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moonstruckme · 2 days ago

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hi Mae could do a reader with Spencer (or any boy u want!) where she's feeling super nauseous and throwing up a lot and trying to hide it from him like may be it's early on and she feels embarassed? I went out to brunch with a friend and idk what happened but I think I got food poisoning I've already thrown up twice and still feel so so sick

Ugh food poisoning is the worst, but I hope you're over it now lovely! Thanks for requesting <3

cw: vomitting, nausea

Spencer Reid x fem!reader ♡ 1.4k words

Part of you thinks you should cancel. You’re not a very good time right now, nauseated and shaking a little from the exertion of walking from your car to the host’s stand. Spencer deserves a date that doesn’t have to scope out bathrooms like escape routes the moment she enters the restaurant. But oh, he’d been so sweet in asking you. All soft eyes and gentle voice, and he’d sent you the menu to make sure you found something you liked before he made the reservation. You know it can’t have been easy to get, at a nice place like this on a Saturday night. Really, at the end of the day, there is simply no world where you cancel on Spencer.

You paste on a smile for the hostess, wondering if she’d find it odd if you leaned on her stand for support just for a moment. “Hi,” you say. “Um, I’m meeting someone, I think he’s already…”

A touch at your elbow prompts you to turn.

“Hi,” Spencer says.

You go a bit breathless at the sight of him. Spencer in a suit. His hair still messy as if he ran his hands through it after leaving home, the top button of his shirt open like he had it done up all the way and then felt too constricted. He looks handsome and endearing and nice. Your sundress and half sweated-through makeup feel suddenly, hopelessly inadequate.

“Hi,” you say back. “Sorry, I thought you’d already be sitting down.”

“I wanted to wait for you,” he replies simply. He turns to the hostess. “For Reid?”

As she walks you to your table, it dawns on you what an idiot you are. Possibly the only thing you could do to Spencer that would be worse than cancelling on him would be to show up as you are now. Listless and unprepared for conversation. You’re going to have to order either the smallest thing on the menu or nothing at all, and he’s going to think you don’t want to be here with him. And for yourself, you want to experience this—a first date, with Spencer, and quite possibly your only date—with all the appropriate butterflies and nervousness. Instead, you just feel…tired. And sick.

“This is really nice,” you say as you sit down.

“Yeah?” Spencer reaches for the carafe in the center of the table, pouring water into your glass and then his own. “I’m glad you think so. I’ve only been here once, but I thought it was good then, so. I hope you like the food.”

He spills a little bit of water on the tablecloth, missing his glass. Winces as sharply as if he’d shattered it. Oh god; he’s nervous. You’re going to so disappoint him.

“Sorry I was late.” You take your water, the cool glass against your hand a relief. “I was…” Well, you were vomiting in your bathroom. “I got a bit tied up on my way out.”

“That’s okay,” he says easily. “You look really beautiful.”

You wish you could tell yourself he was only a good liar. You feel clammy, and disgusting, and entirely undeserving of sitting across from him, but it’s all earnestness in Spencer’s puppy brown eyes.

“Thank you.” Your voice has gone soft with sincerity. “You look very handsome, too. I’ve never…I don’t think I’ve seen you in a suit.”

Spencer smiles, bashful. “I should probably wear them more for work. Most of my team does.”

“I like what you wear,” you say. “It suits you. Very professor-y.”

Drinking water was a bad idea. You’ve been too greedy for the cool feel of it going down your torn-up throat; your glass is nearly empty already, and already it wants back up.

“It would probably be more professional if I dressed like the others, though.” He gives a one-shouldered shrug. Adorable. “I am a professor, but I’m also a profiler, so…” Spencer’s smile slips when you swallow against the nausea tightening your throat. “Are you okay?”

You press your lips into a smile. “Yeah, sorry. I don’t think there’s anything unprofessional about your regular clothes. I like your cardigans.”

“They’re not…they’re not unprofessional, I guess, but I…” You can see Spencer’s brain working, his eyes moving over your face as you struggle to appear attentive. “Sorry, are you sure you’re okay? You look uncomfortable.”

You could almost laugh, if you weren’t feeling so awful. Trust Spencer to tell it like it is.

“I’m okay,” you say. “Sorry, I’m not feeling great, but I’m fine.”

“You’re not?” Spencer looks troubled. Sad, puppy brown eyes.

Oh, and there are the nerves you’d been missing. Malicious, evil butterflies turning your stomach into an inhospitable environment.

You stand, your chair squeaking against the floor. “I’m so sorry,” you say in a rush. “I’ll be right back.”

You are not, unfortunately, able to keep that promise. You spend the next twenty minutes kneeling in a bathroom stall, trying to convince yourself they probably keep the floors very clean in a nice restaurant like this while your body rejects the water you had and then several phantom meals it suspects you might’ve had while it wasn’t paying attention. When you finally emerge, Spencer is waiting outside the bathroom with a glass of water.

“Thanks,” you murmur, taking it from him. You’re wary of repeating your mistakes, but you take a small sip to appease him before simply giving in and pressing the cool glass to your temple.

Spencer assesses you with his gaze. You resign to it, knowing he’ll have you figured out by now whether you make it easy for him or not.

“How long have you been sick for?” he asks softly.

“It’s not contagious,” you want him to know. “It’s food poisoning, I’m pretty sure.”

“That’s not…what I’m worried about.” Spencer sounds almost hurt, but his touch is gentle as he brings his knuckles to your forehead. “You didn’t have to come if you weren’t feeling well.”

“I’m sorry,” you sigh. You’re too exhausted to pretend at being anything else anymore. “It was stupid. I didn’t want to bail on you, but instead I’m ruining it.”

“You’re not ruining it.” His first knuckle moves almost imperceptibly, a tiny caress. “This isn’t your fault. We can do this another time. Did you drive here?”

“Yeah,” you say meekly.

Spencer frowns. “Can I take you home? You’re too hot to be driving yourself.”

He flushes instantly, though you weren’t going to say anything.

“That’s not what I meant.”

“I know.”

“Here.” He guides you to a bench, his hand ever so gentle on your waist. “Wait here, okay? I’ll grab our stuff.”

You’ve fully given into wretchedness. You have no shame about resting the side of your head against the wall, closing your eyes until Spencer returns with a touch to your shoulder. He’s carrying his jacket and your bag, and the sympathetic look the hostess shoots you says that he’s conveyed you’ll be abandoning your reservation.

“You don’t have to drive me,” you say as Spencer leads you outside, one hand at your back like he’s afraid you’ll keel over. “I can get home alright. I don’t want to throw up on your nice suit.”

“I thought you liked my cardigans best.” If you didn’t know better, you’d say he was teasing you. “Anyway, the idea that you could be sick again this soon isn’t consistent with the idea that you could get home alright.”

It’s so him, the way he reasons this out, like he’s outlining an argument you’d never honestly expect to win. It reminds you that you’re on a date with Spencer Reid, and that makes you feel worse.

You let him shepherd you to his car and sit you in the passenger seat. He buckles his seatbelt, looks over to see that yours is on, and his hand twitches as if it’s going to reach for yours before rerouting to the ignition.

“Spence…”

“Hm?”

“Just, thank you. And I’m sorry, for making us leave.”

“It’s okay.” He says it so easily, like a given. He does reach for your hand now, his fingers closing over yours to give the gentlest of squeezes. “You don’t have to be sorry. You didn’t ask to be sick.”

“I’m really sorry I ate that sketchy pasta last night.”

Spencer laughs. It’s a lovely sound, lovely enough to make you smile despite the roiling of your stomach.

You say, in a softer voice, “I think it would have been a really nice date.”

“We’ll find out,” he says surely. “Maybe next week, if you’re not doing anything. We could come back here, or go somewhere if seeing that bathroom again will make you uncomfortable. I know that for some people nausea can be a Pavlovian response. You spent…a long time in there.”

You stifle a groan, leaning your head against the window and turning your face in humiliation. Spencer’s thumb stroking down the side of your hand makes it all worth it.

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shoujoboy-restart · 3 days ago

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Oh thought I was rebbloging from them, eh potato potato.

Also why would I be "scared" of them lol, you yourself said THEIR comparison isn't good, I'm not the one saying abortion for women is equal or comparable to the draft for men, they did.

> I've seen no love for Tate from MRAs

Neither have i because the MRA movement is dead and rotting when it comes to relevance in politics and social discourse at all, you had to bring it up unrelated, no, literally I also had to check if I even said "MRA", I only used "men's right" generically and obviously about the concept not the movement, that's how irrelevant it is to discussions now days.

Which makes this weird strawmans and skeleton digging you are doing really embarrassing

Idk who this warren dude is, good for him, bad for for him whatever, seems like a guy who the topic of a generic buzzfeed feminist article in the 2010s that would make some good and bad point about his beliefs i guess.

Roosh v, don't know don't care, I can remember the name only and he seems to call himself a pick up artist from I've seen, so the anti-sjw slop tubers from 2014 would probably go to great lengths to make him seem more relevant than he is just like mainstream media and probably use him for click bait, but whatever he's doing is for money and grifting by default from what I can see in the surface and that's just common sense I don't make rules lol.

Marc Lepine...

So a random anti-feminist shooter from the 80s? There's like a handful of them, again idk how he's relevant to this discussion specifically, like if you are using this to relive a debunk post you made against We Hunt The Mammoth in the 2010s and you felt it deserved more notes I will need you to pay before and after you finish and i ain't no cheap hoe. But I can definetely see a 2010s video by a random slop tuber that would use the fact he killed men too as proof "he's not a Real™ anti-feminist", make a bunch of edgy commentary about how actually someone should have pitty fucked him for the benefit of society, women shouldn't have been so picky about his demonic depressed aura and they should have thought of him when fighting for women rights completely unrelated to whatever internal issue he was having, issues which the slop tuber and his audience would probably call "socialism welfare" if separated from the topics of men's rights (again, generically, no one is referring to a movement that failed upwards, please move on 2010s it is better for a everyone if we do that)

Honey Badger Brigade, oof that's a deep cut, remember when they tried to go on Metakour's stream to beg for money for that pointless lawsuit going back where they said "actually we are now going to represent ourselves because all lawyers are dumb and don't know anything" which looking back as a adult really just came off as begging and trying to extend their 15 minutes of fame and that any lawyer worth their salt was telling them the contract they signed probably said they could lose their spot whenever and for whatever reason, I also remember when the butch one started using every slur know to man trying to be one of the Cool YouTubers™ 😎 when responding back to Metakour's not giving a shit about men rights because he didn't care about politics of any kind and told them to stop begging his viewers for money, even at like 14 i cringed and noticed how desperate they were to be pandering to anybody that gave them relevance, like nothing shows you REALLY care about men's right than using slurs like the hard-r n-word that dehumanized men based on their skin color and ethnicity, honestly they were the definition of pick me if you ask me, just saying whatever men wanted to hear with no care of concistency or true higher beliefs because it gave them some sort of relevance they could get if involving themselves with real world activism.

Yeah I genuinely don't get why you just brought up some random Mc Nobody author, one of the handful of grifters before Andrew Tate perfected the formula and prepared the soil for him to land, a random anti-feminist shooter form the 80s that would probably get some Devil's Advocacy for YouTube clicks from grifting slop tubers which would be consumed uncritically and then would make y'all look bad obviously and two pick me that had no real beliefs, begged for money every other week for like the political equivalent of pizza parties and would had no real opinion besides whatever mediocre men would like to hear women say.

Again, I said "red pill movement" which is a incredibly generic catch all term for men and people claiming to seek male improvement, which Tate is, he uses that term, most people that also call themselves "red pilled" accept and love him and I have yet to even see a "association fallacy" even begin to being used to claim he doesn't represent "red pill values", mostly because there's none since it just a "floating symbol".

But hey you are the same dude who believes in that weird narrative of "the term incel was actually made derogatorily by a random zoophililic radfem" made by incel appropriators themselves in a beyond weird attempt to make it seem like they didn't steal the term from a disabled woman who made a support forum for disabled and socially unpalatable men and women and actually everyone everywhere wronged them and that's why they advocate for pedophilia now (this is just as irrelevant to topic like your weird creature of the nights checklist you did so lol and lmao even).

Genuine advice, move on, the MRA movement is the definition of reactionary, the only accomplishment it has to show is a Apollo curse PR documentary, a bunch of pizza parties about how great it is to have xy chromosomes in a average way and a bunch of rent seekers shadow boxing at already retires feminist internet figure heads or waiting for the next ai generated article about why eating avocados and doing yoga is the ultimate feminism activism to drop to dibonky it epic style, I'm afraid if this discussion goes any further you are doing to talk about Anita Sarkesian as if she relevant still, and that's scary, move on genuinely, almost a decade doing this and y'all having nothing but YouTube views to show. Genuinely the only people who bring up MRAs unironically these days are TERFs and radfems claiming they have evolved into trans rights activists, and like they are twice more chronically online than MRAs yet they have more real world accomplishmenta than y'all did at the top of y'all's relevance back then...that's sad babe, real sad.

Not feminist as in "women should be included in the draft" but feminist as in "being drafted is a violation of bodily autonomy for any gender".

The draft should not exist. Drafting people into the military is a violation of human rights. You should not be able to force someone to risk their life. If you can't find enough people who care about a conflict to keep it going then it simply shouldn't keep going. You can't even force someone to donate a kidney using government power, why the fuck can you force them to donate their whole body and life to a cause they don't agree with or don't care about?

#discourse #politics #red pill

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butchizuku · 2 days ago

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Limerence ᥫ᭡; Midoriya Izuku + Bakugō Katsuki

ᨳ Synop. Getting hit by some hentai-esque wasn't on your thursday afternoon agenda but fate had a cruel, yet funny way of working. Finding yourself the damsel to two heroes, you struggle between giving into want and remaining level headed.

໋𓈒 Details. 18+ minors dni, gn afab, they/them pronouns used to refer to reader,extremely dubious consent, sex pollen quirk,threesomes, love confessions, oral (reader/katsuki receiving), fingering, anal (izuku), unprotected sex, creampies, no lube, no prep, unrealistic sex implied past relationship between izuku and katsuki, post manga timeskip, izuku is a teacher, katsui is a pro-hero, mild manga spoilers run time; 7.2k ৎ

(՞ ܸ. .ܸ՞) Director's Note. This spiralled into something even I couldn't fathom but please, enjoy <3

Every Thursday, Izuku walks you to the train station. The two of you work late most days but on Thursday you find yourself staying until the custodians shooed you out of the building with a mildly annoyed look. It was his first year teaching and your first year teaching at a hero school. U.A, was unprecedented in its unconventionality and unique approach, it left you and Izuku constantly crushed beneath a mountain of half graded homework and lesson plans neither of you had time for.

It surprised you more than it probably should have, that Izuku was struggling. He was an alumni, he knew exactly how the system operated at a far deeper level than you did, but he was drowning. He wore a smile on his face nonetheless, he may have been drowning but he was doing it happily. You weren't sure if it was for his students sake or for his own, you’d assume it was the latter. Everyone needs something to keep themselves tethered and sewed together. You didn’t judge. There was something to knowing that a great hero like Izuku needed something to keep himself a float.

That’s why you stayed late every day after work to lend him a helping hand. The first years could use all the extra help they could get and so could he. Their English grades had been abysmal, apparently the worst Principal Nezu had seen in years. As their homeroom teacher, it was Izuku’s job to get to the bottom of things. That leads him to you, again and again. In search of an answer, you weren’t sure but you didn’t mind shouldering the burden. You learned in the first few years of your career, much of teaching meant relying on those around you for support. You leant on your mentor teacher and shared resources with the other newbies who filled the staff room early in the mornings. Izuku didn’t like to lean, he’d shoulder it all alone if he could help it. That’s how hero training shaped him, you think, you couldn’t be too sure.

“I appreciate the company,” you say, finally cutting the silence that sat in the air between you, “But, I don’t want to inconvenience you since you live on campus.”

The slowly setting sun rays prick at your irises forcing you to squint as you peered at Izuku over your shoulder. His neatly styled suit that he wore to work everyday was half crumpled, missing his blazer and bright red tie. They were slung over the back of his chair in his office, never lasting more than half the work day.

Izuku’s lips quirk up slightly, the glint in his eyes is the same one he uses to teases his childhood friends who stop by U.A, “Haven’t I told enough you that you’re never an inconvenience to me,” he grins, slinging his arm around your shoulders. He’s a few inches shorter than you, even shorter when you wear your platform oxfords, he has to stretch himself to reach your height, “Besides, it isn’t safe for you to walk home this late in the day.”

You roll your eyes, your face warm. It was one stop to the studio apartment you were renting in the heart of Musutafu. You were certain if he didn’t have to check up on the students in their dorms he’d likely walk all the way home with you. But, as a homeroom teacher, it was his job to ensure class 1.A didn’t burn down the dormitories before the tenth anniversary of them being added to the campus.

“Still, you have enough work on your plate, I don’t want to add to it.”

