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lueurjun · 2 months

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f1 driver!boyfriend heeseung.

request — if you are accepting requests i was thinking maybe something like formula one driver heeseung x reader where they travel to support him at his races all around the world, and also watching their boyfriend become world champion at the end of the season? thank you <3 !! 🎀

eek ! sorry this took so long. i have been in a deep writers block. but i hope you enjoy this lovely <3 this is long, my bad… i got carried away because i loved writing this. i had so much fun im not even kidding, i think i’m going to turn this into a written series for heeseung.

refer to this edit for the vibes—it has me in a chokehold and gave me the motivation for this.

rocking back and forth because ARE YOU KIDDING ME?

LEE HEESEUNG?? FORMULA ONE DRIVER?

SEDATE ME ! I NEED THIS

ahem anyways :)

heeseung’s career began at eight years old when his parents finally gave in and allowed him to start go karting.

f1 was his dream! he had posters in his room. miniature car figurines in a glass case that he didn’t let anybody touch. he sat for every race, knew every driver and owned so much merch that his mother had to hide her credit card

it’s giving maddy knew who she was from a young age- it’s giving obsession- it’s giving me with my enhypen obsession-

it was clear from the get go that this kid had some talent. he knew what he was doing and he knew how to do it better than anyone else

though he’s always been a little bit of a shit talker and ended up in several friendly feuds with other upcoming drivers.

lmao can you imagine 8 year old heeseung bickering with max verstappen?

as he grew older, he began competing in various competitions, and won the majority of them which opened up the doors to competing internationally

years later, he secures a position in F3 and gradually works his way up to F2. eventually, he makes it into F1 as one of the most promising drivers, under the guidance of red bull

now let’s introduce you

*louder than heeseung* hey 😘😉

you met Heeseung at one of his karting races when he was 15. instantly recognizing his potential, you had him sign your phone case, insisting that he was going to be famous one day and you wanted to sell it on ebay when he did.

absolute icon if you ask me

he thought you were being ridiculous, but he couldn't help but feel flattered by your confidence. after signing your phone case, he surprised you by asking for your number.

and who are you to pass up on the opportunity to keep in touch with a soon to be famous racer?

i can race faster than him just sayin ✋🙂‍↔️🤚 broom broom

the two of you remained in touch, and you attended as many races as possible to support him as a best friend. two years later, just as he secured a seat in F2, heeseung nervously asked you to be his partner.

which, of course, you were more than happy to.

now, onto present day: f1 driver heeseung with you, his beloved partner.

not you in your wag era-

i genuinely see you owning a tiktok account where you kinda just post daily grwms or vlogs which feature heeseung and your life travelling with him

and everybody eats it up because they get to see the human side of heeseung not just the aggressive driver that shit talks everything and everyone

yes i’m making him a sassy shit talker because i want to SUE ME

you kinda prove to his haters that he’s actually a huge nerd with the cutest personality, which garners him a lot more support

his team ADORES you for this

but it’s also really funny because why is the p2 winner, cocky red bull driver giving your followers a haul on all of his toy story merch?

his helmet is definitely custom designed as buzz lightyear and i find that absolutely adorable

he also has your initial on his helmet somewhere that everyone thinks is so sickeningly cute

he calls it his good luck charm

you receive some hate with jealous people accusing you of only wanting his money and fame

haters come outside i’m not gonna do anything. haha. i just wanna talk ( and set their hair on fire ) just a lil chit chat 😃

but for the most part, you are actually very much adored

if fans see you walking around, they call out for you to take pics with them

which you do, albeit with a little hesitance, as you’re not used to the spotlight and don’t quite understand why people idolise you.

ummmm because you’re perfect🫶 hope this helps

in this scenario, you’re a full time influencer which makes it easy for you to travel alongside him and attend all of his races

which is good because you couldn’t make his japan gp due to an issue and he damn near lost his mind

bro was STRESSING

i would be too if i had u and had to deal with a couple days without u 🫶

he made it everyone’s issue

his team were so tired of him that they sent you multiple texts begging for you to get on a flight

he was so sassy during his interviews and the viewers immediately knew it was because you weren’t there

‘bringy/nback’ trended with memes making fun of him for being a brat without you there

he finished really badly that weekend

bro relies on you fr

when you eventually returned at his side for his next race

he was back to his angelic self

you made him apologize to all the team

imagine you stood behind him with your arms crossed, shaking your head while he sheepishly apologises in front of everyone for being difficult HAHHAHA

he was all smiles in his interview and got p1 because he was eager to impress you

gigglin and kickin my feet BECAUSE HES SO CUTE

and you’re stood in the paddock, watching with the biggest grin on your face

when the podium celebration rolls around, you’re front row and he makes sure you get hit with some champagne with the biggest shit eating grin you’ve ever seen

he ruined your very expensive outfit but you didn’t have it in you to be mad

i would never do that to you personally- just saying, your clothes would always be in pristine condition if you were with me… just sayin ✋😌🤚

when the two of you leave literally anywhere, he gets swarmed by fans

tells them to wait a second, and gets you to the car safely before he jogs over to sign some stuff

if you can’t get to the car, he makes sure your hand is in his, keeping you close whilst he signs things

he’s always hyper aware of your safety in public

if you’re instantly met with flashing lights, he will either cover your eyes or take off his hat and put it on your head to shield you

your safety always comes before his

also can we talk about your fashion?

you always dress to impress, never a bad outfit day

pfft is anyone surprised? you’re literally gods gift to earth- MOVE HEESEUNG

travel days are always so tiring for heeseung

which is when you become the protective one

holding him protectively whilst you both wait for your flight

running your hands through his hair

he holds you so tight; he doesn’t care who sees or about getting teased by his fellow drivers

when you’re finally in the air, whether it be private jet or not, you always make yourself into a personal pillow for him

it could be the cushiest flight known to man, and you’d still be his pillow

that should be me fr

he sleeps like a baby the whole time

and you don’t mind because you know he needs it

in the days leading up to the championship, he becomes…

unbearable? whiny? annoying? come here, i’d never- sorry sorry 😔

tense…

his stress levels are through the roof and nothing really helps other than just letting him be

he’s snappier than usual, but after many years together, you’ve learned to let it go

because you know this is a huge deal for him and he always apologises afterwards

the only thing you can really do is serve as his support and try to relax him as best as you can

like couple spa days when his schedule isn’t crammed

sightseeing to enjoy the beautiful country

even lying in your hotel room the night before, reminiscing about your relationship and his journey to becoming one of the best

you’d feel his heartbeat beneath your back which would be pressed up against him

his shaky breaths against the side of your neck as he pressed nervous kisses beneath your ear, nibbling slightly on the lobe

god… i’ve seen what you’ve done for others

“will you still love me if i don’t win tomorrow?”

you can tell he’s straddling the line between joking and genuinely needing reassurance

so, you do what you always do

you turn, cup both of his cheeks in your palms, and press your forehead against his

“you look funny.”

he’d giggle, and you’d start wiggling your eyebrows to make him laugh harder

and he always does, because to him, you’re the funniest person he’s ever met

then, you’d scrunch up your nose and gently sweep it against his, eventually leaving a kiss on the bridge.

“i will love you no matter what. even if you wake up tomorrow and decide that you want to quit, i will love you. even if you decide to walk away from it all, i will love you. because at the end of the day, it’s not the trophies that matter or the podiums. it’s you. you, you, you! your happiness, your peace of mind. you are my greatest achievement; you are my championship win. and i will love you until my heart beats its last pump of blood.”

if you look closely, you can see me drowning in the shower-

a million kisses are shared that night before the two of you finally slip into a steady sleep

when the next morning rolls around, heeseung doesn’t talk much as he gets himself ready for the race

you’re a bundle of nerves as you follow behind him, hand clutched in his own

pre race cuddles are a must in his little rest room

there’s not much talking, heeseung quite likes his silence to gather his mind and enter his racing headspace

but his hold on you, and the way he looks at you speaks for itself. you don’t need his words to know that he loves you and he wants to win not only for himself or red bull, but you.

“if we win this, i’ll give you my helmet to sell on ebay. i think it would go nicely with the signature i gave you at 15.”

your heart quite literally melts into a puddle at the memory

you grin, peppering a bunch of kisses all over his face until you finally land on his lips, soaking in the pre race nerves and savouring the taste of nutella from his pancakes he had that morning

“oh, i am going to be absolutely loaded.”

the two of you share a laugh, knowing silently that you’d never sell it on ebay because it’s tucked away in your memory box, where it will stay until you’re grey and old

a piece of the past where the two of you very first met

the peace drains from the room as though a plug had been pulled from the bathtub, with tension and nerves flooding in

look at me getting all poetic 😌

heeseung doesn’t let go of your hand until he absolutely has to

leaving you alongside his family members with a kiss so passionate it left your mind reeling

his mother grabs your hand after sharing her own moment with him, and the two of you hold on tight to the hope that he’s going to win

the race is tense, you’re almost in tears from the chaos and the nerves

your heart feels like it’s seconds from stopping as the end to the final lap approaches with heeseung in close second

he’s going to overtake, and you’re not quite sure whether your heart could handle it

STOP WHY IS MY HEART POUNDING AS IF IM THERE PLS

you grip onto his mother, the two of you holding onto each other in anticipation

it happens within seconds, you barely have time to process it

heeseung overtakes, barely missing the Ferrari car as he does so

several seconds later, your world stops as the red bull team bursts into celebration

someone is shaking you, gripping onto you with pure elation but everything is in slow motion

heeseung just won the world championship

your heeseung just won

nah because why am i crying? someone take my laptop i’m far too into this

you choke out a sob, allowing his mother to cradle you in her arms with tears flowing down her own cheeks

you’re a crying mess, blubbering proudly and unable to make sense of anything

you don’t even care that the camera is on you, displaying your reaction for everyone to see

“he did it!”

“he absolutely did!”

you don’t know how much time has passed before he’s running towards you, yanking the helmet off

there’s no time to process anything before he sweeps you up into his arms, pressing kisses all over your skin wherever his lips could fit

he holds you like you’re the trophy, lifting you up proudly like a medal

tears cascade down your cheeks like a summer waterfall, while warmth and joy spread through you

he did it. he actually did it.

“get that helmet signed, boy. i’m gonna be rich!”

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pedrostylez · 6 months

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I’m Here When You Need Me

Joel Miller x f!reader One Shot

Warnings: Angst, feelings, longing, cheating on the readers part, Joel just wants you to be happy, high key hating reader’s husband, age gap mentioned (Joel is in his 50’s, no reader age), insecurities, mentions of body and working out, insecurities, nipple and breast play, fingering, dirty talk, unprotected piv sex ( wrap it people), oral f recieving, I think that’s it

Word Count: 4.1k

A/N: this has had minimal edits and I’m posting from my phone so don’t be judging me!!!! Heed the warnings. I hope you guys enjoy 😊

He’s at it again, dreaming of you wrapped around him. Soft to the touch, warm and needy, just how he likes you.

The telltale sound of his phone wakes him from the comfort of his dreams, vibrating through the pillow to his ear. When he squints his eyes to see your name on the screen, his heart freezes for a moment. You don’t typically call, so it must be important. “Hello?” He sounds groggy, and he hears your pause before a deep sigh. He knows you feel bad for calling him, even though you knew he would be asleep. “What is it, baby?”

“Don’t call me that.” You hiss, breath coming quickly through the receiver, the sound of your teeth biting at your nail.

“Are you alone?” He asks, now sitting up in bed. He’s used to a rogue text here and there, asking if he’s home so that you can slip out while your husband is asleep, or at work. He’s never texted you first, never been the initiator except for the once when he first spotted you in the bar. But a phone call in the middle of the night? Unheard of.

“Yeah.” You sigh, frustration clear in your voice.

He frowns, rubbing at his chin and shuffling out of bed. “Door’s open, baby.” It slips out, and he winces, figuring you’ll correct him again. He can’t help it.

You don’t say anything about the nickname, just give him a quiet goodbye and an ETA.

He doesn’t bother to remake the bed, doesn’t bother to clean up anything. He used to; used to make sure all the dishes were done and that the floor was swept for you. He was embarrassed, a 50 something year old man still living alone and had somehow gotten your attention. He wanted to leave a good impression.

But after enough times of you storming in, how you would grab around the collar of his shirt and thrust yourself at him to feel something, to distract you from whatever issues you were having with him, he stopped worrying.

A habit he shouldn’t get into, but he knew you would come around again and again.

Joel flicks on the outside light, looking out the curtain briefly before sitting on the couch and turning on the TV. He keeps the sound low, listening for the sound of your truck to pull up next to his. His pants are low, riding just below the elastic band of his underwear, loose and warm under the flannel.

He sighs, switching the channel and scratching at his incoming beard. He doesn’t know what mood you’ll be in, what you’ll want, but trying to wake himself up after a long day on the job is all he can do to prepare for you.

The sound of your door slamming has him turning his head, listening to your sneakers shuffle on his brick pathway. The pause at his door, where he swears he can hear you take a deep breath before twisting the knob and letting yourself in.

Your hair, swept to one side and down, loose, wild, has his mouth upturned out of habit. He loves you wild. “Hey.”

“What’s going on?” He asks quietly, letting you shut his front door and slip your sneakers off. He doesn’t dare move, afraid that he might scare you off by being too concerned. You’re in your own set of pajamas, loose shirt and flannel pants with a sweatshirt zipped in the front.

When you sit beside him, you lean into him with your head on his chest. One, two, three big breaths leave your mouth as he wraps an arm around you. It gives you the courage to say what you came here for. “I don’t think he loves me.”

Joel’s heart sinks, the sound of your voice defeated. His arm squeezes around you, looking down to the crown of your head. “No, baby that’s not true.” It slips out again, and he closes his eyes to try and recenter himself. Stop calling her baby.

“He won’t even look at me anymore.” You say again, tilting your head to look Joel in the eye. You’ve accepted it, eyes not shimmering with sadness. “He says he wants me but…never initiates. It’s like I’m begging just for an ounce of attention.”

Joel holds his face neutral, his blood boiling. He wants you, he would give you the attention you deserve. He knows that’s why you’re here, that’s why you called–

“I don’t think he finds me attractive anymore.” You whisper, an uncommitted shrug before you bury your head back against his chest.

Joel rubs his hand up and down your back, looking up toward the TV for a moment. Reruns of Seinfeld, laugh tracks and a bright screen fill his senses. He keeps quiet, keeping his hand moving to reassure you before he says, “I think the world of you.”

You shake under his arm with a brief chuckle, resting your hand on his stomach and swirling, swirling, swirling your finger around his belly button.

He resists sucking his stomach in, knowing you’ll chastise him like you have before. He wants to hold you, body against body to prove to you how much he wants you. “Do you want to go lay down with me?” He asks quietly, feeling your hair slide away from his arm as you pull away from him.

“Sure.” You reach for the remote, clicking off the screen and unzipping your sweatshirt. You turn to him, smirking as you step in the direction of his bedroom. “Just to sleep?”

“If that’s what you want.” Is his immediate answer. It wouldn’t be the first time you’ve come to his door just wanting to fall asleep on his chest; he wouldn’t mind it in the least, just to have you next to him.

But the way you smile, the way your eyes shimmer with want, he knows that isn’t what will be happening.

No, not when he turns off all the lights and heads to the bedroom and finds you already under the covers. Your quiet voice asking him to turn off the lights is new, but he obliges.

He fumbles to the bed, getting under the covers and hearing your giggle when you reach for his hand and place it on your breast. He laughs as well, swiping his thumb back and forth over your nipple until it is taunt, peaked against the pads of his fingers. He presses his mouth to your jaw, lightly pinching to hear your whimper against his ear.

He sighs happily, groaning when your fingers wrap around his cock through his pajamas. Your hands are warm, pressing heat into him in ways he misses when you’re gone. He lets his fingers drift down your side, counting your ribs quietly to himself. “Let me see you, baby?” He inquires, letting his lips run down the column of your throat, pressing deeply into the curve of your collarbone.

He feels your tension, the way you freeze for only an instant before going back to your loosened and easy going movements. “What? Don’t like surprises?” You question, squeezing your hand around the head of him briefly before pushing down his pants.

He springs free, your fingers lightly dancing down his shaft making him groan. He wants to tell you that it’s not that he doesn’t like surprises, but he wants to watch you. He looks down, blankets haphazardly in the way, only giving him a peek at what your hand is doing around him.

It feels like heaven, your hand with small calluses at the base of each finger. The smoothness of the rest, silky and enticing pumping up and down, your thumb swiping at the weeping hole to spread some of the wetness around.

He moves the sheet out of the way, letting his eyes trail to your chest before looking up at you as his tongue pokes out, circling the same nipple from before. Your mouth opens in awe, eyes fluttering shut and head thrown back. “J-Joel–”

“Let me see you.” He’s muffled against your skin, flicking his tongue against you and letting his fingers drift further and further down. Joel’s fingers brush over the hem of your underwear, and he can’t help the smile that grows on his face as you giggle. He knows it’s ticklish there, just as he dips his fingers into the humid skin beneath.

Your breath hitches, eyes opening more fully as he moves the blankets with his arm. He notices how you watch it, suddenly self conscious as your legs start to spread for him. “I’m cold, Joel.”

He pauses, letting only the knuckle of his first two fingers continue their movement under the strain of your underwear. You’re slick, his fingers easily moving over your clit with a laziness that he knows you like. You don’t want to be rushed-ever; it’s why you go to his place to begin with. “I’ll warm you up.”

“N-no.” You close your eyes, shaking your head as if falling out of this fantasy. “I want the blankets up here.”

Joel’s fingers pause now, head tilting up to you and frowning. He can see you more clearly now, his eyes having adjusted to the street lamps that filter through his curtains. You’re almost naked below him, frowning with your eyes downturned, looking toward his hand instead of his face. He brings his other hand up, tilting your chin to look directly at him. “What’s wrong, baby?”

You attempt at a scoff, but he’s not buying it. “I’m cold, I told you–”

“You know I think you’re beautiful, right?” He gruffs, frown going deeper as he sees you shake your head. “You know I like to see how you react, touch you, look at you. Why do you want to be covered?”

“I’ll just put my shirt back on.” You snarl, teeth coming out to bite as you lean over the side of the bed, reaching for the shirt you had tossed off before he followed you into the bedroom.

His fingers wrap around your wrist, pulling your arm back and holding you to the bed. Unable to roll, you wiggle under him, pulling your hand free to reach again. When he catches you again, you groan unhappily, getting into a pulling and pushing match with him.

He’s stronger than you, the creases in his forehead deepening as he let’s you get away enough times to tire you out, but not letting you escape his question. “Quit fightin’ me, and tell me what is going on.”

Your hands are secured to the pillows below you, breasts bouncing from the intensity of it and your deep breaths. He can’t help how his eyes trail down, wanting to look at you, but seeing you squirm uncomfortably.

You stay silent, glaring at him and then looking to the ceiling as if you’re just going to ignore the question. Joel sighs, annoyance bubbling up in him and trying to tamp it down. It clicks suddenly in his head, that something must have been said to you. “Why do you want to be covered?”

Your eyes trail back to his, your furrowed brow slowly relaxing, the tension in your arms reducing to where Joel releases his grip and lets his fingers trail down to hold your torso. His hands wrap around you, his thumbs stroking at the soft skin under each breast. He’s not sure if your eyes are shimmering with tears, or if it is just a trick in the light when you say, “He…he asked if I had been working out lately.” You swallow, shaking your head. “A-and when I said no, he…he said ‘that’s obvious.’”

Joel’s breath comes quickly, his fingers subconsciously digging into your skin to hold himself steady. He said what? He can’t help but stare at you, waiting for more to come, but you just stare back with a slow buildup of tears in your lash line.

Another moment of silence before you’re sniffling, bringing a hand up to cover your eyes as if embarrassed. Joel releases you as he feels your body shutter, pulling the blankets up around you both and moving his fingers to cradle your head. He lets his dull nails scratch at your scalp, shushing and cooing at you until you’re pressed against him, naked skin on skin in a humid cloud under his blankets.

He lets you cry; it’s the first he’s really ever seen you do so since meeting you. You’ve always been strong, secure and confident in how you present yourself. He found it off putting, in some ways-he had never been with a woman that didn't need him. He was used to being the provider. But you’d always taken care of yourself, came and went as you pleased, and didn’t ask for anything else.

His heart swells with want. “You’re alright baby, I’ve got you.” He husks, moving his fingers to the back of your neck and massaging at the tense muscles there. “He’s a fucking moron, you know that don’t you? You’re beautiful, you’ve got me wrapped around your finger.”

You shake your head, tears having stopped and a small smile making its way across your face. “No I don't, Miller.”

“You do.” He relents, tilting his head down to look at you again. Red eyes and wet lashes, but otherwise okay. His thumb runs under your eyes, absorbing tears from your face almost instantly. “He shouldn’t be speaking to you that way.”

You roll your eyes. “It’s not a big deal. He’s right, it’s probably why our marriage isn’t going great.”

