#well except maybe the last gif has something to do with it

[dreammfyre]

boy, so confusing ⊹ ࣪ ˖ frank langdon

SUMMARY. When two of the most incredible and brilliant doctors can't put their egos aside nothing good can happen, that was the tragic case with Frank Langdon and you. Two opposite poles in ER. For one reason everything just failed, no matter the place or time, it’s fucking impossible to get you together without throwing snide remarks at each other like bombs to hurt the other, judgmental looks, questioning each other's every step. Dr. Robby is tired of having to deal with his favorites doctors getting complaints about your behaviors, he had to find a solution but didn't want any of you to leave the team. The real problem is you and Frank are so much more similar than you care to admit.

WARNINGS. enemies co-workers, frank langdon x f!resident, mentions of death and blood. medical therms. cheating, unspecified age-gap (20-30 aprox). physical violence from both sides? a lot of frustrartion and rage.

WC. +7000. // not sure how happen

AUTHOR NOTE. i really enjoyed write this bc i've never written something so long for tumblr before sooo i hope enjoy it, leave me your requests, i'll read them. okay, i’m happy with the result and for that i was thinking doing a second part, not sure yet.

10:00 A.M.

The ranks are so important in a team and in the emergency room there were two big bosses who were undoubtedly the most important people in the place, the ones responsible for everything to work, maybe not perfectly, but as well as possible. The shift boss and the nurse in charge, the key duo that everyone had to know to go to in case of any problem or complaint. Robby and Dana knew their teams better than anyone else in The Pitt; personalities, strengths and weaknesses. They could talk about the last one all day long, because even though they were a team that lived together almost every day, conflicts could not be absent, that was what happens when many different personalities live together in the same group.

There was a rumour known for all; no person has more ego than doctors. Too bad it was true, more worse in case of two doctors, both amazing at their jobs, brilliant and talented when it came to saving lives. But for some reason their egos just couldn't get into the same room, colliding ever more forcefully.

"Someday they're going to kill each other." Dana took a puff on the cigarette lit between her fingers. "You have to do something before it gets out of control."

"I don't plan on firing either of them." Replied Robby pacing side to side in the ambulance entrance. "It fucks me up, they're both essential to the team, I can't lose them. And even if I did, I'd never find a worthy replacement."

"Then it will end in tragedy and you know it."

"Any suggestions?" he sighed rubbing his eyes tired specifically of this topic, the stupid enmity between Langdon and you dragged on for weeks, even months. Robby’s tried talking to each separately, however, it seemed to only serve to further ignite the fire of conflict. "Lock them in a room with a knife and only one survives?"

The nurse let out a laugh. "Maybe."

"The few times they've worked together they've been very good." Evans nodded agreeing wholeheartedly. "Both are exceptional doctors."

"May I give an opinion?"

"Please."

"I don't think their differences are the real problem. On the contrary, their personalities are very similar and they don't like that." She let the smoke escape her lips before finishing the idea. "Two alphas in the same room will fight for pack leadership. They look like threats, you get what I'm getting at?"

Robby nodded his head keep silence. His hands on the hips was a sign of frustration, he didn't want to release either of you nor did he want to shift Langdon or you to the night shift as you were two valuable pieces in ER. However, the situation between you and him was becoming untenable. You argued every time you crossed paths, you did not reach agreements, you reproached each other's actions with sarcastic comments even though you had done the right thing. Separately they worked perfectly but when they passed each other in the corridors they did not look at each other, nor did they greet or say goodbye.

You and Langdon wanted so much others believe that didn't exist for each other. The reality was that you were too focus in the other one.

"I don't know what I'm going to do those fools." Concluded the boss shaking his head. "I've got two damn time bombs on the team."

"Doctors are the worst, my friend." Dana patted a shoulder in an attempt to encourage him. "Good luck."

12:00 P.M.

Just a few minutes ago the last patient had been taken to emergency surgery so your job was done after stabilizing before was taken up to the ward. You left the ward washing your hands with alcohol gel, you went straight to the nursing desk and met Princess, your favorite nurse, who was happy to see you after so long, you were a mystery, every twenty minutes could be in a different place and you didn't know which one was going to be the next one. Looked at the overhead screen with the inpatients waiting for a consultation, kept reading attentively the symptoms they presented without finding anything beyond vomiting, stomach pains, dehydrates, etc.

"Something cool for me, Princess?" Leaned on the counter with both elbows.

"No, honey. I'm sorry." The nurse made a sad face at you noticing so excited, she stroking your cheek very gently. "Good luck with what we have, they'll keep coming."

Only sighed with your hands in the pockets rocking back and forth.

"I guess it is what it is." Replied with slight tones of disappointment in your voice.

Behind you Dr. Langdon was arriving at the center counter oblivious to your presence. With his blue eyes focused on the list he folded his arms, analyzing in the same way if he could take any patient with an out-of-the-ordinary diagnosis. The ones that were a little more interesting had your last name next to them highlighted with the purple color had chosen. The day was quiet compared to yesterday, however, you didn't want to get bored with routine procedures, that's what interns or medical students were for.

In your uniform kept the emergency phone that Dr. Yolanda Garcia had given to stay in touch. You forgot even had it, so when it rang you were taken by surprise answered it immediately.

"Room two, south wing. Code blue." That was all you managed to hear before the communication cut off.

You didn't answer, taking a couple of steps back before turning around, horrible mistake to collide with the person you hated the most in the hospital. You met Langdon with a grimace of disgust on his face at the fact that it was you, both knew perfectly well that he hated you and your only existence was a real problem for him.

"Could tread more carefully." He scolded without even looking you in the face.

"And you could get out of the way." Responded with the same condescending tone with which Langdon would deserve to be treated.

Perlah and Princess were sitting on the other side to the table looked sideways at each other holding their breath knowing that nothing good could come of it when the two of you shared the same square meter. Annoyed by the boldness in your words Dr. Langdon turned to look ready to answer you with the same hostility, lucky for the day shift work climate, Nurse Dana arrived just in time to avoid another headache for Dr. Robby.

"Oh no, don't even think about bringing your problems up here." She pointed at the two of you warning just once. "Go kill each other after this shift is over."

“Righ.” You were never going to disagree with Dana, so you just nodded in regret that you let yourself go, but damn, Langdon just got on your nerves. It wasn't his stupid ego, or the way he corrected exaggeratedly pointing your mistakes to make you feel useless, he knew how to make you angry; stealing your patients, minimizing your ideas, always fighting to be right.

They were simply incompatible in every way, some compared to fire and water, but those who really know them know that it is fire with fire.

Nothing good could come of it.

Frank sighed crossing his arms, bouncing in place waiting for you image disappear from his sight and hopefully not see you until the shift was over.

2:00 P.M.

Dr. Mohan and you finished intubating a newly arrived patient, there were a few complications due to the state of the airway but knew how to pull it off under the watchful eye of Robby who decided not to interfere trusting that you, Mohan and Whitaker were able to solve it as a team. The Dr. Robinavitch saw you as a really good leader, you trusted the others in the same way you trust in your own abilities, you knew how to listen, dealt with doubts at the moment without putting pressure on the others and if they made a mistake you did not make them feel bad, on the contrary, took it as a teaching and learning opportunity. All this without putting the life of the person on the stretcher at risk.

Even without knowing it, you are a good teacher, Dr. Santos spoke amazing things of you with her colleagues, as well as Victoria and Mel. Robby had heard it in the hallways, the interns wanted to work with you because you not humiliate or mistreat them.

"Good job, Doc." Michael came over after you finished delegating a couple of tasks to Dennis Whitaker. Now you were going to write everything in the electronic chart in minute detail so you would have a complete patient report.

"Thank you." Smiled satisfied at your boss's approval, sometimes it was good to hear that were doing a good job. The two of you walked over to the computer and took a seat for work, opened the system with your ID and password.

"So… how's your day going?" asked, settling down in front of you.

Your gaze was still on the screen concentrating on the words typing. "Good, yours?"

"Fine. Yes, all good as far as possible." Dr. Robby took a second to continue talking, he knew he was bothering you but is the only time available to be able to converse with you. "Looks like you're really getting on with the interns well."

"I think so." You nodded a couple of times.

"That's nice and speaks well of you." Robby began to play with his hands. "It's important to get along with the team."

Swallowed saliva sensing where the topic of conversation was going, a shiver went down your back and your heart beat faster at your intuition. You sighed deeply stopping typing, settled back in the chair looking up at your boss in an attempt to sound as normal as possible.

"Something wrong?" Cocked your head to one side with a slight frown and a slight friendly smile on your mouth.

Robby knew you immediately realized his intentions. "You know something is going on. Look, I don't know what trouble you and Langdon are up to, but have to control yourselves when it comes to working. We're a team here and means we have to behave as a team."

"I have my reasons for keeping my distance, Robby." You made an attempt to continue with the job, but him interrupted again.

"I'm not asking to be friends or something."

"Oh, of course not." Laughed very sarcastically, you'd rather die than be friends with a guy as arrogant as Frank Langdon. "I just stick to doing my work."

Dr. Robinavitch nodded giving your space, he didn't want to argue with you, he appreciated enough not to pressure. He knew Langdon is not a simple person, you are not a saint either, however, with time and experience he had learned that people have their own ways of thinking, their decisions, personalities and as you had told him; their reasons. Robby trust in your judgment as a professional doctor, he wanted to meddle as little as possible, but his job now is take care of both you and Frank.

You stood up ready to get attending more pacients, took your thermo half full of hot coffee and went on your way. Robby looked around as he let you go and couldn't miss how just then Dr. Langdon was passing accompanied by Dr. King on way to see another patient, an ironic coincidence if you ask him. You walked to the waiting room to call the next patient in list hearing the footsteps behind, you took a deep breath preparing yourself for another lecture on your least favorite person.

"Wait a moment." Michael called out to you. So you stopped your walk keeping a polite expression, weren't going to argue with your boss. "Please think about what I said."

"Can I ask a question?"

He nodded ever ready to answer. "Sure."

"Did you try to have a conversation with Frank or is this just reflexive work-talk for me?"

His silence made it more than clear to you the answer which made feel awful because you had to be the one to twist your arm for restoring the harmony between two of you. Langdon never assumed any consequences, he just was untouchable, everyone would have to change their attitudes except for him.

"I know you're more understanding in these topics." Tried to get you to see reason but let out a empty, dry, sour laugh.

"It's not fair, you know that." You lowered your voice so as not to attract the attention of people walking past his side, but genuine annoyance was evident from your expression. Not at all a smart idea to have a private conversation in the middle of the hallway. "Langdon displayed unprofessional attitudes and no one said anything - now I'm the one who has to put the cold water on the situation?"

"I'm trying to do what's best for you guys, I don't want to bring HR into it." Whispered getting serious. "I'll tell you once; don't force me to make a choice."

The last remark felt like a bucket of cold water and you froze for few seconds processing what he had just said. In his look you could see the sincerity, he wasn't playing with you and he was serious about everything.

"Because you would choose him, right?" Asked quietly, with pain in your every word and a completely heartbroken look on your face as you realized you apparently were the second choice.

Dr. Robinavitch was quick to shake his head in denial stopping your head for creating an idea it wasn't realizing at your somber reaction.

"I didn't say anything about that."

"It's not too hard to figure out also. You get along better between you guys, obviously, you've known each other for years. Langdon has more status, more ER experience, even studied at a better university." You fixed your hair behind both ears. "It's clear that I am the problem."

You always had to handle the consequences for what Langdon does.

At the other side of the room Melissa King was showing the tablet with the results of her patient's tests to Langdon, but he didn't seem to be very focused on her words. His focus turned from the numbers to the view of Robby talking with you at a distance of around twenty meters, and from the look on both of your faces, it seemed to be a serious situation. You looked pissed off and Michael seemed to be understanding. Frank knew better than to meddle, but everything that came out of your mouth was pure lies to make him look bad and sully his reputation.

"Dr. Langdon?" Mel's voice brought him back to the main issue. He suddenly felt caught out, forcing to pay attention. "What do you think?"

He found himself trapped and lost, he had no coherent answer for the simple fact that lost time watching you. Langdon took the tablet from the resident's hands to read it by himself, but again fell for the distraction, you had left Robby talking to alone disappearing in the direction of the waiting room. He frowned more concerned about what the talk was about, which for obvious reasons was of no interest to him. Frank thought about going to speak with the chief immediately.

"Where are you going?" asks Dr. King not understanding Langdon's unusual behavior.

"I'll be back in a minute."

5:00 P.M.

Probably the best way to distract yourself is by drowning in work, surely not the healthiest or even the best way, but it would be enough for you and that's plenty. So that is exactly you did.

You look at the time realizing that there are only two hours left to finish the shift, it was only a second that you took to have a break and enjoy an energy drink that Heather had given you at the nurse's station. You could only take a sip, feeling the icy bubbles burn down your throat until a call for help triggered all of your alert senses.

“I need a little help here!” Dennis Whitaker shouted in desperation and covered in fresh blood from the patient.

Dear God, I beg you for a single minute of peace. You quickly set the can down on the table running into the trauma room accompanied by Jesse and of course, Langdon.

"What happen?" you put on gloves finding all the monitors beeping around it, the patient, a adolescent, bleeding from the mouth in drips similar to a horror movie.

“It’s a post-tonsillectomy hemorrhage.”

Frank almost slipped with the blood on the floor nearly missing but winning a scare, other nurses came in. The room in a matter of seconds turned into chaos with people running side to side.

“Yankauer and sponge stick.”

"Got it." Answered you approaching the material he had asked for. You didn't even care that it was about Langdon, saving the boy's life, which is getting more and more endangered, that’s your real priority.

“He was stable. Then it just opened.”

Whitaker's voice reflects his terror, only less than a minute ago he was having a conversation with the patient and then from one moment to the next it all went to hell.

"Sometimes bad things happen, Dr. Whitaker." You made the attempt to calm him down, after all, he was still only a student.

“Call the blood bank! Two units, whole blood. Get a second line.”

“Head and Neck wouldn’t come to see him.” Dennis adds, watching you guys take the lead.

“Motherfuckers.” You and Langdon muttered at the same time, looked at each other for a second and continued with your work. Frank took a small flashlight out of his pocket to illuminate the patient's mouth, a black one with gray decorative lines, which you recognized immediately as the one you had bought him for his birthday a long time ago. You were under a lot of pressure so you didn't have time to react.

“Tacky to 120.” Jesse warned you. Lifted the head to look at the vital signs that were increasingly getting worse. “His sats are down to 90%.”

“Okay, get a high-flow nasal cannual. 100 of ketamine.” Langdon started giving orders to the team, looked at Dennis, ignoring you. “Set up the GlideScope.”

When he did that, you hated it, it wasn't the first time he preferred to avoid you and rely on other teammates. Neither were you going to argue at that moment while they were trying to at least manage to stabilize the boy. You kept suctioning with the suction tube the blood that kept gushing from the throat, you could see the panicked look of the poor patient who was still conscious while you were making your work.

“Hold suction.” Moved the hose to the side to put the sponge in with a pair of clamps. “I‘m gonna try direct pressure.”

“If Head and Neck still won’t come down, call García.” Commanded. The boy had his mouth open and a nasal cannula, his terrified eyes with tears were looking at you desperate for help, so you couldn't simply ignore him. "Don't worry, we got it under control." You spoke to him in a more calm and warm tone, stroke his shoulder and he grabbed your hand in an act of gratitude squeezing your hand. "You're good, trust in us."

Your partner continued to concentrate, but seeing the patient holding your hand and following you with his eyes made him realize that he forgot how good you made patients feel no matter what terrible circumstances they were going through. Because you had a unique way of communicating with them, sensitive and empathetic, something he had yet to develop and learn from you.

"What happened?" Robby entered, finding the two of you working together.

"Bleeder opened up." Dennis replied.

Frank handed you the transparent goggles and you immediately put them on. The patient was now unconscious so you had both of your hands free, Langdon was going to proceed to intubate and picked you to assist him, however if Robby had arrived earlier he would not have taken you in consideration.

“Ketamine on board to intubate. Saturation in 97.”

“Can you get an airway?” Asked.

“Come on.” Frank whispered, moving quickly. The noise of the vitals kept beeping every few beeps as a reminder that you were losing him. "Let's lie him down."

"Okay, you got it, guys." Robby said before stepping back with full confidence that the patient is in good hands. "I'll leave you."

"You're doing this to screw us, right?" There were no scruples on your words.

"What do you think?" He closed the glass door leaving the two of you in charge.

"Keep pressure on the scab." Langdon began trying to look for some airway to make the procedure possible, however, through the camera it was just fluid pouring out. "Nothing but blood. Can't see the cords."

Dr. Garcia arrived and the first thing she saw was the two of you working as a team without yelling at one another or trying to kill each other. She wasn't capable of holding the comment and an ironic chuckle. "And this miracle?"

"Jokes later."

"Sats 94." Nurse Jesse speaks.

"Not sure we have room for the tube with the sponge stick." Langdon began to fall into frustration looking at the screen finding only darkness, you knew that tone perfectly, when things didn't go his way he just stopped thinking with clarity.

“If I pull out, there’s gonna be even more blood.” Says Dr. Whitaker worried.

“Doesn’t look like you secured that airway.”

Yolanda added noticing them in a hurry and a bit lost, doubting about what they were doing.

"He's working on it." Said giving a vote of confidence in Frank's skills.

"Give me the bougie." He asked you, though the instant realized his tone was very aggressive for no reason. "Please."

"Open a crike tray and prep the neck." She ordered preparing the sterile gloves and sterile field to performing a riskier procedure compared from what Dr. Langdon and you were trying to do.

"Hold on, I'm going to blind with the bougie. I might be able to feel the tracheal rings."

"It is more likely that you will end up getting married than you will do it. Move."

You looked at Yolanda with less on sympathy. Although everyone knew Dr. Garcia's kinky, sarcastic, twisted humor, you were just sometimes surprised by her ability to throw wry comments at the moment, like an infinite ironic machine or something.

"Not happening." Frank replied insistently. You looked at Yolanda who was still preparing herself in equal conviction. "Pressure."

"Make room for the professionals, little kids."

Frank vs Yolanda. You knew the procedure she wants to do is playing it on the safe side, but at the same time it is risky and will subject the patient to a long recovery, on the other hand, Langdon was playing blind, but if he made it through it would be much safer. You took a deep breath as the patient's saturation continued to deteriorate because the hemorrhage was not yielding to your abilities, and honestly, you saw it as even possible.

"Are you sure this is gonna work?" Frank's question hangs in the air even though everyone in that place knows he's talking to you so they don't pry.

"You think I'd take a risk over something that might not work?"

He felt stupid for even doubt it. "Of course not."

And on the other hand there was him. That despite his self-centered and a couple of times too arrogant personality, he could obey any of your orders no matter how crazy they might sound in his head or the rest of them, 'cause deep down, Frank Langdon still trusted you even though his damaged pride wouldn't let him demonstrate it.

"Guys, this is not working. Garcia says in a bad mood.

"Give them a second." The chief ordered, trusting his two most capable doctors.

"Until he arrest?"

"Oh, my God. I'm gonna lose another patient today." Dennis whispered.

"Geez, shut up, Whitaker." You didn't even look at him as your eyes were following Frank's hands, but you didn't need to 'cause Dennis seemed intimidated. "C'mon Langdon, let's get on this."

"Sats down to 87." The nurse's voice annoyed you.

"I'm gonna reditect the wire." Said you to your partner, he just assented. Both of you felt under the same pressure, if you failed you were going to feel like such failures.

"Sats still dropping. 86."

"We know." Frank replied. "Thanks."

Just as you say you started to move the wire inside the patient's throat, your movements very delicate, almost millimetric, waiting for Langdon to be able to engage from the other side. Every second began to pass very quickly in that place, you could only hear their agitated breaths and the tinkling of the surgical steel. The chances were getting lower and lower, but you guys are so clinging to your ideas, and if you know you can make it, no one was going to make you believe otherwise. That was one of the biggest aspects that made you two so similar. None of you were afraid to try.

"You got this." Murmured you. "C'mon Frank."

"Still not seeing."

Michael hesitated to go help them, but for some reason decided to hold off for another minute.

"Okay, we're done playing doctors here." Yolanda ended up losing patience with you and your unhinged unrealistic ideas. "Lose the wire. I'm criking this kid."

Dr. Robby also gave up hope for you. "All right doctors, you tried your best."

"No, wait. Wait. I've got it."

You felt relief run through your body from your head to your legs. The wire held in your hand now passed down the patient's throat and was now held by your teammate. You shared a fleeting look of joy between you that didn't even last long because you had only accomplished the hardest part.

"You didn't have an airway."

"Alright guys, what will you do now?" Robby asked them now completely sure they had made it. Regretting that he had doubted his star residents even a little bit.

"Okay, Langdon. Keep the laryngoscope in place so the tube passes easily." You responded reminding yourself of the personalized lesson Dr. Abbot gave you a few months ago. "Pass the tube T over the wire, right?" then you looked at Robby for approval, you didn't want to make a mistake at this point.

"Exactly, Doctor." He nodded with the barest hint of a proud smile for you.

"Do no let go of that wire." You instructed Frank who was doing all exactly as you had been telling him.

"Okay."

As complex as it was, you finished intubating the patient, you were able to communicate perfectly between the two of you passing the control of the situation to each other. Whitaker put the oxygen balloon in while you settled in with the stethoscope to listen in to the patient's lungs and check if the procedure as effective.

"Yellow on CO2. That's good." He smiled.

"Good breath sounds bilaterally." You added smiling like a little girl, Frank did too as he saw you happy.

"Sats coming up." Robby applauded them. "Good job, doctors."

"Guess you're gonna have to save that scalpel for another day." Langdon said to Yolanda who was taking off her safety gear as she realized her help was no longer needed.

"I like them better when they fight." She replied. "You guys got much lucky."

"No, we got skills, baby. We got skills!" He exclaimed looking at you with a genuine smile, one you hadn't seen in a long time.

You laughed while removing your coat, gloves and glasses. " You'd better accept defeat."

"You know it won't happen." The woman winked at you before disappearing behind the same door she came in.

After that Langdon and you left the room separately, without even looking at each other or congratulating after exceptional work you had done together, it was as if you didn't know yourselves at all, not even looking back as you crossed the door each going your own way. Again building that barrier that separated them, Robby gasped as he noticed that indifference return again.

"That was... really amazing." Dennis' voice sounded excited after watching that uncommon procedure. "They're a great team."

Michael sighed. "Yeah. They are."

7:00

The magic of this business was that you never had to be confident about what might happen in a couple of hours. At least you had made it to the last hour still alive and soon you would be on your way home to sleep for the rest of the day, you missed your bed, the purring of Oiko your black cat who waits for you every day to be feeding. You fantasized about a hot shower and a comfortable and soft pillow to rest on.

Walking around with your cold hands in pockets, your teeth clenched and your eyes fixed straight ahead. Fingernails digging into the palm of your hands, your breathing agitated with your heart pumping against your chest, footsteps were getting faster and faster but in that place everyone was running so you didn't catch their attention, the truth is that you were running away. But later you felt his fingers around your arm pulling you to a stop, pushing you very hard into one of the empty rooms realizing that no one saw them lock up.

"What the fuck!" Gasped raising your voice losing your balance as he threw you inside. Langdon closed the door leaving you locked in so angry out of control, you moved towards the exit pushing him against the wall. "Let me go."

"What the fuck was that shit moments ago?" he asked you pointing outside, his cold gaze on you waiting for some explanations right now.

Your stomach contracts. Well, you know what he means, but he's not going to yell at you like you're an intern on your first day. Right?

"Someone had to send the patient to surgery, you weren't around nor was there time to wait for you approval or something."

"And you plan’s to keep stealing my patients and do whatever you want like you always do?"

"You'd rather I let a woman suffer death just because she used to be your patient? Do listen to the stupid things are saying?"

"You had no right to make that type of decision about a person's life." He pointed his finger at you, you slapped his hand back not tolerating the way he treats you in such a horrible way; blaming you all the damn time. For a moment his expression terrifies you, and it feels like a storm ready to destroy you.

"I didn't fucking realise that I need your permission to be able to do my job, Frank." Put your hands on your hips. "Why don't you simply admit that it was me that really bothers you. I'm sure if it had been Robby or Collins you wouldn't be this angry."

"I'm so tired of you!" He clutched his head with his hands, a voice full of hate that for a moment scared you. "This shit. U-us. Is out of control."

"Oh, you think?" Laughed without a hint of amusement, on the contrary, you felt your heart clench again. "It's your stupidity and your ego that's costing us dearly."

"Does it bother you that I don't fucking bend down to you like the rest of the hospital does?"

"It bothers me that you have a damn answer for everything!" You explode at him, desperate to hold everything you've had bottled up in your chest for longs months now. "You know what really pisses me off? That I have no fucking idea why you hate me so fucking much." The tone. Volume. The intensity. It's all too much. Your face burns, and you don't know if it's from fury, from shame or from that toxic mixture that only he provokes in you.

Frank stood watching you in a heavy silence between the two of you, your breathing agitated waiting for an answer once and for all. He is right, the situation with you two is simply untenable on either side, you had made an effort, but nothing is enough when it concerns you.

He denied repeatedly hardly believing what you were telling him. "You cannot demand explanations when you exactly behave the same way!" shouts, taking a step toward you, closer than ever. His voice thunders in the empty room, and you feel the vibration in your chest.

Your gaze became crystalline as tears blurred your vision. Langdon was also starting to break down in front of you, the two of you had hurt each other and now you couldn't deal with the consequences of your own mistakes. The atmosphere in that room was heavy and tense, no one would have guessed that at some point it was different.

"You're so fucking confusing, Frank. One day you say one thing and the next you do another, you take what excites you and when it no longer does end up throwing it in the trash."

"That's bullshit." Langdon runs his hand through his hair, messing it up more, walking two steps backwards as if he needs to escape from you. Is red up to his ears, his hands open and stiff as if fighting with himself.

"One day you told that you love me and now you can't look at me in my fucking face, is that a lie too?"

Your words stop him.

He stands still, chest heaving, eyebrows still furrowed, but the expression... changes. It softens. Or breaks, you don't know for sure.

"I was willing to give up everything for you and you know it." His broken voice feels like a dagger straight to your heart. You bit your lip shaking your head, tears in your eyes getting closer and closer to dropping down your tired face.

Of course he did. Because you remembered everything too well. So much so that it hurt every damn day.

"It was for the best." Whispered mirroring the pain through your eyes.

"Really you think that?" He stood in front of you analyzing your expression, knowing you weren't telling the truth because that's just the way you always used to be, you loved to lie to yourself.

"Do you want to know something? I don't hate you, but it makes it so much easier and it seems for you too." Frank says, quieter. No longer shouts, his voice comes out raspy, sincere, as if he can't hold it in anymore.

You swallow the big lump in your throat. The heart is pounding so hard you would swear that he can hear it.

"Trust me nothing I do makes it any easier." In your head you imagined that hating him was going to be that much simpler than loving him… in your head, but you were only hurting yourself deeper.

Your words are left floating in the air like burning dynamite. Langdon dares to make another step. Now you have him just inches away making you doubt even all your beliefs and convictions, this stopped to be about the job long ago. Your breaths are mixed feeling the need to shorten the minimum distance once and for all and calm the voracious hunger created in your body. The gazes crossing fighting in silence knowing there is no anger between you, but defiance and something darker. More real.

Your back is straight, your chest is heaving, your heart pounds in your throat, but you don't take a step back. You don't want to. You can't.

And then, he's right on top of you.

Your back hits the wall softly, and there it stays. Cold, immobile. Frank, on the other hand, is the opposite. Warmth. Movement.

His hand rests beside your head, firm against the wall with his fingers extended and knuckles tense. His body doesn't quite touch yours, but it's close.

Painfully close.

Careful he rests his forehead against yours, closing his eyes again experiencing that sensation invading him once more. Like a wave of warmth emerging from the chest as he held you close, something he missed madly but no longer belonged to him. Frank's hand was about to caress your cheek until a voice in his head reminded him that you never wanted anything with him again, but the truth is that he missed you every minute and crossing you every day is the worst of tortures.

"Please..." Struggled to formulate coherent words. "Let's try not to argue anymore."

"I'm going to keep arguing with you every damn day...because it's the only way I have to not cross this line."

You entire body is on alert, your blood roaring in your ears, your lips half-open without realizing it. Everything about him screams danger and promises at the same time, and you don't know which one scares you more.

And then the door opens.

The sound makes you tremble.

The two of you suddenly separate, as if someone has fired a gun in the middle of ER. The space between you is immediately filled with cold air and silence. Langdon takes a step back, his hand dropping sharply to his side trying to be cool. Dodge Frank’s gaze as you awkwardly peel away from the wall, you just wanted to die right fucking there.

“Oh, s-so sorry.”

Dr. Javadi is still standing in the doorway with her eyes closed, not knowing what to do after interrupted something she can't quite process. Victoria looks away with no words but apologies for not knocking on the door first. Damn, it was her two senior residents.

“You- no. We have to deliver the shift.” Her voice barely trembles in a desperate attempt at concealment. And for a moment, the silence is so heavy that none of the three of you knows quite what to do.

Then you have to be the one to react first.

"Yes. Sure." you say, quickly, as if by moving you can erase what happened.

You walk past her without looking at Victoria without looking at Langdon, even though your legs still shaking, but you force yourself to move. The heat still lingers on your cheeks. And you know that if you stay one more second there, with him, you're going to break, as if something had just been ripped out of chest.

𐙚⋆°. MASTERLIST

[thasorns-moved]

[arminsumi]

... hubby!Gojo with a huge breeding kink who just obsesses over you when you're ovulating and can't think about anything else but fucking a baby into your hips.

+ warnings; mdni, breeding kink, some dumbification

+ an; I literally had this idea in my drafts for a year... 😳

Maybe he's got a freaky sixth sense, maybe it's just because he's got heightened senses, or maybe there's some scientific studies to back it up; but Gojo can smell when you're ovulating. And it turns him on — of course it does. He has a bigger breeding kink than you do.

"Oh, you're ovulating." he notes after sniffing your skin... and you do a double take like he's insane. Because he is insane — you married a madman.

He pays closer attention to your cycle than you do, reminding you to mark down when you get your period, and coddling you in the days leading up to ovulation.

"Satoru, it's just an estimation." you tell him, but he's got a glow in his eyes when he sees your period tracker app telling him that today's your most fertile day — if he cums in you today, it's basically guaranteed.

He researches positions that help conception, bends and pushes you into them, and fucks you deep with his thick cock, going harder on your poor hole than he normally does — grunting more than he normally does, throbbing more than he normally does... like it just awakens something primal in him, and now he's obsessively fucking you like he has no other purpose but to breed his sweet little wife.

"Nn! Satoruuu!" you whine and paw at his torso, your walls overwhelmed by the pressure of his cock splitting you open.

"Yes babyyy?" he coos, giving you a crooked, blissed-out smile as he tilts his head.

There's sweat dripping off his abs, his pink nipples are hard, his biceps are twitching, and he's running one hand through his dampened white hair as he stills inside you for a moment.

"'s too deep! T-too big!" you moan lewdly, a bit of drool escaping the corner of your mouth.

"...aw, I know I'm just too big for ya, huh?" he coos cockily; hearing you tell him that he's 'too big' never gets old.

He's so determined to give you his baby that he tries everything to increase the chances; staying inside you for 5 minutes after shooting his load in, having you rest with a pillow under your back so your hips are raised — "Gotta help my lil' guys swim." he acts like an idiot about it, but sweetly so. Nothing excites him more than the idea of being a dad, except the idea of fathering your children.

After sex, when the two of you are cleaning up, Satoru feels over and massages your tummy with a small smile on his face. He's lost in thought, hair all messy and face tired like he's run a marathon, hopeful that this time he got you pregnant.

He'll pamper you like his queen, humming and going to the ends of the earth to get you anything you ask for. He really fawns over you when you're ovulating, and lays on the compliments thick while snuggling your neck and creeping his fingers up your thighs — pretty soon he'll sink them inside and stretch you out on them, preparing you for what he cutely calls "baby making" but is actually sweaty, nasty, kinky sex — there's a definite difference in the cute, snuggly sex and the literal breeding sessions no matter how much he plays it off.

"Satoru... my legs are still weak after this morning, give me a break, will you?"

"Aw come on, this is an innocent request... and if babymaking happens, it happens..." he mutters the last part under his breath.

"You're crazy."

But you know you're gonna fall for it after you take one look at his rock-hard, juicy pink, dummy big cock and those breeder balls.

He just beams victoriously when you hop over to him like a little bunny.

Satoru's pushes into you as deep as your pussy allows him, and then some more just to pressure your deepest spot, pinning your wrists down and whispering sultrily into your ear about how well you take him, how beautiful you look, how good it feels to fuck your fertile pussy knowing that he'll most definitely get you pregnant because his cum is perfect; thick and sticky and gooey and pungent, perfect just like he is — the cocky bastard.

When his creampies makes you cum, A-spot pressured with his pulsing tip, he grins so wide that you scold him about it.

"Stop grinning like a psychopath." you pant.

He just looks up at you, face hardly an inch away, and asks a dumb, smiley "D'you feel pregnant?" ... as if it happens so fast.

"Gee, I don't know, we should go again just to make sure — that was a joke, that was a joke! Nn! Satoru!" too late, he's flipping you over and slowly filling you up again.

And oh god Satoru loves sliding back in for round twos. The smell of sex and cum wafting up and hitting his nose just makes him plunge back into your cum-filled little hole with only one thing in mind and that is breeding you 'till you're stuffed to the max.

"Come on, y' gonna be a good wifey for me and get knocked up?" he rasps against your ear, thrusting his cock up into your sensitive spots until his creampies turn into whipped cream, frothed up and milky-white and smeared on your pussy lips.

Like the nasty boy he is (and always has been, even before marriage), Satoru forces your head down and makes you watch him fuck his dummy big cock into you.

"Yeah, watch that cock fill you up... look at all my cum leaking out..." he tuts, "... don't be so wasteful, baby... oh well, 'm gonna fuck it back into you anyways. Come on, let me in deeper — aw, what's wrong?" he coos when you claw at his meaty bicep.

"'toruuu, so deep! Y-you're so fucking deep, I can't think..."

His heart pangs when he hears you complain about being too stuffed, "Oh baby you don't need to think, just lay there and let me put a baby in your sweet pussy — gonna fuck you so dumb, the only name you'll remember is mine."

Of course, he has to get a creampie in every day. Sometimes even a few times a day. Sometimes even at 4 AM, and you swat him for being a horny idiot — but it takes five minutes to give in because you can hear the need in his voice when he whines "Please?" and starts humping against you, "I've got so much cum for you." he tells you and though it sounds so sweet in his soft, bedroom voice it's hard to take him as an innocent man, because his thick boner is grinding hard and hot between your plush lips.

You can bet you'll probably only get to sleep when the birds are chirping, 'cause your hubby's balls are too heavy and full of cum and he needs to drain himself inside you — oh, and you can also bet that afterwards he will be sleeping like a princess, clinging to you with his face snuggled into your tummy.

[talaok]

Giving up

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: Coaxing your neighbor into having sex with you although he's unsure since he's much, much older than you

Warnings: big ass unspecified age-gap, Jackson!Joel is a softie Smut| unprotected piv, crempie, insicure!joel, sub!joel, also my man has trouble lasting cause he's not done this in a very long time.

a/n:i needed to write some cheesy romantic stuff, and maybe it doesn't really make all that sense in this story and maybe i cried while writing this cause no one is ever gonna love me like this but so what bitch leave me alone (i also am i lil tipsy as i proofread this, so ignore any mistakes pls)

Part 1

"did you do something to your hair?"

Tommy was standing on Joel's doorstep, looking at him as if he were an alien.

"I washed 'em" he grumbled, "what do you want?"

His brother couldn't help but huff out a laugh

"someone's in a good mood today"

"I've gotta be somewhere, just tell me what you want"

Tommy's interest was only piqued more.

there stood his brother, his clothes perfectly clean- maybe even ironed- his hair... styled, his beard trimmed...

something was definitely going on.

"Where are you going?"

Joel rolled his eyes now, shooting his little brother a death glare

"none of your business"

Oh he knew what was going on...

"Who is she?"

"Tommy-"

"Is it Jessica? I bet 's Jessica, she's always flirting with you you ol' dog-"

Joel swore he was gonna punch him- he was already running late because of how long he took to pick his clothes- finding a flannel that wasn't completely worn out turned out to be real fucking hard.

He felt stupid for how much effort he'd put into getting ready, he felt stupid for how anxious he was, but most of all... he wanted his brother to go away.

"There ain't no one, Tommy- now, if there ain't anything you need, please go-"

But just then- just when he was finally going to get rid of him, your sweet, soft voice made its way to his ears.

"Hi Joel! Hi Tommy!" You smiled from your porch, waving your hand at him and his brother "You didn't forget about today, did you Joel?"

What in the actual fuck?

Tommy did a double-check, looking between you and his brother, and when he finally confirmed that it was actually him you were talking to, you whom he'd gotten all dolled up for, he couldn't do anything but let out a slow, long breath.

"No I didn't- I'll be there in a minute, darlin'!" Joel was answering you as his brother regained his ability to speak

"well... Fuck. Me" he was in awe, his voice barely a murmur

"it ain't like that" Joel was quick to intervene "'m just fix-"

"'m sure it ain't" Tommy let out a chuckle, his hand going to pat his brother's back "You fucking lucky bastard"

"Tommy I know she's young bu-"

"shut up man" he laughed "Just go have fun, you asshole"

__ __

"Sorry 'm late, Tommy was just-"

You smiled at his words, shaking your head

"It's ok, Joel" you cooed as you let him in,

He gave you a soft little smile, and you felt like the luckiest girl in the world.

Joel Miller didn't smile just at anyone.

"water?" you asked, leading him to the kitchen.

"Uhm- sure"

His heart was damn near beating out of his chest already- for no fucking reason at all.

Well except the obvious one... you'd sucked his dick and he'd eaten you out three days ago- and you'd made it clear you wanted more.

Jesus Christ, he felt like a fourteen-year-old with his first crush.

You watched him as he sipped on the glass.

"So?" a soft smirk was caged between your teeth "Did you think about it?"

He damn near choked.

