Kinney (x 23) other then you two, nothing else mattered to Logan. He just wanted you to be happy for as long as possible.

Side note: he’d love it if you and Laura got along, it’ll mean all the more to him.

[wishful-sinful-9]

YOU WANT IT DARKER

Logan Howlett x Reader

MASTERLIST

cw: stalkerish!logan, kidnapping, kinda dubcon, smut, piv, oral (f receiving), biting, hair pulling, body worship, overstimulation, just feral sex, both parties are a little unhinged, reader has no sense of survival instinct bless her

halloween special (better late than never) 🐺

Was this karma? Had you been some sort of puppy-kicking throat-slashing cold-hearted bitch in a past life? Are you being bit in the ass for it? Or had the universe just singled you out at some point to be an object of constant torment?

You'd thought a small town in the mountains was just what you needed: peace and quiet, beautiful landscapes, charming locals. The reality was freezing temperatures as early as September, and elderly neighbours that are just as frosty to the strange young newcomer. Two months in, you could no longer take the loneliness - life became a little brighter when you adopted your fiercely loyal, and almost terrifyingly giant, doberman you named (aptly, in your opinion) Baby.

And then you left the Goddamn back gate open.

Miles of forest stretch up the mountainside behind your house. You've been trudging through the dense woods for hours, voice hoarse from calling for your dear Baby. A whisper in the back of your mind tells you it's a lost cause; he must have gotten too far to find his way back, and God knows the predators lurking in these shadows willing to attack him. These shadows that are getting deeper with each passing minute.

A shiver runs through you, in spite of your thick scarf and fur-lined coat. You scan the surrounding trees as you realise that it's getting harder to see past them.

That's when you halt abruptly.

You have no idea where you are.

-

Right and wrong blurs into eachother sometimes for Logan. He's been alone for so long, and his instincts are so loud, he can't fight these strange animal tendencies that claw into him every so often.

And you, well you didn't help him at all.

Why the fuck would a pretty young woman like you be doing living round here? Walking around his forest every damn day, with that hound that you love so deeply, even though it could easily wrench its lead from your grip or bite your arm clean off with one snap of its wolfish jaws. Of course, he knows it would never do such a thing - it loves you like all dogs love their owners, unconditionally and obsessively and devotedly. It loves you like how he'd love you.

Picking a spot in the shadows and watching you pass by was one thing. Beginning to follow you on your route, all the way back to your home though - his conscience was beginning to blink its red warning lights.

Yet every time he indulges in his guilty pleasures, those lights fade a little more.

He doesn't notice they've gone completely black when he sees you presently, stood shivering in the depths of the forest. Lost.

Your dog blinks up at him, eyes bright and tongue lolling. Excited to introduce you to his new friend.

-

The darkness of the encroaching night, the cruel icy wind, and the severity of your situation is all forgotten when your blessed Baby appears like an angel from the shadows.

“Baby! Oh, my God, Baby,” you sob, kneeling as he runs to you with a furiously wagging tail. “Where have you been, boy? Where the hell have you been?”

You unwind the leash from where you'd knotted it and clipped it to your belt loop and reach for Baby's collar. He twists, not with any fear or violence, out of your grip in an instant. You frown. He hasn't done that before.

He trots over to where he had appeared from, glancing back and stopping, encouraging you to follow.

You step forward, “What are you..”

He returns to shepherd you to his desired direction. You do so, praying that once he's successfully shown you whatever impressive stick or pinecone it is that you can finally go home.

You trudge after your dog for a few more minutes before deciding you've had enough. “C'mon, pup, let's go home. Aren't you hungry? Eh, boy? Want some- shit!”

Baby sprints off suddenly, lightning-fast.

Your feet move before you can think. You're far too exhausted for this chase, but you are not going to lose him again. You shout after him as you sprint through the darkness.

You break through the trees and find yourself skidding to a stop - in front of you, there is a black iron gate.

Beyond it, a gravel drive leads to a shadowed, decrepit manor house, lit only by the full moon above. You don't have time to wonder why there was ever a house built this deep into the wilderness, because Baby's running straight to the open door.

-

He pets the dog idly, knowing you'll soon follow. It licks his palm.

The scent of roses, your perfume, strengthens as he hears the stumbling of your hiking boots at the entrance. The dog barks, and you follow the sound.

You burst into the living room, eyes wild when they meet his own.

Got you.

-

His dark eyes are unsettlingly wide as he stares you down.

The man whose home you've just broken into is unlike any around here; considerably younger than the elderly folk in town, perhaps in his thirties. Beyond that, there's something abnormal about him: he towers over you, huge in stature and wide with muscle. And one of his terrifyingly huge hands is petting your dog.

“I am so, so sorry sir,” you stammer stupidly, taking a wobbly step back. “He just - ran off - he never does it I swear, I'll get out of your- Baby, Baby, c'mere.”

He doesn't move.

You tremble as you contemplate grabbing him by the collar. But you can't seem to bring yourself to move towards this man.

“Baby, please-”

The man says your name.

Your blood runs cold. You bring your gaze to his, slow with terror. Another step back.

You could cry when Baby finally moves away from him, only to be further horrified when you beloved protector only does so to get behind your legs and usher you towards the man. The strange man who somehow knows your name.

You lurch forward at a hard nudge of Baby's head against your calf - into his arms. Strong, large arms that wrap around you tightly. Shit. Oh shit.

You shriek, attempting to wriggle free, but the man holds you to him tighter. He removes one arm, keeping you there solidly still with the other, and curls his fingers into a fist.

And three knife-sharp metal claws unsheath from his knuckles.

Your fighting ceases immediately. He doesn't hold them to you in threat, merely displays them in warning: Don't. Even. Try.

They disappear back into his hand and he brings his lips to your ear.

“You ain't going nowhere, sweetheart.”

-

It would've been a nice room, once. A canopy bed in the centre, a velvet loveseat at the foot of it, and a large window stretching across the far wall. Only now, the canopy's sheer curtains are torn, the colour of the seat's fabric faded, and the window completely boarded up.

The only source of light is a lone candle on the dresser. You pace in its dim light, shaking like a leaf, gasping short, panicked breaths.

He'd picked you up as if you'd weighed nothing at all and deposited you in this room, locking it and ignoring how you banged and screamed and shouted at the door. It didn't take long before you'd exhausted yourself and resorted to desperately racking your brain for means of escape.

Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

You sink to the floor with your head in your hands. Hiccupy sobs escape your lips, eyes sore from crying.

A gentle click of the door opening alerts you of his presence.

“I'm not gonna hurt you.”

As he lingers in the doorframe, even bigger from where you're crumpled on the floor, you find it hard to believe. Your breathing speeds up again.

In a stride, he's kneeling beside you. You jerk away with a cry as he tries to reach for your wrist.

His hand curls around your chin and brings your tear-stained, crazed face to his. The wildness in his eyes before was gone - there's a shocking earnestness in them now, as if he hadn't just used your only companion against you in luring you into his home.

“Deep breath in,” he murmurs.

What?

“Deep breath in, I said. Do it, girl.”

For some bizarre reason, you do it - drawing in a deep, shaky breath and holding it.

“Now out.”

You exhale.

“Again - in,” you do, “out.”

You can't shake the feeling that you're in some absurd dream as you repeat the process with your abducter until your breathing returns to normal.

He retracts his hand from your face and with a weak voice you whimper, “Who are you?”

“Logan.” He grunts.

“What do you want?”

He gazes at you for a long moment. When he responds, you detect a tremble in that baritone voice: “I've been alone for so. Damn. Long. Then you came along, into my woods, into my head, and now I'm losing it.”

His words send chills racing down your spine. Had he been watching you?

“It's like this instinct. This animalistic urge, that makes me want to keep you here - where I can keep you safe, keep you with me-”

“You're a mutant,” you rasp. He nods. “My parents always told me to stay away from... your people.”

“They aren't my people. I'm alone.” You flinch at the sharp edge to his tone.

He raises himself from the floor, looming over you again. You cower under his shadow.

“Well,” he grunts, “not anymore, I suppose.”

He locks the door behind him.

-

You don't know how many days have passed since Logan first took you.

It was only the day after that fateful night that he unlocked your room, under strict order to not leave the house. His only other kindness was to get some clothes for you from your house. You hadn't given him the keys.

Baby is your only comfort, as he curls up beside you at night for warmth. Even still, he seems to have developed some sort of bond with your captor, and is unwilling to be the guard dog you'd have assumed he would be in a situation such as this.

You've taken to slinking about in the shadows, rarely directly coming in contact with Logan; instead, you observe him.

His mutant abilities are not limited to the claws; from what you've gathered, he has some sort of heightened sense of smell and hearing. You know it would be foolish to try and escape because he'd sniff the nerves on you in an instant.

He feeds you mostly meat, which you pick at with little appetite.

It's those minor interactions, when he hands you your meal, that you ponder over throughout the long, cold days and nights. Had he lingered for longer to watch you eat? Did his fingers graze yours when he passed you the plate?

It soon came apparent to you, that this ominous, claw-bearing creature was no more than a man in isolation.

In a largely anti-mutant society, it's push everyone away, or be shunned and hurt. In this world, he's abnormal. Dangerous. A monster.

And you want to crawl into his skin and find what he is really: man or beast?

-

His ears prick at the shuffle of your feet. No matter how often he hears you move about, you never fail to excite his paranoia.

But you never do run, or lash out, or panic. You just remain in the darkness, watching.

In truth, he regrets doing this to you. It was the primal part of his brain eating the rational, and now you were constantly in his proximity, the animal had calmed itself and the human had settled in. Still, he could not bring himself to set you free. Not until he'd figured out how to get himself back to how he'd used to be.

Click.

He froze.

The door. You were at the door.

He set his beer bottle down hard on the table, a warning. He was there. He'd know if you were escaping.

The smell of fresh night air leaks into his nostrils, and he stalks over to the foyer.

You're halfway out the door - staring at him.

For a heartbeat, you keep his furrowed gaze, heart rabbiting in your chest. Then you bolt.

-

You barely make it to the gate before rough hands slam you backwards into his chest.

You don't struggle. You just pant in his hold.

A long, terrible moment of silence passes that makes you doubt your confidence in emerging from this situation unharmed. When he finally speaks, his lips brush the shell of your ear.

“What. Was. That.”

You squeak, “I wanted to see if you'd go after me.”

You're flung over his shoulder and marched straight back to the house.

He dumps you on the tattered armchair by the fireplace, and leans over you - gripping each arm of the chair to cage you in. His eyes are as dark as you've ever seen them.

“You have your answer,” he growls.

“Logan I-”

“Now I want to find out mine.”

You press yourself back into the chair. “Answer to what?”

“Why did that turn you on?”

Your mouth runs dry and your cheeks are ablaze. You shake your head furiously, refusing to meet his eye. “I don't know what.. Uhm..”

One hand is no longer on the chair, instead it's on your cheek. Forcing you to look at him.

Wordlessly, he drops his hand... and shoves it down your pants instead. It's then that it hits you: that heightened sense of smell of his can detect arousal too.

A thick finger runs through your folds, gathering the slick sticking to your panties.

“Logan-”

“You are turned on.”

He sounds almost a little incredulous, as he pulls out his hand and studies how your arousal shines in the milky moonlight, coating his fingertips.

You make a little noise of embarrassment, and it turns his attention back to you. Wide-eyed, flushed, lips slightly parted. And a switch flips.

He grasps the back of your head to meet him halfway as he crushes his lips against yours. Bruising, but for some reason, addicting.

You moan slightly, opening your mouth to encourage his tongue and it makes his mind blur.

He tears away after a minute, and, operating as if possessed, rips your pants open.

You gasp, but have no time to reconsider: your panties are torn clean off too, and a finger is curling deep inside you.

Your wails prompt him to try another, his thumb circling your clit, the pads of his fingers pressing against the spot that makes your eyes roll. You can barely gasp his name, so overwhelmed and lost in pleasure.

It's not enough. He needs to taste you.

You almost scream when his mouth replaces his thumb, sucking desperately on your clit. He laps at you with such animalistic intent, the haze in your mind lets through one paralysing thought: how does he fuck?

The pressure builds in a way you've never experienced before - so quick and heavy, like a tidal wave, and when you cum he almost ruins his pants along with you. The sheen of sweat over your face, your heaving chest, that sweet white release trickling down his palm. More.

Your hand flies into his hair as his fingers begin to move again and his mouth is somehow faster and needier than before.

“L-Logan I can't-”

He groans gutterally as he pulls away for a second to spread your juices over your throbbing flesh, already swollen. When he dives in again, you just grip his hair for dear life.

The next orgasm has your thighs clamping tightly around his head, but he simply prys them apart again. You tug at his hair and he finally breaks away to kiss you hard.

You taste yourself on his tongue.

He doesn't let up until you're both in desperate need of air, and you take the opportunity to strip off your top and bra. His hands, shaking you realise, come up to cup your tits gently, his eyes greedily savouring the sight.

“Beautiful..perfect..let me fuck you.” He gazes in your eyes with such desperation, you lean forward to cup his face and kiss his nose.

“Anything, anything for you, Logan.”

-

You don't give a damn about that rug burning against your back. Not when he's so deep inside you, you swear you can feel him in your throat.

“Sweet girl,” he sucks into the juncture of your neck and shoulder. “Take me so well, does it hurt?”

“Mm-mm,” you hum, eyes welling with tears of overstimulation. “Just move. Fuck me, Logan-”

He lifts your knees, pressing the backs of your thighs to your chest, and slams into you over and over at an unrelenting pace. Your mouth hangs agape, crying for the pleasure. It's as if the beast in him has bled into your skin, making you want him closer, deeper, faster. You claw at his shoulders. He leans down to nip and nuzzle at your jaw and neck, but your lips only move to moan.

“I can feel you - so tight - cum for me, sweetheart,” he grunts out, “cum all over my cock.”

You do as he wishes with a scream of his name.

He watches the sticky mess where his dick meets your cunt grow with your latest release, and he wants even more.

You're too dumb to register how he hasn't cum yet, but is pulling out of you. You let him manhandle you with ease until you're on your front, cheek against the floor while Logan grips your hips to keep your ass up.

Like this, he can better watch it all drip out of you.

You let out a little whine, eyes fluttering shut as you're sure he just wants a final look. You jolt as you suddenly feel his tongue thrust into your hole and curl. “No more-”

You shiver at the obnoxious wet sounds of him licking up the mess between your thighs, pushing back against his face despite yourself. You breathe out a sigh of relief when he pulls away - then you feel the head of his cock notch against your entrance.

With the last of your deteriorating strength, you try your best to crawl away from his sloppy thrusts.

“I'm not done,” he growls, pulling you back onto his cock and pounding you harder. You give in, eyes rolling, back arching, front pressed to the floor once more.

“Give it to me.”

You can't.

“C'mon.”

He reaches round to rub your clit in mean circles.

“Let go.”

You cry, and clench so hard around him it feels as if your pussy is pulling him in.

You gush around him, and his hips stutter as he approaches his own release. You press back as you feel him try to slip out - “Inside me, Lo, fill m' up..”

With a shout, he cums deep inside you, only pulling out once completely milked dry. He groans at the sight of your twitching thighs, and the creamy mess leaking from your cunt. He pushes it back in before standing.

You're a sticky, panting, fucked-out thing when he gathers you in his arms, pressing his lips to your hairline.

“Can I keep you?” he grins down at you, the first time you've seen him smile. You beam and kiss his cheek.

