#this fic is so much just. finding yourself in ways and in places that you don't think you're supposed to be able to find yourself?

[froggiewrites]

hello i wanted to request a comfort fic with Law,Zoro and Sanji with their s/o being depressed,stressed

thanks in advance

Hi, sorry this took so long! This is the first time I've written a few smaller scenarios instead of one larger fic and I've gotta say, I really enjoyed it. It was a nice change of pace! So thank you for requesting this 😊 I hope this fic brings you the comfort you need, and that you're doing well!!

Hard Times

Pairing: Law, Zoro, Sanji x Reader

SFW

Summary: You've not been yourself lately, and he's been worried about you. Warnings: Mild Hurt/Comfort, Fluff Word Count: 1.7k total (a little over 500 each)

It didn’t take him long to notice something was wrong. There was a subtle change in you, something a less observant man would have missed. But you always had his attention, and he knew you well. You were a bit slower to respond, your eyes a bit unfocused, your smile less bright. He tried to tell himself it was nothing, that you were just a bit tired, but after the third time of finding you in bed, staring blankly at the ceiling, he knew that you needed some more support. He was more than happy to be that support.

Law

Law is a deeply caring man, despite his attempts to appear otherwise, but he is also, unfortunately, terrible at showing it. So he doesn’t talk to you about it, not directly. He instead racks his brain, thinking of every possible way to reduce stress and ways to treat depression. His instinct is to opt for medicine, but he knows he should start smaller first.

“I have a gift for you.” He places it in your hands unceremoniously, trying to hide his delight at your small smile. That’s the most joy you’ve shown in days.

“Thank you, Law! That’s really sweet of you.” You carefully peel back the wrapping paper he had spent far more time than he would admit on, only for your face to show confusion. “A…lamp?”

“A UV lamp.” He says it as though the purpose is obvious.

“Okay?”

“It mimics sunlight.”

You blink at him. “I–you didn’t clarify anything.”

He shifts on his feet, eyes focusing anywhere but you. “We’re down on the seafloor a lot, so you can’t always go on deck for sunlight. And I think some sun will help you.”

Your eyes narrow as you try to put the pieces together. “Why?”

“Sunlight boosts serotonin production.”

You make a soft sound of understanding, before you give him a smirk he would normally hate to admit made his heart skip a beat. “You were worried about me.” You say it like it’s such a victory, like it isn’t something you expected. Clearly he had failed you somehow, if you thought he wasn’t always fretting about you. He typically tries to deny such things, the vulnerability making him feel unsure and small, but you were worth feeling a little weak.

“Of course I was worried about you.” He spits it, like it was so very obvious, and you laugh at him. Normally he would prickle, his defenses growing higher, but that’s the first time he’s heard you laugh in over a week. He would never admit the sound brought a tear to his eye, the relief tearing through him like a hurricane. He can’t help shifting forward, his hands cupping your cheeks as he checks to see if you’ve regained the sparkle in your eyes. It’s dim, but it’s there. He can’t resist kissing you.

You accept his warmth quickly and easily. You practically fall into his arms, nuzzling into his neck when your lips part. “You don’t have to worry. I can handle it. It always passes eventually.”

He sighs, kissing the top of your head. “Just because you can handle it on your own doesn’t mean you have to. You aren’t alone in this. You have me. You have the crew. We’re here for you, whatever you need, whenever you need it.”

Your voice comes out much quieter this time. “I don’t want to be a bother.”

“You aren’t.”

“...You promise you’d tell me if I was?”

He chuckles. “I promise.” He gently takes the lamp out of your hand, places it on your desk, and guides you to your bed. “Now tell me everything you need to get off your chest.”

And, to his relief, you do.

Zoro 

Zoro is blunt. He doesn’t know how to dance around your feelings, and frankly, he doesn’t care to. The faster he breaks through your reluctance to tell him what you need, the faster he can help you, and the faster you’ll be happy.

“Why aren’t you asking for help?”

You jump, not having heard him come in, too busy struggling to ground yourself. “What?”

“Something’s wrong. Why haven’t you come to ask for help?” He’s still dripping with sweat, having just come from a particularly intensive workout that was a failed attempt to distract himself until you finally broke and came to him. He can see you try to avoid his eye, so he gently grabs your chin and steers you toward him. He tries to make his voice gentle, sweet in a way he can never quite nail. “Sweetheart, talk to me. I just want to understand.”

You still avoid looking straight at him, even now, but you finally speak. “I…didn’t want to be a burden.”

He can’t hide his obvious confusion. “Huh?”

You finally look at him, not understanding his reaction. “What?”

“Who cares if you’re a burden for a while?”

You look shocked, “I do!”

“Okay, well no one else does! Everyone is a burden sometimes. No one can do everything on their own. The crew’s job is to help each other.”

“None of you guys have ever been a burden.”

“Were we not a burden, or were you just happy to help?”

You open your mouth to argue again, but he can see the exact moment you realize you really have nothing you can say. You can’t deny helping your crew has sometimes made your life harder. He’s seen it countless times. Your Captain alone has gotten you into dozens of situations you could hardly think about without wincing. But you were always happy to help, and a burden shared is a burden halved.

“Everyone here is happy to help you if you need it. All avoiding us does is make us worry.”

You seem to shrink in on yourself. “I’m sorry.”

He pulls you close, chuckling a little at the discontented noise you make when you realize he’s still sweaty. You squirm halfheartedly, but it doesn’t take long before you snuggle into his warmth. He can feel the muscles in your back slowly start to relax under his hands as you accept his touch. “No need for apologies, sweetheart. Just fix it. Talk about it.”

You hold him tight. “I don’t know exactly what I need. Everything’s just…hard. I don’t remember it always being this hard.”

He tries to ignore the way his heart breaks at how pained you sound. He instead focuses on the positives: you’re here, you’re talking, and you’re willing to accept help if it comes. “It won’t be this hard forever. I’ll be right here to make it a little easier, alright? And you can talk to Chopper for some help, too.”

“...Do you think I should?”

“I think that’s up to you. But we’re here. That’s what matters.”

You spend the rest of the afternoon in Zoro’s arms, and if he sees you sneaking to Chopper’s office later, he doesn’t mention it, though his relieved smile might give him away.

Sanji

Sanji is very in tune with your emotions, often realizing you’re upset before anyone else, and sometimes even before you register it yourself. It’s not uncommon for him to suddenly appear, food and drink in hand, ready to pamper you to your (or, maybe more accurately, his) heart’s content. So you don’t seem to suspect a thing when he starts setting up picnics for you on the deck, each dish carefully prepared to boost serotonin production and the drinks designed to reduce stress and anxiety. You’ve probably had more chamomile tea in the past few weeks than you’ve ever had in your life. 

He sets up the picnic blanket in the perfect location: enough room in the shade for you to rest if you get too hot, but positioned in a way that encourages you to soak up the sun. As you eat, he oh-so-subtly encourages you to talk, maintains skin on skin contact as much as he can, and observes everything he can to improve the next one.

You sit blankly for a while, letting him do as he pleases but not reciprocating, before you finally speak, your voice much flatter than usual. “Sanji?”

“Yes, my love?”

“Why are you doing this?”

He freezes. “Why am I doing what, angel?”

You shift in his arms, forcing him to look you in the eye as you do so. He can’t help but brush a stray crumb off of your cheek, his thumb tracing down to your jaw. You gently catch his hand in your own, squeezing it. “These picnics aren’t just little dates, are they, Sanji? Something is clearly wrong.”

He doesn’t know how to explain he’s worried about you without you feeling pressured to speak. He doesn’t want to push you if you aren’t ready, but he can’t stand to sit by and watch as you drown in your own head. “I–do you have anything you want to talk about?”

“What?”

“You haven’t been yourself lately. I just thought…you could use something like this.”

You seem to relax a bit. “So you’ve been worried about me?”

“Yes. I didn’t want to push you, but you clearly need some help, darling. I was hoping I could make this a bit easier for you.”

You give him a real smile for the first time in a while. “Is this why you’ve been sneaking me so many little treats? And why you’ve been so desperate to keep me away from caffeine?”

He tries not to flush. “I thought you could use a pick-me-up. And I read getting better sleep can help with mood.” He pulls you closer, pressing your face into his neck to hide his redness from you. “I was hoping it’d make talking about whatever’s wrong a little easier for you.”

You snuggle into him, accepting your warmth. “Talking about it is always hard. Everything is, right now.”

“Are you willing to try? I think it might help.”

He can feel your sigh. Your reluctance. But slowly, carefully, you unfurl the tension you’re holding, and you allow him to carry some of your burdens for you. You talk for hours, about everything, including things you were clearly frightened to speak aloud. By the end, you may not be perfectly happy again, but he can see your steps are a little lighter. He’s never been more relieved.

Tag List: @pandora-writes-one-piece @shy-writer-999 @saturogojosgirl @dreamcastgirl99 @tochillwithamockingjay

[miioouu]

Ghost's New Neighbour pt2

I wasn’t planning on making a second part of this, but since you all like it and asked for it, here we go, i guess. Tw: Smut, Oral (male receiving), no gender used for reader (but a little feminine?), mean Ghost (sorry, i tried many times to write a sweet simon fic but i just can’t!!) Wc: 842 

“Come over later, 8:30 pm sharp, I don't appreciate tardiness” His words ring in your ears, distracting you from your tasks. How are you supposed to focus on putting your plates away when you can still feel the ghost of his lips against your skin? 

You know it’s a bad idea; first of all, he’s your neighbour, it’ll be awkward later on, you’ll definitely regret it, and what if the word comes out; do you really want to be known as the building’s resident slut? Second of all, he’s a stranger, you don’t know anything about him. Even the doorbell doesn’t have his name on it, paper white without even an initial or anything to give you a clue about this mysterious man. You’ll regret it, you definitely will. 

So why are you smoothing down your clothes? Rechecking your lipstick for the nth time? Why are your fingers hovering above this damn ringer, throwing all morals away?

It’s 8:30 sharp when the ding echoes in his rather empty apartment; he chuckles, part of him certain that you’d come over, the other held hope that you’d be a little wiser than this, a little more modest than this; but you weren’t, of course not, else you wouldn’t have let you touch him like he did in the elevator, wouldn’t have shivered when his words tickled your ear, wouldn’t have gotten wet at the feather-like brushing of his cock against your ass. No dignity, he thinks as he lazily makes his way over to open the door for you, internally laughing at the sight of you making yourself all pretty for him, what a nice shade of lipstick. 

He liked it so much, that pinkish tone that made you look a little more glowy, a little more flushed, not that you needed that enhanced. He liked it so much on your lips, and even more when it left a mark around his shaft. Honestly you don’t remember how you got here; one moment you were shuffling in his doorway, struggling to greet him without stuttering, the next you were in the middle of his living room, on your knees, his cock sliding in and out of your mouth languidly. His hands find your hair, guiding you back and forth around his length, setting a slow pace at first, wanting to relish in the feeling of your warm mouth, the tightness of your throat constricting as you gag whenever he pushes a little too deep. 

But Simon was never a patient man, sure he learned how to dismiss his frustration on the field, learned how to manipulate himself into being more forbearing, but he will not use those tricks now, not when he has bright, glossy eyes looking at him, begging him to use their mouth. Who was he to deny them anyway? He thought about warning you, but where’s the fun in that, right? In a swift motion, he pulls you closer until your nose nuzzles against his pelvic, his pubes tickling you but you don’t have time to adjust because he’s already pistoning his cock in and out your warm cave. He lets out a groan, his head falls back as he feels your nails dig in his thighs, holding onto him like a lifeline, creating bloody crescents on his skin, just some other scars to add to his collection. 

The once always empty, always eerily silent apartment, now feels suffocating, loud with groans and hisses from the tall man, mixed with your gagging echoing through the room. “Slut” that whispered word is what broke the chaotic symphony. Your pride is telling you to pull away, glare at him and defend your honor, but you can’t do that; not with his hands clutching at your hair and keeping you in place as he fucks your mouth, not when your thighs are pressing together, imagining, knowing, just how soaked the pretty panties you were wearing became.  

You can feel him getting closer to the edge with the way his thrusts became messier and more erratic, with the way his grip on your hair keeps tightening and getting loose over and over again, with the way his eyes are fluttering, cheeks are getting redder and his chest is heaving, letting out mumbled curses under his breath. “Fuck…come on make me cum, pretty girl” The demand alone made your thighs clench, a whimper escaped you, vibrating around him and sending goosebumps all over his body “Fuckin’ slut” he groans, accent heavy, as he finally stills, reaching deep as he releases ropes of hot, sticky liquid, painting your throat white. 

You’d think this was only the beginning, the way his hand loosens around your hair, massaging your scalp where he was pulling too hard, making you melt and whimper, heart skipping a beat at his gentleness, only to be broken the moment he pushes you back, adjusting his sweatpants properly before turning away. “Tomorrow at the same time, don’t be late. Now leave my house, it’s not the place for a desperate whore like you.”

Tag List: @blkmtllvr @curtaindiver4000 @moozinomoto

[morganas-pendragons]

Hands | Celebrimbor

gif by @quietparanoiac

I’m obsessed with this gif. Seriously.

Short little thing about celebrimbor’s hands. It’s ridiculous how attentive I am to this detail.

tagging @thatlittlered @pentaghasm (I really do not know who else wants to be tagged, I just tag based on previous interest) @erebusbabylon @ladyoflindon and @poetryvampire (since you said you were looking for softer Celebrimbor fics)

***

His hands are worn. The first time you feel them, he is cradling your own while tending to a burn you’ve obtained from your first real venture of crafting at the forge. You spend far too much time staring at the lines of his hands, the way the muscles of his fingers move as he cradles your own and applies salve before tenderly wrapping a bandage around the wounded area.

You practically melt when Celebrimbor places a kiss thereupon.

"Wait, Celebrimbor."

He allows you to take his hand in yours and shivers when you drag your fingers across his palm, whispering to yourself as you turn his hand over and examine the scars upon his knuckles. "Dearest," Celebrimbor whispers hoarsely, swallowing the knot of emotion in his throat as you curl his fingers and bring his hand to your lips. "Why are you-"

"Beautiful." You say firmly, interjecting your opinion before he can speak lowly about himself. "Worn hands are beautiful."

***

His hands are gentle. They are the hands of a creator, hands that must often care for precious things. You are his most precious thing in this world now. Precious things must be protected.

"I didn't know you could braid." You remark, leaning your head back into his hands as Celebrimbor easily weaves your hair together. "It feels phenomenal. You're so gentle."

He smiles and kisses the crown of your head. "As you know per our customs, Elves fix wedding braids for one another. My hair has always held curls well as that is its natural state. Yours is perfect for braiding," Celebrimbor reaches to the small pile of adornments you've kept for special occasions and pulls out a particularly detailed group of flowers to slip into the gaps of your braids. "And it will be my pleasure when that day comes."

***

His hands are careful, always moving with intent, with purpose. You find those same hands on either side of your head while your body remains caged beneath his own, his knee pressed into the part of your thighs as you stare up at him in wonder.

Celebrimbor's fingers flex in yours as you both hold your breath. The two of you had not thought you would get here. To be able to stand in front of the ones you love, to commit to the vows you'd made in front of your loved ones and the Valar.

"I love you." You whisper. His eyes shine with tears as you surge up to kiss him, and you can taste his tears on your tongue as he seeks to deepen the kiss.

Those hands do not leave yours once, grasping at your fingers with the intent of anchoring Celebrimbor to the present moment when he slides into the warmth of your body, into home. He moans low into the crook of your neck and fights the urge to allow his hands to wander.

Chest heaving, you turn your head to whisper low in his ear, "You can touch me, veru."

Those hands have never sought violence, nor had they inflicted them: They have only ever sought to create goodness, to hold greatness within his grasps and cradle it as the most precious thing he can hold.

You. You are the most precious thing Celebrimbor's hands will hold.

Translations:

Veru - Quenyan word for husband

[soobnny]

it takes two — hyunjin x reader ; comfort fic where he helps you shower due to ur inability to after you’d accidentally wounded yourself (1.1k words)

prompt is very specific but i hope u enjoy

You’re starting to get annoyed.

The gash on the palm of your dominant hand has been keeping you idle. You stare at it with bitter eyes, and while hard to admit, there is self-awareness that you’d done this to yourself.

Had you listened to Hyunjin, this wouldn’t have happened in the first place, but no. You just had to think that cooking at midnight would be a good idea.

It’s a hard pill to swallow. Your best friend was right, you shouldn’t have done it, but you do not want to live in a world where Hwang Hyunjin is right. The ringing of his “I told you so’s” is already echoing in your ears, just like they’d done before, and just like they will in the following years.

But, right now, you’re really starting to get annoyed.

It’s your second fruitless attempt at a shower, but no matter how hard you try, the sting on your hand is too painful to bypass.

The bathroom tiles are tauntingly cold against your feet, and there’s frustration squeezing at your sternum and clenching your chest.

You feel like crying.

It’s how Hyunjin finds you half an hour later, still fully clothed, knees pressed to your chest and face twisted in a sob. Forgetfulness is a feat you’d always had (Hyunjin always had to set up reminders on your phone so you’d remember), and you were too upset at not being able to do anything to recall that your best friend was coming over.

“Hey, hey, why are you crying? What’s wrong?” There’s a prominent furrow to his brows as he rushes to sit beside you, voice laced with concern, yet soft enough to not startle you. He knows it’ll only make you cry more.

“I know I should’ve listened to you. I know.” Your voice wavers. “But I just want to shower. I haven’t been able to do anything today because of this stupid wound, and I just… I just want to shower.”

Hyunjin scoots towards you, taking your hand in his. He’s careful not to touch your scar, and your face twitches at the sight. “Have you cleaned it? Does it hurt a lot?”

You nod, bowing your head to press against your knees so you won’t have to look at him. You prepare yourself to be scolded, but it never comes. Instead, he finds a way to pick you up. You’re overwhelmed by his sudden scent.

“What are you doing?” You say through sniffles and quivering teeth.

“Are you okay with your clothes being wet?”

“What?”

He sucks in a breath. “I’ll wash your hair for you.”

At his words, you only weep harder. Hyunjin’s never been the type to do anything remotely close to this. Disdain has always dripped down his tongue when his friends would ask him to do anything that involved levels of intimacy, but here he was.

That usual disdain is absent.

“Hey, stop crying.” He whispers, lips fighting a frown at the sight of your droopy nose and your red, puffed out eyes. “Please.”

He carefully sits you in your bathtub, circling around your bathroom so he can collect the things he’d be needing. It doesn’t take a minute before he’s squatting right in front of you. “Is this okay?”

You can only nod.

Hyunjin starts running your bath, making sure your injured hand is out of contact with the water. “Just keep it out here for now, okay? Just so it doesn’t sting. I’ll clean it again after I wash your hair.”

He’s gentle with you as he wets your hair, fingers threading through the strands. He does this for a while until he’s smoothened it out. He knows how much it can hurt when it tangles.

You hear the sound of a bottle uncapping, and then his hands are back on your scalp, massaging the shampoo into your hair. It feels nice—contrasting to the frustration you’d felt earlier. You’ve almost forgotten why you were so upset. You can only feel his fingers through your hair and the comfort that is distinguishably the presence of your best friend.

“Does that feel better?” Hyunjin asks, eyes soft as he looks at you. His fingers don’t stop digging into your scalp, but it seems that everything else in the room stops when he looks at you like this, when there’s nothing else to hear but your heartbeat and the water running.

There’s a twist in your stomach that had been in your chest earlier. You don’t know what it is.

“Better.” You mumble, and there’s a faint smile on his lips when he hears you.

When enough time passes, he uses your dipper to rinse the foam from your hair. It feels vulnerable, sitting in your bathtub while Hyunjin washes your hair. You’ve never done this before, and there is warmth sitting where shame should be.

You never feel embarrassed around him.

Similarly, Hyunjin faces his own dilemma. He didn’t think about it when he made the offer. All he knew was that his own heart felt like breaking when he saw you crying, and he’d do anything to alleviate your pain. It came over instinctively, like it was the right thing to do.

Ah, my feelings are a lot more than I thought, he thinks.

It was inevitable. It had grown little by little. A smile here, a laugh there. He just never thought he would willingly give up his indifference for the touch of someone else so easily. But it was you, and it will always be you. You are the first introduction of what craving feels like. Every small touch from you is electrifying, and Hyunjin feels himself allowing more room for intimacy as long as it was you.

“I’m gonna wash your face now, okay?” Smooth hands cup your cheeks, moving your head from side to side so he can spread the cleanser evenly on your face. He mirrors the way he applies it on himself, fingers moving in circles and rubbing as gently as possible. “Close your eyes.”

He’s a lot closer now, and Hyunjin feels his breath hitch as he rinses the foam from your face.

“This might hurt a little, okay?”

He dips a cloth into some water, taking your hand and letting it rest on his palm before dabbing it on your hand. You wince at the contact, the sting is as sharp as you remember it being, but the contrast in which Hyunjin treats it dulls the pain a little. While his hands are firm, there’s a softness to his touch that you can’t quite explain.

Your pupils blow up when he meets your eyes. “How are you feeling now?” He asks.

You know it’s over, but you want to stay in the water a little longer.

“Thank you.” It’s not the appropriate response, but it says everything it needs to. There is still that unidentifiable feeling at the pit of your stomach.

He can only smile. His brain hates to bear witness to the romance that’s playing in his head.

So, he lets his heart beat instead.

[just-dreaming-marvel]

Apologies ~ Love That Burns

LOVE THAT BURNS MASTERLIST / EVERYDAY MOMENTS MASTERLIST

Word Count: 1,440ish

Summary: After living alone together for less than a year, you and Logan fight.

Notes: I know that CUDDLES had the most votes for next, but this was ready first. This fic goes with my series, Love That Burns! Please give it a read!

Reminder: I DO NOT do taglists. Please don’t ask. Please follow and interact! I appreciate any reblogs, likes, comments, and asks! 

Logan and you had been living at your old house for less than a year. Your relationship was getting better, but the rough patches were still rough. Lately, Logan had been working eighty-hour work weeks. When he came home, he would smoke a cigar and drink before turning in for the night. Logan was moody with you and barely helped around the house. It was frustrating as Logan had promised when you arrived, only to work part-time and that the duties around the house were for both of you to complete. Your frustration caused you to be moody as well, not helping with the situation.

It was late in the evening, and you were putting away a cold dinner that had been waiting for Logan as he arrived home. The tension was thick in the air. Logan’s boots were loud against the wood floor as he came into the kitchen and grabbed one of his cigars from off of the counter.

“I made dinner,” you grumbled as you closed the fridge. 

“Not hungry,” Logan huffed, placing the cigar between his lips. “Do you mind?” He motioned to the cigar.

You scoffed. “Actually, I do. Feel free to light the damn cigar yourself and take it outside. I’m going to bed.”

“What’s got you in a mood?”

“Are you serious?”

“I just don't think that I need to be snapped out for asking for a simple favor. I have been working overtime, and I just thought you could do something for me.”

“Do something for you? All I ever do is stuff for you! I make dinner every night, only for you not to come home in time or even eat it. Do you even eat?”

“I do, at the bar.”

“Alcohol isn’t food, Logan.”

“It seems to do the job just fine.”

“Logan… I… I miss you. You’re gone more than you're here. And when you're here, it's like you're still somewhere else.”

“The lumberyard is short-staffed. I have to work.”

“Yes, but you could still come back home to me instead of stopping by the bar. You go to the bar, and I stay up waiting for you with a wasted dinner. When you come back, you're tired and distant. You either go to bed before me or long after me. We barely talk anymore—“

“I’m trying here, sweetheart. This,” he motioned around the room, “is new for me. The not running, the not fighting is hard.”

“So, are you regretting coming here?”

"That's not what I said.”

“But it’s what you're feeling, isn’t it? This is all too much… I’m too much.”

“Now, wait a second; I never mentioned anything about you.”

“That's part of the problem. We came here to work on our communication, but you're shutting me out!”

“You knew that communication wasn't easy for me when we got into this. You can't expect me to change overnight.”

“I know that, but I thought that we were getting better. That we…"

“That we what? That we were going back to the way it was before, the first time we lived in this house? We've changed---I've changed. You can’t compare the two.”

“I'm not!”

“The pressure you are continually putting on me sure feels like you are.”

“I’m not trying to, but any pressure on you, Logan. If that’s how you're feeling, you need to be honest about it.”

Logan scoffed. “It’s not that easy.”

“It can be. If you come home and be home."

“What do you want me to do? Quit?”

“I’m not asking you to quit. You just need to find a balance.”

“I need to find a balance? Maybe what I need is different than you think.”

“Then tell me!” Your hands went up in flames at the frustration of this roundabout conversation. You quickly stepped back and stopped the flames. The tension in the air was thicker than it ever had been. “I... I’m going on a walk.”

“It’s too late for a walk."

“I’ll be fine.”

“Y/N—“

“Logan, let me go before we say something we both regret. I won’t be long. Just need to clear my head.”

