#so a couple people mentioned they wanted to see a fic

[dadvans]

i am just so sad right now. like going into s8 i didn’t think bucktommy would be endgame, but the way s8 started changed my mind, so to have them be literally so in love for 5 episodes straight just to have them break up in the most abrupt way?? it just feels so last minute which is shocking because in the interviews this was apparently a planned thing but it doesn’t feel like it at all. Like if this was a concern Tommy had why didn’t it come up at all? like little throwaway lines of Tommy making jokes of Buck getting sick of him or wanted to explore other options or whatever. I hope the backlash makes them rethink, and Tommy comes back but for now it doesn’t seem like it. I guess my only hope is that Buddie goes canon, but even then i won’t be able to really enjoy it. I seriously don’t know if i’ll be able to keep watching the show, not solely because they broke up, but because of how they broke up. (srry for the long ask, just needed to vent)

no apologies needed!

at the end of the day, so many of us found joy in their story, their chemistry, the way even up until the final second tommy admitted that what he wanted with buck was something that would inevitably break his heart.

they were good together. tommy fit into so many intimidating parts of buck's life with ease. tommy is (as far as we know) still good friends with buck's best friend! tommy loved him anyway, loved him warts and all, road shotgun to buck's worst fears and weirdest conspiracies.

at the end of the day, we have a few things:

we GOT them. we got to see them together, we got the soft looks, we got the kisses, the foundation of them that is real and canon in a way we could strike like a match against the edge of a box to light them up for real all over again. i don't think "being canon" gives any credence or superiority to a ship, and have shipped people or characters that have never interacted/existed together in a tangible way, simply because it's FUN. that's how i'll always have fun with ships and fandom, BUT! what a wonderful thing to celebrate that we DID have them, that we have this as a foundation for whatever comes next, that there is never a door permanently closed to them finding each other again when it was already real from the start

for a lot of us, this isn't how their story ends. it's insane that so much fic and content was produced for a canon ship like this. so often fandom is chasing down the what-ifs and never-hads. a lot of us invested in bucktommy because they had the compatibility, the fit, the chemistry, the potential. that's novel shit! that doesn't just evaporate because they broke up in canon. it certainly hurts. the kind of hype we were surfing will crash and sink back in the oncoming months, but i know talking to a lot of people tonight that we aren't done with this ship. we aren't ready to say goodbye.

i'm sad. i'm angry. i felt a real sense of queer euphoria whenever i saw them together, even for 30 seconds, teetering on the edge of this new couple joy learning each other into something new and weird and fun that always lingered as a promise on the edge of their interactions. i was so excited for who buck could become with tommy as his home base. shifting that has rocked me in a bad way.

i expect people to inevitably step away from this ship and this fandom, but i'll mention that non-canon ships like arthur/eames or mcshep or social network rpf or short-lived shows from 1996 (hi sentinel) have had long-lived fandoms and left long-lasting impressions in other fandoms that have lasted for over a decade of zero additional content. this is a playground that, just because they've parted ways for now, we don't have to stop playing in.

and i'll be honest: i have several WIPs i'm like, well trash that! after watching the most recent episode. but i also have a dozen new ideas. new ways they could fall in love now or again, new ways they could meet, new ways they could be for each other.

i'll keep creating. i'll keep dreaming. they won't ever not have the spark that they had. the show could end tomorrow but we'll always have an open door to believing and shaping the thousands of ways they can and will find each other again.

[endearng]

About you

Pairing: Spencer Reid x ex!reader Summary: You know a place that you go to remember Spencer Reid's face. You never thought you'd get to actually see him again. WC: 4.6k Warnings: brief mentions of Spencer's trauma (childhood, addiction); hints at poor coping mechanisms/mental struggles; miscommunication; running away. A/N: This is a mix between canon events and some things are fiction (mostly when it comes to the timeline of the show) and I picture later seasons Spencer. This is based on many songs from ttpd, but this fic came to mind when I was listening to 'About You' by the 1975. I really hope you guys like it. Feedbacks are always welcome and appreciated <3 masterlist

You sat on one of the park benches. Actually, it was on the park bench, near a tree, you used to occupy with Spencer after getting your favorite treats from the coffee shop nearby.

It was your first date as boyfriend and girlfriend and he had started reading to you once the chatter had died down a little bit. He looked beautiful that day, eyes leaving the book pages every now and then so he could catch a glimpse of you. Every time he did, you smiled at him. You were so enamored by his eyes that you didn't care if you were perceived as desperate or too lovestruck when he looked at you. You felt warm inside and for a moment, you thought it could last forever.

From that day on, whenever you could, you'd always go to that park and sit on that specific bench. You even carved your initials in it.

Now, as you caressed the old indentation, dark from all the time that had passed, you were all alone. A hole in your chest.

You were living in Virginia, about to get your Master's Degree. It was the time of the semester when everything seems to be piling up and you can never get the time to take care of it as you should. As you walked home at night, you witnessed a young couple walking into a dark forest, but you didn't mind — horny kids were everywhere and you were glad they had a nice way to let off some steam, not being one to judge someone’s kinks.

The next thing you knew, the FBI wanted to see you. They sent a cute, awfully young agent to your apartment, who introduced himself as 'Doctor Spencer Reid' and waved at you once you answered the door, telling you you had been the last person to witness that young woman alive. You froze, unable to look away from him, sheer shock crossing your intriguing, mesmerizing features. Spencer Reid took more than a minute to try to calm you down to have you answer his questions. Despite your head going miles per minute, you tried to help out as much as you could and were able to describe the man as you managed to recall some of his features.

Then, you had gotten Spencer's number to keep him posted if anything happened, since that unsub was kidnapping and torturing girls from your university. When they wrapped up the case to go home, Spencer went to your building to tell you they were returning to Quantico. You had grown fond of him, his presence a warm embrace compared to the chaos around you, so when he broke the news, you did feel a little disappointed, even though you knew that he would eventually leave. He was sensible to the matters around him, doing everything in his power and using his intelligence to help everyone around him. It made you grow a sense of hope in other people you haven’t felt in a while.

You took your study break a little earlier that night once you saw him at your doorstep, deciding you'd give him your time. A low "So, you're leaving..." escaping your mouth once he told you why he went to your place. To say goodbye. You couldn't conceal the sadness in your voice.

"Yeah. I just wanted to say goodbye. And to thank you, of course, you helped us a lot." He said, eyes never leaving yours.

"Anytime, Doctor," you joked. "I'm gonna miss you. Even if we've just met. Even if you had to be aware of something so terrible." You confessed. His eyes widened at you in surprise.

His eyes. Big, doe eyes glancing at you like you held the answers to the whole universe.

In that moment, you did. Not his education, not PhD's, plural, not anything he learned from all the books he read and certainly not his time in the bureau. You held the answers.

He chuckled, a little shy. Unable to tell you, verbally, that he would miss you, too. His eyes did the job, though. "Yeah, yeah. It was nice knowing you."

"Yeah, it was," you agreed, coming a little closer to him. You gave him a kiss on his cheek. Soft, warm skin against your lips making butterflies swarm in your belly. He smiled, widely, sincerely.

You wished he was yours.

You also wished he knew that you meant that, 'besides the bad guy and all the terrible things, it was fun meeting you because you are full of light. A masterpiece.'

"Take care, okay, doctor?" You whispered, slowly pulling away from him. “I’ll see you around.”

"Be safe,” he wished, “I hope so, in better conditions."

A few days passed and you got your first call from Spencer, which turned into a second, a third and when you noticed, you were scheduling hang outs. Those turned into dates when you started to go out more frequently to every new place you wanted the other to know. All of that and touching each other more often, more carefully, more passionately than regular friends did.

You simply sat there, your memories the only thing keeping you company, haunting you, besides the tears that pricked in the corner of your eyes. You missed him so much. You missed the time you had with him.

Two years into your relationship, things got more and more complicated. You struggled to keep up with his life and more often than not you seemed to keep much to yourselves instead of sharing things with each other. You never thought you'd share (funny wording) such a distant relationship with someone, let alone one you knew for sure there was so much love and respect. During your time together, you learned about Spencer’s past and some pieces fell into place; he was somehow explained by everything he had faced as a child, teenager and now as an adult — his mother’s condition, his dad walking away, the bullying, being abducted and its consequences. You held him through it all, when the memories and feelings of powerlessness washed over him.

Then, Spencer started to be away more often and the physical distance, enforced by the emotional one that slowly grew between you two, made you feel like you were an intruder in his life. So, you gradually started to hold yourself back from starting conversations. You rarely had his attention and you figured it was because his mind was always elsewhere.

Yours was, too. Back in a time when things were simpler.

As time went by, being around him, too quiet and far out of each other’s reach, simply floating in his orbit, felt like a heavy burden you had to carry in order to keep him in your life. He never opened up and since you didn’t either, you felt like you didn't have the right to suggest you two should fix things, so you let him be. Coexisting together in the same space, oceans apart from each other’s lives and struggles, never touching the subject. The result, of course, was that you grew apart.

It all ended, officially, when you decided to move away to get your Doctorate as an excuse to run away from the hard conversations that you knew would take place if you confronted him about where had things, where had you gone so terribly wrong. You were hell-bent on trying to turn your heartbreak and deception into something, into an achievement. Then, you both decided, albeit reluctantly, that breaking up was the best choice for you, since you’d move away. The part that there was already a huge gap between the two of you remained unspoken. You tried convincing yourself that it would be easier, since you’d never have to see him and you'd be okay being in past chapters of Spencer’s life. 

Funnily enough, it wasn't that simple.

You see, the heart is a tricky machine. The wording here is not random: it works, of course, to primarily pump the blood through your veins to make sure you are getting enough oxygen around your body and deliver waste objects, like carbon dioxide, back to the lungs, to be removed — Spencer had told you so once when you told him your heart beat for him in a corny deliver of a joke. Despite the fact that he was right, you can never anticipate how the heart will react once it has no access to the aim of its affections, after being cut off from their life. Worse: after being slowly dragged away from the one it was sure it would be able to adore for the rest of its pumping-function life. You figured that, maybe it would continue working for as long as it needs to, but not with the same devotion it once knew and now was deprived of.

That was how you passed the last few years of your life.

After Spencer, you weren't really interested in anyone. You tried to put yourself out there, made new friends, tried dating some people, traveled abroad, discovered more about yourself. Nevertheless, in the back of your hopeless mind and dejected heart, you held the memories you had created with him close to your very soul. When things got too quiet, it was him that you thought of. On a train, on the way home or to somewhere new and/or special, in the lazy mornings you spent by yourself, in the nights that got too lonely to bear by yourself, during your lunch breaks that you always seemed to remember how much he loved sharing those with you — stealing food from his plate, even if you didn't like whatever he was having, just so he could steal your dessert to make sharing equal. He got a sweet tooth after dating you.

Now, though, something felt off. You had spent years of your life pining and longing and hoping that you'd find your way back to each other in the end that now you didn't have the guts to search for him. You kept an eye on his life and could remember a thing or two of all his achievements and papers that were published in science magazines, a brief abstract ready to roll off your tongue if someone asked you about it. You tried keeping up with his professional life in order to feel closer to him, but the thing was, you didn't know if he had someone else, if he had moved on more easily than you (not that you had), if he had learned to cope a little better with the hardships of his job. You always said he needed some rest for his noisy mind.

Even the air in your hometown made you think of him. Felt like him: distant, missed and still plaguing your thoughts. It was the aftermath of running away for some time.

In hindsight, perhaps you had only shared fleeting moments with Spencer and it was a frail affair, doomed from day one, knowing how different your lifestyles were. When you got too fed up with your longing and inner romanticism over this relationship, you would try to convince yourself that you were better off without him. That being alone was better than to be by yourself in a relationship that you only kept for the sake of calling him yours.

Still, there was something missing. You didn't know what it was, but you were tired of wasting your time, waiting for a bus that never showed.

Or maybe it did, and perhaps you had missed it.

From afar, Spencer watched, dumbfounded, a figure that resembled someone he once loved so much, sitting on the bench he used to share with you. He still does love. Or maybe he doesn't. He doesn't know, really. He's been through so much, losing loved ones, losing his mother and enduring several trauma after leaving the FBI, never having the time to properly take in the happenings in his life. Could it possibly be you? He could never forget your form, no matter how many years passed and how hard he had tried to do that. His heart started slowing, oxygen lacking in his lungs. He felt dizzy. Was it a mirage?

Memories started to flood his mind and he was unable to move.

Daylight faded, announcing the beginning of the evening. Spencer listened as you read to him one of your favorite novels, The Hour of the Star, a Brazilian novel by Clarice Lispector. It definitely wasn't romantic, but you always made sure to use the correct tone whenever you were reading the characters' lines, and you paused every now and then to make comments and listened when he had one of his own. Those were precious, rare, quiet moments in his hectic life. He cherished them because of that, of course, but most importantly because you were with him.

Once you finished the chapter you were reciting, you noticed how dark it already was and that the lights of the city were already on, casting a soft glow over Spencer. He looked exceptionally, effortlessly beautiful that night. You smiled at him. "Shall we go home, Spence?"

"Yes," he accepted, helping you up. You thanked him with a kiss to his cheek, which made him flustered.

Years together and he could never get used to the effect your touch had on him, always wishing he could have more, more, more.

As you walked home together, he took your ring, a gift from him that was usually placed in your left hand, and put it on the one people put wedding rings on. Your reply was to kiss him senseless in public.

He felt like the wind had been knocked out of him when you abruptly broke the kiss, looking back with a mischievous, happy expression on your face. He trailed after you, one single thought in mind: I'll never let you go.

The woman — he didn't want to deceive himself if she wasn't you, he was staring at her back, after all, so he thought it was better to be careful with his hopes —, had longer hair, fit better into her clothes, but her movements were scarily just like yours. From the way she looked around to the slight tilt of her head when you'd contemplate the park all those years ago. Spencer felt his thoughts clouding with the need to approach her, curiosity driving him to work on this instinct, but as soon as he moved to walk, he instantly halted his movements. What would he say?

"Hello?", "Is that you?" "Are you back?" "Are you real?" "Have you forgotten about me?"

The questions swimmed around his head like he had no control over his own mind. If there was a monitor to show every single thought running through his brain, it would definitely collapse, smoke clouding the air, telling how overwhelmed he felt. He decided on approaching as a passerby, walking as if he didn't want anything by it, acting nonchalant. He made his way closer to the bench, to the woman. 

She heard footsteps behind her, not too close, but still turned to search for the source of the disturbance, out of her daydreaming. You looked at each other for a moment that felt like an eternity — time stopped, the children stopped playing and the passersby stopped breathing.

As you turned around, your eyes found Spencer. The love of your life. You took in his appearance. His hair was long, unlike how it had been when you last saw him, and he didn't care about styling it as much as he did when he was younger, his curls unruly and a little messy, a little stubble growing on his face. His expression looked harder now, more tired, ripe. You couldn't quite know how to describe him properly. For a moment, you considered that he had hardened over the years, opposite from the caring, soft man you've met and loved ardently once.

On a surface level, looking at him made you feel like you've been loving a ghost. A memory, something that could never return.

Your mind suddenly felt empty. You opened your mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

"You?" You heard the question, uncertain, leave his lips in a low voice. Was it in your head or did you sense hurt?

Again, you wanted to speak, to say something, greet him, tell him you've missed him, ask him if he was okay. Nothing came out. Everything seemed inappropriate. Again, he beat you to it, coming closer to you, voice firmer. "What are you... I thought you'd left."

"I did."

"I know."

Silence. He got closer, moving to sit beside you.

"Yeah." Silence. Still looking at each other. "I came back a couple of months ago. Started visiting exactly three weeks ago, today." You revealed to break the silence, even though the idea that everything that came out of your mouth was improper still plagued your mind.

Spencer felt baffled. You looked different, more mature, even your style had drastically changed — you once wore colorful, baggier outfits, full of life and bright shades matching your personality (you even went shopping with Penelope and you exchanged fashion tips), but now, you wore more sober, neutral tones. Instead of the usual sneakers, or the Converse you both loved to wear together to match your outfits — his black and yours blue —, you wore black boots with heels. You looked grown. And it fit you. Still, your face was the same: your eyes held the same glimmer in them from all those years ago, your lips still as inviting as it ever was for him.

He licked his own, realizing his mouth was dry. "I come here every now and then when things get too heated." He confided, eyes never leaving your figure.

You smiled. A hole in his chest, desolation invading his being. The simple act still makes his machine of a heart ache and speed to reach its full capacity. Of breaking for you. "It's peaceful."

You knew that he seeked solace from whatever was happening in your memories together in that place. At least, you hoped so. You hoped, selfishly, that he thought of you as much as you thought of him, of his ghost. That he ached for you as much as you ached for him.

"Yeah."

Awkward silence engulfed the two of you. You didn't know where to look, but you could never stop scanning his face, taking in his features with care. "I like your hair. It fits you," you said.

He got closer, less than an arm's length between the two of you. Almost itching for you to touch his hair, eyes pleading for some mercy on your end. You've been awfully quiet and if meeting him maim you, you certainly have improved your poker face skills. "You've changed," he retorted. "I never thought I'd see you so different from, you know..."

You didn’t remember Spencer at a loss of words.

Too close. "I hope for the better."

"Why didn't you call?" He asked, brows furrowing.

Come to think of it, it was an excuse you had rehearsed quite a few times when you imagined this scenario, “I was settling, still trying to contact everyone, still finding my way around…”

“And you didn’t think of me?” His tone was wounded. He certainly dreamed you’d come back and was positively sure that you’d reach out to him. Of course, he was wrong.

“Of course I did. I just thought you wouldn't pick up,” you replied.

He didn’t know what to say. Of course he would pick up, but there was no way you could know about it nor trust him if he said so; why would you? You had left him because he built walls around him, cutting you off from his life, torturing you, slowly dragging the end of your relationship and he couldn’t explain why. Once you left, Spencer delved into his work life like never before. He flirted with women and even slept around, which he was aware was a poor coping mechanism, all to outrun the desertion of you, desperately wishing he could forget that he could feel alive in your presence. He even tried having a relationship. It was nice having someone around, now that he was grown and had made peace with some of his demons, but it was never like you and it was all that she was to him: someone around. He never felt that spark with her like he had felt with you, never again having a taste of the sensation that ran through him whenever he stumbled excitedly into your apartment when you invited him over, seizing the rare opportunities to be with you, happiness bubbling inside him. With his new girlfriend, it was quiet. He mistook it for the calmness he lacked within himself when he was with you, but it was just bland. Needless to say, he felt awful about straight up using a person to keep his mind off of you, but it was nice while it worked. He started longing for something he couldn’t even describe what it was.

One day, you guys met halfway, between the two cities you were both in. It was raining and you launched yourself into his arms once you recognized him. You had kissed him like a soldier's wife, for you sure definitely missed him like one — he had been away on a case which took longer than usual. “Hi,” you greeted, shyly, after giving him the hottest kiss of his life.

“Hi,” he smiled, a little flushed.

“I couldn't wait to get to you, Spence,” you confessed, arms pulling him back to hug you once again, his own engulfing your figure. “I missed you so much.”

“I missed you too. I miss you all the time.” He said, burying his face into the crook of your neck, wet hair prickling on his skin. He peeled himself away from you, taking a deep breath. “Do you want to be my girlfriend?”

The squealed “Yes!” before you kissed him ardently once more was forever ingrained into his mind.

Amidst his reverie, you stood up from your seat. The wind tousled your hair slightly, so you used your left hand to tuck it behind your ear. The street lights reflected their light on a ring you had on your left hand. He recognized it instantly. “I should go,” you murmured, slightly graceless.

“You still have it.”

You looked at him, still sitting and nodded softly. You were hit with the realization that he also remembered you. It didn’t matter that it was such a small thing about you, relief flooded your veins at the very thought that he thought of you. “I do.”

You waved at him, your lips turned upwards shyly. You turned your back and started walking away from him. Again, he thought. And again, he let you, without putting up a fight, which he was aware that he should have done. The elephant in his chest was a light weight compared to the heavy truth dancing around in his throat. Said truth would become much bigger, a heavier burden for him to carry, once it made its way out of him. Speaking made it real. He knew it because every memory that he kept of you, in a sacred, untouched area of his own consciousness, was full of comfort after sharing uncomfortable truths.

It was like his heart screamed at him to keep searching, to keep trying for the person who made it beat faster. But his brain, foggy with all the logic and terrible, horrid things he had to face, decided it was best to keep himself away from you, to save himself the trouble of being the target of pity, or worse, being another person who left him.

From that day on, you’d casually visit the park, secretly wishing you could see him more. It didn't take too long until your wishes were granted, no matter how private you thought they were. Perhaps they were all over your face and he could still read you so easily. Despite the apparent capacity of reading your wants, you were positively sure that Spencer didn't know what to say, just like you. Everything, including him, felt as distant as you had left it. You weren't sure if you could go back, but running away was just as troublesome: you had to adapt in order to survive, but everyone else surrounding you was already fit to the environment. You stuck out like a sore thumb, unable to connect with anyone but the protagonist from past memories of what once was a happy relationship.

Every time you were there, you sensed someone looking at you shortly after your arrival. It was like an unspoken agreement between the two of you, to try to talk things through without rushing into anything, trying to conquer the other's forgiveness by sharing both ordinary and big moments you had during your time apart. As you sat down and talked and shared, you realized that you'd never stop loving him, not even for a second, not even if you could. You had tried and failed, and kept coming back for more to fall in love with the same person over and over.

These encounters quickly turned into the best moments of Spencer's weeks, getting to be filled in on the things he had missed in your life. You had shown him photos, your new degree, new friends, discussed details about your job and how things were in your family. All of that wrapped in intricate, subtle details on how much you'd turned into a person he was already feeling proud of. You had grown into a strong-willed woman who managed to keep your heart as pure as the day you had met him. You still had the traits that made you fall in love with him.

One day, you two were sitting on the bench and you pointed to your initials on it. “Heh, I remember that day. You kept worrying someone was going to show up and stop me from doing it.”

He smiled. “I'm glad no one did.”

“It's funny, isn't it?” You asked, eyes on the indentation, not expecting him to answer due the lack of context. He frowned. “I mean, us. Acting like we don't know each other just for the sake of spending time together.”

He thought for a moment. With your shameless comment, you were definitely daring him to say something. Daring him to make things real, but better this time. “I like that idea,” he said, getting you to look at him. “Don't you? We get to meet each other again. I get to meet you again and I get to make sure that, this time, I'll never let you go.”

“You still don't know me enough to say that with such sureness,” you said, feeling bashful all of a sudden. It was also one of your behaviors that got him so enthralled, once again. Your capacity of saying something and then act coyly, as if you didn't know what he was talking about. Almost backtracking on whatever you had said that was a little more risky than the usual chatter.

He wouldn't let you.

“I want to.”

His tone made you speechless. Your expression turned into one of sheer, pure enchantment. It told him everything he needed to know.

Everything bad was now under the bridge and you could finally have each other back after being so patient.

He now remembered what it was that he missed so dearly in his life.

You.

[covenha]

Synopsis: Sunoo realizes that his love language is acts of service. Pairings: sunoo x fem!reader Genre: fluff! so much fluff I got cavities from writing this WC: 1356 Warnings: mentions of academic stress and insomnia a/n: I had fun writing this one, really had to destress from all the studying I've been doing these past few days so this fic is a lil self-indulgent whoops. anyway, this is also a work of fiction so don't forget to touch some grass after reading! lmao jk but as always feedback and reblogs are always deeply appreciated! and requests are open so if you guys want me to write something lmk :))

Sunoo can admit, he always felt like he was pampered.

It’s not like he didn’t like it. Heck, he enjoyed the feeling of his members being attentive to him. The way that Jay cooks meat just the way he likes it. The way that Jake lets him get away with mistakes in his grammar because it’s just “part of his charm.” Or, the way that Jungwon always let him have a few bites of his sweets even though Sunoo definitely said he didn’t want to order one of his own. 

Which is why it was such a refreshing feeling to be with you. He never really knew what his love language was until he met you. So here are the three times that made him realize his love language was acts of service.

It was late at night, midterms were coming up and things were not looking up for you. With so many enzymes to memorize and so many cascades to internalize, if you had to look at one more diagram with arrows one more time, you were simply going to go clinically insane. 

“Why won’t this get in my head?! Who even named these stupid enzymes? Argininosuccinate synthetase? Sounds like something Elon Musk would name his child.” You bonk your head with your notebook, clearly on the brink of insanity. 

“Hey,” Sunoo’s soft voice cuts through your inner monologue. “You doing okay? Is it the krebs cycle again?” You sigh.

“There’s just so much to study for, I don’t think I can cram it all inside my goldfish brain.” You pout at the notes scattered across the desk in the room. 

“Hey, babe, you don’t have a goldfish brain. C’mon, you’re one of the smartest people I know.” Sunoo starts to get up from his lying position on the bed. 

“You don’t have to get up, Sun. I can manage this on my own, just need to whine about it first.” You give him a little smile while shrugging your shoulders. 

Sunoo drags the bean bag chair at the corner of the room and sets it right beside you. 

“Okay, we have a few hours before your exam. We can work with this. We just need to mix some active recall into the review!” Sunoo beams up at you as he lay in the bean bag, notebook in hand. 

And for the rest of the night, and well into the morning, Sunoo helps you study for your godawful Chemistry midterm. The look you had when you got back your results, passing your midterms exams with the brightest smile on your face, he just knew that he had to protect that smile.

One thing that Sunoo learned about you quickly was that you loved to drink matcha. Sure, to him it tastes like grass, but he liked mint chocolate things so who was he to judge? You loved going to this cafe two blocks from your apartment, it was owned by an old Taiwanese couple who immigrated a couple years ago. You were one of their longest regulars. So it was quite upsetting to find out that they were closing up shop for good.

Ever since that cafe closed, you have tried looking around for the next best matcha but, sadly, none have come close to beating their matcha latte. One month into the search and you had all but given up on your matcha latte dreams. That was until one day you woke up to the smell of green tea in your kitchen. 

“Sunoo? What’s that smell?” You nose around the hallway leading to the kitchen. 

And much to your surprise, a glass of green goodness is being served up on the kitchen island. 

“Sunoo? Is this what I think it is?” You ask in surprise at what you see. You go up to him and hug his side. He throws his arms around your waist, hugging your form. 

“Well, I know you’ve been looking for a matcha latte replacement and haven’t found one yet, so I decided to do a little digging. Asked for their recipe and tried to make it myself. I hope it tastes okay.” He mushes his cheek against your head then smiles down at you. 

“Sunoo, you really didn’t have to do this….” You look up at him. You felt all warm and fuzzy. 

“Well, I can’t have my little girlfriend go for too long without her matcha latte. She’s gonna start tweaking.” He teases. You just poke his cheek and decide to taste his drink. 

You knew that whatever it tasted like, you were going to love it anyway. But one sip of the green drink and you felt your heart soar at the familiar taste. 

“Sunoo, this tastes amazing!” You look back at him with a surprised look in your eyes. 

“Really?”

“No, really! Like it tastes just like how they make it. How did you pull this off? I’m actually so impressed right now you don’t even understand.” You keep taking sips of the drink, savoring the green tea goodness. It feels like an old friend has come back from the dead.

“Well, I actually found the son of the owners and emailed him asking for the recipe. I really didn’t expect to hear anything back from him but he surprisingly gave in.” He smiled. His heart felt like it could burst from the compliments you gave him. 

“This is too much. You didn’t really have to do all this for some silly drink that I like, noo.” You put down the drink and hug him. 

“But I wanted to. Really, if it means seeing you happy I’d go to Taiwan myself and ask for their recipe.” He kisses your cheek. You sigh at this. 

“You’re just the best.” You hug him tighter. He beams at this and you guys revel in each other’s warmth. 

It was going to be “one of those nights” you feared. Sleep had yet to take over your body despite the many hours of tossing and turning in your shared bed. Sunoo lay beside you, soft snores and even breaths coming from his side of the bed. Deciding that you were not going to be sleeping anytime soon, you get up from the bed and head to the kitchen. 

You trudge towards the kitchen and grab a glass of water. You look up at a clock to check the time, 2:37 AM. You decide to do some cleaning up in the kitchen to pass the time. As you are wiping down a surface in the fridge, Sunoo’s voice startles you.

“y/n? What are you doing up?” You jump a little as Sunoo makes his presence known. He notices this and softly apologizes. 

“Couldn’t really sleep. So I decided on kitchen duty.” You motion to your gloved hand wiping down the fridge shelves. “Sorry if I woke you up. You can go back to bed. I’ll finish up in a bit and try to fall asleep again.” 

He silently walks up to you hugging you from behind. Then he mumbles something into your hair that you don’t quite catch. 

“Noo?” You ask him to repeat himself.

“Wanna go get some ice cream?” 

So that’s how you end up buying ice cream at a convenience store at 3 AM. As you guys walk back to your apartment, Sunoo looks down at you happily snacking on your ice cold treat. Your ruddy cheeks from the cold autumn breeze nipping at them, your tired eyes from the lack of sleep, and your hair haphazardly thrown into a bun. 

“What is it?” You ask him, noticing how silent he is.

“Nothing.” He shakes his head. 

“Is there something on my face?” You motion towards your face. 

Sunoo just smiled at himself, telling you that there was nothing on your face. And as the two of you neared the entrance to your apartment he mulled over some thoughts. Even though he was munching on some mint chocolate ice cream, which he could argue was one of life’s best delicacies. He thought that maybe, no surely, he liked being the reason you smile a whole lot more. 

[somestorythoughts]

Immortal Leverage AU again

The immortal community is small.

By this I mean small in relation to the population of the earth, not small as in you can count them all on your fingers and toes. If you gathered them all in a city, it would be one of those cities where everyone was three degrees of separation from each other tops. However, and this is the key point, they do not talk to each other.

This is NOT a community where everyone knows everyone or has heard of everyone because they do not interact with each other on a regular basis. There are names everyone knows of course, and some who have traveled enough to have met most of the community, and it isn’t that everyone is isolated, but the things necessary for everyone to know everyone are missing.

There’s just too many people to know everyone, and just enough distance and keeping-of-low profiles to make trying difficult.

I say this to explain why it takes months for the Leverage team to realize that of all the fucking people they could have accidentally formed a vigilante group with they managed to do it with FOUR other immortals. The odds of that happening are pretty low too.

There is another contributing factor. Some immortals are better at concealing it than others, some are better at spotting it. And even the ones that are good at hiding their immortality tend to have slightly skewed perceptions of normal so that doesn’t help.

Sophie is excellent at spotting fellow immortals and just as excellent at hiding it. She reads people, it’s what she does, and once you get people talking and know what to look for, it’s easy. But there’s Nate, who’s been hiding it almost as long as she has, and Parker and Eliot, who are very good at hiding because of their careers and are also not quite normal for other reasons, and Hardison who just isn’t old enough to have any immortal tells. Nate is sharp enough to notice, but he’s hampered by the same things Sophie is and is drunk off his ass on top of it.

Parker doesn’t understand people so the tells Sophie uses, she can’t read. She can tell if someone is immortal by how they react to injuries and their recovery time, and can spot evidence of physical skills that people don’t have without the dedication of decades then do the digging to figure out if they’re immortal. But Nate doesn’t have those tells because his skills are mostly mental, Hardison again is too young, and Eliot has gotten very good at hiding his injuries.

The only reason Eliot remembers (mostly) how injuries act on the average person is spending so much time around injured normal people. And being immortal doesn’t mean healing immediately here. It just means healing completely. He’s good at faking more trouble than he’s having when he needs too, and practiced at brushing it off as experience with pain if someone asks. And he’s the one taking all the hits for the team so he doesn’t have the chance see how they act in these situations which means that he evaluates them as dangerous quickly but doesn’t clock them as immortal.

Hardison is a baby immortal and doesn’t know what to look for but also doesn’t have the signs of being immortal or the knowledge because at this point he’s managed to avoid any serious injuries. But eventually he starts doing research to find out more about who he’s working with, and he attributes the difficulties tracking down info to them being in the game for so long. Except Nate. When he looks closer there are odd details in his records, things that aren’t right but he can’t find out more than what’s fake. He knows something’s wrong there, but doesn’t know what to do with this info. He’s too young to figure out immortal. Yet.

Hardison finds out something’s odd first, but doesn’t know what. Eventually someone else has a realization, and everything follows from there. But there’s only so many ways to find out you’re immortal.

So it’s a good thing Hardison has an immortal family to hold him through the first injury that definitely should have killed him.

[lunarharp]

more phoenix wright situations

[autumnrory]

woooo my niece took 5 of my 13 lego sets, one of which was one of the three larger ones, so that's one huge box out of the way and i'm just glad she wanted them because like they ARE twenty years old and they look fine ofc but sometimes kids aren't gonna want stuff that isn't new and shiny ya know, but she did seem to want everything which would've been fine with me but i knew there was no way they would take all that with them, and at least i still have stuff of my own to sell, plus should get at least a cut of my brother's stuff for doing the inventory and putting together that stuff that wasn't already done

[cursed-clock-shop]

The main reason I want to revise Stranded Swimmer is that I forgot to include my most favorite headcanon I've ever made, I want to see if y'all will figure it out after I post it.

Also Stranded Swimmer revisions will (probably) come before I post My New Thing™ because it's taking me WAY longer than expected.

[kp-alice]

GIRL ISTG YOU'RE GOING TO BE THE DEATH OF ME YOU CAN'T JUST SAY ALL THIS AND NOT EXPECT ME TO CRUMBLE ON THE SPOT!!!!!!

As You Deem Fit

Summary: Ever the generous lover, Yunho knows just the right gift to give you on your third anniversary - himself.

AKA an enthusiastically pliant!sub!Yunho x mischievous!dom!f!reader

Word count: 6 810

Warnings: free use (so seemingly dubious content but everything is fully consensual!!), oral (f rec), handjobs, pegging, butt plugs, ejaculating straps, just a lot of groping and tension in general, playful sex (they love each other so much it's lowkey gross), the tiniest speck of clothed f/naked m, an awful load of pet names

A/N: This fic is the fourth part of my sub!Yunho Kinktober 2024! The event's masterlist can be found here.

You sat on the couch in your dimly lit living room, facing your boyfriend of three years with a huge grin. As always, he'd gone above and beyond to make sure you felt loved and cherished, this time proving it by buying you that beautiful necklace you mentioned almost half a year ago. You didn't dare wish for it, knowing it was quite expensive and something you had only talked about in passing, but you were yet again beautifully surprised.

"Yu, it's so beautiful!" You marveled as you looked down at the necklace he had so eagerly helped you put on, reaching over to hold his soft hand. Much like your neck, his wrist was now adorned with a pretty yet elegant silver bracelet. Of course you got each other matching gifts. After three years together, you were practically one person split into two bodies.

"Not any more beautiful than the bracelet you've picked out for me," he grinned cheesily, mesmerized by the silver gleaming in the soft light. "I was worried my gift would be too expensive, but I see we've both decided to be generous this year."

You tightened your hold on his hand, faux offense on your face. "Nothing is ever too expensive when it comes to you, love!"

