#so i lost weight while i was there and then when we got back i got sick and threw up and barely ate for 2 days

[sugurusfavemonkey]

say you'll be my darlin' - kento nanami (2/2)

secrets I have held in my heart are harder to hide than I thought maybe I just wanna be yours

valentine's day special

summary: kento just made you not only his valentine but also his girlfriend (this is where the pure and unadulterated smut comes in - minors do not interact)

part 1

Kento's plan had only encompassed providing you with a memorable Valentine's day and, perhaps, building a foundation for a relationship with you in the near future. Yet, somehow, he had gone and gotten himself a girlfriend.

The term felt so juvenile, yet he couldn't care less because he felt young. The knowledge that you were just as enraptured created a bubble of blissful elation Nanami had no intention of bursting.

He had no idea how he got there.

Nanami had piled up the plates and was in the process of standing up, having just pushed his chair from under the table when you sprung up from your seat, startling the poor man.

"The restroom is-" he tried to direct you as you made your way around the table, assuming you wanted to use the toilette, but you hushed Nanami by wedging yourself between him and the table. "Sweetheart?" the way he looked up at you in question nearly had you losing your nerve.

You steeled yourself though, swallowing hard and placing your hands on his shoulders. Kento, for all his puzzlement, opened up his knees to make space for you in between his legs but remained otherwise neutral. The way his jaw clenched and hands flexed on his thighs wasn't lost on you, bless his heart.

"I want to show my appreciation to you. May I?" you spoke quietly into the otherwise silent room.

He wetted his dry lips with his tongue and your eyes immediately dropped to follow the brief gesture before mirroring it while he searched your face with a weighted gaze, "we haven't even had dessert yet."

"I have the dessert I want right here, Kento." You slapped yourself in the back for the quick comeback and the hitch it elicited in Kento's breath.

"I don't want to be disrespectful-"

"You've been a perfect gentleman all night. Hell! All your life, I'd bet," you stopped him before he took the blame for your forwardness. "Tell me I'm moving too fast and I'll stop."

"Isn't that supposed to be my line?" Kento smiled gently up at you. The position you put yourself in rendered both of you vulnerable in different ways and you cherished how he so easily entrusted you with seeing this side of him.

"Hmm…" you shook your head, "consent goes both ways."

"I adore how thoughtful you are, my love."

You're unsure if it's the pet name or the intensity behind his gaze, but a shiver ran down your spine.

"I don't want you to feel pressured into anything. This dinner, the flowers… they don't require any retribution," Kento assured you once more, insistent, but you knew he was merely making sure to give you an out in case that's what you wanted.

"I know that. But I want to," you assured him, hopefully conveying just how much you meant the words with your eyes as well. "Consider it my gift to you. I am your Valentine too after all, am I not?"

You didn't give him a chance to answer before you sat on his lap, each of your legs wrapping around his waist. At first, Kento hesitated, his hands hovering awkwardly until they found your hips and slowly glided up to settle on your waist.

You leaned closer until your breaths mingled together and your head spun dangerously with his aromatic fragrance taking over your senses. Nanami is the one who closed the space between you, eyes falling shut as your lips connected.

It's nothing more than a peck, full of unspoken feelings and repressed longing. The air feels charged with tension, your heart pulsing loudly in your ears, temperature running hot at the sheer brush of his warm lips to yours.

He nudged your nose with his before giving you another peck. And another. And then pressing for a bit longer, more intensely, tilting his head so his lips fit better with yours. You let your hands follow the natural curve of his shoulder, one sliding down his back and the other finding its way into the buzzed hair on the back of his head.

With the first brush of his tongue, you were ruined. You opened up to him like a blooming flower. Your entire body tingled pleasantly as he let himself consume you and you let yourself be consumed. Warm muscle exploring and mapping out your mouth sensually.

Nanami felt as if a dam was breaking as he poured the yearning from every moment he had spent craving you into the kiss, his hands tightening on your waist until you were sure he had left fingerprints on your skin. You pressed yourself even closer, moaning into the kiss when that did nothing to relieve the ache you felt, your teeth briskly clashing together in your haste.

You only separated when the need for air became too much to bear, a string of spit still connecting your lips.

"You have no idea what you do to me." Kento gasped.

"I think I do." You chirped teasingly as you ground yourself down on his lap, feeling a distinct hardness pressing into your covered center.

"Fuck." That night was full of firsts because you're absolutely certain you had never heard Kento cuss before. "Don't do that," he warned you, eyes glinting dangerously.

"Or what?" You challenged with a giggle as you did the exact opposite, pressing yourself down on him once more. Whimpering at the silver of pleasure it gave you, a teaser of what was to come.

Kento almost growled your name, his breath labored, red blossoming from his exposed upper chest and neck. He gave you no indication before he pushed the dirty dishes further up the table and picked you up with ease, laying you on the table in front of him and leaning over your sprawled form, his body slotted between your spread thighs ad he kissed you again with even more fervor.

Or that, you guessed.

His lips drifted down to your jaw and then to your neck, kissing and biting at the skin, all while rutting into you rhythmically. His ministration had you gasping for air, your head lolling back to the table. You whined pitifully when he abruptly detached himself from you.

"Sit up for me, love" He commanded. And you obeyed… How could you not when you had Kento Nanami in between your legs? His fingers held onto the hem of your top, giving it a few impish tugs, "may I?"

You nodded, wordlessly lifting your arms to aid him in removing the offending cloth. His eyes fell to your cleavage and his mouth fell open, pupils taking over until you could barely see his iris. You used his distraction to remove your bra, throwing it aside the same he had done to your top. Kento let out a guttural sound, something feral from deep within as his hands softly caressed your breasts.

"You're so beautiful," he huffed before he leaned down, pushing you back on the table surface with another kiss. You heard the crashing sound of some dish falling to the ground but neither of you paid it any mind, too absorbed in each other. His lips drifted down to your jaw and then to your neck, kissing and biting at the skin, all while rutting into you rhythmically. Kento's ministration had you gasping for air, your head lolling back to the table.

"K-Kento!"

"Yes, love?" you felt his chest vibrating with his low croon against your skin.

"Please," your fingers searched for purchase on the cotton of his shirt fruitlessly, you feared your nails could have even ripped the material in your desperate pursuit.

"What do you need? Tell me." Nanami had his hands on your chest, massaging the skin nimbly.

"Touch me," you were very close to just begging for it.

"Hmm, but I am touching you."

You rolled your eyes in both pleasure in exasperation, unsurprised his matter-of-fact manners came out even then.

"For f-fuck's sake. Don't- ah," he pinched one of your nipples. "Don't make me spell it out, Ken."

"Right here?" He questioned as he squeezed your tit. "Or maybe here?" The palm of one hand pressed to your covered mound as his middle and ring fingers found your clit even through your clothes and pressed down hard. You moaned.

"Yes! Yes, right there! Please!"

"How could I ever deny you when you beg so sweetly?"

His finger moved to your pants, teasing the button as he searched your face for permission. You huffed a breathy "yes", nodding wildly.

With your consent, Kento unbuttoned and unzipped your pants, pulling them down as he let himself fall to his knees in front of you. Right where he belonged, he thought to himself. He removed both of your shoes, hands stopping to massage your heels before your pants were off. Kento held your leg by your ankle, dropping a few kisses to your calf before setting it down and making space between your legs by pushing your thighs apart.

You lifted yourself on your elbows to peer down at him through heavy-lidded eyes.

"I thought I was the one showing my appreciation?"

"What if I want to show my appreciation as well?"

"You already," Kento kissed up the supple skin of your thighs making your voice tremble. "Hmm, you already did. It's my turn."

"Then let me have this. Worshipping you is the greatest pleasure you could bestow me, love."

"Kento! I-" He bit down on your inner thigh, so close to where you needed him the most, "Ah! Fuck! That's n-not fair."

He nuzzled at your pussy through the soaked lace of your flimsy panties, fingers wrapping around each of your legs to keep them open when the sudden touch had you trying to squeeze them together, "did you wear these for me?"

"Just for you, Kento. All for you," you sighed.

"Look at you. So pretty. So wet too," he murmured contently, his eyes locked on the wet patch on your underwear, his lips brushing against your sensitive skin with each word.

Your hand found its way into his hair, nails brushing his scalp when he finally dared to lick a stripe over the thong, a pointer finger sliding it to the side before doing it again.

Kento outwardly moaned when he tasted your slickness on his tongue, "you taste divine, my love. So much better than I imagined."

You wanted to tease him, question how many times he pictured that scenario, just how often he touched himself to the thought of you, but you could only cry out as he slid his tongue through your folds, the tip of his tongue flicking over your clit and your finger tangle in the strands of his hair.

You whimpered at the wet heat of his mouth on you. It felt like he was trying to devour you, pussy first. His tongue alternated between flicking over your clit playfully and running along your folds. It made you moan as you ground your hips upward. His tongue finally relented its attack on your clit., thrusting deeper into your heat. Nanami groaned, loving the feeling as you tugged on his hair to push his face deeper into your cunt. His cock twitched in his pants, precum probably staining through his briefs and pants.

"Fuck, Ken. Feels so good," you panted.

Nanami glanced up to meet your lidded eyes. The sight of your flushed cheeks had him moaning into your pussy, his hips thrusting helplessly in the air at the same time you jerked your hips. He stopped momentarily and snaked an arm up, pointer and middle fingers breaching through your parted lips and pressing down on your tongue, "wet them for me, love."

You clamped your lips around his fingers promptly, sucking in your cheeks as your tongue twirled around them until there was drool spilling from the corner of your mouth.

Kento pecked your lower lips without breaking the eye contact, "such a good girl."

His praise went straight to your cunt, creating even more slick. You could feel a puddle forming on the table underneath you with how wet you were.

His hand slid from your mouth, down your jaw and followed the curve of your neck only to pause briefly to grope your tit and give your nipple a firm tug before continuing on his trajectory down your body, the heel of his palm pressing firmly to your lower stomach just as his lips attached themselves to your cunt again. You kept making small sounds through it all, breath hitching with each of the breaks he took in the path.

Nanami used his wet fingers to rub small circles on your clit, eating you out like a man starved, craving to have your release on his tongue. You started babbling incoherently, throwing your head back and shutting your eyes when the feeling became too much.

For a second you thought you felt him spelling his name on your clit with his digits, but that could also have been something your fuzzy brain came up with.

"I'm s-so close! Ah!" You moan loudly, "gonna cum-"

And then the coil snap, black spots taking over your vision as pleasure explodes inside your veins, thighs shaking and squeezing his head, Kento only groans as he eagerly lapped up your slick. He worked you through your high until you were pushing his head away.

You're a panting mess, laying there on his dinner table as you try to recover and all Kento could think as he stood up was that you looked like a dream.

"Are you alright?" Kento rubbed the outside of your thighs up and down, still slotted in between them.

"Yup. Just- Help me up?"

"Of course!"

He quickly stepped back holding both of your hands firmly so you could anchor yourself as you sat up and then slid to the ground on unsteady legs. You took a deep breath and mumbled a hoarse "thank you". Once you were certain your legs wouldn't fail you, you squeezed his hands, signaling it would be fine to let you go.

Your eyes drifted to the wet patch and the very clear tent on his pants. You couldn't help but feel a new wave of desire watching over you. You licked your lips and stepped until you were flush against him, fisting the lapels of his shirt and pulling him down. You didn't care that he tasted like you or that his lips were still stained with your juices as you eagerly kissed him. Kento hummed into the kiss, arms circling your waist.

He let you take the reins, felt your clumsy fingers struggle to open each of the buttons of his shirt, and helped when you pushed the open garment down his shoulders and arms. Nanami only stopped you when you tried to unbuckle his belt, his large hands circling your wrists and pulling them up. You whined into the kiss, biting his lower lip and pulling away.

"Let me return the favor. Please."

"Fuck. Tasting you got on the very edge of the precipice I wouldn't last if you went down on me, beautiful."

"That's fine, I-"

"It's not fine," he cut you off, placing a tender kiss on the tip of your nose. "It's not fine because right now I need to fuck you. Will you let me?"

You shivered, lips parting in wonder. The tension on his shoulders and blown pupils did little to hide his hunger and you weren't faring much better, "yes, please."

You were embarrassed by the shriek you let out as he easily picked you up, wrapping your legs around his waist, and walked around as if you weighed less than a feather, "I promise I'll give you a tour of the apartment tomorrow morning," (which he does so after bringing you a lovely arranged tray with breakfast in bed and spoon feed you yogurt with chopped fruit before you finally have enough and push him down on the bed to suck him dry).

His strength became even more pronounced when he held you up with only one arm to open the door to his bedroom and before you knew it, he had you laid down and spread over the comforter on his mattress. You admired his shifting muscles as he toed off his shoes, unbuckled his belt, and removed his pants until he was standing before you in only his briefs. Nanami was truly a sight for sore eyes, with his mussed-up hair (probably your fault), heaving chest, and deep v-line that gave way and pointed down to a badly concealed dick. 'Happy trail' never felt like a more fitting moniker, the meticulously trimmed blonde hair a path to paradise.

"You're beautiful," you had been so engrossed in gawking at him that you failed to notice he had been doing the exact same to you, soft hazel eyes then meeting yours. You knew that small compliment had you blushing, you started to sit up, legs going to fall close, but Kento stopped the movement by kneeling between them, "don't. Let me see you."

"Fine. But you gotta let me see you too," you bargained with a tip of your chin to his cock. You knew for a fact he was positively packing since the shape of it was so clearly apparent too.

"That can be easily arranged."

You watched in bated breath as he slid his briefs down, revealing his thick, veiny… perfect cock. The tip is red and angry, precum dripping down its sides. You caught yourself wondering if he would even fit.

Kento kneeled back on the bed and jerked you forward on the bed so your head rested on a pillow and climbed after you. He reached above you for his wallet on the bedside table and picked through it until he found a condom and dropped both back on the bed, his attention shifting back to you.

"We don't have to use it. I'm on the pill. And I trust."

He wasn't sure if his cock twitched over the prospect of feeling you whole, with no barriers or if it was your trust that turned him on so much.

"My last annual check-up came up clean, but I will do nothing you don't want to, love."

"I want to feel you, Kento. Every inch of you," you were trying to go for seducing, but you were pretty sure you just sounded desperate.

He pressed a finger to your entrance, thumb catching your clit in mean circles to test the waters, and then a second finger, thrusting them lightly. It's when he starts scissoring them to prepare you for what was to come that you let yourself melt.

"Ken, I'm ready, please," you cried wantonly, fingers digging into the comforter as your entire body quivered.

"Are you, love?"

"Hmhmm. So ready." You nodded maniacally, desperate for more. Famished for him.

He slotted his thighs to yours, opening you up for him, and coated himself in your slick as he rubbed his cockhead head up and down your folds, his lips falling apart, gaze locked on the tantalizing motion. When it caught on your entrance you whined, arms reaching to pull him in closer and ankles locking behind his back, miserably trying to pull him in. Kento smirked and finally pushed the first inch inside. Your mouth fell open and your head lolled back at the stretch, nails digging into his back.

He hissed, shifting to his forearms and he ducked his head down to kiss you, pushing further in, feeling your tightness envelop him until he's bottomed out. You gasped into the kiss. It felt like he was so far inside of you he reached your guts.

It was perfection. Pure, unadulterated perfection. Kento was certain he had just made it into heaven.

"Fuuuuuck," you whined pathetically, "you fill me up so good."

He held to your waist as if he was scared you were only a figment of his imagination as he gradually started to move his hips.

You were putty under his ministrations, holding on for dear life and he fucked you nice and slow.

"Kento," you panted, tilting your head back as he kissed down your throat. He ground deep into your cunt, grunting as you tightened around him.

"You're doing so good for me, my love."

The room was hot and sticky, your bodies moving in tandem. Your little sobs with each new thrust like music to his ears. More than heaven, Kento felt home and, given the chance, he would spend the rest of his life worshipping you. He was so fucking close, but he needed you to cum alongside him.

You cried when he adjusted the angle, "fuck, keep going. Right there!" You supplicated.

Nanami complied, hitting that same spot with hard thrusts and a precision that upheld his title as the 7:3 sorcerer. His hand found your clit again and your breath hitched. He sped up then, hitting your sweet spot again and again and again until you're nothing but a drooly mess.

"It's like you were made for me," he whispered reverently and the praise was all you needed as his next thrust shoved you over the edge. You clamped down around his cock crying out.

When you came, Kento groaned into your skin, working you through it until he felt you go lax. He slid He slides his hands under your ass, lifting you as he shuffled onto his haunches, and he sunk impossibly deeper into your pussy.

"Ah. you're so fucking deep," you panted, completely at his mercy as he began to rock you on top of his cock.

"You're talking me so well,” He promised, watching his cock disappear inside your dripping cunt, lost in the pleasure of being inside of you.

His eyes flickered to yours, an angel spread on his bed for him and moaned. Not even his sweetest dreams could've conjured such image… such feeling.

"I-I think I'm close again. Ken, I'm- Oh, fuck! Yes! Please, please, don't stop!"

Kento clenched his jaw and tightened his grip, bouncing you on his dick with such force you could do nothing but holding on for the ride. He groaned, pistoling his hips up, barely holding onto his own release.

"Think you can come again for me?"

You nodded feverishily.

"Then rub at your sweet little nub for me," he commanded in between grunts and shaky breaths. You did as you were told, rubbing at your clit using your mixed juices until you see stars.

Nanami thrusted a few more times before he couldn't take it anymore. He pulled you down hard, hitting your cervix and that was enough for you to come, mouth agape in a silent cry as your head fell back, body convulsing and walls fluttering around his cock. With a low groan of your name echoing in the room, Kento felt his cock pulsing, painting your walls with his hot cum. He rocked into you a few more time until you stopped shaking and let the both of you fall back to the bed, mindful not to crush you under his weight.

You sighed, caressing his back as he leaned forward to rest his forehead on your heaving chest, both of you basking in the luxurious bliss of an orgasm.

You didn't know it then, but at that moment Kento decided you would be the woman he would marry, no matter how long it took for you to see it as well.

taglist: @madamechrissy @elliehenry24 @vivivillian

a/n: idc, consent is hot.

©sugurusfavemonkey 2025┃all rights reserved. do not copy, repost, translate or otherwise modify this work

[littleslaywrites]

cupid’s chemistry | spencer reid x reader

nsfw, mdni 

concept by @unknwnfanfics

summary: spencer tries to back a cake for you as a surprise for valentine’s, but ends up making a mess (that you gladly clean up).

word count: 1.4k

cw: smut, f!reader, sub!spencer, oral (m!receiving), slight edging, licking (is that a tag?), unprotected sex, p in v

Spencer had assumed baking would be easy. He had a degree in chemistry, after all. And that’s what baking was, right? Chemistry.

So, for Valentine’s Day, he decided to bake you a cake. Garcia helped him scour pinterest for the perfect recipe. He’d bought all the ingredients, even a heart shaped pan. He knew he’d have time after work before you got home. 

It proved to be less simple than it seemed. He’d gotten the cake in the oven… at least some of it. The mixer proved to be a challenge, as the moment he turned it on, it covered him with batter. It had taken a good ten seconds to turn it off. Batter was in his hair, on his clothes, all over his face. 

When he pulled the cake out of the oven, it was as if he’d never taken a science class in his life. It was somehow too dry and too wet, and the color was abysmal. He hoped the frosting could cover it, yet that proved even more difficult than the batter. Even after mixing, it came out way too sugary, with a strong flavor of red food coloring. 

Just as he was trying to figure out how to save it, you walked through the door. 

“What are you making?” you ask, somewhat suspiciously. 

“Umm… it’s nothing, just–”

His stuttering causes you to enter the kitchen to figure out what he’s doing. On the counter is a pan, which seems like it’s supposed to be a cake, or maybe a brownie. 

“It’s not very good,” Spencer says, defeated.

“No, it’s nice, just a little…” you trail off, trying to find something to say. 

“I thought it would be like chemistry,” he explains, bringing the mixing bowl of failed buttercream over. “It was supposed to be your Valentine’s surprise.”

“You’re covered in batter, honey.” He blushes as you wipe a drop off of his face. 

“The mixer got the best of me.”

“You might not be a good baker,” you say, pressing a kiss to his cheek, “but you’re definitely a cute one.” 

He blushes more. Even after all this time, he still gets flustered around you. And you can’t help but take advantage. You lick a bit of batter off of his face, enjoying the way his breath hitches, trying to hide his growing arousal. 

“Should we get you out of these messy clothes?” you ask, faking innocence.

He nods, starting to unbutton his sweater. As he’s pulling it off, you start to unbutton his shirt.

“It only got on my sweater–” is all he can get out before you shush him. He listens, as he always does with you.

Next you make work of his pants, getting on your knees and unzipping them. Spencer rolls his head back, sliding off his underwear, unable to wait for you to do it yourself. His cock springs out, already hard. There’s another thing you love about him. You can get him worked up so easily. 

“I want–” he sighs out as you lightly stroke him.

“Want what? Words, baby.”

“Your mouth. Want your mouth on me.” 

“Since you asked so nicely,” you say, licking his tip. He whimpers, resisting the urge to buck his hips into your mouth. 

You tease him for a while, licking stripes along his veins. He’s leaning against the counter, white-knuckling the edge to keep himself still. Whines escape his lips as he leans his head back, hair disheveled from his earlier incident with the mixer. 

When you finally take him all the way into your mouth, he lets out a moan. You’re gripping onto his thighs for leverage, bobbing your head along his length. Closing your eyes, you get lost in the feeling of the weight in your mouth, the salty taste on your tongue. You feel him twitching as you swallow him deeper. 

Spencer can’t resist anymore, and gives a quick thrust into your mouth. You hum around him, the vibration coaxing him to do it again. Soon, he’s mindlessly moving his hips, chasing his release. You almost let him cum, but decide you’re not done teasing him. 

Taking your mouth off of him, you move to stand up. 

“Please-” he starts.

“No begging,” you say. “Bedroom.”

He follows you into your room like a lost puppy, driven by need. You lay down on the bed, and he joins you, capturing you in a hungry kiss. Your legs tangle together, and he ruts his cock into the side of your thigh, needing any touch he can get. 

You turn him over so he’s below you. If he wanted, he could overpower you, but he’s always putty in your hands. You sit back so you’re on his thighs, just below his crotch. Playing with his cock, you touch him ever so lightly, running a thumb along his slit and tracing the veins you love to admire. 

“Y/n,” he chokes out, brain empty, save for your name. 

Humming in response, you move to sit up on your knees. Shifting just above him, you grab ahold of his length, grinding your wetness on his tip. The stimulation has both of you whimpering, hips speeding up slightly. 

Stopping your motions, you sink down slowly. Spencer sighs, arching his back before you can even take him all the way. You press his hip down, letting yourself adjust before he can move. 

Hand holding him to the bed, you whine. His length fills you just right, and he looks so pretty below you. His brown eyes are communicating everything he can’t voice, begging you for any motion. Leaning down, you press a kiss to his lips. When he closes his eyes, you can feel his eyelashes flutter, complimenting the way your cunt flutters around him.

Pulling away from the kiss, you run your tongue along the remaining batter that’s left on his face. He blushes as you trace his sharp jawline, cleaning up the mess he made of himself. 

You sit back up, tentatively pulling yourself up before slamming back down. Spencer can’t help but meet your motions, rutting up into you. You allow him to set the pace, listening to the soundtrack of his whines and groans. 

The force of his thrusts cause you to lean down, placing a hand on the bed. You can feel his tip prodding deep inside you. His length surprises you every time, reaching within you in a way nobody else can.

He quickly loses rhythm, his need overcoming any sense. Taking over again, you use your hands on the bed as leverage. Being back in control allows you to guide him where you want. You shift so he’s hitting you on the soft spot of your walls. You pause your motions to move your hips subtly, grinding his tip into your sweet spot, before picking up pace again.

You’re clenching him hard, Spencer aware that it’s a signal that you’re close. He lets you use him, his back arching to have you as close as physically possible. Your knees are spread wide, needing him as deep as you can get it.

You can feel his cock spasming inside you as he holds off his own release. As desperate as he is, he wants you to finish before he does. He’s clenching his thighs, hips unconsciously meeting yours. Skin slaps skin, mixing with sounds of your pleasure.

Your hands run along his chest, feeling every part of him as you go over the edge. Your thighs close tightly around his body, muscles tensing before releasing altogether. Crying out, you let yourself fall onto him, fingers going to his hair. Your hands grab at whatever they can, and the tug at Spencer’s locks has him groaning. 

He continues to thrust into you a few more times before he has his own orgasm, arms pulling you close to him. Leaning into your neck, he whimpers into your ear, unintelligible noises combined with your name. 

Both of you are breathing heavily when you roll off of him, whining slightly at the emptiness. 

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” you whisper into his ear, running a hand through his hair as he comes down from his high. 

“Sorry about the cake,” he says. 

“I think you’ve sweat the rest of the batter off of your face, at least.” He turns to look at you, still red in the cheeks. “But you still need a shower.”

“I’ll probably need some help in there,” he says, faking a pout. 

“Poor baby,’ you say, pulling him toward the bathroom.

[billthedrake]

LINEAGE (PART THREE)

I stirred in bed and heard Braden shuffle on the other side of the mattress. My son wasn't a morning person, and now that Bill Jr. was 4, Brade really preferred to sleep in. I loved to let him, and on weekdays I'd fix breakfast for Junior and get him ready and off to preschool on my way to work.

I would let my son-husband sleep in on Saturday, too, but we now had this ritual.

"Hmmm..." I heard his deep morning voice growl as his thickly muscled body scooted over to mine, resting his strong arm on my chest. Braden always had a great body, but he'd spent the last few years dedicating an hour at the gym on most days and I found myself married to a 28-year old who could be a freakin' porn star.

I always woke up with morning wood, like clockwork, but the warmth and body contact had me raging hard.

"Morning, babe," I said, kissing his forehead and running my hand along the knotted tricep.

"What time's tee time?" I heard his groggy voice ask.

"8:30," I said.

"Goddamnit," Braden said. He made a point never to curse around Junior, which meant when it was just us, his sailor mouth was in full force. "Fucking Fiedler."

I chuckled. My son and I had become good friends with both of the Dr. Fiedlers, Adam, father, and son Todd, and we often did double dates. There was the bond of being incest couples and the shared experience of navigating parenthood in that context. While both were "Dr. Fielder" to me, Braden used Fiedler to refer to his doctor, Todd, while he called the dad Adam.

"My golf date is with both of them," I said. "With a new fourth. Todd says he found another man in a relationship like ours."

That woke Braden up. "Yeah?" he asked, looking at me to see if I was on the level. Brade no longer had a buzz cut but his hair was short and thinning already. In the morning it was matted down in a sexy bed head way.

I nodded, patting his side. "He was cagey about the details, but I don't think he was bullshitting me."

"Wow," my son said. "That would be incredible." We both craved to connect to other father-son couples, Braden especially. Incest was amazing, but a lonely experience.

Braden's hand traveled down slowly from my chest over my furry stomach. I didn't have my son's six pack, nor his thick muscle, but I kept trim and in shape for 45. Brade seemed to love what I had going on.

Particular a few inches lower. I grunted when I felt his strong fingers circle around my prick.

"That feels nice, buddy," I hissed.

"Yeah?"

"Hell yeah. Always does."

"I love this cock, Dad," my son said. "It fucking made me."

That dick surged in his fist. Even if we had a ritual, it never got old. To the contrary.

I looked Brade square in the eye as I lay back and let him stroke me. "It made Junior, too."

"Aw fuck!" Braden grunted. That was the button to push all right. He pounced forward for a kiss. He tried to take charge of it, but I battled back with my tongue. I won that battle, but otherwise my son was in charge, climbing on top of me. Braden was four inches shorter than me but with his brawn I definitely had that pleasant feel of his weight on top.

We made out as Brade kind of humped and writhed.

"Let me drive, today, Dad?" he hissed.

"You got it, Sport."

This was going to have to be a quickie. Bill Jr. would probably wake soon and while our son probably could content himself watching cartoons on his ipad, as a married couple you have to find the private moments when you could take them.

We had a discreet container for our lube next to the bed, and I watched Braden's thick muscle flex as he reached over to pump a good bit out. For longer sessions, we didn't use so much, but for a quick entry, my son loved a super slick cock.

I was gonna be really frickin' wet, I realized, as that palm wrapped around my phallus once more.

Braden was horny but more in his quiet, relaxed early morning way. And maybe lost in thought. "The new guys..." he asked. "You think the dad is the top or bottom?"

"Dunno, Brade," I said. "Some guys are both. Or neither, I suppose," I answered.

Braden didn't comprehend that. He'd told me that for him sex was about being penetrated, or getting me to cum. Maybe if he'd been more vers, he could have talked me into switching things up, but I loved being his father that way. Dad on top. Being the breeding stud for my Brade.

Still, I knew some men were wired differently, like the Fiedlers.

Braden settled over my lap, looking down and bracing one hand on the headboard of the bed as his other reached behind to guide my cock into place.

"You're horny, Dad," he said.

I nodded. "It's been a couple of days, buddy."

"I know," he said. "Sorry."

"Don't apologize," I said, running my hands along his thighs. Brade had really been hitting leg day. "We get sex when we can."

