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not-neverland06 · 5 months ago

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Kid?

Logan Howlett x fem!mutant!reader A/N: I haven’t watched X-Men since I was a child, so I can’t promise this is going to be canon-compliant. I haven’t watched DP & W either, I’ve just been influenced by that one gif where Hugh Jackman shakes his head like a dog. I feel FERAL Also, I am not good at superhero names or coming up with creative powers. So you’re a mutant with matter manipulation and they call you Flux. I mean, superhero names are inherently ridiculous so I think this works. (Don’t judge me, I’m just here for the sexy man) Summary: You walk in on Logan and Jean in a compromising position and feel your heart break. You really thought he loved you, you were so wrong. (Or were you?)

It was your own fault, you should have knocked before you busted through the door. You only have yourself to blame as you struggle to catch your breath and swallow down the lump in your throat. The image of Logan standing between Jean’s bare legs is going to haunt you for a while. Their faces will keep you awake at night, cringing at yourself while you remember the humiliating moment.

You rush towards the door, a stupidly giddy skip to your step. You were a mutant, a superhuman, and getting a chance to talk to your crush should not have you giggling like a schoolgirl. Still, you’re blind to all logic when it comes to Logan.

You turn the corner, spotting the medbay and nearly ramming into the door you know he’s lurking behind. Charles had told you where to find him. Of course, you hadn’t paid attention to the odd tone of voice when he had very clearly warned you to knock. All you’d heard was Logan’s name and you’d zoned out for the rest of the conversation.

And, of course, you don’t knock. You grab the door’s handle and bust in, “Hey!” Your eyes widen and your stomach plummets with a depressing plop to the floor. Your eyes nearly bug out of your head when you see the way Jean and Logan are entangled in each other. He’s leaning over her, the muscles and veins in his neck pulsing with strain. Normally, that sight would have you nearly drooling.

Instead, all you can see is the flush on Jean’s cheeks and the way her pupils are dilated with want. Her nails are digging into his back, bare legs twined around his waist. There’s no way to misinterpret this. No way for you to later assure yourself that this was all just a misunderstanding.

The words stumble out of your mouth in a disjointed mess that even you can’t decipher. You stand there, jaw opening and closing like a fish out of water before you finally get it together. “Charles,” you stutter out, his name sounding like a question. You wince and finally tear your gaze away from them. “Sorry,” you chuckle, trying to play off your hurt as humor. “Charles needs us all for a mission.”

You don’t give them a chance to respond, you slam the door closed, ignoring what you think might be someone calling your name.

You shake off the mortifying memory and groan. Your head falls into your hands and you grip at your face until the pain distracts you from the embarrassment. It’s not too hard to push it all down, to pretend what happened didn’t make your heart crumble away into nothing.

Maybe it’s because you’re a mutant that you’re so used to rejection. You’re used to constantly being disappointed by people around you. Your childhood was nothing but cruelty, your crush not liking you back can’t compare to half of what you went through.

That’s what you tell yourself, at least, to try and pretend it doesn’t hurt as much as it does. You shove it down until you think you can’t feel that dull ache anymore. And when Jean and Logan walk into the room, looking more put together, you smile at Logan like you always do. It doesn’t turn down at the corners, your eyes don’t water. You take in a deep breath and look utterly unaffected.

He sits down beside you and leans towards you. “I can explain-”

You cut him off and shake your head. “Forget about it. I should have knocked.” You turn towards Charles who wheels himself to the front of the room. You dismiss Logan and ignore the way his stare burns into the side of your head.

Charles looks to Jean and Logan, a smile starting. Then his gaze drifts towards you and your chest deflates when you see the look on his face. He knows, the old miser probably coasted over your thoughts and he knows. He sends you a sympathetic look that makes you feel like a little girl who just got told unicorns don’t exist. “Jean, Logan, glad that you’ve finally joined us.”

Logan nods and leans back in his chair. But his eyes remain fixed on you and it makes you wish you could stab a fork into them. You let out a short, irritated huff of air and frown at yourself. Maybe you were a little more angry than you would like to admit.

You blame Logan for that. You never would have fallen so deep into infatuation if you hadn’t believed there was even a sliver of a chance with him. Always speaking so kindly with you when he would barely spare anyone a second glance. Constantly doing checkups on you after a particularly harsh training session with Charles.

Your mind runs over all the small things with him, everything you’ve done together. And you’re hit with a sudden nauseating thought. Oh my god, what if he sees me paternally?

You force yourself not to physically react but inside your throwing up and fucking freaking out. You feel a sudden spark of alarm from Charles and quickly do your best to fortify your mind so he doesn’t see your major mental freakout.

You’re not that much younger than him. Well, it’s not illegal, your crush on Logan. But what if this entire time, when you’ve been falling harder and harder for him, he’s just been platonically taking care of you? You’ve seen him do it plenty of times for the younger kids, as reluctant as he is to admit it.

You’re spiraling further and further into panic. So much so that you have no idea what’s even being discussed or what’s going on. You get onto the jet and have to ask Storm what you’re doing. She gives you a confused look but tells you nonetheless. Just some recon on a potential mutant trafficking ring. Nothing out of the ordinary, as depressing as that is. There shouldn’t be much violence, which is why your group is particularly small today.

You nod your head, moving like you’re in a daze as you throw yourself onto a seat. Logan sits beside you, an alarmed look on his face. “You alright, kid?”

The nickname, which is used to make your stomach flutter, makes you want to throw up. How have you missed it for this long? It was laid out so plainly before you. Of course, he doesn’t want you. Not when he has perfect Jean. Bile rises in your throat with a vicious ferocity when you glare over at Jean.

There’s a sudden petty, vindictive rage fueling you. The type you should have abandoned in high school, especially now that you’re grown. Instead, you feel like giving into Logan’s idea of what you are. You feel like reacting to all of this petulantly.

You ignore Logan and instead catch Jean’s eyes. Slowly, and with as much intention as you can force into your gaze, you look from her to Logan and then Scott. Her eyes widen and Logan scoffs beside you. She shakes her head minutely, silently begging you not to say anything. You smile at her and stand up.

You take a step towards Scott and Logan calls out an irritated, “Kid.” You ignore him and Jean eyes you warily as you approach. She stands like she’s ready to fight you and take the jet down just to keep you quiet. You reach Scott and can hear the way Jean takes in a sharp breath.

“Scott,” he looks up at you with his brows raised. There's a pause before you speak. Dragged on too long for Scott not to realize you’re planning something.

Jean takes a step towards you and you grin, “Mind checking my cuffs?” Scott gives you an odd look and his confusion only gets worse as Jean slumps onto the seat beside him. She’s not even trying to hide her relief. Scott shakes his head and holds his hands out, fingers gently probing around the cuffs on your wrists. The ones that keep your powers in check.

You’re still new to welding them. And they’re too entwined with your emotions for you to just have free range with them. If you hadn’t had the cuffs on this morning, you’re afraid you might have just turned everything around you into nothing but dust.

“They look fine, Flux.” His tone betrays his thoughts. He doesn’t know why you’d come to him for this when it’s Charles who usually deals with it. But this stupid, petty little display wasn’t for poor oblivious Scott. It was for the woman sitting next to him. The redhead whose still drilling holes into your skull.

You’ve got leverage over her that you’ve never had before. Scott wouldn’t take her little foray with Logan very well. And all it would take is a flick of your wrist to give him a very clear image of exactly what you’d seen. Then, her picture-perfect relationship would be over in a matter of seconds. You’re sure Logan would be more than pleased. But he doesn’t seem to understand that Jean just wants to have fun with him, she’d never choose him over Scott.

“Thanks,” there’s a bite to your tone that you’re not used to. You usually keep your emotions relatively in control. That way you won’t have to wear these cuffs one day. But you feel volatile today. You’re channeling your hurt and turning it into misguided anger.

You drop your wrists to your sides and stalk toward the front, hovering behind Charle’s and Storm’s chairs so you don’t have to look at the others. It doesn’t take long for you to feel the floor trembling under heavy booted steps.

Logan’s arms rest on the headrest of the chairs, bracketing you in between them so you can’t escape. He leans forward until his chest is pushed against yours and you can feel every ridge of his muscled torso pressing into you. You try not to suck in a breath, try not to play into the cliche of instantly forgetting why you’re angry when you’re faced with those muscles of his. It is hard, though, because he’s so handsome and so warm and you just want to melt into him.

“Wanna explain what the hell that was?” His voice is so low, whispering against the shell of your ear so only you can hear. You feel the vibrations of it against your back, his tone more gravelly than it should be.

You glance over your shoulder at him, face placid and blank. “What? Just needed some help.” Storm looks over at you both and rolls her eyes.

Logan opens his mouth to say something but she cuts him off. “Put a pin in the lover’s spat, we’re landing.” Using just a bit of your power, you push Logan off of you and head towards the back of the jet. There’s a slight jolt as you land and then the ramp opens up and you’re practically running into the snowy forest.

You don’t know where you are, mainly because you weren’t paying attention, you just know it's fucking freezing. The leather of your suit isn’t doing much to help fight against the chill. Charles stays on the jet and reminds you all that this is only meant to be recon. You’re partnered up with Logan, and as much as it irritates you, you’re not stupid enough to argue against it.

You have to put aside your personal grievances for this mission. You can’t risk the safety of mutants because the guy you like likes another girl. Logan seems pleased about it, stubbornly staying by your side even when you make it clear you want space.

You both linger behind the other’s as Storm leads you through the forest. Jean is being more touchy with Scott than normal. Either to assuage her own guilt or to rub it in Logan’s face, you’re not sure which. You nearly gag as you watch them whisper to one another, you glance over at Logan to see if he notices.

You’re startled when you see him already staring at you. His lips tick up into something mischievous when he catches your eye. That smug smirk on his face as he leans in towards you. “Wanna tell me what’s got you so pissed off?”

You roll your eyes and tamp down the rising tide of anger. “Nothing,” you bite out, jaw clenching the longer you stare at the back of Jean’s head. You’re surprised you haven’t chipped a tooth with how hard you’re grinding your teeth together.

He scoffs, not believing you for a second. He doesn’t say anything, just gives you an expectant stare. You can taste the words forming on your tongue, an irritating urge to just spill your guts overcoming you. Before you can stop yourself you blurt out, “I’m a little surprised that’s all.”

“Oh yeah, ‘bout what?” You hate how amused he sounds, the chuckle just lying in wait under his words. Like your anger is funny to him, like he didn’t just break your stupid fucking heart.

You stop walking, not feeling as intimidating as you want while you shiver and huddle into yourself. He seems perfectly at ease in his leather jacket and beater, still refusing to wear the uniform. He leans back and looks at you with a fondness that you can’t tell if you love or hate. “You and little Miss Perfect.” You spit the nickname with enough venom to make both of your eyes widen.

Logan rolls his eyes and takes a step towards you, again, Storm interrupts you both. “Guys, really?” Everyone turns around to stare and you will the heat in your face away. “Not the time,” she scolds and you brush past Logan to catch up with the others.

You come upon a warehouse, it’s nearly camouflaged under all the snow. You see two guards waiting outside the metal doors and you all disperse behind the trees. Storm glances towards Jean who focuses on the guards. They drop to the floor and you wave your hands, their guns melting into puddles of metal.

Logan and Scott move forward, sliding the large metal doors open. You wince at the loud screeching as the rust flakes off the sides. There’s a collective quiet as you all hold your breath, waiting for them to give the all-clear. Once they run inside and run back out, you and the others quickly get to your feet and rush into the warehouse. Logan closes the doors again as you make it inside.

“No one here?” Storm checks. Scott shakes his head and you frown. That doesn’t make any sense. Why would there be guards if there was nothing inside?

Your question is, unfortunately, answered a minute later. You find a pile of metal crates stacked on top of each other. A large beige tarp covers them. You tug at the corner, letting the fabric slide off. Your eyes flutter with disappointment, “Guys! Over here,” mutants sit inside the crates. Each of them stares at you with varying degrees of mistrust and fear.

As awful as it is, you’ve gotten used to these quiet depressing missions. There aren’t usually many mutants in one place. They don’t like to keep the product in one spot for too long. There are only four kids here. The youngest is eleven and the oldest is seventeen. There’s nothing physically telling about their abilities so you assume it must be psychic powers.

They don’t want to come with you until you all give them a demonstration of your powers. Proving that you’re not just trapping them and taking them somewhere worse. You’re nearly out the door when Charles's voice rings loudly through all of your minds.

You wince at the volume, hands coming up to grip at your hair as he shouts, “Behind you!” A gunshot rings out, something hot rips across your wrist and you gasp in pain. There’s a clatter of metal as your cuff drops to the ground, the bullet having destroyed it. Without them both, they’re useless. One won’t work without the other.

You glance up at Logan, a panicked look on your face. You can already feel the tidal wave of power thrashing and building in your chest. It’s been so long with the safety net that you forgot how bad it gets without the cuffs.

“We need to get you out of here!” He shouts over the gunfire. He herds the group behind a cluster of metal shipment boxes. It provides enough cover for you all to try and figure out an escape plan.

You listen to the other’s worried voices, each of them trying to console the kids. You don’t know their powers yet. Don’t know what might go wrong if they get too scared and can’t control their abilities.

