#still hesitant to post because I feel like the pacing is all off

[d1stalker]

The Feeling's Mutual | Part One

[Logan Howlett x Mutant!Reader]

Summary: If somebody told you a week ago that you were a mutant, being stalked, and would be teaming up with an annoying, grumbly bastard, you probably would have laughed in their face. Too bad that was last week, because here you are, in that very situation, wondering how in the world things escalated so quickly.

PART TWO PART THREE FINAL PART

Warnings: fem!reader, canon-level violence, reluctant alliance, bickering, not exactly enemies-to-lovers but they don't rly get along, it's gonna be a slow burn y'all WC: 5.7k - MASTERLIST - A/N: If you saw me post this earlier, no you didn't 🤫 i added more hehe

You’ve never been so confused in your entire life.

It all started last week—when you were walking to the grocery store. Just an ordinary day, nothing special about it. You had a list in your hand, some cash in your pocket, and thoughts of what to cook for dinner running through your mind. The route you took had you winding down the usual streets of your neighbourhood, and that’s when you noticed him.

Something about him was different, but you couldn’t quite place your finger on what it was that made you think that. Perhaps it was the way his eyes followed you, stalking you, like a predator its prey.

At first, you thought it might be a coincidence. Maybe he was just another person going about his day, heading in the same direction as you. People share paths all the time; there was no reason to suspect anything sinister, right? But as you continued walking, a nagging feeling in the pit of your stomach told you something was off. You decided to test it, making a sudden turn down a side street, one you usually never take.

The street was quieter, less foot traffic, and the late afternoon shadows were starting to stretch across the pavement. You glanced over your shoulder, and there he was, still a few steps behind, his gaze remaining locked onto you with a focus that sent a shiver down your spine. Quickening your pace, you felt an almost paralyzing fear.

This wasn’t just a shared route. 

The more you turned, the more you weaved through unfamiliar streets, the more persistent he became. He never faltered, never hesitated, always keeping just close enough to let you know he was there.

Finally, you reached the store, breathing in short, panicked gasps, your eyes flitting around. You ducked inside, hiding the fluorescent lights and bustling aisles. You tried to calm yourself, telling yourself it was nothing, that you were being paranoid. After all, what were the odds? Maybe he’d walk past, maybe he wasn’t even following you. You spent longer than usual picking up items you didn’t need, giving him time to disappear. 

But when you walked back outside, bags in hand, you saw him again. He wasn’t right at the door, but still, close enough—across the street, half-hidden in the shadow of another building, watching. His eyes locked with yours once more, and you froze, the plastic handles of the grocery bags digging into your palms as your grip tightened in fear. He didn’t move, didn’t smile or sneer, just stood there, silent.

You rushed home, not even bothering to see if he was tracking you down, too scared to find out the answer. Your mind was racing with a million thoughts. Who was he? What did he want? You didn’t sleep much that night, jumping at every creak and groan the apartment made, the image of that man’s cold stare burned into your mind.

The next day, you told yourself it was nothing, a one-time thing, just some creep who had too much time on his hands. A pervert, possibly. 

But happened again. A different man this time, but with the same unnerving intensity. He followed you the same way, mute and relentless, through the streets, to the store, and back home.

Then the day after that, and that, and that. They didn’t approach you directly, just followed, watched, waited. It was like a game, one that you didn’t know the rules to, and the stakes felt like they were getting higher and higher and more time passed. Whenever you stepped outside, you felt their eyes on you, felt their presence lurking just out of sight. It was terrifying.

The fear gnawed at you, growing with each passing day, until it became impossible to ignore. You started taking different routes, avoiding your usual stores, changing your routine as much as you could. Still, no matter what you did, they always found you.

Soon it changed—no longer just silent stalking. One night, as you were walking home, one of the men stepped out from the shadows and blocked your path. His presence was oppressive, the way he stood there, so still, so certain of his power over you. You had no idea what he wanted, but you knew it whatever it was, it wasn’t good.

“Why are you following me?” you demanded, trying to muster up all the courage you could, voice shaking slightly despite your attempt to sound strong.

“Because we were told to,” the man said, his voice cold and emotionless. There was no malice, no pleasure in his words, just a chilling matter-of-factness. “You’re coming with us.”

Panic surged through you, a primal instinct to run, to fight, to do anything but comply. You refused to show it, refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing your fear. 

“I’m not going anywhere with you,” you spat back, hoping your defiance would be enough to make him reconsider.

His eyes narrowed, a dangerous glint flashing in them, and before you could react, he lunged at you, his fist swinging with brutal intent. Time seemed to slow as you saw the blow coming, your mind racing, but your body moving almost on instinct. You raised your arms to defend yourself, bracing for the crushing impact that would follow.

You couldn’t explain what happened next. When his fist connected with your arm, the force that should have sent you to the ground, left you unscathed. Instead, it was the man who staggered back, a look of shock and pain twisting his features. He clutched his hand, wincing as if he had struck something far harder than just flesh and bone.

You stared at him, bewildered, before glancing down at your own arm in disbelief. There was no pain, no bruise, nothing to indicate that you’d just been hit. It was as if his attack had bounced off of you, like you were made of steel.

Had you really just blocked that hit? And why did it feel like… nothing?

Before you could process what had happened, before the realization could fully take root, another man appeared out of nowhere, moving with a speed that blurred the edges of his form. Mutant. He was faster than the first, more determined, and this time, you felt your heart stop as he came at you from behind, his hands outstretched to grab you.

But something in you reacted faster than your fear. You twisted out of his grip with lightning speed, with movements so fluid and precise, it was as if your body knew exactly what to do, even if your brain was struggling to keep up. You sidestepped his attack, narrowly avoiding his grasp, and found yourself behind him, safe for the moment.

“What the hell?” you muttered under your breath, your heart pounding in your chest. How did you move like that? How had you known where to go, how to dodge?

There was no time to dwell on it. The fight intensified in an instant, the two men coming at you one after another, relentless in their assault. They weren’t holding back, and suddenly neither were you. You moved like a force of nature, dodging their attacks, striking back when you could. Each punch you threw landed with a power that surprised even you. You watched in stunned disbelief as one of the men crumpled to the ground after a single blow, his eyes rolling back as if he’d been hit by a truck.

You are not a gym regular. In fact, you hadn’t worked out in weeks. You weren’t strong, not like this. So how was it possible that your punches were so devastating, that each one seemed to carry a weight far beyond what you’d ever imagined?

Then, with a flick of his wrist, the first mutant, conjured a ball of fire in his hand, the flames crackling and roaring, craving something to burn. He hurled it at you, the fireball spinning through the air with only one target in mind. 

You barely had time to scream as the flames engulfed your arm, the searing heat burning through your skin. The pain was unbearable, a white-hot agony that made you gasp and stumble back. You expected to see your skin blackened, blistered, ruined.

And it was.

For a minute. 

To your shock—or horror—you looked down, breath catching in your throat as you watched the burn heal right before your eyes. The charred skin knitted back together in seconds, smooth and unblemished, as if nothing had happened at all.

What the fuck? 

It was in that moment that the truth hit you, like a thunderclap in your mind. You weren’t just an ordinary person caught in a nightmare. You were a mutant, with powers that had only now revealed themselves, right when you needed them most.

The men kept coming, but now you fought with a new understanding. Each punch, each dodge, each rapid movement felt more controlled, more intentional, your gym class self-defence courses coming in clutch. You were strong, faster than you’d ever been, and you could heal—regenerate from injuries that would have left others incapacitated.

Finally, the two men laid groaning on the ground, defeated. You stood there, panting, your mind spinning as you tried to make sense of it all. Super strength, super speed, regeneration… these powers, they were yours. And they had just saved your life.

But as the adrenaline began to fade, confusion set in. What did these men want with you? Why had they gone to such lengths to provoke you? To make you discover what you were capable of? 

All you knew was that one thing was clear: this was far from over. Whoever had sent these men wouldn’t stop here. They knew what you were now, and that meant they’d come after you again. You weren’t just an ordinary person anymore. You were something else, something powerful. And that put a target on your back. 

Whatever was coming next, you needed to be ready.

----

That’s how you found yourself here, one week later, crouched on the apartment rooftop, the cold wind nipping at your exposed skin. The dark streets below are eerily silent, save for the distant hum of traffic. You sense them before you see them—another group of male mutants, closing in on your position. You grip the hilt of your knife tighter, feeling the now-familiar twinge of anger and frustration settle in your chest. This is the fifth group tonight. They’ve been hunting you in groups for days now, their numbers increasing as each one goes by, and you’re tired of it. 

You’ve started to get used to your new powers—testing your limits, pushing yourself harder with each confrontation. What started as simple self-defence, a punch here, a dodge there, has escalated into something far more lethal.

You didn’t want to kill, didn’t want to by use your sharpest kitchen knife (your only kitchen knife) as a weapon, but as the attacks became more violent, you found yourself with little to no choice. 

These mutants weren’t holding back, and neither could you.

Within a week, you went from the most average person in the world to what some people might call a vigilante—except you're really only trying to save your own skin.

Leaping off the roof, you land silently behind them. The speed at which you move is almost dizzying, your body a blur as you close the distance in the blink of an eye. 

“Looking for someone?” you call out sarcastically.

They turn, eyes widening in surprise, but you’re already moving. Your blade sings through the air, striking true, as you move like a shadow, taking them down one by one. It’s not easy—these guys are tough—but you’ve become tougher. With each strike, you can feel your strength surging, far beyond what should be possible. One of the mutants tries to block you, creating a forcefield, but you grab the edges before it can fully form, and break through it, the temporary pain vanishing as quick as it came. A solid kick to his face, and he crumples to the ground, unconscious before he even realizes it.

“Is this what you wanted?!” you shout, your voice echoing through the empty street as the last attacker falls to the ground, groaning in pain. “Is this what you came for?!”

The answer doesn’t come from them. Rather, it comes from a low growl behind you. 

You whirl around, heart racing, and there he is—Logan Howlett—the Wolverine himself. The man you’ve read about in every article, every piece of mutant-related news you could get your hands on since discovering your own abilities. He’s infamous, pretty much a legend, and the stories about him are as terrifying as they are fascinating.

Standing there with that scowl on his face, he looks every bit the dangerous figure you’ve imagined. His eyes are blank, calculating, and you can feel the weight of his gaze as it sizes you up. There’s a tension in the air, thick and suffocating, as he takes a step closer.

“So, you’re the one causing all this trouble,” Logan states gruffly, irritation coating his tongue. He unsheathes his claws, the adamantium glimmering under the streetlights. The sound is unmistakable, and it sends shivers down your spine. “Heard you’ve been killin’ off mutants left and right.”

You narrow your eyes, instinctively stepping back into a defensive stance. Your heart is pounding, but you can't show any weakness. 

“Funny, I thought the same about you, Wolverine. What’s the matter? Run out of bad guys to play hero with?”

Without warning, he charges at you, claws outstretched, but you’re ready. You dart to the side, your speed giving you an edge as his claws slice through the air where you’d been standing, making a woosh sound. You counter with a swift kick to his ribs, putting your enhanced strength into the blow. He grunts, stumbling slightly, but quickly regains his balance. The momentary advantage you gained is gone as he storms toward you once more.

You meet his attacks head-on, your blade clashing with his claws in a shower of sparks. The force of each impact reverberates through your arms, but you hold your ground, refusing to back down. His attacks are ferocious, a whirlwind of claws and fury. He's fast, but you’re faster, dodging and weaving with a precision that keeps you just out of reach.

“Look, sweetheart,” he growls between strikes, his frustration evident. “You can make this easy or hard. I don’t care which, but I’m not lettin’ you hurt anyone else.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes as you deflect another swipe of his claws. “Oh, please. You think I’m the bad guy here? These jerks have been coming after me for days. I’m just defending myself.”

Logan doesn’t look convinced, and that pisses you off more than anything. “Right. And I’m supposed to believe you, why? You’re leavin’ a trail of bodies behind you.”

You narrow your eyes, feeling the anger boil over. “Because I’m not the one who started this! They did! But of course, you wouldn’t know that, would you? You just show up, swinging your claws around like you’re the big savior.”

“You got a mouth on you, don’t ya?” He retorts, snarling as he charges at you again, faster this time. You barely have time to block his attack, the force of his blow sending you skidding back several feet. But you dig your heels in, refusing to give an inch as he continues plows forward. Your speed kicks in, allowing you to duck under his next swing and land a punch to his jaw.

He staggers, but quickly recovers, swiping at you with renewed fury. You're a bit sloppy compared to him, not as much of a seasoned fighter. His claws swipe at your arm, cutting deep and drawing blood, but the wound heals almost instantly, the skin closing up as if it had never been cut. You see the flicker of surprise in his eyes, but it doesn’t slow him down. He lunges again, becoming a blur of motion as he ups the ante.

You parry with your knife, but this time, you’re on the offensive. You launch a rapid series of attacks, your speed and strength managing to drive him back. In the rush of movement, you're able to see an opening, grasping his shoulder and shoving him hard, sending him crashing into a nearby wall. The impact is enough to crack the brick, but Logan just shakes it off, pushing himself back to his feet.

“Gotta say,” you huff, panting slightly from the exertion, “I’m a little disappointed. I expected more from the you, after all I’ve heard.”

Logan grunts, clearly fed up with the banter. “I'm done talking.”

He lunges at you again, and this time, it’s a battle of wills as much as it is of skill. You don't back down, your knife clashing with his claws in a series of rapid, brutal strikes. The alleyway becomes a blur of movement, metal against metal, strength against strength. Each time his claws find their mark, your regenerative abilities kick in, healing the wounds almost as quickly as they’re made. 

And for a moment, you wonder if you’ll have to kill him too, just to survive. But then something shifts. Maybe it’s the way your attacks grow weaker, less lethal. Or maybe it’s the way Logan’s eyes narrow in realization when he notices your hesitance.

“Wait a damn minute,” Logan says, stepping back just out of your reach, wiping his mouth, then spitting on the ground. He’s breathing hard, just like you. “You’re holdin’ back.”

He pauses, his eyes narrowing as they flick down to the knife you’ve been holding, and then back up to you. His expression shifts, a mix of disbelief and exasperation crossing his face. “And is that a kitchen knife?”

You glance down at the knife in your hand, realizing how absurd it must look in the middle of this intense fight. It’s not exactly standard combat gear, but it’s all you had when this started. You can’t help the smirk that pulls at your lips as you meet his gaze again.

“It gets the job done,” you quip, shrugging slightly.

He shakes his head, clearly not impressed. “You’re something else, you know that?”

“I'm choosing to take that as a compliment,” The sarcasm is practically oozing off of you.

He eyes you warily, his posture still tense. “You’re not makin’ this easy, you know. You got me here thinkin’ you’re some crazed mutant killer, but you’re just a girl wavin’ around a kitchen knife like you’re in a bad horror movie.”

You cross your arms. “Well, I didn’t exactly have time to hit up a weapons store. Besides, I didn’t ask for any of this. These guys came after me first.”

Logan studies you. “So you say. But you’re killing dozens of mutants. Doesn’t exactly scream ‘innocent.’”

“Trust me, if I had a choice, I wouldn’t be doing this–fighting… killing–at all. Hell, I didn’t even know I was a mutant until some guy swung his fist at me a week ago.” You meet his gaze, challenging him. “And what about you? You’re not exactly known for playing nice.”

He snorts. “Yeah, well, most of my casualties are from the missions I go on, so I'd say it's justified.”

Your eyes narrow, catching the implication in his words. “Oh, am I your mission now? How long have you been tracking me?”

Logan’s expression doesn’t change, but there’s a slight shift in his posture, a subtle acknowledgment that you’ve hit on something. “Long enough to know you’re not just some innocent bystander caught up in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“So, what? You’ve been watching me, waiting for me to screw up so you could take me down?” you demand, the frustration clear in your voice.

“Something like that,” he replies gruffly, “But from what I’ve seen, you’re more reactive than proactive," he looks you up and down. "I can’t seem figure out if you’re the real threat here, or just someone caught in the middle of a bigger mess.”

You let out a slow breath, trying to calm the fiery anger rising within you. “I told you, I didn’t start this. They did. I’m just trying to survive.”

He doesn’t respond immediately, teeth grinding as he considers your words. You can see the gears turning in his head, trying to piece together whether you’re telling the truth or just playing him. He takes a step closer, his claws still out but not as threatening as before.

Finally, he asks, “You got a name?”

You roll your eyes, exasperated. “No shit I have a name.”

Logan huffs, unimpressed by your attitude. “Well, if you’re not gonna tell me, I’m just gonna have to call you somethin’… How 'bout Knifey?”

You stare at him, half-expecting him to crack a smile, but he’s dead serious. “Knifey? Really?”

Logan shrugs, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he eyes your weapon of choice again. “Fits, don’t you think?”

“Fine. I’ll tell you my name, alright? Anything but Knifey.” You say, trying not to laugh at the absurdity of it all.

“... Gotta say, Knifey sounds a little better”

“Shut the fuck up, Wolverine”

“It’s Logan, actually.”

You release a deep sigh. “I know, and I don’t care. I’m telling you I am not the one you need to be going after.”

Logan scoffs, crossing his arms. “I’ve been around a long time. Seen my fair share of people who think they’re doin’ the right thing and end up doin’ a hell of a lot of damage. So, forgive me if I’m a little skeptical.”

“You would know a lot about that, wouldn’t you?” The words come out of your mouth before you had time to think about them, and you regret it immediately. You can see the mutant in front of you’s face darken to a degree bordering murderous, and you think you’ve crossed a line you can’t come back from. Whatever playful banter existed before this is gone.

“Careful,” He growls menacingly, “You don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.”

You swallow hard. The Wolverine is infamous for a reason, and you just poked at the beast beneath the surface. You briefly consider backing down, but your pride refuses to let you.

“Maybe I don’t,” you admit, “But I do know what it’s like to be hunted, to have no choice but to fight back. So yeah, maybe we’re more alike than you think.”

Logan’s glare softens just a fraction, and he lets out a long, frustrated breath. “You really don’t know when to shut up, do ya?”

“Not when I’m trying to make a point,” you retort.

He doesn’t respond immediately, just stares at you, as if he’s trying to decide whether to continue this conversation or end it with his claws. Ultimately, he shakes his head, the anger in his eyes dimming, replaced by something more akin to weary resignation.

“Fine,” he mutters. “Maybe you’re not the one I should be takin’ down. Doesn’t mean I’m gonna start trustin’ you.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to,” you reply, feeling a bit of relief that the situation isn’t about to escalate into another fight. “But I swear, there’s someone else out there pulling the strings. And I’m not sticking around to be their puppet.”

He nods slowly, crossing his arms again. “We’ll find out who’s behind this, but I’m callin’ the shots. You step outta line, and we’re gonna have a problem.”

You smirk, a little of your bravado returning. “I’ll try not to disappoint you, Logan.”

You can tell he doesn't appreciate your attitude, but he lets it slide. “Let’s get one thing straight. This ain’t a partnership. I’m doin’ this to figure out what the hell’s goin’ on, not because I like you.”

“Trust me, the feeling’s mutual,” you shoot back, though there’s no real heat behind your words.

Logan turns abruptly, not even bothering to beckon you with him.

It makes you roll your eyes but you fall in step beside him anyway, knowing that despite the rocky start, this uneasy alliance might be the only thing keeping you alive. 

“…So… where exactly are we going?”

He sends you a sidelong glance. "Who said I’m takin’ you anywhere?"

You throw your hands up, exasperated. "Well, if you don’t, these mutants are going to keep hunting me, and I’m going to keep killing them…” you shoot him a look, batting your eyelashes innocently. “You wouldn't want that, would you?"

“Fuck off”

"Well, too late for that now."

He grumbles something under his breath that you don’t quite catch, but it sounds a lot like cursing his bad luck.

"We’re headin’ to my place. It’s the safest spot right now."

----

Turn’s out, it’s not really his place. Or at least, it’s what you’d thought it’d be. It’s more of an abandoned warehouse that he just decided to seek refuge in one day, doing the bare minimum to make it feel at the very least, home-y. The heavy metal doors creak open, revealing a chaotic interior cluttered with garbage, old newspapers, and a few scattered items. In the corner, a single bed and a sagging couch that look like they’ve definitely seen better days.

Your nose wrinkles in disgust as you take in the mess. "Seriously?" you mutter, your voice tinged with disbelief. "This is where you've been hiding out? It looks like a tornado hit a thrift store."

Logan, who had been trailing behind you, lets out a low grunt as he shuffles past, not bothering to respond to your jab. His heavy footsteps echo in the otherwise silent space, the sound bouncing off the bare, cold walls. He heads straight for a small, battered table that looks like it's one sharp nudge away from collapsing. On it lies a worn notebook, its pages yellowed and curling at the edges, evidence of extensive use. Without a word, he picks it up and starts flipping through the pages, his expression unreadable.

