#this reply is me Trying to Write after a while of Not Writing | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

earthchica · 2 days ago

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my lady, my love

aaron pierre x black, fem! reader {actress}

summary: On your press tour in New York, you eagerly anticipate reuniting with Aaron in London. Despite your friendly connection with your co-star during interviews, your playful banter raises Aaron's jealousy when he sees a recent interview.

warnings: explicit smut 18+, jealousy, makeup sex, unprotected, light daddy kink, breeding kink, long-distance, dirty talking, boyfriend/girlfriend, actor/actress, not real life, original characters, use of Y/N, words: 6k

Note: hiii, back to writing. Part 4 is here, I hope you enjoy it.

chapter one - chapter two - chapter three

As you reached the halfway point of the press tour, you began counting down the days. You and Aaron have kept in touch, texting and FaceTiming whenever possible.

You miss him so much, and this is your first experience with a long-distance relationship. Aaron is still in London while you finish your last few interviews and photo shoots in New York.

However, once you're done in NYC, you're going to London, and you'll finally get to see him. The thought fills you with excitement. You could hear your co-star Noah across the hall as you sat in the little dressing room.

The next few interviews started out chill, with you and Noah sitting side by side, with smiles on your faces. The next interviewer leaned in, clearly trying to stir the pot.

“So, tell me about the chemistry between you two! It’s palpable on screen,” she said, eyes gleaming excitedly. Noah looked at you with that playful grin.

“Oh, it’s undeniable. I mean, we vibe, you know? Just look at her!” Noah gestured to you dramatically, making you giggle.

“She’s like the perfect co-star, and I might even say… the perfect girl,” he added

You shot him a teasing smirk, leaning back in your chair. “Aw, thanks, Noah. But don’t get it twisted now! I’m taken, you know?” You winked.

“What? No way, who’s the lucky guy?” The interviewer replied, feigning shock. You leaned closer, lowering your voice as if it were a deep secret.

“Good girl never tells,” you giggled, delivering the line with sass. The interviewer laughed.

The rest of the interview flew by in a blur of laughter and lighthearted banter. By the time it wrapped, you felt more at ease, the earlier anxiety melting.

You and Noah exchanged a quick hug before parting ways, and you couldn’t help but feel grateful for his friendship. He always knew how to make things feel lighter.

After a few solo interviews, back in your hotel room later that evening, you took a deep breath and took a shower. Afterward, you changed into some comfortable clothes and ordered room service.

Once settled down on the bed with your phone, you dialed Aaron's number, a smile spreading. However, it went to voicemail. You knew it must be around 10 PM in London, so he should still be awake.

So you tried again, but unfortunately, it didn't work. You then texted him. "Hey baby, just finished my interviews for the day. I miss you. Call me back when you can. I love you!"

As you waited for a response, you felt a pang of loneliness and began to wonder if Aaron was just too busy. You decided to go to bed and catch a quick flight to London tomorrow morning to surprise him.

Seven hours later and ten minutes later, you made it to his apartment around 2:00 PM; you texted him to see if he was home before knocking on the door.

Aaron opened the door wearing sweats and a hoodie. He was slightly happy and surprised to see you, but he looked like he had a little attitude.

“Hey,” Aaron said, his voice flat, as he stepped aside to let you in. You hesitated for a moment, unsure of how to read his expression.

“Hi, baby,” you replied softly, stepping inside. The apartment smelled faintly of tea and old books, just like you remembered. You set your suitcases down by the door and turned to face him.

“I missed you,” you added, your voice trembling slightly.

Aaron sighed, running a hand through his face. “Yeah, I missed you too,” he said, but there was a hint of something else in his tone—something that made your stomach twist.

You took a deep breath, trying to keep the mood light. “Are you okay, baby?” you started, hoping to ease into whatever bothered him.

“So, I saw the interview posted today.” Aaron’s eyes narrowed, and he crossed his arms over his chest.

“Oh, you did! That’s great. Really great, right? um, which one?” You blinked, taken aback by his tone.

“Don't act like you don't know! All that flirting with Noah? Really?” Aaron said with a frown.

Your jaw dropped.

“Wait, hold up. You’re upset about that? Aaron, it was just playful banter! You know how interviews are—it’s all for the cameras. Noah was just playing around, and I clarified that I was taken!” you said, raising your eyebrow.

Aaron raised an eyebrow, his expression unmoved. “Playful banter? No, love, that was more than that. You were giggling, smiling all over his face like you had a whole thing going on. And don’t even get me started on how he looked at you.”

You stepped closer, your hands reaching out to touch his arm, but he didn’t budge.

“Aaron, come on. You know me better than that. Noah’s just a friend; that’s it, nothing more. I love you, and I want you only. I’m sorry I made you feel like that.”

Aaron took a deep breath, his chest rising and falling slowly as he looked down at you. His eyes softened just a fraction, but the tension still hung heavy.

You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, pressing your body against him. “Let me make up to you; let me remind you exactly what you are to me," You said softly.

In a searing kiss, you crashed your lips against his, pouring all your frustration and desire into it. Aaron gasped, allowing his tongue to sweep into your mouth.

You felt his anger melted away as heat flooded his body. "I miss you so damn much, you know that," You murmured against his lips as his hands roamed your body hungrily.

A low moan escaped Aaron's lips as you deepened the kiss, caressing the back of his neck.

"I missed you too," Aaron breathed, his voice rough with emotion.

"But please don’t do that, baby. I can't stand seeing you like that with someone else."

"I know," you whispered, pulling back slightly to look into his eyes. "You're the only one I want, Aaron. The only one I need."

Aaron nodded, his expression softening even more, and you pushed him towards the couch, your hands firm but gentle. He stumbled back, his eyes widening in surprise, but he didn't resist.

You got on your knees in front of him, your hands sliding up his thighs, massaging the tense muscles there. "Relax, baby," you murmured, your voice low and soothing.

"Let me take care of you."

Aaron leaned back against the couch, his breath hitching as your hands worked their magic. "Love!" he groaned, his voice thick and low with desire.

"You always know how to make me feel better."

You smirked up at him, your fingers teasing the waistband of his sweatpants.

"That's 'cause I know what you love," you purred, sliding your hands under the fabric and taking hold of him. He hissed sharply, his hips jerking involuntarily as you began to stroke him slowly, firmly.

"Aaron," you whispered, your breath hot against his skin as you leaned closer. "I love you so much, baby. You know that, right? You’re my everything."

Aaron moaned softly, his hands gripping the edge of the couch tightly. "I know," he managed to say, his voice trembling.

"I just… I can’t help it sometimes. I see you out there, shining like a damn star, and I get scared. Scared someone’s gonna take you away from me."

You paused momentarily, looking up at him with pure adoration. "Nobody is taking me away from you," you said firmly, your voice steady and full of conviction.

"You got me, Aaron. Always and Forever."

Aaron let out a shaky breath, nodding as he gently cups your face with his massive hands. "You promise?" he whispered, his voice raw with vulnerability.

"I promise," you said, your eyes locked onto his. Then, with a sly smile, you leaned in closer, your lips brushing against the tip of his dick as you spoke.

"But right now, I wanna make it all melt away, baby. Just focus on me and how good I will make you feel," you added.

Aaron groaned, his head falling back against the couch as you pressed a soft kiss to the sensitive head of his dick.

"Shit," he muttered, his fingers tightening in your hair. "You always know how to drive me crazy."

You chuckled lowly, your breath hot against his skin. "That’s the plan," you purred before taking him into your mouth slowly, savoring the way he twitched and throbbed against your tongue.

You swirled your tongue around the tip, teasing him relentlessly, making him squirm beneath you.

"Fuck," Aaron hissed, his hips bucking slightly as you sucked him deeper. "You’re so damn good at this."

You pulled back slightly, letting him slip out of your mouth with a wet pop. "You like that?" you asked, looking up at him with a mischievous glint.

"Like it?" Aaron groaned, his voice rough and desperate. "Baby, I love it. You got me out here losing my mind, and you're not even done yet."

You smirked, fingers tracing the vein along his length, making him shiver. "Oh, I’m far from done," you whispered, your voice dripping with promise.

"You think I’m just gonna stop when I got you lookin’ like this? All hot and bothered, tryin’ to hold it together? Nah, big daddy. I’m about to take you to a whole ‘nother level."

Aaron’s breath hitched as you leaned back in, your tongue flat against his shaft as you licked him from base to tip. He cursed under his breath, his hands gripping the couch so tight his knuckles turned white.

"You play too much," he muttered, but there was no real complaint in his tone—just pure, unadulterated need.

"Oh, I’m dead serious," you shot back, your lips wrapping around him again as you took him deep into your throat. This time, you didn’t hold back, bobbing your head rhythmically, your hand working in tandem with your mouth to drive him wild.

The wet sounds filled the room, mingling with Aaron’s heavy breaths and the occasional curse that slipped past his lips.

You could feel him trembling beneath you, his thighs tensing as he fought to keep himself from losing control too soon. But you weren’t about to let him hold back—not afternoon.

"Tell me how it feels, big daddy," you murmured, pulling back just enough to let him feel the cool air against his slick skin. Your eyes locked onto his, dark and hungry, as you waited for his response.

Aaron’s chest heaved as he struggled to find the words. "Feels… feels like heaven," he finally managed, his voice strained and thick with desire. "Like you’re tryna suck my soul out through my dick, love."

You grinned, your tongue darting out to lick a slow, deliberate stripe along the underside of his shaft.

"Good," you purred. "That’s exactly what I’m aiming for. I want you to forget everything but me and this moment. Just focus on how good I’m making you feel."

He groaned, his head falling back again as you took him back into your mouth, this time deeper than before. Your throat relaxed around him, and you could feel the way his body jerked in response, his hips instinctively thrusting up into the warmth of your mouth.

Your hands moved to grip his thighs, holding him steady as you worked him over with a rhythm that was both relentless and intoxicating.

The sounds he made—those low, guttural moans and breathless curses—were music to your ears, driving you to push him even further.

"You always taste so amazing, Terry," you murmured, your voice muffled but still dripping with that same sultry tone. "Like you were made just for me. You feel it too, don’t you? How we fit together like this like it’s some kinda cosmic shit."

Aaron’s hands were in your hair now, tangling in the curls as he tried to keep himself grounded.

"Damn, yes, I feel it," he growled, his voice low and raw. "You got me out here feelin’ like I’m floatin’; keep goin’, baby. Don’t stop."

You didn’t need to be told twice.

Your mouth worked him over with a fervor that left him gasping, your tongue swirling around the head of his dick before plunging him back into the heat of your throat.

His grip on your hair tightened, sending a shiver down your spine as you felt the tension building in him, his body coiled like a spring ready to snap.

You pulled back again, letting him slide out of your mouth with a wet pop, and then you stood up, your eyes never leaving his. "You want this pussy? because I want your dick," you asked, your voice low and teasing as you slowly began to peel off your clothes.

Aaron’s eyes widened as he watched you, his breath hitching in his throat. "Yes, love," he muttered, his voice hoarse. "You don't gotta tell me twice."

You smirked, taking your time as you took your shirt, letting it fall to the floor in a heap. Your hands moved to the waistband of your pants, and you slid them down your legs with deliberate slowness, stepping out of them one foot at a time.

Aaron’s eyes were glued to your body, his gaze hot and heavy as he took in every inch of you. "Fuck," he breathed, his voice barely above a whisper. "You’re fuckin’ perfect. How did I get so lucky?"

You grinned, feeling satisfied at how he looked at you. "Maybe by fate," you purred, climbing onto the couch and straddling him.

His hands immediately went to your hips, gripping you tightly as you shifted forward, your pussy hovering just above his throbbing dick.

You could feel the heat radiating from him, the way his breath hitched as you teased him, letting your folds brush against the tip of his length.

"You feel that?" you whispered, your voice dripping with seduction as you ground down just enough to make him groan. "That’s all for you, baby. This pussy’s been waitin’ to feel you inside me for weeks."

Aaron’s hands tightened on your hips, his fingers digging into your skin like he was trying to keep himself from losing control.

"Quit playing, love," he growled, his voice rough and desperate. "You are gonna drive me crazy sittin’ up there like that. Put that pussy on me already."

You smirked, leaning down so your lips were just inches from his ear.

"What’s the matter? You can’t handle a little tease?" you purred, your breath hot against his skin as you rolled your hips again, letting him feel just how wet you were for him.

"You want this pussy so bad, huh? Tell me how bad you want it."

"Shit," he hissed, his hips bucking up instinctively as he tried to get closer to you.

"You wanna know how bad?" Aaron growled, his voice thick with need.

"I want it so bad I can’t think straight. I want it so bad it’s all I see when I close my eyes—this pussy, this body, riding me like you own me. I want it so bad I’d beg if you don’t give it to me right now. So quit playing and let me feel you, girl. Let me feel that heat, that group wrapped around me. ‘Cause I’m about to lose my damn mind up in here." Aaron moaned.

You bit your lip, holding back a moan as his words sent a rush of heat straight to your pussy.

"That’s what I love to hear," you whispered, finally lowering yourself onto him, inch by torturous inch. You gasped as he filled you completely, the stretch and burn to ignite every nerve in your body.

"Oh goodness," you breathed, your head falling back as you adjusted to him. "So big...you feel so good inside me."

Aaron groaned, his hands gripping your hips even tighter as he guided your movements. "Fuck, baby," he rasped, his voice strained. "I miss this pussy. Always so wet, so tight for me."

You moaned softly, your nails digging into his shoulders as you started to move, riding him with slow, deliberate rolls of your hips.

"You like that, Aaron?" you purred, your voice dripping with sweetness and sin. "You like how this pussy grips you? How it’s all yours, just for you?"

Aaron’s eyes fluttered shut briefly before he locked his gaze back on yours, dark and hungry.

"I love it, baby fuck, I love it," he growled, his voice rough and low. "This pussy is all mine, it's mine, nobody else can handle it like I do. Nobody else gonna make you feel like this."

His hands slid up your sides, thumbs brushing over your nipples, sending a shiver through your body. "You know that, right? This pussy belongs to me. Tell me it's mine."

You arched into his touch, your breath hitching as he teased your sensitive peaks. "Mmm, yes, it is," you whispered, grinding down harder on him, making him groan deep in his chest.

"All yours, baby. Only you can make me feel this good." You leaned in closer, your lips brushing against his ear as you whispered, "Only you can make me come so hard I forget my own name."

Aaron’s grip tightened around your waist, his fingers digging into your dark-brown skin as he pulled you closer, his breath hot and ragged against your neck.

“That’s right, baby,” he growled, his voice thick with desire. “You gonna scream my name louder than ever before. Ain’t no shame in it, either. Let the whole damn world know who you belong to.”

His other hand tangled in your hair, tugging just enough to make you gasp, your body trembling with anticipation.

“Shit, Aaron,” you whimpered, your voice breaking as his teeth grazed your collarbone.

“You're gonna wreck me, huh? Gonna make me forget everything but you?” Your hips moved faster now, riding him with a desperate rhythm, each thrust sending waves of pleasure coursing through you.

You could feel him throbbing inside you, his length hitting all the right spots, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

Aaron’s lips crashed against yours in a fierce kiss, swallowing your moans as his tongue explored your mouth. When he finally pulled back, his eyes were blazing with intensity.

“Damn right, I am,” he muttered, his voice rough and commanding.

“I’m gonna ruin this pussy for anybody else. You ain’t never gonna want nobody but me forever. You hear me?”

His hands moved to your ass, gripping you tightly as he thrust up into you, his movements hard and relentless.

“Yes, Aaron, yes!” you cried, your voice rising with each powerful stroke.

“Only you, baby, it’s only ever been you!” Your nails raked down his shoulders as you clung to him, your body trembling with the force of your desire.

“Fuck, I’m so close, Aaron. I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna fucking cum!”

“That’s it, love,” he urged, his voice a low, guttural growl. “Cum for me. Let me feel that tight little pussy squeeze the soul outta me.” His thrusts became even more intense, each one driving you closer to the brink.

“No holding back. You give me everything you got, you hear me?” Aaron added.

“I can’t—I can’t hold it,” you sobbed, your body arching as the first wave of your climax crashed over you. “Oh fuck, Aaron, I’m cumming, I’m cumming!”

Your cries echoed through the room, your body convulsing as you shattered around him, your pussy clamping down on his big dick with a vice-like grip.

Aaron’s breath hitched, his own control slipping as he felt you come undone beneath him. “Fuck, baby, that’s it,” he groaned, his voice strained with the effort to hold back.

“You feel so good, so fucking good. You take all of me, huh? You take this dick like you were made for it.”

You could barely form words, your mind a haze of pleasure as you rode out the waves of your orgasm. But Aaron wasn’t done with you yet.

He lifts you and lays you at the corner of the couch, pinning your wrists above your head as he hovers over you and slams back into you; his pace is brutal and unrelenting.

Your back arched off the bed as he pounded into you, each thrust hitting that sweet spot deep inside you that had you seeing stars.

“Aaron!” you screamed, your voice raw and desperate. “Please, don’t stop! Don’t ever stop!”

“I'm stopping ‘til I fill this pussy up, baby,” Aaron growled, his voice thick with desire.

“You want that? Do you want me to nut deep inside you? Make you feel every drop?” His hips snapped forward with a force that had you gasping, your body trembling beneath him as he drove into you with a rhythm that was both punishing and intoxicating.

“Tell me how bad you want it.”

“So bad,” you moaned, your voice a desperate plea. “I need it, Aaron. I need you to fill me up and remember who I belong to. Please, baby, I can’t take it anymore—I need you to cum in me!”

Your legs wrapped tightly around his waist, pulling him deeper as your nails dug into his back, leaving marks that only fueled his intensity.

“That’s my girl,” Aaron muttered, his breath hot against your ear as he leaned down, his lips brushing against your dark-brown skin with softness and admiration.

“Taking this dick like a fucking queen. You love this shit, don’t you? Love feeling me stretch that pussy out; make it mine.” His thrusts became erratic, his control slipping as he felt his own climax building.

“You gonna take every last drop of this nut, huh? Gonna let me breed that tight pussy?”

“Yes!” you cried, your body arching against his as the heat between you both reached its peak.

"Breed me, Aaron. Make it so I can’t forget what you did to me." Your voice was a ragged whisper, trembling with need as you felt him swell inside you, his dick throbbing with the promise of release.

"That’s it," he snarled, his hands gripping your hips hard as he pounded into you, each thrust hitting deeper, harder.

"You’re gonna feel me for days, baby. Every time you move, every time you sit down, you’re gonna remember this dick splitting you open."

His voice was a low growl, possessive and raw, sending shivers down your spine.

Your head fell back, a keening moan escaping your lips as he hit that perfect spot inside you again and again. The pressure was building, your body coiling tight like a spring ready to snap.

"Aaron, I’m so close," you gasped, your fingers clawing at his shoulders as the pleasure threatened to overwhelm you. "Then cum for me," he demanded, his voice rough and commanding.

"Cum with me as I fill you up. Let me feel that pussy milk every drop out of me." His pace quickened, his hips slamming into yours with a force that had you crying out, your body trembling on the edge.

And then it hit you—a wave of pleasure so intense it felt like you were being torn apart and put back together all at once. Your body convulsed, your walls clenching around him as you came hard, your screams muffled against his shoulder.

Aaron groaned, his hips stuttering as he followed you over the edge, his dick pulsing deep inside you as he emptied himself, his release hot and thick as it filled you to the brim.

“Fuck,” he breathed, his voice hoarse as he collapsed on top of you, his body still shuddering with the aftershocks of his orgasm.

“You feel that, baby?” He asked, pushing his cum in and out as he kissed you then, his lips claiming yours with a hunger that left you breathless, his tongue sliding against yours as he poured every ounce of his desire into that kiss.

You moaned into his mouth, your hand on the back of his neck as you kissed him back with equal fervor, your bodies still connected as you both rode out the last waves of pleasure together.

When he finally pulled back, his eyes were dark with satisfaction, a smug grin tugging at his lips as he looked down at you.

“You’re mine,” he whispered, his voice low and possessive. “All mine.”

You lay there, spent and trembling, your body still humming with the intensity of what had just happened between you. The air was thick with the scent of sex, the room silent except for the sound of your heavy breathing.

Aaron shifted slightly, pulling you closer so that you were lying on his chest, his arms wrapped tightly around you as he held you close.

“That was…” you started, your voice trailing off as you struggled to find the words to describe your feelings.

“Perfect,” Aaron finished for you, his voice filled with a quiet satisfaction. He kissed the top of your head, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your back as you lay there, basking in the afterglow.

“You’re so perfect.”

You smiled, your eyes closing as you let yourself relax in his arms, the warmth of his body enveloping you. After a few minutes of lying there, tangled in each other and breathing.

Aaron finally shifted, his hands sliding down your back. “C’mon,” he murmured, his voice still rough but softer now, laced with affection.

“Let’s get cleaned up.”

You and Aaron got dressed in some casual clothes, and Aaron got some food delivered. You two were eating and chatted about what’s been going on despite your little argument earlier.

“So,” you said, leaning. “You know that movie premiere tomorrow night?” You paused, biting your lip to hide the sly smile creeping onto your face.

“I was thinkin’… maybe you could come with me. As my date.”

Aaron’s fork froze mid-air, a piece of food dangling precariously as he turned to look at you, his eyebrows raised in surprise.

“Really?” he asked, his voice low and smooth, but there was a hint of playfulness there too. “Are you sure you want that? I mean, I’m all for it.”

You smirked, leaning closer to him, your voice dripping with confidence.

“Oh, I’m more than sure. Let ‘em talk. Let ‘em get jealous. Let ‘em know I’m yours, and you’re mine. But…” You paused for effect, your eyes locking with his.

“We’ll still keep it private between us. No need to give ‘em all the details.”

You and Aaron got dressed in some casual clothes, and Aaron got some food delivered. You two were eating and chatted about what’s been going on despite your little argument earlier.

“So,” you said, leaning. “You know that movie premiere tomorrow night?” You paused, biting your lip to hide the sly smile creeping onto your face.

“I was thinkin’… maybe you could come with me. As my date.”

Aaron’s fork froze mid-air, a piece of food dangling precariously as he turned to look at you, his eyebrows raised in surprise.

“Really?” he asked, his voice low and smooth, but there was a hint of playfulness there too. “Are you sure you want that? I mean, I’m all for it.”

You smirked, leaning closer to him, your voice dripping with confidence.

“Oh, I’m more than sure. Let ‘em talk. Let ‘em get jealous. Let ‘em know I’m yours, and you’re mine. But…” You paused for effect, your eyes locking with his.