“That’s not true.” He says immediately, letting his thumb drift to your lower lip and pull it down briefly. “You think your marriage isn’t going well because he doesn’t find you attractive?”

“Among other things.” You sigh, now back to your previous demeanor. Your fingers are dancing over his chest, swirling his chest hair around. “Joel, it’s fine.”

“It’s not.” He argues. “You’re someone any decent man would want. How can he just–”

“Please just, let’s move on.” You cut him off, pressing a flat palm firmly into his chest.

He closes his mouth, breathing heavily through his nose to calm himself down from giving a full lecture. He wants you to understand, to hear him fully. You deserve better than what you have.

You both lay there silently for a moment, just breathing together and not moving. He keeps his eyes on yours, watching yours flick down to his mouth and feeling the way you minutely move towards him. He doesn’t dare move, wanting you to be the one that initiates.

Your hand is gentle against his lower stomach, gliding down again to his now softened cock. It stirs, easy to respond to you. Joel stops your hand, wrapping his fingers around your wrist. “Is this what you want?”

“Yes.” You’re breathy, pupils having gone wide as he lets go of your wrist. It doesn’t take him long to get hard again with how you move your hand, his mind both empty and racing with thoughts.

When you roll on to your back, offering a silent invitation for him to get on top, he’s eager to let his legs tangle with yours and settle between your thighs. He presses his mouth to your collarbone, trailing down below the blanket as you wished for before, his tongue peeking out when he gets to your core.

You sigh happily when his tongue meets your clit in slow, agonizing circles. He prefers to watch you when he does this, eyes up on your face as his tongue swoops back and forth, over and over the hood of your clit until you’re squirming and reaching down to fist at his hair. He likes watching your neck shine with a thin layer of sweat, the way your hair begins to stick to your face and your eyes closing tightly to just feel him.

But right now he’s below the covers, holding one leg down and open to better feast on his meal, the other reaching up and intertwining his fingers with yours. The hand not in his must be bracing yourself against his headboard, your moans muffled by the sheets and blankets surrounding him.

He lets his tongue dip into you, squeezed briefly by your walls and the yelp you let out makes him chuckle. You never expect the first intrusion, spreading your legs wider to let his shoulders be flat against you, his laugh vibrating against your skin.

He continues this pattern, dipping into you with his tongue, circling your clit, and back again. He doesn’t know how long it goes on for, over and over to the point that he’s closed his eyes to feel you instead of watching you. His cock is hard between his legs, pressing against the end of his mattress and begging to be touched by your hand.

There’s a gust of cool air as you lift the sheet away from him, tossing it to the cold side of the bed and reaching down to his hair. He groans again, missing the feeling of your hand on any part of him, and he winces at the tug you give.

You’re pulling him up, wanting his lips on yours and for him to cover you. He obliges, pressing his lips to yours and grabbing at your thighs to lift around his middle. It would be embarrassing, how hard he is for you right now, pressed to your center and grinding against the slick that he left there, but he can’t care right now.

You want him, and that’s his priority; keeping you wanting him.

“Taste so sweet, baby. You want a little?” He says gently against your lips, pressing into your again and letting his tongue sweep into your mouth. You moan, a high and breathy sound that he loves. “That’s right, you like that, don’t you?”

He waits for your nod of approval, how you lunge for his mouth again and happily kiss his lips and jaw as he adjusts his hips to better line himself up with your center. “Joel, please, get inside me already.”

“Impatient.” He mumbles, smirking at you and tilting his head to bite at your ear. He knows you’re ticklish there, wanting to hear your laugh another time before he fills you and loses all sense of himself inside you.

He feels you tilt your hips for him, letting your half-lidded eyes meet his. The head of his cock weeps, aching to be inside you. Joel moves himself to let his head rest against your waiting entrance, beginning the slow slide in.

He can’t stop the thoughts in his mind, racing around in circle. I love you. I love you. I love you.

Once fully seated inside, you both groan in unison, his arms strained to pull away just enough to look down to where you both are connected. “Fuck.” He bites out, looking back up to your face and letting one hand rest on your jaw. “You’re so fucking perfect around me.”

“Joel, move honey.” You whine, reaching out to his shoulders and pulling him back to you. Your nails dig into the taunt muscle, the feeling soothing him.

Honey.

You don’t call him that unless you’re in a different headspace–where you forget the circumstances of why you’re here. It was difficult early on for Joel to get you to relax, even though the act itself made you like putty in his hands. No, he focused on you mentally relaxing, truly forgetting your worries. When you were like this, he could say what he meant. “You’re so perfect baby.” He strains, thrusting into you at a slow and methodical pace. His hips press into the backs of your thighs, his fingers holding around your jaw tighter. “So fucking wet, you wanted this, huh? Wanted me to fuck you like this?”

You nod as he speeds up, the sound of your skin slapping against his now more prominent, the frame of the bed creaking quietly behind it. I love you. I love you. I love you.

He has to stop himself from saying it. The first time he had, he thought it would be the end of whatever the two of you had going. It had slipped out over six months ago, on your way out the door after riding him on the couch.

“I love you.” He had said quietly, watching you redress after climbing off of him.

You turned to him, a half smile on your face. “No, you don’t.” You said simply, waving at him and going on your way. He didn’t expect you to call him after that, and was shocked when just the next night you were on his doorstep waiting for him after work.

And now you’re below him, and just as every time before after that first admission, he wants to say it again. You’re crying out, asking him to come instead of announcing you’re going to, and he speeds up his movements. “You wanna finish around my cock?” He asks, his voice unrecognizable. “I’ll let you, go ahead baby. Let me see it.”

You nod, tears brimming your eyes again for a different reason than before. He feels you tighten in waves around him, sucking him in further as he tries to hold himself back. Joel continues to pump his hips, his lower back tingling with his own release ready.

“J-Joel–” you moan, digging your nails deeper into his shoulder. “Come inside me, pl-please.”

He grunts, forgetting himself and pushing forward with a whine he’s never heard leave his mouth. His eyes close as his come coats your walls, warm and welcoming of it. Joel rests his forehead against yours, sweaty skin pressed to sweaty skin, smiling down at you and breathing heavily. “Fuck baby–”

“Don’t call me that, honey.” You tease, eyes fluttering shut and an award winning smile spreading across your face.

He pulls out, wincing at how tight you are around him still, resting on his side and letting his arm wrap around your middle. “Stay?” He asks quietly, watching you turn your head and opening your eyes to look at him.

You think for a moment. “I need to clean up, and then I’ll decide.”

He grunts in disapproval, letting you slip out of his grasp and step into the ensuite bathroom. The light blinds him briefly, your ass the only thing he can see as you lean over the sink to get a closer look in the mirror. Joel props his head up, watching as you push up on the balls of your feet to get closer, your arms coming out to the door frame and leaning over to look at him. “Do you have wipes?”

He had bought some after the first few times of you being there, asking every time if he had any. He had got you to say what brand they were, and he kept them stocked now. “First drawer on the right.”

You hum happily, pulling out a face wipe and turning back to him, watching him as you scrub at your forehead and cheeks. “Did you want to clean up?”

He shakes his head. “Want to keep you on me, if you don’t mind?”

You smirk, rolling your eyes as if you don’t care. When you finish, you flick the light off and walk toward the bed, Joel blinded briefly from the change in light. “Where’d you go, baby?”

“I’m here.” You whisper, shifting the bed as you climb in and pull the covers from the other side to cover you both. You’re still naked, now cooled skin against him. “I’ll stay, if that’s okay.”

“Of course.” He whispers back, smiling to himself and wrapping an arm around your shoulder. He presses a kiss to the top of your head, enjoying how you snuggle into his body and neck, fitting perfectly with him. “I’d let you stay as long as you want. You know that.”

You sigh, circling your fingers against his chest hair. “What if…” you trail off, fear taking hold of your voice in a way that makes Joel uncomfortable. He squeezes an arm around you, waiting. “What if I’m too scared to have things change?” You whisper, tensing in his arms.

Joel remains relaxed, his mind swimming with I love you, I love you, let me love you. He sighs, pressing another kiss to your head. “I’m here for when you need me, if you want me.” He says quietly, feeling you relax in his arms again.

Your eyelashes flutter against his skin, your breath slowing down and becoming deeper. As you fall asleep, Joel swallows harshly. He’s here when you need him, and it was never going to change.

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfic #joel miller #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller tlou

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signanothername · 1 month

Note

saw your recent post about Nightmare's room for Dream, and it reminded me of a fic, where due to Dream still physically and mentally being 6 in the stone, Nightmare was preparing for what to do now as the 'older brother'

which made me wonder

I'm betting Ink or someone from the Omega Timeline found Dream first when he was freed from the statue

What would've happened had it been Nightmare? When faced with this small six year old who is nothing like he remembers, would Nightmare's true self and corruption be mentally first fighting on what the hell to do?(The mental image of this is a bit comical)

Aw that’s adorable dhhxhxhxh

So funny enough, I kinda already made 2 comics that explored what Nightmare’s reaction will be to a small 6 y/o Dream before, just under completely different circumstances

But here’s the thing, while i have explained before how Nightmare’s corruption works in my eyes, I don’t think I was really clear in my explanations, so I’m taking your ask as an excuse to explain it better >:) (i’ll get back to your main question I promise hdhdhdh i just wanna help you connect some dots when it comes to Nightmare’s behavior)

So something to keep in mind is how Nightmare’s mind isn’t truly strong enough to fight off his corruption/corrupted thoughts from controlling him and guiding his actions, and while Nightmare is in absolute control of his mind, his corruption has shaped it in its own twisted way, that’s why he’s an absolute fucking bitch, that’s why Nightmare can be extremely cruel to those around him

Think of his corruption as a parasite, it feeds off Nightmare’s own pain and in turn it’s what makes Nightmare feel that pain (and his own emotions) magnified times a thousand

So when say a normal person who isn’t corrupted feels anger for example, they would feel that anger through stages from it being a mere mild frustration that turns to anger and then full blown rage (depending on the situation of course), but even then a normal person would be able to control that frustration so it doesn’t escalate to anger and in turn never turns to rage, or even if this person were to immediately jump to rage, then they’ll be able to calm themselves down by venting that anger a bit

Nightmare on the other hand,

A- doesn’t go through those stages for his emotions, he immediately experiences the most intense form of them

and

B- those feelings never go away, they linger and fester inside him like an infestation as it is what his own corruption feeds on

He feels angry? That anger is a full blown rage inside him, he feels sad? That’s crushing depression for him, he feels hate? That hate is nothing but raw loathing for everyone and everything around him, he feels fear? It’s fucking paralyzing to the point Nightmare seeks power so he won’t have to feel afraid, he feels happy? It’s tainted by his now sadistic behavior as Nightmare finds sick satisfaction and glee in hurting those around him

Of course, how he deals with that changes as he grows and learns and adapts, so such emotional intensity/ instability is extremely apparent on him as a newly corrupted 6 y/o who feels all alone and lost in the world while it shapes his personality and who he becomes as an adult with a lot more control over his actions/reactions (corruption + bad experiences that shapes his mind = Mean Girl Bitchmare)

What I’m trying to say is that his corruption contributes to his emotional instability, and that corruption knows what to feed on exactly, it makes it so Nightmare feels dependent on negativity so he won’t have to experience what it’s like to feel powerless again, it feeds on his fear, pain, anger, hatred and it extends to Nightmare’s sadistic cruel actions that in turn brings more negativity, which in turn makes him stronger and by extension the corruption stronger which contributes to magnifying his emotions even more, which leads to more cruelty and so on, it’s a never ending torturous cycle that no one is aware Nightmare’s in.. including Nightmare himself, Nightmare is as much of a victim to his corruption as those poor souls who have to deal with Nightmare cause of it

The corruption magnifies Nightmare’s emotions too much for his mind to even be able to process them let alone regulate them, (and Nightmare already has problems understanding his own emotions to begin with) and in turn that corruption only got to his mind as well

Imagine it this way, Nightmare’s mind is plagued by his now corrupted thoughts, he can’t truly think clearly through the thick suffocating corruption, trauma, and horrifying experience in his first 500 years of corruption, it’s like looking through a broken mirror, the pieces of the mirror are still there, and they still show his reflection, but they’re too distorted and messy to form a clean and clear reflection, Nightmare looks at himself in that mirror, but all he sees is scattered pieces of who he used to be (he can no loger recognize his reflection) and so as Nightmare keeps trying to put the pieces back together, it’s more and more clear that not only do they now show the reflection of he used to be, but also who’d he become, the shattered mirror pieces reflect both his corrupted and passive self in a distorted messy way (that’s who Nightmare is now)

Ok if that’s the case, how come Nightmare has kind moments that contradicts his own corrupted state of being? Cause despite his corruption, he’s still Nightmare, I can never emphasize that enough

Despite the cycle he’s in, despite the state of those shattered pieces of who he used to be, those pieces that has his passive self STILL EXIST alongside his corrupted pieces, Nightmare’s own mind, thoughts, emotions and identity beyond that corruption still linger inside him, even if if in a sort of a limbo state

Ok with that all in mind, what the fuck does that have to do with a 6 y/o Dream? Everything

Just like I showed in the comic before, Nightmare would be too blinded by his own pain and hatred (that’s magnified by his corruption) to actually slow down and realize that Dream is 1- literally still a 6 y/o in mental and physical capacity, and 2- is just as in much pain and with such as much trauma as he is

Nightmare hates Dream with a passion

But the thing is, as I showed in this comic here, apart of Nightmare still deeply cares about Dream, even when Nightmare’s in absolute denial about it, I dare say Nightmare doesn’t even realize how much that lil part of him cares

And that would reflect on how he deals with Dream, Nightmare would be conflicted alright, but his corruption would win first and foremost and as such, he’ll deal with Dream with cruelty (that he later realizes was a mistake)

I will not lie, I’ve yet to decide on what I love to think happened to Dream as a statue, but allow me to say that it’s one of 4 options, I like to believe it’s either

A- Nightmare kept him in Dreamtale beside the corpse of their mother

B- took Dream with him to his own castle where he kept him in a safe space

C- left him in a remote part of the multiverse in an empty universe devoid of life (which later got populated)

D- a combination between A and B and C in a linear timeline (i think option D is my fave so far, but I haven’t made a final decision yet :’D)

That being said, the moment Dream breaks out his stone prison, I believe Dream would be too confused and scared to understand what’s going on, hell, would probably think the Apple incident happened just yesterday, not that 500 years passed (you can imagine Dream’s shock later) only to start frantically searching for Nightmare and when he does find his twin? Nightmare doesn’t look like Nightmare anymore, where’s his golden crown? Where’s his tunic? Why is he so much taller? So many questions, and Nightmare’s not in the mood to answer

Nightmare would definitely be shocked to see Dream out of his prison, a big part of him hates that Dream escaped it, Dream doesn’t deserve to be free, another part of him (the one that cares) is relieved cause turning him to stone was never the plan, and then the more dangerous corrupted part of him is sadistically gleeful, he could finally get a proper payback and to have the golden apple from such a weak, small and helpless child

Dream would start talking about how he wants Nightmare back and you can imagine how pissed Nightmare would be at Dream’s daring audacity to bring up the apple incident

Their first interaction after Dream is finally freed is not at all pleasant (the fact Dream is still a 6 y/o physically and mentally doesn’t deter Nightmare’s cruelty)

Nightmare eventually realizes he should’ve been a lot more merciful on his twin when he first broke out his prison, yet that sadistic gleeful part of him can never be quelled (unbeknownst to Nightmare that the glee he feels at Dream’s misfortune is just his trauma shaped in a twisted manner due to his corruption, he feels like Dream hadn’t suffered like he had, so Nightmare will make Dream suffer himself)

And the rest is (kinda) history :)

#anothers ask #anothers art #dreamtale #nightmare sans #dream sans

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tokutaiseichan · 20 days

Text

Characters Awakening Lines Translations

After posting the lines for Jin and Rui, I felt like translating other characters too so here we are!

Please note that since I don’t have access to all of the characters’ lines, most of the raw lines are taken from the unofficial JP wiki. The texts are all there so if any of you notice any errors/mistranslations, feel free to correct me!

FROSTHEIM

Jin

Awakening: To think I'm receiving alms from my servant... Should I kneel in front of you? Fully Awakened: Trust is something that can be broken easily. Don't you dare come any closer than you already have.

Tohma

Awakening: This feeling… It appears that you want me to keep reaching out for the top. Is that how it is? Fully Awakened: With this power, we're one step closer to achieving our goal. And I'm* going to make sure we see it through the end. [*he's referring to himself as “ore” instead of his usual “”watashi” here]

Luca

Awakening: I devote myself to protecting the weak, for that is the path I have to take. Fully Awakened: I'll become stronger than anyone. I don't want to lose anything important to me一not anymore!

Kaito

Awakening: Could it be… even someone like me can get stronger too? Fully Awakened: You have done so much for me! This man, Kaito, will no longer run away!!

VAGASTORM

Alan

Awakening: This power is dangerous. Stay away from me. Fully Awakened: I don't really know what’s appropriate to say for this kind of thing, so… well… umm, thanks a lot.

Leo

Awakening: C'mere, Honor Roll~ I'll show you those guys’ ugly crying faces too~ Fully Awakened: Obviously. If I don't like someone, I’ll take matters into my own hands and create hell on earth just for them. There's no such thing as divine retribution, you know?

Sho

Awakening: Thanks for waiting. Well? What do you want me to do now? Say it clearly. Fully Awakened: Sure, okay. I got it. If it's your request, I'll make sure to at least listen to it through the end.

JABBERWOCK

Haru

Awakening: That sure hits the spot~ Now I don't even need those energy drinks! Fully Awakened: I'm going as far as this road is going to take me. I made a choice to walk down this path and it's not something I can just simply throw away.

Towa

Awakening: Heheh~ Did I get stronger? How interesti~ng. Fully Awakened: I wonder why humans are such foolish, whimsical, and pitiful creatures… yet they manage to still be so lovable?

Ren

Awakening: Doing something like this… Senpai, what are you planning? Fully Awakened: Geez! Even if you look at me with those expectant eyes, I know you'll just get tired of me right away…

SINOSTRA

Taiga

Awakening: Gyahahahaha! Aren't you one greedy little kitten~? But I don't hate that about you. Fully Awakened: A hasty greed and a sincere wish. There's no big difference between the two of them.

Romeo

Awakening: Come now. Is it really the time to be charmed by my beauty? Fully Awakened: I need to be perfect all the time一for that is my way of staying triumphant on this world.

Ritsu

Awakening: This will help in furthering my career. Fully Awakened: I definitely will become the best attorney in Japan, and then I shall ensure my father's name will be clear from all the alleged infamy he's received.

HOTARUBI

Subaru

Awakening: I’m so happy that you're right here beside me to watch me grow. Fully Awakened: “Ignorance is Bliss" and “Silence is Golden”. Don't you agree that it's unreasonable to try and break the admonitions we inherited from our predecessors?

Haku

Awakening: Oi oi oi. Don't expect too much from me, you hear? Fully Awakened: If our life were decided by the things we were born with, you bet I'd be the first one to kiss that kind of life goodbye.

Zenji

Awakening: It seems that my capability has bloomed yet again! Fully Awakened: I was wrong, my dear. As it turns out, dreams are not to be kept as just an idealized fantasy but something we should achieve with our own hands.

OBSCUARY

Edward

Awakening: Oh dearie me. If you whip my old bones any harder, I might actually die this time, you know? Fully Awakened: Sometimes a youthful folly can lead one into committing grave sins. So I hope that you keep this in mind一remain modest and cautious.

Rui

Awakening: Thanks a bunch for working hard for my sake~ I really mean it! Fully Awakened: It's fine if you ended up forgetting about me. I simply wish for you, of all people, to become happy.

Lyca

Awakening: Thanks. I want to show the current me to Neros soon. Fully Awakened: I’m going to work hard. I don't want to come back to those hellish days anymore.

MORTKRANKEN

Yuri

Awakening: This feeling! It stimulates my brain cells! Fully Awakened: I will pioneer the advanced road of genomic analysis for anomalies and establish myself as the best doctor in the world!

Jiro

Awakening: Thank you very much. I feel slightly better. Fully Awakened: I won't let you die. The reason I'm helping you? I don't really understand it myself either.

#tokyo debunker #tkdb ref #tkdb info #also no beta reader so unfortunately you guys have to deal with my nightmarish grammar. really sorry for that m(_ _)m #I love how a lot of these lines are like #awakening: haha silly little guys! 一 fully awakened: contemplating their life choices #i really like leo's fully awakened line; it's just so him #other than that i also like rui (obvs) towa zenji haku and taiga's fully awakened lines #(should just say i like everyone's at this point)#my translations #edit: change leo's awakening line a bit

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nathaslosthershit · 7 months

Text

Secret Daughter?

Summary: Fans are speculating as to who the child Jack and his girlfriend were spotted with is.