Brade got a shyly playful look on his handsome face, as he wiggled his hips back on to my dick, nudging his hole into place. "It's gonna be even trickier when the next one is born."

This was frequent with me and my son. Talking about impregnation and procreation, talking about the family we were raising and the sons we were going to sire.

But this was more than sex talk, I knew. Brade was feeling me out. "You itching to get knocked up again, Brade?" I grunted. This was sex talk, and real talk, and the fact they were one in the same was getting to me.

He pushed himself down. Even with out experience, Braden's experience, his kind of quick entry was tough for him, but he relished the way my slickness meant he was being bored with a few inches of dad cock. He winced but his cock twitched and bounced from his crotch.

We were incest fucking once more, like we could never get enough of.

"So ready, Dad," Braden hissed. "Whenever you're ready, Dad, just tell me and I'll stop taking those fucking pills."

I loved the tight hot feel of Braden's guts clenching my prick and descending down. "We'll talk about it, OK?" Real talk and sex talk could collide, but Braden and I were going to make the next pregnancy a planned one, decided in a sober conversation, not while fucking.

"Of course, Dad," he said, maybe a little too loud. Jesus, he was gonna wake Junior.

He rode me slowly, sensually. His goal was to relax his hole and his insides, but it also felt amazing on my lubed dick, like I was being slowly jacked.

"But say the word and I'm ready.... I wanna be so fucking fertile for you, Dad."

I gripped his hips now and pumped in. Ready or not, I need to actively fuck my son.

"Yes!" Braden hissed. It was intense for him, but I could tell he was imagining me planting my seed in him, my sperm fertilizing his egg.

"You're such a handsome fuck," I growled. "Love you, Sport."

"Love you, Dad. Oh shit!" he let go of his prick to keep from cumming. Instead he angled his upper body up to focus on taking my cock.

"I thought you were driving today, Brade," I teased, pumping up more excitedly into his ass.

"You're in charge, Dad. Fucking take me."

"I am..." I grunted. I was so close, and this was one of those fucks where I was riding the edge of orgasm without topping over. "Can't wait to knock you up, kiddo."

"Please dad. Impregnate me."

"Make another incest baby?" OK, I was getting real close now. My hips were thrusting gaster.

"Hell yeah, Dad. How many grandkids do you want?"

Something about those words but also the tone in which Brade said them had me coming, hard. I held onto his hips in a vice grip and fired several jets of my cum into his guts.

Excitedly, Brade gripped his bone and tugged and like that I was getting showered with my son's seed. It had been a while since he'd ridden me and I enjoyed the novelty of a Braden cum shower.

We kissed, softly, catching our breath and letting our heart rate come back to normal.

Our shower together was efficient and quick. I had to get to the golf course, and the sex had taken longer than I expected.

***

This was our way of maintaining a healthy balance as parents and as a married couple. Saturday was my own personal day for me-time, which in good weather meant playing golf. On Sundays, Braden got to do his own thing, which usually meant hanging out with his buddy Jackson, either going off to do some outdoor or athletic thing, or just watching football.

The Fiedlers sometimes played golf separately, but on Saturdays, both Adam and Todd were there in their knit shirts and shorts. Adam was an incredible golfer, whereas Todd had the power swings that could either make for a great game or a lousy one. I was a decent player but mostly enjoyed the game and the break from the routine of work and parenting. And I'd enjoyed bonding with the Fiedlers.

I related to Adam and Todd in different ways, but with either man... well, we'd opened up a lot. Guy talk, discussing the emotional side of married life, particularly in an incest couple, and even frank talk about our sex lives. With anyone else it would feel like a betrayal of trust with Braden, but I knew these guys would keep anything private, and I knew a lot about them. I had no one else to talk to, and maybe it's something a man needs.

Sure, there was some sexual tension, too, but we channeled that into crude jokes and double entendre, without danger of slipping into anything more.

When I got to the club house, I saw the fourth in our party. He looked to he a high school kid, until I got closer and figured he was closer to 19 or 20. About 5'8" with a compact body.

"Hey," came the voice. Adult but very young sounding, like a frat dude rushing at university.

"Bill Drake," I said, offering my hand to shake it.

"Jeff Connors." He smiled but seemed nervous.

Adam Fiedler patted my shoulder. "Bill's part of our special fraternity, Jeff... you can be free around him."

"Yeah?" the young man asked excitedly. But maybe feeling out of his element.

I nodded. "I don't know what these men have shared, but yes." I was nervous too, but something about Jeff's shyness brought out my protective side. I looked over at Todd. Dr. Fiedler. "I guess we got all morning to get acquainted."

My doctor grinned. "Especially cause you get to ride in the cart with him, Bill. Dad's upset he doesn't get to flirt with the dude."

Adam gave a hearty laugh. "Todd told me to be on my best behavior."

The younger doctor gave a mock-annoyed look. "Come on, Dad. You're teeing off first."

***

The first hour was a lot of small talk. Jeff was a college freshman, rising sophomore, home for the summer. My guess that he was a fraternity man was a good one, and in most ways young man Connors seemed like a typical college kid. Into partying but also finding himself and his goals in life. Kind of goofy in his humor but naive and serious about the world, too.

It was after the tenth hole, when he opened up. We'd gotten into the cart after a long drive. I pulled off and I heard him say softly. "Dad doesn't want me talking about things with anyone else, but I feel like was gonna explode if I kept it all inside you know?"

I looked over at him. I almost patted his knee but felt that would be appropriate. "Your dad has a point, but I know how you feel, buddy."

He smiled, a nervous but genuine smile. "Thanks, Bill. You, um..."

I could tell he thought it was too wild to ask. I leaned into the trust of the situation and wanted to show Jeff he could trust me. "I've been with my son Braden for ten years... been married for seven of them."

The frat dude's face lit up. "Wow! That's amazing."

"I think so," I said. "I'm a very happy, very lucky man."

Jeff hesitated. "Like Dr. Fiedler."

"In more ways than one," I said. And seeing that Jeff wasn't following I added, "Brade and I have a son. Together." I felt proud to make that announcement, and I remembered Todd Fiedler's tone of pride when he first mentioned how many kids they had.

"How's that?" Jeff asked. Earnest as hell.

"Amazing. Even if it cuts into the sex life some," I said with a wink.

Jeff laughed. I could tell he was arranging his crotch. "It's so crazy to talk about a father and son having sex."

I looked over. "Well you and your dad are, right?" Maybe I'd misread the whole situation.

He nodded and blushed. "Yeah. Like, um, a lot."

I laughed and Jeff laughed too. It broke the ice a lot.

I figured I could share more. "Braden and I love the idea of incest. Always gets us going."

I could tell Jeff was getting worked up. I was getting hard, too. I was wired for incest talk, and just discussing this openly was way hot.

But we kept the conversation more serious. "I'm pretty sure Dad and I don't want to have kids," Jeff said. "But we've been talking more about what a relationship would mean."

"Parenting's not easy, you both gotta be on the same page."

Jeff and I talked more, off and on, between shots, and it was amazing to see him open up and his happiness at being able to talk about incest.

I listened, but I had to speak up. "Can I give you some unsolicited advice, Jeff?"

"Sure," he said. Over two hours we'd built up a high level of trust.

"If it's going to be more than sex with your dad, if the emotional part is important... well, you need him on board, buddy. About talking to others."

"Yeah," Jeff conceded, chastised.

I now patted his knee, paternally. "It goes both ways, too. He needs to know how you feel and your need to bond with other man. He may be your dad, but he needs to listen to you, not just lay down the law."

Jeff seemed quiet as he took that in, then finally replied. "Thanks, Bill."

***

I got home to find Braden playing catch in the backyard. I don't know how much of it was Junior into baseball and football, and how much of it was Brade's natural enthusiasm in sharing that masculine rite of passage. My son was such a natural father, it was touching to watch. And to hear Junior alternate between giggling and trying to imitate his daddy's game-focus mannerisms, was endearing.

I decided then and there that it was time for another kid. To give Junior a younger brother.

***

I brought it up on Monday night. Junior was in bed by 9. Brade and I took turns make sure our son did his nightly routine and brushed his teeth. I was grateful that night, because work had been a real long, tough day for me. I sat on the couch and watched some mindless TV with the sound turned down.

Finally Braden came and sat down next to me. "Exhausting, huh?" he said with a laugh. We never bitched about parenthood, but we did bond on the work it took and enjoyed approaching the challenges with humor.

"I'll say," I replied. Then, "You up for feeling more exhausted, Braden?"

He paused as it sunk and looked at me. Then, "You saying what I think you're saying?"

I nodded. "If you're up for it. It's your body, son."

"Oh god, Dad. I'm gonna go off the pills tomorrow."

I smiled. Proud. Excited. Maybe more than a little horny. My dick was firming up. "I figure it's time for Junior to have a little brother."

"Yes, sir," Brade hissed as he scooted closer and leaned forward into my lap.

I'd never turn down a blowjob from my son, but now that he was pawing at my crotch, a started tone entered my voice. "You sure Junior's asleep?" I asked in a whisper.

"He's out, Dad," Braden said with an impish smile as he pulled down down my zipper. "But you can keep watch if you like while I suck that cock that's gonna make our next son."

I lay back and enjoyed the slowest most sensual head I could imagine. Brade was making love to my dick and my balls, and I knew what he was thinking. How he was sucking his father, tasting the dick that made him. Getting closed to the breeding power that going to knock him up once more.

I made myself be quiet, almost silent as I orgasmed, feeding Brade a huge load. This was going to be a fun, emotionally powerful month or two. Or three. However long we had to mate to get the job done. I wasn't even going soft now, not even after Brade suckled at the dribbles and kept licking.

"Bedroom, Dad?" he asked, leaning up with a wild-eyed look on his face. I could tell he was thrilled by my amped up sexual response.

"You bet, Sport," I hissed, leaning into kiss him.

[longagoitwastuesday]

Going through the Utahim.e tag had me checking several times if at some point I had clicked on the G.ojo/Utahim.e one instead

[thetangibleghost]

All the stuffies I have

[lizardsfromspace]

I do have to impress on anyone who wasn't around for it how batshit the reality boom of the 2000s could be. Especially on Fox.

Here are some 100% real 2000s reality shows:

Who's Your Daddy? A woman has to guess which of eight men is her biological father. One of them really is, and if she guesses right she wins $100,000. If one of the seven fake dads convinces her to guess them, he wins $100,000.

Black. White. A white family learns about racism by living a month in blackface, while a black family spends a month in whiteface. The black family was a real family, but the white family was just some actors hired to put on blackface to prove racism exists

Without Prejudice? Five strangers decide which of five strangers gets a cash prize based off clips and their answers to political questions. Cancelled when one of the choosers openly said he'd eliminate all black contestants

Welcome to the Neighborhood. Three conservative white families in a Austin subdivision decide which diverse family gets to move in. Unaired due to being literal housing discrimination

Seriously, Dude, I'm Gay. Two straight men try to pass themselves off as gay and whoever seems more gay gets $50,000. Unaired due to. Due to. Due to

Playing It Straight. A woman tries to find love among fourteen men, half of whom are straight and half of whom are gay, and she must eliminate two men she believes are gay each week. If she ended up picking a straight man in the end, they'd split a million dollars; if she picked a gay man, he'd win a million dollars

Boy Meets Boy. This was Playing It Straight but starring a gay man and he had to eliminate straight people

Who Wants to Marry a Multimillionaire? He wasn't a multimillionaire. He didn't even have a million dollars in liquid assets. He had a battery conviction Fox claims they didn't see. Because it was the 2000s, somehow this ended up with the woman he won being widely vilified and turned into a national punchline. How dare she complain about a massive corporation tricking her into marrying a lying abuser, good thing Matt Lauer's there to take her down a peg

The Swan. A "ugly" woman is given plastic surgery and wins a prize if she's the hottest at the end of the season. If she's not hot enough by the show's standards she's eliminated and called ugly on national TV

The Biggest Loser. Overweight people engage in competitive crash weight loss that often led to awful health complications. Studies showed basically everyone on the show regained any weight they lost once it was over and they didn't have abusive trainers demanding they take huge health risks to win a competitive weight loss competition. Like the others, this one was cancel-oh, it was a massive hit that ran for 18 seasons? Yikes!

Wife Swap and Trading Spouses. These were the same show and had a wife from one family go to another family that was different politically, racially, culturally, religiously etc. Most famous for the God Warrior

At the time people focused on the likes of Fear Factor but looking back it's wild how many of the worst shows toyed with politics. So many of these shows have a premise that's like "what if we exposed these conservatives to these people they hate?" or hyping themselves up as Important Experiments. Then they'd freak out when they got the kind of viral bigoted freakout they were trying to construct the whole time.

There were also a bunch of horrible reality shows, thankfully this time mostly unpopular, in the 2010s that based themselves around economic themes as a response to the market crash, but that's a story for another time

[chronically-ghosted]

i'm empty without you, so come grow within me

AO3 Link | main masterlist | Joel Miller Masterlist

rating: explicit (18+)

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

word count: 9K

summary: with winter approaching, joel takes stock of what he wants and what he has in his life. he wants you, but he's not quite sure he has you, not in a way that only a life in Jackson can afford. joel's an old-fashioned guy, so he's looking for an old-fashioned love . . . if he can only remember how to do it right.

inspired by the songs 'why don't we just dance' by Josh Turner and 'the kind of love we make' by Luke Combs, this fulfills a request from @handsomehelmet for my 1k celebration (creativity struck and now i'm going to make it everyone's problem)

warnings: the nastiest thing i can possibly imagine which is romance and sincerity, some willie nelson lyrics, established situationship, no age of reader specified, body insecurity, feelings of unworthiness/shame, survivor's guilt, blatant disregard for old man knees by eating pussy on the floor, unprotected piv, a teenager bullying fully grown adult to quit being stupid.

a/n: i know everyone gets into a tizzy when Joel doesn’t name what Tess is to him in front of Bill and while there probably was a heaping amount of guilt that accompanied that omission, i wonder if it might be a bit more complicated: he simply couldn’t name one thing because she was all things to him. A friend, a lover, a guide, a support system, a protector, a partner. So he says it the best way he can: “she’s mine.”

come see what else we've done to celebrate 1K followers

By the fourth bag, all you can think about is a warm shower. 

A chance to scrub away the dirt smeared on your arms, your neck, probably your face. You’d brought your own work gloves to bag fresh dirt for the greenhouse, but the longer you work, more sprinkles of dirt find their way down the lip of your gloves. You can feel it against your palms, under your nails. The cold winter air lurks beneath the crack of the door, stifled from invading by the artificial heat provided by the generator just outside, and it stifles you too with its oppressive weight. You’re fairly sure the dirt on your forehead has turned to mud, sweat and damp earth encrusted on your dry skin. 

By the sixth, you doubt your shoulders will ever move again without popping. 

You know Joel’s already do. 

Never a particularly chatty man even in his best moods, the greenhouse had become stuffy with heat and silence, both you and Joel too lost in the work to find the energy to even fake idle chatter. But, knowing this about Joel and a certain degree yourself, silences with him were never a bad thing. That was one of the things you enjoyed most about being with him; you two could do your own things together. Many snowy days were spent with him stretched out on the couch, reading, and you working on writing your sheet music on the floor, his knee hovering over your shoulder with your back to the cushions – spent in total silence, and they are some of the fondest memories you had since coming to Jackson and falling into the third and final piece of the Miller-Williams household. 

Like with the end of the world, you weren’t sure how you got there until everything had fallen into place around you; Joel and his adoptive daughter had been just another group who were taken in by the town of Jackson . . . until they weren’t. Ellie was just another foul-mouthed kid who had seen too much and had too much taken from her . . . until she wasn’t. Joel was your occasional patrol partner and a fellow Willie Nelson fan. . . until he wasn’t.

Until that unmistakable line, one that seemed to be lost on a global scale beneath the blood and the gore and the grief, had been crossed when he asked you out for drinks and the both of you knew the evening wasn’t going to end in a nightcap. 

And then you were partners, even outside of patrol. Partners in re-enforcing a weakened part of Jackson’s outer walls. Partners in cooking, attempting to recreate an enchilada recipe Joel only vaguely remembered from a Tex-Mex hole-in-the-wall fifteen minutes from where he used to live in Austin. Partners when it’s snowing heavily outside and there’s not much to do except to read and, well . . . Joel was a fantastic partner in that.

Joel Miller was a great partner for a lot of things. He worked diligently, quickly and, unless the conversation was started by someone else, silently. 

He, in short, was not someone who was easily distracted.

Which, in combination with your own exhaustion and a desire to scrub the first layer of your skin off with a loofah, is why you feel a flare of annoyance when you look up and see him staring off into the distance. His fingers loosely grip the handle of the shovel, his palm resting over the curved point, Joel’s expression is nearly unreadable, except for the small crevice between his eyebrows. He stands, fixated on the greenhouse wall, as if watching the blurry Christmas lights from the town square, suddenly oblivious to the work you two have been doing for the past hour and a half. 

“Joel.” Nothing. “Joel!” 

You raise your hand to smack him on the leg when, without looking down, he asks:

“When was the last time I took you out?” 

“What?”

His weight shifts, holds the shovel by one hand now. You catch a sliver of frustration in those deep brown eyes as he looks at you. He wears what you and Ellie secretly refer to as his “pouty-mouth”, a classic expression when he isn’t getting his way about something but won’t draw attention to the fact that it annoys him.

“Tell me about the last date I took you on.”

You huff, standing up with a pop in your hips. Your knees are aching from kneeling on the cold winter ground and your skin fluxes between overheating under your jacket and stiffly frozen on your extremities. 

“Joel, c’mon, be serious. We’ve got three more –,”

“I am being serious.” Dumb-founded, you watch as he digs the tip of the shovel into the ground with a hollow chunk. Crosses his arms and continues to frown at you like you just suggested doing away with the Christmas holiday entirely. “We’ll get to this, but I want you to tell me right now what we did on our last date.”

You roll your eyes, humoring him. “Fine, I don’t know what crawled up your ass, but okay. On our last date, we . . . we did . . . you took me to . . .”

It’s your turn to frown. He raises a petulant eyebrow and it’s eerie how many times you’ve seen that exact expression on Ellie. 

“Okay, fine, so it’s been a while. We’ve been busy – we’ve all been busy with the winter season coming. All of Jackson has been out battening down the hatches. What does it matter if we’ve let things slide a bit?”

He doesn’t answer immediately, quiet in his Joel way. He glances out through the blurred greenhouse glass and maybe he was actually staring at the string lights hung over Jackson’s square. Normally, you didn’t mind being unable to dissect his every expression, every sigh, every carefully wielded silence, but when it came to you and his feelings about you – feelings that were always implied in those silences – you wished you had a little window, some hint, as to what rumbled on behind those earth-dark eyes. 

Joel drums his fingers on the handle of the shovel, unease rolling through his body as he shifts his weight. 

“Matters some,” he tells the ground. “With the holidays comin’ around . . . matters for Ellie – her first winter here in Jackson. Matters for Tommy, with that new baby of his . . .”

“Your nephew,” you supply as much as prod. Sometimes the only way to get an honest answer out of him was when he was just a bit pissed off and less guarded. Instead he just nods, gloved hand on his hip, thick jacket widening his already confounding broadness.

“It matters because it’s important. To me. It’s important to me.”

He meets your gaze and you’re struck full force again with that feeling like you drank too much of the Tipsy Bison’s shitty whiskey too fast. Same feeling that couldn’t be drowned even with the Tipsy Bison’s shitty whiskey when you shared a drink with him for the first time. When you managed to laugh when he bet you a whole day of stable cleaning duties that Willie Nelson and Chris Stapleton survived the apocalypse somewhere in a shack in Tennessee. Joel Miller was disarmingly funny when he wanted to be.

And even worse, disarmingly sincere.

You take his gloved hand in yours. You feel the sensation of his fingers threading through yours but not the heat you’ve grown so accustomed to. 

“Alright, then. What do you want to do about it?” You ask quietly, to the upturned collar around his neck, his green flannel peeking out from behind the zipper of his jacket. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed but there’s a lot of snow on the ground so that makes our options for date night kinda limited.” You scrunch your nose at him because you like to see the light in his eyes bloom when you do.

He chuckles, a rumbling sound, and he drops his forehead against yours, fingers tightening their grip around yours. Suddenly in your throat, your heart pounds. He’s never this affectionate in public. Maybe it’s those miraculously blurred greenhouse glass walls. 

His breath smells like that peppermint toothpaste that came in last week, infused with the warming-coil smell from the greenhouse. 

“Dunno yet.” He admits. “I’ll think of somethin’.”

“No ideas yet?” You raise your eyebrows against his forehead and he grins, shaking his head.

“Not yet.” 

“Then can I make a suggestion?”

“‘Course.”

“We finish bagging this dirt, then head home for a shower. In a really sexy way, obviously.” 

He huffs, smothering a laugh, and quick as lightning he kisses you on the cheek. But in the same movement, steps away and grabs the shovel again. You don’t have time to react to the fact he just kissed you for the first time outside of the four walls of his house before he’s scooping up dirt. You drop to your knees to pick up the bag again, your legs already weak.

“We both know you’re going to pass out on the couch the second we’re home.”

Your voice is steadier than you feel, as you look up at him. His face is flushed and that worry line between his eyes is gone. 

“You got me pegged, Miller. You got me pegged.”

Two days later, he stands in the middle of his living room, hands on his hips, surveying his handiwork. All of the furniture has been pushed to the far ends of the room, up against the walls or against the staircase out in the hallway. He’s kept the overhead lights off and put the standing lamps in the corners, bathing the room in a despondent glow. He thinks, after a quarter of a century never even entertaining something like this, it might be interpreted as romantic. He hopes you’ll see it that way at least. 

He hears it now, in his head, even though she’s out in the disconnected garage, snug and warm as he could have possibly made it – you worry too much, old man. 

Ellie knows there’s something going on between you two. Hell, the entire town has cottoned onto whatever this is; you’re often seen leaving his house early in the morning, and he’s been seen on occasion strolling up to your house with flowers. It’s not new, it’s not a secret, but it is . . . it just is and that’s about as far as he’s gotten. 

He hasn’t had you over for dinner with Ellie in that very specific way that very much needs to happen, as it often does when there is a new presence added to an established dynamic – as Maria often reminds him. But that almost feels like presenting your head on a silver plate to Ellie to either sniff with disinterest or tear into – both terrifying scenarios, even though they seem unlikely. Ellie does in fact seem to like you very much, as her riding teacher and occasional greenhouse buddy. But would she continue to like you in the context of you being one half of “You and Him” as a pair? Together. As a couple . . . of people who are seeing each other, whatever that means in a world filled with the most aggressive form of fungus imaginable. 

This life in Jackson, this fragile second chance to remember and rekindle his own natural instincts, is too precious to bet on a question like that. 

So he doesn’t ask it. At least not out loud. 

That’s one of the things he likes so much about you: his silences aren’t entirely indecipherable and often are encouraged by your own. Except this silence about this particular thing doesn’t feel like one of your shared, comfortable moments and instead it’s encroaching rapidly into avoidance. 

Standing in that greenhouse and seeing the string lights over the town square reminded him of a long ago Christmas, dancing with his favorite person under a Christmas tree, and how good it made him feel. How special it made him feel. All these years later, safe in a way his body has almost forgotten, there’s an urge he has to share that feeling, to recreate it under entirely different circumstances, with someone new. Someone else. To not try and fight the smile that constantly threatens to buoy up every time he’s around you. 

It’s foreign, that feeling in his chest, but it’s not entirely alien, at least not of late. 

He knows he’s white-knuckling it because he knows firsthand how painfully quick it can all be gone. Taken away. Left and buried by a black river while the world burns.

But he’s worried he’ll crush it with how tightly he holds on. How hard he begs a silent universe for it to last just a little bit longer. 

His knees ache, his left shoulder goes tight when it rains, his body is not what it once was, but his mind is still there, still clear, and he remembers how romance used to feel, where it used to reside in his younger body, and as he stares out at the cleared room, listening to your footsteps overhead as you attempt to follow his vague instructions to “make yourself feel pretty” (because you already were to him, even covered in dirt and sawdust), he thinks this feels like the old world. An old world romance. It’s foreign, that feeling, but for the first time in a long time he doesn’t want to hold it at arm’s length.

“Joel?” You call from the top of the stairs, your voice tentative and cautious. But not cautious like you peeking around a corner to look for clickers. But cautious as in unsure, doubtful. You are a woman made up of a lot of things, with foundations unlike he’d ever seen before, but doubt is not a part of you. You never doubt him. 

“Yeah, baby?” Your nerves make him nervous and he futzes with a lampshade while waiting for you.

“Are you done down there?” 

He has to breathe slowly through the fluttering beneath his breastbone before he can answer. “Yeah, baby, all finished. You can come down now.”

“Okay . . . but you can’t laugh.” Him, laugh at you? There’s the instinct to smother the faint grin that spreads out across his mouth, but he told himself he wasn’t going to fight whatever came across his face tonight. If you see it, then you see it and he’s come to accept that. 

(Maybe even want that.)

He shakes his head, his only pair of nice boots (a thank you from a former rancher when Joel fixed his family’s heater) clicking on the hardwood floor as he stands at the bottom of the stairs. You must be hiding behind the wall because he can’t see you. 

“I’m not gonna laugh, sweetheart. Why d’ya think I’d laugh?” 

Silence faces him at the top of the stairs, and then:

“Because quite frankly I forgot my tits could look like this and I don’t know how to feel about it.” 

The snort that comes out of him is a poor attempt to muffle the chuckle. He thumbs the wood finial at the top of the bannister. 

“Can’t remember ever having any complaints before and I don’t think I’ll have ‘em now, no matter how they look.” 

“Whatever, Miller, you’re just a horn dog.” 

He rolls his eyes, fingers rubbing anxiously together at his side, as if he could tug the fluttering out of his chest. He leans on the other foot, the one with the bad knee, to adjust the slightly uncomfortable tightness in his jeans. A dark swirl in the second step of the stairs has become wildly interesting.

“Baby, just come down here. I’m not gonna laugh. Promise.”

“I’m gonna hold you to that,” you grumble, still out of sight. “I know where you keep your feral child and I will not hesitate to let her loose on you.”

Joel nods, grinning faintly, still focused resolutely on the whorl in the floor. “That’s a real big threat from someone who –,”

The words die in his throat.

In fact, he’s quite sure he won’t be capable of speech for a very long time. 

That foreign feeling – that feeling he’s worked for twenty years to suppress – is ignited in his chest. 

You walk, no, maybe you float down the stairs in the most stunning red dress he’s ever seen. It’s definitely not yours – he knows every inch of your closet because he had inspected it studiously when you offered to keep some of his clothes at your place and he was trying very hard to delay putting a handful of his belongings beside a woman’s things in a move that felt heart-stoppingly domestic. 

No, he has never, ever seen you in this dress. 

Come to think of it, he’s never seen you in any dress and you were entirely correct that your tits look wildly different. Fantastically different, but –

“Maria didn’t have any heels that fit me to go with the dress,” you announce airily, your chin up. But your eyes dart over his face as if looking for something you need to find. “But it’s fourteen degrees outside, Joel, and I’m not doing whatever this is in just socks because that’s ridiculous so you’re just going to have to deal with the boots.”

The Boots. The ones you wear while crushing clicker skulls and tending the stables. They still bear damp spots from where you tried to clean the blood and dirt from the leather.

It’s rather incapacitating how arousing he finds this particular combination.

So much so, he doesn’t realize he hasn’t said anything in a full minute until you bark at him, a cold tinge of panic in your voice.

“Joel!” His eyes snap to yours. Of course, you’re fucking beautiful – your eyes seem bigger, cheeks pinker, mouth wet – fucking Christ, where did you get make up? 

“Say something!” Those rosy lips drop down and to his horror, you’re upset. “Please!”

“B-baby, you look . . .” He doesn’t mean to grab your entire ass in one hand; he just wants to feel as much of that velvet on your skin as possible. You stumble into his arms, another something that is so unlike you, as he tugs you forward. Bends his lips to your ear to discover how fast you’re breathing. How fast your pulse races in your neck. The shudder that breaks the rigidity of your body when he brushes his mouth, the short bristles of his beard, against your skin is no surprise; you told him exactly what that sensation does to you in no uncertain terms the first night he ate you out on the table of your kitchen. “You look incredible.”

Your fingers bite into his biceps. Push back out of his arms, despite the obvious warmth in your cheeks. You level his arousal in a single glare. “Joel, I asked you not to tease.” 

Tommy once told him he was a pain in the ass to be around sometimes because he displays every negative emotion as anger and so it’s damn near impossible to figure out whatever it was he was so bent out of shape about.

Sadness as anger.

Shame as anger.

Guilt as anger.

Fear as anger.

With your fingers balled up, it's the tremor in your fists that gives you away. 

He had genuinely intended this to be a quiet night away from the cafeteria, away from the Tipsy Bison, away from anyone else. He wanted you all to himself and in his greed, he didn’t see it until he saw it in your eyes. 

How vulnerable being pretty made you. How vulnerable privacy made you. 

How being vulnerable made you so deeply, deeply afraid. 

Almost as afraid as he was. 

