#what is happening to me guys I’m turning into something else

[mrsmnsn]

“It looks better on you anyway…”

summary: you’ve been dating for a while and, to make you officially his, Eddie gives you something very special….

*no warnings only fluff (ok maybe there’s a bit of a suggestive content here but nothing too serious)*

(i had this draft for a while now and i loooove this headcannon! hope you like it as much as i do)

“What do you mean by it’s not official?” You desperately asked Robin

“Wait a minute, i didn’t say that! It is official, just not official official.” She says sipping her drink.

“Robin you’re not making any sense right now.” Nancy replies seeing how nervous you got.

The three of you were having a girls night at a bar, only to gossip, have some drinks and celebrate womanhood. But now, after a few drinks, you shared with the girls your story with Eddie and how it was when you finally got to be together. It was actually so casual and simple because Eddie knew you didn’t like to cause a big scene and to have all attention to you. So you had a nice date and on the way back to your house, before you could get in, he asked if you wanted to be his girl and if he could be your boyfriend. You didn’t waist a minute and involved him in a hug and a lot of kisses.

“I’m just saying that some couples like to make a gesture to make it official, so everyone else can see they’re taken. And, in your case, that’s not what happened.” Robin explains herself and now your head was thinking of all the things Eddie might have given to you

“Didn’t you hear her story? That was exactly the opposite Eddie was trying to do, he wanted to be a special moment for just the two of them. I think that’s very sweet of him.” Nancy and Robin keep arguing when it comes to you

“So you’re saying that hypothetically he was supposed to give me something, like a ring?” You interrupt them making both girls look at you

“He’s not supposed to do anything, but yes, that’s what i meant.” She replied and then started to tell a story about one of her old friends.

By the end of the night, Eddie picks you up and takes you to his place, as you agreed. You were going to spend the weekend with him.

“Hey pretty girl! How was girls night?” He kisses the top of you head and help you get in his van.

“It was very nice, but you know how Robin can get very excited about some stuff and how Nancy doesn’t agree with her but still tries to be nice and it goes on and on.” He laughs at your words and he enters the van too. “But you’ll see, i’m still going to make them become best friends!”

You keep talking about your night to him and you two stay in a comfortable silence listening to one of his Black Sabbath tapes until you get to his home. He turns off the car and before he could hop off, you stop him.

“What is it sweetheart?” He asked looking at your face, searching for something wrong.

“Can i ask you something?” You look at his hands full of rings holding yours.

“Of course you can, you can ask me anything.” He said and his tone couldn’t be sweeter

“Earlier we were taking about dating and the girls asked me how it was when you asked to be my boyfriend, and i told them. But Robin said that even though it was the most teeth-rotting story ever there was something wrong, something was missing…”

Eddie was scared of your next words but still encouraged you to continue.

“She said that normally, after a while, it’s common for the guy to give to his girlfriend something, like a gesture or a gift i don’t know. But that’s supposed to be like an affirmation of the relationship… You know what, forget it, it’s fucking stupid.” You give up on telling him what you wanted and turn to leave the car.

“Hey hey, wait a minute. There’s nothing stupid about that! You can take your time, but i want to hear it.” Eddie says, giving your hands gentle rubs.

“I feel stupid asking you this, and you know how you are my first boyfriend so i’m not sure how things are supposed to be now…” You organize the words in your head before you tell him. “Alright, hm, I was going to ask if maybe you plan to do that… i don’t want you to give me anything, and i know we’re not dating for a impressive long time and maybe we’re supposed to wait a bit more for that, i don’t even know if you are expecting me to give something to you. I am a bit lost…” You said everything too fast and got lost on your own words. But Eddie listened to you very carefully and understood what was happening.

“Are you saying that you want something, this ‘gesture’, to officialize our relationship?” He asked and looked at your eyes “Well, i wasn’t actually thinking of giving you something right now, but now that you said that i’m thinking of something here…” He let go of your hands and put them behind his neck. “ I really like the idea of people seeing that you are taken, that you are only mine… turn around, please.”

You were confused but still, you turn around and you can feel him getting closer. So close that your back is hitting his chest. He starts to whisper when you see him put his necklace in front of you.

“What do you think babe?” His soft voice rings in your ear and you admire his hands holding his necklace that you always made sure to tell him how much you loved it on him, of how attractive he looked with the pick hanging over his chest. “I know how much you like this, and imagine that… you walking around with this very specific necklace around your neck. This screams ‘i have a fucking man, he’s a rockstar, a hottie, and im all fucking his’. Uh, i loved that!”

You were smiling and blushing at his words as he lifted your hair up and put the necklace on you. You didn’t know what to say and got all nervous but you were relieved he liked your idea.

“I loved it Eds, thank you!” You dropped your hair and looked at the pick now hanging in the middle of your tits.

“I loved the placement don’t you.” He teases you and you can hear his mischievous smile and the way he’s giggling when you shove him. “I’m serious, i can imagine already, you on top of me and the pick hanging there and… wait a minute. THATS WHY YOU LIKED IT SO MUCH!

You start to laugh and cover your face embarrassed. “Shut up Eddie!”

“No baby, don’t hide your pretty face. Let me see you.” You lean into his body again and look up at him. “You do look very attractive with it.” And as he speaks, you can feel his hand on your jaw, making you look up at him, and the other, caressing your thigh.

“What about you? I don’t want to just take your necklace like that.”

“Don’t worry sweetheart, i can make another one for me so we can match, if that’s your concern.” He says teasing you once again. “But now that’s your necklace. It looks better on you anyway, so”

You just close your eyes, feeling him touching your nose with his before he kisses you passionately. Even after lots of shared kisses between the two of you, he still manages to take your breath away.

“Come on, let’s go inside.” He opened his door and yours too, being the gentleman he is, and with an arm thrown around your shoulder, he leads you inside. “Maybe we can test that theory, to see if the pick will look good on you when you’re on top of me.” He makes you giggle and you playfully slap his chest as you walk up and open the door.

“Maybe…”

[iichfilwypj]

loved | percy jackson

ღ percy jackson x daughter of ares! reader ღ warnings: hurt/comfort! (for the ones that are so so angry) ღ wc: 720 this is clearly about me guys

“Percy, you don’t understand!” 

Her shouts shattered the silence of the forest; the birds seemed to have fled the moment they arrived, and the forest nymphs hid within their trees, unwilling to get involved.

“You’re right!” His voice was edged with frustration and anger as he followed her, but instead of looking threatening, he looked almost pitiable. "I don’t!"

There was a raw, painful gleam in his eyes, one she chose to ignore -although it proved her point.

“Why can’t you talk to me? Tell me what is wrong, please.” He begged. “I love you.”

No. 

Not those words. 

They were precisely the ones she didn’t want to hear. 

The weight they pressed onto her chest was overwhelming, and she didn’t think she could bear it any longer. 

He was the sweetest and kindest boy in camp, effortlessly funny and charming with everyone –how could someone like him love someone like her?

“That’s the thing.” Her fists clenched tightly at her sides, crescent-shaped marks forming in her palms. Her lips pressed into a thin line as she stopped to turn toward him. “You can’t love me!” 

And he flinched. He fucking flinched at her.

But she didn’t care.

“I’m mean! I’m mean, and violent, and aggressive. I’m insecure, quiet, narcissistic. I have anger issues, stupids outbursts, I curse all the fucking the time! I’m not-” She took a deep breath, trying to quell the anger boiling inside her.

She was unlovable.

“Percy, I can’t make you happy. I don’t know how you expect this-” She gestured toward the space between them, which seemed to close with each tentative step he took. “-to work, I am not good for y-”

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence.” 

Now it was her turn to flinch as he stepped closer, his hands gripping her shoulders firmly. 

He was staring into her eyes as if he could see right through her, peeling back her defenses to uncover the truth she kept hidden –something she sensed he had been doing for far too long. 

“Don’t tell me what’s good for me or not.”

She could only stay silent.

What else could she do with that sight in front of her? A sight that wasn’t made for her, that felt so foreign for her.  

Those green eyes looked at her with a love she was sure she didn’t deserve, and those hands brushed against her skin as if they could see something good within her that she had buried.

“I know you, and I know how you feel. Like you don’t deserve the good things that happen to you, like you’re not good enough, like you’re a burden in everyone else’s life." One of his hands moved to cup her cheek. "Like you are a bad person.” 

She almost laughed; well, he was really laying bare her entire life with his words. 

“I don’t know who made you think all of that, but please, I’m begging you, don’t believe them.”

“That's the thing,” Percy leaned closer to her to show he was paying attention, but it was almost impossible to get any closer. “No one said anything; I just know it.”

As she closed her eyes, he observed her. Before him stood his favorite person in the world, unraveling before his eyes.

And he couldn’t stand to see it happen.

“You are the purest person in the whole world. From the first moment I saw you, I was wrapped around your finger. My mother is tired of hearing your name, my room is fed up with me sprawled out, holding your photo, and my mind is consumed by thoughts of you –there is no space for anything else. ” 

The words flowed from his lips as if they were the most natural thing in the world, and the effect they had on her was overwhelming.

She felt the boy’s hands on her face, gently wiping away the tears she didn't know were there –he knew how much she hated being seen while crying.

When she finally dared to open her eyes, something clicked inside her as she was met with the prettiest shade of green.

She had never felt this way in her life, so free, so safe.

And despite the fear swirling within her, she wanted to try –to try with him.

“You are not mean, you are not a bad person, you are not something that is wrong."

His hands were so, so soft on her cheeks that she could've died.

But she didn't; she felt more alive than ever.

"You live, you act and you feel so, so much. You don’t have to be perfect to be loved, you have to be you. That would be enough for me.” She smiled at him, momentarily at a loss for words.

In response, she leaned in closer, pressing a soft, salty kiss to his lips. 

And she felt like she deserved it, like it was meant to happen. And maybe it was.

She felt so, so loved.

hi!! this is how i feel daily lately and i am so scared of telling someone! but i hope you like it!

[morganski-19]

Chills Right to the Marrow Part 51

ao3 link| part 1 . . . part 48, part 49, part 50

“What if we let him stay with us,” Eddie says out of the blue, sitting on one of their new kitchen chairs.

Wayne stops unpacking glasses, turning to look at him. “What?”

“Steve, what if we let him stay with us. Just while he tries to find a place.” He fidgets with his hands, avoiding Wayne’s eye contact. “We’ve, uh, been talking, and he’s put off trying to find a place. Now that he knows the end date, he’s started looking but can’t afford any of places that are open right now.”

Wayne pushes the box back onto the counter, he can finish it later. He turns fully toward Eddie, leaning back on the counter and crossing his arms. “So, you want us to let him stay here.”

“Yeah, and it could be like paying him back, you know. For letting us stay with him. Return the favor, and everything.”

He sighs, wiping a hand down his face. “We don’t exactly have the space for that. Unless you’re planning on him sleeping on the couch.”

Eddie stutters, further ignoring Wayne’s gaze. Mouth opening with no sound coming out.

“Or is this the part where you finally tell me you two are seeing each other?”

Eddie freezes. “How did you know?”

Wayne shakes his head. “Cause I’m not an idiot. You two go from chewing each other’s head off to being super close and touchy. And I saw Steve try to sneak out of your room when I got back from a shift. He thought he played it off, but I knew.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Wanted to see how long it took you to tell me yourself. It’s been almost three weeks, and we all live together. You really thought I didn’t know?”

Eddie shrugs. “I don’t know. We were just feeling it out, didn’t want to tell anyone in case it blew up fast.”

“And now you want him to move in with us? Sleep in your room, in your bed. You really think that’s a good idea?”

“I thought you would be cooler about this. Steve’s a good guy, you know that.”

He does know that. But he knows a lot of things that leave him questioning. Even if it’s just from passing comments. Ammunition that could have been meaningless, but there was history behind it. History Wayne doesn’t know but can assume what it means.

Maybe he’s an ass for assuming. Maybe he’s just being overprotective. But when it comes to matters of the heart, people can be reckless. They can jump without looking just to get hurt in the end.

Steve might be a good guy for letting them stay in his house. He might be a good friend, a good role model for the kids. But a good boyfriend, for Wayne’s boy, he’ll never be good enough. No one will.

“I know. I’m just worried that letting him stay here would make a jump you’re not quite ready yet.”

Eddie nods, looking down at his hands. “It’s early, I know. And it’d be temporary. I just—I don’t want to leave him high and dry. He helped us when we had nowhere else to go, I thought we might be able to so the same.”

Wayne gets where his head’s at. He gets wanting to do something to thank Steve that would be anywhere near the way he’s helped them. Hell, Wayne does too. There are just so many reservations in his head. So many ways that this could go wrong.

“I’ll think about it,” Wayne concedes. “On a few conditions, it is actually temporary, and I’m the one who talks to him about it. You say nothing until I do, got it.”

“Got it.” Eddie smiles brighter than he has in a long time. “Thank you, it means a lot, even you just thinking about it.”

He sighs. “Yeah well, you have a point.”

“You’re not going to get, like, super weird and protective now that you know right?”

Wayne scoffs, going back to the box that needs unpacking. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Steve told me what happened while I was still in the coma. I know you didn’t like him around me. I know that has changed, but it’s different now. And don’t you remember back in my freshman year where I told you about that guy in my English class and you threatened to kill him if he looked at me wrong?”

He shrugs. “That’s just part of being a parent, can’t turn it off.”

That kid would have deserved what came to him if Wayne actually followed through. After the first few months of peace, he made Eddie’s life a living hell.

“Well, Steve’s a good guy, and he’s good to me, so just, tone it down a little bit.”

Wayne turns to look at Eddie again. He’s honestly surprised that this conversation is happening, but also glad that it is. Eddie’s hasn’t exactly seen that many people. Not in the town that threatens to crucify you for walking on the wrong side of the road. As far as Wayne was supposed to know, this was Eddie’s first time seeing someone. But he knew that on some of the weekends where Eddie would disappear for a night, it was to sneak into one of those bars down in Indy.

That was dangerous, this was less so. As far as Wayne knows, Steve’s romantic life is a mixed bag. Short term relationships and one long one that ended semi-badly. Sue him for being cautious. Sue him for looking out for his kid. After all the pain they went through in the past year, he could at least try to make sure heartbreak wasn’t added to the mix.

“You happy?” Wayne asks, watching as Eddie’s face softens.

“Yeah.”

“You being safe?”

“We haven’t gotten that far yet, but when we do, we will.”

Wayne nods. “Then I’ll tone it down a little. Just a little. Don’t go expecting miracles.”

The rest of the box gets unpacked, the glasses and other dishware slowly filling the cabinets. The home starting to really look like a home.

“Thank you,” Eddie says quietly.

“Yeah, yeah.”

Steve gets back from work late. Wayne wasn’t exactly waiting for him, but he wasn’t exactly not waiting for him. He was just in the kitchen, putting something together for a late dinner, knowing that Steve was going to be home soon. If it felt like a good time, he was going to bring it up. If it didn’t, he was going to give it a day.

But he can feel that protective burn bubbling up and can’t snuff it out. He needed to know.

“I know about you two,” Wayne says. More menacingly than he meant to, but doesn’t know how else to start this.

Steve freezes, hand on the fridge’s handle. Holding it open. “What?”

“You and Eddie, I know.”

He nods, closing the door and clearing his throat. “For how long?”

“Few weeks. You’re really not a slick as you think you are.”

Steve leans on the counter, crossing his arms. Ready for a lecture. “We were going to tell you, just wanted to make sure we weren’t making a mistake first.”

“Interesting word there, mistake.” Wayne’s pressing, trying to lure out what he needs to see. Make sure that this isn’t something he needs to worry about.

“I just didn’t want to lose another friend because of a relationship. It took me years to be able to be friends with Nancy. I didn’t want the same to happen with Eddie.”

Wayne nods. Satisfied with the answer.

“What you said a few weeks ago, that you saw the way I acted around him. And you wanted to stop the hurt before it started. I’m not planning on hurting him. I can’t promise I won’t mess up; I tend to do that a lot. But I always try to make up for it, to learn. I’ve gotten really good at apologizing.”

The protectiveness dies down, Steve hitting everything he wanted to hear. And Eddie’s right, Wayne knows that he’s a good guy. He’s made mistakes, but he’s grown. He’s changed. It’s as much as Wayne can ask for.

“You know, earlier today, Eddie brought up this idea of letting you stay with us until you find a place on your own.”

Steve’s face fills with shock. “He did?”

Wayne nods. “Yeah. As you can imagine, I had my hesitations. We don’t exactly have spare rooms like you do. But,” Wayne can’t believe he’s really saying this, but it feels right, “if you wanted, you could stay with us. With the promise that you find a place on your own, and that this won’t put an unnecessary strain on your new relationship.”