Your curiosity gets the better of you, and you step closer, peering over his shoulder. "What's this?" you ask, reaching out to take the notebook from him. He hesitates for a brief moment before relinquishing it into your hands. As you flip through the pages, your eyes widen in shock. The notes are detailed, almost obsessively so, listing the names of various mutants, their abilities, and the exact locations where their bodies were found. 

"Oh, great," you say with a sarcastic, half-hearted laugh. "You've been keeping tabs on me. What kind of creepy stalker are you?”

He rolls his eyes and snatches the notebook back, his voice dripping with irritation. "I wasn’t exactly tracking you. I was trying to track whoever’s been killing all those damn mutants."

Logan’s jaw tightens as you just continue to stare, and he lets out an exasperated sigh. "And don’t act all innocent. I needed to know who was causing all the chaos."

Scoffing, you continue to look through the notebook, stopping when you come across a particularly detailed entry. "Wow... 26 kills? Not too shabby for an amateur mutant, huh?"

“Is your mouth unable to stay shut?” he questions, though you know better than to answer that. 

The notebook flops back onto the table with a casual flick of your wrist. "Hey, don’t be mad just because I’m doing a better job than you expected."

He crosses his arms over his chest, his muscles straining against the fabric of his shirt. "I’m not mad," he snaps. "I’m annoyed that you’re making light of this. It’s not exactly a high score to brag about."

"Oh, come on. You’re the one who turned this place into a shrine to my success” you smirk.

"It’s not a shrine," Logan growls, his patience wearing thin. "It’s a record. If you’d been paying more attention to what’s going on, you’d know that."

The playfulness fades from your face as his words hit home. He’s right, but you’re not about to admit it. Instead, you deflect. "Yeah, and if you’d bothered to talk to me instead of playing detective, maybe we’d have figured this out sooner."

"You think you’re the only one who’s had a rough time? This whole situation is a mess, and we’re both caught in it." His eyes narrow.

You cross your arms, mirroring his defensive posture. "You didn’t have to get involved, you know. Unless...what if you’re the bad guy here?" you challenge, raising an eyebrow in suspicion. "Using all these mutants to lure me into your dungeon under the pretense of trying to ‘stop’ me?"

His response is immediate. "I’m way too lazy to think of doing all that."

You can’t help but believe him, especially given the state of the warehouse. He clearly lacks the energy—or the interest—to tidy up his living space, let alone mastermind a complex plot. You let out a sigh and walk over to the sagging couch in the corner. The fabric is threadbare, and the springs groan in protest as you flop down onto it.

"Fine, fine... I trust you," you concede, though your tone is far from serious. "Did you notice anything specific amongst these mutants?"

"Yeah, I’ve noticed somethin’,” Logan says, dragging a hand down his face, now looking more tired than ever. “They’re all pretty low-key. Not exactly top-tier in the mutant rankings. Never caused any trouble before, yadda yadda. If anything, they’re usually on the weaker side."

You furrow your brows, intrigued. "So they’re not a serious threat."

"Exactly," Logan confirms with a nod. "It’s weird. These mutants aren’t the type to just go around being fuckin’ annoying like they have been. Someone—or something—must be pushing them into this."

"You think they’re all being controlled somehow?" you muse, the pieces slowly falling into place. "And that’s why they’re suddenly acting out of character?"

"Seems like it," He replies, rubbing his temples. "Must be powerful if they’re all falling in line like this. We’re going to have to dig deeper to find the source of it.

He moves to sit next to you on the couch, the worn fabric sinking even further under his weight. "Tell me everything you know," Logan says quietly, his voice a tinge softer now, almost coaxing. "Everything that’s happened to you."

You sigh and lean back against the couch, staring up at the ceiling as you start to recount your experience. "It all began about a week ago. Just a normal day, I was walking to the grocery store, then I noticed this guy following me. At first, I thought it was a coincidence. But no matter where I went, he was always a few steps behind."

His attention sharpens, his gaze locking onto yours. "And?"

"It started as just stalking," you continue, your voice growing quieter as the memories flood back. "Nothing violent. But then, it started happening with different people. Each time, they were more persistent, more intimidating. It became clear that something was off."

You can feel Logan’s gaze burning into you, his concern evident in the way he leans closer, listening intently. "Eventually, they started getting aggressive," you say. "One night, one of them blocked my path and tried to grab me. I managed to fight him off, but when he hit me, it didn’t hurt. I mean, it should have, he looked pretty strong, but my arm felt fine. That’s when I realized I had powers—some form of super strength, super speed, and healing abilities."

"And you figured that out just from fighting them off?" he questions, somewhat impressed.

You nod, rubbing your arms as if to ward off a lingering chill. "Yeah. I didn’t really have a choice. They kept coming, and I had to use whatever I had to protect myself—including my damn kitchen knife. The more I fought, the more I understood what I could do.”

Logan pauses, his expression unreadable as he processes everything you’ve said. The dim light from the single bulb casts long shadows across the room, emphasizing the lines of fatigue etched into his face. Finally, he stands up, his movements slow and deliberate. "So, here’s the plan," he starts, his voice rough and tired. "We need to figure out exactly where these mutants are coming from. There’s gotta be a main location where they’re getting their orders or some central hub for this control."

You hum in agreement, though a part of you is reluctant to jump back into action so soon. "Alright, so how do we start tracking that down?"

His lips press into a thin line as he thinks it over. "We’ll stake out the rooftops. From up there, we can get a clear view of their movements and see if they’re converging somewhere specific. Maybe spot a pattern."

You stretch, stifling a yawn as you glance around the shabby room. "Okay, but are we doing that tonight? I’m pretty beat."

“Seriously? You want to put this off?" he accuses, face twisting in irritation.

"I’m up for it, but I’d be more effective if I’m not running on fumes. Plus, you look pretty tired yourself," you shrug. 

He lets out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through his hair. "Fine. We’ll do it tomorrow."

A small smile tugs at the corner of your lips as you sense his reluctance to agree. "So you agree with me," you state, not really feeling any real pride, but just wanting to push his buttons.

Logan grumbles under his breath as he starts to clear a space on the threadbare couch, which creaks loudly under even the slightest pressure. "Do you ever shut up? I’m letting you crash in my bed, aren’t I?"

You chuckle softly, watching him arrange a tattered blanket on the couch with exaggerated care. "Yeah, yeah, okay. Goodnight, old man."

"Watch it, Knifey," he mutters, settling onto the couch with a groan as the springs protest under his weight.

You roll your eyes at his choice of nickname, and with a sigh, you make your way over to the bed, which is small and far from luxurious, but it’s better than nothing. The mattress dips slightly as you climb in, and the covers are thin, barely providing any warmth. Still, exhaustion pulls at you, and you barely have time to think about what the covers smell like before sleep overtakes you.

----

pls comment or message me if you'd like to be added to the series taglist!

[wintrwinchestr]

an overture of indulgence (joel miller x f!reader oneshot) 18+

summary: it's been a long time since you've seen joel, and some things have changed, but a lot has stayed the same. namely, how quickly he can still get you on his knees for him, ready to show him exactly just how much you like what has changed about him.

warnings: 18+, smut, post-outbreak, jackson joel, d/s relationship dynamics, pet names (baby, babygirl, sweetheart, sweet girl, etc), body worship, belly kink, talk of weight gain, belly riding, m/f masturbation, lil bit of humiliation kink, lil bit of edging, reader is an adult but age otherwise unspecified, reader is shorter than joel and has hair long enough to grab, let me know if i missed anything :)

word count: 4.3k

a/n: just fuckin outing myself left and right these days huh. idk what came over me with this one. started this late last night and here it is now. belly enjoyers rise!!!!!!! nice comments/reblogs appreciated if you enjoyed <3 you can't kink shame me bc i like getting bullied so now what. also i avoided daddy kink for once in my life please clap. i know i’m spoiling y’all this weekend don’t get used to it.

divider by @saradika

“...Joel?!” you shout, your leisurely walking pace quickly turning into a hurried jog as you leave Tommy behind, making a beeline toward the man you would swear on your life is Joel Miller. A small handful of years ago now, he was kind of your boyfriend, kind of not, kind of something else more complicated and unlabeled, because who can afford to put a label on anything in times like these?

Joel’s head turns in your direction at the sound of his name, and as soon as you spot that crooked scar across the bridge of his nose, you’re certain it’s him.

“Holy shit, I can’t believe it,” you half-cry, throwing your weight into him as you wrap him in a tight embrace. He’s much taller than you, but you still managed to knock him off his balance a little. He envelops your whole body in one of his signature, all-encompassing hugs, and it’s like no time has passed at all.

The two of you had ended whatever it was you had on good terms, no hard feelings or animosity shared between you. It was just hard to maintain any kind of relationship in a world like this, and trying to nurture romance in the Boston QZ was much like trying to grow a rose garden in toxic, radioactive soil. You can put as much care and effort and something like love into it as you have in you, but the circumstances will just never allow it to reach its full potential. The end of your “relationship” was mutual, but that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt. Especially when he had disappeared one day without so much as saying goodbye.

When you had stumbled upon Tommy and a group of patrollers in the snowy forest outside Jackson just earlier today, you were alone, tired, and losing hope that this rumored safe haven even existed at all. You had heard crackles through the radio in the QZ about the community, and even though it sounded too good to be true, what else did you have to lose anymore? After months of travel and survival and pain and hunger, you’d never been so happy to meet a bunch of strangers in the woods in your whole life. You didn’t hesitate to get on the back of Tommy’s horse, and let him lead you to the sanctuary they spoke of.

As he was giving you a tour, proudly showing off their electricity, running water, fresh food, and clean houses, you had started to look forward to what the future may bring, for the first time in a long time. You could never have imagined you’d ever run into Joel again, that this is where he had ended up, of all places. And now here the both of you are, bodies pressed as tightly together as possible, breathing in each other’s familiar scents and never wanting to let go again.

Joel is the first to break the embrace, grasping your head in his large hands and frantically searching your face for any sign that he could be dreaming, that fate hasn’t really brought you back together again after all.

“Jesus Christ, it’s really you,” he breathes, and you swear his voice breaks just a little bit as he presses his lips to your forehead, closing his eyes as he does.

When he blinks them open again, he meets Tommy’s gaze, who’s standing quietly a few yards back from where you’re having your sentimental reunion. Tommy gives an understanding nod, and gestures that he’ll be waiting inside the community’s dining hall, gathering that whatever this is happening between his brother and some girl he only just met, he shouldn’t interrupt. Joel is grateful for many things today, one of them being the rekindled bond he has with Tommy, the other being how you somehow miraculously found your way back to him.

Small groups of other Jackson residents follow Tommy into the dining hall shortly afterward, and as the sun begins to set behind the mountains, Joel realizes it must be about time for dinner to be served.

He detaches his lips from your forehead, brushing some of your hair away from your face as he takes you in again. “You poor thing, must be starvin’ I bet,” he wonders aloud, giving you a sympathetic look.

“Kinda always am, just as a rule, but yeah,” you reply, trying to make light of your situation. Though, Joel doesn’t seem to find the humor in it the way you do.

“Long as you stay here, ain’t ever gotta worry about that again, that’s for damn sure.” He runs his tongue across his lips as he finishes his sentence, already knowing that whatever meal they’re serving tonight, it’ll be some of the most delicious food he’s had in a long time. He suspects you’ll feel much the same. “C’mon, let’s get you inside. Get you warm and fed for once in your life.”

–

Your heart, your stomach, your soul, all feel full as you relax into the comfortable couch in the living room of Joel’s cozy home. He wouldn’t even entertain the idea of you staying in an empty house all by yourself tonight, insisting that if you’d like some company while you settle in, you were more than welcome to his. He had let you spend as long as you wanted to in his shower, and he didn’t mind if there was hardly any warm water left by the time you were done. He sure as hell wasn’t paying the bill, and you deserved to feel truly clean. He can remember clear as day how he felt after his first Jackson shower, like he had stripped off a layer of grime he hadn’t been able to scrub all the way clean in twenty years. He had gone to Maria to get you some clothes and underwear while you were bathing, and set them silently on the sink counter for you to put on whenever you were done.

And now here you sit, feeling full and clean and satisfied and comfortable and safe, watching Joel stoke the logs in his fireplace as it casts the whole room in a honey orange glow. You take a moment to admire him while he isn’t looking, and even in the dim and flickering lighting, you can see he’s just as handsome as he was the last time you saw him. He looks older, with more gray in his longer hair and meat on his bones, the latter trait likely due to years worth of the hearty cooking you both indulged in tonight. He looks… good like this.

“It really is nice to see you again, you know. You look…” you start, not being able to help the way your eyes wander to his soft lower belly, the way it pushes taut against his tucked-in flannel shirt and just barely spills over the edge of his jeans.

He turns his head away from the fire to face you. You’re not very subtle in your staring, and he knows what you’re referring to right away. He huffs a light chuckle, trying to brush off the way he thinks you’re poking fun at him.

“I know, I know,” he acknowledges, placing a hand on his stomach. “Been tryin’ to get Maria to give me some more patrol shifts, see if I can get some of the weight off. But hey, you try havin’ three square meals a day for the first time in twenty some odd years, see what it does to you, huh?” He pivots his attention back to the fireplace, and he seems to turn his body further away from you on purpose, so that you can’t see the round profile of his tummy as much.

“No! No, it, um… It suits you. I was gonna say you look good, actually.” You’re quick in your reply, trying to make it clear that you didn’t mean to offend him, without letting too much on. 

He scoffs. “C’mon, you don’t gotta flatter me, sweetheart. I know I don’t exactly look the way you remember–”

“Joel, will you stop?” you interrupt, your voice laced with exasperation. “I’m being serious. Do I look like I’m making fun of you?”

He cranes his neck to look back at where you’re perched on the couch, and gives you a once over. “Guess not… Look a lil’ like somethin’ else, though, if I'm bein’ honest,” he says with a teasing smirk. And there he is again, the same quick-witted Joel you remember from back in the QZ.

You choose to engage in his banter, just to see where he’s going with it. “Oh yeah? And what’s that?”

He shrugs, beginning to mindlessly poke at the firewood again. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you look like you might like it.”

He’s just kidding around with you, trying to rile you up, you’re sure. But when he gets silence in return instead of the sound of you jumping to defend yourself with another playful jab, he turns to face you once more, and is met with your stunned expression. 

“Oh…” Joel looks down at himself, then back to you again, just in time to catch your eyes flitting from his middle back up to his face. “What, you like ‘em big, sweetheart? ‘S that it?”

The truth is, you do, you always have. It was never a requirement, of course, as the guys you’d been with before Joel all had varying body types. But you’d be lying to yourself if you said that your eyes didn’t linger just a bit longer on guys with a little more to them, with wider arms and thicker legs and a softer middle. You’ve never admitted your preference to anyone before, and Joel calling you out on it now has your face running hot, skin feeling prickly as he sees through you like you’re made of glass.

“I-I don’t– I mean, I do, kinda, but not like that… Well, it is like that, I just mean–” You stumble over yourself, fearing you’ve revealed too much, wishing you could rewind the conversation and just tell him it was nice to see him again, plain and simple.

Joel lays the fire poker down on the granite ledge of the fireplace, approaching where you’re sitting and cupping the side of your face with his calloused hand. 

“Sh, sh, stop, baby. ‘S alright if you do, nothin’ to be ashamed of,” he comforts, and it takes all the willpower you have left not to let your eyes drift down to his stomach, so close you could kiss it, if he’d let you.

“It’s just… I missed you. I thought about you all the time, wondered what ever happened to you after you left. Didn’t even know if you were alive until today. I’m just happy to see you… doing so well. To see that you’re healthy, and everything.” You swallow hard, hoping you sound convincing enough that he’ll let this go, forget all about your little admission just now. But of course, Joel is as stubborn as he’s ever been, and he doesn’t plan on releasing you from his trap now that you’re ensnared in it. 

“That’s sweet, baby, ‘s real sweet,” Joel says, softly, stroking his thumb across your cheekbone as he speaks. “Thought about you too, all this time. Practically every day…” He rakes his eyes over you, noticing the way his touch has you starting to melt already, how you’re looking up at him with your wide, needy eyes. “Why don’t you show me just how much you missed me, hm? How much you love seein’ me healthy, as you put it.”

You’re stunned into silence once again, jaw slack and pupils wide as you search his gaze for proof that he’s just messing with you, making fun of you just to watch you squirm. But you don’t find any.

“O-okay,” you agree in a half-whisper.

Joel smiles down at you, satisfied. “All these years later, still just the sweetest thing, ain’t you? You still just as obedient, too?”

You nod without even thinking, words catching up with your instinctual response a second later. “Mhm, yeah, I am…” You had forgotten how easy it is to submit to him, how good it feels to let the hypnotizing tone of his voice carry you somewhere far away from yourself, when you need it the most. Whether it was after a shitty day of working for shittier rations in the QZ, or after a harsh trek in harsher weather to a forested oasis, Joel always knows how to make you feel like submission is your most natural state. 

“Good… Kneel for me please, sweetheart,” he commands, and you obey immediately, his hand slipping from your face as you slide from the couch onto the woven carpet beneath you. Like second nature, your hands automatically fold themselves on your lap, remembering how you were never to touch Joel until he permitted you to. He takes note of this, and praises you accordingly. “Look at that, didn’t even have to ask. Such a good girl.”

He’s so enamored with you, he almost forgets where he was going with this until he watches your eyes flash to the growing bulge in his jeans, then back up to him. “Not tonight, sweetheart. Was thinkin’ you could put that pretty mouth to use on somethin’ different this time, hm?”

You knit your brows together, not sure what he means, but he doesn’t let you wonder for long. Slowly, he starts to unbutton his flannel shirt, starting at the top and working his way down. He tosses it onto the ground, then pulls his undershirt off over his head, adding it to the other discarded clothing. Without the confines of his slightly-too-tight button-up, you can see how much he really has filled out. Everything about his upper body is just a little more plush, with petal pink stretch marks adorning the soft skin in various places. You want to make it your personal mission to kiss each and every one of them, commit their exact coordinates on his body to memory.

There's a deep scar, you notice, to the left of his belly button, that has almost successfully disguised itself as one of those pretty marks. It’s definitely new since you saw him last, and it looks like it hurt, especially with the evidence of how crudely it had been stitched back together.

“What happened?” you wonder aloud, worried eyes glued to the healed injury.

He has to peer over the curve of his belly to see what you’re looking at. “Long story. Happened on my way out here, after I left Boston. Nothin’ for you to worry about, sweet girl, hardly even hurt. Forget it’s even there, most of the time,” he answers, still with a dominant edge to his voice that does a mostly good job of convincing you it’s the truth.

“Can… Can I?” you ask, waiting to receive his permission before you move your hands from your lap. 

“Yeah, baby, go ahead,” Joel allows. 

You reach out a small hand to gently trace over the raised scar, then press your lips to it with your hands splayed out on either side of your head, just barely pressing into his belly. He releases a soft groan, cradling the back of your head with one of his hands, applying the lightest amount of pressure to let you know this is where he wants to keep you. 

“Why don’t you keep goin’, sweetheart? Gimme some more lovin’ like that, know you wanna,” he encourages, and you think you get the idea now, what it is he wanted to put your pretty mouth to use for.

With his explicit permission to continue, you don’t need telling twice. You move your face to hover just in front of his belly button, admiring the dense salt and pepper happy trail that sprouts from where his jeans push into his soft skin. You drag your tongue along the hair, nipping at the soft curve of where it disappears into the divot in his stomach. He makes a noise in response, half pained and half pleasured, but he doesn’t stop you. Just for good measure, you place a kiss to the little blushing mark where your teeth had scraped him.

Almost of their own volition, it seems, your hands begin to knead at his stomach as you make good on your promise to yourself to kiss every single one of his stretch marks. You allow your tongue to dart from your mouth on the last one, and Joel sucks in a breath.

“Oh, fuck. Forgot how good that wet lil’ mouth feels on me, sweetheart. Keep goin’,” he says, voice coming out strained. His fingers curl tightly into your hair, and he begins to maneuver your face around his belly. You lave your tongue over his skin as he does, slicking him with wet, sloppy kisses. “Yeah, baby, you fuckin’ worship it, show me how much you like me like this.”

It’s a little humiliating, but just enough that you like the feeling. You’re breathing hard and fast, letting out little whimpers as your fluttering cunt begins to soak your underwear. He brings your face to a stop at the most tantalizing part of him, the part that truly evidences how much more he’s allowed himself to indulge since settling in Jackson. The ample curve of flesh that just barely conceals the waistband of his jeans, the part you’ve wanted to get your mouth on since you first saw how it strained the lower buttons of his shirt. You latch onto it, massaging the skin around it as you use your teeth and tongue to suck a mark into him.