Without a word, he turns to the record player, strategically hidden behind the couch and puts on the carefully selected record. The silent scratches for a moment before –

Your eyes widen as Nelson begins to sing his most beautiful love song (in Joel’s humble opinion). Your shoulders slacken, hands lose their grip, you blink up at him in total bewilderment. You aren’t an indecisive person, you’re quick as a whip, rarely confused – so this befuddled look on your face is kinda cute. 

Tucking that rare look on your face away for another time, Joel wanders to the center of the room, in the heat of the light from the fireplace, his good boots clicking over the wood. He opens his arms, hand out to you.

“Let’s try something new tonight.”

I'll always be with you for as long as you please

For I am the forest but you are the trees

The decision you make is a visible one. 

Your palm is warm, weighted as it slides over his. This time his hand respectably settles on your waist, then on your low back when (to his surprise) you come closer. He’s delighted to watch you smile at him, distantly aware of the stretch of his own on his face. 

Willie strums on his guitar, crooning softly, the sound warm and deep. With the weight of you against his chest, that feeling crackles like the flames over the wood logs in the fireplace. You drop your head, turn your cheek, and just before you come to rest on his shoulder, he sees your smile slide into a smirk.

“New, huh? What’s new look like for a sixty-five-year-old man at the end of the world?” Even with teasing, your voice is soft and sweet, the soft powder of cinnamon. Slowly, as if not to startle either one of you, he leans his chin against your forehead.

“You n’ I’ve been burning both ends, keepin’ the lights on. New to us is having a goddamn break.” His voice is low, meant only for you, and in the tremble of his deep bass, the words elongate in his mouth. He brings your intertwined hands just under his chin and when that goes well, he tightens his grip around your back, drawing you flush against him. It reduces the dancing to more of a sway but Joel can’t find a single thing to complain about. You gently tap the pad of your middle finger in the hollow of his collarbone to the beat of the song.

I'm empty without you so come grow within me

For I am the forest and you are the trees

And the heavens need romance so love never dies

“‘N ‘m only fifty-six, jackass.” 

You grin, twisting in his grasp, rub your nose on his chest to wrap your arms around his neck. He clutches to your back like a key finding its lock. 

You'll be the stars dear and I'll be the sky

And should any of this find us let them all be forewarned

That you are the thunder and I am the storm

“This is nice, Joel,” you murmur in his ear. The backs of his arms are growing warm by the fire. He presses his lips to your exposed shoulder, unsure of what to say, or what not to say, only nodding. He closes his eyes, trying to hold this moment forever in his memory. The soft flare of your waist, the winged-spread of your ribs, beneath his hands brings him back into your arms.

"Yeah?" Quiet, into your skin as if to muffle the question entirely, to muffle the unsure wobble in his voice. "It's good?"

He feels you nod beneath his chin, the smell of fresh soap escaping from the back of your neck, and the clamp around his throat loosens. He breathes, unimpeded for the first time all night, a low exhale taking the tension from his body as the air leaves his lungs.

Relief. A sinking down into the moment, into your arms.

You chuckle with your cheek against his chest and he feels the vibrations down to his stomach.

"Yeah, Joel, you did good. Really good." With the hand he holds in the air, you rub your thumb over the knuckle of his thumb, soothing. It used to bother him you could read the lines of his emotions as well as you read a book, as well as you write your own name, effortlessly, as if you had been given a guide no one ever thought to show him. But now, now that you understand how much this means to him, that you know he needs to be told he made you happy, it's more than relief. It's an unburying – a resuscitation of pieces of himself (seed-like bone fragments) that he thought had long since died in the soil of his ribs. "Thank you. I needed this."

He wants you to see the whole of him. Lift up an antiquated silver plate and show you the dents and scratches in his reflection. When you kiss his cheek gently, the hope floating in his chest flares, a solar explosion with tendrils that reach into the blackness of space and it asks him, what would you do to keep her?

Everything. Anything.

He shuffles closer, feels the warmth of your body lined up against his, the clean scent beneath the edge of your jaw blooming in his nose and throat. The hope hums, pitches dark like the forest floor in the rain, and grows teeth. His want for you digs into his skin and evolves into a needy, unsatisfied thing.

“Where’d you get this dress, hm?” He asks, lips half an inch from your shoulder. It falls and rises, never catching on your skin as he plays with the fabric. He runs his palm up your spine, the velvet coming with him, and watches as the swell of your thighs and the tease of your ass is revealed. Dirty old man. “‘N who do I have to kill to get you to keep it?”

You laugh into his neck. He wonders if you’re intentionally twisting his curls at the base of his neck to send sparks of arousal down his spine or if you are completely unaware of the cause of his insanity. Your hands are littered with scars and calluses and every time you touch him, he could melt through the floorboards.

“They found it in some strip mall and were actually going to strip it down for material. But Aaron at the sewing center owed me a favor and you said wear something nice, so . . .” You thumb the lip of his collar, your fingertips brushing the knot of his spine every time you drag your fingers back and forth. 

And I'll always be with you for as long as you please

For I am the forest and you are the trees

He knows you well enough to know that something lingers in your mind, but even after all this time, even after what he’s seen with you, been through with you, the things he’s done to you – he isn’t quite sure if he has the right to ask. 

Instead, he squeezes you. He means to do it just with his hands, but ends up swallowing you in his arms. 

Your mouth is pressed up against his chest when you finally go on. 

“It just seems silly to keep, Joel.” 

The high he’s been riding on all night falters, since you first walked down those stairs to him. Your eyes are wet when he pulls back and cups you by your cheek. He stops swaying with you.

“Why’s that?” 

There it is, that all too familiar flicker of fear. You can’t look at him, despite his every touch, his every glance pulling you into him, to be near him. 

“Because other people should have it. They should have a chance to . . .” 

You withdraw your head from his hands, his thumb brushing your jaw as you retreat. He might actually lose a piece of himself if you let go now, but instead you clasp his wrists in your fingers. You stare at your hands and his between you, as if this whole thing between you could solidify at your feet, finally real. 

Willie has stopped singing, only that musky drone on an empty track.

“Someone else should have a chance to feel pretty, to feel this way, because it shouldn’t be wasted and I’m afraid – I wonder if –,”

He knows he’s being a bit too rough when he takes your jaw and straightens your gaze to him, but his heart might fly out of his chest before he has a chance to say anything. His stomach turns, not knowing he’s not at the peak of a roller coaster drop, that he’s standing on solid ground, even if it swims under his feet.

“What you feel is not wasted.” A murmur, stern, as steadily and as serious as he possibly can be.

That feeling aches in his chest and you haven’t even gone anywhere. You haven’t left . . . yet. “What this is, is not wasted time. I spent twenty years wasting time, looking for something that wasn’t there, and with you . . . I can’t say I’ve found it –,”

“Why? Why can’t you say you’ve found it?” Your grip around his wrists tightens, eyes hard. “Why can’t you name it, Joel?”

“Can you?” He pulls his hands out of your grip and you let him go. “How can you ask for what you want when you can’t even ask to keep this dress?” 

“Because I don’t deserve it!” It’s not silence that follows; it’s emptiness. You face away from him, pressing the heel of your hand into your brow bone, teeth slightly bared. Your arm bars across your stomach like you are literally holding in your guts. Finally, you lift your head, the few scant tears on your face sparkling in the firelight. “I don’t deserve you, Joel. I don’t deserve any of this. Ellie, the way she . . . I’m here, warm and happy, acting like the fucking world hasn’t ended. Playing house, playing pretend. Pretending like I’m your –,”

You swallow the words caught in your throat, gaze leaping away from him. At your side, your hand trembles again. 

Oh, honey, the shit I’ve done . . . 

With wide, wet eyes, you watch him approach. He doesn’t look at you, instead seeing exactly where he’d like to put his lips on your stomach beneath the fabric. 

“Then what do you want, hm?” There’s a fold in the front of the dress and he runs his fingers along the edge of it. “We can’t fix it. Can’t go back ‘cause there’s nothin' to go back to. I don’t care what you had to do to get here, right here, with me because I’m so fuckin’ glad you are. I’m not pretending, not wasting my time, never was. ‘Cause you’re right.” 

Your hand over his stills his endless roving and then it stays, scarred hand over scarred hand. Your gesture says something to him, something so meaningful he has no idea how to put it into words. He swallows his attempt and instead, slowly, drags both hands over your hips, where they stay. Heavy against the velvet. 

You rest your own against his forearms, neither pulling him in or pushing him back. 

“I was right about what?”

His eyes flick to yours and maybe it’s presumptuous, maybe he really is an old man afraid of his feelings, or maybe living this long – despite everything that ever tried to make it otherwise – living this long has granted him the privilege of knowing with perfect clarity what you’re thinking when you look at him like that. How he wants to whisper it back to you and he decides he will the next time your skin is warm and tacky, body helpless beneath his. 

Your eyes shamelessly track the brush of his tongue against his bottom lip.

“That you’re mine. Just like I’m yours.” 

The hands at his forearms glide up to his chest. The rims of your irises have gone a bit blurred, a bit unstable, and you can’t decide whether to look at his mouth or his eyes.

“Joel?” Suddenly breathy, all begging, pleading.

“Hm?”

“Get me out of this fucking dress.” 

When your lips crash into his, his entire world narrows down to where on his body, yours touches: 

your rough hand cradling his cheek, the other fisting the collar of his shirt. His fingers digging into your skirt, the heat from your thigh nearly driving him to tear straight through the fabric to get to you. Your sweet, perfect mouth smeared against his, lips puffed pink, nose to your cheek. 

That warm, wet cunt he thinks he can feel through his boxers, jeans, the dress and your underwear. 

It’s not enough. 

The cry you let out is some mangled mix of a moan and his name when he licks the soft supple skin behind your ear and nips your earlobe.

“Baby, please – please – bedroom, we have to–,”

He grunts his disapproval at your words, overwhelmed by the scent that makes his mouth water as he stains the column of your throat with wet, humid kisses. 

“Joel, c’mon, honey, just upstairs –,” 

The last flickering tiny speckle of logic in his brain fights with itself; take your right here or haul you over his shoulder – which isn’t great for his back and, quite frankly, he intends to spend most of the night on his knees. 

First option it is. 

You mumble in confusion, eyes shut, chin brushing the thread of gray curls on the top of his head as he purposefully sucks a bright hickey into your collarbone, one hand cupping your breast, the other pushing you backwards. You go willingly, of course. 

Until the backs of your legs hit the couch and there’s nowhere else to go. In the stumble, your dress rides up even higher and those thighs he’s actually lost sleep over appear to him. He drops to his knees, hands like meat hooks as they squeeze your waist, pulling that warm cunt even closer to him over the edge of the couch. You groan when he pushes the skirt up even higher, practically to your tits, as he explores your outer, then inner thighs with soft strokes of the back of his hands. He presses his nose to the crevice between your thigh and hip and inhales. 

“B-baby, the windows,” you swallow thickly, slurring like you’re drunk, grabbing at his shoulders like you’re trying to steady yourself, or turn him towards the windows. “I mean – the curtains, baby, the curtains are –,”

“It’s a fucking blizzard outside,” he explains tersely with his eyes still closed, as if irritated to have a conversation instead of focusing every ounce of concentration he has to the heat and smell beneath your black panties. He drags his teeth over the elastic band around your hips and makes you whine his name for an entirely different reason. 

You don’t make him stop or wait when he tugs those panties down your hips. In fact, you help, lifting your hips, the irises of your eyes so wide and black, you look halfway out of your mind.

Good.

He gathers the skirt he was once so fond of and stuffs it into the cushions behind you. You watch him as he moves, eyes half-lidded, finger scraping your bottom lip. Around his ribs, your knees dip back and forth, moving targets, like he’s forgotten why he’s here and needs reminding. 

His big paw, the size of which makes you feel indescribably small, catches your knee and stills it, gaze dark and heavy. Do not test me right now. You try not to moan. 

“Can’t believe I’m going to let you fuck me with my boots on,” you whisper airly, watching with delirious fascination as he puts one of your slender legs over his shoulder. His mouth is actually watering at the sight of your damp curls. 

“Not gonna fuck you. Just gonna eat your pussy. You’ll know the difference.”

“Semantically, it’s the sa-a-me thi-ng, Jo-e – ah, Joel!” 

His tongue up inside you turns you into a whiny, high-pitched, feminine mess. He eats like he does everything else: diligently, quickly, and silently. 

Until you bury your fingers in his ash-flecked curls and tug. 

That first deep, loud moan ripples through his body, rolling him up just off his heels, his crotch seeking some kind – any kind – of friction. 

The feel of his mouth humming against your cunt has your eyes rolling back in your head. “Please, oh fuck, please –” 

You are a grown woman. You should not be making these noises. 

You also shouldn’t be using a man’s face to get off . . . but you do it anyway.

“Tha’s it, baby,” he mutters when your hips grind against his face. His nose catches your clit and around him, your thighs wobble. “Use me, fuckin’ use me.” 

His grip around your calf over his shoulder turns rough and he knows he’ll bruise you, but fuck, the thought of you walking around town with a mark in the shape of his hand where everyone can see —

He briefly lifts his grip from your thigh to adjust his iron-hot cock in his jeans. From his view over your cunt, it doesn't seem like you noticed, or even saw him leave your skin. He watches you writhe, try to capture your breath, eyes crammed shut as your hips rock almost without your control. He takes a chance to lick the musky dampness from his upper lip when your cunt rolls back from his face a fraction of an inch — and then he sinks in again.

Call it age or the fact that you both are here at the end of the world, but the first night he ate you out, you told him exactly how and where you like it, unabashed and in control and honestly it’s the hottest thing he can think of in recent memory. 

He would have written it down on the backs of his eyelids if he could. 

He follows it to the letter.

“Joel – Joel, baby, please don’t stop –,” You buck and moan beneath him as he spells out your instructions with his tongue along your cunt. He dots the i’s with a tap of his tongue or a lick on your clit. Just inches above his head, your chest heaves, your fingers locked into his curls, gently pushing him closer to your puffy pussy as if he’d ever waste a drop of what leaks out of you. 

With a flat-tongued brush against your suffering clit, you arch off the couch, your sighs now verging on desperate, high and whinging, because it’s just not fair how good he makes you feel. He can feel your foot curl against the planes of his back, the rubber heel heavy, your mouth open and wet, with your eyes locked on the ceiling as you try to ride out your humming orgasm with a semblance of control.

“Look at me.” 

No other man has ever been able to make you come with just his mouth, you told him once.

And no other man ever will. 

It’s sweet, the way your eyes soften briefly when you lock eyes with him, crouched between your thighs — before your head tips back, lips wrenched apart in a silent scream, and you come, as hard as he has worked for the flush of slick down his chin.

There’s goosebumps on your thighs, he notes. He rubs his thumb against your raised skin and you shudder, head rolling against the back of the couch.

He’s already feeling a slight twinge of shame at the noise his knees will inevitably make when he stands, but for now he’s content watching you glide down from your high, his head against your knee, shoulders still stretching your legs open wide. 

To his delight, you manage to laugh, your hand draping over your eyes. You can see the shine of the dull light all across his lips, his chin, his nose and you have to close your eyes. He should make you lick it off him, but not tonight.

“Top marks, Miller, as usual,” you mumble, “but the threat of voyeurism really deserves the extra credit.” 

He grins. Still waiting for your breath to slow, he wipes his mouth with his palm and slides the leg over his shoulder down in between his own thighs. Propped up on one knee, he begins to unlace your boot. He holds your calf like it’s delicate as he gently drags the boot over your heel. 

He’s just as reverent with the other side. 

And then your boots, the pair, sit at the end of his couch, like they were always meant to be there. 

His heart, easing down from its own thunderous beat, squeezes and that feeling, that strange-not-so-strange feeling, the one that dictates practically every action with you, dribbles into his veins. 

You open one eye. A flutter of lashes, coy and playful, the curve of your mouth guarding a hoard of secrets.

“Now, Joel Miller . . . will you take me to bed?” 

It’s a question. A request. Your eyes, as dark as ever, on his warm his chest, all the way down his spine. You’re asking, politely, for a thing you both know he would never, ever deny you. 

He cannot lose you, he just can’t. 

He stands and, yes, his knees crack and pop, but he regains stability when he toes off his only good pair of cowboy boots. He nods, grinning, and offers you his hand.

The walk, half-run up to his bedroom is something his brain designates as not important enough to store away. 

Instead, it languishes in the way you stretch out on his mattress before him, ass in the air, knees spread over his blankets and arms sliding through crumpled sheets towards the headboard. 

The room is dark, the only light fighting its way through the downpour of snow comes from the lamp posts that dot the street outside. But the veil of snow warps the light and everything in the half-darkness is doused in blue. 

The shadowy, blurred curve of your shoulder, blue. 

The spread of your fingers on his mattress, blue.

The swollen bottom of lip of your mouth —

“Joel.” 

The snow falls so fast and hard, it patters against the windows and the sides of the house. It’s the only thing he can hear over the pounding of his heart and the short breath in his lungs. He stares at you, soaking his blankets in your scent and slick, and you stare right back in utter and total silence. 

You sit in the center of his bed, bare for him beneath the velvet dress that is red like blood, your patchy white socks at complete odds with your smeared make up and the fucked-out look in your eyes. But there’s something else there too. 

Something softer. Gentler. 

You reach out a hand to him and he goes to you, like always. The instant your skin touches his the instinct to fuck you hard until you’re bruised and crying evaporates. He doesn’t think you want that anymore either. 

No, you need — 

“Joel, please come here. I need you.” 

You need him.

The mattress squeaks when he settles one knee and then the other on top of it, his fingers stroking your ear, brushing the tips of your hair, while he kisses you with an ache that is not physically manifested. Instead, it resides —

“I love you,” you whisper. 

You pull back infinitesimally, just enough that your eyes are all he sees. 

A patient silence hangs from the ceiling. The sound of snow falling. Of baited breath. The scratch of your fingers against at his beard —

“I love you too.” You smile and his body is no longer big enough to contain his heart. “I feel like I’ve always loved you. Is that strange?” 

Your gaze traces the same path your fingers take when you think he’s sleeping; it runs over his nose, his forehead, his eyebrows, the plush curve of his lips. Like you can’t believe he’s there with you. Like you can’t believe he’s real. 

That feeling — that feeling he had been fighting because it always was the only thing that would ever really do him in — is love. He loves you. 

He loves you.

And you love him. 

Didn’t think they told stories like this anymore, not in a world like this. So maybe, for once, Joel Miller just got lucky. 

“No. It’s not. Just be sure you mean it.”

He can't tell if the glow in your eyes comes from within you or it beams out of him. “Every word.”

Eventually, he sheds you of his favorite dress of yours, your only dress, and he lays you back, fully bare in the nest of his blankets. In the corner of his bedroom, the heater hisses like the wind from a purple storm, the static crackle of warmth hovering in the air. You watch, with eyes that shine like stars, as he pops apart the pearl-snaps holding his shirt together. 

And then his white undershirt goes next. He used to worry what he looked like, until he found someone else who had done exactly what was necessary to survive. 

When he goes to unzip his pants, you sit up, hair mussed and the hickey he gave you earlier throbbing like a dream. 

“I wanna do it.” 

He lets you unbutton his jeans, slide the zipper down, at the edge of the bed, but your hands are shaking, your breath stunted.

“I’m fumbling like a teenager,” you huff, a small, flustered smile on your face. “It’s like I’m nervous, but what is there to be nervous about —,”

His mouth pressed up against yours creates the most beautiful silence of all. 

How do you want me, you ask him and he thinks, all the time. But he takes you both under the covers and settles in next to you. He positions one leg over his hip and immediately you know exactly what he’s asking for. Quick as a whip, you are. 

There’s a rustle of covers, the bed slats squeaking, and then he’s nearly nose-to-nose with you. You kiss him again, maybe nervous still. 

He disconnects, when you slip between his legs and take his thick, leaking cock in your hand. 

“Baby, wait, do you need — I know it’s a lot — I’m a lot –,”

He can’t fathom why he’s so nervous either. But you chuckle, shake your head, smile at him. 

“Don’t need anything but you.” 

Your leg wraps tighter over his hip, knee up to his ribs, as he sinks inside you. The palm wrapped around the back of your knee grips roughly only once.

This is true silence. The instant where the world goes muted, everything distant and muffled, when he’s first buried deep in your heat. 

Your fingers thread through his curls and suddenly all sound is cranked up to an eleven. Your rapid, stilted breathing, the groan of the bed, your soft smothered moans, or are those his? —

“Fuck me, Joel.” 

Eyes never leaving yours, he does. 

Your fingers dig into his skull, nails biting, hand wrapped around his neck to hold yourself steady as he thrusts up into you. He thumbs your stiff nipple, half of his hand still grasping your ribs. 

You meet him thrust for thrust, a slow steady pace that draws sweat to his hairline and endless gasps from his mouth. But your gaze stays strong, never falters. Your hand slips to his shoulder, to stabilize just a bit more, but then it's on his chest, twisting his chest hair and he thinks he feels that sparkle of sanity, of rationality, any restraint to hold back crack and shatter between the clench of his teeth. 

“Goddamn–,” 

He rolls, taking you under him and demanding a faster pace. You push your hand against the headboard, the bed knocking against the wall in rhythmic, hypnotic thuds. 

He thinks you hiss his name before you bite down his shoulder. 

The sharp shock of pain lights up his brain, channeling the sudden awareness that he liked that so fucking much all the way down his spinal cord where it presses hot against his groin. 

He lifts up onto one elbow, skin sweat hot and sticky as it splits from yours. 

“Tell me what you need to come,” he pants.  

You whine again, your throat dripping sweat, but that’s not an answer. Knowing he has about a half-a-dozen to a dozen good grinds before it puts too much strain on his back, he uses every single one of them to drag you to the knife’s edge. 

“What–,” grind, “do you need –,” grind, “to come?”

The wail you let out nearly makes him come on the spot. Your eyes have that same, out-of-this-world, off-this-planet unfocused gaze, any sort of language impossible. You plead with him in the silence. A silence loaded with damp moans, grit teeth, and skin against skin against skin against skin against skin. Best sound in the world, as far as he was concerned.

You arch until he lifts above you and, taking the hand that was by your head, tuck it down between your legs. You let him grasp around with spread fingers where you are wet, where his cock rocks into your body, watch as that pulls him apart faster with dark eyes, before pressing his thumb against your clit. 

There, you say without words. There is where I need you.

Once, twice, he circles – he can feel the tightness in his back already settling in, his jaw fixed and locked, his body battling the two overwhelming sensations of dull pain and fierce, wild pleasure – and you hit your release and you soak him in it. 

He falls then too, falls just as hard and as fast as you, the chronic pain he holds in his shoulders, his neck, his back, his knee fleetingly gone in the rush of heat that branches out of his body from his groin and it feels divine.

When he lies on top of you, face buried in the curve of your neck, the heat from your humid skin warming up the breath in his lungs, the throb of your body matching his, his mind wiped clean, the thought occurs to him:

It’s not silence he’s found with you, it’s quiet. 

It’s peace.

Eventually, some awareness seeps back into his trembling body and he rolls off of you, but takes the curve of your jaw in his hand as he goes. He can’t settle into the pillows because he can’t stop kissing you, love bites occasionally against your lip, as if where his body fails, he proves his love for you won’t end so easily.

Eventually, you press your fingers into the base of his skull and, like a reset button, he groans and drops onto his back. 

Eventually, the quiet returns. Only soft noises, murmurs of existence outside of this perfect little room, fill the space. 

Eventually, he falls asleep with you curled up next to him. 

He knows you love waking up in bed together, but he also knows you love fresh coffee even more. 

Which is where Ellie finds him the next morning. 

He nearly adds too much ground coffee to the pot because he’s distracted, lost in thought about the way your curves looked in the bright morning light, when the back door slams open and a little creature made of entirely scarves, mittens, and an oversized purple jacket stomps into his kitchen and clomps its snowy shoes on the rug. 

“Joel, we gotta go!” She’s a little breathless, red-cheeked too as she unwinds the scarf around her head and her face is revealed. “We don’t wanna miss it!”

“Miss what?” Joel asks, this time carefully measuring how much water the pot needs. 

His question is not met with her usually buzzy chatter. Instead, she’s stopped undoing her scarf and just stares at him like he’s been beamed down from another planet. 

He realizes all too late that he’s still in PJs at 9AM (basically a sign of another apocalypse), he’s making more coffee than just for himself, and he’s smiling. 

Shit.

“Ellie, um, I –,”

She rolls her eyes. Her scarf is flung off her neck and she starts yanking off her gloves, her plucky attitude back, if not a bit smug.

“Get your girlfriend up too. They’re lighting the big tree in town square in an hour. I know she’d be pissed if she missed it.” 

So definitely caught. Time to be “The Adult” here and put it out on the table. 

“Don’t call her that.” Joel eyes her. Coffee percolating, he grabs a slice of bread and Ellie’s favorite jam. “Makes it sound like we’re fourteen.” 

She frowns at him, classic “pouty-mouth”. 

“I’m fourteen — rude. But seriously, and I say this because I care, get over yourself. Call a spade a spade. You’re dating her, fucking her–,”

“Ellie!” 

"– and you make gross ga-ga eyes at each other when you think I’m not looking."

She slides into the seat at the island in front of him as he pushes the toasted bread with jam across the marble to her. She takes a bite, chews with her mouth open, and shrugs. “That’s a girlfriend, dude.” 

Joel turns back to the eggs that might be burning, his shoulders hunched and fist tight around the spatula. Hate it when the kid is right. 

He salvages what he can of the eggs, plates them along with two strips of bacon on two plates, and balances a mug of coffee on each. He tries to salvage some of his dignity with a glare. 

“When you’re older, you’ll see some things just don’t need labels.” 

At that, she rolls her eyes again and snatches up the last strip of bacon from the folded, greasy napkins. “Whatever, you dork.”

Argument soundly lost, he gathers up the plates and heads back up stairs. She’s still mumbling to herself as he goes. 

“'Girlfriend', pfft . . . much better than fuck bunny!” She yells to no one in particular.

You hear the entire conversation from bed, the door cracked open enough for the sound to travel. Muffling a giggle, you snag his white shirt from the floor and draw it over your head. You should probably be more embarrassed that Joel got caught in his Walk of Shame, even if it was to his own kitchen to make breakfast. But . . . you’re just not. 

The smile is still on your face when his footfalls approach the door and he sticks his head into the room.

“Sounds like we’re busted,” you smirk. 

Joel almost chuckles. “'Bout as busted as you can be.” He hands you one plate and sits on the end of the bed with his own. He takes a low, slow sip of coffee and you follow him. The eggs are nibbled at and the bacon is perfectly crunchy.

“So . . . girlfriend?” 

He rolls his eyes. “Not you too.” 

“I mean," you slip the plate and coffee onto the bedside table, then hug the sheets around your knees, "I agree with you on the bit about labels. It seems silly. And not wasteful silly. Just . . .”

“Silly.” Joel’s eyes are as dark as his coffee, warmer than it too. “Doesn’t really capture the whole thing, does it?”

An apocalypse and a half later, and a boy’s sweet eyes on you can still make your stomach swoop. 

“No, it doesn’t.” 

“Then what do you wanna say, if people start askin’?”

You bite your lip, eyes up in faux-thought. “Truth be told, I'm kinda partial to fuck bunny. Cute like with a little tail and ears —,"

The groan from Joel and subsequent head shake makes you laugh enough for you to take pity on the old guy. You crawl closer and his eyes slip from your face to where the sheet tucks under your knees. But a hand on his cheek returns his gaze.

"I like what you said last night." Your smile is soft, pleased. "That I’m yours. Like you’re mine.” 

Joel’s warmth bleeds from his whole frame as he leans in close to put his mug on the bedside table, then leans in closer still to you. He drags his nose over your bare, exposed shoulder, in a way that is sweet and sensual all at once. He stops with a kiss on the hinge of your jaw. 

“I like that too. I like saying that you’re mine.”

Ignoring the shiver that rockets up your spine at the low hum of his voice, the flutter of his lips barely against your cheek, you tuck an errant curl around his ear and it immediately springs back up again. You smile and he smiles back, a youthful shine in his eyes.

“Wherever you are, I am too.”  

Listen to: I am the forest by Willie Nelson

[unintentionalseductress]

LADS Men With a Plus Size Reader

Warnings: None! This is actually very fluffy! Maybe PG13 at most! (OMG NCS, no smut?!😲😲😲) A/N: Finally, got around to writing one of the promised headcanons! Now, allow me to be clear here. The amount of customization the game allows is incredible but MC is a little bit on the smaller side, and I would have loved to see an option for a more robust body build. The same way there are naturally thin and petite women, there are also bigger and more rounded women as well and I think there was an opportunity lost there. Anyone that tries to hate on this will be blocked immediately.

Zayne:

Zayne’s large hand envelopes yours as you walk to the cafe he’d recommended. You knew it was popular amongst the hospital staff and weren’t surprised to see familiar faces; one of the tables was completely occupied by some of Zayne’s surgical nurses. 

“Why don’t you get a table?” Zayne brushes a kiss on top of your hair. “And I’ll get the food. Do you still want a hazelnut latte with your cake?”