Liked by trevorzegras, jhugheswag, and 3,539 others

Nhlplayernews: Devils alternative captain & superstar, Jack Hughes, spotted looking pretty comfortable with alleged girlfriend & mysterious child. Could it be the center has been hiding a kid from the world?

user: remember when hockey was about the game?

user: You are on an insta page literally called “player news” dumbass.

user: guys it’s me and Jack’s kid leave us alone!

user: hey girly, I hate to be the one to do this…

user: Trevor liking this 💀

trevorzegras’s story

Replies:

Jackhughes: you are a fucking asshole you know that right?

Trevorzegras: 😎🫶🤑👍

Jackhughes: what the fuck-

It was a widely known fact that Jack Hughes was never one for interviews. No professional athlete ever really was into them with how often they were asked the same questions. But given his most recent injury, and his time off, he finally agreed after being forced asked to do one from the comfort of his own apartment.

After 30 minutes of having to speak about his team’s playing in recent games, as well as details on his injury and when he is expected back, the end was finally in sight. There was little talk about Jack’s personal life, apart from if he had been talking to his brothers recently, which was quite frankly the most idiotic question. But he was happy, given the most recent rumors, the interviewer had not asked about Jack’s mysterious child he supposedly had and he had thought he had made it out, until…

The soft footsteps were almost inaudible, but as Jack had become accustomed to listening for them at all times, he had immediately heard Eva’s approach. After politely stopping the interviewer who was in the middle of asking what Jack did to fill his days now, the center turned to see his girlfriend’s little sister holding her blanket tightly with tear stained eyes.

“Aw Eva, didn’t have a good nap?” Jack cooed.

“Bad dream” was all the child said. At this, he beckoned the child forward, letting her sit in his lap as she tried to calm down, still fighting those post-breakdown tears.

Seeing that Jack was clearly locked in his own world, the interviewer cleared his throat.

“So, I assume this is the secret child we have been hearing a lot about recently?” He pressed.

“She is, but she isn’t my kid. She is my girlfriend’s little sister who is staying with us for a bit.” Jack was fine to clear up the fact that he was not a dad, but he didn’t feel the need to go into the heavy details on why Eva was staying with them. It wasn’t his place.

The interviewer went on to ask the 3 year old a few questions. What her favorite color was, what animals she liked, if she had a best friend, were all discussed at length. Jack was happy to have the spotlight off of him in his own interview, and his large smile as he looked down at the now happy and energetic girl was not unnoticed.

Once Eva’s interview was done, Jack, begrudgingly, went back to answering his, now with Eva settled into his lap. As he talked, she nuzzled into his chest as she went back to sleep. After noticing that she had dozed off, Jack knew he wasn’t going to be able to focus again on this interview, but luckily the man interviewing him had also noticed this.

“Well Jack, I’ll let you get that little one to bed. It was nice talking to you and Eva, hope to see you back on the ice soon.”

—

Eva went back to bed soon after, waking up in a much better mood than before. She was now sitting in the living room playing quietly while Jack made dinner, awaiting his girlfriend’s arrival.

He turns as the door opens, seeing his very tired girlfriend in the doorway.

“Oh wow, don’t you look like the perfect housewife.” She said pointing to his apron.

“You will have to wife me up soon, too many people are out here looking for a partner as great as me.” He quips back.

“Maybe… we will see. How was Eva today?”

“Had a nightmare and woke up early from her nap but she went back to sleep on my lap… during my interview.” His girlfriend turned around at that.

“Shit, I forgot you had that today. I am so sorry Jack I would have arranged a sitter for her.”

“No, no, it's fine I promise. Although now everyone knows about her. He asked her a few questions, nothing crazy just like her favorite toys and such.”

“What did you say about her?” She asks, concerned. Understandably, his girlfriend didn’t want her family’s dirty laundry out there for people to judge.

“Just that she was your sister and staying with us for a bit. If you don't want that I can ask my team to get it cut out. I would have asked you but I didn’t really have time.”

She is quiet for a moment while she thinks. Eva and her family situation was… complicated. Jack knew that. A three year old staying with her 22 year old sister and boyfriend was going to raise some questions from fans.

“It’s okay. People will find out eventually and now they know you don't have a secret child. I’m sure that is a relief.”

“Honey, you know damn well I didn’t care. And I see Eva as a daughter. She has been in my life almost as long as you have and I adore her. It was kind of cool to see people thinking I was a dad, and a good one at that.”

She was on the brink of tears hearing this. Bringing Eva home and raising her wasn’t easy, and despite how long they have been together, she was always insecure about how Jack truly felt, even though he had been nothing but accepting and loving to Eva.

“You’re right. Hey, maybe now she can go to games. She always asks when we watch at home.”

Jack lights up at the idea. “I'll get her a mini version of my jersey. I'll try to get you guys good seats. That will be great.” He immediately walks over to Eva, taking her in his arms as he asks her if she wants to go to one of his games.

Even after all this time, there is no better site than watching her sister laughing with Jack, a man that had no obligation to love Eva the way he did but did so tenfold.

#nhl imagine #jack hughes x reader #jack hughes imagine #jack hughes x y/n #nhl x reader

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st4rbwrry · 5 months

Text

━━━ 𝑝𝑟𝑎𝑦 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑐𝑎𝑡𝑐ℎ 𝑚𝑒. a.h

warnings 𑄽𑄺 6.4k. fem reader, lowercase intended, she/her pronouns, murder mystery, aki is a chef, oral [ f + m.], sneaking away, marijuana use, praise, fingering + finger sucking, aki's tongue is pierced, sexual acts happen quick, mentions of depression, brief mention of emotional/physical abuse, reader is desperate for help/attention, parental neglect, grooming, minors aren’t allowed.

━━━ ꒰ 𝑚𝑜𝑐ℎ𝑎'𝑠 𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑡𝑡𝑦 𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑔ℎ𝑡𝑠 .ᐟ ꒱ ; another old piece of mine i never fully finished and now posting yrs later!

“okay, i'm out!" aki is shouting as he tosses his white chef coat over his shoulder, book bag on the other, the cool breeze of spring blowing through his raven hair the minute he opened the tall glass door that led to the front of the restaurant. his friend, also a coworker, is busy, in the mix of gathering dirty dishes and clearing trash bins but still sends him a farewell, a quick, 'see ya tomorrow. good job today!' till he's off to his bus stop. he was thankful he got out early, just before five in the afternoon meaning the sun hadn't set yet.

he sighs, extremely worn out, in dire need of a steamy hot shower and a greasy pizza while laying in the comfort of, finally, his own apartment he worked entirely too hard to gain. the commute to his place in brooklyn, new york became rather annoying due to rush hour traffic at this time. having to take the bus then switch to the 'n' train, hopping off and walking fifteen minutes until he finally reaches his destination. his second goal was to afford a vehicle to save him money instead of wasting it on expensive monthly metro cards.

aki's lived here his entire life, growing up in the bronx, not much different. he loved new york, but not their uppity expenses. the fact that he's paying nearly two grand for a 600 square-foot apartment with no in-unit laundry nor a gym at that, was nonsensical. did he want to reside here forever? yes. he'd feel homesick if he ever were to leave. having the opportunity to travel seemed like a much better alternative, that way he'd still have his home but be anywhere in the world doing what he loved, and that was cooking. aki hayakawa was twenty-six years old, earning his master's in culinary arts at the culinary institute of america, also known as the C.I.A.

his ultimate dream was to open his restaurant, which he would name after his tragically deceased mother. a terrible accident in which he dreads the memory of. falling endlessly into a black hole, hearing nothing but the sound of his own fear, the breaking of his bones when it interacted with brick interior, the feeling of his heart thumping excessively against his chest as he continued to drop deeper like a rock that was chucked down an empty well. this emotion he knew all too well; failure. when he lost his mother, it felt as if the world crumbled beneath him, malicious dark vines slithering up to grab him by his ankles and pull him down a bottomless pit of nothingness.

he tasted the agony, the anger, the sadness, and even the hate from the fact that she was gone and never coming back. countless tantrums, anxiety attacks, and depression summed up the apathy of it all. it took him six years to realize that drowning in pain would never help him gain the strength that he knew she wanted him to have. by letting her witness the pain he was going through from above, he was hurting not only her . . but himself. so to overcome the tragedy, he kept himself busy with cooking. going to school, earning his degree, and the current job he had with his best friend since middle school.

school was probably the greatest thing he'd ever done to reinvent who he was as a person. cooking is a delicate yet challenging obstacle to undertake, yet, it's so therapeutic to him. the nature of it all, being able to witness what he can do for many people, bring laughter and happiness—it's a beautiful thing. when aki was small, he and his mother would give back to people all the time. whether they were donating clothes to the homeless, or feeding small pigeons pieces of bread on a sunny day as they flew to the gray pavement, awaiting a feast. they always cared about others. they would experiment a lot, going to food markets just to come home and whip up a good meal which they would then donate to the less fortunate. that's when he learned how humble he felt to give back to those in need.

he wanted to show his mother his achievements, to push himself and become a world-renowned chef, just like gordon ramsey—without the aggression. he wanted his name plastered on articles for his extraordinary talent, talked about on tv, in fact, given his own cooking show on foodnetwork. aki grew up watching that channel, an obsessive enticement his mother could never break the young boy from. he was making recipes at the age of twelve, and learned how to cook at eight. eggs were the first thing, usually everyone's first, then as time progressed, he grew from simple pasta dishes to revitalizing gourmet meats, and anything french. just recently he schooled himself on how to create wine. every day he learned something new, and that was the beauty of culinary.

"hayakawa! come here!" star yells as soon as she sees the tall man emerge through the front door, ready to start his morning shift, raspy voice laced with slight panic, instantly making the man run to her out of worry.

"what's wrong?" he furrows his brows.

"look who just fucking walked in," she grabs his bicep, pulling him closer to the front counter. aki curiously follows where her finger points, seeing a slim man with black curly hair dressed properly in a white and black suit. silver and sapphire rolex on his wrist, his pale green eyes scanning through the lens of his glasses at the menu while he sips his water. expensive.

"i have no idea who that is," aki blinks, making star gasp.

"he's alexander bodari, one of my favorite authors of all time. remember the novel i told you i was reading, about this girl who was kept in this lunatics basement and almost murdered?"

aki's eyebrows raise. "the book dylan bought you for your birthday, right?"

"yeah! that's him. oh my fucking god, i'm so nervous, whew," star begins to fan herself, nearly having a breakdown. aki grabs her shoulder and chuckles.

"chill out, star. you don't have to serve him if you don't want to."

"of course i do! i just. . . can't," she frowns.

"you can, you've done it many times before. this isn't the first celebrity we've come across."

star sighs, nodding. "you're right, i can do it."

"good girl," aki smiles, patting the top of her head. star catches his wrist and scowls.

"fuck off."

"aki," another voice calls to him, this time it's the head chef, also known as his boss. aki greets him with a small, 'good morning, chef' before waiting for his response.

"i'm guessing you know that alexander bodari is here," lane says, arms crossed over his broad chest. aki nods. "i want you to cook for him."

aki and star share a glance of shock.

"uh, why me. where's dylan?"

"he's not feeling well so i gave him the day off. you're the only one here that's near his level, and he's a higher-up man, so i want you to cook for him. star will cater to his needs. we're kinda short-staffed today, and i trust you two will handle it properly."

"yes, chef," they say in unison.

star was only a waiter, working here for four years while aki earned his position two years into her time. the last thing the woman could do was cook, ironic since she worked in a restaurant with very talented people. lane would've asked her in a heartbeat if she was as skilled as aki. aki was known for making dishes at the top of his head, so if anyone asked for a special, he was the one to ask. before they began to serve anyone inside, aki gave star a small prep talk before sending her out. eventually, she got through with taking his order without stuttering or sweating. when she walked back into the kitchen, actually shoved the doors open with a joker smile on her face, aki cocks his head at her.

"you—"

"he wants your special!" she screams, doing a goofy dance, and skipping in her spot.

aki's face drops. "are you deadass?"

"yes! when he was looking at the menu, he saw your four courses on the back and chose your mom's stew! fucking a, man!"

aki is still frozen, weakly giving star their signature handshake, smile slowly easing onto his face. "my mom's stew? seriously?"

"yeah. chop chop, get to it."

aki was persistent. no one's ever ordered his mother's stew, which made this day very special for him. even if the dish was only on the menu for a month, it still meant a lot to him. he made sure there were no distractions, taking a tender chuck roast and cutting them into cubes, seasoning them well while throwing in worcester sauce, balsamic vinegar, garlic cloves, bay leaves, and beef broth. making a slurry with flour and water to thicken the stew. adding onions and potatoes. it was a simple yet fulfilling dish he looked forward to every sunday.

"deep breaths," star whispered as she carried the steaming tray of stew plated professionally on a porcelain oval-shaped bowl. in a way, it felt like she was telling not only herself but him. it's a rarity that people order his courses, and serving this to an author, a bestseller, a man worth millions, made him giddy. he was cheesing like an idiot, pushing star out the double doors to the dining area.

although as soon as she walked out, that's when doubt clouded his gut. did he put too many seasonings? is the meat tender enough? what if he doesn't like it? will he write about it on his author blog? god, he hoped the potatoes weren't hard. he had only tasted the broth, it tasted just like his mother's. what if. . .

"aki," star walks back in, an even wider grin on her a-symmetrical face this time. he blinks, realizing that he's been standing here for three minutes now. "he wants to see the chef."

he's dumbfounded. "me?"

"no, lane. yes, you!" she's squealing like a girl, and sometimes he forgets she is one, even underneath her blunt features and boyish sense of style.

he's clearing his throat now, strolling mindlessly towards alexander bodari's table, greeting himself and waiting for his constructive criticism.

"you're aki hayakawa?" the man questioned, lifting his glasses back onto his face.

"yes, sir."

"i just have to say," alexander chuckles, softly clapping his hands. "this may be one of the best stews i've ever had."

the tenseness in aki's shoulders relaxes, and he's sighing with relief, alexander noticing and laughing. "i'm really glad to hear that, sir."

"did you create this on your own?"

"it's actually my mother's recipe. it's my favorite. every time i make it, it reminds me of her."

"that's really ironic because this reminds me of the stew my mother used to make," he grins. "yours is the first that i haven't seen carrots in."

aki laughs. "my mom hated cooked carrots."

"mine did too," he fixes his collar. "is this your restaurant?"

"no, no. i'm just a cook here. i plan on opening my own soon. i already have my master's."

his brows raise. "wow, that's amazing. wow old are you?"

"twenty-six, sir."

"well, you're definitely going places," he compliments and aki feels even more satisfied. "say what, i'm having this pre-book release, about a hundred guests. i was wondering if you would like to cater the party. i'll pay you however much you want."

it's like the whole world collapsed on his chest. he'd never gotten an opportunity like this, especially this big. to cook for so many famous people at once was a blessing. he could really show off his skills if he took this offer . . . and did. after thanking him, exchanging contacts, and then handshakes, aki lets the man finish his meal before jogging back into the kitchen to scream about it to aki, lane, and the rest of the crew. alexander offered star to come along to serve, but unfortunately she couldn't, seeming as she'd be out of town for family matters that day.

alexander, of course, knowing she was a big fan signed a copy of his book she already had in her bag and letting her know she could help the next time he had an event. that made her happy enough. the two of them couldn't wait to finish their shifts today, taking the train to star's place and planning dishes all night, even cooking them to get them just right. alexander was hosting the party at his penthouse down soho. and aki had a week to prepare himself.

୨♡୧

cashmere sweaters, silk gowns, and jewelry that most likely cost more than his savings account roamed the lovely terrace of alexander bodari's home. every inch of it screamed filthy rich. rows of tables were set outside, the dark night sky making the moon shun brightly amongst the glass centerpieces filled with calla lilies and moss. white cloths, sterling silverware, and porcelain dinnerware. the terrace itself was elegant; freshly cut bushes trimmed as squares, a marble three-tiered italian water fountain placed in the middle. roses, dandelions, tall plants ranging from bamboo, snake plants, and pothos. alexander was very in touch with nature and his spirit. it's crazy he writes about the things he does.

speaking of, the book he was presenting that would be released in august was titled, 'to riven a magnolia.' he wouldn't quite reveal what it was about yet, wanting it to be a surprise, but did read an excerpt from the novel. aki only paid half attention, big words throwing him off plus he wanted to set the food table properly so guests could take what they wanted after his reading. aki didn't go all out since only seventy-two people were available to make it, and he didn't want any meals that would make anyone too full to converse, so he kept it simple yet exquisite. each guest received a slice of japanese fluffy cheesecake with a side of strawberry and mandarin orange tanghulu. beef wellington, and a six-sided cream garlic bread.

he received praise all night long. people gasping and thanking him for the food, giving him all sorts of compliments making the man blush like a child. at one point he held both sides of his face in his palms when a woman and her husband approached him to talk, way too shy, and the woman flirting with him didn't make it go away. eventually, her husband dragged her out of his sight. the night went on, classical music played as people sipped their champagne and talked about their wealth, their yoga classes, their thousand dollar dogs, golf, marketing . . . aki hopes he never becomes this way.

as he's pouring an elderly lady a glass as she rambles about baking, he notices a woman he's barely seen all night. he's disoriented, eyeing this girl leaning up against a vintage roman painting reaching the ceiling once the lady departs. brown eyes; the first captivating part of her body he captured. they appeared lonely, bored perhaps as they scanned through the crowd of people, soon landing on another pair, his own. the godly woman stared at him longingly. aki had no business nearly losing his shit under her gaze. wow. she was truly stunning.

one feature that stood out the most were the freckles scattered from the bridge of her nose to the swell of her cheekbones. pretty. her black hair styled protectively in butterfly locs that grazed her collarbones, seeing the industrial piercing hiding behind a piece. her lashes were long, naturally extended. heart-shaped lips were full and pouty, the upper lip brown while the lower, salmon pigmented. an emerald satin mini dress loosely clung to her alluring brown skin. cowl neckline, ruched waist, and an open back partially revealing the red dragon tattoo painted on the side of her hip. black suede gucci heels strapped prettily around her ankles, showcasing her white painted toenails. a three layered gold necklace on her chest. this woman, you, were the rationale of celestial.

it was the moment you smiled at him, tilting your head slightly to the side while tapping your ombré acrylic nail amongst the glass of your champagne, calling to him while he thoughtlessly followed, that aki would realize he had made one of the worst mistakes in his life.

"you're pretty."

it's the first thing you say when he walks towards you, offering a piece of cheesecake with a cheeky smile. aki is taken aback, chuckling nervously, palms already clammy the minute he approached you.

"pretty?" he's perplexed.

"that's what i said," you say, taking the gold fork from his palm and cutting a slice to taste, widening your mouth while maintaining eye contact. the man swallows.

"uh, i've never gotten that before. thank you."

you're too busy eyeing him to say a thing. even if he dressed in simple black skinny jeans and same color tee, a silver necklace tucked beneath his shirt, sable combat boots, and a white apron around his waist . . he looked damn good. his eyes were blue, somewhat smoke gray, dark hair long and straight, the top half tucked into a small messy bun on the back of his head. a few loose strands swaying around his cheekbones. he was tall, shoulders broad, forearms and hands slightly veiny. you gazed at his hands holding the plate for you, wide and rough, fingers long.

"you don't seem to be enjoying the party," he says, knocking you out of your daydream.

you hum with displeasure. "he's a fake."

aki furrows his brows. "sorry?"

"alex, he's unoriginal. most of his novels are stolen by people he pays to keep quiet," you side-eye him while downing the last drop of your champagne, slowly licking your lips. his eyes flicker there for a split moment.

"how do you know?"

the question makes you quiet, tapping your glass. "think of it like this; everyone starts off as a cocoon. eventually as time goes by, we evolve into butterflies. the cocoon represents our innocence; the purity and unawareness of what's to come in life. once we sprout into butterflies, we become tarnished, facing the real world and learning to adapt to its cruelty. life can be beautiful, but it's always painful no matter how happy or dismal we are. it's our choice to fly in the direction we want for ourselves even when the harshness of life beats us down. butterflies only live for so long. we disintegrate after inhumane amounts of stress, loneliness, or tragic events that take a toll on us, removing the power of staying beautiful. we show beauty to the public but don't feel it when everything around us is falling apart. but we can't make life harder on ourselves by dwelling on what we can't have rather than pushing for what we can have."

aki is speechless, half-understanding what you meant. "are you saying alexander is a butterfly that can't fly?"

"he's more like a mosquito, latching onto those who want to sprout into a butterfly but sucks the nutrients from them for his pleasure. he's a fraud. he'll never be a butterfly because he simply can't."

"did he steal from you? is that why you resent him?"

"no," you bluntly state, although aki doesn't believe you.

he takes the fork from you, cutting you another slice before holding it towards your lips, waiting for you to bite. you looked like you needed it. the drowsiness in your eyes may have indicated that you were tipsy. you giggle, shaking your head before he feeds you, your big eyes captivating him more. "is there something you want?"