Before Logan could argue more, you slipped out the back door and headed towards the trees. Logan remained still in the kitchen, his mind replaying the past few weeks and the argument that had just occurred. You were right, he had been distant and working more hours than he should. He was scared. In all honestly, Logan was enjoying the simplicity of life. But it was something that could be taken away at any moment. He couldn't allow himself to enjoy it more so he buried himself in work and alcohol, not ever considering the effect it would have on you.

~~~

You knew that Logan was scared to open up and enjoy life. You were scared, too. Your lives had continually been changed, ripping away your happiness. But you couldn’t let that stop you from enjoying life. You need to hold on to the good while you can, and not worry about the future.

You were so caught up in your own thoughts, that you lost track of time and where you were. It was still dark outside and even your flames couldn't help guide you in the correct direction. You knew that Logan was probably concerned and would begin searching for you. At least, you hoped. Finding a small clearing, you put together a pile of wood and lit it on fire. You sat against a nearby tree, hoping that Logan would find you.

~~~

Logan had practically paced a large path in the kitchen as he waited for you to return. It was past midnight now, with no word from you. It was growing concerned. What if you got injured? What if someone took you? What if you were dead? All of his worst fears came crushing through his mind, making him grow more concerned and more guilt-ridden. 

Logan went out the back, eyes searching through the darkness to see any sign of you. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath through his nose. His heart clenched as the familiar smoke smell struck his senses. Logan’s eyes snapped open and caught sight of the smoke rising above the tree line. Thankfully, his legs moved before his mind could fully comprehend. All he could think about was that there was a possibility of something wrong with you. Well, more wrong than the fight you two had. He wouldn’t forgive himself if something happened to you.

“Y/N!” Logan yelled as he sprinted through the forest. “Y/N!”

When he broke into the clearing where the fire was, Logan stumbled to a stop. His eyes frantically searched for you, finally catching a glimpse of your feet on the other side of the fire. He rushed over and knelt beside your curled-up form. His hands roamed you for injuries.

“Y/N, honey,” he pleaded as he continued to search you for injuries.

“L—Logan?” You said groggily as you began to wake.

He breathed a little sigh of relief as you responded. “Come on, sweetheart. It’s time to come home.” With ease, he picked you up. You killed the fire as your arms wrapped around his neck.

“I knew you would find me,” you mumbled as you let Logan carry you home.

“Always, sweetheart.” Logan carried you all the way to bed and held you close as the two of you settled in.

“Logan? I—“

He quickly shushed you. “We’ll talk in the morning. Let me hold you. Sleep.”

“Okay… love you.”