Yunho giggled at your reply, though you could sense a smidge of hesitance behind his warm gaze. "Yeah, I guess so..."

"But?" You pressed on, leaning closer to examine his expression. He was definitely hiding something.

"Huh? What do you mean?" Yunho asked back, feigning confusion. And yet, all the telltale signs were there. The slight raise in pitch, the widened eyes, the way he tilted his head to the side just a little too much.

You sighed, but there was no actual frustration to your words. "Bunny, do you really think you can fool me after three years together? I can literally see the cogs turning in your head; you're thinking about something important."

The silence between you lasted mere seconds, Yunho's facade quickly crumbling under your unwavering gaze.

Oh well, not like he wanted to keep this a secret anyway.

"Well, actually, you see," he began, a nervous smile playing on his lips the more he stalled, "I kind of have another present for you, but it's a bit... different, so to speak."

You chuckled, leaning even further forward to support yourself against his thigh. "Yuyu, if you're talking about anniversary sex then I'm afraid we've done that one already... twice actually. Not that I'm against it in any way, of course not! I'm just saying you don't have to be shy about it if that's what you had in mind."

"No! That's not what I had in mind at all!" Yunho exclaimed but then suddenly paused, "or, like, it kind of is, but uh, I had something a bit special in mind this time."

"And what would that be, pretty boy?"

Of course you had to call him that now, of all times.

You watched in amusement as Yunho's cheeks turned a deep shade of red and he began squirming in his seat. "W-well, I was just kinda wondering about what we could do that we haven't tried yet, and, uh, have you ever heard of 'free use'?"

You furrowed your brows, casting your eyes to the side as you searched your mind, but nothing came up. "I don't think so, no."

"Ah, well, it is a bit unconventional," Yunho stammered further, avoiding your gaze at all costs, "which also means that you don't have to entertain it in any way if it makes you uncomfortable! I'm perfectly fine just doing what we already enjoy, don't worry."

"Yu," you said sternly, squeezing his hand, "just explain what it is and let me decide if I'm up for it or not. Like you said, the worst thing I can say is a respectful no and then we'll just enjoy ourselves in a different way."

Yunho nodded solemnly at your words, knowing you were right. Squeezing your hand back, he took a deep breath.

"So, uh, free use is pretty much exactly what the title implies. One person lets the other... well, use them, however they want, whenever they want. You can, like, touch me as much as you like, or make me do whatever. And while this can apply to both people, where they can 'use' each other, I was thinking that, maybe, it could be just me for now? You know, since I'm the one that proposed it and everything, it makes sense you'd be the one in control because then you can do everything at your own pace and stuff."

"Huh," you let out after a short pause, taking everything in. "And you're sure it's not just because you want me to use you and shower you with attention?"

"A-ah, well, uh," Yunho stammered, letting out a nervous chuckle, "yeah, maybe a bit of that too. Only if you want to, though! Like I said, no pressure at all!"

It was your turn to laugh now. Swinging one of your legs over his lap, you shuffled even closer to him. "Of course I want to, love. How could I ever pass up an opportunity to have you all to myself? You'll be all mine to enjoy, ready to please me whenever I want. No matter what you're doing or where we are, I can just feel you up as much as I like. What's not to love about that?"

You watched a visible shiver run down Yunho's spine at your words, an almost pained expression on his face as he imagined the scene. You nudged his crotch with the leg in his lap, swiftly bringing him out of his thoughts and back to you.

"So? When are we going to do this, Puppy? Do we just start now or do you want to set a specific date or signal...?"

Yunho took a deep breath, trying to think despite the growing issue in his pants. "Well, I was thinking maybe this weekend? Since we'll both be staying at home with the day off. And I can definitely wear something to show you I'm, uh, 'up for it', or we can just confirm everything in the morning and go from there? Either is- mmh! Either is fine!"

You suppressed a giggle at his whine, not stopping the way your leg was rubbing against his growing hard-on.

"Alright then, loverboy."

Saturday rolled around sooner than expected, and before Yunho knew it, he was stirring awake in your warm, cozy bed. Even through his sleepy stupor, he could feel your hand running up and down his side, occasionally slipping forward to graze his stomach.

"Good morning, Sleeping Beauty," you whispered tenderly as you snuggled even closer into his back, making him chuckle. "Slept well?"

"Mhm," he nodded tiredly, pressing back into your embrace. "What time is it?"

"Time for you to tell me if you're still good to go with our plan today."

Yunho's eyes snapped open at that, suddenly remembering what specifically this week's Saturday would entail.

"You don't have to agree to anything if you're unsure about this, Puppy," you gently reminded him, kissing the back of his neck. "We can just do this another time, or not at all."

"No, no," Yunho shook his head. "I do want to do this. I'm just a little nervous, I guess? I want this to turn out well since I suggested it, but because I'm not in charge, I don't know how to ensure that."

"Don't worry, hun," you reassured him softly, but then tightened your grip on his hip. "I'll make sure we both enjoy ourselves, okay?"

"O-okay."

Yunho hadn't expected you to "make sure" right after you'd asked him, but here he was, lying in bed with his face planted in the pillows, already worn out. He still had his sleep shirt on but his bottoms were long gone, discarded in the wake of your morning ministrations.

Despite your thoughtful wipe-down afterward, Yunho could still feel a forgotten stripe of lube drying on his inner thigh once he'd finally gotten up. And judging by the first few steps he took towards his wardrobe, he already knew today was going to be a long day. The plug you'd chosen for him was nowhere near the biggest one he owned, but he was still acutely aware of it with even the slightest of movements.

Well, nothing to be done about it now - you chose it for him, and he had no choice but to take what he was given and wait for further instructions.

Just as he'd managed to put on some boxers and lounge pants, the bedroom door creaked open, revealing your curious yet slightly amused look.

"How are we faring, Handsome?" You asked, unabashedly looking him up and down. Of course he chose those plaid pajama pants today, knowing you loved the way they made his thighs and ass look. "Ready for breakfast yet?"

Yunho nodded happily, closing the wardrobe again before moving towards you. "Of course! Just needed a few more minutes to get up, sorry."

"It's okay," you said, holding the door wide open for him. "I didn't start off too eager, did I?"

"Not at all," Yunho chuckled, giving you a playful smile as he passed by you. "If anything, it was actually really-"

All words from your lovely boyfriend were cut off by a startled gasp, preceded by the unmistakable sound of your hand connecting with his ass.

"I'm really happy to hear that, honey."

Just as he'd thought to himself before, today was really going to be a long day.

Despite looking forward to spending the day together, you and Yunho still cherished your alone time. Thus, an hour or so after breakfast and washing up, you found yourself in your study, working on that random report your boss had been bugging you about. Yunho had stayed in the living room, likely lounging around on the couch while playing video games or scrolling on his phone.

Either way, he wasn't doing anything important right now, and you were awfully stressed out with this whole report thing.

Which offered a very easy, enticing solution.

"Yuyu, come here!" You called out, double-checking that your progress had been properly saved before moving on with your plan.

You heard an affirmative shout back, followed by the sounds of the couch creaking and footsteps stomping down the hallway. Even at that, you could already feel your tense shoulders relax, knowing what was to come. Holding onto the desk for leverage, you slid away from it to make just enough space and waited.

A very cozy-looking Yunho appeared in the doorway. "What is it?"

"Come here," you ordered softly, though your voice left no room for disobedience.

Yunho did as told right away, shuffling over to you with curious eyes. What could it be that you wanted from him?

"Get under the desk and make yourself useful, will you?"

Oh.

"There you go, hun," you sighed out appreciatively, tangling your fingers in his hair. "Such a good boy for me, aren't you?"

Yunho just hummed in agreement, too focused on the task at hand to reply properly. His tongue was laving against your clit, nose bumping into your pubic mound every now and then. He almost looked cute like this, trying so hard to please you that it turned him just a little stupid.

Your hand tugged at his hair, angling his mouth away from your clit and down. "Come on, Puppy, let me ride that pretty nose of yours a bit."

Yunho immediately complied, letting you hold him in place while you rocked your hips against him. A moan left him as he felt your wetness spread all over his nose, feeling like a mere toy at your disposal. You gripped his locks even tighter at that, the vibrations of his voice making you clench down on his tongue inside you.

Deciding you were done playing around, you tugged his head up again. Yunho didn't need to be told what to do, quickly diving back in to kiss, lick, and suck on your clit just the way you liked it best.

"Fuck! That's it, baby, I love your mouth so much," you panted as you spoke, feeling the coil in your lower belly winding tighter with every second. "Gonna cum all over that pretty face of yours."

Yunho whined at your words, feeling his cock stir in his pants. He knew this wasn't about him right now, and yet, the way you spoke to him so lovingly yet so condescendingly churned so good in his stomach that he almost curled in on himself just from listening to you.

Unbeknownst to your boyfriend, you were watching him squirm the entire time, already plotting how to fix the obvious ache in his pants.

Soon.

After almost suffocating Yunho between your thighs and sending him off to clean his face, you went right back to work. You had to admit, the quick stress relief was rather convenient, save for the sinful ideas of what you were going to do to your unsuspecting boyfriend next that were now occupying your mind.

Nevertheless, after two more hours of slaving away at your computer, you were finally done and free to join your favorite cuddle bug in the living room. He was re-watching one of your favorite dramas, giggling to himself at the characters on screen. As you approached him and the pile of blankets atop him, he didn't even say a word, just lifted up one of the corners high enough for you to slip inside with a huge smile on his face.

Once you were comfortably lying down on him, you too got quickly invested in the show, accompanied by the comforting rise and fall of Yunho's chest beneath you. With your pending work done and your favorite person under you, you could finally just shut your brain off and relax.

For a while, at least.

As the time dragged on and the episodes slipped by one by one, an exciting mix of mischief and yearning bubbled up inside you. Yunho's body felt so warm under you, so soft and pliant - it would be a shame to just let it be, right?

"Babe...?" Yunho questioned softly as your hand smoothed down his side, thinking you just wanted to ask something. When your other hand began moving as well, however, he started to realize what this might be about.

"Get on top of me, honey," you ordered, leaving Yunho to gently roll the two of you over, now with you underneath him. He tried not to lie down on you with his full weight so as to not crush you, but that was becoming increasingly difficult with your increasingly teasing touches. With each squeeze of his waist, hips, or even chest, he could feel his strength falter, leaning further down into your body.

"L-love, what are you..." he tried to question but trailed off again as one of your hands slid into his plaid pants, skipping his underwear and going straight for skin-to-skin contact. You gripped the full, firm flesh in your hand, massaging it softly before moving on.

Every remaining bit of Yunho's composure disappeared as your hand brushed the base of the plug inside him, re-igniting the fire that had been warming his belly since this morning. He hid his face in the crook of your neck with an embarrassed whine, suddenly feeling too exposed and vulnerable despite still being fully clothed.

"How's the plug feeling, baby?" You murmured softly, brushing your thumb against its base. Your other hand stilled on his hip, holding him in place in case he got too restless.

"It's really weird," he admitted bashfully. "I-I mean, like, nice weird! Like, it feels good, but it's also strange to just... have it inside all day. I keep forgetting about it and then I move even the slightest bit and it just, you know."

"Reminds you of your role for the day?" You finished for him, earning a nod in return. "So you're okay with keeping it in a while longer?"

Yunho nodded again, letting out a shaky exhale as you tapped on the base a few times. "Yes, please. Wanna be your good boy all day, be ready for you at all times."

"Good," you replied, an excited smirk on your face. "Very good."

Before you knew it, the sun was already starting to set. And as much as you'd love to keep cuddling and fondling your boyfriend, the growling in your stomach was getting a little too persuasive.

As expected, Yunho volunteered to cook dinner tonight, getting up and disappearing into the kitchen before you'd even had a chance to argue. Not that you wanted to, anyway. Whenever Yunho got into his submissive headspace, he loved to provide more than anything, and you were not about to take that away from him.

You did eventually start to get a bit bored, though.

About half an hour had passed, the drama you were watching left paused on the TV screen while you checked social media. You could hear the soft knocking of metal against wood as Yunho chopped up some vegetables, along with the sound of water boiling on the stove.

...Nothing wrong with checking in on him, right?

Sitting up with a groan, you raised your arms above your head and stretched. The couch creaked under you as you shifted your weight, but Yunho either didn't hear it or didn't think much of it.

As expected, Yunho had his back to you as you entered the kitchen, focused on pouring all the chopped-up ingredients into the boiling water. After succeeding, he sealed the pot with a lid and set a timer on the stove before resting his hands against the counter. He let out a content sigh, seemingly fully lost in thought.

His daydreams were cut short, however, when he was enveloped from behind, causing him to jump in surprise.

"Relax, baby, it's just me."

Yunho hummed in acknowledgment, all of the sudden tension leaving him again as he leaned back into your embrace. "Missed me already?"

You chuckled at the cheekiness, squeezing him just a little tighter. "Oh, so much, you have no idea." Pressing a soft kiss to the back of his neck, you let one of your hands wander along his body. "Also felt like paying compliments to the chef, you see."

"A-ah, but, don't people- don't you usually do that after the food is served?" Yunho asked in a shaky voice, the hand grazing his inner thigh feeling equal parts ticklish and arousing.

"Hmm, no," you muttered into his back, one hand splayed over his stomach under his shirt while the other teased the waistband of his pants again. "I already know it will taste amazing, so might as well thank you now, right?"

Yunho's grip on the counter tightened as your fingers finally dipped into his boxers, steeling himself for whatever you had in store for him. "I mean- yeah, but- but the food-"

"Just let go, Puppy," you insisted, drawing a meek whine from him. "You've set a timer anyway, you can spare some time for me now."

"I- alright," Yunho finally agreed with a tired sigh, only to gasp when you immediately grabbed his cock in response. Clearly, you were in no mood to stall anymore.

Yunho was fully hard in record time, already pent up from your previous activities. His head hung low as you stroked him, keeping him in place with the hand on his stomach while you pressed up against him from behind. Every now and then, a small whine or whimper left his lips, causing his eyes to scrunch shut even tighter.

"W-wait," Yunho suddenly gasped, wanting to stop you with a hand on your wrist but halting before he could do so.

"What is it, honey?" You asked, brushing a thumb against his weeping tip while you placed another clumsy kiss on his clothed back.

"I need to stir the- please," Yunho tried to keep his sentences as short as possible, not trusting his breathy voice right now.

You laughed at his explanation, finding him utterly adorable right now.

"It's okay, love, do whatever you want."

Yunho was confused by your words, unsure of what you meant. The fog in his brain certainly wasn't helping either, reducing him to a panting, jittery mess.

"But- you're not stopping?" He said half-questioningly, trying to break from his daze just enough to understand the situation.

"Oh, don't worry, I'm definitely not stopping," you said with a sly grin, speeding up your movements. "But you're free to keep cooking if you want, I don't care."

When your words finally clicked in his mind, Yunho thought he was going to pass out. Or cum. Ideally both.

With a pathetic, broken whimper, he nodded in understanding, muttering a simple "Okay, thank you" in response. His left hand gripped the counter even tighter, trying to keep himself still and stable while he removed the pot lid with the other. Just as he was about to pick up the wooden spoon, however, he felt you tugging at the plug inside of him.

You watched in amusement as Yunho curled in on himself with an almost pained cry, dropping the spoon to hold onto the counter again. "Y/N!"

"What? I'm just doing my thing, you can do yours just as fine."

Yunho whimpered as you pulled at the toy again, the widest part threatening to slip out of him. He felt so powerless, your indifferent attitude leaving no room for discussion. He couldn't fault you for it either; it's what the two of you had agreed on, after all. He was yours to touch and fuck as you pleased, whenever, wherever.

Taking in a deep, shaky breath, Yunho tried to regain control of his body as much as he could, though it was near impossible with your unrelenting touches. Even as he neared the stove, he couldn't stop the involuntary twitches of his hips, trying to meet both your strokes on his cock and the pulling at the plug inside.

"There's my good boy," you cooed, watching him finally succeed at stirring the pot. "Told you there was no need to stop, you're a natural."

Whether you meant a natural at cooking or being toyed with, Yunho didn't know. Either way, a groan left his lips at the praise, dropping the spoon again to lean back into you.

"Oh? Is my pretty prince close already?" You questioned, feeling him twitch in your hand at the pet name. Yunho nodded hurriedly, shallowly panting as he rocked back and forth into your hands. The timer was showing two minutes left, giving you just enough time to get your lover where you wanted him.

"Miss, can I please cum? Please?" Yunho begged with audible urgency, brain so scrambled the title came out without him even realizing.

"Of course, honey," you said, tightening your grip on him. "You've been such a good boy so far, you deserve it.

Yunho moaned loudly at the praise, eyebrows furrowing as he finally let himself get fully lost in the pleasure. His hands reached back to clumsily grab at your hips, pressing you as close to his back as possible. He didn't seem to mind the slightly awkward angle at which the hand holding his plug was now trapped. If anything, the way it pushed the toy back in even deeper made everything else more intense.

"Oh my god, I'm gonna cum," Yunho warned through gritted teeth, already sensing this wouldn't be any small orgasm. "I'm gonna, I-"

With a cry of your name, Yunho's entire body tensed up in your hold for a second or two before releasing again, trembling with every wave of pleasure washing over him. You held him steady the entire time, helping him ride out his orgasm with slow, steady strokes on his twitching cock. Your other hand slithered out of his pants, reaching over to turn off the timer before it could startle your spent lover.

Yunho panted as he came down from his high, the fog in his mind finally starting to clear up again. He squeezed at your hip, a silent signal that it was okay to let go of him now. You did so, unwrapping yourself from him to stand by his side instead and examine his face for any signs of discomfort.

"Feeling okay, baby?" You asked gently, drying some of the sweat on his forehead with a nearby paper towel. Yunho just nodded wordlessly, every part of his body feeling like jelly, lips included.

"Good. Now let's get you out of these before you ruin them any further, shall we?"

A small gasp left him as you suddenly pulled both his pants and boxers down, but he stepped out of them anyway. Despite the embarrassment of standing half-naked in the kitchen in front of you, he had to admit it felt a lot more comfortable than boxers full of cum.

"Are, uh, are you going to bring me fresh clothes?" Yunho asked hopefully, turning to give you a quick glance before approaching the stove again. He still had dinner to cook, after all.

"No," you said simply. "I don't think you'll be needing them much in the near future, anyway. I'll just keep you warm during dinner and then we'll see what happens."

Yet again, despite how small and vulnerable he was feeling right now, Yunho knew he had no say in the situation. You clearly weren't waiting for his response anyway, considering how you'd immediately left after your reply, but not before giving his ass a quick squeeze goodbye.

Just as promised, you kept Yunho warm as you sat back down on the couch, eating your dinner together under a warm blanket. You resumed the drama on your TV, letting the two of you calm down again and enjoy the simple comfort of each other's presence. Under the thick blanket, Yunho's legs were strewn over your lap while you kept a firm hold on one of his calves.

He was not going anywhere anytime soon. Not until you'd let him.

Unlike before, you didn't let him wash the dishes this time, pushing him back into the cushions while you put your two bowls away in the kitchen. You checked the clock hanging above the door, which read 22:30. Perfect.

"Ready, Yu?" You called out, returning to the living room. Yunho was right where you'd left him, curled up on the couch. His head rose at your voice, turning back to look at you in slight confusion. "For what?"

"The bedroom," you answered plainly, meeting him with a seemingly indifferent gaze. When he didn't react, you stepped right in front of him. "Come on, Pup. Don't make me drag you over there myself, 'cause you know I will."

Yunho gulped at the vague threat, reluctantly throwing the blankets off his body and rising to his feet. The shirt he had on didn't do much to cover his bottom half, making him resort to covering himself with his hands. That plan was quickly foiled, though, as you just nudged his hands away, leaving him bare again.

The moment he'd entered the bedroom, he could feel a slight tension in the air. Turning to you, he realized you looked somewhat nervous, but fought hard to hide it.

"Well? What are you waiting for? On the bed, hands and knees."

Your command brought him out of his thoughts again, limbs moving pretty much automatically at this point. This wasn't anywhere near his first or last time in such a position, so he had no issue planting himself into the mattress, arching his back just the way you liked it. The effect was almost immediate as he heard a groan from behind him, followed by a smack against his ass. "Fuck, such a pretty boy for me, aren't you?"

Yunho just whined, spreading his legs a little wider at the praise. He could feel you getting on the bed behind him, right after gathering all the things you'd need from the box in your wardrobe. A soft hand began smoothing down his back, making him relax and steady his breathing.

"I've prepared something new for today, if you're interested."

Oh, so that's why you were nervous.

"What is it?" Yunho asked, lifting his head from the pillows to be heard properly. He didn't turn around to look at you, too scared he wasn't allowed to without your explicit permission.

"I mean," you began, your free hand moving to massage the back of his thigh, "it's nothing too new. Just a small twist on what we already do, that's all. I can tell you right now if you want, but I was thinking it might be better as a surprise?"

Yunho shivered at the proposition, feeling excited and nervous at the same time. Being surprised was one thing, but to have you surprise him while you're railing him into the next week? He wasn't sure what to expect. Which, of course, led him to only one possible reply.

"Sure."

After hiding whatever it was you were planning to use from his sight and easing the plug out of him, Yunho found himself on his back, legs spread nice and wide for you while you stretched him open. Thanks to the plug, the process was a lot easier than usual, but that didn't stop you from ensuring his comfort anyway. Not to mention you'd never pass an opportunity to have him moaning on your fingers.

"Alright baby, I think you're ready for me," you said, focused on the way his pretty hole clenched around your digits. "What do you think?"

Yunho whined at the question, trying to push back against the three fingers inside of him. "Please, I need it! I'm so hard it hurts."

You chuckled at his desperation, making the man under you blush even more. He really wasn't lying; his dick had been left alone for way too long, twitching sadly against his abdomen whenever you pressed into him just right.

"Okay, hun," you began, removing your fingers from him at once, "I'm gonna need you to close your eyes for a moment, and when you open them again, you're not allowed to look down, okay?"

Huh. Okay.

Yunho nodded wordlessly, taking a deep breath as he closed his eyes. He heard you get up from the bed again before shuffling around. The bedroom was completely silent, save for the sounds of his breathing, clothes rustling, and the soft clinking of metal. The mattress dipped down again, and Yunho was allowed to re-open his eyes.

"Hi," you said warmly, an amused smile gracing your lips as you looked down at his unsure expression.

"Hey," he replied tentatively, scanning your eyes for any clues on what to expect. "I, uh, wanted to ask - how low can or can't I look?"

You giggled at his question, making him smile a bit as well. "No need to worry about any of that, Yuyu. Just keep looking at me until I say otherwise, okay?"

He obliged with a nod, keeping his focus on your face even while you yourself looked down between his legs. It felt strangely exhilarating, not being able to see what was going on down there, what was going to happen to him.

"Hold these for me, will you?" You said as you pushed his legs up by the backs of his knees, waiting for him to get the memo and hold them up for you. Luckily, it didn't take Yunho too long, still lucid enough to remember one of your most frequent orders.

A cold, slick, blunt object was suddenly pressed against his hole, making Yunho flinch at the unexpected sensation. He'd almost looked down then, wishing to see which toy you'd chosen today, but caught himself at the last second.

"I'm gonna push in now, okay?" You warned him, leaning further over his body for a better angle. "Just relax and remember to breathe."

Yunho did just that, closing his eyes and relaxing as much as he could. Still, he couldn't help but tense a bit when you began pushing in, the intrusion familiar yet oddly different at the same time. His eyebrows furrowed at the thought, confused about what it could mean. Did you get a new strap? Is that why you didn't want him to look yet?

Oblivious to the turmoil raging in Yunho's head, you kept pushing further, gaze flitting between his sinful expressions and his hole eagerly welcoming you in. It wasn't until your hips met his that his eyes opened again, watching you with almost alarming intensity.

"Something's different, isn't it?"

You couldn't stop yourself from giggling at your boyfriend's puzzled face but nodded nonetheless. "It is indeed. Do you have any clue as to what it could be?"

Yunho's brows furrowed at the question, fully concentrated on finding out the answer. You could feel the faintest tug from below, watching as he clenched down on the strap-on.

"I- I'm not entirely sure, but the shape feels different. It feels a bit smaller too."

"Is that an issue?" You teased, a wide grin splitting your face. "Maybe it's not about the size with this one, who knows."

Yunho let out another confused sound at that, trying to decipher your words. Maybe it vibrates? Or inflates somehow? Or changes temperature? Okay, no, probably not that last one.

But then what could possibly make this one special?

Despite being very invested in uncovering the mystery of this strange fake cock, the moment you actually began moving, all rational thoughts flew out the window. Big or small, thanks to your skilled hips, the toy still hit all the best spots inside of him just the way he liked it, reducing him to a moaning and groaning mess.

"Miss, please! Harder!" Yunho desperately begged. With each thrust, the hold on his legs slowly began to falter, resulting in him dropping one to hold onto your back instead. You heeded his pleas, snapping into him with newfound force. His nails dug into your back, trying to steady himself while you rocked him up on the bed. His cock yet again lay neglected on his stomach, slapping around in its small puddle of precum with each thrust. This time, though, you felt more merciful, dropping one of the hands propping you up to grab a firm hold of it.

"Fuck!" Yunho cried out, throwing his head back. His chest heaved up and down, trying to keep up with the onslaught of pleasure in two places at once. "Miss, I'm so close, please let me cum, please!"

"Is that so?" You asked back, stalling for time as he thrashed under you, desperately holding back his orgasm until you'd allow it. "Wanna find out about the surprise right now, then?"

Oh, that's right. Yunho'd forgotten all about it, too distracted by you rocking his world like you always do.

Quickly nodding his head, he could only muster a dumb "uh-huh" in response.

"Look down, then."

Eagerly, he complied, even lifting his head up a bit to see better. Just as he'd suspected, this was a completely new toy, looking nothing like the ones you'd used before. From the color and the way it filled him just a little differently, to the strange shape of its base. Speaking of which, he watched as you leaned back and reached your hand - one that wasn't tugging at his aching cock - down to said base, wrapping around it.

"Gonna cum, pretty boy?" You asked, a mischievous glint in your eyes.

"Yes, please let me!" He replied desperately, trying to push back against your hand and strap at the same time.

"Then cum with me."

For a split second, Yunho was confused again. What do you mean, together? Were you also about to cum, completely untouched? But you didn't seem anywhere near affected enough to just cum on the spot like that, so what could you possibly mean?

Yunho was about to ask just that, but then he felt it.

Watching you squeeze the base of the strap, Yunho felt a strange pressure inside him, a bit further than the actual strap itself reached. And then he felt it again. And again.

You were cumming inside of him.

For a small moment, Yunho thought he had died. There was simply no way he could ever recover from such an orgasm, not a chance. His vision disappeared for a moment, and so did his hearing. The only thing he could feel was overwhelming pressure in his core, exploding into the most intense orgasm of his life. His chest and stomach kept tensing and relaxing, making his breath hitch with every shake of his body. Electricity was coursing through his body, from his head all the way to his toes and back.

He had no idea how much time had passed when he finally registered your hand on his cheek, tapping him lightly in hopes of getting his attention.

"Yunho?"

He took another big gulp of air before finally replying, "...yeah?"

"Oh, thank god," you sighed out in relief. "I was beginning to think you'd passed out on me."

"Honestly? I might have," Yunho chuckled incredulously, still in awe of everything that had just happened. His eyes had finally refocused, letting him see the curious yet worried look on your face. You were still naked, though the harness around your hips was gone. Now that his head was clearer, he could also feel a towel under his butt. When did that get there?

"I think that was the hardest I've ever cum in my entire life. Thought I had ascended for a moment there."

You laughed at his dazed response, smacking his chest gently. "Good to know at least one of us was having fun! I was so worried I had hurt you somehow!"

Although you meant it as a joke, Yunho knew there was a bit more sincerity to it than you intended to show. Sighing softly, he beckoned you closer, only to then fully pull you into his arms, chest resting against his. He could feel the utter mess he'd made that was now smeared between you but decided to ignore it for now. That could wait until his brain worked at least semi-properly again. "Don't worry, babe, I'm completely fine. Just need a moment to calm down."

You hummed non-committally, still feeling a bit unsure after having your boyfriend turn unresponsive for like half a minute. "It was good, though, right?"

Yunho chuckled, jostling your body alongside his. "Love, I literally just told you I had the most insane orgasm of my life, how do you think you did?"

Sensing you were still unconvinced, he continued. "You were so amazing today, doing everything I've dreamed of and more, and then you top it all off with this? I'm quite literally the luckiest boyfriend alive. Seriously, you have no idea how much I loved today."

You chuckled, nuzzling your face into the crook of his neck. "Not really, I think you gave me more than enough evidence a few minutes ago. Evidence which should get cleaned up as soon as possible before we get even more sticky and gross, mind you."

"Oh, don't worry," Yunho grinned, holding you even tighter, "that's not up to you to decide anymore."

You stilled in his embrace, lifting your head up to look at him. "What do you mean?"

"Look at the clock, love."

00:04.

Uh oh.

"So, now that our special day is over, how about you get up here and let me repay the favor, hm? I don't think I've had quite enough in your office this morning."

taglist: @justconniez @domribo @another-random-fanfic-blog @imrllytootiredforthis

Thank you for reading! And remember, feedback is always very appreciated! <3

[januaryembrs]

YOU WERE LIKE AN ANGEL TO ME | Spencer Reid x Sunshine!Reader

Request: my DARLING @avis-writeshq says- i’m a menace but i ADORED the spencer fic u posted 🥹 UGH THEYRE SO CUTE YOUR HONOURRRR 👹if it’s okay, may i request another fic with the same couple 🙈 perhaps one day reader is not as sweet or chirpy as she usually is, or she gets injured or threatened in the field? much love and lots of kisses xoxo 🫶

Description: Spencer swore he wanted to hate her. She was too happy, too chirpy, too much for a guy who spent months rotting in prison. But how could he ever hate her when she cried in his chest like that?

Length: 5k (I'm feral for these two)

warnings: post prison reid. Angst. depiction of suicide from the Unsub. gory language used. guns mentioned. mention of $nuff video and other murders. Nothing that hasn't been done on CM already.

authors note: if y'all want to see more with these two just SAY because I am all ears I would die on this ship

There were a lot of times in his time at the BAU that Spencer had wished he could have changed the outcome of their bad guy, surprisingly enough. There was the time they found their UnSub a few minutes too late, and one of the victims fathers decided to take him out then and there with a shotgun to the head. He was just a kid. There was the entire time he was with Tobias Hankel, and he lived in a state of both fear and sympathy for the boy trapped in his own body after years of abuse. There was Nathan Harris, the kid who had stopped him at the subway station and practically begged him for help to stop his urges to murder, only to slit his own wrists before Spencer could get to him because he thought he was tainted. 

He could see how it was easy in their job to get wrapped up in saving the day, in saving everyone they could. He just had hoped, on some stupid grace of a god he didn’t even believe in, that she would have at least remained untouched by the bad luck. 

Spencer had always thought, since the first day he had arrived back into the office after his stint in prison, that she seemed to just waltz through life easier than anyone else. He knew the concept of luck was not quantifiable, that it was just a coincidence that good things happened to some people, and bad things happened to others. He always grouped himself in with the latter, because what was his entire life if not one bad hand of cards after another?

Part of him had been seething with vitriol jealousy when he first met her. He hated how the elevator doors seemed to open without hesitation for her, no waiting required. He hated how her hair never seemed to fall out of place, while his required primping and preening to upkeep. He hated how she was always so happy, whether it had been she’d been given an extra cookie at the bakery for free, or her coffee had just tasted super delicious that morning, or the road works clogging the city had been put on hold the one day she needed to drive into the office. She was one of those people, he had decided, that life just seemed to smile down upon, and she beamed back in that dazzling grin. 

He felt sick to his stomach for ever wishing it gone, especially when she looked like she might never smile again. 

They never liked to say that they had easy cases and hard ones, all of their cases were difficult to process. But this one had been a handful above the rest. 

“UnSub has been killed on site, all units stand down,” Luke said into the radio, and the entire squadron took a sigh of relief, all of them except him. 

Because he saw that look in her eye, the way everything sparkly about her seemed to have vanished.

They had been following Bobbie Wrids for a week. Five bodies in, five men shot between the eyes execution style, almost six by the time they’d arrived on the scene. 

She’d gone with Tara around the front of the abandoned building; Penelope tracked their newest victim, Henry Frond, through his phone pinging off the nearest satellite towers, and it had been straight forward from there. Or at least it should have been. 

Because by the time Spencer and Luke arrived in their own SUV, Penelope had time to access the rest of Henry’s phone, and it was clear to see the victimology behind all six men. 

They were distributing snuff videos of women, some between themselves, some to other usernames on the darkweb, and Bobbie Wrids’ daughter had been one of them.

Bobbie had become somewhat of a vigilante, but he was a grieving father above all. He was a wounded animal chomping at the bit to soothe the ripping pain of his daughter's murder, the same one those men were getting off to. 

Tara and her exchanged a glance as Penelope relayed the information over their headsets, her once serious expression falling into something sombre and sorrowful. How could she arrest a man she couldn’t help but feel sorry for, one she couldn’t help but think wasn’t entirely wrong in his actions. 

“Bobbie Wrids,” Tara’s voice was stern, cutting through the silence of the desolate building. Their footsteps were careful as they made their way through the hallway, down to what had once been a rec-room, or perhaps a staff room, where they knew Bobbie had Henry, “This is the FBI, we’d like to talk,” 

They heard nothing, and she looked up to the older woman hesitantly, her finger hovering over the trigger the way Spencer had taught her. Tara took a minute, knowing she was leading the charge here with the girl being so inexperienced, before she nodded to the door knob and the rookie twisted the handle, pushing the peeling wood open gently. 

Bobbie Wrids stood in the centre of the room, moth eaten couches either side of the damp rug, the ceiling tiles half caved in from wear and tear. Henry Frond was already a pulp in the UnSub’s arms, and yet it was Bobbie that her eyes shot to first, sympathy shooting through every fibre of her being when she saw the distraught look on the father’s face. 

He was grieving. He was grieving his little girl’s death. He was looking for a solution, and this seemed to be his best bet. 

“Bobbie,” Her voice was shaky, her and Tara frozen in the doorway as the man brought the pistol to Henry’s beaten face, cocking it towards his temple before they could even explain themselves. “We’re going to come in, is that okay? We just want to talk, just let us talk-”

They had only edged closer by three paces between them as she was speaking before his knuckles turned white and he squeezed the gun tighter to Henry’s skin, the barrel contorting the flesh, “Don’t come any closer, this pig isn’t worth your mercy,”

“We know,” She said, her and Tara slowly stepping over a fallen ceiling tile, cracking under her boot as she met his desolate gaze for the first time, his head snapping to her. “We know what he did, Bobbie. What they all did.”

His throat bobbed, his bottom lip quivering and the sight of it, a man so broken, forced a frog into her oesophagus, and she willed herself not to cry. 

“They hurt my little girl,” Bobbie choked out, his face turning mauve as the tears began to build behind his eyes, “She was my girl. She was only eighteen.” 