“Yes please!” Zayne’s eyes fill with warmth as he squeezes your hand before walking towards the cashier. You wander over and pick a table near the nurses. You take out your phone and start to browse Instagram when a snide voice is heard from the table behind you. 

“Gross.”

You freeze but don’t dare turn around. Maybe it wasn’t directed at you. 

“That’s Dr. Zayne’s girlfriend?”

Shit it was.

“Why is he with that porker?”

“You’d think a man like that would have better taste.”

“I heard that they were childhood friends. He’s probably dating her out of pity.”

Even as your blood rages, you feel tears pricking the backs of your eyes. Were they aware you could hear them? And they had just said your worst fears out loud; that Zayne was dating you as a favor, not because he was actually into you. It was an old insecurity you hadn’t really grown out of. You startle slightly as Zayne suddenly sits down opposite you, food and beverages in hand. He sets down your coffee and cake while taking his own plate and tea off the tray.

“Why are you so upset?” He immediately observes the distress on your face and the way your eyes are glistening. You shake your head and dab at your eyes with a napkin, Zayne watching you intently. The cute slice of cake he’s gotten for you sits temptingly in line with your vision but right now it might as well be a lump of clay, all appetite for it gone. 

Zayne’s eyes flick to the cake and back to you. “Did I get the wrong one?”

You’re about to shake your head no when the conversation at the table behind you picks up again. Clearly, they hadn’t noticed Zayne sitting down. 

“He deserves so much more than that blob. There are so many attractive women at the hospital.”

“I agree. He could get anyone he wanted. Someone who actually takes care of their health and watches their figure.”

Shame fills you and you’re unable to look at Zayne in the eyes, knowing he had heard them, even though you know it was far from the truth. You ate all your vegetables and exercised frequently. But your body just refused to slim down no matter what you did. No matter how much you tried to lose weight, the weight just didn’t want to lose you. You’re about to get up and leave when Zayne speaks up, loud and clear, in a scathing tone. 

“Right, because weight is the only indicator of a person’s health, isn’t it?” Zayne’s words drip with sarcasm. 

The entire nurses’ table jumps at his voice, turning around to look at him.

“Oh, Dr. Zayne! We weren’t-”

“I don’t care what you weren’t doing. Do not talk about anyone that way, patient or not. Were you not taught compassion as part of your medical training? Or is it reserved for people who look a certain way?” His eyes are narrowed and the table looks tense. One by one the nurses start to get up, quietly murmuring apologies to him as they exit the cafe. 

Zayne watches them go, anger still visible in his eyes before turning his attention back to you. His hand covers yours on top of the table. “Are you all right?”

You sniff. “I try. You know I try. I cook all my meals. I exercise. We work out together. But I can’t get the weight to go away.” 

“No sweetheart. I know how much you take care of yourself.” Zayne reaches across the table to wipe your tears. “You do not have to lose any weight. You’re perfectly healthy, and as long as that’s clear, nothing else matters.”

“You’re not dating me out of pity?” You look at him uncertainly. 

“Pity?” Zayne chuckles in disbelief. “Darling when you first started coming to my office I was sure you were out of my league.” His thumb strokes your hand reassuringly.

“You’re so amazing. Talented, compassionate, considerate. And all those things will always matter more to me than anything else.”

He looks at your neglected slice of cake. “Now don’t take out your sadness on the dessert. If you don’t finish it in 5 minutes, it’s mine.”

Rafayel:

You grip your wrap firmly around your shoulders, stepping with grace into the dazzling venue. You never missed Rafayel’s shows if you could help it but this time around, you had a skin in the game. Literally.

One night after a round of passionate lovemaking, you had woken to find Rafayel painting, and when you saw what he was working on, you’d blushed and smacked him on the shoulder.

There, in the brush strokes, he had painted you sleeping on his bed, your hair in disarray as it cascaded down your back, your face buried into the pillow and not quite visible. The sheets covered you modestly but the wide curve of your hips, the pudges of fat at your side, and the bra rolls under your arms were all painted with clarity and you found you couldn’t look at it. A feeling of unease had settled in your stomach. Was this the way your boyfriend viewed you?

You had brought it up to Rafayel in a small voice. “Do you think I’m fat?”

Your heart sank as Rafayel’s face, which had been so soft, a curve in his lips as he had painted, changed into a mask of dismay. “Fat?” he had asked, looking quite upset. “Where in this painting have I made you look fat?”

“Here. And here.” You point out the areas and Rafayel pulls you against him, holding you fiercely. 

“Cutie, I swear to God I’m just painting you as you are. I don’t think you look fat at all. I’m just painting my beautiful girlfriend in all her glory.” Crushed against his chest, you try to talk. 

“But, most women in paintings don’t look like that, they have smaller hips and thighs and mine look so…ugly.”

You thought Rafayel’s heart might have broken as he heard your word of choice. “There’s nothing about you that’s ugly. None of this is ugly. It’s a body. Your body. And baby I love every inch of it exactly as it is. I didn’t mean to make you sad while I painted all the pretty little pieces of you that make you whole.” His hands trace your sides, squeezing you reassuringly. 

“There’s so much beauty in you baby. That’s all I see in this painting. You’ll always be the biggest masterpiece in my life.”

Knowing he held you in such high esteem had done wonders for your confidence, which was what you were trying to emulate as you walked into the gallery. Rafayel had hesitantly asked for your permission to showcase that painting for this show, promising he’d never use it without your consent. Nervous as you were, part of you was actually thrilled that it was going to be used. It was difficult to make out who the subject in the portrait was since your face wasn’t entirely visible. 

Still, it felt like an out-of-body experience as you approached the hung canvas, observing the crowd that flocked to it. Some people nodded at it quietly before moving on, others commented under their breath that Rafayel should have chosen a more appropriate model. 

“Can you imagine this woman being naked in his bed?” One of them asked and her friends snickered sycophantically. “He must have been drunk or something.”

“And why is that?” You turn in time to see Rafayel, dressed sharply in a couture outfit approach you and pull you to his side, his hand resting possessively on the jut of your hip. The woman backpedals.

“Mr. Rafayel! I mean, obviously, your work is unique but I can’t help but wonder what you might have been trying to convey when you painted someone with such a…heavy structure.”

Rafayel pretends to consider her words. “I suppose…people have different views on what beauty is. All I was trying to convey was how much I loved the person in the painting. Anyone that doesn’t see the beauty in this particular painting, well I’m afraid they have poor taste.”

Grinning at the affronted look on her face, Rafayel whisks you away, but not before you throw her a smug smirk over your shoulder. 

Sylus:

Who knew underground mafia bosses loved their parties as much as their money? As strange as it was, the cliques had started becoming familiar with you hanging around. Anytime Sylus was invited to a gathering, it was expected that you were his plus one. While most of the men entertained polite conversation with you, it was no secret how coveted Sylus was by the women in the N109 zone. 

They wrinkled their noses as you walked by, your head held high, knowing you shouldn’t let their words get to you but it was hard. You tell the bartender your order and put a $100 bill into the tip jar. After all, you couldn’t embarrass Sylus by handing out a miserly tip when he was supposed to be the richest man here.

You knew you looked good enough to kill; Sylus had chosen the gown you were wearing himself, even hiring a personal tailor to fit the dress to flaunt your best assets and a thick choker of diamonds glittered on your neck. The plunging V-line of the dress showed off a tempting display of creamy cleavage, the bodice of the dress pushing up your impressive bosom. The material crept over your belly and hips, your fupa visible a little more than you would have liked but Sylus had refused to hear otherwise. You remember the way his hands had caressed the bulge of fat after helping you zip up the gown, his low, contented, purr ringing in your ears.

“Kitten, you’re going to be every man’s envy tonight. How delightful that I get to flaunt you as mine.”  

A group of women, all model-thin and gorgeous, approach the bar, their cold eyes fixed on you, wearing smiles that could cut glass. Your fingers drum nervously on the counter as you try to ignore them. One of the women spies the tip you had put in and jerks her chin at you, her lips twisting into what looks like a sneer. 

“So Sylus has the money to let you throw around $100 bills into tip jars. I wonder…” She pauses and the group draws collectively closer like a cackle of hyenas. “Wouldn’t his finances be more wisely spent on other avenues?”

“Such as?” You ask carefully.

“A good plastic surgeon perhaps? Lord knows you could use some liposuction in more places than one.” Her entourage leers at you while covering their mouths to stifle their laughter.

Your back stiffens and your eyes widen in shock. You resist the urge to cover your middle. You knew you should have pushed harder to have the gown loosened. Your fupa, the soft squidge that bulged under the material of the dress…it was a mistake thinking you could attend a party with it showing up so obviously. 

A million retorts form in your head but they all die weakly on your tongue. You had no defense, and you felt pathetic that you were sitting here and taking their abuse but your mind felt frozen, like you couldn’t plan your next move. 

“How did you ever think that someone like you could pull off a dress like that?” The woman presses, her eyes boring into yours. Your pulse quickens as you try to find a way to escape.

“You’re right, she can’t pull off a dress like that.” A rich, deep voice answers the woman who pales as she sees Sylus drape his arm possessively around your shoulders. “It’ll wrinkle. That’s why I’ll be pulling it off for her as soon as we get home.”

His eyes flash scarlet as he signals to the bartender, who immediately starts pouring him a drink and expediting your cocktail, setting both glasses on coasters in front of you. You flush but try not to look too pleased as you take a sip, feeling the alcohol loosen you. 

“Mr. Sylus.” The woman’s voice changes immediately and she steps back. “We were just talking about fashion.” she fibs hastily, trying to cover up her reason for using the word ‘dress’.

“Fashion?” Sylus looks at her patronizingly. “Do tell.”

Caught, she wets her lips before saying, “Oh we were talking about jeans and how they never fit or have pockets-”

“Hmm. I can understand these problems. After all, jeans without pockets are like women without curves…there’s nowhere to put your hands.” His broad hand shifts to your hip, his fingers subtly signaling it is time for you to go. You pick up your glass and Sylus holds onto you firmly as you walk back to the crowd. 

Xavier:

You’re sweaty as you and Xavier walk back from the office gym to the locker rooms. Xavier drinks from his water bottle, swallowing zealously. “I think we’ve exercised enough for a whole week,” he says as you walk. You laugh and shake your head.

“We only did a half hour of cardio!”

“Yeah, but we lifted all those weights too! In fact, my muscles already feel stronger.” Xavier flexes his arm and a visible bicep forms, making you grin. 

“Oh so strong,” you say as you reach out to squeeze. Xavier winces slightly and you quickly withdraw. “Sorry.”

“It’s ok. I’m a little sore.” You reach the locker rooms.“I’ll wait for you outside.”

You nod and he disappears into the men's locker room. You wander into the women’s, undo the lock, and retrieve your bag, finding a stall to change your clothes. You peel off your damp leggings which stick to your plushy thighs and you drag them down, sighing in relief as the skin jiggles freely in the cool air after being stuffed in the heat of polyester for so long. 

The skin on your butt and stomach are dimpled, something you’d come to terms with. You recall how nervous you’d been to let Xavier see you in a bathing suit at the pool but now you barely glance at them. 

“It’s like your skin is smiling at me when I kiss it.” 

That’s what Xavier had said as he kissed the soft flesh lovingly. Who could possibly feel self-conscious after that analogy? As you fold away the sweaty clothes into a garment bag, you hear several of the other changing room doors open and a group of voices fills the locker room as you change. You normally wouldn’t have paid attention but you freeze when you hear Xavier’s name.

“Why do you think Xavier works out with her of all people?”

“I know! They workout together like almost everyday and she hasn’t lost any weight!”

“She probably lacks the discipline to go on a real diet. It doesn’t matter how much she exercises, that fat isn’t going to go away if she doesn’t eat healthier.”

“Xavier really needs to find a better workout buddy. She only slows him down.”

Your heart clenches in your chest as you hear the cruel commentary. How dare these women talk about your body like it was a source of entertainment for them? Both rage and sorrow fills you as you catch sight of yourself in the mirror. Suddenly all you can see are the flaws.

How cute, to call cellulite ‘dimpled skin’ like it was something to be adored. You stare at the lumpy skin, at the way your stomach and arms have stretch marks everywhere, the way your skin bulges over the band of your bra. You wait in silence as the women finish their chat and you hear them exit the locker room.

After what seemed like ages, you finally finish dressing and leave the changing room feeling humiliated. The post-workout glow had all but vanished from your system and you couldn’t shake off the feeling of being perceived like a huge, hulking, ogre; built big and lumberingly, not at all cute like the princess Xavier claimed you were. You leave the dressing room, then stare in disbelief as the same group of women crowd around Xavier as he waits for you. You lurk, not wanting to be seen, then one of the women speaks up.

“Xavier, if you’re looking for another workout buddy I’d be happy to tag along.” One of them chirps perkily.

Xavier chuckles politely and shakes his head. “Thank you, but no. I have a workout buddy.”

“Oh cmon Xavier, don’t you think you need someone who can challenge you a little more?”

“I do actually. That’s why I work out with her.”

“Does she really challenge you?”

“I think she challenges me more than you. Didn't you finish last in the company relay race?” The woman’s face falls and your heart skips a beat. 

“And you,” Xavier says as he turns to face another woman. “Forgive me if I’m wrong but you struggle to push anything more than 75 pounds. My workout buddy does 150 easily. She’s very strong. Perhaps you might benefit from training with her.” The second woman looks offended even as she’s being chastised. 

Feeling your confidence soar, you skip over to Xavier feeling as light as a feather. Xavier’s eyes light up as you approach. “Ladies,” you say smugly to their scandalized faces before pulling Xavier away from them, holding his arm as you walk away. 

© unintentionalseductress original work | no copying, plagiarizing or translating

[goldfades]

𝐁𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐍 𝐌𝐄? ─ PB⁵

౨ৎ ─ summary | request -> "Omg a fic where Paige and reader have always had this sort of sarcastic bickering borderline mean type of relationship/rivalry but one day the tension suddenly just goes from competitive to sexual and thennnnm ykkkk"

─ word count | 3.7k

─ warnings | NSFW under the cut, read at your own discretion! whoo, where do i begin???? paige/reader being a fucking ASSES (like super mean) and lots of insecurity, cc mention and comparison (pls don't come 4 me it's for the plot!!!!!! i didnt mean it!!!!), lots of arguing and fighting, mean!paige (like.... im talking MEAN), fingering (r receiving), so much dirty talk, idk if i missed anything lmk

─ ev's notes | the chokehold the pic in the middle has on me IS INSANE, also finishing a smut at 11 am should be a crime 😭 (but i’m feeding yall so be grateful)

THE GAME COULDN'T have gone worse.

The opposing team seemed to effortlessly dominate every aspect of the game. Shots that normally found their mark clanked off the rim, passes were intercepted with unnerving frequency, and the defense resembled more of a sieve than a fortress. Your entire team was quiet in the locker-room and Geno had told them that they needed the night to regroup, and they'll talk about it when they got home.

You made your way upstairs with Azzi and Aubrey, both trying their best to make you feel better. You played like shit, plain and simple and despite what your teammates were telling you, it was true.

You couldn't shake off the feeling of letting your team down. In the game, you were a shadow of your usual self. Your shots seemed to lack both the usual power and precision. Your attempts to drive to the basket were easily thrown by their defense, leaving you frustrated and angry.

Even your usually reliable defense broke under the pressure. You found yourself out of position more often than not, leaving gaping holes for the opposing team to exploit. Your reactions were slow, your movements sluggish, as if your body refused to respond to the commands of your mind.

"Hey," Azzi grabbed your arm so that you could meet her gaze. "We win and lose as a team, alright? This isn't all on you, we all played like shit tonight."

"But we always come back, Y/N." Aubrey added as you met her gaze as well. Their words would've made you feel better if this wasn't the worst you'd played all season, maybe even your entire college career.

You didn't bother to respond, you stayed quiet as you walked in your Azzi's hotel room and in there was Nika and Paige. They were seated on the bed, Nika looking more defeated than Paige, she looked more pissed than anything.

Paige didn't even acknowledge you as you walked in as she greeted Azzi and Aubrey, but you didn't even care right now. You were not in the mood for her shit, not after the game you just played tonight.

You sank into a chair in the corner of the room, the weight of the defeat pressing down on you like a leaden blanket. Nika's defeated expression mirrored your own feelings, while Paige's indifference grated on your already frayed nerves.

You listened as Azzi and Aubrey exchanged small talk with Nika and Paige, their voices a distant murmur in the back of your mind. But you couldn't bring yourself to join in the conversation, couldn't muster the energy to plaster on a fake smile and pretend that everything was okay.

Instead, you sat in silence, lost in your own thoughts. The events of the game replayed in your mind like a nightmare, each mistake magnified in the harsh light of hindsight. You wanted nothing more than to forget about the game, to push it to the back of your mind and move on, but the sting of defeat lingered like a stubborn stain.

"You okay, babe?" Nika's voice rang out as you got pulled back into reality. All the girls attention was now on you, feeling a bit self-conscious.

You forced a weak smile, attempting to brush off Nika's concern. "Yeah, just... processing everything, you know?" Your voice sounded hollow, even to your own ears.

"What's going on?" Nika asked, the concern evident in her face. "Talk to us, please, Y/N."

Nika knew how hard you were on yourself, she had seen you weather victories and defeats alike, always striving for perfection. Her gentle prodding encouraged you to open up, even if it meant admitting your own vulnerabilities.

"I played like shit," was all you could get out as you leaned forward, feeling their gaze on you. "I don't know what was so different about tonight but I just felt like the weight of the entire team was on my back and I didn't know I was carrying it until the end, and I just crumbled to the pressure."

"We all have our moments, Y/N." Azzi spoke up, empathy evident in her expression. But before anyone else could respond, Paige scoffed as she met your gaze.

"Carried the team? We all did what we could tonight and we don't need your shit." Paige's voice dripped with contempt, her words like a slap in the face.

You felt a surge of anger rising within you, fueled by the frustration of the game and now mixed by Paige's bitter words. How dare she dismiss your struggles so callously?

"What's your fucking issue, Paige?" you retorted, your voice tinged with frustration.

Paige's eyes narrowed as she glared at you. "My issue? Maybe if you didn't choke every time the pressure was on, we wouldn't be in this mess," she shot back, her words cutting like a knife. "You're always making excuses for yourself, Y/N."

You scoffed, getting up from the chair to glare at her. "I'm not making excuses, I'm acknowledging reality. We all had a bad game, Paige. It's not like you were lighting it up out there either."

"I did better than you, that's for fucking sure." Paige's voice came out bitter as you felt yourself let out a quiet scoff. You couldn't fight with her anymore, you were exhausted, both mentally and physically.

"Guys, stop it." Azzi's voice cut through the tension like a knife but neither of you acknowledged her, you both just kept glaring at each other.

"You're a bitch, Paige. You're just jealous because at the end of the day, you're just a burnt out star who can't handle not being in the spotlight anymore. Sorry that Caitlin's out there doing better than you, and that you feel the need to be a fucking ass all the time," you retorted, your words dripping with venom.

The frustration of the game, mixed with years of simmering animosity, boiled over into this heated argument that neither of you seemed willing to back down from. You didn't know why you brought up Caitlin, but all you knew was that you'd definitely get a reaction.

Paige's eyes flashed with anger, her jaw tightening as she glared up at you. "The fuck you have to bring Caitlin into this? At least I was a star, you'll never make into the WNBA with that attitude, I promise you that. You're just a selfish brat who can't handle criticism-"

"Hey!" Nika's shout rang out as she glanced in between the two of you. "One more word from either of you and I'm telling Geno, you guys are teammates and you need to act like it."

You glanced at Nika, seeing the disappointment etched on her face, and then back at Paige. Despite the rivalry between you, you knew that Nika was right ─ however, you weren't quite ready to admit that.

You scoffed as you exhaled, feeling everyone's eyes on you. You didn't acknowledge any of them as you left the hotel room, feeling your eyes burn with unshed tears. You were embarrassed, Paige had always been hard on you for seemingly no good reason but it's never gotten this bad.

You two had always been good sports, even when the other played like shit. She never brought anything up that would actually hurt your feelings, unlike tonight. You didn't know why, you tried to think back at what could've changed tonight but came up with nothing that made sense. You just hoped it wouldn't affect the way you played with her, you didn't want it to effect the team more than it has.

You walked into your hotel room, locking the door behind you as you walked into the bathroom, ready for a warm shower to drown out the rest of the world.

──

"Who is it?" You asked as you heard the knocking on the door. It was nearing two in the morning and you had just stepped out of the much-needed shower, clad only in your robe.

"It's me," Paige's voice was quiet as she spoke, your whole body tensing up just at the sound. You sighed deeply as you walked up to the door, opening it to reveal a slightly disheveled Paige.

She looked really, really good; she had her hair up in a loose bun, her gray sweats were slightly rolling off her hips and her shirt fit her just perfectly. Goddamnit, Y/N ─ focus. You tried to hide the tug of attraction you felt towards Paige, pushing the distracting thoughts aside as you met her gaze.

"What do you want?" you asked, your tone guarded as you leaned against the doorframe.

"Let me come in," Paige's statement didn't come off as a question, more like a demand. You sighed and leaned backward so that she could enter.

Before you could say anything, Paige started talking. "I don't appreciate you comparing me to Caitlin, especially after the season I had."

You scoffed in disbelief as you closed the door. "You came in here just to say that?"

Paige turned so she could send you a glare. "I came in originally cause I was gonna apologize. But then I remembered the whole Caitlin thing-"

"What's up with you and Caitlin?" Your words came out with the same intensity as hers did. "I don't know why you took that comment to heart because you started this whole damn thing."

Paige's expression hardened, a defensive edge creeping into her demeanor. "What do you mean by that?" she snapped, her tone sharp with irritation. "I had the most terrible season, and everyone has been comparing me to her-"

You felt a surge of frustration rising within you, the tension between you and Paige reaching a boiling point. "And what about everything I've been through this season?" you shot back, your voice tinged with anger. "You think this season has been a cakewalk for me? You think I don't know what it's like to struggle?"

Paige's jaw clenched, her gaze hardening as she met yours head-on. "This isn't about that," she retorted, her voice low and tense. "This is about you and Caitlin suddenly being all buddy-buddy after the Iowa game. The comments under your posts, the calling and the texting. It's obsessive and annoying, I don't like it and I don't want you hanging around her anymore."

You paused for a second, trying to process her words. Paige's accusation caught you off guard, the weight of her words sinking in like a lead weight in your chest. Was she jealous? You couldn't help but let out a small laugh as Paige's eyebrows furrowed.

"The fuck you laughing for? You think this is funny?" Paige's eyebrows furrowed even further, her frustration palpable as she waited for your response.

"Aww, are you jealous?" Your words came out amused as Paige kept glaring at you. "I'm not replacing you or the team, she has a boyfriend."

"I'm not jealous," Paige's glare intensified, her jaw tightening with frustration at your teasing remark. "Don't flatter yourself, Y/N. I couldn't care less about your little fling with Caitlin."

"Then what's your problem?" you pressed, unable to resist the urge to push her buttons further. "If it's not jealousy, then why are you so worked up about it?"

Paige's nostrils flared slightly as she averted her gaze for a moment, before looking back up at you. "Cause it's no damn comparison. At the end of the day, you're on my team and you're mine," she paused as she shook her head. "My friend," she quickly clarified.

You blinked in surprise at Paige's sudden intensity, the weight of her words sinking in like a heavy anchor. The possessiveness in her tone left you feeling flustered, unsure of how to respond.

"Paige..." you began, your voice trailing off as you struggled to find the right words. But before you could even process anything, her lips were on yours and your back was pushed up against the wall.

Instinctively, your arms found their way around her shoulders, pulling her closer as you responded to her kiss with equal fervor. The heat of the moment consumed you, erasing any doubts or reservations as you lost yourself in the sensation of her lips on yours.

Her lips on yours sent a shiver down your spine, electrifying every nerve in your body as you surrendered to the passion that consumed you. All thoughts of the past were forgotten as you gave yourself over to the intoxicating enticement of Paige's lips.

Her hands slide up your body and hold your neck as you let out a soft whimper, causing your head to fall back against the wall. Paige's lips began leaving open-mouthed kisses all over your jaw and neck, as her hands explore your body.

This couldn't be happening, you kept thinking to yourself. After playing on the same team as Paige for almost three years now, it felt like this was a fever dream ─ but you didn't mind it, not at all.

Her lips found yours again, kissing you roughly as your hands gripped her head. With ease, she lifted you up into her arms, your weight feeling insignificant against her strength. She kept her lips on yours as she carried you toward the bed, dropping you swiftly as your hands found her face.

Paige's hands had easy access to your body due the robe, that she quickly slid off as her lips stayed on yours. She pulled away for a second, breathless, as she took in your body with admiration in her gaze. You felt self-conscious for a moment, but you had no time to dwell on it as Paige pulled you down on the bed.

"You're fucking gorgeous," she mumbled as she pressed kisses all over your neck. "I hate how gorgeous you are."

Your mind was a whirlwind of conflicting emotions as Paige's words and actions washed over you. Part of you wanted to resist, to question the sudden intensity of this moment, but another part of you couldn't deny the undeniable chemistry between you and Paige.

But as her lips trailed along your neck, you found yourself unable to resist the pull any longer. With each kiss, each touch, you felt yourself unraveling, giving in to the utter need that surged through your body.

"I hate how you make me feel," Paige whispered against your skin, her voice husky with desire. "Every time I'm near you, it's like I lose control. Like I can't think straight."

Her words sent a shiver down your spine, igniting a fire within you that burned brighter with each moment. You reached up to cup her face, guiding her lips back to yours in a desperate kiss, hungry for the taste of her against your skin.

You reached out to her, your fingers tangling in her hair as you pulled her closer, unable to resist the magnetic pull that drew you together. "I hate how much I want you," Paige groaned, her voice tinged with frustration as she pressed her lips against your neck with force, pulling a soft whimper from your lips.

"I hate how much I need you," Paige spoke as she gazed into your eyes, her grip tightening on your waist as she pulled you closer. "But I'm not gonna fight it anymore. I'm done pretending like I don't want you, okay?"

You felt a rush of heat flood through you at her confession swirling in the pit of your stomach. In that moment, all you could think about was Paige completely, letting her consume you with her passion and desire.

"I want you, too, P." You finally let out, your voice quivering as she began to caress your thigh.

Paige scoffed, shaking her head at your words. "I know, I know you do."

She pushed her lips into yours again, a needy moan escaping your lips as she pushed you onto the bed. She straddled your hips as she kissed all over your neck, feeling yourself pulsate beneath her. You couldn't even think straight anymore, your mind was complete mush as she kept kissing all over your neck and jaw.

Paige mouth traveled down toward your stomach, leaving sloppy kisses and hickeys all over it. Your hands found her blonde hair, tugging as she teased you. Her blue eyes were completely focused on you, every reaction and every sound that you made, fueling her desire even further. With each kiss, each touch, she seemed determined to leave her mark on you, to brand you as hers in every way possible.

And you welcomed it, craving the intensity like a starving soul. With each tug of your fingers in her hair, Paige responded with a groan of satisfaction, her lips and tongue leaving a trail of fire across your skin.

She pried open your legs slowly, her gaze still lingering as your breath hitched. "Fuck," she mumbled as her eyes flickered toward your soaking cunt ─ she was at a loss for words.

Paige fingers teased your entrance, pulling needy whimpers from your bruised lips. "You're so wet for me, baby," she finally plunged a finger into you, causing a borderline pornographic moan to leave your mouth.

Every sensation was heightened, every touch sending shockwaves of pleasure coursing through your body as she thrusted her finger in and out of you. She wasn't gentle by any means, you could practically feel the anger radiating from her body as she watched you.

You leaned further into the bed, covering your face with your arms as a string of moans left your mouth. Almost immediately, Paige gripped your arm and pulled it off of your face. "I want you to look at me while I fuck you, alright?"

You couldn't reply with any words, you weren't even sure you were conscious at this point ─ the exhaustion from the game, the anger from the earlier argument and now the utter pleasure of you were feeling was fogging up your brain, you couldn't even think straight anymore; all you could do was sit there and take it.

You tried your best to keep your eyes on her, but you felt yourself slipping as you arch your back. She added another finger, causing a new sensation jolting down your body ─ you hadn't even orgasmed yet and you feel beyond overstimulated.

"Does Caitlin do this better than me, huh?" She mumbled as she leaned forward to press a sloppy kiss to yours lips. "Fucking answer me," she groaned as she pulled away.

You shook your head fervently, the only words you were really understanding were "Caitlin" and "better". Her movements became faster and deeper with your answer, causing another loud moan to slip out of your lips.

"Fuck, please," you cried out as you leaned back into the bed. Paige quickly pulled you down by your hips, making sure to pin you down as she continued to finger-fuck you. "Please,"

"So polite, baby. Fucking three years, it took me three years to realize that they only thing you needed was a good fuck for you to be nice, huh?" She spoke harshly as she felt you tighten around her fingers, your face contorting into utter pleasure as you shut your eyes. "Now I know whenever I need you to shut up, all I need to do is fuck you, right baby?"

Her words all blurred in your mind as she began rubbing your clit, and you were cumming all over her fingers ─ the knot snapped hard, you were crying out so loudly, Paige was worried the neighbor's were gonna call the office.