He kissed your head. “Love you more.”

~~~

You were tucked into Logan's chest when you woke. He was already awake, not wanting to lose you from his grip.

“Morning,” you looked up at him.

“Morning,” he leaned down and kissed your head.

“We need to talk."

“I know… I’m sorry… For everything. I’m not meaning to be distant. I’m still figuring this whole thing out. How to just work and come home and be the man you need me to be… I’m sorry."

“I know. I'm sorry, too. I know that I need to be more patient.”

"I'm going to tell the lumberyard I can only work part-time like originally agreed upon. I’m going to be home for dinners and to help you around the house.”

“Logan, I just need more communication. If you're not going to be home, I need to know.”

“I’ll work on it. I promise.” He pulled you up to have better access to your face. “I love you so much, sweetheart. Thanks for sticking with me.”

“You’re stuck with me, Howlett, no matter what.”

[rafeskai]

Starstruck | Drew Starkey

Chapter One

Summary: In the bustling crowd of a premiere event for Outer Banks, you find yourself caught up in a chaotic moment, lost in the sea of fans. Desperate for a way out, you stumble into an alley where fate leads you to an unexpected—and painful—encounter with Drew Starkey. What starts as a simple misstep soon spirals into something far more complicated, and your life takes an unexpected turn.

Pairings: Drew Starkey x Reader

Warnings: N/A

Author's Note: This will be another short fic!!

The city of Los Angeles had always seemed like a dream—one that was just out of reach, filled with palm trees, bright lights, and endless possibilities. You’d seen it in the movies, heard the stories, and scrolled through enough Instagram posts to feel like you knew the place by heart. But none of that had prepared you for the reality of it all—the hum of the traffic, the overwhelming buzz of constant movement, and the sheer size of everything.

It was your first trip to LA, and you had planned to move there. To experience a new beginning, a contrast from your life back in a small town in South Carolina. Your cousin, Ava had begged you to move in with her. She moved out here a few months ago to follow her dreams, chasing her career in fashion and the hustle of the city. And as much as you’d heard about her exciting life, you couldn’t help but feel a little bit nervous. She was always the one to take the leap, to dive headfirst into new opportunities while you watched from the sidelines.

You stood at the gate of LAX, your suitcase rolling behind you, looking around at the sea of strangers and travelers. It felt like the city itself had swallowed you up already, even though you were still waiting for Ava to come pick you up. The air smelled like a mix of saltwater, car exhaust, and faint hints of perfume. Everything seemed bigger, louder, and brighter than anything you were used to.

Ava had promised to take you to some cool places—maybe even a celebrity sighting or two, if you were lucky. She’d been raving about how “amazing” LA was, how everyone was so “laid-back” but also so “serious about making things happen.” You weren’t sure what that meant exactly, but you were excited to see what her new life was all about.

Finally, your phone buzzed with a text. It was Ava.

Ava: “I’m here, babe! I’ll be by in a sec. Get ready for an adventure!”

You smiled to yourself, tucking your phone back in your pocket. Your cousin always had a way of making everything sound like it was going to be epic.

As you stepped outside the airport, you saw Ava leaning against her car, a mischievous grin on her face and sunglasses perched atop her head. She waved you over enthusiastically, her curly hair bouncing as she jumped up and down.

“There you are!” she said, pulling you into a hug. “Welcome to LA, sweetheart!”

You hugged her back, letting out a small laugh at her over-the-top enthusiasm. Despite the chaos around you, her energy was contagious. It was exactly what you needed to start your adventure in this strange, exciting city. And maybe, just maybe, you’d find yourself falling for LA the way everyone else did.

Ava tossed your suitcase into the trunk and hopped into the driver’s seat, motioning for you to get in. “Alright,” she said, turning the key in the ignition. “Let’s show you what this place is really about.”

As you slid into the passenger seat and buckled up, the city sprawled out in front of you. The buildings, the people, the cars—everything was moving so fast. You couldn’t help but feel like you were on the brink of something big. This trip was going to be more than just a visit; it was going to be an experience that might change everything.

Ava shot you a grin as she pulled onto the highway. “Ready for your first adventure in LA?”

You took a deep breath, a nervous excitement bubbling up inside of you. “I think so.”

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

The ride to Ava’s apartment was a whirlwind of sights and sounds. Palm trees lined the streets, swaying lazily in the breeze, their silhouettes framed against the setting sun. The cars zipped by, each one seemingly flashier than the last, and the billboards advertised everything from the latest blockbuster films to obscure yoga studios. Ava, ever the LA native-in-the-making, narrated the trip like a tour guide, pointing out landmarks and offering unsolicited advice.

“That’s Runyon Canyon,” she said, gesturing to a hill dotted with hikers. “Great for photos, but only go early in the morning. Otherwise, it’s hotter than hell.”

You nodded, your eyes wide as you took everything in. “Noted.”

“Oh, and you’ll definitely need to get used to traffic. Like, it’s not if you’ll sit in it—it’s how many hours of your life you’ll lose to it.”

The apartment complex Ava lived in was nestled in a lively neighborhood just outside of downtown. It wasn’t the most glamorous building, but it had charm, with colorful murals painted along the walls and a small courtyard with string lights hanging from the trees. As you stepped inside, dragging your suitcase behind you, Ava gave you a grand tour of her one-bedroom unit, which she’d converted into a makeshift two-bedroom by sectioning off the living room with a curtain.

“Sorry it’s not huge,” she said, flopping onto her bed as you set your suitcase down near the futon that would serve as your new sleeping spot. “But the location is killer, and it’s LA—no one actually hangs out in their apartment. We’ll be too busy living it up.”

You laughed, appreciating her enthusiasm even if you weren’t entirely sure you’d adjust to this new pace. The space itself was cozy, with mismatched furniture, a tiny kitchen, and windows that let in just enough light to make it feel inviting. Ava’s personality was everywhere—her collection of vintage magazines, her mood board filled with fabric swatches and fashion sketches, and an eclectic mix of candles and trinkets scattered on every surface.

That night, you spent hours unpacking while Ava filled you in on her plans for your first week. From trendy coffee shops to a thrift store crawl, she had your itinerary packed. But what caught your attention most was her excitement over the Outer Banks premiere.

“You have to come with me tonight,” she said, flopping onto your futon dramatically. “It’s going to be amazing. Red carpet, celebrities, the works.”

You hesitated, folding a sweater and setting it aside. “I don’t know, Ava. I just got here. Don’t you think I need a little time to settle in?”

She shook her head emphatically. “Nope. The best way to settle in is to jump in headfirst. Trust me, babe. You’ll love it. Plus, who knows? Maybe you’ll meet someone famous.”

You raised an eyebrow at her, but her grin was infectious. Despite your nerves, you couldn’t help but feel a little intrigued. The idea of attending a real Hollywood event was daunting, but also undeniably exciting. This was LA, after all—the city of endless possibilities.

“Okay,” you said finally, earning a squeal of delight from Ava. “But you owe me coffee for a week if this goes horribly wrong.”

“Deal,” she said, leaping to her feet. “Now, let’s find you something fabulous to wear.”

As Ava rummaged through her closet, tossing dresses and accessories your way, you couldn’t help but smile. Moving to LA was already proving to be as overwhelming as you’d feared, but with Ava by your side, you were starting to believe that maybe you could handle it.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

You’d never been one for crowds, but when Ava forced convinced you to go the Outer Banks premiere in LA, you couldn’t turn it down. You weren’t a huge fan of the show, but you’d heard enough buzz to know it was a big deal. Plus, Ava had a knack for dragging you into her wild adventures, and when she’d said "Hollywood glamour," you couldn't help but get caught up in the excitement.

The red carpet was everything you imagined and more. Flashbulbs from cameras stung your eyes as celebrities in perfectly tailored suits and dresses posed for photos. You tried to focus on the stars walking by, but it felt like the entire city was crammed into this one street, and the noise—oh, the noise—was almost too much to bear. Ava had already spotted a few friends and pulled you along, her chatter almost drowned out by the sound of hundreds of voices and music blaring from speakers.

"I need to get a selfie with Drew Starkey!" Ava shouted over the noise, practically bouncing on her feet.

You blinked. Drew Starkey? The guy who played Rafe Cameron on Outer Banks?

"Wait, wait, wait," you protested, pulling back on her arm. "I’m not ready for that—"

But she was already off, threading her way through the crowd, her phone in hand, her eyes focused on the star she was aiming for. You sighed and tried to follow, but the crowd was thickening, and before you knew it, you were separated from Ava.

You glanced around, feeling your pulse quicken as the realization hit—you were lost. People were pushing past you, and the overwhelming mass of bodies made it hard to even catch your breath. Frantically, you glanced around for some way to escape the chaos, a backdoor, a quiet corner—anything.

That’s when you spotted a narrow alleyway just off the red carpet, tucked behind a line of sleek black cars. It was quiet. It was a chance to breathe.

You weaved through the crowd, trying to stay unnoticed, hoping to find an escape route or at least somewhere to collect yourself. But as you stepped into the alley, you felt a bit of relief—until a loud bang echoed from behind you.

Before you could react, the door to a building swung open, and you stumbled backward as the metal edge caught you square in the face.

The world tilted sideways.

Everything went black for a moment, and you stumbled backward into the wall of the alley, your hands instinctively reaching up to touch your face, feeling a sharp pain shoot across your forehead. What the hell just happened?

A voice—gruff and slightly panicked—came from the direction of the door. “Oh, God, I’m so sorry!”

You groaned, blinking your eyes open, your vision swimming. Standing in front of you, looking at you with wide, apologetic eyes, was none other than Drew Starkey himself.

You didn’t recognize him at first. Your head was swimming, and your pulse was racing. But then his face registered, and you froze. Drew Starkey?

“I didn’t see you there,” he said, reaching out as if to help you, but then pulling back as though unsure. “Are you okay? I’m so sorry. I—I didn’t mean to… hit you. I’m really sorry.”

You couldn’t find words right away. Your vision swam, and you felt lightheaded, your hand instinctively rising to your forehead to feel the throbbing pain.

“Do you need help? I can get someone…” His voice trailed off, a soft edge of concern in it now. “Please say you’re okay.”

Somehow, you found your voice, though it came out more like a pained whisper. “I think... I think I’m okay. Just... I need a second.”

His eyes were full of worry, but he took a step back, glancing around as if searching for someone to help. The alley was dimly lit, and you weren’t sure if anyone had even noticed the accident with how chaotic the premiere still was just beyond the alley.

“Look, um, I don’t know how to make this better. But can I help you?” Drew asked, his voice quieter now, as if he wasn’t sure how to approach you.

You stared at him, trying to focus. This was Drew Starkey. The actor you’d just been thinking about. And you’d gotten hit in the face by a door he opened. You blinked again, still struggling with the fog in your head.

“I’m really not sure you can fix this,” you managed to say, but there was a hint of humor in your voice. The ridiculousness of the situation, how absurd it felt, wasn’t lost on you. Here you were, standing in a back alley with Drew Starkey, and you were definitely not looking your best.

Drew chuckled, though there was still concern in his eyes. “Okay, fair enough,” he said, running a hand through his hair, making it even messier than usual. “But seriously, let me at least get you a drink or something. I feel awful.”

You hesitated, blinking away the dizziness. There was no denying you felt a little bit starstruck, standing face-to-face with him. But there was something else in his eyes now—something soft and genuine. He wasn’t acting like the celebrity you’d imagined, with all the flashy confidence. Instead, he seemed... human. Worried. And kind.

"Alright," you said slowly, trying to steady yourself.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

 You hadn’t realized how badly you were shaking until Drew gently guided you toward a nearby door. It looked like a back entrance to the venue, a simple wooden door with a security keypad next to it. He motioned for you to go first, his hand on the small of your back as though to steady you, and you couldn’t help but feel your heart rate spike for reasons entirely unrelated to the pain in your head.

“Okay, okay,” Drew said, pushing open the door with a soft creak. “We’re going inside where it’s a little quieter. We can sit for a second while you get your bearings. Deal?”

You nodded, your brain still struggling to catch up. This was really happening—you were with Drew Starkey right now. The man Ava has been obsessing over. But now, here he was, acting more like a guy who’d accidentally banged someone’s face with a door than some famous heartthrob.

Once inside, you realized it wasn’t some ritzy celebrity lounge or hidden VIP area, but rather a backstage hallway with a few chairs scattered around and crew members rushing by, deep in conversation or adjusting equipment. The lights were dim here too, but it was at least a bit more peaceful compared to the madness outside.

Drew led you to one of the chairs by the wall and sat down across from you, though not too far. He was careful not to invade your personal space, which you appreciated. He looked genuinely concerned, his brow furrowed as he examined your face.

“Does it hurt? I mean, does it feel like it’s swelling or anything? I’m no doctor, but...” He trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.

You winced, touching the side of your forehead again. It was definitely sore, a dull ache, but nothing that felt too serious. Yet.

“No, I think it’s just a bump. It’ll be fine,” you said, hoping you weren’t downplaying it too much. “It’s not the first time I’ve walked into a door, you know?”

Drew raised an eyebrow. “Really? That’s a new one for me. Usually, people walk into doors because they’re distracted or something, but... this feels a little more like a... targeted door.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, the sound shaky at first but more genuine as it left your mouth. “Well, if I’d known the door was going to open right into my face, I would've steered clear.”

He chuckled along with you, but his eyes still carried a hint of concern.

“Look, I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean for you to get hurt. I was just trying to get out of there before the paparazzi went wild. It’s been a long night.”

You could tell he was being sincere. There was no hint of ego in his voice, nothing that would make you feel like he was brushing it off because he was a celebrity—which, honestly, you might have expected in a situation like this. But Drew didn’t seem like the type.

“I’m just glad you’re not one of those celebrities who tries to act too cool to care,” you said, then realized how that might sound. “I mean, not that I thought you would be, but you know... it’s nice not to be treated like a random fan.”

He looked at you, tilting his head slightly, his expression softening. “I get it. I mean, I don’t think we’re all that different, you know? I’m just a guy with a weird job.”

“A weird job?” You raised an eyebrow, surprised by his humble tone.

“Yeah,” he said, shrugging. “I mean, I get paid to pretend to be someone I’m not for a living. How weird is that?”

You smiled. “Well, you’re pretty good at it. Everyone seems to love Rafe Cameron.”

Drew laughed, but it sounded a little forced. “Thanks, I guess. I don’t know if ‘love’ is the right word though, considering the character I play...”

You nodded in understanding. It was clear he wasn’t as fond of Rafe as most fans were. “True, true,” you said. “I mean, Rafe’s not exactly the most... well, likeable guy. But he’s interesting. He’s got layers, you know? I feel like he’s the kind of character you love to hate.”

Drew’s lips twitched into a faint smile. “Yeah. It’s definitely a challenge. But I’ll take it. It’s more fun playing a character who’s got that edge.”

The conversation lingered in an unexpected place of comfort, with the two of you talking like you had known each other far longer than just a few minutes. As you talked, you started to feel the fogginess in your head subside a little, your thoughts a bit clearer. You shifted in your chair, feeling a bit more steady.

"So, uh," Drew spoke up again, breaking the comfortable silence. "I feel like we should properly introduce ourselves now. I’m Drew, obviously." He grinned, though there was a hint of awkwardness in his eyes.

You smiled, feeling a little silly that you hadn’t introduced yourself earlier, but you were still kind of in shock. “I’m Y/N.”

“Well, Y/N, I’m really sorry again for hitting you in the face,” he said, still a little sheepish. "Maybe I can make it up to you somehow? Like, take you out for a drink or... I don’t know... find a way to help?"

It took you a moment to register the question, your mind racing. Was he asking you out? Or just trying to be nice?

Before you could overthink it, Drew added quickly, “Not in a weird way! Just... you know... trying to make it right.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “I get it. I mean, a drink sounds nice—just... no more doors, okay?”

Drew's grin widened, clearly relieved by your response. “Deal. No more doors. And I’ll make sure to keep it to something a little more... calm.”

© 2024 rafeskai | All rights reserved. This fanfiction is a work of fiction inspired by characters from Outer Banks, and no part of it may be reproduced or distributed without permission.

[emsbowx]

“ just hold my hand. ”

pairing : tasm!peterparker x f!reader

summary : f!reader suddenly is rescued by tasm!peterparker while getting mugged, the rescue leads to other small feelings to start to grow

warnings : pet names, cursing, bad writing, horribly proofread, plot probably makes no sense at all, bad grammar ermmm

wc : 716

A/N : ermmm first fic so if it sucks that’s why guys😔 probably not gonna make this one a series and this will most likely by my first and last fic lol💜

you had no idea how you ended up on top of a building. one minute you were being mugged, and another you were in spider-man’s arms in mid air. “holy fuck! let me down!!” you squeal, shutting your eyes tightly and trying not to burst out into tears of pure terror. “calm down, doll. just trying to get you to a safe place.” spider-man spoke, you find yourself feeling comforted by his warm, honey-like voice, it sounding all too familiar to you.

you watch as the boy in the red and blue suit swings you both, stopping on top of an apartment building rooftop. he releases you from his securing grip, and you stumble forward slightly due to the almost whiplash-like change of practically flying and being reminded of gravity.

“easy there, doll.” he advised, his tone laced with a slight hint of teasing. setting a hand on the small of your back to ensure your safety.

“i think i just saw the light.” you mumble, hand moving over your heart to try and regulate your heartbeat. you walk towards the middle of the rooftop, avoiding the ledge at all costs. you never acknowledged just how bad you’re fear of heights was until now. “great timing y/n” you think to yourself, turning around to see spider-man, who’s practically jumping off the roof, “aren’t you scared to fall?” you ask, not realizing how dumb that question sounds until after you said it. of course he isn’t scared to fall, he’s spider-man.

the boy laughs, you take a mental note to somehow find a way to hear that sweet sound again. “no doll, i’m not scared to fall. in fact, i fall on purpose, that’s kind of my job.” he remarks, making his was over to where you stand, arms crossed.

“soo, you gonna tell me where you live so i can take you back?” spider-man inquires, not so much asking, more so to remind you.

“oh yeah, uhm, i live on 51st street,” you almost blurt out, the reality and realization of you almost being attacked just minutes ago staring to set in.

“you doin’ alright sweetheart?” he asks, noticing your sudden detach from the conversation. as he waits for you to answer, he makes a mental map of the route to your home.

“yeah, yeah, i’m fine. just a little in shock i guess..” you reply, running your hands through your hair, wishing you were in bed, and that this was all really really weird dream.

“okay, just checking doll.” he comments, the pet name feeling natural to him.

a few minutes pass and you’ve been stalling getting down from the rooftop, knowing you have to go through what you did roughly ten minutes ago.

“alright, let’s get you home.” spider-man spoke, reaching a hand out for you, “i know you’re stalling. just hold my hand, it won’t be that bad sweetheart. you ready?”

you take his hand in yours holding onto him tightly as you brace yourself for the drop. “yeah, as i’ll ever be i guess..”

spider-man hears your words of consent and swiftly shoots out a web to cling to the side of a nearby skyscraper, you tighten your grip on the boy and biting your lip to suppress a scream as you both glide through the night.

you two soon reach your house, you catch your breath as he walks you to the gate. “hey spider-man, i never got to say thank you,” i realize, turning my head slightly to the side to look at him.

“your welcome doll, just try not to walk alone at night, some people are creeps.” he cautions, looking you over carefully to see if you are injured.

“i’ll try not to..” you say, a soft smile appearing on your lips. “bye spider-man, see you around.” you state, turning to open the door to your house.

“yeah, you can count on that sweetheart.” he quips, a smirk on his face under the mask, he waits for you to close and lock the door behind you before he sets off to finish his nightly patrol. “she’s somethin’..” spider-man thinks to himself, knowing he’s most definitely going to check in on you throughout the week. to make sure you’re safe, and to be able to talk to you more.

[jenoslutie]

bad idea, right? l l.dh

❥ Synopsis: You swear you've moved on, you swear you're happy in your relationship. But why is Donghyuck still on your mind? and why are you in his bed again?

❥ Genre: Toxic FWB!Donghyuck, angst, smut, ??? with benefits au, she is toxic.

❥ Warnings: disloyalty, blackmailing, suggestive but no actual smut, just a whole lot of shitty behaviour from mc, even more implications to recording during sex jeno x reader, haechan x reader. not a happy ending.

❥ Word count: 3.8K

❥ a/n: hellooo angels <3 so uh, this is part 2 of is it casual!!! i KNOW this is not what u guys wanted but i fear this is how the story went!!! as always, feedback is much appreciated :P !! also THANK U TO @be-my-sunrise and @hanniesbrat for letting me yap to you guys about this odd ass fic LMAO

You hated the fact your boyfriend was roommates with the man that ruined you. You hated walking into your boyfriend’s apartment and seeing his face there, staring back at you as if nothing ever happened. You hated having sex with your boyfriend knowing he could come home at any time and hear you. You hated the fact that he still thought that your boyfriend was your friend and treated him like one. 

Jeno, your boyfriend, has been nothing but the best to you. He comforted you through all the late nights you wanted to spend crying, he held you through every moment you spent crying over that fucker until you realized how much you really like him. No man has ever treated you the way Jeno has. No love has ever compared to the love Jeno has given you and you wouldn't trade it for the word. 

“Jeno, I really don’t want to see him, can you just come over instead?” 

That’s how alot of your nights went, 

baby <3: donghyuck told me i need to move out baby <3: he fucking sucks  baby <3: he said i need to break up with u or leave because he can't stand seeing u around 

you: what the actual fuck  you: i'm so sorry  you: he actually sucks so bad  you: you’re welcome to move in with me in the meantime  you: or however long u want you: i'm so sorry for dragging u into this mess jen you: seriously 

baby <3: it’s not your fault baby  baby <3: we’re in this together. 

“You packing up your shit or what, loverboy?” Donghyuck smirked, leaning against Jeno’s door frame. 

“Use your eyes, Donghyuck.” Jeno scoffed, not sparing him a glance. He continued to pack his stuff into his boxes. 

“Oh, don’t forget to pack your girlfriend’s clothes! In Fact, I might have some in my room too, you want me to bring them to you?” 

“Fuck off, Donghyuck.” 

One thing you know for sure is Donghyuck fucking sucks. If he didn’t make that clear the first time around. You’d say you wish the worst upon him. However, some nights, you get deep in your thoughts and thoughts about your relationship with Donghyuck and you miss it. But one thing never changed, you always had Jeno by your side, every time, without fail. 

“Jeno, what if I never met you?” 

“Where’s this coming from?” He chuckled, pulling you in closer and kissing your head for reassurance. “I’m sure i’d find you one way or another, you're my person” 

It was little things like this that made you fall for him. You truly believe Jeno was the one for you. No one treated you half as good as he did. 

“I never want to leave you, angel. You’re mine forever” You smiled, cuddling closer to Jeno, you smiled to yourself when his scent hit you. He smelled heavenly, like he always did, the same comfort and warmth that drew you into him in the first place making you desire him even more today. 

unknown: hey unknown: i'm sure you know who this is unknown: we need to talk unknown: don’t tell jeno. 

Your heart sank. Donghyuck? It can’t be. 

you: who is this? 

unknown: [attachment: 1 video]  unknown: remember me? 

Your jaw dropped, clicking on the video to see you bent over the sink in a bathroom you could never forget, ever. Your hair a mess, you're deliriously calling yourself ‘his forever’. You fucking hated that he had anything to black mail you with such as this. You hated yourself for giving him that type of power. 

you: donghyuck. you: we have nothing to say to each other  you: dont try to contact me again

unknown: you’d be fine with me sending this to your boyfriend though, right?

Immediately, you called him. He was sick in the head and only got more and more out of hand. 

“Donghyuck, you’re not fucking funny” you spat, venom laced in every word

“Funny? Babe, who said I was trying to be funny?” He chuckled “I’m serious, did you forget your little boyfriend lives right next door?” 

You heard him knock on the wall, screaming out your boyfriend’s name.  “Jeno!” 

“Shut the fuck up!” A faint voice in the back. 

“Fuck off, Donghyuck.” And with that you hung up, falling back onto your bed with a sigh. 

“Jeno stop! They’ll hear us” You giggled, lightly pushing Jeno’s head away from his spot in between your legs. He’d been trying to get you worked up through your clothes the whole time youve been over at his apartment. This was the last week of him living here before he officially moves in with you and you both were ecstatic. Last week you’d have to see his face, last week you’d have to be in constant fear that he’ll overhear you and Jeno having sex and last week you’d have to even think about him.  

“We’re alone, baby” he pinned your arms down with one hand. “Let me eat you out baby, promise you’ll be good?” You gave in, nodding at the promise of Jenos mouth on you. 

“I’ll be good.” 

Jeno was talented with his tongue. His technique was unlike any other. He knew how to have you arching into his touch, begging for more, cumming within seconds. You’d describe him as a walking sex god. His way of having you craving more was unmatched. And you don’t think you’ve ever had anyone quite like that before. Not even Donghyuck. 

“Stop thinking about that fucker” Your boyfriend frowned, he could read you like a book and you genuinely dont know how he does it “He doesnt matter right now, it’s just you and me baby” 

‘I love you, Jeno” 

“I love you more than you can imagine, baby” 

He kissed you hard, taking your mind off anything you’d been thinking of before. All you could think of Jeno’s mouth on yours, kissing you with everything he had. Within a moment, Jeno had you undressed, laying under him in all your naked glory. Smiling your love drunk smile at him. Jeno trailed kisses down your body, all the way down to your pussy. 

“Jeno?” you called out, looking down at him with big, innocent eyes. 

“Yes, baby?” he smiled at you sweetly, starting to trail his tongue along your slit, “Pretty, pretty pussy” he mumbled under his breath. 

“Please fuck me already, I cant wait anymore. I need you in me” You pleaded, knowing your boyfriend would do anything but deny you anything.  

“God, I love you. Anything for you baby” He took no time before hovering over you again, pressing a soft kiss to your mouth. “My angel, all mine.” 

“She’s yours?” A voice suddenly interrupted you, a voice that was all too familiar. Jeno’s body hurriedly covered yours, protecting you from the eyes of the intruder. 

“Donghyuck, get the fuck out” Jeno spat. 

“No, If i remember correctly, she’s mine” 

“I was never yours,” You countered, pulling Jeno onto you closer. 

“Oh yeah? You want me to show you the video? As far as i know, your little boyfriend here still hasn’t seen it” 

You felt Jeno freeze, “What video?” Jeno asked you, looking at you with nothing but confusion in his eyes. 

Donghyuck kissed his teeth, “Oh, guess I shouldn't have brought that up right now. right, Y/N?” 

“Donghyuck, just get the fuck out.” 

Jeno pulled away from you as soon as Donghyuck left. 

“What video?” He repeated, looking into your eyes with the same hurt that you once looked into his with.  “Donghyuck recorded a video of us the last time we fucked, it was at his parents house on christmas, remember? Well, basically in the video he made me say I’m his forever. And he wont stop blackmailing me with it” 

Jeno sighed. “He's blackmailing you?”  

“Yeah, look.” you reached for your phone to find the messages Donghyuck had sent you the other day. You looked away from Jeno, feeling ashamed from the whole situation. Donghyuck apparently lived to humiliate you, never letting you catch a break from his antics. 

“Baby, I’m so sorry.” He hugged you, pulling your naked body against his own. “You could’ve told me sooner, I could’ve dealt with him myself” Tears were threatening to slip from your eyes, feeling overwhelmed by Jeno’s loving words and Donghyuck’s bullshit. 

“But i couldn’t, Jeno” Full on sobbing now, you let the tears fall freely down your cheeks. “I was too scared, he’s insane Jeno” Jeno just hummed, rubbing your back reassuringly. 

“You’re not mad?” You asked 

“It’s not fair of me to be mad, this happened before we were dating, it’s not fair for me to hold that against you.” He smiled, pulling away to look at your red, puffy, tear stained face. “My baby. Not his, I promise I’ll get us out of here as soon as i can” 

donghyuck: i heard u and ur little bf were on a break  donghyuck: i think i have some ways to make your break worthwhile babe

you: i'm not your babe. donghyuck.  you: plus, you’re the reason we’re on break in the first place. you: dont contact me again, please. 

donghyuck: you know you miss me y/n.  donghyuck: don’t you miss the way i made you go crazy?  donghyuck: remember the time in my car? after i caught you kissing that fucking loser chenle? donghyuck: you were on me like you needed me to breathe. you can’t even deny it.  donghyuck: now open the door baby, i’m outside. 

You were quick to open the front door, seeing Donghyuck standing infront of you with that stupid fucking smirk on his face. He knew that was your weakness. He knew he was your weakness. 

“Miss me?” You hated his cocky tone. You hated that you actually opened the door for him. You hated that you actually did miss him. He let out a chuckle at your silence, he knew how to read you like none other. Not even Jeno. 

“C’mon, let me in. You know you want to” You hated yourself for actually stepping aside and allowing him into your house, into your safe space. Memories of the endless nights you spent crying over him in the safety of your own house all blurry. 

“H-Hyuck..”

 “Oh? We’re back to Hyuck now?” 

“Is it bad that I want you to kiss me right now?” Your words were hushed but loud enough for him. 

“Yeah?” You nodded, looking down at your feet, too scared to look at him. “Why don’t you beg for it? Since you like to do that a whole lot hmm?” He smiled when he heard you whimper, inching closer to you slowly until he was close enough to wrap his arms around you. 

“Are you gonna beg or are you gonna make me wait longer?” Immediately, a sob left your lips “Hyuck, please kiss me. I missed your lips on mine so much” 

And without another word, his lips were pressing onto yours with the same intensity you craved, the same intensity that once drew you into him. You swear you almost fell for him again when he cups your face, tilting your head up and deepening the kiss. He began walking, lips still on yours forcing you to walk backwards blindly until suddenly you were falling back onto your couch where he followed suit. 