She nodded, his wetted hues seemingly permissive when she stepped closer to where he held Henry hostage. 

“I know, I’m so sorry for what happened to her,” She said, her voice croaky, unstable as she wrenched it into something audible, “I’m so sorry,” 

“He doesn’t deserve mercy, none of them did,” Bobbie spat, his forearm crushing against Henry’s trachea in a vice-like grip. The man floundered, a wheeze coming from his lungs, not that she felt much sympathy for him. 

She sprung into action, flicking her gun onto safety and holstering it, Tara doing the same as she lowered her weapon to her side. He profiled as a vigilante; he had no reason to hurt them. 

“Bobbie, listen, I know they didn’t deserve to walk free, okay?” She said, taking the smallest step towards where the men stood, “But she wouldn’t want this for you, would she?”

The man flinched, his jaw hard as a rock with how he clenched his teeth together, as if holding back a sob. 

“Come on, Bobbie. Let him go, we have enough evidence to get him sentenced. We can get you a plea deal, I know a good lawyer,” She begged, because she wasn’t beneath it, because she knew he was a good man backed into a corner, “Please,”

Maybe it was the way her eyes were soft when she looked at him, or the fact two more agents burst into the room from the hallway, Spencer’s eye immediately falling to where she was stood so close to their UnSub, her gun out of hand. Tara stood by, but that wasn’t good enough for him. He edged with light footsteps until he was behind her, his gaze cautious, never leaving the gun in Bobbie’s hand. 

“Please,” She repeated, and Spencer saw Bobbie’s shoulders drop, every sliver of resolve draining from his body at her gentle tone, a deer approaching a hunter. 

Henry was thrown to the floor, the man practically dead weight as he gasped, almost retching at the feeling of air sucking back into his chest frantically, and Luke and Tara were quick to wrestle him into cuffs, the woman reading him his Miranda rights. 

Spencer almost made a grab for her then, because she was still creeping forward towards the man who had a loaded gun still live in his hand. He didn’t care for one second that the statistics said Bobbie wouldn’t lay a hand on her since she wasn’t part of his list. He didn’t care that every sign pointed to their UnSub being benevolent towards women, especially younger ones, that she fit his daughter’s description. Spencer didn’t care, he wanted her as far away from that gun as possible. 

His heart lurched into his throat when Bobbie did in fact make a lunge for her, just not the way he’d feared. Because she had grabbed him. She’d pulled him into an embrace, a hug, kind and sweet as she always was. 

Spencer cursed her for being so soft. It was going to get her killed. 

“Agent,” His voice was terse, worried if you dug a little deeper than the sharp surface, but she didn’t listen to him. She held Bobbie tight as the man unravelled on her shoulder, falling into heart breaking sobs and it was then Spencer realised she was crying with him. 

“It’s going to be okay, you’re okay,” She was shushing him, the killer, reassuring him he was safe, as if the killing thing wasn’t still between his fingers that clutched at her back with rough hands. 

“They killed my girl, they took her from me, and then they laughed about it,” He wailed, and she nodded, squeezing him even tighter if that was so possible, “No one would listen, the police didn’t listen, I had to do something,”

“I know, I know, I’m so sorry,” This was wrong. She wasn’t supposed to be sympathising with the criminals. But she couldn’t help it, she couldn’t help the gasping urge to comfort the man who had lost his whole world, “I’m listening. Tell me about her,” 

“She was so beautiful,” Bobbie whimpered, sniffling into her shoulder. Spencer felt his chest twinge at the scene. He hated that she was so soft. “She never hurt a soul,”

She cried with him, though hers were choked down as much as she could get them, her wet cheeks the only proof she had ever let them slip. 

“I’m sorry,” She said again, because no matter how many times she repeated those two little words, it would never bring his daughter back, “I can help you,”

He pulled away from her shoulder, and it was only then that Bobbie Wrids even noticed Spencer, his face taut in anxiety as he watched the man’s hands still holding onto her body as if she was the only thing that kept him upright, which Spencer wouldn’t be surprised if it were true. 

He fished the cuffs out of his back pocket, his finger never leaving the trigger as he stared down at their UnSub cautiously. He knew he may be being cruel, knew that ten years ago he would be just as caring as her. But that Spencer was long gone. And what remained was screaming in terror that she was in the line of danger, that she was holding the danger in her bare hands like she didn’t see the jeopardy she was putting herself in. 

Bobbie pulled away to look at her, the creases around his eyes deep chasms, and even with the smattering of grey hair, the stubble, the cold, empty look of someone with nothing left, she thought he might have been a handsome man once. He looked at her with a ghost of a smile, and one of his callused hands came up to tuck her hair behind her ear as if it had been second nature to him for eighteen years. 

“You’re a sweet girl,” He murmured, and she blinked at him, her chest easing at the way his wails had subsided into something quiet. She could help him, she swore she would help him. He was a good man beneath it all. “But no one can help me anymore, sweet girl,”

And with that he lifted the pistol beneath his chin and pulled the trigger.

—

She heard someone scream before she realised it was coming from her own throat, but her ears were ringing and she couldn’t open her eyes. Her face was wet and hot, and for a second she thought it was tears, but she was beyond crying now. She felt arms pulling her back into a strong chest, and someone was murmuring to her, or perhaps they were speaking normally and the sound of the gunshot had knocked her hearing. Either way, it was like someone had pulled a bag over her head as she brought her shaking hands up to her eyes to wipe. 

She managed to crack her lids then when the sludge was gone, only to see the room still a blurry mess. She could make out, in the haze of blobs and crimson tint, Bobbie’s body slumped to the floor, a dark puddle seeping into the rug as those long arms tugged her out of the room. She only then looked down to her hands where she had rubbed her face and she caught the same claret plasma coating her fingers, her white shirt, her pants, her arms. It covered her head to toe. 

It was in her eyes, she realised when she saw the ichor coating her fingertips. It was blocking her vision, turning the world a vivid wine colour, and she thinks she whimpered, or perhaps it was a moan of horror seeing the puddle beneath Bobbie’s body growing larger by the second. 

“I don’t understand,” She said out loud, her head spinning, and she brought her fingertips up to her eyes again, maybe to get the blood out, god there was so much blood on her face, or maybe because she hoped to everything out there that she would clear her sight and find it all a terrible hallucination, the product of one too many nights of sleepless tossing. 

But when she rubbed her lids again, this time seeing the scene a little better, Bobbie was still dead. She had still been too late. 

“You’re in shock, you need to breathe,” A voice instructed her over her shoulder, and it was from the same person who had their hands around her waist, pulling her away from the crime scene, as CSI filed in from behind them. 

She tried pushing the arms off her, weak because she couldn’t feel anything that wasn’t the horror in her stomach, and it took her a second before she listened to their words and realised she was holding a breath in her chest, the way a toddler does when they’re overwhelmed. 

“I don’t-” She gasped, the air rushing through her lungs, so fast it made her cough, “I don’t understand, I was going to help him- I don’t understand- why?”

“I know, just breathe for me, sweetheart,” Spencer. She only just realised it was Spencer speaking, because he had never called her that and the gentle tone he’d taken was nothing like his usual, civil cadence. He had been dropping a few jokes the past few weeks since she’d driven him home, had been more touchy feely with correcting her form when she was at the shooting range, had delicately touched the small of her back when they were navigating a crowd together. He was slowly cracking from his statuesque expression that hadn’t left his face since he’d gotten out of prison, but the softness with which he held her waist was entirely new. 

“Spencer, I don’t- I don’t get it,” She said, her voice bubbling into a sob as she allowed herself to be pulled away with no fight left in her. He took her into the hallway, turning her body from the sight of his hand lifeless on the floor with little to no effort. She was damn near limp in his arms, “Spencer, I don’t under-understand, I was going to h-help him, why would h-he do that-”

“Shhh, you need to breathe,” He murmured into her hair, trying to lead her out the front of the building and far away from where she’d just been front row seats to a messy suicide, “Come on, just breathe for me, baby, and then we can talk,”

But she wasn’t listening, and he wasn’t offended. Spencer knew it was the shock. He knew the symptoms by how her respiratory system had picked up in a matter of seconds and it was like she had gone from zero to a hundred. She let out a long whine, tears collecting the blood on her lash line and her chest seized into action, gulping down air, too short to do anything for her lungs, and her legs began to buckle beneath the two of them. 

Spencer stopped in the hallway, realising she was in more shock than he must have thought. He knew she was sensitive, hell it was one of his favourite things about her. He knew she felt everything so deeply, burned too easily, like a daisy wilting in a dry heat, or candyfloss melting in his mouth. Spencer knew, as awful as watching death up close was for any agent, it would hit her hardest of all of them. 

He moved around to her front, his hands migrating from her waist up to her shoulders, brushing over her upper arms soothingly. But her body felt numb, her head felt heavy, and her eyes were glazed over, down a rabbit hole entirely away from him, even when one of his hands cupped her wetted cheek gently. 

“Just breathe, hey, look at me,” He tried a firmer tone, and she bent to his will too easily. It was a punch in the gut seeing everything shining and pretty leached out of her eyes, as if she had become soulless in a matter of minutes, as if she had lost all hope in the world the second Bobbie pulled that trigger. She looked like hell, blood still fresh on her cheeks, in her hair, smeared around her eye sockets where she had scrubbed so hard to get it off her skin, “You need to calm down, you’re going to faint if you don’t breathe,”

She nodded, or something close to it, her eyes falling down to the floor, and she seemed to wrestle for control over her chest then. But what came after was worse, Spencer thought. Her brows screwed together, her eyes welling up with more of those fat tears, and her lips dropping into a devastated pout, her eyes trailing over the mess on her uniform, on her hands. 

“Spencer, I don’t understand, I tried to help him, I wanted to help him,” She sobbed, sniffling to herself miserably, and he barely even thought about it when he pulled her into his chest, not caring that her skin would dirty his shirt. 

His hand wound into her hair, stroking her sweetly as she buried her wails into his vest. He used his other arm to pull her close to him, which she seemed to have zero qualms about as she clawed at his back to keep him close, as if she didn’t want to face what was going to happen when they left that building. 

Spencer regretted ever thinking her sunshine was too bright for him. 

–

She hadn’t smiled in a whole week. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. She had given Penny a very forced smile when she had fussed over the younger woman the first day she got back, had said thankyou with downcast eyes and a fragile grin when the blonde presented her with a framed picture of a puppy to keep on her desk ‘incase she needed something nice to think about,’

She hadn’t looked at it once, because they both knew it wouldn’t do anything, no matter how much she pretended for Penelope’s sake that she would put it to good use. 

He had taken her out for coffee on him that first day, but by the time they had got to the front of the queue, he had been doing almost all of the talking, which had become rare nowadays since he had come home from Mexico. Usually, it had been her filling the silences, because he knew in her right mind she hated the sound of static nothingness, she found it awkward and unnecessary when she could talk to anyone without thinking about it too hard. 

They had got to the desk, the barista smiling up at him as he ordered his usual, before he turned to look at her as the woman serving asked her what she would like. But she wasn’t listening, she was watching out the window, nothing particularly invigorating beside a bird cleaning its feathers on top of a stop sign. 

He said her name, putting his hand on her back and her head whipped around, her eyes empty as they looked up at him expectantly, “What do you want to drink?” 

She blinked, waking herself from a stupor, and looked at the barista with an embarrassed expression, “Hot chocolate, please,” 

And that was all she really had to say until lunch rolled around, and she excused herself to head home early. Emily smiled at her reassuringly, her eyes wary as she watched their happy-go-lucky rookie head for the elevators with a desolate look in her eyes. 

Spencer hoped she would come around on her own, or maybe even be brave enough to talk to someone about the thoughts rattling around that head of hers, but she just didn’t. She stayed as silent as possible, only ever speaking when spoken to, asking Emily if she could finish off her reports at home, to which the Prentiss woman never protested. 

But Spencer had had enough. He’d worried himself sick over her, and where all thoughts of how endearing and lovely and charming she was had sat in his head before, now it was all just ways he could think to make her smile again. 

It was the following Tuesday by the time he braved action. She had gone home after their midday briefing, apologising to Emily with tired eyes that seemed to be growing more and more heavy by the day, like she hadn’t slept a wink in a fortnight. Which Spencer thought was entirely possible. 

He pulled up to the house Penelope had not so discreetly told him was hers, definitely not because he’d asked, and definitely, definitely not breaching any human resource policies about distributing fellow workers information (meaning Spencer had almost certainly not begged Penelope for the address with those puppy eyes of his he knew could bag him anything). 

The peonies in the window bays were wilting but her house was something out of a fairytale. He wasn’t sure why he was really so surprised. It screamed her, everything about it, from the toadstool post box to the little green, cast iron bench that sat in the garden, the metal forged to look like florets of ivy holding the sitter upright. 

He rapped the brass knocker, the metal cold under his long fingers. Brushing invisible dirt off his shirt, he hoped she would answer as the present squirmed at his feet. 

“Just a second,” He hushed, and as if she heard him, the front door swung open to reveal her bare face he hadn’t seen since he’d helped her wipe the blood from her skin in the back of the ambulance. 

She looked at him with furrowed brows, before they quickly shot to the floor, to her cobbled pathway that had clicked under his shoes, and her face washed with a shock. 

“Oh my god, Spencer!” She crouched to her knees, a slobbery lick immediately meeting her cheek as the Spaniel rubbed his wet nose up to her ear, sniffing her unique smell, as if it was a bag of Class A’s, “I never knew you had a dog,” 

“I don’t,” He replied, kneeling with her to ruffle the soft fur behind the canine’s ear, “This is Ace. He retired from the Bomb Unit a month ago and Penelope sent me his handler’s number. They said he’s the happiest dog in the world,” 

 “I would be too if I stopped so many people from blowing up,” She said, but before he could ask what she meant exactly by that, Ace had jumped up and attacked her entire face with kisses as if he too thought that statement was worth silencing. 

And she laughed. She laughed louder than she had in days, weeks, her eyes crinkling in joy as the little pink tongue stole away her sorrow, tickled away the traces of the blood that had tainted her skin. 

Spencer smiled, his eyes watching her face scrunch in a squeal, hands eventually coming up to the elderly dog’s jowls to gently push him down. 

“Oh, you are the sweetest guy,” She said, and the words had him tugging at the leash to lick her all over again, “Yes you are, you’re the sweetest little guy around, huh?” 

She chuckled, scratching down the mutt’s neck, and her eyes flicked back up to Spencer, who watched her with more intent than she’d realised. 

“Petting and receiving affection from pets causes spikes in serotonin in our brain and reduces anxiety, did you know that?” Spencer said, Ace pushing his muzzle into the palm of her hand to prove a point. 

Her smile wavered slightly, and she looked at his hazel hues that seemed to see right through her, “Look, I’m sorry I’ve been so off lately, I just can’t sleep at the moment-”

 “Don’t apologise,” He cut in, though his tone was kind, and the two of them stood back up to their full height, “What happened was horrifying, even some of the longest serving agents I know would struggle seeing that,” 

She scoffed, unusually pessimistic coming out of her mouth, “You wouldn’t,”

His head tilted, not quite understanding what she meant, because she hadn’t sounded cruel when she said it. Then again, he didn’t think she was actually capable of that emotion. 

She looked at him, a flash of something vulnerable in her eyes, something like that day he’d held her in the hallway; too fast he almost missed it.

“You’re so brave, Spencer, you’re like invincible. I mean, you survived prison and your mom getting kidnapped and you bounced straight back to work like it was nothing. I can’t even watch a murderer die without spiralling out of control,” She huffed, rubbing the bridge of her nose and before he could respond on just how wrong she was, before he could tell her that that was exactly the opposite of what had happened because he had damn near changed every inch of himself in prison to stop himself from breaking, he caught her murmuring and he thought he might just have been punched all over again, “I wish I was like you,”

His jaw clenched, eyebrows furrowing into a frown as he stepped towards her, and her head shot to him, worried she may have said the wrong thing by mentioning everything that had happened, everything Pen had specifically said was a touchy subject, and she opened her mouth to apologise. 

“Do you know how unbelievably glad I am that you are nothing like me?” Spencer said, his voice bordering on furious and her fumbled for a reply, worried she had truly pissed him off. 

She wouldn’t blame him for hating her. She’d always worried, until perhaps that day they’d gotten into her car and she’d driven him home, that her very essence annoyed him. 

“I’m sorry-” She started, but he shook his head.

“Stop apologising,” He said, his hand reaching up to grab where her fingers tugged together nervously, his hold featherlike, his face softening when he saw her expression, “I don’t want you to be anything like me. I like you just how you are,” 

She sighed, eyes doe like with emotion as she looked at him, “Really?”

He smiled, a rare and genuine smile as she seemed to glow under his words, “Yes, really.” Spencer allowed himself to enjoy the way that the twinkle returned to her expression when he smiled at her with something almost like the old Spencer in him, before he cleared his throat, “We all like you. Everyone on the team likes how you are,”

She paused, nodding to herself as if knocking herself out of a silly daze, and Ace bounced on his hind legs trying to get her attention again. 

“You don’t think I’m too sensitive?” She asked, holding her palm out for the dog to nuzzle at with that wet nose of his. 

Spencer shook his head, “Sensitive is good. It means you feel something. Means you feel the good things deeper too,” 

Her smile was blinding, because she’d never thought of it that way before, and she looked like her old self again. Spencer wasn’t stupid enough to think she was never going to think about Bobbie again, he still thought about that first UnSub he’d tried to save. He still thought about Tobias Hankel. He thought about them all. 

But he was going to make sure she never turned into him. He didn’t think he’d ever forgive himself if she did. He’d protect her sunlight even if it burned him to know he could never have her the way he wanted. Because she was everything good, and he was him. 

She looked down at Ace, the life returning to her as she stood aside for the two of them to enter her house, “Tea?”

Yep. Spencer felt something run hot knowing she would always be out of reach. Didn’t stop him from thinking about it, though. 

[moonsgemini]

cherry wine - firefighter!rafe pt. 2

* ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩ ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚ ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩ ₊˚ ⋅

summary: Rafe’s job gets in the way of your first date, but you’re not mad about it.

warnings: teacher!reader x firefighter!rafe, fluff, mutual pining, flirting, sexy rafe, SMUT, fingering, fem rec oral, fem!reader, inaccurate descriptions of firefighter duties, alcohol, cursing

an: I have no idea how a fire fighters schedule works so I made it up bc it’s fiction. oh & do we like the long fics?? oh & it’s my birthday yay to 24

part one

* ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩ ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚ ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩ ₊˚ ⋅

The night at the bar Rafe made sure you were sober to drive. He had you drink lots of water and even ordered you a plate of fries. His mind wandering off when you would lick the salt off your fingers. He was gone for you from the start and he didn’t mind one bit.

After walking you to your car he asked for your number and promised to see you the next day. Leaving you with a kiss on the cheek and permanent butterflies. The whole drive home you belted out the lyrics to your favorite pop music, feeling like a high school girl with a crush.

Rafe drove him in silence with a grin on his face. When he got home and texted you that he had a great time and couldn’t wait to see you again that grin never vanished. It only widened when you replied reciprocating the same feelings.

The next day came and a couple hours before picking you up Rafe got called into the station. Instead of texting he called you wanting to make sure you knew he wasn’t flaking. You believed him of course. Yet you couldn’t help the natural feeling of disappointment that flowed through your bones.

That feeling was soothed when he texted you late that night that he had finally gotten back to the station. Along with that he sent a picture of the station dog Max on his lap. You couldn’t help the way your mouth watered at the sight of his veiny big hand that was resting in the golden retrievers fur. In return you sent back a picture of your steaming mug of tea and a horror movie playing on the tv in the back.

It sparked a conversation about movies which led to you and Rafe talking non stop the following week. Besides the times you were teaching and he was out training or helping people.

Rafe promised you a proper date that upcoming Friday. Making sure to let you know that he would do anything to make it work out this time. You reassured him it was okay if something came up again. That made his heart burst, it wasn’t often that someone was willing to work with his hectic schedule.

-

The outfit you had planned for the previous weekend still sat on your vanity chair waiting to be worn. And hopefully waiting to be taken off. You had finished your hair and makeup all done to perfection. As it neared closer to the time he was picking you up your anxiety spiked. He hadn’t called to reschedule so it was really happening.

Rafe had gotten worked up all week with the pictures you’d occasionally send of what you were doing. The one that really got him was when you had gotten out of the shower and sent him a picture of you in a fuzzy robe with wet hair and your skin glistening. Most likely due to a skincare routine you had mentioned to him.

Rafe thought you looked like a goddess, he wished he could have gotten down on his knees and untied that robe with his teeth before worshiping you. His kind had been in the gutter all week.

He was making sure this date was going to go perfect. He bought a bouquet of flowers from a street vendor and worn his best date outfit. As he rang the doorbell to your small cottage he started to get a bit nervous. He hadn’t put this much effort into a date since high school. Even then how much effort could a teenage boy put in. He didn’t actually remember the last time he went on a date.

Rafe’s runaway thoughts were interrupted as you opened the door. Standing in front of him in a short black skirt and black top. A jacket hanging over your arm and your glossy lips turning up into a smile. The boots you were accentuated your legs making them look even longer. Rafe wanted to lick every inch of you. Especially after the smell of your perfume hit him, he wanted to kiss your neck.

“Hi,” You said with a teasing tone.

He didn’t realize he hadn’t said anything, “You look beautiful.” He made it a point to look her up and down.

She laughed as heat creeped up her neck, “Thank you Rafe.”

He loved how you said his name, “These are for you.” He handed you the flowers.

“Come in while I put them in water,” You nodded towards the inside of the house, “They’re beautiful Rafe. You really do know how to treat me good.”

He closed the door behind him as you began filling a vase with water, “Oh this is nothing.”

“If there’s more than this I might start to like you a little too much,” You joked hoping the weight of those words don’t send him running. You didn’t mean to say something so forward so soon. Literally on the first date, but you decided to stick by your words. You didn’t want to hide that you liked him.

“Perfect, because I already like you a little too much.”

You froze with the kitchen towel in your hands as you dries them. As you looked at him his smile was sincere, no hint of teasing or lying. You finished drying your hands as you laughed softly. The crush you had on Rafe was growing by the minute.

“Ready?” You asked.

He nodded opening the front door for you. He even opened the passenger door of his truck for you. Of course you knew these were bare minimum things but you couldn’t help how giddy it made you feel. Especially when it was him doing it for you.

-

Everything couldn’t have been going more perfect. Rafe was almost grateful he had to postpone the date because in the week the two of you talked he learned a lot. With the knowledge of you he had he planned the perfect date.

He took you to a record shop that you hadn’t been to before. You had told him about your extensive collection you had started building in high school. He even remembered a few of the bands you liked when he came across them. Of course he insisted on buying you a couple which you repeatedly told him not to. Obviously he didn’t listen and bought you them.

Next door was the Italian restaurant Rafe had been raving about all week. Promising you it’d be the best pasta of your life.

But as you looked over the menu, a ghost of a grin hasn’t left your mouth all evening, his phone started ringing. Rafe took his phone out of his pocket beginning to apologize for not silencing it. He was going to ignore the call but the name across the screen had his brows furrowing in worry.

“Everything okay?”

He looked up briefly, “Uh yeah it’s my captain. I’m so sorry I need to answer this.” You nodded understanding as he gave you a regretful smile as he slid out the booth to take the call. You continued to look over the cocktail menu.

Rafe sighed as he sat down across from you again, “Everything okay?” You asked

He shook his head, “I hate to do this but I got called in. I wasn’t supposed to work today but there’s a hug pile up downtown where there’s a big concert and they need all the help they can get.”

You tried not to show the disappointment you felt because it was his job after all. Rafe could still see how your eyes lost a bit of their shine and your smile wasn’t as bright anymore. He really hated this. In his career so far he had never been called in so much. But now when he meets the hottest woman he’s ever seen work is taking over his life. He was not about to have you slip through his fingers.

“Oh yeah I understand. You can just drop m-“ You began saying before he interrupted.

“Come with me.”

“Huh?”

He shook his head with a laugh, “Not to the wreck to the station. Wait for me there.”

He didn’t even wait for you to reply because for one he needed to leave now or Captain Matthews would chew his head off. And two if you decided you didn’t want to and wanted nothing to do with him anymore he’s take you home, but the sound of your laugh as he pulled you through the restaurant was enough of an answer. Your hands stayed locked together until you got back into his truck.

The station wasn’t too far from where you already were so the drive was short. Rafe rushed out to open your door and grab your hand once again. As you trailed behind him you saw a few of the guys from career day and some new faces as they all stood by an engine in the garage. A couple were checking equipment and a few others were already getting on the truck.

“Sorry to interrupt your date but we need your help here Cameron,” An older guy said as the two of you approached. You assumed this was his captain.

You smiled, “Duty calls right?”

He laughed, “It sure does.”

“I’ll be right out,” Rafe said leading you into the station. He walked you into a room that was like a big living room with couches and a tv. Max was laying on the couch and when he saw Rafe he immediately got up and walked over to the pair.

“This is Max. Say hi Maxie bug,” He pet the dogs head who then sniffed your leg. You bent down petting his fluffy head.

“Hi Maxie.”

“Make yourself at home and feel free to anything in the kitchen. I’ll be back hopefully in a couple hours. If you get bored and uber home I won’t be offended I promise,” Rafe said placing a hand on your shoulder.

You nodded, “Got it. Be safe and good luck.”

He leaned in with a grin and kissed your cheek gingerly. Even that small touch had your head spinning. You and Max watched as he jogged back outside and only a couple minutes later you heard the truck leave.

-

It had been almost two hours now and Rafe was still out. You had watched a fe episodes of your favorite sitcom and played with Max a bit. You even explored the station finding the kitchen and a few of the rooms used for sleeping where you stole a blanket from to lay over yourself on the couch. The only issue you were having was that you were starving.

Since you two had to leave dinner you hadn’t eaten since lunch and that meesley turkey sandwich was not cutting it.

That’s when you wandered into the kitchen and that habit of wanting to take care of people kicked in. You looked through to see what the guys had almost expecting to find the bare minimum. You were so wrong. The fridge and pantry were filled with groceries. You thought these guys must really eat a lot.

You started brain storming and decided on making lasagna and garlic bread. You figured they’d all be hungry when they got back and you were also starving. As the garlic bread finished in the oven and the lasagna cooled down you heard the rumbling of the fire truck. Perfect timing. You hoped you didn’t overstep but he did say make yourself at home. You even baked some chocolate chip cookie dough they had in the fridge. Even also tossing a salad to have on the side.

As Rafe opened the door that led to the station the smell of garlic bread and fresh baked cookies hit him. He thought he must be hallucinating until he walked into the kitchen and saw you getting plates out from the cupboard. A few of the guys walked in behind Rafe.

“Hey we’re back,” Rafe said stepping towards you, “Did you make dinner?”

You nodded a bit of embarrassment creeping up your spine, “Yeah hope you guys don’t mind. I was hungry and I figured you were too so I made food for you all.”

Josh stepped forward looking at the pan of lasagna, “Rafe keep her please, this looks amazing.”

“Seriously thank you this looks so good,” Captiain Matthews said as he stepped in.

“No problem please help yourselves,” You motioned towards the counter of food.

Rafe couldn’t look away from you. The way you stood so comfortably in the station kitchen talking to his coworkers. He walked closer towards you as the guys served themselves.

“You are just too sweet huh?” He teased.

“Well we missed our italian dinner so I made it myself,” You shrugged with a grin.

“That just means next time I’m cooking for you,” He said. The thought of there being a next time brough butterflies to your stomach.

“I’ll hold you to it,” You nodded.

Rafe grabbed a plate and began to serve you food. Handing over the plate before serving himself. All the guys thanked you as Rafe led you to the living room area. He also grabbed a bottle from one of the tall cabinets along with two glasses.

“Now I know this isn’t what I promised you but next time will be better,” He promised as he opened the bottle of wine.

“There’s no complaints from me about this date,” You shrugged, “Since when are you allowed to have alcohol in here?”

He smirked, “Well miss I’m technically off the clock again and this is from the christmas party we had a few months ago. Cherry wine?”

Your eyes lit up, “It’s like you know me already, I love cherry wine.”

-

After your stomachs were full of good food and a bit of wine that made your head feel a bit floaty you both settled on the couch. This was the best date you’d ever been on. Rafe was sweet and flirty never hiding his desire for you. Not even in a sexual way but in a way where he constantly asked questions about everything wanting to know more about you. He talked about his life as well which only made you like him more. Hearing about his troubled privileged childhood that led him to where he is now. It was admirable to hear him talk about it with no shame since it made him who he is.

As it got later Rafe drove you home. You were disappointed the night was ending but it was nearing one in the morning and you still had lesson plans to create.

He walked you up to your door with an arm wrapped around your shoulders.

“I had a really great time with you tonight. I’m sorry again for the interruption.”

You shook your head, “Don’t worry about it Rafe. I still had a great time.”

“The guys are going to want you around all the time now,” He laughed.

“Oops,” You shrugged with a smirk.

He stepped closer, “Be careful now I might get jealous.”

“Maybe I’ll keep going then,” You tucked a piece of hair behind your ear, “I know it’s late but uh do you want to come in?”

Rafe didn’t hesitate, “Yeah sure.”

You unlocked your door leading him in, “I can make you a cup of tea if you’d like or something else.” You asked as you set your things down on the entryway table.

“hmmm something else?” He asks as he steps closer to you.

You look through your cupboards, “I have tea, coffee, some random-“ your words caught in your throat as you turned around to look at him only to find Rafe behind you.

“That all sounds good but I think I want something sweet,” He said as he inched closer. Your hands rested behind you against the counter. Eyes wide with anticipation and curiosity as to what his next move would be.

“Like sweat tea?” You asked knowing exactly what he means but not wanting to jump to conclusions.

His smirk turned into a lopsided grin. He rubbed his hand over his mustache and shook his head stepping closer, “No that cherry wine was pretty sweet right?”

You nodded in agreement not taking your eyes off him.

“I think I want a bit more of that,” He was now practically caging you in against the counter. You felt like you were suffocating in him in the best way possible.

“Oh I don-“ He interrupted you by leaning forward and brushing his nose against yours. It shut you up immediately and then he broke the rest of the distance and pressed his lips to yours. You reciprocated moved your hands from the counter to pull at the blonde hair at the back of his head. His hands went to your hips pulling you closer to him then sliding up to your waist.

His thumbs going under your shirt the skin on skin contact made you shiver in the best way. Your mouths moved in sync as the kiss deepened.

Rafe could taste the sweetness but he wasn’t sure if it was the cherry wine or just you. He knew he was addicted to you now. He loved the way your hands felt in his hair and on his biceps and shoulders. He slotted his leg in between yours making you feel even closer to him. The small noises you were making made him sigh into the kiss.

He pulled away before kissing you a few more times and murmuring, “So sweet.”

You whined and tugged at his shirt to pull him back in. He smirked and gave you what you wanted. He’d give you anything you wanted.

This time you pulled away feeling a bit bold and the feeling of his thigh pressing against the place where you needed him the most helped you say, “You wanna see my room?”

He laughed softly kissing your nose, “You inviting me to your room?”

You scoffed a laugh, “Nooo I’m asking if you want to see my room. There’s a difference.”

“I’d love to see your room.” He said with a smirk.

You rolled your eyes playfully and shoved him. Grabbing his hand and leading him down the hallway to your room. You turned on the lamp on your nightstand which illuminated the room with a soft glow. Rafe had decidedly that he loved seeing you in that light. You looked like a real like angel.

“So this is it,” You said motioning to your surroundings.

He threw his head back with a hearty laugh, “Oh I really like you sweetheart. Come here,” He motioned with his fingers for you to come closer. A motion that had your mind in the gutter.

“Why do you say that?” You question as you walk forward to where he stood at the end of your bed.

“Because you’re all cute and sweet like you didn’t almost make me come just by making out.”

“Rafe!” You said with a surprised laugh.

He shrugged, “What? It’s the truth.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck still feeling bold. There was something about how unabashedly he admitted his feelings towards you that had you feeling confident. It felt good to be wanted. It felt good to be wanted by Rafe.

“You’re ridiculous,” You said as he wrapped his arms around your waist. His eyes moving down to your still swollen lips.

“Mhmm,” He hummed and nodded. He leaned in just like he did earlier in the kitchen. Kissing the air out of your lungs. His hands moved all over you gripping and holding anything he could.

His hand slipped down your back and over your butt, giving a squeeze as he past it, down to the end of your skirt, His fingers trailed up the back of your thigh and up your skirt. Hands gripping your ass under your skirt. You couldn’t help the moan that escaped your lips which allowed him more access into your mouth.

There was a small part of your brain that hadn’t quite turned off yet. Rafe’s lips began to trail down to your neck leaving open mouthed kisses that had you arching into him. The feeling of his mustache against your smooth skin had you shivering.That’s when that part of your brain decided to speak up.

“Oh Rafe,” You said breathily eyes fluttering shut, “are you sure, it’s late and don’t you have work?” Rafe groaned as he kissed the spot behind your ear. He couldn’t help but get more turned on at the sound of her caring about him, but work and sleep were far from his mind. Right now he just wanted to bury his head between your thighs and have you moaning and withering underneath him.

“Baby I could care less about that right now,” He walked you back until you were sat on the bed. The bed wasn’t very tall so when he stood in between your legs you had to look up at him. The way he towered over you had your flimsy underwear feeling soaked. You had never been so turned on by a man.

Rafe reached forward to cup your jaw. Thumb stroking your cheek gently. Now that part of your brain was completely silent. All you could think about was him.

“You’re so beautiful,” He mumbled almost to himself.

A soft smile appeared on your face and he practically groaned again. Your doe eyes looking up at him with an innocent smile had his cock hardening even more if that’s possible. He bit his lip and watched as your eyes moved to his mouth. He knew you wanted him as bad as he wanted you and that made this all the more exciting.

He slowly trailed his thumb to his mouth, pulling at her bottom lip teasingly. Almost like a habit your mouth opened slightly. He took this as a sign to gently push it into your mouth. You wrapped your lips around it sucking and licking.

“Fuck,” He muttered as he felt your warm tongue. Where had you been all his life. He was never going to let you go. He pulled it out and leaned down kissing you again.

“You’re so hot,” He mumbled as he got on his knees in front of you. He removed your boots that you were still wearing and kissed up both legs. The intimacy of it all had your chest rising rapidly. The anticipation of just how good you know this man is going to treat you was enough to make your toes curl.

“I’ve been thinking about these thighs since I first picked you up,” He said as he kissed your inner thighs. He had placed your legs over his shoulders, hands gripping the outside of them. You sighed as your body ignited in pleasure.

You let out a small yelp as he pulled your center closer to his face causing you to fall back, “And fuuuck I’ve been thinking about pushing this little skirt up all night.” He hummed in appreciation as he pushed the black material up. Your feet now resting on the end of the bed. Your barely clothed pussy on display. Leaning back on your elbows you watched with hazy eyes as Rafe admired you.

He looked up at you through hooded eyes and a smirk, “Can I please taste you?” He knew you wouldn’t say no but he wanted to be a gentleman anyways.