She helped you ride your high as you caught your breath, before she pulled out her sticky fingers from your cunt. Before you could even process it, she stuffed them inside your mouth roughly as her blue eyes analyzed you.

You sucked them clean as you finally came back down to Earth, finally (kinda) being able to think straight. You were breathless, your legs were shaky and you were sweaty all over again. You finally opened your eyes to meet Paige's eyes, your heart almost jumping out of your chest at the look of utter admiration on her usually disinterested face (at least, when it came to you).

Before either of you could revel in the moment any longer, Paige's phone began to buzz in her sweatpants. She sighed loudly before picking it up, "What's up?"

You could recognize Nika's voice as she spoke but you couldn't quite understand what she was saying. However, when Paige's expression turned cocky as she took another look at you, you had a couple ideas on what it could be about.

"Yep, we made up. We're fine now, don't worry. Yeah, we're good, y'all can head to bed," she nodded along with whatever Nika was saying, a cocky ass smirk on her lips.

"You wanna talk to her? You sure?" Paige took a look at your disheveled appearance, laughing as your eyes went wide. Before you could protest, she handed you the phone. "Here you go,"

"Hey, babe," she spoke softly through the phone. "I made P go and apologize, I hate seeing you fight like this and-"

Her voice slowly became background noise as Paige leaned back into the bed, pulling you into her chest. Your heart began beating out of your chest as you relaxed into her embrace.

"-And I just love you guys, okay? Y/N, you still there?"

"Y-yeah, sorry. I'm just sleepy, we love you too, Nika," you got out as Paige smirked at you.

"Okay, okay," Nika replied, her voice filled with genuine affection. "Get some rest, okay?"

You said your goodbyes before handing the phone back to Paige, who ended the call with a satisfied grin. You couldn't help but roll your eyes at Paige, only she would fuck your brains out then make you answer the phone.

You laid on her chest quietly as she pulled the blanket over your body, pulling you even closer. You guys sat in silence, both of you knew there was a lot of debrief ─ however, both of you were too tired to bring it up.

"I'm sorry for bringing up Caitlin, that was a bitch move," you began as you closed your eyes, getting comfortable beside Paige.

Paige's hand gently traced patterns on your back as she sighed softly. "No, I'm sorry too," she murmured, her voice filled with sincerity. "For being a bitch, and saying all that stuff about you not making it into the WNBA,"

"I know you didn't mean it," you mumbled as you felt yourself drift off into sleep. Paige leaned over slightly to turn off the lights, and you both slowly drifted off the sleep.

↳ make sure to check out my navigation or masterlist if you enjoyed! any interaction is greatly appreciated !

↳ thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡

[lorasdolly]

Sevika/Ambessa with a chubby reader who’s insecure about their body while Sevika/Ambessa is literally begging for them to sit on her face/crush her head with their thighs.

-🦌

𝚆𝙷𝚈 𝙳𝙾𝙽𝚃 𝚈𝙾𝚄 𝚜𝚎𝚟𝚒𝚔𝚊 𝚡 𝚌𝚑𝚞𝚋𝚋𝚢!𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

Sevika's hand ran down your nude body, reverent to every crevice and corner. You didn't mind her touch, but what she was asking of you was different.

Sevika waited for a response, her gaze occasionally shifting back to your eyes. When your silence become too unbearable, she spoke again. "Doll, I can't understand what goes through your head."

Your hands strayed away from her, staring intensely at her lips, imagining what it would be like to sit, to grind, your clit bumping against her nose.

Those thoughts were soon interrupted by her snapping you out of your trance once again. "Let me take care of you."

You were still silent, breathing somewhat uneven by following a pattern. "I weigh a lot." You said, nearly at a whisper and avoiding eye contact. You shifted on her lap, expecting a stern reprimand.

Sevika scoffed, offended at what that could imply. The soft spark in her eyes was prominent as she looked directly into yours. Her hand grabbed your jaw, firm but not hurtful. "I don't care how much you weigh." She assured. "I'm not weak."

You weren't calling her weak, no, you'd never say that. You were simply self-conscious about it. You feared crushing her, hurting her, even if it wouldn't realistically happen. Your curvy figure pressed against her abs, a slight bounce in the way you moved, not speaking a single word.

"Please, just sit on my face, doll." Her bluntness always caught you off guard, eyes widening and hands tightening on her shoulders. "You don't weigh too much on my lap, yet you threw a hissy fit the first time I asked you to."

She had a point. You freaked out the first time she patted her own lap as an invitation to sit on her thigh. You expected her to push you off rudely from the pressure against her lap.

Till you finally did it and she didn't even flinch. Her hands circled your waist like they did now, and you found odd comfort in it.

"Your lap and face are different, 'Vika. I'm gonna practically kill you." Your words were a clear over-exaggeration, but that's the scenario you saw in your mind.

She shook her head and simultaneously rolled her eyes. "Shuddup."

Her hands massaged the supple skin of your love handles and waist, staring up at you like a desperate puppy. "That'd be a nice way to go out, anyways." She spoke, an attempt at humor to lighten your mood.

Yet, all it did was encourage the worry in you further. You whined, hiding your face into her neck.

"No, no— doll, it was a joke." She whispered, hand tangled in your hair. "You won't kill me. Just try it, c'mon."

You hesitated, obviously reluctant to put your entire body weight onto her face only. "If you want to stop a moment in, then we do. Just please let me feel it once." The craving in her voice made you begin to give in, and the moment she saw a level of resignation in your features, she began to lay down.

Her face looked like it was inviting you to sit on it, so you adjusted yourself, hovering over her mouth and nose. Her tongue darted out, soaking itself in your folds.

Her hands soon wrapped around your thighs, bringing you down to fully sit on her face and a loud groan left her lips. It sent a vibration up from cunt and to your spine, subconsciously rolling your hips downward against her.

She suckled on your clit, guiding your hips to fuck her face.

Once you got more comfortable, hands tangled into her hair and guiding your own movements, her tongue became more messy, sloppy. Sevika moaned against your pussy, your pleasure bring more to her.

Her tongue darted in and out of your sopping hole as you grinded down against her, using her face to make you feel good. You had lost all sight of how much you weighed, completely lost in the sensation.

Feeling your high approaching, her movements increased in speed and your cunt clenched around practically nothing. You needed her to fill you up, push you over the edge.

Her hands that wandered around your plush ass moved to insert two fingers inside your cunt. She didn't pump them in and out, instead curling into your g-spot over and over again.

A knot tied in your tummy, unable to continue moving your lower half. She felt your orgasm crashing over you, her movements slowing down with the seconds after you cumming.

You got off lazily, placing your pussy on her chest, soaking it all the same. You sat there panting, staring down at her. Your thumb traced her lips that were all coated in your juices.

"Feel good, doll?" She asked, kissing your chest, sucking and leaving marks. She received a feverish nod, hesd now resting against her neck.

"Thought so."

[suni-writings]

Take the pain away.

jude bellingham x fem!reader

wc: 2.2k

+18!! mdni

(content warning: unrequited feelings, cheating [unrelated to jude x reader], toxic relationship [also not jude x reader], smut, fingering, unprotected sex [have safe sex pls])

it's been a while since i wrote a jude smut, but you ask and i shall deliver. we have been waiting for this one. heavily inspired by "fuck the pain away (lost tapes 2022)" by tory lanez.

He was exhausted. Not because of football, not because of fame, but because of his best friend. Being physically exhausted was something he was used to — Jude could get rid of it in a few weeks if it resulted in some type of pain. Emotionally, however? He was clueless as to how to heal it, especially since time did nothing but deepen his feelings towards her. It messed up his head, his thoughts got foggy, and he seemed to act out of impulse whenever he was around her. Nothing could really stop him when she was next to him, and that was his doom.

Well, that and her boyfriend. Her hideous, stupid attempt of a man of a boyfriend, whom did nothing but make her feel bad and cheat on her. She wasn’t the girl Jude used to know anymore — the fierce one, who everyone would be scared to even look at her the wrong way. Somehow, that manipulator managed to get her undivided forgiveness every time. It was a never-ending cycle, one that was tearing his mind apart. He was always the one to rescue her, until that dumbass showed up again, promising to be different and acting like a prince for a week.

That night wasn’t any different. The moment his phone vibrated in his pocket and Jude saw who sent the message, he already knew what it was about. And, despite being tired, he still walked up to her house, because she had him at his mercy. He wanted nothing more than to see her okay again, to be her sunshine of her rainy days.

Even if for a single moment only.

She had left the door unlocked for him. Jude carefully got inside, taking a deep breath. He could hear her sobs coming from her room, which he carefully walked up to.

“Princess?” Jude called out softly.

Even in the darkness, he could see her hands coming to dry the tears in her eyes. She sat up, still sniffing, and he sat next to her. He caressed gently her face and wiped another tear.

“Wanna talk about it?” he asked quietly.

“What’s the point? You already know what happened. It’s what always happens.” She let out a humorless chuckle and sighed. “I’m sorry. I probably look like shit right now.’

Bellingham took a moment to look — more like admire — her face. Red glimmering eyes, puffy nose, the bite marks on her lip to avoid crying. She still looked breathtaking.

“You look like a mess, honey,” Jude smirked. “But still pretty as ever.”

She gave a small smile, that quickly turned into a grimace, and she looked at him.

“I feel so weak, Jude. I don’t know why I keep letting this happen, I don’t know why I’m so—” she stopped midsentence and laid in bed again, holding back her tears. He was next to her, supporting the weight of his body on his elbow. “Please, take this pain away. I can’t handle this anymore.”

He took a deep breath yet again. There’s not much he could do, and all his options sounded selfish; even if it was for her own good, it also benefited him. Like leaving that project of a man for once and all. He slowly took strands of her hair out of her face, gently outlining her cheek. He avoided looking at her lips, because he couldn’t do anything about it. Especially with her this vulnerable.

“I’m here, princess. What can I do for you?” Jude asked quietly, toying her hair between his fingers.

“Take the pain away.” She begged again and looked into his eyes.

She had no idea how much Jude wanted to do that.

“I can’t do that. I’m not him, I can’t fix his mistakes, but I can—” he bit his tongue when he realized he was about to say too much; to act selfishly, to prove her she could do better, to give her a taste of what she could have.

A few moments of silence fell between them and her eyes searched for his. She leaned closer, as if she got the hint. As if she wanted it too.

Jude could be her temporary relief, he didn’t care. If he could help, he would.

Who was he trying to fool? If he could have her in any way, he would.

“Fuck the pain away. I could fuck the pain away, baby.” He whispered as he looked at her in her beautiful, almost translucent nightgown. “An eye for an eye. Give him a taste of his own poison. You say the word, I’ll do it.”

She leaned even closer to him, her hand gently resting on his face as she caressed his cheek. She bit her lip, thinking. She was desperate, and Jude was right there for her.

If her boyfriend could do it, then so could she.

Without a second warning, to Jude’s surprise, her lips crashed into his, hastily seeking relief. When their tongues touched, she was in a frenzy, and everything started to get blurry.

All she could think was the way Jude kissed and bit her neck, the way his warm tongue descended to her collarbone and threatened to go even lower. The way she tugged, on Jude’s hair, not wanting the moment the moment to end, needing more of his kisses. Of his burning touch.

“Need to take this off, princess.” He muttered against her collarbone, holding the hem of her nightgown. She nodded and stood her arms up so he could easily remove it. “Making this all so easy for me.” He said once he saw her breasts and tossed the nightgown away, biting her nipple before gently sucking it while caressing the other with expertise.

She was already panting. In a single attempt, he brought his covered knee close to her core, and the damp in her panties was undeniable.

That only fueled his anger. That bastard had her and didn’t touch her properly.

His mouth left her breast and moved back to her neck, sucking and biting it while his hand descended to her core and she her back almost arched in anticipation; if he knew she was that touch deprived, he would’ve suggested that a long time ago.

With his hands underneath her underwear, he pressed two fingers against her clit and moved them slowly, pressuring further to see the way her chest rose, the way her cheeks flush and how her mouth opened, too scared to make a sound.

So, without warning, Jude inserted the two fingers inside her and moved them fast, curling them until he found the spot that made her back arch, and the room became filled with moans. He kissed her throat, his mouth vibrating with each moan that came out of her mouth. His movements were precise, fast, and with an urge to prove something that, before he could realize or properly enjoy what he was doing, her walls were closing against his fingers.

“Jude, I’m—” she tried to say, but he smirked against her skin and moved his fingers even harder.

“You’re what? Tell me, baby.” Jude teased her and her back arched. He felt his fingers hurt, but it didn’t matter. Not when she was coming undone in his hands.

“Jude—” she tried to warn again, and he kept moving his fingers, looking at her in the eyes. She struggled to keep them open, trying to keep eye contact.

“Is that everything you know how to say now? My name?” He hit the spot once again and smirked. “I could get used to that.”

Her walls fully clenched around his fingers, and she finally came, seeing stars behind her eyes and leaving a loud moan. It was something she had never experienced so strongly, and she didn’t know if it was because her boyfriend didn’t care about her pleasure or if it was because it was Jude. Maybe the answer was both.

“Fuck.” she muttered, panting. He just smirked, looking into her eyes and leaning away, putting his own fingers in his mouth to taste her.

“Now that’s a very—” his fingers left his mouth with a pop once he made sure to savor the taste. “—very good girl. And a delicious one, if I might add. Could taste you for fucking hours.”

Jude didn’t care if he still had his clothes on. He had a taste of hers, and nothing would stop him now.  If he already couldn’t stop himself before touching, the gods may as well punish him, and it wouldn’t be enough for him to stop.

He kissed her again, making her taste herself before lowering the kisses — from her mouth to the spot under her ear. From her neck to her collarbone. From the valley of her breasts to her stomach. The kisses only lowered. Before he could reach her panties once again, starving, she tugged on her hair.

“No.” She shook her head. “I’m too worked up for you to eat me out. Need more.”

He bit his lip and smirked. As much as he wanted to taste her, he wanted to be inside her. He took off his shirt in a swift move and she sat up, crawling closer to him to kiss him and bite his neck. He felt like his skin was on fire and the bulge on his sweatpants only got harder. He took a deep breath.

“You’re not helping, princess.” He sighed.

“Am I not?” Now it was her time to tease. She straddled him and sat right against his crotch, making him almost roll his eyes. “You should take those sweatpants off.” She said as her hands caressed his abdomen.

He quickly turned the position, now on top of her, and took his sweatpants off.

“Good enough for you, princess?” He whispered, leaning closer.

“Better if you took your underwear off.” She smirked.

“Brat.”

Instead of taking his underwear off, he took her panties off in one single move. A risky one, since he could’ve ripped it from how quickly he took it off. He lowered and admired for a moment.

“Such a pretty pussy. A shame you won’t let me eat you out.” He whispered as he looked at her core, gently touching her puffy clit once again. She was stretched, but not enough. He didn’t pay attention to that when he had his fingers inside her — he just wanted to see her pretty face coming.

“Jude.” She called him out with some urgency, and he sighed.

Maybe the gods couldn’t stop Jude, but she could.

He took his underwear off, only now realizing how painfully hard he was. She watched as his cock sprung out, rigid, leaking with too much precum. He bit his lip and put his hand around his cock, spreading the precum slowly. He knew how sensitive he was right now, and he had to hold it back for her. He lined his member with her entrance and slowly dipped inside her.

She moaned loudly and Jude could feel his breath stopping from how tight she was. He gave her some time to adjust to his size.

“This is too much.” She whined.

“Darling, I’m not even moving.” He replied. “Your boyfriend lacks even in that area? He’s truly useless.”

She would’ve chuckled if she wasn’t having a hard time with the way his cock filled her, the burning sensation from the stretch seeming unending.

“It hurts.”

Jude leaned close to her, their lips almost touching.

“It doesn’t, baby.” He thrusted one time, to make her more used to the movements. “I’m taking the pain away. Just feel me here. That’s all you have to do.” He pressed his hand against her belly and thrusted once again, earning a moan and feeling himself from how big he was.

She could do much better than her boyfriend. He wanted to be the much better.

He started properly moving, hard, fast, desperate for his own release as well. To prove her how much better she could be fucked if he was the one doing it. And each time he hit the spot, he could feel her walls clenching. His hand never left her belly, knowing how deep he was going into her. He couldn’t stop.

She wrapped her legs around his waist and held his hair as his movements became more frenetic, moans dripping from her mouth to his ear with anything he did. He moaned whenever she clenched too hard against him.

“You’re so fucking tight.” he muttered, panting, trying to keep the pace. It was taking all of his willpower to not just come already. She didn’t reply, of course. She was too busy scratching his back and moaning desperately.

His movements became more erratic, slower, and, when her walls clenched around him one last time, he spilled everything inside her and fell to her chest, trying to catch his breath.

“Jude?” She called him out once they could properly speak.

“Yeah?”

“Stay. For the night.” She pleaded softly, caressing his back that were marked by the painting her nails had done.

“I wasn’t planning to go anywhere else, princess.” He smiled at her.

Jude held her against his chest, as she peacefully slept. He leaned his chin on the top of her head and, once he was certain she was sleeping, he sighed.

“I can’t take the pain away because I’m not your man.” Jude whispered. “But I wish I was.”

[countlessimagines]

Downfall [ Five Hargreeves x Reader ]

Summary: No matter the timeline, you and Five never get your chance.

A/N: well I think I can agree with everyone that season four was not good… so my way of coping is making angsty imagines for it… I’m trying to cope with the fact this is the last time we will ever see them ): This is also super short, apologies

Warnings: Season Four Spoilers

MASTERLIST LINK

-

Five had seen multiple timelines with Lila throughout their time spent together. And in almost every single one they saw, you were dead by the hands of him or vice versa. Eventually it became normal to see you mourning Five or him taking revenge for you.

Lila could see how distressing it was for him to see every timeline play out the same for the both of you.

Fate never seemed to be on your side, and even in your timeline, Five never had the courage to tell you his feelings. Despite spending six years by his side, being his roommate, helping him with cases, being there emotionally for him… he never seemed to catch on to the fact that you held feelings for him, too.

On one of their multiple train rides, Lila tried to address what the two of you meant to each other, but Five didn’t want to acknowledge it.

Because he feared the moment he’d open up, fate would play it’s cruel trick again and guarantee he would never see you again.

So he buried it deep within himself so it would not haunt him.

-

For you, it was mere hours you had last seen Five. You had helped Allison and Claire rescue Klaus from being buried alive, and had found your way to Lila and Diego’s home.

Everything seemed to be alright, and although you could sense something was wrong with Five, you didn’t have the energy to ask, simply from the long day you were all having.

However, you didn’t fail to notice the looks Lila and Five were sharing. It made not only you suspicious, but Diego as well. It was started to grow more and more tense as he pried information from them.

It almost felt as if your heart was being ripped out of your chest, being stomped on by the universe, as Five and Lila confessed of their infidelity.

You weren’t sure if you wanted to console Diego or slap Five.

You decided on the latter before storming out of the house. Diego tried to stop Five from chasing after you, but Five was quicker and blinked to your side.

“Let me explain.”

“Get away from me!” You screamed as you exited the house. Nobody followed the two of you, so you only assumed Lila was in the hot seat.

“(Y/n)! Stop acting like a child and listen.” Five grabbed your arm and whipped you around to face him. He was close now, his breath fanning your face.

“How could I listen to the fact you and Lila shared such an intimate relationship while I have been waiting years for you to do the same with me.” You made sure to throw your words in his face, making all of your emotions clear as day. Pretending to not hold feelings for him was beginning to weigh you down, so you needed to let go of those weights now.

“All we did was kiss,” Five said it like it was the most simple action in the world. “One kiss and we realized our mistake immediately. We got wrapped up in our own little bubble and forgot the important things. I just… I couldn’t handle seeing you die anymore…”

“What?” You pushed away from him. Had he seen a timeline with you dead?

“I… we don’t get a happy ending in any timelines. No matter what we do, we fail to be together.” Five sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “I lost hope that even if we got back, it would lead to our demise.”

You didn’t know what to say to him as your heart began to beat uncontrollably.

He looked into your tear filled eyes and said, “I want to be with you, but I don’t want to kill you.”

“I don’t want to be with someone who, after forty years in the apocalypse, couldn’t even keep his heart on one person for seven years. It doesn’t matter if you realized your mistake, Five. I’ve been here the whole time waiting for you. I took care of you when you came home bloodied. I stayed up with you while you had panic attacks. I made sure that you had coffee brewed every morning.”

Five felt ashamed he had let everything you had done for him go to waste with his one mistake. “I don’t expect you to forgive me.”

“Maybe I’ll be the bigger person and actually forgive you, because I know deep inside I am that person. And I for sure know you aren’t because you kissed your brother’s wife, Five.” You scoffed and wiped away your tears. “Good luck with that.”

You began to walk towards your car without another word, and Five just watched as you left.

He was smart enough to know that if he chased you, it would lead to a grave.

And not too long after, he would sacrifice himself with his family, his last thoughts only consisted of you and how much he failed your relationship. Some selfish part of him hoped that he’d come back, to be able to see you again.

But the more rational side of him knew that he would never touch you again.

Because for once, you would be able to live in a peaceful timeline without him there to cause your downfall.

[trashytracktales]

idk if my last ask got sent but merry christmassssss, keep shining !!

second, i need THIS https://x.com/yovremine/status/1871164598306677111?s=46 for oscar piastri in order to survive pretty please 😭💗

Aerodynamic expertise | OP⁸¹

💌 REQUESTED by anon ──── Yes, I'm still working on my requests from last year. We read, and we dont judge (pls) 😔👍🏻

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🏁 summary ──── Oscar has been busy most of the day, and when she comes to check on him, the limits of focus, patience, and desire are tested in the most intense way.

🏁 pairing ──── Oscar Piastri x she/her reader

🏁 rating ──── explicit

🏁 category ──── F/M

🏁 warnings ──── 18+, mature/sexual content, smut, established relationship, descriptive language, swearing, fingering, unprotected sex, playful teasing and dominant/submissive undertones.

🏁 word count ──── 3.5k

🏁 date ──── Jan. 18, 2025

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OSCAR’S HOME OFFICE is a small room in their apartment that should’ve been her walk-in closet. The walls are decorated with a mix of framed photos from his racing career and minimalistic art prints, while a sleek bookshelf stands in the corner, its shelves filled with some of her books, and various trophies, medals, and scale model replicas of his helmets.

A small lamp casts a warm glow over his workspace, but the rest of the room is swallowed by the darkening evening. The desk is neatly organized — his laptop open, and a pile of documents on one side, almost forgotten.

He’s been reviewing updates on the car’s aerodynamics package the entire afternoon, slightly furrowing his brow as he read through the material, one hand adjusting the headphones over his ears, and the other making notes in the margins of a printout. Oscar has always been the type of person to lock in and get the job done as well as he could. For the moment, his focus remains intense, the faint sound of white noise humming through his headphones, lost in the details of drag coefficients and weight distribution.

He doesn’t notice the light tapping of footsteps approaching the office, nor does he hear the soft creak of the door as it opens.

She walks in, lingering in the doorway for a while, smiling to herself at the sight of her boyfriend who’s still so immersed in his work. His concentration is so characteristic — calm, methodical, and entirely unbothered by the passing of time. However, the late hour has her a little concerned. And annoyed. She crosses the room and stops behind him, leaning slightly to catch a glimpse of the technical drawings on his screen. Without a word, she gently places her hands on his shoulders, squeezing lightly, but he doesn’t react, her touch way too familiar.

“I’m guessing this isn’t a work-related visit?” asks Oscar, his voice as calm as ever but laced with a trace of amusement; he’s not even bothering to look up at her, but rather relaxes under her touch.

“It can be,” she teases. “You’ve been in here for hours, and if that’s how I win some time with my boy…” she adds, leaning in to rest her chin on the top of his head, while her hands wrap around his shoulders from behind.

Oscar chuckles softly, the sound vibrating through his chest. “I know, sorry. I’ll be done with it soon.”

She tries to appear unaffected, but it bothers her a little. He’s been ignoring her for most of the day. Even though she knows that Oscar needs time for his work, that doesn’t make it any easier for her to comply. It’s already hard enough having to adjust to his calendar all year round. Having to do that when he’s at home it’s simply ridiculous.

She rolls her eyes playfully while walking around his chair, resting her back against the desk while facing him. “How soon?” she asks curiously. “It’s dark outside, and you still haven’t told me what you want for dinner.”

He glances at the clock on his laptop and winces. “Ah, shoot. I didn’t realize it was that late. Sorry,” he says again, “I kind of got carried away.”

She hums in mock disapproval. “Typical. I’m convinced you’d survive on data sheets if I wasn’t here, wouldn’t you?”

“Yeah, probably,” he admits with a small smirk, his hands reaching instinctively for her hips. “Alright, so what are the options?”

“Well,” she begins, carefully sliding onto his lap, her arms wrapping loosely around his neck. The sudden shift in weight forces Oscar out of his focus, and he pulls off his headphones so he can hear her better. “I could order pizza,” she says, trailing a thumb lazily along the back of his neck, “Make something quick, or we could raid the fridge and hope for the best?”

Oscar tilts his head as if weighing the choices. “Pizza sounds good, but why do I feel like you’re leaning toward option three?”

She smiles, shrugging, “Because I don’t like wasting food,” she replies. “So. You coming?” the girl asks, her tone soft and inviting.

Oscar pulls back slightly to look at her, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips. “I just need to finish this. Can’t leave in the middle of it.”

“Yes, you can,” she cries in protest. “Come on, Oscar. You’ve been staring at this for hours. If it’s not done by now, it can wait until tomorrow.”

“Baby, it can’t,” he insists, gesturing to the printouts on his desk. “If I don’t understand the updates, I’ll go into the next test session blind. They’ve tweaked the front wing, and I need to see how the airflow changes affect the balance.”

She crosses her arms, eyeing him. “Then let me help. Two brains are better than one, right?”

Oscar snorts, shaking his head with a grin. “I appreciate the enthusiasm, but unless you’ve suddenly become an expert in aerodynamics, I’m not sure how much help you’ll be.”

“Oscplain it to me then,” she challenges.

Amused, he picks up one of the papers and holds it between them. “Alright, let’s see. This here,” he points to a diagram of the front wing, “Is the new design they’ve proposed. See how the shape is slightly curved here and flared out at the edges?”

She nods, her eyes following his finger as it glides smoothly across the sheet of paper, then descends lower, to his veiny forearm.

“It’s to channel the air around the tires more efficiently,” continues Oscar, his voice patient but lightly teasing. “Turbulent air from the tires can disrupt the flow to the rear of the car, which affects stability and speed. By tweaking this part, I’m guessing they’re hoping to create a cleaner stream of airflow.”

“Great! You already know what’s up,” she jokes, her lips curving into a small smile.

Oscar chuckles, “It’s just basics.”

“Bet,” she insists, taking the paper from him, then grabbing his hands and placing them back on her waist. “Keep going. What happens after the air goes around the tires?”

His hands instinctively begin to trace the curve of her body as he continues, “Well, the clean air flows down the side pods, feeding the diffuser at the back. That’s where most of the car’s downforce is generated. It’s all about keeping a nice balance, because if there’s too much downforce, the car is slower on straights. Too little, and it can’t corner properly.”

As he speaks, his fingers tighten slightly on her waist, mimicking the precision he’s describing. She shifts under his touch, her breath hitching just enough for him to notice.

“And, baby, balance is everything. I’ll tell you that much for free,” he adds just as his hands slide over her sides, his thumbs brushing along her ribs. “You know, the car has to respond perfectly to input. Too much force in one area, and everything gets… destabilized.”

She bites her lower lip absently, her eyes locked on his face. “Mhm, and what about this area?” she asks, her voice low as she guides his hands higher, molding his palms on the curves of her breasts.

His throat bobs as he swallows, but he keeps talking, his tone steady even as his pulse quickens. “That’s like managing weight distribution. Every shift changes the dynamics. You’ve got to be… very gentle. And precise.”

His hands squeeze her gently before letting them roam lower now, gripping her thighs, and she lets out a soft gasp just as Oscar adds, “But sometimes, you need more force,” he says, his fingers pressing more firmly into her skin. “Especially when you’re going through high-speed corners. It’s about finding that sweet spot where everything works in harmony,” he pauses, his eyes flicking to hers. “You follow?”

Oscar’s lips twitch into a knowing smirk, and for a moment, he forgets about his diagrams and work entirely. The room feels somehow smaller than it actually is, warmer, the technical jargon fading into the background as his focus shifts entirely to her.

She looks at him, while adjusting her position on his lap. The slight push forward sends tiny, yet intense sparks through her body, and her breath hitches again.

“Yeah,” she whispers, her voice laced with feigned innocence, “I’m getting there.” Oscar smiles again at her words, but before he can say anything, she continues, her hips moving ever so slightly against him. “But,” she breathes, leaning closer, her lips brushing against his ear, “I think I need some additional explanations, though.”

The air between them grows heavier, and Oscar exhales slowly, his control fraying at the edges. “Is that so?” he asks, his voice dropping as his lips ghost over hers in a shallow kiss, teasing but not giving her everything. “I can do that.”

She hums in response, the sound dissolving into a soft gasp as his fingers dig into her skin, pulling her flush against him.