“We’ll still keep it private between us. No need to give ‘em all the details.”

Aaron’s eyes crinkled at the corners as he smirked, setting his fork down on the edge of his plate. He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest, his expression thoughtful.

“Alright, so you’re saying… you want to take me to the premiere. As your date. And we’re keeping it private but still making it clear to everyone else that we’re… together.”

He paused, his gaze never leaving yours. “And you’re okay with that? With everyone knowing, even if we’re not broadcasting the details?”

You nodded, your confidence unwavering. “Why wouldn’t I be? We’re adults, Aaron. And what we have… it’s worth it. Besides, I think it’s time people know that you’re off the market.”

Aaron chuckled, a deep, rich sound that sent a shiver down your spine. He pushed his chair back and stood, walking over to you with a slow, predatory grace.

“And who’s going to make sure I stay off the market?” asked, his voice low and teasing as he leaned down, his face inches from yours.

You grinned, your heart pounding in your chest. “Oh, I think I can handle that.” Before you could say another word, Aaron’s lips were on yours, warm and firm, sending a wave of heat through your body.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer as the room around you faded. All that mattered was the two of you, lost in the moment, the world outside melting into nothingness.

The following day, Aaron lay sprawled across the bed, his bare chest rising and falling with each slow breath, the sheets tangled around his waist.

You sat on the edge of the bed, watching him sleep, a smile playing on your lips. The memory of the previous conversation hung in the air like a promise, and you couldn’t help but feel a sense of excitement for what the day—and the night—had in store.

“Morning,” Aaron mumbled, his voice husky with sleep as he stirred, stretching his arms above his head.

His eyes fluttered open, locking onto yours with a warm, sleepy grin. “What time is it?”

“Almost Noon,” you replied, caressing his forehead. “But we’ve got a full day ahead of us. Thought we could make the most of it before tonight.”

Aaron sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “Sounds like a plan. What did you have in mind?”

You stood, walking over to the wardrobe where you’d laid out clothes the night before.

“I was thinking we could spend the day out. Maybe walk along the South Bank and grab some food at Borough Market. Just enjoy the city together before the chaos of the premiere.”

Aaron’s face lit up with interest as he swung his legs over the side of the bed. “Sounds good!” He said, getting out of bed butt-naked, and you laughed, smacked his ass.

“Sounds good!” He said, getting out of bed butt-naked and you laughed, smacked his ass.

“Cheeky little-,” Aaron muttered, though the grin on his face said he didn’t mind one bit. He grabbed the towel off the bed and wrapped it around his waist, his confidence as naked as his body.

“You better stop playin’ with fire, yeah? Or I’ll have to take you back to bed.”

You rolled your eyes, trying to play it cool, but the heat in your cheeks and the smile on your face told on you. “Please, you’re the one who’s been sleepin’ in till noon. If we don’t get movin’, we’ll miss the whole day.”

Aaron smirked, sauntering over to the bathroom.

“Blame me, innit? Had a right proper distraction last night.” Steam curling up, he flicked on the shower and stepped inside without closing the door.

“You comin’ in or what?”

You raised an eyebrow, leaning against the doorframe. “You think I’m fallin’ for that? We’ve got plans, remember? You’re not gonna derail ‘em with your… distractions.”

“Suit yourself,” Aaron called back, his voice muffled by the water.

“But you’re missin’ out. Could’ve been a right nice way to start the day.”

You shook your head, chuckling as you turned away. “You’re such a liar. You’d have us late and miss the whole market.”

“True, yeah,” Aaron admitted, his voice carrying over the water. “But it’d be worth it, wouldn’t it?”

You didn’t respond, but the thought lingered as you went to get dressed. By the time Aaron came out of the bathroom, his face dripped, and his skin glowing from the shower.

You were already halfway through your coffee, scrolling through your phone for the day’s itinerary. Aaron padded over to you, water droplets clinging to his chest as he leaned in to kiss your head.

“You know I’m just takin’ the piss, right? I wouldn’t actually make us late.” Aaron said, drying himself off.

“Sure you wouldn’t,” you said dryly, not looking up.

Aaron laughed, grabbing the other cup of coffee you’d poured for him. “Fair enough. You know me too well.”

Once he was dressed—looking effortlessly sharp in a simple black tee, jeans, baseball cap, and sunglasses—you both set out into the crisp air.

The South Bank was alive with energy, the Thames glinting in the sunlight as you walked hand in hand. The smell of street food hit you when you turned the corner near Borough Market, and your stomach growled in anticipation.

“Love, I’m proper starvin’,” Aaron said, squeezing your hand. “What’s the plan? You better not be thinkin’ we’re just window shoppin’.”

“Relax,” you said, smirking.

“I’ve got your back. There’s this one stall I saw last time I was here that I’ve been dying to try once I visit here again—it does the best jerk chicken and proper Caribbean vibes. And don’t even get me started on the halloumi fries.”

Aaron’s eyes lit up. “Halloumi fries? Now you’re talkin’. Let’s go find this place before I waste away.”

You led the way through the crowded market, weaving past stalls selling everything from handmade jewelry to fresh flowers. The air was thick with the smells of spices and grilled meats, and the sounds of vendors calling out to passersby mingled.

“Ah, there it is,” you said, tugging gently on Aaron’s hand as you spotted the stall between a vintage clothing stand and a bustling flower shop.

The sign read “Kiya's Caribbean” and the aroma of allspice and thyme wafted through the air, mingling with the hum of reggae music playing softly from a portable speaker.

Aaron’s eyes widened as you approached the stall, and his stomach growled audibly. “I can smell the magic from here. Let’s get in there before they run out.”

The vendor, a cheerful dark brown-skinned woman with a warm smile, a gold hoop in her nose, and long beautiful locs, greeted you both with a hearty.

“Y’ello, darlin’! What can I get for yuh today?”

“Everything, please,” Aaron said, not missing a beat. “But especially that jerk chicken. And don’t be stingy with it, yeah?”

She laughed, her voice rich and melodic. “Oh, you’re a bold one, ain’t ya? Alright, let’s set you up. For good measure, jerk chicken, rice and peas, plantain, and a side of fries.”

“And halloumi fries,” you added, nudging Aaron. “Don’t forget the halloumi fries.”

“Course not, sweetheart,” she said, winking. “I gotchu.”

As she worked her culinary magic, the grill sizzle and the rhythmic chopping of fresh herbs filled the air. Aaron leaned against the stall, his arm brushing against yours, and you couldn’t help but smile at how at ease he was, chatting with the vendor like they were old mates.

The first bite was divine when she handed you both a loaded tray. The jerk chicken was tender, the spices perfectly balanced, and the halloumi fries—crispy and creamy inside—were absolutely perfect.

You closed your eyes, savoring the flavors, and Aaron laughed, nudging you playfully. “Told you it’d be worth it,” he said, his mouth full. “You’re in your element, innit?”

You opened your eyes, catching the glint of mischief in his. “Shut up and eat your food.”

The rest of the afternoon was a blur of laughter, music, and the electric energy of the market. You wandered through the stalls, picking up a few trinkets.

Earrings shaped like tiny palm trees, a bracelet with a small charm of the Jamaican flag—and even stopped to watch a group of dancers performing to a live drum circle.

At one point, Aaron pulled you into the crowd, spinning you around with him until you were both breathless and laughing. The music was infectious, the rhythm pulsating through you like a heartbeat.

For a moment, it felt like the whole world had narrowed to just the two of you, lost in the moment's joy.

As the sun shone, you found yourselves at a small riverside spot, sharing a bottle of fresh water and watching the boats glide.

Aaron leaned back on his elbows, his eyes half-closed as he soaked in the view.

“You know,” he said, his voice low and thoughtful, “days like this… they’re the ones that make life feel proper special.”

You smiled, twirling a strand of your curly hair around your finger. “Yeah,” you agreed quietly. “They’re the ones you remember.”

He turned his head, his gaze meeting yours, and for a moment, there wasn’t a single thing to say. The world just… was.

And in that moment, it was enough.

TAGS @writingsbytee @notapradagurl7 @ellemelaninbeauty @cocooned-butterfly

#aaron pierre #aaron pierre x black reader #aaron pierre x reader #aaron pierre x black!reader #aaron pierre fic #black!fem!reader #aaron pierre x black fem reader #aaron pierre fanfic #x black reader #x black y/n #aaron pierre fluff #terry richmond x black!reader #aaron pierre smut

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vitalverstappen · 2 days ago

Text

The Manuscript - F. Colapinto

summary: looking backwards might be the only way to move forward

pairing: Franco Colapinto x playwright!reader, Carlos Sainz x ex!reader

warnings: age gap (~8/9 years), mentions of sex, use of y/n

word count: 3.3k

a/n: after a brief hiatus, and one of my moots telling me I should post something, i'm BAAAACKKK

masterlist

the tortured drivers department masterlist

It had been a few weeks since you moved to Barcelona for work. You were a playwright, and were drawn into the bustling theater scene that the city had to offer. With your first production gaining worldwide popularity, the move had been relatively easy.

You were in the corner of a cafe, the one down the street from your apartment, working on the next script. The warm air from the open windows blended with the fresh smell of espresso and pastries. Outside, the city hummed with life, the sound of bicycles ringing by, the chatter of locals and tourists mixing in the vibrant street.

The notebook before you was filled with scribbles - ideas, dialogue, fragments of scenes that were still in their infancy. You were trying to catch the muse, to shape the story into something that felt right, but the words weren’t flowing the way they had before.

“You know,” A voice said, causing you to look up from your notebook. “I’m not an organ donor, but I’d give you my heart if you needed it.”

You rolled your eyes at the man’s remark, but gestured your hand to the empty seat in front of you. “Yeah, like you’re a professional.”

“No, just a good samaritan” he said, taking the seat. “I’m Carlos”

“Y/n” you replied, closing your notebook, putting your full attention on the man in front of you. But if you were a good samaritan, you’d offer to buy another cup.” you teased, giving Carlos the invitation to flirt just a bit. The rest of the morning was spent learning about the man instead of working on the play.

The coffee dates became a weekly thing. You’d get there an hour or so early to write and design, then when Carlos would show up, you’d put everything away and talk with him. You quickly learned he was older, a whopping thirty compared to your freshly twenty one.

“You’re incredibly wise beyond your years” he had said when he learned your age. “I never would have thought you to be so young.”

Those morning coffees in the cafe soon turned into late night drinks at the local clubs. The same intelligent conversations flowed, but now they were accompanied by the hum of bass and the clinking of glasses. You didn’t mind the loud music or the flashing lights, but it was far from the quiet cafe mornings you had adored.

But even then, the mornings are what stayed with you. You would wake up next to him, tangled in sheets, his body pressed against yours, skin to skin. The familiarity of it was comforting, yet there was a part of you that couldn’t shake that you were somehow too young for this.

The simple act of sharing coffee - something so ordinary - soon transformed into something entirely different. No longer was it about caffeine and ideas. You found yourself sitting together at his kitchen table, him expertly brewing coffee with his French Press while you tried, and failed, to learn how to use it yourself. It took a few tries to get the method down, but now, after countless mornings spent in his kitchen, you were practically a professional.

One morning you found yourself alone in the kitchen, brewing a fresh pot of coffee in the French Press. The silence of the morning was peaceful, comforting even, reminding you of the life you had when you woke up alone.

Your thoughts were interrupted by the sound of footsteps on the hardwood floor. Carlos wrapped his arms around you, nestling his head into the crook of your neck.

“Morning” he mumbled, the sleep still thick in his voice.

“Morning” you mumbled back, mimicking his tone

You could hear Carlos laugh as he released his arms from around your waist. “God if only the sex was half as soon as the conversation was. We'll be pushing strollers soon.” he remarked

But as soon as the relationship started, it was over. Thankfully, your job didn’t tie you down to the city, allowing you to fly back home and spend time with your family. You found yourself sleeping in your mother’s bed a little more than you’d like to admit, and most of your meals consisted of Lucky Charms and Coco Puffs.

It took a few years, but eventually, you found yourself back in Barcelona. You don’t know why, but you felt the need to return, like the city was calling you. Maybe you needed another change of pace. The play you had written while you were involved with Carlos had been released and performed, but didn’t do nearly as well as your debut one did. Your spark had been lost, and you were having a hard time getting it back.

To occupy your time, you enrolled in a few classes at the University of Barcelona to try and spark something. The classes gave you a sense of structure amidst the chaos of the uncertainty. While the classroom setting was different - less free flowing than your usual writing process, but at least it was a way to sharpen your craft and relearn the discipline you had once thrived on.

“For your next assignment,” your professor began, her eyes scanning the classroom, ensuring that everyone was paying attention. “I want you to write what you know. I want you to reflect on something in your life, and write a scene based off of it.”

You sat up straighter, the weight of the assignment settling in. The professor’s words lingered in the air, as if the universe itself had conspired to drop the challenge in your lap. Write what you know. You had spent the last few years running from what you knew, avoiding the raw, messy parts of your life that still clung to you like a shadow.

The sound of your professor’s voice faded to the background as you thought of the past few years - your time with Carlos and the messiness in the aftermath of it all. The late-night conversations, the mornings in the kitchen, the feeling of being caught between two worlds. And then, the way it ended. The slow unraveling that left you with more questions than answers.

Your time in your mother’s bed, eating sugary cereal to numb the discomfort, was a chapter you tried to ignore. But now, it was all rising to the surface. You had never written about it, not in any way that felt real. You had always skirted around the pain, hiding it behind clever lines and distant characters. But this assignment - write what you know - gave you the chance to meet it head on.

You found yourself back at the cafe you used to meet Carlos all those years ago. The familiar hum of the place, the clink of the coffee cups and the rhythmic chatter of clients, immediately transported you back to a time when things felt simpler. The same warm air from the open windows, the same scent of pastries and espresso, hung in the space.

You were beginning to settle into the rhythm of writing, the ink flowed freely for the first time in a long time. The quiet hum of the cafe was broken through by a voice.

“Is this seat taken?”

Startled, you looked up to find a man standing beside your table, a half-smile on his face, his dark hair messy like he had just walked through a windstorm. His eyes were warm and inviting, the kind of brown that reminded you of autumn, deep and rich.

You got to know him, inside and out. His name was Franco, and he was a professional racecar driver. Getting to know him was like a breath of fresh air, a stark contrast to the cold nights you had spent with Carlos. He laughed at all of your stupid jokes, listened to your ideas, and supported you through your writing process.

Late one night, the two of you were in his apartment, your boyfriend aimlessly throwing darts at the board that hung from his door, and you writing your next project. The class you had taken was long since over, but your professor’s words stuck with you as you wrote. Instead of trying to force something fantastical, from a world made up, you opted to continue with the scene you wrote, turning your experience with Carlos into a full length play.

“How’s it coming along?” your boyfriend asked, throwing a dart in the process. It bounced off the board, landing on the floor in front of it.

You looked up from your notebook, a small smile tugged at your lips as Franco picked up the dart from the floor and sat back down on the bed. The simple motion felt so at ease, so natural, a reflection of your relationship.

“Honestly, really good. It’s nice to finally write everything down and let go.” you said. Franco knew about your ex and the baggage that came with it. It’s not that you didn’t feel comfortable telling him who it was, you just didn’t want to be the reason if things got awkward in the paddock with him. “Though the sound of darts hitting the floor is quite distracting” you told him.

He scoffed, pretending to be hurt. “Rude, I can make it.” he said, adding a little more force to the dart throw. It hit the board with a satisfying thunk, landing right in the middle.

“See? Told you.” he grinned, leaning back on his bed, looking quite proud of himself.

A laugh escaped your lips at your boyfriend’s antics, the light of the moment making you forget, even if just for a second, the weight of everything you were writing about. “Okay, okay, you win. You’re officially the dart champion.”

Franco smirked, tossing another dart onto the board with dramatic flair. “I don’t just win, y/n. I excel at what I do.”

You raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “Right. Next time I need someone to win a race, or become the champ of something less pointless like darts, I’ll let you know.”

He rolled his eyes with a playful chuckle, but there was a softness in his eyes that didn’t go unnoticed.

As you continued to write, you stole occasional glances at him. The way he lounged on the bed, the ease in his posture, the quiet joy he took in the simple things - it was the kind of presence you had always needed, but hadn’t recognized before. It was different than what you had with Carlos, less intense, but much more grounded. It didn’t try to be everything. It just was.

The pen moved fluidly across the page as the world you were creating started to breathe, taking on a life of its own. You weren’t just writing a play anymore. You were writing a part of your own healing process, turning the messy reality of your past with Carlos into something artful, something that could be explored and understood from a distance. The rawness of it didn’t feel like a burden anymore - it felt like a gift, a chance to move forward.

Franco broke the silence, his voice light. “So, this play, is it gonna be your next big hit?”

You looked up from your notebook again, the corners of your lips curling into a small smile. “Maybe. I think it’s more about finally getting it out there. I just need to write it and let go of everything.”

He took your hand, placing a soft kiss on your knuckles. “I’m sure it’ll be amazing.”

It took a while, but you finally got the manuscript wrapped up. After countless hours of critiquing and editing, you found a venue, held auditions, hired a team, and got to work. Months were spent watching your written work come to life, scenes of your past relationship on stage.

When Franco was in town, he’d come with you to rehearsals. He was quiet and attentive, sitting in the back of the theater, a comforting presence amidst the chaos. He’d watch as you worked with the actors, ensuring they were hitting their marks. He chimed in occasionally, making notes on the script, offering suggestions, but mainly stuck to observing how the scenes evolved. There was something about his focus that made you feel seen, like he understood the weight of what you were doing, appreciative he got to see this side of you.

His support had become a quiet foundation beneath the entire process. His belief in you never wavered, even when the doubt crept in. There were moments, late at night, when you found yourself staring at the script, unsure if it was the right story to tell. And those were the moments when Franco would gently remind you that your truth was enough. That it was always enough.

Opening night went beautifully. The audience laughed at the jokes, but cried during the heart-wrenching moments, the kind of tears that came from somewhere deep. You could feel their reactions, their collective breath held during the tense silences, the weight of the emotions filling the room. It was more than you had hoped for.

When the show wrapped up, you, along with the actors and the crew, were out greeting the audience members. Your family and friends had come and gone with praises and congratulations. You and Franco were walking out, when a voice spoke that you hadn’t heard in years.

“Y/n!”

You turned at the sound of the familiar voice, a rush of emotions flooding you before your eyes even found the source. Standing there, in the midst of the crowd, was Carlos.

For a moment, everything seemed to freeze. The noise of the night, the laughter, the chatter of some of the people around you faded into a distant hum as you locked eyes with him. He looked the same - older, sure, but that familiar spark in his eyes was still there. His smile was still warm, though there was a quiet uncertainty in his expression, as if he didn’t know what to expect from this reunion.

“Carlos” you said, your voice coming out a little softer than you intended. You hadn’t thought about him in so long, seeing him in person felt surreal.

Franco, standing beside you, shifted slightly. You knew he was questioning how the two of you knew each other, but he said nothing, only moved his hand to rest on your lower back.

Carlos stepped forward, “I had to come” he said, his voice genuine. “I heard it was your opening night… and well, I couldn’t not see it.”

You smiled, a little awkwardly, but still, there was something comforting in his words. “It means a lot. Thank you for coming.” you replied, your gaze flickered briefly to Franco before returning to Carlos.

Franco, having put the pieces together on how you and Carlos knew each other glanced at his fellow driver warily, then back at you. There was a brief silence between all of you, and you could feel the tension in the air, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was just… a remeeting of two different chapters in your life, coming together in one moment.

“I’ll let you two catch up.” Franco said, a smile in place, though his eyes held a different story. He placed a small peck on your cheek before he took a step back, giving you the space to reconnect with Carlos.

You watched as your boyfriend walked away, feeling the weight of his gesture - giving you this moment, yet without a hint of jealousy or hesitation. It was something you admired about him. He trusted you, trusted that this was a chapter of your past that needed its own space.

Turning back to Carlos, you found yourself smiling again, a little more genuinely this time. “I didn’t expect to see you tonight.”

Carlos gave you a small chuckle. “I’m full of surprises.” He paused, studying you for a beat. “But seriously, I’ve been meaning to reach out. I heard about your play… and I couldn’t let it pass without coming.”

You nodded, unsure of what to say next. There were so many things left unsaid, but somehow, it didn’t feel like the right moment to dive into all of them.

“I’m glad you came.” you said finally, “It’s been a while.”

Carlos smiled back, the kind of smile that felt familiar, yet still so distant. “It really has. But you’ve done something amazing here, y/n. I’m proud of you.”

His words hung in the air, and for a moment, you let them settle into the space between you. The old hurt, the unresolved emotions - those things, for a moment, didn’t seem as heavy. Not with Carlos standing in front of you, not with the weight of the past turning into something more like a memory than a burden.

“Well, thank you.” you said, feeling a weight lift off your chest that you hadn’t realized was still there. “That means a lot. It’s… it’s been a journey.”

“Yeah, I can tell,” Carlos said softly, his gaze flickering to the stage behind you. “But I’m happy that you have someone who genuinely supports you, even if he is a few garages down from me.” he added, a small chuckle laced in his words showing there were no hard feelings.

“Yeah,” you said with a soft chuckle, your gaze flickering over to where Franco was now talking to some of the actors. “I’m lucky. He’s been a big part of all of this.”

Carlos nodded thoughtfully, his eyes following your gaze. “I can see that. You two seem… good together.”

Though there was no jealousy in Carlos’ tone, it was clear that he was reflecting on the changes both of you had undergone. The years that had passed between you, the people you had become. It was strange how time could shift things, yet certain parts of the past had a way of resurfacing, unbidden but not unwelcome.

“We are, yeah.” you said, finding comfort in the truth of the statement. “It’s different, but it’s good.”

“Well,” Carlos began after a brief silence, his expression shifting to one of lightheartedness as he shifted on his feet. “I’m sure you're busy tonight, celebrating opening night, and I don’t want to take up your time.”

“No, of course” you said quickly, understanding where he was coming from. “Thank you for coming, Carlos. It really means a lot.”

With that, Carlos offered a small nod and turned to leave, his figure slowly merging with the crowd as he walked away. You stood there for a moment, letting the quiet settle around you, processing the unexpected yet peaceful encounter.

It took a while for you to make your paddock debut, the show’s performances conflicted with the crazy schedule of Formula One quite a bit, but when the championship made its way to Barcelona, you had no reason not to go.

Most of your weekend was spent in the Williams garage, getting to know Alex, Lily, and Franco’s engineers and mechanics. The atmosphere was oddly similar to that of a production going through rehearsals - chaotic, messy, but building into something greater.