“Keep me forever.”

a/n: this has not been well edited but I hope you enjoyed nonetheless! I've had a bit of writers block but the first part of the knight!au and the bbf!peter oneshot is on its way, slowly lmao

[novemberheart]

{overview} You bond with both your alphas— the topic of your heat comes up again

{warnings} fem reader, poly141, a/b/o dynamics, cursing, backstories, things get a bit heated between you and John

Chapter 20 <- Chapter 21 -> Chapter 22

“You went out for what?” John huffed, sitting across from Kyle.

“A walk, sir,” Kyle replied, his eyes straight ahead. He had already mentally prepared for this.

“And you come back with”- he trailed off.

“A puppy, sir,” Kyle was trying to bite back a smile. It wasn't that he wasn't afraid of the captain- he was. It was the image of your happy face in his brain that was causing the battle in his mind. The truth was he wasn't sorry, he would get yelled at every day if it meant you being happy. John groaned, recognizing the dazed look in his beta eyes. He must still have happy omega clouding his brain.

“Dismissed,” he groaned again, leaning back in his seat.

“Love you, Cap,” Kyle shouted over his shoulder bolting down the hall towards the small backyard.

Your puppy- Vernie (for Inverness) as she had been renamed, wasn't blind. She did appear to be deaf, though.

Simon insisted she was just stubborn like you.

“You two kind of look alike,” Johnny smirked, waving his finger in front of the puppy’s snapping mouth. You giggled, scooping the excited pup off the floor. She licked your chin, nuzzling her way against your neck.

“It's the eyes,” Simon commented. Johnny and Kyle nodded in agreement, and each of their camera rolls filled with enough pictures of your puppy dog eyes to prove it.

“Well I take that as a compliment,” you grinned, setting her back down. “Go to Daddy Kyle,” you urged.

“How come he's daddy?” Johnny shot.

“I was with her when we got her,” Kyle reminded, picking the golden retriever puppy up. “When we see Uncle Johnny we what?” Kyle whispered to her. “We growl, that's right! Good dog,” he praised.

You giggled making your way back inside for a bowl of water. You bit your lip as you noticed John sitting at the dining table, deep in thought. You crept over, your hand resting on his shoulder.

“Hey sweetheart,” he greeted, grabbing a hold of your hand and kissing your palm.

“You're not too mad, are you?” you pressed. He pulled you over so you were sitting in front of him, guiding you so you were sitting on his leg.

“You happy?” he hummed. You quickly nodded your head, your hands resting on his broad shoulders. “Then no,” he smiled just enough to where his dimples poked through. You grinned, resting yourself against his chest. “Wish it was more of a group decision, but”- he cut himself off.

“The next time I get a pet I'll make sure to run it by everyone,” you smirked. You jumped when a hand collided with your bottom. It wasn't hard, but it definitely caught you off guard. He chuckled at you.

“Only goldfish from now on, yes?”

“Yes, sir,”

“Come on pup,” you jumped at Simon’s voice. He had the tendency to just appear out of nowhere. Years are training you suppose.

“Where are we going?” you questioned pulling your shoes on.

“Errands,” he responded coldly.

“Could you be any more vague, Simon?” you questioned.

“Maybe.” he replied, causing you to chuckle. As the two of you walked down the street a sudden craving formed in your head. An urge to test the waters. Your hand reached up, gripping onto his forearm as you walked. He made no move to brush you off, actually his body shifted closer, so your arm didn't have to extend so far.

It was weird seeing him outside without his mask. He blended in with the crowd even with his hulking frame.

He led you into a shoe store.

“Simon you don't need to do this,” you began, your chest growing warm.

“I want to,” he pressed.

“Thank you,” you beamed. He rolled his eyes at you, patting you on the hip.

“I'll stay here,” he groaned, sitting down on one of the try on benches. “You stay where I can see you. You're still on parole,” he grumbled. You giggled, heading towards an aisle.

You ended up with four pairs. A pair of dress shoes, a pair of workout shoes, a pair of casual shoes, and rain boots because Simon was tired of the entryway smelling like “wet feet” every time it rained. “Thank you, Simon,” it was around the tenth time you had thanked him, but it was important for him to know how much you appreciated it. He carried the large bag for you and you were surprised when he began walking even further away from the house. “I need lunch after that,” he sighed. Your stomach growled in response. You two ended up in a Chinese restaurant, the smell drawing you in from a few streets over.

“Do you ever miss Manchester?” you asked between bites.

“You ever miss the toilet when you leave?” he shot back. You rolled your eyes at him.

“Was it really that bad?”

“No.” he agreed. “Reminds me of my father though,” he conversed. You suddenly felt favored to be a part of this conversation. Simon Riley was opening up.

“I take it that's a bad thing,” you urged. He nodded his head.

“Piece of shite that one. He was a beta, my mom was an alpha. Spent the rest of his days trying to prove he was the strongest,” Simon shared.

“Did they both pass away?”

“He died from cancer. She lived just fine for another five years. Passed away from untreated pneumonia.”

“That's terrible Simon,” you breathed. “She sounds like a strong woman. I mean she has to be, her son is strong,” you affirmed. You wouldn't be able to tell by looking at him but your words had hit him, deep. It's all he wanted. To be half as good of an alpha as she was. She was strong, loyal, protective, and loving to those who were hers. John reminded him of her in a lot of ways.

“She was, pup,” Simon finally responded. “She’d like you,” he added softly. You blinked back some tears, shifting in your seat. “What about your father?” he asked suddenly.

“He and my mother were both betas, both of them coming from a long line of alpha-omega pairings. We were kind of the odd ones out of the family. It didn't matter much to us though. We were all close, especially with me being the only child,” you paused, your lunch suddenly looking unappealing.

“It was a shock when your mom left?”

You swallowed, nodding your head.

“She came into my bedroom that night and just held me. I'm not sure when she left. My dad was so angry. I didn't know what to do, so I just curled up in her closet with the clothes she had left behind. My dad moved on quickly- I feel like it was just out of spite,” you sneered.

“What was she like?”

“She wasn't horrible. She just wasn't my mom. I never really talked to her honestly. I just couldn't wrap my head around seeing her stuff where my mom's stuff used to be. Her curling iron on the bathroom counter, her silverware in the drawer, her couch in the living room- her pictures on the wall. The worst part was she had five kids from a previous relationship. I had to share a room with three of them. I started having a hard time breathing. I even passed out a few times. My grandparents decided to step in and suggested I get put into an omega-holding house. By then, I was so desperate to get away I begged my father to let me go. I think that hurt him more than he ever let on. I lived in that omega house for a year until I was transferred across the country to a different one. I haven't seen any of them since,” you finished. You looked away from your plate. Simon had his arms crossed over the table, his eyes intently on you.

He hated it. Hated the way you had been left in the dirt. You didn't deserve that.

“That's not fair, sweetheart,” he said softly. The tears finally escaped, his thumb reaching out to brush them away before you could.

“It's alright,” you tried to smile, sniffling into your sleeve. He understood you more. He realized the parts of you that drove him crazy were the parts that so deeply resembled himself. You were still in fight or flight mode. Still waiting for the moment you would have to take off into the wind. Still waiting for the moment you would be peeled away from this pack like your old one. He wished he understood it sooner, but he's not sure it would've had such an impact on him.

He was no longer in fight or flight mode, his mind dead set on one: fight. Fight for you to feel safe within this pack- within your pack.

You were a bit nervous to sleep in the same room as both the alphas. At first, you tried to sneak your way into the beta’s room, but John quickly hoisted you over his shoulder, tossing you on the bed. The scent was slightly overwhelming, turning your bones to mush. Simon was still in the shower, and you were curled up on John’s chest, his hands running up and down your thighs.

The conversation you had with Simon was still weighing on your mind. It must've spread into your scent.

“What's eatin’ at you, love?” John hummed, his hands giving your thighs a squeeze.

“Me and Simon were talking about our old packs. It just brought up some feelings,” you mumbled, taking a large inhale of his scent. It settled at the base of your neck, causing a warm buzz throughout your body. “What was your pack like?” you questioned, resting your chin against his chest.

“It was big,” he sighed, his tired blue eyes dancing over your face. “Too big. Lots of power struggles between alphas.”

“That why you left?”

“Partly. My family was pushed around a lot, my father is a good man, but he isn’t strong. I hoped joining the military would make it so that when I went back I could prove our family was strong,” he sighed. You knew what John was talking about.

“Communal pack?”

He nodded his head. Communal packs were very traditional and rarely worked. There could be up to thirty different families living together under the jurisdiction of one alpha.

“What was your alpha like?”

“I never met him,” John chuckled. “He seemed decent enough, though. It was hard for the other alphas of the pack, you know how they are, have to be the toughest in the room. My family still lives there, two of my sisters have bonded and have pups of their own. My brother is still causin’ trouble,” he chuckled fondly and your heart ached for him.

“Do you ever miss it?”

“I miss them. We still see each other a few times a year. My eldest sister and I see each other the most. Her work brings her near base. And I have to call my mother at least once a week or she’ll march up here and give me what for,” he smirked, making you giggle. “I'd like you to meet them someday.”

“I would love to!” you cheered beaming up at him.

“They’ll love you. Probably want us to move back up there.”

“Are any of them omegas?” you pondered.

“My brother is. My eldest sister is an alpha and my two others are betas,” he explained.

“That's a nice spread,” you smiled, stretching out on top of him. You wondered what John was like as a child. Was he always so headstrong? Protective? Determined? Troublemaker? The thought made you chuckle.

“Would you? Move back there?”

“Never. It's just like base, except there are fewer rules and regulations. Not the place for you or the rest of us,” he explained. “Where would you want to live?” he hummed, rolling onto his side, keeping a firm grip on you.

“Somewhere with trees and rain. I want to be near the mountains. I also want to live near a big city so there's always something to do. Oh, and I want a big backyard with chickens and a pool,” you smiled, your fingers smoothing over his beard. His cheeks lifted in a smile.

“Sounds doable,” he whispered, pressing a kiss against your cheek. He let your noses brush, smiling at the way you're crinkled. He closed the gap, his strong arms holding you in place as your lips moved together.

They all kissed so differently. Johnny was all-consuming, his ability to make the thoughts in your head vanish never fails. Even his short ones were eager and overwhelming. Kyle was playful. Lots of teeth and tongue, but never enough to fully satiate you until you yank him as close as you can. Maybe that's why he does it. He wants you to want him. Lucky for him you fall into that trap regularly. John’s were melting. Slow and passionate. He isn’t playful or eager. All of his attention is on you and the rest of the world just fades away.

You wondered how Simon kisses.

John’s hands were messing with the bottom of your sleep shorts. They crept up slowly, giving your bottom a gentle squeeze causing you to gasp. He chuckled against you, his tongue taking advantage.

Maybe he was a little playful.

You had to get him back. You thought back to the little trick Kyle showed you. Your hands bunched around his lower back, and you rolled your hips against his. He cursed against you, pressing you deeper into the mattress.

“Careful what you wish for, honey” he warned, biting at your neck. You whined, tilting your head back even further. The subtle act of submission making his head reel. He kissed and bit his way around your neck until he made it near your collarbone. You became breathless at the knowledge of what he was doing. He was trying to find the best place to mark you. He could tell he found it when you nearly moaned. Just above your collarbone right in the junction of your neck. “That where you want it, pretty girl?” he murmured. You nodded your head rapidly.

“Now, please Alpha,” you begged. If he was a weaker man he would've given in. Your shaky voice, heated skin and needy scent in the air were all suffocating his senses. You're lucky he's had so much training or else you would be howling in pain right now.

“No, pretty,” he soothed, placing another kiss against the spot- a promise that he would be back. “Can't do it now, it'll hurt,” he reminded

“You marked Kyle and Johnny,” you reminded. Betas couldn't have heats or ruts, so when they were marked it was searing.

“They were under anesthetics,” he shot back. Even you couldn't argue with that. The bathroom door opened.

“Fuckin’ hell,” Simon grunted waving the air in front of his face. You giggled, cuddling your way into John’s chest again.

“Simon took me on a date today,” you whispered to John. He raised his eyebrows, playing along.

“Must've been a different one,” he smirked, looking up at the brooding alpha.

“No, it was this one. He was a perfect gentleman. He opened the door for me, he let me hold his arm, he paid for my lunch and he even bought me new shoes,” you grinned, looking back at the flushed Simon.

“Sounds like a great bloke. Should call him back,” Simon replied, getting under the covers. You and John chuckled, as he shut the lamp on the bedside table off.

“He is great,” you whispered absentmindedly, a yawn escaping you. “I do appreciate the two of you, you know. There aren't a lot of alphas that would be as patient and forgiving as the two of you,” you thanked. John’s chest rumbled at the sentiment.

“Of course, honey,” John rumbled. Simon stayed silent. He didn't quite feel he deserved such praise. He had made too many mistakes. He jumped as a cold hand rested against his bicep. You could be sneaky when you wanted to. You made no move to pull him closer or grab another part of him. He sighed grabbing your hand in his, clamping your hand within his own, resting it against the bed.

The sound of your purrs lulled him to sleep.

You woke up to the sound of groggy groans and chuckles. You could feel yourself moving until your face was pressed against a bare chest. Cinnamon.

“Mac,” you groaned. You felt someone else’s smile against your shoulder and the tickle of Johnny’s scruff against your cheek. You opened your eyes, pulling away from Johnny.

“Good morning, peaches,” he purred all too happy for this early in the morning. Your face pulled into a frown making him and John chuckle from their spot. He pressed a kiss against your lips as you sat up, your legs on either side of his hip. He groaned, his hand instantly finding your hips. You were in the middle, Johnny resting against John. Kyle was back to back with Simon, who looked to still be asleep. You yawned rubbing at your eyes.

“We were thinking we could all go to breakfast,” Kyle spoke, nudging the alpha next to him awake. One thing you learned about the boys is that none of them were into cooking. John seemed to be decent at it- well at least he was good at cooking steaks. Kyle survived off of cereal and Johnny could kill a box of granola bars in a day.

“French toast,” you sighed happily, flopping back down onto the Scot. While the plans had been made no one made an effort to move. It was all too comfortable. Too warm. You purred, causing almost all of them to follow suit. Simon clenched his jaw, swallowing back the rumble in his chest.

You giggled, Johnny's chest vibrating against your skin.

“I'll fall back asleep if I stay here,” Kyle yawned, maneuvering his way out the bed. Simon tumbled out of it too, his arms stretching above his head. His tank top did nothing to hide his flexing muscles. Johnny pulled away, regretfully, heading back down the hall to his room. The chill in the air nipped at you, causing you to cuddle your way back against John.

“We’re going to get in trouble if we don't start getting ready,” he hummed gently, his hand running down your back.

“I’m getting up,” you assured, making no move to do so. He patted your bottom, sitting up with you still in his arms.

“French toast,” he reminded, pulling you to your feet. You perked up.

“John?”

“Yes, love.”

“When we get back can I talk to you about something?” you questioned. You regretted it as soon as you watched his face turn. You hated it when people did that. Just say what you are thinking.

“Tell me now, love. I’ll go with you to the backyard,” he said, watching as you grabbed the half-asleep puppy out of the bed Johnny had made her.

“Alright,” you agreed, treading down the hallway. He grabbed a cigar on the way, making sure to sit downwind from you so you would breathe it in.

“It's about my heat,” you started. “I want you to help me through it,” you flushed heavily, your face burning so hot the nip in the air couldn't cool it. “I don't know if I'm ready for everyone to help though,” you drew out. He chuckled next to you causing your head to shoot up. God, you have embarrassed yourself haven't you?

“Sorry, honey,” he apologized quickly. “That would be like throwin’ a lamb to the wolves. Wouldn't expect you to do all that,” he assured, making your shoulders relax. His hand reached out his fingers brushing against your cheek. “It would be my honor to help you, sweetheart,” he whispered, making you burn brighter.