“You want me to show you?”

“Mhm,” she nods, fighting demons in order to keep her whimpers inside.

“I told you about tire degradation, yeah?” Oscar presses another light kiss to her lips, pausing just long enough to make her chase him for more. Which she does. “You don’t want to overheat,” he says, his hands moving down her sides to anchor her hips. “But if you’re too cautious, you won’t get the performance you’re looking for, either.”

She lets out a shaky chuckle, her hips grinding subtly against him. “Makes sense,” she nods, her voice breathy and full of need.

Oscar lets out a soft groan, as her movements on top of him send a rush of heat through him.

“When I’m in the car, I need to push just hard enough to stay in control,” his hands slide to the curve of her waist, guiding her rhythm, “But not so hard that I lose grip entirely.”

Her moan is quiet, but it cuts through the charged air between them. She tilts her head back slightly, her lips parting as the friction builds. “Oscar…” she breathes, her voice trembling.

His jaw tightens, his restraint wavering as her hips move against him more purposeful under his careful guidance. “See?” asks Oscar rhetorically, his tone rougher now, “You’re getting it. Find the sweet spot, and everything just… clicks.”

She leans forward, her forehead pressing against his as her breathing grows heavier. “We’re still at the basics?” she asks, her lips brushing his as she speaks.

Oscar smiles, though his own composure is clearly slipping. “Not really. It takes time and patience to perfect the technique. It took me lots of practice,” he says proudly, his voice thick with desire.

She laughs softly, the sound quickly dissolving into another quiet moan as he presses her even closer, his hard length straining against her through their clothes. His lips finally capture hers fully, the kiss deep and consuming, as if he can’t hold himself back any longer.

She cups his jaw, pulling his face toward hers, and presses her lips to his in a firm kiss, while his hands are slipping up to hold her more securely. Without breaking their connection, Oscar’s hand fumbles for his laptop and, with a practiced ease, he grabs it and shifts it onto the windowsill on their left. At the same time, his other arm wraps around her, lifting her as though she weighs nothing and settling her on the smooth surface of his desk. As a result, some papers flutter to the floor unnoticed, minor casualties of the heated atmosphere sparking between them.

Her focus is entirely on how Oscar moves — the way his hands slide under her shirt, the cool air kissing her skin as he pushes the fabric higher. Her body arches instinctively as his fingers dip beneath the waistband of her shorts, seeking almost curiously.

“Oh,” she gasps silently, her hips jerking forward at the first brush of his fingers against her slick heat.

Oscar’s breath hitches, and a quiet curse slips from his lips. “Shit,” he murmurs, pulling back just enough to look at her flushed face. “You’re soaked already. Should we work on optimal traction here or?”

Her laugh is breathless, almost a whimper, as he presses a finger inside her, curling it just enough to make her shudder. “Optimal… something,” she whimpers, her thighs trembling slightly as he adds a second finger, stretching her just enough to make her squirm.

“Ease into it, baby,” he encourages her, his focus split between the way she reacts to his touch and the growing tightness in his own body. His free hand grips her hip, holding her steady as her movements grow more animated by the second. “Too much too fast, and you’ll spin out before we get to the apex, remember?”

She tries to reply, but all that escapes her is a high-pitched moan as his thumb brushes against her clit. And then his name, like an intense prayer dripping from her lips.

The sound of her voice, breathy and pleading, sends a jolt straight through him, his arousal pressing almost painfully against the fabric of his pants.

His lips twitch in a half-smile, though there’s a rough edge to his voice when he speaks again. “That’s it,” he says, his fingers working her with practiced ease. “Controlled inputs. Smooth handling. The sweet spot.”

Her body responds to him as usual, her inner walls clenching around his fingers as a broken cry falls from her lips. “Oh my—Oscar,” she gasps, her nails digging into his shoulders for support.

Oscar exhales sharply, his jaw clenching as he fights to keep his composure. “Fuck, I know. I know,” he mutters under his breath, the sensation of her squeezing his fingers making his mind wander. He imagines how good she’d feel around his cock instead, warm and tight, pulling him in and driving him to the brink.

The thought nearly undoes him, and he grips her hip tighter, guiding her as she rocks against his hand. “You’re doing so well, baby,” he says, the words slipping out in a low rasp. “Yeah, look at you.”

Her head tilts forward as her moans grow louder, her movements more frantic, almost never enough for her to relax. She watches through her eyelashes as his fingers pump in and out of her pussy without hesitation, feeling the tips putting pressure inside with each stroke. “Please. Feel so good,” she moans softly, her voice breaking, alerting Oscar that she’s close.

“I hear you, love. Come on, then,” he says, his tone both encouraging and commanding. “I’ve got you.”

It is his voice that pushes her over the edge. He sounds like he is utterly intoxicated by her and the way her body responds to him, always. His words seem to be covered in a generous layer of honey and equal worshipping, which drives her higher and higher. Her body tenses, and then she shatters around him, her release hitting her in waves that leave her trembling. Her cries echo in the small room, mingling with the sound of their heavy breaths.

Oscar watches her with a mix of satisfaction and awe, his fingers still gently stroking her as she slowly comes back to herself. His chest rises and falls heavily as he sees how affected she is. Gently, he withdraws his hand, his fingers glistening with her arousal. With his other hand, he brushes a strand of hair from her forehead, his thumb lingering on her cheek.

“You okay?” asks Oscar in a tender voice, a stark contrast to the rough edge it held moments ago.

She nods, a small, blissful smile playing on her lips as she meets his gaze. Her hands are easily sliding down to rest against his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath her palms.

But then her gaze drops, and her smile grows mischievous. “Are you okay?” she asks, her tone dripping with mock innocence as her hand trails down to the unmistakable bulge straining against his pants.

Oscar stiffens slightly, his breath hitching when she palms him through the fabric. “Bloody hell,” he mutters.

“You know, I’d give it some attention,” she muses, her thumb tracing over his tip through the material. Her eyes flick up to meet his, playful yet wicked. “But you’re obviously so busy with work. It can wait, I guess.”

His eyes snap back to hers, narrowing slightly as he reads her intent, but before he can respond, she’s pushing him back into his chair. Oscar exhales sharply, his hands instinctively gripping the armrests as she stands, retrieves the laptop from the windowsill, and places it back on the desk in front of them.

“Stop,” he warns, his voice low, but it’s more a plea than a command.

“Stop what?” she asks in an innocent manner as she tugs her shorts back up, the fabric clinging to her curves.

Smiling, she leans down to gather the papers scattered on the floor, clearly putting on a show for him. Her movements are purposeful, the curve of her ass drawing his gaze like a magnet.

“You know exactly what you’re doing,” says Oscar, almost annoyed at her audacity. “And it works.”

She glances back over her shoulder, with a playful glint in her eyes. “I literally have no idea what you’re talking about, babe.”

Once she’s seated back on his lap, her thighs slick with the remnants of her orgasm, she shifts slightly, her weight settling over his aching length. Oscar lets out a shaky breath, his fingers instinctively finding her waist again, gripping her softly.

She starts scrolling through his laptop documents, pretending to focus on the technical details in front of her. “Hm, were were we? Ah, yes. Air flow dynamics…” she reads, her tone intentionally casual.

It’s pure torture for him.

Her warmth is teasing him through the thin fabric separating them, and the subtle movements of her body have his control is slipping.

Almost defeated, Oscar pushes her hair to the side and presses his lips against the sensitive curve of her neck while she keeps reading off the screen. He stopped listening long ago, too high on her simple presence. His kisses are soft at first, but as his need grows, they become much more desperate; he is hungry, after all. For her.

One of his hands slides up under her shirt, his fingers brushing the soft skin of her stomach.

“Can I slip inside?” he whispers, his voice husky and full of need.

She tilts her head back slightly, smirking at him. “Can you multitask?”

That’s all the permission he needs.

Oscar works quickly, freeing himself from his pants, just as his hand slides between her thighs, pushing her shorts to the side just enough to expose her. The tip of his cock presses against her heat, and the fullness as he slowly pushes inside has them both moaning simultaneously.

“Fuck, so warm,” he swears, resting his forehead against her back for a moment as he adjusts to the feeling.

Her body opens up for him immediately, clenching tightly around his length as he lifts her hips slightly, only to pull her back down. She’s slick, her arousal making it easy for him to glide in and out, but the tightness still has his breathing ragged.

Her head falls back against his shoulder as she moans softly, turning her head to continue with her teasing, “The coefficients and flow angles could really—”

Oscar exhales sharply, cutting her off. “Alright, fuck. I’ll finish tomorrow,” he says, his voice strained, giving in entirely.

He stands suddenly, bending her over the desk as he cups the curve of her ass, guiding her hips back onto his cock. The angle shifts, and the deep stretch makes her gasp. His thrusts are slow and measured, but the way her body clenches around him makes it impossible for him to keep it as simple as that. Gradually, he picks up the pace, the sound of their bodies joining mixing with her muffled moans.

Her elbows rest on the desk as her head drops between her shoulders, every movement pulling her closer once again. It is too much, yet still not enough. She wants to feel all of him, but then Oscar is pulling out, forcing another cry out of her.

She tries to protest by pushing back against him, and Oscar is not wasting a breath, chasing a well-known feeling as she grips at the edge of the desk. Even though he just took care of her, nothing compares with feeling of him fucking into her from behind.

The heat between them builds rapidly, their muscles tense as they chase their release. Her thighs tremble, and her breaths come in short, sharp gasps. Oscar seems to follow that sound, caressing her sides just for as long as he slips free to pull her shorts slightly lower on her thighs, for better access. His cock nudges back against her swollen clit immediately, causing her thighs to press together at the pressure. It makes Oscar see stars, driving him to thrust his hips harder at the feeling and let his cock slide along the slick, puffy folds.

When her walls clench around him, the tight, wet heat sends him spiraling. “God, baby. You feel so good,” he groans, his voice rough as he thrusts harder, his hips snapping against hers. “Always. So fucking good for me.”

The room fills with the sounds of her pussy squelching while Oscar keeps thrusting in and out, her release hitting first. The pleasure washes over her as her body spasms, gripping him tighter, and the sensation pulls Oscar over the edge almost instantly. He buries himself deep inside her as he comes, his groans muffled against her shoulder.

As they catch their breath, she looks down at her ruined shorts and laughs softly. “Well, these are done for.”

Oscar grins, pressing a kiss to the back of her neck. “Guess we’ll add laundry to tomorrow’s to-do list.”

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ MASTERLIST . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

Thank you for reading!

None of my works are available for reposting on other platforms. Reblogs, likes, and comments are deeply appreciated ♥︎

© trashy track tales, 2025

[hyuniemyunie]

her sweet girl<3

fem!reader x cho hyun-ju

nsfw

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(ФωФ): nsfw, fem reader, soft dom hyun-ju, fingering, praise, cum eating(a lil)

nothing much really just her fingering you.

HARROOO this is my first time posting so beee nice(/--)/ anyway i love her! diva, queen, girlboss, princess.

⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠄･ ⋆ ･

another game ended, and just like that, more people got murdered.

you sighed, sitting down on your bed, looking up at the prize money above your head. before you could get lost in your thoughts, you heard footsteps approaching you from behind. and AGAIN, before you could even react, hyun-ju sat next to you, the mattress dipping slightly under her weight.

"good to see that youre alive.."

she said, raising a hand and resting it on your knee.

"the last game was tough, huh?"

she looked down at her feet, zoning out, lost in her thoughts. you turned around, cupping the side of her face, making her meet your gaze

"yeah, im alive."

you said, voice barely above a whisper as you leaned in, your lips meeting hers in a soft kiss. her eyes fluttered shut at the tender touch, a soft sigh escaping her lips as they met yours in a gentle, lingering kiss. hyun-jus hand came up to cover yours on her cheek, holding it there as she savored the feeling. she could feel the warmth of your skin, the softness of your lips.

"yeah" she murmured, her voice low and soothing in the darkness. "im just glad i get to see your face again." her thumb gently caressed your cheek, tracing the curve of it. "you scared me today, i thought..." she trailed off, not wanting to put voice to the fear that had gripped her heart when she saw you fall. "but.. youre here now."

her other hand slid down to your hip, giving it a gentle squeeze. "rest now" she whispered, her face still only inches from yours. "sleep. tomorrow will be here soon enough." tomorrow would bring new challenges, new trials, but for now, in this moment, they had each other. and that was enough.

"i..dont wanna sleep."

you said, a hint of desperation in your voice. you missed her, youve been missing her for so long. and fuck, who knew if one of you was going to die tomorrow? you couldnt just..sleep, you needed to spend some time with her before the next game. so you leaned down, nuzzling your face in hyun-jus chest.

hyun-ju let out a soft chuckle at your whiny tone, feeling your head nuzzle into her chest. she wrapped her arms around you, holding you close as her fingers gently stroked your hair. "shh, its okay," she cooed softly, rocking you slightly in her embrace. "I don't want to sleep either."

she leaned down to press a soft kiss to the top of your head, breathing in the scent of your hair. "but we need to. we have to be strong for tomorrow." her voice was gentle but firm, knowing that rest would be crucial for their next challenge.

her hand slid down to your back, rubbing soothing circles on it. "tell you what" she murmured, "why dont you stay here with me? just for a little while longer." she tightened her arms around you slightly. "we can talk, or just... be quiet. whatever you want."

she tilted your chin up with a finger, looking into your eyes in the darkness. you melted from her touch, a dreamy sigh escaping your lips

"im so happy i have you.."

hyun-ju felt a warmth spread through her chest at your words. she couldnt help but smile, a genuine, loving smile that lit up her eyes even in the darkness. "im happy I have you too" she murmured against your lips, pressing soft little kisses to them "my sweet girl..."

her hands slid down to your waist, pulling you impossibly closer until you were pressed fully against her. she could feel every curve of your body, soft and warm against her own. hyun-jus lips captured yours in a deeper, more intense kiss, her tongue traced the seam of your lips, seeking entrance.

"stay with me tonight" she breathed against your mouth, her voice heavy with want and need. "let me hold you" she punctuated her words with another kiss, another press of her lips against yours. "please..i..i need you."

"need..me..?"

oh. oh. so thats what she meant, not like you had ANY complaints, of course.

her hands slid down to your hips, squeezing them gently as she pulled you even closer. she wanted to explore every curve, every dip, every flaw and imperfection. she needed you.

hyun-ju leaned in, her lips brushing against the shell of your ear as she whispered, "i need to feel you" she nipped lightly at your earlobe, sending a shiver down your spine. "can I touch you, sweet girl?" her hands slid down to the hem of your shirt, her fingers slipping beneath the fabric to caress the smooth skin underneath. "do i have permission?"

you let out a shaky sigh, arching into her touch, giving hyun-ju a shy nod

she trailed her lips down the column of your throat, her tongue flicking out to taste your skin. "youre so beautiful, so perfect, so sweet..." her hands slid up to cup your breasts, kneading the soft mounds gently. she could feel your nipples hardening against her palms, and it sent a bolt of lust straight to her core. her hips pressed against yours, and she could feel the evidence of her own arousal, hard and insistent against your belly. she pulled back slightly, her hands slid down to the waistband of your pants, her fingers toying with the button.

you lifted your hips up slightly, allowing her to take your pants off

her breath hitched as you lifted your hips, allowing her to slowly peel your pants down your legs. she took her time, savoring the revealed skin inch by inch. once your pants were gone, tossed carelessly to the side, her hands slid back up your calves, your knees, your thighs. she caressed and massaged your skin, feeling the softness and warmth of it. her fingers found the hem of your underwear as she looked up at you. "can i?" she asked softly, her voice low and rough with want. "can i touch you here, beautiful? i need you to tell me if i can"

she hooked her fingers into the waistband, waiting for your permission, your consent. she wanted to worship your body, to bring you pleasure and ecstasy like you had never known before. but she needed you to want it too.

"yeah- yeah, just, just..touch me?"

you whispered, getting desperate. you wanted her as much as she wanted you.

she leaned down, her breath hot against your ear as she whispered, "oh...youre so beautiful, so perfect. i want to kiss every inch of you..."

she pressed a trail of soft kisses down your neck, your collarbone, the swell of your breasts. her hands slid up your sides, cupping your breasts once more, reverently. "your skin is so soft, so smooth... like silk," she breathed, kneading the soft mounds. "and these... they're perfect, just the right size to fit in my hands..."

hyun-jus lips closed around one hardened nipple, suckling gently, humming at the taste of your skin. "mmm, you taste divine...so sweet" she praised, swirling her tongue around the sensitive bud. she lavished attention on your breasts, determined to worship and adore them until you were writhing beneath her touch.

her hand slid down your belly, over your navel, coming to rest at the apex of your thighs. she could feel the heat radiating from your pussy, the dampness of your arousal through the thin fabric of your panties. hyun-ju groaned softly at the sounds you made, feeling your back arching into her touch. it spurred her on, encouraged her to continue her worship of your divine body. "that's it, sweet girl... let me hear you," she purred, her fingers slipping beneath the fabric of your underwear to caress your slick folds. she could feel your arousal coating her fingers, your body preparing itself for her touch. "you're so wet..so ready for me,"

she circled your clit with the pad of her thumb, feeling it throb beneath her touch. hyun-jus fingers slid lower, teasing your entrance, feeling your muscles clench and flutter. she slowly pushed one long, thick finger inside you, groaning at the tight, wet heat that engulfed it. she sighed softly, beginning to pump her finger in and out of you at a slow, steady pace. she leaned down to capture your lips in a searing kiss, her tongue delving into your mouth to dance with yours. she swallowed your whimpers and moans, relishing in the taste of your pleasure.

her other hand slid up your body to cup your cheek, her thumb brushing over your lips. she added a second finger, pumping them faster, deeper, wanting to feel you come around her.

you let out a soft moan, your hips rocking back and fourth against her fingers pumping in and out of you. you could feel yourself clenching around her digits, having to bite your lower lip to keep quiet, your hands going up to tangle in her hair. she felt your hips rocking against her fingers, your body instinctively seeking more of her touch. she obliged, adding a third finger and increasing her pace, plunging into your slick pussy with a newfound urgency. the obscene sound of your arousal filled both your ears, dripping onto her fingers as she pumped them in and out of your clenching hole

"oh, love... listen to you," she panted, her voice heavy with lust. she leaned down to capture your nipple between her teeth, biting down gently before soothing the sting with her tongue.

her thumb found your clit, rubbing tight circles around the sensitive nub as her fingers continued their relentless assault on your G-spot. she could feel your walls beginning to flutter, your body tensing as your climax approached.

"that's it, pretty girl... let go," hyun-ju urged, her voice low and rough with desire.

she sealed her lips over yours once more, swallowing your cries of ecstasy as she pushed you over the edge, her fingers never stopping.

your velvety walls clamped down around her fingers, pulsing and fluttering wildly as you rode out the intense crest of your climax. she could feel your juices gushing out, coating her hand and dripping onto the sheets below. as your body finally began to relax, going boneless beneath her, hyun-ju gentled her touch. she slowed her fingers, now only lightly stroking your sensitive folds, helping you down from your high. she rested her forehead against yours, her own breathing ragged and shallow. she withdrew her fingers slowly, bringing them up to her lips, making a show of licking them clean, a moan of pleasure escaping her lips at the taste

with her clean hand, she caressed your cheek, brushing a few errant strands of hair from your face. she leaned in to press a tender, loving kiss to your forehead, your temple, your cheeks, your lips.

"there you go, my love"

she cooed softly, gathering you into her arms and holding you close as you drifted down from your high.

"thats my good girl...my beautiful girl.."

[cckaisen]

୨ৎ˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 𝓑𝓡𝓞𝓣𝓗𝓔𝓡 𝓕𝓤𝓒𝓚𝓔𝓡, sukuna ryomen !

boyfriend’s older brother!sukuna. while little bro yuji spits up his liquor in the bathroom, sukuna takes care of his girl, finally fucking her like she deserves.

ಇ. summary. sukuna brother au, fem reader, infidelity, yuji throws up so emeto. warning, manipulation, pussy slapping, biting, some predator/prey elements, size kink, dumbification, squirting, reader is intoxicated but aware, rough kuna but he switches up:3, regret/moral conflict, angst towards the end cuz ‘m a certified yapper. wc, 4.6k.

ಇ. note. been a whore for sukuna lately but i fully blame gege for drawing him so majestic. if evil then why gorgeous, hm??? we’re onto u gege. we know u love a felon. confess already.

the door to the itadori household bursts open and in floods a typhoon of drunken chaos and laughter.

drowning in giggles, yuji has his arm thrown over your aching shoulders, humming along to some kind of song. without you, he wouldn't be upright—a jumbling, intoxicated mess.

you're mostly sober, fighting to get him to the bathroom since he was heaving in the taxi.

"whyyy do ya build me upp~" he slurs, a bumbling flurried version of himself, smothering your cheek in wet kisses that have you wriggling away. "butterrrcuppp baby, jus' t'let me downnn...!"

"yuji!" you shriek, the weight of him growing more unbearable as you try to keep him up. his breath is drenched with the heavy scent of liquor. "baby, y'gotta focus or we're not gonna make it to the—"

"—and mess m'rounddd!"

"yuji—'nuff!" you groan loudly as he drapes himself over. at this rate, you might just collapse into a heap on the floor, overcome by his weight as well as the lesser, still relevant amount of alcohol you consumed at the club.

suddenly, the patter of footsteps have you perking up. sukuna—yuji's big brother—rounds the corner, gaunt features sharp with agitation. he must've woken up when the two of you came barreling in.

"sukuna—hi," you can't help the relief that bursts through your chest, evident in the way you exhale.

sukuna notes the way your knees tremble, his brother blabbering embarrassingly on top of you. he puts aside the urge to laugh, figuring he'd spare you just this once.

"here. i got 'im." without any trouble, sukuna drags his little brother under his arm, putting your strength to shame. with the weight lifted, you finally have chance to relax, rolling your arm and letting out a loud sigh of relief.

"thank you. ow—pain."

you stumble, and the broader of the two brothers chuckles, crimson gaze soaking up your body in that dress while you're distracted. "you carried him all the way home?"

"mhm. practically sprawled out on my lap in the taxi. the driver and i had to team up to get him outta there," you whine as you kick off your heels. those stupid things had you wincing terribly most of the night. yuji said they were sexy. as much as you love him, you’re more than sure you will not be wearing them again anytime soon.

"you should've called me." sukuna's features scrunch in disgust as yuji keeps singing in his hold.

"i-i-i neeeeed youu~"

"fuckin' a, did he drink the whole bar?"

"pretty much," you reply, shrugging off your coat and following behind the pair of brothers. yuji looks so funny, almost small despite his lean stature, looking deceivingly short compared to sukuna. "he made a bet with todo and lost."

the sober man grunts as he knocks open the bathroom door, holding up yuji in his other arm. his muscles flex underneath his shirt, stretching the dark cotton, where your eyes briefly linger.

you avert your attention to yuji instead, amusement melting into concern for your boyfriend.

not sharing the same sentiment, sukuna drops him down by the toilet, putting up the lid with a smack and purposely shoving yuji's head into the bowl a little harder than necessary. "theree ya go, dumbass," sukuna grunts, slapping his back as he finally pukes up. "just barely made it."

and you're sure glad he did, thanking the gods your dress had been spared amidst the drama. with the way he'd been acting, you were never sure that you would be safe from the bile climbing his throat, cringing fearfully at times.

you feel much better now that sukuna has taken over. he's older, well-versed in trivial matters like this. yuji's already told you all about his university days, the drunken nights, the fighting—

you curse your thoughts for sprawling so suddenly, shooing off your rodent-like curiosity.

their relationship struggled at times. especially so back then, but things are different now. and as much as sukuna pretends not to care for his little brother, he clearly does, at least a little. after all, the pink tresses of your boyfriends hair are ruffled in his thick hand before he lets go fully.

then sukuna walks on in a rugged stride, leaving yuji to it. on the way out, he knocks your shoulder with his. you can't tell if the action was playful, but you’re sure it wasn't hostile, at least. a little smile creeps onto your lips as your gaze follows him into the kitchen.

sukuna is weird.

he's weird because he's not like yuji in most ways; it's not necessarily a bad thing, but he's much, much harder to see through. with your boyfriend, most things are crystal clear. you can tell what he wants, what he needs, how he needs it. he'll tell you all about it—unselfishly, of course.

however, sukuna, you find, never reads so easily. and it's weird. you can't tell if you prefer it that way, or if you'd rather know what he's thinking.

especially since you're certain you just caught his eyes slithering along your curves.

anyway.

wanting to give yuji some privacy, you pull the door shut, the sound of his gags growing muffled. you half-jog-half-limp to the kitchen, preparing a glass of cold water to ease his throat once it's all over.

unbothered, sukuna leans his back against the counter, scrolling on his phone like this is just another night to him. it's weird.

you start wondering, drawing up the conclusion that this might be first time you and him have ever been alone, in a way. yuji is there, but not really, if you know what i mean. not mentally, anyway.

before you can finish that thought, you deliver the glass to yuji, crouching down to his level and rubbing his back with careful affection. "got you some water, baby. right here, by your hand." you take it gently, guiding it towards the glass.

he's not throwing up so much now, just laying there, waiting for the next wave of nausea to crash over him. his fingers respond to the glass, wrapping around it. "thanks, hic—y're so good t'me..."

you smile warmly, pressing a kiss to his warm cheek. you couldn't care less that he reeks of all kinds of concoctions and puke all rolled up together, wanting to be there for him regardless as you know he would for you.

you whisper a few more reassuring words to him before taking your leave, giving him some time to recover by himself. the bathroom door clicks shut. forgetting all about the third party, you let your back press against it, head jilting as a sigh slips out.

"he worn ya down that much?" sukuna snorts at the display, looking up from his phone.

despite your initial surprise, you laugh too. "he doesn't usually. it's just... been a busy night, i guess. i think he'll pass out in there."

sukuna briefly dips his head into the fridge, getting out a chartreuse-tinted bottle of something. "one would hope. you want one?"

"you're being weirdly nice." you blurt suspiciously, smirking. oh god. maybe the alcohol was starting to work you over, too, because you definitely weren't supposed to say that. sometimes it's better not to ask, someone told you once.

sukuna pulls a face that makes you wish you could crawl out of your skin on command, even though there's technically logic behind your last words.

"am i usually mean?"

"n-no, i just mean—" fuck, stop talking. with growing embarrassment, you shake your head, "nothing. sorry. that was assumptive."

the way you initially scrambled to answer appealed to some wicked humor in him as he laughed. "yeah, it was. so yes or no?"

"yes," you sigh, shoulders slumping in admission, knowing you probably needed it. especially after whatever that was. your head is pounding—god, someone should put me down.

sukuna opens up your bottle with his teeth as you hop up on the counter, watching each other. all had gone quiet behind you. sukuna handed you the drink with the lid still between his teeth, venom swirling in his eyes when he saw the way yours lingered on the gesture.

slowly, you took the bottle, pressing the rim up to your lips before taking a sip. it bubbles in your mouth, sparkling on your tongue before you swallow it down. the burn is a little unpleasant, but you manage.

"any good?" sukuna asks.

"'s okay," you shrug, reading the bottle, pretending like any of it made sense. "a little bitter."

"you like 'em sweet?" the taller man frowns, sorting through the cupboards for something that you're too immersed to ask about.

"kinda. but too much makes me sick," you explain, scrunching your nose at the thought. "i like a balance."

"oh, really?" sukuna snorts as if you've just said the funniest thing in the world.

in one confused motion, you lower your brows. and jilt your head, wondering what's with the sudden jest. "yeah, uh... is that funny?"

sukuna raises his brows, shaking his head, some glasses clinking. "no, not funny. nothin's funny."

he really knows how to make a person feel small, you'd give him that much.

you avert your gaze, heart crawling up into your cheeks. "okay, well..."

"what about you?" he interjects, sparking up another tiny bit of annoyance in you again. not that you knew what you were gonna say anyways. it most likely would've been embarrassing anyway, making you shrink even more, wanting yuji to come out already—

"what about me?" you wonder, your voice meeker than before. curious and cautious, tip-toeing around his words. is there something you're hiding?

"are you the sticking-around or screwing-around type?"

"oh, right," you laugh, making sense of his question. it's big one, though. kind of sprung on you. still, you manage to respond, just telling him what you know while glowing with intoxication, "well, we've only been going out a couple months."

you're more focused on the way he's watching you than you are on actually answering. his eyes are sharp and torrid in comparison to his little brother's, and the way he gazes down rather than looks at you has something in you stirring, writihing hotly beneath your skin.

it's exciting. why is it exciting? there's a giddiness that gyres in the pit of your gut like a ballerina, pirouettes and grands jetés, heat cooking and simmering through your veins. it's terrible. it's weird.

"well, you can't blame me for being protective." sukuna shrugs. "he seems to really like you."

while what he's saying rings true, there's a chord slightly off-key, something askew that you can't place. is he closer than before?

you ignore it, trying on a smile. "well, feeling's mutual."

you take another sip from the bottle, the cool rim settling on your lips, sparks igniting on your tongue, the same routine replaying. you don't even think before adding gleefully, "and he's like, a jazillion times more sane than my last boyfriend, so i'm happy."