You had a moment to slip away from the madness in the Williams garage to get a peek at all of the other teams. Of course, the one that stood out the most was the red of Ferrari, and one of its inhabitants. Not a lot of your time was spent there, just enough to drop off a present for the driver.

It didn’t take long for Carlos to find it, the black cover stark against the sea of red surrounding him. Even though it had the name of your play on the front, he wasn’t too sure what it was until he opened the book up, reading the note inside.

One last souvenir from my trip to your shores since the story isn’t just mine anymore - y/n

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bonnie-the-butcher · 1 day ago

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Rip Tide | Chapter IV

[ MDNI ] [ word count: 7.914 ] [ Masterlist ] 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬: Canonverse/Canon-Divergent; Dark! Content; NSFW; Strong Language; Cheating; Drug Use; Mentions of overdose; Some shades of Munchausen syndrome from dear old Rafe; Manipulation; Toxic, obsessive behaviour; Stalking; Violence; DUBCON/NONCON; My writing is really pretentious and English is not my first language, so please feel free to call me out in whichever grammar mistakes you might find find.

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | You and JJ have always been in each other's orbit. He's your brother’s best friend, the guy you've known your entire life. He was kind, protective, familiar. You never meant for the two of you to start hooking up. And you never meant for it to last so long. But when this boy you thought you'd come to know like the back of your hand turns out to be no better than the men he'd warned you about, you find yourself in the sights of the guy he hates most, regardless of wether you want that or not.

I was feeling angsty when I wrote this y'all, so please forgive me for what you’re about to read. Likes, asks, reblogs, and comments are always greatly appreciated! Thank you in advance for reading <3

You stumble, back hitting the door with a thud. You can’t move. You can’t breathe. You can’t look away. The door handle digs into your hip as JJ cages you in. – What’s your problem, JJ?! Let go of me already!

His grip tightens, pulling you even closer, and you can hear the venom in his voice when he spits out his reply. – No! I’m not! I’m not gonna let go of you! You know why?!

– I’m on the edge of my seat, here!

He scoffs at your mocking, that bitter laugh falling from his lips like poison, his nails digging into your flesh. – I’ve been sitting here all night waiting for you to get back. I tried to be patient with you. I tried to give you space, but you don’t respond to me being nice, do you?! You don’t even acknowledge me! I bet you’re getting a real kick out of this, aren’t you?!

– Oh, yeah. Loving it. This is exactly how I wanted to spend my night. Getting shoved against a door while you channel your anger.

– DON’T— He stops himself short, watching his tone. – Don’t fucking play around with me right now, okay?! Don’t do this.

– What, then?! What the fuck do you want me to do?! You don’t want me walking away, you don’t want me talking, what do you want from me?!

– I want you to listen!

– To what?! To your little lecture on why I should’ve been nicer to my brother after the way he treated me?! After he called me pathetic?! After he took my own phone from my hand?!

– He was trying to protect you!

– Protect me?! From going out?! From having fun with my best friend?! I’ve known Barry since I was a kid! I can handle him.

JJ shoots backwards, dragging his hands through his hair as if he was going insane. – HE’S TRYING TO TAKE ADVANTAGE OF YOU!

– Advantage of what, JJ?! My overwhelming wealth?! My deep connections in high society?! I don’t even buy his drugs—unlike you!

– Don’t! – He raises his finger, stepping forward again. It’s like having a whirlwind moving through your room, he can’t just leave things how they are.

– Don’t what? Don’t point out the truth? You and John B can buy drugs, get arrested, blow all your money on some half-baked Pogue adventure, but I can’t even hang out with the guy that’s been my best friend since I was twelve?!

– No! No, you can’t, not when Rafe Cameron is involved!

– Oh, so Rafe is the problem, huh? If Barry had showed up here alone, you and John would’ve just given me a cheerful send-off? Maybe packed me a lunch for the road?

– Don’t do this right now.

– OH MY GOD, JJ! What can I fucking do?! I can’t do anything! Am I supposed to sit here in silence like some nun while you accuse me of every stupid shit that goes through your mind?! Listening to you lie your fucking face off?! And I can’t even defend myself?! What’s your fucking problem?!

– You are my problem! You are! – It’s infuriating, having to whisper to one another when you’re so angry, because JJ couldn’t wait thirty minutes for the nerves to die down. But he makes it up to you by grabbing at you, the tips of his fingers pressed so tight against your skin that you can feel the bruises forming. – I’ve thought about you all day! You’re gonna listen to me now!

You stare at him, heart hammering, pulse like static in your ears. It’s not the words that get you—it’s the way he says them, voice fraying at the edges like he’s barely holding himself together. Like he’s already lost, and he knows it.

You wrench against his hold, nails biting into his forearms, but it only makes him squeeze tighter. His eyes are burning—wild, desperate.

– You’re gonna listen to me now, – He repeats, voice low but shaking with barely contained rage. – I don’t give a shit what you think you can handle. I don’t care if Barry was your best fucking friend since birth—he’s bad news. And you know it.

– Right. Because you’re such a great judge of character!

JJ scoffs, shaking his head like he can’t believe you. Like you’re the one being unreasonable. – At least I know better than to run off with people who are just looking to use me.

You let out a groan.

This is exhausting, draining. Your head pounds and your chest feels heavy. You don’t even know where this conversation is going. – News flash, JJ, I’m not a fucking asset! There’s NOTHING to use me for!

His jaw clenches, and his hands are trembling now, even as he holds you in place. – You don’t get it, do you?! – His voice is quieter this time, rougher. – It’s not about what you have! It’s about what he can take. About what he can do to you!

Something in his face stops you—just for a second.

It’s not just anger. It’s something else. Something raw, something afraid.

You swallow hard, pushing past the sting in your throat. – And what, you think you get to decide that for me? You think you can just hold me here and—what? Teach me a lesson? Are you gonna bend me over your knee or some shit?!

JJ exhales sharply, dragging a hand down his face before gripping your jaw, tilting your chin up just enough to force your eyes on his. – I don’t want to teach you shit, I just want you to stop acting like this is a fucking game!

– I’m not—

– You are! – He growls. – You’re acting like this is just some little rebellion. Like it’s just about proving a point to your brother. And I get it, okay?! I do! I don’t like the way John B treats you either, but this vendetta, this shit you’re trying to do, isn’t okay! It’s not, alright? It’s not. You don’t know how Rafe is! You don’t see the way Barry looks at you!

His words sink into you like a stone.

– And how does he look at me, JJ? Huh?! The way you look at me, or the way you look at Kie?!

His breath catches, just for a second, but it’s enough. Enough to make something in your chest twist painfully. Because you already know the answer.

You want to hit yourself.

You want to dig your nails into your palms until you bleed.

His grip falters. His fingers twitch against your skin. And for a moment—just a moment—you think he’s going to let go. Maybe it isn’t so bad after all.

You think maybe he’ll understand.

But then he exhales, and his hand tightens again, his forehead nearly brushing yours as he leans in, voice hoarse.

And he laughs.

He laughs in your face like this is the funniest thing he’s ever heard. – So this is what this is about.

– What?! – The question comes out before you can stop it. You want to sew your mouth shut. You want to tear your skin off your flesh. you should have learned by now that speaking your mind never gets you anywhere. Especially when you speak about your feelings. – What, JJ?! What is this about?!

– You’re jealous. You’re jealous of me and Kie, that’s why you went with them. Are you kidding me?! – Your skin crawls at the sound of his laughter. But disgusting as it is, you’re not angry at him. You’re angry at yourself for having said it. – You’re pathetic. – The word cuts into you. But it isn’t sharp. The opposite, actually. It feels like he’s stabbing at you with something blunt. Bruising your skin and breaking your bones before he can sink into your flesh. – This isn’t about your brother. This is about me! This is about you being completely fucking twisted!

You hate yourself more than anything as tears start brimming your eyes. – Don’t talk to me like this. – You try to move, try to turn your face away, but JJ just grips you harder.

– Like what?! You don’t want me to say the truth? You want me to lie? I can do that, babe. But you’re not gonna like it.

– Get off of me.

– I don’t think I will. – His laughter is manic, loud. At first you hated that he cared so much about John not hearing anything that he didn’t speak his mind, but now you just want him to stop it. – I’m not gonna get off of you. Because I clearly can’t fucking trust you not to do anything stupid when I’m not there to wrangle you in.

– Stop it, JJ. Just get off!

You’re crying now, and you hate it.

You hate crying.

And you hate yourself.

– I can’t fucking believe you! I can’t fucking believe you were so jealous that you had to jump on Rafe fucking Cameron to make you feel better about yourself! Because that’s what you did, wasn’t it?! You slept with him!

The sudden vitriol in his laughter sends you into a spiral. – What are you even talking about?

– Don’t! Don’t fucking lie to me. – He grabs you by the jaw again. – Tell me the fucking truth, just say it! YOU SLEPT WITH RAFE!

– I did not! I didn’t sleep with Rafe, I just met him!

– I CAN SMELL HIM ON YOU! – You can barely breathe within his grip in a second, and he jerks backward in the next, as if the words had knocked the wind out of him. He stands there for a minute, back turned to you, hands pressing against his head, and you don’t know what to do. You just stand there, against the door. – I know you did! I KNOW! I know it! You slept with him, you— You didn’t even see him grab anything, but whatever it was that he took went flying and it shattered against the wall into a million pieces.

The noise was deafening.

You didn’t even realize you had covered your ears until you heard the stark silence jar you in the aftermath.

Your gaze remained on the floor for a second, trying to grasp at what just happened, when a sudden sound startles you out of shock: John’s door was the loudest in the house. No matter what you did, how you oiled it, whether you fixed the hinges or not, the sound still tore through the house like a scream.

You could hear him, his steps, running.

Your hands flew to the deadbolt just in time to see the handle turn.

The door remained in place as he struggled, then called for you, banging against the door in a panic. – What happened?! What was that?! Are you okay?!

You were leaning on the door now. Your strength gone, the fight in you having vanished. – Get out, John. – The voice felt foreign. Cold. Dead. As if it’d come from an outer ego.

You could hear your brother’s stutter. His hands still moving against the handle. Then something else, a twinge of something painful in his voice, something just as foreign. Guilt.

He calls out your name, almost begging. – Open the door, please. Please. Just let me see you.

You can’t think straight.

– I’m fine. Get out.

Your head is spinning.

– Please. Just— Just talk to me. Lets–

– GET OFF JOHN! JUST FUCK OFF! Go back to your room and leave me alone!

You don’t know where the rage came from, how it’d surged on you so fast, how it disappeared just as suddenly. But the scream lingered in between you like a live wire. The door seems to stretch, pushing him away, away from you, farther than you can hear.

John whispers your name one more time, almost thoughtlessly. Like he’s calling for someone he knows is gone.

Silence.

He stands there, wordless, for a minute. Shifting back and forth before your door.

All you hear is his breath before he mumbled: – I’ll talk to you tomorrow, okay? – You barely recognize his voice. It’s like you're hearing him underwater. – You should go to sleep. – He whispers.

You don’t answer.

But you lean your head against the door, breathing deeper, and tears roll down your chin.

You don't know how long you stood there.

But you heard the hesitation in his steps as he walked away. You heard the floorboards creaking. You heard his door squeaking loudly, slowly, until it finally snapped shut.

And you remained there, absorbed in the silence, for a long while before you turned around again:

JJ is sitting on your bed, his head in his hands, his shoulders shaking softly. You don’t know when he started crying. You’re not very sure why he is.

But you trudge forward, almost in a trance.

It takes two steps for you to be right in front of him, the ends of his blonde hair brushing against you. Whispering against the fabric of your skirt.

You've been here before.

In this weird deja-vu.

The way he reaches for you, it's almost like slow motion.

His eyes are steel blue, like the edge of a knife. His lips are red, swollen. There are tear streaks running down his face when he looks up at you. Under the dim light, he almost seems like an angel. His knuckles are pale, but you see the rapid pulse beneath the skin of his wrists as his hands reach forward, arms wrapping around you, pulling you in.

You once heard moths weren't smart enough to struggle against flytraps if they closed in on them fast enough.

JJ's arms lock around you before you can react. He holds you like his life depends on it. Tears soaking through your top as he buries his face in your stomach, hiding from something unidentified. Himself, maybe. Perhaps guilt.

Though nothing about the way he acts seems guilty.

Your arms were at your sides before. You don’t know when they came to rest around his shoulders. You don’t know why your hands are tangled in his hair. But you feel his teary lips flutter against your skin as you stroke through the soft strands within your fingers.

He isn’t shaking anymore, but he shudders.

He's still crying, but when he lifts his face to look at you, he almost seems at peace. – You drive me crazy. – He whimpers, bare knuckles cracking against your hips as he squeezes you closer, like he’s feeding off of your warmth. – I feel like I’m going insane… I don't know how you do this to me.

You don't know what to say.

Even if you did, your mouth wouldn't open.

You've never felt this numb.

His breathing steadies against you. Slow and deep, like a wave pulling back into the ocean. The warmth of his breath seeps through your clothes, the heat of his skin pressed against your stomach, the damp trail his tears left behind cooling under the soft stroke of your fingers through his hair. He exhales sharply when your nails scrape lightly against his scalp, the sound somewhere between relief and something else, something deeper.

His arms are still locked around your waist. The grip loosens, just enough for his hands to move, sliding slowly over the curve of your thighs, fingertips dragging across the fabric. Not a caress. Something closer to an anchor, as if grounding himself in the presence of you, in your softness, in the fact that you’re still here, still touching him, still letting him take and take and take. His hands flex, curling into the back of your legs before going still again. You don’t think he even realizes he’s doing it.

You feel the shift before you see it—the slow tilt of his head, the subtle shudder in his ribs as he exhales against you, his lips parting just enough for his breath to warm your skin. He’s watching you now. His lashes are wet, his eyes still rimmed red, but the way he looks at you is something close to reverence. The way your fingers move through his hair, the way your thumb ghosts along the damp trails on his cheekbone—he drinks in every motion, every second, as if memorizing it. As if memorizing you.

– I don’t like fighting with you. – It’s a whisper, barely there, but the words settle between you, heavy and delicate all at once.

You don’t answer.

You just keep running your fingers through his hair, and his eyes flutter shut, his body softening against yours like an animal melting into its keeper’s touch. His forehead presses into your stomach again, his arms slipping around the backs of your legs, pulling you closer. The tension in his muscles fades as he exhales another slow, steady breath. He’s calm now.

The fragments of whatever he threw at your wall litter your bedroom floor, making a glittering constellation out of the floorboards. But he’s calm now.

– John B’s right, – He murmurs after a long moment, voice muffled against you. – It’s been a long day. – You feel his lips shift into the barest hint of a smile, like a child reassured after a nightmare. – We should go to sleep.

You don’t react when his hands shift again, when he tugs lightly at your shirt, when he tilts his head just enough for his lips to brush over the fabric. You don’t react when his grip on you tightens, when he starts to rise to his feet, hands still firm at your waist, guiding you toward the bed.

But when he tries to pull you down with him, you stop him.

His brows furrow, the haze in his expression flickering into something uncertain. He waits for you to move first, to change your mind, to follow the unspoken rhythm between you. But you don’t. You just stand there, looking at him, the weight of exhaustion pressing into your skin.

– You should go home, JJ.

JJ blinks. Confusion first. Then something else. Something vulnerable. His hands flex at your waist like he’s making sure you’re still there.

You shake your head, and his grip tightens.

– We shouldn’t go to sleep mad, – he says, voice smaller now, unsteady in a way that makes something deep in your stomach twist. – We can fix this.

– I’m not mad at you. – His lips part, like he wants to believe you. Like he needs to. But something in your voice, in your face, keeps him from speaking. – But I don’t want to be with you, right now.

The words land between you like a stone.

His breathing stutters. His fingers twitch at your waist, hesitating, before slipping away.

You don’t look away.

– Baby…

– I don’t want to sleep next to you. – Silence. – I really don’t want to see you right now, JJ.

For the first time since he pulled you into him, JJ doesn’t move. He doesn’t reach for you. He just stares. – I know you’re mad, but—

– I’m not mad. – Truthfully, you weren’t sure. But when it came to feelings, exhaustion always outranked them all. – I’m not. But I want you to leave, JJ. I can’t do this right now.

His face shifts as his arms fall back to his sides.

Contempt.

Maybe ridicule.

You don’t know. You can’t bring himself to care.

But he scoffs before he steps away, shoulder bumping yours, almost by accident.

Almost.

And the door knocks closed at last, the sound absorbing every last bit of tension from the room like a sponge.

The sun streams through your lace curtains as soon as it comes up, 6:30 on the dot on a sunday, but you can't toss around and fall back asleep.

You barely slept.

Whenever, by some miracle, your conscience drifted away from you, it always came back, headlights burning your eyes open to hit you like a truck.

You feel disgusting.

The sweltering heat pushes down against you like a layer of wet concrete: heavy, overwhelming and inescapable.

You’re still wearing the same clothes.

The lower half your body hangs off the mattress, and having kicked off your shoes just before collapsing into the bed, your naked feet brush against the shards JJ's outburst left behind, stinging.

All you can glimpse of the cuts as you move your head to look down are the crimson streaks of blood now running dry.

You struggle to sit up, your head sways when you finally do so. The pounding in your skull is unbearable. You squeeze your eyes shut, but it doesn’t help. The world still spins when you pry them open again.

Glass glints like jagged stars across the floor, scattered in violent constellations.

You stare at the mess, at the thin, half-dried ribbons of red trailing through it, and realize there’s no way out of this without making things worse.

You’ll have to put your shoes on. Walk through it. Grind the shards deeper into the floorboards, deeper into your own skin.

Just the thought makes you shiver.

You reach for the beat-up sneakers, thrown half-hazardly amongst the chaos, and look at them for a moment. Your eyes drift from the shoes to your feet, the pulsing sting of each cut almost begging you not to do it.

You don’t have a choice.

The second the fabric scrapes against the cuts, you hiss through your teeth. Your fingers instinctively curl into a fist. You bite the inside of your cheek and try again, slower this time, forcing yourself through the sting. The laces come undone too easily, sticky with blood. You’ll have to wash them later.

The thought makes your stomach turn.

Once you manage to step out of the room, the pain accompanying you every step of the way, you wonder why you decided to do so in the first place.

Everything is too much.

The pain, the heat, the regret.

No one likes being talked down to, but you’ve always been the sort to dig your heels in when you feel challenged. The way your brother spoke to you before —Before you jumped into Rafe’s car, effectively sealing your fate— was not the sort of thing any sane person could take with a smile.

But it’s tricky, the way it trickles down.

You knew going with Barry was a bad choice, and you followed through for the sake of defiance.

You knew you shouldn’t have fed onto the fire when John first raised his voice, and you did so because you refused to let him walk all over you.

But was it worth it?

You sweep the floor over with a broom, the glass quickly mounting against the wall. Your feet are bleeding, your head is pounding from how much you cried, your back is sore from dragging Rafe everywhere, and you can feel the new bruises both John and JJ left you with already pulsing.

You lean your head against the broomstick, and close your eyes for a moment.

And then—Rafe.

The thought creeps in uninvited, sudden and suffocating. If you feel this bad, if your head is splitting open and your body is aching, how is he feeling? He wasn’t just drunk. He wasn’t just reckless. He was a breath away from dying.

You clutch the broom tighter, fingers aching with the pressure, but the grip on your chest doesn’t ease.

Is he even awake yet?

Is he okay?

You swallow hard, but the lump in your throat doesn’t go anywhere.

Maybe you should check.

But how would you check on him? You don't have his number. The person closest to him you can ask is Sarah, who you doubt Rafe would like to be aware of his drug mishap. And Barry, who does know, probably won’t be responding to anything from you for the next week or so.

You sit back down to take off your shoes and wonder.

It gnaws at you, the not knowing. You don’t care—at least, you tell yourself you don’t—but the weight of it settles in your chest anyway, coiling tighter the longer you sit still.

You should get up. Move. Do something other than dwell on the wreckage, both in your room and in your head.

So you try to force yourself into motion.

Your body protests as you pull yourself up, legs stiff, joints aching. You peel off last night’s clothes, wincing as the fabric sticks to your skin, a mix of dried sweat, salt, and blood. The shower is lukewarm at best, John still hasn’t fixed the heater like he promised, but it rinses the worst of it away. You brace your hands against the tile, letting the water drum over the back of your neck, waiting for it to wash the rest of this feeling down the drain.

But it doesn’t.

By the time you're dressed, tugging your damp hair into something passable, the weight in your chest hasn't budged.

You pull open your dresser and grab your uniform, the cheap fabric wrinkled from being shoved into a drawer.

You should be thinking about work—about the bus you have to get in 5 minutes, about the lunch rush, about the heat in the kitchen, about whether Kiara will be on shift today and if she’ll look at you like she doesn’t remember the talk you had three days ago.

But instead, you think about Rafe.

About how easily he could have died.

About how no one else knows.

About how, if he had, you would’ve been the last person to see him alive.

Your fingers twitch at your sides, itching for a cigarette, a distraction, anything to pull your mind somewhere else.

You’ve given in to the nicotine cravings as you run about the empty living room, looking for your keys. You have your father to thank for your smoking habit, he smoked maniacally ever since you could remember, but the reason poverty hasn’t forced you to go cold turkey a long time ago is JJ. —Your house might be empty of food, and maybe you’re behind on the light bill and the city shuts down your power again, but if there are two things JJ and John keep in stock around the place, those things are cheap beer and marlboro lights.— You fish a cigarette from a half-smoked package on the counter, struggling with the lighter for a while before you finally give up and use the stove.

You think you’d be a little more relieved when the chemicals finally start sinking in, but your eyes catch the door just as you inhale. JJ’s shoes are still sitting beside it.

He hasn’t left.

You look around for a moment, mind slowly drifting back to the blonde. But you don’t let yourself linger there. Instead, you grab your keys and slip out the door before you can bump into him.

Public transport in the Outer Banks is less than stellar. Everyday you commute with at least 70 other people, just as broke and anxious as you are, in that crammed bus: the single line that goes from anywhere near your house to about a 20 minute walk away from The Wreck.

It’s a miracle anyone ever found a place to sit, and of course, no divine intervention permitted that miracle ever happen to you. So you spend the half an hour ride standing on your cut up feet, to prepare yourself for the next eight hours of running around in that stuffy kitchen, listening to Anthony, the head Chef, and his inexorable screaming, and Mr. Carrera’s endless scolding of the kitchen’s staff’s time.