You can’t speak, breaths coming short and fast as you clutch your wrist to your chest. You know it’s delusional, hoping that if you keep a tight grip like the cuff you might be able to control yourself. You can already feel the energy leaking out of you, the ends of everyone’s hair stands on end. The wall in front of you warps and cracks like it can’t decide if it’s liquid or solid.

You grit your teeth and look only at Storm. “You need to get out,” you force the words out. It causes physical pain to try and keep everything at bay. You can feel pressure building in your forehead, pushing out until you think you might explode.

“We’re not leaving you,” Logan snaps. There’s shouting going on behind you, a pause as they all reload their guns.

“Wasn’t a question,” you grit out. You look towards Jean and there’s a moment where you both put aside your differences. You both know how stubborn he is, how much he’ll fight against leaving you behind. Regenerative powers or not, it's dangerous to even be close to your gift now. You can see them all straining against the ebbing flow of your powers. Their skin shifts unnaturally like you’re already altering the atoms of their being.

This is why you’re only allowed to train with Charles and Jean. They can get in your head, shut it down when you can’t. You’re not sure you’re going to survive yourself. Logan glances between the two of you and practically growls at Jean, “Don’t you fuckin’ dare-”

His words trail off into an unintelligible slur as he slumps forward, Jean having knocked him out with her powers. Scott grabs him and grunts under the weight of his body. “I’ll cover you,” you gasp the words out. Anything but focusing on your powers causes physical strain that makes you feel like you’re being tugged in a hundred different directions. “Just get them out,” you nod towards the kids.

Storm nods and you slip out of cover. It isn’t hard to push your powers in one direction, to solidify the air in front of you so the bullets ricochet harmlessly off. You listen to the whine of the metal door and wait for the others to be gone.

“They’re in the jet,” Charles's voice rings out. “Don’t do this,” he warns. You can’t think of a response, you’re not even sure what you would say. You never thought you would be able to approach death this calmly, or that this would be how you die. It feels almost pathetic, dying because you lost control on a recon mission.

At least those kids are safe. It’s not a bad reason to die. Just not great. You glance down at the other cuff on your right hand, the air around it fluctuates until it melts off your wrist like liquid metal. With the last barely there tether off your powers, you close your eyes and release the tidal wave.

It feels like a dam exploding. It doesn’t leak fluidly from you, it rips through you like a hailstorm of knives. Tears apart anything in its path and rewrites the molecular build of everything in its path. Screams echo through the air as men’s bones turn into brittle dust and their hearts morph into something inorganic. You’re blind to everything around you, vision clouded by the horrific release of energy.

You can feel warmth leaking down your face. Blood still pours from the wound on your wrist, and fresh blood from other wounds you can’t even feel. You don’t know when the screams stop, or when you’re finally drained. But you feel like an empty husk as you drop to the floor, your head bouncing harshly against the cement as everything goes black.

“I’m gonna kill you,” Logan says with a grin, glaring at Scott even though it’s Charles who is holding him back. He’s got a firm mental grasp on Logan, keeping him locked into place while he focuses on the warehouse.

They’re waiting for the all-clear. The others know there’s always the possibility that they’re going to be collecting a body. But none of them are willing to say that, not with the look on Logan’s face. His muscles look ready to pop out of his skin with how much he’s fighting against Charles’s hold.

Scott backs away from Logan with a scoff. He stands near Jean, but she can’t take her eyes off the restrained man. Nothing had happened this morning, Flux had seen to that. Interrupting them just as they’d started. Seeing the way he’s acting now, she’s starting to believe that nothing is ever going to happen.

He’d looked like he was about to dismiss her when she started making a move. She can see the anger on his face, it seems he’s only ever pissed off. But underneath that, as much as he hides it, she can see the fear. He’s terrified that they're going to walk in there and you’re going to be dead.

Jean can feel the fear of the others as well. They’ve only seen you lose control once and that had almost leveled the mansion. Charles had stopped you then, but the loss of the cuff had been so sudden Jean just barely had enough strength to keep the others blocked from your powers. She didn’t have enough time to shut you down.

Jean, as much as she’s tried to deny it and dismiss her suspicions, can’t look Logan in the eye and ignore it anymore. It’s never been her that he’s wanted. The way he trails along beside you, always prodding and poking until you’re pissy and mouthing off. It’s not done because he finds antagonizing people fun, it's because he loves seeing you all worked up and passionate. He doesn’t view you through the same platonic lens he does the others. You’re something else to him, something she doesn’t want to name, afraid of the bitter taste it will leave on her tongue.

Charles slumps back in his chair and Logan suddenly lunges forward. He looks a little surprised by the sudden freedom of movement, but before any of them can stop him he’s running out of the jet. “Logan,” Jean tries to call after him but he’s already a distant blur.

Scott sighs and starts down the ramp. “Come on,” he mutters. He’s the last one who should be coming along. If anything is wrong with you, he’ll end up being Logan’s punching bag. Jean follows reluctantly, she’s not sure she wants to see what’s happened.

Your powers are too similar in their volatile nature. The way they rule you and come so close to destroying you when you use them too much, is too familiar to Jean. She doesn’t want to see you lying dead on the floor and be reminded of her own mortality. But someone needs to make sure Logan is stuck on a leash.

They reach where the warehouse should be. It’s nothing but a pile of rubble now. Throughout the wreckage, Jean can make out odd pools of liquid, some writhing, others still. She can only assume that these had been the men shooting at them. She doesn’t see your body, none of them do. But Logan isn’t giving up.

He lifts different pieces of metal and tosses them off into the forest. Jean doesn’t sense your presence anywhere but she doesn’t have the heart to tell Logan to give up. After a few minutes of searching, she almost tells him to quit. But she can’t see him anymore. He’s disappeared somewhere behind a particularly large pile of roofing. A moment later, Logan stands up. His jacket is gone, wrapped around the body in his arms. None of them are close enough to see if you’re breathing. And he doesn’t say a word as he brushes past them, just keeps going back to the jet. Ororo, Scott, and Jean all share a silent look. None of them prepared for the potential fallout that’s going to happen after this.

The first thing you feel is two familiar bands of metal around your wrists. The comforting feeling of the cuffs is enough to have you sinking further into the pillows surrounding you. Then you hear the beeping in your ear, feel the cool blow of AC, and become startlingly aware of the fact that you’re in a bed you don’t recognize.

You groan, eyes peeling open painfully as your lashes get stuck on your skin. You reach up to rub at your face but your arms feel too weak to lift. You give up on the thought, instead staring up at the ceiling and waiting for your vision to refocus.

A throat clears in front of you and you nearly jump out of your skin. Sitting at the end of your bed, arms crossed and a fierce glare on his face is Logan. His feet are propped up on the small table beside you. He quirks a brow and gives you a sardonic grin, “Finally awake, princess?”

Normally the name would have you up and doing somersaults, but there’s something distinctly negative and disappointed lacing his tone. It squashes any and all butterflies in your stomach. You grimace as you try and sit up. Logan is up in an instant, an annoyed look still on his face as he helps you up.

You can’t help your dopey smile at how gentle his hands are on you. Even pissed off, he treats you so kindly. Maybe it’s the drugs relaxing you, or the fact that you almost died, but you can’t remember whatever made you mad at him. You can only feel the slide of his calloused hands against your arms, the way you shiver under his touch and crave more.

He pulls the chair closer to you with a loud scratch of metal feet on the linoleum. You groan at the loud sound and he huffs, throwing himself down in the seat. “How do you feel?”

Your head sinks back against the wall and you finally realize you’re in the medbay. It’s why everything smells so sterile. “Like I got hit by a semi.”

He barely lets you finish your thought before he spits out, “What the fuck were you thinking?” He doesn’t ease you into this at all and you frown. You’re not sure why you would expect him to ever beat around the bush. That’s not his style, he’s always been blunt. Even when others wish he wouldn’t be.

“What else was I supposed to do?” You ask, voice weak. Your throat feels like it’s been ripped apart. Idly, you wonder if you had been screaming in the warehouse or if this was just general strain from the whole ordeal.

“Not put yourself at risk like that.” He leans forward, voice stern and bordering on shouting. You know he’s holding back. As much as he wants to lay into you right now, he’s stopping himself from going completely out of his mind. You appreciate it, but you almost wish he would just yell at you. You wish you had a reason to resent him, to finally get over him. “Not have Jean knock me out like that. You don’t get to make those decisions for me.”

It’s completely inappropriate and horrible timing, but you can’t help but scoff at the mention of Jean’s name. Can you not have one conversation that’s not tainted by the mention of the redhead?

Logan’s mouth snaps shut and he glares at you in disbelief. You squeeze your eyes shut, not willing to face him as embarrassment washes over you. No wonder he always calls you kid. You’re not exactly acting like an adult. You’re being a brat and for such a stupid reason too.

Just because you like him doesn’t mean he has to reciprocate. You can’t just force your feelings on someone. “Logan,” you whisper his name, “Sorry. I’m sorry-”

He cuts you off before you can finish. Some of the anger, but not all, has ebbed from his expression. He almost looks like he’s smiling. “Jean? That’s what this is about? Jealous or something, sweetheart?”

You sputter, shocked little noises leaving you but no words. After a solid minute of restarting a sentence you don’t know how to end you finally land on a squeaky, “Who?” If you weren’t so mortified, you might have just thrown yourself out the window. Out of every cop-out you could have gone with you chose to just pretend you didn’t know who she was. Maybe you could make this work, like selective amnesia.

Your shame only builds as Logan laughs. You cover your face and wish you could bury yourself six feet deep and never come up. You feel two rough hands wrap around your wrists, tugging your own away from your face. You don’t have the energy to fight back, so you keep your eyes on his chin. Too afraid to meet his gaze.

“Come on,” he mutters, gently nudging your chin up until you’re forced to look at him. You're caught off guard by the look in his eyes. You recognize it, but you’d only ever seen it directed at Jean. It’s the same way you’ve always looked at him. Pure unguarded want and desire.

The hand on your chin drifts back, fingers tangling in your hair and gently resting on your jaw. He tugs you forward until your lips are nearly touching, breaths mingling with every exhale. “Only ever wanted you, darlin'.’”

The kiss catches you off guard. It shouldn’t, deep down you knew it was coming, but the intensity behind it, the way you can practically taste how bad he wants this, wants you, catches you off guard. You lean into him, wrapping your arms around his neck and letting yourself melt into his hold.

His free hand drifts to your waist and clutches the flimsy hospital gown until you hear it tear. You part your lips, deepening the kiss so you can finally taste him. It’s cigars and whiskey, something you should hate but is entirely intoxicating when he’s holding you so tightly. Fireworks are going off in your mind, sparks darting between your fingers as the cuffs struggle to contain all the energy suddenly pushing out of you.

He can feel you holding back, squeezing you like it’s a promise he can take it. Take everything you throw at him. You let go as much as your cuffs will allow you. Let the energy blanket you both so you can’t hear your heart monitor going off like crazy. So you don’t feel anything other than each other. You think you’re going to devour each other like you’ll just keep kissing until neither of you can take it anymore. You don’t want to let go of him, don’t want to lose this moment.

But you have to breathe. You don’t get to just keep living the way he does. You pull away from him slowly, every part of you dreading separating from him. His forehead drops against your own, his laughter playing along your lips as he finally hears the monitor going haywire.

You groan, flicking your wrist and shutting it off so it can’t betray how flustered you are anymore. He gently nudges you aside so he can sit beside you on the bed. You don’t waste a second before you’re draping yourself across his chest and siphoning his warmth. He chuckles, arms coming up to wrap around you.

“Can’t believe you were jealous of Jean.”

“Shut up,” you snipe. You look up at him and glare, “How else do you explain what you two were doing?”

He leans forward and gives you a smug grin. “She came onto me, sweetheart.” Your face screws up in distaste and jealousy. She’s going to need to learn to keep her hands to herself. He seems to feel the way you tense up, he huffs in amusement and rubs your back. “Relax, you’re gonna blow your fuse again.”

You glance down at your wrists and nuzzle further into him. You can’t believe you could have been laying on him this whole time. You never want to use a blanket again, not when you’ve got him. “I’ll be fine now that I’ve got my cuffs.”

His hand stills on your bicep. He squeezes it before his hand drifts up to your chin and he tilts your face up again. “I don’t ever want to see that again.” You’re a little surprised by the sudden shift in tone, but you knew this was coming.

“I had to, Logan. I either took you all down with me or I went on my own.”

Logan frowns and takes in a deep breath. You place a hand on his arm, giving it a gentle squeeze. He smiles down at you, “Next time, take me with you. I’m not fucking dealing with Summers without you.”

You can’t help but chuckle. Your face grows warm and your chest expands with some odd gleeful feeling as he laces your fingers together. “Deal,” you whisper, still smiling at him.

A/N: Okay, this might be shit, I’m not sure. I sort of rushed the ending because as I was writing this I had another idea for him. I guess I’m officially off my hiatus.

