#live emotion did him dirty his chest should have been out

[greyxly]

cesshi my boy i will give you the world

[back2bluesidex]

Slide - The Dream - MYG (18+)

Pairing: Producer!Yoongi X Lyricist!Reader 

Theme: Angst, smut, unplanned pregnancy. Fwb to ?

Word count: 1k+

Summary: 

"I'm so impatient, self-medicated"

Alternatively, 

You have been so selfish and as a result - you get punished.

Listened to Slide by Chase Atlantics

Warnings: Again this is very angsty but less than the last one. However, it can be too much to take so please proceed with caution! this chapter is mostly focused on the reader, not really on Yoongi. Hoseok is an angel, btw.

Minors do not interact!!

Series Masterlist | Masterlist | Patreon (for early access)

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A/N: As I promised, this chapter is posted earlier since it's shorter in length. the next chapter will be posted by the end of November.

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Min Yoongi is a dream himself. You have always considered him a fragment of your imagination that partly came to life whenever your fingertips found the privilege of tracing the contours of his face. 

But the Min Yoongi of your dreams - is even dreamier. 

Now as you dream of him, you see him smiling at you - bright and full - something he did only when he was drunk. You see his gums appearing bit by bit as his eyes spill a thousand positive emotions as he looks down at your lap. 

Your lap though - is empty. 

But two of his fingers are enveloped by a small palm, tightly, protectively. 

Your hair is reaching to your waist, something that you have never had in your real life. Your nails are shining much more than ever. 

You are clearly happy - content. And that’s how you know that this is indeed a dream. 

And then Yoongi looks up, he looks at you, his smile dims … gradually disappears. 

Your skin feels weird now, as if you are wet, as if you are a dirty reptile - tired of crawling on its chest. 

Before you even know you are drowning. 

You are in the middle of a vast ocean, trying your hardest to stay afloat but you can’t see how you will even live because a humongous wave is approaching you. 

You look for Yoongi and the baby or the hand of the baby but there is no one. You are alone, alone, alone! 

The waves come crashing down and drowns you completely. 

You let yourself be immersed in darkness, in nothingness. But in the midst of the dark, of absolute nothing - you promise yourself to be better if you are given a next life. 

Your eyes are heavy, too heavy and bleary to keep them open, but your tears keep falling unbound anyway.

The pain in your body is unexplainable - it’s as if someone is injecting thousands of invisible needles in every single cell your body possesses. But, still, this pain is nothing before what your heart is going through. 

Your blood soaked mattress mocks you - tells you that you have failed once again - that you have lost once again. 

And there is only one question in your mind currently - why? 

Why is it always you? Why don’t you deserve to be loved? Why can’t you hold on to anything - anything? 

Your body shakes vehemently as you try to hug yourself. As you try to comfort your aching body and even more aching heart. 

A loud but choked sob leaves your throat when your eyes fall on the mess once again. And slowly but surely you accept - you have lost the baby. 

For once you feel like you know what you should be doing. For once you know you can reach out to someone and ask for help. So you do what you know you should, you reach for your phone with your weak, shaky hands and dial Jung Hoseok’s number. 

He receives on the second ring and greets you with his usual jovial voice. You don’t greet him back. 

“Doc-doctor, I-I think I lo-lost the baby.” you managed to voice somehow. You have never sounded so broken, so weak, so fucking pathetic. 

The other side of the line goes eerily quiet. 

“Just informing you in advance, I will be accessing your address details and visiting you in an hour. Do you object?” his voice is now firm and it makes you sob again - this time harder. 

“No.” you let him know. 

Your entire bathroom is blood-bathed. 

You have managed to pull yourself out of the bed and change into fresh clothes. The mattress is still red and you are considering throwing it away completely.  

You have put on fresh sheets to protect some of your dignity before Hoseok’s arrival. 

Now as you stand in front of your bed and stare at it, you think of all the things that started here and gradually ended too. 

This bed became the home to drunk Yoongi that night. This bed had borne the weight of your and Yoongi’s body when you slept for the first time. This same bed witnessed your last time as well and the bloom of life in your womb. And now, this same bed found the death of it. 

Your head spins. You can’t stand on your legs anymore. 

Your breaths shorten, your toes and fingertips get numb and you start shaking again. 

You need to be held. You need to be patted on your back. You need someone. You need Yoongi-

The doorbell rings. 

“Your blood pressure is very low, Y/N. When did you last eat?” Hoseok unwraps the equipment from your arm. 

“Before I met you.” you say, but your voice sounds distant to even yourself. As if someone is talking from the next room. 

“And it’s nine thirty at night.” he sighs, “can you tell me what happened today? If there was anything that bothered you? Any physical, mental strain?” 

“I saw something I should have not. And then..” you recall how you climbed down a flight of stairs with a baby in your womb. 

It’s your fault after all. 

“Then?” 

“Then I used the stairs instead of the elevator. I- I didn’t know this would happen, doctor. I- I only wanted to exhaust my body so much so that- that I can’t even think of him. That I don’t remember how-how he rejected me and then went back to- to kiss her. I- I am a fool doctor. I am a fucking fool. You know what? This -” you point at your belly, “this happened for better. I only wanted the baby because it was his. The baby- the baby didn’t deserve that. I- am so selfish, doctor. That’s why I was punished. That’s why-” you start shaking again. Your breaths get ragged and labored making you feel light-headed. 

Hoseok seems to track what’s happening. 

He stands up and envelops you in a hug. He presses one of his palms on your back and pats on your head with another. 

“Calm down, Y/N. It's okay. It’s not your fault. It’s okay.” 

His voice is so soothing. His touch is assuring. You can’t help but cry again. Cry unbound. 

Breaching the sound of your own sob, you hear your door lock chiming. But you are way too weak to detach yourself from Hoseok and take a look at who is pressing the door code in your apartment. 

Anyone hardly knows the code apart from you. But your mental state doesn’t allow you to worry about something so trivial now. 

“Y/N? Who- who is this?” 

And it’s Yoongi’s voice that comes from the doorway. 

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[slytherinslut0]

MATTHEO RIDDLE- Beg For Me

Chapter Twenty One-Info: You and Mattheo have been butting heads for months, since you were assigned as his tutor, and one day during a session full of tense bickering, he has enough.

(This will essentially be a toxic book where we are Theos fucktoy. No love here, very minimal fluff.)

Tags: 18+, Angst, SMUT, Sub!Reader, Dom!Mattheo, Degradation Kink, Fingering, Teasing, Multiple Orgasm, Corruption Kink, Praise Kink, Dirty Talk, Sadism, Gagging, PIV, Semi-Public Sex, Fighting/Bickering, Hatefucking(slightly).

****FIND THE REST OF THE CHAPTERS HERE.

The burden of Dumbledore's trust pressed down on your shoulders, a weighty responsibility that only seem to intensify as you and Mattheo emerged from his office. The meeting had been long and painstakingly detailed, each word etched with the gravity of the situation as you finalized all the details for your first ever mentorship, an opportunity you’ve been waiting fucking years for.

You should be excited about this arrangement, you should be completely fucking ecstatic to finally be given the chance to truly prove yourself, but as Mattheo pulled ahead of you; a heavy, unspoken tension hung in the air as you trailed behind him, your footsteps echoing like distant thunderclaps in the quiet corridor. Mattheo's brisk, determined stride, while partially obscured by his usual arrogance, mirrored the barely-restrained, silent fury that simmered within him. The annoyance in his demeanor was tangible, a seething anger that could be felt even from a distance.

Anxiety coursed through your veins, the weight of responsibility pressing heavily on your shoulders. This wasn't just about Mattheo's future (one of which you did have a genuine care for, if you were being truthful with yourself); but your own credibility as a mentor was intricately woven into this journey as well.

Dumbledore's words reverberated in your mind, emphasizing the need for patience and compassion, urging Mattheo to embrace your guidance with open arms. However, his response was nothing more than an irritated eye roll, a silent rebellion that contrasted sharply with Dumbledore's hopes for cooperation.

Casting a fleeting glance at Mattheo's back, you couldn't ignore the stark contrast between his outwardly confident posture and the storm of emotions undoubtedly churning beneath the surface. It was evident that this arrangement had ignited a furious turmoil within him, even though he had begrudgingly agreed to it for your sake. The palpable displeasure he felt was impossible to overlook, a tension that hung in the air, threatening to shatter the fragile balance you both were attempting to maintain.

It was then, that you knew, the second you two finally decided to speak to each other, it was bound to be nothing other than completely fucking nuclear.

Entering the bustling Great Hall, you continued to follow timidly in Mattheo's wake, nervously clutching your books to your chest as though they were a impenetrable shield that could save you from this mess. An uneasy anticipation settled within you, bracing for the awkward stares and confused glances you were certain to receive from his housemates as you followed him to his table. But all to your surprise, the usually lively space resembled a ghost town at this early hour, thankfully devoid of his friends for the time being.

Taking a deep, shallow breath, you hesitantly settled into the spot on the bench beside him, feeling entirely like a fish out of water. The clatter of cutlery and distant murmurs of conversations taking place at the other tables filled the hall, yet an oppressive silence gripped you and Mattheo like a vice. His eyes, usually sharp and commanding, now held a darker, more guarded shade. A momentary glance flickered toward you before he locked his gaze onto his breakfast, his jaw clenched with a stubborn resolve.

Only a few weeks, you reminded yourself, trying to muster the courage to face what lay ahead. Surely, you could endure that, couldn't you?

"Look, Mattheo," you began cautiously, your voice a fragile whisper amidst the bustling ambiance. "I understand you're not happy about this, but it's just for a few weeks...I-"

"Don't bother, Raven," he interrupted with a low, dismissive growl, his tone laced with bitterness. "Don't concern yourself with my feelings. Just go on and conduct your experiments like I'm some little fucking lab rat, alright? I'll even lie down and make it easier for you."

His words struck you like a physical blow, leaving your chest constricted, the air escaping your lungs. The already palpable tension between you two seemed to tighten, intensifying the daunting challenge that lay ahead.  You knew nothing about this arrangement was going to be easy--as the only time Mattheo ever seemed to open up to you, was when he wanted you to open up to him, physically.

"Gods, the only thing comparable to a lab rat is your fragile fucking ego," you grumbled, your voice laced with frustration and irritation. "And I'm not sure if you're aware, but the only bloody reason I'm here right now is precisely to concern myself with your feelings."

"Oh, spare me your noble intentions," Mattheo retorted, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "The only reason you're here is for yourself...Dumbledore isn't around, you can drop the fucking act."

You released a long, heavy sigh, Mattheo's words striking a chord within you. The snark that had initially fueled your response halfway dissipated, leaving behind a sense of resignation.

You gently shifted to face him. "I'm fucking sorry, alright? Is that what you want to hear?"

"Sorry for what, Raven?" Mattheo's piercing gaze met yours, his fingers clenching the fork in his hand with a dangerous intensity, his eyes narrowing slightly as he spoke. "Huh? What exactly are you fucking sorry for?"

You paused, taking a moment to contemplate your response. You understood that the mess you both found yourselves in was entirely of your doing. If only you had kept your mouth shut, refrained from provoking Berkshire so fiercely, perhaps neither of you would be entangled in this chaos. But there was no reversing the clock now; you were here, and there was no escaping the consequences. This was the defining point, the test that would determine whether you and Mattheo were destined for more than whatever the fuck you currently were, or if this really was all just some crash and burn type of secret fling.

"Sorry for yourself? Sorry for me?" He snarled, impatience colouring his tone as he shot the words at you like daggers. The veins in his hands bulged, revealing the intensity of his frustration. Your heart pounded, acutely aware of the boiling anger he exuded. "Or perhaps you're sorry for being unable to keep your mouth shut for longer then five goddamn seconds?"

"Be an asshole to me all you fucking want, Mattheo,"  you snapped, your tone cutting through the tension like a knife. "But I'm on your side here...I won't back down just because you're too bloody stubborn-"

"Give me a fucking break, Raven." Mattheo snarled, cutting you off abruptly, his voice dripping with cynicism. "You act like you're some divine oracle, dispensing wisdom to the masses."

"Men mock the Gods until they need them," you countered, your voice unwavering, meeting his cynical gaze head-on. "But even the greatest Gods can learn humility when faced with the consequences of their actions."

"Oh, now the perfect little princess wants to lecture me on humility, does she?" His eyes darkened, the clatter of his fork against the plate reverberating in the tense atmosphere--an echo that would have made you flinch on any ordinary day, but your anger shielded you from the noise. Your stare bored into his as he shifted, fully facing you. "I might be the black sheep of my family, but I've seen enough to know that some of those supposed white sheep aren't as fucking pure as they pretend to be..."

Your heart pounded fiercely, well aware of his underlying intentions. Steely determination set your shoulders rigid, refusing to let him chip away at your resolve. His attempts to manipulate the conversation only fueled your determination; you wouldn't allow him to twist the narrative in his favour. This was a battle of wits, and you were more than ready to hold your ground.

"Appearances certainly can be deceiving, can't they, Riddle?" You leaned closer, voice dropping. "How about we skip the mind games, and you answer me this...is a monster born a monster, or is it created?"

"Why don't you tell me, Raven?" He said, jaw clenching as he lowered his voice to a deep grumble. "I think you'd know a little too well how monsters are made, wouldn't you?"

You squinted at him. "Care to elaborate?"

A malicious grin curled on Mattheo's lips, his eyes narrowing with malevolence as he swiftly surveyed the room, ensuring the shield of privacy around you both, before fixing his gaze back on yours. Your palms turned clammy, a sheen of sweat prickling your skin, your heartbeats echoing like war drums in your chest. An unsettling anticipation hung in the air, as if Mattheo teetered on the edge of revealing something, something you were far from ready to confront.

“No,” he said, his tone devoid of emotion. “I don’t.”

“Of course you don’t…” you grumbled, running a trembling hand through your hair as you tried to steady your heart rate. “Gods, you’re going to be the fucking death of me.”

A long, exasperated sigh escaped your lips, your eyes never leaving Mattheo’s profile as he turned away, his attention refocused on his breakfast. Anger churned beneath your skin, a turbulent storm of frustration and confusion.

"I can't fathom what twisted events in your life turned you into such an asshole," you continued, your voice seething with frustration. "You're deflecting, like you always do, but this isn't about me, Mattheo. This is about you…I struggle to imagine who the fuck could have made you this way.”

Mattheo’s face immediately whipped back to face yours, the tendons in his hands tightening, like a noose prepared specially for your neck.

"No one made me, Raven. I made myself," he hissed, his eyes ablaze with a fierce determination, as if he was challenging you to understand the depth of his struggle, as if he figured you’d never, ever be able to relate. "When you're not fed love off a silver fucking spoon, you learn to lick it off knives."

His voice held a bitter resignation, a raw emotion behind his words, as if born from years of resilience in the face of hardship. Your contemplation was evident, your eyes scanning his face, picking up on the subtle hint of emotion behind his angry facade. His words struck a chord, hitting a little too close to home, but you’d never let him know it, not when he’s being like this.

After a moment of silence, you responded, your tone sharp. "Right...but I think you fail to realize just how quickly the blade becomes you, hm?"

“I wouldn’t expect the rich little princess to understand,” he muttered, his voice a low growl, contorted with annoyance. “You’ll never know what it’s like to have to claw your way through life, Raven...to not have everything handed to you on a silver fucking platter…”

“You have no fucking idea what I’ve gone through…” you hissed, teeth barred as you tried to suppress your irritation. “Don’t you dare mistake my empathy for ignorance.”

Mattheo's intense gaze lingered on your lips for a moment before flickering back to your eyes. His voice, barely audible, was laced with a mix of curiosity and a still seething frustration.

"Why don't you tell me then?" he whispered, the words hanging in the charged air between you. "Why don't you fucking tell me what you've been through?"

You blinked, searching his face for a trace of sincerity, but found none. His expression remained unyielding, a mask of stoic resolve. His eyes, however, burned with a furious energy that left you unsettled, forcing you to question the authenticity of this conversation. A whirlwind of conflicting emotions surged within you--anger, frustration, empathy, and a profound desire to understand him.

You felt torn between conflicting impulses. One part of you longed to grab him, to shake the truth out of him, to make him see that you were on his side. Another part of you yearned to envelop him in a comforting embrace, promising that things would get better, that he didn't have to carry his burdens alone. But the reality was stark. Mattheo's resilience had become a fortress, impenetrable and unyielding.

You wanted to help him, to ease his pain, but every attempt to reach out seemed to ricochet off his emotional armor. The frustration boiled within you, making you want to unleash your own pent-up emotions.

"Why would I tell you anything, Mattheo?" you whispered, your voice edged with a mixture of bitterness and disappointment. "Why would I open up to you when you’re still treating me like I’m your fucking enemy? You can't expect me to break down my walls when you're the one building yours higher with every bloody word…”

Mattheo’s gaze flickered with a blend of frustration and resignation as he absorbed your words. He let out a frustrated sigh, his tensed shoulders slumping momentarily before he met your eyes again.

“So, where do we fucking go from here, Raven?” he asked, his voice tinged with weariness. “If neither of us are willing to lower our guard, if all we’re destined to do is fight, how are we supposed to endure weeks together like this?”

You paused, your eyes examining the complicated boy before you, capturing every detail like an artist studying their muse. Mattheo’s hair, perfectly tousled in its disarray, seemed to hold secrets of its own, a testament to the storms that raged beneath the surface. His lips, plush and enticing, had the power to both infuriate and enthrall, a dichotomy that left you perpetually off balance. But it was the scars that adorned his skin, each one telling a story of battles fought and won, that drew your attention most. You had come to know and appreciate these marks, understanding that they were not just physical remnants but echoes of the struggles he had endured.

This complex boy had become an enigma you couldn’t unravel, a puzzle that intrigued and frustrated you in equal measure. He had managed to ignite a storm within you, a tempest of emotions that you had never experienced before. Anger, desire, frustration, and a strange kind of empathy blended into a tumultuous mix, leaving you unable to tear your eyes away.

As your gaze traced the contours of his jawline, your fingertips ached to explore the texture of his skin. Your eyes traveled lower, lingering on the strength of his shoulders, admiring the resilience that lay beneath the surface. A warmth spread within you, a contradictory feeling of tenderness and yearning, as you allowed yourself to be consumed by the depth of your emotions.

Finally, your eyes met his once more, locking onto his with a fierce intensity.

“Business as usual, Mattheo,” you whispered, a teasing smirk dancing on your lips. “Time to put all this pent-up energy to better use before we fucking tear each others’ heads off…” you said, turning away from him and gathering your books off the table, grabbing your bag before returning your eyes to his, noting his subtle confusion. “Meet me in the bathroom. Same one as before.”

Pushing up from the table, you strode out of the great hall with purpose, a tempest of emotions raging within you. Infuriation, irritation, frustration, and anger churned inside, seeking an outlet. You seethed at Mattheo for his obstinance, berated yourself for caring so deeply, and raged at the inevitability that all this effort might lead absolutely fucking nowhere.

You weren’t naïve enough to simply forget about the mountains looming between you, insurmountable obstacles casting shadows over any potential future. The weight of it all felt bone-crushing, yet despite the turmoil, a desperate longing remained--to kiss that infuriating boy's face, even amidst the chaos he so eagerly fucking caused you.

In the intimate confines of the bathroom, the soft glow of the overhead light illuminated your way as your textbooks found their place, haphazardly strewn across the counter, your bag slumped against the floor--all before Mattheo, his eyes ablaze with desire, stepped into the room alongside you. With a swift motion, he turned the lock, ensuring your seclusion from the outside world.

The air crackled with tension as Mattheo’s urgency consumed him. His hands, possessing a rough yet sensual touch, claimed your skin--wasting absolutely zero fucking time as his fingers traced fiery patterns over your hips and up your sides, moving expertly to undo the buttons of your uniform shirt. It was as if he were a wild beast, untamed and hungry, tearing apart its prey with both hunger and reverence. In response, your own hands, guided by a mix of passion and ferocity , mirrored his movements, exploring the firm contours of his bare chest as it came into view.