The air inside The Wreck’s kitchen is thick with the scent of seared meat and butter, the hum of the ventilation system barely cutting through the clatter of knives against cutting boards and the sharp hiss of oil meeting raw protein. The moment you step through the swinging doors, the heat slams into you, clinging to your skin like a second layer.

Willis is already at his station, sleeves rolled up, hands working quickly over a slab of beef. He doesn’t look up as he calls out. – Took your sweet time getting here, didn’t you Routledge?

You sling your bag into your locker, ignoring the jab. – Morning to you too, hon.

He snorts, finally glancing up. – Barely. – There’s a glint in his eyes, you’ve seen it a thousand times before. The look he gets when he wants to gossip.

– Go ahead, Will. Spill it.

It’s early enough that the kitchen is still in its controlled chaos phase —everyone moving, prepping, getting ready for the inevitable hellstorm of the lunch rush. You grab your apron, tying it tight around your waist, and wash your hands before heading to your station. The prep list is long, but that’s nothing new.

– There’s nothing to spill. – He hums. – Unless you know something. – Willis mutters as you start working, his knife gliding through a rib rack with practiced efficiency, you raise an eyebrow at him, waiting for the bomb to drop. – Boss is in a mood. Apparently his daughter didn’t come home last night.

– Kie? – He hums in agreement. You wonder why.

– I heard the two of them arguing in the back this morning. He was talking about a boy driving her here. It’s not your brother, is it? Aren’t they friends?

– John has a girlfriend.

Willis laughs knowingly. – That never stopped anyone. – You force yourself to smile back at him, though it's the last thing you want to do. – Anyway. Don’t get in his way today. You know he’s already iffy on you.

– Well, there go my plans for the morning! – You mutter, and he chuckles, passing his cut over to you. The conversation’s over. But his words still echo in your mind.

You're thankful for the work, for once. The familiar motions take over—seasoning, basting, trimming fat, getting everything ready to be fired later. The methodical nature of it helps, the repetition keeping your mind from wandering where it shouldn’t.

The doors swing open, and Kiara walks in with an empty tray balanced on her hip.

The noise of the kitchen swallows whatever she says to another server, but you feel her gaze before you see it. When you glance up, your eyes meet for just a second—hers unreadable, yours careful— before you turn back to your work. There’s nothing to say, nothing worth dredging up in the middle of prep.

Hours slip by in a steady churn of orders, the quiet build of the morning shifting into the controlled chaos of the rush. By noon, the kitchen is swamped, the air thick with steam and stress. Anthony's voice cuts through the din, barking orders as plates fly from station to station. Your hands move on autopilot, flipping steaks, checking temperatures, slicing roasts. Willis works beside you, muttering curses under his breath every time an order gets sent back for modifications.

Then, the ticket comes in.

You don’t read it at first, just reach for the next cut of meat, eyes scanning the details like second nature. Roast dish, standard sides. Peanut-glazed roast chicken.

You hesitate for a fraction of a second, the words sticking out. It’s been a while since you saw that dish being ordered, you were almost sure they took it out of the menu. The request is simple enough, nothing unusual. But something about it needles at the back of your mind.

You push the thought aside, refocusing. Just another plate in the middle of the rush. Another ticket among dozens.

Nothing to worry about.

You get to work on the glaze. The sauce pan is already waiting on the stove, a thin layer of oil shimmering in the heat. You move fast, scooping a generous spoonful of peanut butter into the pan, letting it loosen and melt as you stir.

A splash of soy sauce, a drizzle of honey. The scent blooms instantly—sweet, nutty, rich. You reach for the rice vinegar next, just a touch to cut through the heaviness. Then, garlic, grated fine, barely a whisper of sharpness underneath the smooth layers of flavor. The heat coaxes everything together, the sauce thickening, darkening, turning glossy as you work.

A final stir, a taste.

It’s perfect.

The timer dings. You pull the chicken from the oven, the skin crisped and golden, the juices pooling at the edges of the pan. With a practiced hand, you brush the glaze over the surface, the deep amber sheen soaking into the heat, clinging to the curves of the roast. Another minute under the broiler—just long enough for the sugars to caramelize, for the edges to darken into something tempting.

The moment it’s done, you move fast. A quick slice, checking for doneness. Then plating: the chicken settled onto a warmed plate, nestled against a bed of seasoned rice. A handful of crushed peanuts sprinkled over top, a sprig of fresh cilantro for contrast. Every detail placed with intention.

One last look.

Then the plate is up, Kie already reaching for it, her eyes drifting through you one last time. You watch over your shoulder as she carries it out, disappearing beyond the swinging doors.

It’s out of your hands now. But the feeling lingers. That quiet, nagging thought.

Something about this order doesn’t sit right.

You throw yourself into the rhythm of the kitchen, trying to drown out that nagging feeling with movement. There’s too much to do, too much heat, too much noise—no room for doubt. The oil hisses as you slide a seared steak onto a plate, the scent of garlic and thyme curling up with the steam. You reach for a handful of fries, tossing them onto the side, then move on, wiping down the station before plating the next order.

Your hands are steady, but your mind isn’t.

It’s stupid. It’s just a dish. But something about it lingers, sticks to you like the grease on your skin.

– Hey, – Willis speaks up from beside you, not looking up from the salmon he’s searing. – You got that worried look on your face again, what's going on?

You scoff, grabbing a garnish. – What, my thinking face? I know it's hard to believe, what with me being so pretty and all, but sometimes I do actually think.

He finally glances up, raising a brow. – Spill.

You roll your eyes, shaking your head as you reach for another plate. – I’m fine. Just wondering if we’ll make it through lunch rush without Anthony popping a vein.

Willis snorts. – Fat chance.

You flash him a smirk, hoping it looks convincing. It doesn’t matter, because before he can push any further the kitchen doors burst open.

The air shifts.

A new kind of heat floods the room—thick, charged, the kind that makes people tense without thinking.

Mr. Carrera stands in the doorway, eyes scanning the kitchen like a predator. – Who made the peanut-glazed chicken?

The words slice through the chaos like a knife through flesh.

You freeze for half a second—just half. But Willis notices. His gaze flicks to you, sharp, before you even turn to face Mr. Carrera.

Your throat is suddenly dry. – I did.

Mr. Carrera moves. Storms down the kitchen like a bull with a target, weaving through stations without breaking stride. The space around you tightens, the air sucked out of the room.

Willis takes a step back. He’s not going to get in the way of this.

No one is.

And then—he’s there.

Standing in front of you, looming.

And you know, whatever this is, whatever you missed, it’s bad. – You could’ve killed someone, Routledge. You know that?!

Your mind rushes.

You think of every step and every second you spent on that dish. Every spoonful of each spice, every condiment, every sauce. There was nothing out of the ordinary.

If anything, you paid more attention to it than to any of the other dishes you were making. – I don't understand, sir.

The kitchen remains a vortex, the noise of plates, the roar of fire, the shouts from the servers, they still echo again and again through the thick walls of the room, but none of the cooks make a sound.

They don't scream.

They don't curse.

They don’t ask.

They're all quiet, eyes drifting between you and their work.

– The customer you made that for. He has a nut allergy. You could’ve killed him, Routledge! Do you have any idea how long I spent trying to convince him not to sue?!

You freeze.

For a moment, you want to laugh. You feel it coming up your throat, inching into your face in the way your cheek twitches. But you bite your tongue the last second.

– Did he eat it?

– We ought to be glad he didn't! Do you have any idea what could have happened if he had a reaction here?! How much money we would’ve lost?!

– He asked for a peanut-glazed roast chicken, sir. There was nothing else in the ticket. Just that. – Kie is standing by the door, looking over at the two of you. A couple servers look at her weird as they push through her. You can't read her face. —Concern, doubt, curiosity— Whatever emotion dances in her face remains shrouded in her attempt to keep it blank. – Kie was the one who rang it in. Right, Kie? The ticket said peanut-glazed roast chicken.

She doesn't even make a move to speak.

But her father is already shouting at you again: – You want to tell me that a man who is allergic to nuts would've asked for a peanut-glazed dish?!

You don't want to insult him.

You can't afford to lose this job.

But this conversation is getting more idiotic by the second. – It wouldn’t be the first time it happened, sir.

You’re not lying.

Your breaks are populated by the endless recollection of people who knowingly or not ask for dishes they're allergic to, then come back to make a scandal.

All the other restaurants you’ve worked at were the same.

But Mr. Carrera looks at you as if you had just spat on him. – What did you just say to me?!

– It wouldn’t be the first time it happened.

Anthony comes in, pushing his sleeves further up his forearms like he does whenever he wants to seem tough. – What’s happening?

You open your mouth, but the owner cuts in before you can utter a word. – Your cook just made a peanut dish for someone who is deathly allergic!

–You did what?! – It's a scolding, but he shouts it at you like a bark. You try not to shrink into yourself. – What the fuck is your problem, Routledge?!

– The customer asked for a peanut-glazed roast chicken, Chef! I just did what was written on the ticket!

You don't like the way your voice rises. The way it trembles slightly. But you can't help it. You feel your pulse starting to roar in your ears, the adrenaline that was already there making you shake.

– The customer did?! The customer that's allergic to fucking peanuts?!

Anthony's favorite past-time is wishing people choke to death on whatever they're allergic to. He says it at least once every shift. Yet he’s acting like it’s the most absurd thing he ever heard. Treating you like an idiot.

– You know better than anyone it’s not the first time this happened, Chef. – You shouldn’t have to explain yourself. You don’t know why they're going so hard on you. – Joey, – You’re calling for the pastry chef before you can help yourself. – Joey! Didn’t you just have to re-do the caramelized pineapple tarte because the customer was allergic to pineapple?

The freckled boy looks up from a dessert plating, and nods, but before his mouth opens, Mr. Carrera interrupts you again: – Don’t try to shift the blame here Routledge!

– I'm not shifting any blame! This isn’t anyone's fault! The ticket said Peanut-glazed roast chicken, so I got on my station and made a Peanut-glazed roast chicken! I can’t read the customer's mind!

– Don't start getting smart with me now, girl! You got the dish wrong and you don't want to admit it!

– I did what was on the ticket! That’s all I did!

You turn around, already looking over the tickets on the dashboard, but as soon as the paper is in your hand, someone yanks you back. – Don't turn your back on me!

– Look, Look here— This is the ticket!

– Don't talk back at me!

– I'm not! I'm just trying to show you—

– Take off that apron! – Your face falls. You look back at Anthony, his eyes widening for a split second under his thick black brows, but he remains there, naked arms crossed over his Chef's whites, not moving a muscle. – Take that apron off right now, Routledge!

– Mr. Carrera—You're stuttering. Head spinning. You don’t know where to look. – Please—

– Take it off!

– I need this job, sir, please. Please. I'm sorry—

– Take it the fuck off before I have security drag you out of here, Routledge! Take it off!

Willis places his hand on your shoulder, pulling you back softly. You're shaking. His eyes shift as he looks at you as well, and only then you realize you were crying. How long has it been? Months, Maybe a year since you cried. And now you've done it three times within the span of 12 hours. – With all due respect, sir—

– I don’t need your due respect, Redfield. Get back to your work!

– Mr. Carrera… – He tries again.

– GET BACK TO WORK!

Willis retreats as soon as he's come forward.

– Please, please. I can’t lose this job. – You look at Anthony, then back at Mr. Carrera before the pity starts forming on the chef's face.

– Should've thought about that before you disrespected me!

– Michael, – Anthony's voice is level, the closest to pleading he'll ever come. Even he seems a little confused. – I can’t finish the day with a single Roast chef, half the orders go to them.

– Chef? This girl isn't a chef, Anthony! She's just a cook! A cook that clearly has no idea of what she's doing!

– Chef, please… – You're begging. You don't know what else to do.

– I won’t tell you another time, Routledge! Take that fucking apron off!

Anthony looks away from you as the screams echo around the kitchen. He shifts on his feet for a moment, almost as if he didn’t know where to go.

You reach for your back, undoing the double knotted bow you became so used to doing with shaky hands.

Mr. Carrera still looks at you expectantly after you lay the apron in his hands. – The uniform, Routledge.

You want to disappear. – I'm not wear—

– TAKE IT OFF!

You feel a dozen pairs of eyes on you.

The tears that fall from your eyes feel like acid as they run down your face, more and more constant as humiliation sears you from the inside out.

Your fingers reach for the black buttons of your chef's white. You had stolen a couple buttons from your dad's old suit to fix this uniform, when they tore at the beginning of this year, before he’d disappeared.

It's fitting that, even if spirit, he's here to watch you be scrutinised.

You can just hear him now:

“What’d you think would happen?”

The cheap fabric scrapes against the bruises on your arms. The fainter bruises around your neck, where JJ had grabbed you, in full display.

“You should've known better” He would say.

You can't say you're glad for the less revealing sports bra you're wearing. Because you feel as if you're standing, naked, in front of these men when you finally pull the coat off.

“Can't say I'm surprised”

– Get out of my kitchen, Routledge. – Kie's father's voice is a blade. You can’t look him in the eye. You don’t want to see him look at you. – I better not see you when you come to get your things.

You barely muster the strength to whisper a “yes sir” before he pushes past his daughter, out into the salon again.

Anthony holds your coat. His pity burning holes into your skin. – Routledge—

You don't let him finish it.

You just raise your hand, holding down a sob, and say – I'm sorry, chef.

The door doesn't hit you on the way out, but it feels like the world has crumbled around you as you sit down on the concrete and sink your head in your hands.

You sink onto the curb, your knees knocking together as you fold in on yourself, arms wrapping tight around your middle like you can hold yourself together by force. But it’s useless. You feel hollowed out, like a pit has been scooped from your chest, leaving only raw, open air where something solid used to be.

The sounds of the restaurant leak out onto the street—laughter, clinking plates, the rhythm of a dinner rush you are no longer a part of. The life you've had for three years, ripped away like it had never belonged to you in the first place.

JJ's words are the ones that echo in your mind now: "They always win, don’t they? They always win and we're left to scrap by."

You stare down at your hands, your fingers stiff, still curled like you’re gripping something, though there’s nothing there. Nothing left. The buttons, stolen from your father’s suit, glint dully in your palm. You try to close your fist around them, but they press into your skin, sharp, biting. A cruel joke. Even the things you steal for yourself are taken back in the end.

The back of your throat burns, tight and aching. Your breath stutters, and for a second, you think you might stop crying—but you don’t. You can’t. Instead, the grief settles, thick and choking, pressing against your ribs, your skull, crushing you from the inside out.

You tilt your head back, staring up at the sky, searching for something—anything—to ground you, but the sky is smudged, blurred, swallowed by the glow of a city that’s barely there. There’s nothing up there. Just empty space stretching forever, indifferent to the small, insignificant thing you have become.

Have always been.

And then—your father’s voice again. Not real, but real enough.

“Is this what you thought would happen? Did you really think you could keep up?”

Your nails dig into your palms. You know you should move. Get up, go home, figure out what comes next. But you stay where you are, stuck in this moment, in this feeling. Stripped down, exposed, like a wound left open to the air.

A car rumbles past, the headlights flashing over you. And for one terrible, fleeting second, you think about standing up—stepping forward—just enough.

But then it's gone. The thought, the headlights, the car.

You exhale shakily. Pull your knees closer. And keep sitting there.

A sound cuts through the noise—sharp, distant. Your name.

You don’t move at first. The world around you is muffled, drowned beneath the weight pressing against your ears, the thick, suffocating quiet that only grief can bring. The restaurant’s noise hums at the edges of your senses, blurred and detached, as if you are hearing it from underwater.

You don’t know how long you’ve been here. Time has unraveled, slipped through your fingers like the buttons in your palm.

Your name again, firmer this time. A presence at the edge of your vision.

Slowly, you lift your head.

Rafe stands a few feet away, his Range Rover parked in the shadowed corner of the lot. The keys dangle from his hand, catching the light. He’s smiling—like he always does, like this is nothing, like you’re just two people crossing paths on an ordinary night.

But then he sees you.

Sees your face.

And his smile vanishes, something darker flashing through his face.

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ghostlyshellofapuppet · 1 day ago

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Blowing Jason Todd in the Batmobile

It's been a while since I wrote. For @dollscircus , hope you have a better day and hope you like it. I'm not used to writing dominant anyone.

Contains praise, lots of praise for Jason and him coming down your throat.

---------------------------------------------------------🪡

A mission gone wrong led to Jason currently clutching the steering wheel of the Batmobile after he stole it from Bruce from a petty feud. Irritable and prone to snapping he drives reckless through the backstreets of Gotham, just trying to blow off steam from an accident that wasn't his fault nor yours. Everything has been building up on his shoulders for a while now, so when he hisses a snarky reply back it's no surprise.

"pull over", you demand and the glare he shoots towards you shows it's been too long since he's been fucked because when he's your good boy he wouldn't look at you with such challenge in his eyes.

"come on baby boy, don't act up so bad now. I know you're moody tonight but that doesn't mean you can act so poorly towards me", spoken caring but firm and he hesitates before his eyes soften slightly and he pulls over. A "good boy" said with a hand cupping his cheek and eventually he climbs into the backseat at your request.

"can I remove these pants, pretty boy?", you ask as you kneel in front of him with a hand on his thigh rubbing softly and he nods with the slightest blush as he avoids eye contact, turned from mean dog to shy puppy too quick for his comfort.

"nuh uh, look at me and say it verbally. You know good boys answer out loud", you correct with a hand under his chin guiding his head back to your gaze to meet. "...yeah....please, take them off", Jason whispers as he meets your eyes with a vulnerable and slightly pleading look.

"there's my good boy, always doing so well", said with a smile and a kiss before unzipping and pulling down his pants just enough to take his cock out. "Can I please you, baby?" you ask and he replied with a yes almost instantly as his hand falls to your non-dominant hand to hold.

Pulling out his semi-hard cock to hold and lick to get wet as his head falls back with a breathy moan and twitch of his hand. Slowly pumping the base and sucking on his pretty tip just to rile him up just to see his head tilt to the side with his eyes closed, he can be shy tonight you decide, your poor good boy has had a hard time lately.

"how do you want this tonight?", you ask with a lick to the prominent vein, looking up at him to see Jason's blush. ".....slow...but squeeze me harder please", he answers as he does his best to make eye contact with those desperate eyes. "Good boy...my good boy, all for me. Knew you were still being so good, just needed a little reminder how to act"

As you work his hand finds your hair and he tries so hard not to pull but he needs to find something to ground himself on as his thighs tense and his breath hitches. Kissing down his dick to his balls to give a slow lick and suck just to get the prettiest whine out of him as he grips your shoulder.

"yeah, feel good?" you coo and he nods with a moan, as his head tips down to look at you. His eyes going a little hazy as he pants and a little bead of sweat rolls down his forehead. "Feels good", Jason confirms as his hands relaxing before tightens again. Moving his hand down to grip yours as he says, "thank you... thank you, I'm..I'm sorry for snapping.... snapping at you on the mission."

"Don't think about the mission, think about me. Doesn't it feel better to think about how good it feels when I suck your tip, I know how sensitive it is", you say and he nods. "Yeah, yeah.. I love it whe-... when you... fuck...", Jason sighs as his head falls back once again. The backseat not leaving much room for him and you both but he doesn't want you far away anyway.

"come on pretty boy, I know you're getting close. Cum when you need to, cum down my throat. I know you love to do it, I want you to", you encourage when you suck on his tip again and in no time he's arching his back and holding your hand as he whines and tenses up.

When he slumps back down and pants you take the opportunity to lean up and kiss his forehead as you rub your thumb over his cheek. "Good boy, I knew you'd be so good for me.....now, do you want me to drive you home or do you want something to eat first"

"...I want tacos...", he says catching his breath. With a smile and another kiss you agree and help him zip up his pants and climb into the driver's seat as you hand him a water bottle. "Taco's it is", is all that's said before a comfortable silence is felt as you drive to take care of the wants of your pretty boy.

---------------------------------------------------------🪡

This is longer than i meant it to be but oh well, hope you enjoy.

#jason todd #red hood #jason todd x you #red hood x you #jason todd x reader #red hood x reader #smut #fanfiction #x reader #x you #jason todd x gn!reader #red hood x gn!reader #gn!reader #x gn reader

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warlocksoup · 2 days ago

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LOOPED: MIYA ATSUMU

she's stuck in a loop: texting him late on a friday night, letting him into her bed, clinging to him, silently begging for him to stay, only for him to leave again.

masterlist

tags/warnings: friends with benefits, implied love triangle, angst, hooking up, unhappy ending, kinda softcore smut but no actual smut, hardly proofread, mdni

word count: 2.2k

an: thinking abt starting a gen taglist for works like this since im planning on pivoting away from writing a bunch of series and focusing more on things like this. idk. let me know what you think if you want i can't make you. also do i think this is my best writing? no but writing has been so hard lately im proud of myself for getting this out

Atsumu likes to hold her after they fuck.

His bare leg is hooked over her hip, and his arm is thrown over her shoulder, pulling her into his chest. It’s hot under her sheets, and Astumu’s skin is coated in a thin layer of sweat. It’s humid and unbearable, but she bears it, holding onto him by his waist, because it’s the only time he’s like this with her.

“Thank you,” he says, and he tucks her head under his chin. His eyes are closed, and he lets out a long, deep breath. “I needed that.”

He thanks her like she did him a favor. Her arms go a bit tighter around his waist, and she presses her ear against his chest, listening to his heartbeat. “Yeah,” she mumbles, her cheek pressed flat against his skin. “Anytime.”

Atsumu runs a hand over the back of her head, smoothing down her hair. His fingers continue, dragging slowly down the center of her spine. “Do you mind if I stay for a little while?” he asks, voice dropping to a raspy whisper that makes her feel so desperate that shame boils just under his touch.

Her eyes close. “No,” she says, her lips brushing against his bare chest as she speaks. “You can stay for as long as you want.”

It’s like this every week. She always expects it to be different, and it never is. Every week, when it feels like it’s been dark for too long and she’s alone and can’t sleep, she texts him after she promised herself she wouldn’t. Sometimes he responds and says he’ll be right over, sometimes he replies and says he can’t. Sometimes he shows up without saying anything at all.

It’s been like this for a while. Long enough for her to feel embarrassed that she’s letting him drag her along like this.

He hums, and she can feel vibrations throughout his chest. “You’re so soft,” he tells her, “it makes it hard to leave.”

Atsumu will leave, though. Before the morning comes, he’ll be out the door without saying a word to her. It doesn’t seem very difficult, when he does go. He always peels her off of him like she’s some piece of dirty laundry and slinks out of the room when he thinks she’s fallen asleep.