You pulled away, admiring the honey skinned man above you with a small smile. “I missed this” A soft smile mirrored the one adorning your face. 

“I missed you like crazy, no other girl compared to you”

“Why’d it take you so long to realize?” He paused, staring at you blankly. 

“Just– took me a minute..” with a sigh, he leaned down and kissed you again, trailing his hands under your shirt. Grazing your warm skin with his cold hands, sending chills through your body. 

“You gonna let me fuck you? Remind you how I'm so much better than your little boyfriend?” 

“He’s not my boyfriend.” 

“Oh? Last time I checked you were smitten over that guy” 

You hated where this conversation was going so you tried your best to change the topic, “You’re the one about to fuck me right now no?” 

“Shut u–” He was cut off by the sound of your phone ringing. 

Jeno. 

Jeno has given you space for almost a month now. Only sending you messages to check in on you occasionally. All to which you replied positively, ensuring him that you’ll be ready to get back with him soon. In reality though, you were nowhere near getting back with Jeno. You spent nearly every night of the past month in Donghyuck’s bed, either cuddled into him or you under him. Something about the way Donghyuck made you feel was unmatched and you’ll never get sick of saying that. 

You stepped into Donghyuck’s kitchen early in the morning, seeing him in just a pair of grey sweatpants with his back turned towards you. It didn’t take long for the waft of the pancakes he’d been cooking up to reach you. 

You gawked, “You’re making breakfast?” He turned to you, an unimpressed look on his face (though you could see him fighting a smile.) “Does that surprise you?” and you fought the urge to affirm that it does truly surprise you to see him doing something nice for you. 

Instead, you hummed, “No, not really.” With a small smile on your lips, you walked up to Donghyuck who had switched his attention back to the pancakes he had cooking on the stove, wrapping your arms around his bare torso. His skin was soft and warm under your touch. 

“Good morning, angel” He hummed, placing a hand over yours. The two of you swayed in a comfortable silence. This is how times with Donghyuck usually went, quiet and calm until he was suddenly kissing up on you, feeling up on you or begging to be inside you. 

“You wanna sit and wait at the table for me?” You chirped a “sure” and detached from him, making your way over to the dining table, sitting down on your favourite chair. 

baby <3: good morning angel baby <3: can i see you today?  baby <3: i miss you, wanna hear your voice so bad :( 

you: of course you can :)  you: actually, let me just call you right now. you can still come over later tho :P 

It didn't take long for an incoming call from Jeno to come through.  

“Good morning angel” You could hear his smile through the phone. A smile creeping up on your own face just from picturing the beautiful smile adorning his face. “Good morning, handsome” He chuckled, “You sleep well?” 

“You could say that..” You trailed off, thinking of the way you were cuddled into Hyuck last night, the warmth of his body keeping your own body warm. You slept better than you have in a while. 

“I miss sleeping with you” Jeno admits, the pout in his voice too obvious. You frowned, feeling the guilt take over you. 

“You can stay the night tonight if you want” You lowered your voice, hoping Hyuck wouldn’t hear all the way in the kitchen. 

“Oh, no, I still want to give you space! I think i’d be impeding a little if I were to stay the night” 

“I don't think so, you’re welcome to stay” 

You heard him sigh in relief, “Okay then, I’ll come by in a bit.” 

“See you soon, angel.” 

You bid your farewells and that's when you noticed Hyuck walking into the room. “Who was that?” He questioned, setting the two plates of pancakes down. You broke eye contact with him, focusing your  attention onto the pancakes in front of you. 

“I asked you something, you know?” 

“It was Jeno.” 

He hummed, wordlessly digging into his own plate of pancakes. You felt so guilty. This isn’t where you belonged. You belong next to Jeno, in his arms, under him, near him. You belong with Jeno. Someone who treats you like a proper human. But you found yourself running back to Donghyuck and you hated it. Worst part of it all? Donghyuck didn’t even know you and Jeno aren’t officially broken up. You’d been too scared to tell him, too scared of the possibility of losing Donghyuck in your life. So you’d decide it’s best if he doesn’t know your relationship with Jeno. It’s not even like it matters, right?

“What the actual fuck” Jeno gawked, looking down on his phone screen. He’d originally planned for today to be a rest day after the hell of a day he had at work yesterday but his peace was disrupted when suddenly he got a text from his ex roommate. 

donghyuck: hey jeno  donghyuck: its me donghyuck donghyuck: i know you might hate me right now but you might wanna see this.  donghyuck: [attachment: 1 video]  donghyuck: before you come for me, i had no clue you guys weren’t officially broken up at the time of this  donghyuck: im sorry jeno. 

Attached was a video of a girl, naked body on all fours as the person behind the camera (presumingly Donghyuck) pounded into her from behind. The problem? The problem was the girl had the same hair as you, the same body, the same everything as you. Even that little tattoo on your shoulder that read “delicate” in a beautiful cursive font that Jeno had helped pick out. Everything was you. 

jeno: donghyuck.  jeno: thanks for this… i genuinely can't believe it. 

Within a heartbeat, Jeno was pulling up your contact. 

baby <3: hi angel  baby <3: can i come over? i left my hoodie at ur house and i need it

you: sureeee thing!  you: let me know when ur abt to reach <3 

Jeno, furious, hurriedly grabbed his keys and got in his car. He thought after what you’d been through, you’d know how it feels to get your heartbroken like this. He’d expected you of all people to be better than this but no, you had to be the absolute worst of them all. He thought maybe you of all people would keep his heart safe but no, you clearly gave no fucks about him or his heart. 

He managed to calm down by the time he got to your apartment. Breathing in and out before ringing the doorbell. 

“Hi Jen!” You chirped, allowing him in. You were wearing an oversized shirt that exposed your newly tattooed shoulder. The same tattoo that was visible in the video. Jeno’s heart sank the more he looked at you. The girl he once gave his heart, his love, his everything to, is the one who he’s currently dreading speaking to. In other words, he hates you right now. Hate was one word he would’ve never imagined using with you. 

“You okay, love?” you frowned, wrapping your arms around him tightly, pulling him close into you. He hated the innocent look on your face as you peered up into his own. He had a soulless look in his eyes. “I’m fine,” He forced a tight lipped smile, peeling your arms off him. “I’m gonna– uh, grab my clothes.” 

You watched as he walked into your room and went straight for your closet, rummaging through to find his hoodie. 

“Jeno” You started, walking into the room behind him. “What’s wrong? Talk to me baby,” 

Jeno sneered, turning around to look at you with narrowed eyes. “What's wrong Y/N?” His voice raised, he wasn't yelling but it was clear that he was upset. “What’s wrong is while I gave you space to figure out your shit with Donghyuck, you went out and were fucking him. While continuing to lead me on. Isn’t that wrong, Y/N? Don’t you think I deserve any loyalty? Any love in return? While I sat here, impatiently waiting for you to come back to me, you were taking advantage of it and fucking the reason we were on break. Don’t you remember how we met in the first place? All those nights I spent being a shoulder for you to cry on, being there for you every step of the way. Don’t you think I deserve anything?” The hurt in his eyes was more than evident. You looked dumbfounded, eyes wide in shock as you stood frozen. 

“Jeno–” You cut yourself off, at a loss for words. Sighing in defeat, you gave him an apologetic look. “I’m sorry. I felt so incredibly guilty everytime, but something in me just couldn't stop. I hate myself for doing it and you deserve to hate me for it too but I’m so sorry.” 

“I loved you, Y/N. How do you think it feels when your girlfriend’s ex fling– or whatever he was, texts you randomly, telling you that your girlfriend had been fucking him the whole time you’d been on break? It’s not a great feeling, I’ll tell you that. Oh, and having to see a video of it? Even worse. I’m sorry Y/N but I don’t deserve this. I gave you my everything and you couldn’t even spare me an ounce of loyalty.” 

“Jeno, a-are you leaving me?” He felt like laughing in your face, do you seriously think he’ll stay after this? 

“Genuinely, do you think I’d wanna stay after the fact, Y/N? Honestly, I want nothing to do with you anymore. Consider us done.” He gave you that same, tight lipped smile, gathered his belongings and walked out your bedroom door. 

“Jeno!” You called out, he stopped in his steps, turning to look at you one last time “I’m so sorry, I love you.” Tears were threatening to spill from your eyes. 

“No, you really don't. Goodbye Y/N, don’t contact me again, please, for my sake.” And with that, he walked out your door, leaving you broken and in tears. You had no one to blame but yourself. If you hadn’t let Donghyuck in that day, you would have saved yourself from this mess, you would've still have Jeno in your life and you wouldn't be here, crying in your doorway. 

Filled with rage, you dialled Donghyuck’s number, he picked up on the second ring. 

“Why the fuck wouldn’t you tell me, Y/N?” He spat, you could tell he was angry. “You had me thinking this whole time, you’d broken up but in reality, you were leading on poor Jeno and still fucking me? How do you think that makes either of us feel? I know I did something wrong the first time around but this time? You fucked up, Y/N.” 

“Hyuck liste–” 

“Don’t call me, Y/N.” 

With that, he hung up. Your heart dropped, you felt as if you’d lost it all in the span of under an hour. All that you cared about in life had been ripped out of your hands with no one to blame but yourself. You hated what you’d done, hated what you’d done to these two poor men. Neither of them deserved it, especially Jeno and you had no way of going back in time and fixing it. 

[hungermakesmonsters]

Devotion & Desire

Chapter Eight

Plot summary : When you, a lone omega, move in across the hall from alpha Bucky Barnes, he knows that his life is about to get a lot more complicated, but he has no idea just how much you’re going to turn his life upside down. You’re both devoted to fixing your past mistakes, but will desire for something more get the better of you?

Pairing : Alpha!Bucky Barnes x Omega!Reader

Story Rating : R 

Warnings : [This is a fic for 18+ only, minors DNI] Angst and smut (but it's not angsty smut). All chapters will contain the usual omegaverse and A/B/O tropes, and explicit smut. Please check the warnings on each chapter if you choose to follow this story. 

Word Count : 7.9k

A/N : 😭😭 This is the last chapter which is why it's so freaking long (I probably should have turned it into two chapters but nevermind). I hope you love it.

CHAPTER ONE | CHAPTER TWO | CHAPTER THREE | CHAPTER FOUR | CHAPTER FIVE | CHAPTER SIX | CHAPTER SEVEN

MASTER LIST

Chapter Eight

You didn’t sleep.

Despite knowing that, for the first time in years, you were finally safe, you didn’t sleep.

Every time you closed your eyes you saw him, you felt his teeth on your neck and his hands on your body.

Every time you closed your eyes you felt helpless and alone.

So, instead of sleeping, you dug out your sketch pad and started to draw. It was a mindless task to begin with, your hand seeming to move of its own accord, drawing the same thing you’d drawn countless times before; the Winter Soldier.

It had started as a way to remember, a way to get the violent images of your brother’s murder out of your head but, now, the man you were sketching wasn’t the cold, mechanical assassin who tortured your brother without blinking. He was Bucky. With soft blue eyes, filled with care and sadness. And, now, you needed to get him out of your head for very different reasons.

The hours blurred until, finally, you fell asleep at the table, pencil dropping from your hand.

A few hours later you were woken by the sound of a door closing and you crept to your peephole just in time to see Bucky leaving his apartment.

Your heart almost stopped as he paused and stared directly at your door as if he knew you were there. Then you saw him inhale through his nose like he was trying to find your scent. Only it wasn't there, with your gland gone, your scent was too weak to linger, and that thought made your chest hurt.

A moment later, he was gone.

For the first day you remained hidden away in your apartment but you knew you couldn't survive like that. You were still owed a fortnight's worth of wages from Gracie’s and you knew that you would need the money if you were going to find a new place to live.

The second day, you managed to slip out of the building unnoticed and get to Gracie’s without being recognised, and lingered outside in the cold for five long minutes, working up the nerve to step inside.

The moment Gracie saw you, her arms were around you and she was babbling about how worried she'd been and how the handsome alpha who used to walk you to work had told her you'd been hurt. Bucky. Bucky had been in to tell her that you were hurt - who else had he told?

You kept your hood up, covering your neck and most of the bandaging. She barely let you get a word in edgeways and, even though you knew it should have been heart-warming that she cared so much, all you felt was numbness knowing that you'd deceived her.

“I just need my last paycheck,” you finally managed to tell her.

“I'll get it for you and don't you worry you can come back to work whenever you're feeling up to it.”

“Back? No, I - I'm not coming back,” you said, confused and feeling worse than ever.

“I know it probably feels like that now, but you'll start to feel like yourself again in no time.”

You stood dumbfounded, not wanting to argue, not wanting to tell her that this was you and there was no going back to the person you'd been pretending to be. Gracie had always been so sweet and kind to you that you didn’t have the heart to ruin things between you.

With your paycheck she gave you an apple pie, commenting on how you looked like you hadn't been eating. You tried to refuse, then tried to offer to pay, but Gracie wouldn’t have it. She ushered you out the door, telling you to head home before the weather turned. 

Unfortunately, you could have done with that warning sooner, as the skies seemed to open the moment you were halfway home. Cold rain quickly soaked through your clothes and threatened to soak through the pie box too.

And that wasn’t even close to the end of your bad luck.

“Mouse!” 

You heard the call just as the elevator doors were closing and, for a brief and wonderful moment, you thought that you’d get away, but a hand slipped between the doors before they could close.

Nikki stepped into the elevator and you found yourself shrinking back.

“Didn’t you hear me?” She asked.

“I -” you didn’t know what to say so you stopped talking and just let out a sigh.

There was a moment of silence and you didn’t even notice that Nikki didn’t hit the button for her floor.

“Bucky told us what happened,” she said.

“Okay,” was all you could think to answer with. 

Again, you felt like you had at Gracie’s; like the moment was happening to someone else and you were just watching it unfold, knowing that there was nothing you could really do to change the predetermined outcome.

“You lied to us.”

“Yeah.”

“Why?” She asked.

The elevator dinged, the doors slid open and you started to move towards your door, completely on autopilot. Nikki followed after, not saying another word. And, as you stepped into your apartment, you left the door open so she could follow.

Kicking off your wet shoes, you made your way to the kitchen to put the pie box down before shrugging out of your wet hoodie, letting it drop to the floor. You didn’t realise your mistake until you heard Nikki inhale sharply at the bandaging around your neck.

“What happened?” She asked.

“I thought Bucky told you.”

“He said you’d been hurt, but he didn’t know how bad it was.”

You almost shrank back as she closed the distance to look at you, and you saw her face drop as she took in the sight of you.

“It's fine,” you muttered, shivering.

“Nothing about any of this is fine,” she said, ducking her head a little as she tried to get a better look at the bandaging.

You sighed knowing that she was right, but also knowing that it didn't matter anymore.

“What do you want, Nikki?”

“I wanted to see if you were alright, which clearly you're not.”

For the first time since you’d met her, you heard anger in her voice; anger that was directed at you. Your stomach knotted as you were, once again, stuck confronting the life you could have had if you hadn’t gone after Bucky.

“Does it matter anymore?” You asked, not bothering to hold back a tired, resigned sigh.

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“Bucky told you that I lied about everything, so why do you even care if I'm alright?”

“Because you're my friend.” She said friend, but the tone of her voice didn’t exactly carry the warmth of friendship.

“I'm not though, am I? You don’t even know me.”

“So you’re telling me that it was all lies? Every single second?”

Were you? Some part of you wanted to say yes, to act like you hadn’t enjoyed her and Jade’s company, that you’d just used the pair of them. But you couldn’t. It wasn’t true. It hadn’t all been an act, you did like them, and you regretted ever lying to them.

“No, but -” you took an awkward, shuddered breath, trembling from the cold of your damp clothes, “- I’m not that person. I’m not just some weak, dumb omega.”

“I never thought you were weak or dumb,” she countered, sounding genuinely offended. “None of us ever thought that.”

You could have had this, they would have accepted you. The thought comes to you unbidden and unwanted, and it’s enough to have you turning away from her, bracing yourself on the kitchen counter.

“Is that really what you thought?” Nikki continued. “That we only wanted you around because we thought you were some silly little omega who couldn’t look after herself?”

“That’s all anyone ever sees,” you answered back, tone turning sharp. “Poor little omega who needs to be protected because she can’t take care of herself, silly little omega who just needs an alpha, dumb little omega who -”

“Shut up. You’re the only one here who thinks any of that shit.”

“No, I’m not. Bucky thinks it,” you said softly, keeping your back to her. “He only sees me as an omega.”

“You’re wrong,” Nikki said, continuing when you let out a huff of disbelief. “You haven’t even seen him since you got back, have you?”

“No, why would I?”

“He’s a mess because of you, because of what happened to you. He cares about you.”

“Yeah, well, that doesn’t matter anymore either.”

“How can you say that, after everything he’s done to try and help you?” 

The anger had been slowly building, but now it seemed like it had reached a boiling point. Nikki was pissed and some part of you felt like maybe you’d been deliberately trying to rile her so she’d lose her temper and leave. But instead of leaving, she was standing her ground, trying to convince you that you were wrong.

“Because it doesn’t matter anymore,” you said again, finally turning back to face her, letting her get a good look at you, at how broken you were. “Even if I wanted to be what he wants me to be, I can’t. The man who took me, he...” tears seemed to come from nowhere, your voice breaking despite your best efforts to stay in control. “They had to remove my gland, I - I can’t even... I can’t...”

You started to turn away again, not wanting to face her until you had your emotions in check again, but before you could, Nikki’s arms were around you, pulling you into a tight hug.

“It’s okay,” she said softly.

“It’s not - it’s not. He broke me and I - I fucked everything up. Bucky just wanted an omega and I can’t even be that any more. I’m... I’m nothing now,” you sobbed.

It all started to come out, the upset and the trauma, the part of you that couldn’t come to terms with what had been done to you.

“You’re not nothing,” Nikki told you firmly. “You’re my friend.”

It didn’t matter, the words barely even sank in. You were lost to your spiralling thoughts but, after a few minutes, you managed to pull away from her.

“I’m - I’m fine,” you said, awkwardly scrubbing at your cheeks with your sleeve, doing your best to pretend your little outburst hadn’t just happened. “You should... you should go.”

“No,” was Nikki’s answer. Straight to the point. “I’m not leaving until I’ve gotten some answers.”

For a few seconds you just stared at her, wanting to argue but too exhausted to even get the first word out.

“Go sit down before you fall down,” Nikki ordered. “I’ll make a pot of coffee.”

You did as you were told, going along with it simply because it seemed easier than arguing. From your seat, you watched her moving around your kitchen as she had done so many times before. You were so tired that you didn’t even think to clear the table as she sat down and pushed a mug towards you.

“What’s this?” She asked, reaching for the stack of sketches you’d left on the table before you could stop her.

You felt your cheeks start to warm as she looked over the first few pages; some newer ones of Bucky, and some older of the Winter Soldier the night he killed your brother. For a few seconds you felt frozen before awkwardly trying to claw the sketches back.

“It’s nothing.”

“It doesn’t look like nothing,” Nikki countered, her expression somewhere between a smirk and worry.

“You said Bucky told you.”

“Yeah, well, I’m starting to think maybe he didn’t tell me everything. So, why don’t you start from the start?”

“Why?”

“Because you’re adamant that I shouldn’t think of you as my friend anymore, and I want to know exactly why,” she answered with a shrug.

For a moment you looked down at the drink she’d placed in front of you, your cold hands wrapping around the mug as you let out a heavy sigh.

“Fifteen years ago, the Winter Soldier killed my brother...”

You started from the start, telling her about your brother’s murder and how your quest for revenge had landed you with Rumlow, before explaining how you’d tracked Bucky down after the blip and concocted a plan to get close enough to kill him.

Then, in less detail, you explained the last couple of weeks, and how Bucky had cared for you during your heat. Nikki stayed silent, letting you explain it, right up to the hospital, then you just trailed off into a shrug.

“You didn’t let him see you?” She asked.

You shook your head and, instead of answering, you lifted your mug and took a drink. You’d been speaking for so long that your coffee was almost cold.

“Why not?” She asked.

“I don’t want him to see me like this, I don’t -” you hesitated for a second as you voice broke and your eyes threatened fresh tears, “- it’s just too much. Everything’s changed and there’s no way to fix it.”

“You’re not the only one who’s hurting,” Nikki said softly. “No matter what you think it’s pretty fucking obvious that he cares about you. And you -” she waved at the stack of sketches, “- you’ve clearly got unfinished business with him.”

And then, without warning, before you could even think to say anything, she was getting to her feet.

“Nothing you told me has changed anything,” she said decidedly, “we’re still friends.”

Speechless, you could only watch as she started to head towards the door. You didn’t know if she had somewhere to be or if she’d realised you desperately wanted to be alone - whatever it was, you were glad she was leaving.

“But,” she started again as she reached the door, glancing back at you over her shoulder, “as your friend, I think you owe it to yourself to talk to Bucky.”

She left before you could protest, before you could even tell her that you were planning on leaving and that it really didn’t matter anymore. You were left more confused than ever, not understanding how she could just shrug off everything that you’d done and declare that you were still her friend.

Didn’t you get a say? Didn’t you get to decide how she - how anyone - saw you?

(No. No, of course you didn’t. All this time you’d been trying so hard to control other people’s perception of you, but you were starting to realise that it was impossible.)

You spent the rest of the day in your apartment, looking for new places to live that you could actually afford (there was nothing). You ate some of the pie that Gracie had given you and, in the evening, you ended up at the table again with a pencil in hand.

You just wanted him out of your head; you wanted to forget the softness in his eyes before he’d kissed you that last time, and you wanted to forget how that softness had been replaced by fear and worry the last time you’d seen him as he’d been handing you off to paramedics. You’d always felt empty, but never like this before.

Again, you woke up slumped over a half-finished sketch, a half-hearted attempt to capture his smile on paper. Looking at it in the cold light of day, you weren’t happy with it. It seemed flat and dull, and it didn’t fill your stomach with butterflies the way his rare, happy smiles did.

A hot shower and a change of clothes had you feeling... well, not entirely human but functional at least. Washing around the bandages was a nightmare that had you choking back tears. It was almost funny how you could force away the thoughts of what had been done to you, only to find yourself retraumatised the moment you saw the bandages or moved your neck in such a way that it caused you pain.

The next issue to overcome was your kitchen. You’d never been one for stocking up and, what little you had had in the fridge had gone bad in the weeks that you’d been away, leaving you with nothing but the last of the apple pie to eat and, as much as you liked Gracie’s apple pie, even you knew that you couldn’t survive on it

So, again, you decided that you’d brave the outside world. 

You pulled your hood up and slipped out into the hallway but, as you went to lock the door, the keys slipped from your fingers. As you leaned down to pick them up, you heard Bucky’s door open and you froze, caught between thoughts of diving back into your apartment and fleeing down the hallway.

Indecision saw you doing neither and, instead, you picked up your keys and remained awkwardly frozen. You didn’t turn to look or lift your head, you just stood there.

“They let you out of the hospital,” he said, though there was an unspoken question behind his words; why didn’t you tell me?

You let out a soft sigh. “No, I - I checked myself out.”

“You checked yourself out?” He repeated, almost sounding worried. “Are you - are you okay?”

The shrug you gave was lost somewhere beneath the oversized hoodie. It was pointless to get into it and you were certain he wouldn’t understand. You’d never be alright again,

“Can we just -” he started again, an awkwardness filling his tone, “- can we talk?”

What was there to talk about? What was left? Still, you didn’t look at him.

Oh.

“I’m not going to try to kill you again if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Of course that was it. Of course that was all he cared about. 

Not waiting for his answer, for his relief, you started to walk away from him, feeling like you’d said all that needed to be said to him.

“Wait, that’s not -” he sighed, following after you, his hand finding your wrist and stopping you in your tracks, “- that’s not what this is about. You know that’s not what this is about, don’t you?”

His hand gave a tug on your wrist and, before you could think better of it, you obliged him and turned back towards him, still keeping your head down and your face obscured by the hood.

“Then what, Bucky?” You asked, not sure you wanted him to answer. “What happened was - you said it yourself, it was just biology. I’m an omega, you’re an alpha. Neither of us were thinking straight.”

“I was. And I think you were too, at least for the moments that count.”

You shook your head and took a step back, pulling away from his grasp.

You knew what he was talking about, all those little moments when you’d let your guard down; the night you’d slept in his arms on the floor, the time you’d fallen asleep with your head on his lap as he talked you through the pain, and the way you’d fucked him that final time, offering yourself to him.

“It doesn’t matter anymore,” you answered back bitterly, knowing he wouldn’t want you if he knew about your injuries.

What alpha in their right mind would want an omega that couldn’t be claimed or mated?

“What are you talking about? Of course it still matters, it’s -”

“He ruined me, Bucky,” you interrupted. “They had to remove my mating gland. Now, I - I can’t even...”

Your voice broke and you forced yourself to stop, unwilling to cry in front of him, unwilling to show any more weakness.

While you’d never liked being an omega, never liked feeling like your only purpose in life was to be mated to some alpha, now you felt like only half a person. You weren’t even an omega anymore, you were something less than that. If you couldn’t be mated, you’d never be loved.

Three weeks ago that wouldn’t have bothered you but, since coming to terms with your brother’s death, you suddenly felt like your life was empty and there was nothing left for you.

“Let me see,” he asked softly.

You shook your head but made no effort to stop him as he stepped closer, and you didn’t pull away as his hand slowly pushed your hood down. You looked off to the side, refusing to make eye contact as his fingers ghosted over the bandaging. When you still refused to look at him, his hand cupped your cheek and he silently urged you to face him.

“This doesn’t change anything,” he told you with a certainty you hadn’t expected.

“Of course it does,” you said, taking a step back, out of his grasp again, acutely feeling the warm touch of his hand on your cheek. “I can’t even pretend to be a good little omega for you like this.”

Realisation hit him like a ton of bricks, almost flooring him. Those three little words that he’d let slip in the heat of the moment, exposing what he wanted, what he wanted you to be for him - not you as you were, but a good little omega.

His mouth opened but, for a few seconds, no words came out.

“That’s why you ran? Because I said that?”

It didn’t matter how he meant for it to sound, you only heard it the way you wanted to hear it; he thought you were stupid, he thought it was your fault for running off and getting yourself caught by Rumlow. You only had yourself to blame for not wanting to be a good little omega.

You turned and started walking away, feeling sick to your stomach.

“Stop, c’mon, just talk to me. Please,” he pleaded, following after you. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t’ve said it. I didn’t mean it like -”

“I’m not what you want, Bucky,” you said as you hit the elevator call button. “I wouldn’t play the good little omega for you even if I could.”

“Good,” he said, moving to stand in front of you, between you and the elevator doors, desperately trying to get you to look at him. “I don’t want an omega, I want you. The rest doesn’t matter.”

“What about biology?”

After all, that was what had started all of this, wasn’t it? If it hadn’t been for your heat the two of you would never have started getting close. And, now, you couldn’t satisfy his biological desires to mate and claim.

“Fuck biology. I’m not exactly a regular alpha, am I?” He answered back before repeating; “this doesn’t change anything.”

“It changes everything for me, Bucky,” you tried to explain. “I’ll never belong, I’ll never be loved, I’ll -”

“I love you,” he admitted clumsily and, suddenly, you felt like you were suffocating.

You took a step back, shaking your head, the emptiness inside you feeling like it was growing bigger, turning into a gaping chasm beneath your ribs.

“Don’t say that! Don’t lie to me!” You said, your voice cracking and breaking under the strain of it all.

“I don’t need to put a mark on your neck to know that I love you,” he carried on. “I don’t need you to belong to me, I want you to want to be with me.”

“Stop it! Stop saying that. You don’t love me. You can’t.”

Before he could answer, the elevator doors slid open and you quickly pushed past him, trying to get away. But Bucky followed after you, not willing to let you walk away.

“Don’t tell me how I feel,” he said, almost snapping. There was an anger in his tone that you hadn’t really heard before. “I’ve spent enough of my life being told how to think and feel, and I’ll be damned if I go back to that.”

“You don’t love me, Bucky. How could you? You don’t even know me,” you replied, hitting the button for the ground floor, far harder than necessary. “It’s not love, it’s some dumb alpha urge to claim an omega, and you can’t. No one can. Brock saw to that.”

“Will you just fucking listen to me? I don’t care about claiming you. I care about you,” he answered back without hesitation. “What are you so afraid of that you won’t even hear me out?”

Something inside of you snapped at those words and, before you could think about what you were doing, you were shoving him, your open hands slamming against his chest, barely moving him. Again and again, as hard as you could and, when he still didn’t move, you balled your fists and started to bring them down against him.

You weren’t afraid.

You weren’t weak.

You weren’t that scared little omega who hid away while her brother was being murdered.

You weren’t the pathetic little omega that Brock Rumlow had kept for all those years.

You weren’t the weak and tired little omega who couldn’t stop him from tearing your gland.

And you weren’t the sad little omega who’d cried because Bucky had left her to get breakfast.

You weren’t those things anymore. You couldn’t be that person anymore.

“I’m not afraid! I’m not afraid of anything!” You screamed as you hit him. “I’m not some scared little omega who needs protecting. I’m not -”