Stuttering out the last few words made the very tips of your pointed ears burn. Under the warm, golden glow that bathed the city sky, you hoped your blush wasn’t too apparent to the naked eye. Something akin to butterflies fluttered in and out of your ribcage, tickling your chest until you were squirming for reprieve. Though he was now quirkless, Izuku was still as strong as he was during the war. He easily kept you pinned against his side as the two of you strolled down the sidewalk.

“Walks are good for the body and soul!” He chirps, chuckling at your petulant frown, “If anything, I should be thanking you for letting me accompany you.”

Squinting at him, you heave a sigh, “So if I said no, you wouldn’t walk me to the station?”

Izuku paused for a moment as though he were thinking before a sheepish expression bled onto features. Colour filled his round, freckled cheeks as he chuckled.

“Well, no!”

The exasperated breath of air that passed your lips was melodramatic and half dramatized as if to cover your tracks. But, you liked this cat and mouse game that you and he played each time he walked you home. You liked him.

You weren’t supposed to like him, not in the way you currently did but your heart was weak to his kind eyes and the soft way he regarded you and his students.

“See! So, why would I even bother,” you murmur, turning your face away to hide the growing smile that played at your lips, “I know you, Izuku and I know how persistent you are!”

“I’m just trying to do my civic duty and keep you safe.”

You aren’t a hero, the words almost rolled off your tongue. As if the crushing reminder of all that was lost to him was some playful foible for you to tease out when the mood was right.

“I can keep myself safe just as well,” you say instead, “And, I carry that taser I confiscated from one of Gang Orca’s students at lunch.”

Izuku stares at you, long and hard. You wonder what he’s thinking about, if your lack of quirk or desire to be a hero worries him. Most had pipe dreams of the glory that came with the title hero. There were fewer people who didn’t care for heroics than those who were quirkless.

“Really?”

His eyebrows dart into his hairline as he openly gapes at you, shock marring his features.

“You know those are illegal, right?” He asks, his tone climbing higher and higher, “Isn’t that why you confiscated it in the first place?”

Letting out a nervous chuckle you blanched, “It is?” You question, biting the corner of your lip, “I confiscated it because it’s dangerous for kids to be in possession of, even when they’re super powered heroes in training.”

“Yes!”

The two of you pause in front of the subway station, silence washing over you for a moment.

“Why don’t I stop by your place and pick it up,” Izuku offers, his calloused fingertips brushing your elbow, “I can take it off your hands and get rid of it, no one has to know that you kept it.”

His hands are scarred, much more than yours could ever be. It’s a sobering reminder of the life he used to have, the life he could one day have. The two of you were so different, sometimes it was easy to forget that. You and he wanted different things, and your commonalities could one day disappear. The thought made your stomach churn in discomfort.

You liked his presence and his friendship. But, you knew if he still had his quirk he wouldn’t be teaching. It was a hard pill to swallow.

“Yeah, alright,” you mutter, forcing a smile to your lips, “If you’re coming all this way then at least let me treat you to dinner.”

Scratching the back of his neck, Izuku turns a deep shade of red, “No, it’s alright, I want to help you out!”

Before you’re able to protest, the air is stolen from your lungs as a stranger's body barrels into yours and you’re knocked to the ground. Your palms are skinned from the pavement, blood blotting along the surface as you groan in pain. A strange scent fills the air, it's nauseatingly sweet and forces a choked gasp from your lungs.

“Are you alright?” Izuku coughs, crouching down to help you off the ground, “Did you hit your head?”

You shake your head, lips tightly pursed as your face scrunches up. Warmth melts through your body, every hair standing on end as a shiver trickles down your spine. Try as you might, no words can pass through your lips. They get stuck somewhere in the back of your throat, leaving only the slightest of whimpers to slip through. Your cheeks burn even hotter with embarrassment as Izuku helps you to your feet, but you can hardly stand. Your knees threaten to buckle and your thighs shake.

“Let me… Let me call someone,” Izuku stutters, his body flush against yours.

You can feel his heart racing and the muscles in his arms trembling as he holds you. He was so strong. His muscles practically bulge out of his crisp white button up shirt.

“I feel fine,” you murmur, blinking nervously, “Just let me go home, Izuku.”

Your ribs rattle out a wheeze as you press your fingers into the meat of his well toned shoulders. Izuku smells good, really good. The hint of cologne that's melted into his skin and mingled with his sweat and musk lights your body aflame with desire. The urge to reach out and lick the throbbing vein on the side of his neck, getting a closer taste of him and his sweat crosses your mind. It’s frightening how commonplace it feels within your discombobulated thoughts, as if it were meant to be there.

“You’re burning up.”

Whatever else Izuku might have said falls on deaf ears as your brain zeroes in on the way his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. Your lashes flutter and your nails dig into his flesh as you will yourself to calm down. But, he’s hot, dangerously so. Izuku worsens the heat that laps at your belly and your cheeks. You feel as though you cannot breathe, each breath heavy and ragged as he speaks to some far away person over the phone.

“Izuku,” you whine, whatever was to come next spills off of your tongue in a needy little whimper as he presses the palm of his hand to your forehead.

Smoothing his rough hand over the curve of your cheek, he shushes you like a mother does a child, “Shh, you’re alright,” he coos, offering you a soothing caress, “Just remember to breathe, okay?”

Your eyes grow lidded as you lean into his touch. Each soft coo sends your mind deeper and deeper into the hole it's fallen in. The feel of him against you is almost too much for your quickly fading willpower. If not for the tiny, logical voice in the back of your skull screaming to remind you that the two of you were in public, you might’ve reached out to take a bite.

“Okay.”

You can’t remember what you were agreeing to, but the sigh of relief Izuku heaved made the pleasure centre of your brain light up in delight. It’s that measly, weak willed part of your brain that keeps you preoccupied with fantasies as heroes move all around you. Some of their voices are familiar, you think they must have stopped by to speak with your students but they’re not speaking to you. Everything is directed to Izuku who speaks in a harried manner, the worry evident in his tone. It doesn’t match the way he paws at your body or that thing poking at your thighs.

But, it’s his touch that grounds you and keeps you from losing it completely as the two of you are shoved in the back of an ambulance. The blaring sirens do little to keep this situation discreet, like you heard one of the heroes had requested. They’re sitting in the bay with you, their body a sea of orange, black, and green. Their rough, scraggly voice barks out frustrations to Izuku, to the paramedic, to the distant voice who rambles over speakerphone.

You squint at them and their jagged, pointy attire in vague recognition. They must have visited U.A. at some point, heroes were always brought in for some lesson or another.

“Kacchan, I’m fine!” Izuku’s voice squeals, you crane your neck just in time to catch him slapping the hero's hand away, “Their quirk didn’t hit me.”

“You know that's not how emitter quirks work, Deku,” ‘Kacchan’ gruffly barks out, “You’re getting looked at when we get to the hospital, end of discussion.”

“But-”

“End of discussion.”

Izuku wears a sheepish expression, his wide green eyes darting between you and the hero, “I was going to say, they’re quirkless and a civilian,” he says, “I’m worried.”

‘Kacchan’ barks out a laugh, “So are you, Deku.”

“It’s different.”

“Right you’re a special little boy, I forgot,” he sarcastically mutters, “Who somehow is immune to others' quirks, I almost forgot.”

You don’t have to look at Izuku to know he’s rolling his eyes, you could tell by the tone of his voice and the small huff that passes his lips. When his students asked for extensions an hour before the assignment was due, he’d roll his eyes and huff, but he always said yes.

“Yup, that's totally what I meant,” Izuku snips with a frown.

Your languid gaze settles onto his pink, freckled cheeks. His eyes are pointedly fixed to his shoes, shirking away from ‘Kacchan’s’ intense stare. The oxygen mask pinches uncomfortably at the bridge of your nose but your arm is strapped to the gurney, keeping you firmly in place. Izuku spares a quick flit of his eyes over your body before he returns to his avoidance. ‘Kacchan’ leers almost menacingly.

“Stop bein’ such a damn brat,” he barks, gripping Izuku by the chin, “Your face is all red and you’re sweating, this isn’t normal.”

Izuku’s cheeks are a ruddy red and puffed into a pout. His freckles spill out from between the other man's rough, calloused hands. A beat of silence passes between the two of them. It’s suffocating, the tensed air that fills the cramped ambulance bay. You should look away from them but they’re so wrapped up in this silent exchange that they wouldn’t even notice your intrusion. They weren’t noticing your long, tiresome stare or your wide eyes that flit between them.

“Fine.”

Izuku concedes surprisingly quickly.

He squirms in his seat, he must be embarrassed to be bossed around like that. You miss the quiver of his upper lip and the nervous sweat that breaks out on his brow. A low whisper is hissed between the two men, your hazed mind can’t even begin to make out what might’ve been said but it stirs a whimper like sound from your colleague. Wrenching the heroes hand from his face, Izuku sulks with a flush melting down his neck. The other man wears a smug, satisfied smirk— one where the corners of his lips curl upwards

The ambulance halts to a stop, hardly jostling them but it sends your head spinning. You have to squish your eyes shut to keep the ringing in your ears at bay. Somewhere between being pulled into the emergency room and being rushed into a private room, your consciousness fades. When it returns to you, you’re not in the sterile hospital room you imagined you’d be in.

You’re splayed across a plush couch, there’s a chunky knit throw wrapped around your legs and tucked up beneath your chin. The air is musky, filled with something warm and welcoming. It worsens the burn that itches your skin.

“Where am-”

“You’re awake, good,” a familiar voice chirps.

Izuku’s freckled face fills your vision, he wears a strained smile. His cheeks are ruddy and his skin is glistening with sweat. Perching himself on the arm of the sofa, he reaches forward to rest his hand on your ankle. His hand is scarred with rough skin that trailed up to his elbow, a memory of a past lifetime sealed within the confines of his youth. The feel of his skin against yours makes you jolt, skittering away from the explosion of heat that travels up your calf and snakes its way up your thigh.

“Izuku,” you pant, blinking at him as if he were some mirage that might soon disappear, “What happened? Where are we? Why aren’t we at the hospital, I remember being in an ambulance.”

Slinking into the plush cushion beside you, Izuku raises a hand, “Woah, slow down, I can explain.”

“The two of you got hit with a sex pollen quirk,” a gruff voice chimes in, heavy footfalls accompanying them, “End of story.”

“What?”

The hero from before materializes behind Izuku, no longer clad in his hero suit but instead a pair of soft grey sweatpants and a thin black muscle tank top. It’s a stark contrast to the messy suit that hangs off Izuku’s frame and the rumpled sundress you excitedly picked out to wear this morning. The spiked blonde hair and sharp, ruby eyes lined in smudged black were familiar but you couldn’t quite place where you knew him from.

“Kacchan do you always have to be so crass?” Izuku shrieks, “This is why you’re number fifteen because you refuse to use any of the media training we did in school!”

“Is that why I feel so … Funny?”

Your face burns with shame and embarrassment. While ‘Kacchan’ was reticent, the picture of nonchalance as he leaned against the sofa, his chest flush to Izuku’s spine.

“But, why are we here? Why aren’t we at the hospital?”

“There’s nothing they could do to reverse the effect of the quirks,” Izuku murmurs, gently caressing your ankle, “Kacchan offered a private place for us to wait it out.”

“I figured if you were going to fuck to get it out of your system, here was better than your lodgings at U.A.”

A shiver trickles down your spine, forcing you to curl into the corner of the sofa as confusion muddied your mind. ‘Kacchan’ snorted a laugh as you stared off in a mix of horror and confusion, “A sex pollen quirk?” You echoed, speaking to no one but yourself, “I thought those were just a trope in those bodice rippers to sell to lonely moms.”

“Apparently not,” Izuku winced, lightly elbowing his friend, “So now we’re here.”

“We’re here.”

You look around the room like a trapped animal in need of an escape.

“Sorry but, what is your name?” You question, your lips dipping into a frown, “If I’m going to be staying in your home until the quirk wears off, I should know your name.”

“If it wears off,” he mutters, eliciting another elbow to the gut and a shrill call of his name, “Whatever, the name’s Bakugō Katsuki or as you may know me, Great Explosion Murder God: Dynamight.”

You nod to show you’ve retained what he just said but the ripple of his muscles as he leaned over to shake your hand distracted you. Izuku bounces anxiously between you, chewing on his lip until the skin cracks and ichor tinges his tongue. The urge to lap it up swirls in your belly and you find yourself reaching forward and grasping at his slacks.

“Get it out of our systems,” you whisper, your mind stuck on Bakugō’s earlier words.

That damned smug smirk creeps onto his face once more, almost as if he was pleased by the situation before him. You had heard in passing of heroes wearing righteousness as a facade and enjoyed certain unsavory situations and chaos just as much as some villains did. You didn't think Izuke would have remained with someone who had such little honour but you could feel the smug satisfaction roll off Bakugō in waves. It was as though he wanted this to happen.

“Mhm,” Izuku all but purred as he leaned closer to you.

Bakugō knotted his fingers into Izuku’s sweat dabbled, unruly curls pushing his head closer to yours until you felt his warm breath fanning across your lips. The hair on the back of your neck stands and your breathing grows laboured. All you could think about since joining the faculty back in April was him, what his tongue may taste like, and if he would moan in your mouth like he did in your dreams. It was wrong of you to want him so bad but your wanton, lust filled mind was begging you to take this chance to have him with no repercussions, and no regrets.

Your rumination came to an end as Bakugō pressed Izuku’s mouth to yours. A puppeteer relishing in his work, he snorts as you eagerly lap at Izuku’s mouth, pawing at his torso with wanton lust. His fingers are quick to tangle in your hair and grip the back of your neck. The feel of his rough, scarred skin against your tender, flush neck makes your body burst out into goosebumps which drives you closer to him in search of warmth in spite of the burning balm that’s settled over you.

Lucidity melts your mind further. The longer you’re awake, shaking off the fog and allowing the adrenaline to settle in, the more your desire grows. It’s spiralled out of control and your body acts without your mind's permission.

“Izuku,” you whimper into his lips, wrinkling his dress shirt between your fists, “Please… Give me more.”

Bakugō roughly pats your head, tussling your hair around as if he were trying to give you a noogie, “Don’t you worry, Deku here is a good boy, he’ll give you what you need.”

Izuku moans into your mouth, his body reacting to his friend's words. His hands tremble as they curl into the nape of your neck. You take the opportunity to slip your tongue into his mouth, lapping at his molars and gums to memorize every inch of his kiss and the way he tastes, if gum or some other thing might cling to his teeth.

“Oh that’s it, atta boy,” Bakugō barks, his rough fingers tug at the roots of your hair as if to guide your tongue further into Izuku’s mouth.

Your eyes flit open on their own accord, perhaps to peer into Bakugō’s. They’re a dark shade of red, his pupils large and imposing as they peer, fixated on the sloppy slip and slide of your tongue against Izuku’s. They press close soon after they meet Bakugō’s for but a moment, forced by the nervous thrum of your heart that rises when he notices your staring.

Izuku notices the stall in your movements and the sloppy slip of your tongue, “Hey,” he coos against your lips, “Are you okay?”

You nod a bit, not minding the way your head knocks into his. You’re all but about to crawl out of your skin. Discomfort and discontent with being watched like a bug pinned beneath a microscope, sharp and calculating eyes dissecting your every move as if they determine your worthiness for his best friend. Oh, but the haze that clouded your mind and soaked through your panties kept you glued to the soft sofa and Izuku’s warm embrace, searching for something to quell the overwhelming, wanton need that choked your delicate throat.

Izuku tosses a spare glance over his shoulder to Bakugō, calculating and sizing the man up, “Kacchan do you mind?” He murmurs, it's less of a request and more of a statement but you’re unsure what it’s meant to mean.

Their eyes catch for a moment, a million words silently pass between them. They speak a language you can’t understand but the incessant throbbing in your cunt keeps the insecurity from eating away at you.

“He can stay if you want,” you whisper, your voice a stranger to your ears.

“Kacchan’s gonna leave,” Izuku’s voice is clipped as his emerald green eyes slide back to gaze into yours, “Isn’t that right?”

The two pause for a moment, a beat passing between them. The weight of their history is heavy in the air, tension palpable. You attempt to squirm away, to put some space between you and Izuku but his calloused hands keep you pinned firmly between him and the sofa. Your clit throbs with need, no amount of discomfort could cloud the fact that you found his strength immensely attractive.

“I was?”

The heat that emanates from between their exchanges burns you. Lapping at the tops of your thighs and licking your belly. You feel it deep within you, the staunch, growing need that’s driving you half mad. Whatever history laid between them, however complicated and rich, mattered not. How could it, when heady desire so thick laid itself over your feeble body?

“You wanna kiss him?” You murmur to neither man in particular, squishing your thighs together to quell the throb.

“No, angel,” Bakugō says, shoving his face over Izuku’s shoulder, “I want to kiss you, to know what you taste like.”