"are you?" sukuna asks, serious.

it was like flipping a switch. he was laughing, now he's earnest, and you were just entirely confused, his meaning lost on you, like you're the last in line in a game of chinese whispers. he caught you off guard with that one. and he knows it, too, carmine eyes feasting on your discomfort.

your smile falters slightly before you nod. "yeah."

"okay." he just says.

now you were really starting to get pissed off with him. whatever he's doing, it's stupid. he might as well have you cornered, except you've done nothing wrong, and yet he's prancing around you with a tone of prolific doubt. as if he knows something about you that you yourself don't.

"what?" you demand, equally serious now, smile wiped clean off. the air turns thick.

sukuna shrugs his shoulders again and you swear you have to fight off a sneer. "nothing."

is he casting doubt on your love for yuji? is that what this is? is he trying to tell you you're not good enough for him? that even though you trudged half a mile in those huge stupid heels just because he said they looked hot on you—carrying his dead weight, might i add, as he was screeching a song you'd never heard in your ear—that all of that was just for laughs, and there were no real feelings behind those actions? is that seriously what he's getting at?

sukuna wants to laugh so bad. your face is all screwed up, cheeks puffed out and burning a deep red. oh, how it fuels him. your stubbornness, that endearing naivety that clings to you like all your modest perfumes, the one that lingers in yuji's room, occasionally in his clothes, infecting every dark corner of his mind—and now you know how it feels to be tortured by him.

"you want some water?" the man asks casually. your mind is on fire, your thoughts more blaring than you would probably think. it's written all over you.

his question makes your shoulders drop, feeling stupid all over again. what are you getting so worked up for? you're secure in your feelings for yuji. as his brother, sukuna has every right to feel concern for him. there really is no need for you to be acting like this.

he's playing you like a damn flute.

"yes, please." you answer a lot more softly, pulling your hair around to one side. you'd been bratty without cause, assumptive, again. you really need to stop mischaracterizing him. after all, he's no monster. "i think all the drinks are finally getting to my head a little."

he starts filling up a glass, grinning at you over his shoulder, mischief playing in his slanted-eyes. "oh, don't tell me you were expecting anything bottled. tap's the best y're gonna get from us. hope you can handle it."

a smile works onto your lips as you finally start to loosen up again, legs swinging gently off the side of the counter. playing along, you wince. "oh yeah, well, i usually only drink expensive, you know, mineral-rich—"

"yeah."

he's suddenly between your legs, his mouth devouring your own, swallowing the terrified noise that begs to escape. for a moment, you're frozen in shock, eyes widening as you palms meet his chest in a forceful attempt at creating space.

sukuna juts back, forced away from you. his eyes crack open but are still like slits, dark, crawling with lust you hadn't previously noticed—no, acknowledged, because the choice has always been there.

he relishes in the terror that brims in your eyes at his visceral kiss. it feels natural, but not in the tender, motherly sense. like predator devouring prey. the natural order of life.

his hands are hot, gripping onto your thighs, digging into the tights he could easily rip to shreds, giving him full access to your warm cunt, to ruin you.

and yet he doesn't.

he waits for your eyes to droop, for you to lunge at him, accepting this twisted spiral of events, indulging his darkness. teeth clicking, tongues meeting messily in a sloppy kiss, drool gathering between you both as you crash together all at once, a train wreck of carnality. sukuna's hands are all over you, groping, slashing at the crotch of your tights. you gasp into his mouth as cold air meets the sobbing wetness of your cunt, followed by a slap to it.

"f-fuck! hey, who said you could—hmff!" you yelp as his hand clamps over your mouth suddenly, his scarlet eyes narrowing.

"brat, watch ya fuckin' mouth." sukuna warns as you grapple with him. his tattoos look especially menacing then, chiseling his features. "he's drunk. not deaf."

you nod, trying to tell him you understand. he releases your lips in an instant only to seize them again in his so forcefully.

yuji would never—could never take you like this, and you fucking know it. you know it with every gnaw, every squash of your tits that leaves you whining like a bitch in heat, every bite against your neck where you can feel the outline of his brother's teeth and a short gush of crimson.

rationality is lost on you as you mindlessly rut against him, your hands running up and down his back until you start tugging on his pants, eager to rid him of them.

meanwhile, sukuna's making a meal out of you—you make up half of his size, giving him complete control to do as ever he pleases.

every whine is met with a grunt. his cock must have been freed at some point as you feel his greedy hands lift you against him, your chests meeting, the sharp cold of the counter leaving your ass and feeling his palms spread you apart instead.

nothing could prepare you for the suddenness of which he fills you—you scream, half openly, half having shoved your face into his shoulder—aware his brother, your lover, is passed out over the toilet in the other room.

"shh, shh—fuckin' shit!" sukuna groans, features curling in erotic bliss.

he gluts you in ways yuji never has, the ways he'll never dare—with such cruel, carnal demand, to the brim, unkind, violent, and so, so fucking good.

as he breaches your womb, you claw his back raw through his shirt. a sob rips through you. sukuna does his best to keep you quiet. "shh... fuck. yer so fuckin' tight, girl. relax."

"t-tryin'... 'm so full..." you whine, eyes misting over with tears. it feels too good, you think...

"i know—" sukuna chokes, barely lifting you up on his cock, feeling your walls spasm around him. "fuck, what ya cryin' for?"

he feels too good.

"d-don't move yet, i'll cum," you gasp, and he hasn't even tried—sukuna's expression blanches.

"already?" he bursts out laughing in his brutish way, the side that yuji lacked entirely as the nicest person you've ever known; fuck. the humiliation makes your cunt squeeze again.

he lifts you up, your knees draped over his thick arms, foreheads meeting. your breaths intertwine, hot and treacherous, caressing each other's faces.

"ya know, i've fuckin' heard you, all those times."

"wh-what?" you stammer cluelessly, only half there, clinging to sukuna as he dangles you on his cock, your eyes crossing when he starts to bounce you on him.

"said i fuckin' heard you, you 'n yuji—'n shit, ya never got this loud, huh?" he smirks wickedly, feeling your body collapse hopelessly against him. he fucks you up and down on him, swallowing up your pathetic moans and whines like they were the last noise he'd ever hear. "been wanting to take ya like this, stretch yer dumb little cunt on me, fuckk—ya got no fuckin' idea, princess."

rocking up and down, you wail, head bobbing. sukuna can just see your little maw dangling open—it takes everything in him not to jam his fucking fingers in your throat until you drool and splutter around him.

"y—you wanted—this?" you struggle, feeling too good to make sense of anything, to think straight, to do anything other than take every rough kiss to your cervix, feeling your insides bruise and swell with lucid excitements.

"lemme guess, the brat cums too soon—never quite gets ya there, hm?" sukuna guesses correctly, making you whine and nod and babble.

"h-how did y—ah, fuck—!" he snapped his hips, picking up the speed as you wept on him. you'd never been fucked like this in your life, and your world was getting flipped on its head. when did your dress come down? you weren't sure—but now your tits were bouncing and sukuna wasn't gonna pass up the opportunity to tear into them.

"cuz, 's just obvious," sukuna rasps, teeth clamping down on your raised nipple, "can tell this sloppy pussy ain't gettin' treated right. not when she's—shit—creamin' all over me jus' from stickin' it in."

"'k—kuna, don't—ahh! fuck!"

"that's it girl, shit, c'mon," sukuna keeps picking you back up only to drop all your weight on his fat cock, his balls slapping against your ass, the slick you're gushing causing them to stick together.

your head is empty, devoid of anything except the chaos, the suddenness of it all, the shock, he's fucking you. your boyfriend's older brother is fucking you, and you've never felt so goddamn good.

there's this sudden wave. a wetness. an explosive feeling that crashes over you in one swift, predatory pounce. like when a deer gets suddenly ripped apart. your head straight up drops on sukuna's shoulder, and you're sobbing loudly, babbling words that can't be defined.

then all of a sudden, sukuna outright cackles; the sound bleeds into your ringing ears, head picking up off of his shoulder.

"no fuckin' way!" he roars with laughter. you wanna shush him, but you can't move—your nerve ends are all bursting to life, like fruitful grapes popping between two fingers. it's happening again, whatever that feeling is, whelming you; this time you his fingers rub back and forth harshly across your clit, but wait—

"dumb lil pussy's squirtin' already, hahh, shit—fuckin' christ, girl—" he's enamored, watching you cum in adorable little spurts, soaking his clothes, your tights, and the kitchen floor, covering everything in your stupid juices.

"you wanted this, goddamn—look at you."

your eyes are rolled back as he kisses you again, fingers tearing into your scalp, the lewd sound of your lips smacking together filling the air.

never in your fucking life. you'd never came like that, so violently, so carelessly, not without really, really trying. all sukuna had to do was pump you up and down on his cock, say a few words and you were spraying like a tap. how fucking pathetic.

and then he does it again. drags another one out of you, laughing.

you barely catch his next words.

"'m gonna fuckin' cum in ya."

"n—no—" you stumble out, barely coming to at the words, but their enough to fill you with at least some urgency. your ass is bruised at the back from being repeatedly slammed against the counter, the wind knocked out of you entirely. "d-don't, wait, you can't—"

"why the fuck not, hah?" sukuna rumbles. "don't tell me it's cuz'a—"

"—yuji," you sob.

it hits you. it hits you then, hard, at the worst time. a gut-punch, one that makes you heave. in less than half a second, a guilt strong enough to set your skin alight cultivates and wrecks each single sense. his cologne invades your nostrils, an imaginary sensation, forced to breathe its natural, tender nature as opposed to sukuna's harsh and crude and brooding one, the one you're drowning in. the one sticking to your skin.

your hand—finally letting go of sukuna's shoulder, where you were keeping yourself stable—slaps over your mouth, tears springing into your eyes.

"f—fuck, fuck, fuck!" sukuna chants, eyes scrunching as he gets lost in the pleasure. he's pounding you, knocking your eyes back still, not slowing his pace for anything. your leg flails once, but how can you fight when he's holding you up like this?

"'s—'kuna," you choke out brokenly, slapping his chest with whatever strength you can muster. your lip quivers, heart aching in your chest as you plead tearfully, "don't."

he'd never been considerate. he'd never 'made love'. not even now. he fucked. he lied, he slipped off condoms, he 'forgot' to pull out, all so many times before. it was clockwork to him. he could've easily done it again. lied. been selfish. blurred the lines. cheated consent.

put a baby in his little brother's whore girlfriend.

and yet sukuna weirdly found himself pulling out of you last second, one hand holding you up while the other jerked his cock until thick ropes of cum splattered up your dress with a strained grunt. his orgasm spoils at it hits, a rough ecstasy that's tattered along the edges and ultimately, ultimately unsatisfying. it barely scratches the surface. the heat of it hasn't even started leaving his body before he wants more, regrets not filling you up, every cell inside him clawing for it, starved and fucking addicted.

sukuna almost, almost crushes you against the island, dropping you on the counter again where your drenched cunt feels like it's been electrocuted when met with the cold so suddenly. you gasp, arching into him, searching for any kind of warmth.

but he rips away from you, turning his back. his touch is gone as soon as it came. any desire flatlines, ringing loudly, blaring in your sensitive ears. alarm bells.

what is this?

both your chests are heaving. there's no afterglow. it's messy, dirty, frantic. cheap. depraved.

and it seems like you aren't the only one.

"s-sukuna, i—"

CLICK.

lips snapping shut, you sit right up, head whipping around in the most deafeningly guilty sense ever. heart in your throat, your expression echoes one of pure horror, one you expect will reflect your boyfriend's when he realizes what's going on here.

yuji stumbles out of the bathroom, his mop of pink hair tousled and eyelids low. he hangs by the doorframe for several seconds, his head dropped, not even looking up. it takes only a few steps. they're slow, clumsy, lead him to the bedroom door. he doesn't notice. he doesn't notice.

his older brother and his girlfriend are feet away, covered in squirt and sperm and other dirty secrets. shame. guilt. some more than others.

and he just blunders into the bedroom, a loud 'thump', telling you that he made it to bed.

all you do is stare. your jaw stays slack.

you hear a zipper and, frazzled, quickly flit your head at sukuna. he's fixing his clothes, not paying you any mind.

you stare at his back, despairing.

"wh—you're just gonna...?" you stammer incredulously, trying to do the same but there's no fixing the gaping hole in your tights that reaches down to your mid thighs.

away from his gaze, him cum settles against the fabric of your torn up dress, pooling slowly in its place.

his cock, hardly soft, twitches again, urging his need. he ends up frozen for a moment, simply staring, before he numbly moves forward.

he leaves, leaving you sat on the counter as he storms out into the night, slamming the front door behind him.

you're alone there, stunned, cum up your dress that is almost but not quite your boyfriend's, the floor below you soaked, and a heartbeat in every part of your body.

trembling, you push yourself off of the counter.

vaguely aware of the layout of the house, you scramble to find some wipes and clean up the mess on the floor. after that, it takes at least 10 minutes to get the semen out of your dress, but even then, you feel filthy.

you sniffle over the sink, scrubbing soapy suds into your tainted skin. wanting to throw up.

what the fuck had you done?

you'd cheated. that's it. you cheated on the sweetest angel, your angel, yuji. the one entirely too gentle and trusting for this world. you betrayed him. a sob rips through you, shattering your core.

stupid, stupid, stupid.

as you sneak back into bed, fingers still shaking as they turn the handle to yuji's room, you don't even have the energy to change your clothes. you simply crawl into bed, too crushed to face him, not garnering the strength, knowing what you'd done. a tear slips down your cheek.

because you can't even regret it.

and before you know it, yuji's draping himself over you, his arms, pulling you against the haven of his chest, sighing against your neck.

"you made it..." he mumbles.

oh, how you want to sob when he says such a thing. "yeah," you nod, trying to suppress the break in your voice, "yeah, i'm here."

yuji grunts happily, snuggling you closer. "mmh, good."

you don't think you will ever forgive yourself.

"i love you." yuji says, blind to the truth.

but you swear it's not one-sided. "i love you," you admit, beginning to cry softly in his arms, wondering if it will be the last time you ever get the liberty of doing so again.

[mcrdvcks]

i love you, in every time ࿐‧₊ 1880 - labyrinth of my heart

chapter summary: When walking the streets of Chicago he spots you across the street, so real, so alive. Logan takes this as a second chance; but fear slowly slithers up, making him wonder if he'll lose you all over again.

word count: 9.3k+

pairing: Logan Howlett x fem!reader

notes: first, i want to say thank you so much for the support and love for this series! this is way shorter than the first chapter, only because i wanted the ending to feel abrupt to hopefully make it feel more realistic. anyways, i'm super excited for next chapter since it's a concept i haven't ever really done before. but for now, enjoy this while it lasts :)

warnings/tags: fluff, angst, outdated mindsets on women, character death

series masterlist - chapter 1 → chapter 3

Logan left New York City after you died, going back to Victor who told him exactly what he expected to hear, ‘you shouldn’t have fallen in love,’ and ‘the only people we can trust is each other’.

The Civil War had begun seven years after your death as he and Victor fought for the North for four whole years. There was one thing he always kept with him, the ring he bought for you, that he never got to use. It stayed in his pocket at all times, never leaving, always there.

He had been doing the same thing he was doing before he met you, moving around the country, never staying in a spot for too long, doing odd jobs to stay afloat.

Logan found himself in Chicago, walking along the sidewalk, the faint sound of a train in the distance. The air was heavy with the scent of coal smoke, the city bustling with life in the late afternoon. Men in long coats and women in modest dresses hurried past him, some tipping their hats in his direction as he walked by. It was just another city to him, another place he would pass through on his way to nowhere in particular.

It had been 26 years since you died. Twenty-six long years, but to Logan, it still felt like yesterday. The weight of your loss hadn’t lessened. If anything, it had only grown heavier. Every town, every face he saw, reminded him of you in some way. That soft smile you always wore, the way you’d brush your hair behind your ear when you were deep in thought. He kept your memory alive in the smallest of ways. The ring he’d never had the chance to give you stayed in his pocket, its presence a constant, painful reminder.

He walked without a destination, his mind lost in the past as his feet carried him down the streets of Chicago. The city had a pulse of its own, far different from the quiet life in New York where you’d once lived, where you had died in his arms. He hadn't felt truly alive since then—just going through the motions of life, the decades slipping by as if time itself didn’t matter.

As Logan neared a small schoolhouse, something caught his eye. A group of children were gathered outside, their laughter echoing through the street as they played. But it wasn’t the children that caused Logan to stop. It was the woman standing among them, her smile bright as she helped one of the younger boys tie his shoe. The world around him seemed to blur, fading away as his gaze locked onto her.

It was you.

Logan’s heart stilled in his chest. He blinked, sure that his eyes were playing tricks on him, but there you were, the same face, the same gentle presence. You looked exactly as you had all those years ago—maybe a little younger, maybe a little different, but unmistakably you.

For a moment, he couldn’t move. He just stood there, watching you laugh with the children, completely unaware of his presence. His mind struggled to make sense of what he was seeing. You were dead. He had been there. He had held you as you took your last breath, felt the life leave your body. And yet, here you were, as if the last 26 years had never happened.

Logan’s feet moved on their own, pulling him closer to the schoolyard. His heart pounded in his chest, his throat dry. His mind raced with a thousand questions. How could this be? Was it some kind of dream? A cruel trick?

But the closer he got, the more real you became. You were wearing a simple dress, your hair tied up in a way he hadn’t seen before, and yet everything about you felt so familiar. The way you carried yourself, the warmth in your eyes as you spoke to the children—it was all you.

“Excuse me, miss,” he called out, his voice rougher than he intended.

You turned at the sound of his voice, your eyes meeting his for the first time, and Logan felt his heart lurch. It was like being thrown back in time—like the years between this moment and the day you died had vanished. You looked at him with a polite curiosity, but there was no recognition in your eyes. No flicker of memory. To you, he was just a stranger.

“Yes, can I help you?” you asked, your voice soft, kind.

Logan’s breath caught in his throat. He didn’t know what to say. How could he possibly explain what was running through his mind? How could he tell you that he had loved you, that he had lost you, and that now—somehow—you were standing in front of him again?

“I... I thought I knew you,” he said, his voice low, almost a whisper. He didn’t trust himself to say more. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, the ring in his pocket suddenly feeling heavier than ever.

You smiled, but it was the smile of someone trying to be polite, not of someone who knew him. “I don’t think we’ve met before,” you said. “I’m Y/N. I’m the schoolteacher here.”

Logan swallowed hard. Of course, you wouldn’t remember. You had no idea who he was, no memory of the life you’d lived before. To you, this was just another day, another moment. But to Logan, it was everything. The realization hit him like a punch to the gut. You were here, alive again, but you weren’t his Y/N. Not yet, anyway.

“I’m Logan,” he finally managed, his voice thick with emotion he couldn’t hide. He couldn’t take his eyes off you, his heart aching in a way that felt both familiar and new.

You nodded, offering another warm smile. “It’s nice to meet you, Logan. Was there something you needed?”

Logan shook his head slowly, still reeling from the shock of seeing you again. “No,” he said quietly. “No, I... I just thought you looked like someone I used to know.”

You tilted your head slightly, a curious look in your eyes. “I get that sometimes. Chicago’s a big city, but it can feel small.”

Logan nodded, though his mind was far from this moment. He couldn’t tear his gaze away from you, couldn’t shake the feeling that this was some kind of miracle—a second chance. But what could he do with it? Could he approach you, tell you everything? Or would that only drive you away?

Before he could say anything more, the school bell rang, and the children started to gather their things. You glanced back at the sound, then looked at him with an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry, I have to get back to my class. But maybe I’ll see you around?”

Logan nodded, his throat too tight to respond with words. He watched as you turned and walked back toward the schoolhouse, his heart aching with the weight of all the things he couldn’t say.

For the first time in 26 years, Logan felt hope stir in his chest. You were here. You were alive. And even if you didn’t remember him, even if you didn’t know who he was... he couldn’t walk away. Not this time.

---

Logan stayed near the schoolyard most afternoons, hidden just enough not to draw attention, watching you from a distance. It felt strange, almost painful, standing there, knowing you had no idea who he was. Every time you emerged from the schoolhouse with Ida, another schoolteacher, chatting and laughing, the urge to approach you tugged at him. But fear held him back—fear that you’d think he was insane, or worse, that you’d reject him outright.

He clenched his fists inside his coat pockets, feeling the cool metal of the ring press against his palm. It had been with him through wars, across states, through lifetimes. And now, here you were, alive again, and he still didn’t know what to do with it.

It was absurd, the way his heart raced just from seeing you walk down the street. How after all these years—after so much pain—hope could sneak its way back in. This wasn’t just a coincidence. It couldn’t be. Logan wasn’t the type to believe in magic or miracles, but what else could explain this?

As he lingered, the school bell rang, signaling the end of another day. Children poured out of the building, laughing and running. A few hung on your arms as you walked them down the steps, their chatter filling the air.

Logan shifted from foot to foot, nerves prickling along his spine. Just talk to her, idiot. You’ve been through worse.

But when you stepped into the street, Ida at your side as usual, the words died in his throat.

“Y/N, you coming for dinner at my place tonight?” Ida asked, tucking a stray curl beneath her bonnet.

You smiled, brushing your hands on your skirts. “Can’t tonight, but I’ll stop by tomorrow. The kids wore me out today.”

Ida chuckled. “You’ll turn into an old maid before you’re thirty at this rate.”

You rolled your eyes, but your laugh was warm. Logan felt the sound of it settle deep in his chest—like an old memory coming back to life. It was a laugh he hadn’t heard in 26 years, and it took everything in him not to run to you right then and there.

As you and Ida turned the corner toward the tenement, Logan followed at a distance. His heart hammered against his ribs. He just needed a moment, a chance to say something—anything.

Finally, the two of you paused outside the building. Ida gave you a quick hug before heading upstairs, leaving you alone on the stoop. You stood there for a moment, adjusting your shawl against the evening chill.

This is it. Now or never.

Logan forced his feet to move, crossing the street toward you.

You looked up as he approached, a little surprised but not alarmed. “Logan, wasn’t it?”

His throat felt tight, but he gave a short nod. “Yeah. Logan.”

You smiled softly, the same kind smile that had haunted his dreams. “What brings you by?”

He cleared his throat, trying to find the right words. “I... I’ve been meaning to talk to you.”

Your brow furrowed slightly, but there was no fear, only curiosity. “About what?”

Logan shifted his weight, his hands tightening around the edges of his coat. The ring in his pocket seemed to burn against his skin, a reminder of everything unsaid.

“I... You remind me of someone,” he admitted, voice low. “Someone I lost a long time ago.”

You studied him for a moment, your gaze steady but gentle. “I’m sorry,” you said quietly. “That must’ve been hard.”

Logan’s jaw clenched. “Yeah,” he muttered. “It was.”

There was a beat of silence between you—heavy, charged with the weight of all the things Logan couldn’t say. You didn’t know him, didn’t know what you’d meant to him in another life, but standing here, so close to you again, it felt like the world had tilted back into place.

“You... wanna walk for a bit?” Logan asked suddenly, the words tumbling out before he could stop them.

You hesitated, but only for a moment. Something in his expression must’ve stirred your kindness, because you nodded. “Alright.”

The two of you started down the sidewalk together, the city humming around you. Logan kept his hands stuffed in his pockets, fingers brushing the ring again and again like a talisman.

“So, how long have you been in Chicago?” you asked, glancing over at him.

Logan shrugged. “Not long. Just passing through.”

You gave a small smile. “It’s a good place to get lost in for a while.”

He huffed a quiet laugh. “Yeah. Guess so.”

The conversation fell into a comfortable rhythm after that—small talk, nothing too deep. Logan told you bits and pieces about his travels, careful not to reveal too much. He learned that you’d moved to Chicago a couple of years ago, taking the teaching job because it felt right.

“I’ve always liked working with kids,” you said with a soft smile. “There’s something... hopeful about it, you know?”

Logan nodded, though hope had been a foreign concept to him for a long time. But walking beside you now, listening to your voice, he felt something stir in him—a flicker of warmth he thought he’d lost forever.

As the evening deepened and the sky turned a dusky purple, you reached your building again. You stopped on the stoop, turning to face him.

“Thank you for the walk,” you said, your smile gentle. “It was nice.”

Logan nodded, his heart heavy with everything he wanted to say but couldn’t. “Yeah. It was.”

For a moment, it felt like time stood still—like the universe had bent just enough to give him this moment with you. And even though you didn’t remember him, didn’t know the history you shared, Logan knew he couldn’t let you slip away again.

“Y/N...” he began, his voice low, almost hesitant.

You tilted your head, waiting.

He swallowed hard, the words catching in his throat. “Can I see you again?”

Your smile widened, something warm flickering in your eyes. “I’d like that.”

Logan gave a short nod, his heart pounding against his ribs.

“Good,” he murmured.

And for the first time in 26 years, Logan allowed himself to believe—just for a moment—that maybe, just maybe, he’d found his way back to you.

---

You had taken up Ida’s offer after all, you lived in the same building so it wasn’t like it was out of the way for you.

“Oh, hey! Thought you weren’t gonna come by.”

You shrugged, taking off your shawl, “changed my mind.” You sat down on the couch and told Ida about your walk with Logan, and she listened intently.

“I’m surprised you hadn’t noticed him. He’s been watching the schoolyard for the past few weeks.”

"Wait, what do you mean, ‘he’s been watching the schoolyard for weeks?’” you asked, your brows knitting together as you leaned forward.

Ida waved her hand dismissively but gave you a sly smile. “Oh, don’t get the wrong idea. He hasn’t been creepy about it or anything. Just... noticed him hanging around, that’s all. Kind of hard to miss a guy like that, don’t you think?”

You blinked, a sudden flush creeping up your neck. “A guy like what?”

“Oh, come on, Y/N,” she teased, sitting down across from you. “Tall, rugged... that serious, brooding look. You’re telling me you didn’t notice? He’s practically been glued to the corner across from the schoolhouse for days.”

You chewed on your bottom lip, thinking back to the walk you’d just had with Logan. You hadn’t seen him watching the school, but now that Ida mentioned it... there had been something in his eyes. A familiarity you couldn’t quite place, like he was looking at you but seeing something—or someone—else.

“I didn’t know he was hanging around,” you admitted, glancing down at your hands. “But... he seems kind. Sad, but kind.”

Ida leaned back, crossing her arms over her chest with a thoughtful hum. “Sad, huh? You picked up on that, too?”

You nodded, feeling a strange tightness in your chest. There had been a weight to Logan’s presence, something unspoken in his voice, like he was carrying the world on his shoulders. And then there was the way he looked at you—like he wanted to say something but couldn’t bring himself to.

“You think he’s okay?” you asked quietly.

Ida shrugged, her teasing expression softening. “Who knows? The world’s a tough place. We all got our own burdens to carry. But... maybe he’s looking for something.”

“Looking for what?”

“Maybe someone to share the load,” she replied with a small smile, her eyes twinkling. “Maybe that someone’s you.”

You shook your head, the idea seeming too far-fetched. “I don’t even know him, Ida. I mean, we just talked for the first time today.”

“Hey, stranger things have happened,” Ida said, getting up to grab a pot of tea from the stove. “You felt something, right? That’s not nothing.”

You sighed, leaning back against the couch. “I guess. He did say I reminded him of someone he lost.”

Ida paused, setting the teapot down carefully. “Lost, huh? That would explain the sad part. But... why hang around you then? What’s he hoping to find?”

“I don’t know,” you murmured, more to yourself than to her. The idea that Logan had been watching you, even unknowingly, made something stir in your chest—a mix of curiosity and something you couldn’t quite name.

Ida handed you a cup of tea, sitting back down beside you. “Well, maybe next time you see him, you can ask.”

You looked up at her, one eyebrow raised. “Ask him why he’s hanging around the schoolyard?”

Ida laughed softly. “Maybe not that bluntly, but yeah. There’s something about him, Y/N. Might be worth finding out what.”

You sipped the tea, the warmth spreading through you. Maybe Ida was right. Maybe Logan was carrying something heavy, and maybe—just maybe—you could help.

---

The next day, you found yourself more aware of your surroundings as you walked to the schoolhouse. Every sound, every movement seemed sharper. You scanned the street, looking for a familiar figure, but Logan wasn’t there—at least, not that you could see.

The day went on as usual, though you felt a bit distracted, your mind drifting to the walk you’d shared with him. There was something about Logan that pulled at you, a quiet intensity that you couldn’t shake. He was a mystery, and part of you wanted to solve it.

When the school day ended, you lingered outside a little longer than usual, hoping—half-expecting—that he might show up again. The children ran off, their laughter echoing down the street as they disappeared into their homes. You smiled at the sight, but your thoughts were elsewhere.

“Looking for someone?”

You jumped slightly, turning to find Logan standing just a few feet away. He had approached so quietly you hadn’t even heard him.

“Logan,” you said, surprised but not unwelcome. “I didn’t see you.”

He gave a small shrug, his hands shoved into his coat pockets. “Didn’t mean to sneak up on you.”

You smiled softly, your heartbeat slowing as the initial surprise wore off. “It’s alright. Just didn’t expect to see you today.”