#wolverine x reader #Wolverine x you #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett #logan howlett x you #x men #deadpool and wolverine #Wolverine

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ja3yun · 13 days ago

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Please Be Real | P.JS

ex!jongseong x fem!reader warnings: angst, smut(mdni), unprotected sex, cream pie, fingering, begging, hurt w comfort, petnames (baby, princess), mentions of intoxication, alcohol, heavy conversation around wanting children, badly written, reupload, anything else lmk! w.c: 9.7k synopsis: you never thought you would hear the name park jongseong again until you get a call from one of his friends begging for your help a/n: hi! this is a reupload!! so if you think you've read it, that's because you have <3 i didn't edit this one and i think you will be able to tell since my writing is a little sloppy compared to now but i love this fic a lot. i was actually planning a new one today (sub jake) but i fear that one isn't finished yet! so please enjoy. as always, comments, feedback and reblogs are all welcome! love u <33

A sharp, jarring noise pierces your ears, the peaceful sleep you were in rudely disrupted. You groan out loud, covering your face with your covers but it does nothing to stop the ringing from your phone, it doesn’t even dull it a little, the little black device only echoing around the room louder.

Disoriented and groggy, you fumble for your phone on the bedside table, clumsily searching for it in the darkness. It isn’t your alarm, the usual peaceful tones of the birds chirping would be a welcomed sound, one that eases you into the day; no this was a phone call.

Finally grasping your phone, your eyes fight themselves open as you blink away any remnants of sleep, trying to find any sort of centre from your dizzy awakening. You look at the name on your phone but your vision is so blurred you can’t make it out but answer it anyway, knowing that whoever is phoning at this ungodly hour is clearly in need of your help.

“Hello?” you ask quietly, as if you don’t want to disturb the quiet of the night, unlike the person on the other end of the call.

“Uh, Y/N? It’s Jake.” His soft Australian accent drifts from your phone speaker into your ears. He sounds unsure whether he is supposed to be making the call, which to be fair, you understand because you haven’t heard from him in months, not after…

Letting out a sigh, you rub your forehead with the base of your palm tiredly, “Jake, why the fuck are you calling me at…” you pull the phone away, inspecting the time now that you’re more alert, “3.36am?” you ask with a hint of disdain. Normally, you would welcome the boy’s surprise call, after all, you did miss him. But considering he woke you up from a good dream involving you, Jeongin from Stray Kids, and a happily ever after; he wasn’t exactly your favourite person right now.

You can faintly hear some music in the background as he stays silent and you swear to yourself if this is to give him a ride home from a concert turned party, you’ll have his head.

“Listen, I hate to ask you this but can you come to Haven?”

“The nightclub? Why?” Your earlier suspicions are proving to be right, he does want a lift home. That would be an acceptable request if you guys were actively talking every day and the best of buddies but he isn’t even your friend, not really.

You can hear him shuffling around on the other end of the line, his voice can be heard trying to calm someone down but his words are obscured as if the phone is wrested away from his mouth, leaving only disjointed fragments of speech drifting through the receiver.

This sounds like more than just a simple ride home and it causes you to snap to attention, your senses heightened with concern.

Jake finally brings his attention back to you, letting out a sigh of discontentment, “It’s Jay, he’s a mess and he’s calling out for you.”

Jay. Park Jongseong.

It’s been so long since anyone has dared to mention his name to you that it almost sounds like a foreign word.

Seven months ago, you and Jongseong had decided to call off your six-year relationship, both of you reaching the understanding that it was for the best considering your battling differences and needs within the relationship.

It wasn’t easy, the furthest thing from it actually. You and him had been inseparable since high school and once you both got together in year 12, it was always you and him against the world. He was the love of your life, that once-in-a-lifetime kind of love that only happens in fairytales. Your souls were both painted from the same brush stroke.

But he wanted a peaceful, routine life - a classic white picket fence dream. Evenings would be spent with friends, savouring white wine and casual conversations over dinner. His heart was set on imagining the echoes of your future children's laughter filling your home, family trips to the seaside, and comforting them with kisses and band-aids when they got hurt.

And you craved spontaneity, to embrace life with vigour, travelling the world together was your dream, free from the responsibilities of parenting, cherishing moments just for yourselves. You longed for random midnight trips to Tesco for birthday cake simply because you could. All you wished for was to be with him, just the two of you.

Suddenly, your brain clicks into an important detail and you hurriedly check the calendar on your phone and the date makes you slump in your bed.

Today is Jongseong’s birthday, well technically not anymore given the time, but that means he has lived his first birthday without you by his side in so long. You would always celebrate his big day by doing something from his handwritten bucket list he has had since he was a child. Over the years he has added more to the list, each birthday scoring one out to add another.

The list wasn't extravagant; it was filled with simple yet heartfelt desires. You bought him a bundle of guitar lessons and a Taylor 114e electric guitar to fulfil his wish of learning to play. When you noticed the Download Festival marked with gold stars on his list, you surprised him with tickets for the year Metallica was headlining. And when he expressed a desire to cook a meal from scratch for his mum, you gifted him a kitchen knife engraved with his name and took the time to teach him how to prepare her favourite dish.

His birthdays were the most precious when you were in them, and you weren’t there with him.

“Y/N?” Jake’s sweet voice draws you back to his attention and out of the memory lane swirl your brain has put you in. He knows this is a tough call for you to take considering you and Jongseong said to cut ties completely; it’s better to act like you both didn’t exist than keep a thread tethered to one another that would only hurt you more.

As Jake and Sunghoon whisked Jay away for his birthday celebration, their intention was simple: to help him let loose and have a good time. Jay had been buried in overtime work lately, leaving little room for socialising. Since the breakup, the idea of going out without you - dancing together, stealing kisses in the taxi ride home - seemed unappealing.

Waking up that morning, Jay realised it marked the first birthday in six years without ticking something off his bucket list. The familiar, worn paper lay dormant on his desk, a stark reminder of your absence. He had no desire to celebrate today without you by his side. If he could fast-forward through the day to escape the weight of his birthday, he would eagerly do so.

Yet, with two very persuading friends and a whole lot of whiskey later, here he was, curled up outside Haven, yearning out for you.

“Y/N please, at least come and convince him to get up and come home with us,” Jake pleads. You can hear the cries of your ex-lover more clearly now as Jake kneels beside his friend, checking in on him.

With a resigned sigh, you nod, “Okay. Keep him warm, I’ll be there in 20 minutes.”

Hanging up the phone, you quickly put a brush through your hair and change into a baggy top, one you bought for Jongseong before breaking up, and a pair of grey sweatpants. This is a bad idea, you know it is, but you also can’t leave him to wallow in the middle of the street. You don’t think you could live with yourself if you didn’t help and Jake wouldn’t call unless it was something he couldn’t handle.

You don’t want to see the state Jongseong is in, his wailing cries that you could slightly hear over the phone already made your heart clench in hurt.

As you drive to Haven, your heart races in anticipation with each mile that passes. Is your heart ready to face him after all these months? Staring into the love of your life’s eyes once again might break you even more. You’ve done a good job in keeping yourself together, at putting on a facade that everything is okay, when deep down you know that if one person asked you about Jongseong you would crumble and fall apart.

He wasn’t the only one throwing himself into work to forget. You’ve worked hours and hours trying to keep your mind off the heartbreak, you thought that if you just focused and kept your head down, the phrase time heals all wounds would kick in and you’d be free of the torment of losing your first love. But it hasn’t worked out that way, you know that now as you speed down the empty roads to console the one person you are trying to forget.

As you reach Haven, you can vaguely see three boys under the illuminating sign, almost as if shining a spotlight on them to add to the spectacle that Jongseong is making. Onlookers are watching as your ex-boyfriend cries on the pavement, wishing you would come home.

With a quick exhale, you step out of the car before doubts can creep in, determined to be there for him. Jake and Sunghoon's voices float to you, attempting to soothe him and inject some sense into the moment. Bracing yourself, you approach, ready to offer whatever comfort you can, despite the storm of emotions swirling within you.

Sinking onto the balls of your feet, you lower yourself to Jongseong's level, meeting his strained figure. Instantly, the sight of his distress instantly shatters your heart into a million pieces.

An abundance of tears cascades down Jongseong's reddened face, obscuring his features like a relentless waterfall. His clenched jaw and the prominent vein on his forehead portray the intensity of his distress as he struggles to draw each laboured breath. Curled into himself, his body seems to contort with the weight of physical agony, mirroring the emotional pain that ripples through his trembling form. He’s been keeping this in for so long that his body doesn’t know how to cope with it.

Reaching out to grab his clenched fist, you shuffle forward carefully, “Jjongie?” you say calmly, trying to pull him out of his dispaired state and avoid startling him. “It’s me, baby, look at me,”

Jongseong's body tenses at your voice and he slowly lifts his head, his eyes bloodshot and filled with an overwhelming mixture of sorrow and longing. For a moment, there's a flicker of recognition in his eyes before they cloud over again with anguish.

He doesn’t believe you’re actually here, considering the long nights where he has conjured up the idea of you, clinging to his imagination on the lonely nights he wishes for your touch. But as you squeeze his hand, he realises this isn’t a dream-induced sighting, you’re really here in front of him.

"Y/N..." he murmurs, his voice choked with emotion. Tears stream down his face in torrents, some landing on your hand that holds his. His cries reverberate through the air, each wail a sharp stab to your chest.

Cupping his cheek, you settle yourself between his legs, ignoring the stinging discomfort of the rocks beneath your knees, your focus solely on him. With a sad smile, you attempt to mask your own hurt, your touch a gentle reassurance amidst his storm of emotions.

"Hey, hey, enough of that now," you hush him softly, your voice a soothing melody in the tumultuous night. Using the pad of your thumb, you tenderly wipe away his tears, though they continue to flow unabated.

Jongseong leans into your touch, “I miss you so much, Y/N, please. Please,” he pleads as you feel his warm breath against your skin. He desperately nuzzles into your palm, seeking solace in the familiar sensation of your touch, the very thing he has been yearning for.

It’s hurting you just seeing him like this, the man you once knew to be strong-willed and resilient, keeping his emotions under control unless he’s sharing sweet vulnerable moments with you under the covers, is now a shell of himself, stripped bare by the weight of grief.

Turning to look at Jake, you offer him a small smile, “I’ll take him home.”

“You sure?” Jake asks with a raised brow, knowing that it’s a dangerous game for you both if you do.

“Yeah, I don’t think he’s going to move unless I do,” you chuckle sympathetically but there’s a bubble in your throat as Jongseong’s whimpers flow into your ear from beside you, pathetic and distressed.

Nodding, Jake gestures to Sunghoon, silently enlisting his help in the task of ferrying the drunk man to your car. The weight of Jongseong's limp form proves difficult as you all struggle to navigate his dead weight, his limbs hanging heavily without offering any assistance.

"Let's get you home," you murmur softly, your hands pressing gently against Jongseong's chest to steady him, aided by his friends who lift him onto their shoulders.

His eyes lock onto yours, an intensity burning within them. "Please be real," he whispers, his voice trembling with desperation. Despite feeling your touch and catching hints of your scent, doubt gnaws at him. If this is merely a figment of his imagination, he knows he'll never forgive himself. You're so close, so tangible - it has to be you.

With much struggle, the three of you get him to your car, putting him gently in the backseat so he can lie down, but he wraps his arms around your waist as his legs stay situated outside of the vehicle, holding you close to him.

"Come on, Jjongie, lie down for a minute," you coax gently, guiding him to stretch out along the seats. But he remains unmoving, clutching onto you as if fearing you'll slip away if he lets go. With a soft sigh, you stroke the back of his head, your hands moving in a soothing rhythm. "I promise, I am not going anywhere," you whisper, your words a tender vow to him.

Yet, your attempts to reassure him seem to go unheard. His face burrows deeper into your stomach, his words muffled by the fabric of your t-shirt and the weight of his tears.

You exchange a worried glance with Jake and Sunghoon, “How much did he have to drink?” you ask, scared of the answer they will give. Your ex-boyfriend has always been so good at holding his liquor that it must have been a hefty amount if he’s this bad..

“Like…two weeks' wage worth,” Sunghoon winces as he says it, his neck tightening as he looks at his best friend. It was hard to watch him, pound spirit after spirit, and be helpless in telling him to stop. He’s not exaggerating either, he must have spent at least £600 in there. Each round was a triple, accompanied by a few shots to wash the Jack and Coke down.

"Oh, baby," you sigh softly, returning your attention to Jongseong. You press a tender kiss to the crown of his head, hoping to offer some comfort amidst his distress. In some way, the scent of his shampoo also gives you some ease within the chaos. His response to your affection is to cling to you even tighter, his sobs echoing against your chest as he seeks solace in your embrace. There’s a crushing wave of empathy that you feel wash over you right at this moment. It hurts, seeing him like this and hearing of his struggles - ex or not - you care about him, and you also understand his pain.

You need to get him home. He’s a fucking mess and the longer he stays like this, the more it’s going to wear all four of you out. So, with a gentle hand, you pull him back and lift his jaw up to look at you. It was probably the worst decision you could have ever made. He looks…broken.

"I've got you, Jjongie," you whisper softly, squeezing his chin as almost a gentle pinch, to prove you’re not letting him go. This instantly relaxes Jongseong, though, his hands still grip onto you for dear life. His friends go to help you, break him away and buckle him in the backseat, but you halt them with a firm gesture, "You guys can go, I've got it from here."