He leers at you in spite of the nervous glance his friend gives him but you pay it no mind. Your ego triples in its size, as does your fervent lust. You may not have cared enough to pay attention to the current hero ranks or the thriving celebrity culture, but you knew well enough to be flattered. Not just because anyone would want to be vied after by an affluent pro hero, but because Bakugō was stunning in his own right. Somewhere in the back of your mind, exists the pieces of him you’ve come across. Though mystified and shrouded by confusion, somewhere, he existed beyond the stretch of this one meeting.

“I know all about Izuku already.”

“Me?” You dumbly point to yourself, as if there were a fourth person in the room that he might have been conversing with.

He nods his head and the glint in his eyes feels predatory. You wither under his stare, fawning to him like a prey animal.

“Okay.”

The word is whispered and you have a feeling no matter what you said in that moment, it’d end with your mouth on his.

Bakugō’s body all but engulf’s Izuku’s frame. You had thought before that Izuku was large with well cared for muscles and thigh shoulders but his friend made him look small in comparison. With only a few extra inches of height to his name, Bakugō was big and burly, with muscles that tapered off into a surprisingly trim waist.

Izuku pouted as he was pressed in between the two of you, his neck bared as he cocked his head to the side to allow Bakugō some room, “Don’t be like that Deku,” he rasps against the shell of his ear, “You knew how I felt about them.”

The confession hangs heavily in the air but it doesn’t linger long. Bakugō presses a balmy, open mouthed kiss to Izuku’s jugular, the light highlighting the glint of his teeth as the nip at his freckled skin. A moan melts off Izuku’s tongue and that seems to satisfy both men. Bakugō crowds into your space, his nudge nudging yours.

You languidly blink at him, waiting for him to take what he wants. His rough, calloused fingers grasp the tip of your chin, his warm breath fanning across your lips. You find yourself leaning in, your lips brushing his, a small coquettish whimper sticking to the back of your throat.

“You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to know what you taste like,” his voice is surprisingly soft, it makes your heart skip a beat.

Bakugō takes his time with kissing you, as if he knows the moment this quirk wears off the only pieces of you he’d get to have are short glimpses in the halls of U.A. He smells of sweat and ash, tastes like a hot cinnamon heart candy. That must have been the flavour of gum he was chewing on in the ambulance. His tongue laps at your gums and flick over your molars as if searching for all the hidden pieces of yourself. If intimacy lay in the knowledge of one's body, Bakugō was skipping all the pretext that comes before such closeness. He kissed you like the two of you had been simmering on low for years, a shared heat enveloping you. Maybe those months felt like years for him as you only had eyes for Izuku.

You’re unsure who you touch as your hands explore the expanse of clothed shoulders and biceps. The tickle of hair brushes your skin but the dizzying warmth shrouds your ability to discern the who and the wear. Both men were all over you, all at once. Izuku, nuzzling himself into you, sweet kisses pressed to your collarbones and sternum. He stroked the side of your abdomen, sneaking his fingers beneath your dress shirt. This morning, you had woken up extra early to iron your shirt in the hopes of looking nice. The fabric was now crumpled and soaked with sweat, the cuffs dabbled with blood from when you fell.

Bakugō’s lips are red and kiss bitten when he pulls away, swiping his thumb along the length of his bottom lip, he grins at you, satisfied with himself.

With a whine, you roll your hips against Izuku, searching for stimulation.

“What’s wrong?” He coos, his brow furrowed as he cups his cheek.

A haggard breath leaves your chest, “I’m so hot,” you all but squeal, “And needy it, I need you Izuku please.”

“You heard them, they need you, Deku.”

Izuku freeze’s for a moment, his face flush and hot. If he had some sort of emitter quirk you’re sure he’d be spitting flames from his cheeks, “Need me where, sweetheart?”

Cupping his hand with your own, you guide it between your legs. The thick tweed fabric of your slacks is uncomfortably wet with your arousal. The press of his hand to your cunt feels near euphoric, you can’t help the wanton moan you release. Izuku needs no further instruction as he flicks open the top button of your pants and begins to peel them down your hips. Your underwear is pulled down your thighs and bunched up, tossed somewhere in the living room with your socks and shoes.

Izuku moans when your spread your legs to give him space, his bottom lip squished between his teeth, “Fuck, your so…” He trails off, blinking a bit.

“Your cunt is perfect,” Bakugō finishes for him, sprawling across Izuku’s shoulders.

Bakugō roughly gropes Izuku’s erection through his dress pants, his free hand threads itself in his unruly green hair and pushes his head towards your throbbing cunt. Your eyes roll into your skull when the tip of his nose brushes against your aching clit. Your fingers tangle with Bakugō’s as you grip the roots of Izuku’s hair.

“Please,” you beg, twitching your hips upwards, “Lick my pussy, please Izu’.”

Izuku makes for an obedient puppy. In another life, one without such ambition, he might’ve made a good soldier with how well he took orders from you. His tongue lolled out to kitten lick your cunt, his green eyes peering up at you in concern. They shut quickly as he loses himself in your taste, groaning into you as he slurps up every last drop of your thick, sticky arousal that gushes from your cunt.

Bakugō wastes no time in unbuckling Izuku’s belt, pushing his pants and briefs down his thigh. Your mouth grows dry at the sight of his cock, heavy, hairy, and twitching with need. Precum drips from the ruddy tip onto the fuzzy carpet but neither man pays no mind. His wrist snaps as he gives Izuku’s cock a languid stroke. The groans of pleasure are swallowed up by your pussy, the vibrations from his vocal chords making your head spin. The muscles in your tummy are pulled taunt as they’re wound up. The tension that settles in your shoulders threatens to tear you apart.

Your orgasm washes over you with a startling quickness but it isn’t enough. Your nails dig into Izuku’s scalp as you keep his mouth pressed to your cunt even if he’s choking on your squirt. It drips down the leather cushions of the sofa and it squeaks obnoxiously as your skin slides against it. Bakugō pulls Izuku closer to him by the hips, bringing you with him. His sweatpants are bunched around his hips, pulled down just enough for dick to sit over the waist band. Unlike Izuku’s thick, curly bush and freckled pelvis, Bakugō’s pale blond pubes blend in with his skin but you can tell that he’s kept it trim. Trickling from beneath his belly button, his sparse happy trail guides your eyes to his cock. It’s thin and long with a bruised bulbous tip that leaks when he gives it a firm squeeze at the base.

With lidded eyes, you watch with intrigue when Bakugō spits on Izuku’s ass, rubbing it around his asshole with his thumb.

“Katsuki…” Izuku murmurs from between your thighs, “Are you gonna…?”

Bakugō silences him by pushing his mouth back into your cunt and like the obedient little runt he is, he latches his lips to your clit. Pressing the tip of his dick to Izuku’s eager hole, Bakugō stifles a grunt behind a wicked grin. It’s difficult to focus on one thing and how can you, when Izuku’s thick fingers prod at your weeping hole and he’s moaning like a whore with tears in his eyes as Bakugō splits him in half with not a moment of reprieve. It's sloppy, the way Izuku fingers your cunt, slick and squirt squelching loudly like an erotic symphony.

“Come on now, don’t slow down now” Bakugō chides, the hem of his muscle tank inching up his stomach as he snaps his hips into Izuku, “Be good now and put your mouth to use.”

Somewhere in the alphabet soup of your pleasure addled mind, you manage to string together a sentence, “You’re so mean to him,” you whine, writhing in Izuku’s hold, “Izu is so nice an’ he smells like sage.”

“He likes it,” he chuckles, leaning over Izuku’s back to peck your lips, “Would you rather I be mean to you?”

You try to shake your head but another orgasm hits you and you’re forced to gulp down a few breaths before you can attempt to speak. The two men call your name in synchronized echoes like hymns of worship bouncing off stone temple walls.

“No, just play nice with us.”

Izuku’s nails bite into the fat of your hips as he uses you for stability, his head bobbing like he’s brainless, “Shh, it’s okay sweetheart,” he murmurs, resting his cheek on your hip, “Kacchan is all bark.”

His chin is shiny with your spend, it’s dripped down his neck to soak into the collar of his shirt. Your body prickles with shame but it’s nothing in comparison to the snarly beast of want that claws at your chest, begging for more than just fingers and tongue.

“I wish he’d bite me instead.”

The two laugh, there’s a knowing look again, that look in the eye that makes your eyes flit away from the intensity, “I do if asked nicely.”

Blood prickles at the surface of your skin when Bakugō picks up the pace, roughly slamming his cock into Izuku’s poor battered hole. You’re almost mesmerized how his cock flops uselessly against his tummy with each deep thrust. His nails leave raised streaks in your skin that stirs something exciting in your chest. Your name is said like a prayer as Izuku cums, his cock twitching as his cum pools atop the carpet.

Somehow, Izuku’s cock becomes even stiffer, standing to attention in search of the warmth of human touch. Bakugō kisses the nape of his neck, whispering something to Izuku as he buries his cock into his ass.

“Sweetheart, can I…. I want to… no,” Izuku starts and stops himself like he’s talking to his boss. Beating around the push, unsure of how to make his request palatable, “Can I please fuck you?”

The soft, nervous lilt of his voice makes your cunt throb, you nod before you can choke out a “Yes,” breathed and painted with excitement, “Yes please, please I need you inside of me.”

Untangling himself from Bakugō’s reach, Izuku pushes you deep into the plush of the sofa. He wears a timid smile that threatens on wild. The apples of his cheeks are flush, you can’t help but reach up to pinch them, your thumb smoothing along his scar dappled skin. Pushing some of your sweat damp hair away from your forehead, Izuku settles between your thighs.

“You’re so pretty, sweetheart,” he whispers to you like he’s confessing a secret, giddy and drunk off the feeling, “How are you so pretty, so perfect?”

His question goes unanswered because he presses the slick tip of his cock to your cunt, sliding it between your sticky folds, “Hurry up!” You bark, simpering when you realize the tone of your voice is scarily demanding and petulant, “I can’t wait any longer, please.”

Caressing the side of your face, Izuku coos at you a soft apology with a kiss to placate your nerves. He’s far slower than Bakugō, who paid no mind to taking his time in stretching Izuku out. The fat head of his cock presses inside your pulsing hole and sits there for a moment as your chest heaves from the mind numbing stretch. Bakugō saunters around the other side of the sofa standing where your head hangs off the arm. His dick stares directly at you, a taunting treat that is just begging for you to take a bite.

Your jaw falls slack and your tongue follows suit. Izuku takes it as an invitation to kiss you, clumsily like it was his first. He’s eager and all over you, the snap of his hips jaggad and haggard.

“So pretty,” he whispers into your waiting lips, “I can’t believe I get to fuck you, I like you so much.”

You think you hear Bakugō chuckle. If he does, it's hidden but the wet squelch of his cock as he fists it over your faces. Either way, you’re too distracted by the operative word Izuku uses, “like”, you wanted it to be love. It’d only been a few months since you met him but you think you might’ve loved him the moment you laid eyes on him. You wanted him to love you too, to want more than just fevered kisses in the midst of an aphrodisiac fueled bacchanal. But that was asking too much, you wanted too much. You were greedy and wrought with selfish desire. And you couldn’t breathe.

Pulling at the buttons of your dress shirt, your pluck at the fabric until it gives way. The tepid air feels heavenly on your sweat slick skin for but a moment before you’re shrouded by the heat of two bodies. Bakugō slots his cock between your two open mouths and you suckle on the long throbbing vein to pacify your bleeding heart. Izuku’s tongue slides against yours, laving over Bakugō’s length as he pumps into you.

Warmth spreads in your abdomen and spills down your thighs. It bites at the edge of your vision, stars and bits of black swimming along until your consciousness fades. Sleep greets you like an old friend. It cradles your head and swaddles you in a cocoon of comfort. Your anxieties and that horrid pit in your stomach fade away with the sweet dreams that visit you.

You’re unsure how long you slumbered for but when you awake, the room was bathed in the golden glow of morning. There’s a grey duvet tucked up to your chin, it smells of laundry detergent and musk. Your bare body is battered, sore to the bone with bruises littering your thighs and hips. Rubbing the sleep from your eyes you survey the room. It’s barren and hardly lived in, if it weren’t for the pile of clothes hanging off the wicker basket hamper in the corner of the room.

“Good morning, sleepyhead,” Izuku’s cheerful voice rings out, he peers around the doorway with a tray of food, “How are you feeling?”

Your throat is dry, the words stick to the sides of your esophagus, “I feel…” You rasp, shaking your head, “Fine, how are you?”

Izuku offers you a smile, “I’m alright,” he offers you the tray, there’s a glass of water and a bottle of Advil, “Here, you should drink up.”

When you make no movement to grab the glass, Izuku plucks two pills from the bottle and brings the water towards your lips. Pressing the medication to your mouth, you swallow it down with his quiet instruction. He coos small praises into your ear, the way he does with his students. Your stomach flips with nerves as flashes of yesterday come rushing back.

Before you can speak the ensuite door flies open, a plume of steam coming with it. Bakugō stands in the doorway in nothing but a pair of loose gym shorts, toweling off his short spiky hair.

“Hey.”

“Hi.”

“Kacchan!”

Silence fills the space uncomfortably.

“Did you tell them yet?” Bakugō says, nodding towards you.

“Tell me what?” Your kiss bitten lips ache but you chew on them anyways.

Izuku shakes his head, “No,” he mutters, “They just woke up.”

“Tell me.”

“No.”

Bakugō huffs through his nose, his gaze cutting through you as he pins down Izuku with his eyes,“They deserve to know.”

“To know what?” Anxiety bubbles in your belly. The pills that sit at the back of your throat threaten to make a reappearance. Blood coats your tongue as you split the skin of your lips. You think you know what they might say. It was all a mistake, likened to a drunken affair between a married man and a spring flower, decades younger, still in bloom.

“That we both have feelings for you.”

Oh.

And suddenly, those pesky wants of yours didn’t feel so far away. You didn’t feel so hard to love or desire. But, the thought of it stole your breath. It prickled you with anxiety and fears akin to not enough.

All you could say was, “Oh.”

Because whatever you felt for Izuku had no name and if it did, you weren’t sure such a word existed in Japanese nor English. And Bakugō, the guilt crept up for all the things you didn’t feel or couldn’t. Maybe you did feel something, not flattery but something concrete that pushed its way through the thick heat of desire that made you act so foolishly. You thought maybe he was just stroking your ego, that wanton lust to know the taste if another could be just that, lust. No feelings that were any deeper than a kiddy pool.

One of them calls your name, but it all sounds like static.

“And here I thought it was all in my head.”

And maybe it was. Maybe you were still dreaming.

You think that might be it until Izuku surges forward to kiss you long and hard. Your head is filled with the same intoxicating rush. The quirk must not have been as strong as you thought after all.

#bnha smut #izuku x reader #bakugou x reader #izuku smut #bakugo smut #bnha x reader #mha x reader #mha smut #izuku midoria x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #᭄᭡⠀written word

248 notes · View notes

mi9yuz · 2 days ago

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(( _ _ ))..zzzZZ MORNINGS W MYUNGHO

warnings. mentions of food!

late riser: Myungho moves at his own pace despite his schedules. While in bed, he’ll stare at the ceiling for a couple of minutes before getting up. If you’re still in bed, he’ll pull you closer and whisper, “Stay a little longer.”

loves when you play with his hair: If you absentmindedly run your fingers through his messy morning hair, he melts instantly. He might even close his eyes and drift back to sleep. “You’re dangerous,” he murmurs, but he doesn’t stop you.

wakes up looking effortlessly gorgeous: It's almost unfair how good he looks with his messy hair, sleepy eyes, and slightly puffy lips. You tell him it’s not fair to be that handsome in the morning, and he just smirks.

steals your blanket: If you wake up cold, it’s probably because Minghao stole the blanket in his sleep. When you try to take it back, he groggily grumbles and pulls you under it with him instead.

quietly observes you: While you’re brushing your teeth or getting ready, Minghao will lean against the doorframe, watching you with a soft smile. If you ask why he’s staring, he just shrugs and says, “I like seeing you like this.”

breakfast preferences: He prefers a light breakfast—fruit, yogurt, or something simple. But if you want something heavier, he’ll cook for you without hesitation. If you ask him why he’s doing all the work, he’ll reply, “Because I like taking care of you.”

sometimes reads in the morning: If he wakes up before you, he’ll quietly read next to you in bed, careful not to wake you. The moment you stir, though, he sets the book down and gives you his full attention.

loves when you wear his clothes: If you walk into the kitchen wearing his oversized shirt, he’ll smirk and pull you into a hug. “You should just wear my clothes forever,” he teases, resting his chin on your head.

super soft in the mornings: He’s usually the composed, cool type during the day, but mornings bring out his affectionate side. He’s more touchy, more clingy, and less guarded. You’ll catch him pressing random kisses to your shoulder or intertwining your fingers under the table.

lingers before leaving: Even if he’s running late, he always takes a moment before heading out. A lingering kiss, a soft “Take care, okay?”, a final squeeze of your hand—he makes sure you know how much he loves you before walking out the door.

texts you random thoughts: Once he’s gone, you’ll get messages like “Did you eat yet?”, “I left my book on the couch. Don’t move it, I want to find it exactly where I left it.”, or “I’m already thinking about coming home to you.”