A growl rumbles from deep in his chest, and he curses under his breath. “Like it that much, huh? Fuck, naughty thing, look at you.”

You’re so fucking turned on, you’re shivering, rocking where you kneel and squeezing your thighs together in an attempt to get some kind of relief. You let one of your hands drift to the hard shape in Joel’s jeans, and it seems he’s enjoying this as much as you are. He spots your pathetic little squirms as you rut against nothing, and then he’s using his grip on your hair to pull you up from the floor.

“Got an idea. Up,” he commands roughly, and you detach your lips from his belly to obey his order. “Get these off, there we go.” He pulls down your sweatpants and underwear, helping you step out of them. “Christ, you’re soaked,” Joel teases, eyeing the sizable wet spot in your panties as he tosses them aside to join the other forgotten clothing. He reaches a hand toward the apex of your thighs, teasing your wet pussy and gathering some of your slick on two of his fingers. You let out a tiny yelp, but let him play with you, and then he’s bringing his fingers in front of his face and examining the sticky strings of your arousal when he spreads them apart. “All this just from lettin’ you worship all this, huh?” he taunts, patting his stomach once for emphasis. “Who’d’ve thought? Not that I’m complainin’...”

He quickly rids himself of his jeans and briefs, then reclines onto the couch with a quiet groan, stretching out his body along the length of it. Your mouth waters at the sight of his cock, hard and leaking as it bobs against his belly, his precum adding to the dampness still there from your tongue. “Come sit, sweetheart,” Joel says, softly, motioning with both of his hands for you to come closer.

You grip a hand onto the backrest of the couch to balance yourself while you move to straddle him, prepared to sink down onto his length for the first time in way too fucking long. “Uh uh, not there, baby,” he instructs, smirking when he sees how you hesitate in confusion. “Take a seat right here for me.” Again, he pats that most tempting area of his lower belly, and you just about fall apart at the sight of how his flesh ripples in the wake of it.

“Yeah, there you go, good girl,” he praises, both hands gripping your waist as he helps you settle your weight onto his soft abdomen.

“I dunno, don’t wanna hurt you–” you start, but he cuts you off swiftly.

“You won’t, baby. I’m a big man, ain’t I?” he teases, flashing you a devilish and knowing smile. “Go on, sweetheart, ride it.”

You inhale a shuddering breath, then place both of your hands on his shoulders to hold yourself up. You start an experimental buck into his belly, and that trail of dark hair tickles your clit so perfectly. It takes a few tries for you to get the positioning and pressure just right, and then you’re truly riding him, using his full stomach to get yourself off while he watches. 

“God, that’s good. Use it, baby. You love me bigger, love that I’ve been eatin’ so good, prove it to me, c’mon,” Joel goads, and it spurs you on to grind against him harder, faster, as incoherent mumbles and curses tumble from your lips.

“Love it, Joel, you look so good, fuck. So fucking–mmh–so big, makes me so… so–”

“I know it does, sweet girl, I know. Makes you fuckin’ soaked is what it does, god damn. You gonna get my belly all messy, hm? Gonna rub your lil’ cunt all over it, get me all fuckin’ wet?”

“Uh huh, yeah, gonna… I’m gonna–” you whine, eyes shutting tight as your hips pick up their pace. You move your hands from his shoulders to place them on his stomach instead, grabbing at handfuls of his tummy in an effort to create something more solid to rub yourself against. 

You’re already embarrassingly close, the humiliating edge to your earlier worship having gotten you most of the way there on its own. So swollen and sensitive it almost hurts, you won’t need much more to reach your high.

“Not without me, you ain’t. Gonna be right there with ya. You remember how we used to do it?” Joel asks, as if you could ever forget. He’s referring to your many late nights, early mornings, in his bed or in a back alley or wherever in the QZ, where he liked to make sure you both finished at the same time. You’d always be the first one to reach the edge, because he’d focus all his attention on getting you there before him, just to make you wait. It was never something punishing, just something he liked to do as an extra bit of control and dominance, and he knew it always made your orgasms that much more powerful and satisfying when he would finally permit you to let go.

With your eyes closed, so focused on your own pleasure, you hadn’t noticed that he had reached behind you to start fisting his cock some time ago. But you can hear it now, the wet schlick of his hand moving up and down his shaft as he works himself. “Hold it for me, sweetheart, I know you can. Keep rubbin’ your pretty pussy against me, jus’ like that, almost there…”

You mewl, screwing your face up as you force yourself to slow down your thrusts, muscles tense as you try to keep your orgasm at bay for as long as you can. 

Thankfully, he must be worked up enough from seeing you fall apart for him so easily for the first time in so long, that his permission comes just a few minutes later.

“Come for me, babygirl, soak my fuckin’ belly, c’mon,” Joel growls, and you fall forward immediately, twitching and spasming and crying out into the soft muscle of his shoulder as you ride out the shuddering shocks of your orgasm. He groans next to your ear as he comes, and you can feel the warm ropes of his own release as some of them land on your lower back. You’re both wet, heaving messes, as you embrace each other for the second time today and work on catching your breath.

So exhausted from the day you had, you must’ve fallen asleep against his chest as you laid there, because then you’re being woken up by the dull scratch of his fingertips against your scalp and his familiar voice working its way through the thick fog that clouds your tired brain. 

“You alright, baby?” he asks, and you can hear that he’s smiling, amused at this sleepy little thing he’s got clinging to him.

“Mhm, jus’ tired,” you answer, a barely-there mumble of a sentence.

“I’ll bet… You wanna get cleaned up? Get all tucked into bed?”

You shake your head against his neck, and he chuckles.

“No? Whatcha wanna do then, hm?”

“Jus’ lay here. Missed you. Don’t wanna let… go…” 

Your sentence drifts off into silence before the temptation of sleep allows you to finish it, but Joel gets the idea. He smiles to himself, kissing the top of your head, and hugs you closer. Both of you are still sticky and damp, but satisfied. And together again. And that’s a hell of a lot better than the alternative.

So he agrees, and you stay like that for the rest of the night. Joel doesn’t worry about whether or not he remembered to set his alarm clock for his extra patrol shift the next morning, or if he’ll even hear it all the way from his bedroom upstairs, because it doesn’t matter anyway. He has you, and you made it very clear tonight just how much you like him exactly the way he is. 

Maybe, your rose garden can finally begin to bloom, now that the pair of you have somewhere safe and comfortable and healthy to try your hand at nurturing it again.

tag list: @beefrobeefcal @iamasaddie @rebel-held @dilfgestivo @zliteraturehoe @joeldjarin @kamcrazy123 @hellowoolf @rexamongthestars @stevie75 @luxurychristmaspudding @noisynightmarepoetry @mewantpeepaw @pedritoferg (if your name is crossed out, it won’t let me tag you!!)

[whispersoftheton]

hiiii!! can i ask for a fic where reader (aka viscountess) is helping benedict with a lady he's falling in love with, but they're basically scheming and secretive and Anthony gets suspicious and a little jealous/upset? thanks!!!!!

Hello nonny! I've been going back and forth on posting this mostly because I don't feel like it's very good but I hope you enjoy it!

Warnings: jealous!Anthony

Word Count: 1.1K

The day had dawned, and it seemed you had blinked the night away after a previously tedious day. Your duties as Viscountess had significantly grown since Lady Bridgerton had started to hand over most of the reigns of the house. With some spare time on your hands, you spent most of your day in the main hall amongst everyone as you poured yourself some tea before returning to your reading. With a hint of mystery in his eyes, Benedict strolled into the room and stood beside you, making himself busy with the book you had just put down on the tray.

"Viscountess now, is it?" He teased in a hushed tone to not alert the siblings of his untimely arrival. Benedict always had a way of easily slipping in and out of sight, with his mama distracted with his other sibling's endeavors.

"It would appear so." You offered him a warm smile while pouring some tea for yourself. "To what do I owe the pleasure, Benedict?" Although most may not understand your relationship with your new brother-in-law, this is how it has always been since your courtship with Anthony. How you managed to keep up flawlessly in between constant banter with his siblings was just one of the things Anthony loved most about you. And Benedict was no exception.

"It seems I find myself in need of your assistance." The unusual hesitance in his voice piqued your interest. Benedict was never one to shy away from a challenge, let alone hold his tongue. "There is a lady who I would like to…pursue."

"As in courting? The Benedict Bridgerton interested in seriously courting someone? Why I'd never thought I'd see the day." Your words dripped with sarcasm, but as you turned toward Benedict, it was clear this was no joke, making you reconsider your teasing, at least for now. "I apologize; I did not realize this was a serious matter." His eyes still trained on the tea before you. "If it is my assistance you require with the matter, I will help you."

"Really?" He leaned back, head up with a cocked brow.

"You are my brother now. And if this lady is as suitable of a match as you are implying, I will do everything in my power to assure your courtship to her."

"You care about me?" His teasing returned, making you resist the urge to roll your eyes toward him, but a smile crept up nonetheless.

"Of course, I care. We are family. Now, let's get to it before I regret this entire thing."

Anthony paced around his office, unable to focus on a single task all day. His desk was littered with papers needing attention, but all he could focus on was how odd you'd been acting as of late. Your presence was scarce around the house, although your duties were always tended to. Anthony missed having you as close by as he was accustomed to since your marriage. Of course, he caught glimpses of you throughout the day, but you always seemed to be scurrying off somewhere. He couldn't help but notice Benedict lingering nearby at every event he'd been to in the last couple of weeks, engaging you in conversation whenever he stepped away, even for a moment. Anthony knew he had no reason to be envious; you were his wife, and you loved each other dearly. But that didn't stop him from suppressing a surge of jealousy at the thought of you and Benedict spending so much time together. Impossible thoughts swirled through his mind, straying him further and further away from any rational thinking until his feet carried him faster than he could stop himself as he called the carriage.

The day was as warm as it was humid; the lush field was decorated with tents showcasing various vendors as the ton gathered. You had spent the better part of your time in the last couple of weeks preparing Benedict as much as possible, covering everything from appropriate topics of conversation to enticing the young woman to yearn for more interactions with him. It had been a challenging task. For every ounce of natural charm Benedict possessed, his soon-to-be lady seemed to be immune to it at every turn. Every challenge she presented seemed to draw Benedict closer. It was daunting, to say the least, but today would be the day. The garden party was the event of the social season, and you knew for a fact that she would make an appearance today. Benedict came up beside you, eyes set on her almost immediately. You glanced toward him, watching intently as his face softened, a smile deepening with every second he laid his eyes on her. Your heart warmed; whatever Benedict felt for this lady, you understood it was exactly what he had been searching for.

"Are you ready?" He snapped out of it and nodded toward you. "Go on then." Benedict readied himself, taking comfort in the fact that you would be nearby. But as soon as he stepped forward, he felt a hand grip his shoulder and move him back toward you.

"My dear brother," Anthony kept his tone hushed so as not to alarm any of the ton members standing nearby. "I will make haste so we may continue with the day's festivities. Care to clarify as to why you are spending so much of your time with my wife?" You and Benedict shared a look, holding back a laugh.

"I'd prefer not to; I'm rather entertained at the moment." Benedict crossed his arms before him, aiming his shit-eating grin at Anthony.

"Truly, Anthony, you could not make any more of a fool of yourself than you already are." You huffed as you turned toward your husband. "May I speak to you in private?" Anthony hesitated before he took your hand and walked you to an isolated part of the lake away from the chaos.

"If you must know, I was asked to help your brother pursue someone. I have been guiding him on proper conversation topics and ways to impress the young lady he has shown interest in. That is all. And if you are indeed insinuating there would be absolutely anything inappropriate happening between your brother and I then you truly do not know me at all."

"That is not what I thought-I-You were only spending so much time with Benedict, and I allowed my temper to best me; I only missed your company." His apologetic look had you softening under his gaze. "I apologize."

"Next time, simply ask before you allow your mind to run rampant with impossible thoughts, hm?" He nodded before taking your hand and bringing it to his lips. Anthony lead you back toward the gathering to find Benedict wholly entranced in a rather enticing conversation with his lady.

"It seems like you did well, my love," Anthony whispered toward you, tapping your hand, which was now holding onto his arm. "Looks like my brother might find his match after all."

Mini Tag List: @bugnug @queenofmean14 @fiction-is-life @thethreeeyed-raven @ssprayberrythings @fatbottomedvirgo @fictional-hooman @sky0401 (let me know if you would like to added by leaving a comment here or dm me if you’d like to be added/removed)

I DO NOT HAVE WATTPAD. I do not consent to having my work reposted, translated, or published to any third party site or app. if anyone sees my work anywhere that is not ao3/tumblr or under any other username that is not whispersoftheton, it has been reposted without my permission

[kolsmikaelson]

— MIKE SCHMIDT NSFW ALPHABET

— a/n - like everyone else the josh hutcherson renaissance got me too and i’ve been obsessed with him and this was a product of that, hope you enjoy!

— warning(s) - 18+ mdni, somewhat implied afab!reader, not proofread

join my taglist or follow @rodrickhefley to see when i post!

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

doesn’t know much about aftercare at the beginning of your relationship but a few months in you’ve figured out what works best for the both of you which is usually a warm washcloth some water and a sometimes a nice bath if you’re both up for it but if not cuddles it is

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

his arms and hands would probably be his favorite (because he knows how much you like them) and his favorite body part of yours would probably be your eyes

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

he’s gotten off multiple times just by pleasuring you, it could be him going down on you or fingering you or something else it doesn’t matter just making you feel good makes him feel good

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

has gotten turned on by the way that you take care of him so well, he’s always busy taking care of abby but who's there to take care of him?

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

he wasn’t a virgin when the two of you got together but he also wasn’t the most experienced. sure he’d fucked around some but he was always too busy

F = Favorite position ( goes without saying)

anything where he can see your face clearly so he can see how good he can make you feel and so that he can kiss you easier

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

he doesn’t try to be goofy but in the beginning he was more often than not

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

not super groomed but not incredibly messy either, again something you helped him figure out because it was something he didn’t care about before you

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

so sweet and giving and loving. he’s always making sure you’re alright, makes sure you remember the safe word you put in place before anything really starts, checks on you throughout the entire thing no matter what

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

used to jack off because it was all he had the time for until he met you and there still isn't always a lot of time for anything more but you have no issue helping him out

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

mommy kink, spit (giving or receiving but mostly receiving), praise (giving and receiving)

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

his room or the shower mostly because of the privacy it gives you but he’s brought you to the pizzeria once of twice for some fun

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

genuinely everything about you gets him going it’s so easy to rile him up

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

nothing too dark, no bodily fluids (minus spit and cum)

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

loves giving but loves receiving more

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

really depends. sometimes it’s fast and needy and messy other times it’s soft and slow and incredibly intimate

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

loves taking his time but quickies are all you two have time for more often than not, whether it be in the mornings in bed before you get up for the day or right before a date night that rare time vanessa is able to watch abby for a couple of hours

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

yes and no. depending on what it is he’s hesitant because he’s nervous of hurting you

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

judging by how little he sleeps, probably 2, 3 if you're lucky. if you want more then you’ll have to wait a little while

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

he owns a few but he rarely uses any on himself he much prefers using a vibrator on you

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

doesn’t hate being teased but loves to be the one doing the teasing

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

oh he’s so loud, he’s whiny and is always whimpering

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

this wouldn’t happen often but one time after he sees the way you look at her, he asks if you’d want to have a threesome with vanessa. the two of them would be so focused on you and little to nothing would actually happen between them because all their attention is on you but vanessa ended up in your bed a few more times after that

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

he’s a bit above average but makes up for it in girth

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

so high after so long of just using his hand or a toy but it dies down a little bit after a few months

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

if it had been a particularly rough day he might fall asleep within the hour but i can see him still taking a while to fall asleep

© kolsmikaelson : please do not copy, repost, or modify any of my content.

dividers made by : @.cafekitsune

[ginkgo-phyta]

Hotch would definitely give you the princess treatment, and you know what? Jack would too, after seeing his father he knows how to treat a girl right. And the team would definitely tease Hotch, because his son is going to steal his partner from him :)

omg no LITERALLYYY tho like just like omfg alright i got carried away with this and its not even really what you're talking about but listen to me okay LISTENNNNN

tagged spencer reid x reader because i want more people to see this teehee pls dont hate me i have spencer fics yall should read if you havent already but also you should still read this too

YOUR RELATIONSHIP WITH AARON HOTCHNER AND ITS INFLUENCE ON HIS SON JACK gn!reader, FLUFF, no warnings(?) another informal blurb typa format :P

you and hotch decide together you'd like to date for a while first, take things slower and fully solidify and strengthen your relationship, before you become a part of jack's life. you didn't want jack to get attached to you or write you off too quickly in case life took you in different directions. you didn't know it at the time, but hotch introduced you to jack when he was sure he was going to marry you some day- and soon. he had been so incredibly head over heels in love with you and once you and jack got close, the little guy really got to witness how highly his father regarded you- and just how he showed you it every day. even in the little things. from the way hotch pulled out your chair, held all doors open for you, always kept your favorite drinks and snacks stocked up in the fridge and pantry, never let you open your own car door, the way he made spaces for you in his bathroom and closet without even being asked, and how he always stuck to your weekly dinner date- whether in person or over the phone. to the way his father would look at you, listen intently to whatever you were talking or ranting about, how he'd cup your hands and press quick kisses to them or move any bothersome strands of hair from your face when you'd eat, and how enthusiastic he always was when you and jack would spend time together.

jack was a bit hesitant with you at first, he was a bit older at that point and the quickness with which beth had left his life had admittedly stung him, leaving an ever-present welt behind. but he warmed up to you, appreciative of the way you welcomed him with open arms, never pressured him to spend time with or even like you (letting him accept you at his own pace) and how you clearly were not trying to take the place of his late mother- even many, many years into your relationship with his father. what he loved the most was how you always encouraged hotch to recount stories of haley, put pictures of her in jack's room or wherever else he wanted them, and how you would remind him: "your mother would be so proud of you jack." you would watch old home videos of their old family and jack never failed to notice how you wouldn't ever feel negatively about it. that was really what won him over. he also loved how open you were with both him and his dad- every day you'd say "i love you!" both casually and purposefully. it instilled in the young boy the importance of expressing appreciation, love, and care for others.

before you, hotch was always a just bit emotionally closed off. even when it came to jack he liked to keep himself a bit more reserved. he tried to stay a strong and unwavering inspiration, only wanting to show his son his best face. but once you came into their lives you inspired hotch to open up more than he had the last few years after haley's passing, inspired him to embrace even the "uglier" emotions he felt in life: grief, anger, sadness, and tiredness. it ended up passing onto jack in small ways, allowing him to feel even closer to dad. you became a huge structural post in jack's life. your love for one other inspired him, as he grew up he dreamed of one day having a relationship like yours. he looked forward to being able to treat his significant other the way his father cares for you.

you loved jack as if he was your own, though you never wanted to say that to him for fear of overstepping your role. aaron would always assure you, especially as jack grew older, that his boy felt it. you watched him go from a playful child, to a moody teenager, to a budding adult eager to make his mark on the world. and you were there supporting him the whole way.

you'll spend a lifetime with the both of them and although there will be many funny, loving, or frustrating moments you'll hold in a special place in your mind, there's one memory from when he was still a youngin that you love the most. it was a surprise dinner party at your fancy restaurant, aaron had booked the whole place just for you and the guests to celebrate your engagement and he had enlisted jack's help to plan the whole thing. jack, the bau team, and your friends and family were all there to shower you in love. the most memorable part of the night was the moment everyone sat down for dinner, all around a giant table (possibly multiple tables pushed together). as everyone moved to take their place jack ran so eagerly in front of you to pull your chair out before his father got the chance. you were shocked for a second before bursting out in a melodious laugh- it was so unexpected but you were incredibly moved. "oh, jack, thank you!" your loving, excited, and genuinely appreciative tone made jack's already huge grin grow even wider and more endearing. everyone else had noticed this too and laughed in joy along with you. "oh my god!" "that was so freakin cute" "he did not just do that!" rang out around you. of course aaron noticed, standing in silence for a second, a similar smile mirrored on his face, before he shook his head with a chuckle. as you took you seat, jack made sure to push your chair in just before you sat down fully, diligently executing what he'd studied his father do hundreds of times before. you turned to thank him, but before you could even open your mouth jack moved to take your cloth napkin from the table, shake it open, and carefully place it in your lap. awwws flooded in from all sides of the table

"oh you are just so adorable jack, thank you so much." you said as you pinched his still slightly chubby cheek "you are just the kindest, sir." you playful tone cause jacks entire face to blush and he shyly walked over to take a seat next to you.