“That’s a stretch,” you chuckled. Honor? Surely he had done much more honorable things than take your virginity.

“It's not. It means you trust me. That's all I want, love,” he smiled reassuringly in a way that made your heart beat a bit faster.

“Thanks, John,” you pressed a kiss against his cheek, collecting the curious pup off the grass.

Hello everyone! Hope you enjoyed this chapter! Chapter 22 will be in two days and I’m going to warn you now it WILL have heavy smut……hopefully none of you are against that! See you then 🧡

[lady-ashfade]

Sunglasses

Day 8 of celebration marathon

Yandere camp half-blood x Aphrodite’s kid!reader

-£ ask: what about yandere camp halfblood with daughter of Aphrodite reader who has like hypnotic eyes and has to wear sunglasses or else you’ll wanna look at them forever lol srry ik it’s crappy

-£ warning: really short, yandere behavior, overprotective, overbearing, yandere tendencies, mentation of violence.

When you first arrived at camp people thought you were somehow a child of ares with the sunglasses thing. you never showed your eyes and pushed people away when they asked or tried to take them off.

But your beauty reminded them of the kids in cabin 10. You were beautiful, a kind smile and had way about you that drew people in.

It didn’t take long when you were learning about the camp and everything in it when you were calmed by your mother. It wasn’t a big shock but some were confused.

many asked why you wear sunglasses to cover your eyes, if there was something wrong with them? They all wanted to know desperately.

“Just tell me?” Percy practically was begging on his knees with that pout at his lips, “i wouldn’t tell anyone!” he swore. you groaned and leaned against the tree.

“It’s a curse Percy,” you shout defensively. you were so sick of people drowning you with the same question about something you didn’t want to share out loud. not after everything.

“I will never be able to be looked at in my eyes, truly. My eyes hypnotize people into wanting to look at me forever, similar Medusas curse, even freezing them as they want to stare at me forever.” your arms crossed over your body as a relief of comfort.

“They don’t get back their life, never the same again. Can’t break the trance— they just stand their like lifeless dolls with a smile on their face.” your voice cracks as memories flood back into your mind. a teacher had been rude about your eyewear and snatched them off your face. he was the first victim.

Percy shuffled next to you and leaned his shoulder against yours, “sorry I asked, just was curious.”

after that the news spread fast but you didn’t care anymore now that people didn’t try and take your glasses away from you now. But there was a turn in the air at camp that seemed to revolve around you.

they all treated you differently as if you were a helpless child in need of saving. Carrying your lunch, walking with you from place to place, offering anything they could.

it was strange that they all treated you like someone to be worshipped and cared after. Even ares kids did their part in protecting you, which is why clarisse stood behind you like a guard dog ready to bite anyone that approached you.

you did make fast friends with everyone, a givin, as non of them made fun of you. But the question were still annoying but it was better to answer them.

at night you always feel the stares of your siblings but never could tell if they were looking at you. they tucked you in at night and wished to get a goodnight from you, all of them.

you never could be alone even when you thought you were. there was always someone following you, watching you and keeping you safe.

some of the kids had even started wars against others for your attention. You never knew about the fights that went down when you slept peacefully in your bed at night.

maybe the curse ran farther then your eyes.

taglist: @itzmeme @ravenmedows @maria699669 @purplerose291

[filthyguts]

sketchbook doodles as it’s 4 am so I thought maybe . I’d share my specific kira headcanons from my twit thread. Strap in its unda the cut and it’s a lot because I’m normal about him whatever

- HATES dogs due to an incident from when he was a kid, slight phobia

- I’m always 50/50 on this but I like the headcanon of kira potentially having a type of albinism, both his parents carried the gene

-he’s superstitious, on account of his mother being VERY superstitious, which probably didn’t help with any compulsions he was dealing with internally as a kid and into adulthood

-Liked to burn ants and bigger bugs with a magnifying glass as a kid

-surprisingly low pain tolerance

-Has never kissed another person (until he kissed shinobu on the cheek during BTD)

this extends to other things do with this information what you will *large sign in flashing lights that says VIRGINNNNNN*

-he does not know how to kiss. because he hasn't done it to an actual living breathing person, if he were too in earnest it's intense he's all teeth and tongue it would be literally terrible, but he does give sweet knuckle kisses

he can give a polite cheek kiss but if he had to do one of the lips he’d be cooked like it would be over for him he might bite your tongue off on accident(or..?) like ur better off sticking two fingers in his mouth and hoping for the best instead of getting your lip ripped off

-absolutely LOVES the smell of a fresh coat of nail polish, doesn't care that it makes him light headed

-super veiny hands and wrists one paper cut and it's over for him

-killer queen feels really cold to touch, but its arms and hands are hot

-average at playing the violin, does dabble from time to time in the quiet of his home but it's not very often

-yes we know he sucks fingers but he also likes to likely gnaw because he likes the texture on his teeth (not in a cannibal way though he thinks the idea of actually eating flesh is disgusting and irresponsable)

-just really loves neutrals and easter colors, designer suits all the way obvi

-when he first gained killer queen (I hc he was about 19) it always looked like this pic below with the exposed skull, only when he started to better mask his homicidal tendencies and urges did KQ gain its "mask"" and how we see it now

-despite his obvious feline affiliations he doesn't want a pet cat, the hair getting everywhere would drive him crazy (plus he's got killer queen

-kira didn't name killer queen himself, the only time it ever spoke to him was once. when he first manifested KQ after the arrow, Killed Queen told Kira it's name quietly while standing behind him, this scared the shit out of him, which sounds badass and spooky but was also probably subconsciously because Kira had a Queen CD he purchased a year prior that he liked WELL UR JUST SEVENTEEN AND ALL YOU WANNA DO IS DISAPPEAR

-occasionally drinks (that's canon) but meaning he likes to get winedrunk with his girlfriends on special occasions, or socially drinks when forced to go out for company outings, once came home decently hammered and almost phoned a travel agency to get a one way plane ticket to France to see the Mona Lisa ,

did not follow through with this when he woke up the next morning. The idea of seeing her at the Louvre is almost too much for him, feels like touching an exposed nerve.

-is 100% having sloppy makeout sessions with his severed hand girlfriend with candles, dim lighting, and mood records + thinks it's the peak of romance and gets giddy about it like someone with their first crush. Because he's insane

-can feel a phantom sense for Sheer Heart Attack, no pain due to its durability, but can feel the heat tracking in his hand and it readying to explode once it’s found its target. The tracking feels like a tingling sensation to him akin to a compass, like a pulling. and the explosion feels like a pleasant blossom of warmth

-loves the subtle flavor of different lotions (not freshly applied) that linger on the skin, salty fruity fragrant and slightly chemically is his favorite. 🤢

- tries to be incredibly Normal when going for routine dental checkups and cleanings for obvious reasons. When he was in his early 20s and didn’t quite have his urges and homicidal tendencies in check- one of his early victims was a dental hygienist

-his dad(yoshihiro) was into cheesy action movies and would often take kira when he was a kid to the theater, kira didn’t really care for it overall, the explosions were always cool though.

He doesn’t watch movies often but he doesn’t mind drama and romance.

-gets cold pretty easily

-scary good at walking quietly, like a cat stalking prey, when he started working at kameyu- he went to hand some documents to a coworker, startling them pretty bad bc they didn’t hear him come up- he IMMEDIATELY stopped doing that unconsciously after that incident, he makes sure his footsteps are “normal” are soft, not aggressive, but can hear heard enough.

- in the moment he likes the feeling of blood drying on his skin, but once the adrenaline wears off he’ll wrinkle his nose and be like >:// then hop in the bath to clean up(it’s usually not his bath)

-went to the same school Reimi Sugimoto attended in Morioh, never once did he hold a solid conversation with her, she only spoke to him briefly once about missed homework. But that’s not to say he didn’t know who she was. Eerie :(

- His SECOND favorite early spring, likes taking strolls along to coast with his girlfriends, enjoys the breeze.

But his FIRST favorite season is summer, when all the tourists come to Morioh. It’s easy for people traveling to simply disappear 😨

-aside from nail biting, had a compulsive skin picking habit as a child but this was quickly squashed by his mother who’d give him a swat on the wrist each time he was caught

-subconsciously wishes his girlfriends could grab him back- (this isn’t to say he wants to rest of the person though 🤢) a squeeze on the waist or shoulder would probably do him good but it’s not like he consciously yearns for this- it would shatter his otherwise perfect lived fantasy and setup of control 😒

-his favorite finger is tied between either the pointer or the ring finger. He likes being able to bend the fingers and do what he wants, relishes in the subtle crack of the joints 🤢

anddddd that’s all for now. hell isn’t hot enough for him

[uglypastels]

Halo of the Highest Grade / Logan Howlett x Reader

People tried to warn you about him, but you loved the risk and danger of it all. They prayed for you, but God already knew exactly the type of men you’ve had your spare share of fun with. And the Wolverine was exactly what you had been looking for all this time.

word count: 5.5.k

warnings: SMUT. 18+ Only. MDNI. afab!reader. p in v. no protection [wrap it before you tap it, folks]. cunnilingus. sadomasochistic tendencies: spanking. choking. biting. scratching. hair pulling. face slapping. mutual degradation. makeshift restrain. violence: cage fighting. blood. alcohol. smoking. cursing. not proofread.

gif from banner sourced online but couldn't find the op, all credits to them.

Shoutout to @deceptive-daydreams for helping me come up with all of this.

Masterlist - Requests are Open

They shake their heads

Saying, "God help her" when I

Tell 'em he's my man.

But your good Lord doesn't need to

Lift a finger, I can fix him

No, really, I can.

The shouts and vulgarities of the drunken crowd could be heard from outside the building. Inside, smoke and alcohol overwhelmed the senses whilst the lights shined through the slits in the high ceiling, practically guiding you towards the silver-lit halo that was the cage at the centre of the room. As if in a trance, each element was calling for you to move closer, so closer you came.

The bell indicating the end of the fight rang but was barely heard through the commotion of the spectators. Two men dragged the barely conscious body of the defeated, his red shirt camouflaging his spilt blood.

‘Hey pretty—’

‘Fuck off.’ You hissed at the pitiful man who had appeared by your side, not even sparing him a glance when you walked off, leaving him behind, stunned and confused. Maybe he tried to call after you or spit some expletives your way, but you were too focused on what was happening inside the cage to notice.  

‘Gentlemen.’ The host called for the next challenger. ‘In all my years, I’ve never seen anything like it. Are you gonna let this man walk away with your money?’ With an antagonising finger, he pointed to the individual you had already been unable to look away from. His back glistened with sweat from the hot lights above his head. Each calm breath accentuated his shoulder blades. He barely reacted to the scream from the crowd as yet another loser came forward. While the other man approached the stage, you watched the champion take a long drag from his cigar, the smoke billowing around him in long ribbons.

‘Our Savior!’ the host exclaimed, and he exchanged some words of grace with the new fighter. Meanwhile, you kept a watchful eye on the other as he drained his glass of his last drops of golden spirit. With each second until the starting bell ticking by, you found yourself wishing him to turn around and face his opponent. But the bell came and went, and he didn’t move. 

The “savior” lunged forward with a kick, pushing your object of interest into the metal wiring. It clattered at impact, and so his grunt was barely audible. Bend over, a dog tag hanging from his neck; he didn’t even attempt to block the punches thrown his way. Unable to look away from fascination, you winced at each hit. In everyone else’s eyes, it was a lost fight. One too many, he should have quit while he was ahead. Surely, he couldn’t take it anymore. But something in you saw the moments ahead. How he got up, fists and teeth clenched. 

It was over before you could even blink. 

Three punches were all it took. All punctuated with a dull metal sound no one could place but claimed to be the barriers of the fighting stage as the “savior” unconsciously fell to the floor.

‘Ladies and Gentlemen, tonight’s winner and still king of the Cage–’ the crowd booed to the harmony of the bell calling the Knock Out, and you quickly sought your escape from the eye of the storm before it formed. From the sound of it, things were gonna get ugly very quickly, and that ain’t the show you had come for. 

‘The Wolverine!’ The announcer finished, and you made sure to remember that little nickname as you walked off. 

With the majority of the crowd leaving, their losses very much at the forefront of their minds, you settled down at the bar. 

‘Give me two of whatever he was having back there.’ You told the barman, cocking your head back to the Cage, and turned on the stool to face the room, a plan already forming in your head. You heard behind you how the man poured the drinks and placed one next to the other at your side. 

‘You don’t wanna do this.’ The man chuckled through his warning, fully aware of your intentions. So, subtlety had never exactly been your strong suit, but in this case, you felt it would probably be a great advantage.

‘Now, what makes you say that?’ You reached for the nearest glass and took a gentle sip. The alcohol practically seared your throat as it went down. ‘He’s just like any other man, no?’

‘Lady, that ain’t no man.’, the older man said in a hushed tone, scared as he would be heard by the wrong people, despite of the chaos around you. ‘That’s a monster.’

Those words only sparked more interest inside you. A flash of ruffled dark hair caught your attention between the crowd, and like a shock had gone through your spine, you sat up straight. 

Realising he was fighting a lost beetle, the barman simply sighed. ‘May God help you.’ 

Oh, God knew exactly the type of men you’ve had your spare share of fun with before. Leading the kind of life you had it was the only way to still make things a little bit interesting. And he, the Wolverine, was precisely what you were looking for. 

His steps were heavy on the floorboards. The crowd, while still angry, parted like the Red Sea at his proximity, looking away as if scared to be petrified if they got caught catching a glimpse of him. But you didn’t even try and hide your stare as he walked up to the bar. A fact that did not go unnoticed. And neither did the manner in which his eyes glazed over your body, moving up and down across your frame, hovering in particular over a few places.

Although plenty of seats were vacant, he sat down at your immediate right. His mouth had already slipped open with the request for a drink, but you were quicker with your generous gesture.

He looked at it with a mix of surprise and amusement, but didn’t say a word. The liquor disappeared with one heavy swig, and the glass clashed with the counter. Without needing to hear anything, the helpful bartender brought out the bottle and poured him another.

‘Can I help you?’ The Wolverine muttered, looking at you from the corner of his eye when you had not stopped looking him over since he had sat down. 

Isn’t he a charmer, you thought, but you also could not deny that his attitude and harsh tone were doing things to you. 

‘Just wanted to congratulate you on the fight.’ As subtle as anything else you had done that night, you came closer, leaning towards him. You caught the glance he gave you as you moved, specifically how his eyes once more lingered on your breast. God, how you loved the ones that just didn’t give a shit. Those who were just as blunt as you were in these matters. It made things so much easier.

‘It wasn’t much of a fight.’ He replied, unphased by anything that happened that night.

‘I suppose you’re right.’ You shrugged, twirling the drink in your hand, ‘though I did think you were kind of soft on that last guy. Why let him get you like that?’ Your mind flashed to the fight, to the grunts he had made as his opponent’s fist met his stomach. ‘Surely, you could have knocked him out cold as soon as he stepped into the ring.’

‘Where’s the fun in that?’ With those words, he finally turned to you, and for the first time that night, your eyes met, and that’s when you saw it. That glint in his eye that told you everything you needed to know about him. How he didn’t get in that ring because he needed to. Maybe the money was a bonus, but that is all it was. He got in there because he wanted to. He let those other guys get in a punch or two before knocking the shit and wind out of them. 

He enjoyed it.

The next remarkable thing about his face, aside from the apparent perfect angles of his features, was how truly perfect it was. For someone so eager to brawl, there were no indications of his hobby. No bruises, scars, and even long-term, his nose looked perfectly straight, as did his jaw, never broken or battered. 