“I—” Steve tries to get out. “Thank you.”

Before Wayne can register what’s happening, Steve’s hugging him.

“Thank you,” he repeats. The words heavy with relief.

“Yeah, well. After all you did for me, it’s only fair that I return the favor.”

Steve lets go, taking a step back. “But you didn’t, a lot of people don’t. So, thank you.”

He realizes that there is so much story of Steve that he still doesn’t know. Hurt and pain that he keeps hidden away. Not for other people to see. Steve walks away before he can ask, or even question. Hesitating before walking down the hall to Eddie’s room.

This was going to be interesting.

apologies for the late post, I was at work and then driving home from break, and forgot to post before I left (like I planned to). And posting tag lists from mobile sucks ass.

tag list (closed): @the-they-who-nerded, @insteviewetrust, @croatoan-like-its-hot, @jettestar,

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@papergrenade, @waelkyring, @sweetheartprincess28, @katouasobj, @astercomoasflores

[snowysosturn]

Allies or Affiliates? - Chris Sturniolo Part 13

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13

Pairing : Y/n x Chris Sturniolo

Summary : Law student Y/n’s life takes a turn when she reconnects with Chris, her brief teenage flame who is now a dealer for a dangerous Boston drug gang. As their bond reignites, Y/n is drawn into Chris’s tumultuous world, where rival gangs clash and loyalty is everything. Balancing her love for Chris with her own ambitions, can their connection survive the chaos that threatens to pull them apart?

Warnings : MDNI, mentions of drugs, mentions of selling drugs, angst, cursing, mentions of death, funeral

Y/n’s POV

The question hangs in the air between us, heavy and loaded with meaning. Chris stares at me, his face open and expectant, as if my answer could anchor him in a storm.

But I’m torn. Of course, I want to say yes, I want to be his girlfriend, to hold onto this version of Chris that I know and love, the one who stayed up late talking with me, who made me laugh even when everything around us felt like it was falling apart. But there’s another side to him too, a side tied to danger and darkness, and I’m not sure I can step into that world willingly.

I hesitate, my thoughts racing. Part of me wonders if his sudden proposal is his way of trying to hold on to something good, something normal, while everything else crumbles around him. If that’s true, then I want to be there for him. I do. But I also need to protect myself.

I look down, fiddling with the hem of my hoodie as I gather my thoughts. “Chris..” I start, my voice quiet. He watches me intently, like his entire world is balancing on the edge of my words. “I’ll be your girlfriend..” I pause, and his face lights up with hope. “..but on one condition.”

His eyebrows furrow slightly, but he nods immediately. “Of course, Y/n. I’ll do anything.”

“You meet my parents. Thursday night. We all have dinner here.” I say, meeting his eyes steadily.

The shift in his expression is subtle but telling. His jaw tenses, and his eyes widen slightly in surprise, as if he hadn’t anticipated this. “Thursday?” he repeats, his tone neutral, but I can tell he’s taken aback.

“Yes” I say firmly. “I know it seems like it’s happening all very fast, but that’s just the way things have gone for us. I bite my lip, trying to find the right words. “Usually, if I’m seeing a guy, he meets my parents before I become their girlfriend. It’s just.. how I do things.”

He looks at me for a moment, processing what I’ve said. Then he nods, his expression softening. “No, no don’t worry. I get it. I’ll be there. Thursday night. I promise.”

I let out a small sigh of relief but kept my gaze steady on his. “I’m trusting you, Chris.” I say, my voice firm.

He steps closer, his eyes searching mine. “Good” he says, a small, determined smile tugging at his lips. “And you better know you can.”

His words hold weight, but I still feel a flicker of uncertainty in my chest. Before I can dwell on it, Chris leans in and presses a soft kiss to my lips. It’s gentle and reassuring, and for a moment, I let myself sink into it, forgetting everything else.

When he pulls back, his eyes linger on mine, as if he’s memorising my face. Then he steps back toward the treehouse railing. “I’ll talk to you later, okay?”

“Okay” I whisper, watching as he climbs down the treehouse with ease, disappearing into the shadows of the night.

As I head back inside, my heart feels heavy with anticipation. I know I’ve just taken a step forward with Chris, but Thursday looms over me like a test for both of us. Meeting my parents feels like a necessary move, a way to bridge the gap between the life he’s trying to leave and the one we could have together.

I hope he’s ready. I hope I am too.

Chris’ POV

The moment I ask her the question, time seems to slow down. My heart pounds in my chest as I wait for her answer, each second dragging on like an eternity. Her silence feels heavier with every passing moment, and I start to wonder if I miscalculated. Did I rush this? Was it too soon?

But then she finally speaks, her voice soft yet steady. "I’ll be your girlfriend.. but on one condition."

My stomach knots. A condition? What does she mean? I don’t care what it is, I just want her to say yes. “Of course, Y/n. I’ll do anything,” I reply quickly, my words spilling out before I can even think about them.

“You meet my parents. Thursday night. We all have dinner here.” she says.

My jaw almost drops. Thursday.

Danny’s funeral is Thursday.

Panic rises in my chest, but I shove it down. I can’t say no - not after I just told her I’d do anything. I can’t back out now, not after I’ve pushed for this. It’s fine. I’ll make it work. I’ll handle both.

“Thursday?” The word slips out before I can stop myself, my brain still scrambling to process the situation.

Y/n doesn’t miss a beat. “I know it seems like it’s happening all very fast, but that’s just the way things have gone for us. Usually, if I’m seeing a guy, he meets my parents before I become their girlfriend. It’s just… how I do things.”

She’s right. Nothing about this - us - has been normal. From the way we met again to the way everything has unfolded since, it’s all been chaos. But hearing her lay it out like that makes me realise how much she wants something solid, something normal.

And I want that too.

“No, nondon’t worry. I get it. I’ll be there. Thursday night. I promise.” I say, trying to reassure her as much as myself.

Her eyes search mine, and I can see the weight behind her next words. “I’m trusting you, Chris.”

“Good” I say, forcing a small smirk onto my face even as my thoughts race. “And you better know you can.”

I lean in to kiss her, trying to focus on the moment, on her. Her lips are soft and warm, grounding me in a way nothing else has been able to lately.

But as I climb down the treehouse, my mind is already spinning. Thursday is going to be a big day.

Danny’s funeral. Meeting Y/n’s parents. Balancing the life I’ve been stuck in with the one I want to build with her.

I’ve got to make this work. There’s no other option. For her, for us, I’ve got to figure it out.

Y/n’s POV

The next morning, I wake up with a spring in my step, a feeling I haven’t had in a long time. I’m someone’s girlfriend now. Chris’ girlfriend. The thought alone makes me giddy, and I can’t help the smile that creeps onto my face as I get out of bed.

Walking down the stairs, I’m greeted by the warm, sugary smell of pancakes wafting through the air. Mom must be making them. Everything about this moment feels so perfect, like my life is being romanticised in real time. The soft hum of a song on the radio, the sun streaming through the kitchen window - it’s all so idyllic.

"Good morning, sweetheart." my mom greets me as I walk into the kitchen.

"Good morning" I reply, my eyes darting to the stack of pancakes on the counter. "Those smell amazing."

“There are three there with your name on them” she says with a smile. “Any chance you can pick up a shift at the bridal studio early tomorrow?”

"Yeah, tomorrow’s cool with me" I say, grabbing a plate and drizzling syrup over my pancakes. Then, the thought strikes me – this feels like the perfect time to tell the news. "But.. I may have a request about tomorrow evening."

"A request?" she raises an eyebrow, setting down her coffee mug.

I hesitate for a second, then decide to just say it. "I may or may not have a boyfriend… and I’d like you and Dad to meet him. I’ve invited him around for dinner."

My mom freezes mid sip, her eyes widening. "Boyfriend?" she exclaims, her jaw practically dropping. "I didn’t even know you were seeing anyone! What’s the lucky boy’s name?"

"I know" I shrug casually, trying to downplay the excitement bubbling inside me. "His name is Chris. I’ve actually known him since I was 15, so we didn’t need to do the whole awkward getting to know each other thing."

"Oh, that sounds nice" she says, her tone softening. "Dinner’s perfect for me. Does seven o’clock sound okay?"

"Seven is perfect" I say with a grin. "I’ll let Chris know."

I pull out my phone to text him, but before I can type anything, I see a message from him already sitting there.

Good morning, girlfriend, it reads.

I blush, feeling the butterflies stir in my stomach as I reread his message. My fingers tap against the screen, my cheeks flushed.

Good morning, boyfriend, I reply, adding another message right after. Dinner at mine at 7 tomorrow.

As I press send, I can’t help but smile. Everything feels so good right now, so right. I just hope this moment isn’t fleeting. Tomorrow is going to be big, and I can only hope it’ll go as smoothly as this morning has.

Chris’ POV

The time between asking Y/n to be my girlfriend and Thursday morning blurred by like a whirlwind. It felt like I’d barely had a chance to breathe. Most of it was spent at Nate’s side, trying my best to console him. He’s been a wreck, and honestly, who could blame him? Danny was more than just family to him – he was like a brother.

When I arrive at Nate’s house early Thursday morning, dressed in a suit that feels too stiff and suffocating, the weight of the day ahead presses down on me. The door swings open, and Nate is there. His eyes are bloodshot, his face pale and hollow. He looks like he didn’t sleep a wink, and the lingering redness in his eyes tells me he’s been crying all night long.

"You ready, bro?" I ask softly.

Nate nods but doesn’t say a word. The silence is heavy between us as we climb into the car with a few other guys from the crew and head toward the church.

When we arrive, the sight of the crowd hits me like a ton of bricks. There are what feels like hundreds of people here, most of them dressed in black, with small hints of red - a tie here, a pocket square there. In the distance, someone sets off red flares, their smoke curling into the sky like ghostly fingers. Red for Crimson.

It leaves a strange, sour feeling in my stomach. Danny’s dead because of Crimson, more or less, yet here we all are, honouring him in a way that ties him forever to this life. It’s how he’ll always be remembered – not just as Danny, but as Danny of the Crimson Cartel.

As we step out of the car, the murmurs of the crowd grow louder. Everyone gathered outside the church, some crying softly, others exchanging quiet nods. We make our way inside, Nate walking just ahead of me, carrying Danny’s coffin. The air in the church is thick with grief, the kind that makes it hard to breathe.

Inside, the scene is sombre yet overwhelming. Huge flower displays are arranged near the altar, spelling out words that hit like a punch to the gut: Son, Friend, Cousin. Right beside them, a framed photo of Danny, smiling as if he didn’t have a care in the world.

The priest steps up to the altar's microphone, his voice calm and steady as he welcomes everyone and begins with a few prayers. The soft hum of the organ fills the space, but my mind is elsewhere.

I glance over at Nate. He’s staring straight ahead, his jaw clenched so tight I wonder if it might shatter. I can feel his pain like a wave rolling off him, threatening to drown us both.

It still doesn’t feel real. Danny’s gone. And as much as I want to feel something, sadness, anger, guilt, it hasn’t fully hit me yet. Maybe I’m numb. Maybe I’m too deep in this world to process it the way I should. All I know is that this life we’re in..  it takes and takes until there’s nothing left.

The priest continues speaking, his words fading into the background of my thoughts. I glance back at the photo of Danny. He deserved better than this. We all do.

But deep down, I know that saying it won’t change a damn thing.

Nate slowly stands, as he makes his way to the front of the altar, his hands trembling as he grips the edges of the lectern. His face is pale, his eyes hollowed out by nights of crying and the sheer weight of his loss. He swallows hard, trying to find his voice amidst the deafening silence of the church.

“Danny..” he begins, his voice cracking. He clears his throat and tries again.

“Danny wasn’t just my cousin. He was my brother. My best friend. My partner in crime – some would say literally and figuratively” Nate says with a faint, bitter laugh, but his expression crumbles. “He was the person I could turn to for anything, no matter how stupid or serious it was. He always had my back.”

Nate pauses, his hands gripping the edge of the podium tighter.

“I don’t even know where to start because it still doesn’t feel real that he’s gone. Danny had this way of making life brighter, you know? He was funny as hell. That kind of funny where you’d laugh so hard you couldn’t breathe, and you didn’t even care. He had this stupid grin he’d flash whenever he knew he was about to get us into trouble, and, God, I’d give anything to see that grin one more time.”

His voice breaks, and he wipes his eyes quickly before continuing.

“Danny had this big heart, even if he didn’t show it all the time. He loved fiercely, his family, his friends, all of us. If you were in his corner, he’d do anything for you. He never hesitated. Never thought twice. That’s just who he was.”

Nate takes a shaky breath, his chest rising and falling as he fights to keep his composure.

“But life.. it doesn’t care how good of a person you are. It doesn’t care how much you’re loved, how much you’re needed. It just takes. And it took Danny from us.” His voice grows harder, sharper, filled with a pain that cuts deep.

“We all lost something when we lost Danny. I lost my brother. His mom and dad lost their son. And the world.. the world lost one of the good ones. One of the ones who could’ve been so much more if he’d just had the chance.”

Nate looks down at the coffin for a long moment, his eyes glistening with fresh tears. When he speaks again, his voice is softer, almost a whisper.

“Danny.. I love you, man. I hope you know that. I hope you knew that. I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you. I’m sorry I couldn’t do more. But I promise.. I promise I’ll carry you with me. Every day. In everything I do. You’ll always be a part of me.”

Nate swallows hard and looks back out at the crowd, his gaze steady despite the tears streaming down his face.

“Thank you all for being here today. Thank you for showing Danny the love he deserves. He may be gone, but he’ll never be forgotten. Not by me. Not by any of us.”

With that, Nate steps down, his shoulders slumping as the weight of his grief settles on him once more. The silence in the church is deafening, save for the quiet sobs scattered among the crowd.

The heavy oak doors swing open with a deafening bang, the sound reverberating through the sombre silence of the church. A collective gasp rises from the mourners, followed by sharp screams of panic. My head snaps toward the commotion, and my pulse spikes.

"What the fuck?" I mutter under my breath, leaning forward in my seat to get a better look.

Before I can make out what’s happening, someone leaps up from the crowd and bolts toward the door. The figure slams into whoever burst in, taking them to the ground with a force that shakes the air. A scuffle breaks out, and almost immediately, several more people rush forward, a mix of chaos and determination in their movements. Until the doors close after them, letting everything take itself outside.

The whispers start immediately, frantic and fearful, the air now thick with confusion. I glance over at Nate, and my stomach tightens. His eyes are glued to the scene, his jaw set so tight it looks like it might snap. His whole body is coiled, vibrating with tension, and I know exactly what’s running through his head.

He’s going to go.

“Nate” I hiss, standing up and gripping his arm just as he starts to move. “Don’t. Not now. This is about Danny. Let it go, man. We’ll figure out what’s happening later, but right now, you stay here.”

For a moment, he doesn’t even look at me. His chest is heaving, his nostrils flaring, and for a second, I think he’s going to shake me off and storm out anyway. But then, slowly, he exhales. His shoulders drop, just slightly, and he gives me a small nod before sinking back into the benches.

"Not now" I repeat softly, my grip loosening.

I sit back down, but my eyes keep darting toward the doors. The priest clears his throat from the altar, trying to regain control of the room.

“Let us continue” he says, his voice steady, though there’s an unmistakable edge of unease.

The service picks back up, but the mood is undeniably fractured. My focus keeps slipping, my mind racing with questions. Who the hell was that? What just happened? And, more importantly, what does it mean?

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, the service comes to an end. Nate stands, his movements stiff and mechanical, and makes his way toward the coffin. Along with the other pallbearers, he takes hold of the handles, his face a mask of grief and resolve.

The procession to the graveyard is slow and solemn, the sound of footsteps on the gravel path punctuated only by the quiet sobs of mourners. The sky is a dull grey, the kind of overcast that seems to swallow sound, and the chill in the air cuts through even the thickest of coats.

At the burial site, the priest begins the final prayers. I stand a few feet back, watching as Nate grips the edge of the coffin tightly, his knuckles white. The pain in his face is unbearable to look at.

But then, I catch the murmurs again, this time closer.

“...heard he’s in H Block… an attempted hit.” someone whispers behind me, the words slicing through the stillness.

My stomach drops.

A hit? At a funeral?

My legs feel weak, and I grip the back of a nearby chair to steady myself. My mind races as the pieces start falling into place. Danny’s death wasn’t just a tragedy – it was a message. And now, someone thought a funeral was the perfect place to send another one.

The thought makes me sick.

My eyes dart back to Nate, who’s still standing by the grave, his shoulders rigid as the coffin is lowered into the ground. Does he know? Was it meant for him?