211 notes · View notes

astonmartinii · 3 hours ago

Text

doing business with family | max verstappen social media au

pairing: max verstappen x fem hadjar reader

brother and boyfriend in the same sport? nothing has ever gone wrong when doing business with family... right?

MASTERLIST | TIP JAR

yourusername

liked by alexalbon, pepemarti and 307,377 others

tagged: maxverstappen1 & isackhadjar

yourusername: max will officially become my second favourite f1 driver this weekend

view all comments

user1: watched isack’s f2 radio highlights in preparation for this weekend … yeah they’re defo siblings

user2: i know they’re parents had a HANDFULL with them growing up

user3: lmao just ask george in abu dhabi or lando in austria, y/n knows how to make her point KNOWN

isackhadjar: omg i beat max in something!

yourusername: come on bro have some faith in yourself - you can defo beat max in singapore at least

maxverstappen1: rude?

yourusername: you know i hate singapore in solidarity babe?

isackhadjar: and that’s crazy because she loves the glitter helmets

yourusername: i really do

user4: get you a couple that measures their love by glitter helmets?

user5: y/n is so real for that though, i’d fuck seb’s glitter helmets

yourusername: right well i don’t love them quite THAT much

charles_leclerc: slides £5 across the table isack please take max out, he won’t hate you

isackhadjar: no?

landonorris: WHY NOT

isackhadjar: i want to keep my job and actually score some points

yourusername: you people done harassing my brother?

maxverstappen1: do we have a problem?

isackhadjar: they’re being mean, they’re trying to PEER PRESSURE ME

charles_leclerc: i don’t think i was peer pressuring you

charles_leclerc: it’s bribery, god get it right

maxverstappen1: i think you should watch it

yourusername: say something like that to him again frenchie and your ass is grass

user6: omg romance ❤️‍🔥

redbullracing

liked by yourusername, danielricciardo and 823,081 others

tagged: maxverstappen1, yukitsunoda0511 & liamlawson30

redbullracing: red bull vs rb on pop culture trivia… max and isack were unstoppable - we might have to split them up next time

view all comments

user7: now i wonder where max and isack got their real housewives knowledge from …

user8: this has y/n hadjar written all over it

user9: if i remember rightly y/n was asked by some interviewer in the paddock who she’d like to see as a paddock guest and she said LISA RINNA?

user10: i knew i stanned the right queen

isackhadjar: not our fault that liam and yuki aren’t caught up with all the fresh news

maxverstappen1: we’re bonded cats i don’t think they have the power to separate us

redbullracing: it’s a trivia game…

maxverstappen1: THAT’S MY BABY BROTHER

redbullracing: YOU GUYS AREN’T EVEN MARRIED YET?

yourusername: looks like admin just lost their invite to the wedding…

redbullracing: yOU AREN’T ENGAGED?

yourusername: i guess you’ll never know

user11: no way they just teased their engagement in an argument over media duties?

user12: you’re shocked? this is quintessential them

user13: and they’re adding in their little rabid mini-them? i fear f1 is actually not ready

liamlawson30: so when do we get to do cars trivia? or is it all set up for them to win?

yourusername: just say you’re uncultured…

maxverstappen1: get a new personality trait bro

liamlawson30: omg why are you guys on my neck so hard?

maxverstappen1: funny

liamlawson30: this is so not fair why didn’t you guys defend me like this last season?

yourusername: that’s my flesh and blood dude

isackhadjar: duh!

maxverstappen1: i am so in love with y/n i just do what she says, do let it be known that if isack was not related to y/n he would be just another stray cat to me

isackhadjar: sure i’ll take it!

maxverstappen1

liked by yourusername, isackhadjar and 839,023 others

maxverstappen1: we had the chance to extend our championship lead but with two optimists behind you anything can happen…

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user21: LMAO THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN THIS AND THE LAST POST

user22: isack probably teared up in the stewards room and max crumbled

user23: i mean on his radio as soon as GP said it was isack max was immediately like ‘is he okay?’

isackhadjar: sorry max!

maxverstappen1: no worries buddy, you can pay me back with room service

isackhadjar: so our move marathon is still on?

maxverstappen1: don’t be dumb - obviously!

maxverstappen1: i need my second in command to help defend my snacks from y/n

yourusername: you guys aren’t supposed to have those snacks i’m doing you a favour !!!

isackhadjar: sureeeee

yourusername: i can call your trainers up if you want?

maxverstappen1: NO WE’RE OKAY

user24: esteban ocon is not okay seeing this tomfoolery

user25: yeah yeah yeah it’s all fun and games but that’s legit his baby brother of course he wasn’t going to cuss him out

user26: exactly! he’s been with y/n for like four years? of course he was concerned about isack’s safety than his race

landonorris: i’m not surprised, just disappointed

maxverstappen1: why?

landonorris: I’M YOUR BEST FRIEND AND YOU STILL AIRED ME OUT ONLINE?

maxverstappen1: first of all y/n is my best friend

maxverstappen1: second of all isack is my baby brother

maxverstappen1: third of all you’re annoying

yourusername: heavy on number three

landonorris: i GIVE UP WITH YOU PEOPLE

user27: i love watching max and y/n making people crash out in instagram comments

user28: couples that terrorise together, stay together

georgerussell63: interesting ….

yourusername: you wanna say something

georgerussell63: suddenly not anymore

maxverstappen1: LMAO

yourusername

liked by landonorris, charles_leclerc and 459,034 others

tagged: maxverstappen1, isackhadjar & pepemarti

yourusername: bond a little bit stronger than a lil crash in a formula one race

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user29: if they don’t get married and live happily ever after i might just sue them

user30: so real

user31: they’re my parents and i can’t go up to four christmasses

redbullracing: that was millions in damage

yourusername: you gonna invoice me for it?

redbullracing: no?

yourusername: then get the fuck out of my comments this is a wholesome post

user32: why is pepe here?

pepemarti: i am just as much part of the hadjar family as max

maxverstappen1: well that’s just factually incorrect

pepemarti: nuh uh

maxverstappen1: ??? i’m marrying in? what are you doing?

pepemarti: i’m mama hadjar and y/n’s favourite so divine intervention

maxverstappen1: @yourusername please dispell this nonsense

yourusername: look at his lil face …

pepemarti: :p

isackhadjar: i’ll be clear i am not marrying pepe

pepemarti: that’s not what you told me the other day :(

user33: can someone make a chart this is all a bit confusing now

user34: i don’t think anything is helping with this chaos

maxverstappen1: i love you forever and ever, even if your brother puts me in the wall <3

yourusername: awww i love you too bubs

maxverstappen1: but i am your favourite though?

yourusername: don’t tell them but yes!

isackhadjar: these are public comments?

pepemarti: i’m legally blind now

fin.

note: a quicky i wrote during the super bowl lol - hope you enjoy xx

#f1 imagine #f1 x reader #f1 instagram au #f1 x you #f1 #f1 social media au #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen fluff #max verstappen x you #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen fanfic

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wizard-of-interesting-failure · 6 hours ago

Text

"I don't understand. Why isn't he getting up?"

"Wh- you killed him!"

"Don't be silly, death isn't real."

"You cast Finger of Death!"

"I cast Lightning Bolt too; they name spells after fake shit all the time."

"Lightning is real too!!"

"Oh come on. Next you'll be telling me color is a thing."

"...have you ever actually been outside this cavern?"

"What's a cavern?"

"It's where we are right now!"

"Odd name for it, but yes, of course I have. Been this way, that way, through there is a lovely group of giant spiders..."

"We, ah. Might have killed those on our way here."

"Don't be silly, death isn't real."

"...right. Where do you think we came from?"

"Eh, somewhere. Weird shit shows up all the time."

"I-"

"Oh! Your friend there startled me and it totally slipped my mind; would you care for some tea? I don't drink it myself, but I keep some on hand for guests."

"...okay, listen. These are the Caverns of Chaos. Everything in here is self-replenishing. The prevailing theory was that they existed to protect a central chamber. We've spent weeks down here slogging through unimaginable horrors to make it there and you're going to, what, play dumb?"

"Okay now you're just being rude. I am not dumb! There might not be much to do around here, but I do my best to keep my mind sharp. I'd like to see you figure out as much as I have about the ever-shifting layout of the world!"

"We did! That's how we got here! Have you never tried scrying the outside?"

"Scrying spells are some sort of prank, best I can tell; they never seem to do anything except give me a headache."

"Cast one up."

"I don't really want to give myself a-"

"Just do it! At least 2000 meters."

"Alright, but I don't see...what..."

"..."

"...colors?"

"Yeah, the whole dungeon is monochrome for some reason, we think-"

"Lightning?"

"Well, if there's a storm, I suppose-"

"Death?"

"...death?"

"There's...more like your friend."

"What do you mean-"

"Why aren't they moving?"

"I don't-"

"I'm moving. I can move. See? They look like me. Why aren't they moving?"

"They're- there are skeletons? We just came from-"

"Am I going to stop moving?"

"No, you-"

"Why isn't your friend moving?"

"..."

"...he's...'dead'. Isn't he. I 'killed' him."

"...listen, just calm down, we can-"

"Oh, yes, of course! I could never figure out what these spells for making 'un-dead' were for, but they must be for fixing this! I'll just-"

"NO!"

"But he's-"

"We're handling it!"

"No you're not! Whatever you're doing, it's not working."

"How can you-"

"You're trying to draw power from something that's not there. I've done it a few times, don't feel bad, it's a common mistake."

"I'm drawing power from my goddess! There's no way she's..."

"What is a goddess? Is it that little symbol you're carrying around? It doesn't seem to have any power in it."

"...it...why can't I feel her?"

"Just let me do it, I can-"

"We're not letting you turn Steve into some kind of undead abomination!"

"Wh- but he wasn't dead before!"

"He was alive, you stupid thing!"

"Right, not dead. Un-dead. I'll just make him un-dead again and then we can..."

"Why has she forsaken me?"

"We can..."

"Why won't she answer??"

"Color...lightning...death..."

audible weeping

"They're like me...why aren't they moving?"

"It's probably just the Caves messing with the divine connection, we should-"

"Should I not be moving?"

extended wailing

"Is un-dead not like 'alive'?"

"Listen, I know we didn't have this problem before, but-"

"Is there something wrong with being un-dead?"

"OF COURSE THERE IS, YOU STUPID UNDEAD THING! STEVE IS DEAD, THE GODDESS WON'T LISTEN TO ME, AND YOU'RE JUST...just..."

"...just what?"

"..."

"What am I?"

"..."

"WHAT AM I???"

the cavern shakes

"Listen, just calm down, we'll-"

"Why is he dead? Why are they all dead?"

"All wh-"

"The ones you made me scry on!"

"Oh my god, we forgot about-"

"Why aren't they moving??"

"We don't know! What else did you see?"

"Colors, lightning, death..."

"What else??"

"Colors, lightning, death..."

the lich collapses into a fetal position, rocking back and forth

"Listen, this is important, you need to-"

someone attempts to shake the lich. A sudden pulse of darkness slams them into the opposite wall.

"Colors, lightning, death..."

"Just calm down, we can-"

"GODDESS? WHERE ARE YOU??"

"Colors, lightning, death..."

the party leader buries her face in her hands. The healer weeps and wails. The lich, seemingly catatonic, continues mumbling to himself. This goes on for a while.

"..."

"Right. Okay. That's enough of this. We're taking Steve's body and leaving. We wouldn't have a chance against a lich in this state anyway. Keep trying to revive him as we go, we'll-"

"...lich?"

"Yes, yes, you don't know anything about anything, it's very funny, har har, we're done here. Go back to giving yourself headaches or whatever it is you do all day."

"I'm coming with you."

"...what?"

"You know what I am. You know about places that aren't 'caverns'. You know about colors, lightning, and death. I need to come with you."

"No offence, buddy, but you don't exactly seem like adventuring material."

"Please! Don't you need to find out why all those people are...'dead'? I can speak with dead, I guess, if it's a real thing."

"..."

"We are not taking this THING that killed Steve with us!"

"...we probably are going to need help with whatever is going on up there."

"He might be lying!"

the party leader gestures at the utterly guileless lich. The healer turns away.

"...fine."

"Thank you."

"Just...keep him away from me."

The party improvises a stretcher as the lich gathers up his meager possessions. A thick silence reigns as the group shuffles out the only exit, the lich awkwardly following at a distance.

"Wait, I forgot my maps-"

"We'll be fine. Just stay back there, okay? You've caused enough trouble for one day."

Nodding hesitantly, the lich steps over the threshold, leaving his cavern for the last time.

It turns out that the lich the adventurers had been hired to slay had never actually killed anyone before until the impulsive paladin of the group swung first. Now, as the healer tries to revive them, the rest have to calm the ancient undead mage down from what is undeniably a panic attack.

#wizardposting #wizard posting #wizard

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frmisnow · 2 days ago

Text

ㅤ▌ ͟CHERRY LOLLIPOPS & CHEAP MOTELS! ‎⠀⠀⎯⎯⠀⠀ ♬᭢ 𝟐.𝟔𝐤 smut . nsfw

SUMMARY in which jungkook picks you up in his shitty car, takes you to an even shittier motel, and makes you forget why you ever said you wouldn’t do this again.

the parking lot outside your boyfriend's apartment, if you could even call it that, smelt like piss and burnt rubber. no, another correction ⎯⎯ the parking lot outside your exe's apartment complex smells like piss. you shake your head, one of your heels clicking against the hard ground in an effort to distract yourself; you keep on having to remind yourself that he cheated.

i mean how horny does one have to be, getting a blowjob at the exact time when you were supposed to have the date. 'the date' is an abomination and an overstatement. by that you mean overglorified sex meeting, or whatever, that you had planned.

you roll your eyes, one of your nails digging into the cigarette that you then put out, your heel digging into the little butt. your fingers work on unwrapping one of the cherry lollipops that he liked so much. now you had a whole pack somewhere in your basement, for no damn reason. you didn't even like cherries.

your brows furrow, as you taste the oversugared candy just as your ears pick up the low, rough engine approaching from your left side. you'd recognize that shitty sound from everywhere. if that ain't love.

jungkook pulls into the dirty street, like he owns the whole thing. one hand slung over the wheel, the other resting against the worn out gear shift, ink-dark tattoos flexing under cheap fluorescent light. while his confidence was certaintly cute, his car was everything but such. scratches and dirt adoring the most likely decade-old car.

the window’s already rolled down, but he doesn’t say anything at first. just lets his gaze drag slow over your frame — your bare legs, your mascara which was ruined well just a little, the slight pout of your lips around the lollipop. it's not even sexual, he's looking over you like he's observing a situation, figuring you out, where you stand, how you're feeling. calculated.

“don’t,” you say before he can open his mouth.

jungkook’s smile curves, the kind of expression that makes you want to throw your lollipop at his face. “don’t what?”

“don’t.” you punctuate it with a click of your tongue, the sharp crack of candy between your teeth. your mood is just a tad bit rotten, and jungkook is the very last person you need needling at your pride.

still, he gestures toward the passenger seat with a flick of his fingers. “get in.”

you hate how fast your body moves before your brain can catch up, your hand reaching out to open the car door, which opens with another sharp noise, barerly. and you hate how the seat smells like him, warm leather and cigarettes, that one perfume that he still wears, no.97 april cotton. it firmly recks, of it all. of familiarity and something you once considered mellow.

but most of all, you hate how he can tell. how he witnesses you lean back into the seat, were anyone else would see it as you getting more comfortable, he could tell it was you chasing the comfort that it itself provided.

his palm settles on your thigh, warm and familiar, like it belongs there. his thumb brushes absentmindedly over your bare skin, just once, just enough to make something tighten low in your stomach.

you should push him off. should cross your legs, turn toward the window, pretend you don’t care. but you don’t. you won’t. instead, you sink further into the seat, pressing into the scent of his cologne like it might drown out the bitterness sitting in your throat.

“so,” he muses, casual as anything, drawing out the vowel, like he wanted to see you squirm under the pressure of what his question awaits. his sadist ass would probably enjoy that. “are we gonna talk about it?”

you roll the lollipop between your teeth., before you let it go with a soft pop, anything to distract him from your heartrate. could he feel your heart through your thigh? god, you hope not. “nothing to talk about.”

he snickers, but it's dim, faint, gentle, there's no real malice. other then the fact that he expected just that answer, and those actions, in that exact order. why was he so smart? it seriously freaked you out, all you were left to resort on doing was continue on with the lollipop.

cherry all over your tongue. rotten.

