#my man is making an effort not to be all grumpy

[redfoxwritesstuff]

A Misdemeanor Of The Heart: Chapter 25 (Human!Alastor x Married!Reader)

CW: Angst, blood, manipulation, Alastor being a murder baby AN: I hope my fellow Americans survived their Thanksgiving with minimal family fighting and all those who didn't celebrate around the world had a great Thursday. Prev Masterlist AO3 KoFi

Alastor parked his car at the edge of the park, under the shade of a large tree. It was late and the odds of being seen were minimal. Even so, it was better safe than sorry. The heavy canopy blocked much of the light from the streetlights, few though there were. 

He waited for a few moments, head resting against the back of the seat, eyes looking up and out the windshield. In the distance, the roof of your house peeked up from the treeline, whispering dark promises. For a few moments longer, he sat in the holy silence where late night and early morning danced together. 

The slam of the car door was loud, shattering the fragile silence of the night as he stepped away from the still car. He walked slowly to the small pond as he ran a hand through his hair. Curls spiraled out of the locks, tangled around his fingers as he pulled hairs free with the nervous action. Sweat and time were winning the battle against the effort he had put into pulling the strands straight that morning. 

It was alright. You seemed to like the curls. 

Kneeling at the edge of the pond, he splashed water on his face, scrubbing at the dried blood on his hands and neck blindly. He knew he would miss spots. There wasn’t much he could do about his shirt, but that was alright, too. It would all be alright, soon. 

He just wanted to see you. That was the thought that ran through his mind as he walked casually through the park. That’s all he needed, he told himself as he pushed branches and bushes out of his way. From a distance was fine, he just needed to see that you were alright. 

He could put you down, leave you alone as long as he knew you were alright. He just needed to know you were alright. 

Bark bit into his hands as he lifted his weight from the ground. Climbing the apple tree in the dark while drunk wasn’t as easy as he expected. At times, he nearly fell to the ground. Perhaps he deserved to fall, land on a root wrong, and break his back. 

He would be caught then. You would know what he was, what he really was. The world would know. Perhaps that would only be right, a fitting punishment for the pain you had suffered because of him. 

Eventually, he made it up to that thick horizontal branch he thought of as his. Each breath came out in a huff, labored from the exertion on top of the alcohol. Resting his head against the tree trunk, Alastor ignored the way his hair snagged and was pulled by the rough surface as he took long, slow breaths. 

The house was dark, quiet. Its occupants were asleep, as he should be. He had work tomorrow. Today? Yes, today at this point. There was time still. He could make it home and take a nap. He’d be rough, but he could make it through the night. 

Alastor closed his eyes as he listened to the sounds of the night, resting his eyes as he lounged perched above the rabbit hole stashed with letters he knew you were reading but not responding to. 

His eyes closed with a flutter as he thought of you. Such a sweet soul you were, pulling away from him to protect him. Didn’t you know? It was his job to protect you. That’s what a man does for the woman he loves. 

Love. That was the thought that floated through his rye soaked mind as a light sleep overtook him. 

You poured a mug of coffee for Laurence, setting it on the table where he read the newspaper. It was a rare morning when he didn’t leave early. He was grumpy and the quality of the coffee didn’t help his mood, but you did your best to focus on the way the sun peeked between the clouds and the chirping of the birds. 

“How can you fuck up something as easy as coffee,” he grumbled, and you wished he would have just went to the cafe on his way to the office. 

For a moment, Alastor fluttered across your mind and you wondered if he would think you fucked up the coffee. It was a thought you shot down with a pang of pain. It didn’t matter what Alastor would have thought, Alastor was not your husband.

“I’m sorry,” you said quickly, turning from the sink and starting to walk back to the table. “I’ll make you another one.” 

You made it halfway across the small kitchen before Laurence picked up the mug and, after a moment of thought, launched the steaming contents at you. Most of the coffee splashed across your front, the apron and dress under helping protect you from the scalding liquid, but pain still cut through nerves where it splashed up onto your neck.

“Laurence!?” you cried out, darting backward and crashing into the sink. 

Your husband spit venomous words at you, lost to the pounding in your ears. He disregarded all the renewed effort you had put into being a good wife for him. 

It wasn’t fair. Tears fell from your eyes as you watched him stand, waiting to see if he would leave or come after you with something far worse than his verbal assault. 

You didn’t know tired eyes watched from the distance. His first real sight of you while he blinked sleep from his mind was that of coffee splashing onto you. While Laurence walked out of the room and you crumpled to the ground in a puddle of coffee, you didn’t know how close Alastor came to climbing from the tree and ending a life in broad daylight.

Instead, as you stood, he watched you grab towels to mop up the liquid. As the car in front of your house roared to life, he slipped down from the tree. His body was stiff, and he was rather thirsty, but that was alright. He was glad to have sobered up, at least mostly sobered up.

He had gotten to see you. That was supposed to be enough. He wanted it to be enough. He needed it to be enough. He had gotten to see you. 

Alastor watched as you disappeared out of the kitchen while he stalked through the back garden. He saw the light in your bedroom illuminate the room still cast in morning shadows. Would you look out the window, Alastor wondered as Laurence’s car drove away? Would you see him? 

You didn’t. He was fairly sure of that as he stepped onto the back porch. The knob failed to turn under his hand, though he hadn’t even been aware of reaching for it. Locked, that was alright.

He was wrong, he had thought he needed to see you but that was alright. He could be wrong, sometimes. He was a humble man. What he actually needed was to hear your voice. 

Alastor smiled as he pulled the pins from his sock. The door was old and the lock simple. He made quick work of opening the door, hardly having to give the task much thought at all. 

It was a good thing you locked the door. There was a serial killer on the run.

Closing the door behind him, he locked it before making his way through the kitchen and into the living room. Laurence had left the front door unlocked, Alastor was dismayed to find. With a flick of his fingers, he locked that door as well.

Laurence was going to get you hurt if he didn’t take better care of you. It was bad enough that he was hurting you himself but to be careless with your safety on top of it? Disgusting. Sloppy. 

The stairs creaked as you walked down them. Alastor moved to the wall, hoping to be out of sight as you turned into the kitchen. You wore a burgundy house dress, and he liked how it looked on you. Much better than the bright sunny yellow you had been wearing before the coffee incident. 

His eyes cut down to the dark bruise above your elbow, on display thanks to the short sleeves of the dress. Surely you’d throw a shawl over your arms if someone knocked on the door to hide it. In the safety of your home, though, you had no need. 

As you stepped into the kitchen, he could see the angry red splotches on your neck, left by the hot coffee. Oh, how he longed to soothe the inflamed skin with soft kisses. 

He followed you, leaning in the doorway as he watched you grab the towels from the ground, sniffling. Were you crying because of the pig’s actions? Didn’t you know it wouldn’t make a difference, shedding tears for him? 

“He’s not worth crying over.” Alastor said, transatlantic accent coloring his words, brightening them with the day. 

You screamed, whipping around with wide eyes to face him. 

“Alastor!” You clutched your hands to your chest, “Mr. Moreau?!” 

Your eyes ran over him, taking in the feral sight. His hair, something wild between curly and straight, was a mess atop his head. Red stained his shirt, smeared his skin and dotted his face. 

“Never that name for you,” he said as he closed the small distance between you.

“What happened to you?” Before you thought it through, you rushed up to him, acting on instinct and impulse, actions doing nothing to reinforce the distance you had insisted on in your last letter. 

Fingers ran over his face, rough stubble scratching the pads before your fingers ghosted down his neck. Your eyes run over bloody sleeves and splotches on his shirt. 

“I went hunting.” He answered honestly, “I’m alright.” 

“Hunting?” you stepped back, coming back to yourself. “It’s early morning yet? And why are you in my house?” 

“I came in the door.” His head cocked to the side. “I couldn’t sleep. Couldn’t stop thinking about you. Went to Mimzy’s and had some drinks. Then went hunting.” 

“At night?!” You stepped back, and he took a step forward as he laughed, that easy free sound you had dreamed about too often since you wrote your last letter. “While drunk?” 

“Probably not my best judgement call,” Alastor admitted. “But it turned out alright.” 

“Did it, now?” You scolded, heart beating in your chest as Alastor continued to advance on you. “You’re covered in blood.” 

“I wanted to see you,” Alastor said.

“You need to leave.” Your back hit the wall. “My husband will be back for lunch.” 

“I needed to see you.” Alastor’s accent wavered, in and out as he looked at you with those warm brown eyes, pleading with you. “Needed to know what I did wrong.” 

“You didn’t- Alastor.” You closed your eyes and let out a breath. “Mr. Moreau,” He groaned at the sound of his surname on your lips. He never wanted to hear you say it until it was yours, as it should be. You continued talking just the same. “Our relationship was improper. I am a married woman. If we continued, it would have ruined us both.” 

“Not Mr. Moreau.” Alastor pressed, his hands coming to rest on the wall on either side of your shoulders. “Please, don’t. Don’t call me that. Don’t you love me?” 

“I do,” you said before you thought twice, pressing your hand against your lips as if you could somehow stuff the words back in. “Don’t you see? If we’re caught, everything you worked for is gone. I- It would be selfish for me to do that to you.”

“Then we don’t get caught. We hide,” Alastor said, elbows buckling as he fell closer to the wall, cutting the distance between you in half. “Ma cherie, I don’t need you to protect me. We are in love, are we not? The risk is worth anything, everything, for but even a moment in your presence.” 

“Alastor, I-” you noticed Laurence’s briefcase sitting by the table, heart thundering somehow louder in your ears. “Laurence is going to be back anytime now. He forgot his bag. You need to go.” 

Reaching up, you braced your hands on Alastor’s chest and attempted to shove him away. He moved less than an inch. When you couldn’t push him away, you stopped trying to, though you knew it was vital that you kept trying. Your hands lingered on his chest, feeling his heart pounding rapidly against his ribs. The rye he had been drinking still tinged his breath as it washed over you. 

“Don’t you love me?” Alastor’s voice was broken, naked.

“That’s why we can’t keep doing this.” Tears spilled down your cheeks. “I love you too much.” 

Outside the house, a car’s engine sounded in the distance. 

“It’s why we must.” Alastor challenged, noting the sound as your body tensed. “I will keep us safe.” 

“You can’t,” you pleaded, heart shattering in your chest. 

“I have so far.” Alastor pressed as the car drew closer. “If not for him. If not for your marriage vows, would you have picked me?” 

“I can’t go back in time.” 

“I’m not asking you to,” Alastor whispered. “If tomorrow you woke up and Laurence was nothing but a memory? Would you pick me? Want me?” 

The car pulled in front of your house, engine idling. “Alastor, he’s back. You need to go.”

“Not until you answer me,” Alastor whispered. “Would you pick me? Would you want me then? If the Shadow Butcher took Laurence tonight?” 

“Yes,” you whispered. “Yes, Alastor. Damnit, you need to go-” The car door opened and then slammed shut. 

“Then kiss me,” Alastor demanded, face hovering just over yours. No part of him touched you, yet you felt suffocated, wrapped up in him. 

“He’s coming.” You could hear Laurence’s footfalls outside on the walkway. It shouldn’t have been possible, but you swore you could. 

“I’m not leaving until you kiss me.” Alastor whispered, blood splattered face so close to yours. “You want me. You pick me. Then kiss me. Prove it. Show me. Please?” Alastor’s words came in a whispered rush, each statement coming faster and faster, naked words tripping and tumbling over one another. 

The doorknob rattled on the front door. Your eyes were wild as they darted away, trying to turn enough to see through walls. It felt like your executioner was getting ready to catch you. 

“Fuckin hell.” You swore you could hear Laurence outside as he tried the knob again. 

“Kiss me.” Alastor pleaded again. “Kiss me and I’ll go. Pick me. Don’t leave me. Please?” 

The keys rattled in Laurence’s hand, scraping against the lock as he tried the wrong key. You launched yourself forward, closing the small distance harshly. Lips against lips as an arm slid up his chest, wrapping around his neck. 

The coppery taste of blood and the stale taste of old rye flooded your senses as his lips parted in a gasp. His hands found your waist as he held you to him, gripping as they wrapped around you. He lifted you off your feet and walked backward as the lock clicked.

His tongue lapped at your lips before working into your mouth. He moaned into the kiss as his eyes fluttered, wanting to close and be in the moment, but needing to be aware of his surroundings. Large steps backward and to the side took them both almost to the back door as the hinges squeaked at the front of the house. 

“Don’t ignore me again?” Alastor whispered as he set you down, reaching behind him to unlock the back door. “Please?”

“Sugar,” Laurence called from the front door. “Where’s my bag?” 

“Alright,” you sighed, fear flooding you as Alastor opened the door. Laurence was in the living room now, coming closer still to the kitchen and back door. 

Alastor leaned down and placed one last kiss against your lips before stepping out the back door, pulling it shut behind him. As the door latched and you turned, Laurence stepped into the kitchen, calling your name. 

“I’m here,” you answered, putting your back to the door quickly. You didn’t dare look outside as you stepped into the kitchen for fear that you’d see Alastor making his great escape. 

“Where were you?” Laurence asked, as he picked up the forgotten bag. “Why didn’t you answer?” 

“I was just checking the weather,” you lied, “I hope to get sheets washed and hung to dry early.” 

Laurence looked at you for moments that stretched on as you tried to will yourself to relax. “Why are you flushed?” 

“The coffee was hot,” you said. “My skin’s still heated from the spill.” 

Outside the house, back resting against the wall, Alastor sat. His head was just under the window. Through the glass, he could hear everything. Carefully, he twisted and peeked up, watching as Laurence turned his back on the window. That was his chance, and he dared not waste it. 

Long legs swiftly carried him in a direct line from the house to the apple tree. He ran, glancing over his shoulder frequently, fearing he would lock eyes with Laurence. The back of the blond head and then an empty kitchen was all he saw as he rounded behind the tree. 

He waited there, chest heaving in gasping breaths. Exhaustion weighed heavily on his shoulders, but he waited to move until he heard the car roar to life again. Sliding down the tree, he turned and dug for the notebook and pen.

He needed to get home, run a bath and sleep, but first, he wanted to add one more note to the stack. He hoped you’d read it, that you were not just telling him what he needed to hear to save yourself. 

Thinking back to the way you kissed him, he didn’t think that was the case. You kissed him as if you needed this as much as he did. Everything would get back on track, Alastor was sure of it as he walked through the narrow forest, humming. 

Yes, things were going to go back to how they had been. He would keep spending time with you and growing this little flame between you. When Alastor got the chance, he would take Laurence back to his home and they would have a nice long talk before Alastor ended his filthy life. 

Oh, how the thought filled him with almost as much joy as your kiss had. 

Join us at VoxTek for a Vox themed Hazbin Discord where we talk Vox, Alastor, Hazbin, writing, reading, art and who knows what else. You may even catch some exclusive sneak peeks at upcoming fics from some of your favorite writers including the first page of the next chapter of MisD a day early!!

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[musebluebird]

He ran his hand down his neck to adjust his tie. Suddenly, Jai felt the urgent need to get Phoebe out of there. There was nothing worse than having to be at those kinds of parties, so at least Jai understood her. Apparently 'little Grey' hated having to be the center of attention as much as he did. Interesting. Most heiresses her age loved being center stage but for some particular reason, which Jai associated with everything she had been through, Phoebe seemed anything but happy to have to be at those gatherings. social. "I'd tell you I can help you sneak out," He scoffed, surprisingly trying hard to be a little less grumpy. The girl was already having an overwhelming night to deal with his grumpy ass. "But technically you're the star tonight and your parents probably wouldn't be too happy about it considering they did all this for you." Not that Jai gave a damn what Phoebe's parents thought, but he didn't know if they she did.

"Try not too be too hard on yourself, okay? You are just getting back in the game." Why on earth was he giving her unsolicited advice? Probably because she was his best friend's sister but also because at that moment Phoebe looked like a lamb that was being slaughtered and also seemed almost lost in that environment. "The good thing is that if you're talking to me maybe you're lucky and you won't be "Intercepted by other people" Despite the popularity Jai had among mothers with single daughters, generally, he would have nothing more than strictly professional or social chats, if he even spoke at all. Jai quickly learned that many of these people simply loved the sound of their own voices.

"He's," Jai nodded slightly. "When he's not being an idiot of course, which as you know is most of the time." He couldn't help but roll his eyes. Everyone knew that Irvin was literally a clown. However Jai couldn't complain. As much as he was a pain in the ass, Irvin was equal parts the most faithful friend he could have. If it weren't for him, Jai was almost sure he'd be a full-time hermit just commuting from his apartment to work and back. Speaking of his friend, he hadn't seen any of Phoebe's brothers and they could both put in a little effort to be around their sister who was just coming back.

"Sometimes I wish they would just act like the adults they are supposed to be," He confessed briefly before clearing his throat. "You'd probably wake up tomorrow with a hangover and no memory of tonight if you were with them." Anjali and Giaan were two adrenaline lovers. That was partly the truth that Jai had put together in his head to excuse the erratic behavior they both tended to have. They just seemed completely out of control at times.

His comment about this being a big event brought a reddish tint to her face, that was so embarrassing, but it made sense. The return of the youngest Grey was bound to be the star event for the family, her aunt had warned her. Still, Phoebe hoped that people didn't care that much. She always had the benefit of hiding behind her older siblings' shadows, it was a benefit in her opinion, so now being in the spotlight was odd. "Well, however it happened, I'm glad you're here. It's been a while, so it's nice to see you." Her comment was genuine. Admittedly, she didn't know him too well anymore, but before she got pushed out of home, Phoebe saw him around the house when he came over to see Irvin. In some ways, he always had that quiet, calming demeanor that intrigued her. Someone that could be a friend, if only she reached out. So, yes - it was nice to see him again. Phoebe's nose scrunched up in disgust, agreeing entirely with the awkwardness of it all. "I bet, well I guess being subtle is not their priority when everyone in our circle does it." It wasn't a secret. How all their families paraded their kids around, trying to accumulate more power, through these convenience marriages. She hated the thought of that happening, and Phoebe had hopes that her parents wouldn't do such a thing. But, she had already heard otherwise from her brothers. How they were nudging them to meet certain friends, pointing out how much of a catch they were. The thought of her parents doing that to her made her nauseous. Not something she wanted to think about now. "Cool," in regards to not being married. "Good on you for holding on, staying strong in the wake of all these proposals. Hopefully, they don't catch you soon."

She gave his words some thought, yeah that tracked. Being the oldest seemed to have perks here and there. "That does sound pretty sweet, not having to show up to these things." Sure, the Grey siblings were all adults, but they were all attached to their parents. They received nothing or bare minimum, and yet, the siblings gave them loyalty. Maybe it was because Jai was slightly older than her, but Phoebe admired his attitude towards this. In some ways, she wasn't joking. She wished she could learn from him, be less attached to this loyalty towards the Grey family. "I'm telling you, you'll have to teach me your ways. I feel like I'm drowning trying to go against...all of this." Phoebe could only shake her head slightly, why was she saying all this? God, it was all a bit too truthful to share with someone she was getting reacquainted with. Hopefully, Jai didn't mind.

An understanding nod, "he's a good friend." That is how things went with her brother, but despite everything, he was always a good friend and sibling. Her gaze was focused on him as he spoke. Jai's life sounded pretty calm, even with the way he described his job. It didn't answer the question, whether he liked it, but Phoebe found it best not to push it. "I guess boring can be good sometimes though." Okay, now she sounded like her family. God, no. "I mean, if you like it. I'm sure your family is appreciative, that you...took this responsibility on." It's everything her family wanted out of Irvin, but didn't get. What they hoped to get out of James and Phoebe. "Right, your siblings...I remember. True," about the gossip pages. She recalled seeing glimpse of those magazine covers back home with her aunt. "Any press is good press?" Phoebe offered, it's what everyone said, right? "But, I guess it's a good thing I'm hanging out with you instead of them, then?"

[lubdubology]

Take My Love and Wear It

SYNOPSIS: Taking care of Charles has its own special challenges, but you didn’t expect the hardest one to be the man who hired you. Distant, gruff and rough around the edges, Logan still manages to worm his way under your skin. But you’ve worked your way under his, too. 

PAIRING: Old Man Logan x fem!reader

WC: 10.8k 

WARNINGS: smut 18+; mdni; angst; swearing; non-explicit mentions of wounds, blood and use of stitches; extreme physical pain; Charles is a lovable, meddling little shit; fluff sprinkled in for good measure; Logan in a tub (if I had a nickel for every time I bathed him, I’d have two nickels—which isn’t a lot, but its weird it happened twice, right); touch-starved Logan; handjobs; shower sex; fingering; dirty talk; oral (f receiving); sex with feelings; unprotected p in v; creampie

A/N: There’s something special about Old Man Logan, isn’t there? Old and grumpy and desperately in need of some love and affection. I know the Charles caregiver story has been done before, but I couldn’t get this idea out of my head. And then Charles starting talking in my head and well...it blossomed into this. As always, thank you to @joelsgoldrush for allowing me to send her snippets of this as I went along and offering her love, support and suggestions. I hope you enjoy this and any likes, comments and reblogs are always appreciated!

You stare down at the remnants of yesterday’s cold and congealed dinner and sigh. Scraping the food into the trash, you resist the urge to pack everything you have and leave. 

One month. 

One month of helping Charles—making his meals, washing his clothes, giving him his meds, making sure he doesn’t hurt himself (or others), assisting with daily tasks—and Logan still regards you as a nuisance, like a gnat needing to be swatted away. 

At best, he ignores you, moving around the house as if you don’t exist. 

And at worst, he treats you with barely concealed contempt, his scowl deepening the lines of his face whenever he’s around you. As if you’re invading his space uninvited even though he’s the one that sought out help. 

You grip the edge of the sink, staring down into the porcelain basin as if it holds some hidden answers. Every day you’ve tried to break through walls Logan’s built around himself, held onto Charles’ promise that eventually he’ll soften, just give him time, but he only seems to have grown more hostile. And you’ve done nothing to incur his ire besides watching him come home every day battered and bruised, his very bones weary with exhaustion, and offering your assistance.

Part of you is angry—angry that you care so much when your main focus is supposed to be Charles. Angry that despite all his efforts to come across unapproachable and cold, Logan’s worked himself under your skin and takes a little piece of you with him whenever he leaves. 

Angry that somehow he’s stolen a piece of your heart. 

You hear shuffling behind you and turn to find Logan entering the kitchen, fingers fastening the last buttons on his dress shirt. “What?” he asks gruffly and for a moment you wonder if he can read your thoughts.

You straighten and meet his gaze head on, swallowing down your nervousness. “How much longer are we going to keep doing this, Logan?”

“Doing what?”

“This,” you say, gesturing between you. “You walking around here like I’m some stain upon your life, acting like I’m a problem when all I’ve ever done is try and help.” Your voice is steadier than you feel. “You asked for me to be here, Logan. It’s not like I barged in here without permission.”

Logan holds your gaze, his jaw tight, and for a moment you think he’s going to grab his keys and leave, head off into the night and drive until sunrise. His eyes soften for just a moment, something like regret crossing his features. 

“I know why you’re here. And I do…appreciate it,” he says, his words coming out low and rough. As if the words taste foreign in his mouth. 

“Wouldn’t kill you to show it,” you challenge.

You’re waiting for him to lash out and instead he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Look, I’m not good at this.”

“I’m not asking you to bow at my feet,” you say, hoping to ease some of the tension in the air. “Although, I wouldn’t be mad about it.” You think you see the briefest hint of a smile flicker across his face. “I just want us to be able to live in the same space. I’m here to help, Logan. Let me.”

“You have no idea how hard this life is.”

A rueful smile tugs at your lips. “I understand more than you think I do.”

Logan’s gaze sharpens, inquisitive as he searches your face, as if he’s trying to decipher the meaning behind your words. He rubs a hand across his face, scratching lightly as his beard. “I’ve gotta couple jobs tonight. Maybe more,” he finally says, changing the conversation. “Should be back before sunrise.”

You nod, his switch in topic not lost on you, but you don’t push him. “Alright,” you say softly. “Just—just take it easy, okay?”

He glances down at you, relief softening his gaze and you know a part of him is grateful you didn’t push further. 

Grabbing his keys, Logan heads towards the door but pauses just before he’s about to leave. He turns to look back over his shoulder. “Thanks,” he murmurs, the word awkward on his lips. 

You give him a small nod of encouragement as he slips out the door. He may not be ready to full open up, but you feel as if he extended a tiny olive branch tonight, cracked open the door just enough to let you peek in.

+++

Over the following weeks, Logan’s a little less avoidant. He doesn’t go out of his way to make conversation—you didn’t expect him to—but he at least as acknowledges your presence. Small nods and murmured goodbyes when he leaves and sleepy hellos when he returns. It’s not much, but you’ll take it. 

You’re cleaning the last of the dishes from dinner, Charles safely settled in front of the TV watching an old movie when Logan comes home. He’s earlier than you anticipated, but exhaustion lines his face nonetheless. You expect him to slip away quietly, but he pauses instead, lingering in the doorway. 

“Smells good,” he says softly, nodding towards the pan of half eaten lasagna still sitting on the counter. 

Surprised, you turn around to face him. You brush the hair from your face and say, “Sit. I’ll make you up some.” 

Logan hesitates and for a moment you think he’s about to decline, but then he nods, his shoulders dropping slightly as he sits down at the table. You fix him up a plate, setting it down in front of him with a bottle of beer as you slide into the chair across from him.  

He tucks quietly into the food, his fork scraping against his plate as he eats, pausing only to wash it down with a few swigs of beer. You watch him, a strange satisfaction tugging at you at the sight of him actually sitting down, enjoying a meal with you, even if it is in silence. 

“Long day?” you ask quietly, gesturing towards his bruised knuckles.

He flexes the fingers on his free hand before tucking them under the table. “Nothin’ I can’t handle,” he mutters, taking another bite of lasagna. “They’ll be gone in a day or two.”

You know not that long ago an injury like that wouldn’t have even marred his skin. Now, the simplest of wounds can take days to heal and it’s not the appearance of his skin that bothers you, but the newfound ache he experiences, the heaviness of constant pain.

You want to help him, ease his discomfort, like you know you could. But you know he’s not ready for that. Not yet.

“You’re good with Charles,” Logan says then, his gaze steady on his plate. “He seems calmer around you.”

Logan’s admission is so unexpected, you find yourself staring at him in disbelief. At your silence, his eyes flicker up to yours and you see more than simple acknowledgement in his expression. It’s subtle, but it’s there, a current of something more, something you’re not quite sure how to address.

“Thank you,” you murmur, your voice softer than you intended. “Charles—he means a lot to me.” You pause briefly, but something compels you to continue. “You both do.”

His gaze is focused on you and you don’t miss the flicker of surprise that breaks through his usual stoic expression. Clearing his throat, he looks down, pushing around the last bit of lasagna on his plate and then after a moment, he sets his fork down and leans back in his chair. “You mean a lot to him, too,” Logan finally says and you wonder if he’s talking about more than just Charles.

From the living room you hear Charles call for you, his voice soft but insistent. The moment between you still crackles as you stand from the table and as you begin to walk away, Logan reaches for your hand. His fingers are warm and rough against your skin and you’re barely able to suppress your shiver. 

“Thank you,” Logan says, his voice surprisingly soft. 

His grip against your skin is gentle, a stark contrast to all his roughness and you can feel the weight of his unspoken words curling around you. Charles calls again, his voice breaking through the moment, but Logan’s hand lingers just a beat longer before he lets go, fingers trailing along your skin. 

+++

“He likes you, you know.”

You glance up from shaving Charles’ face and find him staring at you, a mischievous glint in his eye. You give a soft hum. “Did he tell you that or did you read his mind?”

Charles scoffs and waves his hand dismissively. “What’s the difference, dear?” 

You chuckle, shaking your head as you rinse the razor. “With Logan I’m pretty sure there’s a big difference.”

“Bah, if Logan wanted to keep me out of his head, he would. Stubborn man.” He tsks softly to himself and shakes his head. “But, no my dear, he can be quite loud if you know how to listen.”

You raise an eyebrow, giving him a playful look. “Loud, huh? And what exactly is that brain of his telling you?”

Charles gives you a knowing smile. “Oh, just little things,” he says casually with a wave of his hand, but you can tell by the look on his face that he’s holding back. “He notices you—what you do for me, this place, for him. He may not realize it himself, but his thoughts linger on you more often than he’d like.”

A flicker of hope sparks in your chest and despite yourself, you feel a blush creeping into your cheeks. “Logan doesn’t strike me as the sentimental type.”

“Logan has spent so much of his life running,” Charles continues, his tone and expression growing more thoughtful. “The loss he’s experienced has led him to believe it’s better to be alone than form meaningful connections with people. But you’ve somehow become something of a home for him. And he doesn’t quite know what to make of that.”

Your heart skips a beat as you take in his words. The idea of being a home for Logan, a comfort, feels surreal, and yet...there’s a part of you that dares to hope what Charles is saying is true. That this isn’t some fictional truth his brain has concocted, a product of his disease riddled mind. 

“Home.” You repeat the word softly to yourself, testing the word on your own tongue as if it might shatter into pieces.

Charles nods, his hand reaching for yours, his gaze warm and knowing. “Yes, home. He feels it, deep down, in a way that’s unfamiliar and frightening for him.”

You glance down at your hand in Charles’ grasp, his touch grounding you as his words settle over you. 

“Logan’s spent so long hiding from himself,” Charles continues. “I think he’s convinced himself he doesn’t deserve that kind of peace.”

“And you think I can give him that peace?” you ask quietly, your eyes flicking back up to Charles’ face.

He smiles knowingly and gives your hand a squeeze. “You already have, dear.”

+++

“Want some help?”

You turn to find Logan standing in the entrance of the kitchen, hands tucked into his pockets.

It’s a rare night—one where Logan’s chosen to stay home, taking a night off from the almost endless driving he does. He’s dressed down, well worn jeans and a button-up flannel, and for once you actually think he looks comfortable.

You smile, surprised, but happy to see him there. “Sure, the company would be nice,” you reply as he comes to stand next to you. “Want to wash and dice the potatoes?”

Logan nods and rolls up his sleeves before reaching for the bowl of potatoes you had set aside earlier. You watch him for a moment as he settles into the task with a quiet focus. 

“Smells good,” he comments, gesturing towards the oven. “What’re we having?”

“Charles has been asking for beef tenderloin for weeks now, so I’m finally indulging him.” You finish trimming the last of the green beans and toss them into the bowl beside you. “You know, if you have any favorite meals you’d like me to make, you can tell me.”

Logan pauses and glances at you as he shuts off the tap. He clears his throat and says, “You already are.”

You blink in surprise as Logan’s words sink in and then the realization dawns on you. A soft smile spreads across your face as you piece together the extent of Charles’ meddling. You can’t find it in you to be annoyed and only feel a mix of amusement and fondness towards the old man as you chuckle softly to yourself.

“What’s so funny?” Logan asks, raising his eyebrow as he catches your expression.

“Oh, nothing,” you say, waving him off with a smile. 

Logan doesn’t look convinced, but he doesn’t pry as he picks up the knife and begins to deftly dice the potatoes. You watch him for a moment, captivated by the simple domesticity of the task. It’s in direct contrast to the man you’ve seen numerous times before, brooding and gruff, brimming with an almost untamed violence. 

It suits him, you think, this quieter version of himself.

You both finish the prep with relative ease. He helps you set the table as the rest of the food cooks, plates clinking softly as he sets them down. You busy yourself with finishing the green beans in a garlic butter as you wait for for the tenderloin to rest enough to carve into. 

“Ah, my dear, this smells wonderful,” Charles announces as he rolls into the kitchen, a warm smile on his face. “And you managed to pull Logan out of his room. What a treat.”

Logan snorts in response, giving Charles a pointed glare.

“I dare say it’s because the company has improved much as of late,” Charles says, his eyes twinkling in amusement as he glances between the both of you. “We all know he’s not out here for my benefit.”

You laugh as you bring the dishes to the table, noting the faintest of blushes creeping along Logan’s cheeks. “I’ll take that as a compliment, Charles.”

“As you should, dear. Your personality is quite sparkling.” He looks over towards Logan. “Isn’t it, Logan?”

Logan’s eyes land on you as he answers, “Yes. Yes, it is.”

Dinner begins quietly, the three of you settling into easy conversation as the first few bites are consumed. Both Charles and Logan hum in delight and a warmth blooms within you watching them both. This—this is the simplicity you’ve been craving with Logan.

As the meal continues, Charles launches into his usual repertoire of stories, those of the school and his students, his words brimming with nostalgia and pride as he talks. Logan sits back in his chair, arms crossed as he listens to him speak, shaking his head fondly at some of the memories.