His breathing steadies like he’s slipping into sleep. She tilts her chin forward, and places a soft kiss on the center of his chest. She won’t be able to sleep. She’s too wired, it’s too hot, and her neck lays uncomfortably on top of the pillow. When the morning comes she’s going to be sore and tired, and it will be a strain to get anything done.

Her eyes close, and she’s sure that Atsumu’s knocked out when she whispers, “You don’t have to leave, y’know.”

He doesn’t say anything. She wasn’t expecting him to. She keeps her eyes closed, and thinks of his warmth, trying her best to avoid thoughts of it disappearing when the morning comes.

✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡˚

Atsumu stands at the edge of her bed and pulls on a pair of sweatpants. “I’m sorry to leave so soon,” he tells her, thumbs tucked under the waistband as they settle at the bottom of his hips. “I have to be at the gym so goddamn early tomorrow.”

Her legs are crossed underneath the blanket and she sits upright, holding the pillow he usually sleeps on against her lap. “”S okay,” she tells him, watching as he grabs his hoodie off of the floor and throws it on over his head. “I’m not offended or anything.”

“Honestly, I probably shouldn’t have come over tonight,” he confesses, and now she’s starting to feel a bit of a sting. “I just really needed to see you tonight.”

She doesn’t know how to feel about this. She shuffles a bit, an indiscernible feeling settling uncomfortably over her skin. Atsumu doesn’t say things like that. She doesn’t know how to react. “Is something wrong?”

Atsumu freezes, placing his hands in the pocket of his sweatshirt. His expression is screwed up, knotted. Something is wrong. She leans forward, like she’s expecting him to whisper it in her ear, like he’s about to profess something profound and close to his chest. But Atsumu just shakes his head, “Nah, it’s nothing,” he says. He pats the pockets of his sweatpants. “Have you seen my phone?”

She’s disappointed, but she doesn’t know why. She leans back and reaches towards her nightstand, yanking her phone off the charger and dialing Atsumu’s number. She knows it by heart, and hopes that he doesn’t notice. It buzzes from under her sheets.

He leaves half past midnight, forty minutes after he got there. She can’t sleep once he’s gone. She stays up, scrolling mindlessly through her phone, trying to wear down her mind, make it too tired to keep thinking of him.

Sakusa texts her. Five minutes past one. “Was Atsumu at your place?”

She ignores it.

✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡˚

Atsumu lies on his side, and draws patterns on her bare stomach with the tip of his finger. She doesn’t say anything, out of fear of making him stop. She watches him instead, watching his face as he stares down at her midriff. He has this slight smile on his face, and it makes her feel pleasantly uneasy.

“I like your stomach,” he tells her. “I think it’s my favorite part of you.”

The smile that grows on her face must give her away. She’s grateful for how occupied he is with her skin. “You have a favorite part of me?”

“Yeah, I mean, I like all of you,” Atsumu tells her. “But I do have favorites. Your stomach, your nose, your thighs, fuck, just so much of you,” he sighs, as if overwhelmed. “I mean, a man can only take so much.”

She doesn’t think it’s fair, that she’s expected not to fall in love with him when he says things like that. So unabashedly, completely unprompted. And there is this small part of her that kind of resents him, for things like this, saying all of that when he’s going to leave her before the morning comes. But she likes it more than she could ever hate it. So she smiles, and she says, “I don’t think I could pick my favorite part of you,” and means it more than she should.

Atsumu’s hand stops, and he looks up at her. He grins, and it makes her stomach flip.

✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡˚

It’s fifteen minutes to midnight, and she’s pacing in her bedroom, trying not to look at her phone. She texted him twenty minutes ago, and she thinks if she keeps herself from looking at her phone, it’ll make him respond quicker. She can’t back her logic, but she’s well past the point of reason.

He hadn’t talked to her all week. Which, she tries to tell herself, isn’t too weird. He’s busy. He’s a professional athlete. He has better things to do than entertain her and her whims, and what is she to him, really, besides a person to sleep with? They weren’t that close when they started hooking up, and it’s not like the fucking as brought them closer together.

But still, her stomach knots up with nerves. She feels like something’s wrong. Maybe she gave him too much of herself. Maybe he doesn’t want as much of her as she’s willing to give.

Her phone vibrates against her nightstand, and she nearly breaks a toe rushing to answer it. On her home screen is a notification from him.

Can’t make it tonight. Sorry.

✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡˚

She always tries to give Atsumu what he wants. He likes it when she begs, so she begs. She gets down on her knees and begs to please him. He likes the feeling of her on top of him, thighs squeezing on either side of his hips, so she climbs on top of him, not stopping when her thighs start to burn. He likes it wet, so it’s wet. His hair tugged, his neck nibbled on, his back scratched. Whatever he likes, she gives it to him.

And he keeps making these small little grunts of pleasure and his eyes are fluttering, but Atsumu feels far away. Unimpressed with the way her body moves against his. His hands lay lazily on her hips, not gripping tightly on her flesh. He doesn’t whisper praise in her ear. He doesn’t bite down on his lip and tell her yes, he likes it like that, keep doing that. He’s quiet, withdrawn.

She keeps trying to give him more, and more, desperation clawing on the inside of her chest. But Atsumu gives her nothing. He takes what she offers silently, and it starts to feel like he’s keeping his eyes closed to avoid looking at her.

After, he doesn’t hold her. Atsumu lies on his back with his hands tucked under his head, staring at her ceiling. He doesn’t say anything.

Her body feels like it’s burning. She feels humiliated. The silence is bad but she thinks talking might be worse. She doesn’t want him to leave but she doesn’t want him to stay if it’s going to be more of this. The air is so thick she thinks she might choke on it.

Atsumu turns his head to look at her. “Have you talked to Omi recently?”

The question shocks her so badly she turns her head to him, face scrunched up in confusion. “What?”

He shrugs. “He hasn’t been talking to me lately. I was just wondering if he said anything to you.”

Her head straightens out and she looks back up at the ceiling. “He texted me the other week and asked if you were here. I didn’t know if I should tell him or not, and it didn’t really seem like any of his business, so I just didn’t respond.”

Atsumu hums. “I think he’s jealous of you.”

“Do you want him to be?” she asks at once, and then regrets it.

Atsumu doesn’t say anything to this. He gets quiet, and she has to bite down on her lip to keep herself from saying something else stupid. Somehow, the air gets heavier.

“I’m sorry,” she says after a minute of silence.

“It’s okay,” Atsumu says, and he doesn’t mean it. He leaves a minute later, and tells her it’s because he has an early practice, but she’s not stupid.

✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡˚

Atsumu presses her against her bedroom wall, and when she closes her eyes, all she can see is him and Sakusa, arm’s slung around each other’s shoulders in a post-victory celebration earlier that day. And the way Atsumu looked at him makes her feel rotten. It hurts to remember, and Atsumu pounding into her does little to distract from it.

She’s the loser in this war, she thinks, arms around his shoulders and leg hooked over his hip, too disconnected from her body to feel anything. It doesn’t matter how many times Atsumu has crawled back into her bed and held her against his chest. It doesn’t matter how in love with him she is. It’s always Sakusa. It’ll always be Sakusa.

He holds her tightly after, their legs tangled together and his cheek resting on the top of her head. His phone’s in his pocket and it keeps buzzing. Atumu ignores it, and she can’t stop herself from thinking that it’s him.

She swallows. Her throat feels dry. “Someone keeps texting you,” she says, because she wants him to acknowledge it.

Atsumu inhales deeply. “Ignore it,” he says, “just lie with me.”

She closes her eyes, and does as she’s told.

✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡˚

Can I come over tonight?

He texted her first. He doesn’t usually, but he did. The notification popped up over a video the MSBY Black Jackals post-match. Meian’s giving a courtside interview, but just behind him, she can see Atsumu and Sakusa, shoulders squared and tensed, keeping a strict distance from each other as they exit the court. She can feel the chill through the screen of her phone.

She doesn’t know what it is that holds the both of them back from each other. Maybe it’s her. Maybe Sakusa doesn’t realize that Atsumu would drop her immediately if Sakusa ever asked him to.

She’s always known that he would, though. Whatever she has to offer doesn’t seem to compare to Sakusa. She’s just a temporary fix, really. Just something to hold Atsumu over until Sakusa realizes this.

She taps on the notification, and her conversation with Atsumu pops up. For a second, she scrolls through it. Minimal talking, mostly texts from her, with late responses from him. She can see it there, how much Atsumu doesn’t care about her. It doesn’t matter if he asks to come over or tells her he loves her stomach or how hard it is for him to leave. He just doesn’t care about her. Not the way she cares about him.

Her thumbs hover over the keyboard for a moment, paused in contemplation, before she types out a quick, yeah, sure, and hits send without thinking anymore about it.

If Sakusa hasn’t figured it out yet, then she’s not about to help him. She’ll just keep giving and giving, until there’s nothing left to give.

#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu fanfiction #haikyuu fic #haikyuu x yn #haikyuu x you #hq x reader #haikyuu angst #haikyuu x reader angst #haikyuu x y/n #hq x y/n #hq x you #atsumu x reader #atsumu x you #atsumu x y/n #miya atsumu x reader #miya atsumu x you #miya atsumu x y/n

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konjiang · 3 days ago

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tianshang babysitter au, where TLJ is a single dad, and SQH is the babysitter he hired to care for LBH while he worked.

On top of writing PIDW, SQH also worked odd jobs to make money, and this week, he got a more permanent job offer as a babysitter with pretty high pay. He felt completely out of place when he arrived at the huge mansion. He rang the doorbell and jumped a little when he heard a deep voice over the speaker.

"Are you here for babysitting?" The voice asked. Even without seeing this man, SQH could tell he was exhausted.

"Y-yes"

"Oh, thank god! Come on in." The gate swung open, and SQH nervously walked to the door.

At the door, he was greeted by a tired looking dad holding his kid.

"Please take care of him. Whatever you need or want can be ordered with Alexa. His name is Binghe, and he has no allergies. Nap time is at 12" The guy handed the baby over to Shang Qinghua and wobbled over to the couch and passed out.

SQH stared at the Binghe, and Binghe stared back with those innocent looking eyes.

He walked around the house, just trying to find where everything was. On the fridge, there was a schedule including feeding time, nap time, and bath for Binghe, and on the counter, there were dozen clean bottles and formula cans.

The house was stocked with everything.

"Well...Binghe, it's just going to be me and you for the next couple of hours. What did you do for your dad to pass out like that?" SQH asked Binghe. The baby couldn't reply and just giggled at SQH.

The next couple of hours were uneventful, just a regular babysitting job. SQH nearly forgotten that there was someone else in the house until the guy sneaked up behind him as he was putting Binghe to bed.

SQH was going to scream, but a hand covered his hand. And the guy quietly guided SQH out of the room before dropping his hand. The dad let out a sigh of relief before he started to introduce himself.

"Hi, I'm Tianlang, Binghe's dad. Thanks for coming on such short notice, and sorry for passing out. Let's talk a little more about the job."

Now that SQH could see TLJ's face fully, he couldn't help but admire those sharp features. He looked very much like a DILF

TLJ noticed SQH staring and blew him a little kiss, causing SQH to turn red from embarrassment.

"Hahaha. I know I am handsome. You can stare if you want." TLJ was having a bit of fun teasing SQH. His reactions are so entertaining, and after the year TLJ had, he needed a little laughter in his life.

That's all for now.

Me: I'm going to finish writing my other AUs

also me: adding another WIP to the list

#svsss #shang qinghua #tianlang jun #tianshang #luo binghe #don't know if sxy and tlj got divorce or if sxy died in this au #but i feel like there is no way tlj would willingly separate from sxy #soooo rip sxy

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belle--ofthebrawl · 1 day ago

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Femslash February Day 3! Mountain wingmanning at a lesbian bar (his greenhouse) (Sfw!)

Ok look, I don't know how many consecutive days of writing and posting I have in me. But I'm going to try my hardest to get so much Femslash out this month. I'm not following any set prompt or challenge list. Just my heart. And my pu-

"I need help." Mist says.

Mountain sets down his carefully trimmed bonsai and looks at her over the rim of his glasses. She's fresh from the lake, with clothes sopping wet from being tugged on right away. Her fingers twist around a tarnished old pendant (skull, eyes set with emeralds). And, most intriguingly, the barest hint of a blush on the apples of her cheeks.

(And slung over her shoulders what is quite possibly the largest pike he's ever seen in an impressive display of prowess but that is neither here nor there. She's not asking for help with the fish.)

"I understand." Mountain replies, having seen that same look on Aether after he met Dew.

"There was an Air sunning herself on the dock," Mist says. "I've seen her around but I don't know her name."

“What did she look like?” He asks patiently. Cirrus had a fondness for hellebore and datura, but she was usually practicing keyboard with Zephyr this time of day. He glances at a pot of white lilies and nods to himself, even before Mist tells him.

“Big.” Mist says. “Big body, big poofy hair, big sunglasses. I think I splashed her when I jumped out of the water.”

It's the most flustered he’s ever seen her, the way she paces back and forth, trailing her hand in a tub of water lilies.

"I had the fish. In my mouth. When I jumped up on the dock. And I scared her. And I didn't apologize cause my mouth was full of fish. I just walked away and acted like nothing was out of the ordinary."

“Joe cool.” He says suavely and earns a flat glare. He meets it with his own carefully blank face until Mist rolls her eyes and flicks water at him.

“I know her.” He says as an olive branch. “Cumulus. She'll be a backing vocalist and keyboardist on our next tour. Real sweet.”

“Is she the type to be bothered by how I acted?” Is Mist’s next question and Mountain thinks about it. Plenty of ghouls became “domesticated” once they were up top, vastly preferring the convenience of Abbey kitchens and a set menu to a more traditionalist approach like Mist enjoys taking. From what he's seen, Cumulus had adored the luxuries of the Topside like bubble baths and ice cream. But she still politely asked to have raw meat whenever she ate in the cafeteria. She enjoyed organs and eyeballs, cutting daintily into her meal and chewing methodically before swallowing.

He spares a glance at the pike. It's a decent size, almost as tall as Mist’s scant five feet and from the looks of it, hadn't gone down without a fight. It might be good sliced into fillets with lemon pepper and celery salt. He doesn't think Cumulus has tried raw fish yet.

“You’ll be fine.” He says. “So. Let’s start with the focus of the bouquet.”

“Don’t you start with that flower language.” Mist warns him. “I think it’s ridiculous. I just want something pretty for her to look at without any second meanings for her to guess. I don’t like codes.”

“Alright.” Mountain says, humoring her. “So, lets just start with flowers that remind you of her. Take a look at what calls you.”

Mist beelines for the lilies and Mountain smiles to himself. Mist isn't the type to be sentimental and he hardly expects her to verbalize her thought process. It would be more practical than poetic anyway because that's just how she was. He just guesses and watches and waits while she goes from flower to flower, brow furrowed in thought.

“I like these.” She says about a pot of bullthistle he’s been nurturing from seed. It's on it's second year and growing tall, fine shoots that promise to bear nasty, thorny leaves. He's got an idea about how the species might be used to strengthen the borders of the abbey but he's worried about how fast it spreads. So it sits, with its purple crowns atop tiny thorny heads.

“Thank you.” Mountain says. “For the bouquet or just to admire?”

“Just to admire.” Mist admits. Shifting her weight to still keep ahold of the pike, she thrusts her bouquet before him for inspection. Dominated by the lilies, she's added sprigs of lavender and fat peonies. Ferns have been tucked here and there to break up the flowers and Mountain gives her a silent thumbs up. There's no doubt Cumulus will love it.

"Thank you." Mist says gratefully. “I…I really appreciate it, Mountain.”

“Go get’em tiger.” He says as she nods to herself and heads out to find her girl, toting a gorgeous bouquet and her freshly slaughtered kill.

And no sooner do her footsteps fade when Mountain picks up another pair heading to the back of the greenhouse.

"I'm sorry." He says to the bonsai. "We're just doomed to always have interruptions in our alone time, it would seem."

The bonsai forgives him. It was a patient tree. It could wait a little longer.

"Mountain?" Comes Cumulus' frantic voice. "Mountain, you have to help me."

She bursts into the greenhouse, a gorgeous mess of floppy curls and chiffon as she presses her hands to her rosy cheeks. Her sunglasses are askew, her hat is about to fall off and he's never seen her so far from neatly put-together in her entire time with them.

"There was a water Ghoulette." She begins softly. "Caught the biggest fish I've ever seen. So stoic! Such a huntress! Mountain, I think I'm in love."

"I understand." He says soothingly. "Why don't you take a look at those water lilies while I grab some thistle? Wouldn't want you hurting your hands."

#mist x cumulus #mist ghoulette #cumulus ghoulette #femslash February 2025

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someone1348 · 2 days ago

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It was long overdue...its time; I'm doing a squid games fic! I'm scared, but I'm posting it anyway! I've wanted to write for it for a while now, I just never had ideas or motivation! There's already so many great squid games writers, and I just am nervous!

Anyway!

The people in this: Ler!Jung-Bae, Lee!Dae-ho (naturally, I had to do them first!)

Tw: Anxiety, a little cursing, regardless this is a tickle fic, so if you don't like it, please keep scrolling! Thank you! :]

Also, squid games season 2 spoilers, so if you haven't watched it, I'd recommend watching it first!

With that being said enjoy!! <3

____________~☆°♡°☆°♡°☆~______________

Such a ticklish marine

They had just finished the six-legged pentathlon. Spirits were high for about five seconds before they heard the gunshots again from the other side of the room. Dae-ho squirmed back again, covering his ears. Heart racing as Jung-Bae put a hand to his shoulder. It was almost like it was second nature. Dae-ho definitely showed his love through physical touch, and Jung-Bae did, too, so it just worked. They mirrored each other perfectly. The older of the two really took Dae-ho in, especially after he found out he was also an ex-marine. The bond of marines is unbreakable, but with how big Jung-Bae's heart is, he saw Dae-ho like the son he never had. Even if he doesn't admit it out loud, his actions show everything.

So when he's freaking out, covering his ears, fidgeting, the whole nine yards, he clocked his ptsd pretty fast. It made his heart ache a little for the poor boy. He wanted to, no, needed to do something to help him out. Jung-Bae took a deep breath and walked behind him as they entered the main room. Several teams who made it already sitting on one of the bunks groupped together, naturally. They did the same, sitting down waiting now for dinner to be served. Dae-ho was fidgeting again with his hands, scanning the room as some of the teams gave their team ugly stares. Jung-Bae placed a gentle hand to his knee for support, to try and ground him so he knows that he's not alone. Dae-ho's shoulders jumped a little at the impact but relaxed when he realized it was just Jung-Bae.

"Don't worry about them... they're just greedy assholes. We won't let anything happen to you or anyone on our team." Jung-Bae said with a determined smile as Dae-ho nodded.

"Sir, yes, sir!" Dae-ho replied out of instinct as Jung-Bae giggled gently at this.

"Atta boy!" He gently squeezed Dae-ho's knee as his hearty laughter grew. Without having time to hold back a reaction, Dae-ho squeaked quietly, but it definitely caught Jung-Bae's attention. Even through his laughter, he definitely heard that correctly. Blinking gently, Jung-Bae looked up at the boy with curiosity. Dae-ho's eyes widened. He tried to keep a poker face, like nothing happened, but he was really bad at that. Jung-Bae and everyone around him could see right through him.

"Dae-ho...?" Jung-Bae said a slight tease in his voice.

Dae-ho gulped gently and blinked "Yes...Sir...?"

The nervous reaction sent Jung-Bae's smile into a wicked smirk. He scooted closer to the already anxious marine. Now his heart was racing again, not out of fear, though. It moved quickly knowing what was potentially about to happen. He has four older sisters. He knows a 'I'm gonna tickle you' look when he sees one!

"Don't tell me, you, a strong, brave, ex-marine is ticklish?" He teased him, obviously not talking down to him. Dae-ho knew this and was thankful that he didn't make fun of him for it. It was normal, nothing to be ashamed about. Dae-ho took a deep breath, not knowing how to respond. Jung-Bae just giggled.

"This is gold!" He seemed happier than ever at this newfound information. Was...was that it? Was he really not going to get tickled? Dae-ho was overthinking it before the gaurds called everyone to grab dinner. Snapping out of his thoughts, they all got in line to get their portion of the meals. It was barely anything. Every day, there was less. They did that on purpose, but hey, at least they were getting something to eat.

After getting his tin and water, Dae-ho sat back down in the same spot. Jung-Bae, however, moved up a step to sit next to Dae-ho. The younger looked at the older with wider eyes than normal. Jung-Bae didn't say anything he just opened his tin and started eating.

"What did you get?" The question made Dae-ho blink before he opened his tin.

"Um...the same thing as you, we all get the same thing, sir," he said matter-of-factly. Which again made Jung-Bae giggle. This man was just always full of laughter, even in a situation like this. Something that made Dae-ho admire him even further. The conversation fell silent again as they kept eating. Jung-Bae talking to Gi-Hun and the others before turning back to Dae-ho.

"So...where are you most ticklish?" He asked teasingly and excitedly.

Dae-ho nearly choked on his rice at the question. Coughing a little before regaining his senses, Jung-Bae laughed.

"You okay, soldier?"

Dae-ho nodded quickly. The older patted his shoulder again happily. Jung-Bae was doing all of this on purpose. Sure, he wanted to know this information, but he wanted to help, mostly. He thought that maybe tickling him could help get him distracted enough to calm his anxiety. It worked on Gi-Hun whenever he had nightmares as kids, so maybe it'll help Dae-ho, too. He needed to try regardless. If it doesn't work, he'll try something else. Jung-Bae smirked and went back to teasing.

"If you won't talk, that's fine, I'll figure it out one way or another," he hummed gently, running a hand down his spine. Dae-ho arched gently out of instinct and smiled. Good a smile, that's a start. He's not uncomfortable. That's all he wanted to make sure of first before he could do anything.

Once dinner was completed, Jung-Bae finally put his plan into action. Dae-ho tried to move away to throw his tin away, but Jung-Bae pulled him back.

"Ah ah ah... you can do that later! I wanna see what you can do, boy! You've impressed me a lot as of recently. Let's keep that streak up, sha'll we?" He hummed as Dae-ho raised an eyebrow.

"I'm honored, sir, but I'm not exactly following..." He said honestly as Jung-Bae's smirk returned.

"Don't laugh~" he teased. Without warning, he used both hands to gently squeeze at Dae-ho's sides. A loud shriek rang through the place, followed by laughter and Dae-ho rolling over, trying to escape him. If he started with any other spot, he would've been able to hold it in, but Jung-Bae had to get his worst spot first! On a total guess too! Not fair!