Which didn't make any sense, he was expecting this, he already knew you'd ask.

He cleared his throat, diverting his eyes from you "I-I have"

"And?"

You'd gotten closer, your expectant eyes studying every inch of his face

pleasepleasepleaseplease say yes

"Did- didn't you have something that needed fixing?"

Oh for fuck's sake

"joel" you called for him in what almost sounded like a plead.

"darlin' just... lemme fix your cabinet first"

This man was gonna be the goddamn death of you.

"ok"

__ __ __

As it turns out, in many different ways.

Who knew watching him fix something would turn out to be so fucking hot?

He'd rolled his shirt up so that his strong forearms and a glimpse of his beautiful bite-worthy biceps were showing, his hands moved so very expertly that they couldn't help but bring back memories of what those same fingers had done to you just a few days ago, and his face... he looked so hot when he was all in his head, concentrated only on the task before him-

or so you thought.

"You're gonna stare at me the whole time?"

A soft laugh escaped your lips

"don't mind me- just enjoying the view"

He huffed out a laugh as he went back to work, but you couldn't help but notice the fact he pushed his sleeves ever further up his arms, giving you more of a view of his delectable skin.

What a tease

__ __ __

"there we go" he said after some time, opening and closing the cabinet one final time to make sure "all done"

For the record, this time you hadn't even done it on purpose, the cabinet had actually broken. It was like fate was sending you a message.

You awakened from your daydreams as he stood up to his full height, and hopped off the stool you were sitting on to walk closer to him, noticing some dampness in your panties while doing so...

It wasn't your fault... he was the one looking way too hot doing such a simple task.

"thank you" You smiled up at him, your hands going to his chest,

He held his breath for a moment

"'s nothing babygirl"

"yeah? then... you think you could check my bedroom too?" you were biting your lip in a way that made your question take on a whole different meaning "to make sure nothing needs fixing y'know?"

"In your... bedroom?"

"yes, Joel- please" you added, with your best innocent doe eyes.

Which of course made him fold in a matter of seconds.

You'd taken on a different tactic. It was obvious at this point that the man was too shy and too unsure to give you an answer (or the one you wanted to hear anyway), which is why you needed to present him with the actual possibility right in front of him.

And yeah maybe it was manipulative, but fuck it if you didn't wanna feel the man inside of you.

The flashbacks of what he did to you on that bed filled his mind the moment he stepped into the room.

He needed to get a grip or he wouldn't be able to hide his growing bulge in a minute.

"Everything seems right"

"yeah? 'm not sure about the bed" you hummed, desperately hoping he would just go along with it "it makes a weird sound when I get on it"

He turned to you then, his eyes locking with yours for an infinite second.

"try" you said finally, nodding to the bed.

He watched you for a moment longer before, surprising you, he did it- he sat on the bed.

The mattress creaked underneath his weight, and you made quick work of strolling closer to him as he pressed his palms on the bed, checking for the inexistent "weird sound"

"it don't look like there's anythin' wron-" he looked up the moment your hands found his shoulders "Whatcha doin'? sweethear-"

You were sat on his lap before he could even finish the sentence.

"Joel" you spoke his name softly, as if it were a caress, your hands slowly moving up and down from his shoulders to his pecs, as you finally scooted closer to him so your core was right against the hardness in his jeans-

He inhaled sharply, his fingers curling on the bed.

"would you like to have sex with me or not?"

You accentuated your words with a slow roll of your hips, grinding onto him and making a soft groan build inside his throat

"this- this ain't really fair sugar"

A smirk pulled at your lips as you lowered your head to whisper in his ear "I never said I didn't play dirty, Mr. Miller"

Your right hand trailed lower, moving down his belly so slowly that Joel thought he might just lose his mind.

"You're y-young baby-"

Your hand had found his crotch, the outline of his dick fitting in your hand oh so perfectly.

"we've gone over this already Joel, I'm old enough" you purred, your lips leaving a peck just below his ear "old enough to do many many things"

He cursed under his breath

"I just... I don't understand"

A breathy laugh escaped you

"there's not much to understand really" you murmured "You're hot, and I like you, and I wanna get in your pants"

That earned you a chuckle

"and you're sure you won't regret this?" he asked, "you sure this is what you really want- that- that you don't want to give a boy your age a chance instead of me?"

You smiled as you looked up at him,

you'd never met a man so sweet

"Joel, I promise you I'm sure" you whispered "I promise you this is what I want, you are what I want"

Fucking damn it

How could he ever say no after that?

With those gentle eyes of yours looking at him, with your hand right over his cock...

"So?"

He was gonna think about the consequences tomorrow. Now- now there was only you.

"yes"

That single word sounded better than any song you'd ever heard.

yes

Your lips were on his before he could even think of changing his mind- and god did they feel like a dream.

His soft stubble grazed against your cheeks and upper lip, as you deepened the kiss, as he opened up to you, closing his eyes only after he'd taken you in, only after he could admire all that was happening to him for some godforsaken reason.

A growl rumbled from his chest when your core found his dick again, grinding onto it in a way, that combined with the way your tongue was tasting every inch of him, was making him see stars.

He didn't think he'd kissed like this in 30 years,

making out seemed like such a distant thing from him, he was much too old to do something like this, and yet... everything about you made him feel like a teenager all over again, so perhaps it was fitting-

and god he had forgotten how amazing it felt.

You started undoing his flannen, not even dreaming of breaking the kiss, and once you opened his shirt up, once his big strong chest was right there before you, you just had to look at it.

You leaned away, his lips chasing yours making you smile as your gaze lowered.

Jesus, he was the hottest man you'd ever seen.

Some hair and freckles adorned his pecs, his little belly was ever so cutely fighting against his jeans- his skin was soft beneath your palms as they explored every inch they could reach.

He was looking at you, watching your blow-out eyes, wondering what potion you'd drank to be this mesmerized by what he had to offer.

You smiled once you caught him, leaning closer to leave a quick kiss on his lips.

"take off your clothes"

You got off of him, and once he saw you get rid of your shirt, your boobs pushed together by a simple black bra that somehow, at the moment, seemed like the sexiest thing in the world, he rushed to follow suit, nearly tripping getting off his pants.

The moment he looked at you again, the world- the universe, it all went quiet.

You stood naked before him, a soft, perfect little thing, looking like a damn dream.

"babygirl" he could only breathe as you reached him again.

"What?" you laughed

"I-I don't even know"

You shook your head, grinning from ear to ear as he pressed his mouth on yours again.

He was already addicted.

In a haze, you found yourself on the bed, your body caged beneath his, his tongue fighting with yours, his hands all over- You almost had the urge to laugh at how desperate he seemed, how frantically he was touching every inch of you, exploring every piece of skin-

His hands were on your tits, fingers gently playing with your nipples, then on your belly, your waist, your ass, your thighs, until finally, he found your core, but before he had the time to fully reach it you'd switched up with him, straddling his lap as he laid flat on his back... only he couldn't keep away for even a second and he immediately sat up, grabbing your waist.

He couldn't even begin to complain that you'd already grabbed his cock, positioning it at your entrance.

You couldn't wait anymore- you needed him now.

"Wait-" he murmured, his breathing labored already "you sure you're... y'know ready?"

Oh my god, you swore you were gonna fall for him if he kept this shit up.

"Joel" you smiled, looking into his big brown eyes "I've been wet since you fixed the cabinet"

"I-" he blushed "You-you sure?"

You didn't answer him, you simply took one of his hands in yours and guided him to feel just how much you were telling the truth.

"Fuck"

"yeah" you smirked "that's just what you do to me, Mr. Miller"

Jesus fuck

Joel didn't think his cock had ever been so hard.

You didn't give him time to do or say anything- he'd gathered that's how you did things by now- as you slowly, oh so very slowly, started sinking onto him.

He was big, the kind of big you'd be feeling tomorrow morning. The stretch hurt just right, so overwhelmed by the unadulterated pleasure that it was barely there.

Soft little moaned gasps spilled from your lips with every inch added, your eyes were closed, only focusing on the extraordinary feeling as your nails clawed at Joel's chest.

Until, finally- you'd done it. You were fully sat on his cock, and while your eyelids fluttered open, you regained your ability to hear- to hear the curses leaving Joel's mouth between ragged breaths

"Jesus Christ- Jesus fucking Christ- Goddamnit"

His grip on your waist was so tight you were sure it was gonna leave a bruise... not that you were complaining.

"you ok?"

His eyes were shut close and creases of effort filled his forehead, while his chest went up and down as he desperately tried to breathe.

"Joel?"

He swallowed tightly, now breathing in through his nose before exhaling from his mouth.

"d-don't move"

You smiled as you promised "I won't"

God this was fucking embarrassing.

He'd spent three days training.

And yes he wasn't sure he would have said yes, but still, better safe than sorry- except for the fact it clearly hadn't worked.

He had spent three days fucking his own fist and trying to last as much as possible and he did do progress... but this... this was fucking nothing like what he'd felt in the last twenty years.

He was so fucked

"I-I'm sorry" he gritted out, sounding almost defeated "I- I haven't done this in a long time darlin'"

"And you... you feel so fuckin' good- fuck"

Your walls had inadvertently squeezed around him at his words, making a groan rumble in his chest.

"You have nothing to apologize for Joel"

he would have told you that your voice was making everything worse if he weren't so preoccupied with trying to calm his dick down.

"take all the time you need"

And so he did, his eyes remained closed as he breathed through the initial shock, until finally, after what felt like an eternity, he was back.

He had to stifle a moan once he opened his eyes back up.

There you were, your beautiful eyes trained on his with such gentleness and care that it made where his gaze fell to feel even more sinful.

Your boobs were barely touching his chest, and yet they could have been in his face for the effect they had on him- his hands were on your waist, holding onto your soft flesh, your thighs were straddling his lap, giving him no choice but to finally look between your bodies, where you two connected.

"Darlin'" he murmured, hypnotized

You smiled, watching him admiring you in silence

"You look..."

Every word that came to mind wasn't enough, you were otherwordly, you were perfection... so he just settled on the simplest, and perhaps truest of them all.

"you're beautiful"

Your cheeks burned with heat as his gaze came back to yours.

"so are you, Joel"

And that was that.

His lips found yours again, and you couldn't stop your hips as they started moving, rocking back and forth and bringing little waves of ecstasy to your core.

A desperate moan spilled from yours to Joel's mouth as he grabbed the back of your head, forcing you into an even deeper kiss as he started following your movements.

Your hands went to the back of his neck, grabbing at the hair at the nape of it as you finally started bouncing on his dick, and god- god it was even better than you could have ever imagined

The loudest growl sounded from his throat as you worked yourself up and down on his shaft.

He was in another universe, his actions were only reflexes as the hand not tangled in your hair found your tits and then your ass, grabbing at it with tenderness and need.

"Oh Joel" you cried, his dick filling you up better than anything ever before.

You could quite literally feel him in your stomach, every little vein and ridge of skin creating a permanent dent inside of you that only he was ever gonna be able to fill.

"sweetheart- fuck" he groaned on his own, your breaths mixing as you ghosted each other's mouths, his eyes raking over your body and face, while yours couldn't help but roll to the back of your head as his manhood hit a particularly good spot.

"You feel so- good Joel" you whimpered mindlessly, now quickening your pace, desperation taking over you completely.

the sound of him entering your drenched core mixed with the bed creaking underneath you as you drove yourself closer and closer to heaven.

The sound of his name falling from your lips was something that filled Joel's chest with an indescribable feeling, he felt on top of the word, and at the same time... at the same time he wished it had never left your mouth because it was now forever imprinted in his brain, and he knew nothing was ever gonna compare to it.

Oh and also- also it was making his little lasting problem real fucking hard to control.

But he was nothing if not a gentleman,

You were gonna come, he wasn't gonna have it any other way.

His hand lowered down your belly as you kept chasing your release, looking like a damn glimpse of paradise, until his thumb found your clit.

"Oh fuck" you moaned, your eyes snapping open to look at him- a dark glaze of lust shading your iris.

Joel realized too late that he hadn't taken into account how fucking tight you'd get, and was now really paying the consequences.

Plus when you looked at him like that... maybe just this one time he could not be a gentleman- I mean it's not like he had much choice, he was trying his hardest but- shit

"darlin'" he mumbled, his thumb circling your bud "w-where do ya- where do ya want it?"

You moaned louder just at the thought of him coming

"Inside"

It wasn't even a question

"N-no sweetheart I-I shouldn-"

"Joel" you interrupted him, your lips grazing his as you talked, your grip on his hair tightening "I want you to fill me up until I can feel you leaking out of me for days"

Good Christ and heaven

"Fuck me" he cursed, all his strength going on not coming right there and then "Darlin' please- tell me you're close"

You were already seeing stars as he spoke

"I'm close, baby- oh fuck" you cried "Joel!"

A tsunami of lust-filled pleasure coursed through your veins as your orgasm hit like a damn truck.

You couldn't even remember your name as you screamed his own into the thick air, as you moaned and cried and spasmed around him, feeling him do exactly what you'd asked- filling you up to the very brim.

He'd started coming the moment you did- he couldn't do anything about it, it was just unadulterated perfection-

His head fell between your neck and shoulders as groaned like a man possessed,

until finally, after a good three minutes, you were both back to the land of the living.

He looked twenty years younger when he looked at you again, and you- you looked like the most beautiful woman on earth.

A soft smile pulled at your lips, and you couldn't help but ask "How long before we can do it again?"

And fuck him, but his age didn't matter, with those eyes of yours, it might very well be minutes.

@kluvspedro @bluebiyou @casssiopeia @bean-is-reading @millerispunk @i-cant-stfu

[d1stalker]

All of You, All of Me [Logan Howlett]

Summary: In a world of black and white, the only person who could bring colour to your life is the last one who'd want to.

Warnings: au where everything is black and white until you meet your soulmate, fem!reader, slow burn, angst, running away from feelings, pining, grovelinggg WC: 14.2k - MASTERLIST - A/N: help i'm sorry i didn't mean for it to get this long, but this fic is my baby

----

You've always cherished the idea of having a soulmate—someone who would love you unconditionally, waiting just for you as you them. The thought of finding that perfect match, the one who complements you in every way, is something you’ve always dreamed of. 

But as you get older, the hope you carry seems to dwindle more and more each year. Everyone around you has found their other half, reveling in the newfound ability to see colours in all their glory, and soaking up every moment of shared affection.

Everyone, except for you.

Your world remains a stark, colourless void, as if the universe is deliberately withholding the one thing you desire most.

And to make matters worse, despite not finding your soulmate, you are unequivocally, irrevocably in love with someone who has.

Logan Howlett.

You can’t remember a time where you didn’t feel anything toward him. His rugged, lone-wolf demeanor snuck its way deep into the crevices of your heart, and made itself a home there.

You and him formed an unlikely friendship, formed through the desire to fight back against all the people who’ve wronged mutants. Over the years, you had accepted the fact that while he wasn’t yours, at least you were alone together. Well, until she came.

Jean Grey.

She was strong, charming, and everything you felt you weren’t. It was no wonder her and Logan were meant to be together—the stoic, brooding mutant and his graceful, strong-willed counterpart. 

You remember the day it happened so vividly, it’s almost like you were the one who found their life partner. You and him had been walking around the mansion, when Charles had called you into his office to meet someone new. One look at their faces when they made eye contact and you knew you’d lost him.

It pained you to see them all over each other, all the time. Your once-regular walks in the garden became rare, then vanished entirely. On missions, he no longer looked out for you; his attention was consumed by protecting her. And as much as it hurt, you couldn’t deny they seemed perfect for each other—just as soulmates should be. You had no right to feel jealous.

Then, just as quickly as she had entered his life, she left it. 

The Pheonix was too strong, ripping her apart from the inside out. The pained scream he let out as not only his heart died, but as the world around him faded back into black and white, was forever ingrained into your memory. 

Logan was never the same after that.

 —

You trudge down the familiar halls of the mansion, your feet heavy with the weight of the day. It’s been long, filled with training sessions, team meetings, and a lot of paperwork. All you want to do is retreat to your room, lose yourself in a book, or maybe just sleep until the ache in your chest dulls.

As you walk, you hear faint commotion down the hallway—a low murmur of voices and the occasional clatter of something being moved. But you pay it no mind, too lost in your thoughts to care. Another mission, another discussion, another moment where you aren’t needed. It’s all so routine now.

Lost in your reverie, you don’t notice the figure walking toward you until it’s too late. You collide with a solid chest, the impact jolting you back to reality.

“Oh, sorry—” you begin, stepping back, but the words die on your lips as you look up.

It’s Logan.

Your breath catches in your throat as you stare at him, shock rippling through your body as you process his presence. And for a moment, neither of you speak. You just stand there, taking him in—the man who was once your closest friend, the man who was torn apart by grief and loss. His clothes are rumpled, his skin rougher than you remember, like he’s been through hell and back. 

You hadn’t seem him in a long time. After the devastation, he stopped talking to everyone. He holed himself up in his room for days at a time, only coming out in the dead of night to eat. Either that, or he was away on a mission–anything to stay distracted. 

But now, looking at him, there’s something different off. Something you can’t quite place your finger on. Did he always look like that? Maybe it’s the way the light above is reflecting off of him. Or maybe it’s—oh.

Looking around in surprise, you watch as the usually dark, stoic walls explode into a deep, rich shade. The carpet below you—no longer a mural of grey—radiates colors you can’t name. Your hands, his eyes, his hair-

You want to open your mouth and say something, anything, to the man who has caused your world to shift on its axis, but he’s already turned, walking away from you.

“Give me a fuckin’ break.”

----

Brown. Logan’s hair is brown.

After Logan leaves you paralyzed in the hallway, you run to your room, find the book on colors you had stashed in your bedside table, and throw open the cover. In it is a diagram that displays every known colour and their names. You learn that your favorite pair of pants are maroon, your bedsheets are navy green, and the X-Men suits are bright yellow and blue.

You stare at the page, each word blurring as your mind tries to process the impossible. Logan’s hair is brown. The thought keeps repeating in your head like a mantra, over and over again, until it becomes a steady thrum, drowning out everything else.

Brown.

You sit back on your bed, letting the book slip from your hands, the pages crumpling as it hits the floor.

Why him? Why me? Why now?

You begin to fidget, the adrenaline of the prior moment causing your heart to flail in your chest like crazy. You can’t stay here, you think to yourself. The idea of locked in your room with only your thoughts for company does not sound appealing. You need air, something to ground you, something to clear the haze clouding your head. Without thinking, you jump out of bed and find yourself heading up to the roof, the one place where you can breathe without feeling like the walls of the mansion closing in on you.

The trip up the stairs feels longer than ever before, each step heavy under the weight of your mind. It’s like every thought adds ten pounds. When you open the door, the cool night air hits you like a welcomed slap to the face, and you exhale deeply.

Walking to the edge, you lean against the railing. You’re in a daze - wondering if you made up the entire thing in your head. The only proof that you haven't, and that Logan being your soulmate is real, is the colours that coat the mansion’s grounds. The moonlight bathes everything in what you now know as a soft, silver glow, and for a moment, you just stand there, looking out into the distance.

It doesn’t make sense, and the more you try to wrap your head around it, the more tangled your thoughts become. You don’t want to face the possibility of what it could mean, but you can’t just brush it aside either. It has quite literally changed your entire life. 

You close your eyes, taking a deep breath in an attempt to quiet your racing mind. But when you open them again, you freeze.

Logan is standing at the other end of the roof, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, his gaze fixed on the sky. He hasn’t noticed you yet, and for a split second, you consider turning back, retreating before he sees you. It would be a wise idea - he didn’t want to talk to you then, and he probably doesn’t want to talk to you now. But, it an act that can only be seen as your own body betraying you, you take a step forward. 

The sudden movement catches his attention, and his head snaps in your direction, his eyes locking onto yours. 

“Why are you here?” he asks accusingly.

You hesitate, unsure of how to answer. Seeing him out here was the last thing you had expected, and now that he’s in front of you, you are at a loss of words.

Logan’s eyes narrow, and he pushes off the wall, walking toward you. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“I needed air,” you manage to say, swallowing the lump in your throat. “I just needed to clear my head.”

“Well, find somewhere else to do it,” he snaps, “I don’t want company.”

“Logan, I—”

“Don’t,” he interrupts, not even bothering to hear you out. “Don’t start. I know what you’re gonna say, and I don’t want to hear it.”

You blink, taken aback, and hurt at his coldness. “What are you talking about?”

He lets out a low, humourless laugh, running a hand through his hair. “You think I don’t know what’s going on? God, I… this is all so fucking stupid.”

Your heart skips a beat, and you feel a flush of embarrassment rise to your cheeks. “I wasn’t—”

“Enough!” he barks, his voice echoing in the night. “I’m not interested, alright? Whatever it is you think is happening between us, it’s not real. It’s just some stupid trick of the universe, and I’m not playing along.”

His words hit you like a physical blow - like you’ve just been shot at right in the heart - and you have to bite your lip to keep from crying out. “I don’t understand. I didn’t mean for any of this—”

“Yeah, well, neither did I,” he snaps at you, “And I’m not gonna sit here and pretend like there’s something here,” he gestures between you two, “when there isn’t. You’re not mine, and I’m sure as hell not yours.”

The finality in his tone leaves you breathless, and for a moment, all you can do is stare at him. You have nothing to say back, he’s not giving you any slack. The reality of his rejection sinks in with a brutal, crushing weight, you have to put in effort to not stumble over. 

After a long moment, you finally collect yourself. Then, “Okay,” you whisper. “I understand.”

Logan’s expression doesn’t soften; if anything, it grows colder, more distant.

“Good. Then stay away from me.”

You nod, eyes filling with tears. You quickly turn your face away, not wanting him to see just how much he’s hurt you.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur, barely audible. “I didn’t mean to make things worse for you.”

He doesn’t respond, doesn’t even acknowledge your apology. He just turns away, his back to you, effectively shutting you out.

You stand there for a long moment, watching him walk away for the second time that night. The colours that seemed so vibrant, so full of life just a moment ago, now feel like a cruel reminder of everything you could never have.

—

When you eventually return to your room, all you can do is lay in bed and stare up at the ceiling as your encounter with Logan on the roof replays in your mind on an endless loop, each harsh word he’d thrown at you cutting deeper than the last. It’s causes pain unlike anything you’ve ever felt before, pain that seems to have no end, no respite.

If he doesn’t want you in his life, you’ll accept that. You have to - it’s not like you have a choice. Soulmates are a two-way street.  

You can’t force him to feel something he doesn’t, can’t make him see you in a way he clearly never will. And you understand, don’t you? You can’t even imagine how difficult this would be for him. Losing your soulmate, and then the universe saying Fuck You and giving you another? 

You’ll never ever forget how wrecked he was when Jean died. How her death shattered him into pieces so small you weren’t–no–you’re still not sure he’ll ever be whole again. 

And you—where do you stand in the grand scheme of things? Just as the unfortunate recipient of a bond that neither of you asked for? Are you even allowed to be upset about this?

—

Waking up the next morning, you honestly wish you hadn’t. You knew you weren’t on good terms with Logan after his little rooftop showcase of emotions, but nothing could have prepared you for the way he starts to treat you.

His face is stuck in a perpetual scowl when you’re in his vicinity. He’s leaving every room the moment you enter, refusing to look at you, speak to you, or acknowledge your presence in any way. It’s as if you’ve become invisible, a ghost haunting the same halls you once shared with him. There’s only one thing you two seem to wordlessly agree on: don’t tell anyone. 

Each day following becomes a struggle, an unbearable test of your strength as you try to make it through without breaking. You begin to avoid Logan as much as he avoids you, but the mansion is only so big, and there are always moments when you catch sight of him in the distance, his broad shoulders hunched, his brooding face glaring daggers in your direction. 

It hurts you every time, an unending torture that leaves you stumbling. Still, you bite your tongue and keep moving, pretending you don’t care.

But you do care. You care more than you want to admit, more than you think is possible. Because despite everything—despite the rejection, the coldness, the anger—you still love him. 

And that’s the cruelest twist of all.

So you endure it, day after day, week after week, month after month. Letting it tear you apart piece by piece, because what else can you do? You carry this burden alone, just as you’ve carried your feelings for him all these years. And maybe one day, the pain will fade, the bond will weaken, and you’ll be able to move on.

—

The only person you tell is Charles.

“What’s on your mind, my child?” he asks one day, while you’re sweeping the dust in his office. 

You hesitate, your gaze dropping to your hands as you focus on cleaning. You know he’s just asking out of courtesy, and that he could easily crawl into your mind and figure it out himself. He probably wouldn’t even need to put in that much effort, given how loud your thoughts are. But still, you don’t yield to his probing.

“Nothing, really,” you mutter, forcing a small smile that doesn’t reach your eyes. “Just… tired, I guess.”

Charles watches you carefully, his eyes full of the warmth and compassion he always has, but this time, it makes you feel uncomfortable. Like he can see right through the facade you’re trying so hard to maintain, which you have no doubt, he does. 

“I’m here to help, whatever the burden.”

You want to groan. It’s not like he’s doing it on purpose but damn does it feel like he’s trying to guilt you into confessing that you just recently had your heart shattered. 

“I know, Professor. But… it’s nothing you need to worry about.”

“You forget, I worry about all of you,” he replies gently. “It’s in my nature.”

The chuckle that crawls out your throat is nothing short of bitter. “It’s just… complicated.”

“Complicated doesn’t mean you have to face it alone.”

You bite your lip, trying to keep the emotions at bay. Do you really want to explain to him the insurmountable suffering you’re in, the rejection you faced from the one person who is supposed to be your soulmate? How can you tell him that the bond the universe forged is the very thing tearing you apart?

“It’s just… I don’t know how to make sense of it, Professor,” you finally admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “Everything’s so… wrong.”

He leans forward slightly, his gaze never leaving yours. “Wrong how?”

Knowing that you’re teetering into confession territory, you hesitate, needing time to collect your thoughts. 

“Logan… he… we… It’s not supposed to be like this, is it?” you eventually get out. Not your best work, but you know he’d get the gist. 

Understanding dawns in Charles’s eyes, and you can see the sympathy there, the quiet acceptance of the truth you’re struggling to voice. “The bond you share… it’s more than you expected, isn’t it?”

You nod, feeling the tears well up again. “But he doesn’t want it. He doesn’t want me.”

The professor sighs softly, and he looks at you like you’re a lost puppy. “Logan has been through so much, more than most could bear. His heart has been wounded in ways that are difficult to heal, and it’s not surprising that he would resist this new connection.”

“So why me?” you ask. “Why bind me to someone who will never love me?”

Leaning back in his chair, his fingers steepled thoughtfully, he says, “I wish I had an answer for you, my dear. The universe works in mysterious ways, ways that often defy our understanding. But I do know this: the bond you share is there for a reason. Whether it’s meant to bring you closer or to teach you something important… that remains to be seen.”

“It feels like a punishment,” you whisper, the tears finally spilling over. As much as you hate being put on the hot seat, you can admit that it feels good talking to someone about it.  “Every day, it hurts more. And he won’t even look at me. I don’t know how to make it stop.”

“The heartache you’re feeling is profound, but you must understand that it’s not your fault. Logan’s reaction isn’t a reflection of your worth, but of his own pain and fear.”

He reaches out, placing a comforting hand on your own before continuing.

“To love, even when it’s not returned, takes incredible courage. But you must also take care of yourself. Give Logan the space he needs, and in the meantime, allow yourself the grace to heal.”

So you do. In the days that follow your conversation with Charles, you make a promise to yourself—to try, really try, to focus on your own life, to reclaim the parts of yourself that have been overshadowed by the pain of this unrequited love.

The colours are still there, vivid and vibrant, and though they sometimes feel like a bittersweet reminder of what could never be, you find moments where they bring you joy. You marvel at the deep blue of the sky, the rich greens of the trees, the way the sunlight filters through the leaves and paints the world in golden hues. It’s like seeing the world anew, and in those moments, you allow yourself to feel happiness.

Moreover, you busy yourself, volunteering for every assignment that comes your way. The adrenaline, the focus, the purpose—they all help to drown out the pain, even if only temporarily. And when you return from each mission, tired but satisfied, you feel a little more like yourself again.

The mansion, too, becomes less of a prison and more of a home once more. You start spending more time with the others, rejoining them for meals, for training sessions, for movie nights. 

You laugh with Rogue, spar with Scott, and even find yourself engaging in playful banter with Remy. It’s not perfect, and there are still moments where you catch yourself faltering, when the weight of everything threatens to pull you under, but those moments are becoming fewer and farther between.

You’re healing, slowly but surely, and with each passing day, you feel a little stronger, a little more in control of your life—of your emotions. 

But then there are the times when you cross paths with Logan, and those moments are the hardest.

One evening, after returning from a particularly grueling mission, you find yourself heading toward the kitchen, your mind on the sandwich you plan to make. The place is quiet, most of the team out on various assignments, or finishing up on some work, and you relish the peace as you walk down the corridor.

However, just as you reach the kitchen door and push it open, you find Logan standing there, preparing to exit the room at the exact same moment. Your heart lurches, and you stop dead in your tracks, almost like a deer caught in headlights. 

His gaze meets yours, and all you can see is his impassive, stoic expression. He steps back, giving you space to enter, but the tension between you is palpable.

“Sorry,” you mumble, stepping to the side, trying to make yourself as small as possible.

Logan doesn’t say anything, barely nodding—if you could even it that— before brushing past you, his shoulder grazing yours. The brief contact sends a jolt through your system, and you have to force yourself to stay still and not physically react. 

Once he leaves, you let out a shaky breath, your heart still racing from the encounter. It’s been so long since you’ve been this close to him—so long since you’ve seen the deep brown of his hair that you love so much. You hate this. 

Why does he have no reaction to at all? Why is it only you who seems to care? 

Because you are the only one who does care.

You move into the kitchen, still intent on eating, but it’s a challenge. Your hands are trembling.

—

It all comes to a head one night during dinner. In this rare occasion, both you and Logan are in the same room. You’re supposed to be celebrating Rogue and Gambit’s anniversary, and even though you insisted that they share this special moment together alone, they didn’t take no for an answer. 

That’s how you find yourself, sitting at the grand dining table with all your friends, and Logan. 

He’s across from you. Just your luck.

He refuses to spare you a single glance, his eyes staying busy the whole night. And while it’s been months and months of this, you have never gotten used to it. Still, you can’t help but sneak a few looks at that chocolate-coloured hair. Brown. 

Everything seems to be going smoothly, the food is delicious and the dessert even better, but when Gambit presents Rogue with a giant painting, that’s when you slip up. 

“I love how you blended the red with the blue!” You compliment, loving the way he managed to create the perfect contrast between shades. You’re too caught up in staring at the artwork to realize the table as gone deathly quiet, all eyes on you.

Rogue's expression is one of gentle confusion, her head tilted slightly as she tries to make sense of your words. “Darling, I thought you couldn’t see colour?”

In any other situation, you’re sure the team would have laughed at how comically large your eyes got, and how all the blood draining from your face makes you look like a gaping fish, but in this moment, nothing is funny. You can feel Logan’s eyes on you, and when you finally muster the courage to glance at him, you see that his all-too familiar glare you’ve been subject to for the last half-year. It makes your heart thud painfully in your chest

“I…” you begin, but you falter. Your mind is going through a thousand thoughts per minute, searching for an excuse you can use to deflect, to pretend it was just a mistake, but the silence is too heavy, too demanding.

Rogue’s confusion deepens, her gaze flickering between you and Logan, who is now staring at you with an expression that’s impossible to read. She starts to say something, but Remy gently places a hand on her arm, shaking his head slightly as if to tell her to let you speak. 

Logan’s gaze stays locked on you for a moment longer. Then, without a word, he pushes his chair back, the legs scraping harshly against the floor. The sound echoes in the silence, and before you can react, he stands up and walks out of the room, his movements stiff, almost mechanical.

The door closes behind him with a quiet click, and the tension in the room thickens. You feel a rush of embarrassment flood through you, your heart sinking as the reality of what just happened crashes over you. 

You lower your head, your eyes stinging with tears that you fight desperately to hold back. But it’s no use. The emotions you’ve been trying to keep buried for so long bubble to the surface, and before you can stop yourself, the tears start to fall. 

“I think I need a moment,” you manage to whisper, your voice trembling as you stand up from the table. Without waiting for a response, you hastily excuse yourself and head for the door, not before mumbling a quick apology to the couple in which you were there for.

Soon you find yourself outside in the gardens, the nightly breeze hitting your face as you make your way to a secluded bench. You can’t even appreciate the beauty in what you see, because all you feel is the overwhelming sense of failure and sadness that threatens to swallow you whole.

Sitting down heavily on the bench, you bury your face in your hands and let go. The sobs come hard and fast, each one ripping through you with a force that leaves you breathless. You’re heartbroken and angry and absolutely over it, but at the same time you feel like a massive asshole because who are you to be upset with a man who’s mourning the loss of a soulmate? 

It’s not fair.

You don’t know how long you sit there, lost in your grief, but eventually, you hear the sound of footsteps approaching. You look up, wiping at your eyes, and see Scott walking toward you.

“Mind if I join you?” he asks gently.

You shake your head, unable to find your voice, and Scott sits down beside you on the bench. 

“I’m sorry,” you croak, “I didn’t mean to ruin the night.”

Scott clicks his tongue in disagreement, his gaze focused on the gardens ahead. “You didn’t ruin anything. It’s clear you’ve been carrying this burden for a long time. It’s no wonder it slipped out tonight.”

“So everyone knows now?” you ask. He nods.

“It wasn’t hard to put two and two together,” he concludes, and you groan, bringing your hands to your face.

“I just… I didn’t want anyone to know. I didn’t want to be pitied.”

“Pity isn’t what anyone feels right now,” Scott says softly. “We’re worried about you. You’ve been hurting, and we didn’t see it. That’s on us.”

“It’s not your fault,” you bring your hands down from your face. “I’ve been trying to deal with it on my own. I thought I could handle it, but… clearly I was wrong”

With a serious expression, Scott turns to look at you. “I know what you’re going through, more than you might realize.”

You glance at him, surprised by his words. “You do?”

He nods, a sad smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “I was in love with Jean, remember? When her and Logan found out they were soulmates… it tore me apart. I didn’t think I’d ever be able to move on, and for a long time, I couldn’t.”

The mention of Jean’s name brings a fresh wave of emotion crashing over you, but there’s also a strange comfort in knowing that Scott understands your pain. “How did you… how did you get through it?”

He sighs, “It wasn’t easy. It took a long time, and I had to accept it.”

You wipe at your eyes again, sniffling as you try to compose yourself. “I’ve been thinking about leaving for a while. Taking a longer mission, just to get away for a bit. Maybe then I can figure out how to move on.”

He is quiet for a moment, considering your words. “If that’s what you need to do, I understand,” he says, “sometimes, a change of scenery can help. Though I think you should try to talk to Logan again.”

Letting out a bitter laugh, you shake your head. “I don’t know if he’ll even listen to me. He’s made it pretty clear how he feels.”

“He’s hurting too,” He decides, “He’s not handling it well, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t care. You both need closure, and running away won’t give you that.”

“What if it just makes things worse?”

“It might.” Scott places a comforting hand on your shoulder. “But it might also give you both the chance to start healing. You deserve that chance.”

You nod slowly, letting the weight of his words sink in. “I’ll… I’ll think about it.”

“Take the time you need,” he says. “We’re all here for you.”

“Thanks, Scott. That means a lot.” You offer him a small, grateful smile.

With a final nod, he turns and walks back toward the mansion, leaving you once again alone in the quiet of the gardens. You take a deep breath, the idea of leaving still tugs at you, but now, there’s also the thought of confronting Logan—of finding some kind of closure, whatever that might mean.

You really don’t want to do it, and you’re pretty sure it’s just going to end the same way it did last time - with him shutting you out. But Scott’s words echo in your mind, reminding you that healing often requires confrontation, not avoidance.

Goddamn it.

You huff as you stand up from where you’re seated. You can’t keep running from this, can’t keep letting him run from this. You need to talk to Logan, to lay everything out on the table, even if it tears you apart in the process.

Your anxiety builds with each step as you approach his room, and you pause outside his door, your heart pounding so loudly you’re sure he could hear it if he was listening. This is it. There’s no turning back now. With a shaky breath, you finally raise your hand and knock. 

There’s a long, agonizing pause, making you strain to hear any movement on the other side. For a second, the silence causes you think he might not answer, that he might just ignore you like he’s done so many times before. But then, you hear the faint sound of footsteps approaching the door. Your heart catches in your throat as it slowly opens, revealing Logan standing there, his expression hard and unreadable.

The moment he realizes it’s you, his eyes darken, and he immediately moves to close the door, shutting you out yet again. However, you’re not letting him get away that easily. Before the door can fully close, you stick your foot out, blocking it with more force than you intended.

“C’mon, Logan,” you press. “You know we need to talk.”

He freezes, his grip on the door tightening until his knuckles turn white. His jaw clenches and unclenches, nostrils flaring. He still doesn’t look at you, his gaze fixed on some distant point as if he can will you away if he tries hard enough. But he doesn’t push the door shut either. The room is thick with suspense, both of you standing there in a silent standoff.

Finally, with a low growl of frustration, Logan steps back, opening the door just a smidge wider, barely enough for you to squeeze through. It’s a reluctant invitation, but it’s all you need.

“Fine,” he mutters, his voice rough, edged with irritation. “Talk.”

You step into the room, and he closes the door behind you, lingering close to it, as if he’s ready to bolt at any second. You feel vulnerable and exposed. It’s suddenly hard to gather your thoughts when he’s standing so close, when the heat of his presence and the distance he’s placed between is right in your face.

“Why did you come?” Logan questions. He still refuses to look directly at you, his gaze fixed somewhere over your shoulder.

“Because we can’t keep pretending this isn’t happening,” you reply, “We need to talk about what’s going on between us.”

His jaw tightens further, and his teeth grind with barely contained frustration. He finally looks at you, his eyes hard and defensive. “There’s nothing to say,” he says bitterly. “I told you how I feel. I thought that was enough.”

“It’s not enough!” you shoot back, your own frustration bubbling to the surface. “You think you can just push me away, pretend like this bond doesn’t exist, and that’s supposed to solve everything? It doesn’t work like that, Logan.”