Logan shifted his weight, his gaze flicking to the ground for a moment before meeting yours again. “I wanted to see if you’d like to take another walk. If you’re not too tired, that is.”

You hesitated, but only for a second. There was something in his voice—something vulnerable, almost hesitant. And despite not knowing him well, you found yourself wanting to say yes.

“I’d like that,” you said, stepping down from the schoolhouse stoop.

The two of you started walking again, this time in a different direction, the afternoon sun casting long shadows over the street. For a while, neither of you spoke. It was a comfortable silence, though, the kind that didn’t need to be filled with words. Logan walked beside you, his steps steady but deliberate, like he was trying to figure something out.

“Why’ve you been hanging around the school?” you finally asked, your curiosity getting the better of you. “Ida said she noticed you there for a while.”

Logan’s jaw tightened slightly, and he didn’t answer right away. When he did, his voice was quiet. “I wasn’t trying to... I don’t know. I guess I was just... drawn there.”

“Drawn there?” you echoed, glancing up at him.

He nodded, his gaze fixed ahead. “Yeah. Like I said before, you remind me of someone.”

You didn’t press, sensing that whatever it was, it was personal. Instead, you walked in silence for a few more steps before Logan stopped abruptly.

“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” he said, turning to face you fully. His eyes were intense, but there was something almost apologetic in them. “If I am, just tell me, and I’ll leave you alone.”

You shook your head quickly. “No, you’re not making me uncomfortable.”

Logan studied your face, his expression unreadable for a moment. Then he gave a small nod, almost as if he was relieved.

“Alright,” he said quietly.

The conversation shifted after that, lightening as you talked about small things—the city, your students, even the weather. Logan listened more than he spoke, but you could feel him relax bit by bit, the tension in his posture easing as the afternoon wore on.

When you reached your building again, Logan stopped with you on the stoop. There was a moment of hesitation, like he wasn’t sure if he should stay or go.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” you asked, offering him a small smile.

Logan looked at you for a long beat before nodding. “Yeah. Tomorrow.”

As you turned to head inside, you couldn’t help but glance back over your shoulder. Logan was still standing there, watching you with that same look in his eyes—the one that made you feel like you were more than just a stranger to him.

And in that moment, you realized... you didn’t want to be just a stranger to him either.

---

After about a week of Logan walking you home, it became a familiar routine. Each time, you’d stand on the stoop, exchanging a few words before you’d head inside, always with that lingering feeling of something left unsaid. But tonight was different—the air was colder, and the wind was biting, so when you reached your building, you didn’t hesitate.

“You’re not going out in that cold again,” you said firmly, reaching for his arm. He tensed slightly under your touch, but you ignored it, tugging him toward the door. “Ten minutes outside in the cold, you need to warm up before you go.”

Logan didn’t protest, but you could sense his hesitation. He glanced around the dimly lit hallway as you led him up the stairs to your small apartment.

“Don’t worry,” you teased, trying to lighten the mood. “I won’t keep you long. Just until you can feel your fingers again.”

He gave a small, almost imperceptible nod, following you inside. Once you were both in, you motioned for him to sit down on the worn couch, tossing your shawl onto a chair as you made your way to the stove to boil some water for tea.

Logan stood there for a moment, his eyes scanning the modest space, before finally sitting down. His presence seemed to fill the room, making it feel smaller, more intimate.

“You don’t gotta fuss,” he muttered, his gruff voice breaking the silence. “I’m alright.”

“Humor me,” you replied with a soft smile, setting a kettle on the stove. “Besides, I’ve been dragging you along on these walks. Least I can do is make sure you’re not freezing to death.”

Logan huffed a quiet laugh, leaning back into the couch. His eyes followed your movements, though his expression stayed guarded. He looked... cautious, like he wasn’t sure how to be here with you, in this space. It was strange, this carefulness, coming from a man who seemed so unbreakable.

“Why don’t you tell me more about yourself?” you asked, turning to face him while the water heated up. “We’ve been walking for a week, and I feel like I barely know you.”

Logan’s gaze shifted, and you could tell he was weighing his words. “Not much to tell,” he said after a beat. “Just a guy who’s been around a while.”

You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms. “That’s it? No family, no friends? You just... wander?”

He looked down at his hands, his fingers idly tracing the worn fabric of the couch. “Had family once. Friends, too. Lost most of ‘em.”

There was a heaviness in his voice, and you could feel the weight of his words. You didn’t push him, though. Instead, you poured the hot water into two cups, walking over and handing him one.

“Sorry,” you said softly. “That must’ve been hard.”

Logan took the cup but didn’t drink right away. He stared down into the tea, his expression unreadable. “Life’s hard for everyone,” he muttered, more to himself than to you.

You sat down beside him, the warmth from the cup seeping into your hands. For a while, the two of you sat in silence, sipping tea and letting the quiet fill the space. There was something about being near him that made you feel calm, like the world slowed down for a little while when he was around.

“Why’d you let me walk with you?” Logan asked suddenly, his voice rougher than before.

You blinked, caught off guard by the question. “What do you mean?”

“You don’t know me,” he said, shaking his head slightly. “Most people wouldn’t... They’d be scared, or they’d push me away. But you... you let me stay.”

You frowned, trying to find the right words. “I don’t know... I guess I just felt like... I should.” You shrugged, feeling a little self-conscious under his intense gaze. “Besides, you’re not exactly a scary guy. Brooding, sure, but not scary.”

A small, barely-there smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “You’re not afraid of much, are you?”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “Not really. I mean, what’s the point of being afraid? Life’s hard enough without worrying about things that might not even happen.”

Logan’s smile faded, replaced by that familiar look of sadness. He stared into his cup for a moment, then set it down on the table in front of him. “Yeah,” he muttered. “Guess you’re right.”

The silence stretched between you again, but this time it felt heavier, like there was something unsaid hanging in the air. You could feel it, pressing down on both of you, but neither of you seemed ready to break it.

Finally, Logan stood up, his movements slow and deliberate. “I should go,” he said, though he didn’t make a move toward the door.

You stood up too, your heart pounding a little harder than usual. “Logan...”

He turned to face you, his eyes dark and full of something you couldn’t quite place. “Yeah?”

You took a step closer, your hand reaching out to touch his arm again. “You don’t have to carry it all alone,” you said softly.

For a moment, he just looked at you, his expression unreadable. Then, without saying a word, he nodded once, a silent acknowledgment that you didn’t need to explain.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said quietly before turning to leave.

You watched him go, your heart heavy but hopeful. There was something between you—something unspoken, something old—and you weren’t ready to let it go.

Not yet.

---

It had taken a few more days to convince Logan to come back into your apartment. You weren’t sure how you convinced him this time, but you were happy that you did.

Your apartment smelled nice and homey. Before you had left for work, you had put bread in the oven to bake, and now, as you came back home with Logan in tow, it was finished. The warm, inviting scent of freshly baked bread filled the room as you stepped inside. Logan hesitated in the doorway, lingering for a moment before following you in, his expression unreadable but curious.

You busied yourself with the bread, slicing into the crust and offering Logan a piece. He took it, though his attention seemed more focused on you than the food.

"Thanks," he muttered, taking a bite.

You smiled, trying to ignore the way your heart sped up just from him being here. "I was thinking..." you started, turning to grab a couple of plates from the cupboard. "Maybe we could go into the city tomorrow? It’s market day. There's a lot to see, and it’d be nice to get out of the schoolhouse routine for a bit."

Logan raised an eyebrow, leaning back against the counter. "Market, huh?"

"Yeah, you know, just... walk around. Maybe pick up a few things." You looked over at him, half expecting him to decline, but to your surprise, he didn’t.

"Alright," he said, his voice low but without hesitation. "I’ll come with you."

You smiled, feeling a small flutter of excitement in your chest. "Great. It’ll be fun. I promise."

---

The next day, you found yourself walking through the bustling streets of Chicago with Logan by your side. The market was crowded, full of people haggling and chatting, the air thick with the smell of fresh produce, spices, and the occasional whiff of roasting meat. It was a world away from the quiet walks you'd shared, and you could feel Logan's unease in the busy atmosphere. But he stayed close, his hand brushing yours more than once as you wove through the crowd.

"Do you come here often?" Logan asked, his eyes scanning the vendors with mild interest.

"Once or twice a month," you replied. "I like the energy here. Makes the city feel alive, you know?"

Logan grunted in response, though he didn’t seem entirely convinced. You could tell he wasn’t used to this—being around so many people—but he stuck close to you, his presence protective without being overbearing.

After a while, you stopped at a stall selling flowers. The colors were vibrant, a burst of life in the middle of the dusty street. You picked up a small bouquet of wildflowers, smiling as you held them up.

"These are my favorite," you said, glancing up at Logan. "They're simple but... I don't know, they make me happy."

Logan’s gaze softened as he looked at the flowers in your hand, then back at you. There was something in his eyes, a flicker of something unspoken, but he didn’t say anything. Instead, he reached into his coat and pulled out a few coins, handing them to the vendor before you could protest.

"Logan, you don’t have to—"

"Consider it a thank you," he said quietly, cutting you off. "For the bread."

You blinked, surprised but touched by the gesture. "Well, thank you."

He nodded, and the two of you continued walking, the flowers resting in the crook of your arm as the city bustled around you. For a while, you walked in comfortable silence, the sounds of the market fading into the background as the two of you wandered further from the busy streets. Eventually, you found a quiet park at the edge of the city, a small, peaceful space away from the noise.

You sat down on a bench, feeling the cool breeze brush against your skin. Logan sat beside you, his posture relaxed but his eyes always scanning the area, as if he couldn’t fully let his guard down.

"Do you ever stop looking over your shoulder?" you asked, half teasing but curious.

Logan’s mouth twitched into a small smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. "Old habit."

You studied him for a moment, sensing there was more behind those words. He had a way of holding himself, like he was always ready for something, always waiting. It made you wonder just how much he’d seen, how much he’d lived through.

"I’m glad you came with me today," you said softly, looking out at the park. "I feel like I’ve been stuck in a routine for a while now. It’s nice to just... do something different."

Logan glanced at you, his gaze lingering a little longer than usual. "I’m glad I came too," he admitted, his voice low.

There was something in the way he said it, something that made your heart skip a beat. The air between you felt different, charged with a quiet tension that neither of you seemed willing to break. You wondered if he felt it too—the strange pull between you, like something just beneath the surface was waiting to be uncovered.

After a long pause, Logan spoke again. "I ain’t good at... this." He gestured vaguely, his brow furrowing as he searched for the right words. "Being close to people."

You turned to him, surprised by the admission. "You’re doing fine," you said gently.

Logan’s jaw clenched slightly, and he shook his head. "It’s not that simple."

You felt a pang of something—sympathy, maybe, or understanding. Whatever it was, it made you reach out, your hand lightly brushing his. "You don’t have to explain," you said softly. "I get it."

Logan’s eyes flickered down to where your hand rested near his. For a moment, he didn’t move. Then, slowly, he turned his hand over, his rough fingers brushing against yours in the faintest of touches. It wasn’t much, but it felt like a step—like maybe, just maybe, he was letting you in.

---

As you walked to the tenement building after work one day, you glanced over at Logan. “You ever been to the exhibition hall in the city?”

Logan looked over to you, slightly puzzled by the question. “The exhibition?”

You nodded, turning toward him. “There’s a display of inventions and art from all over. I heard they’ve got this new thing—electric lights. I was thinking about going this weekend, and… maybe you’d like to come with me?”

For a moment, Logan just stared at you, as if unsure what to say. The idea of stepping out into the city, surrounded by people, probably wasn’t something he did often. But he shifted slightly, his eyes softening in that way they did when you caught him off guard.

“You want me to go with you?” he asked, a hint of surprise in his voice.

“Well, yeah,” you said, smiling. “We’ve been walking the same few streets for days. Thought it might be nice to do something different. Besides, I’m curious about those lights. They say it’s going to change the way people live.”

Logan gave a low, thoughtful hum, and for a moment, you worried he might decline. But then he nodded slowly, his expression softening further. “Alright. I’ll go.”

Your smile widened. “Great! We can meet at my place on Saturday afternoon, then head out.”

The conversation drifted back into easier topics—your students, a new bakery that had opened nearby, and the way the city seemed to grow busier every day. But beneath it all, you couldn’t shake the feeling that this small invitation marked a shift, a way to see more of who Logan was beyond the quiet man who walked beside you in silence. Maybe out in the world, you’d understand him better.

---

Saturday came quickly, and the two of you walked side by side through the busy streets, the sounds of horses and carriages filling the air. You led Logan through the bustling avenues toward the exhibition hall, your excitement barely contained.

“Ever seen anything like this?” you asked, glancing up at him as the towering hall came into view.

Logan’s eyes flicked over the building, a hint of amusement tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Not in a while.”

Inside, the hall was a wonder of modern marvels. Booths lined with mechanical inventions, sculptures, and paintings from around the world. The hum of excitement filled the air, and the bright new electric lights cast a strange, almost magical glow over everything.

You wandered the displays together, your curiosity leading the way. Logan stayed close, his attention less on the inventions and more on you. Every now and then, he'd glance at a piece of machinery or a strange-looking contraption, but his eyes kept drifting back to your face, watching the way your expression changed with each new discovery.

"This is incredible," you murmured, leaning in to get a closer look at a large machine labeled as an ‘automatic loom.’ You smiled at Logan, your excitement clear. "Can you imagine how much time this would save?"

Logan nodded, though you could tell his thoughts were elsewhere. "Yeah, I can see how it'd be useful."

You moved to the next display, but Logan lingered for a moment. When he finally caught up, you were already studying a painting—a soft, pastoral scene that contrasted with the industrial energy around you.

"It's beautiful, isn’t it?" you said, glancing at him.

Logan’s gaze flicked to the painting, but quickly returned to you. "Yeah," he said, though it was clear he wasn’t talking about the art.

You felt his eyes on you again and looked up, meeting his gaze. There was something there—something that made your heart skip. Logan had always been protective, always hovering just close enough to shield you if need be. But this felt different, like there was more to it now.

"You sure this ain’t boring for you?" you asked, trying to lighten the moment. "I know you’re not one for crowds."

Logan gave a quiet grunt, his version of a chuckle. "It’s fine. Long as you’re enjoying yourself."

You smiled, touched by the sentiment. "I am. Thanks for coming with me."

For a while, you wandered together in silence, taking in the sights and sounds of the exhibition hall. The crowds around you buzzed with excitement, but the space between you and Logan felt almost separate—like the world had shrunk to just the two of you.

At one point, you stopped in front of a display showcasing early electric light bulbs. "Look at that," you said, pointing to the glass bulbs flickering with soft light. "They’re saying these will replace gas lamps soon."

Logan raised an eyebrow. "Doesn’t seem right, replacing something that’s worked for so long."

"Change is good sometimes," you said, glancing at him. "It keeps things moving forward."

Logan met your eyes, his expression soft but thoughtful. "Guess I’ve never been good with change."

You tilted your head slightly, sensing the weight behind his words. "Maybe you just haven’t found the right reason to embrace it yet."

For a moment, Logan didn’t respond. His gaze lingered on you, like he was trying to make sense of something. Then, slowly, he nodded. "Maybe."

As the afternoon wore on, the two of you eventually stepped outside the exhibition hall, the sun low in the sky and the city’s evening glow starting to take over. The air felt cooler now, a welcome relief after the warmth of the crowded hall.

You walked beside Logan in comfortable silence, but the charged undercurrent between you hadn’t faded. It felt like something had shifted—like you’d both acknowledged a deeper connection, even if neither of you had fully put it into words yet.

"You want to get something to eat?" Logan asked, breaking the silence.

"Sure," you said, smiling up at him. "There’s a place not far from here. They make the best stew."

Logan nodded, falling into step beside you again as you made your way toward the small restaurant you had in mind. The quiet between you was easy, but there was an unspoken understanding that something had changed between the two of you today. Neither of you said it out loud, but you didn’t need to.

As you entered the restaurant, the warm scent of food filled the air, and you found a table near the back, away from the main crowd. Logan took the seat across from you, his eyes scanning the room out of habit, but eventually settling back on you.

"This place isn’t so bad," he said, giving a small nod of approval.

You laughed softly. "Glad it meets your standards."

Logan smirked, but there was a softness behind it. As the two of you talked over dinner, you realized just how much you enjoyed moments like this—quiet, simple, yet meaningful. It wasn’t about grand gestures or fancy places; it was about being together, about the way Logan made you feel safe and seen.

---

One day, after inviting Logan into your apartment once again, you set out to make tea like you always do.

You felt a cough building up in your throat, so you grabbed a small handkerchief from the counter and coughed into it. You had seen the school doctor while you were at work, and he said you just had a mild cold.

Logan, who was sitting on the couch, immediately turned his head to you, his heart almost beating out of his chest. He’d heard that cough before—26 years ago.

"Y/N?" he asked, his voice low, almost hesitant.

You turned around, still holding the handkerchief to your mouth. "Yeah?" you answered casually, noticing the tension in his voice but thinking nothing of it. “Just a little cough, nothing serious. I saw the doctor earlier, and he said it’s just a cold.”

Logan stood up slowly, his eyes fixed on you, his expression unreadable. He took a step closer, his mind racing back to 1854, to your last days—bedridden and coughing, just like this. He had lost you then, watching helplessly as the illness took you. He couldn't shake the feeling, the memory, and the fear that history might repeat itself.

"Cold, huh?" he said, trying to keep his voice steady, but there was an edge to it.

"Yeah, no big deal." You smiled, folding the handkerchief and putting it back in your pocket. "Really, Logan, I’m fine."

Logan’s jaw tightened. He had seen too much, lived too long to believe in coincidence. This was too familiar, too painful. And yet, here you were—alive, vibrant. This time, he couldn’t lose you again. He wouldn't.

"You should take it easy," he said, stepping closer, his tone gentler now. "You been workin' too hard at that school."

You raised an eyebrow, sensing his concern but not quite understanding the depth of it. "I’m fine, really. It’s just a little cold. Nothing that rest and tea won’t fix."

Logan didn’t argue, but the worry in his eyes didn’t fade. He reached out, his hand hovering for a moment before he gently brushed his fingers against your arm, grounding himself in the fact that you were here, with him. This wasn’t 1854. But the memory haunted him.

You noticed the way he was looking at you, his eyes searching yours like he was afraid to lose you. "Hey," you said softly, resting a hand on his. "What’s really going on?"

Logan’s breath hitched for a moment, and he fought the urge to pull you closer, to tell you everything. But how could he? How could he explain that you’d been here before—that he’d watched you die, that he’d loved you once in another life, in another time? Instead, he just shook his head, the weight of those memories too heavy to share.

"Just... don’t push yourself too hard," he said, his voice quieter now. "I’ve seen people get worse when they don’t take care of themselves."

You nodded, though his intensity still lingered in your mind. "I promise, I’ll rest." You gave him a reassuring smile, trying to lighten the mood. "Besides, you’ll make sure I do, right?"

Logan’s lips quirked into the smallest smile, but there was still something distant in his eyes. "Yeah," he said softly. "I will."

The moment hung in the air, the unspoken weight of Logan’s past pressing down on him, though you couldn’t see it. You were the same, and yet not. The woman he had once loved and lost was standing right in front of him, alive, but without any memory of that life you’d shared.

---

You didn’t see Logan for a few days, which was unusual, ever since he started walking with you he had never missed a day.

You couldn’t help but worry a tad bit, it wasn’t like him to just not be there. Even Ida had made a few comments, including now as you sat in her apartment, just a few doors down from your own, sipping tea.

“He hasn’t been by at all?” Ida asked, her brow furrowed with concern. “That man never misses a day. He’s usually lurking outside, waitin’ to walk you home.”

You nodded, biting your lip. “Yeah, I noticed. It’s been three days now.”

Ida leaned forward, her hands folded on the table. “You don’t think somethin’s happened to him, do ya? That man is tough, sure, but even the toughest get into trouble sometimes.”

You shook your head quickly, not wanting to entertain the thought. “No, I’m sure he’s fine. Maybe he just needed some time alone. He’s... not the type to explain himself much.”

Ida hummed, though she didn’t look convinced. “Maybe. But if he doesn’t show up soon, you ought to go find him. He’s a good man, Y/N, and you’ve only known him a month, but it’s clear he cares about you.”

The truth of her words settled over you, heavy and unspoken. You cared about Logan too. Even if you didn’t quite understand the pull between you, it was there—undeniable. And the fact that he hadn’t shown up, without so much as a word, made your chest tighten with worry.

Later that evening, after you’d left Ida’s apartment and returned to your own, you couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling. Logan had become part of your routine, part of your day-to-day life. And now that he was gone, it felt like something was missing.

Just as you were about to turn in for the night, a knock sounded at the door.

Your heart jumped, and you rushed to open it, half expecting—half hoping—it would be Logan.

And there he was.

He stood in the doorway, his coat damp from the light rain outside, his hair slightly tousled. His eyes, though, were what caught you—the familiar intensity, but with something else lurking beneath. Something darker.

“Logan,” you breathed, stepping aside to let him in. “Where have you been? I was starting to get worried.”

Logan stepped into your small apartment, his broad frame somehow filling the space, making it feel even smaller. He didn’t say anything right away, just ran a hand through his hair and exhaled sharply, as if he were trying to gather his thoughts.

“I needed time,” he finally said, his voice low and gravelly.

“Time for what?” you asked gently, sensing that whatever he was about to say wasn’t easy for him.

Logan glanced at you, then looked away, as if he couldn’t meet your eyes. His jaw tightened, and you could see the struggle on his face—like he was wrestling with something deep inside. After a long pause, he spoke again, quieter this time.

“I’m scared,” he admitted, the words sounding foreign in his mouth, like he wasn’t used to saying them.

You blinked, taken aback. Logan was the last person you ever expected to hear those words from. “Scared of what?”

His eyes flickered up to meet yours, and you saw the vulnerability there, raw and unguarded. “Of losing you,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

You stared at him, your heart pounding in your chest. “Logan… we’ve only known each other for a month,” you said softly, though the words felt strange even as they left your mouth. Because deep down, it felt like you’d known him much longer—like this connection between you was more than just a month in the making.

“I know,” Logan said, his voice rough. “But it doesn’t change how I feel.”

There was something in the way he was looking at you, something desperate and pained, like he was holding onto you with everything he had. You wanted to ask him why, to understand what had happened in his past to make him feel this way. But instead, you just reached out, your hand finding his.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you said quietly, squeezing his hand gently. “I’m right here.”

Logan’s breath hitched, and before you could say anything more, he stepped closer, his hand cupping the side of your face. His thumb brushed your cheek, his touch rough but gentle, and for a moment, the world around you seemed to fall away. It was just the two of you, standing in the quiet of your apartment, the air between you thick with unspoken words.

And then, without warning, he leaned in and kissed you.

It wasn’t a gentle kiss. It was urgent, almost desperate, like he was trying to tell you everything he couldn’t put into words. His lips moved against yours with a fierceness that took your breath away, and for a moment, all you could do was hold onto him, your fingers curling into the fabric of his coat as you kissed him back.

When he finally pulled away, his forehead rested against yours, his breath warm against your skin. His hand still cupped your cheek, his thumb gently brushing along your jawline.

“I can’t lose you,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

Your heart ached at the raw honesty in his words, and you wanted to promise him that he wouldn’t—that you were here, that you weren’t going anywhere. But something about the way he said it made you hesitate, made you wonder what he wasn’t telling you.

“Logan…” you started, your voice soft. “What aren’t you telling me?”

For a long moment, he didn’t answer. His hand dropped from your face, and he took a step back, his expression guarded once again. The walls he’d let down just moments ago seemed to be rising back up.

“I’ve lived a long time,” he said finally, his voice low. “I’ve lost people before. People I cared about. I can’t… I can’t go through that again.”

You felt a pang in your chest at his words, but there was something else there too—something unspoken. “Logan… who did you lose?”

His eyes flickered with pain, but he didn’t answer. Instead, he just shook his head, as if he couldn’t bring himself to say it out loud.

You wanted to press him, to understand, but you also knew that Logan wasn’t someone who opened up easily. So instead, you just stepped closer, wrapping your arms around him in a gentle hug. He stiffened at first, but then his arms slowly came around you, pulling you close as if he was afraid to let go.

“I’m here,” you whispered against his chest. “I’m not going anywhere.”

For now, that was all you could offer him. And for now, it seemed to be enough.

---

You and Ida sat in the back of the rattling carriage, bundled against the cold, the wheels creaking beneath the weight of your bags from the market. The late afternoon sky was heavy with clouds, promising rain before nightfall and a storm by morning.

“Supposed to come down hard tomorrow,” Ida said, clutching her shawl tighter. “Glad we got everything done now. Don’t wanna be caught in that mess.”

You smiled, shifting a bag of potatoes off your lap. “It’ll be nice to have an excuse to stay in and rest. Logan’s been after me about taking it easy anyway.”

Ida gave you a knowing look, her brow lifting. “That man likes you, Y/N. More than you think.”

You shrugged, though your cheeks warmed slightly. “I know he cares. He’s just… different. Keeps to himself.”

“He’s different, alright,” Ida muttered, peering out the carriage window. “But he’s not the type to care about someone without good reason. Don’t let that one get away.”

You didn’t respond, but your thoughts drifted to Logan—how he had kissed you that night, holding you like you were the only thing keeping him grounded. There was something ancient in his touch, like he had carried the weight of loss for far too long. You didn’t fully understand it, but you felt it—something deeper than words or time.

The carriage jolted suddenly, jerking you forward in your seat. The horse up front whinnied, wild and panicked.

“Whoa!” the driver shouted, yanking hard on the reins.

You clutched Ida’s arm, your heart racing. “What’s going on?”

The driver cursed, standing in his seat to get a better look. “The damn harness snapped! The horse—”

Before he could finish, the horse bolted, the broken leather straps slapping wildly behind it. The carriage lurched, and you and Ida were thrown sideways. The wheels screamed as they spun out of control, the driver shouting as he fought to keep it steady.

“Hold on!” he yelled.

The world tilted violently as the carriage careened off the road, slamming into a ditch. Bags spilled across the floor, and you hit your shoulder hard against the side wall. Ida’s scream filled your ears, but the noise was drowned out by the thunder of the collapsing carriage, wood splintering and wheels buckling beneath the weight.

And then—nothing.

The carriage stopped, shuddering to a halt in a twisted heap at the bottom of the ditch. The rain started, light at first, pattering against the wreckage.

---

Logan was walking back toward your tenement building, the collar of his coat turned up against the cold drizzle, when he saw it—just beyond the next block, down by the road.

The sight hit him like a punch to the chest.

A carriage, overturned, one of the wheels still spinning lazily. The horse was gone, its reins dangling uselessly from the harness. People were gathering, but no one dared approach the wreckage yet.

Logan’s heart stopped. He knew—he just knew.

His feet moved before he could think. He sprinted toward the wreck, rain falling harder now, soaking through his clothes. His boots hit the muddy road with heavy thuds, splashing water as he ran faster than any ordinary man should.

By the time he reached the scene, a bystander had climbed down, trying to pry the splintered door open. Logan shoved him aside without a word, claws itching under his skin, ready to tear the door off if need be.

“Someone’s inside!” the man stammered. “Two women—”

Logan didn’t wait. His hands found the edge of the door, and with a growl of effort, he yanked it off the hinges. Inside the crumpled interior, he saw you, half-buried beneath scattered bags.

“Y/N!” His voice cracked, raw and frantic. He dropped to his knees and pulled you free, cradling you in his arms.

You stirred, barely conscious, your head lolling against his chest. Blood streaked your temple, and your breath came in shallow gasps.

“Logan…?” you whispered, confused, your hand weakly grasping his coat.

“I got you,” Logan said, his voice breaking. “I’m here. You’re gonna be fine.” But even as he said it, dread gnawed at him—this wasn’t fine. It was happening again.

Ida groaned nearby, struggling to sit up, but Logan’s focus was locked on you. He pressed a hand against your side, where your ribs felt wrong under his touch. He could feel the heat of your blood seeping into his fingers.

“No, no, no…” Logan whispered, shaking his head. The storm raged around him, but all he could hear was the shallow rasp of your breathing.

You looked up at him, your gaze unfocused, but your lips curled into the faintest smile. “I told you… I’d rest…”

“Don’t,” Logan begged, his forehead pressing against yours. “Don’t do this. Stay with me. You hear me? Stay.”

You blinked slowly, your hand slipping from his coat. “I… tried…”

Logan clenched his jaw, biting down hard against the scream building in his chest. His healing mutation would keep him alive through anything—but it couldn’t save you. Not now. Not again.

He kissed your forehead, his breath shuddering. “I can’t lose you again, darlin’. Not like this…”

Your breath hitched once, then stopped.

“No,” Logan whispered, rocking you in his arms. “No, no, no…”

His hands trembled as he pulled you closer, your lifeless body limp against him. The rain poured down harder, drumming on the wreckage, but Logan didn’t care. He sat there, holding you, feeling the familiar, soul-crushing emptiness settle in his chest like an old wound tearing open again.

And still, he held you. Because this time, just like 26 years ago, he couldn’t let go.

in this chapter logan is 48 years old and reader is around 22-24 years old. just a reminder that going forward there is going to be an age gap between the two since logan obviously keeps getting older.