"you."

aki nearly chokes and he's not even the one eating, your bluntness throwing him in a spiral of emotions.

"am i beautiful to you?" you lean closer, aki swallowing, scanning his surroundings. most of everyone remained in the living area, the two of you far behind a wall near the glass door of the terrace. he could smell your scent better, a sweet smell of caramel. soft skin shimmering with glitter.

"very."

"so what's stopping you? you got a girlfriend or somethin'?"

"n-no, it's just. i barely know you."

"that's part of the thrill," he watches as your small wrist turns and your palm is flat outward. "come upstairs with me."

like any man would, his feet walked on their own, stupidly following behind you up the black marble staircase, hand in yours as his eyes watched your hips switch.

"what's your name?" that should've been the first thing you asked, idiot.

"[♡]."

"i'm aki."

"i know who you are."

that's right, alexander introduced him to everyone after his reading right before supper. things felt like they went too quickly. aki didn't know who he was at this moment, completely floating out of his body and letting you take over like a spell. he was entranced. one thing leads to another, you're locking the door to one of the four bedrooms here. aki's sitting on the bed while you walk around, talking to him more about anything. his age, his aspirations in life. nonsense, basically. until he notices something.

a room with an open bay window revealing the late-night city of new york, stars in the sky, skyscrapers high. the breeze is warm, the air making the fabric of your dress rise just enough for him to catch a glimpse of the pink thong you wore. he's gulping, your legs shifting and a grin coming on your face as you see the tint of red blush across his cheeks. you're leaned against the window, toes pressing into your other foot, a gold anklet with the first letter of your name clasped on your skin. your shoes were off, and in between your two fingers sat a blunt, maybe about three inches now since you were too busy talking, letting it burn away.

once you flick it out the window, you fully turn to face him, sharp nails skidding up your thighs teasingly slow until the hem of your dress rises fully, and he's staring at the belly button piercing you have. your thick thighs, your curves, and your nipple when you moan and lift your arms to stretch and one of the straps falls down your shoulders.

"oops," you're pouting, and aki's had enough. he got it now. he understood why you wanted him to come up here. the liquor buzzing in your veins, and going straight to your clit like a drug. you wanted him the moment you saw him. you needed him, for more reasons than one.

aki was always one to put a woman's pleasure before his own. so when he saw you drop to your knees to crawl towards him, dainty hands trailing up his clothed thighs until you're undoing his belt and he's biting his lip. . . he was drawn in further. pulling him out of the confinement of his jeans, holding his pulsating dick in your hand, darting your tongue out, and pressing it flat to the aching head. he's squeezing his eyes shut when he's deep in your throat after a while, moaning around him and twisting your hand along as your mouth glides. his hand is in your hair, gathering some of it in his large fist while leaning back a bit to see those gorgeous eyes of yours stare into his, slightly watery. he liked that. he liked you.

"nnn, baby. like that," he's throwing his head back, jaw slacked as he tried to keep his voice down, not daring to let too much slip out regarding the guests below them. eyes back on you, he's watching as your hips gyrate in the air, desperately needing to be touched.

it's so foreign, this level of intimacy. it's been so long since he's had his dick buried deep in anything. sure, he masturbates like any other human being, but it's a rarity. he's so consumed in work that by the time he goes home he's knocked out in slumber, not even thinking about grabbing his fleshlight to fulfill his pleasure. the last time he had sex was at the beginning of his freshman year of college. it was some girl in his cutlery class who invited him over for late-night drinks, leading to more than just that. it was frequent until he realized he was failing courses because of the distraction and had to get back on track, so, he called it quits.

now he's pulling you up, feverishly pressing his lips to yours in a messy kiss, lips smacking, tongues bumping. you're keening when his thick fingers clasp around your throat as you straddle his waist, clinging to his shirt you eventually pull over his head. it's as if the both of you forgot that people were here and might hear you, but neither of you cared. aki's not even scolding you when you're moaning too loud the second he has you beneath him, your clothing still on, barely, and his jeans and briefs clinging to his ankles, your knees to your chest as his hot mouth latches around your puffy clit, back arching off the plush mattress.

the metal from his pierced tongue rushing against you as he holds the back of one of your thighs to keep them up, grunting and swallowing your arousal. you're whining so much it has his dick twitching, pulling on his hair not helping either. you're rocking your hips with urgency, legs twitching after he lifts his head to spit, collecting his saliva with two fingers before curling them into you, holding your stomach down while he shakes his fingers. that alone has you convulsing around him, tears in your eyes as you whimper his name and squirm helplessly, his lips kissing your inner thighs.

coming down from your high, aki's already propping himself behind you, turning you on your side while he laid on his, leveraging your head with his forearm underneath your neck, fingers in your mouth you suck while glaring at him. he curses, monotoned voice rasping, "don't do that."

"do what?" you hum, wrapping your lips around them again and moaning.

aki clenches his jaw, lifting your right leg to open you up before slipping inside, hearing you gasp as you adjust to the stretch. both of you groan in unison, turning your face to the side to kiss him while your nails clawed at his hip, then his ass as he rolls into you, too horny to be gentle and snapping his hips hard against your ass, grunting, "i heard you, girl," and drilling faster. your eyes scroll to the back of your head, aki swallowing the breath out of you as he sucks on your bottom lip and chokes you, the two of you whining in each other's mouth, muffling the noise although the skin interaction didn't cease.

he's brutal, a different person when in this form of bond. dropping your leg and reaching between to rub at your clit, heavy breaths on your neck as he hides his face there. you can easily smell the citrus scent of his shampoo, his scent overall a main attraction when he stepped toward you. . . like lavender. when he's nearing his climax, he gropes your chest, slurring, "be a good girl and cum all over me, baby. can i feel it this time?" and you nod, doing just as he says, his taunts and praises making your gut swim with butterflies.

you try not to scream as he licks and bites your neck sloppily, dazed. instead, you grab a pillow nearby and stuff part of it in your mouth, aki's face hovering over you as tears leak from your eyes and you cum hard, harder than you ever had. aki holds you close by your waist, taking a few more pumps before he furrows his brows and slowly pulls out, cumming on your flush skin with a hiss. by this time, his hair had fallen down his face completely, and even in your fucked out state, you reach up to rake through it with a lazy smile. aki chuckles, kissing your forehead before building the strength to find a cloth to clean you up. luckily, there's an en-suite bathroom, giving him access to warm water and toiletries.

fixing his posture in the mirror, he's rubbing his face and adjusting his clothes to appear as he did when he arrived; neat and professional. although what he just did wasn't so classy of him. he fucked some woman he barely knew at a millionaires home. work, he was working. not here for personal pleasure. he wanted to slap himself for being so easily enraptured. no one had to know about it. he only hoped not a soul downstairs heard what went on.

he's good to go, done scolding himself and turning off the bathroom light before stepping out. he finds you perched up, sipping a miniature bottle of crown royal you found in the bedside mini-fridge, sniffling your nose and blankly staring out the window. aki comes forward, gently grasping your thigh and gliding the wet cloth over your skin, the silence awkward.

"dandelions.”

aki's eyes slowly drift to your face, staring in confusion. "what?"

he notices how eerily slow tears built up in your eyes, gripping the bottle harder before exhaling. "dandelions," now you're finally looking at him, the coldness on your face making him anxious. "that's where his body is."

your voice is like vanilla. it's one thing about you that he grew infatuated with. it's one of the many reasons he was captured by you, brought to where he was now. standing at the bedside as he watched tears pool down your broken face. body? what body? he grew cold, nervously eyeing you as you sniffled, standing to fix your hair, dress, and walking around the bed to slip back into your heels.

“wait," he goes to grab your arm when you try to walk out the door. "what the fuck are you talking about?"

the deadness in your eyes scares him even more, and he's panicking when you say, "alex."

“alexander?!" he shouts, dragging you away from the exit, hands on either side of your shoulders as he eyes you, his own wide. heart pumping drastically. "what did you do? where is he?"

"by the dandelions on the terrace," blunt, again. as if you aren't phased at all by his reaction. "follow me."

he's stunned, unable to fully process what you were telling him. he already assumed the worst when the term 'body' came to light. though his heart raced heavily in his chest, his feet blindly dragged in your direction. cautiously watching your every move in case he had to protect himself. fuck, he didn't have any weapon. then again, he's sure he could easily handle you, knock you out if he needed to. lock you in a closet and alert the hundreds of guest just below their feet. that's right, there are still people here. and if you mentioned alexander, how the fuck and when the fuck did you have the time to . . . kill him?

"[♡]," he began to speak your name, but your head was in the clouds, ignoring anything that came out of his mouth as you cut into a passageway that led to a grand master bedroom, then facing the terrace you spoke of. he was nervous, your neck turning to eye him as you step onto the gravel, blankly staring down at something. he couldn't see from where he stood, matter of fact, he didn't want to see.

"he's here," you say. "he's here."

aki has no choice but to advance forward, wanting to squeeze his eyes shut from the upcoming scare of a human’s body. and not just any human, the alexander bodari. a flaccid arm sticks out from beside a bush, palm facing the sky, details of a struggle bruised into his hand as the skin in the area seemed peeled. aki’s heart drops the closer he gets, hand covering his mouth as he stares down at the lifeless body laying in a pool of blood. the aluminum wire draped around his neck stained with blood gave aki the answer he needed when it came to the cause. you strangled him to death. the question remains; who are you and how were you affiliated with alexander? most importantly, why’d you kill him?

“i don’t understand,” is all he can get out.

“the proof is in his first novel,” you utter, and he’s still confused. “the story about the woman who’s trapped in the psychopaths basement? it was about me.”

aki couldn’t grasp the thought of you being the woman from the novel star always talked about. that you had been the victim of his story. that it was a real life phenomena. that he met you, slept with you, and now you want him to, what . . . cover up a murder in a house filled with two hundred guests?

“he painted this image as if he was the most prestigious man on the planet. he made money off of real events. events that played out by torturing me, and using me to get his ‘creative juices flowing.’ he needed a test subject. he was a sick man who deserved to die,” tears pour down your face, the anger in your tone thick and pent up from years of pain and sorrow. “he was my father’s partner. my father despised me simply because of my resemblance of my mother and my rebellion against him. when he died from heart failure, in his will, he married me to alex.”

“that’s fucking. . . sick. i didn’t think that was possible in this day and age.”

you scoff with agreement. “yeah. he watched me grow from a preteen to making me his wife. sick bastard for sure.”

aki wants to vomit from this information. still unable to wrap his head around any of it. his hands sit on his hips as he stares up at the sky and blows a raspberry, try to keep his nerves together. you watch him with sadness, and maybe regret. you weren’t intentionally planning for this to happen. though part of you wanted someone to save you. to see the real you and rescue you from this torment.

“i know this is probably the last thing you expected to happen. i apologize for dragging you into this. i just didn’t know what else to do. i felt hopeless. and i refused to let his popularity run by making another fortune of a sick novel.”

“did he attack you?” he asks.

“he didn’t,” you clarify. “i think i just finally snapped. granted, tonight of all nights wasn’t the correct setting.”

aki makes a face that reads ‘fucking clearly’ as he rubs both palms down his face. he doesn’t know whether to run and call you insane or feel sympathy for a victim. but, murder is murder. and now, standing here with you, that’d make him an accomplice. as scary as that was, he couldn’t risk his future career. but he was stuck in a pickle. he wanted to help you.

“there are clear signs of struggle, so we have to make it look like an accident,” aki suggests, but immediately, you shake your head in disagreement.

“they won’t believe that. he’s one of the wealthiest men in new york. it’ll be a huge investigation.”

“then the only answer would be to tell the truth,” he finalized.

“the . . truth?”

aki nods, pulling you toward him and stepping away from the body, chills still going up his spin and goosebumps on his arms. “listen to me, you can tell the world exactly who you are and what he’s done to you. you have proof. transactions, marriage certificate, i’m sure there’s documents for days in his computer that can prove what he’s put you through. there’s evidence somewhere.”

“and if i tell the world, who’s to say they’ll believe me?”

“i believe you,” aki says. your eyes fill with hope, and thankfulness. “people will have their opinions, but we know the truth. do you have anyone else that can be your alibi?”

you think long and hard, until it hits you. “the maid. she’s been working for him ever since i moved in after my father died. she’s fed me, helped me heal wounds . . even get rid of his unborn child i lost after too much stress.”

“jesus christ,” he bows his head in disbelief. “where is she now?”

“luckily, the kitchen. the woman with the braided red hair. she promised me she’d always protect me. after his book succeeded he became nicer to me, gave me a ‘real’ marriage. she was like his mother, always scolding him when he raised his voice at me or wouldn’t let me live my life. it’s all so depressing.”

“okay. it’s okay, you’re going to be okay,” aki comforts you as you begin to sob once again, cradling your head in his chest.

the night ends in the blink of an eye. aki takes you into another room and wraps a blanket around you as you sit on the edge of the bed and wait for the police. he finds the woman you spoke of, pulls her to the side and informs her of the tragedy above. she herself looks relieved. not at all shocked by what played out, as if she knew you’d go through with it. aki guesses he truly was a horrible man. and to think he would’ve worked for him in the future. the police arrive shortly after the woman goes to check on you, insuring that everything would be okay, and that she’d stick to the full story. the police instructs everyone the leave the premises, aki being questioned for a full hour, this home becoming a crime scene, and all of their faces full of black ink on the daily news the next morning.

aki will never forget the chilling smirk on your face as they removed alexander’s body from the terrace. it was . . haunting.

#aki hayakawa smut #aki smut #aki x reader #aki hayakawa #aki x you #aki x y/n #aki hayakawa x reader #aki hayakawa x you #aki hayakawa x y/n #csm smut #csm #chainsaw man #aki csm #𝜗ৎ ˚⋅ 𝖘𝖙𝖗𝖆𝖜𝖇𝖊𝖗𝖗𝖞 𝖈𝖆𝖛𝖊𝖗𝖓 𝖔𝖋 𝖉𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖒𝖘.

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strawhbrrries · 1 year

Text

Inked

pairing: tattoo artist!frank castle x afab!reader

summary: frank castle was praised for his work constantly, leading you to get a thigh piece. which then leads you into a problem because your artist is so fucking attractive

warnings: cussing, masturbation (m and f), fingering, frank with no shirt, tattooed frank!!!, no use of y/n or description of reader, not proofread

word count: 2732 words

author’s note: this has been a looooong time coming so i'm excited to finally be able to share it with you guys!! i hope it does the drabble that started it some justice. dedicated to the sweet anon that requested it be turned into a full fic! please enjoy! mwah!

tags: @kloofspeaks

inspired by this drabble!

Your wallet was burning a hole in your pocket, a big gaping tattoo shaped hole. To match the tattoo shaped hole in your wallet was a perfect spot on your thigh just begging to be decorated, but your current artist was booked so far out and you needed it now.

“Just go to this guy.” Your friend mentioned, giving you the contact information for one of the artists at the studio they frequented. His work was insane, you spent an entire week looking and relooking at all the pictures he posted before ever working up the courage to email him, he was faceless and you assumed he was some old man who’d been in the game a long time.

You couldn’t be more wrong.

“Can I help you?” A deep voice snapped you back to reality, you had gotten side tracked looking at all the art on the wall from all the artists in the studio. The guy you were seeing, Mr. Castle, had the best work though and you were glad your friend had mentioned him.

You turned around and immediately wanted to hide, a very handsome man with a tall stature was the source of the voice. It made your panties wet and made you want to rub your thighs together to relieve the building tension, not that it would help but you sure could try. He was rugged, in a gorgeous way, his hair was fluffy and fell over his ears but his jaw was sharp and complimented the style. His face was serious, not that he was trying to be but it made you nervous. Made you want to confess every bad thing you’d ever done out of sheer anxiousness, to fill the silence as he waited for your answer. You hoped he wasn’t your artist just for your sake, and maybe for your underwear.

“Yeah, uhm. I have a consultation with Mr. Castle.” Your voice was much softer than his, you looked down to avoid eye contact with him. To avoid spilling your guts to some handsome stranger who was probably married because how could he not be?

“That’d be me.” For the first time since you saw him a smile appeared on his face, it complimented him more than the stoic look he carried. The blush that arose was almost embarrassing, he thought it was cute. “Just Frank though.”

“Huh?” You stopped listening after he mentioned he was your artist, the blood pumping in your ears being the only sound you heard. Of course you would end up with the world's most attractive man as your artist and of course he was going to be touching all over your legs, this was a cruel dream. You’d practically broken a finger from how hard you were squeezing your hands.

“Just call me Frank, Mr. Castle is my dad and I hate the formality.” He chuckled, writing something on the clipboard he’d been holding. You hadn’t noticed anything below his neck and now you were actively, and very obviously, checking him out.

His arms were veiny and filled with tattoos that disappeared under the sleeves of his shirt and poked back out at the neck before disappearing down his back, it seemed he had one big connecting tattoo but you couldn’t exactly ask him to strip in public. You couldn’t see his legs or his chest but you assumed they were also covered in tattoos, you wanted nothing more to learn about them all.

“You can just follow me this way, the consultation won’t take long.” He cleared his throat, clearing the awkward air that hung between you.

He walked to a booth all the way in the back and to the left, pulled the curtain closed after you walked in. Motioning to the chair that sat in the middle of the space you sat down and placed your purse on your lap, mentally cursing yourself for being so fucking awkward. This wasn’t your first tattoo so what was your problem? He was and you knew it.

“Did you get the email I sent? I know my description of the idea was bad so I can explain it better.” You rambled, watching him sit on the swivel chair next to you and pick up an ipad from the counter that sat in the back.

“Yeah, let me show you what I drew up and we can go from there.” He looked at you through his hair as he leaned his elbows against his knees, pulling up the drawing. He turned around and the ipad and handed it to you, chuckling when your eyes lit up at the design.

“It’s like you read my mind, holy shit. This is exactly what I envisioned.” For the first time since you saw him your voice was confident and loud, your eyes bright and your mouth a bright smile. He slowly took the ipad back and let out a laugh, god he was attractive.

“It’s what I do. Do you like it, does it need any change? If so I can fix those right now and then I can print it out and we can play with sizes.” He watched your face, he could almost see the gears turning in your head as you processed his words.

“It’s perfect, no changes.” You nodded, smiling big.

He printed out a few sizes and tested each of them against your thigh, he pretended not to notice the blush that only darkened in shade every time he touched you. You appreciated it, trying your best to regulate your breathing and the pounding your heart was doing. You worried if you’d be able to control yourself when it came to the actual tattoo, he would be touching you nonstop for an unknown amount of time. He settled on the middle size, taking up a big chunk of the free space you had but not so much it looked awkwardly big and not too little so it looked too small.

You had trusted him and set the date for your actual tattoo, two weeks from the day you went in. You spent every day and every night for the next two weeks thinking about him. If you were making breakfast you thought about how he liked his bacon cooked, his coffee, or if he even ate it at all. If you were showering you thought about the products he used and if he used a loofah or a rag, if he had separate conditioner and shampoo. When you laid awake at night, hands stuffed in your panties wanting to cry his name, you thought if he was doing the same. Came to the image of his smile and fell asleep to the sound of his voice playing in your mind.

He’d seen thousands of clients, tattooed plenty of attractive women, but nobody had been so stuck in his head like you. After he walked you to the door he went back to his booth, closed the curtain and fucked his hand like a teenage boy. Washed his hands in the bathroom and went to greet his next client like he wasn’t thinking about bending you over the counter. Having you ride him in the tattoo chair. Making you be quiet so no one else heard you. Shit, he was hard again. He didn’t know if his self control was strong enough to avoid hitting on you and being unprofessional the next time you came in.

The day finally came, you had counted down the days and the minutes until you could see him again. There was this incessant need to see him and try to figure out the mysteries that stood behind Frank Castle. You asked him what kind of coffee he preferred, black, and picked it up on your way to the studio. The nerves were hitting you, not only would you be getting a decent sized tattoo but it’d be done by the most attractive man you’d ever seen. The man you’d spent two weeks masturbating to, this was going to be fun.

“God, this is just what I need this morning.” He groaned, taking the paper cup of coffee out of your hand and taking a long sip. “Typically I try not to drink caffeine on days I’m actually tattooing, makes the hand shake sometimes. I was up late last night so this is a must.”

“And I’m using it to get rid of the shakes.” You joked, taking a sip of your coffee and following him back to the booth.

You’d opted to wear a yellow sundress, not by choice as it was one of the only clean articles of clothing you had that left your thigh relatively exposed. It was a choice you were now regretting, in the days leading up to the appointment you apparently did everything but laundry. Frank was trying his hardest to ignore it, he was insanely glad he’d walked in front of you. Had he been behind you he’d for sure stared at your ass the entire walk to his booth. He can’t deny that he hadn’t when he made you enter the booth before him, it was a glorious sight. He adjusted his pants before he did anything else, this was going to be a grueling few hours.