“You know,” Charles begins, setting his fork down with an air of mischief, “I don’t think I ever told you how I met Logan, have I?”

Logan’s head snaps up. “Don’t, Chuck.”

But Charles is already smiling at you, ignoring Logan’s warning. “It’s a good story, dear. See, Logan had quite the career as an underground cage fighter.”

You lift your brows in surprise and you glance over at Logan, who’s thoroughly unamused by Charles’ choice of topic. “Cage fighting, huh?” you ask, unable to suppress your curiosity. 

Logan shifts uncomfortably in his seat, stabbing at his potatoes with a little more force than necessary. “It wasn’t a career,” he mutters. “Just a distraction. Way to get by.”

“Mmm, yes, perhaps,” Charles chuckles, clearly enjoying himself. “Regardless of the reason, it lead you to this exact moment. Didn’t it, Logan?”

Logan narrows his eyes at Charles, though the glare is only half-hearted. “You make it sound like all it all had some grand purpose.”

“Did it not?” Charles says gently, his tone shifting into something more serious. “Kept you alive, for one. But more than that, it brought you to us. To me.” He pauses for a moment, his eyes darting towards you. “To her.”

The words hang in the air and you glance over at Logan, whose expression softens just slightly. Without thinking, you reach across the table and give his forearm a gentle squeeze. His eyes meet yours, a flicker of a smile tugging at his lips.

Charles watches the exchange with quiet satisfaction before clearing his throat. “Well, I believe my work here is done,” he announces, wheeling himself back from he table. “Logan, fancy a game of chess? I haven’t made a player out of her yet.”

You laugh to yourself as Logan follows Charles into the living room. After clearing the kitchen from dinner and loading the last of the dishes into the dishwasher, you join them both in the living room. Tucking yourself into the couch, you read while the two of them play, the clinking of wooden chess pieces and the occasional dry quip from Charles filling the room.

From your spot on the couch, you glance up from your book every now and then to watch them. Logan’s brow furrows in concentration, while Charles’ face is more relaxed as they play. You smile to yourself, wondering how often they played like this in the past, when times were simpler.

You’re not sure when you fell asleep or how long you’ve been out, but you’re jostled awake as two large, warm arms wrap around you, holding you close as you’re lifted off the couch. Logan’s familiar scent—cigar smoke and pine—fill your nose and you blink up to find him walking you down the hall towards your room.

“Logan?” you mumble, voice thick with sleep. “D’you really cage fight?”

Logan chuckles softly, the sound rumbling through his chest. “I really did.”

“Did it hurt?”

“No.”

You blink slowly, your sleep-laden mind struggling to process his answer. “Not even a little?” Your voice is barely audible as you nestle closer into the warmth of his chest.

“Not in the way you think,” he answers, nudging open the door to your room with his foot.

You’re too drowsy to ask what he means and instead you hum softly, a noncommittal sound that Logan feels more than hears. Lowering you onto the bed, he moves with a gentleness you’ve never felt from him before. He brushes a strand of hair from your face and pulls the blanket over you before he turns to leave.

Your limbs are heavy, eyes barely open, but you call out softly—“Logan?”

He looks back towards you. “Yeah?”

“I’m glad Charles found you,” you murmur, closing your eyes.

Logan doesn’t answer, but you swear you feel the lightest of kisses against the top of your head before he leaves.

+++

It’s deep into the night when you hear the front door finally open. Your heart flutters against your ribs as you swing out of bed, unsure of what condition you’ll find him in. He was expected back two days ago, those extra hours away feeling like an unfathomable eternity. 

You find him sitting at the kitchen table, dress shirt hanging off one shoulder, the rest of his clothes rumpled and bloodied. A large gash oozes from his shoulder and you can’t stop the gasp that falls from your lips. 

Logan looks up at you, eyes narrowed and lined with exhaustion. “Don’t look at me like that,” he grunts, tugging off the rest of his shirt. 

“How else am I supposed to look at you?” you ask, taking a tentative step forward. “No phone call or text letting me know you’re not coming home and then you waltz in after midnight soaked in blood and covered in wounds.” Unshed tears burn in your eyes but you will yourself not to cry. 

“Didn’t ask you to care about me,” he bites back, but his tone is more weary than argumentative. 

“Oh, fuck you, Logan,” you snip, but your tone lacks venom.

He ignores you, pushing up from the chair with a heavy groan and limps over towards the cabinets. He shuffles through one of them, pulling out the makeshift sewing kit before sitting back down. You watch as he attempts to thread the needle, growing increasingly frustrated when he keeps missing. 

Shoving down your own frustration, you pull up a chair next to him and reach for the needle and thread. He pulls his hands away from you, turning in the chair to keep you away. You chase after his movements, finally grabbing his wrists and removing the supplies from his grasp.

“I don’t need your help,” he growls. 

You sigh, tired of this same argument, this same endless loop every time he comes home injured. “Goddamit, Logan, just let me help you.”

He drags his gaze up to yours, eyes tracing the lines of your face. His chest still heaves with heavy breaths, but you can see the anger bleed from him. He nods once, turning just enough so that you have access to his wound. Threading the needle, you place a gentle hand on his shoulder, ignoring the flinch he gives at your touch. 

“I’m not going to hurt you,” you whisper. 

Logan huffs. “It’s a needle, darlin’. It’s not gonna feel nice.”

You try to ignore the flip your heart does at his use of the word darling. Despite his earlier gruffness and proclivity to push you away, Logan has softened to you over the last couple of months. Since that first dinner you shared, he’s joined you and Charles more often. Or if he comes home late, sought out the leftovers you’ve kept for him. He’s engaged in conversation, offering small pieces of himself, pieces that you’ve cradled close and nurtured. 

But there’s a tension between you, thick and heavy in the air, and you wonder if he feels it too. Feels that same undeniable pull you’ve always felt in his presence. You’d like to think so, otherwise you were doomed to love him silently, your feelings for him bound in the quiet of your mind.

“Just trust me,” you say. 

Slowly, you release your power, warmth spreading from your fingertips, easing his pain and discomfort as you begin to stitch him up. You try to ignore the heavy press of his gaze on your face and you can almost hear his unspoken thoughts, his words still stuck on his tongue.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asks, his shoulder relaxing as you continue to work.

You glance up at him then, finding his expression softer than you’ve seen it. “A mutant is a dangerous thing to be, Logan,” you answer, your voice soft. “Few people know what I can do. Those I trust.”

For a long moment, Logan just looks at you, his eyes unreadable. Then, a rough, tired sigh falls from his lips. “You coulda told me.”

You take a steadying breath, his words lingering in the space between you. “Maybe,” you say, your fingers brushing against his skin as you continue to stitch. “But you don’t make it easy to talk to you.”

Logan lets out a low huff. “No. I guess I don’t, do I?”

You finish the last stitch, securing the knot. Your fingers linger a touch long than necessary, the warmth of his skin a comfort you’re loathe to lose just yet. Slowly, you lift your gaze to his and you feel your heart beat solidly against your ribs as he looks back at you like he’s seeing something there he hadn’t allowed himself to before. 

Logan’s voice is low when he finally speaks. “Why you keep stickin’ around? Watchin’ me come home time after time covered in blood?”

“Because you deserve it.” The words tumble from your mouth before you can stop them. “Even if you don’t see that.”

He doesn’t respond, not right away, as he continues to watch you, his eyes tracing the lines of your face. Then he reaches up for you, fingers curling around your wrist, his skin warm and rough against yours. He holds you there as if grounding himself in your presence, his thumb drawing random patterns against your skin. The gesture is simple, but vulnerable and open in a way he rarely shows.

“I’m no good for you,” he murmurs, glancing down at where he’s touching you. “For anybody.”

“How ‘bout you let me be the judge of that?” you answer, your voice steady. “You’re more than you think you are.”

Logan clenches his jaw, a flicker of disbelief crossing his features, and you know deep below the surface he’s waging a war against himself, one he’s been fighting for far too long. His thumb stills on your wrist, his grip loosening slightly, but not letting go. 

Placing your hand over his, you give him a soft smile. “C’mon, let’s get you cleaned up.”

+++

You’re surprised that he doesn’t argue, doesn’t try to brush you off or push you away as you gently nudge him towards the bathroom. He still gives you a dubious glance as he looks down at the tub, but you just ignore it, moving past him to run the tap.

You give him privacy to undress and get settled before you reenter the bathroom. The sight of him, as large as he his with his knees pulled up to his chest, makes you laugh, garnishing a terse look from him.

“You find this amusing?”

“Big man in a little tub? Yeah, I do,” you reply with a smile. “Just relax, Logan. This’ll be our secret.”

He huffs, but does seem to visibly relax, resting his arms over his knees. You kneel down in front of him, resting one hand gently against his forearm as your other reaches for the washcloth. You can feel the tension release from his muscles as your power floods through him and he breathes out a soft, “Oh,” as all the pain and discomfort is eased from his body.

You wonder how long it’s truly been since he’s felt like this, unburdened by the pain and suffering of his own body. Your heart aches for him as you slowly begin to wash him, rubbing soft circles over the scarred flesh of his back, rinsing away the blood dried to his skin. 

Even battered and marred as he is, you still find him beautiful—you always have. When you first started working with him all those months ago, you felt that pang of attraction when you met him, you’d have been blind not to. Ruggedly handsome, so strong and sure of himself. But you know that wasn’t all that drew you to him. Deep down, below all the tough, seemingly impenetrable exterior, you saw the man he truly was. Someone born of scars and rough edges, yet gentle. Someone who would selflessly put himself before others, even at his own expense. 

You let the cloth linger a moment longer against his skin before dipping it back into the water, watching as his blood rinses from the fabric. Squeezing the excess water out, you press it back against his collarbone, tracing the warm cloth along his neck and over his shoulders. Logan doesn’t move, his eyes half-closed, his expression relaxed in a way you’ve never seen before.

Something deep tugs at you as you realize how vulnerable he is right now, how trusting. He hides behind a gruff exterior, his true self guarded so carefully so that he doesn’t let people in, doesn’t open himself up to the hurt that trusting another person can bring. But maybe you’ve finally cracked through, broken down a little bit of that wall he surrounds himself with.

The warm water drips from his skin as you continue to wash him, letting your fingers trail gently along the newly cleaned lines of his arms. Logan shivers at your touch, but he doesn’t pull away. If anything, he seems to lean into it, his breathing deepening, muscles falling even more slack. 

“Feel nice?” you ask in a murmur, voice barely above a whisper.

He nods, finally glancing up at you through his half-lidded gaze. “’S very nice,” he replies, his voice rough.

“Good. You deserve it,” you say, repeating your sentiment from earlier.

You feel a flicker of warmth as his eyes meet yours and he simply nods. It takes everything in you to not smile too widely, to keep the moment gentle, but you take his acceptance to heart. 

Running the cloth down his ribs, you pause when you feel the misshapen knot of a bruise beneath your fingers and glancing down, you find a deep purple hue coloring his skin. Your eyes dart to his with worry, knowing that an injury like that will take him at least a week to heal, if not longer, in his weakened state. That with every breath he’ll feel the pain of his muscles pulling and the bruise spreading if you’re not touching him.

Dropping the washcloth in the water, you press your palm against his side and take in a deep breath to steady yourself. Then, a warmth spreads from your skin into his as you pull his injury from him, feeling his skin knit back together, feeling his abused muscles realign themselves under his skin. A dull, yet sharp ache, blooms along your ribs as you continue to pull his pain into yourself, erasing the injury from his body. With a final gasp, you draw back, your fingers now running along unmarred flesh knitted whole. 

Logan tilts your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze as the back of his knuckles brush against your cheek. His eyes flicker to yours, holding your gaze, and for a moment, the room falls into a deep quiet.

That pull between you, the magnetic force that you’ve felt since the beginning, feels amplified now. You’re acutely aware of every inch of space between you—how small it is, how easy it would be to close it. How badly you want to close it. You swallow, feeling the tension coil in your belly as he continues to hold your gaze, unblinking, but more open and raw than he’s ever been before.

“What are you doing to me?” he asks.

Your breath catches in your throat at his question, voice rough and laced with something between wonder and disbelief. As if he can’t quite fathom what you’ve done for him—what you’ve given him so freely.

Logan’s eyes search yours, his fingers drifting from your cheek to trace along your jaw, lingering with a tenderness that belies the man he presents to the outside world. His gaze is steady and intimate, as if he’s trying to understand you in a way that goes beyond words. But you say nothing, your heart pounding too loudly in your ears to form a reply.

“You took it on yourself, my pain?”

You simply nod, distracted by the way Logan’s fingers continue to brush along the edge of your ear, tracing the lines of your face as if he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he lets go. 

“Why?”

“Because I want to,” you whisper, unable to resist the pull of his hand against your skin, the warmth of his touch that you feel with every fiber of your being. “Because it’s the one thing I can do to help you.”

A beat of silence passes, the air thick and heavy with unspoken words. He exhales, shaky and deep, letting his hand slide to the back of your neck. The calloused pads of his fingers press gently against your skin, anchoring you in place and you can feel him pull you closer, his gaze dropping to your lips, his breath mingling with yours in the small, intimate space between you.

“I shouldn’t want this, want you,” he says, voice so low it’s almost a rumble. “But, fuck, I do.” 

His confession is raw, leaving him unguarded for the first time in a long time and before he can pull back, before he can throw those walls back up around himself, you close the gap, resting your forehead against his. You bring your hand up to touch his face, thumb brushing over his cheek as you breath him in, feeling the heat radiate between you. 

Logan’s hand slides further along your neck, his fingers tangling in your hair as he finally, gently, presses his lips to yours. His kiss isn’t demanding or rushed or filled with passion, but a lingering connection, the promise of something more. His lips are softer than you imagined, his touch more careful than you expected, as if he’s afraid he’ll break you. Slowly, his thumb traces circles against your cheek, steadying and soothing, pulling you closer. 

When he pulls back, he rests his forehead against yours, eyes closed. His breath is warm against your skin. “I don’t wanna push you away anymore,” he murmurs.

“Good because I don’t want you to.”

Logan lets out a breath, a hint of a smile finally softening his features. 

Reluctantly, you pull away and pick the washcloth up again, intent on finishing what you started. The water turns to rust as you wash him of blood and grime, making sure you reach each cut, each bruise, each scar on his body that makes up the map of who he is. 

You turn off the tap and hand him a towel, averting your eyes as he stands, wrapping the towel low across his hips. Logan reaches for you, tugging on the collar of your shirt to pull you closer. You stumble a bit as he pulls you in, surprised by the insistence in his grip. Logan’s eyes meet yours, an intensity behind his gaze that makes your breath catch.

“C’mere,” he murmurs, hand slipping along your jaw, his thumb pressing against your bottom lip. 

You’re drawn forward as Logan’s lips find yours again, but this time there’s an urgency behind the kiss, a desperation and need he’s no longer trying to hide. He holds your face gently in his hands as he deepens the kiss, his nose pressing against yours, his beard scraping against your skin and you find yourself melting against him.

This is what you’ve been craving since you met him. Despite it all—the rage simmering just below his surface, the sharpness of his exterior, the sometimes shocking callousness of his words—you always knew there was a tenderness underneath, a softness that even his tortured past couldn’t erase. 

Logan’s hands drift from your face, trailing down your neck and tracing along the curve of your spine as he presses you closer until there’s no space between you. The dampness of his skin bleeds into your shirt and you gasp into his mouth when he shifts his hips just enough and you feel heat of his erection against your thigh.

He pulls away from your mouth long enough to husk against your lips, “I’m old, not dead.” His teeth nip lightly at your bottom lip. “I’ve gotta beautiful woman lettin’ me kiss her, what did you expect?”

Your fingers trail along the edge of the towel slung low across this hips and a thrill runs through you as you feel his abdominal muscles flutter beneath your touch. You peer up at him, noting the flush of his skin, the black of his eyes as you tug the fabric just enough to loosen it. “How long has it been since someone has touched you, Logan?” you ask, your breath warm in the space between you.

Logan’s hands urge your hips closer, seeking friction as he starts to slowly rut against your thigh. You hear him swallow as your fingers dip below the fabric, brushing along the damp hair at the base of his cock. 

“F—fuck,” he groans, guttural and low, his head dropping down to your shoulder. “Since before you.”

The weight of Logan’s confession presses into you and in that moment you want to give him everything. Wrap him in all the love you can muster, show him something other than pain and suffering. 

You move your hand from the towel, allowing the fabric to fall from his waist and pool forgotten on the floor. Logan’s breath catches as your fingers wrap around him fully, the heat and weight of his cock pressing against your palm. 

A ragged groan escapes his throat. “Christ,” he mutters, voice thick and vibrating against your skin. “You don’t gotta—”

“I want to,” you interrupt, slowly and deliberately dragging your hand along his length, tracing the vein along the underside of his cock with your fingertips.

Logan’s hips jerk involuntarily, seeking friction, chasing your hand, and you oblige, tightening your grip just enough to elicit another groan from him. 

“What do you like?” The question lands in the sliver of space between you, your strokes still light, teasing.

“Firmer, more ah—” He breaks off as you tighten your grip on the upstroke. “Fuck, yes, like that, sweetheart.”

A shiver runs down your spine as his hands find your waist, fingers clutching at you almost hard enough to bruise. His breaths are growing uneven, each exhale warm against your neck as he fights to maintain some semblance of control.

“You keep that up,” he rasps, lips grazing your ear, “and I’m not gonna last long.”

His admission sends a rush of pride through you and you tilt your head back to look at him, your thumb brushing over the sensitive head of his cock, spreading the wetness there. Logan’s eyes meet yours, dark and heavy-lidded, his expression raw and unguarded. You like him like this, such a large, imposing man boiled down to pure wanton need. 

“I don’t mind,” you reply, keeping your movements steady, your strokes firm yet gentle. You focus on the subtle shifts in his breathing, the way his fingers grip you tighter each time you find the right rhythm. “Just wanna make you feel good, Logan.”

He leans forward, capturing your lips into a kiss that’s both rough and messy, teeth nipping at your lip as his tongue licks into your mouth. He groans are muffled against your mouth as his hips begin to thrust in time with your strokes, his movements growing more erratic as he chases after his release. 

“Can’t believe—ah, fuck—can’t believe how good you’re makin’ me feel,” he growls against your lips.

You smile into his mouth, your free hand brushing along his hipbone as your strokes quicken. His whole body tenses, the muscles in his shoulders and arms flexing, his abdominal muscles taut as he teeters on the edge.

“Let go, Logan,” you say. “I’ve got you.”

With a strangled groan, he comes, his release spilling over your hand, hot and thick. His body shudders against yours as he buries his face in the crook of your neck. You hold him close as he continues to thrust lazily into your grip, your own movements slowing as you guide him through the aftershocks. 

For a moment, neither of you speaks, then Logan lifts his head, his hazel eyes soft as they meet yours. “You walked into my life and I knew—I knew—you would ruin me.”

You smile to yourself, unable to stop the thought that floats into your head—he’s ruined you as well. 

+++

The text comes in at a little over one AM—hurt.

You jump out of bed, adrenaline rushing through your veins as you slip into one of his discarded flannels and head out into the night. Pacing the driveway, your heart jumps into your throat at every passing headlight, your thumbnail almost bitten down to the quick as you wait for him.

The minutes bleed into eternity until you finally see the limo turn down the long drive and it takes all your willpower to not run and meet him halfway. You’re bouncing on your heels as he finally comes to a stop, the driver’s side door opening with a faint groan of steel. 

Your heart stutters in your chest as he emerges from the car, blood soaking through his shirt, dark and spreading, as he steps towards you on shaky legs. Logan’s face is pale in the moonlight, his breathing uneven and shallow and white-hot dread shoots up your spine as you see his arm hanging limp, two of his claws unsheathed and dripping blood.

“Oh, fuck, fuck!” you gasp, rushing to his side.

Logan tries to wave you off, gritting his teeth as he grips the doorframe. “”M fine,” he grits, but the tremor in his voice betrays him. 

You reach for him, hands already attempting to steady him as his knees buckle and he collapses to the ground beneath him. “Careful. Claws,” he rasps as his left hand seeks purchase against your shoulder.

“I don’t fucking care about your claws, Logan,” you snap, although you both know your anger isn’t at him. You glance up at him and for once you think you actually see fear in his eyes. “What happened?”

“Gas. Robbery.” Each word punches out of his chest, the effort to speak sending tremors down his limbs. “Got ‘em.” He nods down towards his limp arm, claws still unsheathed, but slowly, so slowly starting to retract.

He winces as you help him peel off his coat to get to the shirt underneath. Your fingers shake as they trace the holes the bullets made—one in his shoulder, dangerously close to his lungs and the other just below his ribs. Hooking your fingers through the fabric, you rip it from his chest—the wounds are deep and his skin is hot and slick with sweat.

Panic claws at you and unshed tears burn in your eyes. You’ve seen Logan hurt before, but this—this was different. His breathing is painfully shallow, his usual gruffness and resilience absent. 

“Logan, you’re not healing,” you whisper, your voice shaking as your fingers stain with blood. Logan simply grunts, trying to wave you off, but lacking the strength. “I can’t…I can’t lose you. I can help.”

Logan’s eyes widen as he grabs for your wrist. “No. You’ll hurt yourself.”

“I don’t care!” you shout. “I love you, dammit, and I’m not just going to sit here and watch you die!”

Before he can protest, you press your palms over his wounds, the familiar warmth of your power surging through you as it spreads from your palms into his torn flesh.

The pain hits you like a freight train.

It’s sharp and relentless, searing through your shoulder and into the softness of your belly like molten fire. You gasp, biting back a scream as your body jerks instinctively away from the intensity, every cell in your body demanding you withdraw from the torture. 

But you don’t stop. You cling to him, tears streaming down your face as you channel your power into him, knitting his flesh back together. You can feel it, the way his muscles, bones and tissue rearrange themselves, months of healing taking place in mere moments. Every second feels like an eternity, but you refuse to let go.

You’re dimly aware of Logan yelling at you to stop, his own pain momentarily forgotten as he watches you endure his agony. 

Black dots dance in your vision as the last of his wounds come together, the spent bullets clinking to the gravel and you finally collapse against him, trembling, your breath coming in ragged gasps. The fire in your body begins to dull, fading to a cold, hollow ache as Logan wraps his arms around you, pulling you tight against his chest.

“Hey,” you mumble against him, your voice barely above a whisper. “You’re okay now.”

“Me?” Logan’s voice is low, disbelieving as his hand cradles the back of your head as if you might shatter. “You’re the one—why the fuck would you do that? You could’ve—dammit, you—”

His words break off, his forehead dropping to yours as his breath shudders against your cheek. You can feel the tension radiating through him, warring with himself between his gratitude and anger, between his guilt and the love he’s too afraid to speak out loud.

“I told you why,” you answer, lifting your head to look up at him. 

Logan’s jaw clenches, his words caught in his throat, but his eyes say everything is voice won’t. You don’t need him to say it, not yet, but you can feel it, pressing just below the surface.

“C’mon, let’s get you inside.”

+++

There’s a reverence in which Logan washes you. 

Steam swirls around you as he works the thickly lathered loofah over your shoulders, down across your collarbones and down along the soft planes of your stomach. The water rinses away the faint metallic tang of blood, leaving behind the fresh scent of soap. He continues with a silent determination, as if the act of washing you can erase all the pain you’ve taken from him.

You know better than to convince him you’re fine, that the pain is always temporary, that it only lasts for a few minutes, sometimes just a bit longer. That the pain is something you’d endure for him again and again if he’d let you. 

His thumb brushes along the underside of your ribs, searching for a wound you know he won’t find. You reach for him, lacing your fingers together with his. He blinks up at you, hazel eyes holding far too much worry for such a stoic man.

“I’m not going to break, Logan,” you say softly.

A wordless noice escapes his throat as he removes himself from your grasp and continues to work, ditching the loofah in favor of his hands. His fingers are warm and calloused against your skin as they glide lower, down over the swell of your hips, over your thighs, down towards your knees. 

His touch morphs from one of care and comfort to one more sensual, simmering with unspoken tension as his fingers rest in the hollow behind your knee. You glance down at him, water droplets catching in his hair, running off the slope of his nose. 

Though you’ve seen him bare before, you can help but trace the lines of his body—the broadness of his shoulders, the well defined muscles of his chest, the sturdiness of his thighs, the scars that mar his skin. The sight of him stirs something deep within you and you feel your pulse thrum beneath your skin.

“Logan,” you murmur, your voice almost lost in the sound of the water.

He looks up at you then, eyes locking with yours. A storm swirls within them, a mix of guilt, affection and an intensity that takes your breath away. Leaning in, he presses the barest of kisses to the inside of your knee before he rises to his full height, pressing you close.

“D’you mean what you said before?” he asks, voice low.

I love you, dammit!

“Yes,” you answer without hesitation.

Logan exhales sharply, the tension he’s been holding coiled in his muscles loosening as he loops his arms around your waist. “I’m not very good with words,” he admits, his breath fanning across your damp skin. “Can I show you?”

There’s no mistaking the meaning behind his words and you can only nod, your voice catching in your throat. 

His lips find yours, mouth moving over yours slow and deliberate as if he’s savoring the taste of you. The first touch is a spark, the second a fire, and by the third, it’s an inferno that engulfs you both and leaves you breathless. Logan kisses you like you’re his anchor, his salvation, his touch desperate and full of everything he can’t yet put into words.

Your fingers slide into his hair, gripping the strands at the nape of his neck as you pull him closer, deepening the kiss. He groans against your mouth, the sound swallowed in the space between you. His tongue brushes against yours, teasing and exploring and you respond in kind, your nails scraping along his scalp.

Logan’s control is fraying. You can feel it in the way his teeth nip at your bottom lip, the way his hands press along the curve of your spine, the way he can’t seem to find enough of your skin to touch, to caress. A low growl rumbles through his chest as you slip a hand between your slick bodies, finding his cock, thick and heavy against your belly.

You give one slow drag of your palm along his length before he’s gripping your thighs and forcing your legs around his waist. His mouth leaves yours, trailing down to the curve of your jaw as he presses you against the wall, the coolness of the tile a direct contrast to the heat of your skin and you can’t stop the gasp that escapes your lips. 

Despite his age, the metal bones inside him slowly poisoning him and causing him human aches and pains, he’s still able to hold you up solidly with one arm as the other trails along your hip bone and dips down to where you’re warm and wet. 

“This all for me?” he asks in a murmur, sliding a finger along the seam of your cunt, just barely brushing against your clit. 

Your breath hitches and you grip his shoulders, nails pressing lightly into his skin as you nod. Logan’s eyes darken at your reaction, the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Yes,” you finally manage to whisper. “Always for you.”

“Good,” he growls, leaning in to nip at the skin just below your ear. The deep rumble of his voice vibrates through you, his touch deliberate and almost torturously slow as he slides his fingers through your folds, spreading your slickness with a focused and unrelenting precision. 

“Oh, fuck,” you gasp, your head tilting back against the wall as he finally presses his thumb to your clit, circling it with just enough pressure to have your thighs trembling around his waist. 

“I got you,” he coos against your skin, his lips trailing from the pulse point in your neck to your collarbone. His teeth scrape along the curve of your shoulder, his free hand gripping your hip tighter to steady you as his fingers continue to tease and coax. “Lemme make you feel good.”

Every nerve ending is afire beneath him, every motion, every stroke of his fingers against your cunt leaving your mind reeling with pleasure. Your nails dig further into corded muscles of his shoulders, desperate for something to anchor yourself to. You pull back when you see the tiny, crescent shaped cuts marring his skin.

His eyes snap up to yours, sharp and molten. “No, do it,” he urges, fingers still moving. “Mark me with somethin’ pretty.”

“Fuck, Logan,” you gasp. 

“Say my name again,” he demands, his voice rough and commanding. There’s a quiet desperation in his tone, as if hearing it grounds him. Grounds him to this moment. To you. 

You can’t help but obey, whispering his name like a prayer, and he rewards you by slipping one long finger inside you, the sensation sending a jolt of pleasure along your spine. Logan watches your face intently as if memorizing the way you react to his touch. When he adds a second finger and slowly begins to thrust his hand, you cling further to him, the heat inside you building to an almost unbearable intensity.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, his voice low and reverent. “You’re so beautiful like this. So wet and warm and tight around me.”

His words barely register in your mind, too focused on the way his fingers curl and thrust inside you, finding that soft spot that makes your eyes roll back. He’s relentless now, his thumb pressing hard against your clit as he brings you closer and closer to the edge.

“Logan, I’m so close,” you whine, your hips beginning to roll against his hand, seeking just a bit more friction, forcing his fingers deeper inside of you.

The tension coiling low in your belly finally snaps, your orgasm washing over you in waves that make your whole body shudder as you cry out his name. Logan holds you through it, his hand continuing to thrust against you as he draws out every ounce of pleasure from you, his own breathing ragged against your skin.

When you finally come down, Logan presses a kiss to your temple as he helps you unwrap your legs from his waist and carefully sets you down, keeping you close. 

You tilt your head to meet his gaze, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw. “I didn’t think you’d be into shower sex, old man,” you tease with a smile.

His laugh is low. “I can make exceptions. I need a bed to fuck you properly, though.” 

“Prove it,” you challenge.

+++

The heat and intensity between you doesn’t diminish as Logan helps you out of the shower and guides you down the hallway towards his bedroom. A shiver of anticipation crawls up your spine as you get closer, knowing that once you cross this line, there’s no going back, that he will have claimed you fully.

You scoot back onto the bed, watching as he approaches you with a fire in his gaze that doesn’t waver. He climbs onto the mattress, knee pressing down between yours as he cages you in from above, gently pinning you beneath him. 

Leaning down, his lips brush against yours, teasing. “Still wanna challenge me, sweetheart?” His voice is a low gravelly growl that sends a prickling rush of arousal down your limbs.

“Always,” you reply breathlessly, arching into his touch as his hands slide down your thighs, parting them with ease. 

His grin is sharp as he leans back to take you in fully and you acutely feel the weight of his gaze against your skin. He traces his calloused fingers over your damp skin, along the dips of your collarbones, under the swell of each breast, mapping the curve of your hips as if committing you to memory. Dipping his head, he leans down between your legs, his beard grazing the sensitive skin of your inner thighs and you can’t help but shudder at the sensation.

“You’re so fuckin’ beautiful,” he says, almost to himself, his voice dripping with desire. He drags his lips higher, brushing along your damp cunt, his breath hot and tantalizing. “And all mine.”

The possessiveness in his tone has you clenching around nothing, heat pooling low in your belly and your fingers tangle in his hair, urging him closer. But he ignores your silent plea, almost deliberately testing your patience as he kisses you everywhere except where you want him most.

“Logan, please,” you gasp, the ache between your thighs almost painful.

“Patience,” he chides with a smirk, though his own resolve seems to be thinning. His hands grip your hips, pulling you closer before he flattens his palms against your thighs, opening you fully to him. Then, his tongue is on you, lapping at you with flat, broad strokes in a rhythm that quickly has you teetering on the edge.

Logan’s focus is unrelenting, his low growls of approval vibrating through you as he works you over with an enthusiasm that proves to you this is about more than just pleasure—he’s claiming you, showing you just how much you mean to him. Making you his. 

Your thighs tremble around him and his warm, rough hands hold you steady as he slips one, then two fingers deep inside of you. It’s embarrassing how quickly you come as he thrusts his fingers against that spot inside you, your second orgasm of the night crashing over you as his name falls from his lips in a breathless moan. 

Before you can properly catch your breath, Logan is moving from between your thighs, making his way back up your body, leaving wet, open-mouthed kisses against your skin. His lips finally find yours in a kiss that’s messy and desperate and you can taste yourself on his tongue, sharp and bright, and the intimacy of it sends a thrill through you. 

“You taste so fuckin’ good,” he groans against your lips, his voice wrecked as he grinds his hips against yours, his cock hard and insistent against your hip. “Could spend the rest of my life between between those thighs.”

“Why stop there?” you tease, your lips tugging into a smirk. “I thought you said you’d fuck me properly.”

Logan’s eyes darken, your challenge seeming to light something dark and primal in him. His grin is all teeth as he sits back on his heels, hands curling around your hips and pulling you down the bed like you weigh nothing until your hips are flush with his. “You gotta mouth on you, sweetheart. Should we see if you can still talk stuffed full of my cock?”