“Fuck, I’ve absolutely ruined you, haven’t I…” Mattheo growled, his eyes dark pools of intensity, holding you captive. With deliberate purpose, he discarded your uniform shirt, letting the fabric cascade to the floor in a whispering descent, finding its place along with his. “You never could resist me…not even when you’re fucking furious with me…”

“Gods, Mattheo…you’re such an arrogant bastard…” you spat out, even as you clung to him desperately, his lips attacking your neck as he bunched your skirt between his fists, his tall frame pressing you against the wall with hungry force. “I’m just sick of the arguing and bickering over nothing…let’s just shut up, fuck, and get this bullshit out of our fucking systems…”

“I’ll shut you up alright…but you might fucking moan a little…” Mattheo groaned, fingers slipping under your panties and quickly teasing over your clit, forcing a loud cry from your throat that he quickly silenced with his mouth.

You both were breathless, the intensity quickly reaching its boiling point, the anger palpable between your bodies as Mattheo’s lips pressed against yours with a fierce urgency, the collision of your teeth a tangible echo of the raw desire between you. The air seemed to vanish, leaving your lungs gasping for the oxygen that eluded them, as if consumed by the fervor of your connection. Mattheo’s fingers were relentless, quickly building you toward climax without mercy as his other hand kneaded your chest, groping your tits, pulling down you bra to tease your nipples, pinching the hardening buds between his rough fingers.

As you moaned, far louder than you’d intended, he claimed your bottom lip between his teeth, his growls resonating with a furious energy that matched the fervent tempo of your bodies. Your response was instinctual, a desperate squirming under his touch, your nails finding purchase in the supple flesh of his back, grounding you in the intensity of the moment.

“That’s it,” Mattheo growled, the pace of his fingers increasing as he sensed your impending climax. “You want to cum for me, don’t you, little slut…you might hate me but this little pussy will always fucking crave my touch…”

"Gods, you're bloody insufferable," you managed to gasp, your words tinged with exasperation. Yet, your body betrayed your irritation, responding to his expert ministrations despite your verbal defiance. "Always so fucking smug."

“Yeah?” Mattheo’s chuckle resonated through the charged atmosphere, a dark, smoldering sound that sent shivers down your spine while his fingers remained relentless in their pursuit, pushing you closer to the precipice of ecstasy. “And yet here you are, about to let me fuck you against the bathroom wall…”

“Oh-fuck…Mattheo…” in the face of his undeniable truth, your snarky retorts faded into nothingness, overpowered by the overwhelming force of desire that gripped you. “Fuck…fuck-y-you…”

Mattheo’s touch was a symphony of urgency, his free hand exploring every inch of your skin as if he sought to possess all of you at once. His mouth captured yours in a fierce, devouring kiss, leaving you breathless and gasping for air, refusing to allow you to pull away, to separate from him for even a second. With hardly two more quickly swirls over your clit, he forced you over the edge, your climax rippling through your body, your moans caught by Mattheo’s mouth as he continued to work his lips over yours, groaning in response to feeling your body break for him.

As your pleasure peaked and began to ebb away, Mattheo’s own desire surged to the forefront. With a low growl emanating from his chest, he withdrew his fingers from your slick heat and then forced them relentlessly into your mouth, pressing them past your lips and deep into your throat. He spun you around with urgency, thrusting you against the wall as his free hand worked to free his pulsing erection. It was an exhibition of pure dominance, a physical manifestation of his unapologetic hunger.

Pumping his fist furiously over his length, he thrust his fingers further into your mouth, eliciting moans of both pleasure and pain as you gagged on them. Without hesitation, he aligned himself with your core and slammed into you with all his might, driving himself deep inside you with a violence that left you shaking and screaming out against his fingers. Every inch of him stretched and filled you in a way that made your eyes roll back in your head, you fingers digging into the wall as fought to steady your breathing.

And as he began to pound into you, fucking you like you deserved the pain, you could almost feel the tension melting away, replaced by a deep satisfying heat that left you gasping for more.

"Shit, you're such a fucking bitch," Mattheo cursed between gasping breaths, pulling his fingers from your mouth and gripping your jaw as his free hand dug into your hip. "But fuck, this tight little pussy is perfect for my fucking cock, isn't it?"

"Ah-fuck…you know," you spat out, rolling your eyes as his fingers dug into your skin. "…I hate that you're so fucking good at this."

Mattheo sneered cockily, the sound echoing off the tiles of the bathroom, mingling with the rhythm of slapping skin and breathless moans. "Fuck, Raven…you’re a pain in the fucking ass, but at least you know how to take a good fucking..."

“Oh-fuck…barely…” you retorted, wincing as your body shuddered from his deep thrusts, Mattheo’s grip on your jaw tightening, his pace entirely animalistic. “Why do you have to be so fucking big? You--ah--you’re going to fucking break me…”

Mattheo’s eyes flashed dangerously at your words, and he pushed harder, deeper inside you. "That's fucking right…I told you I’d be the ruin of you Raven…” he growled, his voice torn with pleasure. “You fucking love it when I fuck you like this, don't you? You love the way it feels when I'm balls deep inside this tight little cunt…”

"Mmm…you're such an asshole," you groaned, your vision blurring and your lungs reaching for air. "But-fuck-I…I guess you have your uses..."

Mattheo’s grip on your body was unrelenting as he pounded into you with a ferocity that took your breath away. His fingers dug into your flesh, leaving imprints that burned with the heat of your pleasure. His sneer only made you all the more aroused, the way he spoke to you with such condescension ignited a fire deep within you that you wished you could fucking ignore. With each thrust, your body jolted with sensation, building up until you were practically vibrating with need.

"Oh, yeah?" he spat back, sweat glistening on his forehead as he pressed you harder into the wall. "Well, I guess you're not completely useless either…you do a perfect fuckin’ job at being my dumb little slut…”

“Oh, fuck-Gods…you’re-…” you gasped out, feeling Mattheo’s fingers graze over your hip and descend towards your core. As his skilled digits made contact with your clit, your body jolted with pleasure, your eyes rolling back in ecstasy. His touch was quick and frantic, tracing tight circles over your clit that felt like they were set to push you to the brink of madness. “You’re such an asshole…”

Your pussy clamped down around his length in response to his ministrations. Your mind was awash in a sea of sensation, each touch and thrust sending waves of rapture coursing through your body. Mattheo only smirked, his lips finding your neck as he continued to pound into you with an intensity that left you breathless.

"You love it," Mattheo grumbled, burying his face in your hair as he thrust into you again and again. “You fucking love it…”

"Do not," you protested weakly, your voice cracking with pleasure as you felt your orgasm building inside you at a dangerously fast rate. “I-I…oh-fuck-fuck…”

Despite your bravado, you found yourself getting swept up in the raw intensity of your love-hate situationship, feelings of bliss and fury intermingling as Mattheo continued to pound into you, his fingers working your clit with experienced precision. You couldn't help but think how strange it was--that this same person who drove you so insane could also be the one who pushed you over the edge on the complete other side of the spectrum, all with his cock and fingers.

“Yeah…yeah that’s right…” Mattheo’s breaths were hot and ragged against the back of your neck as he pounded into you mercilessly, overwhelming you with the sheer force of his carnal need. “You’re going to cum on my fucking cock, princess…it’s inevitable, just let it happen…”

As Mattheo’s breaths scorched your neck, his words sent a shiver down your spine, and you could feel the orgasm edging closer. You snarled back at him, your voice dripping with sarcasm, "oh, Gods--fuck…let me just fuel that f-fucking ego of yours some more…”

But even as your walls tightened around him, you knew it was true. Your body was building to climax, and there was nothing you could do to stop it. All pretense of control and decorum had been lost, replaced instead with raw, unfiltered lust. You were nothing but a vehicle for his pleasure, a way for him to sate his burning desire, but he was that exact thing for you as well.

Even while the two of you were pulsing with anger at each other, he couldn’t resist the urge to give you the most pleasure out of this possible, reducing you to a mere pile of putty at his feet.

And you couldn’t hold off any longer. “Fuck-Mattheo!”

Your walls clenched around his cock, waves of pleasure washing over you, threatening to drown you entirely as Mattheo’s fingers swirled furiously against your clit, his free hand leaving your jaw and clamping over your mouth to muffle your screams as you shattered against his cock, your pussy milking him for every last ounce of ecstasy possible. Mattheo seemed to fucking love this, letting out a deep, predatory growl as he continued to fuck you through your high.

His fingers never stopped their assault on your clit, working you relentlessly as he thrust deeper and harder. He leaned in close, his breath hot against your skin, his lips brushing against your ear.

“There we go…let it all out, baby…” his words sent shivers down your spine as your orgasm continued to pulse through your body, making it hard to think or or breathe or speak. “…you were made for this fucking cock, no one compares to you…”

His words sparked heat in your veins, gasping for breath beneath his palm as he finally pulled his fingers from your clit, bringing them up to your chest, groping your tits as he continued slamming into you, his pace erratic, his hips sputtering as he veered closer to his high, holding you firm to his chest, fingers digging into your cheek with intense possession.

“Mm…fucking hell…” Mattheo growled, the sound of his groan reverberating through your entire body as he breathed it directly against your ear, the words torn with lust. “I knew you’d be a good fuck but I didn’t know you’d be this fucking good…shit-“

Mattheo’s hips stalled for a moment as he let out a low, guttural groan--finally reaching his own aggressive climax. The sensation of him filling you up set off another wave of pleasure, and you moaned softly under his palm, your walls involuntarily clenching around him as he pumped you full of his release, his muscles contracting and breath sputtering against your neck as he finished.

For a moment, Mattheo remained there, his cock buried inside you, his hold on you still tight and unyielding as you both worked to catch your breath, his hand slowly sliding away from your mouth and travelling down to cup your jaw, directing your head to the side to meet his lips, capturing you in a feather soft kiss.

“You can tell me all your secrets Raven…I promise they’re safe with me…” he murmured against your mouth, his voice a soft breeze carrying the weight of his sincerity. “…but you won’t get anything out of me...it’d be wise if you stopped trying.”

The impact of his words hit you like a heavy blow, settling in your chest like a fifty-pound brick. Gathering your strength, you steadied your breathing as he finally released his grip, pulling away from you. Frustration etched across your features as you spun around to face him, your brows knitting in impending irritation as you watched him deftly fasten his belt, the metallic click echoing in the charged silence of the room. With a swift gesture, he reached for your shirts, discarded on the floor, and passed you yours with a stoic glance.

“Why?” you whispered, your voice laced with vulnerability, almost scared of his answer. “Why do you insist on being so fucking guarded…so fucking cold? You know this mentorship is literally all about working through your issues, right?”

“You said you wanted me, Raven…” his voice was low, almost a whisper, and he didn’t dare to look at you.

Your confusion grew, the anxiety pooling in your chest grew too. “I-I do…”

“Then take what you fucking get.” He snapped, his head whipping toward you, anger rekindling in his dark eyes. “You’re already in my head…I can’t let you get any fucking further…”

Your lungs stalled, your breath hitched. You could hardly blink. “Mattheo-“

“No--see, this is your fucking problem, Raven, you just don’t know when to fucking stop…” he hissed, the fury evident in his every word. He snatched his bag from the floor, slinging it over his shoulder in one swift motion before closing the distance between you. In just two determined strides, he bridged the gap. “You’re just like my fucking brother…you have to excel at everything, fix everything, everything needs to be fucking perfect for you…

You braced yourself, shoulders tense with anticipation, acknowledging the anguish etched across his face. It was a silent plea urging you to put aside any disputes. This was a time for quiet surrender, a moment demanding your undivided attention.

“You know yourself that monsters are fucking created, Raven. They’re made…” his words dripped with disdain as he spat them out, his gaze piercing into yours, dissecting your reaction. “I’m not guarded, I’m not fucking cold…I’m a fucking result…”

Behind his eyes, you could almost hear the gears turning, processing the impact of his words on you. A deliberate, slow breath escaped his lips, carrying the weight of his frustration and disappointment. He took a deliberate step back, his head shaking in a mixture of disbelief and resignation, as if acknowledging the futility of the situation between you.

“I’m not sure what you except from all of this…but you know yourself, just as I do, that this fucking thing between us is nothing other than a goddamn dead end…over the second that graduation rolls around…” he raked a hand through his hair, his eyes briefly flickering towards the door. “Let’s not make the inevitable hurt any fucking more than it has to, yeah?”

Your breath caught in your throat, the air around you suddenly suffocating. Deep down, you acknowledged the truth in his words, but hearing him say it out loud felt like a punch to the gut, the pain far more intense than you had anticipated.

“Right, no…you’re totally right, Mattheo,” you forced the words out, swallowing the hurt that threatened to consume you, your hand reaching for your bag. “I…it just feels incredibly unfair to me, that your veins are full of ice water, while mine are fucking boiling…”

Mattheo locked eyes with you from his position by the door, the emptiness in his gaze almost tangible from across the room. With a steadying breath, you squared your shoulders, mustering the strength to approach him.

“I know you’ve done bad things…I don’t judge you for them, I’m not perfect either…but I am not your fucking brother, and I am not against you…” you said, the words slipping past your teeth before you could even think to stop them. “Sure, you’re an asshole--and sure, perhaps it’s warranted, considering you’ve clearly been through some shit..but your worst sin yet, is that you are destroying your chance at finding peace, for nothing…”

The weight of your words hung in the air, palpable and charged.

“If you don’t want to help yourself, then fine…I won’t push you,” you whispered. “But you’re stuck with me for three weeks. Wether you enjoy my continual presence next to you, or not.”

With a resolute resolve, you pushed past him, the echo of your footsteps fading into the silence, leaving him alone to grapple with the truth you had laid bare.

————————-

Chapter 22->

[kitkat13001]

⋆˙⟡ ༉‧ 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚒 𝚌𝚛𝚞𝚖𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚝𝚎𝚕𝚢 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚌𝚛𝚢

>> chuuya nakahara x reader (ft some past dazai x reader)

>> comfort, slight angst, brief mentions of alcohol, reader has a history w dazai

part 2 / reverse pov of ‘dreaming of you’ (dazai x reader)

chuuya sighs, plucking the near-empty wine glass from your hands. you blink up at him with owlish eyes, as if waking from a daze. 

“that’s the last time i let you drink unsupervised,” he tells you, downing the contents of the glass for himself before setting it down in the sink. 

“i’m serious, chuu,” you frown, but your cheeks are flushed and you can’t fight the hiccup that rises with the end of the sentence. 

“so am i,” chuuya replies, taking your arm in a firm but gentle grip as he lifts you from your seat at the table. “you’re going to feel all that wine in the morning, you know.”

“i don’t care,” you sniff, falling back into the plush couch cushions. chuuya heaves another sigh, perching on the armrest beside you. 

you remain silent for a long time, until chuuya turns to see you sniffle, shiny eyes downcast. 

“i miss him, chuu.”

he doesn’t have to ask to know who you’re talking about.

it’s not uncommon for this kind of thing to happen. wine with dinner turns into a few too many drinks, and the influx of alcohol turns you into an emotional mess. 

it’s usually this subject that comes up. sometimes it’s different things; the stress bubbling up from work, how long it’s been since you’ve seen your family, how afraid you are of the future, things like that. but more often than not, your mind always comes back to the empty space in your heart that osamu dazai left behind.

“i know you do,” chuuya replies, releasing one long exhale. he wishes he could say ‘so do i’, for the simple comfort that you aren’t suffering alone. but chuuya doesn’t lie, especially not to you. 

he slides down the armrest to settle on the couch beside you, pressing his warm side against yours to give some of the comfort you so desperately seek on nights like these. 

“why did he leave?”

chuuya frowns. “it’s no use wondering now, you know. he did what he did and that was the end of it.”

he knows the words are harsh, but it’s worse for you to think so hard on things that happened so long ago. or worse, for you to think that it was your fault dazai left. 

guilt shrivels up his heart when he looks down at you, at the tears swimming in your big, sad eyes. 

“don’t…don’t cry,” chuuya says, crease appearing between his brows. he could never stand to see you crying. 

you sniffle, biting your lip and blinking to dispel the tears. when you speak, your voice is a ghostly whisper. “do you think…do you think he misses us?”

chuuya bites the inside of his cheek so hard he tastes blood. 

“not me. but you…” he pauses, thinking it over. “maybe.”

you inhale shakily and chuuya can feel you tremble against his side. 

his guilt gives in to anger, bubbling up inside his chest until he bursts out. “well, fuck him! we’re better off without him, okay?”

“okay.”

you don’t sound very convinced. and to be honest, neither is chuuya. 

sometimes—and it’s an outrageous, dirty, traitorous thought—chuuya thinks you should have gone with him. he would’ve felt like a desolate, unlovable piece of shit if you had left with dazai, but at least you’d maybe be happy. and chuuya would live a million miserable existences if it meant you would be happy. 

but then you nuzzle your head further into his arm, effectively using him as a pillow, and all those depressing thoughts vanish from chuuya’s head. the warmth of your body against his almost brings a smile to his face.

no, he thinks, feeling a surge of protectiveness over you. he wouldn’t trade this for the world. and he wouldn’t leave you like dazai did, not for anything. 

and you didn’t go with him, anyway. you chose to stay. with chuuya. and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

i think this one’s shorter than the dazai one 🥲 i hope it’s still a decent read 🫶 chuuya makes me feel things. i live for longing and pining and mixed signals. lmk what other stuff you guys might wanna see from me <333

[peachesofteal]

Dead Disco / Chapter 3

Dead Disco masterlist

Ghost/Soap/female reader 2.8k words - A03 Warnings-tags: 18+ Minors DNI, established throuple, relationship issues, eating issues, depression, anxiety, angst, reader is bad at feelings, caretaking, bathing, blow jobs, face fucking, praise kink, emotional hurt/comfort. The guys find you at the hotel.

When you open the door, Johnny’s heart breaks. 

It’s obvious you haven’t been well. The circles under your eyes are sickly and off color, worse than when you stay up to wait for them to get home, and you look weary, overwhelmed, exhausted. Your hair is stiff, pulled out of your face but heavy around your forehead, and your skin is dry, an easy tell that you haven’t been drinking enough water. Johnny suspects that your clothes are dirty as well, judging by the stain on the front of your shirt above your breasts, and his heart skips when he realizes it’s his old t shirt, the one you usually wear around the flat. It all makes Johnny’s head spin, makes him feel like he’s got a thousand pounds sitting on his chest and when he looks closer, he can just see the broken capillaries spreading across your cheeks like spider’s webs. Did they do this to you?

“Oh, love.” He whispers. Your eyes water, and he feels the weight of his own fear, his own sadness tenfold. You’re hurting. You’re hurting so badly. How did they not see this? 

“Let us in.” Simon demands, and you chew on your lip. “Please. Whatever it is, we can fix it darling. Just let us in.” Simon’s voice softens, slipping into something he only reserves for you, and Johnny reaches for your hand, it’s ice-cold chill startling against his own.

When you don’t pull away from him, a small seed of hope blooms in his heart.

Something wakes him from his sleep. Maybe it’s the low drone of the television from the living room, or the fact that the middle and left sides of the bed are completely empty. He sits up, groggily, straining to listen, but all he hears is the laugh track of a sitcom. 

When he enters the living room, he raises an eyebrow. Simon is sitting in his boxers, on the floor, back against the couch, remote in one hand, and your hand in other. Your fingers look so small intertwined with his, your arm draping down over his shoulder from where you’re lying on your belly, mouth open, dead asleep. He rubs his eyes. 

“What’s this?” He keeps his voice low. 

“She couldn’t get back to sleep. Didn’t want ta wake you, but she was keepin’ me up, thrashing around.” Johnny frowns. He traces a thumb across your forehead, moving a stray piece of hair behind your ear. Simon strokes his fingers up his thigh, rubbing the back of his leg, his skin hot in the thick of the summer night. He glances at the clock on the stove before settling on the rug too, notching his head next to your arm, and Simon shifts to accommodate him before turning to press his lips against his forehead. 

“Was it a nightmare?” 

“She’s still havin’ em.” Simon whispers, and he leans to pull him closer. “Didn’t want to talk about it.” He sighs. 

“What’re we watchin’?”  

You settle on the edge of the bed, pulling your knees up to your chest, eyes unmoving from the floor. Simon stands against the dresser directly in front of you, arms crossed, body stiff and thrumming with concern, strung tight with stress. The room is quiet, lit only by a small lamp that you have flicked on, and he tries not to look too closely at anything, at this place you’ve been living in when you should have been at home. 

“Love?” Johnny clears his throat, sitting down next to you, tilting his head to catch your gaze. He avoids looking at your blood crusted cuticles, or the crescent moon marks that are imprinted in your palms. “When was the last time you ate?” You shrug.