He carefully placed the stencil on your thigh, being careful to move the dress up just enough that it wasn’t in the way but not too much so your pussy was on display. He wished it was. He wanted to eat you out like it was his last meal. But he refrained. He’d been on his best behavior so far and he was determined to stay that way, no matter how much he wanted to hike your dress up and pull your panties down to your ankles. Once he finally was satisfied with the stencil placement he asked for your opinion, as it was going on your body forever and not his. You had him adjust the angle once before deciding it was perfect, he had to ask three times before you admitted you didn’t like the original placement.

The tattoo took three hours, three long hours of his hands touching you in the most non-sexual way but yet turning you on ridiculously. You were sure that by the time he’d wrapped your tattoo there was a large stain on the fabric of your panties, a part of you wanted him to see it and know he caused it. The other part was embarrassed. They were fighting to see which part would take over.

“Can I see your tattoos?” You asked softly, an attempt to stay with him longer and avoid going home. You knew you could just book another appointment but what fun would waiting be? You could just stall for as long as you could.

“Oh? Yeah, sure.” His face was shocked, like nobody in the entire world had ever asked to see the intricate tattoo that was drawn across his body. You refused to believe it.

You watched intently as he removed his shirt, your eyes following the lines that were revealed by the lack of fabric. He watched silently as you raked your eyes over his skin, a small hint of a blush covered his cheeks. He’d never had someone so curious about his tattoos and want to see them, it was odd to be the one in the spotlight.

“Can I touch them?” You looked up at him, moving a bit closer as you waited for his response.

“Yeah…” He breathed out, quiet and waiting for the feeling of your hand on his skin. His breath hitched in his throat the second he felt it, the warmth of your hand felt incredible on his skin.

You trailed your fingers over every line, starting from the bottom of his left arm and down his chest. Goosebumps followed closely behind your fingers, the contact was something unusual to him. Welcomed, but unusual. He watched you the entire time you marveled at the ink, answering every question you had. He’d had people be interested in the ink before but never to the extent you were, he appreciated it and would think about it forever. He’d think about you forever.

“Frank…” You whispered, looking up at him as you placed a hand on his chest.

He looked down at you and groaned, the self control he had was no longer a thing. The pink staining your cheeks and the way your eyes were glazed over and he hadn’t even touched you made him want to do bad things. He wanted to corrupt you, bend you to his will for only him to have. His head dipped down, softly placing his lips against yours. A small whimper escaped your lips as he brought a hand to cup the side of your face, switching positions with you on the counter. Now he had you pressed against it and was able to do whatever he desired.

He nipped at your bottom lip, swiping his tongue across it to soothe any pain. He’d slipped his other hand under your dress at the same time, rubbing the skin just above your panties. You leaned your hip into his touch, bringing the hand that was on his chest to his hair. Using it to ground yourself just a bit, the fact that you were making out with the man you lusted after for two weeks was insane. It felt like a dream.

“Can I touch you?” He mumbled against your lips, playing with the band of your panties.

You shook your head yes and helped him slide your panties down, stepping out of them and scooting them to the side to be discovered later. He slid his middle finger between your lips, gliding it up and down a minute as he continued kissing you.

“You’re so wet, who did this?” He mocked, circling your clit a few times.

“You did.” You whimpered, trying to grind down against his hand for just a bit more friction.

“That right? Been thinking about me this whole time? Wanted me to help fix your problem?” He slid his middle finger inside of you, curling it against that wonderful spongy spot.

You couldn’t muster up a response no matter how badly you wanted to, his singular finger felt better than any of your fingers had for two weeks. This was everything you wanted and more. He chuckled at you, flattered that him barely doing anything set you off like it had.

He pumped his finger in and out slowly, watching as your juices coated his finger. Enjoying the moans he was pulling out of you, even if they were trying to entice him into adding another finger. He gave in, the pretty noises you were making he just couldn’t resist. He would do anything in this moment to please you, if you had this effect on him for everything he’d be screwed. He added another finger, kissing along your jawline as he did so. You could’ve seen stars right then and there, if this was how full you felt from just his fingers you could only imagine the fullness from his cock.

He curled his fingers rhythmically with the pumping, using his thumb to circle your clit as best he could. The knot in your stomach that had formed the day you stepped into the studio was bubbling, you could feel it twisting and tightening. Your orgasm was on the tip of your tongue and it felt explosive, three more pumps of his fingers and your vision went white. His name falling off your lips like a mantra, like it was the only name you knew and you didn’t care if the rest of the studio could hear. He was making you feel so fucking good, you could scream it from the rooftops.

Nearing the end of your orgasm he slowed his fingers down, placing one last kiss to your lips before completely removing them. You whined at the loss, feeling so empty now that they were gone. He smiled softly at the whine, washing his hands in the sink next to the counter before bringing a towel over to help clean up any mess.

“Do you do this with all your clients?” You joked, fixing the sweaty hairs sticking to your forehead.

“No, only you. Step in here in a sundress again and we’ll see what happens.”

#maddies fics #frank castle #jon bernthal #the punisher #frank castle x you #frank castle x reader #jon bernthal imagine #jon bernthal smut #frank castle smut #daredevil #daredevil smut #the punisher fanfiction #the punisher fic #the punisher smut #punisher smut

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ihavethedreamies · 6 months

Text

Cherry | Juicy Fruit | Haechan

Lee Donghyuck (Haechan - NCT Dream)

Rating: M (18+) MDNI

Word Count: ~2.2k

Pairing: Haechan x AFAB!Reader

Genre: Reader-Insert, Smut, Established Relationship, Porn without Plot

!!This is smut…if that much isn't clear you should probably leave now!! MDNI!

Warnings: She/Her Pronouns used, Swearing, Kissing, Oral (F! Receiving), Couch Sex, Unprotected Sex (Don’t!!)

Summary: It all started with a cherry stem…

Author's Note: This series was supposed to be of drabbles, but as you can see by the word count, that didn't happen.

This is only vaguely based off of Smoothie…I say this because I got the idea for a fruit theme, but past that its unrelated.

-> Series Hub <-

🍉 Mark 🍉

🍇 Renjun 🍇

🍌 Jeno 🍌

🍑 Jaemin 🍑

🍓 Chenle 🍓

🍍 Jisung 🍍

I am cross-posting this on Archive. Please reblog! If you know anyone that would like this or future fics but they aren't on here my name and icon are exactly the same on the other site. Happy reading!

"Do cherries come from the same trees as the flowers?" Your boyfriend was holding one of the red fruits by the stem. It spun back and forth in the air with prompting from his finger tips, another one being chewed in his mouth. You could hear the pit clacking against his teeth as he sucked it clean.

"I don't think so…" You wondered what prompted the question, only briefly glancing up from your phone at him. You were sitting at your kitchen table to eat. You had been looking over the different delivery menus, spread across the surface and you were scrolling through your phone to see who was open. Not only was it past normal meal hours, which was normally not too much of an issue, it was some kind of political holiday that only old people cared about. The only problem was that most of the people that would make the food you wanted were said old people. It was also more of something for families, not young couples who did a lot of the baby-making practice but with not desired end product.

"Okay, this place is only open for fifteen more minutes so they're out." You took the noodle menu off the table, placing it on the discard stack.

"Anything else look good or do we need to go to the convenience store?" You asked and when he didn't reply, you slammed your hand down to get his attention. He startled and his wide eyes were really very cute, but you would never admit it out loud, even in private with just him. While you loved him to pieces, you were very reluctant to voice it. After trying to say he was annoying for so many years, you were loath to admit you didn't hate him. You never did, you were just in denial about how much you liked him despite your harsh words. He saw through it.

"Donghyuck!" You scolded and he blinked.

"What?" He emphasized the vowel, and you rolled your eyes. His shocked face softened to a smug grin as he watched you watch him put the next cherry in his mouth, the other pit still in his cheek. His tongue wrapped around the red orb as he took it between his lips, and you shook your head to pull your attention away. He huffed in amusement, you were such a tsundere.

"What are we having for supper? I only got snacks and stuff…" You poked the container holding the cherries. You had planned on eating out or getting delivery, but the stupid holiday interfered with your regular Saturday night plans.

"We could have each other." Donghyuck smirked, chewing the last bits of fruit off the pit before rolling the two around his open mouth playfully. He knew your eyes were not just on his face, but specifically his tongue. You swallowed hard and your eyebrows furrowed, mouth open to scold him again. He let the pits fall out of his mouth and onto the paper plate where the rest of them laid and his smug look turned bored.

"Idiot." You clicked your tongue, face pink, "I need actual food."

"Hm, you might, but I could just eat you?" He winked and your let out a disgusted grunt, getting up from the table and moving to leave the apartment and head down the street.

"(Y/N), wait!" He cooed at you, skipping to follow you. When you started to wiggle your foot to slip it into your sneaker, he kneeled down to tie his. You struggled to get the shoe on without untying it, so he leaned forward to help you get them on. The sweet gesture made your cheeks warm further, but you didn't say anything, so he helped you get the other on. He stood back up with a hop, still taller than you even though he was standing on the lowered part of the floor by the door.

"Ready, milady~?" He held his arm out for you to link with, but you just mumbled something and walked past him and out. Your boyfriend sighed dramatically but followed after you still. You always made up for your dismissive behavior after he railed you into the next morning, turning affectionate and playful. He continued to try and seduce you through the not subtle act of aegyo, and you kept shoving him away, especially as you walked down the road. Donghyuck held the door open for you as you entered the convenience store. The inside was just as dead as the streets, and it felt nearly surreal. You each shopped around a bit, and he got nearly twice as much food as you, and for some reason he felt the need to buy everything he could find that was cherry flavored.

"You know none of this stuff tastes like actual cherries, right?" you asked, watching him place the different candies and sweets down. The only thing you would actually consume was the cherry flavored cola he got as well.

"I know. That's what the actual cherries are for." He pointed out like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Not wanting to admit it even in your own head, the blank look he gave you was just as cute as everything else he did. It pissed you off a bit that he was so endearing. The tired cashier told you your price and your boyfriend had his card in the reader before you could even pull yours out. He took all of the bags as well and you opened the door for him that time.

"Did you need to buy all of that?" You grumbled, eyeing the five bags he was carrying.

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Curiosity." He answered after donning a pondering look.

"Okay." You rolled your eyes, not caring enough to delve further into that line of questioning.

"Did you get everything cherry flavored?"

"Not everything…"

"What did you leave behind, cough syrup?"

"The condoms." He stated simply and you halted for a beat, then jogged to catch up.

"Why not?" You finally relented to ask. He tossed you a coy look, "they didn't have the right size." You halted a step but conceded his point and jogged to catch back up. When you finally got back to the apartment, he put the bags on the coffee table, and you grabbed your meal to heat it up in the microwave. As you plugged in the numbers, Hyuck came up behind you, wrapping his arms around your middle.

"What?" you asked flatly, and he whined pathetically, resting his cheek on the side of your head.

"Can't I hug my girlfriend?" You didn't reply to his question, so he took that as the go ahead to continue. As he smelled your food as it got done, he realized how famished he was and hurried to make his own. Some random variety show played on the TV while you both ate, he devoured twice as much food as you did in nearly half the time. Once you were both done and everything was cleaned up, he laid out all the cherry candies and snacks, as well as some real ones.

"We shall judge them for quality." He motioned broadly and you sat next to him at the coffee table. Hyuck was a bit surprised at how close you willingly sat, pressed to his side. You were warming up. You started to sort through them, pushing the ones you refused to try to the side.

"You need to have the full picture to make an informed decision." He told you with false condescension. He sniffed and picked up the first packet to rip it open. The fake cherry scent hit your nose and you sneered, reaching over the table to grab a real one. As you chewed, he started in on the candy and his face twisted, putting the bag down and grabbing a fruit himself. You pulled the pit from your mouth and set it on your napkin from supper and he did the same.

"Can you tie a knot with your tongue?" He held up one of the stems and you hummed.

"I don't know, I haven't tried." You took it from him, and he plucked another one off a cherry for himself.

"Let's see who can do it faster." He decided and you nodded in agreement and you both watched the other as you took the stems into your mouths. You focused hard, trying to maneuver the little piece with your tongue into the right configuration, but it was no use. When you almost choked on it, you pulled it out, nose crinkled.

"Nope." You turned to look at him and he stuck his tongue out at you, the tied stem resting on the surface

"How the heck!?" You grabbed the little stem from where it laid, looking it over.

"Want me to show you?" His tone had deepened, but you were too confused to register it.

"Yeah!" You turned to watch, not expecting his mouth to connect to yours. Your shocked inhalation allowed his tongue entry and you wanted to fight, but you also really didn't. Hyuck smirked into the kiss as you let out a tiny mewl, expertly twisting his tongue around yours. You moaned when he led you to straddle his lap, pushing the coffee table away with his foot. When you settled, his hands on your hips pushed you down, grinding your covered cunt over his hard cock. You whined, trying to pull back, but he held you still, sucking on your tongue so you couldn't easily pull back. He had a hard time not laughing when your entire body shuddered. Finally, he let you go, you leaned back, panting hard.

"Fucking hell-" Your fingers were clenching the fabric of his sweatshirt.

"I can do more than that~" He hummed playfully, and you blinked, "huh?" Your noise of question was followed by a yelp as he lifted you, setting you on the couch behind him, turning to he faced you. Another tug brought your butt to the edge of the cushion, and he took advantage of your surprise to yank your shorts and panties off without hinderance.

"H-Hyuck~!" You whimpered when he instantly brought his skillful tongue to your cunt, wriggling it inside, nose hitting your clit. You sighed shakily, legs twitching when he hummed, the vibration ringing through him to you.

"Wait-" You tried to get him to stop, extremely embarrassed at your position and feeling weird about how fast he was bringing you to climax. You shuddered again as his tongue left your core, stroking up through your folds to flick your clit. Your eyes were closed, so you didn't see his stupid grin right before he sucked on your clit hard. Hyuck's hands flew to your hips to hold them down as you came, helping you ride it out.

"Too bad I can't pop your cherry…" He mumbled, a little embarrassed at his stupid pun. You huffed in disbelief, having heard him perfectly fine even though he kind of hid it.

"Doesn't fucking matter, get inside me-" he had never heard you so impatient, but he was more than willing to abide. He removed your top as you helped him get rid of his own clothes, and your back barely hit the couch cushions before he was pressing into you. Even if you hadn't just came on his tongue, you were soaking wet, your gummy walls clenching desperately to his cock.

"Aw~ sweet girl~" He huffed in delight as your cunt quivered, getting used to the stretch and before you were fully acclimated, he started to move.

"Wait, Hyuck!" Your hands grabbed his shoulders. When he leaned over you move, he took your hands from him, holding them above your head with one of his. His lips hovered over yours, hips rolling slowly but hard, fat cock battering your back wall. You practically cried when he kissed you again, tongue reentering your mouth to capture yours. You were helpless under him, sanity quickly leaving between his cock in your cunt and his tongue down your throat. When air was getting a bit low, he finally removed his mouth from yours, moving it to your jaw and down the column of your throat. You whimpered with each thrust, getting steadily faster and harder as he sucked your skin. His goal was to make the hickeys are red as the cherries you both had been eating earlier.

"Hyuck, I~" You couldn't get the rest of your sentence out. His hand had let go of your wrists, both of them going to your waist so he could shift positions. He sat back up move, hiking your hips up to arch your back and after an extremely practiced and hard thrust, he chuckled as you came again. He groaned at the tight flutter of your walls and couldn't help but fall over the edge himself. You whimpered when he finally let your legs and hips relax, not pulling out of you yet. With a tired gaze, you watched him reach and grab a bottle you hadn't noticed before from the coffee table, barely within reach. He popped the cap on the red container, an equally red substance spilling out and dripping over your skin. You shivered at the cold, and he licked his lips.

"Hmm… cherry flavored (Y/N)~"

-> Series Hub <-

Master-Master List

NCT Master List

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farfromstrange · 7 months

Text

Mismatched Bridesmaid | Matt Murdock x F!Reader

PART 2 of The Vault

See this post for more information on my Valentine's Day Special & Follower Celebration, but these fics can be read separately!

Pairing: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Summary: Deciding to go to your old college roommate's wedding turns into a bad idea when you suddenly have to function as a bridesmaid until you're paired with a very handsome groomsman.

Warnings: Fluff, attempt at humor, SMUT (18+ MINORS DNI), oral f!receiving, use of "good girl", One-Night Stand, shameless flirting, kind of "horny at first sight", so cheesy it might make you hate cheese

Word Count: 4.3k

A/n: I was wondering why this didn't post until I saw that I hit "save draft" instead of schedule, so this may come on time for some and too late for others, but I'm still awake, so it counts as the 15th. Also, when I wrote this it was after hinting at it on here, and I was excited at first, but I'm not too happy with it now because it's just silly and falls a little flat, in my opinion. This is why I went back in and edited a hell of a lot, adding some things, etc. Nevertheless, I promised to clear out the vault for this event, so this is it. I got inspired by seeing the She-Hulk clips when the episode with Matty came out. It may or may not be noticeable. We're also working with the Nelson, Murdock & Page narrative. Enjoy!

You are not made for white-veil occasions.

While weddings, in their essence, symbolize unity while covering different facets of romantic beauty, they are also inherently stressful for nearly everyone involved in the proceedings. Over the years of adulthood, you’ve found that weddings tend to end in disaster when you attend—and you are not particularly fond of engaging in drama.

When your old college roommate sent you an invitation to her wedding in June, you considered responding with no. You’ve been close for a few years, but then you graduated, found separate careers, and then never talked again. You weren’t sure why she would send you an invitation until you called the number on the back of the card and you began catching up. She told you that she wanted to invite you because you were a vital part of her early twenties, and it reminded you that you are both adults and you have both grown beyond what you thought possible, so you couldn’t find it in yourself to tell her that you couldn’t make it to her wedding. Instead, you told her that you wouldn’t miss it for the world. That answer though seemed to have turned destiny against you.

You were excited when you arrived at the chapel this morning, but as soon as your foot touched the holy ground, everything went wrong. Maybe it is because you’re an atheist and God hates you, or maybe Karma just really fucking loves toying with you. Either way, when your friend’s maid of honor—also one of the few people you hung out with during your wild college days—came up to you, looking pale and panicked, you knew that the curse you always bring to weddings was only continuing to wreak havoc.

She said to you, “One of the girls got into a car accident on her way here. Don’t worry, she’s not dead, just a broken wrist, but that means we are one bridesmaid short. I need someone to step in before Janet finds out and cuts off my head for ruining her wedding day,” and she was deadly serious about it, too.

You knew that it was a mistake to come to this wedding, especially without a date or a plus-one to fall back on.

You were so focused on marveling at the beautiful white and golden decorations living the aisle, fantasizing about the day you might be walking down one of those that you didn’t think anything could go wrong since everything had been going so right. You should have known better than to trust that treacherous feeling of excitement that you made sure to nurture before breakfast so you could enjoy the ceremony and the party afterward without making it dependent on the open bar—although that fact did help.

Instead of dreaming about free drinks though, you’re being squeezed into a satin green dress with a low cut in the front, and someone you don’t know is slathering burgundy lipstick onto your lips. They are purposely trying to turn you into a copy of all the other bridesmaids, and you hate it. You hate it so much you get the sudden urge to scratch your eyes out and tear the skin off your lips.

Janet, the maid of honor, comes back up to you. She’s aged at least ten years since you last saw her when she pulled you away from the aisle. You feel for her. The entire weight of this wedding rests on her shoulders.

She eyes you, checking your outfit, before giving you a curt nod. “Thank God, you’re hot,” she mutters. You’re not sure if you were supposed to hear it.

“Thank you?” you answer awkwardly.

“Alright.” She fixes the corners of your lipstick. “We need to pair you with a different guy than Miss I-Don’t-Know-How-To-Drive was supposed to walk down the aisle with. Your looks don’t match. You’ll get Kathy’s partner,” she says. “And we need to line up, like, now because shit is happening in five minutes, not a second later. We can’t give Bridezilla the time to kill us all.”

With a frown, you ask, “Is she aware at all of what’s happening?”

Janet shakes her head. “No, and it’s better this way. Trust me.”

You stop questioning her. She knows what she’s doing.

When she guides you outside to line up, you’re not sure what to expect. You don’t know the groom, and you don’t know his friends. You’re here on your own, and now you’re part of a bridal party that you are also barely familiar with, wearing a dress that you were forced into for the sake of aesthetics. You hate when something is reduced to aesthetics because beauty has many facets, and you would have walked down that aisle with anyone as long as you could get it over with.

Until you see him. Strikingly dark hair in a perfectly cut tuxedo that underlines the muscles hiding underneath the fabric. His eyes are hidden behind round, red glasses that reflect the sunlight coming in through the already stained glass of the chapel’s windows. In his hands, he’s holding a white cane, leaning his entire weight on it as he waits. And he waits for none other than you.

Janet paired you with the most beautiful man on this planet, you can’t deny that. The way he stands there, his sharp jawline on full display—he looks ethereal. Just looking at him makes you sweat, and you’re starting to panic. What if she made a mistake? You can’t do this. You can’t—

“Matt,” she says and shoves you beside him into the line of bridesmaids and groomsmen.