The weight of his cock brushes against your slick folds and you gasp at the sensation, your nerve endings exquisitely sensitive. Logan grips himself at the base, giving himself one languid stroke before running the thick head along your cunt, teasing you with shallow thrusts. Each slow, deliberate stroke of him sliding against you leaves you desperate and aching and you lift your hips in search of more.

“Look at you,” he murmurs. “So needy. Bet you’ll take me so well, huh?”

“Yes,” you breathe, nails digging into the muscles of his forearms. “Please.”

He presses into you then, the stretch of his cock making your jaw drop as he takes his time, sinking in inch by inch, filling you completely. Logan’s gaze is locked on yours, heavy and possessive as he watches every flicker of pleasure cross your face. 

“Fuck” he groans when he’s fully seated against your hips, his body trembling with the effort to stay still. “You feel…so fuckin’ tight. So damn perfect.”

Your hands clutch at his shoulders, anchoring yourself to him as he starts to move, pulling out torturously slow before thrusting back in harder, setting a rhythm that’s relentless and consuming. Each stroke of his hips has you crying out, your body arching into his as you meet him thrust for thrust.

“Takin’ me so well, sweetheart,” he growls, his fingers gripping the flesh of your hips hard enough to bruise as he continues to pound into you. “Like you were made for me.”

The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, mixing in with your whimpered moans and Logans own ragged groans. He leans down, bracing himself on his forearms, the wiry hair on his chest teasing your nipples as his lips find your neck, biting and sucking marks into your skin that feel like promises.

Your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him in deeper, your heels digging into his back as the coil inside you begins to tighten once more. He feels it too, the way you body clenches around him, and his pace falters slightly, his breaths coming faster.

“C’mon,” he rasps against the pulse point on your neck. “Wanna feel you come. Wanna make you fall apart.”

It doesn’t take much more—just a few more well-angled thrusts that hit that spot inside you and the tension finally snaps, your orgasm ripping through you with a force that leaves you trembling. Logan’s finesse is slipping, thrusts growing erratic as chases his own release.

“Come Logan,” you manage in a whisper. “Come for me.”

His hips stutter as he groans your name, spilling into you as his body tenses, lazily thrusting against you as he wrings out the last of his pleasure. He stays deep inside you, still for several moments before he shifts just enough to collapse against your side.

For a long moment, neither of you moves, the only sounds in the room being your heavy breathes and the pounding of your heart. Logan rests his head against your chest, heavy and sweat slick between your breasts. You brush at the strands of hair against his forehead before running your finger along the old scar on his cheek.

He lifts his head to look up at you, his gaze soft yet still simmering with hunger. “I do, you know,” he murmurs. His fingers brush idly against your skin. “Love you.”

A smile spreads across your face, warming blooming in your chest.

“I know.”

+++

You wake before he does, rolling over to find him prone, face buried in the pillow he hugs close to his chest. Sunlight filters in through the half slatted blinds, catching on the silver in his hair and beard and you can’t help but admire how handsome he looks, how at peace he is beside you. He’s relaxed in sleep for the first time since you came here. You’ve heard his growls and yelps of terror that echo in the night, seen the claw marks that pierce his sheets.

Your mind filters back to last night and how he looked as he came apart inside you, how desperate and needy he was for your touch upon his skin. The memory of his gasps and groans send a rush of warmth over your skin, making you dimly aware of the ache between your legs. Logan, so guarded, so unyielding and seemingly unbreakable, trembled as he came, his voice rough and wrecked as he called out your name. You shiver thinking about it.

You want to hear it again. But not now.

Resisting the urge to reach out and brush the hair from his forehead, you leave him undisturbed and slide out of bed. Padding into the kitchen, you find Charles sitting in his chair at the kitchen table, the newspaper spread out in front of him. He looks up at you with a warm smile as you start a pot of coffee, the machine humming to life. 

“Ah, I see,” he comments, a smirk tugging at his lips.

You glance over at Charles, his eyes back on the paper in front of him, but his smile still paints his face, sly and knowing. Heat creeps up your neck as you busy yourself with the coffee. “Are you reading my mind?” you ask, trying to force nonchalance into your tone.

Charles chuckles softly and taps at his temple. “I don’t have to. You’re projecting. And quite loudly, at that.”

You bite your lip as you fill your mug, leaning against the counter as the coffee warms your hands. You attempt to clear your mind, trying to think of anything mundane—the weather, baseball, laundry. Charles just shakes his head. “Relax, my dear. What the two of you do together as consenting adults is none of my business.”

“Oh, God,” you groan, your cheeks aflame. “That’s what I’m projecting?”

“Not that explicitly, no. You think more in feelings, rather than words. But they’re quite powerful emotions and rather hard to ignore when they’re radiating as strongly as yours are this morning.”

You bury your face in your hand, peeking at Charles through your fingers, which only seems to amuse him further. “You’re enjoying this far too much,” you mutter. 

“Perhaps,” Charles says with a laugh. “But you’re helping him. Healing him. And that, my dear, is worth everything.” 

Before you can respond, you hear the sound of heavy footsteps coming down the hall. Logan rounds the corner, hair tousled from sleep, his body still bare except for the pair of low slung sweatpants clinging to his hips. His eyes find yours first, softening in a way they rarely do for anyone else as he scratches at the back of his head and mumbles, “Mornin’.”

“Morning,” you reply with a smile, thankful for the distraction. You pour a second cup of coffee and offer it up to him. “Coffee?”

Logan grunts in affirmation, moving towards you, but instead of reaching for the mug, he loops an arm around your waist, pulling you against him. He buries his face in your neck, beard scraping against your skin as he sighs. “Didn’t like wakin’ up with you not there,” he breathes into your hair, his voice so low you almost don’t hear him.

“Sorry,” you whisper. “I didn’t want to disturb you.”

“S’okay,” he says softly, pressing the lightest of kisses just under your ear. “Next time, wake me.”

Your heart stutters against your ribs at his open display of affection, the softness and warmth in which he holds you, and the promise behind his words. From over his shoulder you see Charles give you a slight nod, a bright smile on his face before he turns his attention back to the newspaper in front of him.

You think back to what Charles told you all those months ago, about how you were a home for Logan. Those words echo in your mind as you feel Logan’s steady weight against you. He’s so different now, soft and unguarded and in that moment you know.

You’re home, too.

[cloudystevie]

scary my god you're divine

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pairing || bucky barnes x f!reader

word count || 3235

summary || he would do anything for you.

warnings || smut! dom! bucky x sub! reader, possessive! bucky, a little bit of subspace, choking, little bit of exhibitionism kink, minor pain play, daddy kink (only three times okay i'm sorry i am who i am), degradation, unprotected sex

author's note || 18+ ONLY. not proofread yet. my very first request in a very long time! Anonymous asked: Could you write a Dombucky x Subreader? And if you wouldn't mind jealous!bucky, already established relationship and his dog tags on reader? hope you enjoy nonnie! as always feel free to send in requests or any asks! feel free to reblog! enjoy!

»» ──────ஓ๑ ღ ๑ஓ ────── ««

Today, a select few from the team are supposed to train the new agents, preparing them for the physical aspect of being an agent. Some made it fun or tolerable, like Steve and Sam, who were born leaders and charismatic. Natasha and Wanda enjoyed supervising the sparring sessions. Tony and Bruce enjoyed using technology to throw new obstacles at the agents.

Sometimes literally.

Unfortunately, your grumpy boyfriend, Bucky, just did not find any joy in training days. He didn’t like giving out instructions and praise unless it was you who was under him. He didn’t like supervising weak punches and miscalculated throws. And technology was just a straight-up no for him.

Usually, he could make himself useful with Steve, throwing out no-nonsense orders without making himself a massive part of the effort.

You were taking the elevator down to the gym floor. Fury had instructed you to check everything out and ensure everything went according to the itinerary. 

The doors open, and you glance around to ensure no immediate problems before letting your gaze fall on Bucky; his eyes are already on you. You offer him a bright smile, which he returns with a smirk, and your stomach flutters like it does every time you see him. You’re about 7 feet away from your boyfriend before you feel a hand on your lower back. You startle and turn around to face the newest agent. He has quickly climbed through all of SHIELD’s tests and proven himself to be of great value. He chatted you up last week at Tony’s charity ball, and you tried to let him down gently since you were already happily taken. Bucky was on a mission that day, and you didn’t want to add to his mental load by telling him about some punk who wouldn’t leave you alone.

Apparently, said punk, cannot take no for an answer.

“Back for more, cutie? You finally break up with your imaginary boyfriend?” Marcus teases, but really, he sounds more taunting than playful. You glance over your shoulder as you move away from his grip, and you already see Bucky glaring directly at the spot where Marcus’ hand was on your back. The stopwatch he was holding in his flesh hand shatters, and he doesn’t even flinch when Steve and Sam apologize for him, asking what was wrong as discreetly as they could but one glance over to where you were uncomfortably held hostage by the lean brunet man told them everything they needed to know. 

Bucky cracks his neck, rolling his shoulders up as he stalks towards you two. His looming presence is felt before you can see him in your peripheral vision. You glance up at him and take an instinctive step back toward his hulking body, breathing a sigh of relief because Marcus has to let up now.

He doesn’t.

“Oh hey, Sergeant Barnes, if you don’t mind I’m actually trying to talk to this chick so…” 

The way he talks about you as if you’re not right there makes you physically recoil. Bucky’s eyes harden; he’s not even squaring up to his full stature, and he already easily dwarfs Marcus. Bucky takes a step forward, and everyone in the room comes to a standstill. Everyone shuddering at the sheer anger rolling off of Bucky and the stupidity of Marcus.

Marcus huffs out a laugh. Maybe he gets a little pasty when he’s nervous because he seems to be digging himself a deeper hole when he says something about how many girls fall at his feet and Sarge, you've got to calm down. She’s not worth all that.

In an instant, Steve and Sam command everyone to return to their tasks, and the room begins to bustle again, but with a specific weary energy that was not there before. The very next second, Marcus is picked up by the collar of his black t-shirt and slammed against the wall, the room rattling with the force of it as all the recruits try to ignore the spectacle before them. 

“Touch her again, and I will kill you,” Bucky promises. “If you look at her, I will kill you. If you even think about her, I will fucking kill you. Understand?” His voice is a low grumble, the words resounding and reverberating as you watch Marcus sputter out panicked apologies and his flailing body while Bucky still looks so self-assured and composed. It's as if he’s not scaring a man to death while simultaneously making you drool.

You call out Bucky’s name, and he looks at you over his shoulder, pinning Marcus with one final glare and shove before letting him go as the agent does the walk of shame to the washroom. It’s almost like you’re frozen in your spot. You’ve seen Bucky get aggressive on missions before, but watching him be so willing to defend you, stand up for you when you couldn’t, not even hesitating for a second when he threatened to kill for you. And the worst part is, you were confident he was dead serious. 

Even worse, something about the principle of the situation was really doing it for you.

On the outside, it might have seemed like you were in shock or panic due to the agents’ actions, so Bucky whisked you away to a private interrogation room on the floor above the gym. The whole elevator ride there, his hand is protectively on your lower back, and you just watch the rigid set of his jaw and the anger and possessiveness written all over his features with unmistakable doe eyes. The air in the elevator is thick, and neither of you says a word. Before you know it, Bucky is easily lifting you and placing you on the metal table in the middle of the dull room, and his eyes are scanning yours for any hint of panic or if you’re upset. His hands cup your face gently, the cool vibranium soothing against your heated skin, and he finally breaks the silence. “You’ve gotta say something, baby. Are you okay? After this, that idiot’s going to be gone. I’m sorry if seeing me like that upset you, sweetheart-” Your rushed words cut off his ramble, “I thought that was really hot.” You say quietly and watch as Bucky’s face contorts from one of worry to one of confusion. 

“The way you stood up for me, you were so nonchalant about killing for me. I can’t lie, James. That kind of did something for me.” You continue, biting your lip and scanning him for his reaction, hoping he didn’t take your words in the wrong way. 

He’s silent for a moment. His chest moving steadily with each breath against yours. 

The next moment, his lips are pressed against yours, and you let a surprised squeak out. Your mouth slots open when his wandering hands roughly squeeze your thigh through your satin pants, getting dangerously close to the heat pulsing between your thighs. Taking advantage of your open mouth, Bucky slips his tongue inside your mouth and you buck your hips to seek some friction against your needy core. The kiss is passionate and renders your breathless as he consumes all of your senses. All you can think, see, smell, hear, and feel is James. 

His name falls from your lips in a gasp, you reluctantly pull away to catch your breath, letting your head lull to the side when he peppers sloppy kisses all over your jaw, trailing down your neck and biting and licking on your sweet spot. You swat at his firm bicep, “You’re gonna leave a mark James, stop it.” Your attempt at scolding him is weak, even to your own ears.

You feel Bucky smirk against your sensitive neck, his wandering hands cupping your ass and shamelessly groping and swatting at you. “Oh really? That’s too bad baby. Gonna be a pain to cover up.” He remarks, voice dripping in cockiness.

You scoff and bite back a whimper when he grinds his undoubtedly hard length against your clothed center. Your hands shoot out to stabilize yourself by holding onto his shoulders, a shiver crawling up your spine when a particularly slow grind nudges your aching clit. “You’re such a bad influence you know that?” Your voice lacks any real conviction. Your hips move in tandem with his, both of you sharing messy kisses and your bodies thrumming with lust and pent up energy. 

“I’ll kill anyone who even thinks about looking at you.” Bucky says assuredly, and you can’t help the mewl that escapes your lips at his words. Your hands shakily going to undo his black jeans as he messily pulls yours pants down, being considerate enough not to rip them considering there was still a little more than an hour until the SHIELD training day was over. “Bucky I need you, need you to please-” Your voice is shaky and desperate, as you struggle to unbutton his jeans. He shushes you gently, cooing at you sweetly as he easily unbuttons his jeans, just enough for you to promptly pull out his erect cock. Your mouth practically waters at his length and girth, and you spit onto your hand and begin rubbing his length, swiping your thumb gently over the tip making him hiss and push his hips into your hand. 

You bite your lip and look up at him through hooded eyes, and he slaps your hand away before tearing your panties in half, the top half covering your swollen clit and the bottom scrap of fabric falling limply against the cool table. You barely have time to scold him for ripping your panties before he’s shoving his whole length inside you in one fluid thrust. Your back arches, your legs wrapping around his waist as your buddy erupts in a shiver, a short scream escaping your lips. He swallows the noise with his mouth pressed against yours as he grunts into your mouth, waiting only a short second before he begins to thrust inside you. His thrusts are slow but hard, making the heavy metal table scrape against the floor with the force of each pass of his hips into yours. 

“You’re mine, mine to touch. Mine to have. Mine to take care of.” Bucky grunts out, his movements picking up in pace as emotion swirls in his voice, his metal hand covering your neck, forcing you to stay upright in a position that allowed you to feel all of him. You sob out, digging your nails into his bicep and nodding your head, already succumbing to that foggy feeling you felt when you were so close to your boyfriend. He tuts at you, swatting your face with his flesh hand with enough force to make you moan out and clench around his length. 

“Nuh-uh sweetheart, you’re not going dumb on me that quick. Use your words, tell me you’re mine. Tell me I’m yours.” His voice is commanding and you force yourself to look at him, pulling on his shirt and tugging on his dog tugs to get him closer, your foreheads pressing against each other as his thrusts continue to get faster. “I’m yours James, only yours. You’re only mine. No one else. Just you.” Your words are slurred as he groans out a good girl in approval and decides that he wants your shirt off. He skillfully manages to slip your navy blue long-sleeve off and unhooks your bra in one motion, freeing your tits to the cold air of the room, forcing the buds into sensitive peaks which Bucky is quick to take advantage of. His hands squeeze and pull at your tits, tugging and pinching cruelly at your nipples making you whine. 

Your bodies are pressed so close to one another, each pull of his hips making his pelvis rub against your aching clit, stray tears streaming down your face and your chest heaving and pushed up against Bucky.

If anyone were to walk in right now the picture would be nothing short of debauched. You completely bare on the table, Bucky completely clothed. Getting absolutely plowed if the screech of the metal against the floor was anything to go by. Your moans get higher in pitch and volume making Bucky grunt, another swat to your cheek making your brain foggy. “Shut the fuck up slut. You want everyone to see you getting fucked like the bitch in heat you are?” But if your moans and increasing wetness are anything to go by, yes, a deep and dark part of you does want that. Bucky laughs at you, shaking his head in faux disbelief and you wrap your lips around his dog tags, enjoying the soothing sensation brought by the cool metal. Bucky looks down at your lips wrapped around the dog tags he never seemed to take off and he let out a wrecked sound. You clench around him at the sound making his rhythm falter.

Before you can even process the loss of his proximity, your back is flat against the table and his dog tags are now around your neck, landing on your chest and glimmering in the dull fluorescent lighting of the room. Bucky slams himself back inside of you, the unmistakable squelch of your wetness filling up the room alongside both of your noises of pleasure. Your high-pitched and pornographic mewls and his low grunts and deep groans. You cry out his name as your head lulls to the side, eyes shutting in bliss as your fingers move to give your aching clit some attention. But Bucky lets out a disappointed grunt, grabbing your jaw in his hand and forcing you to maintain eye contact. “Look away from me again and I won’t let you cum for a fucking week stupid baby.” Bucky threatens. “You better fucking pay attention to who’s fucking you dumb. No need to close your eyes and imagine when you’ve got the real thing right here.”

Each of his words ignites a newfound purpose in Bucky as he pounds into you impossibly harder, his hand swatting against your cheek again and wrapping around your neck, keeping you in place to take all of his thrusts. He knows you always struggle to keep your eyes open and you don’t doubt that he will follow through on his threat. He has always enjoyed testing your weakness and pushing your limits. 

“Feels s’good. You’re so big Jamie. S’big, so good s’too good.” Your words are breathy and frail, your fingers rubbing quick circles around your aching button. A mean laugh rumbles in his chest as he watches the way his dog tags move with your tits, the sight is intoxicating and fuels Bucky to continue his torment. “There she is my dumb little baby. Couldn’t help yourself huh? Can’t help the way your brain goes quiet when I have my dick inside you.” His words should be humiliating but they only spur you on, your fingers on the verge of cramping but the jolts of pleasure are so overwhelming you can’t stop. “Jus’ need you. Need you to make it better. ‘M yours Daddy, only yours.” 

“That’s it baby, I know, I know it feels so good huh. Daddy’s here baby, Daddy’s gonna take care of his needy baby.” Bucky’s head falls back on a moan when you clench around him, your walls pulsing and a ring of cream forming around the base of his cock. Your orgasm was surely just a few moments away and Bucky’s lips curled up in a smirk.

He folds your legs at the knee, sliding you closer to him with the pressure he has on your throat, the angle making him rub against your sweet spot with each deliriously pleasurable thrust. You squeal out his name, getting even louder than before and he shoves his dog tags into your mouth, muffling your garble out unintelligeble pleads to cum. With one hand Bucky squeezes your throat, and with the other he pinches at your nipples, tugging the sensitive flesh before trailing his hand down your body and slapping your hand away from your clit, he moves his lips down to your ears, licking up your earlobe before whispering his command, “Cum. Cum right fucking now or you don’t get to cum at all.” His fingers pinch your clit and the sudden burst of pain has you tensing your legs up, squealing out nonsense around the dog tags in your mouth and reaching your peak. Your body shakes against the table as Bucky pounds you through your high, his words of encouragement falling on deaf ears as you teeter between consciousness and unconsciouness. His body overwhelming your mind and soul. 

His fingers release your throat and you look up at him with watery eyes, bringing him down to rest your foreheads against each other as he nears his own high. Your lips are pressing against each other, “There isn’t a single person in the world I wouldn’t kill for you. I would do anything for you. You are everything to me.” Bucky murmurs in a pussy-drunk stupor. But the words are true, he has said them to you before and will say them a thousand times again. You taught him how to live again, not just survive. 

A broken cry falls from your lips from sensitivity and Bucky’s impassioned thrusts turn sloppy as he moans out your name, pulling you impossibly closer as he fills you with his cum. At the feeling of being completely stuffed by him, your second release is triggered and you shake in his hold as he comes down from his high. He presses lazy kisses against your lips and rubs his hands soothingly up and down your body, easing you out of your submissive state. He gently pulls himself out, using the handkerchief he carries around to wipe your thighs clean, but letting his cum keep your pussy messy. He quickly wipes himself off and helps you dress yourself. 

A few more giggly kisses and you’re pretty much ready to go back down to the gym. Just in time to catch the final thing on today’s agenda: sparring. Bucky walks one step behind you, his hand back again on your lower back protectively as a path is cleared to the front of the ring where your friends are supervising Marcus and another recruit preparing for the second round of their match. Natasha and Wanda offer you knowing smirks and you roll your eyes with heat creeping up cheeks as you shyly glance up at Bucky through your eyelashes to find him already looking at you with a stupid smile. He presses a gentle kiss to your cheek and watches with intent as Steve and Sam coach their respective agents. 

“Looking strong, Marcus!” Bucky calls out and you swat his chest making him laugh. Marcus takes one look at you, Bucky’s dog tags now around your neck and falling on your shirt, teeth imprints on your neck, and swollen lips. Poor Marcus falters, and the other recruit takes advantage of his distraction and easily tackles him to the ground, winning the second round. Bucky takes a single step closer to the ring where Sam is helping Marcus up, and the smirk on your arrogant boyfriend’s face is adorable. “Better luck next time buddy,” he says supportively. Sam flicks Bucky in the forehead, unable to hide the smile on his face, “Dumbass.”

[mononijikayu]

a day in a life — ryomen sukuna.

You set Yuji down, and he immediately takes your hand in his tiny one, his other hand reaching out to grab Sukuna's sleeve, tugging at him. "Uncle Sukuna, come on!" Sukuna grunts, letting Yuji pull him along, his expression caught somewhere between annoyance and reluctant affection. “Alright, alright, brat….I’m coming.” he says, trying to sound grumpy but failing spectacularly. You smile at the sight of them together and take Sukuna's other hand. "Looks like we're both in for an adventure, aren’t you?" you whisper.

GENRE: alternate universe - modern au!;

WARNING/S: safe for work (sfw), fluff, family, slice of life, family dynamic, light hearted, domestic, romance, protectiveness, crying, hugging, banter, humour, physical touch, happy ending, hurt/comfort, depictions of family dynamic, depiction of getting lost, depiction of anxiety, depiction of slice of life, menction of amnesia, boyfriend! sukuna, amnesiac! girlfriend! reader, domestic uncle sukuna!, nephew!yuji, i love you nephew!yuji;

WORD COUNT: 6.4k words

NOTE: the people have spoken and ryomen sukuna won my poll (again) so this is a special treat for yall!!! this is the aftermath of amnesia and reader and sukuna got back together. this is maybe a year or so to them getting back together. yuji loves his auntie!!! anyway, i hope you enjoy it. i had a lovely time writing it because this is what we deserved from gege!!! i love you all!!! thank you for your continued love <3

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── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──

IT WAS YOUR DAY OFF. And that was something you and Sukuna had agreed about in the early dawn of your relationship together. You wanted to get to know this man you fell in love with, and many years had passed since you both even got together after your amnesia. One of those days was today. With no work obligations today and Sukuna taking a break from managing his gym, the two of you had indulged in a much-needed cozy day. 

A lot of things would change. So, Ryomen Sukuna stepped up to the plate and took some time off to just have days to cherish your time together. 

Everything had been blissfully quiet, a rarity for both you and Sukuna. Like always on these days, you’d spent the morning wrapped in a warm blanket together, watching a movie you both had half-paid attention to, more engrossed in each other’s company than the plot unfolding on screen.

Ryomen Sukuna had his arm draped around your shoulders, his fingers lazily drawing patterns against your skin. Your boyfriend doesn’t sleep that much, but when he’s in his lazy days with you — he makes an effort to rest. You worry a lot for him, after all. And he doesn’t want to add more to those worries. Begrudgingly he does it, but it makes you happy. 

He expected to spend the day with you like this all day. And Sukuna was happy with that. He likes having time with you like this, just embracing each other’s warmth and talking over the bad television shows and ordering in if you don’t feel like getting up and making a meal together.

Life was great. This was his day in a life. Sukuna had dreamed of it for years since you parted. And now that you’re together again, it just all fell into place. Nothing could be better than this. And he adores it. 

But then Sukuna's phone rang, and you watched as his expression shifted from contentment to annoyance. He sighed, glancing at the caller ID — his twin brother, Itadori Jin. You looked at him curiously as he sighed.

Reluctantly, Sukuna answered, his voice gruff. "What’s up?"

You could only hear Jin’s voice faintly on the other end, speaking quickly. Sukuna’s face darkened as Jin explained the situation — some emergency at work that demanded his immediate attention.

Because of this, Kaori, Jin's wife, would have to go and pick up their eldest son Choso alone for vacation. They didn’t wanna agitate with a long drive, since Yuji is still a little boy. And with no one else to watch over their young son, Itadori Jin was left with only one option.

Ryomen Sukuna pinched the bridge of his nose, clearly frustrated. You could almost hear his internal mantra: ‘Don’t say it, don’t say it…’

But Jin, with his usual charm and desperation, finally got to the point. “Look, can you just babysit Yuji for a couple of days until we’re back? We don’t have anyone else.”

Sukuna opened his mouth, ready to protest, but before he could even get a word out, you grinned and cut in. "Oh, we'd love to! Right, Sukuna?"

Sukuna shot you a glare that was more pout than anything else. He looked betrayed, as if you had just handed him the world’s most inconvenient challenge. You couldn't help but bit your lip, trying to stop your laughter. He's always like this when it comes to his nephew. He likes to pretend that he doesn't like him and yet, he does. A lot.

For a moment, you think he was almost like a kitten who found his owner’s antics unpleasant. You felt the tension in his arm, the muscles flexing in silent rebellion. He’d been so ready to complain, to give a flat ‘no’ but your enthusiasm left him no room to argue.

Jin laughed on the other end. “Great! Thank you, sister in law! We’ll drop him off in an hour.”

As the call ended, Sukuna tossed his phone onto the couch with a dramatic sigh, leaning his head back and closing his eyes as if he’d just endured a great ordeal. “Really?” he muttered, a sulky undertone in his voice. "You had to say yes?"

You laughed softly and nudged him with your elbow. "Oh, come on, baby. It'll be fun! Besides, Yuji is adorable. Don't you think so?"

Sukuna opened one eye, giving you a side-eyed glance. "He’s a menace, that brat." he grumbled, but there was a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "A little gremlin in disguise."

You leaned closer, wrapping your arms around his waist and resting your head against his chest. "And I think you secretly like him." you teased.

He snorted, though his arm tightened around you instinctively. "Yeah, well, I like my peace and quiet more. ‘specially since I get my fill of you."

You blushed at his words. For a moment, you could feel his heartbeat beneath your cheek, steady and strong, and you knew he would complain, sulk, and groan about this for the next hour.

But you also knew, without a doubt, that he’d be the one sneaking Yuji cookies before dinner, making silly faces just to hear him giggle, and pretending to be indifferent even as he kept a protective eye on the kid. After all, he loved his little nephew. Even if he doesn’t say it out loud.

“Fine." Sukuna grumbled finally, his voice resigned but affectionate. "But don’t blame me if he decides to climb the walls or something.”

You smiled, planting a soft kiss on his jaw. "Deal." 

Sukuna’s sigh was heavy, dramatic, but there was no mistaking the way he leaned into your touch, accepting his fate with a grumpy fondness that only made you love him more.

── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──

day one

IN NO TIME, YOU WERE ALREADY PARKING. You watched as your boyfriend carefully looked at the space as he parks with precision. You liked being in the Itadori household. Somehow, you just felt the warmth of bing alive here. They treated you like family even when you and Sukuna haven't even married. And today was no different.

When you and Sukuna arrive at Jin and Kaori’s house, you could just feel how the sun shines brightly as you pull up to the driveway. Itadori Yuji is already waiting outside, a tiny bundle of energy with his little red backpack on, his face lighting up the moment he sees you. You barely have time to get out of the car before Yuji bolts over, throwing himself at you with an enthusiastic hug that nearly knocks you back.

“Auntie!” he squeals, wrapping his small arms around your legs.

Your heart melts instantly. "Hey, Yuji!" you greet him, scooping him up effortlessly and spinning him around in a playful circle. "I’ve missed you, little guy!"

Yuji giggles, clutching onto you tighter, his face buried in your shoulder. Over your shoulder, you see Sukuna standing by the car, arms crossed, his mouth set in a grumpy line. He doesn’t say anything, but you can feel the simmering annoyance rolling off him in waves.

You shoot him a playful smile. "Look, baby!" you tease. "He's already so attached!"

Sukuna rolls his eyes, but there’s no real malice in his expression. “Yeah, yeah.” he grumbles, though his lips twitch like he’s trying to hold back a smile. “Don't spoil him too much.”

You grin and bounce Yuji in your arms, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek. "How could I not? He's too cute. So precious too!”

Yuji beams up at you, clearly enjoying the attention. "Auntie, can we go to the playground?" he asks excitedly, his eyes wide and hopeful.

You look at him, amused. "Of course, we can, buddy! What do you want to do at the playground?"

Yuji's face lights up even more, if that was possible. "I wanna see my best friends! Nobara and Megumi! They’ll be there like usual!" he declares with all the seriousness a toddler can muster.

Sukuna lets out a low groan from behind you. “Great.” he mutters sarcastically. “Not only do we have to babysit the brat, but now we’re running a daycare service.”

You glance over at him with a laugh. "Come on, it'll be fun! Besides, it'll be nice to meet his little friends."

Sukuna sighs dramatically, but you catch the way his gaze softens just a fraction when he looks at Yuji. You know he would never admit it, but he has a soft spot for his nephew, even if he won’t say it out loud.

You set Yuji down, and he immediately takes your hand in his tiny one, his other hand reaching out to grab Sukuna's sleeve, tugging at him. "Uncle Sukuna, come on!"

Sukuna grunts, letting Yuji pull him along, his expression caught somewhere between annoyance and reluctant affection. “Alright, alright, brat….I’m coming.” he says, trying to sound grumpy but failing spectacularly.

You smile at the sight of them together and take Sukuna's other hand. "Looks like we're both in for an adventure, aren’t you?" you whisper.

Sukuna shoots you a look, but the corner of his mouth quirks up just slightly. "Yeah, sure. An adventure." he mutters, but you see the way his grip tightens around your hand.

Yuji swings between you two, his laughter bright and infectious as you make your way to the playground, where a day full of play, giggles, and unexpected joy awaits. You can’t help but think that he’s the purest thing in life.

The neighborhood playground is a colorful blur of swings, slides, and a few scattered benches where parents and caregivers chat while keeping an eye on their kids. You could pick up the sound of laughter filling the air from afar, and Yuji’s excitement is palpable as he practically vibrates with energy between you and Sukuna. He seems to love this place.

“Where are they?” Yuji asks, his head swiveling in every direction with tenderness, searching for his friends. “Where’s Nobara? Where’s Megumi?”

You crouch down to his level, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. “I’m sure they’ll be here soon, Yuji. Do you want to try the swings while we wait?”

Yuji nods eagerly. “Yes! Push me, Auntie!” He drags you over to the swings, his little legs moving as fast as they can. Sukuna trails behind, hands shoved into his pockets, doing his best to appear indifferent. But you catch him watching Yuji with a faint smile on his face when he thinks you aren’t looking.

You carefully lift Yuji into the swing, securing him before giving him a gentle push. Soon enough, his little fits of laughter fills the air, bright and pure, as he kicks his legs back and forth, asking for “Higher, higher!”

Sukuna leans against the swing set's metal frame, observing the scene with a mix of amusement and begrudging fondness. "Careful, babe." he warns, though his tone lacks any real bite. "Don't launch him into orbit."

You laugh softly. "Come on, he's having fun!" You give Yuji another push, his giggles ringing out as he soars through the air. "See, Sukuna? This is what a good day looks like."

Sukuna grunts, but there’s no hiding the faint smile tugging at his lips. “Sure, sure. I’ll take your word for it.”

Just then, a small voice calls out from behind you, full of excitement. “Yuji!”

You turn to see a little girl with a red bow in her hair running over, a boy with dark, serious eyes following at a more measured pace. Yuji’s face lights up even brighter. “Nobara! Megumi!” he shouts, waving his arms enthusiastically.

Nobara reaches you first, hands on her hips and a bright grin on her face. “Hey, Yuji! Hi!” She waves up at you, her bright grin was confident and charming. "Are you Yuji's auntie?"

You nod, charmed by her boldness. "I am! It's nice to meet you, Nobara. And you must be Megumi?" you say, looking over at the quiet boy who stands just a bit behind Nobara.