“Yesterday.” Simon shifts his weight, as in tune to the waver in your voice, the tell of the lie, as Johnny is. He shoots Johnny a look, before going down on a knee in front of you, hands gentle, a palm cupping your calf and giving it a squeeze before releasing. You don’t pull away. A knot of tension releases between the two of them.

“Will you tell us why you left?” Johnny tries to keep from pleading, but he knows he will beg you if he has to. Beg you to tell him why, beg you to come home, beg you to let them back in. Your eyes dart back and forth between them, your fingers nervously pulling at the ends of your hair, and Simon cuts him a stern look, a very clear message: Slow the fuck down. Don’t push her. Tears drip over your cheeks onto your knees and then your voice cracks.

“You were g-gone for almost thirty days. What if, what if you never came back? What if you just picked up and left? Started over? You ha- have each other… you don’t need me.” A chasm splits open inside Johnny, splintering across the three of you, the weight of your fear and doubt bubbling to surface, pushing past the truths they’ve worked so hard to make you see.

“We could never do that. You’re a part of us.” Simon’s tone is serious. 

“You mean the world to us, darling. We don’t want to live in it without you.” Johnny says, fingers grazing along your shoulder.

“Don’t lie.” You croak, and he frowns.

“He’s not lying.” Simon says but you don’t respond.

“We love you.” Johnny whispers, and your eyes slam shut, tears spilling out between your lashes. “You know that, don’t ya?”

“N-no.” you cover your face with your hands.

“Yes, you do.” Simon pulls one of your hands away from your face, taking it in his own. “I know it’s hard, when we’re away-”

“No you don’t!” you sob as you cut him off. “You have each other! You always have each other. I f-feel… I feel like I’m on the outside.” Your breath hitches. “I always feel like that.” You tell them miserably and Johnny’s heart breaks for you.

“You’re supposed to talk to us, when you’re feelin’ bad about things.” Simon’s voice is gentle, as he tries to soothe you, tries to ground you. “Look at me, darling.” You turn your head, eyes up and full of trust, searching between the two of them.

You still trust him. You still trust Simon. There’s hope. 

“I know.” You whisper.

“It doesn’t work unless we’re honest, and we tell each other how we’re feeling, even when it’s like this.” Johnny keeps his tone soft, but it’s heavy with emotion, drowning beneath your own sadness, the feeling of your despair.

"I know that. I do… but it doesn’t change anything.” Panic erupts through his veins like he’s been doused with cold water. Doesn’t change anything? Doesn’t change what? That you left? “It won’t change the fact that I’ll always feel like this… like I’m separate from you.” You blink furiously, tears trickling down your cheeks, chest heaving with shallow breaths, and Johnny feels like he’s been punched in the gut.

“Alright, darling. That’s okay.” Simon settles you, and Johnny gives him an incredulous look. Alright? Alright?! On a base level, he knows what Simon is doing, but it does nothing to quell the storm of feelings rising inside of him. They could lose you. What if they can’t fix this?  “Johnny’s gonna get ya some food.” He grimaces and pulls his phone free to search for the room service menu, looking for something that will be easy on your stomach without overwhelming you. “D’you think you could manage a shower while we wait for it to be brought up?” He holds his breath. You could say no. You could tell them to get out. It took your deepest level of trust, to let them care for you like this, and in this moment, it felt like it wasn’t there.

When you don’t say anything in response and nod instead, he lets the air leak from his nose slowly.

“A bath.” You whisper, eyes still trained on the floor. You look at them intently for a moment before you get to your feet without another word and disappear into the bathroom. When the door clicks shut, Johnny whirls.

“I want to take her home. She’s not thinkin’ clearly.”

“We have to go at her pace, you heard what she said.” Something sad flickers across Simon’s face before he smooths it away. “She needs time, to remember. That’s all.” He tries to reason, and Johnny knows he’s right, but he can’t fight the burning sensation in his chest when he thinks about how you’ve been alone, in this room, for the last week and half, falling apart without them.

“Si. She…”  He doesn’t have to finish the sentence.

“I know, Johnny. I know.” His partner’s fist is clenched around the balaclava, eyes tight with worry. They both look towards the closed door, and then Johnny glances down to the glaring light of his phone.

“There’s no soup.”

“Toast?”

“And a fried egg, if she can get it down.” Simon gives a curt nod of agreement, leaning in to kiss him on the cheek.

“Don’t worry, we’ll get it sorted. Yeah?” Johnny presses his nose to Simon’s neck and takes a deep breath to steady himself.

“Yeah.” He motions to the bathroom. “Join ya in a minute.”

By the time he has the food ordered, you’re already sitting in the tub, water thundering from the faucet, knees pulled back up under your chin, skin dotted with goosebumps. There’s enough room for him to get in behind you, like he usually does, but he doesn’t want to push you, so he reminds himself to be patient. Simon is sitting on the closed lid of the toilet, murmuring something softly that you’re occasionally nodding at until you speak.

“I’m sorry I scared you.” You croak.

“It’s alright, darling. We’re just happy you’re safe.” Simon reassures, and when you don’t say anything else, panic swirls in the pit of Johnny’s stomach. Be patient. He needs to be patient. 

He can be patient, but he doesn’t have to fight fair. Not when it comes to you.

“Can I wash your hair?” he asks you sweetly, and you nod almost immediately. Later, he hopes, once you’ve pulled out of this and you’re all together again, you’ll give him shit about using your weakness against you like that. He hopes. 

You tilt your head back eagerly, eyes slipping closed while the tips of his fingers massage your scalp, and he alternates between soft and firm pressure, making sure he gets the lather as deep into your roots as gently as he can.

“I missed you.” It’s barely a whisper, a light whistle on your lips, but they both hear it, and Simon reaches for your hand, large fingers folding over yours, his touch gentle and slow while Johnny rubs the pad of his thumb along your shoulder blade before he speaks.

“Not as much as we missed you.”

“Oh shit.” You giggle from where you sit between Johnny’s legs and he presses his palm to your mouth playfully, lips grazing along your shoulder. Simon’s footsteps thunk down the hall, his voice calling both of your names. 

“Shhh.” Johnny murmurs, the warm bath water wrapping the two of you in a soft, sublime feeling that’s gone straight to his head. When the bathroom door swings open, you raise an arm like you’re dancing, and beam. 

“Welcome home!” Johnny tries not to laugh at the serious expression on Simon’s face, and he snakes an arm around your middle to pull you all the way back into his chest. 

“Having a relaxing day?” Simon dead pans, and you nod, back of your head against Johnny, face turned upward to stare at Si who’s dressed in uniform, no doubt completely exhausted after a long day of travel to the ‘local’ office and back. Water beads off your skin when you push off from Johnny to rise to your knees, and he can’t help but reach out and trace a line across your hip while your palm slides up the front of Simon’s pants, leaving wet spots in its wake as you lick your lips. Johnny leans all the way back, fitting into the curve of the tub, arms on either side, and watches you pull the zipper down to free Simon’s cock from his briefs. When you glance back at him, he gives you a smile in return, excitement settling in his stomach as he watches you, his own hand sinking beneath the surface of the water to palm his cock, his eyes never leaving where you’re stroking Simon, your head tipped backwards and eyes up. 

“Darling…” Simon grunts, the word a harsh exhale, and your mouth cracks into a smile where you’re wrapped around him, your tongue flat against your teeth, jaw relaxed as you work. His hand drifts down to the top of your head when your lips part around length of his cock and a shiver runs down Johnny’s spine, the weight of love, of adoration vibrating in his bones.

His. This was his. You were both his. 

Your free hand reaches for him in the water, and he laces his fingers in yours with a reassuring squeeze before sitting up on his knees himself, his body pressing against you, gentle fingers wrapping around your throat to still your motion. 

“Hold still, darling.” He coaches, reaching for Simon’s belt loop to pull him closer, folding his grasp along his hip until he’s pressing into the back of your mouth. “Fuck her throat, love. That’s what she wants.” You try to nod enthusiastically, and Johnny chuckles, brushing a kiss across your cheekbone. “Isn’t she sweet?” He asks, and Simon’s hand tightens in your hair, just a tad, enough to hold you steady as he begins to rock his hips back and forth. “That’s it.” He encourages, hand never leaving Simon’s hip, the other still gently cradling your throat. He talks Simon through it the entire time, his own cock hard against the curve of your ass, his thumb occasionally smearing across your lower lip. “Fuck, Si.” He marvels, “Doin’ so good for her. Givin’ her what she wants.” He releases Simon’s hip and strokes a finger down your lower belly and across your thighs before teasing your clit, and your breath stutters through your nose when he presses against the swollen bud, your body tensing against his. He noses along your jaw while he works your clit in a circle, matching his rhythm to Simon’s pace. You make a strangled sound in your throat when Simon slows, and Johnny smirks, mirroring the speed until you’re whimpering, throat stuffed full and your thighs trying to rub together around his hand. He’s not going to let you come, not yet, so he pulls away and you whine, eyes widening in protest, but you stay steady, jaw lax to accommodate Simon, and Johnny praises you. “Good girl. Takin’ him so well.” Simon grunts, and then his mouth drops open as his hips begin to thrust unevenly until he’s coming, a little moan slipping from you when he spills down your throat. 

He bends to kiss you afterwards, swiping his tongue into your mouth, lavishing you slowly until you’re pulling at his belt loops again. 

“Want to get in?” 

“You know I won’t fit, darling.” He perches on the side of the tub, leaning down to brush his lips against Johnny’s, fingers dipping into the heat of the water. 

“Well?” Johnny prompts, and Simon grimaces, watching you as he speaks. 

“Tomorrow. Sixteen hundred.” He feels your muscles go tense, your languid state draining from your body, tension running through you in its place. He squeezes your arm affectionately, pressing a kiss above your ear. 

“It’s alright, love. Won’t be too long.” 

“It’s the apartment.” You say quietly from where you’re now laying on the bed, wrapped in a robe with your hair twisted into a towel. You eye the pieces of toast that are on the tray with a sigh. He holds one out to you, like an offering, and your lower lip trembles. “My stomach hurts.” you protest.

“I know it does, love. But you’ll feel better after this, I swear it.” Your hand reaches for his, and his heart soars, but he tempers his relief quickly. “Please? For me.”

“What about the apartment?” Simon interrupts and a shadow moves across your face.

“It was yours, before. It feels like I don’t belong there, sometimes.” Like you don’t belong? The contrast startles him, forcing his spine straighter and he considers your words. How could you possibly believe you don’t belong? 

“Then we’ll get a new one.” He blurts, without even fully thinking it through. He only knows he’s desperate to reassure you, desperate to show you that they’d do anything for you. Your face shifts, from forlorn to hopeful, surprise crinkling the corners of your eyes as you glance between them.

“We’ll get a new one.” Simon agrees, and Johnny presses your knuckles to his lips. “You do belong, darling. You belong with us.”

[bonesandchalamet]

perfect - t.holland

masterlist

requested: y- “Could you do reader and Tom or Harry with newborn !!”

pairings: dad!tom holland x mom!reader

warnings: fluff + child has been given a name

a/n: I hope I did this justice 🫡 I’m not very good with writing newborns!

you can’t figure out what you’re more obsessed with: her rolls, feet, or the fact that she looks exactly like Tom.

you haven’t been able to move from the crib. you should be asleep, but your eyes are glued to the crib where your newborn daughter, Emma, lays asleep.

you know Tom will come in any second. he’ll be concerned why you’re not in bed or pumping. he’ll ask if something’s wrong with Emma or with you. he’ll ask a series of questions you’ve heard on record since you came home from the hospital, but you don’t mind them. he’s concerned for his two loved ones.

“everything alright?” there it is. you sigh, taking a look at him for a brief second before looking back at her. she hasn’t moved, yet every rise and fall of her chest makes your heart swell.

“I just can’t decide which part I love more of her.” you carefully tap your finger against the wooden edge of the crib.

Tom exhales quite happily, it’s nothing serious to be worried about. he carefully steps into the room, his hand rests against your lower back, “why don’t you go sleep? we can worry about what we love most once we’ve rested.”

you shake your head. there’s tears welling your eyes, you know this is just hormones— or maybe you’re just so in love you can’t move from her crib.

“I just want to stay here forever.”

“we’ll have plenty of time to stay in here forever. we need some sleep.” he assures you, his palm running over your dirty hair. you can’t remember the last time you’d showered coming to think of it.

“you’re right, I’m being ridiculous.” you nod along with him finally moving from the crib. the emotions had dried allowing the exhaustion to finally settle in your body. Tom promises to take the first shift after napping and you don’t argue, just settle into the mattress.

“and you’re not ridiculous. however, I think her rolls are quite adorable.”

—

three hours.

you’d been asleep for three hours and didn’t even hear a single noise from emma or Tom. you assumed he would need your help at some point, but having not heard anything from either of them. you could trust he had it all under control.

you slowly rise out of bed and exit the bedroom, you see Tom in your living room rocking chair. he’s got a bottle in one hand, and her cradled in his other arm. she looks quite cozy and content with him.

“you’re awake.” he looks up from her with a frown. his plans were to let you sleep as long as you needed, but he knew you couldn’t leave her alone for too long without checking on her. the silence was always scary to hear.

“I know.”

“she’s been sleeping this whole time. you can go back to bed if you’d like?” he recommends rather than offering. you know the suggestion is what you should take, but you can’t get yourself to move from where you’re standing. your eyes glued to her once again.

“it’s everything. that’s what I love about her.” you say finally taking your eyes off of your sleeping newborn to look Tom in the eyes.

he nods in agreement looking back down at her in his arms, “she’s perfect.”

[marysdonuts]

Tom and Jerry

school clown!Hoshi x top student!reader

Synopsis: After crossing the rubicon with your annoying classmate Hoshi "relationship" between the two of you improved. However you bump heads once more at Mingyu's game night party

Warnings: plot with smut, enemies to lovers, high IQ (f.) x low IQ (m.), slight angst, Mafia game at Mingyu's house, classmates, semi-public, banter, dirty talk, oral (f. receiving), brief mentions of other members, crack, Hoshi acting cray during the game, (no questionable fashion choices mentioned)

WC: 1.2K

Status: part 2 (ongoing), read part 1 here

masterlist / requests / taglist

Why should it be awkward after fucking your arch nemesis? Well, isn't that what all the books and movies want us to believe?

- The female lead got into dragged out moral battle with herself after giving in to the detestable male lead.. Making audience yawn. Questioning if this is who she really is, questioning God's intentions - ultimately running away never to return again. Revolutionary.

In reality things didn't have to be so black or white. There was no need to go thru the emotional rollercoaster of blaming it on your childhood trauma or turning it into religious guilt. Ultimately, we were put on this Earth to have fun. Why beat ourselves up for doing something that we actually enjoyed?

Living in the grey area had its perks.

Improved relationship with your desk-mate Hoshi was one of them. The steamy encounter in locker room visibly dissolving tension between two rivals.

You were in higher spirits than usual.

Well that was fun, didn't think he had it in him. Why was I acting like a bitch before? Guess I just needed the attitude fucked out of me. Kekekekekek

"What are you scheming down there, hm?" walking in Soonyoung saw you hunched over the desk cackling like an anime villain planning to take over the world.

"Wouldn't you like to know." pushing up non existent glasses reflecting the light for dramatic effect.

"I would love to know." towering over you

"Pfff, you wouldn't understand even if I told you!!" springing up the chair, sticking your tongue out at him

"See you at the game tonight~"you spiralled out the classroom in a way that resembled category 5 hurricane. Leaving Hoshi flabbergasted.

"Wasn't I supposed to be the crazy one?" rubbing his chin in disbelief, your wicked laugh echoed thru the halls

//

And exactly what game were you talking about?

Of course the quarterly Mafia get-together. You've been told that everybody gathers up in class president Mingyu's house once every three months. It's your first time attending.

Please, please, please give me a role! I can't stand being a boring citizen - eyes shut, you prayed as the host passed behind you. Tapping you on the shoulder.

"The mafia has been chosen."

silence

"The police officer has been chosen."

silence

"The doctor has been chosen."

//

You killed the doctor first. Something in Seungkwan's proud eyes gave him away. He liked to play the saviour and once again it got the best of him.

"Why am I always the one getting killed first?? Why do you hate me soo much" pouting, hands crossed on the chest

"That's what happens when people had enough of your shit. Bang, bang, bang!" Hoshi collapsed in front of Kwan, seemingly coughing up blood "better keep your head down next time.." clinging to Boo's ankle before theatrically releasing his final breath. Freezing on the floor.

"You! Shut the hell up!" kicking his foot, trying to free himself from Hoshi's iron claw

//

Citizens were dropping like flies. Only making the sinister look in your eyes grow bigger and bigger.

And so did Hoshi's craziness.

"it's MINGYU, HE'S THE MAFIA!!!" pointing at Mingyu, shivering in the corner, probably questioning why he invited this madman in the first place. He was voted off.

"Everyone, WAIT JUST LISTEN TO ME...!" human sized worm was now wriggling in Joshua's direction

With every nonsense spat from Hoshi's mouth, you could feel your braincells dying.

"MWAHAHA, YOU THOUGHT I WOULDN'T NOTICE THAT LOOK IN YOUR EYES, CHAN?? CAN'T FOOL ME!!!" backflipping to the opposite side of the room, attacking the youngest

Idiot. Can't fool you now, huh? We'll see 'bout that.

"What a big mouth you have over there, Kwon," raising to your feet, cackle of devil ready to deliver divine retributions "would be a shame if someone shut IT." you shot your thumb down making all the remaining civilians vote in unity. Crowd vailing.

Heh, so this is how it feels to be a roman emperor - sentencing slaves to their death for entertainment of the colosseum.

//

Not long after you were the sole survivor

"Mafia WON! Standing ovation for the lady!" clap clap clap host crowning you MVP of the game.

"Thank you, couldn't done it without you." palpable wink in direction of the fuming hamster, now seeking comfort between Mingyu's humongous man-titties. Once enemies now reunited in shared hardship

Misery loves company, doesn't it? Chuckling to yourself

Hoshi Kwon (19) left the mortal world behind right then and there - figuratively speaking of course. Utterly humiliated by you, again. He was supposed to SHINE! He was supposed to find the mafia! Finally got a role of policeman but every guess that he made tonight was incorrect

"You win. For now." darkness possessing his amicable face

Familiar knot taking shape in your stomach

//

DU! DU! DU!

Heavy knocks on the bathroom door

"Just a moment!" drying your hands

DU! DU! DU! DU! DU!

"Hey! I said I am coming..!" swinging the door open

"Oh? I wondered when you'd show up." smirk looming up your lips as Hoshi shoved you back inside

"Smart girl. Wanted to see me that badly?" there was nothing sweet about the way he closed the door shut

"At least one of us," shooting back "are you here to serve your sentence?" tracing finger on his lips

"Didn't you say somebody should shut my mouth? Then, sit on it."

Ah and there it was the residual craziness clouding his judgement. Ain't gonna argue with a dude that has big brown eyes. Whatever you say, beautiful.

You weren't wet yet but it wasn't hard to guess that in exactly two minutes you will be

"Hahah- what?" you were just joking, didn't expect to actually do it here. At house party? Is there a cliché more american? Neither of you were an american but you'd rather be caught dead than doing something so mainstream.

"Did I stutter? You always talk a big game in public but I want to see how brave you are now." hot breath already caught between your thighs, hungry kisses biting at your soft flesh making you whine. Guess they didn't call him tiger for nothing

"We are in Minguy's bathroom.." voice disappearing into thin air the moment his starving mouth made contact with your, now wet, private area

"And? didn't seem to mind the locker room last time" Hoshi's swirling tongue rolling over THE spot of your clit

"s-shut up, you idi- OOOOH" a cry hardly appropriate for friendly game night. The sensation making you drunk on his expert movements.

"Oh? I didn't know top students had such a dirty mouth" working harder and more relentlessly than before, the train of needy moans couldn't be stopped anymore.

And there you were. Once again with a good for nothing dude between your legs. Making you feel things nobody before him managed. How does he know exactly what you liked? Was it the environment? First the locker room now friend's house...A combination perhaps?

Taste of forbidden fruit is not easily forgotten,

but who doesn't love a good enemies to lovers trope?