He flinches slightly at your words, but his keeps his expression hard. “Well what do you want me to say?” he demands, his voice rising. “That I’m sorry? That I didn’t mean to hurt you? Because I am, and I didn’t. But that doesn’t change the fact that I can’t be what you want me to be.”

His words hurt. 

“I know you told me how you feel,” you start, “but you’ve never let me tell you how I feel. You’ve never given me the chance to say that it’s been tearing me apart.”

A flash of guilt. “I didn’t think… I didn’t think you needed to say it. I already knew.”

“That isn’t fair,” you argue.

“You don’t understand,” he counters, “I lost Jean. I loved her, and when she died, it broke something in me. And now… now I’m supposed to just… move on? With you? It’s not that simple.”

“I never asked you to love me, Logan,” you say, your voice trembling with the intensity of your emotions. “I never pushed for anything more than friendship—it’s not like you gave me the chance! You’ve been shutting me out, ignoring me, making me feel like I’m nothing more than a burden, like I don’t even matter!”

You can see that the pain in your voice hitting him hard, but he doesn’t apologize. Instead, he looks away, his expression conflicted. “I’m trying to protect you,” he mutters, the words sounding hollow even to him

“Protect me?” you echo incredulously. “All you’re doing is make me feel like shit. Like I’m worthless. I can’t even be your friend, to help you through this.”

You pause. “You expect us all to know how you’re feeling, but you can’t even communicate it.”

Logan winces, his eyes flicking up to meet yours, filled with a torment you’ve never seen before. He opens his mouth to say something, but the words seem to get caught in his throat. Finally, after what feels like an eternity, he breaks the silence, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I can’t be what you want me to be,” he admits, his tone filled with a deep, aching sadness. “I don’t know how to let you in. Without her, I feel like… I can’t let anyone in.”

Your eyes soften a fraction his confession, but there’s also a deep frustration that burns inside you, a frustration born of months of pain and rejection. 

“You haven’t even tried,” you say softly with a quiet resignation, “You haven’t even tried to let me in, to see what we could have been, even if it was just as friends.”

What follows is a long, nagging silence. You let it linger, giving Logan the chance he needs to think of something to say. But there’s no answer, no promise that things will change, and then you realize, with a sinking feeling, that he’s not going to take that step, too broken to try.

That’s when it really hits you. 

Whatever you were fighting for, was a losing battle from the start. 

You give up.

This time, it is you who turns your back on him. 

“Goodbye, Logan. Take care of yourself.”

You don’t wait for a response. You don’t glance back. You walk out of the room, the door closing softly behind you, and with it, the last remnants of hope you had for something more.

— 

You decide to go on the mission.

It’s nothing complicated. Your task is to survey different regions of Europe, ensuring that there are no burgeoning anti-mutant operations threatening the safety of anyone. The primary goal is gathering information, and quiet observation. No violence, Charles told you in the debrief. 

The lack of immediate danger doesn’t make leaving any easier, though. This is as much about finding yourself as it is about fulfilling your duty.

Rogue and Kitty are with you during your final preparations, helping you pack the essentials and offering support in their own ways. They don’t ask many questions, probably sensing that this decision was not just made on a whim. And for that, you’re grateful.

“I still think you’re crazy for going solo,” Rogue says with a half-smile as she zips up your bag. “But if anyone can handle it, it’s you.”

You manage a small smile in return. “Thanks, Rogue. I just need some time…”

Kitty, who’s been quietly folding clothes and tucking them into your bag, looks up, seriousness clouding her gaze.  “We get it. Just promise you’ll keep in touch, okay? And don’t hesitate to call if you need backup.”

“I promise,” you assure.

She hesitates for a moment before reaching into her pocket and pulling out a small device—the X-Men communicator gadget. She holds it out to you, and you reach your hand out. 

“Here,” she says softly, pressing the device into your hand. “This is so you can update us on your whereabouts, your status, or any important mission details. Even if you don’t need anything, just… let us know you’re okay, alright?”

You look down at the communicator in your hand, and close your fingers around it, nodding as you meet Kitty’s gaze. 

“Alright, I’ll check in regularly. I won’t leave you guys in the dark.”

Rogue finishes the last bit of organization. “You’ve got this,” she says, “And we’ve got your back, even from a distance.” You nod, appreciating their support more than you can express. 

It almost feels like a walk of shame—leaving the mansion. Everyone knows why too, and that makes it a thousand times worse. But you won’t let it get to you. With one last look, you get in your car and begin on the windy path to the airport. 

—

When you arrive in Europe, the first thing that strikes you is the sheer beauty of the landscape. Each city, each town, has its own unique charm, its own story to tell. The bustling uphill streets of Porto, the serene canals of Venice, the ancient ruins of Athens—they all offer a distraction from the turmoil inside you.

The only good part about this whole mess is that you can see colour, and truly appreciate the sights before you.

You move from one place to the next, blending in with the crowds, quietly observing, gathering information, and sending brief updates to the team through the communicator Kitty gave you. Every message is short, to the point, just enough to let them know you’re safe and on track. You don’t share much beyond the essentials, not wanting to burden them with your personal struggles.

Then, in a small café in Rome, you meet a man named Marco. He’s a traveler like you, exploring Europe with a curiosity that matches your own. He’s warm, easygoing, and before long, the two of you strike up a conversation over coffee.

He is charming in a way that makes you feel at ease, his laughter infectious as he shares stories of his travels. You don’t tell him much about yourself, keeping the details of your mission and your mutant abilities hidden. To him, you’re just another traveler, searching for something—though he doesn’t pry into what that something is.

As the days pass, you and Marco continue to cross paths, and it’s nice to have someone to talk to, someone who doesn’t know about your past, about the things you’re running from. With him, you can be anyone, and for the first time in a long while, you start to feel a little lighter. You find yourself laughing more, the weight on your chest lifting a little each day. You don’t talk about the mission, and you certainly don’t talk about Logan.

One evening, as you’re both sitting on the steps of the Spanish Steps in Rome, watching the sunset, he turns to you with a grin. “So, where are you off to next?”

You hesitate, not wanting to reveal too much, but then you smile. “I’m heading to Florence. There are some places I need to check out.”

His eyes light up. “Florence? I’ve been meaning to re-visit. Mind if I tag along?”

A part of you wants to say no, to keep the distance you’ve carefully maintained, but another part—the part that’s been lonely for so long—nods in agreement. “Sure, why not?”

—

Back at the mansion, things haven’t been as positive. The once lively atmosphere has dimmed, replaced by an uneasy tension that lingers in the halls. The X-Men carry on with their duties, but there’s a noticeable shift—a missing piece that everyone feels but no one talks about. Logan, in particular, has become even more withdrawn, if that’s possible. The man who was once brooding and distant now seems even more so, his mood volatile and unpredictable.

His behavior has become a source of concern for the team. He’s always been rough around the edges, but now, it’s like the slightest thing can set him off. He snaps at everyone, his temper flaring at the smallest provocation. On missions, he’s reckless, throwing himself into danger without a second thought, as if he’s trying to outrun something—or someone. 

In many evenings, Logan finds himself in the mansion’s gym, trying to work off the restless energy that’s been plaguing him for months. The room is always empty, save for him, the steady rhythm of his fists pounding against the punching bag being the only sound. Sweat drips down his face, his muscles straining as he channels all his frustration and anger into each punch. Yet, no matter how hard he hits, he can’t seem to shake the thoughts of you that have been haunting him.

This night, door to the gym creaks open, and Logan doesn’t need to look up to know who it is. He can sense the other man’s presence, feel the weight of his gaze as he steps inside. He doesn’t slow his punches, doesn’t acknowledge Scott’s presence, but he knows why he’s here. They’ve had this conversation before—or something like it—but nothing’s changed. Nothing’s gotten better.

Scott watches him for a moment, his expression unreadable. He’s been watching Logan spiral for weeks now, but he’s kept his distance, knowing that he’d only be pushed away. But this can’t go on—Logan can’t keep doing this, can’t keep tearing himself apart over something he refuses to confront.

“She wouldn’t want this,” he finally says, voice cutting through the steady thud of Logan’s fists against the bag.

Logan’s movements falter for just a second before he resumes, his jaw tightening. “Who?” he growls, not bothering to turn around. “Her or Jean?”

Scott doesn’t flinch at the harshness in the other man’s tone. He steps closer, his eyes steady on their target as he answers, “Both.”

Finally, Logan stops. His fists still as he leans against the bag, his breath coming in ragged gasps. His shoulders are tense, the weight of Scott’s words pressing down on him like a physical burden. He doesn’t want to hear this, doesn’t want to be reminded of what he’s lost—of who he’s lost. 

Taking a step closer, Scott’s voice is firm. “Look, I’m not a spiritual person. But I also don’t think the universe messed up with this.”

Clenching, his fists, Logan knows what the other man is getting at, but he doesn’t want to acknowledge it. Doesn’t want to think about what could have been, what he’s been too scared to even consider.

“I know you know how I felt about Jean,” Scott says quietly, knowing he’s breaching a sensitive subject. “Losing her… it killed me too. And if I had been given a chance—a real chance to be with her, to make things right—I would have taken it. No hesitation.”

Logan’s breath hitches at that. The truth is, he’s been running—running from you, from the bond you share, from the possibility of something real. 

“I’m not saying you should chase after her,” he continues. “But I am saying that you need to stop running from her. The universe doesn’t just throw things like this at us for no reason. And you know that.”

The weight of Scott’s words settle over Logan like a shroud. He knows the other man is right—deep down, he’s always known. But that doesn’t make it any easier. The fear, the guilt, the pain of losing Jean—it’s all still there, gnawing at him, holding him back. 

There’s something else too, something he’s been trying to ignore but can’t any longer: the way he feels about you, the way he’s always felt, even if he couldn’t admit it to himself. One of the first thought’s that ran through his head when his world re-erupted into colour was that, had this happened before Jean, maybe it could have worked. Maybe he could have been what you wanted, felt something real.

Scott takes a step back, giving Logan the space he needs. “Just think about it,” he says softly. “Think about what you really want. And don’t wait until it’s too late to figure it out.”

Logan doesn’t respond, but Scott doesn’t need him to. He’s said what he needed to say, and now it’s up to him to decide what comes next. With a final look, Scott turns and leaves the gym, the door closing softly behind him.

The clawed mutant stands there for a long time, his fists still clenched, his mind racing. He knows he can’t keep doing this—can’t keep tearing himself apart over something he can’t change, something he’s too afraid to confront.

But change is terrifying, especially when it means facing the truth. The truth that maybe, just maybe, the bond he shares with you is something worth fighting for. Something that Jean wouldn’t want him to throw away.

With a deep, shuddering breath, Logan finally lets his fists unclench, the tension in his body slowly ebbing away. He doesn’t have all the answers—hell, he barely knows where to start—but he knows one thing for sure: he's can’t run away anymore. Not from this, not from you.

—

You’ve now spent days in Florence, wandering through the Uffizi Gallery, marveling at the works of the Renaissance masters, and evenings enjoying the quiet serenity of the Arno River. With you, Marco. You’ve grown to trust him. He’s never made you uncomfortable, never had any intentions to take advantage of you, and knows all the best restaurants. 

But there’s always been a small, nagging doubt that you’ve pushed aside—a feeling that something isn’t quite right. You’ve ignored it, convincing yourself that you’re just being paranoid after everything you’ve been through. After all, he has been nothing but kind, always knowing the right thing to say, always showing up just when you need someone.

It isn’t until the two of you are exploring a quieter part of Florence, that the doubt flares into something more. You’re walking through an old, narrow alleyway, the kind that tourists rarely venture into, when Marco suggests you take a shortcut through a small, unmarked door in the side of a building.

“I found this place the last time I was here,” Marco says, his smile as easy as ever. “It’s a hidden gem, leads right to a beautiful courtyard. You’ll love it.”

You hesitate, something in his tone—or maybe it’s the way his eyes gleam just a little too brightly—sets off alarm bells in your mind. You’ve come to trust him though, haven’t you? You’ve traveled together for weeks, shared countless stories and laughs. Surely, he wouldn’t lead you into danger.

Still, as you step through the door, the darkened space beyond immediately feels wrong. The air is colder, damp, and the walls are lined with strange, unidentifiable equipment. You glance back at Marco, and that’s when you see it—the change in his expression. The warmth is gone, replaced by something cold and calculating.

Before you can react, you feel a sharp prick in your arm. Your vision blurs, and your body goes numb almost instantly. You stumble back, trying to push away, but your legs give out, and you collapse to the floor.

Marco looms over you, the smile gone from his face, replaced by a look of triumph. “Did you really think I didn’t know?” he sneers, his voice dripping with disdain. “You’re a mutant, and you thought you could hide it from me?”

The world around you spins as the drug takes full effect, but you force your mind to stay focused. “What… why?” you manage to whisper, the betrayal cutting deep.

“Why?” He laughs, the sound harsh and devoid of any warmth. “Because mutants like you are worth a fortune. My clients pay top dollar for… research subjects. And you, my dear, are about to make me very, very rich.”

You try to move, to fight back, but your body refuses to respond. Panic rises in your chest as he kneels beside you, pulling out a small device that looks like a portable scanner. He runs it over you, and it emits a low hum as it registers your vital signs, confirming what he already knows. You’re weak. 

“You won’t get away with this,” you say.

“Oh, but I already have,” he replies with cruel satisfaction. “No one knows where you are. And even if they did, it’ll be too late by the time they find you.”

With the last bit of strength you can muster, you reach into your pocket, fingers trembling as you fumble with the X-Men communicator that Kitty gave you. His attention is momentarily distracted as he prepares a syringe filled with a clear liquid, and you seize the opportunity. You manage to pull out the communicator, your fingers barely able to grip it. Then, with a deep breath, you press the SOS button, the screen flashing to life.

You type in the message as quickly as you can, your vision blurring even more as the drug takes hold. 

Location: Florence. 

Message: Help.

Just as you hit send, Marco notices what you’re doing. His eyes widen in anger, and he grabs your wrist, yanking the communicator out of your hand. “You little—!” he snarls, but it’s too late. The message has already been sent.

His face contorts in rage as he slams the gadget against the ground, smashing it to pieces. He glares down at you, his hand tightening painfully around your wrist. “You think you’re so clever, don’t you? But it doesn’t matter. They’ll never get here in time.”

Your strength is nearly gone, the drug pulling you into unconsciousness, but you manage one last defiant look. “You won’t win,” you whisper with the last of your energy.

Marco releases your wrist with a sneer, standing up and looking down at you with contempt again. “We’ll see about that,” he mutters before turning away, leaving you on the cold, hard floor as darkness overtakes you. 

You can only hope they—that Logan—will reach you in time.

—

The signal comes through during a meeting. A sudden, loud beep cuts through the room,  and everyone freezes, their attention immediately drawn to the source of the sound. To Kitty’s pocket. It’s the X-Men communicator, the one linked to your device. 

Logan’s head snaps up, his eyes narrowing as he recognizes the tone. He’s on his feet before anyone else can react, his heart pounding in his chest. “What the hell was that?” he demands, his voice tense with urgency.

Kitty quickly pulls it out of her pocket, her eyes widening as she reads the message that’s flashed across the screen. Her face pales, and she looks up at the others, her voice trembling as she speaks. “It’s from her… Florence… Help.”

There’s a brief pause, maybe a second long in length, and then the room erupts into a flurry of movement. 

Chairs scrape against the floor as the team rises to their feet, already preparing for action. But Logan is the first to react, his face a mask of fury and determination. “I’m going,” he growls, already heading for the door.

“Logan, wait!” Scott steps forward, blocking Logan’s path with a firm hand on his chest. 

“Get out of my way, Summers,” He snarls, his voice filled with barely controlled rage. “I’m not waiting around while she’s in danger.”

“We can’t just rush in without a plan,” Scott insists, trying to keep his own emotions in check. “We need to know what we’re dealing with.”

Logan shoves the other mutant’s hand away, his eyes blazing with anger. “She sent an SOS, Scott! She needs help, and we’re wasting time standing here talking about it!”

The rest of the team watches the confrontation with anxious eyes, knowing that things could easily escalate. Logan’s been on edge for weeks, and the urgency of the situation—of you— has pushed him to the brink. 

“Logan,” Ororo interjects, “We understand how you feel, but we need to think this through. If this is a trap—”

“I don’t give a damn if it’s a trap!” He snaps, his voice rising. “She’s part of our team! We can’t just leave her there!”

“That’s not what we’re saying,” Scott tries to reason, but Logan isn’t having it.

“Then what the hell are you sayin’?” He demands, his frustration boiling over. “Why are we wasting time when we should be getting her out of there?”

There’s a brief, uncomfortable silence, and then it’s Rogue who steps forward, conflicted. “Logan… what if… what if she doesn’t want to see you?”

He freezes, the words hitting him harder than any physical blow could. He stares at Rogue, disbelief and anger warring in his eyes. “What the fuck are you talking about?” he growls.

Rogue swallows, her eyes filled with worry. “She left because she needed time, Logan. Because things between you two… they weren’t good. Maybe she—maybe she doesn’t want you to be the one to save her.”

Clenching his hands into fists, his body is taut with tension. “Fuck that!” he roars with a fierce, protective rage. “She’s part of our team! She sent that message to us, to the X-Men, because she needs our help. I don’t care what’s happened between us, I’m not leavin’ her there!”

The room falls silent, the weight of Logan’s words settling over everyone. They know Logan is right—she’s part of the team, and they can’t leave her behind. But they also know that the situation is more complicated than that.

Scott takes a deep breath, his gaze steady as he looks at Logan. “We’re not saying we shouldn’t go after her, Logan. We’re saying that you need to be prepared for whatever we might find when we get there. She might be in a bad place, and she might not be ready to face you.”

“I don’t care,” he says after a brief pause, his voice quieter now, but no less determined. “I’m going to get her out of there. Whether she wants to see me or not, I’m not lettin’ her go through this alone.”

Scott studies Logan for a long moment, then finally nods. “Alright. But we do this together, as a team.”

Logan nods, his jaw set in a grim line. “Fine. Let’s go.”

—

Your eyes snap open, the dim light of the room piercing your vision. You’re in a large, abandoned warehouse. Your head feels heavy, like it’s filled with cotton, and there’s a dull, throbbing pain at the base of your skull. As you try to move, you realize with a jolt of fear that you’re restrained, your arms and legs strapped tightly to a chair. Panic flares in your chest, and you struggle against the bonds, but they don’t budge.

And then you see him—Marco, standing a few feet away, watching you with a smirk that sends a chill down your spine. His eyes gleam with satisfaction, and you realize with horror that you’ve been caught, trapped in whatever twisted game he’s been playing.

“Ah, you’re awake,” he says, voice dripping with mock concern. “I was starting to wonder if I’d given you too much of the sedative. But it seems you’re tougher than I thought.”

You try to respond, but a gag in your mouth muffles your words, turning them into incoherent sounds. You glare at him your eyes burning with fury.

He only chuckles, clearly amused by your resistance. “Oh, don’t bother trying to speak. We wouldn’t want you calling for help, now would we? Though, I must say, I’m impressed you managed to send that little SOS before I caught on. Clever, but ultimately futile.”

He steps closer, his eyes narrowing as he looks you over, his expression turning cold. “You know, I’ve dealt with a lot of mutants in my time, but there’s something special about you. Something… unique.” He reaches out and grabs your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. “Too bad your powers won’t do you any good here. The drug I gave you should keep you nice and powerless for the foreseeable future.”

Straining against the bonds, you continue to try to break free, but he drug in your system dulls your abilities, leaving you feeling weak and vulnerable. All you can do is stare at him with hatred as he continues to taunt you.

“Such fire in your eyes,” Marco murmurs, almost to himself. “It’s a shame you’ll never see the light of day again. But don’t worry—I’ll make sure your abilities are put to good use.”

He lets go of your chin, his hand trailing down to your shoulder in a way that makes your skin crawl. “Now, let’s see what we can do to make you a little more… compliant.”

Just as he reaches into his coat pocket, presumably for another syringe, a sudden, loud crash echoes through the warehouse. The sound of splintering wood and shattering glass fills the air, followed by the unmistakable hum of energy blasts and the heavy thud of boots on the concrete floor.

The X-Men have arrived.

Marco’s eyes widen in surprise and then narrow in anger. He spins around, barking orders at the security guards scattered throughout the warehouse. “Stop them! Don’t let them get near her!”

The guards rush forward, weapons drawn, but they’re no match for your friends. The familiar sounds of battle flood your ears—Rogue’s powerful punches, Scott’s optic blasts, and Storm’s lightning crackling through the air. You struggle against your restraints again, desperate to free yourself, but it’s no use. 

Then, you catch a glimpse of Logan. He’s fighting his way toward you, his claws out, slicing through anyone who gets in his way. For a brief, heart-stopping moment, your eyes meet his, and you can see the raw determination in his gaze. He’s coming for you.

But just as he takes a step forward, something changes. He hesitates. You can’t hear what he’s thinking, but you can see the conflict on his face—the way he seems to second-guess himself, the way his steps falter. Your heart sinks as you realize he’s unsure, almost as if he's torn between wanting to save you and fearing that you don’t want him to.

In that split second of hesitation, Rogue swoops in, landing beside you with a determined look on her face. She doesn’t waste any time, using her strength to tear through the restraints that bind you. “We’ve got you, sugah,” she says, her voice steady and reassuring as she pulls the gag from your mouth. “You’re safe now.”

You nod, your throat too dry and your body too weak to speak. Your muscles scream in protest as you try to stand, but she quickly wraps an arm around you, helping you to your feet. You’re shaky, your body still reeling from the effects of the drug, but you’re free. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Logan still standing there, his eyes locked on you, his expression unreadable. He wanted to save you. He wanted to be the one to pull you out of that nightmare, but something held him back.

Rogue helps you toward the exit as the rest of the team continues to subdue the guards and Marco. You lean heavily on her, your legs barely able to support your weight, but you force yourself to keep moving. 

And when everyone else has back in the jet, hugging you and comforting you, you look over to Logan, who sits far away, on the opposite side, refusing to meet your gaze. 

—

Returning to the mansion feels like stepping back into a familiar, comforting embrace. You missed the soft, warm bed in your room, the quiet serenity of the gardens, and the comforting presence of your friends. It's been a few days since the whole ordeal in Florence, and the drug has finally worked its way out of your system. Your strength has returned, and physically, you feel like yourself again. The mansion, too, seems unchanged—still the safe haven you’ve always known.

But as the days pass, you begin to notice that while many things have returned to normal, some things have not. You’ve seen most of your friends, their faces lighting up when they see you, their hugs tight and full of relief. There have been quiet conversations and laughter, shared meals in the kitchen, and moments that remind you why this place is home.

Except, there’s one person you haven’t seen. Logan.

His absence is like a shadow that follows you wherever you go. You’ve felt his presence in the mansion—heard his voice in the halls, the sound of his footsteps on the floorboards—but he’s kept his distance. He hasn’t sought you out, hasn’t tried to talk to you, and that stings more than you want to admit.

You’ve tried to stay strong, to remind yourself of the resilience you found during your time away. You’ve reminded yourself over and over that you don’t need anyone else to validate your worth, that you can stand on your own. Yet the longer Logan avoids you, the harder it is to hold on to that strength. The old wounds, the ones you thought had begun to heal, start to ache again, and you can’t help but wonder if anything has really changed at all.

More often than not, you find yourself retreating to the front lawn. The sun is warm on your skin as you lie down in the grass, a book in hand. The soft rustling of leaves in the breeze and the distant hum of life inside the mansion create a peaceful background, and for a moment, you manage to lose yourself in the pages of your book.

Still, even here, in the sanctuary of the garden, the thoughts you’ve been trying to push aside keep creeping back in. The memory of Florence, of Logan’s hesitation, lingers like a bitter aftertaste. You replay the moment over and over in your mind, trying to make sense of it, trying to understand why he stopped, why he didn’t come for you.

You’re so lost in your thoughts that you don’t notice the shadow that falls across your page until a deep, familiar voice breaks the silence.

“I’m glad you’re alright.”

The voice startles you, and you jerk slightly, looking up to see Logan standing above you. His expression is guarded, as if he’s not sure how you’ll react to his presence. There’s a tautness to his posture, a stiffness that you recognize all too well. 

For a moment, you just stare at him, caught off guard by the suddenness of his appearance. He’s as rugged and intimidating as ever, but there’s something different in his eyes—something a tad bit softer. You close your book, sitting up slowly as you meet his gaze. The question that’s been gnawing at you since Florence rises to the surface, and you know you can’t keep it inside any longer.

“What happened?” you ask, your voice steady but filled with quiet intensity. “In Florence?”

His jaw tightens, and he looks away for a moment, his gaze shifting to the trees in the distance. He doesn’t answer immediately, and the silence stretches out between you, thick with unspoken words. 

You just watch him, waiting for an explanation, but there’s a part of you that’s already bracing for disappointment. You’ve been here before, waiting for Logan to decide what happens next, to take the lead. And you’re tired of it. You’re tired of being the one left in the dark, of being the one who has to wait for him to be ready.

Finally, he lets out a heavy sigh, his shoulders slumping slightly as if the weight of the world is pressing down on him. “I… I hesitated,” he admits huskily, almost in a growl. “I wanted to save you. Hell, I was going to. But then… I didn’t know if you wanted me to.”

His confession hangs in the air, and you feel a mix of emotions—surprise, confusion, and sadness. You hadn’t expected this, hadn’t realized that his hesitation was rooted in something so painfully human.

“Why wouldn’t I want you to?” you ask softly, searching his face for answers.

Logan finally looks at you, really looks at you, and the raw emotion in his eyes takes your breath away. “Because of everything that’s happened between us. Because I pushed you away. I hurt you, and I thought… maybe you’d be better off if it wasn’t me.”

You shake your head, trying to make sense of his reasoning. “Logan, this can’t keep being about what you think is best,” you begin. “And it’s not about who saves who. It’s about being there when it counts. You were there. You came for me.”

He doesn’t have a response to that, at least not right away. He looks down at the ground, his fists unclenching, his shoulders slumping even further. It’s like he’s carrying the weight of everything he’s done, everything he’s failed to do, and it’s crushing him. 

“I’m sorry,” he finally manages to get out. “For everything.”

You stare at him, your heart pounding in your chest.

“I know I’ve messed up,” he continues. “I know I haven’t been there for you like I should’ve. But I’m here now. And if you’ll let me… I want to try to make things right.”

You know you should be happy—this is everything you’ve wanted to hear from him for so long. But it’s also too much, too late. The doubt, the pain, it can’t just disappear with a snap of your fingers.

“I don’t know if I’m ready for that,” you admit. 

There’s pain on his face. “I get it,” he says, his voice rough but steady. “I know I’ve got a lot to make up for. And I know it’s not going to happen overnight. But I’m willing to do whatever it takes, if it means I can earn your trust back.”

“I need time. I need time to figure out where I stand, and where you stand with me.”

He nods slowly, his gaze dropping to the ground again. “Take all the time you need,” he says quietly. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“I appreciate that,” With a small nod, you stand up, brushing the grass off your clothes. “I need time,” you repeat, more for your own benefit than his.

“And you’ve got it,” Logan replies. “As much as you need.”

—

Days turn into weeks, and weeks into months. You focus on yourself, on healing the wounds that were reopened during your conversation with Logan. It feels strange, being the one who needs space, but you know it’s necessary. You find things to take your mind off him: you train more, read more, spend more time with Rogue, Kitty, or Remy. It’s nice.

But Logan… Logan doesn’t give up. He knows you need time, and he respects that. He doesn’t push, doesn’t pressure you to make a decision, but he makes it clear through his actions that he hasn’t forgotten about you, and more importantly, that he isn’t going anywhere.

It starts with the small things—things so subtle that you almost don’t notice at first. You probably wouldn’t have suspected anything if you hadn’t known the kind of person he is. He’s nothing if not persistent. He knows you better than you realize—the rift he created after Jean’s death muddling with your memory—and he uses that knowledge to quietly, almost imperceptibly, work his way back into your life.

In the mornings, you wake up to find your favorite snacks waiting for you in the kitchen, carefully placed where you’d be sure to see them. He never mentions it, never takes credit, but you know it’s him. It’s in the way he glances at you from the corner of his eye as you take a bite, a small, almost imperceptible smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He never makes a big deal out of it—just a quiet, unspoken gesture that says, I’m thinking of you.

Then there are the late-night training sessions. You go down to the Danger Room or the gym, hoping to clear your mind with a bit of solitary exercise, only to find Logan already there. At first, you’re tempted to leave, to find somewhere else to work out, but something in his demeanor stops you. He doesn’t approach you, doesn’t speak unless you initiate it. Instead, he just… exists beside you, his presence steady and reassuring, like a rock in the storm.

It’s in these moments that you begin to see a different side of Logan—one that’s patient, understanding, and perhaps a little unsure of himself. He follows your lead, mirroring your exercises or silently spotting you during weightlifting, always attentive to your needs without ever making you feel pressured or overwhelmed. He’s just there, offering his support in the quietest, most understated way possible.

And then there are the little surprises in your room—small, thoughtful gestures that you can’t help but notice. A favorite book you’d mentioned in passing suddenly appears on your nightstand, its pages pristine and waiting for you to dive into. The time-worn leather straps on your gear are suddenly replaced with new ones that fit perfectly, the stitching unmistakably done by Logan’s hand. Even your plants, the ones you’d worried would wither away while you were on a mission, seem to thrive in your absence, the soil freshly watered and the leaves turned toward the sun.

He never asks for thanks, never draws attention to what he’s doing. It’s all done quietly, behind the scenes, as if he’s afraid that if you notice too much, you might push him away. But you do notice. How could you not?

At first, you try to ignore it, telling yourself that these gestures don’t change anything, that they’re just a way for Logan to assuage his guilt. You tell yourself that he’s just doing this because he feels bad, because he wants to make up for the past, not because he actually cares. You’ve built walls around your heart for a reason, and you’re not ready to let them down just because he’s being nice.

But over time, those small gestures begin to chip away at those walls, brick by brick. You start to realize that Logan isn’t just going through the motions—he’s really paying attention, noticing the little things that make you who you are. It isn’t just about the snacks or the books or the plants—it’s about the way he remembers the details of your life, the things that matter to you, the things that make you feel seen and understood.

After a particularly long and stressful day, you return to your room exhausted, and all you want is to collapse into bed and forget the world for a while. But when you walk in, you find a small bouquet of wildflowers sitting on your nightstand, the beautiful colors a stark contrast to the dark thoughts that have been swirling in your mind all day. There’s no note, no explanation—there never is—but you know who left them.

You just stand there, staring at the flowers, your heart squeezing in your chest. It’s such a simple gesture, and yet it means so much. You’d forgotten that Logan knew how much you love wildflowers—you’d mentioned it once, years ago. The way they’re resilient, thriving even in the harshest conditions, blooming where others wouldn’t. It’s as if he’s telling you that he sees that strength in you, that he admires it.

And it’s then, in the quiet of your room, surrounded by the small, thoughtful gestures that Logan has left behind, that you realize something. This isn’t just about making up for the past. Logan is showing you, in the only way he knows how, that he wants this. Wants you.

He's finally picked up the pieces of him that fell apart after Jean’s death, and he is willing to pick up the pieces of you that fell apart after his rejection.

So, one evening, months after that fateful conversation on the lawn, you find yourself standing in the common room, staring at the fireplace, lost in thought. The mansion is quiet, the rest of the team either out on a mission or asleep. It’s just you and the flickering flames, the soft crackling of the fire the only sound in the room.

But when you hear footsteps behind you, heavy and deliberate, you know instantly who it is. Without turning, you can sense his presence, the way he moves with that quiet confidence, the way the air seems to shift when he is near. Logan has always had a way of grounding you, even when you don’t want him to.

He walks up beside you, stopping just short of touching you, his warmth radiating in the small space between your bodies. He doesn’t say anything at first, doesn’t ask why you’re here or try to force a conversation. He just stands there, his hands shoved into his pockets, waiting patiently, giving you the time you need. It’s something you’ve come to appreciate about him in recent months—his newfound ability to just be, without pushing or demanding more than you’re ready to give.

"I’ve been thinking," you say finally, your voice soft, as you continue to gaze into the flames.

"Yeah?" Logan asks, his tone careful, as if he’s afraid of saying the wrong thing.

You turn to face him, your heart pounding in your chest. "You’ve been… different. Doing all these little things… I see them, you know."

Logan’s eyes meet yours, and for the first time in a long time, you see hope there. "I just wanted you to know that I care. That I’m sorry," he says, with so much emotion. “You were never a burden to me.”

You swallow hard. "It’s hard for me, Logan," you admit, "I’ve been hurt before, and I’m scared. Scared that if I let myself love you again, you’ll just… break me."

He steps closer, his hand reaching out to gently cup your cheek. "I’d never hurt you again," he says, "I’d rather cut off my own damn hand than hurt you. The past is the past, and you are my future."

That’s enough to make your walls crumble completely. You know, deep down, that Logan is telling the truth. That he’s willing to do whatever it takes to earn your trust again.

And in that moment, you realize that maybe, just maybe, you’re ready to let him.

You don’t say anything. Instead, you let your actions speak for you. You close the distance between you, standing on your toes as you press your lips to his in a gentle, tentative kiss. Logan freezes for a split second, as if he can’t believe this is really happening, but then he kisses you back, his arms wrapping around you as he pulls you close, holding you as if he never wants to let go.

The kiss is slow, tender, full of everything that has been building between you for so long. It isn’t just a kiss—it’s a promise, a commitment to try again, to rebuild what has been broken. When you finally pull back, your breath mingling with his, you rest your head on his shoulder. "I’m still scared," you whisper.

"I know," Logan replies, his arms tightening around you. "But I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere. We’ll take this slow, darlin’. Whatever you need."

You nod. "Okay."

Logan smiles then, a real, genuine smile that makes your heart flutter in a way it hasn’t in years. It’s a smile full of relief, of gratitude, of love—a smile that tells you that he understands just how much this moment means, just how much you’re giving him by letting him back into your heart.

—

The time that follows is a slow, steady journey of rebuilding trust. Logan is true to his word—he is patient, understanding, and surprisingly tender in ways you hadn’t expected. The small gestures continue—coffee waiting for you in the morning, a gentle hand on your back during missions, quiet moments of companionship where no words are needed.

You can feel the doubts you’ve been holding onto slowly begin to fade. Each time Logan shows up for you, each time he puts your needs above his own, it chips away at the fear that has kept you guarded for so long. It’s in the way he listens when you talk, truly listens, as if every word you say matters. It’s in the way he looks at you—not with the same fury he once had, but with a steady, enduring affection that speaks of something deeper.

With Jean, he loved her because she was his soulmate, she was who the universe destined him to be with. He loved her because that’s what he thought he had to do.

With you, he has a choice. He doesn’t need to acknowledge the bond, but he chooses to. He chooses to everyday and he’ll never stop. He loves you because he wants to, not because he has to.

One evening, you find yourself sitting on the mansion’s porch watching the sunset. Logan joins you without a word, sitting close enough that your shoulders brush. 

“You’ve been quiet today,” he says softly, breaking the comfortable silence.

“I’ve just been thinking,” you reply, leaning your head on his shoulder. It’s a simple gesture, but one that speaks volumes about how far you’ve come in trusting him again.

“’Bout what?” he asks, his voice gentle.

“About us,” you say, your voice steady. “About how things have changed. How… how good they’ve been.”

Logan’s hand finds yours, his fingers lacing through yours in a way that feels so natural, so right. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you echo, squeezing his hand. “I’m not scared anymore, Logan. Not like I was.”

He turns to face you, his eyes searching yours. “You sure?”

You nod, smiling softly. “I’m sure. You’ve shown me that this bond means something to you, that you’re not going to hurt me. And… I want this. I want us.”

Logan’s face lights up with so much love, that it takes your breath away. He leans in, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead. “I’m glad, darlin’. Because I want us too. More than anything.”

—

It isn’t long before the rest of the X-Men begin to notice the change in Logan as well. At first, it’s subtle—small things like the way he looks at you during briefings, or the way he seems to be more patient, more relaxed when you’re around. But over time, it becomes impossible to ignore.

During a training session in the Danger Room, you’re paired with Logan for a simulated mission. The others watch as Logan moves with you in perfect sync, his focus not just on the mission but on you—making sure you’re safe, supporting you when needed, and trusting you completely. It’s a far cry from the Logan they had seen when he was in mourning, where his moves were rash and careless.

After the session, as you and Logan leave the Danger Room, you catch sight of Ororo and Scott exchanging a look, the kind of look that speaks volumes, full of surprise and a touch of amusement.

“What?” you ask, raising an eyebrow as you approach them.

Ororo smiles warmly, a knowing glint in her eyes. “Nothing, just… noticing how good you two are together.”

Scott nods in agreement, his expression softening as he glances at Logan. “Yeah, it’s… different, finally seeing him like this. In a good way.”

Logan shrugs, but there’s no hiding the small smile that tugs at the corners of his mouth. “What’re you guys talking about?”

“Just that it’s nice to see you happy, Logan,” Ororo says gently. “Really happy.”

Logan looks at you then, his smile growing as he meets your gaze. “Yeah. It is.”

More members of the team begin to notice the change in Logan as time goes on. Rogue, who has always had a soft spot for him, comments on how he seems more at ease, less burdened by the weight of his past. Hank, ever the observer, points out how Logan’s demeanor has shifted—less brooding, more open. Even Charles, who has seen Logan through his darkest times, pulls you aside one day to express his approval.

“I must say,” Charles says, his tone warm and approving, “I haven’t seen Logan like this in a very long time. Whatever you two have managed to sort out, it’s working.”

And it is. Slowly but surely, the wounds that had once held you back have healed. The doubts that had kept you from fully embracing your relationship with Logan have faded, replaced by a deep, abiding love. It isn’t just the little gestures anymore—it’s the way Logan makes you feel seen, heard, and cherished in a way that no one else ever has.

—

“I never thought we’d get here,” you admit one night whilst looking up at the stars.

Logan looks at you, his expression tender. “Neither did I,” he says, his voice full of sincerity. “But I’m damn glad we did.”

You smile, leaning into him as he wraps his arm around your shoulders. “I love you, Logan. And I trust you. Completely.”