He just kept getting more fascinating by the second.

‘So you’re one of those thrill junkies, huh?’ you asked ordinarily, certainly not as if you had just lost yourself while looking at his face.

‘Sure, if you wanna call it that.’ He scoffed. He was holding back; that much was clear. The constant glances he threw your way were more than enough of a tell. He took another sip of his drink. Fuck it, now was a better chance than never. You let your leg slowly climb up and down his calf, gently pressing into him. Something in his posture stiffened, his jaw tensed up at your touch, and you revelled in it.

‘I can imagine it’s quite a rush, getting out there, getting the adrenaline pumping all through you.’ Your voice danced around him, only clear mischief at its core. ‘Makes you wonder…’ You leaned in so close you could nearly whisper the word directly in his ear. ‘If there is anything else that would have that effect on a man.’

‘Don’t start playing games you can’t finish, bub,’ he pushed out.

‘Oh, I’m planning on finishing.’ You smiled sweetly. ‘Don’t you worry ‘bout me, big boy.’

‘Is that right?’ He leaned in to fill the gap you could not match from your position. You had caught his full attention, his empty glass forgotten on the countertop bar.

Though he faught with a bare chest, he had layered up since and now wore a wifebeater tanktop, covered mainly by a blue button-up and a dark brown leather jacket. As he looked at you, he saw a little black dress that fits you like a glove and just called for attention, and that matched with some knee-high boots and your hair all done up just like the boys like it. You had the intention of getting out of this shithole with someone, and you had set your target. Now, you were so close to catching him, too. 

‘Mmm,’ you took the final sip of your drink. ‘So what’you say we get out of here?’

He chuckled at your suggestion, turning back to look at his hands. You noticed how even his knuckles did not have a shadow of a blush on them. ‘You sure you wanna do this, honey?’

‘I know what I’m doing, honey.’ You got up from your stool, placing your hand on his thigh. He immediately tensed up, but only momentarily, as he relaxed once your slowed down the graze of your nails against the inner seam of his jeans. ‘C’mon, let’s have some fun.’ 

Your hand moved across him to reach for his, and the simple touch was enough for you to know you had won. At least this round. As soon as your fingers touched, his entire body gave in. Not that he would have admitted it, nor was it that obvious at first glance. You, however, picked up on those things. How he leaned into your touch and practically let you walk him out of the bar. But you didn’t have to do or say anything for him to place his other hand over your hip, let it fall comfortably over your ass. 

As soon as your body was greeted with the cool winter air, you spun around, pressing yourself against him until his back hit the brick wall. From then on, everything turned to instincts. Like the bartender knew to refill his glass without a word or glance, this man knew how to kiss you. His hands found their positions on you, keeping you steady as his lips explored yours. You could feel the scruff of his beard, the taste of it all: the alcohol, the cigar. None of it should have had any appeal to you, but mixed with his touch, it simply made you melt away. The kiss kept going until your lungs ran out of breath, and even then, you leeched onto him until you couldn’t any longer, not-so-gently pulling his bottom lip between your teeth as you pulled apart.

‘Got a name, gorgeous?’ He asked, almost innocently, lip pink and plump, though mostly exhilarated through your actions, and so you told him, to which he replied: ‘Logan.’ He kissed you once more, deeper, harsher, before continuing his introduction. ‘Just so you know, I’m not one to hold back.’

‘What, like you did with that guy back there?’ You teased, letting your fingers brush through his hair.

‘That was just a warm-up.’ Was it meant as a threat? A warning? Whatever it was, it made your knees weak. ‘So don’t get scared if I get a bit wild.’

‘Trust me, I can handle me a dangerous man.’ You moved your hand down, brushing over the side of his face, down his collarbone to trace the silver chain that peaked from underneath his shirt.

‘Just be careful what you wish for.’ He nearly growled before pressing his lips back onto yours.

⦻

You had rented a motel room nearly across the street from The Cage bar and though fairly short, your journey back had turned into one big blur. All you remembered was Logan nearly throwing you into his car, a somewhat sluggish and overrun pick-up with an even older caravan attachment, and pulling you out with as much force. He had practically carried you up to your room, and if it wasn’t for the sake of the other motel visitants, you had a feeling he would have taken you right there and then, up against the green door with a steel 28 hammered into it.

But ever the gentleman, he pulled himself back, only slightly hurdling your attempts at unlocking the door as he let his hands roam all over your body. You threw your head back into the crook of his neck, your hand returning to its place in his messy hair. At the feeling of his lips on you, peppered kisses on the side of your neck, you couldn’t help but tug at his roots. Unintentional, but in hindsight, a revolutionary advance as Logan’s moan heated up your skin, and the thrust of his hips could only be described as untamed.

There really was a monster inside of him. And for one, you couldn’t wait until it got out.

The key finally clicked in its lock, and Logan was the one to push the door open. You spun on the tips of your toes to face him, unable to hide the playful grin on your face. He leaned in for a kiss, but you quickly avoided it with a step back. He stepped forward, kicking the door shut behind him. Just like that, the room fell into darkness, with the exception of the neon sign peaking through the curtains, illuminating your surroundings in glowing streaks of blue.

With a gentleness you had not shown before, you reached for a kiss. A feathery touch that left Logan needing more, the yearning visible in how his body followed you once you let go. And you let him. In fact, as you made your way to the bed, you hooked one finger through one of his belt loops, pulling him along with you. You took small steps backwards until your shins hit the edge of the bed and sat down with a squeak of the mattress springs. Standing in front of you, Logan towered over you. 

A perfectly placed streak of light hit him, showing you just how dark his eyes had turned with need. How his chest was rising heavily as he shook his jacket off, throwing it aside. You watched it pile under the button-up he threw along with it, followed by your coat. Once you looked back at him, the sight of his bare arms had your mind wandering off into the most dark and corrupt places. No thoughts, just pure need pushed your legs open, so far the most inviting of places to Logan.

He wasted no time falling to his knees. You pulled him by the hair for another kiss. Everything got messier by the moment, hungrier, filthier. His hands settled on your thighs, spreading your legs further, then pulling one of them up over his shoulder, giving him space to do whatever he wanted with you. Admittedly, you could have kept kissing him forever, but when his lips attached themselves to your inner thigh, you let yourself fall back on the bed in bliss.

Logan moved closer with each peck. Closer and closer until he reached your panties—the arousal evident from the moment you had revealed yourself to him. You didn’t think the two of you could get any closer until, with a harsh tug, he pulled you up against his face, the bridge of his nose tracing over the soaked material. A shaky moan escaped past your lips, and the hold you kept on his hair tightened. Putting the underwear on started to feel like your biggest regret that day as Logan got comfortable placing sloppy kisses over them, sending shock after shock of elation through your core. 

Your back arched at the sensation of his cold hand on your hot skin, climbing up to the spot where your bodies connected. Still, through that damned lace, he pushed a finger over your slit. The pleasure slowly began to form into agony as you couldn’t take it much longer. But perhaps neither could he, as not long after he had started those teasing strokes, he grabbed at your panties and, with a pull, ripped them to shreds. The sound of the material ripping was harsh and startling but not half as much as the feeling of his hot breath against your pussy, or his tongue finally pressing against it. 

‘Fuck,’ you cursed, to which he responded with a muffled moan, of which the vibrations only added to your pleasure. Logan was undeniably in his element at your feet. The intensity of his movements was proof enough that he enjoyed every single moment of it. The taste of your juices was like ambrosia, and he couldn’t get enough. 

Your hips bucked up in a moment of his more expressive movements. The broken record in your mouth was stuck on a mix of profanities and his name. You couldn’t stop thinking about the feeling of his fingers on you, how you wished he would have done more than just tease you, but it wasn’t needed for you to feel the tight twist in your stomach. Your whole body began to tense, including your thighs. It took the sound of Logan’s deep groans for you to realise that, in your desperate state, you had started to squeeze your thighs together, practically locking his head in between. 

But, unlike your first thought that had made you want to pull away, his groans had not been worrisome. It was full-on pleasure that he was displaying. To set aside any of your doubt in the case, he held on to your leg, keeping it exactly where it was, and when he glanced up, your eyes met that same exact spark you had seen in the bar. That same hunger and insanity of a man in despair. 

Immediately, an idea bubbled in your mind. How you had still been able to form any coherent thought was a mystery, and even more, how you had managed to execute it. It was most likely not possible without his help, as you were sure if he was steadfast in his current position, there would be no way of you getting him to move a slight inch, but with a swift manoeuvre, you pulled yourself off the bed, and flipped yourself, as well as Logan, for you to position yourself on top of his lips.

‘You readin’ my mind now, princess?’ the nickname alone brought back the tightness in your stomach, accentuated by the nick of his teeth against your inner thigh after his remark. There was a moment of slightly awkward shuffling as he pushed himself and you up onto the centre of the bed, but once set, there was no going back. 

Instincts took over once more as his tongue moved over your folds. For that extra friction, you began to move in tandem over his features, grinding into him in a heat of need. Now, you had been with a number of guys, each freakier than the other, but none of them had ever let you ride their face like a fuck pillow. He would have been obsolete if not for the fact that he was getting off on sucking your clit.

‘So fucking desperate,’ you moaned between thrusts, and since his mouth was a bit preoccupied, Logan’s response came in the form of his hand firmly smacking across your ass. The lingering sting burnt through the rest of you just long enough for you to start missing it and that’s when he struck the sensitive skin again. Your moans turned higher in pitch with each time he did, and the actions of his tongue got more ferocious. Without saying a word, the message was clear: who’s the desperate one now?

And the answer was very simple. You both were. That’s the only reason you had walked into that room together to begin with. Both of you had urges that had gone unkept for too long. Urges where just sex wasn’t enough. There was always something missing. Until now.

All this time he had made sure you stayed right on top of him. Long and tight enough to make you wonder if he had actually had a death wish and was planning to go out in style. But evertime you looked at him, he seemed to almost be at peace, completely focused in the delicious task at hand. When he did finally pull you up from his lips, it was only to introduce the last puzzle piece into the game. 

The curses rolled of your tongue as he pushed his fingers into you. Long and thick, already stretching you out. He left kisses up on your clit, sloppy and wet just to keep toying with the nerves. You could feel the callouses on his thumb as he traced and pressed over it. 

His other hand was again on your ass, this time digging into the soft flesh to keep you at bay. You were stuck in the rapturous stance, ready to burst at any time. 

‘C’mon, baby, fucking cum on my tongue,’ he growled before placing himself right back where his demand would be met and this time, as the tightness pulled at your body, you couldn’t control it. Not a minute later, were you gasping out his name as you let the pleasure take over all of you.

You rode your high out to the final moment where he kissed your thigh again, eyes heavy and faint smile adorned his lips. While both your breaths were evening out, you slipped down over his body to see the full picture. Even in the barely-lit room, you could see how his face was glistening with your juices, and it just kept going down his neck, drenching the top of his tanktop. It was a sight for sore eyes—and legs. What you would do to see it over and over again. 

With a soft laugh that only spelled out “trouble”, you started to softly trace the lines of his beard. He looked up at you with furrowed brows, awaiting an explanation to your actions. 

‘Told you I could handle it,’ you smiled, smacking his cheek. Not viciously or even that hard, but firmly enough to wake him up from his pussy-drunk state. 

And wake him up, you did. 

‘They call it foreplay for a reason, sugar.’ He smirked and suddenly you grew very aware of his hold on you. The next second, you felt yourself move through the air as he took his turn in flipping you over. You nearly got the wind blown out of your lungs as your back hit the mattress for the second time that night, this time with his weight on top of you. 

There was the sound of a belt unbuckling. Your eyes automatically searched for the source, ready to see what he had been packing below, but Logan was quicker, cupping your face in his hand, squeezing your cheeks so you’d have no choice to look up at him. 

‘Eyes on me.’ His voice was as soft as limestone, fine and effervescent in the most rigid fashion. Then his hand moved down, pushing you by the throat into the soft pillow underneath. He leaned forward, placing his mouth over your ear to whisper: ‘Gonna be a good girl for me?’

You nodded as best as you could with the stiff hold he had on you.

‘Use your words,’ he growled and squeezed. 

‘Yes,’ you choked out weakly, exactly like he had wanted you to. 

The release of his hand reopened the next floodgates in your body. You could still taste the result of the last time on his lips and tongue when he kissed you. But it wasn’t enough. You needed more. And the most painful part of it all was that you knew just how close you were to getting what you wanted. You could feel the loose belt buckle against your thigh.

‘Logan,’ you gasped as an ending to the kiss. ‘Please.’

‘What did I just tell you, hmm?’ And yet, he still pulled at your dress to push it up over your hips. ‘Use your fucking words.’

‘Fuck me.’ You tried to reach for the top of his jeans, but there was no moving from the position he had you in. ‘Need you inside me.’

‘But yeah, I’m the desperate one,’ he mocked before sitting up. You watched with anticipation at how he unzipped his trousers, and pulled his dick out from his boxers. There was no surprise that he was completely hard by now, and even the size, considering the rest of him, was not a revelation. This had been exactly what you had been counting on when you saw him in that cage. Seeing him stroke himself in front of you was nothing but validation. 

‘Just look at you,’ he said as he kept his hand on his cock, ‘Opened your legs up for me the moment you saw me.’ His other hand reached for the top of your dress, stretching it down to reveal your breast. ‘Bet you would have let me fuck you in that cage, huh?’

‘Can’t deny, the thought had crossed my mind.’ You admitted, letting yourself think back to how attractive he looked back in there. Drenched in sweat under those cold lights. That animalistic glint in his eyes. Not much different from now, truth be told.

That had been all Logan needed to hear. You hadn’t realised you were holding your breath in expectation until the feeling of him entering you finally took over. Your lips formed a perfectly blissful O as he stretched you out. 

‘That’s right,’ he beamed, ‘gonna fill you up. Nice and tight.’ And he didn’t waste any time, pulling back right after he had reached your depths. In seconds, he had a pace going that left you shaking underneath him, the grunts that accompanied his thrusts recoiling through your nerves. You hands clutched around for a something to grab onto as you started to feel like you were going to sink into the bed from the power at which he fucked you—for that’s what it was, nothing but a brutal and rough fuck.

You searched the sheets for grip, but Logan had other ideas. Taking you by the wrists, he pulled your arms up over your head, holding them against the paneling of the bed. The dull banging on the wall could have very well been your own headboard or the angry fists of your neighbours from the other side, but either way, you were too preoccupied to pay them any mind. 

This had been what you were waiting for. What he had promised. The untamed animal that worked off of nothing but impulses. Anything to suffice that pure need for pleasure. 

His grip on your wrists was tight, and to say it didn’t turn you on even more than anything else he had done before would be a blatant lie, but your urge to touch him was stronger. You tried to wiggle your hands free, but there was no way of doing so. Not with a man like Logan in control, that much he had made clear.

‘This not good for ya?’ he huffed out, but before you could respond, he pulled you up by your arms until you straddled his thighs, chest to chest, an angle which pulled him in even deeper. 

‘Oh my god,’ your eyes rolled back at the sensation.

‘No god will help you now,’ he said against your lips before bringing you in for another kiss. You wrapped yourself around him, finding comfort in the softness of his hair once more while he began to guide your hips into a steady motion to fit the pace at which he moved. Testing the waters again, you pulled at the hairs on the nape of his neck. The smile on his face as his head rolled back was unmistakable even in the dark of the room. 

You pulled harder and there it was. That pure moan you had been waiting for and once you got a taste of it, you couldn’t get enough. 

And neither could he.

With the goal set, you dragged your nails over his shoulders as you let your hips roll over his.