To be continued

[memoiresofaneternaldreamer]

Omertà

Assassin! Park Seonghwa x Mafia Heiress! Reader.

Themes: Smut | AU | PWP | Enemies to Lovers | Explicit sexual acts | Use of Italian Petnames (this deserves a separate warning in itself) | PIV | Unprotected intercourse (wrap it before you tap it kids!) | Desperate sex | Fluff - Angst?

Word Count: 1.9K

Playlist: 'See You Bleed' - Ramsey | 'Two Shots' - Cross My Heart Hope to Die | 'In The Blood' - Red Rosamond | 'Scorpio' - Pour Vous

Part of the 'ATEEZ as Dark Tropes' series.

This story is intended for an adult audience only. Minors do not interact.

"I wonder which will get you killed faster -- Your loyalty or your stubbornness?" Seonghwa whispers. His hot breath cascades over your neck while his lips lightly graze the shell of your ear. He has firmly planted himself into your personal space, with his chest flush against your back and his left hand gripping your jaw. 

Any regular person would have seen his words for what they were, a threat, and used them as fuel to run for their life. Or perhaps they would drop down to their knees and beg him, or any Deity they believed in, for mercy.

But you weren’t any regular person. 

His words, nor presence instilled any of its' intended fear into you. That is not what you were trained for. That is not the reaction your body had to him.

“Why don’t we find out?” You retaliate, the ghost of a smirk taking over your features. The challenge in your voice so prominent he cannot help but release a humourless chuckle. 

“Oh Carissima, when I am done with you, you know they will want to kill us both.” He answers. You snort at that, he wasn’t wrong. 

As tragic as the tale of Romeo and Juliet had been, the tale of the Angelinis and Barbieris was much worse.

Two brothers, not by blood but by bond, were once as thick as thieves. They ruled the Underworld side by side and were revered by many. Until one backstabbing and one double-crossing made them sworn enemies. As a result, the Angelinis vowed that no Barbieri would ever rule the Underworld again. And the Barbieris, in turn, vowed to take out each and every living Angelini.

It was a feud that lasted for many years and led to many tragic casualties on both sides. A mutual hatred which should have manifested into the only living heirs of both men.

While your father, Gabriele Angelini, had trained you to become the perfect heiress to the throne, Davide Barbieri, Seonghwa’s mentor turned adoptive father, had trained him to become the perfect killing machine.

Both offspring destined to fulfil the vows their fathers had made, and both offspring as lethal as the other.

But faith had other plans.

Before you can formulate a clever retort, he spins you around and shoves you backwards. The sudden movement catches you off guard, the breath you did not know you were holding bursting from your lips as your back bounces on the mattress. His gaze zeroes in on yours, and you recognize the dark look hidden behind them. Lust. Pure, unadulterated, dirty, forbidden lust. But also something else. Another emotion, much more terrifying. 

Because as your fathers before you, you should hate each other. He should want to kill you, and you should want to ruin him. But you don't. You can't. Not when he is the air you breathe, and you are the light that guides him. And it is with that thought that you understand what it is. Love. 

No words are spoken as you both hurriedly undress, the building tension between you stifling in the air. You both know there is no time for slow kisses or soft touches. Not now. Not when Davide had just formally declared the hit on your life, and every assassin - including Seonghwa - was ordered to hunt you down and eliminate you.  

As you open up the buttons of your blouse and unzip your skirt, he drops the leather jacket off his shoulders and unbuckles his belt. Every layer he sheds reveals more of his flawless skin, sculpted muscles and delicious hardness, and you cannot help but bite your lower lip at the sight. Somewhere in the depths of your mind, you wonder if this will be the last time you see him like this. As you slide your already soaked-through panties over your legs, the minimal light coming in from the window catches onto your glistening folds. 

Seonghwa's eyes capture the sight, and his hand - that had just removed his underwear - grips his uncovered hardness. "Fuck, Cara, you're already soaking wet for me." He groans. "I am." You agree. "What are you going to do about it?" You taunt, while you open your legs to give him an unobstructed view of your cunt. 

He is on you in an instant, his hand grabbing onto your ankle and pulling you closer towards him. Wordlessly he drops to his knees on the bed and lifts your other foot, allowing your legs to frame his hips. From this kneeling position, he can see your arousal in its' entirety. He swipes two fingers over your folds as a reply, before he plunges them deep into your hole. 

The sudden but welcome intrusion of his digits within your walls makes you gasp. "Fuck, Hwa. Amore, please." You mutter, as you feel them curling up into your sensitive spot. "What is it, Cara? Hmm?" He cannot help but taunt back. His eyes take in your beautiful face and he thinks to himself that he would give you anything you asked for in this moment. Hell, he'd give you the world even. And even though he loved Davide like a son loves his father, he loved you so much more. And he'd gladly see the Barbieri empire burn before he hurt a hair on your head.

"More, I need more." You relent, grabbing onto his wrist as he pulls his digits from your cunt. "I want to feel you inside me. I want you." You continue, the desperation to be devoured by him and the danger you know that faces you once you leave his safety slowly consuming you.

Seonghwa understands this though, as he too feels much too overcome already. He's not ready to lose you. He doesn't think he ever will be. So he tells you just that. "You have me Carissima, all of me. Now and forever after." He chokes out, as he enters you in one swift thrust.

The simultaneous moans you let out fill the otherwise quiet room. Seonghwa drops his weight forward, one hand on either side of your head, while you spread your legs to accommodate the width of his body. The pace he sets is unforgiving, the quick snaps of his hips into you making you quiver. Your tits jiggle with the movement and Seonghwa leans down to envelop one of your nipples in his mouth, sucking and nibbling on the stiff nub. 

"Oh fuck..." You curse, your hand reaches the back of his neck to grip at the roots. The sensation of his lips on your skin coupled with his sharp thrusts is almost too much to handle. And yet, it's somehow not enough still. You rotate your hips, desperate for more friction but too out of it to utter the words. But Seonghwa understands. He always does. Latching his mouth onto your other nipple, he glides his hand towards your clit. 

The first roll of his thumb over your sensitive nub is almost enough to make you cry. "Oh Dio.... Yes, just like that."  you whimper, every nerve ending being lit on fire by his ministrations. Seonghwa releases your - now swollen - nipple from his mouth in favour of taking in your blissed-out expression, all the while never letting up his movements. Your hooded eyes, glistening lips and the little drop of drool rolling over your cheek make him groan. 

The desire to plant his lips on yours and lick the drool from your mouth overwhelms him. Even though, when you two had started this "arrangement" years ago, there were two rules he promised you he'd never break.

No kissing. Kissing makes it too personal.

Never say the words "I love you." Saying them turns this into a weakness. And a weakness can be used to kill you.

But suddenly, Seonghwa couldn't care less about these rules. He loves you, more than he has loved anything else before. And Davide has set out to kill you anyway, even without any knowledge of your relationship. If you are going to die - and he in turn as well - he wants to etch your taste into his mind before you both release your final breath. 

"Cara, please. Please let me kiss you." He pleads, his face mere inches from yours while his hand grabs ahold of your jaw. The despair in his tone pulls at your heartstrings, and you know. You know what he wants to say, but doesn't. So you silently nod your head. Tightening his hold on you, he cranes your neck backwards and uses it to finally fuse his lips to yours. 

The kiss is all-consuming; warm, demanding, passionate, ferocious, but at the same time full of love, devotion and tenderness. You feel it everywhere. In the way he grips your jaw, in the fierceness of his hips slamming between your thighs, he's claiming you as his. And you let it happen. Because for someone who's craved control all her life, giving it to him so easily has never felt more right. 

So in that moment, you decide to break the second rule and tear your mouth from his.

"Te amo, Vita Mia." You whisper. Once the words register in his ears, Seonghwa stills his movements. Thankfully, you don't have to wait too long for his reply. "Mio Tesoro, I love you so much." He replies, full of conviction. 

Your words seem to open some invisible floodgate because he is on you again. Tilting his head as he deepens the kiss, it's a flurry of teeth clicking, tongues tangling, and lips smacking. His hips continue their assault on your insides, increasing the brutal force of his thrusts while his thumb stays pressed against your sensitive clit. When Seonghwa suddenly lifts one of your legs until it is resting on his shoulder, you feel him even deeper than before. And it's all too much. 

Fisting the sheets beside your head you cannot stop the scorching heat from coursing through your veins. Your body is on fire, so close to combustion you can almost taste your release. Seonghwa is not far behind. The pulsing of his cock within your walls becomes more prominent with each push. "Come with me Amore, give it to me. Fill me up." You manage to choke out before you tumble over that invisible ledge. 

"Fuck. Yes, Yes, yes. Just like that." He encourages, as he feels your pleasure overflowing within you. He's following right behind you with his own release. One, two, three thrusts and he's spilling inside you, your name rolling off his lips like a mantra, his seed filling you up. 

Seonghwa collapses on top of you, utterly spent, and he chuckles as you wrap your arms and legs around his body like a vice, trapping him to you. No other words need to be said, the softness of your touches and the look in his eyes convey everything you need to know. You stay like this for what feels like an eternity. Wrapped up in each other's warmth, lost in your own little universe. You think you can actually fall asleep like this, with his weight on you and his softening member still inside you. As Seonghwa lays his head on your chest you figure he's coming to the same conclusion. So you close your eyes and let the comfort slowly pull you under.

And then a shot rings out.

A/N: Little brain rot of mine because I've had this moodboard I created just sitting in my drafts forever, and I finally decided to do something with it. (It may also be because of all the concert content floating around). Definitely not proofread. Hope you all enjoy!

Send me your hard/soft thoughts - feedback/fangirling is always welcome. Want to be added to my taglist? Let me know!

[For the Moodboard: credits to the owners of these pictures, I do not own any of them. All pictures are exclusively found on Pinterest. Please do not use without giving credit and do not delete the caption. Do not copy and repost to other sites.]

[izpira-se-zlato]

Milan, 27.03.24

Gig report! Can't believe there's only two to go after this one :o (for me)

I showed up at 4:45pm (bc I'd chosen to get food at the station) and was still a lower number than in Munich at 2pm. Yeah.

didn't really queue thus, which always makes gigs a bit… different. I miss chatting with people before gigs, but I hadn't wanted to fly (even though after the venue move that would have been even easier. But also catching a 7:30 flight the morning after a gig. Yeah, no)

the queue kinda fell apart because you needed a membership card to get into the venue. We didn't have to pay. But they had to handwrite it for us. Emotions ran a little high

the venue was. Something. Sorta a… festival tent? Not quite outdoors, but definitely Interesting

due to the proximity to the airport, the radio frequencies from planes kept interfering with the equipment. Bojan attempted to explain it to us, but he didn't know it himself and thus mostly listened. I feared for the worst at that point, ngl. They didn't look particularly angry to me, but Bojan was like, "Don't be angry, Jan!" so I was like ����

Bojan tried to get Jure and then also Nace to jam while they were figuring out their tech issues (Always Something Problem), but it meant Jan couldn't hear himself enough and so we just watched him wander on stage while Bojan tried to entertain us

We got ASTP and Proti Toku for soundchek. My first ASTP in 12 gigs on this tour! Curious to see what we'll get today

Bojan repeatedly called Jan "Jenzo" and then later claimed "Just so you know, Jan's Italian name is Jenzo!" with which the crowd disagreed (and let him know that it should be Gianni)

soundcheck was pretty cold and I almost regretted not having taken my jacket (but it did warm up)

the opener was a brass band. Unexpected but actually fun. Fit the gig, somehow

they played a lot of medleys of known songs and the crowd was pretty into it

JC! God, I barely can believe that it was the second-to-last tie I saw him live like that. I love his acoustic set a lot (in particular the first and last songs xD)

He accidentally unplugged his guitar last night. Kinda a funny moment

pretty sure the hype list was changed. Dirty Little Secret made it into the cut, and to our surprise, Zitti e Buoni didn't. Weird choice, Primož (or so I assume)

Actual gig!

We got Jan in a capybaster shirt and Nace in the cosy sweater and Bojan in a buttoned shirt he got gifted during soundcheck and Jure in the gorgeous metallic sweater and Kris in another cozy sweater

The Jance was off the fucking charts, jfc I hate them idk what was in the air. Probably hadn't seen each other all day (I'm not actually complaining)

We got SSOL opener into… Ne Bi Smel into Ona into Tokio

During Ne Bi Smel Jan was standing in front of Nace's mic so Nace had to push him away to sing the backing vocals (grinning all the while)

Bojan went, "This night is gonna be multilingual" so I was like, oh, Tokio, but no! "We had English, then Slovene, now we're gonna add some Serbian!" Changing his quips for the final stretch, huh?

Nace singing fucking "Dok tebe sunce greje, mi amore" at Jan. I hate him (While the sun warms you up, my love, according to lyrics translate)

They also played at each other during NBS because of course they did

Jan back on Jure's snare drum for the end. Multi-instrumentalist

Tokio! I didn't catch it on video, but Nace leaned in and bumped his nose into Jan's breast? Kissed his coat? I have no clue what he did but I was like ??? Nace?

At the end, they chased each ohter in circles again, and Nace either went down on one knee in front of Jan or almost did so. When the lights came back on, Nace patted Jan's chest while laughing (couldn't make out Jan's expression)

before NGVOT, Nace was thrown bread. A plushie? Actual bread? I don't know

Nace kept looking over at Jan during NGVOT, and when Jan finally met his gaze, he turned to him so they played at each other. Jan was making a mock-surprised grimacing face and playing? And then they just. Turned back to the front. What the fuck, guys

they just. kept looking at each other. Jan looking at Nace while Nace was doing backing vocals. Nace looking back as soon as he was done. Them swaying in sync while Nace smiled smugly about it. And at the end, they did the swaying like. In opposite cycles? So both sawying in and both swaying away, until Nace turned and bent his knees a little and yelled up into Jan's face. Yeah idk.

we didn't only get Bluza but got it before Šta bih ja

Kris came over to hug Jan during Bluza 🥰😭

Jan's expressions during the ending were. Something 😂

more silliness from Jan and Nace during Šta bih ja

Bojan: "This is a new song! Why do you know it"

also uh. Synchronised hip thrusting while facing each other at the end of the song. Yeah. Jfc remember you're on a stage, guys

Jan either messed up the opening of Demoni or his guitar gave out for a hot second but he was wearing a very oops expression

Jan grasped Nace's shoulders during Demoni and I think spoke the words at him? Or said something else? But that wouldn't make sense? Nace nodded and patted Jan's chest in turn

Got the Demoni scream

PiJano Padam. Bojan looked really tired during that song. Jfc get this man to take a break

Intense staring at each other at the beginning of Umazane until Nace said something to Jan and then both grinned and Nace wandered off

Nace was pretty silly at the start of the karaoke bit and like. gestured at Jan theatrically and then mimed falling over. Dork

We got the OG OG Umazane Misli chorus. The one Bojan wrote in a hurry the first time they performed it. Made my night -- and Kris's because it's where the very smiley/laughing Kris pics during UM came from

@kurooscoffee/@jokeroutsubs had prepared UNO reserve cards to make the boys sing. Which made the rounds already but gaaah it was !!!!!!

Jan declaiming the verse because "[he] can't sing so [he's] not gonna sing. [He's] gonna interpret it." And interpret he did😂

Nace with the "oh oh" before he started jfc the dork

Jan ducking under Nace's arm to play his bass after he failed to catch Nace's attention to offer, and then just. Going for it.

Nace slinging an arm around Jan

Nace singing "morning smells like you" right at Jan while Jan keeps looking up at him from playing chords on Nace's bass

Kris "Jan! Play, play the melody, I need the harmony!" (and Jan did)

god we need more Kris singing plssss

Kris sang the verse mostly at Nace

Jure going "oooh fuck!" and not knowing the entire lyrics 😂😂 Jance this and Jance that, but that made my night

I didn't see Bojan at barricade cheering his band mates on but he was and just. Gah. It was such a wholesome thing I hate them

Nace posed for pictures with a silly expression, and then Jance posed for a combined heart for someone

Plastika saw Bojan caress Nace and then hug Jan from behind (no choking tho)

During Novi Val, Jance stood off to the side being Jance for quite a while, while Jure had his hand weirdly on Bojan's back?

They looked really exhausted by the end which. Mood.

Post gig:

The venue had a scrolling LED screen that scrolled "Everybody's Waiting At The Ball" (thanks, Kris, for the restory!)

Had a chat with Dean (lovely) and JC Stewart (also lovely) and learned that JC and Conor used to live together which is why JC was out with Conor to be introduced to the boys (allegedly before Christmas, though JC wasn't 100%)

hung around the gate after the show even though it was pretty clear they wouldn't say hi, but it gave us a chance to see Mark (who'd surprised the boys with a visit) as he was waiting for someone to let him off the venue grounds. "Well, they'll have to open this at some point, they ordered McDonald's!"

Spoiler: they did not open the gate for McDonalds. Primož tried to scale it, which almost worked but looked dangerous, and so the delivery person threw it over the top. It was a spectacle

by that point, Mark had been let out the old-fashioned way though

[asheurbanipal]

Alone in the dark but now you've come along

Original Ao3

Next episode>>

Summary:

Fuck. Hell. Shit. "If you're going to ask to move back in: the answer's yes. If you're going to ask me to bend over: the answer is fuck yes. But we should keep it down so we don't traumatize the youth." Logan slapped a hand across his mouth. "Yeah, just like that," Wade said, muffled. "Gotta let me turn around first." "I have a job for you, but you have to listen to me. Can you do that?" ###   Things don't suddenly become easier when you save the universe. There's all this shit like...emotions...to get through. Which complicates things when Logan rejoins the X-Men if only for the amenities.

Deadpool/Wolverine

Explicit

Words: 5,716

One-shot (series incoming?)

Content: light angst, fluff, mild smut, hand and mouth stuff with male anatomy, anal sex, fighting as a metaphor for sex

No no it’s cool. It’s totally cool for you to fuck off to the X-manor. It’s your home, after all.

Wade slammed a tennis ball into the side of the building, but the thing that rolled back was an exploded piece of rubber. The last one had shattered a brick. The one a few back had gone through the plaster in the dining-living-kitchen, forcing Al to quite literally kick his ass all the way downstairs into one of the back alleys.

“Just take your sweaty, glistening tits and go be an X-Men again. It’s cool. Great. Awesome.” He went to grab another ball from the plastic bag to find it empty. “FUCK.” The profanity stopped a woman with her stupid little dog and mangy-ass baby as she passed by with a stroller, her face frozen in disgust.

“Can’t a man mangle his balls in peace?” he barked, and that prompted her to scurry off back down the sidewalk. 

He leaned against the wall and dropped down until he was sat on the dirty pavement, legs splayed haphazardly. The tennis ball thing was supposed to be a healthier coping mechanism with stress that wasn't punching something in the face. 

Go to therraaaapppy. You'll find some healthier outlets.

"Well, I did, Vanessa. And it's not helping. I saved the goddamn universe , and it didn't matter." 

They had only been back a few days when he realized it. That whatever want he had for Vanessa was…well it's wasn't gone. It was just…just different. Now he just wanted her to be happy, and he was starting to realize that might not be with him. Not anymore. The whole disintegrating into atoms then recombobulating had put things into perspective. 

But something else had changed. Maybe it was that first adamantium claw between the ribs. He touched his chest, trying to imagine it again. There was nothing quite like the first time someone was inside you, though. One of his tiny little knives flicked out from the knee pocket of his cargo khakis. He stabbed it into the top of his thigh, hissing with the sharp impact. 

"Nope. Not quite." He yanked it free. He considered the tear in his pants, watching the hole in his skin close up nice and tight. Nope. It hadn't been the claws. It had been the penetration. That's where it had started. When they first dropped into the Void. When he had sunk his blade into Wolver-fucking-rine's calf, knowing full well he'd recover all fine and dandy. When Wade realized that he had met someone who could take it. He still didn't know what it was. Wade didn't have the capacity to label emotions beyond "mad" or "a little horny" or "excited" or "extremely horny." 

It was the more wordless emotions that had offered Logan a couch to sleep on and a promise they'd work together to figure out what Logan's new life looked like. Then barely a month later, when things were just starting to get comfortable, when "happy" was starting to shift into "content" the bitch-ass mother fucker had to go and get offered a place back on the X-Men. 