His grip tightens slightly, as if to hold onto the moment, to hold onto you. “I love you too, darlin’. I never thought I’d feel this way about someone.”

You know what he’s trying to say. So without thinking, you reach up and cup his face, drawing him closer until your lips are just a breath away from his. “Show me,” you whisper, your voice low and filled with desire.

He doesn’t need any more encouragement. He closes the small gap between you, capturing your lips in a kiss that is soft at first, almost tentative, as if he’s savoring the feel of you. 

You can feel the heat between you building, the kiss growing more fervent as your hands roam over his chest, feeling the hard planes of muscle beneath his shirt, then into his hair. Brown. 

His hands slide up your back, one hand tangling in your hair as he angles your head, deepening the kiss further until you’re both breathless.

When you finally pull back, your foreheads resting against each other’s, you’re both panting, your hearts racing in sync. His eyes are dark with desire, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he holds you close.

“You’re everything to me,” he murmurs. “I never thought I’d get my happy ending, but here you are… and I’m never lettin’ you go.”

You smile, feeling the last remnants of pain melt away, replaced by a certainty that this is where you’re meant to be. “And I’m never leaving,” you whisper back, sealing your words with another kiss that quickly reignites the fire between you.

This kiss is hungrier, more urgent, as if you both need to make up for lost time. Logan’s hands roam your body with a possessiveness that sends shivers down your spine, his touch igniting a fire in your core.

That night, you lose yourself in him, in the way he tastes, in the way he makes love to you as if you’re the most precious thing in the world. Because this time, you’re not just in love—you’re in love with a man who loves you back, fully and completely. 

And that makes all the difference.

----

a/n: i love you if you made it this far. please check out my new series The Feeling's Mutual

[blueivyy99]

Calm and Serenity (Part 3)

Sylus x Non!MC

summary: you didn't know what sylus saw in you. he said you were calm, quiet and serene and that's what he needs. you believed it. he showed it. not until little miss hunter came. she's everything you're not. news that she's in danger can make the ever so calm sylus to run and leave everything behind. it made you think, would he do that for you as well?

tags: angst, romance, hurt and comfort, confused sylus, non-mc reader (this is it for now)

taglist: @fcknblsht @aboobie @nin10doo @ixloom819 @damatically @sylusgirlie7 @stellisangelicus-world @kira-loves0905 @wanderlustingcastaway @browneyedgirl22 @lumieresdreams

notes: thank you for the love in the last chapter 😭😭😭 I WAS SO OVERWHELMED OMG though I can't reply one by one, i read them all and thoroughly enjoyed and basked in them ❤️ hope you enjoy this.

Series Masterlist

Sweet Evil Trap

Pepper walnut tart, rosemary gelato, pomegranate jelly, red wine marshmallow, and 10.5 grams of soul.

Description:

I'm waiting for you

You're pathetic.

That's what you tell yourself as your hands tremble at Elysium's menu. The one that is always unavailable whenever you go there and rumors say that it was never available at all.

Now you understand why.

After reading everything in Sylus's journal, you started investigating the things that don't make sense to you. You already know that they spent past lives together and their souls are tied with each other. Everything makes sense except this one.

There was no context about Sweet Evil Trap in his notebook but your memory took you back to countless night outs here in Elysium to recall the name of this dessert.

10.5 grams of soul.

You chuckled bitterly. Half of his soul is hers. Always for her. In every goddamn lifetime.

Where were you in this narrative? What piece of him do you have? Certainly not his heart if there are still traces of Miss Hunter in every corner of N109 Zone.

I'm waiting for you.

Yeah right. He's been waiting for years, lifetime even. So what were you doing here? What's your role in this?

A past time?

Someone to warm his bed?

Did he truly love you in the span of your relationship? You tried to keep your tears at bay, but they fell one after the other.

You and Miss Hunter are entirely different. She's fun, bright, and full of sunshine. She can even hold herself in a fight.

You?

You're just you. A jack of all trades. Can do everything but not the best at anything. You can fight, but surely after two or three wanderers you're gone. You're funny at best, but even that you're not that sure because she can make Sylus laugh more than you did.

In short, she's everything you're not. She's everything Sylus wanted and it really really pisses you off because you fucking loved him and yet …

yet …

Even if you gave it your all, he doesn't really see you. He's with you but he's yearning for someone else. And you're so so stupid because you're still staying. You're still hoping that even if she has returned, Sylus will see your worth. That he will change his mind.

That maybe he will choose you.

Maybe he realized you're the one he loved, not her. That maybe, he's willing to defy fate just to be with you.

It was a small hope. But it's there. Because you wanted to hold on for as long as you can. You wanted to love him until it hurts. You want to stay for as long as he doesn't let you go.

And even if you will scold yourself in the future when you remember what you're doing now, you will still try.

You can feel that he sensed that something is off with you; he is perceptive after all. Because after that night, no matter how much you try to hold yourself together, the cracks in your soul still manifest.

If it were before, you're sure that as soon as he woke up you will be all over him taking care of him and making sure that he is well-fed. But after that incident, you just can't seem to stay close to him. Not for now, at least because you're sure that you will just cry and break.

“What's wrong Little fox?" He asked you one night. You tried to avoid him and planned to hide in the guest room and sleep there, but he looked for you and now he's right there looking at your soul.

“Nothing." You avoided eye contact. You can't. It physically hurts whenever you and he meet gazes. It's as if your mind kept replaying all the things you read in his journal.

He reached out for your hand but you flinched and avoided his touch. His hand paused midair because of it. You don't know what he's thinking now. You don't want to know. You're afraid that what you'll see is insincerity.

“Tell me, sweetie. What's wrong? What happened? You're worrying me," he persisted.

"It's nothing, Sylus. I'm gonna head to bed later. You go ahead first and rest." you turned your back at him and pretended to do something.

You wanted to ask him. You wanted to know.

But you're afraid.

Because what if he tells you the truth and leaves you? Can you bear that?

No. Not yet. Never.

So you kept silent. You won't ask questions that you're not ready to face the answers of.

“My sweet little fox, tell me anything and I will listen. I will do anything for you. Just ask." He kissed your temple before leaving.

His words are so sweet but is there really anything behind it? Is there love? Is there anything real with what you two have?

You kept avoiding and hiding from him. He got enough after two weeks. He backed you in a corner, his large frame making it hard for you to escape.

“Something is definitely wrong and I don't know what it is. It's killing me to see you like this, darling. If you're not gonna talk, then let me take your mind off of things. Go out to dinner with me." He held your chin to make you look at him.

You're trying to avoid his gaze. The fear is consuming you at every second that he is staring you down. Your insecurity and jealousy is winning and your mind can't process that this is real and that this is for you.

“Sy—"

“Shhh," he gave you a quick peck to shut you up. “It's not a request. That's an order. Dinner later. I miss my little fox,"

And thus, here you are at Elysium waiting for him with tears in your eyes. You decided to go ahead. You're sure you can't bear the car ride alone with him and even if he won't press you to open up, you can sense that he wants you to.

Your phone blows up. It's surely him inquiring why you went without him. You can't find it in yourself to even read his messages. It's all too much. Everything is too much.

10.5 grams of soul.

Those words kept ringing in your head. Half of his soul. Half that is not yours. You wiped your tears. You need to calm down. He might be here in a few minutes. You need to at least look presentable.

“Sweetie, why did you leave me?" You heard his voice from your back before his lips were on your cheeks already. “I want to spend some time with you during dinner, yes, but also before and after it."

“Sorry," that's all you can say afraid that he might hear the hoarseness of your voice.

He sighed, “Fine, but you're going home with me."

You didn't reply and he took that as a cue to get your orders ready. The food is good but every bite you chew, you can sense his eyes on you.

“I will melt if you keep staring at me,” you commented. He just smirked.

"Let me enjoy the view.”

You just shook your head. You can't form a reply because the fear and insecurity is kicking in again.

The two of you are silent for a while until Sylus's phone rang. You looked at him, really looked at him for the first time tonight.

There's that glint in his eyes again so you immediately knew who it was.

Miss Hunter.

Your suspicions are proven right when he answered the call. “Hello, Miss Hunter, what can I do for you?"

You bit your lip. You were expecting it but damn it hurts. Not even an apology towards you for interrupting your dinner by answering that call.

"What!? Where are you!?”

Your heart breaks every second. There he is again. Choosing her. That's for sure. You know what will happen next. He will leave, say sorry, and run to her side.

"I'm coming, wait for me! Don't you dare move a muscle.” he ended the call in a haste he was getting ready to leave if he didn't see you across the table.

“Darling, I-I need to leave, she needs me. She's in danger. I will make it up to you, I promise. I'm so sorry,”

But no amount of “sorry" can make up for everything that you're feeling now. Of course, he will go to her. He will always run to her.

His 10.5 grams of soul.

You sighed. You have made up your mind. You will free both of you from the burden of this relationship.

You stood, pulled him for a hug. You hugged him as tightly as you can. “Go, Sylus. I'll be fine."

He hugged you back, and oh god how you will miss that warmth. You can feel your breath getting caught in your lungs, but you have to hold back. Until he turns around at least.

“I'll make it up to you, darling. Wait for me okay? I love you. Luke and Kieran will be here in fifteen minutes. Wait for them. Don't go home alone." That's the last thing you heard from him before he stormed out.

You finally let your tears fall.

It's enough. You had enough.

You will leave his life calmly, quietly. You moved and walked away fast hoping Luke and Kieran won't see you on the streets of N109 Zone.

Part 4

comments and reaction are welcomeee 🤤

[starcrossedmusings]

Pretty Hands

Pairing: best friend!Yunho x f!reader WC: 3.2k Warnings: eventual smut, reader has a thing for Yunho's hands (who doesn't??), swearing, fingering, choking, a little bit of degradation (he compares her to a whore literally once), PRAISE so much praise, Yunho talks reader through it (you're welcome), pov is kinda all over the place just let it be, Yunho is absolutely WHIPPED for reader teehee, probably some other things that I missed (let me know)

Summary: You and Yunho have been friends for years, and you tell each other everything. He suddenly takes a much more vested interest in your love life when you can't stop mentioning your newest interest.

A/N: This is entirely self indulgent and also I just wanted to get something full posted. The Phantom fic is turning out to be much longer than I originally anticipated (and so did this one once I started writing it). Let me know what you think♡

Stepping into Yunho's apartment had always felt like coming home, and today was no exception. You take your shoes off in the tiled entryway and pad your way through the main living area, calling out to him as you walk.

"Yun? I'm here!"

His muffled response flows down from the end of the hall, "Bedroom!"

You make your way through the back hallway and enter his room, finding him exactly where you thought he would be, focused in on his computer. There's a selection of empty drink cans and snack wrappers scattered around his desk, which tells you that whatever he's currently building on Minecraft has probably occupied the majority of his day so far. He pauses the game and turns his chair to face you.

"Whats up?"

"Got bored at home and my roommate isn't even trying to muffle her pornstar moans for her new boy toy."

Yunho barks out a laugh, "Does she seriously sound--"

"Just like it Yun I can't make this shit up. I'm starting to think maybe they're recording themselves in there."

Yunho wiggles his eyebrows as he stretches his arms up and over his head, leaning back in his chair. "Well, if I ever see your living room on Pornhub I'll be sure to let you know"

You crinkle your nose. "Ew. I do NOT need to know that."

"Whatever, don't act like you haven't been talking to me for weeks about how horny you are. If I have to hear about your vibrator dying one more time I'm gonna buy you a new one myself."

"You try getting unintentionally edged three nights in a row with a full charge, it's some bullshit Yun. Besides, I'm allowed to complain about my dry spell."

Yunho scoffs, tone playful and lighthearted. "Dry spell? It's been what? Two months?"

"It's been three thank you very much." You move to sit on his bed.

"Well some of us haven't had sex in much longer."

"Oh, please, that girl that San was messing around with was all over you at his birthday party last month, don't tell me you didn't take that opportunity."

Yunho raises his eyebrows in shock, leaning forward in his chair. "Wait, really?"

"Oh my GOD Yun you are so oblivious. Yes really. She was all giggly and twirling her hair and shit. That's like...girl flirting basics."

"I am not oblivious, I am actually quite observant. I could tell you things about yourself you don't even know. I just have my sights set on someone and that someone is not her."

You shoot him an incredulous look and snort out a laugh, leaning back to lay down completely on his bed, legs dangling off the edge. "Sure Yun, whatever makes you feel better."

You hear Yunho stand from his chair and feel his weight shift onto the mattress. He appears in your vision, a challenging playful sparkle in his eyes as he peers down at you. "Okay, fine. I can tell that you're trying out a new perfume, you just went shopping because your leggings are a different brand than you usually wear, and I know that you washed your hair last night because you're wearing it all the way down today."

You do your best to ignore the way your stomach summersaults at his attention to detail about you and your routines. You roll onto your side and prop your head up on your elbow, matching his challenging gaze. "Okay Sherlock Holmes. What kind of underwear am I wearing then?"

Yunho pauses to consider before responding "a thong, probably black." You grin triumphantly and lean in just a bit closer.

"Wrong. I'm not wearing any. You lose!" You stick your tongue out playfully at him and he swats your shoulder, falling back onto his mattress.

"You set me up!"

"Face it Yun, I'm just better than you."

"Yeah yeah, whatever" Yunho pouts, voice hightening slightly from surprise. He can feel a slight redness creeping up his ears and prays his hair has grown long enough to cover it. 'I'm not wearing any.' He clears his throat. "So why go commando? You finally planning to seduce your new conquest?"

"He is not a new conquest, he doesn't even know I like him."

"He will once he knows you aren't wearing any underwear for him" Yunho jokes, smiling cheekily. You smack at his chest.

"I didn't want to do laundry last night, asshole. Get your mind out of the gutter!"

"You're one to talk" he mutters under his breath.

You sit up fully and reach for one of the pillows at the top of his bed, slamming it down on his face. "Jeong Yunho I swear to god!" On your second swing, he manages to catch the pillow with one hand and pry it from your grasp, but not before giving you an entirely unhelpful image of his long fingers gripping the plush material.

"What?? All I ever hear you talk about lately is how tall and handsome this dude is and how much his hands make you drool."

"You sound jealous."

"I'm not jealous, I'm pissed that I have to hear all about him and don't even get to know what the dude's name is."

"I told you, I'm gatekeeping this time. You run your mouth too much."

"I do not!"

"Do too."

"Ugh FINE whatever," Yunho chucks the pillow back towards you and you dodge it, leaving both pillows on one side of the headboard, "You're so agitating."

"You know you love me Yun. But just for the attitude," You adjust both pillows and shuffle your way back until you're leaned against both of them, "no pillow for you for tonights doomscrolling session."

He huffs a laugh and scoots up to meet you, pulling out his phone and settling in against the headboard.

An hour later you get up to go to the bathroom, and when you get back Yunho has stolen both of his pillows. You frown and cross your arms. "Hey, asshole, those were mine!"

"Yeah?" He taunts playfully, "Well they were mine to begin with, and my back is killing me. So deal." You roll your eyes and cross back over to the bed, crawling over the side you've been sitting on and curling yourself into Yunho's side to rest your head against his chest. You feel him tense slightly underneath you before he moves one of his arms around your shoulders to let you lay more comfortably.

"There's no way in hell I'm sitting up against that cold ass metal frame you call a headboard." You mutter as you begin scrolling. Yunho's chuckle rumbles through his chest and tickles your cheek. You both sit in silence for a while, content to scroll on your phones. Eventually, you turn to look up at him from his chest.

"I meant to ask how your new project has been going. Whatever you were building when I came in looked pretty intense." You can see the faint tinge of red trail up his ears and neck--a telltale sign that whatever you caught him building makes him embarrassed. You sit up, propping your weight on your elbow and placing a hand on his chest to shove him slightly. "Ooooo now you have to tell me what it is!"

"It's embarrassing..."

"Tell me tell me tell me tell me--"

"Okay fine, fuck. I'll tell you if you promise not to laugh--"

"I won't I swear!"

"Pinky promise?" He holds his pinky out to you, and you raise a hand from his chest. Before you can lace your pinky in his, he pulls his hand up above his head. "I'm serious, Y/N, if you laugh I'll have no choice but to tickle you to death."

He's definitely not stalling because he has to come up with a reply, because he certainly hasn't been building a treehouse for you in what he hopes will one day be a shared server. Yunho thinks to himself that he would rather die than let you find out.

You scoff, "I won't laugh...and even if I did I'm not ticklish so your threat is a moot point."

Yunho drops his hand down onto the mattress. "Bullshit."

"It's not. I don't have a ticklish bone in my body."

"Liar."

You shake your head, and Yunho takes the opportunity to gently press the pads of his fingers into the sides of your ribs. The sensation hits you almost immediately, and you feel the tight feeling in your chest as he begins tickling you. You squeal and thrash around in his grasp, trying desperately to get away from his assault.

"Yun stop it--"

"Not until you admit you're a liar!" You begin to giggle and manage to roll away from him, but Yunho is quick to follow. He swings a long leg over your hips and pins you beneath him, a single large hand trapping both of your wrists above your head while the other dances across your ribs. "Admit it," He sings out.

"Okay! Okay fine I'm a liar!" You gasp out between laughter. Yunho beams down at you and immediately stops tickling your sides, leaving you panting underneath him--

Oh fuck...you're panting underneath him.

He can almost feel the shift in the air as he stares down at you. He knows he should move, just roll off of you and make up some bullshit lie about what he was building. You like someone else, and he clearly wasn't getting out of the friend zone any time soon. He's just making a fool of himself...and yet he just can't bring himself to stop memorizing the way you look splayed out beneath his hips. Eventually he forces himself to stop staring at the way your chest rises and falls or the sliver of your tummy that's poking out from underneath your shirt that's riding up. He locks eyes with you.

Your voice comes out softer than he's ever heard you speak before. "Hey Yun?"

"Yeah?"

"You know that mystery guy I've been telling you about? The one with the pretty hands?"

A twinge of annoyance flairs in his stomach and he can't help but grumble out his reply. "Yeah?"

"I'll give you a hint. He's got me pinned to the mattress right now."

Yunho feels his heart drop deep into the pit of his stomach.

"Like...like right now he does?"

You laugh lightly. "Yeah, right now, Yun."

Yunho swallows thickly as his head starts spinning. He leans down much slower than he would have liked to, giving you plenty of time to take it back--to laugh at him and tell him you got him good. He feels like his whole body lights ablaze when you close the final gap between your lips, and suddenly he is kissing you.

In almost any circumstance that you had seen Yunho kissing someone, he was always fast-paced--hot and heavy petting in the corner of a darkened bar, dares in drunken party circles--which is why you were floored at the reverence he was kissing you with now. His mouth was steady and intense against yours, his hands roaming slowly across the expanse of your torso like he was memorizing the feel of something priceless. You gently pull your hands from his grasp and tangle them in his hair, pulling him closer and matching his intensity with your fervor. You feel his hands make their way to the lower hem of your shirt, and your skin erupts in goosebumps as you feel his fingers ghost along the sliver of skin there. He breaks the kiss and you feel his breath fan across your face as he pants. His hands gently make their way to rest just under your shirt, not quite pushing the fabric up. He locks eyes with you.

"Is this okay?"

You chuckle gently. "Yes, Yun, you can touch me. I want you to touch me." You watch his eyes darken and his hands start running up your torso, pulling your shirt up with them.

"Where do you want me to touch you, baby?"

You exhale heavily and arch your back into his touch. "Anywhere...everywhere...I don't care."

Yunho smirks and feels his ego inflate. "You don't care? Hmm..." He starts planting kisses along your jaw and down the side of your neck. Slow. Teasing. "If I remember correctly, you seemed pretty keen about having my hands in some specific places baby. Can you refresh my memory?"

The low whine that escapes your throat nearly sends him spiraling. "You know where...don't make me say it."

He does know, but there's nothing he wants to hear more right now than to hear you say it. He brings one hand up to your chest, cupping one of your boobs and squeezing gently as he continues peppering your neck with kisses. "Was it here? Or..." His hand trails back down and grips your hip possessively, "Here, maybe?" He hears you huff and feels your hand wrap around his wrist. You try to tug it up, and he chuckles softly but allows you to move his hand. He nips your earlobe and asks lowly, "Where do you need my hands baby?" He feels his cock twitch in his sweats when you wrap his fingers around your throat, guiding him to squeeze the sides gently. Your hands run down his chest and drop to your sides as he squeezes a little harder. "Fuck, look at you. So pretty with my hand around your neck."

You whine and buck your hips up, desperately looking for friction. Yunho coos as he looks down at you, wanting to have the image burned into his memory. He adjusts his position so he's sat on one side of you and brings his free hand to your thighs, squeezing the flesh there and watching the way you spread your legs for him. "Pretty girl, I need you to use your words. Spreading your legs like a whore isn't gonna get you what you want." He revels in the way you throw your head back onto the mattress and close your eyes, frustration evident already on your face.

"Need your fingers, Yun. Please."

Holy shit, he could combust right then and there. He smiles and traces his hands along the inside of your clothed thighs. "Good girl. So polite for me." He hooks his fingers in the waistband of your leggings and pulls them down and off, leaving you bare from the waist down. "Sit up for me baby. I want you between my legs."

Yunho sits on the edge of the mattress and allows you time to sit up, moving to sit in between his thighs. He hooks your legs over his, leaving you spread and completely at his mercy. A shiver runs down your spine as the pads of his fingers run across your thighs and you gasp as they brush against your core. He presses kisses into your neck and chuckles, "You're already soaking wet, what's got you all bothered hmm? I've barely touched you..." Yunho hums and teases your entrance with this middle finger. He can feel you clenching. "Do you like my hands that much baby? All it takes is a little choking and you're putty for me." He pushes two fingers inside, pumping slowly and curling back to find your sweet spot. He feels pride flare through his chest at the noise you make, a mix between a whine and a moan that eggs him on.

Your toes curl as Yunho almost immediately finds your g-spot. The pace he sets is almost perfect, and when he begins rubbing tight circles on your clit your eyes roll back into your head. The pleasure is a building wave, and it's all you can do to keep yourself remotely still as he continues pumping his thick fingers in and out. "Oh my god, Yun, please don't stop!" You clench helplessly around his fingers and let your head roll back to rest on his shoulder.

"Awe baby I'm not gonna stop. Not until I see how pretty you look cumming all over me. Will you do that for me, sweetheart?" he coos, bringing his other hand back up to your throat and squeezing lightly. "Will you cum all over my fingers? I bet you want to right? Wanna come on my fingers while I squeeze this pretty neck of yours?"

You whine and preen at his words and arch your back. Your legs begin to shake as Yunho's circling on your clit quickens pace just slightly, the thrusts of his fingers audible from the squelching between your thighs. Your breath quickens.

"My pretty girl, you're such a mess for me, aren't you? Can you hear how wet you are? All soaked for me? I bet your hands don't feel as good as mine hmm?"

You shake your head no violently, whining as he continues to talk lowly into your ear. Your orgasm builds quickly, and at this point you have no faith in your ability to speak coherently.

"No, they don't do they? I want you to show me how good my hands feel baby. Let go for me, sweetheart."

Your breath catches in your throat as you tip over the edge, and the feeling of your release washes over you. Your whole body jolts in his grasp as he continues pumping his fingers. You feel him squeeze your throat gently, just enough pressure to remind you that he's got you.

"Atta girl, look at you! Doing so good for me." You whine and buck your hips, orgasm still riding through your body. Yunho nips at your neck lightly and slows his pumping to a stop as you continue to shake. "That's it baby, just grind on them for me." The final aftershock of your orgasm finishes, and you go limp in his arms, leaning all of your weight back into his chest and breathing heavily.

Yunho pulls his fingers out and admires the mess you made on them before popping them into his mouth. He's still rock hard, and the taste of you on his fingers makes him twitch again. He'll definitely need your help with that later. He uses the hand around your neck to brush a stray hair from out of your face. "How are you feeling?"

You huff out a breathless laugh and turn your face to nuzzle into his neck. "How do you think I feel? That was...wow."

He can't help the goofy smile that crosses his face. "Oh really? Tell me more, I'd like a full report." He jokes, pulling the two of you down to snuggle on his bed. He grabs a throw blanket from your side and pulls it over the two of you and nearly melts when you curl closer to him, burying your face into his chest.

"Give me a few minutes to recover and I'll show you exactly how I'm feeling right now." Yunho rubs a hand up and down your back.

"I look forward to that."

"And then afterwards you're going to show me what you've been building."

Yunho chuckles and kisses the top of your head. No way in hell.

[miyadollie]

R/CRUSHES : HOW DO I TALK TO MY OFFICE CRUSH ? sillyguy0813 says : dude just borrow a stapler

★ STARRING office worker lee jeno x fem reader ( ft. best friend jaemin ) ★ WORD COUNT 2.6k + 3OO bonus ★ CONTAINS co-workers to dating, fluff !! lee jeno being a cutie, jaemin is a menace to society, workplace romance, ★ MIYA SAYS 💗 this is my first time TRYING to write a long fic :3 pls give me any constructive criticism and feedback thank uu 🧘🏼‍♀️ . update : wow i absolutely dislike my writing here but its been rotting in drafts too long and i gave up on fixing this TT

it starts with a stapler.

one you’re not even sure belongs to you. maybe you bought it once during a sale, or someone left it at your desk during a particularly chaotic week, and it stayed. quietly claimed as yours.

the moment wasn't love at first sight, no grand declaration of love with bouquets or fireworks. just a quiet tuesday morning, your inbox overflowing, the boss increasing your headache by preponing your deadlines, the coffee machine on its last breath and the fluorescent lights above flickering slightly like they, too, were tired of this job. and then there’s him.

lee jeno. clean-cut. soft-spoken. the kind of guy who always says “excuse me” when passing behind you, even when there’s plenty of space. always dressed a little too well for your casual office. not flashy—never that—but tidy, crisp. thoughtful. one cubicle down, diagonal from yours. he’s been here a while. a familiar face in the sea of semi-familiar ones. you’ve never really talked but only ever exchanged the kind of polite nods reserved for coworkers who share nothing but recycled air and a breakroom.

until today. “could you pass the stapler?” you look up, startled slightly by the voice.

he’s leaning just slightly over the low partition separating your desks, eyes trained on the corner of your workspace where your lonely black stapler sits. he gives you a smile. not flashy. not flirtatious. just—nice. warm. gentle. you blink once. then reach for it. “thanks,” he says. you nod. he returns to his screen. that’s it. except… it isn’t. because the next day, he borrows a pen. the day after that, post-its. then tape. then scissors. always returning everything. always smiling. always saying thank you like he means it. and now you’re wondering. is this flirting? some kind of extremely office-safe, hr-friendly version of it? or are you just painfully, embarrassingly overthinking it? or maybe did you have an unspoken crush on him? not that you can be blamed. - lee jeno is attractive. undeniably so. you’ve seen him once—just once—rolling up the sleeves of his white button-down in the middle of summer, and you swear you forgot how to form a coherent sentence for ten straight minutes. defined forearms. slim but strong hands. that razor-sharp jawline, often tilted thoughtfully while reading something on his screen. dark lashes. deep voice. a gym guy, apparently—you overheard it once when he mentioned it to jaemin (you weren’t eavesdropping, you just… have really good ears). you haven’t initiated anything. neither has he. but those tiny moments? the ones that make your heart skip? they’re adding up

────

FRIDAY | 4:30 PM

“soo… still down to try that new restaurant?” jaemin asks one afternoon, casually leaning on your desk during lunch with a fresh iced americano in hand—probably his fifth for the day. “obviously,” you reply, eyes lighting up. “people have been absolutely glazing it online. thanks for getting us a table!” he grins. “see you at 9 then.” just as he turns, he spins back around like a cartoon character. “oh, also—jeno’s coming. hope that’s cool?” you freeze. your face says i’m fine, but your body language screams mayday. “y-yeah. sure. totally chill,” you manage. “coolcoolcoolcool,” you say, immediately turning your head towards your computer, and then you see your reflection on the blank empty screen. you were blushing. hard. jaemin smirks knowingly as he walks off. of course he knows. he always knows. after all, he’s the mastermind who told jeno to borrow your stapler in the first place. ────

8:55 PM

the restaurant is low-lit and warm, the kind of place where the wood-paneled walls muffle outside noise, and everything feels just a little more intimate than it should. you arrive five minutes early. out of habit, mostly. or nerves. you’re not sure which. jaemin’s already there, somehow sipping an iced americano even here, scrolling through his phone while pretending not to notice your presence with a dramatic sigh. “i told you 9:00,” he says, without looking up. “it’s 8:55.” “still early.” he glances at you now, then raises an eyebrow. “cute top.” you ignore his antics, he’s just trying to get a reaction out of you. typical jaemin. your heart is already thudding too loudly, because jeno walks in right after. black shirt, sleeves rolled up. clean slacks. a bit of cologne, subtle but warm. his hair’s tousled slightly, and his eyes light up just a little when they land on you. “hey,” he says, with that soft smile. you don’t trust yourself to speak, so you just smile back, scooting over so he can sit across from you. the conversation is light, easy. mostly thanks to jaemin, who fills every awkward silence with a joke, a story, an embarrassing anecdote about your office. jaemin and jeno were friends in school, you get to know that night, they were benchmates. jaemin always chose jeno as his partner for every game, every lab, and jeno just liked his company, so he stood with him always. jaemin talks about you to jeno too—how you both were first day interns and hit it off over a conversation about which seventeen album is truly the best. but every now and then, you catch jeno looking at you. not staring. not even for long. just—looking. like he’s seeing something he's trying very hard not to see too obviously. “so,” jaemin says mid-way through dessert, smirking at you over his spoon, “funny how you two never end up talking at work.” you nearly choke. jeno shifts in his seat. “like, what’s with all the stapler borrowing, huh? no small talk?” you glare at him. he grins. “i’m just saying. feels like there’s some unspoken office tension.” jeno lets out a quiet laugh. and then, after a beat—he looks at you. “i guess i just… wanted a reason to talk,” he says, voice soft. and your breath catches. your heart is thudding again. you manage a smile, small and shy. trying not to mess up words or blabber out something nonsensical. “i noticed,” you reply. the space between you feels full, suddenly. full of every little interaction. every thank-you. every passing smile. jaemin stretches obnoxiously. “well, look at the time! i’ve got a meeting with my bed in ten.” you roll your eyes. “you’re so obvious.” he shrugs. “you’re welcome.” and just like that, he’s gone with the wind. leaving you and jeno, two half-finished desserts, and a quiet restaurant glowing gold in the late-night hush. “i can walk you home,” he says, gently. not pushing. just offering. and something in you says yes. to the walk. to this night. to the maybe that’s been building between you both. ────

10:45 PM

the night is cool, with a breeze just strong enough to lift the corners of your coat and make you tuck your hands into your sleeves. the restaurant’s warm glow fades behind you, replaced by the hush of quiet streets and dimly lit sidewalks. jeno walks beside you, hands in his pockets, his steps matching yours. neither of you says anything at first. the silence isn’t awkward. it’s... full. full of unspoken things. of nerves and glances and the way your arms brush every few seconds and both of you pretend not to notice. “jaemin talks too much,” jeno says eventually, voice low. you laugh softly. “it’s his specialty.” he hums in agreement, then adds, “he wasn’t wrong, though.” you glance at him, catching the way his eyes flicker to yours and then away again, like he’s testing the water, like he’s afraid of saying too much too fast. “i... didn’t really need the stapler that day.” your breath catches. “oh,” you manage, and you’re smiling now. you can’t help it. “i just... i guess i liked the idea of you looking at me. talking to me.” he pauses. “even if it was just a stapler.” you stop walking, just for a moment. jeno turns, realizing you’re no longer beside him. there’s a streetlight above him, casting shadows across his face and soft highlights in his hair. “you could’ve just said hi,” you whisper. he steps closer. barely. but enough to make the air between you buzz. “i know,” he murmurs. “i wanted to. every day. but you always looked so focused. and i didn’t want to ruin that.” your heart is a mess of drumbeats and warmth. “you wouldn’t have.” silence again. then he says, barely audible, “could i maybe get your number... just for office related stuff, of course.” you nod, because your voice has already betrayed you too many times tonight. a soft smile tugs at his lips. the quiet kind. the kind you know he saves for only a few people. he walks you all the way to your apartment. and when he says goodbye, it’s not a hug. not a kiss. just a quiet “goodnight” and a look that lingers longer than it should. but your heart knows. it knows everything. ────

SATURDAY | 9:00 AM

the next day, the office is just waking up. it always feels colder in the morning—half because of the ac blasting too early, half because everyone’s too busy chasing caffeine to talk. desks are still half-empty. monitors glow. the printer sputters. someone sneezes. a mug clinks. you step in, trying to hide the stupid smile that’s been stuck to your face since last night. your coat is too warm for indoors but your hands are cold, so you hold your coffee tighter. and then you see it. your desk. something’s different. sitting neatly on top of your keyboard is a brand-new stapler. blue, shiny, absolutely unnecessary. you freeze. right beside it, a yellow post-it. his handwriting. neat. almost too neat. “thought you could use one that wasn’t cursed.     —jeno :)” you almost laugh. it’s such a him thing to do—dry humor disguised as helpfulness. but your heart? it’s fluttering like it’s stuck in a romcom scene, an angelic choir singing along in tandem. you reach out and pick up the stapler.you didn’t even need one nor were you going to use one. but you want to keep this one forever. cherish it. maybe even pass it on as an heirloom.

just then, you hear someone clear their throat. “new office romance i should know about?” you don’t even need to turn around. jaemin. of course. loud, nosy, iced-americano jaemin. “shut up,” you say instantly, trying to sound bored. your cheeks are already heating up. but he walks past you, grinning like the devil, a bounce in his step like he’s in on the joke you’re still figuring out. and then—your gaze drifts. to the cubicle across. there he is. jeno. typing. or pretending to. his posture is the same—back straight, eyes on the screen—but his fingers are still on the home row keys, just gliding about. and when he feels your eyes, he glances up. It's brief, barely a second. but he smiles. like last night wasn’t just dinner. like it meant something.

a few hours later, a message pops up.

jeno lee “did the new one pass inspection?”

you “it’s still under review by the council. but i think they approve ;)”

jeno lee “let me know if it jams. i’ll personally fix it.”

you smile. a full smile this time. the kind that makes you reach for your coffee, lean back in your chair, and breathe in like something in your world has shifted.

jeno 💗 “what’s your go-to coffee order?”

you “anything except that poison jaemin drinks every day. ‘i like my coffee as dark as my soul’ ahh guy.”

jeno 💗 “haha.” “noted.”

the next morning there’s a cup of coffee on your desk, with yet another post-it note. “it’s the new specialty at a cafe near my place. i thought you’d like it :)”

that was truly the best coffee you had ever tasted. and maybe he started getting it for you every day. ────

WEDNESDAY | 9:00 PM

it's another day at the office. rain taps gently on the windows, a soft drumbeat to the silence of overworked employees and abandoned coffee mugs. you’re still at your desk & so is he. the fluorescent lights overhead are dimmer than usual, humming low like they’re tired too. you stretch your back, glancing at the clock. 9:04 pm. “still here?” comes his voice. you look up to see jeno leaning on the edge of his cubicle wall, sleeves rolled up, tie a little loosened. “so are you,” you shoot back. he smiles. “want company for the walk back?” you nod before your brain catches up.

the streetlights blur against the wet pavement, reflecting like oil paint smudged across the road. jeno’s shoulder brushes yours every few seconds—neither of you move away. he talks about the weird way jaemin eats ramen. you laugh. you tell him about your favorite childhood cartoon. he says he watched it too, and suddenly it’s three blocks later and you’re still talking. at a red light, you both stop. he glances down at you. you glance up. it’s a pause so charged you swear the rain quiets. “...you looked really pretty today,” he says suddenly. his voice isn’t confident or smooth—he says it like a secret. you don’t respond right away. just tuck your hair behind your ear, your face heating. he notices. the light turns green and you simply walk on. on reaching your apartment building you stop at the steps. he’s still holding the umbrella. you don’t say anything. he doesn’t either. there’s that moment again—that pause like the world might tilt if either of you moves. “i’m really glad you came to dinner that night,” he finally says, voice quieter than before. “been wanting to talk to you properly for months.” you blink. “...really?” jeno chuckles. “you had the office’s only decent stapler. of course i had to make a move.” you laugh—nervous and shy and full of everything you’ve been holding back. he takes a step closer. just one. not too much. “but also,” he adds, and this time his voice is a little more sure, “i like you. not just the lunch break, passing-notes kind. the kind where i want to sit and mindlessly watch silly romcoms with you, the kind where i want to walk you home every day and make sure you had dinner. the kind where - " he goes on. but words fall on deaf ears. you feel your heart clench, sweet and sharp. you’re about to respond when— “...so, if you’re okay with it,” he continues, scratching the back of his neck, “can i officially take you out sometime? like, not just coffee machine and post-it flirting. a real date.” you blink. once. twice. your face is warm. your chest feels like it’s glowing. “...yes.” you don’t even hesitate. his smile is soft. wide. genuine. and when he hands you the umbrella and waves goodnight, walking back with his hands in his pockets and a quiet bounce in his step. you think, maybe this started with a stapler. but it’s gonna end with something a lot more permanent. ──── BONUS : FEW WEEKS LATER | 2:00 PM

you, jeno, and jaemin were perched on the edge of the rooftop, paper lunchboxes balanced on your laps, chinese takeout - courtesy of jeno. the breeze is nice, the sky a little overcast, and jaemin's halfway through an enthusiastic rant about the company’s new vending machine layout.

“and like .. why did they move the green tea to the bottom row? what kind of criminal.. oh, thanks man.” he says as jeno hands him a napkin mid-rant, like muscle memory.

you say while giggling, “you guys are like an old married couple.”

jeno chokes on his rice. you pat his back helpfullly , still giggling.

jaemin just shrugs. “what can i say? i raised him well.”

jeno glares at him. mouthing ' stop. talking.' he knew jaemin could slip up any moment. for he always did.

jaemin does not stop talking.

“i mean, not to brag, but if it weren’t for me, he’d still be hovering awkwardly near your desk pretending he needed your stapler.”

you blink. “wait. what?”

jeno drops his chopsticks.

jaemin freezes. realizes.

“oh..." he mutters.

your jaw drops. “waitwaitwait. you told him to borrow my stapler?”