“Please,” You whispered slightly bucking your hips up.

He leaned down and pressed a kiss to your lace covered clit. The black lacy panties you had on barely doing anything to cover your slick cunt. He took a mental picture for the next time he was in the shower.

You moaned softly as he continued to kiss over panties, eventually pulling them to the side. He murmured curse words as he lifted his thumb to run through your folds. Gently slipping the tip of it inside you to gather your wetness. He trailed it up to your clot beginning to rub soft circles. The motion had your head falling back with a sigh.

Rafe turned his head and peppered kisses on your inner thigh. He pressed down a little harder as he watched you get wetter. After a few strokes he tentatively dipped his head down and licked your clit.

That was enough for him to know this is what he wanted to taste forever. He roughly pulled off the lacey matterial throwing it somewhere in the room.

He groaned as he fully dived in. Licking, sucking, and kissing just where you needed him to. He listened to your moans and soft whines to see what you liked the most. He was so painfully hard but he didn’t even care. Rafe just wanted you to come.

“Oh god Rafe,” You moaned as his tongue dipped into you. Your hands gripped his hair tugging when something felt extra good.

He moaned and the sound sent even more pleasure through you, “You taste so fucking good.”

“Rafe I’m close,” You panted, “you’re so good don’t stop please.”

He shook his head with his mouth still on you, “Never baby, you’re gonna have to pry me away from this pussy.”

The dirty words sending you even closer to the edge. You had never been talked to like this and you loved it. You liked how he ravaged you and actually paid attention to what you liked.

You felt his finger nudge your entrance before he slipped it in. Your walls tightening around his thick finger. You arched you back as he reached one hand up to press flat against your stomach to lay you down more. Then he added a second finger and you couldn’t help the cry that escaped your lips. It felt so good the way he moved them in and out. Fingers curled up hitting that spot you so desperately needed.

The lewd sounds of his fingers fucking you and his mouth on your clit filled the room. Along with your loud moans and his occasional groans. The roughness of his mustache felt so good on the sensitive bud.

“Rafey I’m-I’m gonna,”

“Mhmmm let go for me pretty girl,” He encouraged as his fingers moved faster and mouthed hungrily at your clit.

You became a shaking moaning mess as he continues his ministrations. Your orgasm taking over your body. His hand gripped your thigh roughly as he kept going until your high was over. Once your back was flar on the mattress he slowly pulled out and pressed one last kiss on your puffy clit.

He made his way up your body kissing your stomach over your shirt and then you exposed cleavage. He kissed you fully and you could feel his mustache damp with your arousal. You could also taste yourself on his tongue which had you moaning again. Rafe lifted you to be farther up the bed so he can comfortably lay on top.

“You taste so fucking good I already wanna do it again,” He said smirking as he pulled away.

You smiled in a daze, “You’re gonna be the death of me.” As you reached your hand down to the front of his pants. Your hand cupped him through the material and he groaned, eyes rolling back in pleasure.

“Fuck I really really want to do more but I actually do have work in a couple hours,” He groaned. He wishes he could just call off and spend the whole night rolling around in bed with you.

You looked at him with slight disappointment but understanding, “You sure?”

He leaned down and bit your neck playfully, “Don’t look at me like that. I’ll be easily convinced.”

You giggled, “I understand Rafe.”

“I’m seeing you again though. I never lied about that. Especially after you let me have a taste of you,” He groaned dramatically, “So fucking delicious I’m addicted.”

[sukirichi]

WHEN I SEE YOU AGAIN | G. SATORU x READER

You’ve been pretending not to see ghosts your whole life in order to blend in perfectly, but you can’t ignore the cute ghost with a bright smile standing in front of your door.

cw. ghost! gojo. fem! reader. minimal fluff. graphic depictions of murder. angst. hurt no comfort. mentions of grief. mentions of being under the influence (alcohol and drugs.) characters with depression. unedited.

notes. wrote a lil something for gojo since it’s been a while since i wrote any jjk fics and i missed it :( also should i open requests again? i miss writing one shots lol

wc. 7k

You met him on the first night of winter.

Eager to get home after a long and tiring day at work, you blow hot air on your freezing palms to keep them warm before stuffing it deep in your coat pockets. The walk home was less than fifteen minutes, and you’ve always refused to buy a car because you enjoyed the journey and wanted to familiarize yourself more with the city. You previously lived in the outskirts, but after a phone call from the main department telling you you were promoted and had to transfer in the city, you found yourself packing up on the weekend and renting a cheap apartment.

Located in the middle of everything – convenience stores, medical facilities, popular bars, and a quaint looking flower shop with a cute florist – you thought your apartment was perfect. It was a little shabby, you had to admit. The plumbing didn’t work well and electricity got cut off at random times in the night that resulted in a headache because you couldn’t send that damn email, but the landlord offered an extremely cheap rent that you couldn’t refuse. Plus, it was only a few minutes walk from your office and your neighbors were peaceful.

Well, most of them anyway.

Your neighbors consisted of mostly old couples who were so silent and desolate that you often forgot they existed, your eyes widening whenever you saw an unfamiliar old lady walking and asking you how your day was before realizing, Oh, she’s Mrs. Oliver, I completely forgot. Save for the married couple who were always throwing pots and pans at each other because darn Ronald couldn’t put the toilet seat back down, your place was placid. The landlord was ecstatic when you saw her poster and inquired for a unit, muttering something about not getting enough tenants to keep the place going because of ‘a traumatic issue.’

You’d really rather not ask what it was.

Besides, you’ve never been curious enough of what the world has to offer, simply because you see things – or rather fragments of people – that you’d rather not see. Ever since you started seeing ghosts at a young age of four, people avoided you like the plague, calling you a ‘freak’ and whatnot. Your family soon moved away to a much smaller place in the city because they couldn’t handle seeing their child who often talked to ghosts and sat in corners alone while laughing by herself be criticized by others. They didn’t believe you, of course, often calling it a ‘lonely child’s imagination.’ They sent you to multiple therapists who always assured you that they would listen to whatever problems you were having to cause you to be this way.

Unfortunately for them, there wasn’t anything wrong with you. You weren’t lonely at all. You saw a dozen ghosts every day who were always ecstatic at finding out you could see them, and they were more than willing to interact. As a child, you always thought ghosts were more interesting than actual people because they had an unlimited amount of time to converse with you, and they have had so many experiences to share with you. 

When you grew older, however, you started to see yourself in other’s eyes, realization dawning on you that on social norms, you are, indeed, a freak.

Determined to fit in more and also sick of being faced with countless counselors who strongly believed you had a traumatic experience when your whole life has been nothing but bland and plain, you started ignoring them. It wasn’t easy at first, though. These ghosts have always kept you company while everyone gave you the side eye without knowing who you really were, and you admit you felt lonely in the beginning and a little guilty when they were convinced you couldn’t see them anymore.

You participated more in school activities and even joined a photography club in high school (you had to quit a month later because ghosts kept appearing on your photos, and you had to burn them in order not to freak anyone out) and with each baby step you took, you started to fit in more. The proud look your parents had on their faces when you had finally become ‘normal’ and even got an award for being an exemplary student was enough to keep you going on this journey, and you ignored the lonely spirits so hard that you eventually started seeing less and less of them.

Until now.

Standing in front of your door was a young man, his back awkwardly bent and long, beautiful fingers fiddling awkwardly with one another. He stood barefoot yet wore a comfy looking blue university hoodie and grey sweatpants, and his silver hair seemed shiny and healthy enough to  not consider him a homeless man who was lost and simply wandering. Tipping your head to the side, you rack your brain to remember if you had any neighbours like him. 

His head snaps in your direction. 

He is definitely not your neighbour. You would have remembered such a cute looking guy.

He had unnaturally ethereal futures, prominent cheekbones becoming more pronounced when you meet his eyes, and you blink to gain control over your body when you realize you’ve been staring too long than what would be considered acceptable. You don’t even deny you’ve been checking him out, although you do ignore the almost puppy-like way his eyes lit up at the sight of you, causing your heart to jump a little. Just a little. You also liked how his hair complimented perfectly with his pale skin – he seemed like an exact embodiment of winter. 

You walk forward, spinning your keys at the end of your pointer finger. Smiling at him politely, you paused in your tracks. He’d been blocking your door. “Hello, is there something I can help you with?”

No matter how cute he was, you wouldn’t hesitate to break his nose if he was a criminal.

His pretty hands come up to his face to cover his mouth falling open, and you take a step back when he does a little jump and starts laughing. “You can see me?”

“Uhm, yes,” you answer. “You’re blocking my door, so yeah, I can very much see you.”

As if realizing just now he stood in the way of you and your comfortable bed, who was calling out to you by now, he mutters a quick apology under his breath before stepping aside, a goofy grin remaining on his face and his childish behavior makes you scoff in amusement. He was still watching you even after you’ve unlocked your door, and you sigh at him. “Is there any reason you’re still standing outside my apartment, or should I call the police?”

Instead of looking worried like you expected him to, his smile only gets bigger. “Actually, I live here, well… I used to.”

You stare at him blankly with a slack expression on your face, watching as his features turn sheepish. He rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. Looking down on his bare feet, you mumble a curse under your breath when you realize he’s hovering. 

“Not again,” you say to yourself before placing a palm against your forehead. It’s been years since you last saw a ghost, why did you have to see them now out of all times? A new branch is opening up and your superiors have given you the project of making sure the launch goes well, and you didn’t really want a ghost bothering you with your biggest task of all time. You worked hard for this promotion, you didn’t want to take one step forward and two steps back. Glaring at the undeniably attractive ghost who still hovered in your doorway, you decided he wasn’t your problem. 

“Well, goodnight.”

You slam the door on him and trudge towards your bedroom, ignoring his “Wait!” as you unwrap the red scarf around your neck and plop on your bed almost lazily, moaning when your stiff muscles finally relax. The bed was so soft and warm because you’d left the heater on accidentally, and you’re about to be sent to dreamland when a voice beside you speaks up.

“You should take off your makeup before going to bed.”

Opening your eyes and coming face-to-face with the ghost who was resting his chin in both of his hands and laying on your bed, you grab a pillow and throw it at him, and he grins when the object goes past him completely. “Get out of my house, stop bothering me!”

“Technically, darling, this is still my house,” he tells you and starts sitting up before crossing his legs. “The unit was still named after me before you came.”

“Then why wasn’t I informed about that?”

“I was murdered here four years ago,” he deadpans, soft voice flitting into a murmur as he plays with his fingers again, refusing to look at you. “That’s why I never left. Judging from what you said earlier, you can see ghosts, and you know exactly why we’re still here.”

Swallowing a lump in your throat, you stumble over your words. “I-I’m sorry, I didn’t know and–”

“It’s quite alright,” he shrugs. 

Silence soon joins the two of you; the ghost playing with the ends of your blanket with a far-off look in his face while you study his features, and something tugs at your heart. The reason why ghosts remain here instead of passing on like they were supposed to was because it meant someone was still holding on to them and absolutely refused to let go, or if they had unfinished business that needed to be resolved before they could go in peace. You’ve met ghosts like him who were murdered, and all of them remained with a seething rage and insatiable need for revenge, unable to accept that there wasn’t much they could do in their state. 

As for the one sitting in your ghost, a small smile tugs at the end of his pink lips as he takes in your bedroom, amusement dancing in his eyes at the amount of stuffed animals you had and some framed photos of you as a child. 

“You decorate much better than me, and you’re a lot more organized, too. This place was such a mess back when I was still alive.”

There was an unmissable hint of sadness behind his voice, and you can’t help but ask his name. “I’m Satoru,” he grins, “and for the record, I’ve always been here, just floating through time and space, but not the afterworld yet. For some reason, ever since you arrived, I just appeared back where I left off.”

You nod and take in his words, noticing how he clears his throat and sends a sheepish look your way. “If it’s not too much of a bother, can I ask for your help?”

“What is it?”

He stands up and heads toward your desk, although you supposed it was his since the furniture had already been here before you came. You didn’t think too much about it back then and only felt grateful that you had one less piece of furniture to buy, especially since it was empty. Apparently not, because Satoru keeps digging around through your files with his tongue peeking out his lips, and you vaguely recall that ghosts are able to touch things after feeding off of energy from living beings.

Letting out an ‘aha!’ when his hand finally lands on what he’s looking for, he tenderly places a photo on your outstretched palm with a shy smile. Inside the photo was a beautiful man, probably in his mid twenties, his hair up in a messy bun as he grinned at the camera. Beside him, Satoru’s eyes are closed with his head thrown back in laughter, relishing the feeling of that warm sunny day, and you unconsciously frown at it.

“His name’s Suguru,” he began, his eyes turning glossy at the sight of the polaroid. “He was my best friend before I died.”

Pursing your lips and feeling the tension thicken the room, you ask him, “Why are you telling me this?”

“He’s the reason why I can’t go,” he admits, shoulders dropping while his eyes remain trained on her. “He blames himself for everything and refuses to accept that I’m gone, that’s why I’m still here.”

You remain silent and take a deep breath, your head pounding at the situation. It was a beautiful first night of winter, the perfect weather for you to do your work from home while nestling a cup of hot cocoa in your hands, yet it seems your plans changed and you have to help this ghost out. A part of you wants to reach out and embrace him in a hug, but you know you’ll only end up stumbling on your own feet and clearly, Satoru wants to move on to the next chapter of his journey.

“Can you please tell him I’m okay now?”

When he looks at you like that, shoulders hanging low and an almost shy smile decorating his innocent features, it’s hard to say no.

“I will.”

Through the past few weeks since you’ve met Satoru, your life seemed to light up like a Christmas tree without you noticing. He was a funny guy and often pulled pranks on you, like slamming the cabinets open and closed or leaving your window open in the middle of the night, laughing when you shout at him as your teeth chatter and you slam your windows shut. 

“I could have died from the cold, you idiot!”

He keeps laughing as if he didn’t nearly kill you with hypothermia, “Well, if you die, I guess we’ll be together then,” and even has the audacity to wiggle his eyebrows. You scowl at him and pull your jacket closer to your body, asking what he wants from you because he never goes this far to demand for your attention unless he wants something from you.

“What do you want this time?”

“I wanted to finish that series we were watching the other day,” he pouts rather childishly, “You always tell me not to watch it without you.”

On a particular weekend where you felt like your brains were about to explode from exhaustion due to your work piling up, you refused to wake up until noon, and you felt thankful Satoru knew how tired you were and let you have your much needed rest. When you woke up, a bowl of cereal was already waiting for you in your kitchen island, meaning the reason you felt tired even after that long slumber was because he fed off your energy to give you food.

Feeling thankful for the simple, sweet action, you munched on it happily. It wasn’t anything special and the corn flakes had gone too crusty for your liking, but Satoru’s happiness at you appreciating what he prepared was worth it. After breakfast, you dumped the bowl into the sink and planned to wash it later, opting to flick through Netflix for a good show. Satoru had excitedly pointed at one title that he said he’s always wanted to watch, and the two of you became hooked on it soon enough. Lunch and dinner were both forgotten as you two sat beside each other, your leg against his. Although you couldn’t exactly feel him, his presence was warm.

You and Satoru had been so immersed in the show and unexpected turn of events that time flew by and it was already half past three. He was the first to notice and he jumped from his seat, his hands waving worriedly in a comical manner. “I’m so sorry I made you skip your meals! Aren’t you hungry, you should have some pizza delivered or something.”

Glancing at the clock, you hummed when you realized it was indeed late. You weren’t feeling hungry since you were mostly abeyant, and nothing was open to deliver food around this time anyway. “It’s okay,” you shrug, “I’m not really hungry, and that show is addicting. Oh, and don’t watch it without me! I know you always go ahead when I’m not home!”

Satoru huffs and plops down next to you dramatically, rolling his eyes and taunting you. “Then don’t go to work, Little Miss Manager.”

You poke your finger with his forehead but it only passes through and he laughs, “I need money to survive, idiot.”

“Whatever,” he dismisses and points to your bedroom. “You’ve still got to edit your final draft, so you have to wake up early. Go to bed, don’t worry about the dish, I’ll handle it.”

“Liar, you’ll only feed from my energy so you can play video games!”

“Hey, you can’t blame me!” He counters back as he proceeds to your sink and pumps out soap to the sponge, “You were the one who bought me that console!”

“Only because you kept whining to me how much you wanted it,” you retorted before yawning, and his eyes softened at the sight of you. He rarely gets to see you dressed so comfortably in a loose shirt, cardigan and pajama pants since you were such a busy woman whose fashion sense monotonously consisted of pearl white button-up blouses and knee-length pencil skirts. Prudish and preppy, he thought, but it suits you just fine.  

“You should sleep now,” he reminds you with a nod of his head back to your bedroom, and you obey, simply because your eyes were sore and tired from binge watching. You’re in the process of cocooning yourself under the covers when he calls out in a sing-song voice, “Thank you for the console, by the way. I knew you couldn’t resist me.”

“Shut up!” You scream, and his rambunctious laugh was the last thing you heard before your body wholeheartedly welcomed sleep. 

You’ve been thinking about that day ever since, the moment replaying over and over again in your head, successfully distracting you from focusing on your work. Even your co-workers have noticed that you’re lusterlacking lately, but how could you focus on anything else when you had a charming yet lonely ghost who was waiting for you at home?

For days on end, you can only think about the cheerful and carefree sound of his laugh as if he had so much happiness in his lithe body that he couldn’t contain. Your heart always got tugged in its heartstrings whenever you had trouble falling asleep and he sat beside you in your bed, singing you lullabies and caressing your cheek. You started to feel him now – the gush of air in your skin meant he was pressing onto you, and the more you got attached to him, the more you got confused with your feelings.

He never told you how he was murdered and you never asked, figuring it would be too sensitive for him, and your hands balled into fists each time you remembered he was dead. Satoru is such a precious person who only has too much love to give, and it was completely unfair and outrageous that his life was taken away from him in a single flash. You’ve done your research at work, and only a few articles came up regarding his death. The case remains a mystery and still unsolved until it was completely closed due to lack of leads or suspects, but the police force highly suspected someone had broken in and committed homicide without theft, since not a single belonging of him got touched. They concluded that the murderer was drunk and lost, because he was a well-loved person in their campus, and they couldn’t find anyone who could possibly harbor abhorrence for the sweet boy.

But most of all, a part of you wants him to stay. He frequently asks you if you’ve talked to Suguru, and you always denied it, making up an excuse about how he was hard to find because he graduated years ago. ‘He’s hard to find,’ you would tell him one day, and ‘He doesn’t have social media,’ the next. Even though he told you he majored in Forensics, you couldn’t find anyone in the city. 

It’s a half lie. You never found Suguru, because you never looked for him in the first place.

You know it’s selfish of you to be this way, because you know Satoru wants to move on. He doesn’t say anything about it and keeps laughing instead, but sometimes when he thinks you’re too immersed in your work to notice him, you look at him. Being around you only reminds him of what he no longer has, and one look at him has you knowing he was someone who loved life. Satoru loved to travel with his friends, and he still had so many dreams left unfulfilled that made him feel empty yet desperate to be in the afterworld.

However, it is hard for you to let him go. 

No matter how much you try to fit in, deep inside, you know you will always be too different from the rest. You still struggled with socializing and didn’t have a single friend yet a hundred acquaintances, and you never realized how lonely you were until he came. His smile lit up the whole room and his laugh was melodious, and you don’t think you’ve ever met anyone who cared so much for you. He liked to play games and pull pranks on you quite often, but underneath all that lies a kind heart.

Satoru knows exactly when his jokes go too far and apologizes right away, promising not to do something to upset you again and always doing something entirely new to cheer you up. On nights where you’re feeling absolutely drained or you carried home your anger at your co-workers, you go to sleep without taking off your makeup. When you wake, there’s used wipes in the bin, the hovering boy in your apartment proud of his work. Sometimes you forget to cover yourself in blankets too, plopping on top of the sheets almost lifelessly. It’s in those times that he shows how much he cares for you, and you soon wake up feeling warm surrounded by heavy blankets and freshly cooked breakfast.

As much as you didn’t want to admit it, you were falling for him. It made interacting with him difficult, because you knew you had to let him go, yet you couldn’t.

He watches you carefully and gauges your reaction, waiting to see if you’ll finish the series with him or not. It’s a Wednesday night, or more accurately an early morning on Thursday and the launch happens in less than a week. Logically, it is much better to go back to sleep and refuse, but he is rocking his weight on his heels back and forth, and you realize perhaps he has been lonely since his death too.

“Fine,” you agree, and now he’s bouncing excitedly next to you on your couch as he keeps pressing buttons in your remote.

“You’re the best, you know that?” 

You only hum in response, and Satoru soon becomes lost in the show. Your eyes aren’t focused on the screen – on him rather. Placed on top of your fist lies your cheek as you study his side profile, trying to memorize the slope of his nose and the snow-white hair that keeps falling onto his eyes that makes him flip it to the side every now and then to watch the show. His right leg keeps bouncing up and down, a habit he had when he was anxiously anticipating something, and then stopping before his left leg went bouncing instead, meaning he didn’t like the situation.

Tearing your eyes away from him, you smile sadly when you realize his favorite character had been betrayed. “Did you see that? That freaking woman, he only loved her and she snitched him out like that?!”

Shrugging one shoulder and feeling your eyes become droopy, you reply, “Well, he’s a grave robber, Satoru, he was only nice to her because he liked her. She had every right to mislead him.”

“I don’t understand, but okay,” he relents and leans back, eyes closing before he intertwines his hands behind his neck and murmurs, “I hated the ending.”

“Not everyone gets happy endings,” you add grimly, watching the muscles underneath his hoodie flex at your comment. The two of you remain silent for a few minutes, and plucking up the courage, you breathe in sharply before slowly lowering yourself until your head is on his shoulder. 

You keep yourself still in order not to fall, and your eyes remain fixated on his hand, silently yearning to be able to touch him. If he was alive, would his skin be as warm as his presence? His hand flexes and trails from his lap until it’s beside yours, and you hear him swallow audibly before locking your fingers with his.

A tear falls down your face. You could feel him. 

Satoru hums a familiar tune, and you chuckle happily when you recognize it’s the song he always sings to you to make you sleep, his fingers rubbing soothing circles on your knuckles.

His other hand tilts your chin upwards until you’re looking directly at his eyes. You hold in your breath, his lips only a centimeter away from yours. If you lean forward, you could kiss him… but you don’t. 

“Why are you crying?”

Because I don’t want you to go.

“Nothing,” you lie and offer a forced smile which he notices, but doesn’t comment about it. “I just feel happy.”

He nods slowly before leaning forward, and he gets so close that you can faintly see his freckles that dot across his cheeks lovingly, and your eyes flutter shut when his lips press against yours. Satoru sighs as if he’s been waiting too long to do that, and he is pushing against you so softly, so tenderly, that it almost fits the same atmosphere your heart creates. He is soft in everything he does, from his innocent features and smile that puts the stars to shame, to how he holds you and caresses you. His hand trails from your neck to pull you closer, and you moan when his tongue peeks out and playfully coaxes yours out to play. Tears are streaming down your face when you kiss him back slowly, tongues moving in sync as they danced harmoniously instead of battling each other for dominance. Caressing your face that fits perfectly in his hand, he brushes away your tears with the pad of his thumbs. 

A moment passes before you two are breathing heavily with your foreheads pressed against each other, and the silence is broken when he speaks, his voice coming out raspy and out of breath. 

“Suguru… has been struggling long before I died.”

“What?”

“My best friend… he got into a rough patch. Had troubles with his parents, went down the wrong path, and met dangerous people. I’d heard rumors he was going around skipping class and talking to people I’ve never seen before, but I chose to ignore it. Suguru would’ve told me everything once he was ready. And I was stupid, you know? I saw it. I saw how he stopped smiling, how he’d lost weight. How his eyes no longer looked happy,” Satoru’s hands trembled, the blue of his eyes hauntingly dark. “One night, I overheard him talking to someone on the phone. I’ve never heard him that angry, and I got worried. I wanted to stop him from whatever he’ll end up doing so I invited him over but… Next thing I know, he came over here, drunk and high, and stabbed me until I bled to death.”

You gasp and shudder as you imagine the scene, Satoru lying on his bed as he waited anxiously for his friend. You see him smiling at Suguru excitedly because he’d actually come, but fear replaces it when his friend succumbs to the madness. The image of Satoru drowning in his own pool of blood made you clench your jaw.

“There had to be evidence left.”

Satoru smiles sadly as if to tell you it doesn’t bother him anymore, but you can’t shake it off. How can a man be so blinded in his own misery that he could take his own best friend’s life? “He was a forensics major; he knew how to cover up his crime.”

A pregnant pause fills the room as you furrow your brows, the sound of the cold wind tapping against your windows as you rack your head to make a decision. Now that you knew the truth, you had to tell the police about it, but how would they believe you if there was no evidence found? And if the case was cleared, and Suguru had finally moved on, that means...

“You can ask me to stay.”

“What?” You breathe out, looking at his eyes with sadness pooling in them. He’s smiling, one that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. You pull away from him completely until he’s at an arm’s length away. He doesn’t look hurt by your action but he sighs, reaching out for you and pausing with his hand mid-air when you raise a palm to stop him.

He must’ve known you’re in love with him. Just as he also knows that once he leaves, you’ll be hurt, and he doesn’t want you to feel that.

You shake your head and stand up harshly. The tears now uncontrollable as you slam your bedroom door to his face. You’re slightly thankful he doesn’t come after you and leaves you alone instead. You needed time. Time to think, time to put his needs over yours - time to forget him. Rummaging through the documents on your desk, you keep looking for it until the polaroid is clutched between your fingers, and you silently place it in your handbag.

Tomorrow, you would set things straight.

Suguru Geto was a hard man to find. He’d fled from the spotlight as one of the  best students of his university after Satoru Gojo’s death. The image of his best friend, who was always in high spirits and laughed without a care in the world, covered in his own blood was a sight that scarred him for the rest of her life. 

But there was one more person who hadn’t moved on from that night.

Ieri Shoko, the woman who ran first at the hospital when Satoru’s parents were away for a business trip. She didn’t want to believe it at first. Satoru had always seemed so full of life, so in love with what the world had to offer. He’d been so young – it just couldn’t be. They had to be lying, right?

But when she finally saw her friend’s bloodied corpse on that cold hospital bed, she’d fallen apart.

She went to sleep crying to herself every night, regretting and blaming everything on herself. Her instinct told her it was Suguru who had done this to him. She barged into his dorm room, screaming and flailing, punching the taller man and effectively breaking his nose as she dragged him down by the collar. Suguru was already questioned by the police after Satoru’s murder, but his alibi of being in a bar was factual, and they had proven his innocence after checking surveillance cameras. He was only gone for a few minutes before he appeared on the dance floor all over again, and they believed him when he said he only disappeared to go to the restroom.

Presumably to wash the blood off his hands.

Shoko didn’t believe it. “Tell me you didn’t kill him, tell me!”

Suguru growls, frustrated at her for even accusing him of doing such a horrendous thing, and he feigns his innocence as he pries her hands away from his collar. “I didn’t do it, Ieri, I was at a bar!”

“Bullshit!” She screams, slamming a vase onto the floor and dropping down to the floor as sobs wrecked through her body. “I smelled your perfume the moment I walked in. I know it was you…”

His eyes widened, but he remained silent because she had always been smart and too observant for her own good. He shrugs his collar back into place and goes back to his bedroom, but not before darkly muttering, “I didn’t do it, I didn’t kill him…”

Four years later, and you’re sitting in front of Officer Kento, an intimidating man with empty eyes staring at you hardly, his face devoid of any emotion. He’d been the same officer who worked on Satoru’s case before it was closed. “And why should I believe you? Ghosts don’t exist.”

You snap your head up from your lap to him and scowl, “I just want to help you here, Officer.  You need to re-open this case.”

He abruptly stands up and slams his palm harshly against the desk, his eyes filled with rage as he stares down at you. “You don’t think I haven’t tried before?!”

“Well then, try harder!” You fumed, standing up. “If you don’t resolve this case, he’s going to remain here forever, lost and nowhere to go. Do you really want him to suffer even after his death?”

“How am I supposed to believe everything you say is true?”

Plucking out their polaroid from your bag and shoving it to his chest, you watch as he crumbles piece by piece. He holds the photo tentatively before cradling it to his chest, and what you presumed was a cold-hearted man was actually just a lost person.

“I don’t know why you closed that case, but it isn’t over. He’s still here, and he needs our help.”

You turn away from him to give him peace and wrap your fingers around the doorknob, “Suguru Geto is out there walking freely. You can still make a difference, Sir. It’s not too late.”

Happiness was a concept you believed to be fleeting.

One moment, you are giggling with the ghosts who tell you funny stories and whisper mischievously in your ear the correct answers in your pre-school days, and the next moment you are pressing a hand against your car windows, watching as the only people you considered friends are witnessing you leave without a goodbye.

That feeling comes back again and again, from little moments such as eating lunch with your high school friends and making empty promises to keep in touch after graduation, giggling when a cute boy comes by and asks for your number. But like any other moment in your life where you feel happy, that feeling dissipates as fast as it came.

The bell attached to the door chimes to signal a customer, and the cute florist you met on the first day you moved to this city, Choso, looks up from the pot he’s currently watering. Bowing politely, he sends a pleased smile upon the sight of you.

You tuck a stray hair behind your ear and return the smile back, his musky perfume blending in well with the sweet aroma of flowers as he stops in front of you. “Hi, I haven’t seen you in a long time.”

“I’m sorry,” you apologize sheepishly, “Our latest branch just opened downtown, so I was a bit busy with that.”

“Oh, you work for that bookshop everyone’s been talking about non-stop?” You nod and laugh at his question, proud of yourself that the new opening had been successful. The state campus was only three bus rides away, and with the extensive amount of books your bookstore offered, along with its affordable prices, everyone’s been talking about it. “I’m proud of you, it was a success,” he commends, rubbing his dirties hands on his apron before opening the door for you. What can I get you?”

Personally, you thought Choso was a bit too rugged to be working in a floral shop. He always seemed to carry himself in such an awkward manner and had an authoritative yet welcoming aura to him, his shy smiles the highlights of your day. “I want to give it to my friend. Today’s their special day.”

“I see,” Choso’s eyes are already scanning the plethora of flowers he has in his shop, his brows pinching together in thought. “Can you tell me a little bit about them? It’d help to make their bouquet more personal.”

A smile makes its way to your face. “They’re… bright, carefree, innocent, and pure. They almost seem like an angel, if you ask me. I was also thinking about something that represents young love, and… new beginnings?”

You have absolutely no idea what you’re saying. The words coming out of your mouth are beyond your control. You’re sure you’re making a fool out of yourself, but Choso nods understandingly, frows burrowed before he snaps his fingers and turns to you. “White roses describe all of those, but if you want, I can whip up more flowers for you.”

He makes a move to get his scissors and starts listing off flowers with the same meanings, but you run up to him and not so accidentally wrap your hands around his to get him to stop. His eyes widen at your close proximity. You clear your throat and take a step backward, fighting the urge to smile when his cheeks are dusted a fine pink. “White roses itself are fine, thank you.”

He gulps and heads towards the back door, coming out later with a bouquet of white roses. You reach for your wallet before his arm wraps around your wris, his smile wobbly and hesitant. “It’s on the house. You can pay me back with a cup of coffee next time.”

Eyebrows rising at his smoothness, you gratefully accept the flowers and cradle it near to your chest. “A cup of coffee it is.”

Choso chuckles shyly and ducks his head, and you leave the shop with a wave of your hand before walking further and further. Your surroundings shift from the high-rise building and busy streets to a hill covered in trees sprawled out everywhere, flowers blooming and withering at every corner. Sitting down on the soil with your legs crossed, you place the bouquet in front of his headstone, his framed polaroid with Suguru standing in front of you. 

It’s been exactly seven days since you last saw Satoru.

After countless sleepless nights of phone calls from Officer Kento, he’d finally cracked the case with your help. Suguru Geto was found. He’d confessed to all his crimes, his handsome face weary yet relieved. It seemed he’d never once forgotten about that night when he betrayed his friend, and just before he was ushered behind bars, he turned to you. You wished you felt anger towards him for what he did, but there was only sadness. Only regret in his eyes. He looked so tired, so hopeless.

“Thank you,” he said softly, “Thank you for finding me.”

A nod was all you could give. Suguru felt so familiar, yet so strange. You’ve heard tons of stories about him from Satoru, all about their happiest moments together. He’d been his closest friend, the one he shared so many dreams with, and the one who knew him the most. Maybe he knew Satoru wouldn’t fight back once his demons consumed him. Maybe when Suguru was holding his friend’s bloodied hand in the night, he knew – Satoru was never mad at him. He only wanted to save his friend. Maybe he knew Satoru wasn’t completely dead yet, not when he lived in everyone’s heart, and most especially yours.

That night when you returned home, the apartment felt colder than ever. Normally, it would mean a ghost lingered. But there was no longer the sound of Satoru’s humming, and the dishes were left half-washed in your sink. And for the first time in your life, you hated your eyes and how it gave you the ability to see the traces he left behind. 

Because you wished you had enough time to say goodbye. You wish you had told him everything, but the thought of being another tether to the living realm weighed down on you. You couldn’t do that to him. He had to go. For Satoru to truly move into the next life, you had to close your heart and forget him. Just as Suguru’s forgiven himself, and just as Shoko’s accepted her friend’s death - you too had to say goodbye. 

Tears clouded your vision.

The white remnants of his soul sparkled in your apartment. For the last time, you watched as the blue of his hoodie finally disappeared, his hands scrubbing your dishes away fading into nothingness. The plate drops and breaks. Satoru stood, his legs vanishing bit by bit as he saw the running water through his hands. He’d wanted to return your apartment to the way it was before he’d met you, but he knew – his time was running out. He didn’t have energy left to turn everything off.

The water floods your apartment. The new series he’d dearly loved still plays on the TV. 

But he was here – hugged by the earth and decorated with flowers, smiling at you from far away even when you could no longer see him. Placing the bouquet of white roses down at his grave, you smiled at the photo they’d taken months before he died. He still looked just as beautiful – all wide smiles, kind eyes, and soft hands.

To you, he was still alive in your heart.

“I’ll see you around, Satoru.”

[changbunnies]

Hopelessly Devoted To You (18+)

♡ Pairing: Greaser!Bang Chan x fem!Reader

♡ Genre: grease inspired 50s au, some angst and fluff, this was supposed to be a long full length fic but it somehow became just porn with plot lol

♡ Word Count: 11.2k

♡ Summary: You were so excited to see him again– the guy you'd spent your entire summer with, entagled in a fleeting but explosively sweet romance. But the Chris you meet again isn't the one you remember, and now if he wants to win you back he's going to have to prove just how devoted to you he really is.