Wade stared at the tips of his sneakers, wishing he could go back to the time when there wasn't a Logan-shaped empty space in his life. 

####

Logan stared up at the ceiling of his room replaying the conversation. On the phone Hank McCoy was explaining, in arduous detail, how there would always be a place for him on the X-Men if he wanted it. And that space on the team came with a room in the mansion. Despite the overflow of details, there was a hesitation. 

"Hank," Logan had said, dropping onto the couch that had been doubling as his bed for a few weeks. "I'm not your Wolverine. You're not my Beast. We don't have to do this." There was a scuffle on the other side of the phone. 

"Listen buttfuck." It had been that Negasonic kid. He liked her. Reminded him of Rogue and Kitty and Jubilee and fuck he never questioned the number of teen girls that seemed to hover in his shadow. How did no one ever point out how creepy that must have looked from the outside?

"Stop being a whiny little bitch-baby and rejoin the X-Men. The minute they heard you were alive in, like, a different dimension all of the old fucks have been talking about having you on the team again." A chorus of objections over "old fucks" had swelled up behind her. "So do fucking whatever, but they want you here." 

He threw a tennis ball up at the ceiling, and caught it again. It didn't feel like they wanted him there. Hank told him to skip training. To take it easy after everything that happened in the Void. Hey, maybe stay behind for this one and watch the kids.

Three weeks. Three weeks in this room. 

He slammed the ball toward the ceiling again in hopes of not remembering the next part. 

"Hey, babygirl, who was on the phone?" Wade had emerged from the single shared bathroom, Hello Kitty towel swung low around his hips, freshly showered. His body had dropped close on the couch, hands resting brazenly on his knee. 

The scent memory hit him hard. Clean and fresh with strawberries on top. He'd never met a grown man who used strawberry scented soap. It was such an impossible. Everything about Wade seemed impossible.

Mostly that any one person could talk so much while saying so little. 

He threw the ball again, this time spearing it with one of his claws on the down swing.

There was so much blood on these hands. So many people dead because of these claws. But not Deadpool. Not Wade Wilson. Logan had sunk metal blades into the interstitial spaces of Wade's ribs, and he had thanked him for it. Not in words, no. His words were sharp and sardonic. It was the way his body had writhed and squirmed, how even the shape of his mask had magically gone wide-eyed in delight. Of the very real…physiological reactions…

Wade was a fucked up guy, but that sensation stuck around, clinging to the metal plating in his bones. That sense of something having changed in him. 

Then he had to go and fuck it up. 

Wade was too loud. Too close. Too prone to casual physical affection that Logan had no practice in, anymore. He just needed space. Space to figure out who he was, now, in this timeline. To figure out how to feel emotions again beyond "mad" and "angry" and "seething with rage" and "drunk." 

"They invited me to rejoin the X-Men," he had told Wade, avoiding looking at him head on. Wade was an idiot, but he wasn't stupid. There wasn't a reason to drag this out. "And it comes with my own room in the house. And with an apartment this size, you don't need me taking up space."

Wade's hands had gone tight on his thigh, that Deadpool strength coming through. 

"Peanut butter jelly time, if it's just about the sleeping arrangements, that's nothing a little trip to IKEA--"

"Look." Logan hadn't actually wanted to yell. To get sharp and cold. But he had seen what was coming, and he couldn't do it. Not again. Not after what they'd been through to get to this point.

"I like you, Wade." He let his fingers gently touch the back of Wade's neck. It was probably a bad idea. It would probably make all this worse. "I would like to keep liking you. And the Void was a pretty good indicator that when we're pent up together, we get a little rabid." The memory of the all-leather interior of a sensible family vehicle scraped at his palms. 

Wade had drifted, mouthing something into space to an audience only he could see. Logan had touched his cheek, and he snapped back. 

"Whatever you say, sugar tits!" But his fingernails had been digging deeper and deeper into Logan's knee. He released his hands and stood. "But I was going to convince Al to implement full-frontal Tuesdays." He started backing up, twitching his towel in the sway of a mock high kick. "You're going to be missing out on all this." Then he had skittered into the bedroom, slamming the door hard enough to rattle the walls and piss off the neighbors.

Logan was gone by the next morning. 

Logan stared down at the tennis ball still stuck on his claw.

"Fuck. It's too quiet." 

"Logan." Hank rapped on his bedroom door. He jumped from the bed as though that would hide he was sulking. What was left of the ball flopped to the floor as he returned his claws to his hands. 

"Yeah, it's open. What do you need?" But he met Hank as the door was opening, his blue furry face set with grim determination. 

"We've got something we need you for."

#####

Oh okay just walk in you like you own the place you sexy sonofa- "Hi, Yukio."

"Hi, Wade!"

They touched their fingertips together, then palms, then hips bumping, then a series of complex movements that Wade knew he would guard with his life .

"When did you even have time to come up with a secret handshake with my girlfriend?" Negasonic did that adorable little eyeroll that made him want to simultaneously punch her in the face and hug her until she died from asphyxiation. Either way....

"Shshsh. A magician never reveals his secrets." She punched him in the shoulder as she passed through into the apartment, beelining for the kitchen-dining-living room table to start picking over the monthly taco night spread. Behind them, though, was Logan, and Wade couldn't pull away. His eyes followed him as he sauntered in through the door, hips swaying, arms crossing over his wide chest. 

Shit. Fuck. Cock. Profanities in a thousand different languages he didn't know.

"Hey, bub." Logan's voice was rumbly and low, sitting in his chest. 

"You were supposed to come back and visit, Wolvie," Wade found himself whining. "But I guess you've been too busy. With your X-Men." He threw a few fake punches into Logan's abs. Logan caught his hands, holding them against his chest for a half a moment before dropping them. He closed the door behind him, then signaled to the dark of the hallway. 

"Come over here a minute." He grabbed Wade around the wrist and hauled him around, shoving him into the slight curve leading into the bedroom and backing him up against the wall. His forearms made a V-shape in the span of the hallway, forcing their bodies together. 

Fuck. Hell. Shit.

"If you're going to ask to move back in: the answer's yes. If you're going to ask me to bend over: the answer is fuck yes. But we should keep it down so we don't traumatize the youth."  

Logan slapped a hand across his mouth. 

"Yeah, just like that," Wade said, muffled. "Gotta let me turn around first, though."

"I have a job for you, but you have to listen to me. Can you do that?"

Wade nodded, but Logan didn't trust him enough to actually release his mouth. Good call, honestly. 

"They've got scans of some weird subterranean base upstate."

"Underground?" Wade asked, trying to lick Logan's hand in the process. Dirt and metal. Logan didn't budge. 

"Yes, underground. Shut up. They don't know who it is. Could be an old Hydra unit cropping up-"

"How very Phase one."

"-could be a new Brotherhood of Mutants-"

"Holy continuity, Batman."

"-point being they want to send someone in." Logan pressed a little harder on Wade's mouth before realizing it wasn't working and dropping it.

"So a stealth mission? Can't say I'm usually the choice for the strong and silent type."

"No," Logan sighed. But his heart wasn't in it. There was a little grin there, right on the edge of his mouth. "They have giant robots. They haven't figured out how to sneak past them, so they want to distract them. But that means taking some hits. A lot of hits. The kind of hits only a guy like me can take and survive. Or a guy like you."

Oh? Oh. Oohohohohohhooho.

Wade felt his body heat rising in excitement. 

"I could really use a second set of hands," Logan continued. "Are you interested?"

Yes. Fuck. Yes yes yes yes.

"So you're saying we go in and just…fight giant robots with the expectation we will be getting our asses handed to us."

"Yeah, basically." 

"Hm. Okay let me think about-yes. Yes, absolutely one hundred percent."

"Okay. Good." Logan nodded. For the tiniest fraction of a second, it looked like he was going to say something else. Instead, he lingered his gaze in Wade's for a moment, tapped the walls, then moved out of the hallway. "Oh. Hello, Vanessa."

As he moved, the rest of the room reappeared, and in the middle of it was Vanessa.

"Hi," Wade squeaked out. She moved closer, also standing in the frame of the hallway but so so tiny in comparison. 

"I let myself in," she said quietly, glancing over her shoulder as Logan retreated across the room. She turned back. 

"Good," she said. "Good for you. I think…yeah…I think he's good for you." 

And for the first time in his whole goddamn life he had no idea what to fucking say to that. 

#####

Next to him on the mini-jet, Wade was literally vibrating, knees bouncing up to his chest. Logan dropped a hand to his knee, forcing it to stop. He squeezed, pulling out a tiny squeak from Wade's throat. 

"Do I need to run the details with you again?" he asked. Wade hadn't stopped talking, chattering about just…anything and everything. Any little thought that slid through his head. And it felt…good. It felt good to not have to think about the fight coming up in front of them. He could just listen to the sound of Wade's voice and think about literally anything else. But now he needed to focus. Made sure they were both focused. 

"Nope!" Wade gave him thumbs up, mask eyes squinting into a smile. 

"Are you sure? Because I would be real fucking pissed if you somehow managed to get yourself killed, bub." 

"Girlypop." He dropped his hand on Logan's shoulder. "My little meow meow. We're good. I've got this. I trust you to keep this beautiful ass intact. And I'm certainly not letting anything happen to these sweet things." He groped Logan's chest, squeezing his pecs. He mumbled something else, dipping his head to an invisible conversation partner over his shoulder, but Logan didn't catch it. He never did. 

Logan flexed his hands a few times, forming a fist out of the one on Wade's knee. 

"I'm serious, Wade. I watched you almost die once, and it…" Logan paused and Wade, thank God, actually let him think through his words without filling the silence. "It really fucking sucked."

"Ooooh, what a way with words. A real Chris Claremont." Wade's taunting never came to its full potential power, though. He rolled his hands up to Logan's shoulders again. "It was an honor to die with you once. If it looks like I'm about to check out for real, I'll mercy kill you so you don't have to live in a world without me. One right between the eyes. You won't even see it coming."

"You're such a fucking idiot," Logan laughed darkly. 

"Oh, you love me," Wade clucked through the mask.

"Maybe I do," Logan said, and he felt his body pause, choking on the thought. 

"Wait, wha-" but Wade never got through the thought either before something huge and fiery had hit the plane. Logan's hand tightened on Wade's thigh. They were going down, the mission starting before they expected. 

"It's time," Wolverine muttered, letting his claws free.

"Let's. Fucking. Go." Deadpool replied next to him. 

Watching Deadpool fight, when he could, out of the corner of his eye, was like ballet. Bloody, but beautiful. His body was huge, but it moved through the air, bounced off hard bodies, at soft angles, flipping and slipping like it didn't obey gravity. He felt so clunky, in comparison. No grace. No fluidity.

But of course the chatter. God the chatter. At some point it turned to music, a soundtrack to slash and break to.

And when they paused for half a moment, Deadpool's back to him, the heat blushed over their bodies in tandem, sweat and panting breath caught in the same flow of energy. Deadpool turned his head to drop his chin on Wolverine's shoulder. 

"How much longer until extraction?" he gasped. These assholes didn't go down easily, self-repairing the instant they cut their main servos. This was only a breather, one of the sentinels already picking itself up to charge back across the grass. 

"You running out of stamina?" Wolverine panted back.

"Not a chance, old man." Deadpool rolled his head back against his. "Forgot to set the DVR for Golden Girls is all." 

"Need to get you a smart TV with streaming," Wolverine said, running up to meet the now approaching robot. 

#####

"Was that a quip!? " Deadpool shouted to his retreating back. But oh…there he went. The way those claws just SNIKT then KRRRPTACK right through the metal chassis of the nearest bot. 

It was so SEXY. 

Another bot had put itself together enough to crawl across the grass at him. A single POW , and it went down without a fight. In the meantime, Wolverine had squared up with the next machine, muscles rippling and shaking and bulging with effort. 

Not NOW, boner.

The X-Men's stupid fucking jet came in low just in time, actually starting to reach the end of his rope. He had somehow managed to get away without losing any limbs, but it was getting close. They both leaped heroically through the open gangplank door, landing flat on their faces as the ramps lifted up underneath them. A few other members of the X-Men were somewhere forward in the jet, but the only thing Wade could focus on was Logan's sweating, heaving body next to him. He rolled a little closer. 

"Great job, cum shot." Then he slapped Logan's ass. Loud. It echoed. Logan lifted onto his elbows. 

"Bub, don't slap my ass without consent when I'm in fight-mode. I might stab you on reflex." 

"You promise?" 

Logan chuckled. Then it was a laugh, rippling and echoing and dark and real . 

"One minute of silence, then you get to talk again, okay?" He threw his arm over Wade's shoulders. He was fucking heavy . All that fucking metal on his bones. Wade made a zipping motion over his lips as best he could laying down. He would grant him that. 

#####

"Wade…did you undress me?" Logan asked sleepily, the sunlight pouring in through the window. 

"Thank you, Wade, for not letting me sleep in my grody-ass suit. You're so thoughtful." Wade was sitting in one of Logan's robes next to him on the bed, ankles crossed as he read a magazine. 

It hadn't really been a question, when they dropped the jet through the basketball court, that Wade would just sleep over that night at the manor. While there were most certainly spare rooms in the adult wings, their bodies, hanging off each other in a post-adrenaline haze, had worked on instinct. And instinct said to pull their bodies close together and fall into bed. 

Wade must not have fallen asleep as quickly as Logan had. He hadn't even dreamed. 

At least he was still in his briefs. He wouldn't have put it past Wade to strip him totally naked.

"Oh, I considered taking off the underoos, too, but I thought I'd leave you a little dignity," Wade said with a quick clip. "Though I won't deny I might have considered taking a quick peek down under. But, you know…consent." 

"'Preciate it," Logan murmured. He shuffled across the bed, his body feeling the after-effects of such an extended fight. The healing factor couldn't fix everything immediately, and the stiffness was one of them. He dropped an arm across Wade's lap and pulled his face up close to his body. "Did you shower?" 

"Yeah. And that is…holy shit. I don't blame you for moving out if that's the bathroom situation."

"It's not the same." 

"What was that?" 

Logan growled.

"It's not the same. You don't smell the same as when you shower at home." 

"Well, unless you've got some Korean skin care sitting around, there's not much I can do about that." Wade dropped his hand to move it through Logan's hair, forming it into twisting and curling shapes. He could have laid there forever, but the sticky post-evaporated sweat was creeping over him. He needed to shower. He needed to shower then have a semi-serious conversation with Wade. 

"You said you loved me on the jet," Wade said quietly. 

Or they were doing this out of order. 

"I need to shower," Logan replied, moving onto his elbows then knees to roll out of bed. 

"That's not a very romantic response," Wade pouted. 

"No, I know. But I can't have this conversation, yet. So you don't leave. In fact." And he had no idea what he was thinking but he picked up a nightstand and moved it in front of the door. 

"I can just…I can move that, too."

"It's fucking symbolic," he growled as he disappeared into the bathroom. 

#####

He's lost his goddamn mind. 

Good? 

Wade shuffled to the edge of the bed, sitting on the corner. He had only barely slept, waking up in the middle of the night with the stark awareness of Logan's body wrapped around his. He had laid there like that for a very very very very long time, listening to Logan's breathing. It had shuddered a few times in the night. At one point he had started rabbit kicking, deep in a dream. At the end, he had pulled Wade in tighter. 

It was only when Logan let him go ever so slightly at dawn that Wade had wriggled out, undressed him, showered, then found a robe to dress himself in. The instant he crawled back into bed, Logan had wrapped his big beefy arms around him again. 

He had only rolled over for maybe ten minutes when woke up. 

I'll be saving that information for when I need to blackmail him. 

He dropped his fingers to the tie of the robe and let it fall open, exposing his naked body underneath. When Logan came out of that shower, he was going to either be repulsed or overcome with lust. Either way, Wade needed to punish him for moving out without permission.

#####

Logan rested his head against the closed bathroom door, showered, towel around his waist. 

"I think I'm falling in love with you," he whispered to himself a few times. "And I don't actually want to be apart from you. But I'm also worried about us living on top of each other. No…no he's going to turn that into a sex joke. Fuck this beautiful man and his mouth. Shit I want to fuck his mouth. Fuck." He pounded on the door. "Calm down." 

"Sugar bear?"  Wade was still there, at least, and on the bed. That gave him about six feet of breathing space. 

"Wade," he said, opening the door. Then he drew up short. Wade was naked, sitting on the edge of the bed, leaning back, legs casually hanging off. 

"That's not fair," Logan said quietly.

"Oh what you can't have a serious conversation when I'm in--" he crossed one leg over the other "--the buff."

"Yes," Logan replied. 

"Why? Are you overcome with luuuuust?"

"Yes." 

"Well, then…wait, really?" 

But Logan was at the edge of the bed, pushing Wade down at the shoulders, his own towel dropping to reveal he was hard as a rock. It wasn't just his dick, though, it was everything. Every part of his body was full of tension. He slammed a hand over Wade's mouth preemptively. 

"I'm gonna fuck you. And you can be as loud and chatty as you want the whole time. But then you're going to let me talk to you about something. Okay, bub?" Wade nodded under his hand, and he let him free. 

"I'm gonna suck your cock first, then we'll negotiate." Then Logan was reminded just how strong Wade actually was as he pushed him over on his back, aiming them right on a pile of pillows. He slid down, and with a hiss and a slither, his mouth went quick over Logan's dick, taking him all the way down to the hilt. 

#####

Wolverine's cock is in my mouth. Shit fuck shit fuck shit fuck fuck. 

I'm in love with Wolverine, and his cock is in my mouth. 

I'm in love with Logan. And I'm sucking his cock. And he's getting harder and harder and harder fuuuuck. 

Logan's hands slid around the side of his head, thumbs brushing his ears, fingers caressing the nape of his neck, purposefully touching on each of the bumps and scars, tracing them. Memorizing? What a freak.   

He slipped his fingers down until they were cupping the underside of Logan's balls, and he rolled them back and forth as he worked the shaft. He licked a stripe up the underside, then folded back down again, sucking and nipping at the head of Logan's cock. It had been awhile since he'd been up close and personal with this specific style of anatomy, but it was like fucking a bicycle. 

Logan let out a groan, signaling Wade was right on track. His hands went tighter around the back of Wade's head and pushed him down, fucking up into his mouth with hard thrusts. 

"Wade," Logan growled. 

"Yes, daddy?" Wade replied through a full mouth. But he just repeated Wade's name over and over again softly, like a prayer. He hadn't even touched himself, and he was ready to come just with that. Wade scraped his teeth over Logan's cock, and hollowed out his cheeks to increase the pressure. 

"Wade," he hissed again, pumping up harder and harder into Wade's throat. He came like an explosion, filling up Wade's mouth all the way to the back of his teeth. 

But he kept going. He couldn't stop. He needed Logan to get hard again as fast as possible. And if their healing factors were anything alike, this would do it. 

I need him inside me. 

#####

"Wade." Logan pried Wade's head from his crotch and hauled him up by the shoulders. His fingers pressed around Wade's jaw and aligned their faces. "Slow down. We have time." 

Wade panted, resting his forehead against Logan's, sticky semen glazing his lips. He leaned forward and pecked the corner of Wade's lips. He breathed it low to himself slow down we have time. He gently captured Wade's mouth, tasting himself along the sides of his tongue and the tops of his teeth. Wade responded in kind but with a more frantic pace, pushing into Logan's mouth, trying to eat him from the inside out, it felt like. 

His hands dug into Logan's hair, curving through the curls, gripping tight, trying to pull their bodies even closer as he climbed into Logan's lap. Logan drifted his hand down around Wade's dick, and he responded with a whimper into Logan's mouth. Logan stroked Wade, thumb circling the tip in gentle whirls, languidly pumping through the entirety of his length. 

Wade was the one who started growling now, his teeth gnashing like an animal. His hands drifted down Logan's neck, over his spine, finally digging into Logan's back. Logan arched against the feeling, pressing their chests together. 

"You said you were gonna fuck me," Wade complained into his neck. Logan squeezed his ass in response. 

"Working on it." His dick was certainly almost ready again, erections starting to bob against each other. "Bottom drawer, on the right side, ornate black box, lube and condoms." 

"You just keep that around? You dirty dog." Wade went diving for it, though, hanging upside off the bed to find it. 

"Easier to stock all the adult rooms with…accouterments…" 

"How progressive and sex positive." Wade pulled himself back up. He fumbled with the bottle, worried nerves affecting the grip in his hands. 