Sunghoon shakes his head, heavy concern etched on his face. "No way. He's too heavy, Y/N. You won't be able to manage him into the apartment without us.”

But you stand your ground. This is your and Jongseong's mess, and you can’t let others help you clean it up. "It's okay. You guys have done your shift for tonight. Go home," you insist, your voice resolute and brooking no argument.

Reluctantly, Sunghoon and Jake nod, still teetering on the edge of arguing with you. But, they know better and bid you goodnight before going their separate ways home, leaving you alone with Jongseong and the weight of your shared history.

Taking a deep breath, you hoist him in, his body listening to you a little more now that you’ve reassured him you aren’t leaving him. He sprawls over the backseats and lays still, the alcohol consuming him into some form of comatose. You’ve been in this state before too, so you can recognise the blackout glaze that he’s trying to fight away as he keeps his eyes on you. He’s so scared you’ll just vanish into thin air. “I’m right here. Go to sleep.”

Surprisingly, he listens to your reassurance, closing his eyes and drifting off, allowing you to slide into the driver's seat. You turn the keys as the engine begins humming to life beneath you. Glancing at Jongseong's slumbering form in the rearview mirror, you steel yourself for the journey ahead.

_____

Arriving at his house fills you with a nervous energy that tightens in your chest. This wasn’t just his flat—it used to be your shared home. For two and a half years, this place held countless, irreplaceable memories, moments you thought you’d cherish forever.

You were the one who left, finding a new place closer to work and convincing yourself it was the practical choice. But deep down, you knew the real reason: you couldn’t bear the constant reminders of him that lingered in every room, every piece of furniture, every shadow of your life together.

Looking back now, it feels selfish. You left him here, surrounded by the remnants of your relationship, without considering how he might feel. While you escaped to a fresh start, he was left to live among the echoes of what you once had.

Lugging him into the flat, his legs are working in tandem with you now unlike before but he still isn’t proving to be the easiest person to carry. The last time you had to hold his weight like this was when he got drunk at your prom after taking sneaky shots in the hotel garden with his friends. It was funny, but you blame him for some of your back pain that you’ve endured in your early twenties.

As you push open the door and step into the living room, a wave of nostalgia washes over you like a tsunami. Though only seven months have passed, it feels like a lifetime since you last stood in this space with him by your side. Everything remains unchanged, frozen in time since the day you left.

The same couch sits in its familiar spot, adorned with throw pillows and blankets you bought for last season. Photographs of you both, captured during Christmases and holidays, adorn the walls, each one a snapshot of happier times when life seemed so simple and easy. Even the vase that his mum had gotten you both for your housewarming gift, one that you loved and he hated, remains in its pride of place on the mantlepiece.

You shake the thoughts away and guide Jongseong toward the bedroom. Each step feels heavy, as you’re encompassed with memories that surround you. He’s been living in a time capsule, and while you’re struggling to look at it all now, you wonder how he has managed to endure it for all these months.

His arm is slung over your shoulder as his weight presses down on you, however, it’s the feeling of his nose brushing against your hair that nearly stops you in your tracks. He breathes in deeply, and for a brief moment, it feels like he’s trying to ground himself in the familiarity of you.

You help Jongseong onto the bed, propping him up carefully. “I’m going to grab you some clean boxers, okay?” you say softly. He doesn’t respond, lost in his own haze, so you move toward the drawers on the other side of the room.

Walking over, you spot a familiar t-shirt lying crumpled on your old side of the bed. You make a b-line to investigate it and as you pick up the crumpled t-shirt, a flood of memories washes over you, transporting you back to simpler times. Your fingers trace the familiar fabric, still faintly carrying the scent of you, now mingled with his cologne. You piece it all together pretty quickly, the way it still smells faintly of you but is not starting to be overpowered by his cologne. He hugs it at night to find peace of mind.

“Oh, Jjongie,” you sigh, heart reaching out to him. You’re no better, you have one of his hoodies that you snuck into your luggage as you packed and wear it when you’re at home. Just like your t-shirt, his hoodie is starting to lose its scent from the amount of times you’ve hugged yourself to sleep in it.

You’re no better, though. You think of the hoodie you tucked into your suitcase before you left, the one you’ve worn so many times on nights when the loneliness felt unbearable. Its scent is fading too, just like this shirt, but you still cling to it, just as he clings to this. Both of you, in your own quiet ways, are holding onto the fragments of a love neither of you has been able to let go of.

Jongseong has always been reserved, his emotions carefully guarded behind a facade of reason and rationale. To see him like this, vulnerable and raw, strikes a chord deep within you. If he had always worn his heart on his sleeve, perhaps it would be easier to understand. But the complexity of his emotions only serves to deepen the ache in your chest.

You place the t-shirt back on the pillow before opening the dresser drawer and retrieve a clean pair of boxers, his favourite ones with the faded Hello Kitty print that you've always teased him about.

Gently, you begin to undress him while he rambles incoherent nonsense that you can’t understand between the mix of tears and drunk slurring. The top half is easy but the bottom half proves difficult as he only looks up at you, whispering pleas as he stares at you, keeping his bum firmly sat on the edge of the bed.

As you finally manage to remove Jongseong's jeans and boxers, leaving him naked, a new layer of vulnerability settles over the room. He sits before you bathed in the soft glow of the hallway light, his silhouette outlined in the darkness.

"Stay with me," he whispers, his voice a gentle plea as his hands begin to roam your sides, tracing the contours of your body beneath your shirt. Each touch ignites a flurry of sensations within you, sending butterflies fluttering in your stomach.

His beauty, illuminated by the faint light, is both captivating and heartbreaking. The familiarity of his form, once etched in your memory, now lays before you in the flesh, a tangible reminder of the love you still harbour for him. How could you not still love him? He was perfect in every way possible.

He pulls you onto his lap, your sweatpants becoming the barrier between his cock and your pussy. Yet, none of you are really thinking about that right now, all you both want is to hold one another again.

“Jongseong, we broke up, and for good reason,” you rationalise with not only him but yourself as you find yourself sinking into his touch as his hands roam your back.

Nuzzling his nose against yours, he begins to cry softly again, his face rubbing itself against yours as his tears transfer from his cheeks to yours, “Please, baby, don’t leave me,” he

mumbles as his lips ghost over yours.

He doesn’t just mean tonight, he means forever. A tear from your eye cascades down your face, getting lost in the mixture of his, your empathy for him overwhelming you because you feel the same way he does. You need him in every way, you need to be close to him, to feel his heart beating in synch with yours once again.

But you know better than this. You’re both just prolonging heartache if you succumb to being with him again. You can’t give each other what you need.

“Baby, don’t do this,” you beg him, knowing that he has the power to pull you back into his life with the click of his fingers, that resolve you have worked so hard to build up now hangs in the balance, “Let me get you changed and then into bed, yeah?”

Reasoning with him is a lost cause, his arms now hugging you tightly like before as he ignores your suggestion. The last thing he wants is to put on those boxers because he knows when he does that you’ll leave.

"Please, baby," his voice is raw with emotion, his desperation palpable in the air between you. And as you look into his eyes, you see the depth of his longing mirrored in your own.

His plea hangs in the air, a heavy weight pressing down on your already burdened heart. You feel torn between the overwhelming desire to give in to his request and the harsh reality of the situation.

With a deep breath, you summon the strength to gently extricate yourself from his embrace, feeling the weight of his disappointment lingering in the air. His hurt expression tugs at your heartstrings, but you shake your head firmly, "Just tonight, okay?" you assure him, your voice soft but resolute.

Curse you and your heart that caves into his pleas so easily.

You disregard getting him dressed and instead, remove your sweatpants and replace them with those very boxers you planned to adorn him with and swap out your t-shirt for the one on your old pillow. Jongseong clumsily climbs into his covers, getting comfortable and finding some happiness in the fact that you’ll be in his arms at least for a little while.

Once you climb into your side of the bed, he instinctively hugs you from behind, the comfort of your body pressed against his. He spoons you from behind, tucking his face in your neck as he exhales in contentment. This is all he has been craving since that night you left and he couldn’t be happier. All the turmoil and anguish from earlier slowly depletes as he finds himself sinking into a much-needed sleep.

You can’t deny you feel the same, his arms wrapped around you feel like home, like you’ve been on a seven-month business trip and you’re now finally back where you belong. You sink into him further, relishing his skin against yours.

“Happy birthday, Jjongie,” you whisper, bringing his hand up to kiss it before intertwining your fingers with his.

_____

Waking up, Jongseong feels like his whole body has crashed into a brick wall. His bones ache and his head feels tight, but there is a weight that feels so familiar yet foreign, his legs tangled around something and his arms holding it close. This feels different from the t-shirt of yours he clings to every night, this has more substance.

Please don’t be some random girl he thinks to himself, scared to open his eyes.

Even if he wanted to open his eyes, he couldn’t - they were sealed shut, held together by something stubborn. Had he been crying last night? Wait, what did happen last night?

Fragments of the evening begin to resurface as he sifts through the haze: Jake and Sunghoon dragging him to Haven, the chaotic vibe of the bar, and the questionable decision to ride the mechanical bull. After that? A blank.

As he struggles to piece it all together, you watch him futilely attempt to pry his eyes open. Deciding to help, you gently swipe your thumb across his lids, clearing away the dried remnants of tears and sleep. His body tenses at your touch, his expression clouded with confusion.

Was he hallucinating? The sensation felt so real - too real. Or maybe the girl he brought home last night had a touch uncannily like yours. God, he hoped it was the first one.

Opening his eyes with your help, he blinks away the blur and sets his eyes on your face, his expression reading one of relief that quickly turns into astonishment.

“Y/N? Baby?” he whispers, his hands instinctively reaching for your cheek, “Please be real.” The same words he pleaded out last night leave his lips again. Jongseong has spent so many nights dreaming of you, wishing in an alternative universe that he can hold you again, so much so that this doesn’t feel real.

You don’t know what to say but obviously, you have to say something. It was one thing to confront drunk Jongseong who didn’t have a wit about him but now it feels like there’s a boulder on your chest as you try to conjure up the courage to speak to a sober, semi-alert Jongseong.

All you can do is nod, no words escaping your dried lips. You look down to see you and his limbs mangled together just like they used to be, the feeling of his body pressed so tightly against yours almost feels like heaven.

He takes in the sight of you, the lines of disbelief on his features soften, replaced by a glimmer of hope. Slowly, almost tentatively, he reaches out to you, his fingers brushing against your cheek as if to confirm your presence.

The touch sends a jolt of electricity coursing through you, he’s caressing your cheek so tenderly it reminds you of the time you had the shift from hell and Jongseong held you the whole night, whispering sweet words into your ear and stroking your tears away, just like this.

Except there are no tears this time, you’re all cried out - months of mourning the loss of your relationship will do that to you.

As Jongseong's eyes meet yours, a flicker of recognition passes through them, followed by a wave of embarrassment. His voice is soft as he speaks, a hint of uncertainty lacing his words, "What are you doing here?" he asks, his tone laden with confusion.

"You got pretty drunk last night," understatement "And Jake asked me to come pick you up."

You can feel the tension in the air as Jongseong processes your words, his expression a mixture of shame and regret, "Sorry, I don't usually drink that much," he murmurs, his voice tinged with remorse.

The explanation stings, not because Jongseong has been drinking more, but because of the distance it creates between you. It's as if he's explaining himself to a stranger, rather than to the person who once knew him better than anyone else. The past six years you’ve known how he knows his limit and that he doesn’t tend to breach it, not subconsciously.

All you do is nod, accepting his explanation as you slowly start to detangle yourself from him, “I better get going.”

“Y/N, please let's talk,” he pleads as his voice wavers, his grip tightening around your waist, and his desperation palpable as he pleads for your attention. But you've made up your mind, and no amount of persuasion can sway you from the path you've chosen.

"Jongseong, please, let's not do this," you implore, your voice tinged with a mixture of sorrow and resolve, "We're only going to hurt ourselves again."

You both know the reasons behind your breakup are deeply rooted, immutable truths that cannot be changed. It's not a matter of cheating or petty disagreements - this is about fundamental differences in desires and aspirations for the future.

But Jongseong refuses to accept defeat, his forehead coming to rest against yours as he breathes his love out, "Princess, we can work it out, I know we can," he insists, his words heavy with sincerity.

You steel yourself against the onslaught of his love, knowing that to give in would only prolong the inevitable pain, "We want different things, Jjongie," you remind him gently, your voice tinged with regret.

“I can do without them. It’s you I can’t live without…I can’t breathe without you here by my side.” His words are sincere and you know it, but you can’t accept it. When you both discussed your future, he looked so excited at the prospect of kids that your heart broke instantly. You knew right away that you couldn’t give him what he wanted most.

Closing your eyes and sucking in the bottom of your cheeks, you steady yourself to have this conversation yet again, “You can’t give up the idea of having kids. Having the life you want is much more important than me. You can find someone who can give you that.”

It hurts to say but you need to rip the bandaid off quickly.

“You think I want that life with anyone but you?” His voice raises lightly, hinting at the anger rising into his chest. He needs you to listen to him, to understand him, “Y/N, if it’s not with you then I don’t want that life.”

Shaking your head determinedly, you sit up, “But I can’t give you that life, it’s not what I want.” You feel like you’re reliving the argument that ended it all those months ago.