"what? you take my job, and now you don't even want to sit next to me?" hotch spoke up from you other side. jack knew his father was joking, but he still bashfully giggled, sinking a bit more into his seat

"you better be careful, hotch," derek spoke up from across the table, motioning to his former boss with a breadstick, "looks like you got some competition there."

everyone broke out into more laughter, especially aaron. in the midst of the hysterics, the once-stoic man's hand crept into your lap to hold your own, thumbing over the back of your hand and the beautiful engagement ring wrapped around your finger. you shared a glance while you both laughed before you looked over to jack. wordlessly, your hand suddenly hopped up to ruffle up the little boy's hair, causing him to scrunch up his nose and giggle even more.

but you didn't have to say anything, your eyes held the truth. love. jack continued to look up at you, feelings of warmth, joy, and safety draped over him like a fuzzy throw, covering him from the crown of his head to the tips of his fingers and toes. he knew that with you in his life now, besides him and his father, everything would be okay.

A/N: SCREAMING how was this anon? sorry i didn't delve into the team teasing hotch more bc these thoughts were swimming in my head and i NEEDED to get them down perhaps i could do another post of just teasing quotes if that's something you'd like! i got a few ideas swimmin already teehee i hope you enjoyed my love!!

[ken-dom]

Ken’s First Orgasm

Ken x reader

1.1k words

Summary: Since Ken entered the real world, he’s been experiencing some… feelings (AKA a good orgasm might calm him down)

Author’s Notes: It’s smutty, it’s tongue-in-cheek, it’s a little bit silly… just take it for what it is, enjoy the Kenergy and have fun 🩷

This was my first Ken fic, originally posted to my main blog under the title 'Ken's First Time.' Due to a tagging issue on my main, I'm reposting my works here to have everything in one place.

Warnings/content: NSFW, 18+, first kiss, first orgasm, making out, dry humping, hand job, gn!reader, Ken’s self doubt and nerves (and crying)

‘I’ve been getting these… urges, like, there’s something stirring deep inside me that I can’t seem to tame,’ Ken uttered huskily, fingers toying with the hair by your ear. ‘I think it might be because I’m craving… this.’

Biting his lip, he stared deep into your eyes, the heat of his gaze dropping down to your lips before slowly leaning in.

When you followed his lead, breath quickening as you tilted your head, he faltered, pulling back with a quiet growl and balling his fists in frustration.

He had hung on your every word all day, never taking his eyes off you for a single moment. And you’d noticed the way he lit up every time you looked at him… but now, you began to wonder if you’d done something to put him off.

‘Ken?’ you breathed carefully.

‘I- I’ve never…’ he hesitated.

Oh. That’s all it was. You dipped your head to meet his sparkling eyes again.

‘You’ve never kissed anyone?’ you asked gently, lifting your palm to rest softly against his handsome cheek.

Ken cleared his throat and forced a smile. ‘I’ve tried. Lots of times.’ He lifted his chin with mock confidence, as though trying to kiss was some sort of proud accomplishment. ‘You know how it can be.’

‘It’s alright,’ you soothed, rubbing your thumb soothingly over his cheekbone. Your mind raced with what else he probably hadn’t done either, the thought causing heat to pool at your core. ‘We’ll take it at your pace.’

The silky tone of your voice and the comfort of your words made him feel… dizzy? He blinked his gaze away, blushing. Feeling it again. That pull of something deep in his gut that made him want to submit himself to… whatever it was his body was craving so much. Damn it, he really needed to just get over it and kiss you.

You smiled warmly, leaning in again with pause enough to allow him time to decide. To your delight, he pressed forward, lips crashing soft and wet against yours, and as you parted your lips to encourage his tongue, he moaned loudly into your mouth while his fingertips drove hard into the flesh at your waist.

Lost in the intensity of the moment, it was suddenly hard to remember to breathe, his needy whines and desperate grabbing clouding your thoughts, causing your legs to tremble, but eventually you pulled away, panting.

‘Wow, Ken… that was-’

‘Terrible! I mean, you… you were great. I had no idea what I was doing. I'm not made for kissing, I’m only good at Beach.’ He shook his head, frustrated. ‘I shouldn’t have- mmh!… mmm…’

You shut him up instantly, diving back for more and inadvertently pushing him to lay back on the bed. You straddled him naturally, conscious thought still lost in the haze of excitement.

‘You- you liked it?’ he breathed huskily as you pulled up to get a look at how pretty he was, breathless with anticipation beneath you.

You nodded, humming in approval. ‘And it feels like you did too,’ you smirked, grinding down against his already aching erection.

The noise he made was unearthly, a growl and a whimper and a groan and a desperate exhale all at once. The pressure he had been feeling there released ever so slightly with a small pearl of precum, affording him a moment of bliss between the aching neediness.

You stilled, worried you’d hurt him somehow, but his eyes widened revealing pupils dilated to the size of dinner plates, and you realised it had been a sound of pleasure, not pain.

‘What… was… THAT?’ he cried out breathlessly. ‘That felt incredible! Sublime! That’s it! That’s what I’ve been craving?! Do it again? Please-’

The last word tapered into a whine as you rolled your hips to grind against him again, and he flopped down onto the pillow, eyes rolling back with overwhelming sensations he couldn’t find the words for.

‘Ken?’ you asked softly, leaning down, ‘you’ve never had an orgasm before have you?’

He shook his head.

‘Do you want to?’

He couldn’t catch his breath and his reply came out as a husky whisper. ‘Will it feel like that again?’

‘Better,’ you grinned wickedly.

‘Oh fuck, yes,’ he mumbled, not even realising he’d sworn. ‘Please.’

You leaned in to kiss him again, igniting the flames inside him that had been roaring since the first time you held his hand. Ken moaned in anticipation, closing his eyes tightly, composing and preparing himself.

You rocked your hips only once more and he exploded, fists bunching the sheets while you continued to writhe against him, his back arching off the bed and tears prickling at his eyes as his orgasm tore through every fibre of his being.

It was like nothing else. How had he never so much as wondered what this would be like until he had entered the real world and discovered human feelings and thoughts… and needs.

His chest heaved as he came down from his high, lazily lifting an arm to rest over his forehead in complete surrender while he tried to claw his way back to the present, with you.

When he opened his eyes, he was met with you smiling down at him, nothing short of smug.

‘Was that- did I-?’ he stuttered.

‘You sure did,’ you panted, heart pounding and heat rushing down to keeping your own arousal simmering. God, he was a picture, mussed hair and pink cheeks and heavy eye lids.

‘Oh… oh, that was, it was-’

You chuckled, climbing off him to settle at his side, where he turned to face you.

‘Should I have… you know? Was there something I didn’t do? You didn’t…’

The concern in his eyes was endearing, but you laughed again and he relaxed. Another tear slid down his cheek as you caressed his arm tenderly.

‘Don’t worry, Ken, we have time for that. I get the feeling you’ll be great at… doing stuff. Besides, that wasn’t quite the whole thing. I’m glad it felt good, but there’s a lot more I can show you. If you want me to…’

Ken snorted a disbelieving laugh. ‘Well, good, because these urges I’ve been getting? I think they might have actually been for-’

‘Orgasms,’ you interrupted with a smirk. ‘Yeah, humans tend to get that a lot.’

‘I’m not surprised! How do you get through the day without doing that at regular intervals?’

You laughed, gently wiping the tears from his cheeks. ‘It will calm down when you’re a little more used to it. In the meantime… let’s make the most of your libido, yes?’

‘Absolutely,’ he agreed eagerly, as though the word libido meant anything at all to him. Nevertheless, he was as eager as anything for another round.

‘I’m going to start undressing you this time… if that’s alright?’ you muttered seductively, kissing at his collar bone while your fingers toyed with the buttons of his shirt.

‘Of course. You don’t have a body like mine for nothing. Well, I suppose it’s main purpose is for Beach, but-’

‘Ken?’

‘Yeah?’

You didn’t use any more words, and he suddenly lost all concept of his own thoughts when your hand slid inside his beach shorts.

‘How does this feel?’ you whispered as your fingers wrapped loosely around his thick length and pumped slowly, lightly. You didn’t want to overwhelm him too soon.

‘R-real- f-fucking- oh!- good, hnnng…’

[bangchansbackohmygod]

MTL for Dry Humping: SKZ Edition

-Most-

Han: Nasty Boy. Freak in the sheets. Desperate slut. "Hannie, not when other people can see!" "Han, wait until the movie is over-" "JISUNG. GIVE ME TWO SECONDS TO GET OFF MY PANTS" He ain't listening, babygirl! He wants you bad and he wants you now, so unless you're gonna use a judo move to swing him over your shoulder, the first time the two of you orgasm per sexy time is dry humping without fail. He's still a nice boy so if you were ever actually upset he'd let you go without hesitation, but let's be honest, your complaints don't hold much weight when you start panting as soon as he starts grinding his hips against you.

Changbin: Post gym sex! Post gym sex! He's sweaty and he's full of adrenaline and he isn't gonna try and pull off his sticky gear when he can get some relief from your supple curves right now! You should start working out with him because otherwise he'll be coming home and getting sweat (and drool and ***) all over your cute pajamas. Bucks against you extra hard if you stroke his muscles and praise him for how hard he's been working. Worship all of him because he's going to be doing the same to you.

Lee Know: His favorite thing- withholding as much as he can while giving you just enough to make sure you fall over the edge. He wants to hear you whimper and cry about how much you want him to touch you, how much you want him inside you, while all he does is drag your hips up and down his lap. Coos sweet poison in your ear as he feels your dampness growing, his glittering eyes betraying none of the frenzy he feels underneath. The act itself doesn't do much for him, it just turns him on like nothing else to watch you shudder through a climax that he barely put in work to give you. He's mean and he's going to make sure you enjoy every second of it.

Jeongin: Cute little puppy boy, so embarrassed at how often he wants you. Like I’ve previously stated, I feel like his mind gets a bit fuzzy when he’s in the throes of passion. That sweet, fumbling, wonderful personal time that he wants to give his best for you in. Of course, when he trips on his way to the bed, pinning you down with his full weight and failing to unbutton your jeans, his plans to bring you to deliberate ecstasy with his fingers is traded for rutting against you like a beast without a thought. It’s how you like your baby best, eyes watery and cheeks red as he apologizes for taking what he wanted (which, of course, is what you wanted)

Felix: Our gentle jack-of-all-trades, he's much more dependent on your preferences and so he'll be doing this only upon request. When he does, he prefers to have you perched on his lap. His princess, all pretty in your lacy little negligee. He wants to be strong for you in a way that he doesn’t usually show. His forehead resting against yours as he softly talks you through it between his own low groans, his hands alternating between your thighs, hips, and waist as he finds the perfect pace. Kiss him slow and kiss him deep, in this moment he is completely and utterly yours.

Chan: He may like to tease, but he likes giving you what you want even more. You're so good to him, and he just wants to reward that goodness, yeah? So it’s not like he doesn’t enjoy…*ahem* holding himself against you, he just has trouble keeping himself from doing more. That whine you make when you can feel his excitement against your thigh, it just makes him want to dip his fingers inside you as a taste of what’s to come. Or to hook your legs over his shoulders so he can literally taste the nectar flowing out of you. He’s not an impatient man, but for you? Anything short of ravishing you is a waste of his time.

Seungmin: With a mix of a lower libido and a general air that he's used to the finer things, I just feel like it'd be rare for him. He likes his privacy and he likes getting his way, so despite his age he isn't gonna act like some horny teenager when it comes to sex. When it's time, it's time, and while he won't be mean about it like Minho, he won't budge an inch on getting you both your full satisfaction. Funnily enough, the only times he'll offer it up is when you least expect it. He thinks it's funny to catch you off your guard, pressing you against an alleyway wall and asking if you want to get off on his thigh now or not get off that way for the rest of the year.

Hyunjin: What's that you say? Hyunjin can't possibly be the least? What about his signature elegant laziness in his dance style? What about the Red Lights MV? Surely he's kinky enough for this?! Well guess what, you're wrong! I consulted the cards and they told me he'd absolutely never dry hump you because he's too much of a brat. He's not gonna settle for your shorts when he could be buried in your tight hot wetness. He's gonna throw a very pretty tantrum if you grind on him for more than thirty seconds without moving to undress. He's poetry in motion, all limbs and lips and sensuality- what makes you think he's gonna waste his lovemaking time on anything other than direct contact?

-Least-

(Anyway hi kids I'm back from the dead have a post I love you all)

[chocolatecoveredfanfics]

No Nut November

Heartsteel! Ezreal x Fem! Reader

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Fingering

Cross-posted from AO3

Is this still a thing? Lol. Me thinks Ez would be the type to do a challenge like this. Hint at the end for next collection in December ; )

''No Nut November' what a stupid thing' you thought to yourself, only to let out a soft whine at the feeling of Ezreal's thumb rubbing against your clit in slow circles. Your back was pressed up against his chest, his legs around you as you sat crossed-legged. Honestly, this challenge was so dumb. When you came over to visit Ez, you expected a good dicking, not a stupid explanation of why he can't. 

"Hey! It's not dumb! There's a lot at stake! Plus it's beneficial to your health!" You wanted to wipe that stupid grin off his face. You had no idea what was betted, and you honestly didn't care enough to ask. But what you did know was that there were other participants in this household. And you didn't want to question any further. "Just because I can't doesn't mean you can't either…" The wiggle of Ez's eyebrows and grin at his suggestive comment pissed you off even more. So now, here you are. Panting at the feeling of Ezreal's fingers stuffed in your cunt while the other worked against your clit.

Your manicured nails bite into his toned arms as his fingers pumped in and out of your tight walls at a languid pace. "That's it baby..." Ezreal groaned into your ear. You let out another whine when his fingers started to scissor in and out of you. Your eyes drawn to watching his fingers play with your messy cunt. The feeling of his clothed hard-on pressing against your back was distracting and you bucked your hips backwards into him, grinding your ass against his bulge. He lets out a hiss in-between clenched teeth, "Hey now~ You gotta control yourself babe." He said while his fingers curled, teasing his finger tips against your walls. You let out a sob in response, "Ezreal! Please!" 

You felt the vibrations of a deep chuck and he leaned close to your ear, nipping softly at it. "I can't say no to that adorable face. You're so cute like this baby." He then pressed a kiss to your shoulder and you let out a soft moan. Not giving you a chance to process his words his fingers start to pick up the pace, curving them upwards just right to hit the spot in you that makes you see stars.

"Ah! Right there Ez! Right there!" You cried out, hips bucking up into his hand. He let out a low chuckle and a moan, holding you down. "Shhh... Let me take care of you~" He cooed into your ear, continuing the fast pace of his fingers going in and out of your tightening core. Occasionally his fingers would hit that spot, teetering you closer and closer to the edge. 

You turned your head to the side to look up at him, begging for release. He groaned at your pleading look, letting out a breathless "fuck" before swooping down to capture your lips in a heated kiss. 

So close, you were so close. The feeling of his fingers rubbing your walls sensually as he pumped in and out, the wet sounds of his fingers stuffing your core, and the feeling of his thumb swiping roughly against your clit; all these sensations combined helping to push you to your climax. You let out a wild cry when he pinched your clit between two fingers, the combination of pain and pleasure finally giving you release. He quickly shoved his tongue into your mouth, muffling your cries with an open mouth kiss as you came. You both groaned into the kiss as your walls spasmed around his fingers. Ezreal drawed out your orgasm with slowing pumps of his fingers, before you tugged at his hair at the oversensitivity.

He lets out a chuckle and gives you one last peck to your lips and finally pulls his fingers out of you, stretching them to see the strings of your arousal glistening on his fingers. You watch as he slowly brings them to your lips and without an ounce of hesitation you start to lap at his fingers. "Good girl..." He groaned, leaning into lap his glistening fingers with you. Your tongues dancing around his digits and caressing each other's. Both letting out a moan at the taste of yourself on his fingers and against your tongues. 

Once he was satisfied with how clean his fingers were he moved his hand away to grab at the back of your head and give you a searing kiss. "Fuck babe, you're making this hard for me." He chuckled against your lips but quickly got up and headed to his in-suite bathroom, not giving you a chance to respond to him.

You let out an annoyed 'humph' and grabbed your phone to scroll through it mindlessly while Ezreal went into the bathroom to wash his hands (and most likely take some selfies). You typed 'No Nut November' in the search bar, a bit curious about this dumb challenge. The Wikipedia page gave you all the information you needed and you rolled your eyes at the description. Before a bold header caught your attention:

Destroy Dick December? Huh. 

You bite your bottom lip, trying to contain your mischievous expression as you peeked over your phone to look at Ez, blissfully unaware of your schemes brewing up in your mind this coming December. This was gonna be fun.

[readychilledwine]

Lose You to Love Me

Summary - You had wanted him for years, loved him for centuries, and waited for him to notice you and see you. But all books have to close, even if we don't like the ending.

Warnings - NSFW, oral, pentration, unrequited love/blind lovers, sex as a tool, the infamous solstice night, implied big brother knows/forbidden romance situation,

A/N - our last @azrielappreciationweek post. Some angst, smut, and feels for us to end the week. I will back from vacation tomorrow and cannot wait to see how this piece went over. 💙 ps. My hormones are all over the place, so I may have cried rereading this because it is such a familiar feeling that we all know. Hopefully, I caught all my errors.

You threw the last book into your bag, sighing heavily as it entered the pocket world and disappeared to your new waiting chambers in Winter. 

You had tried to tell Rhysand you were leaving. Tried to talk to him about the position Kal had offered you, when you'd be going, how this was a set in stone for good move. Did your sweet distracted older brother listen, though? No.

He had not bothered listening since Feyre came. Cassian had not bothered since Nesta was made. And Azriel? Well, that was a complicated story of its own. One you tended not to linger long on, even in your own mind.

Simply put, you were no longer needed here. Meanwhile, Kal, his court needed you. It was still recovering from Amarantha's attacks, and your ability to speak to the land and find where darkness was plaguing it would be a boon to him and his efforts. You had agreed with little hesitation, mind completely open to the new beginning he was offering. 

Your only guilt was choosing to run in the middle of the night on Solstice. 

You left your room to leave a note on the table for Rhys, pausing as you almost ran into Azriel. "Sorry-"

He interrupted your thoughts immediately,  cool shadows looking you over. "What's wrong?" Hazel eyes studied you, reopening the doorway to your room and forcing you back inside. "Y/n, what's wrong?" 

You shook your head, moving to embrace him one last time before you left. 

Azriel was still in your arms, one hand on the small of your back as even his breath came to a pause. "Y/n, where are your things? Why is your room empty?" 

"I'm leaving," your voice was muffled into the soft material of his shirt. "I've been telling you for months, Az."

Azriel pulled you back looking down at you in shock. "We thought you were kidding. You can't leave. Theres-" his jaw had a feather twitch as it clenched. "What can I do to make you stay?"

You shook your head again, watching as his face fell and tears lined both of your eyes. 

Something in Azriel changed in that moment, and the next thing you knew, his lips had slammed on yours, a hand tangled into your hair while the other snaked around your waist. He backed you to the bed, lips moving against yours as if he had been hoarding a lifetime of passion. He lowered you gently, immediately studying you and waiting for permission to continue. 

With a shaking breath, you nodded. A soft "please," falling from your lips. He began his assault again, gently this time though, lips moving at a slow pace as he crawled on top of you. You began unbuttoning his shirt, hands sprawling his bare chest once it was exposed, before moving to the back to undo the closures around his wings and take the material off completely. 

His lips moved to your jawline nipping softly at the flesh there and then to your neck. He growled at the soft gasp that left your mouth as he found the spot between your neck and shoulder that made your body tingle and skin ignite in goosebumps.

He took you removing his shirt as permission to remove yours. Then the soft lace bra he paused to admire. "Is this okay," he whispered in your neck. "You would tell me to stop, right?" 

"Yes," it was a breathless answer again, fueling him to grab more of that from you. 

You had wanted this, wanted him, since you were old enough to understand what these feelings were. This was bittersweet. You knew it was him giving one last ditch effort to keep you here. You knew it wasn't more than him caving to what he knew you had always wanted. 

At least in your mind, that's what you believed. For Azriel, this was the crescendo to a long slow dance the two of you had played for centuries now. You were beautiful, kind, loving, and he only had one chance at this, one moment to hold you, he'd take it regardless of those consequences. Regardless of the fist fight he'd have to survive tomorrow, he'd worship you this one night if this was his last chance to do it.

A soft moan left you and your back arched as he began to suck, lick, and gently roll your nipple between his teeth. His hand played with the other breast as he took his time ensuring that your sensitive peak was hardened before switching his mouth to the otherside pulling those same panting moans from you as your own hand tangled back into his silken hair. 