“you want me to fuck him up?”

you sigh under your breath, lifting one of your legs to rest on your other one, his hand ultimately falling off as a result, "no- i," you pause, eyes out the window, focusing on the bright neon signs and eventual car that drives by, "he didn't promise me anything. i didn't promise him anything either, it's- really." you hate, absolutly despise, how your voice flatters, unsure and uneven, "nothing."

jungkook's fingers drum against the wheel in a steady rhythm, letting your words settle into the thin air. before he echoes your words, "nothing." and you see a muscle in his jaw twitching, before he smiles, though it's all half-lidded and lazy in execution, bit forced perhaps, "you're a shitty liar."

"you used to be better."

you do your best to ignore him, his words and presence all together. just twist the straw of the red candy which by now, has probably painted your tongue in a similair shade, starr out the window because that was all you could fathom doing. stupidly. naively.

being confronted by the past stung because you haven't changed, really. it's the similar sting of sugar against your tongue.

his hand moves again. not to your thigh this time, but to the lollipop stick, tugging it from your lips without asking. the candy snaps from your teeth, cold air replacing it before you can protest.

he licks what was left of the little red circle, as the car stopped at a red light, now his tongue was red as well. just one more thing on the long list, tying you both by fate. his brows furrow only slowly, before his eyes settle on you, thumb gently gracing your lips that carried the same taste which was now between his very own.

"i thought you didn't like cherries."

your tongue darts out instinctively, tasting the sugar still clinging to your lips, "no. no , i don't like cherries." the car behind you honks, sharp and impatient. the red light had long since turned green.

total silence fills the practically broken car as he continues driving, the lollipop lazily rolling on his tongue as you shift in your seat, one leg folding over the other, skin still buzzing from where he touched you. your heel dangles off your toes, threatening to fall, and you wonder if he’s watching, you could never quite tell with jungkook.

“you wanna tell me why I’m driving you to a motel?”

you blink. once, twice, thrice, before it was to unnatural as to not respond.

“you picked me up.”

“you told me to.”

“you didn’t have to listen.”

jungkook huffs, something close to a laugh but not quite. “that’s cute.” god, dimples. beautiful little dimples on both sides of his face.

the lollipop clicks against his teeth when he bites down, cracking the hardened sugar like it’s nothing, as if to break the tension, or worsen it.

you sit still, legs crossed for the rest of the two minutes. before you can clearly witness the motel sign in front of you, one of the lights clearly broken. MTEL, charming.

his voice cuts through the tense air while he's turning the car off, "do you want to be alone tonight? i'll let you."

you'd say you hate how you don't hear your own voice, your lips mouth or don't feel any physical reaction for that matter, but that'd be a lie. because you wanted it, wanted him, the real craving to repeat the past just once more.

the room he gets is upstairs. third door on the left. the hallway smells like cheap lemon cleaner, and there’s a buzzing light that flickers overhead, casting long shadows yet it highlights his tattoos as well, the pretty ink you used to lick and trace patterns off. you want to burry yourself into the grey carpet beneath you.

he steps inside, flicks on the lamp, and tosses the key onto the nightstand. the light casts his face in amber, warm and unreadable. he’s watching you again. that same slow, calculating gaze from the car as the door falls shut, with a tiny click.

“take your shoes off,” he mumbles, arms leaning back onto the dark brown desk, he just tossed the keys onto.

you don't move, a little pout adoring your face, the one you do whne you were unsure of.. well.. what to do.

his gaze flicks down to your heels, then back up, slow. “you wanna fuck on a motel bed in six-inch stilettos?”

you huff, a little defiant, but the heels come off. you bend, slip them off slow, and he watches. of course, he does. that same hooded gaze, tracking the movement like it’s something to be studied.

“pretty girl,” he murmurs, pushing off the desk, and you barely get the chance to straighten before his hands are on you. firm, sure. the rough pads of his fingers skim over the fragile skin of your face, thumbs tracing over your flush cheeks.

his mouth is hot against your throat, dragging slow kisses down the sensitive skin. he lingers just below your ear, exhales long, lets you feel it. then, his teeth — just a little.

“always got an attitude,” he mutters, hands smoothing down your back, “m' gonna fix that,” he rasps, pushing you toward the bed, turning you so you stumble back onto the mattress.

the mattress creaks under your weight. the air is thick, humming with the heat between you. his eyes are half-lidded, burning, dark.

he pulls his shirt over his head, lets it drop to the dirty motel floor, then his belt clinks, the soft shift of a zipper. his cock slaps against his stomach, flushed red, thick, leaking at the tip.

your mouth goes dry.

“spread your legs.”

you do. you don’t think. you just do, and he groans, a deep, pleased sound that makes you squirm.

he grabs your thighs, drags you closer to the edge, and just — sinks in.

you choke on a gasp.

no prep. nothing but how soaked you already are. it’s too much, just right, stretching you open in a way that makes your head spin.

his hands settle on your hips, grip unforgiving, and he doesn’t move. not yet. just sits there, thick inside you, like he’s letting you feel it, making sure you know, making sure you remember. how it was like, how it used to be.

“jesus,” he breathes, looking down at where you’re stuffed full of him. “tight fuckin’ cunt. always so good for me.”

then, he moves.

slow at first, measured, like he wants to see how you take it. then, rougher. faster.

the headboard knocks against the wall. the slap of skin fills the room, slick and obscene.

your nails bite into his forearms. your back arches.

“oh, fuck—”

he grips your jaw, forces you to look at him.

“you have the prettiest fuckin' eyes,” he rasps, thumb pressing into your cheek, "fuck— look at me." and it's practically a whine which you can't help but comply to.

his hips snap into you, deep, brutal. his hand slips between your bodies, fingers finding your clit, rubbing quick, teasing circles.

your legs shake. your thighs clench around his waist, body tensing.

“that’s it,” he murmurs, watching you unravel beneath him. “c’mon, baby — fuckin’ come for me.”

you do. hard.

“gonna fill you up,” he pants, grip tightening on your hips, pinning you in place, chasing his own high. “bet your fucking pussy remembers everything, remembers who i am.”

his hips stutter as you clench around him. a sharp inhale. then, warmth. deep.

he doesn’t pull out. doesn’t move, just breathes, dragging a hand up your stomach, up between your breasts, stopping at your throat.

your heart pounds against his palm.

his lips move barerly, a small smile while leans down, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your lips, pulling out just enough to let his cum drip between your thighs.

he lets you breath for about a minute, before he flips you over like you weigh nothing. like he’s got all the time in the world to manhandle you, spread you out over the mattress just how he wants.

your cheek presses into the sheets, legs bent under you, ass up. you barely get a second to breathe before his palm cracks against the curve of your ass, sharp, hot.

“fuck,” you gasp, fingers digging into the sheets.

he just hums, rubbing over the sting, soothing before landing another — harder this time.

“too fuckin’ pretty like this,” he mutters, palming at your waist, dragging his cock through t he mess between your thighs, nudging against your clit. “can’t get enough of you.”

he grips your hips and pushes back in, one slow, aching stroke, stretching you open all over again.

“shit,” he rasps, watching himself disappear inside you, shaking his head like he can’t believe it. “always so fuckin’ tight.”

your fingers fist the sheets. your back arches. he’s deeper this way, heavier, the weight of him pressing you into the mattress as he starts to move.

slow at first. taunting.

then, he grips the back of your neck, pinning you down, and snaps his hips forward.

you moan, high pitched, wrecked, and he groans in response, fingers flexing over your skin.

“that’s it,” he breathes, pace quickening, slamming into you hard enough to shove you up the bed, the headboard banging against the wall. “take it, baby.”

his other hand sneaks under you, pressing against your stomach, feeling the way he’s deep inside you, grinding in hard, slow circles.

“can feel me, huh?” his voice is rough, almost teasing. “fuckin’ you so deep—”

you whimper, clenching around him, and he hisses, dragging you back onto his cock, fucking you harder. the room is filled with noise — the wet slap of skin, the creak of the mattress, groans of the both of you.

“gonna come,” you gasp, fingers slipping against the sheets, weak, small bits of sweat glistening on your skin. your vision whites out while he fucks you through it, his own release hitting only seconds later.

jungkook collapses beside you, pressing a gentle, open-mouthed kiss against your shoulder. you’re just a tad bit ruined, limbs useless, but you hum in contentment when he continues pressing lazy kisses up your spine.

you can firmly feel that signature smile of his against your skin, pressing another kiss to your shoulder before pulling back. the bed dips as he stands, leaving you feeling cold for all of two seconds before he’s back with a warm cloth.

the first press of it between your thighs makes you shiver. he’s careful, gentle, murmuring soft praises as he cleans you up.

“so good for me.”

“always take me so well.”

when he’s done, he tosses the cloth aside and climbs back into bed, dragging you against his chest. his fingers trace slow circles against your bare back, lulling and soothing.

“you want water?” he asks, lips brushing your temple.

you nod, still half-asleep. he reaches over to the nightstand, pressing the bottle to your lips, "c'mon drink." carefully watching as you take a few small gulps before pushing it away.

his fingers move through your hair, once again lulling you into soft sleep.

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lostinlovingrevery · 2 days ago

Text

Vans Valentines - Lovebirds

Origins! Logan X F! Reader

Vans Valentines

A/N: It's almost 3 am that i'm posting this. Idk even know what happened. it's like I blacked out typing this. Ironically I started out not liking anything but I just kept going (just like them lol). You'll see when you see the word count. Theres next to no plot. just fluff and smut. I haven't even made the graphics for this yet but I really wanted to post this so I'll do it later. I love this btw.

Plot: It's Valentines day, and you and Logan can't keep your hands off each other

Warnings: Smut. So much smut. MDNI!, a lot of fluff too, established relationship, unprotected PiV, multi creampies, Oral (both f! and m! recieiving), fingering, car sex, kitchen sex, valentines sex, just sex in general, hair pulling, one (1) ass smack I think, petnames, babydoll is the most common, a guest appearance of certain character (he just showed up idk), there's no plot really. just fluff and smut. I'm so tired. probably grammer and spelling mistakes.

Word Count: 7355

You woke up to the smell of cooked bacon and fresh brewed coffee, wafting to your nose. You opened your eyes, sunlight beaming through the cracks of your curtain. Turning your head, you found the space that your husband filled by your side was empty.

You sat up, a small yawn escaping you as you stretched your back out, before pulling off the comforter and stepping onto the cold bare wood floors. A slight shiver ran down your back as you wrapped your arms around yourself- clad in nothing but a pretty slip on that Logan gifted you a while back, you made your way to the kitchen, following the warm aroma of food and coffee.

Stepping inside the small kitchen of the little cabin you and Logan resided in, you smiled at the sight of your husband. His tall frame at the oven, as he flipped slices of bacon in a pan. A plate of pancakes sat on the table, next to a bowl of sliced fruit.

You snuck up behind him, (although you know he does know you’re behind him, y’know, because of his surprior senses) Your arms wrapped around his waist, as you pressed your body into his firm self, hugging him tight. You could feel the rise of and fall of his breathing, bringing you a sense of comfort.

“Morning bub.” You heard his warm voice greet you, as he turned, shuffling around so that you were now facing each other. He looked down at you with a warm regard, fondness in his eyes and a small smile on his lips.

“Morning.” You hummed back, moving onto your tiptoes to press a soft kiss to his lips. He leaned his head down to meet you halfway, smiling bigger once he felt your lips on his. “Happy Valentine's day.” You whispered.

“It’s Valentines?” He asks in a mock surprise voice. You rolled your eyes.

“Mm. It’s literally the easiest date to remember.”

“Our wedding date is easier to remember,” He says warmly, wrapping his arms around you, pulling you against him. “Cause that was the best day of my life.”

You giggled, playfully hitting his shoulder. “Nu uh!”

“No, you’re right. The best day was when you finally put out.”

You gasped, shoving him again, feigning anger but he kept you close, chuckling warmly as he leaned down to bury his lips onto your neck. You bit your lip, closing your eyes and tipping your head back as you gave in to him, leaning into his body as he pressed open-mouth kisses over your neck and up to your jaw.

“Mm. I wish you didn’t have to work today.” You say softly.

“I know.” He mumbles, pressing chaste kisses to your lips.

“You should quit.”

He chuckles warmly. “Then who’s gonna pay to keep you spoiled?”

“I don’t need anything. Just you.”

He hums, pressing his lips to yours again, his hands on your hips pulling you closer. He then moves to kiss your cheek. “I figured I’d make you breakfast before I go.”

“You didn’t have to do that.” You say softly.

“Yeah I do. Gotta take care of my girl.” He says, moving to finish the bacon, putting the cooked pieces onto a plate with paper towels, soaking the extra grease. He lets go of you, moving across the kitchen to grab silverware while you grab the two plates he’d put out for you both, and begin serving the pancakes, eggs, bacon, and sliced fruit that he had prepared.

While eating, you reached over, swiping a bit of syrup off the corner of Logan's mouth, and he turned, grabbing your wrists and licking the syrup off your finger. You saw that look in his eye- the look that screamed trouble as he stood up from his seat- the chair screeching against the floor, and his lips crashed onto yours. Your seat screeched against the floor as you stood up, Logan swiped the dishes to the side- several of the dishes falling to the ground in a loud clatter.

“Logan!” You laughed, grabbing his shirt in an attempt to make him slow down.

“I’ll clean it up.” He mutters into your lips, picking you up and placing you on the table, slotting himself between your thighs as you messily made out, the taste of syrup lingering on your tongues and lips. His hands went under your slip-on, quickly pulling your panties off as he leaned you back down on the table.

“Lo, what about your hard work for this breakfast?” You teased me. “You should eat before work!”

“Yeah, that’s what I’m doing.” He mutters as he kneels onto the floor, spreading your thighs open and tugging you to the edge of the table. You gasped as his tongue licked a long stripe up your folds. He groaned, “Taste so damn good princess.” He mutters into your thigh.

He licked another stripe, before his tongue pressed to your clit, and you let out a moan, tipping your head back, spreading your legs wide as your hands gripped his hair, tugging it towards you and making him moan. You bit your lip, arching your back as Logan's hands came up to grip your thighs, keeping them spread as he made short work of you. His tongue rubbing practiced circles on your clit, just the right pace that had you panting, your heart racing as your pussy became soaked with his spit and your arousal.

He dipped down to your hole, sticking his tongue inside, making you clench greedily around the muscle, making him grin. “Feeling needy huh baby?” He coos as he pulls away. He let go of your thigh, and he stuck two fingers between his lips, soaking them with his spit. He pulled them out, and teased your entrance, circling it with his middle finger, before leaning up and giving your clit a few lazy licks as he slowly pushed his finger inside you.

“Lo-!” You whine, your hip wiggling, desperate for more as he slowly works his finger in and out of you, giving your clit small kitten licks that makes your entire body twitch.

“Feel good?”

“Mhm.” You nodded desperately. Tugging at his hair. “More, Lo, more please!”

“So polite.” He chuckles, his breath fanning over your pussy, and he works another finger inside you, curling them as he touches that spot that sends you careening. Your whines were music to his ears, as he continued rubbing that spot inside you, your legs began to tremble, and your nails dug painfully into his scalp. “C'mon princess. Cum for me.” He urges, before slotting his tongue over your clit, his lips wrapping around your bud and sucking.

It was all you needed to snap that thread. Your body froze, arching your back with your head tipped back, moaning “Logan Logan Logan Logan” over and over as your thighs tightened around his skull, and your pussy sucked his fingers in so tight he could barely pull them out. Fluids squirted out, flooding his face and hand, as he desperately licked every inch of you during your orgasm, moaning at the taste. Your body finally relaxed, as Logan stroked his fingers in and out of you a few more times, working you through your orgasm, and lapping up the rest of your juices.

Your body laxed, your limbs feeling a buzzing as Logan stood up, licking his lips. You attempted to catch your breath, barely noticing the sound of a belt being undone. You felt your legs being moved, placed up on his shoulders.

Your eyes snapped open when you felt his cock sliding between your folds. You squirmed, feeling overstimulated the way his cock bumped against your clit.

“Lo.” You whined, your hands falling to either side of your head.

“What? Gotta make sure you’re fed too baby.” He says, a teasing edge in his voice. You scoffed weakly, shaking your head. You felt his tip against your hole, as he slowly pushed himself inside you.

Two fingers were barely enough to prepare you for the size of Logan. Despite having been with him for years, the moment he pushes himself inside always makes your body melt as he stretches you open. Your hands reached down to grab him as bottomed out inside you, a harsh pant escaping you.

“Fuck.” He cursed quietly, waiting a moment, allowing you to adjust. “I can’t ever get enough of you darling.” He groans, his hands on your waist gripping you tighter, as he begins to thrust in and out of you, slowly.

Your nails dug into his hands, as you felt his length stretching you open as he began to thrust faster. “Oh Logan-” You moaned, biting your lip and tipping your head back. Your hips moved in time with his thrusts, overstimulation covered your body. He moved faster, pushing you down on him as he fucked into you. His hips slammed into yours, as he leaned over you on the table, your legs on his shoulders being pushed down to your chest.