“in my defense,” jaemin says, holding up both hands, “i was just trying to save him from dying of heart failure every time you walked past. it was either that or fake a paper jam crisis.”

jeno is silent. fully hiding behind his lunchbox now.

you slowly turn to him. “is this true?”

“…maybe,” he mumbles.

you snort, trying to hold in your laughter. “oh my god. so all this time..”

“don’t act like it wasn’t genius!” jaemin interrupts. “you’re welcome, by the way. this whole slow-burn coffee shop romcom office love story? all me.”

jeno groans. “can i push him off the roof.”

you lean into jeno’s shoulder, grinning. “you should’ve just said hi.”

he sighs. “i wanted to. but every time i tried, you were always typing so fast. and glaring at your screen like it personally insulted your ancestors.”

you snort. “fair.”

jaemin raises his water bottle. “to true love, born from borrowing office supplies.”

jeno snatches it from him and takes a sip without asking. you think that’s revenge enough. read more ❤︎ please like, reblog and let me know your reviews (๑>◡<๑) this work is a piece of fiction and is not intended to reflect the real personalities, actions, or beliefs of the individuals portrayed. the idols mentioned are used purely as fictional characters for storytelling purposes. no harm, disrespect, or objectification is intended. everything written here is entirely imaginative and not based on real-life events or relationships.

[bettystonewell]

ANOTHER NOTCH ON HIS BELT

Read on AO3 || Masterlist

Dean Winchester x Reader

Every little part of him is holding onto every little piece of her, and any other woman he’s been lucky enough to escape his life with. Even if it’s only for the night - or - Dean replaces intimacy with sex. MDNI 18+ only 1.2k words

Tags: lil’ bit of SMUT, casual sex, Dean needs a hug, light angst

A/N: Summary inspired by the lyrics of the song “Tough” by Lewis Capaldi.

He loves the sex. 

Needs it. 

Craves it. 

The closeness it gives him. The warmth of someone else surrounding his hardened body. Touching, feeling, writhing below or on top of him. He doesn’t care. 

Even with the scrapes and bruises he doesn’t remember which ugly bastard he ganked giving them to him, he’s not ashamed. He just wants to fill up his heart with affection to get him through the next death he knows is inevitable, no matter how hard he tries.

It’s something he can’t escape, except maybe for the night. Tonight, if he’s lucky.

As she pours him another cup, and places the pie he ordered beside his now empty plate, he pretends not to notice. It doesn’t mean he’s not watching. He just continues to hold the conversation with Sam while listening to her greet someone new.

Her voice carries like silk over the chatter of people and the ringing coming from the door. Her hands are clean, her skin soft and inviting as she pulls out her notepad and pen. 

He flicks his head up to exchange a glance, and she actually winks at him. “Can I get you anything else?” 

“Sammy?” He looks his brother’s way, but brings his gaze back to her the second he’s answered.

“Thanks,” he says and reads the badge pinned to her blouse aloud. “That’s a pretty name.” 

The girls in these dives they eat at are always perfect in his eyes. Their lives are just so, even if they don’t see it. 

No scars, at least not from weapons. Pliable flesh he can sink his fingers into. Grab, smooth, lick, taste. Sweet perfume that would fill a home he knows has things littered with the apple pie life he once thought he wanted. 

He’ll tell no one he still does.

He’ll also never tell Sam that’s the real reason he doesn’t bring them to the motel anymore if he can avoid it. It’s easier to leave them when he wakes up and feels out of place.

She walks away, back to the counter whence she came with hips that sway in time to the tick of the dusty old clock on the wall. Past the other patrons and tables full of more coffee and mediocre food. 

Chicken served in nugget form. Sandwiches lathered in sauce. It may be swill and smell closer to ass than edible, but if he plays his cards well, he’ll be devouring something far better tonight.

“Don’t wait up,” he says after downing the scalding liquid in one go. He’s done with waiting. Just needed the last boost of confidence before he goes in for the kill.

He stands up and grabs his phone. Brushes down his jacket, checking there’s nothing on it from the hunt, and looks up to the smile that caught his eye again. 

She’s watching him.

“Don’t do the hot coffee thing,” Sammy bitches, as he walks away.

But while Dean ignores him, a split second frown sours his face. He refuses to let his baby brother see the remark stings. 

It’s not about dipping his stick in the oil, but he’ll let Sam believe it is. The facade is easier than admitting the truth.

He steps up to the counter, where she’s taking some other chumps order, and raises the cup he never put down to gain her attention. There might be a suave grin thrown her way. Definitely a twinkle in his eye.

“Can I get another, sweetheart? Hot, and…just like you?” There’s a wag of his brow now.

“Sure thing, hun,” she says with a chuckle that makes her even more desirable. She doesn’t know how beautiful she is.

He wants to taste. He wants to touch. He wants her arms wrapped around him while he holds her tight. So he takes the opportunity presented to him. A brush of his fingers on hers when she hands the smooth ceramic back to him. Lingering as he gauges for any reaction. Any hint that she’s interested in being his comfort for the night.

“Thanks,” he says through a grin of goof and charm, and she smiles. Doesn’t even move her hand, and he knows he’s in with a chance.

“Can I get you anything else…?” she asks.

“Dean.” He winks.

“Dean,” she repeats, and he wants to hear it again. Underneath him. On top of him. Legs wrapped ‘round his waist as she chants it into his ear. 

He’d settle for it once if it was on her doorstep, following an ‘I had a good time last night,’ and so he’s bolder. His choice of words, just as. “Any chance you’re getting off soon?”

And she chuckles, hearty and soft. Nods her head in consideration, tongue playing with her cheek as she looks him over nice and slow. “You don’t beat around the bush, huh, Dean?” 

“Depends on the carpets,” he says. 

It’s cheesy and cringe and doesn’t even make much sense, but it works. She’s placing the pot of coffee down, leaning in closer to him, hovering over him a couple of hours later in a room that’s both foreign in foundation and comfort.

Plush bedding that’s clean. No smoke or dust or grime in sight. 

A light that never flickers and appliances that don’t buzz.

There’s a thigh on either side of him, bent at the knees just as he wanted. A sheen of sweat between. Her hands, warm and soft, creep over his skin, tracing patterns with tingles that curl his toes and tense the muscles in his shoulders and glutes.

His arms pull her down on him, pushing himself further into her. Giving her more of him, and she moans. He does, too. The squeeze of her walls on the covered tip of his dick is wonderful, but it’s the look in her eyes that does it for him. 

There’s a connection, now, even if there might be none come morning. This lust that he can mistake for adoration is what he needs. What he craves.

He’s wanted. She feels. Her body is alive, and she cries his name. 

“You like that, baby?” he asks with a snap of his hips, savouring the next sound she makes. If they go another round, he’ll do it again. When he’s alone with just his hand, he’ll chase it with the memory of her trembling lips, thighs and chest.

He’s pulling her tit into his mouth. Wide to capture as much of her smooth skin as he can. He’ll remember the saltiness, too. The way her nipple pebbles as his tongue swipes over and around it. The way her pelvis rocks.

She’s grinding down on him. Her fingers are tugging into his hair, and as her nails scrape down to the nape of his neck, he’s pulling her stomach to his. 

He’s grabbing her ass and raising it up. He’s chasing both their highs.

And when it hits, and he feels his balls tighten, and her around him, squeezing him for all he’s worth, he’s burying his nose into the junction between her hairline and ear. Inhaling the soap and shampoo. Her perfume. The sweat on her skin. He’s taking it all in and holding her tight.

In this moment, she’s his. 

The closeness she gives him. The warmth of her surrounding his hardened body. Touching, feeling, writhing on top of him.

He craves her.

He needs her.

And he’ll continue to, because it’s not just about sex. He loves the intimacy.

@globetrotter28 @ambiguous-avery @arcannaa

If you’d like to be added, you can add yourself HERE, or if you’d like to be removed, please let me know ☺️

[withahappyrefrain]

The 5 Times You Flirted With Bob + The 1 Time He Picked Up on It

Summary: You've fallen for your friend and have decided to drop some hints that you're flirting. Unfortunately, Bob doesn't realize that immediately.

Warnings: Language, no y/n, female reader, reader has a callsign (Honey)

Thank you to @dissonannce for this amazing idea. Thank you @acewritesfics for the dividers!

"Your hands are so big."

It took Bob a moment to register that you were in fact, talking to him.

"Oh! Um yeah. My ma made me do piano because she felt I was given the hands for them," Bob wiggled his fingers for extra effect, "Y'know, since they're so long."

Yes, they were quite long. It was one of the first things you noticed about Bob. Well, after you noticed his beautiful blue eyes, his endearing lopsided smile, the way he was so considerate of everyone else, so gentle, and yet there was an underlying confidence about him. He was sure of himself, but he didn't feel the need to brag.

Who could blame you for falling head over heels for him?

You flashed him a smile, hand reaching towards his.

"It's just, your hand is so much bigger than mine. See?" You propped his arm up, allowing your palm to press against his, both your fingers spread out to showcase the difference in size.

"See? My hand is so small compared to yours," You giggled. Bob looked down at your hands. Your breath hitched, your fingers twitching, dying to entwine with his.

"Yeah, there is quite a difference in size," Bob said, giving you that small smile you adored so much. That smile gave you the confidence to entwine your fingers with his.

"I think they fit pretty well together, see?" He wasn't letting go. He was still smiling as he looked down at your hand holding his.

Maybe this was finally it, he'd finally realized that you liked him and would-

"I'm gonna go get some more peanuts, can I get ya anything?"

You mustered up a smile, trying to cover up your disappointment, "I'll take a water. Thanks Robby."

As soon as he left, you shot Jake a dirty look, "Seresin, you said that shit would work!"

Jake, who had been pretending to play a game of pool with Bradley, Javy, and Mickey, put his hands up in defense, "Because it usually does! Everyone knows when a girl compares hand sizes it means she wants you!"

"Everyone but Bob apparently," Javy muttered.

"Maybe you just need to be more obvious?" Mickey suggested.

You sighed. You knew Bob. The last thing you wanted was to be so blunt it would overwhelm him. But at the same time, you two had been doing this whole 'friends but also more than that and I'm pretty sure we're flirting?' for the last month and you were getting annoyed with it how seemed to be going nowhere.

Perhaps Mickey was right. You were going to have to be a bit more obvious.

"Bee? You ready?" Bob called out from your living room. Bob's nickname of your callsign (Honey) always brought a smile to your face, as well as heat to your cheeks.

"Almost! Can I get your thoughts on this top?" You asked as you walked in.

"Yeah, I'm sure you look-oh." Bob's eyes widened as he took in the green top you were wearing.

It was tighter than the shirts you normally wore, highlighting your breasts. The fabric stopped right at the end of your rib cage, showing off your stomach and bringing attention to your high waisted jeans, which according to Jake "did wonders for your ass".

"What do you think?" You clasped your hands together, the action causing your breasts to stick out even further.

"Um the uh, the color is really great on you. B-brings out your eyes," Bob said, his eyes looking everywhere except you.

With the way his cheeks were bright red, it gave you confidence to step forward, your body now inches away from his, "I was hoping it would bring out something else besides my eyes Robby."

"I mean you you look great in everything you wear! So mission accomplished," Bob said quickly, his hands fidgeting with his car keys.

"Anything else you want to say about the outfit Robby? I really value your opinion." You stood on the tips of your toes, bringing your chest closer to Bob's face.

It was the first time since you walked in that his eyes landed on your chest. He cleared his throat, as if he was gathering up the courage to say it.

"You should grab a jacket, it's supposed to go down to the low sixties tonight," He said, turning around to head out the door.

God damn it.

You grabbed your phone, quickly texting the group.

Honey: We need to go to Plan C.

Rooster: Plan C?! You're saying the top didn't work?

Bagman: Dude, your tits were like out.

Rooster: Maybe they weren't out enough?

Coyote: If they were out any more, Honey would be getting a public indecency charge.

Phoenix: Maybe we shouldn't use clothes to express our feelings? Just a thought 🤦🏽

Fanboy: Yeah Nat, that's plan C.

Payback: Can we not blow up the group chat tonight? The finale of Insecure is on.

Your right leg bounced up and down in nervous anticipation, your eyes never leaving the entrance to the Hard Deck.

"You don't think this is too much, is it?" You asked your friends/coworkers.

"Nah, it'll be perfect!" Mickey reassured you.

"You and Bob are going to walk out of here holding hands by the end of the night, guarantee it," Jake commented as he lined up the balls for a round of pool.

It took all your strength not to jump out of your seat when you saw Bob walk in. His iridescent blue eyes scanned the room, landing on you. He always seemed to search for you, which had to be a sign that he wanted more, that he felt the same way as you did.

You greeted him with a smile, patting the empty seat next to him.

"Hey Robby! I got something for you!" You called out.

Bob just smiled as he sat down, "I see you got my signature: water and peanuts. Thanks Bee!"

You giggled, shaking your head, "Yes, but that's not just it. These are for you!"

Bob stared at the bouquet of flowers you were holding out for him.

"For me? These are for me?" He asked, eyes wide as saucers.

"Yes! I was just thinking, like why is giving guys flowers not a thing? Because it totally should be! And no one deserves these flowers more than you Robby," You explained, a hopeful smile adorning your face.

Bob gently took the bouquet, admiring each flower.

"I thought they would go well with your eyes-that's why a most of them are yellow," you explained, trying to hide how nervous you were.

"These are perfect," Bob said before leaning down to smell the flowers.

"Really? Each flower has a different meaning," you began, hoping that by fidgeting with your hands, you'd be able to conceal your nerves.

Bob simply smiled, his face the epitome of saccharine, "Oh, I already know."

Your breath hitched, "You do?"

Bob nodded, "Oh yeah! Alstroemerias symbolize support, sunflowers are for loyalty, and violets stand for intuition!"

He wasn't wrong. You couldn't tell if you were upset by that or the fact that Mickey forgot flowers can have more than one meaning.

Time for Plan D.

"Hey Robby! You ready to watch hot people make poor decisions?"

"Ready as I'll ever-that's new," Bob said softly, taking in the new loungewear you had on for your biweekly Love Island watch.

"Oh this? I think I got it last week," you said as you let Bob into your apartment, "It's super comfy and it has pockets!"

It also was cut low, showing off your cleavage, as well as the tops of your thigh.

"Yeah, the uh, color looks really good on you Bee," Bob commented. The compliment brought a smile to your face. He noticed you, noticed you were wearing something new, and seemed to be noticing your now exposed skin.

"Well, let's go see if these folks gain any common sense," you grabbed his hand, practically beaming at how your hand fit perfectly in his.

"Somehow I doubt it," Bob chuckled.

When he offered to hold the popcorn for while you two watched, you weren't disappointed. Sure, it meant you weren't able to hold his hand. But it did mean you could move closer to him, your thighs practically touching.

"I really hope he doesn't take her back," Bob muttered, his eyes glued to the screen.

"He will. They always do," you sighed, gently moving your head so it rested against one of his broad shoulders.

If your action had any effect on Bob, he didn't show it. Which was the problem.

"I would pick you in the recoupling," You revealed, hoping that would be enough, would finally be enough.

Bob smiled, placing a hand on your knee, "That's kind of you Bee. But I think friendship couples go against the nature of the show."

It took everything in you not to scream.

The rest of the night was just a typical Love Island watch night, no touching, no initiating, no declarations of love, and ending with Bob giving you a friendly hug goodbye.

With a sigh, you flopped onto your bed to check your messages.

Bagman: Bee, please tell us it worked and you're marking sweet love to baby on board

Phoenix: you're disgusting Seresin.

Rooster: why would they stop fucking just to text you Bagman?

Bagman: so we can pop some champagne to celebrate

Fanboy: Why the fuck is would we do that?

Coyote: It's a big event! Bee told Bob how she feels AND Bob's getting laid!

Payback: Can I just get one night of peace? Just one night?

You: No one's doing anything bc it didn't work!

Rooster: Not trying to be rude, but weren't you like almost naked?

Bagman: Like 52% nude.

Phoenix: JFC, we're going to plan E folks.

Coyote: Is that when we just lock them in a closet?

Bagman: No that's plan G

"Hey Bee!"

The cheerful, charming voice always brought a smile to your face.

"Hi Robby!" You greeted him with a hug, the comforting scent of rosemary filling your nostrils, "You smell really nice."

"Oh um thanks," A hand flew to the back of Bob's neck, a nervous (and also adorable) habit, "Wanted to smell nice after doing all those pushups out in the sun."

"Well it worked, you smell great," One of your hands reached up to the nape of his neck, toying with the hair that had curled at the end, "Look great too."

The tops of Bob's cheeks were now a dusty pink, "It's just a white Tshirt."

You took a step forward, placing your hands on his chest, "It's a good look Robby. Shows off your muscles. I like it on you.

Bob's lips parted, then promptly closed.

"Uh, t-thanks Bee." He had to know now that you were flirting with him. It was clear as day.

Feeling confident, your hands trailed down to his, grasping them, "We should dance!"

You didn't wait for Bob to answer, dragging him out to the middle of the floor. The sounds of Bradley covering Frankie Valli (begrudgingly, as apparently Jerry Lee Lewis was better) filled the bar.

After a few minutes, Bob's shoulders visibly relaxed, a smile spreading across his face. You threw your head back laughing as he bust out a goofy dance move.

Everyone thought Bob was shy, but that wasn't the case. He was observant, determined to get a good read on someone so he knew how to approach the situation accordingly. Once he was comfortable, his personality shined and he was a sweet, goofy man who you adored with all your heart.

The grin you had was so wide, your cheeks were beginning to hurt. But you couldn't stop, not when he was twirling you around.

"Where did you learn to dance like that?" You asked, having to say it into his ear so he could hear your voice above the music.

Bob shrugged, "I come from a big family. When you know you're going to a lot of weddings, knowing how to dance helps. That and my mom made me do cotillion."

"Well, all that practice paid off. You're a great dance partner Robby." You rested your chin against his broad chest, looking up to meet eyes bluer than the ocean.

In that moment, all you could do was focus on him. The way the corner of his eyes creased when he truly smiled, his comforting scent, his pink, thin lips that you were dying to feel on yours.

You wondered if he could hear your heart pounding, if he could feel it since your body was practically on his.

His hands found their way to your arms, gently placing themselves on your biceps. Was this it? It had to be.

So you stood on the tips of your toes, your lips now closer to his. Your eyes began to close as you leaned in to-

"I gotta go. Jake stuck his foot in his mouth again."

This wasn't a lie. But it still didn't dull your disappointment. Nor did it sedate your growing frustration at this whole situation.

Perhaps you didn't need Plan G or H Perhaps it was time to go with your original plan.

The next time you saw Bob was when Nat threw a small get together to celebrate the end of a long week.

He was wearing that damn white Tshirt again. Whenever he brought his cup of water to his mouth, the fabric stretched across his bicep.

Was he doing this on purpose? Did he know? Consciously or not, that you had fallen for him ever since you two first met at training?

Either way, you were tired of this game you had been playing for the past month.

"Are you sure about this?" Natasha asked.

You simply nodded before taking a shot of vodka. A little liquid courage was always nice.

"Nat, he's oblivious. Honestly, I don't know why we didn't do this the first time," Jake commented as he took the shot glass out of your hand.

"Because we didn't expect him to be that oblivious," Mickey countered.

"Well everyone, wish me luck." You walked out of the kitchen to find Bob still sitting on the couch, glass of water in hand.

His eyes met yours and he gave you a smile sweeter than honey. Your legs began to wobble, whether it was from that smile or your nerves, you couldn't say.

You walked over, making a beeline for him. Bob's eyes widened, his fingers gripping his cup. Your gaze was so intense.

"Hey Bee-oh!" Bob froze as you sat down in his lap, your thighs straddling his lithe hips.

"Hey Robby," your hands found his shoulders, fingers toying with the thin cotton fabric of his shirt.

"Uh Bee, there's um, there's a seat right there," Bob weakly pointed to the empty space next to him.

"I don't want that," you leaned forward, your forehead grazing his, "I want you Robby."

His eyes widened once more, as if he just saw an incoming train, "M-me?"

"Yes. Wanted you ever since that first day of training, when you offered me a mint," you told him.

"I uh, you looked sleepy and mint is known to wake you up and," Bob paused, "Did you say since the first day of training?"

You nodded, smiling at how you were able to see him process this information.

"The first day of training?" He repeated.

"Yes Bob, all you did was offer me a mint and smile to make me fall head over heels for ya," your fingers now went up to the back of his neck, twirling the curled ends of his hair, "Been trying to tell you that for the last month."

Bob opened his mouth, then promptly closed it, his brain still processing everything.

"You good Rob-" You never got to finish your sentence, as Bob decided right then was the best time to press his lips against yours.

His lips were soft and tasted faintly of vanilla, no doubt from the chapstick you watched him reapply. His touch was gentle, his thick fingers ghosting over your thighs, trailing up to your waist. Every move, no matter how small, made your heart fluttered.

Being so close to him, you could smell his aftershave, a mix of eucalyptus and sage. It was intoxicating and you wanted to be surrounded by it all the time, wanted to kiss him all the time.

When he broke away for air, you had to hold back a whimper, your lips desperate for more.

"FINALLY!"

You turned your head to find Bradley, along with Mickey, Natasha, Jake, Javy, and Reuben standing by the doorframe, in perfect view of you and Bob.

You smiled and opened your mouth, ready to make a quick remark. But Bob's fingers hooked underneath your chin, turning your head back to meet his lips again.

Unlike the first kiss, this one was bolder. His lips moved against yours with more confidence. Your whole body felt warm, as if you were floating. His hands now cupped your jawline, which is how you learned that Bob's hands practically covered your whole neck, a discovery that sent you reeling.

Your hands trailed up to his head, desperate to feel his sun kissed locks, desperate to find out if they were as soft as they looked. But just before you could, Bob broke away.

"What?" Anxiety came rushing back, dragging you away from Cloud Nine, your previous location. Did he regret it?

"Let's go."

He moved your body to the empty space on the couch, quickly getting up. You took his hands, allowing him to help you get up. You held onto one hand as he led you to the front door.

"Bob! What are you doing with my backseater?" Javy called out.

"Making up for lost time!"

Maybe you should be a little embarrassed. But how could you? You had finally kissed the man of your dreams, he kissed you back. He wanted to leave with you.

The sounds of the house party fainted, becoming soft background noise as you went outside.

Bob stopped, turning around to face you. Before you could get out a sound, his lips were on you again. His hands pulled your body to his, closing the gap in-between.

You couldn't help but moan when you felt his tongue slide against your bottom lip, immediately granting him entrance. You could hear Bob's breath hitch, his hands roaming across your body, touching your soft skin.

Abruptly, he pulled away, leaving you desperate for more.

"Why do you keep doing that?!"

"I...." His face was flushed, "I meant to ask you if if you drove yourself here. But you looked so kissable. You still do, God I just wanna kiss you again."

"I'm not stopping you Robby," you grinned, stepping towards him, "I'm not stopping you at all."

"Oh don't tell me that darlin'" his Midwestern upbringing laced his words. You always loved his accent, having found it not just unique but also comforting.

Somehow, despite his lips pressed against yours, Bob was able to walk you back to his car, your back meeting the cool metal.

His broad body draped over yours, his tongue frantically exploring your mouth. Your fingers reached up, grasping his hair. It was soft and much thicker than you expected.

What else was there about Bob you had yet to learn? What kind of toothpaste he used, if he drank tea or coffee in the morning. Did he fall asleep to rain sounds or silence? How many pillows were on his bed?

You wanted to know everything.

But right now, you just wanted to kiss Bob.

Your fingers tugged on his hair in an attempt to pull him closer to you. Despite his chest being pressed against yours, it wasn't enough. You wanted all of him.

"We should get in the car," He said, voice breathless. With the way his chest was rising, one would think he had just ran ten miles.

Bob began moving towards the driver's side of his truck, but he stopped, turning back to you.

"I want to take you home," He stated. It sounded like a confession with the way guilt laced his eyes.

"I would love that Robby."

Instead, he just shook his head, "But I shouldn't because you deserve more than that. You deserve a nice date, like that Italian restaurant we always pass when we go to Bradley's. You deserve that and flowers and a lovely dinner with candles and wine that's older than both of us-"

You cut him off by gently pecking his lips, "It's okay Bob. You could take me to that diner up the room from your place tomorrow morning and I'd be elated because I would be with you."

He shook his head, clearly torn between continuing to talk and continuing to kiss you, "But....it's the least I should do. I mean, after all the hints you were dropping. I thought you were just being friendly and-"

"What friend asks another friend to look at their chest?" You asked incredulously.

"I thought maybe we were just really close! That you were really comfortable around me, which is why I didn't think anything regarding what you wore when we watched Love Island. I mean," his face reddened, "I did think about it. Um I thought about it a lot and if you ever want to wear it again, I would not mind-"

"Bob," you stepped forward, placing your hands on his chest.

"I mean, you got me Violets! Those mean loyalty and devotion, as well as delicate love! And believe me I wanted to kiss you at the Hard Deck, but that is entirely Jake's fault-"

"As most things are."

"And looking back it was so obvious and I can't believe I didn't pick up on it," He paused, "Sorry, I I had to get that out. I can take you home or back to my place, whatever you want."

You giggled, delighted by his ramblings. You wanted to hear more of it.

"And now I just want to kiss you. Like all the time," He confessed, his lips moving closer to yours.

"Robby, get in the car," you instructed.

"Oh, um, okay," Bob unlocked his car, moving towards the driver seat.

"No Bob. Get in the back of the car," you instructed.

Bob's brows knitted together in confusion, "But then how will I drive-oh!"

Who knows if you were going to make it back to his place or yours. All you cared about was getting your lips and hands back on Bob Floyd.

[cassiesc0rner]

Impurities II

Synopsis: You’re the new girl at East Highland High, your only goal is to get through school. Until you come across Nate Jacobs

Genre: slightly suggestive, fluff, slight angst

Pairing: Nate x fem!reader

Warnings: manipulation, lying, dark themes, let me know if I missed something

Song rec: saint - dpr ian | in my feelings- ldr

WC: +7k

Other parts: previous part, next part,

A/N: Hope you guys enjoy this part as much as the last one :3 I’d love to make some other parts including smut because I kinda like where this story is going so tell me if you guys would be down to read that!! ᥫ᭡

The next days weren’t that eventful. You went to school with Nate, you went to the mall with Nate, and you sometimes even waited for Nate until he was done with his football training.

The next week started out pretty smooth too. You got ready for school on Monday, before Nate picked you up, and you two drove to school and you went to your classes. Everything was going well.

Everything, except for lunch break.

The bell rang and you quickly stuffed your things into your bag, knowing that Nate was probably on his way to the cafeteria already.

You exited the room and walked towards the cafeteria, when someone suddenly stepped in front of you "We need to talk."

You looked up from the floor and found none other than Maddy. She had her arms crossed and looked at you with her usual confident stare.

You remembered what Nate told you about her, that you should stay away from her and that she's a liar, a cheater and simply a horrible person.

But you still couldn't be mean to her or ignore her. "About what?" You asked nervously. She rolled her eyes subtly "What do you think?" She answered.

Fair point.

"Listen, Nate and I aren't together if that's what you want to talk about. And even if we were, it’s not like we owe you any explanation." You didn't know where that surge of confidence came from. Maybe because she started getting on your nerves?

As if her constant stares weren't enough, she had to approach you now too? And she had the nerve to be annoyed when you simply asked what she wanted to talk about.

"Okay, I don't know what the fuck he told you, but it's probably not true." Maddy retorted "I just wanted to warn you, because you seem like a nice person."

You couldn't lie, you were curious about her point of view. You didn't want to betray your only friend, but it wouldn't hurt to listen to her explanation. It’s not like you'd believe her anyway.

"Warn me from what? I'm totally fine and Nate has been nothing but nice to me so far." Maddy scoffed, God, you’re so oblivious "So far, yeah that probably describes it perfectly. Did you ever do anything against his will?"

You thought for a moment Did I? "I take that as a no." Maddy answered for you "Nate only likes you because you do what he says. And," She looked you up and down "because you also wear what he wants you to wear. Seems like he didn't change at all."

You scoffed in disbelief "Nate has done so much for me, and he never forced me to wear this. He also never hurt me-." "Yet." She interrupted "It's only a matter of time until he does."

You stayed silent, not sure what to say to that "Nate loves control and he loves it even more when he has control over someone. He's fucking sick in the head, completely deranged!"

You didn't want to believe Maddy. There's no way Nate actually was like that, you knew him you spent so much time with him. Sure, he did have a short temper sometimes, but he never intentionally treated you badly.

And you knew that she treated him badly and not the other way around. How could she lie to you like that? Did she want you to drop him?

You weren't even his girlfriend and yet she went to such lengths to get back at him.

She's even worse than I thought.

"I know you probably don't want to believe me right now, because he seems like your only true friend and he did all these things for you. But all those things he does for you, are just another way for him to feel good about himself in some sick and twisted way."

What the fuck is wrong with her?

"Why would he buy all these things for you? Why would he make you change your style if he only wants to be your friend?"

She had a point, it might seem strange from the outside, but you knew that Nate only did that for you. He only gave you advice and compliments, and honestly? You felt way better about yourself compared to before.

"I appreciate your concern but it's really not like that, okay? I've known Nate for some time now, and if he would be as ‘deranged’ as you claim he is, I would've noticed by now, don't you think?" You responded as friendly as you could.

Maddy scoffed in return "Don't you think he's able to hide that? Of course he’s not violent towards you, you're like his new obsession. What would he do without you?" Maddy asked sarcastically.

"Maddy!" Nate's angry voice echoed through the hallway, making both of you flinch in surprise.

Maddy was scared, she knew what he was capable of, but she tried to keep her cool as he approached you two. "I told you to stay away from her, didn't I?" he said, his tone harsher than usual as he stared you down.

The hallway was almost empty, since most of the students were in the cafeteria already, but the ones that weren't, eyed the three of you. And it made you even more nervous.

You swallowed before nodding "I-I'm sorry-" "I talked to her first," Maddy interrupted. "someone had to warn her. Before you destroy her life as well."

That fucking bitch

She just couldn't keep her mouth shut, and it was pissing him off more and more. But Nate couldn't let his façade falter, especially not in front of you.

"You're insane... You always act like the victim, Maddy. You're so fucking desperate for attention that you involve innocent people."

You were so confused, first Maddy confronts you out of nowhere and then he appeared all of a sudden. And the other students were still staring as well.

"Are you fucking kidding me right now? You-" "Just like back then, when you fucked that guy in front of everyone. Did you enjoy the attention? Did you enjoy humiliating me like that?" Maddy's eyes widened as she scoffed, she couldn’t believe Nate was putting on this show in front of everyone "Don't even try to compare that to the stuff that you did, Nate."

Nate chuckled drily in response. "I love how you don't even deny it. Or how you lied about that guy taking advantage of you while you were drunk." He took a step closer to her "Don't ever talk to her again, do you hear me? If I see you fucking talking to her one more time, it's over for you."

Nate threatened as Maddy's eyes widened ever so slightly. Nate grabbed your hand and almost dragged you after him as he walked towards the cafeteria.

You stumbled along as he took big steps, you didn't dare to speak, you weren’t even sure what to say. Once you reached the table, Nate sat down pulling you along with him.

You looked straight ahead, too afraid to look into his eyes. Nate sighed "Y/n... Look at me." You slowly moved your gaze towards him. He looked worried, as if he had lost you, the anger from earlier seemingly gone.

But only on the outside.

On the inside he was fuming, wishing he had choked Maddy harder back at the carnival.

"I'm sorry for being angry back there... I just know how much shit Maddy talks, and I don't want you to worry about anything just because she needed attention again."

You nodded slowly "I'm sorry, yeah?" he repeated as he softly stroked your cheek with his large hand. You melted into his touch as you smiled and nodded once again. "I shouldn't have talked to her in the first place."

Nate smiled softly. He adored you so much, Maddy would always fight with him when he got angry, but you? You didn't, you simply accepted his apology and told him it's fine, accepting that he's the way he is.

"Yeah but it's not your fault. You're just nice to the wrong people sometimes." He reassured you once again.

Nate was still incredibly pissed at Maddy but seeing you smile and lean into his touch made him feel so much better. It was insane how good he felt when he was with you, how easily you trusted him.

Nate needed to keep you close to him, he couldn't afford to lose you and he 100% meant what he said to Maddy.

He'd destroy her if she ever tries something stupid again.

"So, what's the special occasion?" You chuckled as you walked into the fancy restaurant Nate had picked out for the evening.

He told you to wear something pretty because you'd go out tonight. Needless to say, your mom was not impressed.

All she heard was 'Nate' and 'going out once it's dark outside' and she was immediately alarmed. Telling you to send her a text at least every hour.

She wasn't that displeased with your outfit this time though. You wore a midi dress with floral patterns and a v-neckline, combined with black flats and a necklace with a heart shaped pendant.

Nate definitely had plans for tonight.

It's been a month since you first met, and he decided that it would be the perfect day to finally ask you to be his.

This had to be the first time Nate was genuinely nervous to ask a girl out.

He was sure that you liked him too, but you never made any advances towards him. The only thing he did notice however, was your sour expression whenever some of the cheerleaders, or any girl for that matter, would talk to him.

He could tell that you got jealous, maybe even compared yourself to them, completely unaware of the fact that Nate only had eyes for you.

"Well, I'll tell you after we ate. Let's get inside first." He smiled as he took in your outfit once more while you walked inside the fancy restaurant. You didn't dare to move from Nate's side, too nervous once you saw how huge the restaurant was on the inside.

Nate greeted the receptionist and talked to him for a moment before he lead you to a beautifully decorated table for two.

Before you could even grab your chair, Nate was quick to pull it out for you to sit on. God, he's so attentive..

You smiled as you sat down "Thank you, sir." you said jokingly. Nate smiled as he responded "You're very welcome."

Once he sat down he passed you one of the two menu cards, before taking the other one himself. "By the way, I'm paying tonight so don't worry and order whatever you want alright?" he smiled warmly as he placed his hand on top of yours.

You looked up from the menu and locked eyes with Nate, ready to protest "Nate-" he shook his head immediately "Listen, it was my idea to take you here, and like I said, today is a special day and I wanna pay for it. So please let me, yeah?"

You sighed, knowing it's useless to protest anyways "Alright.." Nate chuckled, finding your pouty expression absolutely cute. You shyly looked down onto the table before you continued to speak "Can you... help me pick something out?"

He loved it so much when you gave him control, loved you so much.

"Of course, ba-" he cleared his throat, before taking the menu and looking for something nice, hoping you didn't notice that he almost called you 'baby'.

"Alright.. how about this?" He asked as he pointed onto something on the menu. You nodded, sure that you couldn't go wrong with pasta "I trust you. I bet you go here often."

Nate pretended to think for a moment. "Hmm not that often, I think I went here like twice. I really only go here on special occasions but so far I wasn't disappointed."

Another lie.

He visited the restaurant often, his parents sometimes ordered food there as well. He had plenty of chances to test out how good their quality was. And since today would be important, he had to make sure everything was perfect.

Once the two of you finished your food, Nate was quick to call a waitress over. The waitress came over to your table, a smile on her face as she asked "Would you like to pay with cash or card?" Nate opened his wallet, before he pulled out his card "Card, please."

The waitress got her device out of her pocket and set it up before Nate quickly swiped his card over the display. It was such a simple task and yet he made it look so attractive.

Before the waitress could leave, Nate quickly pulled a fifty dollar bill out of his wallet and gave it to her. Your eyes widened as you realized that that was his tip "T-thank you, sir.." The waitress stuttered.

Nate usually doesn't tip that generously, he couldn't care less to be honest, but he wanted to impress you as much as he possibly could.

The two of you got up, and walked towards the exit of the restaurant, leaving the fancy place. "So, would you mind letting me in on your plan?" You asked as you walked towards his car.

Nate grinned sheepishly "Impatient, aren't we?" You jokingly rolled your eyes in response "Keep in mind that I have to be home in a bit." You reminded him as you walked ahead of him.

Nate suddenly grabbed your hand and spun you around, resulting in you stumbling into his chest. You looked up at him before taking a step back, your hand still in his "Don't worry your pretty little head, I already took care of that." Nate proudly announced.

You were beyond confused at this point. "Huh? What do you mean?" Nate chuckled at your confused expression. "I talked to your dad the other day when I was at yours. Told him that you'd 'be at a party' at my place today. He agreed and told me you could sleep at mine and that he'd talk to your mom about it."

You blinked up at Nate, surprised that he lied to your dad just so you could sleep at his. It had to be serious if he'd go that far "Wow... I... really?"

To be honest, it didn't go exactly like that, because he barely even listened to Nate, which obviously made him furious. He genuinely just wanted to club him with the nearest object.

He didn't understand how anyone could be so uninterested in his own family, especially you. Sure, he was happy that your dad agreed to let you sleep at his place, but he didn't even care about the reason, he just wanted to go back to doing whatever the fuck was more important, on his phone.

Your dad just came from work at that time, but Nate's pretty sure that he's always like this, simply from the stories he's heard from you.

"W-wait.. I didn't even pack things for that.. And you’re sure my dad just agreed like that?" Nate nodded "Yeah he did, and it's no problem I'll find something for you to sleep in, don't worry." Nate reasoned.

He couldn't wait for you to be in his clothes, in his bed, snuggled against him under his blanket. Fuck, he couldn't wait until he could finally wrap his arms around you and hold you close to him that you can't leave him.

Nate thought about sleeping next to you so often. He obviously also thought about sleeping with you and it felt like a dream each time.

He’d treat you like the goddess that you are.

Nate already made it his goal to make you cum as many times as possible before you pass out, and he'd do anything just to hear you moan his name. Just the thought alone had him throbbing in his pants.

"Nate?"

Shit, he had to control himself and prevent his problem from growing. "Yeah? Sorry, I got lost in thoughts." You chuckled at his flustered response and expression. You didn't know how people could be scared of him, not when he was this cute.

"You're so cute sometimes." Nate didn't expect you to say that. He's been called many things so far but that was new. And he definitely would’ve prefered any other compliment.

In his opinion, 'cute' was something you'd say to your girlfriend, or maybe a baby or your pet but not to a guy like him.

He swallowed his pride and put on a smile "You're definitely cuter." He said as he leaned down, his face almost directly in front of yours.