Scarred hands hooked into the waistband of your soft leggings as Azriel released your breast with a soft pop. He looked up at you again, waiting for permission before sliding them down, groaning softly as the soaked lace panties you were wearing. 

"I'd like to believe you wore these just for me," he muttered. 

You whispered back, "How do you know I wasn't?" And something ignited in his eyes. Ripping them off of you while maintaining eye contact and growling in response. He wasted no time, settling between your legs and kissing from inner knee to thigh as he placed your legs over his shoulders. 

That first lick had your head thrown back into the pillows, back arching, and lips parting in shock. Azriel looked up at you through hooded eyes, hazel lost in lust as he savored you, licking through your folds again before nudging that swelling bundle of nerves. Shadows came to your wrists, pulling them above your head and locking your arms there. It left you completely to his mercy. And that was exactly how he needed you. 

He began to alternate between pushing his tongue as deep into you as he could, licking and drinking the nectar flowing from your core to moaning and humming, his lips sucking your clit. 

You were panting, writhing in place, and moaning for him, begging him for more, for everything. "Azriel, please," you cried as his tongue found your entrance again. He took mercy on you then, latching his lips around your clit rolling it below his tongue gently all while a finger began to run through your soaking heat and then pushed in. 

The Silent scream that left your mouth had him doubling his efforts, wanting to hear the real thing fall from your lips as he began searching. A whiny loud moan left your lips when he found his target, that soft silk spot inside of you. He began pulling that single finger in and out, curling it with each thrust as he continued licking at you clit and moaning as your hips began to roll and grind. That second finger had you panting, his name falling again and again as your eyes fluttered shut and back fully arched. You were close, so fucking close and he could tell. "Cum for me. Look at me and cum for me, y/n. Let me see you fall apart." You obeyed without question as he moved to be above you, watching your face as his fingers pulled you apart string by string. His thumb came to your clit, gently circling the nerves, and when you came, you swore you saw the night sky in her entirety. You screamed his name before falling into whine like moans as he kissed you to silence the noises you were making. 

They were for him and him alone tonight. 

He removed his fingers from you, bringing them to your lips and watched under clouded eyes as you licked and sucked them clean. 

It was desperation that had your hands flying to the ties of his pants, eyes locked on his as you got them loose and pulled them down, releasing his heavy hard cock. You began stroking him, bottom lip pulled between your teeth as you finally felt the weight of him, the softness of him in your hands. Azriel groaned, leaning to grab the headboard above you, lost in the feeling of your smooth hand working him, enjoying the way lust had set in so heavily you dropped all inhibitions for him. His hips began to move in time with your hand. Moaning as he felt his stomach tighten in anticipation. He grabbed your wrist, squeezing it gently to stop you. "Next time," he stated firmly. And guilt set in as you watched him undress fully, there would not be a next time. Your heart could hardly handle this.

You couldn't handle being his flavor of the week, distracting him from his clear wants to be with another. You would take one night, close this chapter, and let go of him, freeing yourself of these unrequited feelings burning inside of you.

He wrapped your legs around his waist lining himself up with your entrance. He pushed in gently, watching your face the entire time as your eyes squeezed shut, breath leaving your lungs. 

You had never felt so full and complete in your life, and you knew deep down you would never feel this again. 

How could you? You were allowing himself to ruin you for any other male, knowing damn well about that string in your chest that never snapped for him. 

Azriel rolled his hips, eyes squeezing shut as your heat swallowed him whole, consuming every inch of him and his soul. You were incomparable and irreplaceable, and his mission set in now. 

Showing you exactly what you meant to him the only way he truly knew how. Gentle kisses came with gentle thrusts, praises whispered in your ear of how much he cared for you, how beautiful you were. Your legs wrapped his waist tighter, hands scratching down his back as those hard deep thrusts hit and filled every inch of you, setting your nerves and body on fire. "Gods I love you," he whispered once he lost himself in bliss. "I love you so fucking much."

And you whispered it back, knowing it was your one chance to tell him. Knowing this was goodbye and tomorrow he'd go back to pursuing Elain. You whispered it over and over, his forehead finding yours as those thrusts picked up pace, hitting that perfect spot every time. "I've always loved you," he whispered. "It's always been you." 

Meaningless words. Words meant to comfort you as if he knew what he was doing. As if he knew the years of tearing yourself apart you had gone through. "I'm right there, baby," he moved to kiss you again, a shadow coming between you to lick at your clit. "Need you to come with me. Need to feel you. Please, y/n," he moaned into your neck. "Please, give me one more baby." 

"Harder," you commanded gently. Needing him to hurt you. "If you want me to come, fuck me harder." 

Legs went from his waist to over his shoulders, allowing him deeper into you, and he began a brutal pace, smirking as you began to shake around him immediately. He had you seeing stars already, that coill tightening over and over like a string waiting to bust. Fingers gently went to a splayed wing, touching the ridge and making Azriel roar as he spilled into you without warning, and triggering your own completion. 

He held you in place, a few sloppy ruts into your seed filled cunt before he pulled out and laid next to you. He pulled your bare body to his, your back meeting his chest. 

Neither of you spoke, words having already been said that you both meant to take to your grave. 

You waited until he fell asleep, kissing him one last time and dressing yourself. You stepped onto the balcony, summoning your wings and wiping the tears that were falling. 

You took off, closing the book of your time in the Night Court as you did along with ending the tragic love story between you and Azriel. 

The next morning, Azriel woke up to an agonizing cry and scream. One he knew belonged to Rhysand. You were gone, your side of the bed empty. He immediately sent shadows to search for you before shielding the scent of sex that lingered on his skin and grabbing his clothing to shift himself to his room.

He had barely pulled pants on before Rhys was at his door, tears streaming as he handed Azriel a note. "Find her. Please find her. Please bring her home. I." Rhys didn't need to explain as Azriel pulled him to his chest. "I can't lose her. Please find her."

And as Azriel held Rhys, he swore on that golden glittering bond he would not stop until he did find you. And he would not stop until you realized those words he whispered to you last night weren't just words. They were his truth.

[velvetures]

Vulnerable pt.2

A/N: Due to everyone's love for the first installment, here's a continuation! It's not full NS/FW to "completion", however, a third post will finish up the little mini-series if part two does well enough. Summary: After getting Ghost to release his tensions after a harsh mission, you're surprised to see how far things go. Ghost is just as shocked. TW's: sexual content NS/FW 18+ ONLY, fem reader, cursing, sexual thoughts, intimacy, not proofread. If I missed something... let me know.

Read Part One Here

Ghost’s eyes flicker in the dim light with something you’ve never seen before. It’s similar to the pain you’ve seen on his face when trying to nurse a stab or gunshot wound. Tinged around the edges with a panic and cracked lines of desperation. For such a strong and self-proclaimed heartless man, his eyes show so much deeper a story. One that calls out happily at the idea of keeping you close to him like this. Interested. Much more than he’d ever felt before.

“If you want to, we could lay down?” You suggest gently, looking at the bed and then back to him. “I’ll keep going.”

Those silently expressive eyes shift all over again. “Yes.”

You stay still, allowing him to choose the pace and tone of this. Wanting him comfortable and feeling safe with you. All of it could stop the second he made it clear, but for some reason, you really couldn’t understand why the Lieutenant was letting you in. And it wasn’t because you were massaging his back. Twisting his lower half onto the bed, Ghost shifted until settled down on the bed on his back, totally open to you. In his relaxed position, you can feel how the invisible magnets between you shift from pushing forces to pulling ones. Body heat radiating off of him and his steady breaths almost acted like a sleeping pill for you as you laid down next to him, careful not to edge into his personal space.

“How would you like to lay?” His eyes wander over your face softly as you question him; head leaning to the side to get a full look at you resting next to him with your messy hair and t-shirt with little holes dotting alone the stretched-out collar. Ghost couldn’t help but realize how pretty you looked right now with your little smile and glowing skin illuminated in the yellow light. It doesn’t take a lot of thought before he gives a very quick and confident answer.

“Facing you.” His dark eyes study you for a response.

One he fears will be hesitation or discomfort. Fuck, maybe even fear. You’d seen him do things even hell would shudder at, yet you always came to him bearing a trusting and happy disposition. Being covered in blood, sand, sweat or mud never deterred you from walking right up to him like some lost little puppy hoping someone would find it cute enough to take home. Genuinely it bothered him. Why do you overlook the danger he presented. How you could be so fucking pleasant and calm in almost every situation you were thrown into. Something he’d been angrily dismissing as nothing more than a passing trend until you really got to know him as well as others had. Yet nothing changed. In fact, you appeared almost excited at the prospect and wiggled yourself into what he assumed was a more comfortable position on your side with one arm propped up under your head.

Ghost shifts himself onto his side with a small grunt, getting into an equally comfortable position that closes a bit more distance between you both. If you had mentioned it, his excuse would’ve fallen somewhere along the lines of you having short arms and that he was only accommodating your size. Nothing could pry the truth that he just liked being close to you out of his mouth. Days in the desert hadn’t nearly touched you. Sure you were a little rough around the edges without time to redo your hair or do any of the other small things… But damn you still looked pretty. With so little space between you, he could smell how sweet you were too. Not that fake shit women always put too much of on. You smelled right. Like a woman ought to. Natural, and… maybe a little on the salty side. It meant you’d been busting your ass in the field, and that thought alone gave Ghost a bit of a shiver as he inhaled deeply.

Face-to-mask with just a little more than a couple inches between you, the closeness felt comforting, reassuring. Ghost at ease, getting to take his time admiring all of the small things he’d never thought to appreciate, while you revel in such a strange yet lucky opportunity to watch him practically melt into the bed all because of your touches and soft words. Perhaps it’s because of all his walls coming crashing down that you’re able to begin trailing your fingertips over his arm. You worked from his wrist to his bicep then over and down onto his ribs, feeling the texture of burns and scars and the small raised edges of tattoos sunk into his skin.

Ghost lets out a low, soft, moan as your hands glide over his stomach. There’s a softness in his eyes as he looks directly at you, blinking innocently like he doesn’t quite know what to do with himself. He’s so eager yet nervous for any sort of attention, and while you have no intention of stopping, you’re careful to not move too quickly. His breath increasing under your hand is a good enough indication that he was feeling something, and strongly, at that.

“More,” he breathes out, nearly panting with his one hand fisting at the sheets under him.

He’s starting to shake inside. Tingling on every surface you touch and fighting back the desperate urge to just make an observed amount of noise with just how much he likes this. It’s been so long since anyone had touched him so intimately. The overstimulation was nearly enough to make his eyes roll back in his head. Yet he swallowed thickly, willing himself to act as normally as possible. For fuck’s sake you hadn’t done anything that should reduce him to such a pathetic excuse of a man on the edge of anticipation waiting to see where you’d touch him next. You made it even harder when you looked up at him with a smile and raised eyebrows.

“Can I try something?”

He can’t nod quick enough, watching those eyes of yours light up. He shivers as your attention moves upwards to the hem of his mask, toying with it a little before tracing long lines from the base of his throat all the way up to his jaw. Working to trace out the shapes and planes of his face under the thin material. It makes him quiver and tighten his fist around the sheets in his hand. Without thinking, he moves his other arm to wrap around your waist tightly and pulls you the rest of the way against him with a small growl of lost patience. Ghost wanted you close, but god you were just too sweet to do it on your own. And with your body heat scalding against his bare skin, he gives a pinched sigh, eyes fluttering closed with you still rubbing his face.

“This okay?” He whispers lowly, his arm still wrapped around you and his hand pressed flat against the deep sway of your lower back; thumb rubbing over your belt loop absentmindedly. Hearing your soft sigh pours over his mind like thick honey in tea.

“Of course, it is,” Your hand curls around the edge of his jaw reassuringly. “You can touch me back if you’d like to.” You offer, reaching behind him to trace a line up his spine. Ghost’s eyes open at your invitation, his gaze -heavy- but fixed on you. His body tenses ever so slightly as you ask. Then, he closes them again and a small hidden smile crosses his lips.

“Yeah…” He answers at a mere whisper.

He moves his hand from its resting place and moves it to the swell of your hip, running it over your waist, fingers lazily catching the edge of your shirt and rolling it up enough that his fingertips brush against your bare skin in a soft gesture. You sense his nervousness in the slight shake of his hands, unsure of where to go, but fighting with the desire to touch everything at least once. Like he’s terrified he won’t get another chance but doesn’t want to scare you away from him either. His arm moves upwards, his hand coming to the side of your face; fingers smoothing back a couple of stray hairs and running across your head. Mentally you stutter for a moment, your arm draped over his side and your hand on his back stilling. Enraptured with Ghost’s rough hand touching you carefully. Treating you no differently than a bomb ready to go off at the slightest wrong move. So gently his thumb brushes over your cheekbone, hearing a tender sigh from under his mask.

“That feels good,” You whisper, lips brushing against the edge of his palm.

An answer doesn’t come, but you can see him nod his head. You can almost picture his smile as his fingers continue to run through your hair, twisting the strands around his fingers and pulling slightly before repeating the motion over again. Lacing his hand closer and closer to you with every soft touch. Ghost can’t help himself from tracing down the curve of your back again. Absorbing the comfort of your breath fanning over his chest and his hands getting to truly feel every inch of you he never even thought about touching, let alone actually laying next to you this close and feeling your smooth skin under his calloused palms. Experience in this kind of thing was as foreign to Ghost as the idea of working a nine-to-five at some office building typing on a computer or attending one o’clock meetings for a budget report. While that sounded mind-numbing enough to blast his own brains out…. he still felt like he’d have a better grip on living a life like that more so than he did lying next to you…

So fucking pretty always smiling like that.

He feels you lean even closer, resting your head against his bare chest and sinking deeper into the bed. Allowing him total freedom to do what he wished. If you could purr, he imagined you’d sound no different than a little kitten tucked inside someone’s shirt, kneading its paws into your skin. Ghost did smile widely this time, moving just enough to unbind his other arm out from under himself and curl it around your head to toy with the extremely soft strands right at the nape of your neck while the other rubbed at the dimples he felt in the small of your back.

You moan softly when his strong fingers squeeze at the back of your neck, rubbing in circles just at the back of your head to mimic the same technique you used on him earlier. Ghost was a quick study, but having large enough hands to practically scruff you with only one made it easier. Muffled in his chest, it didn’t come out nearly as deep and unrestrained as you’d actually been, yet you didn’t miss the slight shake of Ghost’s chest as he chuckled darkly. Proud that he’d elicited such a response, and already moving his hands more confidently to try and find somewhere else he could touch to make you repeat the noise.

“Does that feel good?” His voice pours over your ears like the bourbon he drinks, flooding your mind with a hazy and warm feeling.

Nodding your head to answer, his thumb runs lightly over your jaw again, this time squeezing affectionately. The Lieutenant on the other hand is relying far too much on his mask to keep his mounting excitement under control. Biting back an instinct to be rougher and see what other sounds you could make for him. Wrestling against the want to fully remove your shirt to see if you felt this soft everywhere. Suddenly hungry and hardly masking it. When you feel him suck in a harsh breath, you look up to see his eyes resting firmly on yours. A silent question lingers in the inch or two gap between your faces. His chest rises and falls quickly, anticipatory.

Swallowing the fucking childish nervousness clawing at his throat he finally speaks. “Should I?”

“I’d like if you did.” You whisper back, looking between his eyes and the painted teeth of his mask where you’ve pictured his lips being. Hoping. Praying. Fucking begging whatever beings could be in the sky above that you’d understood what he was asking for. That he’d give you so much more than you ever expected or dreamed of.

The Lieutenant’s eyes lock onto your mouth, and you can actually hear the thick swallow and deep breath he takes. A moment of anticipation that he couldn’t help but close his eyes for, bringing his masked face closer and closer. No more than a breath away, he can smell your hair and it makes him freeze. Quickly overwhelmed and unsure of how to move forward. So in the depth of his own mind, the presence of his mask still covering his whole lower face escapes his attention. You’re calm enough to help him, reaching between you and lifting the hem of his mask just enough to uncover his lips; Carefully resting the mask on the wide bridge of his nose.

You see deep scars -old and new- all over his lower face. Two of them cut over his lips in wide slashes that differed in color from the rest of his beautiful skin. It made your heart squeeze with sadness. Seeing the first real proof of just why Ghost was so closed off and afraid of letting anyone in. The first-hand experience left him always marching on a fine line between professional collaboration and a real, deep emotional connection to those he protected and those who wanted more than anything to protect him too.

Care about him.

It’s the one thought that brought you to press your lips to Ghost’s. Firm and sure of yourself but still sweet as sugar against his mouth. It takes him far longer than he thought to respond in any meaningful way. The sensation is so different, saccharine and syrupy. His. breath increases in pace, and you can feel his tongue teasing at your bottom lip in curiosity. It’s anxious yet bold. Even his hands are still shaking, they’re already wandering under the hem of your shirt much further than before. Grazing the bottom edge of your bra just like his tongue messily begged for more.

When you wrap your arms around his neck to pull him closer, Ghost feels his inhibitions falling away. Opening his mouth with a low groan and pushing himself deeper, licking against your tongue greedily and tightening his grasp around you to begin rumbling for the hooks on your bra.

He’s nearly panting when he pulls away first, resting his forehead against yours with the hooks of your bra undone without even remembering when he’d done it. The sensation is sending heatwaves through your stomach, flooding your body with heat that rests on your cheeks.

“You’re beautiful.” He mumbles, pulling at your shirt slowly and guiding it up over your head with care not to let it catch on anything.

Your heart thumps furiously as he kisses you, his tongue grazing against your own, softly and sweetly. His teeth tug on your lower lip, and his hands explore your back, feeling the smoothness of your skin. The warmth of his lips feels wonderful, his tongue exploring you as his movements become more frantic.

You feel his hands leave your back and move to your breasts, running lightly against the plush flesh before squeezing softly. Teasing his thumbs over your hardened nipples, giving you a darkened look when a small whimper slips from you. Ghost's eyes flick down, catching the image of your topless body before him and the almost pinched look of pleasure suddenly shocking your body. He smiles at you, his lips parting slightly as he does so feeling a new sense of accomplishment than ever before.

Hurting people felt natural to him after so many years alone and fighting to survive in every moment that came to pass. Rhythm and attention to the enemy's detailed reactions made him a lethal weapon against anyone his talents were directed at. With you in his hands though, the act of fighting was similar yet so very polar opposite. He watched and listened to every pretty little sound you made, but instead of that unending desire for retribution, he was being satiated with the knowledge that he could make you melt with nothing more than his mouth and hands.

Fuck, that thought almost ended Ghost. He couldn’t imagine just how many sounds he could rip out of you if he could use his hands or mouth somewhere else. God, if he ever had the chance to give you his cock, there’d really be no way of going back. He looks you in the eyes for a moment, then back to your lips, before kissing you again, his tongue exploring you as his hands run up and down your body.

He's so fucking eager now, and it shows, his excitement building in every movement of his hips beginning to roll up against yours. He's making you feel so hot and desperately needy for anything that could be given to you, and that's all he wants. Make you feel everything possible… all under his hands. His body, his touch. Only him. It couldn’t be anyone else now that he’d been given a taste of you.

The stone-cold Lieutenant Ghost is ready to give you everything all in the pursuit of making you feel absolutely overwhelmed with pleasure.

Comments & Reblogs are Appreciated

[igotanidea]

Pain! : J.T x reader

Request: Jason is so overwhelmed and with so much adrenaline that needs to be released that he ends up hurting his girlfriend during sex

Warnings: MDNI, smut, unprotected p in v, rape, angst, hurt, no comfort, dark themes

***

„Fuck, you feel so good.” He groaned pressing into her further, harder, faster.

“Jason…. I …..” she tried to say something, to tell him that it felt different than any other time before but he simply wasn’t listening.

Half an hour ago he came back from his patrol, adrenaline still boiling inside him and he desperately needed something, someone to help him get it out of his system. And since it was the ritual that he swung by his girlfriend after being done with beating criminals….. boom. It only took him a minute to pin her to the mattress, his mind completely blurred, focus on the sensation of her body squirming underneath him.

Fuck, he loved the way she was scratching her nails along his back, her ragged, quickened breath hitting his ear, the taste of her skin as he kissed her neck, sucked her breast  and flicked his tongue over her nipples.

“So fucking good.” He repeated, pressing her knees more into her chest, hitting deeper and making her whine.

“Jason….. please….”

“Don’t worry baby, I’ll take care of you.” he smirked, trailing kisses over her jaw, smirking at the thought that he was the one to make her so needy. Needy of him.

“No, please….” she tried again, her palms resting on his chest as she tried to push him away desperately, but was too weak to succeed “it…. It hurts…..”

“I know baby, but just hold on for me, all right? I’m gonna make you feel so good. Just let me….”