"Give it." He pulled it softly from Wade's hands. A dollop dropped into his palm, and he warmed it with his other hand over the top. He nuzzled Wade's neck, raking his teeth over Wade's skin as he reached around for his entrance. He slipped down, circled, then curled one finger inside. Wade keened, high-pitched and whimpering, biting his bottom lip as he pressed his face into Logan's shoulder. 

"Does it hurt? Do you want me to slow down?" Logan murmured into Wade's ear. 

"If you don't keep going, right now, I will baby knife you in the kidney." Wade sunk his teeth into Logan's shoulder to punctuate his point.

Logan responded by rolling Wade onto his back, half slamming him into the mattress. A second finger, then a third, he could feel Wade opening for him like a warm welcome. He pressed Wade's knees to his chest, then positioned the tip of his cock at Wade's entrance. Wade arched his back as Logan sunk into him. 

#####

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuckf cufkc ufkc fuck fuck fcufk cuf fuck fukc ufkfkuflkc fuck fuck. 

Logan's hand was stroking his cock lightly. Just the tiniest touch. While he moved in and out in an even rhythm. Long, slow, maddening strokes. 

"Put a baby in me," Wade gasped. Logan dropped lower, almost flat against Wade's body. Wade kicked his ankles up and locked them around the small of Logan's back. "Right in the cervix I don't have." He murmured.

"I'm regretting giving you permission to say whatever you want."

"You love it."

"I do." Logan smiled against Wade's mouth, turning it into a deep kiss. 

There that was again. 

#####

Logan pounded into Wade, picking up speed as he hinged on his knees. He had all these words locked inside, praises and poems, things he wanted to lavish over Wade's body. 

"This feels so good," was all he could find, growling deep next to Wade's ear. Wade responded with a choked noise and a weird laugh. 

"I don't…" Wade started. "Fuck-knuckles I have nothing, babe. I'm tapped out of witty banter." 

Logan pushed into him harder.

"If I'd know this is what it took, I'd have fucked you in that minivan." Logan nibbled along Wade's jaw. 

"Oh a pity fuck wouldn't have worked. I need deep sensuous, love-making for this kind of mind wipe." He rolled his hips up to take Logan in even deeper. 

"I can do deep," Logan said, and proved it with another thrust. 

#####

Fuck shit fuck. Cock. So close. He needs to touch…fuck….

#####

The orgasm came dry and quick this time, but it shuddered out of his body with shaking muscles and tense ligaments. He leaned back, still inside, and watched as Wade squirmed below him, still reaching for the top. He took Wade's dick in his hand and began to stroke.

#####

Fuck. 

Fire. Burning my brain. 

Lights popping behind my eyes. 

Spinning, turning, careening, every part of my body is on fire. 

Logan.

…Logan…

Logan Logan Logan Logan 

Wade's whole body squeezed in climax as Logan stroked him to completion, pulling every dark thing out of his body through his cock. He collapsed back on the bed. 

#####

Logan pulled out slowly, grabbed Wade around the waist, and dragged his limp body to lay on top of him. Wade nuzzled into his neck. 

"I need to tell you something, darling," Logan murmured. His fingers ran up and down Wade's back, tracing the ridge of his spine. 

"I love you," Wade said. "Maybe." He clarified. 

"Okay maybe we don't, actually…" 

"No, you get about twenty minutes of post-nut clarity out of me," Wade objected, lifting onto his elbows. "And I'm maybe falling in love with you. That's what you keep wanting to say to me, but you're too chicken shit to do it. So I'm saying it first." He dropped back down in a huff. "And I'm only saying 'maybe'--" He lifted his head again "--because I'm not sure if I can say definitely, yet. The last 'definitely' didn't work out in the end, so I'm working on it." He dropped down.

"That's all the emotional intelligence you get from me for the rest of the year," Wade mumbled into Logan's shoulder. 

Logan kept to his ministration of Wade's spine, soft touches with no pressure behind them. 

"Yeah. That's what I wanted to talk to you about. That maybe I'm falling in love with you, too." He fell silent, wondering what Wade would do in the gap. Nothing. He was waiting for more. "That's why I left. I didn't know the guy who was falling for you. I thought if I was in the X-Men again, I'd figure out who that person was. Then everything would just be…cleaner.

"But it didn't work. I'm not their Logan. I'm your Logan." He sighed. "So now I'm not sure what to do."

"Well, I'm not anybody's specific dedicated Wade, so you can have that one." Wade sat up, propping up on his wrist to look around the room. "And you need to keep these digs. Because if you're gonna keep blowing my back out, this is way nicer."

"They don't usually…encourage…overnight guests to an excessive degree." 

"Then I'll become an X-Men. Duh. Easy…wait…am I a mutant in this version? I keep forgetting. But I mean…close enough right? Or we just get married. They can't kick me out if I'm your wife."

"We should probably get past the 'maybe' part of I love you, first, darling."

"Ugh fine, whatever." Wade flopped back down. "Wake me when it's breakfast time, honey badger." Then he didn't fall asleep, but he fell quiet, the gears turning silently. And Logan laid there with him, in the silence, trying to figure out what kind of man to be for him. 

#####

My Logan My Logan My Logan My Logan…

[joelmillersdumbslut]

I took your matches before fire could catch me (part four)

(joel miller x f!reader) 18+

masterlist

summary: After Joel Miller ghosts you for three weeks, you drive to his house to find answers. (no outbreak. no use of y/n)

rating: 18+ explicit (minors do NOT interact)

warnings (for this chapter): age gap (reader is in late 20's, joel is mid 50's), dirty talk, pet names, fingering, unprotected p in v sex, daddy kink, alcohol consumption, so much angst

word count: 3k

a/n: thank you again for all the love on my first series. i'm really nervous with how this chapter turned out, but i hope you still enjoy it ♡

ao3 link

Joel hasn’t answered any of your texts for three weeks.

You sit on the couch in your living room, wearing the last shirt he had given you. Inhaling the faint smell as best as you can. Anything to remember him. You’ve been spending your nights and days staring off into space. Wondering if maybe you were wrong. But, how can your emotions be wrong? How can your feelings be wrong?

Tonight, your eyes wander, finally settling on the bottle of wine he had gifted you. It’s unopened. Gradually collecting dust on the counter. You remember the way he smiled when you removed it from the crumpled paper bag.

Your chest feels heavy.

You grab your keys and head out the door.

—

You park across the street like you always do. You march up the porch steps with purpose, but pause once you raise your hand to knock on the door. You hear voices inside. Your heart sinks immediately. What if he’s moved on without you?

Fuck Joel.

You need answers.

Your fist bangs on the door. You keep whacking the surface with all your might, wondering if your knuckles will soon be pierced with splinters when suddenly the door is whipped open.

He’s standing there with a beer in hand. He seems annoyed at first, but his negative emotions are alleviated once he realizes it’s you.

“Babygirl,” Joel breathes softly, “What are you doin’ here?”

“What do you think I’m doing here?” you hiss. Crossing your arms and staring him down.

“Look, I can’t talk right now—“

“Joel, I need to talk to you. I have to talk to you. You just can’t leave me like that with no explanation,” your voice becomes shrill with emotion.

He looks exasperated, defeated. A voice emerges from behind him, “Joel, what’s goin’ on?”

A hand clapping on Joel’s back. For the first time since you’ve known him, you see fear in his eyes. Something you didn’t think was possible for Joel to experience. The figure pushes past Joel to acknowledge you.

“Hey the…. What the fuck are you doin’ here?”

Tommy’s lip curls into a snarl. His nostrils flare and you swear to God this man is seeing red. You want to rub your eyes, pinch your skin. You need to wake up from this fucking nightmare.

“Joel, is this some kinda sick joke? What’s she doin’ here?”

“What are you doing here?” you counter, your hands ball into fists and begin to shake at your sides.

“This is my fuckin’ brother’s house, I can be here as often as I’d like,” Tommy seethes, “Did you come back to ruin my life again?”

He pauses, turning to look at Joel, finally connecting the puzzle pieces together, “Or did you come here to ruin his?”

Tears are rolling down your cheeks as you glance over at Joel. He’s staring into his beer bottle. You want to shake him, scream in his face. But, you can’t. You’re frozen in place.

“Joel, you gonna take care of this trash or should I?” Tommy growls, his eyes fixated on you.

“If you touch her, I will rip you apart,” Joel doesn’t even look up from his beer bottle, “What y’all did happened long ago. You gotta get over it, Tommy.”

Tommy’s eyes are bulging out of his head, “You're jokin’, right, Joel? You’re not seriously bangin’ this—”

Joel is now standing in front of you, “You call her any names, I will end you. I mean it, Tommy.”

Joel’s younger brother pushes past you, nearly knocking you off your feet, but Joel is quick to steady you. Tommy silently fumes as he walks off the porch, heading to his vehicle parked in the driveway.

“Fuck you,” Tommy hollers as he opens the truck door, “Fuck both of you.”

Then, he peels out of Joel’s house, speeding down the street.

Joel takes a long sip of his beer. Your feet are glued to the porch. Not sure whether you should go inside or if you should leave. You look at Joel, hoping he can give you an answer.

“You happy now?” Joel huffs.

That certainly wasn’t the answer you were expecting.

You stare at him in disbelief, wiping the tears from your cheeks. “Why the fuck would I be happy about this?”

“You seem to like fuckin’ everything up,” he retorts, tossing the bottle onto the porch. It rolls away from his feet. Hitting the steps and cracking into pieces.

“What did I fuck up exactly? Please. Enlighten me,” you can feel rage burning in your chest. Your throat is tight and it’s getting harder to breathe.

“What we had goin’. It was a good deal. Then you went and said what you said,” he waves his hand in the air. Like your confession, your feelings, your vulnerability mean nothing to him. “Then you come over here and piss off my brother. Probably never gonna talk to me again.”

“Then you should’ve never fucked around with me in the first place!” your voice is sharp and resentful. “You knew what you were getting into, Joel, don’t blame this on me. Don’t you dare. These are the consequences of your actions.”

“How is it the consequences of my actions?” he snaps.

“You were the one who was nice to me! You were the one who came running when I needed you, you were my shoulder to cry on. We even shared our lives with each other. You shouldn’t have done any of those things if you didn’t want me to love you,” you choke out the last words, your vision blurry from the tears welling up inside the corners of your eyes.

The two of you glare at each other. You step closer to Joel, feeling the heat radiating off his body. Even though you're so angry at him, you can’t help but stare at his muscles protruding through the fabric of his shirt. You think about the way you want those arms around you, holding you, protecting you. You think about how you want things to go back to the way they were just a few short weeks ago.

But, Joel’s right.

You went and fucked it all up.

Joel leans down and kisses you. Hard. You’re taken aback, but you kiss him back just as hard, your tongue entering his mouth and crashing into his. Joel’s hands are moving up and down your body, his touch is rough and careless. He pulls away from your embrace, taking you by the hand and leading you into the house.

—

“Is Sarah home?” you whisper as Joel’s hand clutches your wrist, guiding you through the dimly lit house.

“Do you ever shut up?” he quips.

Even though you stumble around in the darkness, you still remember how to get to his room. You practically know the layout of the house by heart now with how often you come over. After you stagger into the bedroom, Joel locks the door behind him. He’s gazing at you like a beast freed from its cage.

“Tell me what you want,” his voice is quiet, he closes the distance between the two of you.

“I want you to touch me,” you whisper. “I want you so much.”

He says nothing at first as he reaches out and cups one of your breasts, your hardening nipple rolling between his thumb and index finger. You stifle a moan, unbuttoning your jeans and kicking them off. Joel pushes you onto the bed, towering over you.

“You don’t love me,” he murmurs, nipping at your neck and collarbones. Purple splotches already forming underneath the surface of your skin.

“I do love you,” you whimper beneath him, “I don’t know why you’re too stubborn to see it.”

Joel yanks your underwear to the side, his thumb rubbing your clit in fast circles. But, then he pauses once he notices how wet you are already. His index finger slides up and down your slit, collecting slick on his fingertip before he dives into your entrance.

“What are you interested in an old man for anyway? Should be with a guy your age,” he gruffs, his finger thrusting in and out of you. Your body tenses up at the bliss emanating from your core.

“I don’t wanna be with a guy my age. I told you that on our first date,” your breath hitches, “I’ve always liked older men.”

“Lucky me.”

Joel adds another finger, his digits sinking into you, massaging that sweet spot deep inside your body. His rhythm is unstable and messy, but you can still feel your orgasm bubbling up to the surface. You missed this so much.

“Fuck, I’m—” you gasp, arching your back as the tension expands even faster throughout your body. You’re so close, your legs begin to shake, your head is dizzy.

“Call me by my name,” Joel growls.

“Fuck you,” you pant, “I’m not calling you that anymore. Not if you don’t even like me.”

His fingers pull out of your pussy, leaving a sticky residue all over his hand. You throb and pulse, aching for more.

“Never said I didn’t like you,” Joel sits up. His expression is indignant as he stares at you.

You feel lightheaded, so many things running through your mind. So many things you want to say.

If you like me, why don’t you say it then?

Why do you act like you care about me one minute, then you act like you couldn’t give a fuck about me the next?

Why do you insist on punishing me?

Instead, the two of you remain silent for a long time. Until he speaks.

“Tell me one thing,” he mutters, “What did you think you were gonna get out of this?”

You sit with your knees pulled up to your chest. Even though it’s been a couple months since you met Joel, you never really put much thought into this. Your original intention of joining Lily was to find someone to start a relationship with. Instead, you have… this. A situationship where you’re all in, but he’s constantly hot and cold, non-committal, and giving off mixed signals.

What did you think you were gonna get out of this?

“I don’t know,” you whisper, “I didn’t mean to fall in love with you. I thought we would just keep fucking, doing our thing. But, then you were being nice to me. Like you cared about me. And I thought…”

“You thought what?” he seems… a little calmer now. Like he’s actually considering what you have to say this time.

“I thought I actually had a chance with you,” your bottom lip quivers. You’re on the verge of crying again. You turn away from him, the back of your hand rubbing the corner of your eye.

Joel sighs deeply. “Come here, babygirl,” he holds his arms out for you, “Hate seein’ you like this.”

“You sure didn’t give a fuck about me earlier,” you seethe. You’re not gonna fall for his fake niceties. Not again.

“How do you know?” Joel raises his voice, “Do you know how bad I wanted to punch Tommy for what he said ‘bout you? Because you don’t deserve that. And you sure as hell don’t deserve someone like me.”

You blink.

What does he mean by that?

“I want you, Joel. You’re all I want,” you hiccup, trying to hold in the tears. “I don’t care about what anyone has to say, especially your brother.”

He reaches out, taking your hand. “It’s gettin’ late. Why don’t you stay here?”

You say nothing. You get out of bed, picking up your shirt from the floor and pulling it on over your head. Your eyes are red and puffy. You cross your arms and sniffle, staring down at the floor.

“What are you so afraid of, Joel?”

“We ain’t talkin’ ‘bout this,” he growls.

“Why not?” you exclaim.

“I’m afraid it’ll end up like the last time. That you’ll leave me and I’ll be alone. I’m afraid this’ll all be for nothin’. There, you happy?” Joel’s nostrils flare.

You shake your head in confusion, sitting down on the bed next to him. Your hand caresses his cheek, your thumb slowly brushing through his scruff.

“Are you talking about Sarah’s mom?” you whisper.

“You need to go to bed,” Joel huffs, standing up from the bed and gesturing to your side. The side you always sleep on when you stay over. The side with extra pillows because Joel knows you can’t fall asleep unless you have a mountain of them.

He knows so much about you. Sometimes, he even seems to genuinely care about you. But, he’ll never admit it. Especially not to your face. And you’re beginning to realize that.

“I’ll go to bed,” you nod in defeat. You clamber to your spot on the mattress, pulling the covers up over your body.

Joel stands at the foot of the bed, readying to leave you. “Gonna go have another beer,” he murmurs.

But, you have to say something first.

“Wait,” you whimper.

He turns around, those brown eyes piercing your soul. The very same ones you fell in love with through his pictures on the dating app.

“I don’t know what happened. But, I’m not like her. That’s all I wanna say.”

He’s quiet for a moment, looking down at the floor. Then he walks to the bed and sits down next to you.

“I know, babygirl,” he brushes a strand of your hair behind your ear. “That’s why I’m afraid.”

He kisses your forehead, shuts off the light, and heads downstairs.

—

You see yourself standing inside what appears to be a castle. You lift your hand, grazing your fingertips against the jagged limestone wall in front of you. You hear a voice calling your name. You turn to see Joel on the opposite end of the hallway. He’s beckoning you, gesturing for you to follow him. You begin to run, but the floor crumbles underneath you. You fall and fall and fall forever. The last thing you see before you disappear into the darkness is Joel smiling wickedly.

—

You wake up in a cold sweat. The clock on Joel’s bedside table reads 3:47 a.m. He’s sleeping rather soundly next to you, his arm covering your torso.

Your heart is still beating out of your chest, it feels like you’re still falling from the dream world. You stare up at the ceiling. Waiting to fall back asleep. But, you can’t.

The clock now reads 5:05 a.m.

You know one thing that will help you sleep.

You just don’t know if Joel will give it to you.

“Joel,” you whisper, moving so your forehead is touching his. “Joel, are you awake?”

He groans, his eyes not quite open yet, “What’s goin’ on?”

“I had a bad dream. I can’t sleep,” you whine.

“You need daddy’s help, don’t you?” Even with the streetlight shining faintly through the window of the dark bedroom, you swear you can see him grinning.

It’s been three weeks. You’re so hungry for him and he knows it. You decide to shove your dignity aside and give in.

“Yes, daddy,” you whimper, already squirming.

So much for trying to prove a point.

“Come here,” he holds out his arms and you inch even closer, accepting his embrace. The two of you lay there for several moments, just holding each other, breathing in sync.

Then Joel kisses your lips, his hand trailing down your body to your underwear. His fingers slip into the fabric, he sleepily fumbles for a moment before finding your clit. You let out a deep breath as he begins to rub your bundle of nerves, already sensitive, already begging for more. His movement is slow and meticulous. Then his hand moves lower, accumulating the arousal gathering between your thighs. Those long, thick fingers enter you, curling up inside you just right. You moan Joel’s name into his neck, holding him close to you.

“Gonna wake up the whole neighborhood,” he teases you in a low voice, bringing you closer and closer to the edge.

“Just like that,” you hum, your hips grinding down harder on his fingers.

“Never seen you this horny,” he muses, pumping in and out of you faster, “Maybe we should have fights more often.”

You’re about to glare at him when your orgasm is suddenly front and center, pleasure spreading from your belly to your limbs, from your toes to your teeth.

“Joel, I’m gonna–”

“Cum for me, babygirl.”

You pant wildly and Joel continues to fuck you as you cum all over his fingers. You can feel the wetness flowing from your pussy, dripping into his palm. He slows down, planting kisses on your cheek.

“Such a good girl for me. Think you need another one,” Joel chuckles, throwing the blankets to the side of the bed. “Come here.”

He rips off his boxers and pulls you on top of him. The head of his cock is already shining, precum leaking out. All because of you.

Joel helps you get situated, his hands on your waist as you slide down his length. You let out a moan once he’s fully seated inside you.

“You missed daddy’s cock, didn’t you?” he groans, his hands drift down to your hips and he begins to rock you gently.

“Three weeks without you is too long,” you agree, obscene noises escaping your lips.

Joel groans, his fingertips digging further into your skin. You begin to tremble once you feel another orgasm building inside you, climbing up from the depths of your core. You close your eyes and Joel rubs your clit with his thumb, riding the high with you before it comes crashing down. Joel pulls out of you, stroking himself quickly as hot, sticky ropes of liquid hit your stomach. Both of you are breathing strenuously, you lean forward to lay on Joel’s chest.

“I do care ‘bout you,” he whispers as you drift off to sleep.

Everything feels right with Joel again.

You never want it to end.

But, it does.

—

[gumnut-logic]

The Hurt

Thanks to @idontknowreallywhy for reading through ::hugs::

Dumps and runs.

-o-o-o-

He’d left his dirty uniform on a bench in the locker room.

The random thought surfaced amongst a sea of emotion he couldn’t afford right now.

He was clean at least, hair still wet from the shower, and standing at the edge of the caldera. His feet were half covered in warm sand slowly losing the heat of the day.