‘Fuck yeah,’ he moaned in ecstasy, ‘use me, baby.’ The words came out airy and made your head spin at their contrast. How could he be acting like your little plaything while still taking full control of you? It made you feel grand and tiny in his arms at the same time, but mostly, it was so incredibly hot.

He hissed at the feeling of your nails digging into his skin. ‘Don’t you dare fucking stop.’ He stressed each word with a thrust, dotting it with a sharp kiss. And so, you did as you told, pushing yourself onto him in all ways you could. You didn’t know if you had it in you to draw blood, but it sure felt close to it. You were waiting for Logan to scream out, pull you off of him, but it only seemed to rile him up more.

That’s a monster. That’s what the man in the bar had called him. Monster. And there was a sense of truth to it. There was a beast hiding inside him, ready to attack. Maybe he thought he had found a victim when he saw you, but as you clenched around his length, you were quite the opposite. 

You were no victim. No damsel in distress. No princess. 

You were a hunter, and you had just caught your grand prize.

‘I’m gonna—’ you were unable to finish the sentence before the rapture. You screamed his name in elation as the second flush satisfaction washed over you that night but it wasn’t enough for Logan. He kept on rutting into you, his grunts filled the room, until you felt it all spill out of you.

Once he had caught his breathing under control, he sighed out a contented “fuck,” which you wholeheartedly agreed with as you pulled yourself off him. The emptiness you immediately began to feel was disquieting, and you could feel that need for him bubbling up in your stomach again. The only thing that slightly helped was the sight of him when you returned from the bathroom, jeans on the floor next to the pile of clothes you had formed through the night. 

You took all of him in with wonder as you slipped your dress off your body.

They shook their heads

Saying, "God help her" when I

Told 'em he's my man.

But your good Lord didn't need to

Lift a finger, I can fix him

No, really, I can.

Woah- Maybe I can't.

You awoke to the sunbeams bursting through the curtains. Sore all over, you tried to stretch across the bed, mindful of the presence next to you. 

Except, when you stretched out your hand, you were only met with the soft material of the bedsheets. The mattress had gone cold and reformed back to its natural state, having forgotten any weight that might have laid there the night before. If you had looked outside, you would have seen an empty parking spot beside yours. The only sign of there ever having been someone in that bed with you was the ghostly presence of the smell of cigars and aftershave. 

You smiled to yourself, nails digging into the sheets as you let your mind wander back to the realm of dreams.

the end.

thank you for reading 💗

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[yanderefarm]

yandere vampire's pet introduction

cw;; yandere tendencies, blood, abuse, child abuse, manipulation, orgies, pet play, hypnosis

i love this little freak. there's a lot of information here bc i had a lot to say. he's so pretty and i love him so much one of my favorites for sure. im sorry to everyone who wants to be kind to him and treat him gently. im definitely gonna write about him getting bullied.

like I said before his yandere type is self destructive not like ares who is more traditionally yandere. so his content is less about him being jealous and hurting other people or you and more about his obsession. you're the only thing that matters in his life and it drives him to insanity.

silvan was born in a territory owned by a cruel vampire who purposely mistreated the humans under his watch because of how dirty he thought they were.

because of this it was hard for his family to find food so when he was a young child he was given to some low ranking vampires in exchange for human food.

that's how he got his scars around his neck. the vampires kept him for 3 days and nearly killed him before his blood started to develop a bad taste.

when humans are malnourished their blood starts to taste more like dead man blood which can be toxic to vampires. when silvan fell at your feet he tasted horrible, it wasn't until he'd been eating regular healthy meals for a few months that you actually risked trying his blood for the first time.

he tastes sweet. he's like biting into a perfect strawberry that's juicy and sweet without any tartness.

he believes that you're just inherently superior to him because you're a vampire. he feels like he needs to serve a powerful vampire like yourself that you're the only thing that gives his life meaning.

if he had been sired by you he would have been distraught and unable to cope with the idea of it. he wouldn't theoretically mind hurting humans. the problem is his self esteem and how lowly he thinks of himself.

he makes it no secret to you how he feels about himself. it's why his guilt tripping is so effective.

it also means that when he actually does something bad that earns him punishment he takes it incredibly hard. your servants will report his screaming and wailing so loud they can hear him if they go to that part of the manor.

you had to make his punishment room essentially baren so he wouldn't try to hurt himself. even the floors and walls had to be redone to minimize risk. it's basically a padded room.

you would expect him to lay on the guilt tripping extra hard after he gets out but he doesn't. his eyes are empty and his voice is just about gone. he's like a shell of a human being.

silvan will just walk around for a while like that. he'll hesitate to even go near you because he doesn't want to disappoint you again. he doesn't start to return to normal until you bite into him.

he loves when you feed on him. he feels wanted, needed even. you're so powerful and amazing there's no reason you should need him but you do.

he loves sitting in your lap while you drink. he'll run his fingers through your hair and babble about how happy he is. he just goes on and on if you let him, until he's absolutely woozy from blood loss.

he can't die easily because of the preservation procedure. he can withstand having his blood drained past the point of a regular human, he doesn't need to eat every day, he doesn't age. the only thing that could actually kill him is a deliberate attempt on his life.

you've robbed him of part of his humanity by turning him into a pet.

it's not like silvan cares though. you could take all of his humanity if you wanted. you could force him to crawl around like a dog for eternity and he would do so happily.

and compared to his home in the human farm his life is significantly better because he belongs to you. it's not just the fact that he's a pampered pet living in a lavish manor and eating whenever he desires. it's that he's yours.

he's met plenty of vampires by now, other lords like yourself included. no one compares to you. you can show him the bare minimum of affection and that is worth more than all the adoration he gets at parties.

some parties can be a bit too much for him. he's always willing to serve so if it's your will that he be passed around he'll submit himself to any vampire you decide. but sometimes vampires are too greedy, sometimes it reminds him too much of his childhood trauma.

he finds it hard to run to you for support, not because you're some cruel owner but because he doesn't believe he's worthy of your care. if he actually comes to you with a problem you know it's serious.

if he starts to panic or get upset while he's in the middle of being fed on and used by many vampires he can't exactly get up and run into your arms. that's when he finds his ribbon.

the first gift you gave him was a ribbon to tastefully hide his scars. you wrapped it around his neck like a dog collar. since then the original had gotten torn but you bought him a new one.

every one that got torn went to a shoe box in his room. he took good care of the one he wore around the manor but at parties they often got carelessly discarded by greedy vampires. you always bought him a new one, usually to match his outfit.

it was so important to him that he would use it to soothe himself when he was upset. it's presence was like your embrace to him. he would imagine your cold fingers gently touching his skin as you tied it on him. everything was ok.

not every party was a horrible slog fest. the small parties you and the other elite would have were the most fun. you and your friends would all bring your pets and while you talked business silvan got to spend time with the other pets.

he likes other pets because they tend to be the only humans who understand him. some humans have a deep resentment for vampires and they dream of revolution. some humans simply accept their lot in life and do their best while silently cursing their vampire rulers. it seemed like only pets understood the deep admiration for vampires.

silvan and the other pets would excitedly brag about their respective owners and gush over how cool they were. at least until the party turned to other things.

if you're an incredibly affectionate owner he'll become a spoiled brat. he'll still be self loathing but being sat on your lap adorned in all the beautiful things you got him is basically therapy. he doesn't ask for material possessions usually all he really wants is your attention. he interrupts your work, he crawls into your bed, he'll even accidentally barge into meetings with other vampires. he'll pretend to be your stupid pet who doesn't know better. he didn't know you were busy he just needed to see you so bad. the other vampires just watch his shameless smirk when you let him do what he wants.

if you're more of a tortured soul type vampire he loves you but you also irritate him a little. you gave him a good life because of how pathetic and sad he looked when you first met. you give him clothes, you feed him, you gave him a warm bed. so why won't you bite him? why do you wait until you're starving to finally feed on him? he's your property it's your right to feed on him. but you don't. when you finally do you're crying and apologizing. it makes him so frustrated he doesn't understand you. there's nothing more insulting to silvan than you not wanting to eat him.

if you're a mean owner it makes him feel all the more desperate to please you. he'll gladly ask you to take your frustrations out on him. if you want to see his face twist in pain you're going to have to get creative. you punch him, strangle him, cut him, anything and he has a big dopey smile on his face. he can so easily convince himself that you hurting him is your way of showing affection. as long as you don't lock him in the punishment room it means you love him.

as long as you let him stay by your side he'll remain your devoted and loyal pet.

silvan has a vampire kink. he gets so turned on by your fangs, your cold hands, your power over him. compel him. bite him. touch him.

with this comes a pain kink, a blood kink, and a hypnosis kink.

he's already obedient but compel him to make him quiet, dumb, and pliant. he'll jack off to the memory of you doing whatever you want to him for months.

it's hard not to notice just how much you drinking his blood really turns him on. especially if you're a messy eater. he has to physically restrain himself from kissing you and licking up his own blood.

if you're covered in someone else's blood he gets strangely jealous but still undeniably turned on. let him remove your bloody clothes or touch him with your bloody hands and he'll end up humping your leg.

he likes taking care of you. he's clumsy and overexcited but let him help you get dressed or take a bath or get you off. he'll do his best to show you the love you showed him.

he will suggest crawling under your desk and cockwarming you all day. but if you give a mouse a cookie.

he likes more traditional pet play too. put him in a proper collar and make him bark. call him good dog or good boy.

he's really skilled at taking multiple people at once. it's part of why he's so popular at parties. as long as you're not participating he'll be able to focus his attention on everyone.

if you're participating everyone else is chopped liver. he wants to show you how good a pet he is but he also only wants to touch you.

the rare exception is at the small parties with all your friends. all of the pets just get passed around. the first time he got really jealous of whoever you would put your hands on but as he became friends with them all the jealousy subsided somewhat. he knows they'll never want to leave their owners so he doesn't have to worry about them wanting you.

you're vampires of course you have to have cool vampire orgies. if you can't have cool vampire orgies what's the point!

his favorite position is either on your lap or with his legs over your shoulders. he wouldn't particularly care too much what position you had him in. he just needs you.

brat taming. if you spoil him you get to brat tame him and in return he'll misbehave more just to get punished.

he's the most fun to bully or mess with when you have company. he tries to be beautiful and put together eye candy by your side, he can hide his obsession with you for a little while. until you're pulling his hair or cutting into his neck. undo all the hard work your maids went through to make him presentable.

he can't hide how hard he gets when he's looking up at you and your company with tears in his eyes and his shirt stained with his blood. he'll play pretend that he's a miserable dog who's being mistreated by his owner but you're both well aware that he loves it. any kind of attention is good attention.

[t1red-twilight]

acquaintances to lovers headcannons

content/warnings: gn!reader, fluff

word count: 0.4k

masterlist d. w. masterlist

- your parents were hunters, and naturally they knew john (live laugh hate john)

- your parents had similar parenting styles (i. e. none)

- so when you and dean met later down the line, you instantly understood each other

- this did not mean that you got along

- “i’m not a violent dog, i don’t know why i bite” type beat

- standoffish, awkward, hard to let your walls down. but everything being blinded by indifference and jokes/sarcasm

- after spending enough time together, you end up tolerating each other

- because “tolerating each other” totally means having self sacrificing tendencies and doing everything you can for another person

- so many times you just sit in silence together, just for the peace of it all

- things start to change when you realize just how much dean knows about you

- your orders at fast food restaurants, how you like your coffee, your favorite movies, the cassettes you’ll want to play on long drives, etc. etc.

- and then all of a sudden you want to be around him, all the time

- you start to think that he does, too

- he asks to come with you on things you could definitely do alone

- talks about you to sam?

- (sam knows, with his magical empathy obviously)

- dean starts pushing you behind him in dangerous situations even though you can definitely handle yourself

- so you confront him about it and he’s just emotionally constipated and neither of you know what’s going on

- so you decide to do what feels right

- and that turns into sharing beds when there’s not enough, long emotional talks in the impala, hugs for comfort or for no reason at all

- you both vowed to never repeat your parents’ mistakes on one late night under the stars

- and then, one day someone asks dean if you’re his partner and he says that you are

- he’s side-eyeing you like crazy to gauge your reaction

- all you do is grab his hand and squeeze it super tight, trying to hide a massive grin on your face

- something in him (be it relief, anxiety, or just plain old joy) makes him want to cry

- you kiss for the first time you’re alone after that. his hands are on your face, every emotion that you feel towards each other can be felt

- there’s a shift in how you treat each other, but it doesn’t make either of you nervous

- everything feels exactly perfect, like it’s exactly how it’s supposed to be.

[yikesmary]

hi! i saw u were asking for some svt oneshots ideas so ... strangers to dating (?) w mingyu where u walk ur golden retriever and while in the park mingyu bumps into ur puppy and asks if they can play together for a while <3

PUPPY PARENTS — kim mingyu x reader

summary: where your golden retriever has the tendency to bring you things she has an interest in— sticks, frisbees that obviously don’t belong to you, and even the occasional bird. but this time, your dog brings… a man? and not just any man, only the most beautiful man you’ve ever met. maybe your dog is onto something…

notes: WOO first request! i don’t have a dog but this request is cute. also i have no knowledge on how having a dog at the park works so i’m just guessing. it’s a non-idol!au but it doesn’t really matter since it’s not really mentioned. i kinda got carried away and the plot ended up a bit different than what the request was so i’m sorry anon 🧍‍♀️

“Now, I know I’ve let you bring in whatever interesting thing you see. But this time it should stop. I mean, come on, the old lady’s chihuahua? You weren’t the one getting hit by her purse,” you told your golden retriever Winnie, who looked as if she wasn’t understanding a thing you were saying.

Which made sense, considering she was a dog and you were, you know, not a dog.

You sighed, and kneeled down to the level of Winnie and decided to give her a tiny head rub before standing up and proceeding your walk to the park.

Thankfully, the park wasn’t busy. The last thing you wanted Winnie to do was pick up another kid again by their collar and proceed to kidnap them (the first and last time it happened, the mom was understanding but also really concerned).

Once you entered the park, you looked for a bench to sit on with Winnie not too far away, her tail wagging as she walked. When you finally chose a bench and sat down, Winnie looked at you as if she was expecting you to let her roam free.

“You can’t go too far away and play nice with the other dogs,” you reminded her, and she barked in response. It was times like these where you thought she understood you. But no matter how much you reassured her that you knew how to keep secrets, the only thing she did was stare at you blankly.

You gave her one last ruffle on her head before she took off running, watching her as she zoomed past the many people in excitement.

After making sure that she didn’t immediately run away from the park, you went on your phone to watch TikTok and respond to the texts you got that you told yourself you were going to respond and never ended up doing.

However, this didn’t last long because a confused, “Miss, is this your dog?” which made you look at the person that belonged to the voice.

You froze at the sight of the beautiful man. And it wasn’t just a quick stop; you physically froze at the sight of him. But you stopped once you realized that your dog was forcibly keeping him there in front of you by biting his pant leg and not letting go.

“Winnie! I told you that you can’t kidnap people,” you whisper yelled at your dog, but it was futile, as your dog just kept on wagging her tail, no doubt drooling on the handsome stranger’s pants.

You took ahold of the dog and pried her mouth open in order to release the pant leg. “I’m so sorry, I should’ve known she would do something like this,” you apologized, putting Winnie’s leash back on.

The man had smiled at you, not bothered at all at the fact his pants were now covered in dog spit. “No worries, she was nothing but sweet when she approached me. We even did a game of catch before she decided to kidnap me,” he said, grabbing a tennis ball from his pocket and showing it to you.

“You just happen to have a tennis ball in your pocket?” You asked, raising your eyebrow.