The more I think about it, the more it makes sense. Danny was family to Nate. If this was some kind of retaliation, they could be coming for him next.

I want to grab him, to pull him aside and tell him everything, to get him the hell out of here before something else happens. But I can’t. Not here. Not now.

This is Danny’s moment.

Nate deserves to say goodbye without the shadow of another threat looming over him. I’ll tell him later. When we’re away from all of this. When it’s safe. No doubt everyone in the cartel is on high alert if this is true.

As the priest closes the burial with a final prayer, I glance over my shoulder, scanning the crowd. The faces are a mix of grief, anger, and something darker. A chill runs down my spine.

This isn’t over. Not by a long shot.

a/n: AY YAI YAI

taglist: @mattybearnard @sturn-33 @ncm9696 @yourfavsturniologirl @crazy4jewel @sodakid1234 @stupendoustreewinner @lovealwayssturniolos @matthewsturniolosss @m4ttsmunch @loveexxx @ilusa @starkeyszn @wonnieeluvvr @dylnblue @valxrieq @maggot3647 @cigarettecemetary @ribread03 @chrisstvrns @bandasaruswrx @noplaceissafeanymore @amexiass @witchofthehour @mattssgf @jetaimevous @v33angel @ivysturnss @urmom69lol @ashlishes @watercolorskyy @sturnioloshottiekay @amelia-sturniolo3 @imjusthereforthesturniolosmut @pvssychicken @alizestvrnss @lvrsturniolo @bernardsbunny @spaghetti835928383 @marrykisskilled @sturnsxplr-25 @bxtchboy69 @vickytaa @anikaistg @matts-girlfriend @lvrsturniolo @sophand4n4 @ilovepurpledragons @mattsside

[jenosonlywife23]

Heartstrings

Part 1

(Part 2)

The night Jeno announced his relationship felt like the world stopped spinning. His smile was wide, radiant even, as he laced his fingers with hers and said, “We’re dating!” The words echoed in the air, loud and unrelenting. The cheers and congratulations from the group only added to the sting.

Days earlier, in a quiet moment with Chenle, it had all come tumbling out—the feelings, the longing, the hopeless crush. Chenle had encouraged it, saying, “You should tell him. Who knows? He might feel the same.” It turned out he didn’t. Worse, he’d overheard.

But Jeno never said anything. Not a rejection, not an apology, not even a word of acknowledgment. It wasn’t until Chenle quietly explained what happened that everything made sense. Jeno had chosen silence. And now, he was happily in love—with someone else.

Swallowing the heartbreak, pretending it didn’t matter, became a daily ritual. Moving on wasn’t easy, but staying still felt impossible. That’s when someone new came along—a guy who seemed nice enough to distract from the ache. He was attentive, kind, everything you thought you needed to patch the cracks in your heart. At first.

Then his true colors started showing. Small comments that felt like jabs. Smiles that didn’t quite reach his eyes. Every interaction began to feel more like a transaction than a connection. Yet somehow, breaking away felt harder than staying.

Everyone noticed. The quiet concern in their glances, the subtle questions. Even Jeno seemed to watch more closely, his usual carefree demeanor replaced with something unreadable.

“Can I talk to you?” Jeno asked one night, long after the others had left. His tone was softer than usual, almost hesitant.

You turned, wary. “What’s this about?”

“That guy…” He hesitated, running a hand through his hair. “He’s not good for you. You don’t seem happy.”

A bitter laugh slipped out. “And you’re the judge of what makes me happy?”

“I’m not trying to judge,” he said quickly, stepping closer. “But I care. I hate seeing you with someone who doesn’t treat you the way you deserve.”

“You don’t get to say that,” you shot back, your voice sharp. “Not after everything. You were happy to stay quiet when it mattered. Now, suddenly, you care?”

His expression shifted, a flicker of something close to guilt flashing in his eyes. “I should have said something then. I know that now.”

“Well, it’s too late for that, isn’t it?” Your voice wavered, betraying the fragile hold you had on your emotions. “You’re happy. You have her. So why are you here?”

Jeno didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he looked at you with a kind of intensity that made your heart ache. “Because I can’t stand watching you get hurt. Not like this.”

The words hung heavy in the air, unspoken emotions crackling like static between you. You opened your mouth to respond, but the sound of your phone vibrating broke the moment. It was a message from him, the guy who was supposed to be your escape. The preview on the screen showed just enough to send your stomach sinking.

Jeno saw it, too. His jaw clenched. “Is that him?”

You didn’t answer, your fingers trembling as you locked the phone. His gaze stayed fixed on you, a mixture of frustration and something else you couldn’t quite place.

“Don’t let him hurt you anymore,” Jeno said, his voice low. “Please.”

You turned away, gripping the phone tightly, unsure if the ache in your chest was from the message—or the way Jeno’s words lingered, filling the silence with questions you didn’t know how to answer.

[apintofguinness]

Actually, I’m gonna keep going, because this pisses me off.

Laois reacting the way he did makes sense as someone who is enamored with monsters. If he had an interests in robots and Faline had turned into a robot, his reaction would be the same. Because he thinks that turning into a monster would be fucking awesome. Because he’s a dumb guy who forgets himself when focusing on monsters.

Laois is not sociopathic for having a reaction like that. He’s ignorant of the effect that his words have on his companions, but he doesn’t mean for it to come across as bad. He just thinks that Faline has become what he loves second-only to her.

“Faline shows Laois a degree of care and consideration that is not fucking returned at all.”

For fuck’s sake, he was willing to brave the dungeon by himself so that he wouldn’t put Chilchuk or Marcille in unnecessary danger. You know, that thing that happened in the first fucking episode?

“and speaking as someone who is autistic.”

Lily, you are not autistic. You said it yourself. You called it a “junk diagnosis.” Shut the fuck up, sit the fuck down, and listen to people who actually know what they’re talking about for once in your goddamned life.

“Autism doesn’t take over your life to such a degree that you’re incapable of taking a serious situation seriously.”

Yeah, it fucking does. As an actual autist myself, I have completely missed when people are being serious about something, due to me misreading their facial expressions or tone of voice. Because I’m fucking autistic. When you don’t realise that a situation is serious, you don’t treat it seriously.

“What autistic person are you being? Are you infodumping to people at a fucking funeral?”

Some autistic people lack awareness of social situations. They have trouble “reading the room”. I myself have felt the need to infodump as a way to distract myself from the suffocating situation of being in a room/building with people who I don’t know. It might not be appropriate, but it’s not done out of malice, only ignorance.

Hell, I once cracked a joke about another cousin’s weight gain and quickly realised that it was bad time to make it. I apologised for it and they forgave me, because they understood that I didn’t mean it to be insulting. It’s also because my family, and Irish people in general, are very prone to “slagging” people off.

Also, infodumping by itself isn’t rude. Me and my boyfriend, also autistic, infodump about stuff all the time. Because it’s how we communicate our interests and passion. It’s rude if you infodump at the wrong time or in the wrong place.

And fucking hilarious Lily calling anyone else impulsive when she flashed her tits for the reason of, and I quote, “It was fun.”

“Sheldon Cooper”

Fuck off Lily

Sheldon Cooper is a narcissist and is willfully ignorant of his friend’s feelings or needs. His friends rightfully call him out, but he never develops out of his narcissistic behaviours! He gets a girlfriend, but doesn’t become less selfish. Even in the flashes we get of the future in Young Sheldon, he hasn’t changed.

Sheldon Cooper is a terrible example of an autistic character, since he’s portrayed as a burden to everyone around him due to his own behaviours and who never changes, who his friends only ever tolerate because he’s useful to them.

“People who don’t like growing as a person”

“My tolerance for pasty blonde boys was already at an all-time low”

Fucking funny coming from the pasty white woman who pretends to not be white. Also, sit your racist, sexist ass down.

“inability to follow the plot”

Also, I love how Lily calls Marcille the only character who isn’t a lunatic when, you know, Chilchuk is right there. Holding the one brain cell. Hell, Marcille’s great idea to get a mandrake was to tie a bird to it and hope she didn’t die when she heard its screams. Chilchuk is the sanest member of the party, not Marcille.

And all of the party members have quirks. Chilchuk is the straight man, Marcille easily panics and is the one most resistant to eating monsters, Laois is obsessed with monsters, and Senshi lives in the dungeon itself, which speaks to his own mental state.

“Autistic people aren’t so ignorant of the world around them that they can’t perceive when they’re supposed to take something seriously.”

Yes, we are, Lily. A lack of social awareness is one of the most defining traits of autism. You sound like one of those kinds of people tell me that I’m just “using my autism as an excuse” for when I fuck up in social situations. Cuz I’m fucking autistic.

And do you know what’s infantilising, Lily? Having someone claim to be autistic so they can speak as an authority on something they know nothing about, speaking over the people actually affected by what they’re saying.

“Laois’ inability to pay attention to anything around him is what kickstarts the fucking plot.”

Laois was focused on how hungry and tired the party was before and during the dragon fight. He was panicking because all of them could have died. Due to how resurrection works in DunMeshi, it’s not guaranteed unless you have someone like Falin able to do it. So, there was a big threat that none of them were about to make it out of the dungeon alive.

“Everyone gives shit to Marcille!”

Yeah, they give shit to every member of the party. Laois catches massive shit in the armor episode, while Chilchuk gives huge shit to Senshi for being reckless with the traps in the trap episode. Almost like they’re a party of dysfunctional weirdos and get on each other’s nerves.

Pictured: Some of the “worst, most one-dimensional world characters ever written.”

Okay, I recognise only a few of these, so let’s go through them:

Lysandre’s goal is to destroy the world in order to rid it of what he feels is ruining the “beauty” of the world. And yet, he knows that this goal will kill Pokemon, which he sheds tears over, showing that he does have some depth to him. But he’s not one of the worst characters ever written.

Pearl’s entire character is learning how to live for herself, after years of living for others.

Korra is an abrasive character who puts too much of her worth into being the Avatar, and slowly learns throughout the series that this behaviour is reckless. She develops into a more mature, responsible person by the end of the series.

Also, love how Lily just claims that you could remove Hunter from The Owl House, despite him being tied to the main antagonist. She says this about Laois too, despite him being Falin’s brother and the protagonist.

“I hope you get beaten to death with a rock.”

Oh, I love it when Lily goes all ‘internet tough girl’. Don’t cut yourself on that edge.

“writing sibling relationships become a more present muse of mine”

Oh? And why is that, Lilian dear? Could it possibly be because of your sister’s accusations of molestation, rape, pedophilia, and having an incest fetish?? Hmmmmmm?????

And would you look at that! A mention of Baldur’s Gate 2, where you downloaded a mod where you can romance your sister! Which you called one of the best rpg romances you’ve ever seen!

Alright, that’s enough goblin-posting for today. Hope you enjoyed my rant.

This was the video that she said, "weebs were being transphobic, so i had to delete it and re-upload it."

I asked my autistic friend to watch this to get his thoughts on it the bottom is his response.

Him: "okay I just gotta say. Some autistic people are not as aware of themselves as others I can totally see an autistic guy having that kind of reaction. Inappropriate, sure, but I don't think he likes what happened to his sister(I'm pretty sure it's his sister) I think he's just reacting to what's in front of him. Like holy shit I was kind of with her at first but she is so goddamn annoying it's hard to be on her side She is so fucking full of herself and refuses to be wrong about anything."

Me: so it's ableist?

Him: Oh extremely. But I'm mostly caught up on this lady just being an asshole in general.

[fair-dinkum-mechanic]

Well how do I move on from this

[atlafan]

why is every guy on hinge either bald, has a disgustingly grown beard, is 5’6, a cop, already a dad, in the army, smokes week, grotesque, or a combination of anything above? are all the good ones truly taken? is that why there’s no one good on hinge? is this truly my only dating pool? it’s fucking rough out here, I don’t want to be back in this place! I was supposed to be done with all of this bullshit!

[caterpillarinacave]

You can't keep living this way you decide, not that it's a bad way to live of course, but the draw to understanding this mystery and the opportunity to go home is too strong to deny. Still, no need to rush foolishly. You plan out your next steps, keeping in mind the possibility of those who may come after you, you write down all you know as clearly as you can and copy the knowledge across three notebooks. One you plan to leave at the house of your friends, another you place in a waterproof container and plan to set around the door, the last you keep for yourself as a journal you want to keep along the way. As for your future, you know searching for any cults spells trouble so you dismiss the idea, and travelling away from the door further in to the world feels like a waste of energy. While you take the time to write out your notebooks you also work out some interesting questions:

1. The hairbrush from the store. You know from asking around that the hairbrush was found in the forest by someone who wasn't sure what it was and gave it to the shop who sold it to you. You think it's likely something that fell into this world from your world somehow, perhaps through the doorway? If the notebook you found from the previous traveller is to be believed then the brush has developed a magic around it which may explain why it changes your hair color when brushing. If there is any deeper reasoning you can't find it.

2. The walkie intrigues you, you keep it on and near you for now. Thankfully, like your phone, it seems to retain its charge. From this point forward you're sure you'll notice if it makes any noise.

3. The berries are interesting. They make you feel better when you eat them, like a health potion almost. Probably has something to do with it having passed through the door. You wonder if any berries around the door also may be affected as they must be descendents of berries that fell through over time.

4. You take out the other items you collected from the brambles and check them each in turn.

The spinning top is metal and smooth. It looks like a toy top, though well made. It offers no clues of an owner. You give it a spin as one does when presented a top and it spins very well, but you notice nothing else happening. In fact, the whole time it spins it seems as if everything except you has gone silent. Once it falls the world resumes.

The dog tag is old and worn, whatever name there may have been once is no longer legible. Studying it provides you no insight into it.

The funnel you found is metal and strange but offers no idea of who the owner may be. You mess with it a bit and find when you hold it to your ear you can hear things from very far away. You aren't sure the specifics of how far though.

The whistle you try blowing again and each time one of the riding creatures comes running up to the house. Not always the same one though and never both. You think the whistle might be calling whichever one is closest to you when you use it.

After a few days you're finished writing your notes and copies. You pack a day bag and head over to the door to inspect it and leave one of your notebooks. On the way you try out some of the berries further away from the door, they taste like berries, good but not like the ones you took through the door. The closer you get to the door the more you think they might be tasting like yours, but you you aren't sure if that's accurate or if your mind is making things up. Once you reach the door you find a secure place to put the waterproof box holding the notebook and look around. You don't find anything of interest so you turn to the door itself. It stands there, still and patient, almost as if it's waiting to see what you'll do. You take your key and open the white door, careful not to step through.

Through the door you see what you noticed before. It opens to an alleyway, a concrete road, a garbage can, a place you might run across in your world, though a look up you can see a bright yellow sky, so you know it isn't yours. You pull out your walkie and try it close to the door, you don't expect anything as usual of course, so imagine your surprise when on the other side you hear something garbled through the static. You can't understand what's being said, but you tell there is someone on the other end purposefully speaking.

You've now learned a little more about the things you hold, you've laid down a path for success for those who come after you, and you've discovered a little more about this mystery with the emergence of a voice on the other end of the walkie, though you can't hear it clearly. No matter how long you wait you don't think you'll be able to get a clearer signal with the walkie, the closer you get to the door the more sounds you hear though you still can't parse any of it out, and there's no saying if you pass through the door it will sound better. Do you walk through the door?

No

[jaqdawks]

Aaaaaaaa

[imaginedisish]

Heroes (Logan Howlett x Fem!Reader)

A/N: I think I used David Bowie's "Heroes" for another fic when I first started writing on this blog. Oh well. We're using it again bc it inspired this fic. This is a combo request fic: Co-teachers/Logan having a nightmare/smut. Hope you guys enjoy!

Summary: You and Logan are assigned by Charles to co-teach a class to learn how to work as a team. You expect Logan to be cold, distant, short. What you don't expect is the way you find yourself needing him, and him needing you.

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI!!! SMUT! Dry humping, Oral (f!receiving), Fingering, Unprotected PIV (wrap it up), multiple orgasms, overstimulation, soft!Logan, cocky!Logan (always), softdom!Logan vibes, implied age gap (Logan is obvi older), frenemies to lovers, feelings, some violence (Logan accidentally hurts the reader while having a nightmare), reader has regenerative powers, fluff, hurt to comfort (literally), reader has family trauma, afab!/f!reader, cursing, def some grammatical errors, I think that's it!

Word Count: 5,267 kinda wanna do a part 2 this was cute

“I work better alone Charles. You know that.” 

You and Logan Howlett never did see eye to eye. 

“Yes, Logan. Which is why I’m giving you this challenge.”

He was always cold. 

“I don’t think this is a good idea.”