“It really hurts! Please, Jay, please, just stop. Ah!” she shuddered, but it was not because of the pleasure but rather because the pace he set was brutal, piercing. It felt like someone was burning her from the inside and she simply could not take it. What happened to her Jason? The one who was caring and attentive, always thinking about her while having sex? He knew the size difference. He knew how easy it was to push past her limits and yet, all of that care and thoughtfulness was gone. He was chasing his own pleasure, not caring about collateral damage.

Collateral damage being her.

“Just relax for me princess.” He cooed into her ear, kissing the soft spot behind it, but it didn’t help at all.

“It’s too much…” her sob was cut off by his mouth on her. He was kissing her with the urgency, getting absolutely lost in the feeling of her spasming around his cock, not giving her even the slightest chance to object or voice her concerns . He just pushed and pushed and pushed in and out in a repetitive motion, his ragged breath and groans silencing the whimpers and little, desperate cries of her. He was so fucking close, focused only on the way his digits were diving into her pussy, taking him so good, so well.

Or at least that was what he thought.

“Jace…..” she cried once again, but it was for nothing. He sped up even more (it was hardly possible, but again – the adrenaline) and finally blew off inside her, painting her walls with all of his cum, still rocking his hips against her, feeling alive like never before.

“Y/N….” he whispered in a post-coital bliss “Y/N?” it took him a few seconds to realize that he didn’t feel her soft hands on him, caressing him, touching, pulling him in. She was lying like a lifeless log, her eyes blurry, tears running down her cheeks, her whole body quivering.

Oh, fuck…..

“Baby?” his voice suddenly became small and concerned. What did he do? Slowly, not to cause her any additional pain he pulled back and much to his terror notice the blood dripping from her pussy. Fuck square. “Y/N? Baby…..I…..” he hesitated not sure what to say, extending his arm and cupping her cheek caressing it, but it only made her flinch and closed her eyes “Princess, I…. I’m so fucking sorry. I didn’t mean to ……”

“Please, get away from me.” she sobbed and he had no choice but to listen, changing his position to lay on the right side of bed “don’t … touch me….”

“Princess, what can I do?” he observed her trembling silhouette as she tried to get out from bed, but her legs gave up on her and she fell to the ground crying even more . “Please, let me help you, what do you need love?”

“JUST LEAVE ME ALONE!” she screamed and gathering all her strength, like a newborn deer stood on the shaking limbs and as fast as she could moved towards the  bathroom.  The only sound Jason heard after was the click of the lock and muffled sounds of pain.

She was in pain.

She was in pain because of him.

And what was even worse, she tried to tell him, but he did not listen too selfish in his blinding desire.

Fuck.

He had to do something. She could scream at him, curse at him, throw things at him, tell him to go to hell (where he actually was now), but this was his fuckup and he just had to make it right.

“Y/N.” he sprung out of bed and knocked on the bathroom door “Baby, please, open up.”

“GO AWAY!”

“You know I can’t leave you like this. Please. I’m sorry. “

“I said go away!”

“Let me help you.”

“I think you did enough!”

 “I really want to make it better.”

“Better?” the door opened rapidly and her broken, vulnerable, pale and exhausted figure came into display “And how are you planning on doing this?”

“I ….. I’ll do anything. I love you.” he pleaded with her but it only made her cry out again, breaking his heart in the process.

“I…. I know you do. I know, Jason.”

“Please, come back to bed. You’re gonna get cold.’ He pointed out. The fact was that her emotional, hurting body and brain prevented her from putting on any piece of clothing and now she was standing in the middle of the bathroom, on the cold tiled floor, absolutely naked, the last drops of blood staining the place where she was standing . “I won’t touch you if you don’t want me to. I promise. I can make you some hot chocolate and maybe we can….. talk about it? Please, baby, please…..”

“I…..” she stuttered. There was nothing that she wanted more than to dive into his arms, to feel his warm embrace and calming touch. She wanted to feel safe with him. But unfortunately that was not an option for the moment. And who knew how long it would take to recover? “I don’t want to talk. I don’t want to think. I just want to get some rest.”

“Do you want me to….?”

“No. I…. I need some alone time. I ….. need to process all this.”

“does It hurt much?”

“What do you think!? Fuck, Jason ,you know you are big and I don’t mean that as a complement now! We talked about it hundreds of times!”

“I’ll take the couch then.”

She only looked him in the eyes one. It was devastating to see so much pain behind his orbs. So much guilt, so much regret. Somewhere deep inside she knew he never meant to hurt her and that treating him this cold was cruel, but she was hurting. Both emotionally and physically and the wound was too fresh to move past this.

“Good night, Jason”  she muttered moving towards the bedroom and closing the door tightly, leaving him in the literal dark.

None of them were going to sleep well that night.

Y/N found herself tossing and turning in the bed, not sure what the new day would bring and fighting the urge to just get up, get to him and cuddle in hope the trauma would go away.

Meanwhile Jason was sitting on the floor, leaning his head on her bedroom door, mentally cursing himself and running hands through his head repeatedly.

Could she forgive him?

[bunnithebard]

Through the Walls

A/N: So sorry about the radio silence!! But I'm going to double post to try and make up for the long break so those that are interested in where this little blurb goes can still enjoy my ramblings! Thank you dearies!

**Just a reminder that I'm moving from my other account (bunni3thebard) to this one, so that I can have more independence from my random trash account that's just an amalgamation of memes I enjoy lol–also, I can't remember who made the page break bats, so if you may know send me their name and I can at them accordingly. I just saved it on my phone one day cause I thought it was neat!**

Title: Through the Walls

Vampire!Eddie Munson x Female!Reader

Summary: You’ve been in Hawkins for almost a year now. It was nice, an escape from painful memories and a way to start fresh. After so long isolating yourself, you decide that it’s time to make friends, get to know someone so you’re not so alone. One of those friends happened to be your Cryptid Neighbor.

Chapter 1: Silent Scream

[Masterlist] [Chapter 2]

Your neighbor was a cryptid.

At least, you were convinced they were.

You knew someone lived there because of the lights that would come on and off, and the shadow figures moving behind the curtains. Not to mention that the walls were thin as fuck, so you heard them watch TV and play guitar and listen to metal music obscenely loud during the midnight hours.

But even though they kept the same crazy hours you did, you've never seen hide nor hair of them.

You started to make theories about what kind of person they were. Like that they were a burn out whose parents paid for everything for them so they didn't work, just farted around all day–hence the 4am jam sessions.

Another theory that had struck you one night while working a double at the Hawkins ER was that they were a drug lord and had to keep odd hours to evade the police.

But you wrote off that theory since you'd thought it up while sleep deprived after an 18 hour shift.

You entertained the idea of a squatter, but then why would they have electricity?

You had finally come to the conclusion that you were lonely as fuck and you obsessed over the identity of your mysterious neighbor because you were long deprived of human companionship and thus you hyperfixated on a superficial meaningless thing to distract yourself from being alone.

Or maybe they were Mothman…

Thankfully the grocery store kept late hours on the weekend, and that's where you found yourself on your free Saturday night. You'd woken up naturally around seven pm, even though your alarm was set for nine, and decided to putter around your house until your alarm went off so you could feel like you were properly lazy.

You sat contemplating cereals for a few meandering seconds, sure your eyes were blinking at an astronomically slow pace. You'd smoked a bowl to help you sleep and felt like it hadn't completely left you. You just hoped your eyes weren't red.

Grunting, you shoved both boxes into your cart and turned to move on to the next aisle when you crashed into someone else's cart. "Shit." You hissed below your breath, rubbing your stomach where the handle of the cart had roughly jabbed into you.

"Damn, sorry about that!"

Looking up you met the soft face of a brunette woman who looked about your age with her hair pulled back into a messy bun and long-sleeve black shirt falling off one of her thin shoulders exposing her bra strap. She gave you a sheepish smile and you shrugged.

"No harm no foul, although if you do it again I'll take it personally and make no bones about it: I will cry." She snorted, making you grin in triumph.

"Don't worry. I don't make it a habit of accosting people in the grocery store." She pulled her cart back from yours.

You hummed, "Good to know I'll be a one-and-done hit-and-run."

Her smile was cute. She had a strong jaw with a petite nose that scrunched up adorably as she grinned.

"I'm Nancy." She'd offered her hand.

You hesitated.

It had been a while since you'd earnestly interacted with someone outside of transactional exchanges, like for work or buying things or paying bills. People were messy. Maybe it was the paranoia from your past–trauma you couldn't shake that clung to you like a second skin–but you'd been wary of making friends on the off chance your name gets around and spreads to corners of places you didn't want it to go.

It was ridiculous. Narcissistic in a way.

So you ground your teeth and mustered a smile hoping it looked genuine and shook her hand.

You stood outside staring at the moon for a while dressed in nothing but a size 8XL shirt you snagged from Wal-Mart cause it was soft. You knew you should smoke inside, no telling when someone might rat you out to the cops, but the moon was full and the stars were bright. You weren't used to how clear the sky was in comparison to the city, even after a year.

Your eyelids fluttered, vision hazy as the weed worked its magic.

Nancy had invited you to some neighborhood get-together next week that was popular in Hawkins. Said she hadn't seen you around before and was surprised you'd survived a year without becoming the talk of the town. You blew out a heavy stream of smoke, humming to yourself thoughtfully.

But that had been the point, right?

Keep a low profile, stay hidden.

Sighing, you took another deep drag of your joint, holding the burning breath as tight as you could. You watched the stars dance in your vision before you finally exhaled.

God you were fucking lonely, though.

You scrubbed at your head, mussing up your hair. Curiosity was easy to take hold in your high state, so you peered towards your neighbors apartment and saw a shadow in front of the curtains. You squinted, eyeing the light blue fabric for a while since your vision was blurry. You could've sworn you saw a sliver of it be pulled aside with tentative fingers. You blinked slowly, sighing heavy through your nose and mumbled to yourself, "Fucking bigfoot in there for sure."

Turning back around to your apartment door you sucked in the last bit of the joint and dropped the roach to the ground, bending over to squish it with a rock to make sure it was out. Standing with a groan, you walked barefoot back to your front door. You were like, 90% sure the complex was just repurposed from an old Motel 6, but it was cheap and they sprayed for bugs every Tuesday, so you didn't complain.

It was small, enough space for your bed with a loveseat to watch your shitty TV that sat on top of your dresser and a micro kitchen they built in the corner next to the door for the bathroom. There was no kitchen sink and the fridge was half-size, but you were one person so you didn't quite care enough to complain. You did wish the fridge drawers were a bit bigger so they didn't catch on all the food packages you shoved in there.

Maybe it was because you were high, or lonely–or maybe a combination of the two–but you slid your hand across the wall that connected your apartment to your cryptid neighbor's. Then you tapped the starting notes for "Shave and a Haircut". You waited a breath, not sure if they had even heard it.

But then there it was: "Two Bits".

You grinned, giggling like Scooby Doo as you danced over to your bed, throwing yourself down with a bounce on the cheap twin.

Since you had smoked, sleep came easy. You were lulled into dream after weird dream courtesy of Miss Mary Jane. There was one where you went grocery shopping with Bigfoot and another where you went on Jerry Springer because you were pregnant with Mothman's baby.

You were curious what kind of cryptid your neighbor was.

The neighborhood block party was, for all intents and purposes, a Hawkins bash. 

Apparently it was a pretty regular affair every few months: a potluck with a few dad's who wheeled their grills to the end of a large cul-de-sac to cook up some burgers and dogs, some artsy fartsy mom's who made crafts for the younger kids to do, and sparklers and poppers for the older kids to get into mischief with.

There were maybe fifteen to twenty adults and a smattering of an equal number of kids. 

You had brought a shitty box of cookies from a bakery a few blocks away from the hospital since you couldn't cook anything on your extra small stove. You also had switched shifts with Beverly–fucking ray of sunshine she was, grunting and groaning about working on a Saturday night, but you had taken her Sunday so she could get bent–so that you could be here, at this lovely affair. 

You were starting to have regrets.

You watched a few pre-teens wave sparklers around in glee, making to poke and prod one another with the burning end. You wondered if you should step in, knowing that there were some second degree burns waiting to happen, but a random mom came over and grabbed each kid's wrists in warning. You slunk away to the food table.

You set your meager contribution down and turned to eye all the adult women, trying to find your potential petite new friend.

They all had their hair done up in that style where their bangs spiraled out in delicate feathering with the ends curled towards their shoulders. Some had simple ponytails decorated with hair bands and colorful scrunchies. You ran your fingers through your hair self-consciously; you hadn't done anything, merely brushed it and hoped for the best as you donned your nicest pair of jeans and a thrifted Van Halen '79 tour shirt. You figured since it would be outside the party would be a casual thing, but the dresses and blouses these housewives wore made you think you were a little unprepared for the mandatory 'Sunday Best' dress code. 

You fiddled with the ends of your shirt. 

You contributed to the sacrificial neighborhood potluck, maybe the Gods will be pleased enough to let you leave without seeing Nancy.

You turned to make a break for it and nearly bowled over the brunette in question.

Cookies were not a good enough sacrifice.

Her smile was bright and her blue eyes lit up at seeing you. "Hey, you made it!" She went in to hug you and you tensed, locking your arms to your side in the world's most awkward exchange of physical affection.

She gave a nervous smile and pulled away, "Sorry, too soon for hugs?" Her chuckle was used to try and break the tension and you were grateful as you laughed along.

"No, it's just–I uh… haven't really hung out with anyone for a while, so I guess I'm just getting back into the swing of how friendship works." You shrugged, rubbing the back of your neck.

Her eyes sparkled at your admission of seeing her as a potential friend. She grabbed your hand and pulled you over to a small group that hung around the edges of the block party.

The first one you noticed was a taller Hispanic man with the most beautiful hair you had ever seen in your life. It was lustrous and hung past his hips, swaying gently with his movements. He smiled, eyes half-lidded but sweet, giving you a gentle nod as Nancy motioned to the group, giving your name.

"This is Argyle," she pointed at the man with the incredible hair.

"Robin," next was a thin, lanky woman with messy dirty blonde hair that hung a little past her chin. She had a dusting of freckles across her nose and a charming crooked smile. She wiggled her fingers in a sweet hello.

"Steve," the man next to Robin was broad-shouldered with a just as square jaw line. His eyes were slightly turned down at the ends, giving him this sweet puppy-dog stare matched with a megawatt smile. He had some random freckles and moles that decorated across his face and the visible areas of his arms that made him look a lot younger. He nodded to you, giving a weird wink that you were sure was supposed to come off as charming, but was mildly unsettling.

"And my husband, Jonathan!" The last guy had a small upturned nose with a low brow that was covered by messy strands of mousy brown hair. He gave a shy smile, nodding to you while bouncing lightly. Over his shoulders he had a baby vest strapped to him and a very crabby looking baby facing outwards. Their face was scrunched up, looking more like a potato than a child, and they had wispy brown hair that was stuck up wildly like their head had been rubbed with a balloon. 

Nancy smiled proudly, tickling the cheek of the child that gave a low, annoyed hum for an impressively long amount of time. "And this is Eliza, my daughter."

You gave a pinched smile, waving awkwardly. "Hey." 

"'Sup Brosephina," Argyle smiled, offering you his fist. You chuckled, tapping yours against it lightly. "A pleasure to aquaint with you." He stuck his hand back in his pocket, the other holding the neck of a Pabst. 

"An enjoyable aquaint with you as well." You rocked awkwardly onto your heels.

Argyle's smile grew and he nodded, "Right on." He laughed.

"Hi," you looked over to Steve who held out his large hand in greeting. You shook it, noting that he was gentle when shaking yours, but gave a squeeze before he released you. His smile was adorable, but he was definitely trying to flirt. You were curious if it was just an unconscious thing, or if he was actually putting in effort. "Nice to meet you." 

You gave a soft nod in reply, but before you could fully pull your hand away, Robin shot forward and grabbed it giving you a few firm shakes, "It's really good to meet you, I think I actually saw you a while ago–my girlfriend's daughter broke her arm and I remember you gave us all strawberry Jell-O before we left."

Your eyes widened and you pointed at her with your other hand, "Oh yeah! Dotty! She was freaking adorable. How's her arm?" 

Robin's smile was glowing and she squeezed your hand tightly, "She's good, her whole class signed her cast and when she got it off she begged to keep it even though it smelled like old shoes."

You barked out a laugh, unknowingly squeezing Robin's hand back, "Hell yes, that's awesome. A trophy of her triumphs! I recommend a pantyhose sock full of cat litter, it helps a ton with the shoe stink."

Robin's eyes widened and she gave a dramatic gasp, "That's freaking brilliant, oh my god, thank you!"

Jonathan snickered, "You got chronic stinky feet?" He teased, eyes glimmering as he bounced his daughter.

You smirked, dropping Robin's hand and leaning into your hip, "Maybe, or maybe I've learned a thing or two from working with older nurses. But I could also have insanely stinky feet, and now you know my shame." 

Everyone laughed and you felt your smile grow, your shoulders relax, and you let yourself feel like you belonged. 

You didn't feel so alone anymore.

The block party ended up not being bad. Although, a guy named Andy Barker had tried to hit on you when you went to grab a hot dog ("You like 'em long and juicy, huh"–barf) even though his wife was within eyesight. Nancy had warned you that they often did that: flirt with other people in front of each other to get their partner jealous.

It was absolutely insane, small towners were bonkers.

You had snagged a bag full of cookies for the road, not including those from the bakery you had gone to as they were a little rubbery and sad. Argyle gave you a high five.

"Choice snack Brochacha, need a muchie master to inspire your partaking in said chocolate chunks?" You blinked a few times, unsure of what in the hell he was trying to say. 

Jonathan snickered, leaning over to translate, "Do you want some weed with that?"

Needless to say: Argyle was your favorite.

Pocket a little heavier with two freshly rolled "Blunts of Friendship", as Argyle called them, and a couple of sandwich bags full of pilfered cookies, you walked up to your door with a smile. 

You had made friends. 

It was nice, this feeling. You hadn't been able to know companionship, even platonic ones, in such a long time it was like a weight had been lifted from your shoulders. Maybe not all the weight, but it was lighter and it felt good to breathe with a little less paranoia pushing you down.

You jiggled the keys into your lock but stopped, turning ever so slightly to look at your neighbor's door. It was a gawdy yellow with a plaquard of gold painted numbers reading "2D" decorating it. The paint on the numbers and the door was chipped in places and faded from natural weathering. You didn't see any shadows in the window and the light wasn't on. It wasn't surprising since the sun was still, technically, out. 

It was sunset, the sky lit up by a golden-amber glow that slowly sunk into the royal purple of the evening as it met the horizon. Night would fall soon.

You weren't sure what compelled you, maybe the giddy feeling that came from making new friends, or from having a really good day, but you strolled over to the door and stared at it, feet placed only a few inches away. Looking down at the bags in your hand, you placed one of them against the wall next to the door and sighed.

Nerves were starting to eat at you and you looked at your apartment door that was about ten feet away, then back to 2D's. Sucking in a deep breath for strength, you gathered your bravery and knocked on the door three times before booking it to your door: 2C. 

Slamming your door behind you, you kept the lights off and took deep gulping breaths. That was the fastest you'd ever run in your life, you're sure of it.

You slunk to the floor, splaying your legs out in front of you as you caught your breath, thumping your head back against the wood of your own gawdy yellow door. You shut your eyes.

You don't know why in the fuck you decided to dong-dong-ditch some cookies for your cryptid neighbor. 

Maybe it was because you had developed a weird relationship with them in your head: mysterious being that occupies the shitty motel-esque apartment next to you that may know your struggles because they keep the same weird hours you do. You had put too much thought into them and they became a being you considered a friend in the fantasy of your mind. 

You wanted to include them in the block party.

You had sat there for a good ten minutes, breath caught, and you didn't quite know what to do with yourself now. You didn't want to go to sleep–no matter how fucking tired you were from staying awake during the day–but you were at an impasse of not knowing where to go or what to do. 

And that's when you heard it.

"Shave And A Hair Cut".

The smile that spread across your face pushed the apples of your cheeks up so high you could see the tops of them in your vision. You laughed softly, bringing your hand up to the wall and replying.

"Two Bits".

[NEXT CHAPTER]

[the1975attheirverybest]

Education

Lesson #7: Communication is KEY.

A/N: well; you asked for it. It’s here.

Warnings: smut. Also not entirely proof read cuz I wanted to post it today for y’all so…

———

“Amelia?” Matty called out to her from behind the door, resting his forehead against it. “Can I please come in?” He cooed.

He knocked this time, in case she hadn’t heard him, “Amelia, darlin, please let me in.” He listened carefully for a shuffling of feet, any signs of movement at all, but none came. Soon, he began to pace back and forth to alleviate the raging of his heart. “Amelia, please. Open the door- please, I need to know that you’re alright.”