His arms closed around you, pulling you close, stopping your assault on him.

A sob clawed its way from your throat as you tried to escape his hold, but Bucky just held you tighter. Everything started to come out. You just couldn’t hold it back anymore.

“I know,” he said softly, “I know you’re not. You’re the bravest person I know, and I’m so sorry that I fucked up. You’ve always been so much more than an omega to me. I only said it because I thought that was what you wanted; I thought you just wanted an alpha. When you asked me if it was just about biology, I should have been honest. It was never about biology for me.”

And, just like that, he managed to turn everything you’d believed on its head.

You had thought that you were nothing more than an omega to him and, all the while, he’d  thought he was nothing more than an alpha being used to help you through your heat. How had you both gotten it so wrong? You managed to look up, at him, at the pained look on his face and all you wanted was to understand.

But it was too late.

You knew that you couldn’t handle the pain of almost having him and losing him again, not now, not after everything that you’d been through.

“Mouse, I -” 

He didn’t get a chance to finish.

The elevator doors slid open and you squirmed from his grasp, heading for the door and out onto the street, pulling your hood up as you went. You didn’t even stop as almost knocked over Nikki and Jade on their way into the building, and you certainly didn’t stop when you heard voices calling after you.

You lost yourself for hours, wandering through New York, ducking into the busy crowds of the city, losing yourself in the noise and the bustle - anything not to think about what had happened and what Bucky had told you. 

It felt cruel. It felt needlessly nasty for him to tell you that he loved you now that you couldn’t ever really be with him.

But, on the other hand, there was something else, something hopefully that you didn’t dare think about.

What if he really could love you as you were; unclaimable, unmateable?

It was dark when you returned home, exhausted and without the food that you’d originally left to get. You slipped into your apartment and wanted nothing more than to fall into your warm bed and sleep until all of your problems went away.

So, of course, you should have known that wasn’t how the evening was going to go.

The knock on the door came about fifteen minutes after you got in. At first you tried to ignore it but whoever it was wouldn’t stop.

Finally, you checked the peephole and saw Nikki and Jade standing in the hallway, not looking like they were planning on leaving before seeing you.

“Go away,” you muttered loud enough for them to hear.

“Not happening,” Jade answered. “Open up, we’ve got Thai food.”

“I don’t want -” you started only to find yourself interrupted by Nikki.

“You can either open up, or we can spend the rest of the night out here banging on the door, mouse.”

You knew that they would. You knew that you wouldn’t get a moment of peace until the pair of them got what they wanted.

With a sigh, you unlocked the door and slowly started to open it. That little gesture was more than enough to have the pair of them barging into your apartment before you could even think about reconsidering.

The moment you were hit by the smell of Thai food, your stomach let out an uncomfortable grumble.

As you closed the door, they made their way to your kitchen, grabbing plates and cutlery, before moving to the table and starting to set out the food. And you just watched, knowing there was nothing you could possibly say or do to stop them. You didn’t even flinch when Jade started to stack your sketches, taking a moment to look at them.

“You were right, these are really good,” she said to Nikki, and your cheeks instantly started to warm. “Have you shown them to Bucky?”

Your head shook and your gaze dropped, not wanting to think about the alpha across the hall or his declarations of love.

You were beckoned to the table and you took a seat as your favourite Thai dish was placed in front of you, along with a glass of wine.

“Not that this doesn’t look great but... why are you doing this?” You finally asked.

“Because you’re our friend and I saw how empty your cupboards were yesterday,” Nikki shrugged, tucking into her own meal. “You’ve been through a lot and we wanted to make sure you’re looking after yourself.”

“And you looked upset earlier,” Jade added softly.

“And that,” Nikki agreed. “So, are you gonna tell us what happened, or should we ask Bucky?”

With a sigh, you slumped back on your chair, not even managing to take a single bite of food before the conversation shifted to that awkward place. They were Bucky’s friends, you had to remind yourself, of course they were worried about him.

(But, clearly they were your friends too, otherwise they wouldn’t have brought you your favourite food, right? Could it really be possible that they wanted the best for you and Bucky?)

“He told me he loves me,” you confessed, voice quiet, feeling uncertain about saying it aloud as if you were scared it would sound completely ridiculous coming from your mouth.

“And what did you say?” Nikki prompted.

You stalled by reaching for your wine glass and taking a long drink, but they waited, neither of them saying a thing.

“I told him that he couldn’t love me, I’m not -”

“That is such bullshit.”

“Nikki,” Jade said, chastising her girlfriend for her tone, but Nikki didn’t seem to care.

“Of course he loves you. Look at everything he’s been through for you,” Nikki said. “If you don’t love him, that’s fine, that’s your choice, but you don’t get to dictate how he feels about you.”

She was right.

You hated that she was right, hated that it reminded you of what he’d said about people telling him how to think and feel. You were no better than the people who’d hurt him.

“I can’t be what he wants me to be,” you tried again, not really sure who you were trying to convince anymore.

“What does he want you to be?” Jade asked.

“What did he ask you to be?” Nikki added, almost as if she could sense you were going to answer with what you thought rather than what Bucky had told you himself.

“Me,” you answered, your voice turning quieter still. “He said he just wanted me to be me.”

Your stomach hurt and it wasn’t the hunger pangs causing it.

Bucky wanted you. 

He was the first person to ever want you.

He wanted you even now with your gland gone. 

He wanted you, even though you had nothing to offer him.

It was never about you being an omega or him being an alpha. He saw you as a person and he’d let you see him as one too. And, for that, you’d tried to push him away.

A tear rolled down your cheek and, instead of continuing the conversation, you reached for your fork and started to eat.

Nikki and Jade stayed silent, letting you process everything, letting you reach your own conclusions in your own time. You didn’t look at them, but you could feel their gazes wandering to you every now and then as they ate. There wasn’t much to say after that though, for the rest of the meal, you found yourself thinking over every little moment you’d shared with Bucky, re-examining it under a new lens.

He’d brought you your favourite cereal.

He’d held you under the freezing cold water of the shower to help with your fever.

He’d always let you decide what you wanted from him, he’d never once tried to push or tried to convince you, and he’d only ever kissed you when you let him.

He’d trusted you enough to tell you about his time with Hydra.

If he’d wanted an omega, he could have claimed you the last time you’d had sex. You’d offered him your neck, your gland, and if he hadn’t said those three little words, you would have let him claim you.

When the conversation started up again, it was muted and you only half listened as Jade and Nikki spoke, clearing up the mess before letting themselves out. Nikki lingered in the doorway, telling you she’d be back tomorrow and all you could offer in response was a nod. 

Already, you were starting to understand that there was no getting rid of her and, now you’d had a chance to think about it, you didn’t want to. You didn’t want to be alone anymore.

You were left with your thoughts and you kept circling back to the same thing. Bucky.

A few hours had passed since Nikki and Jade left when you found yourself slipping out of your apartment and into the hallway, eyes fixed on Bucky’s front door.

His scent lingered outside his door, stronger than you remembered it ever being. You found yourself closing your eyes and breathing it in, remembering what it was like to be wrapped up in his arms, face pressed against his neck, basking in his scent.

Before you could second guess or change your mind, you stepped forwards, knocking on his door. 

Ten seconds passed - long enough for you to take a step back, to start to think you might be making a mistake. But then the door opened.

Your eyes went wide when you saw him, wearing nothing but his boxers, his skin flush. He took one look at you and, suddenly, you felt breathless, smothered by his scent and inexorably drawn to him. Shit, you realised entirely too late, his rut had hit.

“What?” He asked.

You could see his knuckles turning white where he gripped the door, anchoring himself in place, like he didn’t trust himself not to reach for you.

“I just - I -” you started and stopped, struggling to find the words. “I wanted to say I was sorry.”

“For what?”

And that was the million dollar question, wasn’t it?

“Everything. What I said earlier, how I’ve been acting, I -” you shook your head. A moment later, you noticed the way his chest was rising and falling and you knew that it was a stupid time to try and have a heartfelt conversation. “A-are you okay?”

“Fine, just -”

“Your rut?”

Bucky nodded.

Part of you wanted to shrink back, to retreat to your apartment, but another part of you was sick of running.

Instead of stepping back, you stepped forward, pushing against the door and into his apartment. Bucky moved out of the way, a confused expression on his face. But, despite his uncertainty, you could tell he was still in control of himself. You could tell that you’d always be safe with him.

He let the door fall shut as he turned to face you, not moving towards you, letting you decide what you wanted - if you wanted anything at all.

And that was precisely why you took a step towards him, closing the distance so you could place a hand on his bare chest, right above his racing heart. His skin was hot to the touch, clammy, but it was nowhere near as bad as you had been expecting. His rut must have only just started in the last couple of hours.

“Did you mean it?” You asked softly.

“Every word. I love you.”

You leaned closer, wrapping your arm around his waist and resting your head on his chest. Bucky pressed his nose into your hair and inhaled deeply, as if you were his and your scent alone would see him through this. But the second he realised what he was doing, he pulled back a little.

“What are you doing here?” He asked.

“You helped me...”

“Help? Is that all it is?” His voice betrayed his pain at the thought and had your stomach tying itself in knots.

“I - I don’t know what it is, Bucky,” you confessed, lifting your head to look him in the eyes again. “I want to be here. I want to be with you, but I can’t be yours...”

“I don’t need you to belong to me. I just want you to let me love you.”

“What if I can’t?” You asked, giving away your insecurities. “I don’t know how. What if I fuck it up?”

“You won’t,” he answered. “Can we just try?”

Despite your fears, you managed a nod, and it was all the sign that Bucky needed.

His hands framed your face and he kissed you. He kissed you like it was the first time all over again, he kissed you like a man starved of affection, like a man who really did love you. You pressed closer to him, both arms wrapping around his waist as you finally surrendered to what you wanted.

“Tell me this is okay?” He muttered against your lips. “I don’t want to rush you or hurt you.”

Your heart bled at his compassion, the way he was putting you first even though he was going through his rut, and you knew that he’d stop if you asked him to. But you didn’t. You didn’t want it to stop. No, you wanted something good to finally come from all the bad.

“It’s okay,” you said. “Please, don’t stop.”

He lifted you off your legs quickly wrapped around him as he carried you into the bedroom. 

It felt like that first night all over again, only this time you weren’t going to ruin it. 

He sat with you on his lap and, already, you could feel the press of his erection between your thighs and it was enough to cause you to squirm, your hips eagerly rocking against his. Little moans and whimpers quickly started to spill from your lips and into his, but it wasn’t enough. 

(When it came to Bucky, nothing would ever be enough.)

Pulling back a little, you sank to your knees between his legs, tugging his boxers down. You were sure to keep your hands where he could see them, your fingers gripping his thighs as you bowed your head and parted your lips. Bucky’s fingers tangled in your hair, but he didn’t try to move you, he let you go at your own pace. 

A low and breathy groan spilled from him as the tip of his cock slipped between your lips and you started to lightly suck, running your tongue over his slit and lapping up everything that leaked from him.

Looking up at him, you felt yourself wanting to submit, wanting to give yourself to him in whatever way that you could. His heavy scent already had slick pooling between your thighs, eager to feel him inside you again. 

One of your hands moved to grip the base of his cock as your lips sunk down it and you felt him twitch in your mouth, the thick vein on the underside of his shaft throbbing with every little move you made. 

You started slowly, bobbing your head and dragging your lips up and down him, letting out the sweetest little moans for him, while Bucky panted and groaned like he was already on the brink. Your eyes watered as he nudged the back of your throat, but you didn’t let that stop you, you just blinked and carried on.

His mouth went slack and you could see him fight against himself, desperately trying to hold back. That was when you doubled down. Hollowing your cheeks against him, you moved faster, chasing your lips with your hand, making sure no inch of his cock went untouched.

“Fuck, mouse, I’m -” he tried to warn you but it was too late.

Bucky groaned your name as his cock started to pulse, his hip bucking upwards as he started to fill your mouth. You stayed where you were, lips wrapped tight around him, your eyes fixed on his.

(Fuck. How were you only just noticing how beautiful he was when he came?)

Finally, you sat back on your heels, wiping your lips with the back of your hand as you looked up at him.

“So that’s what that feels like when you don’t try to stab me,” Bucky joked breathlessly, a ridiculous grin tugging at his lips.

You tried your best to suppress a laugh, but it managed to escape you. And it reminded you why him, why you wanted this (whatever this ended up being).

He reached for you, helping pull you back onto his lap so he could kiss you again, groaning as he tasted himself on your lips. Almost immediately, he was hard again, and you were quickly tugging off your shirt and bra.

“Mouse, are you sure?” He asked again, barely able to pull himself from your lips.

“Yes, Bucky,” you told him just as desperately. “I want you.”

He turned, dropping you onto your back on the bed and pulling off your leggings and panties, leaving you completely bared to him. Without thinking or waiting for him to say anything, you got on all four, presenting yourself to him, but you quickly found yourself flipped onto your back again.

“I want to see your face, mouse. I want to see all of you,” Bucky told you.

You watched as he crawled onto the bed and over you, his hands and lips skimming up your stomach and over your chest until he was above you.

As you pulled him down into another eager kiss, he slipped a hand between your legs. You gasped against his lips as two fingers slid into your slick pussy and started to grind yourself against his hand, desperate to show him that you wanted this.

You were already so worked up from sucking his cock that you easily fell apart for him, and you knew that was precisely what Bucky wanted from you. He wanted you to be ready for his cock and, while he was doing everything he could to try and make this about your pleasure as much as his own, you could tell his rut was taking its toll on his patience. 

You moaned his name when you felt the press of his cock at your entrance and arched your back at the all too familiar feeling of him slowly filling you. Your arms wrapped tight around him and your thigh hitched on his hip. It was perfect, amazing. It was all you’d ever need.

He stilled inside you once you’d taken every inch, staring down at you, checking for any signs of discomfort.

“It’s okay,” you said in a low whine. “I’m okay. Bucky, please -”

Bucky didn’t make you beg (though you were sure you would have). His hips started to move, slowly at first, but the gentle pace didn’t last for long. You eyes rolled back and your back bowed, pressing your body against his as he finally gave in to his base instincts and let his rut control him.

It didn’t take much for you to come again, crying out beneath him as he fucked you through your orgasm, letting out the filthiest sounds you’d ever heard from him as he did. Every drive of his hips forced a moan from you, and every sound was in worship of him and what he was doing to you.

“Fuck, Bucky!” You almost screamed, not even caring to think about how half the building might be able to hear you.

He kissed you to stifle some of the noise that you were both making and it wasn’t long before you were coming again for him, your body seeming to want to completely submit to him and everything he was doing.

After an unspecified amount of time, his thrusts started to become shorter, more desperate.

“Mouse...” he warned, his voice an awkward gasp, not stopping or slowing.

Rationally, you knew what letting him come inside you meant during his rut, but you didn’t want to think rationally. You wanted this. You wanted Bucky. You wanted to submit to him and take his knot.

“Don’t pull out,” you finally gasped, your fingers pressing into his back, holding him tight against you.

There was no telling if it was your words or just the fact that he’d been close, but the moment you finished speaking, you felt him start to pulse inside you. The sensation alone was enough to push you into another orgasm, your walls fluttering and trembling as you felt his knot start to swell inside you, trapping you together.

Your eyes rolled back and a series of desperate moans spilled from you.

“Alpha,” you groaned, giving yourself over to him completely, your eyes closing.

Your head moved, presenting your bandaged neck, even though you knew he couldn’t mark you or claim you. His hand gripped your chin, turning your face towards him as he leaned in and kissed your lips.

“I love you,” he groaned into your mouth before kissing you again.

When he finally came up for air, he pressed his forehead to yours, still panting, still completely overwhelmed. You reached up, fingers running through his sweat-damp hair, just as overcome by the moment as he was. You’d never experienced a moment like this and you quickly understood why.

“I - I love you too, Bucky,” you confessed.

Your arms gripped tight around him, letting him know that you didn’t want him to move, that you were happy with the weight of him on top of you while his knot locked into place and he came inside you, his cock twitching as it pumped you full. You nuzzled against his neck, intoxicated by his scent, completely overwhelmed in a new and amazing way. 

“Stay with me,” he asked breathlessly. “Not as my omega, but as the person I love.”

“Yes,” you answered without a second of hesitation.

End Note : And that's the end😭 I've had a blast writing this. I never thought I'd enjoy writing omegaverse this much so that's been an interesting discovery. I might come back to this and write an epilogue but I'm actually pretty happy with where this ended; it's open enough that I can come back to it for a second fic but it's also sweet enough that I don't think (or at least I hope) no one is disappointed??

Thanks so much for sticking with this, I really hope you've enjoyed it. I know I'm not great with comments and reblogs but I promise I do read every response that I get even if I don't get around to replying and it's really meant so much to read everything you've all had to say about this one! (also same goes for comments on Ao3)

I do have a potential idea for another Bucky fic in future, so feel free to stick around for that (it won't be until the new year because working retail over the holidays is draining enough without starting a new fic).

As always, reblogs/comments/likes/asks are always appreciated. Thanks so much for reading, hope you have a great day!

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@skittslackoffilter @mcira @chimchoom @highwaytomichelle

[yan-lorkai]

Hello can i request yandere alucard from Hellsing with a darling that is turkic/comes from turkey? Since alucard has bad pasts with the ottomen and i am kind of curious on how he will react when he finds out or hears his darling speaking turkic with a family/friend? would some words kind of trigger him? (I am kind of curios and im totally not requesting it because im from turkey/j 😗)

Please take you're time and remember to take of yourself ^_^

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ a/n: darling, be prepared to read the best fic of your life /j. No but really, I loved that request, it got my creativity juice flowing like a waterfall. This and my bestie is turkish, so I could pester him to tell me all sorts of things about Turkey :D

He adores his darling, of course — his obsession runs deeper than any grudge or lingering pain from his past. But when he first hears the familiar rhythm of Turkic words slipping from their lips, something in him stills.

He doesn’t say anything at first, his crimson eyes narrowing slightly as the sound of the language washes over him. Memories he thought buried claw their way to the surface: bloodied battlefields, a life of humiliation under the Ottomans, and the echo of commands in a language not unlike the one you now speak so casually. It’s a language he’s long associated with chains, suffering, and vengeance, and hearing it from you — you, his precious darling — sends a jolt through him.

Alucard doesn’t lash out. He’s far too composed for that, far too invested in you to let his rage take over. Instead, he watches. His grin remains in place, sharp and predatory, but his silence stretches uncomfortably long. You notice his change in demeanor, the way his usual dark humor seems to vanish, replaced by an intensity that makes the air feel heavier.

When he finally speaks, his voice is soft but carries an edge. "Where did you learn that tongue, darling?" he asks, his crimson gaze locking onto yours. There’s no anger in his tone, only curiosity laced with something darker, something unspoken.

If you explain your heritage or your connection to the language, Alucard’s reaction is subtle but telling. His grin widens, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. "Ah, how fascinating," he drawls, leaning closer as if to study you. "The irony of fate, wouldn’t you agree? That someone like you would capture someone like me."

Though he continues to smile, there’s an unshakable tension in his presence whenever you speak Turkic. Certain words, the ones that remind him of commands he once obeyed or insults hurled at him, seem to trigger flickers of old rage. But he never directs that anger at you. Instead, it manifests in possessiveness, as if to prove to himself that you belong to him, not to the past that still haunts him.

If he ever hears you speaking Turkic with family or friends, his reaction is unpredictable. He might stand silently in the background, his grin unnervingly sharp, listening to every word. Later, he’ll question you, not out of distrust, but out of a need to reclaim control. "What were you discussing, my love? Should I be concerned? You wouldn’t keep secrets from me, would you?"

Over time, his obsession takes on a new layer. He starts speaking that language — not because he wants to, but because he refuses to let any part of you be a mystery to him. His accent sharp and deliberate, his words carrying a weight that makes your chest tighten. "I wonder," he says one day, his voice low and dangerous, "if they spoke to you in this tongue the way they once spoke to me. Tell me, darling, how does it feel to hear it from my lips instead?"

Though the language stirs his deepest wounds, his love for you twists that pain into something much more possessive and obsessive. You become his anchor, his way of reclaiming a part of himself he thought lost to the past. But make no mistake — he’ll never let you forget just how tightly his grip on you has become.

"You’re mine," he whispers one night, his crimson eyes burning as his lips brush against your ear. "Even if the ghosts of my past linger in your words, you’ll never escape me. Not now. Not ever."

[poughkeepsie99]

stay gold - dw x fem!reader

warnings! slight mentions of violence, suggestions of depression, mental health, spoilers for 'the outsiders', use of nicknames; sweetheart, sweet girl

word count: 1.5k

pairing: dean winchester x fem!reader

a/n: hey guys! this is my first fic ever so I'm really nervous to publish this, and also I wrote this at like 1 am... but also formatting was a pain in my ass so I apologize if this is ugly. this is totally random but I recently just rewatched the outsiders AND saw the play on Broadway so now I'm obsessed and can't stop thinking about it. so anyways, here it is!

"c'mon sweetheart," dean groans, turning his head to give you a look as you selected the movie on the screen.

"no, dean, it's my turn to choose, and you agreed to no complaining," you counter, unable to stop the smile from spreading across your lips, eyes locked on the tv as you press play on the screen.

you had a point, and you knew it. it was your and dean's weekly movie night, and as you had said, it was your turn to choose. normally, you chose a movie that you at least somewhat liked, but also knew he would enjoy, that way you would both be happy. but the past couple weeks had been rough, and honestly you just wanted to curl up on the couch and watch something familiar, something comforting.

'the outsiders' had been one of your favorites since you were younger, the brotherhood of the greasers, and just the story in general bringing so much comfort and warmth to you. even though it was inherently a sad movie, it was the good kind of sad. the kind of sad that left an ache in your heart that you could just wallow in instead of the problems in your own crazy fucked up life.

"m'not complaining," dean grumbles, settling back onto the couch, a slight pout on his lips. "just tryna make a suggestion.."

"dean, c'mon, please? just this once, for me?" you ask, turning to look at him with a look that was almost pleading. you were trying to hide how tired you were. how beaten down and defeated the past couple weels of nonstop hunts and constantly being thrown around were making you feel.

dean opened his mouth as if to argue, but he seemed to notice something in your face, and his expression softened. he let out a sigh, placing his arm on the back of the couch and holding out his other one, motioning for you to come closer. "alright, alright, but i don't wanna hear any complaining from you next week when it's my turn."

you simply hum in agreement, scooting closer to him and nestling into his side with a small smile on your face as the familiar opening credits play. dean's arm curls around you, holding you close to him and gently brushing his knuckles over the soft skin of your arm. you lean your head on his shoulder, eyes glued to the screen as you take a deep breath, allowing yourself to relax in the comfort of the moment.

as the movie goes on, you occasionally glance up at dean, surprised to find him thoroughly invested in the film, eyes slightly wide and zoned in on the screen, the glow reflected in his irises.

what you failed to notice, however, was dean doing the same. every so often, his eyes would drift down to you, taking in the way the soft glow of the tv highlighted your features, tracing the curve of your cheek and lips with his eyes. he found himself liking the movie a lot more than he would admit to you, and he could see why you liked it.

his favorite character was dallas, of course, but he also found himself drawn to darry, seeing himself in the eldest curtis brother. the way darry looked out for his brothers reminded dean of his childhood, how he took care of sam the same way. his eyes widened in surprise when ponyboy woke up to johnny having killed bob, and he actually let out a small gasp when the burning church collapsed on poor johnny. he watched eagerly as the greasers prepared for the rumble, secretly cheering for them in his head.

dean's hand never stopped it's comforting movements on your skin, whether it was your arm, or your hip, skin exposed where your shirt had ridden up, he was always touching you in some way, making sure you knew he was still there. dean had noticed that something was off for a while. he hadn't said anything, he was gonna let you come to him when you were ready, but he saw your exhausted, almost crushed expression when you had pleaded with him about the movie, and so he gave in, content with just making you feel better with gentle touches and soft kisses on your temple throughout the movie.

through the emotions going through his head as ponyboy read johnnys letter at the end of the movie, dean heard your soft voice next to him. he looked down, about to ask you to repeat what you said, but then he saw how your eyes were still glued to the tv, your lips moving in time to the characters on the screen.

he smiled, warmth blooming in his chest as he listened to you quote the scene, your voice soft and quiet. though the scene kept going, dean couldn't take his eyes off you, the movie just background noise now as his eyes traced over your features that he had memorized many a time, but always found himself wanting to learn again.

finally, when the movie was over, you felt his eyes on you, and you lifted your head, cheeks flushing when you met his intense gaze.

"what?" you ask, your voice barely above a soft whisper.

dean didn't reply right away, his eyes full of adoration and love as he continued to take in your face, his heart beating just a little faster as he noticed the faint blush on your cheeks. "nothin', m'just looking," he mumbles, reaching up his free hand to brush a stray hair from your face.

that only makes your cheeks flush harder, your eyes rolling in faux annoyance, but you lean into his touch slightly, eyes fixed on his.

"did you even watch the movie?" you ask accusingly, raising an eyebrow at him.

"i did," he defends, smiling at your reaction to his touch, hand cupping your face and thumb running gently over your cheekbone. "i actually really liked it."

your eyes light up at that, your lips parting softly in surprise as you stare up at him. "you did?"

"mhm. its a good movie. i see why y'like it so much," he says with a gentle shrug, a soft smile playing at the edge of his lips.

"im glad you liked it." you smile widely up at him, your heart warming at the fact that he liked the movie.

dean just smiles softly back down at you, tilting his head down to place a kiss on your forehead, his lips lingering for a heartbeat before leaning his head down and pressing his forehead to yours.

you two stay like that for a moment, eyes closed and just breathing each other in, basking in the rare moment of peace. dean breaks the silence first, opening his eyes to look at you, but not pulling away as he speaks softly, his voice a deep whisper. "m'always here for you, sweetheart. always gonna be here."

you open your eyes to meet his as he speaks, shocked yet again by how well he knows you, how he's able to read you and see that something was wrong. you don't say anything for a moment, lump forming in your throat and your eyes scanning his as if trying to memorize the way the colors swirl in his eyes. your head is telling you to brush off his words, mutter back something about how you know that, and how you're 'fine', but you're just so tired, and you can't bring yourself to.

"thank you," is the quiet whisper that comes from you in response, the sincereness evident in your soft voice, and the emotion written across your face.

dean just pulls you closer with his arm around your shoulders, pressing another kiss to your forehead, tucking you into his neck and resting his chin on your head, holding you close and silently letting you know that he understands.

"never gonna leave you, sweet girl, you've always got me," he mutters into your hair, his other arm coming up to wrap around you, holding you impossibly closer to him.

another older movie comes up on autopilot, one that dean thinks you've both watched before, but he doesn't make any move to stop it, just holding you close, gently rubbing your back and hip until you fall asleep in his arms. when he hears your breaths even out, he turns down the volume of the movie, pressing a kiss in your hair and letting his lips linger, inhaling your scent that smells like home.

"goodnight sweetheart, i love you," he whispers into your hair, even though he knows you can't hear him, and dean doesn't think he's ever meant any words more in his life. he spends the night holding you, and though his back hurts when he wakes up the next morning on the couch, the sight of you, asleep in his arms, expression peaceful, dean just thinks about everything he would give, just to keep you happy.

there it is, my first fic! lmk what u think and please feel free to send in asks/requests on my blog or on the google form linked on my page

tysm for reading and I hope ur having a great day/night! - bri

[comicarc]

𝐈 𝐃𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐧 (𝐈𝐗)

previous • next

"A lonely moon craving for the radiant sun." In which a certain girl catches the attention of a prideful billionaire playboy as they both attempt to find their way in the world. (I haven't seen many fics explore Bruce in his formative years, so I thought I'd share my take on them, of course with romance.)