Always distant. 

“Hence why it is an excellent idea, Logan.”

But you never thought he’d be this resistant to teaching a class with you. 

“I’m fine with it,” you say, your eyes flitting between Logan and Charles. “It doesn’t faze me at all.”

Logan’s leather jacket crinkles and he puts his hands on his hips. He furrows his brows. “You’re fine with this?” He asks, cocking his head to the side. 

You shrug your shoulders. “I don’t see why not.” Your eyes find Logan’s, but you can’t make out the expression on his face. Can’t tell if it’s dislike, pure hatred, or something else altogether. 

“This can’t happen,” Logan insists, tearing his eyes away from yours and turning towards the Professor. His words sting and you’re not quite sure why—not sure why you should care about this at all. 

“It is too late,” Charles’s voice booms. “I have already decided. You will co-teach a history class for...” Charles trails off, choosing his words carefully. “Younger students.”

You smile, but Logan rolls his eyes, his brows still furrowed. “How young?” You say in unison, although in starkly different tones. You whip your head to face Logan and find that his eyes are already on you.  

“Ages six to seven,” Charles explains. “This will be a smaller class, given how rare it is for children of that age to show their abilities, and the course will be incredibly simple.” He rolls away from behind the desk and approaches you and Logan in the center of the room. “I have faith that the two of you can handle this.”

Logan exhales deeply but doesn’t say a word. “We can,” you answer, your stare breaking away from Logan and turning to the Professor instead. “I look forward to teaching the class,” you pause, “with Logan.”

Something in Logan’s glare softens. His frown slowly disappears, melting away. His jaw relaxes, and his shoulders go slack. “Fine.” He’s curt, but something about the resolve in his voice gives you an ounce of hope that maybe, just maybe this will go well. 

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

This is, in fact, not going well at all. 

Agreeing on the curriculum was not a problem. Logan, having experienced most of U.S. History, believes in telling history as it happened. No rose-colored glasses. No murky half-truths or prettily wrapped white lies. No weird Christopher Columbus-themed arts and crafts. Having seen multiple wars and experiencing the power of government exploitation firsthand—not surprisingly—has made Logan progressive.

So, you had designed an age-appropriate, honest, curriculum. You were shocked at how well you and Logan worked together. You shared quiet hours in the library, passing scribblings and notes back and forth while pouring over books. You actually felt quite confident. 

That is, until the very first class. 

You and Logan had only just introduced yourselves—written your names on the board. 

“We are going to have a fun, educational year,” you finish, smiling widely. “Does anyone have any questions?”

A young girl in the center of the room raises her hand. You nod towards her, and she smiles sheepishly. “Are you two married?”

You’re taken back, your brows furrowing. “Oh, um—”

“No,” Logan cuts you off, his arms crossing tightly against his chest. His shortness hurts more than you’re willing to admit. “Absolutely not.” 

The little girl’s eyes widen. “But then why do you look at her like that?”

“Excuse me?” Logan asks, his voice a little too harsh. “Like what, kid?”

“Logan,” you whisper, turning to face him. “She’s six. Let it go,” you chide. “Professor Logan and I are friends and co-teachers. That’s all.” You turn back to the little girl, who nods, but she doesn’t look convinced. 

The rest of the class goes relatively well. It’s very introductory—teaching the children how mutant history and human history are intertwined. You and Logan are able to simplify things for the children so that they can understand. And, as the class goes on, Logan seems more comfortable with the children. 

The period is almost over when a little boy raises his hand, and Logan calls on him. “My older brother told me people like us are scary,” he says shyly. His eyes are sad—too tired for a six-year-old. “He told me that we shouldn’t exist.”

Your stomach drops, tears burning behind your sinuses. You think back to your own family, back to the trauma of being disowned for something you couldn’t control. You’re too heartbroken to tackle the question. Logan’s eyes flicker between you and the little boy. 

“Your brother is wrong,” Logan answers, crossing the room to stand next to you. He brings a hand to your lower back. It’s the ghost of a touch, but it’s a lifeline. “You’re special,” Logan says, and you know he’s talking to you, too. “You all are. Don’t listen to what they say. You’re more important than you’ll ever know. More extraordinary than they can understand.”

The bell rings, and the children stand, collecting their belongings. “See you all tomorrow,” Logan shouts over the shuffling and ruckus in the hallway. The children file out the door, jumping and cheering as if nothing happened. 

“They’re so resilient,” you say, shaking your head and watching them leave. You look over to Logan—his face close to yours, his palm still pressed against your back. 

“So are you,” he whispers, smiling softly, rubbing up and down your back. “You did great.”

“Yes, she did. And you did too, Logan,” Charles says, suddenly in the doorway to the classroom. “I forgot to drop off the roll call this morning,” Charles explains, holding out a sheet of paper. You cross the room to meet him, taking the sheet into your hands. “It has the list of names of the children in your class, as well as their abilities.” Charles backs into the hallway. “Excellent work, you two. You make a better team than you realize.”

“Thank you, Professor,” you say. Logan mumbles a soft Thanks, and heads towards the door once Charles is gone. 

He scratches his head, almost nervously. “Got another class to teach,” he husks. “Meet up later to go over tomorrow’s lesson plan?” 

You nod your head. “Sounds good.” Logan smiles and walks through the doorway and down the hall. 

You look at the roll call, and your eyes widen. Your heart beats out of your chest. You find the name of the little girl who had asked if you and Logan were married. 

Claire Teller—Precognition, Clairvoyance, shows signs of potential telekinesis.

The paper falls from your hands and drifts slowly to the floor. You look down, your lips parted in shock. Did she see you and Logan—

“You alright, sugar?” Rogue’s voice snaps you back to reality. You look up, and she’s standing in the door. 

“Y-yeah,” you stutter, shaking your head. “I’m fine.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The rest of the week goes smoothly. You and Logan meet each night to discuss the lesson plan for the following day. The classes go well. Claire always seems a bit distracted, her eyes flickering between you and Logan, but she does just fine in class. 

In fact, you’d say this was going better than well. You and Logan, despite his hesitation in the beginning, were growing closer every day. 

It’s written in secret, stolen moments—hands accidentally brushing, glances across the room. But you can feel it, the way your lives are being sewn together. You find ways to spend time alone outside of class—ordering dinner and grading together, practicing in the Danger Room as partners and not opponents. You had become something of a team.   

Tonight, you’re alone with Logan, sitting on the floor of his room, grading the small quiz you had given the children on the branches of government. Logan had picked the background music—60s and 70s rock. 

You hum along to Evil Woman by Electric Light Orchestra as you write “100%” at the top of a student’s quiz. 

“Pretty voice,” Logan rasps, looking up from his last quiz. Before you can react, before you can even process what he says, he’s moving on. “You almost done?”

“Just finished.” You write another “100%” and look up at Logan. He’s on his side, resting his head in his hand, balancing on his elbow. He smirks and stands up, striding over to you. He reaches his hand out, and you tilt your head, confused. You take his hand all the same, and he pulls you up. 

Logan’s hands find your waist, and he sways you from side to side. You giggle, shakily bringing your arms up and around his neck. Your heart thunders in your chest as you dance with him. 

“Didn’t take you for a dancer,” you murmur. Evil Woman fades out and Heroes by David Bowie starts up.  

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” Logan husks. He pulls you in tighter, his chest pressed to yours. 

“Yeah?” You ask, letting your head rest in the crook of his neck. Your eyes flutter closed. “Like what?”

He’s suddenly silent, and you can feel the tension thicken in the room. “When Charles came to us about the class…” He trails off, searching for the right words to say. “I was nervous,” he admits. 

You lift your head from his neck. “Why?” You question, smiling softly. 

Logan presses his forehead to yours. “Because I—” But then there’s a knock at the door. “Logan?” It’s Charles on the other side. Logan huffs, his eyes closing defeatedly as he loosens his hold on your waist and walks over to the door. 

“There has been an emergency,” Charles says the second the door is open. “I need you to go on a mission immediately. This is a dire situation.”

Logan looks across the room to you. “Okay,” he says, his eyes still trained on yours. 

Charles nods and heads down the hallway. “Meet me downstairs. Hank is readying the jet now.” 

“I have a bad feeling about this,” you confess, fighting the tears brimming at the corners of your eyes. You can’t quite place where the feeling is coming from—why you’re suddenly so nervous about Logan leaving. A month ago, this sort of thing would’ve felt routine, normal. There’s always a crisis somewhere. 

Logan swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. “I’ll come back,” he promises. “And we can talk then.” He strides over to you, wrapping you in his arms, and pulling you into his chest. “Don’t worry. It’ll be fine.” 

“Logan?” Charles calls from downstairs. “We need to leave at once!” 

Logan squeezes you tightly before letting go. He works his jaw, his teeth gritting as he backs out of the room and down the hallway. Your heart drops as you listen to his footsteps echoing against the stairs. By the time you muster up the courage to follow him, it’s too late. The door to the mansion slams just as you make it to the bottom of the steps. 

You can still hear Heroes faintly playing from Logan’s room. 

And the guns, shot above our heads (over our heads) And we kissed, as though nothing could fall (nothing could fall) And the shame, was on the other side Oh we can beat them, forever and ever Then we could be Heroes, just for one day

You sit on the bottom step, your head falling into your hands.

“Oh, sugar,” Rogue whispers as she walks into the foyer. She settles next to you. “I didn’t know you and Logan…” She trails off, shaking her head. “He’ll come back. He always does.” She hangs her arm around your shoulder, tugging you into her chest. 

You hope she’s right. 

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The next morning, Logan is still gone. You’re forced to teach the class alone. As you’re starting roll call, a young boy raises his hand. 

“Yes, Jimmy?” You call, arching your brows. 

“Where’s Professor Logan?” He asks curiously, tilting his head to the side. 

You swallow harshly, inhaling deeply. “He has something to take care of,” you explain. “It’ll just be me teaching today. Is that alright with you?” You try to sound light, jovial, plastering a fake smile across your face. The kids buy it, giggling and nodding. Jimmy smiles widely and nods, too.

But Claire—the little girl who can seemingly see into the future, stares at you sympathetically. It sends a chill down your spine. It’s like she knows how you’re feeling—can see it in her mind’s eye. You shake the feeling off, proceeding with the lesson. The material is distracting enough—the U.S. voting system, carefully explained so that the children can understand. 

The rest of the class goes off without a hitch, and the bell finally rings. The session felt longer than usual without Logan, and certainly harder to get through, but not impossible. The class picks up their belongings and files out. You grab your papers, readying to leave, assuming that everyone is gone. 

“He’s going to come back,” a small, familiar voice whispers. You look up from your materials, and there’s Claire, standing in front of the desk. Her deep, brown eyes twitch back and forth. She closes them tightly and smiles. “You don’t have to worry,” she assures. “He’s safe. He’ll always come back to you.” She pauses. “All I see is happiness.” The veins in her temples grow thicker, and you can tell she’s working too hard to look to the future.

“Claire,” you say, your hand grabbing her shoulder. “Don’t hurt yourself, my love. You don’t have to do that for me. I’m okay.”

Her eyes fly open, and she smiles widely, as if nothing happened. She steps away from the desk, your hand falling from her shoulder. “Didn’t hurt at all!” She calls as she skips out the door. “See you Monday!”

You shake your head. Resilient, you think to yourself. So goddamn resilient. 

The rest of the evening is slow. You try to keep yourself busy—grading papers, listening to music, going for a run, training in the Danger Room. But all you can think about is Logan. 

After dinner, you get ready for bed, changing into a pair of panties and an oversized t-shirt. You sit alone in your room, on your bed, reminding yourself of what Claire had told you this afternoon. 

He’s going to come back. You don’t have to worry. He’s safe. 

You lay back on your pillows, bringing the covers up to your chin and closing your eyes. You repeat her words over and over again in your head as you fall asleep. He’s safe. He’s safe. He’s safe. 

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You wake up a few hours later, your bedside lamp still on. Your alarm clock reads 1:45 AM. You groan, rolling over and shutting your eyes tightly, trying to force yourself back to sleep. But it’s no use—you’re awake, thinking of Logan already. 

You push yourself to sit up, swinging your legs over the side of the bed, and pressing your feet into the cold wood floors below. You walk to your door, twist the knob, and head out into the hallway.  A lap around the mansion might make you tired—might relax you. 

You walk down the hallway slowly, noticing instantly that Logan’s door is closed. You can’t help but pick up your pace, striding towards Logan’s room. 

You stand in front of his door, your hand on the knob, ready to twist and push. You stop yourself, wondering if this is crossing a line, tearing down a carefully constructed boundary. But all you want is to see him breathing, lying on his bed. You need to know he’s in there—safe. 

You knock once, but there’s no answer. You swallow nervously, twisting the knob and pushing the door open. 

Your heart stops. There he is. He’s home. He’s safe. He’s breathing. You let out a sigh of relief, smiling softly as you start to close the door. 

But then his head snaps to the side, and he grunts. “Logan?” You call, opening the door slightly. He doesn’t answer. He grunts again. You quickly notice the way his fists white-knuckle his sheets. 

You step inside his room, closing the door behind you. “Lo,” you whisper into the darkness. He tosses and turns, his head whipping from side to side. He must be having a nightmare, You think to yourself, your heart breaking in two, watching pain wrack his body, his mind. 

You meet his side, placing a hand on his shoulder and shaking him softly. “Logan,” you say, your voice louder, stronger this time. “You need to wake up.” But he doesn’t. He groans, his brows furrowed, sweat beading his forehead. 

“Come on,” you plead, climbing into the bed, and straddling him. You hold him down by his shoulders, stopping him from writhing. Now that you’re closer, you can see the tears streaming down his cheeks, can see the agony etched into the lines of his face. “Logan!” You yell. “You gotta wake—”

His eyes fly open, and you feel cold metal pierce your leg. Your jaw drops as pain stings sharply in your thigh. “Oh fuck,” Logan curses, sitting up and retracting his claws. Tears brim in the corners of your eyes as the pain worsens. “Shit!” He cries out, grabbing at your thigh, blood spilling into his fingers. 

You close your eyes as your powers take hold. Your skin slowly stitches up, putting yourself together again. You groan, and Logan wraps his arms around you, holding you tight against his chest. “I’m so sorry,” he mumbles into the side of your head, pressing soft, gentle kisses there. “I love you, I’m so sorry sweetheart.”

What did he just say?

“W-what?” You ask, the pain fading away as those three words echo in your mind. 

Logan’s breathing only quickens as he realizes what he said. “A-are you okay?” He asks, ignoring your question. 

You nod. “It’s already gone,” you whisper, nodding to your thigh. “But what did you just—”

“I love you,” he interrupts, saying it again. You pull back a bit to look at him. You can see the seriousness in his eyes, the adoration, the honesty. “I love you.” 

You bite your lip, your eyes widening as you process what this means. Logan loves you. It’s everything you ever wanted. Everything you could have asked for. It just makes sense.

“I love you too,” you confess, choking on your words. “I was so worried. I didn’t know when you’d come back, or if you’d come back at all. I saw your door closed, and I just had to see you. I needed to know that you were okay, that you came home.”

He presses his forehead to yours, his eyes closing. “Before I left,” he pauses, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. “I was going to tell you why I didn’t want to work together.” His eyes open again. “I was scared to get close to you,” he explains. “I knew I wanted you the second I saw you. Knew I had to have you. I’ve never felt that way before. You opened something inside me that I thought I didn’t have. Turns out it was just locked, waiting around for you.”

“Logan,” you breathe, his lips just inches from yours. “I wanted you too. Wanted you this whole time.” You need him to kiss you—to take you right here and now. “I thought you didn’t like me,” you admit, giggling softly. 

He shakes his head, smirking. “I liked you too much,” he rasps. “Didn’t know what to do about it. You were driving me crazy, sweetheart.” You can feel his erection straining in his boxers, and you can’t help but grind down on him, your core rocking against his cock. “Fuck,” he groans, gripping your hips. “Slow down, pretty girl. Are you sure you’re okay?”

You nod emphatically. “Already healed,” you assure him. “Just need you, Lo.”

“Need you too, sweetheart,” Logan groans, rolling your hips against his, tugging you down his length. “Can feel you soaking through those panties already,” he grunts. And he’s right. The heat pooling between your legs is uncontrollable. 

You groan as your clit drags across his erection. “F-fuck,” you stutter, his fingers digging into your hips. You bring your hands to the waistband of his boxers, tugging at them. But before you can get anywhere, Logan is flipping you onto your back and crawling down your body. 