Megumi nods, his expression serious. “Hi.” he says quietly, his gaze shifting between you and Sukuna, assessing. He seemed like a weary kid, but you don’t blame him. 

Sukuna raises an eyebrow, clearly amused. “You two Yuji’s bodyguards or something?” he teases.

Nobara puffs out her chest, clearly taking it as an offense. “Huh?!  No we’re not! We’re his best friends!” she declares proudly. Megumi gives a small nod as he hides that almost imperceptible smile at her confidence. 

“Tch, brat—”

“That’s great!” You grinned at her. “Thank you for taking care of Yuji!”

Yuji hops off the swing, rushing over to grab his friends’ hands. “Let’s play!” he shouts, already pulling them toward the jungle gym.

You stand beside Sukuna, watching them run off with a fond smile. “See? Isn’t this nice?”

Sukuna grunts, though there’s no mistaking the soft expression on his face as he watches Yuji. “Yeah, yeah… maybe.” he mutters. “As long as nobody starts crying. Or falling and then crying.”

You laugh and nudge him playfully with your elbow. “Just admit it, you’re having a good time.”

He finally relents, sighing dramatically. “Fine, maybe it’s not that bad.” He turns his head slightly to look at you, a glint of affection in his eyes. “But only because you’re here.”

You feel a warm flutter in your chest at his words and lean closer, brushing a kiss against his cheek. “That’s the spirit, baby.” you tease softly.

As you both stand there, watching Yuji play with his friends, you feel a sense of contentment settle over you. It’s simple, this moment, but somehow perfect in its simplicity — surrounded by laughter, sun, and Sukuna’s reluctant but undeniable fondness for his nephew. And you were enjoying it all. Taking it all as it is. It was the perfect day.

Suddenly, Yuji runs back over, out of breath but beaming. “Auntie, Uncle! Can you come play too?” he asks, tugging at both of your hands with his small ones.

You glance at Sukuna, who looks momentarily caught off guard. But then, with a sigh and a half-smile, he bends down, ruffling Yuji's hair. “Alright, brat.” he says, his voice mock-gruff. “What do you want us to do?”

Yuji's eyes shine with excitement. "You can be the monsters, and we'll be the heroes!"

Sukuna raises an eyebrow. "Oh, I'm a monster now?" he grumbles, but you can tell he's already warming up to the idea.

You laugh, taking Yuji’s hand. “Okay, monsters it is. But you better run fast, heroes!”

With that, Yuji squeals in delight, dragging his friends back to the jungle gym as you and Sukuna pretend to chase after them. Sukuna might act like he’s reluctant, but you catch the way he’s smiling, truly smiling, and your heart feels impossibly full.

For now, there’s no place else you’d rather be. And you meant it.

── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──

day two

THE EXHAUSTION FROM YESTERDAY DIDN’T PREVENT YUJI FROM WANTING TO ENJOY TODAY. When the next day dawns with bright and clear skies, you could only think that it was the perfect weather for a trip to the zoo. Itadori Yuji was up early, bouncing with excitement, and his enthusiasm quickly became infectious. 

Even your boyfriend, who had initially grumbled about being dragged to a “smelly zoo” eventually caved in to his nephew Yuji’s pleas — especially after you flashed him a knowing smile and those eyes, reminding him how much this meant to his nephew. He couldn't deny you, no matter how much he tried. He grumbled loudly about it before finally saying yes. But you knew just as much that he was enjoying himself. 

You haven’t been in a zoo in a very long time, that much you could be honest about. Sukuna doesn’t seem to care for it either growing up. But you think that this was going to be great for Yuji. He adored animals. Even just seeing them on the television makes him happy and curious. It was his first time going and seeing animals like this, up close. And you just know that it would be such a great time for him.

As soon as you arrive, Yuji is practically vibrating with energy. He tugs at your hand and points at the map, his little face glowing with excitement. “Auntie, Uncle, can we see the lions first? And then the penguins! Oh, and the monkeys too!” he babbles, his words tumbling over each other in his eagerness.

You nod with a smile. “Of course, Yuji. We have all day to see everything!”

Sukuna shakes his head, hiding a grin. “Just try not to run off, brat.” he warns, ruffling Yuji’s hair. “We don’t want to be chasing after you like yesterday at the playground.”

Yuji beams up at him. “Okay, Uncle Sukuna! I’ll stay with you!”

You spend the morning moving from one exhibit to another, enjoying the wonder in Yuji’s eyes as he watches the animals with wide-eyed fascination. He claps excitedly at the lions, laughs at the playful monkeys, and insists on mimicking the penguins’ waddles, much to your amusement and Sukuna’s reluctant chuckles.

You take plenty of photos, capturing the joy on Yuji’s face and even getting a rare shot of Sukuna smiling genuinely, one arm slung casually around your shoulders as he watches Yuji with a fond, if exasperated, expression. You think that you’ll have fun looking through it and printing it out for the photo albums. You were sure Kaori and Jin would love to have some copies too.

By lunchtime, you settle down at a picnic table near the petting zoo area. You hand Yuji a juice box, and he takes it eagerly, swinging his legs and chattering non-stop about the animals he’s seen and what he wants to see next. You all carefully eat your lunches and just let the food settle down for a little while. Sukuna sat beside you, drinking a big glass of cola to try and cool off the heat.

“Auntie, Uncle, can we see the elephants next?” Yuji asks between sips, his face flushed with excitement.

You nod. “Absolutely. After we finish lunch, we’ll head over there.”

“That's on the other side of the zoo.” Sukuna points out to you.

You looked at your boyfriend with a small smile. “And guess what? We’re still going!”

Yuji grins and quickly finishes his juice, already standing up and tugging at your arm. “Okay, let’s go now!”

You laugh softly, but Sukuna gently pulls him back to the table. “Hey, slow down, kid. Let us finish our food first.”

Yuji pouts for a moment but eventually nods, bouncing on his toes while he waits. A few moments pass, and you’re almost done with your meal when a family nearby starts laughing loudly, drawing Yuji’s attention. Curious, he takes a few steps toward them, his bright almond eyes wide with interest.

“Yuji, stay close to us.” you remind him, keeping an eye on him as he moves closer to see what’s happening.

But as you turn to answer a question from Sukuna, just for a second, when you look back, Yuji is gone. Your heart drops to your stomach as your eyes open widely, your mouth shaking as you try to speak. You suddenly couldn’t speak and fright started to get to you.

“Yuji?” you call out, your voice a bit louder now, scanning the area. Panic begins to creep into your chest.

Your boyfriend Sukuna immediately stands up, his expression shifting from relaxed to alert in an instant. You can tell by the look in his eyes. He was just as panicked. 

“Where’d he go?” he asks, his voice tight with concern.

You feel a knot forming in your stomach as you look around frantically. “He was just here, babe…i just….”

Sukuna curses under his breath, his eyes scanning the crowded area with growing urgency. “Yuji!” he calls out, louder this time, his voice cutting through the chatter of the crowd.

You quickly weave through the nearby groups of people, calling Yuji's name, your heart racing. You could feel the knot of guilt in you. Your mind started to race with many thoughts. You could have looked after him better, you could have been more vigilant. You were the adult. How could you let this happen? Sukuna is right behind you, his hand protectively on your back as you search, his expression darkening with worry.

“He couldn't have gone far, babe.” you say, trying to keep the panic from your voice. “He’s probably just wandered off… right?”

Sukuna clenches his jaw, a determined look crossing his face. “Yeah, but we need to find him now.” he says firmly.

You both decided to split up, checking around the petting zoo and nearby exhibits. Your heart is pounding in your chest, and a dozen scenarios flash through your mind. But you push them aside, focusing on finding Yuji.

Minutes feel like hours as you weave through the crowds, your desperate voice growing hoarse from calling his name. Just as your heart is about to leap into full-blown panic, you hear a familiar, small voice.

“Auntie?”

You turn sharply and spot Itadori Yuji standing a few feet away, holding the hand of a zookeeper. Relief floods over you as you rush over, immediately dropping to your knees and wrapping your arms around him. You could feel like you were going to burst into tears just holding him like this. You were relieved. He was here. He was safe. He’s okay. You thank the gods above.

“Yuji! Thank goodness, you’re okay!” you say, your voice trembling with relief.

Yuji looks up at you with wide eyes, his lower lip trembling. “I’m sorry, Auntie. I just wanted to see the elephants…”

You hug him tighter, feeling your boyfriend’s presence beside you as he drops down to Yuji’s level, his expression stern but his eyes soft. He must have seen you both and ran over here as quickly as he could. He purses his lips int a tight line as he observed his nephew for injuries or bruises and even cuts.

“Brat, you scared us.” Sukuna says, ruffling Yuji’s hair more gently this time. “You have to stay close, got it? Don’t do that again.”

Yuji nods, tears brimming in his bright big eyes. “I’m sorry, Uncle Sukuna… I didn’t mean to…”

Sukuna’s expression softens completely, and he sighs, pulling Yuji into a hug. “Yeah, yeah, it’s okay, brat.” he mutters, his voice a little rough. “‘s not your fault, okay? Just….hold my hand next time.”

Yuji nods against his shoulder, and you reach over, brushing a tear from his cheek. “Come on, let’s go see those elephants, hmm? Together this time,” you say softly.

Yuji sniffles but nods, and you stand up, taking his hand. Sukuna rises too, keeping a protective arm around you both. “Yeah, together.” he agrees, his tone firm but warm.

You thank the zookeeper and solemnly leave, with Sukuna carrying Yuji in his arms still trying to comfort him. Your boyfriend pat his nephew’s back, stroking it over and over to comfort him. It broke your heart that Yuji was upset. But he was here. And he’ll be okay. That’s all that mattered to you. You knew just as much that Sukuna was the same.

The three of you head toward the elephant exhibit, Yuji keeps close between the two of you, his little hand gripping yours tightly, and Sukuna’s hand resting on his shoulder. Despite the scare, you feel a sense of calm wash over you, knowing that as long as you’re all together, everything will be alright. 

── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──

day three

THE SLEEP WAS ROUGH LAST NIGHT. You didn’t want to let go of Yuji in your sleep. He had ended up not wanting to leave your bed last night and slept with you and Sukuna in your bedroom. He still was anxious from being lost, you can’t help but think. And you don’t really blame him for it. Sukuna didn’t utter a word and just let it be, wrapping the covers on your bodies and went to close the night light.

Come morning, you wake up to the sound of muffled clinking and clattering coming from the kitchen. You couldn’t help but blink your eyes open, the early light filtering through the curtains. Beside you, Sukuna stirs, frowning slightly at the noise. 

“What’s that racket?” he grumbles, rubbing his eyes.

You sit up, listening closely. The noise continues — the unmistakable sound of plates and silverware being moved around, a chair being dragged across the floor. You glance at Sukuna, a smile tugging at your lips. “Sounds like our little guest is up to something.”

Sukuna narrows his eyes suspiciously. “That brat better not be doing anything dangerous in there.” he mutters, though there’s no real heat in his voice.

You both get out of bed and quietly make your way to the kitchen, peeking around the corner. There, in the middle of the kitchen, stands Yuji, a determined expression on his face as he tries to balance on a chair he's pushed against the counter.

His small hands are busy spreading a thick, uneven layer of butter on a piece of bread, followed by an enthusiastic dollop of jam. Nearby, a bowl of cereal overflows with milk, and a few spilled Cheerios are scattered across the counter.

Yuji mutters to himself under his breath, clearly focused on his task. “Okay, okay… just a little more…” He tips the milk carton a bit too far, and more milk splashes onto the counter. He gasps softly but quickly goes back to his sandwich-making, a look of concentration on his face.

You can’t help but smile, and Sukuna, despite his earlier grumbling, looks a bit amused too. “What’s he doing?” Sukuna whispers, leaning closer to you.

“I think… he’s making us breakfast, babe.” you whisper back, feeling your heart melt a little.

Before you can say anything, Yuji notices you both standing there. His eyes widen in surprise, but then he beams, his face lighting up with pride.

“Auntie! Uncle Sukuna!” he exclaims. “Good morning! I… I made you breakfast!” He gestures to the chaotic spread on the counter, looking so proud of himself that you can’t help but feel a swell of affection.

You step forward, giving him a warm smile. “Wow, Yuji! This looks… delicious!” you say, trying to sound as genuine as possible while suppressing a laugh at the mess.

Sukuna crosses his arms, one eyebrow raised, but there’s a soft look in his eyes. “Yeah, brat, you really outdid yourself.” he says with a small grin. “What’s the occasion?”

Yuji’s smile falters a little, and he looks down at his feet, shuffling nervously. “I… I wanted to say sorry for yesterday.” he mumbles. “I didn’t mean to make you worry… So I wanted to make you a special breakfast to make up for it.”

Your heart melts at his sincerity. You crouch down to his level and pull him into a gentle hug. “Oh, Yuji, you don’t have to do that for us.” you say softly. “We know you didn’t mean to worry us. We’re just happy you’re safe.”

Yuji hugs you back tightly, burying his face in your shoulder for a moment. “But I wanted to, Auntie!” he insists. “Because I love you and Uncle Sukuna… and I wanted to make you smile.”

Sukuna’s expression softens further, and he crouches down next to you, ruffling Yuji’s hair. “Hey, brat, you already made us feel relieved.” he says gruffly, though his voice is unusually gentle. “But I guess we should at least taste this fine meal you’ve prepared, huh?”

Yuji’s face lights up again, and he nods eagerly. “Yes! I made a sandwich and cereal! It’s my favorite!”

You and Sukuna exchange a glance, amused but touched by Yuji’s earnestness. You take a bite of the butter-and-jam sandwich, doing your best to keep a straight face as the unevenly spread butter melts on your tongue alongside a very generous layer of sweet jam.

“It’s… unique.” you say, giving Yuji a big smile. “Thank you, Yuji.”

Sukuna follows suit, picking up the cereal bowl and taking a careful sip of the overly milky concoction. “Mmm.” he says with a nod, holding back a chuckle. “Not bad, brat. Not bad at all.”

Yuji beams, clearly delighted by your reactions. “Yay! I’m glad you like it!” He claps his hands, his earlier nerves completely gone now.

You reach over and give Yuji another hug. “Thank you for being so thoughtful, Yuji.” you say warmly. “You’ve definitely made our morning.”

Sukuna nods, wrapping an arm around Yuji’s shoulders. “Yeah, brat….you’re alright.” he says, a rare softness in his tone. “But next time, let’s make breakfast together, okay? Might save a little bit of the kitchen from total destruction.”

Yuji giggles, nodding eagerly. “Okay, Uncle Sukuna! Next time, we’ll make pancakes!”

You smile, feeling a wave of warmth wash over you as you look at the two of them. Despite the mess, despite the unexpectedness of it all, you can’t think of a better way to start the day.

Later that morning, as you and Sukuna help Yuji clean up the kitchen — which now looks like it’s survived a mini tornado — your phone rings. You glance at the screen and see it’s Jin calling. You exchange a quick look with Sukuna, who’s wiping a smear of jam off the counter, and answer the call.

“Hey, Jin!” you greet him warmly, keeping an eye on Yuji, who is carefully stacking dishes in the sink. “How’s everything going?”

Jin’s voice comes through, sounding a bit tired but cheerful. “Hey! We’re wrapping up at work sooner than we thought. Kaori’s gonna arrive in a day or two. I just wanted to let you know I’m on my way back home. I should be there in a few hours.”

You feel a pang of mixed emotions — relief that Jin and Kaori are safe and on their way back, but also a little sadness knowing this means Yuji’s stay with you is coming to an end. “That’s great news, Jin.” you say, glancing at Yuji. “We’ve had such a fun time with Yuji, he’s been wonderful.”

Jin laughs. “I’m glad to hear that! I hope he wasn't too much trouble for you guys.”

Sukuna snorts softly, overhearing the conversation. “Trouble? That’s an understatement.” he mutters, though there’s a fondness in his voice that he doesn’t bother hiding.

You grin at Sukuna’s comment before turning your attention back to Jin. “No trouble at all.” you assure him. “Yuji’s been an absolute sweetheart.”

Jin sighs, a smile evident in his tone. “Thanks for looking after him. We’ll come to pick him up as soon as we get back.”

You hang up the phone and turn to Yuji, who’s watching you with wide, curious eyes. He tilts his head slightly. “Was that Daddy?” he asks, his little voice hopeful.

You nod, smiling gently. “Yes, Yuji. Your dad said he and your mom are on their way back. They’ll be here to pick you up soon.”

Yuji’s face falls, and his shoulders slump. “But… but I don’t wanna go home yet.” he murmurs, his lower lip jutting out in a pout. “I’m having so much fun with you and Uncle Sukuna…”

Sukuna raises an eyebrow, crossing his arms as he looks down at his nephew. “Oh, come on, brat.” he says, trying to sound stern but failing miserably. “You miss your parents, don’t you?”

Yuji frowns and shakes his head, his small hands clenching the hem of his shirt. “But I wanna stay here longer! We didn’t even make cookies yet!” he protests, looking between you and Sukuna with pleading eyes.

You kneel down to his level, brushing a strand of hair away from his face. “Yuji, we’ve had so much fun with you, and we’re going to miss you too.” you say softly. “But your mom and dad miss you too, and they can’t wait to see you.”

Yuji’s eyes welled up with tears, and he looked down, his voice barely a whisper. “I know… but I like being here… with you two.”

Sukuna sighs, his expression softening. He crouches down beside you, his hand resting on Yuji’s shoulder. “Hey, brat.” he says, his tone gentler now, “Just because you’re going home doesn’t mean we won’t see you again. We’ll have more fun days together, I promise.”

Yuji sniffles, wiping at his eyes with the back of his hand. “Really?”

“Really.” Sukuna confirms, ruffling his hair. “And next time, we’ll definitely make those cookies, huh? Maybe even chocolate chip ones. What do you say?”

Yuji’s face brightens a little, and he nods, his tears already forgotten at the mention of chocolate chip cookies. “Okay… but can we still go to the park one last time before I go home?”

You exchange a glance with Sukuna, and he rolls his eyes playfully. “Alright, one last trip to the park.” he concedes with a smirk. “But only because you already made us breakfast.”

Yuji grins, and you can’t help but smile too, your heart feeling full. “Let’s get ready, then.” you say, standing up and taking Yuji’s hand. “One more adventure before your parents come to get you.”

Yuji cheers, jumping up and down excitedly. “Yay! Let’s go!” he exclaims, all traces of sadness gone.

As you head out the door, you feel Sukuna’s hand slip into yours, giving it a light squeeze. “You’re good with him, you know? Thank you for that, babe.” he murmurs, a rare softness in his voice. 

You smile up at him. “Oh, you don’t have to thank me. You’re just as good with taking care of him, you know? Love that about you, babe.” you reply.

Sukuna couldn’t help but snorts but doesn’t disagree, a faint blush coloring his cheeks as he leads the way, Yuji’s laughter filling the air. And for now, that’s all that matters.

── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──

epilogue

Itadori Choso finally arrives home from college after a long drive. He was eager to spend some time with his little brother, Yuji. Being far gone in college, all he thinks about is when he’d get to play with his little brother. And he can’t wait. He steps into the house, dropping his bags by the door with a loud thud, and immediately calls out in front of his mother.

“Yuji! I’m back!”

Yuji, who has been doodling in the living room, perks up and runs over to greet him. “Big brother!” he shouts, throwing his arms around his older brother in a big hug. But no sooner has he hugged Choso than he starts babbling excitedly. “Guess what! I had the best time ever with Uncle Sukuna and Auntie!”

Choso’s smile wavers slightly, and he looks down at Yuji with a puzzled expression. “Oh, did you?” he asks, his tone laced with a bit of unease. “What did you do with them?”

Yuji’s eyes light up as he launches into a detailed recount of every moment spent with you and Sukuna, from the trip to the zoo to making breakfast and playing at the park. “And then Uncle Sukuna said we’ll make chocolate chip cookies next time! And Auntie said we could go to the beach too!”

Choso’s smile turns into a slightly forced grin as he listens, nodding along but feeling a twinge of jealousy in his chest. “Wow, sounds like you had… a lot of fun.” he says, trying to keep his voice light. “But hey, I’m back now, so we can have fun too, right? We can do all the things we used to do!”

Yuji’s face scrunches up in thought for a moment before he shrugs. “I guess…” he says, a bit too nonchalantly for Choso’s liking. “But Uncle Sukuna is really funny, and Auntie gives the best hugs. And we were going to make pancakes!”

Choso’s eye twitches slightly. “I can make cookies too, you know,” he says, sounding just a tad defensive. “I’ve been making them for you since forever, Yuji.”

Yuji nods, but he looks unconvinced. “Yeah, but… Uncle Sukuna flips them really high in the air. And Auntie says we can put as many chocolate chips as we want!”

Choso crosses his arms, his brow furrowing. “Oh, really?” he mutters. “Well, I bet Uncle Sukuna can’t make cookies shaped like dinosaurs like I can.” He puffs out his chest a little, feeling smug.

Yuji’s eyes widen for a second, but then he shrugs again. “Maybe!” he admits. “But Uncle Sukuna and Auntie took me to the zoo and the park, and we saw a real dinosaur—uh, I mean, a lizard that looked like one!”

Choso’s eyebrow twitches again, and he huffs. “Yeah, well, that’s cool and all, but I’m way cooler than Uncle Sukuna, right?” he says, trying to sound casual, but his voice pitches a little higher than usual.

Yuji tilts his head, considering this for a long, exaggerated moment. “Umm… I dunno…” he finally says, looking genuinely torn. “You’re both cool. But Uncle Sukuna can lift me with one arm! Can you do that?”

Choso frowns. “Of course, I can! I’m your big brother!” He scoops Yuji up in a single swift motion, lifting him high into the air. “See? I’m strong too!”

Yuji giggles, kicking his legs. “Okay, okay! You’re strong too, Choso!”

Choso sets him down with a triumphant grin, feeling like he’s finally won this little contest. “See? You don’t need Uncle Sukuna. You’ve got me.”

But then, just as Choso thinks he’s secured his place as Yuji’s favorite, you and Sukuna walk through the front door, having stopped by to return a forgotten toy. Yuji’s face lights up like a thousand-watt bulb. “Auntie! Uncle Sukuna!” he squeals, running over to you both.

Choso watches, deflated, as Yuji clings to your leg, babbling excitedly about your return. He turns to Sukuna, glaring a little. “So, you think you’re the cool uncle, huh?” he grumbles.

Sukuna smirks, crossing his arms with a cocky grin. “I don’t think, kid. I know.”

Choso rolls his eyes, muttering under his breath, “I knew I should’ve stayed home this semester…” 

You laugh, noticing Choso’s pout, and lean in conspiratorially. “Don’t worry, Choso.” you say with a wink. “There’s always room for many cool people in Yuji’s life.”

Choso sighs but manages a smile. “Yeah, yeah, I guess so.” he mutters, giving in with a playful eye roll. “But I’m still making those dinosaur cookies with him today.”

Yuji bounces up and down excitedly. “Dinosaur cookies with chocolate chips!” he exclaims, clearly enjoying this newfound competition for his affection.

Sukuna scoffs, grinning. “Game on, Choso. Game on.”

And with that, Choso knows his days of being Yuji’s favorite are numbered… but at least it’ll be fun trying to win back the title.

[lxnarphase]

GOOD MORNING, BABY

ᯓ ❤︎₊‧⁺...ft. : h. hiromi + k. shiu + r. sukuna + h. kinji + t. aoi

ᯓ ❤︎₊‧⁺...cw : somnophilia (pre-agreed on), thigh fucking, penetrative sex, pre-established relationship, dirty talk, praise and degradation, breeding kink, sukuna is a dickhead, shiu really loves his girl, hiromi loses his shit, aoi is a great boyfriend, it's just really fucking dirty im not sorry

ᯓ ❤︎₊‧⁺...synopsis : which jjk characters would fuck your thighs while you're sleeping bc they're horny but don't wanna wake you up !!

who does it to tease you ↴

✧ k. shiu ; he's slow, purposefully grinding right against your sex, his cock leaking precum all over your thighs when he pushes through them. shiu thinks it’s so fucking cute how you try to grind against nothing in your sleep, he can’t help but tease you a little bit, a little smirk on his face at all your reactions

“always makin' me do all the work, aren't ya? hm, got a pretty lil' pillow princess on my hands...” “your man had such a tough day, and your here all comfy and sweet, waiting for me t' touch you. tsk, should've come home sooner, didn't mean to leave my girl waiting." “god, always loved how damn soft you are, angel. mm, so so soft and warm, jus' for me. don't worry, i'll wake you up with my cock cummin' all over your pretty skin.”

✧ h. kinji ; to be fair, you caused this. you teased the poor man all day, and kinji knows he's getting you back when you telling him you're gonna take a nap, rubbing your hands against his chest while wearing nothing but his t-shirt. since you're soooo eager to tease, he had no issues with teasing you back.

“hm? going to pretend you sleep? c'mon, sweetheart, don’t you want to be fucked? you're so fuckin' cute when y'wanna try and be stubborn, hun." "i know you’re awake, i see your pretty eyes trying not to open. all you have to do is open them and i’ll stop fucking your thighs and fuck you instead.” “thaaat’s it, baby, tha's my girl. rubbing up against me while looking so pretty. let’s give you a reward, hm? gonna pop the tip in an' see how fast we can get ya to cry for the rest of it.”

who does it because they are desperate ↴

✧ h. hiromi ; there’s no knowing what caused him to snap, but hiromi comes home practically feral. it's hot, so hot as he quickly takes off all his clothes, uncaring about his expensive suit jacket on the floor. he’s been thinking about you ever since he left his office, thinking about every curve of your body, every sweet noise you’d make, and how delicious you sound saying his name.

“honey, wake up, please. ’m not fucking you until you wake up and look at me. you're not getting my cock til you look at me.” “beg? oh, no, no, no, pretty thing, no teasing and no playing around. the only one that’s going to beg is you, baby. now stop being a little brat and be good for me, yeah? don't wanna punish you, not when you look so cute right now." "how about i just fuck your thighs and, cum all on them? you want my cum to go to waste? or do you want to be fucked full of my cum like a good girl? make your fucking choice.”

who wakes you up ↴

✧ r. sukuna ; sukuna doesn’t even go to thigh fucking, he skips that. no, he’s grumpy his sleep was interrupted by the annoying rush of blood to his dick. so now, he's biting your thighs, sucking on them before going down on you, using his tongue and fingers to prep you lazily shoving his stupidly big cock inside you, humming when you moan yourself awake.

“look who's awake. took you long enough, I put so much effort into making you feel good before I shoved my dick inside ya. hey, don't smack my tits, brat, i'll bite your damn hand off.” “hm? you want me to move? mm. why should i? ...because i woke you up? tch...you're lucky you're s' fucking pretty or i'd just jerk off and cum all over your face.” "fuck, always take me in s' fuckin' good...i trained this cunt right, now she knows how t' handle my cock. 'member when you couldn't even take half of it in? look at you now, turned ya into my nasty little cockslut."

✧ t. aoi ; you fell asleep in aoi's lap, arms wrapped around his neck as you rested your head against his shoulder. the thigh fucking was supposed to happen, yes, but you were tired, opting out for cockwarming him as he watched whatever show he put on. but then you started squirming around, whining so cutely in your sleep. how could he not take care of his girl?

“oh, hiii, bunny...you’re finally awake? hey, shhh, shh, 's okay, i've got ya. feels real good, right? y'just sounded so cute, i couldn' help myself, pretty, you were squeezing me so tight.” “too slow? do you want me to go faster, darling? all you have to do is ask....heh, no, 'm not being mean! i just think you're cute all sleepy, is all.” “it’s hitting deep? yeah? maybe i should lift you higher and slam you down to see how deep i really can go.”

[starmapz]

(more) husband!sukuna modern/non-curse au sfw & nsfw headcanons. nsfw below the cut.

❦ cw ; mdni. 18+ only. f!reader. fluff. smut. oral (f! receiving). manhandling. doggy. toys (vibrator). bondage. degradation. fingering. rough sex. based loosely on my biker ryomen sukuna x biker female reader oneshot but can be read separately.

main masterlist || love & company masterlist

husband!sukuna who gradually grows more docile as you get older together, but it doesn’t mean he isn’t that same man who gets himself into trouble every once in a while. you still find yourself scolding him as you wrap his knuckles after a fight, sighing when he attempts to flirt his way through your obvious frustration with him. unfortunately for you, he thinks it’s hot when you scold him.

husband!sukuna who complains when you take him to concerts, but he’ll still lift you onto his shoulders to help you see over the crowd. if you bring him to a heavier genre of show, you might even catch a glimpse of a song he heard at the concert in his workout playlist.

husband!sukuna has a bad habit of spacing out. though it can be frustrating when he doesn't listen (and he does try his best, he’s actually pretty good at it), you have to give him a break because the reason he spaces out is usually because he’s admiring you.

husband!sukuna who can’t handle fighting with you. he’ll storm off and cool down but he won’t let you go to sleep angry. he’s aware he can be… difficult, to put it lightly, and regardless of how angry he is, he won’t let his own inability to communicate ruin the best thing to happen to him, his relationship with you.

husband!sukuna acts all high and mighty both around you and others but he would fall apart without you. if you go away for a work trip, expect near constant texts. of course, sukuna doesn’t do affectionate words, he won’t tell you he misses you, but you know. he’ll text you about the dumbest things just to have an excuse to text you. he’ll ask where the salt is, as though he doesn’t know and you’ll wait until you get back to tease him because you need to see his face when you do.

husband!sukuna loves to dish out constant teasing, but he hates when you tease him back. if you give him a hard time for his clingy texts, he’ll storm out of the room with a red face and avoid you until his blushing subsides. of course, he’s not really mad and you know that, he’s just embarrassed.

husband!sukuna knows you love to pester him with stupid questions and poke and prod at him for attention when he’s busy. he’ll hiss and growl and grumble through each and every irritating action, he’ll shove you away with a hand on your face and flick your forehead, but he never truly gets bothered by it. he knows your little irritating acts are done out of love.

husband!sukuna who, on very rare occasions, puts in the extra effort to be truly loving and dote on you. it usually coincides with a birthday or anniversary but he’ll get particularly soft and gentle, hands on your hips, peppering sweet kisses all over your face. he knows he isn’t the easiest man to love and makes that extra effort to show his love for you during these events.

husband!sukuna doesn’t get jealous. at least, that’s what he tells you, but you’d be a fool not to notice the way he gets possessive and quiet when others openly flirt with you in front of him. you can only imagine the glare they’re getting from the hulking man behind you.

husband!sukuna is an absolute menace when it comes to having his hands on you. at this point you aren’t even sure he’s doing it on purpose, his hands drift to inappropriate places no matter the setting. while he loves your hips and waist, he seems to mindlessly palm your ass, even right in front of your co-workers.

husband!sukuna despises chaste kisses. it’s all or nothing with this man, he will shove his tongue down your throat in front of all of your friends and there is absolutely nothing that can be done about it, lest you want him to be grumpy the rest of the night.

husband!sukuna who absolutely adores leaving hickeys and love bites on your skin. he doesn’t care that you have work, he adores the way they look on you and even more so he absolutely goes crazy for the way your face twists in pleasure when he marks your skin with them.

husband!sukuna can’t get enough of the sight of you in one of his muscle shirts. the way the arm holes give him a view of the swell of your breasts and your perky nipples show through the thin fabric? he’s practically drooling at the sight.

husband!sukuna is an absolute freak in the sheets and he revels in trying new things. if you suggest toys, he’s all over it. he’ll only buy the absolute best for his sweet wife though, anything less and he’s not interested.

husband!sukuna doesn’t beg. ever. he may have been practically groveling at your feet in hopes you would let him have control over a remote control vibrator in your panties in public but he absolutely refuses to let you say he begged for it. he claims he was just a bit pushier than usual when he asked. (he begged. he begged so much.)

husband!sukuna will talk you through your orgasm each and every time, spewing the dirtiest and nastiest things until he sees you’re close, then his words grow softer, telling you that you take him so well and practically purring that you’re a good girl.

husband!sukuna can’t get enough of your ass. he loves to fuck you from behind and palm your ass and he loves when you sit on his face. don’t kid yourself if you think he’s letting you have control though, he’ll still throw you around even when you’re on top of him.

husband!sukuna who loves to watch you suck on his fingers. he adores using his left middle and ring finger and watching you take his long fingers right up to his tattooed wedding band. it’s for the same reason that this man got really good at fingering you with his left hand.

husband!sukuna loves the nights where you let him tie you up. he adores the look of the expensive red ropes he bought just for you restraining you beneath him while that stupidly attractive tongue piercing slides through your folds. he lives to hear your whimpers and moans.

husband!sukuna who doesn’t let you out of his sight after sex. he won’t let you lift a finger. he’ll make a hot cup of tea to your liking to soothe your throat and run you a bath complete with a bath bomb and he’ll even massage your muscles, but under no circumstances will you be walking anywhere in his care.

main masterlist || love & company masterlist

❦ a/n ; this man is still living rent-free in my head. wanted to get a lil something out while on vacation! enjoy ♡

writing & format © starmapz. dividers © adornedwithlight and © cafekitsune.