You gulped before laughing nervously, your eyes wandering around in an attempt to avoid his intense gaze. Nate smirked before walking past you "C'mon let's go." He said as he opened the car door for you.

The ride was pretty quiet, mostly because you still tried to figure out what Nate could've possibly planned.

You were sure that it wasn't his birthday today, since you've talked about birthdays before.

Nate parked his car and the two of you walked towards what appeared to be a park, with a white gazebo in the middle. Now you were genuinely starting to worry.

It was starting to get dark already, the sun almost gone as the two of you were in a seemingly empty park, heading towards a gazebo.

Nate could sense your hesitation in the way you walked a bit slower and looked around, observing your environment. "We're almost done I promise." Was all he said as he entered the fancy gazebo, sitting down on the bench inside.

You followed him inside, looking at him like a lost puppy. Nate smiled warmly as he patted the free spot next to him on the bench. You sighed nervously before finally sitting down, your gaze locked onto Nate.

He was really happy that you could finally look at him without hesitation, unlike the first time he met you. You got so much more comfortable around him in general.

He cleared his throat before he started talking "Alright, so.. I bet you're wondering what's going on." You nodded eagerly "Let me ask you something," He said as he fully turned towards you "Do you know what happened one month ago, exactly on this day?"

You looked into his eyes trying to search for hints, but found none. You tried to think back, repeating the date over and over again in your head but to no avail. You shook your head in response, a small pout on your lips.

Nate chuckled "One month ago was the first time we met each other, do you remember?" He asked carefully, and your eyes lit up afterwards, remembering how kind he was from the beginning. "Of course I remember, you really saved me, I thought I was just destined to stay alone forever until I met you." You smiled as you thought of all the great memories you and Nate had so far.

Nate felt relieved that you felt that way, and not like he was the reason barely anyone dared to talk to you. Which he obviously was, with the way he glared at anyone who even dared to look at you in the hallways.

"I'm glad you think so, y/n. And I've been think about this, and about you for a long time." You tilted your head to the side as you waited for him to continue "I really really like you, y/n. Not in a way.. a friend should like another friend."

Your smile dropped as you finally understood what was going on. The fancy dinner, the fancy gazebo, him mentioning the first time you met. No, there's no way, he wouldn't- "I love you, y/n. I know this might be sudden right now, but I just had to tell you today. The date was perfect and I... I'm tired of hiding this from you."

Nate despised how vulnerable he was in front of you right now, but he also knew that he might be more successful this way, that him showing some emotions would result in you saying yes.

"I know that you haven't been in a relationship yet and I promise I won't force you to do anything you don't want to do. We can take things slow."

You suddenly felt like your heart was about to jump out of your chest. Nate was asking you to be his girlfriend..

He planned all of this to ask you to be his girlfriend.

You did not expect that. You weren't sure what you were expecting but this wasn't on your list. "Nate I... I don't know what to say..." Was all you managed to whisper as you averted your gaze.

You'd be lying if you said you didn't feel something for him, and the fact that he put so much effort into asking you out also touched you, but you were so scared of losing him, you needed him whether you wanted to admit it or not. You couldn't even imagine living without him from now on so why did you hesitate?

Nate stayed quiet as well, before reaching for your hand, in an attempt to get you to look at him "Y/n, I get it, you probably didn't expect me to say all that, but I genuinely mean it." You slowly raised your head and looked into his eyes once again.

The look he gave you was filled with sincerity and love and you wanted to hug him and tell him that everything is gonna be fine, that you're his "You know that I might not be here for long... I couldn't live with the fact that I have to leave you behind. What if you'll feel like you're wasting your time with me?"

Nate quickly shook his head "I'll never think like that, and I already told you that I'll find a solution if that should happen." Nates grip on your hand tightened before he added "Just tell me what you want right now. Without thinking of things that might or might not happen."

You sighed "I want to be with you, I just... really didn't think you'd actually want someone like me to be your girlfriend, so I never considered it.." Nate frowned.

'Someone like you’? What did you mean by that? Nate was sure that there was no one better than you, that you were the perfect choice for him.

"There's nothing wrong with you, and I'll tell you that over and over again if I have to. You're everything I want, I don't need someone else I only need you, I already told you that before." He replied, searching for your eyes once again.

You suddenly remembered that day you went over to his place and his brother showed up. When you sat on the sofa with him and he told you that you were everything he needed. So he really meant it like that.

You looked at him, a sad smile on your face "I need you too, no one has ever been able to make me feel so loved and important... Not even my parents... I can’t imagine going back to that… I mean, I was miserable before I met you." Nate tried to hide his smirk when he heard that.

He absolutely loved how dependent you were on him, he knew you'd need him eventually.

He softly placed his hand on your cheek, hoping you'd melt into his touch like you did back when he first did it in the cafeteria.

And you didn't disappoint him.

You closed your eyes, enjoying the warmth of his touch in the chilly breeze. "Please.. Give me a chance to prove you I'll treat you good." Nate softly pleaded.

You opened your eyes, looking at him "I'd never doubt that, Nate.. I'm just really worried I-" Nate sighed before retrieving his hand, and you hated it, hated how cold you felt again.

"It's about what Maddy told you, isn't it?" Nate asked, his tone rougher than before. You quickly shook your head "No! Oh my god of course not. I know that she's lying." You scooted closer to Nate, your hands finding his this time.

"I trust you.. Only you."

Nate looked at you, a small frown still evident on his features. He kept quiet, hoping that it'll give you the final push to say yes.

You sighed as you thought for a moment. You liked him too, so why not give him a chance? You'll probably never be this lucky again. This is what you wanted, what you dreamed of.

You deserved some happiness for once. And you were sure he'd make you happy, just like he already did. And you'd do your best to make him happy as well.

"Nate, I'd love to be your girlfriend."

Nate almost jumped off the bench. You finally said yes, you were finally officially his. His eyes immediately lit up and he pulled you into probably the tightest hug you've ever had.

Nate sighed in relief, everything worked just like he wanted it to. No one would take you away from him now.

That was probably his biggest fear, that some guy would make a move on you and steal you from him. And it would've been so unfair too, because he was the one who turned you into his obedient pretty girl.

In his eyes, no one deserved you more than he did.

"I promise you won't regret it, yeah?" He mumbled into your neck before raising his head ever so slightly to press a kiss to your cheek.

You giggled as you tried to process the fact that Nate Jacobs was now your boyfriend. Once Nate let go of you, you noticed how cold it had gotten, and you shivered slightly.

Nate frowned "Are you cold? We can go home if you want to." He offered. "That might be a good idea. Only if you want to though."

Nate appreciated that you still let him decide, even though you were cold already.

He chuckled before standing up "C'mere." He said as he extended his arm. You stood up and walked towards him and he wrapped his arm around your shoulder, before the two of you walked to his car.

Nate knew that he had to introduce you to his parents and he absolutely hated it. He knew that if he simply told you to go upstairs, you might think he doesn't want you to meet them.

You were quick to misinterpret things negatively sometimes and he didn't want you to worry about his parents not liking you or something.

You once asked him, when you came over for the fifth time why you haven’t seen his parents yet. And he told you he only invites you over when he's alone, because they’re weird. He quickly made sure to tell you that he just simply 'dislikes' his whole family to put it nicely.

Once he parked the car, he turned towards you and placed his hand on your thigh to grab your attention. You looked up at him with your beautiful eyes and he could've kissed you right then and there but he wasn't sure if that would've been too soon for you.

"Listen, my parents are probably home right now... Just a heads up, they might want to meet you. Are you okay with that?" He asked softly.

You felt like your heart was about to jump out of your chest.

You've never seen them before, except on the family picture on the wall at the staircase. You had no idea what you had to expect. "I'm kinda scared to be honest.." You replied nervously. "What if they don't like me?"

Nate scoffed before shaking his head "Don't worry, they only hated Maddy, because she was really rude and she called my mother a cunt." Your eyes widened in shock "She did what?" You asked in disbelief.

Nate nodded as he looked outside the window "I told you, she was intense..." You scoffed in response "Yeah definitely, did she even contribute anything good to the relationship?" You asked genuinely curious.

Nate thought for a moment, did she?

"Well not really, but I don't care anymore. I have you now. You could never disappoint me the way she did, so don’t worry." He responded with a smile before undoing his and your seatbelt.

Once the two of you got out of the car and Nate locked the doors, he took your hand in his and walked towards the entrance.

He was kind of nervous as well since his dad could be unpredictable. But Nate already told his mom that he might bring you home today and she was thrilled to meet you.

He sighed before unlocking the door and walking inside with you. He just hoped Aaron wasn't at home or at least not downstairs this time.

You started taking your shoes off as quietly as possible, hoping that they wouldn't hear or notice you. Nate also took his shoes off before you walked the living room together.

His mom sat on the sofa with a glass of wine. As soon as she noticed the two of you, she placed her glass down on the coffee table and walked over to the two of you with a friendly grin.

"Hello sweetie, you must be y/n." She exclaimed before hugging you subtly. She then took a small step back and looked at you.

"Yes.. It's so nice to meet you.." You said as you tried to smile at her and maintain eye contact. You knew it would've been rude to not look at her, but you were still pretty nervous.

Then she looked you up and down, which made you even more insecure "Wow... gorgeous and polite, seems like Nate finally found the right one." Nate rolled his eyes before taking your hand back in his "Alright mom, we'll be upstairs then." He announced.

"Oh already? But-" "Yeah it's been a pretty rough week, we'll talk tomorrow." He interrupted before almost dragging you along with him towards the stairs "Again, it was nice meeting you Mrs. Jacobs."

You quickly added before following him "Likewise, Honey!" You truly loved how sweet she was. Your mom barely called you Honey, or Sweetie. She only used your name when she called for you.

Just as Nate thought he finally had you to himself, he heard the front door unlock.

He debated on whether he should turn around or not, before deciding against it and simply walking upstairs in front of you. Until he heard the person speak

"Aren't you gonna introduce me to your new girlfriend Nate?" It was Cal.

Nate was surprised when he entered the living room earlier and saw that his Mom seemed to be alone. But he was glad and hoped it'd stay that way.

But sadly it didn’t.

Nate sighed as he looked at you not sure whether to tell you to go ahead to his room or actually allow his asshole dad to introduce himself.

He noticed how Cal moved towards the stairs before he looked at you "I'm Cal, pleasure to meet you." He said before extending his hand.

You shook it, trying to mimic his firm grip but failing miserably. "I'm Y/n.." You almost whispered as you avoided his piercing gaze. You then retreated your hand before adding "a-also pleased to meet you."

You couldn't tell why but you felt the atmosphere shift in a way. It was.. eerily quiet. And you knew that there was something going on between Nate and his Dad. Simply by the way they stared at each other, and the way Nate talked about him sometimes.

"Alright, we're gonna go upstairs then." Nate said drily before gesturing for you to walk ahead. You quickly walked up the stairs, happy that you'd be alone with him soon again.

You didn't mind talking to his mom, but his dad scared the shit out of you. There was just something so dark about him. You wouldn't want to be alone with him.

Once Nate finally closed the door behind you two, you sighed out of relief. "Sorry about him, he really knows how to make people uncomfortable.." Nate grumbled when he saw the relief on your face.

"It wasn't that bad." You lied as you chuckled nervously. "You don't have to lie to me. I saw how nervous you got when you shook his hand." Nate responded before plopping down on his bed and sighing.

Why couldn’t he just move out and live with you? All alone somewhere secluded where he has you to himself, far away from his and your family.

"This is exactly why I didn't want you to meet my parents." He reasoned. You walked towards him, and lied down beside him before placing your head on his firm chest "Don't worry it.. really wasn't that bad. I think your mom is really nice."

Yeah totally

Nate closed his eyes as he enjoyed the weight of your head on his chest. He could’ve stayed like this forever.

Until your phone vibrated in your bag.

You groaned before getting up and rummaging through your bag until you found it.

It was your mom, great… You totally forgot to text her during the entire time.

6 new messages

mom: Hey, when are you gonna come home? 5:45 pm

mom: Just talked to your dad.. Are you really going to sleep at his place?? 5:58 pm

mom: Are you okay? 6:20 pm

mom: If you want me to pick you up you can call me 6:49 pm

mom: hellooo? 7:02 pm

mom: please text me back when you see this I’m worried 7:15 pm

“Holy shit…” You scoffed. “What? Is it your mom?” You nodded before walking back to bed and showing him your chat.

Nates eyes widened in both amazement and terror. “Jesus, she’s so controlling.” You nodded while you quickly texted her back.

You had to give her Nate’s address some time ago, when you went over to his place more frequently. You were sure she’d actually get in her car and come over if you wouldn’t reply to her.

you: I’m fine everything is okay! stop worrying so much 7:17 pm

Nate got up from his bed and headed towards his closet, grabbing a basic tee and some shorts before he handed them over to you “Here you can wear this, I hope it’s fine.”

You nodded and smiled at him “Of course, thank you.” He smiled back at you for a moment “I’ll go to the bathroom, yeah?” He said before heading towards his bathroom.

You decided to get dressed while he’s gone, slipping out of your dress, folding it as best as you could and placing it neatly next to his bed. Then you put on his shirt, which was in fact long enough to cover your thighs, and his shorts.

You sat back on Nate’s bed until he came back from his bathroom. Despite being in his room so many times before, you never slept at his place. Because you’re mother was against it of course.

But you had to admit it was smart of Nate to lie to your dad about having a party, and saying that many people were gonna sleep at his, and you wouldn’t be alone with him.

You wondered if Nate had to lie to his parents like that too.

His mom was way more understanding than yours was, so probably not. And she seemed so kind too, you couldn’t wrap your head around the fact that Maddy insulted her like that.

You wished you would’ve moved here earlier, simply because you couldn’t shake the feeling that there was a lot going on that you didn’t know of.

Like the Cassie situation for example.

You knew almost nothing about her, and it kinda scared you, because Nate mentioned that she was insane and extremely obsessed with him.

You didn’t even know what she looked like, so how were you supposed to stay out of her way?

You were certain that it would just be a question of time until she’d approach you as well. And you were also pretty sure that she won’t be as nice or as rational as Maddy was.

Sure, Maddy said all these bad things out of spite and because she hated her ex boyfriend. But Cassie? What if she’s still in love with him and finds out that you two are dating?

Nate entered the room again, taking in the sight of you in his clothes as you sat leaned against his bed frame staring ahead with wide eyes.

You looked so adorable and so… distracted for some reason. Nate walked up to you, pulling you out of your thoughts. “What’s on your mind?” He asked as he stood in front of you.

The way you craned your head up to look at him, made him feel things he shouldn’t feel. Especially since your head was at eye level with his crotch.

He tried to focus on whatever you were going to tell him nonetheless “I’m just… worried. You told me about Cassie being obsessed with you and… what if she finds out I’m your girlfriend?”

Nate sighed. Because you had a point, but he really didn’t want to think of her or talk about her anymore. He was already glad that she barely went to school after their break up, and that he could keep you far away from her.

“You don’t have to worry about her, I told you I’ll protect you. Cassie is crazy but she’s harmless, except for yelling she can’t do much.” He tried to reassure you.

You looked down as you fiddled with the hem of Nate’s shirt.

You already were an anxious person, so the fact that your boyfriend only dated crazy people in the past, wasn’t exactly helpful.

“I feel safe with you… but we’re not always together at school, and I… don’t have any friends.” That’s when you realized just how alone you actually were without Nate.

You had no friends at all, now that Nate wasn’t your friend anymore but your boyfriend. It was sad, really. But what you didn’t seem to realize was that it wasn’t your fault at all.

It was Nate’s.

He was convinced you didn’t need anyone but him, even if that meant you’d have no friends. What would you need them for anyway when you had him?

Nate frowned “But you’re not alone either, you have me. Or… am I not enough?” He frowned. You immediately shook your head “No, of course you’re enough. You’re more than enough, that’s not what I meant.”

Nate smiled in response before you added “I just see all these girls walk through school with their friends and.. it makes me feel sad because I don’t have any friends I can talk to or walk through school with.. I sometimes feel like I’m getting on your nerves because I talk to you so much.”

Nate scoffed as he walked towards the TV "C'mon you could never annoy me." He assured you as he turned the TV on. Then he turned off the main light and plopped down next to you before turning on the bedside lamp.

When you didn't respond to him, he added "I understand that you want to have friends at school, but most of the girls at school are... awful. They're fake, and really mean and all they care about is boys and sex."

You really wanted to believe him but there’s just no way every single girl was like that. And Nate also couldn’t possibly know every single girl at school.

Nate looked at you and it was almost as if he could read your thoughts, because he knew you didn’t quite believe him.

And it irritated him.

You always believed him everything so why were you questioning him now?

He quickly changed the topic in an attempt to put a stop to your thoughts. “I still can’t believe you’re mine by the way...” He said as he softly intertwined his fingers with yours, smiling at you.

And it worked like a charm.

You smiled shyly as you avoided his somewhat intense gaze. You weren’t sure if you’d ever get used to him looking at you like that.

Nate decided to take it a step further, stroking your cheek with his other hand until you slowly looked back at him.

“Can I kiss you?” He asked quietly, almost as if he was scared you’d say no.

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t want him to kiss you, but you literally never kissed anyone before and you were scared that Nate would laugh at you.

“Um… yeah just… please don’t laugh at me.” you chuckled. Nate smirked “Don’t worry, I won’t. We’ll take it slow, yeah?” He said as he scooted closer.

He let go of your hand and moved it to your left cheek instead, cupping it gently as he pulled your face closer. He leaned in until his lips finally touched yours.

The feeling was foreign but you enjoyed it nonetheless. His lips were so soft as they moved against your own. You tried to mimic his movements as your brows furrowed in concentration.

Nate slowly broke the kiss as he searched your face for any sign of discomfort “How did it feel?” He asked as his eyes were glued to your lips. “It felt.. really good.” You responded quietly.

“Can we try again?” You asked as you fiddled with you shirt again.

Fuck, why were you so cute?

“Sure, of course.” Nate responded “You can touch me too, you know?” He added as he took your right hand and placed it on his shoulder. “Oh, okay..” You smiled before leaning in again.

Nate pressed his lips against yours once again. He could tell you were more eager this time when you leaned in first. You tilted your head slightly, like you had seen on TV several times, and it already felt more natural and deeper than the first kiss.

You felt incredibly excited with how close Nate was to you right now, and you also had this warm, fuzzy feeling in your stomach.

It was almost like your body worked on its own. Your hand slid from his shoulder to his neck as you closed your eyes, and your lips finally seemed to move more in sync.

Nates hand moved to your waist in an attempt to pull you even closer, while your unoccupied hand moved to his cheek.

He pressed kiss after kiss onto your lips making sure to take his time with you, some kisses lasting longer than others.

You were the first one to break the kiss this time, since you were running out of breath. “Wow.. that was amazing.” You chuckled as you slowly removed your hands from Nate.

He smirked at you, clearly happy that you enjoyed kissing him, because he felt the same way. He was definitely glad that you didn’t straddle his lap though, because then you probably would’ve felt just how happy he truly was.

“Wanna do it again?”

✎ Thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed this part as well. If you have any questions/feedback please let me know ♡

- Cassandra

[blainesebastian]

simplicity

word count: 8,958 ship: Nick Leister x reader rating: NC-17 (for some smut, suggestive sexual language and expletives) summary: Nick is constantly going out of his way for you, but it’s in straightforward, uncomplicated situations. Your last boyfriend always made you feel like a burden, Nick makes you feel loved. notes: again, i appreciate all the positive comments and feedback 🥰 masterlist is here! notes2: gifs from this gif pack

Relationships have never been your strong suit. You’ve been with a few guys, but nothing has ever seemed to click. Getting along well enough is not a spark, it’s not magic. And maybe that’s naive, wanting that, wanting magic. But part of you doesn’t think that’s true—sometimes there’s magic in the mundane, in the simple, in someone just knowing you, thinking about you, caring. 

You never knew that it could be something that’d be so effortless until you met Nick. 

—

Nick is a pretty guarded person. When you first meet him, there’s amusement in his eyes and a twitch to his mouth, like an invisible string pulling his lips up. But none of that feels altogether sincere, like shades of him. It’s not until you’re friends with him for a few years, that you become his girlfriend, do you see him for who he truly is. Past the barriers, the masks. 

He’s protective and caring and sweet. Thoughtful in a way you never knew someone could be. It’s dangerous because it makes him far too easy to fall in love with. But maybe that’s part of the magic you were looking for, that’s part of the fairytale. Except it’s all real. 

—

Nick is constantly going out of his way for you, but it’s in straightforward, uncomplicated situations. Your last boyfriend always made you feel like a burden, Nick makes you feel loved. 

—

Your periods have always been particularly bad. It’s not one of those things that you’ve talked about, mostly because it’s just…not something that’s usually brought up. But ever since your cycles began, the flow is typically heavy and the cramps are usually immobilizing. You’ve had to deal with it ever since you were younger, trying to wade through school or just…normal daily tasks like your body wasn’t attacking you from the inside out. The first few days are always where it’s the most terrible, then you kind of find a balance until it’s over. But fuck—you’ve yet to come up with a routine that helps. 

For the most part you just end up in bed, or the shower, waiting for the worst of it to pass. Which is what you’re doing now—you’re curled up in a fetal position in bed, breathing in and out of your nose in strong, slow breaths. 

You had a feeling that this was coming, could feel soft cramps beginning earlier in the day, but using a calendar is sometimes useless. You’re two days early. By the time night came around, you were sitting on the edge of your bed texting Jenna a red circle emoji with zero other explanation about why you couldn’t come out tonight. She’s totally empathetic, asking if need anything, but the last thing you want to do is ruin her night too. So you tell her to have a good time and to send you any embarrassing pics of Lion dancing once he gets a few drinks in him. 

Running a hand over your face, your other massages your stomach, a headache beginning in the back of your eye sockets. There’s one more person you need to text. 

Y/N: I’m passing away tonight, period snuck up on me 

Your last ex practically cringed any time you mentioned blood, let alone your period. He never wanted you to talk about cycles, or the pain you were experiencing, or even mention when one was expected. Your emotions always took a swing in a worse direction as well, heightened by hormones, and fuck—you just needed your boyfriend to not act like such a dick. Which apparently was too much to ask. 

He seemed to only care about your pussy when he could fuck it. Brash? Maybe. But also, unfortunately, true. 

Nick: what do you need? 

A soft smile tugs the corners of your mouth. What a difference a guy makes. Not only is he willing to talk about anything that has to do with your painful cycles, he’s also ready, at the drop of a hat, to get you things to help manage the symptoms. God it almost makes your eyes water with tears. 

Y/N: I’m okay, just need to wade through 

But he knows you. 

Nick: to be clear, I’m coming over anyways 

Nick: so can I get you anything? 

You sniffle, curling your hair around your ear, thumbs hovering over the screen of your phone. Well—if he insists. 

—

A half hour later, you hear the door open to your bedroom. You shift a little but not much movement, a soft sigh leaving your lips as Nick sits down near your thighs, his hand moving to run down your arm. He’s got a paper bag in his other hand, letting it slip to the floor to sit between his feet. 

“How you doing, champ?” His voice is warm, slightly teasing. 

You manage a tiny smile, licking your lips. “Not great.” You admit, hating the heat and flicker of embarrassment on your cheeks and the back of your neck. You detest feeling weak, like you need help, even though Nick’s never made it seem like you should be ashamed. 

He brushes a hand through your hair, your features pinched slightly in pain as another cramp rolls through. Your eyes flutter closed and you breathe out, trying to make your way through it, knees tipping up just a little to fold yourself tighter, as if it’s even possible. 

“Hate this,” You mutter, a soft whine to your voice. 

“I know,” Nick’s voice rumbles, his hand slipping down to the back of your neck. His fingers massage there, thumb rolling over your shoulders. “Hopefully I brought a few things that will help.” 

You didn’t want him to go out of his way but you already know what he would have said if you protested, so. You let him take care of you. “Well, it can’t get any worse, so…” 

Nick hums a little before he stands,

“Alright, I got…” You listen to him reach into the paper bag, though you haven’t opened your eyes. “Going to make you some tea. Then, when you feel like eating, I brought frozen mashed potatoes…now hear me out, I’m thinking comfort food. The last time your period put you down for the count, you ate a whole bowl of pasta. Figured this was a safe bet.” 

A breath of a laugh leaves your nose, swallowing over an emotion in your throat. He’s not wrong, and the gesture is incredibly thoughtful. 

“Then there’s chocolate,” You hear him set that down on the nightstand, “And one of those heatable stuffed animals, sloth this time. Since the fox is MIA.” He bought you a fox version of that at one point but…you misplaced him. You swear you last saw it with the fitted sheets and towels but like a pair of socks going into the drier, the fox has up and disappeared. 

“Promise the sloth will stick around this time.” You mutter. 

“Maybe don’t give him a name, just in case.” 

“Already thinking of George.” 

You can picture Nick’s nose crinkling when he says, “That’s a terrible sloth name.” 

He walks out of the bedroom, heading downstairs. You force yourself to make a trip to the bathroom, run some water over your face, and change a pad so you don’t feel so…gross. Propping all the pillows up against the headboard, you slowly get back into bed, wincing at a wave of pain that feels like it’s tugging directly on your nerves. You’ve talked to your doctor and have taken a variety of midol and other painkillers before but nothing seems to help. Some take the edge off, sometimes, but it’s not always guaranteed. 

It’s just kinda one of those things you have to live with. 

You turn onto your side, facing the bathroom, running a hand over your face as Nick comes back in. He sets the tea on the nightstand and then gently tugs the covers back so he can place the warm sloth on your abdomen. A soft moan leaves your lips, eyes squeezing closed. 

“That okay?” He asks and you manage a sharp nod. 

Nick threads his fingers through your hair again, gently massaging your temple with his thumb. You hate that your periods are so debilitating, but you’re also grateful that Nick doesn’t ask you to explain, or shy away from being here. He wants to help, to take care of you. You’re so grateful for that, don’t even have the words that feel right, complete enough, to thank him. 

He readjusts the covers, his other hand resting on your hip, giving you a gentle squeeze. “Want me to put the TV on?” 

You shake your head, trying to concentrate on anything other than your cramps, “Just—” You swallow, drawing your upper lip between your teeth and biting as tears fill your eyes. 

“Hey, hey,” Nick whispers, inching closer when you start to cry, “Hey, it’s alright,” He soothes, cupping your cheek. He leans down and brushes a kiss over your cheekbone, removing the teartrack with his lips. “You’re going to be okay.” And while a message like that may feel patronizing, it’s not; it’s actually helpful in reminding yourself that this will pass. 

You breathe in slowly through your nose, letting it out of your mouth as Nick shifts to lay behind you. He’s taken his shoes off at one point, in a pair of jeans and a soft hoodie, molding his body against your own. He smells like his brand of laundry detergent, skin, a gentle brush of his expensive cologne—it’s comforting in a knee-deep way, like it settles into your bones as he wraps his arm around your waist. 

You wipe a hand along your cheek, sniffling, willing yourself to breathe. Nick never makes you feel like you’re overemotional, like this is you just being ridiculous somehow. He lets you feel however you need, supports you outright, gives you options. He will never understand how much that means to you—how something that simple can be a big deal. 

His hand slips under the covers, his chin hooking over your shoulder, “Want me to stop?” You know what he’s about to do, he did this the last time you were on your period. He read an article that told him that massages to your lower abdomen helped relieve the sharpest points of pressure—but at the same time, he’s offering you space, just in case you don’t want him to touch you. 

You shake your head, “No,” You whisper, moving your knees just slightly down so he has enough room to tug your shirt up. Your eyes flutter closed again as his fingers press into your stomach, a soft wince on your features. It quickly becomes more bearable the longer he does it, smooth, tight circles against your skin. He keeps the consistent pressure, lulling you to sleep. 

—

When the worst of the cramps pass, Nick makes you those frozen mashed potatoes. He somehow makes them taste fucking amazing, like they’re coming right out of a restaurant kitchen. Extra butter, some dry herbs and a hint of cheese. They’re sublime, your eyes bright as you eat them, feeling like a little bit of life is coming right back into your body. When you thank him, there’s just the hint of a smile as puts an arm around your shoulders, drawing you close. 

—

Maybe this is just something you’re so used to that you don’t even think twice about it when it happens. 

Your parents, while you love them, aren’t the most thoughtful people. They can be self-absorbed and altogether selfish, but you’ve lived with it your entire life, so it’s just…part of the day to day. Unfortunate? Yes, of course. But it’s not tragic. There are worse things that people go through, and your parents have never made you feel like you’re unsafe or not cared for. They’re just…forgetful, sometimes. 

It doesn’t bother you. But it certainly bothers someone. 

“What do you mean they forgot?” Nick asks, coming out of his closet. His shirt is unbuttoned, revealing his chest as he fixes the collar, raising his eyebrows at you. 

You lick your lips, giving your one shoulder a subtle lift, “I mean it’s happened before, like…they just don’t remember.” 

Nick pauses, his mouth opening a little before he draws in a breath. His shoulders have instantly become ramrod straight, a muscle working in his jaw. “They don’t remember that it’s your birthday?” 

You wince a little at the tone of his voice—utterly frigid. Pissed. You lift your hand to rub the back of your neck, suddenly uncomfortable that you even brought it up. But maybe Nick’s just displaying how you should be feeling. He asked you if you had any plans with your family on your birthday, just so that he didn’t schedule something that overlapped. You assured him that he could do whatever he wanted because…it was likely your parents forgot your birthday. 

They did last year, and the year before that. It’s become so normal that it’s just…something that is. But the look on Nick’s face is telling you that it shouldn’t be like that at all. But you’re not sure what he wants you to do about it. 

You let out a soft breath, standing from the bed. You wander over to him, giving him a gentle smile as you lift your hands and place them over his shoulders. “It’s not a big deal.” 

Nick takes your hands off his shoulders to hold them in his own, squeezing. He tilts his head down a little to make sure he catches your gaze. “Yes, it is.” 

Utter finality in his voice, no room to argue. It almost takes your breath away. Rarely have people gotten angry on your behalf as Nick clearly is. 

“Bright side?” You offer another small smile, trying to melt the ice. “You’ve got me all to yourself.” 

Nick folds a little under your touch and you can feel his muscles slowly relax. He picks up a hand and cups your cheek, running your thumb over your jawline. “You don’t want to include our friends?” Meaning Jenna and Lion. And while you wouldn’t mind inviting them…

“No,” You press yourself up on your toes and brush a kiss over his lips. “I just want you.” 

His eyes flicker to your lips before he gives a brief nod, drawing you close to kiss your bottom lip. “I suppose that can be arranged.” 

You wrap your arms around his neck, resting them on his shoulders, before deepening the kiss and officially leaving the semi-sour topic behind. 

—

Your birthday celebration is small and intimate. Nick bakes you a medium-sized chocolate cake covered in pink icing and red heart sprinkles. There’s a sparkler candle and a few others to blow out, to make a wish or two. When he kisses you, he tastes like buttercream, and you decide it’s the best birthday you’ve ever had. 

Why wish for anything when you’ve got everything you want right here. 

—

You’ve officially worn yourself out at this party. 

Not to get it wrong, you love coming to parties with your friends, Nick, drinking a bit too much and dancing until your thighs burn. There’s always fun games and laughter and it reminds you how happy you are that you’ve got people in your life that make things carefree and fun. But you also bump into these moments sometimes where you hit a wall, not quite catching your second wind, and the mixed drinks begin working against you. You’ve always been a tipsy sort of drunk, rose-colored warmth and giggles and kissing Nick whenever you can. But in this case? You’re just sleepy. You kinda want to curl up on the couch and wait until it’s time to go. 

You try to rally, use a cold washcloth on your neck, have another drink, munch on some snacks, let Jenna drag you to the dance floor again but…none of that works. You begin to feel a bit of that tiredness in your bones. 

You lean against the counter in the kitchen, running a hand along the side of your face as you grab a glass of water. You take a few long pulls and then rejoin your friends in the living room. Jenna and Lion are standing by the couch talking about an upcoming race next week and Nick is seated in the corner of the couch. He’s leaned back, arm across the top of the pillows, fond smile on his face as he listens to his friends. 

Like a magnet though, he seems to sense you come into the room, his eyes tipping in your direction as you push through the crowd to stand with Jenna and Lion. A small smile tugs at the corners of your mouth at him, your eyes glancing appreciatively over his form. He catches you too, a small smirk to his lips, before he gives his attention back to what Lion is saying. 

There’s nothing keeping you at this party, you could leave at any point, but it’s like an internal tug of war—despite feeling spent, you don’t want to leave just yet, hoping to tap into some stored energy. 

Jenna mentions shots and you nod, watching her bounce to the beat of whatever song is playing as she heads to the kitchen. Before you can follow her, Nick’s hand reaches out and wraps around your wrist. You sway slightly and allow him to pull until you’re seated sideways on his lap. He wraps an arm around you and you find yourself leaning into the firmness of his chest, the warmth of him, how good he smells. 

He tips his head back to look up at you, amusement swirling in your eyes at the bit of reverse height difference thanks to being on his lap. You lift your hand to run through his curls, resting with an arm around his shoulders. 

“Tired?” He asks, pressing a kiss to your jawline. When you nod softly, Nick shifts, “We can head out.” 

And that’s tempting but, “I know but I think Jenna wants me to stick around a bit longer. She was teasing the last time I left before eleven but I think she was disappointed I didn’t stay late.” 

Nick’s got that look on his face, like he wants to say something about how it’s your decision and Jenna will be just fine…and you know that? But still. You’re a people pleaser, always have been. So you stay. Jenna brings shots back and you tip yours into your mouth after clinking them altogether, a laugh slipping through your lips as your friends tugs you out of the warmth of Nick’s embrace to head back to the dance floor. 

The group moves outside at one point and you’re seated on a pool lounger between Nick’s legs, listening to this story that Jenna is telling about Ibiza and her cousins, some sort of drama at a club they were at and apparently Idris Elba was the DJ? You chew on your lower lip, your thoughts wandering, your hand pinching the bridge of your nose for a moment. Nick moves behind you, brushing his hand along your wrist, a kiss pressed to your temple. He reads you without words, that quiet intimacy making your chest ache sweetly behind your ribs. 

“I think we’re gonna pack it in,” Nick mentions when there’s a lull in Jenna’s story. Your friend pouts, to which he gives a soft laugh, “I’m sorry, I have a headache.” He doesn’t, but he knows that you do. 

Jenna huffs dramatically but she doesn’t protest, standing when you do to give a fierce hug. Goodbyes are said and Nick laces his fingers with yours to guide you back through the house and out the front door. You draw a breath into your lungs, rolling your neck, the gentle pounding of your headache moving from your temples down to your inner ears. 

“Think I have aspirin in the car,” Nick says, pulling his keys from his pocket. 

You lean over to plant a kiss to his cheek, squeezing his hand, “Thank you.” 

A soft smile paints across his handsome face, “Not a problem.” Before he lifts the car door open for you to drive home. 

—

“Really don’t think this is necessary,” Nick grumbles. And yet. “I do this all the time on my own.” 

You grin, pulling on a plastic glove. “And that’s my point, isn’t it easier if someone does it for you?” 

He shakes his head, face a bit pinched but his eyes are warm and amused. “I can see the front half of my hair.” 

You chew on your lower lip, pulling the box of soft blonde hair dye away from your face after reading over the directions. It’s set up already on his bathroom counter, but you’re just making sure. 

“But isn’t this a great way to spend quality time?” Now you’re grinning, looking at him with the cutest expression you can manage to wipe that scowl off his face. It’s totally fabricated anyways, you know that if Nick didn’t want you to help with this, you wouldn’t be. 

He shakes his head again but there’s a twitch of a smile to his lips, “I can think of better ways to spend quality time.” And the heat is his gaze nearly sways you. Almost. 

You lean forward, pressing a quick kiss to his lips. “Nice try, let’s dye your curls.” 

A ridiculous huff leaves his lips and he adjusts the black t-shirt he’s wearing, apparently not caring if it’s ruined if dye accidentally falls onto it. You seat yourself onto a small stool, getting yourself comfortable and tugging the t-shirt of his that you’re wearing a bit more over your thighs. You motion for him to lower himself and with how tall he is, he’s probably going to have to sit instead of kneel. But he doesn’t do that—he slowly puts himself on his knees in front of you and when your eyes meet his…you see the heat hasn’t disappeared from his gaze. 

Excitement coils like a snake in your belly, slithering into your veins, between your ribs, dipping down between your legs at the look on his face. And then he does something that should be incredibly simple, but it isn’t. He licks his lips. 

“Are you sure there’s no other kind of quality time that you want?” 

You manage to glare at him, “You’re not getting out of me helping you with this.” 

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” He smiles, “And you’re not getting out of admitting that you like the sight of me on my knees in front of you.” 

Well, fuck. 

A rush of flush kisses your cheeks and slips down to the back of your neck, stealing words right out of your mouth. That…is so not the point and you’re not about to give into that admission easily. 

You try not to squirm on the stool, “Not sure what gave you that impression.” 

Nick hums, looking at your legs. When his eyes flicker back up to yours, you can tell he’s glad that you haven’t made this easy. Fucking hair dye momentairly forgotten, his hands settle on your knees, slowly prying them apart. 

“So what you’re saying is that you’ll be able to keep yourself completely unaffected, then?”

You draw in a soft breath, your stomach flip-flopping when he presses a kiss to the inside of your knee. “What, you think I can’t?” 

He doesn’t answer, but he does smile, another open mouth kiss to your inner thigh—higher and higher. You know you’ve already involved yourself in something that you can’t win, and yet, you’re certainly going to try, not wanting to hand over that satisfaction. 

At least not right away. 

You want to close your eyes, concentrate? But for some reason that feels like cheating. You can’t even lean back all the way, even though Nick’s encouraged you to inch forward so that you’re at the edge of the stool. He dips down, splaying your legs further apart, his mouth getting closer and closer to where you want him. You can feel the heat of his breath against your underwear, against the center of your heat—

And then with no warning at all, he tugs the fabric aside and his tongue separates the seam of your lips. Your hips jerk at the sudden sensation and Nick pulls back, eyebrows raised as he grins, “Oh,” He licks his lips, “You’re not gonna last, are you?” 