“Next time, sweetheart,” he coos, hiking your shirt up and smirking when he sees you aren’t wearing a bra. He palms your breasts, tweaking your nipples before sliding down further. “Wanna take care of you this first time.��

Your heart flutters in your chest at his words. You can see the hunger in his eyes as he kisses down your stomach, going past the hem of your panties, stopping at your clit. He takes a deep breath. “Can smell that pretty pussy. Know she needs me, darlin’.” 

He hooks his fingers into your waistband, and tugs the thin lace down your legs, revealing your aching cunt to him. He settles between your thighs, his lips pressing a soft kiss to your clit. 

“L-Lo,” you choke. “Please.”

He smiles against you, breathing you in again. “Please what, princess?” He asks, looking up at you under hooded eyes. “Tell me what you need.”

“You,” you beg. “Need you. Always gonna need you.” 

His smile meets his eyes as he licks a long stripe through your folds, his tongue pushing through your entrance, tasting you, savoring you. He hums against you, the vibration of his voice rocking your core. “Tastes so good,” he mumbles, licking another long stripe. “Perfect pussy. Knew you’d be this sweet.”

You watch as he laps at you, drinking you in. Logan’s tongue finds your clit, drawing tight circles into the bud. “F-feels so good,” you stutter. 

“I know, beautiful” He soothes, his fingers trailing up your inner thigh, drawing closer to your heat. “You look so pretty when you let me eat you out,” he praises, his fingers prodding your entrance. “You want more?” He teases, slipping just past your slit and quickly pulling out. 

“Yes,” you whimper, pleasure coursing through your veins. “Need your fingers, Lo. Please.”

He wastes no time—suddenly thrusting inside you, his long, thick fingers splitting you in two. Your walls flutter around him, sucking him in, taking him deeper. “So tight,” he coos, pulling out and sliding back in. “So fucking wet.”

Logan wraps his lips around your clit, his cheeks hollowing as he sucks, hard. He releases, his teeth grazing the bud lightly. Your walls clench around his fingers at the sensation. “Fuck,” Logan curses, smirking against you. “You like that?” He teases. “Like when I’m rough with you?” His tongue flits out, lapping flat strokes across your clit. 

You moan a soft Yes in affirmation, your back arching off the mattress. You’re already close, ready to let go. But Logan isn’t letting up, his fingers slamming into you, taking your clit back into his mouth and sucking harder, rougher this time. He swirls soothing circles into the bud, pushing you to the edge. 

“Logan,” you whine, your hips squirming as he drags his tongue harder against your heat. “I’m so close.” 

Your muscles contract and release around his fingers as he hits that sweet spot inside you, pump after pump. “I know, pretty girl,” He soothes, his free hand wrapping around your hip and holding you down to the mattress. “Look at you,” he praises between harsh sucks. “So beautiful like this.” His tongue circles your overstimulated clit. “Already fucked out, aren’t you?” 

“Yes,” you mutter, your hips squirming helplessly against his grip. It’s all too much, his hushed whispers, his praises, the way his tongue flits against you, his deep thrusts dragging along your walls. “Logan, I’m gonna…” 

“That’s it, pretty girl,” Logan coaches, his tongue still lapping at you ravenously. He’s starving, unwilling to stop. He needs more. “Should keep you in my bed so I can taste you whenever I want.” He grunts against you. “Want you to come on my fingers, darlin’. Wanna taste it. Let go.”

It’s all blazing, white-hot heat, raging through your body, searing your skin. Your eyes stay trained on Logan as he works you through your orgasm—ravaging you, lapping up every last drop of your release. His fingers pump in and out, slowly, before he pulls out completely. But his face stays buried against your cunt, his tongue pushing through your folds. 

“Logan,” you whine, lacing your fingers through his hair. “Need you up here.” 

He looks up from your heat and licks one more long stripe before climbing up your body. He tugs his boxers down his legs, his eyes not leaving yours. His cock springs free, bumping against his stomach. 

Logan settles on top of you, balancing on his forearm as his free hand wraps around the base of his cock. You instinctually spread your legs, as if it’s second nature, as if you’ve been here before. “Such a good girl,” Logan praises, sliding his tip through your folds. “All spread open for me.” His cock nudges against your clit and slides back down. “You need me, sweetheart?”

“Yes,” you choke. “More than you can—”

And then he’s plunging inside you, bottoming out with just one thrust. “Fuck!” You cry out. He stays inside, unmoving, letting you adjust to the size of him. 

He presses his forehead to yours. “You okay?” He asks. His cock throbs, pushing against your walls, searching for more. His hand slips between your bodies and finds your clit. 

“Y-yes,” You stutter, sighing in relief as his fingertips draw gentle strokes into the bud. “S-so big.”

“I know,” Logan soothes, sliding out only to shove himself back in, down to the hit. Your back arches off the mattress, your chest coming flush with his. “Gonna work you open.” His voice is gentle, calm. “I’ve got you. Relax for me, sweetheart.” 

Logan pulls out and thrusts in again, his lips swallowing your moans with a kiss. His fingers swirl around your clit as pleasure pulses through your every nerve ending. “Feels so good,” you murmur as he picks up his pace, his hips rolling against yours. 

He grunts. “So perfect,” he praises. “Fucking made for me.” He pumps in and out of you harder, faster now, letting himself go. He pinches your clit, rolling the bud under his fingertips. “Never gonna want anyone but you, you know that?” He twitches inside you, and your walls flutter around him. 

You curse under your breath. “Yes,” you cry out. “Only gonna want you, Lo. Only you.”

“Doing so good for me,” he husks between hard thrusts. “Taking me so well.” His hips snap against yours, his fingers circling your clit rapidly, adding more pressure. His lips find yours again, biting, kissing you bruisingly, fitting against you like a puzzle piece. 

Your chests heave together, the sound of his skin slapping against yours echoing against the walls of the room. “You’re so perfect,” he whispers, his lips suddenly at the shell of your ear. He bites down on your pulse point, his tongue flitting out to lick the pain away. “So fucking beautiful.” 

Your walls contract around him, squeezing him as he sinks deeper inside you, hitting exactly where you need him most. You’re so close, ready to come undone. “Fuck, Logan,” you whine as he pounds into you. “I’m gonna—”

“Me too, pretty girl,” he rasps, twitching inside you. You wrap your legs around his waist, keeping him close as he plunges deeper. He lifts his head from the crook of your neck and presses a chaste kiss to your lips. “Don’t wanna stop. Don’t wanna…” He trails off, his cock throbbing inside you again. You know he can’t hold back.

You tighten your legs around his waist. “Don’t stop,” you beg. “Stay inside.” 

He groans, his forehead pressing to yours. “You want me to fill you up, sweetheart? That what you’re asking for?”

“Y-yes,” you stammer, his fingers pinching your clit and stroking relentlessly. “Please,” you choke, begging, tears brimming in the corners of your eyes. 

“Fuck,” he curses. “Wanna feel you come on my cock, sweetheart. Wanna make you mine.” 

“Already yours,” you whisper, your muscles contracting around his length again, your legs trembling as stars flood your vision. Logan moans your name, and you can feel him spilling inside you. You come together, your orgasm crashing into you, more intense, more powerful than the last. 

“Love you so much,” he whispers as he finishes, painting your walls. 

“Love you too, Lo,” you say back, your heart beating out of your chest as you come down from your high. 

His fingers drag against your clit, swiping gently before running up your body, slipping under your back, and pulling you into his chest. His hips are still, his cock unmoving inside you. He finally pulls out, and rolls off you, taking you with him. He tugs you into his chest, holding you tightly.

“Are you okay?” He asks softly. “Need anything?”

“J-just you,” you stammer. His fingertips trace patterns along your back, soothing and gentle. 

“Let me clean you up, sweetheart,” Logan whispers, pressing a chaste kiss to your forehead and moving to sit up. But you stop him, wrapping your arms around his torso and holding him down. He smirks, letting you pull him back. “I’m just gonna grab a towel, yeah? Wanna take care of you. I’ll come right back.”

You nod, letting him go. He slips out of the bed, strides over to his bathroom, and grabs a towel from inside without turning a light on. Within ten seconds he’s back in bed, just like he said he would be. 

Logan brings the towel between your legs and wipes you clean. His touch is gentle, soothing, careful not to be too rough. Once he’s done, he throws the towel to the floor and reaches over to his nightstand. When he turns back to you, he has a glass of water in his hand. He extends the glass out, bringing it to your lips. The water feels cool as it slides down your throat. You drain the glass, and Logan smiles as he pulls it from your lips. 

He places the cup back down on the nightstand and pulls you into his arms again. You bury your head into the center of his chest, listening carefully to his heartbeat. It’s even, steady, constant. Just like him. 

“Never felt like this before,” he whispers into the silent darkness of the room. 

“Like what?” You mumble, your voice muffled against his chest. 

You can hear the smile in his voice as the words leave his lips. “Happy. Safe.”

Tears—happy tears—free themselves from your eyes, sliding down your cheeks. 

“Can’t let go of you,” he hums, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Don’t wanna go back to before.”

“You don’t have to, Lo,” you pant. “I’m yours. Always.” And you know you mean it. You know it’s true. It’s already been decided, already played out. Already etched into the future. 

Are you two married? Claire had asked. 

He’ll always come back to you. All I see is happiness, She had promised.

And she was right. 

“I love you,” Logan husks. 

“I love you, too.” 

tags: @afw5 @wolviesgirl @the-ruler-of-death @Ifdybadgirlsdiw @xtwistedchaosx @wittyjasontodd @wolverinesslut @galacticglitterglue @silversprings-mp3 @zxaera @spiderset @figsnpassionfruits @alastorssimp @alsoprettyinpink @prettyseaveins @ilysmdovie12 @evasmlp @derbygracie @rammakela @honeyfewr @ricefordays-blog1 @manipulatour

[maskedbyghost]

jealous!Simon is on my mind 24/7

even better if the two of you are secretly fucking bc he is scared of feelings, commitment, relationships, and blah blah blah…

and simon wasn’t used to feeling jealous. he had trained his emotions out of him long ago, or so he thought. but as he stood in the doorway, watching you stroll across the shared kitchen on the base, your back turned to him, the name "mactavish" boldly displayed on the long-sleeved shirt you wore, something twisted in his chest.

the sight of you wearing his shirt, so casually, stung in a way simon hadn’t expected. he cleared his throat, trying to sound indifferent, but the edge in his voice betrayed him. "that’s johnny’s shirt."

"i know." was the only thing you said, smirking since he couldn't see your face. you knew exactly what you were doing, but in that moment, you didn’t care.

"why is johnny's shirt on you?" simon asked, his voice low but tight with tension. he tried to keep his tone neutral, but the undercurrent of jealousy and frustration was hard to hide. seeing you in johnny’s shirt stirred something uncomfortable deep inside him, a mix of possessiveness and insecurity that he wasn't used to feeling. he hated how something so simple made his chest tighten, how the sight of you in someone else’s name made him feel like he was losing control of the one thing he was afraid to admit he cared about.

"oh, he gave it to me because i was cold," you said, pouting slightly as you turned around to face the only man you ever wanted "he is such a nice guy."

simon managed a slight nod, his mind blanking from the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside him. everything felt too much, too fast. meanwhile, you casually turned your back to him again, giving him another clear view of soap's name stretched across your shoulders as you began making your tea. the tiny grumble that escaped simon’s lips didn’t go unnoticed—it sent a wave of satisfaction through you, a small victory that made your day. you loved torturing him. and, after all, he did deserved it.

frustrated, he walked over to the sink, grabbing a glass of water, hoping it would cool the fire raging inside. but as he turned, his grip slipped, and the water splashed across your front. simon froze, watching the water drip down your shirt, half-shocked and half-relieved for the excuse to make the shirt disappear.

simon froze, his eyes glued to the water dripping down your shirt. after a beat of silence, he muttered, "well, guess you’ll need to take that off now. what a shame."

shocked, you watched as he put the glass down and left the room, still feeling the cold water seeping through the fabric. did he seriously just accidentally splash you and then walk out like nothing happened? that bitch.

*

later, as you slept in your bed, wearing your shirt this time, you stirred slightly at the feeling of someone’s arms wrapping around you. you didn’t even need to open your eyes or turn around—you already knew who it was. that familiar warmth could only belong to simon.

"simon?" you muttered groggily, barely able to make out the shape of him in the dim light. "what are you doing here?"

"shh, just sleep, pretty girl," he whispered softly, his breath warm against your ear. "i just wanted to apologize for how i acted earlier."

"i'm listening," you murmured, your voice barely more than a whisper.

simon’s arms tightened around you as he spoke. “i’m sorry for earlier. i know i’ve been pushin' you away and acting like an idiot. seein' you in johnny’s shirt... it just brought out this jealousy i didn’t want to admit i had. i hate feelin' like i’m not enough, or that someone else might have a piece of you. the truth is, i want you to be only mine. i can’t stand the thought of you being with anyone else. i just wanted you to know that, even if i messed everythin' up.”

“well, isn’t this a surprise? i didn’t realize it took me wearing johnny's shirt for you to admit your feelings.” you said with a hint of a smile, turning around to kiss him softly. simon sighed into the kiss, his arms wrapping around you with a sense of relief and affection.

simon pulled back slightly, his eyes intense as he rested his forehead on yours “i mean it, you know. you’re mine—only mine. no one else gets to touch what’s mine.” his voice was firm, yet tender, which made his words more meaningful.

"did you have a similar conversation with soap?" you asked, raising an eyebrow playfully.

simon grinned, leaning in even closer. “yep, told him to keep his wardrobe to himself unless he wanted a 'property of simon' label slapped on everything he owns.” he sealed his words with a gentle, lingering kiss, his lips tenderly brushing against yours as if to mark his claim in the most intimate way.

*

soap: so, i guess it worked?

y/n: your shirt got wet, but i got what i wanted. thanks, bestie.  

soap: i think i got worse treatment from simon than the shirt did, but anything for my two lovebirds.

[cutielando]

my baby | l.n.

synopsis: in which you bring your son to his daddy’s first ever race

a/n: based on this request!! i changed things up a little and only made it fluffy, hope you like it!!

my masterlist

Ever since your son was born, you and Lando had had multiple talks regarding exposing him to the world and bringing him to the paddock.

He was still so little, being only a few months old, so there was a lot of discussion between the two of you about when would be a good time to finally introduce your son to that part of Lando’s life.

You debated a lot about firstly which race would be the best one for him to attend, finally settling on Silverstone. It was a very special race for the both of you, it was Lando’s favorite race weekend, his whole family would be coming and would be able to eagerly help, should any situations arise during the weekend, you were close to your UK home.

It was honestly the best decision in that aspect.

McLaren had been so kind as to send you some little T-shirts with Lando’s name and number on the back, some headphones so you could protect Noah’s ears. He was all ready to go, all clad in his papaya shirt and little cap.

However, as much as Lando had been looking forward to finally having the both of you in the paddock since Noah’s birth, he was suddenly feeling more anxious as you’re about to leave the house and go to the track.

You noticed the frown he had on his face and how deep in thought he seemed to be, walking over to him with Noah right on your hip, sucking on his pacifier in silence.

“What’s wrong? Are you okay?” you asked him, putting a hand on his shoulder and rubbing it affectionately.

“You agree this is a good idea, right? We’re not rushing him into this, it’s completely okay and safe to bring him with us” he asked, looking at you with worried eyes.

Looking at him so desperate for reassurance, you remember your first days as a new mom, worrying about every single thing that Noah would do, what you should do with him and what you shouldn’t, calling your mother and Lando’s mother every half an hour with another question.

It’s normal for new parents to be anxious, and Lando was now feeling the protectiveness that came with having a baby of your own and bringing him out into the world.

“Baby, we’ve talked about this. We have it all figured out. Your family is going to be there if anything does happen, we have your whole team there who are more than eager to help with anything. We’ll be fine, this little guy will have the time of his life” you said, smiling at the quiet boy in your arms and bouncing him in your arms, chuckling alongside Noah as he started to giggle and wave his arms in the air.

Lando smiled, looking at Noah like he was the center of his universe, like nothing could ever measure up to how much love he had for his son.

He was ready, so there was no reason why Lando shouldn’t be ready. After all, he had you by his side.

He didn’t need anything else if he had you.

“Alright, let’s get going then” he declared, sitting up and taking Noah’s bag from you, determined to carry everything to the car by himself.

You chuckled, shaking your head as you adjusted little Noah on your hip.

“Let’s go and bring daddy some good luck, shall we?” you cooed at Noah, admiring his little smile and clap when he heard the word “daddy” in a sentence.

Such a daddy’s boy.

♡♡♡♡♡

“Do you want me to turn the car around and just take you guys home? I’m sure nobody would mind” Lando said as soon as he parked the car in his designated spot.

You looked at him confused.