[lovelybucky1]

Dress Up (Logan x Reader)

warnings: AFAB!reader, mutant!reader, age gap, consumption of alcohol, mentions of sex, mentions of corruption kink, 18+ minors dni

masterlist

To call it a schoolgirl crush would be an insult. You're not a schoolgirl anymore; you aged out of Xavier's program a couple years ago. However, you are still young and to anyone else, you'd look like an innocent young woman. To Logan, the object of your desires and your teammate, you're naive little girl.

You've been trying to get his attention for weeks. He's gruff and grumpy, but you know he has a good heart. He cares, just from a distance. He's not one for small talk and you feel like it's impossible to break the ice with him. You get it, he doesn't want to talk to some kid he has nothing in common with, but it still frustrates you.

You enlisted the help of Rogue to learn more about him. He likes to drink and smoke and to sit in brooding silence by the fireplace. All things you already knew. You were driving yourself crazy, thinking of ways to get close to him, and in a last-ditch effort, you decided to get a little bold.

You dressed up to the point where you didn't even recognize yourself. You did your hair, put on some dark makeup, a low-cut top, and rehearsed your lines in the mirror. You looked grown up. This should do the trick.

You find Logan at the counter in the kitchen with a glass and a bottle of amber liquid sitting in front of him. Taking a deep breath, you walk up beside him.

"Mind if I join you?" you ask.

Logan tilts his head slightly to look at you before returning his gaze to the middle-distance.

"Knock yourself out."

Wordlessly, you sit on the stool next to him. You're not sure if he feels awkward too, but the tension is suffocating. You reassure yourself that you can do this, and maybe a little liquid courage would help.

The bottle of whiskey sits between the two of you and you eye it nervously. You're not much of a drinker; Charles is pretty strict about stuff like that. Before you can talk yourself out of it, you grab the bottle and take a too-big mouthful. The taste is awful, it burns going down your throat, and you have to prevent yourself from gagging. Smooth.

"Woah," Logan says, turning to look at you with furrowed brows. "What's with you, kid?"

You don't really know what to say to that. "I'm head-over-heels, stupid in love with you and you won't give me the time of day?' Yeah, no thanks. Instead, you focus on how that word grates on you.

"I'm not a kid," you say, looking back at him.

"What?"

"I'm not a kid. I'm a legal adult," you clarify. Just to make a point, you take another swig from the bottle and instantly regret it.

Logan huffs a laugh. "And that means your all grown up, right?"

He's teasing you and you're not sure how to handle that.

"I am grown up," you insist.

"Sure you are. Is that why you put on this little costume?" he asks, his eyes flicking down to your exposed chest for a split second before returning to meet yours.

"It's not a costume," you say, not able to keep the slight whine out of your voice.

“You're a good girl. You shouldn't be sittin' here with me, dressed like that."

You look down at your lap, feeling silly for putting on this act that he clearly saw right through.

“I just wanted your attention,” you mutter.

“Trust me, you don’t want that.”

You look up at him with a pout on your lips that he can’t stop himself from looking at. “I do want it.”

“Doll,” he starts, and that pet name gives you butterflies. “You think I don’t notice you? You’ve had my attention for weeks, but nothing good would come from gettin’ involved with me.”

Your eyes widen at his confession.

“I don’t care what happens. I want you,” you whisper.

“You’re so young…” he says, matching your volume.

“You’re just an old man.”

Logan cracks a small smile at that, but it quickly falls into a more serious expression. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You can’t hurt me.”

“I’m sure I’d find a way,” he says.

You know he means it as a waring. A way to tell you to run the hell away from him as far as you can, but to your twisted brain, it makes you want him even more.

Feeling emboldened by his words, you slide off your stool and step close to him. Your chest is almost brushing against his as you stand between his spread thighs. He raises his eyebrows at you a bit.

"If we're gonna do this, no more of these little outfits," he says. "I like the good girl look on you better."

"Yes, sir," you mumble.

Logan makes a small growl in the back of his throat. "You're gonna be the death of me, ain't you, doll?"

"I hope not, old man," you giggle.

Logan possessively grabs ahold of your hips, his fingers gripping the soft flesh. "Can I kiss you?" he asks.

"Please, Logan."

He tugs you forward so your chest is leaned against his, and he kisses you hard and with passion, like he's held himself back from doing this for so long. It feels so good to kiss him, even better than you've imagined so many times before. It feels like the two of you kiss for hours, though it wasn't really more than a couple seconds.

When the kiss breaks, Logan is breathless. "Please tell me that wasn't your first kiss."

"It wasn't," you reassure, "but if this goes any further..." you look at him with a small smirk.

Logan growls again. "Of fuckin' course you're a virgin."

Despite being a mutant, Logan is still just a man. He only has so much self control, especially when being tested by a pretty young thing he can corrupt.

[trappolia]

SUNDAY IS FOR REST ── sunday x halovian!reader, 918

"do be careful, my dove," he murmurs as you straighten out the light feathers behind his ear.

"you haven't preened yourself in a while, have you?" your voice is soft, a hint of chiding to it that makes his heart flutter — there's a groggy rasp to your tone as well, having just stirred from your own dreams. sunday dares not look back at you, for there is a sweet domesticity to be found in the impression of rumpled bedsheets against your cheek and the heavy-lidded eyelids that make it known that you would love nothing more than to go back to sleep — proper sleep.

a hum resonates in sunday's chest as he allows himself to be fully immersed in the moment; early morning, messy hair and feathers, the sleepy press of lip against lip. his head tilts to the side, allowing greater access for you to tidy the feathers in question.

"you are correct. there's no need for me to do such preening in the dreamscape, though i prefer it when you offer your generous help," he replies, a mix of contentment and fondness pervading his voice.

"i'll help you only if you stay still," you grumble. your hands, which were straightening out his feathers, are now hovering just above them as sunday tries very hard not to shift in place again.

he cannot help it, truly. it is not just the factor that sunday is unused to, well, anyone touching something as intimate as his halovian wings, but also the fact that the slightest brush of your skin against his is a sensation like no other.

not that he would ever tell you, of course.

sunday nods, a silent affirmation that he will try his best to remain still, although a trace of a smile dances upon his lips. as you resume tending to his wings, each brush of your fingers brings a newfound appreciation for the sensation of your touch. he can feel the slight tingle, akin to electricity, every time your skin makes contact with his wings.

"my apologies," he murmurs, a chuckle slipping past his lips — as if he is not willing his chest to rise and fall rhythmically, having to manually breathe under your intimate ministrations. "i shall endeavour my utmost to be an inanimate statue. your wish is my command."

"haha," you say dryly.

in spite of your tone, sunday cannot help but chuckle at your jest. a cruel man he is, to find amusement in your grumpiness in the early morn. your nimble fingers gently untangle his feathers, and the sensation is a mix of tingles and warmth that spread across his wings. the act of having someone, especially someone he holds in such high esteem, tend to these parts of him that are reserved for only the most intimate moments is endearing, to say the least.

as you work, your movements deliberate and precise, your lover muses softly, "only you could make tending to feathers feel like a luxury."

"it is a luxury when you are not the one doing it yourself," you huff, hands moving around with practiced ease: smoothing a feather here, tugging a broken one out there.

sunday's chest rumbles with barely suppressed laughter at your huff of annoyance, but he remains true to his word and does all he can to keep still. his skin feels electrified with each brush of your touch, even more potent than before, and he wonders idly if it's because he's aware of how much effort you're taking in taking care of him. he is always the one caring and fussing, rather than being cared for and fussed over. it is strange, for the tables to be turnt. strange, had it been anyone else but you.

"perhaps," he manages to say between bouts of laughter, reaching back to catch one of your wrists and presses a chaste kiss upon it. "we could make a habit of this."

"is it truly proper of the head of the oak family to make a habit of keeping himself less than pristine?" you murmur.

how embarrassing; the passing thought occurs to sunday at your words. indeed, it is unbecoming for him, who stands at a position of such power and authority, to be so unkempt, so careless around you. it feels… freeing.

and so his response is a gentle tug upon your wrist, guiding your arms to wrap around his shoulders and link with his fingers. with a smile full of affection and a touch of teasing, he gently brushes his thumb over the tender flesh between your thumb and forefinger.

"i am simply indulging in the pleasure of being cared for," he answers in that same gentle rumble. "and if that means i am a tad bit less than pristine as a result, so be it."

"i suppose so," you hum, and from where sunday sits in between your legs, he feels you lean forward, hooking your chin over his shoulder. your own wings tickle his cheek, like a lover's kiss in the early morning. "preen me next?"

a low rumble resonates somewhere deep in his chest at the feeling of your breath against his neck. the closeness you've allowed between you is not something sunday takes lightly, and he relishes in it with every beat of his heart.

"with pleasure," he answers, unable to help the upwards tug of his lips as he squeezes your palms.

"let me take care of you, my dove — as you do to me."

© trappolia 2024

[liliacamethyst]

Web of Shadow and Light (Part III)

Sequel to Webs of Fate

Miguel O'Hara x SpiderSun Reader

words: 5.2 K

warnings: secret pregnancy trope, swearing, angst, heartbreak, grumpy/sunshine

Part I Part II Part III

The Spider-HQ echo with an unsettling symphony - a child's piercing cries and the hushed whispers of concern from some of the multiverse's bravest Spider heroes. They stand clustered around the smallest yet most powerful disturbance they've ever encountered - a baby boy. His wails have been echoing through the HQ since Miguel left the room, leaving the baby and dozens of Spider-man behind. Each cry is a call for help that pulls at their hearts, demanding attention, challenging their patience.

After much deliberation and coaxing from the rest, Miguel gave his team an ultimatum - they have until dawn to find an alternative solution, before Gabriel has to be eliminated, before the universe collapses on itself. His voice was a cold whisper when he spoke, "Figure out another way by tomorrow morning, or..." Nobody dares to complete the sentence, not even Miguel, the unsaid words hanging heavily in the air. And with that Miguel was gone, and the baby immediately started wailing and hasn’t stopped since.

Now Gwen, with her brows knitted in worry, rocks the baby with desperate gentleness. Her blue eyes are bright with unshed tears, a look of sheer helplessness painting her usually confident face. Beside her Peter B. is attempting to cheer Gabriel up but his efforts as pointless as they are endearing. The usually funny and charming Peter B seems to be losing a battle of wits with a one-year-old. It would've been humorous, had the situation been any different.

The sight of the little baby boy weeping his heart out, oblivious to the chaos his presence is causing tugs at their hearts, binding them in a collective resolution - they must protect this child. The shadows and the light, entwined in this web they’ve all been thrown into. And the clock is ticking.

Hobie scoops up the little boy, cradling him close in an attempt to soothe his relentless tears. "See, the cow says muhhhhh," he coos. His tiny cries falter, curiosity momentarily replacing distress. He gazes at Hobie with wide eyes, intrigued by the cool looking man. "And the butterfly," Hobie pauses dramatically, "well, the butterfly don’t say nothin’." He continues his little game, while rocking the baby gently in his arms. "And the pig says-"

 Miles chimes in with an eager grin, "Oink, Oink."

"Nah, bruv," Hobie laughs. “The pig says, ‘You have the right to remain silent!’”

Gabriel’s face scrunches up, and the waterworks start again. Hobie chuckles, "Fair enough, little fella. Cops make me wanna cry too."

Meanwhile Jessica Drew, clad in her black and white Spider-Woman outfit, her dark locks cascading around her shoulders, is leaning against the doorframe, half entering the room, her eyebrows raised. "Well? I assume he didn’t stop crying?“

Beside her Peter B.  with his shaggy brown hair and five o’ clock beard just shakes his head. 

“This is nuts. Nothing, and I mean NOTHING is working.“ Gwen states.

In the background, the cries of baby Gabriel cotinue, little fists flailing as he continued his tantrum. Jessica, arching an eyebrow, comments, “He’s still going at it?”

Hobie Brown, just gives her a quick nod. “Oh yeah, the kid has got a set of lungs.”

Suddenly, Pavitr Prabhakar, yelps as a makeshift toy, made out of wood and spiderwebs, hit him square in the forehead. "Ow! And one hell of arm throw."

Methodically, Jessica starts running through a mental checklist. “Diaper?”

Peter B. Parker nods. “Clean.”

“Food?” Jessica glances at Miles who holds a baby food jar and a bent spoon.

Miles, in his black and red suit, shrugs. “Kept smacking the spoon out my hand.”

“Nap?” Jessica's questions further.

The entire room answer in unison, clearly frustrated “Literally the first thing we tried.”

Pavitr smirkes at them. “Jinx.” But his joke is short-lived as Gabriels screams become even louder.

Gwen, then takes charge, “Ok, we have to do something,” her eyes flicking around the room with determination. She points to Jess, “You have to talk to Miguel. You’ve been around him the longest, maybe you can get through to him.”

Jess looks hesitant but nods.

“And Peter,” Gwen turns to Peter B who’s still juggling items in his hands, to entertain the baby and stop his crying. “Get Mayday’s toys. Maybe the baby’s just bored.”

Peter gives a thumbs up. “You got it, boss.”

“And Pav, Hobie,” Gwen instructs, her voice steady. “You need to rally the other Spider-people. We need everyone on board to protect this little guy.”

“Margo, you’re with me, girl. We are  paying our old friend Lyla a little  surprise visit. Something’s a little fishy with her.” Margo nods eagerly. 

As everyone scatters into action, Miles stands there, looking slightly lost and raising his hands. "Hey, guys, you forgot about me! What am I supposed to do? How can I help?" he calls out to the rapidly moving group.

Pav whirls around and points at Miles, "You, take care of the little guy, newbie," he says, as Hobie thrusts the still crying baby into Miles' arms.

"Great," Miles grumbles, balancing Gabriel on his hip and looking down at the squirming bundle of tears.

 He starts to bounce up and down gently, trying to imitate what he's seen in movies. The baby continues to cry, unfazed by Miles' efforts.

“Alright buddy, let’s figure this out together. I can swing through New York, so how hard can babysitting be?” Miles whispers to the baby.

Hours drag on and Gabriel's relentless cries continue to echo through the HQ. Despite his earnest attempts, Miles, armed with only his spider powers and limited babysitting experience, is unsuccessful in calming the baby. He’s tried everything he can think of – makinf funny faces, telling funny stories in a soothing tone, gently swinging him back and forth with his web-slinging skills, and even humming a little tune (it was Humble by Kendrick Lamar, but the thought counts, right?). At one point, he even tried to entertain the baby by creating animals out of webbing, but that didn’t work either. The baby is relentless, and his cries only seem to get louder. 

In the meantime in Miguel’s office, the echoing cries penetrate through the walls. Migel is sitting behind his desk looking at some documents, while Jess stands in front of him.

“Please, Miguel, it’s a baby boy. How did you imagine doing this, huh?” Jess exclaims, her voice rising. “Did you plan to build some sort of machine to just vaporize him? Or did you think of strangling him with your own bare hands? I know you’re not a monster.” But Miguel's face remains stoic, his eyes never leaving the papers on his desk.

“And look,” Jess continues, pointing vaguely in the direction of where the baby’s cries are coming from, “this baby is already older, and nothing has collapsed yet. The universe is still here.”

“I can’t risk any more lives, Jess,”Miguel responds coldly, finally looking up at her.

“But what if there is another way? We haven’t even tried everything. We have brilliant minds here. Let’s...let’s figure something out that doesn’t involve.. that,” Jess pleads, her voice softening.

Miguel looks at her for a long moment but his expression remains unreadable. The cries of the baby continue to fill the air.

Jess then turns her gaze towards Lyla, , who is stationed nearby, her holographic interface flickering with data. “Lyla, what are the kid’s powers? Run a genetics test, a DNA test. We need something to work with.” 

Lyla’s synthetic voice answers in an eerily calm tone, "I have already processed the genetic information, Jessica. Thanks very much, genius. As per my findings, the child’s power attributes remain undefined. In regards to the DNA test..."

Lyla hesitates just a fraction of a second, but enough for Miguel to notice. It's an unexpected response from an AI that's programmed to be efficient and direct. A strange tingle rises within him but he pushes it aside, refocusing on the matter at hand.

“is inconclusive.” Jess squints at Lyla. “Inconclusive? What do you mean? Is he an anomaly or not?”

“He’s an anomaly, certainly. However, the DNA analysis is...complicated,” Lyla maintains her composed tone. “Complicated how?” Jess presses on. “Just...unfamiliar and intermingled genetic markers,” Lyla responds vaguely. “The child is an enigma.”

"Miguel, please" she continues, turning back to Miguel, clearly frustrated with Lyla's vague responses that are not helping her case. Her tone is still serious, "this isn't some variation of a monster, this is a baby."

For a moment, Miguel’s gaze flickers, his usual icy aura briefly wavering. "It doesn't matter," he finally grunts, closing his eyes as if to physically shut out the argument. Jessica's voice turns unexpectedly brittle. "I didn't join the Society to kill innocent kids."

Miguel clenches his jaw hard. "We do what we have to do for the greater good. No exceptions." Jessica takes a deep breath, her next words coming out almost in a whisper. "What if there was my Gerald or a version of your-" she begins, but is quickly cut off.

"DON’T. Don't even go there, Jessica" Miguel growls, his hand forming into a tight fist. "And why the hell is it still crying?"

Jessica's gaze softens slightly. "That child, that little boy, probably misses his parents. Parents who are going through hell right now, searching for their baby." Miguel's fist tightens further, a spark of something, maybe regret, guilt,  flashing in his eyes. Jessica presses on trying one last time to convince him. "He was found in 586, right? Maybe we can reconnect with Su-" 

"No," Miguel interrupts sharply, his voice a final command. “Until tomorrow morning, Jess,” he finally says in a low voice, putting an end to Jess’ outburst. “That’s all. You can leave now.” 

There’s a heavy silence, where the only sound is Gabriel’s distant crying.

Jessica looks at Miguel, her gaze piercing. "Think about what you’re doing, Miguel," she whispers and leaves the room, closing the door softly behind her.

In the heart of the HQ, Margo sifts through the labyrinth of Lyla's concealed data. She uncovers a file that captures her attention – the baby's DNA results. "There you are," she mutters to herself, an air of triumph in her voice. As she opens the file, her eyes widen in disbelief, "Oh no…“

"What is it, Margo?" Gwen asks making her way over to Margo.

Margo's voice trembles slightly. "So, while looking through the hidden data, I found the baby's... there was a parental match."

Gwen's heart skips a beat. “I knew something was was off with Lyla. Of course she knows more. Well, who are the little guy's parents?"

Margo hesitates, then blurts out, "Miguel and Sunny."

Gwen stops dead in her tracks, her mind reeling. "I'm sorry, can you repeat that?"

"The baby's mother is Sunny, and the father is Miguel," Margo reiterates, her voice steady.

Gwen eyes widen. "But... are you sure? I know Sunny's baby. I was there when baby Gabriel was born!“

"Yes, I'm sure. There were two parental matches for the baby in the spider DNA logs:Sun Spider and Spider-Man 2099. When was the last time you saw the baby, Gwen? Babies change quickly at that age." Margo confirms. 

"Miguel and Sunny? That's not possible... how have we never noticed that there's something going on between those two?" Gwen's mind whirls with confusion.

"Oh, I noticed," Margo's voice holds a hint of smugness, "The way he was sneaking into her room at night? And the way he looked at her every time she set foot in a room, like a lovesick puppy. It was adorable. Wait, nobody else noticed?"

Gwen splutters, taken aback, "What? No, I... well, he's all 'we need to sacrifice ourselves to protect the multiverse. No more traveling for fun'" she imitates Miguel's voice with a teasing lilt, then she adds, "And Sunnys is literally the personification of a warm embrace."

Gwen's mind whirls but she continues, “ Woah, okay lets focus on the important part. I mean, I knew something was wrong with Lyla, but why... why would she do that?"  

"There's more, Gwen," Margo says, her voice shaking slightly. "I found another thing in her data. It's... it's about how she's processing information."

Gwen frowns, "What do you mean?"

Margo takes a deep breath before explaining, "In simple terms, Lyla's been teaching herself new things. She's changing, growing beyond her original programming. Her code is self-evolving."

"And the data about the baby?" Gwen asks, her voice barely above a whisper.

Margo sighs, "She's been... twisting it, making the baby seem more dangerous than it actually is."

Gwen's mind reels with this new information, the world around her seeming to tilt. "But why?" she finally manages to ask. "Why would Lyla do this?"

"I don't know, Gwen," Margo admits. "But we need to find out and warn Miguel. And soon."

Meanwhile in Miguels office, the wailing becomes louder, almost as if piercing through the walls, trying to reach something, or someone. Miguel's face betrays his discomfort, as if the cries are tugging at his walls around his heart. There's a weight on his chest, something unidentifiable that makes it hard to breathe.

Suddenly Lyla’s holographic interface hums. She begins to show the outline various strategies for eliminating the child. Her voice, analtytic but almost cheerful, fills the room. “So, we could create a temporal displacement field, effectively erasing the child from existence. Or perhaps expose him to a slow-acting molecular destabilizer..." 

 "Based on the trial," she continues unfazed by Miguel’s lack of response. "the device should work as intended, wiping out any of its DNA and trace. Be like the anomaly never existed." There's a hint of satisfaction in her words.

Miguel, until now staring blankly at the wall, finally turns towards Lyla, his complexion pale and his eyes wide.

His insides twist painfully, the mere idea of bringing harm to this innocent child becoming now unbearable.

“Stop,” Miguel chokes out.

“Apologies, Miguel. We must consider all options for preserving the multiverse. You out of all people should know that,”Lyla retorts.

But something within Miguel snaps. His ice-cold distant facade crumbles. Rising abruptly, his chair clatters loudly onto the floor.

Without saying another word, he strides out of his office. “Miguel? Are you listening? Where are you going?” Lyla calls after him, but her words are unanswered in the empty room.

Walking down the hallway, Miguel slows down as he passes the room where the infant's cries come from. He pauses when he hears Miles' pleas inside.

“Little dude, if you stop crying promise I’ll get you some cool kicks. Maybe some baby Jordans? Please, please just stop crying,” Miles pleads, his voice sounding desperate and utterly exhausted.

After a moment hesitation, Miguel pushes open the door and steps into the room. His gaze, sterner than ever, as he takes in the scene: Miles looking near defeat, his energy spent trying to soothe the wailing child, his spider suit rumpled and hair disheveled.

"Enough," Miguel comms sharply.

Miles looks up from where he's been pacing with the baby, his eyes wide like he's just been caught stealing cookies from a jar. “You,” Miguel points at Miles, who is holding the still-crying baby. His voice booms with authority. “Put him down”

Miles, slightly dumbfounded, obeys and carefully lays the child down on his makeshift bed. “I need you to return to Earth 586. Get some of his belongings - toys, blankets, anything you can find," he orders, his tone leaving no room for argument.

"But Miguel--" Miles startsbut gets cut off immediately.

"Now," he says, his red eyes flashing dangerously. Miles opens the portal hastily and disspears to your universe.

The crying has subsided to whimpers, and Miguel finds himself kneeling next to the little one, who reaches out for him. As if on autopilot, Miguel’s hands scoop him up abruptly from the bed.

"Quiet, niño. "Miguel growls at him with a  low and threatening tone. "I could just... do it right now." His irritation gets the better of him, and he bares his fangs at the little one. This sight shocks Gabriel into silence for a moment, his big, teary eyes widening at the sight. 

But then, to Miguel's surprise, the baby breaks into a fit of giggles, the sound infectious and joyous.

Gabriel suddenly mimics Miguel, baring his own little teeth – two tiny milk teeth and the beginnings of baby fangs peeking from his gums, causing Miguel to stiffen in shock.

Caught off guard Miguel's hold slips and Gabriel lands back on the web-shaped bed with a bounce. The baby's laughter ends abruptly and is replaced once more with tears and cries.

Still in shock, Miguel stumbles back a step, but Gabriel's cries soon pull him back into the present. With a sigh, he picks up the little boy yet again andGabriel immediately snuggles into the crook of Miguel’s neck, his tiny arms winding tightly around his throat.  Miguel swallows hard, unsure of what to do next. 

Then, almost instinctively, he starts to hum a tune he thought he'd long forgotten. "Tú eres mi sol de la mañana, el sol que brilla..." His voice is barely audible, the words shaky. Gabriel's little body relaxes against him, a content sigh escaping his lips followed by a quiet yawn. He nuzzles closer to Miguel, his tiny breaths falling into sync with the rhythm of the song. "...alegra todo, mi corazón," Miguel coninues softly, his mind flooding with memories. He sees a bright, lively girl with the same curious eyes as the boy in his arms. 

"Daddy," Gabriella asks, her large eyes bright with curiosity as she looks up at him, "why do you call me your morning sun? I'm not yellow."

Miguel chuckles at her innocence, his fingers gently tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. He cradles her against his chest, looking into those eyes so full of wonder. "No, mija" he replies, his voice soft with affection "you're not yellow but you are my sunshine."

"But why?" She wrinkles her little nose, her childish curiosity making Miguel's heart fill up with love.

"Because, mijita," he begins, pressing a gentle kiss to her temple, "just like the sun, you light up my world. You chase away the darkness with your laughter and your love. You are warmth, you are joy, and just like the morning sun, you are a new beginning, a promise of a brighter day." 

Gabriella blinks up at him, her lips curving into a small, and she hides her smile in the crook of his neck. "I like that, Papi," she whispers, "Sing the song again, please?"

“brilla, conmigo, brilla que brilla, alegrandome esta cancion. Tu eres mi sol de la manana…“

Eyes closed, Miguel draws Gabriel unconsciously closer, his heart full, and for the first time he’s feeling a sense of contentment he hasn't experienced in years. 

The moment is shattered by the sound of a throat being cleared, pulling him abruptly out of his peaceful trance.

Peter B is standing in the doorway, arms loaded with various dolls. "Wow, he's finally asleep," he remarks, looking between Miguel and the now sleeping Gabriel with a relieved smile. "I was starting to think that was impossible." 

Without responding, or even sparing a glance in Peter's direction, Miguel turns away from the door and heads to the bed. He gently places the sleeping toddler down, pulling a small blanket over him. Once he's confident that Gabriel is settled, Miguel quietly leaves the room, his demeanor as frosty and aloof as ever, making no acknowledgment of Peter's presence. 

Peter B is quick on his feet, rushing after Miguel. "I brought him toys from Mayday," he blurts out. "She won't miss them. She's not too good at sharing, but I guess she won’t mind in this case."

Miguel continues his stride, not giving Peter so much as a backward glance. "Que maravilla," he mutters under his breath, his tone dripping with sarcasm. Ignoring the dismissal, Peter B. reaches out and places a hand on Miguel's arm, stopping him in his tracks. Miguel raises an eyebrow and glances back at him half-heartedly, clearly not interested in a conversation.

Peter takes a moment, his gaze intensifying. "Hey, boss," he begins, his voice shaky yet determined. "We can't let anything happen to this boy, right?" 

At Peter's words, Miguel closes his eyes and takes a deep, steadying breath.

Back on Earth 586, you're in the throes of a meltdown. Your little boy, Gabriel, is nowhere to be found. You've scoured the whole city of Nea Yorkey, every nook and cranny you can think of, but there's no trace of him anywhere. Desperation gnaws at your insides, and fury bubbles up, hot and fierce. Your mind is in turmoil, swirling with anger and fear, clouding your ability to think straight. One thing is crystal clear though: whoever dared to touch your child will pay dearly for their actions.

You're frantically trying to find a way to contact anyone from the Spider Society, while simultaneously considering every possible avenue to traverse the multiverse yourself. Alchemax - the multinational conglomerate known for its cutting-edge research and technological advancements - seems to be your only hope. As you're about to make your way there, a sound from Gabriel's room stops you in your tracks.

Your Spider senses, already on high alert due to the unexpected circumstances, seem to kick into overdrive. Every instinct within you screams that something is about to happen. Your heart pounds in your chest like a wild drum as you slowly approach the room.

Meanwhile, in Gabriel's room, Miles is having his own share of troubles. In his haste, he stumbles over a toy car that starts making an assortment of noises and brightly lit animations. "Ah, this stupid toy!" he curses under his breath.

A thought suddenly crosses his mind and he wonders aloud, "Wait, does he need a blanket?" Just as he's about to reach for a small bunny stuffed animal that lay discarded on the floor, an intense blast of sonic energy sweeps across the room.

Caught by surprise, Miles finds himself flung across the room, his back hitting the wall with a thud. Before he can even let out a gasp, a spider web shoots out, pinning him securely against the wall. There he hangs, suspended, his eyes wide with shock and confusion. His breath comes in shallow gasps as he attempts to comprehend what just happened. Well its safe to say he didn’t saw that coming.

Miles, still stuck against the wall, manages to blurt out, "Who are you?"

"Who am I?" you echo, incredulity lacing your tone. "You break into my son's room and ask me whoI am?"

Your mind races as Miles stammers, "Wait, your son's room? Wait, are you...are you a Spider-person aswell?"

Ignoring his question, you stride towards him, an aura of threat radiating off you. "Stop talking!" you command, "I ask the questions!" In your hand, a ball of solar energy forms, crackling with power and casting a glow across the room.

"Why are you here? Where is my son?" The words are more of a growl than a question, the motherly instincts in you sending waves of danger rippling across the room. "Your son is okay, please don't hurt me!" Miles pleads with a shaky fear laced voice.

Squirmy and visibly frightened, Miles stammers out his confession, "We-we took him...it was our mission... He's an anomaly...we needed to get him out of this universe, send him to his own, so it wouldn’t collapse and interfere with the multiverse...but he doesn't have one, and I'm so sorry..."

His voice dwindles to a murmur, words tumbling over one another in his haste. Amidst his ramblings, your icy inquiry slices through like a blade, "Who instructed you?"

A sharp wince contorts his face, betraying his fear. "Our boss..." he starts, his voice barely above a whisper, "Miguel... Miguel O'Hara."

The energy in your hand dissipates, leaving only shock in its place. It's almost too much to take in - the idea that Miguel, your Miguel, could have done something like this. "He's okay, we... we didn't know he was the son of a Spider-woman. I'm Miles Morales, by the way." he introduces himself, attempting to inject some normalcy into the situation.

"I'm Spider-Sun," you respond automatically, your voice sounding distant to your own ears.

"Wait … you?" Miles' eyes widen in recognition. "You're Sunny?" When you give a numb nod in response, he continues, "You look more like 'Stormy' if you ask me." Your gaze snaps to Miles, the intensity of your death glare immediately silencing his attempt at humour. "Sorry, sorry," he stammers, raising his hands in surrender. "I just...I've heard Gwen and Peter talk about you."

"They never stop talking about you," Miles continues, trying to regain his composure. "They always say you have such a radiant personality and how much they miss you. They take care of your son, don’t worry. Hes safe for now.” 

"What do you mean he's safe 'for now'?" you cut him off abruptly, your voice cold and hard. Miles gulps nervously before responding.

"Eh...we have until morning to find a solution for this...anomaly," he stammers. You interrupt him, seething with a fury that makes him cringe. "My son's name is Gabriel. He is not an 'anomaly'," you spit out the words like they are poison, hating the way they make your sweet little boy sound like some kind of mistake.

"Eh, yes, for Gabriel," Miles corrects hastily, "because, eh... if we don't find an alternative, they need to, eh...eliminate..." He trails off, speaking so quickly and softly that you almost don't catch his last word.

"ELIMINATE?????" You scream and for a split second, Miles is sure he sees your eyes blaze with a terrifying, luminating light. 

"We can stop them. We can talk to them and say it's your son," Miles says quickly, desperately hoping to calm you.

"I don't talk. Bring me to my son," you demand. Without wasting another moment, you order him to open the portal. "Y-yes, right away, Sunn... eh, Mrs. Sun, eh... Ma'am," he stammers, visibly trembling under your steely gaze.

 It takes him two shaky attempts before he manages to successfully open the portal, his hands still unsteady from the encounter.