Jung-Bae giggled with him. "You didn't even last a second! Such a ticklish marine~" he teased again, stopping for a second so Dae-ho could catch his breath and sit up.

"That wasn't fair! I could've done better if you didn't go for-" he inhaled and bit his lip as Jung-Bae tickled his neck in retaliation for the attitude. This was so fun for him now.

"Ohhhh, there we go! You're lastly relatively well. Let's see how you pair up against two spots at once!" He cheered before using his other hand to skitter gently across his ribs. Dae-ho squirmed a little but kept his laughter back as best as he could.

"You can do it, Dae-ho!" He supported him while actively scribbling across his stomach to get to each side of his ribs. Back and forth, while his other hand still wiggled against the right side of Dae-ho's neck. It took 10 more seconds before Dae-ho burst out in giggles again. Lying on the steps to try and get away. Jung-Bae's hands followed his movements with a smile.

"Juhuhung-bahahae!! Sihihir! Please! Hahaha!" It was light airy giggles since Jung-Bae was being relatively nice about it, for now. The older marines heart practically melted into puddy at the sound.

"Please what Dae-ho? I can't understand you with all this laughter!" He pulled up his shirt a little, using both hands to now tickle his stomach, which got Dae-ho kicking now. His water bottle now knocked off the stairs. Thank God it was closed. But Young-il had to duck, moving out of the way of the water bottle and the pair.

"JUHuhUhung-BAHaEHe!" He laughed a little more as his hands held onto the others' wrists. The other laughed with him and continued to tease him. One finger finding it's way into his belly button. This caused Dae-ho to make a sound similar to a snort and laugh some more.

"You know I think this might be why you're not a marine anymore, you're an interrogation risk, one little tickle and you'd spill all the beans of our plans" he joked which made the other a little embarrassed. His ears were a little red as he kept laughing.

"HaHaHAHAHA!" He kept going. "I wOhoHould nEHeHeVer! BETraHAhay! My TeHEHEheam!" He tried to defend himself before Jung-Bae smirked. He knew that, duh, but that was still adorable. He liked it when he was laughing rather than panicking. It suited him.

"Tickle Tickle Tickle~" he teased more, moving up to gently tickle his underarms. Dae-ho slammed them down quickly, his laughter never subsiding as he squirmed around on the step.

"GEhehEt OhoHOUT oF tHEHehere!!" He shook his head no as Jung-Bae giggled.

"Oh? Do you want me to pick a different spot?" He asked gently as Dae-ho nodded frantically through his laughter. He soon regretted his decision as Jung-Bae's hands went from his underarms to his sides, squeezing the ex-marine's most ticklish spot with determination.

"AHAHAHAHA NOHOHO HAHAHAHA!" Dae-ho let out a bout of laughter mixed with some incoherent speech. His kicking increased ten-folds as well. He was a squirmer, that's for sure. Jung-Bae smiled and kept going.

"What's the matter soldier? Is it too ticklish for ya? Hmm? I'm gonna getcha!" He was deep into tickle monster mode now. There was no stopping Jung-Bae now. Dae-ho squeaked this time as he let himself laugh.

"IHIHHIT TIHIHIHICKLES! JUHUHUHUNG-BAHAEHE!" He threw his head back gently, laughing as his back arched into his hands out of instinct. This was amusing to Jung-Bae. So he was enjoying this, good!

"SHIHIHIT!-" He said, moving his body back to the floor. Jung-Bae smirked at this.

"Such fowl language for an ex-marine! Watch your tone, young man!" He smiled before blowing a raspberry into one of his sides, still tickling his other side with the other hand. He lost his mind.

"SIHIHIHIR! IHIM SOHOHORRY! MERCY PLEHEHEHEHEASE HAHAHA!" He asked for mercy. Jung-Bae gave him a few more scribbles before he finally stopped. Beaming, Jung-Bae sat back and watched Dae-ho catch his breath, giggles poking through every now and again.

"At ease, buddy"

"Thahank you...sir" he sat up gently as Jung-Bae patted his shoulder again. His duty was done. Mission completed.

"Dae-ho, don't worry about it, you aren't the only ticklish ex-marine around." Gi-Hun smirked as Jung-Bae gasped

"Gi-Hun!" He said, sounded offended even though he really wasn't. Dae-ho giggled at this and turned to Jung-Bae.

"I see..." he hummed teasingly

Like father like son.

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Thank you @sleepy--anon for pushing me further to write for squid games and giving me the duo idea! I hope I did the fandom/show justice!

-K :]

#k writes tk things #squid games tickle fic #squid games tickle #squid games tickles #ler!jung-bae #lee!dae-ho #ticklish!dae-ho

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makeyoumine69 · 16 hours ago

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Hello dear people in my beloved American Psycho fandom! I couldn't force myself to write this post because I didn't know how to do it, but I think now is the right time. I promised myself not to bring personal stuff into my writing, but since one thing affects another, I think I should finally speak up.

This year started pretty bad for me, I was suffering from a huge apathy and my mental health was probably in the worst state in the last few years. I had to cut ties with a lot of people and distance myself, and I'm really sorry for doing that, but I had no choice because I was literally dying from the inside. When I came back to Tumblr in 2022, I was absolutely alone and I had no friends, no followers and in some ways I felt calm and peaceful. I always thought and probably still think that I should be alone and isolated from everyone, like a soulless writing machine just producing fanfictions for people to consume. Maybe this is not a bad thing, because interacting with people always carries the risk of getting bruised?

Anyway, the thing that broke me completely was the news I received in the last days of January that I would be fired in February because my company decided to close the project I was working on due to the high inflation and bad economic situation in Russia. So now I have to find a job within February because I have a lot of financial responsobilities like paying for the medical treatment my family is getting. My grandmother was diagnosed with kidney cancer and her surgery was paid for by me and my fiancé, but the medicine costs a lot, so… after I told my mom about my news, she blamed me for everything. I was not really surprised though, considering that I have been having fights with my whole family for the past few months over different topics, but mostly they hate me for my political opinions. Whenever I say that I am tired of the war, sanctions and all the other stuff that 2022 has brought, they call me a fucking traitor. My family is ready to cancel me just because I told them I was tired of living in isolation, that I had even forgotten what my life was like before the war. My fiancé is literally the only person in my family who supports me, and even though I'm going to lose my job, he told me he would do anything for me, for us, but I don't want to be a burden. I'm really scared about the future, I think I really am now.

So, I'm sorry for not finishing the Christmas fics I promised to post, I'll try to finish them soon. Also, I'm sorry for not being active with fulfilling the requests and replying to your asks. I'm really sorry. And I know some of you might think that why I keep writing new series and working on different stuff while I have WIPs I need to finish—I'm just trying to follow my muse and I can say that it's really unstable these days, but I'm really trying to do my best and deliver something good for all of you!

I also want to thank all of you who have supported me with your donations! It means the world to me! Unfortunately, my account on the platform I was using for donations has been suspended because of… DOLLARS! They think I'm a scammer or something because the dollar is such a cursed currency in Russia right now, so I don't know if they'll unban my account, I hope they will.

Okay, that was longer than I thought it would be. To end this crazy rant, I just want to thank you guys for sticking with me no matter how fucked up I might be! I believe that one day I will find my way back to myself so that I can come back strong and refreshed!

#american psycho #my confessions #patrick bateman #where's the exit?#i'm so sorry

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helios-eyre · 12 hours ago

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Someone made a post about how Caleb has been treating MC like she needs to be protected and MC has been proving him right in how she's handled the situations in his arc compared to the other LIs arcs (or something along those lines)

And I was writing out this reply when tumblr decided to reload the app and vanished the post 😔

So here's some Caleb and MC analysis I guess?

I'm hoping that it's on purpose for character development reasons later on.

From what I can tell, they had a very 'Protector, Protected' relationship as kids, and when MC got old enough to grow out of that a bit, they were separated because of school and work a lot of the time, so there wasn't time for them to get used to their current roles.

So when Caleb appears after being 'dead', neither of them are used to the current power dynamics, and MC is trying to keep the peace while also staying close to Caleb. Which means Caleb falls back into the 'you're smaller than me so I'll protect you' mindset far easier.

And I think at this point, Caleb feels that if he's not protecting MC, she doesn't need him anymore. So he tries even harder to keep those roles the same even when she's proving that they aren't.

So hopefully later on in the story MC will have a chance to show how, even if she doesn't need to be protected, she still needs Caleb.

And Caleb can finally trust that MC wants and needs him beyond his ability to do things for her.

(At least that's my opinion, I just woke up so if I'm misremembering stuff let me know haha)

#l&ds #love and deepspace #lads caleb #caleb xia #mc love and deepspace #Love and deepspace analysis

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born-to-lose-writing · 1 day ago

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Teenage Romance

Pairing: Pete Townshend x John Entwistle

Requested by @dannyawesome65

Summary: John confesses to Pete, but them being best friends before doesn't stop them from acting nervous while in a relationship.

Tags: fluff, teenagers, implied homophobia

Words: 2,758

A/N: Young and awkward Towntwistle (featuring a little fem presenting Pete)! I loved writing this 🥺💖

Pete and John spent every break at school together and most of the time they were outside in the school yard, chatting in a quiet place. They never ran out of topics and when they did, they enjoyed that they didn't have to speak to feel comfortable in the other's company.

They wandered around, talking about dogs and sharing dreams of the future, until they found a bench next to a bush that needed some cutting, but it was good enough for them as they couldn't be observed as easily.

Continuing their conversation, they were sitting so close that their knees touched when one of them thought of something urgent to tell the other and shifted in his seat. Pete wasn't bothered by it at all. In fact, he liked when John touched him in whatever way, whether it was a handshake or the brush of his hand when he gave him something.

There was a pause while Pete listened to the light breeze through the bush shielding them from the teachers’ and fellow pupils’ eyes. “I love you,” John suddenly said, pulling his friend out of his trance.

Pete's heart stopped for a second before it started beating faster. He had probably had a crush on him for a while – at least he felt similar about him as he had felt about his first girlfriend, although he secretly had thoughts concerning John he had never had about anybody else. He felt butterflies in his stomach and tucked his shaky hands into his pockets. Surely John couldn't mean it this way though, right?

“Yeah, me too,” he replied, trying his best to sound casual so he wouldn't embarrass himself in case it was simply meant as words of appreciation for being a good friend.

John shook his head, turning to look at the boy next to him. “No, I love you. I'm in love,” he nearly whispered.

“Oh,” Pete simply said, still not knowing how to respond. Of course, he had fallen in love with him too, but he was a boy. The look in John's eyes told him that he was being serious, but Pete hadn't expected him to reciprocate his feelings.

Hesitantly, he reached out to hold his friend’s hand. John glanced down and smiled before they both returned to looking at their surroundings, staying like this for the rest of the period.

When the bell rang, John shyly placed his free hand on Pete's cheek, making him look at him. He closed his eyes and quickly gave him a peck on the lips before letting go of his hand and motioning for Pete to follow him to the next class, a sheepish grin on his face.

He was blushing hard as he hurried back inside the school building. His thoughts were all over the place and he only hoped he wouldn't forget which class was next.

Pete tried his best to stay focused despite his eyes wandering to glance at the clock above the door every now and then to figure out how long it would be until he would see John again. Finally, the last lesson ended and they met at the same spot where they always did before walking home, often going to the other's house or stopping to buy something to eat.

John was smiling when he spotted Pete walking up to him with fast steps. “How were your last classes?”

“Uh, they were fine,” Pete stammered, honestly not remembering much from anything that had happened after the last break.

His friend grinned and suggested, “Let's get some food.”

While making their way to their favourite fish and chips shop in Acton, it felt like nothing had changed compared to last week when they had taken the same route at the same time in the afternoon. As long as you ignored Pete's pounding heartbeat, the more awkward conversations than usual, the avoiding eye contact and the nervous little smiles when their eyes did meet.

Weird as it sounded, Pete liked watching John eat. Something about the way he liked to eat and sometimes ate a lot in a short time was sensual to him. He could stare now, couldn't he?

“What is it?” John asked after he finished chewing. Pete hoped he didn't make him feel self-conscious.

“Hm? Nothing,” he quickly replied, feeling his cheeks heat up as he looked back down at his own food and continued eating.

After they had finished, John patted Pete's back and they threw away their newspaper wrappings. This was a normal gesture for them, so why did it suddenly make Pete shudder?

“It's too early to go home, don't you think?” he said after a while, wandering around neither in the direction of his house nor John’s.

“We don't have to.” They kept walking until they found a less crowded green area.

Pete started to climb up a tree, stretching his hand out to help John follow him when he had reached the top. On occasions like this, they had often held hands before, but they had usually let go when support wasn't needed anymore. This time, they didn't. Although John's hand felt hotter today than ever, Pete wouldn't mind getting burnt and intertwined their fingers, resting them on his thigh.

Despite the tree being fairly thick, they had a nice view from up there between leaves. Shifting to spot a new building his friend had pointed out, John’s foot slipped and Pete immediately put his arm around his middle.

“I got you,” he said and John wrapped an arm around his friend as well to steady each other.

“Did you mean what you said?” Pete asked nervously after a few minutes. He assumed he had meant it based on how he had been acting since, but he wanted to make sure.

“Of course,” John answered, asking equally anxiously, “Do you?”

“Yes.” They smiled at each other and this time, Pete brought up enough courage to initiate a kiss. Normally, he wouldn't have, but John seemed to be just as timid as him in this case and he didn't know if he would ever get to kiss him again if they continued acting like this.

He leaned forward and kissed him, feeling John’s grip on him tightening in fear of Pete falling. Finally, they actually had the chance to savour the kiss without having to break it after a second. Pete placed his hand on John’s shoulder and right after he pulled away, the older boy leaned in for another one, a little less awkward, a little more loving and a little firmer to show they were certain of their feelings.

Then they sat in silence as especially right now it was nice to not have to say anything and just reflect on today's events while being together. They wouldn't know what to talk about anyway. The casual topics they usually talked about? Rambling about what had made them realize they had a crush on each other? Deep confessions for which it was much too soon? All options they came up with seemed wrong, so staying quiet was the easiest thing to do.

Eventually, it was time to go home and before they parted ways, Pete squeezed John's hand and waved as he disappeared inside, wide smiles on their faces.

From then on, they made it a habit to sit on that bench where they had confessed their love for each other during breaks. It was on site so they wouldn't get into trouble for leaving the school yard, but it served enough privacy to allow them to be themselves – almost, at least. John had always acted as a shield for Pete when other kids bullied him, but if they got caught, they wouldn't even back off from him.

They still only showed affection in secret, but their fond looks and way of talking implied that there was more than pure friendship going on between them.

When they saw each other in the morning, they embraced like friends did. When they sat in their quiet spot in the school yard, they held hands for the entire break and sometimes rested their heads on the other’s shoulder. When they were about to return to their classes, they shared a brief kiss when nobody was around. On their way home, they walked close enough for their arms to touch. Before going inside their houses, they hugged and squeezed each other's hand.

All this subtle affection didn’t mean the initial awkwardness had disappeared. In fact, they were still nervous about every light touch, even if they had been holding hands during breaks each day for two weeks. They weren't used to it and scared of doing something wrong, which increased proportionally with their growing feelings for each other.

As if a crush on his best friend wasn't enough, Pete was having confusing thoughts about his own gender and after John had confessed his love for him, he felt slightly more confident in his wish to experiment with his appearance.

John could have basically any girl he wanted, yet he wanted Pete, and that boosted his self-esteem. At times, he still felt a little weird about it because in his eyes, John was way ahead of him and he often had the image of the John he had first met in the back of his mind. He had already looked like a young man when Pete would remain a little boy for a few more years. Of course, that was not the problem as their age difference was only seven months. Objectively, there wasn't any problem.

He didn't consider himself attractive, but women and girls wore makeup to enhance nice features too, so it only made sense for him to try the same. Not too much, only a little to see how he could look prettier without overdoing it and risking being called slurs.

Besides that, presenting feminine was practically impossible wearing his school uniform, but he did start to put on a layer of mascara occasionally. The difference was very subtle as he already had dark eyelashes, so unless you got close to him, you would barely notice, while he still felt girlier and even cute.

An additional motivation was to doll himself up for John, especially today when he was coming over for the first time since that special school break. He decided to put on two more layers of mascara than usual along with some eyeliner and just a little bit of his mum’s red lipstick, which he applied with his fingertip to tint his lips enough not to look pale but not so bright that he would look like a clown.

Then, the doorbell rang and Pete rushed to open the door, excited to see John again, even if they had just met at school the day prior. John's eyes went straight to Pete's lips and he smiled as he was let in.

Neither of them knew how to greet each other yet, especially in public, but behind closed doors, Pete felt like he could hug his friend tighter and longer – or rather boyfriend now. He was still getting used to it despite never referring to him as more than his best friend when talking to anyone else. John wrapped his arms around Pete, still nervous but less now that they were not around other people.

However, he was here to rehearse, so Pete pulled away and led him to his room, loosely holding John’s hand as he did. Not because he needed guidance as he had been at the Townshends’ flat many times before, but because Pete liked showing affection, which they couldn't do freely when outside.

They practiced together as normal, with the usual reassurance from John that Pete had talent when he got frustrated over not playing something the way he had imagined.

“Thank you,” he murmured, looking down at his guitar to fiddle with the tuning.

Sitting beside him, John had the chance to catch a proper glimpse at Pete's makeup. His eyelashes appeared fuller and longer like the legs of a spider and his dark pink tinted lips made him look even cuter than John had already thought he was.

“You're so pretty,” he remarked quietly, knees touching again.

Pete slowly looked up, blinking. “You think so?”

The older boy nodded. “The mascara brings out your eyes.”

John was too nervous to mention the lipstick despite that being the detail that made his heart race. He wanted to kiss him so badly and perhaps have Pete leave a faint stain on his lips too.

“You should wear makeup more often,” he added sheepishly, gaze still not moving away from his lips.

Before Pete could respond in any way, John pressed a gentle kiss to his mouth, his hand resting on Pete's thigh. He quickly returned the kiss, first not knowing what to do with his hands until he started playing with John’s hair at the nape of his neck. Normally, John hated people touching his hair, but he soon figured out Pete was the exception. He wanted to melt into him but feared he would be moving too fast, so he pulled away with a smile.

Pete reached out to lightly drag his thumb over John's lips, chuckling. “Rubbed off a little.”

“Sharing is caring,” John smirked, Pete's touch giving him a tingling feeling on his skin.

After sharing a lingering look, they looked away nervously and picked up their instruments again. John cleared his throat and suggested the next song.

The way their playing complemented each other was indicative of their relationship. While they concentrated to impress each other and thankfully played louder than their pounding hearts, the air was full of adoration and both of them silently waited for the other to take another break so they could kiss again or find some excuse to touch each other.

It had gotten late and honestly, John didn't want to leave yet. As Pete often slept over at his place when everything became too much or he just didn't feel like going home the same day, Pete offered John to stay the night.

During those overnight visits, they always shared a bed. John's family's house didn't have a guest room and even if it had, he would have preferred to be in his friend's own room either way. Despite Pete initially planning to sleep on the rug next to the bed, John had insisted on a more comfortable sleeping space and since then it had been the most natural thing in the world for them to sleep in the same bed.

Of course, it had always been purely platonic. They hadn't cuddled – most of the time at least, although they had sometimes woken up snuggled up to each other, especially on colder nights – and neither had they felt weird about sharing his bed.

Tonight, however, a certain sense of awkwardness hung in the air as they got ready for bed. It was clear that they were going to sleep together in Pete's bed as well, but both of them felt nervous for reasons they didn't understand. If anything, them being in a relationship now should make it less strange. Otherwise, nothing had changed. There were no expectations to be met, all they had to do was go to sleep the same way they had done since early into their friendship.

Eventually, they climbed into bed one after the other, John lying on his right side and Pete close behind him as his rather small bed didn't allow for much physical distance. Before they would fall asleep, he urgently needed to say something.

“John?”

Hearing Pete say his name suddenly made him feel warm inside. He must have said it a thousand times before, but only now he couldn't contain his joy upon the sound of his name rolling off Pete's lips.

John turned around to face him. “Yes?”

“I love you,” he said softly, for the first time in this context, maybe even for the first time to him in general.

He flashed him the same crooked grin that Pete was weak for. Paired with the blush creeping up on his cheeks and his half-lidded eyes that had softened with tiredness, it was enough to confirm that what he had just said was the truth.

Yawning, John brushed some hair out of Pete's eyes and kissed his nose. His hand moved down his cheek and then found his boyfriend's hand, who smiled shyly and rolled over. John was still holding his hand over the boy's shoulder, whispering, “Good night, Pete.”

#mel writes #the who #pete townshend #john entwistle #musician #ship #fluff #one shot #pete townshend x john entwistle #john entwistle x pete townshend #towntwistle #towntwistle fic #the who fic #2025

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repotting · 7 months ago

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people who don't normally read sci fi have such bad taste in sci fi 😭

#which makes sense because they're there despite having no attraction to what makes sci fi sci fi #but it's funny because they're always so excited to give their recommendation #and it's always like. ready player one or bobiverse or the locked tomb or something else horrendously tacky #like it's either awful marvel style quipping or something painfully twee that thinks it's deeper than it is a la Becky Chambers #and you have to try to be nice while they rave about some of the worst writing a mainstream publisher has put out #that only counts as “sci fi” bc it's in space or whatever #the other option is they like some military shit linked to a video game about how some genocide is necessary #don't get me wrong I read mostly bad sci fi and I'm aware good sci fi is rare #but it's like you had taco bell exactly once and someone's like 'any good Mexican restaurant recs in this town?'#and you just HAVE to respond with how good your dorito taco was and it's the best Mexican food #and in this scenario you don't even know enough to say “hear me out” you don't know other restaurants even exist like it's never occurred #to you to look and after that one dorito Taco you never had any interest in having Mexican food ever again #and yet. if someone is talking about Mexican food you just have to bring up you ate a Dorito taco one time and everyone should have one #how it's the best Mexican food in the world #also tumblr stop saying books are good just cuz there are lgbt people in them challenge #one time i asked for ppls fav sci fi nobody's heard of and fully half the replies were Becky fucking Chambers btw

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crossbackpoke-check · 3 months ago

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I just need you to know I was reading your tags on the Sillinger/Fantilli Deadpool/Wolverine gifset going "YES THE EYE CONTACT! AND COLE'S WHOLE FACE JOURNEY! AND *OH MY GOD* ADAM'S HAND ALMOST BUT NOT GRIPPING AT COLE'S BICEP" like that near grip Adam took had me fainting like a fucking Victorian era man who saw a woman's bare ankles like W.H.A.T.