Janet introduces you, and then she’s gone. She pushes you into the cold water, forcing you to learn how to swim.

He tilts his head in your direction. “Hi,” he says. The sound of his voice resembles the purr of a black cat as it reverberates, but his grin reminds you of the Devil himself.

Fuck. Me.

You either did something very wrong to land here, or you did everything right.

“Hi,” you stammer. One look at him, and the blood rushes to your cheeks. Your face is burning.

He offers you his hand. “I’m Matt,” he says as if Janet didn’t already expose that to you.

Still, you take his hand. It’s the polite thing to do. “And I’m not supposed to be here.” Mentally, you curse yourself for being so stupid.

Matt chuckles. Even his laugh sounds bittersweet. Like dark chocolate. “I, uh, gathered as much.”

“I’m sorry,” you bite your lip, “I’m not—this is really weird. I don’t even know what to say.” You pray for the ground to open up and swallow you whole, maybe that will make it less embarrassing.

His features soften. There is no judgment. You can’t see his eyes, but there is a certain softness about him that throws you off guard, but you no longer feel like you’re drowning. “If it helps, I’m only here because I helped the groom graduate law school by writing his essays, and he feels like he owes me, so…I also don’t want to be here,” he says, and he reaches up to adjust his glasses. You get a small glimpse of his eyes. They’re hazel. Beautiful. He has an aura that draws you in; it’s not just his physical beauty that strikes you.

This man—this magnetic force of a man called Matt—is a stranger. He’s a man you were paired with to walk down the aisle even though you were never meant to be a bridesmaid in this wedding in the first place. So many things are happening to and around you at once, and you can feel the flames starting to burn and sizzle away at your skin.

You should pull yourself together. You shouldn’t stare at him. You shouldn’t listen to your heart which is hammering against your ribcage. But the emotions are already running high and you can’t possibly focus on anything else. He’s like a lifeline to you.

And God, you want him to put those calloused hands on your skin and take you to bed. But that’s not something to think about in a place of God. On the day of someone else’s wedding. Except that you can’t think of anyone else, and his proximity isn’t making the situation any better for you.

Another blush threatens to take over your features. “Oh, you’re a lawyer?” you ask.

“Yeah,” he says. “I have a firm. Nelson, Murdock & Page.”

“Here in New York?”

“Hell’s Kitchen, yeah. Me and my associates just reopened our doors to the public after a rough year.”

“Oh, that’s...cool. I’m happy for you.”

“Thank you. And what do you do, if I may ask?”

His interest takes you off guard, but you don’t hesitate to answer his question. You tell him your profession, and how you met the bride, and he listens without another word. No man has ever paid you this much attention before.

Though Janet meant it when she said that you will have to start walking in exactly five minutes, not a second longer. She passed by everyone, handing out bouquets. Green with hints of red and gold. It fits the theme. They’re beautiful, but the flowers within the bouquet become a problem when she hands you your own set.

“Janet,” you stop her from leaving. “I can’t take these.”

“The fuck you can’t,” she retorts.

“Seriously, I can’t. I’m allergic to Jasmines. I’ll sneeze.”

She glares at you. “Then fucking hold it.”

There is no arguing with her, and she passes by you to continue putting everyone in their places. You stare down at the bouquet, your nose already starting to itch. The smell alone is enough to make you nauseous.

To your surprise, Matt reaches for the flowers. “May I?” he asks, but he has already grabbed a hold of them.

“Sure,” you answer, curious about where he’s going with this.

“Hold this.” He guides the top of his cane into your hand.

His fingers feel along the red ribbon. He takes a whiff. There are so many scents that would be overwhelming even to someone without heightened senses due to a lacking fifth one, so you’re even more surprised when he finds the Jasmines without a struggle. He traces the petals just to make sure, and he quickly pulls the flowers out of the bouquet, tightening the ribbon around the now smaller girth in the process.

Tossing them behind one of the pillars in the corridor, he hands them back to you. “Here,” he murmurs. “For you.”

Words elude you.

“Are you allergic to anything else?” The question is valid, considering you’re still not making a move to take the bouquet from him.

You exhale a shaky breath, reaching for the flowers, and answer without missing another beat, “Weddings.”

That elicits a giggle from him. The sound is enough to make your heart melt. Does he know what he’s doing to you?

Matt opens his mouth to respond, but the sound of heels clicking against the marble floors stops you both dead in your tracks.

Your entire body recoils when the bride’s voice rings out, echoing, “Who the fuck mismatched my bridesmaids?”

A hand rests on your bicep, and you don’t even have to look down to know that it is Matt’s. He’s the only one standing to your right, anyway. He squeezes as though to let you know that you won’t lose your head, but you’re not so sure now that your college roommate is glaring at you in a white dress that reminds you of a pastry, and her eyes are full of fury. He can’t see it, but he would cower in fear if he did.

Thankfully, Janet pulls her aside, explaining the situation to her.

“She what?!” she screeches. “On my wedding day? Are you kidding me?”

“Yes, because car accidents respect timing when it comes to special occasions,” Janet counters.

You snort. Matt beside you digs his teeth into his bottom lip, but even he can’t hide his amusement.

“Oh, snap,” you mutter under your breath.

“Shots have been fired,” he says.

“I think we’re witnessing a double homicide.”

“I’m not a very credible witness. I can only describe how it sounded, unfortunately.”

Your snort turns into a laugh. The bride’s head snaps around, and you go quiet. “Sorry. I’m sorry,” you choke out.

“If she decides to throw a punch at your pretty face,” Matt’s breath tickles your ear, “I can be your attorney and sue her ass.”

This time, you’re conscious enough to slap a hand in front of your mouth to stifle your reaction. “How do you know I’m pretty?” you whisper back between little giggles.

He shrugs with a smirk of his own. “I just know.”

He’s got you wrapped around his little finger, and you have no choice but to submit.

Janet manages to bring some calm back to her friend eventually, and then it’s showtime. Right on the second, it’s time for you to walk down the aisle, and you have never been happier about a strict schedule and someone adamant about keeping that schedule for the sake of all of your lives.

Your roommate has always been a very dominant personality, so you’re aware of the things she can do when she doesn’t get what she wants.

An 80s pop ballad begins to play. You make sure to match your pace to everyone else but also make sure that you’re not running away from your partner.

You may have been a mismatched bridesmaid, but you can’t complain about the company.

Against all odds, the service is beyond beautiful. It’s not often you get to stand so close when two people who seem to truly love each other make a vow to be there for each other for the rest of their lives. You can’t help but shed a tear. They complement each other perfectly. Is that ever in the cards for you? Will you ever be able to have what they have? Or will you always feel like you’re not worthy of this kind of unconditional love and endless devotion—of someone wanting to spend the rest of their life with you?

You look over at Matt. The hint of a cross necklace is starting to peek out underneath his dress shirt. Of course, he’s Catholic.

He carries himself with such a grace that puts everyone else in this room to shame. Does he know that you’re staring at him? You hope not.

After the ceremony, you lose sight of Matt in the masses. He doesn’t owe you a goodbye, but you still feel a little disappointed when you return to the dressing room and finally peel the satin dress off of your very sweaty skin.

At the party afterward, he’s still nowhere to be found. You give up. Not that you want to spend the evening with him anyway, but you kind of do. You drown your sorrows in a glass of vodka cranberry and a bowl of olives. They taste like rotten meat, but there are too many people by the buffet for your liking. The last thing you want to do is mingle and get asked stupid questions by people you don’t even know. So, you stay back, and you watch from afar as everyone is having the time of their lives not so far away from you, but far enough for you to breathe.

“And here I thought weddings were supposed to be a joyous occasion,” Matt pipes up beside you, and you twirl around in your chair to face him with wide eyes.

You didn’t expect to see him back here. “Hi!” you exclaim. “What’re you—I thought you left.”

“Nah,” he says. “I just had to take care of some things.”

“Oh, yeah? Like what?”

He smirks. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“Yes, that’s why I asked.”

Folding his cane, Matt lowers himself down on one of the chairs beside you and orders himself a beer with the bartender. “Let’s just say that I have an important court case coming up and I had to make a call.”

You take another sip from your drink. “That sounds a lot more exciting than my life, to be honest.”

“You are sulking at a wedding. Thinking about an ex?”

“More like life in general.”

“Ah, yes, the eternal fear of dying alone.” He raises his bottle to yours. “I’ll drink to that.”

A laugh escapes you. “That was cynical,” you say.

“And you’re not?”

He beats you at your own damn game, and he finally gets that smile he has been vying for.

“Are you smiling?” his voice is barely above a whisper.

Your tongue darts out to wet your lips. “Maybe.” But the smile is audible in your voice, giving you away.

Matt smirks, nodding his head. “Good girl.”

The sharp vodka runs down the wrong pipe. You cough. Did he just—

He did.

He pats your back, and his hand lingers a lot longer than it should. He looks so smug. Pleased with himself. That part of him is stupidly attractive to you, even though you would usually hate such cockiness in any other man. But Matt isn’t like any other man.

You apologize for your reaction, but he should be the one apologizing to you for throwing you off your game. What is he doing? You can’t read him. You wish you could because that would make this so much easier, but that’s probably the point. He wants to tease you. He wants to mess with your head. He’s a dick. A fucking attractive dick that could tell you to do just about anything and you in your flustered state would go along with it without hesitations. That’s the kind of control he has over you, and you just met. It feels like a twisted form of destiny, but you can’t quite believe it. Yet.

“Do you always do that?” you dare to ask.

He frowns. “Do what?”

“Flirt with women who were forced to be bridesmaids even though they were only supposed to be guests?”

A playful smirk plays on his lips.

“It’s been known to happen,” says Matt.

You poke your tongue against the soft tissue of your cheek. “Cheeky,” you murmur.

“That’s also been known to happen.”

“What, being cheeky with—”

“—with women who were forced to be bridesmaids even though they were only supposed to be guests? Yes.” He’s catching on quickly.

You laugh and nod. “Yeah, that.”

“I do have to say though,” he adds, and for a second you think he might ruin the joke instead of playing it out further, but Matt is full of surprises, “Out of all the mismatched bridesmaids I’ve met in my thirty-something years of, um, living, you’re my favorite so far.”

With your hand, you start fanning your face rather dramatically. “I feel honored,” you say.

Again, he chuckles. “You should be.”

“Why, because you’re so irresistible?”

“I was going to say that I don’t like a lot of people because, you know, they’re dicks, but that works too.”

“Wow.” You take another sip. The liquor burns its way down your sore esophagus. “You have balls, man.”

“Is that a problem?” he counters with a question.

The answer comes naturally. “No,” you say. “I like it.”

“Good.” Hearing you clink the ice cubes against your empty glass by swirling it around, Matt concludes that you need a refill. “Can I get you another drink?” he asks.

The question sounds so innocent, but the look on his face renders you speechless. His hand inches dangerously close to yours on the counter, his knee brushing yours, and the heat shoots straight to your neglected cunt.

Fuck this.

“You could do that, or we could skip that part and just…you know.”

One brush of your hand against his thigh, that’s all it takes for him to know.

Pushing you through the door to his apartment a few minutes later, his lips are on you. The door falls shut with a loud bang, and he presses you against the wall of his hallway.

His lips feel like a silky cloud of lewdness. The way he kisses you is utterly erotic. Your lips part in a delicious moan that he swallows with a grunt of his own. He swallows it all, shoving his tongue into the tight confines of your mouth, and exploring every inch he can reach. He tastes you. He consumes you.

His hands desperately search for an ounce of bare skin. He’s tugging at your clothes, sliding and tearing them aside. Once his fingers finally brush over the bare skin of your stomach, he melts.

You tangle your fingers in his hair, pulling him impossibly closer. Your leg hooks around his waist. You can’t wait. He has ignited a fire within you that no one has been able to light before. He’s touching you with a precision that puts your former lovers to shame. He’s paying attention to your every breath and heartbeat, and with every touch, he asks, “May I?”

You don’t even make it to the bedroom. Once he has successfully removed the bottom half of your clothes, he falls to his knees. He is a sight to behold. The disarray of colors that shines into his apartment illuminates his face, bathing it in a selection of hues that bring out his best features.

Matt has yet to take off his glasses, and you take the opportunity to tear them away from his face. You’re gentle though. You ask him, “May I?” mirror the question he has been asking you throughout the night, and after a thick swallow, he nods.

You caress his cheek as you remove his glasses, and when you finally see his hazel eyes in all of their glory, you have to bow down to capture his lips in a soft kiss.

“You’re beautiful,” you whisper. “So fucking beautiful, Matt.”

He whimpers. You could have sworn to have imagined it, but when you stroke his cheek with such a gentleness it almost makes him recoil in anguish, you know that you didn’t imagine the sound from his lips. You kiss it away. You kiss all of his insecurities away. You want him to feel as good as he is making you feel. You don’t know him, but you want to get to know him, and if he’s ready to surrender himself to you, you are more than ready to do the same for him. He can feel that with every brush of your fingertips and every kiss you deliver to his plump lips that taste like heaven and hell in itself.

Your words don’t leave him cold. His cock is aching in his pants—you take note of his impressionable size, which only makes you more excited for what’s to come—but he refuses to take it out. Not until you’re fully satisfied. To be honest, you could come just from staring at him on his knees in front of you, looking like he would lay the world to your feet and kill everyone who has ever dared to hurt you, but that is not enough for him.

He needs the experience. Feeling your skin, tasting you, and breathing in all facets of your natural scent mixed with the artificial one from your shampoo. He can’t get enough of it. Of you. Of everything about and within you. He’s as attracted to your body as he is consumed by your soul. You’ve got him in a deadlock, but he would never complain about that.

You gasp when Matt grabs your thigh and throws it over his shoulder. Your panties are gone within seconds, torn on the floor somewhere. You’re completely bare to him.

You want to warn him that you didn’t shave, but he doesn’t care.

Before you know it, he has flattened his tongue against your pussy, and he licks a long stripe from your hole to your clit.

“Fuck!” you cry out, reaching for support on the wall behind you.

He flicks the sensitive bundle of nerves with the tip of his tongue, testing the waters before he sucks it into his mouth.

His grip on your thigh becomes bruising. Matt eats you out like he has been starving for years and you are his first and last meal. He sucks on your clit, and he fucks you with his tongue. Your pussy is the altar he worships at. Your arousal is his holy water. He dives deeper and deeper into the wetness between your thighs, and he moans loudly when you pull at his hair.

“Fuck, Matt–” You’re clawing at whatever you can find. It feels so good. You’re higher than you have ever been.

The sound of his mouth working your slick folds toward eternal bliss is obscene and utterly sinful. His stubble scratches against your inner thighs. The pain grounds you in the here and now, making you focus on the tidal wave that is about to crash into you and tear you to shreds.

You can’t even warn him before your orgasm takes over, and it takes you into another dimension. You come with a shout of his name. It’s nothing short of explosive. The orgasm drags on through his mouth on your clit, relentlessly sucking until the nerves jump, and you’re begging him to stop.

His face glistens. With every kiss up your body, Matt marks you. By the time he has reached your quivering lips, he still tastes like you.

“You did so well,” he whispers. “Such a good girl for me.”

You exhale. Without his shoulders to hold onto, you would probably lose your footing. “You’re crazy,” is all you can say.

He smirks. “In a good way, I hope.”

“Yes. Fuck.”

“Regret coming home with me?”

“Absolutely not.”

That’s all he needed to hear. He lifts you with ease. “Then I’m going to make it worth your while.”

And when your back hits the soft mattress and silk sheets of his bed, you don’t doubt that he is going to make good on his promise.

Matt Murdock Smut Tag List: @acharliecoxedfan @gpenguin666 @linamarr @mcugeekposts @itwasthereaminuteago @norestfortheshelbywicked @yarrystyleeza @littlenerdyravenclaw @etanordoesbullsh1t @thychuvaluswife @harleycao @schneeflocky @imjustcal @pipsqueakkitten @merlinbtch @sya-skies @amberritonicole @ravenclaw617 @pigeonmama

#matt murdock #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x f!reader #daredevil #matt murdock x you #matt murdock smut #matt murdock fluff #daredevil x reader #reader insert #lizzi’s vault #charlie cox

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dreamywriter143 · 1 year

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My Dearly Detested

Status: Prologue (7 part Mini-Series, 0/7)

Genre: Enemies to Lover troupe, Angst, Rude Neteyam, Comforting Lo’ak, some fluff, Romance, violence.

Warnings: Depictions of blood, Battles and cursing. Rude Neteyam😭. Reader is older then Neteyam by 1year.

Parings: Neteyam X Y/n (Reader)

Summary: Neteyam hates Y/n. He never liked how she always bested him in everything and never once sought the praises he was accustomed to. She had no one, yet she had everyone in the palm of her hand. He despised her, and that wasn’t going to change anytime soon. The but happens when the RDA threat comes and Jake tasks her with watching his sons? Neteyam can’t help but grow a newfound hatred.

Word count: 1.5k

A/N: I know I said I would post this after I finished ‘Precious Tsyeym’ pt1 and pt2, but I just couldn’t wait!! So I opted to post the prologue in the meantime. Enjoy!!

_________________________________________

“Where are you!??!” Y/n calls, desperately trying to track her way through the foliage around her. Her steps are rushed and hasty as she tries to make her way to the clearing. Her heart rate quickens at the thoughts flashing through her head.

Where was he? Why did he disappear? Was he injured? Is he safe?

Feeling her steps falter she takes a deep breath in. She had to find him, she had to make sure he was ok. A boost of determination causing her to steps to speed up as the leaves and twigs beneath her feet snap at the force she ran with.

Just as she makes it to the clearing a large stick smacks her on the head, with great amount of force causing her to stumble backwards. Her hand reaches up to rub the wounded area, feeling the sting of the hit. Groaning in pain she glares at the perpetrator who smirks upon eye contact. He griped the stick tightly, standing above her at the staggering height difference.

“You have to be quieter Y/n! You gave away your position and you were running around like a baby Talioang. Just because you are in a hurry, doesn’t mean you can forget all your training.” Tarsem teases, his tone playful yet it still had an edge. He was her teacher after all.

Y/n huffs out, shrugging her shoulders in defeat. “I kinda panicked! You vanished. I thought you left me, or worse. Got hurt!” She argues, her lower lip jutting out at the thought of Tarsem hurt. He was like a brother to her. She wouldn’t know what to do if he got hurt.

Her eyes furrow in fear as Tarsem tosses the stick away, taking a step towards her. His eyes softened at her words but the smirk has yet to leave his face. He ruffles his hand through her locks, effectively removing some leaves that was struck in between them.

“I’m a great warrior Y/n. You gotta have more faith in your teacher. One day, I’ll be the Ole’tekayan’s right hand man! You’ll see” He beams at the thought, causing a smile to twitch at Y/n’s lips. Y/n knew of his dream, and she believed it would come true one day.

Despite being 16 years old, Tarsem was a a force to be reckoned with. His skills separated him from all the other children in his age group, rivalling some adults even. He was allowed on hunts and raids due to all his accomplishments. Not only was he a great hunter, but also a great teacher. He had many students who worshiped him. He had also already gotten many blessings from his elders, Jake Sully included.

They nicknamed him ‘Tarsem the wise’. He was calm, collected, and ruthless when need be. He was wise for his age, which the Na’vi were proud of.

Y/n’s eyes gloss over with admiration at the boy, the boy who was a man now. The very same boy who took her in under his wing to train, to become strong like him. She was grateful.

Losing her parents to the Great War , Y/n had been raised by Tarsem’s parents. Their families were really close, and when Y/n’s parents bravery cost them their life they in-trusted their only daughter to Tarsem’s parents. Granted they did a great job raising her, but so did the clan.

The Omatikaya banded together to collectively raise her, she learned how to weave from Naya’il, she learned how to mount a Pa'li by Ma’luk and she also received Tsahik trainings from Mo’at herself. Who was very fond of Y/n’s mother. The girl was raised with love and affection in many manners, that’s why she felt so compelled to become as strong as possible. To protect her people, her clan.

All that was remanning was being a warrior, which she always wanted to be, ever since she had bagan watching Tarsem show great promise. She wanted to become like him, be strong and noble on her own so the aching hole in her heart can be mended once she is truly happy. Truly gaining her spot amongst her people.

She felt as though if she achieved the most, she could feel closer to her deceased parents. Her father was a great warrior, known for his strength and bravery. And her mother was a great healer, Mo'at's student who had been just as great. She grew up hearing their praises, which only motivated the girl to make her parents proud. Thus gaining the love and fondness from within the clan.

Even Jake and Neytiri were fond of her, though busy with Olo'eyktan duties and taking care of their children, they always included Y/n for training and even dinners. That being said, Y/n was a very friendly child growing up. Everyone was her friend, everyone ended up becoming her friend. She had this calming air around her, letting those near her feel at ease. She was very close to Kiri, and loved Lo’ak thinking of him as her baby brother though he was only 2 years younger. Then there is-

“Tarsem?” A voice calls, stepping into the clearing. His expression of question quickly turned to that of distaste once his yellow hues handed on Y/n. Scrunching his nose in mild disgust. His eyes trail from the tips of her toes to the top of her head. He snorts in annoyance at the leaves that were caught within her locks and the mud splattered all over her body.