The beautiful mystery man only grinned at you, “I like visiting the park because I like asking dog owners if I can play with their dogs,”

“That’s… adorable,” you blurted out, since the thought of the man just having the ball for the sole purpose of having something to play with dogs was adorable.

“Thanks, but Winnie here is adorable, too. I’m guessing she’s named after Winnie the Pooh?”

“Unintentionally named Winnie. My niece had a Winnie the Pooh phase when she was younger and constantly kept calling her Winnie and it was the only name she ever answered to after that,” you explained.

“So if I know the dog’s name, can I know yours?” he asked.

You told him your name feeling a little embarrassed, since you went on to call him adorable and explained your dog’s name origin without either of you knowing each other’s names. If he didn’t stop you, you would’ve probably ended up over sharing and telling him all your life problems.

“Pretty name for someone who’s just as pretty,” he complimented, which made you smile.

“Does that line work?” You questioned.

“Depends. Did it work on you?”

“How about I know your name first before I say anything?” you asked.

“Oh, right! I can’t believe I asked you for your name before even saying mine. My name’s Mingyu,” he said, finally putting a name to his face.

“Well, Mingyu, the line worked. Just a tiny bit,” you replied, putting your pointer finger and thumb close together in a pinch.

“That’s disappointing. I thought it would’ve been the perfect line to lead to asking you out for coffee. My treat,” Mingyu said.

“Well. the coffee does sound good. And you did get ambushed by my dog, so I’d feel bad rejecting you…” you jokingly trailed off.

“And I might be injured! You might have to stay with me until I feel all better,” Mingyu played along, causing you to laugh.

“You’re such a dork,”

“A dork who just so happens to know of a cafe that allows dogs and even has their very own menu of drinks and food curated just for dogs,”

Winnie interrupted your banter at that moment in order to nudge you, giving her own seal of approval at the mention of the cafe. “I guess Winnie chose for the both of us,” you said, gesturing to your dog’s sudden movement.

“Just as a warning, don’t taste the dog’s food. I tried it and I should’ve never done so in the first place,” Mingyu said, the both of you walking with Winnie beside you, trotting along.

“What made you even eat the dog treats anyways?”

“They looked like human food! So, as a result my friend, Jeonghan, dared me to try one…”

[laylasredemption]

I know Micah Bell is the bad guy, but hear me out, I have a few headcannons for dating him

warnings: might be toxic y'all gotta excuse me cus i've just got out of a toxic relationship myself that's how i deal with it; also smut (i really gotta write a whole smut based on these headcannons) pls guys stay away from toxic men irl read at your own risk, might be a lil messed up

The first time Micah lay his eyes on you, he knew he had to have you, and he knew how to get what he wanted. You were much younger than him, probably somewhere in your early to mid 20s, and he knew how to talk you into thinking he could be the big, scary guard dog, protect you from the evil of this cruel world.

Maybe you even had the tendency to fall for the bad men, and he quickly found that out. Let's be real, he could read you like an open book, so it didn't take long for him to realize how naive and impressionable you are. It was so easy to manipulate your emotions however he wanted to, and you thought he's the only one who truly understands you.

Other gang members would notice that, of course, and they would try to make you realize how wrong this is. But Micah would make sure you don't chat with them too long. He'd barge into the conversation, say something to the other person about not bothering his girl, and drag you away.

He wouldn't physically punish you, or that's what I want to believe, but his words would cut deep into your heart. Almost as if his words were bullets and you were his favourite target (nessa barrett referance), he'd especially try to shatter your self esteem, calling you stupid for believing even for a moment what others say.

The emotional rollercoaster, god, Micah could be so sweet to you one moment if there was something he wanted to gain from you, if he wanted you to believe in his good side. You'd often ditch your morals for him, and he'd reward you with affection, maybe a kiss if you're being really good.

Then his mood could change in a moment. Like walking on eggshells, you make one wrong move, and in the best case he's giving you the silent treatment. In other, less pleasant, cases he would again call you stupid, dumb, anything to tear your self esteem down.

GASLIGHTING!! I totally see him saying stuff like "You must be crazy if you think I [insert something he definitely did]."

He'd never make the relationship official, but at the same time he'd say he'd kill any man who tried to take you from him.

Lying, lying, lying. He'd lie to you so much you wouldn't know what to believe anymore. This and false promises to get on your good side again.

Now the NSFW part

POWER PLAY he'd love to be in charge in bedroom as much as outside of it, having you submit to him is what gets him off, he'd love pushing your boundaries, testing how far he can go with you. He has some dark fantasies and he'd try to get you to try them out.

He's never gentle. We all know he's a lil sick in the head, so he'd always be rough in bed. The louder you scream the better.

His fav position would be doggy, partially because he could push your head into the bed, the ground, or whatever there was underneath you, and partially because he could just grab your hips, digging his nails into your skin, and slam all the way in and out of you, the head of his cock bruising your cervix.

You'd always be sooo sore on the next day, not just inside from all the pounding, but also outside from the bites and scratches he had left on your body. And your ass would be definitely bruised because y'all can't tell me this man ain't into spanking the hell out of you.

During sex he'd love to tell you that you belong to him. He'd keep making you say it, asking you who you belong to. Especially if he'd seen you talking to any male gang members that day. Oh, and of course, he'd say something like "Bet he could never fuck you like this."

As much as he doesn't want to commit to you, he'd love to see the marks he left on your body, indicating you belong to him.

He would make you cum, just because he wants you to think no one else can bring such pleasure to you. But there would be absolutely no aftercare. He's cold and distant. He got what he wanted, that's all that matters for him.

I feel like he would definitely use sex as something to distract you if he makes a mistake. And if you make a mistake? He either fucks your brains out or he turns you on just to not let you even get undressed nor touch yourself.

Honestly, he wouldn't mind people overhearing. Hell, he'd be even into getting caught. At least that would show others that you belong to him and no one else can touch you.

I feel like he'd be into gunplay, using his guns on you during sex, holding a gun to your head while he's fucking into you or when you're sucking him off. You'd have no idea about it, but he wouldn't take the bullets out beforehand. He didn't plan to pull the trigger, but if the gun was to fire on its own, the danger only added to his arousal. He's a sick man, what can I say?

[taexual]

sleepwalking ● 4 | jjk

pairing: jungkook x fem!reader

summary: due to unfortunate circumstances, you ended up managing your ex-boyfriend’s band. you thought you’ve both made peace with it, but suddenly he’s very eager to prove to you that first love never dies.

genre: rockstar!jungkook / exes to lovers

warnings: explicit language, suggestive themes, SLOW BURN

words: 6.7k

read from the beginning ○ masterlist

chapter 4 ► i wanna be someone you used to hate without the memory of the pain

It took three and a half hours for the tour bus to reach Warsaw. Objectively, that gave Jungkook plenty of time to tell you about his ex and why he thought that relationship was worth salvaging.

But somehow—that is, by spinning elaborate webs and finding cheap excuses to derail the topic—he told you exactly nothing of what you wanted to know and managed to fall asleep before you could accuse him of beating around the bush.

You wanted to wake him up, but rationality won over. He needed sleep and, truthfully, you didn’t really need to know the full details of his failed relationship. As his manager, you were supposed to know that such a relationship existed and that was enough—you should have let him rest.

And you did let him.

But that did not stop you from wanting to know more.

You hesitated – really, you did, if only for a moment – before you texted Luna. It was three in the morning, but the girl slept during the day and stayed awake watching films with Taehyung at night (no matter how much you scolded him for yawning during rehearsals), so she replied right away.

You were smart enough not to text her the details over the phone – the Rated Riot members had a tendency to steal everyone’s phones just for the fun of it sometimes – so she agreed to come find you at your bunk in the back of the bus.

There were seven of you on this bus: the four members of the band, Luna, you, and the driver. You knew you had to be quiet, but you figured you were safe enough with everyone asleep now that you’d arrived at your destination (except Taehyung, who was still quietly watching Reservoir Dogs on his phone).

“I feel bad doing this,” was what you started with—you needed to make that clear as though it would justify your curiosity. All it really did was intrigue Luna more. “But I feel like I have to know.”

“What is it?” she urged, nearly bouncing with interest as she sat opposite you on your bunk.

So, you told her—in dangerous whispers—about Sid’s revelation regarding the mysterious ex and Jungkook’s subsequent secrecy. Luna listened, her arms crossed over her chest, her eyes wide and glistening.

“Alright,” she concluded after you finished. “Here’s what we’re going to do – I’ll ask Taehyung to confirm if there’s any truth to this. That’s first of all. Because, let me be honest with you, everything that Sid told you sounds like he just pulled it out of his ass.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” you nodded, “but then Jungkook said it’s true. Why would he lie?”

“I don’t know,” she paused here to think. “Is it possible that he’s just pulling a prank on you? Although I don’t see how anyone would find that funny.”

“Anyone but Sid.”

“Right,” she agreed. “But would Jungkook jump on that? I haven’t really seen him with his friends much, but I assume he draws the line at involving you.”

That was true. All things considered, Jungkook was rarely ever the one who called you for help when he got into trouble—it was usually his friends who did.

“You’re probably right,” you said. Your voice was hopeful, but you could never be fully certain that Jungkook’s friends haven’t pulled him into the metaphorical dark side completely. “But I don’t know what else this could be. He must have dated someone, it’s the only way this makes sense.”

“No—or maybe,” Luna said, her voice rising with sudden excitement. “Maybe he’s trying to get your pity, so you would come to Paris with him.”

You frowned. “Why?”

“Maybe he—” she started, but then stopped herself. Biting her lip, she thought twice about the way in which she’d phrase herself next. She didn’t want to instil some sort of false hope inside of you, but she also wasn’t sure if you’d even care. “I don’t know… Would it be outrageous to guess that maybe he just wants to take you out?”

You lifted your eyebrows and couldn’t resist a scoff.

“Unless it’s with a sniper, yes,” you said. “That would be outrageous.”

“Oh, come on,” she rolled her eyes at your absurd dramatics. Her suggestion seemed far more plausible to her, especially after she heard your jeering response, which obviously came from your personal discomfort, and not genuine disbelief. She pointed out, “you dated.”

“Four years ago,” you reminded her in turn. “I barely even remember the relationship or the break-up anymore.”

Luna caught the tentative tone in your voice—like you wanted to believe what you were saying, but couldn’t quite manage it, yet you hoped it wouldn’t show.

It showed. And it gave Luna a pause.

Distracted from the topic of Jungkook hypothetically wanting to take you out on a date, she asked, “why did you break up?”

You and Luna had been friends before you became Rated Riot’s manager (funnily enough, she was the one who introduced you to their music after you mentioned that you might start working with them) – but not before you broke up with Jungkook. She’d never met him, but she was one of your closest friends, so she knew of his existence—although the realization that your ex-boyfriend and Jungkook from Rated Riot was the same person, came later.

Despite that, however, the two of you had never really talked about the reasons why you and Jungkook broke up. You’d never talked about that with anyone. There was never any point for that, really – the people who knew you could tell that your relationship had ended long before you two actually broke up.

“Just—things happened,” you said, looking away and waving a dismissive hand around.

“Come on,” she pleaded again. “You were together for three years. What things could have happened to end that?”

You sighed. It wasn’t a secret or anything. This was just something you happened not to talk about. But, you supposed, it wouldn’t make much of a difference if you did.

“It was the same shit,” you began slowly. “His stupid friends. He was getting drunk every night, picking fights, drag-racing, doing other dangerous, dumb things. Then one night, I had to pick him up from the police station after he got arrested with Minjun—”

“Minjun got arrested?” Luna interrupted, her eyebrows rising. She realised she’d spoken too loudly and looked around warily—the bus was quiet, save for the sound of the film on Taehyung’s phone. She continued, quieter, “I always thought he was the most mellow one, out of Jungkook’s friends.”

“I know, right?” you nodded with a relatable smile. “I still think Sid set them up. Anyway, they were spraying graffiti on some abandoned building downtown, and they got caught by someone patrolling the street. So, they ran and, apparently, spat at the officers. Minjun and Jungkook were the only ones who got caught. That was my last straw.”

Your friend nodded, not surprised, but still unsettled to hear that this was something that you’d had to deal with even before you became Rated Riot’s manager. Luna wasn’t sure if she’d have agreed to work with an ex-boyfriend, especially if that meant interacting with his friends—who were a contributing factor to the break-up, as it seemed—again.

“Wow,” she commented, lacking better words.

“Yeah,” you concurred, because, really, that one syllable seemed to sum it up well. “But that was ages ago. I mean, he obviously hasn’t changed much, but I don’t care about it. I mean, I do, but I care as his manager. Not, uh—not personally. Not anymore.”

Luna caught the awkward stuttering and licked her lips as she tried to fight off a smirk.

“Hmm, okay,” she said, crossing her legs on your bunk. “So, if that’s the case, then why do you want to know about this relationship that he might have had?”

Immediately, you felt the need to defend yourself from whatever she was insinuating, “well, because as his manager—”

“Right,” she cut you off, repeating, “so, as his manager, why do you want to know about th—”

“Okay, fine.” You extended a hand to stop her and closed your eyes in defeat when she chuckled. “I want to know, because this person is going to be at the wedding of our mutual friends. It’s very likely that we’ve met before. A-and Jungkook said that this person might be the love of his life.”

Luna stopped laughing immediately.

“Fuck,” she whispered. “He said that?”

You brought your tongue over your dry lips. “Yeah.”

“Fuck,” she repeated.

“Yeah. I-I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m not—not heartbroken or anything—”

“No, of course not.”

You gave her a look. “I’m just being careful. Because he isn’t. And if this person is anything like his friends, then… you know. It’s not good.”

You couldn’t find a better explanation why that wasn’t good or why this situation required your interference, but Luna understood. She likely understood this better than you did; your mind was still clouded with convictions that you were only doing this for the sake of the band.

“Okay,” she said with a nod. “That’s fair enough.”

This was why you loved her: she didn’t just understand you—wordlessly sometimes—but she also knew when to ask and when not to ask questions.

“Thing is, though,” you continued, folding your legs under yourself as you tried to handle the sudden anxiety that came with talking about this. “What do I tell him? If this person really is bad for him, what do I say without seeming, I don’t know, crazy? Because, when it comes to this, there’s a very thin line between being a concerned manager and a bitter ex-girlfriend. And I’m already overstepping all boundaries by talking to you about this.”

Luna didn’t think you were doing anything crazy—the two of you had done far more plotting over the years—as she tapped her index finger against her lower lip.

“Okay, let me think for a second.” She watched the ceiling of your bunk for a minute or two before asking, “okay, has he, uh—has he been in love with anyone other than you?”

This was an uncomfortable question; she could already tell before she even asked it—and your reaction was intense as you shrunk into yourself and pulled further away from her.

“I don’t know,” you mumbled.

“Don’t be humble,” she scolded kindly.

You clicked your tongue. With your face burning—for no reason other than your own discomfort and, possibly, insecurities—you looked down and shrugged your shoulders, as if this gesture could reduce the weight of your confession.

“No,” you said. “He hasn’t. To my knowledge.”

“Okay,” Luna replied as quickly as she could, knowing that an awkward silence would follow otherwise. “So, once upon a time, he probably thought you were the love of his life. He was wrong, right?”

You swallowed, still not looking up. “Right.”

Luna paused here, thrown off yet again by the lack of conviction in your voice. Normally, you were overly composed and not at all hesitant when it came to this. But not tonight.

It’s been four years, you had said, trying very hard not to hesitate. I barely remember the break-up.

This persistent uncertainty that Luna kept noticing interested her. It interested her even more than your evident stiffness—even embarrassment—about the fact that Jungkook had never been in love with anyone else but you.