“Why? Did something happen?” you asked, keeping an eye on Noah who was currently too busy playing with his feet to pay attention to the two of you.

Lando sighed, resting his head against the seat and closing his eyes.

“I just think we’re rushing into it. He’s still young and I’m worried that something could happen to him while I’m in the car” he confessed, and you let out a knowing sigh.

“I know you’re stressed out and worried, but you have nothing to worry about. I’m going to be with him the entire time and your entire family is going to be with me. He literally can’t be more taken care of” you said, joking a little at the end to help him breathe a little.

Lando smiled, chuckling a little before twisting around to look at you in the backseat.

His eyes naturally gravitated towards Noah, who was happily playing with his McLaren teddy bear the team had gifted Lando when Noah was born.

“Sometimes I wish we could keep him away from all of this for the rest of his life” he said, his eyes focused on his son.

"I know, but right now, you don't have to worry about him. You know I won't let him out of my sight" you said, making Lando smile at the thought of you going all mama bear on your son.

"Alright then, off we go" Lando unbuckled his seatbelt, exiting the car and opening your door for you.

He made quick work to grab the diaper bag and all of his essentials while you lifted Noah up from his car seat and settled him on your hip, cooing at the smiley little boy.

"Ready?" Lando asked as he came to stand next to you, putting his arm on the small of your back and leaning down to press a kiss on Noah's head.

"Are you ready to see dada race?" you cooed at Noah, tickling his tummy lightly, which prompted him to burst into giggles.

“My lucky charms” Lando whispered, looking at the two of you with so much love.

He truly couldn’t have asked for anything better in his life. The trophies, the wins, the losses, they didn’t compare to this. To you, to your son, nothing could ever compete with how much Lando cared for his family.

As you started walking towards the paddock entrance, your passes clutched in Lando’s hand, you kept Noah close to you, trying to shield his face from the cameras as best as you could.

You softly maneuvered his head so his face was buried into the crook of your neck, which Noah immediately complied with because he loved it when you held him close.

“I’ll do my best to hold them off” Lando whispered as he scanned your passes and already noticed the hoard of paparazzis that were waiting for him to arrive.

You nodded, smiling politely at the cameramen as Lando quickly walked with you towards the McLaren hospitality.

Clicks and flashes could be heard all around you, every single one trying to get a glimpse of your baby boy, but Lando was having none of it.

“Lando! Over here!”

“Is that your son?”

“Can we see him? Just a picture”

Every single word fell on deaf ears as Lando continued to lead the three of you away from them, thankful when the shouts ceased and there was nobody around you anymore.

“They sure know how to try and get what they want” you said, letting out a big breath that you hadn’t realized you had been holding in.

“It’s an invasion of privacy, they should have some respect, especially when they can see I’m with my family” he grumbled, his jaw muscles clenched.

You slowed down your walk until you came to a halt, resting your hand against his cheek.

“Hey, we’re okay. Calm down, we’re both fine, okay?” you said, waiting for an answer as Noah started squirming in your arms.

“Yeah, I’m good” Lando replied after finally feeling himself calm down a tad, resuming your walk towards the hospitality.

When you arrived and entered the building, the first thing that you saw was Lando’s family eagerly chatting amongst themselves, clearly waiting for the 3 of you to finally arrive.

You didn’t even get to think about anything before Noah was taken from your arms by Lando’s sister, Flo, cooing at him and beaming at the smiley boy.

There was nothing more pure and warming than seeing the bond between Lando’s family and your son. He was also the first grandchild on your side of the family, so that little boy was as spoiled as one could be.

“How are you doing, dear?” Cisca snapped you out of your thoughts as she came to stand next to you, Lando having gone to his driver’s room to unpack his things.

“I’m okay, a little tired from the jet-lag, but doing alright. A little nervous to have Noah here with me, but you all being here puts mine and Lando’s mind more at ease” you said, giving your mother-in-law a side hug.

“Was he terrible when you were talking about coming with Noah?” she asked, smiling knowingly.

You laughed, shaking your head affectionately at how well she knew Lando.

“He freaked out about 4 times before we even got out of the car” you said, making the woman laugh.

Lando emerged into the room again, immediately frowning once he saw that Noah was still not back in your arms.

Both you and Cisca watched as his eyes searched the entire room for him, finally settling on the boy happily babbling to his auntie Flo, Lando immediately going over to them.

And as you all sat there with each other, both you and Lando realized what a great support system you had and what a perfect family you have built together.

His win, of course, only solidifying his saying that you were both “his lucky charms”.

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[elliewithcellie]

Girl, Interrupted

summary: Eddie crashes by your home when you least expected, but everything happens for a reason, right?

wc: 1.8k

cw: PURE SMUT (MDNI 18+), basically no plot, friends to fwb?, oral (f receiving), Eddie is a tease, fairly bold reader lol, fingering, talk of p in v sex, hair pulling, orgasms idk let me know what else

a/n: my bestie bought me slutty pajamas for my birthday, and since I'm a hypothetical whore, this has been on my mind nonstop. Finally took a break from my spn series to write this down. This is the filthiest thing I've written to date but definitely short and sweet

Eddie’s jaw fell slack as the door opened before him. He knew he shouldn’t have shown up to your place uninvited. Sure, you were his best friend, and of course, you had said he could come over whenever, but that never truly meant unannounced. He was already kicking himself for showing up as late as he did when you opened the door.

Your oh so short pajama shorts were the first thing that caught his eye, how your thighs spilled out beneath them, the cotton begging for relief. His eyes trailed higher to your tank top one size too small. The hem rested just above your midriff, the outline of your hips more prominent than he had ever seen. Your face was flush, pinks and reds lining your cheeks. He fought the urge to pinch himself, scared that he was dreaming, scared that he’d wake up to the absence of you and very real feelings emerging.

“Eddie? What are you doing here?” you asked, your arms crossing over your chest. “I thought you had a date.”

Date, what date? Eddie’s mind was going numb. His brain was flatlining at the mere sight of you, more exposed to him than he’d ever seen you. Fight or flight kicked in, debating on whether to say something or just turn around and leave. He was almost sure he was not supposed to see you in this state.

“I—uhh—it didn’t go well, so I cut it short. But I know you love the place, so I figured I’d bring over the leftovers.”

“Oh, sweet. Thank you.”

Eddie hesitated, scared to ask, but his interest piqued. “Is someone—you’re alone right now, right?”

Your eyebrows pinched together. You exhaled a dry laugh. “Please, I’m always alone. Come in. Tell me about your date.”

You ushered Eddie inside and settled into your couch. You pulled a blanket over you, and Eddie released a sigh. He couldn’t believe the hold you suddenly had on him. It was like he was in high school again, ready to combust at the sight of a shoulder. At least with your legs covered, he was less inclined to think about spreading them.

“Was it really that bad?” you asked, drawing Eddie from his thoughts.

“She was just so boring,” Eddie complained. “Like, there’s nothing wrong with her, but it was like we were from different planets! She didn’t know Metallica! How am I supposed to bond with someone when there’s nothing to relate to?”

“Did you think of showing her?”

“Showing her what?”

“Metallica!” you laughed. “Wouldn’t that be kind of romantic, you know, to introduce that to her? Maybe tell her you’re in a band? It’d be like showing her a whole new world. And maybe you’d get a groupie out of it.”

Eddie swatted at the air. “It’s not worth it. We were both bored. And it was clear she wasn’t looking to rock with a guitarist.”

“Oh, I highly doubt that.”

“You didn’t meet her. She’s pristine, a Chrissy Cunningham type. Meant to be with a lawyer or some shit.”

You leaned in closer to Eddie, your blanket sliding down your thighs. “Those are the girls who fantasize about guys like you the most. Those girls on the straight and narrow, the ones who seemed destined to be sweet stay-at-home moms or perfect career women, those are the ones who dream of just one night doing something they never thought they could. Something so wild that when they’re taking their kids to soccer practice, or their ‘perfect husband’ is asleep on the recliner while they're doing the dishes, they can think back to that wild night when they fucked a rockstar.”

Eddie’s lip trembled as chills coursed through his body. You leaned back against the couch and shrugged like what you said was nothing. You had to be on something, he decided. Never had you been so frank when the topic of sex came up. Your face was still flushed with color, and you couldn’t seem to find a comfortable position on the couch, shifting yourself from one side to the other to no specific rhythm. Heat radiated off of you, though you weren’t known to be the furnace between the two of you. Something struck Eddie as so foreign but so familiar as he took you in.

“Would you fuck a rockstar?” Eddie found himself saying.

Heat rose to your cheeks. “Do I seem like one of those straight-and-narrow girls to you?”

“That’s not what I asked,” Eddie said, a newfound confidence overtaking him. “You came up with that way too fast to act like you don’t think of it, too. So, would you fuck a rockstar?”

You bit your lip and shifted in your seat. You huffed into the couch. “Wouldn’t anyone?”

“Why so shy all of a sudden?” Eddie asked, egging you on. “You’ve been squirming since I got here, sweetheart. Is something on your mind?”

Your eyes trailed from his eyes to his lips, then back to his eyes. “Tonight is not the night to ask me that.”

“Why is that?” Eddie chuckled. “Were you in the middle of something? Was something left unfinished when I so rudely interrupted? And now all you can think about is the ache between your legs?”

You shuddered at his words. “Eddie,” you said, your voice shaking.

“I could help you.” Eddie leaned closer, his words almost a whisper. “Because I may not be a rockstar, but I’m sure I could give you the night of your life.”

Your breath hitched in your throat. “Don’t tease me. It’s not funny.”

“No one’s laughing.” Eddie pulled the blanket back, his hands resting on your thighs. Your legs slightly opened on instinct. “What kind of friend would I be, huh? If I didn’t at least offer?”

Eddie didn’t know where this bravado came from, but he didn’t care. All he knew was the longer you looked at him like that, the harder he got.

You grabbed him by his shirt and forced his lips on yours. Nothing soft or sweet came from your lips. You were needy and desperate, clinging to him like he was the air in your lungs.

The urgency shocked Eddie, but he quickly found your rhythm. He smirked against your lips as he pulled his jacket off. His hands snaked from your thighs to your hips to your ass, lifting you onto his lap. You groaned into his mouth as he rolled you against him.

He was sure he was dreaming now. Only there did he ever picture you above him, grinding your hips into his. Only there did he imagine you moaning from his touch. But never were his dreams this vivid, this real, this fucking good.

He pulled you from him and pushed you back onto the couch. You whined at the loss of contact. He’d never seen your eyes so dark, so lustful, so hungry for him.

He slid down to the floor onto his knees and pulled you to the edge of the couch. “You still want my help, sweetheart?”

You nodded emphatically.

“I need to hear you, baby. Say it.”

“Please help me, Eddie. I need you. Please.”

“Atta girl.”

You lifted yourself up as Eddie pulled your shorts down your legs. Eddie’s cock jumped at the sight of you. He bit his lip to maintain what little composure he had left.

“Aww, your poor little pussy’s just as needy as you, isn’t she?” He spread your knees apart, the cold metal on his fingers sending chills up your spine. The throbbing between your legs only intensified, a small whimper escaping your lips.

Eddie couldn’t wait any longer. There was no time for teasing, no time to explore. You needed him, and he was going to deliver.

He dove into your aching pussy like a man starved. You jumped at the contact, your hands flying to his hair. His tongue worked overtime, kitten-licking your clit before diving in for more.

“You taste so good, sweetheart,” he said, smiling against you. You moaned in response, grabbing a fistful of his hair and pulling him closer.

Your sounds turned him on even more, searching for his own release as he rubbed himself against the couch. His mind was in a daze, in utter disbelief that anyone could look so perfect for him with your legs spread and your back arched. Your chest rose and fell to the rhythm of his tongue, and your lips formed a perfect ‘o’. Oh, how Eddie wanted to feel your lips around his cock. How you’d sink down on him, your perfect innocent mouth being completely sinful just for him.

He placed a finger at your entrance and pumped in and out, his thumb now circling your clit. Your head fell back. “God, yes, Eddie. Just like that.”

“I need you to do something for me, baby,” Eddie said as he added a second finger.

“Wha—what’s that?” you asked, breathless.

“I need you to tell me what you think of when you get off. Tell me what you were thinking of before I showed up at your door.”

“I—I oh god,” you shouted as Eddie’s lips found your clit. “I—I thought about you on your fucking date.”

“Oh fuck,” Eddie groaned into your pussy, the vibrations shooting up your spine.

“I pictured you fucking her from behind, her skirt hiked up to her hips, her panties to the side as you fucked her in front of the bathroom mirror.”

“Fucking C—Christ,” Eddie stuttered, his hips rutting into the couch faster. “Keep going.”

“Then it was me you were fucking. You grabbed me by the hair, so I could watch what you were doing to me,” you said, your voice shaking with every word. “Eddie, please. I’m close. Please.”

“Come on, baby. You can do it. Tell me what I was doing to you.” He was past dreaming at this point. He was sure this was heaven. Hearing your words had him reeling. He didn’t want to stop, didn't know how to stop. He just knew he needed to see you come.

Your lip trembled. “Your hands were all over me, playing with my tits, your lips on my neck, and—and your big cock pounding into me over and oh-ver and—and Fuck! Eddie, don’t stop! Please, please, please!”

Your orgasm crashed down on you, expletives and Eddie’s name on your lips. Eddie continued to pump his fingers in and out of you like a madman as he lapped up your cum.

“Oh god, oh fuck!” he moaned against you.

You pushed his head off of you and caught your breath. Eddie took a breath, too, leaning back against his heels. You pulled him back up to you and kissed him, tasting yourself on your lips.

“That… was so hot,” Eddie said, releasing a breath.

“Can it be my turn to help you?” you asked, looking up at him through your eyelashes.

Eddie’s cheeks rouged slightly, his eyes trailing to the growing wet spot on his jeans. “I had a turn already,” he said, guilt painting his words. He leaned in toward you, a devilish smirk joining his features. “But I’m not done with you. Not yet.”

[saetoru]

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩。i know you still think about the times we had

synopsis. satoru will always comes when you call him, he just never thought you’d stop calling

— word count. 5.2k (where did i go wrong)

— contents. college au, rich boy! gojo, break ups and make ups <3, it’s the cliche trope where the rich guy’s parent forces you to leave him aka gojo’s father is the villain, angst with a happy ending—i don’t want my cause of death to be angry rb! gojo stans, emo gojo ft. marvin’s room (iykyk), cliche rain scene—this fic is so cliche i’m sorry, reader is gn! but gojo is mentioned to like pics of girls on instagram (he was being petty)

— notes. well, it finally happened. the long awaited break up. this one’s for you niku 🤞🏽 AND DABITEE ANON

you open the door when satoru knocks—just barely, though. it’s just enough to hand him the bag with the remaining things he’s left at your apartment. it feels familiar, being here, but it feels so different too. it’s always been happy knocking on your door—he never thought he’d dread letting his knuckles meet the cool wood. it’s like taking the last bite of something sweet when you’re too full. when the sugar is too decadent on your tongue and your head spins and your stomach twists and it’s too much even though it used to be so good.

it’s too much being here. it’s too much trying to meet your gaze and get nothing in return. it’s too much being handed back that sweater he basically let you keep. and yet, it’s good to see you. he wants nothing more than to be here with you, wherever you are, even if you don’t want him to stay.

“that should be everything,” you murmur, still looking down. “let me know if there’s anything missing.”

satoru would never tell you if there’s something missing. he’d never come back and demand back something he gave you, he doesn’t think he could ever take back something he gave you—being handed back his heart after pressing it to your palms is hard enough. but then again, maybe he should look for small things you probably missed. just so he can come back. just so he can see you—how else will he see you now?

“no, it’s alright,” he says quietly. he doesn’t miss the way you quickly let go as soon as his hands grab the bag, almost like you’re being careful enough not to let your fingers meet each other. “you can uh…you can just keep them. or…throw them out if you don’t want them,” he mumbles.

you nod, standing there silently. it’s quiet, and then it’s quiet some more. and finally, you look up at him for the first time since he got here, staring at him a little expectantly. oh, right. now would be the part where he leaves.