He averts his eyes quickly with a prominent scowl. As if the mere sight of her caused his entire mood to sour. He looks up at Tarsem, who was waiting patiently for his next words.

“I was looking for you. I didn’t know you were….busy” he says carefully, rolling his eyes slightly. Y/n looks down at the mud between her toes. Shuffling from foot to foot uncomfortably. She didn’t know what she had done, but the eldest sons distaste for her was very obvious. It was as if he never tried hiding it. And she didn’t know why.

“I’m sorry Neteyam. I was training Y/n. Did you need me for something?” Tarsem replies casually, not noticing the underlying tension in the air. Neteyam huffs disapprovingly. He glares at Y/n, a sneer almost breaking through.

“Why are you training her? She cannot even wield a bow” he points out causing Y/n to flinch. She looks up, her eyes meeting those of pure hate. She swallows nervously. She wanted to respond back, but something about Neteyam’s eyes and the stiffness in his posture caused her mouth to clamp shut.

Tarsem’s tail twitches at his tone but he chooses to hold his tongue. He was speaking to the figure Olo'eyktan. The very leader he hoped to one day gain the respect of. Neteyam was already doing great at 9 years old. Being able to wield a bow and his precision being out of this world. He seemed to have inherited his mothers archery skills. He was already starting off so strong, who knew what he would accomplish as he grew up to become a man.

“Well, Y/n is my student. I’m obligated to train her. You didn’t state why you are here? Alone.” Taresem takes a step forward standing in front of a shocked Y/n. Squeaking at the sudden movement she keeps her head low. Not bothering to see how the eldest son of Toruk Makto would react.

“I was hoping to train with you. Father wishes for me to polish off my skills. I don’t see why you are busy with her when you could be with me. I’d give you far less trouble” Neteyam says calmly. Tarsem nods in understanding. He didn’t want to argue. If Neteyam wanted to practice with him he’d do so in a heartbeat.

Tarsem looks over his shoulder at Y/n who realizes her session with Tarsem had ended before it even started. Her eyes wide with sadness as she awaits his final orders. She couldn’t help but jut her lower lip out in a pout, her ears laying flat against her head.

“I’ll stay back with Neteyam. Please get home safely Y/n. I promise to make this class up to you” he says softly. Y/n nods mechanically. She doesn’t spare Neteyam a glance before she sprints away from the clearing.

Her eyes stung with embarrassment and anger. Who was he to talk about her like that? Regard her in such a way? What has she ever done to him? She was older, why didn’t he respect her? And why did he ruin her training session, the session she’s been looking forward to all week.

Angrily wiping her tears away Y/n marches her way home. The only home she knew of, Tarsem’s families hut. As she disappears she couldn’t help but feel the burning sensation of someones eyes on her.

She knew it was Neteyam. It was always Neteyam, always glaring at her as if her presence was of that of a pest. Y/n's eyes squint with determination. She didn’t care when, she didn’t care how long it would take. She vowed to become the best warrior possible, for her people. To honor her parents. For her family that raised her. And so Neteyam could maybe one day learn to respect her.

As a warrior of the Omaticaya.

———————————————————————

A/N: HIIII!!! I hope you guys enjoyed the prologue of ‘My Dearly Detested’. It’s going to be a 7-part Mini Series, where each part will be roughly 1-3k words each. I also have some information that you guys should know for the next chapter:

There is a 10 year time-skip from the Prologue to Part One

The ages will be: Y/n (20) is 1year older then Neteyam (19) and 2years older then Lo’ak (18). Kiri is also (18) and Tuk is (10). Tarsem (26) has a 6year age gap with Y/n.

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galatially · 9 months

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❝𝐭𝐨𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐦𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲 𝐞𝐥𝐬𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬❞

𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 / 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 / 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 — 𝐣𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬 "𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐚𝐧" 𝐡𝐨𝐰𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐭 x 𝐛𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 — you called and i came, the history between us too broad to ignore; when he showed up on your doorstep five years after he disappeared in the middle of the night, logan howlett decided to clear the air

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 — 5K

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 — 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐃𝐍𝐈, 𝟏𝟖+, strong language, exes, angst, smut, soft boi™ logan, exes to tentative lovers

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 — it is time to spread the agenda of logan howlett and his influence on my brain rot for most of my nerdy life. shout out to lizzy mcalpine for making "ceilings" and having me spiral over it for a year!

also also, y'all, i know. i'm horrible at deadlines. but it's what y'all love about me lol

also also first post of 2024!

as always, lovely dividers by @firefly-graphics

Your fingers rubbed moisturizer into his skin, your fingers both light and firm.

“You have so many scars.” He grunted in response. “When you tell me, am I going to have to set a house on fire?”

Logan laughed. “And why would you do that, bubba?”

“To defend your honor, of course.” You laid across his back to whisper in his ear, the warmth of your breath making the hairs on his body erect. “Can’t have you being the hero all the time. My shoulders are strong, too.”

“…listening? Logan? Logan!”

He blinked, his vision focusing on Ororo’s concerned gaze.

“What’d you say?”

A soft smile graced her lips. “I asked where you were going.”

Logan hoisted his duffle bag over his shoulder. “I’ve got some business to attend to.”

Ororo hummed. “Would this have to do with a certain someone that lives in the Canadian mountainside?” He didn’t answer as he threw the bag in the back of his truck. “Do you think that’s the best thing for her right now?”

“I just want to make sure she’s okay, Munroe.”

“And then what?” Ororo crossed her arms. “What are you going to do when you see that she’s fine?”

He threw her a hard glare. “I just want to see her. Is that so fuckin’ wrong?”

Her features softened. “You had another dream about her.”

Logan turned back towards the garage. “What does it matter? I just need to see her, Munroe.”

She held her hands up. “I can’t stop you. I just worry that you’re about to uproot this woman’s life because you can’t let her go.”

He took in a sharp breath. She wasn’t wrong; he’d spent the better part of six years raking himself over the coals at how he ended things. If he allowed them, the memories of you screaming and your brown eyes red and puffy from crying haunted him more than any battle he’d ever been in.

“Look, if you’re so hellbent on going to see her, then go. You’re an adult and you have to live with your decisions.”

He walked around to the driver’s side of his truck. “Tell our fearless leader that I’m goin’ out of town and I’ll be back when I can.”

Ororo nodded and waved, a sad smile on her lips.

He shouldn’t fucking be here.

The second Logan crossed the border, he could think of nothing else but to get to you. Thirty-eight hours and he didn’t sleep for any of them. No, his mind’s eyes played memories of you: how soft your skin was, that fig and jasmine perfume you loved. The silken warmth of your cunt. He fucked his fist like a horny fourteen year old in that dingy hotel in BC. If he focused hard enough, he could get the tone of your voice just right — those breathy, pleading moans that you let out only for him. He could get lost in the memories, pretend that he was beside you in your bed, other people be damned.

But that was thirty-eight hours ago.

Now, here he was. His hands gripped the steering wheel of his truck until his knuckles went white, silently cursing himself for even showing up. He hadn’t seen you in, what? Six years? Who the hell was he to appear on your doorstep after the shit he pulled?

His eyes scanned the forest surrounding your home. He hated that you lived so far away from immediate civilization. It took you thirty minutes to get into the nearest town for work and you essentially lived off the grid. When he’d happened upon your home that fateful October evening, he was amazed that you had a working phone, let alone Wi-Fi. Whenever you crossed his mind, he thought the worst. He used to beg you to get an apartment in the city, but you always refused.

“I’m not ready to let get of this place just yet.” You looked up at him from drawing circles on his bare bicep. “Unless you want to give up city life and live out here with me?”

He didn’t answer; even back then, Logan knew that he was bound to hurt you. His refusal to give you more than idle pleasure was a point of contention for you both. Jean always said that he could be hard to talk to because if he wasn’t picking a fight, he was evading questions. But unlike Jean, you weren’t one to back down. When he’d divert or blatantly ignore your questions, you stood your ground. You didn’t give him the chance to distract you with sudden affection. You wanted to resolve issues as soon as they were made present.

It’s something Logan both loved and hated about you.

“Fuck this.” He groaned, scrubbing a hand down his face. He blew out a determined breath and opened his car door, his feet moving before he changed his mind. As he got closer to the house, he noticed the red “SOLD” sign on the lawn. His chest thrummed with…pain? Remorse? Fear?

What would he do if you left?

He was on your porch now, his heart hammering against his ribcage, fighting to get to you. He raised his hand to knock on the door as it was opening, being met with the face he’d been dreaming about for half a decade.

Your brows were furrowed in confusion. “James.”

His hazy memory didn’t do you justice; your eyes seemed more intense than the last time he’d seen you. You were dressed in an oversized t-shirt — eerily familiar to an old Pink Floyd shirt he thought he’d lost years ago — and shorts barely peeking out from under the hem of the shirt. Your skin smooth and begging to be touched. Your dark coils were thrown into a bun, pieces falling out in various places. You weren’t outwardly upset but you could school your features better than anyone he knew. Your body was half-facing him and half-facing the tiny hall that led to the inside of the house. There was a solemnity to your face that he didn’t recognize.

A voice in the furthest part of his mind whispered that it was because of him.

“Y’know you’re the only person that still calls me James?”

Your features flattened. “What are you doing here?”

“I don’t know.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I was just passin’ through Edmonton and ended up here .”

“You drove for three days on a whim?”

“I was on my way back from handlin’ somethin’,” he said, the familiar finality in his tone. His gaze went past your shoulders and into the darkness of your home. “Have you eaten yet?”

You blinked. “Not yet.”

He nodded, his blue eyes back on you. “Can I come in? I’ll make you somethin’.”

You should’ve said no. Should’ve slammed the door in his face and went back to packing up the rest of your bedroom. But instead, you moved to the side and let Logan inside. He thanked you and walked inside, toeing off his shoes, and heading back towards the kitchen like he’d been doing it forever.

You looked out at his old, rusted truck one last time before closing the door and going to the kitchen. From the tiny hallway, you could hear him humming to himself; an old song his mother used to sing to him, he’d told you once. He’d put his hair up into a bun at the top of his head, a few strands falling to frame his face. His tan skin, the same skin that had scars that even his mutation couldn’t heal, glowed under the dull glow of your kitchen light. You used to always tell him beautiful he was, but he’d wave you off in that Logan way, telling you that no one was as beautiful as you.

You leaned up against the doorjamb. “Last I heard, you were living in New York. You teach at some fancy school?”

Logan chuckled, mincing up onions and garlic. “I wouldn’t say teach.”

“So, what, you get paid to hang out with fourteen year olds in upstate New York? Sounds kind of sketchy.”

“I teach hand to hand combat,” he glanced over at you, “the kids that I teach it to are like me. Mutants.”

You wrinkled your nose. “I never liked that word; mutants. They make you all sound like failed experiments.”

“Aren’t we?”

“No.” You crossed your arms. “Far from it.”

Logan nodded, more to himself than your declaration, and moved to face the stove. He dumped his vegetables in a small pan to cook. He reached to the left of him — muscle memory, you reasoned — and grabbed a jar of maize. “You’d like it. New York.”

“You think?”

Logan lifted a shoulder. “Be better than livin’ all alone in the mountains.”

You let out a hum. “Guess we’ll find out, won’t we?”

“Where you headed?”

“I don’t know yet,” your eyes dropped to your fidgeting hands, “I didn’t think that I’d be able to sell the house, actually.”

“Why did you? Sell?”

“You know why,” you said, your voice lowered to a whisper. “I held onto it for her and when she died, I didn’t want to stay.”

“‘M sorry I didn’t reach out. Your mother was a remarkable woman.”

You made a bitter sound. “Yeah, well, you’re good at leaving when the wind blows.”

He pursed his lips, turning around to turn off the stove. “You got any plates or bowls left out?”

“James, I —”

“’S fine, Y/N. Bowls?”

You blew out a breath and walked over to the cupboard beside the stove and grabbed two plates, handing them over to Logan. Your knuckles brushed up against his but you kept your eyes on the oak wood of the cupboard.

“Thanks.”

You rushed out a hushed “you’re welcome” and moved back to stand in front of the sink. The air was tense and you had to fight the impulse to pull Logan to you and let him consume you, if only for tonight. You tightened your hands into fists, feeling the bite of your nails as they embossed your skin.

Logan handed you a plate and walked to your tiny kitchen table in the far corner of the room. He sat in his chair: close enough to the back door and facing towards you. Where before it was to smile and regard you with tenderness, now there was unease in his eyes.

You’d forgotten that you didn’t ask what he was making, so the spread in front of you gave you pause: it was your mother’s polenta recipe. “You remembered.” The words came out airy, surprised.

“You’re the last thing that I’d ever forget, bubba.”

“Don’t do this, Logan.” You set your spoon down. “Just…don’t.”

“You’re right. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, either!” You pinched the bridge of your nose. You pushed your plate away and looked away from your former lover.

What were you doing? He showed up, out of the blue, making you dinner…to do what? The question had been clawing at you the entire visit. Why now? What could Logan possibly want from you after all of these years?

Logan leaned back in the chair, the wood creaking in protest against his broad frame. You kept wanting to speak, break the tense silence, but you couldn’t find the words. Looking at him, he seemed too still. Like a marble statue molded to the chair, anchoring him to this room with you.

“I fucked up, bubba.”

Your brows canted. “What do you mean?”

“That night…the last night that I was here, I said some things that I shouldn’t have. Made promises that I didn’t know if I could keep.” One of his large hands scrubbed down his face, his eyes still on the ceiling. “I told you that I’d leave everythin’ behind to stay.”

Your bottom lip quivered. You remembered; he’d come here that night more impassioned than usual. His hair wind-swept, his cheeks wind-whipped and red, he pulled you in for one of the most passionate kisses you’d ever had in your life. A clash of tongue and teeth against fleshy lips and curves of skin that left you a shaking mess beneath the thin sheets of your bed. You laid in his arms, running your fingers along the lines of his collarbone, when you’d asked if he’d stay. You weren’t begging, didn’t even lower your voice to a low hush to persuade him. You were as direct as you always were, determined to know where you stood in the universe that was Logan Howlett.

“You lied.”

His eyes, darkened with sorrow, finally found yours. “I lied.”

You blinked back tears. “Why? If you knew that you weren’t going to make space for me in your life, why make me believe you would? I uprooted my life for you, Logan! I was going to sell my mother’s house and ride off with you into the sunset! And for what? For you to leave me alone?”

“I couldn’t take you with me then, Y/N. Somethin’…came up.”

“I know, Ororo told me.” Logan shot forward, his eyes wide. “She came and found me two years ago. She said that there was an incident and that you almost died. Said that you kept murmuring my name, telling them to make sure that I was safe.”

He scoffed. “Always meddlin’, that woman.”

“At least she cared enough about you to come find me.”

His jaw tightened. “You’re walkin’ a thin line, bubba.”

“Don’t fucking call me that. You don’t get to call me that anymore, Logan.” You stood up from the table and opened the back door. “Get out.”

“What?”

“Get. Out,” you hissed. “Thank you for making me dinner, but I want you to go.”

Logan crossed his arms, throwing you a hard look. “No.”

Your nostrils flared. “James, get —”

You’d forgotten how fast he was. He was out of the chair and in front of you in an instant, your next retort dying on your tongue. One of his large hands cupped your chin and the other slammed the door shut. His blue eyes roamed your face, searching for something.

Though he towered over you, hell, he overpowered you, you didn’t back down. “I want you to leave.”

“I’m not leavin’. Not until I say what I have to say.”

Your eyes brush along the seams of his lips, lingering, before meeting his smoldering gaze again. “Then say what you need to say and go. I’m done with this.”

Logan’s fingers gripped your chin harder, his gaze hard. “We’re not done talkin’, bubba.” There was an intensity to the nickname as it left his mouth that made your thighs clench together. He leaned in closer, his lips brushing up against yours.

You gripped the sleeve of his flannel, your pulse fluttering in your ears. The hand that had closed the door moved to the small of your back and pushed you into his pelvis. You gasped at his hardened erection against your thigh.

“You can yell at me, you can fuckin’ hit me if you need to.” He rested his forehead against yours. “But don’t tell me to leave. I don’t know where to go if I’m not with you.”

“You haven’t had me in years, James,” you said, roughly. You knew that he caught the desperation in your tone, your words. You tipped your head back and lifted up on tiptoe to press your lips to his. When you finally noticed that he hadn’t returned the kiss, you started to pull back, a pit growing in your stomach.

“I’m —”

His arm tightened around your middle to keep you still. His mouth molded against yours, hungry and desperate.

You pawed at his flannel, helping him shrug out of it. Logan cupped his hands under your thighs and lifted, wrapping your legs around his waist. You sucked a bruise along the curve where his neck and collarbone meet, relishing in the hiss he let out.

“Wait, wait, wait.” He pulled back, his gaze intense. “I need to say this before anythin’ else happens between us.” Your brows creased. “I hurt you. I hurt you and it fuckin’ killed me, Y/N, and I’m sorry.”

Your breath caught. You didn’t know Logan enough to know his favorite color or his mother’s name, but you knew enough about him to know that he didn’t apologize. Didn’t matter if he was wrong or right, he just didn’t. But the man before you wasn’t the man you knew six years ago. Now that you were looking at him, you could see it all: the dark circles, the stiffness of his body that only came from being nervous.

Despite your assertive nature, you didn’t hold grudges. Those types of feelings need to constantly be fed into and that was energy you couldn’t spare. Not even for men that you fell in love with too quickly.

You put your lips to his again. He mirrored your movements and carried you to your bedroom. He sucked a bruise onto the skin between your ear and shoulder, making you let out a whimper. You ground your hips against his hardened erection.

“Fuck, honey,” he hissed.

“I need you inside of me, James.” You nipped at his earlobe. “Please.”

He kissed you, long and hard, before helping you out of your thin shorts. His thick fingers glided through your puffy folds, a guttural groan leaving his throat.

“You this wet for me, Y/N?”

You mewled in response, your hips moving against his digits, begging for pressure on your swollen pearl.

He gulped, his eyes hungrily tracing over your lust-drunken expression. His cock was straining almost painfully against the denim of his jeans but he couldn’t stop staring at you. He drew the pad of his thumb along the curves of your parted lips, sucking a breath when the tip of your tongue barely swept against the skin.

He dipped the digit between your lips, watching with rapt pleasure as you suckled and moaned around it. He groaned and curved his free hand around the base of your throat. “Such a good girl, aren’t ya?”

You shuddered. “I can be.”

“Oh, yeah?” He suckled a love bite onto your skin. “You think you can be mine tonight?”

You nodded eagerly.

Logan chuckled and threw you over his shoulder, taking what seemed like three large steps into your bedroom and tossed you lightly onto the bed. He took hold of your face and slotted his lips over yours, licking deeply into your mouth.

You pawed and pulled at his flannel, clumsily helping him out of it while trying to keep kissing him. He hummed against your lips and worked your thin shorts down your thighs before ripping them down the middle. The cool air against your bare cunt gave you gooseflesh. Your hands moved to work at his belt buckle as his own pulled at the shirt you wore.

“Was wonderin’ where this went.”

You chuckled. “You barely wore it.” You made a triumphant noise upon getting his pants undone and to the floor, looking up at him from beneath your thick, dark lashes.

He wanted to devour you. One of his big paws cupped your face and he ground out, “Are you sure, bubba?”

You took his heavy cock in one of your hands, moving up and down the length of it. You smirked at his sharp breath as you eased down to your knees. Without breaking eye contact, you took him into your mouth, a low groan vibrating against your tongue.

“Jesus,” he gripped your curls into one fist and threw his head back, “just like that, sugar.”

You hollowed your cheeks and took him deeper, the tip of your nose pressing against his pubic mound. The hand that wasn’t giving gentle squeezes to his thigh when to massage his heavy balls.

A low groan, bordering a growl, tumbled past Logan’s lips. “You have to move, baby. ‘M dyin’.”

You moved your hand from his balls to curl around the base of him, slowly working in tandem with your mouth. You moaned around his cock, spit dribbling down the sides of your mouth. You lightly scraped your teeth along the length of him. Logan hissed and gripped the sides of your face and started fucking your face. Your eyes were rimmed red, tears streaming down your face, and yet he looked at you with the reverence reserved for altars and gods.

“‘M cummin’…’m —”

He came in thick ropes into your mouth, his hips stuttering as he was coming down. His hands fell from the sides of your face to rest them on the tops of his thighs.

You pushed off of Logan with a faint “pop” and sat back against your calves. Your eyes trailed up and down Logan’s frame; you’d forgotten how big he was. Broad shoulders and back, large hands, thick, corded muscles. He could sometimes be as foreboding as he looked.