His cock rubbed that delightful spot that Logan's fingers had touched moments ago, each thrust pushing you further and further over the edge once more. The kitchen table creaked with each thrust, making you wonder if you two were really about to break it. “Goddamn, you feel so good sweetheart.” He moans, his lips brushing over yours. Your lips pouted as you squeezed your eyes shut, pleasure racking through your body. “Fucking love that you’re all mine. This sweet pussy is all mine. Cmon, look at me.” He demands, as you open your eyes to look up at him. “Yeah, there she is. My pretty wife.” He grins devilishly.

“Logan” You whined.

“I know darling.” He coos breathlessly, his arm wrapping around your thigh as his fingers find your clit and begin stroking. Your vision went white, as you came for the second time, Logan fucking you through it as your body shook underneath him, until he grunted, slamming into you- his release coating your pulsing walls around him. “Aw fuck-” He hissed, letting out another guttural groan as he tipped his head back, his chest heaving as the last spurts of his cum filled you up. He carefully pulled out of you, catching his breath. He moved to kiss your ankle. “All full now darling?”

Still panting, and seeing spots in your vision, you rolled your eyes.

After the “quiet” breakfast, and cleanup, Logan had to leave for work

You met him at the door. He had on his usual ‘lumberjack’ look about him. His snug jeans, flannel, and vest were placed over him. He had his arm behind his back.

“You look handsome as always, baby.” You cooked. He smiled, looking down at you with his chin facing down. He pulled out from behind his arms a large bouquet- they were wildflowers, looking like something Logan must have picked from the surrounding forests. You gasped. “Lo! When did you do this? They’re beautiful!” You took the bouquet to sniff them.

“Before I made breakfast. I wanted to get you some roses but…”

“No! I love these!” You gave him a big toothy smile, adoring the way Logan arranged the beautiful flowers in the bouquet. You could picture him trying to arrange things perfectly in the way he’d know you like them. You’d been married for several years at this point, but he never fails to surprise you with his romantic gestures, and his dedication to making you happy. You leaned up on your toes to kiss his cheek and he smiled.

“I just wanted to give you something, even if we have plans tonight,” He says softly.

“Lo, you don’t have to do anything.” You say softly, “I’m happy with just you.”

“Hm.” He hummed looking down at you, getting that soft look in his eyes. When you first met him, he was a stoic, angry man. He didn’t view the world with much kindness and for a good reason. You supposed that living for so long, and you see as much hatred and violence as he has, you’d be angry too. With time though, he became warm to you, and it blossomed into the romance you and him share now. He is and will always be the only one for you.

You share another kiss before he finally leaves. You sighed, already missing him as you watched the station wagon pull out of the driveway and down to the neighborhood street. You had plans for your Valentine's evening- plans to stay in, make a nice home cooked meal together, dance, maybe watch a flick- and then you’ll put on that sexy one piece you bought in secret that he doesn’t know about, and surprise him. For some people, that may seem like a boring Valentine's- but it was perfect for you and Logan.

You moved to get the chores done for the day and checked to make sure you had all the groceries for tonight's dinner. You checked your pantry and then walked into the kitchen- noticing Logan had left his lunch bag. You weren’t surprised, considering your proclivities earlier.

You decided you would take it to him from work. You went to get dressed, wearing a light pink mini dress with a v-neck live, that hugged your figure and ended mid-thigh, doing your hair up in the pretty style Logan always adored, and putting on some light makeup. You pulled on some boots, and a small jacket that matched your outfit. It was a bit more of a summery outfit to wear especially in Canada during February of all months, but you preferred looking cute for your husband than comfort at this moment.

You had the idea to write a small love note to stick into Logan's lunch. So before you left, you sat down at the table and wrote down some affectionate words for Logan to read, hoping that it’ll make him smile while he’s at work.

You went outside, jumping into his old truck as you drove down to his work. You drove up the long driveway, stopping at the small temporary building where several men stood chatting, turning to look at you arriving, as you rolled down your window.

“Hi, boys.” You greeted the men.

“You lost lil lady?” One asked, you read his nametag and recognized the name as one of the project managers. One of Logan's bosses. You shook your head

“I’m looking for Logan.”

“Oh, you’re Logan's lady-” The other popped up with a big grin. He had brown hair and a face that seemed like he was a sarcastic asshole and proud, you raised an eyebrow. “Nice to meet you, ma’am.” He says with a big cheesy grin. “You look very pretty today-”

“Likewise.” You cut him off, “Logan?” You ask. The manager nodded, pushing the other guy to the side.

“He’ll be coming back for lunch in a moment. If you wanna go to the park and wait for him. Shouldn’t be long.” The manager nods, you nod.

“Thank you-”

“Hey, hey- Listen if you ever get tired of the grump, come hit me up. I’m Wade.” The guy from earlier introduces himself, and he winks. You rolled your eyes but you couldn’t help your amused grin. Wade. You recall Logan complaining about him more than once. You put the back into first gear, driving out into a makeshift dirt parking lot, where you parked next to yours and Logan's other car- a simple station wagon.

You waited a few minutes before you climbed out of the truck, moving to go lean on the back of the truck, with Logan's lunch bag in hand. Soon you heard the sound of several trucks as they came down from the forests, and you caught sight of Logan's head of hair, making your heart flutter as you tried to suppress your grin.

He hadn’t caught sight of you yet, stepping down from the truck with ease, axe over his shoulder. You watched Wade bound to him and started talking to him. You couldn’t tell what he was saying- but Logan's expression filled with irritation. Logan suddenly looked surprised, his nostril flaring and he turned his head to look at you, and immediately his stoic and hard face turned soft and something you could only consider lovesick.

You stood up straight, a big smile stretched across your face as you gave him a little wave. The others noticed, and one wolf whistled at the sight of you - to which Logan immediately reacted. He turned towards them, a warning scowl, and you could hear Wade cackling. Logan shook his head, playfully threatening all of them with his axe before turning and practically bounding towards you while the other lumberjacks watched in amusement.

When he reached you, he immediately kissed you, passionate and intense. You’re not sure if it’s excitement from seeing you, or a possessive instinct to claim you in front of the other men. Or both.

Likely both.

“What are you doing here babydoll?” He asks softly.

“Forgot your lunch-” You hold up the brown bag. He smiled, leaning down to kiss you again, as he threw the axe into the back of the pickup, and an arm going around your waist to pull you close.

“And you got all dolled up to bring it for me hm?” He asks in a low voice as he presses his forehead to yours. “It’s too cold for that.”

“It’s Valentine after all.” You hummed. “Besides, I knew you’d keep me warm.” You flirted. He grinned, and he leaned his head back. You saw something lustful flash in his eyes. He stepped back from you, grabbing your hand and lifting it, encouraging you to spin. His jaw tensed, and he glanced over at the men who were all watching, amusement, and surely desire plastered on their faces. Logan felt a streak of pride knowing he got a pretty thing like you by his side. He considered himself a very lucky man. He smirked.

“Cmon, I have lunch for an hour.” He says grabbing your hand, leading you to the passenger side of the station wagon and opening the door for you. You settled inside, and he climbed into the driver's seat.

“Don’t you wanna have lunch around here? Maybe I can meet some of your coworkers.”

“No. I know a private spot where we could eat.” He says as he turns the car on. You laughed, shaking your head.

The next thing you know, you’re on Logan's lap in the back bench seat of the station wagon. His hands are sliding all over you, as he’s leaned back on the seat, his legs spread, forcing your thighs open.

He smelled like dirt and sawdust, and it was heavenly. You leaned forward, licking his bottom lip, begging to be let inside while he chuckled warmly, his hands sliding up your thighs and slipping under the hem.

“Look at you. All pretty.” He mutters slowly, his eyes trailing down you. His hands moved down to grope your ass, and you bit your lip to suppress a smile. “I count my blessings knowing something cute as you let me touch you like this.”

You felt your cheeks go red, and he chuckled. He pushed your ass forward on his crotch, encouraging you to grind on him. A small gasp escaped you.

“Weren’t satisfied by this morning Lo?” You ask softly, your hands reaching to hold onto his shoulders, as you begin to roll your hips over him. You could feel his hard length, threw his jeans, and pressed down against him. Your panties began getting soaked with your arousal.

“Baby I can never get enough of you.” He groans, his hand going over to the back of your neck and pulling you down towards him so he can capture your lips in a messy kiss. “Especially when you come all this way to make sure I’m taken care of. Making yourself all pretty for me. Fuck.” He licked into your mouth. Your arms wrapped around his shoulders as you began grinding over him desperately. He brought his hands down to his belt, quickly unfastening it. You reached your own hands down to help him out of his jeans faster.

He pushed the jeans down far enough for his hard cock to pop out. You bit your lip at the sight, your hand coming up to give him a few strokes, where he tipped his head back and groaned. You sat up on your knees, and Logan supported your waist, while his hand reached under your dress, and pulled your soaked panties to the side.

You lowered yourself down on him. You bit down on your inner cheek to avoid being too loud. While he pulled you into another searing kiss.

“C’mon, baby. Take care of me.” He moaned softly into your lips. His hands grabbed your ass again, encouraging you to start rocking your hips back and forth and you obliged. Lifting yourself up, all the way to where his tip nearly came out of you, before plopping back down into his lap, where he filled you to the brim.

You continued repeating his motion, slow and steady at first, before picking up the pace. Logan's hands cradled your ass, supporting you as you bounced on him. Your head fell to his shoulder, as small moans and whimpers escaped you.

“That’s a girl.” He mutters. “You’re doing so good. You look so good like this.” He praises. “Feel good?” His timber voice shooting straight through you.

“Mhm.” You bit your lip and nodded. You kept trying to go faster, but soon you felt yourself tiring out. Your thighs were trembling, and you felt like you couldn’t push yourself up anymore. “Lo…” You whined, looking up at him pleadingly.

“Getting tired babydoll?” He asked softly,a slight amused and cocky look in his eyes, and you nodded. He sat back in the seat. “S’alright. C’mon. I’ll take over.”

His hands went to your hips, and he began thrusting into you. As good as it felt to ride him, the way Logan fucked up into you felt even better. Logan somehow knew how to make you feel good better than you knew yourself. He angled himself, constantly pounding into you and hitting that spot that made your eyes roll back.

“C’mon, cmon baby cum for me.” He growls. The power of his thrusts shook the entire car. He wrapped one arm around your waist, while his free hand came up to tug the collar of your dress down, and then your bra, exposing your tit that he took in his mouth- still thrusting up into you. The car was filled with lewd noises of your connections, moans, and whines leaking through the windows that were fogging up from both your harsh pants. “Shit-” He grunted, grabbing you and manipulating you downwards, so your back was on the seat.

His arm is still protectively around your waist, his hips slammed into yours. He grabbed your leg, placing it over his shoulder, while your other leg pressed against his hip. The new angle sent waves of pleasure over you, as your hands clinged to Logan's flannel.

He was fucking into you so hard, you were sure the car was going to tip over by the way it was shaking. No wonder he drove 10 minutes down the road. He didn’t want to risk anyone seeing.

His lips crashed onto yours, and with a few more thrusts, you finally came. Your fluids soaked Logan's cock, splashing on yours and his pants as he continued thrusting, before finally finishing inside with a hard thrust. You felt his cum filling you up for the 2nd time today.

He collapsed on you, both sweaty and exhausted. He looked up at you, his hair was a mess, sweat beading his forehead, and his pupils were blown wide.

You couldn’t help it, as you started giggling at the sight of him, and he grinned.

“What?!” He asked.

“We are NOT going to look very discreet when we go back.” You laughed. He chuckled warmly.

“It’s none of their damn business anyway.” He leans to press a kiss against your shoulder, before sitting up and carefully pulling out of you.

He did his pants back up, before helping you up and helping you fix your appearance. You sat on his lap, and you grabbed his lunch bag, pulling it open and pulling out the sandwich inside. His hand massaged your back, as he pressed a soft kiss to your temple. You broke off a piece of his sandwich, bringing it up to his lips. He smiled, opening his lips and allowing you to feed him, as he chewed and looked at you pridefully, making you laugh.

After lunch, he drove back to the lumber sight, where you said goodbye to the truck. You gave him a kiss - which was interrupted by wolf whistles and calling by the men across the yard watching you both. Logan rolled his eyes, a shake of his head. “I’m gonna kill 'em.”

You chuckled, fixing his flannel a bit. “You’ll be off at 4 correct?”

“Yeah.” He nods. “See you then babydoll” He purrs, kissing your forehead, before opening the car door, holding your hand as you climb in. “Be safe.”

“You too. Love you-” You gave him one more kiss,

“Love you too.” He responds, and he shuts the door of the truck, watching as you drive away from the yard.

“Hey, loverboy, you guys have a nice lunch?” Wade calls out. Logan rolls his eyes as he turns around. “Your flys undone!”

Logan's face fell as he looked down, realizing that it was in fact- undone. He sighs, as his cheeks turned red, zipping his fly back up as he walked towards his coworkers, preparing for a week of ceaseless teasing.

Meanwhile, you run to the store to pick up extra groceries, the gas station, and you get the truck an oil change. It was typically Logan who took care of that - but you wanted to do something nice for him so he didn’t have to worry about it.

Going home, you finished your chores, showered, and changed into comfier clothes (at least until Logan got back…)

You spent the rest of the afternoon relaxing and attempting to recover from the weakness in your legs that Logan had caused. You two had an active sex life, but Logan seemed particularly pent up today, and you could only imagine what tonight would bring - you just hoped you’d survive it.

The next time you checked the clock, you saw it was 3:40.

Logans going to be home soon.

You moved to start getting ingredients prepared, before going to put on something nice. Something a bit more casual than your earlier outfit, but still fitting for the evening. A pretty red sundress- just to fit with the Valentine theme, your hair was down, and a nice pretty pink lipstick.

You grabbed the gifts you got him. One was a box of very expensive Cuban cigars. He typically went for the cheaper ones, just to save money- but you stashed away some cash specifically for this gift. The other was a new leather jacket, the one he currently has was still fairly nice- but this new jacket was in a color he’d preferred but couldn’t find anywhere. Another was an engraved lighter, with yours and his initials engraved inside a little heart on the side.

The last gift was a necklace that looked like a compass, with the inside being a locket, and a small picture of you both. You were kissing his cheek. On the back of the compass was engraved “So you’ll always find your way back to me”

You wondered if it was too cheesy.

You wanted Logan to know how much you truly loved him though. Despite your obvious affections, things are always perfect. Logan struggles, nightmares, self-doubts, and even pushed you away in the past. You have your struggles that’s caused you to push him away. Somehow though, maybe through trust, you both made it through and stuck those times together. You truly felt that no matter what happens in the future, you and Logan will always be together.

You eloped about 3 years ago, after 2 years of dating. You met him when he was a soldier, fresh from Vietnam. He was rude, condescending, and incredibly handsome. Your perfect type.

Time went on and you grew on Logan. The way you always mouthed off to him when he was a dick, yet how you always supported him through the small moments of vulnerability that bled through, like when he drinks too much some nights and lets slip the things he felt about himself. He always thought you were beautiful, he felt it the moment you met- but fear, fear of hurting you, fear of getting hurt by you, kept him from asking you out. It was you who made the first move, and since then he's done nothing but adore you and make you the happiest girl on the planet.

You heard the front door opening as he stepped inside. Setting the wrapped boxes on the kitchen table, you went to greet him.

“Babe?” He called out.

You walked out into the living room, smiling happily at him. His face lit up, as if he hadn’t seen you most of the day already. It truly seemed like he could never get tired of you.

He kicked his shoes off, then shed his vest off and hung it up, before moving to greet you. His arms wrapped around you, as you wrapped your own around his waist.

“Hi.” You grinned up at him.

“Hi.” He chuckled.

“Work went okay?”

“Oh yeah.” He chuckled, and you hummed with humor. He elected not to tell you about his fly being down. Spare himself some dignity. “Are you ready for tonight?”

“Oh yeah, we’re partying hard.” You teased me.

“Somethings gonna be hard that’s for sure.”

You mock gasp, moving to hit him. “Perv!”

“Like you don’t love it.” He pulled you close. “I’m gonna take a shower, and we’ll start dinner, yeah?”

“Mhm.” You nod and lean up to peck his lips. “You need it.” You scrunch your nose, playfully pushing him off you, leading him to the bathroom, and pushing him inside.

He showered while you started getting dinner ready. When he was done, he came out smelling like fresh soap, something cedar. He took part in dinner, dicing the vegetables while you cooked some meat.

Soft music played in the background, and you two worked in silence, comforted in each other's presence nearby. The sound of Logan dicing vegetables on the board, and the meat simmering on the cast iron pan merely added to the relaxing atmosphere. When he finished dicing, he came over with the veggies, pushing them into the pan of meat- you quickly grabbed a slice of pepper and popped it into your mouth proudly while he raised an eyebrow at you.

You continued cooking while Logan went and set the table with plates, glasses, and silverware. Eventually, he came over, turning your attention away from the pan, and pulled you towards him, his hands resting on your hips as you both languidly rocked back and forth to the music.