The silence was unbearable. As he paced by the bathroom door, Matty went over the events of the night in his mind, combing through every detail as he remembered it, trying to identify the moment that things went wrong.

He’d spent the entire way to the party wondering if she was going to be there. She’d designed the art work for the album that they were about to celebrate, so he’d hoped that Jamie would’ve had the sense to invite her. It’d gotten difficult to get a hold of her after their last phone call. Which, embarrassingly, he’d been too drunk to remember the details of. He has a vague recollection of talking to her, touching himself, alone, in his hotel bed, listening to her moan on the other end of the phone and wishing that she were eighth there with him. But he doesn’t remember much else. The texts were sparse and far between after that night. She wouldn’t pick up whenever he tried to FaceTime her. He’d written it off as time zone issues. It wouldn’t be the first time that his friendships or relationships were affected by his itinerant lifestyle. As he’d learned the hard way, over the years, nothing beats being in the same room with people. No matter how good distant connection is.

He’d spotted her soon after arriving at the event; seen her standing with a group of people that she doesn’t really like. He knew she was too polite to excuse herself from the conversation, so he figured if he inserted himself into the group, he could help pull her away.

If he was being honest with himself, his escape to LA was anything but effective, he’d thought about her every night while he was there. Even when he met up with his hookup. He was ashamed that he’d close his eyes and think of Amelia every time that another woman touched him. Try to remember what she sounded like. How good she felt wrapped around him the last time that he’d fucked her. How good he felt being with her. It took everything in him not to call out her name in another woman’s bed.

So, of course he’d been eager to finally see her again. But was that so wrong? Is that what hurt her? Was he pushy when he asked her to go into the bathroom with him? Did she not want to? She did hesitate, briefly, but he thought it was just because it was an entirely new thing that she’d never done before. And that was the whole point of their arrangement. He was meant to make her feel safe to try things out and figure out what she liked. Gain confidence to do things with other people. How’d they get from that to here?

Matty slid against the bathroom door crumbling yo the floor. “I just want you to know I’m right here, okay? I’m gonna stay right here. I just- I don’t know how to- I don’t know what to do right now, but I’m still here. I haven’t left you. I’m not going to.”

He ran his hands through his hair, attempting to breathe, deeply, and collect himself. Patience has never been a virtue that he possessed, though. “Oh, fuck this.” He mumbled before standing back up and banging on the door. “Amelia, please! Open this fuckin door! At least make a sound so I know that you’re okay in there. I can’t be out here thinking that- that you’ve hit your head against something and need- need- fuck! open this fuckin door!” He banged on the door repeatedly, more aggressive this time, as his patience wore thin.

His hands hurt from knocking against the door and his chest felt tight with worry. He won’t take this anymore. “Right, that’s it, then. I’m getting something to unlock this door with.”

With a 4 minutes YouTube tutorial, a butter knife, and one of his credit cards, he finally managed to open the door without breaking it.

“Oh, Amelia…” his heart sunk when he saw her, sobbing on the bathroom floor, her whole, naked body shaking. The sight paralyzed him for what felt like an eternity. His worst fear had come true. In trying to protect her from the hurt of the potential ill-intentions and miscommunications of complete strangers, by offering to be the person that she could experiment on, or with, he’d somehow wound up hurting her himself. The worst part is that he had no idea what he’d done wrong.

This moment wasn’t about his self-pity and indulgent guilt, he’d feel his feelings later on. Right now, he needed to be there for her. He ran into the room to grab the first thing he could find — his own shirt— and brought it back to wrap her up in, carrying her in his arms. His heart pounded against his chest, terrified that he’d make a wrong move and fuck this up, even more, so he narrated every single step he took, waiting a moment to give her the chance to object.

“Gonna just put this on you, so you don’t catch a cold…alright?” She said nothing. “I- umm- wanna get off the floor?” Again, nothing. “Well- I’m going to pick you up now, okay? If you want me to stop, just- say…say something.” “Bringing you to bed now, unless- well, unless you want to be sat somewhere else.”

She made no effort to protest or to stop him, so he took that as permission and proceeded, slowly, gently, as lightly as he could. His delicate touch and strong arms were a far cry from what was going through his mind. Matty held her in his arms as she wept into his bare chest. With every breath she took, every sniffle, and every tear drop that fell from her face onto his skin, his heart broke over and over again until he thought it couldn’t possible hurt any worse- and then it did.

When he felt her finally go still, her trembling breath calm and even, he looked down, and saw that she was asleep. Should he be relieved that, at least, she wasn’t crying anymore? Or should he focus on thr fact that, whatever he’d done had caused her to cry her eyes out, literally, to the point where she could no longer keep them open? He didn’t have it in him to move her or disrupt the first moment of peace that she’d had all night. So as his body went numb underneath her weight, he replayed their night in his mind, yet again, silent tears running down his face.

***

It was 3 am when Matty awoke from a dreamless sleep. Amelia was now fully wearing his shirt, all buttoned up, and clinging to his body, her legs intertwined in his, her cheek against his stomach, as she slept. The lights were turned out all the way, so she must’ve woken up at some point and walked around the hotel suite. When he stretched out his arm to feel around for his phone, he felt a water bottle on the nightstand. At least she’d had some water. That’s a good sign. Or was he desperate for anything to convince him that she was alright? Did he not deserve to feel relieved yet? Would he ever? He felt weak looking down at her. He wanted to kiss her forehead, to take her pain away, but he had this unshakable feeling that he’d break her, hurt her, cause her harm, if he ever touched her again.

In the morning, his body felt cold without Amelia pressed up against him. He had one text on his phone. It hurt his eyes to read it before they’d blink away the sleep. Mia ❤️: had to leave for a work thing. I’m okay. Thank you.

This was the worst news that he could’ve woken up to. He slammed his head harshly against the pillow, a loud cry tore through his chest.

***

“Matty?” Adam stood in the doorway, smiling, as he watched Matty sprawled out on the floor, arranging his son’s toys in some sort of circle, mumbling to the kid as if they were engaged in a serious conversation. “It’s been a while, what’re you two up to?” Adam walked over to them.”

“We’re creating toy rankings” Matty said matter-of-factly. “You know, like the Premier League tables?”

Adam giggled, Shaking his head. “Okay; I know the baby can’t be THAT entertaining and I’m his dad. So, who or what are you hiding out here from? And why couldn’t you do it at your own house?”

Matty glanced at Adam briefly before returning his attention to the army of toys. “Not hiding.”

“It’s Amelia, isn’t it?” Adam sighed loudly, joining Matty on the floor and instantly taking his son into his lap. “What’ve you done this time?”

Matty ceased his fiddling, cocking his head in shame. “I- erm…I- maybe didn’t pay attention when I should have.” Saying it out loud began to help piece together the situation in his head. “She- was trying to let me know that- that she wasn’t alright. I completely missed it.”

“Don’t sound much like you.” Despite Adam’s concern, he put on a cheerful demeanor to keep his boy happy. The contrast between his face and his words gave the conversation an eerie feel. Marty found it mildly distressing, if fatherly and admirable.

“I know. I fucked things up. Badly.”

“Well, have you apologized to her?”

“I- I want to. I just….can’t look her in the eye. And…..well, if that’s how I feel - Can’t imagine how she must feel.”

Adam said nothing for a long moment. When he spoke again, Matty hadn’t expected him to still be on that train of thought. “Let me ask you this: do you and Amelia ever just….hang out?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, like, not for sex. Just- for the sake of hanging out.”

Matty rolled his eyes, insulted by the implications of the question. “Of course we do. All the fuckin time. We went to see a film not too long ago, and, she came to see the set when we were working on the designs for tour. She stayed at mine one night cuz she was too drunk to go home…..” Matty paused, catching his breath, “do you need the dates and times as well? The fuck is ‘do you hang out?’ What kind of question is that!”

“Matty,” Adam looked him straight in the eyes, noting that, by his defensiveness, Adam must’ve hit upon a sore subject. “this all happened before the two of you started….well, fucking. Have you spent any time together as friends since then?”

Matty’s lips instantly parted, he was about to respond with “of course we have! What a ridiculous thing to ask!!” But, as he thought about it, he realized that Adam was right. He and Amelia were no longer really friends. His expression shifted from offended to embarrassed.

“It’s not like you’re incapable of maintaining the friendship.” Adam consoled him. “You’ve slept with friends of yours and kept them as friends before. So, why won’t you do it with Amelia?”

“I-I don’t know. It’s not on purpose. The time has just not been right recently. It’s just the way things have been going. I’ve just been busy. You know this. Band stuff.”

“So you have time to fuck her, but you don’t have time to hang out with her?”

Matty winced unable to bare hearing that about himself. “Well, not when you put it like that….She came to me and asked for this! We made an agreement- it’s not like that! You’re making me sound like a fuckin creep.”

“Go.” Adam nodded towards the door. “Go on, go apologize to her. I gotta get this little man ready for bedtime, anyway. Uncle Matty’s gotta go.”

***

Amelia was stunned when she answered the door, “Matty, what are you-“

“May I come in?” He spoke too quickly, nerves taking over him.

It was late. Plus, Matty never came over unannounced. So, with some confusion and concern, she let him in.

“What’s all this?” She pointed to the bags in his hands.

“We’ll get to that in a minute.” He waved her question away, his eyes scanning the apartment that he’s been to countless times before, with new found novelty. Anything to avoid eye contact. “Wanted to- erm…” he stuttered, still looking around. “how- how’re you feeling? You know, af-after the other night?” Matty stumbled over his words. He’d imagined this conversation going differently in his head. He’d even practiced his words on the way over here. But now that he was standing in front of her, certainty and practiced delicacy had left him. He was terrified. “You left before we could talk…”

Amelia led the way to the kitchen, with Matty trailing sheepishly behind her. She helped him set down the bags l in the kitchen while she considered his question. The answer was too complicated. She shrugged. “I’m okay….I think? I don’t know. I don’t know how I’m feeling. One minute I’m fine, and the next….” She was surprised to feel herself get so emotional so quickly.

All Matty could think was. you did this. You hurt her. You’re the reason she feels this way. He wanted to pick up one of her kitchen knives off the counter and pierce it through his own heart.

“Let- let’s sit down somewhere? Is that alright?”

Amelia’s brows furrowed. It wasn’t like him to be so uncertain. “Sure.”

In the living room, the sat on opposite ends of the same couch, Matty nervously fiddling with the sleeve of his jacket. “So- I think….I think I know how you’re feeling and why it happened. Would you like to hear it?” He looked up at her, briefly.

She smiled nervously. “Sure- I mean, any ideas would be better than no ideas.”

“I think, well, I think we pushed you too far in the bathroom. I was a bit more aggressive than normal.” Matty’s voice got caught in his throat, so he paused, collecting himself. He was determined not to make this about himself and his feelings. He mustn’t speak unless he’s sure that he can control his tone.

“Y-yeah. I mean, I guess? The- umm, hair pulling, and the whole bending over thing…you being demanding. We’d never done any of that before.”

Matty nodded, “go-go on. It’s good. It’s good to hear you say these things.”

“Not sure what else to say.” She shrugged. “I mean, I liked it. All of it. It was just…a shock. Like, too many new things at the same time, you know?”

“Mhm…keep- keep going.” Matty was positively trembling.

“Ummm….I don’t know. That’s it I guess? It was just overwhelming for a moment. But for some reason it made things better. Like- when you told me to fade away from you and bend over? At first- I panicked-“

“Can I ask why?” His eyes shot up, meeting hers.

“Oh, gosh. This is embarrassing.” She mumbled under her breath. “Cuz- cuz I couldn’t see you. I like seeing your face. I like being able to tell that you were happy with me. That I was doing what you wanted me to do.” Her face turning read, she smiled. “But- the panic, it made the orgasm even better. I didn’t hate it, necessarily….it was just…a lot.”

Matty was tongue tied, his thoughts spiraling. He couldn’t find a beginning or an end to anchor himself to.

“Matty? Are you with me?” Amelia attempted to meet his gaze. “Honestly, I mean it! It didn’t hurt or feel unpleasant. I just-“

“Yeah, well, we’ve talked about this happening in theory.” Matty finally regained his footing. “Remember when I told you to read some shit about ‘subspace’ ? I think…..the excitement, the pain, the pleasure, the anxiety- perfect storm. A cocktail of Adrenalin and endorphins to push you over the edge.”

“Oh.”

“Would explain the sudden inability to speak…the overly emotional state, the….eagerness to do more.” Matty listed all the indications that he recalled her showing.

“Can I ask….Is that- umm….would it also happen to be why everything felt so…strong? Like lights and noises and stuff?”

Matty’s heart ached in his chest. He was sure that kitchen knife stab would be easier to take than this. “Fuck me…..yes, yes it would explain that as well.” He closed his eyes, willing the tears to stay where they are. “Anyway, so, I think, all of that, then throwing that new restrained position on you…demanding that you get me off…it may have been a mistake.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Not ‘may.’ It was a mistake. Definitely. It was my mistake. And I’m- I’m sorry.”

Amelia didn’t know how to feel about this new revelation. She was glad to have an explanation for how her body and her mind had felt, not to feel so helpless over her emotions, but she had no idea what to make of any of it.

“It gets worse.” Matty confessed. “Once you’d safe-worded, i- I should’ve done more. Been better. Taken better care of you.”

“Oh. No…matty you did good. I felt okay. I mean, not really, I was feeling entirely disconnected from my body, but-“

“Yeah that’d be the subspace psychology…”

“Like afterwards. I felt okay waking up the next morning. Just….confused and embarrassed.”

Matty laughed. “So…not okay.”

She smiled at him, “it’s really not that bad, looking back on it now…”

“I was scared. I owed you better. But I was scared that I’d hurt you. I suppose I- didn’t want to admit to myself that I’d missed all the signs. Let it get to a point where you had to tap out. And we hadn’t umm….we hadn’t made a real plan for what happens if you do tap out. I mean, we have our aftercare routine for afterwards….but, I should’ve anticipated that we’d both be in a completely different headspace if we stopped suddenly.” He shrugged. “I got lazy on you.”

“Matty-“

“I did! It’s true. I got complacent. Comfortable. Things were going so well that I didn’t think anything bad could ever happen between us. So- so I was less prepared!!! Even though im always on you about always being prepared. And speaking up. Fuck- what a hypocrite.”

“Matty, don’t say that!”

“I’ve failed you. And I’m so, so, sorry, Amelia.” Matty finally burst into tears. But it didn’t feel enough. He wanted to get on his knees and beg, bow down to her and tell her how much she didn’t deserve his negligence. How much he wishes it were the other way around.

Allowing himself a moment of release, Matty quickly wiped the tears from his eyes and jumped to his feet. “Anyway, erm….the bags in the kitchen. I- I brought some things that we could- I mean, if you’d allow me- and I completely understand if you’d rather not- to make it up to you….take care of you the way that I should have that night. I’ve bought some things. So we could see what you might like to have on hand for emergencies like that. That is….uhhh- if, of course, you’d ever let me touch you again.”

Amelia smiled. “Yeah, I’d like that very much.”

***

“Okay, and then…once you’re calm, well, I guess I’d wanna check for injuries or something.” Matty was running down a new checklist he’d created to ensure that not a single detail is ever lost on him again. “But, since, I’m days later now, and we didn’t use anything that could hurt you….I’ve drawn you a bath, so, if you’d go in there, and- You enjoy that while I get you some food and water.”

“You’d leave me?” Amelia’s voice sounded needier than she’d intended. “By myself?”

Matty was stumped. It was a good thing they were running this rehearsal. “I- erm…had assumed that you’d want some space.”

She shook her head passionately. “No, no! Not at all. All I wanted, that whole night, was you.”

Matty stood there, blinking rapidly, staring at her face. “Okay, then. I’ll sit by the bathtub? Keep you company…”

She stepped forward, hesitantly, decreasing the space between them. “Please get into the bath? With me?” Matty could tell, by the blushing in her face, that this wasn’t easy for her either. “Want you to hold me, please?”

Matty nodded, silently, and began to undress.

***

“Here, you can uhhh…you can have this to wear.”

Amelia looked down at his extended arm and the t shirt that he was offering, chuckling heartily. It was that old ragged brown t shirt that was not so oversized when he’d first bought it. “You love that horrific thing. It’s like your favorite, for some reason.”

“Yes, and you hate it, but it is my favorite, so….now, it’s yours. You know, to wear on days like that. For- I don’t know. Comfort? Not to be so presumptuous as-“

“Shut up and hand it over before I set it on fire or something.”

***

In bed, Matty wrapped his strong, thick arms around her, squeezing her tight, breathing in her hair. She held onto his bicep, her hand tiny in comparison, stroking his arm, up and down, running her fingers over his tattoos. This, she thought to herself, must be the safest place on earth.

With considerable effort, Amelia wiggled within Matty’s tight grip, turning around so she was face to face with him, wrapping her arms around his neck, and pulling herself closer to kiss him. For the first time ever, Matty was stiff to her touch, his lips passive. It wasn’t long before he pulled away, slightly.

“Amelia- what….we shouldn’t.” He whispered despite them being completely alone.

“Matty, please?”

“I don’t want to hurt you again.”

“You’re not going to.”

“It’d be wrong. To- to take advantage. You’re vulnerable right now, and-“

“So are you.” She placed a kiss to his cheek, smiling faintly as she watched his face grow red.

“It’s my job to protect you- we agreed, I’d be a safe trial. I-“

“Please, I need you. I didn’t get to make you feel good last time. Please? Don’t want you to get into the habit of treating me like glass, I’d hate that.”

When he said nothing in return, she kissed him again, and this time, he kissed her back, his arms easing their grip on her, hands lowering to grab her bum. She moaned softly, smiling against his lips.

Matty hovered over her, now naked, body dipping his head to leave gentle kisses all over her.

“Stunning, you are.” He kissed the space between her breasts; her eyes fluttered shut. “Perfect.” He kissed her a little lower this time. “Gorgeous.” He was halfway to her belly button. Her hands naturally moved to hold his curls between them, her breathing quick and shallow, more desperate the closer that he got to her core.

“So good for me,” he mumbled against her skin, his breath raising goosebumps all over her, which did not go unnoticed by Matty.

He grinned, reveling in his power over her body. “Gonna make you feel so good, darlin,’ I promise.”

“Oh, Matty…” she whined, “please do.” Her neck strained against the pillow; her entire body jolting when she felt Matty’s mouth, suddenly, at her clit. “Fuckkk! Yeah….”

Matty growled, smiling to himself. He forbade his other senses from feeling anything but her. His eyes shut, his ears focused only on her melodious sounds. A zealous worshipper, every breath he drew was all her, taking breaks only to kiss and nib the insides of her thighs, his armpinning her down, firmly, as she writhed and shook. Not even her reflexive pulls at his hair could deter him. He was determined to give all of himself to her.

“Sorry, erm…” he smiled, shyly. “Condom.”

She felt his sudden absence sorely, whining out and calling for him to hurry back.

“I know, I know. Sorry, love.”

She heard him wince and shuffle onto the bed and knew that he was back.

“You ready for me?”

“Mhm, please, please, I need you.”

Matty had to restrain himself from instantly pulling her into his arms to ravage his insatiable lust for her, reminding himself that he wanted this to be gentle, soft, precise, slow.

She felt the slow pressure and opened her eyes to watch him throw his head back in pleasure, a long and drawn out moan leaving his lips.

“Fuuuuckkk mee- Amelia. So, fffuckin good. So tight.”

Matty’s chest rose and fell rapidly as he began to thrust into her, soon finding his rhythm. Once he’d given himself a moment to adjust, his finger was back on her clit, gently stroking it the way he knows she needed.

“Ohhh my god, Matty…” she whimpered.

“I know, my love. I’ve got you.” He leaned forward, taking her hands in his and intertwining their fingers together. He laid on top of her, his chest pressed into hers with the full weight of his body.

“You feel s-so good.” He cried out, the overwhelming pleasure bringing tears to her eyes.

Matty kissing and sucking at the skin underneath her ear put her over the edge. She gasped, incoherently repeating “I- I’m gonna- cum…but it’s - it’s too much.”

“It’s okay, it’s okay. I’ve got you, darlin. Let go, it’s gonna feel g- oh my god- good.”

He felt both her hands squeeze his tightly and knew that she wouldn’t hold on much longer.

With a loud cry of his name, she gasped sweetly into his ear, and he felt her clench and gush around him, trembling as she came undone.

Matty himself couldn’t hold on for much either, her squeezing him tightly through her orgasm, sent his own waves of pleasure on the heels of hers, his head falling to her shoulder, he moaned softly, his eyelashes tickling her skin.