wc: 2201

A/N: "The future influences the present just as much as the past." -Friedrich Nietzsche

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“That’s it! That’s where you’re gonna stop?” The little boy groaned, resting his head on y/n’s lap as she bandaged his hand. 

“Why of course, you’ll hear the rest when you’re ready. For now, mull over my words for there is always something to learn from history.” She smiled looking into the eyes of the little boy with a motherly affection. 

“What’s there to learn? Bruce Wayne’s selfish, Harvey Dent is ignorant and you–you’re just plain depressed.” The boy rolled his eyes, annoyed that he’d wasted half his night listening to a story without a climax. 

y/n’s smile widened as she chuckled. “I thought you were smart, little robin. No one ever tells you that bravery feels like fear. And it’s easy to be brave when you’d rather die than give up.” She combed a hand through his hair, humming some lullaby. 

As she tied the end of the bandage, securing it, the little boy sat up and leaned against her shoulder as he clarified, “So you’re saying I should fight till my last breath to get what I want? To be stubborn.”

“As hell. Or else the world will devour you, and you’ll be left dreaming.” She finished. 

The boy turned his head to face her, expecting the same gesture she gave him every night. Placing a kiss atop his forehead, y/n rose from her couch to prod at the flame burning in the fireplace with a poker. The boy watched her, unwilling to move from his seat. 

He loved y/n’s humble abode, for it overlooked Gotham in such a way that the city looked like a dream. From the window, he could see a sea of lights below and skyscrapers decorating the skyline in the distance. It was a picturesque view.

Not to mention her apartment was the perfect size, not too small that it felt claustrophobic but not too large that it felt artificial. There was a coziness to it that he never felt in his “real” home. The kind he craved to bathe in till the end of time. 

“Can I stay tonight?” He asked for the umpteenth time in the past week. He knew what she would say, that she truly wished she could but she couldn’t deprive his father of such a wonderful presence.

“Y’know what, why not? It’s the holidays, and I’m sure Batman wouldn’t mind you having a little time to yourself.”

“Really? Yes!” The boy exclaimed. Immediately he was on his feet, running to the kitchen for a midnight snack. As soon as he had his food in a bowl the boy ran back and turned on the TV above the fireplace, setting it the movie Home Alone. He cozied himself into the couch, cuddling into a blanket he found nearby, and patted at the empty space beside him, indicating for y/n to join him. 

She told him she needed a moment outside before joining him for the night. Setting the poker down in its mantle, y/n walked out to the patio, sliding the door behind her to ensure that the little boy would be none the wiser to what was happening outside. 

She took slow steps to the edge, leaning over the railing with her hands folded atop it. “I let him stay tonight. I hope you don’t mind,” she spoke, her words fading into the crisp air. The moon shone down as if illuminating just her. The rest of her patio was shrouded in a darkness so deep, that even a bat couldn’t see through it. 

That’s where he remained hiding as he answered, “Robin needs the break. Make sure he comes back in the morning.” He hesitated before he took a step into the light. Though he still remained out of her sight, she could feel the warmth exuding from his armored body. Standing on her feet again, she moved a step away from the rail until her back was only inches from his body.

“Batman, what a peculiar name. However, did you come up with it?” She began, hoping she’d elicit a reaction. There was a familiarity to his voice that she couldn’t quite place due to the modifier. 

Met with silence, she attempted conversation again. “It’s a beautiful, silent night. I remember a time when Gotham’s symphony was especially deafening during this hour. Why remain in the dark when you can bask in the light of the city’s new hope?”

“Darkness shields just as much as it threatens.” He confessed, his voice wavering ever so slightly.

“And light guides us home, to happiness.” She responded. She wished she could whip herself around, to face the dark knight in all his glory, but she knew he’d have left by now. He was never one to stay too long, but at least his fleeting presence made his company all the more precious.

Alone on the patio, y/n headed inside, back to the Bat’s protege: Robin. Inside, the eager little boy ignored the movie, and began to question y/n’s story yet again. “Please, please, please tell me more. What happened with the case, what happened after they found out where you lived?”

“Well, Falcone’s still serving time in jail, so to say we succeeded would be an understatement. Talking about the trial would be a bore, especially since most of it is public record. As for the boys, well nothing really changed. Harvey hung out more and more with Gilda until they fell in love when they went to Harvard. Bruce went to Yale and essentially dropped off the face of the Earth until he returned to Gotham last year.”

“Ok, if you don’t want to talk about them then I get it. But what about Dr. Crane, what happened with him?” Robin persisted. 

“That’s for another night, alright? Patience is a virtue you really should practice.” She chuckled, moving one of the couch pillows under his head as he slouched into a sleeping position. She patted his side until the boy forgot all about the movie and fell into a restful sleep beside her.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

A year prior, Bruce Wayne had come back to Gotham. Really, it was more like he had snuck in. For months he remained a recluse, until one day he threw the biggest gala Gotham had ever seen at his mansion. He called it his homecoming ball, but y/n believed it was merely a distraction. The Bruce she knew always used such extravagance as a facade, but there was always the fact that he’d been gone from Gotham for nine years. He’d most likely have changed in that time as any man would. 

By then, at the ripe age of 27, y/n herself had earned her spot in the Gotham Gazette. Having earned a few awards for her writing debut about her involvement in the unraveling of Falcone’s drug operation all those years ago, y/n was able to go to Gotham University and eventually Columbia to earn her degrees in journalism. From there, she was hand-picked by the Gazette to work for them as a full-time writer.

Batman had come into the picture just a month after Bruce’s return, but his presence was so rare that at first, he seemed a myth. Even now, a year later some people still doubt his existence. The only real proof people have is Robin, who showed up in his colorful spandex three months ago. y/n found the little bird in a back alley near her home on his first day, and ever since she’s been helping stitch him up or give him company on the nights he patrols as a sidekick to Batman.

Sending off Robin in the morning, y/n had the remainder of the day to prepare herself to attend another Wayne gala for Christmas. It was a dreaded assignment, for she had wanted to keep herself at a distance from any Wayne, but things don’t always work out the way we want them to.

Before heading to the mall to buy a nice gown for the black tie event, y/n headed to Gotham Academy. She was to meet an old friend at the now-abandoned stands that faced the racetrack. The place where it all began. 

Seated on the stands, she shielded herself from the winter wind with the large men’s coat she wore. Its color had faded with time, but the warmth it trapped was still able to keep her comfortable. It was large on her, but that made it all the more comforting for it engulfed her in a tender embrace. 

A tall, lean figure approached her, with his hood up and a mask to conceal his face. He was muscular, an attribute evident by the way the jacket comfortably hugged his figure. There was a noticeable bulge at his side in the shape of a sidearm, but it was tucked away snugly enough to reassure y/n that it wouldn’t be needed. 

The man took slow steps toward her as he took in y/n’s still form in all its glory under the morning sun. She looked absolutely angelic, with golden rays illuminating her glorious face. The man was utterly entranced by how beautiful she looked, despite the apparent lack of effort she had put into her appearance. 

“Harvey, dashing as always.” She broke the silence with her honey-laced voice.

He smiled as he took off his mask. Sitting beside her he replied, “y/n, lovely as ever. Merry Christmas.”

“I have the file you want, but I can’t imagine why you couldn’t get it yourself.”

“I may be a man scorned, but Two-Face still has his limits.” That may have been true for many things, but this circumstance was different. He wanted an excuse to see her again.

After the accident, Gilda had left him, his public image was ruined, and his mind was in shambles. Yet, y/n remained at his side, as his sole supporter. Even when he changed, when his pain led him down the dark path of criminality, y/n continued to stay in contact with him. He knew she hoped she could change him for the better, but they both knew it was a misplaced expectancy. 

She deserved the world for the kind of woman she was, and that was the very reason Harvey refused to make his advance. He couldn’t give her the heaven she deserved. He feared no man could. But Gotham had recently been put under new authority with all the Arkham inmates running around like they owned the place. And with vigilantism becoming a new trend, who knew what divinity may enter the equation to whisk her away for good? 

Handing Harvey the file, y/n stood. Quirking an eyebrow at her sudden departure he remarked, “Is that my coat?”

With her back to him, she answered, “Merry Christmas, Apollo.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

At last, she returned to her humble abode. At the entrance, there lay a large cardboard box marked with her address. At first glance, there was no sender, no note, nothing that eased y/n’s suspicions. y/n was hesitant to pick it up and bring it inside with nothing to reassure her that it was safe to open.

But a nagging instinct allowed her to let go of her precaution and do just that. Once inside, she set it down on the nearest counter, grabbed an exacto knife, and carefully sliced through the edges of the packaging. The box opened to reveal a note engraved in gold letters, reading, “Make a proper debut in high society with a bang. Sincerely, An Old Friend” 

As she read the sign-off signature, a few people came to mind. Harvey was the first suspect, having been graced by his longing niceties in the hours prior. But he wouldn’t have made such a blatant gesture for no reason; at the very least, he would have made it abundantly clear he was the sender. 

Selina could have simply bought a beautiful piece and sent it to her when they went out together. But there was no such occasion they had planned soon, and as far as y/n knew, Selina didn't know she was attending this gala. 

Another name came to mind, and this one was much more plausible. A girl she once knew, with a habit of making grand entrances had a knack for extravagance that could rival Selina’s. Something was definitely going to happen tonight, and she’d be the first reporter on the scene to break the story. How thoughtful.

Wearing the item inside the box, the flowing, midnight-blue silk dress, shimmered subtly under the soft lighting of her apartment. It hugged her curves with a delicate grace, its plunging neckline framed by delicate trim that cascaded down the bodice, ending in a graceful train that pooled around her ankles, leaving a trail of elegance with each step. The dress made her feel as though she’d finally fit in, no longer a weed in a field of roses. Taking her press pass and invitation in her clutch and wearing her simple silver heels, y/n was out her door again hailing for a cab on the street to make her way to the Manor. 

˖ ࣪🦇𓆰♡𓆪🦇ִ ࣪⋆

taglist: @earth-to-name

[storiesabouteli]

TellTales // Elijah Hewson X Reader! (Fluff) Part1 of 2.

prompt: It's a narration of how they are young and in a way they share differences, but they are in love. It takes place in a student environment (college) and continues with a car trip and in the next part reader meets the boys, the fic is just about how they feel about each other in the midst of everyday life and a relationship that is new. And although I commented on sexual relations, I did not describe the act itself, there is no smut. (This story is from my old blog, it's very old, and I decided to rewrite it)

words: 3K

You tiptoed your way through the bleachers, scanning the crowd for him. You hadn’t explicitly asked him to come, but you’d dropped enough hints to hope he’d show up. Deep down, you understood if he couldn’t make it, but the thought of him not being there still left a pang of sadness.

Either way, he’d be picking you up shortly after the game ended. You’d agreed to spend the weekend with some of his bandmates and their girlfriends. You recognized them from glimpses in the hallways and the gigs you’d attended, but meaningful interactions with them had been rare. You were aware of the reputation you’d unintentionally acquired in that social circle but didn’t let it bother you.

You hadn’t dated much in life. In fact, Elijah was the only person you’d ever been involved with—both emotionally and physically. While that choice sometimes stirred whispers or the occasional mean-spirited comment, it was clear that most people didn’t care, if anything, they just found it curious.

“How was last night?” your best friend asked, a knowing smirk on her face. Judging by your expression, she already suspected the answer.

“It was… great,” you admitted, the butterflies in your stomach still fluttering from the memory. Your hands felt clammy, and your nervous cheeks were impossible to hide.

“Was sex with Elijah really that good?” There was a teasing edge in her tone, but you couldn’t tell if it was genuine or sarcastic. You elbowed her, though the heat in your face only deepened.

“Did he take charge? Or was all the work left to you?” she continued, her grin widening. You rolled your eyes, but her playful jab stayed in your head longer than you’d care to admit.

Hiding your face in your hands, you realized she just wanted to embarrass you. Asking her to lower her voice, she laughed and agreed, though it was clear she expected more details. It was your first time with Eli, and you’d been nervous—something entirely unusual for you from her perspective. Naturally, she wanted to know everything.

You decided to keep most of it to yourself, knowing she’d get the picture. You settled on something simple: “He’s not shy, but in a good way. He’s... observant, and he made good use of that. He’s fine,” you said, biting your lip to contain a smile. But the memory of him holding you, the way his hands moved so assuredly, and the soft sighs and muffled moans you’d shared—it all came flooding back, making your heart crazy. You didn’t know how, but it had been intimate and irresistibly sexy, leaving you on the brink of tears from the overwhelming connection. You couldn’t wait to be with him again.

She nodded knowingly, her expression softening at your obvious happiness. “It’s nice that you have him. I’m glad for you. He seems like a great guy.”

Her words made you smile, but they also left you feeling a little unsettled. Eli was your complete opposite in so many ways. You had no doubts that he liked you, but the thought of him realizing how easily he could find someone better lingered in your mind.

You were popular, but it was something that had happened by accident rather than design. You didn’t care about it much, though you appreciated the “good girl” image that came with it. Eli, on the other hand, had a laid-back, effortlessly cool demeanor. He wasn’t concerned with appearances and didn’t seem to care about what others thought. Maybe that was something you needed to learn from him.

Even your interests didn’t align much, but so far, things had been going well.

Lost in your thoughts, your friend shook your shoulders, snapping you back to reality. She turned you toward the crowd, and her grin widened when she saw your face light up. There he was—his messy curls catching the light.

“Damn, you really got Hewson to come to a college game,” she teased.

You couldn’t help but laugh nervously. It wasn’t exactly his scene. The echoing cheers of the players and the squeals of the cheerleaders were likely grating to him, but there he was, leaning casually in the back corner. You tried not to let your nerves spiral as you wondered how he felt about all this, about you.

Before you could respond, you spotted him in the distance. Your heart skipped a beat. He looked serious, like he’d rather be anywhere else, and for a moment, doubt crept in. But then his eyes found yours. His expression softened, his hands in his jacket pockets, and his lips curled into a small smile.

You waved enthusiastically, and to your relief, he lit up, waving back just as excitedly. He brushed his hair back, standing still in that secluded spot, and blew you a kiss. A few people nearby noticed, and his cheeks turned pink, but he didn’t seem to care. Your Eli was there.

You threw him a kiss in return, and with his typical playful flair, he pretended to catch it, tucking it into his pocket. It was such a simple, teasing gesture, yet it made your heart swell. He might not love the setting, but he was there for you.

As you turned back to your position on the court, you couldn’t help but steal another glance at him. He looked proud, as though being there and seeing you so happy made everything worth it.

The performance began, and you gave it your all—the dances, the spins, the choreography. A small part of you felt self-conscious, knowing he was watching. While you were sure he wouldn’t judge you, this wasn’t his thing, and you worried about what he thought.

But when your eyes found his again, there was no doubt. It was you. He was there because of you. And that was all that mattered.

The game ended, and as you and the girls announced the final score, thanking everyone for coming, your focus was already elsewhere. You didn’t even register who was speaking to you as you made your way toward Eli. His smile didn’t falter, and he opened his arms wide, waiting for you.

Instinctively, you ran into him, throwing your arms around his neck. He caught you with ease, lifting you slightly off the ground as his arms tightened around you. Without hesitation, he adjusted your skirt, his hand lingering protectively to keep it in place. You had noticed this habit of his before, and though you found it sweet, you hadn’t told him yet that you always wore shorts underneath. You were sure he knew, but the gesture was heartwarming.

You buried your face in his hair, letting the softness of his curls surround you. He nuzzled into your neck in return, inhaling deeply as if to draw comfort from your scent. For a moment, it was just the two of you, wrapped up in each other, while the noise and chaos of the game faded into the background.

When your feet touched the ground again, you lingered there, gazing at one another in a rare moment of silence. The world around you seemed to disappear, leaving only the warmth in his caramel eyes and the soft curve of his lips.

You took a small step further, closing the distance between you, and kissed him. It wasn’t tentative—it was the kind of kiss that spoke volumes, a mixture of longing and familiarity. You could taste the faint trace of gum on his tongue, a detail you’d remember fondly later. His hands trailed over your sides, light and deliberate, grounding you in the moment. He felt like calm, like home, and you melted into him, despite the murmurs and stares from the crowd.

The kiss ended quickly but left a deep impression. His hands stayed firmly on your waist, keeping you close, while your gaze was on his lips, too shy to meet his eyes just yet. He broke the silence with a soft kiss to your cheek, then your forehead, dotting your skin with gentle pecks that made you nervous. He always did this, and every time, it made you fall for him all over again.

“Sorry for being late,” he said, his voice low and apologetic. “Josh needed the car.” He shrugged off his jacket and draped it over your shoulders in one smooth motion, pausing to kiss the top of your head. “Keep it—you look cold.”

You clutched the jacket tightly, enveloped by his warmth and the faint smell of him in the fabric. “I don’t mind,” you replied, light and genuine. “I’m just glad you’re here.”

You squeezed his hand, and he squeezed back, intertwining your fingers. “I know this isn’t your favorite place, so it means a lot to me that you came tonight.”

Eli didn’t respond right away, his mind swirling with thoughts about the people around him, whom he saw as unremarkable, living to meet expectations rather than exploring life’s possibilities. It was an opinion he had once extended to you, long before he became enamored with the way you danced, your laugh ringing through the halls, and your quiet determination to pursue what you loved. Now, he saw you differently. You weren’t just going through the motions—you genuinely enjoyed being there, with your friends and your passions.

Such a realization had led him to fill your locker with letters—awkward yet heartfelt, each building the bridge to this very moment.

He rubbed his thumb over your palm, a faint blush creeping up his cheeks. “I’ll be here as many times as necessary,” he murmured. “I like to see you happy.”

His words made your goofy smile return full force. He placed a hand gently on the small of your back, guiding you toward his car.

Eli’s ears were still flushed as he opened the door for you, and you couldn’t help but wish for more of that.

...

He sifted through his belongings, handpicking a few tapes and placing them on your lap. "Pick one," he said, anticipation lacing his voice.

You scanned the options before spotting a familiar purple cover. "Oh my God, it's Kate Bush!" you exclaimed, grinning ear to ear. It was surreal. Even as he kept his eyes on the road, his presence filled the small, borrowed car.

"Josh mentioned you were a fan," he said casually.

"And you went and got it for me?" you asked eagerly, pressing play without hesitation.

He nodded, watching your smile grow with every note.

Before he could say anything, you squealed and leaned over to kiss his cheek quickly, careful to avoid causing any accidents. Feeling at ease with him, you mimicked Kate’s vocals, exaggerating your facial expressions to match the drama of her delivery. He chuckled, thankful to Josh for tipping him off about the tape.

"I'm glad you're enjoying it, lil' one," he murmured, his voice warm. Your enthusiasm for the lyrics matched his quiet contentment in seeing you well.

He didn’t know the words or the instrumentation but encouraged you to keep going, like your number-one fan.

"Did you know David Gilmour kind of discovered Kate Bush?" you asked between breaths.

"I’ve heard that somewhere," he replied, prompting you to share more. He liked Pink Floyd, you knew that.

"It’s like we’re all interconnected, isn’t it?" you mused, glancing at him solemnly before turning back to the road, tapping the melody out with your fingers. "I kind of like the thought of it."

"Yeah, it’s a nice thought," he agreed, his chest filling with a quiet warmth. Not ready to let the conversation fade, he added, "So, have you been checking out any of the bands I like?"

The world seemed to slow down for a moment. You noticed the softness in Eli’s features, a rare, relaxed smile that only appeared when he was with you. In other settings—classes, the cafeteria, gigs—he maintained his usual unbothered demeanor, some cool smiles yet nothing more, which you found charming, but this version of him was your favorite.

He placed his large hand gently on your thigh, not moving it but bringing you a sense of comfort. You fingered the rings and felt the more prominent veins on his skin. Smiling, you placed your hand over his, threading your fingers through his long ones. Even brief touches like this filled you with quiet joy.

"I have," you admitted, feeling a little shy. "I wanted to hear what you liked, and I found one I really enjoyed."

His eyes widened in disbelief, and for a moment, you feared he might crash the car. But Eli, ever grounded, kept things steady. "No way! You've reached Blackstar?"

The thing was, you already knew Bowie, of course, but Eli saw him through a unique lens. He had favorite albums and endless commentary about every track. After spending hours with you the night before, he’d gone home, obsessed with crafting a perfect playlist to introduce you to his idol. He never imagined you’d actually listen.

"I did," you confirmed, suppressing a laugh at his attempt to maintain his unbothered facade, though it failed to hide the goofy smile creeping onto his face.

You grinned and began to sing, “Just like that bluebird, oh, I’ll be free…” pretending to hold a microphone.

He smiled as if he’d just won the lottery. “Just like that bluebird, oh, I’ll be free. Ain’t that just like me…” he sang back, pouring affection into every note.

Bowie’s words felt like home, like the perfect bridge between you. Eli never spared feelings when it came to sharing his passions, not like that, not for any special one, even when he initially thought your differences might be too vast. He was starting to see the beauty in complementing perspectives.

You loved Bowie, though not quite as much as he did. And, much like him with Kate Bush, you were learning to appreciate the depth of the connection through each other’s eyes.

...

You were asleep, your hand resting on Eli's arm as he drove down the empty highway. He glanced at you, a soft smile tugging at his lips as he watched you sleep peacefully.

Suddenly, as if your mind had been waiting for it, you jolted awake, gasping for air and clutching your chest. Your body trembled as you struggled to catch your breath.

"Hey, hey, it's okay," Eli said, his tone soothing as he reached over, gently rubbing your back. "Just take deep breaths with me, huh?"

You nodded, your eyes wide with fear. "I'm sorry," you whispered, guilt heavy in your voice.

"Don't be sorry," Elijah said firmly, his gaze unwavering. "You're not bothering me. I just want to make sure you're fine, babe. Are you good?"

Leaning back against the seat, you inhaled deeply, trying to calm yourself. "It's just...a nightmare. I get them sometimes, and they're always hard to shake off."

"I see," Elijah murmured. "I've been there with you before, remember?" His sweet smile softened his words as he squeezed your hand. And it was true-it wasn't the first time, and you didn't need to feel ashamed. "We'll get through this, okay?"

Pulling the car to the side of the road, he opened the windows and doors to let in the crisp, early morning air. You sat quietly, watching as the sky began to shift, the first rays of dawn painting the horizon with soft light.

"It's so nice, quite beautiful," you murmured, feeling an odd sense of peace settling over you. Small but present, a reminder that he didn’t see you as a problem to be dealt with.

Eli nodded. "Yeah, it is. Like you, when you're comfortable like this," he added, immediately regretting his words, fearing they might sound wrong.

You smiled warmly, your face heating at his unintended confession, making Eli relax. "Thank you."

He reached into the backseat and grabbed a comforter, draping it over you with care. He made sure you were snug and warm, his movements gentle as he tucked you in.

Stopping briefly, he stood silently by the car, watching you shift restlessly under the duvet. Your eyes stayed locked on him, steady and observant. Though your breathing had calmed, you didn't seem ready to sleep again.

"Do you want me to stay here until you sleep?" His voice carried a mix of awkwardness and worry.

"No," you said after a pause, your gaze lingering on his hands gripping the steering wheel and the way his lips were reddened from nervous biting. Your breath hitched faintly, betraying your unease. "Actually, we could stay here for a while." You loosened the duvet, the warmth of the moment overtaking your earlier chill.

He arched a brow, his features shadowed in the dim light. "Okay, but you feel good, right?”

"Yeah, just can't sleep," you admitted, your hand brushing over his shoulder and trailing to the back of his neck, seeking the comfort of his warmth. "Come closer. I want to feel you." You tugged him toward you, your words low and certain.

And Eli had that moment of realization, noticing how different you were from what others perceived, from the image they had built of you. He loved that—that this raw, genuine side of you was something only he had access to.

Eli hesitated for a second before leaning in, his nose brushing against your cheek. His lips met yours, soft and hesitant at first, contrasting with the sudden urgency in your touch. He melted into the seat, his hand naturally finding your waist as the kiss deepened.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breath uneven. The darkness obscured his face, but you could feel the heat radiating from his cheeks. His lips parted as if to speak, but no words came.

"I like how you taste," you whispered, your fingers tangling in his hair as you pulled him closer. The warmth of his breath brushed your skin as you trailed kisses from his lips to his nose, playfully licking his parted mouth along the way.

Your laughter filled the car when you noticed how flustered he had become. You relished the effect you had on him, thinking about how you might use it to your advantage in the future.

Before Eli could lean in for another kiss, his usual lovesick expression plastered on his face, you leaned closer, your voice dropping to a mischievous whisper.

"I need a favor, if you don't mind.”

...

You stopped in a dark, desolate spot, your hand crazy with sweat as nerves took hold. Elijah could tell you were uneasy about being out in the middle of nowhere.

"El, I don’t want to be alone," you murmured, your voice drowsy but trembling with it all.

He didn’t question it, just as he didn’t even consider leaving you behind. Truthfully, he wasn’t exactly thrilled about the idea of braving the rickety gas station alone either, even if it was just to relieve himself.

He nodded, his expression steady, trying to ease the tension in your own. The worry was etched across your face, and Elijah knew you tended to spiral into pessimistic thoughts in situations like this. He couldn’t begin to guess the scenarios playing out in your mind, but he was determined to dispel them.

"Look," he said quickly, color rushing to his cheeks and necks, "I’ll step outside, stay by the car, and just use the tree right here. I won’t go far, I won’t leave your sight, and I’ll shut the door so you’ll still feel safe. Just, uh… don’t look, y’know? That’d be awkward."

You nodded, avoiding his gaze as your hands fumbled for the radio, turning up the volume to drown out any sound from outside. It was a flimsy attempt to preserve the boundary of intimacy, even for something as brief and mundane as this. Still, you couldn’t deny his plan made sense, even if it left you feeling slightly on edge.

—

Part 2 will be posted soon! Promise!

[pikkish]

idk if this is a good prompt but put doomguy in myhouse.wad I think he would find it enriching

Right, so I've been mulling on this one for a little bit now, n I'm not opposed to writing something for you, I'm just not... entirely sure what to write? Because the thing is, myhouse.wad doesn't actually really have anything to do with Doom as a story. Sure, Doom is important in that it's the vessel through which the story is told and one of the connections between the narrator and his dead companion. But as far as Doom itself goes, and the story about a man who was too angry/stupid to die, fighting demons and saving earth, none of that is at all relevant to myhouse.wad and its story. For all intents and purposes, Doomguy isn't actually a character in myhouse.wad. So I'm not really sure how exactly to fit him in there.

[glupblorbo]

hi i'm not dead i'm still alive just. been sick. and busy. and busy and sick. both good and bad busy but i will have cult au out when i can :,) in the meantime uh. have this. snippet of an au that's been tugging at my mind since the very first episode of toh that i've finally started to develop this summer? may get the first bit of this posted before cult au but. do not think i will have forgotten cult au bc of that.

//||\\

Edalyn’s always been a bit more fond of things of the wood with sharp teeth and pointed claws and over-glossed appearances than her sister. Lilith has always been rooted to other people. Eda has always been left to drift and tie herself to whoever will hold her rope for long enough.

And the fae, at least, have always been happy to take it from her.

“I…it was supposed to work,” she says at last, grasping at the words like straw blown about by a wind coming off the Spine. “It was supposed to work. I’m not…I shouldn’t be able to come back here.”

“...Eda, what…was supposed to work?”

She does look at them now, at the line of their nose, not quite meeting their gaze; this has always felt less like lying to them.

[joelsgoldrush]

“never is a promise” | 12.4k

old man!logan x f!reader

SUMMARY: You are everything Logan isn’t: sweet, trouble-free, much younger—and, to top it off, Charles' caregiver.

WARNINGS/TAGS: mdni smut 18+ mentions of drinking. angst. some fluff. old man!logan x caregiver!reader. implied age gap (reader’s in her twenties). miscommunication. slow burn. pining. reader is shorter than logan and has long hair. charles in his cupid era. petnames. minor injuries. wound tending. mentions of blood. virgin!reader. dirty talk. cum shots. fingering. handjobs. oral sex (m receiving). loving sex. sex with a lot of feelings (is that a tag?). unprotected p in v.

A/N: i just want to fall in love with him. that’s it. that’s the reason why i wrote this long ass fic 😭 while doing so, i had “never is a promise” by fiona apple and “cool about it” by boygenius on repeat. give them a try if you haven’t listened to them (your lives will be CHANGED) (also, thank you for reading <3)

No matter how often you play chess with Charles, you never manage to beat him. 