“Shut up.” You snap but there’s not enough fire behind your words, not as much as you want. 

He slips a hand between your legs, thumb brushing over your underwear, circling along your slit. Nick’s right though, you’re not going to last—and he knows it. Which is why he ignores your retort and slides your underwear to the side again, his nose brushing your clit as he dips his tongue into you. 

Your head tips back and you bite down, hard, on the inside of your cheek, legs falling even wider apart, leaning back even though you’ve got nothing to support yourself with. It’s just you and air, nothing to grab onto. You debate holding onto his shoulders, but that ruins the angle you’ve put yourself at, a strangled moan getting caught in your throat as his tongue moves to circle that bundle of sensitive nerves. 

The build-up is far too easy, he knows you well, what you need, what pressure to give you, when to back off. The only issue is that he’s taking his fucking time, he’s teasing, he’s bringing you to the edge and leaving you there, not giving you enough to push you over. Your hand falls to his hair, your breathing labored, thighs shaking. A soft tug on his curls lifts his head back. 

“Do you need something?” His voice dips low, lips slightly red and wet. 

Fuck. 

“You’re going to need to ask.” 

Dick. 

Your heartbeat is in your ears, clit throbbing, a soft sheen of sweat on your neck—maybe that’s why you just give in, “Please, Nick. Please make me cum.” 

A groan leaves his lips and he wastes no time putting his mouth back on your cunt. It doesn’t take too much, his tongue slips back into you, his thumb giving attention to your clit, and you cum against him so hard that you nearly see stars. A series of whimpers mixed with his name leave your mouth, your hand tugging on his hair again, attempting to close your legs when the last wave crashes into you because of how sensitive you suddenly feel. 

Nick doesn’t boast that he’s won that little competition—in fact, he doesn’t say any words at all. Instead, he tugs you down onto his lap, his hard cock pressed against your inner thigh as you straddle his legs and kiss him. 

The hair dye is completely disregarded. 

—

A few hours later, he does let you help apply the dye and doesn’t say a word when some curls are too grouped together and some don’t get enough. He just brushes his fingers through them, smiles down at you and kisses the corner of your mouth. 

—

You’ve never been quiet about when Nick involves himself in these fights that Lion lines up. You get that he’s good in the ring, you understand that he, for the most part, wins. And of course you want to be a supportive girlfriend? But you hate seeing him hurt. You hate that there’s always that what if that plagues your thoughts at the beginning of each round. One wrong move could leave him seriously injured, one wrong hit and…

You can’t even think about it. 

So after a particularly violent display in the ring, Nick winning but he’s black and blue along his cheekbone, lip split, knuckles cut up, and bruised on his ribs—you’re pissed off. You don’t speak all the way back to his place and when he parks in the garage and turns off the engine, when he winces as he gets out of the driver’s seat, you bite down so hard on your tongue that it nearly bleeds. 

You walk inside with him, making a b-line to the kitchen to get the first-aid kit and grab an ice pack or two, when something comes out of his mouth. 

Something that stokes the already burning fire behind your ribs, “You seem upset.” 

You blink, turning on your heel to look at him, wondering if your eyes are bugging out of your head. Was he…is he joking? “Why the hell would I be upset?” You snap. 

He raises his eyebrows, almost a hint of amusement to his brown eyes, pocketing his car keys. “Definitely upset then.” He mumbles. 

And it’s just…you have no idea whether it’s his flippant response or the general air of nonchalance he has right now as he carries himself into his house, but it makes you want to slap him, hard. You gather your fingers into your palms so you don’t. 

“I can’t do this anymore,” You reply, “And before you say something stupid like ‘I won’, it’s not about that. I’m tired of watching you get hurt.” 

Nick’s jaw works as he shakes his head, he opens his mouth to say something but you steamroll over that. 

“All you ever think about is yourself.” And that…that comes out wrong. That’s not what you mean to say—not like that anyways. What you’re trying to convey is that him fighting and thinking he’s the only person who gets injured is a selfish way to go about it. It distresses you when he gets hit, when he’s bruised and in pain. But you’re upset and tired and you feel like tonight has stripped the protection off your nerves. And that comes out instead. 

The hurt that flashes in Nick’s eyes makes you swallow, but before you can explain, he snaps out, “You’re calling me selfish?” And fuck, no, that’s…that’s not what you meant at all. But it’s too late to take it back. He’s angry now. You can tell the moment he builds a wall to safeguard his feelings, keeping you out. 

“That’s not what I meant.” You whisper, feeling panic claw up your chest when you see the resolve on his face. 

“I think you knew exactly what you meant.” 

Fuck, you can feel him push you away and you can’t exactly blame him. This conversation spun too quickly out of your control, fueled with desperate emotions and fear. Because that’s what it’s really boiled down to, the fact that you’re scared he’s going to get hurt in a way that can’t be fixed. 

You open your mouth to say something else, anything else that’ll remove the space between you two but he motions to his front door, “You can see yourself out.” 

He doesn’t wait for a reply, just walks past you towards the kitchen. You stand there for a few moments, chest caving in, stomach sinking to your knees. But you know better than to stick around where you’re not wanted. 

You leave. 

—

Nick has never been selfish when it comes to you, it’s more like he’s been selfish on your behalf. You’re pretty sure he’d figure out how to grab the moon if you asked for it. 

A handful of days pass and you try to think of the best way you can apologize but nothing feels good enough. You hate that those feelings spun out of you before you were ready to talk about them. You meant what you said but not how you said it. The distinction makes you nauseous. 

—

You wring your hands nervously together as you stand in your backyard, a party to celebrate your mother’s business developments beginning to thrive. Your parents, despite their repeated moments of not remembering things that have to do with you, have this party planned to a T with little wiggle room for errors. It’s something you wish you could have avoided attending but…you’re not that lucky. 

Guests are beginning to arrive—people your parents work with, lots of nosy family members. While you get along with everyone in your family, they always bombard you with questions about your future—what you plan on doing the next three years, the next ten. The only person who asks how you are and cares about what you’re doing now is your grandfather. You run your hands along your dress, smoothing non-existent wrinkles. 

“I thought Nick was coming tonight.” Your mother says but she’s not looking at you, straightening a tablecloth on one of the many small, circular tables spread out in the lawn under twinkling lights. 

You're about to explain some sort of excuse about why Nick couldn’t make it even though you know she doesn’t care if you’ve had a fight, or to even ask about your relationship in general. She’s probably just hoping Nick might bring his influential father with him. Your mouth opens—

And then a warm body slides up beside you, arm slipping along your waist, “Sorry I’m late.” 

Your eyes go wide just for a moment, Nick squeezing your hip as his head turns slightly to look at you. You don’t even hear what your mother says in reply, nor do you care. Your gaze lingers along the small bruises on his face but he…he seems to be healing up nicely. When your mother walks away, the muscle in Nick’s jaw feathers, most likely in reaction to her, before turning to stand in front of you. 

He’s dressed simply, a pair of jeans and a nice sweater and emotions clammer up your chest, resting heavily in your throat. There’s so much you want to say but what ends up coming out is, “I didn’t think you were coming.” Not that you really expected him to after the other night. 

Nick draws in a soft breath, glancing away as he seems to chew on words in his mouth before he says, “I wasn’t going to leave you hanging.” 

He knew tonight was going to be tough for you, it always is when it involves your family, and despite the fight you had…he’s still here. You attempt to swallow over the lump in your throat, blinking away tears that want to slip down your cheeks. Fuck. You’re glad that you’re relatively alone in the backyard right now because you sniffle, wanting to say so much yet nothing is slipping between your teeth. 

Nick’s eyebrows draw together and he lifts his hand to brush his thumb over your cheek, removing a tear that falls, “Don’t cry,” He whispers, “I hate seeing you cry.” 

“I’m sorry,” Stumbles out suddenly, “Fuck, I’m so sorry. I wasn’t trying to say that you were selfish.” 

“I know,” He soothes, stepping closer to you and hooking his one hand under your elbow, encouraging you to lean against his chest. 

“I hate seeing you hurt.” You continue, a few tears slipping free. “It doesn’t matter if you win. It’s exhausting, worrying about you like that.” 

Nick’s quiet for a few moments before he nods, his thumb brushing along your jawline before he tips his chin down and kisses your cheek. He plants a few along the wet skin, wrapping his arms around you in a hug that makes you feel more at home than your house ever does. Your eyes slip closed as your face rests against his shoulder, breathing in the familiar scents you always associate with him. 

His thumb traces circles along the back of your neck, “I didn’t realize.” He admits softly, his voice rumbling in his chest against your ear. “I knew you didn’t like it, but I—” He breathes in, letting it out through his nose. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I never mean to hurt you.” 

You pull back a little, tipping your head back to look up at him. God, you know that. Of course you know that. And yet it’s something so important for you to hear. 

“I’m not going to fight anymore,” He assures, brushing another kiss along your cheekbone. “You have my word.” 

You close your eyes for a moment, nodding. Your hand comes up to wrap your fingers along his wrist, brushing your thumb against his pulsepoint. “You might want to hold onto that promise until the night is over,” You tease, attempting to lighten the static air around you both. “My parents always have unwarranted commentary to share about me with my family.” 

Nick rolls his eyes because he knows that’s true, but gives your hand a small squeeze before walking towards a spot to grab a drink. 

—

When your mom brings up for the second time to a table of family members that she’s disappointed about a path you’ve chosen for your future, Nick bristles. You can tell he’s biting on the inside of his cheek before he mentions that she probably shouldn’t have an opinion at all since she can’t even remember when your birthday is. Your grandfather smirks into a glass of brandy, patting Nick on the back of his shoulder. 

Your mother doesn’t say another word about you the rest of the night. 

—

You knew it was a mistake the first time you did it, but you hadn’t thought twice about it. You’ve always been someone labeled as nice, and you know sometimes people try to say that as an insult—oh you’re too nice, people walk all over you, aren’t you tired of being a doormat? But you’ve never seen it that way. The world needs more thoughtful people, you think, there’s far too much nastiness to go around. 

Nick is someone, decidedly, that isn’t the nicest, depending on if you’re close with him or not. He can be prickly, stoic, brash, aloof—but that’s just if you don’t know him. The way you’ve seen him bloom with his sister, your group of friends, the people he loves? It balances out those moments in which he’s just a little bit icy. 

But sometimes? You realize you need that balance. 

Zach has never been in your close circle of friends. You know that Nick is moreso acquaintances with him than anything else, and even though he hangs out with you guys occasionally at parties, your boyfriend doesn’t exactly trust him. He flits to sides of arguments or groups of people that aren’t the most reliable far too easily. 

You don’t mind him? He’s funny and has a carefree attitude that’s a bit admirable, but you wouldn’t call him a friend. Regardless, he’s in this small group hangout tonight, another party because it’s a day ending in Y. A few hours ago, you wanted another drink and asked if anyone wanted anything from the kitchen before you went. A few people asked for refills and Nick ended up coming to help you balance everything to bring back. 

Not a big deal. Except now, every time you get up to get another drink, or even a snack, Zach is telling you to bring something back. Without you even offering. And sure, okay, it’s not…it doesn’t bother you because you’re headed in that direction anyways. 

But you can tell that Nick is beginning to lose his patience, his fingers flexing when you bring back another drink for Zach before sitting down next to your boyfriend on the couch with your own. You brush a kiss over his cheek, indicating that it’s not a big deal. 

Except the next time, when it is. 

You’re hanging around the pool, deciding to maybe have a dip, holding onto Nick’s hands and trying to encourage him in too—

“Hey Y/N!” Zach calls, obviously a little glazed as he speaks, “Why don’t you go get me another one.” He motions to the beer in his hand. 

Nick lets out a light huff of air from his mouth, like he can’t fucking believe what Zach’s said, “She’s not a waitress.” 

Zach blinks, smiling, “Dude I know that, but she’s been nice offering,” And you can feel Nick tense at that kindness being taken advantage of, “I just assumed—”

“Well you assumed wrong,” Nick replies over him, voice like ice, “Get your own fucking drink, Zach.” 

That smile disappears from Zach’s face and he nods, almost too quickly, an audible swallow. “Right, sure. Sorry, sorry.” He turns on his heel, heading into the house. 

You can’t help but smile, wrapping your arms around Nick’s shoulders, “My hero.” You sing-song, to which he rolls his eyes. But he squeezes you around your waist…and then tips you both into the pool. 

—

Pushing your arms through the sleeves of Nick’s jacket, you grab onto his hand to begin walking down the sidewalk towards where he parked the car. It’s about two blocks away from the club but the night is nice and you didn’t overdo it on the drinks, a short trek sounds good. 

“A fish is not a pet.” You crinkle your nose up at your boyfriend, not sure if he’s messing with you or not. You mentioned earlier how you’ve always wanted to get a cat, but your mom is allergic (and a bitch) so it’s never happened. 

Nick purses his lips, amused at your response and the fact that you’re bringing it up again. “Yes it is.” He takes your hand and switches sides with you so that you’re walking on the inside of the sidewalk. A small, protective gesture, but it never fails to make you smile. 

“I like fish—” You insist, swinging your hands between your bodies as you pause at an intersection. “But you can’t hold a fish, you can’t snuggle with them!” 

Nick’s chest rumbles with a laugh, “I’m telling you right now, a cat is never going to let you snuggle with them either.” 

You huff as the light turns and Nick gently encourages you forward with him, “I think I could get a cat to snuggle me, I can be very persuasive.” 

Nick snorts, tugging his keys from his pocket to remote start the engine once you’re close enough, “Don’t I know it.” It’s not posed as a question. 

He lifts your hands once you get to the passenger side door, twirling you to face him. A giggle escapes your lips and he leans down to press a kiss to the tip of your cold nose. 

“Heat’s on for you.” 

You smile, getting into the passenger seat as Nick closes the door, pulling the sleeves of his jacket down over your hands. You know you won’t need to persuade him to snuggle either once you get back to his place. 

—

You’re making tea in your kitchen when you hear your front door being answered, Nick wandering into the space with a bouquet of peonies. You raise your eyebrows, a soft smile on your lips as he rounds the counter. 

“What are the flowers for?” 

He shrugs his one shoulder, “There has to be a reason?” 

Your heart stutters in your chest at the simple gesture, Nick bringing you flowers just because, and you’d love to be able to draw them close and bury your nose in a set of petals but…

You have to take a step back, waving your hand once in front of your face before you sneeze. 

Nick blinks, a soft laugh of disbelief leaving his lips. “Oh shit, are you—”

Your breath stutters and you turn your head into your arm but the sneeze just teases you. “Allergic to peonies?” You wrinkle your nose, voice tinged with amusement, “Yeah.” 

“Out of any flower I could have chosen,” He turns, quickly opening the back door that leads to the patio and tosses them outside. 

You pull your head back, pressing your lips together. You think it’s safe to speak but you don’t get the words out, sneezing again. “It’s the thought that counts.” 

“My thought is turning your nose red.” He winces, “Bless you.” He leans against the counter, reaching out to touch your cheek but you gently push his hand away. 

“Probably not a good idea,” You grab a tissue, “Not until you wash your hands and change your clothes.” 

“That is the most interesting way you’ve ever asked me to take my clothes off.” 

You smile, shaking your head, a soft noise of protest when Nick attempts to lean in and kiss you anyways. He grins when you push him away and you turn your face into the tissue in your hands to sneeze again. 

—

It’s a long weekend in which Nick is spending time visiting his mother and Maddie. You’re always touched when he invites you but you try and give him some time to himself to spend with his sister, knowing how important it is to him. Time feels sort of sluggish without seeing him? But it makes it altogether that much sweeter when he comes back. 

Your phone vibrates on your nightstand, pulling you from dozing. You’re disoriented for a moment, not remembering falling asleep. You put the book you were reading aside that’s slumped over on your chest, knowing who it is before you even answer, 

“Hello?” 

There’s a pause on the other end, “Fuck, I didn’t mean to wake you.” 

You blink, glancing at the time. Just past eleven. A yawn slips from your lips and you tug yourself up in bed, leaning against the headboard, “S’okay, I don’t mind.” You can hear the hum of the engine as Nick drives and as the comfortable silence stretches, you realize that his voice sounded off. “You alright?” 

Nick draws in a soft breath, letting it out through his nose. “Yeah,” He says after a moment, “Just needed to hear your voice.” 

Needed, not wanted. You frown a little, running a hand through your hair, “What happened? Is Maddie okay?” 

“Maddie’s fine,” He replies and you can picture him shaking his head, “Just had it out with my mum.” 

A soft wince pulls at your mouth. He doesn’t automatically elaborate, which tells you whatever it was, it was probably bad. You don’t push though, knowing he’ll share when he’s ready. And even if he doesn’t? That’s okay. Back at the beginning of your relationship, it was difficult for Nick just to…let you in, even when he admitted something was wrong, that he was upset. So this? Calling you? Even just the simplicity of hearing your voice? It’s enough. 

“I’m sorry,” You murmur, “How far from home are you?” 

“About ten minutes.” 

“Come to my place?” You ask, playing with a loose thread in your comforter, “We don’t have to talk about what happened, I just want to see you.” 

“Can you talk about something until then? I don’t care what it’s about.” 

So you do. You talk about the book you’re reading, how you’ve looked up cats to adopt this weekend and how you’re almost settled on a tortie named Pancake, and how if Nick is serious about getting a fish that he should choose a Telescope Goldfish because they got ridiculous googly eyes. You glance up at your window when you hear the rumble of Nick’s engine, a flash of headlights shining across your wall. 

You only end the call when you hear the car door and within a few minutes, Nick’s pressing open your bedroom door and toeing his shoes off. You watch him carefully, the way his shoulders are slightly turned inwards, his head drooped, a hand running over his tired face. Your chest aches when you see his eyes are a little red. 

He moves towards the bed and you lean back against the pillows again, almost scooching over to make room but he shakes his head. He crawls onto the mattress and sinks between your legs, a position you often take with him, lying along your chest. His abdomen presses against your waist and at the angle you’re sitting at, his head rests against your sternum. You draw the blankets up over you both, your hands slipping along his shoulders before one rests in his curls. 

“Can I help at all?” You ask softly, hating to see him upset. 

Nick sniffs, shaking his head, his eyes closing when you begin to massage his scalp. “You already have.” 

—

Frustration hits a spike in your bloodstream, heating up your face and the back of your neck. It’s so…typical of your mother to keep something like this from you. If your grandfather hadn’t called to ask when you could visit… 

“So wait,” Nick says calmly, you can feel his eyes on you as you pace around your kitchen, trying to keep your hands busy. “How long has he been in the hospital?” 

You swallow over an acidic emotion in your throat, “Since Saturday,” You scoff out a laugh, though nothing is funny, “I probably still wouldn’t have known if he hadn’t called me.” Your jaw works and you bite down on the inside of your cheek as exasperated tears threaten to fill your eyes. 

“He’s probably been wondering this whole time why I haven’t called to check in on him, why I haven’t visited and,” You laugh, “it’s because I didn’t know.” You grab some dishes from the dishwasher, hellbent on putting them away, “All because my mother feels like she has to be in control by gatekeeping information.” 

“I’m sure your grandfather knows exactly what kind of person your mother is by now.” Nick says gently, his voice purposely soft. 

God, you’re so angry. Literally the one person in your family that feels like they care and—

You misread where the ledge is for a glass when you lift yourself up on your toes to put it away. It tumbles out of your hand and crashes on the floor, “Shit!” You jump back, only in socks, but glass skids everywhere. 

Nick, who has shoes on, moves quickly to have you step further back and out of the way. He runs a hand over the side of his face before he turns and lifts you up, placing you on the counter and out of the way. You think he’s going to grab the mini-vacuum that’s tucked in one of the pantry closets, but instead he steps between your legs and reaches for one of your hands. 

He tips his head down a little, waiting until his gaze catches your own. He squeezes your fingers, “You’re shaking,” He whispers, “Take a breath.” 

It takes you moment to realize that he’s right—you’re trembling, fucking upset over your grandfather and dropping the glass and— you bite down on your tongue, squeezing his hand back so tight you swear you have to be hurting him. But Nick doesn’t say a word. 

“I can’t believe she didn’t tell me.” 

His other hand slips over your leg, rubbing back and forth, “I know, but the point is you know now. You can go visit him—I can go with you, if you want.” 

You nod softly because you definitely need that. The last thing you’d wish for is to do it alone. You glance down at your hands and will yourself to relax, to draw in another breath, to release your vice-like grip on his hand. When you do, he brushes his thumb over yours. 

“My…” You clear your throat, “My grandfather has always liked you.” 

“Unsurprised,” Nick teases, lifting your hand to kiss your knuckles, “I’m very likeable.” 

You manage a soft smile, comforted by Nick’s touch, by just…having him here. A port in the storm. He pulls back a little, 

“I’m gonna clean this up, you stay put.” 

You watch him brush up the large pieces and then use the mini-vacuum to get the smaller ones. Your heart swells in your chest over it—something so basic, and yet it feels like so much more. When he comes back over to the counter to help you down, you draw him close with one of your legs, wrapping your arms around his shoulders to kiss him. 

—

But sometimes three simple words are all you need. 

—

The club is loud, you can barely hear your own thoughts over the pulsing music. You lean back against Nick’s chest as you wait for the bartender to pay attention to Jenna, who has a pout on her pretty lips when she’s bypassed again. A soft laugh leaves your own and your head tips to lean along Nick’s shoulder. The night’s been long but fun and you’re ninety percent sure you can talk the group into going to a diner to eat late-night pancakes before going home. 

When the bartender finally pays attention to your group, you order a water because it’s that time of the night to start winding down. A tall, cold glass is placed into your hand and a girl wanders up next to you, leaning against the bar. She looks a bit drunk and spent, but she fixes you with a wide grin. 

“Wow, you’re so pretty.” She says over the music and another laugh skitters from your throat, not expecting the compliment. 

“Thank you,” You tell her and then glance at your water, “Did you want a few sips of this?” You ask, because it looks like she really needs it, Nick squeezing your hip as you hand it over. You have no intention of grabbing it back, the girl greedily taking sips from the straw. 

Her attention is snagged by a guy beside her and she disappears again into the crowd. You shake your head, an amused smile pulling corners of your mouth as you lean forward a little to try and wave down the bartender again. 

Nick hands you his water, pressing a kiss to your neck and then your cheek. “I love you.” He says into your ear, but with the loud beat of the music, it feels like an intimate whisper. 

And you smile, because you know—because that’s all Nick has ever made you feel. Loved. 

[inseobts]

Can you do a gn but soft feminine reader where they get worried that Shanks and them are drifting apart (theyre married) and that Shanks now even seems like he may have started cheating, even being caught on an island in like the pleasure district or something. Super angsty the reader is suffering and stuff but im sensitive obviously so it turns out he had also felt like maybe he had been too busy and distant with stress and planning (this is close to the current canon time) to pay proper attention to reader so the "cheating" was him trying to find out a way to like get them a romantic place alone. Like the pleasure district girls were just teaching him about different gifts he could get you and the best hotels/resturants to go to for a date. He chose them just bc he could pay for their time so no bothering random people and they were knowledgable about the finer stuff in life. Pls end fluffy and they actually make up and get along and stuff and go on the date. You can add smut at the end if things get heated at the hotel but if it feels like it doesn't fit in the story youre writing you don't have to add it.

sorry if i sent this twice i have bad memory and i dont remember if i actually sent it or not so just in case im sending it again its not me rushing you or spamming

Driftwood Hearts

shanks x gn!reader

a/n: at some point I forgot I was writing it as gn!reader, I tried to fix it but I'm not sure I didn't miss any. I also forgot he has a missing arm...

words count: 3.5k

tags: mild smut, angst with comfort, misunderstandings, emotional hurt/comfort, marriage struggles, pre-egghead

masterlist || ao3 || ko-fi

The wind brushes gently across your skin as you stand at the railing of the Red Force, eyes fixed on the endless blue. It’s quiet except for the creak of wood and distant voices of the crew laughing below deck. But you don’t feel like laughing. You haven’t in a while.

The sea always feels colder without him by your side.

You swallow hard, fingers tightening on the rail. Shanks has been gone for four days now, anchored at a nearby island for “business”, but the way he avoided your eyes before leaving haunts you more than the distance itself. He kissed your forehead and told you he loved you, but it felt… forced. Or maybe that’s just your fear talking.

No. Something’s wrong. You feel it, you know it.

You haven’t slept well in weeks. Shanks has been distant, preoccupied, caught in whispered meetings with Benn or writing something behind locked doors. He touches you less, barely looks up when you enter the room, and when you reach for him at night, he turns away, murmuring that he’s tired.

But what scares you most is what Lucky Roux let slip last night over dinner.

“Yeah, I saw the captain heading toward the pleasure district. Guess he needed to unwind, huh?”

You didn’t ask for clarification. You couldn’t. The blood had drained from your face and you had excused yourself quietly, retreating to your shared quarters, where the bed still smelled like him.

You feel sick remembering it. You’ve tried to be reasonable. He’s a Yonko. He’s busy. He’s under pressure. But you’re his wife. And yet lately, it feels like you’re just… a fixture. A memory he keeps forgetting to look at.

Footsteps approach behind you. Your heart jumps instinctively with hope, but it’s Benn.

He gives you a small nod “He’ll be back before sundown.”

You just nod, eyes still on the sea “Thanks.”

There’s a pause.

“You okay?”

“I’m fine...” you lie, your voice soft but trembling.

He doesn’t press. He just gives a long sigh and leaves you be.

Later that evening you hear his boots before you see him. The heavy, slow step of someone who’s either dreading a conversation, or trying to steel themselves for it.

You sit on the edge of the bed, hands folded tightly in your lap, trying not to shake. Your heart pounds when the door creaks open.

“Hey,” Shanks says softly. His hair’s tousled from the wind, his cape half off his shoulder, and he looks… tired. His gaze lingers on you for a moment, your stiff posture, your swollen eyes, and something flickers in his face.

“You’re back” you whisper.

He closes the door gently behind him “Yeah.”

Silence. It stretches too long.

“I heard where you were...” you say quietly, almost apologetically, as if it’s wrong to admit you know.

Shanks doesn’t answer right away. He walks a little closer, but not enough. His jaw tenses.

“Is it true?” your voice breaks just slightly “Did you really go to the pleasure district?”

He flinches “It’s not what you think.”

You shake your head, tears burning hot behind your eyes “Then what is it, Shanks? Because lately, I don’t know where you are anymore. You’re here, but you’re not. You don’t see me. You don’t touch me. You barely even talk to me unless it’s about the ship.”

He stares at you, and his expression cracks “I know.”

You blink, caught off guard.

“I know I’ve been… distant.” He drags a hand through his hair “And I hate that I made you feel alone. That’s the last thing I ever wanted.”

“Then why?” your voice trembles “Why were you there?”

He takes a breath and crosses the room in two strides, kneeling in front of you “Because I’ve been trying to plan something. For us.”

You don’t understand “What?”

He smiles, but it’s bitter with guilt “I didn’t want to bother random people asking where to take my wife on the perfect date, so I paid women who know the best spots. Gifts. Food. Hotels. I asked them what someone like you would love. That’s all it was.”

You’re frozen. Your mouth parts, but no sound comes out.

He takes your hand gently “I was afraid I’d been too absent. That I hadn’t made you feel loved. And I thought… if I could find the right place, something just for us, maybe I could show you how much I still adore you. But I screwed it all up by not telling you.”

Your vision blurs “You weren’t cheating…?”

He looks devastated “No. God, no. Never. I love you. I love you more than anything. I’ve just been so stressed about everything. Egghead, the tension between the Emperors, the Marines breathing down our necks… I didn’t mean to push you away.”

Your body trembles, and finally you let go. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, burying your face into his neck, and cry.

“I thought I was losing you...” you whisper, voice shattered.

He holds you so tight it almost hurts “You’ll never lose me. Never.”

The cabin is dark even though the sun has long since risen.

You haven’t moved from the bed.

Shanks had fallen asleep holding you last night, warm and solid, whispering apologies and promises, but the ache in your chest didn’t fade. If anything, it’s worse now.

Because you want to believe him. You need to.

But some part of you still hurts too deeply to reach for his words. That soft little voice in your head won’t stop whispering:

If he really loved you, why did it get this far? Why didn’t he notice sooner?

He’s gone again this morning.

You heard him slip out quietly hours ago. No kiss. No note. Just a hush and the sound of boots.

You stare at the door.

Was last night just guilt?

You pull the blanket tighter around yourself, curling up in the center of the bed that now feels too big, too empty. You’re sick of crying, but the tears still come out. Quiet, desperate sobs that shake your shoulders as you muffle them into the pillow.

Why does love feel so much like breaking?

Flashback – A Week Ago “Do you need anything?” you asked him quietly, standing in the doorway of his study. He didn’t even look up “No.” You tried again “Even just… a few minutes? I miss you.” “I said I’m busy.” He hadn’t meant it harshly, you tell yourself. But the words had still hit like a slap. You remember standing there, fingers tightening around the edge of the doorframe, waiting for him to glance your way. He never did.

Present

You’re still trembling when you hear the door creak open again. Heavy footsteps. A pause.

Shanks.

But you don’t move.

He calls your name once, quiet. Then again, more hesitant “Baby?”

You don’t answer. You just lay there, eyes shut.

He walks closer, then sits on the edge of the bed “I went to confirm the reservation,” he says carefully “For the place I told you about.”

Silence.

He swallows “I want to take you somewhere beautiful. Just us. No crew. No stress. I wanted it to be a surprise…”

“Why didn’t you tell me before?” Your voice is raw.

He flinches at the sound of it.

“I didn’t know how to fix it,” he admits “I thought if I just did something big enough, maybe I could make it up to you. Instead of facing how much I’d already let slip away.”

Your breath catches.

He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees “I keep thinking about how I’ve failed you. You married me, and I still made you feel like you were second to everything else in my life. That’s on me.”

You finally turn your head toward him “I thought you didn’t want me anymore.”

The words land heavy. His shoulders tense.

“You’re everything I want,” he says hoarsely “I just forgot how to show it. And I was so damn afraid that if I turned around, you’d be gone.”

You sit up slowly, blanket still clutched to your chest “I wanted to leave. I started packing, twice. I kept wondering if I stayed, would it hurt worse than walking away.”

His eyes go glassy “You were gonna leave me?”

You nod, and it breaks him.

He falls to his knees beside the bed, burying his face in your lap “I deserve that. I deserve every second because of the way I made you feel.”

You stroke his hair, hands trembling “You don’t. But I was scared. You’re always looking out for the world, Shanks… and sometimes I wonder if you forget how small I am compared to it.”

He lifts his head, and the pain in his eyes is unbearable “You are my world.”

Then he reaches into his coat pocket.

A small, folded cloth. Inside some delicate jewelry, hand-crafted glass roses, a map with hand-drawn notes on the margins: circles around restaurants, sketches of views he wanted to show you.

“I went to the pleasure district because they know things, like what to buy, what’s romantic. I didn’t want to half-ass this. I wanted it to be perfect.”

Tears spill over your cheeks “You idiot.”

He chuckles weakly “That’s fair.”

“I don’t care about perfect.” You lean in, voice cracking “I just want you. Not a version of you that shows up with flowers once it’s already broken. I want you beside me when things start to crack.”

Shanks nods slowly “Then I’m here. From now on, I’m here.”

You’re both crying now. But this time it feels… healing.

When you lean in to kiss him, it’s slow. Deep. Raw. A kiss that tastes like sorrow and survival.

He presses his forehead to yours.

“Let me take you on this date.” he whispers “Let me try. Just one night, to remind you of us.”

You nod.

And in that quiet, your heart finally begins to piece itself back together.

The island air is warm as Shanks leads you up the winding path through the trees, fingers laced tightly with yours.

He doesn’t speak much, just gives your hand little squeezes now and then, like he’s afraid you’ll let go. You don’t.

You pass through ivy-covered archways and stone steps lit with lanterns, until you reach a quiet hilltop villa overlooking the sea.

It’s stunning.

Soft white fabric flows like waves around the open balcony. Candlelight flickers in tall glass lanterns, dancing over a table set for two. In the distance, waves crash softly against the rocks. But it’s the little details that stop your breath.

Your favorite flowers. A wine you once mentioned in passing, chilled and waiting. A pair of sandals that match the ones you lost on Dressrosa, placed by the door like a quiet apology.

“You remembered all this?” you ask softly.

“I never forgot.” Shanks murmurs “I was just too buried in my own head to show it.”

Your heart aches. But not the way it did before. This ache feels more like thawing.

You step inside the villa together. It’s private. Warm. Gentle lighting, music playing faintly in the background, a violin, lilting and slow.

Dinner is quiet at first.

You sip, you eat, you share pieces of food with soft smiles and hesitant fingers brushing. The air between you feels careful, like the two of you are still remembering how to breathe in each other’s rhythm.

And then, somewhere between the last bite and the second glass of wine, Shanks leans back and really looks at you.

“You wore that expression the first time we met” he says quietly, a ghost of a smile on his lips “Half curious, half like you already knew I’d ruin your life.”

You raise an eyebrow “You did ruin my life.”

“And you still said ‘I do.’”

You reach across the table and take his hand “Because even when you drive me insane, I know who you are underneath it. You’re not just a captain. Not just a Yonko. You’re the man who sits beside me when I cry and still calls me beautiful.”

He looks down, jaw tight “You scared me.”

You blink “I scared you?”

“You were slipping away, and I knew it, and I didn’t know how to stop it.” His voice is strained “I thought if I just held everything else together, the crew, the politics, the alliances, then we could get through it. But all I did was push you further.”

You let silence sit for a moment.

“Next time, just hold me.”

He nods, eyes glassy “Yeah. I will. I swear to you.”

Later, in the Villa bedroom the air gets softer. The light low, the sheets freshly turned, the balcony doors open to let the ocean whisper inside.

You both stand in the doorway for a moment, unmoving.

Then Shanks steps behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist. He rests his chin on your shoulder “You still feel far away.”

“I don’t mean to” you whisper.

“I know.” He kisses your neck slowly “Can I get closer?”

You nod, turning in his arms.

The kiss you share this time is deep but it’s not rushed. Not lust-driven or demanding. It’s reverent.

His hands slide to your hips, careful, asking. And you melt into him, fingers curled in his hair.

Clothes fall away slowly. Like they’re being forgiven piece by piece.

Every inch he touches is a wordless apology. Every kiss is a promise to never let things get this broken again.

He looks so open, so bare... eyes soft, lips parted like he’s still trying to breathe you in.

Your hand finds his cheek “You look at me like that, and I’ll never be able to stay mad at you.”

“I’m counting on it” he says with a quiet smile.

The kiss you share is slow, lazy, lingering like you’ve both been starving for each other. And you have.

You sigh against his mouth as his fingers slide down your back, over your waist, to your hip. The weight of his touch is steady, but unhurried.

“Can I touch you?” he asks softly, breath brushing over your jaw.

You nod, already melting beneath him “Please.”

He shifts over you, body flush against yours. The feeling of his skin against your own is overwhelming, warm, grounding, real. Every inch of contact feels like a reassurance.

His mouth traces your collarbone, then lower, pressing gentle kisses over the parts of you he missed, like he’s trying to memorize you again.

His hand finds your thigh, sliding up slowly.

You gasp when his fingers brush where you need him most, already wet, already aching. He groans quietly against your neck.

“You’re already soaked.”

“It’s you,” you breathe “It’s always you.”

He sinks two fingers inside you, slow and deep, curling them just right. You arch, hand fisting in the sheets as your body trembles under his touch.

“You feel so good like this” he murmurs, kissing your jaw.

When he finally moves over you, positioning himself between your legs, he doesn’t rush it. He just looks down at you, brows knit in something close to awe.

“I don’t deserve you” he whispers.

“Then earn me...” you whisper back.

And he does.

He pushes inside you slowly, forehead pressed to yours.

It’s lovemaking, real and deep and raw. His hands caressing your face, your thighs, your heart.

You whisper his name. Over and over. And he answers with soft gasps, broken praise, shaky murmurs of “I love you” between kisses.

When you come, it’s with your forehead pressed to his, tears in your eyes and nails digging into his back. And he follows just seconds later, trembling above you, holding you like he never wants to let go.

You end up wrapped in the sheets, tangled in limbs and whispered vows and bare skin warmed by candlelight. It’s not even about sex, though the want is there, steady and sweet, but it’s more about feeling. Rebuilding.

Later, lying against his chest, you trace slow shapes on his skin.

“I don’t need fancy” you murmur “I just need this.”

His voice is low against your hair “Then this is yours. Always.”

The villa is bathed in warm dawn light.

The ocean hums beyond the balcony, and the silk sheets are tangled around your legs. You don’t remember falling asleep, but you remember every second of last night, every whispered apology, every kiss, every way Shanks clung to you like he thought you’d vanish if he let go.

You shift slightly in the bed, and Shanks stirs behind you, breath brushing against your neck.

“Mornin’ beautiful” he murmurs, voice still low and rough with sleep.

You hum softly, stretching “I didn’t dream that, did I?”

His arm slips around your waist, pulling you closer “No, sweetheart. You’re right here.”

Shanks brushes a thumb along your cheek, your lips, your throat “You’re everything to me,” he says “You know that, right?”

“I do now.”

You kiss his knuckles and tuck yourself against his chest, warm and sore and whole again.

And this time, when you fall asleep, it’s without fear.

The villa is quiet again, but this time it’s not tense, but just slow and peaceful.

You stretch out on the linen sheets, the morning sun warming your skin. The space beside you is empty, but you can hear him in the next room, moving around, humming softly under his breath.

You smile before you even open your eyes.

A moment later, the door creaks open, and Shanks walks in shirtless, hair damp, a plate in one hand and two mugs in the other.

“Look at that,” you tease sleepily “You can be domestic.”

He grins “Only for you.”

He sets the tray on the bedside table and slides in beside you again. You sit up, and he hands you your favorite blend of tea without needing to ask. The mug is warm in your hands. His shoulder brushes yours, bare and solid.

You take a sip “This is nice.”

“It’s more than nice” he says, voice soft “It’s… right.”

You glance sideways. He’s looking at you like you’re made of glass, but not fragile. Precious.

“You okay?” you ask.

“I am now,” he says, brushing a piece of hair behind your ear “I don’t want to go back.”

You smile faintly “You mean the ship? Or reality?”