Matty thought he’d heard her whisper “I love you” into his ear as the rush of excitement flooded his mind.

***

Neither of them had the heart to be the one to pull away first, so they remained in that intermingled state, basking in the afterglow of that release, nothing but the hot air, and their rapid breathing mellowing out, in the room around them.

Amelia swallowed harshly, her mouth feeling dry even as her body glistened with hers and Matty’s sweat.

“I love you.” She said more clearly this time.

He couldn’t have mistaken her words this time. And if he had any doubt at all, the feeling of her heart beating furiously against his, after it had just calmed down, was unmistakable.

Matty remained perfectly still, his mind blank. It was it racing so quickly that it was impossible to hold onto any thought? He couldn’t tell the difference.

“Matty? I love you.” Amelia spoke again, helpless to stop herself. Now that it was spilling out of her, it was as if the floodgates had opened. She loves him. She loves him. She loves him….

[inoreuct]

zosan angst 👀 post whole cake island where zoro is mad for sanji not relying on him enough to help with his family drama. swears to become a better man for him. sanji thinks zoro is the ideal man (he’ll never tell him this though) and doesn’t have to deal with his family drama bc he can “solve it himself” they fight, their screams are heard by the whole ship who is all negatively effected by it. they come to the point of throwing punches (something sanji would never do outside of this intense monent). zoro grabs sanji by them shirt, gets sanji down on his knees, and is hitting him in the face. sanji stops hitting him back and breaks down crying, zoro sees this and stops being angry instantly.

“why can’t you just let me help you”, zoro wants to understand.

sanji’s sobs echo through the room his nose running with blood and tears, “ i never thought i was worthy of being saved.”

zoro’s eyes widen. sanji gasps out through tears, “im sorry”.

something breaks within zoro, he kneels to sanji’s level, and holds him tightly as he sobs into his neck

“i’m sorry too. you are worth more to me than you could ever think.”

zoro take’s sanji’s face into his rough calloused hands, wiping away the blood and tears, “let me me be there for you”.

i swear this prompt grabbed my brain cells and SPRINTED bcs this was slightly more than 1.6k words,,, thank you anon 🤭🤌🏼

Zoro catches a heel to the jaw, lets it whip his head to the side and rolls as he hits the deck. 

His blood is a metallic bloom in his mouth, rose-red as it splatters across the planks and drips from his chin. He’s half sure he just lost a tooth. He’s very sure he bit his tongue. 

He thinks he rather deserves this pain, even if he’s not exactly sure why.

It had started when they were back on the Sunny, after the whole shitshow on Whole Cake Island; Zoro had paced about the deck, strung tight as a tripwire, still itching with the urge to look over his shoulder and around the corners and unwilling to take his hand off Wado’s hilt.

He’d retreated to the men’s quarters alone, too wound up to seek out Sanji’s usual company as waited his turn for the shower and then scrubbed until his skin turned raw. He’d changed into clean clothes and lay down on his bed, put his hands behind his head, tried to breath in time with the gentle rocking of the ocean and found something still binding his lungs tight.

He was safe. They were safe. And yet, it had still felt like his skin was crawling. 

After tossing and turning for a good twenty minutes he’d given up trying to fall asleep and hauled himself out of bed, trudging to the galley for a glass (or a bottle, more like) of whatever liquor he could get his hands on. The ship had swayed as he’d grabbed a half-filled bottle of scotch, bumping the door shut properly with his hip because he knew Sanji was finicky about it.

He’d hesitated before going back to the shared cabin. His bed hadn’t been the only one empty, and there was cigarette smoke rising from the helm. 

Sanji had barely reacted when he’d settled beside the cook, elbows propped on the railing as he took a swig of his drink. It went down easy; everything Sanji had always did. Some nights Zoro found himself wishing for more of a burn if only to help him feel something. 

He’d eyed Sanji out of the edge of his vision, tongueing behind his canines as he noticed the way the cook’s hair was all over his face, more so than usual. Both his eyes— no, not his eyes, Zoro had realised. Both his eyebrows were covered—

And it had sunk in slowly, like a lead weight to the bottom of the ocean. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he’d muttered, half to the mouth of his bottle, and Sanji had sighed.

“What do you mean, marimo?”

“You know what I mean.”

And Sanji had. He’d tilted his head, taking in a bracing breath, lips pinched in something that was supposed to be a smile. “Not your battle to fight.”

“That’s bullshit and you know it,” Zoro had snarled, suddenly angry, and it made him dig his nails into the peeling paper label beneath his fingers. “You— We do this shit together, curly, that’s what we agreed—”

And Sanji had turned away silently, pushing off the railing and walking off to God knew where, and Zoro had grabbed his wrist before he’d realised what he was doing.

“Do you just not trust me?” he’d gritted, desperation sharpening his tongue, a little voice wailing in his head and sounding a bit too much like his younger self for his liking. 

Sanji had barked a laugh, burning his cigarette down to a stub in one long inhale. “Now that’s bullshit.”

“Then? What?” I’d do anything, is what he hadn’t said. Anything for you to let me in. Let me help. 

“It’s not your fight, alright? Just leave it.”

Zoro had wanted to scream, just a little. He’d been distantly aware that his grip was in danger of crushing the bottle but he hadn’t cared at all. Sanji had shoved him away when he hadn’t let the matter go (because how could he?), and he’d shoved back, and then it had escalated until they were fighting across the deck and now—

He snaps out of his head when Sanji screams, a ragged thing torn out of his chest, abandoning all reason to tackle him bodily to the ground. Zoro stumbles and hits the deck hard, pain flaring sharp as his elbow jams into the ground and a fist sinks into his gut. He’s snarling as he rolls them over, as he pins Sanji’s wrists to the ground and lets out a grunt when a kneecap catches him beneath the ribs.

“Why can’t you just stay out of it?!” Sanji yells, right in his face, hair a mess and eyes wilder than Zoro has ever seen up close.

He falters. Just for a moment, but it’s more than enough for Sanji to slip out of his grip and wriggle away, and the pit in his gut grows ever larger. “They hurt you! They were hurting you!” he roars, scrambling to his feet, and it rather feels like someone has a crushing hand wrapped around his heart.

“It doesn’t matter!” the cook cries, swinging a fist towards his face, and Zoro dodges. Sidesteps, slams a foot down behind Sanji’s kneecaps and slugs his knuckles across a pale cheek if only to snap Sanji out of whatever the fuck is going on, he raises his fist again and—

Freezes. Bile crawls up his throat as his heart sinks. Sanji’s eyes are wet, so blue they’re nearly glowing in the darkness, and Zoro is so, so tired. He vaguely registers the rest of the crew behind them and he angles his body to hide Sanji from view; he knows the cook would hate their nakama seeing him like this. The hand he has wrapped in Sanji’s collar loosens, falling away like fluttering paper, and he drops to his knees with a heavy thunk.

Sanji shudders, and Zoro feels sick. His — he doesn’t know what they are, but Sanji is his — cook’s cheekbone is already bruising, blooming purple-pink, and guilt sinks its claws into his stomach. “Why can’t you just let me help you?” he hears himself plead, breathless and choked, and Sanji smiles with blood across his teeth.

“Because I never thought I was worthy of being saved,” he whispers, looking down at his trembling hands. There are tears dripping off his chin now, luminous streaks down his face that suddenly looks haggard in the starlight. “And I never wanted you to see me like this.”

Zoro thinks he breaks. Shatters right apart like the bottle of scotch on the ground not far away from them, amber seeping sticky into the wood. He’d have to apologise to Franky later, he thinks a little wildly, throat tight and fingers numb as he reaches out to pull Sanji to him.

The cook goes slack like a puppet off strings, hiding his face in the crook of Zoro’s neck as he really starts to cry. Zoro sits back on his heels and takes his weight, cards a hand through his hair so that it doesn't stick because he knows that Sanji would make a fuss about it being all over his face later, and it’s these tiny, trivial things that wrench a hollow sound from his lungs. “There’s no such thing as it not being my fight, you hear me?” It comes out more watery that he likes, but the laugh-sob Sanji lets out tells him the message got across. “If it’s your fight, it’s my fight. I’m with you till the end no matter what happens.”

“It’s pathetic,” Sanji hiccups, shoulders hitching as he tries to get himself under control.

“No, it’s not.”

“I’m pa—”

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence,” Zoro hisses, at odds with the way he rubs a soothing palm over Sanji’s back. His knees are starting to hurt. He doesn’t care. “They hurt you. They put you through some fucked-up shit, cook, and then you had to go through it again. And you were strong enough to make it out but you— You could stand to give it a rest, alright?”

It’s times like this when he wishes he could be better with words, because Sanji looks a little like he might start crying all over again when Zoro takes a peek at his face. He presses his thumbs flat to wet skin, salt cooling in the night wind, dragging up along Sanji’s cheek as the cook sniffs. “Let me be there for you,” he rasps.

He feels like he’s been scraped raw from the inside out. Like someone had hollowed him out with a ladle and now his guts were spilling all across the deck. He doesn’t know how to describe the twisting in his chest when he thumbs rust-red iron away from Sanji’s bottom lip, regretfully cups the spill of colour spreading over the right side of his face. “Look at me?” he tries again, and Sanji does, fine lashes clumped with tears and inhale trembling. 

“I’m sorry,” he gasps, and Zoro is an open wound, raw and weeping as Sanji climbs into his lap and curls up into a ball. 

“You are worth so much. To the crew, to our friends—You’re worth more to me than you could ever know. So shut up and stop trying to deal with it alone,” he says in lieu of a reply, achingly quiet. He hopes it’s enough as Sanji digs lithe fingers into his shoulder. 

He welcomes the pain like an old friend. Bears it gladly, for if he could take all of Sanji’s he would. 

But he can’t— So he tries. Tries to be gentle, as much as he knows how, sits properly and folds his legs and rocks them back and forth because it helps Sanji’s breathing even out. Traces the spirals of his eyebrows and brushes his mouth over the bruise on his cheek, presses his silent apologies into skin.

Sanji’s spine bows beneath his hands, and the cook’s fingers are wound tight into the back of his shirt like it’s a lifeline. His pale hair tickles Zoro’s jaw, impossibly mussed and starting to curl with the sea air. Their crew is waiting. Worried, surely, but they can wait a little longer; Zoro will make it up to them.

For now, he thinks he and Sanji have earned this. 

fin.

[sacredwrath]

P7. Hot Stuff

This part was supposed to come like directly after the last part. Planned to post em on the same day. But no, apparently, had to rewrite the whole thing. Better late than never i guess

Torture, burning, graphic burns, nausea, vomit mention, stress position, sexual innuendo, implied sexual sadism, taunting almost kinda entering self harm territory.

Sweat soaks Adrian's body, running across his skin in cooling rivulets. He breathes hard, forcing air in and out of straining lungs.

Each breath fights screams.

It's pointless, of course. Everyone screams. Eventually. But he fights it anyway, knowing all too well the helplessness waiting for him on the other side. Once the fight goes out of him, he'll scream. He’ll scream himself hoarse and then into helpless silence. His body will hang limp and lifeless, like the dead thing it is, able to do nothing but take it.

His tormenter paces, heating the knife to a molten glow before pressing the flat of it into Adrian's ribs again.

The blade sizzles and spits. Blood and fat charing to black ash before the man slowly pulls the blade away.

Adrian is sure he can feel each raw nerve tearing. He writhes against his chains, strangling wails, managing to compress them into a single gurgled whimper. Not quite stoic silence, but as good as he can manage

"Had enough yet?" The man asks

"Why? You getting tired?" It'll never be enough.

The man sets his knife and torch down, turning back to him with a raised brow. He moves to undo the tie on Adrian's sweatpants.

"Ooo" He taunts. "This is new, if you wanted to see me naked, you should've taken me to dinner first."

"I brought you dinner." He gestures to the cans strewn across the floor. "You didn't eat it"

"Hey, that was for you buddy. You want vomit all over you? Torture isn't easy on the digestion ya know." He watches the man stiffen slightly at the comment.

Still feeling guilty? He can't quite identify the emotion.

The man doesn't respond, pulling Adrian's sweatpants off over his feet.

He stops, taking in the scarring here too. Adrian fights the urge to recoil as he runs a thumb over a brutally ugly patch spreading up his thigh.

"Another hero did this?"

"Why does that surprise you? You think your knife won't leave scars?" Again, tension crosses the man's face. Too easy.

"I want it to leave scars" He growls

"Of course you do, so did they." He hesitates, "we get off on shit like this, ya know." He watches the man's face, surprise, disgust, anger, revulsion. He grins.

The man doesn't take the bait, instead grabbing his instruments from the floor and flicking the blowtorch on. Adrian let's his eyes drift closed.

For a fraction of a second the knife feels ice cold against his skin, but then the familiar sickening agony flashes up his leg, eating into him. He groans, fighting off sobs.

His rapid breathing drags in the acrid stench of his own burning. No matter how many times he's smelled it, the scent brings with it a bleak animal terror that turns his mind to panicked mush

When the knife pulls away he manages to contain everything but a whimper, vile, pathetic, disgusting-

Stop

"Another beginners mistake." He blurts, stalling, waiting for his head to clear, he opens his eyes, the man is heating the knife again "burning on top of scar tissue," he continues, "less nerve endings there. Doesn't hurt so bad."

"Well you're not exactly a blank canvas are you?"

Fair enough. He watches the blade turning slowly red "I did this to Jesse you know."

The man freezes, lips compressing to a thin line.

"Not very original. Thought you said something about ten times worse? You'll have to step up your game, 'm not even winded."

"Stop saying their name." The man's voice is hard and unamused

"Why?"

"Because I'm the one with the knife."

The metal presses against Adrian's knee and he gasps, squeezing his eyes shut.

The man drags the blade across his kneecap and down the front of his shin, leaving seared fleah and pain. He growls, long and low in his throat, he can't keep this up much longer

He doesn't open his eyes, focusing on breathing. He can't watch it coming. Each burn sends waves of fever radiating through him with sick, dizzying intensity. Even his sweat feels hot

The next burn explodes against the side of his knee. Blade digging its point deep into muscle, scraping against bone. His traitorous body finally shrieks, shattering his focus. Threads of panic race up his spine, a spider web of cracks in his control.

The blade twists away viciously, widening the cracks. He tastes the all too familiar ice seeping seeping through, grazing against him.

He waits for his breathing to steady enough to speak, patching over the cracks with random words, "It's these in between parts that's the worst... The anticipation, the fear. Can you feel it?" He opens his eyes, wanting to see the man's reaction. "Can you feel my fear?"

The man is watching him, face contorted in disgust. "I can" he snears, "I love it."

"I bet." Adrian means it as a taunt, but it comes out heavy with resignation

He burns the other knee worse even than the first. Adrian loses track of himself, screaming until he remembers he's trying to stay quiet. The cracks widen and he can taste cold, unreasoning panic waiting patiently on the other side. He fights it.

A long time passes, too long Adrian opens his eyes. The other man is standing back, watching him. He looks almost concerned. Pathetic, disgusting- he needs to kill this man, hurt him-

He licks his lips, "What's wrong baby? Where'd you go? I can last longer than that." He smirks, "come on back, finish me off."

The man's eyebrows shoot up, soothing him. He claws at the sense of control.

"To be honest, your inexperience is adorable. Don't let my screaming stop you we're just gettin to the good part."

"Who said anything about stopping?" The man scans him up and down “you said you did this to Jesse right?

"Ask them to show you their feet sometime." He winks.

"Their feet." The man repeats softly. It makes Adrian's lip curl back

"I made them walk on it." He snears "If they couldn't make it across the cell they'd get another. I kept going till they couldn't get up no matter how many times I-"

Not bothering with the knife the man storms across the cell igniting the torch. He holds it to Adrians knee and he starts screaming.

He loses track of himself again, the cold edges of panic bringing with it memories. Different burning, different pain entirely.

There are hands on him, he can't remember who's.

Something cold and flat pressed against his face, against his whole body, it feels good against the burning. Cold.

Ice.

But then the pain fluxes, twisting with new life

He remembers he can open his eyes,

There's polished wooden planks beneath his hands, dirty cement, white tile, clean cement. He flexes his fingers. Jesse, he's in Jesse's cell, no, Jesse's basement, relief floods him.

"Come on, up you get" and there's an arm around his waist, guiding him to kneel. He wants to cry out at the increased pressure, but bites his tongue.

The man reaches for his cuffed hands and Adrian offers them on instinct. The man raises them over his head then pulls him up so all his weight is resting on his burned knees.

"Fucking shit hell!" Adrian hollers, trying to pull his leg forward to get to his feet. It jerks against something solid. He looks over his shoulder, seeing his feet chained to one of the basement support beams. He groans in understanding.

"How's that for creative?"

Adrian tries not to cry, hoping his painful grimace looks like a defiant grin.

"Nicely done..."

"Wait, not yet. Who said I was done?" He shakes a bag in front of Adrian's face who only barely manages to suppress a sob.

"Thought you'd know what this is." He takes a pinch of the stuff and pops it in his mouth.

"Salt. Rock Salt to be specific. I thought table salt would be too... amature for you."

He dumps some on the floor at Adrian's knees and he closes his eyes to ward off tears.

The man's hand slides beneath his knee and lifts it off the ground, spreading the salt beneath. He lowers it slowly, almost gently and Adrian bites his tongue. The sharp pebbles cut into his open wounds as if kneeling on fresh burns wasn't bad enough. The man repeats the process with his other knee, hands too cautious, too gentle for this work Adrian tastes blood in his mouth.

"Good of you to help me with that." He spits blood. "I would've made them do it themselves."

He can't keep tears from welling in his eyes, so he squeezes them shut. He's been through worse, he reminds himself, but the thought does nothing to numb the pain.

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Tag list: @whumpacabra @turn-the-tables-on-them @kiichu @whatwhump

[johnslittlespoon]

https://www.tumblr.com/johnslittlespoon/744374471821017088/would-just-like-to-point-out-that-once-again-a

i love this so much omgggg. imagine bucky is in a mood one day with buck but still just collapses onto buck’s bunk and curls into the sheets. buck would think it was the most endearing thing ever. maybe buck is standing in bucky’s way, forcing bucky to grumble out an excuse me that’s just dripping with attitude but buck can’t even be upset about it because bucky proceeds to shove past him and throw himself into buck’s bunk and bury his face in his pillow. or imagine buck coming over to talk to bucky and bucky rolls away from him but it’s like. that kind of loses its effect when ur in BUCK’s bunk😭

linked post | gigglingsjdgk yes omg. this is so so THEM i'm gone

it doesn't matter how much they bicker or fight during the day or what type of mood either of them might be in– john will not sleep in his own bunk if his life depends on it once he gets a taste of sleeping in gale's. over the winter, the bunking for warmth excuse works just fine, but as the weather starts to heat up, his new excuse is "your bunk is comfier."

gale doesn't point out that this makes no sense with all of their bunks being the exact same; he'd love to tease john about it, but he doesn't want to scare him out of climbing into his bunk night after night, and he makes damn sure the other guys don't rib on him for it either. everyone's got their coping mechanisms, and they all know john's hanging on by a thread, so they're not going to question his vices.

imagine what goes down after that scuffle in the yard? john spends the rest of the evening pacing the yard, cooling off until it's time for lock–in, and gale's waiting leaning against his bunk when john comes back into the room, expecting a conversation. but john doesn't even look at him fully, just brushes past with a short bratty "scuse me" and drags himself into gale's bunk and curls up as close to the wall as he can get without another word.

gale turns and stares at him in disbelief, shaking his head but still feeling so fond because they can have the worst fight of their friendship and john still crawls into his bed at the end of the day like it belongs to him just as much as gale, even in his silent treatment.

gale half wants to go crawl into john's bunk instead to make a point, but he's not sure he can even fall asleep alone anymore after so many months of sharing a bunk, and he knows it's not really him that john's mad at– they're all mad at the world right now, and john's just taking it out on him because he's there and real and he subconsciously tries to sabotage anything good because he feels undeserving. the silent treatment is as much geared towards gale as it is john punishing himself for the guilt he feels after lashing out at him.

john presses his face into gale's pillow when gale climbs in behind him with a huff, pulling the thin blanket up over both of them, only hesitating for a moment before he slings his arm over john's waist all the same, deciding he's not gonna lay awkward and uncomfortable facing the opposite direction with nowhere for his arms to go; if john wants to be touchy, he can lay somewhere else.

john barely manages to put on a show of being tense against him for more than a few minutes before he's relaxing into his arms anyway, back pressing to his chest, a quiet sigh puffing out against the pillow. gale steals a gentle press of his lips to the nape of his neck, a silent apology, because he knows they'll talk properly in the morning once john's not as antsy and worked up, and john squeezes gale's hand where it rests over his stomach, and everything feels okay again. <3