Back at the headquarters, Peter chases after Miguel into his office. "Boss, all I'm saying is, what if Lyla is wrong?"

Miguel is pinching the bridge of his nose, a deep sigh escaping his lips. The weight of the situation is quickly becoming too overwhelming and he feels himself teetering dangerously close to his breaking point.

Just at that moment, Gwen, Pav, Margo and Hobie burst into the office, their faces set withdetermination. "Miguel, there’s something you need to know.  Please hear us out. Margo and I, we found something.Lyla is - ," Gwen starts but Miguel is quick to silence her with a raised hand.

Just as Miguel is about to speak, the lights flicker, casting an ominous glow throughout the room. Hobie looks around nervously. "Is that eh...normal?"

Peter quirks an eyebrow. "Did you forget to pay the electricity bill?" 

The lights flicker even more violently, plunging the room into a dance of shadow and light.

With a violent burst, the door is flung open, and a brilliant surge of light blinds everyone. You stand in the doorway, an ethereal aura glowing around you.

"O'Hara!" Your voice thunders through the room, heavy with wrath and revenge. As Miguel turns around to face the source of the sound, a massive, lightning-tinged sonar blast slams directly into his chest. He's pushed backward, knocked off balance before he can brace himself for the attack. He tries to recoverr, to shift into defense mode but he doesn't get the chance. You're relentless, a solar goddess in human form, hurtling blast after blast at him. Miguel has no time to regain his stance, each attack landing with more force than the last. 

Gwen makes to step forward, her instincts screaming at her to intervene, but Peter grabs her arm, pulling her back. "That's Sunny," he says, his voice a mixture of awe and concern. Hobie's eyes widen comically. He cocks his head, a smirk playing on his lips. "Our Sunny, eh? Blimey, I never knew she had it in her. That rebellious firecracker," he mutters, a distinct note of admiration creeping into his typically laid-back British drawl.

Miles bursts into the room, breathless and disheveled. He stumbles towards Gwen, his voice hurried and concerned, "I tried to stop her, but she was...she was furious. Woahhh, I've never seen Miguel get beaten like this before."

And he wasn't exaggerating. Miguel was fighting back, his fangs bared, his claws out and ready but he was no match for your rage-fueled attacks. You were right up in his face, delivering punch after punch at a brutal pace

"Where's my son, O’Hara? What have you done to him?" you demand, your voice cutting through the chaos like a blade.

At your words, Miguel's movements falter. His defense wavers, and he barely manages to gasp out, "Your son?" He doesn't dodge your next blow, doesn't attempt to shield himself or strike back. Instead, he allows you to continue.

Miguel is shocked. His reflexes kick in as he sees the next punch coming and he grabs your wrist, halting your next powerful punch aimed for his face. He locks eyes with you, his gaze holding an emotion you've never seen in him before. Is it fear? No, it's much deeper, more profound.

As he stares at you, your luminescent eyes gradually lose their fiery intensity, shifting back to their human form.

"I... I didn't know," Miguel stammers, his voice a trembling whisper. "Lo – lo siento. I – I didn’t know.”

His breaths are ragged, and you can see a war waging inside him.

"But...how?How didn’t I know?" His voice is choked, your wrist still securely in his grip. “Your son?” Miguel continues,his voice is barely above a whisper. His eyes search yours and all he sees is raw, untamed anger with an aching pain that pierces his soul.

“Yes, MY son!” your voice echoes through the room like a whip. “Did you think that you could just take him from me? That I wouldn't come for him?”

Miguel’s grip on your wrist loosens as he stumbles back. His heart feels like it’s about to explode as realization dawns on him. The dark curls, the small fangs the baby had bared at him –pieces of a puzzle start falling into place. His own blood runs cold.

“Where is he, Miguel? Where’s myGabriel?” your voice breaks as you say the name, and it feels like another punch to Miguel's gut.

“Gabr...” Miguel chokes. “No... no...”

His voice is barely audible, the air knocked out of him by the significance of the name. His knees buckle, and he falls on the floor. "NO."

“You, who I thought would protect any child, wanted to eliminate my – our – flesh and blood!” Tears, full of anger and hurt, stream down your face, but your voice doesn't waver one bit. 

Miguel, still on the floor, looks up at you with tear-streaked cheeks. “I didn’t know. I swear on my life, on Gabriella’s memory. I-I wanted to do the right thing. I- I never, -Lo siento.” 

There’s a moment of tense silence as you look down at the shattered man before you,the love of your life, the father of your child, who almost made the most horrifying, unforgivable mistake.

Just then, from another room, the faint sound of a baby's cries pierce through the heavy atmosphere. You abruptly yank your wrist out of his grasp and towards the door to leave.

Your heart clenches as you break into a run, following the pitiful cries. You don’t look back.

Miguel remains on his knees. He doenst follow you, he doesn’t dare to move, anchored by the crushing weight of what he's done, as the sounds of Gabriel's cries fade into the background.

"Gabriel," he whispers, the name escaping his lips like a vow. A promise of redemption. And with that single word, Miguel knows he'll move heaven and earth to protect his child.

Part 4 "Webs of Redemption"

Hello, you wonderful souls! I want to say a big thank you for your patience and kind words about this series. I really appreciate each of your sweet comments and messages – they mean so much to me. Thank you all for the insightful ideas and suggestions you contributed for part 3. I've incorporated as many of your concepts as I could because they're simply brilliant. I'm eager to hear more of your thoughts, criticisms, and proposals for part 4. I also want to give a special thanks to Jess, @wolfjessedragon . Her inspiration and amazing ideas were the driving force behind Part 3, and I couldn't have written it without her! love you guys, keep being awesome!

[winterarmyy]

Welcome home... Soldat? | Part I

That time when Bucky accidentally relapsed into the Winter Soldier.

Summary: Y/N had make a habit of greeting Bucky a warm 'welcome home' everytime he came back from his missions, but there was one particular day when she unknowingly greeted someone else.

Navigation: Part I || Part II* || Part III (end) || Extra

Words: 2.9k++

Pairing: winter soldier!bucky x female!reader

Warnings: implied 18+ content, implied smut, dubious con on groping reader's body, dark(?) possessive behaviour, google translated russian, our soldat is kinda cute(?) in his own twisted way, and well, basically fluffy times with the soldat.

P/S: Guys, I never planned this at all. I mean, who am I kidding? All of my fics are not planned and I clearly write things out of impulse. Therefore, this one don't have much of a story building/plot because it was born out of one scene that flashed in my head and has been replayed way to many times that I need to let it out. Anyway, I still hope you enjoy it, somehow.

Read my other works here: Masterlist

Y/N didn't know when exactly she started this habit but she swore to herself to never grow out of it.

It's been nearly 2 years since the fall of Hydra and the avenger has accepted the winter soldier under their wing. Begrudgingly by Tony, but the rest of them seemed like they're not against it.

Y/N used to be an agent from SHIELD but since the fall, she had been recruited under the avenger's programme and had been living in the tower since.

She remembered the day when Bucky first came in, he was quiet and weary all the time. Like an abandoned cat, picked up by a stranger to come to their home. And it took the whole team months before he slowly adapted.

Who knew he would morphed into a sassy, grumpy little shit, right?

Since the first day, Y/N had been making an effort to make him feel welcomed. Helped him to adjust to modern times. Though it was not regular but she's glad he came to her from time to time to ask about things.

Y/N only meant it to be casual when she greeted him back from his missions. Usually, it'll be something like,

"Oh you're back?"

"How's the team?"

"Good to see you well put together from such horrendous mission."

"God, you look like you fell from 5 flight of stairs."

"Are you even trying to fight back, Bucky?"

But one time, Bucky came back in the morning around breakfast, she wasn't feeling sassy or clever. So, instead of greeting him with playful remarks, in the glory of her messy bed hair and iron man pyjamas, she greeted him with a sleepy smile, "Welcome home, Bucky."

And that surely made the 6 foot, bulky hunk of a soldier paralysed in his spot. His ocean blues slightly widen, and his cheeks deepen in blush.

For a moment, he wondered if this is how he would feel if he had a wife waiting for him to come back from war back in the 40's. But, then again nothing can be compared to the sight he was seeing as he is now.

And Y/N didn't want to ever lose that memory of him.

Cute and flustered Bucky is a very rare sight to see. Perhaps, this was the only time she could witness it and she want to cherish it for the rest of her life.

Though Bucky never replied to Y/N's greeting, it didn't stop them from starting a whole new routine.

Y/N always knew that she had a thing for the sargent, but about 2 months from that moment, Y/N realized she was in love.

And she waited for him, every single chance she had for arrival of the team to come back. Just like she is now, at 03:45 in the morning, while scavenging for something sweet she can eat as she waits for Bucky's return.

When, she turned around she was not expecting to have her face into clashed into something, "Oww!" Y/N shuts her eyes close as she rubbed her aching nose to ease the sharp strike of pain.

For a moment there, she seriously thought she might have just bumped into some kind of a solid air that appeared out of nowhere, but when she opened her eyes, it was just Bucky who was standing rather ominously still.

"My god, you scared the shit out of me. I know you used to be an assassin but, you gotta announce yourself sometimes, man." She joked. Although she did find it impressive that he managed to silently sneak up on her with those thick, heavy combat boots he was wearing.

"Woah, someone's been having a field day kicking your ass, huh?" Y/N's eyes lingered a little longer on the wounds at the side of his temple that she didn't notice the void in his eyes.

"Anyway..." she continued as she shook of the thoughts of caressing the cut on the corner of Bucky's lip, before greeting him with a gentle smile, "Welcome home."

Bucky's unresponsiveness was nothing new to her. With the amount of silent glares and gruff eye-rolls that he had shot at her these past few months, she's used to it by now.

But, when she finally had the guts to look him in the eye, only then she noticed the underlying shift. Albeit, his signature frown was still as present as ever but, those eyes had made her questioned of the slight difference from what she recognized.

Bucky wordlessly step forward and cornered her until her back meets the side of the kitchen isle. He took his time assessing her, almost admiring the way her iris wavered in confusion.

Something is wrong.

Her guts were screaming at her to notice it but her body wasn't reacting accordingly. That's when the voice of the AI, Jarvis echoed through the walls.

"Emergency alert: Code Winter. Initiated by Captain Steve Rogers. All agent is advised..." The announcement went on based on protocol while the cogs in Y/N's brain finally moved, "Code Winter? That means..."

 "...to be cautious of Sargent James Barnes; reprimand on sight however try not to engage alone. Agents is..." Jarvis voice in the background interwoven with Y/N's internal deduction, "...This is not Bucky?"

As she tried to put her own mind into perspective, trying to make herself believe that this man in front of her is not Bucky Barnes who she had been adoring over for these past few months, the soldat's hands reached the side of her neck, squeezing the softness of her flesh while his thumbs grazed the shape of her jawline.

His heavy gaze remained on hers, willing her to stay as still possible.

"Bucky...?" She called his name in hopes of triggering something, anything for within his controlled mind.

At end of the corridor leading towards the kitchen, Steve could see how the soldat had already gotten his hands on Y/N and panic strike him like lightning, he sprinted towards her as he despretely shouted, "Y/N! Stay away from--"

But Y/N was not able to render anything she heard from Steve, especially after a long silence, the soldat finally spoke, "Yes, I'm home..."

He carefully pulled her face closer to his as his lips planted on her soft cheek, "...мое cолнышко (my sunshine)" he lifted for a second just to kiss her again on her temple as he whispered lowly, "...мое Родная (my darling)"

Y/N's heart was beating madly for several different reasons. Parts of her was terrified that the soldat might break her neck within an instance, but it gradually changes into something much more confusing, a conflicted joy, when he keep on trailing his lips all over her face.

What is happening?

Both her and Steve was practically frozen in pure confusion.

Steve's mouth hanged open as words failed to form, while Y/N was unable to comprehend any sort of thoughts, let alone counter movements; when the soldat continue to whisper Russian endearments against her skin, littering sweet kisses on every part of her face, except for her lips as if he wanted to tease her.

His hands slowly travel down her back and stopped on the side of her waist, pulling her body closer until there was no space in between them anymore, before he wrapped his arms around her.

The drag of his stubble on her skin burned but it felt so good when he kissed it after.

Seconds later, Sam managed to catch up with Steve and his cautious approach fell as he witnessed the soldat's rather domestic actions towards Y/N.

Sam foolishly let his guard down as he approached with a question directed to Steve, "Is the tin man back?" That was when a bullet barely grazed the tip of his ear that then buried through the wall behind him.

Both Steve and Sam forced to stop any sort of movement as the soldat's aim was still locked towards their direction; his cold blue eyes pierced with a menacing warning, all the while posessively holding Y/N in his arms as his kisses trailed the side of her neck.

"Nope, not yet." Sam answered his own question as he waited for Steve's order.

Y/N felt like she have to do something to de-escalate the situation. After a quick deduction, and based on the soldat attitude towards her, she took the risk of believing that he would not do anything to hurt her, so she decided to play along.

Will it work though?

Well, she got to have to try for it work.

She gulped nervously before softly calls for him, "Soldat?" she looked up towards him.

When the soldat gave her his attention, she watched the loose strand of his hair fall down to his face. Her hand went up and reached for it, "How about we go back to your room and let me tend these wounds, hmm?" She cooed while tucking his behind his ear and briefly caressing his cheek with the back of her fingers.

The soldat didn't reply but instead silently process her proposition.

However, the hesitation only worried her more, so she continued to persuade, as she cautiously slide her hand, following his arm that was holding her teammates at gun point, "It'll be just the two of us. How's that sound?" She smiled warmly at him as she managed to lower it enough to grab the gun away from his grasp.

There was a glint of indecipherable emotion in his eyes when she mentioned that, which then he nodded in agreement.

"Okay then, let's go." She put the gun on the kitchen isle behind her and replaced her hand in his, pulling him towards his bedroom. The soldat did not protest to her lead, in fact her followed her obediently.

But before Y/N makes an exit, she looked back towards Steve and mouthed a reassuring message, "I got this."

The captain had all the rights to be weary but at this point, he just had to believe in Y/N's action plan. He nodded and replied, "Be safe. We'll be outside."

Along the walk towards Bucky's room, all she could think was that she can handle it and she got this under control.

But, does she?

Well, Y/N did have it under control, in terms of keeping the soldat from going on a berserk rampage but what she didn't think through was how the fuck she should handle his behaviour towards her.

After they arrived to Bucky's room, she had instructed him to strip off his tactical suit and leave him sitting at the edge of the bed, only in his short to avoid him reaching for any hidden weapons he had, all the while she went to grab the first aid from his bathroom.

Now that she almost done tending the small injuries on his face, it finally dawned to her that the soldat had her immobilized in between his legs as his hands rubbed the back of her thighs, occasionally squeezing the softness of her body in his tender grip.

His intent gaze waited patiently for her to finish and as soon as she did, he pulled her on his lap, making her to straddle on top him as he smushed his face on her chest, "Oh, Родная (darling)... I have missed you."

Her hands found her balance on his shoulders while the soldat roaming hands held her body still by the back of her waist.

It will be a lie if she said her heart didn't skipped when he confessed; even if it was still the soldat's thoughts and words but it was Bucky's voice.

The soldat pulled his other hand to play with the buttons of her pyjamas shirt, specifically around her chest area.

Part of him wanted to just rip her clothes off from her body but another part of him didn't want to. He didn't want scare her; and his precious little darling deserved to be pampered.

He had her buttons popped off; one by one, slow and almost sensual while Y/N was still in a heated debate with herself on what she should to next. She wanted the soldat to stop but god the temptation of wanting more was beyond her will power.

This is not Bucky.

She knew that. But, she had been bewitched by the look in those familiar blue eyes. So enthralled and so keen to unwrap her.

Y/N let out a low yet sharp gasp as her chest was finally revealed, "Soldat, what..." The soldat take a quick glance into her eyes, "...are you doing?" before trailing back down to the curve of her breasts, cupped so beautifully with a simple black bra.

His hands went back to grabbed her thighs as he replied, "Just wanna hold you." He leaned closer and left a lingering kiss in between her breasts, mumbling deep, " Wanna feel you, мое Родная (my darling)"

Fuck, it feels so good.

"Wanna feel you..." Y/N's grip on his bare shoulder tightened as he lips warmed the top of her right breast, "...here." An unexpected moan slipped out of her lips as the soldat latched his wet mouth on her skin, bruising it with his mark.

He groaned to the taste of her, so sweet and soft, he wanted to pull the bra off her and suckle on her nipple. He bet that they're perky and so sensitive. Bet he could make her cum just by playing with them.

He wanted to leave his bite mark around them, make them look much more prettier. But, he needed to be patient.

He brought his left hand up to hold the other side of her chest; pulling another pretty noise as the cold metal of his thumb gently stroked the exposed skin of her breast.

"Wanna feel you..." His flesh hand made its way lower and cupped her clothed sex, unexpectedly making her grind down to his hold, "...here."

She couldn't help to find shelter in the crook of his neck when he began to stroke her sensually.

This is getting out of hand.

Y/N doesn't mind to entertain him if the soldat only asked for him to hold her but it was clear that he wanted so much more than just innocent touches. Especially when he languidly rubbed his middle finger in between the slit of her pussy.

She hates how easy it was for Bucky's touch turned her on, his hands and his lips; regardless if his actions was someone else's.

This is wrong.

This has to stop.

"No... soldat." She whimpered in his ears as his finger drew slow circles on her clit, his mouth latched on her shoulder.

"I can't touch you here?" He murmured softly as he pressed harder. Even with the barrier of the cotton panties, she was so sensitive to his touch; he loves that about her.

"N-no. You can't." She choked back a moan as she replied.

God, what if he doesn't care?

What if he'll get mad and force it on her?

She can't imagine the guilt Bucky had to experience if the soldat take her right now. And all because her stupid little brain cannot comprehend a plan to stop him, all because she let the soldat touch her as freely, as willingly.

Salty tears started to blur her vision when she sniffled them back.

Much to his deperateness, the soldat pulled her away and watched as her tears spilled out, "Oh darling, don't cry." He leaned in and kiss the corners of her eyes, murmuring his words of comfort, "I hate to see you cry, мое cолнышко (my sunshine)." His metal hand slithered to her back and his palm stroked her lovingly.

"Okay, okay. I won't touch your sweet princess part, okay?" He patted her pussy one last time before reaching to swipe her tears away. "I promise." He whispered.

As much as he wanted to fuck her stupid, fill her hole full with his load; however the soldat does hold her very dear to his heart and hates to see her sad.

"Just let me hold you close, darling?" He cooed as he kissed the edge of her lips.

Y/N didn't know why but she trusted his words. Maybe it was because he was so gentle with her, that she was tricked into believing him.

She watched the soldat waited patiently for her response and when she nodded softly, he swiftly lifted her in his arms and lay her down on the bed.

He tucked himself in under the sheets with her and naturally rested his face on her chest. His fleshed arms wrapped securely around her waist and his metal one around her thighs, as he pulled her closer; almost suffocating himself in between her warm breasts.

It was like an instinct for Y/N to encircle her arms around his neck while her hands run through the thick of his hair, absentmindedly playing with the softness of it.

She almost giggle when the soldat let out a deep-throated sound of relieved sighs as she continued to massage his scalp.

As the soldat started to sail deeper into dreamland, Y/N thought that maybe this will be the only and the last time she had the chance to hold Bucky like this and she knew it was wrong to feel grateful to the soldat because had done nothing but terrible, despicable things in the past.

But when she thought about it, none of those sins was his choice to make. He was created to kill and nothing else.

But what if he had something to hold on to?

A hope to look forward to?

A person to protect?

Or a home to go back to?

Would he still be the same monster he had been before?

She have not a slightest clue.

But, what she does know that this soldat who's clinging in her arms, deserves something kind.

And she hoped that she managed to give him a sense of peace for once in his life.

Y/N nuzzled to the side of his tired-looking face and placed a sweet kiss on his temple as she whispered ever-so-softly, "Welcome home, soldat."

Part II >>

Read my other works here: Masterlist

A/N: This is possibly part 1? I'm not sure either. Feel free to share your thoughts in the comments! And reblogs is much appreciated!

[batbabydamian]

BATMAN AND ROBIN (2023) #14 by Phillip Kennedy Johnson and Javier Fernandez! rambling about the new team and arc!! a jumping-on point for anyone wanting to read recent Bruce and Damian comics 🦇🐥

setting the stage with action!! mystery and intrigue!! expectations for further character exploration for Damian!!

if that's not enough to pique interest, here's a rendition of one of the many cute grumpy Damian panels

first of all THE OPENING ACTION SCENE OH MY GOD (this splash page hello!!)

i love...the collaborative effort in comics...it shines through right from the start, especially when it involves traditional inks 😭

using this single panel as an example from Fernandez’s ig:

Fernandez lays out most of the groundwork in his inks - the fully inked silhouette of the driver in the foreground, the shading suggesting the lighting, the white ink/paint lined and splattered for the rain!!

then off to colors with Marcelo Maiolo!! he elevates the panel to emphasize how it's a shot from within the vehicle looking out the windshield - the lightly tinted inks, the bright lighting from headlights, and the slight window sheen + bokeh!!

one more similar example, with comparison by the man himself - Fernandez already implying the glare, scraping white against Batman and Robin's silhouettes. then punched up with Maiolo's colors/lighting!! WOW!!

OKAY SORRY ONE MORE along with Steve Wands’ consistently lovely lettering, Fernandez included his own sfx in his inks of this page!! not sure how often he does it past this, but SO cool!! ever since seeing Juni Ba's sfx lettering in his inks, it's such a sick extra detail to me 😭

ANYWAY i can go on about what i love about each panel for this scene but gotta move on from the explosive intro of Batman and Robin to the more grounded side of Bruce and Damian (which ends up being just as explosive)!! 🥺

there's small details carrying over from Williamson's run like Bruce making Damian vegan meals and Damian creating comics; otherwise, we have a much more engaging writing of the two almost reminiscent to Tomasi and Gleason's run!

one example being his attitude towards a fancy event interrupting his and Dick's patrol in Batman and Robin (2009) #20

the first line from Bruce and Damian's disregard for a fundraising event is a bit of head scratcher to me when Damian is plenty compassionate, BUT for the sake of a jumping-on arc for new readers it’s a clear point of reference for Damian’s character - a kid who believes more in Batman and Robin work than what could be done outside of those masks. it becomes a matter of how Damian's perspective might change around this subject and how he'll take action in helping outside of Robin 🤔

another similar Tomasi-esque moment is Damian's snark about his grandfather lol, a sentiment that carries over from Batman and Robin (2011) #1

PKJ references his Ra's al Ghul story from Gotham City Villains Anniversary Giant! especially curious when the final line by Talia is "...you will see my father again", when Ra's is currently dead. a fun lil callback or also a convenient nod to future plans? 👀

NOW THE MYSTERY AND INTRIGUE OF IT ALL...

Bruce's attention is caught by this man shouting "You sit atop the wheel" which i'm guessing is in reference to the Wheel of Fortune, especially if we're going by a literal interpretation of the rich and poor (depicting the group among tents and carts).

i'm really reaching here, but wondering if Bruce calling himself “Jack” at some point is also related to the arcana. the only relation i could find is the Page of Wands, and the Jack once being referred to as a "knave"

EDIT: an anon reached out to inform me that Bruce called himself “Jack” during his training! seems to be first introduced in Batman: The Knight (2022) #4

THE REVEAL OF THE NEW VILLAIN, MEMENTO...the first page opens on a deceased person's face, and the last dialogue is "We will see your face again." AND OH BOY WE CERTAINLY DO! 😭

the flames casting a harsh light against the plaster (or stone??) of Memento's mask, and how he looms over Bruce...SO EERIE...

FINAL RAMBLY THOUGHTS

Damian being colored with noticeable melanin...🥺 i can only assume this was a deliberate choice made by PKJ since the editors haven't changed, and for the past issues Damian's colors have been independent to the colorists - the only edit being after Rex Lokus gave him green eyes in #5 but were returned to blue in #6 (for consistency ig). along with the classic teen asian haircut, this feels intentional on PKJ's part and i hope Damian will continue to be colored brown here and other books 🥺👉👈

one of the things PKJ teased in an interview was the idea of Damian wondering if he even wants to still be Robin, much less Batman (begging this is where main canon Damian gives the Batman mantle up lol). so presenting Damian here as someone absorbed in that life makes me wonder what triggers those thoughts - is it going to be this incident or later? more currently, will Damian be able to protect the civilians that Bruce entrusted him with? especially after getting familiar with a few, however reluctantly?

anyway, a banger first issue that leaves you with just enough crumbs to know what you're expecting but still beg for more: what's the mysterious new group/villain, and their connection to Bruce? will Dr. Bashar and the Wayne grandparents have more to do with the story? how will this all affect Damian outside of being Robin? Talia and Ra’s?? so many questions!!

[theysherobinbuckley]

a little something I started but probably won't ever finish - alternate first meeting steddie! post s3, pre s4

(context: in an effort to cheer up his perpetually grumpy new neighbor, Eddie broke out his old skateboard and immediately ate shit for it. Cue Red calling none other than Steve Harrington to solve the problem...)

Red was barely in the door when Harringron turned on him, jaw clenched and fingers twitching. Having those dark eyes focused so entirely on him nearly made Eddie dizzy.

His lips were moving and- oh shit. Eddie was totally supposed to be listening.

"Uh, what?"

"What are you doing hanging around Max?"

Eddie frowned. "We're neighbors?"

"So?"

"So I'm being… neighborly? Is that illegal?"

"Neighborly is getting someone's mail while they're out of town. Not a super senior hanging around with a girl who's not even in high school yet."

"You better be fucking careful what you're accusing me of, Harrington, because to be honest, you don't look any better. Don't think I haven't heard your beemer pull up at all hours of the night. What the fuck is that about, huh? King Steve likes 'em young?"

Eddie's back hit the trailer before the last word even left his mouth. All the breath rushed out of him at once as Harrington pinned him with one arm across his shoulders.

"Don’t fucking say that," he seethed. "She's like my sister. I'm not- I wouldn't hurt her."

Eddie reached up to pat Harrington's arm placatingly, sending him as sweet a smile as he could muster.

"Hey, I believe you, man. I'm a little lost, sure, but I believe you." He sent a look to the trailer to his right. "Now can you let me down before Muriel sends Axel out to break your arm?"

Harrington followed his gaze and, upon seeing Muriel frowning from behind her curtains, dropped Eddie faster than if he'd told him he had the plague.

"We're in my kingdom now, Harrington," he said, grinning and waving in Muriel's direction. "These are my people. We take care of each other here. And Red's one of us, whether you like it or not."

Steve frowned, opened his mouth to respond, maybe even protest, but Eddie cut him off.

"I was just trying to make the kid smile, okay? So I got out my old skateboard, did a few tricks, busted my shit." He held up the ice pack he'd stolen from Red's fridge. "She called you 'cause she said you'd know what to do."

Harrington was quiet. Noticeably, he did not apologize for jostling Eddie's extremely sore wrist, but whatever.

"Did she?"

"Yeah, man, I tried to talk her out of it, but she seemed pretty confident you'd pick up. And here you are, so…"

"No, I mean- did she have fun?"

Eddie shrugged. "I mean, she didn't look as miserable as usual. Laughed a couple times when I fucked up a dismount. What's up with that, by the way? The constant dispair?"

Harrington's whole body tensed, and Eddie was almost scared he was gearing up to punch him just for asking.

"You remember Billy Hargrove?" he replied, his voice tight.

Eddie couldn't help but sneer at the mention of that piece of shit. Wayne had always taught him not to speak ill of the dead, but that didn't mean he couldn't think some choice things about him. Like the fact that he was pretty sure the guy was rotting in hell for all the things he'd said to Jeff in the school halls.

"Unfortunately. What about him?"

"He was Max's older brother. Step-brother."

"That's..."

"Fucked?" Harrington supplied. Eddie nodded. "Yeah. So I just- I need to make sure another Hargrove doesn't come around. Sorry I got all... you know. I've been told I can be kind of intense."

"No shit," Eddie laughed. "No hard feelings, I guess. Since it's in Red's best interest."

"No hard feelings," Harrington echoed. "Thanks for looking out for her."

Then, something Eddie had never even dreamed of: Harrington stuck his hand out, clearly expecting a handshake.

Huh.

It was over in a second, but Eddie's hand burned where Steve's had been.

"No problem. I'm kind of the park babysitter," Eddie replied. "Part of the job description."

Harrington lit up at that.

"I babysit too! Max and a few of her friends. 'S why I'm always around. I'm usually playing chauffeur for one of the other gremlins."

"That makes more sense than you having a torrid love affair with Susan."

"Yeah, she's not really my type," Harrington said with a smirk.

Eddie watched in shock as Harrington's eyes slowly, deliberately dipped up and down his form.

Talk about fucking whiplash. Eddie could still feel Harrington's strong arm against his chest, the brush of Harrington's nose against his own, the heat of Harrington's breath on his face. And now the king was checking him out?

"I see. Not into MILFs?"

Eddie was in the middle of making plans to staple his big stupid mouth shut when Harrington laughed.

"I'm more into brunettes."

And boy, didn't that seem pointed.

[sordidmusings]

Well Earned Praise - Mihawk x Reader

Art by mugibara

Summary: Mihawk is a man of few words and many gestures. Lucky for him, you understand them all quite well. Lucky for you, he knows when to use those spare few words.

A/N: This is a little celebratory piece for @feral-artistry ! She's made a huge landmark in higher education recently that she's worked her ass off for and deserves all the treats and hype!! I was lucky in getting this one out for it too bless up lol I usually can only get possessed by ideas to flesh them out but being able to get them into actual words in a timely manner??? Near unheard of lol That said, it's only a ficlet but I hope you and anyone reading enjoys!!

It’s heaps of domesticity and Mihawk being what could even be called playful lol there has to be at least a tiny bit of that in there for him to have suffered Shanks for so many years so well 💀 in canon its hidden in stuff like him calling Zoro a rabbit - like you can’t tell me he doesn’t also say that shit to amuse himself on top of belittling opponents

Word Count: ~2.1 k

Warnings: gn!reader, straight up fluff, banter, Mihawk being the Most Obvious in his own way, favoritism, Perona and Zoro are there too, you have a place in all their hearts, found family undertone, family dinner with the edgelords, Mihawk being supportive of your accomplishments in a hopefully in character manner lol

~ ~ ~ ••• ✦✦✦ ••• ~ ~ ~

“And what has you so happy?” Mihawk drawls. 

You’ve barely set foot in the kitchen by the time the question leaves him. Your bright mood from your recent accomplishment is undoubtedly buzzing from you and likely tripped off his haki. Or at least you’d write it off as that if you hadn’t been speaking about it coming up the past few weeks.

Despite his prodding tone, you know that’s just his normal voice and not his grumpy one from all your time living at Kuraigana. There’s also a lack of the miniscule brow or eye twitch that usually precedes The Grumpy Voice. Instead his face is its usual stony facade, looking much too brooding in contrast to the apron Perona had complained him into. It lacks any of the color or frills she wished, but you are sure with enough prodding she will one day get one or the other on your dour host. The one thing that truly binds you all together at Kuraigana is an innate persistence (easily gaining the name “stubbornness” when not in your favor). It is a formidable weapon you wield both for and against each other. Usually against, but that ratio is growing more favorable by the day. Luckily its bad run is mostly in bickering and banter, not actual harm.

“I know you’re getting old, but I didn’t know your memory was already going,” you goad, walking to join him at the prep table at the far end of the kitchen.

“I don’t make the effort to remember the chirping of birds,” he responds blandly, disproving his statement by alluding to the fact that he listened to your frequent gushing about it to Perona. All the while, he continues chopping vegetables with insane speed and accuracy. It will always amuse you to see the world’s greatest swordsman use those skills to harvest and chop veggies. His choice on which you’re starting to recognize as the mix to make your favorite meal.

“Uhuh,” you reply, obviously incredulous. “I suppose you don’t have much room in that head of yours for anything besides swords play.”

“It’s dangerous to insult the one handling your food you know,” he warns with the barest hint of humor warming his low voice.

“This cook wouldn’t stoop to poisons,” you assure him, “though I will need to watch my back during sparring.”

“If you’ve actually taken to my lessons, you’d know to do that anyway,” Mihawk chastises with narrowed eyes. You chuckle at his predictability - always so prickly if he felt you weren’t taking your crafts seriously.

“We both know I’d be dead if I didn’t,” you point out. The silence, save for the steady thumping of knife on cutting board, is his begrudging agreement. 