“can i…can i just know why?” he croaks. fuck. he’s not supposed to cry. you ripped his heart out and threw it at his feet, you didn’t even care to hand it to him even after you tore every artery apart. but he sniffles anyway, lips wobbling as he stares at you. “why are you leaving me?”

your fingers twitch, like you itch to reach over and wipe that tear that rolls down his cheek. in the end, you cross your arms instead. “i already told you, satoru—”

“that’s bullshit,” he clicks his teeth, shaking his head as he stares at you frustratedly, “you gave me some bullshit reason.”

satoru has worked so hard to be here—to be with you. hadn’t he done enough? hadn’t he told you about himself, things he didn’t want to? hadn’t he tried to become something, someone more than just a guy swimming in trust funds? hadn’t he worked for your attention, waited outside classes and walked opposite directions in the hall with you just to seem dedicated? fuck, he even burned his hand trying to learn how to make pancakes to impress you, let the maids laugh at him as he twisted the stove the wrong way to try and turn it on. 

why wasn’t it enough? what more could he give you than everything? how can the guy who has everything not have enough to give? he doesn’t understand.

“satoru, we weren’t gonna work,” you pinch your nose—it’s like you’re the one who doesn’t understand why he’s being like this. “the sooner you accept that the more hurt you’re saving the both of us—”

“we were working just fine,” he says exasperatedly. it’s like you insist he’s crazy when he’s nothing but sane. like he’s trying to tell you the sky is blue, and you’re refusing to believe it’s anything other than green. it’s clear. it’s practically a fact. you were doing just fine—why don’t you see that? “we were happy,” he takes a step forward and cups your cheeks, pressing his forehead to yours, “was it someone? did they tell you something? just tell me who, baby—i’ll fix it. i’ll put them in their place, okay? no one can bother you if i get them to leave you alone—”

“then you leave me alone,” you whisper. he stills. you pull away from his hands. “sator—gojo. please just leave me alone. it’s better that way.”

you close the door, and he stands there. numb. maybe a little shocked. entirely ruined.

gojo. he laughs quietly after a moment at that—it’s a laugh meant for men who’ve lost the last thread to sanity. gojo. it’s like a slap in the face, being called the name he worked so hard to get you to drop. it took him weeks—months, even, to convince you to call him satoru. then he upgraded to toru. then it was baby. sometimes you teased him and called him pumpkin—he called you peaches in return. when you introduced him, you called him your boyfriend. 

not anymore. now he’s back to gojo—that god-forsaken name with everything but what he really wants attached to it. his grandfather’s legacy. his future. business deals. fancy invites. more money than he knows what to do with. the name gojo comes with everything but you.

but he had you for a bit, didn’t he? when he was just satoru—but now he’s gojo again, and you’re gone. the only sign of you left is in the faint traces of your perfume in the sweaters you’ve returned. 

and satoru still isn’t sure what brought the break up on. he thinks it’s the part that stings the most—when everything seems perfect one second, and then it’s not. had he not tried enough? maybe he was too much. maybe he didn’t understand you the way you needed him to. maybe he was too overbearing. maybe he asked for too much too fast. 

he’s not sure. he tried asking when you broke it off—you only shook your head and said it wasn’t going to work out between the two of you, that it was a mistake to try at all. mistake? how could you call this a mistake? things were so perfect, weren’t they?

satoru doesn’t think there was even one second he wasn’t smiling when he was with you, and he used to think the same was true for you too. had you been faking it this long? or was it real at one point—had he really failed you so badly, seen past you so blindly that he didn’t notice when your smiles stopped reaching your eyes?

it’s too late, he figures. you and satoru are broken up. 

you ask him to come over one morning, and he does—because he always comes when you call. he brings your coffee order from that cafe you like, the one you don’t go to often because the coffee is more overpriced than any other coffee shop you’ve ever seen. he’s grinning when you open the door, leans in to kiss your lips excitedly. you turn your head then, and his lips meet your cheeks instead—he supposes he should’ve known it at that moment. he should’ve seen that your lips weren’t smiling. your eyes were tired, a little red. you were hugging yourself in that way you do when you’re nervous. you didn’t let him kiss your lips, you made him kiss your cheek. 

and then you sat him down on that worn-down couch of yours, took off that bracelet his mother gave him to gift you on your anniversary, and pressed it to his palm as you said we should break up. break up. you wanted to leave him—and satoru didn’t understand, still doesn’t understand. 

he’s tried for so long, replayed the last month of your relationship in his head over and over and fucking over. you always smiled. you kissed him first. you held his hand, and even squeezed. you asked to see him. you laughed when he was around. you said i love you. you were happy. but then you weren’t—when did you stop being happy? and how could you have stopped feeling it with him?

—————

breaking up with satoru is the hardest thing you’ve ever done. how long can people live without the sun? you think not longer than a few minutes—that’s what it feels like without satoru’s warmth, anyway. 

gojo satoru has always smiled as long as he’s been with you. he smiled smugly on your first meet, smiled bitterly after every rejection, smiled in pure glee when you finally said yes, and smiled like his fingertips could touch the sky every time he saw you after that. 

satoru has never looked sad for long in your presence—you have that effect on him, you make his lips curl and his eyes brighten in that way that they deserve to shine. but for the first time ever, his eyes dim with you around, his lips curl into a frown at your words, and he cries for you. his eyes glisten with tears instead of wonder, and you think for a moment that you might be making a mistake. 

but then you remember that this is for the best—that if you really love gojo satoru, you’ll let him go instead of clipping his wings.

“he’s picked up his things,” you speak quietly into the phone. you don’t sniffle even as you desperately need to—it’s the last bit of control you have left, and you intend to keep it. “i won’t be seeing him again.”

“good,” his father speaks, “that’s good to hear.” 

satoru’s father is a cold man, you learn that on the first meet. he doesn’t look at his wife with a soft look that tells you there’s any love built between the decades of marriage, and he doesn’t look at his only son with any affection for the boy he raised. instead, he stares at satoru like any businessman would an opportunity—with a calculating gaze that tries to work out the best course of action for the most profit. 

satoru is young, but he’s charming and conniving and knows how to get what he wants when he wants—he’s quick on his feet and rarely lets himself get cornered into a wall. in the last three generations of the family business, no heir has shown as much promise as gojo satoru. that’s what his father tells you, anyway. you believe him—satoru is smart and knows how to play his cards right, you won’t deny that. his future is set to be comfortable, and he’s never known anything outside of that, never built any other plans for himself. 

you can’t rip that away from him—not for your own sake, not for your own happiness. 

“you promised you wouldn’t freeze his trust funds once i ended things,” you remind him, “and that he’d keep his inheritance.” somehow, because the world grants you this one favor, your voice doesn’t shake—it’s steady and firm as it reminds the stone-cold man at the end of the line of your agreement—and he offers a slow chuckle that makes your jaw clench. 

“yes, i do recall,” he hums, “i��m glad we could come to agree. you understand, don’t you? it is my job as his father to do what’s best for him.”

you know what he’s saying—what that means. you’re not what’s best for him. maybe he’s right—maybe satoru needs someone who’s equally as promising to build a successful company into even more success. maybe he needs someone who can take him out for a change to those fancy places he takes you every few weeks. maybe he needs someone who’s heard of half the brands he wears and doesn’t scold him to turn the lights off so the electricity bill isn’t high. maybe he needs someone who can keep up with everything that gojo satoru is—and that someone is not you, no matter how deeply you love him. 

“—the offer still stands, should you change your mind. i’m willing to compensate you for the trouble this must all be.” 

your lips curl into a scowl at his words. that’s the thing about rich people, you think—money is always enough to sugarcoat everything. why worry about the dead grass in your lawn when you can paint it green? but you don’t leave satoru for extra cash on your hands—nothing can be worth auctioning off the only man who’s ever made you feel anything. you leave satoru because he deserves to continue living comfortably, to make a name for himself that isn’t just a ghost of his father’s. if that means being cut from the corner of the picture, you’re willing to pick up the scissors yourself. 

“no thanks,” you hiss, “i don’t need the money.”

“i would disagree,” his father sneers, “but suit yourself.”

the line ends, and for good this time, satoru is no longer yours. was he ever to begin with? 

—————

you try to forget your ex-boyfriend—keyword, try. every hour of your life consists of you using your burner account to refresh his instagram page to see if he’s posted anything new. you unfollow satoru from every social media platform the same day he picks up his belongings—you know he’s noticed within the first thirty minutes because all of his pictures with you are gone, just like all your pictures with him. 

in what you assume is an attempt to be petty, he likes every picture of every girl he sees, and he even blocks you on twitter—you know he picks twitter because twitter is the only social media that blatantly states you’re blocked. but then you’re unblocked in two days, and you know he must be missing you now that the initial anger is faded. 

it makes you laugh a little, even through your tears. satoru is not satoru without petty fits of emotion, and you can’t bring yourself to be mad, not when it’s your fault he’s hurting like this. he’s extra sad today, you gather—if the way marvin’s room is posted to his instagram story on a blank screen is of any hint. it makes you scoff in amusement that in true gojo satoru fashion, he’s effectively told all eight-thousand-something of his followers he’s pathetically in his feelings. 

you scroll through suguru’s story, too—he didn’t unfollow you even after satoru temporarily blocked you, but you figure suguru is the only person satoru really has. you shouldn’t keep yourself close to him, not when it could hurt satoru more, so you remove him too. 

suguru is, as always, drinking at some fancy party with obnoxiously rich college students who have not a care in the world for midterms around the corner. who needs to pass when you’re swimming in money whether or not you have a degree? the first thing you learn about the rich is that most of them are only at college for the experience—they don’t see college as the stepping stone to better opportunities, there’s nothing education could offer that trust funds already don’t. but satoru attends college for himself—he enjoys business classes, you learn, and especially finance ones. for someone who spends money so carelessly, he understands it particularly well. 

there’s no sign of satoru at whatever party it is suguru is at, there’s no trace of strikingly bright white strands anywhere in any corners—you do see naoya in a corner, though, and you crinkle your nose in distaste. if satoru were here, he’d say something bitterly under his breath about the asshole, and you would giggle. but satoru is not here, and even naoya the women-hating jackass makes you miss your obnoxiously whiny ex-boyfriend. 

everything reminds you of satoru. that bear he won you at the fair (after maybe six tries) by your pillows, those polaroids at your desk that you can’t bring yourself to take down, that sticky note on your fridge he left promising to replace the creamer he finished (he’s replaced it more times than he’s needed to by now), that extra big blanket you keep on the couch because the old one barely covered his legs, that pair of silly matching mugs you both had for coffee in the mornings. 

every corner of your apartment has something that reminds you that satoru was here, that he was yours, that for a short while, he was the best thing you ever had. it’s your fault, you think—that satoru and you are here in this mess in the first place. he’s always looked at life through a hopeful lens. having everything does that to you, makes you ignorant to the misfortunes of the world, makes you think everything is within the realm of your reach. you, on the other hand, knew this was bound to happen. the two of you together is like hot oil and cool water—what feels like sparks is just the oil shooting out to burn you. you should’ve known this would have never lasted. 

in a way, you think you did. it’s why you hated him so fiercely at first—maybe deep down, you always knew you wanted him, that he would never be yours. maybe that’s why you were so adamant about rejecting him, that even when he was clearly trying, it would never be enough. satoru has always been enough, has always been what everyone has wanted—you’re not so sure you can say the same for yourself. 

you love gojo satoru. he loves you too—he falls first, and you think maybe, he might have fallen harder too. no one loves like satoru. they say if you press coal hard enough, it turns to diamonds—you think if you gave satoru coal, he would hand you back the sun and all of her stars. it’s just the kind of guy he is, the one that turns everything dull into something bright and warm and worth it. you wish you didn’t have to break his heart, you wish you could’ve walked out of this the only one hurt. but maybe, at the very least, if you break him good enough that he hates you, he’ll move on quicker, maybe have something to look forward to while you continue to work your way up and cheer him on. 

before you can refresh suguru’s page one more time to stalk his story, you’re pulled from your thoughts as someone knocks on your door—correction: pounds on your door. you jolt on your couch, standing up and making your way to the front door quickly and looking through the peephole. 

satoru. of course.

he’s soaked to the bone—it’s raining outside, and of course, just as on brand as always, he must’ve rushed here without an umbrella.

you shouldn’t open it.

but you can’t just leave him in the rain, can you? but he’s not your problem anymore, you agreed to leave him, didn’t you? but how could he not be your problem when he’s all you think about? but this could cause him trouble if his father found out he was here, right? but can you really leave someone, ex-boyfriend or not, in the pouring rain? you can’t be that cruel can you?

before you can make up your mind, he speaks up, “i know you’re standing there. open the door,” he demands. 

“satoru, go home,” you sigh, head pressing against the surface that separates you, “don’t make this anymore difficult than it has to be.”

“if it’s difficult, that means you don’t really want to do this,” he argues. he’s still as good as ever at sweet talk, still as persistent and charming as ever at getting what he wants. “please,” he croaks, “just let me in.”

you know it means more than one thing. you know it means more than just your home. but you shouldn’t, you can’t let him know why you did all this—how can you protect someone from something if they don’t let you? satoru would never let you if he knew, and that’s why you can’t let him know. 

“satoru, if you don’t leave…i’ll…i’ll call the cops,” you warn. 

“no you won’t,” he says instantly. “i’m not leaving until you open the door. and if i get sick, i’ll send you my bill for the emergency room visit.”

“you’re not going to the emergency room for a common cold, you idiot,” you scoff. 

the rain doesn’t slow—in fact, you can hear thunder. satoru is still stubbornly outside, knocking away. 

“i’ll start screaming,” he insists, “your neighbors will complain for noise again. do you want to be kicked out of this apartment? just let your cold, wet, heartbroken ex-boyfriend in if you have a heart.”

and because you are, and always will be, weak to the charms of gojo satoru, you open that damned door—even though you shouldn’t, even though you can’t, even though you said you would never again. but you do. because it’s satoru, and he always comes when you call, and you’ll always let him in when he’s here. 

“you don’t come to your ex’s house less than one week after the break up,” you sigh once you open the door. he takes a step in, shutting the door behind him. 

“why did you leave me?” he asks. 

“satoru, you can’t keep bringing this up—”

“why? just tell me why.”

“i don’t have to—”

“tell me why and i’ll stop bothering you. i just need to know why,” he insists. 

and then you break.

you’re only human. you’ve lost the man you’ve given everything to for over a year in the span of one week. you’ll never see his lovely mother again who spoiled you rotten, you’ll never hang out out with his funny best friend who treats you like family, and you’ll never be enough for gojo satoru, the rich, loud, sheltered, obnoxious, handsome jackass you met and had to do a project with and accidentally fucked over and over again until you fell in love. 

so you shove his chest, once, then twice, then a third time, each time getting weaker and weaker than the last as tears slip down your cheeks as you simply break down. “just leave, satoru,” you sob, “why can’t you just leave? why do you keep coming back?”

you hate seeing him here. you want him gone. you never want to see him again. you hope he never leaves. you’re glad to see him. you hope this isn’t the last time. you hate that he seems to not be getting enough sleep. his eyes are hollow. he must not be eating properly. he probably hasn’t attended class. he has a quiz next week. he most likely forgot about that. his clothes are wrinkly. he definitely hasn’t showered in days. 

“last month you said i was it for you,” he glares at you, his eyes red and swollen and every shade of heartbreak. you miss when they were blue—that beautiful, bright, perfect shade of blue. “last week you said we were a mistake. what the fuck do you mean, huh? what are you playing at?”

“you can realize a lot in a month—”

“not enough to erase over a year,” his voice booms. it makes you flinch and hug yourself tightly. tears slide down your cheeks, your vision is blurry. this might be the last time you see satoru, and even if he’s angry, you want to remember the curves of his features. so you wipe them away. they keep coming back. “so tell me,” he clenches his jaw, “did you string me along for a year or did something happen last week that you’re not telling me?”

“i realized you were bad for me,” you say quietly. 

satoru stares at you. it’s a piercing gaze—his eyes are electrically blue and his lashes are unfairly long and every time he stares at you, you think he almost sees into your soul. they’re tired—there are purplish bags under them on that pale skin of his, and the whites of his eyes are concerningly bloodshot. he stares, and stares, and for a second, you think you’ll die like this. watching him stare at you as your heart bleeds out. 

“i spent weeks,” his voice shakes, “i waited outside your class. i followed you to the next one. i memorized your fucking schedule.”

“satoru, you need to leave—”

“and then you fucked me and left every morning like i was nothing,” he glares, sniffling. you don’t know where the rain drops on his face start and where the teardrops end. “and then i begged you for a chance—begged. i burned my hand, got laughed at by the maids to learn how to make those stupid fucking pancakes for you.”

“i didn’t ask you to—”

“it took you two months to call me baby for the first time. did you know that? i waited two months to hear that. i thought it was the best two months i ever waited.”

“satoru,” you plead. 

you’ve given up on trying to wipe away the tears—he’s given up on crying altogether. you’ve never seen him so hollow, so dead in the eyes and so, so tired.

satoru has never gotten tired—not when he’s fighting for you.