Then, post nut clarity smacked the shit out of you.

“Shit.”

He chuckled. “Yeah, me, too.”

“No. I mean, shit like we shouldn’t have done that.” You pushed yourself onto your feet. “Where’s my shirt?”

“You mean my shirt?”

You ignored his jibe and scanned the room for the garment. One of his hands shot out and pulled you onto his lap.

“I can smell ya, sweetheart.”

Your brows creased for a few seconds before you understood what he’d meant. You gulped, your chest rising and falling in hard pants. “Doesn’t matter, James. This was a mistake.”

His eyes — those intelligent, ever-searching eyes — darkened, a hunger in them that you hated that you missed. “Was it? What’s so wrong about two people findin’ each other again?” His thumb swept along your bottom lip. “‘M all yours to do whatever you need, baby.”

Your tongue darted out, barely pressing against his skin before his mouth claimed yours. He eased you onto your back as his hand traversed the expanse of your torso. His hands pawed and kneaded at your breasts, rubbing and twisting your nipples into stiff peaks. Your back canted towards his touch. His mouth suckled at your right nipple, his other hand still playing at the other.

“James,” you pleaded.

“What, bubba?” He chuckled darkly. “Use your words.”

Every word that flashed in your mind died in your throat. Only incoherent pants and groans left you. Logan switched to your left breast and one of his free hands cupped your mound. Your eyes screwed shut. The rough pad of his thumb brushed up against your clit, sticky with your slick.

“So wet and I’ve barely touched you.”

Your hips bucked and he rubbed the bundle of nerves again. Slow, tortuous swipes that sent shocks to your system and tightened your belly with need. Just before the coil snapped, his cock drove into you. Tears fell from your eyes and a choked gasp ballooned in your chest.

“Fuck, honey, s’good.” Logan’s voice was hoarse and desperate. He fucked into you like a man possessed; his big hands gripped your hips, surely leaving bruises behind. He moved one hand to curl at the base of your throat. Vignettes of memories past played in your mind’s eye and you let out a ragged keen, moving your hips to meet his thrusts. His name passed your lips. “Yeah, baby?”

You gripped one of his forearms. “‘M close.”

Rough skin swept across your clit. “Let go for me, bubba. C’mon.”

Your back canted as a guttural moan ripped from your throat. Logan pulled you into his chest, whispering my good girl and I’m here in your ear as you came down. For a moment, it was like nothing had changed. He’d never left you behind six years ago and this was just another evening for the two of you. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes and you buried your face into his chest.

“Hey.” He lifted your chin to meet his eyes. “What’s wrong?”

“I hate this,” your voice quivered, “I hate that you came back. I hate that I still — ” You shook your head. “We shouldn’t have done that, James.”

Logan cupped your face in his hands. “What do you want me to do? I’ll do anythin’ you ask me to, Y/N, you have to know that.”

“Do I?”

He pulled out of you and gathered you in his arms as he tucked you both into bed. His deep, even breaths reverberated up your spine. You sat in silence for a few minutes before he spoke again.

“I never meant to hurt you. Hurtin’ you was the last thing that I wanted to do and there’s nothin’ I could do to fix that.” He pressed his lips to the nape of your neck. “Just…talk to me. Please.”

“You broke me, Logan, do you know that? I broke all of my rules for you and it broke me. I was already grieving my mother and you made me grieve you when I never had you to begin with.”

“I know,” he rasped.

“Do you?”

“When Storm came to visit you, she wasn’t jokin’. I almost fuckin’ died.” He ran the backs of his fingers up and down your spine, his tone faraway. “I was slippin’ away, could barely focus on anythin’ in front of me for too long. Then suddenly, your face was the only thing I saw. I could picture you so clearly, down to the micro expressions that I didn’t even realize I’d paid attention to.” He rested his chin atop your head. “I’d made sure that I never thought of you too often or I’d leave everythin’ behind to come back to you.”

“And yet, here you are.” Your voice wobbled at the end. “You broke the one rule you shouldn’t have.”

“Yeah, well, rules are meant to be broken. I don’t regret showing up. Even if this is the only thing I could get, I’d fuckin’ do it all over again just to see you, bubba.”

You turned over to face him, your brown eyes hard. “Yeah, but bodies weren’t, James. You shouldn’t have to nearly die to decide that I’m worth seeing again.”

“You really love half-listenin’, don’t you?” He held your chin between his fingers, lifting your eyes to his. “I haven’t stopped thinkin’ about you since I left, Y/N. The only reason that I didn’t keep in touch was because I was afraid that you wouldn’t want to see me. Like you said, bodies weren’t meant to broken.”

“Neither were hearts,” you murmured.

He nodded. “And would yours consider lettin’ me back in? It’s selfish to ask, I know, but I don’t want to let you go again, bubba.”

You threaded your fingers between his. “I want to. But how will I know if you’ll stay this time, James? What’s changed in the last six years?”

Logan brought the back of your hand up to his lips. The warmth in his eyes, while not unfamiliar, made your breath catch. For a split second, you remembered that he could hear your heartbeat fluttering madly in your chest, your pulse against his forearm.

“When do you leave for New York?”

Your brows knitted together. “I should be done packing in a few days. Why?”

He pulled one of your legs over his hip, laughing when you sucked in a breath. “We’ll go into town tomorrow, pawn all the stuff you’re not usin’ anymore, and pack up the rest in the truck. We’ll make a trip out of it.”

“And where would we go after that? I’m not living in a boarding school.”

“I have a place of my own, thank you very much,” he said, smirking, “it’s not much but it’s mine. It could use a…softer touch, I think.”

You sat up on your elbow. “Yeah?”

“‘M gettin’ old, bubba. Like, obviously not so much physically, but mentally? I’ve seen wars, watched people that I care about die. Walked away when I should’ve stayed.” He threaded his fingers through your free hand. “I’m sayin’ all this to say that, if you’ll have me, I want to stay.”

You hummed, looking down at your joined hands. If tonight proved nothing else, you and Logan were tethered each other for better or worse. There would never be a moment where you wouldn’t think of each other and that scared you. But if you knew nothing else, you knew that you loved him. You loved James Howlett.

“Will you want to stay? I’m not about to uproot my life just for you to leave me again.”

He pulled you close, putting his forehead to yours. “The worst mistake I’ve ever done is leave you behind Y/N Y/L/N. I should’ve told you that I loved you five years ago.” You gasped. “I love you, bubba, and I regret everyday not that I never told you.”

“Say it again.”

He took your face in his hands and smiled, the peach hue of the sun warming his face. “I love you, Y/N Y/L/N. I’ve loved you for the past six years and I will never stop lovin’ you.”

Tears pooled in the corners of your eyes. You wanted him to say these words, waited for them for over half a decade. But they were…heavier than you anticipated. Though your own confession sat on your tongue, too much clung to them; the last fight you had, your mother dying shortly after and how you resented him even more for leaving you alone at a time like that. More than anything you hated that you cared about him so quickly just for him to leave.

“You don’t have to say it back yet.” Logan smiled some. “Five years is a long time to grieve something.”

You put a hand to his cheek. “You know that I want to, though, don’t you?”

“I know,” he kissed you again, “and we’ll get you there. One day at a time.”

𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 — given the fact that i haven't written in literal months, y'all have no idea how happy i am to have churned this out. happy 2024!

#galatially #Annie's1KKittiesWritingChallenge #touch me like nobody else does #logan howlett #logan howlett x black!reader #wolverine #wolverine x black!reader

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toutvatoujoursbien · 3 months

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midnight thoughts (i hope i don't regret this)

Let me preface this by saying that these are just (very, very long) ramblings I’ve had in my head over the past few days and are MY opinions. I never post to Tumblr, but my level of emotional unhinged-ness right now needs an outlet so that I can process everything and feel, well, less unhinged.

I have never been this enamored with any celebrity or promo for a show like I have for this season of Bridgerton. Admittedly, I am a fan of the books and Penelope & Colin are my favorite couple. I’m going to age myself by saying that I read the series almost 20-ish years ago; past me could have never imagined I would actually get to see a Regency romance on my screen. Romances are for the girlies, and what the girlies like tends to be mocked, ridiculed, and not taken seriously - I’ve seen this time and time again across many different fandoms. I also really enjoy the tv series for being its own creative adaptation. I’ve liked many (though not all) of the changes they’ve made to the show; and I’ve liked all the little nods to the books that have been sprinkled in. Are the books or show perfect? Of course not, but that doesn’t mean I can’t love them for bringing me some entertainment and joy and escapism. I think that’s the beauty of it, I get to have the best of both worlds, so to speak. And for me personally, it’s been so fun to watch the press coverage over the past six or so months. As a fandom, I think we’ve been EXTREMELY well fed.

Having Nicola and Luke as the leads has been a true blessing; I think/hope folks can tell how much they clearly love and understand their characters/roles. I know everyone has been talking nonstop about their chemistry and their close friendship, which I think is beautiful, truly unique and special. How can you not enjoy watching two people, who seem to genuinely like one other, talk endlessly about a project that they love and have poured so much into? And the way they have supported one another, not only during promo, but during their years of friendship? Astonishing, really. So while I am old enough to know better than to ship real people, I would’t blame anyone (myself included) if they got caught up in the whirlwind excitement and couldn’t help but wonder a sincere “What if?” (At least that was the case for me.) Isn’t that the beauty of hope and possibility and potential? Like, I knew rationally and intellectually that the likelihood of them being together was low, but damn if I didn’t feel giddy seeing their interviews, reading articles, and watching video after video.

“Oh, but it’s all PR!” they cry. Maybe, but like most of life, I don’t think it’s so simple or clear. I think there’s been a lot of nuance and perhaps some blurring of the lines during this promo tour. As long as we are respectful about it and realize that at the end of the day, the only opinions that matter in regards to their relationship are N & L’s, I don’t think some lighthearted dreaming is unheard of. We have to remember, though, that what we’re shown is only a fraction of their true selves, carefully and deliberately curated to accommodate their status as actors/celebrities/those in the public eye.

(And yes, I know this is the internet and therefore everyone has an opinion - again, myself included. But I struggle to understand why some people think that their opinions should be deemed THE most important to the discussion or would have an impact on any type of outcome, especially in this particular scenario… I hope it’s obvious I’m referring to the very vocal people that chose to expend their energy in hateful, negative ways. Aren’t you exhausted?

However, as a longtime lurker, I have to admit it’s been absolutely fascinating reading all the different perspectives and takes on this too. I think reading other POVs and seeing people articulate points that challenge me and make me think is a good thing - again, as long as it’s all in a respectful manner.

Also I have spent literal years curating and cultivating a social media bubble that doesn’t make me want to cry or give up on life. I don’t seek out negativity and hate - constructive criticism for a thing is a different matter. It may be “putting blinders up,” but honestly, real life can be a shitty enough place that I would like to spend my limited time online looking at cute things and learning or reading about stuff that makes me feel less alone in the world.)

Last week, I stayed off social media to avoid Bridgerton spoilers until I could watch Part 2. I did open Twitter on Thursday to check on something that was entirely unrelated, saw the absolute meltdown of a shitstorm brewing and quickly NOPED out of it. (I was also reminded of why Twitter scares me at times. And I'm not calling it X because that is stupid.) When I finally caught up over the weekend (both with Bridgerton and… all the other stuff 😅), I felt like I was experiencing mental and emotional whiplash.

Look, ultimately, I don’t know them personally and know even less about their private lives. As an outside observer (even though, yes, I have a vested interest in them), Nicola is fucking amazing and Luke seems to be a nice, sweet guy. I think they are each others support, and it has been mentioned many times that she has helped him deal with the intensity/anxiety of being in the spotlight this season. So here are some potentially hot takes: I just think, when they’re together, it’s like he’s a different, better person. When he soaks up even a little bit of her light (sorry, I had to), I can see all the qualities in him that she is constantly gushing about. But, and again this is my take on it, I also think he has a lot of growing up to do. I don’t know much about his supposed “hot/fuck boy summer,” but it seems to me that he’s perhaps going through his own Colin phase, which he can totally do. I genuinely want to see him and Nic succeed. However, I do think he’s got to get a better handling on his media image now (this whole thing reeks of a PR nightmare, but I need to take off my comms professional hat). The way this has all played out has been, imo, a clusterfuck. There are other issues that I’m also not going to get into at the moment.

The thing that frustrated me the most is the timing of those “leaked” photos. You’re telling me that N&L went through SIX months of a - literal - worldwide promo tour, building up hype, doing countless interviews and appearances, etc., only to have these pap pictures “captured” on the night of the Pt. 2 London premiere??? And yes, while I’m aware there were rumblings of a gf being at various events/locations, I didn’t pay much attention to it (read: my curated social media bubble, lol). And I think the lack of confirmation up to that point from Luke and his team just mades things even more tricky/messy. So when the inevitable backlash played out online, piled on top of the hate Polin seems to get from many corners of the internet (Is it ship wars? Regular trolls just trolling? Polin and/or Lukola antis? People who, for whatever reason, don’t like the actors themselves or, worse, don’t like the creative choices/decisions made by the higher-ups and therefore deem it okay to spread hate online? All of the above, most likely.), I know I felt like I had been hit by a train.

Here’s my point: I think what should have been a moment of triumph and a joyous occasion for Nic, Luke, and Bridgerton season 3, was sadly overshadowed by the aforementioned shitstorm. And that’s a damn shame. Too many cast and crew put in a lot of time, effort, and blood sweat and tears, to pull this all together. I was happy with Season 3, which perhaps I will deep dive about in another post because this one has already spiraled out of control. Were there things I wished they had included or, rather, things that could have been left out? Yes, of course. But at the end of the day, I think we got a beautiful story led by two actors who love Polin as much as we do. And I cannot wait to see them back for Season 4. Plus, seriously, those viewing numbers alone should have been mostly what people are talking about. I hope all this doesn’t take away from the overall impact of the show and season.

I think it’s okay to be disappointed by all the stuff that has come out over the last few days. I think it’s perfectly human to want/need to process your thoughts and emotions. What is NOT OKAY is sending hate to anyone, period. And I hope you don’t let all that has happened sour your enjoyment of Season 3 and/or Polin.

Lastly, if you take anything away from this long ass post, it’s that Nicola is a GODDAMN QUEEN. Anyone who says otherwise is speaking slander and we do not stand for that in this house. She has carried herself during this time with grace, charm, and poise, consistently and constantly. And she is always ready for a mega fashion moment. She must be exhausted - already on to her next film/job but also perpetually online, and even stepping up to defend her costar. I may have to do a whole separate post just gushing about her and add to all the people already singing her praises. (And as a big fuck you to all the haters.)

Geez Louise, I clearly have a lot of feelings (more than I allowed myself to believe I did…). But I would love to hear what others think! Please, I need friends with whom I can have rational (okay, maybe slightly unhinged), spirited, deep analyses and discussion of this whole thing, or anything else we might have in common!

#lukola #luke newton #nicola coughlan #bridgerton season 3 #polin #bridgerton #thank you for coming to my ted talk

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pathetichimbos · 1 year

Text

Well, guys, a single person told me I should make this into a post, and so now you're all getting another fabulous take on Thomas Hewitt I've been looking for an excuse to talk about.

Question: 'Do you think realistically would it be hard to get into a relationship with Tommy?'

Short Answer: Yes! And no.

Ha, you really thought there'd be a short answer to this? No, let's dive in.

Thomas, on the surface, is a very awkward, to himself kind of guy. He doesn't like stepping out of his comfort zones, and he hates change. He thrives on strict routine, and isn't one to do something without being told. (ex: he doesn't take initiative at the slaughterhouse, he does exactly as he's told and doesn't stray from those rules)

He has an extremely strong sense of familial bond and ties to his family, he wouldn't betray them for anything, (and yes, that includes you too). It's a huge cultural things in small towns. It doesn't matter who your family is or what they've done. It's true ride or die mentality.

Considering these things, if you want to hope to have a relationship with him, you're gonna have to take up their lifestyle. Every part of it.

If you've ever been to an old southern woman's house, you know how insulting it is to refuse food. It's practically the same thing as spitting on their shoes and slapping them in the face. If you refuse a home cooked meal, especially when you're still considered a 'guest' in the house, you will end up on their bad side.

And Thomas is a Mama's boy, through and through, if his mother doesn't like you, he doesn't like you.

And that mentality is only doubled for the Hewitts. Their family has starved, and if you've ever struggled for food, you understand why they won't let it happen again. I could go into a whole in depth analysis on the Hewitt family and their cannibalism, but let's get back to Tommy.

Thomas doesn't trust people easily. It's in their family, in his blood. The Hewitts (especially after they start murdering people) are suspicious and unforgiving people. People will often assume that they became isolated after the town died out and everyone left, but in reality, they were isolated long before that, as Luda Mae, Hoyt, and even Monty (though much less than the other two) wouldn't tolerate Tommy's mistreatment and abuse.

And as for Thomas' personal distrust, I can almost guarantee there were several times people would pretend to be his friend or even go as far as 'asking him out' only to immediately burst into laughter and mock him the moment he got excited.

Now, he's much more closed off and distrusting of strangers kindness and friendliness.

...But, he's a huge romantic.

He absolutely loves the idea of having someone to love.

His favorite books Luda Mae would read to him as a child were the princess stories. He would dream of being the prince charming, saving the princess from the retched beast so they could get married and live happily ever after.

But, as he got older, he started believing he was better fit for the role of the filthy monster that never falls in love.

Packaging all this up into one neat present, you get a pretty clear idea of what kind of man Thomas is.

So, how does one actually end up in a relationship with him?

It's simple! In the most complicated way possible.

First, is actually meeting him in a none murderer-victim setting, because once you hit that area, there's really no going back. If he's told you're next, you're next.

He's going to be really suspicious of you, no matter what you do really. Even if you do become 'friends', he's a rather anxious man, and he's going to have doubts for a long time.

You're going to have to get on everyone's good side. Like I said before, he cares deeply about his family and their opinions, and being around them and accepted by them is a non-negotiable. And I don't just mean Luda Mae, I mean everyone, including Monty and Hoyt.

Speaking of Hoyt, that will have it's own ground rules as well.

Thomas, despite being a big hunk of a man who could easily toss around someone twice Hoyt's weight, is not the man of the house. Hoyt is like a father figure to him, and he looks up to him. Well, not in every way, but you get the picture.

He isn't going to take well to you bad-mouthing Hoyt. Of course, he doesn't care if you want to rant about the man's annoying presence sometimes, but it depends on how close the two of you are and what you're saying.

If you try to accuse the man of being abusive, or not caring about his family, Thomas isn't going to like it. Hoyt is a mean hothead, sure, and by today's standards, most people probably would consider him abusive to a certain extent, but this is a small southern town in the 1970s.

Hell, most of the 'abusive' traits Hoyt show are still practiced in small towns to this day, and are considered normal behavior. Again, I could go into a whole spiel about Hoyt's character and actions, but I'll get to the point.

If there is one thing true about Hoyt, it's that he cares about his family. Every action he takes is in their interest, and he'd put his life on the line to keep them safe, including Thomas. Hell, he protected Tommy as a kid just as much as Luda Mae did.

So, yea, really any bad talk about his family is going to get you on his bad side.

But, let's say that you follow these rules, and you mesh well with his family and him, how long will it take for Tommy to actually catch feelings for you?

...Pretty much almost immediately.

Thomas is reserved and untrusting, yes, but he catches crushes faster than a Tommy-hater can catch these hands. (for reference, that's really fast)

He's a sweetheart, and eager to be loved and accepted, so the irrational, romantic side of his brain eager hops on the Y/N train the moment you show him any real affection.

But as for actually loving you? That's going to take a really long time.

Luda Mae always raised him on the idea that love can't exist without trust, and he takes that to the extreme. He literally won't consider a relationship with you until he can completely trust you with his whole heart.

And once that trust is earned and the two of you become 'official', that's it. He's in it for life. In his eyes, you're the only one for him, and he takes that belief to heart. So it is extremely important that you only enter the relationship when you're 100% ready. He won't understand the concept of needing a 'break', or time apart. Once you're in it, you're in it, and if you ever leave, there's no coming back, and Thomas will leave your life entirely, with the rest of the Hewitts shunning you as a result.

Because of this, it's also important to remember that there really is no such thing as 'harmless' flirting with Thomas. He doesn't understand the concept of friendly flirting. He's either going to assume that you're mocking him or that you actually do have feelings for him.

Communication is a huge key with this man!!! He doesn't pick up well on hints or social cues. Be up front of and honest about you're feelings or he will have no idea how you really feel, and it'll only cause heartbreak and confusion in the long run.

...Well. Now that I've practically made a How-to Guide on romancing Thomas, I think I'll call it here. Good luck on attracting your local Hewitt boys. See y'all in the next one.

#thomas hewitt #thomas hewitt x reader #thomas hewitt x you #thomas hewitt x y/n #thomas hewitt x s/o #slashers #slasher fandom #slasher x reader #slasher x you #slasher x y/n #slasher x s/o

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