♡ Warnings: chan is referred to as chris, smoking (cigarettes), some misogyny + toxic masculinity + fuck boy behavior, some 50s references and lingo, 1 instance of reader shoving chan in a fit of anger / sadness, jealous and mildly possessive chan, minor appearances from felix, changbin, minho, and hyunjin (who goes by sam)

♡ Smut Warnings: 1 reference to reader losing their virginity to chan, references / flashbacks to other smut scenes before the main scene, light dom/sub dynamics, switch!chan, pet names (doll, sugar, baby), public sex, car sex, exhibitionism, oral (f rec, referenced m rec), fingering (f rec), nipple play, daddy kink, panty stealing (kind of), squirting, 1 mention of reader having pubic hair, maybe a lil breeding kink??, protected piv

♡ Notes: i've had this sitting in my drafts since december and finally got around to finishing it gfdhgfh this is incredibly self indulgent as grease is one of my fave movies ever and chan as danny zuko is constantly rattling around in my brain. the build up is pretty short (by my usual standards) as i moved the plot along a lot quicker than i normally would so idk if it's my best work but hopefully you enjoy it!

♡ Disclaimer: please read responsibly, and remember that this work is fiction and meant strictly for imaginative fun. the idols used in fics are more accurately faceclaims and personality outlines for imaginary characters, and should not be interpreted as factual representations of existing people.

You remember well the first time you met Chris. Lounging aimlessly at the beach with the sunset on the horizon, his feet in the sand with a silver dog tag necklace hanging low over his bare chest, a cigarette from his previously discarded jeans held between his lips. Fresh from the ocean with beads of water still dripping off his toned body, slicking back his damp hair before fumbling through a different pocket for his lighter.

You watched him bring it up to his face after successfully digging it out, cupping his other hand around it to protect the flame as he lit the cigarette in his mouth. You watched him take a long drag, watched him blow the smoke out from the corners of his mouth, watched him sigh before deciding to towel dry his legs enough to wrangle his jeans back on. 

The beach had been quickly growing sparse by the time you spotted him. Groups of friends clearing out to make it to the local diner before all the tables were filled, parents wanting to get their kids to bed before the moon fully rose in the sky, couples on double dates bunching up in one car as they decide to hit the drive-in together.

You yourself were in no rush to leave– you came alone, tired of your parents bickering during what was supposed to be a fun family vacation. You’d stay as long as you could, you’d decided– really soak in the peace the sea brings before returning to your aunt’s beach house, where you were all staying for the summer.

But safe to say, the sight of him enraptured you. He was handsome, devastatingly so– you never expected to see a man with a visage to rival even that of James Dean himself with your own eyes, but there he was before you; and your heart stuttered when he glanced over in your direction.

He had just finished pulling his jeans up and over his haunches when he noticed you, cocking a brow when your eyes met– and you could tell in an instant that he knew you’d been staring at him. His smile made your breath hitch, pretty dimples peeking out on his cheeks as he acknowledged you with a playful wave.

Hesitantly, you lifted your hand and waved back, and he grinned, eyes still locked on yours as he pulled up the zipper of his jeans. He turned back to his belongings on the ground, shook the sand out of his white tee before pulling it on. He grabbed his leather jacket, slung it over his shoulder before turning to look at you once more.

You swallowed, face running hot from his gaze alone– you hoped, as he began walking towards you, that you could play it off as having not put on enough sunscreen before coming here. You were sitting on a towel, legs to your chest with your arms wrapped around them, but you lowered them as he approached you.

He tossed his cigarette to the the side once he was close, letting its flame fizzle out in the sand. He looked you up and down when you stood up, introducing himself with a charismatic smile that made your heart race faster. You stuttered when speaking, and his smile widened, one of his hands going to rest in the pocket of his jeans while the other kept his leather jacket in place over his shoulder. 

Chris was the most, to say the least– and when he asked if he’d see you again tomorrow, you promised him he would. You watched him walk over to a beat up, old top down cadillac, throwing his jacket into the car before jumping in– literally jumping in, hand on top of the closed car door as he hopped over it into the driver's seat. 

He gave you another glance after starting the ignition, and you smiled meekly as you offered him another wave. Chris grinned, raising his hand to say goodbye before putting it back on the wheel and burning rubber out of the parking lot.

You spent nearly every summer day with him after that. Days at the beach spent splashing each other in the water while you giggled, hopping in his cadillac to go catch whatever new flick was showing, or sharing a milkshake at his favorite diner. He’d hold your hand as you walked through the sand, giggled with you over silly inside jokes while eating burgers and fries, hugged you tight after you gave him a chaste kiss on the cheek at the end of the night.

Chris gave you dimes to pick tunes on the jukebox, and would sing along to your selections with the prettiest voice you’d ever heard. He took you to the county fair, would shoot you goofy grins after kissing you with lips sticky from cotton candy, got on the ferris wheel with you and squeezed your hand when the height made you dizzy, kissing away your nerves when you reached the very top.

He won you a teddy bear from the soda toss, put his leather jacket over your shoulders when the sun set and the air began to chill, wrapped his arm around your shoulder while you were waiting in line to buy some popcorn. He’d lean down to whisper a joke in your ear, and you’d slap his arm with a giggle while he squeezed you closer.

You watched him soup up the engine of his car, and he’d take your hand after a long day of working on it, pull you in to dance with him while the radio blared the hippest tunes. When he was satisfied with the restoration of his cadillac, he started taking you out on long drives, wind whipping through your hair as he drove fast through the back streets of the city.

He’d drive you to secluded hills overlooking the city, where you’d make out until he had to drive you home in time for curfew. He’d park his car far down the street, away from where your family could see him dropping you off– because Lord knows your mother's heart would give out if she saw you spending your vacation with a guy that looked like him.

And through it all, days spent back at the beach where you first met him were always your favorite. You would let Chris lay you down on a towel in the sand and kiss you over and over, until you were both heaving and hot. You lost your virginity to him like that– alone on the beach, towels laid down and moon high in the sky after having snuck out of the window of your guest bedroom to meet him.

He’d whisper sweet words in your ear, make you fall apart with deft fingers and an equally deft tongue. Sometimes, instead of sneaking out to see him, he’d be the one showing up at your guest room's window, grinning at you as you opened it to let him in. He’d fuck you there, in the bed with his hand clamped over your mouth to muffle your moans of pleasure, lest your family discover what it is you’re really up to while "alone" in your room. 

Chris would crawl over to you in the passenger seat at the drive-in, sink to his knees and dip his head underneath your long poodle skirt, the flick on screen long forgotten as he pulled your panties to the side to kiss and lick your dripping pussy. Sometimes he’d fuck you there too, parked all the way in back with the windows and hood of the car up to hide what you were doing (as if the rocking didn’t give it away to anyone who happened to look.)

Sometimes, when he parked up the street to drop you off after sharing ice cream at the drive thru malt shop, you’d lean over the gear shift, taking his cock out of his jeans and sucking him off right there, with not nearly enough care for who could possibly see you. He’d give you the sweetest kiss before helping you out of the car, promising he’d see you tomorrow too, and the day after, and the day after that, until eventually your family’s summer vacation had to come to an end.

Chris was a dreamboat that day, as he always was– hair greased back with a few curly strands left over his forehead, loose black tee tucked into his jeans, leather jacket on with its collar ever so slightly popped, his dog tag necklace sparkling when the sun hit it just right. He was leaning against the door of his newly souped up cadillac with a lit cigarette resting between his lips, though he promptly threw it to the ground when he saw you walking over.

“There’s my girl! And ain’t she a doll,” he grinned as he pulled you to his body, kissing you sweetly as you blushed. You weren’t wearing anything he hadn’t seen you in before– just one of your usual white blouses and pretty pink skirts, but he always made sure to tell you that he thought you were the absolute most.

He walked around to the other side of the car, opened the door for you and closed it shut behind you when you got in. He hopped into the driver’s seat after, starting the ignition and turning to you with that beaming smile that made your stomach flip. “What’s the plan today, sugar?” he asked, throwing his arm around you while leaving one hand on the steering wheel.

In the end, you spent the day as you had many times before– driving through the city, hitting up the diner to split a strawberry milkshake, and watching the sunset at the beach; the same beach where you met him, and where the house you were staying in lied just a couple hundred yards away. You were sitting on the rocks, his leather jacket off and resting behind you, his arm curled around your waist. 

His jeans were filthy with sand, as was your skirt, but neither of you cared– you just stayed there together, watching the sun sink lower and the waves crash against the shore. Chris kissed you when you looked up at him with watery eyes, agonized over the idea of never seeing him again. He’d given you the best summer of your entire life, and all you wanted was to stay– but you couldn’t. And though he comforted you the best he could, you both knew it was the end.

Chris held your hand to help you off the rocks, gave you a kiss before you turned away to make the walk to your aunt’s beach house. And you both knew it was the end– but not just yet. He came to your window later that night, and you let him in, bringing your hands to his face and eagerly pressing your lips to his.

He walked you back to the bed as you kissed him, laid you back gently and crawled between your legs. He made you cum on his fingers before reaching into the pocket of his jeans, pulling out a condom and tearing it open with his teeth. He rolled it easily down his cock, his jeans having fallen down his legs just enough to let him fuck you.

You reached your hands underneath his shirt, hungrily tracing your hands over every inch of his skin. Your nightgown was bunched above your thighs, legs spread wide to accommodate him. He eventually pulled the top of it down too, exposing your chest to him and leaving your stomach as the only covered part of your body.

Sweat dripped from his brow, his normally perfectly slicked hair tousled from your fingers sliding through it– and you didn't care that the pomade in his hair dirtied your fingers; in fact, it made it feel nicer when you brought your hand to one of your breasts, and rolled your nipples between them. Your stomach flipped when he grinned and called you a dirty girl, running a hand through his hair to grease up his fingers too and tweak the other nipple not being played with by your own.

He kissed you to muffle your moans and desperate whines, and it was nowhere near as effective as when it was his hand clamped over your mouth, but it was better. He had to slow down when fucking you fast unintentionally made your bedframe slam against the wall, and you gasped, praying no one woke up from the sound.

Thankfully, no one came knocking on your door– and though you were both desperate, clinging to one another hard and sliding your tongues around each other’s with fervor, he fucked you slow and deep after that. "Chris, daddy, please– 'm gonna cum," you moaned when he brought his slicked up fingers to your clit. 

Chris groaned before kissing you again, and you came with a muffled cry, your nails digging desperately into his biceps. He kept rolling his hips into you through it, your body trembling with sensitivity until he eventually came too, all his cum spilling into the condom. 

He stayed for a while after that, holding you close and wiping tears from your eyes with his thumbs. He snuck out in the middle of the night, promised you despite it all that it wasn’t the end– you’d see each other again someday, he just knew it; he wanted you to believe it too.

You got a couple of hours of sleep before morning, and gave your family the best smile you could manage as you tossed your luggage in the trunk of your dad's chevy bel air. You slouched in the back seat, trying not to cry and wishing more than anything you were in Chris’ old cadillac instead.

The Chris you reunited with wasn’t yours, and if it was, then fate was cruel for bringing you back to him.

The Chris you knew wouldn’t have looked at you like that– like you’re a desperate and fast girl, or an overly smitten near stranger hoping to get her kicks from him one last time while his friends snickered behind him. The Chris you knew wouldn’t join in on their snickering, tilting his head with an amused expression, tongue poking his cheek as he combs his fingers through his slicked back hair.

The Chris you reunited with wasn't yours, and the realization that you didn't really know him the way you thought you did utterly broke your heart.

You were back in the city– your parents, after having settled whatever marital disputes they were having, decided to settle down here. They loved their time together in the city when all their little tiffs were said and done, and they could tell you loved it here too.

They thought it’d benefit everyone to set up shop somewhere new, where everyone could reset. Plus, your mom wanted to be close to her sister again– and you certainly wouldn’t complain about spending more time at your aunt’s beach house.

You desperately wanted to see Chris again, and you knew it’d only be a matter of time before you did– unlike you, he grew up in the city, lived here his entire life. And while it’d been months since you parted at the end of summer considering your parents had to do a lot of work to shift the family business to a new location while also looking for a decent house up for sale, it would happen eventually– you were certain of it.

And soon enough you did see him, knew in an instant it was him even at a distance– because you’d recognize his restored cadillac anywhere. He was leaning against the car door like usual, cigarette in his mouth and leather jacket on his back, with a circle of friends around him. You never met his friends– he told you they were pigs, said that you wouldn’t like them much.

Besides, you were only going to be in town a few short months– why waste your precious few days hanging around with other people when you could be alone? That’s what he always told you– and as you tentatively began to walk up the street closer to them, you could tell they certainly did talk more vulgarly than you were used to hearing.

“C’mon man, you gotta let me borrow her,” one of his friends begged in reference to his car, “she’s a real pussy wagon. My chick’ll cream if I pick her up in it.” “Get your own wheels, bozo,” Chris shoved him with a laugh, “I ain’t lettin’ you take my girl on any joyrides.”

“What if you come too? Make it a double date, you know– and nobody’s got bigger tits than Annette. I got dibs, but she’ll be real nice eye candy for you,” his friend persuaded and Chris hummed, as if seriously considering it. Would he really go?

“Mm, maybe,” he grinned, tossing his cigarette to the ground and digging it into the gravel with his foot, “You do got a point. Tell her to bring a pretty friend, and I’ll think about it.” You blinked, stopped walking and simply stared at him. Had he moved on already? It’d only been a few months, but maybe you fell for him harder than he fell for you; the thought of it made your heart sink to your stomach.

His friend cheered and hugged him tight, and Chris pushed him away with another laugh, running a hand through his hair to fix it up as he characteristically did whenever it got even the slightest bit out of shape. In that same moment is when he glanced over in your direction, catching sight of you by pure coincidence.

His eyes widened when he saw you, mouth gaping open for a split second before he called your name in a mix of utter shock and joy. That was more like the Chris you knew– and it gave you hope. You ran up to him, and he to you, bringing his hands to your shoulders and touching you up and down your arms– truly, he couldn’t believe you were here, and he had to touch you to be certain it was real. 

“What– what are you doing here? I-I thought you went back home with your folks, I thought–” he was smiling, entirely giddy as he looked you up and down. “We moved! I’m here to stay,” you told him excitedly, bouncing on your heels as you stared up at him.

It made you so, so happy; to the point that the contents of his prior conversation entirely lifted from your mind. It pains you thinking back to how naive and lovesick for him you were– you wish you'd have known better. 

“I can’t believe it! I–” he started to exclaim, but then realized his friends followed him, crowding around his back while shooting him inquisitive looks, and he quickly took his hands off you.

He cleared his throat, tucked his hands in his pockets in a gesture meant to bring him back to his aloof state of being, and he grinned– not that pretty grin that made your heart flutter, but a wicked one. “I mean– that’s cool, baby.”

You didn’t like it, your brows furrowing at the change in his demeanor. “Christopher–” you started, but one of his friends spoke up before you could talk much more. “Who’s the chick?” he asked as he looked you up and down, and Chris hesitated. “Oh, uh–”

“Oh, I know!” the friend suddenly exclaimed, hit by an epiphany, “the one from the beach you wouldn’t let us meet– the one who puts out. This her? It is, isn’t it?”

Your face burned red, unpleasant heat crawling over your body as the rest of his friends snickered. He told them you put out? Why would he do that? Your expression crumbled, body trembling with embarrassment and grief, but Chris kept his own cool.

“Don’t worry, doll, I didn’t tell them all the horny details,” he smirked, and his friends' snickers erupted into full on laughs as they slapped his back in amusement. Your body burned hot with indignation, eyes welling with tears as your frustration and anguish boiled over. You shoved him as hard as you could, though it hardly even caused him to take a step back.

“I wish I’d never laid eyes on you, you– you creep!” you cried before turning away, ready to run back home to throw the teddy bear he won you in the trash and sob into your pillows. “That’s not all she laid on him,” one of his friends commented under his breath, the rest laughing and hooting as you sprinted away from them, back down the street.

Chris just watched, body tense and face sullen, heart twisting in his chest. He watched you turn the corner, wiping tears from your eyes before you disappeared entirely out of view, his friends still laughing and giving him pats on the back.

But when he turned to them, he put the smirk back on, and they all hopped into his car to hit the drive-in as if he didn't care about what just happened with you, as if the guilt wasn't going to eat away at him every night.

The next time Chris sees you is weeks later, at a new mom-and-pop shop freshly opened on the edge of the city. He’s there with his friends, all of them jumping out his cadillac before he’s even fully parked, rushing inside to grab a good table.

And when he walks in, it’s not his friends that he sees first but you– sitting at a booth with another guy across from you. There's an empty plate with tiny remnants of ketchup still left behind that he just knows you used for your french fries, and a milkshake between you with two straws stuck in it.

Part of him is relieved you aren’t sharing a single straw with the man like you would’ve done with him, but his gut still twists from the sight regardless. And when you giggle at something indiscernible the guy says, Chris feels liquid hot envy boil in his blood, jaw tightening and fists clenching as he cracks his neck. 

“Chris, over here!” his best pal, Felix, calls from across the shop, and that’s when you see him too. You can’t help but look when you hear his name called, eyes widening when they land on him. He tenses, eyes lingering on you for a few seconds longer before he inevitably joins his friends at the table they scouted out in the middle of the room.

He can't focus on anything his friends are saying– the only thing he vaguely hears through the fog in his brain is Changbin begging the others for spare nickels so he can afford the dog-sled delight. It all becomes tuned out noise, because all he can think about is how much he missed you, and how much it pisses him off that you're here with someone else.

It's Chris' own fault, he knows that, and that makes the feeling even worse– like bile in his throat that he can't swallow down. It doesn’t take Minho, the most perceptive of his friend group, to notice that he’s staring at you and to comment on it.

“What, you still hung up on that chick?” he questions, and Chris scoffs as he snaps out of his fog, leaning back in his chair and acting as aloof as he can bring himself to. “What? No, of course not,” he says, but his eyes still linger on you, fingers twitching with irritation when he hears you laugh again, and watches you playfully slap the man’s arm like you would do to his.

Eventually, you hold out your palm to your date, and he watches the guy dig through his pockets to give you something. Chris knows immediately what's happening– you’re waiting to be given a dime or two, and you’ll saunter off to the jukebox to pick a new tune once they’re in hand.

He watches you rise from the booth, waits until you’ve made the walk over to rise from his table, muttering to his friends that he needs to hit the can real quick. He takes a few steps in the direction of the bathroom, and then immediately turns, going straight to you instead.

He props an arm on the jukebox after he approaches, leans against it and looks down at you as you cycle through the record choices. “Hey baby,” he tries, but you ignore him, don’t even spare him a glance as you continue to give the jukebox your full attention.

“Listen– I’m sorry,” he tries again, and you just hum in acknowledgement, still not turning your gaze to look at him. He swallows, glances back at his friends who are perfectly oblivious to what he’s doing, and then back to you. “I just– you know how it is, right? The guys, they expect me to act a certain way, and–”

“That’s why I’m so glad I met Sam,” you interrupt, turning around to look at your date and offer him a sweet wave. Chris hates it, but at least you’re talking to him now– he’ll take what he can get. He still ends up scowling however when your date waves back, and you turn back to the jukebox, still without glancing up at Chris himself.

“What, you like that square?” he scoffs as he looks your date up and down. He’s smartly dressed; pristine khaki slacks and a brown sweater vest pulled over his white button up, his hair in a neatly styled, respectable crew cut– but that’s not your type.

At least, he hopes it's not; because that would make Chris the outlier, and that’s not what he wants to be. He’ll also be damned if he ends up losing you to a goody two shoes like that.

“He’s sweet to me. And I don’t have to question what his intentions are, unlike with you,” you reply, and the emphasis put on 'you' makes his heart sink. While he certainly deserves to hear it, it doesn’t make him any less upset– not with you, but with himself. He really let his pride and reputation get in the way, and he knows he fucked up. But he wants you, and surely you know that, right?

You finally settle on a tune; Those Magic Changes– the one he knows is your absolute favorite. The one he even used to serenade you with once whilst dancing, you giggling away with a cute blush on your cheeks whilst he twirled you around. He sang it more exaggeratedly towards the end, purposely putting on a goofy voice to make you laugh harder as he dipped you down.

He kissed you before lifting you back up, and then again when you were completely upright, your hand on his shoulder and his arm around your waist, your other free hands intertwined. The way you looked at him when he pulled back from the kiss made his heart pound, but he played it cool– shot you that grin that always made your legs feel like jelly, kissing your cheeks when it made your blush deepen.

Chris liked feeling the heat of your blush against his lips, liked having your hands on him even when it was in the purest of ways, liked the way you giggled and smiled at him when he playfully winked at you. The memory strikes him hard when you press the play button to start the song, and he takes a step back from the jukebox, fists clenched at his side.

You look at him then– really look at him. Instantly he feels small, your gaze that once held so much love for him now meeting him with the utmost scrutiny. He fucked up, he knows he did– but what does he do now? He can’t even trust himself to say something without fucking it up even worse. 

And the pain of it all hits you too– he can see it in your eyes just before you steel your expression, and do your best to act unaffected. "See you around, Christopher," you mutter as you turn away from him and the jukebox.

You walk back to the booth where Sam awaits your return with a smile, while Chris just stands there, your favorite song blaring painfully loud in his ears as he stares at your back. "..begs you please, come back to me, please return to me, don't go away again," the lyrics mock him harshly.

He doesn't know what to do, but he knows he has to do something, anything, to show you he’s sincerely sorry. He needs to show you he still wants you, needs you to give him another chance– more than he’s ever needed anything.

The next time Chris sees you is once again by coincidence, while he’s sitting alone in the parking lot of the sock hop his little sister just begged him to take her to. He was trying to decide what to do with his time– if he left, he’d have to come back in a couple hours to pick her up, but surely it was better than sitting around outside, bored out of his mind while he waited for her.

He could go in, but sock hops aren’t really his thing– the only time he ever danced was with you, and he didn’t plan on changing that. All he’d do inside is stand on the edge of the room and watch his sister dance, and he didn’t much feel like doing that either. Besides, his little sister was a good girl, and she didn’t need, nor want, his constant supervision.

And he’s just about to turn the key in his ignition and burn rubber when he sees you, arm linked with stupid fucking Sam as he opens the door for you with his free hand. And fuck, he doesn't even care that he's about to crash your date– he just needs to talk you. He jumps out of his car in a rush, pulling open the door to the building and heading straight to the line leading to the dance floor.

Chris’ jaw tenses when he sees you– Sam is leaning down to whisper something in your ear while you wait in the line, and you cover your mouth as you giggle. He hates how similar it is to the days he spent with you at the fair, waiting in line for rides and popcorn. The envy bubbling in his gut makes him feel sick, and he has to take a breath to calm himself down before he approaches you.

He steps to where you are in the line when he feels mellowed out enough, you and your date turning around curiously when they hear his voice call your name. Your eyes widen when you see it's him, but you’re quick to correct your expression before your date notices anything off about you. “Can I talk to you?” Chris asks, not at all acknowledging Sam’s presence beside you.

Even when you divert your gaze to glance at your date’s reaction, Chris’ eyes stay firmly on you, awaiting your answer. “Please?” he follows up, and it makes you swallow. It’s the first time he’s ever taken a pleading, desperate tone with you, and he can tell rejecting him isn’t going to come easily to you– it gives him hope that you'll finally hear him out, maybe even take him back.

“I–” you hesitate a moment, and just as Chris’ new, shiny hope begins to dim, you unlink your arm from your date. “I’ll be right back, just stay in the line,” you tell Sam before shooting Chris a look and walking past him. He follows you back outside, and you cross your arms as you stand against the cold brick of the exterior.

“What do you want?” you cut straight to the point. There’s a million things he wants to say, but his built up jealousy causes him to ask the stupid, burning question first and foremost. “Since when do you go to sock hops?” he questions, and it almost makes you laugh– he’s unbelievable, breaking your heart like that and then pulling stunts like this. 

“Since nice boys ask me to go with them. Why, you jealous?” you accuse him and he scoffs, trying once again to play off what he feels. “Me? Jealous? Don’t make me laugh,” he says, unable to help the instinctive reaction to being called out. And he instantly regrets it, but it’s too late to take it back.

“Oh, so you won’t mind if I go back inside then?” you ask as you step away from the wall, starting to walk past Chris and back to the doors. He grabs your arm to stop you, and you look up at him expectantly. “Don’t, I–” he grits his teeth, hesitates for a moment, but ultimately decides to be honest, “I am, okay? So don’t.”

He lets your arm go, and his admission thankfully proves enough to make you stay. You settle back against the brick wall, but you don’t look at him after– instead you look down at the ground, staring at your sleek, black and white saddle shoes instead of meeting his gaze.

It’s silent for a moment, with Chris wracking his brain as he tries to figure out the right thing to say to you. “What you did was terrible, you know,” you end up breaking the silence first, your voice soft.

“I know, I– I meant it when I said I was sorry,” Chris says while moving a step closer to you, and still you hesitate to look at him. “I didn’t believe you. Still don’t,” you reply, and honestly, he can’t blame you– he should’ve been more sincere when he approached you.

But he was being a fucking idiot, still trying to play it cool even though it was just the two of you standing there by the jukebox. And who gave a fuck if his friends happened to look over and saw him talking to you? Why should he care? Is it really so wrong for him to be whipped for you?

Even the first time he saw you again, he should've done all the things he really wanted to do. He should've kissed you and hugged you tight, should've told you how happy he was to know you’re here to stay, should’ve flipped his friends the bird and told them to fuck off if they questioned him. But he didn’t– he cracked under the expectations, and you suffered for it.

There’s a lot he wants to say, but he doesn’t know how to say it– he’s never been vulnerable about his feelings before you, but he wants to try. Even if he screws up over and over again, he’ll keep trying– because you deserve it. And he should apologize again, sincerely, but there’s another question burning in his blood that he has to ask.

“Do you really like that guy? You’re not, like– going steady, are you?” Chris questions and you shrug, finally looking up from the ground to meet his eyes. “That depends,” you tell him, peeling your back away from the wall to stand directly in front of him, holding your hands behind your back.

“On what?” he follows up, and you smile– a small one, but it’s enough for him. “On you,” you answer, and the hope flares back up, drowning out the envy and shame in veins and replacing it with pure, unfiltered glee.

“Yeah?” he grins as he tilts his head, and your smile grows the tiniest bit more as you nod. You may still have your doubts about his sincerity, but the fact that you’re willing to give him a chance is all he needs– he’ll use the time you give him to prove it to you, to make sure you’re left with no doubts that you’re the one that he wants, to promise that he'll never break your heart again.

“Come with me then, back inside– you’re gonna be my date,” he says as he holds out his hand to you. Sock hops may not have been his style before, but they can be for you. “What about Sam?” you question, but still take his hand regardless.

“He can stag it the rest of the night for all I care. You’re mine, sugar,” Chris replies, and it sends butterflies sweeping through your stomach as you giggle in delight. “And your friends?” you ask next, knowing it’s very well possible he’ll crack under the expectations of his rep with them again if they see you together.

“Fuck ‘em,” he replies easily; and you’re both sure it’ll be easier said than done for him to not give a shit what they think, but he’ll do his best. He doesn’t want to do anything to make you regret giving him another chance. “Let’s dance, baby,” he grins at you, pulling you along with him as he steps back inside the building with you in tow.

There’s a thought in Chris’ head that he never before thought he’d ever have– the sock hop was perfect. And well, maybe it’s not the sock hop itself necessarily that he enjoyed, but you– yes, it was most certainly you. The time spent with you was everything he’d been missing, everything he could’ve ever hoped for following your departure from the city and his subsequent abysmal fuck up. 

He knew he didn’t deserve any of it– and he was certain you were going to share a more serious talk about it all later, but he couldn’t deny the satisfaction he felt walking back into the building and seeing Sam utterly bewildered that his date was now clinging to his own arm instead.

And he won’t shirk his responsibility to do better by you– he’ll own up to his mistakes, he’ll change, be someone deserving of you. It may take a lot of time and effort to unlearn all the dumb shit he’s taken in over the years, but he swears he’ll try– tonight is just the start of a lifetime of proving to you that he’ll do anything to keep you.

All night, you’ve been positively radiant– and truly, Chris has never felt luckier in all his life. He delighted in the way you smiled at him while dancing, enjoyed the way you squealed in excitement and bounced on your heels when the live band decided to play a cover of your favorite tune, couldn’t help the way a goofy grin spread over his face when you pecked him on the cheek following a slow dance.

You’re the only one in the world who’s ever seen it, you know– the only one who gets to see his dimples, or to hear him giggle. The only one he’s ever sung to and danced with, the only one he’s ever wanted to stay up all night talking on the phone with, the only one he’s ever taken out for more than a quick and simple joyride in his car.

He could feel the inquisitive, disbelieving stares too– Chris has lived here his entire life, and everyone knows the kind of guy he is. And maybe he’s simply lucky– he knows he’s nothing but a delinquent, knows his reputation precedes him, knows he doesn’t deserve the affection of a good girl like you. 

Regardless of it all, you love him– enough to give him another chance even when he hasn’t yet done enough to earn it. And effortlessly, you unlock the soft part of him– the part of him that desires and yearns and wants. He burns for you, the only girl in the world his heart has ever raced for, the only who knew who he was beyond the rough surface he projected to the rest of the world.

Now you’re outside tentatively standing next to Chris’ car, waiting for him to come back from confirming with his sister that she’ll hitch a ride home from her friends instead of him. It embarrasses him how she grills him with questions about you– and he answers in the vaguest of terms, having to promise that he’ll fill her in on it all in more detail later, but to please just let him go be alone with his girl.

He’s certain that no one else would believe it if he told them, but his intentions to be alone with you are entirely pure. Now that he’s close to having you as his again, he wants to do right by you– take it slow, kiss you soft and tender, touch you light and chaste, respectfully, sweetly. He wants to take you on dates again, wants to save up all his quarters to buy you something special, wants to devote his every moment to showing you how sincerely he loves you.

He wants you to meet his friends properly (after he gives them a stern warning to be gentlemen in front of you), wants you to meet his parents, and he wants to meet yours in turn. He wants to stop playing it cool and aloof and confident when he feels something– doesn’t want to keep pretending that the way you look at him doesn’t drive him wild, not just with lust but with adoration.

And certainly, you know that Chris is softer than he outwardly appears– you’re not blind to the way his cheeks and ears burn when you kiss him sweet and call him that name that makes his heart skip a beat. And unlike you, Chris knew what he was doing– so it was natural for him to always be the one leading your little song and dance, even when on the inside he felt like he was going to positively combust from the way your eyes sparkled at him.

There’s something you’ve been wanting to try– something that you couldn’t before, because your summer together passed by in a blink, and there was so much you didn’t know when your relationship first began. And Chris has taught you a lot in your time together– maybe more than he even realizes.

He may not know it, but he’s made you into a real insatiable minx. And now that you know he’s willing to beg and plead and grovel for you to take him back, oh how it makes your heart race with the possibilities. How far can you take it? How far is he willing to go for you, to prove that he’s devoted to you entirely? Would he really do anything to keep you?

Chris told you, just a few moments ago as the sock hop was coming to an end, that he’ll do anything and everything to make sure you don’t regret giving him another chance with him. He looked you straight in the eyes, vulnerable and entirely sincere, squeezed your hands in his as countless promises left his lips. 

Could he be manipulating you? Is he nothing but a dirty liar? It’s certainly possible– but you’d like to believe the Chris you knew last summer is the truest version of himself. You’d like to believe that the Chris you saw tonight isn’t an act to keep stringing you along. So you want to try something– something bold, something the you of last summer would’ve never thought to do.

You don’t think your shyness will ever entirely evaporate given that Chris is such an utter dreamboat, but he does well enough at playing it cool, so who's to say you can’t do it too? You can be playful and enticing, can play it coy and innocent while you flutter your lashes at him, can smile and pout at him in a way that makes desire spread through his veins like explosive, hot fireworks.

When Chris walks back out of the building you have to make a conscious effort to ignore the butterflies in your stomach– you’ve decided you’re a woman on a mission tonight, after all. The parking lot is sparse now, and the last stragglers from the sock hop all shuffle to their cars, his sister and her group of friends being among them.

Though you only met her briefly, you offer her a pleasant wave goodbye, and she smiles at you as she returns it– though you don’t miss the way she shoots her older brother a look after. A look that says “don’t fuck this up for yourself.” It almost makes you giggle– you like having his sister on your side; you get the impression she’ll chew him out if he doesn’t shape up the way he’s promised to. 

Chris doesn’t turn to you until after his sister and her friends have peeled out of the parking lot– you’re not sure if it’s because he wanted to make sure she was going to be safe, or if it’s because he felt like she’d gotten enough of an eyeful of him being affection with you, and he’d be embarrassed if she saw anymore. You like either answer.

“Hi baby,” he says, soft and sweet as he smiles, and it makes your heart once again skip a beat. Even after hours of dancing, he still looks utterly perfect– not a single piece of his greased up hair out of place. You hope you’re faring the same– you didn’t really get a chance to look at yourself in the mirror at the end of the night to know for certain, but you want Chris to think you look divine.

“Am I taking you straight home?” he asks; it’s dark out now, but you still have a fair amount of time before you’re expected back home. And while he’d love to spend more time with you, he isn’t going to assume– this is a trial period, after all; he still has to earn that, he’s sure.

Calling you his earlier was more hope on his end than confidence– he wants you to be his, but he knows he has to earn your trust back first. And he’s going to be a gentleman– any boundary you have, he’ll adhere to, no matter what. He refuses to fuck up with you again.

“No,” you answer short and simple, smiling up at him as you do. But before he can ask you what you want to do until curfew, you’re speaking again. “My shoe's untied,” you pout, leaning back against his car while gently lifting your foot from the ground to show him, “can you fix it for me, please?”

“You want me to tie it for you, baby?” he laughs a little as he tilts his head to the side, thinking you’re just oh so cute when you keep up the pout as you nod. He gets down on one knee easily, and you put your foot right on his knee, watching as he ties your laces back together. When he’s finished, you don’t put your foot back on the ground– you press it right to the middle of his chest.

“Baby?” Chris looks up at you curiously– and there’s a twinkle in your eye he’s never seen before. He almost thinks you’re going to kick him back on his behind, but you don’t– you take your skirt into your hands, and start to pull it up. Slowly, it rises above your calf, your knee, your thigh, until he can see your pretty white panties, with its precious little pink bow in the center.

“S-Sugar, what– what are you–” he stammers, struggling to form words in a way he never has before. You’ve never exposed yourself to him like this– just out in the open, with no barrier between you and the rest of the world. You aren’t in your bedroom, you aren’t inside the car with the windows and hood up– you’re out, in the middle of the fucking parking lot where anyone could see. 

Fuck, even the times at the beach, when he made love to you in the sand, were much, much more secluded than this– because those excursions were isolated, close to your aunt’s beach house and happening in the dead of night. And this is very much not– it’s barely even 9 o’clock, and you’re at a public venue; anyone could come by, and for any reason.

“I need your help with something else too, daddy,” you say as you pout some more, clearly acting coy, and he swallows as he stares up at you. “Can you do it, daddy? Can you help me?” You take as much of your skirt's fabric into one hand as you can, keeping it lifted above your thigh while you move your other hand between your legs, pulling your panties to the side to show him your pussy.