That silence quickly turns comfortable, its ease built on a few hundred hours of peaceful companionable silence that you’ve shared. Mostly they were filled with quiet sips of wine, rustling pages, crackling logs, and calm music. Your favorite is when the sweet serenade of the night’s bugs leaks in the cracked windows, heralded by a cool breeze playing with the curtains. A few hundred more hours spent in travel and training built quite the familiarity and warmed your heart from simple attraction to true affection for this untouchable man.

That affection only makes you treasure these moments more. Seeing him in an apron performing a homemaker’s duties isn’t only amusing; there’s a twinge of vulnerability to it. This man, who is an embodiment of death collecting its due for most, is comfortable with you seeing such human pieces of himself. He’s connected with you and your housemates enough to let you each have your mark on him in subtle ways. There is proof enough of it in this kitchen - now always well stocked with sake and sweets, the allowance of a few cutesy mugs ready for use, fresh eggs from the chickens he’d gotten for convenience and definitely not because of your love of animals. (You hadn’t broken him on goats yet but you were far from giving up on that one).

Your thoughts are interrupted by him breaking the hypnotizing motion of his knife to back away from the counter.

“I need to stop in the garden,” Mihawk explains. He casts a pointed gaze at you on his exit. “Don’t go in the fridge.”

The moment he’s taken his exit, you disobey the order. More like a poorly veiled hint. The bright lights of the fridge spotlight quite the treat for you. There’s a menagerie of desserts taking up the top shelf, everything from macaroons to tiramisu to cheesecake to fruit tarts. The colorful display almost kept you from noticing the restock of your drawers of charcuterie below. He really spared no expense; rare cured meats and exotic cheeses were huddled around a large supply of all your favorites, a variety of mustards, jams, and preserves in cute little jars tucked neatly to one side. You can’t help how gooey the gesture makes your heart and how that feeling’s definitely still going to be all over your face when he gets back.

Accepting that fate, you don’t even try to hide it when he comes back through the door with fresh herbs in hand. Mihawk goes through the motions of wiping off his boots and making his way back, all nonchalant confidence, until he looks at you and is struck frozen. He stands and holds your loving gaze for a long stretch of breaths. He’s the first to break your eye contact, looking the closest to unsure that you’ve ever seen him. His face would never tell, but his shoulders curl just a bit up and forward before you see him shove them back into their usual sure posture.

You think he’s going to leave the whole thing unacknowledged, as he’s wont to do with your increasingly common Moments. He shatters that thought when he lays a hand on your arm as he passes, giving it a gentle squeeze. The warmth from his large palm leaves a lasting impression on you. The ravenously yearning part of you - the one you try to keep settled - begins telling you how deliciously warm he must run, how he must be the perfect spot for a nap, how those warm hands would feel easing your muscles, how they would feel-

“Managing to get lost while standing still? Should I worry about that with you too?” Mihawk teases. It’s quite impressive how droll he can be when he lets himself.

“If I say yes, does that mean I’m free of being his human compass?” you joke.

“Only until it’s time to be rid of you both,” he answers easily.

“What?” you ask in mock offense. “No send off party? No tearful goodbyes? And here I thought you were the sentimental type.”

“Obviously,” he agrees, gifting you the first tiny, crooked smile of the night.

Wanting to end on a high note, you let the conversation go and instead focus on trying to find ways to help. It goes poorly. Every task you make for is suddenly already being done by Mihawk, or he’s suddenly blocking you from the means to start. Many an ingredient is intercepted, dish grabbed first, or scraps thrown to trash and compost. The absurd game of keep away it makes is funny to you at first but soon becomes frustrating.

“You’re treating me like an invalid,” you huff.

“I didn’t know you were so fond of labor,” Mihawk drawls. Sly eyes slide your way. “Should I put you back on prepping the new beds?”

“No,” you answer quickly. The new garden spot was chosen for convenient location not ease of creation; the ground was mostly clay and full of rocks with the top carpeted thick with sod and weeds. It would have to be cleared off, rocks dug out, manure and sand and peat moss shoveled in, then all mixed thoroughly to break up the clay. It was grueling work. It was Zoro work.

Mihawk goes back to his cooking with an air of satisfaction. You settle for watching and stealing bites to eat from the food he’s making. He pretends to be annoyed. It lets you both play a new game of keep away where you try to sneak and snatch and he tries to swat you away, usually without even taking his eyes off his task. This continues until the meal is nearly done, when he sends you off to your room to “look proper for a nice meal”. You pretend to be offended but he doesn’t buy it.

You don’t want to spend long getting ready, much more set on spending time with the others, but you also didn’t want to let an excuse to dress up go to waste. By the time you’re headed to the usual dining room, you’re layered in expensive fabric with a fresh face and freshly styled hair.

Mihawk is awaiting you at the grand doors, unfortunately lacking that apron. Instead you get him in a flowing shirt, textured in subtle filigree the same deep red as the whole. It is, of course, open to show off his Kogatana and the sun-kissed skin it rests on. As you get closer, you notice his pants are tailored slacks and his boots have been replaced with dress shoes you wouldn’t have even guessed he owned. Not for a lack of class or style, but for a lack of people and occasions he’d deem worthy of the effort. 

You feel almost silly thinking he’s going through all this effort for you but there’s no other explanation. When you stop next to him, you could swear that even his beard is freshly oiled and combed. You’re too lost in your appraisal of him to notice how his own heated eyes are roving over you. You catch them for a brief moment before they fix to your face. To interrupt the loving taunt about to move your tongue, Mihawk holds the door open for you and gestures you inside.

Zoro and Perona are sat at the table behind pristine place settings. They haven’t even noticed the sound of your entrance over their own bickering. Perona always looks dolled up, but there’s something a little extra in the detail of her makeup and not a single hair on her head is out of place. What’s much more surprising than her is that Zoro looks all cleaned up. He’s still in his usual style but not a speck of dirt is on the clothes and his hair looks slightly damp from a recent shower. It’s hard not to laugh at the idea of Mihawk commanding him to bathe like one would a defiant child and Perona having to throw him in the bath like he’s a hissing cat.

Before you move to join them, Mihawk’s hands catch your shoulders. Their capability for gentleness will always amaze you, and this caress to halt you is no exception. His thumbs swipe across your skin a few times, seeming to relish the motion, before he leans forward. There’s a moment where his cheek brushes the crown of your head before his breath floats over your ear and neck, raising goosebumps over your skin. His lips, surprisingly soft, tickle the tip of your ear as he whispers to you. The words strike you and leave you frozen even as he brushes past you towards the table, leaving the scent of spiced cologne in his wake.

Your housemates finally notice you and both send toothy smiles and celebratory cheers your way. You feel almost bad that you have to shake yourself off to match their energy. Once you get close to the table, Zoro is trying to convince you to share his best sake with him while Perona tells you that’s dumb and you should instead focus on looking through the gifts she’s gotten you. You only laugh as dark fabric and frilly stuffies are shoved your way to intercept the persistent attempts to place an o-choko by your plate. 

Mihawk sighs at the commotion, muttering something about wanting a peaceful dinner for you as he pulls out your chair. His grumbling is undercut by the softness easing the lines from his face. When you meet his eyes as he pushes your chair in, you notice the usually violent amber of them has darkened to flowing honey. His words ring in your head loudly again, causing a loving smile to warm your face. He answers with a brief smile of his own, the smallest curl of his lips and crinkle of his eyes, but it's enough to set your heart racing. It pumps electricity through you, tingling your fingertips and sending his words to spin even faster in your head. Even when your heart calms and is instead made full from loving company, you hold the sound of his voice in your mind.

It’s the first time you’ve heard the words from him, and now that you know their sweetness, you’ll chase that high in all your endeavors.

“I’m proud of you.”

[lamentationsofalonelypotato]

Chapter 10: Brother Dearest

Pairing: Soldier Boy x f!reader, Reader POV

Summary:  When you decided to work with Butcher and his merry band of supe hunters to take down Homelander, you neve expected to be saddled with a sullen, grumpy, jerk like Soldier Boy when the job was done. The more you're around him the more you hate him, but you can't help but wonder, is he really as big a jerk as you think? Reader is a supe with plant powers. This takes place in an AU about a month after the end of The Boys Season 3, in which Butcher has let Soldier Boy continue to work with him on his team.  (I'm real bad at summaries, please forgive me!) Soldier Boy calls the reader "Petals."

Tropes: Enemies to Lovers (Not in this chapter), Only One Bed (This chapter), Slow Burn, Age Difference (Reader is in her 20s), Soft Ben/ Soldier Boy, Protective Ben/Soldier Boy

Word Count: 9.7K

Warnings: I'm going to label this 18+ because Soldier Boy (he's a warning and everyone knows it), Manipulation, Gaslighting, Swearing, Mentions of Sex, Sexual Innuendo, Sexual Tension, Shouting, Anger, Talks About Weed, Super Manipulative Trash Man Being Introduced, Ben/Soldier Boy might be a little bit OOC.

Note: This is told from Reader's perspective. Any references to the reader is made using you or your. There is minimal use of y/n. I tried my best to proofread, but nobody's perfect. If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite!

Internal monologue is in italics and is in first person.

A/N: Back to our regularly scheduled angst...

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

It feels like you've only had thirty minutes of sleep when your body jerks upwards out of your bed to the sound of crashing and the shattering of pottery, followed by someone who doesn't sound like Ben shout "What the fuck?"

It had been a few days since you faced the supe with the ability to liquidize his form and after about five showers that included you scrubbing the skin of your body raw with both a luffa and a sugar scrub and gargling with Listerine until it felt like all your taste buds were burned off, you felt that you had rid yourself of the oppressive smell and taste of the supe.

Ben and you seemed to be falling in to a familiar pattern, he walked with you to work before going off to see what Butcher had planned for him and if he could Ben would always show up at the end of your shift to walk you home. Though each time he was less than friendly to Jake, who was still trying his upmost to get Ben to talk to him rather than Ben's usual half-grunts, shrugging shoulders, and death glares.

It wasn't working and you stopped trying to get Ben to be more friendly towards your boss, but it didn't make it any less unusual that Ben kept walking with you to and from work.

When you asked him why he walked with you he said that "You shouldn't be walking alone" which of course prompted the conversation of "I don't need a babysitter" and "I've been walking to the store for two years by myself" and him not listening to anything you said. That last bit was becoming more and more normal for the two of you.

So you rationalized that Ben was trying to be nicer to you because he wanted to try to be sort-of friends and you tried not to think about how it was making you have more feelings for him.

It was difficult not to like Ben when he was acting more friendly. When he actually made an effort to have conversations with you or sat with you quietly while you read or when he was walking with you to and from work and stopping along the way to get you coffee or your favorite tea. It was confusing to you why he was doing that, why someone who was so focused on sex was doing sweet things for you after you told him that you wouldn't sleep with him and was making you have deeper feelings for him.

So like a normal person you threw your frustration into your crocheting. Over the past week you had finished Annie's sweater, made four cat toys for Bean, and were currently working on a long cardigan sweater to send your grandmother who called last week to check in and had told you she needed a new one.

Ben had come with you to the craft store and hated every second of it. Not to mention each time you added a bundle of yarn to the basket you made him hold, he would ask "What the fuck are you going to do with that?" to which you responded "Learn quantum physics." Though Ben had been impressed with the knitting needles, thought that they could be useful enough to use for self defense and had embarrassed you when you turned around and found him trying to mime stabbing someone with them while the other people in the store watched him in horror.

You rolled out of bed and threw open your bedroom door before barreling down the darkly lit hallway and sliding into the living room on your crocheted leaf socks. "What is it?" You shout prepared for attack.

Unfortunately when you slide into the room, you do so with too much enthusiasm and you slip and fall, landing on your back with a loud groan.

That one hurt.

"You alright Petals?" You hear Ben ask from somewhere above you. It's not said in a teasing way, it's said in a growl.

Is he mad at me?

"Yep just testing if gravity is still working. It is, if you were curious." You cough out a laugh as you get up and realize that Ben isn't on the couch, he's standing in the middle of your kitchen holding someone by the lapels of his black oversized army jacket against your refrigerator.

Oh that's why he's mad.

The man is rail-thin, dressed completely in black, with hair so blond you sometimes thought it was white, buzzed over his head, and although you can't see his face you know that he'll have a set of dark blue eyes that sometimes turn black when he's angry and a pair of dark hoops curving over his right eyebrow. Ben is holding him up so high that the man's feet aren't touching the ground.

You hadn't seen your brother Darren in at least a year, not since he dropped by to crash on your couch to tell you that his buddy Roach, yes that is what he called him, was opening a restaurant and asked Darren to be his business partner. He had walked you through the technical lingo and acted enthusiastic about the prospects, told you that it was his dream to open a restaurant, but he was having a problem coming up with his half of the cash. Darren had asked you for a small loan and you'd scrambled to get it together for him.

But after about three months  Darren called to tell you that it fell through and that he was onwards and upwards trying to "make his way in the world" which by now you knew was Darren speak for "could you please send me a little more money to get on my feet." Your grandmother had stopped giving him money ages ago, but you couldn't, he was family, your only brother and you loved him.

"Darren?" You say hesitantly.

"Hey sis!" Darren smiles when you turn on the light in the kitchen, looking too happy for someone being smooshed against a raspberry and blackberry covered refrigerator.

"You know this guy?" Ben glances at you over his shoulder. He's not wearing a shirt again and you're trying very hard not to focus on how good he looks without one. The muscles on his back are flexed from the exertion of holding your brother up against the refrigerator and Ben isn't breaking a sweat.

Lifting a person probably feels like lifting up Bean to him.

"Yeah he's my brother." You take a step forward and hear something crunch beneath your foot. Your gaze drops to the floor and you understand exactly what the loud crashing noise was.

The strawberry plant that usually sits on the small kitchen table that you shoved under the window is on the ground. Shards of painted pottery litter your floor in every direction, the strawberry plant smooshed under a boot print that matches up with Darren's infamous buckled motorcycle boots. The same ones he'd had since high school that he'd tell anyone who listened he won in the same bar fight that he got the thin scar on his chin from, when in reality he got them at a thrift store down the street from your grandmother's house and the scar from when he tripped and hit his chin on the toilet when he was fifteen and trying to learn how to shave.

Must have come in the window from the fire escape.

Most of the window had been blocked by a tangerine and lemon tree that you had encouraged to grow, but now the tree was pushed to the side off kilter and the window was open letting in the warm summer breeze.

You didn't understand why Darren did that when he still had the key that you made him when you moved in.

Ben drops Darren unceremoniously onto the hardwood floor, who lands with a loud "clunk” from his boots, but your brother doesn’t look upset. He rubs his hand over the top of his head as if adjusting his buzzed hair with a sheepish smile while Ben steps back onto one of the pieces of pot on your hardwood floor, but doesn't wince.

Darren notices your gaze on the smooshed strawberry plant and the shattered remains of the pot it was in. "Ooo, sorry sissy." He frowns. "But I'm sure you can fix it can't you? That is what you do." Darren emphasizes it by waving his hand around you apartment at the numerous plants covering your walls.

You crouch down and pick up the remnants of the plant gingerly, cradling it to your chest. "Um, yeah." You force a smile, trying not to think about how important the pot was to you. It was the last thing you had of your grandfather, before he passed. It had been one of your favorite memories, sitting out on the back porch in the middle of a thunderstorm painting flowers and dots and zigzags on the terracotta pot that housed the strawberry plant that you grew on the tray of your high chair the day your powers developed.

Darren knew how much the pot meant to me. He had one too before he used it for air-rifle practice.

You put the plant on your kitchen table, before taking the broom from the hook on the wall. "Why didn't you just use the door?" You tried to say it in an upbeat way, but it fell flat.

"I was excited to see my favorite sister." Darren grins pulling you into a hug.

He smells like he always does, a bit like cigarette smoke, beer, and the stale smell of weed. But when he pulls back and sees that you're still frowning, his own mouth begins to descend into an exaggerated pout. "Did you not want me to come by?"

"Of course I did." You say, but you weren't sure. "I just thought you would call first or use the key that I got you not come through the window."

“Oh stop being so dramatic.” He pats you on the head. “I’m here now so what’s going on? You got a boyfriend-“ He gestures to Ben. “Who is also a supe?”

“Ben is my roommate.” You emphasize the word roommate before Ben can say boyfriend. That was the last thing you wanted him to say in front of Darren. You'd never hear the end of it You begin to sweep up the pieces, trying to fight the urge to cry over the shattered remains. You knew that crying in front of Darren would only make him tease you about being "too sensitive" so you kept it down and figure that you can cry about it later.

"Uh huh." Darren eyes him. "So he's got super strength?"

"Why do you care?" Ben grouches, crossing his arms over his chest, but he doesn't look away from where you're sweeping up the pieces.

Darren shrugs and holds up his hands in mock surrender. "Touchy Touchy. Just making conversation dude. I mean, you're living with my sister." He breezes, but you notice Darren stand up a little straighter when he talks to Ben and you wonder if he was embarrassed by how easily Ben was able to man-handle him.

Ben opens his mouth, but you interrupt whatever he was about to say. "Darren what are you doing here?"

He brightens with the question. "Oh it's so exciting! My friend is starting up a business and-"

"You need money?" You interrupt, trying not to think about how much you could spare from the already measly sum in your bank account to help him. This month hadn't been the best and after rent and utilities you probably could only spare 70 dollars or so, but even that seemed to be pushing it.

"No nothing like that." Darren waves a hand. "I just needed a place to crash because I'm going to go meet him tomorrow."

"Oh-"

"And he wants to meet you."

"Huh?" You look up from the small pile of shards at him. "Why?"

"He said that he wanted to meet the sister who I'm always talking about." Darren shrugs, before pulling a blunt from where it is behind his left ear, and lighting it.

He talks about me to his friends?

"Uh-huh. I think that I've met enough of your friends." You reply continuing to sweep more pieces into the pile.

You were using the word "friends" hesitantly because Darren seemed to go through them so often that you didn't think that it was worth it to learn all their names. And also because one time you had run into one of the "friends" Darren made and he had proceeded to chase you down the block shouting words about your brother that were not worth repeating.

"I think you'll like this one." Darren eyes Ben again. "I showed him your picture and he said that you were classic."

You miss Ben stiffen.

"Please stop trying to set me up. I'm fine." You could feel your cheeks heating because you knew that Ben was watching you.

The last time Darren had tried to set you up you found out half way through the date that your date was his weed dealer, whose idea of a romantic first date was to take you to a gentleman's club and then try to see who would be into having a threesome. Needless to say you were underwhelmed and blocked his number. The only good thing that had come of it was the gummy bear edibles you'd nicked from his pocket when he was flirting with one of the dancers and Annie and you had enjoyed the rest of the evening giggling and eating copious amounts of pizza and snacks.

"I don't know, he's better than the last one. Definitely has more money and he's sophisticated." Darren breathes out a cloud of smoke and you wave your hand to dissipate the smog.

"Charles Manson would be better than the last one, Darren."

"Manson had hundreds of followers and was treated like a god. I think you're being too picky." Darren rolls his eyes at you while he takes a hit from the blunt.

"Only you would see Manson as a role model." You grumble under your breath crouching down to sweep the pieces of the pot into the dust pan. "But if you really want to stay here you can take my bed."

A part of you were expecting Darren to protest, to care that you wouldn't have anywhere to sleep, but he doesn't argue with you.

“Great! Thanks.” He takes a few steps towards the hallway, the cloud of smoke following behind him like a dark omen, before he stops and glances back. “You got anything to drink?”

“No. Fresh out.” You lie without looking up. You didn’t want it to mix with whatever the hell that was in his system, because with Darren it was always something.

“I swear it’s like you don’t even think about me.” Darren flashes a wide grin, but the joke kind of hurts.

As he goes you dump the pieces into a plastic grocery bag, hoping deep down that you could glue it back together, but even you know that it's probably a long shot.

Maybe I can make the bigger pieces into something else? File down the sharp edges?

Ben is still standing in your kitchen, his arms crossed, listening to Darren go down the hallway and into your bedroom, slamming the door behind him.

The door opens again and you hear Darren mutter, “Out stupid cat," sending a fuming Bean hissing down the hallway. He trots into the living room indignantly and you stoop down to calm him down, leaning the broom against the kitchen table as you do.

Ben is quiet, but you can feel the room heat up a few degrees for a second almost as if he's angry. “Does he always talk to you that way?” Ben’s voice is low.

“He’s high.” You continue to pet Bean, not looking up. “He’s not usually so-“ You search for the word.

“Fucking rude?”

You stand up with a sigh. “You sound like Annie.”

“Oh so she doesn’t get along with him either? Shocker.”

“Ben.”

He was bristling slightly, annoyed, teetering on angry. “Fine.” He mutters.

You turn your attention to the trampled strawberry plant, gently dragging your fingers over the petals repairing the damage with a wave of your hand as you do, until it looks better than it had a few moments ago, and place it in a plastic black pot temporarily. You were again, trying not to be too upset about the way that Darren entered your apartment, but it was like him to do something like that, like him to break things that you thought were important without a second thought for how you felt.

Your relationship with your brother was hard and sometimes it felt like you were the only one trying, but you didn't want to give up on him. He was the only family that you had besides your grandmother. When your parents died, Darren pulled away, stayed out late drinking and doing whatever drugs he could get his hand on, and had multiple flings with women in the neighborhood that weren't exactly single. Your grandmother had cut him out completely, but you couldn't.

“Are you okay?” Ben asks.

“Yeah, just kind of tired.” You sigh, closing the window that Darren pried open to get into the apartment. When you turn back you realize just how close Ben is standing to you, so close that you can feel the warmth radiating out from his skin and into the air.

His fingertip lightly presses the scrunch between your eyebrows. "You're lying." Ben says it quietly.

"I wish you wouldn't do that."

"Do what?"

"Tell me when I'm lying. It's infuriating."

"Why?"

"Because it's the 21st century and when someone lies because they don't want to talk about how they really feel, it's common courtesy to just say 'ok' and move on!" You snap, grabbing the bag of smashed pottery. You immediately felt bad. You didn't mean to snap at him, but you were upset about Darren showing up unannounced even though you told him each time he came into town to tell you, but he never did, and about him breaking one of the only things in your apartment that had sentimental value to you.

Ben frowns at you for a minute, and you think that he's going to come up with some kind of retort, but instead he says  "Okay."

"Thank you."

You watch Ben's gaze drift back into your living room. "You can take the couch.”

It surprises you. You were just going to camp out in the bathtub and will the moss to make a pillow beneath your head. "But where will you sleep?"

“I can sleep on the floor.” He shrugs. "Don't need a bed. And I've slept enough anyway-"

“Ben you’re not going to sleep on the floor because my brother decided to show up in the middle of the night. It’s unfair.”

It was. You didn’t want Ben to curl into a ball on the floor and try to find a comfortable position, not after he'd spent the last forty years in a Russian Lab without a bed and probably without a pillow.

He shouldn't have to suffer because my brother never remembers how much I hate surprises.

“Well I’m sure as hell  not going to let you sleep on the floor.” Ben shouts.

"I can sleep in the bathtub. The moss is actually really comfortable-"

"In the fucking bathtub? You're kidding right?"

"No. I've done it before-"

"When?" Ben suddenly looks murderous.

"The last time Darren was here I didn't have a couch and-"

"That fucker made you sleep in the bathtub?"

"I mean he didn't volunteer any other options and Darren can't fit in there so-" You try to reason with him, getting confused as to why Ben was suddenly looking down the hallway like he was going to haul Darren out by the lip and make him apologize.

"I'll be fucking damned if you sleep in a fucking bathtub!"

“What is it with you being chivalrous at the most inopportune times?” You stamp your foot in frustration.

You didn’t want to sleep in the bathtub, but you were willing to if it meant that Ben had a soft place to sleep. The moss wasn't all that bad, it was squishy, and the bathroom was kind of cozy in your apartment because of all the plants you had in there.

“Forgive me, but when I grew up it was considered common courtesy to give things like beds to women. And what kind of man would I be if I let you sleep in a mother fucking bathtub?” He shouts back, using the words you had used earlier to yell at him for pointing out your lie.

“Well if you sleep on the floor then I’m going to sleep in the bathtub."

“Fine.” Ben seethes.

“Fine.”

You stand there with your arms crossed and eyes narrowed refusing to back down. Ben mirrors your stance, before he loses it.

“I think it’s fucking ridiculous that no one is going to sleep on the couch. So why don’t you just shut up and sleep on the couch?"

“Because it’s your bed!”

“I bought it for both of us to use!” He snaps back.

You glare at him, tapping your foot, before you glance at the large couch.

Honestly, when it was in the pull out position it was about the size of a full bed, maybe a little bigger, more than enough room for Ben and for you. The thought seemed almost too crazy to consider… almost. Your mouth dips into a nervous frown, anxiety electrifying in your veins.

“I mean it’s-“ You clear your throat. “It’s big enough for both of us.” You say quietly.

Ben looks at you like you’re crazy, body going taunt. “I thought you said you didn’t want me to fuck you.”

“I don’t want to fuck me Ben, but I don’t hate the idea of sleeping with you. I mean I don’t think you’re going to do anything while I’m asleep."

Ben looks angry all over again. “I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again! I’m not a fucking rapist.”

“No. Ben I mean-" You were waving your hands in front of you nervously trying to find the words. "I’m not saying you’re a rapist. I’m trying to tell you that I trust you and-“

Ben’s expression slackens. “You trust me?” He interrupts you in a whisper, sounding almost as if he can’t believe it, his face twisted into an emotion that you can't recognize.

“Well yeah.” Your cheeks flame bright red. “I mean we’re kinda friends and I trust my friends. I mean, do you think that I would let you live here if I didn’t trust you?"

Ben clears his throat, but doesn't say anything. "Um-" His eyes flick to the couch then back at you. "I don't want you to do anything you're uncomfortable with." He says gruffly.

"It doesn't make me that uncomfortable." You reply, but you're already trying to figure out the mechanics of how you can sleep on the couch with him, without touching him.

"Uh-huh." Ben raises an eyebrow.

"It's okay. I'm going to get my pillow."

"I'll get it."

"But-" You begin to say, but Ben ignores you and stomps down the hallway.

Why does he want to get it?

He doesn't even bother to knock when he goes into your room and you can hear a quiet scuffle, followed by your brother shouting "What's your problem man?" and Ben's retort of "Just shut the fuck up and go to sleep." 

Ben is still grumbling something under his breath when he comes back into the living room, but he holds out your pillow for you. "Here."

"Thanks. But what did I say about you going into my room?” You hoped that the joke would ease some of the tension that you were holding in your shoulders.

"I think we threw all that out the window the other night. Don't you think Petals?" Ben smirks.

Right, the other night when he broke down my door and let me squeeze his hand.

"Maybe." You hug your pillow against your chest. "Do you-" You cough to clear your throat. "Do you want the inside or the outside?"

His eyes flick to the front door and then to the hallway. "I'll take the outside."

"Okay." You stand there awkwardly for a minute and even though you were the one who suggested this idea in the first place, you suddenly feel anxious.

I can do this. I can lay next to him and avoid touching him. What if I snore? Or drool? Or say embarrassing things? Oh fuck what if I start to have a dream about him with him literally laying right there.

“Petals, if you don’t want to-“

“I want to. I just need to wrap my head around it and I don’t want you to sleep on the floor.” You take in a deep breath and climb onto the couch, pushing yourself as far as you can into the back cushions. You don't look at him when he gets in behind you, leaving about a good three inches of space between your bodies, the two of you back to back.

It's quiet for a few minutes, but then you feel the couch begin to shake lightly and you realize that Ben is laughing.

"What's so funny?" You turn to look over your shoulder at him.

"I was just thinking that it's about time I got you into my bed Petals."

"Shut up." You snort and turn your body enough to hit him on the shoulder, which makes Ben turn over to face you.

His dark hair hangs long over his forehead, his eyes shining, and his signature smirk pulls at the end of his lips. "Make me."

Fuck. You bite the inside of your cheek, fighting the flush that threatens to rise against your cheeks, when you think about kissing him to shut him up. All that did was remind you of the kiss you shared in the hallway the night he first slept in your apartment which then lead to how close he was to you and that only brought back memories of his beard against your neck outside the party. The flush that finally breaks through is coupled with the immediate blooming of the apple tree at the end of the couch. The delicate flowers fluttering open as if they were winking at the two of you.

Shit, maybe he won't notice that.

Ben glances up at the tree above the two of you confused. "Why'd you do that?"

"Do what?" You ask innocently.

"You made the tree make the fucking flowers."

"No, I didn't." You hit your pillow to rid yourself of an imaginary lump.

"Yes, you did. You also did it the other day when you were reading your book." Ben's eyes roam your face as if he's searching for the answer.

Oh right, when I was reading my book and it started to get a little bit steamy and everything in the room started flowering like it had been a long winter… Honestly it kinda has been a long winter, but I'm not going to think about it right now when he's this close to me. I can't believe he noticed that.

"Does it mean something?" He raises an eyebrow.

"Nope."

Ben smirks his eyes drawn to the center of your forehead where you know the scrunch is giving away your lie. "It does, doesn't it?"

"Nope. Goodnight." You turn over and stare at the back cushions of the couch. Hoping that he’ll just drop it.

He doesn’t.

"It means that you're turned on, doesn't it Petals?" Ben's breath is warm against the back of your neck, making goosebumps trail over your arms and you fight to keep control of the blooming.

"No, it doesn't."

"Do I turn you on?" You can hear the smile in his voice.

"No, and it’s not what it means."

"Uh-huh. So when I do something like this-" Ben reaches out to touch the small of your back and trails his warm large hand over the curve of your right hip.

You clench your teeth together to try to stop the power that rushes out of your body with the contact, but it's too late, the Jasmine that creeps along the brick wall behind the tv explodes, the smell of Jasmine wafting over to the couch where Ben and you are laying.

Ben laughs, shaking the couch beneath you.

"Shut up. It's so embarrassing." You moan into the pillow curling further in on yourself and pulling the crocheted blanket over your head, blushing so deeply that you were sure you looked like a giant raspberry.

“It’s not embarrassing Petals.” Ben chuckles, pulling the blanket down from your head. “It’s kinda cute.”

You glare at him over your shoulder. “I will kill you.”

Ben contemplates what he’s going to say next. "So when you're fucking someone-"

"If you finish that sentence you're not going to wake up." You warn, knowing exactly where he's going with this.

Ben only laughs at you. "Come on Petals, I'm curious. Plus you're so adamant about not sleeping with me that I guess I'll never see when you c-."

"Fine!" You shout turning around to face him again, cheeks beet red. He's still staring at you with that ridiculous smirk that makes your legs weak and sends warmth pooling into the pit of your stomach. "When I have an orgasm, I do make everything bloom. Happy?"

"I mean I'd be happier if you'd let me witness it and if you'd let me fuck you." Ben's hand is touching your waist, his thumb teasing the edge of where your t-shirt meets the top of your sleep shorts.

"Ben, we've talked about this." You say it mostly to remind yourself.

"I know." His smirk dips into a frown and he withdraws his hand from your body.

You chew the inside of your cheek thinking about how hard this is and how much you wished it could be different.

"It's okay." You whisper, because he might not have apologized, but you could see the frustration on his face. "Really, it's fine."

Ben doesn't say anything, only continues to look at you with an unreadable expression, so instead you say "I'll see you in the morning" and you turn over to look at the cushions on the back of the couch, hoping that you're able to fall asleep before he does.

Mike's screech of "I Will Always Love You" is not as loud in the living room as it is in your bedroom, but it's still enough to wake you up. The room is lighter in the morning, the gentle pulse of sunlight filters through the leaves of the plants, but sends a warm glow over your body.

Actually, you were already warm, really warm, warmer than usual.

That's weird why am I-

You inhale sharply when you realize why you're so warm. Your body is pinned into the couch cushions, because Ben is practically laying on top of you. Your back is flush against his chest, his strong arms wrapped around your waist, and his face is pressed into your hair.

This isn't good.

Ben mutters something in his sleep and tightens his grip on your waist, pulling you even further against his chest, and shifting his hips in a way that makes you realize that this is a lot worse than you thought. Because you can feel exactly what makes Ben so cocky begin to get excited.

Fuck, this really isn't good.

"Um Ben?" You whisper, but he doesn't wake up, instead he moans something into your hair, and shifts his hips again in a way that makes your heartbeat stutter in your chest.

Fuck. Really not good.

You knew that Ben was attracted to you, knew that he had wanted to fuck you since the moment he first saw you, so you weren't surprised that this was happening, and there was a part of you that enjoyed this. Laying in bed with him, feeling his warmth transferring to you, having his body relaxed around you as he pulled you deeper and deeper into his chest. The warmth was lovely, you didn't do well in the cold and being with Ben meant that you'd never have to worry about that again. It was moments like this that you wished you never let Ben move in, not because you hated him, but because you liked him too much.