“I didn’t think I’d ever get this.” He finally says. You raised your brows.

“What do you mean?”

“A life like this.” He nods to the room. “A life with you.”

You tilted your head. “Why not?”

“You know why.”

“You’re a good man Logan.” You say softly. “You've been through a lot. Maybe you did things you regretted but…It’s the past. You’re here, with me now.” You brought your hand to cup his cheek, and his eyes softened. “I couldn’t be happier. Nor prouder to be able to call myself your wife.”

His lips stretched into a smile, as he stepped dancing, pulling you into a tight embrace, where he buried his face into your neck. You hugged him just as tightly.

“C’mon.” You urged. “Let's eat, I’m starving.”

You ate dinner. Something with candlelights and wine and soft music. You and Logan held hands over the table, his thumb running soothingly over the back of your hand, and where your ring rested. You flung food at him with your fork.

After dinner, and the dishes are done, you both sit in the living room, prepared to give each other their gifts. Butterflies stirred in your belly, as you hoped Logan would enjoy the things he got. You begged him to open his first, which he reluctantly agreed to.

He started with the jacket, pleasantly surprised that you found the color he wanted, as he moved to put it on. Adjusting it a bit, and then smiling warmly.

“It looks good on you!” You say happily.

The cigars took him back more, as he observed them, and took a deep whiff of the scent. He sighed constantly. “How much you’d spend on these.”

“We agreed NOT to talk about budgets…” You warned. You were admittedly guilty of being a shopper, leading Logan to be strict about spending. He didn’t control your money, but he knew how to keep you from impulse buying. Holidays and birthdays are the things you both agreed he wouldn’t give you grief about. He chuckled and held his hands up.

“Alright alright..” He shook his head. He opened the next gift, the lighter. He turned it in his hand, observing it, and finding the engravings. A soft look came across his face, as his thumb softly brushed over your initials. “I love it babydoll.” He looked at it, turning to kiss you on the cheek.

“There’s…One more.” You bit your lip at the last box sitting on the table. He goes to unwrap, and his face falls as he observes the gift.

He pulled the necklace out. The compass wasn’t very big, about the size of a golf ball. He clicked open the pendent, revealing the inside compass, and the picture of you kissing his cheek. He let out a small breath, turning the necklace in his hand when he found the engraving. He swallowed hard, biting his inner cheek as he took a deep breath.

“This is…” He shook his head, staring at it. “I…”

You moved closer, resting a hand on his knee, before wrapping it around his arm and kissing his cheek. “I love you Logan Howlett.” You whisper to him. He turned to look at you, and for a moment you thought there were tears in his eyes, but he kissed you before you could confirm that.

He drew the kiss out as long as possible, before finally parting. “Thank you.” He says resting his forehead on yours. You brought a hand to his cheek, softly scratching his stubble. “Guess you’re ready for yours?” He asks. You giggled and nodded.

You adored your gifts, starting first with a frame of your favorite flowers, dried and pressed. A Howlett original. A necklace that you saw and adored in a vintage shop MONTHS ago and almost forgot about but Logan didn’t. A signed first-edition copy of your favorite book. Lastly, a booked trip to the city you always wanted to travel to.

To say you screamed at the last gift was an understatement.

The night eventually led to what you both knew it would.

Logan laid in bed, stripped of his clothes already- his hard cock straining as he watched you teasingly strip off your dress- revealing the lacey lingerie you planned to surprise him with. The illumination of the candlelights in the bedroom had only high-lighted your figure in a way that made you look like a goddess in Logan's eyes.

“Fuck.” He breathes heavily. “I thought we agreed on only 4 gifts, baby?” He quirked a brow as his eyes hungrily ran over your figure.

You smiled cheekily up at him, climbing onto the mattress and between his legs, resting on your tummy as you rested your cheek on his thigh, blinking innocently up at him. “You know I can never resist buying gifts.”

He hummed- which turned into a groan as he watched you press small chaste kisses up his member, leaving small lipstick stains. His cock jumped against your lips, making you giggle. You brought your tongue out, testing a small lick, and it throbbed again.

“You’re gonna be the death of me.” He mumbles. You bit your lip, taking your hand up to his cock, giving it a few gentle strokes, as you leaned down and licked at his balls, taking one into your mouth and sucking, popping off, before moving to his base, running your tongue around him. You were teasing him as much as you could, your hand held his tip- but did nothing to stimulate him. You turned to press kisses into his inner thigh, giving him a few more lazy strokes and he groaned. “C’mon baby, quit teasing.”

You grinned sinfully at him, staring into his eyes as you moved to run your tongue over the thick vein that ran up his cock. His hips involuntarily jumped forward at the stimulation. You fisted your hand on his tip, rubbing your thumb over it, smearing pre-cum all over your hand as you began to fully stroke his throbbing member. He let out a relieved sigh, tipping his head back as you stroked him faster.

You took his tip between your lips, running your tongue over it and moaning at the taste of him. You felt yourself drooling as you took him deeper into your mouth, spit dripping down your lips and his dick.

“You feel good baby.” He mumbled, his hand coming up and into your hair, moving you up and down his member. “Fuck.” He hissed, as you took him deeper into your throat, the tip of his cock hitting the back of it, and you angled your head to swallow him better.

You took him all the way down to his base, the coarse hairs that sat below his belly button tickling your nose, while your eyes watered from the pressure of his huge member inside your throat. A small gag escaped you as you lifted your head up, and then took him back down again, bobbing your head up and down, and stroking what you don’t fit. Logan grunted and moaned the entire time, his chest heaving as he watched you struggle to fit his entire length inside you. “You look so damn pretty like this darling.” He mumbles, his hand tightening around your hair. “Those pretty lips wrapped around my cock. Your lipstick all over the place-” he groaned. “Come on baby, you can fit me all in there again.”

He pushed your head down over him, and you gagged, choking on him again. Your thighs pressed together- your arousal becoming uncomfortably wet and slick between your legs, and your lace panties did nothing to ease the ache. His hand led you up and down his member at the pace he wanted- no, he desperately needed you to go. His hips subtly thrusting upwards into your mouth and down your throat, as your hands braced his thighs and your eyes rolled back, letting him use your mouth as a fucktoy.

He practically screamed your name, thrusting deep into you one more time as his hot cum came down your throat. Tears rolled down your face, as you struggled to breathe as he continued filling your mouth with his cum, small beads of it along with your spit rolling down your lips. You finally pull off, unable to take more as you gasp for breath, spit and cum coating both his softening cock and your chin.

You sat up on your knees as Logan sat up, reaching over and pulling you onto his lap, messily kissing you, and groaning. “I’m going to fuck the shit out of you.” He mumbles into your lips. You nodded, desperately needing him now.

He pushes you down onto the mattress onto your belly, lifting your ass into the air. You licked your lips clean, as he stroked himself, getting hard all over again. You really did love his regenerative factor.

His thumb teased your cunt, pushing the lacey panties that were soaked through with your arousal, and circled the entrance. “Fuck, you’re soaked princess.” He mumbles. “I bet I can slide in you no problem. You love sucking my cock don’t you?”

You nodded dumbly into the mattress, and he pressed his tip against your hold, teasingly pushing inside and pulling out, sliding in between your folds. You wiggled your hips, a small whine escaping you.

“You don’t like the teasing now hm?” He growls.

“Mm-mm.” You mumble into the blankets, arching your back, desperate for him to fuck you. He ran his cock through your folds again, before he slipped inside your greedy hole, and slammed into you with one thrust. “Oh!” You yelped, mouth agape in an O shape as your thighs quivered, attempting to adjust to his size for the 3rd time today.

“I’ve fucked you multiple times today and you still feel so fucking good baby.” He groans, his hands smacking against your ass, his nails digging into your skin. “I just can’t get enough of you doll.”

“Mm..Mhm..” You nodded dumbly into the mattress, desperate for him to move, your hips started rocking back and forth.

“God, you love this cock don’t you?” He mumbled, and you nodded again, a warm chuckle escaping him. “Yeah, I know you do.”

He began thrusting in and out of you, pulling all the way out from the tip and slamming back into you. He grabbed your hips, pushing you back onto him with each thrust until you could meet his pace.

“Logan…” You moaned into the sheets, barely able to think. He was right, you’d think by the 3rd time you’d be used to it, but every time he fucks you- you turn dumb, unable to think about anything other than his cock railing you. He leaned over you, one hand digging into your hip, the other reaching into your hair, tipping your head back, making you whine loudly.

Your ass bounced with each of his thrusts, a rhythmic smacking sound heard throughout the room, alongside yours and Logan's thrusts. His nails dug into your lingerie piece that it started to rip- unbeknownst to either of you.

“You’re squeezing me so tight doll, already about to cum?” He hums. You nodded, that tight string in your belly felt like it was going to snap at any moment. Logan adjust his angle- fucking into just right, that your eyes rolled back- and you couldn’t even moan as you came over his cock. “God, I love you-” He tipped his head back as you felt your pussy squeeze around him.

Logan hissed, you squeezed him so tightly in your orgasm it was almost painful, and caused his control to snap. Your greedy pussy clenched around him, pulsing over and over as he grabbed your hips with both hands, and pounded into you with gritted teeth, before cumming inside you with a loud yell, and a snikt!

You were barely conscious at that point, not registering the familiar sound of his bone claws escaping his fists, and tearing into the fabric of your comforter and mattress.

He collapsed over you, his breath fanning over your back. Both your bodies are covered in sweat. He retracted his claws, as he brought a hand to your shoulder, pulling your up, with his cock- still hard- and still buried inside you.

“I’m not done with you yet babydoll.” He mutters into your ear, sending shivers down your body as you could feel his cum leaking down your thighs. He kissed your cheek. You managed to catch your breath enough to turn your head towards him.

“I love you too-” You say breathlessly, and he caught you in a searing kiss. “Happy Valentines-” You add as he pulls away, moving to manhandle you into another position.

#logan howlett #wolverine #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett fanfiction #logan howlett x you #logan howlett fic #wolverine x reader #vans daydreams #logan howlett smut #wolverine smut #origins logan #origins logan x reader #wolverine x you #origins logan x you #logan howlett imagine #logan howlett fluff

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impish-baby · 2 days ago

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Did you get enough love, my little dove? - platonic yandere! Captor x reader - 🤍🩹 (cw: threats, injured reader)

"The fuck do you mean!?" Wren can tell Elijah is ready to pull his hair out if this deal doesn't go through, he's been pacing since the call started. "We already showed you the pictures of them all busted up, we're serious about killing the little shit!"

He feels bad. Normally he can will it away, convince himself that the rich families they exploit deserve it, but from the start you've said over and over and over again that your father wouldn't give them anything, that he didn't care. It seems like you weren't lying.

"Bastard-" the phone smashes against the wall, sending shards of glass and plastic scattering across the floor. "Dammit! What the hell are we supposed to do now?"

Wren doesn't get a chance to say anything before a gun is aimed at their latest victim's head.

They look so scared. He can feel his heart constricting in his chest when they start to sob again, God they're young.

"Elijah, wait a minute-" He doesn't know why, but he can't just let this kid die. "We can figure out a new plan, right? Don't do something without thinking it through."

"Like what?" Elijah scoffs, he's so pissed his hands are shaking, he can't even keep the gun straight. "You know what we should do? Send their corpse wrapped in a pretty bow to that asshole."

"The boss should have a say," Wren smiles nervously, desperation seizing his heart. "Yeah? Give it until he's back before we do decide." It's his best bet and it works, the other man storms out of the basement with a slam of the door.

"God.." He sighs, slumping against the wall before glancing over at them. They're still crying, he's going to have to get them to drink something. Wren can do that, a glass of water and some kind of snack.

"I- I'll be right back.." They don't acknowledge his departure, not that he expects them to.

Elijah must have gone off to smoke, the older man isn't around when he comes up the stairs. A good thing, Wren really doesn't really want to explain what he's doing.

The kid doesn't look up when he returns, nor when he kneels down in front of them. "Hey, sweetheart.." he feels so awkward, "I'm gonna untie you for a bit, ok? Don't try to get up though."

Their wrists have been rubbed completely raw, probably rope burn. He's seen much, much worse but he still winces. "Ow, kiddo..I'll get you patched in just a minute, you need to get something in your system first."

He delicately places his hands over theirs when they try to hold the cup, partly because he isn't just going to give them a potential weapon and partly because their hands shake so bad he's scared they'll drop it. "There you go, try for a few drinks, you can do it.." Wren has never thought about being a father, but he has the inexplicable urge to be gentle with them. "Good job, baby. Can you try to eat a little for me?"

The answer is no apparently. They get one tiny nibble of an apple slice before they look like they're about to puke, all the fear and adrenaline is probably making their stomach upset. A few sips of water is good enough for now, he'll try them again with some crackers later.

"Alright, alright, I'm going to bandage your wrists up now. I'll be careful, I promise." They've been shaking the entire time, but it hurts a little when they tremble more as he holds their arm delicately. "I know, I'm scary, huh? It'll be quick, just so you don't get a yucky infection or something." Their tearstained face is pitiful, Wren wants to wipe the dried lines of tears away and tell them it'll be ok. He doesn't want to be a liar, though.

(a/n: sorry for lack of posts!!! This week has been kicking my ass qwq I'll be back to posting regularly soon!!)

#platonic yandere #famial yandere #platonic yandere x reader #yandere x reader #yandere caregiver

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magicfaealaric · 14 hours ago

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“I’m sure it’s lovely.” He wrote. “ I made a chair once.” He wrote “it took a long time and I think the legs were uneven .” He wrote . “You are right incredibley adorable.” He wrote with a smile . “I love your smile. And how pink your cheeks get.”

“Oh.. I didn’t know. I offered Him food a few times.” He said looking into the room. Nathaniel nodded. “Okay, he.. he should probably take a shower then and I can bring in something if he needs it. I will just make food for the three of us. Can we come to the dining room with us or should he stay in bed? And do you have your mages meeting?”

Alaric didnt ever grow up with much... in fact he lived on the streets since he was a child and would stay in little abadoned buildings he saw. He tried to never steal instead would try and work only most places were afraid to hire him, not with the rumours of who his parents had been or at least his mother. "into dark magic so she was, a sorcerer" said another. "Can you believe her husband almost worked in the castle kitchen...? I heard their spawn even used to play wiht the prince.. disgraceful." They would say. There was one small llittle place barely staying open itsself that would give him anything left over. In return he would help with repairs. Alarics father wasnt father of the year up and leaving when he didnt want to sahre his wifes attention but he did teach him some things. His little shed had a whole in the roof but he didnt mind, Alaric loved watching the stars and when he had more energy painting them.

A loud eruption in the streets and suddenly a banging at his door sent him suddenly falling out of bed and rushing towards the opposite wall just to get a glance out of the window. Heart pounding he clutched his chest and stiffened before starting to barricade the door with anything he could find, iced objects suddenly flew across the room his hands quivering. "BY ORDER OF THE KING OPEN UP IMMEIDIATLEY. the king?? What did the king want with..

"BY ORDER OF-" enough of this" Anorther said and kicked the door down. Alaric fell back against the wall. "Grab him.. hes to be taken straight to the king.. this is the one... he owes the kingdom a great deal.. thinking they could rob the kingdom.. marry off to nobles.. pathtic. He'll do well as a servant." Alaric didnt understand a word of what they meant and yelped as he was grabbed. "Restrain him.. we dont want him possibly trying to escape or hurt our prince."

The queen knocked gently on Ferre's door. " I do hope you are up by now.. its nearly 9." She chided. "Its a beautiful day come down darling." @combeferre-the-mothman

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starcurtain · 3 days ago

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Potential Phaidei Crumbs

Some more possible Phaidei crumbs that I've been thinking about and haven't seen people discussing yet:

First, in the very first scene with Mydei, there's this one odd line. It's a tiny thing, but nothing in a character's first appearance is accidental, so...

Mydei starts griping, telling Phainon that the people of Castrum Kremnos as a whole will not accept him. Presumably he actually means this in a general sense, aka "The Kremnoans won't accept any other hero; Kremnos won't become allies with anyone."

However, something I haven't seen many people note is that Mydei's very next line is:

"As the successor of Kremnos, I am not able to act independently on such matters."

This is a weird statement, right?

Saying "I am not able to act independently" basically implies that there is a desire to choose differently than his people. It's not "I would never act differently than my people demand." It's not even "I don't want to act independently"--it's "I am not able to." Wording the statement this way actively suggests that Mydei has a different stance than Kremnos itself--that if he had the power to act independently, he might make a different determination than his people expect.

Or, in more direct words: He would accept Phainon if he had the choice.

The dev team is very careful about the first impression that characters make in their debut appearances in the game. Choosing to deliberately reveal to us that Mydei has a different opinion of Phainon than the rest of the Kremnoans might is a strong signal for Mydei's characterization--deep down, he is very different from other Kremnoans--but, even more importantly, it tells us instantly that Mydei thinks more highly of Phainon than other people from Kremnos do. (Even if he also thinks Phainon is a mannerless heathen who lacks hospitality lol.)