The action sends all of Chris’ blood careening to his cock– he can’t believe you’re really doing this right now. “Right– right here? N-Now?” he gulps, taking a quick glance around the parking lot. You’re alone now, but still– he never thought you’d do something so bold. Even just fooling around in the back seat of the cadillac with as much privacy as he could give you made you impossibly shy.

“Yes, here, now,” you tell him, keeping your panties hooked to the side with two fingers, while using the other two to spread your folds apart for him the best you can. You’re trying to entice him, and fuck, is it working. He never thought he’d see you this way, and it’s making him feel so utterly electric– he’s a fucking live wire, and he’ll pour his current straight into you.

Anything you want from him, it’s yours– he doesn’t need any convincing, he’s already impossibly ensnared by the rope that is your desire for him. And fuck, he said he wouldn't do this, said he'd be a gentleman, take things slow and build back up to intimacy with you– but if you're practically begging him for it, how can he resist?

Chris takes your foot into his hand, carefully lifts it from his chest and throws your leg over his shoulder before he crawls closer to you. The concrete of the parking lot ground is brutal against his knees, but he doesn’t give a shit– you need him, and that’s all that matters.

He replaces your hand, keeps your panties shoved aside with his own. Now that your hand is free you use it to hold onto the car door and give yourself some extra support as he starts placing kisses to your clit. His lips always feel so perfect– especially when he licks them first, gets them nice and wet for you; the sensation draws out a pleasant sigh, but you both know it isn’t really enough.

Chris likes to tease you, make you wait until you’re squirming and trembling from all his repeated kisses, gets you so worked up you could beg and cry before he finally gives you his tongue. But tonight is about getting what you want, when you want it– so as much as you enjoy his soft little kisses, you’re not going to let him work you up.

He’ll be the one fraying at the edges, the one desperate and pleading, the one who feels like his brain is filled with cotton, looking up at you from down on his knees with glassy eyes full of need. You let go of the car door, bring your hand to his head and thread your fingers through his hair. You pull back just enough to have his head tilting away from your pussy, making his eyes land straight up at you.

“Baby–” he gasps, and again you meet his gaze with that sinfully deceitful pout. “You said you’d do anything for me, daddy,” you say as you shoot him your best doe eyed look, “Did you mean it? Will you do anything for me?” Fuck, you’ve got him throbbing– you can see his erection straining against his jeans, and it nearly makes you grin in delight.

Still, you don’t crack– Chris always does well at only showing you the version of himself he wants you to see, and you will too. You won’t give him your meek looks or timid declarations of desire for more of his touch– he’ll only see a new you; a confident you who knows exactly what she wants. You’ve learned from the best, after all.

“Well?” you demand when he doesn’t immediately answer, and you watch him swallow, swearing you can see the shiver that spreads down his spine and throughout the rest of his body. “Y-Yeah baby, I meant it. I’d do anything for you,” he tells you, hoping you can’t see how red his face and ears are getting in the low light.

“Prove it– prove you want me, prove you’re good for something,” you say, and again he shivers, breath catching in his throat. “Eat it, make me cum.” Fuck, Chris is reeling– he still can’t even believe it’s really you talking to him this way. His brain feels like a faulty circuit board, all his synapses sparking dangerously as they fire off, ready to ignite his blood and engulf him in an uncontrollable flame of desire.

When you let go of his hair, he wastes no time diving right into your pussy, eating you out like a man starved. He brings his free hand to your ass, squeezes and holds you in place while he shakes his head to get more of you on his tongue, his nose bumping your clit and making your legs quiver.

You bite your lip, doing your best to suppress the loud moan he brings out of you by sucking on your clit. His plush lips wrapped around it, the flicks of his tongue, how expertly he sucks– it’s already so overwhelming, in the best way possible. Chris does his best to sink lower, tries to lick at your hole and get his tongue inside, but it’s hard like this– he’s not sure if he can.

“B-Baby, doll, let me lay you down, in the car, let me–” he pulls away from your dripping center to look up at you, and fuck, he looks ruined in the prettiest way imaginable. His eyes are hazy and pleading, glistening with your arousal from the tip of his nose all the way down to his chin, sweat dripping down his brow. “Need to spread you out, I– please? Gotta taste more of you.” 

Shit, you can’t deny you want it– especially not when he’s begging like this. You nod, and he smiles at you in appreciation, a smile that makes your knees even weaker than they already are. You take your leg off his shoulder, and he quickly rises to his feet, giving you a messy kiss before he ushers you away from the car door to open it for you.

You crawl into the back seat, and he follows, slamming the door shut behind him. He waits until you get comfortable, not acting until you're lying propped against the opposite door of the car. Chris hooks your panties in his fingers, pulls them down your legs and tosses them aside into the footwell; it'll be a sweet treat for him when he finds them again later.

He'll keep them, he thinks– stuff ‘em in his pocket and take them back to his room, where they'll lie safe and protected under his pillow. It's a dirty thought, one that'd otherwise fill his gut with shame, but right now all he feels is need– need for you to cum on his tongue, need to give you everything you want and more.

He settles on his stomach between your legs, and it’s certainly not easy, but he manages well enough. One of your legs ends up over his shoulder again while the other stays spread out with the help of his hand holding you under the knee. And finally, his tongue dips into your hole, and it’s pure bliss– maybe even more so for him than you. He’s hungry, utterly ravenous; all he can think, breath, and taste is you, you, you.

“Chris– your fingers, need your fingers,” you whine more shamelessly than you would've otherwise liked, but you know he enjoys it. He separates from you long enough to run his fingers between your folds, making sure they’re nice and slick for you before he presses them to your hole. 

He slides one finger in first, bringing his mouth back to your clit while you adjust to the feeling. Your legs are already trembling by the time he adds another finger, and when he starts curling his fingers to hit your most sensitive spot while flicking his tongue against your clit you can hardly even breathe– it’s just so, so good.

Your stomach is clenching, thighs and legs shaking hard, your release building up with an intensity you’ve never felt before. “Oh, fuck, Chris–” you cry when he presses the tips of his fingers into your spot harder. You’re certain that if it wasn’t for the fact that you’re still wearing your shoes, your toes would be curling from the pleasure.

Your pussy sounds so sloppy and messy, and Chris himself isn’t making it any better– he’s drooling so much, his saliva drenching you just as much as your own dripping arousal. You’re breathing hard, and even your hands are shaking as they continue to hold up your skirt to watch him devour you.

“Oh my god, ‘m gonna cum, I’m gonna– fuck, gonna cum for you daddy, please don’t stop,” you’re crying loud– and you know you should at least try to be quieter considering how out in the open you are, but you’re too far gone to care. With your head thrown back, you whimper and moan, high pitched and loud, eyes rolling back as your orgasm takes you.

It feels like it’s endless, the waves of pleasure ceaselessly jolting your body as your vision blurs white; and you feel wet; so, so wet. It’s only when you finally come down from the high and lift your head back up from where it thunked against the car door to look at Chris that you realize why you feel so drenched.

It’s not just your thighs that are dampened– it’s your skirt, Chris’ face and shirt, the leather of his seats; all of it is soaked with your cum. Your face starts to burn hot, and you swallow as Chris stares at you, almost bewildered. “Baby– did you just..?” You squirted for him, because of him– he doesn’t even fucking care how much of a nightmare it’s going to be to clean his car, all he can think about is how fucking sexy it is.

You simply nod, because it’s all you can think to do– you really weren’t expecting this to happen. “Oh my god, baby, you have to do it again, please, you have to,” he practically whines, and his enthusiasm over it makes you giggle. You honestly feel more than a little shy about it, but Chris’s apparent elation makes it worth the tinge of embarrassment.

You reach out for him, take the necklace dangling from his neck into your hands and pull, urging him to come closer to you. He crawls up your body, and you kiss him, sliping your tongue into his mouth and tasting yourself all over him. “Fuck, you’re so dirty baby,” he groans when you pull away, “what are we going to do, huh?”

It makes you giggle again, a soft thing full of mischievous delight. He basks in it, giggles with you before he kisses you again. “Need your cock now,” you tell him when he pulls away, and shit, he’d nearly forgotten how fucking hard he is whilst wrapped up in pleasuring you. He can feel it straining against his jeans, desperate for stimulation of its own.

“Yeah? Want my cock baby?” he asks, grinning at you the way he always had before; you tug on his silver chain again in response. “Don’t forget, you’re giving me everything I want. Everything, okay?” you say once his face is mere inches from yours again, making him look you closely in the eyes. Chris swallows as he nods, the smile you offer him once again making his brain feel fuzzy and floaty.

He looks you over once more, really takes it all in before he scrambles over the front seat, reaching for the glove box where he still has some spares from your time together over the summer. Condom in hand, he settles back over you, and you help him with his jeans while he tears the package open. He spreads it quickly down his length, and you take your legs in hand, holding them under your knees to keep yourself open for him. 

The sight of you like that is dizzying– legs open, skirt bunched up all the way to your stomach, pussy wet and glistening, with the hair there matting from how wet you are; you’re perfect. So fucking perfect. He moans as he pushes into you, so slick that you take him with ease. You take his face in one of your hands and pull him down to kiss you, a desperate one that makes pleasure lick over every inch of his skin.

Chris rolls his hips into you slowly to start, while you let go of the leg you're still holding to wrap your limbs around him, keeping him pressed close. He grabs onto the car door, uses it to keep himself steady when he starts to pick up the pace of his hips, harsh breaths and low moans leaving him freely. Neither of you are trying to be quiet, the street lights are burning bright, the hood of his car and the windows are down, anyone could hear you or see you– and the excitement of it all makes the pleasure he feels all the more intense.

“Baby, your tits– let me see ‘em, please, can I see ‘em?” he asks between labored breaths– he needs to see them, has missed them more than is probably allowed. You quickly do as he asks, fumbling with the top few buttons of your blouse to expose yourself to him. You tug down your bra so he can see your breasts bare, and again he groans, bringing his free hand to one of them to brush his thumb over your hardened nipple.

“Oh, you’re so pretty– so, so pretty baby,” he says, groaning when the words make you clench harder around him. It doesn’t take long for the car to start rocking with the motion of his thrusts, his rhythm quickly growing sloppier. He’s been so worked up, and believe it or not, he hasn’t actually fucked anyone since you– he feels so high strung and on edge, and he doesn’t know how much longer he can hold out.

He just hopes he can make you cum again before he does, or at least make you cum with him– he needs you to be happy with him. You can feel his cock twitching and throbbing, you can tell that he’s already impossibly close– so, like the little minx you are, you talk dirty to him, wanting to see him utterly unravel at the seams. “You gonna fill me up, daddy? Make this pussy all yours?”

Chris gasps and shudders, goosebumps erupting all over his impossibly hot skin. He knows he can’t actually– all he’s going to really fill up with his cum is the condom, but fuck, the thought of it is making his head swim. “Y-Yeah, gonna fill you up baby, daddy’s gonna make you so full,” he breathes, and God, that really does it for you.

You bring your fingers to your clit, rubbing in quick, practiced circles. Even through the condom he can feel you gushing and soaking his cock, and it sends him over the edge– as do the sounds of your incredibly pretty whimpers and moans of pleasure. His hips still when he cums, his bottom lip tucked between his teeth as his eyes roll back, head thrown back in utmost bliss.

It takes Chris a few moments to recollect himself and catch his breath, and he slowly slips out of you when does. He tucks his softening length back in his jeans before he helps you fix your bra, and smoothes your skirt out over your legs while you button your blouse back up. ���You feeling okay, baby?” he asks, wiping messy strands of hair out of your face.

You’re both covered in a sheen of sweat, faces flushed and hot, hair utterly a mess– it’s obvious, even with your clothes fixed up, what you’ve been doing. “Mhm, are you?” you ask, and he smiles, giving you a quick peck on the lips. “I’m peachy keen, jelly bean,” he replies and you giggle, kissing him once more.

He looks at himself in his rearview mirror when he pulls away, does his best to fix his messy hair while you lift yourself up from your propped position and stretch out your aching limbs. He then takes another glance around the parking lot, and notes that you’re still the only ones here– thank God. He was too enraptured by you to check earlier, and he’s grateful that no one else has showed up.

“Should probably get you home now, yeah?” Chris asks, looking at the clock on his dashboard and noticing it’s now getting dangerously close to your 10 o’clock curfew. He helps you get into the passenger seat when you nod, and you smile at him when he settles in beside you. He turns the key in the ignition, one hand resting on your thigh while the other stays on the wheel, and he drives you home.

Chris parks up the street, like he did all those times at your aunt’s beach house. He watches you walk over to your house, and he smiles when you turn around to blow him a kiss. At 11 he leaves his car, walks up the street to your home, and approaches the only window with a light still on– the window to your new bedroom. And you smile as you open it for him, letting him crawl his way inside.

He sees the teddy bear he won you at the fair sitting right in the middle of your bed, nestled against your pillows, and he smiles, delighted that you still kept it even after he broke your heart. “I love you, baby,” he tells you in a whisper after a sweet kiss, “never gonna hurt you again, I promise.”

“You better keep that promise, mister. Or I might just have to make you jealous again,” you warn and tease him with a cheeky little smile. He strips out of his jeans and tee shirt as you turn off your lamp, lies down beside you after you settle into your bed, runs his hand up and down your back as you press yourself against him. Head on his chest, with your arm and leg tossed over him, he kisses your head and smiles once more– because as he promised, this is just the start of a lifetime.

network tags: @ksmutsociety @skzstarnet

[avocado-writing]

pairing: logan howlett x afab!reader. 18+, minors dni. angst; smut (p in v unprotected sex; handjob - logan receiving; oral - reader & logan receiving). canonically bisexual reader. mentions of pregnancy attempts. dp+w movie spoilers.

synopsis: in the Void, after leaving the other dead in your own timelines, you and Logan are reunited.

words: 8.5k.

notes: this was inspired by not your man by @studioghibelli and the worst logan by @coweye! please go and read both these fics and show their authors some love, they are both incredibly talented writers who deserve it! dividers by @saradika-graphics 💕

The past couple of days have been a lot. 

To be honest, anything that isn’t sitting at a bar drinking the place dry is a lot to Logan nowadays. He’s used to low lights, rumbling conversation around him, the fuzzier end of consciousness. Even now he aches for a drink, knowing he’ll have to wake up sober next to the asshole in red he spent the night putting down in that fucking minivan. 

He hopes, at least, he has been met with all the surprises that this place can afford him. 

Ah. But that’d be too fucking easy, right?

That Cajun bastard’s liquor sits comfortably in the cradle of his palm and he chases away lucidity one swig at a time. Tries to block out the half-baked plan Wade is concocting with the other poor bastards who have been stuck here, even if it’s all probably pointless. He only chimes in to laugh at their hope. 

Then Elektra turns, withering pity in her eyes, and seems to properly assess him for the first time. 

“They’re gonna be so disappointed when they see you.”

“Who?” he snorts, past the point of caring that he’d disappoint anyone. It’s then that Elektra hits him like a fucking freight train with just one word spilling from her lips: your name. 

Logan feels a flood of memories come back to him. Ones he’s spent too long trying to drink away. The early morning when you’d hide under the blankets together, your hand cradling his face and letting the whole world consist of just the two of you. The stolen kisses in quiet corridors so the students at the mansion wouldn’t catch you and start silly little rumours. 

Him holding your lifeless body in his arms surrounded by the rubble of what used to be your bedroom, your powers unable to save you. 

He doesn’t have anything to say, merely spitting vitriol to anyone who tries to speak to him, even that damn kid who still prefers the other dead Logan to him. Why wouldn’t she? He’s a fucking mess, worth less than nothing, and that Logan was a hero. 

He retreats in the evening to lick his wounds or, hopefully, drown them. People keep trying to fucking talk to him and he does not want it. Yet they’re fucking relentless, like the Void is perfect at creating gut punch after gut punch for him. Laura walks away into the darkness after successfully making him feel like shit - not that it’s difficult these days - and when he hears more footsteps he assumes it’s Wade coming to harass him about tomorrow. 

“Oh, will you fuck off - ?” he snarls, but the sight of you there, half lit by a dying fire with orange dancing on your skin, oh, it just kills any venom he can muster dead in his throat. 

Logan is looking at a ghost and he has never been less prepared for anything in his long, long life. 

Your mouth has fallen open into a soft “o” as you look at him, brows knitted together as you take in every imperfect aspect of his being. 

“Lo?” you whisper. Your voice hasn’t changed. 

“Logan,” he replies, gruff, unsure if he’s confirming or correcting. But fuck does it sound good to hear his name out of your mouth again, even if it’s just a syllable. 

You tuck a lock of hair behind your ear and take a seat on one of the logs which has been pulled up as a makeshift bench. He tries not to watch the way the fire lights up your eyes. There’s an agonisingly long pause before you finally attempt conversation.  

“Long time no see, huh?” you ask with a weak grin. Fuck. It’s like a dagger. Your humour was always something which endeared you to him. Unlike Wade you never took it too far, cultivating your sincerity with your silliness in order to grow yourself into peoples’ hearts. 

His heart especially, and now it aches. 

He grunts, because he can’t bring himself to actually say anything. Can barely look at you. You keep talking, either not noticing or barrelling on regardless. 

“You know, when the gang said that you were here… I didn’t believe it. Thought there was no way a fucking Wolverine would fall into this place.”

“Let me guess,” he sneers, taking another long drag of bourbon, “I’m not what you expected.”

You laugh, an easy little thing, and part of him hates you for it. For reminding him of how it sounds. 

“I mean, you’re not. But not because of what you’re thinking.”

“How do you know what I’m thinking?” It comes out as a snap, lip curling back over his teeth in disgust. You do not look bothered in the least, just crossing one leg over the other and leaning back. 

“Because I know you, Logan. Knew my Logan too. Bet you’re spiralling, making yourself out to be some kinda disappointment. Well you’re not. You could never be.”

He desperately wants to argue but he simply doesn’t have the gumption. Besides, it’s nice to hear someone say something kind about him after all these years. 

“So,” you say after another one of those painful pauses, “considering every time you look my way you wince, you have a me in your timeline?”

He laughs without any humour in it, stares into the flames for so long they start to hurt his eyes. 

“Yeah. I did.”

“Ahh. ‘Did’. I died, then?”

You say it so flippantly, he can’t fucking stand it. 

“Mmm.”

“Makes sense. Don’t think I’d leave you in any timeline, so the only way I could see us ending would be if I wasn’t there any more.” You sigh, stretching your legs out to warm them. “Can I ask how it happened? Call it morbid curiosity.”

He absolutely does not want to talk about this. But, also… it’s you. Maybe not the you that was his, exactly, but it is you. Perhaps you deserve to know. He tries to stay dispassionate, as if he is a doctor quietly recounting the facts of death to a family member. 

“Mansion was attacked. Everyone died, including you. I wasn’t there. We’d had a fight, I went out drinking. When I got back you were gone.” He flexes his fist around the neck of the bottle, trying to avoid shattering it, but desperately needing to hold onto something. 

“Oh.” The fire crackles loudly. “What did we fight about?”

This will kill him. He will die in this Void. 

“You wanted to do another round of IVF. I didn’t want to be disappointed again.”

The words settle like a cloud of choking ash over the two of you. He takes a long drink. What a fucking failure he is, couldn’t even knock you up properly. 

“Fuck, Logan. I’m so sorry.”

“Yeah.”

“Does it help if I tell you I probably wasn’t that mad? I’ve never been really angry with you, you know. My Logan… we used to bicker a lot, we both had short fuses, but it never meant anything in the long run.”

He doesn’t know if it does help or not. Is it better to know that you died hating him, making it easier? Or that you were snuffed out while loving him the whole time?

“Your turn,” he says, because he can’t bear to continue this particular line of conversation, but for some reason he wants to keep talking to you. Your voice is a comfort he thought he’d long since lost. 

“You wanna see a picture?” you ask, a grin pulling at the sides of your mouth. No, he doesn’t, but when you reach into your jacket to grab the photograph, he finds himself holding his hand out to take it. You slowly float it over, telekinesis absolutely unnecessary - but you always did use it to make the little things easier. 

It’s old. Frayed and disintegrating at the edges, a thing which has been held and looked at over and over again. Faded slightly despite the fact that you clearly try to take good care of it. 

“Oh,” he says, eyes widening. You chuckle. 

“I know.”

Because, despite the lack of facial hair and addition of a decent rack, the woman with her arm around you in the photo is him. 

The Logan in the picture is about as butch as they come, decked out in a Wolverine’s trademark flannel and leather. One of her arms is wrapped around you to keep you close against her, the other playfully flipping the camera off with a middle claw, and she’s laughing with a joy he hasn’t seen on his own face for years. You’re pressing a kiss into her cheek and hanging onto one of her thick biceps. The two of you exude happiness. 

“She was the best thing that ever happened to me. She could be a mean cunt sometimes, smoked like a chimney, drank like a fish, but fuck we were the centres of each other’s world.” You let out a long sigh and hold your hand out - Logan goes to give you the photo but instead you gesture for the bourbon. He passes it and you and you drink deeply, gratefully. “I’d been in a string of bad relationships. Guys who took me for granted, women who were toxic but I didn’t realise until I was in too deep. Then she came along and well… she was a fucking angel in plaid.” 

Logan’s thumb absentmindedly strokes the photo. He’s pretty sure there’s a near-identical one back in his timeline. 

“Our mansion was attacked too. She died getting the kids out.”

Fuck. Fuck. No, he can’t do this. He can’t face the way he should have died. He really is the fucking worst Wolverine. He snatches the bottle back from you, you give no resistance, and he polishes it off. The photo flutters to the ground. 

“I think it’s time you fucked off,” he growls out. You roll your eyes, fucking roll your eyes at him, something his version of you did on pretty much a daily basis, and the knife in his heart twists further. 

“Well, Logan, I’m not gonna do that. Because this conversation is the most whole I’ve felt in a long time, and I’m pretty sure you feel the same way.”

He doesn’t. He does. He wants you to disappear forever. He wants to hold you close and kiss you, beg you never to leave again. He hates you. He loves you so, so much. 

He’s such a ruined man that it is laughable. 

“So what, I come along and just replace your little girlfriend? First Wolverine that you manage to get your hands on; is that what you’re hoping for?”

You bark out a laugh. It echoes around the trees. There are tears in your eyes when he turns to look. 

“Girlfriend? Logan, you were my fucking wife!” 

It’s such a ridiculous thing to say that the laughter engulfs you, peals of giggles that double you over. You hold your head in your hands and it soon turns to bitter sobs. He wants to reach out and hold you, apologise for ever making you sad. He tries to get any lingering drops from the bourbon instead. 

“We got married at the mansion. Charles officiated. The kids made us cards. We didn’t get a honeymoon because we didn’t have the fucking time. We had five years. Five really happy years and you know what? We wanted a baby too. We were getting a donor lined up! And then when the attack happened you were the one getting all the kids out I begged you to come with us but you were too fucking good, you had to stay behind and make sure nobody followed us. And it cost you your fucking life. They ripped you apart Logan. I know because all I found of you was your head and your wedding ring. I didn’t even get time to mourn because I had a dozen children to fucking take care of! And I did because I knew that’s what you’d want me to do. It’s what you died for. So I lived in the fucking woods with all of them for years, and they were my family, and I made sure they were as safe and happy as I could make them. And you know what happened then? When they were all grown? A fucking TVA agent appears out of nowhere and tells me, ‘oops! Sorry! Your Logan wasn’t supposed to die, it was meant to be you!’ So they fucking throw me in this hellhole to rot away into nothing and I’m sorry, Logan, I’m sorry that when I heard you were here I got my fucking hopes up that you might be happy to see me, because if there was one person who understood all of the shit I’m going through then it might be you.” You throw your head back up to stare him dead in the eyes. “And it’s pathetic because you know what? Even after all this? I’m still not angry with you. I’m still happy you’re here. Because seeing you makes me feel better, despite everything.”

It’s a long-ass rant, and your words hang in the air after you’re done. He doesn’t know what to say. What can he say? He opens his mouth to apologise but the words just won’t come out. Because, yeah, if he really dissects himself and looks at the parts laid bare, he’s glad you’re here too. 

He reaches down to rescue the photo before an ember lands on it, gingerly extending into you. When you take it back his fingers brush yours. He wishes he wasn’t wearing gloves. 

“Who was the donor?” he asks eventually. That does a lot to alleviate the mood, and you smile through tear-streaked cheeks. 

“You might not like the answer.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, don’t tell me it was Scott.”

“The two of you got on okay! Butted heads a lot but he was always a good friend to us. Plus it was cheaper than going through an agency.”

He growls to himself and it makes you laugh, but properly this time. Things have started to soften and it’s… nice. To be like this with you again. You pause for a moment, stuck on whether to ask a question; hesitate over whether it’s a good idea, then barrel on regardless. 

“Can I ask a weird question?”

“You’re dangerously close to sounding like Wade,” he replies. You groan at that idea. 

“Ugh. Fucking Deadpools, man. We get one come along every now and then and trash the place before fucking off again. Apparently there’s like, a tribe of them out there somewhere.” You give a full-body shudder. “Imagine. No, it’s nothing like that, I guess. Can you… can you take off your glove? Left one.”

He has a horrible feeling about this but when you ask so nicely, that air of vulnerability around you, well it just seeps into his fractures and breaks him open. It takes a moment but he does, flexing his bare hand in the cool air. 

You reach around your neck and pull at a thin chain he’d barely noticed. The ring at the end slides up from where it’s been resting on your sternum under your shirt, glinting as you remove it. 

“Give me your hand.”

This is a bad idea. 

He does anyway. 

You slip the ring on his fourth finger, softly twisting it to fit over his knuckle as you go. It is the perfect size. 

“Will you look at that,” you mumble, not releasing your grip on him. “She… you always told me your hands were kinda big because of the claws. Like I cared. One of my favourite parts about you.”

Your fingers trace along his, finding the spaces between them and gently slotting your hands together. Logan isn’t sure if he’s the one who closes the grasp or if it’s you, but a beat passes and suddenly you’re holding hands. 

He’s not done this with you for so fucking long. An age of aching which is relieved at the feeling of your palm up against his. 

“So now what?” he eventually has to ask. You smile. 

“Well, I mean, your Deadpool is probably gonna get us all killed tomorrow…”

“Ugh. Don’t call him ‘my Deadpool’.”

“… so I’d quite like to just spend tonight holding your hand, if that’s okay. Seems like a pretty nice final night to me.”

When you hit him with those soft eyes, what other fucking choice does he have?

You don’t speak much for the rest of the night. Eventually the fire dies out. Laura comes to seek you out the next morning, and is surprised to find you lying side by side with this other Logan, the most deeply asleep she’s ever seen you, fingers laced together so tightly with his it looks like it might hurt. 

He comes to the fight, of course; dredging up what little courage he has left in him in order to prove he’s not totally pathetic. You catch his eye and smile so wide that he feels likes he’s done at least one good fucking thing in his life. He hears the sound of you ripping into people with an enthusiasm he hasn’t witnessed for years. The last glimpse of you he gets before he jumps through the portal is you using your telekinesis to tear a man’s head off and he does not want to examine himself too closely when it sends a jolt of arousal down his spine. 

They leave you all there to face the end, but everyone knew that’s what you were all getting into. There has been a net gain and loss of nil. He never had you again. Not really. Not for anything longer than a night, and maybe that will be enough. 

Yes. That’s enough. It has to be. 

When he tells Wade he’ll go into that room, when he volunteers to die, he does it with the knowledge he’ll be doing something good, finally. Something you’d be proud of him for doing. And with you waiting for him on the other end of oblivion it really doesn’t seem too bad a fate. 

But then Wade does what he always does and fucks up his perfectly meticulous plan, and they both make it through, so he has to keep going. 

When Wade asks the TVA agent to help the group of you they left behind, Logan is sure to add on that people should get the opportunity to go back to their timelines - surely it’s what you’d want (this oddly selfless request has Wade raising an eyebrow which he ignores). After all, why wouldn’t you want to go back? It’s where you belong. Where you’ll be happiest. Putting things nice and neatly back into their place after this whole fucked-up venture. 

He doesn’t have you, but he’s still alive and wants to be, and that’s something. A lot more than he’s had for a long time now to be honest. 

His life becomes this strange little thing that’s wrapped up with Wade’s. He sleeps on his pull-out sofa until he has somewhere proper to put down his roots. Tries to lay off the booze as much as he can even if each day is a fucking struggle. Makes steps towards finding a proper place for himself; even gets a job on the door at the bar across the street. It’s okay. One step at a time. He can put himself back together like that. 

Imagine his surprise, then, when a week later there’s a knock at the door. 

He assumes it’s Al who’s forgotten her keys, or is too drunk to fish them out of her purse after bingo, so opens it without really thinking. 

The second time you’ve nearly stopped his heart in seven days. 

“Hey,” you say. 

“Oh,” is what he can manage. You tuck a lock of hair behind your ear. Your go-to. 

“Yeah. Sorry. I uh, followed you back, I suppose. The TVA were gonna send me home but I asked where you were and when the answer was ‘here’, well… didn’t make sense for me to be any place else.”

He blinks at you. After a beat of silence he can tell you hate, no doubt wondering if your choice was the wrong one, he lifts his hand to cup your face. You stiffen for a second and then nestle into his palm. 

“You’re real,” he states. You press your hand to his. 

“I am.”

He pulls you into his chest and you are more than willing to come. He feels the way you bury yourself into him, nose first, remembering what he smells like. Your arms wrap around him so tight it’s like you’re scared he will disappear when it should be the other way round: if anyone is dreaming it’s him. You bothered coming here for him. You uprooted your whole life for it. 

He could hold you forever but the neighbours are nosy and the apartment is a mess. He presses his mouth close to your ear. 

“Wanna get a coffee?”

You pull back to meet his gaze. 

“I’d love that.” Your eyes drop and you pull a face. “Oh, uhh, you might wanna get changed first, though.”

He looks down and realises what shirt he’s wearing before letting out a groan, which gets you chuckling. 

“Wilson’s letting me borrow his shirts until my first paycheck comes in. Just to slum around the apartment.”

“Oh, so you’re not ‘employee of the month at the dick sucking factory’?” You ask, reading the slogan on his tee.

“No. Looks like Wilson won out over me.”

The fact he’s made a joke hangs in the air for a moment and you burst into laughter, real actual laughter, and it’s the most beautiful fucking thing he’s ever heard.

He grabs the only plain shirt Wade has left out, slices off the sleeves just because, and grabs twenty dollars from his roommate’s wallet. Soon enough you’re sitting in the little café near his building. The sky is grey and overcast, just threatening to rain but not quite bothering, and the two of you are tucked away in a corner table while Taylor Swift plays over the sound system. 

Logan does not like that he knows it’s Taylor Swift. This is what living with Wade has done to him. 

You watch him with affectionate eyes across the table, making sure nobody is paying close attention before using your telekinesis to stir the little metal spoon around in your latte. You nod at his mug. 

“You take coffee the same way as she did. Boring and black.”

Logan’s nostrils flare a little in a laugh. 

“Yeah, and you take yours the same way too. So fucking dense with syrup that it’s not coffee at all.”

“Oh you were always such a coffee snob! ‘Babe you gotta try it plain first so you can appreciate the aroma’,” you say, putting on a gruff affectation as a parody of his voice. 

“You do need to try it plain f—”

He’s interrupted when a sugar lump floats into the air from the pot in the middle of the table and launches itself at him, bouncing off of his pectoral. He cocks an eyebrow. 

“Real mature, bub.”

“Grouch.”

“Contrarian.”

“I’m not a—” you pause, realising there’s no way to win against that accusation, and grin at him instead. 

“Where are you staying?” he asks after a long drink. It’s not booze. He kinda wishes it was booze. But also, he knows it’s best not to go down that path again, for everyone’s sake.

“The mansion. Turns out I died in this timeline too, so you and I are two for two here” - there’s a hint of a smile at your own macabre observation - “but they were using my room for storage so they just let me have it back.” You grimace a little. “It’s been weird. It’s my space but it’s not, y’know?”

“I get that.”

He probably gets it better than anybody. Nice to have someone to share this strange, singular feeling with. 

“You should come around. Laura’s there too, I know she’d be glad to see you too.”

“She settling in okay?”

“Yeah. It’ll take a while, but everyone has been really understanding and kind. I think she’ll thrive here.”

“I’m glad to hear that.”

You give him a smile that lets him know you believe it. Your eyes cast over him, taking in this new, slightly more settled Logan, falling still when you see what’s pressed against his fourth knuckle. 

“You’re still wearing the ring.”

“Oh,” he replies, surprised. Flexes his fingers as he looks at it. It’s been so comfortable there, so utterly unobtrusive and right, he hasn’t even noticed. “You want it back?”

A beat passes as you consider the question. Coffee is sipped. Another sugar added and stirred, perhaps just for show. 

“I don’t know,” you settle on. “I kinda like seeing you wear it but… if you were gonna have my ring, I’d want it to be one that was meant for you.”

He lets that idea settle between the two of you. Suddenly, slowly, you’re reaching forward, laying your smaller hand over his thick, rough one. 

“Logan. I want to be with you. In every way you’ll have me, all of it. I don’t know if it was fate or god or plain luck that threw us back together but I’m certain I don’t wanna waste this opportunity. I’d love you in every lifetime, in every timeline. I can’t be without you ever again, I think it would just kill me - and if I know you, you feel the same.”

He doesn’t even bother arguing because he does. When you turned up on his doorstep a scant couple of hours ago a part of his soul had been healed; your existence like kintsugi to piece him back together. A man made of adamantium and gold. 

“I’d like that,” he manages. 

“Yeah?” Your eyes glimmer with a hope which he’s not been privy to for a long time now. 

“Yeah.”

“Well, okay then,” you say with a smile, and drink your coffee. 

The two of you do not take it slow. How does one take it slow when your soulmate comes back into your life? You are not exactly the same person he once knew, but you understand each other in every way which matters. Your souls fit together like puzzle pieces. The two of you are whole again. 

Then again, perhaps he doesn’t need the version of you he used to have. Maybe, now, he needs this you - rougher around the edges, a little older and more wary, a fit which is better for him. Someone who can put up with his bullshit as Al once bluntly put it. 

You barely spend a night apart. You stay over with him on Wade’s pullout (inciting an input of, “something the two of you had better do, we can’t afford a kid on my income—!” before Logan had hurled a water bottle at him) meeting up with him after his shift is done in the small hours, getting something to eat at one of the greasy spoons which remain open. He devours full plates of fatty food; you stick to slices of pie which you feed him bites of from your fork. When you get back to the apartment you cuddle up on the uncomfortable mattress which folds from the sofa and fall asleep in each other’s arms. 

He sleeps pretty well nowadays. 

The two of you only realise you haven’t kissed yet when you do it for the first time. You’re making a coffee run, tugging on his jacket because you like the smell of cigar smoke and it’s thicker than yours. A little act of intimacy which has become commonplace. 

“Same as usual?” 

“Mm-hm.”

“Boring,” you make an exaggeration of a sigh, before leaning over the back of the sofa to press your lips to his. He automatically leans into it, tilting his head up so that he can meet you; it’s a chaste little thing, a peck between two people who will only be parted for a moment, but you pull back in surprise when you realise what’s just happened. 