“That’s okay-”

“No, It’s not,” It’s your turn to get angry and interrupt him, your eyebrows lacing together as you try to read him. How can he say all of this so easily? Like he wasn’t trying to promise you that he would change his entire life plan just to be with you. Is it romantic? Sure, but it’s also fucking stupid. No one should change just to keep someone they love because if they were meant to be, then their values would align…right?

"It's not that simple, Jongseong," you argue through the silence, your voice tinged with frustration, "You can't just sweep aside your dreams for the sake of our relationship. What about what you want? What about your own happiness?"

Jongseong sits up, the covers hiding his naked lower half; he hadn’t realised he was naked and it only adds a new layer to his vulnerability. He is truly laying himself bare to you.

But Jongseong's gaze remains unwavering, his determination evident in the set of his jaw, "Since we broke up, I've realised that you are the life I want," he declares, his words carrying the weight of his conviction, "Whatever that looks like for you, I want it."

You feel his words like a pickaxe, slowly breaking away at the wall you’ve spent months building around your heart and reason. A whirlwind of conflicting emotions sweeps over you. On one hand, his declaration of love sparks a glimmer of hope amidst the ruins of your fractured relationship. Yet, on the other hand, doubt claws at your insides, gnawing away at any semblance of certainty, the pure love that you have for him only wishes to make sure he’s happy and gets everything he wants in life.

"Jongseong, I..." you start, your voice wavering as you grapple with the turmoil inside. How do you express the depth of your feelings?

Grabbing your face with his large hands, he kisses you, his soft lips now coating yours. You’ve missed him so much that you become overwhelmed by his actions, a soft tear leaking from your ducts.

So much for being all cried out, you think to yourself.

"It's you, Y/N, I only need you," Jongseong whispers against your lips, his urgency evident as he seeks solace in the warmth of your embrace, stealing kisses with a hunger born from longing.

In spite of yourself, you find your lips responding to his touch, drawn in by the familiar sensation of his mouth against yours. Your arms instinctively wrap around him, fingers grazing lightly over the muscles of his back as you hold him close; your brain is telling you to push him away but your heart is pulling him tighter to you.

"It's not fair to you, Jjongie," you murmur, the words weighted with a sense of guilt and remorse.

"I'd rather be with you happily than with kids and someone else miserably," Jongseong confesses, his words carrying the weight of his heart's deepest desires.

Jongseong wishes you could see it from his point of view; of course, he has wanted kids and a comfortable life for so long but the idea of achieving that when you are not his wife seems fucking ridiculous. There is no one in this world he wants to be with other than you and if that means he has to be an uncle rather than a dad, so be it.

You are all he has ever wanted. To grow old with you, to experience each of your accomplishments together and have you close to him. He wants to protect you and look after you the way he knows he should and that is his new life goal. This isn’t a decision he has made lightly but a decision he wanted to make.

His hands glide down your sides, trailing over your thighs as his kisses continue, each touch a manifestation of the craving that has consumed him. His need for you is overwhelming, every fibre of his being yearning for you in every possible way. Another moment without you feels unbearable, as if he might die.

You surrender to his touch, sinking back onto the bed as he hovers above you, his grip on your thighs firm yet tender. The intensity of his desire leaves marks, but in this moment, you welcome anything he offers.

It's astonishing how the feel of his lips on yours dismantles your resolve, scattering your apprehensions like leaves in the wind.

Slowly, he removes from you the t-shirt that has absorbed his tears on countless nights and the boxers you borrowed from him, leaving you exposed beneath him. As he looks upon your naked figure, his eyes drink in every curve and contour, offering silent gratitude to the heavens for letting him have you like this. You are everything he wants and more.

“You’re so fucking beautiful, Y/N,” he whispers into your mouth as he presses his body hard against yours, his member rubbing itself against your folds.

The feeling of him rubbing against you is enough to elicit a moan. No amount of toys was enough to satisfy you, not the way Jongseong could. Over the years you learned about one another’s bodies so intimately that no one could ever know you the way he does, not even yourself.

You couldn’t bear the thought of sleeping with someone else, even if you and Jongseong had broken up, your heart couldn’t do it. You never even considered a one night stand because deep down you knew that your body belonged to Jongseong and no one else.

He moves his hips, slowly rubbing himself against you, the bell of his cock grazing your clit teasingly. It feels like a dream for him to touch you this way again, and the fact that you were coating his cock with your wetness was enough to tell him that you need this too.

Kissing you desperately, his tongue darts into your mouth and swirls with yours as he seeks to taste you, his buds dancing along with yours. He moans into your mouth and acts as an echo of his love for you.

“I missed you so much,” he whispers as his hips continue to move slowly, teasing your hole with his tip each time he draws back. It’s becoming increasingly obvious how much it’s starting to irritate you, your need to have him inside you is evident in your whines of frustration.

"I missed you too, baby. More than anything," you confess, your hand finding his cock as you press against him, seeking to create greater friction between you. With each movement, the pressure builds, sending waves of pleasure coursing through both of you.

With each synchronised movement, the tension between you mounts, the desire for one another lingering in the warm air. His hips continue their slow, teasing rhythm, each brush against your core sending sparks of want up your heat and into your chest.

Feeling the urgency building within you, you guide his cock with precision, pressing it against your eager entrance. A soft gasp escapes your lips as you feel the head of his length dip into you only slightly, the anticipation of being filled with him heightening your senses.

"Please," you whisper, your voice laden with need and longing, a plea for him to take you.

With a teasing grin, Jongseong relents to your plea, but not in the way you expected. Instead of thrusting into you the way you want him to, he trails his fingertips along the curves of your body, igniting a trail of fire in his wake. His touch is light and tantalising, tracing patterns across your skin as he savours every moment. He wants to take his time with you, no matter how much his dick longs to be surrounded by your walls.

You like to be teased even for a little bit, the payoff at the end always hits the right spot.

You squirm beneath his touch, aching for more, but he continues with deliberate slowness. His fingers dance over your heated flesh, exploring every inch of your body with an intimacy that leaves you breathless. Each caress sends shivers down your spine, building the anticipation to unbearable heights. God, you missed his hands all over you.

As his right hand dips lower, he begins tracing circles around your sensitive clit and you can't help but arch your back in pleasure, a soft moan escaping your lips. The sensation is electrifying, sending waves coursing through your body as he expertly teases you.

Feeling your body tremble with anticipation, his touch becomes more urgent as he presses his fingers against your throbbing clit h and with practised skill, he begins to move faster, applying just the right amount of pressure to have you writhing beneath him.

“You look so fucking perfect, all desperate and whiney like this, Princess,” he says as he leans down to kiss you, breathing in deeply through his nose as he tries to fill each of his senses with you. It wasn’t just enough to feel you, he wanted to taste you, to inhale your scent, to hear you cry out for him, to see you unravel beneath him.

Your breath catches in your throat as the intensity of his touch sends you spiralling towards the edge of bliss. Each stroke of his fingers drives you closer to the brink, your body humming with the need to let go.

But just as you feel yourself teetering on the edge, Jongseong suddenly slows his movements, drawing out the pleasure with agonising slowness. It's a torturous tease, the brief moments of intensity followed by long, drawn-out strokes that leave you gasping for more.

“Please, please, please, Jjongie,” you whimper in frustration, your body aching for release as Jongseong continues to play you like a symphony, alternating between fast and slow, building the tension to unbearable levels. Just when you think you can't take it anymore, he finally gives in, his fingers dipping into your heat and thrusting into you at a rough pace, your pussy soaking his digits as he coaxes out your orgasm.

“You’re clamping down on my fingers so hard, Baby, you gonna cum?” he asks arrogantly, knowing that with each curl of his finger, he is watching your body lose control and surrender to him.

Nodding quickly, you pull him down for a long, searing kiss as his thumb joins the party and flicks your clit rapidly, “Oh my god,” you moan out into his mouth through bated breaths, “I’m gonna cum, Jongseong, please can I cum?”

“You never have to ask baby,” he moves his mouth to your ear and lightly nibbles your lobe, “Cum for me, Princess,” he gently commands.

Jongseong continues to work his magic, his fingers moving with expert precision as he guides you through the throes of ecstasy. Your vision blurs and every nerve in your body hums with pleasure as you reach the pinnacle of bliss.

With a final, desperate cry, you let go, your orgasm crashing over you like a tidal wave. You arch your back and cry out his name as pleasure consumes you, your body trembling with the intensity of it all.

His fingers remain still inside you, but his thumb maintains its relentless pace, each swipe sending jolts of pleasure coursing through your body. Your hips instinctively twitch in response, your nub throbbing with sensitivity and yearning for a respite. Yet, Jongseong shows no signs of letting up, his determined flicking only intensifying.

"You like that, baby?" Jongseong's voice is hoarse with desire as he intently watches your reactions. His eyes are dark with need as he continues to work you with wild desire.

Your senses are overwhelmed by sensations pouring through you, so you can only respond with a gasping nod. Every single nerve in your body is buzzing with ecstasy, and all you can think of is the delicious agony of his thumb against your delicate clit.

"Tell me what you want, Princess," he asks, his voice a seductive whisper in your ear, "Do you want more?"

You can only make a frantic plea, your words barely comprehensible in the middle of intense pleasure. "Yes, please, Jongseong... More..."

Jongseong's lips curl into a wicked grin as he hears your plea, his confidence growing with each breathless gasp that escapes your lips. With a teasing twinkle in his eye, he moves his fingers again, pressing them against your contracting walls, his hot breath ghosting over your ear as he speaks.

"What do you want, Y/N?" he whispers, his voice dripping with anticipation, "Tell me, and I'll give it to you."

Your mind is a haze of desire, but amidst the fog, one thought stands out clear and demanding. You need him inside you, filling you completely with his presence. With trembling hands, you reach for him, your fingers curling around his cock, guiding him to where you need him most, pushing his hand out of the way.

"I want you," you whisper, your voice trembling with need. "I want all of you, Jongseong." When you utter the words, there’s a deeper meaning to them, a meaning that Jongseong is clinging to.

The way your fingers wrap around his rock-hard member elicits a hiss from him, your touch mixed with your words only fuels him to give you everything you need.

Jongseong lets out a guttural groan, entirely surrendering to your touch and words. His eyes darken with want as he watches you take control, and his breath quickens with anticipation as you guide him inside you. His breath coming in ragged gasps, he looks into your eyes with a mixture of desire and adoration, "God, Y/N," he murmurs, his voice rough with need, “You feel so fucking incredible. I’ve missed how you just suck me in like this.”

You look down and watch as his entire length gets lost in your heat, his cock’s head hitting deep within you. You’ve missed how he fills you up so much but you hadn’t realised just how badly until right now as he shallowly thrusts into you.

You respond with a low moan of pleasure, your nails digging into his skin as you pull him closer, urging him to go deeper. "Yes, Jongseong," you whisper, your voice laced with longing, "just like that. I need this so much, I need you."

With each thrust, he grunts in response, his movements becoming more desperate as he seeks to satisfy your every desire, "I'm yours, Y/N," he declares, his voice filled with raw emotion, "completely and utterly yours."

As he lifts your legs and closes them, gently draping them over his left shoulder, your warmth envelops his shaft, drawing him in closer. Jongseong relishes the sensation of your tightness, revelling in the snug embrace of your canal around him. And you too find delight in the pressure of his girth, relishing the way he stretches you further with every powerful thrust.

Each movement of his hips is deliberate, each one designed to bring you both closer to the edge of ecstasy. As his hands stroke your legs tenderly, contrasting with the intensity of his thrusts, you find yourself lost in the intoxicating rhythm of your bodies moving as one.

His jerks grow more intense, the pace quickening as he drives deeper into you, each stroke bringing you closer to the edge, "You feel so good," he groans, his voice filled with unrestrained passion, "so fucking perfect for me, Princess."

In response, you curve your back and meet his thrusts with equal conviction, the heat between you building to an almost euphoric level. "Jongseong," you exclaim, your voice a symphony of fulfilment, "don't stop, please don't stop."

Jongseong intensifies his efforts with a wild growl, each movement driven by a burning need to push you to the edge of satisfaction and beyond. At this moment, there is only you and him, burned by the fires of passion.

With a swift motion, your lover bends you in half, positioning your legs by your head as he quickens his already rapid pace. Lost in a whirlwind of desire, your eyes roll back and your hands instinctively grip his shoulders, your chest heaving with each forceful thrust of his cock. Your nails dig into his skin, leaving marks on his shoulder blades as you cling to him, lost in the intensity of the moment.

Feeling the sting of your nails, he grits his teeth and strains his neck, the veins in his temples pulsating as he fights the overwhelming urge to release inside you right then and there.

“Fuck, claw my back, Baby,” he growls, his voice thick with desire, “make me yours again.” With determination, he continues to pound into you, each movement bringing you closer to your shared orgasm.

After hearing Jongseong’s go-ahead, you dig into his back, dragging your nails across his skin, leaving fiery red lines in their wake, just like he wants. It burns him in the most delectable way, making his cock throb inside of you.

Your breaths combine in the air, creating an ensemble of desire as you both reach the edge. The tension between you grows with each thrust, a crescendo of want reaching its peak.