“You’ve been staring at that knight for five minutes. It’s not going anywhere, I promise.”

Chuckling at his sarcasm, you fold your hands in your lap, lifting your eyebrows in mock surrender. “Okay, I get it. You’re the master of chess,” leaning back in the chair, you cross one leg over the other. “Can we play something else?”

“I’m quite entertained, thank you,” Charles says, sliding the board closer to you across the table. “Your turn.”

“How is it that you don’t get tired of this game?” you mutter under your breath, eyes fixed on the board as you weigh your options, hovering your hand indecisively over the chess pieces. 

“Please do something before I’m forced to make a dash for the toilet.” He hangs his head, pinching the bridge of his nose—a telltale sign of one of his irritable days.

His words spur you into action, encouraging you to finally slide the knight into position. You glance up, meeting his gaze with a hint of challenge. “You go now.”

Charles doesn’t hesitate, and he moves a bishop. “Check.”

Fuck. You hadn’t seen that coming. “I’d prefer to walk away with my pride,” you joke, pushing your chair back and pretending to lose interest in the board.

That makes him smirk, a barely there grin dangling on the corners of his wrinkled lips. The truth is, you wouldn’t stop playing for anything in the world—not even if this old man kicks your ass every single time he suggests playing chess. “You’re not out of the game yet.”

Quietness settles over the tank while you allow yourself some time to come up with a new strategy. After a moment, you decide to go for a pawn, using it to block his bishop.

He doesn’t stop grinning, studying your move with an amused glint in his blue eyes. “Not bad, but you’ve left your king exposed.”

You gape at the board, your fragile confidence faltering for a split second. "I still have some pieces in play."

Charles nods, his brows drawing together in thoughtful consideration. "True. But sometimes, it’s not about how many pieces you have left—” He reaches out, carefully sliding his queen across the board. "It’s about where you place them.” He relaxes, hunching over, his eyes searching for yours. A smile that’s all teeth welcomes you. “Checkmate."

“Damn.” You blow out your cheeks, your gaze tracing the path of his queen. Somehow, he’s trapped your king with no easy way out.

He leans back with a satisfied grin. “That’s three games in a row. My suggestion is that you start rethinking your strategy.”

“Or maybe you’re just a better player,” you admit, a mix of frustration and admiration palpable in your tone. “No more chess for today, though.” You stand up from your seat, gathering the board and chess pieces. As usual, they find their place under Charles’ bed, and you turn back to him, beaming with delight. “I think you owe me one after all this.”

“You’re a terrible loser, my dear,” he says, his eyes twinkling as they take you in. “Reminds me of someone I know.”

At that exact moment, you hear the familiar creak of the tank’s door opening, followed by a cough you immediately recognize.

Without thinking, you straighten your back as Logan steps into the room. Charles notices it, but says nothing in return.

It was an infatuation—or at least, that’s what you try to convince yourself of. Logan is a very good-looking man, probably the most handsome you’ve ever laid eyes on.

The fact that you live with him doesn’t help at all. You think that if you only saw him occasionally, this—this anxiety that grips you whenever he’s around or when you hear his voice—wouldn’t happen in the first place.

Whether it’s good or bad luck, you’ve been sleeping under the same roof as him for over a year, and the crush you’ve had since the first time you exchanged words with him only seems to grow stronger with each passing day.

What you figure out over time is that men like Logan aren’t the dating type. He’s never brought anyone home, and for that, you’re secretly grateful. The last thing you need is to see him with another woman—thank you very much. Still, the thought gnaws at you: he could easily be meeting someone elsewhere.

In fact, it’s more than likely that he’s hooking up with other people. It doesn’t have to be at—

Alright. You don’t need this either.

Logan’s heavy footsteps resonate even louder, his presence more imposing, and he seems especially pissed off. Then again, he always has that demeanor—angry, grumpy, locked in a constant battle with life.

But today… today, you haven’t seen him this troubled in weeks.

“Look who’s joined us,” Charles mumbles, steering his motorized chair to meet him halfway. The chair bumps against Logan’s legs with a thud that sounds almost cartoonish, and Charles scrunches up his nose, his nostrils flaring in disgust. “You smell like shit.”

“Yeah, I missed you too, Pop,” Logan grunts, shoving his hand into the pocket of his suit, searching for something. That’s when you notice the bloodstains on his shirt, smeared across his chest, and the missing buttons at the top. Your breath catches in your throat, and you bite your tongue to keep from asking any foolish questions. “They gave me new ones,” he mutters, looking you in the eye as he tosses the pill bottle at you.

You leap forward to catch it mid-air, your heart skipping a beat. Logan holds your gaze for a moment longer, his expression unreadable, before giving a slight nod and turning on his heel to storm out of the tank.

When your attention goes back to Charles, you see how his eyes remain locked on the pills you’re holding, his head lowering in defeat. “He’s waiting for me to die.”

“Don’t say that.” You squat to be at his eye level, momentarily hiding the meds from his view. Still, you struggle to make him shift his gaze. “He’s taking care of you, which is something completely different.” You place your hand on top of his knee, giving it a reassuring squeeze. You’ve had this same conversation innumerable times, yet each time feels like the first. He offers you a melancholic but knowing look as you softly say: “You have to take them, Charles. I’m sorry.”

He raises a hand, his trembling fingers curling around your wrist, examining you, trying to find an answer in the lines. “Don’t be. At least you’re here.”

“I’m sure Logan’s tired; that’s why he doesn’t stay any longer. Haven’t you seen him?” You rise to your feet, moving behind him to guide his chair. The tank sort of has a chill in the air, metallic walls that seem to press in around you both. “Besides, you wouldn’t want to play chess with him. Rest assured I’ll always let you win,” you murmur next to his ear, succeeding in eliciting a chuckle from him.

After that, you help him with his daily routine. Charles isn’t heavy, and you manage to get him onto the bed, his frail body yielding to your gentle support.

You slip the rest of his body beneath the blankets, tucking him in carefully before handing him two pills and a glass of water. “All the way down, okay? And I wanna see that tongue after you swallow them.”

If looks could kill, you’d be six feet under, covered in dust and dirt. Charles sticks his tongue out, putting the glass down on his nightstand. “Happy?”

“You’ve got no idea how much,” you say, adjusting the covers. The silence of the tank surrounds you both, and you can sense his gaze lingering on you. You flick your eyes up, furrowing your brows as you sit in the small space beside him on the mattress. “What is it?”

“You fancy him, don’t you?”

Freezing on the spot, your eyes narrow. “I—I don’t—” you trail off, pushing the words out with some effort. “Are you trying to read my mind?”

His whole chest rumbles with laughter under your touch. He finds your hand once again, intertwining your fingers with his. “Don’t be so naïve. I don’t need my abilities to see the way you get all flustered when he passes by. Why do you think they say older people are wiser?” he inquires, his lips forming a straight line. “We’ve lived too much not to notice the most common things, my dear—and let me tell you that you do a horrible job at pretending.”

“Of course I like him. Logan’s a good man, he keeps us safe.” You glance down at your hands—his, weak and delicate, in evident contrast to your own. “I’m not in love with him, Cupid.”

“Oh, you should’ve seen him years ago,” Charles says, his eyes glazing over as he drifts back into the past. His body remains here, within the confines of the room, but his mind is elsewhere, somewhere far away. You give his hand a gentle tug, trying to bring him back. “When we took him in, he was pursuing a career as a cage fighter. I had never seen anyone like him in all my years of educating mutants. He was so… different from the rest. Reserved, didn’t talk much at first. But I gave him a family, I—” His voice falters, overcome by his own emotions. 

That’s when you realize he’s no longer with you, his gaze unfocused, looking around the tank as if seeing it for the first time. It pains you to see him like this, completely disoriented and disconnected from reality.

“Why are we here? What has happened to the rest? Has he told you anything?”

These are the questions he asks every day without fail—questions that you can’t, nor want, to answer. Since you’re not exactly sure the explanation would soothe his troubled mind, you feel forced to play dumb.

“I don’t know, Charles. We don’t really talk that much, Logan and I.” You stand from the bed, not without pressing a chaste kiss to his forehead before. You smile at him, hoping he doesn’t realize the gesture lacks authenticity. “Why don’t you get some rest? I’ll let you know if I hear anything worth sharing.”

Once you close the door behind you, you settle back into it, releasing a shaky breath. Being Charles’ caregiver was a challenging task, especially in moments like these, which required immense internal strength not to crumble in front of him.

You squeeze your eyes shut as you adjust to the harsh sunlight, fighting to regain your composure. When you finally scan the area, the only thing that meets your eye is the deserted smelting plant you now call home.

You open the sliding door, the noise breaking the stillness and forcing Logan to look up from his plate. He’s eating like a starved man, casually drinking from a small bottle of whisky on the table, already half of it gone. After those long drives through the nights and the early hours, he always returns hungry.

You pour yourself a cup of coffee, setting it on the stove to heat. Neither of you says anything for a few minutes: he eats, and you sip your hot coffee in silence, not wishing to disturb the breakable peace that hangs by a thread.

Thinking this is how the noon will continue, you begin to walk toward your room until he clears his throat, stopping you in your tracks. That simple gesture makes you whirl around, anticipating something.

“This is delicious,” he acknowledges, pointing to his plate with his fork, the rice with veggies and meat you cooked last night nearly gone. Dipping his chin, he adds in a low voice: “Thank you.”

You’re taken aback by his unexpected willingness to engage in conversation. Moments like these are as rare as seeing Halley’s Comet, so you proceed with caution, as if you’re approaching a skittish animal—one wrong move, and the opportunity is lost.

Setting your mug down on the table, you sit on the chair opposite him. Deep down, the hammering of your heart echoes in your ears, and you hope his sharp senses don’t pick up on it.

“I’m glad you liked it. Charles ate two bowls of it,” you explain, unable to suppress a smile. Logan hums, tilting his head to the side as he keeps devouring his meal. You take another sip of your coffee, blowing on it in a futile attempt to cool it down. “He wants to talk to you.”

“Huh?”

“Charles. He—he asks to see you a lot,” you begin, carefully choosing your words. “I know it’s none of my business, but I think it would make him feel better if you spent more time with him.”

The sound of a distant train rumbles through the walls, amplifying the silence between you. Logan doesn’t utter a word; instead, he puts down his fork, the clinking noise making you jump slightly, the intensity of his stare becoming overwhelming.

“You’re right about one thing—what I do or don’t do is none of your goddamn business.”

Just like that, the buildup dissolves in a matter of seconds. You bite down on the inside of your cheek, nodding absentmindedly. “I’m sorry,” you murmur, feeling a wave of shame wash over you. How stupid were you to think he might want to talk to you?  “I just—I want to be of help.”

“Just take care of Charles. That’s all you gotta worry about, all I’ve ever asked you to do,” he barks, clenching his jaw, and you can tell he means each word.

When he talks to you in this tone, it makes you think more rationally—it reminds you that you don’t really know him, and yet you agreed to work for him in exchange for a roof over your head and food on your plate. He’s not your friend, and he’s excellent at making that crystal clear every time you cross the line.

Logan pushes you away like you’re nothing, like you’re just another of the many burdens he has to deal with.

It should be enough to send you running to your room, but despite the knot tightening in your belly, you somehow remain rooted in place, your eyes sharp like daggers.

As another train echoes in the silence, you come to terms with the knowledge that one more question will drive him away.

And sometimes, you speak before you think, as you do now: “Whose blood is that on your shirt?” you ask, voice steady and cold. Perhaps it’s you who wants him to leave this time.

He shakes his head with offense, frustration crinkling his eyes. “I don’t need this shit,” he groans, his gruff voice loud enough for you to hear it. He gets up from the table, placing his plate in the sink without much delicacy. At last, he heads to his room, slamming the door with a deafening thud that reverberates through the entire place.

It’s not a crush, that voice deep inside you insists as you’re left alone in the kitchen. And it’s valid: a mere crush wouldn't cause this kind of pain, wouldn’t make your chest feel this heavy and your limbs numb.

Whenever he leaves, he takes a part of you with him, never to be returned. By now, you’re certain he’s stolen all those missing pieces from you, and you’ve got no idea how much longer you can endure before you shatter completely.

You seem to have won this battle, but what you end up losing is far greater than any fleeting gratification.

Loving Logan is maddening, to say the least.

To this day, you still recall every detail of the night that altered the course of your life—the night you met Logan.

The memories are rather vivid in your mind, and you revisit that moment on nights like these, when you can’t sleep and the past appears to be much more appealing than your present.

Pressing your cheek against the cold pillow, you let your eyelids drop, reconstructing the full scene behind your sealed eyes.

It was your third week working at that restaurant, and you were still getting used to its daily rhythm. Waitressing was working wonders for you—you had a good memory, and people often gave you generous tips.

Everything was going well: you were the only waitress on shift, and your boss had left for a brief errand, promising he would be back soon.

During this lull, a group of men entered the restaurant, already drunk or high—probably both. They sat at one of the empty tables, immediately calling for you.

One of them, a tall blonde, was the loudest. “Come here, baby.” He pointed his finger at you, gesturing for you to approach him. The nickname felt wrong rolling off his tongue, and as you obliged, he shoved a handful of bills into the front pocket of your apron. He clutched your waist, dragging you nearer. “I’m getting married tomorrow. Think you can do something special for me?”

His friends cheered him on, laughing and pounding their fists on the table. You managed to slip from his grasp and asked them what they wanted to order.

While they took their time deciding, you noticed a limousine parked in the distance, probably the vehicle that had brought these morons here. The driver rolled down his window, hanging his arm from the armrest.

Though you couldn’t see his features, the interaction alone was enough to make you look away.

An hour went by, and the men refused to take off. They’d eaten, drunk, and danced—and driven you crazy in the process. The rest of the customers had decided to leave once they realized the night was far from finishing for the noisy group of friends. You apologized, feeling incapable of doing anything to change the situation.

Your sanity felt threatened as you turned off the TV, ending the sixth round of karaoke, their shouts and hoots ringing in your ears.

“We’re closing in ten minutes,” you informed them, starting to collect their dirty plates and glasses. Out of the corner of your eye, you spotted the blonde man standing right beside you, his piercing blue eyes burning holes through your skin. He attempted to graze your shoulder, but you quickly stepped back, keeping a safe distance between you. “How do you plan to pay? Cash or credit?”

“How about with a kiss, huh?” He inched forward, his face dangerously close to yours. Unaccustomed to being approached in this manner, you ducked your head, unsure of your next move. His breath reeked of beer and vodka, a horrendous combination that had you nearly gagging on the spot.

As he backed you against the counter, one of his large hands cradled your face, urging you to make eye contact with him. “I swear I can be very, very nice. You haven’t given me the chance to show it yet.”

“Hey, pal. You said one hour.”

The first time you heard his voice—low and husky, the kind that could send shivers down your spine.

Your eyes locked with Logan’s, your pleading gaze seemingly stirring something in him as he got a grip on the situation. His brows bumped together in a scowl, and you didn’t miss how he limped as he made his way into the restaurant.

There was something about him—how he moved, his stance—that felt strangely familiar.

“We’re busy in here, chauffeur,” the blue-eyed man protested, slightly losing his balance while still holding your cheek.

Your rescuer squared off against him, their noses practically brushing. He worked his jaw, his half-lidded, tired eyes taking in the sight of you. “I’m no fortune-teller, but I don’t think she’s into you, bub.”

“Come again?” the blonde guy released you, much more concerned with defending his bruised pride. “What’s the matter, Grandpa? Is it past your bedtime?”

“I want you to pay me for the ride, and for waiting a fucking hour and a half for you and your friends,” the older man spat, jerking his thumb toward the limousine. “I’m not taking you back to the hotel. You might want to start looking’ for another driver.”

The group of men closed in around him, their anger bubbling. “That’s not cool, dude. We had a deal,” another voice snapped, but Logan couldn’t seem to care less.

“Well, the deal’s off. And leave the girl alone, will you?” he retorted, his tone dripping with disdain. “So, where’s my money?”

He couldn’t have predicted it. One of the men behind him swung a plate, striking him in the nape and catching him off guard. Logan collapsed to the floor, clutching his head in pain. The others took the opportunity and began to pummel him, kicks and punches landing wherever they could.

You screamed at the top of your lungs, desperately trying to intervene. You grabbed at their clothes, digging your fingernails into every patch of exposed skin you could find, but they shoved you aside with brutal force. Your back slammed against the nearest wall, a jolt of sudden pain making you wince.

The blood in your veins turned to ice as you watched, paralyzed with fear that they might kill him. But then—

Three metallic claws emerged from his knuckles, and he used them to push himself upright. Despite the blood smeared across his nose and mouth, he managed to stand, his quickened breathing coming out in short puffs.

The men backed away in shock, leaving him alone amidst the chaos. 

You stared at him, your hands trembling as recognition dawned: it was The Wolverine.

The familiarity, the sense of having seen him before, all made sense now. It all flooded back in a rush—the comics, the news, the rumors.

“Get the hell outta my sight,” he growled, pressing his claws against the fabric of the blue-eyed man’s jacket, making him flinch.

You couldn’t make out what you were feeling. It wasn’t fear, but intrigue. Even as the group of men fled the restaurant, you couldn’t tear your eyes away from him. At first, he avoided your gaze, focusing on his shoes as he retracted his claws.

Once the immediate danger had passed, he slumped forward, groaning. You gently draped one of his arms around your shoulders and helped him into a nearby chair. His weight felt like a thousand bricks, but you accomplished to get him seated.

He rubbed a shaky hand over his graying beard, his face twisting in pain as you pressed a makeshift towel of napkins against his lower lip, where blood continued to flow.

Taking the towel from you, he continued tending to himself. You scanned his features, scrutinizing him.

“You are…” you began, the words feeling inadequate at the moment.

Logan nodded hesitantly, his silence confirming your suspicion. “Yeah, that’s me,” he tugged at his shirt collar, exposing some of his chest hair, fresh blood staining his work clothes. Your gaze fell there, and you quickly chided yourself.

The poor guy was bleeding, and you were checking him out. Jeez.

Kneeling by his side, you introduced yourself. “Thank you for stepping up for me,” you said afterward, and he shook his head dismissively. “They were a pain in the ass. I don’t know how you even managed to drive them here.”

“Money’s money, darlin’. Doesn’t matter where it comes from, as long as—” he was interrupted by a coughing fit, and your concern deepened as you continued to spot more of his injuries. “I’ll heal,” he reassured you, his expression softening in an attempt to calm your anxiety.

Your eyes pierced his with an intensity that seemed to unsettle him. Warmth crept into your cheeks as a question surfaced in your mind: “Is there anything I can do for you?”

“You don’t owe me anything, kid,” he replied, a hint of gruffness in his voice.

“But I could help you,” you persisted, your voice betraying a touch of eagerness. Stifling a cough, you tried to mask your enthusiasm, and sighed. “Are you hungry? I could cook you something, or pour you a drink. We’ve got plenty of liquor—”

Logan interrupted you, placing the towel down on the table. “Have you ever taken care of an old person?” 

Tilting your head, you considered his question. “How old?”

“Ninety-somethin’.”

You nodded, memories of the events from years ago surfacing. “I lived with my grandparents for most of my life. When they fell ill, I spent a lot of time with them. My mom had to work long hours, and I—well, the point is, I did take care of them,” you paused for an instant, his expression unreadable, though you perceived a slight relaxation in his posture, as if your answer had put him at ease. “I like being around old people. They have stories to tell,” you added, a genuine smile breaking through, “and I’m a good listener.”

“Then I suppose there is somethin’ you can help me with.”

And so began a new chapter in your life.

The very next day, you were moving in with him and Charles. It took several weeks for the latter to warm up to you and get used to your presence.

Initially, he was hopeful that you might also be a mutant, but his disappointment was palpable when he discovered you lacked any supernatural gifts. Leaving that aside, he valued your company.

“The shots mellow the seizures. The pills keep them from happening,” Logan had once explained, detailing the medications Charles needed. You recalled the psychic attack from a year ago and its consequences, but that wasn’t a topic to be discussed with Logan, and you understood why.

“Where do you get these?” you asked, examining the bottle of pills with a curious glance. “Without a prescription, I mean.”

“Oh, you don’t wanna know.”

Soon, you got adapted to the whole package: his unpredictable temperament, his mood swings, and his nightmares. Logan Howlett was a puzzle box of surprises, one you could never quite unlock.

Fast forward to the present day, you realize it must be already late, because Logan’s heading to work. You stand on your tiptoes, peering out of your bedroom window. Your humid breath fogs the glass as his eyes find yours, and then he slips into the vehicle, blending into the shadows of the night.

The distant rumble of his limousine signals his departure, your forehead pressed against the glass, as if somehow that could take you with him.

There goes another piece of you.

You find yourself shaving Charles the moment worry takes over your senses.

He’s retelling a familiar story: that one time Logan, Scott, Jean, and Storm saved Rogue from Magneto.

On any other day, you wouldn’t mind listening to his stories, despite having heard them countless times. This one in particular is your favorite.

But today, it’s hard to focus on it, even more when one of its main characters is missing in action.

Logan hasn’t come back home yet.

It’s been an entire day, and he’s usually back by morning to rest. Now, after having cooked dinner and helping Charles shower, you’ve run out of distractions. There’s nothing left to occupy your thoughts, nothing to ease the building anxiety gnawing at you.

You texted him multiple times—no answer. You even called—also nothing. Every time Charles asks if Logan’s at work or sleeping, the knot in your chest tightens. That’s when your mind starts to spiral, and you’re convinced you’ll burst any moment.

After putting him to bed, you pace the kitchen, picking at your nails and biting the raw skin around them. The sting of pain is there, but it’s faint, not enough to overshadow the real fear clawing at your insides.

All these what-ifs that storm through your mind make you feel nauseous: what if he’s dead? What would you do with Charles? How would you provide for both of you without a salary?

Just as you’re about to dial his number again, Logan materializes out of thin air through the sliding door.

He’s got a dark bruise under his right eye, and his once-white shirt is littered with bloodstains. You stare at him—he’s limping harder than usual, each of his movements slower.

Walking towards him, your hands cup his face. His skin feels rough beneath your fingers, and he lets out a grunt as you graze his split lip. “What happened?”

“They were followin’ me. Had been doin’ so for a few days now,” he says, making no effort to pull away.

“Did you kill them?” you wonder out loud, still inspecting his injuries. The pad of your thumb hovers inches away from his bruised mouth.

Covering your hands with his, Logan ducks his head, closing his eyes for a brief second and swallowing thickly. “Somebody had to do it, sweetheart.”

You limit yourself to a nod, because you know there’s nothing you can reproach him for. You were no stranger to the idea of him killing. It was an implicit truth between you.

“I thought—I was so scared, and I—” your voice wavers, and you feel your eyes watering, the tears prickling at the corners. “I thought you—”

He doesn’t let you finish, already knowing how it would end. “Hey, look at me,” he’s the one touching you now, tilting your chin up. Your eyes keep flickering over the cuts and old scars you spot on his cheeks, his neck. Logan forces a pained smile, unable to hide his discomfort. “It’s fine, I’m alright. Just a bit fucked up, but nothin’ you haven’t seen before,” he jokes, trying to lighten the mood, and it works. You bite your lower lip, suppressing your grin. “I always come back, don’t I?”

“But you can barely stand,” you whisper, not sure why you’re speaking so softly. You make him turn his back to you, helping him shrug off his coat. As expected, remnants of dried blood decorate his shirt like highlights. “Let me help you.” 

“I don’t—”

”There are cuts all over your back. And your chest—you’re not healing properly,” you say, turning him to face you again. The look on his face suggests only one thing: he’s about to throw in the towel. “You don’t have to do everything on your own.” You think you’ve never been this close before, his proximity both intoxicating and comforting at the same time. “Please.”

He ends up giving in to your persuasion, allowing you to guide him to the bathroom. Logan sits down on the toilet, watching you gather supplies to clean his wounds. When you come back, he’s still staring at you, his eyelashes fluttering together each time he blinks.

Starting with his cheek, you press a damp towel to his skin, and he hisses. It takes everything in you not to flinch in sympathy.

“How’s Charles?” he asks, probably trying to distract himself as you continue to clean his wounds, the towel darkening with his blood over time. 

“He’s doing great. Asked for you a lot, actually,” you take a look at his jaw, where one shallow cut is already starting to fade away thanks to his healing ability, something that never fails to amaze you.

Logan hums, tilting his head. ”I’ll check on him in the morning,” he murmurs, and you flash him a quick smile, finishing with his face. He’s now free of dirt and blood, his brows furrowing as he pauses to collect his thoughts. “The other day, when we talked—”

You cut him off, turning to the sink as you rinse the towel, watching the water get red. “Forget it.”

“No, it wasn’t okay—how I acted,” he stands up from the toilet, and you feel his presence behind you, the alarm inside your head going off as the space between you shrinks. “I know you just want what’s best for him. For us. I’m sorry I was a jerk,” his voice comes out even huskier at this time of the night, sounding afraid of waking someone, even though it’s just the two of you here.

“Apology accepted,” you swirl around to meet his gaze, only to find yourself nose-to-nose with him, and you lean back against the sink, your spine pressed into the cool surface.

Logan places his hands on both sides of the vanity, caging you with his body. Like the most beautiful tree, he stands tall in front of you, and you take a deep breath, getting drunk on his distinctive scent. “Are you… okay?”

You watch as he lowers his head, pursing his lips before muttering: “Imma need you to do something more for me,” he says, almost pleading, and you can’t avoid the amount of thoughts that rush into your mind.

Gone was your decency when you had to deal with him.

That’s when he looks up to find your eyes, his harsh expression evolving into a more vulnerable one. “Have you ever removed a bullet?”

If you thought listening to Logan’s nightmares was painful, nothing could have prepared you for the sounds he makes while you pull several bullets from his wounds. 

He sits shirtless in front of you, grunting at each of your careful movements. As you remove one bullet lodged near his ribs, Logan practically yells, and you rest your cheek against his, desperate to ease his suffering.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Almost done,” you whisper into his ear, hoping your words might bring him some relief. He lets his head fall forward, resting it on your shoulder, trusting you enough to tend to his injuries, his thoughts drifting elsewhere.

It takes you half an hour to clean both his chest and back, but Logan doesn’t complain. When you’re finished, he goes straight to his room, flopping onto his bed, the mattress creaking under his weight. You see the way his chest rises and falls rapidly, his breathing still labored.

You wish you could lie beside him, even just for a few minutes, but your last shred of self-control stops you from doing such a thing.

“Get some sleep,” you say leaning against the doorframe, your advice sounding more like a plea. He looks exhausted, dark circles sunken beneath his eyes. 

Logan lets out a bitter laugh. “Do I look that bad?”

You roll your eyes at that, your fingers curling around the doorknob. Glancing back at him over your shoulder, you catch something in his look—a glimmer of something you struggle to put into words, but you decide not to look further into it. “Good night, Logan.”

“Good night, darlin’—and thank you,” he murmurs, holding your gaze until the door shuts between you.

Then you sprint to your room, gently closing the door before biting back a smile, replaying the last hour in your mind. How close to you he had been, how comfortable he seemed around you.

You hadn’t just crossed lines—you’d broken them. You almost pinch yourself to make sure you weren’t dreaming.

Somehow, your racing mind calms down, and you fall asleep, one hand tucked beneath the pillow, the other resting against your chest.

You’re a light sleeper. The sound of something shattering wakes you, leaving you startled and disoriented.

Dawn is just breaking, the first rays of sunlight slipping through your window. You sit up, pricking up your ears as you scratch the back of your head, listening attentively.

Logan’s voice filters into your room—he lets out a string of profanities, and you stifle a giggle, throwing off your covers and putting on a sweatshirt that matches your pajamas.

Barefoot, you walk down the hall, stopping at the kitchen’s entrance. Logan is kneeling beside the table, gathering the shards of a broken mug. It seems like he’s just gotten out of the shower, tiny droplets of water trailing down his neck.

“That was my favorite one,” you say in a low voice, teasing him. His back muscles flex under the material of his shirt, and he turns to look at you, his expression a silent apology. “I take it you’re not using your glasses?”

“I’m gonna stop you right there.” Rising to his feet, he grunts, digging his fingers into his lower back with a grimace. “They’re called readers for a reason.”

You decide to let him have that one, grabbing a new mug from the shelf and handing it to him. He accepts it, thanking you, and fills it with freshly brewed coffee.

“Was it a nightmare?” you ask, watching as he sinks into the couch, spreading his thighs apart with a sigh while you take a seat at the table instead.

Logan gives a nod, sipping some of his coffee. “At least I slept for a few hours.” 

“Are you really going to stay up? It’s pretty early.” You stretch your arms over your head, a yawn escaping you before you can hold it back.

“Wouldn’t be the first time.”

You hesitate for a moment, but then comes your question: “Can I join you?” You prop your elbows on your knees, any trace of sleepiness now gone with the wind.