“Oh!” you say with delight, eyes sparkling.

Your hand slips around his neck to cradle him, fingers playing with the hair at his nape. You gently pull him back for another. Longer this time. Lips slip together, moving carefully in something a little deeper. When you break for a moment it’s Logan who pulls you back. This third kiss is on the brink of hungry. He slides his tongue to swipe against your mouth and you let out a happy little hum at the intrusion. 

His arm curls around your back. With a little tug he pulls you over the back of the sofa and into his lap, making you yelp with glee. His mouth returns to yours, crushing, greedy for any little noises you’re able to make. You relax into it and are happy to take whatever he gives you. 

Wade finds you making out on the couch like a pair of teenagers, coffee forgotten. He does not let Logan live it down for a week. 

The apartment is fine, but not a long term solution. Wade and Al are constant presences that stops the two of you being fully at ease together. Logan knows that invitation to go to the mansion is always there, but it’s a while before he takes it - he really isn’t sure what he’ll feel, being back at a place he last saw burned to the ground because of his pigheadedness. Might just break him all over again. 

But ah, when you nock your fingers in the spaces between his, he can face anything. 

One night, exhausted and full of diner food, he agrees to go back to yours - the two of you have had a late night coffee meaning you’re still a tiny bit buzzed, a little too much to fall asleep on the pullout. Instead you get a taxi to yours, near enough, tipping the driver well when he drops you in the middle of a random street and choosing to walk the last minutes hand-in-hand.

The mansion is quiet. Everyone is mostly asleep. And Logan does feel strange being back here, but it isn’t a bad strange. Just another aspect of this new life he has to compartmentalise. 

You drag him through low-lit halls, confident in the steps which will lead you back to your room; he recalls a similar journey from his own timeline in the night you first hooked up, smuggling him to your bed down the corridors all wandering hands and breathless kisses and giddy giggles; but there’s no part about you that wants to hide this. 

You’d show your Logan off to the world. 

You’ve tried to make the room your own, he can tell. It’s pretty big and spacious. Good view. Has an ensuite which he plans on monopolising. He shucks off his clothes and sleeps in just his boxers, arms holding you to him so he can feel every part of your body against his. His chest hair bristles between your shoulder blades and you hum contentedly. 

He agrees to come to breakfast the next morning and, to their credit, people are good at not staring. The members of the team he recognises from his past keep their distance unless he seeks to close it. Hank gives him a smile. 

“Good to see you, Logan.”

“Mmm,” he manages. Laura comes down to grab something to eat and lights up when she sees him. She gives him a hug which skews on the side of awkward but he’s grateful to receive it, and he can see how pleased you are watching this development. 

He comes around more and more often. 

Less time spent at the apartment with Wade - who constantly complains about the fact and Logan cannot tell if he’s sincere or not - more living in the pocket of you. He helps you sort out the furniture in the room so that there’s more space; you’re moving a chest of drawers to another corner together when a photo falls out from behind them. Trapped against the wall for years. Long forgotten. 

“Oh,” you say, lifting it up and bringing it to your hand with a wave. Your face twists into something strange and bittersweet, a mask Logan isn’t quite sure how to comprehend, but he quickly understands why when he joins you. 

It’s a picture of the two of you. 

Not exactly the two of you, of course; the ones of you who lived in this timeline. Logan is posing on the back of his Harley, you’re propped up on the seat next to him with your head thrown back in laughter. The two of you look… young. This must have been taken when you first started going out. 

Your thumb caresses the photo in a movement he’s familiar with. 

“Huh. Looks like we were together here, too. Who’da thunk it,” you mutter.

He slips an arm around you then because he’s feeling oddly sentimental. It’s reassuring. No matter what timeline it is, there’s a you who loves him and a him who loves you. A simple and irrefutable truth, like the fact that the sun rises every day or the moon moves the tides. 

“Apparently Magneto got me in the late noughties. Feels like a bit of a pathetic way to go, but diverging timelines, I guess.”

Logan knows that in this timeline, he stuck around for a while after. Poor bastard, he thinks. Having to live those years without you. That’s a misery he understands all too fucking well. 

But not any more. 

You leave the photo on your dresser, loathe to throw it away, and continue moving furniture to make room for the TV you just bought. Logan hates sharing the one in the living room, especially when the hockey’s on.

Eventually Logan is spending so much time with you he’s barely living at Wade’s any more. You’ve suggested they’d be happy to have him back in the mansion for a “teaching job” like you have, though he knows there’s never much teaching involved, more helping kids learn to defend themselves without too much collateral damage. Still it’s a fair chunk of change better than his current miserable doorman’s salary and it means he’d be living at more sociable hours.

Plus he’d get to move in with you, an idea you’re both secretly happy about. 

So he hands in his notice at the bar and packs the scant few belongings he has at Wilson’s into a cardboard box from Bad Dragon, which is strangely the only one Wade could find him (“god Peanut that’s so weird, oh well!”). Looks around the apartment he’s called home for some time, feels not entirely pleased to be leaving it. 

“And remember sweetie, if it all goes incredibly wrong and you realise the place you’ve belonged the whole time is on my undoubtedly piss-soaked pull out sofa bed, Al and I will be happy to have you back with minimal taunting.”

Logan fixes him with a look. 

“Wilson?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks.” The word is odd coming from his mouth but not insincere. Wade goes to say something that’s no doubt stupid and inappropriate, however he softens at the last moment. 

“Any time. Go get ‘em, tiger, I’m rooting for you.”

You’ve moved your stuff so he can have a side of the closet, and drawers in the dresser, and he resumes his life with you. 

It takes only a couple of days for him to settle and realise how much he prefers this. Living with you properly. How, really, he couldn’t stand to be apart from you. How he wants to be there for every second, hear every laugh which drips from you, comfort you whenever something threatens to ruin your happiness. 

He falls asleep with you wrapped in his arms every night. Wakes up with you there. Pretty fucking perfect if you ask him. 

There’s nothing special about the morning when you first make love except for the fact it’s the morning when you first make love. It’s a border the two of you haven’t quite crossed yet. Almost as if you’re both afraid to make the commitment, like it may break you apart; there’s perhaps an underlying fear that you’re being unfaithful to your partners from your own timelines. That being together like that dishonours their memory. 

It’s a salve, then, that the longer you’ve been together the more you realise that you don’t love each other as a stand-in for the ones who died, but entirely on each other’s own merits. He doesn’t look at you and see the body he held in the manor. He sees someone who he’d protect, give his life to, become a dog for because he’s utterly in love with this you, the one who was so happy to find him in the Void, the one who patched him back together when he was at his most broken. 

There’s nothing to second guess in this relationship. It is the most solid foundation he’s ever had, and from the way you look at him every morning as if he’s hung the stars, you feel the same. 

That morning he’s holding you particularly tight. It’s a Sunday, the quietest day at the mansion, and the two of you are in bed later than you’d usually be. You’re both awake because you’re pressing more and more into each other’s bodies, nestling together like nesting dolls. His arm slung around your waist, hips against the swell of your ass. 

You shift slightly and he feels his cock harden in interest. Why wouldn’t it? Most beautiful person in the whole world right here in his bed. He might be old but he’s not a fool. 

He’s aware your hips are moving again, pressing yourself into him harder. He lets out a quiet, gruff laugh. 

“You’re doing that on purpose.”

“Mmm, maybe I am, Howlett. What are you gonna do about it?”

You squeak with laughter as he surges upwards, pinning your hands to the mattress either side of your head so that he can look down at you. Such a pretty picture beneath him. Hair all fanned out, eyes sleepy and sexy, ready to take in the syrupy-slow pace of the morning. 

His lips press into yours softly but firm. You hum into the kiss, slipping your wrists from his grasp so that you can wrap your arms around his broad neck and tug him closer. Your legs slowly match pace, looping at his waist. His cock is free to press against your clothed core now and he doesn’t waste a second of the opportunity; he grinds down, never letting it distract from the kiss for a second, even smiling into it when he can feel the blunt head of his dick catch your clit. You gasp. 

“Logan…”

Oh yes, that’s it. That’s the voice. He could listen to you say his name a million times and it would still be the sweetest sound in the whole fucking universe. 

He kisses you again and again, getting more fierce now. Tongues slide together and you moan into his mouth. Teeth clack with the force of it. He wants every sense to be drowned in you. Your smell, your taste, your touch. You’re holding him so tightly it’s like you’re worried you’ll just float away from the bliss of it all.

He’d never let that happen. He’ll keep you right here in this bed, forever, if you’d let him. 

With a display of telekinesis he’s not expecting, Logan finds himself on his back. You stare down at him with wide, hungry eyes, and he’s never been more turned on in his entire life. 

“Can I suck your cock?” you ask breathlessly, and he finds himself huffing out a laugh because fuck, as if you’d ever have to ask. You take his meaning and giggle before you start to make your way down the plain of his chest. A kiss dropped on the top of his pectoral, followed by you moving that sweet mouth around one of his nipples to play with it. Logan huffs and arches into your touch like a schoolgirl. You use your teeth to continue the trail, tracing around his abs - which have become less pronounced ever since he started eating right, and you’ve often expressed your pleasure at this fact - mouthing at where his muscles shape his Apollo’s belt. 

Your hand goes to palm his cock through his boxers and he has to make a concentrated effort not to come. It’s been a while since he was touched properly like this, and though he used to be able to go all night when he was a younger man, he truly doesn’t know if he has it in him today.

You seem delighted by this development though. Holding his gaze you slowly drag his waistband down to his thighs, watching in delight as his cock bobs up, half-hard. You take him in hand and pump him lazily, languidly, enjoying every stroke which makes him firmer. You prop yourself up on your free arm, elbow on the mattress and palm cradling your jaw, eyes on him like he’s the show of the century.  

“Handsome, handsome, handsome man,” you sigh, dreamily. 

“Old man,” he chuckles. 

“Not mutually exclusive.”

He has to concede that with the way you’re looking at him like you might eat him alive.  

When he feels your mouth around his cock his brain almost short-circuits. It’s warm and wet and willing, your tongue gliding along the thick vein you find there before caressing his head. Logan grunts, fisting the blankets, and a familiar snik has you looking up. You grin around his shaft when you see his claws have popped out from the intensity of his gripping hands. 

Pleased, you continue with your work. You bob up and down as the fire builds in his belly, a low heat which is soon bubbling over when he feels you press the tip of your tongue into his slit, humming with pleasure as the taste of his pre floods you. Logan is aware he’s beginning to tighten in a way which suggests that if you don’t stop now things will be over entirely too soon.

Claws retracting, his hand comes to grab your hair. His cock is enveloped in the sweet velvet of your throat, in fact he can feel himself brush against your uvula, and when you look up at him like that he almost gives up completely. He powers through though, carefully guiding you up and off. You wipe your spit-soaked mouth with the back of your hand. 

“Oh… was it not…?” you don’t voice the word ‘good’ but it hangs there anyway. Logan rumbles with a laugh.

“Fuck, it was the best thing I’ve felt in years. Wanna fuck you properly, though. Come up here and sit on my face, baby. Need to taste you.”

Your eyes go wide. Like he’s come up with the idea of the century.

“Fuck. Yeah, okay.”

There is nothing elegant about the way you pull yourself up the length of his body, but it is filled with a primal need which is far more sexy. You pause at his abdomen in order to rub your soaked cunt across his abs a couple of times. Fucking the muscles there. You throw your head back in gratification and continue up along his chest before a strong thigh is planted either side of his face.

Looking up at you from his back is his favourite view. Logan wastes no time in clamping an arm around either one of your legs and pulling you cunt-first onto his tongue, you gasp and writhe in delight.

“Oh fuck, Logan!” you hiss. Yeah, that’s it. That’s the voice he wants to hear. All strung out with sex and pleasure because of him. He fucking buries himself in you. Kisses your pussy sloppily, changing his attention from between your clit and your folds, no rhythm to his need. When your fingers scratch his scalp in your need to grab a fistful of hair he thinks he might be in heaven. His hips buck into the air, imagining the action of taking you before he’s even properly started. You start to fuck yourself on his face. Hips grinding down onto his beard, groaning at the stubble there which prickles and pleases.

“I’m gonna--”

“Fuckin’ do it,” he mumbles from between your legs. You cum in his hot, wanting mouth; all the furniture in the room rattles as you let out a little involuntary telekinetic jolt.

You are not done. This was the appetiser. Eyes still ravenous you peel your pussy off of his face, sweeping down to kiss him so you can taste yourself there. Moaning in delight at the musk.

“Wanna ride you…”

“Anything,” he breathes because, yeah. He will do anything you ask, anything you want. He’s a loyal hound at your heel. 

When you take his cock it’s with less teasing this time, more intent. Spreading your legs wide you line him up with your entrance and slowly sink down. He wants to grab. Your flesh, the blankets, anything. Sensing his desperation you hold out your hands when he’s far enough inside you and he meets them in midair, pressing his fingers between yours, knuckles white from the effort.

Hips nestle against his. You begin to move.

“Logan…” 

Your name leaves his lips in a similar whisper, dragged out through his throat from his very heart. You look down at him, eyes clear and wide and lucid despite the heady pleasure.

“Logan. I love you. I love you.”

Yes, you love this him. Not as a stand in for the Logan you lost, not as some sort of idol on a pedestal, but because you’ve fallen for him just like he’s fallen for you. He is worth loving. He is. He is worthy of you. It is a realisation which hits him with the force of a bomb. He grips you tighter.

“I love you too,” he confesses. He feels his pulse sync with yours from where he’s sheathed inside you, grips your hands tighter because he knows you can take it; you hold him back just as hard. Your hips rock in a wild rhythm as he brings his own up to meet them. It’s hard to know who’s fucking who, it’s wild and desperate and raw, but you keep chanting those words as a manta.

Logan. I love you. Logan. I love you.

He only lets go of one of your hands when he can feel he’s about to finish, dropping it to your clit in order to press rough circles there. You come messily over his cock and he spills inside you, pumping you full of him. Marking you as his.

You collapse into his arms, sweaty and spent. He holds you with arms like iron. Cock still inside, softening now, but he doesn’t want to to break the contact.

You pull back after a moment of breathing together, propping your elbow on his chest.

“Hey.”

He smiles back, a real smile, something he’s not been truly able to produce for years.

“Hey.”

“I meant it, you know. I love you,” you trace a pattern on his collarbone, silly and intimate. 

“I know. So did I.”

“Mmm, okay, good.” You kiss him and hum into it. “We should get up.”

“Probably.”

“But let’s not.”

“Sounds fuckin’ good to me.”

You laugh, and oh you are the sunlight. 

The summer heat is cloying but Wade has set up some parasols on the top of his building to hide under, he did not specify where he got them but a few local restaurants seemed to be without on the journey back to the apartment. The group of you are definitely not meant to be up here, but with the weather so hot, nobody cares enough to cause a fuss. 

It’s a small gathering. Logan stands at the grill because it’s where he’s most comfortable, supervising the chaos. That awful mutt of Wade’s is looking up at him with expectant eyes and, when he’s sure nobody is watching, he throws her a hamburger which she goes crazy for. 

And it’s… nice. He didn’t even complain when Wade put on the 1989 album. A few of his old roommate’s friends, a couple of them now mutual - Piotr is a pretty relaxed guy to be in the mansion with, and the two teens who Wade somehow befriended get along with Laura. You’re talking with Peter who for some reason is always at these gatherings but he’s probably the least offensive person here. 

He says something which makes you laugh, and you look over to Logan as you both settle. You gesture at the bottle of soda in your hand, an invitation; he nods. 

You stand, rummage in the cooler, and close the gap. He eyes the glass bottle of Dr Pepper with disapproval; you give him a playful shove. 

“C’mon, be good. You just got your one month chip. Keep it up, we’re proud of you.”

He grumbles his acceptance and takes it. It is pretty refreshing to be fair. He settled the hand he’s not using on the grill around your waist, pulling you so that you settle nice and snug against his flank. You grin up at him, pleased with the show of affection.

“Hey handsome,” you chuckle. 

“Hey gorgeous.”

“You make me the happiest I’ve ever been, you know that?”

Day by day he’s letting himself believe it. That he’s the kind of man who could make someone as amazing as you happy, as over-the-moon with joy as you make him. 

Before he can answer Yukio appears by the grill, pointing a Polaroid camera in your faces. 

“Smile!” she says, and the two of you do, because she’s a nice kid and you don’t wanna let her down. She snaps a photo and watches it quickly develop, shaking it loudly in the air before admiring her work. 

“Awww, cute! I hope me and Ellie are like you guys when we’re your age. Here ya go!”

She passes over the photo before skipping away to find her next victim. Logan has to try and hide a laugh at the indignant splutters that are escaping you. 

“Our age…?!” you mutter, but soften when you look down at the picture. It’s nice. The two of you make a good-looking pair that’s for damn sure, he can almost understand Wade’s insistence of “letting him watch one night”. But most importantly, the two of you look… happy. With each other. With this slice of life. 

“This is a great one,” you declare. 

“Yeah,” he says, but he’s looking at you. 

When you get home tonight, late by the time you pull up to the mansion, you’ll toe off your shoes as you walk in through the door like you always do, but this time you’ll pause to put this photo in front of the one you found behind the chest of drawers, and Logan will feel content that he never has to be without you again. 

taglist: @falsewordz @malfoys-demigod @belilwen @mildly-salted @tvwebs @childeslegstrap @getmeoutofhell @s1eep-o @just-a-beatlemaniac69 @yrthr @momopad @sugarplumz100 @captainjinkx @madspads @acrosstheunivcrse @yeethaw13 @na-is-salty @florduarte @hunterispunk

[kmuradesu]

.‘ENTITLED’.

husband!gojo x pregnantwife!reader (afab)

» summary: leaving the busy streets of Sendai city back to its outskirts, the two of you got a bus. there aren’t any seats available, and being pregnant meant being able to sit in the priority seats. looks like they’re taken.

» CW: pregnancy, exhaustion, mentions of jizz, bus ride, stubborn civilian, teeny-weeny angst if you squint, protective satoru, threats, all happy, no swears, not proofread!

» a/n: this has been sat incomplete in my drafts for a month, only until now I’ve motivated myself to finish it (lmao). I don’t know what it is, but I love pregnancy fics with jjk.

———————————————————————

After a slow-paced stroll through the bustling streets of Sendai City and a bunch of offers from Gojo telling you he’ll buy whatever you want, the lingering sense of exhaustion finally caught up with you.

You had managed to make it an hour and a half.

The beads of salty sweat were becoming more prominent over your glossed skin, your breath being lost easily but being hard to get back. The overly frequent back aches weren’t helping either, it was like this baby was already overweight inside of you.

You couldn’t help but feel embarrassed as your soft, now clammy, hand weaved with Gojo’s, the wedding bands glinting a perfect chrome against the sun’s humid rays. You didn’t want to become a burden, neither a random woman in the city known for sweating abnormal amounts of sweat. “I think the baby’s had enough, huh sweets?”

Your loose gaze lifted upwards to meet his, immediately feeling the cool radiating from his cerulean eyes. Strangely, through the navy lenses in his shades.

“..yeah, me too.” You breathed.

“Okayyy, let’s get the bus back - save you walking around with that watermelon inside you.” Purposefully, Satoru presented you and your bump a judgy look.

“..thanks.”

Rolling your peepers with sarcasm, you gently swung your hand with his back and forth.

“Hey, that’s what it looks like to me!”

“Well it’s your sperm, blame your own genes on the fact it’s fat!”

“WHAT?! FAT?! I’M NOT FAT. I’M A TALL SKINNY KING! AND SO WILL BE MY BABIES!” The man was very much offended, that open-mouth and crossed brow face he pulled was all you needed to know.

“..oh REALLY? WELLI KNOW FOR A FACT ITS NOT MY GENES CAUSING IT!”

And all the way to the bus station you continued on with your quarrel on who’s genes caused your bump to be so big already.

Both you were just kids in adult bodies.

——

After earning an unusual load of overcritical glances from passers-by, you finally reached the bus station where many people stood.

Looking around with concern, your brows gently furrowed, a little confusion clouding your mind. It was good that Satoru could read you like a book.. sometimes.

“It’s okay, they’ll let us go past.”

The white-haired man muttered into your ear, placing his hands on your clothed shoulders.

“What if they don’t?”

“Oh they will.”

The way he said those words made you feel something, like it was your hormones playing tricks on you.

And so soon enough after waiting for a couple minutes, you had a glimpse of the scheduled bus turning around the corner.

“C’mon then.”

Placing a hand on the flat of your bump you both moved forwards, attempting to shift to the front.

“Satoru, I—”

“Just go baby, they’ll move for a pregnant queen like you.” He reassured, eyeing the men who weren’t moving out the way at first. Like they should, the women knew to make way, all flashing you sweetened smiles as you passed them.

Eventually you had gotten to the front with a man standing in the lead. “See?” Gojo smirked, watching you tilt your head back to see his beautiful face.

“M’kay..”

——

The doors of the vehicle swung open with a but too much vigour it almost took out the poor man standing next to them.

After Gojo, being the most pampering partner ever, paid for the tickets, he ushered you forwards only to discern no available seats. Gojo would be more than happy to stand, but it was you he worried about since you were already breathless and weak to stand.

The priority was stocked up with disabled and the impaired too apart from one space.

However that man who clearly perceived you were carrying a baby, sat in the seat in front of your face - glancing at you as he did so.

How selfish. Is he not embarrassed?

“There’s no seats left Gojo, I can’t stand anymore.”

Subtly you whined, being a little irritated that you couldn’t sit down and would have to uncomfortably stand as his baby rearranged your organs.

“..hm. Let’s see.”

“Wait—”

He shuffled to the man.

“Heello. Excuse me, but my miss is pregnant. Would you mind sparing the seat?” Gojo politely asked, hanging on to the pole situated in the middle of the aisle.

“What? Err no, sorry.”

That man was not sorry at all. It made you cringe.

Gojo’s expression paused, pressing his pastel lips together in irritation. Why wouldn’t this man listen?

“May I ask why are you being so difficult?”

After hearing those words, you knew this was going to veer off sideways. Almost everyone’s eyes were glued to the scene unfolding, all looking up from the windows and screen to see two men ‘bickering’ it out.

“Difficult? What do you mean, I was here first.” It seemed like the man had issues already, as he started to flail his hands around.

“My wife is pregnant, if you didn’t hear the first time. You’re sat in a priority seat, which where she should be sitting. Are you disabled?”

He was getting defensive. It was crystal clear that the man was not disabled, nor pregnant at that matter.

“..um no? But that doesn’t mean anything. I’m not giving up my seat for some cripple.”

A cripple?!

That’s it, Satoru had had enough and was desperate to split this man in half. Not a single person could insult you because he would already be on them like a hawk.

Anyways, the fact that the nasty being had called you a cripple, couldn’t help but make you feel a little too much like a burden, and your gaze saddened.

“You’ve gone too far. No-one. Absolutely no-one, is to offend my wife like that. So, jackass, vanish any place other so she can sit.”

“Or else?—”

“There is no ‘or else’ fool. You’ve already screwed the wrong person, so I suggest you move. Don’t do something stupid.”

The man, looking quite intimated, eventually got up and sulked off past the two of you.

“Thanks.” Satoru fake smiled, stalking him ‘till he had gone else where, far away from you.

All this drama had made you forgot about the achy pain surfacing your body, which immediately flowed back as realisation hit you.

“..oof-” It had subconsciously left your lips, and it made Satoru’s brows cross.

“Here you go my love. Is it hurting?”

He concernedly asked, holding your velvet hands as you lowered your rear on the much-needed seat.

“I’ll be fine, just what I needed.” You smiled back at him, tucking a stray hair behind you ear as you breathed out.

“I’m glad. Some morons just think they are ‘entitled’.”

—————— thank you for reading! this is my original idea and have worked hard on this. so please no translating, copying, posting my work on a different platform, or modifying my work. all rights reserved - kmuradesu

[dollgxtz]

Trick or...Temptation?

Word Count: 9.8k

Tags: sylus x fem!reader, pet play if u squint, creampie, biting, rough sex, pet names like kitten, sweetie, penetration, cunninlingus, i wanted to make this a vampire!sylus fic so bad but I got nervous lmao but theres slight mentions of him :3

AN: Happy Halloween everyone! I sincerely hope u all enjoy this, it was super fun to write! I rushed to finish this so I could post it exactly on Halloween. Enjoy!

“What?” he asked, his voice laced with amusement as he ran his thumb over the spot on your neck where he had bitten you. “You thought I was joking?” You opened your mouth, trying to find the words, but before you could speak, Sylus leaned in close again, his breath hot against your ear. “Be still,” he murmured, his tone soft but commanding. “You can handle it. Just like you said.”

“Come oooon! It’ll be so much fun!” Tara exclaimed, trailing behind you as you both walked out of work. The day had ended early thanks to the holiday, and while most people had exciting Halloween plans, you had opted for a quiet night in with a scary movie marathon. Of course, your enthusiastic coworker had other ideas for you.

“Tara, as much as I’d love to, it’s really just not my scene, you know? Maybe next year?” you tried, hoping to dodge her invitation once again.

“You always say that!” Tara pouted, her voice pleading as she quickened her pace to walk beside you. “Please? It’ll be fun! Just a few hours, a couple of drinks, a little dancing, and we can leave! Deal? It’s a festival, for crying out loud! I don’t want to go by myself.”

You glanced at Tara, her eyes wide and shimmering with that classic puppy-dog look she always gave you when she really wanted something. You couldn’t deny she had a point. It wasn’t like you had big plans for the night—just a quiet evening with a blanket and some popcorn. Maybe it wouldn’t be that bad to step out for a few hours, right?

“Fine,” you finally sighed, rolling your eyes but smiling a little. “But only for a few hours, and then I’m out.”

“Yes! Thank you, thank you, bestie!” Tara squealed, practically bouncing in excitement. “I’ll see you later tonight! You’re going to love it!”

And that was how you found yourself here, standing in front of your mirror, dressed in a skimpy cat costume. You adjusted the white miniskirt and tugged at the black corset top, making sure everything was in place. The cat ears perched on your head and the swishing tail added a playful touch, though the whole ensemble was definitely more revealing than you were used to. You sighed, resigned to your fate.

You didn’t have to stay long, you reminded yourself. Just a few hours, and then you could slip back into your original plan of movie night...hopefully without running into too much trouble.

You sighed and pulled out your phone, typing a quick message to Tara: On my way. Hitting send, you opened your ride-share app. If you were going to be drinking tonight, it was best not to drive yourself. The car arrived faster than you expected, and you slipped into the back seat, watching the city lights blur by as you mentally prepared yourself for the night ahead.

Arriving at the event, you stepped out of the car and immediately took in the scene. The park had been transformed into a Halloween wonderland, bustling with life. String lights cast a soft, warm glow over the area, illuminating clusters of people already well into the party spirit. Bodies bumped together in rhythm with the pulsing beat of the music, and a mix of excited chatter and laughter filled the cool night air. The grass beneath your shoes was damp with evening dew, and the faint scent of autumn leaves and spiced drinks wafted through the crowd.

Everywhere you looked, Halloween-themed decorations adorned the space—carved pumpkins lined the walkways, some with goofy faces, others with intricate, eerie designs. Fake cobwebs clung to the trees, and glowing skeletons and witch hats dangled from makeshift booths. There was an excitement in the air, palpable and contagious, though you still felt a little out of place.

Your eyes wandered toward the bar at the far end of the festival grounds. It was busy, but it was exactly what you needed. Liquid courage, you thought. If you were going to make it through the night, a drink or two would certainly help take the edge off. You made a beeline for it, weaving through the crowd, your thoughts focused on what your first drink would be—something strong, something to help you loosen up.

Just as you were about to make your escape, a high-pitched squeal cut through the music, and you barely had time to turn before you saw her—Tara, dressed in her fairy costume, wings glittering under the lights, barreling toward you at full speed.

“You’re here!!” she cried, wrapping you in an excited hug before you could even react. “Oh my God, I thought for sure you’d bailed or fallen asleep or something!”

You laughed, the sound surprising even you. “Yeah, well, you convinced me. I wouldn’t leave you hanging,” you said, shaking your head as you hugged her back, her energy instantly infectious.

Tara pulled back, her wide smile practically glowing. “Thank you soooo much for coming! I’m so excited, I can’t even—” she paused, looking you up and down, a mischievous grin spreading across her face. “You look amazing! That cat costume is sexy! Definitely a step up from your usual movie marathon at home, huh?”

You rolled your eyes, trying to hide the blush creeping up your neck. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll admit, this is...different,” you muttered, tugging at the hem of your miniskirt. The cool night air reminded you just how short it was. But Tara was right—you didn’t do this often. And maybe, just maybe, it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world to try something new tonight.

Tara, completely unfazed by your slight discomfort, grabbed your hand with excitement. “Alright, enough chatting. Let’s get some drinks! We’re here to have fun, and the night is young!”

She pulled you toward the bar, and you couldn’t help but smile at her enthusiasm. It wasn’t your scene, but with Tara by your side, maybe the night wouldn’t be so bad after all. The thumping bass of the music, the swirl of costumes, and the faint buzz of excitement in the air already had you feeling a little lighter.

The two of you made your way through the crowd and finally approached the bar. It was busy, but not unbearable, with people lined up in various costumes, chatting, laughing, and ordering drinks. As you and Tara waited for your turn, she started rambling about all the new Halloween movies you two could watch later, once the festival was over.

“There’s this one that’s supposed to be so creepy! It’s about these haunted scarecrows that come to life—oh, and don’t even get me started on the one with the possessed doll…” Tara continued, her excitement infectious as she rattled off titles.

You nodded along, half-listening, your mind slightly wandering as you scanned the area. The lights flickered over the bar, casting an eerie glow on the bottles lined up behind the counter. The decorations were elaborate—fake cobwebs stretched across the bar shelves, and jack-o’-lanterns glowed faintly from the corners of the space. You were just starting to get lost in your thoughts when the bartender, a stunning blonde woman dressed in a witch costume, turned to you with a smile.

“Hi, can I get a—” you began, but you were abruptly cut off by a smooth, male voice behind you.

“I’ll get a Gin Fizz and two margaritas for the ladies,” the voice said with casual authority.

You froze for a moment, the sound of that voice sending a jolt down your spine. You spun around, and there he was.

Sylus.

Tall, effortlessly imposing, with his signature white hair catching the dim light and his crimson red eyes locking onto yours with that familiar, knowing glint. He wore a dark, sleek outfit that hugged his frame perfectly, making him stand out even in the crowd of costumes. His smile was just as confident and wicked as you remembered.

“Long time no see, kitten” he said, his voice smooth, dripping with amusement as he looked down at you, eyeing your costume.

Your stomach did a flip. Of all the people you could have run into tonight, Sylus was the last person you expected—or wanted—to see. You hadn’t seen him in a while, and now here he was, appearing out of nowhere like he always did, and immediately making your pulse quicken.

“Sy-I mean Skye?” you stammered, catching yourself as Tara turned around too, clearly intrigued by the sudden appearance of this tall, striking man. Her bright eyes went wide, and she started clapping her hands excitedly.

“Skye! I haven’t seen you since our team-building outing! How’s the fruit business?” she asked, her voice bright and friendly as she came to stand beside you, completely unaware of your racing heart.

Sylus—no, Skye—didn’t miss a beat. He flashed Tara an easy smile, looking as unruffled as ever. “Ah, the fruit business is...ripe as always,” he replied with a wink towards you, clearly enjoying the nervous look on your face.

The bartender cleared her throat, cutting through the tension. “There’s a line, folks,” she said with a polite but firm smile, nodding toward the queue of people waiting for their drinks. “Take your drinks and let the others through.”

You blinked, suddenly remembering where you were. Nervously, you reached for your margarita and handed Sylus his gin fizz, all while trying to calm the wild beating of your heart. The casual smirk on his face did nothing to help your nerves. With drinks in hand, you and Tara moved toward a quieter, empty spot at the edge of the festival, away from the bar's chaos. Sylus, of course, followed.

As soon as you settled into your spot, Sylus wasted no time, his teasing smirk never fading. His eyes roamed over your outfit—your skimpy black cat costume with the mini skirt, corset top, and cat ears—and you could practically feel the heat of his gaze.

With a predatory gleam in his eye, he sauntered over, his smirk growing more wicked by the second. “You say you don’t want me calling you kitten, and yet here you are,” he drawled, letting his gaze sweep over your costume. “Dressed as one. How cute.”

You glared at him, already feeling the heat rising to your cheeks. “Zip it...” you warned, rolling your eyes at the sheer irony of it all. But despite your best efforts, you couldn’t help but let a small giggle slip past your lips. It was absurd, really. Of course, of all the costumes you could've picked it just had to be this one.

He just chuckled, clearly enjoying the effect he was having on you. He took a sip of his own drink, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “What are you even doing here?” you finally asked, your voice a little sharper than intended. “I thought you didn’t like crowded places.”

Sylus gave a soft laugh, leaning against a nearby post with his usual air of nonchalance. “I’m not a fan of crowds,” he admitted, his gaze flickering back to the sea of people dancing and drinking. “But I happen to own this little part of Linkon.” He said it so casually, as if it were no big deal. “Figured I’d make an appearance. Keep an eye on things.”

You stared at him, your mind racing. Of course he did. Sylus always had a way of showing up in places you least expected him—places you thought you could escape from him, if only for a night. But owning part of the city? That was new.

But not surprising.

Tara, who had already downed her margarita, was clearly impressed. “Woah, Skye,” she slurred slightly, her eyes wide with admiration. “The fruit vendor business must pay soooo well.”

You shot her a look, silently willing her to stop talking, but she was already giggling, oblivious to the tension between you and Sylus. He, on the other hand, seemed more amused than anything.

“What can I say?” Sylus replied smoothly, the hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “Fresh fruit is forever in demand.” His eyes met yours again, clearly enjoying the joke that only the two of you understood.

You groaned inwardly, sipping more of your margarita as you glared at Sylus. He was playing along, effortlessly weaving his cover story about being a simple fruit vendor. And yet, there he was, owning half the city and standing in front of you, looking like he could control the whole damn world if he wanted to.

Sylus raised his glass in a mock toast, his crimson eyes never leaving yours. “Happy Halloween?” he said with a wink, and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes, though a smile tugged at your lips.

“Yeah, sure,” you muttered under your breath, knowing full well that this night was gonna be a loooong one.

Tara, always quick to notice things, suddenly glanced at Sylus with a playful frown. “Wait a second, Skye,” she said, squinting at him, “you’re not even in costume!” She giggled, rummaging through her bag, clearly not letting him off the hook. “This is a Halloween festival, after all. You’ve gotta dress the part!”

You internally groaned, already bracing yourself for whatever Tara had up her sleeve. But of course, she wasn’t about to disappoint. With a triumphant grin, she pulled out a small plastic case from her bag and popped it open, revealing a pair of cheap, plastic vampire fangs.

“Here!” she said, holding them out to Sylus with a twinkle in her eye. “These will work perfectly. You’ve already got the whole pale, mysterious look going on. You’d make such a great vampire!”