As he slams into you furiously, his voice fills the room with urgency, "You gonna cum again, Princess? You want it?" His words are a mixture of want and domination, starting a fire inside you that threatens to consume everything in its path.

With a firm nod, you meet his gaze, your eyes brimming with want. "Yes, Jongseong, please," you beg, your voice a frantic appeal for release once again.

In response, he increases his efforts, his motions growing more frenzied as he propels you both to your orgasms. And then, with a final, strong thrust, you shatter, your body convulsing from the ferocity of your release. Jongseong follows closely behind, his own climax mirroring yours as he finds release within you, “Fuck!”

His body stills as he shoots his seed into you, the tremble of both your bodies vibrates the bed beneath you. Finding it hard to keep himself up, he falls onto you, moving his cock into you further, only drawing out a final moan from your lips.

After a couple of minutes, Jongseong rolls over, his chest heaving up and down rapidly. God, he missed the way you feel under him, he could go another ten rounds if you asked.

But that would mean you would stay, and is that even something you want? He doesn’t want to ask, your answer being the deciding factor of whether he goes on his life with misery or happiness.

He knows he can’t force you into this relationship but he hopes he has done enough to convince you that you are all he wants.

“Please be with me again, Y/N. I can’t live without you,” he whispers into the air, not daring to look at you.

You on the other hand only want to look at him, to see if you can really try this again, “Even if it means no kids? No playdates with other parents? No family trips to Jeju?”

“Even without all that.” He does look sincere, his eyes now burning into yours with a new lease of determination.

The truth is, you’ve missed him so much that it hurts. Behind the strong facade is just a girl who misses her lover. Being without him is like being in a fire with no escape, constantly fighting your way out of a blaze while your lungs collapse. He’s the clear path to fresh air you desperately need, there is no denying it. And clearly, he thinks the same about you.

Seeing him last night so fragile and broken engulfed you in the flames, burning you alive because you know that you feel every ounce of hurt that he is. It was a mirror to how you were feeling and you don’t think you knew how badly you needed him until that moment. You were trying to be so strong about it all, giving yourself only a short amount of time to grieve that as you looked at Jongseong last night, you know he has done the same.

You need one another to extinguish the fire.

“Jongseong, truly think about this, this isn’t me saying no to letting you go on a lads holiday, I’m denying you the opportunity to be a father,” you plead with him one last time, giving him an out to all of this as you lay it all on the table.

“Princess, I have had seven months to think about it. I am not compromising or altering my needs for you, this is a decision that I have made on my own. If I truly wanted the life I thought I did, I wouldn’t be begging you to be with me right now. I know this isn’t an easy choice but I have never been more sure about anything in my life.”

Jongseong kisses all over your face, each one a receipt of his sincerity.

His words strike straight into your heart. He’s serious. A part of you wants to still feel guilty like you’re forcing him into this but on the other hand, he’s right. You’ve given him a multitude of opportunities to leave and find a girl who will cater to him, but he hasn’t.

He doesn’t need to because all he needs is you and your love, to Jongseong, that is all he needs in his life.

“Okay, but if you ever change your min-”

He interjects with a kiss, one filled with so much happiness and love that it’s almost intoxicating; either that or all the booze in his system has transferred its way into your bloodstream.

You giggle as he rolls over on top of you again, peppering loud and wet kisses all over your face and neck akin to a dog licking you from utter joy. Your hands try to fight him off playfully, your laugh growing louder as he nuzzles into your neck.

“Oh, wait!” Your lover's sudden pause catches your attention, his eyes sparkling with excitement as he swiftly rolls off the bed and rushes over to the messy pile on the chair by his dresser.

Curious, you crane your neck to see what he's up to, watching as he retrieves something from the floor.

“What is it?” you inquire, intrigued by his enthusiasm.

Turning back to you, Jongseong holds up the familiar torn sheet of paper that you recognise instantly, his smile lighting up his face. He grabs a pen from the desk and returns to your side, handing you both items.

“Tick it off,” he urges, pointing to the bottom of the page where a new addition was made yesterday morning. Despite his internal conflict about the list, he couldn't bring himself to tear it up. If he never saw you again, this would be a precious memory to hold onto.

So he added a new aspiration at the bottom.

Taking the pen from his hand, you read it slowly, “Make Y/N mine again..”

You gaze up at him in awe, understanding the significance of this gesture and how much the list means to him, “You wished for this?” you ask, to which he simply nods at your question, “Then you need to tick it off.” You push the pen and paper back to him but he stops you.

“No, you made the wish come true, so you need to tick it off,” he replies, the corners of his lips upturning slightly.

So, with the pen, you draw a line over the words, scoring it off once and for all as you beam proudly, happy that both of your souls are now joined together again. You pull him in for a long, deep kiss, the bucket list discarded as you lose yourselves in the moment once again.

“Happy birthday, Jjongie,” you say, even if you are a day late.

#enhypen smut #enha smut #jay smut #jongseong smut #aj writes #enha x reader #enhypen x reader #jay x reader

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romanromulus · 2 years ago

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complaining about a problem that I created but this spn fic is giving me a lot of trouble. this is the first time I’ve ever had to do real structural edits on a fic, which I guess is a good thing—I’m learning how to piece sorry beats together more effectively. but damn does it suck.

#editing is the worst part of writing + more news at 11 #still. you think you’re finished with something and then you realize oh wait the entire first half of this is a disjointed mess.#which is partially because I forgot I had a sense of humor for like. six months. but in a more serious way is bc #I’m stepping away from basically stream-of-consciousness writing. usually I let something come out however it wants to come out and #then I edit sentences/dialogue etc. I might move a scene or two around or cut things. but the way it comes out is the way it #usually ends up. not this time though! I know this can be an effective story but ONLY if I put it together the right way.#doing that is stretching a new muscle. anyway! ugh! just complaining about the grind of it all

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infamous-if · 3 months ago

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I love how infamous is a masterpiece of unoriginality. It takes every possible rock band cliché, sticks them together with minimal effort, and calls it a story. The whole thing feels like a rejected script for a bad soap opera that somehow managed to weasel its way onto the internet. And don't even get me started on the emotionally exhausting ROs no one asked for. Let’s be real, the romance options in Infamous are just moody messes waiting to drain you of any energy. Want to play therapist to a tortured soul with commitment issues? Or babysit someone whose emotional stability is as shaky as the band’s career? Welcome to Infamous, where all the ROs are there to make you question your life choices—and not in the fun way. The Plot? Nonexistent, don’t worry. Who needs an actual storyline when you can just string together a bunch of angst-filled scenes and call it a day? The author must’ve thought, “What if I just didn’t bother with a plot at all?” So instead, you get a collection of sad, disjointed events that vaguely resemble a story if you squint. Writing quality? Eh, who needs it: From clunky dialogue to forced drama, the writing in Infamous feels like the author just threw words at a page and hoped for the best. It’s practically a masterclass in “good enough” writing—if by “good enough,” you mean “barely tolerable.” It’s almost like the main goal was to make Infamous as unoriginal and shallow as possible. Like, did they even try? Probably not. The whole thing reeks of “I read one too many fanfics and thought, ‘Hey, I could do that!’” Spoiler: they couldn’t. In short, Infamous is less a story and more a chaotic, poorly executed mess that somehow escaped the author’s drafts folder. If it’s supposed to be a game, the only real challenge is making it through without rolling your eyes.

I love how infamous is a masterpiece

you think my story is a masterpiece?

#inbox #infamous jokes

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pucksandpower · 4 months ago

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I’m Your Daddy Now

Day 6 → Daddy Kink 💋 Carlos Sainz

Warnings: 18+ content

Kinktober Masterlist

Carlos steps out of the club, the air heavy with the distant thrum of bass. It’s Ibiza — sweltering, chaotic, suffocating.

He wipes the sheen of sweat from his forehead and stretches his neck, glancing back at the mess inside. VIP, the promise of space and status, had turned into a sardine can. No room to breathe, no air to think. Everyone’s clamoring for more — more drinks, more noise, more of each other. He needs a break.

Outside, it’s no less chaotic, but at least there’s air. The lights from the club cast strange shadows across the street, flashing in sync with the music that pulses through the walls. His shoulders drop a fraction, relaxing.

Then, out of the corner of his eye, he sees you.

You’re stumbling — no, swaying, more like it. The dress you’re in barely qualifies as clothing, clinging to your body, shimmering under the lights. He knows the look in your eyes too well, glazed over, the movements too slow, too disjointed. You’re too far gone. Drunk? High? Probably both.

Carlos watches for a second, maybe two, before his instincts kick in. His feet start moving, eyes narrowing, as if zoning in on you could fix you in place, prevent you from drifting any further into the chaos of the night.

When he’s close enough, he leans in just enough to catch your attention but not enough to startle. His voice is low, authoritative. “What would your daddy say if he saw you like this?”

You blink, unfocused. “Daddy?” Your laugh comes out broken, short. “Never had one. Wouldn’t know.”

Carlos straightens up, a frown flickering across his face. “You don’t have a daddy?” His tone is almost mocking, teasing. “Then I guess I’m your daddy now.”

You laugh again, stumbling forward, nearly toppling into him. “Yeah?” You slur. “Sure, whatever you say.”

Carlos doesn’t laugh. He hooks his arm under your waist, pulling you upright before you faceplant onto the cobblestones. Your body’s limp against him, your breath reeking of tequila or something even stronger.

He speaks, more to himself than to you. “You’re not staying here. Not like this.”

You mutter something, but the words dissolve into gibberish. Carlos shakes his head, feeling a strange knot twist in his chest. Something between concern and frustration.

Where are your friends? How did no one notice you slipping this far? His mind flashes back to earlier in the night — the crowd, the sea of faces. None of them would care, not really. Not if you didn’t show up tomorrow.

“Well,” Carlos says, more determined now. “I’m taking care of you.”

Without hesitation, he bends down, looping his arm under your knees and tossing you over his shoulder. You let out a surprised yelp, but it quickly melts into incoherent mumbling as your head dangles, your arms limp.

“What? What are you-” you sputter, but your words are barely strung together.

Carlos adjusts you on his shoulder, firm but not rough. “Taking you home,” he replies, his voice steady, controlled. “Can’t leave you like this. Not a chance.”

As he walks, you start to squirm, but it’s weak. “No, no, no,” you mutter, but there’s no conviction in it. You’re too far gone to fight, too far gone to think straight.

Carlos ignores your weak protest, his stride never faltering. He knows what people might think if they saw him now, carrying you like this, but the crowd is oblivious, and he doesn’t care. His mind is set.

Reaching his car, Carlos shifts you in his arms, carefully lowering you into the passenger seat. He brushes your hair out of your face, taking in how disoriented you look. You’re barely holding on to consciousness, your head lolling back against the seat.

You glance at him, trying to focus. “Why?” You mumble, eyes half-closed. “Why are you ... doing this?”

Carlos pauses, his hand resting on the edge of the door. “Because no one else is,” he says simply, his voice firm, but there’s a softness beneath it, a quiet protectiveness. “You can’t take care of yourself right now. So, I will.”

You squint at him, as if trying to piece together what he’s saying, but it’s clear you’re losing the battle to stay awake. “Don’t ... need you,” you slur, though it lacks any bite.

Carlos raises an eyebrow, a small, almost amused smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah, well, you don’t get to decide that tonight.” He shuts the passenger door with a solid thud, circling to the driver’s side.

As he starts the car, you slump further into the seat, murmuring something unintelligible. Carlos glances over at you every now and then, his grip on the wheel tight, jaw set. There’s a heavy silence between you two now, but it’s not uncomfortable — it’s just ... there.

You shift slightly, eyes half-open again. “Where’re we going?” You ask, your voice a quiet, broken whisper.

Carlos doesn’t look at you when he answers. “Someplace safe.” His voice is steady, but there’s an undercurrent of something else there — something resolute, something protective. “You’ll thank me tomorrow.”

You close your eyes again, too exhausted, too far gone to argue. Carlos drives in silence, the night stretching out in front of him, the lights of Ibiza flickering in the rearview mirror.

He doesn’t know what your story is, doesn’t know how you ended up in the state you’re in tonight, but there’s a part of him that doesn’t care. You’re his responsibility now, at least for tonight. And that’s enough for him.

Carlos glances over at you one last time as you drift off into a restless sleep, your breathing deepening. He tightens his grip on the steering wheel, his mind already set.

Tomorrow, you’ll wake up in a safe place. Tomorrow, you’ll be sober, and maybe you’ll hate him for taking control when you couldn’t. But tonight? Tonight, you’re his to protect.

And he’s going to make damn sure you’re safe.

***

Carlos pulls up to his hotel, the valet glancing at the car before quickly looking away, recognizing the man behind the wheel. Without a word, Carlos steps out, walks around the car, and opens the passenger door.

You're still barely conscious, slumped against the seat. With an ease that speaks to both his strength and control, he lifts you out, cradling you against his chest as he strides toward the entrance.

The elevator ride is silent except for your shallow breathing. Carlos’ jaw is tight, his mind churning with a mix of concern and frustration. The numbers blink by, floor after floor, until finally, the doors open to the luxury suite. He walks inside, shutting the door behind him with a quiet finality.

He sets you down on the plush couch, your body slumping into the cushions. You blink up at him, bleary-eyed, struggling to focus.