“Both.”

You lean into him, resting your head on his shoulder “We can’t stay here forever.”

“I know. But I wanted one more quiet morning before I go back to being Captain Red-Haired Shanks, Yonko of the New World.”

You chuckle “You forgot ‘disaster of a husband’ in there.”

He nudges you with a groan “Ouch. Low blow.”

You finish your tea in companionable silence, then finally, reluctantly, start to move.

As you dress, he watches you from the bed, chin in his hand, that lazy grin creeping back onto his face “I’m going to be annoying about you for the next month, you know.”

“Oh?” You raise an eyebrow, pulling your shirt over your head.

“Mm. I’m gonna brag. To Benn. To Lucky. Hell, to Mihawk if he shows up. Gonna say, ‘See? That’s mine. I have someone who still loves me, even though I nearly fumbled it all.’”

You laugh, cheeks warm “They all already know that.”

He walks over, presses a kiss to your forehead “Yeah, but now I remember it again.”

Later on, the moment your boots hit the deck, you’re surrounded by the familiar sounds of the ship, the crew shouting to each other, seagulls overhead, the gentle groan of wood beneath your feet.

Benn is the first to approach, his expression unreadable “Welcome back, Captain. Y/N.”

You nod, trying not to shrink under his gaze. You’re not sure how much the crew knew… how much they saw before you left.

But Benn simply gives a short nod “Glad to see you two walking side by side again.”

Shanks smiles, hand settling warmly on your back “We’re more than side by side.”

Lucky Roux whistles from the helm “Damn right you are! Took you long enough, Captain!”

“You all knew?” you ask, half-embarrassed.

Yasopp grins from across the deck “We knew something was off. Man’s been moping like a kicked puppy for weeks.”

Shanks mutters, “I have not!”

“You were so depressing we started a betting pool” Bonk Punch adds.

Your eyes widen “A what?!”

“It ended yesterday,” Benn says, deadpan “Roux won. He bet you’d be back today.”

You cover your face with both hands while Shanks laughs, his arm tightening around your waist “God, I missed this dumb crew.”

“They missed you...” you say, a little quieter.

He leans down, presses his lips to your ear “I missed us.”

You look up at him, sunlight catching in the red of his hair, that boyish grin soft around the edges now, and suddenly you’re not afraid anymore.

Not of drifting. Not of breaking.

Because you both remembered how to reach for each other again.

That night, you’re wrapped in his arms in your shared quarters. The door is locked. The ship rocks gently beneath you. His fingers trace slow patterns on your back.

“I want more days like this,” he whispers “Not just now. Always.”

“You’ll have them,” you murmur “Just don’t shut me out when it gets hard again.”

“I won’t,” he promises “You’re my anchor. I only drifted because I forgot where shore was.”

You smile into his chest, heart calm for the first time in what feels like forever.

“I’m right here.”

And you are.

[going-to-ikea-for-the-fries]

It's a Match! || 141 x reader

[ Chapter 3 ] || [ Chapter 5 ]

Pairing: 141 x gn!Reader Words: 1.6K~ Summary: While overcoming recent heartbreak, you decide to join Tinder in search of a rebound. Your friends advise to just Swipe Right indiscriminately... What happens when 4 soldiers from the same squad match with you?

Chapter 4: John?

The lads sat in the common room of their floor at the base. Gaz and Soap had just finished a round of Gran Turismo on the PS4 they had set up, while Ghost sat at a table in the corner on his work laptop.

“Ye think the Captain’s married?” Soap mused aloud once he set down his controller on the coffee table.

“What kind of question-” Gaz quipped in confusion as he turned to look at Soap.

“He never talks about a missus Price...” Soap explained. “or second mister…” He added.

“That’s not a question you want the answer to.” Ghost said in a dismissive tone from his corner.

“Why not L.T.?” The Scot grumbled.

“People’s lives are private for a reason, Johnny.” Ghost said with a shrug and a tired look.

“Ye, but the Captain’s not like you, L.T.” Soap retorted with a chuckle.

“If anything, he’s worse, Johnny.” Gaz remarked as he looked at the two other men. “Simon’s reserved but Captain Price is pretty open.... except for that side of his.”

Soap went silent for a long moment, seeming to ponder what the other two were saying.

Then, the Scot shook his head. “If he was married, he’d be easier to deal with, I reckon.” He grumbled.  “And I think I’ve heard of him going out and getting laid before.” He added. “Last year, especially.”

“You’ve heard that too?” Gaz asked as he bounced a bit in his seat and straightened up, intrigued. “Fuckin’ hell, I thought it was just me. I’ve been dying trying to keep my mouth shut about it!” Gaz added.

“So d’ye think he hasn’t gotten laid lately, then?” Soap asked. “He’s been bloody moody since early last year with Shepherd and Graves…” He added.

“Oh, he definitely has a major case of blue balls.” Ghost remarked, drawing both the other men’s attention to him and causing their jaws to drop.

“L.T.!” Soap said with a surprised chuckle. “That’s bad of you! You’re not being the Captain’s good ol’ boy…” He joked.

“Oh, piss off. Just saying. It’s obvious the boss’ pent up.” Ghost remarked. 

“I say we get him laid.” Soap remarked with an impish expression.

“And how do you suggest we do that? We hire him a prostitute?” Gaz asked with raised brows.

“No? Obviously not!” Soap said with a head shake. 

“Good, can’t imagine the Captain appreciating that very much.” Gaz added.

“No, but we’ve gotta think of something! He’s impossible to deal with.” Soap remarked.

“I’ve told ‘im to his face and he asn’t done shit to fix it yet.” Ghost remarked from the corner.

“You’re kiddin’? L.T. you told him to get laid?!” Soap gasped in surprise.

“No, I’ve told ‘im to get ‘is ‘ead on straight.” The Mancunian quipped and shrugged, turning his attention back to the laptop in front of him.

“What about a dating app profile?” Gaz suggested and the Mancunian and the Scot both turned to look at Gaz with intrigued eyes.

“I’m getting my spare phone!” Soap announced as he got up and rushed out of the room.

“He has a second phone?” Gaz asked Ghost who simply shrugged.

-

It took almost an hour and a half and a few beers in their systems (thank God they were on break for the evening), but eventually tey had set up a fake profile for Price.

Sure, the pictures were grainy at best, but they worked well-enough. Courtesy of Soap having a habit of taking covert pictures for his snapchat and sometimes catching Price in them... (and other times just taking pictures of the man directly).

It had been mostly Soap and Gaz doing the work, however when it came down to writing the bio, Ghost gave quite the helpful input… By the time they were done, it genuinely looked like it had been Price writing it.

The lads high-fived each other. Even Ghost joined in! He looked to be in a good mood… Maybe it was the beer, or maybe something he was doing on his phone. Gaz had spotted him texting someone and chuckling to himself.

As Soap began swiping mindlessly across all the pictures of people on the Swiping page, Gaz sat next to him, peeking over his shoulder.

“People are going to read the part on the bio that says we are not Price, right? Because I don’t want ‘em to feel like we’re catfishing.” Gaz remarked.

“Don’t worry! If they don’t, we’ll unmatch!” Soap announced as he kept moving his finger repeatedly and quickly to the right. He was liking everyone, in order to get a fairly good sample size for Price. They didn’t know what kind of person the Captain liked after all…

Just as Soap’s finger is slowing down due to the amounts of profiles he liked… He spots it. And then Gaz does.

“No way!” Soap interjects. “I know this person! I matched with them on my own account!” He remarks as he clicks on your profile.

“Bloody hell, me too.” Gaz remarks, causing Soap’s head to turn and his jaw to drop.

“Wait, ye’ve got a Tinder too?” Soap asks to which Gaz nods.

“Yeah, to get laid.” He says with a shrug and a mischievous smirk. “Our chat was bloody funny.”

“Mine too!” Soap quips and chuckles. “Had a right laugh with them earlier.”

“Let me see?” Ghost asks, curious, and he slides over, bending over the back of the couch to look over Soap’s other shoulder.

“Small world. They matched with me too.” He remarks dismissively.

Both Gaz and Soap turn to look at Ghost like they’ve seen, well, a ghost.

“YE’VE GOT AN ACCOUNT TOO, L.T.?!” Soap shrieks, louder and more high-pitched than a grown man with his natural timber should.

“I’ve got a life, MacTavish.” Ghost retorts.

“No, we know that, sir.” Gaz says softly. 

“Just didn’t think ye’d be on dating apps.” Soap nods.

Ghost simply shrugs and pulls back, walking back to his corner, in an armchair which he took as his own in the last hour.

“Was that who was makin’ you laugh earlier, Simon?” Gaz adds.

Ghost simply gives him a look that can be interpreted as a tired ‘Yes’, before he looks away to keep working on his laptop.

“Should we Like their profile, then?” Soap asks with a chuckle.

“Uh… yes?” Gaz adds, laughing along. “I can’t wait to see their reaction to it being us behind the screen.” He adds.

Soap clicks the green heart button to Like your profile and then immediately hops on DM once it presents a Match. Before he can write some nonsense, Gaz steals the phone from his hand and starts typing on the cracked screen.

John: well hello again you: hello? you: how can it be again though? you: never saw your 'captain' before in my life. John: no but uve seen US John: sorry! allow us to introduce ourselves formally

“Sir, does your profile have you listed as Simon?” Gaz asked as he raised his eyes from the screen. Once Simon nodded, he resumed typing.

John: our names are kyle john and simon

“Johnny, not John, mate.” Soap corrected Gaz right after he hit send.

John: johnny* sorry

They could only imagine the look on your pretty face as you realized who they were.

you: get out! you: no way!!!!! you: all three of you?! John: ye you: wait is this what simon meant when he called himself a traveling consultant? is he a soldier like you?

“L.T. they’re already accusing ye of lying to them.” Soap quips, causing Ghost’s eyes to shoot up from his laptop.

“Lying? Huh?!” He asks in confusion as he puts his laptop aside and rushes over to the couch. He sits on the armrest next to Gaz so he can look at the screen.

He then snatches the phone from Gaz’s hand, pulls off his right glove, and types a reply with now bare fingers on the cracked screen. 

John: I wasn’t lying. John: I just omitted the truth. I don’t go about bragging about my career. you: sure sure sure ‘John’. you: sooo you: is this some kind of weird joke? are you playing a prank on me all matching me individually and then using a fake account?

Gaz snatched the phone from Ghost again.

John: kyle here and no John: we really want our boss to get laid John: he’s miserable you: well im not the one night stand type really you: its why i didnt accept to get together with any of you.

“L.T. YOU TRIED TO SLEEP WITH THEM?!” Johnny asked with another gasp.

“So did you!” Ghost retorted.

“I never thought you were the type!” Soap said with a smug little smirk on his lips.

“Oh piss off, they rejected us all.” Ghost retorted. “So it shouldn’t matter.”

As they kept bickering, Gaz remained laser-focused on texting you and, just as they got heated, he spoke up: “They accepted.”

“Wait wha-” Soap said as he whipped his head down to look at the screen, just narrowly dodging Gaz’s nose and Ghost’s head.

“Bloody hell they did!” Soap yelped as he pulled his head back.

“They wanna go out with Price and ‘see where it goes because he seems like a nice man that needs a break from the three of you’?” Ghost read from the DMs on the screen.

“Ow.” Soap quipped in mock-injury.

The three men raised their eyes and met each other’s, before all their faces morphed into confusion.

“Did they… Did they just reject all three of us for a man that isn’t even aware of this account?” Soap asked aloud, undoubtedly voicing the thoughts in all their minds.

“It seems that way.” Simon said as he looked away.

They all went quiet, each of them quietly contemplating all their life’s choices that led them to the moment they got rejected for a person that isn’t even ‘real’.

After long minutes, Gaz spoke up. “How are we going to tell the Captain he has a date?”

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

IF THE GIF DOESN'T WORK FOR YOU: CLICK HERE

taglist: @daisychainsinknots , @bunnysdaydreams , @iite-cool , @lahniu , @pagesfalling , @tapioca-milktea1978 , @live-love-be-unique , @thelaisydazy , @littleghosthoney , @bossva , @emotion-no-hot-yes-hotel-trivago , @chamomiletealeaf , @ghosts-hoe

[milfsloverblog]

Is It Casual Now ?

Larissa Weems x fem!reader

A/N: To whoever requested this from me, your request was anonymous so I can’t tag you and for some reason Tumblr wouldn’t let me answer directly to your ask 🥲 I hope you’ll enjoy what I did with your request, I’ve had Casual stuck in my head for days now hahaha!

You never meant to stay this long.

It was supposed to be one night. Maybe two. A private indulgence. A whispered secret between silk sheets and stolen time. Larissa made it easy to pretend—her words velvet-soft, her hands knowing, her body impossibly warm in the quiet dark.

You told yourself you wouldn’t linger. And yet, here you are again, weeks later, lying in her bed while dawn tries to crawl its way through the blackout curtains.

She’s still asleep. Or pretending to be.

Your head rests against her shoulder, eyes fixed on the steady rise and fall of her chest. You breathe her in—something expensive and floral with a trace of vanilla—and wonder if it clings to all her lovers, or just you.

She shifts beneath you, her arm instinctively pulling you closer. The movement is gentle, practiced. Comforting. And yet, you can’t tell if it means anything.

You want it to.

“I should go,” you whisper, though you don’t move. You say it every morning. It's become part of the ritual, like the quiet sex and her occasional smirk when you stumble over your words, trying not to sound too eager.

Larissa hums, eyes still closed. “Mmm. Why rush?”

There’s that voice. Satin and command in equal measure. You’d do anything to hear it say something real—something just for you.

“I’ve got class in an hour,” you murmur, letting yourself linger just a little longer. You never mean to, but she makes it so easy to stay. You tuck your face into the crook of her neck. “I think the other teachers are starting to notice I’m always tired on Tuesdays.”

A faint smile curves her lips. “Let them wonder.”

You laugh, a small sound, but there’s something fragile beneath it. You don’t want to wonder. You want to know. You want to ask questions you don’t have the right to ask.

Do you sleep like this with everyone?
Do you think of me when I’m not here?
Is this more than nothing, or am I just pretending it is?

But you don’t ask. You never do.

Instead, you press a soft kiss to her throat and let her hold you like you matter. Like you’re more than warm skin and temporary comfort. Like maybe—just maybe—she wants you here too.

You let the silence stretch. You pretend it means something.

The warmth of Larissa’s bed still clings to your skin when you step into the halls of Nevermore, but reality is already cooling it.

You tell yourself not to expect anything. That it’s fine—normal, even—that she hasn’t texted. That she didn’t kiss you goodbye when you left her office this morning. That she only ever kisses you in private.

Still, when you catch sight of her at the end of the corridor, a quiet, nervous kind of anticipation stirs in your chest. Will she look at me? Will she smile?

You don’t expect her to rush to your side or whisper something meant only for you. But maybe—maybe—she’ll acknowledge you with something softer than professionalism.

But Larissa Weems is all business now. Immaculate in her pressed suit, clipboard in hand, speaking in hushed tones to a board member.

She doesn’t even glance your way.

You try to ignore the sting of it. The way it makes you feel like last night was something you imagined, like the weight of her hands on your skin, the sigh of your name in the dark, meant nothing at all.

You swallow it down.

You’re an adult. You knew what you were getting into.

Still, something bitter settles under your tongue when she turns slightly, offering the board member that smile—the poised, charming one, full of effortless grace. The kind that makes people feel special.

It shouldn’t bother you.

Except it does.

The board member laughs, and Larissa places a hand on his arm in that effortless, casual way she has, a gesture so smooth it might as well be instinct. You wonder if she even realizes she does it. If she touches everyone like that.

If she’s ever touched you like that outside of her bedroom.

Your stomach twists.

She’s not doing anything wrong. Not really. You remind yourself that whatever this is between you—whatever it isn’t—has no rules. No promises. You’re the one who stayed, the one who crawled into her bed again and again, the one who let hope creep into your ribs like a sickness.

Still, when Larissa finally walks past you, eyes skimming over you without even a flicker of recognition, it feels like a slap to the face.

And the worst part?

You don’t even think she notices.

You don’t bring it up right away.

You tell yourself it was nothing—just a moment. A busy morning. She probably didn’t see you. She probably wouldn’t want to seem unprofessional in front of a board member. It’s not personal.

You repeat that to yourself all day.

But it keeps echoing.

She looked right through me.

Later, back in her office, the air is different. Quieter. Dimmer. The curtains are drawn and the fire crackles softly. She’s taken off her heels. Her hair is down.

Here, you’re not a stranger.

Here, she looks at you like she knows you.

She pours two glasses of wine and hands you one, brushing her fingers along yours in that way she always does. She’s graceful about it, as if affection is something she gives you in curated, elegant doses.

You watch her sink into the couch, legs crossed, wineglass balanced delicately in her hand. Her eyes flick to yours. “You’re frowning.”

You hadn’t realized you were.

“I saw you today,” you say, quiet.

Larissa raises a brow. “Yes?”

“In the hall. You walked right past me.”

A beat.

She tilts her head, feigning thought. “I must have been preoccupied.”

You nod slowly. Sip your wine. Pretend it doesn’t sting. “You were talking to the board.”

“Yes.” She says it like a full stop. No elaboration. No apology.

You set your glass down, fingers tightening on your knee. “Do you ever think it’s strange? That we act like we don’t know each other at all during the day?”

Her gaze flickers, just briefly. “I assumed you preferred it that way.”

You blink. “Why would you assume that?”

She shrugs, ever so slightly. “I thought you valued discretion.”

“I do,” you say, a little too fast. “But discretion’s not the same as pretending we’re strangers.”

Larissa leans back against the cushions, studying you now—calm, unreadable. “What is it you want from me, exactly?”

You freeze.

It’s not the question itself—it’s the way she asks it. Like you’re the one who’s overstepping. Like this is a negotiation and you’ve just asked for too much.

“I don’t know,” you admit, softer now. “Something that doesn’t make me feel... invisible.”

She sighs—tired, not annoyed, but not gentle either. “You knew what this was.”

You nod. You did.

But that doesn’t make it hurt less.

You don’t go to her that night.

Or the next.

It isn’t some grand, dramatic decision—you don’t throw your phone into the sea or draft a final message you’ll never send. You just stop reaching out. You sit with the ache. Let it settle in your ribs like something dull and heavy.

And she does nothing.

No text. No knock at your door.

Maybe you were wrong to think she’d notice. Maybe this was always how it was meant to be—you, orbiting her, mistaking gravity for something reciprocal.

But on the third day, there’s a knock at your door.

Your heart stutters.

You consider pretending you’re not home. You consider waiting, letting her leave, letting yourself believe she was never really here at all.

But you open the door.

She’s standing there, one hand resting on the frame, looking as put-together as ever. But there’s something softer in her expression, something almost hesitant.

“I haven’t seen you in a few days.” Her voice is smooth as ever, but there’s a question in it.

You swallow. “I’ve been busy.”

She hums, tilting her head slightly. “Too busy for me?”

Your throat tightens. “I thought you might appreciate the space.”

“Space,” she repeats, like it’s a foreign concept.

Like she never once considered that you’d pull away first.

She steps inside without waiting for an invitation, her perfume enveloping you, and suddenly it feels like every ounce of distance you put between you has collapsed in a breath.

Her fingers trail along your wrist—not grabbing, not holding, just there. A tether.

“You didn’t have to do that,” she murmurs. “Give me space.”

Your stomach twists.

Because she says it so softly, like she means it. Like it’s you who created this distance, like she would have reached for you if only you had let her.

Like this is still something real.

You shake your head, trying to clear it. “Larissa—”

She lifts your hand, pressing it to her lips. The kiss is barely there, the kind that makes you want to chase it.

“Stay,” she says simply. A single, quiet request.

You can’t stay quiet anymore.

You don’t even mean to say it—it just comes out. The words tumble from your mouth like they’ve been waiting behind your teeth for far too long, desperate to escape.

“I can’t keep doing this,” you say, your voice tight. “I can’t keep pretending this is fine.”

Larissa’s eyes narrow slightly.

“You’re making something out of nothing,” she says, like this is just another one of your moods, another one of your moments that will pass when she’s done with it.

But you can’t let it go. Not this time.

“You know what you’re doing.” The words hit the air between you like glass shattering. “You’ve been playing with me—using me—and I don’t even know why I let it go on this long.”

Her expression remains unreadable, but the flicker of something dangerous moves through her eyes. You’ve seen that look before—when she’s about to shut you down.

But you’re not backing down this time.

“You’ve made it clear that I’m just… convenient for you,” you spit out, your breath catching in your chest. “And I’ve been stupid enough to believe that I meant more to you than that.”

Larissa doesn’t flinch. Her gaze is cool, calculating, almost too calm. “You’re overreacting.”

“No,” you snap. “You don’t get to tell me that. You don’t get to pretend like this means nothing when I can feel it. I can feel the way you pull me in, and then push me away. Every damn time.”

Her jaw tightens. She moves slowly, deliberately, her movements sharp and controlled. “I never made any promises to you.”

You laugh bitterly, the sound harsh in your ears. “And I never asked for any. But I was stupid enough to think that this—” you gesture between the two of you, “—was something real. That you cared. That I meant something.”

Larissa’s gaze hardens. “You’re being dramatic.”

“Oh, I know,” you retort, feeling the sharp edge of her words cut through you like a blade. “I know. I thought this was casual—no strings attached, right? But I was wrong. I’m not some passing moment for you, am I? You wanted me to be casual—just another distraction—while I fell for you.”

Larissa’s face tightens at the implication. She steps toward you, her presence overwhelming. But you’re not backing down.

“I was the one who didn’t know any better, right?” you continue, your words growing more heated with every beat. “You’re the one who’s never been clear about what you wanted. Casual, right? That’s what you told me over and over. But I should have known that was just the line you fed me to make it easier to walk away when you were done.”

The words feel like acid in your throat, but they burn with truth.

“You were never casual, Larissa,” you say, a sudden intensity rising in your chest. “I thought I was—thought I was just another face you’d forget. But I’m not. Not now. Not when I’ve let you twist everything I thought we were.”

Larissa doesn’t respond immediately, and for a moment, it’s like she’s frozen in place. There’s a shift in the air, something almost imperceptible, as though she’s finally seeing you for the first time in this whole mess. But it’s too little, too late.

You take a step forward, the anger building in your chest, but it’s mixed with the sting of realization. “You never cared about me the way I cared about you. You were always so damn careful to not care. I was never more than a moment, wasn’t I? You were never going to be mine, Larissa. And you let me believe I could have you.”

Her lips press together tightly, but she still doesn’t say anything.

“Tell me I’m wrong,” you dare her. “Tell me this was just casual for you. That it was just some game you were playing with me.”

Her eyes flick to the side briefly—then back to you, her gaze sharp and cold. “It was never a game. But you made it more than it was.”

“I didn’t make anything,” you bite out. “You used me, and I let you. You told me to keep it casual, but I wasn’t the one who needed it. You were. And now, it’s me who’s left holding all these pieces, trying to make sense of what the hell happened.”

She takes a step back, crossing her arms over her chest, and her voice is icy. “It’s your fault for reading into something that was never there.”

“Is that it?” you ask, laughter bubbling up bitterly. “Is that all I was? Just someone you could use when it was convenient? You really don’t care, do you?”

Larissa opens her mouth to respond, but you can’t hear it anymore. The words you’ve been too afraid to admit are crashing through your thoughts, unrelenting. You’ve been fighting so hard to convince yourself that this wasn’t a mistake, that maybe she cared about you even just a little. But now—now you see the truth, clear as day.

“I see it now,” you say quietly, stepping away from her, the words breaking your heart as you speak them. “I was just a distraction. And you don’t even have the decency to tell me I’m wrong. You let me fall for you, and when I finally do care, when I finally say enough, you’ll just turn away like you always do.”

Her face is unreadable now, but you know her well enough to see the tiniest flicker of something—guilt, maybe? But it’s gone in an instant.

“You don’t get to make me the villain here,” she says, the edge of her voice cutting through your chest like a jagged knife.

“Maybe I don’t,” you reply, “but you sure as hell made me feel like one. You made me feel like I was too much, too needy, like I was asking for too much. And I was—I was asking for something real. But you were just… playing with me, weren’t you?”

Her eyes flicker, and for a second, just a second, you think she might say something. Apologize, maybe, or at least try to explain herself.

But then she looks away. “I’m not sorry.”

And that’s it.

The final cut.

She turns on her heel, walking out without another word. The silence that follows is deafening, suffocating, and you can feel your chest tighten with every step she takes away from you.

The letter you write that night isn’t long.

You don’t see the point in making it poetic. You’ve said everything already—screamed it, cried it, bled it out on the floor of your quarters. This isn’t about drama now. It’s about survival. About reclaiming the parts of yourself that she tried to keep casual.

No, that’s not fair.

You were the one who believed her when she said it.

Still, you leave the resignation letter on her desk the next morning. Just a single sheet of paper folded neatly in half. Your name signed at the bottom with a shaking hand.

You pause for a moment in her office, the silence thick with everything unsaid. Her perfume lingers faintly in the room, floral and cold, like a memory that won’t wash off.

You don’t look around. You don’t need to. You know this place too well—its perfection, its elegance. The way she kept everything beautiful and just out of reach.

Kind of like her.

You take the long way out of Nevermore. Past the classrooms, past the rows of windows that once glowed warm when she waited for you. Past the hallway where she used to pull you aside with a smirk and a whisper, asking if you could stay a little later.

You remember the butterflies. The heat. The way she’d kiss you like you were the only thing that mattered—until the morning after, when you were nothing again. Just someone she kept in the dark, hidden beneath carefully measured glances and vague promises.

You walk past it all, and for once, you don’t stop.

Not even when you see her.

She’s standing at the top of the stairs, spine straight, arms crossed in that perfectly controlled way she always carries herself. Her eyes find yours, sharp as ever, unreadable. And for a split second, time stalls.

She knows.

Of course she knows. She’s already read it. Or maybe she hasn’t yet, but she always knew this was coming. She just didn’t care enough to stop it.

You hold her gaze for a heartbeat longer than you should, hoping—desperately, foolishly—that she’ll say something.

Anything.

But she doesn’t.

She just watches you. Stoic. Cold. Silent.

Like you were never more than a passing moment. Like none of it mattered.

And maybe that’s the truth you needed.

You turn without a word.

No dramatic exit. No tears. Just the quiet click of your shoes on the stone floor as you leave it all behind—her, Nevermore, the hollow ache of wanting something that was never yours to begin with.

Outside, the sky is heavy with clouds, the kind that feel like they’re holding something back. You don’t bring an umbrella. Let it rain. Let it soak through your coat and into your bones. Let it feel like something.

Anything is better than the numbness.

You don’t look back.
You’ve already done that too many times.

————————————————————————

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[brunchable]

POV: You're sucked into your fanfic - Part One

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Fanfic Writer Reader.

Themes: Comedy - Chaotic Reader. Action scenes.

Summary: Waking up in a forest straight out of her own fanfic was not on Y/N's to-do list, especially not when she’s suddenly the villain about to fight Bucky Barnes. Decked out in an impractical gothic outfit, complete with a corset she can barely breathe in, Y/N realizes she’s written herself into a showdown she’s destined to lose. But instead of following the plot, she’s fangirling while getting her butt kicked by her fictional crush—and making things even worse with every sarcastic comment. Bucky thinks she’s insane. Y/N thinks she’s in heaven. What could possibly go wrong?

A/N: Isn't this anyone's dream? LOL to live your favorite fanfic LMAO.

You yawn as you type away on your laptop, the dim light of your screen the only illumination in the room. It’s late—way too late—and your bed calls to you, but you’re deep in the middle of a new scene for your latest Bucky Barnes fanfic. This one is different. This one is more intense, more dramatic. You smirk at the screen as you write your villainess character, who’s about to have a showdown with none other than Bucky.

“I’ll finish this tomorrow,” you tell yourself, half-heartedly knowing that you won’t. You glance at the clock and wince at the time. Ugh, work in the morning... okay, just five more minutes.

But even as you type that last line, exhaustion takes over, and your eyelids droop heavily. Before you know it, your fingers still on the keyboard, your head hits the pillow, and the world fades to black.

× × × ×

You wake up with a start, a cold breeze biting at your skin. Sitting up abruptly, you blink against the sudden brightness of your surroundings. Trees? The smell of wet earth? Slowly, you stand, your heart racing as you take in the unfamiliar scene around you.

Wait... This looks familiar. Too familiar.

The clearing. The night. The ominous, misty forest that surrounds you. No way...

The scene clicks in your head. This is the exact setting of your fanfic. The one where your villainess has her big moment—where she’s supposed to face Bucky in an epic, final showdown.

“Okay... maybe I’m dreaming. Maybe I’m still asleep,” you mumble to yourself, rubbing your eyes. But the cold wind is sharp, the sounds of the forest too real. You frown and glance down at yourself.

Your stomach drops.

You’re not wearing your usual pajamas. Instead, you’re decked out in a gothic nightmare of an outfit. Long black cloak, intricately laced corset, and leather boots that look cool in theory but are so tight you can barely walk. You tug at the uncomfortable collar of your dress, feeling more like a cosplayer gone wrong than a terrifying villain.

“Oh no. No, no, no...” You spin around, trying to figure out what’s happening. “This can’t be happening. I did not just wake up in my own fanfic!”

But before you can even begin to comprehend your situation, a voice cuts through the trees. A voice you know all too well.

“Give it up, villain. You’re not going to win.”

Your breath hitches, and you freeze. Slowly, you turn around to see none other than Bucky Barnes, in all his intimidating glory, walking out from the shadows, his metal arm gleaming under the moonlight.

Holy crap, he’s real. He’s actually real.

But there’s one problem. He’s looking at you like you’re his enemy.

“Well?” Bucky’s deep voice breaks through your panicked thoughts. “Aren’t you going to say something?”

Your mind goes blank. All those hours spent imagining this very moment, and now that it’s happening, all you can do is stand there, gawking like an idiot.

“I, uh... look, Bucky—” you start, but then it hits you. You’re the villain in this story. The bad guy. He has no idea you’re just a fanfic writer who’s been plopped into this nightmare.

You quickly glance around for an escape route. But there’s nothing except more trees, mist, and darkness. No way out. And then you remember what comes next in the story. The fight scene. A scene you wrote yourself... with the villain—you—losing.

Oh god. I am so screwed.

Trying to think fast, you wave your hands in surrender. “Wait, wait, wait! We don’t have to do this. Can we just, like, talk about this?”

Bucky’s eyes narrow, suspicion clear on his face. He takes a step closer, hand twitching toward his gun. “Nice try. I know your tricks.”

You cringe. Of course he wouldn’t believe you—you wrote him to be suspicious of every word the villain said!

“I’m serious!” you squeak, trying to keep the panic out of your voice. “You don’t want to fight me. I, uh... I surrender! Yeah, I totally surrender.”

But Bucky doesn’t back down. In fact, he steps even closer, and now you can see the lethal determination in his eyes. “Surrender, huh? Sounds like a trap.”

You mentally slap yourself for writing him to be this distrustful. Why did I make him so paranoid?!

“Okay, okay, I get it,” you ramble, desperately searching for a way out. “You’re probably thinking I’m trying to pull a fast one on you, but I swear, I’m not evil. Not really. It’s... complicated.”

Bucky doesn’t look convinced, and honestly, you wouldn’t be either if you were him. He raises his metal arm threateningly, ready to fight, and you know you’re out of time.

In one last-ditch effort, you blurt out, “Wait! I love you!”

That stops him in his tracks. His brow furrows in confusion. “What?”

You slap a hand over your mouth, mortified. Did I just say that out loud?

“Yes! I mean—no! I mean...” You fumble for words, feeling your face flush. “What I meant was, you’re amazing. You’re... everything. I’ve, um, admired you for so long, and I really don’t want to fight you. I’m just... a huge fan?”

Bucky stares at you like you’ve lost your mind. “A fan?”

You nod furiously, praying this works. “Yes! A huge fan. Of your work. Uh, your missions? And, you know, your... metal arm? It’s so shiny and, uh... powerful.”

He stares at you for a long moment, clearly baffled by your bizarre behavior. “This is a trick, isn’t it?”

You groan internally. Of course he’d think that. You wrote him to be impossible to convince!

Meanwhile, Bucky’s stance shifts, preparing for a fight. You realize with growing dread that if you don’t come up with something fast, you’re going to get your butt kicked by your fictional crush.

And it’s all your fault.

× × × × 

Without warning, Bucky lunges forward, and you yelp, instinctively trying to duck, but the heavy corset makes it hard to move.

“Wait! I’m serious! We can talk this out—oof!” You squeak as Bucky’s metal arm knocks you flat on your back.

“Oh my God,” you wheeze, lying on the ground, staring up at the stars. I’m getting my butt kicked by Bucky Barnes. This is the best and worst day of my life.

Before you can even get your bearings, Bucky grabs you by the arm and flips you up like you weigh nothing. You manage to stand, but just barely, wobbling in your ridiculous boots.

“Oh my God, he’s strong,” you whisper in awe, dazed. “This is like, the hottest thing ever—wait, no, focus!”

Bucky, looking at you with complete disbelief, narrows his eyes. “What is wrong with you?”

You try to explain, but then he sweeps your legs out from under you, and down you go again. This time you land face-first in the dirt.

“Hnggh... I deserved that,” you mumble into the ground. “I wrote this. I brought this on myself.”

You roll over, still fangirling, despite the pain. “Wow, even in pain, you’re gorgeous.”

Bucky looms over you, looking more confused than ever. “Are you hitting on me while I’m kicking your ass?”

“Yes,” you wheeze, still on the ground, clutching your ribs. “I regret nothing.”

Bucky sighs heavily, and for a split second, you think you catch a flash of amusement in his eyes. “You’re insane.”

You grin up at him, despite the dirt smeared across your face and the throbbing ache in your back. ���I’ve been told that before.”

He shakes his head, clearly still trying to make sense of the situation, but you can tell he’s holding back laughter now. You’ve confused him, at least. That’s something.

“So... are you gonna help me up?” you ask hopefully, extending a hand.

Bucky stares down at you for a long moment, then mutters, “You’re not even a good villain.”

“Don’t remind me.” You groan dramatically. “It’s harder than it looks.”

With a roll of his eyes, he finally relents and pulls you to your feet again—though not without a little extra force that nearly sends you stumbling again.

You clutch your chest, still a bit winded, but can’t help the goofy smile on your face. I just got beat up by Bucky Barnes. And it was glorious.

× × × ×

You’re still catching your breath from being unceremoniously flipped, kicked, and restrained when Bucky wraps his metal arm around your waist and hauls you up against him, keeping a firm grip on you. He pulls out a pair of cuffs—the same cuffs you wrote about, of course—and slaps them onto your wrists.

“W-What are you doing?” you sputter, still in awe at how close you are to him now. You stare at his arm holding you in place, feeling your heart race like a schoolgirl with a crush. “Oh my god, am I being arrested? By Bucky Barnes? This is... this is a dream come true.”

Bucky looks at you, eyebrows furrowed. “Stop talking.”

“No, seriously. Where are you taking me?” you ask, wiggling in his grip but mostly just to make yourself more comfortable because—holy hell, his muscles are everywhere. You’re about to pass out from sheer fangirl euphoria. “Is it to a secret Hydra base? Are you throwing me in the trunk of a car? Wait, is there gonna be an interrogation? Do you have a secret lair? Because if there’s a lair, I’d love a tour.”

He tightens his grip, hoisting you up with one hand as if you’re nothing more than a grocery bag. You flail your legs a bit but quickly stop, realizing how cool this actually is.

“I’m not telling you anything,” Bucky says gruffly, dragging you through the trees.

“Oh! Is this like one of those slow-burn captor-captive situations?” you say, eyes wide with excitement. “Are we going to have a moment of shared vulnerability? Will we bond over our tragic backstories? Because, listen, I wrote an entire chapter about this, and let me tell you, it’s steamy.”

Bucky stops dead in his tracks, clearly regretting every life decision that brought him here. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

You grin, too giddy to care about the situation. “Oh, you’re gonna find out. I’m a lot.”

He lets out a long, frustrated sigh and continues dragging you through the forest like you’re a troublesome cat being hauled to the vet. You stumble along behind him, your boots still making it difficult to walk, but you’re too caught up in your own fantasies to care.

“Wait, wait, wait,” you gasp, pretending to be serious for a second. “Are you taking me to the Avengers? Am I about to meet Steve Rogers? Oh my god, if this is a prison transfer situation, I’ll take it. Honestly, throw me in a cell, just tell me Captain America’s on the other side of the bars.”

Bucky groans audibly, muttering under his breath. “You’re literally the worst villain I’ve ever met.”

“Oh, thank you!” You beam, still being pulled along like a rag doll. “I tried to make my villain complex, you know? With layers. You’ll see. There’s more to me than just an evil laugh and a cool outfit. I have depth! Trauma! A tragic backstory, even!”

Bucky finally stops and spins you around, looking you dead in the eyes. “Shut. Up.”

You blink up at him, biting your lip to suppress a fangirl squeal. “Wow, even when you’re angry, you’re hot.”

For a second, you think Bucky might actually lose his patience with you, but instead, he just rolls his eyes and resumes dragging you through the forest.

“You’re taking me to the Avengers, aren’t you? You can tell me! I won’t spoil it for anyone,” you whisper conspiratorially. “I mean, you know, since I’m totally going to escape and wreak havoc... right after I meet everyone and maybe take a group photo.”

Bucky doesn’t dignify that with a response. Instead, he hoists you up over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and starts walking faster. Your head bounces a little with each step, but you can’t help but notice how strong he is.

“Is this the part where I pretend to hate being manhandled, or...?”

Another groan from Bucky. He’s definitely considering just leaving you tied to a tree at this point.

You sigh dramatically as you dangle over his shoulder. “You know, I could help you with your characterization. Maybe throw in some emotional depth, give you some really meaningful dialogue in your next big scene. Maybe a nice brooding monologue... You’re into those, right?”

“Where I’m taking you,” Bucky says, his tone clipped, “there won’t be any brooding. Or talking.”

You perk up. “Oh! Silent treatment? Broody captor vibes? I love it.”

You can practically feel the exhaustion radiating off him as he mutters, “I need a vacation.”

With a smirk, you reply, “I’m free this weekend.”