You couldn’t help but glance at Sylus, your heart skipping a beat as you realized just how well Tara’s suggestion fit. His striking white hair, his sharp features, and those intense, crimson eyes...he really would make a disturbingly convincing vampire.

To your surprise—and mild horror—Sylus flashed a wicked grin, clearly entertained by the whole situation. “A vampire, huh?” he mused, taking the plastic fangs from Tara’s hand and inspecting them. His eyes flicked up to meet yours, glinting with that all-too-familiar mischief. “I guess I can pull that off.”

He slid the fake teeth into his mouth with an exaggerated flourish, and somehow, even with cheap plastic fangs, he managed to look both ridiculous and annoyingly attractive at the same time. He bared his new "fangs" with a cheeky grin, clearly enjoying your reaction.

“See?” Tara beamed, clapping her hands together. “I told you! You look like you’ve been doing this your whole life!”

Sylus smirked, turning his attention back to you, his voice dropping to that low, teasing tone he always used to get under your skin. “I do make a rather convincing vampire, don’t I?” he said, flashing his fake fangs at you with a playful gleam in his eyes. “What do you think, kitten?”

You glared at him, half-annoyed, half-amused. “You’re lucky I don’t have garlic,” you muttered, sipping your drink to hide the smile tugging at your lips.

Tara, oblivious to the tension between the two of you, just giggled again and raised her empty glass. “I need another drink after that! I'm gonna go get another round,” she said, already walking back toward the bar.

As soon as Tara was out of earshot, Sylus’s demeanor shifted slightly. The playful grin remained, but now, with just the two of you, there was something darker, more intense in his expression. He stepped closer, his presence suddenly much more imposing.

“You know,” he began, his voice dropping to a low murmur as he closed the distance between you, “I think your friend is onto something” His eyes gleamed, locking onto yours with that wicked, teasing look you knew all too well.

Before you could react, he leaned in—so close that you could feel his warm breath on your neck. Your heart jumped in your chest, the sudden proximity sending a shiver down your spine. His breath was hot against your skin, teasing, as he lingered just inches from your neck, not touching you but close enough that goosebumps instantly rose along your arms.

You froze, every nerve in your body suddenly hyper-aware of how close he was. The scent of him, a mix of something dark and enticing, filled your senses. Your pulse quickened, and you couldn’t hide the goosebumps now crawling up your skin.

He let his breath linger for just a moment longer before his lips curled into a smirk near your ear. “You might want to watch out, kitten,” he whispered, his voice a low, teasing growl. “I could get used to this.”

Your breath hitched, and you struggled to keep your composure, your pulse racing wildly. “Sylus…” you warned, trying to sound stern, but your voice betrayed the effect he was having on you.

He chuckled softly, clearly reveling in your reaction. Straightening up slightly, he didn’t step back but remained close, his crimson eyes still locked on yours. “What’s the matter?” he teased, his voice smooth and playful. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

You glared at him, trying to mask the fact that your heart was still hammering in your chest. “Don’t start,” you muttered, forcing a glare, even though you could still feel the heat from where his breath had brushed your skin.

Sylus took a slow sip of his drink, his smirk never fading. “I wasn’t starting anything,” he said innocently, though the mischievous gleam in his eyes said otherwise. “Just playing the part.”

You huffed, rolling your eyes, but the warmth in your cheeks and the pounding of your heart betrayed you. “Just don’t bite anyone,” you shot back, trying to reclaim some control over the situation.

“No promises,” Sylus said, his voice soft but dangerous, his gaze lingering on you as if you were his prey.

Tara came bouncing back over to you with two martinis, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “Hey! Want to dance?” she asked, already swaying to the music.

You barely hesitated, desperate for a way to escape the overwhelming tension with Sylus. “Yeah, sure,” you said, quickly taking the martini from Tara and downing a good portion of it. You could feel Sylus’s eyes on you, and when you glanced his way, he simply gave a slight nod, clearly content with watching you both from afar.

Your skin prickled under his gaze as you and Tara made your way toward the middle of the festival. The music was thumping, bodies swaying together under the dim, flickering lights. You still felt uneasy knowing Sylus was watching you, his presence like a shadow you couldn’t shake. But as the alcohol worked its way through your system, slowly loosening your limbs and dulling the tension, you started to let yourself get lost in the music. Tara twirled around you, laughing and dancing without a care in the world, and soon enough, you found yourself smiling and moving along with her.

You weren’t sure how much time had passed, but the warmth of the alcohol was settling into your bones, making everything seem a little hazier, a little easier. The bass pulsed through the air, the crowd a blur of costumes and laughter, and for a moment, you forgot about Sylus’s watchful eyes.

But eventually, a different need called your attention—you really had to pee.

“I’m going to the bathroom,” you shouted over the music to Tara.

“I’ll come with you!” she offered, but you shook your head.

“No, no, it’s fine. Stay here! I’ll be right back.”

Tara shrugged, happily returning to her dancing as you weaved your way through the crowd, the cool night air hitting your flushed skin as you stepped away from the dance floor. Your steps were a little unsteady, and as you made your way to the row of porta potties set up near the back of the festival grounds, you blinked to clear your vision. Everything seemed a little...fuzzy. The alcohol was really kicking in now, and you swore the ground felt a little wobbly under your feet.

You managed to find an open porta potty, and after handling your business, you stepped out, blinking again as the world swayed in front of you. Shit...am I really this drunk? you thought, steadying yourself against the side of the porta potty for a moment. Your vision was blurry, and everything seemed a little too bright, a little too loud.

Then, out of the corner of your eye, you saw a figure approaching. For a second, you thought it was Sylus. The height was wrong, but the dark outline and the way the man moved had you second-guessing yourself. Relief almost flooded through you, but then the figure got closer, and the sour, stale scent hit your nose.

No, this definitely wasn’t Sylus.

The man was much shorter, stockier, and as he came closer, you could smell him—like sweat and cheap cologne, mixed with the stench of too much booze. Your stomach churned uncomfortably as he stepped into your personal space, his breath hot and sour as he leaned in a little too close.

“Hey there,” he slurred, his voice dripping with false charm. “You look a little lost. Why don’t you come to my car? It’s parked just over there.”

Your heart jumped in your chest, and you instinctively stepped back, trying to put some distance between you and him. “No, I’m fine,” you said quickly, your voice shaky as you tried to move past him. But he stepped into your path, blocking you with an alarming quickness for someone who seemed so drunk.

“C’mon, don’t be like that,” he said, his tone darkening, his hand reaching out to grab your arm. “It’ll be fun. I can show you a good time, little kitty.”

Panic surged through you as you tried to yank your arm away, stumbling slightly as your vision blurred again. The alcohol was making it hard to focus, and you cursed under your breath. “No, leave me alone!” you said, your voice firmer now as you tried to push past him.

But he wasn’t having it. His grip tightened, his face twisting with frustration. “I said come with me,” he growled, pulling harder.

Your pulse skyrocketed, fear taking over as you struggled to break free. Just as you were about to shout for help, a shadow loomed behind the man.

“I’d suggest you listen to her.”

That voice—it was low, cold, and unmistakable. You looked up, relief crashing through you like a wave as Sylus appeared, his tall figure practically radiating menace. The shorter man immediately let go of your arm, turning to face Sylus with a sneer, clearly trying to act tough despite the difference in size.

“And who the hell are you? I'm her boyfriend, fuck off” the man spat, puffing out his chest.

Sylus’s eyes narrowed, his jaw clenching. “Is that so?” he asked, his voice low and deadly. Without another word, a cold red mist began to swirl around him, tendrils of it seeping through the air like something out of a nightmare. The temperature around you seemed to drop, and you could feel the mist growing denser, colder.

The drunken man didn’t seem to realize what was happening until it was too late. The red mist wrapped around him like a snake, tightening and choking him. His eyes bulged as he gasped for air, his grip on your arm loosening as fear took over.

Sylus didn’t stop. His eyes were locked on the man, his fury palpable as the mist constricted tighter.

The man’s face turned a sickly shade of purple as he clawed at the mist around his throat, desperately trying to break free. He gagged, his drunken bravado crumbling into pure terror.

“Please,” you whispered, your voice shaking as you stepped forward, grabbing Sylus’s arm. “Stop. You’re going to kill him...there's people all around us.”

Sylus’s eyes flicked to you, still cold and angry, but there was a flicker of hesitation. You could see the struggle behind his gaze, his fury barely held in check. But slowly, the mist around the man’s throat began to dissipate. Sylus released him, letting the man fall to the ground, coughing and wheezing as he scrambled to his feet.

The man didn’t waste a second. He stumbled away, terrified, mumbling incoherently as he disappeared into the crowd, wanting nothing more than to escape the nightmare he had just experienced.

Sylus’s shoulders tensed, his body still vibrating with anger as he watched the man retreat. His breathing was heavy, and though the mist had vanished, the chill in the air remained.

You stood there, your heart still racing, unsure whether to feel relieved or terrified by what had just happened. As Sylus turned toward you, you could see him trying to calm himself.

“My kitten,” he said softly, though his voice was still rough with residual anger, “is always getting herself into sticky situations.” He took a step closer, his usual smirk returning, though there was a hardness in his eyes that hadn’t been there before. “Good thing I’m a vampire tonight. I can sniff out when she gets herself in trouble.”

You managed a shaky laugh, though your heart was still pounding in your chest. “You didn’t have to almost kill him,” you muttered, trying to regain your composure.

Sylus shrugged, his eyes softening as he looked you over, checking to make sure you were truly alright. “He deserved worse,” he said, though his tone was lighter now. “But I’ll behave. For you.”

Sylus suddenly glanced down at his watch, his expression hardening almost instantly. Without warning, he turned to you and, in a firm voice, announced, “We’re leaving.”

You blinked, confused. “What? Leaving? Why? What about Tara?”

But Sylus didn’t bother explaining. He grabbed your arm with a sense of urgency, pulling you away from the festival and weaving through the crowd. You tried to dig your feet into the ground, but with the alcohol still lingering in your system, your balance wasn’t on your side. “Hey! What about Tara?” you protested, struggling to keep up with his swift pace.

Sylus barely glanced back at you as he strode toward a sleek, black car parked near the edge of the festival grounds. “Luke and Kieran are taking her home,” he replied coolly, unlocking the car with a flick of his wrist. “Behave, and get inside.”

You planted your feet, halting in your tracks as you shook your head, confused and frustrated. “Wait—what? Why are we leaving so suddenly? I don’t—”

But Sylus wasn’t in the mood for a debate. He turned, his eyes flashing with irritation, and in one swift motion, he pushed the car door open, his grip on your arm tightening slightly as he guided you into the passenger seat. You tried to resist, squirming under his firm hold.

“Get in the car,” he sighed, clearly not in the mood to argue. “Please.”

After a bit more struggle—your alcohol-fueled frustration not making it easy—you finally huffed in defeat and let him guide you into the seat. He shut the door behind you with a sharp click before rounding the car and sliding into the driver’s seat.

You sulked in silence as he started the engine, the low hum of the car doing little to soothe your frustration. You didn’t understand why Sylus was being so forceful all of a sudden, and the abruptness of it all only added to the confusion swirling in your mind. The alcohol still clouded your thoughts, making it hard to argue, and as the car began to move, the steady rhythm of the ride lulled you into an unexpected calm.

Your eyelids grew heavy, and despite the tension of the night, you found yourself slowly drifting off. The next thing you knew, darkness had settled around you, and your body slipped into a deep, alcohol-fueled sleep.

When you woke, you felt yourself being carried, the world around you shifting. The first thing you noticed was Sylus’s steady, strong grip beneath you, his arms holding you close as he walked. You blinked groggily, your vision clearing slightly as you realized you were no longer at the festival—or in the car.

Sylus was carrying you through the dim, industrial halls of his home in the N109 Zone. The walls were dark and sleek, bathed in a soft glow from the faint lights overhead. The cold, sterile air of the house prickled against your skin, sobering you up a little more as you processed what was happening.

A wave of frustration hit you. With your head clearer now, you reached up and pinched his cheek, your fingers digging in as you muttered, “Asshole.”

Sylus let out a soft grunt of surprise, glancing down at you with a bemused look. “Still feisty, I see,” he murmured, though there was an amused glint in his eyes. “How unfortunate that the nap didn't dull your attitude".

You scowled, still annoyed by the way he had just whisked you away without any explanation. “You dragged me away from the festival without even telling me why,” you muttered, your voice sharper now that you were more awake. “What the hell, Sylus?”

He just chuckled softly, ignoring the sting from your pinch. “You were in no state to argue,” he said simply, his tone matter-of-fact as he carried you further into his home. “And I had enough of babysitting you the whole night.”

“Well I didn't ask you to watch me,” you grumbled, though your body still felt heavy with the lingering effects of alcohol. You squirmed a little in his arms, trying to free yourself, but his grip on you was steady and unyielding.

“You can complain all you want, kitten,” he said with a smirk, “but you needed to get out of there. Trust me.”

You huffed, more irritated now. “Don’t call me kitten,” you muttered, glaring up at him through half-lidded eyes. It was bad enough that he always teased you with that nickname—tonight, it felt like he was deliberately rubbing salt in the wound.

Sylus glanced down at you, his smirk deepening into a mischievous grin. “Why not?” he asked, his voice soft, teasing, as his eyes traveled over your outfit. “You’re dressed like one tonight. Seems even more fitting than usual, doesn’t it?”

Sylus carried you effortlessly through the halls of his home until he reached his room. He set you down gently on the large, plush bed, its softness immediately pulling you in. The sheets felt cool against your skin as you sank into them, your body still heavy with the lingering effects of alcohol.

You watched as Sylus moved across the room, grabbing a glass of water from a nearby table and bringing it back to the nightstand beside the bed. “Drink this,” he said, his voice less teasing now, more gentle. “You’ll feel better in the morning. Go to sleep.”

You rolled your eyes but obediently took a sip, the cool water soothing your dry throat. As you placed the glass back down, you realized that the fog in your mind was starting to lift. You weren’t as drunk as you had been earlier—your head was clearer now, though you were still feeling bold enough to be a little reckless.

Sylus walked across the room, settling into a large leather chair near the window, watching you from a distance. He leaned back, his crimson eyes glinting in the low light, clearly still on edge after the events of the night.

But something stirred inside you—a spark of mischievousness born from the alcohol still lingering in your system. You narrowed your eyes at him, thinking of how he had pulled you away from the festival without warning, how he always teased you, and how you could never seem to one-up him. Maybe now was your chance.

You slid out of bed and onto all fours, quietly crawling toward him. Sylus raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued but cautious. “What are you doing?” he asked, his tone a mix of curiosity and warning.

You didn’t answer. Instead, when you reached him, you rested your face against his legs and set your head down in his lap, rubbing your cheek against him in a way that could only be described as cat-like.

For a moment, Sylus just stared at you, processing what you were doing. Then, a low chuckle escaped his lips, and he leaned forward slightly, looking down at you with amusement dancing in his eyes.

“Not only are you dressed like a cat,” he said, his voice laced with playful sarcasm, “but now you’ve decided to act like one too.”

You smirked to yourself, feeling triumphant in your little act of rebellion. “I’m just embracing the part,” you murmured, your voice teasing as you nuzzled your face slightly against his legs.

Sylus’s hand twitched slightly, and for a moment, you wondered if he would push you away—but he didn’t. Instead, he just watched you, his gaze sharp and curious, though there was a flicker of something darker beneath his playful expression.

“Careful, kitten,” he said softly, his voice dropping to that low, dangerous tone that always made your pulse race. “You’re playing a dangerous game.”

You glanced up at him, meeting his gaze, the mischief still swirling inside you. “And what if I am?” you challenged, pushing yourself just a little further, enjoying the way his body tensed beneath you.

Sylus’s crimson eyes darkened, his smirk fading slightly as he studied you more closely. There was something electric in the air between you now, the tension palpable as he weighed his next move.

“You’re bold tonight,” he said, his voice softer now, more serious. “Bolder than usual.”

You just smiled up at him, feeling a rush of satisfaction at having thrown him off balance, even if only slightly. “Maybe it’s the cat costume,” you teased, still resting your head in his lap. “Or maybe it’s just you.”

Sylus’s eyes darkened, his smirk growing more predatory as he leaned down slightly, closing the distance between your faces. He looked at you with a gleam of amusement and hunger, his tone shifting to something deeper, more commanding.

“Since you’re feeling so bold,” he said softly, his voice dripping with a dangerous edge, “you should have no problem mewling a little for me then, hm?”

Your breath caught in your throat at his words, the sudden shift in tone making your pulse race even faster. The way he looked at you, his gaze intense and unwavering, made your skin prickle with nervous anticipation. He wasn’t playing around anymore. The teasing had escalated, and now he was testing you, pushing you to see how far you would go.

You felt heat rise to your cheeks, a mix of defiance and something else stirring within you. The tension between you two had never been more palpable, and in that moment, it felt like a line was being drawn—a challenge you weren’t sure if you wanted to accept or retreat from.

Sylus leaned back slightly, his expression amused as he watched the gears turn in your head. “What’s the matter?” he teased, though his voice was softer now, coaxing. “Cat got your tongue?"

You smirked at Sylus’s challenge, the mischievous spark in your eyes growing even brighter. Fine, you thought, two can play at that game.

Without hesitation, you leaned into the role he was teasing you about, doubling down on your boldness. You let out a soft, playful meow, pawing at his legs like a mischievous cat. The alcohol still buzzing in your system only made it easier to fully embrace the act, and you were determined to throw him off balance—if only for a moment.

Sylus raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised at how far you were willing to take the game, but his smirk never wavered. If anything, it deepened as he watched you with amusement, his crimson eyes twinkling with intrigue. “Oh, so we’re really doing this?” he murmured, his voice dripping with playful sarcasm.

You meowed again, more dramatically this time, your hands pawing at his pants as you looked up at him with exaggerated innocence. You could see the amusement in his eyes, and you knew you had him—at least for now. Deciding to push the limits, you got even closer, deciding to rub your face against his half hard cock hidden beneath his jeans.

Seems he was more affected than he was letting on.

With a mocking grin, Sylus reached down and ran his hand gently over the top of your head, as if petting you like a real cat. “You must be very drunk,” he teased, his voice light and playful. “Acting like a kitten and now letting me pet you? I need a camera.”

But before he could pull his hand away, you leaned forward and bit him—lightly, but enough to make a point. He barely reacted before withdrawing his hand, his eyes widening with mock surprise as he looked down at you.

“Oh?,” Sylus said with a chuckle, shaking his head in disbelief. “You even bite too? What an unpredictable little kitten I have”

You grinned up at him, feeling victorious in your rebellion, the mixture of alcohol and adrenaline making you bolder than ever. “I warned you not to underestimate me,” you teased, your eyes still locked on his, enjoying the game far more than you expected.

Sylus’s playful smirk returned, though there was an undeniable glint of something darker in his gaze. “I think you've forgotten something though” he said softly, leaning forward slightly, his voice dropping lower.

"I bite back.”

Your pulse quickened, but you kept your grin in place, unwilling to back down now. The tension between the two of you was palpable, the playful teasing quickly evolving into something far more intense. You had started this game, and now you were both caught in it.

But for now, you weren’t ready to back down. “I think I can handle it,” you replied, your voice light but laced with challenge.

Sylus’s eyes flickered with amusement, but the edge in his gaze remained. “Is that so?”

Before you could react, Sylus stood up abruptly, his towering presence looming over you. Caught off guard, you stumbled backward, landing on your elbows. Instinctively, you began to scoot back, trying to put some distance between you and his intense gaze, but there was nowhere to go. You felt the cool sheets of the bed press against your back as you found yourself cornered, unable to escape the situation you'd playfully started.

Sylus took a slow step forward, his eyes locked on yours, predatory and amused. He enjoyed how you had pushed him, but now it seemed like the tables had turned. You bit your lip, feeling your heart race in a way that wasn’t just from fear or excitement—it was something more.

“Sylus,” you said, your voice half-teasing, half-nervous, “you’re not really going to—” But the words caught in your throat as he leaned over you, his face inches from yours, cutting off any space for escape.

You were about to plead again, but your voice faltered as he lowered himself closer, his breath warm against your skin. “Why so nervous now?” he teased, his voice low and dangerous, echoing your earlier defiance.

You opened your mouth to say something, but the intensity in his gaze rendered you speechless. Instead, all you could do was look at him, your breath catching in your throat as the air around you thickened with anticipation.

“Can I kiss you?” he asked, his voice softer now, though the predatory edge was still there, lingering just beneath the surface.

You nodded again, almost breathless. “Y-yes,” you whispered.

Without waiting another moment, Sylus’s lips were on yours. The kiss was slow at first, his hand coming up to cradle your face gently, despite the tension hanging in the air. You melted into the kiss, your mind swimming as his lips moved against yours with a mixture of tenderness and hunger. It was as if he was savoring every second.

But then his lips trailed down, leaving a hot path along your jawline, and before you knew it, he was at your neck. You shuddered, the sensation making your pulse quicken, and just as the heat spread through you, you felt a sharp sting—his teeth sinking into your skin.

You gasped, a groan escaping your lips as the bite sent a jolt of pain through your body. Your hands instinctively gripped the sheets beneath you as your body tensed, your head spinning with the mixture of pain and adrenaline. Sylus’s teeth sank in deeper for just a moment, the pressure sharp but somehow electrifying.

Then, just as suddenly, he pulled back, giving you a moment to catch your breath. His crimson eyes gleamed as he watched your reaction, a smirk playing on his lips.

“What?” he asked, his voice laced with amusement as he ran his thumb over the spot on your neck where he had bitten you. “You thought I was joking?”

You opened your mouth, trying to find the words, but before you could speak, Sylus leaned in close again, his breath hot against your ear. “Be still,” he murmured, his tone soft but commanding. “You can handle it. Just like you said.”

Your pulse pounded in your ears, and though the bite had hurt, there was something about his voice, his presence, that made you want to give in. Despite yourself, you found your body relaxing under his touch, your breath steadying as you nodded again, almost instinctively.

Sylus smiled, his lips brushing against your neck once more. “Good girl,” he whispered before trailing soft kisses along your skin, his hands firm but gentle as they held you in place.

Before you could respond, his teeth sank into your skin again, this time in a different spot. The bite was just as sharp, if not sharper, and you gasped, your back arching involuntarily as another jolt of pain shot through you. The sting was immediate, but beneath it, there was a strange thrill, an intensity that made your heart race.

Your hands gripped the sheets even tighter as he bit down harder, holding the pressure for a few seconds longer this time. Warm tears begin to pour down your face. The sensation of his teeth against your skin left you both groaning in pain and caught in something deeper, more electric. Each mark he left felt like a brand, a reminder of just how much control he had over you in this moment.

Sylus didn’t pull back right away; instead, he lingered at your neck, sucking gently at the new mark he’d made, as if savoring the taste of your skin. Your breath hitched in your throat, your body trembling beneath him, torn between the sharp sting of the bite and the warmth that followed in its wake.

When he finally released you, he trailed slow, deliberate kisses over the fresh mark, his tongue grazing your skin in a way that made your head spin. You could feel the warmth of his breath, the possessive way his hands held you in place as if daring you to protest.

But you didn’t. You couldn’t. All you could do was lay there, breathless, as the intensity of it all washed over you.

Sylus looked down at you, his gaze full of smug satisfaction as he admired the new set of marks he’d left on your neck. His thumb grazed over them gently, tracing the outlines of his bites as if claiming you in some silent, unspoken way.

“You wear my marks well,” he said softly, his voice laced with amusement. “Perhaps you should challenge me more often, kitten.”

Unable to respond, you watch as his lips makes contact with yours again, gentle but devastating. Every nerve in your body sings for him at the contact, and you feel more warm tears finally slip from your eyes to drip down between your lips and his. He pulls back to look at you, wiping those tears away and sighing in pleasure at whatever expression he finds on your face. You curl your fingers in his shirt and tug him back to you, wanting to savor this, but also wanting more, so much more.

Your tongue slips past his, and your fingers tangle into the back of his hair of their own accord. He moans, honest to god moans into your mouth at the contact, and any pretense either of you may have had about this being only a kiss simply evaporates. His mouth moves more insistently against yours, hand cradling the entire side of your face, and you finally allow your hips to push forward, finding him fully hard this time.

He suddenly leans back and pulls his shirt over his head one-handed in a smooth, practiced motion. It's the hottest fucking thing you've ever seen. If you didn't know that almost certainly mind-blowing sex is soon to follow, you'd swear that there's nothing better on this earth than watching Sylus strip his own shirt off to bare that sinful chest. 

He smirks down at you, resting one hand on your hipbone and snaking the other to the waistband of his pants, but that's more than you can take right now. You hook your legs around the back of his and pull him down, desperate, and you shudder as his clothed erection is finally brought flush against your arousal. 

"Sylus, please," you whine, trusting that he knows what you're begging for. His fingers tighten and relax on your hip as if by reflex, and you can barely think straight around your need to have him inside you. 

"You're sure?" he huffs, capturing your mouth again, and you'd laugh if you weren't fit to combust from desire. 

"God, I'm sure." You don't think you've ever wanted anything more in your life, to be honest.

Sylus's lips pull up into another satisfied smirk against yours, and his fingers dig into your flesh with intent this time as he leans back again. "Maybe we should wait until you're more sober-"

"No!" you interrupt him, probably too quickly, and he quirks an eyebrow again. "Um, I mean...I'm good."

"You're good?" he asks, and fuck, it's so hard to think around this insistent, burning desire. You could sense his small hesitation and become desperate to ease his worries surrounding your state of mind.

"Yeah," you tell him again, as pointedly as you can while impatient with lust. "The nap really helped, I'm okay."

He hesitates a moment longer, and you feel like your about to combust with need.

"Sylus. I want you. All of you." You reach a hand out to cup the length of him through his pants, delighting in the narrowing in his eyes and the shudder that goes through him. A sudden thrill of confidence has you saying the filthiest thing you've ever said before you can stop yourself.

"I want you to cum inside me. Please."

You think the look in his eyes might be a little bit feral as he turns his full attention back to your body, tugging your skirt . He slips his fingers into your panties with no preamble, and he sighs appreciatively at the slick he feels there. "You've wanted this for a long time, haven't you?"

He's going to drive you insane, and when you tell him as much, his only response is to tear the garment down your legs, toss it behind him, and press two fingers inside of you. You choke and gasp his name as he grins wickedly down at you.

"Yeah, you have." He presses deeper, thumb brushing your clit, and you can't hold back a desperate cry. 

"Sylus, please-" 

"Fuck..." His eyes trail down to where his fingers are buried, and you'd be self-conscious if you had even a single brain cell to spare that isn't consumed by pleasure. "Do you know how long I've wanted this, gorgeous? The second I saw you in that costume I wanted to tear it off".

You can only gasp and buck your hips shamelessly as he continues, murmuring encouragement and looking both as smug and as charming as he ever has. This feels so good, so unreal, his slender fingers hitting all the right spots inside you while his thumb continues rubbing lazy circles outside. You can hardly believe that the same fingers your eyes have lingered on as they hold bullets or curl around a trigger - the same hands you've seen kill countless times - are now the gentle architects of your mind-numbing pleasure. 

"Come on, that's it," Sylus coos with a particularly delicious quirk of those fingers, pulling you out of hazy memories and back to what you realize is now an imminent orgasm. Your eyes drag from the stark outline of his erection against his pants, up his chest and to his face, where you catch him biting his lip in his concentration.

"Sylus-" Your hips buck against his hand as the tension coils inside you. "I'm-" 

"I know. Go head and cum kitten," he says with another devilish grin, and god, he's going to be the end of you. 

"Sylus," you gasp again, reduced to this mindless desperation as his talented fingers work you while your release hovers just out of reach. "Please, I'm-" 

He finally takes pity on you and ducks his head to seal his mouth over your clit, and fuck, what you wouldn't give for more of that, but after all this build-up, one brush of his tongue is all it takes to send you hurtling over the edge. Both of your hands fist in his hair as you shudder under him, gasping and keening, and you feel him groan against your sensitive flesh. 

Eventually, he pulls away, though it takes you several more seconds to come back to earth. When you open your eyes, it's to find him stripped down to nothing, hovering over you again with a self-satisfied expression. 

"God," you say, still not recovered, and then, because you can't help it, your eyes drop to his cock. It's as beautiful as the rest of him, rigid and straining for you. Your core throbs again as you realize that getting you off is what got him this worked up. Fuck. 

How as that possibly going to fit?

"It'll fit, don't worry" he says, as if able to read your mind. You don't even have to look at him to know that he's grinning. 

You groan and throw an arm over your eyes to resist the very real temptation to stare at Sylus's naked body for the rest of your life. You feel him move closer, dropping down onto his palms above you, and you lift your arm to watch him settle between your thighs like he's always belonged there. 

"You want to do this?" he asks softly, red eyes searching yours for one last confirmation, and you respond with a few tiny, shaky nods. He brushes his thumb across your bottom lip with a quiet sigh. "Let me hear you say it, beautiful." 

"Yes, Sylus," you plead, tears burning again at the corners of your eyes, and he hums his pleasure against your lips as he lines himself up. You inhale sharply through your teeth as you feel the first breach of his cock, holding that breath in your lungs as he slowly sinks in to the hilt. Christ, he's big. 

"Breathe, kitten" he reminds you, still disarmingly gentle, though you can see the smug satisfaction plainly on his face. He braces himself on his forearms to pepper kisses along your neck and jaw, pulling out to slowly slide back in with a deep groan.

Your hands fist in his hair, and you think you might be onto something with that when his chuckle melts into a moan. He eyes lock onto yours as he buries himself as deep as he can again, and you're taken aback by the open adoration you see on his face - you can only hope your own face is mirroring that for him. 

He slides out and in again, again, slowly falling into a steady rhythm that's better than anything you've ever felt in your life. For an endless time, there's nothing else - it's just the two of you, bodies coming together in pleasure, the occasional rougher thrust making you gasp his name as he mouths yours against your skin.

Sylus's hips suddenly still and he drops his head beside yours, heavy breaths hot against your ear. You shift underneath him, relishing the feel of his length still thick inside you but needy for him to move.

"Just need a second," he pants, sounding as wrecked as you feel. "I'm not ready to be done with you yet, sweetie." 

And oh, if your heart (and your aethercore) could explode from words alone, those would do it. The most divine human being you've ever known is lying here staving off an orgasm so that he can keep fucking you. And he just called you sweetie. 

Yeah, you're totally dead and gone. 

You lie there for a few moments, matching your breaths to his and kneading your fingers into the firm planes of his back. An appreciative groan rumbles out of him, and he pulls back to slide out of you, silencing your noise of protest with a finger to your lips and a low chuckle.

"You'll get what you want," he admonishes, grasping one of your hips to give it a slight push. "Patience, kitten" 

He leans back, and you catch a glimpse of his cock, hard against the vee of his hips and glistening with your wetness. Fuck. You shift your legs apart, and he's back on you immediately, one hand digging into the flesh of your ass and the other bracing itself next to your shoulder. 

"Good girl," Sylus breathes into your ear, and you go boneless as he sheathes himself in your slick heat once more. "Good fucking girl, taking me so well." 

You're beyond being able to respond to his filthy praise with anything other than gasps and moans, but he doesn't seem to mind, taking them as encouragement to fuck you even harder and bring your bodies flush together. When his hips snap forward, driving him deep, deeper, you swear you see stars. God, this angle is otherworldly, his cock hitting your most sensitive spot with each perfect thrust. Your hands cling desperately to his biceps, feeling those mouthwatering muscles ripple as he holds you tighter. Sylus's fingers wrap gently around your neck as his teeth nip your ear, and you cry out, feeling a familiar heat and tension begin to build within you. 

"So close again?" he growls, each breath harsh as he fucks into you. "Shit...feels so fucking good." 

Yeah, you're fucking close, if the steady stream of "yes" and "please" pouring from your lips and the almost painful way you're gripping his cock is anything to go on. You might even be sobbing now, who the fuck knows. His fingers clench against the pulse jumping in your neck, and there it is-

You glance up at him, muscles taut as he thrusts, and it's over for you, even before his eyes flick up to yours as he breathes,

"Cum for me." 

Your body shakes against him as another orgasm barrels through you, and you think you might actually scream this time, which is a shame because you're sure Sylus is saying some delectable shit to you right now. He doesn't let up, cock still pounding into you relentlessly, and when you finally come down from your high, it's to find his moans coming out broken and his thrusts rougher than ever. He's close. He's right there. You're not sure what possesses you in that moment, but you reach a hand between your bodies and close your fingers gently around his balls. Your efforts are rewarded with stuttering hips and a glorious, drawn-out groan as Sylus cums hard, his face shoved roughly into your shoulder. 

You take a moment as he pants against you, the aftershocks of your own orgasm still thrumming through you, to stare at the ceiling in disbelief that this is real life. You just had sex with Sylus. The leader of Onychinus. You're desperately in love with him and he might just feel the same about you. 

When his hips finally still and he stops panting into your skin, you begin guide his face closer to yours, relishing the way he rests his full weight on top of you without thinking, dazed as he is in his own pleasure. He pulls your face toward his to capture your lips in another blistering kiss, this one unexpectedly tender after his ferocity only moments ago, and you moan softly through it at the feel of his cock still solid inside you. 

You both catch your breath against the pillows for a few moments before he whispers that he's going to pull out, and you brace yourself for that final slide of his cock. Fuck, that should not feel as good as it does, especially considering that in the same second you have to clench your thighs to keep his release inside of you. Sylus lays on his back beside you with a sigh of contentment, and you turn carefully to lie right alongside him. You slide your hand over to his, not sure why you're feeling shy about this when you just got done being thoroughly fucked by him, but you feel relieved all the same when his fingers intertwine with yours. 

Your breaths slow as you both lie quietly in the afterglow, and after a time, he turns to face you.

"I trust it goes without saying that you're welcome to stay as long as you like," he says, brushing your hair back from your face, and all of your emotions come rushing back. You love him. You love him.

"What if I never want to leave?" you whisper, and now it's spoken, now it's out there for him to do with as he will. He studies you for a long moment, and it could just be the light of the room reflecting in those red eyes, but you think you see them glistening.

"I think that could be arranged," he finally says, his voice as full of emotion as you've ever heard it, and you feel as though you're drowning in your love for this man. You swallow past the lump in your throat and throw him as playful a smile as you can manage. 

"Well, that's good, because I feel your cum slipping out of me. Might need to put more back in there" you say, emboldened by his now obvious desire for you, but still feeling bashful as you say it. Both of his eyebrows shoot up, and he laughs, a deep, indulgent sound.

"Careful," he purrs, wrapping both arms around you like a vice. "Might get me going again."

"Plenty of time for that later," you tell him, leaning forward to bury yourself in his chest again, hoping your words carry the weight of the three specific ones you're still too embarrassed to say out loud. 

"And more," he murmurs in your ear, arms tightening around you, his words sounding an awful lot like an unspoken affirmation to your unspoken vow. 

This wasn't such a bad Halloween after all.