I neeeeed to write them omg.

ANON. ANON!!!! please. write them!!!!! and send me a link if/when you do 😇 i’ll prepare my fainting couch (the floor)

#shout out to the columbus blues org for last year deciding they were going to pair up adam and cole for all their nhl (???) playoff media #we really. i still have the world’s worst powerpoint presented by adam and cole in my drafts somewhere and i can’t post it #bc i wanted to make a fake PowerPoint to put on the screen as a joke & it was funny but i didn’t write it down before I went to bed so :/#liv in the replies #also like. what was up w/that nhl?? why them 😭 not complaining just so confused. adam hype wasn’t at its peak NOR was tate mcrae revenge #so they really were like. Hmmm. I like these two little freaks. this one is well-trained. let’s use him #like do you ever think about the blessing that the UMich social girlies bestow on nhl media teams by training all of these men so well.#they do not skip a SINGLE question they will be bullied into it they will give you an answer even if it’s stupid god bless.#adam fantilli #cole sillinger #columbus blue jackets #i REFUSE to admit defeat at the hands of the umich boys #worm. worm. WORM!!!#as we all know i don’t have the slightest idea who cole sillinger is irl but i DO want him to be involved with his teammates.#love thy goalie love thy stunning star prospect… OHHHHH NARRATIVE UNLOCKED OH NOOOOO COLE KNOWS HE’S NOT THAT GOOD SO HE TAKES CARE OF #EVERYONE ELSEEEEEE OH NOOOOOO this message brought to you a) by my elvis merzlikins agenda at all time so that whole sentence but b) by me #mid-realization trying to be like Cole’s not like. bad right you can’t say this but then remembering everyone pulling out his stats to do #him dirty while the whole tate mcrae breakup/release of details was going down and i was like oh actually. like he could be. ALSO on that #note which was so messy i do have to say that news was a shock bc i knew cole sillinger from years prior when everyone held him up like a #bug they pulled from under a rock like who is THIS after he sat front row at fashion week to support his gf so. the threads of this ALSO #come from the initial vision of ‘damn isn’t this a nice one?? a nice hockey??? like lmfaoooo you guys he’s the wag and loves it’) but. this #is also my failing as a storyteller that I love this and will put it in everything but. service kink accommodating for others to give what #he thinks he can’t to allow them to be better. also just. i watched him clean adam fantilli’s floors you can’t go up from that. ANYWAY

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joelsgoldrush · 6 months ago

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“guilty pleasure” | 8.6k

worst!logan howlett x f!reader

SUMMARY: After saving Earth-10005 from impending disaster, Wade convinces Logan, the alcoholic and easily irritated mutant, to stick around for a while. He’s convinced that nothing good can come out of this experience, until he meets you: the charming bartender with a soft spot for swearing that matches his own. Suddenly, sticking around doesn’t seem so bad after all.

WARNINGS/TAGS: mdni - smut 18+ fluff. drinking. dirty talk. slow-burnish. grumpy!logan x sunshine!reader. reader is really kind but cracks a lot of jokes. age gap (25 vs 200 - they’re basically the same age). oral sex (f receiving). fingering. finger sucking. soft dom!logan. wade being the funniest asshole. logan calls reader "kiddo/kid”.

A/N: HI! first of all, i'd like to thank you for all the support you showed me on my recent post. let me just tell you that i’m LOVING writing for logan. but none of this would be possible without YOU, so yeah, i fucking love y’all.

** regarding this story, i was planning on making it even longer, but writing these two has been so much fun, and i didn’t want it to end just like that (i have attachment issues as you may infer from this note). therefore, i’ve made the decision to write a second part to this fic, which will contain fluff and other stuff (you already know the drill). i don’t know when i’ll be posting it, but i’m sure it won’t take me that long.

*** i’m also working on other one shots (purely fluff/domesticity because i want this man to cradle me in his arms). anyway, i don’t know if anyone’s going to read this, but still, all I have to say is THANK YOU FOR READING MY WORKS! i hope you really like this silly story i made up :)

**** english is not my first language so if you come across any mistakes don’t hesitate to tell me :)

special recognition to @zloshy who allowed me to rant about my own fic 😭 the sweetest human ever

The bar is far from packed, but then again, it never truly is.

Studying your regulars has become your favorite hobby. Soon you end up knowing their names, the drinks they like, and what time they come through the door. It’s what happens when standing on your own two feet and refilling glasses lose all their charm. A part of you thinks you also do it to make them feel safe. No matter how much you try to deny it, you truly care about their well-being.

Is this your dream job? Nope. Definitely not. You’re pretty sure that holding some stranger’s hair while they empty their insides wasn’t on your bingo card for this year. But sadly money doesn’t grow on trees, and university isn’t going to pay itself. Plus, this was the only job in which your resume was not immediately rejected. It should also be stressed that the drunks happen to love you.

Perhaps this isn’t the life you had always imagined for yourself, but you were getting closer to it. You’d often talk to Adam, a retired psychologist in his seventies. He was without a doubt one of the most loyal clients you’d ever encountered. In the past, he’d even given you free advice on some of your failed hookups. You once told him that in less than two years, you’d be just like him when you got your degree in Psychology. To your surprise, he replied: “You’ll be much better than me, doll. I’m a mess, can’t you see it? You don’t wanna be like me,” his voice was hardly above a whisper as he continued. “I should be at my daughter’s birthday right now, but I didn’t get an invitation this year. Believe me, you don’t want to end up like this old man.”

Like Adam, most of the men who frequented the bar day-to-day saw it as an opportunity to hide within the shadows. In comparison to the other pubs in the area, the one you work at doesn’t receive that much attention from the general public. A dimly lit place where only music from the 80s is allowed. You’re certain that if a health inspector ever came down here, you’d be in serious problems. But hey, you know what they say: do not worry about tomorrow; instead, live in the now.

The atmosphere of the bar shifts dramatically as the main door slams shut with a resounding thud, pulling you abruptly out of your daydreaming. You turn to see who’s arrived, but as soon as your eyes meet his, you’re compelled to look away. Nevertheless, the brief glance you catch of the stranger’s features is enough for you to unlock your phone and send a quick text to your best friend.

You:

cutie patootie alert

there’s this really handsome guy at the bar

i don’t think i’ve ever seen him before

i think i’m in love with him

my night just got a 100% better

Allison:

age

what does he look like

is he bald?

You:

he looks like he could be in his early fifties??? it’s hard to tell UGH i wish you were here

brown hair, beard, 6’2 if i’m not wrong

i didn’t stare at him for too long

otherwise that would’ve been very weird

and no he’s not fucking bald

that happened only once and i was not aware of that gentleman’s lack of hair

Allison:

so you’re dating retired now

get it grandma!

You:

oh fuck you allison

Allison:

it’s okay girl we all have our flaws

just make sure it’s nobody’s father

wait it’s not mine right?

You:

nah your dad’s way hotter don’t you worry about it

Allison:

bitch

Even with the music blasting through the speakers that are attached to the ceiling, you can still hear the low murmur and the whispers. The mysterious stranger seems to have attracted the attention of the other patrons, some of whom have even raised their phones to take photos. Your eyebrows draw together. Why would they do something like this, approaching the man as if he were a celebrity? Since curiosity never fails to kill the cat, you decide to get involved.

“Do I have somethin’ on my face?” you hear him ask the crowd, his raspy voice making your knees wobbly. He sounds enraged. You step on your tiptoes, trying to see what all the fuss is about, albeit it’s pretty hard considering how these men are caging him with their bodies.

The glow of a phone’s flashlight catches your attention, and suddenly, a chair is dragged without much elegance. “Enough of that, y’hear me?”

Enter you now. “Okay, gentlemen, I’m sorry. I’m gonna need you to make some space for me, alright?” you mumble as you gently push them aside. “Thank you, thank you. Y’all can be real sweethearts when you put your minds to it.”

Then you spot him, and it becomes clear why everyone is making such a fuss.

Gary, your worst client ever, steps forward. His nasty breath clouds your senses as he rests one of his sweaty hands on your shoulder. “Doll, it’s the fucking Wolverine. Don’t ask him for a picture, though. He doesn’t seem to be in the mood for that.”

The last thing you needed to see today was a fight (despite your knowledge of who would be the winner). You locate yourself amidst them, shaking your head like a disappointed mother, so as to add a tiny bit of drama to the situation.

“Guys, what you’re doing here is completely inappropriate. I thought I’d taught you better. Imagine if I were to pull this crap on you. You wouldn’t have it.”

Adam presses his lips together, flushing a bit. “She does have a point.”

“Thank you, peanut. You’re still my favorite,” you flash him an honest smile. Scrutinizing the rest of the men, you continue with your speech. “You can still make up for it and fill my tip jar all the way to the top. Deal?” they all scoff, barking their disagreement. “Oh, you don’t like the sound of that? Then leave him alone, okay? Class dismissed! Back to your places,” you clap your hands repeatedly, signaling them to go away. “Chop chop. All this alcohol won’t be drinking itself.”

Just like that, everything goes back to normal in the blink of an eye. Wolverine sits back down in his chair, leaning closer to the table and resting both elbows on it. He examines you, lifting his chin while his brown eyes take in every inch of you.

“Thank you,” he utters, his eyes still trained on your features.

“No need to. It’s what I’m here for,” you point to your work clothes, which consist of an antiqued apron and a silly sticker that has your name written on it. “Can I get you anything to drink? It’s also Burger Night. You can get one for half the usual price.”

(No. It’s not fucking Burger Night. You just happen to find yourself deeply attracted to him.)

He doesn’t seem too eager to hear you talk. “Not hungry at the moment. But I could use some whiskey.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, kid. Very sure.” Well, now he does look annoyed.

“Great. I’ll be back in a minute,” you move as if you were in a race, returning to him after a hot minute. Setting his glass down on the table, you fill it with some old whiskey you don’t even know the name of. Still, he omits that detail, gulping down two-fingers of whiskey as if it were water. “I see you’re thirsty.”

“Could you leave the bottle here?” those brown puppy eyes are begging you to do as he says, and although you’d be happy to oblige, rules are rules.

“Actually, I can’t. The bottle stays on the counter. But you can always join me at the front,” your proposal doesn’t appear to have the desired effect on him. “I won’t talk to you if that’s what you want.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” he rubs his neck, drawing a long breath as he stands up.

You can feel many pairs of eyes searing into your soul. The others ask you for more drinks and you pour them, pricking up your ears when you hear them talking about him.

“What a weirdo. Didn’t you see it on TV? He’s not even from this universe,” Gary explains, looking for accomplices to hate on Wolverine. “Let me tell y’all something: he shouldn’t even be here. He’s fucking dead on this earth.”

Yeah… that you knew.

It had been all over the news for weeks. Some would even swear that he was back from the dead, but that was until the representatives from the TVA spoke their truth. If someone would’ve told you a month ago that multiple universes were a thing, you would’ve laughed in their face.

As if that weren’t already difficult to process, your mind does the job of reminding you that there’s a man with metal claws sitting a few meters away from you. Despite that, you can’t seem to be scared of him. There’s something magnetic about his personality and that don’t-come-near-me-or-there-will-be-consequences expression that he has. Why had you promised not to speak to him? Dammit.

“I can hear your thoughts,” a muscle in his jaw twitches after knocking back another glass of whiskey. He squeezes his eyes shut before tapping the table with two fingers, silently asking for a refill.

“I thought you didn’t want me to talk,” you raise one of your eyebrows, and you behold how the corners of his mouth turn up for an instant. “I can assure you your liver hates you.”

“Alcohol won’t kill me, so don’t be afraid. Keep ‘em coming.”

For nearly twenty minutes, he does nothing but drink. He attempts to light a cigar at some point, and you stop him. “You can’t smoke in here.”

“No special treatment?” he inquires, placing the cigar between his parted lips and tilting his head back. He’s so… dreamy. He has to know it.

“I saved your ass today. The least you can do is not cause me any trouble.”

His eyes widen at your words, blinking owlishly. “You saved my what?”

“Your goddamn ass. You were about to start a fight.”

“Blame the idiots you have for clients,” he says, jerking his thumb toward your direction. “I was just mindin’ my own business. They came for me, not the other way around.”

“Look, Wolvie. I–”

“Wolvie?” giving a bitter laugh, he rams a hand through his hair. “That’s the worst nickname I’ve heard in a long time,” he looks at you through his lashes, getting rid of his leather jacket. “It’s Logan.”

“Wow. Your name is very boybandish.”

You succeed in making him laugh once again. It’s the perfect opportunity for you to observe his face without feeling like you were just about to get caught. He has deep creases and worry lines etched between his eyebrows, a brown beard that perfectly frames his jaw, and a few white hairs scattered in his sideburns. Pearly teeth that go hand in hand with one of the most impeccable smiles you’ve ever seen, and a pair of brown eyes that make you feel weak in the knees. You know for a fact that he’s a lot older than you; his exact age remains a mystery, but his appearance is enough for you to start fantasizing.

Shit, you want him. You should feel sickened by the mere thought of being with him. He was born God knows when, has lived hundreds of years. Still, the idea of tracing his cheekbones with your fingers while lying on his chest doesn’t leave you. This is fucked up. You are fucked up. A fucked up Psychology student. The joke is pretty much self-explanatory.

“So this is where you’ve been hiding, you preening slut. Can’t even bother to answer my calls now?”

The tension between you shatters like a glass dropped onto the floor. He doesn’t dare to look in the direction of the owner of that voice, not even as the seat next to him gets taken. He pinches the bridge of his nose in frustration. “Wade, what the hell are you doin’ here?”

“It hasn’t been exactly easy, raising our kid on my own. I don’t even have money to hire a babysitter, Lo. I spent nine months carrying your child, and for what? You end up going after a bartender,” the masked man turns to you, giving a sly wink. “No offense, baby. You must be a real sweetheart. In fact, do you want my number? The name’s Wade, but you can call me whatever you like.”

“You dumb fuck. Are you flirtin’ with her?”

“No shit, smartass. You’re the future of this country.”

A soft giggle escapes you despite your attempt to hold it back. You take a step back, admiring the two men. “Well, aren’t you two a beautiful couple?”

“You should see our little munchkin. He’s got my eyes and Logan’s hair. His first word was gubernatorial.”

“Would you like to have a drink while you’re here?”

“A beer would be great. Thank you, sugarbear. You’re the cutest,” Wade sinks back into his chair, resting his chin on his palm. He jerks his head in Logan’s direction, bumping his shoulder. “She’s the cutest. Are you two together?”

Logan rubs his forehead, speaking through gritted teeth. “How did you find me?”

“It's the power of love, baby. I had It’s All Coming Back To Me Now on repeat for hours. Couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

Handing Wade a cold beer, your eyes scan Logan’s face. “I didn’t know patience was your strongest suit.”

“Me neither.”

“Enough of that! I can’t stand not being included in a conversation,” Wade throws his hands in the air, and you look at him. “There you are. So, what about you? Are you even allowed to be here? Did bars change their policies?”

You can’t help but snort. “I’m 25.”

Wade looms closer, lowering his voice. “Now that I think about it, you could totally be Logan’s caretaker. He’s been having some issues recently, given his age. Do you… know anything about adult diapers?”

But then Logan’s face contorts, turning crimson. He rises from his seat, grabbing Wade’s arm. “That’s it. We’re leavin’,” his eyes lock on you for a moment. “How much do I owe you?”

“Don’t worry about it. It’s on the house.”

The things you’re willing to do for a man, right? You should be ashamed of yourself.

(But you aren’t.)

His mouth hangs open in disbelief. “Kiddo, are you–”

“Completely sure,” you finish his sentence for him, bowing your head and clasping your arms behind your body. A tight-lipped smile takes over you. “Just don’t tell my boss.”

Wade shifts his gaze back and forth between Logan and you. “I usually don’t mind third-wheeling, but I sort of feel left out.”

“I’m gonna sew your mouth shut, Wade.”

“Oh, come on! I was just making small talk,” the masked man tries to excuse himself while Logan pushes him towards the door. “It was a pleasure meeting you, sunshine. I’m free on Thursdays. Hit me up if his whiskey dick fails to impress you! Mine’s way more agile and young!”

As you watch them leave the bar, you remain frozen in your place amidst the clamor of ongoing chatter and clinking glasses.

What the fuck had just happened?

“Patrick’s normally the first one to get wasted during weekends,” you explain to the blonde woman sitting in front of you, and she writes that information down in her notebook. “He can usually handle himself, but at some point, he’ll try to call his ex-wife, and that’s when you know you need to stop serving him.”

She clicks her tongue, the color draining out of her face. “This is… definitely a lot to remember. I think I already forgot half of what you said.”

You shake your head, shoving your hands in your pockets. “You’ll get used to it, believe me. I’ll be with you at all times, so if you have any doubts, just ask me.”

After a whole year of working solo at the bar, you finally get to have a coworker: Gwen, a mother of two teenagers in her forties. You had met her at the grocery store, and in the process of helping her find a specific brand of cookies, you found out that she had recently lost her job. One thing led to another, and now she’s your trainee.

Your savior complex strikes again!

It has been four days since your first encounter with Logan. The thought that he could show up at any moment makes your heart race and your hands sweat. Allison had received countless voice messages where you narrated the entire experience in full detail.

Touching your arm softly, Gwen’s face lights up. “Another man came in. Is he a regular? I don’t think you told me about him.”

Fuck, it’s him. Manifesting does work wonders. He locks eyes with you and raises a hand in greeting.

“Leave this one to me,” you tell her as your feet take you to where Logan’s sitting, contemplating the way in which his leather jacket hugs his wide frame. “Long time no see.”

“Hey, kid,” he grins. “What’s up?”

“Nothing much. Nobody has puked yet, so that’s a good thing,” you crinkle your nose, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. “Whiskey?”

“You know me so well,” a smirk takes place in his lips, and he smiles cockily. “Though this time, I won’t be leavin’ without payin’.”

“We’ll see about that,” you go back to your usual spot behind the counter, looking for a glass. Your cheeks kind of hurt from smiling so hard. Next to you, Gwen studies your reaction to seeing Logan. “Is that your boyfriend?”

You almost drop the whiskey bottle. “God, no. He’s not my boyfriend. Barely know the guy.”

“It’s funny,” she says, raising her eyebrows with a knowing look, as if she knows something you don’t. “He hasn’t stopped looking at you since he arrived.”

“It’s probably because of this,” you reply, lifting the bottle in her direction before pouring a small amount into a glass. Just as you’re about to walk over to him, a girl slides into the sit beside him, her long blonde hair swept up in a ponytail. She’s wearing a stunning red dress and black heels. You wonder if she’s a model, because she certainly looks like one.

Her hand creeps up his arm, fingernails scraping against the worn leather. Although Logan’s expression is hard to read, he doesn’t even flinch.

“You know what? Here’s his drink– You take care of it. I’ll stay here,” you don’t give Gwen a chance to talk back, instead staying behind the bar, engaging in small talk with other clients.

“Doll, are you okay?” Adam asks you after noticing you struggling to open a beer bottle. He takes it from your hands and opens it with ease. “There you go.”

“Thank you, Adam. I’m fine, never been better. Why you ask?

“You sure?”

“Affirmative.”

“You mixed up our drinks,” he explains in his most psychologist-like voice. “This never happens to you. Michael has my wine, and I’ve got his martini.”

“Fuck! I’m so sorry. I just— I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” you chew on your bottom lip, rubbing your temples. “I feel stupid.”

“Oh, please. Don’t say that. You’re far from being stupid,” he sits up straight, reaching for your fingers and giving them an apologetic squeeze. “If you ask me, I think you’ve got your mind on someone else,” he must notice how you visibly get tense because he adds: “Remember: I know when you’re lying. You didn’t charge him the other day, which means that you must really like him,” taking a tentative sip of the martini he didn’t even ordered, Adam shrugs. “I’m a great observer. That’s all.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you see the blonde girl from before returning to where her friends are chatting. Logan is left alone, and you watch him grab his glass and head towards the counter.

“As I said, your mind’s somewhere else,” Adam sighs, a tiny smirk tugging at his lips. “Go get your man. I’ll survive.”

“Not my man. But thanks, older-and-wiser-version-of-cupid.”

Pretending not to have seen Logan, you continue with your work. He remains silent for some minutes before finally saying: “Hi.”

Hi? It sounds so out of character for him.

“Hey, claws,” you force a smile, still avoiding to meet his gaze. “Do you need anything?”

Logan points to his empty glass, like a toddler asking for more cereal. “I also wanted to talk to you.”

“I thought you were busy over there,” you say, surprisingly managing to sound nonchalant, despite the jealousy bubbling underneath your friendly tone. “Did you get her number?”

“What? No.”

“Why not? She’s cute.”

Yeah, maybe you don’t sound as collected as you think.

Whether Logan notices it or not, he chooses not to mention it. He folds his arms over his chest, fixing his brown eyes on you. “I’m not interested.”

“And what is it that interests you, champ?” your question elicits a low chuckle from him. Just as he opens his mouth to seemingly reply, Gwen appears out of nowhere to ask you about the price of a certain drink. Your gaze shifts between her and Logan, who remains focused on you while sipping his drink.

After that, Gwen leaves. The man in front of you goes poker-faced, pursing his lips, and his abrupt change in demeanor alarms you. “Wade wants to have dinner tomorrow at his apartment– well, our apartment. I live with him now. It’s complicated,” he adds with a dismissive wave of his hand, and you laugh. “Anyway, he asked me to tell you that you’re invited. I know we don’t know each other that much, but… he said you seem like someone worth havin’ around,” he mumbles awkwardly, eyes downcast. “I think the same as well.”

You could die at peace.

“You’re a lucky fucker because I don’t work on Sundays,” you quip, smiling. “I’d be more than happy to attend your feast.”

“Great. I thought you would turn down the invitation.”

“Now why would you think that?”

“‘Cause you barely know me– us,” he corrects himself rapidly. “Plus, Wade’s annoying as hell when he puts his mind to it. You’ll see.”

“Marital problems?” he actually in response. “I’ll take that as a ‘yes’. Oh, I’ll bring the dessert.”

“You don’t have to.”

“But I do want to,” you tilt your head in an effort to hide your longing for him.

“Just want to get under my skin, huh? I can see why Wade likes you,” Logan beams, reaching out to tuck a $100 bill into the pocket of your apron. “The tip’s included.”

“I don’t know how things work in your universe, but you’re giving me way more money than you’re supposed to. I can't accept this.”