The water lapped rhythmically against the shore and his heartbeat attempted to meet it, slowing, only to be caught up in the emotion again.

It thudded in his chest.

Slow.

Rhythmic.

He closed his eyes and focussed on what he could hear.

Again, the water, gentle, repetitive, forever.

The wind. Rustling trees. The red blossoming pōhutukawa behind him, its sound more the roar of a distant crowd than the yapping of the palm leaves high above.

Birds.

He counted three…no, four different kinds at least. The ever-present petrels and squabbling tui, silver gulls and a distant sea eagle.

Water seeping into the sand.

The sudden consumption of them all as Thunderbird One swooped in above the Island and righted herself in a roar of engines as she disappeared into her hangar, the pool swallowing her and her soundscape in one.

A moment of silence…

Before the Island came alive again. The petrels protesting, the tui defending their trees…

The wind cooling a tear on his face.

Virgil scrubbed his cheek, wiping it away and stabilising himself.

He started the ritual again.

The sand between his toes, the water lapping…

He let his shoulders settle and his eyes close.

Focus.

On the music.

Just another day. Just another shitty day. He did everything he could. He saved lives. It was done.

Images flashed, and he gasped his eyes open again.

Water rippling across the caldera greeted him.

He followed the waves, tracking them, predicting interference and pattern only to have wind wipe it all away.

It was just another day.

He had done everything he could.

That was the sense of the matter, the logic and reality.

But it hadn’t been enough and it hurt regardless.

He let himself fold down onto the sand, his butt hitting the soft mix of pulverised rock and coral, his elbows landing on his knees and his head in his hands.

It really wasn’t worth getting upset about. It wasn’t the first time, wouldn’t be the last and he should be stronger than this.

Stronger.

All the excuses, the psychological training, the reasoning behind his reaction…it was all there.

Yet, still it hurt.

He scrubbed away another tear.

Goddamnit.

A gentle hand landed on his shoulder and he jumped.

“Hey.”

Scott.

Concerned blue eyes stared at him a moment before his brother sat down on the sand next to him.

There was only the noise of the Island for a long moment.

“Do you think there are more nests this year?”

Virgil blinked. Looking up he found Scott staring across the caldera at Mateo and the petrel colony there.

Virgil stared himself for a bit. “Maybe?” A frown. “I haven’t done the count this month yet.”

He battled to remember the date. Was it today, yesterday or tomorrow?

He had no idea.

He should probably fix that.

“I found Dad out here once.”

Virgil’s eyes darted back to his brother. “What?”

“Early on. You weren’t here at the time. You and Gordy were on the mainland for one of his swim meets, I think.” Scott looked down and dragged a finger through the loose grains of sand between his knees. “It was one of our earliest rescues gone bad, and I have to say, that I swear he was speaking to Mom.”

“What?”

Scott arched an eyebrow. “He did that sometimes. When things were really bad.” His brother looked away. “And that was definitely a bad one.”

Virgil opened his mouth, but Scott held up a hand.

“Don’t start cranking up your medical expertise, Virg, he was fine. It was just a coping mechanism. We got it checked out. Dad was fine.”

Virgil pressed his lips together. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

His big brother shrugged. “Nothing to tell. Rarely happened. Maybe twice the whole time he was here.”

The ‘was’ hurt.

But then that was a simple hurt of existence.

“Why are you telling me now?”

Scott sighed and wrapped an arm around Virgil’s shoulders. “You’ve had a bad one. It’s okay to be upset.”

Virgil looked away and didn’t answer.

“There is no shame in caring.”

And there it was, the knife that cut through all the reasoning his brain could throw at him.

His throat tightened. “I shouldn’t care so much.”

“If you didn’t, you wouldn’t be my brother. You wouldn’t be you.”

Another tear crept out the corner of his eye and he rubbed at it.

The arm around his shoulder tightened and Scott curled his hand into Virgil’s hair, guiding his head to his shoulder. “It’s okay, little brother, it’s okay.”

Of course, that was enough to break all the control he could manage and before he knew it, he was sobbing on his big brother’s shoulder. Scott had his arms around him and everything was messy and embarrassing and god, it all hurt.

Reassuring words and a hand rubbing his back. Somehow he was now five and being hugged by his big brother because he’d fallen over and scuffed his knee.

And all those people had died.

All those children.

Emotion swamped everything.

-o-o-o-

Eventually the wind returned, the water lapped at the shore and the tui started another argument in the pōhutukawa tree at the head of the beach.

Scott was stroking his hair.

Virgil swallowed and pushed himself upright.

His big brother did not let go, his hand still on Virgil’s shoulder.

Virgil scrubbed his face. “Shit, sorry.”

Scott’s voice was painfully soft. “Nothing to be sorry about.”

There was something in his brother’s timbre and Virgil looked up at him.

Scott was intent on Virgil, but there was pain in those eyes and the evening light was highlighting the greys in his auburn hair.

Virgil grabbed his brother and hugged him ever so tight.

“Virg?” It was half strangled.

Virgil didn’t answer.

He just returned the love.

-o-o-o-

[captain-mj]

I was thinking this like Roach is dead and Ghost haven't really moved on from him, BUT he has Soap now, and Ghost has a ''conversation'' with Roach about that. Roach is like ''he's there and I'm not, you need to move on and he's (soap) is everything you ever wanted and needed, please give him a change, he will make you happier than ever''

This might have been done many times but I'd like to see your twist on it.

ps. your content here/on ao3/tiktok is amazing

So I got this ask right before making the tiktok I made today but didn't see it until just now and I feel like the stars really aligned for this one

Incredibly short because I'm super emotional and started crying like a dweeb

Ghost never let go of Roach's dogtags. They sat, for the most part, in one of his drawers, wrapped in a piece of cloth from his uniform. He never touched them if he could help it.

When he and Soap had become official, Ghost still felt a flicker in his chest at the thought, he had told Soap about them. He had quickly reassured him that he had moved on. Ghost had made sure of it, going to therapy, putting in effort, before he ever considered actually making Soap his. The one thing he never wanted Soap to do is feel like he had to compete with him.

Soap had only smiled at him and said he understood. He didn't need Simon to stop caring for Roach. Stop... loving Roach. He just... understood. Like he always did.

So Ghost had continued to hold on to them. Their relationship progressed slowly for a couple of reasons. Ghost's issues around sex and intimacy, Soap's focus on his career, the missions that kept them apart. But Soap's dogtags had a skull on them and Ghost's had a Scottish flag pendant. Official as two men like them could be.

Ghost, for the first time in months, unwrapped Roach's dogtags to inspect them. They glittered still. Couldn't really get dirty where they were.

"Hey, Roach."

Unknown to him, Roach sat next to him. He didn't stay there often, mostly enjoying the peace of the afterlife. It was boring, but he treated it like retirement. Eventually, his friends would die and he knew it wouldn't be so boring.

"Hey Simon." Speaking was new to him. Hadn't been able to do it when he was 14 and an accident crushed his vocal chords. But being dead meant you didn't have those same injuries. Didn't have a body to have them.

"I haven't talked to you in a while. Sorry about that."

"Don't worry about it." Roach answered, leaning into him. Simon shivered, like he could feel him there.

"I don't... love you anymore. I feel guilty for it. We were friends for so long. I still love you that way. But I... I'm not in love with you anymore." Simon took his mask off. "You mean a lot to me, old friend. But you're not mine anymore. And I'm not yours."

Roach smiled. "I know. And God, I'm happy for you. I wish we had more time, but since we didn't, I'm glad Soap is the one there for you. You two fit so well." He rested his hand on Simon's, noticing briefly that their hands no longer fit together as well as they used to. Ghost stared at them before moving his hand, their fingers intertwining.

"I feel you sometimes." Ghost responded to the air and Roach had no way of knowing if he knew he was there or if it was just grief.

"Oh, Simon. Please, keep giving Soap a chance. Be happy for me. The two of you should live enough life for all three of us and I'll see you again."

Simon let out small sound. Not quite a sob. It hurt Roach's chest.

"It's alright to let me go. I want you to finally let me go. Get rid of the tags."

Simon held them tight, until they made indents in his palm. "I know... I know..."

Roach kissed his cheek. "He loves you. A lot. Just as much as me." More than me. Soap was alive and he looked at Ghost like he hung the stars and Ghost looked at him like he hung the moon and Roach loved them both the more for it.

Simon gave the tags to Price. He didn't want them in the trash. Price offered to let him know what he did with them, but Simon refused.

Soap noticed they were gone from the drawer. Some of the clothes he kept in Ghost's room had been moved over. Not quite displacing where it would be, more just taking up more of the space in the drawer. He didn't feel relieved they were gone, but he was happy Simon could finally let them go.

[i-literally-cant-with-this]

Panty Dropper

@callm3senpaii was so kind tagging me in this and I know I should have been asleep but I couldn't stop thinking about stuff to write. Will I be tired today? I probably already am. Will it be worth dragging my ass around? Most definitely.

Things they do that have me throwing my panties on the floor and my ankles in the air:

TOJI :

~ The bulge in his pants and the scar on his lips.

~ When he stands, sits, when he's hard. Especially if he wants to hug me or pull me down onto his lap. And if he looks at me and licks the scar, I'm immediately flooding my pants. I don't know what it is about scars, whether they're on chests, arms, faces, backs (omfg backssss). They're just so fucking sexy to me. I want to lick them all.

~ He'll press that mass right into me. Knowing damn well what he's doing. Same with the scar, he knows wtf is up. If he wants my attention but doesn't want to have to say that he wants it, he'll just stare at me and lick the corner of his mouth until I'm dropping down on his face.

~ It gets worse the longer we're out of the house. Having to show self-restraint and not drop to my knees and rip his low-hanging pants from his godlike hips is not #1 on my to-do list.

~ HE IS, though.

REINER :

~ Jesus Christ. The way he would hold me all the time. How he can flip-flop between being gentle one minute to shoving my back up against any hard surface that was easily accessible, rolling and grinding his hips into me.

~ How needy he can be sometimes is so hot. Like, he can't fucking live another second without burying his face in my cunt or stuffing me full of his cock. Or tongue. Let's be real, the man loves to eat.

~ He's also emotional AND emotionally stupid. He tries to express himself and sometimes he just gets so pissed off that he doesn't have the words that he'll shut down. And I wouldn't be able to sit by and watch him beat himself up about some shit that happened 10 years ago. I'd have to climb up on his lap and start rubbing my ass all over him to get his focus to shift.

~ Watching him hold a baby would make every single good egg I had left drop down, ready to create life with him. He's so fucking big and seeing him hold something so small and fragile would make me insane with lust. (As if I'm not always DTF this guy). I'd whisper in his ear to give the baby back to her (yes, it would be a baby girl, all pinked out) parents because I need him upstairs shooting his hot load into me and telling me how much he wants to fuck a baby into me and watch my body change while nurturing life (WHERE THE FUCK DID THAT COME FROM. LITERALLY WHAT. TF.)

~ His sweet gestures would kill me so softly. He would bring me a wild flower that he saw somewhere while he was out. Or he'd bring me a little succulent clipping that he snagged while he was at Home Depot getting stuff to make the rack to hold our sex swing that was going to be delivered in 2 days. 1 if the mail runs a little faster than anticipated.

~ I don't know how else to articulate this other than to tell you that we'd dance like they do in Dirty Dancing (the OG movie. Not the remake shit). You know how Baby and Johnny danced with each other when they'd basically straddle each others thighs and just grind while his hands were on her ass and she was clinging to him to keep herself from falling over backwards, even though there was no way in hell that he'd ever let go of her. And how he'd turn me around and have my back to his chest while we're just like, making our hips go in circles while we're in the living room listening to songs like "Cry To Me." Fucking shoot me now, please. I can't stand another minute without this guy.

Sanemi :

~ This motherfucker. His lack of personal space with me would be irritating at first. Like, he would always come to bed with me at the same time. Sleep smooshed up next to me, even during summer months when it's too hot to lay like that unless you have 3 box fans pointing at you (and I DO) just to take the edge off of the humidity swarming around you. But eventually, when he'd stay up to do something, video games or working out, whatever, and I go to bed alone, I definitely would just lay there and miss him. So I'd call for him and he'd come peek his head in the room and ask me what I need.

~ I'd admit that I need him because I'm so goddamn used to feeling his body next to me that I don't know what to do with myself when I'm not all tangled up in him. I just toss and turn not feeling grounded in my own bed.

~ So he'll turn off all the lights because he's a responsible electricity user and do his bedtime routine then finally come in and lay with me.

~ But he's not really tired. And he will turn over to face me and starts rubbing my thigh with his left hand, sloooowwwlllyy going higher until he's got his fingers dancing over the waistband of my --- wait, I won't be wearing panties. Scratch that. He'd play with the hem of my t-shirt and inch his way between my thighs until my knees are opening up for him.

~ "You still not tired?" is all he'd have to say to me in his deep, husky nighttime voice and I'd pull him over on top of me because I can't resist his voice, even in the daytime. But there's just something about his voice at night that does me in. It's heavy with the days weight and he wants to let go of everything. And I would help him with all that shiz.

LEVI

~ There are several things that he would do that'd lead to my clothes spontaneously disappearing.

~ If I walked in on him cleaning ANYTHING my pants would combust on the spot. There is something about a man who takes tidiness seriously. And no one takes it more seriously that Levi.

~I would try to get him to wear nothing but an apron to clean stuff up in, but he'd just call me a dumbass and continue his dusting.

~ When he is getting annoyed with me and his voice gets all disciplinary and starts yelling at me a little bit to "Knock my shit off", it's only going to egg me on more.

~ I would love to push his buttons until he was beating my ass over the kitchen table, counter, dishwasher, shower, closet, cat food dish. Idfc.

~ Also when he would drive us somewhere, he'd have his hand on my thigh and subconsciously rub and squeeze it whenever he'd get pissed off at the other idiots on the road.

~ It would be the way that he'd kiss me goodbye in the morning and then he would pull away only to lean in for a deeper kiss as his hands wrapped around my waist and pulled me into him.

~ The way the heat from his cock would warm me wherever it pressed into me as he was trying to leave for work that day. "I'm working from home today, yes. Yes, thank you. I'll be in tomorrow," he looks at me, "Possibly."

[chromotps]

YOU MENTIONED ACELU MODERN/GANG AU. but what about — I know it’s cursed but please listen — supernatural AU? I don’t mean like the entire thing (monster hunting maybe, but not the entire angel/demons plot) but just consider the vibes of the first two seasons?? The “road-trip” thing. Struggling to get by (I’m such a huge sucker for “Ace struggling to make ends meet but he always makes sure Luffy gets food and clothes even if it means he’s not eating as much himself”-dynamic in modern AUs. God). Sleeping in shitty motels + having to share the bed more often than not. Taking care of each other’s wounds in dimly-lit, dirty bathrooms. The general, ever-present worry of how things are going to be in the future or the terrifying scenario when one of them doesn’t make it (except Ace just worries about Luffy, bc of course he doesn’t consider a future where he lives and Luffy doesn’t. Neither of them can think about it too long either way bc it makes their brains shut down). They’re blood-brothers, they think of each other like that, they call each other that except. Taking physical comfort from each other is also a thing, because that’s what they’ve been doing all their lives, because there’s always been just them, and it’s all they ever had. They kiss and sleep together, bare skin pressed against bare skin because it’s always been like this, and it doesn’t feel the same with anyone else (mostly on Ace’s side, because he did try — with barmaids, waitresses, men in shady bars, because he felt responsible for Luffy’s upbringing and well-being and it felt like an older sibling thing to set and maintain appropriate boundaries. But nothing ever compared to Luffy, even in the slightest). Both of them having to play so many social roles they kind of start blending into one another (because again, there was never really anyone around long enough to fill them in for them) - bc yeah they’re siblings, but. They’re also friends except it goes way beyond that. Ace, as the older one, has been Luffy’s caretaker too, he had to think and plan ahead for them both. But there were times when Ace was hurt they the caretaking role became reversed and Luffy had to take on all the responsibilities, until Ace recovered. Obviously none of it is how a healthy sibling relationship should look like, but god, I’m just soooo weak for the developing co-dependency, especially in scenarios where clearly unhealthy/potentially harmful behavior becomes a source of physical/emotional comfort (and tbh I’m pretty sure it also translates well into in-canon Ace/Lu because they didn’t really have anyone else either, for a couple of years in their lives. And Luffy needs social interaction like he needs food and sleep).

Oh man, anon, I was shipping and reading smut for Wincest like WILD back in the day, so. This AU is perfect. I'm eating up all the details of it just being the two of them, and a car, and a map. On a good day they'll get to jam out to music for a few hours on the road before pulling into a diner, and Ace splurges on treating him and Luffy to a meal of steak, burgers, shakes and pie.

But on a bad day. They get out of a rough fight, Ace with a nasty gash down his chest but they can't get help between all their papers being forged and being wanted for a crime they were framed for anyway. So for once Luffy drives them back to the motel, and sets Ace up in the tiny bathroom tub to clean out the wound and patch it up. The whole time they're just quietly saying stuff to each other like "thank you. you didn't have to take that hit for me. it saved my life" and "you're the only reason i do any of this. nothing else matters." "you matter. it's always been just you and me, right? what would I do without you?" and then... idk MaybeTheyHave"Thank God You're Alive"Sex or something who can say?? you know???

but omg yeah I LIVE for some codependency in my ships. I do have this weird thing where whenever I write headcanons it's like I'm in denial. like, I can't totally commit to calling it unhealthy even though it totally is, bc.... they're happy together!! Maybe they learn to accept help when they need it from some kind of Uncle Bobby figure (Jinbei?? Rayleigh??). but when it comes down to it, they only really care about staying with each other and keeping their brother safe.

I'm not really sure what's up with me today but I'm sort of in a horny mood so. I'm still thinking about what you typed with "They kiss and sleep together, bare skin pressed against bare skin because it’s always been like this," and I know you probably meant literal sleeping together. But I love thinking about the slippery slope Ace and Luffy took in the AU from "pressing each other close for comfort when they're shaken" to "Luffy noticing how good it feels when Ace holds him and Ace unable to stop his eyes from lingering on Luffy's lips" to "one time in the dead of night in the hotel, their breaths are mingling and their mouths are almost touching until, it isn't 'almost' anymore. and then somehow ace is on top of luffy and the orange glow of the streetlight outside is falling on where their arms are wrapped around each other. and even though that night should have been shocking, what they can't admit out loud is that it felt completely natural. it's just another part of everything that they are to each other, and no one else needs to understand this, either."

ANYWAY UH I can. talk about other aspects of this AU since I'm sure there were other things you meant to focus on but uh. I was in a mood. oops!

[sisterspooky1013]

Parallel, Chapter 6/6

Rated X | Read it here on AO3

She wakes with an arid gasp, shooting upright and scanning her surroundings in a panic. It’s dark, and she reaches blindly across the bed for Mulder to find that he isn’t there.

There’s no sunset, no window, no California king size bed. As seconds pass and her hammering heart slows enough for her thoughts to organize themselves, she realizes that she’s back in Georgetown. The bedside clock reads just past 3:00 am, and she scrambles for her watch to confirm the date. Fewer than five hours have passed since she got into bed.

She picks up the phone and begins to dial Mulder’s number, but hangs up before it has a chance to ring. She doesn’t just need to hear his voice, she needs to see him, to smell him, to know that he’s the right one. That he is hers.

She takes all of five minutes to change her clothes and brush her teeth, forgoing any attempt to look halfway decent. Not that it should matter what she looks like; he’s seen her at her objective worst. He’s seen her exhausted, and dirty, and on the brink of death, and he still looks at her with so much wonder, so much admiration it makes her uncomfortable, because she feels so undeserving of it. She walks out the door in jeans and an oversized sweater, her hair combed but her face bare, and her heart pinned to her sleeve.

Her mind is oddly blank as she drives to his apartment, ascends the elevator, and knocks on his door. She’s operating on instinct, allowing her emotions to lead for once instead of stuffing them down. Allowing the ache in her chest to seek resolution instead of ignoring it. He doesn’t answer and she knocks again, more urgently this time, afraid that she might lose her nerve.

He opens the door and squints at the lights in the hallway. He’s wearing flannel pajama pants but no shirt, and his hair is entirely flat on one side. His rumpled, boyish appearance is disarming and endearing all at once.