“Where ...” You start, but your voice trails off, weak.

Carlos stands over you, arms crossed, looking down with a mixture of disappointment and something deeper — something protective. “You could’ve gotten yourself killed tonight,” he says, his voice low, firm. “What the hell were you thinking?”

You blink again, the words barely registering in your hazy mind. “I wasn’t ... I don’t know,” you mumble, trying to sit up, but your body doesn’t quite cooperate. “I’m fine.”

Carlos’ eyes narrow. “Fine? You can’t even sit up properly.” He shakes his head, running a hand through his hair, clearly exasperated. “You put yourself in danger. Do you have any idea what could’ve happened to you?”

You don’t answer, your mind still foggy, but something in his tone makes your heart race. There’s an edge to his voice, a command that cuts through the haze.

Carlos steps closer, looming over you. “I can’t believe you’re just brushing this off.” His voice is sharper now, frustration lacing each word. “Do you have no idea how stupid that was?”

You shake your head, but it’s a feeble gesture. “Didn’t mean to ...” you mumble, not even sure what you’re apologizing for.

Carlos doesn’t let up. “You need to understand something.” He crouches down in front of you, his face close, his voice low and intense. “If you can’t take care of yourself, then I’ll have to do it for you. And clearly, you’ve proven tonight that you need someone to teach you better.”

You blink, your pulse quickening. There’s a tension in the air now, thick and heavy. Carlos stands again, his expression unreadable as he reaches down, taking your wrist in his hand and pulling you gently but firmly to your feet. You stumble slightly, but he steadies you, his grip unyielding.

“Come here,” he says, his voice softer now but still carrying that commanding edge.

You’re too dazed to resist as he leads you to the large armchair by the window, sitting down and pulling you across his lap in one swift motion. You let out a soft gasp, but the reality of the situation still isn’t sinking in.

Carlos’ hand presses against the small of your back, holding you in place as he speaks. “You need to apologize.”

“For what?” Your voice is small, unsure.

“For putting yourself in danger,” he says, his tone firm but controlled. “You need to understand how serious this is.”

Your heart races, the fog in your mind starting to clear just enough for you to realize what’s happening. “I’m sorry,” you whisper, though the words feel hollow, automatic.

Carlos’ grip tightens slightly. “No, you’re not,” he says quietly. “Not yet. But you will be.”

Before you can process his words, his hand comes down against you, a sharp crack that makes you gasp. It’s not painful, not really, but the shock of it sends a jolt through your entire body.

“Count,” he commands, his voice steady, unyielding.

You hesitate, your breath hitching. “One.”

Another crack, this one sharper, more deliberate. Your body tenses against his lap.

“Two,” you whisper, your voice shaking.

Carlos doesn’t slow down. His hand comes down again and again, each time punctuated by your trembling voice counting the numbers aloud. By the time you reach five, your voice is barely a whisper, your body trembling with each strike. Tears prick at your eyes, but you force yourself to keep counting.

“Six ...” Your voice breaks, and a tear slips down your cheek. “Seven ...”

Carlos’ movements are measured, controlled. He’s not being cruel, but there’s no mistaking the firmness in his actions, the lesson he’s intent on teaching.

By the time you reach ten, the tears are falling freely, your voice shaking with each apology. “I’m sorry,” you whisper, over and over again, the words barely coherent.

Carlos pauses then, his hand resting on your lower back as he watches you. “What are you sorry for?” He asks quietly.

“For ... for putting myself in danger,” you sob, your voice broken. “I’m sorry ... I didn’t mean to ... I’m sorry, Daddy.”

The words slip out without thinking, but Carlos doesn’t react immediately. He lets the silence hang between you for a moment, the weight of the night pressing down on both of you.

Finally, he exhales, his hand moving in slow circles over your backside, soothing the sting he’s left behind. “Good,” he says quietly. “That’s what I needed to hear.”

You’re still trembling, tears slipping down your cheeks as you lie across his lap, your body limp with exhaustion and emotion. Carlos’ hand moves to your legs, gently lifting you off his lap and shifting you into his arms. He holds you against his chest, rocking you slightly, his fingers brushing through your hair.

“You’re safe now,” he murmurs, his voice softer, gentler. “I’ve got you.”

You cling to him, your tears soaking into his shirt, but you don’t care. All you can do is keep whispering the same words, over and over again. “I’m sorry, Daddy ... I’m so sorry ...”

Carlos’ hand continues to rub your back in slow, soothing circles, his voice a low murmur in your ear. “I know,” he says softly. “I know you are. But you have to be better. You can’t do this again.”

“I won’t,” you whisper, your voice barely audible. “I promise ... I won’t.”

Carlos pulls you tighter against him, his chin resting on top of your head as he continues to rock you gently. “Good girl,” he whispers, his voice low, soothing. “That’s my good girl.”

You stay like that for what feels like forever, wrapped in his arms, the weight of the night slowly melting away. And as your tears dry, and your breathing steadies, you feel something you haven’t felt in a long time — safe.

And you know, deep down, that Carlos isn’t just saying the words. He is your daddy now. And he’s going to make sure you never put yourself in harm’s way again.

***

The first light of morning filters through the heavy curtains, casting a warm, golden glow across the room. Carlos shifts slightly, his back against the headboard, one arm wrapped protectively around you.

He hasn’t slept much. Not that it matters. He’s content, watching the way your chest rises and falls steadily, your body curled up against him, your face nuzzled into his side. You look so small there, tucked against him like you belong.

A soft sound breaks the silence — a quiet whimper that escapes your lips, almost inaudible, but it catches Carlos’ attention immediately. You shift slightly, your brows furrowing, and you whimper again, a breathless, needy sound.

Carlos tightens his arm around you, his voice a low, soothing rumble. “I’m right here,” he murmurs. “Shhh, cariño. I’ve got you.”

You press yourself closer to him in your sleep, your legs tangling with his as you move, your body instinctively seeking his warmth. Carlos watches you for a moment longer, his hand sliding down your side, his touch gentle and possessive all at once.

His hand moves lower, and he feels the heat of your skin beneath the thin fabric of your nightdress. His fingers slide between your thighs, finding the soft bundle of nerves that’s already swollen and sensitive. He circles it slowly, deliberately, his touch light but insistent.

Your body reacts instantly, a soft moan slipping from your lips, your hips shifting against his hand. You’re still mostly asleep, hovering somewhere between dream and waking, but your body knows him, responds to him without hesitation.

Carlos leans down, his lips brushing your ear. “Wake up, princesa,” he coos softly, his voice low and tender. “You’re so close already, aren’t you? I can feel it.”

You stir, your eyes fluttering open, dazed and unfocused at first, your mind still catching up to what’s happening. But the sensation between your legs, the way Carlos’ fingers circle you so perfectly, pulls you fully into the moment.

A whimper escapes your lips, your hips bucking slightly against his hand. “Daddy …”

“I’m here,” he murmurs, his other hand sliding up to cradle the back of your head, pulling you even closer to him. “Just enjoy, cariño. You don’t have to do anything. I’ll take care of you.”

Your breathing quickens, your body arching against him as his fingers work you over, slow and steady, bringing you right to the edge without pushing you over. It’s torture — sweet, aching torture — and you can’t stop the soft moans that spill from your lips, each one more desperate than the last.

“Please …” you breathe, your voice shaky, barely coherent.

Carlos hums softly in response, his thumb pressing down on your bundle in a way that makes your entire body tremble. “You want to come, don’t you?” He asks, his voice almost a whisper, full of dark, teasing promise.

You nod frantically, your hands clutching at his arm, your body moving on instinct now, your hips grinding against his hand. “Please, Daddy…”

A low, satisfied sound rumbles in Carlos’ chest, and he leans down to press a kiss to your temple. “That’s my good girl,” he murmurs. “Let go for me. Let me take care of you.”

His fingers press harder, moving in slow, deliberate circles that send sparks of pleasure shooting through your entire body. You’re teetering on the edge, your mind foggy with need, and when his lips brush your ear again, whispering sweet encouragements, it’s enough to push you over.

You cry out, your body shuddering against him as the orgasm crashes over you, wave after wave of pleasure that makes your head spin. Carlos doesn’t stop, his fingers working you through it, coaxing every last bit of release from you until you’re a trembling, breathless mess in his arms.

When it’s over, your body goes limp, slumping against him, your breath coming in short, ragged gasps. Carlos’ hand moves to stroke your hair, his touch gentle now, soothing.

“There you go,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “That’s my girl. You did so well for me.”

You can barely respond, your body still trembling from the aftershocks of your release. But you manage a soft, broken “Thank you, Daddy,” as you nuzzle into his chest, your eyes fluttering shut again, exhaustion overtaking you.

Carlos holds you close, his arms wrapped protectively around you as you drift back to sleep. His mind is quiet now, the frustration from the night before gone, replaced by something softer, something more possessive. You’re his now. And he’ll make sure you never forget that.

“I’ll always take care of you,” he whispers, his lips brushing your hair. “I promise.”

***

The air in the room is warm, filled with the soft hum of the city outside the window. Carlos stands by the floor-to-ceiling glass, one hand resting against the frame, watching the traffic below. The months have slipped by in a blur of race weekends, private jets, and the quiet moments in between where he has you.

Always there. Always close. Just how he likes it.

He glances over his shoulder at you, sitting on the edge of the bed, legs folded underneath you, your soft gaze fixed on him. There’s something about the way you look at him now, like he’s the only thing in your world that matters. You’ve grown so used to his presence, so accustomed to his touch and his commands, that it’s like second nature to you. It pleases him, the way you’ve fallen so easily into this role.

But tonight, there’s something else on his mind. A question that’s been nagging at him. How far under his control have you really fallen? How deeply has he embedded himself into your mind, into your very being?

Carlos turns from the window and walks toward the bed, his steps slow and deliberate. His eyes never leave yours, watching for any hint of hesitation or doubt. But there’s none. You look up at him, your expression open, expectant, as if waiting for whatever he’s about to say or do next.

He sits down beside you, the bed dipping under his weight. For a moment, he just looks at you, his hand reaching out to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. There’s something intimate about the silence between you, the unspoken understanding that has developed over time. But tonight, he’s going to push a little further. See just how far he’s brought you.

“Come here,” he says softly, patting his lap.

You move instantly, like it’s instinct now, settling into his lap, your head resting against his chest. His arm wraps around your waist, holding you close. For a moment, he simply holds you, letting the quiet stretch out between you both.

“You’ve been such a good girl for me these last few months,” he murmurs, his lips brushing the top of your head. “Haven’t you?”

You nod against his chest, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. “Yes, Daddy,” you whisper, the words so automatic now, so ingrained in your mind.

Carlos smiles at the sound, that familiar name falling from your lips like it’s the only one you’ve ever known for him. And that’s exactly what he wants to test.

He tilts your chin up with his finger, forcing you to look at him. “Do you know how good you’ve been for me?” He asks, his voice low, almost teasing. “So good that I’m starting to wonder … if you even remember anything before me.”

You blink, confusion flickering in your eyes for a brief second. “What do you mean?”

Carlos smiles again, this time with more purpose. He strokes your cheek, his thumb brushing over your skin with a touch that’s both gentle and possessive.

“What’s my name?” He asks quietly, the question dropping into the space between you like a stone into still water.

You blink again, and Carlos watches the subtle shift in your expression. You hesitate, just for a second, like the question doesn’t quite register with you. And then, your lips part, the softest sound coming out.

“Daddy.”

Carlos raises an eyebrow, his smile widening. “No, no. I mean, my real name. What’s my name?”

The confusion deepens in your eyes, and you shift slightly in his lap, your fingers curling tighter into his shirt as if searching for some anchor. Your brows furrow, and you bite your lip, trying to think. But the answer doesn’t come as quickly as you’d expect.

“Daddy,” you repeat, your voice a little more uncertain now, like you’re not quite sure if that’s the right answer, but it’s the only one you have.

Carlos hums thoughtfully, his fingers tracing slow circles on your hip. “Are you telling me you’ve forgotten my name?” His voice is soft, teasing, but there’s an edge of control there, a test of how deep his hold on you really is.

Your eyes search his, desperate for some clue, but all you find is that same patient, knowing smile. Your heart races, your mind suddenly blank. “I … I don’t …” you stammer, your voice trembling slightly.

Carlos’ hand moves to your hair, his fingers tangling gently in the strands as he tilts your head back a little more, forcing you to hold his gaze. “Say my name,” he commands softly.

Your breath hitches, your mind scrambling, but the only name that comes to your lips is the one you’ve been calling him for months. “Daddy.”

Carlos’ smile deepens, his fingers tightening slightly in your hair as he leans closer, his lips brushing the corner of your mouth. “That’s the only name you know, isn’t it?” He whispers, his voice dark and velvety, filled with satisfaction.

You nod slowly, the realization dawning on you that you can’t remember ever calling him anything else. That name — his real name — it’s there, somewhere in the back of your mind, but it feels so distant, so unimportant compared to the one you’ve grown so used to. The one that feels right.

“Good girl,” Carlos murmurs, pressing a kiss to your temple. “You’re so far gone, aren’t you? You don’t even need to remember my name anymore.”