She squinted her eyes at you, while you focused on the duvet underneath you, tracing the pattern with your thumb.

There were seven people on this bus, only two of whom had been in the relationship that was currently under discussion,  and yet Luna could have sworn there wouldn’t be anyone who could say that Jungkook had really been wrong about this. That you weren’t the mythical love of his life. That he didn’t love you anymore.

Truly, she realised—not a single person who knew you two, could have said this with certainty. Not even you.

“Right,” she echoed nonetheless—she was making a point, after all. “So, then if he was wrong once, he could be wrong again. Tell him that.”

She extended her hands to signal the ingenuity—and the sheer simplicity—of her plan, and you had to give her a respectful nod as you finally met her eye.

“Okay,” you said, “I guess that could work.”

“Yeah,” she agreed, although she thought you both knew that you’d just be pretending if you used this as an argument against Jungkook.

A small part of her—more chaotic than her other parts—wondered what would happen if you confronted Jungkook about this. If you asked, point-blank, if he’d ever felt like you were the love of his life and if this feeling ever left him.

But she knew you’d never do it. She supposed that the secrecy surrounding your relationship wasn’t just a front for your friends—the two of you didn’t speak much about it to each other, either.

Not to mention, you couldn’t even use the words “love” and “life” in one sentence without looking like you were being executed in front of the whole town.

Exhaling as she watched you get lost in your own thoughts, Luna extended her legs over the ledge of your bunk. “Okay, I’ll go back to Taehyung and—”

You blinked in sudden panic. “Don’t ask him now, though! He’ll know we just talked about this.”

She looked at you with disdain. “Do you think this is my first time gathering intel behind someone’s back? I got this.”

She was right, of course. You had no reason not to trust her; the two of you had done a lot of sleuthing together in the past.

That was why you’d texted her tonight—because she was the one who could give you a different perspective. And in case her perspective matched yours, she was the one who’d help you find the answers you were looking for.

“Okay,” you said. “Thank you.”

“No problem,” she replied as she stepped out of your bunk and gave you one more look over her shoulder before she returned to her boyfriend. “Get some sleep.”

Jungkook continued to be evasive the whole day in Warsaw, but, then again, you didn’t talk to him much. You trusted Luna to get to the bottom of this, and focused on your job instead.

And your job needed focus.

Jett Records called to check in—as if they could sense that you were planning a secret trip to France with the band’s vocalist tomorrow. And then you were contacted by radio hosts from Germany and England – they were interested in interviewing the band, so you had to adjust the daily schedules.

On top of that, Hoseok’s drum pedals started to malfunction during the soundcheck, so you and Jimin – the sound technician and an avid drum enthusiast – spent the whole afternoon travelling to various music stores to find a replacement. Jimin insisted he could repair it, but he spent an hour just trying to figure out what the issue was, so you guessed it’d be faster to get a new one.

As it turned out, it wasn’t faster at all. Obviously, neither of you spoke Polish, and, just like the Rated Riot members themselves, Jimin was also very directionally challenged—yet he refused to let you use the map on your phone. Fortunately, both of you were also stubborn, so you huffed and cursed, but you found the bloody pedal in the end.

You were drained by the time Rated Riot stepped on stage for their performance that night, but you’d fixed the drums and gotten everything under control—and that felt good.

You’d done your job well today and all the unexpected errands successfully distracted you from the upcoming trip to Paris.

Once everyone gathered backstage after the show, you and Jungkook were the only two people glancing at your phones and exchanging conspiratory looks, while everyone else had drinks and sang along to Reconnaissance on the speakers—it was long established that this was the band that Rated Riot looked up to at the moment.

You didn’t mind. Reconnaissance had sold out Wembley Stadium on their third European tour. If Rated Riot continued down the path they were on now, their own third visit to the continent could take place in similar venues.

However, you couldn’t just sit here with a soft smile as everyone danced around you, because the train from Warsaw left early in the morning.

This proposed another problem: you hardly wanted to inform everyone that you were going to spend the band’s day off travelling to a wedding in Paris with Jungkook. You debated taking the illness route – surely no one would bother you if you drew the curtains on your bunk on the bus and hung a note, claiming you weren’t feeling well.

But before you could decide on any course of action, Jungkook stood up from his seat next to you and declared to everyone in the room, “we’re going sightseeing around Europe tomorrow. So, if any of you need us, don’t.”  

“Around Europe?” Yoongi repeated with an amused scoff. “What the fuck does that mean?”

“It means we’re going to be taking trains to places,” Jungkook explained so very concisely. “And we don’t want anyone to bother us.”

Feeling hot all of a sudden—because the way he was describing this was painfully ambiguous—you stood up, too, and tried to do damage control, “what he means is—”

“Have fun, guys,” Hoseok interrupted, gently brushing his hand against your shoulder as he walked past. “It’s our day off, you deserve some rest, too.”

That wasn’t the reaction you were expecting—you were, after all, the manager; and leaving the band so suddenly for the whole day wasn’t, exactly, permitted—but perhaps you should have known better.

All of you spent so much time together that every single staff member in this room felt more like family than your actual family did sometimes. You should have guessed they wouldn’t look down on you for doing this.

Still, you reminded everyone, “if you need me, you can call me. I’m still available, okay?”

Everyone nodded with good-natured chuckles as Jungkook pulled you towards the door—all while you waved your phone around to accentuate your availability.

Because of this, you missed the meaningful glances exchanged between Jungkook and his friends—Sid, Jude, and Minjun were oddly quiet now that Rated Riot, as well as other staff, were in the room with them.

“Don’t call her,” you heard Jungkook whisper at his bandmates as the two of you exited the room into the hallway. “She’s not available.”

Smacking him on the shoulder—and ignoring the annoyed, “ow, for fuck’s sake, this is my singing arm!”—you closed the door of the changing room, but not before adding a rushed, “call me, seriously!” at the guys inside.

You saw them smile and wave before the door clicked shut, and you exhaled slowly.

“This trip better be worth it,” you warned Jungkook as the two of you walked towards the back exit.

“It will be,” he assured you, still rubbing his shoulder. “This is going to bruise, by the way.”

“It’s not going to bruise. I barely touched you.”

“Don’t gaslight me. I’m in pain.”

You stopped walking to glare at him.

“I apologise for hurting you,” you said with a deadpan expression. “Would you like me to put ice on it? A bandage? Kiss it better?”

He removed his hand from his shoulder and turned away very ceremoniously. “Don’t baby me.”

You pushed the exit door open and waved your hand to allow him to leave first. “Then don’t act like a baby.”

He walked out, all while mumbling in discontent, “I’m taking you to a wedding in Paris as my date. You could be grateful.”

Your mouth nearly fell open at his audacity as you followed him outside, the door slamming shut behind you.

“I’m going to a wedding in Paris as your date,” you retorted. “You could be grateful.”

At first, he tried to think of a witty comeback while you browsed your phone to order an Uber, but then he realised that wouldn’t be fair and chose to be honest instead.

“Okay, fine. I am grateful,” he admitted.

You ordered the ride and locked your phone, crossing your arms as the two of you stood in the nearly empty parking lot, illuminated only by a few stray street lights.

“And I am sorry if I really hurt you,” you replied. “I don’t usually use violence.”

Jungkook grinned. “You couldn’t throw a punch even if you tried.”

You lifted your eyebrows and raised a fist. “You want to actually see me try?”

There was an impressed twinkle in his eye. “I thought you said no violence.”

“You challenged me,” you replied, taking half a step back to get into a proper boxing position. His lip twitched in a smile as you said, “I’m really just proving a point.”

“The only point you’re proving is the one I made,” he said, nodding at your stance, “that is not how you fight.”

You looked down at your legs. “What’s wrong with—”

You felt a quick, but gentle poke under your chin that sent your head backwards. Jungkook snickered, pulling away.

“And don’t ever look away from your opponent,” he added. “Can’t believe I have to teach you that again. I knew you never listened to me.”

Your gaze was murderous when you looked at him again. You gathered your legs and stood up normally.

“I am going to wait until you fall asleep on the train,” you said, “and leave your ass in Cologne before our transfer.”

“If you think I won’t find my way back to you,” he replied, “you don’t know me at all.”

Your annoyed expression prompted his amused grin to widen before he puckered his lips and smacked them, a mocking air kiss.

Your glare remained as you stuffed your tongue into your cheek. “You make me so miserable sometimes.”

Chuckling in response, he pointed at the headlights approaching you two from across the parking lot. “I think that’s our Uber.”

Immediately, you made your way towards it. “I’m sitting at the front.”

He caught up with you with one quick stride. The car stopped on the edge of the parking lot as the driver seemingly noticed the two of you.

“Absolutely not,” Jungkook said, knowing you’d rather crawl than endure small talk with the driver. “You’re sitting with me in the back. Or we’re both walking to the train station.”

“I really regret the day I met you,” you informed him.

“No, you don’t,” he argued brightly. “I’m a gift.”

“A gift from hell.”

He laughed as he opened the back door for you, only entering the car after you got comfortable in the furthest corner. Smug, he slid down the backseat until he was right next to you, even though there was plenty of space for, at least, four people here.

Even though you rolled your eyes at him, it’s been a while since the two of you played around like this—like you weren’t simply working together—and you had to resist a smile.

The two of you merely glanced at each other before looking away again as you violently repressed all the memories that this moment outside in the parking lot had brought back.

You and Jungkook were already on the 4 AM train when Luna texted you, “not true!!! TH knows for a fact that JK was sleeping around w Sid's girls when he was in that ‘relationship’. He definitely lied to you!!”

Swallowing—because, suddenly, this made less sense—you lifted your eyes from your phone to look at Jungkook. He was sitting across from you, leaning his elbows on the fold-out table between you in the private compartment of the train.

He wasn’t looking at you as he filmed the view outside the train window (although there wasn’t much to film, it was still dark outside, save for the occasional street light somewhere far in the distance), but he felt your eyes quickly enough. As soon as he turned his head in your direction, you looked down at your phone again.

You didn’t understand. Why would he lie to you?

You typed back a quick, “thanks,” to Luna, and then cleared your throat, putting your phone on the table.

“So, uh,” you said, finally meeting his gaze. “How are you feeling? I realise I never asked you.”

He frowned. “What do you mean? You ask me that almost every day.”

“But not about the break-up,” you clarified, trying to sound as genuine as you could under the circumstances. “Must have been difficult. How long ago did you say you broke up?”

You watched as he clenched his jaw and returned his attention to his phone, proceeding with the video.

“I told you I’d rather not talk about this,” he replied decidedly enough.

“And I told you I’d only come with you to Paris if you talked to me,” you pushed.

Swallowing the unpleasant feeling in his throat, Jungkook finally stopped recording. He clicked something on his phone—just stalling, you were sure of it—and then finally put his phone on the table next to yours.

He’d dug this hole himself—well, actually, Sid dug this hole for him, but he leapt into it voluntarily. Now he had to find a way out.

“Fine,” he said. “I don’t remember exactly when. Maybe two weeks before we left for tour.”

Huh. Sid had said it was four days before the flight to Prague. What were the odds that his useless friend remembered the break-up more vividly than Jungkook himself?

“Right, right.” You nodded, abandoning all sensitivity now that the chances of this being true diminished even more. Unless he cheated on his partner—repeatedly, apparently—he was lying straight to your face. “Did you ask why? Did you, maybe, do something that would have—”

“Are you saying it’s my fault?” he interrupted loudly enough to make his anger seem genuine.

You blinked, momentarily surprised.

“I’m not saying,” you defended. “I’m asking.”

You supposed you could have given him the benefit of the doubt here – that was easier to do than to think of reasons why he’d feel the need to lie about a break-up or a relationship. But Jungkook wasn’t the type to cheat—then again, was anyone, really, the type?

That being said, if Taehyung knew that Jungkook was sleeping around at the time of the supposed relationship, then perhaps these things could have been happening simultaneously. Perhaps his partner found out and broke up with him.

“It sounds like you’re accusing me,” Jungkook said, his gaze firm.

Keeping eye contact, you countered, “I’m just trying to understand.”

“Is it so hard to believe that someone would break up with me?” he asked. “You’ve done it, too.”

Nearly flinching at the abrupt—but factual—accusation, you looked down.

“Okay,” you said as your fingers found the edges of your phone case to toy with. His unexpected statement had cut your interrogation short. “I’m just trying to see what the odds are of you getting back together with this person. If that’s still something you want.”

Jungkook looked away, too, watching the darkness outside of the window. “I’m still thinking about it.”

Unsure what to make of that—especially since now you knew that there was, most likely, no person for him to get back together with—you only hummed in response.

“Let’s just make it to Paris and we’ll see,” he added, honest this time. “I’m sure everything will be fine.”

It was you who lied this time as you gave him a small nod of agreement. “Yeah. Sure.”

That was the extent of your conversation on the topic: he didn’t pursue it further—which would have been weird in any case, considering how much he cared about being taken seriously; and he could see that you were having doubts now—and neither did you. You obviously had more questions, but you knew they’d only work as an opening for him to lie further.

You thought that, if you didn’t know that he was lying, you would have had to respect his decision not to give you more details, even though you were curious. He’d applied the same method to your own relationship, after all. You’d always appreciated it, regardless of how obnoxious it seemed to your friends sometimes—the relationship stayed between the two people that were in it.

But he wasn’t in a relationship now. Not as far as Taehyung and Luna knew.

And yet, this didn’t feel like a good time to get into an argument. Regardless of his motives for this lie, you were on a train to Paris with him. You’d be going to your friends’ wedding together. Then, you’d be taking another train back to join the tour.

You could play along for a short while—if anything, just so you wouldn’t feel uncomfortable for the entirety of the upcoming 24 hours.

Finally, after two transfers – one in Berlin, and one in Cologne – you had four hours left until you’d arrive at Gare du Nord in Paris. Taking a plane would have required less time and fewer layovers, but it was impossible to find a flight on such short notice, especially when you were on a budget.

Another two hours later, as Jungkook began to wake up from his nap, you figured it was a good time to change into a more appropriate outfit for the wedding – you’d worn a grey tracksuit for the train ride – so you grabbed your overnight bag and headed to the bathroom.

At this point in your journey, you’d nearly forgotten the unsuccessful conversation that you’d had about his ex, and you were surprised to realise that not knowing the whole truth didn’t bother you much. The gentle rocking of the train was soothing—calming, even. And the idea that you’d see your old friends soon felt exciting, too.

There were many other things you could have focused on—and you did. Even though some of the distracting thoughts that you had, weren’t, exactly, a better alternative.

Changing in the cramped bathroom of a moving train was about as uncomfortable as one could imagine, but it was nothing you hadn’t done before. And, now that you thought about it, you realised that you and Jungkook had done a lot more in train bathrooms than just changing clothes.

The unexpected memory forced you to bump your head into the sink as you took your sneakers off, and you cursed quietly under your breath.

You weren’t sure why you were remembering this now, but you were alone, thankfully, and had enough time to shake these thoughts out of your head as you slid your sweatpants down your legs and pulled the burgundy, off-the-shoulder dress out of your bag.

The dress had wrinkled a bit, but you had packed a leather jacket just in case—it would certainly divert the attention, considering the huge skull on the back of it.

However, looking at the jacket now, you were forced to remember where you got it. You’d had it for so long, you didn’t think anything when you packed it. But now you could remember Jungkook being there with you the day you first saw it. The two of you had only stopped at the clothing store because it had begun to rain—rain seemed to surround your relationship—and neither of you had an umbrella.

While you were looking for one in the accessory section, Jungkook approached you with this jacket and a big grin.