“Scully?” he asks groggily, rubbing sleep from his eyes. “Did something happen?”

She steps forward and wraps her arms around his waist, pressing her nose into his chest so she can breathe him in deep. A feeling of calm washes over her and she sighs with relief. This is him. This is the right one. Her Mulder.

“You okay?” he asks, returning her hug. “Scully, it’s 3:00 am,” he adds with an edge of surprise.

“I’m okay,” she says, her voice muffled against his skin. “I just had a bizarre dream and I needed to know that you were here.”

“Here at my apartment?” he asks, pulling away a little. She nods, not quite ready to explain it. Not quite sure how. “You could’ve called me,” he points out, and for the first time since leaving her apartment she feels embarrassed and afraid of what he’ll think of her.

“I know,” she says, avoiding his eyes. “But the nature of this dream was—I don’t think I would have felt sure it was really you just from a phone call.”

She can feel his interest piquing, and she wishes she’d been more vague. Most people find discussion of other people’s dreams intolerably boring, but Mulder isn’t most people.

“Come sit down,” he says, gently steering her towards the living room. “I’ll put a pot of coffee on.”

“It’s 3:00 am, Mulder,” she objects, though she knows it’s useless.

He brings her a cup of coffee in what he must have gathered is her favorite mug among his collection. It’s tall and narrow, bearing the faded logo of a long-since closed diner they used to frequent in the days before she started sleeping with her weapon in her bedside drawer. It has just the right amount of cream and sugar, and she tries to remember when and how he perfected that. He never asked, just observed, like he’s observing her now. Watching her bring the mug to her lips and blow the steam away, take a sip and then lower it back to her lap. Three, four, five times he watches her do this, saying nothing. She feels the weight of his attention and for once she lets it sit, lets herself become acclimated to it instead of distracting it away.

“Was it a nightmare?” he says suddenly, and she lifts her eyes to find that his are on her, his elbow propped on the back of the couch and his head resting on his fist.

Her memory flashes on him wrapped around her in the shower, and then his hand gently kneading her breast, and she feels her cheeks warm.

“No,” she says. “Not a nightmare.”

“What was it, then? Not a nightmare, but strange enough to send you across town at 3:00 am? I’ll admit that I’m intrigued,” he says, setting his cup on the coffee table.

She looks down at her lap, running her thumb along the rim of her mug nervously. Her thumbnail is tattered, her manicure ruined, and she frowns as she examines the other hand to find it similarly defaced.

“I think—” she begins, preemptively embarrassed. “I think that maybe our conversation influenced it. In fact, I’m positive that it did.”

“Our conversation?” he asks, oblivious. Leave it to Mulder to have no recollection of an extensive discussion on alternate universes.

“Albert Homnell’s theories on alternate dimensions?” she reminds him, and in her periphery she sees him nod.

“That’s interesting dream fodder,” he says, taking a drink before returning his mug to the coffee table. “What’d your subconscious cook up?”

She steals a glance at him. He still has that unkempt, unguarded, fresh-from-sleep look about him. His cheeks are dark with stubble and his already hooded eyes are drooping. Knowing him, he likely only went to bed a couple hours ago.

“It’s not important, Mulder. I should go so we can both get some sleep,” she says, moving to stand. The weight of his hand on her forearm stills her.

“C’mon, Scully. You’re already here, and now you’ve got me curious,” he gently chides her, and she acquiesces with a sigh.

“It’s, uh…it’s a bit awkward,” she prefaces, setting her mug on the table beside his so she can wring her hands instead.

“If you were hoping that would dissuade my curiosity, you should know that it has the opposite effect,” he says with a smile in his voice, and despite herself she smiles as well.

“I dreamt that…we were together,” she says quickly, her eyes darting between his face and the wall behind the couch. His eyebrows lift, but he otherwise gives no reaction.

“Together?” he repeats.

“Married, actually,” she says, then sucks in a deep breath and lets it out slowly. It feels like the hardest part is out of the way.

“Married?” Mulder repeats again, his eyebrows sailing higher.

“Mmm hmm,” Scully says with a clipped nod.

“Okay,” he says, studying her closely. She can only look at him for milliseconds before she has to look away. Each time he manages to catch her eye, her stomach does backflips at the memory of his mouth on hers and…everything else. “What else?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that I don’t think a dream about us being married would make you drive over here in the middle of the night to confirm my existence, so I’m wondering what else happened. There was more, right?”

He’s not being argumentative, and he does have a point.

“Well, it was sort of…it was like an entirely different world,” she attempts to explain. “We lived on the West Coast, and California was part of Canada, and my sister was there, and so was—”

“California was part of Canada?” he interrupts.

She stops and looks at his face. She was about to tell him about Sam, but that very well might just hurt him.

“Yes,” she confirms, but doesn’t elaborate. The more she tells him, the more he’ll want to know, and talking about it makes it feel real again. All of it. She shifts in her seat. “It was very vivid, and a bit disconcerting. So when I finally woke up back at my apartment, I just felt the need to be sure that I am me and you are you, if you will.”

“Was your dream version of me not your dream version of me?” he asks playfully, though she detects a hint of nervousness underneath.

She thinks about the other Mulder for a moment. Tanned, just slightly less serious, unburdened by a lifetime of tragedy. It feels like a betrayal to even entertain the idea that he might be a “better” version of the Mulder sitting right in front of her.

“He was great,” she says sincerely, “but he wasn’t you.”

Something like surprise flashes across his face, and then his eyes narrow just slightly.

“Married, huh?” he asks, and something about the tenor of his voice betrays what he’s thinking. Scully swallows nervously. “How sure are you that it was just a dream?”

Scully balks.

“What else would it be?”

Mulder shrugs, but the look on his face tells her that he’s prepared to defend his theory and she doesn’t quite feel up for that, not after what she’s just been through. And if it was real, what would that mean? For her and the version of herself who is married to Malibu Mulder.

She looks at her lap again, unsure where to go from here. She’d had such clarity back at her apartment, when she could still feel his kiss tingling on her lips. Now, it really does feel like just a dream, fading away into her memories with each passing moment. She notices her thumbnails again and runs the pads of her index fingers over their jagged edges as she tries to recall what happened to them.

So what do you say? Are we finally gonna hit that ghost tour on the way back?

She looks up at him and is momentarily surprised not to see a tanned, shaggy-haired man on the couch beside her.

“I don’t think it matters, Mulder,” she says, and he cocks his head at her. “Regardless of what it was, I think…I think it was an answer of sorts.”

“An answer to what?”

He no longer looks sleepy. His eyes are alert and focused, jumping around her face as he waits for her to speak. There’s so much expectation there, so much interest, and the stakes feel so impossibly high.

“Why did you kiss me on New Year’s Eve?” she blurts out, which is partly deflection but still very much on topic.

Mulder gapes at her, completely caught off guard, and sits up straighter.

“Where did that come from?” he asks uncomfortably, reaching for his mug only to find it empty. “I guess it seemed like the thing to do at the moment. Did it bother you?”

The fact that he seems genuinely concerned that she might be upset about it is almost funny, if not for the fact that they have been stuck in this confusing limbo for what is starting to feel like an eternity.

“No, Mulder, it didn’t bother me,” she says with a slight laugh and a shake of her head.

“Okay. Good. I’m glad to hear that.”

There’s a heavy pause and someone slams a door in the hallway. He answered her question, but at the same time he didn’t answer it at all. He didn’t say what she needed him to say, which was that he kissed her because he wanted to. If he would just give her that, she might feel brave enough to take them the rest of the way.

In her effort to look anywhere but his face, her eyes fall to the scar on his shoulder. She scoots closer and reaches out to touch it, and Mulder follows her hand with his eyes as she brushes the pad of her middle finger across the smooth pink flesh. Without thinking, she leans forward and presses her lips to it, laying her hand on his chest for stability. Beneath her palm, his heart is hammering so hard she has to resist the urge to count out his pulse rate.

I love you, she mouths against his skin.

When she lifts her head to look at him, there’s an incredibly pained expression on his face.

“What’s wrong?” she asks, her hand still resting on his chest, fingers splayed.

“In your dream—” he begins, then clears his throat. “Were we happy?”

“Together?” she asks, and he nods. “Yes,” she says with a soft smile, remembering how easy it felt to just let him love her.

“Makes you wonder, doesn’t it?” he asks, and now it is she who nods.

It feels as though they could fall down this rabbit hole forever, continuously ignoring the fact that they never seem to arrive anywhere.

“I wonder why you haven’t kissed me again,” she says quietly, and immediately her blood runs cold. Despite a hundred different death-defying situations she’s found herself in, this feels like the most terrifying yet.

“I wonder if you’d want me to,” he says back, and again his heart is thumping against her palm, giving him away. For some reason knowing that he is also afraid makes her feel brave.

“I would, Mulder.”

He sighs, and the warmth of his coffee breath against her cheeks is so familiar she barely hesitates at all before arching up to kiss him. He initially receives her kiss with surprise, but before she can pull away his hands are on her jaw and he’s kissing her back in earnest.

With her eyes closed, muscle memory takes over. It’s not that she’s pretending he’s Malibu Mulder, but that when she was kissing Malibu Mulder she was pretending he was her Mulder. And so kissing him, sliding her tongue across his, letting him pull her closer, all feel like things they’ve done before.

But where Malibu Mulder had the practiced, comfortable demeanor of a man kissing his wife, her Mulder has the nervous, adrenaline-fueled energy of a man kissing his partner for the very first time beyond a peck in a hospital waiting room. And his nervous energy combined with her own un-sated desires from just hours prior put them on a fast track from kissing, to making out, to him pulling her into his lap and grinding his erection against the seam of her jeans.

“Is this okay?” he mumbles against her mouth as his hands slip under her sweater.

“Uh-huh,” she assures him, moving her hips in tight circles when she finds just the right press of his erection against her clit.

Both his hands find her breasts, gently kneading and brushing his thumbs across her nipples. She’s fairly certain that if they keep this up she’s going to have an orgasm fully clothed in his lap. She’s fairly certain that she intends to do just that.

“Mulder,” she whispers, high and needy, and he groans.

Does he know? She wants him to know. Somehow, she thinks it won’t feel as good if he doesn’t. She brings her lips to his ear, circling her hips while he continues to gently pinch her nipples in the webbing between his thumb and forefinger.

“Wait, stop stop stop,” he says suddenly, pulling his hands out from under her sweater and stilling her hips. Her orgasm slips away, and the stark reality of what they are doing quickly settles in. She immediately feels ashamed and moves to get off him, but again he grabs her by the hips to stop her. “No, don’t go,” he begs. “I just…I need a minute.”

“We can stop if you want to stop,” she says, not looking at his face.

“Scully,” he says sternly, then waits until she looks at him. “I do not want to stop. Do you want to stop?” She shakes her head. “Great, then we’re on the same page. I just—this is a little embarrassing but I just didn’t want to make a mess, if you catch my drift.”

“Oh,” she says with a nervous laugh. The idea that he may have also been on the brink of an orgasm sets off a fresh wave of arousal.

“I don’t want to stop,” he says again, “but I do want to be sure that this isn’t…I don’t know, too fast? Too much too soon? I don’t want you to do anything you’ll regret later.”

Scully lets out a blustering sigh.

“You’re probably right,” she says.

“So what should we do?” he asks, brushing her hair behind her ear.

“I think I should go?” she says, uncharacteristically lifting the end of her statement into a pseudo-question.

“Yeah,” Mulder agrees reluctantly.

She awkwardly removes herself from his lap, quickly averting her eyes when she sees that he is still very much erect. She walks to his front door on unsteady legs and he trails a few steps behind her. When her hand is on the knob, she turns around and looks up at him.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Yeah, of course,” he answers.

Seconds tick by. Her hand is still resting on the door knob behind her back, but she doesn’t turn it.

“Goodnight, then,” she says, still unmoving.

“Goodnight.”

She turns the knob and the latch pops open, allowing a sliver of light in from the hallway. Still, she just looks at Mulder. He stares back at her, his bare chest rising and falling at a labored clip. He takes one step forward and she reflexively lifts her chin, her mouth falling partly open.

“Would it be okay if I kissed you goodnight?” he asks, and she’s already nodding emphatically before the final word leaves his mouth.

The first kiss is chaste. The second is lingering. On the third, she swipes her tongue across his bottom lip and he hums. The fourth, his hands are on her waist and the door slams closed when he presses her against it with his body. The height difference is awkward, but they are beyond motivated to compensate for it, and he alternately stoops a bit and lifts her off the ground while her calves ache from standing on her tiptoes. His stubble scrapes her chin and his eager teeth pinch her lip painfully, but she’s never been so happy to be so uncomfortable.

When he straightens up she feels the brush of his groin against her belly. The throbbing between her legs is nearly unbearable, and she knows she is past the point of self-control. If Mulder doesn’t stop this, she won’t either. She slips her fingers under the waist of his cotton pajama pants and he heaves a shuddering breath.

“What are you doing?” he asks tightly.

“Tell me to stop,” she whispers around desperate kisses.

“Fuck, I don’t want to,” he groans.

Her hand slides lower until she feels the tickle of his pubic hair against the tips of her fingers. He’s breathing so hard he’s pulling the air right from her mouth as they attempt to keep kissing, making her feel light-headed. His hands move from her hips to her ass cheeks, the grip of his fingers desperate and feral, and she is completely incapable of rational thought. She wraps her hand around his shaft, smooth and thick and warm, and his knees warble before he steadies himself with one hand against the door.

“Jesus fucking christ,” he hisses.

“I don’t want to go,” she whimpers, giving him one firm stroke.

His hands are back on her ass, kneading and pulling her pelvis against him, which makes her bump up against her own hand. He starts tugging at the waist of her jeans, fumbling with the button, then the zipper, and before she really registers what’s happening he’s wedging his hand under the stiff denim with his palm pressed against her belly. There’s no room for him to move, but she feels the brush of his fingers across her clit and an involuntary moan bubbles up from the back of her throat. Mulder’s forehead drops against the door with a loud thunk.

They stay frozen like that for a few seconds, with her hand wrapped around his cock and his fingers resting over her slick lips.

“I want you,” he breathes into her ear. The heat of his breath makes her quiver under his fingers and he groans.

“Then take me to bed,” she says, feeling bold beyond what she thought herself capable of.

He doesn’t need any time to contemplate her proposition. He withdraws his hand and she withdraws hers, and he scoops her up and carries her to his bedroom with a level of urgency befitting the situation. The room is dark save for what leaks in from the living room or around the blinds, and he sets her carefully on the floor before divesting her of her sweater. She pushes his pajama pants off his hips but they get caught on his erection, which makes her laugh. The shine of his smile in the dim room sets her at ease, and they slow down a bit. As much as they both want this, there’s no need to rush.

He lays her down on the bed and peels her jeans from her legs, leaving her panties on while he kisses the insides of her thighs. She knows that the second he touches her she’s going to come, and she’s as excited as she is nervous. He kisses as far as the seam of her leg, pulling in a deep breath through his nose that makes her self-conscious. Then he kisses her right over her panties, and a jolt of pleasure shoots through her pelvis.

“Oh my god,” she whispers.

“Is this okay?” he asks, brushing his nose back and forth across her clit.

She feels herself unraveling. She’s too far gone to stop it.

“Oh my god,” she says again.

Her hips arch up off the bed and he presses his face between her legs as an orgasm tears through her, powerful and overwhelming. She cries out, completely unable to contain it, and she feels the wet heat of his mouth directly on her pussy as she comes and comes and comes. When the height of it has passed, she looks down and sees her panties pulled to the side, and Mulder’s face buried between her thighs, eyes closed in concentration. As she slowly comes down, she feels surprised and a little embarrassed.

Mulder crawls up to the bed beside her and kisses her neck while she catches her breath.

“That was…unexpected,” she finally says, feeling her cheeks warm.

“Was it okay?” he asks nervously.

“Yes, very much so,” she reassures him. “Just not the standard order of operations, I suppose.”

Mulder chuckles a little.

“Well, you know I’m never one to do things by the book,” he says lightly, tucking his face into the crook of her neck.

“That quality about you typically annoys me, but I find myself willing to make an exception,” she quips.

He starts dropping little kisses to the side of her neck, and despite her recent release she clenches her thighs together, ready for more. She rolls to her side and finds his lips, and they just lie there and kiss for a while, completely nude save for her panties. Her hand wanders down the firm planes of his back, over his hip, and finally back to his cock, which is stiff to the point of leaking. His breathing shudders and his muscles tense as she strokes him languidly.

“I think it’s only fair that you don’t judge me for my unimpressive stamina at this point,” he says, drawing the end of the sentence out with a low moan.

“I would never,” she says, greedy to see and feel him lose control in the same way he’s seen her.

Releasing him, she wriggles out of her panties and kicks them away, then gently pushes on his shoulder. Rolling him to his back, she slowly climbs on top of him. She still feels nervous, even after what they’ve already done. She settles over his lap, sitting directly atop his shaft such that it brushes across her clit when she shifts her hips forward and back. Immediately she knows that she’ll come again if she keeps it up, and it feels embarrassing for reasons she couldn’t possibly explain. It’s like her body is telling all her secrets to his, revealing just how much she’s wanted this and for how long.

His body answers by gripping her hips to hold her steady and grinding against her. She’s folded in half, her forehead resting against his, and her mouth hanging open in overwhelm.

“Oh my god,” she breathes into his face, and he has clearly already intuited what that means for her.

“Come on,” he says softly, rutting up into her.

She lifts her hips and reaches down between them, taking hold of him and guiding him inside her. There’s a stretch, a sting, and then overwhelming pleasure. She loses herself again, sitting up and planting her hands on his chest for stability as she rides him roughly.

“Oh fuuuuuuuck,” he hisses.

His shoulders lift off the mattress, his hands still planted on her hips. She’s right there, right there on the edge, and when he starts throbbing inside her she is gone, gone, gone.

Later, she’ll blush when she thinks about how loud she was, how brazen. How greedily she continued to fuck him until he was too soft to continue. How he flipped her to her back and slipped two fingers inside her, making her come again. But in the moment, all she knows is that she has never felt so good in her life, so safe. He touches her like he’s done it a hundred times, like he knows just what she needs. And when she finally becomes over sensitive and pushes his hand away, he throws a blanket over them both and wraps his arms around her. It’s nearly 6:00 am and the hazy yellow light of sunrise signals the arrival of morning.

“We have work in a few hours,” she says sleepily, resting her head on his chest.

“I think today is a good day to play hooky,” he tells her, giving her a squeeze.

They are quiet for a few minutes, and she starts to doze off.

“I’m glad you came over,” he says quietly.

“Me too,” she agrees, tilting her head up in invitation of a kiss.

She drifts in a sea of dopamine and oxytocin for some time, slipping into sleep until Mulder sighs or shifts and reminds her that she is not sleeping alone for the first time in years.

“Can I ask you a question?” he says, pulling her back again.

“Hm?”

“The dream me, or alternate me…was he an improvement over the model in this universe?”

She props herself up on an elbow and looks at him in the hazy morning light. He looks uncertain. Vulnerable.

“Not any more than the alternate version of me was,” she says, meeting his eye. “I think we’re products of our experiences in many ways, but at the core we’re still the same people. You would still be you and I would still be me even if our lives had taken different paths, but maybe those paths were meant to cross. I don’t wish you were different, Mulder, if that’s what you’re asking.”

The corner of his mouth quirks.

“I was actually referring to the sex,” he admits sheepishly.

Scully’s mouth falls open in surprise, and then she drops her forehead against his chest to hide her face in embarrassment.

“I wouldn’t know,” she tells him, resettling herself.

“Really?” he asks in disbelief. “Not even a kiss?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Wow. It took me nearly seven years to do what that man did in a day. What’s his secret?” he asks, jostling her playfully.

“We were married, Mulder,” she says with an edge of irritation. “Can I please go to sleep now?”

“Okay, okay. Sweet dreams, Scully.”

She snorts a laugh.

“Goodnight, Mulder.”

She falls asleep surprisingly fast and is quickly pulled into the limitless world of dreams. These dreams are of the ambiguous, hazy nature she’s used to. They are non-linear and full of missing context, but when she wakes she’ll recall the twinkle of Christmas lights and Mulder’s hand on her rounded belly, and the loud bark of her father’s laugh.

Tagging @today-in-fic