“Oh, but you will,” his gravelly voice fucks your system up, and you’re glad he can’t see how you squeeze your legs together behind the bar.

He writes down Wade’s address on a random napkin, holding his breath as he stands up. “I should get goin’. See you tomorrow then.”

Before he walks out the door, you stop him. “Logan? You didn’t answer my other question.”

His back shakes momentarily with laughter. Turning around to face you, his stare leaves you even more confused. “Good night, doll.”

This is becoming a habit: every time he goes away, you feel as though you’ve just run a marathon with no water available. Your mouth is completely dry, your fingers are numb and there’s a knot in your stomach that’s becoming all too familiar.

“Would you mind telling me where you got him?” Gwen’s voice makes you almost jump out of your skin.

“He’s not from around here. I think he’s Canadian.”

You’ve got this. You’ve got this. You’ve got this.

Knocking softly on Wade’s door, you step back, the container holding the tiramisu cold to your touch. It’s your first time trying out this recipe, so you’re expecting it to at least not taste like shit.

Wade answers the apartment door, acting surprised when you remain silent. “Well, look what the wind blew in: if it isn’t my husband’s lover. How dare you? We’re still going to couples therapy.”

You show him the container, and he squints at it. “Tiramisu. You want it or not?”

“I hate twenty-somethings,” he says with a defeated sigh, stepping aside to let you into the apartment.

Leaving your purse on the nearest surface, you scan the living room, wondering where Logan might be. There’s a small mirror beneath the couch, and you check yourself for the hundredth time tonight. “Don’t get too excited. He’s still showering,” Wade’s voice rings in your ears, and you turn to look at him, your eyebrows knitted. “Yeah. I noticed. You’re already drooling over that big piece of metal between his legs.”

“Keep quiet!” you cover his mouth with your palm, noticing the scarred state of his skin up close. “Wade, you fucking dog. Are you licking my hand?”

“Couldn’t help it. You taste like mascarpone cheese and espresso.”

Then Logan emerges from the bathroom, with only a white towel draped around his waist. Droplets of water fall from his wet hair, tracing the muscle of his abs, ending somewhere beneath his happy trail. Your eyes keep flickering between him and his torso until he clears his throat. “I thought you were comin’ later.”

“Me too, but I…,” you trail off, your brain struggling to catch up, “I didn’t know what else to do at my place.”

“It’s fine. Just– let me put on some clothes.”

“Please don’t,” Wade murmurs next to you, but Logan only scoffs. “I was just being honest. Communication is key.”

When Wade and you are alone again, he lets out a harsh breath. “That was probably the hottest thing I’ve ever seen. My pants are really tight right now.”

“Thin walls, buddy!” Logan shouts from his bedroom, earning a laugh from you.

Like A Prayer starts playing. Wade moves his hips to the beat, getting lost in the melody. “Is that your phone?”

“Yeah, but I always take a few seconds to dance to it. Such a banger!” he says, then picks up his phone, accepting the call. “Hey, Ness! What´s up?” Wade covers the speaker before telling you: “It’s Vanessa. My ex-girlfriend. We fuck once a week, sometimes even twice.”

From behind, Logan nudges your arm with his, looking at you. ”Hey, kid.”

“No, I’m not busy at all,” Wade exclaims, grabbing his crotch and thrusting into the air. “I’ll be there in ten, cupcake. See you,” he spreads his arms wide and whistles. “Someone’s getting laid tonight!”

“You made me come all the way here… and now you’re leaving?”

“What? My friend Wolverine wanted to invite you over. I just had to provide the apartment,” in one quick movement, he presses a kiss to your cheek, then does the same to Logan. “Shave yourself, will you?”

“Go fuck yourself, will you?”

“Love you too, honey. Hope you two lovebirds have a good night, because I know I will!”

Wade throws a wink over his shoulder before heading out, the apartment going dead silent. Logan and you stand frozen, staring at each other, although he quickly drops his gaze, unable to maintain eye contact. A giggle threatens to escape you: he wanted to see you. Could he possibly enjoy your company as much as you enjoy his?

Logan watches the spot where Wave had just been. The absence of his chaotic energy makes the room feel strangely empty now. He coughs lightly, the sound awkwardly loud in the quiet room.

“So... I, uh, bought pizza,” he says, his voice a little too casual, as if trying to cover up his nervousness. Averting his eyes, he focuses on the pizza boxes on the table.

You catch the hesitation in his tone, your curiosity piqued by his discomfort. Tilting your head, a teasing smile forms on your lips. “Pizza, huh? You sure know how to impress a girl.”

Logan chuckles, the sound strained, as he scratches the back of his neck. “Yeah, well, I figured it was a safe choice. Didn’t want to ruin it, y’know?”

You move closer to the table, the warmth from the pizza boxes radiating against your hands as you open one of them. The rich smell of melted cheese and pepperoni fills the air, a comforting scent that makes your stomach growl softly. “Thank you. I’m a big fan of pizza.”

He sits in the chair across from you, taking a bite of his slice. You watch him quietly, your own thoughts churning. The truth of his origins had been a shock at first, but now, it just made you want to know more about the man. What was his life like in the other universe? Did he miss it? Was he happier here, or was he longing to return?

“Logan…,” you begin, your tone gentle but probing, “Can I ask you something?”

He glances up at you, eyes widening. There’s something in your eyes –an understanding, maybe– that makes him feel like you could see right through him.

“Sure,” he replies, trying to sound more at ease than he really feels. “Ask away.”

You hesitate for a moment, not wanting to push too hard. “I was wondering... would it be okay if I asked you some questions? About, you know, your life. Where you're from.”

The bite of pizza suddenly feels heavy in his mouth. He hadn’t talked much about his world, not even with Wade. Partly because it was too painful, and partly because he wasn’t sure how to explain how things turned out for him. He nods slowly, setting his slice down. “Yeah, it's okay. I’ll answer what I can.”

“I just... I want to understand you better.”

“Well, first and foremost, I’m no hero. You should know that by now.”

“I beg to differ.”

“Kid, I’m the worst Logan. A complete failure. Of all the variants out there, Wade just had to pick the one despised by every living soul on his earth,” Logan looks away, his voice low and heavy. You’re wondering if doing this was a good idea. “I need a drink.”

He gets up and you follow him into the kitchen. He rummages through the fridge, in search of a cold beer. Meanwhile, you attempt to find the right words. “I don’t think–”

With a sharp flick of his wrist, three metal claws sprout from between his knuckles. A gasp catches in your throat as he uses his claws to pierce the beer can, drinking from the punctured holes. Once he’s done, he goes back to staring at you. Your gaze, on the other hand, is still glued to the now-empty beer can. “What?” he asks, exhaling slowly.

“That was completely unnecessary,” you mutter, and he lets out a bitter chuckle, tossing the can into the trash. “But, back to what you said before– I don’t think you’re the worst Logan.”

“You didn’t know me back then, darlin’. I fucked it up,” he leans against the counter, arms crossed defensively over his chest. “Like the Logan from this universe, I once belonged to the X-Men too. I remember that Scott used to beg me to wear my suit. So did Jean, Storm, Beast– All of them,” his gaze grows more distant, and you can tell that memories are flooding his mind. “Wanted me to be part of the team, but I wouldn’t do it. Told them they looked fucking ridiculous.”

The pizza’s long forgotten. You take the risk and get a bit closer to him, your eyes never leaving his.

Logan’s silence stretches for a moment before he speaks again. “One day, while I was off on my own, the humans came. They went mutant hunting.”

Your heart clenches at the pain in his voice. He still remembers everything as if it had happened yesterday. “I can guess the rest. You don’t have to–”

But he cuts you off. “No, let me say it. I need to say it,” he takes a deep breath, lowering his head. “By the time I stumbled home, shit-faced from the bar, it was too late. They were dead. They called after me and I walked away.”

Reaching out, your hand gently brushes against his. He doesn’t pull away, but instead searches for your eyes. “My suit's all I've got to remind me of who they were. What I did. I found them and they were… dead. I started killing, and I couldn’t stop. I didn’t want to stop. I turned the whole world against the X-Men.”

You tighten your grip on his hand, knowing there’s nothing you can do to change how he feels. “You’re not a bad person, Logan,” he shakes his head, mumbling something you can’t quite catch. “I mean it. What happened back then doesn’t define you. You took the blame for their deaths upon yourself. I can tell you loved them deeply, and I’ll never fully understand the pain you feel. I wish I could. I wish I could take it away, make you forget somehow, but I can’t. That’s not how life works. But you got your second chance: you saved this world. My world,” gently cupping his face in your hands, you allow your fingers to caress his cheeks. He leans into your touch, watching you with half-lidded eyes. “You’re my hero. I’m your biggest fan– after Wade, obviously, which is a lot to say.”

He grins, letting out a laugh. “Easy there, bub.”

“Should I give you some space?”

That’s the last thing he wants from you right now. You already know that as he looks you up and down, placing his hands on the small of your back, his thumbs drawing small circles on your skin. There’s no turning back– The warmth between you feels almost like a fever dream. “For a long time, all I wanted was to disappear. I couldn’t stand waking up every morning, knowing that another day awaited me.”

“And what happened?” your breath mingles with his, his closeness becoming nearly intoxicating. “What changed?”

“I met a pretty girl at a pub, that’s what happened,” he murmurs, his dilated pupils flicking up to meet your gaze. “I’m gonna kiss you now.”

“Do all your kisses come with a warning?”

“God, do you ever shut up?”

You don’t have time to respond because he kisses you there and then. His stubble scrapes your skin as your mouths meet again and again, needy hands that hold you as if you were prone to breaking. Logan licks into your mouth, sliding his tongue against yours and swallowing every one of your whimpers.

“So this is what it takes to shut you up, huh?” he murmurs against your lips. You can feel him smiling, and it makes your heart skip a beat.

“Keep talking and you won’t get a single bite of my tiramisu,” you tease him, kissing him again, the taste of beer numbing your senses. “I really like kissing you.”

“The feeling’s mutual, but now that you’ve mentioned that tiramisu…”

“Am I that easily replaced?”

“No. You’re just a pain in the ass.”

Jokes aside, you’re as happy as a clam.

Since that night you and Logan kissed, you’ve been living your best life. Like a freaking schoolgirl with a crush. Some things never seem to change.

He hasn’t been to the bar in three days. Yes, you’re counting them. No, you haven’t lost your mind. You want to see him, but there’s something about making the first move that gives you the chills. What would his reaction be if you showed outside of apartment?

It’s been a long time since you’ve been with anybody. On top of that, all the guys you’ve dated were your age. Being with someone that older than you certainly wasn’t no your plans. You’d be lying if you said that the mere idea of being with him in that way didn’t excite you.

Oh boy, you miss him. You miss his scruffy voice, his gorgeous hair. And you two aren’t even official yet. To be honest, you don’t even know what he wants from you. Is he even the type to be in a relationship?

“Nighty night, gentlemen,” you say to Gary and his friends as you find yourself in front of them, smoothing your apron. Gwen had called in sick tonight, so it’s just you at the bar babysitting a bunch of grown-men.

“What’s up, doll? You’ve forgotten about us. We miss you coming in here to chat,” Gary’s eating his burger at the same time he speaks, something you find repulsive, but you’ve seen worse. “Y’know, I’d love to take you out someday. I have a place you’d like.”

The other men laugh and punch him in the back, just boosting his ego. Pathetic.

“I’ll let you know when I’m free,” you reply with the most polite smile you can offer, intending to go on. “What are you having tonight?”

“You always pull that shit, baby. I don’t think you’re so busy that you can’t accept a date.”

You hate the way he’s looking at you, as if you were wrong for not being interested. As if you didn’t know any better.

“You’re reading minds now? Shocking, Gary.”

“Oh, doll. That attitude of yours shows you’ve never been with a real man like me, that’s all,” he leans back in his chair, resting one of his arms on the table and the other one near his crotch, manspreading. “It’s alright. I like you bratty.”

“I’ll be back when you finally have something to order,” you attempt to turn around but he grabs your wrist, pulling you closer. Your eyes lock, and he seems to enjoy this: being in control. Like a predator hunting his prey. “Come on, Gary. I don’t want to have to kick you out.”

“It’s not that you don't like me, right? You’ve already got your mouth full.”

“Careful.”

“What? Don’t tell me you’re not fucking that useless mutant. I see you like ‘em older. Pretty little things like you drive me wild.”

You laugh in his face, showing him your teeth. “It was never about your age, Gary. You’re right: I do like them older. I’m just not into bald, vertically-challenged pricks.”

His entourage of idiots goes silent after that. He looks up at you, eyes burning with hatred. His grip on your wrist tightens, probably leaving a mark. “Fucking bitch.”

“Get your hands off her.”

Logan’s voice forces the two of you to look in his direction. It seems that he’s just arrived at the pub, his jacket still on.

“You joining us? We’re just getting started here, big boy.”

“Did you not hear me?” Logan lunges forward, his nose almost touching Gary’s. “The fuck is wrong with you?”

“Easy there, cowboy. I’m just having a chat with your girl. She’s one of the good ones, I’ll give you that,” arching a sly brow, his forehead puckers. “You don’t like sharing? We can even take turns.”

Logan clenches his jaw, lips set in a grim line. “Say one more word, and I’ll fucking kill you.”

“I’ll give you a full sentence instead: can you even get it up?”

The tension in the air is thick, every second stretching out as Logan's anger simmers dangerously close to the surface. Gary’s smug grin only makes it worse, pushing him to the edge. Before you can react, Logan’s fist swings forward, connecting with Gary’s jaw with a sickening crack. Gary staggers back, realising your wrist. Blood seeps from his nose, his white shirt becoming stained with it. “You fucker! You broke my nose!”

“We’re just getting started here, big boy,” Logan mocks him, repeating his previous words.

“Stop!” you shout, moving quickly to grab his arm, trying to pull him back. But he’s beyond hearing, his rage blinding him to everything else. He shakes you off, and with a fierce growl, drives another punch into Gary’s stomach. The latter doubles over, gasping for air, the wind knocked out of him. He then falls to the floor, curling into a ball. People start to gather around you, and soon your beloved bar becomes a box ring.

“That’s enough, Logan! He’s barely conscious,” you murmur under your breath, stepping between them, hands up in a desperate attempt to create some space. Logan pauses, chest heaving, fists still clenched, as he finally looks at you. The wildness in his eyes starts to fade, replaced by a dawning realization of what he’s done.

“He deserved it,” he nods vigorously to himself, as if trying to explain his point. “He was hurting you.”

“If you keep that up, you’re going to kill him. My bar is not a fucking cemetery,” your voice trembles a little bit, expecting to talk some sense into him. “I won’t let you do this.”

The room is quiet now, the only sound being Logan’s heavy breathing as he stands there, still tense, still processing. You turn to Gary’s friends, cold fury in your eyes. “Get him out of here,” you watch as they haul him up, practically dragging him to the door. The other clients continue to stare at Logan, their mouths hanging open. “Everybody out, right now! Go home. We’re closing earlier tonight.”

Adam is the last person to leave, slamming the door behind him. You rush to the counter, searching for a mop to clean the fresh blood off the floor. Still agitated, the images of Logan hitting Gary flash in your mind. He approaches you from behind, his fingers circling your forearm. “Bub–”

“Don’t. Now is not the time.”

“I was protecting you.”

“I told you to stop, and you didn’t. You just shook me off,” you snap, glancing at his knuckles which are not even bruised. Slamming your eyes shut, you get to your feet and wash your hands in the sink, the remaining water becoming reddish for a moment.

Logan moves closer, resting his chin on your shoulder. He wraps his arms lazily around your middle section. ”I’m sorry.”

You turn in his arms, your back flushed against the sink and your nose in the air. “Why didn’t you call me?”

“I don’t have a phone.”

“But– Jesus, Logan. You could’ve come sooner. I thought you regretted what happened the other day,” you say and the muscles in his face twitch, his body stiffening at your words. “Thought you no longer wanted me.”

“No, bub. I– I still want you. I want all of you, trust me,” he murmurs, and you allow him to press his body against yours, the scent of the cigar he must have smoked recently enveloping your senses. “I just… don’t know how to do this. I have a habit of ruining things, and I’m trying to figure out the best way to be with you without hurting you.”

“Pushing me away also hurts,” your eyes flick up to meet his gaze again, and he whispers under his breath. “I can’t read your mind. You need to tell me what’s going on in that ancient skull of yours.”

His face falters, flashing you a mischievous look. His hand creeps under the fabric of your shirt, fingernails scrapping against your spine. “I’m sorry, princess. I truly am.”

“You can’t just say ‘sorry’ with that voice and expect me to–”

You’re cut off by his lips crashing down onto yours. You melt into the kiss, unable to deny what your body has been craving for the past days.

“I thought your kisses came with a warning,” you say, detaching your mouth from his, a smile spreading uncontrollably in your face as you see his toothy grin.

“Shut up and kiss me, will you?”

In a clash of tongues and teeth, your mouths meet once again. Tugging the hair at his nape, you feel him growl against your lips. His strong hands trace every curve of your body, kneading the flesh of your hips and undoing the knot at the back of your apron. You’re becoming one with the sink, but in a moment like this, you couldn’t care less. Logan’s hard on nudges your lower stomach, and he ruts against you like an animal.

“You said you wanted to know what’s on my mind, right?” his teeth nibble on the skin of your neck, syrupy voice going straight to your core. “Well, I’d love nothing more than to touch you right now.”

“Right here? On the counter?”

“Yeah, on the fucking counter,” he grabs you by your thighs, hosting you up and placing your body on top of the cold bar. He nudges your knees apart, his bulge meeting your clothed cunt deliciously. “Will you let me, baby? Can I make you come in here?”

“Please. I’m glad we have such a low budget. Camera installment is t–too expensive these days.”

“Do you always talk this much?” he slowly unbuttons your pants, and you help him to remove them.

“Yes. Next question,” your breath hitches in your throat as you feel the pad of his thumb circling your clit through your panties. Your eyelids drop, your head lolling back. “Fuck, that feels good.”

Logan hums, mesmerized with the way your hips roll into his hand, your whimpers sounding like music to his ears. “You have any idea how I felt when I saw him touching you? Wanted to rip his hands off you,” his eyes drift to your chest, how it rises and falls with impatience. “But it’s me who gets to have you like this. He can fantasize about you all he wants: I’m the only one who touches you, ain’t I right?” you sigh with content as his fingers graze your slit, aimlessly bucking your hips. He doesn’t go any further, and you tug at the collar of his flannel, needing more of his callousand hands on you. “Nuh-uh. You want something, you gotta use your words. Got it?”

“I w–want your fingers inside me,” you don’t even recognize your own voice at this point. The few guys you had slept with had never been very talkative during sex. But Logan isn’t like them. This is just the beginning and you’re already starting to realize that he has a dirty mouth, that expectant look on his face as he waits to see your reaction to his words. “Please, Logan. I want you so bad.”

“Oh, I know, bub. There’s something about me I don’t think you know,” he inserts one of his fingers in your cunt, your slick coating the palm of his hand. “These claws I have… they didn’t come on their own. Let’s just say my sense of smell is… pretty good,” Logan can almost see the gears turning in your head as you try to think coherently. He moves his middle finger in and out of you, stretching your walls. “And you… have been wet ever since the first time you saw me. Always nice to everybody, making sure they feel at ease,” you feel like you’re being stretched even further, another one of his fingers sinking into your warm pussy. “But you’re so needy, too. How long has it been since someone touched you like this?”

“Too long, f–fuck. Too long,” you’re squirming, a totally whiny mess. He retratcs his wet fingers and instead goes back to flicking your clit, this time with much less delicacy. His left hand squeezes your tits, and you hate the fact that you’re still wearing clothes. “Shit, Logan. I need you to fuck me. Please. Need your cock.”

His face comes to rest at your neck, and you feel lingering kisses and bites that keep you grounded to earth. “Not here. I need a bed to fuck you properly. You’re only getting my fingers now,” he positions them inches away from your entrance, testing your patience. “Tell me who owns this pussy.”

“L-logan–”

“Tell me and I’ll make you come,” his husky voice is making you dizzy, tears shimmering in your eyes. “Come on. Know you want it as much as I do.”

You succumb to the tentation, like divinity turned to sin. He kisses you roughly, and you struggle to find the correct words. “It’s you, Logan. You own my pussy. It’s f-fucking yours.”

With that, he goes back to nudging that spot that makes you see starts, that filthy squelching sound getting mixed up with your moans. The knot in your belly keeps growing tighter the more he pumps his fingers in and out of you.

“I said you were only getting my fingers for now, but fuck… I need to gest a taste of this sweet cunt.”

He’s on his knees in an instant, urging your legs apart to make room for his body. Your thighs tighten around his face as he licks a hot stripe up your folds, tracing a heated path on your cunt, not wishing to waste a single second. Pleasure builds quickly, your breath hitching as your hands find their way into his hair, pulling him closer when your body begins to tremble.

“I’m close,” you pant, breathing hard, grinding your hips against his face. “I’m so close.”

“That’s it. Come in my mouth like the good girl you are.”

Who had given him a damn script for this?

The release is explosive. Like the peak of a roller coaster: you go up up up, ascending higher. You think you almost see Jesus, but at some point, you also have to crash down with force. Your shoulders slump, your entire body cramping up; yet he doesn’t let you go that easily, his fingers still working, scissoring within you while you ride out the final waves of your high, drawing out every last moment of ecstasy.

Once you finally manage to open your eyes, there he is, staring down at you. He taps your lower lip with his fingers, and then mutters: “Open.”

And you do, because you’re just as messed up as he is. Your mouth parts, and he slides his fingers between your lips, dragging them smoothly across your tongue. His knuckles brush the back of your throat, and you gag around the intrusion, tasting yourself. He pulls his fingers out of your mouth, clearly satisfied with the way you’ve cleaned them off.

“I think we should really pay a visit to your apartment,” he suggests, groaning in defeat, and you feel his bulge poking your hip. He must be painfully hard. “I meant what I said earlier. I need a bed if we’re going to fuck. My back’s hurting.”

You raise an eyebrow, the corner of your mouth curving into a smirk. “Why not go to yours?”

“Wade’s in there. I wouldn’t be able to concentrate.”

You can’t help but laugh, pausing a moment to collect your thoughts, heat rising to your cheeks. “So we’re going rodeo?”

Aiming to silence up, Logan kisses you, pinching your chin between his thumb and forefinger. “Only if you can handle it.”

part 2: “GIVE ME THE FIRST TASTE”

dividers by: @/cafekitsune thank you!!! :)

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