“You already have one like this,” you had told him then.

“I know,” he’d replied, beaming. “Now we can match.”

The jacket wouldn’t have meant anything if you weren’t on this train now. It would have just been a jacket—like any other piece of clothing that you’d worn before you broke up—if you weren’t going to Paris with him. If you weren’t remembering all of these useless moments in your life; meaningless, really, until your heart rate picked up.

Mumbling a few more curses, you put on the only heels you’d packed for the tour. They were far too chunky to go with the dress, but they seemed to go with the jacket—and you didn’t have any alternatives anyway. You had planned the outfit before you could plan the mess of thoughts in your head.

Another ten minutes later, you finally exited the bathroom and saw that there was already a small queue outside. Apologizing—and blaming the dumbfounded looks on people’s faces on your hair; you could tell it was everywhere, but not anywhere it needed to be—you jogged back towards your compartment, sighing in relief when you slid the door closed.

When you turned around, Jungkook was watching you with slightly parted lips.

You could tell he recognised the jacket.

“Shut up,” you said right away, unsure if he was going to tease you about it or mock the fact that you were dressed up for a festival rather than a wedding. “I didn’t bring enough clothes. And I know my hair looks like it’s moving to Argentina to start an independent—”

“No,” he cut you off with enough force to surprise himself, and then stuttered his way through something that was supposed to be a sentence, “it, uh—it looks—it’s—you’re, uh—it’s great. It’s fine.”

You snorted as you looked for a hairbrush in your backpack. “It’s great and it’s fine. Thanks.”

“I meant—” he began, but then gave up. He couldn’t look at you in this dress with the jacket that he got you, breathe, think of what to say, and actually speak at the same time. That was four things and he could barely stop doing the first one. “I should—I’m going to go change, too.”

“Sure,” you muttered distractedly, finally finding the hairbrush and the pocket mirror that you were looking for—but missing the way Jungkook looked back at you as he walked away.

The only time he stopped glancing back at you was when he nearly tumbled into a snack trolley and, once he walked around it, you were already out of his field of vision.

He needed cold water first and foremost, because for a good minute there, it seemed as though there was no way around the fact that Sid had been right. He did still have feelings for you.

Sure, he constantly flirted with you outright since you began to work together, but, he did that to fluster you. To annoy you. And, of course, he still thought you were beautiful to the point where his knees felt wobbly when he was in the same room with you sometimes, and his breath got caught in his throat if you looked at him for longer than a minute.

He was a professional, not a blind idiot.

But he liked to think that this was a physical attraction. Momentary reminiscences of your past relationship. He was grateful for these memories sometimes when he was writing songs (although less so when he tried to fall asleep), but he couldn’t have real, actual feelings for you. It’s been four years.

This was just the dress—it was the same colour as the skirt you’d worn on your third date, when you went to get fast food and he accidentally dropped an open packet of ketchup on you. You’d laughed and told him it was fine; you couldn’t see the stain anyway. You’d joked that that was why you’d worn this skirt—because you knew what a klutz he was.

Or maybe it was your hair—it looked like the same mess as it had when he rented out a convertible for your first anniversary and took you for a ride. It was early September, and he had thought it would be nice and warm, but within the first five minutes, both of your mouths were full of bugs, and you couldn’t hear a word the other one was saying through the sound of the wind. He had to pull over on the side of the road. The two of you needed a good minute to stop laughing at how ridiculous you looked before you could clean yourselves, because you had dinner reservations at a restaurant in town in an hour—he could still feel the softness of your hair as he untangled it with his fingers.

Or maybe it was the way you were completely unaware of this—like the first time he took you to meet his parents and you’d hyperventilated the whole bus ride to their house. You were nineteen, much too young for something as serious as meeting each other’s families, but he was completely calm. You’d asked him what would happen if his parents hated you. What about his grandma? His aunts and uncles? His cousins? His brother? Jungkook lived with an abundance of close and more distant relatives—what if they opposed the relationship? What if they told you to leave?

He’d never told you, but every time his grandmother had a better day, she still asked him about you.

Or maybe it was just you—like the first time he saw you at the Freshman Orientation in university. You’d been discussing Howl’s Moving Castle with someone with such intensity that he could see the fire in your eyes from across the room. He found out you’d seen every Studio Ghibli film before he even met you. And he fell in love with your eyes when you spoke about the things you loved before he said one word to you. He’d never believed in love at first sight, and not until years later, did he realise how utterly stupid it was not to believe in something that had happened to him, and kept happening every time he saw you, until, finally—almost a whole year later—he gathered enough courage to approach you and tell you that he liked My Neighbor Totoro, too.

Shit, shit, shit.

Shit.

When Jungkook returned to your compartment about fifteen minutes later, you were the one who needed a second to get yourself together.

He was wearing a black dress shirt under a black suit jacket with glossy, vertical stripes, embroidered with glittery beads that caught the sun rays and—as usual—reflected them right in your eyes when you looked up at him. Black suit pants and Oxford platform shoes finished his outfit—ironically, fit for both, a wedding and a funeral.

“Nice jacket,” you said, purposefully looking away and busying yourself with your backpack even though there was nothing useful in it for you now. “Tour wardrobe?”

“No, actually, this one’s mine,” he replied, looking down at his clothes. “I’d never worn it before. Very Prince. Didn’t think I could pull it off.”

“Hmm,” you glanced at him again, then looked back at your belongings—this was the only way you could remain coherent enough. “You’re pulling it off well.”

“Thanks,” he replied with a small smile as he took his seat in front of you.

You’d endured nearly fourteen hours of travel time – one hour left until Paris – and, unbelievably, this was the first time that this trip got awkward: right now – with the two of you sitting in front of each other, in your wedding guest outfits, not knowing what to do with your eyes or your bodies or your minds.

You weren’t sure what your role was anymore. You weren’t, technically, on tour with him right now, so you could hardly call yourself his manager here—if anything, you were breaking the rules that a manager should have enforced.

You supposed you could have called him a friend. He was the one person you knew the longest—he knew things about you that no one else did.

But, at the end of the day, he was also your ex-boyfriend. And, suddenly, four years didn’t seem that long ago as your relationship came rushing back at you with full force.

A little over three years together—exactly one-thousand, one-hundred and eighty days; the last eighty had seemed never-ending back then, as your relationship began to wither—and now you were trying your hardest to pretend like you didn’t feel the dangerously strong, almost magnetic pull towards each other.

You hoped this was just the air in Paris. Things would go back to the way they were once you joined the rest of the band on tour in Berlin.

Jungkook knew this wasn’t the air and it wasn’t just Paris. But he thought he could pretend it was.

chapter title credits: bad omens, “take me first”

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[ghostlysoaps]

What comes a'knocking in the night

[part 1]

Ghost sleeps in rare moments. It had never come easy to him when the act of it invites vulnerability, leaves him open to being taken advantage of, and rarely offers the relief it should. But the safehouse outside of Las Almas is… fine. The core of the one-four-one is there. Mostly familiar faces outside of them. Structures mapped out and vetted. He could, without a shadow of a doubt, disappear in the rafters should the situation call for it.

And still he wakes in lung-crushing terror.

In his disoriented state he thinks, with choked-back laughter bordering on hysterics, that he might have come to awareness with a rusted hook between the ribs again. The pain is acute, sharp, all-consuming; rooted to his heart the way the scent of sunbaked dust clings to his stowed gear. He flings the covers off himself, scrambling to his feet with a wild look around the spartan room.

He’s alone. Safe. Alive against all odds.

Ghost feels over the concrete until its chill bleeds into his palms and the rough texture scrapes his skin in pink swaths.

There’s no blood on them.

There’s too much blood to wash out and it partially belongs to his team.

To Johnny.

His next breath punches out of him and he keens. Desperate to rid himself off the image of porous sand swallowing blood like a gaping maw, of laughing eyes dulled, lips stilled, a body unmoving and yet dogging his every step, he pivots from the closed curtains to the entrance of his minuscule quarters – determined to exchange one set of discomfort for another.

The judgement he’ll find reflected in the mirror, the accusatory anger and disgust, means a scalding shower is out of the question. Running isn't in the cards given the situation they’re in. Venting his frustrations out in the small corner dedicated to exercise – until there’s a valid reason for his breaths to come in ragged gasps, mask clinging to his lips with perspiration – now that’s something he can do. Push himself to the edge and beyond in an attempt to regain some sense of equilibrium. It’s not punishment, he reasons, if it’ll help him sleep through the night. Not when he’ll need every ounce of energy in the morning.

Destination in mind, Ghost flees the remnants of memories and glides down the halls the way his namesake suggests.

The door he finds himself at swings open under the loving attention of thin metal. He hesitates for less than a second before he steps inside. It’s a familiar sight. A tiny, concrete box containing a bolted shelf for unused gear and a single bed. The tangled sheets rise and fall with the motion of breaths and Ghost creeps forward to crouch by the headboard, eyes roving over the body within it.

Safe and sound. Mouth lax, drooling into the pillow he’s jammed half his face into, generating heat like a damn furnace. If Ghost had possessed less sense than he does, he’d reach out and brush the over-long strands of hair from his forehead, feel his sleep-warm skin to truly hammer home that Johnny, despite his tendency for recklessness, is alive and well.

Having him close settles the last vestige of panic hammering behind his ribcage.

He doesn’t know how long he’s there before Johnny stirs. All scrunched nose and flicking ears and fluttering lashes as he drowsily blinks his eyes open. A moment of incomprehension passes before he jerks upward. Ghost makes the split-second decision to slap a hand over his mouth, stifling his yell into a muffled thing. Claws bite into his forearm and under his palm Soap’s lips part in a rumbling growl, the bones of his face beginning to shift.

“Settle down.”

Johnny goes rigid at the sound of his voice, eyes narrow, and he spitefully digs his claws in deeper when he wrenches Ghost’s hand off his face.

“Settle doon?!” he hisses through too-large teeth. “Damn near gave me a heart attack ‘n ye want me t’ simmer. Un-fuckin’-believable, sir.”

“Your spacial awareness is shite.”

“I was sleeping!” Soap snaps his teeth in irritation, jerking forward to do so an inch from Ghost's face. But despite the rude awakening, the way he looks as if taking a pound of flesh is still in the cards, he relaxes. The show of trust, subconscious as it is, sinks in Ghost's stomach like lead. There's no time to beat himself up over it because Soap tenses again and casts a weary eye towards the exits. “Are we–?”

“No.”

“Why're ye ‘ear then?”

“Couldn't sleep.”

“So ye decided I coudnae either?”

Ghost shrugs.

Soap groans, long and low, flopping down on his back. He scrubs both hands down his face, leaves them there for a moment, then lowers them to blink tiredly at the ceiling. It’s… not great. Guilt threatens to choke him when he realises just how exhausted Soap looks. The dark circles beneath his eyes, the lines slowly etching themselves onto his face, the stark bandaging around his bicep hiding a wound Ghost knows for sure isn’t all the way healed. Stupid of him, to think his needs above that of his sergeant’s.

“Ye cannae keep doing this, Lt.”

“Breaking into your room?”

Soap’s face scrunches together in a rather unattractive manner. His jaw twitches, no doubt chewing on whether or not to ask if he’s done so before, but what he ultimately ends up with is: “This hot ‘n cold act you’ve got goin’. It needs to stop. I cannae–” he breaks off with a huff. “I need to know where I stand wit’ ye before I do something stupid like deciding yer pack.” He turns to look at Ghost again, lips twisted into a bitter smile. “What do you want from me?”

“I don’t know.” It’s all strings, tangled together into an unravelable mess, the emotions he can’t put a name to nestled amongst the ones he knows more intimately than the violence his hands are capable of. “I want to carve open your ribcage.”

Perhaps he leaves out the part of wishing to curl up in there, wrap himself around Johnny’s spine and stay until he couldn’t remember what hurting felt like. He wasn’t made for this. To want. Not unless it came alongside gallons of blood and the bite of steel into flesh. Whatever this budding thing between them is, it’s not all thorns, and that scares him to death.

“A’right,” Johnny says, drawing the word out long, sounding a lot less perturbed at the prospect than any sane man should. “What’s stopped you?”

Ghost shrugs again. “I’ve needed you up until now.”

“Nah.” Soap stretches lazily, like he hasn't a care in the world, and tucks himself right into Ghost’s personal space. “Could’ve left me in Las Almas, no questions asked. Instead ye compromised yerself to get me out o’ there in… mostly one piece.”

“Maybe I want to be the one to do it.”

“Again,” Johnny drawls, “what’s stopping ye?”

Ghost says nothing.

“See, this is what I mean.” Soap punctuates his statement with a snort, an insufferable smirk dawning in the wake of it. “You threaten to kill me, but you like me alive. Leave me to fend for myself, though no one fights alone. Shoots my look-alike without a moment's hesitation but sneaks into my room the very same night.” He taps a clawed fingertip to the hardshell of Ghost's mask after every sentence, thawing a tad when the last one causes him to flinch. “Would it be so bad, trusting someone?”

“Yes.”

“Do it anyway.”

No, would be the correct response, contrarian and truthful. Ghost swipes a thumb over Soap’s cheekbone, stares at his hopelessly earnest expression while mulling words and experiences over. Knows he's too far gone already. Tries to make himself believe that Johnny isn't, and if they're lucky, that'll be enough to save him.

“I’ll try,” he murmurs and the grin he’s awarded with nearly makes the terror worth it.

[sunflowersandsapphires]

I'm back again 🙃 Can I give Frank a sunflower or peony (your choice) for a Reader who talks in her sleep? Can be about whatever because I'd love to see what you come up with! And yes, it's because I'm still thinking about that other conversation 🤣

A short little blurb inspired by a real "conversation" I had with my spouse while they slept.

Frank was gently tugged from sleep by a lengthy hum and the accompanying vibration over his shoulder.

Most nights, he cursed his tendency to wake at the slightest sound. It was helpful, sure—the ability to be coherent moments after exiting REM, gun pointed at the door in the event of a break in. But, more often than not, it was damned aggravating.

An ambulance veering past the window, a neighbor's dog barking, even an especially long rumble of thunder had him bolting upright, adrenaline surging for no reason. If he managed to fall back into slumber, the rest was fitful and short. Though, his heart often refused to settle and allow him to reach that point.

On rare occasions, however, this unfortunate pattern meant that he was awake to speak to you. Or, rather, listen to you.

When you were overly tired, the very same nights where he carried you from the couch to the bedroom after you inevitably passed out on top of him post-work, it wasn't uncommon for you to talk in your sleep. You never believed him when he teased you the next day, but your sleepy brain came up with some of the most ridiculous gibberish he'd ever heard.

Waking up in the middle of the night was never fun, but, if it had to happen, at least he could experience the fond amusement that always washed over him when you mumbled nonsense while squashed into your pillow.

Tonight, your face was contorted with seriousness, bottom lip protruding in an adorable pout. Your nose scrunched up as you grumbled, rubbing your face into his bare shoulder like a friendly cat. Frank's lips quirked in a small grin as you wriggled closer, pulling yourself on top of him.

Leaning forward to press a kiss to your forehead, his lips met empty air as you sat up. In a sudden burst of happiness, eyes still closed, you laughed heartily, the noise of your giggles piercing through the peaceful silence of the room. After a moment, your giddy chuckles dissolved into a pleased hum.

“What's so funny, darlin'?” Frank whispered, his voice crackling with sleep.

“Heh. I was dreaming of an ice cage.” A content smile landed on your lips as you trailed off wistfully. Sliding yourself back into the crook of his neck, you pecked his chin and then fell silent.

Biting back a laugh, Frank stroked a hand over your back, eyes falling closed to the sweet sounds of your snores.