He squints his eyes, his unrelenting stare boring into you. “Feel free.”

So here you are, studying him as he drinks his coffee, his fingers wrapped tightly around the ceramic. There are so many things you want to ask him—about how he’s feeling, if his wounds have healed—but it seems you’ve entered a silent staring contest without even knowing it.

Not that you mind him looking at you—you just want to know the reason why.

You snort, and he arches a brow. “Do I have something on my face?” You decide to ask him, straightening your back.

“I guess I can’t help but wonder why you agreed to all of this,” he says, setting the mug down with a soft clink. By this, you understand he’s referring to being Charles’ caregiver and leaving your old job behind. “I mean—you could be doing better things with your life. Why would you choose to do this?”

“I told you before: I wanted to help you,” you shrug, trying to keep your tone light even as your stomach tightens with nerves. You watch as Logan folds his arms, the muscles of his biceps becoming more visible. “Plus, I love being around Charles.

“I don’t think people your age would be that interested in spending their days like this,” he says, and you toy with a lock of your hair, wrapping it around your finger.

“Well, good thing I’m not like most people my age then.”

His silence hangs heavy in the air until he speaks again. “What do you mean by that?”

“You know that feeling when life seems like a race? And you just have to keep up with certain things that everybody else is doing, or you’ll be left behind?” You pause, the words falling more naturally than you’d expected.

Logan nods, making it seem like he understands what you’re trying to say. Whether he truly does it or not, you don’t know.

“When my friends started going to parties, getting boyfriends… I couldn’t. My family wouldn’t let me. And even when I could, it felt like it wasn’t really what I wanted.”

Inhaling sharply, you stop yourself. The conversation suddenly feels far too personal.

“You never had a boyfriend?” He gets more comfortable on the couch, his voice gruff as he rubs his chin, waiting for a reply.

A familiar heat settles between your legs. “I went out with some guys, but it never led to anything serious,” you say, your cheeks getting warmer the more details you share with him. “I guess I wasn’t the kind of girl they were looking for,” you add, not missing the way his lips twitch momentarily.

“How could they not want you?”

“They didn’t think like you do.”

“That’s because they were boys, not men,” he mutters, his gaze dropping to your hands before returning to your face. “Did they treat you right, those boys?”

Swallowing hard, you can hardly register the uncertainty in your own voice. “I mean… yes, I think they did. They were nice to me.”

There it is—the faintest hint of a smirk dancing on his lips. “Nice doesn’t mean good, though.”

You dig your nails onto the table, your pulse quickening, trying to hide how affected you are by his words. “What is it that you want to know?”

“Come sit with me, doll.”

Doll. Doll. Doll. Inside your chest, your heart gallops, your legs trembling as you get off the table, moving closer to him.

Feeling lighter with every step you take, you plop down beside him, and Logan sits straighter, his knees almost bumping into yours.

You can’t bring yourself to look at him—this is happening, just like in your filthiest dreams.

His hand slides up to yours, not applying any sort of pressure. He scrutinizes your skin, bringing your hand to his lips, and he presses a kiss to the inside of your wrist.

It tickles, it burns—it ignites a fire inside you, one you know you can’t ignore. A gasp attempts to escape you, but you suppress it.

“Did you let them touch you?” he whispers, attaching his mouth to your neck, brushing the sensitive spot where your jaw and ear meet.

This time, you moan, any possible rational thoughts turning into putty, melting with the way he’s touching you. “Logan,” you purr his name, begging for something, anything he’s willing to give you. Your thighs, once shoved together, spread of their own accord, and you hear him click his tongue.

“I asked you something.” His teeth graze your pulse point, forcing you to close your eyes.

“I didn’t. They wanted to, but I—I wouldn’t let them,” you answer, and as if he’s rewarding you, his fingers begin to tug on the hem of your sweatshirt, rolling it up your body and over your head. He tosses it to the floor, admiring you.

“Why?”

Goddamn.

“Because I was waiting for the right guy,” you manage to get out, grasping his hand and positioning it on top of your right breast, encouraging him to go on with what he had started. His pupils widen further, and he squeezes your tit roughly, eliciting a moan from you. “I think I’ve found him.”

Logan scans your face, searching for any sign of repentance in your expression. “I’m going to hell for this,” he murmurs under his breath, his hard-on noticeable through his tented sweatpants. “Lay down.” You obey his command, easing yourself onto the couch, and sinking into the cushions as he presses himself to your side.

He peppers your neck with kisses, playing with the waistband of your shorts. “I’m not gonna kiss you, but I’ll make you feel good. Just this time, ‘kay? And we don’t talk about it.”

You accept his offer, knowing that you’ll probably regret it in a couple of hours. Right now, it doesn’t matter. You need his electrifying touch, his fingers, his—

With a swift motion, your shorts are yanked down your legs, and his calloused hands part your thighs even wider. A damp spot on your underwear sells you out, and his thumb rubs gentle circles over that area, causing you to lift your hips.

“So this is what you look like when you touch yourself, huh?” He edges his fingers closer to your clit, his breath tickling your ear, and he dips his tongue into your collarbone. “I hear you all the fuckin’ time. You’re not as quiet as you think.”

It should embarrass you, the fact that he has listened to you pleasuring yourself. But in a moment like this, it only succeeds in fuelling your desire. “Please. You said you’d make me feel good.”

“And I will, but you’re greedy as hell,” he says, his movements more deliberate now. You feel hot all over as he pulls your panties to the side, exposing your glistening cunt.

Logan’s on the verge of drooling all over you, reaching for your folds and spreading your wetness. “Men aren’t strong creatures, honey. You’ve got no idea how hard it is to hold back.”

“D-don’t hold back,” you stutter, losing your composure when he returns to your clit, his fingers coated in your arousal while they flick your swollen bud. “Oh, Logan…”

“You make the prettiest sounds,” he rasps, mouthing at your jaw, though as you try to kiss him, he slows his pace. “What’s wrong? Am I not giving you enough?”

“Sorry. I’m sorry,” you whisper, fascinated by how big his fingers look in comparison to your pussy. “I’m just—”

“Needy, I know,” he finishes for you, and he picks up his merciless rhythm again. Heat pools in your lower abdomen, and you can’t help but arch your back every time he teases you, grazing your entrance with his middle finger. “Don’t get ahead of yourself.”

You dig your nails into his arm, relishing the way his body responds to your touch. He grinds his cock against your hip, his teeth nipping at the column of your neck. “I want to come. Please, make me come,” you sob, letting out a shaky breath.

A thin sheen of sweat covers your forehead, and Logan locks eyes with you after what feels like an eternity. “Please, Lo.”

The nickname snaps something inside of him. His fingers circle your clit with a fervency you hadn’t experienced before, your pleasure seemingly being his primary focus. “The shit I’d do for you.”

You warn him, telling him you’re close—so so so close—until the fire in your belly flares, and blood rushes to your ears. You collapse against him, holding his hand firmly against your core, hips jerking as you ride your orgasm.

The world narrows down to this—this moment, your most desired fantasy.

Logan holds you as you go limp in his arms, rubbing your clit ever so slightly, murmuring soft praises. “Y’did so good, sweetheart,” he whispers, planting a kiss on your temple, burying his nose in your hair. You’re still out of breath, the pulsing between your parted legs persisting long after your release. “Told you you weren’t quiet.”

A giggle bubbles up from your chest, his beard tickling you as he slides his hands up under your shirt, finding your nipples.

“It was n-nice,” you tell him, your voice faltering the more he toys with your hardened peaks. Your skin heats up again, heart racing at the thought that he isn’t done with you yet.

“Just nice?” One of his hands makes its way back into your pussy, ghosting his fingers over your hole, and he smirks when he feels you squirm. “You surely know how to hurt a man’s pride.”

“I wasn’t—I didn’t mean to—” You can’t structure a proper sentence, not when he’s playing with you like this.

Logan rubs your arousal between his fingers, as though he wants you to see how slick you still are, even after coming. “Are you going to touch me again?”

He hums, feigning uncertainty. “What do you think, baby? Should I make you come with my fingers now?”

It’s like a switch flips in your mind. He knows exactly how to make you beg and which buttons to push, using that power to his advantage. “Yes, please. I want it,” you plead, intending to buck your hips into his touch, impatient for more.

“Do you fuck yourself with your fingers?” 

“Sometimes, but I can never finish—Oh my God.” He slips one finger inside you, causing you to curse, your voice barely above a whisper. You clench around the intrusion, your head falling back onto the cushions. “Fuck me.”

“In a minute.” He begins to thrust his finger in and out, gathering your juices every time he goes back to hammering that sweet spot in your interior. Soon, one finger becomes two, and he reduces you to a panting mess.

Tears threaten to swell in your eyes, and you whine as he involves his other hand in the matter, furiously rubbing your clit. “Your fingers feel much better than m-mine, Lo.”

“I can tell.” He curls them just right, and you push back against his thrusts, tilting your pelvis to meet him halfway. “There you go. Take what you need, sweetheart. I’m right here, I’ve got you.”

Everything feels frenzied, fast, the way your inner walls spam and contract around his fingers as you chase your second climax.

Once you come down from your high, your blurred vision catches him tugging the waistband of his sweatpants down. His cock springs free, and he fists himself, stroking his length angrily.

You watch as some pre-cum dribbles from the head, and you lean forward, watching it closely.

“You look goddamn beautiful when you come, darlin’,” he murmurs through gritted teeth, his jaw clenched tight. Hovering over you, he rucks your shirt up until he can see your tits from above. He alternates between your breasts, squeezing them while he continues to stroke his girth. “Want to see these all dirty.”

Logan truly loses it when your hand reaches out to him, tracing a bulging vein near the head of his cock. You meet his lustful gaze, batting your lashes, and then you feel his come splashing against your bare chest, a choked moan escaping Logan’s throat, spurts of his hot seed landing on your skin.

“Fuckin’ hell… fuck,” he grunts, still tugging at his cock, enamored with the masterpiece he’s created. When it’s finally over, he lies beside you, hiding his face in the crook of your neck. You run your fingers through his hair, and he nuzzles further into your touch with a groan. “I’m too old for this.”

Minutes pass as both of you seem to grasp the gravity of what has just happened. Eventually, Logan rises to his feet, disappearing for a brief moment before coming back with a towel to wipe his come off your stomach and chest.

He’s gentle with you, his gaze trained on his task until his eyes flick up to meet yours. 

“Don’t look at me like that,” he says, pulling your shorts back up.

“Like what?” 

“Like you want to see right through me.” He adjusts your shirt to cover your body again, but the towel remains in his hand, a reminder of the previous events.

I’m not gonna kiss you, but I’ll make you feel good. Just this time, ‘kay? And we don’t talk about it.

You don’t have to talk about it. You definitely don’t. 

Two days later, he’s the one who comes looking for you.

You’re nearly asleep when he knocks on your door. “Come in,” you mumble, a bit of drool having dampened your pillow. You dry your mouth with the back of your hand, your back turned to the door.

He steps into your room cautiously, as if navigating a minefield. The mattress dips under his weight. “Were you sleeping?” he asks, caressing your leg over the covers. 

You shift onto your back, your body responding before your mind. There’s no blood on his clothes—that makes you feel a bit better, and you shake your head.

“Good.” He looms closer, fumbling with his belt. His thumb applies little pressure to your lower lip, and your mouth parts to let him in, salivating.

This is just like Pavlov’s dog experiment—except that Logan isn’t an experimenter, and you aren’t a dog.

Yet, when he approaches you like this, you can’t help but respond, settling into a routine where you both take take take from each other.

Logan doesn’t fuck you, even when you beg him to. He gets you off with his fingers, his thigh, his mouth—but his cock remains out of the equation. 

“Just the tip,” you plead, voice laced with pure need, when he’s got his face nestled between your legs. 

As he stops eating you out, his beard shiny with your arousal, he’s still got that angry look on his face. Your cries don’t get to him.

“That lie’s older than me.” He slips his fingers back inside you, aiming to make you drop the subject. “Come on, baby. Gotta get ready for work, but you need to come first.”

Nor does he stay the night after telling you you’re the most gorgeous girl he’s ever seen in his life. Just when you think he’s fallen asleep, his legs intertwined with yours and one of his large hands under your head, you drift off.

By the time morning comes, he’s gone. You just know that when night falls, he’ll be back for more, drawn to you like a moth to a flame.

Despite all that, Logan won’t kiss you. He keeps his promise, and you hate how determined he is. 

“Not even once?” you ask him one night while going over the scars on his back. You’re in his bed this time, and he has his nose buried in his pillow, moments away from dozing off. 

“No,” he answers, squirming slightly under your touch. “I’m tired. Stop doing that.”

“How did you get this one?” You trace one scar that’s close to his shoulder, resting your chin just inches from it.

He turns his face to see your eyes. “Well, I was doing Pilates, and I—Hey!” He laughs when you pinch the skin near his ribs, tickling him. “I don’t even remember. Must’ve got it a long time ago.”

“Did it hurt?” It’s a dumb question, but he doesn’t mention it.

His index finger grazes your cheek, and he chuckles at the way your eyelids flutter. “In the past, they all did. But not anymore,” he replies, though you wish you could believe him.

You know he’s in pain most days. That when he goes down on you, and he’s on his knees for too long, he has trouble standing up without cursing. That no amount of alcohol, or his healing ability, helps him with it.

You kiss each of his scars before curling against his side, brushing your nose against his. “And now?” Your eyes fall to his lips, silently hoping he’ll say Yes.

Instead, he sighs. “I think we should go to sleep.”

So despite the lack of kisses, the miscommunication, and the fact that he won’t fuck you even though you know—you feel—he wants to, things are good between you.

Charles notices it, openly expressing his recent realization. “He looks happier, doesn’t he?” he asks says after winning two games of chess in a row, startling you. 

“Logan, you mean?”

“Yes, my dear.”

You glance down at the board, fidgeting with the pieces. “I guess so.”

“You guess so?” he parrots your previous words, raising an eyebrow in doubt. “Look at me,” he says, and as you do it, he points a shaky finger toward your neck. “I assume mosquitos have taken a liking to you.”

Heat rises to your cheeks, your hand flying up to cover the hickey you had completely forgotten about in the first place. “Charles, I’m—“

“Are you happy?” he interrupts you, and you nod, because you are. 

A nagging thought lingers at the back of your mind. You don’t know if you’re asking for too much, but it still feels like something’s missing.

One morning, you accidentally overhear a conversation between them. The door of the tank is ajar, and right before you step inside, you recognize Logan’s voice in the distance.

“Charles, I’m fine, alright? I don’t need your advice.”

There’s a pause before Charles responds. “You know, Logan… this is what life looks like. You should take a moment and feel it. You still have time.”

Logan doesn’t say anything in response to that. And if he does, you don’t stick around long enough find out, because you’re already turning on your heel.

A poet once said: “Blowjobs are fucking amazing.”

Actually, you might be wrong. Those may not have been a poet’s words, but your best friend Keira’s from high school.

You remember the sleepovers at her place—she had a boyfriend at the time, a boy she had met at a party you hadn’t been invited to. 

“Welcome to blowjobs 101,” she had declared one night, holding a hairbrush like a microphone. “Don’t worry, sweetie. I’ll tell you everything you need to know when the moment comes.”

Luckily, many years later, that moment arrived.

Just ten minutes ago, you were cooking dinner, sniffling back tears while chopping onions, so lost in thought that you didn’t realize Logan was already home.

He tossed his keys onto the table, hugging you from behind seconds later. You leaned back against his chest, enjoying the scratch of his beard against your sensitive skin, his lips planting soft kisses wherever they could.

“How was work?” you dropped the knife, wiping your tears as you turned to face him, throwing your arms around his neck. Logan pulled you in tighter by the waist, giving your ass a firm squeeze.

“Hell, as usual,” he looked into your eyes, finding them all glossy. “You miss me so much you started crying?”

Of course, you didn’t talk about it—but words aren’t the only ones who can convey meaning.

You’re not sure how, but one thing led to another, and now you’re on your knees, Logan’s cock filling your mouth. Your lips, swollen and red, suck hard at his tip, pulling the foreskin back, and his hips jerk deeper into your throat. “That’s it, fuck. Doin’ so good.”

Your movements are far from graceful. As a matter of fact, it’s all too sloppy and desperate. Saliva drips down your chin, some of it coating his balls, and you fondle them at the same time you bob your head.

Keira’s advice plays on repeat in your mind, and you pull out every trick you know to make Logan roll his eyes.

So far, you think you’re doing pretty great, judging by the way he’s gripping the back of your head.

“H-how is this your first time suckin’ cock?” he slurs, more to himself, his voice strangled as you make eye contact with him. He brushes your hair out of your face, bewitched by the sight of him disappearing into your wet mouth. “God, I fuckin’ love you.”

Taken aback by his sudden confession. you involuntarily gag around him. He pulls you off his cock, not even sparing you a glance, tucking himself back into his briefs. “Wait, Logan—”

“Not now,” he mutters abruptly, withdrawing into his bedroom and shutting the door behind him.

God, I fuckin’ love you.

God, I fuckin’ love you.

God, I fuckin’ love you.

But still, he doesn’t want to talk about it.

How bad is it to tell somebody you love them and then avoid them?

Yeah, it’s absolutely terrible, right? Tell that to the idiot himself—Logan Howlett.

It’s been over a week, and no matter how many times you press him for an explanation, he keeps dodging it.

Things go back to how they were before you two started fooling around, and Charles’ questions don’t take long to come: “I thought you two were getting somewhere.”

“Me too,” you admit, your voice quieter as you try to appear indifferent.

You have no answer for him. Not that you don’t want to discuss your relationship problems—it’s just that you don’t know what went wrong.

When evading you isn’t enough, he works longer hours, which only adds to how little you see him. At least he lets you know if he’s going to be late, sparing you from waiting up.

But apart from that, your interactions have dwindled to nothing, and it’s eating you alive.

You’re madly in love with him. You thought you knew that already, but now that he’s distant, the depth of your feelings has become clearer than ever.

He’s everywhere you go, just not physically—he has conquered your mind.

And it should be funny, loving someone who used to be no more than a myth for you. Though Logan is real—maybe too real for your own good—and he hasn’t been the mutant you once read about for quite some time.

This morning, he’s having breakfast at the table when you walk into the kitchen. You hold your breath as your shoulders brush for a microsecond, his gaze following your steps.

You’re no longer accustomed to sharing the same space with him, so it makes sense that you stay as far away as possible.

After an awkward silence, he stands up and mutters something about checking on Charles and giving him his meds, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

It’s infuriating, how collected he seems. Why isn’t he miserable like you? Doesn’t he miss you? Didn’t you two have something… special?

I’m not gonna kiss you, but I’ll make you feel good. Just this time, ‘kay? And we don’t talk about it.

The shit I’d for you.

God, I fuckin’ love you.

Not now.

The memory of his words lingers, seared into your unconscious, though the sound of his phone jolts you out of your thoughts.

It’s ringing beside the coffee machine, and you try to ignore it, determined to be the bigger person.

But after five minutes of the relentless ringtone echoing in the empty kitchen, you’ve had enough.

Unknown caller—interesting. What could he possibly be hiding?

Charles, you better keep that asshole busy, you think to yourself, swiping right to answer the call.

Before you can say anything, a woman’s voice fills the line.

“James! Thank God. It’s Gillian. You didn’t reply to any of my texts, and I was starting to get worried,” she lets out a giggle, the sound grating against your nerves.

As your grip on the phone tightens, your knuckles start to go white.

“Look, I know you said you weren’t available, but I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since that ride. I didn’t see any ring on your finger, so what do you say, huh? Will you let me take you out?”

Red. You’re seeing red.

“James? Hello? Cat got your tongue?”

At last, you clear your throat. “Hey,” you greet her, pacing around the kitchen. “I’m deeply sorry, but James can’t talk right now.”

“Excuse me?” she snaps, her high-pitched voice echoing through the speakers, and you pull the device away from your ear. “This is James’ number. Who the fuck are you?”

“Oh, I’ll tell you who the fuck I am, you intolerant piece of—”

Before you can finish, the phone is yanked out of your hand, the call hastily ending.

There is no use in playing dumb, not when Logan’s standing right in front of you, observing you like you’re a child who’s made a severe mistake.

His deep, brown eyes pierce your soul, shattering any chance you had of coming up with an excuse.

“What where you doing with my phone?” It’s the first thing he asks you, his voice still steady, the calm before the storm.

Perhaps you’re not as mature as you thought you were—your forehead furrows, unwilling to back down, and you fall silent. He takes a step forward, as if he can’t believe your attitude. “Think I asked you somethin’. Why did you answer?”

“Gillian sounds like a lovely lady. Tell her I said ‘Hi’ the next time you see her,” you croak, attempting to walk past him, but he doesn’t budge, his solid frame blocking your path. You collide with his chest, and it feels like trying to move a brick wall without success.

“We’re talking. You can’t just leave.”

The nerve of this man.

“You can’t be serious,” you retort, staring at him, wishing the emotion in your tone could capture even a fraction of what you’re truly feeling. “Weren’t you the one who walked away first? After telling me you loved me?”

You search for any sign of the man who once held you close, but he feels miles away, hidden under all these layers that smell like cheap whiskey and gasoline. “You didn’t mean it.”

“I did. I meant every word,” he growls, his fists clenching at his sides, and you don’t miss the exhaustion in his eyes, the dark circles that expose the fragile façade of control he’s so desperate to maintain. “Goddamit! You’re doing that thing again!”

“What thing?” you exclaim, your mouth hanging open in frustration. “What the fuck are you talking about? I’m not doing anything.”

“Yes, you are! You’re trying to see through me, like you can read my mind.”

“Well, sorry to disappoint, but I’m not a fucking mutant. I just have eyes, Logan.” You throw your arms up, exasperated. “People actually look at each other when they have a conversation, in case you haven’t noticed.”

“You’re testing my patience,” he mutters, rubbing a hand over his face.

“And you are testing mine.” You rest your back against the table, raising your chin. “So, who is she?”

Logan drops his shoulders, slamming his eyes shut. “I drove her once, last week. It was a long ride and she… wouldn’t stop talking. Didn’t shut up for a single second. She hit on me, but I told her I’m off the market.”

“Why? ‘Cause she talked too much?”

“No. Because I love you,” he says, pure awe transforming his expression, like he doesn’t believe he has said it out loud. “I don’t know when I started feeling like this, or if I’ve always felt it, but—I do. I love you.”

Oh.

You had heard those words slip through his lips before, but now they sound different. It might be that keeping him at arm's length has felt like death by a thousand cuts, or perhaps it’s the realization that this is the first time someone’s declaring their love for you.

Fuck. He loves you. As in, he’s in love with you?

“Then why do you keep running?” You edge closer to him, your eyes trained on his. “I’m done with the chase, Logan. It’s tiring—I am tired. I’ve been sleeping like shit, trying to figure out what—”

His arms surround your body, cutting you off and pulling you close. The hammering of his heart matches yours, and you return the hug, nuzzling your nose against his neck.

You fear that this might be all you’ve ever needed, feeling as if the pieces he took from you in the past are finally falling back into place.

Logan holds you as if in a past life he lost you, but now, he’s decided to never let you go.

This profound sense of completeness, of being where you’re meant to be, makes you realize you’ve found home in the warmth of his embrace.

“I’m sorry. This… this scares me, alright?” he murmurs next to your ear, raking his fingers through your hair. “You make me feel things I didn’t think I could feel anymore. That’s what I’m running from—the part of me I thought was gone. But you… you brought it back.”

You feel a deep urge to curl up and cry, wondering why on earth he would ever think he was unworthy of being cared for. “Logan, I…”

“I sound pathetic, I know. It sounded way better in my head.”

“Don’t you dare say that.” You retreat a bit, looking him in the eye. He stares down at you with a tenderness you’ve never seen before. “It’s not pathetic to voice how you feel. I want to know it all, want to know everything about you.”

“Everything?”

“Yes, everything. But I need you to promise me that you won’t run away anymore. I know it’s difficult, but it’s not fair to any of us.”

His eyes peer directly into yours, and he gives a nod. “I promise to do my best.” He presses your foreheads together, and that’s when his mouth turns into a grin. “You’re not going to say it back?” he teases, gripping your waist. “Come on, I said it first. Twice, for the record.”

Lifting your shoulders in a half-shrug, you find it hard to conceal your smile. “I may need a bit more convincing.”

Kiss me. Kiss me. Kiss me.

Before you know it, his lips are on yours, almost making you lose your balance. You whimper into his mouth, tightening your arms around his neck as his tongue wastes no time in finding yours, stroking it sensually.

The wait had been definitely worth it—you’d do everything all over again if it meant having him kiss you like this at the end of the day.

He tilts your face so that he can deepen the kiss, and a whine gets caught in your throat when his fingers pull gently at the hair at your nape, nibbling at your bottom lip. 

“I love you, too. Very much, to be honest,” you blurt out against his mouth, pleased with the way he laughs at your reaction, squeezing your hips. “But I still have some ideas in mind.”

“I’m all ears.”

Here goes nothing. “Fuck me like I’ve been asking you to.” You cup his cheek, guiding his lips into yours one more time. “Please,” you mewl, standing on your tiptoes. “Want you to be my first.”

If it were up to you, you would’ve begged him to take you right there on the kitchen floor. But Logan, ever the gentleman, insists on moving things to his room.

Each of his movements is slow, igniting your skin with a burning heat, leaving his name imprinted where his teeth sink into your soft flesh.

You’re left in nothing but your underwear by the time he murmurs: “Let me take my time with you.” He trails his lips down your chest, your stomach, until he’s planting several kisses along your ankle. “I don’t know how I got so lucky, baby. Look at you.”

Under his gaze, you feel shy, your eyes snapping to the ceiling instead. “Shut up,” you say, tugging at his shirt to undress him, your fingers tracing the lines of his abdomen before you pull him into a bruising kiss, sucking on his tongue.

He strips out of his black slacks and hovers over you, his clothed cock grinding against your throbbing core, eliciting a moan from both of you. “So goddamn beautiful. Can’t believe you’re mine.” His tip grazes your entrance through the fabric, making your toes curl in ectasy. “I’m gonna make you feel good, I swear.”

At first, he’s extremely careful, making sure to stretch you out with his fingers while you stroke him, pumping your fist to match his rhythm. “Keep that up and this’ll be over sooner than expected,” he warns, taking one of your nipples into his mouth.

It doesn’t happen like it does in the books or movies. No foreplay could’ve prepared you for the moment he enters you.

You move clumsily beneath him, your nose bumping into his forehead as he eases the first inch of his length inside.

For a moment, you’re not certain which hurts most: the dull ache in your nose or the way he’s splitting you open. 

Logan freezes, his eyes wide in concern. “Shit. I’m sorry, sweetheart. Are you okay?” His hand cradles your face as he props himself up on one forearm, pushing your hair back while you adjust to his size. You laugh despite the sting, and he wipes away your tears with his thumb. “You’re laughin’?”

“I’m just happy,” you manage to get through the lump in your throat, raking your nails down his back, feeling the rough texture of the scars beneath your fingers. “I love you. Since that day at the bar, I—” you pause for a second, gasping at the sudden wave of pleasure when he twitches inside you. “I’ll always l-love you. Forever.”

As you wrap your legs around his waist and tell him you’re ready, something inside him shifts.

He feels like a madman, his eyes fixed on your face the whole time, searching for any hint of discomfort, though he occasionally glances down at the place where your bodies meet and become one, entranced by the sight of you taking him in, slick coating his length. 

Your heels dig into his lower back, pulling him back to the present—back to you, with your pretty tits bouncing each time he pistols his hips, the intensity of his thrusts increasing.

“All those times you took care of me, when you—Fuck,” he groans, nipping at your jaw to regain some of his composure, his humid breath dampening your skin. Your scent drives him wild, and he reaches for your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours. “You made me feel loved when no one else did. My girl, love you so f-fucking much.”

His pace is nothing more than a voiceless testament to everything he feels but can’t find words to express.

With each minute that passes, your dripping cunt grips him tighter and tighter, his thrusts losing finesse. He needs you to come first—why does he feel like a virgin?

When you tell him you’re close, the world around him turns into a musical. You cling to the sheets, the mattress creaking noisily as he clutches the headboard, determined to find that angle that will push you over the edge.

“That’s it, sing for me,” Logan mutters from above, hypnotized by the crease forming between your brows. “Come on, let go.”

Time seems to slow down as your muscles tense and you clamp around him, your body sagging against him. His name spills from your lips in breathy whimpers, like an endless prayer, and your mouth engulfs his, tongues and teeth clashing in a fevered kiss.

Soon after that, he surrenders to the coiling tension deep within him, pulling out just in time to stroke himself once, twice, before emptying his hot load across your mound.

You gently thumb the head of his cock, coaxing out every last drop of his hot seed. He’s panting as he comes down from his high, his brain foggy and blissfully blank for a while. 

Logan loses track of how many times he tells you he loves you—he does it when he pulls you into his chest, when his lips press against your temple, and when you crack that smile, the one that resembles the very purpose of his existence.

“So this is what it feels like.” His voice sounds low like a murmur near your ear, and you stir, half-asleep.

“Hmm?”

“Nothing, baby. Just thinkin’ aloud.”

You don’t have to talk about it, at least not now. Deep down, he knows that whatever thoughts run through his mind will somehow find their way into yours.

This is what life looks like. You should take a moment and feel it. You still have time.

And God, is he feeling it.

dividers by: @cafekitsune thank you!!! :)