You shiver in his lap, a mix of fear and something else — something deeper, more vulnerable — filling you as his words sink in. The way he looks at you now, like he’s proud of how far you’ve fallen under his control, makes your heart race.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, though you’re not even sure why. It just feels like the right thing to say.

Carlos chuckles softly, his hand sliding down your back, holding you tighter against him. “Sorry for what, cariño?” He asks, amusement lacing his tone.

“For … for forgetting,” you say, your voice small, your fingers clinging to his shirt.

“There’s nothing to be sorry for,” he says, his voice gentle now, soothing. “You’ve done exactly what I wanted. You belong to me. And from now on, the only name you’ll ever need to remember is Daddy.”

You nod against his chest, your body relaxing into his hold, the tension slowly fading as his words sink in. He strokes your hair, his touch comforting, reassuring.

“I’ll always take care of you,” Carlos whispers, his lips brushing your forehead. “You don’t need to worry about anything else. Just stay here, with me, and I’ll make sure you’re always safe.”

You breathe in deeply, your body going limp in his arms, the last remnants of doubt fading away. “I will,” you whisper back, your voice soft but certain. “I’ll stay with you, Daddy.”

Carlos smiles, satisfied with your response, his fingers trailing slowly down your spine. “Good girl,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your temple. “That’s exactly what I like to hear.”

The room falls into a comfortable silence once again, the only sound the soft hum of the city outside and your steady breathing as you rest against him. Carlos holds you close, his hand stroking your back, his mind still turning over everything that’s happened.

He knew you were his. He knew you’d fallen completely under his control. But hearing it now — seeing the way you can’t even remember his real name — fills him with a sense of satisfaction he hadn’t expected. You’re his, fully and completely, and there’s no going back.

“It’s a good thing,” Carlos says softly, his voice barely above a whisper, “you’re mine. And you’ll never need to worry about anything else.”

You nod against his chest, your body relaxing even more, your trust in him absolute. “I’m yours, Daddy,” you murmur, your voice soft and full of quiet devotion.

Carlos smiles, his hand continuing to stroke your hair as he holds you close. “That’s my girl,” he whispers, his voice filled with pride. “Always mine.”

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frostblightsunbite · 5 months ago

Text

Another Cass drawing, for the soul.

Had a concept I wanted to sketch out, I'll probably redo this some point in the future.

Rant under cut :)

This isn't the best, but I don't completely hate it so its fine. This was a sketch, as you can probably tell from the shitty line work, but then I experimented with colouring and kinda liked it, so its weirdly disjointed. Also I resized the image so literally none of the line weight is consistent so...

Anyway, cape turning to night sky. neat concept. probably done a lot before, but I can't think of any examples rn.

I messed with the pose a lot. I think there might have been a reference originally, but it now Does Not look anything like it.

I hate the clouds. and the sky part. I hate drawing/painting those in general, so I should probably do a study or something, but I really don't want to

Oh and fun fact, This blog was supposed to be under a different name, but when I tried to make it, it was already taken. as it turns out, literally exactly 11 months before I had made that account using a different email. I'm so dumb.

I'm trying to make this somewhat coherent, but it's like half 3 in the morning, and I need to wake up at 7. I'm so tired idk why I didn't just finish this tomorrow when I would be happier with it.

as a side note, I think every time I draw Cass her eyes get bigger. which isn't necessarily a bad thing, but I fear the day when her eyes will envelop her whole. also it kinda functions like a spiderman mask, so thats fun for expressions.

#dc fanart #batfam #cassandra cain #cass cain #black bat fanart #black bat #black bat dc #cassandra cain fanart #cassandra wayne #freezer drawer

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ramblinscramblin · 1 month ago

Note

I LOVE THE KISSING HCS!! You wrote all the characters super duper well!! May I request reader is super busy and doesn't have enough time for mercs? And how the mercs would react? >,>

(Esp sniper, I feel like once he finds someone he trusts, he becomes the most clingiest man..)

→Mercs with a Busy Reader!

Genre: Fluff, a bit of angst

Characters: all the mercs!

Yes!! Thanks so much for the req anon, here we go! I decided to do an established relationship for this one, hope that’s alright!

Scout

Oh this will not be tolerated.

Scout is near impossible to ignore when he wants something, persistent beyond belief. If he wants your attention he is going to do whatever he has to do to get it.

The times where you do have time for him he spends most of it whining about how little he sees you.

When he’s not doing that though, Scout is constantly checking to make sure you’re having a good time with him. Going out of his way to make you laugh more than usual, and doing stupid things to get your attention.

Really afraid of you getting bored of him, and thinks you being busy will make you forget why you like him.

Abandonment issues are a bitch.

He is pretty pathetic, but he’s too proud to say any of it out loud, so he keeps it to himself. Just follows you around like a lost dog when you’re around, talking your ear off about all the things you missed while you were busy.

Doesn’t allow for a second of silence, just trying to keep your attention as much as possible. He’s so used to feeling like he has to work for attention so he’s not any different with you.

“Oh, did I tell you what happened with the teleporta’ the other day? It was wild, straight up I…” he continues rambling on and on.

At first you mistake it for genuine excitement for spending time with you again, but eventually you realize how disjointed his rants are and how anxious he sounds. He’s hardly even breathing in between sentences.

“Scout, scout! Slow down, relax,” you say in a light chuckle, grabbing his hand. Rubbing your thumb along the back of it. “Take it easy babe, deep breaths.”

“What? What happened?” He asked cluelessly, probably didn’t even realize he was doing it.

You just give him a big kiss, and then another for good measure.

You reassure him how much you like him, and how you being busy doesn’t change that at all. Once you start being all sweet to him he will turn to mush in your arms whining about how you’ve been neglecting him.

You make sure to give him some much needed attention that night.

Demoman

Demo HATES it when you’re busy. He’s way less clingy than Scout is, and definitely less pathetic about it, but it gets under his skin in a crazy way.

Will probably plan a cutesy date for you two. But when you get pulled away again? God he’s crushed.

Drinks to deal with it, that’s the only real way he knows how to deal with big feelings, so this is no different really.

You come back to an absolute blubbering mess, it’s almost impossible to understand him, but you definitely get the gist.

Felt so rejected that you left from the thing he planned for the two of you, and you feel SO GUILTY. You had felt bad before, but Tavish is pretty good about hiding his hurt so you figured he’d be okay.

You drop everything to stay with him that night of course, and the two of you share a nice quiet night together.

As soon as he wakes up he starts apologizing, remembering how he acted the night before.

“Oh my god, m’ so sorry,” he said the second he opened his eyes.

You kiss his forehead “no I’m sorry. I’m so so sorry for skipping out on our date.”

“S’okay,” he mumbled, just happy to have you here now.

You make it up to him by having a really romantic date night with him.

Sniper

Yes anon just like you said he is the clingiest man.

Shows it in weird covert ways though, just following you around like a shadow. Sometimes you kind of forget he’s there.

Doesn’t want to really say anything because he knows it’s not like it’s your choice to be busy, he knows you rather spend all your time with him. But that doesn’t take away from the fact that he feels super neglected.

I imagine he’s pretty secure typically, but he might become nervous that you��re getting tired of him. Won’t show any of that, you’ll probably never know about it.

Frequently calls his parents about you, they get annoyed at his lamenting. But they’re happy he finally found someone he can tolerate.

He doesn’t mind alone time in relationships honestly, but it gets to a point where it’s too much for him.

This is really the only time he’s the one to initiate physical contact, pretty much the second the two of you are alone.

(Given of course that the two of you have already been together for a considerable amount of time).

“Sniper I’m so sorry I’ve been so busy—“ he cut you off by wrapping his arms around you and kissing your face all over.

You yelp in surprise but ultimately just let him get it all out of his system, fighting it would be unwise. Not that you’d want too.

Once he’s done he pulls back staring at you intently “so I take it you missed me,” you say a little slyly.

He shrugs a little, leaning down to kiss your neck “maybe a lil’” he says softly.

You’re not getting away from him for a long time, may as well just accept it.

Solider

Solider isn’t clingy, and can exist perfectly fine without you.

Not like he wants to though, much prefers life with you in it.

Will act cranky without you though, much harder on the other mercs when you’re busy.

They literally beg you to spend more time with him, he’s killing them.

Extremely excited when you give him some much needed quality time

“Cupcake!” He exclaimed crushing your spine as he picked you up into a big head.

“I missed you too, love,” you struggle out, “but if you could please— you’re crushing me.”

He’s smiling the whole time as he complains about how terrible his teams has been treating him, loves it when you sympathize for him.

Absolutely mopey if you get pulled away again.

So long as when you’re with him you aren’t distracted and there are times when you are with him then he doesn’t take much offense to it. Considers himself to be a fairly busy individual as well, doesn’t mind going your separate ways. My man is secure af in relationships.

Engineer

Engineer, too, is a very busy individual, so he doesn’t take much offense to it.

But he gets tense without you, your his rock and he loses himself in his work if you’re not around enough.

The two of you have to make a mutual agreement to not get so wrapped up in your work.

When you two are together you probably just spend a lot of time enjoying how quiet and calm things are when you aren’t buried under projects.

Maybe you even make some space to get work done together, like taking whatever you’re doing into his workshop. If you’re going to be busy, may as well be busy together.

“Hon, could you pass me that wrench?” Engie asked, holding one of his machines in place.

Without looking up from your project you pick up the wrench “here you are dear,” you say casually handing it to him.

“Much obliged,” he responded, and the two of you returned to your own little worlds.

Parallel play goes crazy.

Pyro

Pyro doesn’t like it one bit.

Things feel calmer when you’re around, and when you’re not, they can feel quite discorded and lonely. They feel like you’re one of the few people who actually may understand them, so when you’re not around they tend to feel pretty lost and upset.

It’s not like they need you, but you make things more manageable for them.

You come back to a big fire I bet, as that’s Pyros only real way of expressing their emotions.

You feel really bad for leaving them all alone and try to make it up to them with a lot of cuddles and kisses. It almost works.

You really do have to make up with them, not just because you love them but for the sake of all the flammable things and people in the area.

You guys spend a lot of quality time together after that, and Pyro keeps you from ever going too far. Not that you mind though.

Medic

Medic gets very passive aggressive when he’s not given enough attention.

You might actually think you being buys is not a problem at first, the way he continues to insist that he doesn’t care. But after enough under his breath comments it becomes glaringly obvious that he actually does care.

He gets really huffy and cold when he feels neglected. You’re gonna have to do a lot to win his favor back.

“Come on, I said I was sorry,” you say with a frown.

“I said I don’t care,” Medic huffs

You roll your eyes as Medic turns his back on you, you sigh a little "okay well, I care. It was so very cruel of me to neglect you like that. I'm sorry my dear."

Medic presses his lips together to hide his smile "well you had better be!" He exclaims crossing his arms.

Pretty needy after that, you have to be on top of quality time with him from that point on.

He really does try to be understanding but he's a high maintenance partner and the two of you knew that going into things, so you have to just accept that fact.

Flowers and chocolate may be in order to get back into his good graces.

Heavy

Heavy is also pretty secure.

He's needy, but he is secure enough to not take it personally.

When you are around him he doesn't do any thing special beyond being a little bit more touchy with you, it's usually pretty unnoticable, but if you look it there.

You were telling him a story once from a time when you spent a long time away from him, and he stroked your arm as you talked.

"Heavy--" you say beetween a chuckle "--that tickles."

"Well maybe Heavy misses you while you're away," He says lowly as his fingers trace down your arm and to your hand.

"Oh you're such a sap!" You exclaim.

Heavy won't say it (because he doesn't want you to feel pressured) but he would absolutely love it if you surprised him with a romantic date night when you came to see him after a week of being busy. He doesn't need it, but it is very much appreciated.

Really doesn't want to come off as clingy and will go to great lengths to not be seen as such.

He totally is though, whoops.

Spy

Being the romantic that he is he likely finds some creative way to get your attention.

Maybe he let's himself into your room and sets up a romantic night in for the two of you, your favorite food and wine, candles and roses, all the works.

Pretends it's all for you and your benefit, Spy of course is too high and mighty to actually miss anyone. Even if that's what it really seems like what is happening.

"Wow I can't believe you did all this for me," you say gently, sitting at the seat that Spy pulled out for you.

"Of course, the very best for you mon amour," he says pushing you in towards the dinner he set out for the two of you "I know how very terrible it must've been without me."

His expression his smug as he sits down in front of you, picking up his glass of wine "sure, this is all definitely for me," you say teasingly, before he responds you continue "I wish you had told me before though, I don't exactly feel romantic date night ready."

He assures you that you look perfect, and if not conviced he certainly knows something else you can change into to look even better.

Spy just goes right into grand gesture mode when anything in the relationship happens.

Spy thinks very highly of himself, so he's not really worried about you getting bored of him or how much time you spend together.

Needy in his own way though.

Eek! I hope this is okay anon I've been having the worst writers block,,, sorry its so late I hope u like it! ≧◡≦

#team fortress 2 #tf2 #fanfic #fanfiction #fic #tf2 x reader #tf2 x you #x reader #tf2 sniper #tf2 scout #heavy x reader #medic x reader #scout x reader #sniper x reader #spy x reader #engineer x reader #solider x reader #pyro x reader #demoman x reader

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