"Ben." You say it louder.

"Hmm?" Ben groans. "If no one is dying then don't wake me up Petals." He murmurs, obviously not understanding what the problem is. You wait another minute, lying beneath him and trying to think about a way to get out of this, when Ben realizes what he's doing.

He raises his head from your hair blinking at where you're staring at him over your shoulder with wide eyes.

"Morning." You whisper.

"Morning." Ben returns, but it's barely audible, just a marvelous deep rumble that you can feel vibrating up through where he's laying on top of you.

Ben doesn't move, his eyes are a soft pine, like fresh sprigs in spring sprouting from the highest branches to stretch towards the early sun. You can't move, you feel frozen beneath his gaze, watching the gentle way the light kisses his bold features, the smooth dip of his bow-like mouth, the rough edge of his strong jaw, and the proud bend of his nose.

His arms loosen from around your waist, but he turns you towards him, so you're pressed chest to chest, without looking away from your face. Your hands are pinned between the two of you, resting against his bare chest right over where his heart beats beneath your fingertips.

Ben's green eyes trace your features, dropping to your lips before raising once more to look you in the eye as if he's asking for your permission. You know what he wants, can see it in the way he watches you, and see it in the way that his head tilts towards yours. Your lips tingle in anticipation, your heart beat loud like the thunder in a summer storm that rattles the windows of your grandmother's home. You can't draw a breath because you know if you do it'll be full of him, until all you can do is breathe him in and sink into his body until there's nothing left of you and everything left of Ben.

You're not sure if it's because you're still a little bit sleepy or if it's because Ben is so warm or if it's because all the hard edges of Ben that you've grown accustomed to have smoothed over and all you see is the version that Ben was only around you. The version who sat with you when you had a nightmare and refused to leave, the version who walked you to work every morning, the version who sat with you while you read your book, and the version who seemed to care more than he was willing to admit. But the longer you lay there with him the bigger the urge is to pull him closer.

Your hands smoothly travel up Ben's chest feeling the strength beneath the palms of your hands before you lock them behind his head, tangling loosely in the dark strands of his hair at the nape of his neck.

The apple tree at the end of the couch begins to shed flowers down on both of you and Ben’s eyes flick up to it for just a second before he smiles. It’s the first time you’ve seen him have a smile like that, one that looked so easy, so genuinely happy and you’d be lying if you said that you didn’t think you wanted to make him smile like that all the time.

Ben leans forward to close the distance between the two of you, his lips warm and inviting, his forehead just barely resting against yours, but before your lips touch, your bedroom door opens and slams into the wall with a loud crashing noise that makes you jolt back away from him, breaking the spell.

"Good morning sis!" Darren crows walking in to the room. "Oh sorry, did I interrupt something between you guys?" He wiggles his eyebrows.

"No." Your voice sounds high and squeaky, because he had. You're not sure what would have happened if he hadn't come in, well, you did. Ben was going to kiss you and you wanted him to.

This is getting too complicated.

Ben only frowns at your brother from his position on the couch. The two of you are sitting up now, side by side as if nothing happened, but you can't shake the memory of the warmth of his body soaking into yours as he curved himself around you, almost as if he wished to protect you even when he was asleep.

Is that why he wanted to sleep on the outside?

"Sure." Darren smirks. "Do you have anything to eat around here? Or do you only have all this shitty fruit?" Darren frowns at the raspberry and blackberry vines, the strawberry plant, the apple tree, and the lemon and tangerine trees.

"Oh." You shake off the insult. "There should be some cereal in the cabinet"

"I hope you got the name brand stuff this time."

Maybe I'd be able to afford the name brand stuff if someone stopped coming around and asking me for money.

"If you don't like anything we have, I'd suggest going to the diner across the street." Ben says tightly emphasizing that he lives here now.

"No thanks bro. I'm kinda short on cash these days." Darren replies finding the Lucky Charms cereal and pouring himself the last bowl without a second thought.

"Oh really?" Ben says standing from the couch to glare at your brother. "And what exactly is it that you do Darren?"

Darren leans back against the counter eating his cereal, but you can see the tight way he's gripping the spoon. "I'm an entrepreneur."

"What the fuck does that mean?"

"Ben-" You start to say, unsure as to why Ben was giving your brother a hard time.

"It means that I invest in other opportunities." Darren stabs his cereal with the spoon.

"And if you're so short on cash, how do you do that?" Ben presses.

A dark look passes through Darren's eyes. "What exactly are you getting at?"

"Well you've been here for maybe six hours and the only thing that I've seen you do is break in, take your sister's bed, and insult her." Ben takes a step forward into the living room. "So to me, it kinda looks like you just sit on your ass like a fucking pussy and mooch off of your sister, because you're not man enough to get a real job."

"What the fuck is your problem man?" Darren puts down the bowl. "I don't understand where all this hostility is coming from, but I don't have to explain myself to you. My sister and my relationship is none of your business, and I've been here a lot longer and I'm pretty sure that I'll be here longer than you-"

"Not if I have anything to say about it." Ben growls.

"Whoa wait a second-" You stand up from the couch.

"You have no idea who you're talking to." Darren's voice is low, his eyes leveled on Ben. "You shouldn’t start a fight you can't win."

Ben's lips tilt into a smirk. "Trust me, it's not going to be much of a fight."

"Whoa!" This time you plant yourself between the two of them, one hand resting on Darren's chest. You can feel a deep thrumming buzz coming through the material of his band t-shirt and into your hand and for a moment you're surprised, because your brother wasn't a supe.

Then where is it coming from?

You shake it off. "Let's all just take a nice deep breath."

Ben's eyes are still narrowed at Darren, refusing to back down from a fight, which was like him. And as much as you loved your brother you knew that he tended to have a bad temper, and the last thing you wanted was to clean up the mess when Ben pulled out his spine and reenacted Predator in your small kitchen.

"Ben please." You say it quietly, glancing at where he's towering over the two of you.

You can hear the audible click of his teeth when he unclenches his jaw, his eyes no longer the soft pine they were when you were wrapped in his embrace, but now blaze a dark green. You know that he's about to say something, but Ben's phone rings and continues to ring in the silence, until Ben sighs and turns to pick it up, but he doesn't seem happy about it.

You drop your hand from Darren's chest with a sigh, but happy for the interruption. "Why do you have to be like that?" You ask your brother.

"Me? He started it!" Darren fumes. "Boy, you really know how to pick 'em sis."

"What do you mean? We're not together, we're just friends! And wait, this isn't about him and me. He lives here and if you keep dropping by, you're going to have to be okay with seeing Ben."

"Why can't you just move in with Annie? She's better to look at anyway." Darren rolls his eyes and picks up his bowl of soggy cereal.

Maybe to you. You fight the memory of Ben in the towel still wet from his shower that you witnessed the other day and successfully stop the flush that tries to creep into your cheeks. It's followed again by how wonderful it felt to drag your hands up Ben's chest and catch in the dark strands of his hair. The fruitless tomato plant behind Darren's head begins to swell with bright red tomatoes the size of your fist.

I've got to get that under control.

The memory of Ben figuring out exactly why that happened around you flits through your mind bringing an inescapable wave of embarrassment. The day you'd found it out was when Annie and you were watching Vampire Diaries for the first time in your bedroom back home and as soon as Damon Salvatore walked onto the screen the blueberry bush next to your bed suddenly exploded. Not to mention the first time that your high school boyfriend Newton kissed you in his parent's cornfield, the entire crop suddenly came back tenfold in the middle of winter.

"She's moving in with her boyfriend Hughie." You say, trying not to sound disappointed.

When you first moved to the city, you had wanted to move in with her, but she was apart of the Seven, and when she finally decided to move out of Vought Tower, it was because she wanted to move in with Hughie, not because she wanted to move in with you. It stung the day she told you, and you'd be lying if you said that you were not still a little upset about it, because it felt like she had chosen someone else over you.

"Oh right, that's still going on. Don't know what she sees in that wimp."

"He's sweet. You don’t know him. And I don't know why you’re acting jealous, Annie and you have never gotten along-"

"Because she's a bitch! I can't believe you're still friends with her after all this time."

"Hey don't talk about her that way. Annie is my best friend, practically my sister."

"Right." Darren rolls his eyes again and swings the spoon in a wide arch. "She's always been a bitch and now that she's Starlight she's even worse. She's always had that stick up her ass even when we were kids-"

"If you keep talking about her that way, you can leave." You say simply, feeling your temper begin to flare.

You didn't give a fuck if Darren insulted you or made fun of you, you did however, care if he spoke poorly about Annie. Annie was family to you, Annie had been with you a hell of a lot more than Darren had when you parent's died, she hadn't pulled away from you and vanished into thin air when you needed someone to hold you or when you couldn't sleep or when you woke up screaming or when you couldn't stop crying.

That being said, Annie and Darren had never gotten along, not once in all the years that you'd been friends. Whenever Annie came over, Darren left, and vice versa. You weren't sure why they couldn't get along, but you did think it was infinitely better than Annie being secretly in love with your brother. He never had a lasting relationship in his life that was worth remembering. The longest relationship he'd been in was with his buckled combat boots that he never took off.

Darren lets out an annoyed sigh, but you watch remorse and sympathy drip into his gaze. "Fine. But I just want what's best for you. You know that right?" He puts his hand on your shoulder, his eyes softening. "Come on sis, you know that I'm just looking out for you? I love you, you're the only family I have left that actually cares about me."

Your heart breaks with his words, hurt that he feels like your grandmother doesn't care about him and that he felt like you were the only person in the world that he meant something to. Sure he'd messed up more times than you could count and did occasionally disappear whenever you seemed to need him, but he was your brother.

You sigh. "I know Darren. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have been so mean before."

"It's okay." He glances over to where Ben has just hung up the phone and is glaring at Darren's hand placement on your shoulder. "I guess I should go get dressed."

"Okay."

"But you're coming with me to meet my friend right?" Darren looks at you with a hopeful expression.

"Um... Well I'd have to tell Jake that I'll be a little late." You say slowly not wanting to disappoint Darren. "And I don't really like leaving him high and dry-"

You didn't like calling out from work, in fact you hadn't missed more than a handful of days in the two years that you'd been working there, because you genuinely liked going to work. Being there was like coming home, surrounded by the healing energy of the plants that thrived under your watchful eye.

"Come on the plants will survive without you for an hour or so." Darren smiles. "Do you want me to beg you sissy? I really want you to come with me. It would make me so happy."

"Well, okay." You concede. "Let me just text Jake."

"Yes! I'll be out in a minute and then you can change okay?"

"Sure."

When Darren struts off down the hallway, Ben joins you in the kitchen, glaring at Darren's back as he disappears into your room.

"Who was on the phone?" You ask him while picking up Darren's bowl and scrape the remaining soggy cereal into the trashcan under the sink.

"Butcher." Ben grunts. "Said that he got a lead on the electric supe, but it's all the way in Boston."

"Boston? But that's so far away. Why would he have an operation there and be picking up cars here? He can't be in two places at once."

"No idea, but Butcher said the lead was solid." Ben shrugs.  "And he said that he's getting everyone ready to go right now and that I need to get over there so we can get on the road."

"Everyone's going?" You ask disappointed. The thought of the entire team being gone for a few days made you feel lonely. They were kinda like your extended family. You also felt a little left out that Butcher hadn't asked you to go.

"Yeah. Butcher said that he would have asked you to come, but he knows you work most of this week anyway and that he thinks that it'll be alright if you stay here." Ben rubs the back of his neck, but seems hesitant. "Are you going to-" He clears his throat. "Are you going to be okay?"

You didn't miss the way his eyes flick down the hallway to where your brother is.

Is he worried about me?

"Why? You don't want to leave me with Darren or something?" You joke with a snort.

"No."

But Ben looks away when he says it in a way that makes you think that he's lying.

"Believe it or not Darren used to babysit me when I was little and I didn't die or get brain damage-"

"Not to your knowledge."

"Why are you so worried about me?"

"I'm not! I just-" Ben crosses his arms over his chest annoyed. "I don't think you should go meet his friend."

"Why not? I've met plenty of his friends. They're all very dude-bro. At least he has a type."

"I have no idea what that means."

You roll your eyes, before you consider something else. "Wait, are you jealous or something?"

"I am not fucking jealous!" Ben sighs. "I just think that maybe you should use your head Petals."

"What on earth are you talking about?"

"You going to meet his creepy friend without knowing exactly where you're going or what his friend is going to 'make you do'."

"Make me do? Ben where the fuck do you think my brother is taking me? Do you think he's selling me into the sex trade or something?" You look at him incredulously.

Does he really think so lowly of my brother? He'd never do anything like that. Darren cares about me, he's just guarded and a little rough around the edges.

"You're too fucking trusting Petals!” He explodes.

“What? I am not too trusting.”

“Yes you are!”

“No I’m not. And why are you yelling at me? Why are you mad?” You reply in confusion. “I don’t understand why you’re making such a big deal about this. I've met his friends before."

“I’m not mad I’m just fucking trying to-“ Ben clenches his jaw so tight you can see the muscle pop on the side of his face. “You’re just so damn kind and too damn stupid to see what’s directly in front of your face!”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” You plant your hands on your hips staring up at him, not expecting Ben to look so angry, but he does. His arms are folded tightly over his bare chest, his muscles tense, and his eyebrows are pulled together. “Are you really telling me that it’s stupid to trust my brother? He’s my brother! Not some random dude I met on the street-“

“He might as well be! In the fucking five minutes he’s been here he’s been nothing, but be a total dick to you!”

“Oh well excuse me Ben, but I’ve known him for more than the five fucking minutes that you have-“

“Exactly! You should know better!” Ben is getting angrier now and you didn't know where all of this was coming from, especially because of how you'd spent the morning and especially because he was acting differently than he had been the past few days. "You care way to much about other people and you shouldn’t! People like him look for people like you. People who are too stupid to know any better. People who as so trusting and innocent that they take everything at face value."

You stare at him with your mouth open, anger and hurt swirling together to form a cold dagger shoved straight into your heart. You didn't understand why he was doing this or why he was getting so angry.

Oh sweetie, you really thought he cared about you? It's all just an act don't you see? The little voice in your head whispered in your ear.

And it made you furious.

"I am not some innocent little girl Ben. I am a grown woman and I don’t have to listen to your toxic Hemingway Code Hero bullshit." You turn back to the sink prepared to wash out the bowl, but Ben grabs on to your wrist and spins you back to look at him.

"You should listen to me! Because caring about people who don't give a shit about you is going to get you fucking killed or worse!" His grip is tight on your wrist, but not enough to bruise. His skin burns against where his hand wraps around your wrist and you worry how much longer you have until Ben goes Nuclear.

You wrench your wrist from his hand.

"At least I have people who care about me! And yeah, maybe I'm a little trusting, but I'd rather be too trusting than push everyone away before I get a chance to know them." You shout back shoving your finger into his bare chest. "You might think that you're some big strong macho man, but if you actually dropped the fucking macho act and acted like you gave a shit maybe there'd be more people willing to be in your life and willing to care about you! Maybe that's why your entire team  collectively said "fuck you" and stabbed you in the back! Maybe that's why Vogelbaum wanted to start from scratch with your fucked up son because they knew you were too much of a asshole to admit that you need someone and didn't have the common decency to give anyone a chance!"

"I don't need anyone." Ben's gaze turns murderous at the mention of Homelander and his old team.

"I think you do, but I think that you try to bury the real you underneath all this bullshit and-"

"You don't know anything about me Petals." Ben growls, taking a step forward so that he's leaning down over you, the air warming with the heat of his anger, a slight glow emanating from the middle of his chest.

The counter is pressed into your back as he pins you there, so differently than the other day you were in the same position.

"You think just because we’ve talked a few times and because I sleep on this fucking couch every night that you know me?" He laughs cruelly.  "I'd rather have no one than be saddled with someone like you who struts around like a fucking tease with stars in her eyes trying to romanticize every single damn person she runs into. It's no wonder you haven't found a man to fuck you, because you're too busy chasing after a stupid fantasy version of a man who doesn't fucking exist and latching on to assholes like your brother who do nothing but use you!" Ben's eyes have shifted into the darkened pits again, the ones that seem to be ready to drag you beneath the raging waves.

"And I'd rather have no one than someone like you who's too insecure about his own masculinity that he feels the need to project a fucked up toxic "together" version of himself and pretends to care about other people to manipulate them into getting what he wants." You spit back, your eyes shifting bright green.

Every plant in your home begins to tremble, the energy from them flooding through your body, strengthening you, merging together as they prepare to bend to your will.

Ben's expression turns murderous, his lips pulling back in a snarl, prepared to no doubt spit back something that he'd be unable to take back, but Darren walks back into the kitchen wearing a fresh pair of clothes.

He's oblivious to the conversation that Ben and you just had and drops his arm over your shoulder. “What did I miss?”

You feel your eyes shift back to normal, but the anger and frustration still war in your chest, beating against your rib cage, begging to be unleashed. Ben doesn’t respond instead he only glares at you.

“Alrighty then.” Darren snorts when neither of you fill the silence, not sensing the tension in the air. "Don't worry there Benny, I'll take good care of her. I always do." You miss the glare that Darren throws Ben over your head.

But just for a second you think that Darren may have heard more of the conversation between Ben and you than he was willing to admit.

Ben's jaw is tight, eyes still blazing with his own anger and annoyance. "Do whatever the fuck you want. It's not like a give a shit what happens to her." He states before he stomps down the hallway and slams the bathroom door so loud that all the dishes in your kitchen cabinets shudder.

You weren't expecting those words to hurt as much as they did, but it felt like you had taken a two by four to the chest.

"What's his problem?" Darren asks.

"I don't know." You grumble, because you didn't.

The shift of conversation from Ben almost acting concerned about you going with Darren to him insulting you was giving you whiplash. You didn't understand why Ben had said those things to you, why he had yelled at you for being "too trusting." You didn't think that you were too trusting. It wasn't weak to love someone or care for someone else, but you guessed that was how Ben saw it. You wondered if it was because of what Countess did to him or if it came from his trust of his team or if it was ingrained in him from when he was a child.

Does he really think I'm too trusting? I mean he saw how long it took me to trust him? Or how long it took me to warm up to him? Or I guess, sort of warm up to him?

"Are you going to change?" Darren presses, looking down at your soft shirt and sleep shorts with a frown. "You should. Maybe wear something different than those overalls though. Kinda want you to make a good impression you know?"

"Yeah. Um. I guess I'll go now." You murmur walking down the hallway. For a moment you pause outside of the bathroom where you know Ben is, and you're unsure what he's doing because you don't hear the water running, before you go into your bedroom.

You stand there for a minute, taking in a soothing breath, but it does little to calm your racing heart. The anger and frustration you felt began to crash over you and you feel frustrated tears begin to trail down your cheeks.

You weren't sure if it was what Ben had yelled at you or what you had yelled at him, all you knew was that you were hurt and you were happy that Ben was going out of town for a few days, because you didn't think that you could look at him again, not without throwing him out of your apartment on his ass.

A/N: I know, I know, maybe I'm a little addicted to the drama and the angst. And oh my word slow burns are so hard, but I promise that I do have a plan of when the two of them do finally get together and it IS GLORIOUS.

As always thank you so much for reading! If you'd like to be added to the taglist for this series please let me know :)

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[hirukochan]

I feel cheeky sending another ask but I lived the interrogation one so much so just 3 so words: snape sex pollen. Perhaps a professor x professor?

(Ps: is their a place that I can support your writing!!!)

Snape x Professor sex pollen coming right up 🫡

Writing is one of my many beloved hobbies; liking, reblogging, giving kudos or commenting is all the support I need! Thank you very much for asking though!

Blue Speckled Mushrooms

(Severus Snape x fem!Professor oneshot)

Words: 2572

Warnings: 18+ Sex Pollen :D - mutual dub-con, some biting, rough smut

Summary: In your continuing efforts to catch the grumpy Potion Master's attention you follow him into the Forbidden Forest - a mistake of perhaps destiny unfolding?

This is play post-war, Sev survives - not that it matters much to the 'plot'

Read on Ao3 or below the cut:

It could have been so easy. Gather these blasted Moon Cornflowers and Speckled Blue Mushrooms and return to the castle. It’s all he asks for. Moon Cornflowers and Speckled  Blue Mushrooms to finish the brew currently under stasis in his office. Two plants. Just a few of each. They couldn’t be preserved through either magic or other means and had to be harvested within three hours of being used in a potion and only during a full moon. 

Now usually this is no problem for an accomplished potion master such as Severus Snape. A quick trip to the forest and done. He knows the half-forgotten paths, the safe routes. Knows how to avoid the Centaurs and other nastier beasts that live in the Forbidden Forest.

He does not know how to avoid her.

Irritating, stupid girl.

She took over the History of Magic position earlier that year, one of Snape’s first students he taught after becoming a professor himself at merely twenty-one. A seventh year at the time who already stared at him in the library back when he was a student. 

She just wouldn’t leave him alone!

“Midnight stroll?” She asks with that irritating smile on her stupid pretty face and follows him into the forest.

“What do you want?!” He growls at her. She keeps trying to make conversation with him, keeps sitting next to him during meals or in the staff room, talking. Always talking. Talking talking talking. 

How can a single person be this annoying?

She is still talking. Jesus fucking christ!

“So anyway…what are you doing here?”

“I don’t see how that is of any concern to you.”

“Just curious, is all.” She replies. Stupid girl. And she is still following him!

You have no idea what to do anymore. You’ve tried everything. You’ve tried catching his attention by talking to him, leaving the top button of your blouse undone, batting your lashes at him like a teen on a love potion, you’ve searched his company, flirted like your stupid life depends on it and the cranky bastard doesn’t even recognise it! 

You run to catch up with his long strides, wrapping your cloak around yourself to shield yourself from the cold night air.

You were about to go to bed, just finishing up your rounds through the castle on the lookout for students out of bed when you saw his billowing cloak sweep out of the entrance door. You of course followed him. Curious as to what he was going to do outside but also secretly hoping today’s the day he’ll finally notice your intentions.

Perhaps you have to be less subtle. You thought men like to be subtly seduced but Snape is not like any man you’ve known! Maybe he doesn’t like playing cat and mouse, doesn’t enjoy the chase. 

You’ll be blunt! Yes, if a stroll through the forest at midnight doesn’t do the trick you’ll gather what little courage you have and just make the first step yourself. You’re an independent woman! You don’t need to wait around for Snape to realise you’re interested in him and make the first step.

“Are you gathering ingredients of sorts?” You ask and walk quicker to keep up, pressing your arm against his by walking closer to him. He glares at you.

“Obviously.” He snarls and looks forward again.

“Cool. cool cool cool….um…which ones?”

He audibly grumbles.

“Sorry, I couldn’t understand you.” You smile. He is making it very hard to be attracted to him. Grumbly bastard. Prickly idiot. Why can’t he just fuck you? Shove you into a broom closet and let out his frustrations if you’re so bloody annoying to be around! Why can’t you fall head over heels for someone normal?

Because normal is boring.

Your eyes glide over his sharp jaw, every muscle tensed, about ready to snap, beneath his pale skin that shines in the moonlight.

“I said, you were a daft, simple-minded girl when I had the misfortune of attempting to teach you potions - I very much doubt you’d understand any more now than you did seventeen years ago!”

His venom cuts deep. You stumble backwards. You thought he was clumsy when it comes to socialising, that he perhaps didn’t understand your intentions, not that he loathes you.

“Oh…” You murmur. “Um…okay…” don’t cry don’t cry don’t cry. “Sorry for bothering you.” You turn on your heels and run. He calls after you but you ignore it, disappearing between the trees into the undergrowth, away from Snape because you are about to cry your eyes out like the stupid little girl he sees in you and you are not about to embarrass yourself any further than you already have! You just want to go back to your quarters.

Stupid girl! Insufferable, annoying, bothersome, foolish girl!

Snape runs after her. He considered leaving her to her own fate and capabilities and collect his ingredients but he had been cursed with a conscience. A nasty, biting thing demanding he not let her run to her death in an Acromantula den.

He’ll tear her a new one when he catches up to her! The sheer idiocy! Running into the Forbidden Forest like that! What possessed her.

“Stop running!” He snarls, draws his wand and sends a non-verbal Stupor at her. She stumbles and falls face-first into the flower field spreading over the clearing they had entered during their chase. Snape lifts his spell.

You spin around, furious. How fucking dare he? Isn’t it enough to insult you? Does he have to embarrass you by forcing you to bear your pathetic little hurt feelings to him?

He stands at the other end of the clearing, pale blue flowers reaching to his calves, emitting a gentle glow. He looks furious. The light of the full moon illuminates him from the back, deepening his already sharp features, cloaking his face and body in menacing shadows.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?!” He snarls and points towards the direction you were running in. “Do you want to be eaten by enormous spiders?”

“Like you give a damn!” You shout and pick yourself up off the ground. Swiftly you brush loose dirt and a few pedals off your robes and out of your hair. The motherfucker stunned you!

“I might be a cold son of a bitch but I am not letting a colleague run to her death - no matter how annoying said colleague is. The way back to the castle is-” A wind picks up. His cloak flutters behind him, the fabric whispering with the motion. Pedals are ripped from the flowers.

His eyes widen.

You tilt your head to the side, brows pulled together. “Severus?”

“Stay where you are!” He hisses, sending droplets of spit flying. You look around, confused, searching the dark rows of trees for some beastly critter about to attack but you find none. Snape’s eyes are pinned to yours. His chest is heaving, his breath seems shallow. You take a step forward to which Snape instantly backs away, keeping his wand pointed at- you?

“What’s going on?”

“To the castle! Go back to the castle!”

“I am not your student! You can’t give me orders! And to think I’ve been trying to go on a date with you for months!”

“You have to go back to the castle now or- what?” His wand hand sinks a little. A crease forms between his brows. You’ve never seen Severus so puzzled.

“Year really…” You mutter. “Back in school too-”

“I am not in the mood for jokes or pranks.”

“It’s not!” You take another step forward. Severus’ back hits a tree. The wind picks up. A sweet scent reaches your nose, infiltrates your mind, swirls around your brain like vapours of a potion-

Weren’t you cold?

You were! Yes, you were- but it’s so hot- when did it get so hot?

“Stop that!” Snape snarls again.

“Stop what?” You roll your eyes and pause- your cloak lies in the flower field three steps away from you. You have unbuttoned your robes, revealing the white blouse and dark trousers underneath- when-?

“Go. back.” He has his jaw clenched, teeth pressed together. His nostrils flare, his eyes flick down to your chest and he seems to struggle to force them back up.

“Are you hot too?” Your fingers pry open the buttons of your blouse without you even noticing or you’re just not thinking about it…

“Go-”

“What’s happening?”

“Pollen-”

“What?”

“Where you shit in Herbology too?!” He snaps and you glare at him about ready to-

Your blouse slips off your shoulders and falls to the ground. “Stop- you don’t want this-”

“What? What is this?”

“A rare flower.” His voice sounds pressed, as though he’s struggling to speak, to breathe, to exist. He has his back moulded to the tree, clutching at the bark with his hands, straining to keep his eyes on your face.

The button on your trousers is open.

“The pollens they emit to the air to spread and form these dense fields- they have a unique effect on humans-”

“Which effect?”

“Can’t you tell, stupid girl?”

Your trousers push past your hips.

“You should be running from me, not stripping for me.” His eyes graze over your body, standing in front of him in only your underwear, devouring the sight. His eyes trace along the curves of your body, leaving goosebumps in their wake…Heat rushes to your core.

“Sex pollen-” You gasp, noticing you’re standing a mere arm's length away from him now.

“The rather crude colloquial name - yes.”

“Severus- what-”

“Too late, stupid girl.” He snarls and the next moment he’s on you, pouncing at you like a wild beast. His woodsy, herbal scent flows around you, mixing with the sweet smell of the damned flower. His hands grip your arms roughly, blunt nails dig into your flesh. Severus swirls you around and pushes you against the tree. Bark scratches against your skin, stabbing into it but you don’t even notice.

It’s like a trance has taken over your mind and only one thing matters. 

He.

Severus’ mouth latches onto your throat. A million tiny explosions rush over your skin where he touches you and you moan, a feral sound ripped harshly from your throat, echoing over the empty clearing. Severus growls in response, even more feral, even less human. His teeth scrape over your throat. His hands roam over your body, squeezing your breasts, your thighs. Then he tears at his own clothes, shedding layer after layer with a quickness and urgency that has your head spinning.

“Stupid girl.” He repeats and kisses up to your jaw, your cheek. Heated, open-mouth kisses that leave your skin marked by his saliva. 

You place your hands on his shoulders, searching for something to hold onto, something to pull you back into reality, your head spinning, skin exploding, core hurting. You’re so aroused, so need it fucking hurts.

“Severus-” You moan. His hands find your thighs and he lifts you up. Your legs wrap around him on their own accord.

“You should have run when you still had the chance.” He snarls against your lips, his breath brushes over your skin. “You’ll regret this.”

“Shut up and fuck me, you prick!”

Your lips meet in a violent clash of teeth and tongue. You’re pretty sure he bites you or perhaps you bite him. None of it matters anymore when you feel his prick against your soaked entrance. You’ve never been so wet- never so wound up- so desperate for sex-

You cry out when he enters you, a forceful thrust that buries him to the hilt in your twitching channel. He is big. Too big under different circumstances perhaps. He doesn’t give you time to adjust. He pounds into you, spearing you open, using his grip on your waist to bounce you on his cock in sync with each of his thrusts.

You cling to his shoulders, your nails drawing blood, fingertips running over old scars, exploring the surprisingly defined muscles of his lean stature.

Your breasts bounce, rubbing against his naked chest, his lips lay claim to yours, your face, your neck, your chest.

He stumbles, his left side giving in and you tumble to the ground. You’ve seen that happen before. The venom of you-know-who’s snake has left him with some permanent damage, not only the huge scar on his neck.

You don’t care.

You push him down to the ground, your hands on his chest and move your hips, lifting them, letting them slam back down, riding him. You throw your head back, your eyes closed, lips parted as his cock drags along your inner walls with delicious friction.

“So- so full-” You moan. Your breasts sway. Severus catches them, squeezing them with such pure delight on his usually reserved face. He twists your nipples between his fingers, revelling in the noises he coaxes from you.

“You could have had this so much sooner, idiot.” You hiss and grind down against him before lifting your hips up once again.

“Wha-?” His puzzled expression is almost cute.

“I’ve been trying to get you to ask me out for months!” As though to reinforce your discontent with his lack of romantic interest you pick up your pace. His head drops back into the flowers. The pale blue petals glow in his inky black hair.

“How was I supposed to know?” He asks, bucking up to meet your movement.

“I was flirting!”

“I thought you were acting especially stupid for some reason.”

“Arsehole!” You dig your nails into his chest but Severus seems to like that. His eyes squeeze shut, his lips part, pleasure drawn into every wrinkle of his face.

“Why didn’t you just ask me out?”

“Would you have said yes?”

“I’d have called you stupid. Perhaps laughed at you. Slip poison in your tea.”

“I hate you.”

“I don’t think you do.” 

Quicker than you can follow his movements you’re underneath him and your legs on his shoulders. Your head is still spinning when Severus starts pounding into you. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the clearing, accompanied by your and Severus' animalistic, feral sounds of pleasure.

“I don’t-” You moan and dig your fingers into the dry soil underneath you.

“I know.”

“You’re supposed to say me neither.”

“I do whatever the fuck I want, sweetheart.”

“Shut up.”

“No.”

His balls slap against your arse. His hand drops between your bodies, his fingers find your clit, run over it once- twice-

You see stars. Dots of light exploding all over your field of vision and pulling you into darkness, bringing the complex system keeping your body alive and moving to an abrupt stop. Your lungs refuse to fill with air, your brain crashes, your limbs tense, your whole body forced into a contortion made of carnal desire and the world-ending pleasure Severus Snape brings you.

You twitch. Then you inhale sharply, filling your lungs with air, shuddering, whimpering under Severus who spills inside you with an ear-splitting grunt and then slumps down above you. On top of you. Your legs found the ground somehow. His cock still inside you, throbbing, slowly softening, you lay in the dirt like a starfish, feeling dizzy, overwhelmed and confused.

“Friday.” Severus murmurs, his lips brushing over your cheek as he speaks. “Dinner. Be ready on time or I’ll leave without you.”

“Mh?” 

“You really are dense." He grumbles. "Your date, stupid girl. Friday.”