Okay, okay, but that's just one little line. There's another thing I wanted to point out too, and that's actually Miss Castorice...

I've seen a lot of people suggesting Mydei/Castorice, Phainon/Castorice, and even Mydei/Castorice/Phainon, but for all the fandom's shipping (and everyone should feel free to ship what they love; your ship is valid, fam!), I actually kind of think that...

Castorice is a bit of a Mydei/Phainon shipper herself.

Although Castorice is of course just a good person who is doing what she can to help Okhema, she also is quick to assist Phainon specifically to save Mydei, quick to try to keep Phainon calm because that's what will help him get to Mydei quicker, and she just brings Mydei up out of the blue to Phainon several times throughout the story.

It's Castorice who halts Phainon's ascension ceremony to ask where Mydei is, because she expected him to be there for Phainon.

It seems to be a given for Castorice that if Phainon needs him, in Phainon's most important hour, Mydei should obviously be with him. She knew Mydei would come.

Even before that, when Phainon was feeling down, Castorice admits she doesn't know how to comfort Phainon herself, and instead... brings up Mydei to comfort Phainon???

Girl thought Quick, how can I raise Phainon's self-esteem? and Mydei's nickname for Phainon was the first thing that seems to have come to mind. 😂

She really said "You're not lame, Phainon; Mydei thinks you're a hero!"

Okay, being more serious--even putting shipping aside entirely, it's just overall clear that Castorice perceives the close comradeship between Phainon and Mydei (probably moreso than Phainon himself) and understands how important having that close friendship is to Phainon, who seems to have nothing else left outside of the Chrysos Heirs at all.

She seems to be able to tell how much Phainon needs people in his life who believe in and can stand beside him, and seems to have clocked that Mydei is definitely one such person. The game tells us players clearly that Castorice is an incredibly perceptive person who is sensitive to the feelings of others, and part of that includes her continuing to verbally recognize, throughout 3.0, the support Phainon gains from his close connection to Mydei.

I think this is just another cool touch--but also maybe another subtle nod from the devs. Castorice won't even let Phainon have a single scene where Mydei isn't mentioned lol.

And finally, one last crumb based on a pet theory...

"As I've Written"

We don't yet know who is responsible for actually writing the character profiles in the "As I've Written" book--although the rewards section is called "Author's Recompense" and the player get rewards for "composing sagas," alongside the interact button being "Write Story," there's actually an entire achievement teasing the fact that the Trailblazer doesn't know who actually wrote the book:

It's not remotely written in a style the Trailblazer would write in, and it also contains information the Trailblazer (at least currently) has no way of knowing at all, like the details of Castorice's backstory.

At this point, the real author could be anyone. But I feel like there's a few things pointing in favor of the idea that the real author might be Phainon. It could also be Anaxa or Cyrene or even Mem too, but hear me out...

First, the book's design is reminiscent of Phainon: the book features prominent sun/moon symbols, has the same blue-white-gold color palette, and even the design at the bottom of the book resembles the design along the front of Phainon's coat:

The book also seems to be strongly foreshadowing that someone is going to lose their way, step onto a dark path, or end up making a terrible mistake.

In Tribbie's chapter:

In Aglaea's:

And of course in Phainon's chapter, where the foreshadowing is strongest:

If this "one who has lost their direction" and "lost themself," the "flawed hero," are all references to Phainon, then the book over and over again seems to be--for the player--foreshadowing Phainon's downfall. Or, from the other perspective: This is a record written by someone who has witnessed (or experienced) the downfall and knows what is coming.

There's also the fact that while Phainon's chapter is written in third person, the narrator occasionally slips in some hints that they know what's going on in Phainon's mind:

And there's also this moment from Mydei's chapter:

We already know that this is not how Mydei behaves around people he doesn't know. When Mydei isn't familiar with a person, he doesn't banter with them--he doesn't even bother with them. He barely speaks directly to the Trailblazer the entire 3.0 plot, for example! He doesn't remotely seem like the type of person to sit down at a table and drink with someone he doesn't know.

We also know that he's already scolded Phainon several times for trying to act like an expert in Kremnoan legends:

(Thank Streetwise Rhapsody from Youtube for these screencaps because I forgot to screencap it myself lol.)

And the icing on the cake:

The exact phrase "amateur historian" again.

To me, this all but confirms that the "true" author of the "As I've Written" chronicle is probably Phainon, which finally brings me to the actual Phaidei crumb I wanted to discuss all along:

Mydei's story is listed as chapter 10 of the book. Yet for some reason --even though we get the book only after completing nearly the entire 3.0 questline, when the player has definitely met Aglaea, Castorice, and Tribbie already--Mydei's story comes first.

While Castorice, Tribbie, Phainon, and Aglaea all share the same memory crystal, Mydei has his own separate memory crystal, not shared with any other character, and it is given to the player first, before anyone else:

Phainon really said "My man is more important than the rest of us combined."

Tribbie is chapter 1. Phainon is chapter 7. Aglaea is chapter 9. But for some reason, we jumped all three of those characters to present chapter 10 first. Theoretically you could say that it's because we went to Castrum Kremnos and fought Nikador? But, story-wise, was Mydei the most important? The Trailblazer met Phainon and Tribbie first, got to actually play Aglaea for a sequence of this story, and traveled alone with Castorice. Mydei is the character the Trailblazer actually had the least connection to in the whole 3.0 storyline, so it doesn't seem that the story is truly what determined the order characters' chapters were given to us.

At the end of the day, in a book that seems it could be written by Phainon (from the future? the past?), Mydei was given special treatment and came before anyone else.

I'm just sayin'... the devs don't do things on accident.

#honkai star rail #phainon #mydei #phaidei #myphai #castorice #amphoreus spoilers #like for real this time lol #make of all this what you will #I'M JUST SAYIN #but I was surprised watching my friend replay the story just how much Castorice brings up Mydei to Phainon #especially at the end of the patch #and also #if Phainon is the “I” in the book #that means he and Mydei have shared a table together before... with only one cup on it #quick fic writers #send me all your dinner date fanfics!!#I also think if Phainon is the one in the book #then the line about Mydei “expecting him to break the silence”#is kind of cute #Mydei wants a conversation to go with his dinner wine--I mean juice #but he doesn't want to be the one to start it #he doesn't need to either #since Phainon will start the conversation for them #guaranteed!#that says a lot about how well Mydei knows Phainon lol #I just thought these were kind of funny/nifty moments!#I will take any Phaidei crumb I can get reeeee

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promptedwordsmith · 2 days ago

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Omg I love the last one soo much!!

It might sound a but crazy but could you do how they would react to you dying? :3

I'm not going to lie, cried while writing these, feel so bad for the boys

Caleb

Caleb's reaction to losing you would be a deep, overwhelming, and almost incomprehensible kind of pain, something that could shake the very core of who he is. His protective instincts would have been built on the idea of keeping you safe, of always being there, and in his mind, he would have failed you in the most profound way possible.

Initially, he would likely retreat into himself, burying his emotions beneath layers of coldness and duty. As the Colonel, he’s used to handling tough situations with steely resolve, but this loss would be different. Nothing in his life—no mission, no threat—could prepare him for something like this. He’d probably go through the motions, perform his responsibilities, but there would be a distance in his actions, as if part of him was no longer fully there.

Behind closed doors, Caleb would fall apart. His apartment, his home, would feel emptier than ever before. The quiet would be unbearable. He’d likely replay every moment with you in his mind, going over things he wished he’d done differently. His guilt would haunt him—wondering if there was something more he could’ve done to protect you, to keep you safe. The weight of his failure would be something he couldn't escape, no matter how many hours he spent immersed in work or trying to numb the pain with distractions.

Caleb might not express his grief openly at first. His deep love for you was often expressed in the quiet, subtle ways—acts of service, protection, keeping you close—and without you, he would struggle to find meaning in those small, everyday gestures. The house would remain as you left it, with everything just slightly out of place—your favorite things still where you left them, the familiar scent of you lingering in the air. He wouldn’t be able to bring himself to touch any of it, afraid that doing so would erase what little of you he still had left.

Over time, though, Caleb would carry you with him in a different way. His obsession with keeping you safe would turn inward—toward keeping your memory alive. He would hold onto every little thing that reminded him of you: the flowers you loved, the notes you’d written, the meals you’d shared. Each small piece of your life would become a treasure, something to keep him grounded when the world seemed too heavy.

But even through the pain, Caleb’s love for you would never waver. It would remain with him, a constant presence, a painful but enduring part of his life. The weight of your absence would never fully leave him, but in a strange way, it would become a part of his identity—a testament to the love he had for you, and the life you had shared. And as much as it hurt, he would keep pushing forward, in the way that he always did—fighting, living, and never forgetting.

Rafayel

Rafayel’s reaction to your passing would be an unraveling of everything he is, a quiet storm of grief and disbelief. On the surface, he would likely carry a cold, stoic facade, the same aloof, composed demeanor he often shows to the outside world. But inside, beneath the carefully constructed walls he’s built, everything would shatter.

At first, he might struggle to comprehend it, the finality of it all too much to bear. The world would feel unreal—you were unreal. How could someone like you, someone who inspired every stroke of his brush, every note of his music, be gone from his life? The thought would be suffocating, pulling him under in waves.

For a while, he wouldn’t know what to do. He might find himself wandering his studio, the silence there too loud, the stillness a reminder of the absence he couldn’t escape. The art he had once poured his soul into would feel hollow, lacking the passion it once held. And when he tried to work, the empty space beside him, where you should have been, would gnaw at him.

Rafayel wouldn’t reach out to others for comfort. He would seclude himself, shutting himself off in the dark, half-buried beneath a mountain of unfinished projects and failed attempts at distractions. He’d avoid your favorite places, your routines, because each one was too painful to endure. He’d keep the memory of you close, but the pain would be too raw, and he wouldn’t know how to handle it. He’d keep your sketches tucked away, maybe keeping one by his side—a haunting, beautiful reminder of your smile, your eyes, the way you filled the room with light.

But eventually, the grief would transform him. Rafayel was never one to stay stagnant. Your memory would become a part of him—woven into every painting, every note, every whispered word. He wouldn’t let go of you, but he would find a way to carry your presence with him, even in the darkest hours.

He would stand at his easel, paintbrush in hand, and create once more. But this time, the canvas would hold something more—something profound, something full of love and loss intertwined. Your absence would echo in every piece, but it would be a quieter, gentler ache. And when he looked at the completed works, he would know you were still there, in every stroke, every color, every memory he painted.

In the end, Rafayel would carry you with him. You would be immortalized in his art, his music, and the very air around him. You wouldn’t be gone—you would simply live on in the deepest parts of him, forever a part of who he was.

Sylus

Sylus’s reaction to your passing would be nearly imperceptible to most, as he would make a conscious effort to keep his outward appearance controlled. To the world, he would remain the same calculating, strategic man they knew—his arrogance unshaken, his coldness unwavering. But beneath the surface, a storm rages, and his subordinates, the few who are perceptive enough, would notice.

At first, Sylus would bury himself in his work, just as he always did when he wanted to avoid something. His focus would tighten, his movements more precise, as though he could outrun the grief by drowning himself in his duties. His demeanor, while cool and distant, would be sharper, more driven. However, there would be an edge to him now, a quiet fury that he struggled to keep in check. And when he gives orders to his subordinates, they would find themselves on the receiving end of a more dangerous, more relentless Sylus than ever before.

In the midst of an interrogation, the change would be noticeable. What once was a controlled, calculated method of gathering information now becomes something much darker. Sylus would push harder, demand more, inflict more pain, as if trying to extract something from his captive that went beyond mere answers. His eyes would be colder, more fixed, and his hands more brutal as he delivers punishment. The pain he inflicts on others would seem disproportionate, not because he’s angry with them, but because he’s angry with himself. His grief manifests as a need to control, to break something, to feel the release of power—anything to drown out the gnawing emptiness that is slowly consuming him.

His subordinates, the few who know him well, would start to notice the changes. His actions in the field become more violent, his patience shorter. When he’s around them, his eyes would seem distant, haunted even, but his attention to detail would be sharper than ever. There’s an intensity in his gaze that wasn’t there before, an urgency that betrays his inner turmoil. They'd see the tension in his jaw, the tightening of his posture whenever he’s alone, and they’d know. They might not understand the depth of his loss, but they could sense that something had shifted.

And when they witnessed his interrogations, they would realize that this wasn’t the usual Sylus, the cold and calculating man who always held back, who always maintained control. No, this Sylus had cracked—just enough to unleash something far darker, far more destructive. And his subordinates would be left with the uneasy sense that the man they served was far more broken than they had ever imagined. They would see the pain behind his eyes, the grief that he refused to acknowledge, but they would never say anything—because they knew better than to confront Sylus when he was like this.

In the quiet moments when no one was around, Sylus would retreat to his private space, his office, the only place where he could allow himself the luxury of feeling the weight of his loss. His hands, still stained from the interrogation, would tremble slightly as he pours himself a drink, the sharp burn of alcohol a futile attempt to dull the ache inside him. But nothing would ever quite dull it. The grief would settle deep within him, twisting into something darker, something dangerous.

And Sylus, for all his power, would have to learn how to live with it.

Xavier

After your passing, Xavier’s response to grief would manifest in a way that reflects his stoic, self-contained nature. He wouldn't outwardly show how much he’s hurting. Instead, he would suppress his emotions, trying to keep himself distracted by work, almost to an obsessive level. His usual precision and focus would become warped by this need to avoid feeling anything related to the pain of losing you.

Xavier is someone who has always kept his emotions in check, perhaps even burying them to keep functioning. But with you gone, the act of "functioning" becomes harder. The adrenaline of his missions might serve as a temporary escape, but it would also become a crutch for him. He would push his body beyond its limits, almost recklessly, as a way to silence the ache inside. The more he threw himself into his work, the less he would have to confront the emptiness of your absence.

Physically, Xavier might start ignoring the injuries he sustains during his missions, the toll on his body barely registering. What’s a broken bone or a few cuts when the one person who kept him grounded is no longer there? He wouldn’t take care of himself the way he once might have, not because he wants to harm himself, but because he no longer feels he deserves to be taken care of. In a way, this behavior is a reflection of his grief: a quiet, self-destructive spiral where he disconnects from the world around him, choosing to numb himself rather than process what he’s lost.

Mentally, Xavier would likely be struggling with an overwhelming sense of guilt and self-doubt. He’d wonder whether there was something he could have done differently, something he missed that could have saved you. Even if rationally he knows it wasn’t his fault, the emotional weight of that loss would still haunt him. His memories of you would be a bittersweet reminder of what he can never have again, which only feeds into the spiral of isolation and pain he experiences.

Ultimately, Xavier’s grief would isolate him. He would push others away, especially those who were close to you, because he’d feel unworthy of their support or understanding. He might continue with his duties as a hunter, but it would be less about the mission and more about escaping the constant reminder of your absence.

Xavier wouldn’t know how to move forward, but he also wouldn't know how to stop.

Zayne

The sterile, familiar environment of the hospital would become his refuge. He would dive deeper into his cases, performing surgeries with his usual precision, but now with an edge of urgency, as if the act of healing others could somehow fill the empty space that your absence left. His colleagues might notice that he’s working longer hours, rarely taking breaks, and pushing himself even harder than before. But it would be subtle. Zayne would keep his personal life locked away, too private to share with anyone. He would be the model professional, the kind of surgeon people relied on, respected, and admired. But deep down, his heart would be somewhere else—somewhere that he couldn’t reach anymore.

He would avoid returning home after shifts, not wanting to face the silence that awaited him there. Instead, he’d spend more time at the hospital, catching up on paperwork or reviewing cases, seeking solace in the rhythm of his work. It would be his way of coping, though it wouldn’t be healthy. He’d try to bury the pain, to keep his mind too occupied to feel the full weight of the loss. But the exhaustion would eventually catch up with him, and the long hours would take their toll, both physically and emotionally.

On the rare occasions when Zayne would allow himself a moment of quiet, perhaps late at night when he was alone, he’d find himself remembering the smallest details of you—your laugh, the way you touched his arm when you passed by, the soft way you said his name. These memories would be bittersweet, and he would try to push them away, only to be reminded of them constantly by the quiet hum of life outside the hospital walls.

Despite his attempts to distract himself, Zayne would never truly move on. The pain would remain, but his way of handling it would be through work, through action, even if it meant sacrificing the space for true healing.

Zayne would carry you with him in his own way, honoring your memory through the subtle acts of care he gives to others. He might find himself doing small things, like making the same meal you had once cooked for him, or visiting places you had enjoyed together, hoping that somehow, it would feel like you were still there beside him.

But most of all, Zayne would be filled with an enduring, quiet love for you that would never fade. It would remain with him, silently in the background of his life, a constant presence he could never forget. Even though he would never speak it aloud, Zayne’s heart would be forever touched by the bond you shared, and he would carry the weight of losing you with him always.

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