“and then you kept pushing me away, acting like i was some shallow guy who wanted to get in your pants and leave cause i had some money to my name. i took you everywhere, introduced you proudly, let everyone say what they wanted to say about me because i loved you, and…and i thought you loved me too,” he shakes his head. 

his voice breaks, and god, so does your heart right along with it.

“i do love you,” you admit it before you realize what you’re saying. 

“then why did you fucking leave me?” his voice is loud.

satoru never yells, not at you. his voice is always gentle, patient, like he worships the ground you walk on, like he’ll get on his knees if you ask him too. satoru never yells—but he does tonight. 

“because i had to,” you sob, fingers digging into your temples as you shake. the words spill from your lips faster than the tears, like a swarm of angry bees, one following after the other. “or you’d lose everything. the trust funds, the inheritance, the company. i couldn’t let that happen to you—not for me,” you whisper. 

it feels like defeat—in the end, you couldn’t keep satoru, and you couldn’t leave him either. you couldn’t love him like you wanted, and you couldn’t let him go like you should have. what else is there left to fuck up? what more can you ruin in less than a week? the bees feel like maggots in your mouth, swarming a dead carcass.  

“so you left me because my old man threatened you with my trust funds?” he asks in disbelief. you think something in satoru dies at that—something in his shoulders falls and his eyes almost seem gray. 

satoru gets his blue eyes from his mother—they’re bright and kind and deeper than the ocean. but unlike the ocean, they’re not scary to fall into, to lose yourself in no matter how far you are from shore. his father’s eyes are gray—cold and blank and not laced with a single hint of emotion. 

you can’t help but think that blue suits satoru so much better than gray ever could. 

“it wasn’t just that,” you shake your head, “that’s not fair, satoru. what was i supposed to do? know you were about to lose everything and stay?”

“you could have talked to me before you decided for me,” he hisses, “what do you want me to say? thank you? thank you for breaking my heart? thank you for making me feel like a worthless piece of shit who wasted a year for someone who didn’t seem to care? thank you for walking out on me?”

“you know i’d have stayed if i could,” you argue, voice breaking.

“then why didn’t you? why the fuck didn’t you?”

“because i couldn’t!”

“you could!” he screams—you realize, for the first time in your life, you hate when satoru screams. he never screams. “all my life, that old man has been making decisions for me. satoru, wear this. satoru, go here. satoru, don’t do that. satoru, put that away. satoru, stay away from them. satoru, come with me. that’s all he’s ever fucking done—make every choice for me. and now…now you’re just like him,” he breathes, lips wobbling as he stares at you with hurt. 

it’s like that for a bit—you stare at him as he crumbles, and he stares at you like he doesn't know you anymore. you don’t know who leans in first, if it’s your hand or his face, but one second you’re feet apart, and the next second his face is cradled in your hands, thumbs swiping away at his tears. you catch them, one by one, waiting to wipe them away no matter how fast they come. because satoru always comes when you call, and you’ll always be there for him to find you. 

“i don’t want to leave,” you mumble, “i never do. you are it for me, i meant that, you know. who else will melt extra chocolate in my hot chocolate?”

“then don’t leave,” he begs, voice cracking, “i don’t want you to. i’ll handle that old geezer—my grandfather will knock some sense into him. fuck, suguru and i can even hide his body, it’s fine. just don’t leave, okay?”

you let out a watery chuckle, pinching his cheek as you shake your head. “i don’t know if i’m worth homicide, satoru.”

“i think you’re wrong,” he huffs, “you’re wrong about a lot of things, you know. so wrong.”

“i never said i was perfect,” you pout.

he buries his head into your neck, clinging to you tightly—you cling back, because nothing is as safe as satoru’s arms. you’d melt into his skin if you could, live in that spot right where his heart is so you can make sure it’s always beating. 

“you’re still perfect,” he mumbles, “but you’re always mean to me. this was the worst you’ve ever been.”

“i’m sorry,” you murmur, slipping your fingers into his hair—it’s still wet, you realize. he’s soaked, and he could catch a cold but you don’t care. satoru is back. he’s here in your run-down apartment with the mugs and the blanket and that toothbrush you forgot to return and that pair of socks you found in your drawer. satoru is finally home. “i’ll never leave you again.”

“promise?”

“yeah. as long as you don’t block me on twitter again.”

“you deserved that.”

“and for the love of god, toru, delete that marvin’s room story. that was so dumb.”

“are you stalking me?” he pulls away with a grin, making you glare with a huff. he chuckles, kisses your forehead as he murmurs, “missed me that bad, huh? yeah, i would too.”

“well, obviously not enough to post marvin’s room on my story.”

“you can’t be mean to me after you broke my heart!” he whines.

yeah, you think, satoru is home. he’s still that loud, obnoxious, pestering brat that he always was—and he’s still the only love you’ve ever known. 

“i love you,” you press your forehead to his, kissing him slowly. you want to kiss him harder, you want to kiss him desperately like you’ll never kiss him again. like you lost him and miraculously got him back. like you’ll never see the sun again without him. 

but there’s time for that—lots of it, in fact. because satoru is home.

“i love you too,” he whispers, “wanna shower with me? if you really love me, you would.”

read the makeup sex sequel ;) MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

if this fic was a person i would want it dead.

[rafesangelita]

rafe + voyeurism

warnings: pervy!handyman!rafe, flirting, pet names, rafe watches you in the shower, masturbation, oral (m. & f. receiving), dirty talk, unprotected sex, shower sex, slight fluff, rafe answers the door when your date knocks >:)

a/n: inspired by the small piece i wrote here <3

wc: 2.4k

“what’s the problem now, pretty?” rafe answered the phone, popping open a can of beer as your sweet little voice sounded on the other line. “rafe, my shower is out!” you whined, adjusting the pink fluffy robe around your body. “well, what’s wrong with it, babe?” your cheeks heated at the name. rafe knew exactly what was wrong with it, he’s the one who messed it up last time he was there so he had a reason to come back. “i twisted the knob for it to turn on, but i think the handle is loose..” you explained. rafe hummed, getting up from his recliner. “i’ll be there in five.”

rafe lived in the same apartments as you, just in a different complex not too far from your own. it wasn’t long before you heard his heavy footsteps outside of your door, opening it before he could knock. “are you wearing anything underneath that?” he motioned towards your pre-shower ensemble. you whispered a ‘no..’ dragging him in by his large arm. “i have to be ready in one hour!” you were frantic as rafe followed behind you, his eyebrows knitting in confusion. “it’s nearly seven o’clock, where are you off to?” you moved aside to let rafe through, taking a seat on the edge of the sink counter.

“my friends set me up on a blind date, ‘said they were tired of me being single.. so.” rafe couldn’t help the way his jaw ticked. “a blind date, huh? is he picking you up here?” rafe set his toolbox down as he got on his knees. “yeah, he insisted on doing so, too. which i thought was a little weird but.. it’s okay i guess.” you shrugged, crossing one leg over the other. rafe looked back, the opening of your robe exposing your bare legs and thighs. thankfully, you were too distracted by something else to see rafe’s tongue glide over his bottom lip. “so.. uh, tell me about this guy..”

rafe let you ramble on, feigning interest as he learned your date was just an arrogant asshole. fortunately, you had a habit of veering off track when it came to having conversations, which lead to you now telling him about a recipe you saw on a late night cooking show. “i’ll make it and you can come over and taste test it, how does that sound?” rafe nodded. he would much rather taste test something else. “i think that sounds great.” he sat up, tossing the last tool in his toolbox with a clank! “alright, moment of truth,” rafe twisted the shower knob, and sure enough the water came out perfectly.

you hopped off the counter, not realizing your robe had come undone a little bit. the valley of your breasts were peeking through, the sight making rafe let out a breath. “thank you!” you grabbed his hand and helped him off the floor. “it’s no problem.” the man in front of you shamelessly stared at your chest, your eyes following his. you gasped at the amount of cleavage that was out, spinning around to cover yourself up. “i’m so sorry, i don’t know how that happened!” you covered your face in embarrassment as rafe laughed to himself. “i’m not complaining.”

rafe walked around you, making you topple forward a bit when he landed a playful smack on your backside. if it was anyone else, you would’ve kicked them out of your apartment with a threat to make a police report.. but it was rafe, so you offered him your fridge instead. “you could take whatever you want! i’ll be out in a sec!” rafe took you up on your offer, grabbing a beer that you specifically bought for him whenever he made a surprise visit. popping it open, he took a swig, reaching for his phone in his pocket only for it not to be there. “shit.” he put the beer down, checking the rest of pockets.

realizing it must be in the bathroom, rafe cursed under his breath when he heard the shower running. “y/n?” you couldn’t hear him over the water, your eyes screwed shut as you washed your hair. opening the door slightly, rafe peeked in and saw his phone on the floor. he swallowed thickly, the scent of your shampoo filling his senses. don’t look up, don’t look up, don’t look up, rafe chanted in his head, failing miserably when he ultimately zeroed in on your naked form. he knew you were perfect already, but seeing you like this was next level.

he watched as the suds from your hair dripped down to your tits, the clear glass growing foggy with shower steam. he wondered how you’d feel in his hands, wishing so bad he could take a tit in his mouth. rafe’s chest rose and fell, his cock stirring in his pants as you turned around and bent down for your body wash. luckily for you, the steam obstructed the view rafe ached so bad to see. without a care in the world, rafe palmed himself through his work jeans, his head tipping back at the much needed friction. “fuck, yeah..” he whispered to himself, thumb gliding over his sensitive tip.

you lathered yourself up, turning around so your back was facing rafe. with hungry eyes, he watched you scrub down your legs, catching a glimpse of your sudsy folds. pulling his bottom lip between his teeth, rafe refrained from letting out a groan as his hand jerked himself with vigor. he wondered if you knew just how bad he wanted you. if it was up to him, you’d be more than just the pretty tenant he likes to bother, and him more than the handyman, but he could dream. rinsing yourself off under the stream of water, you stood there, relishing in the hot water pattering against your skin.

rafe could make you so so happy if you’d just let him. he’d treat you with so much love and care everyday, and fuck you until you were in hysterics. he imagined what it would be like to be in a relationship with you, how waking up next to you would look like. he was so tired of envisioning these things, he shut the door behind him, startling you. “rafe?” you peered up at the man standing in the middle of your bathroom, his hand in his pants as he looked at you with dark eyes. “w-what are you doing?” he didn’t say anything as he started undressing, his shirt falling to the floor.

“tell me to leave.” his jeans were next to go, the imprint of his length making you swallow thickly. rafe smirked at your lack of response, internally singing as you slid open the glass door for him to join you. you had butterflies fluttering in your tummy when he took off his underwear. rafe was so tall, he had to lean down in order to get in without hitting himself, his broad shoulders barely fitting through. once he was in, your cheeks heated as reality hit you. here you were, standing naked with the man who’s been a pervy flirt for nearly six months now.

“you okay?” rafe’s hands found your hips, pulling you close until his cock sat heavily between you two. you nodded, wrapping your arms around his neck. he groaned when he felt your nipples against his chest. bringing his head down, you let out a yelp when his hands snaked down to your ass and squeezed. you reached up on your tippy toes and kissed him, his mouth moving perfectly with yours. rafe wasted no time, backing you up into the shower wall where he grinded his hard-on between your thighs. taking the base of him in your hand, you gasped at how hard he felt in your palm.

“can i?” you were already getting on your knees before him, rafe groaning at how eager you felt to please him. rafe grabbed a handful of your hair, staring at you intently as you stroked him before meeting his eyes. you looked gorgeous like this. eyes sparkling up at his face, rafe admired your features under the soft light of the bathroom. you kissed his tip, licking a stripe up from the underside of his cock before he pushed himself between your lips. your pink nails dug into his skin, your eyebrows knitting together as he forced his length down your throat.

you moaned, the sensation making him shudder. “fuck,” he grunted through gritted teeth, “feels’ so fuckin good.” he balanced an arm on the wall, his eyes screwing shut as you worked your magic on his cock. the way you bobbed your head up and down made him want to shoot his load all over your face, your hands cupping your tits as you squeezed the sensitive swells of your breasts. rafe was mesmerized, his mouth hanging open as he watched you pull off of him with a pop! you smiled up at the man above you, rubbing the head of his cock across your lips.

deciding he couldn’t wait any longer, rafe picked you up like a ragdoll, your legs wrapping around his waist as he kissed you roughly. you whimpered when your back met the cold tile on the wall. spreading your thighs apart, you looked down when rafe guided himself between your slick folds, your clit aching to be touched. you two exchanged looks, as if he was asking for permission. placing your palms on his shoulders for leverage, you practically melted in his hands when he thrusted into you. whimpering his name, rafe urged you to lock your ankles around his back.

“y’have no idea how much i’ve thought about doing this to you.” he spoke into the curve of your neck, his body glistening from shielding you from the shower head. you recalled laying in bed one particular night, thinking about rafe and those rough hands of his. needless to say you fell into a deep slumber imagining your fingers as his own. your mouth opened and closed a few times like you wanted to say something but couldn’t get the words out. watching you struggle was easily the hottest thing rafe has ever seen. “talk, baby, i need to hear that voice so i can dream of it later.”

soon after he said that, you were whining and blabbering about how much you thought about him when you were alone. “yeah? ‘touching yourself to the thought of me?” he taunted, hips slamming into yours as the heels of your feet dug into his back. “yes! oh, god— i just wanted to feel you inside of me..” rafe cursed at your words, pressing a searing kiss to your lips. “show me how you did it, ‘pretty. let me feel this pussy squeeze around me.” you let out a shaky breath, the pads of your fingers finding your sensitive bundle of nerves. you gasped, your back arching off of the wall.

rafe watched you rub delicate circles on the little bud, your body jolting every now and then when the feeling became overwhelming. “can’t!” you shook your head when you were close, your thighs threatening to snap shut around his hips. rafe moved your hand out of the way and replaced it with his own, his fingers working mercilessly on your puffy clit. letting out a scream, your forehead fell on his shoulder as his release teetered on the edge of pure euphoria. he was going to fill you up soon, the thought alone making his hips stutter as you cried out in bliss.

rafe held you against his chest, his hot seed filling you up with every moan that left his mouth. you were jelly at this point, your orgasm hitting you in intense waves of ecstasy as rafe twitched inside your soaking cunt. slowly but surely, your highs subsided, both of you panting against each other’s lips. “think you could walk?” you shook your head, your thighs still visibly trembling at his sides. he nodded, reassuring you with a ‘okay, don’t worry baby.’ still holding you against the wall, rafe pulled out of you with a groan. whimpering at the feeling of being empty, you watched as he twisted the shower knob off.

holding you bridal style, rafe stepped out of the shower and placed you gently on the sink counter. he quickly grabbed two towels from the little shelf you had in the bathroom and dried you off, wrapping the soft cotton around your shoulders. you licked your lips, the sight of the water droplets dripping down his abs was making you ready for round two. wrapping the towel around his waist, rafe carried you once more to your bed. “again.” you looked up at him with a pout. rafe laughed, pressing a kiss to the tip of your nose. “yeah? you want more?” you nodded, pulling him on top of you.

slotting himself between your thighs, he kissed you deeply before there was a knock at the door. pausing for a second, you wondered who it could be before your eyes widened. “that’s my date! well— was, my date.. oh, god!” you giggled, covering your face in embarrassment. glancing at the clock on your bedside table, rafe smiled. 8:00 PM. “wow, he’s just in time.” he got up, making you gasp. “don’t be mean to him!” you called out as rafe answered the front door. the poor guy’s smile faded quickly when he saw a shredded, over six feet tall of a man answer the door.

“sorry, i must be at the wrong apartment..” he blinked, about to leave before rafe stopped him. “you’re here for y/n, right? she’s inside.” rafe reached for the flowers in your date’s hand, flashing him a wink. “she’s a little preoccupied right now, though.” shutting the door in his face, rafe hid the flowers behind his back before stalking back inside your room. bless your heart, your towel was gone as you laid naked and pretty, waiting all for him. “i hope you like pink roses, ‘cause i just got you a dozen of ‘em.” you sat up, a gasp leaving your lips as rafe kneeled down on the side of your bed.

“aw, how pretty!” you gave them a sniff, pecking rafe’s cheek. “can you put them in water for me?” you batted your eyelashes at him, the action sending rafe into a frenzy. you were so cute. doing as you asked, rafe came back and got on his knees once more. “i was thinking.. you were so gracious enough to take me in your mouth, it’s only right if i return the favor, yeah?” he hooked your thighs to the tops of his shoulders, excitement pooling in your belly. “yes—” you were cut off when you felt rafe’s tongue delve between your folds. “you’re so fuckin’ sweet, i can eat you all night.” and he did.